#fucked up old man who needs therapy + fucked up young man who needs therapy = ideal father/son relationship

[frankiebirds]

this scene makes me need to lay down. goddddd.

sometimes i get the sense that reid is more attached to gideon than gideon is to reid. obviously they both serve as surrogates for the family member each is estranged from (gideon is estranged from his son and reid is estranged from his dad) but.

you know. reid clings to gideon, not physically but emotionally, and i think a lot of his wellbeing at the start of the series relies on gideon's presence. gideon almost certainly knows the most about reid out of anyone on the team—i don't think canon ever says that reid has told gideon about diana, but i would imagine he has—and i think reid feels understood by him in a way he doesn't by other people, even compared to the rest of the team who (mostly) try their best. i think he also tends to try to be as good and deserving as possible of gideon's presence, since he definitely at least partially feels like his father left because he wasn't good enough.

on the flipside, while gideon definitely sees reid as a son, he's...not the best dad. i think we see him repeating a lot of the mistakes that drove a wedge between him and stephen with reid, and i think that had mandy patinkin stayed on, we would have gotten a larger parallel there. he holds him at arms length, trying not to get too close, although he definitely cares about him more than he lets on and the mask slips sometimes, like this moment and on the plane after ldsk.

[emeraldcreeper]

I’m slowly realizing one of my professors (who I’m presently working for, he’s not in my major which makes me feel,,,, so damn jaded) may be someone who makes me want to teach college level psychology (specifically a better version of the history of the field because seriously there’s people outside of Europe who did better work for the field as it stands today who are missed completely and glossed over in the class I’m taking, half (if not more, there’s quite literally the one good one, bless him, plus the lady who I took online she was great too her class was literally called death and dying it was AWESOME, plus the grad students I took but one real prof who’s good who I’ve had lectures with) the profs in my field hate their jobs clearly, and have a massive superiority complex, and I only figured this out because of one guy who taught space so good I decided to apply as a learning assistant for him, like I should’ve minored in his subject (without the yknow physics, but apparently there was one, fuck me I guess) cause the professors in that department, they ACTUALLY LIKE THEIR JOB AND FIELD OF STUDY AND CAN SHARE INFORMATION WITHOUT PUNCHING DOWN

[queers-gambit]

Now and at the Hour of His Death

prompt: any who say, "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all," were never loved by him.

pairing: Osferth x female!pregnant!wife!reader

fandom: The Last Kingdom

word count: 6.1k+

note: fuck you, Netflix.

warnings: you already know - author needs therapy, projects hard, pregnant wife, Lord’s name in vain, Christianity (obviously), and a fuck ton of fucking ANGST because fuck your feelings. hurt NO comfort, drama, oneshot, cursing, canon-typical violence, injury, and blood. character death and spoilers - yeah, i'm giving you THAT scene. requires maturity and caution. good luck.

also please note: NO, i do not age Osferth to be 16 - that's just a reference age for when he eventually runs away from the monastery.

again, you are missing nothing if this upsets or triggers you and you choose to skip. value your wellbeing, my angels. author is not responsible for the media YOU choose consume, but still, as usual, MDNI

"You should not be doing this sort of work," Ingrith's voice scolded you, and when you turned, you saw the blonde woman standing with her hip cocked and a stern expression. "It's bad for your health to be in such filth, we've stable boys for this sort of chore."

"I do not mind," you sniffled in the brisk air, shoveling the horse shit of the stable into a muck bucket to be dumped into the fields later. "It keeps me busy," you grunted lightly, sure to bend your knees when lifting the pitchfork, "keeps me humble," you listed, dumping the waste to grin at your friend, "and keeps me young."

"In what way?"

"Reminds me of my childhood," you eased, continuing your work. "I slept in a stable from the ages of 4 to... Oh, shit, I guess I was about 16 before I left The Loft."

"What?" She breathed in confusion. "Never knew that."

"Yeah, yeah, true story," you beamed at her, still shoveling shit. "I slept in the stalls with the horses, sometimes in the grain rooms - basically anywhere I could since my work didn't include official room and board, so, I had to make do with what was available. Then, one day when I was about ten, Old Man Rivers said I could use the hay loft if I cleared it out, fixed the rotten planks. Stayed up there till I was about 16, and after that, I kinda ran away."

"Old Man Rivers?"

You nodded, "My mother lived on his homestead, but she was real sick, you see. So, he kinda took me in without assuming responsibility for me," you cleared your throat, shrugging, "let me stay in his barn if I worked with the horses and livestock for him."

"Why would you want to be reminded of that?"

"Seems simpler when I look back."

Ingrith sighed, "C'mon, put the pitchfork down. Come help me prepare the rabbits. The scouts say the men aren't too far off, they'll want a hot meal."

You chuckled with ease and set your pitchfork aside, giving a hearty pat to one of the horse's necks as you passed by to exit the stable. Ingrith made sure you washed up before you were both mounting rabbits on the rack to start skinning them.

"Could I ask something?" She wondered after a time.

"Anything you'd like."

"Why'd you run away? From Old Man Rivers?"

You laughed, "I was in love."

"Oh, you and Baby Monk go that far back, huh?"

"Try even farther," you teased. "Our mothers were friends, and when I worked in the stable, he was in the monastery, but when he came to me, saying he couldn't do it any longer, I couldn't let him go alone. Life was supposed to offer more than what we were given, so, we set out to find the legendary barbarian, The Dane Slayer," you teased, both giggling, "our Lord, the legendary, Uhtred of Bebbanburg."

"And all this time...?" She smiled, watching you shuck hide like you've done it your whole life. Ingrith inferred you probably did.

"Yeah," you eased, "all this time, he's been by my side. Kept me close, never left me behind. The others weren't too sure about me on account of being a woman, they told us to piss off a few times - but they came around after Osferth refused to send me away."

"He's a good lad, Osferth," she nodded.

"Arguably one of the best ones," you agreed, nudging her arm gently, "but look who I'm telling, right?"

"Oh!" She giggled, swatting at you loosely before going back to your work for a moment. Suddenly, the townspeople of Rumcofa stirred to life, and over the voices, you heard them announcing their Lord's return - which meant all of your men were home. You both grinned and breathlessly left your post, Ingrith pausing a young lad to ask, "How many return to us?"

"Does it matter? Come, c'mon, let us see ourselves!" You all but squealed, overwhelmed with excitment; eager for your own reunion with the man you've loved since you were a young lass.

"Warn the alehouse!" Finan was heard shouting. "Osferth's thirsty!"

"Jesus," you laughed, dodging around the procession of people waiting to greet their warriors on their return home so you could approach the white gelding your husband rode.

His face was absolutely priceless when he caught sight of you. As Osferth eagerly dismounted, your hands smoothed over the small swell of your belly - purposefully wearing a dress that accentuated your ever-changing figure. "Am I dreaming?" He laughed, a stablehand taking hold of his horse so his hands were free to caress your belly. "Oh, my God, I'm not, 's real, oh, God," he beamed, laughing with you. "You're pregnant? Truly? Yes? I-I am not - I am not being deceived?"

"No, my love, I guess our prayers were finally heard."

"OH-HOOOO!" You heard Finan holler as Osferth finally pulled you in for a sweet kiss; both ignoring the Irishman. "Lord! LORD! Uhtred! Hey! Did you hear!? Baby Monk's got some spunk in 'im afta all!"

"Oh, God," you laughed against Osferth's lips, but he was quick to shush you with another breath-stealing kiss.

"A baby Baby Monk! AHA!" Finan was still laughing, your husband's hands caressing both your cheeks when he pulled back just in time for Finan to descend. You grunted lightly when his heavy arms dropped over both yours and Osferth's shoulders, his laugh still booming as he gave a squeeze and cooed, "Oh, congratulations, yah two love birds! Wasn't sure you had it innyah, boy!"

"Don't be so rough with her, Finan, for God's sake," Osferth scolded, nudging his friend to get out from under his arm.

"What?" Finan looked at you gobsmacked. "Sayin' I gotta treat yah different now or somethin'?"

"I didn't say that," you told him prettily with fluttering lashes, fist quickly balling up to jab him in the weak spot of his armor - making him grunt and wheeze. "Aht-aht!" You warned with a pointed finger when he flinched as if to retaliate, "Can't hit a pregnant woman."

"Oh, yeh li'l shite," Finan laughed, Osferth pushing him towards his wife so he could stand in front of you and command all attention.

Osferth took a moment to simply look at you; thumbs gently tracing over your cheeks in sweeping motions, a slow grin breaking across his lips. "This almost doesn't feel real... But how I have to praise God for this blessing. A baby," he breathed.

"A little you and me," you agreed softly. "Sound okay to you?"

"More than okay," he chuckled, pecking your lips, "sounds like a lifetime together."

"Good by me." His nose nuzzled up yours, the sweet moment broken when he sighed sadly; eyes shut and smile dropping. "What is it? What's wrong, love?" You asked, stepping into his embrace so you were nuzzled into his neck and his arms were wrapped around your form in a vice.

"Uhtred means to move us again," he whispered in your ear. "Brida, she... She's got Father Pyrlig, and - "

"What!?" You snapped, rearing back slightly to pin him under your hardened glare. Pregnancy hormones would surely give Osferth whiplash.

"My love, I did not - "

"Brida's got Pyrlig? Fuck are we standin' here for, let's go!" You reached for his hand, ready to march off.

"Uh, no, no, no, no," he pulled you back to him; anchoring his hands on your hips so you could not escape. "You are not going anywhere. Not now - especially now," he glanced at your still-growing bump. "The men will go, you know we will return, but you have this new responsibility, and that's keeping this little one safe. For us," he smiled at you.

You huffed, "I'm not unfit to do what needs done, Osferth."

"I did not say you were unfit, but look at the timing of it," he frowned. "I should've been here when you learned, but I was not, and I am truly so sorry for it. Look, I do not know how long this venture will be, but you know I will return. We've waited for our family for far too long, I will not jeopardize this - so I will return. If you go with us, and something were to happen," he shook his head, "my angel, I would never forgive myself. So I need you to stay here, stay safe, if for nothing else but for me."

"But Pyrlig - "

"Will be saved," he assured.

"And Brida - "

"Will be dealt with," he eased, chuckling lightly. "My angel, you worry too much about everyone and yet never about yourself."

You pouted, "Well, why is it just me meant to stay back? This is your child, too, Osferth, and should have the right to meet them! You can't always control what happens, accidents are real, what if you don't return - "

"Don't think like that - "

"But it's a real threat to us - "

He agreed, "Of course, but - "

"Yeah, I know," you nodded, cutting him off, "we serve Lord Uhtred. This comes first, and I'm not - "

"I've made a vow to him."

"You made one to me, too, you know."

"Angel, please, don't do this. Do not ask me to choose," he begged with a frown, and you caved.

So, with a sigh, you nuzzled into his embrace and relented, "All right, yes, fine, go after Brida and Pyrlig. And when you find them, tell him I am waiting for his safe return, he is dearly missed. Ideally, I'd have him birth our child."

"Of course," he breathed, finding a small reprieve of relief that you did not fight him further about leaving - about choosing which vow to fulfill: the one to his Lord Uhtred or the one to his wife.

Both made to God.

Luckily, Osferth married his best friend and you were never one to pick fights with him. You liked the harmony you had; the peaceful environment you had both cultivated to preserve the trust and love you built through the years. He was genuinely one of a kind; a man who walked many lines between faith, humanity, right, wrong. He was the voice of reason, constantly striving to do better than he did before, learning all he could as if a rag soaking in water. For all he was, Osferth has always been enough for you, and for that reason alone, you never felt the need to argue.

To fight. To voice contempt.

"Question," you perked up, smirking at him as your pregnancy symptoms ran a little wild, "think we've time to, you know, really give our thanks?"

"Angel - "

"What?" You grinned. "You fucked me on the alter all those weeks ago and look - your seed stuck. We might as well go give thanks in the same manner, just to really show God how thankful we are for this blessing he's given us."

"Think the Devil's gotten into you," he laughed.

"Or your child is ruining my hormones," you countered, his lips meeting yours in another passionate display of his excitement.

"C'mon," he whispered, taking your hand, and leading you to the chapel - thinking you were being sneaky, but your matching giggles made Ingrith and Finan beam at each other.

"He does know she can't get more pregnant, right?" Finan teased, flinching when Ingrith smacked his upper arm.

"WHY!?"

"My angel, please - "

"What the fuck is going on, Osferth!?"

"I'm trying to explain - "

"The Queen? The fucking Queen is dead in our village! How can that possibly be explained!?" When Osferth didn't answer, just sat in the wooden chair before the shared hearth of your humble home, you snapped, "Well!?"

"Are you finished? May I speak now?"

With a huff, you nodded and gestured for him to speak; arms crossing around your swollen tits. He explained to you the reason for Haesten's arrival, the wagon his men toted, and why he brought the Queen's dead body to the settlement of Rumcofa. He told you Haesten wanted to keep the peace when King Edward found out, claiming Uhtred's son-in-law, Stiorra's husband, Sigtryggr, had ordered this death - thinking war would surely roll over his lands.

You never knew Haesten to be a generous man, nor much of an honest one, but it seemed the severity of the situation made everyone eerily on-edge. Uhtred dispatched his men; leaving Finan and Osferth in the village with you, developing a plan that would save both Saxon and Danish life. And yet, it was all futile when evil forces worked against good.

You didn't feel safe in Rumcofa anymore, there was a stench in the air; tension that mounted to embrace all residents with discomfort. Something was about to happen, but nobody knew what. You didn't claim or pretend to know what was happening, but Haesten's abrupt appearance spelled danger for everyone involved. So, as a security measure, you kept a long sword buckled around your swelling waist and a dagger strapped under your skirts. With Lord Uhtred gone, there was no invisible fence protecting Rumcofa - leaving it up to you, Osferth, Finan, and Cynleaf to pose as guard.

Yet you'd never be enough.

Like the surf over sand, a group of angered men descended on Rumcofa. "Who's men are yah?" Finan asked, you lingering at Osferth's side to watch the interaction from a short distance.

"We come from the King," a burly Saxon replied, your head cocking in interest - swearing you've seen him before. "Dane murderers are hiding here and you must hand them over."

"You're mistaken, sir," you kindly offered, the man's eyes shifting over you, "because we live in peace. Any murderers have surely moved on from here. We do not host them."

The man growled, "Don't think that's true, love."

Finan held a hand back at you, meeting your eyes and nodding simply. He turned back for the man in fur, diverting, "Of course, my men will attend to it."

Finan turned from the group, his eyes connecting with yours as he passed by. There was urgency, a quickened pace he adopted; having no intention to hand anyone over, wanting to remove these men without bloodshed. However, that was a distant thought because Father Benedict tried to assure the Saxon leader that nobody in Rumcofa would murder Queen Aelflaed.

You wanted to step in when the Saxon evidently didn't know about the Queen's demise - getting in Benedict's face and demanding to see what he spoke of.

"No, no, no," you muttered nervously, "he can't see the body, love, no, no, no, this is bad. Very bad."

"We can't stop Father Benedict without altercation," Osferth whispered back, keeping a tight hold of your hand, just watching the group. "If something happens, you need to get yourself safe."

"How do we truly know they're from Edward? What credentials do they have?" When Osferth shook his head, you worried, "Got a bad feeling 'bout this, angel."

Then the violence began.

The strange men took charge when their leader walked away, starting to physically harass the citizens; making both you and Osferth step in to try and diffuse the tension. You pushed men off unarmed women, got in between them and the children, did what you could without drawing a weapon.

When a man shoved you away from him, Finan wrangled him away, sneering, "Get yer hands off of her!" He kept the violent men at bay for a moment, telling you, "You need to go, darling - "

"Not now, Fin, look around us! We need to contain the situation, you'll need all hands you can get," You snapped, the two of you forced to part way.

Osferth panted nervously and looked left and right, turning to meet the Saxon and demand, "Tell your men to stand down!" But then, his eyes squinted when you joined his side to pull him back a step or two, recognizing him just as you did.

"I don't think they're here for the Queen, love," you heaved for breath in warning, still backing him up. "They've planned this."

"Finan!" Osferth barked, "These men have been here before!"

The Saxon roared over the fray, "Danes of Rumcofa have murdered our Queen!" His men jeered in anger, making Finan brandish both swords and for Osferth to push you back further from the attention. "Do your duty and rid the cockles from the wheat!"

You were left no choice. Osferth and you both armed yourselves, starting to fight off the Saxons as their leader demanded Danes and Christians be separated. You were unable to help, engaged in battle, but Young Uhtred gathered the Danes and begged Father Benedict to declare the church a sanctuary - thinking it would save lives.

It was only leading the Danes to slaughter.

The Saxon, Bresal, punched Father Benedict when he tried to stand in the way; his men holding Young Uhtred in the doorway to let their men enter the church the Danes were gathered in. They forced Young Uhtred to watch the massacre - men, women, and Danish children all slaughtered with no escape. No hope. No answer to a single prayer. Nobody to stop this bloody situation.

You fought on, Osferth, Finan, and Cynleaf doing their best to protect you by keeping you in the middle of their wee group. But you still got plenty of action.

