#he is certainly not a parent figure but he can care more than he lets on

[fangsandfeels]

I started writing a post about how Yenna is actually adorable and how it hurts to know that she tries so much to be helpful and stay cheerful despite how scared she is because this is how children who were forced to mature beyond their years behave.

I really tried imagining her dynamic with the group.

But I’m weak and infected, so I ended up diverging and thinking about how Astarion went from scoffing and sneering at the mere idea of letting the kid stay in to “Let’s just kill Gortash and get Yenna back”, which led to me sprouting a headcanon moment, one of those that might have happened in-between.

When Yenna is allowed to stay in the camp, Astarion tries to pretend she doesn't exist. If Tav absolutely has to drag in every lost mutt to their place, fine. But don't expect him to play babysitter or be nice about it.

In fact,  he is more than ready not to be nice: the sooner the kid runs away in tears, the better it will be for all of them. Little children shouldn't really be around vampires. Or githyanki. Or flammable tieflings. Or anyone who can turn into a mindflayer at any given moment. If she has to be hurt, she better get hurt somewhere else, where he can’t see it, and it’s not his problem.

He gets his chance when Yenna approaches him, asking what he’d like her to cook. Astarion jumps at the opportunity. He gives her his most evil grin as he gleefully tells her about craving delicious red blood. He uses his best malicious voice and flashes his fangs at her -- only for her to leave without as much as a whimper and then show up later, hair messy, arms scratched, and cheeks muddy as she offers him a young hare she caught and kept alive for him.

That confuses him to no end: what was this child's damage? She was supposed to run away from a vampire, not to feed him! Why is she more worried about whether he liked what she brought than what might happen to her if she stays? What in the Hells can be scarier than to be stuck with a vampire? 

He could probably act like an absolute ass and refuse her offering, chew her out for being a lousy hunter, and remind her that nothing is more quenching than the blood of a thinking young soul. He could make her terrified, make her run away sobbing.

He could hurt her.

But somehow, he doesn’t. The words just never leave his throat.

Instead, he huffs, scoffs, and accepts her meal just so she would leave him alone -- and tells her not to do it again because he prefers to pick his own supper, and it would be such a shame if he came across her during his hunts.

He is pretty sure that all the kid got from his speech was that she had been approved to stay - and that was the only thing that mattered to her, which is simply infuriating.  

[kquil]

REMUS LUPIN | 13:53 — ONE NEGRONI

SUM : to help pay the bills and your tuition fee, you get a new job at an elite club where the tips are incredibly generous. you’ve met a majority of the clientele already but they don’t match the stranger who ordered a simple negroni

TAGS. : mafia au ; modern au ; muggle au ; mobster remus ; mafia boss remus ; bartender reader ; reader is a hard working sweetheart that must be protected! ; catching remus’ eye ; remus lowkey wishes he can be the one to do the protecting ; and maybe more ; for now, he’s a low key stalker ; but sexy… ; stalking is bad, don’t do it! ; this is just fiction! ; but hey! remus owns an elite club! wooooo! ; i don’t know how to feel about my interpretation of the marauders as mafia men/mobsters ; it’s growing on me… ; also, im casting peter pettigrew as Dane DeHan in this!

LENGTH : 1.5k

It wasn’t as if you were new to the job; you had previously worked some years as a bar tender for a pretty well-established club, it paid well and managed to help pay for your rent and utility bills for most of your higher education years. However, all the built up stress and sleepless nights finally caught up to you. And you found yourself repeating a year, meaning that you needed to pay for your own tuition this year atop all the other monthly bills and necessities you keep up with. Perhaps it was the universe telling you that you needed to stop and change the direction of your life — you needed to choose an easier path, a doable path. But you were stubborn and also quite the optimist. So you kept at it, determined to finish what you started and earn your degree. 

Yes, it was a let down but you were still breathing. Life just gets hard sometimes. 

Thankfully, your past experience and phenomenal recommendation letter from your previous manager earned you another bar tending job at a very elite club, where tips were more than generous, considering the clientele composed primarily of the privileged class, some with multiple businesses under their belts, some who were phenomenal investors and some living off their parents’ money. You didn’t care to look too much into it, you were there to work and you were going to work hard and honestly. 

The patrons surprisingly had very similar tastes and so, you fond yourself making the same types of drinks repeatedly. It made the job a lot easier and you were able to focus more on your delivery and interaction with customers, leading to more tips. Times were rough after having to accept defeat with your studies and repeating a year with your own funding but things were looking up. If you keep at it, you’ll make it out alive. 

Your only complaint was the dress code. Make up was advised with a bold red lip but must be kept simple. You felt like a showgirl of some kind, squeezed into a high collar, white dress that came down to your mid thigh and with a low-cut, open back. The sleeves aren’t as long as you would like but, at least, you were permitted to use black kitten heel court shoe pumps as opposed to stilettos — your only saving grace, along with the higher salary and generous tips. 

“Looks like we have a newbie working the bar,” Sirius points out, drawing all attention to your lively figure as you served drinks with a sweet smile and airy voice. A hum of curiosity vibrates through Remus’ chest and up to his lips at the sight of you, “certainly easy on the eyes, huh?” the tattooed, right-hand comments again as he looks towards the head of the table where Remus holds up his glass of Negroni. 

“Very… innocent— a sweet, pretty, little thing,” James comments on Remus’ other side, which Peter grunts at in agreement as he takes a sip of his whiskey-sour. 

“Looks like she doesn’t belong,” Peter nods before smirking and letting out a light laugh. The domino effect had James and Sirius laughing too as Remus smirks behind his glass before proceeding to down the rest of his drink. 

“Exactly your type, eh? Moony?” 

Sirius’ teasing comment is ignored. Instead, Remus calls for there server and orders another drink with an additional request that only confirms his smirking friend’s disregarded statement, “Have the new bartender personally deliver my drink for me as well,”

There was no higher authority that could dismiss the club owner’s personal request. 

It was a strange request but you steeled your nerves and asked your fellow bartender to minister your unattended station while you made quick work on the order. It wasn’t unusual to receive requests like this from an isolated table that had privacy curtains for convenience. However, it was usually for drinks that you could make a show out of like a Holy Water cocktail, a Phoenix cocktail and even a Dragon’s Blood cocktail — a performance that you liked partaking in for the flammable aspect. But this was a Negroni. A cocktail of equal parts gin, saccharine vermouth and bitter Italian Campari. It’s a very egalitarian drink that was enjoyed by everyone, men and women alike, simple but elegant and definitely didn’t require a performance. Despite the odd summons, you were eager to fulfil your curiosity for who the client may be. 

With a professional smile, you place refined mix in the middle of your circular tray with it’s classic orange garnish and set off to the table. The standby server, who made the order, saw your approach and quickly announced your arrival through the small front opening, momentarily disappearing into the shadow of the curtains. He reappears a moment later and pulls the heavy drapes fully apart, to reveal the guests from beneath the, once, opaque shadows. 

To say that you were stunned was an understatement. 

It was pure luck that you didn’t stutter in your stride and spill the cocktail prematurely. At the table was seated four men, all dressed in suits and ties that were in various states of disorder. Among their collection of suits, you could spot Armani and Tom Ford, however, you were sure that their unconventional styles were not the way those suits were intended to be worn. 

One man with long, midnight-black hair and paper-pale skin had an array of mismatching tattoos littering both arms, revealed to you by his lack of a suit jacket and rolled-up sleeves. Another wore cute circular glasses and a cheeky grin with a suit jacket but no button up shirt and his chiseled upper body on full display. The last was a dirty blonde with piercing eyes and a deceivingly boyish smile. He had his ankle propped up on his opposite knee and several buttons undone where a tie should have been fastened over, his sleeves also rolled up as his suit jacket lay beside him.

It was the man at the head of the table, however, who stole your attention. If you had to guess who ordered such a simple but elegant drink, it would have to be him. He had his suit jacket draped over his broad shoulders and also had several of his top buttons undone, revealing some faded scars marked across his toned chest. His neat brunette hair and kind brown eyes gave him a deceivingly gentle appearance but his close company revealed a duplicity that caught and tensed your nerves.

You ignored the creeping goosebumps that prickled your skin, down from your toes all the way up to your ears. 

Just do your job…

“Gentlemen,” you addressed kindly with a slight tilt of your head, which they acknowledged with their own hums of acknowledgement, their eyes lighting up in subtle surprise at your actions, “I have an order for a Negroni,” you raise your tray with the drink and scan the four for some indication as to who the order belonged to. 

“That would be for me,” just as you suspected, it was the brunette with the kindest eyes but also the most ominous air. His voice is a deep and smooth lullaby, patient with it’s seduction on your senses. It was a trap that you resisted but are so hopelessly tempted to fall into, “Thank you, sweetheart,” he meets your eyes as you lower the drink into his large, outstretched hand. You notice how his knuckles and fingers are littered with scars also, some fresh, some faded with time and some hidden behind luxurious rings. Nevertheless…

He’s beautiful 

She’s precious 

“Not a problem,” you reassure with a soft voice, “have a good evening,” with your circular tray pressed against your side, you offer him an innocent smile and dismiss the butterflies in your stomach urging you to linger, “gentlemen,” you acknowledge the remaining three once more before offering another sweet smile. Turning on your heel, you leave the group and ignore the stares drilling holes into the back of your head.

She doesn’t know… 

Once you were out of earshot, Remus turns to his closest friends and most trusted colleagues. They all share a look, one that conveys a unanimous thought. It isn’t long before their agreement manifests into knowing smiles and a ring of laughter shared between them.

“Don’t get greedy now, Moony,” Peter chimes in as Sirius throws his head back with a barking laugh. 

“That’s not gonna stop him Wormtail, you know that; she’s a rare one,”  

“So what’s the plan, bossman?” James asks with a raised brow as he brings his drink up to his lips.

Remus doesn’t answer right away, he simply requests that the curtain remain open so he can fix his fond gaze on you for the remainder of the evening. The group already knew what to do and sat at the edge of their seats, awaiting orders eagerly despite their slack shoulders and composed expressions. Only they were able to observe the shift in the air between them; it became charged as soon as you entered their circle and slowly started accelerating, parallel to the climbing affection in Remus’ eyes as he watches you smile at customers while making their drinks. 

He takes a singular sip of his Negroni, bitterly sweet with a citrus edge. 

Heaven in a glass. And made by an angel. 

“I want a background check and profile put together immediately,” Remus finally orders, “I want to know everything there is to know about her,”

A/N : i downloaded some fics and read some over the holidays and there some mafia/mobster aus and i couldn’t help but picture remus as a mob boss, i’m sure im not the only one to ever imagine this but goddamn! why is it so easy to imagine sweet, gentle, responsible remus like that?!

NAVI.

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @rosalyn-s

[cloakedsparrow]

Commissioner Jim Gordon figured out Bruce Wayne was Batman early on in their partnership but he needed all the help he could get cleaning up Gotham, so he figured he’d let it go as long as he maintained plausible deniability and as long as Batman didn’t do anything too reckless or damning (like killing someone or getting a civilian killed).

He could tell that Batman genuinely wanted to help and he honestly grew to respect him, so he decided if it ever looked like he needed to pull the plug on Batman, he could just quietly inform him that he knew his identity but he wouldn’t have to pursue it if he just stopped.

He almost did just that when Robin entered the picture. Because that was not a grown man with training and intellect in a combat-ready suit. That was a child in a leotard and pixie boots. Of course, Robin was obviously Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s new ward. And, yeah, the kid was a remarkably gifted acrobat, but still. What the fuck was Batman thinking?

A few captured crooks and a couple overheard conversations later and Gordon realized that this was Bruce attempting to reign in Dick. He decided he’d let it go for a while and see if the situation didn’t just take care of itself.

