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fayes-fics · 6 months

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Reprisal

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Turnabout is fair play. Sequel to Acting Up.

Warnings: smut, 18+, minors dni, exhibitionism, semi-public blowjob, deepthroat, swallowing, brief d/s dynamics, brief mention of window sex.

Word Count: 2.5k

Author's Note: So, I was in the mood to write a filthy blowjob fic, and this has been sitting in my drafts for more than a year. It was inspired by an ask from the lovely @queen-of-the-misfit-toys, so it is dedicated to them. Unbetaed. Enjoy! <3

Your toes tingle from crouching in the same awkward position for what feels like the last… eternity. But revenge is a dish best served not so much cold, as when least expected.

You hear him warmly greet all his guests out in the hallway, then beckon them towards the dining room. He sits at the head of the table, just a few inches in front of you. All is unfolding exactly as you expect so far.

You are so very grateful no one kicks you as they take their places, the convivial buzz of conversation muffled under the thick drape of tablecloth fabric. You shift slightly to get more comfortable, knowing you must wait patiently a while longer; your window of opportunity will arise after their light two-course supper.

Just two weeks ago, your husband had mercilessly made you orgasm silently in front of his entire family as he fingered you to oblivion at dinner. It is now his turn.

As Smith serves the men dessert, you place a firm hand on Benedict’sknee when you hear him complete a sentence, and his whole leg jolts. It’s the only forewarning you give him before running both hands heavily up over his muscular thighs and grabbing for his resting cock. You feel both his legs jerk, and a hand grabs your wrist forcefully. Next to you, a spoon clatters loudly to the floor, smattering a streak of blackcurrant across the pristine oak floor.

“Butterfingers!” He jests.

Suddenly, his face appears under the drape of cloth and morphs into one of surprise as he sees you. With a raised eyebrow, you shove a little note into his hand, you came prepared.

Do not give anything away. Now we shall see how well you play this game, my love.

You watch him quickly scan the note, and then his eyes cut back to you, trepidation, challenge, and adoration—a beguiling cocktail. Realising if he stays under too long, his guests will suspect something; he straightens but not before a loving touch to your chin.

“Could not find the blasted thing,” he jokes in explanation. “Smith, please, could you bring me a new spoon?”

As soon as the conversation begins again, you reach to squeeze him again, and he helpfully pushes forward in his chair and splays his legs wider.

Well played, darling.

You can feel a burgeoning swelling there, and you reach for the buttons at his hip, wanting to dive right in. As soon as you peel open the front of his trousers, his cock springs free, already half-erect. The fact he never seems to wear underwear makes you smirk—your wonderful bohemian whore of a husband.

You wrap a hand around him, and you can tell from the way his hips surge how much he appreciates it. Slowly, teasingly, you strengthen your grip. He probably suspects you will just use your hands, as he did to you. You cannot wait to see how he will react when you use your mouth on him. You intend to suck him deep and hard, not wanting to be bettered in this game of one-upmanship.

You shuffle forward, and a hand reaches under the table to pat your shoulder affectionately.

Without preamble, you suckle his tip into your mouth and feel his whole body tense in surprise, his thigh muscles tensing, and his fingers dig into your shoulder reflexively. Smirking to yourself, you swirl your tongue around his head as his hand travels along the top of your shoulder to cup the side of your neck, his thumb swiping a few tender strokes just under your ear.

You feel the vibration through his body as he talks, calling upon his friend to regale everyone with tales from his recent travels. “Spare no details!” he appends with an accommodating chuckle, relaxing into his chair and pushing his hips towards you, sliding deeper into your mouth as he does.

You appreciate his smarts for that decision - he can appear to be listening intently as a gracious host but not having to lead any conversation.

Taking a deep breath, you sink, taking half of his cock into your mouth, revelling in the contours as they pass through your lips and the twitch of his fingers in the hair behind your ear, his warm palm cupping your jaw. So you push a little lower, as far as you can, without fear of making a noise - you do not want to give anything away by choking yourself on him, as you love to do—that will have to wait for another time, in private. This is more of a challenge for him than anything.

You still, to let him feel the heat of your mouth, enticingly dabbing your tongue over his length, before pulling up and concentrating on his sensitive head, sucking on his frenulum and letting his foreskin roll between your lips, a slight twisting action to your movements that you know he loves. He coughs, causing his cock to jerk into the roof of your mouth, his fingers sliding tentatively around the back of your head as if planning to direct your movements.

No, no, I decide what happens here, dearest.

You grab his hand away and hold it on his thigh instead, lacing your fingers with his as you lower again, his fingertips curling between your knuckles, telling you exactly how much he is enjoying this, even as he remains mostly silent and still, his friend still holding court around the table above.

“I did miss my wife, though,” the man ripostes as his story ends. “Her womanly delights were a wonderful homecoming.”

There is a bawdy round of laughter at that.

“And what of you, Bridgerton?’ you hear one ask as you change your motion, his tip glancing the back of your mouth with each deep pull.

“What of me?” his voice a touch rough.

“You are not long married. How is that sweet, innocent, young thing?” the same man continues.

You have to tamp the urge to giggle at the irony of being called innocent while kneeling between your husband's splayed legs, mere inches from his unsuspecting friends, sucking his cock so thoroughly that your jaw aches deliciously.

If only they knew…

“She is a wonder, and I love her more than life itself,” Benedict praises after clearing his throat. A warmth blooms behind your ribs as his sweet words, such a contradiction to the utter debauchery of your actions at this very moment.

“Spoken like a true poet,” another man mocks affably. “Come now, we speak of earthier matters tonight, Bridgerton. There are no such delicate ears to overhear after all.”

You want to roll your eyes at their prurient line of talk. Even as you slide up and down on Benedict’s cock, moving faster now, wanting to truly put him to the test, as he did you, something in the way he tilts his hips fractionally tells you all your need to know.

“As I said, my wife is a wonder,” he repeats with finality, gritting his teeth.

To his friends, it likely seems he is attempting to arrest the topic out of decorum, not the fact he is struggling with composure, which you can detect from the tinge of desperation, the twitch in his legs, the harsh grip of his hand on yours.

As talk moves on to gambling around the table, the volume increases as the men splinter into side conversations, an opportune moment for you to be a touch daring. Sinking to his root, allowing his solid, hot tip to plug your throat, emitting a tiny moan as you do, buzzing into his pelvis. Benedict’s entire body stiffens, and you feel a crest of victory as he fights not to make a noise; his body at war, wanting to thrust, to grab, to do anything but sit still and take it.

Tougher than it looks, is it not, darling husband?

You want to chuckle, but your mouth is too full of him, a salty bead of precum trickling down your throat as you ease off to allow him a moment of reprieve and yourself a deep, calming breath. Tilting your head sideways and running suckling kisses over the underside of his cock, all the way to his sac that you lap as your other hand wraps around his tip and gives soft teasing squeezes.

His hand untangles from yours on his leg and wraps around your other hand, attempting to halt your motions, silently asking for clemency which you ignore, batting him away. He gave you no such accommodation in front of his own mother, no less.

But you take pity and decide not to string it out for much longer, his friends loud now the wine bottles are empty, one beginning to sing tunelessly, and another joining in a few bars later. Using both of your hands wound around his lower shaft, constricting in a wave motion, and your mouth sucking forcefully on his head. Encourage him to break, to come, wanting that taste to flood your mouth, a heavy throbbing sensation between your legs that is your arousal. You will need him to fuck you ruthlessly once his entertaining duties are over. Perhaps facedown right over this very table or, preferably, in your bedroom window, your nipples pebbled against the cool glass as he takes you roughly from behind, kneeling on the bench seat… the exhibitionist streak that he provokes in you flaring.

The images tumbling through your mind have you feral, sucking ferociously, pushing his thighs out wider to allow yourself greater access, crowding into him, knowing that with the level of noise in the room now, you can make some sound yourself. The back of your head glancing the underside of the table as you bob rapidly, moaning lightly, drooling on the length of his cock, your saliva pooling into his trousers as you mercilessly rise and sink, breathing heavily through your nose. You sense the tension in his legs, his vice-like grip on the table edge, every cell of his being in pure ecstasy and the agony of not being able to show it. He is usually so very vocal and lavish in his praise when you do this.

“Come for me, my love, give it to me.” you gargle around him, his legs dancing now in a staccato quake.

Even if he cannot decipher your words, he can feel the echo over his velvet skin, and suddenly, both of his hands dive under the table and grip around your ears, finger grasping your scalp. Pushing you deep onto his cock, his whole being seeming to curl around you, his knees lifting high near your shoulders as you feel his sac tighten against your chin, a strong ripple between your lips and then a salty wave in your mouth as he comes hard.

“Are you alright, Bridgerton?” a concerned voice rings out as you swallow victoriously, then slackening your mouth to allow him to slip out, moving to lick him clean as he quivers under your tender ministrations.

“Sorry, gentleman,” his voice is ragged, harsh. “I felt a wave of nausea; perhaps a lunch of venison and oysters was not advisable. But do not fear, I'm sure it was a fleeting moment of discomfort,” he lies to cover his actions, holding one hand up in a reassuring gesture as his other hand strokes your cheek, your face resting upon his clothed thigh, leaning into his doting fingers, akin to a cat. “However, perhaps it is time we sojourned to the parlour,” he announces as you carefully rebutton his trousers. “‘Tis where I keep my best liquors, after all!!”

You hear a rousing call of agreement, all around the sound of chairs scraping as they stand and drift towards the exit.

“I will be there, anon, gentlemen; I must speak to my valet first,” Benedict fibs, shifting in his seat but not standing.

As the chorus of voices fades, he pushes out his chair and holds up the tablecloth, staring at you slack-jawed.

“At a loss for words, husband?” you smirk, raising a coquettish eyebrow as he assists you in crawling out from under the table.

“The most delightful revenge, darling wife…” he responds, his eyes glittering. “But the use of your mouth is an escalation. I rather think a declaration of war, not a mere battle.” The very beguiling threat of more challenges to come makes your stomach flip in anticipation.

‘“Promises promises…Sir,” you goad with a wink, dusting off your dress and standing up, hoping the invocation of his play title will spark something in him.

A warm hand clamps firmly around the nape of your neck, making you gasp excitedly.

“Insolence does not go unpunished, little one,” he warns lowly.

There it is.

“Yes, Sir,” your stance instantly submissive, swaying into him. “Perhaps, you could fuck me against our bedroom window later? So the world can see to whom I belong?”

He growls softly, and his nostrils flare as he crowds into you. “That can certainly be arranged.”

“I look forward to it, Sir.” you smile, always enjoying when he behaves domineering.

However, with a wink, his grip releases, his mien turning gentler, nuzzling your cheek.

“I am quite the luckiest man alive. I love you, darling,” he breathes.

“And I you, husband. Now, go entertain your guests. I will see you later,” you offer, kissing his jaw as you drift towards the door, wrapped in each other's arms.

“I’d rather retire to our bedchamber with you,” he sighs wistfully into your temple.

“I shall be there waiting for you,” you vow. “Naked, except for the jewels you have given me. Thinking of you. Touching myself…” you paint a vivid picture to tempt and tease him.

You squeal as he suddenly picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, striding purposefully into the hallway, the sounds of the men in the room across the hall unmistakable.

“Smith,” Benedict addresses the man standing dutifully by the front door. “Please tell my guests they are welcome to stay but that I was, in fact, mistaken. I have taken indeed ill with a dreaded stomach bug and must retire from their company immediately,” he pronounces.

You laugh at his lie, and he slaps your bottom for good measure.

“Will that be all, sir?” His trusty valet replies, tone world-weary.

“Please escort them out the rear entrance when they are done carousing and arrange for their carriages to pick them up in the mews. I do not wish the neighbours to witness their drunken behaviour,” he rejoinders as he begins to climb the stairs with you still dangling over his shoulder.

Giggling, you wave to Smith as you go, who merely raises three fingers dryly in recognition—he has walked in upon you fucking you in every room of the house since your marriage; this is decidedly mundane.

And as Benedict fulfils your request sometime later - pounding into you so hard that the window rattles in its frame, you clinging to the wooden sash as you stare out across the treetops of the handsome square - you cannot help but wonder if the request to send his friends home another way was not entirely for your benefit.

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villainsandvictimsalliance · 7 months

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Deku refusing to pass out because Tomura needs to be healed and he's afraid no one will heal him but kill him while he's knocked out.

Deku still using blackwhip to keep his body in one piece as he guards Tomura's body, shaking from the strain, still refusing to leave his side.

Deku who cannot explain all he saw in their shared memories yet because he's still processing all the grief and hatred and trauma, he's still struggling to understand the man before him. He is the same man who ruined his life and got people he loved killed, the same that had made him suffer again and again. He is the kid he needed to save, the kid no one else cared about. He's all of those things and more and Deku is way too tired right now to do anything except promise they'll have another chance. A tomorrow.

Ochako who hugs Toga to her own body, covered in both their blood. Ochako screaming to get her a transfusion because Toga used almost all her own blood to keep Ochako alive. Ochako who won't let Toga out of her sight after all they went through, because she doesn't want Toga to wake up alone and confused.

Ochako who can't tell anyone how it felt to float in the sky with Toga while they exchanged a part of themselves, how it feels to have Toga's blood on her veins keeping her alive, how it feels to wake up to her own face lying next to her knowing now how much Toga admires her.

Ochako who cleans Toga's face as much as she can and thinks of braiding Toga's hair after taking a nap (she says). Toga is really pretty, even more when she smiles genuinely and she's not trying to murder everyone around her.

Shouto who panics as soon as he wakes up, afraid of it all being a dream. He's dazed from sleep and he doesn't call Dabi either of his names when he asks for him. No, he says " where is my brother? " and Natsuo next to him knows who he's asking form immediately. Their brother is back home.

Shouto who becomes insufferable until they take him to see Dabi, who sits next to him and looks at him, really looks at him for the first time maybe in his whole life. Finally, all his family in one room. No one being isolated, no one being rejected, no one crying tears of anger or fear or frustration. Even when they are all tired and hurt, Shouto has never felt happier. He really really wanted to bring Touya home. He wanted to give him a chance to heal.

Shouto who can't wait to ask Touya if he likes cold soba. Shouto who sits there and catalogues the damage and wonders how he survived so many years alone in the streets. Shouto who memorizes the scars and burns, who counts the staples, who looks at his own hair and then Dabi's. How can he explain the mental image he got of hugging the child version of his big brother while they were fighting? How can he even begin to explain why he believes so much in the criminal who hurt his friends and killed thousands and wanted to end their family? Who to explain his family, at all?

Class 1A taking turns watching over the villains to offer some reassurance to their friends. Most of them are unable to understand what's going on in their heads, some are wisely unwilling to ignore all the damage those villains caused them. In the end though, they trust Deku, Ochako and Shouto and if they want the villain trio alive and well, they will guard them up with their lives so that the heroes can rest.

