#IT WAS THAT BETWEEN CALLS THE CHARACTERS SIT DOWN AND REFLECT AND INTERACT

[mintee]

Maybe the whole reason they didn't kill of any main characters before is because they truly did not know how. And this was a "well we're never gonna know until we try!" and now we know and the answer was, in fact, that they were not able to properly write a mc death.

[the-oblivious-writer]

The Science of Loss

Dexter Morgan and Reader

Part Two: Dexter’s Perspective

Summary: Even in death you hold a great impact in Dexter Morgan's life.

Warning(s): Swearing, (major) character death, clinical descriptions of death/crime scenes, mentions of violence, grief/loss, secondary trauma (Deb), and murder/references to

Notes: Although this is a part two, it can be read separately from Deb's perspective. This is a platonic Dexter and Reader fic, let me know if I should do more

Debra's Perspective

You were one of the few people who never made Dexter feel like he needed to perform humanity. Your interactions in the lab had a comfortable precision – you'd both speak the language of blood patterns, trajectory analysis, victim positioning. He didn't have to manufacture the appropriate emotional responses because you never demanded them. You understood silence.

Now he stands in the lab where you used to work, and the silence feels different. Heavy. He touches the microscope you'd use to analyze trace evidence, remembers how you'd explain your findings without the theatrical flourish Masuka employed. Just clean, methodical observations. You'd been easier to understand than most humans.

"The blood pool indicates they were conscious for approximately two minutes after the shot," he tells Deb, because these are the facts he knows how to process. His sister stares at him with red-rimmed eyes, and he recognizes that this information isn't helpful. You would have known how to translate between his analytical approach and Deb's raw emotion. You'd done it countless times before.

The security footage plays on his laptop. He's analyzed it like any other crime scene: entrance angle, shooter position, blood spatter direction. But something uncomfortable shifts in his chest when he watches you step in front of the teenage clerk. A protective instinct that doesn't align with efficient survival. It's the kind of human behavior he's always struggled to understand, but somehow made sense when you did it.

"You know what's fucked up?" Deb's voice cracks. "They would have fucking loved analyzing their own crime scene. All that blood spatter data."

Dexter nods, because you would have. You shared his fascination with the technical aspects of death, though yours came from a place of justice rather than necessity. You'd once spent three hours explaining to him how different blood pattern classifications could reveal a victim's final moments. Not because it was relevant to a case, but because you recognized his genuine interest.

He finds himself in the morgue at night, standing where your body had been. The metal table reflects the fluorescent lights, and he remembers how you used to joke that the morgue had better lighting than your apartment. Dark humor that made others uncomfortable but made perfect sense to him.

"I don't know how to help her," he tells the empty table. Deb is spinning out, breaking down, and his usual scripts for performing brotherly comfort feel inadequate. You would have known what to say. You always knew how to reach her when she retreated behind her walls.

The irony doesn't escape him – seeking advice from a memory of someone who helped him understand human connection. But you had been different. You didn't try to fix his peculiarities or demand conventional emotional responses. Instead, you'd simply included him in your understanding of human variation. "Different wavelengths," you'd called it, "but still on the spectrum."

He keeps your last case file. Not for sentimental reasons – he doesn't do sentimental – but because your analysis was always impeccable. Sometimes he reads your notes, appreciating the logical progression of your thoughts. The way you could look at violence and find patterns, meaning, justice.

The young shooter is caught three weeks after your death. Dexter sits in the observation room during the interrogation, studying the teenager's body language, the tremor in his hands. His Dark Passenger whispers familiar suggestions, but he remembers your voice during late-night lab discussions:

"Justice isn't always about punishment, Dexter. Sometimes it's about understanding why."

You'd said that after a particularly brutal case, your gloved hands steady as you processed evidence. He hadn't understood then – his own sense of justice had always been more… direct. But watching the terrified kid break down during questioning, he thinks maybe he's beginning to grasp what you meant.

Deb finds him organizing blood slides one night. Not his special collection – just routine case evidence. But he's doing it the way you taught him, with that extra level of precision you always insisted on.

"You miss them too, don't you?" she asks, her voice rough. "In your own way."

He considers this. Misses your predictable presence in the lab? Yes. Misses how you helped him navigate complicated social situations? Also yes. But there's something else – an unfamiliar discomfort when he passes your empty workstation. A hesitation before using your favorite microscope.

"Yes," he says simply, because you appreciated when he didn't elaborate unnecessarily.

Harrison asks about you sometimes. You'd been good with him, patient in a way that matched Dexter's own careful approach to fatherhood. You'd explained complex forensic concepts to Harrison in ways that satisfied his curiosity without disturbing his innocence. A balance Dexter often struggled to find.

"Where did Y/N go?" Harrison asks one evening.

Dexter remembers your discussions about death, how you'd emphasized the importance of being honest with children while respecting their developmental stage. He tries to channel your measured approach.

"They died," he says carefully. "Someone made a very bad choice with a gun, and Y/N tried to protect another person."

"Like a hero?"

Dexter thinks about your final moments on the security footage. The calculated risk, the protective instinct, the technical perfection of the blood spatter you left behind. "Yes," he says. "Like a hero."

He helps Deb pack up your apartment because that's what siblings do, according to the social scripts he's learned. Your forensics journals are organized by date and subject matter. Your case files are meticulously labeled. Even in death, you maintain the order that made you comprehensible to him.

"Fuck," Deb chokes out, finding one of your hair ties. She crumples, and Dexter moves to support her weight, remembering how you'd coached him through similar situations.

"Let her feel it," you'd advised during one of Deb's previous crises. "You don't have to fix it. Just be there."

So he is. He holds his sister while she breaks apart, and though he can't fully understand her grief, he recognizes its patterns. The way it spreads like blood spatter – predictable trajectories, measurable impact points, analyzable distribution.

Later, he finds your notes on his own blood spatter analysis. Margins filled with observations, questions, suggestions for improvement. You'd approached his work with the same detailed attention he gave to his… extracurricular activities. Not questioning, just analyzing. Seeking to understand.

"Your brother processes things differently," he overhears you telling Deb once. "It's not wrong, just different. Like how blood spatter can tell different stories depending on the angle you view it from."

The metaphor had been oddly perfect, much like your presence in his carefully constructed world. You didn't disrupt his patterns or expose his secrets. You simply observed, analyzed, and accepted the evidence before you.

He keeps your forensics kit in his lab. Not out of sentiment – Dexter Morgan doesn't do sentiment – but because your organizational system was superior to the department standard. At least, that's what he tells himself when he finds his hands lingering on the latches, remembering how you'd walk him through your processing methods.

"Evidence tells stories," you'd say, "but only if we listen carefully."

He's listening now, in his own way. To the stories told by your absence. The way Deb's grief spreads like high-velocity spatter. The void you left in the lab's carefully calibrated ecosystem. The subtle changes in his own patterns since you've been gone.

It's not grief as others experience it. He knows this, just as he knows he processes everything differently. But it's something. A disruption in his carefully maintained routine. A gap in his understanding of human interaction. A missing data point in his ongoing study of normal behavior.

You would have appreciated the analytical approach to processing your loss. Would have helped him categorize these unfamiliar reactions with the same precision you brought to blood spatter analysis. Would have understood that his version of missing you would manifest in reorganized evidence boxes and late nights reviewing your case files.

The science of loss, he discovers, is messier than other sciences. Less predictable than blood spatter. Harder to categorize than DNA evidence. But he continues to study it, methodically documenting its effects on Deb, on the department, on his own carefully structured world.

Because that's what you would have done. You would have looked at the evidence, analyzed the patterns, and accepted the conclusions – even the uncomfortable ones. Even the ones that suggest that maybe, in his own unique way, Dexter Morgan is capable of missing someone who made his world more comprehensible.

The security footage plays one last time. He watches you make the statistically illogical choice to step in front of danger. Watches the blood pattern bloom across your chest – medium-velocity spatter, consistent with a single gunshot wound. Watches you break protocol to protect another person.

And something in his carefully ordered mind shifts, just slightly. A new pattern emerging from familiar data. A different way of understanding sacrifice, justice, connection.

You would have appreciated the symmetry of that – teaching him something new, even after you're gone.

-----------

[deeversuswords]

‧˚₊ Truth Exposer 1: Uncovered — Ch.6

PAIRING — Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki/Vigilante F!Reader RATING — Explicit CONTAINS — heavy angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), mutual pining, slow burn, eventual smut, moral ambiguity, cheating (not between katsuki/reader), unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief/mourning, dark themes (past abuse, stalking, kidnapping, torture, quirk trafficking), violence, swearing, open but hopeful ending, dual pov (mostly reader), no use of y/n ◆ married bakugou katsuki—not to reader—and has a daughter too ◆ characters are in their late 20s SUMMARY — Running away would be the sensible thing to do. Getting as far away as possible from him, the one person who’s your ticket to losing your freedom. Not searching for him out of stupid curiosity and showing up at the last place you should: his house. They say curiosity killed the cat, but yours seems to always end up as the key unlocking doors that should probably stay locked. Because when you open the door to Bakugou Katsuki’s life, it’s not a loving marriage, not a happy family of three you find, but falsity, forced duty, and a dark secret that threatens his very own life. Bakugou Katsuki, the pro hero tasked with catching you and your downfall. And you, the vigilante exposing ugly truths for a living—his salvation.

➥AO3 LINK // ➥AO3 CHAPTER LINK // ➥TUMBLR CHAPTERS LIST

CHAPTER WARNINGS — n/a

WORD COUNT — ~3.7k

a/n: if you wanna be added to the tag list, let me know!

It was close to midnight when you gave up on sleep, fed up with twisting and turning and staring at the ceiling in frustration.

“Stay safe, Miss!” the security guard from your apartment complex called out.

You twisted at the waist, offered him a polite bow, and made yourself scarce. Most of your interactions were one-sided. Occasionally, you entertained his concern, sitting through a fatherly lecture on safety despite assuring him, more than once, that you could handle yourself.

But he had two daughters of his own. His worry made sense.

Still, you appreciated it. It gave you the smallest glimpse of how your father might’ve been.

Humid air clung to your skin as you wandered the empty streets. Past shadowed alleyways, past closed stores, past neon lights that spasmed like they were on their last leg. Your lips held an unhappy twist as you squinted at the flickering tubes. If they were out of money to replace them, you’d gladly pay just to spare your eyes the assault.

One moment of peace, that was all you wanted.

The day had been rough, on both your mind and heart. That was the reason you were out here to begin with: to find some quiet and settle your thoughts, not feel even more frayed.

Soon, the salt in the air caught at the back of your throat, sketching a relaxed smile across your face. You missed this place, where the ocean’s lazy sway carried away the good, the bad, the ugly. Hopefully, it would carry yours too. Strip the voracious fury from your nerves before your next decision reflected it.

As you reached the stone staircase leading down to the beach, a small, adorable creature greeted you, fur black as the void. Perched on the low stone slab carved with the name Takoba Municipal Beach Park, she meowed curiously, tail swishing back and forth. You melted at the sight, offering your hand carefully as you cooed, “Aw, you’re a cute one.”

The cat’s ears perked and twitched, button nose sniffing at your fingers. One approving cheek rub against your hand, and you were scratching between her ears. A low purr thrummed through your fingertips as she rubbed her whole body against your leg. Then came the paws, claws anchoring harmlessly on your thigh, green slitted eyes fixed on you.

You scooped her up without a second thought, cradling the soft fur ball in your arms.

“Looks like you’re my companion for the night,” you said, gently rubbing your knuckles under her chin. “After that, we’ll figure out what to do with you.”

You didn’t expect an answer, but the cat’s sudden reaction stunned you. She shot up to your shoulder, claws nearly piercing your skin, and hissed at something behind you. The hair on the back of your neck prickled.

You spun, eyes scanning the street. Every nook and cranny. Not a single soul in sight. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.

Yet your instincts, like hers, alerted you to something.

“It’s okay. You’re safe,” you whispered to the tense animal in your arms, stroking her shiny black fur slowly. The cat’s heartbeat matched the tempo of your own, an anxious ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. If anything—anyone—with bad intentions lurked in the darkness, they’d come out and follow.

You descended the stairs and trudged through the lukewarm sand toward the gazebo. The cat relaxed in your arms, instinctively reckoning the distance between the wooden bench where you sat and the stairs to be safe. Meanwhile, your body remained stiff, only slackening once the first waves crashed against the supporting pillars. Cold droplets splashed onto the back of your top, seeping in.