"This is madness!" You cried out, slicing a man's throat open. "We need aid! We need more men!"

"This way!" Finan encouraged, "We must cut a path for Ingrith! Check the docks! Check the docks!"

You and Osferth ran towards the water, Cynleaf not far away. You searched for Ingrith, but you had no time to linger; engaged one-on-one again, forced to protect yourself and unborn baby. Not a minute later, you saw Ingrith on horseback, being stalled by a Saxon and for your husband to rush to her aid. He punched the man away from the horse, you hacking at another enemy, in time to see Osferth engaging with two Saxons - one being the leader, Bresal.

It all happened so fast.

You were already racing towards them when the unexpected. Osferth was battling on two fronts, holding Bresal at bay, fending off the other Saxon, screaming for Ingrith, who only managed a few paces before the Saxon's dogs spooked her horse. The noise was deafening; people screaming, crying, dogs barking, horses whinnying, swords singing as they clashed.

You watched it happen in slow motion.

You sprinted faster than ever before.

"INGRITH!" Osferth bellowed in worry when her horse reared back and dropped her to the dirt. It left an opening for Bresal to stab his dagger into Osferth's lung - freezing time and wrecking your world.

"NO!" You screamed, Bresal smirking at you and yanking his dagger free. Osferth wobbled, eyes wide as he met yours, the Saxon walking away as Osferth dropped to his knees. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Oh, God, no, no, you can't take him - not yet! Please, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," You repeated, sliding on your knees in the dirt to catch him. "No, no, oh, my God, no, Osferth, no, please! Not now, not now, please, no, God, no! Don't do this! Please, please, please," you rambled, readjusting to better hold him, hearing Cynleaf and Finan yell for Baby Monk, too. You raged at God, "You can't take him yet! You can't have him! He's mine!"

But you heard nothing except your husband's labored breathing.

"An-Angel, angel, my angel," Osferth choked, wheezing and crying as he couldn't hold himself up and completely slumped back into your body. He pawed at your arms in an attempt to get closer.

"No, no, no, you're all right, you're okay, you're okay, my sweet love, you're all right," you insisted, hands stained in his blood as it poured from his wound. You knew it was essential to add pressure to a wound, but also, that this was all futile. Yet you needed to try. "Hey, hey, hey, look at me, just look at me, sweetheart, please, only look at me, nothing else matters," you pleaded with him in a rush, the lads sprinting to where you held your husband to your lap.

Nobody interrupted you.

"Where's the wound?" Osferth sobbed, trembling, blood spurting from his mouth; going paler by the minute. "Angel, please, the wound? Where's the wound?"

"No, no, no, don't worry 'bout that, hey? Don't you worry, you just keep looking at me," you sobbed, holding his neck and cradling him to your swollen belly. "Just at me, my love, okay? Just look at me - don't look anywhere else, okay? Nothing else matters."

"H-How bad? How ba-ba-bad-bad is i-it?"

"You're going to be all right," you lied to Osferth for the first time.

"Oh, my God, oh, my God," Osferth repeated through his tears and fears, "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die."

He held onto you desperately, sobbing, you slowly rocking. "No, you're all right, Osferth, it's okay, just look at me." You caressed his cheek, smearing blood, but locking eyes. "My love," you whispered, "listen to me - "

"I don't wanna die, please, please, angel, my love, please," he coughed, holding your arm tightly as if it would give him life. "Don't let me die," he wheezed, "don't let me die, my love, please, please. Don't let me die, I don't wanna die. I-I wanna meet our baby, please, I want to meet our baby, I want to be a father. Don't let me die, love, please, I-I wanna be your husband longer - "

"You'll never not be my husband and you'll never not be a father, hear me?" You sniffled, trying to smile at him. "Don't you worry, you're gonna be okay, you're okay, Osferth. You'll always be my husband, nothing will change that - I swear."

Blood pumped with each beat of his frantic heart, making it gush over your fingers. You didn't even feel it.

"Please," he choked, more blood bubbling from his lips, "don't let me die, I don't wanna die. Don't let me die, please, not now, not when our baby isn't here yet, please, I just wanna meet 'em, be a family, I wanna stay with you, don't let me go. Please, don't let me go, I don't want t'go! Don't let me - "

"Shh, it's okay, you're okay. I'm here with you. I'm right here, Osferth, you're not alone, you're never alone. I'm here. I've got you. I'll always have you, I won't ever let you go. Never."

He sobbed harder. "I don't wanna leave you. Please, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna be without you - " But the words choked him, a splatter spraying across your face when he coughed; you didn't even flinch.

"Listen to me," you begged, "I commend you, my dear, sweet husband, to Almighty God, and entrust you to your Creator."

Finan was heard behind you, retching jarring sobs as you read Osferth his death rite prayer. "Don't let me die," Osferth begged still, as if you held that power.

He had always looked at you as if you hung the sun and stars, and now, as if you were his very reason for living. You hated God in that moment for forcing you two through this.

"May you return to Him who formed you from the dust of the earth. May Holy Mary, the angels," now, you choked on your words, emotion clawing your throat, but still continued, "and all the saints come to meet you as you go forth from this life. May Christ who was crucified for you bring you freedom and peace." You sobbed, "May Christ who died for you admit you into His garden of paradise. May Christ, the true Shepherd, acknowledge you as one of His flock. May He forgive all your sins, and set you among those He has chosen. Amen. Please, please, say amen, Osferth, say it, please!"

"A-Amen - Amen!" He coughed, trying to get closer to you, nestling into your warmth as he felt impossibly cold. "Don't leave me, don't leave me, please, please, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna be alone. I can't go without you, please, don't let me go - don't let me die, angel, please, I can't go without you. I-I’ve never been without you my whole life, I don’t wish to start now. I love you. I-I love you, please, don't let me go, I love you. I need you."

"You'll never be without me," you promised, face coated in blood, grime, dirt, and ash; all streaked with your tear tracks. "You will always be my husband, hey? Hear me? You're always gonna be with me, I will never be apart from you. I'll love you forever, Osferth, I won't ever stop." You felt your chest cave in as you sobbed, "Please, don't you leave me - "

But Osferth was wheezing and panting, only staring up at you. "I only need you," he whimpered, "I've only ever needed you, I can't do this without you. Please, I can't - I can't go without you. I don't want to leave you, I can't leave you, please!'

"So don't leave me," you sobbed, him still clawing at you in desperation. "I love you more than life, Osferth, please, don't leave me, okay? Don't go. I love you so much. Being loved by you was my greatest pleasure in this life, I want our child to know your love, too, Osferth, please, don't go."

"I-I wanna meet our baby, I wanna hold 'em, love 'em," he repeated. "Please, this can't be the end, don't let this be the end. W-We have so much more - we were supposed to have eternity together, my love, my angel, please! This isn't the end, I can't - I can't go without you!"

"You're okay," you soothed uselessly, rocking more prominently. "Just stay with me, my love, okay? Stay with me. Don't go. Only look at me, all right? You hear me?" You sniffled, caressing his cheek. "You're the best thing in my life, Osferth, yeah? Understand me? Where you're going, y-you'll be welcomed a hero, with open arms. You'll be my own angel. My real angel. The reason I keep going for our child. An-And you'll stay there just for a little while until I join you, okay? You'll watch over us, me and the baby, right? Our own angel? Hey? 'Cause you'll never be part from us - you'll never be apart from me. You and I are a forever sorta thing, we'll never be apart, we'll always be part of each other no matter what."

Osferth lost his words, eyes widening and pulling you closer.

You just soothed, "I'm here with you, my love. I'm here, I've got you. You're not alone, I'm right here, I have you. I've got you. I love you. I love you so fucking much, Osferth, okay? I love you more than anything, you're my everything. I love you," you sniffled, breaking down in worse sobs, repeating, "I love you, I love you, I love you so much, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I wasn't faster, I love you, this shouldn't be happening. I'm so sorry, I should've come faster! I love you, I'm so sorry."

With his last breath, Osferth choked, "L-Love y-y-you."

"I love you," you hushed, bending at the waist to rest your forehead on his, "I love you so much. You're gonna be okay, you're gonna be all right, you'll be safe - where you're going, you'll be safe. I'm so sorry, my love... I'm so sorry."

You felt him go still. You felt the last of his breath exhale, his body deflate. You felt his soul detach from his body.

You froze.

"Oh, my God," you breathed, pulling back to look down at his petrified features. "Oh, my God, no, no, no. God, please, please, give him back," you sobbed, "give him back to me! Do not take him! It's not his time, you selfish cunt! Give him back! It wasn't supposed to end like this! Give him back to me, please! Please! This isn't how this was supposed to happen! We promised eternity together, please! Let us have that! Let us be together, give him back to me! I need him!"

Your shrill hysterics were heard all over Rumcofa.

Finan sobbed into his wife's arms behind you, Cynleaf knelt to slowly extend his hand onto your shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he offered, but you pushed him away harshly; knocking him into the dirt.

"No! I don't want your fucking condolences!" You snapped, holding Osferth tighter, "I want my husband! I want my husband back! Can you give him to me? Can you, Cynleaf? Can you give him back to me!?"

"No - "

"Then you have nothing to offer me! I want nothing else, nothing from you! I only want him!" You looked away from the young lad, finding Osferth's wide open eyes staring up at you. You whimpered, "I only need him, so, please. Please, give him back to me. Please. I need him, I need him, I can't do this without him, please, God, don't do this. You take so many lives, why add him to the mix!? Give him back! C'mon," you begged the cooling body, "c'mon, love, get up. Get up for me, please, just wake up. Come back to me, get up... Get up, Osferth, get up! Please! WAKE UP!"

But Osferth never moved. Never blinked. Never drew breath. And God never answered your pleas. Your dress was saturated in your husband's blood; a pooling puddle seeping into your knees, bodice drenched, his baby moving in your belly. You wailed into the still air, holding your husband tight to your chest; mouth agape to release the terrible screams of anguish, tears never ending, rocking on your knees. You didn't know what to feel... But devastation was prominent.

You wept until your throat went raw, jaw tender from your open mouth. "I'm so sorry!" You repeated, "I should've been quicker! I should've been at your side! You shouldn't have been alone! This is my fault! This is all my fault, I shouldn't have been away from you. I should've been with you, you did not deserve this end. Please! Forgive me, wherever you are, forgive me, I did not intend for this, I shouldn't have left you, I should've been at your side, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault, I'm so sorry."

"No," Ingrith whispered, "no, do not say this is your fault, you did nothing - "

"Exactly!" You snapped at her, eyes ablaze, her husband silent. "I did nothing, I wasn't with him! I wasn't where I was supposed to be! And he was stabbed because of you!"

Finan whispered your name in reprimand.

"No! How many times have you rode a fucking horse, Ingrith!? And now, today, the time it truly matters, you fall; you posed distraction," you sobbed, crumpling in on yourself. "He was distracted by your fall... This shouldn't've happened, this is all wrong!"

The trio just watched you, knowing your emotions were raw and unwavering, that your words did not have meaning because your husband had just died in your arms. Hours passed, you did not move. Hours passed, your husband did not return. Hours passed, and your heart shattered with each passing breath you selfishly drew.

Because living felt selfish now without Osferth.

"Sweet one," Finan whispered, the sun setting, "we should move him. Bring him to the church so Benedict can pray."

Your head shook, "No."

"Darlin', we have to - "

"No," you whimpered, "because if you take him to Benedict, it's real. If we move, he's truly gone... He can't be gone, Finan," you sobbed, meeting your friend's eyes. "If you move him, he's gone, I'm not ready to say goodbye, please. Please, don't take him from me."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "but he should be laid to rest."

"Don't take him from me," you begged, a new wave of tears starting. "I just - we were supposed to be a family. We were supposed to have this baby, and now, it's just me? This cannot be, so please, don't take him from me, I only need him back. Give him back to me, Finan, please, I can't be without him."

"I know," he nodded, gently encouraging you into his embrace. It meant you had to let go of Osferth, something you did slowly and gradually, leaning into the Irishman's chest. "All right, I got yah," he whispered, looking to his wife. "C'mon, stand with Ingrith. I'll carry him."

"Be gentle," you sobbed, feeling Ingrith grip your arms to help heave you to your feet; watching Finan scoop Osferth over his shoulder. The change of position made more blood splatter to the dirt, your heart stalling in your chest when you heard the mess.

You felt your soul shriveled and hidden somewhere deep in your chest, following as if in a trance. You watched Finan and Cynleaf slowly lower Osferth to the ground with the other dead Danes, feeling yourself drop to the ground in shock.

Seeing Osferth amongst the dead made it so much more real.

"It's all my fault," you sobbed, Finan moving to your side, "it's all my fault, I got him killed. I should've been quicker. This is my fault, my fault, I did this, 's my fault."

Finan knelt beside you, bringing your foreheads together to hold you tightly and let you sob into his embrace. "You didn't do this," he promised, "you did nothing wrong. You are not at fault. Do not carry this guilt."

You sobbed without reprieve.

Young Uhtred halted Father Benedict from praying over the Danes, telling the older man they had different customs, but looked back at you. He asked your name softly, wondering, "Do you wish for a prayer for... Him?"

Even Young Uhtred couldn't stomach the truth, avoiding using Osferth's name out of sheer disbelief.

"That'd be nice," Finan agreed, turning to sit beside you and hold you under his arm. You leaned into his embrace, head to his shoulder. "She read him his death rites when... It happened."

Young Uhtred nodded, bowing his head, leading, "Our Father, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done, On earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day, our daily bread, And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

Then, you joined from under Finan's heavy arm, sobbing through your words, "Hail Mary, Full of Grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death."

Benedict finished, "Glory Be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end."

Together, you, Ingrith, Young Uhtred, Benedict, Finan, and even Cynleaf ended, "Amen."

Feeling the most level-headed, Ingrith stepped in and directed the men; informing that Young Uhtred should lead the remaining Danes to Daneland, Finan and Cynleaf would meet Uhtred on the road, and she would accompany you to Wessex - where Osferth could be laid to rest at the place of his birth. Then, the people mourned together for their fallen.

Finan disagreed initially, telling his wife you were his responsibility now that Osferth was passed. But there was no way you could continue with the company, not in your pregnant state. Finan didn't like the idea of you being without him, considering you close to a sister; something of a best mate, someone he couldn't turn his back on - no matter the situation. However, he understood the predicament and finally agreed to part ways, but not before he untied Osferth's crucifix and latched it around your neck. At the gates of Rumcofa, before separating, Finan gifted you his rosary; thinking it might bring comfort in his physical absence.

Years from then, you would bring up a single son named Gabriel (a name your husband favored, a name benefitting an Angel) under Lord Uhtred in his birthplace of Bebbanburg. You never remarried. You never even so much as looked after another man with lust. Gabriel would grow into a handsome warrior and a devoted man of God, satisfied on tales about his father; being painted as a man of honor, integrity, and bravery. Osferth, too, was a man of God, a man of the sword, and a man of his word... Until the very end. And when your time came, you were brought back to Wessex to be laid to rest with your husband; your son having a son, naming him Osferth, and knowing, both his parents shined down on him in pride.

It was a comfort for everyone to know, somewhere in the afterlife, in God's warmth, you and Osferth were reunited; looking just as you did the day you parted from one another.

requesting rules and masterlist

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Double trouble: fun little au about hot sex and cute spats between König and his younger self

My terrible diseased brain: I wonder how young König felt when he realized his older self has a wife. Did he feel relief? That there is a light at the end of the tunnel, that there is someone who will love him, flaws and scars and all? Did he feel bitter that he doesn’t get that love until he’s older, more tired? Did Colonel König ever think about the fact that his wife would even have loved him as the young, stupid asshole he used to be? Do you think that the recuit and the colonel ever have a quiet moment of just existing next to each other, having a mutual realization that he was worthy of love all along?

Me: good grief

Bucca my sister in crime!! Ily 🩷🩷🩷

I'm sorry that you had to wait so long and on top of everything, all I have for you is angst 😭❤️‍🩹❤️

Young König is surprised (to say the least) when he sees his older self as a married man. He’s stunned to see he’s even alive. He thought he would die before reaching his 30s, in a way he had aspired to be dead before growing too old: that was the goal goddammit.

Who would want to live long enough to see how they turn even more lonely, fucked up and cold?

So his whole worldview is in turmoil now. This is what happens instead? He grows old and happy and gets to marry this hot chick? He gets to be a colonel?? He gets to be loved???

Young König is in love with reader too before even a month has passed, he’s torn between wanting her all to himself and settling for the bone he’s given. Even if he’s a horny menace full of red flags, he adores her. In a way I think he’s the most tragic character in this love triangle/polycule because he seems to be ok with it and has this nonchalant ‘no strings attached’ attitude while clearly, he’s madly in love (and needs therapy).

The attempted mating procedure of young König goes something like this: he sees a hot girl -> he opens his mouth -> she leaves. So now that he is the one who was approached, the dynamic is a bit different. The presence of Colonel means that his bad behaviour flares up like a bad old wound that’s poked. The saddest thing is that the older version has learned to love himself, he loves his wife boundlessly, he even loves his silly young self.

