#He’d only serve as just another example

[ironunderstands]

Sunday’s worldview sucks, his outlook and perception of himself and others sucks… and that’s why he’s so interesting

In honor of his drip marketing releasing tonight (or maybe yesterday for you depending on when I get this out), I’d like to talk about why I think Sunday’s beliefs and perspective is very, very flawed and how his own biases rather than the actions of those who oppose him are what led to his downfall.

Sunday is entirely responsible for his own failure, and that’s exactly why he’s incredible.

This contains mentions of leaks and spoilers for the Penacony quest line… you have been warned

To start with, oh my lord do Sunday’s preconceived notions kick him in the ass. 

I think the best example of this is his conversation with Dr. Ratio in which Ratio pretends to betray Aventurine, selling out his plan to Sunday. Now, what’s incredibly interesting about this exchange is that Ratio doesn’t fully lie to Sunday once in this exchange, rather he says half truths and makes vague statements which Sunday himself interprets as being in support of him. 

Take what Ratio said the whole, “A scholar knows their position and wouldn’t forsake it for the sake of petty pride.” In retrospect, we know this line is actually referring to Aventurine- aka Ratio is saying he’s not just going to sell him out to Sunday for the sake of information about the Stellaron (which he would get anyways if the IPC attained Penacony, plus Mr. Incredibly Dedicated Knowledge Spreader probably has other means of gaining it then through The Family). 

However, since Ratio answered the invitation Sunday gave him, Sunday assumes that Ratio is on his side, believes his cause is righteous, and that he won Ratio over with offering him information about the Stellaron, therefore making that previous statement of Ratio’s null, because Sunday interpreted it as, “convince me this is worth my time + prove to me you’re correct,” when it really meant, “there is no way in hell I’m about to sacrifice my friend to you, and there is nothing you could offer me to make me do so you crazed lunatic.”

But why did Sunday not weigh the options? Why did he unquestioningly believe his perception of the situation was the correct one?

Well- partly it’s because Ratio and Aventurine were doing their damndest to make it seem like they hate each other and that their plan was going off the rails.

But the more important part is that even without Ratio saying a word or even accepting the invitation, Sunday already believes he’d be on his side. 

Let me demonstrate this through Sunday's perspective:

I am a righteous person, I am doing the correct things, my worldview is the correct one. Dr. Ratio is also a righteous person who seems to be doing the correct things. Therefore, since we are both on the side of good, and Aventurine is clearly not on that side considering his status as Stoneheart and his negative relationship to Ratio, then Ratio will naturally want to be on my side. After all, the good guys work together, do they not?- and together will vanquish this evil villain.

This perspective is a simple one, but Sunday’s unshaking belief (up until the end of 2.2) that he is 100% in correct and in the right, that any and everyone who he also perceives to be in the right (like Ratio) would believe/side with him without truly needing to be convinced. Sunday doesn’t come out the gate offering the Stellaron information- he only keeps it as a backup just in case. 

However, this is complicated because Sunday is also not an idiot, and he’s extremely paranoid, so he’s going to make sure that the way he views the world is 100% correct on the off chance he’s wrong which could foil his plans- which is why he invited Ratio in the first place. Nevertheless, this isn’t him hunting for new perspectives, but rather him desiring to prove himself right again, which is a bad thing because Sunday is very much not right. 

A perfect world is a perfect pris- *gets shot*

Reference that approximately 2 ½ people will get beside, Sunday’s ideology that he is fully confident in.. sucks. It sucks ass, it’s terrible, and let me explain.

I’m not going to try going over all the little intricacies to how the dreamscape works because I a) don’t know and b) don’t particularly care because they aren’t relevant to the argument I will be making- which is that Sunday’s ideology is inherently flawed and immediately falls apart under scrutiny.

Essentially, he desires to create the perfect fake reality, enveloping the whole galaxy in Ena’s dream and fulfilling their every desire and whim within it, with himself as the sacrifice to allow it to exist. The seven rest days, no illness, no pain, no challenge, you get the idea. 

And, this perfect world paradoxically sucks ass because of its perfectness.

Improving society is great, eliminating hardship is great, increasing quality of life is great.

But declawing reality itself- absolutely not.

I’m going to try to explain this through my favorite strangely specific anecdote- the process of obtaining diamonds in Minecraft.

Stay with me now.

You essentially have two options- go out and mine them yourselves the hard way, which takes hours, gives you less diamonds per the amount of time spent on it, and likely with you exhausting some of your resources like food, torches, and tools which you will need to replenish.

Or.

You can just.. get them from creative mode or commands, and you can get as many as your heart desires.

However, despite the fact that option one is harder, gives you less diamonds and takes significantly more time, I, as well as hopefully you, would pick it every time (at least in a survival world, although honestly idk why you would even need pure diamonds in creative).

And that’s because the first option is rewarding. 

You did not earn the diamonds you easily and magically summoned into your inventory, there is no struggle, no journey, no challenge to it, therefore it feels entirely unremarkable, as compared to the feeling you (hopefully) get from mining diamonds, which makes you happy because you earned it. Yeah, it was harder, but the process itself is fun- the anticipation of not knowing when you’re going to find them, if at all, the danger, the fighting and digging and mauvering you will have to do in the process.

And with this unconventional example, the fatal flaw with Sunday’s ideology is revealed- it’s boring. 

It’s boring as shit.

Yeah, for the first few months or even years it might be enjoyable- having everything you could ever want served on a silver platter. However, humans are a) inherently a bit greedy and b) desire challenge, and this scenario fulfilles neither of those things. Naturally having everything means your desire for more can never be fulfilled, leaving the wanter forever unsatisfied, whereas in the real world, things are truly out of your reach, meaning that even if you never end up getting them, they are still a tangible thing just out of reach… as strange at it sounds, we like being tantalilus-ed more than you think. After all, if what you want is so easy to get, you will never run out of things to want, and eventually that gets draining. 

Continually, if everything is easy, if everything is just right there whenever you want it- existence itself no longer has stakes. 

And that’s the problem, because much like how a story with no stakes is extremely hard to find compelling, a life with no stakes feels boring at best and downright pointless and meaningless at worst.

I’m just saying, there is a reason why the Nihility was such a strong presence and problem in Penacony.

Anyways, like with the diamond problem, a lack of stakes means that nothing you do feels rewarding, because you didn’t truly earn it. 

Which is where the Sunday’s idea of a “perfect” reality falls apart, because the most enjoyable reality for humans to live in is not one literally devoid of any possible flaw.

So why does he believe in it? When it’s so clearly flawed?

Well, it’s because Sunday doesn’t think a better alternative exists.

The world made you this way.. and you chose to continue what it started.

I’m sure I don’t need to repeat the story of the Charmony Dove all over again because trust me, we’ve all heard it before. Nonetheless, it reveals something important both about Sunday’s personality and his ideology- he’s fundamentally a defeatist.

He doesn’t believe that there is any alternative for the dove, that it could ever be able to fly again with its deformed nature, so instead of being “cruel” and letting it “inevitably fall to its death,” he’d rather keep it in a cage all its life where it has no freedom, but at least it would he alive and “happy”.

And this is where his defeatism reveals itself- Sunday doesn’t believe reality itself can get better because improving it when there are so many factors and things out of your control is hard at best and impossible at worst. Therefore, he resorts to creating an escapist, false version of it- a perfect golden cage, because constructing that is far, far easier than trying to help the dove fly again. 

The universe has endless possibilities, if Robin and Sunday had tried hard enough, they probably could have found a solution. Sure, they were both children, so the capabilities necessary to even attempt that were likely far out of their reach. However, it was still possible, but Sunday doesn’t believe in possibilities- he believes he’s right above all else, which is where that stubbornness and arrogance comes into play again.

Sunday doesn’t think better solutions than his exists, and he believes everyone would could possibly stand in his noble way are either villains, or horribly misguided; so it’s his job to show them the light.

This is why he lets the Express Crew + Firefly try to change his mind- Sunday wasn’t actually interesting in shifting his perspective, or really what they wanted to say. Rather, he just wanted to let them say there peace, because well, Sunday’s a good, righteous person (at least from his perspective), and good, righteous people listen to others. Good, righteous people will let these poor, ignorant souls offer their foolish words before exposing them to the harsh truth- or at least that’s how Sunday sees it. 

Moreover, this also explains his arrogance. If he believes his worldview is the sole correct one, then why listen to anyone else? He’s this world's savior, or at least he’s been raised to believe that- so why not relish in it? He enjoys punishing Aventurine, enjoys the bastard who stood in the way of Sunday’s plans, shrinks away in “defeat” and get what he “deserves.” Despite how miserable it sounds, Sunday also takes pride in having to be a martyr to bring about his beautiful dream. The belief that he is a selfless, good person is a selfish desire of his, even if a genuine one, and it’s what leads to his downfall.

Sunday could have actually listened. He could have reevaluated his loss to Aventurine and realized it was not through the others clever deception, but through his own biases. He could have actually taken the Express’s and Firefly’s advice. He could have looked for other avenues to help the people he truly does care about. 

Despite Gopher Wood’s manipulation- Sunday’s decision to go forward with the pain is entirely his own, because he truly believes- even with all the evidence for the contrary- that he is correct.

And that’s why he fails. Not because of the Express. Not because of Ratio. Not because of Aventurine. Not because of Gopher, or even the rest of The Family.

No, Sunday fails because he is flawed, and he is wrong, and he is the arrogant, selfish and biased one, and his worldview is wrong.

So what now?

This might have seemed like I think Sunday is pure evil and irredeemable, but I think it’s quite the opposite.

He has very good intentions, and he does genuinely care about it the well being of other people around him. He gives Aventurine a chance to prove his innocence, even if he never intended on changing, he does listen to what the Express + Firefly have to say. He pauses when Robin shows up, as she’s the one person (until the very end) he’s actually willing to accept the perspective of. The whole reason he ended up here in the first place is because Gopher Wood twisted Sunday’s good intentions into a fatal arrogance and utmost belief in a flawed worldview. 

However, what really sells me on Sunday’s goodness is when eyes widen at that final moment, the light draining from him as he realizes he is wrong. 

And once Sunday realizes he is wrong, those flaws that bind him can finally be examined and improved upon, as they all stem from that worldview he no longer believes in. 

His whole life, Sunday has been enacting out someone else’s plan for him, even if he’s come to internalize it over time, at the end of the day- it was never his, and without it, he’s empty.

Which is exactly why the only place he can go now is the Express, and the only thing left for him is redemption and growth.

Dan Heng is right- Sunday has a noble soul, and now that he has stopped believing in himself, he’s no longer shackled by the past either. Improvement or utter demise (in a likely nihility-flavored manner) are his only options remaining.

I understand a lot of people want to see him become a Stellaron Hunter, but imo, that just does nothing for him. He’d still be following someone else’s path/script, and Mr. I Will Sacrifice My Whole Existence To Become The Sun To Illuminate These Wandering Souls probably wouldn’t be so on board with the whole.. terrorism part of being a SH. Like yeah, they are our friends (kinda), but they absolutely kill innocent people and cause millions of dollars in property damage to people who don’t deserve it. 

Also, being on the Express Just Makes Sense. This is a game about choices, a game about accepting the mistakes of your past, but not letting them define you in order to move on and forge a better future for yourself and others- with the Astral Express + Trailblaze as a concept being the literal embodiment of it. There’s a reason when you switch to the Trailblazer’s POV in stories, it includes Kafka’s most important words to us- “When you have the chance to make a choice, make one you won’t regret.”

Therefore, I hope the choices Sunday will make in 2.7 are ones he’s proud of, and I can’t wait to see how exactly they get him on board with the crew, because there still is a LOT of development he needs to do before then. 

Anyways, thank you so much for reading, and if you have any thoughts I’d love to hear them. This was a stream of consciousness mess, but I hope it was still valuable nonetheless! Also if you are reading this on the day it was written, I hope we don’t get disappointed by his drip marketing!

[eyeheartboobiez]

nicknames that bruce + the batboys would call you

warnings: sexual themes in jason’s part, fem!reader a/n: just sumn slight. enjoy😁

⁎⁺˳ 𝒷𝓇𝓊𝒸𝑒 ミ

❀ bruce grew up wealthy so he would definitely call you something more on the classy side

❀ things like darling, angel, dear, my love, etc.

❀ he also has a habit of referring to you as “my wife” (because he’s possessive asf)

❀ “sorry guys, i really can’t stay for another drink. i’ve got to get back to my wife.”

❀ “you said these shoes were dior? oh, im sure my wife would love these.”

❀ on the flip side, he also really likes referring to himself as your husband (one might say he does it for the ego boost)

❀ like whenever you too are meeting someone for the first time, he'll introduce you first and then only introduce himself as "your husband"

❀ because why should someone care about him, a mega rich billionaire, when his lovely and radiant wife is standing right next to him?

⁎⁺˳ 𝒹𝒾𝒸𝓀 ミ

❀ dick would definitely be the type to call you something super lovey-dovey and over the top

❀ sugarplum, honey bunches, buttercup, (and if he really wants to get on your nerves,) shnookums

❀ he knows it’s lame, but he genuinely doesn’t care

❀ since his love language is acts of service, you tend to hear a lot of "let me get that for ya, honeybun"

❀ or something like “hey sugarplum! im on my way home from work, you want me to pick up anything?”

❀ or even "don't worry about dinner honeylove, lemme take care of things tonight."

❀ regardless of how annoying it is, you can't help but love his teasing nicknames for you

❀ like you two are that annoying couple that everyone loves can't stand seeing at the function (i know valentine's day hatesss to see yall coming)

❀ off topic but if the two of you had a kid together, i imagine him nicknaming your daughter ‘love bug’ (AWWW)

⁎⁺˳ 𝒿𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃 ミ

❀ despite his thick exterior, jason’s a lover boy at heart

❀ he’d call you stuff like babe, doll, sweetheart, hon, y’know all that cheesy stuff

❀ most importantly though, this boy lovesss to call you mama

❀ like for example, he usually likes to greet you with a casual "hey mama, you doin okay?" followed by a quick peck on the check

❀ or if you're being goofy trying to get him to feel better, he'll probably say something like "c'mon mama, cut it out" as a smile inevitably blossoms on his face

❀ alongside this, he also has a weird kink thing for calling himself papa

❀ either “thatsss it sweetheart, come to papa” or “let papa bear handle it, ‘kay? you just sit down there and look pretty f’me.”