Slumping back, you rested your head against the bench and closed your eyes, hoping to command some order in the chaos of your mind. Ever since your eavesdropping stunt, your inner peace had been compromised.

You could barely remember how you’d made it back to your car. Rage had blurred reality, stained it pitch black, and sent the blood in your veins boiling so hot your body temperature cranked up. When you’d ripped open the door and dropped into the seat, the look on your face must’ve promised a massacre because Ayumu flinched.

And your best friend never flinched around you. You were his safe space as much as he was yours.

“How bad is it?” he asked cautiously.

“Bad. Like, really bad.” You turned in your seat to face him. “The rumored club? It seems to exist, but that’s not the part that matters.”

Ayumu’s brows pinched tight. “Then what is?”

“Bakugou is in danger. Real danger. The deadly kind.” You hesitated. “I think his wife is a villain. And I think she’s planning something against him.”

“Oh…shit.” Ayumu’s eyes widened as he dragged a hand down his face. “That complicates things. Maybe you should—”

“If you’re about to say I should tip him off and let him handle it, don’t.”

“It’s his wife, therefore his problem. Stay away, sweetheart. It’s too dangerous.”

You countered with a bitter laugh. “What we do is already dangerous.”

“I know, but this is different. It involves a pro hero.” His hand landed on your knee, squeezing gently. “Walk away. His wife, his life, his mess.”

“What if he’s involved in it too?”

Ayumu clamped his mouth shut and looked away.

You wanted to believe Bakugou wasn’t caught up in something foul, as you couldn’t fathom him tied to something villainous. But until you had undeniable proof of his innocence, or otherwise, the possibility loomed.

“Get the blueprints, Ayumu. We’re getting to the bottom of this, one way or another,” you said, feeling your quirk fade.

Then came the aftermath.

Your hearing shut off, plunging you into a vacuum of silence. The conversation had ended there.

He nearly killed you, the small voice at the back of your mind returned to remind you. You found chloroform.

Opening your eyes to the gazebo’s ceiling, you followed the stone beams from one end to the other. Yes, all of that was true, but it wasn’t enough. Which meant you could still wish he didn’t turn out to be a villain. You weren’t ready to face what exposing him would do to—

Gloved fingers entered your line of sight, cutting your mind’s rampage. You gasped as instinct kicked in, adrenaline bursting through your veins. The weight in your lap was gone—the cat.

You shot up, catching a flash of green eyes before latching onto the stranger’s arm, ducking under it, and twisting it behind his broad back. The man grunted, saying something that flew past your ears. His voice was familiar, but the rush drowned it out.

He jerked forward, dragging you with him. Your balance faltered. Your grip slipped. He seized your forearm. In a split-second reaction, you swung.

Pain rippled through your fist as it slammed into his cheek. You barely managed to draw a breath in before he lunged instead of staggering. His arms banded around your shoulders, dropping like iron to forcefully pin your arms against your sides.

You squirmed, staggering back, and he followed, crashing with you into one of the gazebo’s stone pillars.

“Get off me!” You thrashed in his bruising hold, glaring daggers at him. Where the hell had you seen him before? The shadows weren’t helping with identifying him.

“I mean no harm!” His heaving chest pressed into yours, knocking the air from your lungs in rapid bursts. “Please,” he added, tone nearly pleading. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

A guttural sound tore from your dry throat. “Get. Off.”

“Not until you calm down.”

“Who the hell are you anyway? And where did you even come from?”

“I’m…uh, Deku, Miss. Pro hero,” he panted.

“Well, Deku,” you spat, adrenaline hot in your veins. “Did no one teach you sneaking up on people is a bad idea?”

As if you hadn’t been the one spacing out like you were at home, not outside at night.

“I was just trying to check on you, Miss.” He leaned back a fraction, swallowing hard, green eyes ping ponging between yours. “I asked if you were alright, but you didn’t answer. I thought maybe you passed out and wanted to check. Make sure you were okay.”

You blinked, finally taking a proper look at him. Vibrant green eyes. Freckles. Windblown hair. A scar on his face. “You’re…D-Deku? As in that Deku?”

“Yes,” he said, a little breathless, a little awkward. “That’s me.”

Blood drained from your head. You blinked again, dizzy. A bruise was blooming on his cheek like a spring flower—bright, bold, impossible to ignore.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

You punched a pro hero.

“I’m so sorry!” you squeaked, panic racing up your spine. “I was out of my mind. I had to be. Crap. Does it hurt? Are you okay? Am I in trouble?”

He shifted his jaw left and right. “I’m alright. Doesn’t even hurt. I mean, I felt it. Of course I did. You know how to pack a punch—” His sudden, nervous laugh cracked the tension, but it only made you feel worse. “I’ll shut up now. And, uh…I’ll let go too.”

His arms dropped to his sides, but he didn’t move. Still in your space.

Awkward silence descended as you found yourself under a lens of scrutiny. His eyes traced yours, then dropped—nose, mouth, neck. And stopped.

Great. Wonderful. Amazing. Exactly what you needed. That was what you got for counting on the late hour to not meet a single soul.

“It’s nothing,” you blurted, slapping a hand over your throat to hide the bruise. As if that wouldn’t raise even more questions, especially with his mind likely jumping to the worst possible conclusion.

Deku hesitated. “I’m sorry. I know you probably think it’s none of my business, but I can help.”

“Whatever you’re imagining, it’s not happening. I promise.”

“You, um…you’ve got a bruise on your neck. Looks like a handprint.”

Sharp eyes. Brilliant observation. Congratulations, detective.

“Yeah, well, you can choke someone for purposes other than violence,” you said, pairing it with the sweetest smile you could fake. Hopefully, the casual hint at your bedroom activities was enough to stop him from prying further.

He jumped back, hands flailing, face flushed. “I s-see! I was really worried there for a second.”

You coughed in your fist, smothering the bubbling amusement as you pushed off the pillar. “Glad we sorted that out.”

Your hand moved to rub the ache in your other arm. Damn. This guy, who was seconds from passing out from a stranger’s implied sex adventures, had restrained you like a brute. Almost as harsh as Bakugou.

Realization struck your skull like a hammer.

Deku. Midoriya Izuku.

Bakugou’s friend.

The amusement drained out of you. Completely.

To add to the absurdity of the moment, the cat from earlier reappeared, meowing from the entrance of the gazebo.

“A cat?” Deku turned to the small animal. “Is it yours?”

“No,” you said dryly. “Found her meowing at the beach sign.”

She trotted over and wound herself around your legs, the sensation ticklish. Unable to resist, you crouched down to scratch behind her ears, melting at her loud purring.

“Do you, by chance, know if there’s a shelter nearby?” you asked, peering up. “I’d check, but I forgot my phone.”

“Just a moment.”

As he busied himself, you scooped up the purring feline and cradled her to your chest. Regret pinched at your heart as your fingers glided over her soft fur. You had the time, the space, the money, even the willingness to learn how to care for her properly, but no certainty about tomorrow.

Tomorrow could be your last day of freedom, or worse. And leaving that kind of responsibility to Ayumu wouldn’t be fair.

You weren’t meant to be her home, but you’d find one.

“There's one about fifteen minutes from here,” Deku said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Can you show me where exactly?”

He shook his head. “I’ll take you. It’s really late, and I’d feel a lot better if you didn’t go alone.”

“I’m fi—” You caught the stern shift in his expression and bit back your protest. “Fine. Whatever. Lead the way.”

*

The mission was straightforward: drop the cat off at the shelter, promise to cover every expense until they found her a home, then go on your merry way back home. The first half was successful. The second? An utter failure.

As an apology for punching him, Deku insisted on walking you home, cue the need to question his logic. Bonus points, he threw in the mix that kind smile of his, forcing you to relent. You wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face, especially since it was still there, brightening up his whole face and guilt-tripping your rather justified reaction to being snuck up on.

Somewhere along the way, you also discovered you couldn’t get enough of drilling holes into the side of his head with your constant glaring.

“Forgive me for asking, but what were you doing out so late?” he asked, that stupid smile having the audacity to widen when your eyes rolled.

“Couldn’t sleep. Walking around usually helps.”

He hummed, as if he were close to solving a mystery. “You’ve walked quite the distance.”

Was that suspicion in his voice, or just a neutral observation?

“What about you?” A dumb question, in hindsight. He was in full hero gear, which meant he was either starting his shift, in the middle of it, or just wrapping up. Either way, he was out doing hero things.

“Me? Uh…” He scratched at his unscarred cheek. “Night patrol. Pretty uneventful until I spotted you.”

You snorted a laugh. “What an honor. Becoming your nightly, free entertainment.”

“I had to make sure you were alright,” he defended, the rosiness of his cheeks illuminated by the fluorescent lights of the closed bank you strolled past. “It’s not every day I find someone alone, relaxing in a beach gazebo in the middle of the night.”

“Someone?” You gave him a look. “You mean a woman.”

He cleared his throat. “Guilty. It was…unexpected.”

“Which part? Finding me, or me fighting you?”

“Both, but mostly the second. Where did you—”

“Self-defense classes. You can never be too safe.”

One harmless facet of the truth. Your quirk kept you safe, as long as you created the opportunity. And opportunity only came with knowledge.

“Are you not feeling safe?” His eyes locked on yours, emphasizing how serious he was about the question.

“I am, but there’s no such thing as absolute safety. I could trip right now and—”

“I’d catch you.”

If he knew who you were, he sure would. With restraints on your wrists, and dragging you into the nearest police station, crying out Truth Exposer for all to hear.

“Maybe today, but not tomorrow. Not the day after,” you replied, watching the realism of it kill his smile.

One person couldn’t save everyone, no matter how driven they were. Someone like him had to know that.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, remaining sealed shut for the rest of the way.

*

“It’s here. Thanks for bringing me, and again, sorry for punching you.” You gave him a curt bow. “Hope the rest of your shift goes well.”

Deku’s observant eyes drifted past you, taking in the apartment building that looked more abandoned than lived in. Maybe because it was too perfect. Every surface gleamed, untouched. Every crevice, every coat of paint, still owned by novelty. It wasn’t even two years old, and yet barely any lights were on.

When his gaze returned to yours, you spotted the doubt in it.

“Can I—” he started, but you raised a hand to stop him.

“No. It’d make me feel bad,” you said, lying through your teeth. “Don’t let the looks fool you. Most people here are old. They’re not exactly night owls.”

“But—”

“Good night, Deku.”

You left his side, catching the sound of a single step before he stopped, likely realizing any further insistence would cross a line. Good night echoed into the eerie atmosphere, fading behind your calm strides as you slipped into the building and made for the elevator.

You jabbed the button for the sixth floor, chewing your lip, silently urging the elevator to move faster. When the doors slid open, you stepped out and gasped at the darkness swallowing you whole.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The hallway sensors were broken again. Moonlight slipped through narrow windows, casting silvery beams that couldn’t cut through the thick black. You stared too long; a mistake, for something in the dark stared right back.

Ghosts of the past swayed out of the abyss, grazing their chilly fingers over your sweaty skin. Whispering of lives unfairly taken too soon, of longing and regret. Four years had passed since that avoidable tragedy struck, claiming every single resident, claiming them. Four years since this very building crumbled like a house of cards. Four years since—

Your hand slapped the light switch. The harsh, temporary brightness chased the phantasms away, allowing you to breathe. Your heart hammered against your ribs, fractured by grief and the helplessness of your former self.

No one saved her, and she couldn’t save anyone. Useful quirk, useless owner.

As you didn’t move, darkness returned, and this time, it found you.

You squared your shoulders and walked through it like you owned it. Fear? There was nothing to be afraid of. Nothing here could hurt you. These walls had once been home, back when the old building still stood before it crumbled and took your memories with it. And the two people who were an important part of your life.

Knowing the place like the back of your hand, you headed to the staircase and dashed up. On the seventh floor, you pressed your back to the wall and crept toward the window. Relief settled in your bones as you caught sight of Deku disappearing into the shadows down the street.

On the ninth floor, you skidded to a halt in front of the last door at the end of the hallway, breath ragged, and stepped into the moonlit apartment.

You almost said, I’m home, but what was the point? No one would answer.

Empty. Lonely. Dead.

Aside from a tall portrait hanging in the living room and the withered flowers beneath it, there wasn’t a single piece of furniture. This imitation of your childhood home felt tragically cold. Only the floor retained a trace of warmth from the day’s sunlight under your bare feet.

