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cedarxwing · 4 months

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Hannibal Season 4 Plot Ideas

The main concepts that keep coming up in interviews of Bryan Fuller and some of the cast are:

"Will Graham's broken mind" and "memory palace bullshit"

"Inception meets Angel Heart"

an interesting return to season one dynamics, but flipped

deeper exploration of Will and Hannibal's relationship than in previous seasons

stuff from Hannibal the novel that no other adaptation has done yet.

we're in Cuba

So based on that, here are some possible story beats for S4 (picking up right after the Fall as if the show was never cancelled):

We start out in Cuba. The most obvious reason? To hunt down one of their victims that have fled the country, as Hannibal does at the end of Silence of the Lambs. Based on interviews, it's clear that Chilton would remain in the US to head the BSHCI again (how is he alive, let alone working?), so it's more likely that they're hunting Bedelia for the post credits leg scene.

Will Graham's Broken Mind

During the Fall, Will suffers a mental schism that splits his personality, similar to the detective in Angel Heart. I don't think he literally has a split personality disorder, but he compartmentalizes his killer/Hannibal self from his moral self. When he participates in murders, he's not quite himself, viewing it through a dream lens (we saw a little of this when he was killing the Dragon). It's possible that he takes on personality traits from killers in season one, or even has to fight against a Red Dragon personality ("You can always toss the Dragon to someone else." "Will Graham interests me.")

I think we'll see a return of the teacup metaphor relating to Will's mental schism, since their reunion represents the "teacup coming together again" the way Hannibal wanted it to in Digestivo. "Not even in your mind?" Well, the teacup HAS come back together in Will's mind, because there's no other way for him to accept his feelings for Hannibal. He mentally regresses back to season one/two and we see the return of the Abigail imago we last saw in Primavera, as well as Beverly and Hobbs and Gideon and all our other friends. Maybe Will thinks they're all alive again! Or maybe he thinks he's dead! This would be really poetic from Hannibal's perspective, since his arc in the novel is about dropping a teacup and "being satisfied when it does not gather itself together." So it would be perfect for the cup to gather itself in Will's head and for Hannibal to realize that's not at all what he wants.

Will hallucinating Abigail would be a fun way to get the "murder family" dynamic. "It's hard to grasp what would've happened, could've happened. In some other world… did happen." Well, we can see that world in Will's broken mind!

I don't have a clear guess of what a "return to season one but flipped" might mean. There are lots of possibilities...

1. Could refer to Will's encephalitis days when he wasn't sure if he was committing the murders or not, except this time he's committing them. Maybe he has a pendulum wipe moment and thinks he's reconstructing a murder instead of committing it (like a reverse of the Georgia Madchen murder in Buffet Froid). Going extreme in this direction, maybe he analyzes his own crime scenes with Hannibal in therapy. Maybe Beverly shows up at an actual crime scene and helps him "analyze the evidence."

2. Could refer to his dynamic with Hannibal. According to the rest of my bullet points, they return to their therapy sessions, but with memory palace elements and hallucinations, etc., but this time Hannibal is trying to fix Will instead of breaking him down.

Something from Hannibal the novel that no one else has adapted

This could be a few things, but I think it's most likely the end of the novel where he's brainwashing Clarice. Hannibal would use drugs and hypnosis ("therapy") to help Will merge his two halves and fully accept who he is. This happens in different places in their memory palaces, kind of like the white space dinner scene from Dolce, or when they were jumping around to different places in the Red Dragon investigation. To be clear, they're on friendly terms. Will consents to this. He has ample opportunity to escape and go back the US if he wants. We might get a lot of information on Will's childhood and backstory, maybe a "saving Hannah the slaughterhorse"/"silence of the lambs" moment. I'd like to see him as a cop working in New Orleans. The time he got stabbed. The time he didn't have the stomach to pull the trigger. This would be a nice reverse from the S3a dynamic where Will was delving into Hannibal's backstory. :)

Part of this "therapy" could be helping Will let go of Abigail the way Hannibal helped Clarice let go of her father. This plot beat has already been done twice in the show (1. The Primavera line "A place was made for you, Abigail. The only place I could make for you" refers to the place in Will's mind. 2. The WCWTS scene where Hannibal helps Abigail let go of her father. "What you need of your father is here, in your head.") BUT I still want to see it with Will/Hannibal. What I'm really saying is it would be cool if Hannibal showed Will Abigail's skeleton to convince him that she's dead and Will cried over her skull.

For the other half of Will's therapy, Hannibal has to get him to really delight in a murder when he's fully present as himself (Similar to how Clarice ate Paul Krendler's brain. Similar to how Hannibal wanted Will to kill Mason Verger.). Ideally the victim wouldn't be a criminal (Will is already fine killing murderers like Dolarhyde and Bedelia), but a representative of the corrupt judicial system. Someone who has personally slighted Will. An FBI official that Will HATES enough to eat their brain. The perfect option is Kade Prurnell (whose name is an anagram for Paul Krendler!). So yeah I think Hannibal catches Kade Prurnell and they have a dinner party where Will kills her and realizes, "Hey, I don't care what Jack or Alana or the FBI or anyone thinks about me anymore. My personal ethical code is good enough for me because I am MORE ethical than the law." And then he and Hannibal can be full murder husbands after that.

Side character subplots

While all this is happening, there's an international manhunt for Will and Hannibal going on. Jack/Price/Zeller are still at the FBI, probably beefing with Kade Prurnell to establish how awful her character is. Either Clarice Starling, Miriam Lass, or Alana Bloom are on the case. The murder/disappearance of Bedelia (or whoever) in Cuba is their first lead, so everyone gets to go to Cuba!

It's been nearly two seasons since Will interacted with Prurnell, so maybe they need to have a cat and mouse dynamic in Cuba to reignite his loathing. Idk why she would be in Cuba, when she works for the OIG... but who cares! She's there, motivated by greed, basically acting as Will's Pazzi. Maybe she's bullying her underlings in true Krendler fashion.

At this point, Jack is the only somewhat moral person in the entire cast. His primary motivation is saving Will. Yep, that's right, he still thinks there's a chance to bring Will back. He's leading the investigation, but he's hoping to catch Will alone before anyone else finds him so he can try to talk him back onto his side. This would continue the God vs. Devil thing with Hannibal, fighting over Will's soul.

Maybe Jack finds Will when he's in his broken state of mind and they have a chat. I'd want this scene to function like Clarice's hypnosis scene where she talks to her "father." Jack and Will address the vague father/son dynamic they have ("I'm not your father, Will." "Abandonment requires expectation." Jack as God/Will as the Lamb). Jack forgives Will for his crimes. Will forgives Jack for sacrificing him. The conversation helps Will along in his "therapy."

Last time we saw Alana, she was fleeing on a helicopter with Margot and their son. My first thought was "Omg they're going to Cuba! They're going to get Chilton'ed in Cuba!" but Fuller has mentioned that Margot would be actively managing the Verger meat packing company as a vegan girlboss lesbian so idk. (I personally don't see how a vegan could run a meatpacking company... maybe it transitions to tofu packing).

Anyway, I think Alana's character has gotten even darker since Hannibal's escape. She's given up on Will and is completely focused on protecting her family. Knowing Hannibal is going to come to kill her, maybe she sets up some sort of trap for when they come (or she puts Will's dogs under a cardboard box held up by a stick and waits). Maybe she catches Will and Will has to pull a Bedelia and pretend he was kidnapped and brainwashed (and he kinda was, if Hannibal used hypnosis and drugs like in the book). I think it would be fun for her to finally give into her "professional curiosity" about Will and try to study him (like a Bedelia/Mason hybrid character). Maybe she teams up with Jack to use Will to catch Hannibal. It would be wild if W+H actually killed her, but maybe! Maybe she gets the Chilton treatment and lives, but gets a nice facial scar like every other fallen character in the show.

Freddie Lounds would have to come back! And I want her DEAD haha. She's escaped punishment for too long, so in my ideal S4, she writes a book about Abigail even though Will asked her not to. Maybe she's investigating/contaminating Will's crime scenes in Cuba? She's definitely gonna die, but not before W+H use Tattlecrime for some shenanigans!

Chilton loses a limb (that's really all he has left to give). In an actual S4, I'm sure there would be a plot reason for this and some other killer would probably do it, but in my mind it's a comedy beat. W+H don't even set out to get Chilton. They don't hate him, they just find him pathetically entertaining at this point. Through Chilton's own incompetence or some karmic twist of fate, he runs into them (like Barney at the opera). W+H take one look at each other and go, "You know what would be funny..."

I have NO idea what to do for Molly. I assume she's living with Wally's grandparents in Oregon. Maybe Will mails her some signed divorce papers and that becomes evidence in the investigation lol. I'd rather leave her in peace!

More serial killers who used to be Hannibal's patients! W+H read about a former patient's murders in the news and go to catch him before the FBI can (running into the FBI in the process, of course).

Other stuff

I'd love to skip around to Brazil or Buenos Aires, the South American locations from the books. Maybe Hannibal gets injured and needs surgery in Brazil, and his medical records are another lead for the investigation. Maybe the season ends with a happily ever after in Buenos Aires. <3

They pretend to be recovering from plastic surgery to hide their faces in bandages. I just think that would be funny.

Will escapes Alana's clutches by using all the serial killer skills he learned in season one. He pretends to be a dead body, wearing someone else's face as in SotL. (This was actually in the Digestivo script but it got cut.)

They steal an ambulance (and turn off the radio!) again like SotL. And then the "This is very educational" line from Sorbet would come full circle.

Someone has to send a secret message using book code. What if W+H got separated and that's how they had to communicate? Or maybe they communicate to another killer that they're hunting? Or maybe they do it just to taunt the FBI?

Jack vs. Hannibal fight scene (round 3)! This time over Will's soul. Will watches, amused (maybe in broken mind state).

(If anyone else has thoughts I'd love to hear them!)

#hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibal s4 #hannibal season 4 #hannibal meta #will graham #hannigram #cedar writes

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seravphs · 1 year

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GUARDIAN ANGEL! GOJO x FEM READER

Kneeling by your bed, rosary wrapped around your knuckles, lips pressed to the burnished rosewood, you pray.

God, please send me another guardian angel.

A blast of static from the TV behind you.

The one you sent me-

“Hey, how does the thing work?” Gojo says, accompanied by loud thumps. You cringe in silence.

He’s strange.

wc — 3.7k

tags — religion, Gojo has to reckon with the consequences of being the strongest, domesticity, attempted (failed) mugging/attack, Gojo kills a man for you (non graphic), Shoko’s a good friend, bs angel lore, I think of this like a prequel to reader’s villain arc lol, title from closer by nine inch nails

You wake up to a man standing over your bed. Understandably, you scramble backwards, hands over knees over legs over feet, all your limbs tangled together, until you bump into your headboard.

“Hi!” He says cheerily. “Wow, haven’t gotten that reaction in a while, not since- Anyways. I’m Gojo Satoru, your guardian angel. Please make breakfast, it’s 12 pm already and I’m starving. Your sleep habits are terrible.”

You shake, terrified. Nothing he said has gone through your brain.

