#and how difficult it is for him to kind of correct things

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Heart’s Desire: Heart

Heart's Desire: You are Amata, the dream that embodies adoration and one of Morpheus’s most treasured creations. As one of the few entities that Desire actually seems to like, it is your job to complete official business between the Dreaming and the Threshold. Too bad a scheming Endless has decided to play a little game and give you, their precious rare friend, a nudge in the right direction.

Warnings: Desire Drugging Amata.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Named Dream!Reader, Amata: Latin for beloved, Sex pollen because Desire is a *bitch*.

Word Count: ~4.4k

Masterlist | Desire

It is one of your greatest pleasures to watch dreamers revel in your work. As a dream that embodies adoration, you are often surrounded by happiness and love. Your gentle and kind nature often leads those within the Dreaming to come to you for comfort when things go awry, or they need sound advice from someone incapable of holding a grudge.

You are overjoyed upon the return of Lord Morpheus, having been one of the few of his creations to remain within the crumbling realm, ever faithful. Lord Morpheus has always been a distant figure, even to you, despite you being one of his favorite and most treasured creations. So, you linger in the background as he and his new raven, Matthew, collect his missing tools. Lucienne reassures you that he is just unsettled by his time away from the Dreaming, and you nod in understanding, though deep down you can't help but feel a pang of hurt at his distance.

As the days pass, you find yourself wandering through the corridors of the palace in various states of repair, your footsteps silent against the shifting marble. Upon turning down a hall of antiquities from the time of the Gods, you find Matthew perched in front of a large, ornate mirror that seems to shimmer with an otherworldly light. It is, after all, Narcissus' Mirror.

His glossy feathers reflect tiny hints of ethereal colors as he cocks his head in curiosity. You approach the raven cautiously, your heart fluttering with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. It has been so long since you had the company of others, Lucienne, Mervyn, and the brothers notwithstanding.

"Hello, Matthew," you greet softly, coming to a stop near him and folding your hands against your chiton. The raven jumps at your words, wings flapping as he settles himself, and then turns to you.

“Oh! Hi! You’re Amata… right?” Matthew asks, his head cocking side to side. He can see why Morpheus is so enamored with you. Your skin is much like Gault’s, but shifting and swirling in a kaleidoscope of shimmering colors. Space. You had space in your skin! The boss has told him all about you, rather obsessively, but Matthew knows better than to comment.

You are Amata, the dream that embodies adoration, and certainly one of Morpheus’ favorites. Spun and sewn from millions of nebulas and constellations, your skin is a constant shifting of colors from the deepest of purples and blues, all the way to a sunny and heart-warming yellow and pink. He even saw an intense red bloom briefly on your shoulder the other day, twinkling and shimmering for about half an hour before morphing into a different nebulae. At this point, Matthew is convinced you are space, and the nebulas on your skin were painted by Morpheus. They probably were at this point.

“Oh, yes, that is correct,” you nod in acknowledgment, a warm smile gracing your ever-changing features as you look at the raven perched before you.

“Morpheus talks a lot about you,” Matthew continues, his glossy black feathers ruffling with excitement as he speaks. "He mentioned how you were there for him during some difficult times, offering comfort and guidance when he needed it most.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. Or perhaps lovesick would be more accurate. "Has he now?"

“Oh yeah, the boss really likes to talk about you. He mentioned how much he values your presence here in the Dreaming, how your gentle nature and unwavering kindness had been a source of solace for him, especially during his recent troubles," Matthew chirps animatedly, hopping a bit closer to you. “Exact words by the way, I don’t think my vocabulary is up to his.”

You can't help but feel a rush of warmth at Matthew's words, a mixture of joy and sadness swirling within you. Morpheus’ rare moments of vulnerability and openness with you had created a deep bond between you, one that you cherished more than words could express. But he would never act upon such feelings, and that drags upon your heart like a weight that cannot be lifted. You clear your thoughts of your own personal woes and address Matthew once more.

“I see that you are interested in the mirror?”

“Oh yeah, it’s really cool, I can see my human self in it! Or at least what I used to look like, I’m a bird now. Obviously.”

"Yes, Narcissus' Mirror tends to show inner desires," you reply, your small smile almost pained. "They say it has the power to show one's true self, or perhaps a reflection of what once was and at times, what could be."

“That’s why I’m seeing my old self?” Matthew exclaims, his eyes wide with wonder. "So, what would you see if you looked into the mirror, Amata? Just yourself?”

Oh no, the mirror would show you something you had spent far too many hours pining over. Slowly, you step closer to the glistening surface, your reflection wavering and shifting in the ethereal light.

As you gaze into the mirror, the colors of your nebulae spin and dance in an intricate display. Images flicker across the mirror's surface—a glimpse of a different time, a different place. And then, for a brief moment, you see it.

A figure emerges from the swirling colors, one that bears a striking resemblance to yourself but seems more... complete. Radiant and whole in a way you have never felt before. It is as if all your scattered pieces have come together to form a dazzling mosaic of beauty and adoration.

What breaks your little heart, if you even had one, every time, is that beside you stands Morpheus, his eyes soft and filled with a tenderness you have only ever dreamed of. In that reflection, he reaches out a hand towards you, a ghostly touch that sends shivers down your spine. You can almost feel the coolness of his fingers against yours, a sensation so achingly real it almost brings tears to your eyes.

But as quickly as the image appears, it vanishes, leaving you standing before the mirror with a heart heavy with longing. You turn to Matthew, forcing a smile to mask the ache in your chest.

"It shows what we desire most," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. "Sometimes, it can be both a gift and a curse to see such things."

“Woah!” Matthew gasps. “That’s like a real-life version of the Mirror of Erised!”

“The mirror of what?” you question the raven, your head tilting in confusion. Matthew hops excitedly, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"You know, in Harry Potter? The Mirror of Erised shows you your heart's deepest desire, and it's all twisted and messed up because sometimes what we want isn't good for us. It's like this mirror is doing the same thing. That's so cool!"

You still have no idea what he speaks of, but he appears to be so enthused about the topic that you decide to play along. Who could possibly hinder such happiness?

"Perhaps you're right, Matthew," you muse, running a finger along the edge of the mirror. "Though I don't know if my desire is twisted or messed up. It's just... complicated."

Matthew cocks his head, studying you with a quiet intensity. This is his first time seeing you so un-Amata-like. "Complicated how?"

"It's nothing, Matthew," you say, trying to brush off the intensity of your emotions. "Just a silly dream, that's all. It's been that way for thousands of years. I think it is apart of my creation.”

The raven doesn't look convinced, but he lets the subject drop. You bid him a pleasant dream and stride away, intending to return to your duties. Despite your efforts to leave your feelings behind, they cling to you like a stubborn shadow. You roam the palace halls, your thoughts circling back to the image in the mirror and the tender look in Morpheus' eyes. It is a cruel reminder of what could never be, and yet, you can't tear your mind away from it.

As the evening comes and the stars twinkle brightly in the Dreaming's sky, you find yourself in the garden of eternal blooms. The flowers glow softly, their colors shifting and changing much like your own skin. A gift long given by your lord. You sit on a bench, gazing up at the stars, lost in thought.

"Amata," a familiar voice calls, pulling you from your reverie. You turn to see Lucienne approaching, her expression gentle and understanding.

"Lucienne," you greet, your smile genuine despite the heaviness in your heart. "What brings you here?"

"I came to check on you," she says, sitting beside you. "You've seemed... distant lately. Despite Lord Morpheus' return. Is it, perhaps—"

"I have had centuries to adjust to the matter of my heart, Lucienne," you softly speak, cutting her off. "And I don’t even have one." The librarian clasps her hands behind her back and approaches the end of the bench you are perched on.

"That does not mean you are not capable of feeling, Amata,” Lucienne finishes gently, her eyes soft and understanding. “Your very essence is woven from the threads of adoration and love. Heart or no heart, you embody those emotions more profoundly than most.”

You look down, the shifting colors of your skin reflecting the turmoil within. “I know. But it is hard, Lucienne. It is hard to love so deeply and know it will never be reciprocated because of duty.”

You sit there in silence, lost in thought as the stars continue to twinkle above. Lucienne waits patiently, allowing you the space to process your feelings. After a moment, she speaks softly, her voice a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves of the eternal blooms.

"Lord Morpheus has returned to us changed. His feelings and actions are no longer set in stone," Lucienne continues. "He is grappling with his own burdens, just as you are with yours. Give him time. Give yourself time."

"What if my feelings are just a product of my nature as Amata? A dream woven from the threads of adoration and love?"

Lucienne shakes her head gently. "No," she says firmly. "Your feelings are real, Amata. They are a part of who you are, just as much as your shifting colors and your gift of adoration." She reaches out and places a comforting hand on your arm. "Love is not something that can be easily defined or contained within rules and expectations," she continues softly. "It is a force that transcends all boundaries, a powerful emotion that can shape us in ways we never thought possible."

You look down at your hands, clenched tightly in your lap. You have always been strict with yourself, never allowing yourself to feel too deeply for the sake of duty. Your loyalty is woven in the marrow of your being. But Lucienne's words resonate with you, stirring something deep within your heart. Morpheus has changed.

With those words, she walks away, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The garden around you seems to hum with quiet understanding, the blooms glowing softly in the moonlight. You take a deep breath, drawing strength from the beauty and tranquility of the Dreaming.

Yes, Morpheus has changed, but it is not within your right as his creation to assume his thoughts have wavered. He is still out of reach.

Morpheus summons you to the throne room for official business of the Dreaming. No doubt he is sending you on an errand. Since his return, he has only called upon your presence when in need of your ability and avoided you altogether the rest of the time.

"Amata," he begins, his voice resonating through the vast chamber. You stand before him, dressed regally with the serenity and power of a queen. "I have a task for you. It is one that requires both your unique abilities and your... particular rapport with my sibling, Desire."

You nod, knowing you are the most friendly with Desire. It is an unusual relationship, to say the least; however, adoration often intersects with desire, so it makes sense that you would be most familiar with Morpheus' estranged sibling. "Of course, my lord. What do you need of me?"

Morpheus rises from his throne, a stack of official papers materializing in his hand. "These documents must be delivered to the Threshold. They pertain to matters of great importance to the realms, particularly regarding Desire's recent indiscretions. Your presence will ensure their safe passage."

He glides down the curving stairs, and your eyes soak in every lithe and precise move. It is impossible for you not to adore the way he carries himself. Curse your embodiment. You accept the papers, their weight seeming heavier than mere parchment. Your gaze raises back to the starlit ones of your lord, and you give him a head bow. "I understand, my lord. I will see it done."

He steps closer, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "Desire holds you in high regard, Amata. This task is not only one of duty, but of trust. Do not let your heart waver; their recent actions have been untoward and inciteful."

You meet his gaze, your eyes flickering as understanding blooms in your mind. Is Morpheus implying that his imprisonment had been influenced by Desire? It certainly sounds like an action his younger sibling would endeavor in, but one so extreme? No matter what Desire had been involved in, you would keep your head on your shoulders.

"I will not, my lord." You reassure him, "I will fulfill this task with the utmost care."

Morpheus nods, a faint smile touching his lips. "Very well. Proceed with caution."

With a wave of his hand, the world around you shifts, the throne room dissolving into a blur of colors and sensations. When the world stabilizes, you find yourself standing at the entrance to the Threshold, the realm of Desire.

The Threshold is a place of intoxicating beauty and temptation, its landscapes ever-changing to suit the whims of its ruler. The air is thick with the scent of exotic flowers and the hum of desire, a palpable force that seems to tug at your very soul. It is almost a second home to your nature.

You take a deep breath, clearing the suave nature of the realm to lower your guard, from your mind and approach the entrance. The door to the Threshold opens before you, revealing Desire lounging on a lavish chaise, their golden eyes gleaming with amusement. You blink at the cat suit, tail and ears flicking. Their latest form certainly suits them. Catlike indeed.

"Ah, my dear Amata," Desire purrs, rising gracefully to greet you. "What brings you to my domain?" As you step forward into the space and the door closes behind you, Desire slinks up to you and curls their fingers around your jaw to caress your beauty.

You bow slightly, holding out the papers to them, well used to their seductive nature and, if anything, immune to their charm. Desire could not compete with adoration. It is the reason why you are always tasked with business at the Threshold. "I come bearing important documents from Lord Morpheus. He entrusted me with their delivery."

There is a flicker of curiosity in their eyes, and you can sense them reading your thoughts through your actions. They take the documents from your hand, their fingers lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary.

"Interesting," they murmur, flipping through the pages with an air of intrigue. "Matters of great importance indeed." Desire's gaze lifts to meet yours, their eyes filled with a mischievous glint. The papers evaporate in their hands. "I must say, I'm surprised to see you here, Amata. You've been ever so busy tending to the Dreaming."

You shrug slightly, trying to maintain a neutral expression. "With Lord Morpheus returned, I have many tasks to resume," you reply simply. Desire chuckles softly, their voice sending shivers down your spine.

"Ah yes, Morpheus," they purr, running a finger along the edge of your jawline where a galaxy swirls along the curve. Desire would never admit it, but Dream had outdone himself on your creation. "He has always been one for duty and responsibility, has he not?" Their gaze drifts down to your lips, and you can feel the heat of their desire radiating off them in waves.

"He takes the matters of the Dreaming with the greatest of importance," you agree, feeling a surge of pride for the realm you both serve so diligently.

Desire's smile widens, a glint of mischief in their eyes. "Indeed, he does. And yet, I cannot help but wonder about the balance between duty and desire. Tell me, Amata, have you never wished for more?"

You roll your eyes, refusing to be swayed by Desire's insinuations. This is not the first time you and Desire have had this conversation. "My wishes are irrelevant, Desire. My duty to Lord Morpheus and the Dreaming comes first."

Desire seems to appreciate your resolve, a hint of admiration flickering in their eyes before they finally release you from their grasp. "Very well," they say finally, their lips transforming into a wicked smile. "I shall see that these documents reach their destination safely. But I would hate that you came all this way just for business with little old me."

Desire's eyes twinkle with mischief as they reach behind a cushion, revealing a small, ornate bottle. The glass catches the light, casting rainbows across the opulent room. "Before you take your leave," Desire says, holding the bottle out to you, "I have a little something for you. A token of my... affection."

You eye the bottle warily, your hand hesitating as you reach out to take it. The scent that wafts from the open bottle is intoxicating, an intoxicating mix of jasmine and orange with an undercurrent of something wild and untamed. It stirs something deep within you, a longing that you've kept buried for centuries.

"It's a special blend," Desire purrs, watching your reaction with interest. "A perfume unlike any other. Just a dab behind your ears, and it will make the stars themselves seem bland in comparison. I think it will complement your gorgeous complexion, my little dream."

You admire the delicate bottle, gazing at the shimmering fluid suspended in glass. It is almost as if Desire has harnessed the glimmering beauty of stars and swirled it into the perfume to add a touch of your creator. They would never be so thoughtful, however. Your gaze lifts back to Desire, and you give them a thankful but hesitant smile.

"I am honored to receive such a gift from you, Desire," you tell the Endless as your brow furrows. They can see the 'but' lingering in your tone and prompt you.

"But…?" Desire purrs, an eyebrow raised while one of their hands finds its way to your chin, making sure that you are looking in their eyes.

"I have never worn perfume before," you admit shyly. "Am I even worthy of wearing such a cherished creation of Desire?"

The glimmer in Desire's golden eyes almost matches the perfume as their lips curl and they chuckle.

"Oh, my dearest Amata," Desire strokes your galactic skin once more. "Do not let that hold you back. Allow me the honor of applying your first application of perfume," Desire whispers, their voice like velvet.

You swallow, feeling a mixture of nervousness and anticipation. "I... I don't know what to expect," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. "Am— am I the one meant to smell it? Or, or is it meant for others?"

Desire's smile widens, a blend of amusement and genuine affection. "That is the beauty of it, my dear. It can be both. Trust me." With that, they uncap the bottle in your hands, the glass stopper releasing a fragrance that is both intoxicating and comforting. They wave the glass wand beneath your nose, ensuring that the scent reaches your senses, before drawing it up your neck. Then with careful precision, Desire tilts your head side to side to dab the perfume behind your ears.

As the scent envelops you, it feels as though the stars themselves have been captured within the bottle, their essence now a part of your very being. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to be lost in the experience. The intoxicating fragrance seems to seep into your pores, filling you with a sense of warmth and longing. It is a feeling you have never experienced before, and it leaves you feeling both vulnerable and alive.

Desire steps back, admiring their handiwork. You open your eyes and gaze at the bottle in your hand. The perfume seems to glow with an inner light, its beauty almost mesmerizing.

"There," Desire says, their voice soft and satisfied. "Now, you will carry the essence of our encounter with you wherever you go. It will serve as a reminder of the connection we share, and the feelings that exist between us." They return the stopper to the perfume bottle and close your fingers around it.

"Go now, Amata," they say, their voice a purred command. "We wouldn't want to keep Dream waiting, now would we?" They return to their lounge upon the red chaise, tail flicking lazily about while you stare down at the little bottle in your hand.

As you step through the entrance back to the Dreaming, the scent of Desire's perfume fills your senses. The fragrance is subtle yet powerful, carrying with it a yearning that resonates deep within your being. You can't help but wonder if this is a normal reaction to the perfume. Surely it is; Desire would never seek to harm you. What would have changed in thousands o fyears you had known them?