“It’s been a while, Mom. Dad,” you said, breathless. “I didn’t bring anything this time, sorry. I wasn’t planning to stop by, but… I didn’t really have a choice. Next time, I promise.”

Your gaze shifted from the dried-up flowers to your mother’s frozen one.

“I’ve been busy with things you probably wouldn’t be proud of. But because of them, I met him. He’s something else. Stubborn. A real pain in the ass.” You scoffed, an unwanted smile forming on your face. “His tongue is as sharp as mine. Fouler, even. But is that really a surprise?”

No, she would’ve said and scolded you for the times your manners evaporated. Maybe even reminded you how close you had come to getting the three of you in trouble back at U.A.

The fight had raged on outside the safety bubble, and they’d had to spare staff to question how you knew about Bakugou’s fall on the battlefield.

“Honey, you need to tell him,” your mother insisted, her panic rising as she shook you by the shoulders. Your glare turned vicious, making her gasp.

“She’s right, kiddo. He just wants to—”

“We all want to know things,” you snapped, fixing that glare on the man across from you. “Bakugou Katsuki. Is he dead? Yes or no, and I’ll give you an answer.”

The man sighed, rubbing a hand over his buzzed hair. “The heroes on-site are doing everything they can to save him.”

Your fists clenched in your lap as pressure built behind your eyes. You gave a slight nod. “My quirk…enhances my five senses. All of them, or the ones I choose,” you explained, noting the glint of interest in his eyes. “Sounds great, right? Useful. But I can’t control it well.”

Part truth. Part lie. And a secret.

Your control improved, but the fear was still wedged deep in your core, making it unreliable. No one could know. Not even your parents, especially not them. Your methods…the way you reached this insignificant milestone would break them. Again.

“I got overwhelmed by all the noise,” you muttered, cheeks burning with shame. “My quirk went off by itself. That’s when I heard it—someone reporting in over a pro’s earpiece that Bakugou…”

You couldn’t say it. Saying it would make it more real than it already was, and your heart was protesting against the cruelty, the unfairness. He was a stranger, but something in you was breaking at the thought of him gone. Life, snuffed out like it was never there.

The only reason you knew of his existence was because of your mother. Every year, she watched the U.A. Sports festival religiously, never missing a broadcast.

That year, Bakugou had been on the screen. Arrogant, wild, confident. One hell of a force in human form, showing off strength, power, and control you could only dream of.

His arrogance had stayed with you.

His wildness had spoken to the survivor in you.

His confidence had saved you.

Even now, years and years later, you could recall the feeling of change in your heart. The quiet, irreversible shift. Without it, maybe you wouldn’t be here at all.

“I’m about to do something stupid,” you admitted to the portrait, arms wrapping tightly around your own body. “My gut says this is big. Bigger than anything I’ve faced before. And bad. Bad enough that I—”

You sucked in a shaky breath, nails digging into your skin.

“I won’t come out of this unharmed. I’ll get hurt. Maybe worse. But I can’t walk away. If I do…I’ll never forgive myself.”

taglist: @lunaryasha

[literaryvein-reblogs]

sorry not sure if i put in the request, but do you have something on prosopagnosia (face blindness)? i'm not entirely sure how i would describe the faces... thank you 🫶

Writing Notes: Prosopagnosia

Prosopagnosia - A form of visual agnosia in which the ability to perceive and recognize faces is impaired, whereas the ability to recognize other objects may be relatively unaffected.

Also called face blindness.

A condition where you have difficulty recognising people's faces.

The term was originally limited to impairment following acute brain damage, but a congenital form of the disorder has since been recognized.

Can be distinguished from prosopamnesia, which is an abnormal difficulty in remembering faces, even though they are perceived normally: The condition may be congenital or acquired.

Awareness of the disorder was greatly elevated with the bestselling book The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales (1985) by British neurologist Oliver Sacks.

Symptoms

The main symptom of prosopagnosia is having difficulty recognising faces.

You'll still see the parts of a face normally, but all faces may look the same to you.

It affects people differently.

Some people may not be able to tell the difference between strangers or people they do not know well. Others may not recognise the faces of friends and family, or even their own face.

To people with prosopagnosia, people all look the same (barring hair color, skin pigmentation, body shape, and very specific details such as scars). The fact that people generally don't have a distinctive outfit or hairstyle makes interacting with people extremely confusing for them.

Other symptoms of prosopagnosia can include difficulty with:

recognising emotions on people's faces

recognising people's age and gender

recognising characters and following plots in TV programmes or films

recognising other things, such as cars or animals

finding your way around

Difficulty recognising faces may make it harder to form relationships, or cause problems at work or school. This may affect your mental health and may lead to social anxiety or depression.

There's no treatment for prosopagnosia, but there are things you can do to help recognise people.

tell people about the condition before you meet them

ask people you're close to for help identifying others

ask people to introduce themselves when you greet them

use people's voices or body language to tell them apart

make a note of distinctive features about a person such as hairstyle, jewellery or accessories

use name tags or write down the names of colleagues and where they sit at work

Prosopagnosia usually is permanent.

Some persons with acquired prosopagnosia, however, spontaneously recover facial-recognition abilities.

This could be the result of either physical recovery from injury, with eventual restoration of brain function, or reorganization of the facial-processing locations in the brain.

Prosopagnosia lies on a continuum and stricter vs. looser diagnostic criteria employed in prosopagnosia studies in the past 13 years have identified mechanistically very similar populations, providing justification for expanding the criteria to include those with milder forms of it.

It is important to use a combination of self-reported daily-life difficulties and validated objective measures when diagnosing prosopagnosia.

There are pros and cons to relying just on self-reports because it can be challenging to judge your own abilities or relying solely on objective lab measures that may not reflect everyday life.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

It's alright, only received this message. The other may have gotten lost. Hope this helps with your writing!

[sha-brytols]

i would love to hear your thoughts on solythal cause it's so obvious that mythal used and manipulated solas but people can get so misogynistic in their takes on it like yeah okay i see your (general you) problem isn't the abuse but the fact that solas loved someone before lavellan 🙄

this has been sitting in my ask box for like a month. sorry sometimes people ask me about my opinions on things and i just dissociate for a bit because its genuinely crazy to me that people want to know what i think about stuff

anyways i said before the solythal dynamic reminds me a lot of gale and mystra from bg3 on both a narrative and fandom scale and i still stick by that. its completely possible to have a genuine discussion about the dynamic of a manipulative and self destructive relationship between a god and their favored follower and how it might even reflect on how the character acts in their relationships with the player character going forward, but these discussions get super bogged down in a lot of unnecessary vitriol directed at the female counterpart. like the kind that you would Never see in a similar dynamic where the instigator is a man.

sure, fandom hates cazador for what he did to astarion, but do they hurl half the bile at him that they do at mystra? are you more likely to see a measured analysis of how he has warped astarion's worldview or are you more likely to see a bunch of catty posts about how he's a bitch alongside at least 40 tired memes calling him a karen or any other socially acceptable target of misogyny? and whats more annoying is how these same people are often the most aggravatingly loud advocates for "dark fiction" and will tell on every opportunity that they're the most mature people in fandom because they don't judge a person based on their fictional preferences, only to fall into the exact same kind of petty judgement and moralization the second they see their Arch Nemesis, the former female love interest of their favorite blorbo

and its never just with abuse dynamics. we just see it at its loudest Today because fandom has finally gotten to a place where its a little less acceptable to be openly petty when a woman interacts romantically with a popular man, so people feel more vindicated when their jealousy can be framed as a moral concern. remember the absolutely explosive amount of discourse that was spawned when people found out isabela and fenris can be FWBs if neither are romanced? or the garrus fans who found out he can get with tali in mass effect? even today i see loads of discourse regarding neve/lucanis and how boring it is and how "oh neve deserves better" and when i check the blog 9/10 it's a lucanismancer and btw no they never talk about neve unless its specifically in relation to how much her romance with lucanis sucks. its exhausting

i do like solythal as like. a nuanced take on an abusive dynamic. dragon age in my opinion has (mostly) been really good about its portrayals of abuse. it's never as black and white as "evil person hurts good person for no reason other than theyre evil" and it at least usually tries to explore what causes these people to hurt the people they care for and how the victims internalize and process that treatment. this is the same mythal that was a part of flemeth, the woman who abused her daughter and taught her to see love as a transaction. it's not hard to imagine how that same mindset could manifest in her romantic relationships and honestly i think its actually super sick as like an inside look on what caused flemeth to treat her own daughter that way. you know.

its just like borderline impossible to talk about it here without it being hijacked by hyper egg stans who just want an excuse to hate on solas's former love interest

[blue-slxt]

Kinktober 18

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

Kinktober Masterlist

A/N: Back-to-back Fish Boy! Ao'nung's confidence feels like it makes him the perfect fit for something as ego stroking as watching himself fuck his partner in front of the mirror. I hope you guys enjoy this one! All characters are aged up.

Pairing: Ao'nung x Fem!Human!Reader

Warnings: P in V, Creampie, Praise, Dom!Ao'nung

Ao’nung always felt weird coming to the lab that was set up near the beach. He really only ever came when he wanted to see you and you didn’t feel like suiting up with your mask. Watching him now as his eyes shift around your room was almost adorable. The way he gazed at everything with a hint of curiosity and his ears would flick in wonder.

“What is this called?” he asks pointing at your fan that sat beside him.

“That’s a fan. It helps me cool off when I get too hot.”

He cautiously touches it and huffs out a breath at the strange looking object.

“You sky people have the strangest things.”

“You’re adorable.” You tease a little. “I know something you’ll probably like. Come here.” You grab his much larger hand and urge him up from your bed and into the bathroom.

You position him in front of the mirror and gesture at it with your arms in a ta-da motion.

He stares at himself for a moment moving his ears, flicking his tail, and turning his chin side to side and watches as his reflection mimics him perfectly.

“That is me.”

“Pretty cool, huh? Now, you can clearly see how handsome you actually are.” You say trailing your fingers up his arm.

“Well, I don’t need this thing to know that.” He says puffing his chest out and rolling his shoulders back earning a giggle from you.

“Well, excuse me Mr. Strong Handsome Metkayina Man.” You tease throwing your arms around his neck. His hands hold you against him and he can practically smell the arousal in your skin. Ao’nung lifts you with ease and sits you on the sink in front of him. He leans his face in just inches away from yours smirking down at you.

“You know, there’s something I’ve always wanted to try with one of these”

He cocks one of his brows at you in wonder.

“What if I told you that I want you to fuck me in front of the mirror” your voice drops to a hushed seductive whisper and Ao’nung grins from ear to ear clearly liking the sound of that.

“You always have the most interesting ideas” he says before crashing his lips onto yours. It’s messy and impatient and so fucking hot.

You hop down off the sink and turn around to press your ass against his cock that was unsurprisingly hard already. You swear this man stayed ready at all times of the day and night. Not like you were complaining, though. He grinds his length against you and leans forward to kiss and nibble on your ear. Your head falls back against him letting out a low moan. His eyes flick to the mirror so he can watch your face and fuck, you looked so hot like this.

“These need to go. Now.” He says in your ear hooking his thumb in the waistband of your shorts that you quickly shimmy out of. He uses one hand to undo the knot on his tewng and you can feel his heavy cock rest on your ass while he slides between the lush of your cheeks. He groans behind you feeling your soft skin rubbing against his hard shaft.

“Ao’nung, don’t tease…” it comes out in a whine and hearing his name on your lips makes him lose his patience. He finally lines himself up with your slick covered pussy and slowly pushes in. Both of you have your eyes focused on the mirror taking in each other’s faces while he sinks into you inch by inch. It’s a completely new experience seeing each other’s expressions in this way and it just ramps up the intensity of everything for you two. When he starts to steadily thrust into you, you can’t even keep your head up straight because all you can think about is how good he’s stretching you.

“Look at me.” He says behind you still keeping pace inside of you.

You weakly manage to lift your head and meet his eyes in the mirror. His chin drops to his chest when he groans feeling you squeeze around him.

“Keep looking at me.”

“Mmf…fuck Nung! S-so deep!” you cry out still keeping your eyes focused on his face. He sucks in a sharp breath, “Yeah, you’re taking it so well.”