I mean what else can he do but love this beaten dog who’s trying his best and is still a mess?

Colonel’s secret hope is that he could somehow help the young pup to reach destination self-acceptance a little faster through this experiment. But like all of König’s tries to help himself and others, it backfires a bit…

Because young König doesn’t fool himself for one second with daydreams of love. He knows reader doesn’t love him like she loves the Colonel: he’s just a fucktoy in this sick scenario. So no, he isn’t mature enough to co-exist with his older self without bringing good old competition in. Reader can tell him she loves him all she wants, he’s not going to fall for that. Her and Colonel’s love life and marriage only remind him of what he doesn't have, what he can’t get. It’s just scraps for him, like always.

(When will it be his turn???)

[angelyuji]

i've had countless yandere thoughts about rick sanchez (i despise myself for falling for an old man with such low yandere/dark content, but hear me out). picture this: Rick sanchez, a man desperately trying to move on from his past. slowly, violently, painfullh but surely. he's using alcohol and drugs as his coping mechanisms, trying to finally let go of his wife, whom he loves dearly. he's going to therapy begrudgingly. he tries to face his emotions more often even though it hurts his soul, every bone in his body aches, his mind is throbbing because he doesn't want to forget, replace or let her go. he can't.

then, he stumbles upon you—a young woman who says/does something that reminds him so much of his wife. and he just, misses her so bad y'know?, so so bad that it haunts him everyday, you could be his chance, something he was searching for across the universe. Rick sanchez, who starts to use you as a new coping mechanism, projecting his feelings and memories onto you, becomes increasingly obsessed. possessive. insane because something about you makes him feel as if you are Diane in so many ways. hey anything was possible right? maybe you both are related? there might be some theory which he might have pulled out of his ass in his deep longing deperation.

he hears you say one day, when he finally takes everything away from you, your planet, family, a whole fucking dimension—that he probably didn't deserve Diane, because he was a sick man who didn't deserve to have a chance with her, in any conceivable universe. that he was destined and was as fucked up as Prime Rick. He didnt deserve a happy family, a dimension, anything. but he only stares at you, a disturbing look on his face as he clenches your face so tight, his eyes hazy with tears or some other shit, maybe he has lost his mind completely, with a sober fury. there's still that tight crooked grin on his face as he whispers, close to your petrified face below him.

"that's in the past, baby. she's gone. taken away from me, y'know maybe... maybe i just deserved you in the end after all, and unlike Diane, no one is ever taking you away from me. i will fucking destroy them if they even tried to."

in this essay, i will -

WGEBRBNENRJRJAHHHGGGG OMGMGMGMHMMHMG PLEASE I NEED HIM SO BAD

he’s so insane and lowkey scary omg u ate🙂‍↕️

he tries to use u as his do-over. he couldnt protect diane or even technically spend his life with her, so him using u as his do-over but also fucking up ur life cuz he’s crazy is sooooooo🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

by the time he’s completely taken over ur life, diane is a distant memory and his every waking thought is about u

[thotthumb]

Robert Chase x Older! Man/Reader Brainrot

ADULT CONTENT UNDER THE CUT. DO NOT READ IF UNDER THE AGE OF 18

This was made with transmascs and men in mind! Please know that the reader has a dick or strap in this one!

Content Warnings: Chase is giving head to an older guy, power imbalance due to the positions held, office blowjob, under the desk blowjob, somebody walks in at the end, sex in front of somebody else but they don’t explicitly know

Word Count: 628

Authors Note: I’m just posting some brainrot that I’ve been sitting on. Should I try to make a part 2 of this one or just leave it?

“Four years of college, four at med-school, two years residency, another four years of sub-specialty training, and where do I end up?” “Between my legs with my cock down your throat, now stop talking and put this back in your mouth, Dr. Chase.”

How the fuck did he get himself in this predicament? He had a old ass but very attractive man fisting his hair in one hand and with their other hand pressing his fingers into the sides of his jaw to keep his mouth open wide. His throat had been bullied by what he’d personally call an oversized cock for what felt like hours but he knows it hasn’t. There was a clock on the shelf behind the desk he was currently hidden under that he could read. Yes, he’s under the desk of the Administrative Assistant, in his office at the hospital that they both work at.

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, he knows he shouldn’t be giving head to his technical boss and especially not at his place of work! But there’s something about an older man just using his mouth to get off that seemingly fixes something (somebody get this man a therapy session and a dilf).

“Come on, put it in your mouth and make me feel good.” He urged, leaving Chase to grind against the older man’s outstretched leg with a slight shudder before finally taking the throbbing dick back into his mouth. He reached a hand down to the tight tent in his pants, borderline humping his hand in an attempt to relieve some of his need for friction. “There you go,” he grunted before a guttural groan slipped past, causing the older man to look towards the door to his office. He couldn’t tell if it was locked but he didn’t have any meetings scheduled so there shouldn’t be any interruptions. He wasn’t going to pull the young man off his length anyways.

“You can go farther than that, take it all,” Chase looked up to him through his lashes, asking if he had to because the amount he had taken was already a lot. “Don’t give me that look, you’ve taken all of it in every hole you have. You can do it again, brat,” He looked down at him with his lids half closed and a type of lust written on his entire face. Chase moaned lightly (to the best of his ability given his mouth being full) at his words. How can a professional speak that vulgarly?

His boss felt that he was taking too long to comply so he lifted up his hips, thrusting deep into his mouth and causing the poor man to gag, choking at the sudden intrusion. His hands immediately shot up to grip at his thighs, his lashes now clumped together with tears. He was trying so hard to even out his breathing and relax his throat, his nails digging into the flesh and leaving little crescent moons in the skin. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment only to open them widely when he heard the door to the office open.

His boss scooted forward in the chair, pushing Chase back further under the desk but also pinning him so he couldn’t take his cock out of his mouth. He grunted and the feeling of having his dick so far down his throat that he could feel Chase’s nose pressing against his stomach slightly. Chase could really only hope that this would be a short conversation otherwise with how sensitive the Administrative Assistant is currently he might end up just blowing down his throat. Especially with how he’s still rocking his hips in and out of Chase’s mouth while talking to.? Who came in again? “House? What are you doing here?”

Oh shit.

[ahamkara-apologist]

it's also wild because like. Mara Sov is outright manipulative. she outright says she has plans to kill you if you go astray. she has plans to kill everyone, actually. she gets information she has no business having just to do that even iirc. meanwhile Osiris is a stressed out gay old man who is trying to save everyone except himself.

Okay I WILL defend Mara here and say that while she is a manipulative bitch, yes, that's actually a good thing to have handy. The Young Wolf is fucking dangerous and so are many in the cast of Destiny, so having contingency plans to kill people as needed is kinda necessary (just look at Eris in the dark future). But Mara is out here playing games of 4D chess with the Witness and the likes of Savathun- she needs to play god like that because it's basically her job. The major issue with her is the fact that she doesn't know how to NOT play puppetmaster, and takes it into her personal life- what she did to Uldren was a prime example of that, and while I have many thoughts on why that is, the fact of the matter is that Mara is a person who does what she needs to do with the coldness and cruelty of a deity because that is the niche she's carved out for herself and what she needs to be to ensure the survival of humanity.

Osiris, on the other hand, is NOT playing 4D chess with the Witness- he's a soldier, a defender, a blade. And not only that, he acts the way he does because he's driven by anxiety, paranoia (well-placed paranoia too!), and the fact that for the longest time, he's been alone. He was outright exiled from the Last City! He was alone in the Infinite Forest with nobody other than Sagira and his own mind! That's a lot of centuries to be by yourself, and don't forget that those centuries were preluded by social isolation from his peers and betrayal beforehand. Osiris operated the way he did because his OCD had him constantly running on the assumption that the worst-case scenario was going to happen, and he had the experience from his time as Vanguard and his subsequent exile to show that not only did nobody believe him, they also didn't take it seriously (or took it too seriously) and wouldn't help him with it. Like, no fucking wonder he's always running around acting like he's the only person who's taking things seriously and throwing his all into solving the problem. His mind is hardwired to assume the worst and he has proof that people will not help him with it (though LF has him confronting that)

Like, I myself have OCD, and those repetitive thought spirals are no joke. Imagine that you're confronted with a problem, and your brain automatically jumps to the worst-case scenario for that problem. If you've gotten cognitive therapy for that, you know this isn't the case, but knowing doesn't change the fact that your mind is CONVINCED that the worst case scenario WILL happen, and it will get lodged to the forefront of your mind with all of its gory details while you try your best to ensure that it won't occur. Doesn't matter if you have to shift to doing something else- that fear, that worry, that will always be right in front of you. Meds and cognitive therapy have worked for me on that, but Osiris doesn't have those, and on top of it- he's got prophetic visions! I can't IMAGINE how awful that would be to deal with!!

That's also why his character development after Sagira's death is so big imo- as tragic as it was, Sagira dying for him forced him to really slow down and realize that rushing into things without thinking about his own safety harmed others, not just himself, and his subsequent reminder of his own mortality forced him to be reliant on others instead of refusing to let them help him. Part of why he was so impatient and brusque in Lightfall was because he had to rely on the Young Wolf and Nimbus to deal with an issue that he considered his own, and while it didn't go exactly as planned, I think that's also why he's softened up significantly since then. That, and him being unable to rush headlong into things and to just sit and enjoy his time with Saint (which he never allowed himself to do before because if he had the Light, what was his excuse for not fighting the Darkness) helped him tremendously. It forced him to face his flaws, learn that he could rely on others, and to slow down in life, and he's been doing much better as a result of it.

Osiris has only ever harmed others by completely disregarding the harm that he did to himself, and recent events in the story have forced him to reflect on that and change it. And maybe by being a bit of a blunt, extremely-honest ass that nettles sometimes. That's pretty much the extent of his flaws imo

[whyse7vn]

DOWN BAD -

[ ot7 x reader ]

JOON4PRESIDENT

8 participants - 8 online

———————————

y/n: hi

tae: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

y/n: ?

tae: holy fuck ur so fucking funny😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭☠️😭

jimin: i BEG you let that man hit

at this point it’s embarrassing

tae: pls

jk: i think ur funny too

namjoon: shame is free

tae: idk what that’s supposed to mean

jk: it means shame is free i think

y/n: is that why you’ve been at my house for the last 2 weeks??

cuz you wanna hit??

yoongi: 2 weeks??

jin: down so fucking bad

jk: i thought tae was here cuz he missed us?

tae: I AM I SWAER

but if y/n let me hit in the time i was here i wouldn’t be mad

y/n: ur sick

hobi: why have you let tae stay in ur house for 2 weeks?

y/n: he FORCED his way in here

tae: not true jungkook willingly let me in

jin: jungkooks not even a real person so that doesn’t count

jk: i’m real

i think

jimin: i’m telling you he needed that 100k for rent

yoongi: taehyung homeless era

tae: I HAVE A HOME

y/n: ur not acting like it

tae: home is where the heart is

and my hearts with you bbg

y/n: leave

jk: am i real?

tae: are you a construction worker?

jk: no

tae: cuz ur a building

namjoon: what?

tae: 😉

@y/n

not you namjoon or jungkook

y/n: it’s hard

the life i live

hobi: hard like a criminal hard like the beat

tae: my rizz is out of this world it’s actually insane

jimin: do you know what rizz means?

bcs you can’t be fr

jk: isn’t rizz a type of cheese?

yoongi: this is my competition…

y/n: ur thinking of swiss cheese kook

jk: I AM

how did you know that??

y/n: can one of you guys come a get tae from us pls im begging you

jimin: i can’t read sorry

jin: i’m literally blind

hobi: 🫣

y/n: i fear his stupidness is rubbing off on jungkook

yoongi: i think he’s just naturally dumb as hell

jk: who

yoongi: see

y/n: plS my biggest fear in this life is waking up to furry jk

tae: ummm

that would have nothing to do with my influence

yoongi: call animal control maybe they’ll help you with tae?

tae: ??????

y/n: NAMJOON PLS UR MY ONLY HOPE PLS PLS PLS

namjoon: i’m not here

tae: CAN SOMONE DEFEND ME LIKE OMG???

jUNGKOOK TELL HER HER GREAT I AM

jk: he’s great

tae: UR NO HELP FUCK U

i’m gonna kill myself in front of you all in the most horrific way and change ur lives forever and NO amount of therapy will help you forget or move on

jk: ok i’m ready

tae: i’m leaving

y/n: god bless 🙏🏽

tae: ur obsessed with me get help

i hate you all

losers

gosh

fucking bitches the LOT of you

L

AWOOOOOOO

lone wolf era

jimin: what the fuck

namjoon: are you done?

tae: yeah :/

y/n: do you feel better now??

tae: as better as i can be in a situation like this :/

hobi: what situation?

tae: wdym?

jin: he has to be brain dead or something

tae: right hoseok stupid as hell

jk: i think jimin is talking about you bro

tae: jungkook ur young i wouldn’t expect you to understand

jk: ur right

y/n: they changed the korean age system isnt that crazy

jin: DON’T TALK ABOUT AGE

jimin: it’s a sensitive topic for him cuz he’s still old no matter what

namjoon: please

jk: i’m 25

jin: IDC SHUT UP

y/n: yikes

hobi: jungkook has been 25 for like 10 years

jk: that’s not true that makes no sense

hobi are you bad at maths?

hobi: don’t speak to me

tae: jimin you smell the best in the group

y/n: why are you smelling people?

hobi: furry

tae: after the loml ofc

jk: jennie?

tae: SHUT UP

jk: did you break up again???

tae: KICK HIM KICK HIMMM

jimin: what do i smell like?

tae: like vanilla i love it soOOOO much

it’s like a sweet vanilla but not so strong it overpowers ur senses it’s just right

i could eat you

jimin: i wish bitches i wanted said shit like this

but it’s just you

thx ig

tae: ???????

jin: that’s frfr creepy as hell tbh

why is he actually sniffing people is that not insane

jimin: don’t be mad you don’t smell like sweet vanilla

jin: i’m actually glad

look at what ur attracting

hobi: furries

jin: right

tae: 𝖘𝖍𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖚𝖈𝖐 𝖚𝖕

jk: WOAH

CALM DOWN TAE CALM DOWN TAE ITS OKAY ITS JUST US 😰😨😭

jimin: again what the actual fuck

tae: ur right i’m sorry i didn’t mean to get like that guys

jk: it’s okay

namjoon: they’re actually insane oh my god

y/n: i have seen a real decline in jungkooks mental state since the arrival of tae at our home

yoongi: again i think that’s just jungkook

y/n: no i know jungkook

jk: yeah she knows me

i know her

we have a connection you wouldn’t understand yoongi

y/n: and i know for a FACT he’s not that dumb

hobi: dumb dumb

jk: right i’m not that dumb

tae: WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY RN???

jk: wait

namjoon: tae go back to therapy

jimim: begging you

jin: awoman🙏🏻

tae: NO

I TOLD YOU LAST TIME

SHE LAUGHED AT ME

THE THERAPIST

I WONT I WONT I WONT

you can’t make me

it’s a free world

jk: you can buy the world??

yoongi: what do people see in you?

jk: whom?

y/n: LMAOOOO

namjoon: jungkook are you high rn?

jk: am i what?

namjoon: high

jk: hello

work on ur spelling joon

jimin: who tf is supplying him with this shit

jin: bet it was tae

tae: NO LOL

LOL

LOL

yoongi: so it was tae

y/n: HAVE YOU BEEN GETTING JUNGKOOK HIGH THESE LAST 2 WEEKS TAE???????

namjoon: this explains a lot

hobi: this is why he’s been messaging shit to my phone at like 2 in the morning

crazy

jk: who

tae: NO

LOL

y/n: HOW HAVE I NOT NOTICED???

jimin: right you dumb as hell tbh

namjoon: does it not smell??

jin: namjoon drug expert

tae: MAYBE HES BEEN TAKING EDIBLES

FROM SOMEONE WHEN YOU GO TO SLEEP???