It did, but not in the way Gordon had assumed, where Bruce eventually got Dick to stop. Instead, the kid turned out to be a brilliant vigilante. So as much as the idea of a kid fighting criminals in a leotard upset him, Gordon decided to let it go as long as the boy seemed more or less safe (and also didn’t cross certain lines).

Then Batgirl appears and Gordon is even more concerned because Batman also doesn’t seem to know who this girl is. That’s concerning. She’s wearing his symbol. One fuck up from her could ruin everything Batman (and Gordon) have built. All the goodwill with the non-corrupt detectives and citizens of Gotham could be destroyed overnight. There’s no way to prove she has nothing to do with Batman shy of unmasking one or the other or both.

So Gordon decides to look into Batgirl, because that’s the lesser of two evils at this point, and it turns out she’s his daughter. Because of course Barbara would do something like this. Fuck his life.

Then Nightwing enters the picture. Before Gordon can worry about this new vigilante too much, Nightwing shows him the cute little deputy badge he’d given Robin and repeats some of his own words back to him, proving Nightwing is Dick Grayson. Which, good for him. At least he came up with a better suit. Gordon hadn’t wanted to say anything, but he’d been getting a little too old for the pixie boots.

Then there’s a new Robin, which is obviously Bruce Wayne’s newly adopted son, Jason Todd. Barbara is still acting as Batgirl, so Gordon figures he doesn’t have any room to be judgmental of Batman’s parenting choices at this point. At least Batman keeps his kid with him while he’s fighting crime. It’s more than Gordon can claim.

Then, the worst comes to pass. Jason Todd dies.

Batman tried to kill the Joker, so there’s no point in guessing how that happened. Gordon feels terrible. He feels even worse when Batman is clearly losing it and, as much as he understands (Barbara could have been killed instead of crippled, and just for answering her father’s door), he can’t let it continue. He’s going to have to show his hand and threaten Bruce Wayne.

As if by some miracle, Batman starts getting better before he has to act. Gordon assumed he’d either sought help or just worked through the worst phase of his grief…until another Robin shows up.

The kid is wearing a different suit that covers (protects) more of him. He’s constantly perched on something so Gordon can’t get a definite estimation of his height. The hair could always be dyed or a wig. Overall, there’s not much to go on identity-wise. It’s certainly not Jason Todd after faking his death or being revived somehow (it’s Gotham, stranger things have happened). This is definitely a different kid. He’s smaller, younger, paler, and he doesn’t move or sound like either of the previous Boy Wonders.

Bruce Wayne does not have another son. He does not have another ward. No nephew or godson or the like. So who the fuck is this kid?!

The new kid is really good. Batman is doing really good with him. Gordon would be very happy with this progress except that he still has no idea where the kid came from. He’s taken to going over missing person reports, but it’s Gotham (there’s a lot) and he doesn’t even have a decent description of the new Robin to work with.

He tried saying something to Robin once, after Batman ditched them on the roof of GCPD. The kid had stopped him and told him that he’d given the adults their chance to fix it but they didn’t, so he’s taking care of it now. Then the unknown child jumped off the roof and fired off a grapple to follow Batman. Gordon has no idea what to make of that but he feels like he should be a little ashamed, at least.

After what feels like a year of mental torment, Janet Drake is murdered and Jack Drake is left in a coma that he may or may not recover from. Then Gordon learns that Bruce Wayne has quietly assumed custody of their son, Tim Drake.

There is no paper trail of any kind between the Drakes and Bruce Wayne. If the Drake boy is Robin, then Gordon has no idea how that came to be. If he isn’t Robin, then he still has no idea who the current Boy Wonder is.

The mystery of this particular Robin will continue to haunt him for years.

Bruce loses custody of the Drake boy, but there doesn’t appear to be any change in Batman and Robin.

Suddenly, Robin is gone with no explanation and there’s a girl in the role for a couple weeks but then she’s fired and starts a gang war that claims thousands of lives including, apparently, her own. Then maybe-Tim-Drake-maybe-not Robin is back.

Bruce takes permanent custody of the Drake boy, and there still doesn’t appear to be any change in Batman and Robin.

Then there’s a new suit but it appears to be the same Robin, just sadder. Then Bruce Wayne’s biological son shows up and, lo and behold, there’s a new Robin. With a chip on his shoulder the size of Wayne Manor and a fucking sword. Gordon actually misses the Robin that had been confusing the hell out of him for the past several years.

Then there’s a Red Robin. Then he's gone and there’s two very different Robins operating at the same time. Gordon’s pretty sure the one that isn’t Damian Wayne is the one that’s been a constant source of headaches and nicotine cravings for the past four years, but he still can’t be sure who the little shit is.

[h0ney-gl0ws]

Hades Boys! Kiss Headcanons!

Hello! Here are some headcanons about how/where the hades boys like to kiss/be kissed. Now including Dionysus and Ares! Hooray! Thanks for reading, and be mindful of the content warnings. CW: Mentions of PTSD and Panic attacks for Thanatos’, Intoxication for Dionysus (Obv), and mentions of blood with Ares’, oh and angst all around, read with caution!

Word Count (Approx): 1,765

Thanatos Hand Kisses|Soft

After a long shift of reaping souls Thanatos’ hands can get tired of holding his scythe. He’s not one for showing his emotions outwardly, and because of that they can seep through in more subtle ways. For instance, when Zagreus says something ignorant, or when he has to deal with a mortal whose not ready to go, or even when he runs into an Olympian he often finds himself subconsciously gripping his scythe tighter.

He does not realize until the time when he returns to your arms and he can catch his breath, the strain it puts on his hands. Aching and tired after long hours at work. Which is why he appreciates your kisses so.

You delicately ghost your soft lips across his knuckles in a most soothing way. He thinks your kisses are reminiscent of that of a butterfly’s wings. How fitting.

He would cup your face with a tired smile as you press a kiss into the palm of his hand. “Gentle kisses for Gentle Death!” You would proclaim in an attempt to make him laugh.

“My, I often wonder what it is that I did to deserve someone as kind as you…” Thanatos would say in return.

He does so much for the house the least you can do is try to relieve some of the stress. You may not be able to make less work for him, but you can show your appreciation to him by giving him the love and affection he deserves.

On certain days when Thanatos’ mood is dampened due to memories of terror from Sisyphus dirty tricks, the nights he wakes panic stricken with the phantom sting of shackles against his wrists. Your delicate kisses to his wrists help to soothe the burn. Snapping him out of his own mind into reality where he is safe, and you’re there to comfort him.

Your kisses are not only comforting to him, but you are a genuine anchor to him. He does not know how he was able to exist before you came into his life. And he is forever grateful he has you now.

Zagreus Cheek Kisses|Affectionate

For someone who so rarely sees the sunlight he certainly challenges Helios for being the embodiment of it, and his kisses reflect that.

Bright and happy is he as he presses kisses into your cheek at every chance he gets. When he passes you in the hall you bet he’s taking a detour to give you a peck before he has to continue on. When he greets you after coming back from a successful run a celebratory kiss on the cheek is practically mandatory haha.

He loves it when you celebrate with him, nuzzling your face into the side of his. It’s such a small but caring notion that makes Zagreus feel as if he’s falling in love with you all over again.

When he’s preparing to head out for another run you meet him in the courtyard to wish him luck and see him off. He smiles when he catches your figure out of the corner of his eye dashing up to you for a final embrace before he returns once again. You give him another fond kiss on the cheek there whispering in his ear to give it all he’s got and to kick Theseus’ butt once again. Earning a laugh out of Zagreus and the promise that he will dedicate his next victory against the pompous champions to you.

On nights when he has scuffles with his father, or when he’s missing his mother, and words are too much in the moment. He wants nothing more than to relish in your embrace with your kisses there to provide the comfort his parents could not.

He often doesn’t let his inner turmoil bother anyone else, and did not have anyone to confide in until you came along. There’s a lot of things left unsaid, but you will be there for Zagreus to love and support him until he is ready. Even if that day never comes, you’re glad you can a least help to alleviate his troubles for a short amount a time.

If what he needs from you is not words, but doting kisses. Then kisses he shall receive. And when Zagreus is ready to speak with you, you will listen for as long as he needs. Zagreus is so glad to have found you, and would trade anything to be able to be by your side for the rest of eternity.

Hypnos Forehead kisses|Loving

Whenever you get excited to share some news with your lover and rush to go tell him only to find him fast asleep per usual, it’s hard to not let an adoring smile come across your face as you decide to let him rest and that the news can wait, but you can’t just leave after coming all this way to see him. This often results in you giving him a caring kiss on his forehead followed by whispers for him to have sweet dreams.

Unbeknownst to you sometimes those sneaky kisses of your actually wake the sleep incarnate. He does not mind though, in fact its quite the contrary. He is able to discern your footsteps from others, and sometimes he is actually awoken but hearing you approach. Occasionally, he would pretend to be asleep if not for a bit longer in order to gain one of your tender kisses.

He doesn’t do it out of malice of course, it’s simply the thought that even when he supposedly can’t hear your or react to what you have to say, you are still kind and devoted to him.

Yes, he hears the whispers of Zagreus and his brothers. Even his own mother talks about him with distain, but when you are given the option to say or do whatever you want to him without repercussion you choose to be caring and loving.

Perhaps that is why he is so drawn to you, and why he appreciates your kisses in secret. It’s nice to have someone who genuinely loves him for him. Not someone who talks to him so “no one else has too” Nor gives him constant sarcastic and petty remarks when he’s honestly just trying to help.

Another addition of why he loves your kisses so, is they remind him of a sort of motherly love that he did not get from his own. Why when he was younger she was kind to him, yes, but as he grew and her attention divided he noticed that she began to treat him more as if he were a burden on others. Your kisses bring him back to a time when his mother still saw him as her son. It’s a warm, fluffy feeling Hypnos is always chasing more of.

So for now, he will continue to let you believe that only you can hear your words of love and adoration for him as well as your caring gestures of your love, at least until he can return the favor tenfold.

Dionysus Lip kisses|Sloppy

Where Dionysus goes jolly festivities and merriment follow, as well as you of course. And what are these festivities if not without a little bit of wine. It’d be absolutely preposterous after all to attend a feast without an offering you know.

And we all know how Dionysus is with wine. You see, when you attend a feast with Dionysus by the hands of the mortals, or any feast with Dionysus for that matter, he loves to show you off. Constantly gushing about what an amazing partner you are.

And with that showing off can come with a bit of possessiveness. So when Dionysus gets to be clingy, you remind him just how much you love him with some kisses.

Dionysus loves to kiss you as he swears he can get more drunk off of your lips than the wine. He reminds you constantly of how you taste better than the finest ambrosia.

You don’t mind his kisses yourself. Yes it can be messy, with Dionysus being constantly in a state of intoxication, but you can always taste the remnants of the contents of his everlasting goblet against his lips. Making the sweetness of his kisses worth all of the awkward nose bumps and accidental teeth clashes.

All in all if Dionysus were to have to choose between never drinking wine again and you, he’d choose you every time, as you provide all the happiness he could ever need in his lifetime.

Ares Neck kisses|Passionate

When the fires of war are blazing so are the fires of passion.

Yes, Ares loves nothing more than to watch the bloodshed of a raging battlefield with you by his side. He caresses your waist as he presses fiery kisses into your shoulder, trailing them slowly up to your neck.

The clashing of swords satiating his hunger for blood in the most intense way, leading him to sometimes get a bit too rough with you.

There are times when the battle can get to his head and that can cause him to almost lose himself, if only for a short moment. A bite, too hard for your liking. The sting against your neck intensifying the raging action on the war zone below. You gasp and flinch away, causing him to realize what he’d done.