You continue your normal route to the palace, slowly feeling your inner being get warmer and warmer. Lifting a hand, you run your fingertips along your jaw and nearly shiver as electrical pleasure echoes across your flesh. Ignore your being, Amata, you always feel a little odd upon your return.

But the sensations only grow worse. You find yourself acutely aware of your surroundings, each sound and sensation amplified by the perfume's effect on your senses. The soft rustle of fabric as you walk, the echo of your footsteps on the marble floor, the dim glow of the dreamlights casting shadows that dance and flicker around you—all of it combines to create a heightened state of awareness. Then an uncomfortable cramp blooms in your abdomen, and the fabric of your dress feels as if it were knives against your flesh.

You attempt to return to your duties in the library, but your discomfort and nausea only intensify, making it impossible for you to focus on the tasks at hand. No matter how you shift, your dress still feels painful against your skin, and the cramping within your abdomen worsens.

As the discomfort in your abdomen intensifies, you double over, clutching your stomach as a wave of nausea washes over you. The scent of the perfume that once filled you with longing now becomes suffocating, making your head spin. The library around you spins and swirls, the endless tomes blurring together in a kaleidoscope of color and text.

"Amata?" Lucienne's voice cuts through the haze, her concerned expression etched into your blurry vision as she rushes to your side. "My goodness, you look ever so poorly!"

Her brow furrows as she studies your face, her hand gently resting on your forehead. Your normally cool skin feels like it is burning from the inside out. You make a noise at her touch and twitch. The scent of the perfume that once filled you with longing now clings to you like an angry shroud, making your head spin.

"Amata, my dear," she murmurs, her voice gentle and soothing. "What is it that ails you?" Her touch sends a wave of relief coursing through your body, easing the cramp in your abdomen. Yet it is still not enough. You need more.

You shake your head weakly; you have no idea. Lucienne's expression softens as she guides you to a nearby chair, seating you gently before kneeling at your feet. "Take deep breaths," she instructs softly. "Perhaps it would be best if you return to your quarters to rest."

"I have work to do," you protest in a barely comprehensible voice.

"Nonsense, you must rest," the librarian scolds you. "Return to your quarters and do not come back until you are better rested."

You comply with great reluctance, for not once in your existence have you ever needed to take a break from your duties. So you head to your quarters, periodically taking pauses to grimace through bludgeoning pain in your abdomen. Stumbling into your room, you glance at your neat bed and decide that you absolutely were not going to climb in bed feeling like a sweaty mess. So your eyes shift to the door to your bath.

You push through the pain, determined to take a bath and regain some semblance of normalcy. As you step into the bathing chamber, you are greeted by the soothing scent of your favorite mixture of herbs and flowers. The warm water beckons you, and you undress quickly, eager to lose the fabric that feels so painful and submerge yourself in its comforting embrace.

Lowering yourself into the softly bubbling water, you whimper as the bubbles pop against your skin. This is supposed to make you feel better! But the pain persists, gnawing at you despite the warmth of the water. You close your eyes, trying to focus on the soothing aroma and the gentle sound of the water, but the discomfort is relentless. Each breath feels like a struggle, and you wonder if this will ever end.

Your eyes sting with unshed tears as you climb out of the bath, wrapping yourself in a thick, plush robe. The fabric feels soft against your sensitive skin, but it does little to alleviate the pain that still grips your abdomen.

You make your way to your bed, the soft sheets beckoning you like a sanctuary. With a weary sigh, you slip beneath the covers, curling up into a tight ball as you try to find a comfortable position. But no matter how you shift, the pain persists, throbbing relentlessly with each beat of your heart. You close your eyes and focus on your breathing, hoping that rest will bring you some relief.

Date Published: 5/30/24

Last Edit: 5/30/24

Masterlist | Desire

#lord morpheus #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #sandman x reader #dream the endless x reader #the sandman netflix #dream of the endless #the sandman #dream the endless

[seiwas]

#it’s kind of my read into bakugo when it comes to themes of regret and reconciliation (with many things) #bc it’s how i feel like i understand him the most #i think he lives with a lot of regret as he matures!!! probably cringes at the embarrassing shit he did in middle school #and how difficult it is for him to kind of correct things #esp bc i think he struggles a bit with expressing how he feels adequately #lowkey feel like theres lots of miscomm when it comes to what he means vs what comes out/how it sounds #and also i think theres always going to be a part of him that will never be satisfied making up for his wrongs #idt he’ll ever feel like it’s enough bc damage done is still damage done #and honestly u break up bc of that #in the middle of ur relationship i think that regret eats at him a lot and it carries over to his feelings w u #and i feel like in an effort to salvage / prevent damage from being done / prevent him from regretting anything in your relationship #he breaks it off #but honestly that’s the dumbest thing he can do bc he regrets it even more now haha #so the fic will touch on all those things!! #im anticipating it to be longer than 7k for sure! cos there’s a lot to unpack i feel #but yea ! pls let me know ! #also the music that inspires me for this are: #1. will it ever feel the same (bazzi) #2. xx (the millennial club) #3. when it’s just you and i (the millennial club) #4. sunbleach (christian kuria) <- this one the most omfg #5. thinking bout you (rei brown & joji) #6. could i be somebody (rei brown) #7. waiting for you (rei brown) #not necessarily bc of the lyrics but more the ~~vibes of it THO some lyrics hit too #ANYWAY THATS ALL thank u for listening to me blabber #shotorus.process #will any of you even be interested in an ex bakugo fic #there are so many good ones out there alr 😭😭😭

[rubberbandballqueen]

yesterday at work, the kids had to like, make their own puzzles by drawing stuff on paper n then cutting them into pieces n stuff, n this one kid came up to me saying that the kid sitting next to him was saying mean things, n the second kid was like, "it wasn't me, it was him!" n pointed at the creature he'd drawn for his puzzle.

i didn't really know how to handle the situation (though thinking about it, i probably should have just said that just bc the creature was saying mean things abt his friend didn't mean he was in the right for passing on those thoughts), so i just told him i didn't want to solve his puzzle if the creature it featured was gong to be so mean to other people, and for some reason it worked??

i guess it's just easy to forget how deeply children care about what adults think bc of how we as adults have learned to not care so much abt what other people think and operate on the assumption that others don't automatically care abt our thoughts.

#the worm speaks #it felt difficult to handle in the moment bc i don't want to stifle children's compulsion to explore ideas n concepts through fiction #specifically bc fiction and fantasy are very harmless spaces; but obviously what was being made was being used as a vehicle to bully others #and that was absolutely in need of correcting #and i wasn't sure how to reprimand that w/o possibly teaching kids to conflate something bad happening in fantasy #with doing bad things to others in reality #anyway thinking abt it today when making this post helped me pinpoint how to handle it next time #i.e. that kids are agents in their own right and they have the choice to pass things on to others #whether that be something kind and true like compliments; or mean and vicious like bullying; or even literal germs and disease!! #anyway the second kid actually seemed really nice once i insisted that i didn't want to do his puzzle bc it featured something mean #n like obviously i didn't want to tell kids that the things they make up are automatically reflections of the kind of person THEY are #bc that's super not true!!! but i poked abt asking him a couple questions abt it n that's how he ended up telling me 'he told me to say it' #'he lives inside of my head' n i was like 'hmm.' bc he's pretty young... first grade i think? so maybe a reflection of meaner impulses #but i'm not him! i can't say that for certain! n i don't believe in making those kinds of assumptions about people #so i guess the way i handled it was basically saying i didn't want to interact w/people who are influenced by others to be mean #i guess i'm always expecting to be working w/teenagers who'd be like 'you don't get it! i'm gonna make my own choices!' #n i'd be like 'yep sure buddy i'm not gonna stop you! but i'm setting my boundaries right here' #i have a bit of beef with how some of my coworkers treat kids-- like none of them are outright cruel i think #but i don't think some of them are being genuinely responsible with how they interact. i think it's good that they all try to be nice #n some take that to mean 'treat them like your friends!' (proceeds to gaslight kids abt whether a certain snack was available) #(n when the kids called them out they were like 'we're teaching kids to think for themselves! n to be confident in their own experiences') #like. i don't think that picking out the snacks you like before feeding the kids is right. we are not kings; we are caretakers #n like i can see how that can be kind of a joke one might make in certain flavors of friend groups but like. certainly not to a child. #one plays obvious favorites; others place restrictions w/o explaining why they're there (bc they're obvious to adults) #n tbh i'm probably a headache myself bc i'm ~probably~ enabling kids in some way so i'm not gonna condemn the ones who #tell kids 'no you can't do that' w/o much explanation. n i think for the most part they're all trying #but i STILL disagree w/my now-gone supervisor who insisted that i treat kids the way i do 'bc it's in my nature/personality' #it most CERTAINLY is not!!!!! i was SUCH a hater of ANYONE younger than me for a LONG TIME growing up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #i had to be TAUGHT these things. i had to LEARN to LISTEN to kids and take them seriously!!!!!!!!! #a kid on friday told me he had mixed feelings abt some of his older friends possibly becoming youth workers at the camp in the summer

[thelikesoffinn]

„Astarion ending as the Vampire Ascendant is the correct ending for him, because it is what he wants.”

That is a claim I’ve been seeing pop up more and more often these days. And I think it’s both a very bold and a very odd claim to make.

But first things first: Hello, I’m a licensed social worker! So far, I’ve worked with children, refugees and youths with behavioural issues stemming from bullying and or abuse.

Please be aware that I will be mentioning different kinds of abuse, coping mechanisms, and victim/abuser relationships. If any of this is difficult for you, don’t force yourself through it. My jabbering about a traumatised vampire is not worth your wellbeing, not ever.

I will, however try to stick to Astarion and not use other examples. If, in any case, I do use a non-Astarion example, I’ll add a warning beforehand so that you can skip the part. And I’ll make it clear what will be discussed in the next bit, so that you have a chance to skip it entirely.

This is an effort to make this as accessible as possible for everyone that wants to indulge on a mad woman’s rambling – and I know there’s a few people that like this sort of stuff!

And, uh, there's obviously spoilers for all three acts. Serious spoilers, even.

Before I can get into the whole ‘why Astarion didn’t really want to ascend,’ we need to understand him a little more. And to understand this pretty boy’s brain, we first need to understand the gist of what we’re talking about when we throw around the word ‘abuse.’

“Abuse” is when someone is treated with cruelty, violence, or neglect – often to bad effect – on a regular basis. Repetitively. Check’s out for Astarion, I’d say, but we all knew that already. I mean, if one thing was obvious, it was this.

1. Astarions Abuse

Next we need to look at what kind of abuse Astarion faced over his long years of torment, seeing as different types of abuse will have different effects on the victim.

Not that that is anything we have to worry about with him – Astarion won the abuse lottery, to put it bluntly. In a horrible game of fate, he got everything. He himself indirectly mentions all the types of abuse he faced, albeit never using the correct terms.

The first we properly notice – fitting, seeing as it is often the most obvious form of abuse – is the physical abuse. Astarions scars are probably the biggest tell Larian could shove down our throats, only underlined by Astarion’s tale about the night itself. About how Cazador ‘misspelled something’ every time he flinched or screamed and had to do ‘many corrections. On top of this, Cazador locked Astarion up for months on end and tortured him – or had him tortured – on a regular basis both as a rite and as a punishment.

Next up, we have the fact that Astarion was forced to basically prostitute himself repeatedly. This is what we call sexual exploitation.

“I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my Master.” – Act 2

Two hundred years is a long time, filled with great many people. Now, we don’t know how many of those people actually tapped into the sexual exploitation and how many he could just lure back with other means, but the fact that it happened a lot is undeniable.

Next we have a form of abuse that we often disregard in adults: Neglect. It sounds odd, I know, saying that a fully grown adult was neglected. They can care for themselves, can they not?

Well. Yes and no.

Adult neglect is proceeded by the condition that one adult has to lean on another adult to fulfil their needs for whatever reason. This could be anything, from disability to income-based issues.  

Seeing as Astarion had absolutely nothing, while Cazador had everything, we can assume this was the case. Cazador had the house, the money, the power. Astarion owns but one pair of clothes, assumedly, that he has fixes over and over again. Fair to say, that’s pretty neglectful. (And it’s one more reason to shower the guy in pretty armour and camp clothes. Go ham, people.)

Last we have the form of abuse we actually get to witness later in the game – emotional abuse.

Once again, it’s undeniable that this happened. Especially since we’re all seeing it in the flesh upon meeting Cazador in his crypt.

“Have you no respect for yourself?”

“I strove for perfection in all things. Even those as imperfect as you.”

“A pity you amounted to so little, despite my efforts.”

“A pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything.”

All Act 3, Crypt

Here we have just a few examples of things Cazador throws in his face. It’s like reading a textbook on emotional abuse, this one (and it’s definitely a reason to throw hands).

Blaming the victim, keeping their sense of self and their self-worth as tiny as possible to make them cower and flee. A true classic.

This pretty much shows that Astarion suffered all forms of abuse we commonly see and it is implied – once again by Astarion himself – that at least a few of those instances were ritualistic.

Now, what does that mean exactly? Well, I fear I need to use a real example here, so please skip the next paragraph.

Ritualistic doesn’t refer to a proper ritual – it can, but that’s mostly a thing for those in a cult. So, we’re not necessarily talking about a ‘Vampire Ascendent Ritual’. A husband, beating his wife every evening after his third bottle of beer is also called ritual abuse. It happens regularly. It is part of a routine. Both parties know what will happen.

I can’t find the exact quote, so I’m working of my memory here, but at one point he said that when Cazador invited him to eat and he said yes, he would be served a putrid rat. If he said no, he’d be beaten.

The way it was phrased made it clear that it happened more than once and that Astarion clearly knew what would happen. So, this can be classified as ritualistic abuse.

2. A Note on Conditioning and Compliance

By default, abuse victims are conditioned to behave a certain way or in a certain fashion. This is a natural response to avoid further abuse.

In Astarion, the thing we see most often is his inherent need to please. Not literally, he doesn’t mind being an arsehole. But he initially feels the need to follow Tav’s orders, even if they go against his own wishes.

This can be clearly seen in the conversation with Araj Oblodra. Astarion very clearly doesn’t want to bite her. He doesn’t. But he will do so, if Tav tells him to. This behaviour is not conscious – he doesn’t know why he does it, he just does – and it is to be expected. This is how he kept himself save for two centuries, so of course he will fall back into his usual pattern when the pressure is high.

This goes hand in hand with the fact that most abuse victims don’t fight. Maybe initially, but not after long term abuse. Especially not after two fucking centuries.

This is true in Astarion – offered by his ‘siblings’ during act 3 and unhappily acquiesced by the man himself. Astarion stopped fighting and, once again implied, cowered, and did as he was told in order to survive.

3. The Astarion we know and love

Obviously, all that abuse does have an impact on our vampire boyfriend. He shows various common signs of abuse and just like with the forms of abuse, Astarion raked every coping mechanism he could find. (Not really, but it feels like it.) It’s also important to note that nearly all of the following things happen inwardly. Astarion is not one of the victims, that tries to rationalise and minimise the actions of his abuser. Quite the opposite, actually.

I’ll note from the beginning, that rationalisation will not be covered in this bit, as most examples will be important later on. But he definitely does it.

One of his biggest skills is to hide every ounce of fear or hurt behind sarcasm and snarky theatrics. He doesn’t seem to hide his anger much, though, so that’s something! Our boy is cool with anger, not so much with being afraid.

“Ahahaha, now that you mention it….I might have done…that.” – Act 3, regarding the Gur children

“The thing that will decide my fate forever more? Yeees, it’s been on my miiiind. Why?” – Act 2, regarding the Ritual

And there’s many more instances that prove this. Honestly, half his dialogue is sarcasm, so it would really be too long to get into and we all know what I mean, right? We have alltalked to the guy before. It’s obvious that he’s sarcastic to a fault.

This goes hand in hand with his penchant for defensiveness. I would personally state that he’s simply not really good with guilt. When talking about fear, he usually just opts for sarcasm or avoids the topic completely, but guilt especially has his defences going up. This is also when he’s most likely to shove all the blame off to Cazador.

“Don’t look at me like that. Cazadors orders.” – Act 3, Crypt

“I just did what I had to!” – Act 3, Crypt

And don’t get me wrong, he does that anyway. And with good reason. Astarion didn’t have a choice for the most part, but he’s still easy to shove things off.

This kind of connects to his penchant for denial.

Astarion doesn’t really like to talk about most things. He firmly believes he is an ‘action’ sort of person that just does instead of plans, which invertedly just means he’s great at pushing the thinking stuff away. He also likes to get rid of stuff, so that he doesn’t need to face it ever again.

“I never want to see these little scraps of misery again. The world doesn’t need to know my shame.” – Act 3, about the children

And yes, this partly rings true. He’s probably ashamed and doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s done. But it’s also very clear that he himself simply doesn’t want to face his own actions, something that is just  underlined by his extreme willingness to red rid of the other spawn.

As mentioned by Astarion himself, he’s big on manipulation. I mean, I don’t think there is much explaining necessary. The guy is willing to do a whole lot in order to get what he desires – which mostly revolves around safety and survival, to be honest – and he’s not really shy about it either. And that’s despite the fact that he doesn’t really like intimacy – especially in form of sex.

It’s not a secret that Astarion is not big on sex and anything surrounding it. This goes far enough for people to consider him either ace or ace coded.

A claim that, personally, I’m not super in line with.