LOL

yoongi: why are you giving ur self away like that

you really are stupid

jk: yeah stupid

yoongi: don’t ever agree with me again

jk: in y/ns bed rn

hobi: fight fight fight

yoongi: been there multiple times

jk: um ur lying

im here every night

i haven’t run into you in the last 4 months

tae: DONR TELL ME YOU LET JUNGKOOK HIT BEFOR ME OH MY GOD I CANT BREATHE RNNNNNNNNNNN

LIKE JUNGKOOK

ARE YOU FR .:’sk

omGGGH

NOOOSODODOD

jk: i’ve never hit a woman in my life

it’s not right pls don’t hit y/n

y/n: he comes to cuddle sometimes

yoongi: he does?

jk: everyday actually

she’s lying

jin: i’m gonna kill 14 puppies in-front of taehyung and see what happens

tae: why me

jin: you’re n need of a personality change

tae: i’m fine the way i am??

love urself and others will love you for you

we made a whole album about it?

jin: i’m not loving you for you tbh

and a LOT of people would say the same

tae: you guys are lucky i’m not sensitive

y/n: i’ve always been a lucky girly

hobi: you literally live with jungkook?

jk: yes?

hobi: nothing

jk: if you remember lmk ^^

tae: y/n do you have ugly man syndrome or something?

y/n: ??

tae: idk you just seem to enjoy being friendly with ugly men

y/n: never once have i said i’ve enjoyed ur company

tae: ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY IM THE UGLY MAN??

y/n: you said it not me…

tae: anything jungkook can do i 110% do it better

unless it’s lack common sense

i’m pretty full of common sense

jimin: that’s actually not true

y/n: maybe that’s what gets jungkook cuddles?

jk: when?

yoongi: being stupid?

y/n: yeah maybe he’s a loser and i find it endearing

yoongi: lol

hobi: me when i’m jealous

tae: IM ACTUALLY THE BIGGESt LOSER AROUND

TELL HER GUYS

namjoon: the biggest!

jimin: HE SOOOOOO DUMB ITS CRAZY

hobi: i feel the need to kick him every time i see him type of loser

jin: he’s such a loser actually i still bully him to this day

tae: not too much now

hobi: okay i can’t do this anymore let’s address the elephant in the room

jimin: namjoon…

namjoon: wtf?

y/n: don’t be mean

jk: are you guys in all in a room without me?

tae: u-um >.<

jin: did he just stutter through text?

y/n: pls stop

jk: where is the elephant??

jin: jungkook go to bed or something ur pissing me off now

jk: sleep well jin

namjoon: gn jin

jin: don’t feed into his shit namjoon

jk: y/n are you with the elephant?

yoongi: y/N aRe yOu wItH tHE eLepHaNt

jimin: what the beef omg?

tae: what is this elephant hobi-senpai ?!!!

i’m sitting on the edge of my seat

♡ (⇀ 3 ↼)

jk: me 2

hobi: tae you need to learn how to get a fucking grip and shut the fuck up

…

FYI JK AND Y/N ARE LIVING TOGETHER FOR THE FUNZIES OKAY? FOR THE GIRLIES THAT DO NOT KNOW

the rest of the members have their own houses and are lonely losers

[fanficfish]

hetalia thought: the older they get, the more "fuck it we ball" the nations get

let me give examples.

-italy bros are at the least gonna hit 2000 soon. Both are bumbling idiots who are more here to have a good time then anything. I'm convinced they're stronger then they make themselves to be (they caught England with a hole. Yes he dropepd in there but how did they get him into the cell? Venezianobbeat up Turkey once, too, and i think that was when turkey was stronger....and if you think about it, veneziano pretending to be an idiot means he can get away with everything. Literally. Even if he sneaks into a meeting room, him yelling about pasta is enogh to make the others go "ah hes at it again"

-China lmand the maid dress cosplay. Enough said.

-the Nordics, who are all over a thousnad and most are prob older. Denmark doesn't give a shit anymore, Norway goes along with everything becauae why not it's entertainment, Sweden is a memelord. Finland is probably a bit younger so he's a little more grounded, and so is Iceland- they follow the rest but i think they haave a bit more sense of not letting time just go by completely. -America and Canada are young and you can see it- they try to fit in with the rest but over or underdo it and are surprised at things like weekends passing by in a blink of an eye. Germany too, the three of them are babies and just don't quite get the joke sometimes, not for lack of trying.

-England is also up there and i mean. England and his brothers made up English TCG pokemon whatever

-france has long since accepted the idea of being a free spirit. He exists and contemplates and does his thing, knowing time will pass and he might as well try to do the little he can.

-we all know russia was hit one too many times by General Winter. Ukraine surprisingly seems to have her head, but Belarus definitely let the age get to her....just a little. I have a bet she's spent so long chasing Russia she doesn't really know how to stop.

-Poland also doesn't give a shit he just wants his ponies. Man's embraced modern life and decided to just take things as it goes. Lithuania would be dead from stressing at him if he wasn't immortal.

-japan is also pretty old but he is an outlier as far as im concerned becauae this man is a boomer whose besties are a bunch of gen Zs and he might as well be one of them. i think he's done better at the aging thing at least.

-not gonna touch on spain and olive oil. -or Austria's entertainment source being infuriating to his hosts and then marrying everyone.

-or Prussia who's kinda just gone awesome

-or Switzerland who saw the world as said fuck all lf you (cue the red cross) yall need therapy (adopts a sister) why am i the sane one here (puts up security cameras)

-and then ofc there's Greece, who long ago philosophiciEd tok hard and now knows the only things that matter in life are sleep, cats, and occassionally hanging iut with your best frenemy.

[ewanmitchelll]

Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (XIV): State of Grace.

Imagine you find the love of your life on Tinder. But there’s a lot going on before you and him realize that.

Warnings 1: fluff, light reading, some drama, light smut.

***

• (I)

I'm walking fast through the traffic lights. Busy streets and busy lives and all we know is touch and go. We are alone with our changing minds. We fall in love 'til it hurts or bleeds, or fades in time…

You stare at the Tinder app you’ve just downloaded. Motivations cannot be concealed of why you are doing it. Loneliness is why it’s suddenly opened, leading you to interact with strangers under the pretense you are about to fall in love with the man of your life.

Ridiculous are such romantic notions, and you have no one to blame for nurturing them but yourself. That is why you open it and sliding these male pictures like they are part of an odd menu, you think you are very demanding when you see his picture on your screen.

His profile reads:

Aemond T, 28 years old. “Live fast. Die young. No idea what the fuck I’m doing here, but it is what it is.”

You think those lines are quite amusing and you press the “like” button, a part of you doubting he’s liking you back. Especially when your profile reads:

Y/N, 28 years old. “I talk a lot and make bad jokes. If you are here to be monosyllabic, please get out.”

To your disconcert, he likes you back.

“Well, let’s see how this one goes”, you tell yourself, somewhere between self pity and skepticism.

*

Aemond Targaryen has arrived home in the first rays of morning. Ran on the streets, crossing red lights, a color he dresses and lives for, hardly respecting it at times when he finds convenient.

Living at the upper east side of King’s Landing, he’s slightly drunk when he gets at the apartment he shares with the only tolerable member of his family: his sister, Laena, who’s sleeping by now.

Opening Tinder because, since he left Alys, he feels the need of one night stand, he finds himself quite impatient before such pursuit. When he sees Y/N on his screen, he knows this is not the kind of woman he usually hangs out with.

In fact, this bad boy hardly looks for good girls—Alys once accused him of mother issues for dating older women who somewhat resemble his mother and this kind of traumatized him. No one knows, but he’s doing therapy to fix this issue.

But you are not older, hardly look like his mother, Mrs Alicent Hightower, and… well, you look beautiful with vivid y/c eyes, smooth y/c skin and y/c hair tossed against the wind.

As soon as he sees he’s corresponded, he sends a message, almost falling asleep because it’s 5 am but he’s surprised when you promptly reply.

“What’s up?”, Aemond writes, half drunk, half asleep.

“All good. And you? Where do you speak from?”, you write back.

“Upper east side, you?”

“Not the richest part of the town for sure.”

When reading these acid lines, Aemond laughs, though something about them annoys him in the same measure.

“What do you know about that?”

“Enough to know this is not a place I frequent.”

“So where do you come from?”

“I recently left High Garden and am temporarily living at the capital. In that neighborhood called Y/C.”

“That’s a good neighborhood. Despite your prejudice, I actually go there at times.”

“My prejudice? Do you suppose I hate rich people now?”

Aemond is not sure how the hell this is going. Shouldn’t a one night stand be this difficult to find, for sure.

“Sorry. I’m drunk.”

He’s about to throw the phone away and touch himself instead. This appears to be a better option. Besides, calling Alys is not fucking considered.

“Apologies accepted. I admit I did not express myself well”, you write. “Should we start again?”

Aemond, between horny and impatient, finds himself compelled not to throw away his phone, after all.

“Sure, why not? What are you doing at 5 am? I mean… I have the excuse of being drunk after a fantastic party at the port, but you?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts over my head, I think, but this is not a conversation for Tinder.”

Now Aemond is wide awake. You don’t look like any superficial woman he’d been talking these days.

“Why, tell me about it. I am an expert when it’s about anxiety and other things. Besides, who do you take me for? I like deep conversations.”

“Send me a text message and we can keep this going.” And you write your number down.

The silver haired male raises an eyebrow. Despite the poor starter, you are more interesting than he’d formerly judged.

I wonder what lies behind these photographed vivid eyes, Y/N.

***

You exchange messages with Aemond for three days. A date is set, and before you know expectations rise. Then you start to sabotage yourself.

You begin to look for excuses when it comes to meet this strange, handsome rich man. Old traumas remind you of past failures, but your mind is briefly distracted when he sends you a message:

“Hey, Y/N. How’s it going? Didn’t hear from you today.”

It’s mid-week, and due to your work as y/c you occupied yourself enough to avoid his name or the fact that in three days you might meet him.

Part of you wonders what could possibly go wrong whilst another makes a power point presentation with lists of why it could go worse than expected.

“All good”, you eventually answer. “Sorry for not answering straight away. I’ve been working.”

To your surprise, he doesn’t take long to answer you back.

“How’s work so far?”

You know Aemond works as humanities professor at Westeros University, but that he’s also part of that (rather infamous) Targaryen family.

“Good so far. Just busy. How’s yours?”

“One needs patience to deal with young adults that still think they are teenagers. By the way, apologies for the swift change of subjects, but how’s our Saturday going? Still standing, I hope?”

You hesitate, panicking before the idea of seeing someone. Part of you tries to find motives to avoid him, but another, more reasonable, reminds you this is living: hurting, yes, but embracing the joys life may offer. Shielding oneself against disappointment will not stop them happening, so what is the point of hiding in shadows under the pretense of impeding suffering?

“Is 10 o’clock good?”

“It works fine for me. I’ll see you there!”

It’s set. Your first date in three years…

• (II)

You come around and the armor falls. Pierce the room like a cannonball. Now all we know is don't let go. We are alone, just you and me…

Aemond is not romantic, but practical like his ex used to mock. He is not the kind of man who opens easily, rather being a man of actions.

How unusual, or perhaps following an advice of his sister dear, that he opts as first date with a girl he’d never seen before a picnic at the Aegon’s Hill.

Dressed like someone who could easily be mistaken as a motorcycle rider man, he’s wearing a pair of sunglasses and threw over his shoulder a black jacket, wearing a simple white shirt and black pants.

He checks his phone once a while, but why is he feeling dizzy at this first encounter with a stranger?

It’s when he spots you dressed in a flower dress, medium y/c hair blowing against the wind, wearing a pair of blue sandals on your feet.

A funny contrast you two are, like sun and moon when they meet, resulting in an eclipse. But as Aemond watches you come, shy and insecure about him, he wonders where this will go.

Taking off his sunglasses, he stands and smiles:

“Y/N? It’s me, Aemond.”

“Oh”, you barely blink when spotting those purple eyes. “You are taller than I had assumed.”

He chuckles at your remark.

“In my family this is a remarkable trait, some would say.” Aemond offers you a seat and you soon take it.

You see the picnic is already set, the cloth already spread over the green grass on a spot that has some shadows thanks to a large tree that there stands.

There are fruits, cakes, cereals and breads, but also juice, water and coffee. You are positively impressed by the effort he paid to this. Aemond side smirks at your reaction.

“What? Did you like it?”

“I loved it”, you smile the brightest at him. “Thank you, Aemond. I’ve never done picnics before.”

“No?”, he inquires, watching you with interest. “How come? I thought this was a common thing at High Garden?”

You laugh heartily and Aemond decides that he likes the sound.

“I am not a noblewoman, my dear. It may be a tradition amidst the local elite. You must certainly have heard of a beauty named Margaery Tyrell. She does promote these events there, but like I said, I’ve moved to Kings Landing a few years ago.”

“The name may hint something, but I don’t care about elites and their gatherings”, says Aemond, serving himself some water whilst you opt for some juice. “My father loves throwing fanciful parties, but I don’t fit them, so I stopped going.”

As you study him, your gaze and his linger for one small, but significant moment before you say:

“So I get you are not very close to your family?”

“Not really, no. But you wouldn’t be if your father favored one child over the other and expected gratitude in return”, he smiles despite the poisonous words.

You raise your eyebrows.

“Is it that bad then?”

“You have no idea.”

You tilt your head.

“I cannot believe I relate to you, Aemond Targaryen.”

For some reason, this brings you both to delightful laughters in that first date…

***

• (III)

And I never saw you coming. And I'll never be the same…

It’s been two weeks. What was supposed to be a chasing after one night stand it has become new discoveries giving space to new sensations.

Aemond likes to kiss your lips in his car, to make you laugh at his bad jokes or listen when you tell about your day.

You like to listen to him too, not only about his days, but his past experiences, open wounds that mirror yours. And when he kisses you it is as if the world stops spinning and everything takes in a slower rhythm.

His kiss makes you feel unspeakable things, but that you never felt encouraged in doing them, transferring to reality what has only been a fantasy of your dreams.

Nonetheless, you are still reluctant in pushing affairs forward and Aemond respects you that. He reads you like an open book, always observant about your mannerisms.

This day, for example, you two are at a coffeehouse that is located within a bookshop. There, you read a book of poems all the whilst he drinks coffee. It’s a comfortable silence and it gives him such a peace, one of the kind he’s unused to it.

“What are you looking at?”, you ask upon sensing his stare, which makes you blush.

He chuckles, finding adorable how easily he makes you shy.

“You”, says he directly. “I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful like you, reading so concentrated.”

You giggle like a silly girl, finally putting the book aside to take his long hand in yours, enjoying how smooth it is when your fingers are locked with his.

“Stop it”, you shoot him an embarrassed look. “You know it’s untrue.”

Aemond laughs quietly. He then makes sure you are now sitting on his lap, disregarding the fact you two are at a public place.

“I mean every word I say”, he looks deep into your eyes, holding your hips as he rests his chin over your shoulder. “How come I feel more alive when I’m with you, dearest Y/Nickname? My heart races when you look at me like that.”

You lean closer to him, a smile spreading big on your lips before cupping his face with your hands.

In your mind you cry out a big “I love you”, but these words don’t reach your tongue yet. You thus kiss his lips instead and there you stay, at your private paradise.

*

Later, he drives you to his home. His sister isn’t there and Aemond wants to show you his place properly. This is the first time you are there since you and him started dating—though no label has come out of either mouths yet.

Once inside, you are given a tour at the apartment. It’s bigger than you’d expect, but cozy and nice to look at with a huge view at his living room to the sea.

“Look at this view!”, you exclaim in awe as you see green hills mixing with different modern buildings that are combined with the blue of the oceans, reflecting the same shade of the color that paints the skies. “I wish I was this privileged! But then I remember I already am.”

And saying so, you look at him, transmitting more than you’d expect. But even so… when Aemond meets your gaze, he sees it through you. What is curious is that, somewhere in his past, he’d flee, panic or fight it in his way by sabotaging the process.

He still has his scars, and these are eventually coming to surface, but this silver haired male has no space in his mind that is not you. Thus, he comes to stay behind you and says:

“You know what, Y/N? Be with me. Be my girlfriend.”

You turn your head at him. It is easy to be involved by sweet words and empty promises, but this is not what you feel when your wide-eyed gaze meets his intense one.

Souls speak in silence when desires, sentiments and thoughts are aligned in one purpose. Could it be any different? Perhaps yes, but neither you nor Aemond conceive otherwise.

"Yes, my dearest."

You turn and wrap your hands around his neck. Proximity is shortened as his long, callous hands tight the grip around your waist and his forehead once again rests against yours and a kiss comes as a result.

Though he is not yet ready to speak these three words that at times can be seen behind his dazzling purple eyes, Aemon is more than ready in building a new, more optimistic future with you by his side.

A sentiment and perception that you share as your togue snakes in his and together dance in one slow syncronized rhythm. Silence remains undefeated in the surroundings... but for how long?

His is the fireous pursuit and you, like a timber prompted to burn. Soon, you are pressed against the wall with his lips still locked with yours, but his hands move to your hips, there staying, there caressing your bum before rising to your waist and slowly transferring his gentle, warming touch to your back, underneath the blouse you wear.

It does not help that, after biting your bottom lip, he breaks the kiss so he gradually grows bold in his teasings. You like how your boyfriend--and the word brings a smile to your redish lips--takes his time to get to know you and your pace even if you suspect he's a dragon like the standard of the symbol of his famous family.

You play with his long locks, wrapping them around your fingers, sighing quietly as his tongue takes its time to get familiar with your neck. You giggle softly, however, when his hands rest subtly on your belly.

"Yes, babe?", he raises his eyes to meet yours and in them you see mischief. "Is it good for my lady?"

Your knees often weaken and your body gets instantly warm at whenever he is gallant with you. Aemond, a good observer, knows it well. No wonder why he smirks at you.

"It is more than good, I fear to say", you chuckle, struggling not to rub one leg to the other, especially when he looks at you like that. And you find yourself restless, prompted to let your fingertips vaguerously move from his arms to his chest, thus helping him remove his shirt.

"Is it so?", Aemond laughs quietly, letting you take the reins of the moment. "Your innocent gaze makes me no fool, young lady".

