#the good life: ch13

[exhaslo]

Puzzle Pieces Ch14

(Mafia!Miguel x Shy!Reader)

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch6, Ch7, Ch8, Ch9, Ch10, Ch11, Ch12, Ch13

Warning: Smut so Minors DNI, mentions of abuse, heavy abuse (pls call someone if you are dealing with domestic abuse), blood, murder, language, fluff, bullying, mentions of sex, praise

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Miguel sat in his living room with a small glass of vodka in his hands. The room was dark and cold. Miguel was waiting for you to come back with Lyla and Jessica. After what happened earlier, Miguel could not stay at Alchemax. He would have lost his cool to whoever came in with bad news next.

Upon hearing giggling, Miguel exhaled softly. He leaned back in his seat and ran his hand through his hair. He closed his eyes for only a moment as he brought the glass to his lips. He could hear your soft laugh as you opened the door,

"A-Are you sure...I can pull off that kind of dress?" You giggled, hiding your smile. Lyla followed behind you,

"Girl, yes!" She chirped and noticed how dark the place was, "Oh geez, Miguel, you are not a vampire!" She huffed, seeing his glowing red eyes. You flinched and turned towards Miguel,

"W-Were you waiting long?" You hurried over to him, wrapping your arms around his back. Miguel hugged you back,

"No, Mi pequeño conejito (my little bunny)." He whispered, placing his glass down, "Did you have fun?" He asked. You smiled and nodded,

"Yep~" You chirped and turned towards Lyla and Jessica, "It was one of the best days I've had with girls. T-Thank you so much for t-today."

"Of course. If you ever want another day like this, just ask." Miguel kissed your head and glanced at his two workers, "Good job, enjoy the rest of your night."

"Bye Boss!" Lyla chirped as Jessica just nodded in response.

You waved towards the two, happy to have hung out with them. You covered Miguel's eyes as the driver brought up the bags, not wanting him to see what you got. After you found a good hiding spot, you hurried back to Miguel and hugged him once more.

"Thank you," You whispered into his chest. Miguel picked you up,

"Amor (love), I don't want anything to feel rushed. What's mine is yours and this will be your home now too. Just be as comfortable as you want. I can have the rest of your stuff picked up tomorrow." Miguel said as he brought you to his large couch.

"I-I go too. I just...want to make sure everything is picked up." You frowned at the thought, "I...I just can't believe...t-the nerve of them! M-Marriage s-should be my choice! Not theirs!"

"Hehe," Miguel chuckled lowly as your face turned red, "Sorry, baby, but hearing you raise your voice is quite adorable. But fear not, you are not going to marry that asshole. I'm going to make sure of it."

"Mhm, Miggy, I'm sorry...I'm causing so m-many problems-"

"You're not," Miguel reassured you with a kiss, "I'm here for resolve all of your problems, no matter how big or small. Your parents can't marry you if they don't know where you are," He hummed.

You felt your heart skip a beat as you kissed Miguel back. Once you got the rest of your things, your parents had no way of finding you. It was a scary thought, but even changing your phone number seemed like an option at this point.

You needed to cut the toxic out of your life.

"I have another surprise for you, but I'll give it to you when you're completely moved in."

"Miggy, you're g-going to s-spoil me~"

"You deserve it, amor."

---------

Miguel was against you going back to your place. He wanted to have his men take care of your belongings, but how could he say no to your begs? Your nerves were kicking in and you wanted to make sure that everything was grabbed.

Miguel only let you go as long as you messaged him every few minutes. He had this gut feeling, but he also had important meetings and deadlines to take care of today. Just to play it safe, Miguel had Peter join you.

"He better not say anything stupid." Miguel hissed lowly.

----------

"Oh you should have seen Miguel's face when I brought Mayday to work one day! Ha! It was like he's never seen a baby cause so much destruction!" Peter roared in laughter as he should you pictures of his baby.

You chuckled towards his jokes, feeling a little bit better about the day already. You felt like there were butterflies in your stomach. Once you arrived at your apartment building, you heard Peter tell you to wait. Confused, you sat in the car as he got out and walked around the building.

"Um...I-Is e-everything...alright?" You asked in a whisper once he returned. Peter smiled towards you,

"Just gotta make sure it's safe. We all kind of have this gut feeling and act on it." He reassured you and helped you out of the car once the moving van arrived,

"I-I'll show y-you guys the way." You muttered, texting Miguel as you made your way upstairs.

This felt so surreal. It felt like just yesterday that you moved into this place. And now, once again, you were moving out because of your parents and ex. Hopefully, this would be the last time you do so.

You helped Peter and the others grab your things, making sure that everything you wanted was taken. Once the apartment started to get empty, Peter told you that he was going to meet with the landlord really quick. You nodded and stayed behind in your apartment to double check.

"It...feels so...empty," You whispered.

Glancing at the time, you were about to text Miguel before you heard a knock at the door. The movers had already finished and left, so this must be Peter. Whispering your final goodbye to the place, you went to the door and gasped in horror.

"Missed us, sweetheart?" Eddie said with a wide smirk.

"E-E-Eddie?!"

"Y-Y-Yes. Fuck, still stuttering like a little baby. How the fuck did you manage to seduce anyone with that annoying habit?" Eddie spat as he pushed you back into the apartment, "Awe, what's wrong? Aren't you going to apologize for running away? Making me work harder to find your fucking ass?"

"N-No-Ah!" You cried as Eddie shoved you onto the floor.

"You FUCKING made my life harder! Had to waste time to hunt you down! I needed you to fucking HELP me for once and where the fuck were you?! Jumping on some other dude's dick!"

"S-Sor...S-Sorry." You cried, holding your head as Eddie went to kick you.

"Sorry doesn't fucking cut it! To make matters worse, the fucking supermarket got bought out! It's going to be harder for you to slide the drugs in now! So I'm going to need you to be a good fucking girl and sell my drugs with your body. Then maybe, just fucking maybe I'll forgive you."

You were a sobbing mess. Eddie was screaming in your ear, forcing you to listen to him as he pulled you up by your hair. It was as if you never left. Why did you even think you were going to have a better life in the city?

"ANSWER US, BITCH!!"

"M-Miguel," You cried loudly. Eddie tossed you onto the floor and was ready to kick you again,

"You never fucking le-"

At that moment, Eddie was flung into the nearby wall. You were shaking like a leaf, but felt something cover your body. Frighten, you poked your head from under your hand and saw Miguel standing before you, furious.

"M-M-Mig..." You whimpered, overwhelmed with joy. Miguel exhaled loudly, glancing down at you,

"Baby, I'm going to need you to close your eyes and cover your ears. I'm not going to be able to hold back."

You did as he said and proceeded to cover yourself under his jacket. The only thing you could hear were muffled grunts and screams.

-----------

Miguel came in like a rabbis beast. All he heard was that Eddie was near the area and Miguel came running. When he saw Peter knocked out, Miguel nearly lost all his reasoning. Well, he never had some towards Eddie to begin with.

But, everything changed when he heard yelling.

The mere fact that Eddie had the audacity to raise his voice towards you, was disgusting. No man should ever treat a woman like that. As Miguel grew closer, he heard your cries. It was when you cried for his name and Miguel broke the door down in a frenzy and punched the living shit out of Eddie.

Unable to think straight as he saw you on the floor, Miguel was about to kill Eddie right here and now. It was until you whimpered that Miguel threw his jacket over your body and came back to reality.

He needed to torture Eddie.

Not kill him.

Yet.

Miguel rolled his sleeves up as he approached Eddie. The pathetic man already cussing over a broken nose. As if that was all he was going to end up with.

"So you're the new man, huh? Isn't she an easy fuck do-"

"Cierra la maldita boca, cerdo asqueroso. (Shut your fucking mouth, you disgusting pig)." Miguel spat as he swung another fist towards Eddie's face, "You're lucky that I'm not going to kill you here and now. No, I have much more saved up for you."

"Heh, you...have no idea...who you're messing with," Eddie spat out blood, smirking towards Miguel.

Miguel just laughed.

"Oh, it's the other way around." He whispered, his red orbs shining brightly, "You messed with the future wife of my family. It's you who fucked with the wrong mafia."

Eddie's smile immediately disappeared as Miguel threw another punch. Once Miguel saw blood, it was as if he could not stop. Miguel's fists kept swinging one after the other. He eventually stopped when Peter finally came by and called his name out. By then, you couldn't even recognize Eddie.

"Take him to the base."

"Miguel-"

"NOW!" Miguel roared.

Waiting for Peter to drag Eddie's unconscious body away, Miguel quickly washed his hands. He hurried over to you, carefully picking you up. His face was flushed with anger as he saw the state you were in.

"Aye, baby, I'm sorry I wasn't here any sooner," Miguel's tone was hurt as he showered you with kisses. You just sobbed and wrapped your arms around his neck,

"Y-You came!" Was all you kept repeating. Miguel groaned lowly as he held your head to his neck,

"I'm sorry, amor. Let me take you to the hospital to get you checked up." He whispered.

Miguel refused to let you go the whole time. You had cried yourself to sleep, which did worry the nurses at first; however, Miguel had a special relationship with the hospital so all was good. He was able to stay by your side the whole time.

---------

You gasped, waking up with a cold sweat. Miguel immediately grabbed your hand, reassuring you that everything was okay. When you realized that you were fine, you started to cry again. Miguel came and saved you.

"T-Thank...T-Thank you," You buried yourself in his chest, ripping onto his jacket tightly. Miguel's hand was on your head,

"(Y/N), there's something I need to tell you," He said with a soft sigh. You rubbed your eyes,

"Hm?" Miguel's brows furrowed, "Miggy, you can tell me anything..j-just as I can with y-you."

"I know, I know," Miguel sat beside you on the bed and stroked your cheek, "(Y/N), I want you to know that I'm going to kill Eddie. But, it's not just for you, you see, he's been ruining my other business."

"Other? Not...Alchemax?" You questioned. Miguel wiped a tear away,

"No, conejita (bunny), I have another job. One a bit more sensitive and secret. I want you to know that I do my best to keep this city safe from a lot of bad things," He sighed softly. You were still a little confused, but scooted closer to him,

"It's okay, Miggy. I love you no matter what," You said shyly. Miguel groaned at your confession,

"(Y/N), I'm the leader of the Spider Mafia. I run this whole city and keep it safe, keep normies like you, safe, from people like Eddie." Miguel whispered, pulling you into his embrace, "I will never, ever, hurt you or break your trust. Which is why I'm telling you now. I am going to kill Eddie."

"..." You gripped Miguel's chest, biting your lower lip as tears started to form, "I-Is...I-Is it...Is it wrong...f-for me to be o-okay with that?" You asked with a whimper. Miguel reassured you with a smile,

"Of course it is. After everything's he's put you through. I'm going to make sure he suffers tenfold."

You cried softly as you hugged Miguel. You wanted to say you had an inkling to his secret life, but that would be a lie. You were so blinded by love that you didn't care. Right now, you still didn't. Miguel still treated you right. Miguel still cared about you.

"I-I love you, M-Miguel! T-Thank you. Thank you!" You cried on repeat. Miguel just held you close, stroking your hair,

"I love you too. I'm going to make sure everybody who's wrong you get's what they deserve."

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next chapter

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[lastbluetardis]

Sacred New Beginnings (19/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong. Ten x Rose AU This Chapter: Explicit, ~5000 words AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 |

James can hardly hear past the roar of his pulse in his ears as he is the sole focus of Jackie Tyler’s—(Jackie Peters’s? He’ll have to ask Rose what last name her mum has)—ire. Gone is the cheerful grin he’d seen in the photos Rose had sent of herself and her mother on holiday in Barcelona; now that joy is replaced with the sort of rage only a mother is capable of. 

He throws a desperate glance at the other adult in the room, but Tyler Peters is stunned into silence, his eyes locked on James as though he’d never seen a human being before.

Absurdly, this is what unfreezes James, and he throws out a stupid little, “Hello. I’m James Noble. Pleasure.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showin’ up here,” Jackie spits, stalking ever-closer. James regrets that he didn’t use the last two seconds to free himself from his position of being backed against the countertop. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Mummy! Daddy!”

Jackie whirls around to face the corridor at the sound of a tiny voice and pitter-patter of feet. She automatically crouches, and Tony gallops headlong into his mother’s waiting arms. She scoops him up and peppers kisses across his fair skin.

“Did you have a good night with sissy?” Jacke coos, stroking his hair away from his face. “She didn’t feed you any ice cream, did she?”

“Yeah! An’ made hotdogs and cheesy ‘tatoes, then we played Jus’ Dance, an’ James was there!”

“Oh?” Jackie asks, flashing James a withering glare. “When did he get here?”

“Yeah, he’s so fun!” Tony squeals, pivoting in his mother’s arms to beam at James. “He’s my fav’rite.”

Rose finally emerges from down the hall, her cheeks stained scarlet as she squeaks, “Hi, Mum. I expected you to text when you got here.”

“Oh, so you could hide this one somewhere?” Jackie scowls, gesturing to James.

“I… I wanted… I was gonna tell you…”

“What, that you let ‘im come weaslin’ back into your life? Did he come up with a sob story? Made it real convincin’, did he?”

“Jacks,” Tyler says quietly, inclining his head slightly towards Tony, who is still ensconced in his mother’s arms and watching the exchange curiously. “Let’s save it, eh?

Jackie purses her lips, then presses them to her son’s temple before handing the child to his father. “Take him outside, yeah? Meet you downstairs.”

“Five minutes,” Tyler warns. “This one needs to get to bed.” To his son, he chirps, “Say bye to sissy!”

“Bye-bye sissy! Gimme hugs and kisses!”

Rose tiptoes around her mother, not sparing her a glance as she scoops her little brother into her arms and gives him a couple of big twirls around the room.

“Spinny hug, spinny hug!” Tony screeches, clinging to Rose for dear life.

The sight makes something hollow ache in the pit of James’s gut. The siblings clearly adore each other, and Rose is so good with him.

“Bye-bye James!” Small hands tap his legs, and he realizes Tony is gesturing for a hug. He hesitates for only a fraction, but he can’t say no to those big brown eyes.

“G’night Tony,” he whispers, kneeling for a brief embrace. “Thanks for playing with me tonight.”

“All right, little man, wanna see who can race down the stairs fastest?” Tyler asks his son, ruffling Tony’s fair blond hair.

“Yeah! Onetwothreego!”

Tony bolts out of the flat, giggling madly, leaving his father to leisurely stroll behind him. Before Tyler closes the door behind him, he spins and says, “Good night, Rosie.”

“Night,” she mumbles, looking increasingly uncomfortable at the prospect of being left alone with her mother.

James nearly fumbles out an excuse to leave, but realizes that would be the most cowardly thing he’d ever done, and Rose deserves better than that. So he pulls on his big boy pants and turns to face the music.

Before he can speak, Jackie turns on Rose and throws her arms up into the air. “What are you thinking?! Have you gone mental?!”

“Mum, please just…”

“Whatever happened to “I deserve better than bein’ the latest in a long line”? I thought you were over bein’ a good time for someone who would drop you in a heartbeat for someone younger and smarter and prettier?”

Rose flinches from her mother, and James takes an automatic step towards her, reaching across the space between them.

“It’s not… it’s not like that,” Rose says weakly. “I got it wrong.”

“Oh, did you? ‘Cos from where I’m sittin’, it’s bloody obvious what’s going on here. Mister Handsome Rich Rockstar has swindled you again, tellin’ you whatever it is you want to hear so he can keep you ‘til he’s done with you.”

“Er, I’m not technically a rockstar,” James blurts, and he can hardly believe what has just come out of his mouth. But he can’t stop. It’s like his brain has ceased all higher function and his mouth has taken over. “More folk-pop. Indy, maybe? Soft pop?”

“Oh, shut up,” Jackie snaps, turning to him with fire in her eyes.

He clacks his teeth together and nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets in an attempt to make himself seem as small as possible, which is quite the impossible feat, considering his height.

“You! You need to get the hell away from my daughter if you know what’s good for you. You men, you’re all the same, taking what you want, thinkin’ you’re entitled to get your way, lyin’ through your bleedin’ teeth to get what you want. Well I won’t stand for it! My Rose deserves better. She isn’t a girl you can shag and drop the moment someone else comes along.”

“I… I know,” James stammers, his mouth impossibly dry and his stomach roiling in discomfort.

“Oh, do you?” Jackie remarks, false surprise lifting her face. “You had no problem tellin’ the entire bloody world you were just havin’ a bit of fun. ‘Cos that’s all you really want, isn’t it? Fun and a place to wet your cock…”

“Mum! Enough!” Rose shouts, red-faced and near-tears. “I was wrong. We’d both misunderstood each other. But we’re together now. Properly.”

“That’s what he told you, didn’t he? Bet he sounded real sorry too. Bet he said all the right words, didn’t he?”

James’s heart falls when he sees Rose flinch and drop her gaze to her feet.

“That’s enough,” he says quietly. “Say whatever you want about me, but Rose is smart enough to make her own decisions about her life, no matter what you believe. Yes, when Rose and I first started seeing each other, we each thought it was something casual. And I was an idiot for what I told the reporters. But things are different now. I want what’s best for her.”

Jackie grunts dismissively. “You say that now, but the moment she gives you a bit of bad press, you’re going to spin whatever little tale you need to tell to get the public on your side, and my Rose is gonna be the one who gets smeared through the muck.”

“I wouldn’t…”

“Mum, please,” Rose whispers. “I know I have an awful track record with boyfriends, but those are my mistakes to make. Maybe James will be a mistake, maybe he won’t be, but you have to let me live my life the way I choose to. And right now, I choose him.”

Jackie softens a fraction as she turns to her daughter. It’s as though with him out of sight, the gentle mother returns. She reaches to Rose and cradles her jaw, stroking her cheeks as she says, “My Rose. I will always want the best for you. It killed me to see you in such a state on holiday. I don’t want to see you be taken advantage of. Is it money? Sweetheart, you know me and your dad will help you out, you don’t need to stay with him for that.”

James is slightly offended that Jackie thinks he’s paying Rose to hang out with him or paying her for sex, but before he can think of a response, Rose covers her mother’s hands and leans into the touch.

“It’s not money,” she assures. “He’s not paying for anything of mine.”

“He bloody well should—he’s rich! You better not be payin’ for your dates!”

Rose lets out a sniffly giggle and throws her arms around her mother, who holds her tightly and rocks her from side to side. James wonders if he should sneak out while they’re distracted, but he finds he’s rooted to the spot, trying to wrap his head around the last few minutes.

“Please be safe, sweetheart,” Jackie whispers. “Please.”

“I am safe, Mum. And I wish you’d believe me when I say I’m happy. Really happy.”

“I believe that you believe it,” Jackie says, pulling back just far enough to kiss Rose’s forehead. “Remember that I’m here for you the moment you need me. Don’t you ever think you can’t come home to your old mum.”

Rose nods wordlessly.

The fight seems to have left Jackie, but she turns to him and says, “Don’t you dare hurt her, or mess her over.”

“I–  I won’t,” he vows.

Jackie narrows her eyes, scanning him up and down, but doesn’t say anything else. She turns away from him and back to Rose. “I gotta go. It’s way past Tony’s bedtime. Thanks for watchin’ him.”

“Of course. I love spending time with him,” Rose says, guiding her mother to the door.

“I love you. More than anything.”

“Love you too. Drive safe.”

Jackie kisses both of Rose’s cheeks and doesn’t even look James’s way as she sweeps out of the flat.

oOoOo

Downstairs in the foyer, Tyler Peters is desperately trying to occupy his definitely-tired-but-pretending-he’s-not-tired four-year-old, and it’s going about as well as one could hope. Tony is racing laps around the room, skillfully dodging the amused (and mercifully tolerant) tenants of the building who are simply trying to enter or exit the building.

“Watch it, mate,” he calls when Tony nearly barrels into the little old lady who has lived in this building for decades. She is one of the few residents who already leased a flat here before Tyler became the owner of the building. “So sorry Mrs. Donovan.”

“Oh, my grandsons have just as much energy,” the old woman says cheerfully, smiling down at Tony. “These bones may be old, but they’re sturdier than they look.”

“Hi!” Tony chirps, flashing a toothy smile. “Bye!”

And so the laps continue.

And continue…

And continue…

Tyler sighs and checks his watch. He should’ve known Jackie couldn’t keep it to five minutes. It’s nearing on fifteen, and he’s about to corral his son so they can go fetch her when the lift dings and Jackie steps out, her eyes sparking and her jaw locked.

“Mummy!” Tony sprints over and takes her hand. “Time to go!”

Tyler joins his family and takes his wife’s free hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of hers.

“Chat go all right?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know what the hell she’s thinking,” Jackie grumbles. “I mean… James bloody Noble?! It was bad enough to hear my daughter was havin’ a lark with that… that… scoundrel in the first place. But now she’s taken him back? Stupid. Irresponsible.”

Tyler bites back a smirk and knocks his elbow into her ribs. “Put yourself in her shoes, eh? When you were her age, you can’t tell me that you wouldn’t have bedded Bono if he’d shown the slightest bit of interest in you?”

“It’s not the same!” she complains. “Bono never would’ve…”

“And Rose likely thought James Noble never would’ve,” he says simply. “You know I love her dearly and that I want the best for her, but Rose seems happy right now. Will it last? Probably not. But let her have this, eh? How many people can say they dated a famous singer in their youth? It’ll be a story for the grandkids and great-grandkids.”

His wife huffs out another impatient breath, but doesn’t argue further. “Yeah. Maybe. But still. James bloody Noble. I just hope Rose knows what she’s doing, datin’ that man…”

Tyler wraps his arm around her waist and gives her a squeeze, but doesn’t say more. Together, they walk out of the foyer of the building, all while being watched by two young women leaning on the wall beside the lifts.

The women exchange stunned, disbelieving looks.

“James Noble? The James Noble?” one of them asks.

“With Rose Tyler?” the other asks. “The girl up in flat 10-2?”

No fucking way…

oOoOo

James stares at the front door for several long seconds after Jackie’s marvelous exit. Rose shifts away from his side to step forward, twisting the lock and fastening the deadbolt chain before she clunks her forehead into the door. She doesn’t move from her position, so he goes to her.

