#ITS ABOUT FINDING EACH OTHER LOSING EACH OTHER AND BATTLING TO SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN

[strawberrycamel]

ninjago seabound hurts. so much. what the fuck

[pasukiyo]

I CAN SEE YOU

bodyguard!leon scott kennedy x f!popstar!reader word count; 1,381 warnings; p in v sex, that's about it lol, maybe angst if you squint summary; leon doesn't believe he's good enough for you. but even he can't resist when he has you up against the wall of a storage closet five minutes to showtime...

 “Five minutes to show time!”

 “Has anyone seen her?”

 “Where is she?”

 Her lips parted in a gasp as she etched crescent moons into his shoulders through the black muscle tee, toes curling as her legs snaked around his waist, trapping him in closer. A hand slithered its way to the hair at the nape of his neck, her head falling forward to press her lips against the shell of his ear, feeling him shudder as he rocked his hips into her. 

 “We shouldn’t…” Leon groaned and muttered a sharp “fuck!” when she clenched around him, drawing him in closer. He couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to. “…we shouldn’t be doing this.”

 She mewled beside his ear at a particularly rough thrust, curling her fingers around a fistful of dark blonde ringlets at his nape and tugging. Leon pulled his face away from her shoulder, his dark sea of blue surging into her gaze like a comet colliding into a planet. Despite his words, Leon’s fingertips burrowed further into the flesh of her hips, her skin swelling with bruises as he drove his cock harder into her, impossibly deeper all the while. They’d only five more minutes to finish, and there’d be no way Leon would be able to do his job if he didn’t get his release now. 

 “When will you quit acting so noble?” She managed to ask between gasps and stifled moans, nuzzling the bridge of her nose against his. “Like you don’t want this as much as I do?”

 Leon hissed a string of curses through his teeth and she caught his lips with hers before he could drop his forehead to her shoulder again. Leon groaned into her mouth, allowing himself to be lost in the battle between their tongues for a moment, for just a second. Her smile was a crescent against his mouth and she leaned forward, hoping to deepen the seal of their lips before he pulled away, panting as he pistoned himself as deep inside of her as he could go, driving her back up the wall in the process. 

 “Leon!” She gasped, brows knit in pleasure as his hips stilled, the head of his cock pressed so hard against the spongey spot inside of her that she was seeing stars. 

 “You smeared your lipstick,” he replied simply and she peeled her eyelids back open just as Leon reached out with his thumb, wiping at the smeared makeup on the side of her mouth. Her bottom lip quivered at his touch and Leon peered up at her through hooded lids, sweat beading his hairline and chest heaving in rhythm with his breath. 

 For a moment, all was silent. For a moment, they only looked at each other, the moment so tender and intimate and such a stark difference from just a few seconds ago. Her heart swelled in her chest the longer she looked at Leon and she let her hands fall from around his neck, to his shoulders, to the chest of his dark ‘BODYGUARD’ muscle tee. She could feel his heart pound beneath her fingertips, beating to the same rhythm as hers. Leon’s bottom lip twitched, as if words hung on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be released until they were interrupted by a sound coming from outside the storage closet door. 

 “TWO MINUTES TO SHOWTIME! WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE FUCKIN’ FIND HER BEFORE I LOSE MY GODDAMN MIND?”

 She released the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding in and Leon blinked, bowing his head down between her legs where they were connected, the base of his cock glistening with her slick. He inhaled a shaky breath as she used her legs around his waist to draw herself in closer, wrapping her arms back around his neck. Leon gazed down at her with those enigmatic eyes that held the darkest of oceans, so inviting, she found herself diving in nearly every time she looked at him. 

 “Kiss me?” She asked, shuddering as she inhaled. Leon’s gaze softened, eyebrows furrowed as he cupped her cheek with one strong hand, holding onto her elbow with the other. He drew her lips back into his where they belonged, beginning to rock his hips into hers again as their tongues danced around one another. 

 Warmth flooded her cheeks as he picked up his pace, his thrusts harder and more purposeful than they were only a moment before. Her lips parted in a gasp, breaking their kiss as her forehead fell onto his, tears brimming the outskirts of her sockets. 

 “Leon, I’m so close,” she whispered, mewling as that knot tied deep in the pit of her stomach began to shudder, ready to shatter. Leon nodded against her forehead, a soft curse tumbling from his full, pink lips. “I know,” he murmured back, his grip on her elbow tightening as he thrusted again and again and again, certain to leave a bruise on her cervix. 

 She could feel tears tip over the glassy barrier in her sockets as bliss washed over her body, her toes curling, her muscles twitching, legs shaking. Leon cursed again as he, too, met his end, hot spurts of his cum filling her up in ropes, painting her white. 

 “ONE MINUTE TO SHOWTIME!” She could hear someone yell from outside the door and despite her aching limbs and her sobbing pussy, she softly pushed Leon away just as he snapped her panties back into place. She mewled when the material hit her sore clit, a quiet “sorry” falling from his lips as he worked his pants back up his thighs.

 She fixed her stage outfit and Leon helped her down from the shelf he had fucked her into, helping adjust the strap of her top on her shoulder. She looked up at him and after a moment, he met her stare. 

 “Well?” She said. “Do I look okay?”

 “THIRTY SECONDS TO SHOWTIME!”

 The corner of Leon’s lips curved into a soft smile, the most tender she swore she’d ever seen him look before, “you look like a star.”

 Lights blinded her as she rose from beneath the stage, the crowd like an echo behind her earpieces. She sang the first note into her microphone, closing her eyelids shut as the bass rumbled in her chest. She was on the stage now, a limelight finding her as she faced the sea of screaming fans and phone lights. 

 “You brush past me in the hallway and you don’t think I, I, I can see you, do you?” she sang the opening line, swaying her hips to the beat, pointing into the crowd as she pranced upon the stage. The ache between her legs was still evident but she pushed thoughts of sex and Leon to the side, letting herself be swayed and taken away by the music. 

 She sang lyrics she remembered writing deep into the night in a dimly-lit hotel room after Leon had forced himself out of her bed to leave, insisting he was no good for her and she deserved better. The memory of that night still haunted her, especially when she sang these lyrics. 

 “But what would you do if I went to touch you now?” She sang low into the mic, snapping her palm against her hip to the soft beat. “What would you do if they never found us out? What would you do if we never made a… so-ow-ound?”

 She made her way to one side of the stage as she sang the beginning of the chorus, eyeing the edge of the platform where she knew Leon would be, his back turned to face the crowd. 

 “And I could see you up against the wall with me. And what would you do, baby, if you only knew?” Her lips curved into a smile against the microphone as she stared into the back of Leon’s dark blonde hair. “That I can see you.”

 Although his back was to her, she still had the premonition that he knew she was right behind him. She brought her mic down to her hip and turned, hair whipping behind her as she began a slow strut to the other side of the stage. 

 She had the strange feeling that he knew she could see him. 

a/n; so here's another fic i've had drafted since literally july and only just now got around to finishing it LMAO my first leon fic! i've been wanting to write for this man for years now but only just now got around to it...

TAGLIST;

@bxbyyyjocelyn

@chaoticevilbakugo

@luckypurins

@corruptcoder

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

I Won't Lose You

I've been told by all my friends who have played bg3 that durge runs should not be the first run of the game but here I am, doing just that. In my defense, I want to go around as a fictional dragonborn trying to kill most things and save scumming on dialogue choices for approval ratings.

Summary: The dark urge takes over when Astarion gets injured in battle. In the aftermath, you flee, afraid of what the others think of you now but Astarion goes after you to bring you back to camp and reassure you that nothing has changed.

When the arrow pierces through his shoulder, all you can see is red. Blood roars in your ears, a scream tears itself from your throat and you change. You become a different person, your legs move of their own accord, the dagger in your hand twirls and you stab downwards. Over and over again you stab, blood splattering all over you but you don’t care. You’re not thinking, everything is a blur except the one word that rings in your head.

Kill.

And so you kill, your dagger tearing into flesh and drawing blood with each sickening squelch. The metallic taste floods your tongue and you grin. You feel alive, powerful, invincible. No one can stop you, no one can take anything away from you ever again. Laughter bubbles within your chest, bursting forth as you stand there, head thrown back. Blood drips from your clothes onto the floor but you barely notice it. Euphoria thrums through your veins, you’ve killed the being who tried to take the only thing you have left from you. It feels wonderful.

You feel as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders and raise your arms towards the sky, laughing all the while.

“Try it! Try and take him away from me!” You yell. “I’ll kill you all!”

Adrenaline rushes through your veins as the goblins flee in terror from the figure covered in blood. Your legs begin to move, feet pushing off the floor as you hunt them down, a wild gleeful look in your eyes. Your dagger slices through their skin, ripping open arteries, tearing off limbs and you only laugh harder at their screams of pain.

You slam your dagger into the neck of the goblin leader, crouching on its back as the body falls to the floor with a loud thud.

“No one can take him away from me,” you growl. “Not even the gods.”

You look up to see your companions’ various reactions, but the only one you really care about is Astarion’s. As you take a step towards him, reaching out with a bloody hand, he takes a step back, ruby eyes wide with horror. For a moment, all he can see is Cazador, drenched in blood with a grin so wide it stretches his face, and then he blinks and you’re standing in front of him, a look of hurt in your eyes.

Before your name can fall from his lips, you’re gone, running into the nearby forest. Everyone turns to look at him, the same question in their minds: what did he do?

Back in camp, Astarion tries to ignore the gnawing feeling in his chest as Shadowheart heals his injury. He can’t shake the look you gave him before running away, the fear that filled your gaze. He recognised the look, after all, it was the same as the one he wore as Cazador’s spawn – the look of despair.

“I’m going out for a walk,” he says and leaves the camp before anyone can say anything. In all honesty, he has no idea how to find you, all he knows is that he has to. He can’t leave you alone to fend for yourself, especially not in that condition of yours. Letting out a sigh, he makes his way back to the battle site. He can try starting from there, track the scent of your blood and hopefully find you before anything else does.

When he reaches the site, he notices a lone figure sitting by the bloodstained rubble, their knees hugged against their chest.

“Y/N,” he calls out. You look up, and then quickly look back down, curled even more into yourself. Astarion feels his undead heart ache at the sight of your current state. You’ve always been the life of the party – cheerful, upbeat, optimistic. He’s the one who is broody, sitting in the corner and staring at everyone else and yet here you are, sitting all alone in the cold night with no fire to keep you warm.

“May I inquire as to why you have stolen my role as the broody rogue?” He seats himself next to you whilst maintaining some distance. You keep silent, staring into the distance.

“Come now, darling. Let’s head back to camp, the others miss you dearly, not as much as they miss me of course but –”

“Leave.” Your voice wavers. When he doesn’t move, you repeat your words a little louder. “I said leave.”

“But why, darling? You’re clearly cold and hungry, the camp has both fire and food. Don’t tell me you plan on freezing to death while starving? It’s not a very comfortable way to go,” he tuts. “You should choose a better way of dying.”

“I deserve it,” you mutter. “After what I did.”

“After what you did? You killed the goblins and protected the weak, I don’t believe any of that is deserving of such a slow death.” Astarion attempts to lighten the mood but your face remains sullen.

“You know what I’m talking about. I saw it, the way you looked at me. You don’t want me anymore, you shouldn’t. I’m a monster.” Your voice cracks, tears sliding down your cheeks.

“That’s not the worst thing I’ve seen,” his voice drops to a whisper. “And my feelings for you haven’t changed in the slightest. I still want whatever it is that we have, this weird relationship of ours. Nothing will ever change my mind about it. Your appearance simply…reminded me of something I’d rather forget in that moment, but the situations couldn’t be more vastly different.”

Astarion reaches out with a hand, simply holding an upturned palm towards you. A simple gesture, but one filled with so much meaning between the two of you. You stare at it, a hand slowly reaching out before pulling back again when you see how bloodstained your hand is.

Seeing as you are still in no mood to talk, he continues. “Whenever Cazador was covered in blood, it tended to be my blood. Usually it was after he had finished torturing me for whatever sick reason he had and he would smile at me, asking if I would be his good pet. You were covered in goblin blood, vowing to kill anyone even the gods if they tried to harm me. You were protecting me, not harming me, and I am forever grateful for that.”

Astarion takes your bloodstained hand and presses it against his cheek, leaning into the warm feeling, “I need you, Y/N.”

You feel a fresh wave of tears prick at the corners of your eyes, biting your bottom lip to stop the cascade. He shifts closer to you and leans in, ready to pull away should you flinch but you remain still, looking him in the eye and so he wraps himself around you, holding you tightly.

The dam bursts open and you weep, clutching at his tunic. Ugly tears dampen his sleeve, ruining his perfect appearance but Astarion doesn’t care. He’d do anything for you, just like how you’d do anything for him. The vampire spawn rests a reassuring hand on the back of your head while the other rubs circles on your back as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Right now, only you matter, and if you needed a shoulder to cry on, he would be that shoulder.