Saying so he presses you one more time against the wall, biting your neck all the whilst your hands eagerly move to his pants.

"You are my doom", you whimper impatiently.

The spark is about to explode...

***

(IV)

So you were never a saint and I've loved in shades of wrong We learn to live with the pain, Mosaic broken hearts. But this love is brave and wild

Even sun sets in paradise. In due time, his obscurity comes to surface as well as your vices. Jealousy is a trait you dislike in yourself, reflecting the insecurity within due to bad experiences in former relationships.

His self entitled taste for liberty awakes this beast, coming to test your relationship in the famous “three months crisis”.

“Don’t give me the silent treatment”, says Aemond, troubled by your silence as he drives you home.

The cause of disagreement rests in the unwelcoming presence of Alys Rivers. Two days after Aemond’s birthday party, she, who remained a close friend to his brother Aegon—even if his entire family hates her for reasons you have not yet figured out—paid him a visit and you were not told about this.

But he eventually tells you like it is not relevant for your relationship. You, proud where sentiments are concerned, think that if he cannot see how wrong this all is, certainly will not find out by you.

“I am not giving any silent treatment”, your words cry a wound open in your ego, your voice betrays your pride.

Aemond sighs and stops the car somewhere random.

“Come now, don’t be like this, Y/N”, he looks at you with confused eyes. “We have always talked about everything, haven’t we?”

Your therapist usually tells you that, regardless of how uncomfortable it is to speak out, you must not swallow your sentiments nor bury them by turning into a burden that should be forgotten. Or else your body would feel the results, which in turn were not nice.

Aemond can see you are struggling against yourself, aware that underneath you there lies old scars that still do you harm. He puts a hand around your shoulders, patient.

“Take your time”, he says with his usual soothing voice.

In other circumstances, he’d not be patient. But this is someone whom he cares deeply, having grown to love sincerely. Only another woman holds his patient affection and it’s his sister, Helaena.

Eventually you burst into tears, letting yourself exposed before this man you love. You’d think he is the kind of guy who likes strong women so you’d never let be seen so fragile, so open.

Aemond somehow comprehends it, then he lifts your face so you can meet his gaze and see there’s no judgement behind his eyes. Wiping away your tears, he suddenly realizes, after examining his conscience, the probable cause of your hurting.

“What did I do, lass? There is no need to push me away. We must speak. What is troubling you, my love?”

“I… I…” you take a deep breath, confident you can battle your demons. “You welcomed her, the woman who you told me you loved fiercely for many years. You welcomed her at your house and tell me as if this is no big deal? She may remain friends with your brother, but then what about us? What about me? Do you care so little about my feelings that you simply receive her, a woman I cannot equal in many ways?”

Oh, the thought comes too late. So this is what it’s about.

Aemond doesn’t know how to respond straight away. Sticking to his early encouragement, he is not running away from himself.

There is embarrassment, there is shame. His thoughts are a mess, but only after you stop sobbing that he turns at you.

“I’m sorry, Y/Nickname. That was imprudent of me.”

“I am not that kind of girl who is possessive of her boyfriend. Who you hang out with is your problem, we all have friends and it’s completely understandable to be friends with one’s ex but…”

“Wait”, he frowns. “Are you friends with your exes?”

You ignore his remark.

“…to welcome her like that without even telling me, and at your own house with no one else. How can I feel comfortable with that?”

“Aegon was there”, Aemond mumbles. “This doesn’t excuse, I know. I’m sorry, darling. And I had no idea you compared with her. For the love of God, I am your boyfriend, not hers. If I wanted to relive the past, I would be a historian or a museologist.”

Pleased to make you chuckle, Aemond smiles at you, pressing a soft kiss against your temple.

“Are we good?”

“Yes, my love, we are.”

And you two stay silent, appreciating each other’s company with only the stars and the poorly illuminated posts as witnesses.

*

A few months later, a graver disagreement comes like an earthquake to shake the stability between you two.

Aemond is a possessive man, so he is not exactly a man of sharing. This flaw comes particularly when he feels threatened by others. One of these is his nephew, Jacaerys Velaryon.

He thought this rascal man was being friendlier to you than you deserved. You two had a fervent argument after that.

Or when you accused him of running away of his commitment to you by not introducing you to his family.

As you can see, it’s been a hell of a ride.

But twelve months later and insecurities are overcome, with you finally settled with each other’s demons.

***

• (V)

This is a state of grace. This is the worthwhile fight. Love is a ruthless game unless you play it good and right. These are the hands of fate. You're my Achilles heel. This is the golden age of something good and right and real…

You mount on him, ready to another drive. It feels so damn good to have his cock twitching hard, thrusting inside you as you two move slowly.

“This is so damn good”, you moan, eyes closed.

“Do not be loud, my dear”, Aemond smirks, adjusting to you, taking a seat without letting you fall.

Curtain is open, giving path to moonlight spark in his bedroom. You are at his apartment, having recently moved together.

But dear Helaena’s birthday is coming soon and some of the family is spending time there.

“I am trying to, but you make it difficult”, you whimper when he takes your breast to his mouth all the while fingering you concomitantly to his moves.

And then he rolls you to his bed, fastening his pace and kissing you passionately.

Not too long after that and you both come together in the same climax. When cuddling you, Aemond says.

“I corrupted you, didn’t I?”

You cast him an amused glance.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve become more naughty since we’ve met”, Aemond chuckles, kissing your neck. “Not that I am complaining.”

“What can I do if the makeup sex is really good?”, you laugh quietly.

Interlocking fingers, you two stay like this for a moment, staring into the nude dark sky able to spot from his bed.

“I was thinking…”

“Yes?”

You look at him, admiring his beauty, the paled, smooth skin, the well built muscles perfectly drawn in his shaped body, his long hands that mould so well with yours… Even his wrongs, his flaws, his vices… make you love him ardently.

Sensing your gaze, Aemond begins to flush.

“I am no romantic”, he whispers in his usual quiet tone. “But you know how I’ve grown to overcome my disability in expressing my thoughts and sentiments.”

“I’ve always judged you did this better than me”, you muse partially joking, pleased to make him smile.

“I…”

Now on your elbows, you take his face with your hands.

“What’s it my dear?”

Avoiding your inquisitive gaze, Aemond is silent before bursting it soon:

“Be my wife.”

You barely blink, a small, silly smile, coming to form on your lips.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me”, he blushes.

You laugh at his lack of sensibility. Throwing yourself at him gives the peace his rioting heart requires.

“Is this a… yes?”, Aemond asks, unsure. “I should have done it better, I’m so…”

You shush him by kissing his lips, then saying:

“Of course this is a yes! You are my state of grace, Aemond Targaryen! I could have not asked for a better husband.”

When contemplating the genuine joy stamped in your features, he, stroking your cheek, then says:

“You are the love of my life, Y/N Y/LN.”

Without waiting for any response, he holds you against his chest, rocking you in his arms as you share a kiss.

It’s the first chapter of your happily ever after…

[bearsinpotatosacks]

Rewatching star trek beyond so liveblogging it

God this film feels like coming home. Let me be a pharmacy assistant on the Enterprise please my life would be fixed

So does Bones just steal from people's lockers? Also they have lockers?

Oh LoRDy

I wish I could’ve been into star trek when this came out

Someone medicate Bones, man's so stressed out honestly

This film really makes me want star trek 4, make it a motion picture, getting the band back together thing

Love the way we see yorktown as massive and impressive then zoom in on the spaceport to make it seem lived in

Sulu's daughter has a toy enterprise

Fuck, prime Spock’s dead

The parts where they show prime spock really make me want a crossover between tos and aos, and it hurts that I'll never see it, guess i'll have to live in fanfic

Love the practical effects of this film

Also is Jim’s outfit in this scene, grey with yellow shoulders, the formalwear? If so I like it

Lovr Uhura's communications panel

Chris Pine's reactions, the cinematography, the set design, the sounds, fuck I love this film

Gonna start saying "i can't engage the warp drive" when i stall a car

Would love to see the borg in aos

Love the character consistency of Bones not carrying a phaser but spock is

Love Bones' portable scanner, i would watch a fake documentary about star trek tech

Does anyone wonder what happened to all the personal belongings that were destroyed on the Enterprise?

Jaylah’s coming soon 😆

There she is!

How many languages does she speak? English, her own and whatever those people she beat up were speaking?

Notice how Bones is still cut on the forehead while he's helping out Spock

Also why does Jaylah know about Krall’s plan? Is that why he shoots people down, try to find the Abornath then kill them to be immortal?

Just realised that Jaylah’s tech was probably from her ship before she got to Altamid, that's why she knows how to use it, her stick, her traps, the parts she got for the franklin (as well as other ships), makes me want to know what her people were like

How long has Jaylah been there?

Love how Bones is ready to throw hands

Bones dancing to achy breaky heart when?

Also Jaylah isn't introduced to Spock and bones, they just get beamed aboard and then spock collapses

Oo Krall’s looking more human

"You gave your girlfriend a tracking device?" Spock’s face 🤣

I really want to know about Jaylah’s family

This film literally proves that my "Jaylah is actually really fucking traumatised and definitely has (c) ptsd" agenda is canon

Also Scotty has his grandma's china hc

Love how Jim respects his crew

Also jim kirk is so Maverick/tom cruise coded it's insane. Bikes, dead dad, cocky attitude, shipped with someone who’s "ice cold"

Uhura has got to be traumatised after seeing a crewmate literally eaten in front of her

Jim Cruise is here! Tom Kirk!

After getting into top gun, the star trek navy inspired titles are funny to me, at least in aos by how quick they get them and how young they all are

Not sure why Jaylah’s fighting gives me kill bill vibes

Also jaylah has blue blood!

Love how sulu gets the dramatic line "they're going to destroy yorktown"

How long did it take to get the ship ready to fly? I mean, it's been at least a day and a night, the day they arrived, nighttime then they all got rescued and brought back together the next day just wondered how long it all took to happen

Also seatbelts!

Sulu would’ve won top gun

"I acknowledge and respect your concerns" Someone's been to therapy

"How do we get them to stop talking" is spoken so shatner

Just realised why certain jobs are the colours, yellow: anything running the ship (captain, pilot etc), red: anything about how the ship runs (engineering, communications, security), blue: science and medical

I love how the end of this film is similar to battleships where they use an old ship to defeat an alien ship

The picture of the original crew! He took it with him! I need a crossover now! I love how they used a more brassy theme there, makes it sound more original, more nostalgic

They had the chance to do futuristic dress but they just look like dudes from 2016

If they could just do an animated series for the aos crew...

Also the og theme at the end 🥲

[johannestevans]

Rescue Dogs

Do you like traumatised young men with no sense of agency or bodily autonomy? Of course you do.

Do you enjoy a narrative where the once-chosen one has to live with not being chosen anymore, not being important anymore, no longer being the hero everybody wants and needs? Do you enjoy a narrative where, having been chewed up and spit out by their destiny, that ex-hero wonders if they should ever have been a hero at all?

Do you like the idea of the aforementioned mentally unstable young man stalking his ex-PE teacher, who he tried desperately to get to fuck him at school, but never would? Do you like the idea of that ex-teacher, lonely and isolated and miserable and more than a bit self-loathing, finally giving in and actually fucking him?

Do you like reading about abuse victims trying to come to terms with everything that's been done to them? The ways in which they've been failed - and the ways in which their instinct is to fail others? Do you like seeing characters who are utterly fucked up by being CSA victims, but are trying their best anyway?

Do you like when one member of an honestly fucked up and unbalanced relationship is trying desperately to convince his more vulnerable partner to seek help? Go to therapy? Realise that he deserves better?

Do you like it when men identify just a bit too much with abused dogs?

If the answer to any or all of the above is yes, I think you might really like my serial, Rescue Dogs, which is about all that shit and more, and you can read it online for free!

Rescue Dogs

Rated E, M/M. Cecil Hobbes finally gets Valorous King to try a new adventure: therapy. Cecil Hobbes, an ex-PE teacher disgraced and looked down on in his hometown, has a new partner: Sir Valorous King, a knight of the realm, once a child of prophecy, and Cecil’s stalker. A few months into their relationship, Cecil finally convinces Valorous to see a therapist, on the condition that Cecil attend one himself.

Read on Ao3 (free) / / Read on Medium (paid) / / Read on WorldAnvil (free)

Want to give it a try?

First chapter is here:

It wasn’t accurate to say that Cecil Hobbes had never lived with someone in his house before. Of course he had – he’d never been married in his life, and by definition none of his relationships really lasted more than two or three years, but he’d had lads in his house, over the years, here and there.

For a few months at a time, he’d had old army mates stay in the house while they got back on their feet and found a job elsewhere; he’d had lads whose families had kicked them out, or who couldn’t make up money for rent on their own flats.

And he usually had dogs, tended to have at least one, sometimes two or three.

Cecil was a man who liked to be on his own, but to be on his own didn’t mean that he needed to be the only person around. He’d grown up in a crowded house as a young lad, a lot of his older brothers still around – then they’d all gotten jobs, Randall and Vic had died, and suddenly it had just been him in the house with his mum and dad, and it’d been… Odd.

In the army, though, you were never on your own even if you were on your own, and it was the same once he was teaching.

But he’d never—

It was his house.

He’d bought it, took out the mortgage as soon as he’d started teaching in Lashton, and he’d put all his savings into it to make sure he could fucking pay off the thing – which was why he had no money now, yeah, but also meant he had a house to come back to once he was out of the nick. Even when there were people in his house, seventeen-year-olds he’d fucked twice and then let sleep in the spare room while they were studying for their exams, or old mates he’d served with who were knocking on doors all around until someone hired them, they were guests, whether they stayed for three weeks or a year and a half.

Valorous King, with whom Cecil Hobbes was recently involved, invited himself into Cecil’s house like it belonged to him too.

The first time he’d come in, it’d had been after drugging Cecil with a poisoned cigarette and knocking him out – the intention had been to make him dinner, dose him with some sort of souped-up magical Viagra, and make sure that Cecil fucked him.

He’d gotten distracted, though, by the state of Cecil’s house. Cecil’s house, which since he’d come back from the nick had gotten messier and dirtier because he didn’t have many friends any longer and he didn’t bring anyone he fucked home with him: he’d come in, seen it was filthy, seen there were bottles and cans and fag packets everywhere, seen there were piled up dirty dishes, dirty clothes, and like he was a born fucking housewife, he’d just started cleaning it all up.

Cecil had woken up groggy and out of it to a cooked dinner waiting for him in the oven, and his very own infamous stalker telling him he’d done his washing and put out all his bins.

It’d been months since then.

Cecil’s house was cleaner that it had been since he’d fucking bought it, all of his clothes clean and pressed and put away, all of his fucking documents and records organised and put into file boxes.

He’d always been quite a neat guy, depression notwithstanding, and he didn’t actually have all that many possessions in the house, but Valorous took cleanliness and neatness to the extreme.

He kept having arguments with the dog.

“Ruby!” said Valorous, and Cecil looked up from the paper, watching as Valorous came into the house either from work or the gym – he smelt of sweat and heat and his skin was shiny with it, and Cecil’s hands twitched with the urge to pull him up the stairs to fuck him while he was still tired, lick the sweat off his chest.

Ruby had been chained up in a yard for the first two years of her life, was intermittently shouted at and beaten by the family she’d come from, was terrified of kids and other dogs. She didn’t know what to make of Valorous King – she needed a calm, easygoing hand, not a fucking neurotic little prick.

“Why’s your toy on the floor?” Valorous asked, brandishing a squeaky carrot. Ruby was stood on her feet with her head forward, her big brown eyes doleful as she looked up at him, and she nervously wagged her tail. “It goes in here.”

Valorous put the toy in the labelled box – he’d bought her a set of three kids’ toy troughs, split into squeaky toys and plushes, balls, and chew toys. Cecil had only bought her a set of three to see what she liked – Valorous bought her new toys all the time. As soon as he put the carrot in its box, he frowned, getting to his knees and swapping toys between the boxes, putting them where they were supposed to be.

Ruby stayed on her feet, watching him cautiously, and then slowly came forward, reached into a box, and took the carrot out.

“Are you playing with it?” Valorous asked sternly.

“She still doesn’t really get how to play with toys, kid,” said Cecil quietly. “She just likes to hold them.”

Valorous reached out, and it was funny, watching them be nervous of each other – Valorous was careful about holding the carrot by the corner, staying away from Ruby’s mouth.

Ruby dropped the carrot and left it in his hand.

Valorous gave it one squeak, smiling when Ruby’s ears tipped up and her mouth opened in more of a smile, and then he threw it – Ruby watched it sail across the room, politely baffled, and then looked back into the box.

“No, no, Ruby, we’re playing with the carrot,” said Valorous.

Ruby picked up a toy scarecrow and looked at him hopefully.

“Ruby, get the—”

“Good girl, Rubes,” said Cecil, and watched the way her face lit up, her tail wagging a little bit more, her ears perking up even more. She still didn’t wag her tail like another dog might, but they’d get there.