He’d apologize by kissing you much more softer, but finds it hard to restrain himself when he seeing the droplets of blood seeping through the wound from his bite mark against your neck.

He holds back to the best of his abilities as he cleans the wound with his lips. It causes you slight pain, but this time you feel as if it is more tolerable when he is caring for you rather than going feral.

You know he never intends to hurt you, and if push comes to shove he will always try to fix it and take care of you afterwards. All you can do is be there when he needs you, when the hunger becomes too much for him to handle, and he needs someone to pull him back to reality.

He’d be lost without you, a friend, a lover, and a lifeline. He would fight to the ends of the earth for you, and you would do the same. Truly, all is fair in love and war.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Tagged by @eddiebabygirldiaz for seven sentence Sunday! Here’s uhhhhh more than that from a buddietommy vacation threesome fic-

The day is hot enough that Buck is curled up like a bug on the dock between them. He’d stayed in the water longer than Tommy or Eddie had, and had swum out further than either of them, so when he’d crawled back up onto the old wood planks he’d chugged an entire water bottle and promptly passed out. Eddie glances down at his bare torso, just starting to get a little pink.

“Should probably get sunscreen on him again.”

Tommy snorts as he leans backwards, stretching out to grab the spray can. “And you’re worried you’ve forgotten how to be a dad.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie says as Buck, still asleep, makes a similar sound when Tommy mists him all over with cold sunscreen. “It’s been months, man, that’s so long for a kid, who knows what he’s even into now-”

“Minecraft, right?” Tommy says as he smooths his hand over a few places the sunscreen pooled on his boyfriend’s back. “Wasn’t he on a video call with you and Buck about it for like three hours on Friday? Something about- uh- command blocks?”

Eddie is mildly impressed Tommy remembers the word — maybe — because he certainly doesn’t. Buck had only been slightly better at following along than he had as they’d squinted at the probably impressive pixels on the laptop screen. “I don’t know, I just feel like…” Every morning, still, he wakes up and thinks he needs to get Chris’ breakfast started. Whole parts of his being are wired around taking care of his kid, but since he’s been gone Eddie has been trying — in fits and starts and most of the time guiltily — to figure out what the rest of him is for. It’s part of what got him into the whole mess in the first place, chasing after the dreams of a 19 year old who got those dreams from his parents. A nice wife (but they never liked her, did they) and a good job (but firefighting is too dangerous, isn’t it) and a picket fence (one closer to home, Eddie, you’ve gone too far away.) So he owed it to Chris, owed it to himself, to figure out what the fuck he actually wants, so he doesn’t keep twisting himself into knots and taking out everyone around him when the line breaks. He’s not sure he’s any closer to whatever that is — other than it’s unlikely to include a wife of any kind — but in the time he’s taken trying, what if other things got lost in the upheaval? “I keep thinking I’ll just- not remember to do something. Forget how field trip permissions slips work, or not know what shoe size he wears, or- I don’t know. Anything. I won’t pack his lunch and it won’t be the end of the world but he’ll be hungry that day.”

Tommy leans back on his palms and looks across at him, quiet and thoughtful for a few moments in that way he has, like he’s thinking through every possible response before he speaks. He is, maybe; he’d confessed to Eddie that he’d spoken too quickly when he was younger, is embarrassed about a lot of the dumb shit he’d said, so he tries to take his time with his words now. “Eddie. You took us up here this weekend to check and make sure this place is accessible to take your kid to this summer. And- I get that’s a big thing, a big gesture, and maybe you’re worried about messing up the small stuff, but… You’ve still got his favorite kind of jelly in the fridge that nobody else eats. You love him, and he knows that. You’re gonna do fine.” He shrugs. “And he’s almost fourteen, if you forget to hand him lunch he’s gonna let you know.”

Eddie huffs a small laugh. “Yeah, I guess he will.” He groans a little, shaking his head. “Fourteen years old, that’s fucking crazy. I don’t feel old enough for that to be true.”

Tommy rolls his neck so it audibly cracks. “Yeah, yeah, you whippersnapper.”

Eddie grins at him. “You feeling the exercise, old man? Need to go lay down?” He cackles and leans away as Tommy grabs the can and sprays a burst of sunscreen at him.

Between them Buck grunts at the commotion, and rolls towards Eddie. He presses his face into the meat of his bare side above his trunks, and wraps his long arms around his torso. Eddie glances up at Tommy, who just looks fondly amused. “Uh. Wrong guy, there, bud.”

Buck stills, and then pulls back a little to squint up at him. Eddie’s not particularly ticklish, but something like goosebump are shivering across the skin of his stomach where Buck’s forearm rests against him. He has to actively try not to shudder as Buck pulls back and rolls the other way, Eddie watching hypnotized as he gives Tommy the same treatment. Buck presses a little kiss onto Tommy’s hip, in the spot he had just been cuddled into on Eddie, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry.

Tommy lets out a little breath, and Eddie doesn’t think he’ll be able to use the sun as an excuse for how pink he’s gotten as his eyes snap up to the other man’s face. Except- he’d been expecting a raised eyebrow, a flat mouth, some visual indicator of disapproval, that this is one step Buckandeddie too far, that all the rest of their codependent lives have been fine, a platonic kind of care built over years of being there for each other through the worst of the worst, but now the uncomfortable answer to what Eddie wants, the uncomfortable answer he’s been trying to avoid because it's something he cannot have, has been found out and the messy insides of him will have once again ruined something good. But what he finds is a tiny little smile and heavy eyes that-

Well, they don’t look disapproving in the slightest.

“You guys hungry?” Buck mutters, words muffled by Tommy’s skin. “We should go start the grill.”

Tommy’s little smile gets wide and lazy, eyes still stuck on Eddie. “I could eat,” he says.

Tagging @iinryer @shitouttabuck @butchdiaz @chronicowboy @homerforsure @rewritetheending @bigfootsmom if you have anything you want to share!

[chaoticbardlady99]

She’s My Religion- Part 4: Makes You Believe in Something Above (Astarion x F! Reader)

Synopsis- Shadowheart, Isobel, Halsin, and Dame Aylin work to heal you. No one is certain you’ll willingly come back from the land of the Dead. Astarion begs for you to come back to him and he wants to spend forever with you.

CW: mentions of gore, violent themes, mentions of SA, mentions of attempted SA, mentions of grief

*not my pic* reach out if it is yours so I can give you credit!

This is barely edited- my mental health has been ❤️🙈✨horrific ✨🙈❤️

The last thing you remember was hearing Astarion screaming and crying- it broke your heart to hear his painful transformation.

Giving up has been the easiest feeling in the whole world- you didn’t know if you were dreaming or in the Heavens, but being embraced by your mother and father as you let the warm glow of their love sink into your non-existent bones, you didn’t know if you cared.

Your father was still your father and your mother was your mother again. They were both still madly in love with one another, but they miss you terribly.

You asked if you were temporarily here. Your mother smiled and said, “only for now, my Heart.”

You broke down in front of both of them- told them your fears and how scared you are to return to Astarion. You don’t want to be forced into vampirism and you certainly don’t want to be a consort.

Your parents told you that fate is a fickle thing and it’s better to embrace it than run from it- they won’t allow you to give up.

You were so angry- they let you be. You lit fires in the Heavenly grass and you screamed until you couldn’t scream anymore. Both of your parents held you as you sobbed- telling you that you’ll be okay.

After, you decided you weren’t going to squander your last little bit of freedom and time with your parents for Gods knows how long. You will not continue being angry over something you have no control over. You will figure it out- you will be okay.

You laughed, cried, hugged, and talked together for what was probably seconds in the mortal world, but hours in this beautiful space.

Your soul feels broken and healed all at the same time when your consciousness hits you like a wagon and you are still in the Szarr palace. Except you aren’t lying on the ground anymore (you think); the air smells of Astarion and the aroma is intoxicating. At least he still smells the same, but you thought you would be far more blood thirsty for waking up as a Spawn and that Astarion would be a lot less hysterical.

Your body hurts- being only halfway between death and life is a painful balance. All of your muscles are taught, but also loose and heavy at the same time. Your skin is numb, but also still stings with every single mark Cazador had cut into you.

Astarion is holding you up against him while Shadowheart is working to heal you and Gale finishes reading the Revivify Scroll. Astarion’s silent tears are falling into your hair and trailing down your face.

“Don’t leave me here alone,” he whispers pleadingly for only your ears to hear, “I didn’t do it- I didn’t Ascend. You were right- you were right the whole time. I dislike you for it, but it’s true.”

You hear him take a shaky, choked breath- your body still not quite awake enough to show any sign of real change in your condition.

You are in complete shock. He didn’t Ascend? It is all he had been talking about for the last three weeks! It’s what he had wanted so why didn’t he do it.

“I’m so so sorry, my Love, ” he continues to beg quietly, “I want you to come back. I need you to come back to me. I don’t want to be in this world without you.”

He pauses for a second and gently kisses your cheek- exhaling unevenly.

“And then have you beat the shit out of me when I decide to come join you because ‘that absolutely is not what I wanted you to do!’”

His soft impression of you, the broken laugh, and the words themselves make your heart feel like it’s going to shatter. You are fighting to make your breaths more noticeable or move your arm- something to tell Astarion I’m here! I didn’t leave you! You aren’t connected enough to your body right now to use the tadpole so that’s not even an option.

Your body is still so weak- Shadowheart is struggling to find out which poison it is and then you hear the voice of Isobel and the sound of Karlach’s clunky armor in the air as Isobel begins to talk to Shadowheart and Halsin about what they have done so far- what has worked? What hasn’t? How long have you been down? Do you have a reason to refuse to come back?

Everyone responds with a resounding no, but you hear Astarion interject.

“Yes,” Astarion’s voice cracks, “she does have a reason to refuse to come back.

“She didn’t want me to Ascend,” he says solemnly, “and we fought about it and I told her it was over. I was coming back to talk to her about it- try to make her see the reasons I needed to Ascend. To try to explain to her that I was doing it for her too.

“I never would have thought Cazador would hurt her like this. He was always so protective,” he manages to choke out after a long pause, “she’s lost her whole family and now she thinks her life is at risk because of me and my obsession with power. Why would she want to come back?”

“Fangs…”

“No,” he screams, the sound echoing through your body, “don’t try to tell me how much she loves me, how she wouldn’t just leave me! I broke her heart. Tav’s family is dead, gone, no more. It’s not even guaranteed some of us will still be alive at the end of this thing and if I thought my best bet of being free was dying because I thought my EX-boyfriend became a power hungry Demi-God Vampire Hybrid- I WOULD CHOOSE STAYING DEAD TOO!”

At least he gets it, but it’s not his fault though. You had made a conscious decision and you knew it was likely you wouldn’t come back. You had been so certain that you had done the right thing this time- you let him go to be what he wanted to be and to find a consort that better suited what he wanted out of life. You were going to be Tadpole free and happily reunited with the people you care for.

You are hoping that he doesn’t resent you- what if you forced him to make a decision? Did he go into your mind? Was he aware that you had chosen to give up and Gods you hope that isn’t the reason he chose not to Ascend because you could not live with yourself if your selfish decision made him deny himself what he wants.

As you try to connect to your tadpole again, you hear Isobel ask for your arm and then feel her stab you with a needle before the world goes dark.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion clings to you in your shared bed as you sleep peacefully in his arms. Isobel had told everyone she had figured out it was Topor- how? Astarion had no damn clue, but you began to look better immediately after she gave you the injection and you’ve been sleeping since.

Astarion had been worried about you sleeping for so long- Isobel, Shadowheart, Halsin and Gale had to come together to convince him that you are entirely okay, but your body had just been through significant trauma- emotionally, mentally, and physically.