“I can’t lose you,” you sob through the tears. “I’ve lost everything else already, I can’t lose you too. WIthout you, I…I don’t know what to do. You’re the only one who keeps me going.”

Astarion presses his lips to your head, closing his eyes as he takes in your sweet scent, “I can’t lose you either, Y/N, and I promise, we will remain by each other’s side forever.”

His words make you cry harder and you bury yourself into his chest, crying until you have nothing left to give and lie there panting, cries reduced to sniffles. Astarion kisses away the tears that remain on your cheek, lips lingering longer than necessary with each kiss before pressing his forehead against yours.

“All these years, I’ve always wondered if anyone would ever care about me to the point where they would do anything to protect me, and now I’ve found my answer in you,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t be happier knowing that you would choose me over everything else.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back. “Thank you, for accepting me after seeing what I really am.”

“Any time, dearest.” He continues to cradle you in his arms, gently swaying from side to side. As your eyelids begin to flutter shut, he decides that tonight, it can’t just be you who is vulnerable. You trust him enough to drop your guard to this extent around him, he wants to repay the favour.

“I had a nightmare about you, just the other night.” He gently pushes your hair out of your face, tracing your jawline. He’s been wanting to keep this a secret, afraid of scaring you but since you had challenged the gods themselves, perhaps a vampire wasn’t that scary in comparison.

“Did I look hot in it?”

Astarion blinks in surprise. Maybe he was rubbing off on you too much. Amusement colours his face as he gives your cheek a poke and pouts. “First you steal my role as the broody rogue in the party and now you try to take my place as the residential flirt?”

“It’s all your fault,” you huff good naturedly, folding your arms across your chest. “You’ve been a terrible influence on me.”

He smiles softly, giving you a peck on the lips, “I suppose I have. Although I must say, you have a long way to go before you can ever reach my level.”

“I can’t possibly put you out of a job, can I? Whatever will I do to keep my vampire lover around then?”

“You simply need to exist, darling. That is all.”

Your gaze softens and you press your lips against his, kissing him deeply.

“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?” You ask once you reluctantly break away from the kiss to breathe. He nods, swallowing hard.

“Cazador had you. He threatened to kill you unless I returned to him, threatened to turn you into one of his spawn just like me and make you suffer for an eternity while I watched. You swore and cursed at me, saying all this was my fault, that it was all because of me that you were now on the cusp of being turned into a vampire spawn, and I –” His fingers tremble. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Star –”

“I hesitated! I thought about putting myself before you, and I –”

“I want you to do that.”

His eyes widen, “darling, you can’t possibly –”

“Star, you’ve spent far too long putting everyone before yourself. You need to start putting yourself before others from time to time, to stand up for yourself. I want you to live your own life, not someone else’s. And if Cazador ever comes for us, well I won’t let him separate us. We’ll have each other’s backs as we always do, and he won’t stand a chance.”

You say it with such certainty that Astarion almost believes you, but a nagging voice in the back of his head reminds him of how strong Cazador is. Yet, looking deep into your eyes and seeing your resolve, a small part of him dares to hope again. Maybe, he really could stand up against his master with you by his side. Maybe one day, he really could be free, but for now, he’s more than content to simply hold you in his arms, feeling your warm embrace and his undead heart soaring.

[sukirichi]

Please indulge us with the other princes (ushiwaka, Kita, Tobio, akaashi) too 😭🙏 I beg 🙇‍♀️

ushiwaka is methodical when it comes to sex. he sees it as a form of fulfilling his duty, and takes into account the importance of pleasing his partner well. he likes to think he’s prepared for it - he’s spent hours on women’s blogs reading where the clit is, the g-spot, and how to curl his fingers just right when he’s knuckle deep inside you. he finds no shame in his actions because a well-informed man is like a man going to battle fully geared. he also has a playlist (courtesy of the twins) to ‘set the mood.’ he’s prepared for it, or so he says, because nothing ever really gets him ready for the first time he sinks himself into your heat, feels your walls clench around his girth, and he realizes that nothing could be compared to the real thing. or how he never saw himself to be someone who spends hours between your legs. its only inside the bedroom that he uses his strength willingly to pry your legs apart when your knees close in on him. ushiwaka remains methodical even after years of marriage, though, and follows a strict pattern that he needs to make you cum first - once with you sitting on his face, twice with his fingers buried within you, and three more times around his cock where he takes you in his favorite position: pronebone.

kita is the gentlest lover you could ask for. he loves kissing and does it like he’s taking his last breath. he starts by kissing you on the neck, then down to your collarbone as his expert fingers pop open the myriad of buttons you have on your top. he’s tender with each touch that has you keening under his palm, but all that gentleness flies out the window the moment all your clothes hit the ground. you see, one thing about kita is that he is a man of restraint and the epitome of self control. surely you could let him indulge in losing that control every once in a while. and you learn sooner than later that kita loves using his necktie to keep your wrists in place, caressing your jaw as he gazes over the helpless look on your face upon wanting to touch him, but he doesn’t let you. he takes his sweet time with you too, his strokes agonizingly slow yet precise. he’ll keep his eyes on you the whole time as he ravishes you, your nipple in his mouth and his thumb flicking your clit. and when you scream his name? he’ll just stuff your panties down that pretty mouth <3

and pretty boy tobio, sweet boy tobio... he’s shy, and unsure of himself. he’s the youngest of his brothers and have always felt like he was most lacking, but when he sees the way your eyes widen and your jaw goes slack with the struggle of taking him all the way to the hilt? perhaps he isn’t so lacking after all. but he’s still so shy even when you’re impaled on his cock, your breasts bouncing in front of his face. he’s unsure whether to put his hands on your hips or bring your face close for a kiss, because everything feels too good that he can’t form a coherent thought. deciding to just go with instincts, his hands end up wrapped in your throat. choking, you clamp down on him with stuttering hips and oh, tobio’s sure to do that again. again and again until you’re nothing but a sweaty mess on top of him and he chuckles, kissing the top of your head as he praises you for how good you’ve been. it’s his turn now to make you feel good. flipping you onto your back, tobio presses your legs against your chest, his weight crushing you as he fucks you all the way in the morning

akaashi needs a lot more convincing that you want him before he believes it. how could you like him, after all? he’s not rich, not the most popular, and his title is nothing but a joke. it takes more than a few heated kisses and with you guiding his wrist to feel the wetness in your cunt for him to finally snap out of it. inexperienced as he may be, his eagerness to please you makes up for it. it’s worth all those weeks of flirting with the easily flustered prince, all those hours of pining and shamelessly batting your eyes at him. because now the prince has your cheeks pressed against the glass window, your breath fogging up the glass as he ruthlessly takes you from behind. it shouldn’t be romantic, the way his hands dig into your hips as he murmurs sweet nothing’s in your ears. it should feel filthy - how he’s sucking at your earlobe as you watch the way your cream forms a ring around his cock. akaashi is surprisingly messy as he fucks his cum back into you, his low groans like a song accompanied by the loud, wet squelches. instead it’s just heavenly, even more so when he reaches for you even in his sleep, his arms wrapping around your torso as he sleepily mumbles, “want you again. s’that okay?” and because its akaashi - sweet, loving akaashi - you let him take you in your sleep-filled haze. there’s no complaints when you wake up with his cum sticky between your legs, and your entire body sore

[suguella]

FEELS SO GOOD BUT HURTS SO BAD ꒰ ft satoru gojo ꒱

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : it feels so good sleeping with your boyfriend’s bestfriend, gojo but the consequences of it could hurt you. however, you were willing to risk it all for him.

꒰ CONTENT WARNING ꒱ : explicit content, cheating, unprotected sex, p inside v, cunningulus, oral (f), nipple play, praising, fingering and reader is a female.

꒰ AUTHORS NOTE ꒱ : thought of this idea at work and immediately started writing. sigh, gojo grew on me. am i back tho? maybe idk. no part 2s (depends), not proofread!!! explicit content so MDNI. reblog would be appreciated. enjoy, mwah.

it was wrong. you knew that but you couldn't stop yourself from meeting your boyfriends closest friend. geto would have never cared if you were just meeting gojo but in this case, "meeting" being pinned against a wall in a dark alley whilst his hands roam your body, groping the soft tissues of your breast.

so how'd it get to that?

it started when gojo would come over for geto, truth be told he would only come over to see you. he would be lying if he said he wasn't interesting in you after all you were a catch but again you were dating his best friend meaning you was off limits right? wrong, that only made him want you more.

geto was too preoccupied to talk to nanami about who knows what. gojo used his lack of interest in their conversation as an excuse to go upstairs and speak to you.

"yo y/n, haven't seen you in a while"

you turned around to see a familiar face. his eyes stayed glued to yours, those shorts you were wearing were giving him a rather hard time. you giggled, "gojo, you literally was here yesterday."

he frowned, "okay, maybe i missed you." you look up to see glowing blue eyes staring at you. looking into his eyes made you feel butterflies; gojo was in fact gorgeous, and by far one of the hottest people you've ever met.

there were times when you wanted to do things with him, specifically to fuck him, but that would be selfish. you were with geto, and he obviously cared for you, he would shower you with gifts and be the ideal boyfriend everyone would have wished for but you couldn't help but want more with gojo.

"omg, thee gojo satoru missed me?" you teased, receiving a low chuckle from gojo. you suddenly noticed the space between the two of you; it was as if your bodies moved on its own, his cologne mesmerising you. you noticed his hair concealing his face, so you tucked it back. when he felt your fingers touch him, he could not stop himself.

You felt soft lips against yours and instinctively threw your arm around his neck, tugging him down to deepen the kiss, while his hands found their way to your hips, pushing you closer to him.

his tongue swpied across your bottom lips, requesting approval in which you opened your mouth to respond. your tongue battles for dominance, resulting in you losing.

you suck on his tongue, tasting the strawberries he must have had, then draw away for breath, laying your foreheads on each other. gojos couldn't stop grinning.

that's when you heard geto yell for gojo. you froze at the thought of your lover catching you with his best friend. "get out of here before we get caught" he pressed his lips onto yours once time before leaving your room.

after that precarious situation of almost getting caught, you both decided to be more careful. you told geto you was going on a walk to clear your mind about something.

he was worried at first that he might have done something, but you reassured him right away that it was something else.

as you went done the alley, you back was pressed against the wall by none other than gojo. he wasted no time, lips finding your neck as you tugged on his hair. He sucks on your sensitive skin, leaving markings that you'd scold him for later.

he lifted your top, revealing your breast to the chilly air. His lips fall to your erect nipples, sucking on one and pulling on the other till your moans could no longer be contained.

he pulls on your clit, massaging it, making your legs feel weak, and shifts your underwear to the sides without bothering to take them off entirely.

he inserts two fingers, feeling how wet you are. “baby, you’re this wet for me?” he teased. his fingers pounded in and out of you as your walls tightened around them, causing you to gasp.

lowering himself to his knees, his hand pulling your skirt and causing it to pool at your waist. he kisses your thigh, making his way up to your pussy. His tongue laps your clit, before harshly sucking. your thighs trembled and shook from the ecstasy.

it wasn't surprising that gojo was large, but you weren't prepared for him to be that large, so you gasp in shock when he thrusts partially hard against you. you almost moaned when you saw it. it was thick, lengthy, and was dripping precum from his swollen tip.

he dragged the tip of his cock through your wet folds, teasing your clit and hole. your walls tightened around him, taking him in deeper and deeper until the swollen tip kissed your cervix. his cum painted your walls. he groaned and pulled out, kissing your forehead.

gojo held you in a bridal style as you were too sore to walk. You give in to the need to fall asleep and lean against his chest. "lets get you home, princess"

[starshinegazer]

Shoutout Sunday

I just wanted to collect some of the most memorable Astarion fanfics I've read so far and to give them and their authors a big ol' shoutout. These are some of the fics I strongly suggest others to check out, if you haven't yet.

Also, please feel free to comment and recommend your favorites as well! And, if you know of some of these authors on tumblr, lemme know, so I can add them too :) I'm not too good with words, so I'll be slapping some of the authors own words as descriptions (for now). Oh, and do be mindful of tags etc etc... Here goes, in no particular order:

Pieces Still Stuck In Your Teeth by howlsmovinglibrary (@wetcatspellcaster) "The Vampire Ascendent has crossed a line. Eleven years after making the biggest mistake of her life and losing the man she loved, tiefling wizard (now Archmage) Rosalie decides it’s time to put this Astarion in the ground for good. Hopefully, both her head and her heart are strong enough to see this awful task through to its end."

An Honest Lie by howlsmovinglibrary (@wetcatspellcaster) "Astarion and Rosalie think they understand each other perfectly, but they have each fallen prey to the other’s mask. As they both go forward with their adventure, will either of them dare to be honest?"