She wasn’t pissing on the floor inside anymore, had mostly grasped that she had to go outside for that, although she still didn’t ask enough for Cecil’s liking, so he was taking her out several more times a day than she really needed – the third or fourth time she’d pissed on the floor in the kitchen Valorous had burst into tears out of sheer frustration, and Cecil had sent him back to bed to keep him from making her even more nervous than she was.

 She’d kept trying to lick his face as he’d scrubbed the tile after, her whole body shaking, neither of them having any fucking idea what to do with each other.

Valorous looked back at Cecil, his face pinched.

“Take the scarecrow,” he said.

“But she won’t chase it.”

“So don’t throw it. Just take it and hold it out to her.”

When Valorous did, Ruby mouthed at the scarecrow’s head, chewing on the corner of it, looked mostly down but kept glancing up at Valorous’ face. Valorous squeaked the toy, and she jumped, but then took the scarecrow by the head and tugged it back, taking it back to her bed and lying down.

“She looks so sad all the time,” complained Valorous, going to pick up the carrot and putting it in its box.

“She isn’t,” said Cecil, and got to his feet, dropping the paper aside. “She’s being rehabilitated, lad. She’s not gonna act like a normal dog for a while – may be that she never does. It’s not her fault.”

“I’m not saying it is! Just— Doesn’t it make you feel bad? Looking at her? And she’s… sad?”

“Broken?”

“She’s not broken,” Valorous snapped.

“No,” Cecil agreed, not smiling but feeling the urge. “Come upstairs, I want to choke you while I fuck you.”

* * *

Cecil worked in a gym three or four days a week – recently, it had been four days more often than it was three, and now and then he even worked five. It was taking time, what with the reputation he had around Lashton at this point, but it wasn’t exactly a big fancy gym where people really gave a fuck who or what he was, and no matter how much some of them disliked him, he was good at training, good at fighting, good at what he did.

Sometimes, people came in and sneered and asked if he was that nonce, and he shrugged and said, “People call me that, don’t mean it’s true,” and put them to work if they didn’t walk out immediately.

Then they’d hear him working with other guys, pushing them hard, and they’d change their tune a bit, ask him for notes.

Valorous King, though, was a cop. He mostly worked murders and violent crime, and despite what an active little fuck he was, he did a lot of his work within the office – he collated data and evidence, put his freaky, analytical mind to contradicting statements and marked them out.

Cecil was fully aware that when Valorous King did interrogations, he got results – he was also aware that when he’d joined up, a sort of shudder had gone through the fucking population, because everyone knew who Valorous King was, and of all the pigs they could go head-to-head with, they didn’t want one like him.

The lad was fucking feral, and everyone could tell that just to look at him, just to talk to him, but when he stood right across from someone and bored holes into them with their eyes, they talked before they even fucking meant to.

He was a celebrity, of course. Sir Valorous King was a knight of the realm, had been since he was a teenager – he’d killed dragons, griffins, wyverns, led armies into battle, fought duels, jousted, had championed arenas across the country and abroad.

The lad had been on the fucking postal stamps in 2015.

“Do you think I should be in an institution?” he demanded when Cecil walked in the door.

Cecil took this in, unzipping his jacket and hanging it up – Ruby didn’t come to greet him because Valorous was sitting on the floor in her bed, and she was laying over his lap, her big blunt head rested on his belly, but her tail wagged as Cecil came closer.

“No,” he said, coming to crouch on the floor, and Ruby leaned forward for Cecil to scratch her big cheeks, but she kept her body in Valorous’ lap, not wanting to let him get up, not knowing when she’d get to sit with him again if she did. “Who told you you should be?”

“Sergeant Stark says I’m a hazard,” said Valorous. “That I’m unstable. That I shouldn’t be around the public.”

“David Stark? He used to beat the shit out of his daughters, and two out of three of them had eating disorders at school. I wouldn’t base your fucking persona on his recommendations. What did you do?”

“Told a witness that she was being a cunt.”

“… Alright,” said Cecil. “Starting to see his point.”

“She was being a cunt. Her daughter’s in hospital, and all she’s fucking talking about is how it’s her daughter’s fault for wearing this fucking dress or going out at night, or what fucking ever.”

“I’m not an expert on police procedure, lad, but I’m pretty sure regardless you can’t go around calling witnesses cunts.”

He leaned forward, burying his face in the top of Ruby’s head, squeezing her, and Cecil kept a careful eye on her body language, making sure she wasn’t stiffening up or uncomfortable, but she was surprisingly okay with being held and hugged, and Valorous never did it for too long even though he wasn’t too great with dogs.

“Of course,” said Cecil, “you knew that. You knew he’d react like that, that no one would think it was justified.”

Valorous shrugged.

“You want to take the dog for a walk?”

“Do we have to muzzle her?”

“Yeah,” said Cecil. “If we don’t muzzle her and she bites another dog, we’ll have to put her down. Besides, the muzzle is good – people see that she has a muzzle on and they keep their dogs away from her.”

“But she doesn’t bite them unless they get too close,” said Valorous. “It’s not like she runs up to other dogs to bite them – she keeps herself to herself, she only bites out of self-defence.”

“Yeah, but she’s a big dog,” said Cecil slowly. “She’s stronger than most of the other dogs, big, she has strong jaws. She can do a lot of damage that a chihuahua couldn’t.”

“I don’t like how people look at her,” said Valorous. “They look at her like she’s a bad dog, because she’s got a muzzle on.”

“She doesn’t know that,” said Cecil. “She doesn’t give a fuck – she’s a dog, she doesn’t know if anyone’s judging her. All she knows is that she’s allowed to go for walks and exercise, and she’ll be happier with no other dogs anywhere near her.”

Ruby was looking between them, but she didn’t twig what was happening until Cecil went over and took her muzzle off the hook, and then she skittered off of Valorous’ lap and rushed to sit at Cecil’s feet, her tail wagging hard.

Valorous stayed sitting in the dog bed, bringing his knees up to his chest and looking very small, and watched Cecil slide the muzzle onto Ruby’s face.

* * *

It was three in the morning when Cecil woke up, bleary-eyed and not really with it. He didn’t move immediately, just watched Valorous on his feet beside the bed, rifling through Cecil’s end table and collecting what he found there – cigarette packets were dropped into a little plastic bag, Cecil’s long-expired passport was placed aside, bottles of lube and sensation gel and tubes of chapstick and a tin of chest rub were lined up on the bed.

“Jesus, lad. You got OCD?” asked Cecil.

“You’re awake?” asked Valorous, not looking away as he pulled out two empty boxes of paracetamol, flattening them and then tossing them into the bag with the cigarette packets. “You want a cup of tea?”

“I’m not awake,” muttered Cecil, raising his chin and yawning, rubbing at his eye. “Get back in bed, fuck.”

“What’s OCD stand for again?”

“Obsessive Compulsive Disorder,” said Cecil, lifting the blanket up, and Valorous slid underneath on his belly, pressing right up against Cecil’s body, sliding one of his knees in between Cecil’s thighs – it was fucking freezing, and Cecil clucked his tongue, wondering how long the little prick had been out of bed.

“You think I have it?”

He wasn’t even offended, obviously. He was barely paying attention, his eyes defocused, the hand that wasn’t settled freezing cold between their chests on the pillow, his fingers tapping against the fabric.

“Could be,” murmured Cecil. “S’not like I’m an expert. How long you been awake?”

“Dunno.”

“You sleep at all?”

“Sure.”

“How long?”

“Dunno.”

Fuck, but it was creepy when he was like this, barely awake and moving through life in a fucking haze, not really with it – listening but the way that a robot or an enchantment could listen, to follow basic instructions but not really get that you were talking to him, really talking to him.

He’d already cleaned out most of the rest of Cecil’s house, had scrubbed the living room and the kitchen and the bathroom and the spare room from top to bottom, had torn up the fucking carpet in the living room and rolled out a new one, bought new curtains. Everything in Cecil’s house was clean, freshly laundered, free of stains, organised, except the bedroom.

He glanced down at Valorous’ hands, trying to get an idea of how wet or rubbed raw they were, but they didn’t look too bad – he hadn’t been scrubbing anything before he started in the bedroom, or at least, it didn’t seem like it.

The lad must’ve been like this, at school.

Cecil recalled moments in PE classes where he’d come in and be uncomfortably quiet and intense, moments where he scared the everloving shit out of the students that had brains in their heads, and didn’t so much as intimidate the stupid ones until after he snapped and looked ready to beat them up, but he’d still be a little bitchy, a little snappy, still alive.

That had been once he’d been at school, though – maybe in the dormitories at St Idloes, he’d been like that, or at home with the other Kings.

Cecil had never really talked much to Maybeetle, who’d been the pastoral care expert, or the dormitory matrons, and while he’d talked once or twice to the school counsellors as much as he’d done his best to avoid it, they’d never talked about Valorous King, only about other shit in passing, sometimes other students.

And he’d never gotten the impression that any of the other teachers at Idloes understood King as well as Cecil did himself, saw him for what he was – they either thought he was some sort of glorious fucking hero ordained by the king regent, or they thought he was troubled and they were scared to have him in their classroom.

Cecil reached up and put his hand in Valorous’ hair, pulling hard, and Valorous blinked a few times, leaning back into Cecil’s hand and looking at him askance, his lips parting.

“Huh?”

“You have a nightmare?” asked Cecil, and studied the slight darkening of Valorous’ features, the shadow that came into his eyes.

He had blue eyes, obviously, had to be a blue-eyed boy – they seemed normal enough from far away, but once you were up close with him like this, you could see it wasn’t a natural colour, that it was too pure and lacked the texture of colour that an iris was meant to have. It was a crystalline blue, looked more like water than the inside of someone’s eye. There was a note in his medical record at school that his eyes had changed colour from a magical incident, probably the one that laid him up in Camelot that first time, for those months of recovery.

“Mm,” said Valorous, and shrugged his shoulders, but he looked awake now, glancing around the room and shifting closer, straddling Cecil’s thigh and putting his hands on Cecil’s chest, pressing on the flesh, his thumbs sliding over his sternum. “I dreamt that I ate your heart.”

“Oh, right,” said Cecil, unenthused. “Prophetic, do you think?”

“I don’t have prophetic dreams,” said Valorous, with a sort of blunt certainty.

How long had Valorous King been the favourite pet of the king regent?

Since he was thirteen or something, thereabouts, and Myrddin had kept Valorous under his hand, on and off, until he was twenty-four, Cecil thought – when he’d been at school, he’d go off to Camelot for lessons and extra tutelage for weeks at a time, to compete in tournaments and championships, and once he’d finished school he’d been in the army, although never as part of the rank and file.

He’d been in with some of the battle mages, Cecil was aware, for a little while, but mostly he’d be off in splinter groups or commanding smaller units, or he’d be the face on a battle to scare the shit out of whatever poor, ready-to-slaughter cavalcade of sacrifices was ready ahead of them.

No matter what he was doing, it had been with Myrddin Wyllt’s personal attention, until he’d gotten some new student – Cecil had read about her in the papers the last few years, some alchemist necromancer, impossible to photograph without a sort of haze distorting the picture – and lost interest in his old favourite.

He hadn’t asked questions about it, but he assumed that the break-up had come after that, and that was when Valorous had come back to Lashton, thought to be a copper.  

He suppressed his smile, recalling when Myrddin had taken Cecil’s face in his hands and stared deep into his eyes, had told him he had no destiny to speak of unless he chose to make one of himself, and that he had no Sight. He’d only been a lad himself, eighteen or so. It was part of the reason, Cecil supposed, that Myrddin had picked him out of the line-up to use as a fucktoy instead of any of the other soldiers – because he meant nothing to nobody and never would.

Of course, there wasn’t any such thing as someone who had no destiny: even men like Cecil Hobbes had futures, in a literal sense. Knowing Myrddin Wyllt, it could well have been that he fucked Cecil knowing that one day he’d take up one of Myrddin’s leftover protegés – except that neither Cecil nor Valorous would ever have fucked the other were it not for Myrddin in the first place.

Cecil considered himself a man somewhat intolerant of prophecy and future-divining, if not outright allergic.

“That’s for the best,” he murmured. “Of all the hearts you could eat, you’d not want a smoker’s.”

“I’ve eaten hearts before,” said Valorous.

“Still beating?”

“Mm.”

“In the arena?”

“Yeah, but not people’s hearts, not other knights,” he clarified. That was good – thinking about the arena woke him up completely, and he was wide awake now, sitting in Cecil’s lap, his arse resting on his thighs, his expression focused, concentrated, a little severe. Frightening, obviously, but that was Valorous King for you. “A drake’s heart, once, and a chimera’s. I bit into the heart of a mist wolf, and it was half vapour in my hands, and when I bit into it, it really was like biting through thick, thick air. Outside of the arena, not really, but there was a skirmish at Victim’s Peak, and I duelled their company captain. I bit into his heart once he was dead – I didn’t… I never planned to. I didn’t mean to, I mean. The whole thing is kind of a blur, actually, I remember putting him on the ground, and then I just remember snatches – his heart set my mouth on fire when I bit into it, the same way popping candy does, you know when you feel that sharp thrill from it?”

“Victim’s Peak is deadland, Valorous,” said Cecil. “Whose fucking army were you fighting?”

“It’s not deadland,” said Valorous, looking confused, but then his brow furrowed, his lips pressed together. “Fuck,” he said. “Is it? That would explain why I went like I did. I tore through all of them after their captain like they were made of paper – they had to wash me off with a hose before I could go inside.”

“It was deadland when I was there,” said Cecil quietly, gently squeezing his waist.

“It probably still was,” Valorous said now. “Do revenants taste like popping candy?”

“If they do, I doubt anyone’s written it down.”

Valorous looked at Cecil very seriously, all of a sudden, and asked – demanded, really – “When did you first get raped?”

“Uh,” said Cecil, “I was seven. My dad came home drunk, very drunk. He’d made me fondle him before that, suck him off a few times, but that was when he first buggered me.”

“What about your mum?”

“She never touched me.”

“No, I mean… Why didn’t she stop him?”

“She wasn’t really in any position to stop him any more than I was, lad,” murmured Cecil. “The woman was a nervous wreck, and she drank to cope, same as he did.”

“Same as he did?” Valorous repeated, looking abruptly angry. “What, like, he raped you as a coping mechanism?”

“Dunno that I’d put it like that,” said Cecil. “He was a veteran, all his friends had died in the war the first time around, then his first and second wives both died. First one died of cancer, but the second one was gangraped and murdered, that was in the fifties.”

“What war?” demanded Valorous, suddenly petulant, and it made Cecil laugh. Ignoring him, he went on, “You don’t mean World War 2.”

“I do,” said Cecil.

“How fucking old are you?”

“Me, I’m fifty-four,” said Cecil. Valorous opened his mouth, and Cecil said, “He was forty-nine when he got my mother pregnant.”

“How old was she?”

“Twenty-something.”

“Ugh.” Valorous said, making a face, and Cecil laughed again, demonstratively grinding his cock up against his arse. “This is different. You can’t get me pregnant.”

“Don’t worry, baby, we can keep trying.” He filed away the flutter of Valorous’ lips and the slight widening of his eyes in the back of his head, committing that expression to memory, to come back to later. “He was always drunk when he fucked me. Had to be – would sob after, sometimes, cry his fucking eyes out, say he was sorry, that he’d never do it again, that he’d kill himself. He never did – and he whored me out later, which isn’t typically what someone does when they’re really fucking sorry.”

“You’re so calm about it,” said Valorous quietly, staring down at him, very serious, lips pressed together. “I couldn’t be calm about something like that. Am I the first person you’ve told?”

Cecil shook his head. “I went to a group in prison.”

“Group therapy?” asked Valorous, wrinkling his nose, and Cecil stroked his hands over the back of his arse.

“Not really – it wasn’t that structured, it was just a talking group that happened to be run by a counsellor. Most of ‘em were rapists, sex pests, convicted nonces. I remember one lad got upset when I said I only ever fucked legal boys, asked if he thought it made me better than him, and I said, yeah, mate. ‘Course I do.”

Valorous was used to being able to make people uncomfortable, especially by asking questions like this, and Cecil could see he was a little uncertain and uncomfortable with just how comfortable Cecil was, how unbothered he was talking about it, answering questions.

“You never raped any kids?” asked Valorous.

“Nah,” said Cecil quietly. “When I was still a kid myself, I fucked other kids – started when I was twelve, fumbled about with lads my age. Once I was in the army, I fucked a few of the sixteen-year-olds who joined up, but I tried to skew older.”

“But you’d rather fuck actual kids?” demanded Valorous, his voice hard and brittle in a way that made Cecil’s stomach do an anxious flip, even though he had no business feeling fucking anxious about anything.

“Young teens make my cock hard, sure,” he said. “Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. But I can look at a boy and think about what he’d feel like without turning him into a sex toy, breaking him open. A lad like that is a human fucking being, believe it or not.”

“Me?”

“You? Are you a human being?”

“Would you have fucked me? When I was eleven?”

“I didn’t fuck you when you were eleven, despite having pretty easy access,” said Cecil, arching an eyebrow. “I think that answers that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re offended?”