Carefully, he slips his arms around her waist and presses a whisper-soft kiss to the side of her neck. Though she feels limp, she manages to spin in his grasp to instead plonk her head into his chest rather than her front door. She simply stands there, unmoving, as he rubs her back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice muffled. “I didn’t think… I thought she’d… I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, nestling his stubbly cheek into her hair and breathing her in. Never before has a parental introduction gone so poorly. Usually his partners are as famous as him, so the parents are accepting and gracious or simply indifferent. Occasionally they’ll fawn over him.

But the outright hostility and venom that Jackie just spat at him…

“I didn’t realize you’d told your mum about me,” he finally says, matching the volume of his voice with hers.

She groans and says, “During our holiday. I’d been out of sorts, thinkin’ you didn’t care about us at all. Mum caught on to my mood. I didn’t mean to tell her, but I was quite upset, and it all just sorta… came out. And when I saw your red-carpet interview that confirmed I was just a bit of fun for you… I lost it, and she saw my reaction, and it wasn’t good.”

James wishes he could go back in time and wallop his past self across the head for his thoughtless comments. He wishes he’d had the courage to tell the interviewer how he felt about Rose, to tell the world that he was riding the high of falling in love, and that he wanted to keep it private. But he hadn’t. He’d been a prick and a twat, and he’d broken Rose’s heart from five and a half thousand miles away.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ve forgiven you for it all. But I just… I guess I’d forgotten how much I’d told Mum about you. And I’d forgotten how upset she was on my behalf. I was stupid for thinking that telling her on the spot that you and I were properly together would be enough for her to accept you. I shouldn’t have done it this way… I should have talked to her first, then introduced you. I’m so stupid.”

His stomach churns as he squeezes her tightly, as though that could rid them both of the shock they’re in.

“Should I… should I go?” he asks, mentally pleading with her to say no. The thought of spending his night in his empty house makes him ache with loneliness. 

To his relief, she shakes his head. “I don’t want you to, but I don’t feel like I deserve to have you with me tonight. My mum just… verbally eviscerated you. You must be so angry.”

“Not at all,” he insists. “Well… I’m a bit chastened. And a bit embarrassed that I made such a poor first impression, and that you’d been so upset about my behavior that you told your mum how awful I am. But I still want to be here. With you. If that’s all right.”

In response, Rose finally lifts her face from where it had been pressed into his shirt. Her eyes are a little red but completely dry, though he barely registers that fact before she threads her fingers through his hair, presses up onto her toes, and brushes her mouth to his. His eyes flutter shut at the glorious pressure of her kiss. He melts into her, splaying his palm across her back to hold her close.

“Stay,” she murmurs when she breaks away, though she catches his lips in another kiss a moment later. “Please stay with me.”

“For as long as you wish,” he says, because there is nothing on this planet that could make him leave.

Apart from her kiss of greeting at the door, this is the first that James has had Rose’s hands and lips on him in over a week. He tries to keep it chaste and slow, still unsure whether it’s appropriate for him to stay, while hoping to convey comfort and support through his body. He really shouldn’t let them get carried away; Rose is obviously upset, but he just can’t help it. He’s drawing as much strength from her as she hopefully is from him.

He has the presence of mind to keep his hands in safe places, primarily across the expanse of her back. He grabs onto the fabric to anchor himself as he basks in the heady intoxication of her mouth.

They each know exactly where this kiss is headed but pretend not to, and instead they explore each other’s mouths in lazy, indolent strokes of lips and tongue. James quickly becomes far too hot, his skin flushed and tingling with anticipation of things to come. He tentatively dips his fingers beneath her jumper, shuddering to touch her bare skin. She sighs into his mouth and presses her front flush with his.

He’s steadily getting hard in his jeans, each beat of his heart sending his blood rushing down, down, down, helped along by the rocking of Rose’s hips. He drops a hand to her arse, caressing and squeezing and pulling her more tightly into him. With his other hand, he tangles his fingers into her hair and guides her head back a bit to get better access to her neck. She grips his hips with near-bruising force as he plants row after row of searing kisses to the sensitive patch of skin beneath her ear. That familiar whining moan rushes out of her as she shudders in his arms, holding him close to urge him on. Not that he needs the encouragement.

Without breaking the kiss or the press of their bodies, James slowly guides them down the hall and to Rose’s bedroom. It takes ages, as he keeps getting distracted with the taste of her skin and the sound of her quiet gasps. They move even more slowly when Rose remembers that she has hands, then proceeds to use them to cup him and stroke him through his jeans.

“Christ,” he chokes out as a spark of pleasure zips up his spine.

“Rose,” she counters, giving him a playful squeeze that sends a full-body shudder through him.

“Smart-arse. Fuck, do that again.”

A laugh hums up her throat, vibrating against his now-still lips as she grips him tightly and rubs. He’s going to fucking lose it, right here in the doorway of her bedroom, but Christ this feels so good and he never, ever wants her to stop.

The intensity recedes a moment later, and he regains his senses enough to tug her hand away from him to instead guide her all the way into her room. There’s a pile of laundry on her bed that Rose haphazardly shoves to the floor.

“Clothes off,” she orders as she fumbles with the hem of her jumper, tugging until she pulls it over her head.

He doesn’t need telling twice.

Neither of them bothers with trying to sexily disrobe the other. Rather, they go for speed and efficiency, and soon enough, they’re both wonderfully naked. She’s as beautiful as he remembers, even more so, and he drags her down to the mattress with him. They move together until Rose is on her back, her legs open for him, and he’s atop her, his hips cradled in hers. She reaches between them for his cock, and strokes him a few times as she guides him inside of her.

He presses in, slowly, inch by inch, shivering at the sensations rushing through him. He groans through clenched teeth as he’s fully seated, forcing himself to wait, to give Rose a moment to adjust. She’s panting beneath him, chest rising and falling as her nails bite into the fleshy part of his back.

“Okay,” she whispers, arching her hips up and pulling him close for a rough, sloppy kiss that conveys everything she wants and needs from him.

His skin sings, tingling at the sensation of so much of her body pressed to his. His blood turns molten, burning him from within as he begins to move.

“Feels so good,” he chokes out, pulling back and plunging forward in a steady, measured manner. The slick glide of her all around him is as addictive as ever, and he trembles with the pleasure slowly mounting in him.

“Uh huh.” Her agreement dies on a moan as he thrusts in with a little more force this time. “James.”

He catches her bottom lip between his before releasing it to kiss her again. He teases his tongue into her mouth, flicking at the roof of her mouth just behind her front teeth, then going back to simpler kisses. Rose clings to him, kissing him back in equal measure as her nails rake down his spine to cup his arse, guiding his quickening rhythm. The sting of her nails coils a raging, aching heat low in his spine, building higher and higher until he knows it won’t be much longer until he’s lost.

“I missed you,” he grunts as her muscles begin to tighten around him. Thank fuck; she’s as close as he is. He redoubles his effort, wanting to push her over the edge first. “So much.”

“Me too,” she gasps. “Fuck. Please…”

He speeds up his rhythm, giving up on kissing her lips and instead tucking his face into the side of her neck. He breathes her in then plants his mouth to that patch of skin beneath her ear that is always her undoing. He grins to himself as she shudders and curses and moans, and when he dips a hand between them to rub her, she breaks.

She cries out and writhes into the mattress, arching her hips up and up and up, closer to him, closer to the sensations he is wringing out of her. She’s perfect, and fucking hell, he’s right on her heels. The perfect pressure within him pulls tighter, making him lose all sense as he chases his high. He thrusts with abandon, clenching his teeth as the flames fan hotter, drowning him, consuming him…

He lets out a wrenching moan and thrusts deeply into her, releasing helplessly, shaking and cursing and burying his face into her. Sensation sparks through him, channeling relief and pleasure through his entire body, curling his toes and stealing his breath. She’s everywhere, all around him and holding him through this maelstrom that has never felt so fucking good.

Rose… he thinks he gasps her name, but the rushing in his ears deafens him to anything except his erratic heartbeat.

He returns to awareness by Rose lazily stroking his back and kissing the top of his shoulder. His body is too heavy to move, but he manages to pull out and flop indelicately beside her, keeping an arm and leg slung over her. She laughs quietly at his antics, and he grins into the pillow. He cracks open an eye to look at her, and the sight of her smile and sex-mussed hair and flushed cheeks ignites a joy and love so deep that he begins to giggle. His body is thrumming with hormones that make him feel boneless and content, and through it all, he laughs and folds himself closer to Rose.

She’s laughing with him and turns to face him fully. He mirrors her position so they’re both on their sides, their legs tangled lazily together. He reaches out and brushes a few rogue strands of hair away from her face, then leans in to kiss her softly.

“That was great,” he whispers into the sacred silence of her bedroom.

“Mhm. Very great.”

“The most great,” he says, beaming as she rolls her eyes.

“Did you have a nice trip?” she asks.

He hums in wordless assent, and briefly tells her all about the week he’d spent in east Asia, meeting fans and doing photoshoots while promoting Catalysis.

“How was your week? Are you feeling better?” While her voice is still raspy from the illness she’d contracted, she looks and sounds much better than she had during their video chat on his last night in Japan.

“Much better. Teaching classes while feeling like death is always frustrating, but it’s easier than arranging for a substitute,” she says with a shrug.

He frowns, but they already had this discussion about how shittily schools treat their teachers, so he lets it go.

“I’ve got an upcoming holiday concert at the O2, weekend after next,” he murmurs, remembering the monthly schedule Donna had sent him that morning. “I’d… I’d really like you to come. If you want. It’s not just me. I think Ed Sheeran is on the list too. And Astrid Peth. She’s a good mate of mine. You can bring a few friends with you. There’s a private suite for my guests, so you could stay hidden, mostly, as long as cameras aren’t wandering around. And my mum’ll be there too. I think. Well. I should invite her, shouldn’t I…?”

Rose interrupts his nervous rambling with a soft kiss. He melts into her, but she breaks it far too soon for his liking.

“I’d love to,” she says, cupping his cheek before scraping her nails through his hair.

His eyes flutter shut at the echoes of pleasure that ripple through him, and he grins at her acceptance of his invitation. He’s giddy at the thought of being on stage and looking into his private suite to see Rose. His favorite pieces of his life will be in the same place, melding together perfectly.

He leans forward to kiss her again, and she willingly reciprocates.

oOoOo

They sleep, eventually. Between (and during) bouts of sex, they talk about everything and nothing. It’s like nothing bad can happen to them here, not when they’re twined so intimately, not when they’re making each other laugh so freely.

Wrung out in that perfect post-marathon-sex way, James buries himself beneath Rose’s blankets and lets blissful unconsciousness claim him. His dreams are vague and foggy, and he doesn’t remember them when he awakes later that morning to sunlight peeking through Rose’s curtains.

His eyes are gritty and heavy as he leans over to check the time. It’s barely 8am, but he feels refreshed, even though the drowsiness of lingering sleep tugs at him again. His shuffling has disturbed Rose, who curls close to him and mutters something unintelligible. He kisses her forehead and closes his eyes once more.

He drifts in and out for many long minutes before the gurgling of his stomach is too distracting. Even Rose hears it, and she pokes his belly, mumbling, “Shush.”

“Can’t exactly help it. Mind if I order a breakfast and coffee delivery?”

“Go for it,” Rose says through a yawn.

“Then can I borrow your shower?” he asks, sitting up and letting the sheets pool around his naked waist.

“Go for it,” she repeats, tucking an arm beneath her pillow to glance up at him. Her gaze falls to the morning erection that is somehow poking at the blankets despite their multiple rounds of very satisfying sex the night before. “Well, hello.”

She gently prods it, giggling when it bobs a bit. “Bouncy.”

James stifles a snort. “You’re adorable when you’re sleepy.”

“Pfft.”

He lets her mindlessly poke his cock as he scrolls to a food delivery app and orders a selection of bagels and croissants for them, as well as his favorite coffee and her favorite tea. His chest balloons with warmth when he adds Rose’s address to his list of favorites, then places their breakfast order.

“Should be here in half an hour,” he says, resting his phone on the nightstand, ignoring the handful of missed notifications. It’s the bloody weekend, for God’s sake. It can wait. For good measure, he completely silences everything, not wanting his morning with Rose to be disturbed.

“Hmmm, how can we pass the time?” Rose muses, blinking up at him through her lashes and grinning wickedly.

She shows him just how entertaining thirty minutes can be.

He doesn’t have time for a shower before there’s a knock at the door that has them scrambling for clothes. He tugs on his pants and t-shirt while Rose simply dons a robe overtop her knickers, cinching it tight at the waist to keep her modesty. They emerge from the bedroom, with James going to the kitchen for plates while Rose heads to the door.

There’s an odd commotion in the hallway, but James doesn’t really think much of it, not as he absently wonders what he and Rose could do today. Maybe they can sneak out somewhere and visit a museum or something. Maybe he could take her to the studio—it should be fairly empty on a Saturday morning. Maybe they can take an impromptu road trip to somewhere Rose has never been. Pack their bags and drive to the first place they can think of. Book a hotel and order in a bunch of fancy food and rent some films to watch and get drunk on expensive wine and kiss until their lips are bruised. God, that sounds like a perfect weekend, and he hopes Rose will be agreeable.

But all of those plans, those hopes, are dashed the moment Rose opens her front door to reveal a stunned delivery person and over a dozen paparazzi photographers, armed and ready with flashing cameras.

[sukirichi]

hiiii i have been absolutely loving DTD and i get so excited for all your updates 😭🫶🏼 just to clarify, was it chapter 11 when rin realized he was in love with the princess? was there an exact moment he realized?

also i must be toxic bc why do I love them together 😭 seeing how he described their first kiss literally changed me like wow he fr loved her all along …. i was wondering if their first time sleeping together was the same type of heart racing and life changing moment for rin in the way their first kiss was?

hiii aw thank you anon, i’m so happy to hear that! hmm i’d say he started getting around to the thought that he was in love around ch11, but he only ever realized it completely on ch13! i think the exact moment he knew he was in love was during the whole preparation of the beach house because . . . when they were there, focused only on building a life for themselves, he felt like a normal husband and wife yknow? they were affectionate with one another, weren’t arguing, and they were both involved in doing something that was for their future. that’s when rin had the realization that, “oh. this is the life i want, and its a life i want to spend with you.”

18+ ask ahead (no explicit scenes)

no i get you bcos i love them too!! oooh about their first intimate time together, okay 👀 i’d say it was unplanned, and none of them really thought about it. rin was traditional when it came to us (the whole courtship thing) and so he expected our first time with him would be during our honeymoon, but a simple makeout on the yuzuru estate’s study gets a little too heated. and with the knowledge that your parents aren’t home, you’re suddenly dragging him up into your room and insisting he take his damn clothes off. boyfriend! suna would be hesitant at first, asking you multiple times if you were sure + he was okay with waiting, and wants to reassure you both can just take your time. you’re impatient, however, so a kiss leads to another until you’re both stumbling in bed, and your first time with him was so good - he’d been so gentle, attentive, maybe even a little nervous because he’s eager to please you. it’s his first time being with someone with so much care and open communication on what the other wants. he never thought sex could feel so intimate and could be enjoyable even when he goes slow, until he meets you.

and by the end of multiple sessions, poor rintaro is so exhausted he passes out in your bed, and you lie to your parents for the first time that rin has already headed home, and is definitely not within your bed

[gnashingwailing]

@fireflywritesgt LOVINGLY WRITING MY UNHINGED CH23 THOUGHTS AND THEN BURYING THEM UNDER A READMORE. I felt such overwhelming hype when I saw we got 2 chapters in 1 day I truly was ready to throw my phone out the fucking window. TOO MUCH JOY FOR ONE LITTLE GNASH... I hadn't even finished processing ch21......

first off pov Joe when he goes to Calloway's to pick up his cute new tailored fit in 3 days

soooo right from the jump. hey.

"“…’cause he’s way better off than I am, it’ll make it harder for me to leave him or something. That he’s luring me in. I mean—” Joe laughed nervously as he steeled himself in preparation for how the captain would react to his next statement “—if it were a giant treating me the way he treats me, everyone would call me a pet.”

“Well of course they would, Joe. That’s because giants are evil.” The captain said matter-of-factly.

He may as well have poked Joe squarely in the eye. Nonetheless, the bartender continued."

hey. UM. Joe you beautiful idiot who canonically has bad luck and, presumably from reading this very chapter, a terrible poker face. Maybe you should have said. Any Other Thing? GODDD in my heart he's definitely sooo overconfident and drunk like wow I am so smooth :) nobody suspects a thing :) while Calloway is having a conversation with him like uh... just saying, but you know, none of us could stop you from. for example. idk. becoming a giant's pet. we wouldn't like that but it's just a random thing that came to mind just now, unrelated to the really tall really wealthy really powerful guy who is afraid of taking advantage of you by luring you in and giving you things like a giant would and maybe isn't treating you like a person. And you're afraid you shouldn't want it. Like BRO IT IS SO OVER FOR YOU even without Harry literally calling Joe's name 3+ times in the dead silence 😭😭😭😭 And presumably Harry having been waiting around there for a while to see Joe! Loitering in a way we know tinies are on guard about since they all noticed that snatcher back in Ch13!

They're idiots ur honor, so true, but it's all worth it to see Joe get rescued and swoon like a damsel ... I definitely wonder if Calloway observed any of that, and what he might think about it if so. >:) May or may not have been daydreaming and writing bits about how horrifying it would be to give your surrogate kid all this well-meaning advice, see him nearly slip to his death, and while you're hurrying down to try and help him, watching him call out to a walking nightmare for help and then get whisked away by it

I have a pet theory that everything we've seen from Calloway so far has been pretty heavily colored by it being from Joe's perspective when he's having a bad day, and maybe he will be more understanding than we think? Objectively, I didn't think he was being very rude or anything back in Ch 13, when he was speculating on Joe's love life. It rankled Joe, which is understandable, but he 1) he's happy that Joe looks good, 2) he doesn't let Gutters or O'Grady rag on Joe too hard and 3) he just generally seems like an interested father figure would about his kid's love life:

"“Oh, lay off him, Tim. It’s a good borrowing year!” Captain Calloway cut in. “We all have ‘em, we all enjoy ‘em, we all cry ourselves to sleep when they’re over.”

Relief washed over Joe like the warm water in Harry’s sink.

“Though I gotta say…” The captain gave a wry smile as he continued. “…it could just as easily be someone else’s good borrowing year if ya’ catch my drift. Could be he’s got a little sweetheart looking after him. A brick of pure chocolate? That’s practically a dowry."”

Although I may be wrong here, since Ch 21's incident at Tiny Town with the Italian mob that saved him gives us the insight that "[for] the first time in Joe’s entire existence at that, Joe understood what it was like to have a real father." So maybe Calloway is not that nurturing to Joe and not much of a caring dad -- as @remordsposthume's tags so wisely point out:

WTF WAS HE DOING LETTING HIM LEAVE THE BAR LMAO. Calloway's Den of Drunkards confirmed for an "everybody drive home drunk. it's not my problem" bar??? Everyone is processing TAoLaW thru their own cultural lens and. in that spirit. lmfao. I must say. Calloway reminds me of the libertarian redneck dads I've known who just let their kids do whatever. If he was a giant I think he'd let his kids ride ATVs thru the woods drunk. Most probably he would also be ridin around drunk with them. "If you die it's your own damn fault" being his motto is too on the nose LOL. Huge farm dad "I LOVE MY SONS. ONLY HALF OF THEM WILL SURVIVE TO ADULTHOOD BUT I DO LOVE THEM" energy. To Me.

(Btw Harry & Joe processing their parental issues together WHEN <3)

BUT ANYWAY YEAH EVEN IF CALLOWAY WAS THE MOST UNOBSERVANT GUY IN THE WORLD RE: THAT SUSPICIOUS CONVERSATION? YOU WERE LITERALLY BOTH SCREAMING EACH OTHERS' NAMES LIKE LOVESICK ROMANCE PROTAGONISTS RIGHT UNDER THE DREDGE THAT'S STILL PROBABLY GOT AT LEAST SOME NIGHT MARKET CUSTOMERS? HELLO?? @94444 we are on the same wavelength rn

AND MORE ABOUT CALLOWAY... I am very heartened by how you mentioned once, Warren, that you planned to give each character real depth and treat them with sincerity. I feel very interested about when that time will be for Calloway! We know that he takes in kids (or at least O'Grady and Joe scratch that. tag lore be upon me) and teaches them how to sell trinkets. We know that he hates giants. We know he's been horribly injured in a way that led to him losing a hand, an eye, and possibly teeth. Knowing what we do about the risks of being a borrower, and how casually cruel giants are to them, it's not unlikely those last 2 things are related. I'M TAKING YOUR TAGS AND RUNNING AWAY WITH THEM LIKE A DOG W SOMETHING IN ITS MOUTH.

So Calloway knew them for several years as vulnerable kids... then lost them for a year or so... then got them back after they escaped the watchmaker's? I will be interested to see if that trauma means he's more protective of them, or uh, still more drunk libertarian dad about them. Lmao. He seemed like he cared about Joe getting into Tiny Town way back in Ch3 tho at least! (as an aside... interested in who Gutters is, too. He SEEMS to be older than Joe/Tim, but he could also still be a Calloway Kid himself... he seems to defer to Calloway... and/or he could just be some guy embittered about giant/tiny relations. which. fair, brother.)

If the broader Tiny Town culture (such as it is... would word get around about this incident with Joe and Harry, or does news just not travel that well amongst lots of secluded borrower communities? much to consider. it makes sense in a dark way why you would physically mark somebody who's transgressed against society's cardinal rule, in a culture where you cannot generally spread information effectively) would reject Joe for his proclivities... will Calloway, too? Or is it Joe's anxiety making him think that? I'm afraid we already know how Tim would feel. Other than him, Calloway is the person who Joe seems most connected to in miniature society... Although Harry's worry about Joe not spending enough time around his fellow miniatures in Ch22 is at least partially motivated by his own guilt-trip, I think he has a bit of a point! I hope Joe doesn't lose touch with everyone -- or if he does, I hope there will be new friends out there for him, too, who are more understanding.

(LORRAINE WHEN)

Now Calloway aside, OBVIOUSLY THE ENDING OF THIS CHAPTER HAD ME HOOTIN AND HOLLERIN.