He breaks eye contact with you for just a split second to look down and watch the way your drenched cunt sucked his whole cock in. Your eyes start to roll feeling that familiar tightness growing in your core. Your mouth hangs open doing your best to catch the breath that he was currently knocking out of you. Seeing your fucked out expression almost tips him over the edge. Ao’nung uses one of his hands to grab you by your face and make you look in the mirror.

“Look how beautiful you are taking my cock.” He grunts out while losing his own breath.

“M-hm! Haah ah!”

“Say it.” He demnads.

“I look *thrust* so pretty *thrust* taking your cock! *thrust*” your words are broken and your breathing is erratic, but you’re so damn close, you can taste it.

“Hng…squeezing me so tight!” he says between clenched teeth. “Cum for me. Let me see it.”

And right on command, your body explodes with pleasure racing through you. Your eyes cross, your legs buckle, and your pussy flutters around him.

“Shit…shit!” he hisses out feeling his own release flow into you. With him still holding your face, you can watch him while he fills you to the brim and God, what a sight he was. He bares his fangs as he hisses and groans riding out his high.

When he finally finishes, your eyes meet in the mirror again and you smile deviously at him. He knows that look. Now, that you had gotten started, you two weren’t going to be done for a long while.

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[thexsanctuaryx]

ʚ♡ɞ I'll Follow You Into the Dark ʚ♡ɞ

➳ NEXT CHAPTER

{ summary: } marc and emma arrive in the same wing of the same mental hospital at the same time. { pairing: } | eventual | original character { emma harper } x marc spector, emma harper x steven grant, and emma harper x jake lockley { contents: } mental hospitals, psychiatric hold, first meeting, angst { I guess? I don't know what else to call it. } { warnings: } severe mental illness { psychosis, hallucinations, depression }, main character is actively in psychosis, I've done my best to write it in the least triggering way but there are a lot of heavy themes that will take place in this series, so forewarning. Marc is a danger to himself here but it's only really alluded to in this part. mental hospitals. triggering themes related to the aforementioned. { author's note: } I recently finished reading "tear down my reason" by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction and it inspired me to work on an idea I've been playing with about emma and the boys meeting while both in a mental hospital at the same time. I wanted to write a series that would help other people with severe mental illness feel seen and heard as there really aren't works out there like this. This series is being written with a lot of love and care so I truly hope that it can be cathartic for those who read who might also live with mental illness because you DO matter and your story DOES deserve to be told. { word count: } 969 { taglist: } @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

They’d been admitted the same night, after lights out, two frozen bodies sitting in the darkened day room waiting to be assigned a bed.

It was unusual for two people to land in the same wing at the same time, let alone this late at night but that’s just how it happened.

She sits quietly, fully believing she’s in some kind of limbo between this life and the next – that somehow this was just how her brain was processing her passing, waiting to be judged.

She wonders if the man, slumped in the chair half a dozen feet from her is also recently deceased. Or so she believes.

He seems sullen and she wonders if perhaps he’d taken his own life to end up here in this seeming waystation.

Despite his deep scowl, she finds him beautiful. And then she thinks to herself, maybe he’s an angel and it’s some kind of test to see how she’ll interact with him.

As his eyes rise to hers, his frown etches further into his features. “You're staring…” He mutters, rolling his shoulders tensely.

“Sorry—” Emma apologizes, tearing her eyes away. “I was just—wondering if you were okay…” She mumbles softly.

“Would I be here if I were okay?” He replies.

Emma confuses his meaning, again thinking maybe this in the afterlife. And again, she thinks he must’ve taken his life.

‘Marc—come on, she seems sweet…’ A voice in his mind says, whose worried expression reflects from the window to the hallway.

“How can you possibly tell that, Steven?” He mutters again.

When he speaks to someone that doesn’t appear to be in the room, she starts to turn the options over in her mind.

Maybe he’s hearing voices like she started to this morning before…before it happened…

Or maybe she just can’t see the person he’s speaking to because that person is on a spiritual plane she can’t comprehend yet.

Still, she’s sure it’s all a test.

“Who is Steven?” she asks gently, trying to help.

Marc’s eyes flash to hers again, that seem to look on him with such an innocence that even he can’t see her question as malicious.

“Is he here too?” She asks, looking confused but somehow so compassionate.

This in turn confuses him.

‘I don’t think she’s here for the same reason we are, mate…” Steven says within their headspace, looking at the girl with such soft regard.

There’s a small pout at Marc’s lips as he studies her. She radiates a kind of sensitive and soothing energy that belongs far away from a place like this.

He can’t help but soften along with Steven.

Another presence moves into focus in their shared space. He takes one look at the girl and feels his own protective nature kick in.

‘Who’s this?’

Marc doesn’t realize how long the silence has lingered between them until Jake speaks.

All the while, she continues looking softly at him, occasionally shying away her eyes.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me…” Emma breaks the silence.

Marc shakes his head slowly, somehow finding himself more worried about her than he is about himself at this point.

“What’s your name?” He asks, tempering his voice.

She swallows, tucking some hair behind her ear. “E-Emma…” She rolls her lips in, causing dimples to dip lightly into her cheeks as her eyes glance away shyly again.

Jake watches stunned from the reflection beside Steven.

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he only softens more. “I’m Marc…” he introduces himself.

Emma eyes rise to his again, nodding slowly.

Her mind is already moving on, asking quietly, “do you know how long we’ll be here?”

Marc mistakes her meaning, just assuming it must be her first time on a psychiatric hold.

“72 hours—they have to—”

Emma’s already talking over him, more to herself but audible enough for the three of them to hear. “Three days? Like Easter?” She wonders aloud.

Marc’s eyebrows pull together, his mouth hanging open a little. “huh?”

“Easter—” Emma repeats. “Jesus came back to life after three days…”

‘Oh I—Marc I don’t think she knows what’s happening at all…’ Steven tells him.

Marc blinks slowly, but continues to soften, “do you know where you are right now, Emma?”

She shakes her head quickly and her shoulders pulling up to her ears, “I think it’s—well it’s kinda like limbo, right?” She pauses, furrowing her own brow. “We’re waiting to be judged…” She does her best to explain.

An ache goes through his chest, somehow his situation seems to pale in comparison with hers.

“No, Emma—” He starts, but is abruptly cut off when the floor staff comes to collect her first.

Fear seems to come over her face and it’s all he can do to stay in his chair, knowing that causing a scene would end badly for one or both of them.

“I’ll see you tomorrow—okay?” Is all he can get out.

“Tomorrow?” Emma questions in a daze.

“Come on, Emma—let’s get you settled…” The woman ushers her out of the door. “Someone will be back for you in a minute, Marc.”

This does nothing to ‘settle’ Marc at all, in fact, even after they get him situated in a room he still can’t stop worrying.

And so there he lies, in the dark on his side in a twin sized bed that feels a little too small, wrapped in thin hospital blankets, unable to get his mind off of the beautiful girl somewhere in a room along the same hallway.

The same beautiful girl who likewise lies in the dark, wondering over an angel named Marc and what will come of her.

Of one thing was certain for both of them, sleep wouldn’t come so easily tonight.

[kckt88]

Take My Breath Away XII.

Summary:

Vaeryna and Aemond seek to reconcile with one another.

Warning(s): Kissing, Smut - Fingering, Rough P in V Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Daddy Kink, Breeding Kink, Awkwardness.

Word Count: 3366

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

GREENS WIN - ENEMIES TO LOVERS.

Tag List - @ammo23, @immyowndefender,

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

“Seems like a life ago since we had any time alone” said Cregan.

“I know” replied Vaeryna.

“Is everything ok with your husband, things between you seem a little strained?”

“Because they are” muttered Vaeryna sadly as she walked arm in arm around the gardens with the Warden of the North.

“The business with Aegon?” asked Cregan.

“Aemond didn’t take the news very well” said Vaeryna quietly.

“He hasn’t hurt you, has he?” demanded Cregan.

“No, we’ve taken to avoiding one another-“

“-You’re upset by this” replied Cregan softly.

“Yes” mumbled Vaeryna her lips wobbling slightly.

“Look, I might not like the man, but surely the best thing for the two of you is to talk and sort this out. You have children; you cannot avoid one another forever”.

“There was me thinking you would want me to avoid Aemond” replied Vaeryna.

“Once upon a time, I may have welcomed the discord in your marriage and mayhaps I would have tried my hand, but I see the way he looks at you and I see it in your eyes now. You love him very much, stop being stubborn and go talk to him” said Cregan.

“I will once we’ve finished our walk”.

Cregan let out a heavy sigh but continued on his walk with Vaeryna, they chatted about Aegon and his time in the North and Cregan expressed a desire to keep in contact with the boy he’d essentially raised as his son for almost seventeen years.

Whilst Cregan was saddened at the thought of not seeing Aegon every day, he was also happy that Aegon was finally back home where he belonged.

They also chatted about Vaeryna’s children and in quiet reflection they talked about Jacaerys.

Remembering the good times, and Vaeryna smiled as Cregan told her of Jace’s time at Winterfell.

“Wherever he is; do you think he’s ok with the choices I’ve made?” asked Vaeryna.

“Knowing Jace, I think he would probably sulk for a bit, then he would understand”.

“I think your right” replied Vaeryna smiling sadly as she spotted her brother sitting under the weirwood tree with Daenerys as they talked, under the watchful gaze of Ser Colton and another member of the Kings Guard.

“The past has seen a lot of loss, let us look to the future and see it grow” said Cregan as he pressed a gentle kiss to Vaeryna’s head.

It was a few hours until the feast and Vaeryna was pacing outside Aemond’s chamber’s.

She knew they needed to talk and sort things out, but they’d left things festering for a month and Vaeryna didn’t even know if Aemond wanted to sort things out with her.

“Don’t be a coward” whispered Vaeryna as she reached up and knocked on the door.

After a few minutes the door swung open and Aemond stood there with a surprised look on his face as he caught sight of his wife, fiddling nervously with a stray thread on her skirts.

“Vaeryna” said Aemond.

“M-May I come in?” asked Vaeryna quietly.

“Hm” muttered Aemond as he stepped to the side and allowed Vaeryna to enter.

As she door shut with a soft click, Vaeryna stood awkwardly in front of Aemond, each of them waiting for the other to speak first.

“I want to apologize for lying” said Vaeryna quietly.

“Hm”

“I’m sorry for being dishonest, but I won’t apologize for protecting my brother. I was desperate and I just wanted to keep him safe” exclaimed Vaeryna.

“-And that makes it ok, does it?” asked Aemond.

“What would you do, if it was Helaena, Aegon or even Daeron? You would do everything in your power to see them safe, so don’t look down your nose at me”.

“You call this an apology?” quipped Aemond cocking his head to the side.

“Oh, do you know what stuff it where the sun doesn’t shine, I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Cregan” snapped Vaeryna.

“What does the Warden have to do with any of this?”.

“He told me to stop being stubborn, and that we should try talk things through, but obviously you don’t care and now I feel like a total idiot” said Vaeryna as she turned on her heel and walked back towards the door.

“Vaeryna. Wait” said Aemond desperately.

“Why should I?” asked Vaeryna as she turned back to face Aemond.

“I cannot accept your apology”.

“S-So that’s it then? You won’t even try to figure this out” said Vaeryna as the tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“Vaeryna”.

“It’s ok, I understand. This is my fault. I shall not trouble you again. Please just know that I love you and-“ stuttered Vaeryna as Aemond suddenly lunged forward and pressed his lips to hers.

Vaeryna ripped herself away from Aemond. Staring at him as she put a hand to her mouth.

The uncertainty and upset swirling in the pit of her stomach was now morphing into something else. The dormant fire of their relationship was roaring to life once more. Coursing through her body.

One kiss, that was all it took. She needed more. She needed him.

Suddenly Vaeryna wrapped her arms around Aemond's neck and drew him in back in.

Their kiss was rough and vicious. Consisting of teeth and tongue.

It had been so long since they’d shared any form of intimacy.

Aemond backed Vaeryna towards the bed, his hands tearing off her dress until it was a ragged mess on the floor.

It was an eruption of frustration and passion. Hands everywhere, grabbing, scratching, and pulling at one another.

Aemond took a brief minute to yank off his tunic and shirt before he shoved Vaeryna on the bed, her back colliding with the mattress with a soft thump.

His body covered hers as he sucked and licked the delicate skin of her neck, leaving red marks in his wake.

Vaeryna moved her head to the side and moaned loudly as she felt Aemond’s teeth nipping at her skin.