“Um, hello? Deep breaths now. It’s really not that serious, can you stop that? Hellooooo,” he’s snapping his fingers in front of your face, trying to get through to you.

You panic and bat his hand away, but if you can touch him, that means he’s real. You’re not dreaming. There’s a strange man in your house calling himself your guardian angel. You try to pull yourself together enough to make a coherent sentence. What comes out is:

“Um. Guardian angel. What?”

“You don’t believe me,” he says.

You’ve heard it can be dangerous for people suffering from delusions to be forcefully brought out of their dreams. “No,” you say carefully. “I’m sure this is all a big understanding.”

“No, that’s okay,” he laughs. “I love getting to do this.”

Massive wings unfurl from his back. It’s a strange sight. The air seems to ripple around them, iridescent ebbs and flows of the universe to make space for the impossible. They seem to sprout right out of his shoulder blades.

It’s undeniable, irrefutable proof. Your brain can’t process this. It goes back to sleep.

You wake up to the smell of bacon burning in the kitchen.

Gojo hums as he cooks, his wings out. You’re almost worried they’ll get caught in the flames when suddenly you have something much more real to worry about.

“Ow!” He’s about to stick his finger into his mouth when you intervene, scolding him without even thinking about it.

“That’s dangerous! Don’t put your hands in your mouth, especially not if you’ve been cooking. Come here,” you tug him over to run his hands under the faucet.

“Who's the guardian angel again?” He teases, amused.

You answer him with another question. “Why are you cooking, anyways?”

“You’re starving me! It’s so late and you haven’t made breakfast yet - you know I could report you to the authorities for angel abuse, right?”

Somehow, you don’t believe him. There may very well be a division in heaven’s bureaucracy dedicated to looking after angels, but something about Gojo is just on the edge of unbelievable, like if you blink too hard, it might disappear without a trace. It’s the wings, probably.

You’re good at compartmentalizing, so you ignore all of the normal reactions someone would have to an angel randomly appearing in your apartment to instead make breakfast. Gojo already burned your favorite pan, so you stick it in the sink to soak while you rummage around for your second best set. Then you check the fridge. You’re out of butter and eggs. There are just two pieces of bacon left. Is it presumptuous to ask your angel to run errands with you?

You poke your head out of the fridge to look at Gojo, staring remorsefully at the burnt remains of his once-was-an-egg. He’s nursing the cut on his finger.

“Do you want to go grocery shopping?”

He smiles at you, slow and syrupy and-

He can’t do that. He’s beautiful as it is, as if God took extra time crafting him. Smiling only makes his beauty all the more painful, tugging at the strings of your heart. His snow white hair curls against the nape of his neck, a ruthlessly cute detail you notice when he tilts his head at you.

“I would love to. What’s grocery shopping?”

Introducing Gojo to the modern world is an exercise in both patience and childish wonder. There’s so much he doesn’t know. He tells you the last time he’s been on Earth was somewhere back in the 90’s.

“Like 1990? That’s pretty recent,” you remark.

“Like 90 CE.”

He’s delighted by everything, even the simplest of snacks, and begs you to add them to your cart. Ramune impresses him to no end. He’s enthralled by the taste of ice cream after the nice worker gives him a sample. You might really be reported to the Bureau of Angel Abuse at this point - all he’s interested in is junk food. It takes a while to finally wrangle him away from everything. In a way, it’s your fault because you hesitate to refuse an angel anything, and Gojo wants it all. You only manage to get him to agree to go home once you’ve tired him out.

There was a sense of reverence, at first.

There’s an angel living in your home. It’s hard to imagine getting used to that. Walking into the bathroom to the sight of Gojo brushing his teeth shirtless, his wings out, is a sight that will never get old. He manages to transform even the mundane into the divine. The sunlight strikes his hair at just the right angle to glow, giving him a faux-halo.

“Good morning,” he smiles. “I think I used up all your toothpaste.”

By day seven, you’ve wised up to Gojo’s tactics. If you don’t say no to anything, he’ll steamroll right over you, so you have to grow a backbone.

“Oh, Christ? Yeah, we’re old pals. We go wayyyyy back.”

“Please be quiet while I’m trying to pray.”

“We’re in the same therapy group, actually. He texts me all the time for advice-“

“Gojo. Shut. Up.”

He’s silent for all of a minute before he pipes up again. “I don’t think capital G up there would appreciate that.”

You have never missed a day of prayer in your life. No temptation has been able to sway you from your duties. Hunger, thirst, and pain all were swept away in the face of your faith. Were you seriously about to start now, being annoyed to death by a particularly useless angel?

The best solution to Gojo is always to ignore him. He needs attention like flowers need water.

Without it, he stalks off to sulk.

It’s night by the time he returns. He’s flying, which you usually don’t allow him to do, but you’ve driven out to a more remote, private church to pray. It’s owned by an old family friend, who handed you the keys without question. Half of this is for you, to experience god in the sanctity of nature, and half is for Gojo. You hate seeing him cooped up. Part of you feels like you’ve chained him down. You’re a trap in the form of a human, made to keep him grounded.

He touches down next to you, hair slicked to his forehead in sweat. When he stretches his arms, his wings move simultaneously. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look more alive. He loves nothing like he loves flying, and you’re inclined to agree.

Maybe you’ll let him take you for another ride tonight. You love the feeling of the wind against your face, the sight of the landscape beneath you when he takes you up, the feeling in your stomach when he tucks his wings in and free-falls for fun. You’re not scared. Gojo would never let anything happen to you.

You might ask, later. Now, you send him off to the car ahead of you while you lock up. He’s cheerful as he heads off, whistling merrily. You’re glad flying has improved his mood. It’s equally painful for you whenever he’s upset with you. Perhaps it's simply a side effect of being a guardian angel .

The key is in the door when you feel the first hint of danger.

“All the money in your pockets, ma’am.”

Polite, for a thief.

“You’re not from around these parts.” He says as you spin around. “Should’ve known better than to go wandering around these woods alone. Whatever happens next is on you, sweetheart. If only you’d been a little more careful.”

He has a knife.

“What do you want? Money? You can have it.” It doesn’t matter much to you. As long as he leaves before Gojo comes back.

“Sometimes, ma’am, men don’t want anything but a thrill.”

Then he lunges at you, presses you against the wall, and pins you with a knife to your throat.

“Don’t scream now. No one would hear you anyways.”

He’s wrong about that part.

You hear him coming up the path before you see him.

“What’s taking you so long?” Gojo whines. “I wanna go home and watch Love Island already-oh.”

“Run!” Gojo might be an angel, but you’ve seen him cut himself making toast. He can bleed like any other man, gold ichor, yes, but blood still. You don’t want to see him hurt.

Instead, he sizes up your assailant, unfurls those beautiful wings - they always take your breath away - and in one swift move, simply tears you from his grasp. It’s faster than you can blink.

The man makes a muffled sound of fear and shock as Gojo seems to blink back into existence. You know he’s only moving too fast for your brains to comprehend.

“Stay here,” he deposits you on the grass behind him. It’s scorched, burned black from the temperature of his wings.

He turns up the heat. You didn’t think it was possible, but he was clearly holding back. The air seems to melt around him, heat waves shimmering off his skin, his white feathers. They glow with an otherworldly light, radiating heat.

You didn’t know true glory until this moment, and it frightens you. All other versions of blue fade in favor of Gojo’s eyes - a single, unyielding truth. He is a piece of heaven on earth, burning up. His anger is righteous. Holy. His true nature melts away his human appearance.

He’s a seraph, one of the highest order of angels.

You’ve never seen him fight before, don’t know how he gets his weapons or where he puts them. It just appears out of thin air. He carries a flaming sword in one hand, its pommel is white marble, its blade glass. Contrary to common belief, his voice doesn’t boom. In fact it’s all the more threatening because it is soft, a whisper so clearly heard it defies the laws of the world just because it can.

He raises the sword like an executioner and judge all in one.

You barely have time to close your eyes in horror when you realize what he’s about to do.

Real angels are not like the watered down, commercialized ones you can find today in any young adult TV show. Real angels are bloody. Real angels are the hand of God, ruthless and violent.

Real angels have no mercy.

You open your eyes again when you feel the now familiar heat on your skin.

He’s standing before you, beaming. It’s clear he expects praise. In heaven, it might’ve been given to him.

You can only stare at him in fear, not awe.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He steps closer, his burning wings flapping. “It’s okay. I got rid of him. You’re safe now.”

You’re ashamed a split second after it happens because it’s so pathetic, but you can’t help it. Your animal instincts react instinctively to the threat, sending you skittering back on your palms and ass away from him.

He freezes. His wings remain moving. Perhaps, like a shark and its gills, he simply can’t stop.

“You’re afraid of me,” he says, stunned. “Why are you afraid of me?”

The heat from his wings is baking your face. You’re afraid if you speak, your skin will crack. Still, Gojo shows no signs of leaving you alone. If anything, he’s about to get closer.

“Stop,” you squeak. You throw out your hands in front of you like the world’s most useless shield. Your eyes are watering from looking into his radiance.

Helpless, Gojo does something he hasn’t done since he was just a newborn angel.

He asks for help.

Shoko Ieri looks nothing like him, so that answers one question you’ve always had. Gojo tells you she’s another angel, although you don’t see her wings past the first minute you’ve met. After Gojo summons her to the scene and she catches the way you look at him, she keeps them carefully folded in.

She helps you into the passenger seat when you can’t make your legs move to walk back to your car. You won’t let Gojo touch you, feeling torn at the look on his face when you flinch back from him.

He’s sitting on a stool at the island while Shoko checks you over for injuries in the kitchen. There’s no major damage, just the after effects of shock and adrenaline working through your system.

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” He says, hurt and confused.

“You fucking idiot. You colossal blockhead. You-“ Shoko pauses, not because she’s run out of things to say, but because she has too many. “It’s not about you, right now, okay? I know it’s hard for you to get your head out of your ass, but can you at least try to be supportive?”

Gojo makes a noise like he wants to protest, but you shift your weight and that draws his attention back to you. The look on your face makes him fall silent.

Shoko leaves after she’s completed her examination, though she doesn’t leave you helpless.

“Do you want to come with me?” She says, carefully. “I understand if you don’t want to be left alone with him right now.”

You shake your head.

“Listen, I know Gojo scared you. I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have. He’s always been too reckless - ugh. The stories I could tell you. But I promise you, he will never hurt you - not just because he cares about you, but because he’s literally not allowed to. He’s your guardian angel.”

“I know,” you say, and that’s the end of that.

There’s an uncomfortable silence after Shoko leaves. You’re not sure how to navigate the once easy relationship between you and Gojo now. Always unable to keep still, he breaks the silence first.

“Do you want to talk about it now?” He says softly. Everything about him is dulled, even the gleam of his brilliant hair. He’s back within his human skin, even more modestly than before, as if he has taken care to seal up every crack that his true nature could spill out of.

You choose your first question carefully. “Why has the lord sent a seraph to watch over me?”

Seraphs are the highest level of the hierarchy of angels. They maintain the order of the world, fulfilling God’s will. For one to have come to you-

True horror is sinking in. You love your saints. You worship them devoutly, knowing each story by heart. You could trace a path through the church library of all the books you’ve read on them, giving the history of each spine.