“Joe… can we go back to the big, sexy giant part for a second?” <- LIT'RALLY me rereading this chapter 800 times

A snapping turtle is a fantastic little horror for poor Joe to face, woof. Those fuckers are scary enough when ur height is measured in feet. The quick way they snap is no joke. Just want to 👏👏👏👏 about how good this passage is: The turtle’s maw emerged from the waters of the lake like the gaping mouth of some ancient monster that fed on the souls of sailors. The grimy lakewater rushed over its beady little eyes as its beak, sharp as a dagger, flew towards Joe faster than a gunshot. YEAH.

It just!! makes my little heart sooooo happy to see that Joe does have someone who will unconditionally look out for him...!!! Harry has his issues, and they're still learning how to open up about themselves, but he consistently shows up!! :') the thought of him waiting for his man all night ... hoping the dredge would be the place Joe meant ... and then acting sooo fast when he saw a tiny guy fall off of it... what a faithful hound of a [future] boyfriend. Calloway is so right. Joe deserves somebody to look after him. And Joe has done the (forgive me for the loaded meme) girl math on this. One big man is the best possible outcome for him. ONLY THE BIGGEST MAN WILL DO to keep him off of his bullshit as much as possible 👍👍

And OF COURSE god their conversation is just so so so fucking funny. "Thank you" "fuck no I'm not" -> "FUCK YOU" is INCREDIBLE i CANNOT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT lmaooooo and Harry still being so gentle about receiving this insult and trying to parse what Joe means ... he does listen to Joe, they're definitely not back to square one as drunk!Joe feared, his own issues are just getting in the way! (And Joe's are getting in the way of him seeing thru Harry's facade into what the real issue is! We love to see it!)

"“I meant that. You don’t get to call me handsome until you start listening to me.” He slurred. “You gotta—you gotta want it.”

Joe crossed his arms and scowled up at the beautiful man and his beautiful face as Harry tried to parse what Joe was saying.

“Want it…?” Harry echoed.

“Yeah. You gotta want to be my friend. And screw what anyone else thinks!”"

And did anyone else cackle at how Joe telephone-gamed Calloway's advice to still be in plausible-deniability-land. "You gotta want to be my friend" ok. not what he fuckin said. run that back real quick -> "Not if you’re being open about what you want and everything. That’s how love works, Joe. You gotta want it."

I just adored the moments of insight between them, too. "... Joe knew his real answer was yes – he was just too afraid to say it overtly. He argued and fought and begrudgingly accepted it instead. / What was that saying to Harry?" vs. Ch22 Harry's revelation: "How much of his relationship with Joe was genuine, he wondered, and how much of it was Joe going along with Harry’s suggestions in the name of diplomacy?"

Joe IS acting like somebody who's being coerced! Harry IS being a trustworthy guy by noticing it and checking in once their relationship is definitely turning intimate! It's so fascinating to think in hindsight that every time Joe turned red and embarrassed, Harry was having a thought at the back of his mind like "he doesn't want this. I'm scaring him. He doesn't want me, and he doesn't even know the real me yet. And worse, he can't tell me, because he's afraid of what I might do to him." But he can't SAY all that because it would hurt too much if he said it and Joe confirmed he was actually correct, so Ch22 comes out as a trainwreck where he's accidentally insulting Joe's ability to survive without him. (Side note I KNEW Harry wasn't REALLY considering Joe his landlord. Sad!!! That fucked up scrawny starving guy has squatter's rights and he was doing pretty good all things considered maybe !!!)

The respective issues ~Society~ has given both of them just make it impossible to talk about the root of their problems without baring your guts in a really terrifying way. OOF.

HOWEVER this chapter confirming that homophobia isn't such a problem in tiny society is going to make this eventual conversation betwen them real interesting... Harry like "You don't understand Joe :( there's something really wrong with me... ... I like ... men..." and Joe being like "omg :) :) :) :) :) wait what's wrong with you tho" and then Joe "No you don't understand Harry :( I know this is sick but... I like.. giants... I'm sure you could never see someone smaller than you as anything other than a pet ..." and Harry just ":) :) :) :) oh what no :) Georgie was shorter than me" I hope they can have a good, baffled laugh at how long they could've been snuggling guilt-free. At the end of the angst. <3

[aftokrator-official]

some Thoughts on chapter 13 now that i've finished:

I LOVE HOEDERER.... i already did but like. Really enjoyable to get his POV in this event and see more of his inner thoughts and motivations. I'm fond of characters who are so tired and worn down and jaded, but manage to hold onto some scrap of hope regardless, even against their own better judgment. A lot like Mlynar in that way, tbh.

regrettably this chapter sold me on hoederines a little. i'm CONFLICTED because i love wines so much, dammit. (and manhoe, but there's not as much of a conflict with my headcanons there.) But their relationship is so good regardless of whether you read it as romantic or platonic.

speaking of, Ines was a delight in this chapter. Love her role as the resident non-Sarkaz Sarkaz who is completely unaffected by whatever arcane bullshit is getting to Hoederer and W in any given moment, so she can yell at them to snap out of it and save all of their lives lmao. I love her deep loyalty and care for them that she expresses in everything but words. ugh ugh i love her

the little subplot with Vendela and the Sarkaz commander who tried to keep her safe was sweet and sad, I wish he'd gotten a unique sprite at least. I kind of want to see her meet Flamebringer now and her reaction to the friendship between him and Perfumer... I feel like there's some parallels there.

We're starting to see some payoff to the buildup with Siege in this arc, and I'm so glad! I've never really understood the hate her arc gets - I know it's partly that I'm biased, she was my first 6* so I'm rather fond of her, and I just really like the whole concept of the Glasgow Gang. And I think it doesn't help that ch12 was (imo) the weakest part of act 2 so far. But also, it was always really clear to me that we've been just... laying the groundwork with her up til now, I didn't really expect her to have big moments or turning points yet? Idk. i kind of want to write a whole post about her arc and my thoughts on it at some point. BUT, I really liked her in ch13, seeing her start to really come into her own and how all the events of act 2 up until now have shaped her decisions.

I'M REALLY SAD ABOUT GUARD ACTUALLY??? :( Tbh I have not really cared much about New!Reunion until this chapter, except for Talulah, but I'm finally getting invested. And Talulah's confrontation with Eblana was AMAZING. I've always seen her as a foil to Talulah - while Talulah started down her path with good intentions and ideals, Dublinn seems to have been like late-stage Reunion from the very start, because Eblana has always cared more about seeking power than about the oppression of the people around her. SO FUCKING SATISFYING to see Talulah, of all people, calling her out on that, and protecting Reunion from her. I really hope we get more of these two in future, and also more Reed in main story please please pleeeaseee.

This chapter was wonderfully cohesive with the themes of tradition and bloodlines vs forging a new path. Siege, Delphine and Horn, all beginning to break away from their inherited roles in Victoria's hegemony and fight on their own terms instead. The Kazdel flashbacks, the spacetime feranmut, and Hoederer's POV - a character who wants to see a better future for Kazdel, while still remembering and learning from its past. Nine, Guard and Talulah dealing with what Reunion means as a symbol, and figuring out what it should become. Shining and Nightingale, confronting the Confessarii and their own past. Even Vendela, having to let go of the life and traditions she'd grown up in, the townspeople clinging to familiarity and the hope that things would go back to normal to the point that it was literally going to kill them. The confrontation with the Sanguinarch was such a great culmination of all of this, with his fixation on blood purity and the glorious lost past of the Teekaz. And he's defeated by several people who all soundly reject his vision of what the Sarkaz "should" be - Amiya, the outblood King; Logos, who does have a "pure" bloodline by the Sanguinarch's standards but refuses to be defined by the role he inherited; Hoederer and W, two of the mixed-race "commoner" Sarkaz he's so contemptuous of (and Hoederer specifically rejecting the idea that the Sarkaz's destiny must always be soaked in blood); Ines, who isn't a Sarkaz at all, except she is, because her family is Sarkaz, and she's always going to be one of them. It was! So fucking good!

[defectivevillain]

this broken design, ch13

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: That familiar analytical gleam in your eyes lives in Hannibal’s mind as he sinks his teeth into his prey. Despite your departure hours ago, Hannibal sees you sitting across from him at the table. Dining alone has never bothered him; yet, right now, he can’t help but desire your company—your scintillating conversation, your sharp wit, your clever smirk. Indeed, his table feels uncharacteristically empty. Hannibal stares at the chair across from him—the same chair he’s grown accustomed to seeing you sit at—and takes another bite. Flavor explodes on his tongue, yet you are what dominates his thoughts.

Your experience in criminal profiling means that you've met a wide variety of people from all different walks of life. You've stared down hardened criminals and fought for your life against people hellbent on killing you. Even so, something about the FBI's new target, the Chesapeake Ripper, seems to elude you.

Then you meet Hannibal Lecter: an enigmatic jigsaw of a man with jagged corners and misshapen pieces.

Fortunately, you've always been rather good at puzzles.

read from the beginning here.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: cannibalism, vomiting/throwing up, canon-typical blood, violence, & gore. If you'd like to skip the vomit part, stop reading at the bolded "The clock ticking incessantly on the wall,” and continue reading at the bolded “Must not have agreed with me.”

You wake up with burning eyes. There’s nothing but blinding white on all sides. It takes several moments for your eyes to stop watering but, once they do, you realize that you’re in a hospital bed. There’s a nurse hovering over you, asking questions that you can’t comprehend. Her voice sounds warbled, as if you’re underwater. You try to say something, but the effort hurts and you abandon the notion. It takes several moments for your ears to stop ringing enough to hear what the nurse is saying to you. 

The ensuing few minutes are painfully awkward, as you have to gulp down an entire glass of water and cough several times to clear your throat. When you finally do speak, the effort stings and hurts your throat. You answer a few of the nurse’s questions as she busies herself with checking your vitals. 

“You’ve gotten a lot of visitors,” she says, as she writes something down on her clipboard. You raise an eyebrow and look around the room, looking for signs of these so-called visitors. The room is rather bare—nothing to suggest that you’ve had several people stop by. 

“Really?” You ask, unable to shake a bit of your suspicion. 

“Yes,” the nurse nods, meeting your gaze with a kind smile. “Your husband is quite nice.” You stare at her in confusion. After all, you don’t have a husband. The nurse senses your perplexment and clarifies. “The European man. Well-dressed, very polite.”

“Oh.” There’s only one person you know who fits that description seamlessly: Hannibal Lecter. You’re surprised that he visited. You say as much to the nurse as she’s checking your vitals and she raises a brow at you. Her reaction prompts you to utter the question lingering in your mind. “Did he… visit often?” Normally, you wouldn’t assume that he did. However, if you were to analyze the nurse’s assumption that he was your husband… Well, Hannibal must have visited at least a few times for her to make that assumption. Indeed, the nurse nods. 

“He sat in that chair; must’ve come by at least once a day.” Once a day? The thought both amuses and frightens you. Of course, you’re very appreciative of the thought of Hannibal visiting you every day, even when you were unconscious. However, your unconscious state meant you were vulnerable in front of the Chesapeake Ripper for days. That could have provided him with an ample opportunity to kill you, maim you, steal an organ. Yet, as far as you know, he didn’t take advantage of that opportunity. You frown. You suppose you can’t be completely certain that he didn’t take advantage of your vulnerability. The idea of Hannibal taking an organ of yours—plunging his hand into your bloodied skin before neatly stitching it back up—sickens you. 

Thankfully, your unsavory reverie is broken by a rapping sound against the door. It seems you have a guest. The nurse walks over to the door, opening it just enough for her to see the newcomer, before glancing back at you. She’s positioned in a manner that blocks the visitor from your sight, silently asking if you’re comfortable with the prospect of having a visitor. You’re touched by the gesture and it takes you a few moments to ground yourself to the moment and give your permission. The nurse nods and swings the door open, allowing you to see your visitor.

Freddie Lounds stares at you with a complex expression. She looks far better than you do, with nothing more than a few abrasions on her wrists from her bindings to indicate her captivity. She wears a smokey grey sweater and blue jeans in lieu of her professional journalist attire. There are dark circles under Freddie’s eyes, which indicate that the events that transpired still weigh heavily on her conscience.

“Hi, Freddie,” you say. Your voice is still a bit raspy—evidently a combination of the lack of use and your fight with Gideon. You have to put almost all your effort towards pushing the memories out of your mind. You don’t want to think about your time in captivity right now. You don’t want to think about the fact that you murdered Gideon. Sure, he would’ve killed you first. Even so… The thought nauseates you. A pointed cough from Freddie separates you from those thoughts. You wave a hand in an attempt to invite her closer. She takes a few steps forward, looking rather restless. You finally allow the question plaguing your mind to fall from your lips. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting you,” Freddie responds without hesitation. 

“Ah,” you remark dumbly. Indeed, Freddie had been forced to sit at that dining table, in the company of Abel Gideon, Frederick Chilton, and you. You blink and you see the redhead with blood spattered across her face, a glazed gleam to her eyes as she stares blankly ahead. You blink again and you’re thrown back to the blinding white hospital room. 

“You saved my life,” Freddie remarks, once the silence begins to grow painful. You startle and turn your attention to her once more. Sure, you may have saved her life, but you certainly hadn’t expected a word of gratitude from her. That wasn’t why you did it, anyway. Those thoughts must be evident in your expression, because Freddie shakes her head. “I know that wasn’t-” She stops for a moment to collect herself, “Regardless. I would’ve died.”

“So…” Freddie then says, a grimace overtaking her lips. She looks vastly uncomfortable. You have to quell the urge to preemptively reassure her. Freddie clasps her hands and takes a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior in the past. I wrote some rather unflattering things about you—things that weren’t true.” She doesn’t need to go into any further detail, as you remember the times you’d seen your name in bold black lettering on the Tattle Crime website. 

It doesn’t take very long for you to come up with an answer to her apology. “It’s alright,” you answer easily. Freddie sends you a wary look. She clearly doesn’t trust your mild-mannered expression. You suppose you could’ve been mad about her press coverage over the years but, truthfully, it never impeded your work or affected your life. “Really, it’s fine,” you continue, “I get it—you were doing your job.”

“I accused you of murder,” Freddie argues. Is she trying to provoke you? The thought perplexes you. You fiddle with the thin, scratchy blanket haphazardly thrown over your form. The movement makes you aware of the IV connected to your arm and it stings tauntingly for a moment. 

“Happens to the best of us,” you shrug, wincing as the movement sends a bolt of pain down your shoulder and through your side. Freddie stares at you in evident disbelief. 

“You’re not mad,” Freddie says uneasily. Indeed, you’re not mad. In reality, you don’t have the energy to be angry. Perhaps, if you were in better physical condition, you’d be able to scrounge up some ferocity. But something about seeing Freddie Lounds in your hospital room—the first visitor you’ve seen since you’ve woken—humbles you. You almost feel strangely appreciative of her honesty, appreciative of the maturity with which she conducts herself. You don’t realize she’s waiting for an answer until you see the apprehensive expression on her face. 

“I’m not angry,” you confirm. “Next time you write about me, just… don’t be so eager to drag my name through the mud.” You mean for the remark to be sarcastic rather than accusatory, but the journalist’s eyes widen and her lips part in surprise. Freddie then has the good grace to look mildly embarrassed, before she takes a deep breath and lets a resolved expression dominate her sharp features. 

“Thank you,” Freddie murmurs. It looks as if the act is difficult for her. She’s avoiding your eyes. Even so, she went out of her way to visit you as you’re recovering—just to thank you and apologize. Honestly, you feel undeserving of her gratitude. Freddie never should’ve been in a hostage situation in the first place. You should’ve gotten her out of there sooner. You should’ve- “Seriously.” The sincerity in the journalist’s voice destroys those self-deprecating thoughts. 

You feel a smile tugging at your lips. Honestly, you never would’ve expected to grow an exasperated sort of fondness for Freddie Lounds. You almost want to credit your generous mood to the painkillers, but you get the feeling they aren’t having that kind of impact. Freddie seems eager to leave, so you give her the opportunity to leave. “Bye, Freddie.” With that, the redheaded journalist exits the room. She has a rather uncanny talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, you think to yourself as she departs. 

Your conversation with Freddie was nice, but now that she’s gone, you’re painfully aware of the headache forming in your temple. You close your eyes for a moment in a half-hearted attempt to rest. You don’t have your eyes closed for long before you suddenly sense another presence in the room. An ordinary person may not be able to sense it, but your years of training greatly developed your spatial awareness. You keep your eyes closed for a few moments, wondering what this new presence will do. After a few moments of silence and evident stillness, you give up the act and open your eyes.

Hannibal is standing before you, a mild smile on his face as he regards you. You stare at him for several moments, unable to move past the overwhelming rush of conflicting emotions. Relief and distress, happiness and grief, hope and despair. You were so focused on Gideon that you neglected to remember the killer standing right in front of you.

“What are you doing here?” You manage to say, your voice still raspy. Hannibal takes another step and closes the door behind him. The steady beeps from one of the monitors are the only sounds to break through the silence sticking to the air. 

“I’ve brought supper.” In characteristic fashion, he neglects to truly answer your question. You don’t have the energy to keep yourself afloat in these mind games. Since you first woke, you’ve spent an immeasurable amount of time in this nondescript hospital room, scrutinizing every action you took that led you here. The last thing you need is another conversation to feel lost in. 

“Oh,” you remember to respond. “That’s very nice of you.” You stare at him for a moment, taking in his perfectly coiffed hair and fine-trimmed clothing. Your eyes meet and a shiver rolls up your spine. What is this feeling you’re suddenly overwhelmed by? It’s almost déjà vu. How could you be getting déjà vu from this moment? You’ve never been to this hospital before. Perhaps it’s the expression on Hannibal’s face…?

“You were there, weren’t you?” You realize aloud, as glimpses of that fateful day come back to you. You vaguely remember being wheeled through the blinding white halls of this hospital, Hannibal gripping your hand tightly. Now, you can’t help but stare at him expectantly. Weirdly enough, the man focuses his gaze on the wall next to you for a minute.

“I must admit, you made for a rather harrowing sight,” Hannibal then says, apropos of nothing. Your eyebrows furrow. That comment doesn’t quite make sense. Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper—surely he’s seen far more gruesome sights. Also, negating his murderous tendencies, he used to be an emergency room surgeon. Your injuries weren’t quite fatal. Your eyes track Hannibal as he crosses the room, taking out a stainless steel capsule reminiscent of a Thermos. He unfolds the small wooden table that extends from the side of the bed and places the capsule in front of you, before placing a napkin and silverware next to it. Hannibal then procures his own meal and takes a seat in the chair at the side of your bed. He seems unusually determined to skip the necessary pleasantries that typically characterize his behavior. That’s not quite like him. You’re sidetracked before that thought comes to fruition in your mind. 

Looking down into the container on the tray, you realize you’re not sure what to call the food inside. It appears to be some sort of stew. There’s an unfamiliar smell wafting from the food. It’s not exactly unpleasant, but it’s such a multi-faceted scent that it makes your stomach turn. You grasp the fork provided to you, unable to shake this irrational unease.

Hannibal is already eating. You take after his example and stab a piece of meat inside the container with your fork, before bringing it out of its steel confines. A drop of sauce dribbles from the meat and back into the Thermos-like capsule. The clock on the wall seems to grow louder with each passing second. You inhale sharply, before taking a bite of your meal. The flavor is something you don’t think you can even describe in words. It provokes such a strange and unfamiliar sensation—one that leaves a weird (although not inherently unpleasant) aftertaste in your mouth. Inexplicably, you take another bite. Judging by that reaction, you must like it in some capacity. 

For a few minutes, the two of you eat in silence. You only get through a few bites before the potent gamey taste of the meat makes itself known. At that point, you’re not sure what to do. You don’t want to be rude. You also don’t want to make yourself sick by eating this… mystery meat. Trepidation sends goosebumps down your skin. Dread has been crawling through your chest ever since you took a bite of this stew. Something is wrong—you just can’t figure out what. Hannibal has always enjoyed rather eccentric tastes, yet you can’t help but wonder what would possess him to bring you a stew in the hospital. Every single one of his actions is purposeful, as you’ve grown to accept in the time you’ve known him. There’s something about this interaction, a hidden undertone of anticipation and amusement that forces you to scrutinize the little details. 

“I hope you don’t mind me asking…” You trail off, trying to find a way to word the question delicately. For a moment, you contemplate letting the question fade into silence. Perhaps it’s better not knowing. Perhaps… You bite your lip. The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. “What is this protein?” You gesture down to the meat scattered about the stew. 

“Chicken kidney,” Hannibal responds. Somehow, that answer doesn’t provide any additional clarity. The meat doesn’t taste like chicken. You’ve tried a lot of different foods before, but you’ve never tasted something like this. Alarm bells ring in your ears and you put your fork down on the tray. For a moment, you settle with staring at Hannibal. You soon give up on staring when you ponder his syntax, the way he emphasized the nature of the organ before naming it. 

Realization crashes down on you. The restrained look of amusement on Hannibal’s face. The wry smile ever so slightly visible on his lips. The strange taste of the meat. Your paranoid thoughts earlier. The recognition that it would be frighteningly easy for Hannibal to slip into your room disguised as a surgeon, to use your existing wound as a disguise for the removal of organs. Chicken kidney. The gleam in the killer’s eyes. Prey trapped by a much stronger predator. The clock ticking incessantly on the wall. 

You stumble out of bed and race to the bathroom, just barely making it to the toilet before your throat burns and the food you just ate exits your mouth. You groan. Despite the fact that you only took a few bites, your body seems intent on purging your system. After a minute or two, you’re left to dry heave into the toilet bowl. The porcelain exterior is cold against your hands and you grimace. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, as sweat trickles down your temple and the back of your neck.  

At some point, your eyes catch on the emergency assistance button on the wall near the toilet. It’s tempting to jam it, to explain everything to the nurse. Unfortunately, you don’t think that would work. Hannibal is just outside the door—he would certainly hear you. Even if he didn’t hear you and you managed to complete the phone call, the nurse wouldn’t believe you. Hell, no one would believe you. Perhaps that’s been a part—albeit a small one—of the reason why you haven’t tried to turn Hannibal in yet. Your public reputation is still rather poor; while you know the majority of your coworkers trust you, there would certainly be outcry if Jack were to act on your suspicions and arrest Hannibal. No, you’re well and truly trapped. The Chesapeake Ripper doesn’t leave evidence; he doesn’t make mistakes. 