Now, it’s not entirely wrong and if this is your head cannon I’m surely not going to stand in your way – but on a larger spectrum, I think he’s more traumatised than ace. And while those go hand in hand sometimes, it’s a bit difficult for the ace community if you attach traumatised characters to them because it can fuel a whole lot of stigma that is honestly neither needed nor wanted. But I digress!

If it comes to his own behaviour, he’s great at minimising his mistakes. Honestly, he’s a master of minimisation. A very obvious and famous example would be:

“’Killed’ feels like a…strong word. Not many corpses have your vigour.” – Act 1, after killing Tav

Astarion. You literally sucked poor Tav dry and left them flopping around, cold, and dead. Killed is exactly the right word and we all know it.

“Quite the deviation from my usual routine. Capture, not lure. I didn’t bring them in with sweet rolls or anything.” – Act 3, Gur Children

This is another attempt at minimising what he did, if a bit less obvious because at this point there isn’t much he can say. But at least he didn’t sexualise the gur children, right? They’re still spawn but whoo, at least that didn’t happen.  

The next point would be dissociation, which is extremely common in abuse victims – of all forms of abuse.

Astarion himself mentioned certain moments that could be classified as dissociation over course of the story, which is probably the coping mechanism I personally expected the most.

The pale elf has a penchant for violence, but he’s not entirely shameless or abhorrently vile, which gets clearer the more the story progresses. So, two hundred years of forced prostitution, torture and doing whatever other horrible things? Yeah, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t dissociate.

Examples of that would be:

“A moment of disgust to push myself through and then I could’ve carried on, just like before.” – Act 2, after Araj

“I felt nothing the moment I handed them over.” – Act 3, Gur Children

“Did you enjoy it? It felt like you weren’t fully there.” – Act 1, Tav after Sex

The latter is generally more of an assumption than actual prove, but with context it does make sense.

The last common sign of abuse we find in our boyfriend would be his low self-worth. It’s a consistent trait that stays over the course of all three acts, noticeable in many different conversations.

We can see it in his reaction to wanting to break up before finishing his story. We can see it in his genuine surprise when Tav picks him over any of the other characters. We see it in his insecurity whenever Tav asks to sleep with another character. He’s fine with it, but he still worries their decision to sleep with someone else is based on something he did.

It eases up ever so slightly after Cazador is dead, but even then he’s still struggling which is once again perfectly illustrated if you try to break up with him.

“Oh shit. I- Did I do something wrong?”

That is the first thing he asks and I think it speaks for itself. He genuinely doesn’t believe he has much to offer and for Astarion, it’s likely that Astarion will always be the problem.

4. "Oh, I tried them all none of them answered.”

Another big thing that’s important to note, is that Astarion was never saved. No one came to save him from Cazador. There was no darling boy on a white steed riding into that castle to rescue him and princess carry him away. Not even the gods answered his desperate calls.

So, he never received any kindness or luck. To him, the world seems as cruel and horrid as before because he didn’t have the chance to experience goodness in two centuries.

But worse than that, he didn’t even get to save himself. Astarion didn’t stand up to Cazador, he didn’t run out of his own might.

He was beaten to near death and ‘saved’ by Cazador, who would become his abuser.

He tried to save someone and, in turn, was locked up and starved for an entire year.

He was abducted by mind flayers, i.e., saved from Cazador, only to end up tadpoled and on the cusp of getting a fancy, squiddy beard.

Anything that’s good, any kindness, any selfless action…it all came with a ginormous price tag.

5. Over the Course of the Story

Astarions behaviour changes a whole lot over the course of three acts – which is important once we talk about his quests climax – so let’s review what we’re working with!

Act 1 Astarion is guarded as fuck. The man has walls around him that are so high, even the gods can touch them.

A lot of his behaviour in act 1 revolves around staying save and staying liked. He lies, manipulates, and flutters his lashes in order to get what he wants and needs. Instead of asking, like Wyll, Karlach and Gale do, Astarion uses all he has to offer to get by. He is still very much in survival mode and tries to weasel his way through an unfamiliar situation with familiar methods.

On top of that, and most notably, he’s absolutely not fond of kindness or selflessness.

#I saved a child and now my boyfriend is mad

Here, we are most likely to gain disapproval for doing the decent thing – unless you sent him outside for a minute whenever you’re being a good person.

And I’d assume that this is because of two things.

First: The very traditional ‘Why not me?’

As I mentioned before, Astarion wasn’t saved. He hasn’t experienced kindness in a very long time so seeing that the world is literally filled with kind people is hurtful. Why didn’t anyone save him? Why was he left to his own devices for so long? Why should he care about others when it’s so clear that no one ever cared about him? No, dead to all of them. If he didn’t get it, neither will they.

“And what am I owed? What about the injustices I suffered? Am I not entitled to anything?” – Act 3, Crypt

“I was in the prime of my life when I was turned. Everything was taken from me too.” – Act 3, Crypt

And secondly is the fact that, as I mentioned, goodness always has a price. And it’s one most people won’t be willing to pay. That’s how his life has been, so why would theirs be different?

This is precisely why Astarion may disapprove of kind actions, but he mostly neither approves nor disapproves if Tav asks for payment. That’s just how the world works.

Once you venture out into act 2, after getting to know him a whole lot more, he starts to mellow a bit – if only towards Tav.

“He’s afraid, so afraid, of everyone but you, who she should fear the most.” – Sceleritas about Astarion

His approval is a lot easier to gain – or at least keep! – and he tends to approve of some more proper actions. He doesn’t throw a fit if you promise to find Mol, he approves of Tav being kind to His Majesty, of saving Aylin and he even approves of Durge apologising to Isobel after threatening to rip her to pieces.

He's slowly starting to open up, allowing Tav to see some parts of him he previously kept hidden. He accepts their offer to help, if hesitantly and, by god, the man starts experimenting with boundaries.

The social worker in me is shedding tears at this. It’s my favourite thing to see in my clients and it’s no different here. Yay to saying no!

Of course, it’s still a bit hit or miss. If Tav urges him to bite Araj, for example, he will only to later notice that he didn’t fucking have to. He recognises this on his own and he calls Tav out on it. Just like he calls them out on not helping him with his Orthon quest.

Good job, chap. Good fucking job.

And the growth-train won’t stop going even as we reach act 3.

In act 3, there’s not many things he disapproves as of right now – those he does, mostly have to do with how Tav treats him and not with anyone else. In fact, he’s more likely to approve good behaviour now, like giving Yenna food or money.

And yes, we need to consider that this could simply be because he gets used to Tav’s behaviour and just learns to roll with it. But it’s also highly likely that he notices that there’s truly good people around. At least one person. And that person is not only good, no, they’re in the process of helping him break free once and for all.

They’re helping him save himself.

By act 3, he has learned that he can absolutely say his piece where Tav is concerned and he’s more likely to disagree with them on certain things. It’s seen during a lot of small dialogue that he’s no longer terribly afraid to be honest with them, willing to listen and talk and he’ll ask for help if he needs it.

“I can do this. But I need your help.” – Act 3, Crypt

Something that can be viewed both positively and negatively is that he’s definitely loyal to a fault. He will stick by Tav’s side, no matter what.

“I really hoped we could avoid being pawns for a dark god, but here we are, I suppose. I’m with you, my dear, wherever this might lead.” – Act 3, After Jaheira confronts durge

As I said, this can be both positive and negative. On one count, it’s a recipe for disaster, seeing as he could be waltzing into a really bad situation for Tav alone.

But on the other side…this is a man who only cared about himself because that is the only person he could afford to care about. He needed to survive. He now has enough room to breathe and the capacity to care for someone else and I’d be inclined to count that as a good thing.

6. The Crypt

All the progress he made in act 2 and 3 is nearly tossed into the wind as soon as the crew enters Cazadors castle.

It’s not an immediate thing, of course.

At first, Astarion tries to stay light and simple and he hides behind flippant tones and relaxed faces. The way he recounts this is almost comically disinterested and the façade is actually quite good.

It’s start’s cracking after we meet Godie, one of the people who tortured him on more than one account, but he mostly manages to remain as upbeat as one can honestly expect for the first half of the journey.

All that, however, is done for the very moment we meet Sebastian. His mask not only slips, no, it full on shatters and there’s none of his apparent lightness left.

Which, of course it does.

The man is suddenly faced with years and years and years of victims. Innocent, unlucky people he lured back to his master over two centuries. People he liked, people he pitied.

“It’s sickening, seeing them again.”

It’s basically a room filled with guilt, exclusively for Astarion. And, as we mentioned before…Astarion is not great with guilt.

The guilt, however, is not where it ends.

No, he’s also faced with reflections of his own past. The spawn pose as reminders of what he did, sure, but also as reminders of what he was.

Weak, desperate, hungry.

There’s an abundance of images of his worst moments, reflected back at him in the thousands. It’s probably like staring into a funhouse mirror, but instead of seeing yourself in a funky way he just sees everything he so desperately doesn’t want to be.

“It should be [who I am]! I don’t want to be like them. They’re pathetic, horrible…”

He’s forcefully made aware of how darn weak he can be, which claws at all the wounds he’s barely had time to close. Something, he of course won’t admit if asked.

“THEY DO NOT [remind me of myself]. That weakness in me is dead, IT’S DEAD. I have a higher purpose.”

The high pressure of the moment brings out all of his act 1 traits in but a few moments. You can pretty much watch how he starts to shut down mid conversation, one of his old walls snapping back into place to remove himself from the situation.

Thing is though, walls usually become a bit brittle after disuse. Especially when talking to a person you don’t usually want to wall out.

Or, in his case, when talking to Tav.

After meeting Sebastian, Astarion shows extreme reactions to Tav nudging any of his weak spots. His reaction varies on whatever choice you make, but it ranges from aggression to defensiveness, to denial and even to downright begging Tav.

“Don’t hate me. I just did what I had to. I swear I did what I had to.”

This probably the most shocking out of all of them, since that is not something we got to witness before. The begging is likely a mixture of intense fear of losing Tav, his low self-esteem and pre-Tav behaviour, since we can assume that Cazador made him beg more than once.

Another old coat he puts back on would also be the least surprising of them all.

Manipulation.

He falls right back into it, using Tav’s affection to get what he want if we trigger the right action.

“If they die and I ascend, I won't have to rely on the parasite to walk in the sun. I'll be free. Truly completely free. Isn't that what you want?”

This, to me, was probably the biggest tell that Astarion was back in survival mode. He’s panicking, for fucks sake, and who can blame the guy? He’s back. He’s about to face down his abuser.

Of course he’s fucking panicking.

Panic leads to an increased craving for safety and, in his case, power. This is why he clings to Tav, why he begs them to love him still. And this is why he jumps head first into the rationalisation pool.

“I will need to sacrifice them all if I want to perform the ritual. - [You can save them.] – What’s the point? They're as good as dead! I thought they were dead. If they are unleashed, they will cause incredible carnage. […] They must die. Better they serve a purpose.”

Another textbook example.

They must die anyway. They’re basically dead. No need to save them now. They’re dangerous, I’m doing the right thing by sacrificing them. I already thought they were dead, so it’s not changing anything for me. They’re a lost cause and I deserve  all this power. I deserve it, because I suffered and nothing will change if they die.

So, seeing as we already spoke about his usual behaviour in act 3 – behaviour he showed after we allowed him to breathe and be himself for a while – I think we can fairly easily conclude he’s not thinking straight.

Astarion is right back in survival mode, where all that matters is he himself. If it weren’t for the seven thousand spawns, he might have moved through this more gracefully, but seeing those tipped the scales and Astarion is absolutely losing it.

Remember that for the last section, per favore.

7. The Ascension

“Astarion wants to ascend and Tav manipulates him into doing what they want.”

That is basically the essence of what people often claim and I can’t help but shake my head at such a blatant disregard of everything he has become. This is completely ignoring the change and growth he has gone through over the course of their journey.

Astarion wants to be free. He wants to be safe. That does not mean he wants to ascend.

And the claim that Tav manipulates him into doing anything is even more baffling. We are all aware that Tav is not manipulative by nature, yes? That is entirely on you. You decide who your Tav is.

And then let’s remember: Astarion is panicked. He’s afraid and he’s not thinking straight. His abuser is on his knees before him and he still feels so weak. And there’s seven thousand spawns that need handling.

Astarion is very much not okay right now.

In fact, reading his thoughts just proves this theory.

“You can see the fear in his eyes but also the hunger. The thick smell of blood in the air and the promise of power being so close is intoxicating to him. All he can see is the power of the ritual and the freedom that power brings. The freedom to do anything. To be anything.”

Tav, however, has none of those problems. They can actually see beyond the current situation and they are fully aware what the consequences are. Astarion is not. As we previously established, Astarion is a doer. Not a thinker. He didn’t think this through, not at all.

The only thing Tav is doing – the persuasion roll – is reminding him of the very real consequences he is facing. The consequences he hasn’t thought about before.

"I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

And that is the kindest thing Tav could do in this situation. They’re not bodily dragging him away from Cazador. They’re not even telling him to not do it. They’re just offering him the truth. He can do with that information whatever he desires.

“Astarion cries when he doesn’t ascend, that just shows that it was the wrong choice.”

A hare-brained point that I thankfully have only seen once so far.

That crying? That is healthy crying.

That is him, crumbling under the stress that suddenly dissipates. That is him mourning two hundred years of torment. That’s him letting out feelings he hasn’t been able to for centuries.

And, for the love of god, try to put yourself in his shoes.

Two hundred years of torment, ended in but a moment.

Astarion was abused and tortured for so long, afraid for so long only to see his tormentor die just like that.

Cazador died within a moment and all Astarion needed was a darn blade. Of course he fucking cries.

Seeing how pathetic a being the very core of your life’s misery actually is hurts. It hurts like hell because not only are you finally free – free! – no, you’re faced with the fact that this pile of nothing, the thing that’s bleeding out right in front of you…this was what tortured for so long.

This thing hurt you so much. That guy took everything from you, everything you once were, and broke it again and again and again over years.

You were so scared of this thing.

And yet he has the gall and the gumption to die just like that.

It was so easy.

And yet you suffered for so long.

8. Evil Playthrough?

An evil playthrough is really a different setting altogether.

All of this, as you can probably tell, is really only applicable on a good playthrough. Realistically speaking. I’m not sure how the game mechanics handle it.

On an evil path, Astarion never really gets to experience kindness and goodness. Evil Tav will just prove him right in his believe that the world is a vile and cold place, meaning that he realistically would be more inclined to actually want to ascend.

9. Final Conclusion

I think all of this should be enough to make it clear that no, ascended Astarion is not the best ending for the guy. In fact, it is probably the worst. Because it’s just him, running away. He’s running into a lonely and cold state of being, where cruelty and power lord over everything else and he’s running because he’s terrified of being hurt again. He’s running despite desperately wanting to stop running.

“I'll spend the rest of my life running watching the shadows, never feeling safe…no, this has to happen. Here and now.”

And, the worst part is: Nothing about Astarion is left after he ascends. Even his tone of speaking gradually changes, his theatrics fading. He’s slowly losing himself, until there’s nothing but an evil caricature left.

So, in the end, ascension will have proven him right.

That version of him is dead.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate #baldurs gate #bg3 #astarion #the dark urge #tav #astarion romance #astarion ancunin #astarion and tav #bg3 act 1 #bg3 act 2 #bg3 act 3 #act 3 #act 2 #act 1 #araj oblodra

[cbartonscoffee]

I think I've never been more aware of just how many people only get their info of the batfam through fanfic. I finally started reading Red Robin (2009) and I can not believe how many things are blown out of proportion. Particularly about Dick and Damian.

First of all, Dick does try to put limits and he does get fed up with Damian's ways sometimes. Out of the three first interactions of them in the comic, at least in two he tells him to shut up. And one of those is when Damian starts to brag about being Robin and Tim being useless, he tells him to shut up twice.

Another thing about that moment, is that they treat it like Dick completely dismisses Tim and treats him as unimportant. He doesn't. He takes him seriously, he tells him he needs him, he tells him he views his as an equal, as someone capable. And he also tells him he's concerned about him and that he needs to start processing Bruce's death. Could that have been a little harsh? Yes, but he needed to do it without making Tim think there was room for him to be convinced about his theory because let's be honest, Tim would've taken anything less than complete refusal and tried to change his mind. And had he been wrong neither of them could have taken it.

Secondly, Dick is always left to shoulder the blame of kicking Tim out and of never reaching out. That's bull. And I need to make that clear. Tim was in a delicate point, he tells us this himself multiple times, but the decision to leave was completely made out of his own free will. Another thing he did was put space between him and the people on Gotham. We see only one time in which Dick tries to call him. Tim picks up and tells him he doesn't want to talk. This tells us that Dick respecting Tim's wish of space included almost no (or even no) contact, and Dick calling was not something Tim appreciated or encouraged.

Now. Going into the second year of the run, when he's back in Gotham, there's a few things to talk about and I'm still in the aftermath of Damian and Tim's fight.

I feel it's important to say that even if they are all family, more often than not they're doing their own thing. Like, Babs and Steph are in the Batcave while Dick and Damian are in Wayne Tower, Cass is said to potentially be in Hong Kong and we haven't even heard Jason be name-dropped except for the fact that he went on a rampage at some point.