A Crooked Touch by eyes_of_the_lamb "If you want to read a story where Astarion is sweet from the start and Tav is here to fix him, this isn't the one. If you want to read about two terribly broken men spending a good long while making each other worse before they make each other better, this might be for you. If you thought the in-game romance was a little too easy and it should have been ten times more painful and difficult to convince Astarion he's worthy of love, this is definitely for you."

Perfect Slaughter by Imagineitdear (@imagineitdearies ) "Tyrus, a low-born drow with aspirations for necromantic wizardry, finds none of the hospitality he expected from his new noble patron, Cazador Szarr. Quickly he loses his life and future, his hopes and dreams—only to find something new to fight for in the unlikely arms of Cazador’s least favorite spawn."

A Novel Experience by meanboss (@meanbossart ) "Initially just an epilogue for my own game campaign with my big meaty dark urge drow, turned whole story which I accidentally deleted and am now reuploading, my bad LOL

Hope you enjoy!"

Carving Through The Dark by skitter "The realm is safe and the story is over.

Wren and Astarion descend into the Underdark in search of a new purpose, and learn a few things along the way. Namely, that healing isn't linear and sometimes love takes the long way round."

Blood In The Weave by gingealish "There is no need to breathe, but I miss it all the same. The suffocating silence, the desperate darkness have encapsulated me for I don’t even know how long; It could have been tendays or years. I’ve long since accepted my punishment, stopped trying in vain to crack the seal of my tomb against the onslaught of panic and hunger. Now I lay here, thinking of the friends I’ve lost, the lover who turned on me, and how to finally get even.

Astarion is the new Big Bad Evil Guy. Spawn Tav is rescued by a familiar face. "

When He’s all but Forgotten How to Love Again by bg_brainrot "You saved Baldur’s Gate almost 300 years ago. You died 150 years ago. On a new life now, you find that memories from your past lead you to a specific silver-haired man. Who was he, and why won't he leave you be? tldr; An Elf-Tav reincarnation story where Tav dreams about Astarion in their nightly reveries and eventually seeks him out once they reach maturity. Things definitely totally go well."

More Than Any Words by mataglap "They have saved the city and possibly the world. All is great and everyone is happy... except Astarion has been banished back into the shadows, and Tav is stuck in an uneven battle with his own oath. He's losing the fight. He knew he would from the moment he fell for Astarion. But he can't lose yet, not before they find a way for Astarion to walk in the sun again."

Inexhaustible Oil by homeward_bound "This is the absolute opposite of a redemption fic. A post-canon, fall-from-grace, "I can make you infinitely worse" kind of story, in which there is no simple happy ending. But there's mystery on the way. And dragons. True love, even. So if you're fine with that, come aboard. It's going to be a wild ride."

[leighsartworks216]

can i request a tav x astarion where tav is mute? i wonder how they would be communicating

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I really struggled with this request, but I decided to try again on a whim and whoooo boy it's a doozy. I also did not make Tav mute, but I played with a Paladin oath I have had on my mind for a looong time so they are effectively mute

Warnings: fear of death, blood, mentions of death/dead bodies, religion, anxiety, fear, being trapped, crying, swearing, angst, hurt/little comfort, possibly OOC

Word Count: 3,624

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You huff in annoyance for the fifth- no, sixth, time. Perhaps more. The vendor stares at you as though you’re insane, even though you couldn’t possibly be clearer! You exaggerate further, pointing at the potion, yourself, and your coin purse. If he would just mark how much the damn thing cost, you wouldn’t have to keep going through this!

Astarion sighs sharply. “They want to buy the potion,” he bemoans. “Now, please, tell them the price so we can move on.”

The vendor starts with wide eyes and realization on his face. He flushes from his cheeks, down his neck, and to the tips of his ears as he stutters out the price. You shove the money into his chest and grab what you’ve paid for, before stomping off. And if Astarion slipped an extra something in his pocket while the vendor was dying of his stupidity, who would really care?

He caught up in a few long strides. “We must find a better way for you to communicate, darling. I can’t keep translating for you.”

You made a few sharp gestures.

“I don’t see the big deal in carrying a paper and pencil around,” he answered with a scoff. “Or, you know, you could just speak. I know you can.”

You glared at him. That, he didn’t need a translator for.

This had been an ongoing argument from the very moment you ran into each other on the beach. When he had you pinned to the ground and you didn’t speak, he originally thought you were just being stubborn. When he finally let you go, you’d explained to him (in writing) that you’d made an oath of silence, and that you had nothing to do with the Illithid kidnappings.

Fortunately, you discovered early on that some hand signs were shared with the Theive’s Cant, which he understood quite well. When Gale and Wyll came along, one who’d learned some sign through books and the other who learned by helping people as the Blade of Frontiers, Astarion was relieved he wouldn’t have to translate for you. Except, you continued to drag him along to act as the middle man anyway.

His solution, proposed frequently both seriously and in jest, was to break your oath. An oath of silence was a ridiculous thing to promise anyway, especially now that you needed to communicate so frequently, but any time the suggestion was posed, you’d just level him with a hard stare.

“You know I can’t do that,” you signed, annoyed.

He rolled his eyes. “Ugh, Paladins. So dedicated to the chains that bind them.”

“To break my oath would be to lose my powers. Do you want me to keep reviving your ass during battle or not?”

He sneered. “You couldn’t make an oath of vengeance or something? It would certainly be a lot easier to follow through on.”

You rolled your eyes and walked faster. You hated arguing about your oath. Wyll and Gale wouldn’t behoove you for it - so why did you bring him along, he wonders.

-

Astarion heaved, pressing against a stitch in his side that tightened with each breath. The fight was brutal. Everyone was bloody and exhausted. Shadowheart turned from the dead beast before them to help Wyll who lay prone on the ground. Karlach pulled her mighty axe from its head with a squelch and a crunch, cheering at the victory.

He chuckled breathlessly at her antics. Almost stumbling, he turned in a circle, eyes scanning the battlefield. The beast’s cronies lay still, scattered everywhere. Blood overwhelmed his senses. How did that saying go? Water, water, everywhere, but not a drop to drink.

He frowned. He looked around again. “Where’s Tav?”

Karlach’s whoops quieted immediately. She looked around as well. “They didn’t get crushed under this,” she kicked the creature in the eye, “did they?”

He shook his head. “They weren’t close enough…” He growled, frustrated, and turned to the magic-users. “Did you see where Tav went?”

Shadowheart supported Wyll as he sat up, groaning. They both shook their heads. “Last I saw them, they were over there,” the warlock croaked, nodding over to the side. “But I don’t know how long I’ve been down for.”

Astarion winced as he jogged over to where he said, stepping over and on top of dead bodies. He took another step. His foot did not collide with floor nor flesh. His heart lurched as the world fell out from under him. A hand grabbed the neck his armor and pulled him back, falling on his ass onto solid ground.

“Careful, Fangs!” Karlach chastised worriedly. She let him go, pulling them both to their feet and brushing him off. “You alright?”

His mind was still reeling. He nodded in a daze. All he could do was stare at the nearly-invisible chasm he’d almost fallen down into… And then his mind caught up.

He raced forward again, dopping to his knees right before the tear in the earth, and leaned over it. Even his darkvision couldn’t help him see what was below; it was so dark, like all light that fell into it was swallowed up. A heavy weight settled in his chest.

“Tav?!” he shouted down into the darkness. His voice echoed. He had no idea how deep it went.

The realization set in for Karlach as well. “Oh fuck…”

“Tav, are you down there?!” He waited a moment, but he was met with only silence.

Shadowheart and Wyll rushed over. They peered into the deep with concern. Astarion shifted so he sat on the ground, legs dangling over the edge. He remembered the feeling of falling. Fortunately, he couldn’t see how deep it was, so at least vertigo did not make it seem deeper; the shadow was doing a perfect job of that on its own.

Wyll grabbed his shoulder before he could slide forward. “Astarion, we have no idea how deep it goes, or what’s down there! You could be impaled on a spike before you ever make it to the bottom. We don’t know if they’re even alive!”

“And if they are?” he growled. “They could be trapped down there with no way of telling us.”

“And you’ll be trapped down there if you go after them!”

He couldn’t argue with anything logical. So what if he got stuck down there? He needed to know you were okay. His blunt nails dig into the stone edge, knocking loose flecks of rock and sediment. How could he just leave you down there?

Shadowheart looked around at the bodies. “We could make some rope. Lower it down, see if they grab on.”

He snorted mirthlessly, sneering at the cleric. “And if they’re too injured to?”

She glared back at him. “I don’t see you proposing any better ideas.”

Karlach and Wyll shared a look. It seems they’d have to be the level-headed ones here… “We can strip the bodies. Tie their clothes together until it’s long enough.” To hopefully reach the bottom, was left unsaid.

Karlach and Shadowheart got to work immediately, working to remove the clothes of their fallen enemies, scrunching their noses in disgust all the while. Wyll squeezed Astarion’s shoulder and joined them, trying to decide what clothes were in good enough condition to hold weight. Astarion stared into the pit for a while longer.

-

Your head spun. Everything ached. Each breath was like fire in your lungs. You bit your lip to silence your whimpers, biting down so hard you could taste iron in your mouth.

As the pain ebbs to a manageable level, you try to figure out where you were. It was dark. You couldn’t make out your hand right in front of your face. You couldn’t even be sure your eyes were open. You only knew they were when you looked up and saw light coming from far above you. It was dim and flickering - the flames of the braziers that lined the battlefield.

You blinked into the darkness, willing your eyes to adjust. Cautiously, you reached out your hands and felt around. The ground beneath you was covered in fine gravel, almost like sand. The finer sediment stuck to your hands when you pulled away. There was a wall behind you, possibly made from slate. It would be impossible to climb. With a muffled groan, you’re able to reach your foot out and touch the opposite wall. The effort leaves you panting.

You lay still on the floor for a minute. Clearly, you fell from quite high up. How far was still a mystery, but the fact was you did fall. When you’ve caught your breath, you feel for any injuries. Your armor restricts you, but it seems to have protected you for the most part. You’ll be bruised as hell, but you can’t find any open wounds. At least you were fortunate there.

You look up again. You can’t hear anything coming from above, but you’re unsure if it’s from the depth of the chasm or because the battle is over. You hope they are able to win the fight without you. All your companions are strong in their own right, you know they can pull through this.

You squint at the opening above. You think you see something moving at the top, but it’s merely a speck. Using the wall and gathering your waning strength, you push yourself to your feet. You heave as you lean against the slate. The silhouette is still too far away to make out.

T..av….

A distant cry, distorted heavily by the chasm. It takes a moment for you to recognize it as your name. Your heart leaps in your chest.

… av….. Ar… d..wn… the..re…

You can’t tell who’s calling down to you, but you take faith in the knowledge it must be one of your companions. The beasts wouldn’t know your name. Now you just have to signal them somehow…

You feel around your body for your sword, but the sheath is empty. It must have fallen elsewhere, perhaps only feet away, but you can’t see worth a damn. You try instead to cast a ball of light. It should be easy - it’s a spell you’ve cast a hundred times before. But as you strain to conjure even a spark, you become lightheaded. Your knees buckle, collapsing you back to the gritty floor. You try again, but you can feel your energy being sapped away. Your hand falls weakly to the ground.

You rest your head back against the wall and think. You can’t use your sword to hit the rock and make a sound, or defend yourself if something lurks within the darkness. You can’t cast a light, nor any other spell, lest you fall completely unconscious and make your chances worse. The more options you run out of, the more desperate you become. You try reaching out to their tadpoles, but they must be too far away.

You’re stuck.

A sob chokes you as it forces its way up your throat. Even that is muffled by you, by pure habit at this point. You’ve held your oath for years; you’ve learned how to stay silent even under the worst situations. Now it’s come to bite you in the ass.

You look up at the dim light, blurred through tears. They burn as they just keep coming. Your lip quivers as you quietly gasp for air. You’re going to die down here.

Your last option, you’ve already dismissed before it fully forms. You could break your oath, call up to them, cry out for help with the last of your strength. But to do that would leave you even more helpless than before. To speak was to lose your powers. Your god would rip them away in a heartbeat, until you plead for forgiveness; pray for hours and hours to swear your allegiance and dedication once more.

A slave to the chains that bind you.

But what choice do you have?

You try to catch your breath, slow the hiccups and sobs down until you can fill your lungs with air. You open your mouth, try to form the words, but it comes out as a weak sound, almost a poor facsimile of a donkey’s bray. You haven’t spoken for years, to do so now was an astronomical feat. You feel the burn of your god’s eyes as they watch you actively work to break your oath.

You try to speak again. You form an h sound, but it’s so quiet, it’s hardly enough to be considered speaking. You need to shout. You need to let your friends know you are alive down here. Anxiety grips your heart as you imagine being left down here alone, left to starve to death, or worse.

You swallow. You have to do this. You can do this.

“H..e..lp,” you croak out, a mere whisper. It’s raspy and breathy, but it’s a word. You feel your power being sapped away. You nearly sob again. Your god would abandon you down here. An unfeeling master who only craves loyalty. Astarion was right.