The thought makes you nauseous once more. You grasp the toilet and close your eyes, praying that you won’t throw up again. You’ve always despised vomiting: the horrible rush of dread and anxiety leading up to the act, the act itself, the clean-up... Thankfully, the universe is merciful and you don’t throw up again. You wait a few more minutes to ensure the nausea passes before flushing the toilet and pushing yourself to your feet. You mechanically wash your hands, making sure to scrub for a few minutes. Once you’ve finally dried your hands, you open the bathroom door and walk back to the side of the bed, pretending not to notice Hannibal’s eyes on you. 

“Must not have agreed with me,” you shudder, grabbing the glass of water at your bedside and taking a small sip. Your heart is racing as you come to terms with the fact that your paranoia was founded. You grasp your bedside railing and slowly maneuver yourself back into bed. Once you’re settled, you meet Hannibal’s gaze. 

“It must not have,” Hannibal acquiesces, looking entirely unbothered by the events that just occurred. His reaction is far too muted, even despite your unshakeable knowledge that his expressions of emotion are always muted. There’s an undercurrent of vicious pride in his smile, in the way his legs are neatly crossed as he regards you from his seat. 

The air remains dominated by a tense silence. There is nothing you can say to diminish the horrors sticking in your mind. Time resembles a thick, gelatinous sludge—dragging on and on, dirtying everything it touches. Your hand twitches to investigate the wound at your side.

Hannibal leans forward in his chair, his gaze focused on you. He looks as if he’s about to speak when there’s suddenly a demanding series of knocks on the door. His left eyebrow ticks a half centimeter, the most minute of gestures. “It appears you have a visitor,” Hannibal remarks, turning to the door. You resist the urge to grimace. You’re not sure you have enough energy to get through a polite conversation with yet another person. Hannibal opens the door and the newcomer steps into the room. 

“Jack,” you say, unable to quite hide your relief. Jack Crawford takes one look at Hannibal Lecter, who is smiling politely at him, and promptly shoos him out of the room. You send Hannibal an apologetic look, but in reality, you’re glad that Crawford made him leave. You don’t have the wits about you to keep yourself afloat in Hannibal’s mind games. There’s no telling how you would have fared in a drawn-out conversation with him. “It’s good to see you.”

“Agent,” he responds. Jack’s stance is broad and self-assured (as always), but there’s an unfamiliar expression on his face. He almost seems remorseful. You grapple for something to say. 

“Jack,” you repeat, unable to fight past the ugly feelings running through your mind. Your boss must sense that something’s wrong, because he takes a step closer and his lips pull tight in a frown. You try to say what’s been weighing on your mind: that you’re Gideon’s killer, that you murdered him instead of sparing his life. The words don’t come but, thankfully, Jack seems to understand what you’re thinking regardless. 

Crawford takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, before sighing resignedly. It almost seems as if he expected that remark from you. “You stopped Gideon from inflicting any further harm. You acted in accordance with FBI protocol.” 

“I know,” you interject, before Jack can carry on any longer. You pinch the bridge of your nose. 

“Agent,” Jack says, his voice commanding enough to pull your gaze up from the thin blankets covering you. Despite the intimidating figure he poses, his eyes are forgiving and his expression is one of exasperated patience. “Do I look worried?” You shake your head. “Then you shouldn’t be worried.”

“Yes, sir,” you choke out. 

“Is there something you needed to tell me, Agent?” Jack asks, perceptive as always. His eyebrows are furrowed and he’s studying your face, as if trying to pull the truth right out of you. You press your lips together firmly, lest you say anything stupid. After all, what could you possibly say? Yes, I think Hannibal Lecter took a nurse’s clothes and impersonated them, before ripping my wound open, removing my kidney, and sewing me back up. Hannibal has built significant rapport with Jack—you don’t think Jack would believe you. Besides, you’re still on a decent amount of painkillers. There’s no way in hell that Jack would believe whatever you have to say at the present moment. 

You’re not sure how to proceed. Now that Gideon is no longer a problem, Jack’s focus will rightly shift to the Chesapeake Ripper. The Ripper will operate seamlessly, killing without leaving a single shred of evidence, until he dies or is somehow eliminated. There was a momentary lapse in his activity—one that you selfishly want to attribute to the beginning stages of your friendship with Hannibal—but the Ripper will kill again soon enough. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep this act up: feigning ignorance, looking past the glaring warning signs that only seem visible to you. 

“No, Jack; that’s it,” you bite out.

“Good,” Jack says, a small smirk rising on his face, “We’ll be having a conversation about obeying my orders once you’re recovered.” A slight smile falls on your face. Jack sends you a stern look before gripping your shoulder reassuringly. For a fraction of a moment, you contemplate telling him the truth. He deserves to know, you think. 

“Who would ever believe you?” Franklyn Frodieveaux asks you. He laughs—a cruel, mocking thing. Abel Gideon cackles with him. Your victims’ voices blend together, creating an awful symphony that rattles in your ears. 

“Rest up, Agent,” Jack says, his hand slipping from your shoulder. You’re promptly jerked out of your thoughts. There’s a conflicted expression on Crawford’s face, as if he doesn’t quite want to leave. You put it down to your imagination. “That’s an order.” Jack turns on his heel and walks away. Once he crosses the threshold and enters the hallway, the door clicks shut behind him.

You’re left alone once more. Your victims berate you for your cowardice and the tears come quickly. You grapple at your hospital gown with shaking hands, tugging at the fabric until it falls away to reveal your mangled side. There’s discolored bruising and swelling, in addition to dried blood scattered around the edges of the suture. The wound looks exactly the same as it did before, almost eerily so. You think back to all the medical awards and certificates covering the walls of Hannibal’s office. It seems impossible—the idea that he removed your suture and put it back. Although, the more you think about it, the more you realize Hannibal Lecter is characterized by his redefinition of impossibility.  The Chesapeake Ripper leaves no evidence. Dr. Lecter leaves no evidence, save for the horrible agitation that settles along your skin. You have no proof, but that in and of itself is enough. 

Another tear slips down your cheek, traveling mockingly along the ripped scar that Gideon gave you. Your skin burns with recognition, knowledge, horror, and something akin to grief. You will be forever marked by a killer. Yet, somehow, the unseen scars hurt even more. Your chest aches as you mourn the loss of the wholeness you never expected to lose.

next chapter

my search history for this chapter was so suspect…. “kidney recipes” “can you eat kidney” "can you survive without a kidney"....

I like how this turned out—specifically, the conversation with Hannibal. Him neglecting to engage in some of those pleasantries that the reader associates with him is an interesting way to portray his behavior as strange and unusual; I think it stays faithful to his characterization. After all, Hannibal isn't the type to display much emotion—we know him to be extremely calculated and calm. Therefore, "strange behavior" that he may exhibit is limited to things that may not seem strange to the average person (e.g. neglecting to wait for the other person before beginning to eat), but the reader can recognize that behavior as uncharacteristic for him.

thanks for reading! <33333

taglist: @its-ares@tobbotobbs@xrisdoesntexist@gr1mmac3@tiredstarcerberuslamb@yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown@atlas-king1@pendragon-writes@slipknotcentury@cryinersaved@the-ultimate-librarian@starre-eyes@pendragon-writes@peterparkeeperer

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WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 14: A Blossoming Friendship

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, references to past Astarion trauma, references to death and dying, mild angst, notes of body dysmorphia?/comparing to past-self

WC: 9k words, 14/?? chapters

Summary: Now in your second week of living together, you and Astarion have to get past some of the hurdles your first week introduced, all while getting a bit closer along the way.

Ao3 | [Ch13][Ch15] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

Your second week staying with Astarion starts off with an apology.

“I… apologize for how I reacted yesterday.” Astarion stands before you, in front of the doorway to your old room, looking oddly chastised. You hadn’t said anything to him about the previous day’s conversation, but he’d evidently come to the conclusion on his own.

“I’m sorry too,” you say, meeting his eyes with all of the guilt that had bubbled up over night. ”For some reason your words made me feel… defensive.” Internally, you wonder if that’s part of caring for someone as much as you do him– his every word hits you like a ton of bricks.

“And I don’t think I’ve eaten well enough recently,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I might have been a tad severe as a result.”

You open your mouth, willing to forgo any of your previous reservations, ready to offer your own blood if it means that he’ll be better off, only for him to hold up a hand to stop you.

“If you’re planning on offering, I’m still not interested,” he says. “Let’s not complicate whatever this is any further.” He waves a hand between you, gesturing at the ‘this’ in question.

So you close your mouth again, understanding his reasoning well enough. Though if his hunt last week had gone so poorly, why hadn’t he said something? “Well, know that the offer is always on the table. I’ve certainly gotten used to your fangs in my dreams,” you say in response. He raises a single eyebrow at you, and you can sense the suggestive tone he’s about to adopt before you waylay him with a question, “So are you heading hunting today then?”

The eyebrow drops back down and Astarion seems a bit sullen at the idea. You wonder why that might be, when he reluctantly supplies a statement that both thrills and annoys you, “Truth be told, I don’t like the idea of leaving you here alone.”

Does he think I’m incapable of taking care of myself? Or maybe I’m already such an integral part of his life–no, no, that clearly can’t be. You reign in your thoughts to ask, “Oh? Why is that?”

Astarion looks at you like perhaps you’re not as intelligent as he had previously thought. “Because you’re a wizard. A living, breathing disaster just waiting to happen.” His tone is judgemental, brutal, and indicates that he believes the words he says without a shadow of a doubt.

“What?” you blurt out, apologies all but forgotten as another ton of bricks hits you. You knew he judged wizards harshly from his words about Gale, but for some reason you thought you could become the exception to the rule. “You know that all wizards don’t have a Netherese Orb trapped in their chest, right?”

The vampire rolls his eyes at you, as if to say ‘obviously, darling’ before he says, “Despite what your memories may indicate, Gale is one of the– ugh– good ones. Until I’ve seen more of what you’re capable of, I’m afraid I’ll find it difficult to leave you alone.”

“You left me alone just last week!” you exclaim, indignant now. When he doesn’t immediately respond, understanding dawns on you. “You didn’t leave me alone last week, did you?”

He shakes his head at you, not even bothering to feign embarrassment. Instead, he simply says, “Don’t worry. I’m not watching your every move.”

That does little to assuage your worries, as you consider every move that he could be watching. You think of Dal waiting for your Sending spell and imagine your window of opportunity shrinking as his trust in you lies dead in the deepest trenches of the Underdark. “Oh, great,” you say, sarcastically. “So am I nothing more than a prisoner to you?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Astarion retorts quickly. “You are free to leave whenever you’d like. I’d just like to make sure that no one spontaneously combusts and that my manor stays in one piece while you’re here.”

You want to scream, to throw something at him, level a Fireball right in this very hallway just to prove him right. But you temper your anger, take a deep breath, and stare at him. The look on his face seems to indicate that he doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong– you suppose in his mind, he’s only exercising the right to protect himself. Reasoning with him won’t get you anywhere, however showing him that you’re not a threat might. 

“Fine,” you manage to choke out. “What do you need me to do to prove that I’m a good wizard?”

His fair face scrunches up in thought at your question, like he hadn’t even considered that you could do such a thing. “Honestly, I haven’t a clue,” he finally says, trilling a light laugh. Normally, you’d enjoy his laughter, but this one just makes you want to shoot fire out of your fingertips.

Again, you wonder how you ever put up with this man in your past-life, how you got past all of the abrasiveness and made it to the man who genuinely cared for you. “You have to give me some chance, Astarion,” you say, irritation dripping from your words as you glare at him.

Astarion gives a pensive little hum, staunchly ignoring the daggers shooting from your eyes. “Well, we can start with something simple. What is your magical specialty? Or, sorry, school?”

That question is easy enough that you answer quickly, “I dabble in any type of magic, but my focus in school was Transmutation. I also quite like the schools of Illusion and Evocation, but I promise to keep the latter out of the house.” At least, I’ll try, you think.

“Transmutation, eh?” he says, furrowing his brow. You suspect he doesn’t know the schools of magic well enough to know what that means, but you nod anyway. “What’s your most powerful spell then?”

That all but confirms that he doesn’t understand your skillset. “It depends on what you’d consider powerful, I suppose,” you say, mentally running through the spells at your disposal. “I could turn you into a sheep, redirect a river, shape stone. But nothing as destructive as you’re imagining.”

While you’re sure that your most powerful spells are about as tame as tame can be, Astarion’s concerned brows only knit closer together. “That sounds like it could be quite dangerous.”

You want to throw your hands up into the air, certain at this point that nothing you say will sate this man’s continuous excuses for keeping you at a solid arm’s length. But you refrain, resorting to logic. “I promise it’s not. Besides, you can’t go on much longer without blood, can you?”

“Oh, I shall manage. I’ve gone without for far longer before,” he says, smiling at you once again. Ignoring any protestations that seem about to burst out of you, he continues, “Now that that’s settled, what would you like to do today?”

Nothing feels settled, simply brushed away and you’re well and truly mad now. It’s plain as day on your face, your plans to meet with Dal all but shattered by this grinning blockhead. Luckily, you have an excuse to cooldown by yourself.

“I need to go get food,” you say, trying your best to remain composed.

“Ah yes, that,” he responds, sounding annoyed that you’re throwing yet another wrench in his meticulously planned out day. If your anger bothers him, he shows no indication that he cares in the slightest. “Very well then, I shall see you later?”

You don’t trust yourself to speak without snarling, so you just nod. He takes that as his cue to leave, and you stare up at the ceiling in frustration once he disappears. “May my soul grant me the strength to deal with this man.”

Your trip promises to be short today, but you still linger a bit as you shop, thinking about the man you now know as Astarion.

He’s impossible, part of you says. He’s just hurt, another part of you counters. And throughout it all, you find yourself in a fog as you pick apples or select meats, thinking of the way his hair curls so softly around his face or the way his fangs peak over his lips when he smiles. Dreams of him were potent enough, but now that you’ve met him? Your mind feels addled with images of him.

No, you think, shaking your head out of another daydream. Focus on getting through to him. You know who he is, deep down. This… front will pass in due time.

You return back to the manor shortly after midday, expecting to find Astarion waiting for you like the last time. Instead you find a note in the entrance hall.

Not sure when you would return, so I went to visit my siblings. Should be back by afternoon.

A sudden fear strikes you, washing away all of your anger and muddled thoughts– you hadn’t thought to warn Dalyria to not mention your communication. She could be telling him at this very moment. You remember how she’d mentioned that Astarion had been difficult– likely she knew better. But you still couldn’t help the sinking feeling forming in your chest since that morning, the fear that your chance to speak with her was only getting slimmer and slimmer.

By the time Astarion returns, you’ve utterly wound yourself up in your nerves. He finds you in the library, book open and completely unread in front of you. You smile at him, and even you can feel the strain in your face and voice as you exclaim, “Welcome back!” 

He purses his lips at the greeting. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing!” you say, too quickly, too high pitched.

“You used to be much better at lying, darling,” he replies, tutting at you. “Does it have to do with Dal?”

You hadn’t had much reason to lie to him yet. Now that you do, you’re all but crumbling before him. You take a breath, determined to be better at this. “Not at all, why would you think that?” Even to your own ears, your words sound weak.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, stepping closer to the chaise lounge you’re seated on. His voice drops an octave, somehow both dangerous and thrilling to you. “Maybe the ill-placed hope that I saw in her and Petras’ eyes when I went to visit them. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, now would you?”

Astarion doesn’t seem angry, he doesn’t look ready to devour you, so you’re not sure how to take the question. “No?” you offer with a shrug.

He sits next to you on the lounge with a sigh. “Since I didn’t explicitly state it before, I will now: if you get up to anything with the spawn, consider our situation over.”

You blink at that, surprised at the hard line between him and siblings being drawn once more. “Why?” you can’t help but ask.

The vampire turns to look at you, face serious in a way you haven’t seen since you agreed to stay with him. “Because we want different things. And, despite my giving, selfless nature, I refuse to share you with them.” His words cause an odd fluttering in your belly, but his expression remains serious as he continues, “If you want to help them badly enough to abandon me, know that I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

It’s clear that his stance doesn’t allow for argument and, to be honest, none comes to your mind. He has every right to ask you to choose, just as you have every right to want to know more. You’ve reached an impasse, but you also don’t want whatever this is to stop. Astarion has always been your biggest priority, in your previous lifetime and this one– despite what he seems to believe. So you relent, “Fine. I’ll… leave it be.” For now, you swear to yourself.

Astarion smiles at that, his eyes soften at the corners ever so slightly, and your stomach does a small flip. Oh, what I would do to bring about that smile every day, you think, unable to help yourself. You silently apologize to your past-self: you’d never realized how powerful this man truly was.

You spend the rest of the day together, having washed away both the previous day’s awkwardness and today’s struggles. Sitting next to each other in the library like this, you can imagine that you’re truly becoming friends at the very least. You wonder when the last time Astarion made a friend was. Despite your fondness for the man, you don’t believe most people would put up with his ever-changing moods for long.

That night your reverie is of the Hero’s Life once more. Astarion is absent from this dream, as are the rest of your companions or any spawn. You’re alone, searching for something in the Underdark. Every hundred yards or so you pull out a map and take notes in that same code you’ve yet to decipher. You try to remember all that you can about the dream, the notes taken, the route you traverse. All the while you feel a sense of purpose, you feel driven, and, underneath it all, a longing and a love. 

__

After that day, you try to establish somewhat of a routine with your new vampiric friend– of course, you haven’t said the word to Astarion yet, for fear of how he might react. 

You start your days off with a chat over breakfast. He asks you what you’d like to do for the day or offers you to accompany him on tasks. You either offer up an activity or agree to help him– it’s all rather mundane for the ‘beautiful, tortured vampire secluded in his mansion’ impression he initially gave you.

That’s not to say you don’t continue your line of questioning, nor your less-than-subtle attempts to get him to read your journals or tell you more of your past-self. Occasionally he seems to be on the verge of running away, but he makes good on his apology for his behavior. He stays and endures it, either answering your questions or rebuffing your investigations.

You learn about what happened to Wyll, Shadowheart, Jaheira, Minsc, all of your tiefling allies– Astarion never found out what happened to Lae’zel or Withers, but he suspects that they could still be out there somewhere.

You learn about how the vampires set up a new base in the Underdark, how they’d lost many, how they’d fought off even more. You continue to learn about managing the colony and you wonder if Astarion is teaching you if only to get something of a helper out of this whole arrangement. You decide not to ask, lest your heart break again.

Given your vow to Astarion, you resist the urge to message the spawn every single night. You remind yourself of how one wrong message could ruin everything, could put Astarion forever out of your reach– that thought is the only thing that keeps you from muttering the spell. You know it won’t be long before your curiosity eventually gets the better of you, and you’d like to think that Astarion may eventually come around. It’s a longshot, but you have to hope.

Despite the attempt at a routine, each day does come with its trials and tribulations. Ranging from unpleasantness as Astarion puts it to some surprisingly pleasant moments.

On your ninth day in the house, he receives another visitor.

When the knock comes this time, you’re both in the kitchen, this time for dinner. With the way Astarion’s posture straightens, his eyes narrow, and he scooches a bit further into the table, you can tell he’s planning to ignore them again. You level the man with a forceful stare, before saying, “If you don’t want to drink from me, please at least consider this person.”

He sighs, turning his narrowed gaze to you. “I don’t particularly care to.”

“At least check?” you ask, voice pleading with him. “What if they’re delicious? You won’t know unless you check.”

Astarion only rolls his eyes at you before getting up. “If I regret this, I will be taking it out on you.” You don’t doubt it, but find that you don’t mind if it means that he gets a meal out of it.

Reluctantly, he leaves the kitchen and heads toward the door. You trail behind him from a distance, watching all the while, curious to see the type of person who would appear on his doorstep. Would it be a stunning beauty, someone with a sad, allure, maybe a raving fanatic?

When he opens the door, you try to catch a glimpse of the person on the other end. You don’t get a full view, but they look to be a fair-haired human by the looks of it

“Hello there, what can I do for you?” he says to the waiting human– you’re glad to note that you can discern the fake-tone to his welcome this time. Now that you’ve heard some of his genuine happiness in real life, it’s much easier to differentiate.

The human seems to have a spiel ready, far better than anything you had prepared. They wax poetic about being some kind of grand healer, how their god has given them the blessing to come here and cure him through any means possible– how they had chosen that to be through love. Astarion must have the poker-face of a god because he stands there the entire time, listening.

Finally they say, “I assure you, with the strength of my love, any can be healed.”

You can practically see the smothered laughter in Astarion’s deep breath, as he likely uses all of his willpower to keep it from bursting out. When he finishes the breath, all that you hear is, “Well, isn’t that sweet?”

“Nothing so sweet as you, I assure you,” they say, and you have to admit, they clearly rehearsed a few lines. You can’t fully discern their expression, but the wide, pleading eyes, begging for a chance, are visible even from a distance. Oh gods, they’re the epitome of what Astarion was talking about, aren’t they?

Astarion seems bored of the exchange now, and he dismisses them without another glance. “Well, this has been a delight, but I’m afraid I’m not in need of healing right now.”

The door is slammed in their face, and you jump back at the sharpness of his rejection. You suppose he did the same to you, not too long ago, but watching it happen feels, well, bad.

The man turns away from the door, ignoring the following knocks. When he spots you watching from the stairs, he finally lets out the humorless laugh he’d been holding back. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“No,” you say, honestly. Walking down the steps to him, also ignoring the pounding on the door, you ask the question that had been bothering you since last week, “How often do you reject visitors?”

“Not often, really. Only if they seem dangerous, insane, or try to move in with me,” he looks at you with the last one.

You ignore his taunt and continue to dig. “Why did you reject them then? They didn’t seem particularly dangerous or insane.” You wonder again if it may be because of you.

“It feels awkward.” When your inquiring eyes don’t relent, he continues, “Ugh, it’s not like I’m worried about you or anything, but the idea that– that some part of you is… them. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

“Oh,” you say. Of course it’s not me, you think. What a fool I am.

At the dejected little droop of your shoulders, he groans and gives your forehead a flick with his fingers. “Stop looking like a kicked puppy, and get back to dinner.”