You do not want to be one of your saints.

Joan of Arc died at 19. Saint Agatha was canonized for being tortured violently.

By sending you such a strong protector, your lord may be condemning you to die young, but that’s not why you cry. You cry because you are too weak to fulfill his command.

Life is sweet. You don’t want to give up the taste of tart oranges on your tongue, the feeling of the babbling creek over your feet, the songs of the birds in the morning. You don’t want to give up Gojo’s wake up calls, or the feeling of flying.

All these selfish, worldly pleasures should mean nothing to you when faced with the lord’s call, and yet-

You resent it still.

You’re so confused by it all. Why were you given such a burden and told nothing about it? What does any of it mean?

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. We don’t get told anything but who we were assigned to.”

“Okay,” you say.

“That’s it? Okay? I scare the shit out of you, and all you have to say is okay?”

“Gojo, I don’t want to fight anymore. Let me just go to bed, please.”

You’re woken up not by the light of Gojo’s halo, as you’ve gotten used to when he comes to your room demanding breakfast, but by the sun. The curtains are open, and sunbeams stream in over your pillow.

Gojo is in the kitchen making - not burning - breakfast. He doesn’t turn when you pad into the kitchen on slippered feet, but you know he knows you’re there. You’re feeling much better. Sleep has refreshed you from the major shock to your system last night, and now you feel almost half bad for your reaction to him. He only wanted to help you, after all.

It’s not his fault he’s strong. At the end of the day, he’s just another gear in the universe, like you. Neither of you are important enough to be privy to the greater, divine plan, not even a seraph. You shouldn’t have snapped at him. You’re in this together.

You stand on tiptoe behind him to peer over his shoulder into the pan.

“I’m making you breakfast,” he says. Is it just you, or does he seem almost shy?

What an impact you’ve had on him. Your heart breaks. You’ve only known him to be bold and uncaring of human customs like politeness. You didn’t think it would upset you to see him learn manners, and yet-

It’s a consequence of your rejection last night, as if he’s worried you’ll pull away again. This isn’t what you wanted, ever.

“We should talk,” you say.

“Yeah. We should.” He still won’t turn around, avoiding eye contact.

Before you can speak, he blurts out, “ Do you not want me to be your angel anymore?”

“Of course not,” you say, reaching out for him. He’s hesitant to let you pull him closer, take his hands in yours. “Gojo, why would you think that?”

“You’re scared of me,” he says, almost petulantly, like a sulking child. “You don’t like me anymore.”

“Gojo,” you can think of nothing to say but his name. Sweet Gojo. Selfish Gojo. Gojo, who you’ve gotten used to having around. Gojo, who has infiltrated your life and now thinks to leave like you can kick him out like that. Like you would. Gojo, who you’re fond of in a way you can’t articulate, despite the way he takes and takes from you. Gojo, who you’re willing to keep, despite everything.

Gojo, who you care about, enough to want him to stay.

Gojo, who cares about you, enough to want to leave.

He takes this like a rebuff and wrenches his hands out of yours.

You grab his face and forcefully drag his attention back to you. His eyes are wild like a trapped animal, but there’s no sign of fire. He’s carefully dampened any kind of godliness in him.

“Oh, Gojo. Please don’t. I want you with me, I promise. I would never ask you to leave.”

“You don’t have to,” he says grimly. A soldier to the end. He knows how to do the hard things. Sometimes, you have to cut the rot out before the wound festers.

“I am scared of you - please don’t make that face. You’re breaking my heart.”

“Your heart? What about mine?” He bristles.

“I trust you. Let me prove it. Take your wings out again. Show me your true self.”

“After seeing how you reacted?” He scoffs, turning defensive. You’ve exhausted his goodness, and now his emotions are getting the better of him, making the situation ugly. But you knew this would happen.

You know him.

And you know how to deal with him.

“Come on,” you say. “Think of it like exposure therapy.”

“I don’t want to see you look at me like that again,” he admits.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” you say. “Please. Do you trust me?”

He ends up on the ground cross legged, his wings spread, back to you. His wings are fiery, but carefully controlled. He won’t burn you.

You start small, running your hands all over his wings. They rustle underneath your touch like startled animals. When you tug gently at the ends, extending them to their full length, you realize how monstrous his wingspan truly is. From tip to tip, they’re larger than a grown man is tall. Your fingers creep along the thin ridge of his radius, deceptively thin beneath your fingers. If you didn’t know better, it would snap easily with just the barest hint of pressure.

He makes a small noise. You jerk back, worried you’ve actually bent the bone, but he’s fine. He pushes his wings back under your hands like a puppy seeking attention.

From the radius, you trail along the top edge to his metacarpus, then down to his feathers, all the way back to his scapula. From there, it’s only a few inches over to his actual shoulder blades. He shudders when you touch him there, your fingertips lightly grazing over the bone. You press down gently. His muscles flex under your skin, tense and wound up.

You realize that he's been suspiciously quiet for a while. He’s too still, as if he’s purposely holding himself in place. Have you hurt him without knowing? Would he tell you if you had?

“Gojo?” You pull your hands away from his wings and he shudders as if he’s been burned. “Look at me.”

He won’t turn, so you grab him by the chin and force his head up so you can look him in the face. Even down on the floor like this, he’s tall. His face is pink, his eyes wide like he’s been stunned. He looks almost like he’s in pain.

“What’s wrong? Why didn’t you say anything? Does it hurt?” You fret over him.

“Doesn’t,” he says hoarsely. “Feels too good.”

You freeze. It’s this sight of an angel in all his celestial grace wrecked by your touch, brought down by just the brush of your fingers, that makes you realize it.

It feels good to have an angel at your feet.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader

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aihoshiino · 28 days

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it's never going to come up in canon but i do often wonder a lot what the result of ai surviving and raising aqrb as their mother would have done for grsr's 'presence' in their lives and identities, so to speak. obviously both of them have differing and (in aq's case) complicated relationships to the people they were 'before', but how much of that is nature and how much of that is nurture (or lack thereof, i guess.......) is interesting to consider.

ruby pretty clearly straightforwardly thinks of herself as sarina 2.0 at least as of the last real interrogation of this aspect of her identity, but earlier in the series, we actually see her drawing more of a dividing line between the two identities, codeswitching between speaking as 'sarina' and 'ruby' particularly strongly at the start of the sweet today arc. i do think these aspects of her identity make sense in tandem - if she considers herself a continuation of sarina's wishes and dreams, i think it makes sense for them to both overlap and yet be differentiated in the way your past and present selves are at once different and the same.

aqua's r/s with gorou's identity is pretty messy and hard to fully nail down though i think that's in part because aqua himself doesn't know what the fuck to make of it, really. as a baby, we see gorou's personality much more prominently but once we timeskip to the twins' middle school days, the current aqua almost feels like an entirely different character. and in a sense, he is: he's lived a whole life's worth of time so far in a completely different body and brain, having interactions and relationships with people gorou amamiya would never have met in his life and occupying a totally different social role to his past self - i think it makes sense to call the sum of those differences 'aqua hoshino' and differentiate them in the same way as early!ruby does btwn her and sarina: the same, yet different. i do think aqua is intended to be read as separate enough from gorou as to be an individual person, just because a lot of things about him (in particular the aqkn and aqak romances) read Very Differently if he is intended to be an unbroken continuation of gorou's identity as opposed to a 14~18yo boy inheriting it. it's not that aqua concretely Is or Is Not gorou - both of these things are true at once and it's this lack of a yes/no binary and associated failure to compartmentalize as needed that seems to be one of the main causes of his Gorou Related Anguish

but!! all this stuff is infinitely more complicated by the fact that the twins were both traumatized by losing ai in their very early childhood. aqua in particular, as we later find out, was essentially retraumatized because gorou's guilt over his mother's death (+ his grief over sarina's, who he associated w/ai) was already floating around in his brain when all this shit happened. so how much of the current aqua is just the result of his personality naturally developing like that and how much is his brain getting fucking mgs4 microwave corridor brain blasted at a formative age?

then of course there's this smoking gun ass line

what does this mean, aka akasaka. i'm going to laminate you.

i do personally like to think that in an ai lives au, the twins ultimately do fully step into their lives as 'aqua hoshino' and 'ruby hoshino' without feeling beholden to their past selves - not abandoning or forgetting them, but making the most of this second opportunity as new people to purify their regrets and lay them to rest with love. this is mostly because i don't think either of the twins could ever sincerely and wholly accept ai as their mother w/o that compartmentalization and just considering that makes me want to scream cry throw up eat fiberglass blow up a building and smash breakable dishware.

i just want the hoshinos to be alive, together and happy and mentally well....................... is that too much to ask

#oshi no ko #oshi no posting #onk spoilers #nothing explosive but

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iamnmbr3 · 2 months

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I LOVE your meta! <3 can you tell me your opinion about the development of draco's and harry's feelings for each other as it was accidentally written into the story (even tho JKR clearly didn't intend for a romance)? when did you think it started for both boys? i'd be very interested to know what you think. :)

Thank you!!!! <3 What a great question. I've gotten so many good asks lately.

I don't think there was one definable moment. I think it grew between them. They were both drawn to each other in some ways right from day 1 and spent seven years paralleling and orbiting each other.

Draco tries to befriend Harry before he even knows who he is (even though Harry looks rather scruffy and surely Draco must already know the children of all the "important" Pureblood families). And then he tries again once he knows who Harry is and spends years smarting at Harry's rejection, seemingly unable to move on from it or from Harry.

He's determined to be a part of Harry's life, if not as a friend then as a rival. He can't cope with Harry's disregard and constantly seeks attention from him. Even Lucius can't stop him from openly antagonizing Harry despite cautioning Draco in book 2 that it's unwise to be so openly hostile to Harry at this point.

Meanwhile Harry constantly watches what Draco does and even dreams about him his very first night at Hogwarts. After being nearly murdered by Voldemort at the end of book 1, during the summer before his second year Harry thinks of Draco as his arch nemesis and also thinks about how he kinda misses him.

For the first 5 years they know each other, Draco's entire life revolves around Harry whereas Harry has other things that he's dealing with though he's always extremely aware of and attuned to Draco. In some ways this might lead one to think that Draco is aware of his feelings a lot earlier. But honestly I think they're both in deep denial, though I do think perhaps Draco has more of an inkling since he is the one seeking Harry out.

Still, given the sharpening lines of the war, especially from book 4 on, I think Draco knows this is something that he should not and cannot feel or pursue and he tries to tell himself it's just dislike. Especially since mortifyingly Harry despises everything he thinks he believes in.

I think Draco would be the first to admit it to himself though. Probably during 7th year, once he's started to realize how wrong he's been about so many things and once he's been forced to confront the fact that he is not and will never be the person he's supposed to be, that he hates and fears Voldemort and the Death Eater cause, and that he hopes somehow, somewhere Harry is alive and that all the whispers about him being the Chosen One are true and that he really can end this.

And maybe in that context he also starts to admit to himself that maybe he never really hated Harry after all, that maybe the whispered remarks his friends made when they were younger were true and maybe he does feel something for Harry other than disdain. And that maybe it's not just that he finds Harry's stupid messy hair and green eyes aesthetically pleasing. Maybe he actually likes him. As a person. Maybe he loves him.