Dalyria told him that Cazador had attempted to force himself on you, but you fought him so hard and for so long (even going as far as escaping for a brief moment) that Cazador gave up- resigning to waiting until you were a compliant spawn. So he gave you the Topor to kick start your agonizingly slow and painful death. Isobel said you maybe only had about an hour and a half left when she had arrived- praising Karlach for getting to her so quickly.

Astarion had actually hugged the tiefling (and for a very long time too) after Dame Aylin took you away to help Isobel clean up and stitch your deeper wounds before attempting to heal them. Karlach had been thrilled, but she also told Astarion that she is really proud of him for not ascending and for releasing the spawn into the Underdark. Oh and no hard feelings for the outburst.

Actually- that had been everyone’s words to him today. No one wanted him to Ascend and maybe he would have been miffed prior to today, but Astarion has finally discovered what all those writers have been saying- love and companionship are the most powerful forces across the planes. Astarion could never have killed Cazador or saved you if he hadn’t met any of his companions.

Everyone wanted to know what changed and he would just shrug- said it didn’t feel right. The actual reason is far more private.

Astarion didn’t change his mind because you had ultimately given up- he knew Ascending meant he could bring you back as his Spawn. The hungry, lustful power offered by Mephistopheles had been entirely too tempting and he is grateful he had disrespected your mental privacy in that moment.

Astarion has been told by Cazador for two hundred years how genuinely unlikeable and weak he is. The lure of the ritual had tried to push him to show Cazador ‘just how weak he truly is’- it was practically begging him to complete it.

Astarion could not be more grateful that Shadowheart announced your possible impending death. He wouldn’t have taken the time to cross your boundaries and explore your mind- just resorting to turning you into something you didn’t want to be because that bloodthirsty Ascension would allow him to have power and you wouldn’t be able to leave him. You would have been unhappy at first, but he would keep you safe- that had been the Magic’s justification.

The love you feel towards him is even more all consuming than any evil power would ever be. Your thoughts- even in your grief- were full of warmth, love, and happiness for him despite how gut wrenching it was to hear your mental distress at the idea of him Ascending.

Astarion realized that he would not be able to feel that with you again if he ascended. He would never truly know what it feels like to be loved ever again- he’d be too busy wanting more power and possessing your entire being like Cazador had wanted to do.

If Cazador could do this much damage to you- what would he be capable of? Astarion would have you physically, but eventually, you would turn into a ghost of yourself- abused and empty. Just like Sebastian and the other unfortunate individuals who had been unlucky enough to cross his path.

Or you’ll be like him and eventually find a way to kill him so you can be free. Either way he ends up losing you.

Astarion thought that he would feel relief and happiness when he finally killed Cazador, but he actually felt heartbroken when the man dropped to the floor. It pisses him off even now, but Halsin had said something to him afterwards that had somehow been beneficial.

“It’s okay to grieve your chains after you have spent so long learning to love them- to survive them.”

So he sits here and grieves the last shitty 200 years while holding your sleeping form because you make him feel steady and you keep him on the ground. The hint of your perfume and the clean linens is soothing. You are softly snoring and the sound fills his heart with glee.

You are here and you are alive. He doesn’t have to grieve you or himself and that’s all that matters to him at the end of the day.

There is a quiet knock on the door as Isobel, Dame Aylin, and Shadowheart walk in. They tell him they are going to do a group healing prayer over you that should help you feel better and stronger much faster than if they continue to heal you individually.

It was clear it was a ceremony that was “need to know” and Astarion was promptly kicked out of the room. Realistically the whole thing took about 10 minutes, but Astarion felt like he had to wait for hours for them to be done.

When they are finally done- he races back into the room and makes sure not a single hair is out of place. Astarion worries that he’ll be a nervous wreck if you are out of his sight for a while and he hopes you understand.

Astarion tidies up your stuff in the corner of your shared room (the couples were finally told they need to get their own lodgings) when he hears you gasp for air before you frantically look around the room as quickly as your exhausted body can from where you are- your limbs and neck figuratively glued to the bed.

You haven’t seen Astarion just yet, but he wants to assume he might be the one you are looking for and he’s right. Your eyes land on him and your lip is trembling as you look at him- tears drenching your cheeks instantaneously.

Astarion drops your armor, hastily gets into the bed, and holds you while leaving gentle kisses on your hairline. You hold onto him like you are afraid you may never see him again. Your hands are weakly twisted into his shirt and he can just barely hear you begging him not to leave you between heavy sobs.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, “unfortunately for you- I’m never allowing you to leave my sight again, Darling.”

Your laughter comes out as a painful wheeze and Astarion runs circles into your back as you ride out the pain. You snuggle into Astarion’s chest and a sigh of relief escapes your lips. Astarion thinks you may go back to sleep, but then you tense up ever so slightly and he almost misses what you say to him next.

“You didn’t give up on what you wanted for me- did you?” Your voice is small and troubled, “I don’t want to be the thing that kept you from having what you wanted.”

“Yes and no, but not in a bad way,” Astarion says, not wanting you to worry any longer, “I realized that Ascending meant losing myself and you- even if I did bring you back to life as a Spawn, you would have been miserable and unhappy.

“I also realized that my love for you and your love for me is far more valuable to me than all the power in the world. If he could do all of those horrible things to you- what would I be capable of? It just clicked. I realized to Ascend would be to destroy what we have and I wouldn’t be keeping you or me safe- I’d be keeping us captive by selling my soul to Mephistopheles.”

You are so quiet that Astarion thinks you fell asleep, but then he feels your tears begin to stain the fabric of his sleeve.

“I wa- I-,” you are struggling through your tears, “I was so sure I was losing you forever or I was going to be stuck with him forever. I never thought this would be the end result.”

“I, for one, am much happier with this result.”

“Me too,” you smile brightly at him, your voice sounding less retired and rough.

Astarion just takes in your face looking at him, tracing your features with his hands. You are only in your undergarments and lots of medical wrappings due to the amount wounds Cazador had inflicted upon your body.

They must have just cleaned and changed all the wrappings though because the scars that were more superficial are no longer wrapped- just bright red ish purple scars.

The deeper ones on your sides are the ones that had worried Isobel. She had to heal, stitch, heal, and then stitch again before the wound itself finally stayed close. Halsin had been able to cast something to prevent you from waking up during the process and Shadowheart had poured something into your mouth so you wouldn’t feel the pain.

Dame Aylin had shook her head and looked at him.

“After a century or five, it stops weighing on your soul so much- the torture and the pain,” she slowly looks at you, her eyes sad and empathetic, “but that first time? You will never forget that.”

Astarion is probably the only one who knows your Step-dad is a horrible pig, but Astarion had already taken care of that. He also can’t deny that Cazador’s torture is a thousand times worse than anything Bridil could do.

You begin to trace Astarion’s features with your fingers and it jolts him out of his thoughts. Astarion leans in and begins to kiss your lips slowly- taking his time to breathe you in.

There is a question on Astarion’s tongue, but he isn’t sure if he should ask just yet. He wants you to know that he is asking out of readiness and not from a “I thought I almost lost you forever”. Not that he doesn’t want to- he just wants to make sure it’s perfect and not rushed. Astarion has been thinking about this question for a long while now- you are his partner, his best friend, his family.

Astarion has waited for what feels like a lifetime to find someone like you and he wants to spend a whole eternity more with you. He just hopes you’ll say “I do” because Tav Acunín has a very lovely ring to it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A Guiding Hand 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: you all are beautiful.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The professor’s shadow looms over you in your dim room. Now you have a face for your disappointment. The thought of his staunch expression fills you with dread and somewhat motivation. So it is that you at least try. Just try. Simple as that. Try. 

After your meeting, you spend the day cleaning your room, hoping for a clean slate to start over. You spend a bit too long contemplating useless possessions as if putting off the inevitable. Eventually you have to sit down and do the real work. Once you do that, you will be forced to face reality. This is the flip of the coin; success or failure. 

The next morning you turn on the overhead light, casting the space in a brighter tint than usual. You aren’t used to the clarity or the tidiness. You can see the floor. There isn’t clutter on the desk or the bookshelf and it just feels easier. 

Anxious to begin, you sit down and boot up your laptop. You open your notebook and find your place. The course book takes some time to load as you yawn and rub your forehead. You need coffee before you begin. That’s it. No other distractions after that. 

You get up and cross the room, a needling above your left eyebrow. Yes, coffee is a must. You come out into the hall and listen to the silence of the apartment. It’s early and you know your mother had a late night. You woke up several times to inexplicable thumps. 

You shuffle into the kitchen and wash out the dregs of yesterday’s coffee from the pot. You empty the filter and put in a new one; measuring the grounds particularly. Everything you do is deliberate now, it has to be. You pour water in the tank and pop the lid down, hitting brew to cap off the process. 

You lean on the counter and yawn again. You hang your head as your eyelids grow heavy. You can’t be sleepy all day. You need your energy. The equations will certainly do little for your pulsing head. 

You hear your mom’s bedroom door and you shift over towards the sink. A figure appears at the edge of your vision but you don’t look over. You assume it’s her until the deep rumble rises from the man’s throat. Lee nears and before you can sidle further, he’s behind you. 

“Mm, coffee smells good,” he rasps as he pens you in, reaching over your head to open the cupboard. His stomach presses to your back as you stare down at the sink, “scuse me.” He takes down a cup, lingering a moment before he backs away and sets the cup down with a loud clink, “you’re up early.” 

Him too. You keep the thought sewn up behind your lips. You shrug. 

“Heard you last night too. Skittering around in your room.” 

Your blink at him. He wears only a pair of white underwear, his belly pudgy but his arms firmly muscled. He hardly seems bothered by his bareness. He takes the pot off the burner mid-brew and fills his cup, emptying what’s there before he places it back. You tuck your lower lip under your teeth and cross your arms. 

“Night owl, huh,” he comments as he pulls the sugar dish away from the wall. He takes the lid off and sprinkles the sugar into his coffee without a spoon. You stand and watch him dumbly. 

He swirls the mug and takes a sip. He lets out a satisfied sigh, “mm, you make good coffee.” 

You bite into your lip before you let it free, “thanks, sir.” 

He scoffs, “sir? Ain’t got my badge on right now.” 

You nod and cross your arms. 

“How old’re ya?” he turns to lean on the counter, slurping loudly. 

You’re put off by his curiosity. Your run-ins are few and far between. That’s on purpose. You avoid your mother’s men and often, the do the same with you. You answer him and he hums, eyes slitting as he thinks. 

“And you’re still living here with ma?” He wonders, “old enough to be out on your own, ain’t ya?” 

“I guess,” you lock your arms tightly, your shoulders hurting from the tension. 

“Mmm,” he takes another gulp, his eyes still on you. “Ain’t bad. Ain’t bad at all. Bet lots of men wouldn’t mind.” 

“What?” You shift back on your heel. 

“Yeah, not too bad on the eyes, are ya? I mean, ladies are all the same when you get em naked,” he chortles and stands straight.  

“Sir, I... I got... I got homework,” you turn, swaying awkwardly as you drop your arms and march away. 

“Ah, smarty pants, huh? Men like that too,” he taunts after you. “Don’t matter much when they young like you.” 

You’re brittle, about to break. You don’t need another reminder of how much of a loser you are. Even when you try, it’s just not enough.  

You don’t look back, your skin crawling as he belches and you hear the carafe hit the top of the machine as he lifts it again. You close yourself in your room and frown at the wall. You didn’t even get coffee for all that. 

You pout and drag your feet to the desk. You sit down and brace your head in your hands. You’ll try to wait him out. He’ll have to leave eventually. Coffee doesn’t matter. You got to get through this course book. You promised you would. 

