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aerynwrites · 7 months

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Bound by The Heart (And Other Things)

Dammon x Afab!Reader

A/N: yeah uh…I don’t even have a reason for this other than I have my own personal HC that Dammon would be into bondage lmao. But like…the pretty kind. Hope y’all enjoy :3

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY! NSFW. Smut, PiV sex, cunnilingus, oral (fem receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex, bondage, rope bondage, restraints, discussions of a safe word but it;s never used, aftercare, fluff.

The weathered leather book is heavy in your hands as you examine the title.

A Pleasurable Deal.

The text immediately strikes you as one you’ve seen before, and heat rushes to your cheeks when the memory of a banned books list in Sorcerous Sundries comes to the front of your mind.

You remember Gale lamenting the list, saying no texts - no matter how obscene - should never be banned.

You hadn’t given much thought to the list until now, as the book sits in your hands. And the fact that you found it hidden away in Dammon’s side table.

Despite having been with the blacksmith for months now, you’d never seen this specific tome. Either because it was a new item he’d acquired or…a well loved one he'd kept hidden away.

You’re assuming it’s the latter if the worn corners of the leather cover and the bent pages have anything to say.

You move to put the book back, not wanting to intrude on your partners privacy, but as you move to slide it back into place, another book catches your eye. This one tucked behind several other blacksmithing texts.

It looks rather ornate, the black binding inlaid with gold colored trimmings.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re already reaching for the book, fingers sliding along the smooth cover and pulling it from its place.

Your eyes fall to the cover, eyes widening as you read the title.

A Madam's Guide to Pleasure.

The cover falls open before you can think better of it, your eyes immediately flicking to the small piece of paper sticking out from a section farther into the book. You yearn to flip to that page first, but your eyes instead fall to scan the table of contents.

Your face gets even hotter as you read over the various section titles. Everything from the basics when it comes to sex to the more debauched.

Finally, you flip the pages to where the paper sticks out, only to have a few pieces of folded parchment fall into your lap to reveal the title of the section they were tucked into.

‘Bondage’

The otherwise wicked ideal behind the term is hidden by the pretty flowing script on the page. Your eyes follow the words easily, slowly feeling your heart rate pick up as you take in the text.

You’ve only made it halfway through the section when you remember the papers that fell into your lap. Setting the book down gently and open to the page you left off, you reach down and unfold the pages.

The first thing you feel is shock followed by a sudden stab of arousal as you take in the charcoal images sketched onto the pages.

It’s Dammon’s work, you’d be able to tell his artistry from anywhere thanks to the hundreds of sketches he’s shown you of blacksmithing plans.

But these…these are not blueprints of swords or daggers or armor. No…

These sketches are something else entirely. Light and dark lines coming together as he depicts various different types of bondage scenarios.

None of the pictures are lewd in anyway besides their obvious connotation. In a way…they’re quite beautiful.

You see the vague shape of a body, legs tied together with an intricate weave of rope and knots, as if it’s meant to decorate the wearer rather than restrain them.

Almost all of the drawings seem that way, the rope and bindings tied and wrapped in a way that’s almost artistic.

The one that catches your eye the most though, is a page that depicts the front and back view of a woman kneeling and sitting on her heels.

The sketch of her from behind shows her hands bound behind her back, the ropes binding her arms together in an intricately woven pattern that spans from her wrists all the way up to just beneath her shoulders.

The other view seems to be part of the same design, the ropes snaking to the front of her body, twining delicately over her breasts, sternum and chest in complicated knots and patterns.

You’ve just reached up to trace your finger over the sketchings of rope, when a startled call of your name rips you from your reverie.

“What are you doing?”

Dammons voice is raised louder than he usually speaks to you, face several shades darker than usual as he practically lunges for the items in your hands, a look of utter fear and panic on his face.

“Oh, gods,” he mutters, hastily collecting the papers before shoving them back into the black bound novel. “You weren’t supposed to see that, I-“

“Dammon it’s okay! I promise-“

He turns to you then, book clutched tightly in his hands, as he looks at you with something none other than utter betrayal. “Why were you going through my things?” He asks.

You shake your head, heart sinking to your stomach and dispelling any feelings of arousal the drawings drew forth.

“I didn’t mean to, I came up here looking for one of my books and I saw you stored some in here and so I thought-“

“You thought you’d go through my books instead?” He asks, voice now tinged with accusation as he stands, the book still clutched tightly in his hands.

“I’m sorry Dammon,” you say from your position still kneeled on the floor. “I didn’t mean to upset you-“

“I-I’m not upset, I-“ the tiefling cuts himself off, running a hand down his face as he lets out a sigh, avoiding your gaze. “I just…need some air.”

You watch helplessly as Dammon turns and leaves the bedroom, a pit of guilt stirring deep in your belly.

————

Dammon spends the rest of the day in the forge, which isn’t unusual, but it feels like an intentional choice today. One you don’t begrudge him considering you snooped through his personal things.

It’s well into the evening before he comes into the house, and you’re just finishing up dinner. You watch him between plating your meals as he hangs up his blacksmith apron next to the door before heading to the water basin to wash his hands.

You’ve just placed the last of the food onto your plates when he approaches you, taking one of the plates from your hands with a quick kiss to your cheek.

A small weight is lifted from your shoulders at that small action, and you follow him silently to the kitchen table, taking your habitual seat to his right side.

The meal is pleasant enough, you tentatively asking about his forge projects and feel the tension lift as he tells you about them. It goes on like that - like normal despite the nagging in your mind.

You don’t want to ruin the mood by bringing up the earlier incident. But you also don’t want to leave it how it was. You owe him an apology, a real apology, and…there’s something else you want to talk to him about too.

You finally find the courage to bring it all up as you and Dammon clean up after dinner, you drying the washed dishes as Dammon puts them away.

“I’m sorry about earlier, Dammon,” you say softly, not missing the way his shoulders tense as he takes a plate from you, eyes avoiding yours once more.

“It’s…It’s alright,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not angry or upset with you, not over something so trivial. I was just…” he lets out a dry chuckle. “I supposed I’m a bit embarrassed for you to have come across such things. I know they aren’t…Common desires.”

He’s still turned away from you when he finishes, stashing the last dish before his hands fall to his sides. You immediately reach for him, taking his hand in your own as you urge him to face you.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” you tell him, feeling that familiar heat creep up into your cheeks as you contemplate your next words.

“I actually…Liked them. The drawings, I mean.”

Dammon’s eyes finally snap to yours then, bright blue iris’ completely visible to you as he stares at you wide eyed, mouth slightly agape.

“You…what?”

You take your lip between your teeth coyly, courage slowly building up in your chest as you move to slip your arms around his waist, hands resting on his low back as returns the lose embrace.

“I liked them,” you repeat. “It looked…beautiful really. The intricate designs and knots and I…”

You pause then, shyness creeping in one more as you look up at your lover.

“I think I’d like to try it sometime. If that’s - if you’d want too, of course.”

You can practically see the way Dammon’s heart rate picks up, cheeks darkening with blush as his breath stutters.

“You’d…You’d try that? With me?”

A small chuckle slips past your lips. “I hope it’s with you.”

In an answer of his own, Dammon captures your lips with his in a fierce kiss. It’s needy and desperate and filled with a relief only you can understand as he pulls you tighter to him.

“I love you,” he mutters against your lips before pulling down to trail kisses down your jaw. “We can’t do it tonight,” he says. “I need to prepare.”

You try to hide the small swell of disappointment, but Dammon must sense it anyways, nipping at the spot just below your ear as he tugs you closer to his body.

“I’m still going to ravish you tonight though. For making me the happiest man in Baldur’s Gate.”

You smile, pulling him up for another kiss before he whisks you upstairs. Anticipation for tonight and what’s to come in the future simmering low in your belly.

—————

It’s only a few days later when Dammon brings it back up, asking if tonight you’d like to try what you all had discussed. When you agreed, a bit too eagerly, he had just let out a small laugh before laying out all of the boundaries.

He had you pick a safeword in case you wanted out of the restraints, as well as asking you about anything you’d be uncomfortable with. In the end you’d just told him you trusted him completely and once again stated your excitment.

Which led you here, blindfolded on the edge of your shared bed in nothing but your smallclothes.

Dammon had tied the soft silk fabric around your eyes before leaving the room to fetch something, asking that you not remove the blindfold before he got back. You obeyed easily, but as the seconds turn into minutes, you feel yourself start to grow impatient.

What is taking him so long?

Your fingers twitch against your skin from where your hands sit on your thighs before moving to be by your side instead, toying with the soft sheets beneath you. Every creak and faint footstep has your ears perking up, waiting in anticipation for Dammon to return.

Finally, you hear his familiar footsteps coming up the stairs and to your shared room, the floor boards creaking beneath his weight. His steps are softer than when he left, the sound of bare soles on the wood greeting your ears as he approaches your position.

He must have taken off his shoes. And you silently hope he took off other things as well, wanting to feel him at least a little bit before you're restrained.

“Are you still alright?” he asks, his voice much closer than you anticipated.

You jump slightly as you realize he’s right in front of you now, and you can feel the subtle heat radiating from his body. You nod, reaching out instinctively to touch him.

He allows it, sighing lightly when your hands bump against his bare stomach, flattening against the taut muscle there before sliding upwards. You can feel the faint ridges and bumps unique to his skin as you continue upwards, gliding over his chest before coming back down again, mapping him in your blinded state. You only stop when your fingers meet rough fabric - the waistband of his pants.

You hear the faint sound of his tail brushing the ground intermittently, and you can’t help but smile as your fingers curl beneath the band of his pants. But before you can get any further, familiar calloused hands stop your own, pulling you away from his skin.

“If you do that, I’m afraid we won’t accomplish what we planned to do tonight,” he says breathlessly.

You are still amazed that such simple touches drive him crazy, but you can’t help but relish in it, because you feel the same anytime Dammon touches you. As if your body can’t get enough.

Tonight might be the night that it does.

“Can you give me your hand?” he asks, and you hear him rustling around with something.

“Of course.”

You offer him your hand and he takes it, turning it palm up and placing a long thin object in your palm. He curls your fingers round it, and when he offers no complaint, you reach up with your other hand to further investigate what it could be.

“It’s the rope I’m going to use,” he informs you as your fingers trail along the braid material. “It’s…This is why we had to wait. I had to find someone who…dealt with these kinds of things.”

You let out a small hum as you run the rope through you hands, and you slowly begin to understand what he means. It’s smoother than any rope you’ve ever used, so smooth in fact that it feels like silk. It’s sturdy too, not too thick but not so thin it will dig uncomfortably into your skin if it gets tight. It’s like it was created for this purpose alone.

And perhaps it was.

You’re no stranger to the more debacuhed happenings in the city. Hells - you’ve been inside Sharess’ Caress. They probably use rope like this in abundance there.

“It’s so…soft,” you say finally, reaching out to offer the rope back to him.

“Yes I…” He trails off for a moment before continuing. “This isn’t supposed to be painful,” he informs you, and you feel the bed dip beside you, his voice shifting to your right side. “It can be of course but…Not tonight. It’s more about the control I suppose. The art of it.”

You nod as you feel a warm hand settle on your hip. “That makes sense. The drawings I saw were beautiful in a way and also…” you trail off, heat creeping into your cheeks. “Let’s just say I was never put off by the idea once I saw it.”

You can hear the way Dammon’s breath catches, his nails digging into the flesh of your hip ever so slightly. “I should have suggested it sooner, it seems.”

You smile, leaning in to where you think his body is. “You should have.”

He lets out a sigh, and you feel the way it brushes against your temple as he speaks.

“Well…We’re here now,” he says, slowly dragging his hand from your hip up your back before settling on your shoulder. “Are you ready for me to start?”

You let out a breath of your own, anticipation bubbling in your veins as you shift in your place, eager to get started. “Yes, I’m ready.”

Slowly and with whispered instructions he guides you so your are on your knees on the bed, sitting on your heels as you face away from him. Once you’re in position his fingers skim up to unhook the clasps of your bra, sliding it gently from your shoulders before tossing it somewhere off to your left.

“If you wanted me naked you could have just said so,” you tease, smiling when it earns youa chuckle from teh man behind you.

“That ruins the fun,” he says, and you finally feel the cool slide of rope against your arms. “This is…a lot of this is about the anticipation,” he tells you, breath ghosting over your ear as he gently guides your arms into position behind your back. “The gentle touches, the slow act of tying the rope, the build of what’s to come…”

He has you bend your arms behind your back, forearms almost crossing as he starts to slide the rope beneath them, wrapping it over just a few times before starting to tie the first knot, securing your arms together.

He continues like that for long agonizing moments. The cool rope sliding against your heated skin as he pulls, tugs, and knots the smooth cord into a masterpiece only he can see. The design soon travels from your forearms upwards above your elbows, as he begins to connect your arms together once more. He threads the rope beneath your right arm, hands ghosting across your back as he brings it over to your left, looping it over your bicep and back again, creating an intricate set of loops and ties that secure your arms behind you further, pulling your shoulders back to just the bare edge of discomfort.

Dammon was right. This is about the anticipation.

Because with each slide of the rope, with each brush of his fingers or ghost of his lips on your skin, you feel a new pang of arousal pool in your core. You shudder with each pass of the cord on your skin, breath hitching with each knot he tugs into place.

And Dammon, who’s never known to keep his hands from you for too long, can’t help but to touch you in between. His sharp nails ghosting along your skin, kisses pressed to your shoulder as he mutters words of praise…you can feel yourself getting wet already, and he’s barely even touched you. Not in the way you desire most, at least.

A whimper slips past your lips when he finally pulls away from you, the last piece of rope in place agasint your arms. But his absence doesn’t last long before he’s back again, his arms snaking around you as a new rope presses against the delicate skin of your lower belly.

“Are you still alright?” he asks, warm breath ghosting over your cheek as his head comes up beside yours to look down at your exposed body. His chin tucks perfectly against your shoulder as he presses a kiss to your cheek, waiting patiently for you to answer before he continues.

When you do find your words, they come out small, a mere gasp on your lips.

“Yes,” you assure him. “I just…wish you would touch me. I didn’t…this is more than i expected.”

You feel him tense behind you, his hands stilling. “We can stop at anytime-”

“No!” you almost shout, leaning back into your lover in a silent plea. “Please, don’t stop. I only meant…I didn’t expect to react so strongly to just this.”

Dammon clicks his tongue, letting out a low hum of understanding as his hands start to move again, the rope sliding softly against your skin.

“If it makes you feel any better…” Dammon trails off, wrapping the rope around your front again, allowing him to press himself against your back, the hardness of him pressing into your low back. “It’s having the same affect on me.”

His words, and the feeling of him hard as steel pressing into your skin is enough to send another bolt of pleasure through you. You expect him to pull away to continue his work, but he does no such thing, instead aiming to stay pressed as close to you as possible as he works on his art.

Each moment feels agonizing as he slowly winds the ropes up your body, fingers braiding and knotting the pieces together, fingers brushing against your skin, but never doing much more.

Your breath leaves you in shallow pants, and you can’t help it when you press your hips back into his own, desperate for any kind of touch, any friction to sooth the ache simmering in your veins.

A small groan leaves Dammons lips, and you feel a small tug the the ropes around your arms. “We’ll get there,” he whispers, leaning down to brush a tender kiss to your shoulder. “You’re doing so well, my love. I’m almost done.”

You fight to hold back the whine that threatens to slip past when his lips retreat from your skin, but you do, instead moving to lean back against him as he looks back over your shoulder once more to see his work.

You can feel the way the cords constrict around you, knotting in the center of your body as it travels upwards and spans out to wrap over your ribs and around your back. Soon enough you can feel them start to settle beneath your breasts. His hands barely brush the plush mounds as he ties a secure knot between them before taking the two ends up and over your collarbones to secure at the back of your neck.

He ties the last knot, a quiet sigh of admiration leaving him as his hands skim over his work, calloused palms ghosting over your skin.

You feel the bed shift, his warmth leaving your back. You wonder for a moment if he’s leaving again, but you continue to feel him move, until you think he settles in front of you on the plush mattress. The bed creaks softly as he settles, and despite the blindfold, you can feel his eyes boring into you, admiring his work much like he does that which he produces in the forge.

Dammon is a lot of things, and a proud man is one of them.

He’s never boastful or arrogant. But he loves his work - he’s always proud of what he can accomplish. And it seems that extends to you as well.

You don’t flinch when his hand settles on your cheek, thumb brushing the skin their gently, as he continues to admire you.

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he whispers, his other hand coming up to cup one of your breasts gently.

A gasp slips past your lips as he runs a thumb over the stiff peak of your nipple, nails scratching the sensitive skin deliciously as he pulls away to trail further down your body. He traces the ropes he tied into place, fingers slipping beneath them every now and again to tug gently.

“Is it-“ another gasp interrupts you as his hands slide down to brush over your thighs instead. “Is it everything you imagined?”

Dammon leans forward then, his hands slipping around your hips as his lips fall to your shoulder before trailing down lower to nip sharp teeth at your collar bone.

“It’s even better,” he breathes. “You’re more magnificent than anything my mind could conjure up.”

A moan leaves you as his mouth finally reaches your breast, his teeth scarping against the sensitive swell before taking a pert nipple between his lips.

“Oh, gods…” you gasp, arms tugging at the rope as you instinctively want to reach up to cradle his head in your hands.

But the restraints keep you in place, completely at his mercy as he continues to lavish your skin with praises and gently love bites.

You’re burning up now, blood boiling in your veins and desperate for anything Dammon wishes to give you. Something he seems to sense as both arms move to slip around your back as he gently lowers you to lay back on the bed, his lips traveling lower the whole way.

Your arms are trapped beneath you in this new position, adding to the arousal pooling in your belly as you lay completely open and bare for the man before you.

His teeth tug at the rope around your hips, hands moving to spread your legs so he can settle between them.

“Are you still alright, my love?” He asks, fingers creeping slowly up your inner thighs.

Gods you love him. You really do. But in this moment you want nothing more than for him to ravish you, to tear you completely apart before putting you back together again.

He can be sweet later. Right now, you want him to fuck you.

“Yes, yes, Dammon I’m fine,” you assure him, bucking your hips up into his hands. “Just please…fuck me. I cant wait any longer.”

You would usually be embarrassed by blatantly begging like this, but the feel of Dammons mouth on your wet center removes any and all thoughts but him from your mind.

His tounge parts your folds running up to tease the small bundle of nerves that sends bolts of pleasure through you.

You squirm in Dammon’s steel grip, your back arching as he devours you, his fingers digging into your thighs, nails no doubt going to leave behind evidence of his hold on you come morning.

His name falls from your lips in a lewd prayer, as you buck your hips up into his mouth, seeking more despite the way his tongue moves ravenously against you.

You feel his hands slide up to the rope around your hips, fingers slipping beneath the cord as he uses it to tug you closer to him, as if he wishes to drown in you.

His nose nudges at your clit as his tounge prods your entrance, desperate to taste you, his moans sending vibrations through you that make that coil in your belly pull impossibly taut.

“Fuck,” cry out when he slides one hand to rub expect circles on your clit. “Dammon, I’m close I-“

An expert flick of his fingers cuts off your warning, sending you hurtling over the edge into oblivion as Dammon continues to work you through it.

Incoherent babbles of his name fall from your lips until you finally say back into the bed, chest heaving and legs twitching as Dammon continues to lick at you, certain to leave nothing behind.

You want to push him away, but without the use of your hands, you squeeze your thighs around his shoulders gently, urging him away from you.

He obeys with a small sigh, his hand sliding up your body, as his lips follow suit, leaving a moist trail of kisses in his wake before he’s finally pressing them to the underside of your jaw.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” me mutters against your skin, fingers toying idly with the smooth cord beneath your breasts.

You smile as you turn your head to capture his lips with your own, tasting yourself on his tounge before pulling away just enough to speak.

“Can you…Will you take the blindfold off?”you ask. “I’d like to see you.”

Dammon lets out a low hum, pressing one last kiss to the corner of your lips before reaching up to tug at the silken fabric.

While the sun has long set, the bedroom is still well lit, lanterns and a few candles lighting the space enough for you to need to adjust to the brightness.

You blink a few times, leaning into the hand Dammon places on your cheek as his face comes into focus.

You’ve never seen anything so breathtaking.

His lips are tilted up in that small smile of his, pupils blown wide with lust as he looks down at you. His cheeks are flushed and errant strands of hair fall from his usually well kept style.

You yearn to reach up and tuck them back, to card your fingers through his hair or trace around the base of his horns, but you’re once again reminded of the impossibility of that as your arms tug uselessly at your bindings.

It’s then that you start to recognize the ache in your arms, your hands tingling as they start to fall asleep form their position pinned under you.

You shift beneath Dammon, and he notices immediately, brow furrowing in silent question.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, voice laced with concern.

You shake your head. “No it doesn’t hurt. It just-“ you let out a small chuckle. “I think my hands are falling asleep.”

Dammon nods, and immediately goes to help you sit up, but you stop him with a shake of your head, an idea popping into your head.

“Wait.” You tell him, nodding your chin up towards where he was previously sitting. “Sit back.”

He gives you a curious look, and for a moment he hesitates, but he obeys, scooting back to sit on his heels between your legs.

You notice the hard bulge in his trousers, and any hesitance about your idea flies out the proverbial window.

With less effort than you expected, you manage to roll over onto your stomach, gathering your knees below you enough to raise your ass in the air, presenting yourself to the man behind you.

The sharp intake of breath is enough to tell you that Dammon understands your presentation for what it is. And soon two warm hands settle on your hips, trailing up your sides before coming back down again.

The warmth of him surrounds you soon after, his chest pressed against your back and arms as he leans over you, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulders.

“Are you sure?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, turning your face so it’s no longer pressed against the sheets.

“Dammon I swear to the gods, if you went through all this and don’t fuck me-“

His lips leave yours in an instant, the heat of him disappearing from behind you as you hear the faint rustle of fabric from behind you.

His hands settle on your hips again, nails biting into the skin harsher than before as you feel the head of his cock nudge at your entrance.

You expect him to check in with you again, expect him to ask if you remember your safe word or any amount of other precautions. But he doesn’t.

Instead he presses into you in one swift thrust, his cock guided easily by your earlier orgasm.

But it still never prepared you for the size of him. He always stretches you perfectly, the small ridges and bumps unique to his race adding to the sensation of him sinking into you.

The groan you let out is sinful, and you can’t help but turn to muffle it in the sheets.

But Dammon isn’t having that.

A strong tug in the rope between your arms has you pulling up from the bed, the force of the movement pulling you further back onto him until your hips are flush with his own.

“Don’t hide from me,” Dammon says, tugging at the restraints again, sending him deeper and making the rope dig deliciously into your skin. “I want to hear you.”

“Oh, gods. Dammon…”

His name falling from your lips finally makes him move, pulling out of you before thrusting back in with one solid movement.

Your name falls from his lips as he sets a punishing pace, something so different from the reverent way he worshiped your body earlier.