By the time the war is over I think he's come come to terms with it. Harry is just another thing he's lost, his feelings for him another thing he realized far too late.

Meanwhile we know that from the end of book 6 on Harry stops thinking about Draco with rancor and instead pities and worries about him, doesn't blame him for anything, and tries to save him at every opportunity. However, Harry also has a job to do and he and Draco are on the opposite sides of a war. The reality is that nothing can come of any feelings Harry might have and 1 or both of them may very well not survive the war.

Harry compartmentalizes and shuts down all feelings he might have and all thoughts of what might have been. Especially after the Manor, when he realizes that Draco may well be tortured to death because of him, he blocks him from his mind. He can't afford to examine his feelings or he won't be able to go on. Plus, if Voldemort reads his mind it will put Draco in even more danger.

Besides, he has Ginny. Someone who is so much more acceptable to care about. Someone who symbolizes all the intangible things Harry imagines he will want after the war. I think post Manor is the closest Harry comes to really acknowledging and verbalizing to himself what he feels, but he doesn't quite get there. (Though you could also read it as Harry realizing his feelings after the Manor scene and then realizing how impossible it all is and shutting Draco out of his mind completely).

But then the war's over. Harry gets to have his relationship with Ginny. He gets to realize that somehow in the peace they don't quite click anymore. Maybe they drifted apart. Or maybe what they had wasn't that strong to begin with. He's not sure, though sometimes he remembers the way at the end of sixth year she thought he was going off to fight Voldemort because it was what would make him "happy" rather than because he felt he had to, and wonders if maybe they were never going to work out, no matter what.

And meanwhile Draco's cleaning up his life. Harry speaks for him at his trial. And somehow they find each other again in the postwar world. Because they always do. Because they haven't been able to do anything but orbit each other since they were 11. And when Harry looks at Draco he feels something. And maybe he's never really put it into words before, even to himself, but somehow it doesn't feel new at all. It feels inevitable.

#send me asks anytime. i love them #interesting to hear others' opinions on this too #asks #drarry #Harry Potter #hpdm #meta #Harry Potter meta #drarry meta #my meta #harry/draco #Draco Malfoy

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vampiricgf · 9 days

Text

CHAPTER TWO / FACETS OF DEMEANOR

› astarion x f!reader

› summary : a day spent chattering among nobility, one of the most exciting events of the season: an auction. But why is one noble in particular so fixated on your husband, and why do strange things haunt your dreams after speaking with him?

› word count : 5.8k

› warnings : none

notes : rich people drama!!! let's play guess the bhaalspawn :3

series masterlist | chapter three

Dinner had passed uneventfully, though marked by a shift backwards from Astarion. Vanished in an instant was the brief second of affection he showed, replaced with his usual mocking comments and frosty body language.

Come morning you were convinced it had been either some hallucination brough on by how badly you craved any sort of attention from him or perhaps he had been ill momentarily. It’s not as if you went to bed together either; your lonely, far too large for one person bedchamber was all the greeted you by the evenings end. That had been far too much to hope for.

You hated to admit it but his barb about being foolish enough to think a spread of food might endear him to you had been somewhat true. The instructions you had given the cook had been motivated by a seed of hopefulness that he would appreciate the gesture, your consideration of his tastes. That’s not to say he did not seem to enjoy dinner, but it seemed your very presence had somehow turned the meat tough and the wine sour. Your husbands irritation had been so palpable by the end you could have cut it just like the flank on your fine ceramic, watching the juices of disdain leak and mar the eloquently carved table like blood.

Heaviness from inadequate sleep plagued your eyes as you stared impassively at the streaks of light cutting through the airy gossamer of the window dressings, highlighting the motes of dust floating in the air.

It was difficult to not torture yourself by going over every word and movement of his inch by inch inside your head. It was even more difficult to think about yet another day of busying yourself with mindless distractions.

Your mother had long been a steadfast patron of the arts in the city and you had sent word to her well over a week prior to spend time together at the latest auction benefiting another of her pet artists. It had been with the desperate need to alleviate your own misery and isolation that you had reached out initially but now that the day had come all you felt was annoyance at the prospect of tittering around with meaningless words floating through the air in just the same way the motes in your chamber did.

A pity she insisted on your husband accompanying you.

Auctions were one of many opportunities for nobility to fault both wealth and social status, in the Gate or in any realm. For others there was nothing more exhilarating than being in the company of affluent people, as evidenced by the shark like smiles of those you knew were here on invitation from other patriar families and the smug aura that emanated from those they viewed as pets. But that was a dangerous position to be in.

Your husband had been one such “pet” prior to your marriage. A kept thing that served a purpose, but as soon as someone exhausts their usefulness they are discarded and left bewildered once cut off from the financial and social support of a family. Not an envious status to hold in the slightest, and it makes you grimace over the rim of the flute glass in your hand. Some eye wateringly expensive wine that tasted like fresh gave dirt assaulted your tastebuds.

With each faux genial smile and meaningless greeting that fell from your lips you became more and more disillusioned. The people occupying this room simply saw money and power, nothing else. Evey word or gesture an opportunity to latch on. How repugnant.

But it wasn’t enough to simply be wealthy, no, one had to have a certain background and then others compartmentalized based on that background. What name do you have, what industry does your family spearhead, where is the wealth derived from. The answers to those questions was the key to figuring out the so called pecking order of every person in the room.

And the nouveau riche were at the bottom of that order.

It never escaped you how others from the same circle you had been born into would turn up their noses at newcomers, families who had only recently found status in whatever given endevour they partook in. It made you bristle despite yourself because your own husband would be classified as arriviste. Not that he would thank you for your defensiveness of him, and some part of you knows you should perhaps feel indifferent to it; possibly even haughty because despite your marriage he will never be weighed equally to you, but you can’t help the strange allegiance you hold with him.

“Have you seen the piece by DaRoni? A wonder one of his portraits is here, and of Azoun the fourth no less. A shame he was a madman.” Your mother muses beside you, bedecked in her usual uniform of simplistic and tasteful dress.

She had always been a staunch believer that it was gaudy for a wealthy person to dress wealthy, loud displays of money were distasteful. Her familiarity nearly makes you smile despite how dour the auctions crowd makes you feel.

“You know father will be displeased if you buy it.”

“All the more reason, then.” She said airily, sipping the same wine yet able to better mask the fact that it was objectively hideous.

She always was better at hiding herself than you could be.

“Did father… despise you, in the beginning?” You’re half shocked by the question from your own mouth.

If she was equally shocked, it wasn’t at all obvious.

“Ah, such things are delicate matters. Private matters.”

You can feel yourself visibly deflate at her answer, but you should have known better than to expect her to discuss such a topic, and here of all places.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I forgot myself.”

“Do try not to make a habit of it.”

Stiffly you both look on at the portrait of a long dead ruler in silence, and you resist the urge to begin shifting your weight from each foot or fidget with the glass in your hand.

If he were a less selfish man perhaps Astarion could acknowledge that he leverages you for his own gain, despite whanting nothing to do with you actively. He’s never been treated as well as he has as a newly minted husband, your husband.

The title is eye twitching, yes, but it’s always easy to recenter himself. You’ll die in the next fourty or fifty years, the blink of an eye truly. What was a little discomfort when considering all he stood to gain from you? But only if he can force himself to bite his tongue and keep your father off his back, like some harpy swooping down with claws extended to screech about children again.

The idea of actually impregnating you makes him pull a face. Again, it’s not as if you were some beast, and you are pleasant enough objectively. It’s just too bad that those thing only compound his irritation with you. A tool shouldn’t want children, shouldn’t be making demands. That dinner the previous night had been excruciating, watching you behave like some muttering idiot all because he hadn’t shown distain for you in one split second.

The memory makes him scoff, muttering under his breath in Elvish. If Wyllyck wanted to call anyone a parasite perhaps he should look to his own daughter: a leech withering without a supply of constant attention. It was very obvious his darling wife had been an extremely spoild nobel, if anything something to sneer at.

The display of opulence in the auction room was evidence enough of your upbringing, it oozed from every corner and fixture and made him feel an odd mixture of pride at having manipulated his way into it and disgust because he knows the looks of thinly veiled contempt are precisely because he married into it. None of it belongs to him alone, and your fathers words echo painfully in his head.

Everything you have is solely because of this family.

Before his grip on the flute glass in his hand could risk shattering it Torlin Silvershield sidled up beside him, making his mood plummet further. A snake of a man, just as ruthless and bloodthirsty as any beast bu beingt a high artificer of Gond made for the perfect mask of benevolence. Masterful deception.

If only Alana Silvershield had been in the market for a marriage he could have had a near truly endless supply of money and connections. That family was the largest fish in the proverbial pond, but of course the most difficult to get close to.

“Enjoying the fruits of your marriage, councelor?” Torlin asked, fixing him with a vipers smile.

“Magistrate. Although I don’t blame you for not recalling the difference, the air in that stuffy temple must be affecting your mind .” He said casually, pretending to admire a genuinely hideous painting displayed behind the mans back.

Torlin shrugged, taking a sip of wine before continuing.

“If anyones mind has been affected surely it’s your own. You may be married to nobility but do not forget your place too brazenly. It would be a shame for your wife to have her marriage cut short.”

At that Astarion couldn’t help but break into a small smile.

“Threats of mysterious death already? Hardly proper for one so… pious to engage in petty squabbling, yes?”

“I’m simply giving advice, as a member of the clergy does. Nobels do not take kindly to being rebuffed so insultingly.”

With a click of his tongue Astarion rolled his eyes, a fresh barb at the ready until he felt your hand wrapping around his jacketed forearm.

“Ah, my darling. I expected you to remain admiring the works with your mother for a moment longer.” Truly your appearance couldn’t have been more fortuitous, for once.

Glancing between the two men it was easy to ascertain the tension, he could see the evaluation happening in your eyes in the split second before you flashed a demure smile at Torlin.

“I hope you don’t mind if I steal my husbands attention back form you, we must discuss one of the pieces here.”

“Of course,” he practically purred, “give your mother my regards, will you?”

You nod graciously before steering Astarion away from the bulk of the murmuring crowd. Worry knit your browns together, and it didn’t escape his notice the way your grip failed to relax even after retreating from that potentially disastrous conversation. If anything it was irritating having you cling to him so intensely.

“What do you think you’re doing? I don’t need to know what was said but it was fairly obvious you succeeded in miffing quite an important man. Are you out of your mind?” Your voice was hushed but the questions made him defensive immediately. Who are you to scold him like some naughty child?

“And do you think yourself a savior? Idiotic of your governesses to not teach you it’s more insulting to have one’s wife butting in-”

“You know they already look at you as some interloper. If you do not wish for both of us to become pariahs keep hold of that tongue of yours.”

For once he lacked response, it was nearly refreshing. Every so often you would show a glimps of spirit, of wit. It made you less dull at the very least but in this moment it was hardly something he admired, if anything he wished to be back in the privacy of his chambers. At least there it was never a concern if he would have to bite his tongue and hold back his revolsun at being the other.