Bakugo who should be dead by all means, but who wakes up and forces his way up to Deku and Tomura and sits there, telling Deku to accept the medical treatment. He killed AFO, he's not going to allow Tomura to escape or get hurt. Deku can rest, he can trust him. They'll be there when he wakes up. Even after all Tomura did to Bakugo, he owns Deku and he trusts Deku and he'd do that for him a million times if necessary.

Iida who sits next to Dabi to monitor him, because Shouto must stay in bed and stop making the trip up to his brother's hospital room. Iida who lived it with Tensei once, so he goes and tells all the news (or the lack of them) to Shouto. Iida who tells his friends that everything will be alright, that they'll figure it out, Iida who reassures Shouto and tries to distract him by talking where and when and how he'll take Touya to eat cold soba.

Tsuyu who might not be a big fan of Toga, but her friend is barely conscious and for whatever reason she refuses to let Toga's side. Tsuyu who promises to take good care of Toga, who carries her on her back for a while, who remembers all the terrible things and can't understand the fondness in her friend's face when she looks at the villain, but she respects it anyway. No matter what, Ochako can be sure they'll take care of it. She doesn't have to fear anymore. She can go to sleep.

The villains who wake up warm and safe for the first time in many many years. When was the last time they woke up with someone watching over them? They were convinced they'd be murdered in their sleep and yet... They're getting treatment. Clean clothing. They're bathed. When was the last time someone cared to give them medicine to lessen their pain? Although their first instinct is to run, when the person watching over them realizes they're awake, it's immediately pandemonium. They are screaming for Deku, Ochako and Shouto and there are people running and so many voices.

Deku, Ochako and the Todorokis who rush to their side. Never again will they have to face the world all alone. Deku reminds Tomura that he has been saved, he waited for 15 years, but it's finally over. Ochako tells Toga how pretty she is and yes, they are friends and there are still consequences, but she will be there, they'll be there for them. Touya wakes up to his family and isn't that funny? The last time he woke up in a hospital, he thought he was dead. He had to run away soon after burning it to the ground, but now there they are, gathered around him, crying, relieved, a bit scared and a lot concerned. They are looking at him, really looking at him. It breaks him. He had given up on that particular dream the day he burned.

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citrlet · 6 months

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meet sydney wilder, gen 1 of my new gameplay~

i'm kicking off a new playthrough of the whimsy legacy expanded by @lysiablr , starting at gen 3 just to spice things up!

very long overview and premise of this gens details under the cut if you wanna know what's goin on

premise

Sometimes life brings you a little bundle of joy in the shape of an accident. As soon as you're of age - after whirlwind teenage years of partying, skipping classes, and turning in homework late - you become a mixologist at the local bar. You are a clumsy Sim who fears the sound of commitment, but loves to have a good time. You enjoy dating new and exciting Sims, but you never, ever commit to anything too serious. You love your job, and you love that you don’t have to show up for anyone. Period. If you don’t have to show up for anyone, then you can’t disappoint them, right? One morning, after a rough night of partying and a whole lot of bubble blowing and juice, you wake up feeling... off. There's something that just isn't right, and you just can't shake it. You’re tired, you’re feeling ill, and food sounds absolutely revolting. ... It can't be. But it is. One pregnancy test later, and sure enough, the lines clearly fade into view. You're about to be a parent. After the initial wave of fear, you regain your senses, heart filling with warmth at the idea of no longer being alone. While having children was hardly the first thing on your mind, you can’t say you'd totally ruled out having a few later in life. Turns out later is right now. But... who is the parent? All at once, you recall the night before, and realize that there are three different possibilities. The catch is, you won’t know the answer for sure until the baby is here. Is that too late? Will you confront your partner when you find out, jump in with them and co-parent, lie and tell a different partner the child is theirs, or will you go it alone?

starting info

Aspiration(s): Serial Romantic [Base Game] Traits: Clumsy [Base Game] Party Animal [High School Years] Non-Committal [Base Game] Bonus Traits / Lifestyles: Compassionate (For Richer) [Parenthood] Incredibly Friendly (For Richer) [Outdoor Retreat] Uncontrolled Emotions (Or for Poorer) [Parenthood] Beguiling (Or for Poorer) [Base Game] Focused Skills: Dancing [Get Together] Mixology [Base Game] Juice Fizzing [Eco Lifestyle]

events

Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) Have your Sim romance at least three different Sims at once, enough to be able to woohoo / try for baby with each. Be careful of jealousy! No getting married or entering into any kind of committed relationships.

Voulez-Vous During the first half of your young adulthood, complete the 'try for baby' interaction with three different Sims in one night. Do not test for pregnancy at all; wait until the next couple of days and see if your Sim experiences any symptoms of pregnancy. If not, do it all over again. If your Sim cannot get pregnant, first check all three partners for pregnancy; if none are pregnant, try again OR randomly select one of your partners to have a science baby with three to seven days after the one-night stand, as if a baby was dropped off at their doorstep by an unknown partner.

When All is Said and Done Choose whether to parent the child alone, confront the correct partner, or approach a different partner to claim that the child was theirs. In the event you choose to confront or approach a partner (regardless of whether they are the correct one), start an argument with them and then play out the scenario from there.

goals

Always have a bright / fun hair color. Change it up frequently!

Have a hobby making juice / nectar.

Name the child after an alcoholic beverage.

Start a fight with who you think is the co-parent or who you have chosen to be the co-parent, then decide to make up or split up based on the reactions.

Obtain as many milestones as possible for your infant.

Live life normally from there, with or without a partner - new or old.

Master the Dancing / Mixology / Juice Fizzing skills.

Complete the Serial Romantic aspiration.

Complete the Mixologist career.

#ts4 #ts4 gameplay #sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay #*wl: gen 1 #*sim: sydney #i say this so much but i'm really excited!#i reaaally want to stick with this legacy #i'll probably make a char page and/or family tree eventually just because those are fun haha #sorry the info is so long! i just know i can be too lazy to click a link to read stuff so this might be easier for some people #and as tradition: home pics are coming up next and then real gameplay starts >:)

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respectthepetty · 1 year

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Who do you think are the best actors in gmmtv?

Oh Cheez Whiz on a cracker, what kinda ask is this, Anon?! Do you know what you have requested from me? The impossible! But I'm gonna make it possible with some strict criteria:

It has to be GMMTV's current roster, so actors like Singto and Toptap are out (😩)

I'm only choosing from the male squad because if I get the ladies involved, it'll never end so no Jan and Aye (😥)

They must have acted in at least three BLs under GMMTV, so people like Mond and Perth are out (😪)

I'm not touching on if they are problematic because I'm trying to be like Jesus's mom and forgive triflin' heifers

I'm capping it at ten because . . . damn, this is gonna be hard

Know that if this list wasn't exclusive to GMMTV, it would be only one name - MaxTul

Okay, so working within these parameters, here are the actors I think are the crème de la crème of GMMTV in no particular order:

Ohm Pawat

This man can do it all, and then some. He was in 2016's Make It Right which is required BL watching, he matched Singto's energy in He's Coming to Me, and he has my entire dash in a frenzy again over Bad Buddy.

Gun Atthaphan

He has played multiple characters, at once, three times now, so at this point, he could be the entire cast of a show if GMMTV wasn't a coward. He is beautiful yet scrappy, and I truly believe he could beat any of these other men acting-wise and physically. In a street fight, my money would be on him every time.

First Kanaphan

My babygirl only serves the best performance each and every time he is on the screen. 2022 finally gave him the spotlight he so rightfully deserves with Not Me (where he played with Gun) and The Eclipse, but he held down the wacky plot of The Shipper against Ohm back in 2020, and had me rooting for him, the square, in Moonlight Chicken. Stay hydrated, babe!

Sing Harit

The Warp Effect and 3 Will Be Free added together equal one BL, so he has done more than the requirement, really, and he has been doing it almost a decade since 2014's Love Sick! Watch this man be a puppy in The Warp Effect, then play Todd in Not Me and tell me why a guy with this range hasn't been a main lead?! I DEMAND ANSWERS!

Neo Trai

Neo is a mini Sing. He played a clown so well in Cause You're My Boy where he was a love interest to Phuwin only to play his clown brother in Fish Upon the Sky, and played another clown in Tonhon Chonlatee. So when he got serious in The Eclipse, he demanded my attention. He played two different characters in Vice Versa, and now he is about to enter his villain era in Only Friends. He kills every role he is in, and I'm sure him and his abs will kill me and my mutes by the end of the year.

Fourth Nattawat

This baby got in by the skin of his teeth based on his two-minute moment in Bad Buddy. I'm counting it because he deserves to be here. He acts with his entire physical body. When Uncle Jim told his character not to be poor AND a homo in Moonlight Chicken, Fourth's whole demeanor captured exactly how the audience felt. I can't wait to see what this tiny toddler does next.

Khaotung Thanawat

I cannot write about this man and be rational. Just know he is pretty AND talented. I was rooting for him in A Tale of Thousand Stars and Moonlight Chicken, yet I don't even think they were actual possibilities. Once he starts to tear up, it's game over for these hoes. Cause understand, if Khaotung is acting in it, I'm supporting his character's rights and wrongs. BRING ME ONLY FRIENDS RIGHT NOW!

Fluke Pusit

I've already stated my case for him, but let me recap the highlights: he kisses like his energy is restored with each lip touch, and he has kissed the most GMMTV's boys. He has acted well in even his smallest roles, so I remember him each time, and he carried his weight against Ohm and First in The Shipper. He has chemistry with anyone, and it's by high time he got a lead. The Warp Effect was sooooo close = Sing x Fluke, anyone?

Mark Pakin

Look at at our man's resume: I Promised You the Moon, Bad Buddy, My School President, Moonlight Chicken, and The Warp Effect. Oh, and he is an actual world badminton champion. The directors I trust with my life, Jojo and Aof have each used him TWICE (Only Friends loading), and Aof is about to get him a third time in Last Twilight. He is being paired twice with Neo to prove they can hold their own against the OGs OffGun in Cooking Crush, which I have faith that they will exceed expectations. This man does not miss. Never. Not ever. Not fucking once.

Nanon Korapat

Nanon may be a nepo baby, but nobody puts baby in the corner. This man can ACT, and he isn't afraid to look ugly doing it. The way his face contorts to show every single emotion as he is feeling it should be studied. The way he moves his neck, hands, and overall body to exude his character's thoughts is marvelous. Oh, and The Gifted? That series was gay solely because Nanon decided to make it gay. That's powerful acting.

Bonus round: Because they aren't technically under GMMTV, but I love older men who have done their duty.

Nat Sakdatorn

Daddy. Sexually and figuratively. He played in 2016's Fathers about two gay men trying to raise their child in a country with no legal protections for queer folks, then he played Chopper's dad in Never Let Me Go. I want to see Perth act against him again because their emotions show on their faces so well, but first I want to see him kiss another man like Friend Zone or 609 Bedtime Story. However, if I'm being honest, I just simply want him to take off his clothes again like in Mama Gogo. God, this man is fine. Oh, and he can act.

Kob Songsit

I can only see him as Kinn's manipulative ass father in KinnPorsche, but Kob has been acting for 34 years, and played in the queer staple The Love of Siam. He has played supportive fathers in Until We Meet Again, Chains of Heart, Don't Say No, and the ongoing Be My Favorite, and he played the older gay version to younger Khaotung's character in 55:15 Never to Late. He has gone on the record stating that he wants to show people being gay is okay and being SUPPORTIVE of the queers should be the norm. He earns his paycheck every damn day. Thank you for your service, sir!

I gave you a dozen amazing actors, but I would love to know who some of y'all consider the best of the best and why.

And also, remember, if my back is up against a wall, and I had to answer . . .

MAXTUL!

#GMMTV'S best according to a rando on Tumblr #ohm pawat #gun atthaphan #first kanaphan #sing harit #neo trai #fourth nattawat #khaotung thanawat #fluke pusit #mark pakin #nanon korapat #nat sakdatorn #kob songsit #MaxTul above everyone else!

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fairybinie · 1 year

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KISS, DON’T TELL — 15: if's and when's

synopsis: popular and menacingly wicked choi beomgyu has the entire senior class wrapped around his finger. the high school drama club has cherished y/n as their veteran for four years. to fulfill beomgyu’s graduation requirements, he must join y/n’s drama club despite his grudges. unbeknownst to everyone else, y/n and beomgyu have their history. they’ve kissed before (or more like y/n has bitten his lip to bleed) and beomgyu hasn’t lived it down ever since. y/n cannot stand this guy. they can make it through the entire year as the leads in their play, right?

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a/n: written (3.8k) + smau. mentions of kissing, nothing else i can see! so sorry for the wait i hope this was worth it 😔

...

but good to know :D

really y/n?

y/n could have chosen to ignore the last few messages of his remorse and just told him them were on their way. they also could have chosen to ignore that beomgyu can actually bring a smile to their face and their limited interactions have been replaying in their head since they have occurred. it’s hard to ignore a feeling like that.

texting beomgyu these past days and observing him in class has led y/n to believe that maybe there is more to him than what he is displaying. it’s no doubt that he keeps up an image for everyone else to believe and roll with, hell, even idolize with. y/n knew that already, but they weren’t sure if there was anything below the surface. did he even have a personality besides the obnoxious one that was 24/7? the fact that he seemed to be sorrowful about his comments just now might insinuate that he has a conscious. sure, it wasn’t there before. perhaps something shifted in the boy recently. why?

come to think of it, y/n really doesn't know anything about this guy. he plays guitar, that’s something, right? does beomgyu want to become a musician despite being stern about the fact that he doesn’t have a passion? he has to have one.

questions, questions, questions that y/n is hoping to get answers to.

most of all, why is he still hung up on the shared kiss that happened four years ago?

choi beomgyu intrigues them, whether they would like to admit it or not.

“y/n! hello?”

y/n shudders away their thoughts and stares blankly at the red light in front of them. their hands grip tightly around the dark leather material around their steering wheel as they glance at their car radio. an ongoing call with their friends that has lasted fifteen minutes.

y/n reaches for their temple as they begin to mindlessly rub circles, waiting for the light to turn green. they kept their word to soobin’s request to call them when they were heading to beomgyu’s house.

“sorry, what happened?”

someone groans in response, y/n’s guess is eliana. her groans were engrained in their head as they were always the receiving end to them.

“we were talking about going to disneyland during winter break,” eliana reminds with no distinction in her voice.

yes, disneyland. of course. y/n readjusts themselves to the mood and the light changes as they do, stepping their foot on the gas pedal.

“right- yeah, i’m on board-”

a howl cuts y/n off mid sentence as each speaker in the vehicle blasts with each rhythm of laughter, that of which belongs to kai. y/n is taken aback momentarily, but it soon hits them that was not the topic of conversation.