He curls himself over you, his chest pressed against your back as he plants one hand by your head on the bed, his sharp nails digging deep into the sheets as he holds himself over you.

He nuzzles his face into the space between your neck and shoulder, nose nudging your jaw as he takes your earlobe between his teeth and tugs.

Another whimper escapes your lips as he continues his mind blowing pace, hitting that spot inside you as you writhe against the ropes fully now. Hands clenching and unclenching as you press your hips back into his own, seeking your second release of the night.

“Gods, Dammon, please..”

you're practically sobbing now, tears wetting your lashes at the intense pleasure that courses through you and the slight frustration of not being able to touch anything - touch him.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his free arm wrapping around your hips to hold you to him as he presses you down, further into the bed his cock pressing impossibly deeper inside of you at the change of position.

“Let go for me,” he says, voice sinful in your ear.

His words, and his fingers that slipped down to rub at your clit send you into oblivion for the second time.

You clench around him, crying out his name in a desperate plea as you squirm against him, veins alight with utter pleasure.

Dammon is not far behind you, just a few more stuttered thrusts and he comes in you with a groan of your name from his lips, his chest rumbling against your back as he sinks down into you, breath coming out in short labored breaths against your cheek.

Your mind is blissfully blank as you sink into the plush bedding beneath you, completely boneless as your lover adjusts his weight above you.

You whine when you feel him pull away from you, the room seeming so much cooler without his body next to yours.

“My love…?” His voice feels a million miles away as he brushes a few strands of hair from your sweat soaked forehead before pressing a kiss there. “Are you alright?”

You chuckle, but it comes out hoarse and weaker than intended.

“You just…gave me the best orgasm of my life. I’m more than alright.”

You watch through bleary eyes as Dammon blushes, his earlier dominant demeanor disappearing into the Dammon you know and love.

“I’m going to untie you.”

You nod, trying to help as much as you can in your blissed out state as he helps you to sit up, maneuvering you until you sit straddling his lap so he can more easily work at the ropes.

He moves quickly, fingers deftly untying the intricate knots and letting the ropes fall away from your skin. When he loosens the ropes at your back, your hands fall to your sides, a dull ache running from your shoulders down to the tips of your fingers.

You must have let out some kind of noise or flinched, because as soon as the ropes fall away, Dammon’s hands are on your arms, calloused palms running up and down your arms as he tries to sooth the aches and indentations left behind.

“They were too tight,” he mutters softly. “I’m sorry, my love I-”

You shush him softly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips to quiet his concerns. “I’m alright, Dammon. I promise,” you assure him, smiling as he continued to rub at the light indentation marks left by the ropes. “I liked it,” you finally admit. “I really liked it.”

His minstrations pauses momentarily, hands sliding down to wrap around your waist as he pulls back enough to look down at you, brows furrowed ever so slightly. “You’re…not just saying that to please me, are you?”

You can’t help the playful groan that you let out, followed by a small chuckle as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest.

“Only you could give a woman the best orgasm of her life and still question whether she liked it,” you tease, practically feeling the way Dammon rolls his eyes at you.

A small squeal escapes you as Dammon wraps his arms around you more securly as he flips you onto your back again, head hitting the pillow as he hovers over your, lips turned upwards playfully.

“If you think that was the best…I think I have more work to do.”

Your brows wing up in surprise, lips aprting slightly as your mind runs wild with the possibilities. “Is that a challenge, you’re proposing?” you ask.

Dammon smiles, humming low in his chest as he leans down to press a kiss to your jaw. “It might be,” he aquecies. “But for now, i’d just like to hold you and maybe run you a bath. If you’d be so inclined.”

Warmth swells in your chest at his words. Even after something most would consider debacuhed, Dammon still manages to be the sweetest thing in the room. You turn and press a quick kiss to his lips before reching up to wrap your arms around his neck.

“I’d Love nothing more.”

He smiles and plops down next to you on the bed, gathering you in his arms as he does so. His chin rests on the top of your head as you nuzzle into his chest, your leg tangling with his own until you’re both settled comfortably against one another.

Comfortable silence fills the space, Dammon trailing light patterns on your back, as you do the same on his chest - both of you just taking a moment to bask in the other's presence. Until Dammon finally speaks up.

“Thank you…for trusting me enough to do this,” he tells you softly, voice gentle.

You nod, moving to slip your arms around his waist, scooting closer to him. “Of course,” you say, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I love you, Dammon.”

You feel his lips press against the crown of your head.

“I love you more.”

#Dammon x reader #bg3 Dammon x reader #Bg3 x reader #Dammon #bg3 Dammon #bg3

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manicpixiefelix · 4 months

Text

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 11.

Summary: It's good to finally getting back home to Saltburn. There's just a few things to work out, such as where Oliver's staying, and why.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: implications of child neglect

A/N: 3989 words. I think about Jacob Elordi saying that Felix would have Artic Monkeys on his personal playlist, about once a day. um okay so not only is this uneditd, but i definitely got very drunk halfway through it, so that's.... that. (im drunk as i publish this) BUT WE'RE AT SALTBURN AND OLLIE GETS HERE TOMORROW!! (which means the next chapter, which dw will be tomorrow irl) ((is this anything?? im worried its ooc please feedback??))

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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There is no reverence in you anymore for the castle in the countryside that is Saltburn.

Once it had towered before you, trembling, a child alone in every way that mattered until the doors opened before you. Saltburn was a haven away from the bitter hypocrisy of both expectations and apathy, though it took you quite some time to learn as much. At first, there was reverence; Saltburn was the place where every script you'd learned to smile through, every societal expectation you'd been trained to uphold, would be put to the test.

And if you couldn't keep up, if you messed up in this holy house in the face of their kind smiles, you were sure their gazes would turn blank with inevitable disappointment.

But that was years ago.

And mistakes made you interesting, your quirks made them laugh, and Saltburn became less holy each Summer as you found it to be far more human.

It's what occupies your mind for the entire trip back to Saltburn, with you and Felix sharing an earbud each from his iPod, and Farleigh reading - pointedly not not ignoring Felix after he'd found out the news.

You wonder what Oliver will see in the house; the sum of it's parts, or each room and inch of the grounds as their own storage space for memories worth so much more.

Felix hums along under his breath like nothing in the world could ever worry him. Farleigh licks the tip of his finger, glancing with ire at his cousin for just a moment before turning the page of his book. Play. You squint at the cover; Richard the Third. Shakespeare. Farleigh holds the play up further to hide the rest of his face from you both.

You'll get to the station before midday, and a town car will be waiting for you all. Most of your things from Oxford are on their way to a storage facility in the city for the Summer, but you've still got a few precious things you're bringing back to the estate in a suitcase a the front of the carriage, and a bag overhead.

Felix has been trying to look nonchalant and look out the window for a good part of the trip now, but he keeps glancing at you with a strange look.

"Does this change us?"

This time, you make sure to catch his gaze before you reach for the iPod. Most of the ride has been on shuffle, quiet otherwise between you two, if not for his humming, or yours. Flipping through the few albums he had saved, you clicked through to the one you had been looking for. The sunshine is beating down on him just outside the window, almost directly overhead, shining on him and everyone in behind him in the window seats, painting them in sharp relief if they had their curtains open.

You pressed play on You Probably Couldn’t See for the Lights But You Were Staring Straight at Me by the Artic Monkeys.

Felix, who knows and loves the song, can't look at you. Actually, properly can't look at you, hiding his embarrassed smile behind his hand as he forced himself to look out the window.

And you hum along, grinning, leaning just past him to also focus your gaze out the window.

"Stop that," he mumbles under his breath from behind his hand, clearly still smiling. All you do is continue to hum along as the band thrashes along in your heads. After a moment, you slide the iPod towards him, as if taunting him, daring him to change the song himself.

"- they're not half as bad as me," you sing under your breath. Felix is turning pink around the ears, but flips the iPod over onto it's face, letting the rest of the song play out, "say anything and I'll agree -" your smile grows wider and you sit back, but continue to hum.

If Farleigh's judging either of you, he doesn't lower his book enough to indicate as much.

The town car ride back to the estate was far more eventful, as the three of you began to properly discuss Oliver's impending arrival. Apparently he hadn't thought much about packing up his room at Oxford, what little there apparently was to pack up, so he was taking the extra day students were allotted to gather himself together for the Summer. That meant one night at Saltburn before he'd be there.

"I actually, genuine can't believe you sometimes," Farleigh had started two separate tirades in the past twelve hours exactly like this, and both about Oliver. It was no secret what this third was going to be about, "you honestly couldn't give me six weeks of peace? Six weeks?"

"You'll have plenty of peace, mate," Felix had insisted, eyes wide and pleading with his irate cousin, "and honestly, I think you'll really start to warm up to him."

"I appreciate that your optimism springs fucking eternal, Felix, but -"

"No, seriously, give him a chance outside of all the academics and what everyone else thinks," Felix was beginning to plead for a moment, all big brown eyes and imploring tone of voice. Farleigh, however, was not as well swayed as the rest of the world would be by his theatrics.

"I'm not going to play nice with your little -"

"Hey, he might be into that," you cut Farleigh off before he could say something too incendiary, but Felix still cast his frown between you both.

"Not helping, Y/N," he admonished, turning back on Farleigh who was suddenly overcome with mild revulsion at your implications. When Felix wasn't looking, you wiggled your eyebrows at him suggestively, teasingly adding to the bit. He fake-gagged, much to Felix's disappointment.

It wasn't a long journey, however, and soon enough the three of you were pulling into Saltburn, and there was something amusing about the collective sigh of relief you all shared once the door opened.

"Feels like ages since we've been back," Felix stretches, leaving his bags for the chauffer and doormen, as did you. Farleigh made a start towards the trunk of the car before the chauffer climbed out, giving him a confused look and he thought better of it.

"Christmas, right?" Farleigh stuck his hands into his pockets, sauntering up the steps beside you all, gazing up at the large, blue doors.

"Duncan taking his time," Felix muttered under his breath after a moment, to which you grinned.

"Probably wants to keep them closed on us as long as possible," though just as you say that, as Farleigh and Felix snicker, the doors creak open, and there, gaunt as you've ever seen him, Duncan somehow manages to loom impressively large, even as you've grown into an adult.

"Master Felix," he nods to each of you with the same stern civility he's always carried, "Master Farleigh, Captain Y/N." You nod in turn, voice turning cordial as you greet him warmly, despite your two companions barging through ahead of you.

"Duncan, always lovely to see you," you incline your head towards him the way you always have, and for a brief moment he allows himself a faint, but genuine smile.

"God, you're so fucking weird sometimes!" Farleigh calls over his shoulder at you. You roll your eyes, but Duncan is stone-walling again, so you slip past him to catch up. In time to hear Farleigh's voice lower and ask, "have you told your mother yet?" Felix makes a face.

"I texted her before we got on the train," it sounds uncomfortable, "she sent me an incomprehensibly long text back which I only got when we had service again. I think she's fine with it."

Farleigh hangs his head, his last defence against Oliver's impending arrival foiled. After a beat, he forced a smile, sliding up to get in step beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"Oh, we're gonna be best friends this summer," he tells you, as if you have no say in it, "you, me, and my fucking weed guy -"

"Say it fucking louder why don't you," Felix rolled his eyes, but you simply shook your head at the altercation, wrapping your arm around Farleigh's middle and giving him a squeeze.

"You're impossible, Farleigh," you told him, "and so lucky I love you."

Farleigh quietly cheers for what small triumph he had won, before both you and him look to Felix's vaguely sceptical expression, taking in the both of you.

"It's a fair trade," Farleigh told him easily, "you get your new best friend Oliver -" still yet to say the name without disdain, you note, "- I get Y/N."

"I did also promise Venetia I'd spend some time with her," you chime in, but Farleigh can't help himself but snort.

"You sure she won't pick a fancy for Oliver too?" You can hear his lip curl, but Felix pulls ahead where he's been casually leading you all through the house to his room. You can't see his expression.

"Fuck off, Farleigh -" you start, coldly pulling away from him, but Felix's tone is light, almost forcibly casual as he cuts you off.

"Ollie's lovely but I don't think he's much of her type."

"Everyone's Venetia's type," Farleigh spits, unable to stop himself from putting his foot in his mouth. The implication hangs in the air for a long few seconds before Farleigh catches himself. The unneeded reminder. The real reason for the sudden coldness. Felix turns, smiling bright with nothing behind his eyes as he cheerfully tells Farleigh -

"You know where your room is, right?" And says he's going to rest before hunting down the rest of the family amongst the estate. Farleigh meekly nods, and departs from you both. Both you and Felix follow him with your eyes; Felix's smile doesn't drop before the door closes behind him, and it's the two of you in the blue room, alone.

And you know he's thinking about Eddie.

You wish Farleigh knew how to keep his mouth closed, how to stop pressing buttons when he always knew what they did.

"Where's Ollie going to be staying?"

Felix's eyes flash to you, and you wonder if it were the right or wrong question. Is there a question in this moment that isn't loaded? Is there a question you could ask that wouldn't make him think of Eddie right now?

Eddie had stayed in Felix's room. In Felix's bed. At least he was supposed to. But Oliver wasn't Eddie, so he needed his own space.

Oliver was different to Eddie, you reminded yourself, and hoped that Felix was thinking it too. That was good. That was good.

"Dunno," Felix finally admitted with a sigh, draping himself over the cream sofa, looking up at the ornate ceiling. You sat on the stool for the broken piano, lifted the lid and idly played a few notes, listening to the little hammers in the instrument tap uselessly against broken strings.

"Vennie wouldn't do that again, would she?" Felix muttered so quietly you almost miss it. He doesn't call his sister Vennie often; you know he's dwelling, he's hurting the way he tries to pretend like he doesn't.

"Farleigh's talking shit because it's his job at this point," you tell Felix flatly, and he angles his head towards you, even if it looks like it hurts, so you see him contemplating, "but Ollie isn't Eddie."

Something lights up in the back of your mind as you read faint disappointment on Felix's face as he processes your words. Nodding, he sighs again, looking up at the ceiling.

"Last night was fucking beautiful," Felix's tone turns wistful; he hasn't told you properly about what happened between him and Oliver, but clearly it went well, "I hope Ollie likes it here." Then, closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath before offering, "I've been meaning to thank you, actually," he admits. You shift from the piano stool to sit on the arm of the sofa he was laying across, "for giving me space to spend those moments with Ollie last night."

His face scrunches up a little, then, as if sensing you by his head, he cracks an eye open. Slowly, almost embarrassed, he starts to smile.

"He's like you, you know?" He says gently, before he really considers what he means, and his face falls; you watch, you wait patiently, "can't go home ever again," apology in his eyes, "that's what he said to me."

There's that love, that desire to do good, to be good, that Felix has always craved. He's in his own head, all kinds of thoughtful and melancholy that he often isn't around the rest of the world. Felix shuffles himself over on the plush, wide sofa, making himself as small as possible, and you know it's an invitation. One that you take. It's awkward, but he holds you tightly so you won't fall off.

You wonder if he even realises that you're there, that you're in his arms and listening to the way his thoughts spill out of him from a moment of connection he craves but doesn't often get. If you're so much of his mental wallpaper that holding you like this, the way you listen, the way you are so gentle in these moments, if you're more like a simple diary, an easy, comfortable way to get these thoughts out of his head without the fear of his secrets being spilled upon someone who might use them against him.

"I don't think I'll ever understand not being able to come home," Felix admits softly, "I can't even wrap my head around how Ollie became the man he is with parents like that; and after all he's gone through, for this to be straw, the thing that means he'd rather live in a world alone than be around the people - person - who was mean to love and protect him and yet failed him over, and over, and over again? He's so bloody strong for how long he's gone through it all."

Swallowing hard, you're surprised by the way your eyes are clouding over. Trying not to break the moment, you press your face against his chest; Felix doesn't seem to notice, still trapped in his own thoughts, but he instinctively holds you a little tighter.

"'Home' doesn't mean the same for you as it does for me," Felix whispers softly, almost to himself, and it hits you square in the chest. The tears start to come, and you can feel them dampening his shirt, "that's what he'd said to me," oh, Felix hadn't even realised you were crying.

It takes another half a minute before he even seems to realise something is wrong, but you assured him you were fine, that you were just very glad that Oliver would be staying here instead for the Summer. He'd almost connected the dots at the start of the conversation, but now he couldn't seem to see them.

Still, you knew Felix, and you weren't sure if his heart could handle making you cry twice in two days. So you lie, and he lets it go.

Felix is sitting up and stretching, his mood having improved for having voiced his thoughts it seems, and you're drying your eyes when the door to the Blue Room opens.

"Darlings, Duncan just let me know you'd arrived and were on your way to freshen up before the afternoon," Elspeth was as bright and flighty as always, looking between you both, "so glad I caught you both." Felix is the first on his feet, warmly greeting his mother with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, which she returned in kind. Seeing your red-rimmed eyes, she's immediately concerned, but you brush it off quickly, telling her that you and Felix were simply discussing Oliver's situation and that you were incredibly excited to have him joining you all. She, of course, lit up at that.

"It will be such a treat, if I'm to believe my darling son," and of course she is to believe darling Felix, everyone at Saltburn always did. His admiration was worth it's weight in gold to the people who loved him, Elspeth especially. She latches onto the elbow he doesn't offer and you're left to catch up to them as they make their way through the familiar rooms to Felix's, her voice filling the space all the while.

"You must tell me all about dear Oliver," Elspeth insists; she, like her son, was made for Saltburn. She catches the light, beautiful and timeless and made to live amongst its timeless walls. Your face still feels hot; you don't know why but you feel out of place - home doesn't mean the same thing for you as it does for me - Felix pet's his mother's hand on his arm and assures him that she'll love Oliver. He's thoughtful. He's gentle. He's beautiful. Her eyes shine; even his mother is not immune to his light.

"Now, I hope you don't mind," Elspeth begins when the three of you get to the long gallery before Felix's room, "but it was rather last minute, so it's been something of a rush to get everything ready -"

"Get what ready?" Felix asks, and you watch them like a play, like a film, like a third party without any kind of say.

"I thought it would be best if Oliver stayed in the room attached to yours," Elspeth said, and it takes a moment, but you feel your stomach drop. This was worse than last Summer; at least then you had your own room.

"Y/N's room?" There's some victory to be taken in the way Felix seems ready to fight for you in this matter.

"Oliver is a guest, dear," Elspeth didn't even look at you in this moment, "we didn't want to have him set up, all alone, on the other side of the house." She smiles, and gives a fond, if condescending look over her shoulder to you, "you'll be alright, won't you sweetheart? It's just a bedroom, it's not a big deal." You try and smile, and nod, and be placating -

"They can stay with me," Felix insisted, "sleep over, like when we were kids." For a moment, he looks to you. The nod he gives is solid, is reassuring; it eases your heart.

"I don't know if that'd be appropriate."

Elspeth knows. Everyone fucking knows. No-one will say it, but it effects every damn thing they do. How they treat you. You know this, but no-one talks about it out loud.

Saltburn thrives on the unspoken.

"Why not?" Felix forces his mother's hand, "Y/N's my best mate, has been for years, we share a bed all the time." And Elspeth is too polite to do anything but concede, and lets you both know with a faint, awkward smile that your things will be moved to Felix's room before the day is out.

"And Y/N, darling," she does finally, properly acknowledge you, taking both your hands in hers, kissing you on both cheeks, "it's wonderful to see you, of course, so glad to have you home."

Home.

You smile warmly at her. After a beat, however, she casts a faint frown to the window.

"And I feel I'd be remis not to tell you that Venetia is refusing to get out of the pool until you go down and join her."

"Oh," there's an amused kind of warmth that blooms in your chest at that, at being sought after and missed; Felix rolls his eyes but it's fond, "how long has she been there?"

"Not long before you arrived," Elspeth gives a genuine, warm smile, clearly either wilfully or genuinely ignorant about the nature of your relationship with her daughter, "please just take it as a sign that we have all missed you dearly."

She leaves you both to it, reminding you of when supper was to be held, as if the time ever changed, and you and Felix quietly made your way into his room. Your room.

You watch from the doorway as your best friend breathes in familiarity of it all. His childhood bedroom, always left immaculate and untouched, a museum to him whenever he was away from the house. A place of so many of your firsts, yet never a place you'd really called your own. Felix falls onto the bed, face-first, swearing muffled by his expensive duvet.

"Every bloody person's determined to get on my nerves today," Felix sighed, flipping himself over, legs hanging off the end of the bed. "Not you, you don't count," he adds idly, flicking his wrist in your general direction, but still managing to warm your heart, "I'm glad Ollie's staying close by, but can you believe she thought you'd stay anywhere but here?" He sounded genuinely miffed, finally turning to look at you. When he sees the abashed way you're smiling at him, his frustration drops, "what?" He can't help but match your softness in this moment, and you shake your head, trying to tell him it's nothing. "It's not nothing, look at you," he insisted brightly; your smile widened, as if on cue, "you were getting teary thinking about Ollie just minutes ago; go on, what's on your mind now. Is it Venetia?"

"'s not Venetia," you insisted, finally joining him in the room, sitting yourself on the edge of the bed looking around.

Your room; the room you share with Felix, and so close to Oliver too.

"It's our room, isn't it?" It's like he can read your damn mind, practically giggling like a high schooler at the mere thoughts of what the two of you were bound to get up to.

"You were so insistent," you finally teased, grinning wide and leaning back against him, "it's almost like you like me or something."

"That's fucking lies and slander!" Felix crows, your head on his chest, "I'll sue you for that -" but you're already moving, straddling him, pinning his hands to the bed either side of his head as you grin down at him.

"Felix Catton's sharing his bed, call the tabloids!" You teased, leaning in, and when he captures your lips in a kiss, it's like he wants you to taste how sharp his amusement is. He bites and teases and frees his hands to pull you in. Quickly everything shifts and moves and there's something possessive about the way he kisses you, holds you, has you under him and pinned and breathless before you realise what had happened.

"You think I'd let mum kick you out like that?" His pupils are blown so wide with want you think they could swallow you whole in this moment; "never want you that far away if I can help it," it comes out as a breathless admission, almost like it escaped him, like he's caught up in the moment, and you never want him to stop talking to you like this, "can't say that at Oxford - fuck Oxford," he mumbles, his lips on your neck in the next instance. His teeth sting without breaking the skin, sucking with intent to leave an ache that would remind you of him every time you touched it for the next few days.

"Us and Ollie," his lips are gentle when he kisses across your chest, your collar bones, "I'm sure between the three of us we'll end up getting into proper tabloid trouble," you can feel his smirk, and there's something electrifying about the possibilities you find yourself considering.

"Us and Ollie," you agree with a roughish grin. Felix captures your mouth once more in a kiss, matching your energy, your enthusiasm, but adds, "Ollie tomorrow."

And at that, you remember; giddy laughter escapes you.

"Our room," you can't help but remind him, and Felix's grin stretches wider.

"Venetia can wait for you a little longer."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick x you #oliver quick imagine #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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actual-changeling · 6 months

Text

And once more with feeling: Why there is no magic trick or gun to either of their heads in the final fifteen.