It would have drawn untoward attention to linger, but your grasp on his arm remained firm as you pretended to pay attention to the vapid titering of your fellow nobility. Thankfully it was time for the main event to begin and you both took your seats near your mother, although it was unfortunate Torlin seemed to have been seated at the table with you.

“So we meet again, Mrs. Ancunin. Some might call it… fortuitous.” The smile he flashed was perfectly normal, polite. Something about Torlin Silvershield had always bothered you, though. Something about the priestly demeanor that felt put upon, overdone. In his eyes there was a depth that made you shiver if you held contect too long, not something for the average person to explore certainly.

Perhaps that’s why he seemed fixated on your husband.

“Hm, what rare flattery from you.” You return the spolite smile, trying yout best to remain at an even keel.

If anything were fortuitous it was the auction beginning at just that moment, prompting a hush to fall through like a wave, hushed murmurs fading as the first piece was introduced. It would have been lovely if you could focus on the man presenting but your mind wandered to how odd and intently Torlin kept eyeing Astarion beside you.

You offered a prayer to anyone who would listen that there was no plan being laid under your nose, no movements to anticipate from a family even more well connected than your own.

Red. Streaky and thick as jam. Voices, low mutterings that were imperceptable as you approach the dias, feet unsteady and feeling like you would much rather have the arm of someone to grip as you move, fearing you may just end up laying against the stonework floor, as forgotten as the dark stains you attempted to not focus on.

What was this place?

Why does it feel familiar?

Why does it feel… comfortable?

#astarion x you #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #astarion #txt ☆ˎˊ˗#astarion series

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year

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Does the "This is all a dream orchestrated by Malleus" relate to the Yuuverse with all the Yuus repeatedly going through the story over and over again? I have seen people theorize that every time a Yuu fails, a new one starts over and I'm too sleepy to actually relate this theory to the new events that just transpired.

I think you’re talking about two popular but different theories? 🤔 (Though now it definitely seems like those two theories are converging into one…?)

There were some that believed in the time loop theory. Some powerful entity (usually said to be Crowley) summons new Yuus every time the Yuu from the previous time loop fails and/or dies. It is said that the resets usually occur when Yuu is killed by an Overblot, with the most common “death by Overblot” owing to Grim. Some also embellish the theory with ideas about Crowley’s motives and whether he is a good person or not.

There is an extension of time loop theory—the “Yuu is dead” theory; in “Yuu is dead”, the player character is theorized to be someone who died while crossing the road (yup, an isekai classic; the manga and light novel Yuu all got transported at a crosswalk), and Crowley summoned them into Twisted Wonderland after their passing to serve his own needs. Sometimes people will point to Yuu emerging from a coffin and/or Crowley avoiding the topic of bringing them home (since it’s impossible due to their “dead” status) as proof of Yuu being dead. Both time loop and Yuu is dead theory primarily stem from the many iterations of Yuus across various official TWST media (the manga, the light novel, etc).

Others believed in the dream theory, in which (much like the original Alice in Wonderland), everything in Twisted Wonderland is just a dream that someone is having. There are variations of the dream theory depending on who the dreamer is, but the most common ones I’ve seen assign the designation of dreamer to either Yuu (who has been having prophetic dreams in the main story) and Malleus (whose Disney counterpart is strongly associated with inducing sleep). Sometimes dream theory also includes evidence backed up by Silver, who appears to have some kind of vague association with Yuu and their dreams. It is worth noting that some fans do not like dream theory because they feel that it devalues the experiences had and the relationships formed if nothing was “real”.

As I said before (given what we know of the most recent main story update), it seems like people are now combining different aspects of those two theories to make a new one. The update is still pretty fresh, so I haven’t yet had the time to read up and acclimate myself with the various time loop-dream theory combinations.

One thing that I will note is interesting is??? I remember Yana saying a few years ago that we should treat TWST’s events and vignettes as AUs separate from the main story, and at the time I thought it was to make things easier for the writing team (so they didn’t have to worry about timeline stuff). But now???? I’m wondering if every event and vignette was actually a part of the dream world… The evidence is (sort of??) there!!

I normally wouldn’t include gameplay mechanics as part of a theory (since I compartmentalize meta from the story/characters/lore), but I feel that the gloves are off for this since Malleus initiated what was essentially a fourth-wall break at the end of 7-37 (booting us back to the main screen of Twisted Wonderland after forcing everyone to sleep). The part where he casts his spell is even named “Forced Game Over”, which is very on the nose for a character who is not tied to technology other than being really bad at using it. He also says a lot of foreboding things about how “it would be better for fictional characters to stay as they are forever” (not an exact translation, I’m just generalizing).

AnYWAY, my thought is??? Are the events and/or vignettes meant to be the characters dreaming (not that Malleus necessarily created the dream world, but the dream world is like their collective unconscious and/or everyone having individual dream/their own iterations)???? Because Malleus promises to send them to a world where they can be “heroes”, a place where they can find “happy endings”, where no one has to leave. Most events and/or vignettes have very carefree vibes to them or just generally non-serious conflicts. They’re usually full of tales of carefree school days.

The vignettes and events also being part of the dream world also explains why Lilia (whose magic was supposedly waning is still able to use his quite proficiently), and why some characters who would normally be somewhat hostile towards each other seem more mellowed out in some events (ie Epel and Vil having an amicable relationship in the first Halloween event when they didn’t learn to get along until episode 5, which takes place in late winter). It would also explain why sometimes main story happenings are referenced in vignettes and events, but the vignette and event happenings are not mentioned in the main story. Characters are bringing knowledge of reality into the dreams, but when they “awaken” from those dreams, they cannot recall all the details from them.

Another detail that’s pretty suspicious is the animation that plays when you’re Groovying a card 👁️ 👄 👁️ What covers the screen when you do??? That’s right—thorns, just like when Malleus casted his unique magic. Was this TWST’s indirect way of cluing us in that the whole damn game was just a dream?????? The title whenever we boot up the game was staring at us in the face with the “answer” all along: Twisted Wonderland. A dreamy place full of wonders—but just that, a dream.

xbsjsvwisview. JUST SoMETHING TO THINK ABOUT, I DuNNO 🤡 Sorry for sounding like a college professor lecturing on Disney pretty boys—

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swap-and-possessions · 8 months

Text

Renting to Muscleheads: Transaction (Sunday)

Story commissioned by: Valagon37

Delve into the life of Gerald, a contractual body swapper, as he offers body-swapping services to bodybuilders seeking a break from their strict routines. One frequent client is Devin, a famous Filipino bodybuilder in Canada. As the summer vacation sets in, they find themselves in each other’s bodies throughout the one-week holiday. Gerard continues Devin’s life of being a famous bodybuilding vlogger while Devin enjoys his vacation in Gerard’s body. •·················•·················•

Gerald stretched his arms as he rose from the bed. It has been months since he moved to Canada, but he still couldn't get used to cold mornings such as today. The first thing he does every morning is look for new messages on his Swappr profile. As expected, there were already a couple invites for his services. Back then, weeks passed before Gerald could get a single message. Now? People are clamoring for his body. Not his body, to be specific. But it was the niche in this saturated business he was in.

One must have knowledge of what Swappr is to understand Gerald's niche. It is an application that utilizes body-swapping technology and compartmentalizes it on everybody's smartphones. A person could swap bodies with other people with a single press! Of course, it is human nature to progress and innovate. Several businesses and gigs popped by the dozen to capitalize on this advancement. People started renting out their bodies to the highest bidders, and this was a region where hot male and female superstars found great success. But as the years went by, the market became saturated with the same handsome hunks and beefy bodybuilders. For a not-so-handsome twink like Gerald, scoring a client seemed impossible. The only clients he had were cheapskates and scammers. He was lucky his body was unharmed during this period of his life. There were rumors about body-lenders returning to their bodies with wounds or bruises. Or worse, addicted to illegal drugs.

For months, Gerald left his account open while he worked other jobs. It was left untouched for months until his colleague saw his profile and introduced Gerald to his colleague's cousin, Ray.

As you can see, Ray is a famous bodybuilder/cosplayer in the Philippines. He has commercials, sponsorships, etc. He earned money by flexing his muscles on camera during his popular live streams. It was a life Gerald could only dream of. But it wasn't all roses and peaches, as Ray explained to Gerald. To have this body means a regimen of daily exhaustive exercise and a strict protein diet. Months have passed since he last ate chocolate, and years have passed since his tongue tasted soda.

"I'm this close to falling into temptation," Ray stressed. He couldn't think how he'd act if he saw someone eat chips in front of him. Upon hearing those words, Gerald got an idea when he saw the chips he was eating.

"How about you swap with me for a bit?" Gerald suggested. "I have chips here. It won't harm you if you eat them in my body."

Ray perked up like a lightbulb lit inside his head. "You know what? That is actually a good idea. I don't know why I haven't thought of that before."

With a single button press, Gerald was swept from his seat and transported to a place he could only see through Ray's streams. It was his private gym! All these machines and equipment were bought by the massive muscles he flexed on camera on the daily! And those muscles are now attached to his arms! Gerald wasn't thin by anyone's standard, but he never had muscles this massive. The power! The overwhelming strength! God almighty. This is amazing!

"People pay to experience a minute in my body. You're lucky I'm desperate to swap with you," Ray chuckled with Gerald's voice on the camera. He seemed to find the bag of chips beside the computer and ripped it open in a second. Gerald could only watch as his old body feasted on the crispy chips and chugged on the 1.5-liter soda. "God! I forgot how good they taste. Do you have other chips? I'm starving for chips!"

"I have a couple hidden on the desk cabinet," Gerald said. "Do I still need to pay after swapping bodies with you?"

"Letting me engorge on all your chips is payment enough. And damn, dude! Your cabinet is filled with chips! Do you eat these daily?"

"Those are actually my month's supply," Gerald said, but it seemed Ray didn't hear him. He was off camera as he ravaged Gerald's stash of snacks.

With Ray preoccupied, Gerald took the time to acquaint himself with this new fantastic body in front of the mirror. It is not every day that one finds himself in the body of a famous bodybuilder. Gerald might not get this chance again.

In front of the mirror, Gerald touched his face and admired how smooth yet brusque his definitions were. He swapped bodies with other men before, but seeing a different reflection felt like a whiplash he would never get used to. His fingers traced downwards to the bulge of his muscles and the crests between them. He felt how deep they were, how heavy they felt on his body, and how much strength they exuded even though he hadn't flexed them yet. And he did. He flexed them until his muscles were bulging beyond his expectations. He marvels at the chiseled physique exuding more power than he could release from his old body. Sweat dripped from his forehead as he relaxed his muscles. He ended his inspection with a gaze on his pecs and squeezed them as his body slowed to a breathing simmer.

"You seem to be having with my body," Ray said before burping.

"Oh. I'm sorry if it discomforts you,"

“No. I'm not inconvenienced in any way. I'm already used to it since I lent my body to people before I became a famous streamer. Anyway, I'm ready to swap us back now. I'm sorry for the mess here. I was so eager to do things I couldn't do in that body." Ray opened the Swappr app on Gerald's phone and swapped their bodies in the blink of an eye. Gerald felt he was in touch with greatness by inhabiting Ray's body, but that sense of connection vanished instantly. His stomach was near to bursting, and an overbearing taste of sugar hung in his mouth. Without a break, Ray continued talking before flexing his guns in front of the camera. "Thanks for letting me eat the foods I wanted while I'm in your body."