📓

It takes two days to finish the coursebook, faster than expected. A gleam of pride flashes through your mind but quickly fizzles out as you attach your work to an email. It might be done but it matters more that it's done correctly.  

You don't know much of Professor Smith or truly of people in general, but he seems to be very precise. Forgiving in moments but given his feedback on previous submissions, he is strict about the numbers themselves. You make yourself hit send. 

You could take the afternoon on some self-congratulatory celebration, but you still have work to do. You open up coursework five and wait for the case studies to load. The most difficult part for you are the spreadsheets. There's so much data to sift through though applying the formulas and balancing them are easy enough. 

After a few problems, you stretch your fingers and lean your head on the heels of your hands. You yawn at the desk and roll your shoulders as you sit up. If you can get through just one course, you might just be able to do this. 

It's a bit ridiculous. The smallest of things are so big to you. The simple are overly complicated by your self-doubt and yet too often those doubts have proven true.  

You shake off the wave of grimness and stand up. You stop halfway, hovering between the seat and your feet, as an email chimes in. It's Professor Smith. You sit and blink at the laptop. 

'Thank you. I will have a look over and return with feedback. Hope you are keeping well. Good job on the speedy work. 

Best, 

Raymond' 

Your cheeks pinch as a smile threatens. He hasn't said whether you've done well or not but the acknowledgement feels like sunshine on your skin. It makes you want to keep going. 

You forget about the whim to have a cup of tea and settle back in to work at the next problem. If you get through the first section of the coursework, you might just be able to sleep. 

📓

Groggy, you rub your eyes and grumble. You lean forward on the toilet and let the trickle out. You woke up with a horrible fullness and it hurts to let it out. You sigh as you stand and pull up your sweatpants. 

As you crank on the sink, you hear a groaning hinge that mirrors the noise. There's staggering and the shatter of glass. A body hits the wall just outside the bathroom door. You turn off the faucet and face the commotion.  

Your heart races as your mother cries out and there's the crack of flesh. Your reticence has you cowering as fire speckles over you. It's not just fear, it's anger, the frustration you tamp down each time you hear her bawling. 

"No good lousy bitch," Lee snarls as there's another slap. This time he grunts, "what the hell do ya think ya doin'?" 

You near the door and slowly turn the knob. You inch it open and see your mother crawling away from the man. The scent of vodka permeates the air and a broken bottle litters the carpet around her. 

Lee boots her rear and sends her to her stomach. She yelps as he steps over her, dropping down to straddle her between his knees. She's wearing one of her tattered night shirts and nothing else, one sleeve down her shoulder. 

"Now, I waa being nice and you just had to go and yip like a spoilt bitch," he grabs her hair and forces her head up as she whines. The thrashes out, the glass cutting into her arms and legs, as he shifts his weight and the elastic of his briefs tautens as he tugs at it. "Lemme show ya what you're worth--" 

Your heart races and your throat lumps. Your chest tightens and your adrenaline wakes you completely. You don't know what to do. Do what you always do; hide. 

You push the door towards the frame and your mother sobs again. You close your eyes and stop. You don't know what you're doing. Why you're doing it. It never helps. It never works. Not since that little girl ended up at the bottom of the stairs all those years ago. When she learned to keep out of the way. 

Those memories fade and you swing the door inward. Your feet stomp out across the floor and you leap onto Lee's back as he bares his ass. You hook your arms around his thick neck and he falls backwards as your mom yelps again. 

“Huh, oh,” she wriggles and drags herself from under you and Lee as you wrestle on the floor, “sweetie, no--” 

She reaches for you and Lee kicks her again. She falls back and you squeeze him tighter, as hard as you can, ignore the bite of the glass as it pierces through your shirt. He elbows your side and you gasp, the pain ringing through your ribs.

Still, you don’t let go. You don’t know why. Maybe because if you do, you lose. 

“What’re ya—dumb little brat—just like your ma,” he snarls as his weight crushes you and he tries to peel your fingers from around your forearm. “I’m gonna teach you--” 

“Don’t hurt her!” You mother jumps on him, further adding to the pile. You can’t breathe as you’re flattened beneath them. “That’s my daughter! My daughter...” 

Her words slur drunkenly as she cries and lays her fists weakly into the man atop you. He shoves her off of him easily but she doesn’t relent. She lands on her ass between his legs and yours. You barely keep hold of him as you head begins to thrum. 

“Hold him, baby,” she orders as you can only see the top of her head over the chaos. She jerks and the man atop you grunts and shrivels his hands flying down to cup below his waist. “God--- Irene. The—fuck.” 

“Baby, let him go,” your mother huffs and heaves as she struggles to her feet. 

She pulls on your arm, tugging you out from under him as he rolls onto his sides, his hand between his legs. She must have got a good shot in. She stumbles and sways as she pulls you up, hanging onto you as she almost topples again. She’s drunk. Very drunk. 

“Go to your room, sweetie,” she brings a hand to your cheek. “Please--” 

“But...” you trail off and look down at the man as he puffs out through gritted teeth, “make him go, mom. Please. He’s going to hurt you.” 

“It’s alright,” she coos and pets your face, “it doesn’t hurt so much.” 

“Wh-why?” You sputter. 

“You gotta go, baby,” she coaxes, “let me take care of him.” 

“Mom, please,” you beg her, eyes glazing with tears. “We can call the cops--” 

“He is the cops, baby,” she lets you go and turns to him, falling over him as she rubs his arm, “Lee, honey, I’m sorry. I was just scared--” 

“I oughta--” he chokes out, “that damn daughter of yours...” 

“Shush, honey,” she comforts him and bends to whisper in his ear. 

You stare down at them, mortified. All that effort and for what? She just folds for these men. Goes right back to taking the abuse. Over and over again. They don’t even treat her nice. 

She looks up again, her eyes glistening, “go. Lock your door.” 

Her hiss nips at you and has you scrambling to your room. There’s nothing you can do. You don’t know why you thought for that instant that you could. You don’t know why you think there’s anything you can do right. It all just ends the same. 

[paganminiskirt]

I love how Raditz uses him and Goku’s familial relationship to trick him into letting go of his tail so he can start whaling on him again, all the while having Gohan hostage in his pod. And then later on, Vegeta’s transformation into a great ape causes Goku to realize that he killed his own Grandpa Gohan all those years ago, accidentally or otherwise. It’s like this one biological side effect of his Saiyan heritage both robbed him of a relationship and prevented him from properly mourning once he realized what had happened, with his empathy and willingness to forgive being leveraged against him by those same Saiyans to destroy other familial bonds. It’s such a brutal introduction to a previously unknown part of your identity.

But then on Namek, Vegeta applies him & his father’s own situation to Gohan and Goku when he’s explaining the danger that the Frieza Force represent, saying how “they don’t have to be stronger than you to beat you, they could take your son hostage.” Obviously he’s referencing his childhood removal from King Vegeta’s “care,” but a side effect of that arrangement is that the King himself isn’t a tangible presence in his son’s life, certainly not by the time he’s on Namek. Vegeta does have something vaguely resembling a father figure when he makes that comparison, but it’s not him, it’s Frieza.

Frieza & Vegeta’s relationship is certainly not parental on an emotional level, but the mechanisms of keeping people as indentured servants naturally tend towards paternalism, and it’s obvious that Frieza has a weird little fixation on him besides. The entire Namek saga lowkey constructs this wildly uncomfortable parallel between Goku’s care for & devotion to Gohan, (putting himself in harms way and crossing between entire worlds to keep him safe over and over again,) and Frieza’s similarly relentless but antithetically possessive & degrading relationship with Vegeta, (repeatedly demanding that he be brought back to him alive no matter how much of a nuisance he becomes, to the point of having him nursed back to health after Zarbon claps his ass just so he can torture him himself.)

It’s Gohan who first notices that Captain Ginyu stole his dad’s body, and Gohan who keeps fighting through exhaustion and extreme violence before Goku gets to Namek. Later on in the Buu Saga, Goku realizes the projection of Gohan inside Majin Buu isn’t really his son quicker than anyone else does - their emotional bond is sturdy enough to transcend the physical, even after it’s repeatedly acknowledged that a young child shouldn’t be involved in situations as gruesome as these.

Compare that to Vegeta, who’s only visible relationship with his father comes from sharing violence as a form of giddy self-aggrandizement, until he sells him to a more powerful stranger - which he can’t even say was especially wrong by their own standards, the transaction as much a moral injury as an emotional one. As Frieza pointed out during his fight with Goku, he literally just beat the Saiyans at their own game, picking up where King Vegeta left off by using his son for the benefit of himself & the empire instead of for the benefit of his father & homeworld.

The fact alone that his relationship with his biological dad can begin to amalgamate with his relationship to a person who calls him a pet speaks volumes about how emotionally warped Vegeta was from the beginning. It’s a small wonder he clings to the dynastic propaganda of the Saiyans so hard, using the title he gets from the King in spite of the fact that his reaction to the man himself’s demise is so muted & repressed that it’s depicted using the imagery of a child encased in a mountain of corpses. It's the only thing that can potentially delineate what happened to him as unjust & undeserved - if it’s the violence itself that’s wrong, then what does that make him, his values, his scattered family, their entire culture. What does that make everything he’s been told since the moment of his birth.

And even in that scene where Vegeta is shrugging off his dad’s death and the planet’s destruction, the messenger mentions how Frieza offers his sympathies: as if Frieza isn’t the same person who killed him, this sickly pretense of warmth intended only to cover it up. You might recall how Goku is always mussing Gohan’s hair, and everyone knows that infamous scene where Vegeta strokes his hair before knocking the wind out of him - which can be read as a precursor to that horribly intimate beatdown Frieza lays on Vegeta and the others later, the one he had been planning to give Vegeta this whole time which is only compounded in brutality since Vegeta thwarted him, the one where he licks blood from Vegeta’s mouth off his face as he holds him up by his neck like a dog with it’s pup. It re-contextualizes the head stroke/brutal attack combo Vegeta pulled on Gohan as him acting out the sadistic objectification Frieza raised him on using another Saiyan child.

And in the end it comes full circle, with Vegeta using his last moments to pass the vendetta of himself and his own father on to Goku and his line. And this happens willingly, as a productive challenge to the Saiyan’s culture of domination, unlike the grotesque re-appropriation of that same culture that we’re presented with when Frieza takes Vegeta from home: Goku assumes this mantle after Vegeta is dead and fully incapable of forcing him. He also contradicts the callous disregard Vegeta displayed during the aforementioned scene with the Saibamen by treating his corpse with so much care. He holds him, he buries him. And you could argue that it’s better than he deserves at that point, but like. I think the fact that the gesture is unwarranted is a part of the point.

[ewingstan]

Figuring out what dnd class each undersider is can be fun enough. But we can get sillier with it. I propose that we instead start arguing about which playbook each undersider would be as characters in a game of Most Trusted Advisors by @thehorizonmachine.

The game is about rollplaying a group of rich assholes on a monarch's privy council: enacting overly complicated schemes, trying to appease your liege's insane whims, and attempting to avoid getting killed by the inquisition. Characters get a list of privileges they can do for free as well as actions that give them points (ducats) determined by what tropes their playbook is riffing off of—for instance, the treacherous Blackguard can always "emerge from the shadows" or "sharpen their knife meaningfully", and gets a ducat whenever they make an overcomplicated plan or wear a terrible disguise. Its terrific fun, and my go-to game for oneshots. Y'all should play it. Lets imagine if we forced these fuckers into it.

Brian

While the "no fun allowed" aspect of his later characterization tends towards the Hierophant, I'd say given how he's both the most practical and most mercenary undersider, The Treasurer is the best choice.