Before you immediately run to my comments or hit reblog, please read the entire thing. If you're still mad, either read it again or sit with it, do not make it my problem. Genuine questions and discussions are always welcome, comments that make it clear you did not understand a word I said aren't.

Okay? Okay.

With that, welcome back to Alex's unhinged meta corner, and today we are going to compare their first and last argument in the bookshop—they are, fundamentally, the same. It both sets the scene for their relationship this season and works as immaculate foreshadowing of how they part.

I compared the scripts, which you can find here. It's incredible that OP put all that work into creating these because otherwise I would have gone insane doing it myself.

Now, the setting: they have a problem.

In ep1 it is Gabriel, in ep6 it is technically still Gabriel, or rather his now empty position in heaven. They solved one problem and now they're forced to deal with another one he also caused; meanwhile he's drinking space margaritas.

Crowley, stuck in his trauma-induced hypervigilance and paranoia, suggest putting as much distance between them and the problem as possible. I think it is interesting that in ep1 he wants to get Gabriel away from them, while at the end of the season he is ready to get them away from the problem.

So far, I have never seen anyone mention that change! And it's important! The entire season, it is hammered into our heads how much they love being on earth. It is THEIR bookshop and THEIR car and THEIR life.

Crowley wants to protect that home, and Gabriel is a threat to it, a threat to both of them, their life, the bookshop—everything. He does not want to leave, he wants his peace and angel in one place.

Yet by allowing Gabriel to stay, Aziraphale destroyed the sense of comfort and safety Crowley slowly developed over the last few decades. Heaven nipping down every now and then to check in with Aziraphale is very different from him sheltering the Supreme Archangel who is running from 'something terrible' without even asking if he's alright with that.

Aziraphale calls it their bookshop, but he fundamentally still sees it as his space to govern and Crowley as a guest.

After another horrible week and having his previously safe space violated several different times and beings, Crowley is back to where he was before—without a home. That fragile existence broke apart, so he is standing in the heap of shards and telling Aziraphale 'I don't feel safe here anymore, let's leave'.

He lost his safe space, but he still has his safe person, his best and only friend, the person he loves. I doubt he cares where exactly they go as long as they're together and it's safe.

Returning to heaven—it is the one place Crowley cannot follow him to. It's literally the worst option, he can't go back, he won't go back. So he invokes the bookshop again, if you don't want to stay for me, stay for the bookshop, your books, your corner of existence that I thought we had carved out for ourselves.

'Nothing lasts forever' and 'you're at liberty to go' have the same underlying meaning—you're not welcome in this house anymore, it was your safe place, not anymore. Both times, he's essentially kicking him out.

Aziraphale then switches it up again!

Same manipulation tactic, first making Crowley feel rejected and unwelcome, then trying to pull him back in by promising and showing affection. He's desperate, he's attempting to get Crowley into his "saviour" role because he knows he has a hard time not saving him from whatever trouble he gets him into. Aziraphale knows him so damn well, and he uses that knowledge to get what he wants.

'If you won't, you won't' has the same implication as 'then there's nothing more to say'—I am ending that conversation, you can leave now, he even makes the same face both times.

In ep1, that's that, Crowley takes his emotions and leaves.

The lightning bolt is the kiss. A sudden, heavy discharge of pent-up feelings that has been a long time coming, but in the end he is more desperate, less controlled, at his emotional rock bottom. Everything he thought to be true about their relationship came crashing down around him.

In his mind, Aziraphale chose heaven over him—TWICE! First Gabriel, now Gabriel's position.

'You're on your own with this one' applies to both scenes, I think the reasoning behind that is pretty clear.

Now, some more verbal components and word meanings that I think are worth mentioning.

One of them is Crowley directly pointing out heaven's cruelties when Aziraphale is seemingly unaware of them, thinking of Gabriel/heaven as in in need of his 'help'.

I can take help him -> I can make a difference.

It is, fundamentally, the same argument.

Aziraphale feels like he is the one who needs to play saviour (that Crowley actually hates it but Aziraphale loves it is a post for another time), the one being who can help Gabriel/heaven and fix all the problems.

Crowley correctly points out that they do not care about him and are just as cruel—if not more—as hell, that Gabriel tried to destroy him, that heaven will destroy all of them.

Their responses to that just shoot past each other and it is what Crowley himself tells us. Two different exactlys

Aziraphale's -> I am the only one who can fix this, I feel responsible for this, help me fix this.

Crowley's -> This is dangerous, it can get us killed, we cannot fix this. Come and be safe with me.

'He needs us' becomes 'I need you'.

'I would love you to help me' becomes 'we can be together'.

In episode 1, the argument isn't 'final', as such. Crowley is exhausted, sad, feels rejected, but when he finds out just how much trouble Aziraphale is in, he needs to go back and help him. It's instinct, he couldn't live with himself if he knowingly let him walk into the knife—and yet in episode 6 that is exactly what Aziraphale forces him to do.

It is why Crowley brings up the nightingales, why he kisses him: that primal, love-based desperation. This argument is final, he won't be able to follow him to heaven no matter what, he won't be able to protect him.

He is on his own with this one.

In conclusion, THIS is why the argument that happened in the final fifteen is real, there's no trick, no nothing.

They have had the same argument before, probably over and over again. Same structure but with lower stakes, and eventually they reconciled.

This time the stakes are as high as they possibly can be, which lures their most primal, honest arguments out of them.

Aziraphale wants to fix heaven, wants to help, still believes that they are fundamentally good, that he can make a difference.

Crowley has lived the truth, has been trying to tell him for centuries, and he is exhausted. He wants safety. He wants peace. He wants the two of them in a peaceful, not-fragile corner of existence that no one else gets to break ever again.

Not a single line was 'out of character', this is exactly who they are, with all their layers stripped away and their fears exposed. It's not pretty to watch, it hurts, it makes you ache, and yet they and we know that this is how it has the end—the only way it was ever going to end.

That is what makes it tragic.

However, even after all of that, there is one step left: reconciliation.

Season 3 is going to give it to us, in whatever shape or form. Neil knows what he is doing, and we can trust him to give them the ending they deserve.

#alex talks good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #crowley meta #aziraphale meta #every single time someone tries to argue with me about this again i will just link this post

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weebsinstash · 4 months

Note

I wanna be best buds with Lucifer. All my brain cells r now fixated on the short munchkin dressed like a haunted puppet with depression who CLEARLY needs a new passion project in his life.

Depressed Dad is clearly in need of something or someONE to kick him out of his depression funk. Y/N could be just the ESA he needs. The hell equivalent of those little marimo moss balls parents buy for kids who are too irresponsible to remember to feed fish.

What I'm saying is, the platonic yandere potential is off the charts. We go to Valentino to get hungover and fucked, but we go to Luci for a hangover cure and a comfy couch to crash on.

Honestly I was thinking of something, like

Lucifer just wants to assume everyone down there is the worst, but imagine he comes to the Hotel to see Charlie and Reader is there as a guest and, SOMETHING happens

Like I was imagining it would be really cute if Lucifer's first visit to the Hotel went significantly worse and Charlie and him are arguing and Reader is the one who tries to help them make amends. Constantly fighting the feminine urge to put musicals in these fucking fics or posts but you wind up singing a tune about how WAIT, please don't go, the two of them have to make up, and clearly he's a good person and an even better dad because CHARLIE is like rhe nicest sweetest bestest person you've ever met

and then after you're done Charlie is like BAWLING like when Angel forgave her, just grabbing you and her Dad, "this is the first time they've saaaaang, they've been too shy and they did it for US, that's so beautiful!!!" just like HARD CRYING and you're basically like Honorary Child 2 at that point

I can just. mmm, imagine if you knew Val first and then befriended the Morningstars. Valentino tries to force you to do something one day and you're just like, picking up your phone, staring Val dead in the face as you text someone. FIVE MINUTES LATER, there's a knock to the door of the set, and you rush to open it, and everyone starts losing their fucking MIIIINDS as LUCIFER HIMSELF walks in

You give Valentino a grin that would have made a demon proud as if to say "fucking try me bitch" before turning back to Lucifer, "heeeeeey short king! I'm sorry for messaging out of the blue but I missed you! Hey, i think my friend Mr Valentino was about to like, give me a job or something?"

Lucifer's just all, "oh, you mean like working the lights or, helping mop the floors cause, I don't think that suits a young lady/man/whatever like yourself!"

Like can you imagine Val was having you read some AWFUL like NAAAAASTY script before Luci came in and it's still in his hand and you point at it, "hey isn't that it right there?" And Valentino and potentially even Vox have to SCRAMBLE, "No no not at all, this is, uh, my laundromat receipt!" *shoves the entire booklet into a nearby shark demon's mouth

Lucifer is standing there being, kinda judgy like he was with Charlie's hotel but otherwise being friendly and YOURE the one being the "silent" menace. Valentino is GRINDING his teeth, "soooo, Mr Morningstar, sir, big fan, excellent work, uh, what can we do for you?" And you're just slinging an arm around THE DEVIL "oh, me and him were gonna go grab lunch and I was maybe gonna crash at his daughter's new place where Mr Lucifer here is gonna be visiting all the time. You don't mind right?" and Vox has to step in and answer "yeah, sure no problem!!!" because Valentino is about to devolve into nothing but furious squeaking

This is an idea I'm prolly gonna wind up using for a platonic Husker thing but, Reader having an abusive childhood and Lucifer becomes aware that YOUR dad was a mean piece of shit, definitely down in Hell too or previously exterminated, and Lucifer just finds you like DRUNK IN THE GUTTER, "I'm a looooooser just like my dad". Like. Yandad Luci here is probably the type where he sees you having ONE bad hangover and he's concrete convinced you're a hardcore alcoholic and need rehab STAT. Which may be true but what I'm saying is is that, he sees you at your weakest ONCE and he's suddenly like "Oh no, duckling! cmon, let, uh, let ... Daaaaaad help you? 🥺" and you find out his idea of help is like. Extremely well intentioned but horribly well executed as he's over here, "you know what helps MY depression? Inventing things in my workshop" and you look around to 4000 versions of the same rubber duck and you're like "s so.... is it working" and he just emphatically declares "No! :D but I think it's getting a little better with you here!" and your fate is fucking sealed and wait until Lilith moseys on back into town and finds the "savior" of her goofy little husband and best bud of her daughter and now you've got every Morningstar on your side in totally The Most Normal Ways Possible :)

#yandere hellaverse #yander hazbin hotel #sinprompts #idk sometimes im nwver sure when to tag things

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apprenticestanheight · 8 months

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Post Bathroom trap! Adam Stanheight x gn! reader headcanons

allllll right!! An anon came into my inbox and got me thinking about Adam as a vet as he mentioned wanting to be one the original saw script, and now this exists! Thank you to that anon for spurring on this idea (though you had no idea you did, and I have no idea if you're reading this) this was fun to write!

this fic was ALSO an excuse to imagine adam in this style of glasses (I can admit that I am entirely biased as a glasses wearer myself but I thought about it for two seconds and then was like "this will never cease to be my favorite thing ever." so now we're here)

Fic type- fluff

Warnings- mentions of PTSD related avoidance (adam refuses to go back to the part of the city where the trap was located), mentions of nightmares/anxiety and ptsd being tripped up by something unspecified, mentions of dehydration and starvation after Adam was rescued. Also, this set of headcanons was longer than I had meant for it to be so oops.

Okay, so!!

Adam is found by the police with Lawrences help (also john kramers--a guilt ridden Lawrence Gordon would BEG for Adams life to be saved and for the spare key to the cuff on Adams ankle and you cannot ever convince me otherwise) and insistence from you (who had filed a missing persons report after a day of missed calls, texts that never delivered, and the stray cat Adam occasionally looked after was found mewing at his door, begging to be allowed entrance to his apartment) after four days. He's starving and dehydrated as all fucking hell, but he dimly registers being lifted onto a gurney and the sound of your voice as you tell him you love him and that he's alive, that he's okay.

He goes through surgery (y'know, bullet wounds and all) and wakes up to be told that, due to the spot in his shoulder where the bullet wound up, he's probably going to deal with consistent pain there the rest of his life.

He's just grateful to be out, really. Grateful that Lawrence kept his word, grateful that you harassed the police, in essence, because you cared so much about him.

He's rehydrated with fluids and eats until he's not hungry anymore, still finding the time within exhaustion and it's interruptions with food and your company to fret about seeing Lawrence in the hospital.

I mean--Lawrence does come to see him, but only when he's asleep because stressing Adam out is not a good idea when he's been out of the trap for two days and is going to be in the hospital for another five at minimum.

Lawrence writes Adam a letter of apology, though, and Adam reads it while you've gone home to shower and to feed the stray that comes by his apartment. He doesn't want to accept Lawrences apology to his face, but he decides that some part of him understands why Lawrence did it as he did, and internally accepts Lawrences apology, deciding to let himself move on from it as best he can.

Adam gets discharged from the hospital after a week, at which point he's like "okay. to start, I need to stop doing freelance. That shit almost got me killed."

He's also traumatized and VERY anxious about going to the part of Jersey where the trap is located. Being freelance might mean he has to go to that area, which plays a bigger part than he's willing to admit.

He's sitting in your apartment one day, having been too anxious to go back to his even after he'd been assured that Jigsaw believed how grateful he'd managed to become and would not test him again unless he did something that Jigsaw deemed worthy of such a test.

He starts thinking about life while sitting at your kitchen table, open and closing his fist while doing that "powpowpowpowpow!!" sound that you do when you're messing with kittens as the stray you'd taken in after finding her covered in oil on the side of the road had found herself on your kitchen table.

He looks at you, having just ordered your favorite takeout, and goes "Remember high school?"

You nod at this, anxious but excited to see where, exactly, he plans to take the conversation.

"We started dating in October of sophomore year," you said. "You dropped out March of junior year, Adam. I remember it."

Adam remembers it, too, watching you walk across the stage as a high school graduate where he'd dropped out because he was flunking. He remembers feeling proud of you, supporting you with forehead kisses and promises to order your favorite food if you studied, helping you work your way through your college degree.

"What's got you thinking about it?" you'd ask as Adam lifted the stray orange tabby kitten into his arms, tucking her under his chin.

"I was thinking... remember how I wanted to be a vet?"

You look at him, head tilted, mouth slightly agape. Of course you'd remembered, but those dreams were ones you thought he'd given up on.

"Yeah," you nod. "Yeah. I remember. Why?"

"I was looking into it and I think I'm going to get my GED," Adam says. "Might also look into taking the SATs, I heard that a decent score will help me get a bachelors degree. Once I get my bachelors, I'll go to vet school."

"Adam," you whisper, a little stunned. "Oh my God. Are you serious?"

Adam grins, gaze meeting yours as he nods.

You have a like,, like,, you're just...

you're SO HAPPY because you have loved that man for a literal DECADE by the time he's like "okay yeah. I'm going to get my life together."

You stand up and head to the kitchen, delighting in the sound of Adams laughter as you go.

"Grabbing the good whiskey?" He calls.

"The best stuff in our cabinets!" you call back.

So the cycle starts.

Adam gets himself enrolled in the GED program your old high school offers, and many nights are spent with Adam, glasses on his face and cat dubbed Spice sitting on the couch cushion behind him, studying to make sure he gets the materials right.

You help him take practice tests and kiss him senseless the first time he gets a near perfect score, and from then it only seems like things get better.

Adam aces the GED test and gets the diploma, lets himself smoke a cigarette for the first time since the trap to celebrate the victory because, even if he didn't get the diploma until eight years after he should've graduated and gotten it, he still got it.

Then, you help him study for the SATs and Spice the cat bats at his notes and the textbooks he studies from whenever one of their corners is hanging off the coffee table.

You get VERY USED to the sight of Adam in his glasses because,, studying and wearing CONTACTS?? no. that sounds like a nightmare.

he gets a good score on the SATs and then applies to a decent college in the city to do a bachelors in science with a focus on zoology.

GUESS WHAT?? He's in college doing his bachelors and working part time as a secretary at the local vets office so that he can sort of get a feel for the environment he'll be expecting post vet school.

You're at his side throughout the entirety of it, and when Adam starts going to therapy (lets be honest--he busies himself with first his GED, then the SATS, then applying and getting into the college he wants for his bachelors and also working part time at the vets offices to avoid thinking about his experience in the bathroom trap) you're supportive of him throughout every step because he supported you through high school, and college, and the long nights spent making sure your career went how you wanted it to go.

He and Lawrence develop a friendship after some time as well, which is nice, and eventually, without realizing it, Adam has developed his own little support system.

Granted, by the time he's hitting 30 and graduating with his bachelors, it's 2008 and his support system is made up of his partner, a doctor with whom he was trapped by the oh-so infamous Jigsaw, and an orange tabby cat who you lovingly washed free of oil and ticks with dawn dish soap when she was two weeks old, but it counts.

He gets into vet school and you hug-tackle him when he tells you the news.

You knock his glasses onto the floor and the two of you end up kissing, breathless on the couch of the apartment you'd moved into together, both because your old one was heading steadfastly into disrepair and remaining unfixed by the landlord, and to celebrate that he'd finished the bachelors degree at which he had worked tirelessly.

The two of you watch Spice the cat bat his glasses around, breathless but completely and utterly elated.

Adam goes to a vet school in the state and it's more studying, more forehead kisses and a lot of restless nights consumed by kissing whenever he correctly guesses the answer from one of his study flashcards, making jokes and laughing just a bit at one anothers expenses, crying into Spice the cats fur whenever it all gets too overwhelming.

he graduates the vet school in 2012, and at that point he has an 'oh shit' moment where he's like

"okay wait. so. I am thirty four. I have been dating Y/N since we were sixteen. we've been dating for eighteen years and haven't gotten married?? what??"

SO HE'S LIKE: 'okay. vets make decent money. I am going to buy them a ring and it's gonna be amazing.'

realistically, he's thirty four and realizing at that point (when the two of you are financially stable enough to be looking at fucking HOUSES in the early 2010s) that the two of you have been together for more than half of your lives and he's making good enough money that money and making the rent isn't a concern anymore and it's a genuine shock.

John Kramer died (which was a story that broke national news) and Adam has had the time to heal, which he finds even odder but it's--it's a nice kind of odd.

So, he starts working as a vet at the office where he used to be a secretary and with his first paycheck, he BUYS YOU A RING. SWEET SWEET MAN.

He proposes in February of 2013 (not on valentines day, but on the 26th because that's your nineteen year anniversary) at the place where you had your first date

the place?? a bookstore that sold used cameras at a discount. Adam proposed to you with a book of memories and photographs he'd taken chronicling those memories. At the end it has the words 'will you marry me?' and a photo of Spice the cat asleep on a sign that says 'look up' so then you do

AND BOOM. HE'S ON HIS KNEE. A BOX IS OPEN IN HIS HAND. A RING IS IN THAT BOX.

You laugh a little and pull a ring out of your pocket, offering it to him as you try to fend off the urge to comment about how unserious it seems despite how serious it is.

ADAM IS AS SHOCKED AS YOU WERE WHEN HE BROUGHT UP GETTING HIS GED.

He's like "a ring? why would they--OH SHIT. THEY HAD THE SAME IDEA."

The two of you just...silently laugh in the bookstore while you nod and slip the rings you bought onto the others finger, kissing and hugging because what even was that day. what.

You get married on that day in 2014, when the two of you have been together for a literal whole entire TWENTY FUCKING YEARS because you're just that cool.

It's also a little weird for Adam--he's 36 at this point, the anniversary of his escaping the trap will come around in late November.

Its good weird, though. He's still privy to weed on occasion--particularly nights where the nightmares come back and he can't sleep, or when he sees something that trips him up and sends him back to that bathroom, cuffed by the ankle to a pipe, the key having gone skittering down the drain--but he doesn't smoke nearly as often as he did during his mid-twenties.

man rakes in 125,000 american dollars, has a fucking MORTGAGE AND CAR INSURANCE BILL and on the day of the wedding you two are looking back at 2004 and are just like "woah. A lot has changed in the last decade"

Adam has gotten to become the person that the guy who was cuffed by the ankle never thought he'd be, though, so he's super proud of himself and his accomplishments.

you're proud of him, too--you have a cat, a mortgage, a car insurance bill and aren't worried about the paying of any of those bills in the slightest. Marrying him is one of your greatest accomplishments because?? hello?? marrying the love of your life who turned his life around in less than six thousand days?? he is. he is amazing. and you just. you just love him wholeheartedly

all in all, it's a good existence and I have to believe Adam would've done good for himself after surviving the trap because if I don't then I can't sleep at night lolz

#adam stanheight #adam stanheight x reader #saw 2004 #saw franchise #sawposting

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eisforeidolon · 6 months

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Forgive me for restating the obvious, but I was reading through an old post and it just kind of hit me in a way it hadn't before: One of hellers' most fundamental disconnects with the show (and media literacy in general) is how they try to insist parallels establish romance.

SPN used parallels to couples and romantic tropes a lot in regards to the brothers. But it was never meant as a signal that they were romantically in love or to tell you something you otherwise couldn't figure out. It was to underline what we already knew from the entire rest of the story about how they were the most important people in each other's lives. It used romantic relationships because that's a central status typically reserved only for romantic relationships - that was part of the point.

Let's take an example or two. Dean compares himself and Sam to Jesse and Cesar from The Chitters. After interacting with them for a while, Dean is like, 'Haha, you fight just like brothers, almost as bad as Sam and me' and they say that it's more like an old married couple. This is Dean comparing an exact thing that actually happens between him and Sam, silly petty bickering, to something that exactly happens between a married couple. Likewise, let's take Dean's expression and the script note he's thinking about Sam's close call in Red Meat. Michelle is talking about watching the man she loves die and how nothing can be the same, and Dean is thinking about how he believed he lost Sam earlier that same episode and reacting to what she's saying. No one is under the impression that these are signposts telling you for the very first time that Sam and Dean are weirdly, claustrophobically close in a way that compares to romantic couples. They're quick moments which draw an underline on what you already know from the way they've acted towards each other for the entire preceding (and following) length of the show. If you cut either of those moments? It would change nothing about what we understand of Sam and Dean's relationship, because that's how using parallels in storytelling actually works.

Hellers want to insist that romantic couples and tropes being parallels to D/C in and of itself proves that D/C is romantic. Why else would SPN use couples and romantic tropes?!? Well, because SPN does that all the fucking time, maybe? Which is even before you get into how superficial the basis for their supposed parallels typically are.