❀ you have absolutely no idea where he got it from because jason swears up and down that he's never done it until he got in a relationship with you

⁎⁺˳ 𝓉𝒾𝓂 ミ

❀ while tim is such a sweetheart, so his pet names for you would most definitely reflect that

❀ sweets, pretty, baby love, cutie; simple stuff like that

❀ also, let’s not forget that this boy is a certified LEWSER, so that also shows within you guys’ relationship

❀ he sometimes calls you pookie (he’s chronically online…)

❀ he'd probably be up texting you at 2am (because why wouldn’t be be up at that time) and is like “hey pooks u wanna check out this new italian place i found? i saw that they serve a few of ur faves”

❀ he also has a nasty habit of referring to you as dude or bro

❀ you'll often get random tiktoks from him throughout the day like "bro look this is totally us" or "me & u fr🥹"

❀ sure it's corny but the sentiment is sweet so you don't really mind

❀ a lot of people think the relationship you both have may be a bit odd, but neither of you care (and that's all that matters <3)

[physalian]

How To Make Your Writing Less Stiff 5

Movement

Dredging this back up from way back.

Make sure your characters move, but not too much during heavy dialogue scenes. E.g. two characters sitting and talking—do humans just stare at each other with their arms lifeless and bodies utterly motionless during conversation? No? Then neither should your characters. Make them…

Gesture

Wave

Frown

Laugh

Cross their legs/their arms

Shift around to get comfortable

Pound the table

Roll their eyes

Point

Shrug

Touch their face/their hair

Wring their hands

Pick at their nails

Yawn

Stretch

Sniff/sniffle

Tap their fingers/drum

Bounce their feet

Doodle

Fiddle with buttons or jewelry

Scratch an itch

Touch their weapons/gadgets/phones

Check the time

Get up and sit back down

Move from chair to tabletop

The list goes on.

Bonus points if these are tics that serve to develop your character, like a nervous fiddler, or if one moves a lot and the other doesn’t—what does that say about the both of them? This is where “show don’t tell” really comes into play.

As in, you could say “he’s nervous” or you could show, “He fidgets, constantly glancing at the clock as sweat beads at his temples.”

This site is full of discourse on telling vs showing so I’ll leave it at that.

Epithets

In the Sci-fi WIP that shall never see the light of day, I had a flashback arc for one male character and his relationship with another male character. On top of that, the flashback character was a nameless narrator for Reasons.

Enter the problem: How would you keep track of two male characters, one who you can't name, and the other who does have a name, but you can’t oversaturate the narrative with it? I did a few things.

Nameless Narrator (written in 3rd person limited POV) was the only narrator for the flashback arc. I never switched to the boyfriend’s POV.

Boyfriend had only a couple epithets that could only apply to him, and halfway through their relationship, NN went from describing him as “the other prisoner” to “his cellmate” to “his partner” (which was also a double entendre). NN also switched from using BF’s full name to a nickname both in narration and dialogue.

BF had a title for NN that he used exclusively in dialogue, since BF couldn’t use his given name and NN hadn’t picked a new one for himself.

Every time the subject of the narrative switched, I started a new paragraph so “he” never described either character ambiguously mid-paragraph.

Is this an extreme example? Absolutely, but I pulled it off according to my betas.

The point of all this is this: Epithets shouldn’t just exist to substitute an overused name. Epithets de-personalize the subject if you use them incorrectly. If your narrator is thinking of their lover and describing that person without their name, then the trait they pick to focus on should be something equally important to them. In contrast, if you want to drive home how little a narrator thinks of somebody, using depersonalizing epithets helps sell that disrespect.

Fanfic tends to be the most egregious with soulless epithets like "the black-haired boy" that tell the reader absolutely nothing about how the narrator feels about that black-haired boy, espeically if they're doing so during a highly-emotional moment.

As in, NN and BF had one implied sex scene. Had I said “the other prisoner” that would have completely ruined the mood. He’s so much more than “the other prisoner” at that point in the story. “His partner,” since they were both a combat team and romantically involved, encompassed their entire relationship.

The epithet also changed depending on what mood or how hopeless NN saw their situation. He’d wax and wane over how close he believed them to be for Reasons. NN was a very reserved character who kept BF at a distance, afraid to go “all in” because he knew there was a high chance of BF not surviving this campaign. So NN never used “his lover”.

All to say, epithets carried the subtext of that flashback arc, when I had a character who would not talk about his feelings. I could show you the progression of their relationship through how the epithets changed.

I could show you whenever NN was being a big fat liar about his feelings when he said he's not in love, but his narration gave him away. I could show you the exact moment their relationship shifted from comrades to something more when NN switched mid-paragraph from "his cellmate" to "his partner" and when he took up BF's nickame exclusively in the same scene.

I do the same thing in Eternal Night when Elias, my protagonist, stops referring to Dorian as "it" and "the vampire" instead of his name the moment they collide with a much more dangerous vampire, so jarringly that Elias notices in his own narration—the point of it being so explicit is that this degredation isn't automatic, it's something he has to conciously do, when everyone else in his clan wouldn't think twice about dehumanizing them.

—

Any literary device should be used with intent if you want those layers in your work. The curtains are rarely just blue. Whether it’s a simile with a deliberate comparison or an epithet with deliberate connotations, your readers will pick up on the subtext, I promise.

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

blessings

old man!Joel Miller x reader | wc 1.1 k | fluff mdni | ao3

summary: Joel's body is aching and so is his soul, but you make it all better or a domestic moment with Joel and you.

warnings: fluff without plot, no y/n, established relationship, unspecified agegap (think reader being around 30), Joel having bad joints but hey, he is 62 and alive, kisses, Joel being a cute grump, so many feelings, so much love, petnames (baby, darlin', angel)

notes: this is my attempt of making us all feel better. Joel will outlive me, thank you very much. a big kiss and thank you to my partner in crime fluff @guiltyasdave for writing with me today and beta'ing and being the best person 💛💛💛

The damp cold has been hard on him. Joel won't say a single word about it, he won't complain. But his face will twist when he moves, he will huff when the pain shoots through him, he will rub his knees and wrists and fingers without even noticing it. He'll seek the warmth a little more, when he can. Because the days on the construction sites are long, even longer when he only sits crouched over his desk. The wintery cold crawls closer every minute he broods over sketches or some tiny, tricky apparatus he wants to repair but can't, because his fingers are stiff and cold and he isn’t 40 anymore.

His whole body aches when he finally gets home. And all Joel wants now is a warm shower, a warm meal and your warm body against his. He feels like a burden, these days more than usual. This isn’t like it was supposed to be, he thinks when he hears you humming in the living room, some tune from 2003, a tune he was too old for even then. You are too young. Too kind.

“Hi baby,” you whisper into his good ear and wrap your arms around him. He grunts, frowning, a fake offended expression pronouncing some wrinkles on his face and smoothing others out. Baby. He likes that, likes being called that, likes being loved. A late blessing in his life.

“Don’t…” he mumbles when you hug him tight and burrow your nose deep into the collar of his flannel. He smells like fresh cut wood, dust, sweat, home. You inhale him deeply, sighing happily against his skin before you kiss him there. “I need a shower. Get off of me, nasty thing.”

Yet Joel stays put, his big paws and your arms make sure you keep on holding him a little longer. A week or a year, a decade if he dares to dream really big. He'd die a happy man today if the Lord decided that his time has come. But that doesn’t mean he wants to go. But if he had to, he’d know that he had another big love in his life. Lucky, that's what he is.

“Take a shower, then. And eat, there's soup.” You nuzzle a trail up his neck until you reach the grey scruff adorning his jaw and cheeks. It’s scratchy but soft, grey but virile, just like Joel himself. You kiss his cheek and hold your lips there until he groans again. It’s all part of the game, a game called Joel is grumpy, no really, he is when he is nothing but a loving man.

“Yes, ma'am,” he grumbles but there is a smile painting his timbre. “Thank you, darlin’,” he adds and gratefulness joins the smiley tone of his voice.

You sit with him, watch him eat because you already ate with Ellie. You serve him a side of the latest gossip, some youngins fooling around, breaking up in the middle of the street. He laughs and shakes his head, says something about how young love makes you do crazy things and when he looks at you – with your chin propped up on your folded hands, smiling at him – he is reminded that you are the same age as these young fools. You are more than grown up and an adult, you are a whole woman, have a whole story and lived a life before Jackson, but still, there are decades between you.

Young love really makes you do crazy things, loving an old man like him for example.

His stiff muscles and cold bones got a little better in the hot shower, and when he joins you on the edge of the bed he can feel the siren call of your warmth.

You can tell that he hurts. He never says a single word about it. But he hisses and grunts when he thinks you don't hear him. He curses his old bones and you spend your days lifting those curses, one by one, with kisses and caresses. You take the towel from him and continue drying his grey curls, knowing each one of them by name. You move behind him and dab his back dry, taking an inventory of his scars and spots and blemishes. Constellations, you think, and draw an invisible line to mark the Big Dipper he carries below his right shoulder blade.

Joel groans and shifts, both impatient for you to stop and not wanting you to ever stop. He shivers, the cold crawls over the hardwood floor and nips on his ankles.

“Need to lay down now, ‘m cold.” He tugs at the covers and you move to lift them for you and him. With a sigh he leans back, slowly – because his back is protesting – until he feels the mattress beneath welcoming him. The dips his body has carved into the worn material are hugging him but there is no warmth, just the promise of simple and plain sleep. But when your arms loop around him and your hands skim across his chest and arms? There is warmth. And he knows he will rest and recharge and recover.

His feet sneak closer to yours and his hands slip between your legs. You muffle your yelp against his shoulder and Joel sighs contently when the soft heat of your thighs starts seeping into his aching joints. When spring comes around, he'll be able to use his fingers on you again, differently, like he knows you're aching for. For now all he can do is soak up your care and love for him.

“You deserve better, darlin’,” he whispers between placing kisses on your temple, “Deserve someone your age, who can make ya happy and–”

“--still has a life to live and who can give me what I need,” you finish his sentence for him. “I know, I know. Ever considered that you are who I need? And want?”

Joel scoffs but he's smiling. Blessed, that’s what he is.

“Stubborn thing.”

“Just matching your energy, Miller.”

Another scoff and he's pulling one of your legs between his. Tangled, intertwined, not planning on letting you go, as long as he can manage to hold you by his side.

With your head tucked under his chin and your hand slowly rubbing his back, right where a scar sits and always makes his muscles knot, you close your eyes. He still smells like wood and musk, like what you've searched for for so long and found in his arms.

“Love you,” you murmur, tongue already heavy from the looming sleep.

“Love you the most, angel,” Joel answers and nuzzles the top of your head. Counting his blessings before he falls asleep. His daughters, his nephew. His brother and Maria. The people he loved along the way and still loves. And with you on his mind, as his last blessing, he drifts off.

I hope this could make you feel a little better on this Monday, please let me know know your thoughts, comments and especially reblogs are welcome! 🫶

general masterlist here

dividers: @/diviniyae

[dearru]

like a dog | s.hinata

-> pairing: hinata shoyo x gn!reader | sfw | cw: lovesick shoyo | wc: 1080 | genre: fluff | mlist

-> synopsis: shoyo always thinks about you. 

SHOYO’s not ashamed to admit that he’s a little obsessed with you.

He thinks about you all the time. At work, at the gym, in the shower. Your face is so etched into his memory that you appear in perfect clarity, slipping into his mind during the most mundane of moments. He’s always been an appreciative individual, but loving you has increased his gratefulness by tenfold. Thoughts of you make the ordinary feel sacred. 

But as much as he loves to think of you, he appreciates being with you far more. 

He’s just gotten home from a long day of training, and while his muscles ached, it’s his heart that feels the real strain. As much as he loves his job, hours spent away from you are absolute torture. For every second he’s not with you, he finds himself craving your presence more than anything in the world. 

It’s on nights like this one, when his body is sore and mind’s sick from longing, that there’s only one cure for his ailment– you. 

When he tip-toes into the bedroom, his chest lurches with excitement when he sees your figure laying in your shared bed. You’re already tucked under the quilted covers, but he can tell your mind is far from sleep. Your tired eyes are illuminated by the faint glow of a computer screen, and he watches you sigh deeply as your lithe fingers idly type away.

You work too hard. 

He frowns. It’s a bit silly to think about himself chastising you for overdoing it. Shoyo’s always been a proponent of the “you can never work too hard” mindset. He’s a firm believer that there are no shortcuts in life. If you want to succeed, you must pursue your ambition in earnest and push yourself past your limits. 

He’s preached this mindset time and time again. During conversations with friends, interviews with the press, and with his teammates. 

But in spite of it all, he finds himself wishing you’d rest. Even if it was just for a little while. 

Along with subscribing to the idea that there is merit in working hard, he also believes that one should lead by example. So, with a quiet resolve, he decides to display relaxation to you.

If his own selfish desires also happened to be served in the process, then it was just a happy coincidence. 

A smile tugs at his lips as he crawls on the mattress to lay with you. Even without touching you, the radiant warmth of your body embraces his skin and instantly relaxes him. 

When Shoyo was younger, he used to think he’d never be tied down. He was always flighty, always restless, always chasing the next big thing. 

But then he met you. 

You made settling down something worth doing. You taught him– among other things– the beauty of slowing down.

You are his home. 

He inches closer, longing for your affection. You hum in acknowledgement, eyes fixated on the screen, lost in whatever it was you were working on. His heart swells at the way you bite your lip in concentration.

He loves how hard you work, even when you don’t have to.

But that doesn’t mean he won’t fight to steal some of your time for himself. 

“I’m lonely.” Shoyo drawls, pressing his cheek against your blanket-clad thigh and looking up at you in adoration. Sighing dramatically, he sprawls further across you, chasing the high of your attention like a dog begging for a treat. “Come hang out with me before I die of boredom.” 

You laugh softly, and his ears perk up at the sound. 

Hesitantly, you discard yourself of your laptop and spread your arms. Nudging your head, your voice is laced with a fond amusement. 

