#the honestly really earnest drag from all of them

[bugpoasting]

watched the monkees fairy tale episode and um. yup its just as much as y'all have gassed it up that was Insane

[hungharrington]

So I um I found an amazing video and now I’m plagued by thoughts of sitting on Steve’s bed, him between your legs with his back to your chest, and giving him the sweetest loveliest softest handjob ever, scratching his tummy hairs and peppering kisses all over his neck

nonnie did i or did i not tell u i was coming back for this ask? and i came back with a hunger -- sort of sub!steve, 1.5k, everything the ask describes, as always MDNI this entire blog is 18+! enjoy <3

Steve doesn’t think anyone has ever asked to take care of him before.

He’s had plenty of partners in bed, sure. He’s rife with enough experience that honestly he thinks it would take a really strange request to throw him off his game. But you had— when you asked, “Can I just take care of you tonight?” 

He hadn’t even been entirely sure what you had meant, pulling back from the steamy make-out with you on his lap— the usual late night rendezvous. 

But still, he gave a slow and earnest nod, a soft ‘sure, honey’ and let you rearrange the two of you til you were leaning back on the headboard and he was leaning back against you. Your thighs on either side of him, your arms looped around his middle. Like a little spoon. Steve secretly adores it. 

“Y’know I can’t exactly do much in this position,” Steve chuckles, pretending to have his reservations, even if he’s already eager to see what you mean by taking care of him. Your arms are around his waist, warm, your fingers tucking up his shirt to begin to work it upwards.

“Mm,” you hum, hoisting it higher and Steve moves forward, letting it get tugged off and over his head. Cool air flushes down his chest. “Dunno if you’re grasping the idea of letting me take care of you if you’re worrying bout that.” 

The shirt flutters to the ground, forgotten, as your hands explore to freshly exposed skin. Steve sighs sweetly as you trace softly across his tummy, nails dragging lightly as your near his thighs. His cock is already perking up. It’s been interested since earlier, you in his lap and your tongue in his mouth, and it doesn’t take many more lingering touches for it to reach proper attention. 

“No one ever taken care of you before, baby?” You ask, lips scraping his ear. Your breath is warm and your voice is low— but the kiss you give beneath his ear is hot and wet. You suckle at the skin, not even a nip of teeth. Desire pools low in Steve’s gut, a simmering heat. 

One of your hands moves over his boxers and gives his bulge a gentle rub, making Steve rumble out a soft moan. Your other hand rubs soothing down his thigh. 

Steve shakes his head to answer no to your question. His eyes fight to stay open, torn between wanting to watching your wandering hands or turning to kiss you but your persistent kisses on his neck give him little choice. He shifts his hips. 

“Not- not like this,” Steve admits, breath a little short already. His tummy tenses when your hand drags back up over it, just a soft scratch of nails. His cock aches harder. He wishes you would touch it, wishes you would reach your hand in, all hot, soft and wet and tug it in that perfectly teasing way he knows you can. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, hips shifting upward again. You smile at his impatience. 

“Can we take these off?” You ask, pinching the ruffled elastic of his boxers. Steve nods fervently, hips shifting up to let you slide them down so he can kick them off. His chest feels warm, flushed beneath the hair and another groan tumbles out when you finally curl your fingers around his cock. “Fuck,” he pants as you pump tantalizing slow. “Fuck, feels so good, honey,” 

A hunger for the feeling grows in his stomach, gnawing for more bliss. Steve lets his head tips back, resting against your shoulder and you take advantage of it in an instant; kisses upon kisses up his neck. It’s messy, lips wet with spit as you scrape your teeth down, right as your rub over the slit of his cock— Steve twitches, a jagged whine pushing past his lips. He pants a little heavier. 

Pausing for a moment, you pull your hand back to your mouth and let yourself drool over it— sticky saliva covering your fingers. This time, when you grip his cock, Steve gasps loudly. Slick, hot, sounds reverberate in the room as you jerk him, hand twisting perfectly. Still slow, still gentle. 

Your mouth find his earlobe, teeth nibbling a little mean, your hand not stopping— and Steve moans a little louder, like he can’t help it. His cock gives a little dribble of precum, tummy all tensed up again. 

“See? S’nice to be taken care of,” You murmur softly. You thumb his slit again, delighting in the spurt his cock gives, then dive down to cup his balls. Your other hand strokes along his thigh lovingly, nails drawing lines as you rake them back up to his v-line. 