Let's take an example or two. Hellers want to insist that Dean and Castiel were paralleled to David and Violet from Bloodlines because and I shit you not, one of them wore a tan coat. As well as the absurdly generic dialogue line, "I was there, where were you?" being used both in the backdoor pilot and in 6x20 by Dean. Aha! David and Violet are clearly stand-ins for Dean and Cas, and they were planning to run away together, so D/C is clearly romantic, BOOM! Except literally nothing about Dean and Castiel's actual relationship lines up with that. In no sense were Dean and Castiel ever planning to run away from their families together - not at the point where Dean was calling Castiel out for pretending he didn't know where Dean was if he really wanted advice or otherwise. Unlike the actual parallels with Sam and Dean, there is no underlying narrative base. Likewise, hellers want to insist that Castiel is Dean's Colette. Aha! Cain said Dean is living his life in reverse, and he killed Collette last and his brother first, so since he said Dean would kill Castiel before Sam, Castiel=Colette, and Colette was a romantic partner, so Dean lurves the angel! BOOM! Just for the sake of being pedantic, let's break this nonsense down one more time. Cain lists Crowley as well as Castiel as people Dean will kill before Sam. Collette was special to Cain because she saw everything he was, never gave up on him, and was able to get him to drop the blade. Which is literally what Sam does during the time Dean has the Mark - meanwhile Castiel tries to get Dean to not go and slaughter the Stynes and fails and is ready to give up and kill Dean after he goes demonic. Which doesn't even get into the part where ... Cain is literally just wrong in telling his little fairy tale. Dean is not him. When given the choice of killing his brother, Cain does it. When given the choice of losing control, Cain does it. Dean tries to get Death to shoot him into outer space and then kills Death rather than actually kill Sam. Dean and Dean's love for his brother are both far stronger than Cain is capable of understanding. So the parallel life thing? Is fundamentally hooey anyway. Again, there's no narrative there for a parallel to be drawing an underline on because none of their cobbled together meta resembles anything going on in the actual text. That's not how storytelling uses parallels or any other kind of subtext, by creating something entirely separate and expecting the general audience to decipher it. Though it's no surprise they try to insist that a show would do that, because they have nothing else.

TLDR; Their entire argument is that a comparison to a romantic couple makes two other characters' relationship automagically romantic because reasons. Which even putting aside the lack of validity in their parallels ... continues to be a boldly idiotic statement given the number of actually textual comparisons the show makes between Sam & Dean and romantic couples. Again, it's no wonder they freaked the fuck out over that forehead touch, because they very fundamentally refused to understand what SPN was actually doing on literally any level.

#destihellers #destiew #long post

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fgfluidity · 3 months

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mirror | manor (chapter 11)

Summary: After the events of Mirror | Void, a newly-christened Dark has two goals: take revenge on Mark, and, hopefully…

Find the DA.

Pairings: Damien/Dark x DA; Actor x DA (Implied, could be read as gen)

Warnings: none

Tagged: @opprose @volbeast @statictay @otterlyinluv @buc-eebarnes @flerpdederp @mirrorslament @hapikiou (if anyone else would like to be tagged hmu!)

i'm sorry this took almost three years to come out-

find it on ao3 | donate to my kofi

Dark knows the game.

Of course he does— he read the script.

He just expected them to see through it.

Then again... they haven’t seen through anything Mark’s done. They just don’t remember.

He can’t decide if that’s a blessing or a curse.

He sticks to the shadows as they approach, entirely too darling in what amounts to a burglar’s costume, as they wriggle their way inside.

Mark is his own brand of buffoon, and the ‘guards’ he hired match it to the letter, not a drop serious or truly threatening.

(“Sorry I didn’t message you first,” he says, brushing out bits of glass from his hair. “I tried to jam the cell signal and, um… it’s just broken.”)

Imbecile.

Even the dog is there, playing a role. How droll.

Even if she is a very good girl.

All throughout this, he watches for the guard’s radios, for a television screen, for— for anything that he might use to sway the DA, catch their attention without Mark noticing.

If he can just separate them—

The thing is, though, Mark is either ridiculously prepared for his planning, or is completely thoughtless about small, realistic details; throughout the entire museum, no guard has a radio, no wall has a screen.

Not ones that work, anyway— not a connection to anything remotely electromagnetic. Props at best. It’s the least technologically-advanced modern building Dark has been in since…

Well, since he left that manor, but that hardly counts.

The point stands that he’s unable to do much of anything but watch as the DA rolls their eyes and smiles at Mark’s antics, creeps quietly along while the man makes a fool of himself, face set and focused.

He’s seen that look. Pre-trial look. All business.

And they called him too serious all that time ago.

So fondly…

At any rate, their supposed treasure is both easy to get to and utterly unremarkable. A wooden case, carved but hardly special wood, the gem plastic even from his vantage point. A prop, like everything else.

And yet…

Mark lifts the box, and—

This is the end of the script. A successful heist, hightailing it out before they get caught, a seemingly-sincere thanks for help.

But there’s something. Like a little nudge, something like how he feels using the void, how the Earth seems to shift when the Host speaks creation.

The alarm trips.

Mark gives them a choice. Sneak out, or face the guards.

Perhaps... perhaps he overlooked. Perhaps he was given a working script, not the final draft.

Perhaps it’s another of Mark’s machinations.

There was no choice. Why is there a choice?

Why do they get a choice?

It doesn’t matter, really, because the DA picks exactly as he expected they would.

“We have to sneak out, it’s too dangerous, otherwise,” they say, just barely audible over the blaring alarm.

Mark’s face crumbles into a pout. “You’re no fun,” he whines— like a toddler; Dark half expects him to start stomping his feet— but he dutifully uncovers the sewer entrance, grumbling all the way.

The DA just watches, arms crossed. Petty.

They didn’t used to be so petty, but Mark deserves it, if anyone.

Dark very well understands that the entire thing is engineered, a massive staged undertaking to fool the DA and entertain an audience, unseen to his eyes but present all the same.

It doesn’t stop the trip through the sewers any less harrowing, doesn’t prevent him from using his unique position to draw attention away from the DA if ever they come a hair too close to getting caught.

It might be fake, but…

He doesn’t put it past Mark to introduce some very real danger. He’s a method actor, and he’d want his players to follow accordingly for maximum effect.

Dramatic ass.

They follow dutifully behind the entire way through the dark, though— and he notes it with a point of pride, one he chalks up to just how put out Mark seems— with a good amount of non-verbal sass. They cross their arms, roll their eyes, and stubbornly march right along behind Mark.

Not that Mark doesn’t try to get rid of them— oh, he tries to shake them like gum stuck to his shoe, and it’s a thrill to see him huff and grumble when they simply shake their head. He pouts— at several points! So very childish.

Then—

Hm. Unsurprising that the creator of this convoluted mess would whip up some way to surely remove them; if there’s one possible thing they’d listen to above anything else, it’s a worksite safety sign.

Not for lack of effort, though. “I… I really don’t know if we should split up, Mark,” they say, casting an uneasy glance back at the tunnel they just left. “I know it says only one, but if something happens—“

“Nothing’s going to happen! Nothing bad has happened even once!” His bright grin only gets a— astoundingly dry— look in return. It’s nearly impressive that he barrels on, anyway. “It’s for safety, buddy! You’re all about safety— and! We’re synchronized! In five minutes you just follow me over. Or I follow you, whichever.”

Mark gives them a once over, all while grinning, and if Dark wasn’t looking— wasn’t incensed at the familiarity— he wouldn’t have noticed, wouldn’t have cared. Alas.

It’s too… possessive. Too pleased.

He doesn’t need Damien in his head to stoke his rage, it seems, not anymore. The only thing that stops him is what Mark says next.

“You have a choice, sunflower.”

A choice. There it is again, more choices, as if giving them the power to change any of this. Giving them a say.

So they don’t feel trapped.

Aren’t they, though? If Mark wrote everything, created everything, what kind of choice is it?

However…

They glance back at the shadowy tunnel again, frowning, worrying at the sleeves of their top in a too-familiar pattern. If they turn back, they’ll be away from him. How far apart can they both get in five minutes?

How far apart do they need to be for him to intervene?

This is his chance. It may well be the only one he’ll get, and the margin of error is far too slim for his liking— he must get this right. He must say the right thing— and pray they don’t hate or fear him.

Thankfully, time goes a little off-kilter in the Void, or else he’d have to make a very quick plan.

He’ll have to ease them in. See what they could possibly remember from that night, prod what needs prodding. It’s an easy enough parlor trick to conjure up a memory these days.

After that… what could he say?

Damien— he— was never short for words in his past life. As mayor— as councilman, as law student, as debate captain, as his father’s son— he simply had to be good with them, and he was.

Not quite so smoothly charismatic as Mark, not as bombastic and warm as Wil, but— well, he didn’t make mayor through his familial connections, whatever certain parts of his constituency may have believed. He delivered his speeches, his debates, with calm strength, something personable but solid.

Hell, he—

He used to write them for fun. The person— people, really— standing right outside this pocket of Void once teased him.

How are you writing a paper now? Finals are over! Come on, live a little!

Even I don’t want to spend all summer in a library. Won’t you come with me? There are new flowers in the arboretum!

The memory comes unbidden, and throws him off-balance; thankfully, he doesn’t fall out of his incorporeal state or ruin any of his planning.

Such a memory… but how? That’s more of Damien’s—

He hasn’t heard him. Not since that agonizing split when he entered their dream.

Mayhaps they didn’t split.

Mayhaps—

“Well… if you’re sure, Mark,” they sigh, hardly thrilled at the idea. “But it has to be five minutes. If you disappear on me—“

“Relax! It’ll be okay, you’ll see me. Sheesh, you’re so serious.” Mark huffs— then straightens himself. Smiles, even as they turn away, towards Dark. “Yes, alright! You go down that tunnel, I’ll go down this tunnel. If you see anything, and I mean anything, you just turn that sweet little tuchus around and—“

He’s had about enough of that. With hardly more than a thought, he whisks Mark away elsewhere, wherever elsewhere may be, and rolls out his Hall of Memories.

And prays.

They used to pride themself on being unflappable, before, and he can see shades of it, now: their face remains the same, alert but not startled as they take in the paintings, the dust swirling in the beam of their flashlight.

He knew the truth of that, though, and it, too, remains; you need not look at their face for their feelings, but their hands.

Though one holds the flashlight, all ten fingers are in motion— tapping the length of the flashlight, curling and uncurling in their sleeve, the belt loop, the zippers and buttons of their bag. Moving for comfort, perhaps— certainly no expression of joy, as the rest of them is ramrod-straight, stiff with each step.

He longs— longs, what is happening to him— to say something to ease the anxiety, raise the darkness, but he can’t. This is no matter he can explain with soft, comforting words and a pot of tea. His powers aren’t of light at all.

They can, though, reach an electromagnetic signal, and now that they’re alone, he pushes through his thoughts.

Finally, you’re away from him. Aren’t you tired of it?

What?

He’s running you ragged. Don’t you feel like you’re running in circles?

That’s not what he said— not quite, anyway.

They won’t tell you anything. No one seems to question it.

Why can’t he change it?

I know you’re in there. But I thought you’d see through it.

The final painting, of the monster himself, grinning like a fool. It begins to crumble before them both— they step back, fingers tight around both phone and flashlight— and Dark gets a split second of pure dread before—

Before—

My villain. I wrote everything. Even you.

It’s not painful. It’s not— it’s not even close to the searing split of the dreamworld, nothing to the pain in his stolen body, nuts compared to his shattered leg almost a century ago. It doesn’t hurt at all.

He almost wishes it did.

“Same snake, different skin,” he muses, and something inside him quails at the sight of fear— truly, rare fear— in their eyes when they turn to take him in. “Always spinning his yarns, his webs, his lies.”

He means to say it. He means to say he’s nothing but a monster in human skin, that they’re being dragged one way or another at his whims— he doesn’t mean to sound so… angry. So—

Villainous.

He screams, though it doesn’t come out— not of this body. Instead, there’s the discomfort of a fragment, juddering, lashing void in every direction. He only keeps enough sense to keep it away from them.

Without him— without him!— his body paces, a smile too similar to Mark’s on his face. “Perhaps we’ve met a hundred times already, and you simply don’t remember it. Perhaps you’re tired of me repeating myself over and over and over and over again!”

He’s seen them a hundred times, but have they met? Has he said anything to them, his desperate wish for them to remember and leave simply that, a wish?

No. This is Mark’s doing, but he’s far from the only one with power. Dark pushes past the discomfort, past the fragments that shatter out of him, and tries to touch it. Tries to see what, exactly, controls him.

It’s a web.

Not unlike a spider’s, really, glimmering threads of words in several different directions, coalescing into bright points of light wherever they meet.

Ah, the choices. Planned for, then— prolonging the make-believe.

He sees an island man. He sees a brilliant scientist. He sees a pirate, an adventurer, a prisoner. He sees their end a dozen times, more, always coming back to the start.

He sees himself— but his point, his thread, is loose.

Not so in control now, are you, Mark?

They must know. They have to know.

With what little wriggle room he has, he reaches out— and changes a couple letters. One at each point. Nothing shifts, nothing breaks, but something is different— hopefully, different enough for his clever attorney to find.

They’re the sharpest he’s ever known. If anyone could, it’s them.

He settles back into his body, still speaking without him— without him!— and pacing before a desk. It doesn’t feel so wrong with his newfound confidence… in fact—

“You want answers.” He smiles to himself, happy to have control again, and for the hell of it, picks up the glass of wine— seemingly, so kindly provided for by the writer. “Well, games were always his forte.”

He’s not sure of the vintage, or even sure of the varietal, given the monochrome nature of his Void, but he takes a sip, anyway.

He tries hard not to gag, but can’t hide his wince. For all his budget, Mark hardly splurged on something decent, it seems.

Suppose that’s the loss of his wine cellar at work.

“But allow me this one moment of self indulgence.”

He sets the wine down. Neither of them will be partaking of it.

“Excuse me—“

He stops, holding the box— the conduit in this little foray into pretend— and looks at them from atop the desk. They’re— smiling a little. Not big, but it’s theirs, and if his heart still beat— “Yes?”

“Why’d you pick that wine if you didn’t like it?”

He wants to laugh. Oh, he wants to laugh at that, because in the face of— quite frankly— something frightening and beyond their control, they’re teasing it. He loves them.

He loves them.

“I didn’t,” he admits, truthfully. There’s something so warm in his chest, something he can’t prevent from showing on his face, so fond. “Sometimes we take what we’re given, for better or for worse. This game, for instance. This box.

“So much trouble, all for something so small.” He looks to them curiously, smile fading. “Do you want to know what’s inside this box?

“I didn’t imagine we’d have to be in sewers to get it,” they add dryly. “After all this, I definitely want to know, and it has to be something worth it, or else.”

He’d laugh at the thought, them tearing into Mark for dragging them over hill and dale, but he’s seen what lies ahead. They’ll have time to do it, and the nudging at his body indicates he’s rather short of time himself. “Well, I know how much you like a good game, so throughout your… adventures, I’ve hidden codes. Several codes. Find them all, and you’ll get your truth.”

They don’t look especially pleased at that, but the light comes into their eyes despite the slump of their shoulders— the light that kept them up all night with an encyclopedia or three, classes next morning be damned. “More games. Why am I not surprised?”

They eye him for a few long seconds, brow furrowed, even as the Void rumbles and sparks around them both. It’s too familiar, as if they’re reading him down to his core. “You aren’t Mark, are you? Not some character. But… you’re so familiar. Who… who are you?”

He could give them his name. It might spark something for them, kickstart whatever process they need to regain their memory of what happened. He wouldn’t even care if they screamed at him for all he put them through.

The Void, though, shakes and cracks, and he shakes his head with a slight frown and a mountain of regret. He has a modicum of control, still, but not fully. Not right now. “That’s all I’m going to give you.”

They open their mouth, but the Void winks them away, gone to their next run.

All he can do is sit and watch from here.

#fg writes #wkm fic #wkm fanfiction #ego fanfiction #darkiplier #actor mark #other markiplier egos #y/n district attorney #mayor attorney

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noisyquokka · 9 months

Text

Script Change

PAIRING - Jisung x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS - After an off the cuff kiss leaves you anxious and confused, you decide to confront your feelings and your best friend.

WORDCOUNT - 3.6k

WARNINGS - Wholesome fluff, Best Friend!Jisung, Jisung interacting with a child, subtle teasing, your basic crush anxieties, reader's on babysitting duty (for those who aren't into kids, I gotchu)

A/N - So this is part two of a fic that should've been posted four years ago on Han's birthday, but hey! There's no time like the present, right? Happy Han day!!🎉

Part One (I recommend reading, as some of this won't make much sense otherwise)

"Higher! Higher!" Your little cousin squeals, kicking her little legs back and forth on the swing.

You and Jisung had decided on taking her to the park after stopping for a bite to eat, settling on dinosaur nuggets at her favorite restaurant. You'd sat there mute the entire time, watching your best friend and your cousin interact amongst each other. No thanks to your brain having been thrown into a whirlwind not an hour prior.

Even now, you sit on a swing a few feet away, watching Jisung push the small child higher. You know you should be focused on spending time with the two people in front of you, but your mind has been focused on Jisung's lips.

Jisung had kissed you. And not just some little smooch on the cheek like he normally would. Always the jokester, but no. He had full-on kissed you. Your sneakers dig into the mulch under your feet, swinging slightly as your mind buzzes. His actions have left you scratching your head.

"Higher!!!"

"If you go any higher, you're gonna fly to the moon!" Jisung exclaims, ignoring his own warning as he bends to the little girl's demands. Her head sweeps back with a giggle, the wind playing with tangled pigtails as she kicks her feet forward.

"Maybe I wanna go there! Or even Mars," She sticks her tongue out in thought, "Or Saturn!"

Jisung gasps dramatically, hopping on the swing beside hers.

"Are you going on a secret space mission? Are there, perhaps, some evil aliens up there who need a firm butt-kicking!?" He asks, following up with an animated wag of his fist. More giggles resound through the empty park and Jisung beams with pride at the giddy child. He always hopes for a giggle, doesn't he?

"Nooo! I don' know," She giggles again, a toothy grin taking over chunky cheeks. "My teacher says Saturn has lots of moons!"

"Really? Just how many moons does Saturn have, Sweet Pea?"

You chuckle to yourself, listening in on the banter as she ponders her answer. Brown eyes find yours for a moment and you swear your heart is imploding in your chest at the soft smile he blesses you with.

"Uhhhh, Saturn has tons and tons of moons." A tiny finger gestures to the clear sky above, faint masses of hydrogen and helium dancing in a gravitational choreography that twinkles through the atmosphere. "Like as many stars as there are up there!"

Jisung scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief.

"No way, Little Astronomer!"

"Yes way!! It's the truth, Sung Sung! You can search it on the computer and everything!" She's sticking her nose up in a know-it-all fashion, losing momentum from all the animated movement she's been pulling on her swing. She pumps her legs again, trying to get back in a fluid back and forth motion.

Jisung chuckles, sneaking behind the six-year-old to swiftly lift her off the swing. She squeals at his prodding fingers, grabbing at the collar of his T-shirt when he settles her on his hip. You can't help the smile on your lips, watching the two of them poke and prod at each other until your cousin is shying away with timid little giggles. But when Jisung makes his way towards you, her face quickly falls.

"We aren't leaving yet, are we?" She asks, her bottom lip jutting out. Jisung mirrors her, booping the tip of her nose with a finger.

"Hey, turn that frown upside down! We've still got a movie to watch at home." He reminds her. Another gentle poke to her cheek. And now she's poking his cheeks with that same gentle nature and Jisung is giving her the biggest grin he possibly could and you're pretty sure you're going into cardiac arrest.

"What do ya say, Sweet Pea?"

Little hands find the chain around his neck as he talks, fiddling with the links like she always does.

"Okay... can we watch The Princess and the Frog?"

"We can watch whatever you want." He replies, eye sparkling as he holds her gaze. You watch her face light up, looking between you and Jisung with unbridled excitement. She nods and giggles, and you're just about to pull yourself up from the swing when a hand extends to you.

"Your Highness..." He bows as far forward as is possible with a clingy six-year-old on his hip, a small quirk on his lips. Your gaze lingers far too long there and you try to pull off an eye roll and exasperated mannerisms, taking his hand in yours.

"It's Your Cowness, thank you very much!" You mutter as he pulls you to your feet.

"Bovine-ness, if we're being technical."

"Really?"

"Really."

You're lucky it's dark out, because the blood is probably rushing to your cheeks.

"Look, Sung Sung!" A tiny hand pulls at Jisung's shirt, quickly getting his attention. "The swan is in the sky!"

"Ah, you're right, Peanut!" His focus wanes, looking to where she's pointing. "What's the swan's name again? I forget."

"Cygnus!" She shouts. With a missing front tooth, it comes out a little more like Cygmus, but you give her an E for effort.

Indeed, Cygnus soars high above your suburban town, most stars too faint to see with the nearby lights of the city. But you can easily make out most of the familiar constellations up there through all the light pollution.

"Ah, you really are an astronomer!" He says, fingers coming up to scratch the underside of her chin. You're thankful for those magical giggles right now, helping to shake off your nerves from a moment ago.

It's just Jisung being Jisung, you remind yourself as the three of you begin the walk back home. The weight of a tiny head rests on Jisung's shoulders, grumbles coming out here and there as she attempts to get comfortable in his arms. He chuckles at her comical little noises, shifting her so she's cradled in his arms.

"That better?" He asks, grinning as she tilts her head back into the crook of his elbow. The perfect stargazing position. She nods, continuing her search with a gummy grin. Jisung does his best not to sway her as he walks, keeping his arms steady as she keeps those brown eyes skyward. Hercules slaying the magnificent beast, Draco. Aquila flying closely to the swan she'd first identified. Ophiuchus; the snake man, as she labels him. She points out what she knows

But before you know it, those brown eyes have closed and soft breaths have replaced that mousey voice.

And then it was you and him.

Jisung adjusts the child in his hold, being careful not to wake her. That smile still sits itself on his pretty face when he glances over to you and you press your lips together, offering him a lopsided grin before you look away.

How many times had he smiled like that tonight?

And at you, no less. It felt like Jisung had toned down on his usual joking since you had left the house a few hours prior. His interactions hadn't changed with your little cousin though - always the playful, accommodating King in her eyes. You, however?

Since you'd left the house, you took note of the glances he had spared you. Many. Often. Even as he did his best to look casual about it, he had failed. When you would catch his gaze mid-admiration, he would shoot you a smile so soft and genuine, you were certain you could hear the choir of angels above singing. And then there's the paying for dinner. He was adamant about it, even as you insisted that you would foot the bill this time. It wasn't out of character for him. Jisung was always bringing over snacks or picking up takeout before he'd see you, and you'd often try to pay him back your half, at the very least. Didn't work most times, but tonight wasn't the usual.

Was he just being the usual gentleman he always is, or was it that ki-

"You've been pretty quiet."

Jisung's voice is soft, but he still manages to make you jump out of your skin. You turn your head toward him, eyes wide.

"Me?"

"Unless there's a ghost here with us... yes, you." His little quip manifests a teasing grin and you inwardly groan. That smile... Stop that!

"Just tired," You reply, shaking your head. "Babysitting royalty takes a lot out of me."

Jisung chuckles, adjusting the sleeping princess in his embrace with all the care in the world.

"That smile is worth it, though." He admits.

Even in sleep, the little tyke has a soft curl to her lips, her head resting against his shoulder. Your shoe scuffs lightly against the sidewalk, too enamored by the smile that's taken over your best friend's face.