“C’mere.” 

He obeys your call in an instant and collapses into your embrace. It’s not long before he’s peppering your face with kisses. One kiss to the forehead, another to the eyelids, and one on the lips for good measure. They’re fervent, each filled with more energy than the last in an effort to convey just how much he loves you. 

He’s been waiting for this all day. 

“You missed me that much?” You tease through soft gasps. 

Grinning, he nods. Shoyo knows you. He’s come to recognize that beneath all the layers of sardonic sarcasm, there’s a faint fondness you reserve only for him.

“Even when I’m with you, I’m thinking about how much I’ll miss you when you leave.” He confesses, inhaling your natural scent as he curls into you. 

As sappy as it is, it’s the truth, and Shoyo is always unapologetically himself. 

You tilt your head, amused, “So why don’t you just stay with me all the time?” 

“Really?” His breath catches, and the excitable child in him rears its head. Gripping you tighter, he looks up at you with something hopeful in his chest.

When you nod, he unravels, and his smile widens. It’s bright and boyish and full of love. 

 “Okay.” He beams. “Lets. Let’s be together– always.” 

It’s a foolish declaration. Shoyo is old enough to know that by now. But when you comb your fingers through his hair in the way that you currently are, it makes him want to believe in the impossible. 

“You’re such a dork.” You chuckle.

He grins at the playful jab. He doesn’t mind when you tease him. He loves everything you do. You fill him with such a unique fondness that sometimes, he wishes he could just carve his heart out and give it to you. Maybe then you’d see how stained it’s become with your essence. 

Shoyo doesn’t think you’ll ever be able to fully comprehend how much he loves you, or how much these little moments mean to him, but that’s okay.

For now, he’s fine with just showing you.  

Settling down, he closes his eyes and lets his heart slow, basking in the feeling of your gentle hands tracing him. In your reverent touch, his once weary body is long forgotten. You make him feel warm all over, and he swears that you have the ability to transport him into a metaphysical space that transcends the limits of flesh and bone. 

In the quiet still of the night, with his heart full of love and your hands full of him, Shoyo affirms that he truly does love to think about you.

But nothing compares to the feeling of being here, in your arms.

–a/n: um…hey…haha…im not self inserting…you are…

shoyo tag for @cherrysurf

[rivereverie]

Astarion and Vanity

Spoilers for all of Astarion’s story through all acts of BG3. As always, this is just my interpretation and thoughts on the character from what I know, so feel free to disagree.

I feel that Astarion’s expression of vanity is a part of him that gets misread a lot. It’s something that is pointed to as one of his negative traits as though this vanity of his is sincere. Personally, I think his outward obsession with his own looks and charm is anything but shallow, and is yet another example of how his life experience and trauma has shaped him. 

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder (ha), and for the sake of this mild analysis, I’m going to be defining beauty as conventional physical attractiveness. The main point is that Astarion in-game is treated as being very attractive, so that’s how I will treat him in this conversation. Beauty can be a form of power; one Astarion was very clearly blessed with. While all the main companions in the game are designed to be rather attractive, for Astarion, this goes beyond simply wanting to appeal to the player and is not incidental. In my opinion, Astarion’s looks are crucial to his character. 

To briefly summarize what we all know about Astarion, he was thoroughly and systematically stripped of his autonomy and identity by Cazador. He was forced to adopt an incredibly narrow worldview of essentially: power = freedom = safety (simplified, of course). Throughout the game, he makes choices that slowly shape and are shaped by the man he’s becoming. By the end of the spawn route, he’s still only just beginning to really discover himself. This all is crucial to the heart of his character and influences all his actions. 

Given his hollow sense of identity, Astarion clings to certain traits which he parades around, making sure everyone knows these things about him. The most prominent of those traits being hedonism, sadism, selfishness, and vanity. In this post, I’m going to be focusing on the last item, though I do have a post on learned cruelty that delves into the trait of sadism in the context of his identity. The pattern here is that these traits are masks that serve to make him feel in-control of both himself and those around him. 

While Astarion may seem terribly vain, his appearance to others is actually a very deep-seated, sensitive issue that genuinely affects him. The infamous mirror scene may come across to some as him being shallow, at first, but really he’s right in what he said; his reflection is just one more thing that was taken from him, and it’s completely fair that he is angry and grieves. But this is also significant to him beyond the fact of its injustice, or the symbolism of reflection as identity. Let’s dive a little into his psyche, and guess at how he sees himself and the world: He’s spent the past 200 years being valued exclusively for his ability to bring back prey for Cazador and perform sexually. This equates to his charm and his body. After two centuries of being degraded and stripped of everything, and only ever getting any kind of positive reinforcement, praise, or acknowledgement for your looks and seductiveness, of course he’d begin unconsciously tying his sense of self-worth to his appearance. By Cazador, he was turned into a tool and a toy. By his targets, he was objectified. Dehumanized from both sides in different ways, and again, only valued for his body and whatever sweet words he could spin. This leaves him with his self-worth very profoundly tied to his appearance to others, as I said.

I imagine he had two main types of targets when under Cazador’s thrall: starry-eyed, naive folks who were swept off their feet, and more predatory characters who took advantage of an easy offer. The former were probably the only source of genuine positive attention he ever got for those 200 years, even if it was shallow. Since he cannot find self-affirmation by looking into a mirror, he finds new mirrors in the eyes of those who look upon him. His beauty is reflected in their hunger, their lust, their admiration, their bashfulness, their envy. Is it any wonder that now he flaunts himself, always making comments about how good he looks? If he doesn’t get an affirmative response, then at least it's his way of reassuring himself. Telling himself that he’s still valuable in the only way he knows how to assess his value. “I don’t need a reflection to know this looks fabulous”, he tells himself. This is why he makes so many seemingly vain comments. Why he’s so concerned with being done-up and looking good. Why he has spent so much time mending his clothes so he looks every bit the part of the dashing elven rogue. 

Speaking of his clothes, this is another way he’s clinging to his autonomy and identity even through all his years of torment. His clothes were probably one of the only things he was ever allowed to have. When you have so little, of course you’ll care for it, hence why the flavor text  for both his shirt and armor mention how his clothes are worn, but have been repaired many times by a careful hand. During those years under Cazador, it probably brought him a small sense of control to be able to mend and embroider his own clothes; the only things which he felt belonged to him, more so than his own body. Something familiar that gave him a sense of security and self. (This is why I adore the idea of him becoming a tailor after the story, because it's giving him a healthy outlet of personal expression and creating something that's entirely his own. Hobbies can be crucial to cultivating one's identity and self-esteem, and we all want that for him). Not to mention that Cazador probably would not have taken kindly to his spawn not looking their best, and that's probably a "rule" Astarion carried with him even into freedom.

I think the mirror scene is a lot more than him just seeking validation and showing us a glimpse into this part of his mind, though. It’s also about him genuinely trying to evaluate how the player character sees him, and shows how he’s trying to figure out his new identity in freedom, but that’s its own discussion for another time. I just think that it’s unfair for people to call him vain or shallow for caring about his reflection and appearance so much, when that’s all he was ever taught to value in himself.

 The only other significant way we see Astarion valuing himself is through his skills as a rogue, with his constant cocky comments about how easy it is for him. While this too is a form of external validation born of valuing himself for what he can do rather than what he is, it’s still a positive thing for him. The game doesn’t really address all this, but in my mind, him getting to make use of his skills and be valued as a part of a group that needs him is probably really good for his self-esteem at this point in his life. 

All of this to say, I don’t think it’s fair to cast judgement on him for being “vain”, given everything we know about him. There is a big difference between him and someone who genuinely sees the world through a shallow and judgmental lens. For him, his mask of vanity is a symptom of his pain and twisted worldview rather than something rotten born of privilege and a superiority complex. His self-aggrandizement is a necessary part of the narrative he’s building for himself: the vampire spawn who would ascend. Again, desperate to convince himself and those around him that he both wants and deserves this, even as his crooked worldview is being chipped away by genuine kindness and connection. This understanding of his mind shows why it’s so important to him that we see and love him for who he actually is, not just his charm and beauty. His heart is beautiful in an entirely different way that outshines his physical features, even if he himself doesn't see it. The hope is that, with his friends and perhaps partner at his side, he’ll learn to value himself for his own heart and soul; for the person he’s becoming as he gathers up the pieces of his identity. To see the light he holds within him that endured those centuries of darkness. Until the mirrors stop mattering.

[anniflamma]

Okay… I’m going to rant about a book that I read a while ago.... And I can’t deny it anymore… it was a bad book.

The Passion of Sergius and Bacchus by David Reddish. It’s a romantic retelling of the Christian saints Sergius and Bacchus.

To tell the story briefly about these saints, Sergius and Bacchus were third-century Roman soldiers and Christian martyrs. The oldest record of their martyrdom describes them as erastai (Greek for “lovers”). Scholars believe they may have been united in the rite of adelphopoiesis, a kind of early Christian same-sex union. When their Christian faith became known, after they refused to attend sacrifices to Zeus, Sergius and Bacchus were arrested and paraded through the streets in women’s clothing in an unsuccessful effort to humiliate them. The reason it failed was that the duo didn’t feel humiliated being dressed as women. After that they were both executed. Bacchus was beaten to death and Sergius was forced to walk in inward-iron-spiked metal shoes to another town and there was executed.

So, of course, when I found out there was a book retelling about them, I bought it immediately and obviously ignored the negative reviews. I read it with rose-tinted glasses on and loved it! Sure, I could see some red flags, but I ignored them, and to be honest, there are some parts of the book that is very good.

But here’s the problem with it: Reddish’s way of portraying women is… very questionable. For example, there are only two named female characters in the book. Only two. The first one is Helen, whose personality traits are that she’s pregnant and stupid. Im not kidding. Not that she actually does anything dumb, the narrative just tells us she’s stupid. She don't do anything, like she takes parts in some conversations with the other male characters but other than that, nothing. But the book itself and the maincharacters acts like she is the most dumb person there is. Later in the book, she dies, motivating another male character to make irrational decisions out of grief. Her only purpose is to serve as a plot device when she dies.....

The second named female character is Miriam (I remember right...), and she’s a homophobe. She does have a small arc where she recognizes she’s wrong, the next chapter she’s back to being homophobic again, and the narrative nor other characters doesn’t acknowledge her regression.

Trigger warning for the topic of rape.

Then there’s another female character who appears in the book. She doesn’t have a name. She’s basically just a narrative device to show that Sergius is a good person. There’s a scene where Sergius finds a group of Roman men raping a 14-year-old girl. He kills them and saves her. He doesn’t speak to her, she have no speaking lines, and then… Sergius just leaves and continues with whatever he was doing before. The plot moves on, and it’s never mentioned again....This entire scene happens in less than one page. At first, I thought it would come back to bite Sergius, you know, because he just killed four Roman men.... but nope! It was just there to show that Sergius thinks rape is bad and that he’s a skilled fighter who can take down four men at once. That’s all. Wtf?

This is why I hate stories that use rape as a tool to make a male character look good...

And then there’s the moment when Sergius and Bacchus were forced to be dressed in women’s clothing… In this retelling book, it’s portrayed as deeply shameful. Sergius has a long inner monologue about how awful he feels seeing Bacchus in women’s clothing, blah blah blah.

Like… this book shits on every single female character it has, and when it reaches the part where, in the original story, the men proudly embrace being “Brides of Christ,” it does the exact opposite. Yet Sergius is described as empathetic toward women’s suffering, that guy have inner monologues about how much he thinks that women should be treated better but at the same time he’d rather be physically tortured than wear women’s clothing.... And Sergius nor the narrative never questions why Sergius feel that way.... Talk about the irony... a modern retelling of an ancient story about two men who proudly embrace becoming "Brides of Christ" which leads to their death, yet in this version, it’s portrayed as something shameful.

How do you, as an author, take an old story from the freaking third century and potray it like this? There is no women in the legend so all these female characters are made up by the author... I can't help it but it feels like this author just simply don't like women... I really wanted to like this book... but once you see it without the redtinded glasses... it's really hard for me to recommend it... Stay away guys.

[matchalovertrait]

Hopefully this trip yields favorable results! 📊

NOTE: Frankie goes by any and all pronouns; he really doesn't care. She is also fine with being called Fransisca, btw. It doesn't matter to them.

NOTE: This is the "Area69: Mad Scientist Lab" by JoRoderick!

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

Previous | Next

Transcript

Frankie's House

[When Antonio told Frankie about his plan to dig up more on Alfonso to ensure he stays behind bars, Frankie was elated he’d finally made a choice.]

[It was risky, but better late than never. So far, the search was fruitless, yet Antonio just thought of something Frankie might help him with.]

[Today felt like a good day to inquire as he hauled heavy science equipment into Frankie’s house.]

[After Frankie revolutionized reproductive medicine with science baby technology, they began another endeavor involving a different kind of treatment.]

ANTONIO: When will this medicine be available?

FRANKIE: In our lifetime? It’s improbable. We’re still in the preclinical stage and it doesn’t look promising for the team... funding and ethics-wise.

[They answered with a nervous chuckle.]

FRANKIE: Ergo, if you want to provide me a nibling to raise as my successor, go on ahead.

ANTONIO: And if I don’t want kids either?

FRANKIE: Your kids won’t turn out like our family. Take us for example! We’re more than decent.

ANTONIO: We’re not any better than him if the plan is to fight fire with fire.

FRANKIE: It’s the only way to control him. If the government refuses to fulfill its sole purpose of serving its people, then we must take the initiative.

[Antonio sighed. He was well aware of all that, but he still feared the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree.]

ANTONIO: I have to talk to you about that. First, do you want this next to the skeleton or the waterfall?

FRANKIE: The disrespect! The skeleton has a name.

ANTONIO: I can’t believe I’m younger than you.

FRANKIE: You have no joy. Put the box over there. Simon doesn’t want you near him anyway.

ANTONIO: Tragic.

FRANKIE: Well, what’d you want to discuss? Do you want an army of clones to fight Alfonso? Should we use a freeze ray on him?

[Antonio was grateful Frankie didn’t have access to that kind of technology.]