The Treasurer's whole thing is combining a get-rich-quick schemer with the long-suffering voice-of-reason archetype, and that fits Brian "trying to be a responsible older brother in a financially stable position by punching twelve year olds" Laborn perfectly. The Treasurer "can always freely roll his eyes at tomfoolery" (Brian trying-to-hard-to-be-a-parent Laborn), gets a ducat when he "runs into someone who drives [him] insane and tells the table why" (Brian introduces-shadowstalker-as-a-problem Laborn) and gets a ducat when he "personally suffers as the result of another players scheming" (Brian suffered-more-than-Christ Laborn). Give him points in Skulk and Shadow and some titles that help with combat to complement his powers and background, and you have Duke Brien the Gruesome of House Laborn, Royal Treasurer, Knight Marischal, Seneschal to the Royal Household, and Adeptus Major of the Hermetic Order.

Aisha

While the Blackguard's whole assassin-in-the-shadows thing is a pretty good match for Imp's powers, I feel like I'd be doing her a disservice giving her anyone but The Alchemist. Its the playbook that's all about being a weirdo court wizard who may or may not have actual magic, but who will definitely try to convince you that speaking to them before 10 AM risks unleashing one of the daemon's they've binded to help serve the kingdom.

The Alchemist is archetypically most similar to a Tinker (Leet is definetly in the Hermetic Order), but the playbook's abilities to cause small unexplained mischiefs and make people question themselves certainly lends itself well to a Stranger. Their privilege to "spout obscure technical jargon" fits with her determination to get good at literary reference-based one-liners, and their ability to declare people cursed fits well with her crusade to scare off/torture to the point of suicide any enemies or would-be despots. The playbook's tendency towards unexplained occult behavior seems in line with Aisha making dolls of Alec to keep around all the time. Also being incentivized to "egregiously violate a moral, religious, or cultural taboo" is just part of being a youngest child. I'm open to other choices, but Madame A'Ishah the Improbable of House Vasil, Royal Alchemist, Queen's Chemist, Archsorcerer, and Master of the Castle Ravens feels like a winner to me.

Alec

The Blackguard looks like it would fit with its focus on snide comments and bad lies, and The Alchemist would potentially justify his powers while satifying Alec's whole "rude bitch who only half knows/cares how to fit into polite society" thing. But I'm gonna take the wildcard option and fit him in as The Lover.

The romantic "let them eat cake" figure might not seem a great match for Mr. Vasil (ooh weird feel no not calling him that again), yet nevertheless there's a lot of fun tragic irony to be wrung out of it. Have the former Heartbroken who dies before his odd little situationship with Aisha can become anything be the loverboy, it'll be barrels of fun.

The playbook starts with a high Appease score, which you'd have to have coming out of the Vasil household. They're incentivized to "share a moment of physical or emotional intimacy with someone," and while Alec probably wouldn't seek out such a moment, God does he need to have some intimacy he isn't forcing someone to give him. They have an option to take a title that lets them release angry swans whenever they want to, I know that's not really related to anything Alec can do in canon but c'mon he'd love that. They get a ducat whenever they "say something insensitive without meaning it to be" which is pretty much his and Taylor's whole relationship. The playbook's theming fits the "I'm disconnected from all this and not taking it as seriously as you think I should" thing that he's trying to project with his costume, and as a result the aesthetics are a natural match. Honestly you probably wouldn't need to change him from how he dresses in canon. Maybe put him in one of those fancy Victorian nightgowns iota draws him in. Convergent evolution.

Also I think the "You can always coquettishly bat your eyelashes at someone" privilege just fits. Dollboys can have coquettishly long eyelashes to bat at people. Prince-Consort Alexander the Hijink-Prone of House Vasil, Royal Lover, Court Jester, Keeper of the Swans, and Junior Karian Dynast is ready to take a depression nap lounge luxuriously while his fellow councilors make their plans.

Rachel

A natural fit for The Marshal, the overly aggressive general. While the playbook is meant more for a proud and hawkish thumb of a person (think TF2's Soldier) than a traumatized and paranoid homeless girl, there's more than enough overlap to make the match. I could just list off the actions that give the Marshall a ducat:

"Run into someone you wounded in a duel, and tell the table why": has taken a chunk of nearly every hero in the bay

"Walk directly into danger, knowingly and fearlessly": walking into Khepri's field of influence because she trusts her too much

"Kill or maim one of your enemies in a fair fight" see point one

"Overcomplicate a simple plan by going in all guns blazing": does not like plans more complicated than "point your dogs at the problem"

"Overreact massively to a perceived slight on your honour": literally the first thing she does on-page

Overall, I feel pretty confident in my pick for Marchioness Raquel the Bitchin' of House Lindt, Royal Marshal, Knight of the Order, Commander of the Hussars, and Member of the Equestrian Order.

Lisa

A bit trickier to narrow down. I could see an argument for how she's fits in as an Alchemist; the ability to spend a ducat to have a vision fits with her powers, and she certainly lives her life as if she gets a ducat whenever she "egregiously violates a moral religious, or cultural taboo." And by Ward she might have been long-suffering long enough to be a Treasurer, which would fit in with her tendency to manage everything.

But ultimately it comes down to the tropes she's playing off of, and she seems much more like a reconstruction of the duplicitous-second-to-the-big-bad archetype that The Blackguard is based on than anything else. She's certainly making frequent use of that playbook's "disparage someone's intelligence" and "announce 'I have a cunning plan!' " privileges. The Blackguard's ability to spend a ducat to learn a secret is probably the closest we could get to her powers (coupled with some more titles that let the players learn shit they shouldn't know), and its abilities related to thin disguises works well with Lisa's whole "subsumed by the mask, nothing behind it she's just a collection of masks" thing. Give her more points in Survey and Disdain and Baroness Elisabethe the Tale-Teller of House Wilbourn, Royal Blackguard, Postmaster General, Lord Spymaster, and certainly not Silent Watcher of the Skychamber is ready for a day at court.

Taylor

On the one hand, her tendency to be much more judgy than the other undersiders suggests The Hierophant. And maybe that would work if I was specifically making Weaver. But for the Warlord of the Boardwalks I actually think I'm going to assign her The Liege: the GM-equivalent who plays the monarch the rest of the players are advising/serving the whims of. They're the one whose "the lynchpin of the story, the instigator and motivating factor for everything that happens," and if there's one thing about Taylor its that she's very good at making herself a lynchpin. Also the book advises the GM/Liege to "cause new problems and to complicate simple situations," and that seems like a pretty good way to describe Taylor's tenure as an Undersider. Admittedly, she might not fit the suggestion that "your Liege should be the least qualified person for the job in the realm, perhaps the world," but nonetheless. Have her play either as a Have-at-Them or a Powder-Keg and you're ready to give the Royal Council the headache of their lives. "Queen Taylor what do you mean you want us to accompany you in dueling Lord Slash and his brigands, we have armies for this." "Queen Taylor why do we have to break you out of the Holy Protectorate, what do you mean you killed the Pope." "Queen Taylor the second coming has arri—what do you mean you want to declare war on the resurrected Christ."

[ruru-me]

hiii! idk if this has been asked yet, but can i get more lore on the kids’ mothers & their relationships with the dads (strade, lawrence, rire, ren!) are the moms still alive in some cases or are they dead? i’m really interested to know! :3

Hey anon!

The answer to this may be a bit long, so I'll put it into topics and organize them from the best to the worst parental relationships :D

(also some images I found on Pinterest to illustrate cuz I find it funny)

REN

The best among them fr

Bro is living the dream with his children

Manipulative and overprotective at times but it's because he really fears that his babies will go through something like what he went through with Strade.

The mother is still alive (happily married, thank you).

She works as a programmer and ren is a relatively big streamer in the specific internet niche he works in (I leave it to your imagination what that might be)

All his children appreciate their father and love him

The cool dad all kids want to have (me too pls)

Strong emotional bond, he always knows if something is wrong with any of them

10/10

Lawrence

He's only before strade because his anxiety wouldn't let him forget to buy baby formula for violet

Honestly not the best father figure, but violet really likes their dad

Emotional dependence is the basis of it.

It's not healthy but neither of them seems to care

Violet's mother unfortunately died after an infection caused by Lawrence and his idea to remove her limbs.

Unpredictable some days, can be a caring father or an anxious mess (nothing in between)

CPA has certainly gone after violet

6/10

STRADE

More like a cool uncle who offers alcohol to minors than a father

no paternal sense, plus places no limits on the things Hertha does

Regarding their relationship, Hertha doesn't have a good impression of her father and Strade couldn't care less.

Strade shows "affection" by pampering her with everything she asks for (for him it's much more practical than being emotionally available)

One of the reasons Hertha actively tries to F strade when adult and shows no remorse about her actions

Her mother unfortunately took her own life when she was still young

She was probably the only person Hertha could empathize with and care about (genuinely)

5/10

RIRE

Self-explanatory image

The worst of them

He doesn't even think about trying to be a good father figure

Rire is the father who goes to buy cigarettes and disappears and magically appears again when you're an adult to ask you for a favor

Probably his only contribution was the names Severus and Linden

Their mother is alive and lives with them in a house (almost all Rire's proof)

The twins fear their father like the plague. They have no sentimental attachment to him and prefer to stay that way.

Not to be unfair, rire even showed up a few times to check on them (for some unknown reason) but the twins ran off as if they'd seen a monster.

Theoretically they did

-100/10

Ok that's all, hope I've answered ur question.

Feel free to send another (if u feel like)

*dies*

[spacebarbarianweird]

Prompt 9 please and thank you! 😊

"I sacrificed everything for you!" from Angsty Romance Prompt List

I will make it short and won't tag my list - since it will be more like drabble than a full-body fic.

Masterlist

AO3

Headcanons

Break

Your throat still hurts from yelling, and your eyelids feel heavy because of the tears. It's getting colder, and you wish to return to the camp, but Astarion is still there, and you absolutely don't feel like talking or being near him.

Besides, you share the tent.

You press your knees against your chest and sniff.

Astarion knows his ways with words. He knows how to please. He knows how to hurt.

And in the last few weeks, you haven't heard a single good word from him as if all of a sudden you started to annoy him.

So did he.

You are annoyed with his nightmares, with his clinginess, with his rudeness. Everything you never paid attention to before feels bitter.

Of course, it was supposed to happen.

Astarion never lived before you met. His new life started with you by his side.

He barely had any personality. He had no idea who he was, what he liked, what he hated. Even though you always give him a choice, you encourage him to decide for himself.

He is shaped by you.

Things which are right for you are right for him.

Things that are wrong for you are wrong for him.

He doesn't know who he is without you.

And he is angry. He is angry like a rebellious child who has been controlled by his parents. He is rebellious like a cult member who realizes the world is different from what he was told.

And you?

You love him but he is a burden. He requires so much attention and care from you that you are exhausted. From his nightmares, dissociation, snapping. That he blows up at you and you have to forgive him because he barely understands his emotions.

Will it even work? You don’t know.

You wipe your tears and realize there is only one decision to make. It's cruel, it's heartbreaking but there is no other option.

Slowly you return to the camp. Astarion is outside with his book. He didn't even look at you tough before he always used to welcome you with a smile.

"Astarion, we need to take a break."

"What?"

"It doesn't work. It doesn't work the way we wanted. We need to take a break. We need to sort out things for ourselves."

Astarion bursts out. He yells at you. He screams at the top of his lungs.

"HOW DARE YOU?! I SACRIFICED EVERYTHING FOR YOU! AND THAT'S WHAT YOU DO?!"

It would be easy to yell back. Him? What exactly did he sacrifice? The ascension? He admitted himself he never wanted it. But you? You sacrificed a lot. Life in the sun. Friends. Comfort. Everything.