Your smile is worth it!

"You must be pretty comfortable." You murmur, and his brown eyes dart up to yours. The child's head falls slightly from his movements and he curses under his breath, readjusting himself so her head finds purchase in the junction of his neck. He's so careful with her, bringing a hand up to cradle her head as you both walk the dimly-lit street. You can't stop your heart from fluttering at the scene. The grin on his face says it all; she has him wrapped around her little finger.

"My arm would beg to differ." He jokes, but he makes no more adjustments.

"I can take her."

"No, no." He promptly rejects the offer, gesturing down the street. "We're almost there. I wouldn't wanna wake her on accident."

You chuckle at his response.

Yep... wrapped tight.

You fall into another silence as you round the corner of your street. It's comfortable, really - Jisung keeping himself occupied with the comfort of the sleeping child, and you sneaking glances every so often. The wind picks up, wisping strands of hair into your line of sight as you walk. You glance over again, eyes going wide at the deep browns that are already staring back. It instantaneous the way your head snaps forward, eyes darting to anywhere else as you clear your throat. You feel your heart stall in it's usual function. Jisung's laugh perks your ears, watching you try so hard to look nonchalant.

"What...?" He asks, his head slowly craning towards you. His voice is soft as ever when he speaks, even your heartbeat quiets in your ears, listening graciously to the way he articulates his words. Dark eyes flicker between your face and your body language. Studying your mannerisms. Those lips quirk into a teasing grin, and-

Oh. When did your gaze fall on his again?! How long have you been staring? Why are you still staring? You bring a hand up to scratch the back of your head.

"Nothing!" You say, perhaps a little too loudly. You can feel yourself flush slightly, tucking your hands into the fabric of your jacket pocket. He snickers at your response, glancing down at the little girl still sound asleep in his arms. Then, he returns his attention to you.

You're speed-walking now, more than a few steps ahead of him as you get closer to your house. His expression is one of amused curiosity. Your cousin stirs in her sleep, shifting until the crown of her skull rests just under his chin. His arms tighten around her, and she nuzzles into his shirt.

"Sure looks like nothing, hm." He mumbles to the child, sighing as he picks up his pace.

Your cheeks burn as you make it up to the front door, slotting the key in the lock with all the focus in the world. The door swings open and Jisung follows you inside, slipping his shoes off at the door before doing the same for the child on his hip. Before you can even speak, he's making a beeline for the hall with your little cousin still cradled in his arms. You follow behind him as he shoulders the door to your bedroom open, pulling the sheets back on the bed. There's a tiny whine that escapes her throat, and Jisung furrows a brow.

"Come on, Peanut." He whispers, fingers gently grasping at the tiny hand clinging to his shirt. You can't keep your eyes off Jisung as he coddles the grumpy little tyke. It only causes her to bury herself further into his chest, eyes shut tight and face scrunched up in displeasure. You lean against the door frame with raised brows, watching as he figures out how to put her to bed with little issue.

It takes a moment of thought - you see him calculating a plan behind those deep browns as he stands there with her in his arms - before he tilts his head down. You can't make out the soft murmur of words that are shared, but your heart flutters as the harsh lines that wrinkle her face soften. Tiny fingers release their grip on the fabric, and Jisung turns back toward the bed, cradling her head until it hits the pillows below. She slowly but surely relaxes into the comfort of your bed, long lashes fluttering as the duvet is brought up to her chin.

When Jisung turns back toward you, he pauses at the look of admiration you're giving him. It's his turn to clear his throat, glancing back at your cousin and running a hand through his hair. You gesture toward the door when he looks back at you, leaving the lamp on the nightstand on as you step out. He follows you, leaving the door ajar in case the lurking monsters disturb sweet dreams.

"You still wanna watch that movie?" He asks, entering the kitchen. "Or- a movie?"

"Movie... yeah, right!" You nod. "Uhh, you wanna pick it and I can get some snacks? Popcorn?"

"Sure, yep."

You can practically feel your heart jumping in your throat, but you clap your hands and nod again as Jisung makes his way toward the living room. Once he's out of sight, you sag against the kitchen counter, releasing the breath you didn't know you were holding.

It's getting harder and harder to avoid the elephant in the room. The massive best-friend-kissed-me-shaped elephant that's just trampling through the house, mocking you. You want to ask him about it, have wanted to all day now. The words are locked and loaded on the tip of your tongue.

But right now?

You take another deep breath, letting off the white-knuckle grip on the edge of the counter.

"Snacks... we're looking for snacks." You mutter to yourself, pushing off the countertop and turning toward the cupboards in search of popcorn and anything else to munch on.

—

You don't want to overanalyze Jisung's choice in movie, but the rom-com currently playing was not what you'd expected. That elephant in the room? Sitting it's big ol' elephant ass on top of you as you watch the main character confess to their crush. You're actively suffocating into the couch cushions.

You blink, shifting your head just enough to side-eye your best friend. Jisung's sitting cross-legged in his usual spot, popping bits of popcorn into his mouth. He seems so unfazed by the scene. In fact, he's seemingly leaning towards the screen as if it's the best thing he's ever watched. Got a smile plastered on his face to boot. It's enough to make your heart beat out of your chest.

Now you're wishing you would've said something to him earlier about the kiss, if only for the sake of your sanity. You've related to almost every single instance of pining in this fucking movie, sitting here with your internal monologue while stuffing your mouth full of microwave popcorn. You're fairly certain that you've almost cracked a molar from the few kernels that didn't fully pop, too busy eating your stress away to pick them out of the fistfuls of crumbling corn.

It takes everything in you to sit there and wipe your mind clean of earlier events as you stuff another handful into your mouth, watching the big kiss scene unfold on the screen. The movie's been going for an hour now and based off of everything happening, you can only pray it'll end soon.

Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't-

He's watching you. You can practically feel those eyes boring a hole into the side of your skull, searching through your mind's file folders until they can uncover the answer they seek. You spare a glance his way, melting into warm cacao and an even warmer smile. Neither of you break eye contact as the credits roll, your heart actively attempting to burst from your chest cavity.

You have to say something.

"You know, this movie kinda sucked."

You nearly choke on the leftover popcorn in your mouth, bringing a hand up to butter-tainted lips as you laugh through the pain.

"You- you chose the movie, Ji."

"I did, didn't I..." The corner of his eyes crinkle as he scrunches his nose in amusement, shrugging his shoulders. It's silent now, the credits skipped and the main menu of the chosen streaming service idling on the screen.

"So, uh, there's something I'd like to talk to you about…" You find the words falling out faster than you expected, and you internally curse. Your heart skips beats as Jisung sits back against the cushions, his face illuminated by the light of the TV screen. He nods, taking an inward breath.

"The kiss."

"You knew?"

He huffs a breath of laughter, turning his head.

"Shall I remind you of the way you've been acting around me all night?"

Your drink is sweating probably about as much as you are, fingers slipping lightly on the glass as you bring it to your lips. You don't know how to respond to that. There's obviously no way around it; you've been acting like a teenage girl fawning over their crush all day. Ever since that kiss...

You attempt an air of casualty, setting your drink back on the coffee table, but it's difficult when he's got his eyes trained on you so intently. You shift your weight on the cushion, although the pins and needles prickling up your right leg is a welcome distraction. You swallow hard, fingers clenching around the bowl in your lap. Oh god. Think! Think!

"I, uh..." A nervous chuckle escapes your lungs, your face heating the longer you scramble for an answer. "That's beside the point-"

"I think it's right on point." Jisung cocks a brow ever so slightly, and it's enough to make your face burn. That sparkle in his irises tells you everything. He's teasing you.

"You know what I'm gonna ask, Jisung." You don't shift your gaze from his, reading the expression that flickers over his face.

"It wasn't in the script, if I'm honest." He admits, brows knitting together as he replays the moment in his head. "Neither was the impromptu pillow fight, or falling off the couch... which is a safety hazard, by the way! Your parents really need a lower one ya know, I almost-"

"Jisung."

"Right, sorry." He's getting flustered now, reaching for the nape of his neck with twitching fingers. Now you're wondering if he's stalling for the sake of your feelings. That's it, isn't it? He just doesn't feel that way about you? It was the heat of the moment? You can feel the change in trajectory of your relationship with him the longer you stare. The silence is excruciating. You can't stand it anymore. You let out a breath, about to tell him to just forget it when he interrupts you.

"I just- I... wanted to-"

He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, rubbing at the bridge of his nose with a soft groan.

"The kiss... that wasn't planned, but I have wanted to."

"To?" You sound dense as fuck, but you aren't getting your hopes up until you hear a full coherent sentence.

"I want us to be..." Another pause, his words trailing off as his eyes flicker to your lips. You mirror him, catching the bob of his throat as he swallows. "I want this. You. I know this is all so unexpected, but I've wanted to take you out on a proper date for forever and you looked absolutely gorgeous today. I definitely wasn't expecting you to overpower me like you did. That was hot. Like really hot, and then when I pulled you closer your eyes just- mmph!"

Jisung's words get washed away, your lips like some kind of fucked up siren's song that lures him into calm waters. It's heaven to feel him relax into your kiss, to feel him lean in after a moment and pull you closer to him. His hand finds your jaw, brows creasing as he focuses on the warmth of your mouth and the feeling of your fingers tangled in his hair.

You can't help the giddy laugh that escapes your throat, pulling away even as Jisung follows your lips. His confession has your whole body vibrating down to the bone.

"Have I mentioned you're a very good kisser?" Jisung asks, his eyes flitting down to your lips like he wants to experience it all over again. Your eyes catch the illumination from the TV, twinkling as you bite your lip.

"Could say the same about you, Your Highness." You reply with a grin. He chuckles at that, reeling back into the couch.

"You know the Little Peanut is gonna want a script change." He mutters, and you climb into his lap with an accusatory stare.

"You seem to be fine with changing the script, Mister 'Magical cows are cursed'."

"Hey, I had to come up with something on the fly, alright!" His hand finds your wrist, pulling you down just like he'd done hours ago; face to face, the tip of his nose brushing against yours teasingly. His body heat bleeds into yours as he wraps the other arm around your shoulders. "You didn't object. Seemed like you enjoyed the idea of being my Queen."

"A little hard to object to something I've been thinking about for a long time." There's no point in hiding it anymore, you just kissed your best friend dumb in the midst of his confession. Jisung tilts his head and hums, his hand following the curve of your back.

"I guess I should ask if you'd want to go out then? This weekend?"

You can't help the smile that takes over your face. He wants this just as much as you do.

"Took you long enough."

"It took long enough for that kiss, too." Jisung chuckles as he gazes at you with those beautiful browns, leaning back in with a grin.

"Need to catch up now, don't we?"

Psst!! If you made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

#stray kids #skz #han jisung #stray kids x reader #skz x you #han jisung x reader #skz x reader #han jisung fluff #jisung x reader #skz han jisung #skz han #han jisung imagines #stray kids fluff #f!reader #x f!reader #quokkawritings🌻

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theweeklydiscourse · 8 months

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I hate Netflix’s Shadow and Bone more every day - A baffling conversation between Zoya and Aleksander

“Maybe she wasn’t abducted. Maybe she was rescued, maybe she ran with them.”

I was re-watching this exchange between Zoya and the Darkling from season 1 of Shadow and Bone and there was something that stuck out to me. The two of them are discussing Alina’s presumed abduction, the Darkling is visibly agitated and stressed out while Zoya looks to be on the edge of saying something, but is hesitant with her words. She then suggests that Alina wasn’t abducted, but that she was rescued.

And I thought to myself: “Hang on, what? Why are you phrasing it like that”

What I’m referring to is Zoya’s curious use of the word “rescue” to describe what she believed happened to Alina. For some reason, this word choice stuck out to me and really puzzled me with its usage in this scene. Because just after she suggests this, Zoya starts going in a different direction where she says that Alina most likely ran off due to the pressure of being a sun summoner.

So why use the word rescue?

At this point, Zoya is still on the Darkling’s side and believes in his cause. It is only after witnessing the shadow fold fiasco that she has some epiphany and switches sides. Rescue is a word that has a specific and unambiguously positive connotation, it means saving someone from a difficult or dangerous situation. It makes no sense that Zoya would use such a word on this context because what exactly would Alina need rescuing from?

She was treated well at the little palace, there was no immediate threats to her life there due to her security measures and during the fete, she seemed to be having a good time. So why would Zoya use the word “rescue” unless…she was given preemptive insight by the writers into matters she would have no way of knowing otherwise. This preemptive insight is drawn from thin air for Zoya, it is not a reflection of her observational skills or inside knowledge, it is the writer’s clumsy way of saying that the Darkling was holding Alina prisoner. Because the only reason why Zoya would phrase it this way is if she somehow knew that the Darkling had evil intentions all along.

But that also makes no sense because at that point, Zoya was still allied with him and onboard with the plan. The whole reason why she switched to Alina’s side was because of her moral objections to the Darkling’s methods as well as the loss of her Aunt that occurred in the last episode. So there’s no reason why she would characterize the situation like that.

From the beginning, the writers have been like “Ooooh is the little palace a sanctuary? Or is it a prison? *gasp* and you didn’t even notice how quickly those lines became blurred ooooh the thematic resonance.” It’s so stupid and this is a problem that can be seen throughout the entire show. Where certain characters will say things that make no sense unless they somehow have already read the script and act like they know the ending before it even happens.

#lb critical #shadow and bone #the darkling #s&b netflix #s&b critical #alina starkov #aleksander morovoza #anti leigh bardugo #darklina #s&b salt #zoya nazyanelsky #netflix #shadow and bone season 1 #grishaverse meta #close reading

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ningsols · 8 days

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★ ⎯⎯ #RIVERA ABT ME ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ JUST A LUVRGIRL !

my name's rivera, but you can call me river!! i'm currently 18yo and i'm from canada. i go by they/she pronouns and i'm a lesbian — my MBTl is INFJ and i have extreme anxiety which makes me very bad with answering dms/asks but i try my best!

★ ⎯⎯ #RIVERA LIKES ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ AND DISLIKES !

music (most genres), enhypen<3, cats!!!, writing & reading, being alone, sleepinggg, pineapple crush, my man jay<33

loud noises, being pressured to respond, teasing, colleen hoover and sjm stans (and the authors themselves!)

★ ⎯⎯ #RIVERA MY SHIFTING ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ JOURNEY !

ive been a shifter since march 2021 and since then ive gone through many phases. my drs have changed, my s/os, etc.

something that's stayed the same, however, is my love for making scripts & templates!!

ive minishifted quite a few times - more times than i can even remember

++ i'm semi-active on tiktok @R1V3RSHIFTS

★ ⎯⎯ #RIVERA K-POP FAVES ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ STAN LIST !

ults: enhypen, stray kids, newjeans

semi-ults: day6, itzy, gidle, ive, aespa, golden child, vcha

fan: kiss of life, le sserafim, txt, twice, (and pretty much the entire industry atp)

📂 ⎯⎯ ABOUT THIS BLOG; alongside being a short introduction to who i am, this page is dedicated to the rules and guidelines of my blog. i would appreciate it if you took the time to read through this page carefully before interacting

^^ BEFORE YOU INTERACT . 。this is a shifting blog first and foremost. i talk about my drs, my shifting experiences and opinions. if you don't believe and/or respect my believes, you can kindly leave before i have to block you

^^ DO NOT INTERACT . 。

basic dni criteria

under 13yos — sorry, i'm turning 19 this year, it makes me uncomfortable interacting with people much younger than me

people who shift for jay (enhypen)

anti-shifters

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writingintheshadowsforever · 1 year

Text

Imagine Finding Out Riri is Ironheart

Ma is it okay if I pick you up tonight?

I want to take out

Y/N please

I'm sorry for missing dinner last night

This is getting ridiculous I apologized like ten times already

Babe just answer me you know I don't do silent treatment

Its going to be real funny when I flip the script

Ma please I want to show you something okay it will explain everything, isn't that what you asked for last night the truth right

Your phone was on constant vibration with the pace Riri was sending the messages. It made harder for you to ignore and instead focus on the plan for your next mission. Eventually you just gave up deciding to see what tactic your girlfriend was going to use this time to get out of the doghouse.

You rose an eyebrow at the first few messages. Of course she would start off with the typical make-up date. It took months to secure a dinner reservation at the particular restaurant. Riri was supposed to meet you at last night at ten.

You waited an extra forty-five minutes for her to show up, before putting in an order to-go. The waiter spent the entire time asking if you were sure you didn't want to go ahead and eat? The air of sympathy coming from him and anyone else who was sitting near you, or just happened to pass by was unbearable. Especially with the waiter as it was obvious he had been through the routine quite a few times.

What made so much worse was she didn't bother to text or call with an explanation. You had to show up at her dorm showing off your the nice dress with a bag in hand. At first Riri looked confused trying to figure out why you were all dressed up, but then her eyes landed on the bag's logo. She closed her eyes and released a sigh of guilt.

"Babe-"

You didn't want to hear it pushing past her into the room. The only reason you were even here was because one no matter how upset you were with her, you still wanted to make sure she was okay. And two you were tired and your feet was killing you, so you really didn't feel like making the drive to your apartment thirty minutes away.

Riri watched as you plopped down on her bed, dug the to-go box out of the bag, and started eating. The sound of her stomach growling reached your ears, and for a split second you thought about letting her starve. Of course you didn't telling her to come over to eat. You shared the food, and fell asleep in her bed alone for the first few minutes. While she tinkered with some robotic part for a class project.

Those actions lured Riri into a false sense of security making her think. She was off the hook for missing the date, only to wake up this morning to you not acknowledging her existence at all. Let alone talking to her.

In the beginning Riri refused to play your game and just went about her day. If you didn't want to talk to her that was fine. Until it wasn't and finally she realized she was the one in the wrong, and you had every right to be angry with her. This is a recurring thing with her.

That was when the texts started coming in it was around four 'o' clock. Riri just got out of her last class for the day, and usually you would be waiting for her in her dorm unless otherwise was already planned.

You didn't care if she scored court side tickets to a Celtics game. She wasn't going to fix things this time with a last-minute thrown together date. Letting her side all those other times with the tactic is what created the problem.

The text about her not doing the silent treatment did strike a nerve with you. It was almost like she was challenging to keep ignoring her, and you were tempted to do just that by silencing your phone altogether before putting it back down. But then your fingers kept scrolling and you saw the last message she sent. Your heart skipped a beat as you read it over and over.

Last night before turning over to face the wall you had asked her to tell you the truth. You went into a sleepy monologue about how much Riri had changed in the past few months, and all you wanted to do was understand. But you couldn't understand what she didn't tell you. Riri was keeping secrets, and while you definitely had yours. One thing you always made sure of was that they never came between your relationship with Riri.

Because you loved her more than anyone else in the world, and the thought of losing her made you want to jump off a cliff. It wasn't something you could take which is why you continued to give her so many chances.

Now here she was offering to give you exactly what you wanted. The only problem was the mission was supposed to go down tonight, if your partner came through that is.

On cue a pair of strong hands clapped you on the shoulder from behind shaking you a bit. "Y/N my girl guess what I have for you?"

Devin walked around to take a seat at the table placing a brown file folder down on the table. He was tall with an average build, light brown hair styled into a buzz cut, and blue eyes. Devin was a mixed kid with parents that came from opposite side of the tracks, but against all the odds still found love, and made it through the darkest times. Tragically though he lost both of them during the Snap after he fell victim to Thanos's plans. Neither of his parents could handle life without their precious baby, and soon enough his mother took her own life losing her battle to survivor’s guilt.

Losing his son and his wife in such a short time period led to his father turning to the bottle. The man had a drinking problem in his teenage years, it was his wife who helped him overcome the alcoholism. She gave up liquor and even wine herself, so he would never be tempted again. But with her gone and no one else in his life left to check up on him. His father gave in wanting the pain and loneliness to go away, the bottle would take his life.

Devin came back five years later to discover his parents were gone, and his entire life was turned upside down. He started going down a dark path but then he met you, making all the difference.

With huge grin he slide the file over to you and settled back in the chair. "Go ahead take a peek."

You sent Riri a quick reply telling her to let you think. Leaving her on read would just drive her more crazy, and have her come looking for you. Riri knew your routine like the back of her hand with you being a creature of habit. There was only one cafe you hung out just ten minutes away from your place. They had the best coffee and cookies in town in your opinion. She would check here first.

You opened the file to find numerous photos of a dark room, and upon taking a closer look you realized it was the inside of a vault. As you went through them the pictures got a lot clearer letting you see the details of this vault, and the door. "Are these...?" Your voice trailed off as you looked up at Devin with disbelief.

He nodded with pride leaning forward so no one else could hear him. "I know you wanted to hold off on this job for a bit longer, but that was because you didn't think I could get you the layout for the vault. But I worked my ass off and we got them."

"How?"

"My mom had an account with them, so I just went in acting all desperate asking if it was still open, and was there money in it. There was the dude in there working the counter checking me out. I got his number and viola" he explained.

"So this dude is okay with his crush being a hardened criminal" You replied in an accusing tone. While you were happy he got the pictures it didn't change the fact. He broke one of your biggest rules.

Don't ever get other people involved with the jobs especially if they weren't properly vetted by you.

Devin frowned "you say that like I've been to jail or something. I'm not exactly hardened you know, and I did have to pay him you know."

"How much?"

"3,500" he answered with a shrug. That amount of money was nothing to him considering the last job was a big score, and just two weeks ago.

"No how much of a cut does he want?" You asked firmer this time fixing him with a hard stare.

"He doesn't wan-"

You let out a impatient groan. "Don't play dumb Devin there's no way this guy risked his job and livelihood by taking these pictures for puppy-love. He knows you're planning to rob it and the second we do this job. He's going to hit up asking for some of it, if he hasn't already."

"Fine he wants a small percentage" he admitted slapping the table. "But it'll be worth it and it's not like we have a big crew it's just the two of us. Bringing in a third person won't break us you know plus we needed an insi-"

"No we didn't I had a plan and if you stayed patient like I told you to. This job would've been going down in a few more weeks without a hitch, but no now we have to be cautious, and share the profit." You seethed closing the folder and pushing it back to him.

"A few weeks isn't good enough for me y/n. I need the money now"

"That's why we were hitting the jewelr-"

Devin shook his head growling in frustration. "You don't get it I'm set to lose the house in a week. My parent's home or did you forget I was trying to buy it back from the bank. The owner and the bank finally reached a deal, so I have seven days to come up with two-hundred fifty thousand dollars, or I'm going to lose it."

The fight and anger left your body at his revelation his childhood home was his safe haven. He always told you that being in the house made him feel connected to his deceased folks. Now you knew why he had been so pushy on the endgame job.

"Devin why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Because I didn't want to rush this job anymore than you did. I thought I could convince the bank to give me more time. Heartless bastards" he muttered at the end.

"Fine make sure your boy isn't going to rat, and if you think he is just let me know. I'll handle it but I'm still going to need a day or two map out the entire plan, and deal with any holes alright. This has to be executed with perfection." You told him smiling as his eyes teared up.