You drop the subject and follow him back to the kitchen, all the while kicking yourself for believing in anything other than what was plain before you: for the last three-hundred years, this man has loved one person and one person only. Until you can find a space in his new life, anything he feels toward you will only be a result of that. You would do well to remember it or your heart will just keep breaking.

You aren’t afraid to try to carve that space for yourself though.

__

On your tenth day in the house, you cause the disturbance to your routine.

“Could I hold your hand?” you ask as you’re both working side-by-side. You’ve found it oddly intimate to work so closely together– especially after countless daydreams of the few moments his hand was in yours. And, after more than two hours of nearly touching, you can't hold the question in any longer. If his shoulder so much as brushes yours once more, you're liable to scream. You figure asking is easier.

“Excuse me?” he asks, understandably not comprehending the words that have come out of your mouth, especially when he had just been in the process of explaining to you the different defensive formations the spawn had been developing. 

“I was wondering if we could hold hands. You know–” You reach out to him with a hand as you explain. “These things?”

He sits there, staring at your hand in the air, papers frozen in his own hands. The stillness of his body, the shock that he’s not bothering to hide, twist at your heart. Oh gods I should have just screamed.

“Sorry, that was too much, wasn’t it?” you say, wishing you had a means to turn back time. “I just wanted to–”

“No, it’s fine. It’s not exactly the most sinful of acts,” he says, though he still refuses to meet your eyes. “I’ve done far more with countless others. Hells, your soul has seen far more than the palm of my hand, hasn’t it?”

You blush at the insinuation. “I suppose so.”

“Here,” he says, placing the papers back onto the table and sticking his hand out toward yours. It looks like that of a doll, pristine and pale in its beauty, and you’re abruptly self-conscious about your own hands.

You debate whether or not you should take it now that it’s in front of you, but it would hardly do to leave it like this. Besides, like he said, you’ve dreamt of far, far more. Trying to push down the decidedly more sinful thoughts his hands conjure up, you reach out toward his waiting hand.

The first thing you feel is cold.

His hand, much like you remember the rest of his body being, is cold. Surprisingly so, since he always seems so alive– but an oddly chilling reminder of the difference in your mortality.

The next thing you note is the heat of your own hand and how the cold stings you a bit where the two temperatures collide, just short of painful. You’re reminded of the times his hands would leave cold, burning trails along your body in your dreams, and, despite what he’d said, your mind is certainly running away from you. 

Finally, you can feel your heart, which begins a frenzied little race, one with no finish line in sight. You've held hands with lovers before, but your nerves are certainly getting the better of you this time. You'd be surprised if Astarion couldn't feel every pounding beat.

You don’t want to look at his face, certain your own is burning with heat at the mere hand-to-hand contact. But you also need to look at his face.

What you see makes your heart drop a little. 

Astarion’s expression looks bland, as if he’s completely unaffected by the contact. You consider all that he’s done with others, his gradual adaptation to intimacy with your past-self, and you suppose it makes sense. Somewhere deep down, you’re glad that the touch is so easy for him.

But you’re still disappointed, knowing that you are affected by this. And knowing that he can see it plainly on your face if his answering smirk is any indication.

“Please don’t tell me that this is too much for you,” he says, grinning like a shrewd cat and squeezing your hand a bit.

Your blush intensifies and you can feel the rest of your body begin to heat in embarrassment. “No,” you answer, trying your best to sound confident. “I’ve done far more than hold hands before. However…”

Astarion raises an eyebrow at you and leans in a bit. “However?”

You don’t mind taking your embarrassment as a chance to jab back at this man. In fact, you’re starting to think you won’t get anywhere without a few more barbs thrown at him. “I have never had the chance to hold the hand of someone like you.”

“Oh, someone as handsome as me?” he preens, using his unoccupied hand to brush a piece of his hair back in a show of vanity.

“No, someone as unreasonably cold,” you say with a laugh, adding a second hand on top of his. 

The sudden second hand seems to have a greater effect than the first. Astarion reels back a little bit, keeping his expression plain save for a slight clenching of his jaw. It doesn’t seem like a pleasurable reaction, but he also doesn’t wrench his hand out of yours. After a second to collect himself, he responds in a tone of mock indignation, “How dare you? I’ll have you know that plenty would kill for someone to keep them cold while in the deepest throes of passion.”

You should have known better trying to jab at a man like Astarion– he will always have the last word or the upper hand, especially when you provide him with such a clear opening. However, when you move to pull away from his hand, overwhelmed with your own memories of such moments, Astarion only grips both of your hands together tighter.

“Running away already? I’m rather enjoying it.”

With a bit more force, you could probably make a flustered escape, but then you remember how your past-self would make fun of him for seeking their body heat. You suppose he may not be saying that just to embarrass you. “I’m more of someone who runs toward, thank you very much,” you say, pushing past the conflicting feelings and squeezing his hand in both of yours firmly.

His resounding laugh is lovely, and he follows it with a similarly warming set of words, “Believe me, I’ve noticed. It might be endearing if it weren’t so frightening.”

You choose to focus on the endearing part of it, fighting back a smile for the next few minutes of banter, your hands clasped all the while. You could almost forget that his hand is in yours if it weren’t for the occasional tug of his arm, the squeeze of his fingers. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re certain that you’re logging the feel of his hand for all future daydreams.

As your conversation peters out, Astarion pulls away saying, “Thank you for warming me up. It was... nice.”

“Well, thank you for letting me hold your hand.” You clear your throat a bit, and pick up a paper from the table. “Shall we get back to it?”

“Anytime, darling,” he responds with a wink as he picks up his own papers. 

Despite yourself, you’re already thinking of the next time you may have a chance to hold his hand. I’m nearly a hundred years old, why does this man make me react like an adolescent? you think as you hide a newly forming blush with a piece of parchment. 

Daydreams of his hands all but ruin your productivity for the day, but you do feel a bit satisfied, knowing that you’ve made progress in other ways.

__

The eleventh day, you disturb the routine once more. 

After seeing Astarion shift in his seat uncomfortably one too many times, you snap. 

“You need to drink,” you say, interrupting his sentence– he’d just been in the middle of explaining what had been rebuilt in place of Cazador’s palace as you ate breakfast. 

He looks at you, surprise plain on his face. He’d been speaking so unguarded, that you almost feel bad for interrupting, but the bloodlust that comes over him at the thought of drinking is just as unguarded. “I’m fine,” he insists.

“You’re not,” you say, pointing your fork at him. “I can practically see you salivating over my neck every time I tilt my head.”

“I am not salivating,” he says, a look of distaste on his face. But he does bring up a hand, as if to wipe any possible drool away.

You roll your eyes at his denial and stand up. Like someone with the confidence of the Hero of Baldur's Gate, you approach the vampire's side of the table. Then, as coolly as you can muster, you sit on the table, directly next to Astarion's tense form. He seems to be taken aback by your brazen stubbornness, unsure of what to say when you all but shove your wrist into his face with a demanding look.

"Drink from me, please. It doesn’t have to be my neck.” Your voice comes out as casual as you can make it, as if you could be speaking of your own breakfast. However, inside your stomach is in knots, wondering how bad this might backfire if Astarion believes you've taken it a step too far.

And you think you might have with the way he hesitates. But you can see the way his sharp, red eyes trail down your wrist, along your arm, and you know he's actively considering it. The predatory look brings a shiver down your spine, but it’s not altogether unpleasant. His words betray none of the hunger though, “I am not some uncontrollable beast, you know.” 

“And you don’t have to prove anything to me, you know,” you say, waving your arm in front of him ever so slightly. “Come now. Or you'll continue to be sour.”

Astarion visibly gulps, and you watch his neck work with rapt fascination. Something about the thought of your own blood running down his throat fills you with an exhilaration you haven’t felt before. It alarms you how much you want this too. “Fine,” he finally says. “Only a bit.”

The vampire grabs your wrist, cold fingers touching your pulse point ever so gently. You can feel his cool breath on your skin as he approaches, eyes focused and staunchly not meeting your own.

It feels like an eternity, the time between his approach and the actual bite. The anticipation may bring you to another early death. Your heart is pounding in your chest and surely Astarion can feel it as he grips your wrist.

Finally, he bites.

In your dreams, Astarion’s bites had been extremely sensual. Almost each of them had involved one or both of you in a state of undress, your expressions in the very throes of ecstasy. This is different. He’s being so very careful with you that it makes you want to scream in complete frustration– he somehow manages to treat you as a weakling even now.

That’s not to say that he’s not deeply invested in drinking your blood now that he’s there. His fangs are latched on so thoroughly, his eyes closed in complete relief, and after a few gulps, it almost seems like he’s forgotten you’re even there. It allows you to take a better look at him, a long look that won’t cause any snide remarks or raised eyebrows.

From this vantage point you can see his long lashes, the sharp profile of his nose, the lines around his mouth. You can even note the beautiful little imperfections on his skin. It’s a view that you feel lucky to have, a worthy trade for some blood you were hardly using anyway.

Then you hear it: A soft, happy hum coming from deep within Astarion’s chest. It seems almost involuntary, but the sound of it, the effect your blood is having on him, it stirs a warmth in you. Oh gods, you think. I’m so glad he’s only biting my wrist. Why is this so… intoxicating? Your dreams had told you as much, but it bothers you to know that you were as susceptible in real life.

Your pulse continues to speed up, from both his very presence and the blood you’re losing, and your head begins to spin. Sensing the end of his feeding, Astarion draws one long, last gulp.

As he pulls his teeth away, his bottom lip, slick with your blood, brushes your wrist ever so softly. You can’t help the sharp intake of breath that follows, nor the way your body leans toward him. 

Astarion, for his part, doesn’t seem to notice your body’s subconscious reaction to him. His eyes remain closed, a bliss on his face that you haven’t seen since your dreams. “Mmm,” he mutters. “That was…”

More than anything you want to know what that was, but you’re lightheaded beyond belief. You find yourself swaying, dropping back onto the kitchen table to avoid colliding into Astarion’s body. The resounding ‘thud’ of your body falling onto the table stops the man’s words. 

“Are you alright, darling?” he asks, standing up and over you in a heartbeat. 

You close your eyes and nod, finding the dizziness of your actual body losing blood versus your dream body losing blood to be quite different. Any longer and you suspect you might have passed out, wrist still between his teeth.

“I know you said you aren’t soft,” he starts, voice coming from above your head. “But you haven’t lost a lot of blood before, have you?”

You shake your head, wishing more than anything to prove him wrong, but knowing that in this moment you can’t bring yourself to. “Would you believe me if I said that a papercut could cause severe blood loss?” Your voice is weak and airy, but you still manage to infuse a bit of humor into it.

Astarion laughs and responds with a simple, “Not even a smidge, my dear.”

Despite your already racing heartbeat, your heart picks up at that– for the first time since you’ve arrived, his use of a pet name didn’t sound condescending or critical of you. When he says ‘my dear’, you can almost hear a fondness in his voice.

As if he can tell that your expectations are getting ahead of you, Astarion dashes your hopes shortly afterward. “Now then, let’s get you patched up before you ruin the rest of a perfectly good day, shall we?”

You reluctantly open your eyes, sit up, and wait for Astarion to fetch you a health potion. There’s a lightness to his step that wasn’t there moments ago, a flush to his cheeks, and a tinge of pink along his pale ears– ah, that’s what a well-fed vampire looks like, you think. 

While the feeling of being bloodless may very well be one of your least favorites, you can’t deny the pure satisfaction that seeing Astarion like this gives you. I suppose I’ll need to get used to losing blood.

He returns shortly after, handing you a potion bottle. “Here. Take this,” he says.

You take the health potion gratefully, downing it in a few gulps. When you finally remove the bottle from your lips, you turn to find Astarion looking at you. “Hmm? What’s the matter?”

“Oh nothing,” he says with a cheerful smile. “Just savoring the taste of your blood.”

You look at him for a second, unsure what to say to such a statement. “Is there… something special about it?”

Astarion shakes his head, and your heart drops despite yourself. “Nothing like that. It’s just different. I suppose I expected it to taste like–well, you know who.” He waves a hand in the air. “But you taste… a bit spicier.”

The way he says the word, drawn out in a low rumble is liable to knock you back onto the table. But you manage to hold on, getting out, “You don’t say?”

“Yes, it must be the magic,” he says with a shrug. “Hells if I know. Leon and Dal have been the ones investigating blood.”

Oh? you think, an all-too eager question about to slip out of your mouth.

Astarion stops the follow-up with ease. “Now that we’ve dealt with that unpleasantness, shall we get on with our day? Or will you require some rest?”

You decide to stow the information away for later and get on with your day as Astarion suggested. Though between that information, the feel of Astarion's lips on your wrist, and the blood loss, the rest of the day passes in a blur.

__

On the twelfth day, you start to feel the pressure. 

It’s more than a third of the way through your stay with him, and the most you’ve done with Astarion is hold his hand and give him blood. You’re beginning to wonder if you’re doomed to a lifetime without him, that he doesn’t feel a spark between you the same way you do.

He’d said so to Dal, when he said you were all but repulsive. He’d shunned you time and time again. You’re starting to think that, despite everything you believe in, you may have to… change yourself for him. 

Not permanently, you assure yourself. Just something to get him interested.

You think you have just the spell to help. Flipping through your spellbook, you settle on preparing Alter Self for the day, and decide to use it when it makes the most sense.

“What do you like in a lover?” You ask him. You waited until a lull happened in conversation this time, but it's naturally tough to be ready for such a question.

As such, when Astarion furrows his brows and asks, "Whatever would you like to know that for?" you know you'll need to sell the situation.

At this point, you think you've reached an amicable state with him of course– something along the lines of friends with a bit extra mixed in. However this line of questioning could get messy very quickly, so you came prepared with an angle.

"I was wondering," you start, scooting a bit closer to him in your chair. "Since you've had a wide variety of lovers, perhaps some stood out more than others."

"Well, certainly," he says, brushing away your response. "But why do you want to know?"

You try not to let the implication get to you: that you have no reason to ask him about lovers when you're so far from becoming one. But at the same time, you suspect he might just want to hear you say it, to express some kind of interest in him. "I like to be prepared, you know in the event we ever find ourselves in that type of situation." You give him what you hope is an enigmatic smile. "I have several spells at my disposal to make whatever your ideal type is come true. Humor me a bit, why don't you?"

He seems to think about it. You're not sure if he's dreaming up his ideal person or wondering how terribly this exercise might go, but he does eventually say, "Well, I do rather like pointy ears, so you have that already." 

You nod, glad that he's playing along, and concentrate on the spell to begin altering yourself. "And? What else?"

That's how you spend the greater part of an hour altering your appearance with Astarion's notes to guide you. 

"Nose a little lower. No, higher."

"Have you ever seen someone with eyes that wide, darling? Tone it down before you scare me to a second death."

"Wrong color. No. Still wrong. Mmm, still wrong."

You snap at him a few times for being unhelpful, but you begin to understand what's happening, offering your own subtle changes as you go. You realize you’re becoming an unerringly similar image to your former self. It's not perfect, but the hair color, the eye color, the face shape – you can tell without a mirror the face that you now have is one familiar to you both.

Astarion realizes it when you finish adjusting your lips because he goes silent. Perhaps he notes the sadness in your eyes, because he looks away from you now, fist clenched in his lap.

“I’m… sorry,” he has the good grace to say.

“Don’t be. It makes sense,” you reply, assuring him despite the growing ache in your chest. “Of course they’re the most beautiful person you could envision. I think I’d be mad if they weren’t.” You mean it, you probably would be– but it doesn’t make you feel any less inadequate.

“Well, I’m glad I haven’t made you mad,” he responds wryly, meeting your eyes once more. From the slight tilt of his eyebrows and the melancholy smile on his lips, Astarion knows he’s done worse than make you mad. He also seems to have hurt himself, but again, he doesn't run away this time. If anything, he seems transfixed by you, pain laid bare between you.

How you’d like to cleanse the agony from his face, more than even the hurt you feel. So you put on your best, most optimistic smile, one you're certain that your former face can express better than yours could. “Maybe this is an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?” he asks, and you note that his tone is soft, far softer than any he's taken with you. It warms you, but the tenderness burns you at the same time, knowing full well it isn’t for you. 

“Tell me what you want to tell them. Maybe it will help?”

He grimaces, and the lines on his face look deeper than before, etched with the pain of centuries unwilling to come out. You've pushed him a lot today, maybe this is where you should stop pushing. But then he gives you a look that just about stops your heart– his red eyes are wide, innocent, and searching for something in your face, his own face has gone slack with thoughts of what he might say.

“Come on,” you say, voice wavering with your own hurt. Perhaps you do love this man, with how much you’re willing to suffer for him. “Or I will get mad.”

Astarion’s expression doesn’t change, and, with wide, red eyes boring into yours, he says, “I wish your love hadn’t hurt so much.”

You blanche. Oh gods, have I made him hate them in earnest? Still, his face remains open, expectant. “Anything else?”

The man takes a deep breath. You hold your own in response. “And I don’t regret a moment of it. I’m only sorry that we didn’t have more time together, that I couldn’t protect you the way you did me. Thank you, my love.”

You smile awkwardly at that, willing your heart to stop racing at words not meant for you. Then, in a stroke of idiocy, you adopt your best impression of your former-self’s voice and say, “You’re welcome.” When he makes an annoyed face at you, you ask, “Too much?”

“Too much,” he replies, tone flat. But your foolish little ‘you're welcome’ seems to have lightened his mood despite it all. His face almost seems to be back to its cheeky, usual self when he says, “Now, let’s never do this again. I rather miss your regular face.”

You’re not sure how to take that after all that you’ve experienced in the last few minutes. But you drop concentration on the spell easily. I thought he hated my face, you think, recalling all of the times he derided you. And it’s nothing like my past-self's face, really. However your heart knows exactly how to take the statement, and it's pounding a rapid, excited rhythm for long after the encounter is over.

__

On the thirteenth day in his house, he’s the one who creates the break in your pattern. 

“Your little exercises these past few days have got me thinking. Have you considered that maybe we should try to see if something a bit more than hand holding would suit us?”

You gulp. His words come out of the blue, completely unrelated to the book you had open in front of him. You’re sitting together on a windowsill, moonlight filtering through and bathing you both in its cool glow. He looks at you sincerely, ethereal in his beauty and by the gods do you want to do more than hold this man’s hand.

“I suppose I have,” you finally manage. Though the idea that he’d been thinking of the prior days in such a way makes you wonder how forward you really seemed.

“There’s something about you– I wish it didn’t bother me, but it does,” Astarion says, leaning toward you a bit. His tone isn’t harsh, rather a peculiar sort of honesty. One of his hands reaches out for your face, his eyes shining with curiosity as he closes some of the distance between you.

“About me?” you breathe out, feeling incredibly nervous as he enters your space. It’s not overtly sexual, like some of your dreams have been, but it feels charged. Like his curiosity must be satisfied, one way or another. “What about me?”

Slowly, softly, his fingers trace up your chin, his palm comes to rest on the side of your face as his thumb caresses your cheek. You stop breathing for the time being, afraid of startling him away with so much as a tremor. “It’s hard to say,” he answers, tilting his head a bit. “There are moments when I think I finally understand who you are. But then–” he grips your face a bit tighter and narrows his eyes as he searches your face.

“But then?” your voice comes out a whisper.

“But then you turn out to be someone else.” Holding you a bit more firmly, his eyes meet yours once again. His red irises seem to swim in your vision and you're wondering if this is how vampires lure their prey in– this sheer, otherworldly beauty. You feel as if his eyes are staring into your soul. 

Perhaps he feels the same way, because you find him leaning in further, looking at you with hooded eyes. Now it does feel sexual and your entire body freezes under his look. 

This is a good thing… you think. Isn’t it?

As if sensing your train of thought, Astarion drops his voice to a sultry tone. "Isn’t this why you came here?" he says and his eyes trace the lines of your body as he plays with your robe with his other hand. "If this is what you dreamt of all of those years, I can make all of your most vivid dreams come true."

Oh gods no, you think. This is too much, more than either of us are ready for. “No, thank you,” you answer quickly, willing your body to lean back, away from his searing cold touch.

“Oh,” he says, dropping his hand between you.

“I’m sorry.” You can’t bring yourself to look at him. “I do… well, I think you’re quite, erm, handsome.” Gods you sound like an inexperienced teenager, pull yourself together! “But if you don’t know who I am, I think I’d rather you know who you’re touching before we aim for anything… physical.”

Astarion gives a soft laugh, and you look up to see him shaking his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I– I guess I keep finding myself trying to see the similarities in you.” As if hearing himself, he grimaces, “And I keep finding myself needing to apologize to you, don’t I?”

“You know, I’ve found that to be true myself as well,” you say, wincing your face into a smile. Every day you’re reminded of how unorthodox and uncomfortable your situation is, and hearing that he’s constantly making the same comparisons you are grips your heart in a painful vice. And yet every day you’re oddly grateful to him, for giving you this chance to hurt yourself over and over again despite everyone’s misgivings, his own included. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this from me, but thank you for trying.”

"Of course. I'm nothing if not happy to try," he says, but his voice comes out sad more than anything.

Your own heart beats a slow, dull rhythm, far more solemn than any of the prior day's dances. But you don't regret rejecting the most beautiful man you've ever seen. You don't regret saying no to those deep, red eyes or those plush, perfect lips whispering a temptation unlike any other.

Because, for now, you know it’s a step too far.

When you get back to your work, you try to ignore the persisting burning on your face where his fingers grabbed. It’s already late, and you anticipate a long night of tossing and turning ahead of you.

__

On the fourteenth day, the end of your second week at the house, you finally feel like you have a real, genuine breakthrough. Like this friendship you’ve attributed to your relationship isn’t all just in your head.

You’re in his study, taking notes on a piece of paper for him–something to do with scouting groups– when you lose the nib to your quill. It’s the third time it’s happened today, and likely more than the tenth this week. It’s an old quill, barely holding on for you at this point. It’d carried you through studies in Neverwinter, through countless journal entries, and, now that you’re helping Astarion with his work, it seems to be on its last legs. 

“Whatever is the matter? You look like you might bite that quill’s head off,” Astarion says, looking over a few sheets of paper at you.

You make an annoyed ‘tch’ as you try to piece your quill back together with a Mending cantrip and respond, “No need for me to bite it off, it’s doing so just phenomenally on its own.”

The vampire looks at it a bit more intently now, watching your struggles with only the slightest hint of bemusement. “Would you like a different quill?”