“Maybe I am,” said Valorous. “I wasn’t a sexy enough child?”

“Sexy enough to wank over, maybe,” said Cecil, shrugging. “Not sexy enough to become a rapist over.”

Valorous’ hard eyes turned gooey, and Cecil felt even more sick, although this time it was worry for the state of Valorous’ fucking head instead of self-loathing. “You wanked over me?” he asked, voice agonisingly soft.

“Not when you were eleven, no. Later, sure. When you were fifteen and started bending over and displaying your hole for me like an aspiring child bride. Did you ever think about what would have happened, if I’d actually fucked you? What it would have felt like to be fucking your PE teacher? Not the sex, lad, not my cock barely fitting in your teenage arse, the way I’d’ve made it hurt, but the secrecy of it. The fear. Knowing I could get you expelled, ruin your life, threaten to take anything I felt like away from you if you ever stopped pleasing me.”

“I was pursuing you,” said Valorous, and Cecil stroked his hands over the muscled globes of his arse, squeezing slightly. “I was a fucking celebrity – I was a hero, the king regent’s own. If I’d asked his majesty to kill you, he would have.”

“That’s what you thought at the time,” said Cecil. “You didn’t know me and him knew each other.”

Valorous’ expression faltered, his lip shifting as he bit his lip.

“And, lad, fuck Myrddin – I had my own reputation for safeguarding as a teacher. If I’d gone to your dorm head and said I was seriously concerned about sexual abuse, he’d’ve been on it like a car bonnet, had you transferred somewhere else, put you in therapy.”

“I would have said that you were the one abusing me,” said Valorous.

“Maybe they’d have believed you,” said Cecil, shrugging. “But I doubt it. Even before you lasered in on any man who’d let you suck his cock in the vicinity, I was known for reporting abuse and keeping an eye out for that.”

“Do you wish you’d done it?”

“No.”

“No?” asked Valorous, and leaned forward in Cecil’s lap, looking down at him. “You never think about it? I was smaller then – bet I would have been tight. You’d have been the first man inside me, first man to fuck me. Open me up. I’d be shaped for you my whole life.”

“Very hot, sure,” said Cecil lowly, aware that his voice was gruff with sex, that his cock was half hard. “But I’d have been the nonce fucking a fifteen-year-old student, knowing what I was taking from you.”

“But I fucked other people, so you wouldn’t have been tak—"

“Valorous,” said Cecil. “I’ve had enough of this, now. I’m fucked in the head, lad, we both are. We want things, need things, that in’t right, not for anyone. The difference being that when you want to scrub something until your fingers bleed, you don’t ruin anyone’s fucking lives forever. Raping a fifteen-year-old, on the other hand, tends to have that effect.”

“It wouldn’t have ruined my life,” said Valorous. “It would’ve been better. I wouldn’t have fucked all them other men, if you’d just fucked me. You would have looked after me better, wouldn’t you? You would have been nice, you would have treated me the way you treat me now. You’re fixing me, aren’t you? Making me better?”

Something in Cecil’s chest felt raw and open and wrecked at the way he said it, the way his eyes were open and vulnerable and wanting, and Cecil wanted to be sick, wanted to scream, wanted to shove Valorous off him, wanted to wrap him in a blanket and put him back to bed, wanted to strangle Myrddin Wyllt with his bare hands.

“Is that what I’m doing?” he asked in a very low voice, aware of the hoarseness in it. “Fixing you?”

“I’m better,” said Valorous, almost defensive. “No one else ever tried to make me better.”

Was he better?

Cecil didn’t think so. Every day he saw Valorous King, he seemed even crazier than he had the day before, but then, he had no fucking idea what he felt like.

“If I’m making you better,” said Cecil, “why don’t you take me up on therapy?”

He’d suggested it before. Half a dozen times, he’d suggested it, that the lad go and see someone actually qualified to have a look in his fucked-up head and try to fix it up a bit. As with every other time before, he scrunched up his nose and his lips and his face, and glared down at him.

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because I’m not qualified to fucking fix you,” said Cecil. “I rescue dogs, not knights.”

“If therapy’s so good, why don’t you go?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Well, nor do I! I won’t go unless you go.”

“You’ll see a therapist if I see a therapist?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine, okay. I’ll go.”

Valorous’ mouth dropped open. “What?”

“I’ll go see a therapist, in’t no skin off my back, s’not like I haven’t done it before. If it means you’ll go, I’ll go too.”

Valorous was looking at him in the devastated, indignant way that he looked at Cecil when Cecil managed to pin him on the floor or get a punch in when they were sparring – Valorous was a lot stronger, faster, smarter, and younger than Cecil was, so he shouldn’t be able to, and he always took personal offence when Cecil managed it.

“But—”

“Going back on your word, lad?”

Valorous set his jaw. “Fine,” he said venomously, and then, in the same spiteful tone, “You can fuck me now.”

“Oh, can I?” asked Cecil, and put his hand around his throat, listening to the way he choked and grinning at the sound. 

* * *

It had to be angels.

Faeries didn’t much believe in the concept of mental illness, not to mention the fact that the concept of therapy to most of them was a bit like going up to a stranger and giving him your name – it was weakening yourself to no imaginable benefit, making yourself vulnerable by giving away your secrets, giving away means to control or overpower you.

But it had to be angels – it had to be people that were guaranteed, as a matter of course, not to trust the king regent anymore than they would anyone else, people who wouldn’t be intimidated by him, people who weren’t vulnerable.

Cecil didn’t kid himself – if Myrddin Wyllt realised Valorous King was getting therapised and took it upon himself to go into his notes or eavesdrop on his sessions, that would be precisely what he would do. Trying to inure the process from Myrddin spying on it would be pointless and stupid to try, and would in fact only encourage him to do so when before he might not have been interested – the really important thing was that when Valorous talked about him, talked about the king regent, whoever he was talking to treated both Valorous and Myrddin as if they were people, not demigods, and acted accordingly.

The last thing Cecil wanted was to put Valorous on a couch, finally have him open himself up a bit, look internal, and say something critical about Myrddin Wyllt or the crown, and be shut down by some fucking royalist who couldn’t stand to hear it.

“Are you taking on new patients at the moment?” he asked quietly.

“You want to make appointments for two people,” said the doctor, looking down at him. Doctor Majok was a tall, slim man with a shaved head – he wore round glasses and a green cardigan over his shirt and tie. He’d been in the waiting room when Cecil had come in, and as his receptionist went over something on the computer with someone else, he’d gestured for Cecil to follow him into his office.

“You a telepath?” asked Cecil guardedly.

“No,” said Majok. “My sisters are, if that’s a concern for you.”

“In’t a concern. Just asking.”

“Paulette Fields told me that a man had been looking for two places as new patients, with concurrent appointments,” said Majok, picking up a teapot and gesturing with it, and Cecil gave a stout nod of his head. “You would be Cecil Hobbes?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you any experience with therapy or counselling before now, Mr Hobbes?”

“Yeah,” said Cecil quietly. “After I was discharged from the army, I had to do some screening sessions with a psych to make sure an injury in my hip wasn’t psychosomatic, but it turned out to be magical damage to one of the nerves. And when I was inside, I was court-ordered to talk through anger management strategies, as well as going to a support group for sex abuse survivors.” He said it through almost gritted teeth, feeling like he was burning himself saying it, but he knew that being honest now was better than being found out later.

Majok nodded seriously, not looking deterred as he passed him a cup of tea.

“And what are you looking for from therapy?”

“I’ve been trying to get the lad I’m sleeping with to come, and he won’t go unless I go,” said Cecil honestly, keeping Majok’s gaze and not breaking it. Majok looked mildly surprised, his eyebrows raising, but he didn’t look angry or disgusted, which was good. “He needs it, I think, because I’m not qualified to… And it’s not like I can’t benefit from it. But I’m here ‘cause he needs to go, and this is the only way I could get him to agree.”

“This is why you want appointments at the same time?” asked Majok. He exuded an incredibly calm, collected air, and Cecil felt himself let out a breath, wondering if it was contagious for mundane reasons or magical ones. “So that you can ensure he goes?”

“Nah, he’ll— He’s told me he’ll go, he wouldn’t back out on his word now he’s said it,” said Cecil. “But if we go at different times, he’ll spy on my sessions while I’m here.”

Majok blinked.

“He— Look, I suppose Paulette Fields in’t the only person who called you. I bet Karen whatever the fuck also let you know we were looking, and that angel counsellor at the hospital, too.”

Majok didn’t say anything, his expression completely blank.

“I was his PE teacher, at school,” said Cecil. “Then last year he was stalking me, and he still does. Stalk me. Follows me around, goes through my phone, goes through records of me. It’s pretty much a guarantee that he’s gonna try to go through your records for his own notes and mine – but if we go at different times, he will listen in on my sessions, and I don’t want that to be the point of this. I want him to focus on his sessions.”

Majok took a sip of his tea, taking this in.

“And I’m a paedophile,” added Cecil, figuring he might as well shove the knife all the way in, while he was at it. “Non-offending, don’t rape kids, don’t look at child porn, none of that. But I’m attracted to kids, teenagers. Just in case that’s a deal-breaker.”

“Is that why you were worried I was a telepath?” asked Majok, and Cecil pressed his lips together.

“Common courtesy, in’t it? S’not like you want that dropped into your head.”

“Distressing thoughts and urges are my profession, Mr Hobbes,” said Majok, almost gently. “I’m not here to judge the thoughts in your head – my purpose is to help you heal from old wounds, to better live with what’s in your head, and arm you with tools to cope with those distressing thoughts and urges.”

“Yeah, well,” said Cecil. “Most therapists don’t want a nonce sitting on their couch, profession or not.”

“Has that stopped you from seeing out professional help before?” asked Majok, sharp as a scalpel. His eyes were so dark behind his glasses they were almost black – it was a very calming colour, Cecil found. “The knowledge that the stigma of your condition might make some offices turn you away?”

“When I was younger, sure,” said Cecil. “But I’ve read up on it. Trauma, paedophilia, sex offences. A lot of it, I read the, uh, literature. Stopped looking, while I was a teacher, because I knew if I did go to someone and got reported, I’d be liable to lose my job.”

“You don’t teach anymore?”

“I got put in the nick for GBH,” said Cecil. “Can’t teach after that – I work in a gym now.”

“And your partner?”

“It’s Valorous King,” said Cecil, and watched Majok’s face. His eyes really widened now, the colour seeming a tiny bit lighter with more light on it, but still very dark, and his eyebrows went right up, his forehead wrinkling.

“Ah,” he said. “I see.”

“If you can’t take us, if you had any recommendations for—”

“We can take you,” Majok interrupted him. “If you’re comfortable, you and I can take sessions together – and we can arrange for Sir Valorous to take an appointment with one of my sisters, if the two of you call us at the same time.”

Cecil stood there for a second. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” said Majok.

An uncomfortable pit formed at the base of Cecil’s stomach, and as Majok stared at him, he drank more of the tea, even though it was hot.

“Why don’t we get some intake forms for you and Sir Valorous?” asked Majok reasonably.

“Yeah,” said Cecil, trying to ignore the roiling nausea inside him. “Why don’t we?”

“Are you frightened?” asked Majok.

“Scared shitless.”

Majok nodded his head, picking up a pen and passing it over with a form, still calm, still on an even keel. “It’s understandable to feel frightened,” he said, “and not at all uncommon. Anxiety unites almost every patient, whether they’re starting therapy for the first time or returning.”

Cecil stared down at the intake form, slowly nodded his head, and filled in his name.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Sooooo I am very curious about your Durge and how they are built. Do they link into the lore of the earlier games? Are they a resist or accept type? Tell us more! 👀

You mean built as in "how Bhaal made him", or as in character build, or as in characterisation? Well, I'll answer them all anyway. Here's more rambling information than anyone needed about my fucked up, socially-unacceptable mess who needs therapy!

[Be aware dead doves may be present, ymmv]

Resist, technically. He woke up with a tadpole in his head and no memories, he wasn't going to trust a presence in the back of his head that kept stealing his bodily autonomy until he understood what it was. As he grew fond of his party, he began to be pushed towards doing good things and helping people to please them (and because it honestly does feel good to see people happy, even as it makes the Urge hurt him).

Of course there were a few exceptions where nobody except Astarion was looking where he was a bit pragmatic or just plain mean, because it was funny.

Then he got his memories back in Act 3 and had a full blown nervous breakdown as he realised how badly he had failed Father and his sole reason for existence by allowing himself to fall for the delusion that he was a real person. He tried to go back to just being Bhaal's evil little puppet, but it was too late and his loyalties were torn between being what his friends wanted and being what Bhaal wanted. There was another panic attack when he couldn't bring himself to kill Minsc because it would upset Jaheria, Wyll and Karlach. Still murdered a few innocent people and a celestial being behind their backs. Also every Flaming Fist in the Lower City, but that was their own fucking fault for having stupid AI. Turns out you can't have everyone you love, but luckily he got to solve this issue by letting Father kill him as punishment for his failure! He repents for his failure and his friends get to believe that he died a heroic sacrifice and move on with their lives - win-win! Except that Jergal interfered and now he has to carry around this tainted, stolen flesh he doesn't want to claim - damn you, old man.

Post-game he's living with Astarion; both having their bad days where they have time to stop and process their trauma now, and also having good days where they adventure; grow into being fully free willed individuals; hunt and kill people for fun, blood and profit where socially acceptable; and get some research done on stuff like Bhaalspawn and vampires. He'll probably be ok in, like, a decade or twenty, once he's finished coming to terms with the idea that he was genuinely miserable and terrified living under Bhaal's control and has formed his own life and a stable identity. In the meantime - abandonment issues, identity crises, issues about autonomy, paranoia about retaliation and religious guilt!

If he had failed in his duel against Orin and been condemned to lose his autonomy (and seen his friends immediately give up on him), or had he not been given death as a choice, he probably would've forsaken the party and fulfilled his original purpose in the end game. But he would've quickly killed them in their sleep first as a mercy! He's not totally heartless! He's an absolute mess.

He doesn't have much in the way of connections to the original games.

I go back and forth on how old I want him to be and haven't settled yet. I don't think he's young. Originally I had him be born in the temples before the Time of Troubles, along with the other Bhaalspawn but then it turned out that Durge's backstory is weird.

Going off of what we're told about being carved from Bhaal's dead flesh, having no birthday and being conceived beyond mortality, I'm assuming he was created from a part of Bhaal's corpse on the Astral Plane, where there was no time. Probably shortly after the end of Throne of Bhaal, in 1369 DR - maybe Bhaal was paranoid about Amelyssan and Bhaal's failure to be resurrected triggered the failsafe and initiated plan B: the Dark Urge.

Or Vel was born after 1372 DR, when Bane was reborn and Bhaal maybe felt a little insecure.

I have contemplated having my Charname meddle with his "birth" to piss Bhaal off, adding part of her own essence into the mixture. Technically it's not incest, because it's purely by magic, but it's still enough to make her sort of his mother and make it weird. Just to make the family tree even more complicated. Also technically makes him a half-human, half-hin, sun elf, quasi-deity. Nothing in this guy's life makes sense.

He's a ranger, because hey, he's a hunter - he just hunts people. He's comfortable hunting and surviving in urban or natural environments; he learned to live off the streets while being homeless after his foster family's death (and the subsequent massacre at the Ilmatari shrine that sheltered him) and learned to live off the land after fleeing into the wilds to lie low. It's also how he's familiar with poisons and venoms. He has an interest in death as part of the natural cycle, so the nature class suits him. Also likes animals, who are significantly less judgemental and more pragmatic about killing. Scavengers tend to follow him around for the corpses he leaves, and he ended up with a few rat and corvid animal companions (though Bhaal often forced him to kill them if he got too attached). It also lets me play a divine spellcaster, although I assume in his case the power is coming from his own soul rather than a patron god.

He's a divine being and an excellent killer, he knows this and it gives him self-confidence in his actions that some have described as "insufferably arrogant" or "suicidal". His go-to tactics for dealing with a problem are: Step 1) Promise death if subject does not submit Step 2) If subject does not submit; kill them Skipping to step two is also always on the table. All problems can be solved with murder.

His dump stat is intelligence, because the poor kid who ended up alone and homeless didn't have much time or resources for education. In another life he would've been a bard, he has a knack for carrying a tune and writing prose. I like to think Orin would've enjoyed art and maybe the theatre in her own alternate Bhaal-free universe, so it's an interesting parallel for them.

He takes an approximation of elven form because Bhaal decided to reverse engineer the Blessing of Corellon, using the soul of one of his elven kids as a reference, to give Vel a physical fluidity/flexibility that would be useful to his plan to breed an army of Bhaalspawn using Durge. Also works as a threat; obey, or there are other uses I have for you, and some of them will see you locked up for nine months. (Vel goes by male pronouns and presents as a cis man, but is somewhat flexible and accepts they/them pronouns. Not she/her though.)