Devin was afraid you were going to say no, or worse be done with him. He held his hand out for you to slap then bumped his fist to yours.

"I'll look over the pictures and get back to you in sometime tomorrow." You packed your bag and got up to leave.

"Wait what about tonight?" He asked

"Well we don't need to hit the jewelry store if we're doing this one so soon, and your girl got a date so just take it easy yeah. Take your friend out or somethin."

"So I can be tied down and whipped like you no thank you" Devin called out playfully watching you leave.

You gave him the middle finger over your shoulder as the door swung shut.

Three Hours Later

Riri insisted on taking you out for dinner no matter how much you protested. She couldn't secure another reservation at the same restaurant, but did manage to find one just as nice and more low-key meaning no reservations needed.

The two of you sat at a table outside on a deck with little lights strung along the clear roof. It took a few minutes but Riri broke the ice with a joke that had you in tears. After that it was if you and her weren't even at odds as the two of you talked about your day.

Once dinner was over Riri took over driving, and you let her without argument. Settling back in your seat watching the night stars pass by in a blur as she drove. About twenty minutes later the car came to a stop, and Riri was getting out.

You waited for her to come around and open your door. Knowing from past situations trying to open your own door whenever she was around was a no-no. Your car door was opened and you stepped outside into a empty parking lot surrounded by small garage-like buildings.

"Um babe where are we?" You asked looking around for any sign of life.

Riri pecked your lips with a smile. "Calm down ain't nobody trying to kidnap you. This is my spot you know where I work on all my super secret projects as you like to call them."

"Well you never let me see anything, and this is your first time bringing me here" You shot back.

"I know I know and I'm sorry but this place is like a safe space, and I don't really own it I fixed up this guy's car so he lets me work out of it. I don't want to lose it."

"I get it." It sucked not having a space of your own and having to rely, on people who could just take it all away with a snap of their fingers.

"Come on let's get inside" Riri said taking you by the land to lead you over to the garage. The car was parked in front of.

She let you walk in first coming right behind you hitting the lights. It was a more-than decent size workspace. On the left was a huge desk set up with desktop computers and papers spread out everywhere. A giant whiteboard with multiple blueprints was next to it. On the right side was her white motorbike, and not too faraway the shape of a car hiding up a forest green blanket.

"So this is where you're hiding out all the time?"

"Hey now don't do that I'm opening up to you here." Riri whined coming up behind you wrapping her arms around your waist, and placed her chin on your shoulder.

You leaned your head back to look into her warm brown eyes. She took the opportunity to pull you into a heated kiss. For a second you forgot why you were here as your lips moved in sync with hers. You turned around in her arms to lock your arms around her neck, pulling her closer. Her grip on your waist tightened as she tilted her head to deepened the kiss.

Your legs started moving on their own towards the work area until your back hit the desk. You whirled around lifting Riri up onto the desk, and your lips left her lips to trail down her neck.

"Ma I have dreamed of this moment every since I got this place, but we need to take a breather." Riri panted holding back a moan.

You pulled away in slight frustration. "Fine what is you want to show me so bad."

Riri hoped down from the desk and walked over to a drawer rummaging around in it. "Promise we can pick up where we left off if you still want to. After all this is over."

You frowned "Riri it can't be that bad can it?"

She turned around to face you with a remote in hand, and with a solemn expression. "Its not bad but it is a lot and I don't really know how you're going to react. Just know that ma I love you, and I want to keep you safe.

"Riri-" You tried to ask her what was going on, but then a loud whirring noise filled the air, drowning out your voice. Your gaze drifted up to see a small platform descending from the ceiling. You took a few steps back so you were standing next to Riri.

"I left a lot out when I told about Wakanda okay, but in my defense there is some stuff that went down. I really can't talk about without getting in serious trouble alright, but before I left I was working on a suit. It was coming along real good before it got destroyed." Her story came to a pause as the platform was done lowering to the ground. There was something on it but it was hidden by a black blanket.

Riri walked over to take a hold on it. "Having the Princess of Wakanda in your corner comes with a lot of perks, and I was able to get my hands on some pretty strong material. Its not vibranium but its the next best thing making rebuilding my suit a lot easier and even better. After it was done I started to take it out for a test run which kind of let to me saving some people."

"I don't understand" You murmured in confusion.

"Yeah I'ma just rip the bandaid off" Riri said yanking the blanket off to reveal. A purple-yellow metal suit with black on the front part. It modeled a Iron-man suit remake just made for a smaller person.

Your eyes widened in shock, and you leaned back on the desk behind for support. Your hands gripping it so tight your knuckles were turning white. Riri was talking again but her voice was just background noise at this point. As you tried to process the fact that your girlfriend was Ironheart.

Riri Williams was Ironheart. This shouldn't be a bad thing, you should be filling joy right now. She wasn't cheating or growing bored of you. She missed those dates because she was out saving people. There shouldn't be a problem with that, but there was.

Because this was last time you saw this suit was in action. When Ironheart faced off with you and Devin during a risky robbery just a few weeks ago. And the time before that when the hero just happened to be patrolling while you were scouting out the place. You always managed to escape your encounters with the hero.

But what were going to do now because there was no escaping the way you felt about her. Your big endgame job just a lot more complicated.

Taglist: @alistair-mooncrest @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @justariellove @greek-freak101 @mbakuetshurisprincess @deliciousfestsalad @zayswriting @tchhairbandhere @6-noir @rhayanm @letitias-fav @ajawasblog @izzyorzua24 @shinsousliya @ilacknames

#mcu imagine #marvel imagine #riri williams x reader #riri williams imagine

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commander-krios · 5 months

Text

A Divine Dream

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Rolan/Dammon Rating: Teen Summary: An invitation to a Grand Ball. A returning hero. And the man who'd gotten away. Words: 5798 Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Slow Dancing, Ballroom Dancing, Banter, Happy Ending, Love and Hope, Second Chances, Mild Language, Background Wyll/Karlach

Read on AO3

This fic was written for @Cozy_Bossi to go along with a piece of art they made a few months ago of Dammon and Rolan. I've attached the picture and their twitter on AO3 so that you can follow them for more wonderful art!

Also, I hit 200k words posted for 2023!

Your presence is requested at a Grand Ball in honour of the rebuilding of Baldur’s Gate by his eminence, Duke Ulder Ravengard.

The invitation was written in elegant script, looped letters in golden ink that glittered in the light. He knew he should attend. Most likely, his absence would be noticed and considered rude among the upper circles of the city. He was the master of Ramazith’s Tower and Baldur’s Gate’s newest archmage, yet he had much to still do, even a year after the destruction of the Absolute. With a sigh, Rolan tossed the parchment on his desk amidst mountains of scrolls and books.

The movement caught Cal’s eye. His brother glanced up from his book, scrunching his face in concern. “Another solicitor?”

“If only.” Untying his hair from the elaborate braid he’d started to wear recently, he brushed his fingers through the strands, combing the knots out. “There is a party for the Duke in a tenday. I’m expected to attend.”

“A party sounds fun.” Cal reached for the paper, glancing it over quickly before a grin appeared on his face. A grin that Rolan didn’t like the look of. “And Ravengard is fair and honorable. You might actually enjoy yourself.”

“The horror.” Rolan muttered, the sarcasm not lost on his younger brother. “I can think of a hundred other things I’d rather be doing than getting dressed up like a prized peacock and prancing around a dance floor.”

“Is it because you don’t have a date?” Cal teased, setting the invitation face up in front of Rolan again, the golden script mocking him.

“A date? Have you seen the type of person that tries to woo me? Hardly any of them are worth the time or effort.”

“So you’re saying that some of them are worth it?”

“Please spare me.” The invitation sat open, a temptation despite his objections. How long had it been since he’d left the Tower to merely socialize? His work as archmage brought him to many drawing rooms in Baldur’s Gate, not to mention his travels across Faerun visiting with other archwizards. He wasn’t locked away in Ramazith’s Tower like his predecessor had been. No, he frequently took on apprentices, delved into research with other wizards in the Realms.

But his patience for frivolous things, for frivolous people, had waned in the last months. What use was making connections, social or otherwise, when the one person he wished to see had left for Avernus nearly a full year ago?

Cal shifted in his seat, bringing his book closer as if he planned to continue reading, but his eyes were fixed on a singular spot on the page. He knew what this was. Cal craved life outside of the tower walls. Lia was well established with the Flaming Fist. She had friends and dates and hobbies that kept her away for days at a time. Cal had put his life on hold to stay behind and help Rolan with the organization of the Tower, of everything Lorroakan had left behind. He worked in Sorcerous Sundries most days, only going out on the occasion when Lia insisted.

After everything they’d been through to get to this point, Rolan knew he owed his brother this.

With a sigh, Rolan rested his elbow on the desk, cupping his chin in his hands, his eyes fixed on his brother. “Cal.”

Cal glanced up curiously, the shadow of a grin twitching at his lips. “Yes, Rolan?”

“Did you want to go to the ball with me?”

In his excitement, Cal slammed the book shut hard enough that the entire table shook. Rolan cast a spell to stop the ink pot from tumbling to the floor. It floated, suspended in mid-air before he snatched it and returned it to the safety of the desk.

“I know you’re excited, but please be careful.”

“Sorry.” Cal said with a sheepish grin. “Should we invite Lia?”

“I suspect she’ll be there.” Rolan cleared away the texts, standing and replacing them to their spots on the bookshelf. He didn’t want to discuss the ball, or the Flaming Fist, or anything when he knew how easily it could lead to places and people he wasn’t ready to talk about yet. Friends that were long gone and most likely would never return.

“Right. Flaming Fist and all.” Cal stood as well, stretching to relieve his muscles from sitting in one place so long. “Should I check in on Tolna before bed?”

“No.” He said, realizing his voice was sharper than was necessary. Forcing himself to be gentler, he turned to his brother, putting on his best smile. The frown on Cal’s face only proved he was still terrible at it. “I’ll do it. I should secure the vault and check in on a few things anyway. Go. Get some rest.”

Cal hesitated, as if he wanted to say something, but decided better of it. “Alright. You’ll let me know if you need help, right?”

Rolan nodded, but he knew no matter how much help he needed, he wouldn’t bother his brother’s well deserved rest. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he gathered up his loose hair, tying it back like he used to do when they traveled the dangerous roads of the Storm Coast. If Cal noticed, he didn’t comment on it. “Of course. Now off with you. I have work to do.”