So, Dick is immediately called away in League business. So he isn't there. Damian is behaving fairly civil besides being a brat, so no one wastes too much effort in correcting what he says. We need to think about the fact that this is a kid whose world was turned upside down multiple times in a short period of time, who has a need to be accepted, and who hasn't yet found his place. All this is to say, that if it's difficult to get him to eat breakfast there's no way they're controlling his every move and that's understandable.

So Dick is away, Damian is still trying to adapt, Alfred has his hands full and everyone else is doing something else.

The whole thing starts because Tim is being kind of cryptic about what he's doing with his hit list and Damian feels left out and goes looking for more. He finds his name in a hidden double side of the hit list marking him as a threat. He understandably feels hurt and angry, because he's a kid, and he's trying, and his predecessor who at this point doesn't even try with him anymore views him as something bad.

So in classic Damian fashion, he falls back on his upbringing and doesn't deal with the situation as one should, talking about it. Instead he cuts team line, hurting before being hurt. It could've been worse, we see in the panel that Tim doesn't have that much of a hard time getting safely to the ground. The problem is that he snaps and starts a full-blown fight he knows Damian won't back out off. (I'm pleased to add that after cutting his line Damian doesn't start anything else)

So they are fighting, Tim has the clear advantage and he knows this, we know this. And that's how Dick finds them. Having just returned from a JL mission, in the place where the Waynes were murdered, with Tim having overpowered Damian.

They go back to the cave and Damian shares his findings, and Dick understands. And Tim tells him he (Dick) knows why he (Tim) did it. Dick agrees, and tells him he should have tried to make it harder to find. Tim says he hadn't thought Damian would try or even care. Dick tells him Damian wants to be accepted.

All in all, so far the only thing this comic has proven to me is that there's a reason comics are the bomb and that fanon has gotten out of hand. I get making things out to be worse for the sake of a story, but everything surrounding these events is basically used as the foundation for Damian and Tim's relationship as well as Dick and Tim's and I don't think I've once read a fanfic where these events are portrayed correctly or even following the real motivations of the characters. This is a disservice to all of them and only serves to amplify the hate towards a character that doesn't deserve it. There's a lot of Damian hate going around. And it sucks. Mostly because people use his actions against Tim to justify it and honestly? I don't think you should be allowed to use that if you haven't read RR and understood what was going on.

#batman #dc comics #tim drake #red robin #damian wayne #robin #dick grayson #nightwing #red robin 2009 #dc #batfam #batfamily #stop the damian wayne hate #and the dick grayson hate for that matter #and please try to differentiate canon and fanon #and get at least an idea of the source material

[nonasuch]

here is a fun little star wars scenario that has been pinging around inside my head like a screensaver:

so let’s say there’s some very zealous, very low-ranking fresh young Imperial officer on duty the day they take the Senator from Alderaan into custody. 

and he is very very nervous because a) he’s been here for like a week and b) none of that week required him to be in a room with Darth Vader. which he now is. so he is trying to focus very very hard on Doing Everything Exactly According To Protocol, as a means of not focusing on the seven-foot evil wizard standing fifteen feet away.

and part of the protocol for processing new prisoners is to make a new file for them in the prisoner database, and enter all their biographical details and vital statistics and a gene sample and their known associates and the nature of their terrible crimes against the Empire and so on. which he does! very meticulously!

except the computer keeps throwing an error message. the stupid thing keeps beeping at him, this awful grating little noise that makes his shoulders ratchet up tighter and tighter every time it honks at him, and he can’t fix it and Darth Vader is right over there—

except oh god oh fuck the beeping noise must be annoying Darth Vader, too, because he’s coming over here and our poor junior officer is convinced he’s going to die before he even lives long enough to send his first paycheck home to his poor widowed mother —

he stammers out an apology. Vader just stares at him. he swears he’ll figure out the problem right away, sir, it’s probably a bug in the system, it’s just that for some silly reason it keeps saying this gene sample doesn’t match the one on file for the Senator so he can’t get her logged as a new prisoner just yet —

“Dismissed,” says Vader. the poor kid flees, gratefully.

Vader considers the matter. in fact, his underling was correct: the gene sample, which he saw taken through his very own helmet lenses, does not match the official record of Senator Leia Organa, heir to the throne of Alderaan. so: perhaps the sample on record was falsified. not impossible, but very, very difficult. and ordinarily a crime attempted by the lowly and desperate. he cannot see any need for it, in the daughter of a queen.

another possibility presents itself. Alderaan has no history of using royal doubles, as some worlds do. but Bail Organa has worked closely with royal houses where the practice is long-established. perhaps he was inspired. perhaps the girl they captured is not Leia Organa at all.

Vader runs the gene sample against the ship’s database. it is woefully incomplete, of course, containing only a fraction of the Empire’s billions of citizens: the ship’s own complement, a selection of known criminals and Rebels they might encounter, high-ranking officials whose identity must be confirmed should the Emperor require their presence. unlikely that this girl, whoever she is, would have a record here, or even a partial match—

the computer beeps at him. it’s a cheerful beep, this time, not the error message that stymied the junior officer. the computer reports that the gene sample is a partial match for Pooja Naberrie, the Senator from Naboo. they are, with eighty-nine percent probability, first cousins.

and Vader just. kind of stands there. for a minute.

when he goes to Leia’s cell, there’s no interrogation droid with him. he goes in. he shuts the door behind him. he stands there, silent, for frankly a worryingly long time, until Leia has run through her entire stockpile of  “how dare you, I’m a member of the Senate on a humanitarian mission” and “whatever you want, you can’t possibly think I would be of any help” and “well, if you’re going to interrogate me, get on with it already” and “are you even listening to me?” and  falls silent herself. 

Vader has been listening to her. he has also been listening to the Force, which seems to think that she’s not lying. obviously the humanitarian mission part is bullshit, that goes without saying. but the “I’m Senator Leia Organa” parts and the “I won’t help you” parts? yeah. he searched his feelings. he knows them to be true. the Force is singing in his head, bright and clear, in a way it hasn’t for nearly twenty years.

there’s still Tarkin to deal with, though. Vader turns and leaves the cell without a word.

Tarkin wants to blow up Alderaan. this is unacceptable, obviously, and Vader forbids it on the grounds that the Queen and the Viceroy possess vital intelligence, not disclosed to their daughter, that must be acquired. said intelligence being, not that he’s saying this out loud, how the fuck Bail got his hands on his daughter, and who else knows about it.

“the fate of the galaxy rests on it,” is what he does say out loud. from the way the Force harmonizes with his words, that might even be true.

so the Death Star just. parks there. in an incredibly threatening orbit around the planet. they issue a demand that the Organas surrender themselves, or else, but apparently the happy couple just left for a low-tech weekend retreat in the mountains, what awful timing, they’re sending someone to fetch them right away. Vader shuts himself up in his quarters, to seethe and watch the surveillance feed from Leia’s cell. he’s not really paying attention to much else. 

and it’s not like a random freighter getting tractored in for being an incredibly obvious smuggling vessel is the kind of thing you’d alert Darth Vader over, anyway. 

so he’s still sitting there, one great big thought filling up his whole entire head, watching Leia take a frustration nap, when her cell door opens. 

and a trooper comes in.

and the trooper takes off his helmet.

and he says, “I’m Luke Skywalker. I’m here to rescue you.”

(continued here)

#i have no idea what happens after that but it's definitely not the plot of star wars: a new hope #star wars #not fic

[kairiscorner]

inspired by @binibinileonara's idea :D

ok but imagine miguel with an airheaded personality but super smart gf like

miguel o'hara with a genius, airheaded girlfriend (headcanons + blurbs !!)

he could never fathom at first how you could be so amazingly smart, the real problem fixer for nearly everything, finding all the little things that need correction in the plans he comes up with–but also be so oblivious at times.

he appreciates how sweet you are, but he doesn't like it when you give other people the same attention you give him, with you not really seeing anything wrong with being friendly with miguel and everyone else all the same.

when he gets mad, you're the only one who can bare him (hell you even tease him that he'll look way older if he frowns again when he's irritated).

he loves how you can go from proposing solutions to multiversal threats that can undo everything that has ever come into existence in the blink of an eye to petting kitties the next moment and giving them names after kinds of fish.

he can never have a serious, adult conversation with you, you're too busy staring at his hair and thinking how nice it'd be to touch it, how fluffy it'd be.

"are you even listening to me?" miguel asks you with a scowl on his face as you absentmindedly gaze up at his hair's curls. "are you listening to me?" he asks you again as he gently grabs your cheeks and brings your eyes to look into his. "you have such puffy hair, miggy." you say with a smile as he grumbles. "is it that hard for you to focus on what i'm saying?" "when you've got tufty locks like that, yes, it is." you said as you instinctively reached out for his hair, with him reluctantly letting go of you and sitting down for you to run your hands across his hair.

you take advantage of the fact he isn't as good with technology as you are and intercept his calls all the time just to play 'barbie girl' or 'california girls' to piss him off.

he does appreciate how cute you are when you're being an airhead sometimes, especially if you had a childish side to you that liked things just as cute, sweet, and adorable as you.

(((you were the one who made the miggy doll)))

he does wonder sometimes how you can monitor the multiverse while playing games on the side. he has told you repeatedly to focus, but you tell him all the time that you can focus on everything, it's easy for you, he's just being a perfectionist.

if you're easily distracted by sweets, like just drop all your work to have a bite of something sweet, miguel would bait you to quit teasing him with some candy. or if you're being difficult and don't wanna help on a mission because you're too tired or stubborn that day, he baits you with sweets.

"please, i won't ask for anything more after this, i just need you to coopera–" "no, it's naptime." you said as you were about to head to your private quarters. miguel blocks your way with his massive figure, with your grumbling under your breath as he stares you down. he pulls out a bag of your favorite candies, which catches your attention. with widened eyes, you look up at him and back at the candies. "will you please cooperate now?" he asked you as you snagged the bag from his hands and snacked on one of the candies. "okay, maybe i will. it's child's play anyway, let me help." you said with a cheeky grin as miguel groaned. he loved you dearly, but it was like you were always getting your way with him. though he didn't hate it, you really were cute like this.

i just know you get stuck in some of the spider people's webs sometimes, especially when you're goofing off with their webshooters. and who's gonna save you?

"miggyyyyyyyy..." you called for him as you hung upside down by the ceiling, wrapped in synthetic webbing as miguel entered the room, seemingly unfazed by your current state. he sighed as he sliced you free of the web restraints and caught you in his arms. "miggyyyyy!" you cooed his name as you snuggled up close against his chest. "why do you keep doing this?" he asks you as you wrapped your arms around his neck and smiling as you were now in his arms. "maybe i just wanted to be in your arms for a change..." "or you just love being an irresponsible little brat." he murmured as you giggled and looked up into his eyes.

"but you'll save me anyway, right? then i guess my plan worked." you said with a sly smile as miguel threatened to drop you. "no, miggyyyyyy..." you whimpered as you clung on to his neck as he let go of you. he sighs reluctantly as he scoops you up and carries you around, not minding the onlookers who'll stare you being carried like a baby by this man.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @fiannee @jrrantss @fictarian @yuridopted0 @ophanimgold @luvstarrstruck @arachnoia

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderman 2099 #atsv #atsv miguel #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #atsv fluff #atsv imagines #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse fluff

[danytar]

“The reason I believe in fate”

Pairing: Dark!Aegon!Targaryen X Sister!Wife!Reader’

Warnings: Incest,blood, mention of labor, b&c,mention of miscarriage,depression,anxiety.

Summary: Aegon and his wife have always been so close but after their son murder and a giant gap forms between them and they don't know how to fill it..

“Which one, lovely queen? The older...the younger? Or maybe your little princess?”.

“No- please.. I beg you! don't hurt them!”.

“This is not the correct answer lovely queen”.

“PLEASE! I BEG YOU! ”.

“Choose quickly before I rape your daughter”.

“NO- NO!”

The young queen woke up from her nightmare terrified breathing difficulty. Her heartbeat is faster than ever she put her hand to her mouth and her tears flowed on her check, She was drenched in her sweat and her tiredness.

She pulled the sheets aside to find them stained with blood again,The queen had been bleeding for three whole weeks and her bleeding had not stopped yet because of the horrible miscarriage, She got out of her bed and took a glass of water to calm herself down.

She drank her cup and went back to her bed. It seemed that sleep itself was starting to throw her away as well,she tried to go back to sleep but she couldn't..

The king on the other hand was lying in his own chambers after his queen refused to share the bed with him, he began sleeping alone and empties his fluids in the whore and buries his sadness and anger inside them, just as he buries his cock in them.

There is a very big gap that has torn their relationship apart, he can't help but feels anger and grief every time he remembers his wife.. He hates how she started pushing him away from her as if he was the one responsible for killing their son.

She literally refuses to eat with him, sleep with him, or even talk to him, most of the time it was short conversations, She was even skipping the council meetings the thing that bothered him the most whenever he sees her empty seat in front of him.

Maybe he was too selfish to see that she was in pain? he will never know...

“How should I know when she refuses to talk to me?! ” He huffs to himself and pushes his cups aside, He was devastated as she was, they both drink the poison from the same vine he needs him queen.

His rock was broken to pieces and he couldn't do anything but watching her become ashes before his eyes, she has entered a path of no return..

“Are you okay your grace? ”. The blonde girl got up from his bed and put her hand behind his bare shoulder, He stared silently out the window and sipped the wine from his cup.

“Come on.. I can take care of you since your queen is unable to do so.” Her tone carried a kind of mockery and sarcasm, aegon knew exactly what she meant by her words he squeezed his fist on the cup till the cup broke in his hand and injured himself.

He turned to face her and slapped her hard until she fell to the ground “You have no right to insultmy wife in front of me”. He knelt down and grabbed her chin tightly “you're a fuckin slut don't forgot yourself”. The girl looked at him fearfully and nodded.

“Now get out of my room before I get rid of you.” He growled and grabbed another cup,he sighed heavily and looked at his injured hand, he missed his queen... her care... her love... her warmth.

When the girl left his room, he dressed again he decided to go to his wife's rooms.It's too much. A month had already passed It was difficult for her, he knew that, but she had to move on now she has to take care of herself... him... the rest of their children.

He took a deep breath and grab the door handle, Aegon opened the door slowly and looked around the room, she was the first thing his eyes focused on.

Her head was resting on the window and her back was facing him. She didn't even bother turning around to see him, She was staring outside mindless.

He slowly walked towards her he was trying to think of something to say but he couldn't, He tapped her shoulder gently, His lips finally moved “ Darling-”. She interrupted him coldly “Leave”.

He can't help but raise his eyebrows, his lips curl into a frown, and his mood turns sour “What? That's what you're trying to say? ”.

“Leave me alone Aegon I have no energy to argue with you”. She turned around and met him with cold eyes and a lifeless facial expression, “I’M YOUR DAMN HUSBAND! HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN?? ”.

She sighed in frustration and looked at him with a tired look “And what do you want now?”. He frowned and grabbed her shoulders from the two sides “I want my wife,my queen, my candle in the dark, my balm for my wounds, the woman I married, the reason I believe in fate.. ”

She pushed his hands away and then turned around “She's died”.

“Died? what do you mean? I know she's still here somewhere,you are not her, I want her, bring me my wife”. He responded, as he grabbed her shoulder so hard that she felt his nails digging into her skin then he turned her towards him and looked into her eyes deeply.

“Just Leave.. please”. She broke eye contact and then he grabbed her chin forcing her to look at him, “I’m not leaving till I get what I want”.

She can't take it anymore her tears fall “How can you be so selfish! You make me feel disgusting! You make me hate you!”. Her words fell like poison onto his body,He felt like he received a painful slap on his face.

He let go of her arm for a moment to process her words..

“I can't believe you're saying this to me.. to me?Am I not your love? not your husband? not the father of your children? ”.

"I-

“ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION! ”

She looks at him with a teary eyes, unable to speak “I- I-”. Her lips were trembling violently and she was unable to speak coherent words, Her tongue was heavy on her, she felt that all the words had disappeared..

“Aegon- ”. When she says his name that way, he immediately feels guilty for yelling at her so he comes closer and hugs her tightly to his chest, He gently stroked her hair as she sobbed into his chest like a baby, she was very weak and fragile..

She stayed in his arms for a short while until her eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep on his chest, He slowly got up and picked her up and placed her on her bed, He kissed her forehead and covered her with the blanket,when he tried to walk away she grabbed his hand.

As if she was asking him not to abandon her even while she was sleeping, he smiles then crawls under the covers and hugs her to his chest again.. he kept stroking her hair until he fell asleep with her.

♡ – 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 : @fragileheartbeats @darylandbethfanforever9 @hisfavegiri @callsignwidow @xitsemm @saltytidalwavetyphoon @khaleesihel @credulouskhaleesi @lovelykhaleesiii

#house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen #hotd #hotd fanfic #aegon headcanons #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon the second #aegon fanfic #hotd aegon #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon x y/n #aegon targaryen x you #aegon x you #aegon targaryen #tom glynn carney x reader #tom glynn carney #house of dragons #hotd s2 #hotd2 #team green #aegon imagine

[carolmunson]

caught like a fool without a line. (older!modern!eddie)

part five of who knows how many. orange colored sky setlist.

summary: we've been seeing eddie for a month and the fear starts to settle in. with eddie's past and present making things difficult and your own insecurities brewing, things come to a bit of a head one night when you're out at a bar. featuring older!robin and our favorite guy older!steve from @loveshotzz series 'all i really want is you'.

tw: age gappy (reader and eddie are 12 years apart, but reader is late late 20s/early 30s and eddie and late late 30s/early 40s throughout this story so it's not like so bad). drunk!reader, alcohol consumption, discussions of eddie's promiscuous past (i know some people don't like when eddie is a slut), implied that reader wears eddie's clothes to bed but not that reader is small. gifs by: @keerysbrandnewbg and @eddiemunsonsource

songspiration: open | rhye and feelings | lauv

You swirled the big ice cube in the tumbler with an unenthusiastic flair, making the orangey red liquid in the glass nearly spill. “And I don’t get it, we had a really nice first date and then made out again the next week and talked all the time and now he’s barely texting me back,” you complain, the tart grapefruit of your friend’s new take on an Aperol Spritz floods your mouth at your next sip.