You take another deep breath and try harder. “H-elp..!” It’s still a strained rasp, but you hear it begin to echo off the walls. Louder. It needs to be louder. You cup your hands around your mouth. “Help!” Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the burning in your throat. “HELP!”

-

Astarion’s hands are raw from tying knots. Karlach will bring him big piles at a time, plopping them down beside him, and he’d add them all onto the already-quite-long rope. It was perhaps 30 feet long by now, but he wasn’t confident it would reach.

Wyll sighed, exhausted. “We’re almost out of clothes, my friend.”

Astarion doesn’t look up, barely paying attention to the warlock enough to tell him to keep working. Calluses on his hands open and turn into blisters. He winces with each knot he pulls tight. But he won’t stop. How can he?

Shadowheart sighs as she pulls the pants off another corpse. She’s seen far more anatomy in one hour than she ever wished to again. Karlach sits down by the pile and pulls the other end of the rope into her lap. She begins working to tie more on.

They work silently, but rather efficiently. In another minute, the rope has grown considerably longer. Blood begins to stain Astarion’s end.

“Fangs, maybe you should take a break.” He shakes his head, frowning as he grabs a robe off the pile. Karlach is about to insist, get Wyll or Shadowheart to take over, when a sound comes from the pit. Astarion drops everything and scrambles over as fast as he can.

He tilts his head, facing his ear down into the depths. And he listens…

H..E..LP!

He immediately shouts down into the hole. “We’re going to get you out!” He rushes back to his feet and to the rope. The others drop their half-naked corpses, and Karlach finishes tying one last knot. They help Astarion drag it over to the pit, all lining up to hold onto the end, though, to be honest, Karlach will be doing most of the heavy lifting. He guides the end over the edge, and hurriedly lowers it down. He wants to throw it in, but he’d rather not throw somebody else over the edge with the sudden weight.

He’s knelt right on the edge, wide eyes staring, searching into the dark. He has no idea how close they are to you, or even if it’s long enough. He hopes your god is merciful enough to play with fate.

“Find the rope!” He shouts down. He hopes his voice is reaching you. “We’ll lift you up!”

It’s too quiet for too long. If his heart still beat, it would be racing faster than a rabbit’s on the run. Dread builds up, heavy and unpleasant, in his chest instead. Did you pass out? Was the rope long enough? Would he have to slide down and carry you back up? What was taking you so damn long?!

He’s a second away from removing his armor to climb down when the rope shifts, being tugged by something down in the darkness. He can only hope it’s you. He scrambles to his feet and gets in front of Karlach, grabs hold of the rope with bloody fingers, and begins pulling you from the pit.

Somehow they manage to work as a unit. He’s scrambling to pull you out as fast as possible, but Karlach manages to get him to slow down. If they could do long pulls, they could drag you out faster with less work. He worries his lip between his teeth. Each knot that slips over the edge adds to his anxiety. He’s waiting for the moment it reaches the end and nothing is there. He can only take solace in the fact he can feel your weight holding on. Gods, he thinks desperately, just keep holding on.

After an eternity of pulling, a hand reaches over the ledge. Karlach makes up for his absence when he lets go and falls to his knees at the edge. He reaches in and wraps his hands under your arms, heaving you up and, finally, back on solid ground. He pulls you solidly into his arms, sliding back away from the edge. He’s sick and tired of chasms.

You’re no longer wearing your armor, and your weapons belt is gone, too. Fine, black dirt sticks to your clothes and hands, and even smears across your face, washed away by a stream of tears. He wipes them away with one hand; he can’t give a damn about the blood he leaves in its place.

“I’ve got you,” he breathes. You sob as fall forward, your head landing solidly against his shoulder. Your whole body trembles and shudders with each cry. He’s disconcerted by the sound of your voice, no longer purposefully muffled. He threads his fingers into your hair, holding you to him. “Shh. I’ve got you. You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

-

If your body ached at the bottom of the pit, now you couldn’t even think about moving. Astarion had carried you as far as he could and then some, until Karlach had to take you from his arms before he dropped you. Even then, he stayed right by her side, watching you anxiously.

Back at camp, Shadowheart healed what she could, but most of her energy was spent during the fight. Haslin took over, but even the best he could do would have you bruised and in pain for the next few days. He went into the woods for ingredients to make a soothing balm.

Wyll helped you drink water, and Gale helped you drink some broth, to hold you over until he could make dinner proper. Lae’zel rifled through your veritable hoard of supplies to find you some suitable armor and weapons, and worked to sharpen and polish them.

When you were finally given the chance to rest, Astarion carried you from your bedroll into his tent, laying you down on his own bedroll. He provided as many pillows as you wished, as many blankets as you could ever ask for. He gathered a bowl of water and a fresh cloth and worked to clean the grime off your face.

You watched blankly, too emotionally and physically exhausted to process much. He passed the cloth over your forehead. It was blessedly cool, but the flash of red that crossed your vision could not be ignored.

Arms like lead, you willed a hand to grab his, stopping him mid-swipe. He winced as you pried the cloth from his hand, where it dropped wetly onto your neck, and ran your thumb along his palm. Blisters and blood covered every inch, skin torn and peeling in places. Without even thinking, you try casting a spell to heal him.

Whereas before, when you tried to cast a spell, you could feel it draining your energy from you, now you just felt nothing. It was like dipping a bucket into a well and coming up empty. There is no more magic within you to fuel a spell. Tears prick at your eyes again.

Astarion sighs, long and low. “You don’t have your magic.”

It takes far too much effort to even shake your head. You take a breath, and through the rasping pain, you speak. “They… took it away when… I called for help…” You swallow thickly. Your voice was foreign to you.

It was foreign to Astarion, too. He could recognize the way you signed, the slight variations of years of experience against Gale’s book-perfect signing or even Wyll’s slower, more purposeful movements. He associated it with you so strongly. To hear you speak was like watching a ventriloquist put on a show.

A bitter feeling took hold within him. Just like all gods, all masters, all people with power to laud over another, you were abandoned in your darkest hour, by someone you spent so long dedicated to. Prayers, offerings at alters, your faithful silence - it would never be enough, not to a god who always craved more.

But now isn’t the time to say I told you so. Gently, he removes his hand from your grasp. Your hand flops back to your side. He takes the cloth from where it rested at your neck, re-wets it, and continues cleaning your face.

He doesn’t say anything as he wipes away your tears, catching them before they have a chance to slide down to your ears. When the sobs choke you, he helps you drink some water. When your sorrow lulls you to sleep, he tucks you in and stays by your side, a faithful argus.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @sylverqueen_cosplay @yarn_yogi @tototini @teardropcup @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive

[zosanbrainrot]

Love it when

Sanji is so down bad for Zoro but Zoro doesn’t notice/thinks it’s some kind of trick

Zoro is the same for Sanji but has the emotional range of Bruce Wayne and thus his brightest blush is the slightest tint

Yeah!! I love love when people write Zoro thinking Sanji's tricking him, bcs honestly its so believable

Like who would take Sanji, heart eyes, nosebleed, serenading every girl he sees, self proclaimed the biggest woman-lover in the world Sanji, seriously if he tells you he likes a guy lmao??

Zoro has every right to think he's fighting a losing battle, there's great potential for sillies and for SUCH ANGST in this when people write them getting together in a friends rivals with benefits scenario for example

When they do it for the first time it's just a way to resolve the tension, after all they're stuck on the sea for days and weeks on end. Time moves slow. No islands in sight. The air gets hot and humid. They get drunk a bunch... For Sanji it's just a silly idea, for Zoro it's finally a piece of something he's been yearing for for a long time. But of course he can't say that.

They don't linger afterwards, not at first at least. They keep it a secret and double down on throwing insults, punches and kicks the next day to keep up appearances. With each and every time though it gets easier to find each other, to give in, when the waters get calm again. It gets easier to be gentle.

So of course it stings a bit when they dock onto the next island and Sanji's back at it again, flirting with every woman he sees, paying Zoro no mind. Disappearing with a bunch of them during a celebration and leaving Zoro to drink alone in silence. Of course it was never meant to lead to anything. It was just a means to an end and Zoro was the last resort.

He'll take every scrap the Cook's willing to throw his way, he just needs to remember - it doesn't mean anything. Not to Sanji.

not exactly the concept you were taking about anon since Sanji's not down bad in this but I got carried away lmao ofc you could then have a role reversal where Sanji starts to get more invested but all the same he's scared to commit and Zoro gets more distant as a result and thinks Sanji's playing him

The endless push and pull of it all

[kyracooneyx23]

° *₊ ° . ° .• MASTERLIST and WIPs •. ° . °₊* °

⋆ ★ Kyra Cooney Cross ★⋆

Missed You More It's your first camp back after your ACL injury, but you best friend Kyra's acting strange

 ↳ Favourite Pest You finally find out what's caused Kyra to act so weird

Friend of a Friend Charli introduces you and Kyra, and the two of you end up getting along a bit too well [aiming to post it around late August]

Forget About it After avoiding her for as long as possible you have to play against the girl who broke your heart so many years ago. [aiming to post it around late August]

-> ⋆ Kyra and Sunny Series ⋆

•.¸¸☆Sam Kerr☆¸¸.•

6ft 5 You're filming a tiktok and Sam wants everyone to know your hers.

 ↳ 5ft 8 After signing a contract extension with Chelsea, you can't help teasing Sam over a lie she tells in a video

✧ ✦ ✧ Caitlin Foord ✧ ✦ ✧

Caitlin x child!reader series (coming soon)

Squirt You're meeting the Arsenal girls for the first time

Popular You find yourself the center of attention when all the girls are fighting to be your favourite

But you're my mumma? Caitlin starts spending more time with Katie and less time with you

•♬✧Leah Williamson✧♬•

Enchanted You write a song about England's captain after meeting her briefly at an event not expecting her to share your feelings

 ↳ You are in Love After back and forth messaging and a few dates you and Leah begin to go more public with your relationship causing the fans to go wild [posting date tbc]

Waldosia a condition in which you keep scanning faces in a crowd looking for a specific person who would have no reason to be there, as if your brain is checking to see whether they're still in your life, subconsciously patting its emotional pockets before it leaves for the day.

Maybe in Another Life You hadn't seen Leah since you'd broken up three years ago and now when you see her again you being to regret ever letting her go

Crossing Loyalties Leah's a red, you're a blue and you 'hate' each other. Well at least that's what the fans think. [aiming to post it early Spetember]

baby fever you'd always heard your friends talk about how much they wanted kids but had never felt the same until now.

⋆ ★ Katie McCabe ★⋆

Snapchat Katie accidentally leaks your relationship on snapchat with all the fans [posting date tbc]

St Patrick's Day You're first time meeting Katie's family is on Saint Patricks day and it's a bit overwhelming [posting date tbc]

∘₊✧ Lionesses ✧₊∘

Winners are Grinners You've just won your first major tournament with your country (teen reader) [posting date tbc]

•.¸¸☆ Matildas ☆¸¸.•

No 1 trio It's a fight to see who the better trio is - Macca, Alanna and Caitlin or You, Mini and Kyra [posting date tbc]

Little Menaces You and your best friend Harper Gorry are bored and decide to annoy all your aunties. (part of the Caitlin Foord x child!reader series) [posting date tbc]

⋆ ★ Alexia Putellas ★⋆

Odio Amarte All of your Barca teammates think you and Alexia need to get together, but the two of you are 'enemies'.

First Camp It's all to much for you on your first ever Spain camp (teen reader) [posting date tbc]

La Reina You finally shoot your shot with the queen of Spain [posting date tbc]

✧ ✦ ✧ Niamh Charles ✧ ✦ ✧

I wanna ruin our friendship Niamh wants more than anything to tell you how she feels but she's to scared to lose her best friend [posting date tbc]

Let's tell the world you and Niamh decide it's finally time to go public with your relationship [posting date tbc]

•♬✧ CWFC ✧♬•

We made it After battling injuries, sicknesses and mental health problems for years, you finally made it all the way to the final day

•.¸¸☆AWFC☆¸¸.•

Go away (platonic) You and Kyra are always up to no good, but one day it gets all to much for your Arsenal teammates.

✧ ✦ ✧ Lucy Bronze ✧ ✦ ✧

Don't be sorry the matildas lose to england in the semi final of the world cup and you take the blame

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Covering BOTW!Link in kisses pretty please (> <)

Yeah, I can do that!

I made this surprisingly angsty (though if you’re not new around here that may be less shocking) so be warned.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

For someone with such an utterly distinct lack of memory, Wild often found himself drowning within them. Fleeting snippets of vision or audio cut in and out, warped and distorted beyond anything he can truly grasp at. One second he’d be laughing alongside his brothers, but when his eyes blinked he’d be a century in the last. Oftentimes after the phantom arms of his previous life embraced him, he felt less than who he was before. his smiles dulled and heart weighed down. As if knowing more about who he was then made him less of who he was now. As if the two sentiences couldn’t coexist.