ANTONIO: As tempting as those sound – no. Do you know anyone associated with Alfonso who might be out of prison?

FRANKIE: No. Your mom said everyone directly involved was either arrested or “taken care of.”

ANTONIO: What about your mom?

[Frankie’s mom was a woman who Alfonso had an affair with.]

FRANKIE: She didn’t play any part. She took her money, left me with you Romeros, and departed.

[It was weird how casually they spoke about these things, but Frankie was also seen as an “investment” or possible pawn before they chose their own path.]

ANTONIO: Maybe she wasn’t directly involved, but she might know something we don’t.

FRANKIE: No, no, no! I know where you’re going with this. Have a safe flight.

ANTONIO: You won’t have to see her. I understand. But I need your guidance. I’ve never been to Colombia before. And I don’t know where she lives.

FRANKIE: That’s too close for comfort. Simon, can you believe the audacity of this kid?

ANTONIO: Where are you going?

FRANKIE: Getting you a map of the area my mom resides in. I hope you have a good raincoat. Come.

ANTONIO: Are you serious about the raincoat?

FRANKIE: Sí, gomelo. Colombia is not a giant rainforest. There are cities and towns just like anywhere else, but she decided to stay somewhere closed off.

ANTONIO: You never told me about this.

FRANKIE: You didn’t ask.

ANTONIO: That’s the Alto logic speaking.

[Both of them laugh.]

ANTONIO: ..Will anybody there think I look like my

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can i request a jing yuan with s/o who loves burying their face in his floofy hair? Like after a long day at the Seat of Divine foresight, they just go ‘oomph’ on his hair. Floof boy jy. <333

Idk if this is what you had in mind but I hope it was okay nonetheless.

Jing Yuan had developed an sixth sense when it came to you but more specifically when you had a exhaustion day at work.

He knew exactly what would help to put you at ease after days like these and that was to burrow your face into his fluffy hair. Jing yuan didn’t mind this one bit because if the only way that you could destress from hard days was to be face first in his hair, then he more then willing to let you burrow your face into his luscious long head of hair.

if anything he found this new habit of yours adorable and served as another example as to why he loved you. That and the fact that it was near impossible to say no to you when you’ve had such a hard day.

So when he felt you slump against his back and burrow your face into the back of his head, cushioned by his fluffy/pillowy hair, the smile that crept upon his face was almost immediate as he chuckles deeply.

‘I see you’ve had another hard day at work?’ He asks regardless of the fact that he knew you and your habits like the back of his hand.

‘Like you wouldn’t believe.’ Came your muffled voice as you tightened your hold on his waist, keeping him where you wanted him -not as though he’d ever move from his spot- as you nuzzled your face deeper into his hair, muttering under your breath, ‘so soft and silky.’

‘Care to enlighten me on your busy day?’ Jing Yuan asks.

You grunted. ‘Not really, can I just…stay like this? Just for a little while?’ You really didn’t want to recall things that happen at work when in the calming presence of your dearly beloved, you’d much rather sit in comfortable silence as you attempt to rid of the entire day from your mind, until all you could think about was Jing Yuan.

Jing Yuan’s smile softened ‘Of course, and when you awake I’ll be here as I’ve always have been.’ He reminds you as he felt you put all of your weight against him as you gradually drifted off to sleep.

‘Thank you.’ You murmured, getting yourself comfortable before falling asleep, uncaring of the fact that your face was buried deep within Jing Yaun’s hair, as it was something you’ve done countless times before; after all Jing Yuan’s hair was soft enough and fluffy enough to act as an makeshift pillow where you could easily rest your head against without much worry for a aching neck.

Jing Yuan didn’t mind, he never did, he would sit in his current position on the floor forever if that what you wanted, as your comfort was something Jing Yuan took pride in above all else. So he only wished you a sweet and peaceful rest as he listened to your even breathing before finding himself drifting off soon after.

[dekariosclan]

I’m still brainrotting about jealous Gale…I know we love our sweet and goofy wizard, but HEAR ME OUT—

There’s an Astarion line where if you mention another companion as being beautiful/attractive, he’ll say he needs to “keep up with the competition.” SOOO that got me thinking, for an early-romance Tav that might also be romancing another companion(s), what do you think Gale would try to do to “keep up with the competition?” Would he try and sabotage the other companion’s wooing, or would he try to out dazzle/romance their efforts with Tav?

OP this is a fantastic question, but before I can give you my answer, I feel like I need to share my reasoning behind it! (I always have to defend my thesis 😂) So:

One of Gale’s best traits is that he is unwaveringly sweet, open, and honest about his feelings. Gale might’ve insisted on his privvacy when it came to initially sharing info about the orb, but he does not hold back when it comes to his affections and feelings for Tav. He doesn’t ‘play games,’ he’s not cryptic or mysterious, he’s not volatile, he’s not closed off. He’s an open book; and he wants a relationship with Tav that is built on an honest foundation with honest emotions.

All this to say—Gale is not toxic. He is not cruel. We are shown this later in the game, too, if Tav breaks up with Gale and decides to pursue another companion. If Tav lets him down gently, Gale will tell them he ‘would rather see Tav happy with another, than not happy at all.’ He will bow out gracefully.

Or, if Tav chooses to stay with Gale instead? Gale will be overjoyed, surprised that you picked him—he even mentions the ‘stiff competition’!—but he’ll also ask about the other companion’s feelings, about what the breakup will do to them; he is genuinely concerned.

Yes, he indulges in a bit of harmless jealousy and shade-throwing if Tav is flirting with someone else at the Grove party—but we’ll forgive him for it, since his hopes for that night were dashed, and the wine loosened his tongue a bit. (also, we’ll forgive him because we love a sweet jealous jelly bean Gale.)

So all of that said—do I think Gale would try and actively sabotage the other companion(s) wooing Tav?

I do not; I think Gale would find that to be unconscionable.

But, do I think he would try to ‘out romance/woo/dazzle’ the other companion’s efforts with Tav?

Yes. Absolutely. 10,000%.

Not out of any malicious intent to ‘win’ against the others, just out of pure desire to show Tav how much they mean to him. Because when he wants to convey his interest, by the Gods, he is going to do it. He is many things, but he is not coy.

For example, this is the man who, in one single early-romance conversation:

1. Affectionately compares Tav to his beloved cat tressym

2. Says he likes Tav’s stench, and

3. Ends the convo by saying he’d climax so hard for Tav he’d destroy the Sword Coast.

He’s a rizz machine.

So, I can absolutely see Gale trying to do some impressive magic to ‘wow’ Tav. As he himself says, “You know me—my grand gestures can never be grand enough.” Perhaps he starts doing some over-the-top spells in battle that look impressive, but are unnecessary. Or he puts on a light show at nights in the camp just to display his illusory skills. Or he goes out of his way to use magic for simple solutions—like casting Knock when they already have a perfectly good lock picking set they can use, etc.

The irony is that, for all these efforts, the ways that he not only ‘keeps up with the competition’ but actually beats it, in Tav’s opinion, aren’t his grand magical gestures.

It’s when he’s serving dinner portions, and he’ll lessen his own portion just to give Tav more. Or when he goes out of his way to loot literature on topics that he knows Tav is interested in. Or how he’ll say, “May I?” as he takes Tav’s cold cup of tea, enchanting it to the perfect temperature before handing it back.

Or even just how, when Tav comes to talk to him, he visibly brightens, smiles and says “I do enjoy our conversations,” with sincere affection.

Little things, sweet gestures—in the end, that’s what wins Tav over. Because that’s what’s most dazzling of all about Gale.

[elfven-blog]

Radiance

Summary: Criston feels anger when a man looks at you, he kills them when they dishonour you, what happens when you finally uncover that? Yandere!Criston Cole x F!Reader CW:MDNI, 18+ Only, BIG descriptions of violence, masturbation, flagellants (self whipping), PinV, yandere, Criston hates himself. Word Count: 2.7K

The first has been some third son of a nobody lord that had come to the capital in search of glory, or honour or some other such bullshit. No one had searched for him even his family hadn’t cared when he didn’t send a raven or return home, he disappeared and everyone thought him to be just another soul lost to the radiance of King’s Landing.

He hadn’t deserved such radiance anyway.

The second had been the baker's apprentice. That one was a shame to lose, his bread had been Criston’s favourite. But still, he had to go when he tried to capture the radiance too.

Criston could still feel the bones of the third. Not because he felt bad, no, because you had tended to them. He remembered the prickly feeling up his arms when he’d turned the corner and you’d been there, terror ringing through his ears as your own brow furrowed and your lips parted at the sight of him. Blood drenching his knuckles and pooling on the floor, you hadn’t asked questions. Just simply took his arm and led him to your chambers where you cleaned his hand and tended to the cracks in his knuckles.

He remembered every detail of your room, how the door of the wardrobe was slightly crooked and your blanket was too small for your bed. How you hang your nicer dresses on one side, the ones used with day-to-day service of the Queen and some that were clearly not as nice or expensive on the other side. How you had your family's flag stitched into your blanket.

That had been the very thing to get you both talking, you noticed him staring at the sigil and spoke to him in a soft smile. “Grandisons” was all you said and he turned to you with a raised eyebrow and a tilted head while you carefully cleaned at the cut on his knuckle. You hadn’t needed to tell him it was the Grandisons sigil, he already knew it. Some of them had marched with him, some of them were at court too and he already knew you were one of them. Had known it the moment he had seen you and heard you speak.

After that it didn’t take him long to have short conversations with you, it had started when you were waiting for Queen Alicent to finish her bath in the other room while you decided on which dress would be suitable for the sept. He’d leant over and whispered which dress would compliment Alicent’s hair the most, you’d smiled and picked it. Then it developed into something more, until there was a burning in Criston’s veins and he couldn’t believe he was actually speaking with you rather than admiring you from afar.

After that there had been more. None of them deserved your radiance to shine on them, and he made sure they wouldn’t dim such light. Of course he paid his penance too, the sound of the whip against his back deafens his ear with each flick of his wrist. His tanned skin lined with scars, old and new. Some of them reopened when he would serve his punishment, the blood would trickle down his back and pool at the floor until it was large enough to stain the front of his calves and only then would he stumble to his feet and clean himself.

But sometimes even that wasn’t enough. Take today for example, you’d been given a day off as Alicent was attending her husband which meant you donned clothes that were less modest. And here Criston kneeled, shirt discarded and the whip in hand as he painted the expanse of his back in the same red that bled from his lips as he bit at them. All the knight had seen was your collarbones and his mouth had run dry, his mind filled with nothing but how he could mark that clear skin and the way you’d gasp for him. 

His cock strained against his breeches, tears in his eyes as he begged whoever was listening to help him in some way. The whipping was useless as it numbed his back and the pain seemed drowned out with the sins playing behind his eyelids. 

Before he knew it, the whip was on the floor and his breeches were pulled down his thighs just enough that his hand could wrap around the base of his cock. Criston’s head fell back and he ignored how his hair fell into the scratches on his back, far more focused on the images in his mind.

The swell of your breast hidden beneath corsets and dresses, the time your hand wrapped around his wrist but he imagined it wrapped around his cock instead making him gasp as he squeezed his own hand around the base.

His breathing turned shallow as the sound of his hand around his cock filled his chambers, groans and pleading falling from his mouth each time his hand slid to the top and his thumb circled the head. Precum oozed from the slit and dribbled over his fingers, making it easier for him to pump up and down.

Criston’s other hand moved down his body to under his cock, cupping the heavy balls that sat beneath. He gasped as he rolled the sack in his hand for a moment, crying out your name like a prayer causing his hips to buck up.

It didn’t take long for him to fall apart, shuddering breaths and spit drooling down his chin as white painted the stones of his floor. The ache in his balls less now but the guilt in his heart rearing again.

He stood in front of the Queen’s chambers a few days later, knowing the Queen had travelled to Oldtown to see her brother. She hadn’t take you with her, choosing instead to take the nanny and one of her lady’s-in-waiting that had come from Oldtown. Leaving you to tend to the duties at King’s Landing.

Criston raised his hand to the large ornate door, taking a breath before knocking against it. He stopped for a moment when there was no reply, his hand lowering as he shook his head and turned around to walk away.

The heavy sound of the door unlocking and opening, your voice drifting into his ears but instead of your usual happy voice there was a stutter and the sound of sniffling.

“C-criston?” You’d never said his given name before, it made his heart stop as he turned to you. And that momentary glee flashed to anger and concern at the sight of you. 

Face puffy, trails of tears down your cheeks, the whites if your eyes turned red and your bottom lip jutted out in a tremble. He was infront of you within seconds, his hands cupping your face with a gentleness he awarded nobody else.

His brows furrowed in concern, thumbs stroking at your cheeks to clean up the tears as the corners of his lips turned “What happened?” he whispered, frown deepening as you shook your head and closed your eyes. 

It took everything in him not to force you to look him in the eye, instead he looked you over to see if there was anything physical and when he found it that same anger he felt for the lordling and the baker’s apprentice filled his veins. White hot and burning his hands “Who did this?” 

There was silence for a few minutes before he got a name from you and although part of him tried to quell that familiar urge to beat this man to a pulp in favour of comforting you. His sanity lost and he turned around to find the one who had dared leave bruises along you. The man who had marred your skin in purple and blues.

When that anger left and the black faded to the recesses of his mind, Criston found himself kneeling above what was once a face but it was now so broken and destroyed that they probably wouldn’t be able to tell who he was anymore. 

He had only stopped at the feeling of something warm against his back, his eyes moved to his fist to see two smaller ones wrapped around his. The once clear skin covered in the sticky red that dripped from his fists, and his ears picked up the panic cries of “Ser Cole! Criston! Please!” 

It was only at the panic in your voice that he could finally be Criston again. The look in your eyes made his heart squeeze, the panic and frenzy as your breathing turned shallow and your grip tight against his hand all made him stop.

“Please, Criston, please stop” and he did. His eyes softened and he managed to catch his breathing as his hands unclenched and covered yours instead. He brought your own hands to his lips so he could kiss each knuckle so softly.

“I didn’t mean for you to, to see me like-“ but Criston couldn’t finish his sentence before you were standing up and pulling him with you. His brow furrowed as he stumbled after you, your head turning around and around to make sure no one saw either of you walking away or the blood on Criston’s hands.