“can we actually go, though?” kai genuinely asks once he pulls himself together. soobin agreeingly replies with instinct to satisfy kai in the moment.

“you’re not paying attention,” eliana points out to y/n, seeing right through them despite not being in the car with them. “what’s up, babe?”

y/n makes a U-turn once they realize that they missed the correct street. “sorry guys, i was distracted.”

“y/n, you don’t have to go if you’re not comfortable,” soobin advises which brings a slight smile to y/n’s face. soobin was always protective over them and the whole group appreciated him for it, even if it could be overbearing at times.

“no no, it’s not that,” y/n reassures as they look at their phone mounted on the dashboard to check if this is the right corner to make a turn.

“then what is it?” kai asks with some concern in his voice. being the youngest in the group has always made him worry for his older friends. he was a perfect little brother.

“nothing! trust me,” y/n barely tries to sound convincing. the group looks it over this one time considering that y/n is driving. it would be understandable if their attention wasn’t fully there.

y/n ends the gps navigation as they push the center console to park. “i’m here.”

they haven’t been to beomgyu’s house in years, not since the incident occurred. frankly, the trauma it induced for them made them forget the details of the inside. the patio outside reminisces the other houses in this neighborhood. though it’s dark outside, the beaming stars in the night sky highlight the string of florescent lights that shape the doorway in the front. it’s a nice touch, they remember it made them feel comfortable coming in last time.

“it’s not too late to back out,” soobin says one last time. he’s still nervous for his best friend.

“i’ll be fine soobin,” y/n replies before he continues to go on. they stare at the home and release a whisper. “i hope.”

“okay, well, text us right after,” eliana cautions, bringing out her inner mother role.

a swarm of goodbyes and love you’s were exchanged before the call was ended. y/n detaches their phone from the dashboard and gathers their essentials and soon exit the vehicle. they give their car a lock as they head towards the doorway. each footstep is light, but tense. it’s until now that they see some bear stickers on the door and they can’t help but admire the cuteness. they wonder if that was a recent addition as it wasn’t there the last time.

with a big inhale, they ring the doorbell.

there was a moment of waiting and y/n contemplated ringing it one more time. they remember what eliana said about coming across as desperate, but they never cared about that prior to this. in all honesty, they needed to rely on beomgyu. he was their co-star after all.

why do they now feel this twisting feeling inside their stomach at the thought of being desperate?

y/n hears footsteps approach the door and they straighten their sweater to prepare. they’re wearing a simple white t-shirt that hugs their figure just right with a light blue hooded sweater, courtesy of kai. his clothes were always the comfiest and y/n made it a habit to search through his closet every time they come over. soobin gets slightly pouty at the thought. y/n doesn’t know if it’s because they borrow kai’s clothes, or if he wants to borrow them. the thought makes them chuckle.

fresh conditioned air blows right at y/n’s face as the door opens and the boy stands at the other end. he’s wearing brown plaid pajama bottoms topped with a beige crewneck with a teddy bear in the right corner. that little detail makes y/n think the decor on the door was intentional. a hint of softness makes some way into their heart. they fight the urge to smile.

“hey,” beomgyu greets with a downwards smile. “did you make it over here safe?”

beomgyu’s voice has a naturally tired tone to it. even if he’s not sleepy it always sounds casual and lustful. y/n doesn’t know if it’s always been like this or if they just noticed.

he’s also asking about their safety. who is this guy?

“um, yeah,” y/n replies as they rock their feet back and forth. beomgyu nods and realizes that he has to let them inside so he opens the door all the way and reaches his arm out to gesture the inside. y/n takes the offer.

with each step y/n observes the house as much as they can. it has been a while since they’ve been here but as far as they remember, not much has changed. some furniture has been rearranged and some new decor here and there, but it’s still very much beomgyu’s home. the interior has black and brown elements which gives it a homey feeling. it’s like if autumn and hot chocolate was a home.

just like he said, he did have the house to himself. beomgyu leads them to the kitchen and y/n sees a few family photos plastered on the fridge door. some were just of his parents, others were baby pictures of beomgyu. it seems like he’s always been on the devious side after catching a glance of a young boy pointing a toy gun at the camera with no thought behind his eyes.

y/n glimpses at a group photo with beomgyu, his parents, and an older child. they were posing in front of an amusement park with big grins on their faces. y/n has never seen this other boy before, perhaps it was beomgyu’s brother.

y/n shifts their gaze over to the kitchen counter and sees two bowls of ramen sitting in the center. guess he was being serious about providing them with food. they were starving though.

“i don’t know how you usually eat yours so i just put my fixings on,” beomgyu speaks slightly embarrassed. y/n eyes the bowl a little longer than they intended. they were just trying to piece together why on earth he would make them food.

“relax, i didn’t poison it or anything,” beomgyu jokes while holding the soup in his hands, digging into his first bite with his chopsticks. the idea did cross y/n’s mind, which makes them feel a bit apologetic.

is that how bad they see him?

y/n slowly walks over to the aisle and joins beomgyu. “do you want to work here?”

“we could go to my room,” beomgyu suggests as his eyes hide behind his bowl while he slurps some broth. there was no hint of anything sinister in beomgyu’s voice but the statement still makes y/n’s eyes widen.

“no,” they simply respond faster than they wished. they walk around the counter and sit in one of the spinning chairs where their bowl lays out in front of them. “right here is fine.”

beomgyu shrugs his shoulders and sits down next to them. y/n reaches to their tote bag and pulls out the lengthy script which has notes sticking out from certain areas and highlighted parts to accompany them. beomgyu nearly chokes mid slurp at the sight.

“sooo, how do we do this?” as beomgyu stretches out his question, y/n takes their first bite into their food. just as they feared, it was delicious. so much flavor in everything, but not too overbearing in being salty or spicy. they could attempt to figure out which brand he used, but they’re here for other things.

“well,” y/n finishes swallowing their food. “we could start with any questions you might have.”

“yeah, i’m sure you have all the answers,” beomgyu stiffly laughs as he brings his head forward to the script that centers in front of the two.

y/n feels their cheeks flush red and heat up at the exposure. they hope he doesn’t notice. “i just mean if you need anything to be clarified. it could help you play the role better.”

beomgyu draws in his breath and stares at the stack of papers longingly. throughout his education, he was taught to find the theme of each piece he reads. reading this script has given him an idea of what it could be in this case, but some parts are a bit foggy. he feels self-conscious asking y/n what it is. he doesn’t want them to think he’s an idiot, even though they probably already think he is. they’ve made their dislike for him quite obvious.

“um, i guess,” beomgyu holds his gaze in front but can feel y/n’s eyes on his. his blood pulses through his skin. “what this story is really about, you know, deep down.”

he’s expecting y/n to laugh in his face just like he did to them the other day, but they don’t. instead, y/n understandingly nods as they push their half eaten soup to the side to leave enough room to put their elbows on the table. for some reason, beomgyu finds this endearing. he was always scolded for leaving his elbows on the table. it wasn’t polite, apparently.

“well, ben is at crossroads when he gets into a college with a full basketball scholarship, but also gets into his dream school that would support his performing arts career. no one knows he's interested in that field so it's the good 'ol following the head or heart thing, which i'm always a sucker for.”

beomgyu watches y/n go on about the story for the production, even going over key plots that beomgyu might have missed. he notices there seems to be stars in y/n's eyes as they continue to talk. he can tell that they're speaking from the heart.

“i'm assuming that's the passion concept mrs. kim was going over in class the first day?” beomgyu guesses in thought.

“yeah, ben loves to perform and even plays guitar at some point,” y/n eagerly responds. “which should be easy for you, since you play right?”

beomgyu feels a small smile form on his lips. he quickly covers it up with another bite of his meal.

“wouldn't you consider that your passion?” y/n decides to try to get an answer out of him. it's been bugging them all this time that he hasn't been open about it.

“i know you really enjoy it, beomgyu,” y/n did catch his change in expression earlier. “you must be good at it too. if you admit that's what you're passionate about, it'll help you a ton.”

there's a moment of silence as beomgyu takes in their words and figures out what to do with them. the quiet atmosphere is almost uncomfortable and y/n can't tell if they've overstepped their boundaries. they consider leaving, but they did have an agenda here, and that was to rehearse some of this with beomgyu. instead, they opt for reaching to turn the page.

“i do love playing guitar,” beomgyu promptly admits. “and it is my passion. my uncle gave me my first guitar when i was in middle school and i haven't stopped playing since.”

y/n smiles at the thought of a small beomgyu, who was probably more unhinged than he is now, sitting down and playing a relaxing acoustic guitar. if they were told this years ago, they wouldn't have believed it. the more they look at beomgyu, it suits him. the calluses on certain fingers with those round, deep brown eyes of his focusing on a music sheet. the low husk to his voice covering songs with a beautiful essence.

“why didn't you want to admit it in class?” y/n realizes they needed to speak before it appears they've been staring at the boy for too long.

“because i barely wanted to admit it to myself,” beomgyu responds in full honesty. “my parents just see it as a hobby and don't think it can take me anywhere in life as it's not an official profession.”

y/n recalls the text beomgyu sent about only them and his parents knowing he plays guitar. his last sentence even has them think about their conversations with their dad, that sentiment hits too close to home. y/n chooses not to bring it up to beomgyu. they sit with caution as they wonder how many questions they could ask him.

“there's so many things you could do with that talent,” instead of potentially saying the wrong thing, y/n offers him some possible careers to lift his spirits. “you could be a songwriter, a producer. hey, even when you make it in the big leagues you could be a sound engineer in the blockbuster movies!”

there's a part to y/n's monologue that catches beomgyu's attention.

when you make it in the big leagues.

they didn't say if, they said when. beomgyu has never heard that word in regards to his future. it was always 'if', 'maybe', or any other tense that doubts his passion.

has he gotten his first supporter? and was it someone he has shared a moment so personal as a kiss?

“you said when,” beomgyu decides to bring up the fact.

it takes a moment for y/n to register what he means, but with the astonished expression on his face, the feeling soon settles in on them. y/n has their supporters, it was time for beomgyu to have his. despite how they feel about him and their past history that annoyingly hangs on their head, they weren't a monster. perhaps it was time to see beomgyu in a different light and it appears that they were the only one to do so.

“so throughout the story dae is there for ben to open his eyes in realizing that pursuing his dream is the right path to go,” y/n steers off in a different direction. “since it's romance, of course there has to be a fling between them.”

beomgyu softly smiles to himself picturing the story unfold. “i'm sure ben appreciates dae being there for him and seeing what he can do.”

y/n feels warm as they see beomgyu finally start to understand the plot and it only took them to have an honest conversation. talking with beomgyu wasn't as bad as they expected.

“i'm sure dae loves supporting him through it all when no one else would.”

beomgyu lifts his head up to face y/n who is gazing right back at him. it's the first time their expression isn't written in disgust or annoyance. in fact, it appears to be loving. he wishes it could always be like this.

the moment stretches out a little longer and beomgyu can't help but glance down at y/n's lips. he wonders if it still tastes like cherry chapstick. the red tint they have makes him believe it's still accurate. y/n catches the gesture and coughs down some air as they play with the edges of the paper. they fight the urge to not rip the ends of it and curl them into little balls, a habit they got from kai.

“so…yeonjun and taehyun don't know?” y/n speaks in an airy voice, their eyes still locked on the words written in front of them.

beomgyu doesn't know if they're referring to the guitar thing, or the kiss they shared four years ago.

frankly, y/n isn't sure about what they mean either.

still, beomgyu chooses an answer to please both questions.

“not a single thing.”

y/n hums in response, their lips tight together. beomgyu plays with the chopsticks in his now empty bowl when he hears a voice speak up once again.

“would you be able to play for me?”

beomgyu knows this question is referring to his talent for guitar, and due to the seriousness he's been displaying this entire time now, he switches gears for a lighthearted moment.

“i'll play for you when we go on a date.”

y/n would expect some rage boil down to their stomach, as they would have reacted that way before. this feeling, though? was it butterflies? nervousness? whatever it was, it sure wasn't negative. this night is full of firsts.

“do you…do you want to rehearse some of it now?” y/n clears their throat in between. beomgyu doesn't question their non-response and agrees with a head nod.

…

the two got through the first act right at midnight. to their surprise, beomgyu wasn't that bad at acting. sure, he missed a couple cues that ensued some awkward presentations, but it's nothing they couldn't work on together. they even liked the slight challenge. being co-stars with soobin now seemed too easy for them.

beomgyu was the difference they needed.

“you can be honest, you know,” beomgyu speaks in a playful manner as he finishes the last dish to wash. he hands the bowl for y/n to dry with a damp rag.

“i mean it! you weren't terrible,” y/n chuckles while they reach to put the bowl away in the cupboards.

after beomgyu and y/n finished rehearsing the first half they decided to wash the dishes. y/n didn't even suggest helping him dry, they just did it with no questions asked. still, it was another conversation starter.

“that means a lot coming from you,” beomgyu snickers and reaches for the rag in y/n's hands to dry his own. he smiles at them while looking down at their sweater, noticing a small stain of sauce near the front.

“hey, you got something there,” he points out as y/n glances down at the gesture, mentally cursing in their head. they hated getting their clothes dirty, let alone their borrowed ones from kai.

y/n whines as they reach for a paper towel to attempt to clean it off, only to have beomgyu stop them in between the action.

“you'll make it worse,” beomgyu advises. “i have a washing machine upstairs if you wanted to stay a little while longer.”

y/n would have rejected the offer if it weren't for their washing machine being repaired as they speak. they really loved this sweatshirt, they were hoping to wear it again this week. they scrunch their nose as their left eye slightly squints, thinking about what they should do.

they weren't repulsed by hanging out with beomgyu a little more, but sleep was about to hit them at any moment. it was better if they left now before they accidentally take a nap at a red light.

“i would but i should be getting home,” y/n apologetically responds.

“are you sure? you could give it to me and i'll have it ready for you tomorrow,” beomgyu cringes at the fact that he sounds like a dry cleaner. y/n finds it amusing.

man, how they loved that sweatshirt.

“fine just- don't screw it up,” y/n warns as they slip off the piece of clothing, feeling a breeze hit the bottom of their stomach as it lifts a little along with it.

y/n hands him the sweatshirt warily, hesitating to give it to him all the way, to which beomgyu responds with a deadpan. y/n smiles and ultimately gives it to him, and beomgyu places it on the couch for him to put away later.

y/n walks over to their tote bag and beomgyu suggests walking them outside. part of it was to be a gentleman, but he just wanted to see them drive away safely. y/n wouldn't be aware of the second option.

“don't forget your script next time,” y/n finally instructs him at the door. they're on the outside as beomgyu stays inside, hanging his arm on the doorframe as a slight smirk forms on his face.

“wouldn't count on it, i love this story too much now,” beomgyu doesn't mean to admit the last part, but y/n can't help but cheese at the statement.