It was a quiet night, humid with the onset of summer. The fireflies —lightning bugs as Twilight called them— dancing lofty paths amidst the air. Sat side by side, the champion absorbed the fable. At first it seemed rather childish, the idea of two wolves within oneself fighting to make the forefront. But the longer he went on the more it resonated. The mental image as one sneers and snaps, barring its ugly teeth in unwavering violent truth. All while the other dodges and uses the violent’s strength against itself, all while denying its own violent nature.

Allegorically it was good versus bad, overindulgence against suppression. The idea that to overindulge, to snap, to be reckless would lead to being taken advantage of. Wild knew why Twilight thought the story relevant to him. He knew that whenever he’d turn his back on his enemies to support that it wasn’t viewed as loyalty. He knew that there was lots to lose, and they couldn’t afford another injury. He knew Twi didn’t want to see him fall into a similar circumstance. But he knew he couldn’t afford to fail again. He couldn’t fall short. He can’t lose someone close again.

Where externally he was viewed as the former, he internally found himself in the latter of cases. He fought the battle between the whispers of the others in contrast to his own thoughts of himself. Left with the residual pressure to be nothing short of perfect, to be The Hero of Time, to be worthy of the title and the land and the fate and the soul. The yearning to simply live and be without the burden of his own guilt, to be Link, to be your lover and accept the love without feeling indebted.

He didn’t realise Twilight had left.

His head swims and he feels clammy as he curls up, deciding aimlessly that it’s time to sleep. His feet lead him inside his house and he can hardly even stumble up the loft. Someone else can sort dinner.

Any sense of sensibility is muddled and mixed. Time does not matter, nor the relevancy if his mind.

He stares back at the shards of his past life, his chipped reflection in each mirror, and can’t help but wonder who he’d be if he were just Link.

Or would he be even anything at all if not a hero?

What was it that he truly was?

Mipha had written that he was a rather rowdy child, eager to take on the world with nothing more than a stick in hand. Then, he held no care for being proper. Wide grin and leaves in his hair, he was happy. Perhaps that was the most of himself he could ever be. Perhaps that was the reason he finds himself wandering aimlessly now. Perhaps that is his nature.

The records of many soldiers he fought alongside depicted him as the prime standard of the military. Those days were cold, and he just remembered how much he hurt. The ache of every muscle and bruise, every drill, every spar, every battle, every day spent alive that was spent suffering. His ability to cut down any monster or man with any weapon. His instinct and ability to hurt was primed until he now questions if that little boy who splashed around in rivers and threw handfuls of mud had retreated into the cold hands of death. The soldiers’ mirage of him is idyllic, but holds distressingly true to his own memory.

Perhaps that is why his mind is clear and quiet with weapon in hand and a body beneath his feet.

He dreams of musty stables and bare campgrounds, both places the since passed versions of himself would’ve spent a night at. The smell of dirt and dust is accompanied by the crackle of a fire as drunken men sing out of tune.

The littlest curled up as his teeth chattered, the chipped tooth whistling as he exhaled. A warm hand settles on his shoulders as his father drapes another thin blanket over him. He does not yet know this means his father will go without warmth.

The soldier tossing and turning, unable to relax even long enough to sleep. He too his tormented by the potential of falling. He does not yet know what’s to come. He does not yet know there’s nothing to be done.

The scene shifts and he is at the castle. It’s his first time and his eyes shine as he follows his father closely, following hot on his feet with a giddy grin.

It is his home. His work. His life. He follows the princess closely, just far enough to not make himself overbearing. He does not smile. He does not frown. He does not fail.

The colours fade and mix and blur, the dreamscape shifting oncemore. It’s raining. It pitters across his shoulders as he kicks up the puddles, scaring the stray cuccos from the stable not too far away. His father fusses over the sword he’d found, and he can hardly muster the strength to swing it against the base of the apple tree. He results in climbing up the twisted limbs, collecting extra ripe apples to ease his father’s worries. The wet bark gives no grip to his feet and he falls to the ground, winded next to the funny blue sword. It glints and chirps and when he catches his breath he laughs back.

It’s storming. The grass smells wet and irony. The bloody mud cakes his boots as his foot falls brace against the ground. His arms lock as he flings his shield to the side, the guardian falling to disrepair. His shield lay broken. He can see his strained face in the dirty reflection. He doesn’t like the man staring back. The rain pelts across his back and the lightning shakes the ground. His muffled ears pick up Zelda’s distress as another guardian climbs up the mound of soul. He draws his sword. He didn’t even know if it were possible to deflect a guardian laser with a blade. But he can’t fail now. Not after everything. A flash of blue light overtakes his vision as his limbs slacken.

He shoots awake with a familiar tightness in his chest, his scars itching and burning. He writhes beneath his own skin as he kicks the covers off, the cold air seizing him. His lungs struggle to draw breath as he wheezes. His vision tunnels and it feels as if he’s dying again.

Why can’t it just be over.

When will he finally be enough— if not for the sake of the world then to at least save himself?

Or maybe he doesn’t deserve to be saved. He couldn’t save all those innocent people. Castle town, Deya, Lon Lon? Who was he to demand he was worth saving?

He hacks and coughs before even trying to look at his surroundings. Through the mixed screaming within his mind he gathers a few realisations. He’s alive. He’s home. You’re curled up beside him, reaching for his warmth. His hands tremble as they reach towards his uneven hairline, grabbing a fistful and tugging. The pain stings, he feels more than awake as his heart races.

“Mm- Link?” You mumbled against his side, awoken by the cold lack of covers. Guilt fills his throat again until he can’t breathe. He’s supposed to help you, to love you, to be of use. Not be such a burden. But here he is again, making it about him. Making your life worse and demanding comfort like a child.

“Heyheyhey- It’s ok, you’re safe” Your voice was as soft and gentle as your touch as you cradled his cheek. He didn’t even realise he was crying. Why was he crying? Who’d want a hero who cries like a coward in the face of a danger that isn’t even real? You collect his hands together, loosening his grip from his hair and running your thumbs across his knuckles. His head stirs as you speak, and he can’t make out anything of what you are saying. His ears ring, more than usual, drowning out any sound.

“Breathe with me, ok?” He nods weakly after you repeat yourself for the third or fourth time. He tries his best, his ribs shuddering before he could fully breathe in, but no longer deprived of oxygen, his head stops swimming as much.

It’s a while of sitting there, hands in your lap as you calm him down in whatever way he quietly requests. It’s so odd. Being raised to serve and to give and being taught through experience that your worth lies in your deeds… to suddenly being the one catered to. It still feels as if asking to be loved is forbidden. That his purpose comes before all requirement and survival. Somedays it still feels like death would come before he would be comfortable. But it took many long nights and longer days spent having uncomfortable conversations before he realised he still had a chance, only if he chose to make one for himself.

At some point he lets himself settle. He sinks into the now cool mattress as you stare into his eyes. He feels a flicker of shame before your hands are back on his jaw and you're pressing light kisses to his skin. Both temples, forehead, each freckle on the apple of his cheeks, crooked nose, the tip of his burn scar, the cut in his chin. You pull back for a moment to admire what you’ve made of him through the years. He smiles, lopsided and as giddy as he was in childhood. You press an eager kiss to his lips, giggling throughout.

He may be lost within the maze of his own mind, a man held hostage to himself, but despite being a failure by his own previous standards, it doesn’t matter so long as he’s enough for you.

[star-girl-05]

Bedhead: One

James Wilson x reader

Part Two Part Three Part Four

~★~❤︎~✦~

“That's not fair” you eye his naked torso to his bedhead. You're seriously contemplating calling in and spending the rest of your life, the day with him. Not that is a serious option, you both have work, but as long as he's here you’ll continue to enjoy the view. 

He’s slipping on one of his button ups as he turns to you with a dopey smile. “What are you talking about?” You don't answer right away to bust focusing on the little bit of skin you can still see as he puts more clothes on. You can't help but pout when hes fully dressed, you want more time to admire him. He didn't even shower this morning depriving you of the view of him in only a towel. 

“You look too pretty for just getting out of bed” your answer, made him chuckle. He moves back over to the bed, and places a kiss on your lips. Pulling away all too quickly, before he can get too far your pulling him back to you carding your fingers through his soft hair.

His will to leave is slowly demising the more your fingers tug on his hair and your tongue slides against his. He only pulls away when he feels you unbuttoning his shirt. You pout as he quickly moves out of your arms reach. Once again hes chuckling at your reaction. “While I would love to stay in bed with you we both have to get to work.” His voice is soft, too soft It makes you want to go back to bed.

You want him to stay in bed with you so the two of you could cuddle. Even if it's a losing battle you're not going to give up, because it means you get to admire him a little longer before you have to go to work and pretend you're not in a relationship. “Let's both call in and we can spend the rest of the day in bed, I promise to make it worth your wild.” Raise your eyebrows in a suggestive manner even going as far as biting your lip to really sell your point.

James is tempted for a moment until he remembers he has a meeting that he can’t cancel. He could tell them he’s seriously ill and just stay here, and he just might if you keep looking at him with those eyes.  

“I wish I could but…” you cut him off telling him you understand, doing your best to hide your disappointment. Deciding to get out of bed getting ready for another long day. You continue to watch James while you get ready frowning when he smooths down his bedhead. Something about perfect James Wilson having messy hair (the messy hair you caused) made you want him even more. 

Once you're both ready the two of you say your final goodbye placing a kiss on each other's lips and getting into your separate vehicles. You and James both decided when he first asked you on a date to keep it perfectly professional. Especially with you working for House. Surprisingly Wilson has been able to keep House from finding out about the two of you.

~AT WORK~

Its been five hours since you last saw James and you're beginning to have withdraws. House has had you and Cameron running test for over an hour, you only just now had the chance to slip away. Sneaking off to James office, you're in desperate need to mess up his hair again.

You're relieved to find his door cracked giving you hope he's all alone. You still knock in case someone is in there luckily for you hes all alone. Meaning you can put your plan into action. "Honey what are you doing here?" He eyes the door connecting his and houses balconies.

"I missed you" thats enough to have James heart melting. He rises from his seat and heads towards you as soon as hes close to you, you're pulling him close. His hands find their spot on your hips, placing a deep kiss on your lips. The two of you don't have nearly as much time as you would like, Cameron will get suspicious. So you have to move fast, carding your fingers through his once perfect hair. He groans into your mouth, grinding his hips against yours. Gosh... why did he have to be so delicious? His mouth is moving to your neck and your wishing this could continue but you have to go, thankfully you accomplished what you wanted. You messed up his hair.

Before things could progress any further you're pulling away much to James displeasure. "Are you really leaving after getting me all worked up?" You can be a tease but you've never done it at work. You're slipping out of the office leaving him with an uncomfortable situation in his pants.

He was not going to let you get away with this. 

Part Two Part Three Part Four

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Screaming from the crypt (or how the past haunts the present on Midnights)

I know it's been discussed so much since Midnights came out but just.

I love how there is such a clear narrative throughout the album (and perhaps especially on the 3am/Vault tracks). About questioning and regret and choices and coming to terms with all of it. It is one long story about how we're all a mosaic of the choices we make, each one taking something from us and leaving something else in its place.

(And now a disclaimer: I'm looking at this mostly through a narrator/subject lens, and trying not to dive too deeply into real-life events or speculation except for in a general sense. For this purpose I like to look at the body of work as art, like literature, because I find it makes it easier to see the common threads in the different songs and cohesion in the narrative.)

In looking at the 3am+ tracks in particular, it's fascinating how some turns of phrases or themes repeat themselves in different songs, in different contexts. (I'm only focusing on the non-standard tracks because there are too many songs and I'd be here all day but I bet I could do a part two lol.) I know many people have pointed out the parallels throughout her discography already and I’m not saying anything groundbreaking by writing this, but I love how these parallels run through in the same album, because it makes it seem like it's one long story, or at least, one long rumination on many different stories that are coalescing into a single narrative.

Battle (let’s go)

For instance, the one that jumped out at me when I started writing this post the other week was, "Tore your banners down, took the battle underground," in The Great War and "If clarity's in death, then why won't this die? Years of tearing down our banners, you and I," in Would've, Could've Should've. It's a story about staying stuck in the same cycle of reliving trauma and coping mechanisms and bad habits over and over again and fantasizing about how taking the “antagonist” out and gaining the upper hand for good would bring closure (WCS), but the truth is that nothing ever will. All that cycle does, though, is repeat itself in other situations, and in this case pushes someone away the narrator cares for (TGW). The difference is that the imagined battle in WCS is a two-way street in her mind (that is ultimately unwinnable because it was never a fair fight), but in TGW it's one-sided -- she's the one fighting dirty, taking shots, the way she'd been doing in her imagination (or nightmares) all these years. But the person in front of her isn't fighting back the way the person in her mind in WCS would, because their intentions are honourable instead of exploitative.