But you don't say anything about that.

"I am not saying it's over."

"Then what is it?"

"You need to figure out what you are without me. What your values are, what your beliefs are, and who you are overall. You need to be on your own for a while, without me approving or disapproving your actions. And I need to decide if I can handle being with you till my mortal days end."

Astarion turns away. He is angry. He is hurt.

But he nods.

"Very well. Let's figure out things for ourselves."

"In three years," you say. "Three years later, we will meet at Baldur's gate. If any of us wishes to continue this relationship, we spend time there from Mirthul to Eleasis. Four months. If the other one doesn't show up, it's over. "

He chuckles bitterly.

"And again I do things you want. But I don't mind. Three years."

You leave at sunset with a few things belonging to you and head to the nearest city. It's weird to travel alone in the sunlight but suddenly you feel free.

There are certainly perks of being alone.

[sailorshadzter]

Fic prompt: Jon and Sansa as parent-figures to King Rickon

OHHH ANON!!! thank you for this one!!! it was such a cute prompt & fun to write!!

i hope you like it!

send me prompts

“But I’m not yet tired!” 

The stubborn vocals belong to an equally stubborn young man, staring up at her from where he stands just out of her reach, his clear blue eyes defiant in their gaze. A sigh escapes her, but she cannot help but to smile all the same. “Come, at least let me get you ready for bed,” she encourages the boy eager to grow into a man, reminding her quite a lot of someone they’ve long since lost. “Then you may decide if you are tired.” The boy groans, but finally relents, nodding his head as he pushes past her to sink into the empty chair she’s standing beside. 

This is not their usual night time routine- he is a boy of the age where it is certainly not seemly to be cared for by a woman and he’s a crowned King no less, making him even less eager these days to be mothered by his sister. But, sometimes, even Rickon will admit he enjoys it when she hovers over him; he can barely remember their mother now, so when he thinks of her, in truth he thinks just of her, of Sansa. She knows that soon these moments will vanish entirely, so she will enjoy them as much as she can, while she still has them. 

Her first step is to unfasten the leather binding which his unruly red hair is tied back with- he’s taken to wearing his hair just as Jon does, secured at the base of his neck in a small bun. She smiles at the sight of it, as she always does, reaching for the comb sitting there on the tabletop. “You had quite the day,” she observes as she gently tugs the comb through his hair, careful of the knot she finds after the second stroke. “But you are coming into your own as King.” He looks over his shoulder up at her, blue eyes meeting blue, and he’s blushing at her compliment. Just like that, he’s a small boy once more, rather than this boy of thirteen she doesn’t always seem to know. “I am proud of you.” His cheeks, already red, deepen in color, and he turns away, hands twisting in his lap as she pulls the comb through his hair one final time. “There.” She steps back and sets the comb aside, crossing the room to pull his nightshirt out of its place in the wardrobe, laying it neatly across the tightly made bed. 

By the time she’s turned around, Rickon is standing there behind her, close enough now she can reach out and touch him, if she so desired. Seeing him there, tall and thin, makes her heart ache for the family they’ve both lost. If only their parents could see him now, if only Robb could see him now… They would be as proud of Rickon as she and Jon were. Rickon is the one to move next, closing the gap between them in the form of an embrace, one which is surprisingly strong for one so small. Sansa closes her eyes, wrapping the boy in her arms, wondering how this was the same babe she once cradled to her chest. “I love you, Sansa,” he says, his voice cracking over the syllables of her name before he buries his face in the crook of her shoulder. 

They stand there in such a way for a long moment, before she finally steps back from him, holding him out at arm��s length. “Good night, Rickon,” she says softly, leaning in so she can press a kiss to the top of his head. She slips away then, pausing for only one moment more, so she can hear his soft voice speak one last time.

“Good night, sister.” 

[ x x x ]

“Good! Just like that!” 

Those words are followed by one last clash of the two wooden swords, before a panting, grinning, sword swinging boy falls to the dirt to catch his breath. “You are better with each passing day,” the same voice continues and the young boy tilts his head back to look up into the face of the man that speaks to him. “Get up now, Sansa will have my head if she sees you in the dirt like this,” he says next, offering him a hand, which he takes readily, allowing the older man to help him up and back onto his feet as they both laugh. 

In the three years since his crowning, they have spent many afternoons in this way, for what sort of King would he be if he could not swing a sword? And who better to teach him than Jon, after all? Though, on the rare occasion Jon cannot spar with him, his sister’s sworn shield has, and Rickon must admit she might be the next best to his older brother. And though Sansa says he has no reason to learn the art of the sword, for they lived in peace now, Rickon knows he must be prepared- just in case the day ever does come where he must protect his home and his people. 

And the truth was, Jon thinks the very same way.

It was true, they did live in a time of peace now, but there was no telling when danger would arise once more. And Rickon, like every King in the North before him, had to be ready to fight alongside his men on the battlefield. He just hopes it will never again come to such a thing. Though he does enjoy the hours he spends with the boy, who is full of natural talent at swinging a sword, his stance often reminds him of Robb, who once upon a time was a boy eager to prove his worth to the world. “I am proud of you, you know,” he says as they make their way up the stairs, back into the castle. Rickon shoots him a sidelong glance, a look on his face that reminds him not just of Robb, but of their long dead father. “You will be a warrior king this world will not soon forget.” Rickon’s face breaks out into a wide grin as Jon slings an arm around his shoulders, tugging him just a little bit closer. 

As they make their way inside, they both see her standing at the end of the hall, like she’s been there waiting for them. Sansa turns their way as they enter and her face blooms with a smile, raising her hand in a wave, blue eyes bright in their gaze. Rickon slips away first, making his way towards his sister, who immediately begins to fuss over the calluses on his palms and the dirt on his clothes, sighing when he assures her this was all part of being a king. “Go on then, your grace,” she gives him a playful push towards the great hall, where inside supper was waiting to begin. “I hope he’s not dirty because you knocked him into the dirt,” she says as he falls into his usual place at her side. 

Jon laughs, shaking his head. “He did that himself,” he swears, leaning in so he can brush a feathery soft kiss to her lips. “Come, our growing boy king will have devoured all of the meal if we don’t get in there,” she rolls her eyes but takes his arm all the same, allowing him to guide her into the hall, thankful that after all this time, they have a moment such as this one. 

They were together and that was what mattered the most.

[howtheworldcouldb]

Billy Batson Gets Adopted AU, but the adopter he’s avidly avoiding is Lex Luthor.

When Lex first heard of Captain Marvel, he was… unenthused, to put it lightly. Another Kryptonian? It was bad enough when that second one, “Supergirl” had entered the superhero stage; Lex had few hopes for the appearance of a third. Superman even paid Fawcett a visit, and Lex’s grim worries were all but sealed. Except… he started hearing rumors. Different rumors, of the world’s “Mightiest Mortal”. Of a man, human and magic and power, who could stand up against Superman and maybe come out on top. A match. A defense. A man Lex most certainly wanted on his side.

Which turned out to be difficult, since Marvel was impossible to get ahold of. He was nowhere. Sure, he showed up to every disaster, every moment of peril and sign of distress, but he never stayed. He was there precisely long enough to get the job done, and not a second later. It was irritating. It was infuriating. It was giving Lex a migraine. Even Batman, you could occasionally catch at crime scenes or flag down on the rooftops of Gotham, not that Lex had ever tried—Gotham was a beast best avoided. But Marvel? Nothing. At least when he was battling his rogues gallery you could see him flying through the streets, but on his off time? It was like the man stopped existing. Lex Corp’s agents couldn’t find hide of hair of him. The man didn’t respond to public requests for contact, nor any of the more discreet methods Lex and employed. It was astounding. And Lex did not like astounding. He liked answers, and he liked aces in his pocket, and neither of those things would matter if he couldn’t get the Big Red Cheese to talk to him. So he sent Mercy to investigate. To either get Marvel on their side, or get the idiot to speak to them. Mercy marched into his office two weeks later with no contact point, no progress, and a video. a video of a man, a flash of lightning, and then a small, malnourished child.

“Ah,” Lex thought. “Ah.”

So. Captain Marvel was an orphaned, homeless ten year old with inexplicable powers and absolutely zero support system.

Lex was going to steal him.

Steal wasn’t quite the right word, since everything Lex was doing would be completely legal and above-board. Unorthodox, sure, but he had far more than enough money to make it happen in a way that even Big Blue couldn’t dispute. An application, some pressure and a few favors, and suddenly Lex Luthor was a registered foster parent. Now all he needed to do was find the child and ensure he ended up in his care

Billy doesn’t know what the hell is going on or why Lex Corp is suddenly flooding the streets of Fawcett, but he figures this is as good an excuse as any to punch a billionaire in the face

Que several thousand words of Kevin McAllister level evasion tactics, tomfuckery, stranger danger, weaponized baby face, (attempted) manipulation, a very confused and concerned League, telling Superman to fuck off for wildly different reasons, identity shenanigans, and the slow, begrudging mutual understanding and sort-of respect that Billy and Lex are furious is happening

(Luthor and Billy are locked in a battle of wills and guile while the League stands there like “is Luthor… trying to kidnap a child?? Marvel, are you doing anything about this?? We can help, this seems like a multiple hero situation—“ and Marvel is very nicely telling them to mind their own fucking business. They do not. Billy is mad at everyone except Cyborg, who let Billy know he was coming to Fawcett ahead of time)

[doodle-pops]

Caranthir with Pregnant Reader and as a Father

Request: May I request a headcanon about Caranthir expecting kids? How would Cara react to the news? And how would he behave with his wife (reader) and his kid? (I think Cara would be an amazing father ^_^ I love him so much) – anon

A/N: I know you suggested reader with multiple pregnancies like twins or triplets, however, I decided to settle on just one baby for a start. I’d be happy to write a headcanon with him expecting twins another time.

➽ The idea of you becoming pregnant is certainly a distant dream of his which recently came into reality. The words leaving your lips with a smile while cradling your non-existent bump leaves him speechless.

➽ Quickly Caranthir falls into silence which prompts humour in your mind at his facial expression. In his mind, he was attempting to figure out just how much luck he was capable of having—first courting and marrying you, now having a child.

➽ When he breaks out of this trance, he rushes forward to embrace you in a supportive hug and reaches his hands downwards to your non-existent bump while whispering praises and thanks for such a priceless gift.

➽ Through your pregnancy, Caranthir becomes more doting. He finds it difficult to deny you anything you request since he wants to ensure your comfort during the entire duration. The only things he denies you are your weird cravings ‘if’ you have any. You will not be spared a look of judgment as he watches you eat a banana in tomato sauce.

➽ Consult the healers to learn all about dealing with your pain and nausea, all the herbs that are safe to make tea with or rub on your skin as it stretches and if your cravings are…acceptable.

➽ All your clothes will be tailored to fit your body as your stomach enlarges, and he will also participate in frequently tailoring new dresses of the same high quality, so you don’t have to wear less than what you deserve. However, you prefer to wear lighter materials since your stomach weighs you down.

➽ His hand will be on your belly often as he speaks to your unborn child, speaking to them of what their parents are like, how much he adores them already, or how miserable their mummy can be at times. It brings him the utmost joy when he feels them wiggling around whenever he speaks or rubs your tummy.

➽ When the baby does arrive, let’s not pretend that he was impatient and angry during your labour because you were in pain and he couldn’t take it away, he waits until you have fallen asleep to steal the baby away. Cooing silently and playing with each finger and toes, he’ll introduce himself to his child in a soft voice.