“Maybe he’s just busy,” your friend Charlie suggests from behind the bar, “He’s older, you said, right? He might just not be on his phone as much. Do you like the drink? Is it too bitter?” 

“It’s bitter but not in a bad way, in a good citrussy way,” you nod, “And yeah he might not be on his phone as much but then why just sort of suddenly drop off and barely respond? Like, look at this.” You take out your phone, laying it on the bar and scrolling through a plethora of blue texts with some sprinkles of gray in between, “I look so pathetic.” “I think you just really like him,” she shrugs, smirking, “And I think that’s good, you haven’t been this excited about someone for a little bit.” “Yeah, but every time I’m excited about someone it bites me in the ass,” you lean on the palm of your hand, flipping your phone over, “Plus like, I’m not trying to be with anyone like that right now.” 

Your friend gives you a look, “Okay, sure.” 

“What do you mean ‘okay, sure’?” you scoff. 

“You’re not trying to be with anyone like your ex,” Charlie corrects, her dark red lips pulling into a smirk, “You go on and on about how you just want someone to take care of things for you. Maybe he’s that kind of dude.” 

“He has someone come every Sunday to clean his house for him,” you sip the drink again, “I don’t think he can take care of anything for me, considering I can clean my own house.”  The bar slowly starts to fill up with the after work crowd, leaving Charlie to run back and forth between you and pouring beers for incoming patrons.

“He can afford to have someone come and clean his house,” she says with a smirk, holding down the tap while she fills a glass with Lagunitas, "That's kind of hot." You flip your phone back over and sigh, no new messages.

If anything is true in the music and art world Eddie is involved in it's that Eddie Munson is a professional loverboy. Never with someone for too long, never long enough for them to want something more than fun -- never long enough for 'Are you my boyfriend?' never long enough for 'What are we?' It got easier the older he got, the less women and men cared about labels. You were right to make that judgement about his key carabiner hanging on the front of his keys. Eddie Munson is a slut, and everyone knows it but you.

He had two actual girlfriends in his early twenties, but nothing quite like his friendship with Steve. 'Platonic life partner, sometimes,' they'd list it as -- never too afraid to get affectionate. Hugs, kisses on the forehead, Eddie held him so many nights when Emma died he felt like they left an indent in the center of the bed. He touched and loved the people who loved him back, but to anyone else – he never wanted to get too close. He always gave out just enough of him – enough for people to keep wanting more, a satisfaction he basked in now since he was such a loner in high school with no notches to his belt. 

But now he’s blabbering on to Robin over a huge plate of nachos about how you texted him all day. You texted him all day and he had his phone charging in the kitchen while he was upstairs in his office so he didn’t know and now it’s very clear that you’re upset. 

"Okay? How is this different from the girl you were seeing over Christmas?" Robin laughs over a mouthful of loaded nachos, a frosty pink Frosé next to her to beat the heat. Her eyes crinkle closed, a smattering of freckles stretching on the apples of her cheeks when she smiles. The heat of a sunburn runs soft pink over her nose, outside of the gray in her sand blonde hair that she'll never dye, she looks almost the same as she did in high school. “So you didn’t text her back,” she shrugs, “You leave her alone, she fades off into the distance – just like the girl before that, and the guy before that, and the girl before that. Why're you talking about it like it's the end of the world?”  "I care," he groans, turning his phone to show Robin your messages. You'd sent them every few hours, but most of the messages from the morning and afternoon were from when he was working -- phone nestled on the charger down in the kitchen while he clacked away on code upstairs. By the time he saw them he was embarrassed, and you were probably already at your friend's bar. Eddie tries to explain the whole situation while Robin scrolls through with a careful and soft expression, a tiny smile forming on her face. 

“I already fucked it up,” Eddie sighs, pulling his hair up into a ponytail with volume hair stylists would envy. He runs his hand over his jaw, following the edge of it to land behind his neck where he squeeze gently on the muscle.

Robin shrugs again, passing his phone back to him, “Par for the course, kid.” 

His eyes narrow, “I’m older than you.” 

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes, “You always fuck it up, Ed. That's your thing. You walk into a room and someone leaves crying. You've never done the whole sappy love thing with someone, why do you think you're changing your tune now?”

“I know but – fuck Robin, I didn’t even sleep with her yet,” he says a little louder than he intends. His tattooed hand wraps around the Pilsner glass in front of him, dripping in condensation, bringing it to his lips.

“That’s a new development,” she raises her brows, crossing her legs, "You never wait this long."

“I just…I don’t…I shit – I don’t know.” 

“What did Steve say?” Robin asks, teeth biting down on the straw to her drink, “He always has good girl advice.” 

“I haven’t even told Steve.” 

“At all?!” she nearly spits out the frose all over the nachos.

“Rob we just buried Em,” he explains softly, “Like, she’s not even fuckin’ cold yet. I can’t just come out of the woodwork five months later like ‘Hey man, think I actually met a girl I’d consider a future with. We’ve been seeing each other for a month’. And like – what if I’m just psyching myself out? What if this is just an early midlife crisis?” 

Robin takes a slow sip, nodding while he speaks before taking a pause. “Ed, I think you’ll feel better if you tell Steve,” she offers, “I think he’d get your head straight about it. But in the meantime, you should text her back.”

“What do I even say?” he huffs, shoving a loaded nacho into his mouth.  “Try honesty with a woman for once in your entire life, Rockstar boy,” Robin plasters on a customer service smile that makes him let out a frustrated ‘tsss’, “It won’t kill you.” "Here, I'll text Nance and ask her -- she's our next best bet," Robin takes out her phone and types with the fervor of a teenager with a sugar high. Eddie sips his beer, looking at the screen of his phone while the cursor to type blinks back at him.

You stumble out of the bar, too crowded now to have fun with your friend. Over tired and over served you make your way down the street and around the corner, stopping to lean against the brick wall of a different bar when you feel your phone buzz in your hand. You take a minute, taking in your surroundings. People are so loud down here, and everyone is so pretty. Street lights are there and gone and there and gone as cars whiz passed on Delancey, the bustle of the Friday night life in the LES is a buzz with excitement. You're already a little down for the count. Your phone feels like a paper weight in your hand, sighing with satisfaction at the notificaiton on the screen. But your chest still aches with annoyance, how many times were you gonna get drunk at a bar with a swollen heart over some dumb boy? Man? Guy?

You don't want him to come save you, you know how to get home. You can see the green bulbs of the train entrance and the glow of the McDonalds 'M' on the corner in the distance. Down the stairs, one train into Brooklyn, cross platform transfer -- you've done it drunker than this countless times before. You text Charlie with an air of victory before putting your phone back in your smart black faux leather bag slung over your shoulder. The warm summer air flows over your legs, catching the hem of your a-line skirt -- the light material flowing in the breeze. Time isn't working quite right for you but it feels like it's been five minutes and he hasn't shown up, so you make your way to the edge of the corner to cross.

"Whoa there, Peach," you hear Eddie's gruff voice from the side of you, the pull on your arm the same as when he steadied you at Trader Joe's a month ago, "Careful now."

You pull out of his hold, glassy eyes focused on the black and white stripes on the street ahead of you, "I know what I'm doin'."

“Where are you goin’, huh?” he asks softly. Eddie steps in front of you, guiding you to the light post to get out of the way of other pedestrians.

“Home,” you slur, “M’goin home. Trainssright there.” 

“I don’t think you’re good to take the train,” his voice is gentle, hand coming out to hold you at the waist, “I can get you a car.” 

“I’m fine.” It's the only sentence that comes out lucid, his jaw ticks.

"You don't look fine," he looks down into your glassy eyes, a look he's seen before. The way his mama would drown herself in whiskey and stumble into the kitchen so the bruises would't hurt so bad. The way an old fling would slur to him about how she can't live without him. The way you look so sad and it's his fault.

"I'm. Fine," you reiteratie. The light changes, the bright white of the walk sign flashes across the street. You go to pass him but his hands place themselves on your shoulders. "You really wanna get boiled alive on the train?" he asks with a smile, "You don't wanna take a car?" You sigh, why does he have to be so handsome? The gin from your last two drinks travels from your head to your thighs, pulling them together at the sight of his smile. He has that ratty vest on, a CBGC t-shirt sticking to him under it, the sleeves completely torn off. He smells like cedar and citrus again, a hint of a left over cigarette. His grays catch the light of the over head lamp, bouncing like tinsel in his pony tail sitting on the crown of his head. "Can we go to your house?" you ask, voice raised a higher octave than normal. His face blanches, "Aw honey, that's not a good idea. I don't want you to think that I --" "Please?"

"Thanks, have a good night," Eddie waves off the delivery man with a smile as he rides away on his bike. With plastic in hand he makes his way back up the stairs where you've set up shop on one of the stools in his kitchen, head down on the island counter.

"Food's here," he says quietly. Dealing with drunk you was very much like dealing with drunk Robin in the early 2010s, overgrown toddler in a bad mood. You let out a half hearted 'Yay', head coming up, eyes half closed in the kind of sleepiness a few mixed drinks and some beers can send you into. He goes into the fridge and pulls out two bottles of Poland Spring and a beer for himself. The waters get placed in front of you while he tends to getting the food plated up.

You ignore the water -- Blue Moon bottle staring right at you, and to be honest -- a cold cirtussy beer sounds sooo good right now. You reach forward, the glass ice cold against your palm now that the liquor has fully settled, heating up your skin. The sound of glass on the counter cobbles through the kitchen when you slide it closer to you, alerting Eddie to the noise.

“Excuse me,” he says sharply, snatching the bottle out of your hand, “Can you behave?” 

You pout when his eyes narrow at you, heart thumping guiltily in your chest, shame brewing in your skin. You nod back at him with sad eyes, a twinge plucking in your heart strings.

“Don’t give me that face,” he warns, “Don't act up."

“I don’t like when you’re mean,” you mumble softly, running your fingers in shapes over the butcher's block counter top. He sighs, plating your sandwich and pulling your fries from the bag. He kisses your temple while he slides the plate in front of you. "I'm sorry, honey," he says quietly, but gin always puts you in the mood to argue. "You don't have to talk to me like, like -- you don't have to talk to me -hic!- like I'm a kid," you hurtle out, surprised at your own gumption, "I'm not."

"I know," he says, putting the bags into his recycling bin under the sink, "I'm not talking to you in any kind of way Peach I -- " "You don't even like me," you state. His head cocks to the side, leaning on his hands while they hold on to the edge of the island. "Who said that?" "I was -hic!- I was talking to someone at the bar about --" you start, lump building in your throat, "About you and um -- they said, they said it sounds like --" Your eyes water, "Like I'm just for fun." "Oh," he says, looking down at his hands. The weight of this conversation falling into his stomach from his chest like a deep pit.

"Like I'm just fun for you to play with -- but like, you don't even wanna have -- you don'even wanna h-have-have seggzwithme so like -- you don't even like me." More and more if your insecurities flow out of you like a broken faucet, tears starting to slip down your cheeks.

"And like you probably don't even think I'm pretty."

"Oh, baby, no," he coos, brows tilted in sympathy while you drunkenly let all your sober fears out, "I think you're so pretty."

"So pretty," you repeat, wiping your face with your hands, "But that's it."

Eddie takes a deep breath, coming over to you and pressing his warm soft lips to your cheek, "Let's talk about this in the morning, sweetheart. I'm gonna get upstairs ready for you."

"I should just go home," you sniffle, embarrassment starting to flow through you with your bloodstream, burning all your pores, "I'm sorry." "No, no, don't go home," he assures, nose nuzzling against your cheek, "Stay. Just stay."

He makes sure you eat, watching you come back to yourself the fuller and more hydrated you get. You're easy to lead upstairs, pliant and tired now, needy almost -- not that you'd ever admit to it. You tease him about his 'old man pills' when he takes out his perscription high dose Motrin he got for some old back pain. Great for when you might get a killer hangover these days. You grimace at the Pedialyte mixture he has you drink before you get tucked into his bed -- out before you can even feel him grab the pillows and a throw from the other side of you. He settles in downstairs on the sectional, sighing while he thinks about the way your face scrunches when you're about to cry. He flicks through his Hulu options on the big screen in front of him but nothing really seems to catch his attention. Mind wandering to you asleep upstairs but knowing better than to crawl into bed next to you when you're not yourself enough to say it's okay. The familiar buzz of his phone goes off on the coffee table, when he picks it up his face is on the front screen while someone calls in on FaceTime. "You're callin' late, man," Eddie grins lazily, socked feet sticking out to rest on the worn walnut table in front of him, "You okay?" "Yeah me and Bandit just got in from camping. Got some pics of him to send you, he's such a scamp." "You have fun?" he asks, rubbing his eyes. Eddie's voice is quiet while he speaks making Steve's head cock to the side. The lights changes on his face while he walks from the living room to his bedroom. "Yeah we had a lot of fun," Steve starts, "Why're you whispering?" "What do you mean?" Eddie asks, getting up off the couch to pad back into the kitchen. "You're talkin' all quiet," Steve smirks, "You got a girl over or something?" Ed puts his phone down and huffs while he grabs a bag of chips from the cabinet. Steve giggle, leaning his head in closer to the screen. "You do, don't you?" he guffaws, "Am I interrupting?" "She's sleeping," Eddie says softly, picking up the phone again and leaning against the counter. "Aw, so you ended up texting her back? Good."

"What the fuck? Who told you that?" Eddie's brows furrow, spitting through a mouthful of chips. "Robin, obviously." The light changes on him again while he makes his way to his own kitchen. Bandit's little pants and huffs echoing into the phone, "You think Nancy came up with the 'Hey pretty girl,' opening? She's never been a flirt."

"Well it worked so, congrats."

"Why didn't you tell me about her?" Steve pulls his own bag of chips out. They crunch together. "It just didn't seem right," he shrugs, "Y'know with Emma it's hard to be like, 'Hey I think I might actually see a future with this girl I've only been seeing for a few weeks.' Like, you just lost the love of your life."

"I'm not gonna be sad to hear that you're into someone, Ed," Steve smiles softly, voice calm, "Tell me about her."

So he does, he tells Steve about how he kept running into you that day at Trader Joe's and how he felt so stupid for not waiting at the doors for you but he was too scared. You were so cute in your bike shorts and sneakers, so careful in how you chose the fruit you were gonna get. When he saw you on the platform he knew it was like he was getting a second chance -- "Maybe Em thought you should stop being such a whore and sent her over," Steve laughs. Ed rolls his eyes but can't hold back his chuckle, watching as Steve rests his chin on the heel of his hand while he listens. Eddie talks about the picnic date, how he immediately felt comfortable telling you about his mom. The rain, the kiss in his apartment -- how he could've fucked you but didn't. How all your little dates had gone since.

"Oh so you like her," Steve nods.

"I'm scared," Eddie says quietly. "Scared?"

"What if it's just a fluke and I hurt her? Or I get hurt?" Eddie asks, "And like -- please don't take this the wrong way but like -- what if I put in all this effort and then lose her?"

"Like how I lost Em?"

Eddie nods slowly, not wanting to say the quiet part out loud. He talks about what you said when you got back to his place, how you think he doesn't really like you, how he doesn't think you're pretty. You're just for fun. "But this doesn't feel like 'just for fun', does it?" Steve challenges gently, "Cause if she was just for fun you would've texted me about if she could deep throat or not."

Eddie chuckles darkly, pink rising on his cheeks -- Steve chuckles too. Still gross boys who are gross.

"You should tell her how you feel," he encourages, "What's the worst that can happen?" "Everything."

"Okay," Steve shrugs, "I lost everything. And what happened?"

"We all came to pick you up." "Exactly. We'll be here to pick you up, too. Don't like..." Steve sighs, "Don't just immediately throw something away just because you're not used to it. The more you stand there and think about what you want, the less she's gonna think you want it."

"I know..." "So let her know you want it."

They talk for an hour, both cozied up on their respective couches -- Bandit immediately getting in the frame and yelping at Eddie's face on the screen. The seize in Eddie's chest loosens because maybe this could be okay. Now he just has to make sure you know it.

You wake up the next morning, groggy and dry -- but thankfully not nearly as hungover as you were expecting. Your joints hurt, your stomach's a little jumbled, but no headache and that's what matters the most. You shift in his crisp sheets, turning around to see that the bed is empty next to you -- pillows and throw blanket gone with him. You slept alone. You look at your phone on the bedside table next to a full bottle of water. You chug it while you check your notifications -- 6:11 AM. If anything was true, you always woke up too early when you drank too much the night before. The water sits heavy in your belly, pressing your bladder which was already screaming for you to go to the bathroom. With a sigh you stand up, and when you do, the embarrassment of the night before settles in. Your emotional hangover.