"Hnnggg..." Gerald felt like puking after that abrupt change. "No worries, man."

With that, the call ended, leaving Gerald to deal with his emptied stash, chip crumbs all over the floor, and three empty soda bottles rolling under his feet. Gerald could've peeked or jerked off if Ray was to leave his body and place a mess. But, hey! He had the body of a bodybuilding superstar, even if it was only brief.

Gerald's experiences didn't end after his brief touch with Ray. A day after their swap, Ray's next vlog talked about finally getting the chance to eat junk food again. Of course, he preferred doing it in the middle of his strictest diet to clickbait impressions. Without Gerald's permission, he was mentioned in the vlog about how he gave Ray the chance to do this thing for him. Then Ray also linked Gerald's Swappr profile at the end of the video.

After that? Well... Gerald's cheap Android phone lagged from the flood of notifications on his Swappr profile. He had to turn off notifications and set the privacy to registered users to cut the message invitations to a quarter. By then, his bidding notifications were still popping every minute or so. To score a potential swapper, clients must bid for the highest price. Right now, the highest bid for the daily rate was pushing beyond 1,000 PHP (17.67 USD) and was only getting higher and higher. Gerald checked his messages and saw hundreds of profiles leading to men with muscular bodies asking him to swap bodies. Many availed through the official bidding channels, while others proposed a higher bid but wanted the swap to go under the table. They didn't explain why, but Gerald had an inkling of a thought as to why. These men, who wanted to mask their swapping history, were men who touted to have the most disciplined and resilient minds in their bodybuilding vlogs. They bragged about how few people could follow their strict regimens and diets. Knowing they swapped bodies with Gerald to eat junk food and drink fizzy colas would tout them as great hypocrites in their community.

Gerald wanted none of that mess, so he resorted to the official bidding channels on whose body he would swap with. Since then, Gerald's niche has become known to the bodybuilding community. He was the go-to guy when a bodybuilder wanted to taste junk food or sodas. These guys are so desperate for junk food that they'd spend twenty bucks on something that costs barely a dollar. They also spend an hour of privacy since Gerald demands complete control and view of the people he swaps with. That means he could strip naked, jerk off, take videos and pictures of his masturbating body, etc. That seemed to shy away some of his possible clients. But many were too desperate to experience indulgences they couldn't fulfill in their bodies.

Since then, Gerald's rate has surged to $50. He had clients lining up his profile for days! It was good that medicine advanced to the point where it could make people immune to electrolyte imbalance disease due to overeating junk food. But it still wasn't enough to prevent people from getting fat, which is what these bodybuilders are avoiding. Gerald had no issue gaining weight since his body efficiently burns calories with a simple cardio workout on his bike.

Gerald's rate wasn't the only thing that increased. Some of his clients also increased the days on how long they would be in Gerald's body. Eating junk food wasn't the only thing they would do. They would bring Gerald's body on vacations around the Philippines. Gerald may not be buff, but he had looks that bodybuilders need to score men and women on beaches and resorts. Then, they also have the leniency to eat whatever they want. Gerald spent days without returning to his body. He was entertained enough with hourly jerk-offs and photoshoot sessions of his muscular body, but that still left him with more hours to his days with nothing to do.

That was when Gerald started practicing how to act like the body he swapped with. Ray was his usual client and often watched his vlogs, so it was somewhat easy to replicate his strict regimen and confidence in the camera. Ray saw it, and for an additional hundred to his usual daily wage, he requested Gerald act like him and act like he hasn't swapped bodies to eat junk food again. Whenever Ray switches bodies with Gerald, he has to stop his schedule, which translates to frustrated viewers and less money. That wasn't a problem anymore if Gerald could act like Ray.

And to Ray's surprise, Gerald could replace him one day, and nobody would notice the difference. The guy was a natural-born vlogger/streamer.

Gerald found his niche. He gave respite to bodybuilders seeking freedom from their strict lifestyle while continuing their life for them. Gerald always grew tired of the taste of soda and junk food after every ‘body swap,’ so the plain and slightly bitter flavor of protein shakes and chicken breasts was a welcome change for him. He also found immense joy in lifting weights and pushing himself until his muscles were aching and pulsating. Gerald relished being a bodybuilder and took even greater delight in displaying his borrowed physique to audiences worldwide. He found his niche and was perfect for it.

But life has a funny way of curving your tracks. Gerald thought he was comfortable with how everything was going. Gradually, his highest bidders turned out to be foreign bodybuilders. Local bodybuilders couldn't compete anymore with how the bids could go. Most of these winning bids came from the West, particularly in Canada. Gerald was surprised at how many bodybuilders were in Canada. On certain days, as much as a quarter of competing bids for his body came from Canadians. After every transaction, many would comment how it would be better if Gerald lived in Canada. They could eat Canadian junk foods instead of the salty and savory junk food prevalent in the Philippines.

Many would argue that Gerald's decision was too hasty. That includes Ray, who literally begged on his private call for him to stay in the Philippines.

"Who am I going to swap with if I want Piattos?" Ray begged.

"Ever since you made me famous, many body lenders with a niche similar to mine have appeared. You could ask them," Gerald said on camera as he busily packed his clothes for tomorrow's flight. "I know a few who you'd like."

"I don't want them. I want you!" Ray cried. "I tried others, but they don't act as well as you are. Many of my viewers noticed the shift in personality, and they bashed me in the comments section. That has never happened before!"

"I'm sorry, Ray. My decision is final." Gerald chuckled. "I don't understand why you're crying to me. You could still swap bodies with me even though I'm in Canada, you know? You'll get to eat Canadian junk foods like donuts or poutine."

"Those are good, but I want Piattos or Cheese Curls!"

"You could send them to my address before swapping bodies with me. It's expensive, but that is the price you must pay if you want a break from your diet."

"Hmph!" Ray pouted. "Fine. Good luck on your trip to Canada. I wish you great success in that cold, frigid country."

"You know I will,"

With that, Gerald flew to Canada. Driven by sweet promises and opportunities, he continued doing his niche with the Canadian bodybuilder community. But to his surprise, the community was a hotpot of cultures and ethnicities. They helped him settle down and acquaint him with the local populace and culture to better prepare him for his future acts. But he knew knowing the local culture meant little when Gerald simply had to act confident while boasting about his exercise and diet in front of the camera. Many people in his niche have problems in the confidence part, so that leaves Gerald as the best person in his field.

In time, more and more clients lined up for Gerald's services. But one prevailed over the harsh bidding contests most of the time. His name is Devin. He is a renowned Filipino bodybuilder who found more significant success on foreign shores than in the Philippines. Gerald was like him in a way. Perhaps it was this connection that prompted him to become a frequent client, or maybe it was because Gerald was also Filipino.

"So, it's just a week?" Gerald asked as he sipped on the dark chocolate Devin prepared for him after driving for an hour under that frigid weather outside. Devin was a client who preferred his body swaps to happen face-to-face.

"A week and a day. We swap today, Monday. Then again next week on Monday. My family and I are going to Boracay, wouldn't you believe it?" Devin said as Gerald gave him a puzzled look. Why wouldn't it happen? Devin was rich, and going to Boracay was possible for him. "We're going to Boracay, that overrated tourist trap. We could've gone to Coron or Siargao. Those beaches are way better, and they have world-class seafood cuisines. You're not allergic to crawfish, right?"

"No. I'm not allergic to any food; last I checked with my allergologist." Gerald had a skin test, and none of the allergens reacted to his body. It was a thankful blessing because of the varied foods his clients would make his body eat. "Overly spicy foods might be a problem for your stomach, though."

"I think I can handle it," Devin scoffed after a brief laugh. "Can you handle a week of my life? It's our most extended transaction so far."

"Given my track record, I can handle it," Gerald said confidently. His most extended stay was three weeks, and it was uneventful, except for forgetting to turn off his stream camera and nearly jerking off in front of twenty-thousand viewers. "If you forgot, our deal means I can jerk off, take pictures of you, etc. My other clients seem to forget that."

"You don't have to say that every time. We swap bodies at the end of every month. I think we're already way past privacy and all that shit. Are you ready?" Devin asked, and Gerald nodded. A single press. A single blink. Both woke up in each other's bodies and acted without a pause in their actions. They've done this countless times already. Devin jumped down from the kitchen island seat and continued doing his prior task of packing his clothes. Since he and Gerald swap bodies often, he already had a set of clothes in Gerald's size. Once done, he went toward Gerald, who was already busy flexing his guns, and swiftly cusped his old body's dick and balls. Gerald grew hard instantly.

"You're going to use my dick a lot this week, don't you?" Devin said with a breathy voice. "God! I could feel how excited you are to use my meat."

"Do you want to have a go, right now?" Gerald smiled. Devin kept his tight hold over his balls. He squeezed Gerald's meat, marbled the testicles between fingers, and kept it warm. He had several experiences with fucking his original body, and half was with Ray in the Philippines. A couple of cocks and his hole remains tight. Maybe it was because the cocks he used to penetrate it were just so big.

"I wish I could, but I can't. My mom called me hours ago, even though our flight won't be until this evening. You know how impatient Filipino mothers are?" Devin let go of Gerald's balls and smelled it. He had grown used to his own aroma, but being in another person's body erases all that. The smell filled his lungs and enthralled his shorter cock to life. Even with an erection, he picked up his baggage and set off for the airport.

Gerald was left alone in the mansion. He had tasks but was still free to do anything he wanted per the contract. This week will surely be fun.

<<End of Chapter 1 of 8>>

•·················•·················• Subscribers on Discord can read the rest of the chapters on the links below;

✅ SUNDAY - Transaction

🔒🔞 MONDAY - Gym Livestream

🔒🔞 TUESDAY - Gym with Andrew

🔒🔞 WEDNESDAY - Personal Leisure

🔒🔞 THURSDAY - Fashion Photoshoot

🔒🔞 FRIDAY - Gym Livestream

🔒🔞 SATURDAY - Party

🔒🔞 SUNDAY - Fun's End

•·················•·················• Join my Discord Server and read 130+ SFW and NSFW shorts and stories! Join now by clicking here! Paid subscribers could also read my stories on Blogspot. Read them by clicking here.

#Body Swap #Male Body Swap #Body Switch #Male Body Switch #Body Switching #Male Body Switching #Male Swap

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marblemoovt · 1 year

Text

Tipsy Cuddles - John Price/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Fluff with Angst, Reverse Hurt/Comfort

Summary:

You take up John's offer and show up at his door with a bottle of whiskey. Except, he doesn't seem to be doing so well....

------

“Are you ok?” you ask, and he meets your worried gaze.

“What makes you ask that?” John says. The words come out scratchy, and he takes another sip to feel the burn.

You take the bottle from him and set it on the table. “Because alcohol doesn’t make your eyes red, John,” you whisper. His lips purse into a frown, and he looks away. “Am I moving too fast? Or maybe you realized that this isn’t what you want? Because you can tell me; it’s alright.”