You led him to your own chambers this time, locking the door behind you and triple checking to make sure it was locked before you walked behind the screen in your room. Your hands shaking as you pulled the chain that released hot water into your copper tub. You weren’t afforded the big fancy room like the royal family but as a lady-in-waiting you were given a few luxuries.

Only the sound of flowing water filled your room for a moment, and you turned to choose which scent to add to the water. But you froze once it was added, a knight probably shouldn’t go around smelling the same as one of Queen Alicent’s ladies-in-waiting.

“Criston, you need to get undressed” you said when you peaked around the screen and saw him standing there, his head lifting up to look at you through those dark brown eyes that you were used to. 

Puppy dog you used to tease him as but how could you think of him like a puppy after what you just saw? Your eyes drifted to the blood splattered across his armour before you had to turn away again.

Through the silence the sound of metal hitting the floor was heard and then cloth as Criston undressed. You kept your back to him as you heard footsteps come closer before his voice cut through the stillness of the room in a low grunt.

Only once he was submerged did you finally turn around, the sight of his torso bared made you pause for a moment and forget what he had done before you cleared your throat and shook your head. 

You dipped your hands into the water and used it to wet his hair, Criston’s body going pliant as his head followed your hands until it rested on the tub and his eyes slipped closed while his mouth went slack.

Maybe he was still a puppy after all. The corners of your lips quirked up as you wet his hair and then took some of your shampoo to lather him with, fingers massaging into his scalp which caused you to falter when a moan slipped from his mouth.

Criston didn’t seem to notice, only frowning when you stopped but that was quickly wiped away when you continued again. Once his hair was clean, you moved on to his hands and turned the water red.

For a moment you considered telling him that he needed to clean his own chest but you are a sinner. And you cannot help yourself as you lather your hands in soap and bring them to Criston’s chest. He doesn’t pull away. Instead he groans and arches into your touch, so you continue to massage the soap into him.

Your hands dip lower until they’re beneath the water and you can feel his stomach flex beneath your palms. Your mouth parted as you watched Criston’s brow twitch and his teeth bite into his bottom lip. Both of you waited with bated breath as your hand sank even lower until your fingertips touched where you both wanted.

Saliva gathered in your mouth at how he was already hard and when you didn’t move, Criston’s hips moved up slowly forcing your hand to slide down until he nestled against your palm instead of your fingers. That’s all it took for your hand to wrap around him.

His eyes flew open and he took a sharp breath as his gaze landed on you, when you didn’t move he raised an eyebrow and rolled his hips up again which made you narrow your eyes. Your hand squeezed the base of his cock and his mouth dropped open in the most heavenly whimper.

You wanted more of those noises so you slid your hand up, enjoying how Criston gripped at the edge of the tub when your thumb circled the head. His cock heavy as it twitched in your hand, the water churning around him as he seemed to plant his feet and the way your hand slid up and down until he was oozing.

“M-more, more please” He begged so prettily under your touch, white mixing with red in the water the closer he got. Eyes fluttering and thighs shaking as his words slurred into whimpers and whines for you.

You wondered how he would react to your warmth and then the thought wouldn’t leave your mind. Criston made a noise of discontent as your hand released his cock but his eyes trained on you as you undid the layers of your dress, he couldn’t wait for you to be entirely naked before he was reaching for you.

Wet hands soaking your slip as he grabbed at you and pulled you close until you could stumble into the bath. His eyes rolled as you sank down onto him until he was snug in your tight cunt, your hands against his chest to brace yourself. Your cunt ached as he stretched you open, and you waited for a moment for that ache to go away.

Criston pawed at the wet dress around your hips as he waited for you to start moving and when you did, it was better than his imagination could conjure up. Your pussy fluttered around his prick as you rode him, his hips beginning to lift up to meet you.

Water sloshed around the tub, splashing out of the sides and onto your floor as your hips rolled against his own. Criston whined as his face buried into your breasts, mouthing at your nipple through the fabric making you gasp and grind harder onto him.

His fingers twitched against your hips before they started pulling your dress up and over your head, you heard the wet sound of it plopping on the floor and Criston groaned at the sight of your bare breasts. His hands groping at them “So perfect” he moaned as he peppered them in kisses.

Your hands curled into his hair, tugging it making him whine against you and his cock twitched inside of your pussy. Your grinding had slowed for a moment but as Criston suckled a nipple into his mouth, tongue lapping against the skin as he muttered around your breast.

“Gotta worship you” his hands squeezed your breasts moaning when you began to speed up your pace again, his one hand letting go to slide down your stomach until his hand rested just above your cunt, thumb circling at your clit and groaning when you squeezed around his cock.

Your head fell back, pleasure building in your veins and tightening your stomach as you gasped. It was all too much with his finger circling your clit, his wet mouth on your breast and you couldn’t get away from his cock. You could practically feel Criston grinning as your pussy spasmed around him, thighs tensing and squeezing at his own as your grip pulled at his hair until it stung his scalp.

Criston joined you in your orgasm, hands wrapping around your waist to keep you on his cock as he jerked inside you before rope after rope of hot sticky cum flooded your cunt. Leaving both of you boneless and panting like dogs.

The knight looked up at you with those puppy dog eyes as he nuzzled your breast, beard tickling your chest as he pouted “You’re not angry?”

You smiled, letting out a breathless chuckle as your hand petted his hair “How could I be?”

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Epilogue

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

🔥 Series Masterlist

AN: We made it, friends. 🥹

Word Count: 2,800 Tags/Warnings: Fluff and feels, that is all.

Epilogue: “Easy as Pie”

The week after the incident at Stull Storage, John, Sam, Dean, and Eileen sat down to a family dinner that you cooked in the brothers’ apartment. Aside from Eileen, all of you had injuries in one form or another (but even Sam’s shiner was healing up nicely). 

For dessert, you were a bit nervous as you brought out a freshly baked apple pie. Dean caught you mentally bracing yourself before you set it down on the table. He shot you a reassuring smile.

“Looks great,” he said.

Your returning smile was tentative as you divvied out the first piece. Dean was just a bit disappointed when you handed it to John. His eyes followed the plate.

You smiled more genuinely, and made sure the next generous piece you cut was for your boyfriend.

After everyone was served, you sat down with your own plate and encouraged them all to dig in. Forks hit the crumbly top and cinnamon apple filling, and there were collective hums of pleasure throughout the room.

You brightened and glanced over at the rest of the table. John looked contemplative. His fork rested on the plate for a moment.

He gave a rare smile. “That’s some damn good pie.” 

Sam nodded. “For sure.”

Dean looked over at you after he’d already demolished half of his serving. A smile spread across his face.

“Best slice of pie since I can remember,” he said, giving you a wink.

Both of you knew the weight of that review. It humbled you, making you blush.

You smiled and leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek, rough with stubble.

“I guess this recipe’s a keeper then,” you said.

He hummed in agreement. When he went in for a real kiss, it was sweet indeed.

From then on, you all spent the evening talking, eating, laughing, with you and Sam drinking wine and everyone else their beer. You updated them on Andréa and Benny, who were planning their trip to Greece in a few months.

"We should take a vacation," Dean pointed out, gesturing around the table. "All of us."

Sam raised his brows at his brother. "Oh yeah? Where would you wanna go?"

Dean thought about it for a moment. He glanced at you, and found you smiling.

"The beach," he said. "Somewhere warm and chill, with those fancy little umbrellas in your drink."

"Hmm...I like that," you said, as your smile grew. Tropical, relaxing, a warm sun on your face, and your boyfriend in some board shorts. You could definitely go for some of that.

"Sounds nice," Eileen agreed.

"I'll look into some destinations," Sam nodded. Dean nudged his brother's shoulder.

"One word, dude. Maui."

Sam snorted. "We can't afford Maui."

"Hey, you never know, man! Time to check out some Groupons."

"You can't get a Groupon to go to Hawaii," Sam said. His face was scrunched in what Dean liked to call, his "Know It All" face.

"Are you kidding me?" Dean shot back. "There's a friggin' Groupon for everything nowadays!"

Of course, that devolved into a familiar sibling argument that was only disrupted when John broke into the conversation. He admitted something shocking—that he was taking some time off work, for the first time since he took his sons camping when they were kids. Sam and Dean teased the workaholic for finally "slowing down" in his old age, but it was all in good fun.

You and Eileen shared a knowing look. It all felt as close to family as you’d had in a long time.

And for Dean, it felt like he could breathe again. He’d gotten a text shortly after dessert—from Cas.

Jo made it into the Police Academy. She starts training in a few weeks.

Dean’s lips quirked with a smile.

How do you know?

I’ll be instructing a couple of her classes. Firearm Safety and Weapons Training.

Dean nearly laughed.

Good luck, buddy. Try not to get your ass shot.

To which Cas replied:

My ass will be nowhere within range, I assure you.

Dean did chuckle at that. When you turned to him and asked what was so funny, he just shook his head and grabbed onto your hand on the table.

“Nothin’. I’m good,” he said. He pressed your knuckles to his lips. “I’m real good.”

You smiled at that.

Later that night, Dean walked his father to the door while you and Sam were locked in a trivia game, and Eileen tried to play mediator between two very competitive nerds.  

“Dad,” Dean said.

John stopped with a hand on the door, turning back to his eldest.

Dean paused to gather his thoughts, but he eventually grasped his father’s arm and met his gaze.

“Just wanted to say thank you, for what you did for her,” he said, discreetly nodding at you. He kept his voice quiet. “You protected her when I couldn’t.”

John paused, seeming surprised. His brows furrowed as he shook his head.

“You don’t need to thank me for that, son,” he said.

“Yeah, I do,” Dean insisted. He’d heard every bit of that conversation between John and Daniel in that warehouse. His father had been willing to lay down and die for you, not a moment’s hesitation.

Cas was right, Dean had realized. His father did have a line.

John let out a breath. “What matters is we made it here.”

Dean nodded, though he dimmed.

“Yeah, came with one hell of a price tag.”

It still weighed heavily on him, what he’d had to do to end Daniel Savage. In the end, John had lied on his statement of the events. He’d taken responsibility for grabbing Daniel’s gun and shooting him between the eyes.

“It’s the only thing I can do to keep you out of this,” John had told his son. “Should’ve been my hand anyway.”

Dean appreciated what his dad had done to protect him from the law, and his career, but it still made him feel dirty. A strike to his integrity as a first responder, and as a man. That was something he’d just have to deal with, along with everything else.

John distracted him, however, by gripping his shoulder this time.

“You saved my life, Dean,” he said. And with a hint of a smile, “It’s what you’re good at.”

Dean met his dad’s gaze. He wasn’t quite able to smile back, but there was new warmth in his chest.

“Oh,” said John, raising a finger. “Before I forget…”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a silver engagement ring with a small stone. To Dean, it looked familiar…

When it finally struck him what this was, he looked up at John in surprise. Dean glanced back to make sure you weren’t looking before he tentatively took the ring.

“Is this…Mom’s?” he asked.

John nodded. “The stone’s nothing special. You might wanna get it reset. Sam already figured out his uh…situation on his own. Maybe you want to find your own too.”

Dean knew what he meant. Sam had bought a ring last year, but he'd proposed to Eileen just a few days ago. They were already planning to get married a year from now, along with buying their first house together.

Dean examined the ring he held with a softer smile.

“Nah, it’s perfect,” he said.

He didn’t know yet if you two were ready for that step. A lot had happened in such a short amount of time…but he knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

He had time to do things right with you.

A few months later, Dean’s medical leave ended. He was physician-approved for duty, psych evaluation and all. He showed up for his shift bright and early.

He entered the doors of Firehouse 25 to a host of his friends and makeshift family cheering, complete with cheesy streamers and an even cheesier cake that Meg held. On the top was scrawled: Good Job Cracking Your Head.

“A smoke eater returns to the house!” Benny remarked with a grin. “Good to see ya, brother.”

He clapped Dean heavily enough on the back that it earned a grunt and a laugh out of him.

“You too, man,” Dean replied.

Meg set down the cake on the table and was the next one to playfully punch him in the shoulder.

“You have a nice little vacation?” she teased.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, complete with bottomless margaritas and little umbrellas.”

She smirked, but she was still earnest when she touched his arm.

“Welcome back.”

Dean chuckled. “Ooh, now I know you missed me.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes as she waved a dismissive hand at him. Chuck and Jack gave more sincere well wishes, with the latter actually hugging Dean. He’d tolerated it with a smile.

Gordon clapped him on the shoulder once Jack was finally done, and Dean sent the Candidate off with a bright smile on his face.

Gordon smiled. “Welcome back, Lieutenant.”

Dean nodded and shook the other man’s hand. “Thanks for holdin’ down the fort, man.”

“No problem,” Gordon said. “Any time you wanna go on sabbatical, you just let me know. Acting Lieutenant’s almost better than the real deal. It’s not as much paperwork.”

Dean chuckled, but before he could sling back a retort, the alarm went off. There was a working house fire downtown, according to the dispatcher in the overhead speaker.

Bobby appeared in the hall and clapped his hands once.

“All right, gear up. We’re startin’ off the day right,” he said. He gave Dean a look that was somehow both pleased to see him and stern at the same time. Bobby addressed him with a point of his finger.

“See me in my office before the end of shift,” he said. “We’ve got somethin’ to talk about.”

A few days later, Dean had the rare pleasure of welcoming you home from work on his day off. You trudged into the apartment with several bags and rolling a cooler behind you. He got up from the couch and grabbed some of the bags for you on your way to the kitchen.

“How did it go?” he asked, reaching out a hand to rub some flour off your cheek. You smiled brightly.

“Well, there was a little snafu with the mini quiche, but they loved the menu I proposed. They want me to cater the whole wedding!” you said.

“Whoa, that’s a lotta food,” Dean remarked. Once you’d dumped the rest of your stuff on the kitchen table, he slid an arm around your waist and brought you flush against him, earning a squeal from you.

You clung to his shoulders. “You still on for being my official taste tester?”

He stared at you with mock offense.

“Uh, obviously. Mini quiche are my weakness,” he teased. “Just another form of pie, far as I’m concerned.”