“i'm glad to hear that,” y/n crosses their arms with a grin as they take a few steps back, ready to head to their vehicle.

“i'll give you updates on your sweater when i text you,” beomgyu calls out to them. “goodnight, drive safe.”

y/n sends over two thumbs up and begins to back up once they're inside their car. beomgyu doesn't head inside until they're completely out of his sight.

…

y/n doesn't fall asleep as quickly as they would've thought. they've been spending the past hour mindlessly scrolling through their feed, feeling their eyes blink slowly each time.

how could they sleep when tonight went better than they thought?

a notification appears at the top that brings a grin ear to ear and it's at this moment they realize one thing.

there would be no false promises between them and beomgyu.

there would be no more 'if's'.

please do not translate, modify or repost on other platforms.

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imasexypotato · 4 months

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Clegan fantastic beasts and where to find them AU Fic idea:

So this won't leave my brain, and I need someone to write this! 😩

(They meet before the first movie, and cross paths again in the third movie)

Theseus Scamander and Gale Cleven (I don't know what other name to give him in this AU) meet and fight together during the war and grow close. They're both wizards.

Gale falls in love with him but doesn't say anything.

Once the war is over, Theseus has to return home, but promises to keep in contact with Gale through letters.

Over the next few years Gale sends him letters and eagerly awaits his own in return. Theseus never responds.

Over time, Gale stops sending letters, resentment towards his friend growing stronger and stronger.

Theseus returns home and is rewarded for his exemplary performance during the war. He's viewed as a war hero.

He eagerly waits for Gale to send him a letter, but it never comes. Theseus doesn't know whether or not he should send the first letter.

He decides against it, patiently waiting until eventually, it becomes an afterthought. Too many things around him need his attention.

He becomes an aurora for the British ministry and works his way to the top, becoming head of the Auror's office.

He is soon set to be engaged to Leta Lestrange. A political marriage of convenience. News spreads quickly and soon, Gale is made aware. Through the newspaper.

The events of the second movie transpire as normal. (Leta Lestrange doesn't die).

*Now we're set during the beginning of the third movie*

Gale goes to England , he's sent over on a secret mission. He plans on doing his job and returning to the United states as soon as possible.

As it turns out, this super secret mission involves stopping Grindelwald. That means that Theseus is also involved.

He's there to help his younger brother Newt. Leta also joins in to help, alongside Jacob (Muggle), Bunty (Newt's assistant), Professor Eulalie (witchcraft teacher) and Yusuf kama(a powerful wizard, and Leta's half brother)

Theseus and Gale have a very rocky reunion. Theseus seemingly oblivious to Gale's hostile demeanor.

Over the course of their mission, Gale grows close to Newt, his interest in magical creatures makes Newt open up to him.

Theseus doesn't take this well, as he's always had a hard time bonding with his younger brother.

Tension between them grows and it starts to affect the team. Leta tries to difuse the situation, but it only seems to make things worse.

Something happens and Theseus and Gale trapped in a dangerous situation. They argue and Theseus snaps, demanding to know why Gale has been so cold towards him.

Gale tells him about the letters he sent him. How he waited for Theseus to respond. How he thought he cared about him.

What letters?

Theseus hadn't received any letters. He wanted to send his own letters to Gale, but he didn't, waiting for Gale's first letter, like he had promised.

They clear things up, and escape from danger. Gale apologises and Theseus does as well.

They hug.

Theseus tells him how happy he is to have his friend back. That breaks Gale's heart.

It's at that moment that he realises. All those years of resentment and pain had all been for nothing. Gale knew.

He has never stopped loving Theseus.

They reunite with the others and go on to complete the mission.

During their final confrontation with Grindelwald, they seem to be losing, all hope lost.

Gale decides to sacrifice himself to help the others.

Now, I see three endings for this fic.

Happy ending:

Gale survives Grindelwald's attack and Theseus, terrified at the thought of losing him, realises he also has feelings for Gale.

He breaks off his engagement with Leta, they remain good friends. (I love Leta, I physically cannot bring myself to make her evil or cruel)

He starts courting Gale.

They can't get married, because they're both men and it's the 1940s, but they spend the rest of their lives together, loving each other to the end of their days.

Bittersweet ending:

Gale survives Grindelwald's attack. Theseus ends up marrying Leta. Gale is at their wedding. They say goodbye with the promise of sending letters to eachother properly.

Gale returns to the United states. He never falls in love again, living the rest of his life in solitude.

The only comfort in his life being the letters Theseus sends him updating him on his own life.

His anniversaries, the birth of his children, Theseus makes him the Godfather to one of his kids, and so on.

Gale dies at 45 of a broken heart.

Theseus lives on.

Sad Ending:

Gale dies sacrificing himself.

He dies thinking about Theseus. He dies with the thought that at least now, Theseus gets to be happy and live his life growing old married to Leta.

He dies not knowing Theseus loved him back.

Soooo, what ending do you like more? Let me know!

💙🩷🩵🩷🩵🩷🩵💙

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thr0wnawayy · 2 months

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Character Profile: Deku

I figured while I worked on the next two chapters for Crownless Monarchy, I'd give you guys a bit of info on our mute murderer from my last post.

(3rd Profile and Fullbody pose)

Facts about Deku:

Before her accident, she was a singer and guitarist who had high chances of going pro.

The reason her vocal cords had to be removed is because a sheet of metal had lodged itself into her throat.

Removing the object too slowly would have likely killed her. Rather than waiting for a quirk that would never come, the head surgeon made the difficult decision to remove the metal, use a blood manipulation quirk to keep up blood flow and lastly cauterize the wound shut.

Deku's parents died in the Somei Incident. They loved her dearly, with the only thing she has of them being her guitar which was a gift from her father.

The reason Deku cannot remember her name or her parents is due to suppression. She is so used to being called Deku that she doesn't even recognize her own name, not even processing it when spoken to her.

She cannot eat honey or anything with that sort of texture or viscosity, the sensation sends her into gagging fits.

Her teachers were aware of the abuse but not that it turned s*xual.

In total Deku killed 12 of her classmates, all of which were her abusers.

Very well connected on the internet, thus how she was able to get all of her stuff needed for disposal. Sees the internet as her second voice.

Super protective over her belongings due to them usually getting ruined or stolen. As such, she keeps most of her stuff at home. (That especially includes the guitar)

Very reflexive and agile, seems to have a intuition to when someone is looking at her.

More light hearted stuff:

Deku's favoured colors are ivy greens, crimson reds and lavender.

If she had to pick a band or artist from the pre-quirk era it would probably Megadeth or Keesha.

She is totally mute but until recently she didn't know sign language (had no use for it given her environment), so she just wrote what she wanted to say on paper.

She still writes lyrics to the songs she makes. She also practices frequently on her guitar.

Sometimes uses TTS on her phone when on public, she often plays around with the voice settings.

Likes to go on adventures around the surrounding areas and districts, alot of areas are abandoned granting her a freedom rarely felt by anyone nowadays.

Wears a brown hoodie and black medical mask just in case.

Parkour junkie, always brings a med kit just in case. She knows the ins and outs of Tokyo's streets and alleys.

Busks alot, playing music in public venues and receiving tips where she can. She always wears her medical mask and hood while doing this.

Deku is naturally short, standing at just 5'5, however she is also astonishingly hard to topple over.

Setting Information

The name of her school 'Suiseki,' is the word used for a Japanese artwork that involves putting rocks and stones in water to admire their beauty.

The reason the shower pipes were able to handle the acid was due to being quirk proofed

The reason her classmates call her Deku is because of a interview done with Uraraka in her start up years. During the interview Uraraka let Izuku's "nickname" slip when she was reminiscing on their first year at UA and how he was quirkless now.

For obvious reasons this did not go over well and the name stuck after some of her classmates watched the interview.

Hosu is one of the few districts to remain (mostly) intact.

The mentioned "redistributed" funding that was taken from the district school board was placed by the Safety Commission into UA and Shiketsu.

Tides have turned with public standing in regards to heroes, especially in the younger generations. This will become prevalent in the upcoming chapters.

#mha rewrite #hero society critical #mha critical #bnha critical #anti hpsc

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kisskiss-slashslash · 1 year

Note

I have a Jason request:D

Request(sorry if it’s too specific): Jason is beginning to notice that their s/o (who does witchcraft) is becoming more and more distant or busy (this also happens a couple days before his birthday) then on the day of his birthday his s/o comes up to him practically jumping up and down from happiness and tells him they have a big present for him. Turns out his s/o made a spell where his mothers ghost is visible for 24 hours but she cannot touch anything and is only visible for him and his s/o to see:)

The only draw back is that after the 24 hours his s/o is SUPER tired and can’t even walk for a couple of weeks bc it took a lot out of them

A happy ending for him and his s/o<3

Ty and have a great day<3

Oooo I love this one.

A very special birthday surprise

The time around his birthday is hard enough for Jason as it is. But now you have been rather distant for days now, always coming up with excuses when he tries to spend time with you. But you also seem so damn *happy* all of the time. His mind keeps coming up with terrible scenarios, of you planning to leave him or seeing someone else, or…

What would he do then? No matter how enraged he would be, he couldn’t imagine ever hurting you. Could he just let you go?

His birthday is just 24 hours away. Maybe you just wanted to wait until after that to leave, so you wouldn’t make the day that keeps bringing back his worst memories even worse for him. Now during these 24 hours, he barely sees you. You are hiding in your little witchey corner, and he hears you softly mumbling to yourself, though it almost sounds like you are holding an actual conversation with someone who is responding to you.

Jason stares at the old clock you brought in from one of the cabins. Just fiften more seconds to midnight.

Had he done anything to deserve you ignoring him like this? The past years, you spent almost his entire birthday snuggled up to him, trying to drown out the painful memories with your love and affection.

Ten seconds.

Was it the last group of campers? Has he been too brutal to them, and scared you off?

Five seconds.

Either way, learning to live without you again would be heartbreaking. Just another scar in his psyche.

One second. And exactly on the stroke of midnight, the curtain sectioning your witching-corner off from the rest of your shack parts and you step out.

“Happy Birthday, Jason”, you say with a smile.

But Jason barely notices you. Because next to you stands the semi-transparent form of his mother, smiling at him with tears in her eyes.

You sheepishly scratch the back of your neck. “I figured you might wanna spend your birthday with your mom again, so I gathered everything I needed to make her spirit visible for you, at least for the duration of your birthday. I wanted it to be a surprise and it needed a lot of preparation, that’s why I was so distant from you lately, so… Happy Birthday.”

Within a split second you find yourself side to side with the icy presence of Pamela, pressed against Jason’s broad chest. His arms go right through her body, but she is acting like she is getting hugged anyway.

“Oh Jason”, Pamela says in the hollow voice typical for ghosts. “My special… special boy. I’m so sorry… For everything you had to go through.”

Jason squeezes both of you even tighter for a second, hot tears dripping from underneath his mask.

“I… uh…”, you start, despite the tight hug making speaking a bit difficult. “I also got us some cake and soda.” You free your arms and cub his cheeks with your hands. “So what do you say we celebrate your birthday properly this year?”

#slasher x reader #jason voorhees x reader

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halfmoth-halfman · 1 year

Note

do you have any headcannons about designer dress you can disclose? every now and then i create some of my own, but it's great finding out about the "official" ones, like why did you choose canary as mc's moniker? are we going to find out more about laswell and price? maybe gaz's mom? she seems important... what about farah's relationship with john? and some tidbits as well, like why blue? why valeria's "day job" is fashion designer? sorry the questionnaire, any piece would be great! i'm just in awe with the whole ambience you've created. much love! xx

oh i’ve got plenty of headcanons. some i won’t go into too much detail about because it would dipping into spoiler territory, but here ya go:

gaz was a big momma's boy as a kid, and when she died so soon after his father it left him with a lot of big, confusing feelings for an 8-9 year old

he was angry at price for a long time after his parents' deaths and it wasn't until well into his teenage years that he started warming up to price

farah was adopted after gaz, when her parents were killed during price's and the 141's first go around with makarov when they were both building their "empires" (we'll go more into that in the next few chapters)

gaz and farah took to each other easily, often finding comfort in their similar struggles and complicated feelings for price

price does everything he can to help gaz and farah remember their parents, mostly out of respect and love for them and their parents, but also due to that quiet guilt that he's the reason their parents are gone

gaz goes back on forth on calling price dad, but always refers to farah as his sister

farah does not call price dad, it’s always either old man or price

farah does think of gaz as a brother, but can’t bring herself to actually call him that because it makes her think of hadir

farah and gaz are best friends through and through tho

price cannot visit their parents' graves with them, he doesn't feel he has a right to, and if he goes with one of them he’ll wait in the car until they’re done to go to the grave himself

price has talked about canary to gaz’s dad’s grave

i hc price's favorite color as blue in general, hence all the blue he puts his women in

there is a difference between the blues when he gets canary a dress vs when valeria makes her one

valeria's come in various shades of blue while price's are always the same shade of blue as his eyes

he is absolutely doing it as a way to mark his territory

graves loves his women in gold and jewels and designer, it's a way to show off his wealth and status and how much he spoils them

it's all part of a carefully put together show to make himself look good

makarov does not give a fuck about any of that

his women are on display as a way to taunt and tempt his enemies because they know better than to touch what's his and he drapes them in blood-colored fabric as warning

price had a playboy phase after his (amicable) divorce from kate and it only got worse when gaz’s parents died

he never loved or really cared for any of his significant others, knowing most were just after his money, status, or bragging rights - they used him and he used them as a stress relief

when gaz moved in to the manor, he tried a few short-lived relationships that never lasted more than a few months

he stopped completely when farah moved in

price tried dating once or twice when gaz and farah were older and things were more stable but it was never anything serious until canary

price has never been in love until canary

price, nik, and gaz's dad were bffs with farah's dad joining later, and nik loves gaz and farah like his own

at one point, shepherd was included in that little group

alex and farah had a romcom-esque meet-cute at a 141 gala where alex was a guest of kate's

alex fell first, farah fell harder

price, and the rest of the 141, are good friends with kate's wife, but they don't see her often since she's not involved in their business

kate tries to keep her wife separate from that side of her life for her own safety

roach, könig, and horangi live in a three-bedroom apartment because the third bedroom was originally ghost's

outside of soap, ghost is probably closest to roach and sees him as a younger brother

no one except ghost knows how old roach is, he changes the answer every time someone asks him

roach was not born mute, it happened during a bar fight where he shielded ghost from someone with a broken bottle

ale/val/rudy have known each other since they were kids

rudy always had feelings for alejandro but never said anything, content to be friends

alejandro and valeria dated first, they broke up when valeria and alejandro disagreed with how to run the vaqueros

alejandro and rudy started dating in that time, but rudy broke up with him when valeria came back and rudy felt like alejandro wasn't over her

it was a lot of drama and feelings being shoved down that culminated in one night of drinking, arguing about emotions, and eventually a threesome