Aemond pulled away to unfasten his breeches and push them down, his hard cock slapped upwards against his abdomen.

Vaeryna lay back on the bed, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

Aemond ran his hand up and down the length of himself, eyeing his wife with an animalistic hunger, a smirk on his lips as she instinctively parted her legs for him.

As Aemond guided himself to her entrance, Vaeryna barely had a moment to adjust before he pressed his cock forcefully inside and stretched her brutally, causing her to cry out.

“FUCKING TAKE IT!” moans Aemond, wrapping a hand around her throat while the other digs into her hip, pulling her aggressively against him to meet each one of his hard thrusts.

Vaeryna can’t think of anything but the intense pounding thrusts that greet her, causing her to wail and moan, tears form in her eyes, before running down her cheeks.

Aemond sets a brutal pace, his hips relentlessly crashing into hers.

“YES! YES! AEMOND!” screamed Vaeryna.

“FUCK!” shouts Aemond.

As Aemond’s hips begins to falter in their movements, he snakes a hand between their joined bodies, his long fingers expertly circling her pearl, causing heat to bloom in her stomach.

Aemond presses down more firmly, making faster movements against her bud making her shudder, as a sudden warmth crashes over her in waves making her cry out, her cunny tightening around him.

“AEMOND!!” screams Vaeryna as her hands claw at his back.

“Fuck!! baby, that’s it come all over my cock!” growls Aemond as he moves to grab the headboard, bracing himself as he continues to pound his hips against hers.

“A-Aemond” gasped Vaeryna.

���I’m never going without your sweet cunny again” groaned Aemond, his fingers digging into the wood of the headboard.

The sound of their coupling was so loud, that no doubt everyone in the Red Keep could hear them as they brought each other pleasure.

“P-Please Aemond. Fill me up. I want it. I want you” whined Vaeryna.

With a loud animalistic groan, Aemond stills, leaning over his wife, his cock pulsating as he spills his seed deep inside her.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” asked Aemond quietly as he observed the reddened marks that littered his wife’s pale skin.

“No” whispered Vaeryna, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Y-Your crying” muttered Aemond.

“I-I’m not crying because I’m hurt. I-I’m sorry for not being honest with you and for letting things get so bad between us that we spent a month apart” whispered Vaeryna as she pressed her face into Aemond’s side.

“When I said that I couldn’t accept your apology, it was because you don’t owe me one-well for lying yes but not for protecting your brother” replied Aemond.

“I’m sorry Issa zaldrīzes” whispered Vaeryna (My dragon).

“Avy jorrāelan ābrazȳrys” replied Aemond as he began pressing kisses onto Vaeryna’s neck (I love you wife).

“I don’t want to fight anymore”.

“Me either, no secrets though and no more lies” urged Aemond.

“I have no more secrets anyway-oh except one but I’m not sure you want to hear about that”.

“Tell me” retorted Aemond.

“Well, it’s about your brother-are you sure you want me too tell you”.

“Yes tell me. What about him?” asked Aemond.

“H-He once told me that he’s curious about you”.

“Curious?” muttered Aemond furrowing his brow.

“You do know that he’s had sexual encounters with men before”.

“I do not listen to the sordid details of my brothers past indulgences-wait when you say he’s curious about me, you don’t mean-“

“-Yes, I do believe that he had a curiosity over you bedding him” said Vaeryna trying to stifle a smile at the look on Aemond’s face.

“Your right, I should not have heard that” exclaimed Aemond.

“Oh, come on, aren’t you a little intrigued. I mean it could be fun” suggested Vaeryna.

“No, not in a million years would I, he’s my brother-“

“-And I’m your niece, Targaryen customs and all that” said Vaeryna.

“Don’t tell me you’ve thought about it”.

“Might have done, once or twice but it was a long time ago” said Vaeryna softly.

“Am I not enough to satisfy my wife that she would like to have my brother as well?” asked Aemond as he ran his tongue over one of Vaeryna’s rosy nipples.

“N-No. I want you. Only you” moaned Vaeryna as Aemond reached down and ran his fingers through her slick wet folds.

Vaeryna pushed herself against Aemond’s hand as he swirled a digit around her swollen bud, reigniting the spark of pleasure inside her.

“Look at your needy little cunny. Do you need daddy to help you?” asked Aemond.

Vaeryna nodded as she thrust her hips against his hand as he added another finger, beginning to move them inside of her.

“Use your words ābrazȳrys” muttered Aemond (Wife).

“Please valzȳrys” moaned Vaeryna (Husband).

“Please what, Issa prūmia” said Aemond smirking (My Heart).

Vaeryna whined, shutting her eyes as the heat flooded her face.

“Come on. Use your words or you won’t get what you want” teased Aemond.

“Please, daddy. I need you. P-please fuck me” gasped Vaeryna.

Aemond smiled triumphantly, as he kissed the lingering tear that was running down her cheek.

Vaeryna whined when Aemond removed his fingers.

“Shh. Daddy’s going to give you just what you need, I’m going to fuck you so good that you won’t ever think of anyone else but me again” whispered Aemond.

Aemond slipped into Vaeryna immediately, given how wet she was. He sighed into the crook of Vaeryna’s neck, as her legs immediately wrapped around him as he began to fuck into her.

Vaeryna moaned and cried beneath Aemond, his pelvis rubbing against her swollen bud with each deep and rough thrust he gave.

“You going to peak already? I can feel you clenching around me” huffed Aemond, watching his length disappear into his wife’s wet folds.

“Please” wailed Vaeryna, her hands gripping the sheets.

Aemond took pity and slid a hand down to Vaeryna’s pearl, rolling it in time with his thrusts,

“Come on then. I want to feel you cum on my cock”

It took five deep thrusts before Vaeryna screwed her eyes shut, as she peaked with an earth-shattering moan.

Aemond carried on fucking her through it, until Vaeryna was a sobbing mess beneath him.

“Give me another. I want another” grunted Aemond, pressing his fingers against his wife again harder.

Vaeryna tried to move away but it was no use as Aemond ripped yet another peak from her.

“Fuck” groaned Aemond through his teeth, hand releasing his wife’s bud out of mercy as he gripped her hips tightly in both hands, fucking into her harder and faster than before, her body moving up the bed by the sheer force of his thrusts.

“Going fill your sweet cunny” moaned Aemond.

Vaeryna nodded weakly as Aemond continued to thrust his length into her.

“You want me to fill up this pretty cunny with my seed? You want me to put another child in you?”

Vaeryna nodded her head again, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as Aemond continued to rut into her.

“Going to fill up my wife. Fuck. I can’t wait to see you round with my child again”.

Vaeryna’s brain went blank as ecstasy shot through it, scrambling any thought that she had.

Vaeryna heard Aemond’s loud groan as he came deep within her, his warmth filling her.

Then nothing as darkness embraced her.

It took a while for Vaeryna come back to herself, snuggled in Aemond’s arms.

Vaeryna shifted to look up at her husband, watching as his eye opened to look down at her.

“So good you blacked out?” asked Aemond softly, watching as his wife smiled at him, nuzzling into his bare chest.

“I don’t think I can move” gasped Vaeryna.

“Lucky for you we’ve got a few hours until the feast, so rest my sweet wife and once you awaken, I shall have you again” replied Aemond.

To say the feast was a little awkward was an understatement.

Vaeryna and Aemonds very amorous reconciliation was indeed heard by a number of maids and servants and soon the Red Keep was a buzz with the gossip about Prince Aemond’s virility and his prowess in bed.

Aegon of course raised his cup in celebration and the children didn’t know where to look.

Cregan had attempted to remain blissfully unaware but that backfired when some serving maids began giggling as they set eyes on Aemond, who had slumped so for down in his seat that he was practically on the floor.

“So, brother, did you enjoy your tour of the Red Keep earlier?” asked Vaeryna.

“Yes, I did although we had to cut the tour short due to-never mind” replied Aegon as Aemond glared at him.

“Honestly you lot, I really don’t see the issue” exclaimed Vaeryna as she took a sip of wine.

“I don’t wish to hear the maids gossiping about you and my father-“ muttered Rhaegar.

“-What? Engaging in the activities of man and wife?” asked Vaeryna.

“It is unseemly” said Rhaegar furrowing his brow.

“I’ll remember that next time I walk in on you and Jaehaera” replied Vaeryna.

“But that’s not the same thing-mother stop smiling” whined Rhaegar.

“Oh, my love” whispered Jaehaera as she patted her husband gently on the shoulder.

“What can I say your father made me very happy today”.

“Gods, Vaeryna are you trying to kill me off” laughed Aegon as he spat his drink all over the table.

“Uncle that’s gross” said Jaehaeryn.

“Mother why is father blushing?” asked Vharla.

“N-No reason” urged Aemond.

“So, it has been a pleasure meeting your children, they truly are a credit to you both” said Cregan politely.

“Certainly, was a pleasure making them” whispered Aegon.

“You are the King; you are supposed to maintain etiquette and decorum” said Aemond.

“Since when have I ever done that” laughed Aegon.

“Lord Stark” said Aerys.

“Yes, My Prince?”

“Does Winterfell have direwolves?” asked Aerys curiously.

“Unfortunately, not My Prince they have not been seen sighted south of the wall in many years, although the men of the nights watch can hear them beyond the wall in the land of always winter” replied Cregan.

“I read a book in the library that says they can grow larger than ponies,” said Aerys.

“I’ve heard that too”.

“I wish I could see one, I have a dragon, his name is Karnax, but mother says dragons cannot fly beyond the wall, good Queen Alysanne tried and Silverwing refused her” said Aerys.

“I’m not to knowledgeable about the dragons My Prince, but if a dragon will not pass beyond the wall the mayhaps there is a reason for that” suggested Cregan.

“My dragons called Swiftwind because she’s the fastest dragon in the sky” said Saeryna.

“I think you’ll find that Terrax is the fastest” said Jaehaeryn.

“Nah uh-it’s Sapphyre” argued Vharla.

“What of Dreamfyre, Silverwing or even Morghul?” asked Daenerys.

“No, not fast enough”

“What cheek” muttered Rhaegar as Jaehaera frowned.

“Aurora” said Caelee in a sing song voice.

“Stupid name for a dragon” muttered Jaehaeryn.

“Your face is stupid, don’t say that about our sister’s dragon” snapped Aerys.

“Mother, Aerys said I was stupid” whined Jaehaeryn.

“Come on children that’s enough, we have company” replied Vaeryna.

“Well tell him then, he said I was stupid-“ retorted Jaehaeryn.

“-No, I said your face was stupid, there’s a difference” quipped Aerys.

“All of you cease this infernal arguing” ordered Aemond banging his fist on the table.

Immediately all conversation at the table ceased, as Aemond’s anger radiated round the room, all the children bowed their heads respectfully.

“Now, I will have no more talk of who’s dragon is the fastest, because its Vhagar-“

“-That mouldy old rock couldn’t catch a cold“ said Jaehaeryn.

“You dare insult the last living remnant of Aegon’s conquest?” asked Aemond.

“Well, I just meant that she’s old and she can’t fly as fast as she used too-sorry father I didn’t mean to insult Vhagar” mumbled Jaehaeryn grimacing under the glare of his father.

“Hm” said Aemond.

“As if you dared to insult Vhagar, bad move brother” whispered Daenerys.

“Do you have a dragon Uncle Egg?” asked Saeryna.

“I well-I used to he was called Stormcloud” replied Aegon quietly as he pushed the remainder of his food round his plate.

“What happened to him?”.

“H-He died saving my life” said Aegon sadly.

“Oh, I’m sorry uncle, he was very brave to do that” whispered Saeryna as she gently placed her hand over Aegon’s.

“Yes, he was brave”,

“Can you not just claim another dragon?” asked Jaehaeryn.

“I wasn’t aware there were any dragons left to claim” said Aegon.

“There’s Vermithor and Grey Ghost” said Vaeryna.

“I’m not so sure that I would like to claim another dragon”.

“Why not? You’re a Targaryen it is your birth right” said Jaehaeryn.

“I already had my dragon and I lost him, I just don’t know if I deserve another“.

“You will fly again nephew, when the time is right” said Jaehaera smiling.

“I’m not sure that I-“ muttered Aegon.

“-Your dragon will seek you out, the two of you will heal one another’s broken hearts”.

“My wife is very perceptive; you should listen to her” said Rhaegar as he took Jaehaera’s hand and kissed it.