You pad to the bathroom and pee, seeing your face in the mirror like you did the night you got rained out. Your makeup is smeared, face a little bloated -- you do your best to wash it off. The cool water feels good against your skin, still hot from the liquor and dehydration. You pat your face dry and leave the bathroom, lingering at the top of the stairs where he's laying on the couch, already awake. "G'morning," you rasp out. He perks up, head tilting up to look at you from his place in the living room. "Morning, peach," he smiles, "You feelin' okay?"

You nod, ungracefully stomping down the metal steps of the spiral staircase while you get your footing, "Your old man pills must be magic or something."

Eddie pulls back the blanket, scooching back against the cushions to make room for you to lay down next to him, "C'mere, baby."

C'mere, baby runs down your spine, making your throat catch. You make your way towards the couch, crawling in next to him. The living room is quiet, with just some early morning sun pooling into the windows -- like you two are the only people awake on the street this morning. He covers you up, wasting no time wrapping himself around you and pulling you into him, "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah," you nod into his chest, the scent of his skin mixing with the faint smell of cirtus and cedar, "Did you?" "Normally I'm fine on the couch," he says, voice grizzly and sleepy, "But I didn't sleep a wink last night." "Oh, I'm sorry. I could've slept on the couch or I --" "No, it's not that," he shakes his head, catching your gaze, "Probably would've slept better if you were next to me." Your cheeks burn, a smile splittling across your face, "Well I'm here now."

"You are," he nods, leaning up to run his thumb over the apple of your cheek where a stray piece of glitter sits. Remnants of your makeup that you couldn't wash away.

"I'm um...sorry for how I acted last night," you confess, "That's not like -- that's not how I am."

"Don't be sorry," he assures quietly, "I understand." You're both quiet for a moment, the hum of the central air fuzzing the silence between you. "You're not just for fun, peach," he says, a seriousness to his normally playful voice, "I'm sorry I made you feel like that." "I um -- I'm sorry I kind of went a little insane," you shrug, feeling small, "I didn't mean to text all those times and then come here and cry and like --" "Stop apologizing," he says, thumb grazing your lower lip to stop you, "You were just feeling a way, that's okay. I get it." He takes his thumb away, leaning down to give you a kiss that sends you reeling. Warm and soft, delicate. His hands lead his arms around you again, smiling when you reach up to cup his cheek. "I like you," Eddie smirks against your mouth. "I like you, too," you smile when he breaks away. "The deli's open on the corner if you want me to run over and get a bacon, egg, and cheese," he offers quietly. "Why do I feel like you were gonna do that anyway?" you ask in the same tone. "I was," he grins again, "I just wanted to impress you by asking." He sits up, clamboring over you to get some coffee started so it'll be done by the time he gets back. You wait patiently for him, rolling your eyes while he shoves his socked feet in his slides, leaving the house in his pajamas of a t-shirt and black joggers. You prepare the coffees, feeling domestic like you live here -- getting used to where things are already.

He comes back twenty minutes later, sighing when the air conditioning hits him as the door opens, "It's already like, 80 degrees."

"Gross," you reply, face scrunching in the way that he likes, "Coffee is ready." "Oh, thank you." His eyes glitter at the gesture, seeing that you used the same mugs from when he had you over the first time. Those are his favorites, but you'll learn that eventually. The sandwhiches are tossed on the butcher block counter where you cried last night, but your embarrassment melts away when you feel him wrap himself around you again -- like he can't get enough. "I'm playing a show on Thursday at House of Yes," he says, "They're doing a metal theme'd night." "Yeah?" you ask, hands reaching for the plastic baggy and taking out both of your sadwhiches wrapped in foil. His arms still tight around your middle while you maneuver around your kitchen. "You should come," he asks, kissing the top of your head, "I'll get you a ticket."

"I don't know if that's really my scene," you shrug, twisting in his hold to face him, "I'm not like -- I'm not cool and underground like that." "So?" he quirks his brow, "You can be cool and underground for one night to hang out with your hottie rockstar boy-toy."

"That's so gross that you described yourself that way," you laugh, pushing out of his hug and opening your sandwhich, "Like, so cringey, babe." "Babe," he repeats back to you, "I like that. You can call me 'babe' whenever you want." "Duly noted," you agree, teeth sinking into the bread of the roll and breaking into the warm and gooey center. The jumble in your stomach starting to fade away while the grease of the egg soothes it. Eddie takes his sandwhich and coffee to the living room, taking his phone off the coffee table to open up his text conversation with Steve:

she called me babe.

i literally can't even breathe right now.

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#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fluff #older!eddie munson #older!eddie #older!steve harrington #stranger things au #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic

[tamayula-hl]

I have illustrated many Dad!Ominis, but as I have not yet published my headcanon on DadOmi, I would like to explain it in drawing and text because I am not good at English😳

In my headcanon, Ominis discussed this with his girlfriend, MC, while he was still at school, and they chose to drop the Gaunt name and elope together. The pair jumped ship on a steamer to the USA soon after graduation. As you know, the Gaunt family has ties to the USA, as the mother of the founder of the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the USA was born a Gaunt, and there is a Slytherin wand buried in the garden of that school.

(This is an illustration of that scene that I posted on Twitter in May, but there are lots of things I want to correct 😂)

They then started a new life together in the USA, where Ominis was lucky enough to get a job as an employee at MACUSA, which had just moved to New York and was short-staffed. (I have no idea of the details of how Ominis, under a pseudonym that presumably hides his Gaunt family origins, was hired as a permanent employee, and whether his obvious posh English could hide his identity in the US. Never mind the details!🤣)

And secondly, how Ominis became a father in the place where he eloped. In my personal opinion, he would surely be reluctant to leave offspring, even if he became a couple with the woman he loved. A witch named Rionach Steward, daughter of the founder of Ilvermorny School, has become so thick with Gaunt blood that she is rumoured to be a Parselmouth. She remained celibate for the rest of her life in order not to leave her cursed blood to future generations. Ominis is very serious and thoughtful and, like Rionach, would not want to leave the Gaunt blood flowing in his body to future generations.

Where Rionach and Ominis differ, however, is that he is a man. If Ominis were heterosexual and had a healthy body, it would be difficult for him to completely abstain from sexual desire for women. (As an aside, I think this dichotomy is the spice that makes Ominis' smut more attractive.)

Two young, loving people who are financially strapped and starved for entertainment are sure to indulge their carnal desires. Soon, they find out that MC is pregnant.

In other words, in my headcanon, ominis become fathers for the pathetic reason of contraceptive failure. I guess there are two sides to this, but of course I am convinced that Ominis is not the kind of irresponsible man who would run away from an unwanted pregnancy. Ominis will be very bewildered, but he will be cheerful in front of his pregnant wife and will support her with dedication, as in the manga and illustrations I posted the other day! During MC's pregnancy, Ominis will be repeatedly struck with anxiety, but as he sees his wife's belly growing bigger day by day, he will gradually develop paternal feelings for her. And after the birth of his first child, when he holds his baby for the first time, Ominis will be moved by the preciousness of the creature in his arms and the weight of life, and he will awaken as the best dad…!

I hope that Ominis, who became a father after unexpected events in his elopement, lives happily ever after, chewing on how precious a healthy family is😍.

Of course, it's all my headcanon, so I like different people's different ideas about Ominis' future! Anyway, I am happy as long as I see Ominis living a long and happy life..!

Thank you for reading my long story 🫶🫶🫶

A Japanese translation of the text is placed in undercut. (ほぼTwitterで書き散らかしていた妄想をまとめたものです。画像内の文章を和訳する元気はありませんでしたすみません…😂)

（機械翻訳にブチ込む用に書いた文章なので、ちょっと変ですがご容赦ください🙏）

私の脳内設定（headcanon）では、オミニスは在学中にガールフレンドであるMCと話し合って、Gauntの名を捨て、二人で駆け落ちすることを選びました。 二人は卒業してすぐにアメリカ行きの蒸気船に飛び乗りました。

その後二人はアメリカで新生活を始め、ニューヨークに移転したばかりで人手不足のMACUSAでオミニスは運良く職員としての仕事を手に入れました。 （おそらくGaunt家出身であることを隠している偽名のオミニスがどのように正社員として採用されたか、また、明らかなposh Englishを話す彼がアメリカで素性を隠しきれるかどうかについては、私は細かいことは全く考えていません。こまけえこたぁいいんだよ！）

ご存知の通り、アメリカのIlvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardryの創始者の母はゴーント家の生まれで、その学校の庭にはスリザリンの杖が埋まっているなど、Gaunt家とアメリカには縁があります

そして次に、駆け落ち先でオミニスがどのようにして父親になっていったかです。 私の個人的な意見ですが、彼はきっと愛する女性と夫婦になっても、子孫を残すことを嫌がるでしょう。 Ilvermorny Schoolの創設者の娘のRionach Stewardという魔女はParselmouthという噂があるほどGauntの血を濃く継いでしまいました。彼女は呪われた血を後世に残さないために生涯独身を貫いた。 オミニスはとても真面目で思慮深い性格なので、Rionachと同じように、彼の身体の中に流れるGauntの血を後世に残したくないと思うでしょう。

しかしRionachとオミニスが違うところは、彼が男性ということです。 Ominisが異性愛者で健康的な身体を持っていれば、女性に対する性欲を完全に断つというのは困難でしょう。 （余談ですが、この二律背反こそ、オミニスのsmutをより魅力的にさせるスパイスだと私は思います）

金銭的な余裕もなく娯楽に飢えた、若い愛し合う二人は、きっと肉欲に溺れるはずです。 そして間もなく、MCの妊娠が判明するのです。

つまり私のheadcanonでは、オミニスは避妊失敗という情けない理由で父親になります。 これについては賛否両論かと思いますが、もちろん、オミニスは望まぬ妊娠から逃げ出すような無責任な男ではないと私は確信しています。 オミニスは非常に困惑しながらも、妊娠中の妻の前では明るく振舞い、先日投稿したmangaやイラストのように献身的に彼女をサポートするでしょう！ MCの妊娠期間中、オミニスは何度も不安に襲われるでしょうが、日に日に大きくなる妻のお腹を見ていくうちに少しずつ父性が芽生える。 そして第一子が誕生後、初めて赤ちゃんを抱いた時に、オミニスは腕の中にある生き物の尊さと命の重みに感動し、最高のパパとして覚醒するのです…！！

駆け落ち先の予想外の出来事から父親になったOminisが、健全な家族がどれほど尊いものかを噛み締めて幸せに生きていてくれればと思います😍

もちろん、全て私のheadcanonなので、オミニスの将来については、色んな人の色んな考えも好きです！ とにかく私は、幸せに長生きしているオミニスが見れればそれで幸せなのです…！

長い文を読んでくれてありがとうございました🫶🫶🫶

#hogwarts legacy headcanons #hogwarts legacy fanart #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt headcanon #ominis gaunt x oc #ominis gaunt x mc

[my-castles-crumbling]

Whoops. - AU Jegulus oneshot

(This isn't the smut, guys! That's next on my list!)

Regulus is a TA for Professor Monty Potter and Monty keeps trying to set Regulus up with his son. Regulus always refuses, of course. But what happens when, at the end of the term, he goes to the Potter Christmas Party? Just a fun oneshot based off this post! Thanks to @sebbianas for the idea and @heartshiii for the request!

“I think he’s shown up to class a grand total of three times,” Monty murmurs, jerking his chin towards the last of the students exiting the auditorium.

Regulus chuckles and continues picking up the exam papers from the desks. “Still want to go with your ‘progressive-no-attendance-policy’ next semester?" he asks lightly as he brings the pile towards the Professor.

“Eh. If he aces the final, he obviously didn’t need my help, did he?” Monty shrugs, flashing Regulus a grin.

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then maybe he’ll show up a bit more often when he has to retake the class,” Monty finishes, laughing in earnest, now.

Regulus chuckles again and surveys the empty room. “Need anything else before I go?”

“No, Regulus. You’ve been an excellent help. Best TA I’ve ever had, but don’t go telling anyone I have favorites,” Monty says, smirking a bit.

“Thanks, Professor Potter–” Regulus begins, only to be cut off.

“Monty.”

“Monty,” he agrees, still feeling a bit nervous using first names even after all these weeks. He’s been trained in etiquette since birth, after all.

“And since you’re now officially not my TA,” Monty says, smiling, “You’ll come to my house tonight for my holiday party? My son will be there,” he waggles his eyebrows comically at this, and Regulus rolls his eyes.

It’s been an ongoing topic ever since he and Regulus had talked about it earlier that term:

“That’s a nice bracelet,” Monty said absentmindedly as they corrected papers together.

“Ah. Thanks. My brother gave it to me,” Regulus said of the black and rainbow bracelet on his wrist.

But Monty was looking closer at the bracelet, now. “Can I ask-?”

“He gave it to me when I came out,” Regulus supplied, looking at the Professor hesitantly.

Monty seemed unsurprised at the admission, but he also seemed like he wanted to ask something. “Can I ask something that might be seen as unprofessional?”

Regulus felt a bit nervous at this. It had been years since he’d left his extremely unaccepting parents, gone to live with Sirius in a tiny little flat by themselves. They didn’t live together anymore, but those years had been difficult, and it'd taken a lot of work to accept himself. He still had a fear of people, specifically adults, being cruel about his sexuality. But he was also curious. “Yes?”

“My son…my son recently told my wife and I that he’s pansexual. Could you possibly be kind enough to give me some advice? About how to show him that I still feel the same about him?” Monty’s face was so genuine that Regulus almost burst into tears.

But instead, he began to talk. To tell about all the things he wished his parents had done.

Of course, ever since that day, Monty had been casually bringing up his son, and how he and Regulus might get along. But Regulus had always refused, trying to respect the boundaries of the TA-professor relationship. Also, he'd never admit it, but he likes Monty, and worries a bit about losing him as a mentor if things went wrong on a potential date.

But he can't exactly refuse to go to the party tonight. Not after everything Monty has done for him.

“I’ll be there,” he says with a small smile, and bids Monty goodbye.

-

He feels a bit nervous knocking on the door of the Potters that evening, but also reminds himself that he knows how to deal with a party. He knows how to small-talk and kiss up to people and make a good first impression.

He hates it all, of course. Hates everything that reminds him of the way he was raised. But he can do this.

So, when Mrs. Potter answers the door and pulls him into a hug, he’s quite surprised- he’s never been hugged at any fancy dinner party his family has ever thrown. But he still thanks her kindly for the invitation and hands her the bottle of wine he brought.

“Oh, you’re so sweet!” Mrs. Potter gushes, leading him inside.

It’s- crowded. There are a lot of people, all dressed nicely and drinking from fancy glasses. Some look to be closer to his age, while others are older. And in the middle of one of the rooms is-

“Sirius?” Regulus asks incredulously.

“Reggie!” Sirius cries, bounding forward, dragging a boy with him. “What’re you doing here?”

“Monty invited me…” Regulus murmurs, looking around for the man in question.

“Oh, Monty is around somewhere!” Mrs. Potter assures him, waving her hand carelessly. “Sirius, dear, you know Regulus?”

“Only for my whole life,” Sirius says with a wink. “Reggie’s my brother!”

Mrs. Potter gasps loudly. “This is your brother? Well, Regulus was Monty’s TA this semester!”

“He never tells me anything, ever since he moved on campus,” Sirius complains, leaning against the boy he brought along with a dramatic sigh. Then, he turns to Regulus. “The Potters are James’s parents.”

James. Regulus has heard of him. He and Sirius became friends at the start of University. Sirius has said a lot about him on their weekly phone calls, but they’ve never met.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then!” Mrs. Potter says, leaving Regulus with Sirius and his friend to answer the door again.

“Thanks, Mrs. Potter,” Regulus murmurs, only to be told, “Effie!” by both Sirius and Mrs. Potter.

“Can’t believe you’re here, Reg! Let’s get you something to drink, eh?” Sirius says excitedly, dragging the tall-but-quiet buy he’s still attached to with him.

“Now would be a good time to run,” Regulus murmurs to the boy.

“We share a flat. I can’t run far,” the man says with a grin as Sirius shrieks about seeing another friend.

Ah. So this is Remus. Well, this will be interesting.

-

Regulus was imagining a proper party. With suits and ties and a five-course seated meal and six different types of silverware and lots of networking.

Well, it was a party, alright. And people certainly had suits and ties. Or they did, about six drinks ago.

Because this party has drinks. Not just a few, but an everlasting amount. And people are enjoying them.

“Never been to a Potter Christmas Party before?” Remus asks him with a smirk as he stands in a corner and nurses his fourth- fifth?- drink, the room spinning just a tad.

“Didn’t realize I’d need a designated driver,” Regulus murmurs back, though he’s safe, as he took a cab.

“Sirius told me that last year he threw up in the bushes,” Remus admits with an evil grin.

“Charming,” Regulus laughs.

But the conversation seems to stutter to a halt.

Because he sees someone across the room. A boy.

Alright, it’s not just a boy. It’s– it’s the most beautiful human Regulus has ever seen. His dark hair is tousled and he wears the nerdiest circular glasses. His tan skin is almost caramel-colored and his grin is jaw-dropping. He’s dressed in a navy suit and tie, but Regulus can see his muscles rippling just a bit under his clothes.

And then Regulus loses his breath.

The boy is looking at him.

He stares back, unable to tear his eyes away.

And then the boy, very purposely, looks Regulus up and down. Slowly.