As much as you like your old quill, you can’t help the hopeful words that come out, “Oh would you have one to spare?”

Without as much of a moment’s hesitation, Astarion offers you his quill– or really, your past-self’s quill. It’s the one that you recall from your reveries, the one that he’d been using since you arrived at his mansion. When you seem reluctant to accept it, he says, "Go on, take it."

"I couldn't possibly," you reply, shaking your head fervently. How could you take something so important? Astarion mustn’t remember that the quill used to be that of your previous self, right?

"It's better off in your hands. After all, I've never been one for writing.” He waves the quill in the air in front of you a bit, like an enticing treat. When you don’t take it, he continues, “Besides, it was a gift to your past-self from Gale. It's enchanted to be particularly durable, so I wouldn't worry too much about it breaking."

So he does remember. "Are you certain?" you ask, needing to confirm, ideally multiple times, that he means the words coming out of his mouth.

"I'm certain,” he replies with a nod. “It was more of a sentimental thing anyway, it never quite fit my grip right."

You look between him and the quill a few more times, debating internally how much you wanted the quill versus how much it likely meant to Astarion. In the end his pouting face and persistent shoves of the utensil toward you win you over.

“Thank you,” you say, taking it from his hands with a slight bow of your head.

“I should be the one saying that,” he says, leaning back with a smile. 

You furrow your brows in confusion as you look at the familiar quill in your hands. “Did the quill bother you that much?”

“Oh no, not that.” The smile on his face drops a little, the tilt of his eyebrows turns sad. “I had forgotten how… nice companionship could be. How nice having a friend could be. One that isn’t some sort of demented sibling at the very least.”

You try not to let the word ‘friend’ light up your entire face, but you’re positive that the sun would be jealous of the shine you give off. “I’m glad to have forced myself into your house then.”

“Don’t be so glad, the month isn’t over yet.” His face shifts again as he laughs, eyes crinkling with mirth when he reads your expression. “And don’t smile so much, your face is liable to crack.”

You’ve developed so much trust already. He’s called you a friend. You can’t help but think that this was all worth it if only for that. Perhaps Astarion was right, living in the present was rather nice.

You end the week in a journal entry, much like last week’s:

I’m finishing my second week at Astarion’s house, halfway through my stay. I didn’t make a lot of progress with learning about my past-self or the spawn, but I’m surprised that I don’t care as much as I thought I would at the start of the week. I’m sure mother would remind me that patience is a virtue, but it is certainly not one I was ever graced with. I am willing to try it for Astarion though.

Astarion has been my focus, and it’s been, well, lovely. He’s still a lot  interesting  difficult him, but we’re getting along a lot more than we were before. Sometimes I even see glimpses of the man I’ve gotten used to in my reveries. In just one week I feel like we’ve grown so much closer as friends. There have been moments where my heart and body wishes we were more than friends, but I don’t think either of us is ready just yet. Hopefully next week will go just as well and I’ll be able to get some real answers from him. He doesn’t run away anymore which feels like a fantastic improvement! I can’t wait to see what next week brings.

[aphrodaisyacs]

This might be an odd question, but do you have any tips or preferences when it comes writing Natsuo? Asking for *ahem* reasons...

Ok well I guess like with all fanfic writing I use canon as a jumping point. He’s not exactly a flat character because the few moments he’s given imply a lot of depth, and it’s pretty fun to tease out that depth.

What we know from canon:

Out of all his siblings, Natsuo is the only one who appears to have a “normal” social life. He has a girlfriend who he presumably met during a university class, and he’s implied to prefer hanging out with her and his other friends instead of going back to visit his childhood home (much to Fuyumi’s annoyance lol). Based on his interactions with others he seems to be a sociable and friendly person (when Endeavor isn’t around to sour the mood at least). Personality-wise he also seems to be a confrontational person, in the sense that time and again he doesn’t shy away from uncomfortable conversations or topics- he prefers to air out all the grievances instead of letting them fester.

Currently, he and Fuyumi are the closest out of all the family members. They grew up together and they have the most normal sibling relationship out of everyone (the bar is on the ground tho aljsbd). In the scene where we first see them visiting Rei in the hospital together we also see them bantering and playfully poking at each other and he loves and respects her enough to put up with Endeavor for her sake.

It is no secret that Natsuo despises Endeavor—for being responsible for Touya’s death, for his treatment of Rei and Shouto and most likely also for the way he left Fuyumi as the responsible “adult” in charge of the home. The latter is implied from the way Natsuo spoke about how he tried to help her, ie with the cooking, but he was forced to stop when Endeavor complained about his cooking so it became Fuyumi’s responsibility again.

Then there’s all the trauma surrounding Touya, the way he feels like his brother wouldn’t have had to die (and become a villain) if only he’d listened to him when he needed it and maybe talked him out of some of his more extreme beliefs. It’s implied that he’s studying his current degree (medical welfare I think?) because of Touya, because he wants to help more people like his brother. There’s a lot of (irrational) guilt wrapped up in his feelings about Touya, but as seen in recent chapters he’s willing to put in the work and walk the long and difficult road to mend things between Touya and the rest of the family.

Now onto headcanon territory (most of which are extrapolated from canon):

I think that he has extremely low self esteem, due to the neglect he suffered while growing up. Not just from Endeavor, but from Rei too—here’s some thoughts I’ve already had about this, copy-pasted from the end AN of ch13 in WHFO:

I've always gotten the feeling that she and Natsuo were never particularly close, especially before she was hospitalised. Because he must've been what, 3 when she had to pass him over to be raised by the housekeeper while she completely shifted her focus to Shouto? Not to mention that his physical resemblance to Endeavor would've made it hard for her to even look at him, especially as her mental health spiralled. I just feel like Rei never really got much of a chance to get close to him the way she did with her other children, which is sad because that means Natsuo didn't have much of a relationship with either of his parents when he needed it most during his formative years faksjdlfs that is most definitely not going to have an impact on him at all, nope :)

Expanding on that I think he is also incredibly affection starved, and even as he strives to make a life for himself outside the family a part of him might always find it hard to accept praise or even just the idea that people would genuinely think he’s great to be around or good at things in general. Just you know, general symptoms of someone who had a childhood of emotional neglect.

Because of the whole thing with Rei I also think that he’s hyperaware of how much he physically resembles Endeavor. Does this mean he’s probably insecure about his looks as a result? Yes I do like to think so, especially for the Angst™️. It also doesn’t help that all of his other siblings look like their mum so he’s got that extra dose of feeling like the odd one out.

I also really like the headcanon that he inherited Endeavor’s short temper and general anger issues. Not only because that’s Angst Deluxe, but also because it would be interesting to explore how he grapples with it, and the internal conflict he feels about how scared he is of becoming like his father. This is why I love writing scenes where he’s arguing with his siblings or shouts at them only to watch them flinch because the psychic damage + self-loathing that would follow? Impeccable. Unparalleled. 👌

[blorbologist]

Cat's Cradle, Chapter 14

Ch1 ... Ch13

The kittens, now old enough to go without food for a little more time, are somehow even more of a torment on Percy’s nerves than they were before. 

“Vex!” he calls, shrill. “We have fugitives!”

“They’ve started learning to walk, Percy,” she tosses back. From the kitchen, given how she echoes. “Of course they’ve escaped. They can’t get far.”

“Velcro was in the middle of the floor!”

He does not have to hear her sigh to know she makes it. He assumes she pads down the hall, slips over the babygate silent as ever, because she appears in the doorway. Finds him sitting on the floor with his convict in his lap, the tiny blue tom wiggling viciously as he tries to resume his grand exploration of the room. 

Percy, in turn, is greeted with Vex in an apron. Which is half of why he avoided cooking with her to instead give the kittens supper, because good gods is it a cute look on her. The kiss the chef reads like an invitation, or an instruction manual. A recipe for disaster. 

“We’ll need a box,” he declares around the lump in his throat, plopping Velcro back in the basket. Or trying to - the kitten clings, wailing in outrage, until Percival relents and lets it sit in the crook of his leg. Corralled, for now. 

“Or a playpen,” Vex muses, tapping the spatula to her lips. Her eyes flit to something, not Percy but past him, and she grins. “I’ll leave you to figure that out yourself. I’m sure you can manage, my clever man.”

She leaves him fumbling long enough for Velcro and Spanner to stumble out and mewl in surprise at how cool the floor is. 

--

With a soft playpen set up, Percy feels a lot better about leaving the kittens unsupervised, even if only for short bursts. 

Such as an impromptu brunch with friends. It is a rare stroke of luck, for time off to line up so adeptly. Perhaps easier, without Vax’ildan’s graveyard shifts leaving him dead tired all day or Keyleth’s numerous projects tripping her up. Emptier, too.

“Okay,” Scanlan is saying, sipping loudly on a mimosa. “But you’re sure it’s alright? Kaylie says she hasn’t seen your truck at the workshop in, like, a week.”

“You have your daughter spying on him? Creepy.” Grog makes a show of scoffing, shoveling pancakes into his mouth. Despite the attention on him, he makes to swipe the french toast off Pike’s plate before she dissarms him with her own fork. 

“No - she’s just invested, alright? Won’t stop talking about that shitty day.” Scanlan shivers. “Not that I blame her - I’d be pretty fucked up, too.”

Pike hums in agreement. “Is the cat doing okay? You said her name was…?”

“Curio.” Percy takes a bracing sip of his coffee. “Recovering well from the surgery, seems eager to get out of her crate and stretch her legs. Those she has left, at least. I worry she will ruin the stitching if given that freedom, however.”

“Oy, here’s a thought-” “Manners.” Scanlan rolls his eyes, finishes chewing and swallows before continuing: ”Why don’t we stop by? I mean, you and Vex won’t shut up about these guys, and I don’t know about you guys but I could use some cute in my life. And chicks dig kitten pics.”

Percy hesitates.

So far, these kittens have been theirs. Vex’ahlia and Percival’s little charges, in their own little world. Sure, they had brought them to the vet, and Kaylie’s keen eye had saved Curio’s life. They certainly shared more than enough pictures and videos for all their friends to know many kittens by name. 

But there is something about inviting others into this little nest that has a part of him bristling.

Grog tilts his head. “I’d like to,” he admits. “Wouldn’t it be good for them to, like, meet more people? Help them get more specialized.”

“Socialized, Grog.” Pike pats his knee. 

Percy nudges Vex, who has been slipping into a food coma. She’s so exhausted it pains him to see. “Vex’ahlia, dear, what do you think?”

She stifles a yawn against her hand. “I don’t mind either way,” she admits. “If you guys do come over, though, keep it down - I think I’ll be having a nap, if that’s alright.”

Even the goliath of a man, all tattoos and muscle, seems to read the reluctance in Percy’s gaze. “I’ll be gentle with them,” he promises. “I can be real gentle with the little things.”

Percy sighs. Smiles. “That’s true, yes.” 

--

“When we said little, I didn’t think - woah,” Grog breathes, eyes blown wide and enraptured by every little hair on the kittens’ heads. He and Pike are both on their knees peering into the playpen. Bleary from their nap, the litter is content to wiggle and chirp. Even the one in Scanlan’s hands is well-behaved.

“Hah! Look - he’s spitting at me.”

Or perhaps not, but that’s a perfectly reasonable reaction to Scanlan. 

“She,” Percy corrects with a glance. 

“Ohh, I like them spicy.” He only evades getting an elbow in the gut when Pike stops herself, clearly remembering the precious cargo he holds. 

Having Scanlan for scale really puts into perspective just how small these kittens are - even in his hands they’re fragile, even without a tremor beneath them they wobble. Percy’s heart lurches in his chest when they move - but no, Scanlan’s just sitting more comfortably, with his back to the bed. 

He offers a finger from his free hand for greeting. The verdict is ‘disgusting, I hate it’ until he scratches under that impossibly small chin. “What a cutie patootie. What’s her name?” asks Scanlan.

Pike, peering now over his shoulder, glances between Percy and the kitten. “That’s Bauble, right?” She beams when he nods, pleased they remembered. 

“You can hold one, if you’d like,” Percy offers as Scanlan declares, “I’m gonna get Kaylie a kitten.”

“No - no, you’re not.” He swallows his snappy tone - half the kittens are sleeping, and so is Vex. “You can’t just give someone a lifelong commitment.”

Grog giggles - all head turn to find he’s stuck his hand in the playpen, where a curious Ratchet is clumsily batting at it while Screwdriver watches wide-eyed and hopelessly confused. 

��Ain’t that what happened to you?” says Grog. “With Kaylie?”

Scanlan rolls his eyes. “I was joking. Wasn’t I?” He rubs his nose into Bauble’s fur. “Oh, wow, she smells like cuteness! And kind of milky?”

Percy relaxes a little as Pike leans over to get a good sniff of kittendown too, scooting into Scanlan’s side for a better angle to coo and cuddle. 

That does bring up a thought he’s completely neglected up to date. The kittens are… goodness, not quite two weeks? Two more months and they’ll be old enough to adopt out. How in the hells is he going to find enough homes - good homes - for six kittens? And Curio, too. If matching a half-dozen cute, playful little cats will be a challenge, how will they possibly get someone willing to take on a disabled, probably traumatized adult cat? 

He can practically feel his blood pressure spike. Percy carefully leans over the edge of the playpen to pluck Screwdriver (still watching Grog’s hand with something like awe) and settle her in his lap. His hands are shaking, but so is she, so it’s fine. 

(What if they choose wrong? What if the owners can’t care for the needs of the shaky kittens? Gods, Screwdriver wobbles so much - what if she falls, what if they let her outside, what if -)

“Oop, gotta tinkle.” Percy’s hand jerks up to see Grog stand and dust off his hands. He coos when Ratched stumbles after him, mewling. “Aww, I’ll be back. Where’s the bathroom Percy?”

“It’s to the right, Buddies,” Pike says, delicately running her fingers from Bauble’s head to her little pointy tail. Scanlan’s eyes are on her, not the kitten, and he looks quite like the cat that got the cream.

“Thanks, Pikey!”

Screwdriver mimics his glance up at Grog, which - yeah, sweetheart, he is very big, hm? Percy makes sure to lavish her with extra pets for her bravery. There’s nothing to be scared of, it’s Grog. 

And then Percy remembers, and scrambles to his feet, clutching her to his chest.

“Wait! Don’t go in the-”

He hears the bars of Curio’s crate rattle from here and breaches the doorway just in time to see Grog sheepishly shut the door behind him.

“Guess I’ll hold it in,” he says.

[ladykf-writes]

Work Title: Waltzing Through Time

Pairing: Reeve Tuesti / Genesis Rhapsodos

Ship name: ReGen

CH count at this moment: 12.5 chapters (aka half way through CH13)

Word count at this moment: 27K

Vibe: happy ever after fluffy romance, may eventually grow a plot about how things have changed because of the soulmate mechanic; hurt/comfort also planned for later chapters. Angst is possible, but angst with a happy ending is promised.

The fic meanders. It's about their life together, first and foremost, and how the world events effect that. It is vastly canon divergent based off of the soulmate mechanic alone.

These are 100% soulmarks, unlike DW where there's different kinds of soulmates. As with DW, though, all orientations and types of relationships will be respected and a large part of them will be represented.

HIGHLY based off shared headcanons and discussions between Traxits and I - paging @case-of-traxits - this is 100% an indulgent gift piece, to both of us, really.

Plans for NaNo next month? This fluffer.

(Yeah no I totally feel another 50K is waiting for this. We're just getting started.)

Plans to start posting? After I get past this current section. Somewhere in the next few chapters, I think.

Also...

Looking forward to sharing with you! Thanks for taking a peek!

[kokoch4n3l]

MARU, THANK U THANK U FOR MAKING DGB.

Its one of the best things i have read in my entire life. Cannot wait for the bonus chapters ;))

Im sorry i haven't sent an ask when you posted ch13, i was busy with our final requirements.. BUT! i've read it 1 sec after you posted it hehe.

The last chapter made me cry in sadness and happiness. It's kinda heavy to be talking about dead people, and you did a very good job on writing it! I really like how the way you write..

THANK YOU AGAIN MARU ILY❤️

(I guess I'll be thanking you again when the bonus chapters are released haha)

-the ghost reader hihi

skjskdfs thank you for reading!! I think the bonus chapters will be done by mid next week. I'm trying to finish them before my summer semester starts on the 27th,,,

I'm really happy you enjoyed it :)

[lastbluetardis]

Sacred New Beginnings (20/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong. Ten x Rose AU This Chapter: Teen, ~5600 words AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 | Ch19 |

All hell breaks loose in the hallway: cameras flash, voices shout, and Rose is frozen at the door. James springs into action at once, flying to her side and swallowing the sudden nausea that threatens to buckle his knees.

How did they find him? How do they know where Rose lives? How do they know her name?

“Get back. Get inside,” he says woodenly, grabbing Rose’s arm and pulling her away from the cameras that are snapping dozens and dozens of photos. There’s a delivery person standing at the threshold, holding a travel tray of drinks and a bag of food. James takes them from him. “Thanks, mate.”

He utterly ignores the paparazzi, who are shouting his name and hers while asking all sorts of questions, and instead slams the door behind him.

Fucking hell. This is it; his worst nightmare is coming true. He’s been found, and Rose has been found, and now the entire world will know her name and her face and where she lives.

“How did they find me?” she whispers, her voice brittle.

She’s pale as a sheet, white as a ghost—or maybe he’s got that backwards?—and she’s clutching at the front of her robe, as though people are still trying to sneak a photo of her in such a state of undress. Righteous fury rises up in him, and he has half a mind to go out into the hallway and roar at the parasites who thought it proper behavior to snag a cheeky photo of himself and Rose during their private hours together. He wants to rage at them that they ought to be ashamed of themselves for any pictures they got of Rose in her dressing gown.

He drops the breakfast he no longer wants onto the kitchen island and stalks back to the bedroom for his phone. The sheets and pillows are rumpled from their morning activities, a mockery of the peace that’s been shattered to oblivion.

The moment he turns off the “do not disturb” setting on his phone, it blows up in his hand. All the notifications he’d seen and ignored from an hour earlier are from Donna, who tried to warn him about the circus in the corridor. Twitter and Instagram banners are warring with each other for the top spot as the newest notification, and he’s getting dozens of texts amidst the series of missed calls from his team.

He slumps down onto the mattress and rings Donna, but he’s vibrating with so much tension and energy that he springs to his feet a moment later and begins pacing.

His cousin answers within seconds. “You’re in a steaming, heaping pile of shit!”

“What happened?” he demands, voice cracking. “What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know. Something must have happened in the middle of the night. We’re working on putting the pieces together. When I woke up this morning, I found all sorts of rumors and speculations that mentioned Rose by name.”

“They’re outside her fucking flat!” he snarls. “A whole fucking swarm of them!”

“I know,” Donna grits out. “New photos are emerging. Jesus Christ… in your bloody pants?!”

“I didn’t realize we were opening the door to the fucking wolves,” he seethes. “We just wanted to order breakfast. Rose opened the door. She opened the door in her dressing gown and everyone saw her like that and they took pictures and called her by name and… Fuck, Donna. What am I supposed to do?”

His legs give out, and he pulls on his hair until it hurts. It’s just like before, when he had awoken to an empty bed and a whirlwind of notifications that nude photographs of him had been leaked and gone viral across the internet. But it’s so much worse now because it’s Rose, the person who has become his best friend, the one good thing in his life, the person who deserves the absolute best from this world.

“I’m on my way to her flat right now.” Donna’s tone is painfully gentle, and it makes him want to snap at her. “So’s half your security team. How’s Rose? Is she all right? How’s she handling this?”

James is now painfully aware he left Rose all alone in the kitchen without saying anything at all to her. His chest hollows out and he’s desperate to be with her, to hold her close and apologize for everything that’s happening, to promise her he’ll fix this.

“Call me when you get here,” he says, then he ends the call and flies down the hall.

Rose is sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone with her forehead in her hand. He aches for her, and he forces his anger to soften so he doesn’t make this worse for her.

She hears him approaching and glances up with an emotionless expression. Her voice is hollow when she says, “The game’s up. We’re everywhere.”

She hands her phone to him, and part of him doesn’t want to look, but he takes it anyway. It’s a Twitter page—she has a Twitter?—and it’s full of them. He grinds his teeth together when he sees her shocked face in the photos, dressed in nothing but a satiny pink dressing gown that barely disguises the fact she’s naked underneath. Then there’s him in his boxer-briefs and rumpled t-shirt, with mussed hair and swollen lips and a ring of red around his neck that makes it so painfully obvious they’d just had sex.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Rose, I’m…” I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Her phone buzzes in his hand before he can start reading any of the articles that are popping up across the Twitter feed.

“Everyone’s calling me,” she murmurs, taking her phone back from him and declining the call. “Friends. Coworkers. My boss.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he croaks, sinking to a crouch in front of her. He covers her trembling hands with his and brings them to his lips to press kiss after kiss to her knuckles. 

She nods absently but doesn’t say anything. The silence between them is stifling, so different from the lighthearted laughter of her bedroom that morning.

“Donna’s coming over, as is my security team. They’ll get rid of everyone outside.”

“What’s the point? They’ll just come back.”

Yes, they will. James doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to fix this, but the one thing he can do is take care of Rose right now. He knows all too well the state of shock she’s in, and when he’d been in her shoes, all he’d wanted was for someone to tell him exactly what to do and exactly what to say.

“Why don’t you get a shower?” he suggests, rising to his feet and tugging at her hands.

She doesn’t resist but also doesn’t speak, and he ignores the panic in his gut that’s telling him that everything is ruined, that everything he built with Rose is crumbling to ash.

“A nice, hot shower,” he says, guiding her through her bedroom and into the bathroom. He even goes so far as to turn the water on for her, testing the temperature until it’s just shy of scalding, exactly how she likes it.

Rose is staring straight ahead at nothing in particular. He brushes his arm down her sleeve and asks, “Can I take your robe off?”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he promises, unlacing the feeble knot Rose had hastily made.

Rose covers his hands, and for the first time, she meets his gaze head-on. “Neither do you.”

He merely shrugs, but Rose catches his hand and squeezes. “James. Look at me.” He doesn’t want to, but he does nevertheless. Her eyes are so gentle that it makes something twist deep in his chest. “This isn’t your fault. Okay? It’s not your fault.”