the three have been together ever since

alejandro and rudy do not necessarily approve of what valeria does with her own business - she takes a very jason todd approach to it all (aka "you can't stop crime, but you can control it") - but she does get positive results so the arguments are few and far between

rudy is a doctor first and foremost, but he's always enjoyed cooking (something something cutting into meat the same way he'd cut into a body something something) and it was his own suggestion for him to be the club chef

valeria never intended to do fashion design, but she enjoys the finer things and has specific tastes for how she wants to look

since every tailor/designer she had hired eventually ended up disappointing her, she took up the job herself

running a club was nik's idea, and it took him a few months and a lot of badgering to convince price to go along with it

price agreed only because 13-year-old gaz mumbled that "it'd be kinda cool" one night at dinner

the singer position at the club was made specifically for farah because she found comfort singing songs her mother used to sing to her and hadir when they were little

on special occasions, soap will take over at the bar and alex will get on stage and play guitar alongside farah as she sings

soap was gaz’s friend that he introduced to the club and he became fast friends with everyone

eventually price hired him after recognizing how smart and perceptive soap was

soap is in his position for a reason, the guests are more than happy to ogle the handsome server with too many buttons undone and not notice that he's watching them back with a far sharper eye

soap and ghost were supposed to be a one-time thing meant for stress relief but ghost caught feelings and kept coming back

it took ghost ages to admit he cared for soap and when the realization hit, it scared the hell out of him but roach convinced him to talk it out with soap

soap is the only person ghost would ever disobey price for, but he would never admit that

alex gushes to gaz about farah nonstop and talks about how he knew he was going to marry her the moment they met

gaz was happy for them, but he never really got it...until he met tabby

nik sometimes gets too drunk and reminisces about his wife back home

no one knows if he actually has a wife, or where “back home” is, his stories are all the same, but the little details change every time

könig and horangi were together before they joined the 141, and könig moved in with roach and ghost completely unaware that they worked for price

the 141 refers to kortac as "könig's people" because it's a far more complicated system of contacts and connections that would take a week to describe

ghost’s entire spine pops when he gets out of bed in the morning, and it freaks soap out

roach was a track star in highschool

price has the highest kill count in the 141, soap and valeria have a not-so-friendly competition going for second place

canary got her nickname from her father

graves did have romantic feelings for canary at one point, but that quickly got overshadowed by his want for adler to recognize and approve of him

adler only approved canary and graves’s marriage because canary asked him to - the contract was his one condition for that approval

russell adler died two days after canary and graves got married

graves only has two preferences when it comes to his women: rich & powerful

price cares about his people, but it borders on a possessiveness that he keeps very well hidden

price has built a very strict set of rules about who his people kill and how far they can and cannot go

he will end business relationships if someone steps out of line

valeria has come close on several occasions

makarov does not care - he will kill men, women, children, old, young, pregnant, etc. blood is blood, it doesn't matter who it comes from

that’s not say price wouldn’t do what needs to be done to protect his people

price cares about family above all else, and he will go scorched earth on anyone who would dare to threaten or hurt them

#anon #moth answers #answered #cod ask #private

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honeylikesyanderes · 2 years

Text

yandere ocs - the beau-maude twins

one darling, two powerful yanderes-

what could go wrong?

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twice the yandere tendencies, vampire edition

hope you enjoy anons! thanks for your ideas

unedited for now and kinda rushed lol

minors dni 18+ only

warning: contains yanderes and yandere behaviour, huge and lowkey unfair power dynamics, desperate vampires and a darling that cant escape, mentions of blood

asks/requests are open!

likes and reblogs are very very very much appreciated ♡

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montgomery 'memory' beau-maude - the fixer

age: ??? (looks about 24 tho)

birthday: may 30th

physical attributes:

back length jet black hair that's usually up in a ponytail

red eyes

tall af (6'6)

pale skin (not too pale tho)

has a bit of a dad bod

slightly above average voice (not too deep)

always looks bored or angry

no in-between

has a scar on his right eye that he doesnt like to talk about

wears fake glasses to cover up said scar

personality traits:

is very poised

you can never catch him slacking tbh

is the more mature twin

rarely shows any feeling that isnt anger

doesn't like humans

is no fun

highkey a dick.

is mostly mean because of his royal status mixed with some bad experiences

people dont know a lot about him, even his twin doesn't know some things

is very secretive.

can fix any situation, no matter how hopeless it seems

he's called the fixer for a reason

maximilian 'max' beau-maude - the wildcard

age: ??? (looks 22ish)

birthday: may 30th

physical attributes:

short and messy black hair

red eyes

wears sunglasses because his eyes are a bit sensitive

a bit taller than his brother (6'6.5)

pale skin

muscular but not too muscular

slightly high pitched voice

always smiling

has a scar on his left eye that he’s willing to talk about, but everything he says about it is probably a lie.

personality traits:

is the opposite of his brother

is very playful

loves to joke about

cant be serious for more than 30 minutes

is very impulsive

thinks humans are interesting

lies for fun

no one can really predict him or his next actions

not even his brother

that's why he's the wildcard

seems like he's an open book

but he's actually lies quite a bit

most of his messes are cleaned up by his brother

can be very smart and strategic when he wants to be tho

meeting you:

they've waited for 500 years to ascend the throne

just to discover that their father made a decree that they cannot ascend the throne unless they find their mate

memory is livid, max is slightly amused

max suggests that they meet the palace oracle

the oracle describes their mate as a person with (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes as well as extra details

the palace painter was then called to work with the oracle to provide an accurate picture of their bride

within two days, the picture was ready

it was then given to the royal soldiers , in which they were told to bring you to the palace

the search took about 2 weeks

and then after you were brought back looking disorientated and confused

you looked like a hot mess really

but to them?

you looked perfect.

are they aware that they are yanderes? are they bothered by it?

technically, theyre not really aware; because this is how they were raised to believe love towards your mate(s) should be like. so theyre not aware and they dont see anything wrong with it. its just how things work in the vampire world.

yandere tendencies:

theyre both obsessive yanderes

memory is more possesive tho

max pretends to be delusional, but he’s actually not delusional at all.

max is more carefree and but extremely clingy

memory is more strict but gives darling their breathing space

they both kind of view you as property at first-

memory shows it and makes it clear

you belong to them, no arguments, if, what or buts.

max on the other hand is much more cunning

he’ll act like he sees you as an equal

but he’s just pretending

and when push comes to shove-

he’ll throw you under the bus.

so be careful around him mkay-?

max is also the type to try and win you over

whether it is through gifts, sweet words, physical affection, giving you what you want etc

memory, on the contrary, is more harsh at first, but becomes sweeter and gentler over time

this softening can also be sped up if darling behaves well and doesnt struggle much.

when they both ascend the throne, you will also become their ruling spouse

that means prior to their coronation, you will have to learn your royal duties and how to rule.

even before then, your relationship will move extremely quick

you’ll be permanently bonded to them within a week, give or take

to clarify, max is much more dangerous than memory.

he’s extremely cunning and manipulative and will stop at nothing to get what he wants.

he doesnt care what he has to do to get what he wants.

he’ll do it.

memory on the other hand is more calculating and observant.

he notices little details and is extremely good at predicting patterns

so after being with darling for a certain period of time, he can successfully predict their every move.

btw, you cant run away.

youre their mate

they can smell you and can therefore track you.

and theyre royals-

they have the manpower and the resources to burn just to find you-

and theyve been waiting over 500 years to find you darling-

so just be a sweet thing and love them, okay?

fun facts/trivia:

memory:

you will be turned almost as soon as you start living in the palace

this is because memory really doesnt like the smell of humans

memory also doesnt drink human blood

he invented an animal blood supplement that he takes once a week

he likes to read and sleep

he actually likes the taste of human food and is extremely good at cooking

is also very interested in human courtship and how it differs from that of the vampire world

is extremely truthful but will avoid answering the question if he doesnt want to say the truth

has special and specific powers because he's a vampire royal

has a strained relationship with his parents

max:

max has quite a bit of tattoos, but he keeps them hidden

he also gets tattoos when he's in a bad mood/angry

has had many many careers throughout his lifespan

so he’s very informed about humans and human behaviour

and he has a fuck ton of random things that he’s really good at

likes to drink alcohol

he is very impulsive.

and he's very touchy

he likes to bake and make chocolate for fun

has a weird addiction to monster energy tho

his room is always messy

has special and specific powers that differ from his brother's

avoids talking to his father, regularly talks to his mother.

loves to freak out/ scare darling

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thegeminisage · 1 month

Text

STAR TREK UPDATE TIME. last night we watched ds9's "empok nor" and voy's "scorpion part i."

empok nor (ds9):

THIS ONE WAS SO GOOD.

firstly, i love when we bring up o'briens war history. SECONDLY, i love when garak has problems

i also really really love nog, but cathy was right when she said it should have been bashir with them - he would have made the perfect hostage tied to the pole while the two of them fought over him. we've never really got a taste of the o'brien bashir garak dynamic and it would have been delicious

GARAK STALKING THEM THROUGH THE SHADOWS. very scary. mwah

also, it's really funny that this station IS ds9, they just turned the lights off. i love budget genre television

and, of course, who can forget the failed government experiments frozen in a tube? this episode had EVERYTHING

i also thought o'brien and garak at the end were very chill considering. o'brien like yeah dude i really was attempting with my whole pussy to kill you and garak like yeah i wouldn't have it any other way can you tell the guy's wife that i murdered that i'm sorry and o'brien is like yeah dude no prob feel better soon see you around. like what is it about garak that encourages this kind of dynamic...he tortured odo and then they become breakfast buddies, he tries to kill o'brien and they brush it off, he did that whole thing (gestures to "the wire") with julian and julian still gives him hugs and a blankie when he has claustrophobia. you can say anything to this guy. he tells nothing but lies but won't accept hearing anything less than the absolute no-frills-attached truth

anyway, 10/10

scorpion part i (voy):

SPEAKING OF EPISODES THAT HAD EVERYTHING.

gimli as leonardo da vinci. janeway and chakotay being sweet to each other. janeway and chakotay fighting. borg. disembodied heads. tentacles oozing into orifices. cgi aliens. janeway appealing to the devil. action. drama. INCREDIBLE

three years ago i didn't even know your name today i can't imagine a day without you i'm going to HURL!!!!!!

chakotay like. hey we havent slept. we havent eaten. you need to do that. and shes like sorry can't! and then he's like we cant go through this space we will die. like i've been semi-borged i know how bad it gets i don't want anything to happen to you and she's like sorry we gotta! and he;s like i'll follow you but i can't support this path and she's like well damn i guess i am alone. AGGHGHGHG

like along with a huge dose of actually suspenseful and scary action (it is always is with the borg) AND the cool body horror (rip harry kim and his mommy issues) we also get this wonderful interpersonal drama...and like i absolutely get why she's not willing to wait in the delta quadrant for a safer way to do this to come along. because you could do that forever. i also get where HE'S coming from because with the risk of death so high maybe it's better to accept the facts...that's what he did in (draws hearts) 2.25 resolutions, and just like in that episode, she does not give up, CANNOT give up, because it means facing not only despair but failure - and in this case, failing more than just herself

shoutout also to the scorpion and the fox parable, which i'd never heard as fox but frog, because it is of course in that one show about the teenage canines

i cannot believe people had to wait months for this to have a follow-up in 1997. EVILLLL

next episode........we finally meet seven. i am Dying to see her

TONIGHT: ds9 s5's last two episodes, "in the cards" and "call to arms."

#personal #star trek blogging #ds9 lb #voy lb

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ancientastarwis · 10 months

Text

December Pick One Image ⭐

This month I was guided to choose a New Year's theme. Which image(s) did you choose? Was the message accurate and helpful for you? Feel free to comment. Each image contains advice for the month of December through the Tarot and/or Oracle decks I'm intuitively guided. In this case, I chose the Shaman's Dream Oracle Deck for all 3 groups.

Feel free to message me if you want a tarot/oracle reading. I offer guidance for several areas of life, always including intuitive messages and no cards limits.

Reblog 🔃 Like ❤️ Follow ➕ Thank you!❤️

Have a blessed day 🩷

Results ...✨🥰

Option 1: Fireworks 🎆

The Drifter invites you to step out of your to-do list and your ordinary routine to feel the breeze against your skin, calling you to follow the wind and explore life’s opportunities. When the Drifter appears, it’s a sign that it’s time to cut the mooring lines holding you to the dock. It’s not important to know the destination before you set sail; it will become clear as you leave port. Do not wait for a map, as there are none to where you are destined to go. But be sure that you do have a compass to keep you true. Yours is your pure love and your intention to be free, even of your own beliefs and preconceptions. Few appreciate the energy of the Drifter. Here, you might not seem to be doing anything worthwhile or meeting someone else’s expectations. But you are the only one who under stands that others are running full-out on the hamster wheel and getting nowhere. Your “laziness” is an underappreciated virtue. You know that life will find you and bring you everything you require without your having to search for it, by simply being instead of frantic doing. Even as you let your mind wander, releasing it to go on a daily walkabout, call it back home regularly to deliver news from the cosmos. The Drifter helps you find what you are looking for, even when you didn’t think you were seeking anything!

Option 2: Party Hat 🥳

The Empty Well reveals that there is nothing for you here. The well is dry, and the desert is encroaching on your once-fertile garden. It is time to face this harsh reality and move on. Give gratitude and thanks for the abundance you have experienced, and let Spirit guide you to your next destination. This might mean saying good-bye to someone or something or insisting on changing the rules of the game. Stop diminishing yourself for the sake of another. Making yourself small will not produce the results you want. There is a lack of reciprocity, of give-and-take. The Empty Well tells you that it is time to reclaim what is yours and return what does not belong to you. The shadows cast in your direction are not of your making. You do not need to react or respond to them, as they are not real. Simply shine your light upon them and see how it dispels them. These shadows are projections that you are confusing for reality. You may have been offered a shovel to help you dig yourself out of an uncomfortable situation, a bucket to drink from the well. But you cannot dig yourself out of this hole and remember that there is no water to be found in that well. Receive the Empty Well as a gift. Do not exert your energy and waste your resources by repairing the walls or mending the rope. Follow the watercourse way—the aquifers that run deep in the earth—and you will be led to a new spring oasis. You can find these underground streams, these rich natural resources, in the subterranean depths of your own heart.