Note:

This is a direct continuation of this fic, I recommend reading it before this one but it still works as a stand-alone.

I was expecting to dip for another month or two before returning with a fic. But y'all are so fucking sweet. I appreciate all your comments so much!! It gave me enough motivation and inspiration to quickly whip up a part two.

I also was not planning for any angst at all lmao. This was supposed to be really cute and fluffy but I accidentally saddled our boy Price with some heavy stuff.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

John stumbles out of Rose’s room and shuffles to his own. A little sister. John gave up that dream a long time ago. It shattered the second he held Rose in his arms after scrambling to come home during a deployment and noticed the grim expression on the doctor’s face. He went home two weeks later with only a tiny infant in his arms and a bag of belongings he will never unpack. The dream became nothing more than what it was; a dream. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights, doesn’t want to see his reflection in the mirror anyway.

There’s a drawer in the bedside table—the one at the very bottom—where the handle has fallen off, and the wheels squeak like hell. John traces the wooden edges, jamming his finger into a crack to pry the damn thing open. The drawer stutters amid its screaming, and he has to force it the rest of the way out. He pauses and listens. No signs of activity coming from Rose’s room.

Like clockwork, he takes out the photo album first. John always made fun of her for wanting to document every moment of the journey. Now, these are among the few tangible memories he has left. A reminder that his heart did know how to beat once before it chronically ached. He flips through the pages, every image already burned into his mind, but that does not deter him from taking his time. The fetus in the ultrasounds grows, and her bump becomes more prominent. John keeps flipping until the images are blank and bites his lip because he knows only a third of the album is filled. He wipes the fresh splashes of tears off the laminated pages and puts it away on top of the other photo albums collecting dust.

John knows that he shouldn’t hide this from Rose. It’s not like she doesn’t know, but she never asks about her mother. And yes, that’s not an excuse. He’s aware that it’s his fault for not trying to keep the memory of his late wife alive. But it’s been six years, and he still struggles with how to deal with these feelings, so he doesn’t. He compartmentalizes and forgets. Forgets until he’s lying in bed at 3 am, and the bottom drawer calls his name. Forgets until he’s changing clothes, and the duffel bag in the corner of the closet mocks him.

He runs a rough hand down his face, glancing at the clock. 10:20 pm. John laughs, but it’s bitter and clogs his throat. Of fucking course. Who would be interested in broken goods? He heaves himself off the bed and accepts that he’s better off alone.

That is… until he hears a knock. It’s faint, but his sensitive ears pick up the sound. He’ll deny it if you ask, but he ‘walks’ to the door with quick steps. John turns the handle, and the world isn’t falling apart anymore. You’re standing there with a bottle in hand and a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Got caught up trying to find this,” you say, holding up whiskey. John recognizes the label. It’s a whiskey he’s been dying to get his hands on. Where on Earth did you find a bottle? He doesn’t realize he’s staring until you tap his forehead. “Are you going to invite me in, or should I invite myself while you take in my beauty?”

John stutters, but no coherent words form. Instead, he moves to the side to let you in. He follows you to the living room, where you plop on the sofa and pat the seat beside you. John doesn’t move, feet glued to the rug in the center of the room. “I thought you weren’t coming,” he confesses, and the apple of his cheeks tingle until they’re numb.

You set the whiskey on the table with a laugh. “And miss out on spending an evening with a dill? Not a chance.” The tips of John’s ears glow red, and he rushes to take a seat. He can feel your gaze, and he tugs at the collar of his sweater. “I really do like you, John,” you say. “I don’t kiss just anybody’s cheek,” John’s shoulders slacken, and the rumblings of a chuckle build up in his chest. “Better?” you ask, taking a swig of whiskey and offering him the bottle.

John accepts, drumming his fingers against the glass as it rests on his lap. “You’re a saint, y’know that?” he says.

“I have my moments,” you shrug. John takes a sip and savours the flavour. Spices coat his tongue, and his tastebuds tingle. The whiskey burns lightly down his throat and sparks the kindling in his chest. He leans into the cushions with a sigh, pleasantly warm. “Good?” you ask.

John turns his head to you, eyes tracing the smile on your face. “Some of the best whiskey I’ve had in ages. Where did you find this?” he asks, wondering if you have personal connections in the alcohol industry.

“Would you believe me if I said a mysterious stranger sold it to me in an alleyway?” you say. John can already tell by your grin that you’re absolutely bullshitting him. He raises an eyebrow, and you huff. “Ok, ok. I’ll tell you,” and you grab the bottle from him and take a long swig. You take a deep breath and say, “I bought it at the store,” staring him dead in the eyes.

“Darling, I know this specific brand is hard to come by. Forgive me, but you’re a terrible liar,” John muses.

You laugh and scoot closer to him. “I’ll speak your language then. It’s classified.” Your scent tickles his nose, and he leans into your side. He takes another drink and closes his eyes, letting the fuzz blanket his mind. “Are you ok?” you ask, and he meets your worried gaze.

“What makes you ask that?” John says. The words come out scratchy, and he takes another sip to feel the burn.

John shakes his head and feels the whiskey loosen his tongue. The haze in his mind covers his thoughts with an invisibility cloak that allows them to slip through his filter undetected. “Christ, Sweetheart. You’re everything I want. Just don’t….” He pauses and stares at the rug, counting the stitches in each row. “I don’t think I deserve another chance,” and he looks at you with the eyes of a man who gained and lost everything all at once. The corners of his eyes sting, the words blubbering out of his mouth faster than he can stop them. “I’m away for long periods. I can barely take care of my daughter, let alone myself. Darling, what’s there to like about me, hm?”

John reaches for the whiskey, but you yank it away before it even touches his lips. You screw the lid and set it on the floor far from him. “I don’t know the whole story. I’m sure you want to have this conversation sober, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you say. “You’ll come to learn that I’m incredibly stubborn. So believe me when I say I want to stay and learn more about you and Rose.”

Quiet laughter turns into sobs that wrack his chest. John knows what deception looks like. Has pried intel from countless sealed mouths. He’s aware of all the tics and signs. You aren’t lying, and a part of him wishes you were. Because then it would be so much easier to push you away, for things to remain as they’ve always been,

“Can I hug you?” you ask, fidgeting with your hands in your lap. The silence builds as John stacks one brick on top of another. An invisible barrier that will either shut you out forever or crumble enough to let you in.

John extends an arm, reducing the wall to rubble, and pulls you into his embrace. His beard scratches against your collarbone and sniffles hiccup by your ear. You bring a hand up and run it through his hair, eliciting a rumble when your fingertips scrape his scalp.

You squeeze him tight and kiss the side of his temple, murmuring, “I’ve got you.” Those three words make him crumple like a rag doll, leaving you to support his weight. “Did you know, John, that people are fucked up?” He snorts into your shoulder, and you continue with a grin. “The great thing about love is that it’s a choice. So guess what? My fucked up self is choosing to love your fucked up self.”

“You’ve an excellent way with words,” John chuckles wetly.

“I know. The CIA is begging me to write their cover-up stories.” John laughs, and the vibrations shake your entire body. Tears are leaking from his eyes for a new reason now. “What do you do, John? What’s your rank?” you ask.

“Captain—what?” John stops when he feels you tremble.

A sharp bark of laughter escapes your lips. “Nothing. You remind me of another captain whose last name starts with a ‘P.”

John pulls back to look at your face. “How many other captains do you know?” he asks.

“Only the ones Rose has introduced me to,” you say with a shrug. John goes through a mental list of all the other captains he’s met, but not a single match. He opens his mouth, but you parry John’s next question with your own. “You’re responsible for a group of people, right?”

John sighs, but there’s an undeniable curve to his lips. “I’m the ringleader for a load of muppets,” he answers. He wonders what the idiots are up to right now without adult supervision.

“Sounds like you enjoy their company. So you have Rose and your muppets. That’s a lot of people to look out for,” you say.

John shrugs. “It’s my job to take care of them,” and he believes it wholeheartedly. He would die for Rose and his team if it ever came to that.

You bring a hand up and cradle his cheek. He leans into your touch, losing himself in your eyes, mesmerized by the adoration reflected in them. “And who takes care of you, John? Who makes sure you’re ok?”

“Well, I was going to put an ad in the paper, but I keep forgettin’,” John quips.

You playfully shove his face away. “Here I was, thinking you were going to offer me the position,” you tsk.

John pushes you onto your back, caging you between his arms. “Oh, it’s a rigorous interview process,” he boasts.

You smirk and poke his chest. “I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

“Anythin’?” John murmurs, shortening the gap between you two. His warm breath fans across your face. His eyes dart to your tongue that swipes across your bottom lip. He lowers himself another inch, noses brushing against each other.

“Anything. Now can I kiss you?” you ask.

“Reckon I’ll die if you don’t,” John whispers.

“Maybe you’ll die anyway,” you retort.

“Prove it,” John says. You grab him by the collar of his shirt and crash your lips together. At first, it’s all teeth and tongue clashing—desperate. But it softens into deeper kisses, an intimate mapping of each other’s mouth until lungs burn for air. John pulls away with a groan, resting his forehead against yours. “Definitely gonna kill me if you keep that up.” He shivers at the beaming smile on your face. You look so proud of yourself. He wants to bite and kiss your lips until they’re swollen. But the alcohol is starting to make him drowsy. John pecks your lips and sits up. Your arms remain locked around his neck, so he pulls you with him. He chuckles when you tighten your hold. “You can let go of me, Love.”

Your voice is muffled by his sweater. “I have to make sure you don’t sneak any more whiskey.”

John hums, “What makes you think you can stop me?”

You raise your head and stare at him as if he’s forgotten how you nearly killed him with your mouth alone. Bringing your lips to his ear, you whisper in a low tone, “I can be quite persuasive.” He shudders, and you chuckle darkly. You notice the clock on the wall and sigh. “It’s late. I should go.”

John refuses to let you go, not this time. He repositions himself onto his back so that you’re straddling him now, and his hands grip your waist. “Stay?” he pleads, watching you with wide eyes.

You smile and nod. “Ok, but only because you’re comfortable and a natural heater.”

Relief unwinds the tension between his shoulders. “Your pillow awaits, Darling,” John teases, patting his chest. You roll your eyes but lay down and cuddle him.

The two of you talk late into the night. John doesn’t remember when he falls asleep, only that you snuggle into him when he tightens his arms around your waist. For the first time in a few years, John sleeps for hours uninterrupted.

The rustling of fabric rouses him awake. He winces at the sunlight streaming from the windows and tries to get a few more minutes of sleep. Soft cotton envelopes his body in pleasant warmth. His eyes snap open when a small voice whispers harshly into his ear.

“Honestly, Daddy. You need to try to be more romantic. You let them sleep on the couch and without a blanket!” Rose admonishes, adjusting the blanket she brought. John lifts his head to see you’re still asleep in his arms, face buried in the crook of his neck. He untangles your hair with his fingers and plants a kiss on the top of your head. “It’s Saturday; I’m going back to bed. I want waffles for breakfast,” she says, walking back to her room. “And try not to be loud, Daddy. I’m six, remember?”