➽ Speaking of Caranthir sewing, he’s going to be making clothes for the baby so you or he and your little one can match. Tiny robes adorned in exquisite embroidery or lavish beads would be placed on tiny mannequins. He comes in every other week to show off the new dress or tunics he made like the proud father he is.

➽ He’ll accompany you on walks when he can, and ask the guards or your handmaids to assist when he cannot. It’s worse when he’s in the middle of a meeting and one of your handmaidens walks in to inform him that you’ve disappeared to walk alone. He drops everything to go find you chilling in the garden at peace.

➽ Moryo cannot help himself from releasing a string of words that expresses his concerns before rushing over. “Weren’t you in a meeting with officials?” “Yes, but it doesn’t matter, I’m here now. Shall we continue the walk?”

➽ This occurs frequently which prompts his meetings to be rescheduled and you annoyed at his hovering. You have to remind him that you aren’t handicap and you’re capable of managing on your own perfectly.

➽ “Hello little one, I’m your atar.” In between, he pauses to check if anyone caught him being all soft with his little one.

➽ For the early months when it came to caring for them, he helped out after turning to the healers for guidance. If they woke up crying, he would sprint from the bed to comfort which led to exhaustion before the day was over after walking multiple times a night.

➽ He keeps the existence of your child a secret from his brothers, except Maedhros, Maglor and the twins who would send gifts for your little one in the form of jewellery (obviously) and clothes.

➽ Throughout their life, Caranthir does his best to keep the outside world away from them, solely due to the reputation his house has earned for themselves. When they’re older, he would speak with them should they ever confront him about rumours and whatnot.

➽ His little one is his second weakness who could do almost anything and he would simply smile at them affectionately. He hates to be the one to scold them since he doesn’t want his temper to light up or appear as the bad guy–you’ll have to be the one to do the scolding.

➽ Note that your child will be spoilt from birth, and you cannot tell Caranthir to ease up because he will give you the look. “How can you tell me not to spoil my own child? I mean look at them! They deserve to be given everything.” He says as he makes them wear a bracelet which gets slobbered in drool.

➽ Should they ever cry, the entire palace gets shut down to assess the situation. “Who made my little pumpkin cry?!” Your little one made themselves cry by performing their acrobatics believing they were invincible.

➽ Moryo adores hosting conversations with his little one even though all they do is babble gibberish. “Oh really?! Ammë didn’t give you a kiss this morning? I know right! Mommy’s horrible! You should bite her next time. Oh, you will? I support!”

➽ Sometimes when you’re searching for your little one, it’s because they’re curled up in Caranthir’s lap while he’s busy writing up tax reports or speaking to an official. He’s nonchalant when it comes to what they do; they could tug or chew his hair, yank his circlet off his head, tug on his necklace (says something about always ordering better ones) or dribble all over his clothes.

➽ Does not allow anyone else to hold his child except you or his two older brothers, and even then, he HOVERS. He gets teased for how soft he has become for his little one by his brothers. They’ll reminisce on Moryo when he was little and whether or not his baby shares similarities.

➽ As your child grows and learns of the world around them, Caranthir ensures they are blessed with the best scholars and their interests are respected. Whatever trade they wish to embark on, he supports and solidifies their foundations, so they can excel.

➽ He’s proud of their accomplishments and boasts about them, even hosting celebratory dinners in their honour.

➽ He fears as they grow older and learn of the outside world, their views of him will change, and he isn’t prepared to face them on that topic. For now, he does his best to maintain a healthy relationship with them.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @ladyenchanted @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @hermaeuswhora

[klutzyroses]

Hii! I would like to request how would the ikevamp boys feel about a mc with daddy issues (with Comte,Vlad,Faust,Vincent and Arthur) Thank you in advance

*coughs awkwardly*...Well if this doesn't hit home a bit.

IkeVamp HCs: SO with Daddy Issues

How do they react to an so with daddy issues?

Suitors: Arthur, Vincent, Comte, Vlad, Faust

Warnings: Toxic parent-child relationships, implied abuse

Arthur

Oh luv...

Suddenly her past behaviour towards him makes so much sense.

She had been so off with him at first, to the point where he was almost under the impression that she hated him, that he had to wonder if there was a reason behind it.

Only when they have become closer did she open up to him about her complicated relationship with her father who, much like Arthur, was quite the playboy, but to a more extreme, reprehensible extent.

She speaks to him of the many times her father had missed an important event in her life, birthdays, school activities, because he had a mistress that he found far more important.

It saddens him to know that she felt so irrelevant in the eyes of the man who should have loved her the most.

But then...he isn't complaining about taking that position.

He is determined to make sure she never spends one moment question her worth.

He will certainly let her know that there will be no woman who will take her place in his life, she is his priority and she will be second to no one.

Vincent

He himself had a...contentious relationship with his own parents, thus, he is fully understanding of Y/N's ache.

Though, from the sound of it, her father seemed to be the predominant issue between her parents and his behavior was to a worse extent.

From being overly controlling to being downright militant, hearing how treated her hurts him in ways he couldn't imagine.

How could anyone be that way to his scatje? It's painful to think about.

He will do everything he can to let her know how special she is, how perfect, to him she didn't to worry about being a certain way. She could just be herself.

To prove it, he will paint her the way he sees her; As the perfect, beautiful sunflower she is. The way everyone else sees her. The way she deserves to see herself.

Just because her father was too blind see it, doesn't mean Vincent will allow her to be blind to her own shine.

Comte

His heart aches for his poor cherie.

When he learns of her childhood growing up with a selfish, narcissistic father, he feels slight anger and upset grow inside him for the man himself.

It may not be reasonable to hold any hostility for a man who isn't present, but he can't help it. Anyone who thoughtlessly hurts his cherie is no good in his eyes.

He, as something of a father figure to the rest of the mansion's residents, knowing how it feels to care for someone he is essentially responsible for, can't understand why someone would mistreat a loved one that way.

Especially a person as endearing and lovable as Y/N.

He knows as her partner, he can't actually fill the void of a father in his beloved's life, but he will more than make up for it by fulfilling her every desire. Physically and emotionally.

Y/N will never want for anything, whether that be a shiny pair of heels or just a long warm hug.

Is money a substitute for love? No, but spoiling her is as much a pleasure for him as it is for her, because he loves her.

Vlad

Knowing a thing or two about...less than present parents, Vlad sympathizes when he learns that Y/N's father was very much a non fixture in his daughter's life.

It makes him hurt for her when she tells him of how distant and neglectful her father was when she was a child, and had passed away when she had barely reached adolescence, leaving a larger hole in her life with his absence.

He listens carefully and comforts her accordingly before making a very...unexpected offer.

With his power, he is capable of allowing her just a little bit of escape. Just a brief moment of tenderness with her father.

The tenderness that he never gave her in life...

Whether or not she accepts the offer, Vlad means well. He himself is not her father, but he will do his best to close the gap he left in the heart of his beloved flower.

Faust

It may seem like he is somewhat indifferent to the fact that his guinea pig's father was an excuse of a human, but in truth, Faust is disturbed by what she has to say about it.

To hear her father was a verbally violent, hot tempered man that treated his daughter in such a unforgivable manner sickened him.

How appalling. He may not show it in any other way than to frown, his eyes glinting coldly.

He will plainly tell her that if the man was like that, there was no use in even saying she had a father to begin with.

Harsh way of putting it, but not completely untrue. Y/N was and is better off without him.

The memories hurt, the lost possibilities of reconciliation hurt, yes, but in the end he will make sure she understands that it was for the best that she will not see him again.

Now she can move on with people who actually care. Like him. And she should brace herself, because he has little to no intention of letting her go either.

🌸

[delusinaldreamer19]

Sebaciel vs. Dadbastian, an analytical essay (not really)

Oh boy am I excited and terrified to start this discussion.

I’m just going to say right off the bat that I am absolutely biased towards one interpretation of Sebastian and Ciel’s relationship over the other, that being Dadbastian. However, my goal is not to criticize, but to analyze and point out the differences and, yes, correlations between the two versions of their relationship.

I’m going to start off by making a disgustingly blatant assumption about the reason why I believe both of these pairings exist in the form of a theory...Both the idea of Sebaciel and Dadbastian are coping mechanisms taken on by fans of the series to grapple with how dark the character’s canonical relationship truly is.

Now, I can’t speak for how much this really applies to Sebaciel shippers, as I am not one. But it certainly applies to me as someone who enjoys the idea of Dadbastian.

Let's start with the correlations that support this theory. Both of these concepts are versions of Sebastian and Ciel’s relationship that is more positive than it actually is. The plot of black Butler revolves around the fact that Ciel sold his soul to the demon he named Sebastian, and that upon their contract's completion Sebastian will kill Ciel and consume his soul as compensation. It’s a relationship that is predatory, manipulative, and just simply toxic for a plethora of reasons. While the manga is still ongoing so we have no definitive way of knowing exactly how their story will end, I don’t think it's controversial to say that it's very unlikely to have a happy ending.

Even so, black butler is a comfort series for many, including myself. But how is that possible?

By looking at the series as a whole and the characters through different lenses. A pro and con of black butler is that it’s very easy to interpret in many different ways, and the same applies to the relationship between Sebastian and Ciel.

I’d say there's 2 to 3 main ways that people have interpreted their relationship. In no particular order… - As it is in the series, where it’s strictly based on business and mutual benefit. They work together so that Ciel can get his revenge and Sebastian gets his soul. - Them being friends / frenemies - A ship, where they have romantic feelings for each other. (I’m not going to be discussing how people ship them for sexual reasons, as that's a topic for a different day.) - And Parental, where Sebastian serves as a father/mother (no I'm not specifying which) figure towards Ciel. I'm focusing on the latter two, obviously.

There’s one commonality between these two interpretations; Sebastian caring about Ciel (and vice-versa, but you'll see in a moment why that's not as relevant). There is loving nature to both, but romantic and parental love are not the same thing. So why, baseline, do both these versions exist?

My thought is that they both remove the main cause of distress in their canon relationship. Which is, you guessed it, Sebastian. More specifically his feelings/intentions towards Ciel. By creating scenarios where something changes his intentions of ultimately killing Ciel, it creates the illusion that there's a possibility that the series could have a happier outcome in the end, and a happy ending for Ciel.

Which brings in a new idea. Ciel, being the main character that we follow, despite having his own complex character, serves as the…how should I put this…automatic ‘self-insert’ for people. He goes through/has gone through trauma & struggles that people can relate to and see themselves in. That's why there is a strong desire to see him have a positive outcome through these two different relationships with Sebastian, because as a reader/viewer it will feel like we ourselves are experiencing that positive outcome.

See? Coping mechanism : )

Now here's where things get tricky…Discussing the differences between these two types of relationships. Ok, I could probably find a way to say this that's long and fancy, but I’m just going to be super straight forward. This is as an absolute read, I apologize :’) People ship Sebaciel because they want someone to love them, where they picture themselves as Ciel with Sebastian as the one loving him romantically. People like the idea of Dadbastian because they long for a parent's affection, where they picture themselves as Ciel being cared for by Sebastian.

Now, this is definitely just a theory, and absolutely not the only reasons why people come up with and enjoy each of these interpretations. But the Dadbastian one most definitely applies to me.

Here’s where my own opinion comes into play. Only one of these relationships is really ‘positive’ in nature. Both of these relationships when applied to the canon would be problematic in their own ways, but when looking at it outside of the context of the series and its plot, a parental relationship between Sebastian and Ciel, a thirteen year old boy and an adult figure, is more healthy than a romantic relationship between a thirteen year old boy and an adult figure. Please don’t make me explain why :’)

I’m really hoping this reaches the right audience. I’m not trying to start a war or offend anyone, just share my thoughts and an outlook that I haven’t really seen from the black butler fanbase before.