Option 3: Party Horns 🎉

A great Feast is laid out before you and requires you to choose. What will satisfy your hunger: something new and unconventional, with its potential for bitter or savory qualities, or something you already know you love? You are faced with a plethora of options right now, and while that may seem to be an extraordinary thing, too many choices can throw you off balance. You might be worried that once you commit, you won’t be able to turn back or refuse to confront the consequences of that decision. The most important thing to realize is that the Feast is offering you experience—no amount of overanalyzing or strategizing will help you make the right choice now. Don’t debate the right- or wrongness. Instead, just choose. In the choosing is the seed of experience, and that is what is necessary now. Sour, bitter, sweet, savory—what matters is relishing the experience until you digest all that your choice is offering you right now. Only one warning: avoid the same choice if it keeps you hungry. If something didn’t feel good or does not bring you what it seemingly promised, do not choose that again. The experience will only repeat itself, and you will have more than a bad taste in your mouth. The Feast is yours to enjoy. You can always go back for more when you’re hungry again, for life’s blessings are ever available to you and calling your name.

#pac reading #tarot reading #tarot guidance #pick a card #pick a pile reading #pick a picture #pick a pile #pick a photo #pac #pick an image

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gubboob · 2 years

Note

Can I request a little bit of fluff with Bokuto, Hinata, and Tanaka? I love thems. 🥴💖🐇

All three of them bite you fs, its out of love and a wait to irritate you.

Fluffy HC's and some scenarios !!

Bokuto Kōtarō

Wants to go bird watching with you, as a fun little date

Learns from Akaashi that you cannot feed them bread, especially ducks.

Devasted, he planned on buying at least 10 loaves of bread from a local bakery.

Sits outside your house waiting for you to finish getting ready

his hair is deflated since he's come empty-handed

while walking to the park you quickly notice the change in demeanor, his bubbly nature is reduced to short responses, and stares at the local pigeons nudging pebbles.

You reassure him that it is okay, and cup his hand, pouring birdseed into his palm and kissing his cheek.

Bokuto's heart stops and he falls in love with you all over again.

Moves his face so you lock lips, cups your cheeks and closes his eyes.

You do not realize until after you feel crumbs of seed on your face, pushing him away in anger.

"BABY I PAID FOR THAT!!!"

"WHOOOOPSSS"

Continues to smooch you even as birds begin to crowd, eating the food that fell onto the concrete.

One time during practice, the managers started hogging you.

Now he isn't EASILY jealous but, you were BASICALLY IGNORING HIM!!! (he did not see you for 5 minutes).

Rambles to Akaashi how the always take you away and it isn't fair

He's YOUR boyfriend

why should they get all the attention?? Yes, you are amazing but he doesn't want to share!!!!

Hinata Shoyo

After practice he picks you flowers, even if he gets scolded by the gardeners and his teammates. He cannot bring himself to stop.

Pretty flowers remind him of his pretty s/o.

Play fights with you, very aggressive, it starts out as a poke and ends up into a full brawl on the floor.

You're pinning him down and tickling his stomach and he's had enough

switches position and while you are on the ground he bites your nose.

"OWWWWWW"

"oh sorry let me kiss it better (Y/n)."

IT WAS A RUSE HE JUST BIT YOU AGAIN

You harshly stab his stomach with your finger and he topples over laughing and groaning in pain.

"It wasn't even that hard Sho..."

"YES IT WAS I THINK MY KIDNEYS WERE MOVED!!!"

"Want me to kiss it better?"

Before he relents, Hinata remembers what he had just done to you earlier.

"NO!!!!"

Kageyama thinks you're a distracting but good influence.

Uses you to his advantage

You motivate Hinata, he performs better when you are around.

(Whole team is super appreciative)

Hinata is into physical affection and quality time

holds your hand, bag, shirt, jacket, anything he can get his hands on truly.

I don't think he is super good with words, but if you enjoy compliments he'll shower you in them, he knows how good it feels to be praised and wants to show you that love.

Gifts you trinkets

Wraps himself around you any chance he gets, swinging your arms while you walk down the hallway holding hands

Offers piggy back rides (HE IS AN EXPERT!!!! He has a younger sister and she taught him the best techniques).

Licks your cheek because it catches you off guard.

Races your friends to get a seat next to you at lunch

Begs you to feed him when his body is particularly sore, or he is just affectionate.

Usually just an excuse to stare at you and get special treatment

Tsukishima cannot believe Hinata pulled you

Hinata's been harboring a crush for years

You stumbled into the gym one day and was captivated by his performance, ever since then you've been his number one fan.

Tanaka Ryūnosuke

Stares at you in awe

Brags about you to his sister and all his friends

introduces you as the love of his life.

Kiyoko is in love with you

she thinks you are gorgeous

tries to steal you away and convinces you to become a manager whenever Tanaka isn't around (rarely)

Tanaka's glued to your side

He knows how to cook since he does it often to feed his sister or for himself whenever she's running late from work.

Cooks your meals, he loves the domestic feel of it

You help Tanaka study in return

rewarding him with questions for every question he gets right

Tanaka is secretly good at massages

Makes out with you behind the school

got caught a couple of times

Tanaka asked if he could be your boyfriend

none of this "Do you want to be my s/o" nonsense!!!!

Immediate swooning.

177 notes · View notes

etherati · 8 months

Text

Taproot - (5/25)

Things start to heat up.

Chapter content warnings: Decapitations, vague mention of anti-Romani racism, and Alucard kind of losing his shit because Trevor is just too delicious because of the Solstice.

🎵 Music pairing: Red - Sister Machine Gun

< -- Back | Next -- >

The stone is smooth between her fingers, dark and cool and heavy, the starry expanse contained in its depths as inescapable as the spangled darkness spread overhead. The winter sky is the clearest sky, cold brightening the stars and blackening the spaces between, and from her perch here on top of the caravan, Sypha figures she could just about see forever, up there.

Cloudless. Bright. The eve of the solstice. Tomorrow, the shortest day, and then the night that follows…

She rolls the stone against her palm, wills her questions into it, wills it to answer. It remains maddeningly silent.

A wolf. Cold, icy blue eyes. A chase, a swell of grief. Tomorrow? Or some time in the further future? The wolves are circling, she remembers from the woods, that night months ago—archaic French, a warning in a vampire's hand.

The timing of her vision. Her father's impossible talents. That spiny, blue-eyed beast Trevor had gotten torn up fighting in Acasă, that had seemed almost designed, and Adrian had locked up the forges just about the first day after Dracula died but they never saw any sign of the men themselves, did they?

Acasă. Enisala. Braila. Desperate days spent in a dank cell, waiting for Carmilla to figure out who they were, the thought of her still sparking more than simple fear. Larger than life, a figure of nightmares, and then, impossibly: she was gone, undone, just like that.

None of it makes any sense, when she tries to cram it together. That's why Sypha's up here, away from everyone, away from the warmth of the fire—she's seeking clarity, and there's something about cold that sharpens the mind, focuses the attention. Her logical mind cannot make sense of these pieces, how they fit together, and she's had no more dreams to help out, no visions. But there is something tugging at her subconscious, a feeling that it could all be made to make sense, if only she could find the missing fragment, the keystone. She can see the shape of it in her mind, the hole where the last piece should fit—it looks like a spray of flower petals or blood, smells like cold steel and old books, feels like sadness—but she cannot fill it.

It’s been four days since her missive went out, since she watched the creature carrying it take flight. She knows that it took her a week to walk the same distance—it should have arrived at its destination by now. They should have found her with the mirror, opened the way, brought her home.

The pigeon might not have made it. It might have fallen prey to the cold, or a storm, or the jaws of a wolf or a wildcat, hunger winnowing a predator’s choices down to whatever is opportune. It might have just been delayed by poor weather, might still be on its way, spending this cold night sheltered under the eaves of a barn outside of Acasă.

Or it might have arrived—and found its destination empty and cold and in ruins.

The stone feels heavier when she indulges thoughts like these, feels more full of whatever it is it carries. It wants her to think about it, wants her to consider destruction, devastation, the worst case scenario. She doesn’t know if it’s just the nature of the thing, or if that’s truly what the future holds and it’s balking against her stubborn refusal to hear it.

One more sunrise, one more sunset.

They’ll be okay. They’ll bring her home and she’ll maybe have to pull their behinds out of the fire but they’ll be okay. There is no other way this thing can end.

Shivering hard, Sypha closes her fist around the stone and swings herself down over the edge of the caravan, quietly eases the door open, slips inside.

The winter solstice of 1476 dawns late, as it does every year—but only in the strictest sense. There is no sunrise to speak of, and the weather is dour and grey, the cloud ceiling low. The snowfall has ceased, at least, but just breathing the air outside feels like sucking down ice crystals; the temperature dropped precipitously overnight, and Adrian doesn’t make enough heat on his own to warm the air on its way in.

Hours on now, well into afternoon, and the wind is picking up, gusty and rolling in from the north. Overhead, the clouds roil.

To say the day had broken ominously would be an understatement, and understatement has never been in Adrian’s nature even at the calmest of times—right now, as tense as they are and with the inevitable approach of nightfall rattling the blood in his veins in ways he isn’t used to? It’s fair to say that it feels like goddamned doomsday, out here.

“Wow,” Trevor says, coming out onto the balcony behind him, two fistfulls of cloak crossed over his chest. His heartbeat is like a kettledrum, pounding in Adrian’s ears; it’s hard to hear what he’s actually saying. “This is the most miserable sky I’ve ever seen.”

“Have you been to the north, at all?” Adrian does his best to keep the quaver out of his voice. “Scandinavia and the like?”

Trevor laughs. “In the winter? Do I look like that much of a glutton for punishment?”

That conjures thoughts that are definitely not helpful—and Trevor really does make these things too easy. “...should I actually answer that?”

“God no,” Trevor says, quickly; it’s hard to tell if his face is red from the shame or the cold. “Never know who might be listening, out here.”

“I don’t think your ever-so-slight proclivity for pain is the secret we actually need to worry about guarding,” Adrian teases, beating the attendant mental images down hard. He pulls his own coat closed against a sharp gust of wind. “In any event. In northern Scandinavia, at this time of year? The sun doesn’t rise at all.”

Trevor steps up to the edge of the balcony, shoulder touching Adrian’s, the contact sending a shock of heat through him. “I’d heard that,” Trevor says, and that makes sense; sunrise patterns would be important in his family’s work. “We never hunted that far north, though, so I was never sure if it was just a bunch of bullshit or not.”

Adrian laughs, to cover the swell of affection. “No, it’s definitely true. The earth sits on a tilted axis, and…” he trails off, eyeing the distant clouds. There’s an energy gathering in them, a quietly mounting tension not unlike the approach of lightning, but the season is all wrong for that.

An animal scream, from the woods. A murder of crows explodes up from a huge, gnarled old tree over on the edge of the Belmont grounds, wing their way gracefully if noisily toward some undefined point on the horizon.

The wind dies, and it’s suddenly far too still, too tense, the air full of potential, all his senses wired up to respond to the first drop of blood that hits the ground—waiting, waiting. Expectant. Anticipating.

“Never mind,” he says, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. This isn’t the time. “It’s true, but I can explain why later. Just be grateful we still have the sun on our side here—as lackluster as it is today.”

“No shit,” Trevor grumbles, low. “They could just attack now if they wanted. I don’t think there’s enough sunlight in Wallachia in a year to melt off those clouds.”

A suggestion of motion, off by the edge of the forest. Person-sized? Hard to tell; no frame of reference. The motion itself is alluring, makes him want to investigate, to give chase. The distance is deceptive. With these winds, their voices could be carrying frightfully far.

“Don’t give them ideas,” Adrian says, dour. No sane vampire would take that chance, not without good reason, but most of them are far from sane right now.

They have a few moments of respite, falling into a comfortable, companionable silence.

Then that motion again, just a flicker—a figure emerges from the treeline, and another, and another. He feels Trevor tense up next to him.

“That’s bold,” Trevor murmurs. “Not even trying to be sneaky.”

“If they’re an invasion party,” Adrian agrees. Bold, yes. Suicidally stupid. They’re coming out of the woods single-file, some of them in hooded cloaks and silent as the breeze, some of them bare-headed and noisier, clumiser, not at all bothered by the scant daylight. Almost as if…

“Huh,” Trevor says, narrowing his eyes. “Are there humans in that group?”

Adrian leans forward a bit over the balcony, watches the group reform into a knotted cluster, now that they’re in open space. Twenty at most. Possibly as few as sixteen. The wind shifts, carries the distinct smell of humanity up to him, the earthy, blood-tinged smell of prey. He quells a shudder, nods. “Good catch. That’s either our reinforcements, or our enemy is more desperate for forces than we realized.”

“My money’s on reinforcements. Look at the grouping—that’s not any kind of attack formation,” Trevor says, tone musing. “They’d be completely vulnerable to us just splitting them up the middle.”

They would—there aren’t enough of them to survive being split into smaller groups, not with experienced fighters standing against them and the night not yet truly begun. But vampires aren’t very strategic at the best of times; it’s a mistake they could easily make, right now. Adrian finds himself staring intently down at the group as it approaches, calculating vulnerabilities, weak spots. Considering how to take out the weakest links first. All of a sudden a fight sounds like a wonderful idea—he thinks he might be smiling, can feel his breath coming harder.

“Do you see anyone you recognize?” Trevor asks, snapping him back to the present, to reality. There’s a cautious note in his voice; something is making him nervous.

Adrian closes his eyes, opens them. These are likely their allies, not their enemies. He focuses in on the leader, scours for what details he can gather at this distance: female, green and gold cloak like the one Isabel had worn when they’d met at the castle, but this one with a hood, which fits for a vampire on a desperately cloudy day. It all lines up. “...yes. I believe so,” he says, turning to look Trevor in the face, and there it is—a little twitch around his eyes that would have been a full-body jump in anyone else.

So, correction: He is making Trevor nervous. There is a perverse part of him, one he immediately despises, that finds the notion thrilling.

A loaded moment passes in silence.

“Well, that’s my cue I guess.” Trevor says, breaking it, pushing away from the balcony and heading toward the inner chamber. “...right. I’ll just—”

“Take no chances,” Adrian says, to Trevor’s retreating back. “And make sure they’re here because they want to be. The humans, I mean.”

A grunt of assent, and then Trevor disappears into the castle’s interior.

Adrian folds his arms on the stone balcony, sets his forehead into them. Groans low and long, pure frustration. He should be better than this. He is better than this. He has not felt this disoriented by the pull of this night since he was a child; it’s something he had thought himself grown out of. If his father had taught him anything—and he’d taught him quite a bit—it was control: control over impulse, over instinct, over the kinds of urges that promise immediate, incredible gratification but would, long-term, bring nothing but regret.

The air around him still smells like Trevor, like oiled leather and clean sweat and rich, love-spiked blood. His shoulder still burns from the few moments’ contact. When he tries to redirect his thoughts, they land not on the reality of defenses and danger, but on the thought that he might have Sypha in his arms again tonight—on the imagined feel of her body against his, small and taut and fierce, rippling with fire. On the smell of her skin, the taste of her mouth, the taste of her—and he lets his head slip past his arms to thud on the stone ledge between them, because this is not the time.

If all things were equal, strategically, it would be best if he stayed far away from both of them tonight. But all things are not equal, and splitting up would be tantamount to suicide.