She then wraps her arms around him, and he melts into her. They cling to each other, not speaking, but simply being present together. He tucks his face into the side of her neck, breathing her in, and trying to quiet the fears screaming at him that it’s all over.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I never wanted this to happen. Not like this.”

“I know.”

They stay in the embrace for several moments longer, listening to the pitter-patter of the water beating down on the floor of her shower.

James eventually leaves her to wash up in peace, and when she’s done, he showers too. He doesn’t have any of his own soap or shampoo here, so when he’s finished, he smells exactly like Rose. It’s comforting enough to soothe the raw nerve from the morning’s events.

He dresses in the same clothes as yesterday, wishing he had something else to change into, and when he joins Rose in the kitchen, he’s relieved to see her picking at a croissant. Well, it looks more like she’s shredding it, but he convinces himself she swallowed down a few bites.

She offers a weak smile that he tries to return.

“Has Donna called?” he asks, jutting his chin to his phone.

Rose shakes her head. “People keep knockin’ on the door. Haven’t even looked to see who it is.”

“Good. Don’t open the door yet. Not until Donna and my team get here.” He rubs his fingers into his eyes. “Have you read any of the articles yet?”

“Some,” she admits. “It’s all the same: you’ve been datin’ a nobody called Rose Tyler for the past few weeks.”

“You’re not a nobody!” he squawks.

She snorts humorlessly. “Better than bein’ called a whore.”

“Excuse me?” His tone is icy as rage sparks through him.

She shrugs. “Some people think I’m a hired escort for you while you’re in London. Seems an even split of opinions, honestly. There’s a poll goin’ viral on Twitter about it.” She scrolls through her phone. “Girlfriend is winning over escort, 55% to 45%.”

“I hate people,” he growls under his breath. But then he sobers and says, “Try not to read anything on the internet. I know it’s tempting, but please don’t. It won’t do you any favors. People can be quite nasty under the mask of anonymity. They’ll say whatever they want to sell the story that’ll make them the most money. Some of my fans can be brutal too, thinking they know what’s best for me. Please just… just try to stay off Twitter.”

“Everyone’s followin’ me now, too. Ten thousand new followers and climbing. Five hundred and more DMs. It’s made Twitter unusable. I haven’t even checked Instagram yet.”

“Fuck,” he groans, beating the heels of his hands into his brow. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she reminds him.

“Yes it is,” he snaps. “If you were dating a normal bloke, nothing like this would ever happen to you. It’s because it’s me that your life is being thrown upside down and torn apart for everyone to scrutinize. I’m a disease, infecting everyone around you, and it finally got to you now, too.”

“Well, tough. If I wanted to date a normal bloke, I’d date a normal bloke. But I decided I want you, you numpty, and you’re not responsible for anyone else’s behavior other than your own, so stop blaming yourself for everything that’s happening.”

James wants to keep arguing, even though he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t want to fight with Rose, but this sympathy, this acceptance, this forgiveness… it’s almost too much to bear. It’s easier to lash out, to put the blame on himself, to infuriate everyone else around him until they, too, blame him.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he instead mutters.

Her eyes flash with a hint of anger. Good. It’s time for the mask to fall away, time for her to stop seeing him as blameless.

But rather than condemn him as he expects, Rose says, “Don’t you dare accuse me of ignorance. I knew exactly what I was signing up for by being with you. And I won’t lie, it scares the hell out of me, but I decided ages ago that you’re worth it. So don’t treat me like a child who doesn’t know better, ‘cos I do.”

He snaps his mouth shut before he can say something incredibly stupid. And as though to save him from himself, his phone chimes from the kitchen island with the name Donna Noble printed in bright white letters.

“Are you here?” he asks without greeting.

“Obviously. We’ve got half your team here and the other half is at your house. We’ve got some police with us to help disperse the crowd. It’s a zoo out here.”

He can hear it: a cacophony of voices shouts indistinctly from the other end of the line, and he can hear several people barking at them to back up and clear some space.

“Should I come down…?”

“Don’t you dare,” she warns. “Stay exactly where you are. Who’s the landlord of the building, by the way? We should probably let them know of this fiasco.”

He sighs. “It’s Rose’s father. Well. Stepfather. Tyler Peters.”

Donna pauses for a beat, then says, “At least he’ll be easy to get ‘hold of. Right. Stay on the line with me ‘til we get upstairs.”

James listens to every chaotic second of Donna’s trek, from the shouts in the background to her telling people exactly where they can shove their cameras.

“Bloody hell, we can barely get through this corridor. Oi, move it! This is a fire hazard, this is! Back up back up back up back up, oi, hands to yourself!”

If he wasn’t so miserable, he might have laughed to hear his cousin yelling at everyone who came within two feet of her. Alas, he stays quiet and steps up to the door, ready to welcome her in.

“We’re here, knock knock knock.”

As she says the words, three hard bangs rattle the front door. He peeks behind his shoulder to make sure Rose is well out of sight before he cracks open the door. The moment he’s visible, the shouting grows louder and the paparazzi snag more photographs. A combination of some of his security team and police officers have forced them several meters away from the door, yet it’s still close enough for them to get some good shots.

Donna, River, and a junior agent named Adric steps into the flat before he slams the door shut again. Within moments, he’s being pulled into his cousin’s arms. He hugs her tight and rests his chin on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers into his ear, giving him a squeeze.

He drops his arms from around her, prompting her to release him, and when he pivots towards Rose, he finds River perched on the couch next to her, speaking softly.

“The plan is to get you back to your house,” Donna says, shifting from concerned cousin to professional publicist in an instant. “Unless you wanted to go somewhere else?”

“I haven’t thought about it,” he says, “but I can’t leave Rose here.”

At the sound of her name, she locks eyes with him.

“You… you’re more than welcome to come home with me, but you don’t have to, if you’d prefer to be somewhere else. I don’t think you should stay here alone, but if that’s what you truly want, I can arrange for officers to stay here with you.”

She shakes her head. “No. I’m comin’ with you. I should… I’ll pack a bag.”

Rose stands and brushes past them to head down the hall, but he catches her hand and says, “Take your time. There’s no rush.”

With that, she heads to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

He sighs and scrubs his hands down his face. “This sucks.”

“Yeah, it does. Of all the ways I thought you’d be found out, this wasn’t it,” Donna admits.

“Did you figure out what happened?” he asks.

Donna hesitates for a moment, biting her lip.

“What? Tell me. I deserve to know who violated our privacy like this.”

“Please keep in mind that it was an accident,” she prefaces, but already he’s getting angry at this mystery person who leaked Rose’s identity to the whole world. “Apparently it was Rose’s mother.”

That stuns him enough that his anger is abruptly gone, replaced with confusion and a cloying emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He knew Jackie had despised his very essence, but he never would have thought she would’ve put her own daughter at risk…

“An accident?” he asks skeptically.

“A report went in to a magazine reporter in the middle of the night. Two girls who live here overheard Jackie Tyler say that her daughter was dating James Noble; she was quite upset about it, mind. I take it you didn’t make a good first impression?”

“Not the time, Donna,” he snaps.

She holds her hands up and lets that subject drop before she says, “The girls passed along the conversation as a tip. Early this morning, the magazine did some digging, trying to verify the information. That digging leaked to other tabloids, and it all snowballed ‘til everyone showed up here to find out for themselves.”

He groans and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Great. Just fucking great. And what’s this about people thinking Rose is a hired escort?”

Donna rolls her eyes. “Elitist arseholes who don’t think she’s good enough for you since she’s not rich or famous.”

“Didn’t help they caught her in her dressing gown,” he mutters murderously.

Donna winces. “No, it didn’t. But this is fixable. The flurry of speculation will run its course over the weekend, and once it’s out of everyone’s system, you can start setting the record straight.”

“I don’t want to set the record straight, I want things to go back the way they were before!”

He’s well aware he’s whining like a child, but he can’t help it. It’s like if he just gets angry enough, things will go back to normal.

Never mind the fact that he’s tried that before, and it has never worked.

Rose emerges from her bedroom with a suitcase in her hand. She eyes them tentatively, as though catching on to the bitter mood that has settled over the kitchen, but says nothing. Instead, she sets her suitcase down and gathers up her laptop and a stack of papers and notebooks, which she shoves into a backpack.

“I’ve got to do some lesson planning,” she explains to nobody.

“Of course,” he says. “No problem.”

“Has there been any more news?” she asks, striving to keep her voice nonchalant.

“News?” he squeaks, then clears his throat to force his voice back to his normal register.

“About what happened? How it happened?” Rose peeks up at him through her lashes, gnawing on the corner of her thumb with such force he’s worried she’s about to rip her cuticle off.

He reaches out to thread his fingers through hers, tugging them away from her mouth as he lies, “No. Nothing yet.”

“Right. Good. Yeah.” She finishes packing up her school bag, then smooths her hand down her fuzzy blue cardigan. “Do I look all right? Is this okay?”

It’s only now that he realizes she applied a full face of makeup. The red of her lipstick makes her lips look more kissable than usual, and the arc of eyeliner makes her beautiful eyes utterly sparkle. His heart trips over its next beat.

“You’re perfect,” he promises, bending to kiss those ruby lips for a fraction of a heartbeat.

She smiles slightly into the kiss before she pulls back. “Don’t smudge it.”

“Yessir,” he says gravely, snapping off a silly salute.

She laughs, and for a moment, they both forget about the morning, and it’s just like any other day together. But then River approaches to usher them toward the door, and the illusion breaks.

As Rose shrugs into her coat, James excuses himself down the hall to her spare room-turned-library. He immediately goes to the shelf he remembers Rose saying housed her favorite books, and he picks two of them at random, then grabs two other random books from the bookcase she’d said held all the books she hasn’t read yet. He can’t give her peace, but he can try to give her the comfort that comes with losing oneself in a book.

Everyone’s waiting by the door, staring quizzically at him. Rose is the first to notice what he’s carrying, and her entire face softens.

“I… I thought maybe you’d want to do a bit of reading,” he blurts. “And I didn’t know if you’d like what I have on my bookshelves. So I thought… books.”

“Books,” she repeats quietly. Then she meets his eye and says, “I love books.”

He smiles, then draws in a deep breath. “Ready to face the wolves?”

“Awoo,” she halfheartedly replies.

James slips his free arm around her waist then nods to River to open the door. Several officers have created a barricade with their bodies, keeping the horde of reporters out of arm’s reach, but there’s nothing to be done about the cameras, which begin to click and flash the moment he and Rose emerge.

He bends down until his lips are at Rose’s ear and says, “Keep your eyes on the ground and keep walking. Don’t react. You’re doing brilliantly.”

She follows his instructions to the letter, keeping her head bowed while they slowly amble down the corridor and to the lifts, with the police officers and security agents creating a bubble of protection around himself and Rose.

The main foyer of the building is just as bad, and outside is even worse because now regular people have gathered by the hundreds to try to catch a glimpse of him and Rose. Everyone is shouting his name, and some are shouting hers, asking how they met, how she snagged him, how long they’ve been together. Some questions are less polite.

“Ignore them,” he whispers again, fuming at the sight of her crimson cheeks. “It’s okay. We’re almost to the car. We’ll be getting into the back seat. You first, behind the driver.”

He keeps his hand planted on her spine as they walk to the car, where the back doors are open for them.

“In you go. Slide all the way over. Take your time. No rush.”

Once Rose is settled into her seat, he climbs in beside her, mindful of the books he’s carrying. The din of fans and paparazzi lessens when the door shuts behind him, but the buzzing in his head is loud enough anyways.

It’s slow going for his driver to get some distance between the crowd, but after a few minutes, they speed for his house amidst the sparse morning traffic. James is disheartened to see another crowd of fans and reporters on his street, crowding around his driveway. More police officers and his security agents have formed a barricade, but it doesn’t help the screams and shouts of his name.

I need to get a new house. Somewhere secret. Somewhere easier to protect.

His heart sinks to see that his security team has set up an entire perimeter around his property to control the swarm of people wanting to stick their nose in his business. He led Rose out of one hell and into another.

A soft, warm hand slips across his, rubbing soothing lines along his knuckles. He clutches Rose’s hand as though it can anchor him to the present, keeping the swarm of darkness at bay.

Inch by inch, the driver pulls the car into his garage and closes the door behind them, giving him some privacy. They each get out of the car and step into the house, which feels cold and empty. He heads to the thermostat and cranks it up, wanting Rose to be as cozy as possible in his home, and sets her books onto his huge dining table.

“Right,” Donna says, breaking the brittle silence around them. “Not much else to do, is there? Let the story run its course. If you’re feeling cheeky, post a statement on social media, or a cute photo of the two of you. Or let the paparazzi shoot themselves in the foot; already your fans are getting hashtags trending, outraged on your behalf at the photos they took.”

Usually James is uplifted to hear about his fans being good people, but apathy is all he can manage. He’s been hollowed out, exhausted beyond mere physical fatigue.

“Thanks,” he says, pulling Donna in for another hug. “I think we want to lay low for a bit.”

He receives a nod of agreement from Rose.

“Fair enough. Oh, your mum’s on her way here. She heard about the news a few minutes ago and couldn’t get ‘hold of you, so she let me know.”

James frowns and stares at his phone, which he now realizes has been oddly silent for the duration of the car ride home. The screen stays black, no matter how many times he presses the power button. All the notifications blowing up the device must’ve drained the battery.

“Can I get you anything?” Donna asks. “Either of you? Rose? You doing okay?”

“I think so,” she answers. Rose glances at him, but he has nothing to offer her, so she returns her attention to Donna. “I think we’re okay here. We’ll just… I dunno… stay in.”

Donna casts her a sympathetic look, then she says to him, “Your security team is out in force, so are several local police officers. We think the crowd will die down a bit once they realize you’re being hermits for the weekend. But security will be vigilant. I trust you know better than to sneak off on your own anywhere?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.”

“One last piece of business,” Donna says. “As your publicist, I feel obligated to confirm the news that you and Rose are, in fact, dating. Is that all right? It’ll be as simple as that. No details, no photos, just an announcement.”

“Sure, fine, whatever,” he says, waving his hand at her. “You know best.”

“Damn right I do,” she says, but he can see the gentleness in her face that threatens to break the delicate grip he has on himself.

With one last comforting squeeze of his arm, Donna departs, leaving him and Rose alone. But are they really alone, when dozens upon dozens of his fans and paparazzi reporters are making a muffled commotion outside? Would it help if he goes outside and requests they leave him alone?

(He knows it won’t… he’s tried that before.)

So where does that leave him? He feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin. He’s radiating with so much tension that he’s not sure how he hasn’t detonated. Despite being the largest house he’s ever lived in, the space feels too small, too cramped, like there’s not enough air for him to breathe.

James begins to pace a frenetic circuit around his living room where he mindlessly picks things up and puts them down in a new location. Yes, redecorating, that’s exactly what he needs. He needs to move things, to do something, to put all his energy into not thinking about the sordid photos going viral and the gross accusations people are making about Rose and…

“Hey, slow down.”

Rose steps in front of him and takes the bookends—that admittedly shouldn’t be relocated off his bookcase—out of his hands and sets them on the coffee table. (Bookends don’t go on coffee tables, Rose, what are you thinking?)

“Talk to me,” she pleads.

“And say what, exactly? This whole morning has been a scene straight out of my fucking nightmares?”

“Yes, actually,” she says, and it surprises him enough that he pauses his agitated movements. “Stop trying to pretend everything’s okay, or that you’ll make it okay. ‘Cos it’s not okay. I’m not okay, and I don’t think you are either. But I want you to tell me that, rather than running from me.”

“I’m not running, I’m walking.” Rose pins him with a glare so fierce it steals the rest of his sarcasm straight from his tongue. He sighs and admits, “I’m not fun to be around when I get like this, so I’m trying really hard to be a half-way decent person at the moment.”

“I don’t want you to be a half-way decent person, I want you to be James.” She cradles his cheeks, forcing him to look down at her. “I want you to be my James.”

All the fight goes out of him and all the voices in his head shout on top of one another. He slumps, dipping his head until his forehead rests on hers, and it all spills out of him: how much he hates that this has happened, how much he loathes the paparazzi and some of his nosy fans, how much he wishes he’d been the one to answer her door, how scared he is that this will drive her away, how worried he is about her reputation, how angry he is at everyone who had a hand in outing them. Everything. Every nasty, gnarled thought, and when he finishes his tirade, he’s calmer. Whether that has to do with everything he’d said or the fact that Rose is rubbing his back and nuzzling her nose into his, he doesn’t know, and frankly he doesn’t care.

“There’s my James,” she says, pinching his waist playfully.

“Your James just… just… verbally shat all over you.”

Rose breaks into a giggle and muffles it by burying her face into his chest. He holds her tight and smiles secretly into her hair.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “And I know it’s not my fault, but I’m so sorry this happened.”

“I know. This certainly tops my ‘weirdest day of all times’ list.”

“Oh yeah? What used to hold the number one spot?”

She pulls back and gives him a cheeky grin. “The night a famous singer bought me a drink and asked me to dance.”

“Huh, kinda weird that happened to you twice now,” he teases.

She laughs aloud, and the sound is enough to loosen the knot of tension that continues to wrap around his chest. He ducks down to catch her lips in a sweet kiss.

They pull away after a few moments, and Rose rests her head on his chest, seemingly content to stand there with him. The silence is solemn, but not uncomfortable, and for a moment, James hopes that maybe this means they can come out of this mess unscathed and, more importantly, together.

“It was my mum,” Rose murmurs, the words so sudden that for a moment, James has no idea what she’s talking about.

But then he remembers his conversation with Donna, and swallows hard. “What?”

“My mum,” she repeats, not lifting her head from his chest. “She was so angry when she left last night, and she must’ve complained about it to Dad. And people overheard her. That’s how everyone found out.”

Rose sounds so miserable and dejected that he’s desperate to do anything to take that tone out of her voice.

“It was just a bit of bad luck,” he says, pulling back slightly to try to force her to look at him. She doesn’t; she keeps her eyes level with his chest. He places his fingers beneath her chin and nudges upward, and she finally meets his gaze. “It wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t your mum’s fault. Those girls didn’t have to send a tip into the papers, but they did. So it wasn’t your fault.”

“But if I hadn’t introduced you to my mum like that…”

“Not. Your. Fault.” He interrupts her by resting his fingertips overtop her lips.

“Still feels like it,” she mumbles around the digits before moving his hand away from her mouth. “I haven’t been brave enough to talk to my mum yet, other than to tell her I’m safe. I dunno what to tell people. My boss is demanding a meeting with me first thing on Monday. And my friends want to know all the details. It’s exhausting. I dunno how you’ve done this for all these years. It’s been two hours, and I want to just… just…”

“Disappear?” he supplies, knowing exactly what she means.

She nods, and sighs.

“Want to know the secret? Distraction.” He darts his eyes around his living room, searching for anything that can get him and Rose out of their heads for a moment, and he lands on his television and gaming consoles. “Right. You and me. Mario Kart tournament.”

Rose pulls back, confusion written across her face. “…Mario Kart?”

“Mario Kart.” He flashes her a wink and clicks his tongue in a way that usually makes her laugh, but only pulls a half-smile from her.

“Sit,” he orders, half-guiding, half-pushing her to the sofa before he turns on his Wii console.

“Hey, you made fun of me for having a Wii,” she grumbles, but she’s smiling, so the words carry no bite.

“Excuse you, this is the next gen Wii,” he boasts, then he comes to sit down beside her with the controllers, which he pops into a steering-wheel-shaped attachment. “No changing the subject. Are you ready to get your arse handed to you in Mario Kart?”

He’s so relieved to see a broad, genuine smile steal across her face that he kisses her soundly. When she kisses him back with equal vigor, warmth blooms in his chest and his toes curl into the plush carpet.

She pulls back after many long seconds and grins devilishly at him. “Oh, you’re so on.”

[hella1975]

I HONEST TO GOD BELIEVED CHENAS KNIFE BEING MISSING BECAUSE OF TOM NOOK WAS GOING TO BE CHENAS DOWNFALL AND KILL HIM AT THE LAST LINE 😭😭😭😭😭 besides that fucking horror I am overwhelmed by the sweetness and the emotional pain this chapter was <3 <3 <3 zukka was cute (SOKKA BEING PROTECTED AND A LOSER BISEXUAL TEEN BOY), tom nook keeps winning (BI4BI KINGS LEGENDS LOSERS CANT CHANGE MY MIND) and also the AMAZING transition of words in zukos mindset that I think is going to change a LOT for him. "good or bad" can't exist, and even when zuko was being silly and avoiding sokkas answers (cuz he's emotionally constipated lmao) was to me a smaller example that people don't fit into categories like that? It was super surface level there, but when you go deeper into it it's really not that simple and zukos perception of that is completely warped because he HAS done bad things, and the self-hatred and shame of that has convinced himself there is only one category. It's BEAUTIFUL I love it and I'm excited <3

Anyways, lastly I request you stop making me sob every time hakoda touches zukos scar. Stop it entirely. It's literally devastating knowing that zuko had just a small essence of hope his father was going to touch him before he burned him and now he thinks of violence every time and another father appears in his life and his touch is always warm and kind and not burning and I'm losing my mind over here JUST STOP IT AND LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! good fic top tier goodbye

WHY IS EVERYONE SO SURE IM JUST GONNA KILL EVERYONE SOMETIMES A GUY LOSES A KNIFE AND IT MEANS NOTHING DID YOU THINK OF THAT

also LOVE ur understanding of the sword metaphor bc even what you said about sokka is true; like as much as sokka ultimately falls into zuko's very rigid cataegory of 'good', he's still not easily forgiving and he can be mean and snappish and has a lot of characteristics zuko sees in himself, and of course if they're a Zuko Characteristic in his mind, then they HAVE to be bad, so what gives? it's interesting to me bc in book 1 zuko had effectively come to the conclusion that both swords = balance and that was a GOOD thing, like we see it in his talk with hakoda in ch13, but it's something he's having to relearn with a much broader worldview and some really horrible experiences and this chapter was HUGE for his progress in that regard.

"literally devastating knowing that zuko had just a small essence of hope his father was going to touch him before he burned him and now he thinks of violence every time and another father appears in his life and his touch is always warm and kind and not burning" I JUST WOKE UPPPPPP i dont want to think about them *thinks about them thinks about them thinks about them thinks about-*

[loregoddess]

Frederica Aesfrost or Cordelia Glenbrook for the ask game?