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

You know I had to do it to 'em with repurposing that line. I wanted so bad to make that the summary snippet, but I can't show off the best cards in my deck or they'll lose their wow factor.

Single dad Price steals my heart every time and I think I'm obsessed with him now. Like I keep getting random headcanons.

Exhibit A: Rose catches a fever and John paniks, so he has to rush to your apartment for help.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

#john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price #captain john price #cod x reader #cod mwii #single dad price #gender neutral reader #no y/n #Lost my mind at 'and who takes care of you'#Give this man a hug #My brain is tired of being creative so this is what you get #Rose at the end got me cacklin'#You know she has to make a cameo

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levmada · 3 months

Note

how do you think levi dealt with erwin's death? was he distant for awhile from others, trying to deal with his feelings by himself? was he feeling guilty of not killing the beast titan?

i also saw a post which said that "isayama said levi had become weaker after erwin's death" which was actually without any sources or whatsoever.. anyways, what are your thoughts?

i want to cover that "fact" first.

lol it depends on your perspective whether levi in fact got “weaker”, but that has ultimately nothing to do with isayama's comment on levi's state after his death, because that's a gross mistranslation.

that quote is from an interview done with isayama in 2017 and has to do with the impact of erwin's death and dreams. specifically relevant to that statement, isayama doesn't say that levi is weak now, but that he's like a balloon dangling in the air, in limbo, or aimless. partly because levi felt that they'd completed their role when they reached the sea (confirmed by ch136), and partly because levi needs to kill the beast titan, but he can't at that point, and not out of a lack of trying.

i can't say "aimless" is a relative to "weaker" when both reasons for that are simply out of levi's control.

levi can contend with weakness from grief at this point in his life. the pain he feels from losing erwin is extremely powerful, but what is more powerful is the conviction he feels to keep fighting as a result of both it and the context of his death.

so do i think levi is weaker after his death? yes and no. levi's state is just way more complex than the wider fandom seems to give isayama credit for writing (and everything in general tbh).

canonically, levi retrieved erwin's remains after everything was said and done, and he got a special memorial/funeral. so it's not like he was in denial at least, or it was an event that he refused to acknowledge.

1: i definitely see him distancing himself emotionally from the others. not once in season 4 does levi even use erwin's name while thinking of him until chapter 136 while reconciling the scouts' dream, and not choosing erwin back then.

he doesn't open up about erwin in a significant way to anyone, although hange and levi sometimes talk about him, such as when (in marley w/ the 104th passed out drunk) hange says that erwin was the type of person who would've tried feeding carrots to the cars and levi agrees.

2: i think there's certainly grief levi stuffed down in the moment like a dam that's been waiting to burst since the day it happened, with the wall keeping it at bay being (1) zeke's still being alive, and (2) the meaning of everyone's sacrifices, especially on that day, being unaccounted for. the biggest reason he could get along like this is by compartmentalizing imo

3: feeling guilty implies feeling regret, so no not in the immediate fallout. as a result of his grief, he has more strength, and as a result of the poor outcome of his choice, he has more conviction to carry his goals out.

erwin says this in the anime adaptation of acwnr, and levi says it in his special side-monologue story: having regrets allows others around you to make your choices for you, will make you hesitate, make you fall victim to your emotions, and get killed. this is exactly what happened to levi when his 30 comrades were titanized in the forest by zeke, only because of his ackerman blood, he didn't die.

that's more of a tangent than anything, but point is, it weighed on him more over time.

4: naturally, his nightmares got worse. sleeping was even harder. he was certainly depressed. also, i strongly feel that levi coped realllyy poorly with his failure to kill zeke by over-exercising, to the point where (probably) hange had to step in and force him to do other duties.

#doesnt have to be read as shipping #eruri #aot levi #levi ackerman hc #eruri hc #levi ackerman snk #snk levi #captain levi #captain levi ackerman #levi heichou #eruri aot #levi.thoughts

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ilynpilled · 1 year

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the thing about what elise said about the underground is that with jaime specifically confessions and realizations and moments of honesty and sincerity are often very connected to the physical state of going below the surface: jumping into pits, talking to him in underground dungeons, going down dark tunnels, submerging him in a bath where he is naked and peels off layers of dirt that darken the water, the dark holes and craters in the torch light/moonlight on ilyn’s face that remind him of his soul, and then stoneheart’s cave soon. like it is about him going down into the soul and seeking purpose. looking for a flame that burns in there. something to keep living for. like that weirwood dream really sums it all up: “He had no choice but to descend. Down a twisting passageway he went, narrow steps carved from the living rock, down and down. I must go up, he told himself. Up, not down. Why am I going down?“ he does not want to it is terrifying it means doom with the certainty of a dream, but he has to and he will. it is him confronting years of compartmentalization and repression. he is the king of dissociation and the baggage is immense. like if you read his pov you see how his words contradict each other, his thoughts contradict each other, and then his actions like dont even get me started. lies on top of lies, personas that become a part of his thought process. he is trying to escape the horror of the world and the self constantly: “let them have the meat, and you go far away” and “go away inside” and “jaime lost himself in her flesh” and “you stop feeling, you stop thinking, you stop being you.” understanding how crucial this coping mechanism is for him and how it developed and how it worsened is key in trying to navigate so much of his narration. and george is really physically emphasizing in the text that you have to go below the surface with this damn dude. he has to go “underground” and so do we

#jaime lannister #valyrianscrolls #and then he keeps saying he is sick of lies #i reiterate #bitch imagine how sick of them i am

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valiantstarlights · 10 months

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I read through personal trainer dream au while at work and that… was a mistake. A wonderful mistake, one that’s left me with a blush and a dumb grin, but a mistake 😂😂

I empathize with Hob so much on his body image issues in this AU. And, like Dream, would happily wring the neck of whoever it was that made him think that way.

Thank you for reading! 🙇‍♀️ (Even if you're not in an ideal location to read spicy stuff 😂) I'm glad you like it 😊

Aww, anon. 🥺 I'm giving you a virtual hug because having body image issues suck. 🫂

I don't want to spoil anything, but rest assured, Dream will always be a schmoopy bastard giving Hob all the kisses and cuddles he deserves whenever he's having low self-esteem days. 🖤

Hob hears someone saying that he's too big and unattractive to be the boyfriend of someone like Dream Endless? They best hope that Dream is not within hearing distance because they're gonna get their ass beat.

And later at home, when a subdued Hob steals Dream's largest hoodie because he wants to feel small while wearing it? Dream immediately knows something's up, and he eventually gets the story out of Hob.

And once Dream compartmentalizes his angry feelings to deal with at a later time because making Hob happy is more important, you know he's going to spend the entire night showing Hob just how beautiful Dream thinks he is.

Dream is going to kiss every part of him he finds beautiful (which is everything). He's going to fuck Hob in front of a mirror so Hob could see just how stunning he looks while speared on Dream's cock.

Does he not see how seductive he looks? How Dream is so insane about him? Dream could walk the entire length and breadth of the earth and not find someone he'd want by his side other than Hob.

Oh, he's too big, is he? Then why does he fit so perfectly in Dream's arms?

Hob is going to wake up the next morning sore all over but better mentally. He's going to shower Dream with as much affection as Dream gave him the night before. And Dream is happily going to bask in Hob's love before they both have go to work.

(Once Dream is in the gym, though, I think he's going to unpack his previously compartmentalized anger at the random asshole Hob overheard, and he will probably destroy another punching bag. 👀 Because Hob is fucking perfect! How dare anyone say stupid shit like that about him! If anything, Dream is the lucky one in the relationship, not Hob. And anyone who says otherwise is not worth listening to.)

#personal trainer dream AU #dreamling #the sandman #ask and you shall receive #i want to give everyone who has body image issues a big hug 🥺#you deserve the world my loves 🖤

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dairy-farmer · 7 months

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Thoughts on Ra’s? Especially paring him with Tim

YES!! ra'stim is an exceptionally rare pairing and outside of batcest fics it's one of my favorite tim ships!!! i might even say that i like it a little bit better than kontim. my favorite timships center on him being shipped with other bats and outside of that the ship at the top of the ranking would be rastim. but rastim is also a very different dynamic for me because it falls into this weird zone along with like kontim or other nonbatcestships where i like reading it more than i like writing it. ra's in general is a very complex character with motivations that aren't always clear and i LOVE how he's a character whose morality is on a spectrum. in a no capes/civilian au he would absolutely be like....a shady lawyer for greenpeace. because he's "shady" but the shadiness has to do with protecting the environment.

a lot of rastim fics are more dark which makes sense given that he's a rogue/villain i imagine it's the same with fics about dickslade or jasonblackmask etc.

one of my all time favorite dark, psychological fics was a ra'stim fic. i've read a lot of dark fics but this one was unlike anything because it was just so wonderfully crafted. i tried looking for it to link but couldn't find it so i must not have bookmarked it :((. essentially in this fic (from what i can remember) (spoilers ahead) tim was presumed dead by his family but really ra's took him.

tim starts having odd dreams, weird stuff starts happening and eventually it is heavily implied that tim is the reincarnation of sora, ra's first wife, who (if i'm remembering right) ra's strangled because of the effect of the pit(?) and because she had been planning to/had betrayed him because the pit has made him different. and here ra's has never really... talked about sora. has never brought her up but he is still deeply enamored with her despite how they parted. and even though it's been lifetimes, he kept things about her. like a box with jewelry that belonged to her.

eventually its clear that ra's is growing more unstable and more attatched to tim who he starts a sexual relationship with that tim reciprocates to survive and also because of his mental state going back and forth and not really knowing what's happening. tim is remaining resistant to the growing evidence that he IS sora. he has her memories, he knows her name even though he doesn't believe in this. i think there's a line where he thinks about asking carter hall about reincarnation and the likelihood of that's what has happenedbut is still deeply in denial. tim finds out ra's has called all league members back to base and is planning on essentially shutting all operations of the league, going to ground and essentially it would mean tim would be locked inside with him forever. those called back includes talia who grows very disturbed and concerned with the "relationship" between tim and ra's. eventually tim begs talia to help him and she agrees but ends up getting caught. normally talia would not suffer greatly because she's ra's daughter but she's not sora's daughter (talia's mother was chosen solely because of her resemblance to sora) and now that ra's has "sora" back he's....not as kind. and he has also grown increasingly unhinged because he is now fully sure that sora has returned to him as much as tim may be denying and resisting.

so ra's, having grown more disconnected with reality (because sora has reincarnated in tim and they're together now) has talia's tongue cut out which is terrifying to tim. tim does end up escaping, he and talia seek refuge to gotham because even though he poisoned and stabbed ra's to escape he knows he'll come back. even though tim has entered a deep denial he still steals sora's jewlery box because he feels a connection and it ends with him and talia making their way to gotham while tim tries hard to compartmentalize because he's still very deep in denial and he's trying to figure out what he'll tell the other bats when they find out he's alive and ask about what happend.

my little retelling doesn't do justice to the SUSPENSE that charged that fic!!! it was INCREDIBLE i really wish i could find it again to share because even if you don't like ra'stim the plot was incredible!!!! and so good!!

#answered asks #asks #anonymous #rastim

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