You giggled into his lips as he claimed you for a kiss. It was both sweet, and a bit naughty as his hands moved to squeeze your ass. His words were no less heartfelt.

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart,” Dean said. “I really am.”

 You smiled and stroked his cheek in answer.

The Monday morning after that family dinner a few months ago, you’d quit your job at Savage & Co. After a month of wracking your brain and your savings, you decided to start your own catering business.

It was your way of starting small, to try and get people in this town to know you for your food and baked goods. And maybe, if you were successful enough, you’d be able to open up your own bakery in a couple of years.

For once, you were going after what you truly wanted…but now, your career was only part of it.

You hadn’t forgotten your conversation with Dean about what he wanted for his future: of getting married someday, and having a family. Something he could build for himself. 

Not only did you want that for him, but you’d begun to crave that for yourself as well: a family of your own.

Realistically, you knew that part was years away for you and Dean. However, you had that in the back of your mind. Having your own business had always been your dream, but sometimes your dream could adjust. 

Or, it could become something new.

You’d also sold your grandparents’ house. You had contemplated going back, but you didn’t want to be reminded of how the police and the Arson Department had torn it apart after Daniel Savage threatened your life. You didn’t want to be reminded of where both of your grandparents died.

You loved that house, but you also knew it was time to let it go…

Because you finally understood what your grandfather had tried to tell you months ago.

A house did not make a home. And now, you’d managed to make a new one.

For his part, Dean had been happy to have you stay in his apartment. Sam was getting ready to move out in a few months anyway, as he and Eileen were deep into house hunting and planning their wedding.

“So…I’ve gotta tell you something,” said Dean, after he parted from your lips for a moment, and allowed you to breathe. His tone made you tilt your head in suspicion.

“It’s nothing bad,” he said, though he looked a bit nervous.

Your brows furrowed. You led him to the couch, where he held your hands in his. It took him a moment to get started. He seemed stuck on what he wanted to say, or maybe just how he wanted to say it.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I can handle it,” you teased.

Dean gave you a smile. His shoulders relaxed a little.

“They want to promote me to Captain,” he said.

Your mouth fell open and your eyes went wide.

“They? Who’s they?” you asked.

Dean blew out a breath and scratched at the small scar on the side of his head.

“Apparently it came from the Battalion Chief.”

He explained that the Fire Department had gotten the full debrief from both Sam and John about Dean’s involvement in ending the serial arsons and murders committed by Nick and Daniel Savage. Without you and Dean, they wouldn’t have figured out Azazel’s identity, let alone stopped his criminal enterprise.

You smiled wide with excitement as you held Dean’s face in your hands.

“That’s amazing!” you said. You pulled him in for a hug. Though he held you back, you soon realized that you were happier than he seemed to be. You pulled back and carded your fingers through his hair, earning his gaze.

“What’s wrong, baby? This is great news!”

Dean’s lips pursed. “I don’t know. I broke ranks and defied a direct order at the Savage & Co. fire. And at the warehouse, I was even more reckless. I don’t want to be promoted for disobeying orders.”

You frowned at that, even as you continued to stroke through his hair.

“What did Bobby tell you?” you asked.

Once again, Dean sighed. He’d been called into Bobby’s office a few days ago, after his first shift back at 25.

He’d surprised the hell out of Dean.

��Did you break ranks that day, and put not just yourself, but Benny and the rest of your men in danger?” Bobby said. “You bet your ass.”

Dean averted his gaze. He stood with his hands drawn behind his back, willing to take whatever punishment the Chief saw fit.

“But,” Bobby continued. His fingers tapped on his desk, where he sat on the edge across from Dean. “It wasn’t fair of me to stop you from lookin’ for your girlfriend.”

Dean’s attention sharpened at that, and he frowned in confusion. Bobby didn’t apologize. Ever.

“Sir?” Dean asked uncertainly.

Bobby softened the slightest bit. He heaved a sigh.

The man was a widower, but he still wore his wedding ring. He toyed with it now on his finger.

“We could’ve radioed in with the other teams already at work. I could’ve paired half of your team with the top floor units. But in the heat of the moment, I made a judgment call,” Bobby said, leveling Dean with a look. “As a leader, you’ll continue makin’ mistakes. You’ll make the wrong call. It’s how you learn to keep leading that matters. And there ain’t a person in this house that wouldn’t have gone up to pull your fool head outta that fire.”

Dean stayed quiet in his discomfort. He still wasn’t entirely sure why Bobby was telling him all of this.

“That being said, this is coming from the top,” Bobby said. His gruffness was back. He took a folder off his desk and handed it to Dean. “Here’s the next step, if you choose to accept it.”

You were crying by the end of his story. Dean cupped your cheek and caught your tears with his thumb. You grabbed that hand and gently squeezed.

“He believes in you, Dean,” you said. “So do I. And it’s my turn to be so damn proud of you.”

Dean graced you with a smile for that one. Yours brightened. You moved off the couch and slid into his lap, twining your arms around his neck. Dean welcomed you with an arm around your waist and a hand sliding up your jean-clad thigh.

“Guess I’m gonna have to get used to calling you Captain,” you said with a smirk.

Captain Winchester, Dean considered, rolling the weight of it around in his mind.

He chuckled. “Okay, maybe I'm liking the sound of that.”

“Mhmm, that’s what I thought,” you said, shortly before you pressed your lips to his. He squeezed your hip while your deft fingers once again slipped into his hair. With each new kiss, Dean felt more of his uncertainty melt away.

A new thought occurred to him then. It made him start to grin against your lips, and you parted from him.

“What?” you asked in amusement.

Dean slipped a hand into his pocket, where he felt the outline of his mother’s newly resized ring.

“Hey,” he said. Your brows drew together in suspicion at the gleam in his eye. 

“Hey, yourself,” you quipped. 

Dean breathed in deep, steeling himself. He looked into your eyes, and he smiled. 

“I’ve got a question for you.”

AN: ...And I think we all know what her answer was. ❤️‍🔥

I can't believe it! I started posting this story on September 15, the beginning of Hispanic Heritage Month. Almost four months later, we finally made it to the end of Smoke Eater. 🥹

Thank you to all of you who've been following along at any point of the journey. Your comments and feedback have truly touched me, and have helped keep me going! 💕

Read the Sequel Story:

Ready for more Smoke Eater?

Here's Something Real:

Summary: Now that you and Dean are officially engaged, you take some much needed time off together for a family vacation. But even with the wedding set for next year, the two of you are still at odds when it comes to one key part of your future together…

▶️ Keep Reading: Something Real

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

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[jaggedamethyst]

circuit breaker 🔬🌌 (part eleven)

tutor!jayce talis x reader, ekko x reader college au

content: you and jayce finally have a chance to talk

notes: 18+ minors dni, smut (everyone jumped), oral (reader receiving), ice play, nipple play, overstimulated reader, kinda dom jayce omg, mentions of death, science talk (LMAOOOO i swear i chose simple topics)

i usually fkn hate slow burns but wanted to challenge myself to make something realistic and i hope this has been worth the wait. its a longer one like you guys deserve! jayce also is more dominant here but it makes sense for his character...in arcane he doesn't give me this vibe at all lmao.

ps. for the circuit mentions, if you need an example of the references they are making....google circuit battery diagram and you'll see some with four lines!

series master list

It was often you saw homes that were the epitome of modern—just white and drab and soulless. Jayce’s family home was different. You couldn’t help but see the character oozing off of it. It wasn’t completely run down. In fact, you could tell a lot of these changes were done in the last twenty years. Yet there was still color, wooden accents, and family photos lingering about that really made this space feel homely. 

“You grew up here?” 

“Yeah,” Jayce led you around a corner toward the back of the house. “Only ever lived here.”

Makes sense—this house resembled everything good about Jayce that you’d noticed. It had a fortitude that was undeniable yet an underlying warmth was always present. You liked that about Jayce—that even when he was angry it was always fueled by a desire to be better. He was mad at you for your voicemail, sure, but even more with himself for not equally splitting the time with his mom. You remembered how he talked about her often, how the love he had for her was eerily similar to that of your friends. The way you could empathize with him only having one person in this world meant you could never hate him, not really. 

“I’m just glad it’s close enough to school that I can commute.” He continued, not knowing you were only half listening. 

Eventually you emerged behind him into the garage. Looking around made it clear that this was his space. There were books, papers, and tools on every surface. He maneuvered in the garage with a fluidity that showed you that even in the clutter, he knew where everything was, probably preferred it this way. 

“Another reason why I love my mom is that she let me have the entire garage as my workshop—foster my gifts and whatnot.” He heard you chuckle from across the room, him now moving around quickly to make space for you. “Sorry it’s a mess.” 

“I’ve heard something about smart people having messy rooms so I get it.” 

He continued his mindless tidying, piling up papers and hanging his tools on the wall where they belonged. “What about you? Is your room a pigsty?” 

“You’ve been in my room, you tell me.” 

He fluffed some pillows on the couch and chairs, purposely avoiding eye contact with you. “Let’s just say it’s a miracle I escaped that biochemical hazard without boils all over my body.” 

You scoffed, moving over to him. Swiftly snatching a pillow, you launched it at his face. “You weren’t complaining when you were under my damn blankets. You know what, I actually prefer you sleeping—then I won’t have to hear your big mouth.” 

Jayce had caught the pillow and suddenly lobbed it up and served it like a volleyball—smacking it over toward you in return. “Please, you love to hear me talk.” He laughed as the pillow hit you back, impressed by his own aim. 

“Oh please, you and that mouth are so nasty and rude that I could go a lifetime without it.” You chuckled and tossed the pillow between your own hands. 

You expected Jayce to continue the playful banter—failing to realize he was immediately transported back to your argument. You called him rude, and then he’d been the epitome of it. He didn’t let a second pass before uttering out an apology. 

“I’m sorry.” He watched your face fall, twisting at his change in tone. “I was horrible to you and I didn’t mean any of that stuff.” 

“It’s fine. I started it and you were having a horrible day, week even. I was so insensitive and I feel horrible-“ 

He shook his head hard, “No it was me and I won’t forgive myself for that—for the way I acted that day.” 

The day after the kiss, one that felt so amazing when it happened. You related to Ekko most in that moment, that feeling of time escaping you without being able to do anything about it. It felt as though the moment ended as quickly as it started and it didn’t help that he ignored it the next day. Every second was truly precious, and he spent a ton of them making you feel unimportant. Even if by accident.

He sat down, and motioned for you to as well. Once you were across from him he continued, staring off into the distance. “I didn’t mean to just leave you. I tried, I swear I did. It only took me that hour to realize I was an idiot—that I…” He paused and inhaled, “I just saw her face and I knew something was wrong, something really bad happened and there was nothing I could do.” 

You shifted a bit but still let him talk, let him get it out. 

“Kino and Mel would sneak over here when we were younger, you know that?” His face lit up at the memory. “They didn’t have a good relationship with their mom so I’d just say ‘Come sleep here, you’ll be okay.’ That was until my mom found out.” He looked at you briefly, his eyes glossing over slightly before looking away again. “She let them stay whenever they wanted, tried to be the best role model for them.” 

You saw his fingers flexing, clawing at his own skin in an attempt to ground himself. Without thinking you moved closer, grasping his hands in your own. He looked up to a reassuring nod from you, one he returned. 

“Kino was my brother, in every way it mattered. So when I realized I lost him at the same time my mom was still stuck in the hospital…I just shut down.” 

“I get it, I do.” 

“I could’ve called you back, texted you. You had a right to be mad at me.” 

“No,” your voice cracked a bit, “I had other stuff going on and I took it out on you which wasn’t fair at all. I’m sorry.” 

He squeezed your hands before pulling one away to wipe his eyes. He let out a strained laugh, “So we’re both just some sorry asses then?” 

“Guess so.” 

Jayce let his hand fall, clasping over yours. Neither of you really acknowledged it until then, the way it felt to be in contact with each other again after so long. He wasn’t ready to face it, not yet. 

He pulled his hands away with a clearing of his throat—moving to stand. He rubbed his hands down the front of his pants, “Do you want a drink?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

He walked away without another word. This let you observe the space in greater detail. There was a white board filled with notes in his handwriting that you recognized. He color coordinated his writing but it was far too advanced for you to figure out what the reasons for that were. He’d moved his tools, but you noticed a great deal of them were small—almost as if he worked on intricate pieces often. There were larger ones too, like hammers and a nail gun. You shook your head, bewildered at what he could possibly need that for. As your eyes scanned you noticed he had a refrigerator, and yet he left the room to get you a drink. Shrugging it off, you picked up on the other inviting aspects of the space—the smell of cinnamon from a candle and worn cushions of chairs that made you feel all the more welcome. 

Eventually Jayce returned with two cups in his hands. He gave you a tight smile as he moved closer to the couch. You weren’t paying close enough attention, mindlessly reaching for one of the outstretched mugs with both hands. 

Before Jayce could tell you to be careful, you’d burned both your palms on the heated ceramic. 

“Shit!” You yelled out loud, hissing at the radiating pain. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Jayce sat the cups down. “I should’ve told you—I made hot chocolate.” He scrambled to his refrigerator, grabbing a makeshift ice pack he’d left in there. 

“It’s my fault—ahhh,” the sting was starting to hit more. “Hot glass looks like cold glass right?” 

He chuckled at the chemistry phrase, one often used when doing experiments. He’d recalled times in high school where a teacher would remind him that there was, in fact, no real way to tell a scalding glass from a cold one. That meant a lot of students got hurt for being careless, that and not wearing the proper clothing on lab days. 

“Give me your hands.” He slid in next to you on the couch, knees close enough to touch. “This might hurt a little.” 

“Can’t be worse than whatever degree these burns are.” 

He smashed and separated the ice that sat inside a ziplock bag into two. Outside of the bag rested pieces of fabric, a barrier he realized was necessary after many times of hitting his own fingers while at his workbench. He let your hands rest between his, alternating them in a pattern of one of his hands to yours, so as to put ice on both palms. 

The cold didn’t soothe yet, but stung at the sensitivity. You groaned, “Fuck this hurts—you were right. As usual.” 

The monotone sarcasm in your voice wasn’t lost on him, again making him laugh. In a split second, he noticed something. 