And that's paralleled in another pair of lyrics from the two songs, "And maybe it's the past talking, screaming from the crypt, telling me to punish you for things you never did," (in TGW) and "The tomb won't close, I fight with you in my sleep," (in WCS). In both cases, the funeral imagery makes it seem like this past event should be dead and buried in WCS, but it keeps rising from the dead, haunting her no matter what she does and in TGW, another (or perhaps the same?) tomb that won't close keeps unleashing new ways to hurt her and in turn the new person in her life. In other words, the trauma from the past continues to bleed into the present.

(Again from a literary point of view, I'm not saying the events of the two songs are linked IRL, but they're fascinating textual parallels on the album as a string of chapters, which is why Dear Reader is so compelling, but that's a whole other essay.)

To keep the battle motif going, there’s yet another parallel, this time between TGW’s "[You were a] soldier down on that icy ground, looked up at me with honor and truth," and You’re Losing Me’s "All I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier, fighting in only your army.” In the former, the subject is laying down his armour in the war she’s projecting onto him, waving the white flag, and she realizes that she’s about to destroy something if she doesn’t put her sword down too. By the time we get to YLM, the roles are almost reversed; at the very least they’re supposed to be on the same team, but in this case she’s doing all the heavy lifting, fighting for their relationship in contrast to his apathy killing it. It’s also pretty interesting (if not outright intentional) that one of the 3am+ editions of the albums starts with The Great War, where they find themselves in conflict (even if it’s in her head) that ends in a truce, and ends with You’re Losing Me signalling the end of the relationship, evidence that the resolution in the first song wasn’t an ending but merely a ceasefire before the last battle.

Putting the rest under a cut because this is waaaaay too long now ⤵️

(There’s also another metaphor there in The Great War with its battle imagery: World War I, aka The Great War, was supposed to be the war to end all wars, because loss on its scale was never seen before and when it ended, most thought never again would the world embroil itself in such battle, the horrors and implications were so devastating. Two decades later, the world found itself in WWII, with an even larger scope and more horrific consequences, the intervening time between the two a period of festering conflicts and resentment leading to some of the worst acts the world would see. Bringing real life into it for a second, there’s something a little poetic, though sad, about The Great War the song being about a fight that could have ended the relationship that they ultimately resolved and was meant to be evidence of the strength of their love, but so too did it end up being a period of détente, the greater battle coming for them years later. But that is not the point of this post.)

If one thing had been different

Another major theme in these editions is pondering the "what ifs?" of life, but I think it takes on even more significance in the broader context of the album in the lyrics of "I'm never gonna meet what could've been, would've been, should've been you," in Bigger than the Whole Sky and the repetition of would've/could've in Would've, Could've, Should've (I would've looked away at the first glance, I would've stayed on my knees, I would've gone along with the righteous, I could've gone on as I was, would've could've should've if I'd only played it safe, etc.) In both songs, the narrator is mourning an alternate course their life could have taken* and questioning what they could have done differently, in the aftermath of trauma and loss, and the regret that comes with that loss, and with the loss of agency in the situation because ultimately it was never in their hands. In an album full of questions, wondering about the path not taken, or the forks in the road that have led to a different version of your life, it's digging deeper into the contrast of choice vs. fate, action vs. reaction, dwelling on the past vs. moving on. When you're supposed to let go of the past, what do you do when it is holding your future hostage?

(*I know there are different interpretations/speculation about BTTWS which I am not getting into on main. I'm just saying that whatever the song is about, it's grieving something that never came to be. The literal origin of the song is less important to the album than the sense of loss it portrays. Whatever the inspiration is, it's crafted to tell part of the story of Midnights of ruminating over how, to borrow from her previous work, if one thing had been different, would everything be different?)

(Also I was today years old when I realized that the words are inverted in the two songs. Apparently I've been hearing BTTWS wrong this whole time.)

There's also an interesting tangent in the role of faith in both songs: in WCS, the events of the story cause her to lose her faith (e.g. "All I used to do was pray," "you're a crisis of my faith,") and question all the things she felt had been unquestionable until that point in her life (e.g. "I could have gone along with the righteous"), whereas in BTTWS, she questions whether that very lack of faith is to blame for the loss in that song ("did some force take you because I didn't pray? [...] It's not meant to be, so I'll say words I don't believe"). It's like pinpointing the moment her life changed and upended her beliefs (WCS), but as a result then leaving her unmoored in times of crisis because ultimately there's no explanation or comfort to be taken from what she used to hold true before that (BTTWS). The words she once relied upon to guide her have long since lost their meaning, but in times of trouble it leaves her wondering if that faith she once held then lost could have prevented this pain.

(Shoutout to WCS for being Catholic guilt personified lol.)

To keep on with the vaguely faith-y notions, an obvious parallel is the line in Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve about, “I damn sure never would've danced with the devil at nineteen,” and, "When you aim at the devil, make sure you don't miss," in Dear Reader. All of WCS is about her fighting with an antagonist who haunts her, with whom she wholly regrets ever becoming involved. DR could be seen as a reflection on that fall from grace, warning the audience that if you choose to go after the person (or thing) haunting you, make sure you do so clearheaded enough to be decisive. Again, these “devils” may not be related in real life: the IRL devil in DR could be speaking about her naysayers, or Kim*ye, or Scott & Scooter B, etc., meaning not to cross your enemies until you know you can win. But taking real life out of it and looking at it textually, I am intrigued by the link between WCS and DR, so that’s what I’m going with here. And perhaps that’s even the point in a wider sense; there will be multiple “devils” in your life, or threats to your well-being. If you’re going to commit to taking them down — whether it’s an actual person, or the demons inside you that refuse to let you go — make sure you have the right ammo so that they can no longer hurt you. (Of course, one lesson from these experiences is that sometimes you can’t win, and you have to live with the fallout.)

(Sidebar: I know that “dancing with the devil” is a turn of phrase that means being led into temptation and engaging in risky behaviour, as opposed to describing the actual person. Given the religious metaphors in the song, that could very well be/is the intention, particularly when it’s preceded by, “I would have stayed on my knees” as in she would have continued to follow her faith — in whatever sense that means — had she never met this person, which could also be a more eloquent way of saying she would have continued to be live her life in a way that was righteous (even naive) and seen the world in black and white. Either way, it’s a force she wholly rejects. Like I said, multiple devils, same fight.)

Regret comes up too: in WCS, she says, "I regret you all the time," obviously directed at the person who manipulated her and led to her perceived downfall, citing him as the one impulse she wished she'd never followed, because it won't leave her no matter how hard she’s tried. In High Infidelity, she tells the person to, "put on your records and regret me," and on the surface, it’s like she’s turning the tables, painting herself as the one now causing the regret in someone else, the one inflicting the pain this time. Yet the verse preceding it and the lines following it in the chorus depict a partner who is also emotionally manipulative and vindictive like in WCS (“you said I was freeloading, I didn’t know you were keeping count,” “put on your headphones and burn my city,”). It’s not so much that she’s intentionally harming the person (the way the person in WCS does to her), but rather that the venom in the subject’s feelings towards her seeps through; she’s imagining the way he’s going to feel about her when she leaves, hating her just for by being who she is. (There could be another tangent about how in both songs she’s there to be a “token” in a game for both of the men, who play her for their own purposes.) The regret is dripping with disdain. It’s as though she’s picturing how the person is going to hate her for doing what she’s thinking of doing the way she hates the person who first hurt her.

Sadness, unsurprisingly, shows up in a few lyrics. In BTTWS, “Everything I touch becomes sick with sadness,” sets the scene of a person so overcome with grief that it permeates everything around them; they cannot see their way out of it and feel like the fog will never lift. In Hits Different, it’s, “My sadness is contagious,” the result of a breakup where the person’s grief again touches everything and everyone around them, pushing them further in their despair and loneliness. The reason behind the grief in either case may vary, but regardless of the source, the feeling is overpowering and isolating. They may be different chapters in the story, but the devastation is hauntingly familiar. (As is a recurring theme in Midnights as a whole: there are situations and feelings that present themselves at different points in her journey and colour in the lines in different ways along the road. Like revisiting an old vice and realizing the hit isn’t quite the same as it was in the past.)

Death by a thousand cuts

She also writes about wounds on this album, which isn't surprising I suppose given that the whole conceit is that these are things that have kept her up at night over the years. WCS is perhaps the driving narrative on this never ending hurt when she sings, “The wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign, I regret you all the time,” suggesting that no matter what she does, the pain of this experience has permeated everything she’s done afterwards. (Not unlike the overwhelming grief in BTTWS, for instance.) Elsewhere, in High Infidelity she sings, "Lock broken, slur spoken, wound open, game token," and in Hits Different, "Make it make some sense why the wound is still bleeding.” Again I'm not suggesting they're about the same events; the line in HI is about a situation where a partner crosses a boundary, hits below the belt, picks at an insecurity (or creates a new one) and treats the relationship like it's transactional, opening the floodgates in turn. In HD, the wound seems to be more self-inflicted, where she's pushed the person away. (Over a situation real or imagined she feels she needs distance from.) But again, something has picked at her like a raw nerve, and just like in the past, she's hurting, even in a different time and place and person. Almost like the wounds of the past break open over and over again to create new scars. If one were to extrapolate further, it wouldn’t be the biggest leap to wonder if the wound open in WCS, then torn apart in HI makes the one in HD hurt even more.

(I once wrote a post about how I think as time goes on, WCS is going to turn into one of those songs that will be found to drive so much of her work, because it’s just… kind of the unsaid thesis statement of so much of her songwriting.)

Another repeated theme is that of the empty home and loneliness. In High Infidelity, she sings, "At the house lonely, good money I'd pay if you just know me, seemed like the right thing at the time," painting a picture of someone who may have everything they'd want to the outside world, but in reality feels metaphorically trapped in their home (or at least alone amidst abundance), a symbol of a relationship gone sour and a failure to build connection. She just wants someone to understand her, want her for her, but as she's written earlier in the song, she's just a pawn in the game, a trophy from the hunt. Home, in this case, is lonely, isolated, an emblem of her fears. In Dear Reader, she continues this thread, then singing, "You wouldn't take my word for it if you knew who was talking, if you knew where I was walking, to a house not a home, all alone 'cause nobody's there, where I pace in my pen and my friends found friends who care, no one sees you lose when you're playing solitaire." It's the same idea, admitting to listeners that the gilded cage she lived in kept her distanced from her loved ones and real connection, keeping her struggles close to the vest but feeling desperately lonely amidst her crowning success. She's pushed people away and it may have felt like the right thing at the time, but in the end maybe felt like she was trapped. And when you push people away, eventually they take you at your word and stop pushing back; you’re a victim of your own success at isolating yourself. What starts out of self-preservation then further perpetuates the underlying problems.

(There's another interesting link about "home" also feeling unsafe with HI's "Your picket fence is sharp as knives," which further leads into the theme of marriage/domesticity feeling dangerous, which is a whole other thing I won't get into here because it's another discussion and may derail this already gargantuan word salad.)

In a slightly similar vein, we have the metaphor of bad weather for a rocky road or unstable relationship, in High Infidelity again with, "Storm coming, good husband, bad omen, dragged my feet right down the aisle" and You’re Losing Me’s "every morning I glared at you with storms in my eyes.” They aren’t speaking of the same situation or even same kind of breakdown, but it is pretty interesting how the idea of clouds/storms/floods/etc. play such a role in Taylor’s music to signal depression, apprehension, fear, uncertainty, etc. In HI, I think the “storm” coming is the looming threat of commitment to a partner who makes the narrator uneasy (if not fearful). In this case, the idea of making a life with this person is not one that incites joy or comfort, but instead makes the narrator feel that dark times are ahead if she continues down this path. Perhaps in some way, the “storms” in YLM have made good on the threat in HI in a different way; it’s a different home, a different relationship, but the clouds have settled in regardless, and some of her fears have come to fruition in ways she did not expect. The person she once trusted no longer sees her or her struggles (or worse, doesn’t care), and the resentment and pain build with each passing day.

Coming back to heartbreak, one of the obvious "full circle" moments is the beginning of a relationship in Paris, where she says that, "I'm so in love that I might stop breathing," clearly enthralled in a new love that allows her to shut the world out and grow in private, capturing the all-encompassing nature of the relationship. This infatuation has consumed her in the most wonderful way (in contrast to the sorrow of some of the previous songs), and it feels like a life-altering (or even life-sustaining?) force that is so strong she may forget what it’s like to breathe. (Metaphorically speaking, of course.) By the end of the album, though, in You're Losing Me, that heart-stopping love has become a threat: "my heart won't start anymore for you." In the former, her racing heart is full of excitement, but by the latter, her heart has given out completely under the weight of the pain she bears. (YLM is full of death/illness imagery which I already wrote about awhile ago so I won't hear, but needless to say that song deserves its own essay for so many reasons.) She's gone from the unbridled joy of the beginnings of a relationship to the unrelenting sorrow of its end, two sides of the same coin.