Cal knew better than to argue with him, it wasn’t worth the trouble. Even if Rolan was in the wrong, it took practically pulling teeth for him to admit it. When his brother finally exited through the portal, the wizard of Ramazith’s Tower was left in the echoey silence.

~~~~

Duke Ulder Ravengard’s estate was lavishly decorated with red and gold hangings, perfectly shined silverware, the glow of hundreds of candles creating the perfect romantic atmosphere for the couples that had already taken to the dancefloor. Gowns made of delicate fabrics in colors of indigo and crimson, lavender and silver, each one more beautiful than the last, billowed and swayed with each movement. Elaborate beading, expensive jewelry, fashionably coiffed hair…

Rolan still couldn’t believe he was here with the nobility as an equal. All of his ambition and dreaming never prepared him for this new life: the opulence, the respect, the wealth of knowledge at his hands. He knew how lucky he was for such a chance, he’ll always be grateful to Wyll and his friends for helping him acquire it.

With a wave of his hand and a quiet recitation of a well-known spell, stars sparkled across the ceiling, falling in wide arcs of light and color, and a smattering of applause went through the room at the sight.

Cal inhaled sharply beside him, eyes fixed on the magic until it disappeared, wonder and appreciation on his face. “Wow. That never gets old, does it?”

Rolan smiled softly, clapping a hand to his brother’s shoulder, enjoying the way his eyes lit up at the light show. Almost like old times. “I’m glad you convinced me to come. Now, go. Enjoy yourself. I am going to see if Lia is here yet.”

Cal met his eyes, hesitating. “Are you sure you want me to leave you?”

“I can handle some nobles, Cal.” Rolan held back a laugh at the incredulous look on his brother’s face. “I’m not that insufferable, am I?”

“Well…”

Pushing gently against Cal’s shoulder, he wasn’t surprised when he burst into laughter. “Get out of here, you menace.”

Cal was still chuckling as he melted into the crowd, in search of whoever he knew among the guests. The Flaming Fist was here in force, silent watchers in the corners of the room, although most threats to the Duke or the city had long disappeared with the destruction of the Elder Brain and the deaths of the Chosen Three. Baldur’s Gate, like much of the Storm Coast, hadn’t experienced peace such as this in years. He hoped it lasted.

Rolan had no difficulty finding Duke Ravengard in the crowd, he and Counsellor Florrick speaking to nobility and common folk alike, neither being barred from the Upper City as was once the norm. Now, everyone had a voice in the rebuilding, in the life that was going to bloom here, and Rolan was grateful to be part of it.

Perhaps there was hope, after all. Hope for a better future, for a happier one. A future where he didn’t have to regret or question the choices he’d made.

A future where he finally made a life for himself.

His sister was at her post near the back of the room, the refreshment table not far from where she stood. When Lia noticed his approach, a smile spread across her face, waving in the direction he’d come from.

“I knew you had to be here when the magic show lit up the room. Can’t stop showing off, can you?”

“I did it for Cal, if you must know.” He replied flippantly, reaching immediately for the Arabellan Dry and pouring a large glass full. “He is here, somewhere.”

“Probably searching for Lord Guthmere’s daughter.” She teased, pretending to be at attention when he glanced at her. “They’ve taken a liking to one another.”

“Please, Lia. Let’s not make enemies of the patriars of the city already. I don’t want to be chased out by a mob because you and Cal cannot be discrete.”

She was silent as he sipped the wine, watching the people of Baldur’s Gate flirt, dance, and stand a world apart from them. Even if he was considered among them, Rolan doubted he would ever feel as comfortable among the glitter and gold than he was in the Sundries library, discussing spells and history with other wizards, most notably Elminster and Gale, both of whom visited him frequently over the last year. It’d been quiet, informative, and immensely enjoyable.

“You look weird.” Lia said, barely concealed mischief flirting across her face. She wore her Flaming Fist uniform, the crimson fabric and silver iron looking right on her. He would never admit it aloud, but he was proud of the woman she’d become.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t still irritate him.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He brushed a hand over the rich blue robes he wore, enjoying how the golden threads shone in the light. Rolan had spent days searching for the perfect set of robes for the Duke’s ball, only to end up in Facemaker’s at the last moment to find something worthy of an archmage. “This was an expensive purchase.”

“You might want to ask for your money back.” She teased him, motioning to the ensemble. His frown deepened. “Half of it is missing.”

Rolan sniffed in irritation, lifting the goblet to his mouth again.“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Hells, you’re sensitive tonight.” Lia rolled her eyes so hard he was surprised they didn’t roll all the way into her skull. “I was joking, you idiot.”

“It’s difficult to tell when everything you say is a joke.”

She stared at him until his lips twitched, a smile curling his lips without his permission. Lia snorted a laugh, shaking her head but the expression on her face was approving. Figured.

“Why are you over here sulking, anyway? I’m sure there are plenty of people who would love to get to know the fabulous Master Rolan.”

He gazed into the wine glass, the dark burgundy liquid holding no answers to what plagued him. Only he knew and like hell would he explain any of it to his sister.

He diverted her attention instead.

“Shouldn’t you be worrying less about me and more about protecting the Duke instead?”

Lia rolled her eyes, nodding to the Duke in question. “As if anyone is going to get past his entourage. Most of the Fist are here for the appearance of protection. Absolutely no one is going to hurt the Duke with a wizard prodigy, a Harper, and a damned vampire spawn protecting him.”

There was no doubt about that. The Duke’s son had left Baldur’s Gate to his father’s benevolent rule, but hadn’t left him alone. Many of his companions had either stayed in the city or visited frequently, to the point that they were welcomed guests at Ravengard’s.

“I suppose you have a point.” Rolan conceded before taking another sip of wine, refusing to meet his sister’s gaze. The last thing he wanted was to see her smug grin. She may have won this argument, but there would be plenty of those tonight and he wasn’t going to concede victory so early. “But then again, I am also here to protect our beloved Duke. Lest you forgot.”

“Could never forget a head that big.”

Rolan held his tongue when there was movement ahead, a gathering of the patriars and their guests as the familiar visage of Duke Ravengard appeared, calling for their attention as if his very presence didn’t immediately call for it. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed even Lia had snapped to attention, her chin held high and her focus entirely on the man she worked for. He’d never seen her so disciplined before.

Perhaps he wasn’t the only one to truly benefit from the time they’d spent in Baldur’s Gate.

“Now that everyone has gathered, it’s time I explained why I asked you here.” Ulder Ravengard stood slightly raised above the crowd, a goblet of wine in his hand, Florrick and a few of his closest council standing a few feet off, watching with much less anxiety than the rest.

Whispers broke out, speculation running rampant. Ravengard raised his hands in supplication, a genuine happiness on his face that Rolan hadn’t seen much of since Wyll left for Avernus, and the guests fell silent, waiting with bated breath for his announcement. Rolan sighed quietly, trying to still the anxious flutter of his hands. He folded his arms over his chest, tucking his hands against his body, trying to ignore the foreboding that tickled at the back of his mind.

“It’s been nearly a year and yet, I never gave up hope that my son would return home to Baldur’s Gate. To us.” Rolan didn’t miss the whispered ‘to me’ that Ravengard spoke under his breath. “And for the first time since that day against the Netherbrain, he isn’t alone. Please aid me in welcoming back the Pride of the Gate, your hero, and my son. Wyll.”

Applause and cheers mixed among the patriars, all turning as one as the enormous ornate doors opened once more to admit their heroes. Wyll Ravengard stood at the front, looking as much the hero as the Blade of Frontiers ever had, dressed in an impeccable doublet of black and gold, a prince among patriars.

The tiefling barbarian, Karlach, stood beside him with their arms linked, a radiant force with her wide smile and affectionate laugh, eyes sparkling with a fire that always burned within her.

Rolan hadn’t heard a single scrap of news regarding the tiefling with the infernal engine until now. Her return to Avernus was kept quiet among the companions and the few people who knew of her affliction. Duke Ravengard’s mood had soured considerably after Wyll left with her, refusing to let the woman he loved suffer alone, but tonight, there was a new light within the Duke… within them all. A happiness that Rolan hadn’t seen in so long.

Wyll’s infectious laughter and wit immediately drew people to his side as it always did. He was surrounded by his usual friends, those that had helped him end the Absolute plot. The silver-haired cleric held a goblet of wine and a rather beautiful smile on her face. The wizard of Waterdeep with his jovial laughter and light hearted, yet silly jokes. The pale vampire who was the life of the party, taking in the attention with the air of a man who’d done this sort of thing his entire life. The High Harper and the former First Druid stood side by side farther back, discussing something at length with the Githyanki, supplied with all manner of drink and entertainment, preferring to shield themselves from the golden light that radiated from the savior of Baldur’s Gate instead of basking in it.

But none of them held the allure of the one who stood within the confines of their circle, out of place among heroes but never far from Rolan’s thoughts.

A tiefling blacksmith with a heart of gold and a smile to match it.

Dammon’s radiant smile was all the more blinding with the joy reflected in his dazzling blue eyes. He watched Karlach and Wyll with the pride of a friend, the affection of a brother. They had been his constant companions for nearly a year and yet, Rolan was jealous of the bond he’d so clearly built with them.

It was then that Rolan realized what their return meant. Karlach was no longer burning up, the fire of the infernal engine stifled in her chest.

They’d done it.

“It sounds like father has been telling tall tales about our exploits.”

“If anyone deserves to be a hero, it’s you, darling.” Astarion cooed at him, lifting a glass of wine to his lips. “Just take it before he decides to build a statue or something. The man is relentless.”

Karlach laughed, a harsh loud bark that was full of so much love and joy that it nearly broke Rolan’s heart. How he missed her vibrant personality, despite how loud and perhaps a tad bit boisterous she could be. Wyll took her hand in his, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles, a gesture that felt too intimate for the setting.

He ignored his friend’s teasing and instead, tugged Karlach closer, slipping his free arm around her waist, their combined hands coming up in the imitation of a dancer’s pose. “Let’s lead this dance, shall we, my love?”

Karlach responded, but Rolan didn’t care what it was she said, what any of them said, not when Dammon had noticed him staring. Realizing his mouth was hanging open, he snapped it shut, blush crawling up his neck and cheeks to the tips of his ears. Dammon smiled at him kindly and approached as the heroes of Baldur’s Gate continued to the dance floor, ignoring the two of them completely.

Rolan’s gaze swept Dammon’s body, taking in the new piercing hanging from his pointed ear, the dark blue doublet with fancy cloak, gold clasps glittering in the light of a thousand candles.

“I didn’t realize you’d returned. This is quite the surprise.” Rolan said, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible, but knowing he immediately failed when Dammon glanced at him, curiosity winning out over anything else. He swallowed with some difficulty, a lump sitting painfully in his throat. Might as well have been his foot.

“Yes. It was… recent. Very recent.” Dammon cleared his own throat, suddenly captivated by the sight of the dancers. Avoiding his gaze, most likely. “Karlach is doing much better than I expected. Better than I had hoped. I’m proud of how far she’s come. She deserves a happy ending.”

And what of us?

Rolan’s shoulders stiffened as his gaze sought out the subject of their conversation. She was laughing loudly, her voice carrying over the music and the chatter. Rolan could acknowledge that she deserved this, both she and Wyll did, but he was still angry that Dammon of all people took that responsibility on to himself. To leave for the Hells, the very place they’d escaped from such a short time ago, to put himself in danger for a woman he barely knew. Only because of the infernal engine she carried.

He took advantage of Dammon’s distraction to study him. The doublet he wore was a rich ocean blue, only highlighting the azure of his pretty eyes. His blond hair brushed his shoulders when he turned, watching a particularly handsome couple spin across the dance floor. The corners of his mouth tipped up, his expression gentle, softening his features. Longing thrummed beneath Rolan’s skin, the desire to reach out and comb some of that blond hair from his face, to tuck it behind an ear, if only to trail one of his claws across Dammon’s jaw.

“I suppose they all do. They did save us, after all.” Rolan forced the words out, trying to bridge the gap between them, the one that he had created when they’d last spoken. Because despite Dammon deciding to help Karlach’s mission in the Hells, Rolan was the one who’d taken a step back, reexamined things. He decided to leave the fleeting touches and longing looks behind him.

Rolan didn’t want to be left alone picking up the pieces of his heart when Dammon didn’t return. For a year, he’d been right. Dammon was gone, he wasn’t coming back, the Hells had torn him apart or had broken him. And if he did come back, what would be left? Would the man he cared for even still be in there, somewhere?

Rolan knew he wouldn’t survive that. Not after everything they’d fought against, fought for.

Dammon played with the edge of his cloak, the fine fabric shimmering with each movement. He was lost in his mind again, the revelry echoing in a sea of sound and color, a kaleidoscope of chaos. “Everyone here is a hero, in their own way. Even you, Rolan.”

He snorted, resisting an eye roll at the almost compliment. “Of course I am. My greatest achievements being almost getting killed by goblins and shadow creatures only to end up abused at the hands of a megalomaniac. You have a strange definition of hero.”

Dammon glanced up at his confession and Rolan realized too late what he’d admitted. He couldn’t meet the blacksmith’s gaze, this time he was the one to stare out into the crowd. “Lorroakan did what?”

Shit.

“I… Karlach told me about the aasimar, but not-”

Rolan waved the concern away, trying not to feel embarrassed at how easy it was to talk to Dammon. Like old times, indeed. “It’s fine. I’m fine. If it makes it easier to swallow, I helped to throw him from the Tower.”

“It does not.” Dammon sighed, closing his eyes and breathing slowly as if to calm himself. “If I had known, if you’d told me-”

“It changes nothing. Lorroakan is dead and I’m the new Master of the Tower. It’s taken a lot of work but it is mine now. And the Realms’. Knowledge shouldn’t be hoarded.”

Dammon made a noise low in his throat. A strangled laugh. At least, that’s what he thought it was.

“Is something funny?”

“I didn’t expect you to see the silver lining in such an awful situation. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always had confidence in excess.”

“Confidence or not, I’ve had plenty of practice surviving. We both have, it seems.”

Dammon bit his lip, concentrating on the words for what they were, a truth that was impossible for him to refute. They’d both done quite a bit of surviving over the last few years. Together and not.

And that was the problem, Rolan realized. Despite everything he’d gained, the safety and security of his position, the wealth and knowledge at his fingertips, the wonderful lives that he always swore he’d provide for his siblings, he was still in survival mode. A difficult habit to break, for sure.

“Rolan, I-”

Clearing his throat, Rolan cut Dammon off before he could get anything else out. The last thing he wanted was a heart to heart in such a public place, with the man who he, once upon a time, wanted something more with. “I apologize, but I really must return to the tower. It’s excellent that you’re well, Dammon. Truly. Perhaps, in the future, you can regale me with tales of your fight in Avernus.”

A brief flash of uncertainty crossed Dammon’s face before he hid it behind a smile. The blacksmith was always levelheaded, more so than Rolan ever was.

Rolan turned away, intending to disappear into the crowd without another word, when a hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks before he could take a single step. “Ah, here you are. The man I was looking for. Where are you off in such a rush?”

Wyll. Of all the people who could’ve caught his escape, it had to be the one whose disappointment would hurt most.

“I’m terribly sorry for leaving so soon… there are things I forgot that must be done, tonight-”

Wyll tsked, shaking his head with a frown on his face. For a brief moment, Rolan felt like a child again, being scolded by the matron of the orphanage he’d been abandoned at. The expression always rankled and this was no exception.

“The Archmage of Baldur’s Gate must stay for one dance. Come, I haven’t seen you in nearly a year and you’ve been standing here stiff as the statue my father said Lia had commissioned of you.”

“She did what?”

“I must insist that you enjoy yourself.” Wyll smiled kindly, nodding towards the dance floor. Rolan’s heart thudded dangerously fast in his chest at the thought of twirling among the other guests. Dancing wasn’t one of his strengths. He couldn’t recall ever having to do so. “Please. Think of it as a favor to an old friend.”

Damn him.

“I’m sure I can enjoy myself quite well with another glass of wine.”

Dammon coughed, covering his mouth with a hand, eyes staring at his feet. Rolan easily saw the smirk he attempted but completely failed to hide. So this was an ambush, was it?

“You mustn’t leave us so soon, Rolan.” Wyll continued as Karlach joined them, the fitted ebony gown looking even more stunning up close. She slipped her hand into Wyll’s, the joy of being to touch her love clear on her face. “There is plenty of fun left to be had.”

“But, I don’t have a partner.” Rolan responded, a smug grin aimed in the direction of the blacksmith. Dammon’s eyes widened slightly, as if he realized where Rolan’s thoughts had gone. If I have to suffer this madness, then so do you.

“Crazy idea!” Karlach interrupted, a grin breaking out across her lips, excitement sparkling in those glowing golden eyes. “You and Dammon could dance. Together. Because if it’s one thing I know after all of this crazy shit, it’s that everyone needs a chance to find that special person that makes them better. And Dammon here,” Karlach nudged him with an elbow, a grin that could light the Hells on her face. “Well, let’s just say he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since we left for Avernus.”

A blush colored Dammon’s cheeks at the revelation. “Karlach!”

“Was it a secret?” She asked, seeming genuinely confused and Rolan might’ve laughed if he wasn’t so embarrassed. “Come on, the two of you are irritatingly obvious and if I have to throw you into a wardrobe until you finally just f-”

“What Karlach means to say is-” Wyll cut her off, tugging her away from the two of them with a laugh. But not before throwing one last look at them. “Enjoy yourselves.”

Karlach’s laughter faded into the murmurs of the crowd, the son of an Archduke and the tiefling barbarian he loved finding the time to enjoy their lives now that the latest crisis had passed. Rolan released a breath, feeling the tightness in his chest ease only a little, a new fear warring inside of him. With a quick glance in Dammon’s direction, he wasn’t surprised to see the blacksmith studying him.

“I think that was the most polite threat I’ve ever had aimed at me.”

Rolan laughed, feeling breathless, and perhaps a little dizzy. It was definitely a threat, but one he might actually not be afraid of the consequences of. “I guess we have only one option then. That is, if you’re amenable to a dance.”

Hells, was he really doing this? He didn’t even really know how to dance a proper waltz.

Dammon raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “Is that what you want?”

The man was so annoyingly handsome, with his light hair cascading around his face and striking blue eyes that haunted Rolan so many nights since their first meeting in Elturel. And here they were, both alive and settled in Baldur’s Gate, surrounded by friends, living the future they’d only dreamed about. Dammon was watching him intently, a soft grin curling his lips in a way that left Rolan’s insides feeling like pudding.

Holding his arm out in invitation, he tried to quell the erratic beat of his heart when Dammon linked their arms together, fingers brushing softly against his forearm.

Dammon was alive. After all of this time. The Hells hadn’t destroyed him, hadn’t changed him. His eyes were still kind, soft, beautiful. And to touch him after everything...

The room was too warm, too crowded, too bright, but when Dammon turned to face him in the midst of it all, everything faded to background noise. The only thing Rolan could see was the hypnotic azure of his eyes, a golden ring around his irises that was the same color as a noonday sun. There was a pink flush to his cheeks, the candles in the chandelier above highlighting the gold in his blond hair. Dammon was ethereal, dazzling, and too good for him.

The orchestra began its song, the music swelling around them as Dammon took the lead, free hand sliding to Rolan’s waist while the other gripped his hand gently. Then, without warning, they were moving, no, gliding, across the dance floor, their feet barely touching the ground as they went. Rolan knew there were eyes on them, he felt them burning into the back of his head, but the look of unadulterated bliss on Dammon’s face kept his attention.

There was nothing more beautiful to him than the sight of Dammon’s smile as they spun in the complicated dance, his face flushed in exhilaration, a laugh on his lips that came out awed, delighted.

“You’re good at this.” Rolan said, forgetting himself in the moment. He felt weightless as Dammon changed direction, stepping even closer. Blush creeped up his neck at the soft brush of their chests and his breath caught in his throat. “Uh, dancing, that is.”

Dammon chuckled, barely able to hide the smile on his face. “You are kind to say that. I admit, it’s been a while.”

The music picked up speed, a tempo that had the rest of the dancers spinning madly around them. Dammon’s gloved fingers tightened on his hip, digging into his waist and if his hands weren’t protected by the thick gloves he wore, his claws would’ve drawn blood. Rolan clenched his hand against Dammon’s shoulder, letting the music distract him from the sudden uncomfortable feeling flooding through him. Closing his eyes, he let Dammon lead him through the dance, each twirl and sway of their bodies, each tap of their feet to the rhythm, each brush against the other’s body nothing short of intoxicating.

Rolan wanted to stay in this moment indefinitely, free of responsibility for the first time in months, with the air rushing by as he realized how much he truly did enjoy dancing. At least, he did in the arms of a man who clearly knew what he was doing.

“Can I be honest with you?”

Dammon’s question pulled Rolan from his mind. He opened his eyes to find his friend watching him intently. His eyes begged for understanding, for a chance to be vulnerable. Rolan, at least, owed him that much. “

After a beat, Dammon realized his breath, tilting his head slightly to watch out for other revelers, focusing on everything but Rolan’s face. Almost as if he couldn’t bear to see his expression at his revelation. “I didn’t believe I would survive the trip to Avernus. I’d accepted that the Hells would be my tomb. That I would never see the sky again. Never see my friends from Elturel again. But whenever Karlach or I started to doubt, the Blade of Frontiers was there filling our heads with hope.”

“That does sound like him. Irritatingly so.”

Dammon laughed, a soft sound that loosened the butterflies in his stomach and he nearly felt as if he’d be sick. “If there is one word to describe Wyll Ravengard, it is hero.”

“A hero, yes, that’s for certain.” Rolan snorted, leaning forward to glance around them. Guests were still coming and going, and would be well into the night, and for a moment he contented himself with watching the glittering jewelry and fabric, the gilded gold and gemstones, the dancing lights above. It was lovely to behold, this moment of peaceful bliss.

“Do you have an issue with heroic types, Rolan?”

The question brought his gaze back to Dammon and the smile that greeted him there. He was teasing, eyes hooded and sparkling with laughter, and they twirled again, in their own world where no one else but them existed. “Depends on the hero we’re talking about. But to answer your question. No, I don’t have an issue with them. Not anymore.”

With a shake of his head, a breathless laugh escaped his lips, but he didn’t once take his eyes from Rolan’s. “Well, that’s excellent news because I’m dancing with my hero. To be fair, I almost feel like I'm dreaming.”

Rolan might’ve scoffed if the admission didn’t shock him. “Me? A hero? I think the Hells scrambled your brain.”

Dammon rolled his eyes, but sidled closer, their bodies touching again as they danced. “You saved us in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. I wouldn’t be here if not for you so… thank you.”

Rolan broke eye contact, staring at where their hands were entwined. Maybe… this was a second chance. Maybe there was more here than either of them expected. Perhaps, together, they could figure out what that was.

With a smile, he returned his gaze to Dammon, thoughts of a divine dream dancing in his head. A dream that he refused to imagine for so long that he craved it as much as he did the wine in his goblet. His hand tangled into the golden locks that brushed Dammon’s shoulders, enjoying the shiver that ran down his spine at the silkiness.

“If you’re staying in the city, I’m certain I’ll need your heroics to save me. From a stuck cork in a wine bottle, perhaps?”

Dammon laughed, the sound a balm for the soul but did little for the erratic beating of his heart in his chest. “I’m sure I can handle that.”

Yes, quite the divine dream.

#my writing #bg3 #bg3 fic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 rolan #bg3 dammon #rolan x dammon #dammon x rolan #wyll ravengard #karlach #wyll x karlach

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watchfuldeer · 6 months

Note

“in the alternate universe where eps 8-9-10 didn’t get rewritten”

Wait, rewritten how?? May I ask? Should I?

i wrote way too much sorry

they were rewritten to include shiv being pregnant, which hadn't been written into the season until that point. everything in 8-9-10 relating to shiv's pregnancy was an extremely hasty last minute addition, which is why it made no damn sense narratively when they dropped it into the beginning of 4.04, in a scene they filmed towards the end of shooting. every person who said in the interim between s3 and s4, shiv is not fucking pregnant, was in fact entirely correct, and they didn't plan to write it at all and it sticks out like a sore thumb in terms of succession's otherwise quite delicate plotting. which is especially disappointing given the huge payoff that paying close attention had during s3.

so, it scuppered their plot big time, but they just about clawed it together, if you ignore like. every emotional beat between episodes 1-7 lol. which is a real shame! i'm sure jesse had good intentions. but yeah, that's why they were rewritten. i think 8 and 10 weren't even rewritten to a substantial degree, but 9 is hanging by a thread in terms of cohesion - it's the only episode where they had any time to put 'oh shiv is also having a baby' scenes in, and reading the scripts it's just so clear that other stuff not only hit the cutting room floor but got swept away completely. connor is pretty much a non-entity after 4.08, for instance.

as for tom and greg (and shiv and matsson, and greg and matsson, and that whole mess of a love square) i think reading between the lines there are things missing. i can't say for sure what they were, but the script books were highly edited for publication, and no way is jesse ever going to personally give me a straight answer to the question 'what was shiv's actual arc in s4, before it became She Is Pregnant', or 'why did you prevaricate in the edit on tomgreg and tomshiv to the detriment of both, but mostly at the expense of tom, which felt really weird while watching the season because where the fuck did he go'. and yet, i think the denouement for both was really fucking good. stuck the landing despite taking a bizarre, last minute route there.

but yeah, if tom and greg did bang, it was 4.09. because the final scene for tom and shiv in 4.09 > first scene for tom and shiv in 4.10 makes very very little sense for either of them. it's like something else happened for tom at the end of 4.09 than what we saw. because the beginning of the finale he's with greg like yeah we're divorcing byeeeeee, and like wouldn't that have a lot more weight if he'd done anything other than be so eepy at logan's wake, while greg was crawling on his knees for tom to mencken and had that deleted scene with ewan. wouldn't greg almost betraying tom in the finale be higher stakes if they'd slept together, wouldn't it be more obvious and devastating that tom invites shiv into the car because she's suddenly more useful as his wife because of the decision she made at the vote... i simply think it would have been delicious.

huge caveat that this is just my thoughts. just my lil ol theories and thots. i read scripts and think about this stuff alot and have kept an eye on behind the scenes shenanigans. maybe shiv slept with matsson instead! maybe greg did! idk! but there are hanging threads that were snipped imo, rather than wonky plotting from the outset.

#tomgreg #succession #anon

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archie-sunshine · 6 months

Text

So, What Now?(Rehabili/Cohabi-tation)

Chapter 5: In Which A Movie is Best Enjoyed with Others

FIC TAGS: Eventual Whirl/Cyclonus/Tailgate, Cyclonus/Tailgate, polyamory, slowburn romance, mutual pining, slice of life, fluff, comedy, eventual smut(planned for later chapters), sappy mushy lovey stuff, polycue

The Lost Light has a brand new universe to explore! But everyone's still tired from the old one! In the interim between wacky hijinks, a solution is offered to those bored to death by peacetime- Why form a club about it or renovate your hab suite of course!

Whirl doesn't know how he feels about all the pep. And even worse, he doesn't know how to feel about Cyclonus and Tailgate wanting him to join in on their clean slate.

Other Chapters here! Read on AO3 here!

_________

Author's Notes: Ok this one gets really really mushy but this is a treat for ME okay. I cannot stress the importance of domesticity in this fanfic. I also read the entire breakfast club script for this fanfic bc i didnt have time to watch the movie straight, and I've concluded that whirl would absolutely be a John Bender kinnie and you can't tell me otherwise, sorry.

CHAPTER TAGS: Movie night, cuddling, canoodling, whirl getting way too worked up in his own head about affection, background Chromedome/Rewind, swerve is also there

The spritzers continued to be awful. Tailgate must have tried a dozen different ratios trying to get them right, and each one was uniquely bad.

Rewind cringed at the flavour of the latest one, scrunching up his optics. “Oh man- Tailgate, buddy, what in the name of Primus did engex do to you to make you do this to it!?” He cackled, leaning back against the sofa.

Tailgate moaned in anguish. “I’m TRYING!!! I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!!” He let out a heavy ex vent, reaching for the near empty bottle of engex.

Cyclonus placed a servo on Tailgate’s forearm. “Alright, lets give it a rest. How about we just have some normal energon.”

“Yeah, you’ve got that sweet flavoured stuff, don’t you?” Whirl observed, swishing the half drunk spritzer- attempt #6- in its cube.

“Oh yeah! Hold on- Slag- I’m out of cubes…” He mumbled, climbing down off his bar stool and wandering to the table to gather up the leftover cubes from their escapades in engex consumption.

“I could borrow some out of our hab, if you like?” Rewind offered, sitting up.

“Oh yeah? Oh-! How about we make an event of it, we could invite some folks over, maybe watch a few holovids?” Tailgate proposed, dumping the leftover spritzer’d engex down the trash chute.

“Maybe if we invite Swerve over we could even have a chance at a palatable cocktail or two.” Whirl teased, earning an offended look from the minibot.

“I’ve just comm’d domey, he’s on his way with some cubes.” Rewind said.

“Perfect, I’ll bug Swerve as well!” Tailgate added.

It was only when the two other bots arrived that Whirl realized he had once again been roped into a night at Cyclonus and Tailgate’s hab suite. He glanced around, dimly noting Chromedome and Rewind greeting each other with as close to a kiss as their mouthpieces could allow. Swerve was making a beeline to Tailgate, accepting a spritzer from him with a warm grin as he held up a datastick and began to ramble about the ‘vid they were planning on watching.