Below, the mechanical groan and creak of the castle’s doors beginning to make their ponderous way open. The group from the forest is nearly in speaking range.

All right. For now, he will just stay here, he thinks; he can watch the entire interaction from this ledge, can be down to the ground in a second or less if any of the strangers try to pull anything, try to hurt Trevor in any way—

No. Trevor can take care of himself. He doesn’t need protecting, no matter that Adrian’s drive to shield him from any and all danger is overpowering right now, is flooding out all his more logical impulses. Trevor can handle himself and he is due that respect.

But as Adrian well knows, humans can only take care of themselves until they can’t. Vampires, too; this isn’t an issue of species pride or ego. Anyone can make a mistake.

And he will be here, watching.

Trevor goes ahead and trips the mechanism to throw the main doors open, heads down the outer staircase two steps at a time. Under the fur-lined cloak, he's wearing his own gear, not that stupid jacket; this is his show today, and they will respect him as a Belmont or not at all. Can they trust these people, he’d asked—and if they survive the night, then he’ll have his answer.

Assuming the only danger tonight comes from outside. Assuming Adrian doesn’t—no. Trevor shakes his head, dismisses it.

The contingent approaches, and his instincts on the balcony were right: about half the group appear to be decently armed and armored humans, breath puffing visibly in the cold, leathers up to their chins. They’re mostly carrying swords, but there’s an axe and a few crossbows in there, too. The leader has something swinging from her gloved hand, heavy and wet, and it genuinely takes a moment for Trevor to identify it as a messily severed head—hair twined into her grip, fangy mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

The leader—Isabel, probably—tosses it into the snow between them, once they’re close enough to speak. She tips her head. “Belmont.”

“You know, ” Trevor says, eyeing the offering but not really taking his eyes off the vampires. “My sister's cat used to bring dead things home, too. This some kind of fucked up gift? ”

“A mob in the forest,” Isabel says plainly, a twist of a Spanish accent in her voice, “waiting for nightfall.” He can’t really see her face, under the hood, but people put too much emphasis on that, not enough on body language. She’s not standing like a liar. “We routed them from their hiding places, but they knew the forest better than we did and were able to escape. But,” she says, nudging the head with the toe of her boot, as if she means to roll it toward Trevor. “They no longer have a leader.”

“At least we know we’re not just jumping at shadows, now,” Trevor grumbles, crouching down to inspect the remains, one hand wrapped warningly around the hilt of his sword while the other turns the head onto its side. Under the crusted frost caked onto the skin, there are no tattoos, no jewelry, no distinctive marks; bastard didn't even have the good decency to write his own name on his forehead. “The rest of him somewhere?” Trevor asks, thoughtful; he’ll thank them in a minute, but if there’s a lead on who or what is behind all of this—

“They took the rest of the body. I don’t honestly know why,” Isabel says, tone faintly amused. “Perhaps they’re planning to eat it.”

That was a joke, whether he can see that she’s smiling or not, and Trevor laughs before he can catch himself—finds himself warily, carefully beginning to like this one. A bit. Enough to keep talking to her, at least. He stands back up, leaves the head where it is; maybe it’ll unnerve their attackers, when they pass this way. “That bad, huh?”

She shakes her head, frustrated. “No better than animals. They’re young, and they indulge their hungers freely. Neither of those things help, tonight.”

Indulge their hungers, huh? Interesting, that that plays into this, and the images it conjures make his neck itch—but he puts it aside, for the moment. “While we’re on that topic. What do we have to work with, here?”

“We’re not fighters,” she says, and damn but she could have fooled him. She’s about as fierce as pacifists come. “We have no soldiers to offer to Lord Alucard’s service. But we’re no strangers to defending ourselves, even under these... conditions. Which I know is the crux of your question.”

“Generally not a great night to have you people around, no.”

She inclines her head, huffs a laugh. “Does a Belmont actually suggest that there is a good night to have us around?”

“Maybe during the hippogryph migration,” Trevor counters, flashing what he knows to be an irritatingly smug grin. “Seem like you’d be good at pest control. Or being bait.”

A pause, then a shine of teeth visible under the hood that he can tell is either a snarl or a smirk. “I see now why he keeps you around,” she says. “You’re fearless.”

Trevor narrows his eyes. This is a fiddly game she’s choosing to play, all posturing and perceptions of power, and he needs to be careful to neither underplay nor overplay his hand. “I’m a Belmont,” he says, aiming for pride just shy of arrogance. “I’ve killed more vampires than you’ve ever met, and I’ve been doing it since I was twelve. So this group of yours backstabbing us? It’d be inconvenient. But I’m not losing sleep over it.”

It isn’t strictly true. It’s going to be enough of a hell night as it is; damned if he’s going to let these fucks make it worse by crawling inside his sphere of trust and then going bloodthirsty as soon as the sun goes down. But this isn’t about honesty, not right now.

“Noted,” is her only response, though her voice has an edge of respect, now. Good. “The vampires among us are all either elders of the clan or come from old, stable bloodlines—they’re in control of themselves. And the halfblood will be no trouble, of course.”

Halfblood? Trevor’s attention sharpens at that; they brought a dhampir? Hell, another dhampir even exists? He scans the faces in the group, anyone not wearing a hood, looking for that inhuman shine he’s so used to, that glimmer of otherness that he could never describe or explain but nevertheless knows when he sees it.

There. A young woman in fighter’s leathers, taller than Sypha, dark brown hair cropped close, eyes a touch too luminous to be called hazel. She’s making a valiant effort to be nondescript, a plain short sword on her hip and a calm, reserved demeanor that somehow fails to fully meld with the nerve-riddled silence of the humans around her.

“You,” Trevor says, nodding in her direction. He can hear the vague sense of wonder in his voice; to read the old Bestiary, he’d thought his family had wiped them all out in the cradle. He isn’t used to being grateful that the Belmonts of old failed at something. “You’re a dhampir.” You’re a child of two worlds; you’re like him.

“Good eye, Belmont,” Isabel says, approving. “Jeanne?”

The young woman nods her own head in acknowledgement. “A pleasure to serve,” she says, a glint of fang showing as she speaks—and oh, Alucard’s going to want to have a word with her later. If they both survive.

And Trevor really, deeply hopes this one survives; there are few enough of them left in the world. He glances up to where he knows Alucard is watching and listening from the balcony above, can feel the intensity of his gaze from here.

Which reminds him. “What about the humans? You all want to be here?” Trevor turns back to them, addresses them directly, watching for any antsy tells. For all their obvious nerves—which he expects, in the circumstances—all he gets are nods all around. Infusing command into his presence, he asks again: “Anyone who’s been enthralled into being here against their will, raise your hand now.”

Common wisdom would have him believe that this is a fruitless exercise; you can’t just ask an enthrallee if they’re enthralled. But real glamours—the kind that bind their subject to their master’s will alone, make betrayal a physical impossibility—they’re expensive. They require a lot of energy, a lot of magic, a lot of pricey materials, and this doesn’t strike him as a group with resources to spare. The quick and dirty way, the one that most humans don’t know about, isn’t much more than simple hypnotism. All it does is compel the victim to respond to any authoritative enough command, from anyone, with obedience.

Trevor can be plenty authoritative, when he wants to be.

Not a single hand goes up.

“Good,” he says, turning back toward the castle. He’s already done a headcount: seven vampires, nine humans, one dhampir. He runs strategies in his head, as well as probabilities of certain types of attacks, given what he knows of their enemy. Which… isn’t much. There’s a mob of uncoordinated vampires involved, leaderless, with who knows what motivations. They’ll be sloppy and direct, rely on their enhanced speed and strength tonight.

“Okay. I want four people with ranged capabilities on the entry here—two on each side, as concealed as possible while still being able to cover the door. There are service entrances here and there around the perimeter, so we need a runner at each one, to alert the rest of us if we’re getting anything other than a blind, stupid frontal assault—which I doubt—so we can relocate defenses. Probably want about six people inside, guarding the entry hall and the main stairs heading further up. No vampires in the castle.”

“You don’t trust us, yes,” Isabel interrupts, matter-of-fact. “You’ve made that clear.”

“No, I don’t,” he says, because he’s not going to play coy diplomatic games. “But that’s not the issue. Do you know what plumbing is?” he asks, dropping his voice close to a whisper. This is not something he wants the wind to carry away.

She shakes her head in the negative.

“Yeah, neither did I. But there’s pipes all through the castle that pump water around,” he says, gesturing vaguely above his head, “and we’ve spiked the supply with holy water. If we have to blow it wide open, we will, and any vampire that’s in there is going to melt, no matter what side they’re on. Fair enough?”

Her head crooks to one side, face still obscured by the hood. “I underestimated you, Belmont. Based on our conversation to this point, I expected you to be motivated solely by prejudice and hostility.”

“I did mention that I don’t trust you, right?”

“Yet here you are,” she continues, “concerned for our well-being.”

He isn’t sure if it’s sarcasm or deadpan sincerity, but he doesn’t have the energy to argue about it. “Yeah, well, I don’t like losing people on my watch,” he says, then pauses, a little surprised by his own honesty. He scrambles to reel it back in: “And allies are more useful when they’re not steaming puddles of liquefied flesh. That’s it.”

“Of course,” she says, infuriatingly knowing, and fuck, turns out it’s not just Alucard who’s a smug arsehole. It is, apparently, a species trait. “I’ll talk with my people, decide who should go where.”

And that should be that—there will be enough time for him to check on distribution of forces later, make sure they’re not doing anything stupid. But there’s something that’s been nagging him, has been since their first meeting in the castle—has been prodding him with guilty old memories and stoking his antagonism toward Adrian, toward them, toward their mysterious tree letter-writer, toward everything. And that’s not a good way to go into battle.

“One more thing,” he says, words slipping out before he can lose his nerve. “Why are you here?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You barely know us,” he says, “and you came here pretty sure that I was out to get you as much as any of our enemies. Your people could die here tonight. So: why are you here?”

Isabel takes a moment to consider her answer. Before she speaks, she reaches up, pulls the hood back just enough that he can actually look her in the face—under this cloud cover, she should be fine for a few minutes at least. She’s as collected and determined as he remembers, a dignified sort of elegance, dark skin flawless, deep burgundy eyes focused on him like she’s analyzing every breath and every blink, and maybe she is.

There’s a faint rim of brighter red, around the wine-colored irises. Adrian’s have had something like that too, ever since they woke up this morning. It’s not reassuring.

“We have travelled very far and very long to get here,” she says, repeating what she told them that first night. “It was not a safe journey. We lost people on the way—to hunters, but also to the intolerance of our own kind. Understand: evil is a choice. But it’s a choice our people make with sickening frequency.” She takes a steadying breath, something Trevor’s never actually seen a full-blooded vampire do, and looks up at the castle. “We kept coming because we hoped we could find a leader we could believe in. Should we now let his court fall, mere days after our journey’s end?”

“Word’s really travelled that far?”

“Oh, yes, Belmont. The golden dragon, risen from the ashes of his father’s court? Who keeps untamable humans as pets, and allies himself with the human world? There’s little else anyone talks about.”

Trevor finds himself smirking, feels like maybe he should be insulted but all he can think is what a wonderful thing it is, in battle, to be underestimated. “You think we’re pets.”

“No. I know the difference between a general and a guard dog when I see it. But the others do. More importantly, they see Lord Alucard as a presumptuous, disobedient halfblood that should be put in his place.”

“You mean killed.”

“Yes,” she says, unflinching. “And if that happens… nothing will ever change, will it?”

Trevor sighs, looks out to the cloudy, obfuscated horizon. He can still feel Alucard’s watchful eye on all of them, too intense, too much the stare of a wolf on prey, and he remembers talking about this with him, down in the ashy, ghostly Belmont ruins. Breaking the cycle. Preventing these tragedies from coming around again.

If vampires are capable of not choosing evil; if hunters are capable of seeing them as people who have that choice; if both can stop seeing each other as prey for five goddamned minutes...

“No,” he agrees, quiet. “Without him? I don’t think anything will.”

Trevor takes some time to walk the grounds, spare boots going soggy in the snow, getting a feel for the place. It’s something he’s done countless times leading up to this, but a landscape can be mutable, can bend to the will of weather and time of day and other, less definable things. Energy. Hostility. Intent. He stays away from the woods; there’s no point walking into an ambush and making things easy for them.

Somewhere out on the far side of the ruins, he catches a smell of spice and wood smoke that makes him think of the marketplace in the town below. If the wind is coming from there, and is moving briskly enough to carry odors the entire way, that puts them all decidedly upwind of the forest. Which means that their forces—number, composition—are no secret to any creature in those woods.

Trevor sighs. The weather is what it is; not every disadvantage can be mitigated.

On his way back, he cuts along the western edge of the castle, raising a hand in greeting to the first of the service entrance guards—a human man, middle-aged and Mediterranean, with a surprisingly easy smile and a steady hand on the sword he’s sharpening.

“You never really introduced yourself,” the man says, as Trevor approaches. “What should we call you?”

“Just Belmont is fine. I’m the only one left to answer to it. That a Damascus blade?”

“It is.” He turns the blade against what little light finds them; the watery rippling in the steel is deadly and gorgeous. “It was my father’s—he was a royal guard. His father’s before him. Not sure where it originally came from. The east, obviously.” He sets the whetstone down on his leg, offers his hand. “Luca Gregori.”

Trevor takes it, considers. “How’s the son of a royal guard end up travelling with a bunch of vampires?”

It’s a question that could be tossed right back in his face: how’s a Belmont end up living with the son of Dracula? But instead, Gregori only laughs. “By falling in love with the beautiful Romani maiden always playing music below my balcony at night, and not realizing until it was too late that there was a reason she was only ever there at night.”

“Too late because she glamoured you?”

“Too late because I was too in love to see straight,” the man corrects, laughter in his eyes.

“Hm. She still with your group?”

If he’s thrown by Trevor’s casual acceptance of his answer, he doesn’t show it. “Of course. She doesn’t like fighting, though—didn’t want to come. Didn’t want me to come either.”

“Why did you?”

“That question again. Did our leader’s answer not suffice?” He picks the whetstone back up, draws it along the blade in long, light passes. He knows what he’s doing. “Your Lord Alucard could be the key to finally changing things. And that’s the only way people like Mireli and I can ever live in peace. That’s worth fighting for—for her. We take care of each other,” he says, tilting his face to glance pointedly at where Trevor’s collar is drooping. “I can tell you know all about that.”

Trevor feels heat threaten to rise up his cheeks, smacks it down hard. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, here. This man for damn sure feeds his own love—but there are appearances to maintain, for the sake of respect. He is one of Alucard’s generals, not his convenient midnight snack.

“I guess we all look after the people we care about,” is what he finally settles on, shrugging his shoulders to resettle the fur of his cloak closer around his neck. There. Sympathize, admit to nothing specific.