Love as death appears elsewhere in the music too, for instance, in High Infidelity’s, “You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough" and You’re Losing Me’s “How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying? […] My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick.” Though not completely analogous situations, they both tell the tale of one partner’s apathy (or at least denial) destroying the other. In the former, the partner’s actions (or inaction) are more insidious, if not sinister; in the latter, the lack of momentum (or admission of a problem) is passive. In both cases, the end result is the narrator’s demise; it’s a drawn out affair that chips away at her morale and her health and her sense of self. (Breaking my own rule about bringing in alleged actual events into the discussion, but the idea that the relationship in High Infidelity, which was obviously fraught with unease and even fear, ended in a similarly excruciatingly slow and hurtful death by a thousand cuts as the relationship in You’re Losing Me almost did at that time must have been so painful. It almost feels like YLM is wondering why what used to be a source of light in her life was mirroring a situation that caused her such pain in the past.)

From the same little breaks in your soul

I said early on that part of what is so compelling about Midnights is that it feels like an album about ruminating — on choices, on events, on people — and the two final “bonus” tracks of the album depict that as well. In Hits Different, she sings that, “they say if it’s right, you know,” an ode to the confusion of a breakup and struggling with the aftermath of calling it quits. It’s a line that has always intrigued me, because the typical use of the phrase is in the sense of, “you’ll know when you meet the one,” but here it seems to have a double meaning, a reassurance perhaps from the friends (who later on tell her that "love is a lie") that she’ll know if she’s made the right decision in calling it off, but could also be her wondering if the relationship is right, she’ll know, and want to reconcile. In the final bonus track, You’re Losing Me, she sings, “now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it’s time,” this time leaving no doubt about the dilemma she faces, though it’s no less fraught. She’s wondering, perhaps for the last time, if now is finally the moment to end the relationship for good. They say that if it’s right she’ll know, and now she’s wondering if that feeling inside her (that once told her her partner was the one, which is why it hit differently), is telling her that it’s time to go for good. Wait Alexa play “It’s Time To Go.” These are not only the things that keep her up at night, but the things that play over in her mind like a film reel in her waking hours.

Midnights as a whole is a deeply personal album, as is most of Taylor's work, but the 3am+ edition tracks seem to dig even deeper to a lot of the issues raised on the standard album. Almost like the standard tracks are the things she wonders about on sleepless nights, but the bonus tracks are the things that haunt her in the aftermath. The regret, anger, sadness, grief, relief, even joy— they’re the price she pays for the memories she keeps reliving. Midnights might be the most cohesive narrative of all her albums, and really does feel like we’re watching someone work through her journal over time, stopping short of outright naming those giant fears and intrusive thoughts (except for when she does) but making them plain as day when you connect the songs together, and perhaps never more clearly than in the expanded album. It’s incredible how the songs stand on their own to relay a specific moment in time, but that they are also self-referential to each other (whether thematically or overtly) to weave a larger web over the entire work. We’re so lucky as fans to have these stories and to keep peeling back these layers as time passes. (And my literature-analysis-loving ass loves her even more for it.)

This is obviously by no means an exhaustive list, and I know there are more parallels and probably even stronger links (particularly when you add the standard version into the mix), but these were the ones that particularly struck me and I’m just glad I’ve had a chance to sit with this and think it through. ❤️

[whitedarkmoonflower]

I loved your story with Sihtric. I wanted to ask if you have time if you could write Sihtrics wife being taken by Hestan in season 3, and she gives birth to twins while she is with them. Then Hestan sees Uthred and threatens that he has Sihtrics family, but of course, Sihtric gets his family back.

Kidnapped Part 1

Sihtric x reader

Authors note: dear Anon, sorry that it took me a while to start writing. As it happens so often with me the story just took hold on me and kept going. It was starting to get a bit long, so I decided to divide it and post at least the first part, that is completely ready, before I figure out how Sihtric will get his family back.

Warnings: nothing really serious, bit of angst to lose your dear ones, use of alcohol in distress

Word Count: 2,515

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

------------------------------------------

“I am going to find my wife,” Sihtric's face lit up in a warm smile as he spoke to Finan, clutching some flowers in his hands. He hadn’t seen you for months. He could still vividly recall the day he left and how excited he was finally to be heading for a battle after years of peaceful living. He loved you with all his heart, but he was a warrior and had longed for some adventure. He had never expected it to turn into a nightmarish ordeal, with Skade emerging in Uhtred’s life and swiftly turning it upside down in the blink of an eye.

Now that the witch was dead and you all were back in Winchester life seemingly returning to its normal flow, he found himself consumed with anticipation. He couldn't wait to see you, to hold you in his arms, and to tenderly kiss your swollen belly, knowing that you carried his child. The sheer joy that had overwhelmed him when you had shared the news just before his departure was beyond words. He had kissed you passionately, spinning you around like a madman, laughter bubbling forth from his very core. In that moment, he had wished he could stay by your side, but there was no other choice. Now almost eight months later you were likely nearing the end of your pregnancy. You were carrying his child – the full weight and meaning of this still hadn't fully settled within Sihtric’s mind as he hadn't quite had a chance to fully comprehend it amidst the chaos and battles that had unfolded.

Finan’s infelicitous attempt to mock Sihtric, left him unfazed as he merely smirked at his friend, refusing to engage in further discussion. With a determined expression, Sihtric turned away, hastening his steps towards home. Home – it was a word that made Sihtric’s heart skip a beat and warm up each time he thought about it, keeping him going even in the most desperate circumstances. It represented a dream come true, a place where he belonged and a family to return to. Something he could barely imagine just not so long ago.

His steps quickened as he approached the familiar street, his anticipation building as the house he had bought for both of you came into view. Eagerly, he rushed to the door, knocking with expectation. To his surprise, there was no response. He knocked again, straining to hear any signs of life behind the closed doors. However, the only response he received was an eerie silence that hung in the air. With a mix of anxiety and a racing heart, Sihtric gently pushed the door, causing it to creak open. A tight knot formed in his stomach as he stepped into the cold and desolate house. His eyes scanned the surroundings, revealing dust-covered furniture and cobwebs that had claimed the corners of the room. Sihtric's entire world shattered into countless shards. The house stood empty, abandoned for quite some time. You were not there, and he didn’t have the slightest idea what could have happened or where you could have gone. His hands dropped to his sides, letting go of the flowers he had been clutching. They twirled to the floor. Sihtric turned on his heels and sprinted towards the marketplace, desperately hoping to find Finan still there.

“Finan,” Sihtric called out, rushing towards his friend, and grasping his arm. “She’s gone. The house is empty. She’s gone.” Finan grinned, as his initial instinct was to offer another joke, but the sheer despair in Sihtric’s voice, the anxiety etched across his wide eyes, silenced any attempts at humour. Finan choked back his words and almost bit his tongue, realizing that now was not the time for jesting.

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Finan wanted to be certain, “Could it be that she is out running errands?”

“No, you don’t understand, Finan.” Sihtric responded urgently, his words tumbling out in a rush. “She’s truly gone. Nobody has lived in the house for a while already. Finan, we have  to find her. I have to find her. I never should have left in the first place,” Sihtric's desperation drove him forward, simultaneously pulling Finan towards the stables.

“Hold on, just wait a moment,” Finan tried to stop his friend’s frantic movements, to hold him, “Wait, stop!” he finally yelled at Sihtric, gripping his shoulders tightly and shaking with all his strength.

“Where do you think you are going? Do you honestly believe you’ll find her by aimless riding around with no idea where to even begin searching?” Finan tried to put some sense back in his friends dazed mind. Sihtric struggled to break free from Finan's grasp, but Finan refused to let go. They were nearly wrestling now, when Osferth and Uhtred came running towards them. Not understanding what's going on they stepped between the two friends, trying to pull them apart.

“What’s going on?” Uhtred yelled, holding onto Sihtric tightly.

“Sihtric’s wife is missing,” Finan explained, as Sihtric continued to struggle, unable to articulate his thoughts, his despair evident. It took considerable effort and strength to restrain Sihtric, until he finally ceased his resistance, leaning his forehead against Uhtred's shoulder.

“She is pregnant, Uhtred. She carries my child, and I have no idea where she is or what has happened,” Sihtric whispered, his voice filled with anguish, as Uhtred placed a comforting hand on his friends’ shoulder.

“Sihtric, calm down. First, we need to find out what has happened. Does she have any family? Is it possible that she sought some assistance from her family or friends? Being pregnant and alone can be incredibly challenging. There might be an innocent explanation for her absence,” Uhtred suggested, nodding to Finan and Osferth, who instantly understood what he meant and turned around to disappear in the jungle of the narrow streets, searching for anyone who might have information.

While Finan and Osferth scoured the neighborhood, Uhtred accompanied Sihtric to the tavern. Sihtric slumped heavily onto a chair, his hands supporting his head, not even noticing the ale jug Uhtred had brought him. After an hour or two, Finan and Osferth returned with news.

"We have both good news and bad news," Finan began. “The elderly widow living next to you told us that the pregnancy was not easy. She felt sick very often and couldn’t eat as she was constantly throwing up. About a month ago, she apparently decided to go to her sister, as it was too hard for her to cope alone.”

“The bad news is that her sister came for a visit a week ago looking for her as she had never arrived at her place,” Osferth added.

Sihtric remained seated, his hands buried in his hair, supporting his bowed head. He had heard what his friends told him, but he was simply unable to grasp it. His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse racing with an agonizing mix of fear and desperation. His mind spun with unanswered questions, each one a dagger stabbing at his already fragile state of mind.

Memories of your last moments together flooded his thoughts, taunting him with images of your laughter, your shared dreams, and the promise he had made to you, to come back as soon as possible. Without you, the world felt vast and empty for him, devoid of any meaning.

Sihtric felt tears welling up in his eyes and blurring his vision. Helplessness surged within him, a suffocating sensation that threatened to consume him. Taking a deep breath, Sihtric shook his head and wiped away the tears before anyone could notice. He could not imagine a life without you; there was no alternative. He had to find you.

----------------------------------------------------

It felt like an eternity, but in reality, only two months had passed since your fateful encounter with Heasten on your way to your sister’s place. You had delayed your departure, hoping to wait for Sihtric, but as time went on, it became increasingly difficult. Your belly had grown so big, that even dressing yourself had become a challenge. It was obvious you needed help. With no news from Sihtric in over half a year already, you were faced with the truth that either you were going now on your own or you would never manage it and would be left alone for the childbirth. You had enough money to hire a wagon and a coachman and luckily it was not far you had to travel. Your sister along with her husband and their three children, lived just two days’ journey away from Winchester in a small village near the river.

On the second day of your travels, you noticed a few riders observing you from the nearby hills, but before you could start worrying, they withdrew, and everything seemed to be fine. However, your sense of security was short-lived as a group of warriors abruptly appeared on the road ahead. There was no possibility of escape with a wagon, so your coachman halted, awaiting their approach.

"What cargo do you carry?" a rough voice, tinged with a distinct Danish accent, inquired.

"We are not traders, my lord," you responded, opening the flaps of the wagon's tent.  “I am simply travelling to my sister for the childbirth.” Your pronounced pregnancy was on full display, as you hoped it would dissuade the riders from causing harm. You looked at the man, who had spoken and your heart froze in fear. It was Heasten, the Danish warlord whose path had so often crossed with Uhtred’s and his men. You recognised him from your few encounters at Alfred’s court where he tried to persuade the king that his wife and children wished to accept Christianity and get baptised. It had been a ruse, a ploy to gain Alfred's trust and provide false information about Bloodhair's army. Unfortunately, these encounters had allowed Heasten to recognize you as well.

A cunning smirk crept across Heasten’s face as he fixed his gaze upon you, scanning your entire being from head to toe. His eyes lingered upon your swollen belly and they narrowed slightly, flickering with a malevolent spark, revealing the twisted delight that swirled within. Like a predator sizing up its prey, his gaze became focused and intense.

“Ah, who do we have here!” Heasten exclaimed as the corners of his mouth curled upwards and a wicked grin began to spread across his face, his eyes flaring in mischief, “Sihtric’s little bitch, ripe as an apple!” He approached the wagon, dismounted his horse, and extended his hand in your direction, urging you to descend.

“You know Sihtric will chop you alive into pieces and feed to the dogs, if you lay a hand on me,” you hissed at him, attempting to invoke fear, but it seemed to have no effect on Heasten. His smirk only grew wider.

“First your husband will have to convince his Lord to stay away from the upcoming battle,” Heasten retorted, his voice laced with menace. “Or else, it will be me who carves pieces from your lovely body and sends them to Sihtric.”