“This might be the wrong time…but I kinda thought of a way this could help with physics.” 

“It is absolutely the worst time, but I’m sure this’ll help me remember it for a test so go ahead.” 

He looked at your hands fondly, smiling at how perfectly it resembled part of a circuit diagram. “Our hands look like a battery here, you see?” He slowly turned your hand, making sure to maintain the pressure of the ice between them. “The way it’s a pattern—your hand, then mine…it looks like those four lines. You remember those?” 

“Yeah,” you searched in your mind to a few weeks back—a lecture that actually made sense because it was simply shapes and repetitive formulas. “Yeah, I remember the batteries. They have charges for each line, right?” 

“Positive and negative charge, yeah.” He took in a breath, looking again at your hands sandwiched together. Without trying his palms completely overtook yours, clearly much larger. It worked for his analogy, though. “If you think of my hands, of course, as positive—since I am just that amazing…then yours would be-“ 

“Negative?”

“Exactly, but the easiest way for you to remember is unfortunately because you were burned.” 

“I’m not following?” 

“Did the burn hurt?” 

“Yes…”

“Does pain feel good?” 

You hesitated, smirking slightly at the place your mind went to. “Well-“ 

“No, it doesn’t.” His hands shook then, his entire body moving at the deep laugh that escaped him. “My mentees cannot have their minds in the gutter—focus please.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” You straightened your posture, faking a salute for emphasis. 

That immediately got another laugh from Jayce—one you could tell he deserved. He seemed drained, overwhelmed by everything. 

“Are you tired?” The question was random from you, but Jayce understood where it stemmed from. 

“Even if I was I’d fight it for you.” 

Your head tilted and your body stilled, “Stop-“ 

“I’m serious. I don’t care.” He shrugged.

“That’s how I know you’re exhausted, you’re talking crazy.” 

He grasped your hands a bit more firmly, pulling them toward him. He shuffled closer to you as he looked into your eyes—maintaining his stare even when you tried to look away. “It’s because of the kiss right, you think I regret it?” 

“No, I-“ 

“I don’t.” He looked at your face, eyes flickering how they did that night at the bar. His tone deepened, “I’d do it again if I had the chance.” 

You met his tone, teetering on the edge of something you both wanted but couldn’t put into words. “I don’t believe you.” 

“No?” He moved in closer, lips barely grazing yours. He looked up into your eyes and whispered, “How about now?” 

He finally pushed forward into you, letting the feeling of familiarity wash over you. Jayce’s movements were conscious; he was calculating every single detail about this. He wanted it to be right, to show you how much he appreciated the chance to kiss you again—that it wasn’t a mistake the first time. 

Without breaking the contact, he moved his hands to the side and discarded the ice packs on the table. Almost immediately you let your fingers wrap around his neck, ignoring the pain in your hands as you pulled him further into you. He was eager, slipping a tongue into your mouth that left you breathless. 

You felt your neck hit the arm rest of the couch, Jayce pushing you back into it as he worked over each of your lips individually. He didn’t want to let you go, never again—especially not when you’d been interrupted the last time. He wanted you in that moment. Jayce was ready to have you in the open and couldn’t care less if anyone saw. He’d have to settle for now, though. 

Somehow it was even better like this. Nobody was here except you. In every moment that his mind had been elsewhere, when he could sense your anxiety about the next thing you had to do...neither of you truly sat in your time together. You finally had the chance to be fully and completely together and he wouldn’t let you go. 

As if you heard his thoughts, you moaned into his lips. “God, I need you so bad right now.” 

He didn’t let another moment pass before sitting back and sliding his shirt over his head. You reached up, fingers tingling over the new sensation of his chest. Where he was so quick with himself, he was slow with you. He let his hands grip the bottom of your shirt and slowly rolled it up and over your head. You were bare on top now and lying under him. In any other situation you’d feel off letting him straddle you this way—overwhelmed by the sheer size of the man in front of you. This was different because of Jayce’s delicacy. 

His hands were large, yet they moved over your chest and nipples with such softness that you almost didn’t realize he was touching you. He moved back a bit as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. He focused on one, pulling the other into his mouth and sucking on it. He watched your eyes, completely entranced by his movement on you. 

He lifted his mouth for a second, “Gonna try something okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed out—shockingly getting worked up a lot over this alone. “Yeah, sure.” 

His hand left your nipple to which you immediately replaced it with your own—needing the feeling there at every second now. He kept his mouth on you, reaching over to the discarded ice on the table and grabbing two cubes. Lifting his face for a second, he placed one just between his teeth and put his head back down, immediately swirling the cube on your nipple. With the other, he held it between his fingers, teasing your now reddened skin of the opposite nipple. 

“Wow,” you choked out, fingers curling on themselves at the overwhelming stimulation. “That is—that is something.” 

He hummed into you, excited that he’d only just gotten started. The heat of him let the little ice chunks melt rather fast but the chill was still there as he sat back completely. Your chest was firm now, completely hardened by both him and the cold. He smacked each side of you one by one, smiling at the way you reacted—almost completely blissed out already. 

You spoke between ragged breaths, “You might actually be insane.” 

He simply shrugged and moved to pull your pants off. He dropped them on the floor beside the couch and grabbed another piece of ice. This time he kept the ice pinched between his thumb and index finger, moving to rub over you where you were already dripping for him. Your back arched as he reached between you, completely intrigued by how skillful he was. He continued like this, prepping you but not letting a single finger slip in despite your desperation. 

“Jayce-“ 

“Not yet.” 

“Please.” 

You were numb, the ice both heightening and relaxing your nerve endings. It was confusing and left you searching in your mind for an idea—of how good it would feel to finally have him on you. 

Eventually he gave up on the ice, ready to work you over on his own. He let his head fall and clasped his lips over you eagerly, letting his tongue flatten and move up and down on you. He simultaneously slipped in two fingers which made you sigh. Jayce felt your body relax into him and smiled at that, humming on you and adding to the sensation. Your insides pulsed, too, sucking him in and out and enticing him to go faster. He left his fingers spread, pressing against the outermost lining of your walls. He didn’t let his tongue and mouth slow, either, continuing to bob his head up and down and look at you through his lashes. 

You couldn’t keep the eye contact, but leaned your head back into the arm rest again. You let a hand fall into his hair, tugging at a lifeline to tether you to this reality. You wanted to be present with him for once. Your free hand fell to your face, slipping between your lips in an attempt to suppress the moans tumbling from you. 

He watched this and slipped a hand out of you immediately. Swatting the hand away he groaned out, “Don’t. I wanna hear.”  

“Fuck.” You couldn’t reply, too turned on by his needing to draw every sound from you, to hear his work on display. 

The pace of his hand and mouth were torturous and the snap in your groin as soon as you felt the familiar heat. He felt you convulsing and nudged you back down. 

“Just a bit more, okay? You can do it.” 

You weren’t sure you could. This was already so much—so good, but so much. 

He kept going, needing to feel this for just a bit longer. He didn’t care about him, only that you felt good. After a few more pumps he started to slow and pulled away from you, smirking to himself at the exchange. 

“You did great.” 

You could only huff at that, writhing at the air on you now. You were painfully aware of the fact that you were naked and sat up a bit. Jayce stalked around the garage, back muscles flexing how you’d never had a chance to see. You smirked as he slipped out, happy with yourself admittedly. 

Jayce came back with a rag and throw blanket, first wiping the sweat from your face then the mix of mess he’d left on you below. You didn’t move, still overwhelmed by him. He knew it, too, and simply threw the blanket he had over your body. 

He sat next to you, just observing the way your chest rose and fell. You didn’t ask anything of him, but you were owed an explanation. Even more so now. 

“I was afraid… that taking this step with you would hinder me from being what you need.” He paused, “I was afraid if I didn’t close myself off that I’d make you lose focus…lose your scholarship.” 

You looked at him, breath still ragged. You simply nodded in understanding. 

He kept going, though, “I’m so glad I met you and I’m sorry for saying otherwise.” 

There was a serious tone on him that scared you, a sincerity that not many people conveyed when they talked to you. You avoided it, had to. 

“I’m glad I was dragged into the student center that day…needed someone to tutor me really bad.” 

Jayce scoffed and playfully swatted your leg. “Let’s see how you feel when this tutoring suddenly stops, huh?” 

“So,” you arched a brow, “Is this a bad time to say that I failed my midterm and retakes are in two days?” 

“You’re not serious-“ 

“Unfortunately, I am.” 

Jayce looked down at you. “You know, this just means we get more time together. Just us.” 

You felt your face heat up at that, “Sounds amazing.” 

He leaned back into the cushions, mindlessly rubbing your knee with his hand. You enjoyed the silence with him—the first time in a while that it wasn’t laced with something completely intangible. 

part twelve

tag list

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[signanothername]

if it's not too much, can i ask how you headcanon the murder time trio? since they're not exactly "canon" to any of the stories from their respective original artists, it's interesting to see how different people interpret them :)) tbh, i do feel like, from nightmare's pov, having more personal henchmen seems... risky in a way, as that means exposing killer to other outside influences that he can't fully control. like, what if killer starts to have ideas (organizing a henchmen union for example lol) - new people are interesting, something new for sure? does nightmare have to provide for these new henchmen now too?? so many factors to consider! unless these henchmen are more part-time than full-time lol.

i also think that, individually, the murder time trio might not get along with each other at all. they are (or were?) all sanses, but they have developed different moralities that canonically can clash with each other. the only way i think they can work well together is if they don't know each other's backstories. they function well with a wet blanket of mysteries, and i headcanon that's how nightmare is able to control them. he has all the cards, and he can play their emotions well, either to make them get along with each other, or to sow distrust among each other as well.

ANON I LOVE HOW YOU THINK

To me personally, i take my interpretation by looking at each of the Trio individually with their stories and then try and string together how they’d act around each other

Killer just honestly wouldn’t care about the others’ stories or past or anything like that, so when it comes to Murder or Horror, Killer he has no problem with them and would get along with them pretty well

Aside him being an absolute bitch to them at times, Killer wouldn’t hold much hostility towards them, and any harsh or offensive comments he makes towards them would only be because he felt like it, Killer has no reason for doing what he does, he just does it cause he can

However, Killer is definitely the type to value his privacy, and any questions or comments that might disrespect said privacy, would definitely escalate to Killer fighting whoever pressed him about matters they don’t understand or have the right to know, he simply doesn’t like to be pushed around, and he’s one with a lot of secrets, and he wouldn’t let Horror or Murder get their nonexistent noses into his business, like know how people always portray Nightmare to always be like “my room is off limits”?? Take that and actually apply it to Killer, Killer’s room, belongings (especially his weapons), and thoughts/personal life are all off limits

Ironically, Killer doesn’t hold that same respect of privacy when it comes to the other two, he’d definitely and especially not respect their personal spaces and would probably be super touchy with them, Murder and Horror hate to be touched but Killer does it anyway (Murder and Horror don’t realize Killer does that not just to be annoying but because he’s reassuring himself that they’re real, that they are indeed in front of him and not just another figment of his fucked up mind, not that he’d ever tell them that tho)

Murder on the other hand, definitely hates being on Nightmare’s team, he has no interest in serving Nightmare, he only cares about his own AU, so i can see him be the quiet loner who just doesn’t engage much with Killer or Horror

However, I can still see Murder feeling ok with Horror, but definitely not liking Killer in the slightest, cause while Murder is deluded to think that he killed everyone in his AU cause he “had to” to get his LV higher to be able to Kill the human and supposedly save everyone from resets, to him, Killer only had done the same thing but only for fun, that Killer is no better than the human, so I can see Murder treading carefully around Killer and just overall being cautious around him, especially with the amount of Determination Killer holds, it’s much greater than his and that fact downright disgusts him, cause how many times has Killer killed those in his AU to have his very soul deformed like that, not that Murder would be outwardly hostile towards Killer, but mucv like Killer, simply passive aggressive

I feel like Murder is the one that would always pry into Killer’s “off limits” area, he’s not curious or interested, he just simply hates Killer for being a monster with many faces (Can Murder even call him a monster when his soul doesn’t represent that of a monster?)

But i feel like Murder would be in for a surprise as he talks with his Papyrus only for Killer to say something along the lines of “it seems I’m not the only one who sees my Papyrus”

I can actually see Papyrus be the only point in which Murder and Killer actually agree about something

I feel like Horror is on the same boat as Murder but to a much smaller scale, so he’s fine with Murder but would break Killer’s skull if he could, he’s still a lot less hostile towards Killer than Murder tho, he’d just engage with Killer as he’d engage with everyone else, but Killer definitely gets on his nerves with his very nonchalant yet passive aggressive attitude

I would lie if I said I don’t think Horror would feel a bit disgusted by both Killer and Murder for murdering their Papyruses, cause how could they? Papyrus is the only one they were tasked to take care of and they just Kill him off? And I can see Horror actually commenting on it, only to get a comment back from Killer about how he’s not any better than them, how he literally fed his Papyrus human meat, Horror is baffled by how on earth did Killer even manage to know that, only for Killer to be his usual secretive self and simply states that he has “his ways”

I can still see Horror forming a good friendship with Murder tho, and even forming some sorta alliance where him and Murder go “you scratch my back, i scratch yours”, very beneficial when you’re working under Nightmare

Killer is unfortunately on his own tho, especially with the fact Nightmare seems to have his eye on him 24/7, Horror and Murder try and stay away as to not end up catching Nightmare’s interest too, they don’t know why Killer seems to catch Nightmare’s fancy, but they’re glad they haven’t met the same fate and they’re not about to change that by getting closer to Killer, not only that, but I feel like Horror and Murder would definitely see Killer as the “pet” to Nightmare, his favorite “toy”, and with how Killer’s the closest to Nightmare, what’s to stop Killer from spelling their secrets or thoughts for Nightmare’s ears to hear??