“Oh gross, not you two as well, it’s bad enough that father is all lovestruck over mother”.

“Boy, if you carry on with that mouth of yours, I swear on the seven that you will confined to your chambers and banned from the library for a week” said Aemond firmly.

“Not fair” mumbled Jaehaeryn.

“Excuse me, do you want to repeat that?” challenged Aemond.

“No father” whispered Jaehaeryn.

Aemond conceded and then looked over at his brother who smirked.

“Don’t look at me, you decided to have all these children” said Aegon as he took a very large gulp of wine.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would suggest that he was your son”.

“I can’t sire anymore children brother, nice try though-that boy is your son through and through even down to the scowl” replied Aegon.

“I do not scowl” argued Aemond folding his arms across his chest.

“Yes, you do, you’re doing it now” said Aegon smirking.

[xthexsanctuaryx]

{ i'll follow you into the dark }

➳ NEXT CHAPTER

{ summary: } marc and emma arrive in the same wing of the same mental hospital at the same time. { pairing: } | eventual | original character { emma harper } x marc spector, emma harper x steven grant, and emma harper x jake lockley { contents: } mental hospitals, psychiatric hold, first meeting, angst { I guess? I don't know what else to call it. } { warnings: } severe mental illness { psychosis, hallucinations, depression }, main character is actively in psychosis, I've done my best to write it in the least triggering way but there are a lot of heavy themes that will take place in this series, so forewarning. Marc is a danger to himself here but it's only really alluded to in this part. mental hospitals. triggering themes related to the aforementioned. { author's note: } after I finished reading "tear down my reason" by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction it inspired me to work on an idea I've been playing with about emma and the boys meeting while both in a mental hospital at the same time. I wanted to write a series that would help other people with severe mental illness feel seen and heard as there really aren't works out there like this. this series is being written with a lot of love and care so I truly hope that it can be cathartic for those who read who might also live with mental illness because you DO matter and your story DOES deserve to be told. { word count: } 969 { taglist: } @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sub-aro

They’d been admitted the same night, after lights out, two frozen bodies sitting in the darkened day room waiting to be assigned a bed.

It was unusual for two people to land in the same wing at the same time, let alone this late at night but that’s just how it happened.

She sits quietly, fully believing she’s in some kind of limbo between this life and the next – that somehow this was just how her brain was processing her passing, waiting to be judged.

She wonders if the man, slumped in the chair half a dozen feet from her is also recently deceased. Or so she believes.

He seems sullen and she wonders if perhaps he’d taken his own life to end up here in this seeming waystation.

Despite his deep scowl, she finds him beautiful. And then she thinks to herself, maybe he’s an angel and it’s some kind of test to see how she’ll interact with him.

As his eyes rise to hers, his frown etches further into his features. “You're staring…” He mutters, rolling his shoulders tensely.

“Sorry—” Emma apologizes, tearing her eyes away. “I was just—wondering if you were okay…” She mumbles softly.

“Would I be here if I were okay?” He replies.

Emma confuses his meaning, again thinking maybe this in the afterlife. And again, she thinks he must’ve taken his life.

‘Marc—come on, she seems sweet…’ A voice in his mind says, whose worried expression reflects from the window to the hallway.

“How can you possibly tell that, Steven?” He mutters again.

When he speaks to someone that doesn’t appear to be in the room, she starts to turn the options over in her mind.

Maybe he’s hearing voices like she started to this morning before…before it happened…

Or maybe she just can’t see the person he’s speaking to because that person is on a spiritual plane she can’t comprehend yet.

Still, she’s sure it’s all a test.

“Who is Steven?” she asks gently, trying to help.

Marc’s eyes flash to hers again, that seem to look on him with such an innocence that even he can’t see her question as malicious.

“Is he here too?” She asks, looking confused but somehow so compassionate.

This in turn confuses him.

‘I don’t think she’s here for the same reason we are, mate…” Steven says within their headspace, looking at the girl with such soft regard.

There’s a small pout at Marc’s lips as he studies her. She radiates a kind of sensitive and soothing energy that belongs far away from a place like this.

He can’t help but soften along with Steven.

Another presence moves into focus in their shared space. He takes one look at the girl and feels his own protective nature kick in.

‘Who’s this?’

Marc doesn’t realize how long the silence has lingered between them until Jake speaks.

All the while, she continues looking softly at him, occasionally shying away her eyes.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me…” Emma breaks the silence.

Marc shakes his head slowly, somehow finding himself more worried about her than he is about himself at this point.

“What’s your name?” He asks, tempering his voice.

She swallows, tucking some hair behind her ear. “E-Emma…” She rolls her lips in, causing dimples to dip lightly into her cheeks as her eyes glance away shyly again.

Jake watches stunned from the reflection beside Steven.

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he only softens more. “I’m Marc…” he introduces himself.

Emma eyes rise to his again, nodding slowly.

Her mind is already moving on, asking quietly, “do you know how long we’ll be here?”

Marc mistakes her meaning, just assuming it must be her first time on a psychiatric hold.

“72 hours—they have to—”

Emma’s already talking over him, more to herself but audible enough for the three of them to hear. “Three days? Like Easter?” She wonders aloud.

Marc’s eyebrows pull together, his mouth hanging open a little. “huh?”

“Easter—” Emma repeats. “Jesus came back to life after three days…”

‘Oh I—Marc I don’t think she knows what’s happening at all…’ Steven tells him.

Marc blinks slowly, but continues to soften, “do you know where you are right now, Emma?”

She shakes her head quickly and her shoulders pulling up to her ears, “I think it’s—well it’s kinda like limbo, right?” She pauses, furrowing her own brow. “We’re waiting to be judged…” She does her best to explain.

An ache goes through his chest, somehow his situation seems to pale in comparison with hers.

“No, Emma—” He starts, but is abruptly cut off when the floor staff comes to collect her first.

Fear seems to come over her face and it’s all he can do to stay in his chair, knowing that causing a scene would end badly for one or both of them.

“I’ll see you tomorrow—okay?” Is all he can get out.

“Tomorrow?” Emma questions in a daze.

“Come on, Emma—let’s get you settled…” The woman ushers her out of the door. “Someone will be back for you in a minute, Marc.”

This does nothing to ‘settle’ Marc at all, in fact, even after they get him situated in a room he still can’t stop worrying.

And so there he lies, in the dark on his side in a twin sized bed that feels a little too small, wrapped in thin hospital blankets, unable to get his mind off of the beautiful girl somewhere in a room along the same hallway.

The same beautiful girl who likewise lies in the dark, wondering over an angel named Marc and what will come of her.

Of one thing was certain for both of them, sleep wouldn’t come so easily tonight.

[bernardellinewsagency]

Alright, I'm at ~5k words for this explicit Gallagher/Sunday fic, the "important stuff" still hasn't even happened yet, and I'm probably going to pretty easily reach at least 7-8k words by the time I'm done with this chapter. And I'm looking at making this a six chapter story and not just a oneshot so that could be, what, ~42-48k words in total if I keep at this pace? Maybe I should just make it a oneshot, but fuck it, I'm gonna post a preview of it to try and inspire myself to make it as long as my gay little heart desires.

It doesn't really have a title though. I've just been calling it the dreamjolt au. Or more appropriately, the "what if the Dreamjolt Hostelry is a queer kink club in a modern au" au. I mean, that does give pretty much most of what you'd need to know about it, so...

Anyways, hiding my ramblings about details under the cut, as well as the preview cause I thought I had picked a short snippet that I could use to try and showcase the story and my writing and all that good stuff. Nope. It's a thousand words. What the hell.

Gallagher is, of course, still a bartender within this au. I originally came up with the au, then I had the idea of a six chapter story where all the chapters are named after his eidolons since those are all cocktail names, wherein the plot would primarily focus on interactions between him and Sunday and conversations they'd have while he'd serve Sunday various drinks, which would be the cocktails from the chapter titles. Then I thought hey, what if I combined these, and now I'm looking at pushing myself to not just abandon this story halfway through. The things I do for the sake of hot yet emotional and character driven Galladay fics...

Sunday, of course, is the son of a megachurch leader. Because I thought about it, and realized that oh yeah, Gopher Wood probably would just be a weird megachurch leader who's really more like a cult leader but shh, no one needs to know about that. So, you know, he's a bit fucked up because of that sort of upbringing, but honestly he might be chiller than his canonical self. He's really fun to write though, it's always interesting to try and get into character as him so that his dialogue sounds just like him.

Other details include: Siobhan as the club's owner and lifelong friend of Gallagher's, Mikhail as Gallagher's previous partner before he passed away, Gallagher raising Mikhail's son Misha, and the Astral Express crew and other HSR characters who will eventually be making appearances. So far, only March has, because I desperately needed to include her being the biggest lesbian of all time.

OKAY ONTO THE PREVIEW:

As he’s busy thinking of how to approach the younger man, the situation is taken from his hands by the very target he’s looking for. “Can I help you?” he calls from afar, while Gallagher is still a few tables away from where he’s seated.

Damn, he’s perceptive. His eyes take on a certain soul piercing quality as he gets closer; a shocking gold color that would freeze a lesser man in place, at least until they realized it’s mostly only because of how the light is reflecting. “Yeah, actually, you can,” Gallagher replies once he’s closer and won’t have to raise his voice so much to be heard. “Is this chair taken?”

He can tell what Sunday is thinking of, as those gorgeous eyes rake up and down his figure. He knows that the two of them must seem like polar opposites, he’s never cared about keeping his work clothes presentable while the preacher’s son looks like he’s never had even a hair out of place. His inquiry is met with a raised eyebrow, but Sunday shakes his head after just a moment more. “No, no, go ahead and take it.”

“Great!”

When Sunday shifts to glare at him, he can see that his eyes are more brown than gold, but no less alluring. “Apologies, I assumed you would be taking the chair itself, not sitting down here.”

“Sorry. You’re not waiting for anyone, are ya?” Of course he wouldn’t be, Siobhan definitely didn’t describe the man as the type to be meeting anyone here. “Just wanted to try and talk to one of the most handsome looking men here, nothing more to it if you don’t want there to be.” If Sunday is surprised by what he’s saying at all, he doesn’t show it, just like how he doesn’t immediately shake Gallagher’s hand when he sticks it out. “Gallagher, nice to meet you.”

“Sunday,” comes the eventual reply, stunning Gallagher with the use of his real first name. He doesn’t shake Gallagher’s hand though, leaving him to awkwardly retract it. “You work here, yes?”

It’s a pretty stilted attempt at starting up a conversation, and it sounds like a script to social interaction long since memorized with the way that Sunday says it. Gallagher can picture how those captivating eyes would look reading through a long article on how to converse with someone you wish would go away. He doesn’t go away though, just humors the question. “Bartender, security, whatever the boss lady needs me to do for the night. Not the most cushy job, but it helps to pay the bills.”

“Which is this?” Sunday then asks, confusing Gallagher into silence as he waits for an explanation. “If this is ‘bartending’, then this is just a friendly chat with a patron. Or, are you chatting with me merely as a guise for ‘security’?”

“What the fuck? That’s some weird fucking logic, you know that, right?” He has to resist the urge to laugh. Everything about the situation seems hilarious to him now, right down to whatever the hell Sunday is saying. “Most patrons just talk ‘bout what scenes they want to try, not play mind games or whatever you’re up to.”

Sunday takes a sip from his glass of water, his face remarkably impassive throughout. “I don’t think this is any sort of mind game, Mister Gallagher. I saw you speaking with your boss while looking right at me, and then you came over and attempted to strike up a casual conversation. Perhaps you’re no different than the patrons of this establishment, interested in a pretty face, or perhaps there was no reason for me to introduce myself as all, seeing as you may have already known my name.”

“And if I did?”

Something in Sunday changes, hearing that. His posture slumps, losing some of its rigidity as he visibly frowns for once. “Then I would say that I don’t wish to indulge any questions you may have, so you may as well ask them directly, the response would be the same as if you tried to ask them in some roundabout manner.”

“And what if I really did just come over here ‘cause I wanted you to indulge me in something else?”

Sunday’s posture is back to rigid and ramrod straight, though this time it seems to be because he’s shocked. “Elaborate?” he asks, hisses more like, teeth clenched so tight it’s gotta hurt. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked like that. Actually, Gallagher thinks, it’s likely he’d be met with hostility no matter how he asked.