Vel also has a million and one hang-ups about sex because of stuff like this; namely that he won't have any kind of sex that might cause pregnancy, and he used to kill the partners he begrudgingly took so that they wouldn't be able to perceive him during the act or remember him sexually. He makes a special exception for people who he's assigned an "equal" or "higher rank" over himself - they can do what they like with him and it's their right. Those exceptions would be Bhaal (Vel's body is Bhaal's body, as far as he's concerned), sort-of Gortash (except Vel didn't fully trust him and their relationship makes Bhaal irritated, so every time they had sex Vel had to leave and have a panic attack afterwards) and Astarion (who has his own hang-ups). There might have been something kind of going on with Orin, partly due to pressure for them to have "sacrificial lambs" together, but neither want to talk about it. He considered Ketheric, but Ketheric can't die and that would ruin it because Vel would be too busy trying to kill him to actually have sex.

Originally he was going to be the son of a member of the Eldreth Veluuthra, who turned to Bhaal for divine aid because the Seldarine still won't aid the terrorist organisation in committing genocide against the human race, for some strange reason. She would've raised her little abomination into be a weapon to set on them, and enjoyed the irony of humans being slain by an abomination spawned by of one of their own gods.

Since "the Dark Urge" gets you some funny looks when you use it in public, mine concedes to being called "Vel" - a name that only gets you funny looks from the minority that speak elven, because you've just introduced yourself as "dagger/knife." It's a description of him as a tool, not a person. His foster family did give him a name, but he refuses to acknowledge it because it was intended for a person who only existed in their imagination and he'll stab you if you call him by that name. He technically got the name from Gortash, who once "jokingly" referred to him as his favourite weapon one evening, enjoying the success after one of their joint plots to exploit some noble or other and advance both their goals via assassination/politicking. Vel has identity issues and complicated relationship with real Tel'Quessir, so he chose the elven word for the irony (no real elf would accept association with a Bhaalspawn, least of all this one).

Mostly he goes by no name at all. He might pick a new one, in a few decades when he's grown, healed a bit and feels secure in having his own identity.

Vel is Lawful, and alternates between Evil and Neutral depending on his mood and situation. He will fall to pieces without a purpose to structure his life around. He doesn't care if people around him are more Chaotic though, it's purely a personal code. If he takes a mercenary or assassination contract or something, he will fulfil it to the letter and make no attempts to backstab his employer or get any more than the agreed upon payment. He makes zero promises about the actions of anyone working with him, they can do what they want and it's not his problem.

He has a hierarchy in his head: Bhaal > Himself, Gortash, Astarion > Orin, the party > everyone else

His moral compass is a twisted thing that he's cobbled together out of scraps over the course of under two months, it's not very complete or useful. On the good-evil axis, he doesn't usually have second thoughts about taking actions that are evil, and he's not keen on the concept of morality as a whole; there was never any point in developing a sense for it. He never had any real say in his actions and he kind of resents people who judge him for them.

He kind of misses Sceleritas, his "great purpose" and all the power he used to wield, and he would make a fantastic Sharran.

[arsenalgbt]

ben + ethan (+more willo!) - part 2

summary: therapy works. let's see how much progress our single mum ben has had with his only son! 811 words of fluff 🥰

CW: obviously benpreg!!

part 1

Mealtime is precious.

His nanny has an actual, neatly printed spreadsheet list of foods that Ethan loves as a 20-months old toddler. Ben remembers some of them, as he would sit down and have the same meal. He’s pretty sure he’s helped Ethan eat solid foods before, but since when did his baby can use baby fork and baby spoon on his own? He eats spaghetti messily, but he doesn’t need his nanny’s help! Ben takes tons of pictures and sends the cutest ones to We Dem Boyz 💯 and to Mum and Dad.

+

Ethan talks to his nanny a lot. He knows his ABC until Z. He can count to 15. It’s Monday, Tuesday, Wennesday, Tuesday again, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. It’s Ethan and Mummy and Bob the Builder, the only man ever.

Then, “We going to Nanana and Papapa?” and Ben talks to Ethan the whole three hours journey down to Poole.

“I’ve always wanted to be called ‘Pops’,” Dad says, squeezing Ethan’s chubby cheek to his. “Like an American.”

“Pops!”

“Yes, baby! Pops! Call me Pops!”

“Pops!”

“Good boy!”

Ben cries. Mum holds him tight, letting him hide behind her neck.

+

The possibility of him running to his co-workers in the London Zoo is, well, probably not a lot, yet here he is, a second too late to duck from the infuriatingly hot and adorable placement student, who is beaming at him.

“Ben! Hello!” Willo greets him, looking like a sore thumb with how gorgeous he is in his assembly of Uniqlo. “And Ethan! My guy!”

Huh.

He remembers Ethan’s name from that one fleeting conversation they had at the smoking area, where Ben finished his cigarette quota of one stick per two months. Willo doesn’t even smoke. He was just there to talk to Ben.

Ethan grins, recognising his name. He stares confusedly at Willo’s offered fist, turning to Ben for an answer. Oh. That’s a first. That’s… Something blooms, deep and warm, in Ben’s chest.

“Where is Ethan’s hand?” Ben asks, and Ethan holds up one chubby hand. “Good job, now make a fist. Like this.” He demonstrates, and Ethan follows easily. “Good job, baby. Here.” He pulls Ethan’s fist so it bumps against Willo’s, who giggles and gently bumps their fists again and again.

“He’s so big! How old is he again?”

“How old are you, Ethan?” Ben jostles his baby, excited to show off Ethan’s development that he gets to be a part of. To be fair, he was the one who taught Ethan to answer the age question. “Two-two?”

Ethan nods, making two Vs with his chubby fingers. “Two-two!” he says, and Willo gasps.

“You are older than me?!” He copies, making one V and one I with his distinctly bigger and longer fingers. “I’m two-one years old.”

Ben wants to roll his eyes, but it’s no one’s fault the twunk is seven whole years younger than him. 21. Ben made sure he didn’t have a crush on a single mother when he was 21 (would fuck them, yes, but not making moony eyes at them, no).

“Bob is two-one?” Ethan asks.

“Sorry, he calls random men ‘Bob’,” Ben apologises, smiling and tweaking the tip of Ethan’s nose. “That’s not ‘Bob’, baby. His name is Willo. Say it. Wee-Looo.”

“Wee-Looo.”

“That’s right!” Willo squeals, not minding his 6’4 stature. “Nice to meet you, Ethan.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Aww, he’s so smart! Wait, was it Bob the Builder, though?”

“Yeah,” Ben answers, then, “what are you doing here?”

“I like it here,” Willo shrugs, “what? I genuinely do!”

“Right.”

“I swear I’m not a creep! I was obsessed with lions when I was young. This is the closest where I can get to them, you know?”

“Ethan likes lions, too, doesn’t he?”

“Lions! Rawr!”

“Aww!” Willo coos, looking just as cute himself with his nose scrunched up like that. “Alright, it’s nice meeting you and Ethan. I said hi already to the lions, so now I’m heading to the gorillas enclosure. Ethan?” This time, Ethan instantly gets on with the program as he bumps his chubby fist with Willo’s. “Goodbye! It’s nice meeting you, my guy. Have a nice day, yeah?”

“Bye bye?”

“Yes, say bye bye to Willo. Willo is going to see the gorillas.”

“Gogo? Let’s see gogo!” Ethan bounces, conveying an urgency. He’s only been doing it around last week; he probably feels that it’s okay to be demanding of Ben’s time and attention now that Ben is okay with giving him that. “Please, Mummy? See gogo?”

“Only if you say it correctly. Go-ri-llas.”

“Go-ri-llas.”

“Good job, baby, okay. Do you want to get in your pram?”

“No.”

“No? Alright.”

“I’ll take the pram.” Willo offers, already stepping up, and thisclose, he smells so fucking good like always. “It will be easier.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, Mummy. Trust me.”

[moonlightdancer26]

I just discovered your blog and let me tell you : You're a breath of fresh air. I needed a break from the madness of the marauders stans. I hate how they stripped Snape of all his layers, all his complexity, and either gave it to Regulus or erase it. They reduced him to a one-dimensional bully. But the worst, is when they say that James and co. did nothing wrong, that they were just funny pranksters, that it was a RiValRY ( because 4 or 2 against 1 is clearly fair ). As someone who has been bullied as a child, that chapter made me want to vomit. How can anyone excuse that bs ?

Just to be clear, I will not excuse Snape's mistakes. He did fuck up many times, no excuses. But I truly believe that if he had a HEALTHY support system, and if there was therapy in the wizarding world, he would've never become a death eater. That guy joined Voldemort because he thought he had no choice, he pretended to be racist because he wanted to fit in. How can anyone be blind to that? And that's coming from someone who's had a crush on Sirius Black ( the adult one, the younger one can die ) before they turned him into a woke sissy.

That’s one of the biggest compliments I could ever receive, thank you so much 🥰

I completely agree, I don’t really have much of a problem if they think Severus is a bad person (he certainly was morally grey, so it isn’t that big of a reach), but there’s a difference between thinking a character is a bad person and stripping them of all their complexity and painting them to be a villain with zero redeeming qualities. Over the years, Severus has become a symbol of grey characters, and he is genuinely one of the most brilliantly-written characters I’ve ever seen or read. It’s so unfair of them to strip all that away and disregard his whole arc.

And the fact that they do all that while pretending like the most irrelevant characters ever (James and Reginald Regulus) had his best traits and were more canonically interesting than he is and then acting superior to Snape fans is insanely ridiculous. They do it with so much confidence too 💀 as if we were the ones who had to give the Character We Hate Whose Character We’ve Purposefully Simplified’s best traits to our non-existent faves.

As someone who has been bullied as a child, that chapter made me want to vomit. How can anyone excuse that bs ?

Ikr?? I read OoTP a few years before the same thing happened to me. And honestly, when I was a kid, every time I reread SWM after it happened I would get panic attacks. (It usually doesn’t happen now, but I still get filled with hatred whenever I read James physically immobilising and stripping Severus.)

I will not excuse Snape's mistakes. He did fuck up many times, no excuses. But I truly believe that if he had a HEALTHY support system, and if there was therapy in the wizarding world, he would've never become a death eater.

Absolutely. His trauma was left unattended and he was a 18/19 year old who was recruited by a charismatic man who promised his young followers power and respect. So many of the DEs we see in Harry’s time were recruited in their late teens/early twenties, and I think it really says a lot. Those are actual methods used in real life cults in order to groom, manipulate, and sometimes even emotionally blackmail people into joining. Severus was clearly a victim, and even if he had the worst intentions when joining, he eventually defected (and by eventually I mean literally less than two years) and fought for the light side 10 times longer than the amount he followed Voldy for, and he was vital to his demise. That more than makes up for it, and seeing people saying shit like “you’re not a hero for cleaning up milk you spilt” makes it clear that his haters have zero reading comprehension or critical thinking skills.

And that's coming from someone who's had a crush on Sirius Black ( the adult one, the younger one can die ) before they turned him into a woke sissy.

lol I’m still obsessed with both the adult and younger one

[kissorkill16]

Breakdown: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Nicky finally says what he's wanted to say his whole life.

Nicky sat down on the living room couch. The TV was off, but he didn't feel like watching anything anyway.

He's been really bummed out lately and he doesn't know why. Nothing bad has really happened to him for the past week. In fact, he's actually had a good week so far.

His friends apologized to him for pushing him to a frenzy, Finch apologized for the whole picture thing, he and Delroy were starting to get along, his therapy sessions with Mr. Murtaugh seem to be going okay, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd been to detention.

Then what was making him so upset?

Was he sick?

No. If he was sick, he would've felt something that said so.

Was he depressed?

He didn't think so. Maybe, because of Mr. Peterson, obviously.

Just then, the front door opened, and in walked his parents.

"Hey, Narf. We're home.", said his father, taking off his shoes. "Did you eat yet?"

Nicky nodded.

He didn't feel like talking to his parents. He hadn't seen them since last week, since they had another work trip. They were always out for work, always leaving him alone, barely ever home.

...Maybe that was it.

Luanne walked to the living room, taking off her jacket. Nicky looked at his mother, "So glad you guys are home.", he said.

"Yeah.", she said. "But sadly, it won't be for long."

Jay walked in, sitting next to Nicky. "We have to leave again two days from now. I'll make something for you before we leave, you can heat that up if you get hungry.", he said, then shrugged. "Or you could just order pizza. We'll leave some money for you."

Nicky's hands balled up into fists, and he squeezed his eyes tight. "That's how it always is.", he mumbled.

Luanne looked at him, "What?"

Nicky looked at his mother dead in the eye, "You guys always leave. That's how it's been for months now.", he said.

"Well, yeah. Narf, we have to leave so much because of work. You know that.", said Jay, putting a hand on his shoulder. Nicky shrugged it off.

"I do know that, but I just wish you guys didn't have to leave me alone so often. It's kind of ironic. You guys once said you'd be there for me when I need it, but you never fulfilled that promise.", he said. "Maybe then, I wouldn't be getting into trouble so much."

Luanne crossed her arms. "Don't blame your rebellious nature on us, young man! You get yourself into trouble. Remember the fart machine at Mrs. Tillman's store? That was all you and your little friends."

Nicky stood up, "Maybe! But it's not just that! It's been like this my whole life!"

Jay and Luanne stared at Nicky, both had displeased looks on their faces.

"You guys never had any time for me. From the moment I turned one, work was always more important to you than your own child. Always out somewhere for work, and always leaving me alone with Bubba.", said Nicky.

Luanne pointed an angry finger at his son, "Don't bring your grandmother into this!", she said. "She was the only one who was willing to watch you, but every time she did, we'd always come home to you gone and her sitting alone."

"Exactly.", said Jay. "Remember the grocery store? And the woods? It took us hours to find you. Sure, we weren't around a lot because of our jobs. But we also didn't like being around your grandmother because she was a fucking psychopath."

Nicky let out a dry laugh. "Probably, but she was the only one who didn't leave me when I needed her. Despite all the things she did to me, she told me herself that she really wants to protect me.", he said. "Maybe she'd believe me if I told her that Mr. Peterson was a murderer."

Luanne rubbed her temple. "Are we seriously back to this again?", she said. "Nicky, we've told you a million times before that Mr. Peterson is just a lonely old widow who lost his family."

"Your mother's right.", said Jay. "We'd take you to his house so he can tell you himself, but we hadn't seen him in weeks."

"Yeah. Because he's in jail.", Nicky flatly said.

Now Jay and Luanne were surprised.

"Jail?", asked Luanne. "For what?"

"For kidnapping me!", said Nicky. "I've been missing for a whole month, and when I escaped, I found out that no one had even bothered to look for me. There were 0 missing posters put up for me, and 0 search parties put together. When I got home, you guys were still gone."

Nicky paused for a moment when he felt tears falling down his face, "But I guess it's partly my fault. I decided to go missing while you guys were on another work trip. I was wearing a fucking bag over my head!"

Nicky felt his legs starting to give out, but he wasn't finished.

"And when you guys were here, you guys were pulling me out of my room because I was yelling at my friends! Those guys pushed me to a mental breakdown! Nevermind, the only thing you guys cared about was the fact that I was making a scene in front of the entire neighborhood! What's worse is that some bitch took a picture of it and printed it all around school! I hated my friends so much ever since that happened! I wanted to tell you guys so badly that I was being bullied by other kids at school, but you guys were always too busy!"

Nicky didn't even bother to wipe the tears from his eyes.

"But thank God you guys are paying for my therapy, but even that's not enough for you guys to spend more than 5 minutes with me.", he said. "You guys are my parents, you're supposed to be there when I need you, but you're never really there. And it's those times where I wish I was still with Mr. Peterson. At least he never let me out of his sight. He felt like the parent I never had, even if he wasn't in his right mind. Even if he locked me in his basement, he was more of a parent than you guys put together."

It was at that moment that Nicky finally wiped his eyes. When he did, he saw his mother's eyes fill with tears.

"Mom?"

Luanne didn't answer. Her lips quivered, and the tears started to flow down her face.

"Mom, are you crying?", he asked. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you -"

Luanne didn't even let her son finish before she started sobbing, her hands rubbing eyes. She sat down on the couch, still wiping the tears from her eyes. Jay sat down next to her, rubbing her back.

"Mom, I'm sorry. Please stop crying, I didn't mean to make you -"

"No, Nicky. You're right.", said Luanne. "You're right. We're terrible parents. We didn't even know you went missing."

Jay looked down at his knees, "We didn't even try to call you to check up on you.", he said. "Man, how was your grandmother a better parent than we were? She was a fucking lunatic.", then he sighed. "But I guess you'd rather be raised by a lunatic than be all alone."

Nicky rubbed his eyes, feeling them fill with tears again. "I miss her so much, even if she wasn't the best parent, she was still there for me. But I still love you guys so much."

Jay smiled at his son, "And we love you too."

Luanne stopped rubbing her eyes for a moment, then wrapped her arms around Nicky, pulling him in for a hug.

Nicky was taken by surprise for a moment, but then he hugged his mother back. Jay soon joined in the hug, wrapping his arms around both of them.

Nicky buried his face in his mother's shoulder, "Maybe this time, they'll fulfill their promise to be there for me.", he thought.

Meanwhile, Jay and Luanne would make sure that Nicky would never feel alone again.