It makes Killer a bit if an outcast, but Killer doesn’t really care

Not only that, I feel like Killer would definitely creep Horror and Murder out by his vast knowledge in the Metaverse and Players, and while Killer doesn’t make such creepy comments about how none of them have any true free will often, they still get to the other two to an extent

I can still see the Trio becoming friends still, but not in the same sense that is the star sanses are friends, more like the Trio are the kinda friends to try and kill each other as a form of showing affection, they’re always really mean to each other, and are definitely a bit distant, but they’re also in the same shitty circumstances under the same shitty roof under the same shitty boss, and none of them would admit it, but all of them find a bit of solace in each other’s company, cause it always means they’re not alone whenever Nightmare breaks their bones, even if the two who survived Nightmare’s wrath would only make fun of the poor bitch who faced it head on

I can also see them finding common grounds in surprising places

Horror is actually surprised to know that Killer doesn’t eat, that Killer has a problem with food just like he does

Murder is actually extremely surprised Killer seems to hate the human (at least to an extent) like he does

Killer is a bit relieved to know he isn’t the only one to killed everyone in his AU, that he isn’t the only one to gained Determination cause of it (even if he’s more severely affected by it)

The three are all relieved (not that any of them would admit it) they’re not the only one with fucked up mental health

As for Nightmare, I feel like he’d definitely have some sorta plan before he actually hires anybody, Killer isn’t hard to contain, just keep him at stage 2 and crush any hope he may have of any fantasy of him finding a better life for himself and he’d stay in line

Horror? Just threaten him with killing his brother, problem solved, he wouldn’t dare get out of line

Murder is the one i feel would be hardest for Nightmare to control, in fact, i fully believe Murder is always trying to run away to find his way back home, and so i feel like Nightmare would put Killer on babysitting duty, Killer is tasked with always watching Murder and making sure he stays in line, and while Nightmare never explicitly states it, Murder is fully aware that Killer’s watching him

It complicates things for Murder and i can imagine him actually succeeding in getting away a few times, only for Killer to find him and bring him back kicking to Nightmare’s feet

I actually like to think Nightmare’s lenient to an extent when it comes to the Murder Trio visiting their homes as long as they get back immediately once they finish whatever business they wanted taken care of, and it doesn’t get in the way of their missions, hell he’d even let them go for days at a time (Murder, however, is always dragged back by Killer, and it makes Nightmare think of how much of an ungrateful bastard Murder is)

Here’s the twist tho, Nightmare doesn’t allow them to go home out of the goodness of his heart, Nightmare simply allows it as a bit of a fancy manipulation tactic in which it would make it seem like he isn’t “too bad” (he’s so damn bad) and it would just give Horror and Murder less of a reason to plan any sort of treason against him (Killer’s too unfeeling in stage 2 to care enough to form an alliance) not that Nightmare’s worried about it, he’s more than capable to put them in their places had they dared, he simply doesn’t want to deal with such hassle when it can be easily prevented (i mean he really isn’t in the mood to find another Horror and Murder)

That however, doesn’t make any of the Trio any less expendable to Nightmare, especially Horror and Murder, Nightmare tries to always keep the same Killer around cause he just isn’t in the mood to condition whatever new Killer he gets to play by his rules again, but he definitely had a few different Killers over the years

Murder as well, he definitely was replaced with another Murder so many times (he’s the one who gets replaced the most)

I like to think Horror is the only one who never got replaced by another version of himself, cause Horror always tries his damn hardest to stay in line and keep on Nightmare’s good side, and whenever he goes on missions he’s always so very careful about how much damage he takes as to not be deemed useless by Nightmare, all motivated by his love and fear of leaving his brother behind by himself had Nightmare decided to kill him

It’s always surreal for Horror to see the Murder he formed a good friendship with to be killed off by Nightmare like he never mattered, only for Horror to be introduced to another Murder in the next morning like the presence of the previous Murder meant nothing at all, and it’s even more surreal for him to introduce himself to a new Killer or a new Murder like he never met them before, all back to square one

Killer might’ve served Nightmare the longest cause he was the first to be recruited, but Horror had always been the one to actually last the longest

[solar-wing]

⚣ Domestic Living With Jason 🩳

⚣🩳 A/N → I'm physically incapable of writing anything under 500 words. But, this was inspired by my love of compression shirts (especially the Under Armor ones and how I would do exactly this if my boyfriend tried to walk out wearing one). May start a series off this, we'll see. Warnings: Domestic Vibes. Married Energy. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing. Petty Jason.

⚣🩳 Summary → Domestic life is something. Domestic life with Jason Todd is another thing. One moment, you're ready to fight this man. Next moment, you're ready to fight this man. *wink wink* Wait, hold up. Jason, what the hell are you wearing?!

⚣🩳 Words → 1.5K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🩳

“Jason, hurry up! I need to get back so I can finish this essay.” Y/N yelled from the living room of his and his boyfriend’s shared apartment.

If you asked him a year ago what he figured living with his boyfriend would be like, he’d more than likely answer with a lot of freaking sex. Of course, other things came with it, but that was the first thing that always came to mind.

It also came with a lot of stay-at-home dates. Jason was unsurprisingly a natural homebody and loved to spend his evenings when he could with his lovely boyfriend cuddled against his body while watching a movie or playing a game and munching down on some takeout.

Truthfully, it was nice seeing how Jason was in a domestic situation. It served as a reminder to Y/N that under all those scars, grumpiness, and tough exterior was just a boy who wanted to be loved.

On the other end, living with Jason made Y/N take a long, hard look in the mirror and reflect on all the bad habits he had when living at home with his parents and starting college. For example, time management…

Before he started dating Jason, Y/N was the kind of person who waited till twenty minutes before he had to leave to start getting dressed. Whenever someone would text him and ask for his location, he’d respond telling them he was leaving the house now.

Then, when he was actually leaving the house and they’d text him again, he’d respond saying he was on the freeway. Truly, the best example of what not to do when he wanted to be on time somewhere.

After he started dating Jason though, and especially when they moved in together, Y/N sent a long apology to his parents who had tried for years to teach him better time management. The crazy thing about that was when they asked him why he was apologizing and he explained that Jason’s time management made him look like an angel, they didn’t believe him!

In their eyes, Jason was a saint who could do no wrong. Which was ironic considering Y/N’s dad promised to castrate any man who dared even look his son’s way. And his mom, well, not sure that’s really appropriate to mention.

Yet, when it came to Mr. Jason Peter Todd, he might as well have been hand-delivered from God himself. Maybe it was because his boyfriend could and would be late to anything else in the world (Lord knows Bruce went through hell and back just to get him to be on time for family dinner), but if it was anything involving Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N, he was twenty minutes early with a gift he picked up from the local Target.

It also could be that Jason was the world’s biggest kiss-ass (when he needed to be) and used that to wrap Y/N’s parents around his finger. Either or…

But now, since they were only going to the gym, Jason was of course taking his sweet time to get ready, which, every passing second was another snap of one of Y/N’s nerves. Truthfully, he would’ve just grabbed his keys and left without him, but the last time he did that, Jason went and bought a steering-wheel clutch to put on his car and hid the keys from him for two weeks.

Another thing Y/N’s parents would never believe about their son’s beloved boyfriend; the fucker was petty as hell.

“I’m coming, babe! Be out in a sec,” Jason yelled from behind their bedroom door.

“You said that five minutes ago!”

“Sorry, I don’t recall. Maybe you imagined it.”

This gaslighting motherfu–

Y/N had to take a deep breath to calm his growing impulsive need to bust down that door and slap the fuck out of his boyfriend’s neck. It didn’t help…

“You can’t hit your boyfriend. You can’t hit your boyfriend. You can’t hit your boyfriend,” Y/N mumbled to himself while tapping his foot against the floor repeatedly to distract himself from the ticking seconds passing by in his mind.

Two minutes later, the door opened and revealed his tall and bulky man looking ever so fresh and handsome. Though Y/N was still irritated beyond belief, the sight of his boyfriend’s handsome face who grew a smile and twinkle in his eyes when he looked at him always managed to dissipate his temper.

Not by much though. Jason’s neck still looked like a very bright and large target just waiting for a good sting from the palm of his hands.

Maybe Tim was right, they were a match made in heaven just off violent tendencies alone.

“That was not a sec,” Y/N reprimanded in a grumble.

Jason’s smile turned into a self-satisfied grin while he walked past his boyfriend to their coat closet, grabbing his abnormally large gym shoes. Seriously, what size is this man’s foot?

“Hey, it’s not my fault you waited till the last day to finish your homework.” He replied while tying his shoe.

“Um, actually it is. Every time I tried to sit down and work on it, you’d either start complaining about how I wasn’t paying any attention to you or you’d get randomly horny and start touching me in ways that shall not be named and I’d end up with your dick inside me.”

Y/N immediately regretted his words when he saw how Jason looked up from finishing his last shoe, a lustful blown look on his face as he eyed his body up and down. Thankfully, he didn’t seem like he was about to act on his impulses as he kept tying his shoe without looking before standing back up.

Why was that hot?

“Sounds like you need to practice self-control, sir.”

Oh, no he didn’t.

“Sir, I was already tempted to smack the back of your neck before. I beg you to not increase that urge.”

“Do it. I dare you,” Jason challenged, standing right in front of him with his towering frame. The tone in his voice and the look on his face were signaling something that Y/N was very tempted to answer, but he had to keep rationality in the forefront of his mind.

“You not worth it,” He responded, side-stepping him while going to grab his jacket.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Sir, don’t get fu–”

It was at that moment Y/N took a full look at his boyfriend, specifically what he was wearing. And while the sight was something he wouldn’t mind staring at, he definitely didn’t want other people staring at him.

“Excuse me, but what in the hell are you wearing?” Y/N asked, still looking him up and down.

Jason looked confused for a moment, also looking at his outfit, not seeing what the problem was.

“Um, a shirt and sweats? Is this a trick question or,”

“Why is it so tight? Who are you trying to show off for?”

This man was wearing a black compression shirt and gray joggers like it was just a regular Sunday. The Lord is watching, how dare he?!

Jason’s smirk immediately came back when he realized what he was really about, “Oh, what? I can’t wear tight clothes now to the gym?”

“Not unless you want me to fight bitches. Because, just in case you forgot, I do fight bitches.”

“Language, or I’m telling mom. And I like it when you fight over me,” He said while grabbing at Y/N’s waist.

He immediately popped the vigilante’s hands off him, “Don’t involve my mother in and hands off mister.”

“Our mother, thank you,” Jason corrected.

“It’s giving incestuous, and last time I checked, there is no ring on this finger and my last name is not Todd.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Y/N was sat.

“I-, that was really hot and we’re gonna move on from that,” Y/N responded, and Jason once again had a cocky smirk on his face. Lord knows this man was more than likely dead serious. He’d drop everything and drive to a ring shop right now.

“Anyway, you need to go change sir. I don’t need them dirty, mud-bathing rats staring at what is for my eyes only.” Y/N responded, pointing back to their bedroom waiting for Jason to move.

“Oh, so I need to go change, but when you were wearing those tiny shorts, showing off what’s supposed to be for my eyes only, I got told to mind the business that pays me,” Jason asked with a laugh.

“Are you on my payroll?” Y/N questioned.

“No.”

“My point still stands.”

“You think you’re funny,”

“I think I’m hilarious, actually. In fact, I’m so funny, I’m going to get the extra small shorts I just got in the mail since you want to play with me.” Y/N turned around and sprinted for their bedroom.

“Oh, I’ll play all day,” Jason mumbled under his breath before throwing their gym bags down to the ground and kicking off his shoes before following his boyfriend into the room.

They did not make it to the gym, but they definitely got their workout in.

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[ddollfface]

Love the knight. I gotta wonder how he’d deal with a very willing reader who is more than happy to have children with him? Also how did the nobility handle having a commoner become future king/emperor? Could you please elaborate a bit on what his rise to power was like?

𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫—𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤!𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Honestly, I think a willing reader will make everyone’s lives all the more pleasant. Really, all LoveSick!Knight wants stability, someone that he can protect, and this is just exacerbated by the fact that reader was an easy thing to cling to, seeing as he was taught from an early age that his role in life was to serve and die for the future queen, i.e. you. These emotions of hatred toward nobility and the rich are still harbored deep within, but they slowly disappear, realizing that, yes, nobility is bad, but not you. You’re different. You treat him like a human and not just some shield meant to separate you from danger. You are his queen, and he will be your king.

But yeah, I think a willing reader will make the relationship far more healthy, and a stubborn and golden heart type of reader will likely be able to set LoveSick!Knight straight (teaching him a softness he’s never known, showing him that there’s more than violence and that there are healthy coping skills, blah, blah). Overall, this will breed for a better kingdom and support for the royal family.

Now, when it comes to the actual world-building. It’s not all set and stone, and please don’t @ me if it doesn’t make sense. Honestly, LoveSick!Knight was just created because I wanted a fucked up knight-in-shining armor lol.

But nonetheless, my idea was that LoveSick!Knight, although a peasant, is seen as a war hero to the masses, and most importantly, the king. He’s not just some peasant who learned the way of the sword. No, no, no, don’t you understand? He helped protect the honor of the Nation’s Beaut! He defended the nation’s honor! He won many battles for reader’s country and brought back more victories in the span of a three-year siege than most have in a lifetime. 

So although there’s of course some nobility who are being bitchy about how LoveSick!Knight will stain the bloodline, especially as reader is seen to be one of the most valuable ladies in the land and such, but because LoveSick!Knight has won the favorability of the king, the emperor, but it falls on deaf ears. 

Also, I would like to add that reader, in the og timeline, doesn’t necessarily hate LoveSick!Knight in the beginning, no. They were friends, best buds, seeing as they were around one another 24/7. She had no choice but to enjoy his presence. The two had grown quite close, an example of this is in this oneshot. Things only turned sour once they were wed, when the isolation began. 

Because of this original support, reader was likely to defend LoveSick!Knight from stingy nobles, creating a even better public persona with the people. If the Nation’s Beaut thought this guy was so great and the King, then he must be amazing! So, yeah, that’s kind of the gist of things. 

And I think I’ve already gone over this, but LoveSick!Knight was given the throne as a gift of sorts. I never disclaimed if reader had brothers or not, and I don’t really feel the need to specify ‘cause I don’t think it matters, but LoveSick!Knight was passed on the throne as the King thought of him as a son. Also, the King wanted to wed the war hero to his beloved daughter, reader. So yeah, that’s the idea of the whole thing. Thanks for listening to my TED talk (´ε｀ )♡