Leaning back in his seat, he resists the urge to smirk at how out of his depth the younger man looks. “It’s true, I knew your name before I came over here, and yeah, I am pretty curious ‘bout why you, of all people, are frequenting the Dreamjolt. I also ain’t much better than the other patrons here, and I’m definitely interested in a certain pretty face. And if it’s any benefit, I know better than most of the patrons than to ask questions you don’t wanna answer.”

He watches as Sunday worries a lip between his teeth, biting at chapped skin. “You’re…” he trails off, but he relaxes a few scant degrees as he takes in the situation.

“Propositioning you?” Gallagher fills in the blank for him. “Yup. You do know how the Dreamjolt works and what people usually do here, right?”

“I- Of course I do!” Sunday scoffs at him, but it also gets him to slightly grin, the sight of which counts as a win in Gallagher’s books. “I didn’t just blindly pick this place to come to, I’ll have you know.” 

Gallagher thinks for a moment of asking why he picked the Dreamjolt of all places before deciding against it. He won’t press his luck asking questions that Sunday doesn’t want to answer. Maybe he’ll get him to open up in his own time, but certainly not tonight. “So you are aware, that’s good. Look, I dunno your taste or type, but if it changes anything, I’ve been doing this for a long time. While I wouldn’t really call myself professional, if you’re ever looking to spend a night here not just sittin’ all alone, I’d be honored to offer my, uh, services to someone as good looking as you.”

Sunday flushes, yet the way his brows furrow sends rather mixed messages. “Do you really think I need such… company, in my life?” he eventually says.

If it sounds that much like a deflection, that’s probably what it is. Gallagher tries to take it in stride; he did come into this talk thinking that it might take a bit of work, and it’s still at least easier than trying to talk some sense into drunks like he can faintly hear Siobhan trying to accomplish. “Honestly? Yeah. You’ve got this look about you, one that I’ve seen on too many good men deep in their own struggles. And you’re intriguing, what can I say? If I could possibly help ya out, then I’d like to be able to do so.”

ANDDDDDD that is where I'll cut myself off. Not really sure how to end this, but feel free to let me know what you think, and if anyone might be interested in being like, a beta reader or anything, uh, that'd be really cool! Never had one of those before but I'm open to new experiences :)

[ibusukiss]

Boueibu Rewatch

Thursday's for the Boys! 10

Happy Kiss! Episodes 1-3

ITS TIME FOR HAPPY KISS LETS GOOOO

Episode 1

I had to pause the episode to start typing this out bc im so in love with these characters i cant take my eyes off of them LOL

Immediately I am reminded why HK is my favorite - it is SO much more character interaction focused than love. Dont get me wrong - i love the s1 boys a lot, but the show doesnt give them their moments to interact with eachother as much as HK does - everyone gets Their Moment to interact with the other characters, not just the ones the show is 'shipping' with them! and I love this season for it!

Nanao is so fascinating, bc all the other characters kinda have their S1 equivalent e-

ATA IS ON SCREEN OMG ITS HIM

ok anyway - except for Nanao - hes also seems more nuanced than the others somehow? idk hes just neat

this seitokai is soooo mean girls

it is a CRIME that they made such cute designs for Karls and Fura as humans and theyre hardly ever in their human forms the whole show T_T

I also appreciate this season knows that we are very familiar with the formula of Boueibu already and they get straight to the point

I love how mad kyochan gets at karls XD

This monster is just having his twink death crisis

I do love these transformations - though I have always wondered why they seem to have put a filter over it? The colors just look a bit dark/muted?

God, when I first saw these costumes I loved them but thought they were so dumb - I still think that now LOL - my picky things are I think Nanao and Taishi's hair colors clash too much with their knight colors, and overall the saturation on all their designs could be turned down a bit haha

theyre breaking the fourth wall so much i kinda forgot abt that

its also refreshing that they have to convince kyochan to lead them, since yumoto is such a charismatic leader for 2 seasons, its a nice change to have kind of a useless leader

hot take all music from HK slaps no i dont take criticism

they rly do acknowledge and then glance over the fact that Karls and Fura are like...drafting them into a war for power lmao

Episode 2

It is the BEST that they all know eachother from the beginning - and the fact that the only characters taking it seriously are Ata and Fura (and Karls but not to the same extent)

Ah yes Honyalaland - i have built such a beautiful AU around it that reflects NOTHING of what is actually in the show

hkjksdjkns kyoata interactions save me

headcanon that ata has trouble sleeping until he starts sleeping next to kyochan and then he sleeps really well

I know theyre trying to show that Kyochan is oblivious that Ata doesnt like him but I like to see it as he is just more mature than Ata, and he wants to still be friends with him, so he isnt gonna get upset with ata speaking his mind

omg fura tying up ata with vines sounds like one of my fanfics but its CANON

human fura rly is pretty man

I say this will all the love in my heart - edelstein has the weakest transformation BUT that doesnt stop me from loving it anyway

this ep always makes me crave karaage bento

I have dragon age brainrot rn so all I can think of when I hear 'Neve Kiss' is Neve Gallus kiss, and u know what? i would.

Is this the most evil Taiju is the whole season? LOL

Episode 3

This is probs one of my favorite episodes in all three seasons - it was the episode that proved to me that HK is my favorite season

GOD there is so much unspoken history between Nanao and Taiju- theyre clearly close friends but we never realllyyy learn when or how they met, we just know theyve known eachother since at least their 1st year of high school

toshiyuki toyonaga is SO good in this ep

ok...im dumb, i just got that maasa's reaction to ice cream boy insisting on calling something by its full name was due to his discomfort with his birth name..im dumb

Ata is such a little freak I love himmmm

i guess i like this ep bc it feels kinda OVA-ish

ponytail nanao so cute

maasa and ata sitting together rly just look like mean preps lmao

Bag closure monster is BEST monster. BEST!

this also taught me a lot of japanese words for random things

also Tyndall effect (chindaru genshou) just reminds me of the bit in Uramichi Onisan with miyano mamoru laughing at dick jokes

KDNSJK Taiju and Nanao on ice cream date is so good AND THEM CALLING EACH OTHER ENEMY!!!!

im so glad we're on HK :D and this much closer to the movie release!!!!!!!!!!

[12pt-times-new-roman]

c3e69 (nice)

At present, because it wasn't obvious whatsoever from the end of the last episode, their game plan is to a) fix Ludinus' harness and use it to defeat him; and b) use the harness in the Shattered Teeth to absorb energy to make themselves stronger.

New Ashton outfit! Highlights include knee-high boots, color-shifting fabric, black gloves with brass buckling on them, the pentagon symbol on the back of the black spiked jacket, a deep crimson lining in the jacket. "Do you believe in fate? Chaos has a fucked up sense of humor. It feels... I feel seen. It feels like a uniform. It feels just."

Orym, Fearne, FCG, and Nell travel to Zephrah's graveyard. It's a terrace atop a hill with flowers, impossibly bright and vibrant, connected to multiple of the same structures on different mountaintops. Will and Derrig's graves are marked by stacks of stones; a weathered chestplate sits against the base of Derrig's, and Will's sword is stuck into the dirt in front of his.

Meanwhile, Chetney, Laudna, and Imogen (with Ashton tagging along behind) head toward a hilltop to see if they can ride a skysail. They eventually bribe their way onto a handful of "training" skysails.

I forgot how much I love Chetney and Laudna's interactions. They're so fucking chaotic.

Chetney and Laudna dogfighting on skysails while Laudna's tandem is trying and failing to take back control of the thing and Imogen is just flying around near them -- this is peak comedy and has the exact same energy as Beau and Veth racing up the tree

Orym goes and picks up his commission. His new armor is almost a bodysuit made of dark brown leather; it's more battle-ready, more appropriate for the front lines than the more "Zephran casual" outfit he was wearing. The blacksmith tells him that Keyleth has paid for the armor, that it's his "uniform."

They head to Orym's favorite beer garden, the Aerie Eire, to have a drink.

Naturally, FCG finds this an appropriate place to bring up his god shit again. Like, I understand why -- it's a completely reasonable character choice for Sam to make, and perfectly reflects FCG's immaturity, naivety, and inability to make decisions on their own -- but fuck, it's really grating. FCG has had this black-and-white line of thinking since the campaign started, and they've just stayed behind while the rest of the Hells have grown out of those early-campaign things.

Laudna steps outside and goes to sit on a cliffside and meditate. Quietly, under her breath -- "Delilah? Are you still there? I felt a little pulse, back in Issylra. So I'm just curious." Nothing, then Imogen approaches, sits next to her. They kiss.

As they stand to go, Laudna hears a voice. "No matter who you pray to, no matter who you reach for, you are, and will always be, mine."

Chetney takes out the sword, and it tries to convince him that Keyleth is untrustworthy because she's an ally of the Council of Tal'dorei. (Sigh.)

Liam is way too good at acting half-drunk, lmao

"We should make a fire!" "Not on the roof." "Aww..." They return to Orym's mom's house, and debate sleeping on the roof or in the backyard.

Fearne scries on Dancer. She's in a dark city street, a little past sunset -- she's in Yios, being accompanied by a little spherical helper robot and a metallic bat-like creature. In her eyes, there's a battle between the magnificence of the city around her and the reality of enjoying it alone.

Ope, the players have started calling D "Devexian" --

Orym uses the sending stone. "Hey Caleb. I am in Tal'dorei after shit went down. You alive? We been drinkin'. But seriously, are you alive? Talk to me, goose." Orym's connection to the stone's enchantment feels crackly and broken, and there's no response. Laudna checks the scry ball, and it's dark.

They complete a long rest, and set off to see Keyleth. She's going to be hopping around the world to contact her allies, though they have very little information about where they're going and who they're facing.

The Bells Hells have decided that they're going to go to either Yios (to see Dancer) or the Menagerie Coast (to see D), then to the Shattered Teeth. Keyleth notes that, although she herself hasn't been to Evan'travir, Jirana can guide them there.

Keyleth has had a thought. "Perhaps... perhaps, when you feel comfortable and ready, maybe a mission of information, to go there and back, to see what we're dealing with." "A mission to the moon?" "I know it seems strange, but just yesterday, you told me there were people there, so..."

I think, through all this, that is the clue they needed. That statement is Matt definitively telling them that they do have time, they can go find Dancer and D, they can go to the Shattered Teeth and make it back on time for the fight.

Now that they're talking about it, it seems prudent to mention that Imogen summoning the reiloran spirit is her using summon aberration, and that the reiloran uses the star spawn stat block (see its psychic aura). And star spawn are specifically the twisted forms of followers of elder evils.

There was some left over, so Keyleth offers them the remainder of the salve that cured her wounds.

Also, Keyleth offers them a plan for transportation: she'll travel with them to either Dancer or D (and could regrow Dancer's arm with regenerate if that's where they go), then send them to the Shattered Teeth once they're done.

oh I cannot wait for Chetney to take a swing at Keyleth, just to see him get hit with a feeblemind

They teleport to Yios. "You ever been to a casino, Tempest?" Fearne uses locate creature and immediately clocks Dancer's presence.

They head to a nearby inn, and FCG and Imogen go up to Dancer's room. "FCG... I don't need to be fixed, alright? What I've been able to make here is a reminder of being careful where I put my trust." "Well, then can you... can you at least... I can't move on, I can't do my job, until I conclude this chapter with you. I did something horrible, something I can't live with unless you let me -- I'm not asking you to forgive me, I'm asking you to do something good for someone else." "If you really came here to help, to fulfil whatever fuckin' savior mission you put yourself on, I'll help, but... I can't do anything about whatever you've decided to put yourself through. The only one hanging on is you. I know it sounds harsh, but you gotta fuckin' move on."

She accepts their offer. She'll look at Ludinus' vest and will try to fix it, in exchange for FCG never talking to her again. She herself doesn't know exactly what it does, but thinks that Imahara Joe could offer some insight; so Keyleth transports them to Bassuras.

Upon arrival, FCG is attacked by Shithead, which is promptly killed and begins to reform. FCG casts identify on it, revealing an extremely strong necromantic power seated within the bird. Fearne uses speak with animals on it. "My master is gone and I cannot die, so I just shit on [FCG]... it's been so long, I can't even remember, but I once had a name... she called me Gargo." Alright, so this fucker is 100% the familiar of the mage FCG murdered during the Care and Culling, right?