And then he grins. And turns away.

And Regulus feels all…fuzzy. But in the most pleasant way. “Shots? I need shots,” Regulus hears himself say in a hoarse voice.

It’s going to be a long night.

-

The man is everywhere. When Regulus goes with Sirius to get another shot, he’s there in the kitchen chatting with Mrs- Effie. And he looks Regulus up and down again, his expression hungry.

Regulus almost spits out his shot.

When Regulus moves to a dining room, he’s there, too. He just has to squeeze behind Regulus to get to the plate of cookies. And as he does so, his entire chest brushes against Regulus’s back.

“Excuse me,” his low voice whispers right into Regulus’s ear.

Regulus almost drops his plate.

When Regulus moves to a sitting room to continue talking with Remus, he sees the man there, too. He’s speaking with Sirius. Regulus is too far away to hear what they’re saying, but the man keeps looking at him.

And Regulus looks back.

-

At some point throughout the night, someone puts on Christmas music. It blares through a speaker and some of the guests are tipsily dancing. Sirius is trying to lead Effie in a waltz as they both giggle hysterically and Remus takes pictures from the side.

And the boy is there. Again.

Except now, he’s walking directly toward Regulus.

“Care to dance?” he murmurs, his gaze almost piercing through Regulus, to his very soul.

Luckily, he’s taken dance lessons before. “Alright,” he agrees a bit nervously.

The boy leads him to a quieter spot in the room, away from Sirius’s insanity, and Regulus tries not to react to how it feels to just hold his hand. He’s not in middle school, after all. He shouldn’t feel so giddy. It must be the alcohol.

They begin to do a sort-of waltz that involves mostly just turning in a circle to the soft music in the background. As they do so, the boy’s hand rests on Regulus’s waist, his thumb moving back and forth slowly, making Regulus’s toes tingle a bit.

“You haven’t been here before,” the boy murmurs softly, looking almost desperately into Regulus’s eyes. “I- I’d remember you.”

Regulus can’t resist. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, pretending to be upset.

“I- no, I-”

“I’m joking,” he says with a smirk, and he feels the boy relax a bit.

“You’re…beautiful. That’s why,” the boy says, answering his earlier question.

And beneath the obvious attraction between them, Regulus senses that this boy is being genuine. And he almost melts right there. Nobody’s ever called him beautiful before. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“How am I doing at this dancing thing? My best friend says I’m terrible at it,” the boy asks, clearly trying to ease the tension, grinning wryly.

To be honest, he’s not great. But Regulus is just enjoying the way the boy’s hand is resting at his waist, making his skin there all hot. “You’re doing fine,” he allows, laughing, trying to resist the urge to pull the boy closer, so their bodies touch.

The boy shrugs, laughing, and Regulus is again stunned by his smile. “Well, I guess we all have our weaknesses. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you, really.”

And then they stare at each other, all attempts at conversations gone. And It’s cliché and ridiculous, but it’s like they’re the only people in the room. All Regulus can feel is the boy’s hand on his waist, the other clasped in his own. All he can see is the way the boy is staring at him- almost adoringly.

And then, they’re kissing.

And if Regulus liked the feeling of the boy’s hand on his waist, it’s nothing compared to the feeling of their lips together. It’s heat and perfection and desire but also somehow warm and gentle and caring. Regulus feels the want building in the base of his spine as suddenly, the boy’s hand lets go of his own and comes to the back of his neck to pull gently at his hair.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe Regulus is going crazy, but suddenly, he wants more. Fuck the fact that this is his Professor’s Christmas party.

But at least the boy seems to be on the same page, because as they separate, he grabs Regulus’s hand and drags him along yet another hallway, up some stairs, and into a bedroom.

And before he can really contemplate what they’re doing, he’s slammed up against the wall of the bedroom, the door closes, and the boy’s lips are all over him.

“Is this alright?” the boy murmurs gently, grabbing hesitantly at the hem of Regulus’s shirt, and he only has to nod once before his shirt is ripped off his body, followed quickly by the boy’s own jacket, tie, and shirt.

And God, his hands. They’re everywhere. Cool against Regulus’s hot skin, tracing against his pale chest as lips and teeth move along his neck, and he lets out a moan that is quite embarrassing, but it only seems to spur the boy on more.

He feels like he’s floating, the way the boy worships him, kissing seemingly everywhere at once- his neck and jaw and lips and shoulder.

And then two things happen simultaneously.

The boy’s hands start to move. It’s as if they’ve read Regulus’s mind, because all he can think is Fuck, lower, lower, yes, damnit, touch me lower.

But just as the hands are finally drifting over his waistband, the door opens.

“Jamie, you’re supposed to be sociali- oh!”

And to Regulus’s absolute horror, it’s Monty. Walking in the bedroom. To him and a half-naked boy.

He wants to run. Or hide. Or throw up.

But it all gets decidedly more confusing when Monty, who previously just looked dumbfounded, bursts out laughing.

He and the boy look at each other and back again, and Regulus is a bit relieved to see he looks confused, too.

“What-?”

But Monty finally catches his breath and says, “Well…I’m glad you two have, erm, met! James, this is Regulus, the TA I told you about! And Regulus, this is my son, James!”

Well. Whoops.

-

“Remember last year?” James murmurs into Regulus’s ear as they set out what feels like hundreds of bottles of wine for the annual Potter Christmas Party.

“Vividly,” Regulus says, but he hides a smile.

“Suppose we should do that again this year, but finish what we start- ow!” James shrieks, trying to turn away from Regulus’s light punch.

Regulus just rolls his eyes at his boyfriend. “Shut up, Potter.”

Leave comments and kudos here <3

#marauders #harry potter #marauders era #fanfic #marauders fandom #harry potter marauders #sirius black kinnie #regulus black kinnie #jegulus #the marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #the marauders #james fleamont potter #james x regulus #james potter #james potter is a simp #james potter x regulus black #james and regulus #regulus arcturus black #regulus black #regulus deserved better #james loves regulus #my fic #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #ao3fic #ao3 author #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic

[grimm-writings]

Can I request something (I leave the format up to you) for Chilchuck x reader where the reader genuinely asks Chilchuck for his opinions and thoughts on things? (dungeon related things, union stuff, that sort of thing) Since he mentioned how he would like to be taken serious/respected like Senshi.

Basically reader respects Chilchuck and might have developed a little crush on him as well but doesn't want to make him uncomfortable by being unprofessional so they don't act on it. Maybe it's mutual.

Chilchuck is skilled as fuck and it would be nice if he got some well deserved genuine praise and appreciation for it.

mutual

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, headcanon format, some very very lightly implied maturity difference, marcille #1 wingwoman, reader is taller than chil

…wc! 992

…notes! YOU ARE SO CORRECT he’s genuinely such a valuable asset to the team!! every bit of praise here is well-earned!!!! 

You joined the party along with Senshi at the very start of their journey.  The group was rather small and you’d fear something might happen if they traverse the dungeon on their own.  You felt as if it were your duty to help out, eager to please as you are.

You realised fast that despite the dysfunctional way the group decided to acquire their food, they’re actually much more competent than you thought!

Though this is really you generalising your admiration for the picklock of the group.  Being more combat oriented, the ways in which Chilchuck easily bypasses puzzles and open doors left you rapt with his skill.

Before you knew it, you had acquired a notebook and pencil of your own (that you deliberated on robbing from orcs for a while before caving), and you were jotting down notes like nobody’s business!

(Only when alone or on night guard.  If anyone knew, you’d be so embarrassed…)

When Chilchuck offers a piece of advice about the social behaviours of adventuring parties, you notice.  When Chilchuck offhandedly mentions a tricky aspect of the dungeon, you notice.

When Chilchuck scolds Senshi for treating him like a child, you notice.

You had a feeling he wasn’t a child.  You were sort of observing him unendingly, and he seemed the image of a jaded, experienced adventurer.  You can’t help but feel your admiration for him grow upon realising that. 

It’s difficult not to come across too eager as you’re imploring him for more knowledge.  You’re just curious!  You’re expanding your dungeon knowledge!  He’s happy to tell you anything you need to know, as casually and calmly as any good teacher.

But you know deep down that you’re just really attached to the half-foot.  Maybe too attached…

When someone (Senshi) makes a comment about Chilchuck, even before he could retort like usual you’re standing in front of him telling him what’s what!  Chilchuck is too taken aback to make much of a comment about it afterwards, but he seems… pleased.

(It’s giving “his pronouns are they/them!”)

Marcille and Laios give each other a look whenever this happens.  Not saying you’re being judged, but…

Your earnestness to be the pinnacle of dungeon exploration gives Chilchuck pride in being your mentor.  He’ll make a comment about it occasionally but deep down…

You kind of wish it could be more.

You’re not young necessarily.  You’re years into your adulthood, but even with that in mind, Chilchuck already made it quite clear that inter-party relations are strictly a no-no.

And you just had to go and break rule number one!

It does leave you staring longingly at the half-foot’s peaceful expression when you’re supposed to be on night watch, wishing for a different reality.

It would be part way through your adventure, long after you’ve given up hope on your feelings being reciprocated, when Chilchuck gives you a spot of hope.

Just a run-in with a bicorn can really change your perspective…  Chilchuck actually asked if he could talk, just one-on-one, with you.

You had to contain yourself from exploding when you accepted, following behind him into a nearby corridor.  You pretend to ignore Marcille’s giggles and Izutsumi’s sigh and eyeroll. 

Just had to hold your breath…

Chilchuck turns to you, looking apprehensive.  You do appreciate his progress of trying to be a bit more open to people.  You’re always his number one supporter without even being coddling…  He takes a breath looking up at you.  If you only knew what you did to him with each round of praise and appreciation. …Well, only one way to get there, yeah? He says your name with a weight.  One you’re not able to put to name.  “I haven’t been… entirely honest with you,” he tells you. Your chest tightens and you feel your blood run cold.  “What… What do you mean?” “Nothing bad!”  He’s quick to ease your fears with a desperate wave of his hands.  He’s still working on this, and you can tell from how red his face gets that he’s definitely struggling with this.  You watch his Adam’s apple (small, but noticeable if you stare long enough) (not like you have) bob as he gulps. His gloved hands take yours.  You try your hardest not to blush. “You know how I keep telling you that you should get ahead?  Promote yourself to join the parties of more experienced adventurers?” “Yeah…?” “I was trying to push you away.”  He looks away from you, ashamed.  “So you don’t get any closer.  I also know… how you feel about me.” You’re back to feeling horrified beyond your wits. He's definitely going to reject you.  “I thought you said this wasn’t anything bad!” “I’m getting to it!”  He shoots back with the same increase in volume.  His nerves are getting the better of him. “Then by all means,” you say, “get to it!” Chilchuck’s hands over yours are shaking.  His mouth opens once more, but only a silent quiver of his vocal cords comes out.  He isn’t even looking at you anymore.  You probably think the worst of him by now, after all this time of trying his best to look his best, the image of professionalism. You know what?  Fuck this heart-to-heart stuff.  Marcille’s advice was shoddy from the start. The action is sudden.  Chilchuck unlaced his fingers from yours, and before you could process it, his hands on your shoulders, pushing you down to his height. And he’s kissing you.  A bit feverishly and you really would have thought he’d be a bit better at this considering his experience– But you kiss back, easing into it after your shocked “mmph!?”  He still definitely owes you for putting you through the five stages of grief twice though. Chilchuck breaks apart, and as you recover from your shock, he sighs and smiles slightly.  His face is nearly glowing from the heat; you can feel it quite plainly. “The feeling’s mutual,” he whispers.

#✮ grimm's fics! #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon imagines #dungeon meshi imagines #dungeon meshi x reader #delicious in dungeon x reader #chilchuck #chilchuck tims #chilchuck imagines #chilchuck x reader #chilchuck tims imagines #chilchuck tims x reader

[witchthewriter]

𝐆𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!   

a/n: I watched the new season of The Witcher and somehow Geralt got even hotter??? Anyway, he has dilf energy and I'm in love

Warnings: family abuse, curse previously put on reader

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ        

・He had saved you, and yet, your family still did not want you.

・Geralt found out that it was your own father who cursed you

・A noble family that saw you as less than. And they banished you from their land, not wanting you anywhere near them.

・And when Geralt spoke on your behalf, asking what you were supposed to do, your father shrugged his shoulders and ignored the Witcher.

"You won't even keep y/n on as ... as anything?" The Witcher was disgusted when your father kept on ignoring him. It got to the point where Geralt threw a golden plate just above your father's head and his attention snapped to the white-haired man.

"I could have your head for that." Your father's voice was cold, it was always cold.

"And I could have yours," snarled Geralt, whose eyes were ablaze. But he knew he couldn't do anything about your family. Only about you.

・So, Geralt couldn't leave you to fend for yourself. And he didn't.

・Besides, you had no idea how to look after yourself. You had been a monster, trapped inside a form that was not yours for 7 years

・You were filthy, tired, and utterly defenseless.

・And even though Witcher's weren't known for their grace nor kindness, Geralt was different.

・He took you with him, damning your family for casting you out. Promising that you would rise above what they had done to you.

・But for now, he had to clean you up and ... catch you up on life.

- ✦ -

・Geralt sat you in front of him, Roach slightly grumpy with the extra weight. But once you reached Geralt's destination, he rewarded the steed with extra food

"Thank you, old friend," he whispered into the horses' ear.

・Helping you inside, he had arranged a room that had a bathing chamber

・The water ran hot as Geralt added in oils and different kinds of herbs

・It was an odd situation, yes, helping a stranger clean themselves.

・But Geralt couldn't live with the knowledge of you being left on your own. The possibility of so much danger. Of being taken advantage of.

・Helping you undress was slightly embarrassing, for the both of you. Your body was still getting used to its original form. Your balance was off, and your posture wasn’t very good. Geralt had to keep on correcting it.

・Easing you into the bath, he grabbed a cloth and started gently rubbing the grime from your body. The dirt, sweat and mud that caked your body

・Even when you transformed back into your normal form, the dirt still remained, as did the torn clothes that you had worn before being cursed into a great beast

・Speaking was difficult as well, but it was becoming easier with time. Even though not much had passed.

・The bath was the best thing you had felt in 7 whole goddamn years.

・Hot; like it was ridding you of all the hurt that built over time

・You swished your fingers through the water, delighting in the ripples they made. Such a small happiness. Yet you found glee in small things now. Grateful for a second chance.

・Geralt kept on scrubbing at your skin, using a bristled brush on some areas, careful not to be too rough or stay in one spot for too long

・Next he used this delicious smelling soap. Your knowledge of herbs was next to nothing, due to a lack in education, but you thought it smelt homely, earthly and calming. Lathering it in his hands and massaging it onto your own, you both worked the soap into different areas of your skin

“I’m going to wash your hair now,” he said. Voice soft yet still rough, like he wasn’t used to being kind to others. If that were true, you wondered why he was doing this for you.

“But first we need to brush it,” his eyes squinted at the tangled mess but started on it nonetheless.

・It hurt at first, but you knew Geralt was being as gentle as he could be, but there were so many knots.

“What do you think about cutting it?” You shook your head. Your hair was one of the only things that made you feel … beautiful.

“Ugh, fine. But this is going to take a while.”

・You shrugged your shoulders and happily kept on sitting in the tub, taking over some of the scrubbing, especially your feet, which felt so sensitive.

・Once they were large and clawed, now … they were human

・Your eyes stilled as the water reflected the glow of the candles around the room

・And you sighed. Not in sadness, or pain, or grief. But with the knowledge that you no longer had to be someone that you were not. Whether that was a beast or playing a role in your family that you didn’t want to have to play.

“You alright?” Geralt had made significant process, practically finished with your hair. And he grabbed a bucket and told you to lean back as he poured the water onto your hair.

・Geralt grabbed a different kind of soap and placed it in your hair, massaging and rubbing it, making sure there wasn’t a spot unwashed.

・You weren’t used to the sensation and let out a laugh. It tickled a tiny bit, especially when he rubbed behind your ears

・Unbeknownst to you, Geralt was slightly smiling. He enjoyed seeing you experience some happiness.

・After he had washed your hair a total of three times, he stood back satisfied with your appearance and held out a towel for you to wrap yourself in.

・Helping you out of the bath, he set down a pair of clean clothes on your bed and said he would be back in a few minutes.

・He wanted to give your privacy, while also wanting to check on Roach.

・The clothes were a big pair of brown pants and a long white shirt. They were a fresh pair from the Innkeeper's husband, who had recently passed away. Geralt had paid extra for them.

・After twenty minutes, Geralt came back into the room to find you asleep on the floor. The usual place you slept.

・A place you had slept for 7 years.

・7 years without a bed. Without a blanket or pillows. Nor were you given any sort of comfort.

・A rage so hot spread through Geralt that it practically radiated off of him.

・In that moment he swore you would have a better life, the best he could find … or give you.

#witch the writer's headcanons #geralt #geralt headcanons #geralt of rivia #geralt has dad energy #geralt x reader #witchthewriter #headcanons #geralt x y/n #geralt x you #the witcher #the witcher headcanons #the witcher x you

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

A Phil update! For those who were asking.

I mentioned before that Phil works for a call centre. I'm pretty sure I've also made it clear by now that Phil's spectacular weirdness, coupled with his hatred of capitalism, means he's been mentally checked out of that job for a while now. His main focus has been his degree for the past year anyway. The only reason he's stayed is because Phil has a history of destructive impulsivity that he's been actively working on, so he didn't want to just walk out.