Gregori just looks at him for a long time, weighing that. “Indeed we do,” he finally says, cautious. “And protect those that need protecting.”

And it’s strange—that’s something Trevor’s always thought of in terms of humans needing protection from the creatures of the night, the dark forces intent on sowing chaos in their lives. But it’s not Sypha and him that need to be careful in Acasă, and supernatural complications aside, he’s seen firsthand the frankly bullshit way the Romani are often treated, back when he was travelling in the south of the continent. Protection, and the need for it, are a much more complicated picture than he used to think they were.

He glances over to the estate ruins, hovering so closely with all of their ghosts and memories. Maybe that’s why they stood and fought, even though they must have seen it coming—because the people needed them, needed their protection, from the church more than from any vampires or werewolves that night.

And they lost. But maybe it’s enough that they tried.

“I do hope none of those are fresh,” Gregori muses, between long scraping swipes of the whetstone.

“Of course not,” Trevor lies, effortless. He remembers Isabel mentioning it, too: the vampires in the woods, indulging their hungers, and how it’s doing them no favors. He could use some clarification on that. “There a reason you’re asking?”

“Oh, just, you know what human blood does to them, tonight. Isabel keeps them all off it for a few weeks, before the solstice.”

Oh. Oh.

It’s likely that none of the shock that ripples through him is visible to the man in front of him. Open book he can be at times, Trevor’s good at masking these things when it matters. But it still does shake him—heart suddenly hammering inside his chest, a wash of cold passing through him like there’s ice in his veins.

Human blood. Hell, forget that Adrian’s been nibbling on him here and there—that’s not enough volume to worry about. But game’s been scarce, so Trevor’s fallen behind the curve on replenishing those canisters with animal blood. He knows for an absolute, immutable fact that Adrian’s had to dip back into the human supply again, and as recently as this morning.

“Of course,” he says, casual, leaning sideways against the castle wall. “Everyone knows that.”

Inside, though?

Shit. SHIT. We're fucking idiots.

Adrian has holed up in the study, both because that is where the transmission mirror is, and because it is a place only he ever comes to, so it does not smell like anything except books and himself and the lingering fury and sadness of his father’s time. So it isn’t a pleasant place, but it’s a safe place; it quiets his nerves, cools the heat in his heart, soothes the ache in his fangs.

It’d frightened him, overlooking Trevor and Isabel earlier, that he’d found himself wanting Trevor between his teeth as much as he’d wanted him in his arms. He can only hope that when he needs the man around later, the adrenaline and rush of danger will keep his instincts focused in other directions. The solstice has never affected him like this before; he wonders if it would have, had he had a lover in other years, someone so skilled at stirring his baser instincts that he does it without even trying.

For now, he touches the glass of the mirror, traces his fingers along the fault line where the shards don’t line up perfectly, letting the edge slice finely into the pad of his thumb. It’s a bright shock of pain, satisfying in the way it gives him something purely outside of himself to think about, the way it grounds him.

The door to the study swings open noiselessly. The smell of humanlovepreysexblood slams into Adrian, just about chokes him. He catches himself on his knees, hands braced there white-knuckled and nearly tight enough to dislocate his own kneecaps.

“All right,” Trevor says, sweeping into the room, and his voice is all I’ve fucking had it with this but he still sets a hand on Adrian’s back, steadying and gentle. The proximity, the contact, the feel of his pulse, hammering through his palm— “Wasn’t sure if I was out of line bringing this up, but you just answered that for me.”

“I can control it,” Adrian grits out, straightening up, because it’s true, because it has to be true.

“Really,” Trevor says, disbelieving, challenging. There’s a spark of trouble in his eyes. “So, you could hold it together if I were to…” he trails off, crowding up into Adrian’s space, sliding his hand up from the middle of his back to the back of his neck. It’s heavy and hot there, with no fabric in the way, and it twines into his hair—insurance, Adrian realizes. A way to get a solid grip on him, if it becomes necessary. Trevor’s wary, in a way he hasn’t been for months, but he still leans in recklessly close, the heat of his breath boiling over Adrian’s cheeks, the wet curve of his lower lip, the hollow of his throat. The scent of him is intoxicating and disorienting, inflaming, strikes Adrian dizzy with lust. The taste of him, too—his mouth soft and combative under Adrian’s, his body tense and hot where Adrian’s arm at the small of his back has dragged them together in a close press, binding him there in a predator’s grip, inescapable.

It wouldn’t take much to just have him, right here and now. They’re both hard, and the collar of the hunter’s shirt is already loose, exposed, and Adrian doesn’t know which his body wants more—to fuck Trevor blind or drink him dry, or both. What would that be like, to feel that strong body jerk and writhe in pleasure even as the life drains away from it, completely at Adrian’s mercy, heat and arousal thick on his tongue—

It’s not until there’s a jolt through both of them—Trevor’s back hitting the wall, the impact kicking a pained breath out of him—that Adrian comes back to himself enough to realize where they are and what is happening. To realize that Trevor’s fist in his hair is trying to pull him away, sharp but completely ineffectual in the wake of Adrian’s strength; that Trevor’s eyes are wide and urgent, not the languid half-lidded picture of lust he’d been imagining. That his own mouth is frighteningly close to Trevor’s pulse.

“...Adrian,” Trevor breathes, and Adrian can feel the vibration of his own name through his teeth. Trevor gives his hair another tug; it’s an attempt to get his attention, Adrian realizes, not an attempt to actually stop him. For that, Trevor has his weapons, which he has not even made a move to reach for. “Stop for a second, here.”

Adrian closes his eyes, pushes through the feeling of Trevor hot under his hands, through the sound of his heart thudding like a primal drumbeat, through the full-body ache that’s spreading through him, demanding he chasehuntfuckbitefeedkill—pushes it all aside with more force of will than he’s ever had to muster, grasps desperately for lucidity. He feels his head fall forward, forehead coming to rest against Trevor's collarbone.

“Hey,” Trevor says, relaxing his hold on Adrian’s hair, scraping his fingers against the scalp instead. “You back with me?”

Fuck. This was a test—obviously it was—and he’s failed it miserably. He wants to be angry at Trevor, because Adrian could have killed him, but maybe he shouldn’t have been so prideful about being in control when he clearly wasn’t.

This is his fault. If it had ended badly, that would have been his fault too. He backs away without another thought, hands up in placation. “I’m sorry. That was—”

Trevor coughs, rubbing at his neck self-consciously. His color is high, breath a little ragged. “Honestly? It was hot, except for the bit where I really didn’t know if you were going to kill me or not. That was sort of a mood-killer.”

Never. Never. Fantasies are just fantasies, even if they’re the unspeakable, fucked-up products of his own twisted and tainted and monstrous blood; he would never—

“Jesus, Adrian,” Trevor continues, sounding shaken. “Have you even seen your eyes?”

His… eyes? Adrian puts his internal diatribe on hold, turns to the mirror—he’d been looking at it before, not so much into it—and scrutinizes his own reflection. It doesn’t take much effort to see what Trevor’s talking about: a blazing ring of brilliant red, bleeding into the whites of his eyes and into the gold of his irises. It pulses and swirls like liquid fire, and even his pupils look brighter than they should be, a dim flame burning in the black.

“That’s… probably not good,” he says, transfixed. “When did that—”

“They were a little red earlier today, but nothing like that.”

He swallows tightly, ignores the way his body screams, hollow and empty. “Trevor, this… this has never happened before. This isn’t normal.” He shakes his head, trying to clear it. “This—this isn’t me.”

“I believe that,” Trevor says, and thank God—if he didn’t believe him, if he thought that this is what had really been lurking under the surface this entire time…

Trevor comes up behind him so that he’s visible in the reflection too, giving him a face to speak to but stopping just short of actually making contact. “Because I know why it’s happening.”

“It’s because of you,” Adrian says, weakly, but no, that came out wrong—it’s not that it’s his fault, but him being here—it would have been the same if Sypha were here, it’s nothing Trevor did…

Trevor laughs, though there’s no real humor in it. It’s pure showmanship. “Fuck you, you bastard. I’m not the idiot who decided to dip into the good shit right before the solstice.”

“The good… what?” he asks, suddenly confused. Is Trevor talking about the rare, aged bottles of wine they bring up now and then? “I haven’t been drinking—”

“Yeah, you have. All that human blood on ice?”

Adrian draws his brows together, gives that some thought, or tries to—things are still muddled, shocky-feeling. “That causes…”

“Apparently, that takes whatever solstice crazy you already have going on and makes it worse, yeah,” Trevor sighs. “Kind of obvious, to be honest.”

It’s… all right. That makes sense. He’s never heard that, never had it crop up as an issue before, but it makes sense. He lifts his eyes, meets Trevor’s reflected gaze. Digs his claws hard into what clarity he has, for the moment. “Do we have any animal blood on hand?”

Trevor shrugs, shakes his head. “I dressed a hare this morning—it’s not much, but it’s down there.”

Perhaps if he can dilute what’s in his system. Perhaps if he can gain back just enough control that they can survive this—both of them. All three of them, if they retrieve Sypha, and he’s giving serious thought to just doing it now and damn waiting for the attack to actually come. He wants her here, beside them, wants to be able to touch her and know she’s alive and press his lips to her throat and—

Trevor is looking at him with that same nervousness again, that look of Am I going to have to kick your ass?

He ignores it, scratches a few quick sigils into the glass to focus its vision on the front entrance of the castle, where Isabel’s people are lying in wait with crossbows and longbows and spears. All quiet, at the moment. Good enough.

“I’ll be back,” he says, sidling past Trevor in an attempt to make no contact whatsoever. “Just… keep an eye on things. Use your judgment.”

The hare’s blood is as rank as animal blood always is, but after a few minutes sitting on the cold floor of the storage room, letting it work its way into his system and displace some of what’s already there, his head does start to feel clearer—not clear, but clearer. He can, now, think about what happened in the study, what almost happened, and feel more guilt than arousal. Guilt is the only thing he should be feeling, but as things stand, this might be as good as it gets.

Chunks of magical ice grow organically out of the floor all around him, branching crystals, chaotic and natural looking; mist rolls off of them, chilling and soothing everything it touches. The cold of it is intense, bites through his clothes and sinks into him, grounds him like the pain did earlier.

He counts to ten forward and backward, first in his native tongue, then in Latin, French, German, Arabic. He runs through all the medicines his mother taught him about and what they’re each used for. He curls his fingers against the floor, clutching at the mist, and when he thinks of Sypha and of Trevor, it is more with worry and fierce, overwhelming protectiveness than it is with desire.

It isn’t ideal. It will, however, have to be good enough.

When he feels stable enough to return to the study, he finds Trevor pacing in front of the mirror, hand on the haft of his Morning Star, collar fastened up more securely than Adrian thinks he’s ever seen it. Through the far window, he can see that night has just about fallen, the last curling wisps of orange and purple glowing through the cloud layer.

“Oh hey,” Trevor says, frustration in every syllable. “Thanks for showing up. Where the hell were you?”

“Stabilizing.”

“For an hour?”

That throws Adrian; he hadn’t thought it much longer than fifteen minutes or so. He shrugs, steps to the mirror. “That’s how long it took. You’ll take comfort in knowing that your mere presence is no longer enough to make me want to tear your clothes off with my teeth.”

“Well, that’s good at least. I mean, hey, that could be fun, right? But not right now.”

God damn Trevor, and his complete lack of filters. That wasn’t a suggestion he needed. “Not right now, no. If you could refrain from—”

He never gets the rest of the request out, because there’s suddenly a fluttering noise by the window, like a rustling of wind through tall grass but with more weight behind it. Wings. They both whip around to look, and Adrian is expecting to see something deadly clambering through the window frame, a night creature or some other supernatural entity, blood of their allies already dripping from its toothy maw—

He’s not expecting an innocent, unassuming black and white pigeon, perched in the sill and idly cleaning its wing feathers. It’s dingy and drooping, obviously exhausted, and there’s a tiny roll of parchment tied to one of its legs.

“Huh,” Trevor says, crossing to the window. “Hey there, is that for us?”

The bird doesn’t answer, obviously. But it also doesn’t startle away as Trevor carefully reaches to untie the bit of paper, turns back to the room with it in hand. The pigeon, missive delivered, flutters clumsily into the room instead of out of it, and no wonder; it’s warm, in here.

“What is it?” Adrian asks; clearly from someone with access to enchanted beasts, which isn’t encouraging—a black magician, a sorcerer—

“It’s from Sypha,” Trevor says simply, eyebrows raised. “I almost forgot that the Speakers do this, with pigeons. Here.”

Adrian takes the note, unrolls it again, the paper wanting badly to stay curled.

A, T — I need to return home, as soon as possible. You’re in danger. I think you might be I’m worried about you b Use the mirror. I will see you soon. — S

“Well, that settles that,” Trevor says, once he’s sure Adrian has read the whole thing. “Let’s get her the hell here, now.”

“Agreed,” Adrian says, a little distracted by the feel of the parchment in his fingers, the smell of the ink. It’s very physical, very visceral, and all of his senses are on high alert right now—and there’s something about all of this that’s bothering him. He doesn’t doubt the veracity of the note—he can smell Sypha on it, even after days clutched to a bird’s breast. But there’s something…

“Adrian?” Trevor prods. “I can’t actually work this thing, you know.”

“Right, of course,” he says, pocketing the slip of paper, stepping up to the mirror. This is complicated, shaping the sigils correctly to point not to a place but a person—to find Sypha wherever she is. He has to take his time, inscribing them with care, but something is driving him to hurry, hurry.

Trevor is getting antsy next to him. Up near the ceiling, the pigeon has found a perch, is fluffing out its feathers noisily.

A scraping sound, against the stone wall outside. Below the window. The sigils are nearly done, and there’s still something—

Trevor makes for the window, to investigate. Adrian desperately wants to stop him but he couldn’t begin to explain why, just knows that he wants Trevor anywhere but by that window, anywhere. It makes no sense, the wards should be sufficient to protect—

The pigeon burbles from its perch, oblivious to the tension, content.

The pigeon.

The wards.

“Trevor!” he shouts, the last sigil sinking into the mirror glass, the surface starting to shimmer as it hones in on another place, a life and a world away—he catches a glimpse of a bonfire, of colorful fabric and blue robes, of a sky black as pitch—

Then the mirror doesn’t matter, because the night sky outside the window is abruptly blocked out. In its place, the bloodied figure of a vampire, crouched to fit in the frame, hair matted and disheveled, eyes wild. It hisses at them like a sick, starving cat. At other windows, more figures appear, all mad with bloodlust, all intent on very particular prey.

Trevor stays composed. He takes a step back. He reaches for the grip of the Morning Star.

The vampire isn’t interested. He leaps into the room with an effortless grace, sweeps Trevor bodily aside with a strength he’s never seen—is on Adrian before Trevor can even shout a warning.

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