So, on this: turn undead does not affect Laudna. She shouldn't have made a save, because Hollow Ones are not mechanically undead (they only count as such for detection, not spell effects); but regardless, she never could've been destroyed by it, because a PC's challenge rating is usually their character level minus 1 or 2 (so the Bells Hells' CR are all 9, Keyleth's is 19, etc.)

In Bassuras, everything has a red hue, as the perpetually flaring Ruidus casts its cursed light upon the Hellcatch Valley. And that's where we pick up next time.

[jcmarchi]

Life Is Strange: Double Exposure Video Shares Extended Gameplay And Reveals How It Acknowledges The Original Game's Endings

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/life-is-strange-double-exposure-video-shares-extended-gameplay-and-reveals-how-it-acknowledges-the-original-games-endings/

Life Is Strange: Double Exposure Video Shares Extended Gameplay And Reveals How It Acknowledges The Original Game's Endings

Square Enix held a special livestream today for Life is Strange: Double Exposure, which was revealed during last week’s Xbox Games Showcase. The 48-minute presentation sits down with the game’s developers and performers to shed new light on Max Caulfield’s return to the franchise and her new powers while showing off extended gameplay. 

The story seemingly unfolds a few years after the events of Life is Strange. Max has moved far away from Arcadia Bay for a fresh start and now works as an artist-in-residence at Caledon University in upstate Vermont. She has sworn to never use her time-rewind ability again, and hasn’t since the first game’s conclusion. Despite this, Max’s power has evolved. She can now travel between two timelines, an ability called Shift. Unfortunately, she only discovers this power after stumbling upon the sudden murder of her new friend, Safi. 

[embedded content]

Deck Nine, who developed Life is Strange: Before the Storm and True Colors, describes the game as a supernatural murder mystery. Max will travel across two realities: her present one and an alternate timeline where Safi is still alive but very much in danger. In the reality where Safi is killed, Max must find the culprit. In the timeline where Safi lives, she must prevent her murder. Solving and preventing the same crime involves searching for clues across both timelines and interacting with two versions of every character, whose behavior and relationship to Max changes based on the timelines, circumstances, and your choices. Like True Colors, Double Exposure is a single release divided into episodes. 

Of course, the million-dollar question for fans is how Double Exposure addresses Life Is Strange’s two endings. Deck Nine states the game includes a conversation between Max and Safi about Arcadia Bay, which will allow players to pick the ending they chose. This essentially determines Double Exposure’s canon, and your choice of ending will be reflected in Max’s thoughts, journals, text messages, and conversations with characters going forward. An example we see is a conversation where Safi asks Max who “the blue-haired girl” is to her, presenting a choice to establish Chloe’s relationship to Max. 

In terms of gameplay, Max has lost her original time-rewind power. Instead, she can instantaneously swap timelines in certain spots to explore two versions of the same space. She’ll use this power to solve puzzles and circumnavigate inaccessible spaces (for example, a locked door in one timeline may be unlocked—or Max learns how to unlock it—in the other one). She can also use a “pulse” ability to extend her supernatural senses to determine weak points between the timelines, allowing her to see and hear ghostly glimpses of people and objects in the alternate reality without Shifting to it. Using this, she can eavesdrop on characters in the other timeline for intel and stealthily track suspects. 

Of course, beyond the murder mystery, Max will have to deal with the social drama of working on a college campus. As its artist-in-residence, she serves as a mentor figure to younger students, which she may or may not use to her advantage. An extended gameplay video shows Max hanging out with Safi and her best friend Moses to watch a meteor shower. In addition to showing off some of the choices that can steer this scene in different directions, we also see Max’s camera come into play, where she can capture photos of her friends. We also see the events leading up to Safi’s murder. 

Life is Strange: Double Exposure looks promising, and as a fan of the original, I’m looking forward to hanging with Max again and solving a new mystery. It launches on October 29 for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series X/S, and PC.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

You're right and you should say it.

Like, in canon, he is an introvert trying desperately to fit in. If you go through the books, most of his thoughts stay in his head. He's actually a very quiet character. In dialog between him, Ron and Hermione (especially in the earlier books). Harry sits quietly and looks between Ron and Hermione as they talk. He complains about Ron and Hermione constant bickering quite a bit actually:

Harry was too used to their [Ron and Hermione's] bickering to bother trying to reconcile them; he felt it was a better use of his time to eat his way steadily through his steak-and-kidney pie, then a large plateful of his favorite treacle tart.

(OotP, page 210)

“That’s the bell,” said Harry listlessly, because Ron and Hermione were bickering too loudly to hear it. They did not stop arguing all the way down to Snape’s dungeon, which gave Harry plenty of time to reflect that between Neville and Ron he would be lucky ever to have two minutes’ conversation with Cho that he could look back on without wanting to leave the country.

(OotP, page 231)

(There are so many more examples of this...)

He doesn’t go out of his way to make friends and actually has no idea who most of the students in his year are.

together with a weedy-looking boy Hermione whispered was called Theodore Nott.

(OotP, page 583)

Or in school in general... although Hogwarts can't have more than 300 students while Harry is there... (in this scene below he doesn't actually know Blaise Zabini's name until Slughorn mentions it...)

He recognized a Slytherin from their year, a tall black boy with high cheekbones and long, slanting eyes; there were also two seventh-year boys Harry did not know and, squashed in the corner beside Slughorn

(HBP, page 143)

He's actually kind of awkward when it comes to social interaction:

“Yes, it’s on Valentine’s Day. . . .” “Right,” said Harry, wondering why she [Cho] was telling him this. “Well, I suppose you want to — ?” “Only if you do,” she said eagerly. Harry stared. He had been about to say “I suppose you want to know when the next D.A. meeting is?” but her response did not seem to fit. “I — er —” he said. “Oh, it’s okay if you don’t,” she said, looking mortified. “Don’t worry. I-I’ll see you around.” She walked away. Harry stood staring after her, his brain working frantically. Then something clunked into place.

(OotP, page 528)

Then he blinked and looked around: He was surrounded by mesmerized girls. “Hi, Harry!” said a familiar voice from behind him. “Neville!” said Harry in relief, turning to see a round-faced boy struggling toward him.

(HBP, page 136)

And he doesn't like all the attention he's getting as the boy who lived, and he shows it many times throughout the books...

Parvati shrugged. “Shall we go down then, Harry?” “Okay,” said Harry, wishing he could just stay in the common room. Fred winked at Harry as he passed him on the way out of the portrait hole.

(GoF, page 412)

Yeah, he's an abused introvert who sees how everyone in Gryffindor acts (mostly Ron) and tries to mimic said behavior because he has no frame of reference to how healthy social interaction is supposed to work.

crazy, never-before-thought-of, controversial, absolutely rare as fuck, probably stretching too far (/joking) headcanon :

harry potter is an introvert

but everyone thinks otherwise bc hes also a lowkey people pleaser who sometimes subconsciously mirrors the people he hangs out with because his social development as a kid was atrocious and he doesn't know how to actually socialise the way neurotypical people do

[indie-queer-movie-tournament]

Call Me By Your Name

In 1980s Italy, a relationship begins between seventeen-year-old teenage Elio and the older adult man hired as his father’s research assistant.

Letterboxd:

it just doesn’t click. a gorgeous facade, masking the vagueness of the dialogue and intentions and feelings of the characters. dripping with scenic appeal, but i’m only slightly charmed by it. what tries to be one of the most sincere movies in years only feels hollow to me, even when i try to let it in. oliver and elio are different ages, but it’s the maturity level that bothers me here: one, a man, going out by himself until dawn. the other, only a boy, sitting with his parents, being read a fairlytale while it rains outside. he puffs out his chest and acts older than his age. and that’s what it is: an act. he can be intelligent and wise and ready for love, but is he mature enough for a relationship like this. it’s that imbalance that has me trying to break down the walls of this thing and see it more clearly. the way they talk and interact rings empty to me, only getting glimpses of true tenderness, split seconds of actual romance. oliver comes off the emptiest of all, i counted on one hand the times i could see his true nature, and half of those, i didn’t like what i saw. maybe he loved elio, but i can’t quite see it. and what i’m left with is a chilly ending, reflected in flames by the best bit of acting the movie has to offer but, all that said, i’m aware of the fact that people love it so. love it, relate to it, are enchanted by it. and i’m trying to let that be what it is, because the above is only my opinion, and we all have such drastically different opinions. in the end, all we can do is scribble our thoughts down and move on. discussion is maybe the most important aspect of a movie like this, or a time like this: to be open to discuss a movie and it’s good sides and it’s bad sides, even if you hold it dear to your heart. or despise it   this is a glorious, sun-drenched daydream for some, but not for me. and that’s ok

[maliciouslove]

𝕊ℍ𝔸ℝ𝕀ℕ𝔾

NSFW, aged up characters (21+) || minors, ageless and empty blogs DO NOT INTERACT!!

pairing // Mikey x reader x Draken

word count //  582

tags // degradation (reader called 'whore' once), slight breath play, size kink if you squint, tummy bulge, creampie, slightly unhinged Mikey, a bit of Mikey x Draken action at the end

AN // this was based on a short lived dream that was disturbed by my pesky alarm, hence why it is so smol. mayhaps one day i will expand.

Every once in a while, Mikey feels rather generous and allows his right hand man—his best friend—to fuck you. He would sit nearby commanding you, whispering in your ear while Draken was in your gut, his fat cock stretching you out, leaky tip abusing your cervix.

“Look at you, all fucked out like this on someone else’s cock. Filthy whore.” Mikey’s fingers are now wrapping around your throat, probably a bit tighter than they’re supposed to. There is a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Your eyes dart between Mikey’s and Draken’s, unspoken pleads spilling out just like the tears streaming down your cheeks. You could barely hang on, thighs violently shaking around Ken’s waist, and you could feel him all the way in your throat, his big cock relentlessly drilling into you, kissing all the good spots that made you cry out in pleasure.

Your walls flutter around his girth, squeezing him for all he’s worth and making his head spin with thoughts he wasn’t supposed to have. Thoughts about having you all to himself.

You looked even prettier than usual pinned under his large body—soft skin under his fingers, tits bouncing with every thrust, small bulge visible on your belly, and eyes rolled at the back of your head. Draken wished he could see you like this more often, as so far it was his favourite view.

And Mikey didn’t mind the view either—he didn’t miss the way your tiny hands clutched around Ken’s neck, how your tongue was lolled out and you were loud. And so fucking gorgeous. And he knew you like the back of his hand so he was already aware you were close to cumming—the way your eyebrows pinched together and your muscles tensed.

“M-Mik-ey.. please.. p-please, I need to.. I want to.. ” you were a babbling mess, all you could really manage to say was ‘please’ yet he knew exactly what you meant.

“Aw, wanna cum, princess?” he cooes, his lips wrapping around your perky nipple and sucking it hard, teeth grazing over it. All you could give in response was a nod, begging again, saying how it’s driving you crazy. So Mikey took pity on you. “Go on then, show Kenchin how good you feel creaming around his cock.”

And you didnt need to be told twice, fingers craded through Ken’s hair, tugging on it, your whole body went rigid, the coil in your belly finally snapping. All at once, your orgasm is washing over you with the force of a tsunami, leaving you a trembling mess.

“Fuck, f-FUCK” Draken was now struggling, hips stuttering against yours. You were impossibly tight already, but with your pussy clamping down on him and sucking him in greedily, he could barely contain himself. He was going to cum.

“Shit, cummin” his hands were bruising your hips with the force he was holding you with. And through the haze of your orgasm you could feel his—balls pressed to the curvature of your ass, emptying themselves deep inside you. Hot spurts of thick cum were filling you up and it was the most euphoric feeling ever. Until you heard Mikey speak again.

“I gave her permission to cum, I don’t fucking remember giving you permission, Kenchin.” He has a hand wrapped around Ken’s throat now, eyes looking even more dangerous than before, completely clouded by lust. And before you realise what'a happening, Mikey is pulling Draken in for a kiss and you realise.. you’re in for a really long night.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑! I do not own any of the characters or people mentioned in my work. these are works of pure fiction that do not reflect the views, opinions, or actions of any person, real or fictional. Furthermore, all characters I write for [thirsts, drabbles, fics, etc.] are aged up to 21 or older – they are adults with adult characteristics presented and written in adult contexts.

all rights reserved © by maliciouslove. my work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. all fanfics belong to me, please do not copy, translate nor repost the fics or files seen above as this is strictly prohibited.