So there we are, scene set. Last week, he phones my husband.

"A weird thing happened in work," he tells Steff. "My manager called me into the office for a chat, but... I think it was weird? I'm pretty sure it was weird."

"Tell me what happened, Phil," says Steff.

***

Here's the story:

Phil goes into the office, and the manager fixes him with a Kind Smile.

"Phil," the Manager says hesitantly. "Do you... like working here?"

"...um," says Phil, distantly aware after Many Conversations with Exasperated Friends that the correct answer to your boss is 'yes', but physically incapable of lying. "Well. I. Um."

"Because," the manager says awkwardly. "Look, you - it's okay."

"Is it?" Phil asks vaguely.

"It's okay," the manager repeats. "I know you don't like working here. This isn't what you want to do. You don't want to stay."

"No," Phil agrees, relieved they are on the same page.

"Listen," the manager says, in an agony of awkwardness. "Look, Phil... you're such a nice guy. Just... I'll write you the best reference. But you can just... go, if you want. You can... go back to your desk and log out and just... leave."

"...okay," says Phil. And he leaves.

***

So he tells this story to Steff, who is, obviously, BAFFLED.

"Okay," says Steff. "Right. Phil. Phil what the fuck did you do."

"Nothing!" Phil protests. "I didn't do anything!"

"Okay," Steff says again, changing tack. "Phil. What have you done recently that a capitalist would disapprove of?"

"Oh," says Phil. "It's probably because I gave that old woman £200 of company money."

"...go on," Steff says wearily.

***

Here's the story:

This sweet old woman rings and says her phone was down for a couple of days. She's calling to complain, because it meant she couldn't contact her relatives, and she felt lonely.

"I'm so sorry," says Phil. "Do you want some money?"

("First question," says Steff. "Were you supposed to give any money at all for that?"

"...no," says Phil.)

So this old woman is like "Uh... yes please? Okay?"

"Alright!" says Phil cheerfully. "Let's see how much I can give you."

("Second question," says Steff. "Were you allowed to give out £200 to anyone?"

"Oh, no," says Phil. "They made it really difficult, actually, it took ages.")

"Ah," Phil tells this old lady. "I can only give you £50. Let's try that."

"I... thank you," says this old lady, already in the grip of the Heady Bewilderment that descends on everyone who speaks to Phil for a bit. "That's very generous."

"It's gone through!" says Phil happily. "There we are. I wonder if it'll let me do it again?"

"Um," says the old lady, who is starting to sense that she's dealing with a maverick doing something he shouldn't.

("Third question," says Steff. "Did she ask for more at any point?"

"Um... no," says Phil.)

"It worked!" Phil says brightly. "Do you want me to do it again? I think it'll let me."

"...okay," this old lady says, strangled. "Thank you."

"No problem," says Phil helpfully. "It's done it, I think. Shall we do one more?"

"Yes please," says this old woman, who is now convinced she's either called the wrong number or is speaking to an amenable faerie one mustn't refuse.

Phil tries again. It goes through.

...

"Do you think," Steff asks, "that this might have been a fireable offence?"

"I suppose?" Phil says dubiously. "The company has loads of money though, I don't see why."

"...no, of course you don't," Steff agrees.

"Anyway," Phil says. "I think I left on a good note. But that might have been weird, too."

"What did you do," Steff sighs.

"Well, I packed up my desk," says Phil. "And then this guy turned up who was supposed to give me some training. And I told him that I was leaving so it wasn't necessary, and then he said that he had to give the training-"

"You did the training, didn't you," says Steff.

"I did the training," says Phil.

#vote for phil #long post

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - nonconsensual drug use, kidnapping/imprisonment, nonconsensual touching, and obsessive behavior.

One of them put something in your tea.

You think it was Alhaitham – smug, scheming Alhaitham, who never greeted you with anything more than a dead-eyed stare and never kept you for anything less than an hour when he called you aside for a one-sided conversation in his rarely used office nestled in among the highest alcoves of the Akademiya. You didn’t trust him, didn’t like how willing he was to abandon his duties in favor of chasing whatever his fickle curiosity latched onto, didn’t feel comfortable with the way his eyes pried into you when you were alone together. He’d been the one to invite you over to the apartments he and Kaveh shared, too, to ignore your requests to see the artifacts he claimed to have found during his latest expedition in favor of forcing one of Kaveh's well-love clay mugs into your hands. It’d probably been him. It’d make sense, to both your rational mind and the sentimental creature inside of you, if it’d been him.

Which is exactly why the scholar constantly gnawing at the back of your mind – ever-doubtful, ever-distrusting – screamed that it had to have been Kaveh. You liked him more than you liked Alhaitham, trusted him more than you could ever trust Alhaitham, and he’d had just as much time with the drink that’d just barely touched your lips, muttering about Alhaitham’s nonexistent sense of taste as he shoveled sugar into your mug by the spoonful. You admired him, too; unlike Alhaitham, Kaveh threw himself wholly and entirely into his work, his research, and he’d never had to corner you to have your full attention. That was why it was so easy to tell yourself that you should’ve been more careful, that you should’ve been more wary of the threat that presented itself as aid than the one who wore its true colors proudly. It was definitely Kaveh. Or, it was definitely Alhaitham.

Or, it didn’t matter which one of them put something in your tea, because one of them had put something in your tea and neither of them seemed to care.

You could already feel some of the more pronounced effects setting in; your hands limp and numb where they’d fallen into your lap, your tongue dry and swollen in your mouth, your vision already beginning to blur around the edges. You were still sitting at their claustrophobic kitchen table, Kaveh less than arm’s length to your right and Alhaitham far enough to stare you down from a careful distance, but you had to strain to listen to their conversation. “You’re never home,” Kaveh droned, in the tone he only seemed to use when talking to Alhaitham. “The poor thing would die of neglect in the first week. You couldn’t take care of a houseplant, much less a person.”

“Houseplants require a great deal of research and intuition. People tend to be much louder about their wants and needs.” Likewise, Alhaitham was using the tone he saved exclusively for Kaveh; one of self-gratifying neutrality, as if the pedestal he’d put himself on was too tall to let him notice something as insignificant as Kaveh’s frustration. “And it's not as if you can be trusted with this kind of responsibility. Not for any longer than a few hours, at least.”

There was a beat of silence. When Alhaitham failed to go on, Kaveh let out an exasperated groan. “What’s that supposed to mean, scribe?”

“Oh, only that an architect as passionate as you are tends to be easily distracted. I’d give it...” He quirked his head to the side, gaze shifting to something purposefully distant. “…three days before a new proposal catches your eye, and I know how difficult it can be for you to balance more than one project at a time.”

“See, that’s your problem. You think of them as an object that must be dusted off once or twice a week, whereas I see them as my beautiful and beloved lover who I want nothing more than to spend time with.” Something about Alhaitham’s frown quirked, and Kaveh hastily corrected himself. “Alright, my soon-to-be lover. It doesn’t matter – even if I don’t take the first turn, they’ll be in my loving arms eventually, and once they are, they'll never want to go back to yours. I’d tell you to save yourself a heartbreak, but I’m still not sure if you have a heart.”

Now it was Alhaitham’s turn to put on a façade of mock-exasperation, letting out a breathy exhale as he leaned onto the tabletop. “Timing can be very important. Whatever we do, whoever gets to do it – they’re going to set a precedent. Since I don’t want to have another brat under my roof, we have to be careful.”

To his credit, Kaveh didn’t try to deny it, merely leveling the accusation back at Alhaitham. “You? Careful? Which one of us thought he could take the General Mahamatra in a fight?”

And, to Alhaitham’s credit, he didn’t waste his breath trying to fight for his innocence, either. Rather, he turned to you, sharp eyes immediately piercing the very depths of your soul. “(Y/n),” and then, in a voice slightly softer than the one he’d addressed Kaveh with, “What do you think? You’re rational enough to know who’d take better care of you.”

You managed to open your mouth, to pry your lips apart and start to spit out something halfway coherent.

Then, without making a sound, you collapsed onto their table, knocking your mug to its side and spilling Alhaitham's awful tea onto their tiled floor.

Kaveh reacted first, gasping as he gathered you in his arms. You were dead weight, barely able to hold your own head up, but he made an effort to keep you upright, to pretend you were in any way acting of your own will as he pulled you against his chest and raked his calloused fingers against your damp hair. “Aw, look at the poor thing! I told you to use a smaller dose.”

The gratification was minimal, dampened by panic and exhaustion too ebbing to be natural. Something seemed to light behind Alhaitham’s dull eyes, and in turn, something jagged turned in your stomach. “I still need an answer,” he reiterated. You did your best to glare, to thrash Kaveh’s hold, but you could barely twitch, barely keep yourself conscious, and Alhaitham went on undeterred. “We’ll have to ask again once your head’s started to clear. The effect should only last for a few days – a week, at most, to give you time to adjust.”

Kaveh’s attention drifted downward, his lips brushing against the side of your throat. You felt his hair ghost over your shoulder as his head dipped lower, as his heart beat just a little faster against your back. Your eyes found Alhaitham, and for the first time since you’d first met him, his scowl broke to reveal a small, sharp smile.

“Until then, there should be enough of you to share.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin impact #alhaitham x reader #yandere alhaitham #yandere kaveh #kaveh x reader #yanderecore #yancore

[woncoyo]

☁️⠀࣭⠀𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖽𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝗒𝗉𝖾𝗇

pairing: all members + fem!reader genres: fluff, headcanon, they're silly silly in love. warnings: none. word count: 1948.

author's note: if this headcanon seems familiar to you, it's likely because you came across it on my old blog (chacottone). i'm reposting it with a few changes.

( HEESEUNG ) Even though he's a terrible liar, he pretends not to know the basics of math just to hear you talk for hours. At times, you stumble over certain concepts, yet he subtly guides you towards the correct answers. Ultimately, he ends up aiding you more than you aid him, and upon realizing this, you say, "I feel so stupid! I'm teaching you everything wrong."

“Of course not, princess! You're smarter than you think," he protests, instinctively placing his hand atop yours. "We're mutually assisting each other, you see?"

You swallow hard, the warmth of his touch lingering as the endearing nickname 'princess' resonates in your mind. Taking command of the situation, Heeseung retreats slightly, straightening himself in the chair beside you. “So, what are we-i mean! where were we?"

"Analytical Geometry," you murmur, indicating a specific passage in the book and inadvertently brushing against Heeseung's fingertips as you withdraw your hand. He attempts to suppress a smile, but fails, turning his head to the side and nibbling on his lower lip.

( JONGSEONG ) No one can ever find out that Jay paid the class representative to pair him up with you on the chemistry project; that would be too embarrassing. If he wanted to spend time with you so badly, he could have just asked you out like a normal person. However, he thought it would be too difficult given your popularity and the numerous guys chasing after you. Jay had to be clever to get to know you better.

"So, about chemical kinetics, what kind of movies are you into?" he asks, acting as if what he just said made any sense. You raise an eyebrow at him, finding it amusing how Jay nervously bites his cheek.

"Romantic comedies, I suppose," you reply with a shrug.

"Cool! Did you know there's a romantic movie marathon next weekend?" he mentions, attempting to maintain a relaxed posture as he scribbles something in his small notepad.

“Actually, I wasn't aware of that," you say, tilting your head to the side. "Why the sudden interest? Planning on asking me out?" Your question catches Jay off guard, and you smile at the effect you have on him.

“Yes... I mean, if you're up for it... no-do you… want to go out with me?”

( JAEYUN ) Getting out of football practice was quite the ordeal for Jake, all because he didn't want to miss your study session at the library. With a physics test looming tomorrow, Jake didn't need to brush up on a subject he already had a firm grasp of. However, he understood your struggles in that area and how tough you could be on yourself when things didn't click. That's why he pretended to feel unwell to leave practice early and "coincidentally" ran into you at the library.

"Sure, you can sit here!" you exclaim, taken aback by his presence. "Thought you'd be at practice.”

"Left early to study for tomorrow's test,” Jake shrugs, pulling up a chair close to yours.

"As if you need it," you tease. "Your grades are always top-notch."

"Yeah, I know," he responds, placing a hand over his heart, oozing confidence, as you playfully nudge his shoulder. "But I meant that I wanted to study with you…"

Your cheeks flush almost instantly, and you try to mask your embarrassment by burying yourself in the book in front of you, murmuring a hesitant "okay, then.”

( SUNGHOON ) He's feeling like the cleverest guy in the world for persuading all his friends to help him orchestrate a plan to be alone with you. It took countless text messages pleading with Heeseung, Jake, Jay, Seonwoo, and Jungwon to create a study group — since that's the only way to catch your attention — and then have them all cancel at the last minute when Sunghoon and you are supposed to meet.

“They’re running late…” you remark, glancing at the clock for the umpteenth time since your arrival.

"They’re not coming anymore," Sunghoon announces matter-of-factly. "Seems like there was some unexpected issue.”

"An unexpected issue involving all five of them at once?!" you widen your eyes in disbelief. "That's so weird."

"Not really," he says, rearranging the books on the table. "These guys are pretty irresponsible when it comes to studying. They're probably off having fun somewhere.

With a furrowed brow and arms crossed, you mull over Sunghoon's statement. Then, an idea strikes you. "We should do the same thing, don't you think?"

Sunghoon promptly closes the book. "You're absolutely right."

"But we also need to do well on Friday's test…" Seeing you hesitate, Sunghoon quickly reassures you, as spending time with you outside of school is something he's been longing to do.

"You'll do great, don't worry," he confirms, "plus, we can always study tomorrow. The good thing is that everyone will come… I guess."

Still feeling nervous, you bite your lower lip, debating whether or not to skip a day of studying. However, Sunghoon's hopeful expression starts to bolster your confidence. "So, what do you want to do?" You ask.

"Jesus Christ! I literally have a list of things I wanna do with you—I mean! To do in this city!"

( SEONWOO ) Respectfully, Sunoo is fed up with hearing about the conservation of mass, but because you're the one explaining, he silently endures. Spending Saturday studying for a test he knows he'll fail wasn't part of his plan, but being with you was, even if it meant sacrificing a night off locked indoors.

"Are you paying attention?" you inquire, noticing your friend's absent-mindedness. "Am I just talking to myself here?"

Sunoo snaps back to attention at your words, attempting to mask his lack of focus when he sees your irritated expression. "I'm paying attention!" he insists.

"What did I just say, then?" you ask, arms folded.

"Um… you were talking about how mass is created and destroyed during a chemical reaction," Sunoo mimics your posture, speaking with false confidence.

You sigh, "I literally said the opposite."

"I got mixed up! I'm just tired…" he reaches out to touch your hand. "Let's do something else, hm?"

"Only after you get this right. Then we can do whatever you want," you state firmly, and your friend grins in agreement.

"You should've said that sooner!”

( JUNGWON ) Your failure in last week's oral exam was the perfect excuse for Jungwon to invite you to study with him. Obviously, the goal isn't just to learn about the properties and graphs of exponential and logarithmic functions; Jungwon truly wants to forge a connection with you.

"Want to make this more interesting?" Jungwon suggests, noticing your disinterest. "We study for fifteen minutes straight, then take a five minute break to get to know each other better.”

"You want to get to know me better?" you furrow your brow, surprised by what he just said. After all, Jungwon is the smart, popular guy everyone admires, so why would he want to get closer to someone like you? His invitation to study together already caught you off guard, but you assumed it was just a gesture of kindness.

"Of course I do!" he says confidently. "I've been wanting to be friends with you since you first arrived at school, but you've always kept to yourself.”

"I'm a bit... reserved," you admit, and Jungwon nods understandingly.

"But that doesn't stop me from wanting to get to know you."

Your cheeks flush, and despite your usual reluctance to open up about yourself, you agree to his proposal. "Sure, let's give it a try.”

( RIKI ) He's on the brink of failing, and you simply can't bear to see your best friend struggle. That's why you scheduled a study session at your house, which didn't sit well with Riki. The reason behind his dissatisfaction lies in the fact that you, indirectly, are to blame for his potential failure.

Every day, you sit facing Riki in class, and every day, he is battling to focus because your captivating perfume and mint lip gloss steal his attention. He gets lost in thoughts of you, and by the time he snaps out of it, class is over. So, under these circumstances, how can he possibly concentrate on whatever you're saying right now when you're so close?

"Do you understand what I said?" you ask, shifting your attention to your friend, who appeared to be listening attentively. "Hmm, seems like it. So, let's have a little quiz!”

Riki takes a deep breath, attempting to refocus on the main subject.

"What's the primary component of plant cells responsible for photosynthesis?" you ask, your tone serious.

"Mint lip gloss," he responds without thinking—or perhaps thinking too much, but about the wrong thing. "No! That's not what I meant to say."

You arch an eyebrow, realizing your friend must be weary from studying. "Need a break? We could play video games for half an hour and then get back to business! But be aware, I'll be tacking on extra study time for it," you warn, rising from your chair.

"I'm screwed.”

© woncoyo

#enhypen headcanons #enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #jungwon x reader #jay x reader #sunghoon x reader #jake x reader #enhypen #niki x reader #sunoo x reader #enhypen fluff #enha #enhypen oneshots #enhypen imagines #enhypen soft hours #heeseung fluff #sunghoon fluff #jake fluff #jongseong fluff #sunoo fluff #riki fluff #jungwon fluff #headcanons #reactions enhypen