“You, there,” Heasten commanded one of his warriors. “Go to Winchester. When Lord Uhtred returns, seek out his oathman Sihtric and tell him what happened today. Tell him, that if he ever wishes to see his wife and his pup alive, he must persuade Uhtred to stay away from the battle Edward – that little weasel of a king – is preparing to fight against Cnut’s army. And if he fails to do so, he will have to choose between the life of his Lord and the life of his wife and child,” Heasten stretched his hand toward you, forcefully ripping away the delicate silver chain that hung around your neck – a gift from Sihtric.

“Take this and present it to Sihtric as a proof that you speak the truth,” he commanded, handing the torn silver chain to the warrior.

------------------------------------------

Uhtred had sent out all his available men to gather information and persuaded Sihtric to remain in Winchester, ready to depart at a moment’s notice should any news arrive.  Sihtric was a complete mess. The mere thought of waiting idly, doing nothing, was unbearable. In a desperate attempt to drown his fear, despair, and overwhelming helplessness, he resorted to the only thing that came to mind—he drank. He hoped it would numb the consuming emotions that tormented him and finally got so drunk, that Finan and Osferth had to carry him back to his room in the tavern.

It was long past midnight when Sihtric awoke to a pounding headache. At first, he couldn’t even recall where he was, but then in a sudden rush, the events of the previous day flooded his mind. He jumped out of the bed still wearing his clothes as his friends hadn’t bothered to undress him. In need of some fresh air, he hurried outside just in time before his stomach revolted and he threw up. Spotting a nearby barrel filled with rainwater, Sihtric plunged his head under the cold water and counted to five before emerging, only to find a man – a Dane – standing next to him. Sihtric instinctively reached for his axe, but the Dane simply shook his head.

“Don’t! Believe me, you want to hear what I have to say,” the Dane spoke raising his hands to show that he held no weapons, while Sihtric watched him warily.

“I have a message for you from Heasten. You remember our dear friend Heasten, don’t you?” the Dane continued, “He sends his regards. It has come to his ears that you are missing something, something very dear to you. And guess what? Heasten has found it.” Sihtric listened with eyes widening in disbelief, his expression shifting from watchful cautiousness to pure fury, though the Dane seemed oblivious to the change and pressed on.

“Listen carefully. If you ever wish to see your bitch and the pup within her alive, you must deter Uhtred from helping Edward. He must not join Edward’s army, nor should he engage in the battle against Cnut. Do you understand, you worthless scum? If you fail to do so or if the lives of your family hold no value to him, then you have a choice to make: Uhtred’s life in exchange for the lives of your loved ones.”

Sihtric stood frozen, rage slowly consuming him, as the Dane’s words sank in. He didn’t want to believe it. He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound escaped. The Dane extended his hand toward Sihtric, revealing something held within his palm. “This is the proof you were seeking,” the Dane smirked, unfurling his fingers, and allowing something small fall to the ground. Sihtric knelt down, his anger mounting, as he picked up the delicate silver chain with a pendant in the form of the sun. He recognised it instantly; the very same necklace he had given you when Uhtred agreed to your marriage, and you had always worn it ever since. Sihtric grunted in rage and quickly sprang to his feet, only to discover that the Dane had vanished.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

[cranetreegang]

Ominis Gaunt 5th Year Masterlist

===========================

Archive of Our Own Link

===========================

🦄Let Me Show You Something🦄

Ominis finds himself following the Fifth year due to his burning curiosity about her. He ends up finding more than he expected.

🦅An Unexpected Flight🦅

Ominis gets an unexpected owl to meet up with the Fifth year. He wonders what's in store for him and her 'surprise'.

😓Cruel Words😓

After a heated argument with Sebastian, the Fifth Year is left with doubts about her ability to salvage their friendship. Ominis comes in to comfort.

👀And Eyes as Cold as the Deepest Lakes👀

Curiosity gets the better of Ominis, and Natty must do what Sebastian failed to.

🎇Under the Rainfall, I See You🎇

As the two head back from a trip to Hogsmeade, a sudden rainstorm may dampen the mood, or show them more of each other than they thought possible.

🧹The Call of Adventure🧹 - Part One

Hoping to show Ominis the joys of broom flight, things take a drastic turn.

🧹And Adventure Answers🧹 - Part Two

With the two cornered by Ashwinders, Ominis and the Fifth Year must find a way to make it out alive.

🔥 Like Moths to a Flame, and a Lamb to Slaughter 🔥

As Ominis and Sebastian study, Sebastian wonders why Ominis is in such high spirits. And as he uncovers the truth, the pain of the Scriptorium rears its head.

❄The Winter Ball ❄

Thanks to the outcry of Quidditch being canceled, Black decides to throw a Winter Ball. Ominis stresses over the night, and things keep not going his way.

💚 Like an Unquenchable Flame, I See You 💚

A letter comes for the Fifth year, bearing a long awaited first date.

🤯Lessons into the Mind🤯 - Part One

Ominis' Legilimency keeps the Fifth Year's thoughts occupied and she wants to find out more.

🏏The Midnight Quidditch Club🏏

The Fifth Year gets invited to a secret Quidditch Match. Sebastian and Ominis are eager to see how it all plays out.

🤯Delving into the Mind🤯 - Part Two

In an attempt to strengthen his Legilimency, things take a turn for the worst and she's left wondering if it was worth it at all.

😭Save Her🤯 - Part Three

Ominis and the Fifth Year are no longer speaking to one another. A rift Sebastian takes note of, and tries to bridge for them. Things take a turn, and she may be lost to them... forever

🔗Unbreakable 🔗

After the events in the catacombs, Ominis knows there's only one way to ensure Sebastian can never repeat his mistake.

🧙‍♀️ A Niffler, A Blind Boy, and A Clever Witch 🧙‍♀️

Ominis is dragged into a treasure hunt and rescue mission. While he enjoys feeling her excitement, he wonders if the guilt she feels about Sebastian is coming to a head.

😫 Close Call 😫

Ominis is on the way to meet his love as she returns from Hogsmeade, but things don't go according to plan.

🤗The Return 😭- Part One

She returns from her harrowing battle with Ranrok and is quick to get to the only place she wants to be. But, she fears her actions will have consequences. And how long before those she loves have to feel her choices.

🤗Waking Dreams 😭 - Part Two

A lesson in looking into your 'true self' reveals more to the 'Hero of Hogwarts' than she would like. She's not ready to face what troubles her, but Ominis and her friends are beginning to lose their patience.

😭The Boggart😭 - Part Three

Everything comes to a breaking point, and Ominis is left with an impossible decision to make. But, the fear of losing his love is something he cannot risk.

😭Tell me, What do You See Now?🤗 - Part Four

Forgiveness is hard to find, but with the help of their friends, the two lovers may once again find their way to each other. Perhaps, emerging stronger than before.

👋Goodbye, For Now 👋

With the school year coming to a close, she has a hard time parting from her beloved Ominis.

💌 Summer Letters 💌 - Part 1

Letters exchanged between Ominis and his lover

🏠 Home at Last 🏠

Ominis finally returns to the Gaunt Estate. It's all that he remembers, except he's the one who's changed. He navigates his parents in search of any clues about Ancient Magic and his ancestors.

💌 Summer Letters 💌 - Part 2

EVEN MORE Letters exchanged between Ominis and his lover

===========================

Hogwarts Legacy Masterlist

===========================

[nsfwarros1]

Quiet often

When I look at your work.

Knowing the lore,

I continue to grieve the future fate of characters.

Yet,

Seeing them and the circumstances, I understand that the future you wrote for them is the only logical ending there can be.

Always when I happen to see the unfortunate fate of any character It never ceases to interest me if there,

in theory,

Is a scenario in which they would be able to overcome their problems and achieve a somewhat happy ending?

Without fear and pain

Just them

Finally Happy with each other

(Yet I know that Gortash’s weight in its core has Cassim’s destructive desire to make him rely on him.

But again, can’t stop to wander “what if”)

ooh yes there is actually a… hypothetical scenario like that that I think about pretty often🤕

both Cas and Gortash do actually find themselves thinking about how it would be if they were to leave their achievemtns and ambitions and just left for some other plane, beyond the reach of Mephistopheles or Bane. The idea was brought up here and there by both of them, albeit cautiously, as if they're testing the waters

Cas, for example did "jokingly" straight up ask Gortash one night if he would consider leaving with him. Gortash hesitated, as he also wasnt sure if Cas was joking or not which then made Cas brush it off as some jest even harder. It pretty much boiled down to both of them treating it as if it was nothing more than some playful exchange, Gortash just teasing him “You’d like that, wouldnt you?” and going on to say how he wouldn’t be able to walk anymore within a month if they did that (not like he ever truly minded the thought of becoming immobile for Cas, but that again that just sounding like he might not want to leave with him)

In truth, they do both desire it deeply though neither of them can admit it, to each other or to themselves. It's just their pride getting in the way and their thoughts about achievements and the power they'd lose as well as both of them being rather.... hmm... prideful, if you want, in the way where they'd consider it an embarassment to jsut run away. But again, they do desire it and they are leaning into the thought more and more as time passes, yet not enough that they seriously brought it up again

For Gortash its a slow realization that just perhaps power isn’t everything he desires and also hasn't been what actually made him happy. As for Cas, truthfully he's been tired and depressed ever since his “banishment” to the material realm, yearning for a chance to stop struggling and constantly battling some higher force, so its in a way an.... inherent desire I suppose

So, hypothetically their "happy ending" would be one where they voice these desires to each other and leave it all behind. I suppose that leaves the question about Gortash’s weight and all but in that regard and at the point they are currently there is no way he’d stop gaining weight. Not just because Cas can’t stop desiring it (blah blah his inherent need to own and see his effect on him etc), but now also because Gortash views it as a way to give Cas something Cas actually wants. so... Gortash wouldn’t want to stop or slow down even if they were comfortable in every other sense so in a way this might just be an unavoidable destiny😖

[00127am]

signed with love and forever yours, mark

postage. lee mark & gn! reader, mentions of death in the context of greek mythos cost to ship. 712 words

growing up, i never understood the tragedy of orpheus and eurydice. how, upon achieving the opportunity to bring back his beloved, orpheus squandered it all with a single look. it frustrated me, that after all that effort--every song he had written and preformed, compositions which moved all, even gods-- he abandoned all success with a single glimpse backwards. a second of a stare that only captured the whisper of eurydice's figure before she was dragged back to the depths of the underworld. i never understood why he looked back, why he had to fail when he was so close to the edge of triumph.

though i suppose that after meeting you, if i took the place of poor orpheus and you, my eurydice, i'm afraid that i would also lose you for a second time. that i would risk everything i had worked towards, everything that i had done just to see your face in that fraction of a second. to look at you, no matter the consequences. no matter what what i had sacrificed to get to you, no matter if i too would be punished for this singular stare. i would do so, even so close to escape, so close to having you in my arms again without a moment of hesitation. i, not only as orpheus but as mark--your mark--would do anything to spare even the slightest of glances in your direction. even if they would only forfeit half of a second of being captured in the reflection of your eyes and nothing more. for that half of a second, that split sliver in time, would be worth more to me than any hours of gazing upon anything else.

i find us to be more likened to paris and helen of troy. a story i've always understood, at any and all basic fundamentals of its core, though doubted. for how could anyone be so beautiful that others would begin wars over them? that their beauty would be more fair, more compelling than that of the gods? that men would be reduced to nothing more than spurned infatuation, fighting battles--killing-- for any brief moment spent within helen's gaze.

i wasn't sure that any such person could exist. but with you, i find myself to be playing the part of poor paris--destined, perhaps, to starting wars over the mere thought of you.

about mark's love letters.

mark's handwriting is rough and scribbled. oftentimes jotted down with whatever pen he has lying around, series of swirls and scratches at the top margins of the page where he attempts to get the ink to flow. his words, in a stark difference to the somewhat chaotic state of his slanted, all-caps writing, are carefully chosen. hand-picked with the utmost care, the upmost emphasis to ensure the quickening of your heartbeat. though short, his letters are poetic and always very true to himself. you can almost picture the look on his face when he writes them, a fantasy that does nothing but conjure heat into the full of your cheeks.

he first writes these down in his notes app of all places. thumbs frantically typing with every out of the blue strike of inspiration (something that happens rather often, both for songs and for you, though mark could argue that these two things are nearly synonymous). and when he does get the time (something he seems to be always running out of) he transfers these pretty proses to the whitened canvas of card stock. a firm choice, made to last. each one of his letters are signed with less-than-perfect stars and a drawing of whichever thing has recently caught of your fancy (usually him).

mark often sends them in the mail to you but prefers to give his letters to you in person. something he often finds himself regretting when you choose to read them outloud, burying his face in his hands as he begs you to stop. you don't and mark often finds himself begrudgingly thinking that you're much too like haechan for your own good (or his). it's not all bad though, not when the reward for withstanding such utter humiliation on his part is all of your affection. and mark would take anything in the world if it met just receiving one shred of your heart.

your mailbox

taglist. @evilsailorsenshi @222brainrot @chriscentric @trourevaille @firstdonutllamafarm @jenaisnte thank you for supporting me! ♡

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