Oh, I'll do both, they're both great!

First impression: For Frederica, it was something along the lines of "Oh, she seems cool, I bet I'll like her" when I was watching the early trailers. For Cordelia, after meeting her for the first time in the game I didn't...actually have much of an impression of her, she seemed very bland "youngest sister, most gentle-hearted princess" and nothing more (I was very wrong).

Impression now: Love them both lots! Frederica went well beyond whatever I was expecting of her characterization, she's really interesting and I love how she comes into her own and really starts standing up for herself and her ideals as the story progresses. And I was SO wrong about Cordelia, she's literally one of the most interesting and complex characters in a "royalty" role I've ever come across in fiction, and I love her so much for it. She's got an incredibly strong will, she's very intelligent, and she was actually shaping up to be a really extraordinary leader. I'm sad she gets sidelined in the story as soon as Roland's able to reclaim Glenbrook Castle, because she had all this budding potential to be one hell of a powerhouse of a character.

Favorite moment: Hmm, it's been a hot minute since I played TriStrat, so my memory of the story isn't as sharp, but I really enjoyed the scenes where Frederica fights against Thalas and Erika (in her route of Ch13, "Born of Strife and Sadness" specifically, although her battle dialogue with them in Roland's version "Time to Say Goodbye" is good as well). It marks an interesting turning point in her character growth, and it was really nice to see her finally oppose them without fear.

For Cordelia, I'd...have a harder time combing the wiki for the specific chapter, but all of her cutscenes from her father's death to Ch13, where we get to see how she starts to come up with a plan to retake Glenbrook, and how she's able to inspire Avlora to her side, those were really interesting scenes, and I had a new appreciation for her character after watching them because I simply wasn't expecting her to deal with the grief of loosing her entire family (as she didn't know Roland was still alive at this time) to be "well, I'm the only one left and I am Not going to take this lying down, I will be queen of my people in my own right". Just, mm, really interesting character growth, I would have loved to see the type of leader she would have become if things had gone differently.

Idea for a story: Well, I'm always interesting in post-game type narratives that explore how the characters and world begin to heal after all is said and done, and I think that type of story would be really interesting to explore for both Frederica and Cordelia, but in different ways. For Frederica, exploring how her life as the official Lady Wolffort is, and what work she does to help the Rosellen people after the war while also balancing her new married life would be really interesting.

For Cordelia, I think there's a lot of potential to explore the intricacies and power dynamics behind the scenes of Glenbrook's restoration, as I'm sure she ends up doing a lot of work to help Roland even if she isn't the official ruler (again, all that potential she showed as a leader, you can't tell me she doesn't take up some sort of important position in helping to lead the country)--all this while she also settles in to learning that Serenoa is her half-brother (I like to think she learns that at some point), and her life with Avlora as her knight, and just, stuff in general for her since she has a lot to recover from and grieving she can finally go through.

Unpopular opinion: I don't think I have any wildly unpopular opinions about Frederica. For Cordelia, I guess I'm not keen on the Cordelia x Avlora ship, I just...can't see it as romantic (and the age gap doesn't work for me, I'm fairly certain Avlora is in her thirties at the youngest due to in-game dialogue about when Svarog took her in), although I am partial the idea of the platonic knight-liege friendship between the two, but platonic stuff isn't as popular in most fandom spaces.

Favorite relationship: I'm really fond of Frederica's canon romance with Serenoa, like, normally I'm kinda neutral on canon romances, but the way this one was written was so, so good, and I loved seeing her interactions with the other House Wolffort members. I also like her friendship with Geela a lot.

For Cordelia, her familial relationship with Roland is very interesting (somewhat bittersweet at times), and I would have loved to see and know more about her relationship with Frani and their dad. As I mentioned above, I really like her friendship with Avlora, because it was so unexpected but it makes a sort of weird sense. Would have loved to see more of her interactions with the House Wolffort members, and also would have loved to see how she reacts to learning Serenoa is her half-brother and how that shapes her relationship with him and Frederica after the game's events.

Favorite headcanon: Hmmm, I don't have as many headcanons for TriStrat in general but, I guess for Frederica that in Benedict's ending she eventually ends up breaking away from and opposing Serenoa so she can take up defending the Roselle (probably sometime shortly after Benedict's death), and that in the Golden Ending she grows into an excellent leader for both the Wolffort Demense and Roselle people alongside Serenoa, and the two are fondly remembered by their people in histories later on.

For Cordelia, it would be that her capability and tact for government makes her vital to ensuring Roland's rule is successful in the Golden Ending, and also that she eventually becomes very close with Frederica and Serenoa after learning she's related to Serenoa (catching up on family time), enough that if the two ever had kids she'd be the favorite aunt (she'd be their only aunt technically, but she probably spoils them more than Roland would).

[berenwrites]

Whole New Us Ch12 - Stranger Things - Steddie

Whole New Us: Trauma Bonded and Beyond

A/N: Apologies this wasn't out yesterday - hubby put his back out on Sat, so have been busy. The doc prescribed the good drugs yesterday so he's on the mend now.

Also on AO3 | Or here CH1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4 | CH5 | CH6 | CH7 | CH8 | CH9 | CH10 | CH11 | CH12 | CH13 | CH14 | CH15 | CH16 | CH17 | CH18 | CH19 | CH20 | CH21 | CH22 | CH23 | CH24 | CH25 (Mature) | CH25 (Fade to black) COMPLETE

Summary: Steve has been ignoring his own problems, he’s been busy. They’ve all been busy, preoccupied with fixing everything that was broken. Vecna has been defeated, but the Upside Down is still there, and the gates are not completely closed even though Hawkins has almost returned to normal. It’s been a couple of months and the aftereffects of Steve’s encounter with the demobats is about to come back to bite him. However, it also brings some unexpected hope.

Pairing: steddie (Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson)

Rating: Teen (with mature content in later chapters)

Chapter 12. Never Alone

Dustin was waiting for him when Steve pulled up outside the Henderson residence. He leaned over and opened the door from the inside without even thinking about it as Dustin stepped towards the car.

“Hey,” Dustin said, shuffling his feet in embarrassment, but looking kind of relieved as well.

“Hey,” Steve replied, “get in.”

“I’m sorr…” Dustin started even before the kid had his belt on.

“None of that,” Steve interrupted him. “Shit happens, we deal. I will pull out the rule book like you nerds do if you come at me on this one.”

They all had trauma. They all needed help from time to time. None of them would call any of the others out for things like that. Steve was not letting Dustin feel guilty about this. Their rules were all unwritten, but if he had to come up with a book on the fly, he damn well would.

“So, what do you need?” he asked. “We can drive around and talk if you want. We can go back to my place and talk. Or I can just get you back to Eddie as fast as possible, so you can make sure he is okay with your own eyes and kick the hell out of the irrational voice at the back of your mind which is telling you he might not be.”

Dustin half looked at him from the passenger seat. The poor kid was clearly still embarrassed, but he appeared to have got the message.

“The last one,” Dustin said.

“Can do,” Steve assured him. “Just so you know, I called him twice from work yesterday because I had to make sure too, and he’s in my head, so I have absolutely no excuse.”

“Really?” Dustin asked.

“Yes, really,” he replied. “He was gone for months, Dustin. We thought he was dead. That would do a number on anyone and especially you. He died in your arms, even if it didn’t stick. So, I will get you back to my house as quickly as legally possible and you can hug him and check he’s still in one piece. Then you can join in whatever nerdy talk he has going on with the other nerds he calls friends too. How does that sound?”

He managed to get a small smile out of Dustin at that.

“Thanks, Steve,” the kid said.

“Not a problem,” he replied. “You left your mom a note, right?”

“Yes, Steve,” Dustin replied with a huff, which was far more in character and made Steve smile.

He might bitch about always ending up the babysitter, but the world could drag that title from his cold dead hands.

~*~

Everything had gone pretty smoothly with getting Dustin back to his house and letting the kid make sure Eddie was in one piece. Gareth, Jeff, and Frank had all accepted the offer to stay for dinner. They seemed perfectly cool with him and Eddie, and had clearly been warned that Dustin did not know about this situation, so that did not come up and all was plain sailing. He was, however, expecting there to be threats against his life at a later date, but he would worry about that when it happened.

Robin and Wayne had arrived as expected, Wayne having graciously offered to pick Robin up on his way over. It was Wayne’s night off, so for once he didn’t have to rush off to work. Everything was surprisingly relaxed, even when they turned on the local evening news to see how the story was being reported.

“Oh my god no,” Eddie wailed when his picture came up on screen.

Gareth all but fell off the couch laughing, and Steve was a bit confused. The picture of Eddie was clearly a school photo day photograph with his hair in a neat ponytail. Steve wasn’t sure why his boyfriend was complaining.

“At least they didn’t use a mug shot,” Jeff commented, which made Gareth laugh harder.

“Um, what’s wrong with the photo?” Steve had to ask.

Eddie stared at him as if he had asked if the earth was flat.

“Look at what I’m wearing!” Eddie said, waving his hand at the screen. “A mug shot would have been better. And they made me put my hair up. That is so far from metal. That was the first time I was trying to graduate, and they forced me to conform, said if I could adapt then I might have a chance. Lying assholes.”

“Okay,” Steve said in his best placating tone. “But think of it this way, people will see that picture of you and think you have a normal side, which will help convince their tiny minds that the news story is, in fact true, rather than all the horrible lies Jason was telling about you, so it’s a net win. And since apparently your friends will just laugh uncontrollably, there’s no chance any of them will get the wrong idea.”

“He’s got a point, kid,” Wayne commented.

“But it’s so embarrassing,” Eddie complained.

“There, there,” Robin said and patted Eddie’s arm, which set Gareth off again and Steve had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from joining in.

Sometimes Eddie could be very dramatic.

“Who wants dessert?” he asked before he could attract his boyfriend’s ire.

Everyone eagerly agreed so Steve headed off to find the ice cream he had somewhere, hoping the kids hadn’t managed to consume it all while he wasn’t looking. He was leaning into the chest freezer in the utility room just off the kitchen when cold lanced up his spin. As he stood up rapidly, he narrowly missed hitting his head on freezer lid. It thudded back into place as instinct sent him running back towards the living room.

“What?” he asked before he could stop himself as he burst through the kitchen door.

Luckily, no one was looking at him, so he didn’t have to explain why he was panicking when he hadn’t even been in the room. Everyone had their eyes on Eddie, who was apparently holding an official looking letter. From the way Wayne was sitting forward, Steve was pretty sure who had given it to him.

“You okay, kid?” Wayne asked as Eddie just stared at the paper he was holding.

“Yeah,” Eddie said before cracking the smallest smile and Steve remembered how to breathe. “I’m graduating.”

“What?” Robin asked and he handed her the letter. “Dear Mr Munson,” she read, “in light of the exceptional circumstances of your absence for the end of your third senior year, the school board has been persuaded to assess all three of your senior years as a whole. Taking this into consideration we are delighted to inform you, you have enough credits to graduate. It gives us great pleasure to invite you to be part of the graduating class of 1986.”

“Holy shit,” Jeff said. “Eddie, that’s awesome.”

“No way they just decided to be nice to me,” Eddie responded, smiling, but shaking his head in disbelief. “Most of the teachers hate my guts.”

“You’re a hero, Eds,” Steve said because he couldn’t just blurt out that it was likely Owens had pulled some strings, “maybe someone felt guilty enough to put on some pressure. I’m sure Nancy would love to run the headline ‘School spurns local hero’ so I guess some others might too.”

“My boy’s a high school graduate,” Wayne said, standing up and dragging Eddie out of his seat for a bear hug. “Congratulations, son.”

“Forget ice cream,” Steve said, “this calls for a celebration. I’m making milkshakes. Everyone in the kitchen so you can pick your flavour.”

It would mean breaking into the hoard of extra things he had squirreled away for special occasions where the kids could not find them, but the situation most definitely deserved it.

~*~

It had been an incredibly boring day, with virtually no customers during his shift, and Steve was determined to enjoy a relaxing evening with his boyfriend. They had dinner, enjoyed a gentle make-out session on the couch, and were just sitting around. It was nice and calm, which really should have given Steve a clue it couldn’t last.

“So,” Eddie said as Steve was flicking through channels on the TV, “Wayne asked me today when I was moving back in with him.”

The remote slid out of Steve’s hand and hit the carpet with a thud.

“You want to?” he asked, refusing to look over at his boyfriend.

It had honestly never occurred to him, but of course Eddie was now free to go back to his life. The cover story was out, had been for four days, there was no reason for Eddie to stay anymore. Eddie was only still holed up at Steve’s house to give plenty of time for the story to circulate. Technically, Eddie could venture out any time.

Steve realised he had become so comfortable with Eddie in his home, he had forgotten that that wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. One of his spare rooms had all of Eddie’s stuff in it, brought over bit by bit by Wayne, even though Eddie slept in his room every night.

The idea of going back to living by himself chilled him to the bone.

When arms wound around him, he remained stiff in the embrace.

“No,” Eddie whispered in his ear.

“But?” Steve said.

“But what if your parents come home?” Eddie asked.

“They haven’t been here in months,” he replied, “and they always call first. They like the house pristine and seem to think I never clean it unless they tell me to.”

“But what if they don’t?” Eddie insisted.

“Then we tell them I’m doing my civic duty,” he said. “You’re a hero, you put your life on the line to save other people, and you needed somewhere to stay while you’re still recovering and getting back on your feet. It’s good for the Harrington name. What would it have looked like if I’d just kicked you out? My dad couldn’t argue with that.”

Eddie’s arms tightened a little.

“They’d really buy that?” was the quiet question.

“When the alternative is that their son is associating with what they consider trailer trash because he wants to,” he replied, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone, “yes, they’d buy that.”

A light kiss on the side of his neck was Eddie’s response to that unfortunate truth.

“You’re sure you don’t want me out of your hair?” Eddie asked.

“I’d rather go live in the Upside Down,” he replied, folding his hand over Eddie’s against his chest.

It was all backwards. They were living in each other’s pockets, sleeping in the same bed every night, existing in domestic harmony, well mostly, when their physical relationship had barely progressed from kissing into some heavy petting. They were taking it slowly, getting comfortable with each other even as they orbited each other like two moons. Yet it felt right to Steve. The thought of it ending filled him with dread.

“Been there, do not recommend,” Eddie said, going for the obvious joke.

Steve wished he could smile, but he was too far down the rabbit hole.

“I can’t do this without you,” he confessed. “I go out there and I feel like an alien. Don’t move too fast. Don’t be too strong. Keep everything inside. And then I come back here … and … and …”

He ran out of words.

“It’s okay,” Eddie said, pulling him closer. “You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

And that was the crux of it all. Eddie did get it. Robin was doing her best, being a wonderful support, but the only person who could really understand everything was Eddie.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie told him. “I don’t want to leave any more than you want me to go.”

“Then why ..?” Steve asked.

“Because I’m an insecure fuckup and the demons in my head kept whispering that I do not get to have this, that I’m too much, too loud, too everything, and you will get fed up of me,” Eddie admitted.

Steve finally turned in Eddie’s embrace, so they were looking at each other.

“I’ve got those too,” he confessed.

Eddie leaned their foreheads against one another.

“Then let’s exorcise them together,” he said.

“What will you tell Wayne?” Steve asked, wrapping his arms around Eddie, and trying to relax into the closeness.

The whole conversation had him on edge.

“That I’m staying here,” Eddie replied. “If I keep it vague, he won’t push it.”

“But you want to tell him about us, that we’re more than friends,” Steve did not need to ask, he knew.

Eddie was silent for a few moments.

“He knows I’m gay,” Eddie finally said. “Think he had me pegged before I even admitted it to myself. He wouldn’t judge, but if you don’t want me to tell him, if this is all still too new, I …”

Steve touched his lips to Eddie’s, bringing the rambling to a halt.

“Guess I should get ready for the shovel talk from your uncle then,” he said, finally managing a tiny smile.

There were so many questions, so much to figure out and deal with, but Eddie was the least frightening part of it all.

End of Chapter 12

Chapter 13

[silvertsundere]

Silver Talks AniManga (28/05/23)

no imas or jigokuraku anime this week cause they were both on break nothing else of note I don't think, p chill week

Anime

Megumin Ep8

honestly there's not much I have to say about the episode itself BUT last episode, I thought the cook guy sounded super familiar but I didn't look it up but at the start of this ep he was talking and I was like "man no way they got majima for this random guy" but they actually did and also, there was an animation error, right before this screen there's a far shot of the scene and she has her hood on in it, despite not having it on before AND after it so that was funny to spot

Mashle Ep7

we're finally really in the first battle arc, tho the animation continues to be nothing impressive as expected. hoping that at least the big fight with the boss looks good but we'll see. I also forgot that razor showed up here too so that was nice, hope that his fight gets some love too cause he deserves it. tho I did like how the text at the bottom there sunk in sync with mash that was a cute touch, it was also all wobbly while he was talking underwater

Pokemon Horizons Ep8

what the hell bocchi the tuber has a face good ep tho, the livestream with her reading the baddies' goon's comment was funny and riko's reaction to having her comment read was great too, average chatter moment lmao also in 2 more weeks we're getting anime nemona so very excited for that, hopefully she has a good voice

Manga

Blooming Love Ch5

she just keeps getting better and better really cute chap, it's a shame that this series is gonna switch to be every other week instead of weekly but with how fast it's moving (for a romance) it prob won't be that bad

Dandadan Ch107

we finally out of the vamola backstory and back into the action very cool chap, especially seeing the pay off of momo seeing all that and regretting how she treated vamola my favourite part were these 2 panels, in opposites pages, after the exact same amount and layout of panels above it. the parallel of how soft momo's eyes are when she's reassuring vamola and then how sharp and serious they are when glaring at the aliens is extremely good

Kindergarten WARS Ch7 - 9

it's p funny how much of a lover boy dough is anyway good chaps, mostly action but it was good

Saihate Quarter Ch13

you know, for a series that has the risk of getting axed it sure doesn't feel like it's building towards a conclusion so maybe it won't happen that soon

Kaiju 8 Ch86

you know, since #9 took over the old man, this makes a lot of sense but since they didn't mention it in the shinomiya fight I hope it isn't just a thing for this one kaijiu cause of narumi's relationship with isao. it's still cool anyway, but it would be kinda lame for the baddies to have access to something like this, giving the number kaijus isao's knowledge and not doing it but we'll see

Pension Life Vampire Ch7

what the hell?? a serious chap? I know it had some goofs but it was still surprising to see something serious happen. tho it most likely won't be as bad as it sounds next time

Shuumatsu no Valkyrie Ch78

nothing much going in this chapter other than setting up the fighters for the next round leonidas and apollo, totally expecting apollo to win but we'll see how it goes

ST☆R: Strike it Rich Ch3

it was good timing to check yesterday when the new chap was gonna come out cause I didn't realize it'd be today. anyway, this was the end of the lil introductory arc so should be getting a lot more fights from now on

The Ichinose Family's Deadly Sins Ch26

SEE I CALLED IT however many weeks ago I did, I said that him waking up from the dream wasn't real and he was still in the coma and looks like I was right. god this shit just keeps running around in circles while I'm begging it to end.

Fabricant 100 Ch23

very convinient for her to suddenly get a new hidden power she had all along and was never hinted at when they're fighting the final boss

Nue's Exorcist Ch3

introducing some more eye candy to the series isn't a bad idea, tho that one panel of fanservice was pretty unnecessary. still nothing great so far, but he's finally met one of the exorcists nue mentioned before and they're setting up a club to deal with spirits and stuff, which will help give some structure to the series in the coming chaps. we'll see how it goes from here but I'm still not very hopeful about it's chances with how bad ch1 and 2 were.

Kill Blue Ch6

interesting choice to have the first 5 pages of the chapter have no dialogue but it worked well enough I think. this was basically all about the cliffhanger from the previous chap but I didn't expect things to progress this fast

Do Retry Ch4

this guy jacking it WAY too much but anyway, they're using the money each fight is worth as a sort of power level so that's neat, tho it doesn't mean much at the moment that this guy's worth 10k when there's nothing else as a point of reference

Witch Watch Ch110

you know fran only got introduced semi recently but her chaps are some of the most fun ones, tho this one felt like it repeated the same joke a bit too much for me

Cipher Academy Ch25

nice chap finishing setting up the next arc which will be 1v1 tournament style battles between the different classes, tho we'll most likely only see the class A ones for obvious reasons. I also liked to see iroha using others' mannerisms like they talk about here and later in the chap too, it's cute and it also reminds me of medaka

Blue Box Ch102

good chap, especially that big scenery shot very pretty. the ending is very exciting too the confession may be happening sooner than expected

Spy x Family Ch81

very weird to have a whole chapter with not yor or anya and with no jokes either, tho it's a good change of pace I think

Tenmaku Cinema Ch7

nice chap, like I said last time it's good that's already doing filming and not wasting much time

Undead Unluck Ch160

phil's arc is over, it wasn't as good as the other ones of fuuko putting back the team together but I liked that for once fuuko's plans didn't go like expected from her previous knowledge

Mashle Ch157

cool chap, it was nice seeing the baddies mash has beaten helping out. also not related to the chap but me and mega were talking about it yesterday and we're p sure mashle won't end while the anime is airing which would explain all the stalling not that long ago

The Elusive Samurai Ch111

weird to see a chapter without the main cast, but not a bad chap, just setting up the current situation of the country and the various faction after tokiyuki's failed war, just some more chaps and we'll go back to them. tho I'm curious to see if matsui is gonna follow historical fact or do something original when that happens, but I'm leaning more towards the latter

Sakamoto Days Ch120

extremely good chapter to end the flashback sequence, more than half the chap had no text boxes and was all great action. just makes me hope and pray even harder than when it does get an anime adaptation it gets the treatment it deserves unlike what mashle has been getting

Akane-banashi Ch63

nice chap, I knew the salesman wouldn't lose to this guy that didn't get any screentime before this competition, tho I didn't expect to see his backstory, hopefully it'll only be a bit of next chapter instead of dragging on for too long

Ayakashi Triangle Ch131

suzu............. not much to say tho, it was mostly set up for this next lil arc tho that ending was p funny. yabuki reading doujins for these ideas