The newly reunited couple glanced around for a spot to sit. Whirl offered up his seat, shifting to the sofa next to Cyclonus. He leaned in a bit to whisper in his audial.

“This is all part of your plan isn’t it?” He hissed.

Cyclonus didn’t turn to face him. “What are you talking about?”

Whirl continued to stare at him.

“You’re complaining about spending time with myself and Tailgate?”

“N- I didn’t say that-” Whirl stammered.

“Then relax.” Cyclonus murmured, raising a brow ridge.

Whirl leaned back into the couch with a huff, folding his arms and starting to scoot down towards the opposite end of the couch. Swerve came down in his spot before he could shift fully. Whirl grunted, putting his pedes up on the table as Tailgate squeezed in between himself and Cyclonus.

Swerve had climbed up onto the back of the couch, reaching up to the holoprojector hanging from the ceiling. “Alright, I promised an unequivocal banger for tonight, and I swear you all are not gonna be disappointed.” He stood on the tips of his pedes, inserting the data slug into the side of the projector as it began to power on. “My dear mechs, I present to you, the human masterpiece, The Breakfast Club.”

“I don’t get it, so the punishment for them is just to sit quietly in a library?” Whirl muttered.

“I guess humans are just a bit more fragile, no hard labour punishments or anything?” Tailgate whispered.

On screen, the human with the visor- Bender?- did something kind of crude and gross.

Whirl laughed quietly. “I like this kid, sorta nasty.”

“Oh yea, bender’s a total card, you’re gonna love him.” Swerve confirmed through an intake full of energon crisps.

“Yeesh, there's so much angst here, is it true that humans are like this for like a fifth of their lifetime?” Chromedome asked, cringing a bit at the dramatics.

“We know some people who have been like this for milenia, I think we can give humans their 8 to 10 years of it.” Rewind shrugged.

“Shhhh, I’m tryna watch!” Whirl hissed, before immediately once again giggling at the human’s antics.

The whole room had gone silent. There’s a long, tense moment, something between the five of them, younger humans all shouting out their feelings and thoughts.

Usually it would make Whirl die of boredom. But there was a tiny white servo wrapped around one of his claws. He didn’t have the tanks to look down, but it felt like his servos were on the verge of burning off. He didn’t understand it, he had plenty of friends, knew plenty of people, but there was just something about him that put them off from making contact. Sure, the occasional pat on the back plate, maybe a handshake, but more often a slap or kick.

His servo was so small- Tailgates that is- but it was ruddy, paint chipped in places and painted back over, digits not so dextrous but round and gentle. When the humans on screen did something surprising, something that shocked and awed the little bot, he squeezed, just a bit too tight around Whirl’s claw.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Cyclonus had absently reached an arm around Tailgate’s shoulders, meaning to hold the minibot closer, but as he did, he’d managed to sandwich his servo between the two of them. Whirl could feel every movement as Cyclonus fondly stroked Tailgate’s tire with one of his digits, the feeling mirrored against Whirl’s upper arm.

He hadn’t realized how long it had been since anyone had been so gentle with him, even inadvertently so. Well, he could remember one notable outlier, being sat upon the same couch as he had been during the previous incident.

Whirl had never felt so tense.

He glanced down at the mostly full engex cocktail in his other servo. A long curly straw stuck out of it, perfect for his odd and inopportune intake. There was ample supply of straws in the couple’s unit, given Tailgate’s similar situation. He chased the straw around with his intake, beginning a long sip as the teen angst filled the air.

The movie was so stupid, it didn’t even make sense, half the things out of their mouths were completely lost on Whirl. All about parents and school and cliques. He supposed if he looked at it from a different angle he might understand it better, but it was also. Sort of hard to focus.

The long haired mech on screen had started shouting, so suddenly that Tailgate had jolted, his servo turning to a vice grip around Whirl’s claw. Whirl swallowed a wince, closing his servo around Tailgate’s and squeezing gently to try and convince him to ease off.

His digits unclenched almost absently as Tailgate resettled, now leaning his helm against Whirl’s arm. The taller mech’s processor felt fuzzy and hot, his optic crackling just a bit as he stubbornly focussed his gaze ahead to not pay attention to the minibot cuddling against his side.

These feelings that had been growing in him over the past cycles were foreign, alien. They felt wrong, tight in his chassis like his spark was jerked out of place. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way, he wasn’t supposed to feel at all. They felt distant, like a foreign body or a parasite gnawing at his spark. He wanted them to leave him, return him back to that emptiness that he’d grown to know.

He slumped down a bit where he was sitting.

Nothing fit right in him anymore, chaos felt more like control than this peace.

He hesitated for a moment, turning his optic briefly to peek at Tailgate and Cyclonus. Cyclonus’s digits had left Tailgate’s tire, now absently brushing along the edge of Whirl’s shoulder pad. It must have been an accident.

There was a moment of silence on screen, just before the actors began to talk again.

Whirl leaned his helm awkwardly onto Tailgates. He could feel the minibot jolt for the barest moment before relaxing. Cyclonus’s digits found the back of Whirl’s neck and hesitantly rested there.

The room was dark, save for the holoscreen’s light. He knew that the others could obviously see them, somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him.

But he could pretend. He could pretend there was a moment of intimate privacy between the three of them. It felt like there were only the three of them in the universe to Whirl at least.

He let out a quiet vent, letting the tension leave him.

… This movie was stupid.

“...Sincerely yours, The Breakfast Club.”

“Man… These humans, they’re like… Crazy good at this.” Swerve mumbled. “Got me all moved and slag.”

“I dunno, I think I liked the other ones better, that long one with the four old femmes?” Chromedome asked.

“The Golden Girls is not a movie, it’s a tv show!” Swerve balked.

“Ohhhh… I figured it was a bit long for a single holovid…” Chrome dome mused, turning his attention to Rewind. “I was wondering why it was taking so long to finish.”

“You were determined though, got through a whole season before questioning it.” The minibot laughed, climbing out of his conjunx’s lap and helping him up. “Thanks for the movie, Swerve, and thanks for hosting you two! It was nice to not be the projector this time.”

The pair gathered up their empty energon cubes from the table and began to make their way out of the unit.

“Thanks for attending.” Cyclonus said warmly, offering a crooked smile.

“Yeah, come by anytime!” Tailgate chirped.

As Swerve got up to leave as well, Whirl finally became acutely aware of how entangled he’d become with the remaining couple. He began to wriggle his arm free from Tailgate, who glanced up at him as he let him go.

“Take care, Swerve.” Cyclonus said. Swerve waved goodbye and trotted through the open unit door. It closed behind him with a quiet whoosh.

“That was nice, wasn’t it?” Tailgate sighed, shifting to lean against Cyclonus as Whirl shuffled away down the couch.

“Yeah, it’s been a bit since we had a holovid night.” Whirl mused, claw absently rubbing at the back of his neck where Cyclonus had placed his servo.

The odd tense feeling had returned, layered with that warmth as Whirl gazed at the couple. He fought for the right words to say, some suave or aloof way to say he’d be leaving again. The two of them just looked at him, almost expectantly- or maybe disappointedly- waiting for his excuse. He could see that twinge- he acted obtuse but he could see them prepare for the sting. He couldn’t pretend it was relief anymore. He opened and shut his claws. His vents felt choked and stilted. The engex he’d drunk wasn’t close to enough for an excuse for this.

“... Listen- I… I don’t get why it's such a big deal or whatever to you- that I’m by myself so much-” He started, standing up off the couch. He couldn’t look at them. “It’s- It’s not a problem like you think-” He risked a glance at them.

It was a mistake. Tailgate’s face had fallen a bit, looking at his own servos and fidgeting a little. Cyclonus’s face was unreadable, all warmth pushed back, blazing red optics intense with the effort of concealment.

Whirl’s vocalizer felt choked. His voice wouldn’t start up no matter how he cycled it.

This is stupid, why was he doing this? Why didn’t he just run?

“B-...But if its important to you-” He began stiltedly. “... I guess- maybe-... Like I wouldn’t mind-... We’re already going to those clubs and all-”

What was he saying- WHAT WAS HE SAYING??!

“I GUESS I could-.. Y’know… move in. Sometime.” He cleared his vocalizer again, kicking his pedes against the floor. Suddenly the wall directly behind the two of them seemed so interesting.

He waited for the door to slam on him, waited for the rug to come out from under him, waited for a curse or a jeer or a denial.

He dimly heard the two of them shift. He turned his helm away just in time for Cyclonus’s servo on his shoulder to surprise him.

“I’m happy to hear that.” Cyclonus said stiffly. Whirl turned back to face him. That mask of apathy was still there, but shifted. There was a softness in his optics that made them look less like the red of fire and more like a far off sunrise.

He nearly jumped out of his plating when Tailgate let out a happy trill and wrapped his arms tight around either mech’s hips. “Ohhh, Whirrrlll!!! I’m so glad!!” He cheered, squeezing the two of them to his chassis tenderly- oh- a bit too- OW-

“Ah- my love-” Cyclonus gritted out.

“You’re gonna- TAILGATE- YOU’RE CRUSHING M-ME-” Whirl croaked out-

“OHGOD IMSORRY!” Tailgate squeaked, releasing them. Whirl glanced down at the incredibly pronounced digit marks now dented into his thigh plating. The same marks were mirrored on Cyclonus’s hip armour.

Whirl began to laugh, almost involuntarily at the ridiculousness of it all. He couldn’t help it, none of this made sense anymore.

“I’m sorry-!! I didn’t mean to-” Tailgate fussed. Cyclonus’s chassis and shoulders began to quiver, faceplate twisting to hold back a smile.

Whirl’s optic scrunched as his laugh grew louder, Cyclonus joining him as it rumbled out of his chest. Tailgate glanced between them, bewildered, and began to laugh as well, again wrapping them in a warm hug, this time more gently than the last.

The world felt warm. Whirl didn’t fully know why he’d agreed, he swore he was about to turn them down properly. But he was just crazy enough to chase that feeling, instead of running like every bit of him told him to.

He could figure it all out later. He wanted to savour this.

#cywhirlgate #cygate #cywhirl #whirlgate #transformers #transformers mtmte #tf mtmte #cyclonus #tailgate #whirl #my fic #my art #fluff #slice of life

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itsmarsss · 7 days

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To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before AU: Chapter 1 - Out [Eli “Hawk” Moskowitz x fem!Reader] (Cobra Kai)

You have been writing these love letters since seventh grade, but what happens when they somehow get sent out?

Warnings: high school (lol i wrote this one when i was in high school but im rewriting it now that im like three years out of it so it feels weird and i feel like it warrants a warning, definitely senior year tho.), hardcore crushing on miguel, mentions of a crush on moon so if ya don’t like women too then idk, uhh mention of smoking weed.

Word Count: 4,060

Your letters were your most prized possessions: yours, and yours only.

You wrote one when you had a crush so intense you felt like you needed to snap out of it or otherwise you’d collapse.

So, you wrote letters to try to find closure. Intricately detailed letters that contained every single unfiltered thought and embarrassing feeling you could find in yourself. Everything you noticed about them, everything you wished you had with them, everything you wanted to say but couldn’t.

It started a long while ago.

You never sent them, of course. That idea was completely off the table. They remained stored inside the little blue box with the white ribbon buried deep in the back of your closet, from where you would occasionally take them just to read them again and reminisce on the thoughts a younger version of you once had about all those different people.

They were all properly sealed, stamped and addressed in pretty cursive letters, but never, ever posted.

They were six in total, addressed to five different people.

The first one ever written had been for Eli, from seventh grade. Adorable little Eli, who was one of the biggest nerds you’d ever seen, always too shy to talk around others, but who would go on excitedly about a tv show or a comic book series he liked for hours around you after getting paired for a project got him to warm up to you.

Adorable little Eli, who trembled like crazy before kissing you in a dumb game of spin the bottle, right before running home crying because some girl thought it would be hilarious to comment on how she wouldn't have let him kiss her with "that mouth" if she were you. You, in turn, couldn't feel more different from that bullshit comment of hers after that messy seventh grade first kiss that lasted barely a couple seconds but fed your crush on him for months on end after.

That letter was followed by a new one, addressed also to him, but the new him this time around, many years later, in your sophomore year- to Hawk, not Eli. However that worked.

To Hawk, who had decided to “flip the script”, as he called it, by changing his entire aesthetic and his whole demeanor, showing up to school on a random day with a blue dyed mohawk and a brand new attitude. You liked it.

Confident Eli seemed happier even though he sometimes acted like a bit of an asshole and, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, he looked really, really hot. He was still Eli, but this Eli wasn’t afraid to flirt with you, which evoked brand new feelings in you.

Therefore, a new letter.

The second letter you ever wrote was addressed to Demetri, from eight grade, who you met around the same time as Eli.

Demetri, who would talk to you about superheroes and binary language and would be so excited about it that you didn’t care to tell him you couldn’t understand a word of what he said.

Demetri, who was so kind as to go to your house to help you with your part on the biology project you were partnered with him in because he knew it was stressing you out, who would offer to tutor you when you told him you were having a hard time with a subject he was good at at school, and who you got closer to when randomly put in many classes together.

The third letter you ever wrote was addressed to Robby Keene, who you became closer to after ditching the homecoming dance in your freshman year to hang out by yourself at the bleachers, despite Sam and Aisha’s protests, only to find out it apparently was Robby Keene’s favorite smoking spot.

Apparently high school dances could be pretty lame, no matter what all high school movies from the 80's had been telling you all your life. You had asked if you were interrupting something when you noticed his presence and he told you it depended on whether you'd be snitching on him or not, and suddenly freshman homecoming didn't suck all that much anymore, because you managed to make friends with the most unlikely acquaintance you could ever have.

Robby, who at fourteen years old got detention for threatening to beat up the kids who made you cry because they kept making fun of you during a presentation, which was about substance abuse, ironically.

The fourth one had been written to Moon, who you used to despise because she used to hang out with Yasmine- who, for the longest time, had loved to pick on you and your friends- especially Eli and Demetri.

But Moon, who turned out to be so sweet after she started doing and saying things for herself as opposed to whatever her friends wanted her to and started hanging out with your friend group.

Moon, who would excitedly invite you to sleep overs and braid your hair as you gossiped about people you barely knew from school, who would do your makeup for you and take you shopping and call you pet names platonically, making you blush furiously and putting you in the verge of short-circuiting by being so casually affectionate now that you’d become friends.

And, lastly, the most recent one had been written to Miguel Diaz, of course.

Miguel, who was your best friend in the whole entire world, ever since he moved to Reseda and you first befriended him at school.

Miguel, who was currently dating Sam, who you’d drifted apart from, but couldn’t for the life of you hold a grudge against.

Yeah, Miguel.

But before he became Sam’s boyfriend, he was your boyfriend. Well… boy-friend. A boy who was a friend. And things were good as they were.

But then things started changing.

Things started changing when Miguel asked Sam out and you realized you didn’t like that. When the first thing he did when he got home was to tell you all about it, and you felt a pit in your stomach as he went on about how well things had gone.

Until you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore and had to face the reality that the reason it all made you feel so awful was that you were jealous.

It was even worse to figure out why: as much as you could try to lie to yourself and pretend you were just jealous that she was spending time with your best friend, you knew you had to face it: it all came down to the simple fact that you were in love with him.

You didn’t know when it happened, or what was the turning point for that, but you were. Utterly and irredeemably.

And, in hindsight, it seemed obvious.

But then they started dating, and they didn’t want you to feel left out, so they would you and Aisha everywhere, which made things so much worse.

And then they broke up, and things got, somehow, even weirder. Now it was all you and Miguel again, and, even after all of that, you still had those stupid feelings for him. But you weren’t a complete bitch, or insensitive. You’d never make a move, you’d just have to live with it.

Which didn’t mean there was nothing you could do about it: you decided to try to put an end to it, your own way.

Hence, how letter number six came to be. Signed, addressed, stamped, sealed and stored in the blue box under all the others.

Maybe after this you’d be able to move on. Maybe after this things would go back to normal. How you craved for things to go back to how they used to be.

It seemed reasonable enough to just wait on your feelings to die out.

But a certain day came when then Eli- well, Eli, who was Hawk now, marched up to you in the middle of your gym class.

“Y/n?” He called your name, and you stopped running your laps, turning around to face him, eyebrows knit together in confusion. What was Hawk doing in your gym class?

You let him approach you. “What’s wrong?”

“Look, I appreciate it but it’s… not gonna happen. Like, you know we’re friends, and you know I'm still like… hung up on Moon, or whatever. Right? I know the power of the Hawk’s pretty irresistible,” he smirked, quickly going back to his stern expression, “but you should cut it out.”

You really had no idea what the hell he could be possibly talking about. “Dude… what?”

“C’mon you don’t have to play dumb, it’s cool that you think my scar makes me look cute or whatever but like. I uh. Don’t have any feelings for you now.” Wait, what did he say about the scar? He kept on. “And like it’s- it’s pretty cool that you liked me before and now too but this would just- this would be weird. You know that, right?”

You just weren't getting it.

And then you saw it: in his hand, signed, addressed and stamped, were two open envelopes with two different names written on them in your best cursive handwriting. Fuck.

“Hey- woah are you alright? You look like you're gonna pass out.”

You felt like you were going to pass out. You couldn’t even form a sentence in the midst of your shock.

And then, Miguel came into your line of sight. Because of course things had to get worse.

“There’s no fucking way,” you muttered, incredulous. He was walking up to you, a red envelope in hand.

The letters got out the letters got out the letters got out.

He looked confused. He obviously, and much understandably, wanted answers. Answers you’d much rather get hot by a bus than giving him.

This could not be your fucking life.

“No, no, no, no, no, oh, my god,” you looked around frantically as he got closer, trying to figure out what to do. Hawk surely thought you were crazy now.

And then Miguel made eye contact with you and he had that fucking look of pity on his face and you panicked. And so you did the first thing that came to your short-circuiting mind, which was possibly the dumbest thing you could have thought to do: apparently all you managed to think of was jumping Hawk, tackling him to the ground and kissing him in the middle of gym for Miguel to see.

How maturer and over him you were! Incredible!

The kiss was over as soon as it happened, and you pulled away as Hawk stared at you with two wide eyes and shock all over his face.

You could sympathize with the guy- getting this as a reaction to your rejection was probably really confusing.

More important things going on, though. You got a glance of Miguel stopping in his tracks at your little theatrics, making you realize it definitely didn’t do anything other than make things more awkward for you.

“Uh. Thanks. Sorry or… whatever. I’ll see you in bio!” You told Hawk, patting his chest before standing up and booking away from him, running past Miguel way too quickly for him to be able to approach you and ignoring his call of your name, and locking yourself in one of the stalls of the closest bathroom you were able to find, trying every single breathing exercise you’ve ever come across to calm yourself down.

This was it. Miguel hated you, surely.

No, worse: he pitied you. Because obviously he didn't feel the same and obviously receiving a love letter so embarrassingly honest from his closest friend was weird. Now your friendship was going to be weird, and it was all you fau-

“Y/n? Are you in there?”

No. No. No, no, no, no, no, no. This can't be happening, there was no way.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

Goddamn Robby Keene.

“Oh my god,” you muttered to yourself. Maybe willing him away in your mind would alter reality so he wasn’t there in the bathroom with you.

If only it were that easy.

Resting your head in your hands as you tried to convince yourself this was some sort of nightmare, you heard a noise come from really close to you and opened your eyesto the pink envelope being slid under the stall to you.

“I thought you’d want it back. Seemed pretty personal.”

“Robby, holy shit, I’m so sorry. You do know I wrote this like years ago, right?” He had to have figured that out, didn’t he? You weren’t even close anymore.

“Yeah! Like freshman year right? When we smoked together while everyone was at the dance.” He didn't seem to be mocking you, didn't seem to be angry. Just pointing it out. You sighed and opened the stall door, deciding facing Robby wouldn't be as bad as facing Miguel. You walked out.

“Yeah it was- it was pretty cool. Better than whatever was going down in the dance.”

“Yeah, I taught you how to smoke that day!” He smiled. “Thinking back on it makes me think you shouldn’t have been hanging out with me back then, actually,” he points out.

You could only let out a small laugh. “I guess not.”

“Look, I don’t know why you decided to send this but uh. I feel like I should tell you that Sam and I are like. Together.”

They were? “Oh. Right! Duh. Obviously. I knew that.” You most definitely did not know that. “I don’t know how this got out, really. I never meant for you to actually see this.”

“Look, we can still be friends. You’re pretty cool. Even with… you know…” he motioned vaguely, “the whole Cobra Kai thing”

“Okay! Yeah, definitely.” He was only being polite, because that’s how he is. But this was much better than having him think you were trying to get with him. You let out a nervous laugh. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.”

Jesus fuck.

[. . .]

You looked everywhere. Everywhere. The stupid fucking blue box just wasn't anywhere. You tried asking your mom about it, but her answer was short and simple: It probably went with the Goodwill box you’d made last week.

How, you couldn’t figure out, but it seemed to be the only slightly plausible possibility.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. That meant there were five people out there total, five people you still saw every single day, who you were friends with, who had received a fucking love letter with your name signed all pretty on it.

This was hell, it had to be.

You were sure of it when you heard a knock on your front door, accompanied by Miguel’s voice calling your name.

Shit, shit, shit, you were not ready to have this conversation. Why did he have to be your next door neighbor on top of everything? It had always been convenient to live so close to each other, but right now it seemed everything but.

So you did what any sane, responsible person would do: you got out by the kitchen window. Naturally.

Miguel would think you just weren't home.

Again, very mature and totally normal and over it of you.

You decided someone would probably be at the dojo and the last thing you wanted right now was to accidentally encounter someone else who had a letter by surprise. You figured it was too early for someone to be at the diner nearby, so there you went.

You ordered yourself a milkshake and tried to reason with yourself. You couldn't avoid Miguel forever. He’s obviously find a way to talk to you at some point. And then what would you do? Admit you were in love with him even though to him you were just best friends? Let him tell Sam you were in love with her (well, at-the-time) boyfriend? Get politely rejected by him and go around pretending being pitied by him for not being corresponded wasn’t pathetic? It all seemed to come down to terrible endings.

You were so lost in thought you didn't notice him sit beside you at the counter until he spoke up, ordering some fries.

Oh, shit.

Hawk.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, annoyed.

“Went by your place. Miguel said you weren't there. Things felt preetty awkward I’ll be honest with you. But you weren't at the dojo either so I thought I’d find you here.”

“Okay. And why did you wanna find me, exactly?”

“Look I just wanna make it double clear that nothing’s gonna happen between us. Nada.”

“Eli Moskowitz I am not trying to date you.”

He seemed to cringe at his own given name, but didn’t complain out loud about it. “Then why would you write me a love letter?”

“It was in 7th grade!”

“No, you talk about me as Hawk though.”

“Last year! Right when you did… that,” you motioned vaguely to his mohawk.

“Okay I hear you but like. Your mouth is saying one thing… but then your mouth said… something… else. To my mouth. Directly.”

“What? Ew!”

“You jumped me!”

“I was panicking! And I’m like, actually sorry.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

You let out a sigh, defeated. “Miguel was walking over.”

“And?”

“And he also got one of those,” you motioned with your head at the letter in Hawk’s hand, “and I cannot deal with that right now.”

His expression shifted. “Wait, I’m not the only one who got a letter?”

“No.”

“Huh. You really think you’re special.”

“Are you not, like, surprised about Miguel?”

“Oh, no, it was pretty obvious. But damn you get a love letter and think you’re the man but then you find out she wrote to another guy too?”

“Oh there’s six of them, so don’t go feeling too special.”

“Six of them?”

You then realize you’d spoken too much. He doesn’t need to know all of this. “Nevermind.”

“Damn y/n, fuck yeah, you're a player! Who were they for?”

“No one! It’s none of your business.”

“Come on, I deserve to know! You did kinda jump me in front of a bunch of people.”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“I mean I wouldn't- I wouldn't want people to find out you think my scar looks hot. Or that when you look at me you think about ‘kissing the annoying smirk off my lips’- I mean who knows what guarantees you don’t have a tattoo of my face on your ass-”

That was embarrassing enough. “Okay shut up! Shut up. Fine, if you wanna know so bad. So two for you. Then uh. Demetri, in-”

“You had a crush on Demetri?”

You kept on. “Then Robby Keene, on freshman year.”

“What, do you have a thing for LaRusso’s boyfriends or…?”

“How did you know they were together? I didn’t know!”

He just shrugged, and you continued. “And then there was uh-” you glanced at him and back to your milkshake. “Moon, after she uh. Started dating you, and hanging out with us.”

He let out a snort. “Right.”

“Sorry. I uh- I know she broke up with you-”

“What, are you gonna make a move on her? Is this what you have a thing for, crushing on your friends’ partners?”

“No. And you asked me about it!”

He looked sorry. He didn’t say it. He sighed. “Fine. Is that everyone?”

“With Miguel, yeah, that’s everyone.”

“Okay. I was the only one to get two letters though.”

You rolled your eyes at the comment. Of course he’d make this be about feeding his ego. The two of you finished your food in an awkward silence before he spoke up again. “Did you walk here?”

“Yeah.”

“You want a ride?”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s fine.”

“Okay.” After paying, you walked outside, getting on his motorbike. He surrendered his only helmet to you.

Holding onto his waist the whole time after all this was definitely weird but you didn’t let yourself think about it too much, instead thinking about a bigger issue: you really, really hoped Miguel wouldn’t be there when you got home. You got to the parking lot, getting off the bike, taking off the blue helmet and handing it back to him. “How do you even put this on with your hair?” You questioned.

He laughed. “I just like. Push it back.”

“But how does it not ruin it?”

He shrugged. “Power of the Hawk.” He smirked, full of himself.

“Oh, come on. I bet you walk around with a little bottle of hair gel so you can fix it when you take it off.”

“Magician never reveals his secrets-” he looked off at something behind you that caught his attention. You furrowed your eyebrows together in confusion, turning around to see what it was.

Miguel. He hadn't noticed your presence yet, but there was no way he wasn’t going to.

What do you do now? You felt paralyzed.

Hawk seemed to think of something before you could. He placed his helmet on the handle of the bike, very obviously making sure to make noise with it to attract attention, and leaned in, pulling you into a kiss. A… rather passionate one.

He pulled away, wordlessly leading you in the direction of your front door. You got the hint, walking to your place without turning around, and unlocking the door. He pushed you in and closed the door behind him with his foot, loudly. You stayed like that, with him leaning on the door and your bodies flushed together, in silence, trying to listen if Miguel was walking towards your door or not. After a couple seconds, you figured he was not, and you pulled away from him.

“Sorry,” he looked at the floor, sheepish. An usual sight for the new him. “First thing that came to mind.”

“Why is jumping each other the first thing that we think of when we panic?” You laughed.

Hawk laughed along, more at ease knowing you weren’t mad at him. “You did it first.”

You sat down on your couch, but he stayed standing. “Sorry to pull you into this. And thank you for helping out just now. Think I’ll just pity myself ‘till I sleep and then die of embarrassment tomorrow when I see him or something. You can go if you want.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll- yeah.” He started walking to the door, but stopped midway, turning around to face you again. “Hey what if-” he tried to find the words to explain his idea- “um- he probably thinks we’re dating right? Or at least hooking up, or something. I mean, after all the kissing… and stuff.”

“Shit. Yeah. I’ll clear things up, sorry-”

“No! What if- what if we let him?”

“What… do you mean?”

“What if we let him think we’re dating? And not just him. Everyone else too.”

“Why would we do that?”

“So he won’t think you're in love with him!”

“I’ll rephrase it then. Why would you do that?”

“I mean you know- you know I’m still really into Moon. Maybe we could make her… want what she can’t get?”

“You think that would work? On Moon?”

He just shrugged. “Maybe.”

“So you’re suggesting we fake-date.”

“I guess.”

“Have you never seen a movie with a fake dating trope? Doesn't end well.”

“What, you think you’ll catch feelings?” He opened his signature grin, and you sighed, annoyed.

“I’m just saying it’s probably gonna blow up on our face eventually.”

“Why? We can just pretend to date for like a couple weeks. And then we break up or whatever.”

“I’m not-” This could not be a good idea. Could it? “Look I’ll- I’ll think about it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

[. . .]

Miguel, Miguel, Miguel. Miguel seemed to be what occupied your thoughts the most. No matter how absurd the amount of drama you were going through was, your thoughts always came back to him.

But the night after the letters got out… it wasn't like that. Eli Moskowitz- well, Hawk, hadn’t been in your head all that much ever since you got over the last crush you had on him a couple years ago. But now Miguel wasn't the only thing in your head anymore, weird of a way as everything else had come into your thoughts.

So you decided.

A/N: in all honesty im only rewriting this because im in a bit of a slum and i almost deleted this off of my ao3 bc of how terribly written the original chapters are lol so idk here’s something someone might like i guess. I won’t be in any rush to post the chapters of this whatsoever, scandalous is 100% my priority this is just for some piece of mind bc I know I’m better than the shitty writing in the original version of this lol

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