Steve shivers, shuddering sweet whines escaping him. He’s so unbearably hard for you- especially as you rub his balls so perfectly, your hand dragging back up his cock and then back down, a mind-melting cycle. It’s so much, it’s not even close to enough, it’s, it’s— 

“Oh god,” Steve whimpers loudly. His eyes have finally crushed closed, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly beside you. His gut is burning with heat, pleasure filling every limb. It feels good. He wants to writhe against you, wants to fuck your fist, wants you to keep teasing him just like you’re doing. 

“Oh god, oh fuck- f-fuck,” His words are getting more pathetic by the minute, barely fully formed, drenched in a whimpering tone. “Please, don’t… don’t tease, no- ah,” 

It’s not even teasing, you just aren’t rubbing him hot and fast like usual. Your movements are slow, doused in adoration — your core feels sticky, burning hot from watching Steve get all worked up in your arms. 

“M’not teasing you,” you say, fondling his balls and rubbing your palm against them in a circular motion, building his lust. Steve’s tense body and punched out breathes contradict your words. He’s so whiny. It’s a pity no one’s ever taken care of him before — though your stomach pinches hotly to know only you get to see him this way. 

“Just taking care of you,” you sigh, grip tightening as you pull it back up his cock, giving the smallest jerk. Steve warbles out a throaty whimper, egged on by your roaming touch along his thighs. He feels molten hot, tummy already all clenched up, his cock just leaking all over your hand. Pleasure buzzes wildly in his body, back starting to arch up. 

“Hone- aw, fuckfuckfuck, yes, just there, please, honey,” he pleads, voice starting to sound wrecked and feeble. God, he sounds pathetic; he only sounds like this when he's been fucking you for a good while. But a few minutes of the right touch? Reduces to a whiny mess in your hands. 

“So pretty,” you whisper and Steve can’t tell if you mean him or his dribbling cock, all pink and twitching in your hand. He can’t even feel the fabric gripped between his own fingers— can’t feel anything except your palm right around the head of his cock, teasing it lightly. It’s torture, it’s perfect, it’s not enough, it’s— 

“Please!” The word bursts out of Steve, desperate, swallowed immediately by a moan. He fights to get his next words out as your hand returns to his heavy balls, caressing them soft and slow again. It’s not fucking enough. His pleas fall out all whimpery, “Take— take care of me, please, wanna cum, I wanna- I wanna—“ 

It’s the magic words. You grip his cock properly, your whole hand curling around him for the first time that night and you set a fast pace- lewd, squelching sounds echo in the bedroom. Steve keens forward, a soft cry coming from him as his pleasure turns into a blaze in his stomach. “Oh my god, oh god- yes, fuck—“ 

Your free hand moves to his tummy, scratching down to thatch of hair at the base of his cock and Steve can’t help it, he cums, hard. He turns his head, hides it in your neck and releases a whimpery sort of wail. His chest heaves as his pretty cock spurts out his hot pearly cum — coating your hand enough to ride him through it, your hand never stopping. 

“That’s it, so good,” You coo at him. Your sweet words carry him through it, your pace slowing as his body starts to twitch back against yours. His cock gives a few final dribbles of cum and you rub your thumb over his slit, spreading it. Steve whimpers loudly. “Mm, there we go.” 

It feels like it takes forever for him to settle back down. Steve feels wrung out, feels spent, feels like he had his brain melted out his ears — like he could just nap against you now and be happy forever. Your soft kiss against his cheek has him opening his eyes, pulling back enough to look at your face. 

“Good?” You ask, though he knows you can tell just how fucking good it was. “Good to be taken care of?” 

Steve nods with a loving hum, a hefty exhale rushing out his lungs and he lets his face huddle back into your neck, eyes slipping shut. He’ll move in a minute- maybe when he can feel his thighs again. 

[nothorses]

You've made a lot of really great posts about transmasc experiences and struggles, and they really resonate with me! So I guess I want to in complete earnest ask: why the push for 'transandrophobia' when anti-transmasculinity as a term has been around for longer and faces little friction by comparison? I don't really *dislike* transandrophobia, but its meaning gets muddied everywhere from different directions, while ATM is pretty direct and succinct I feel. It's very clear that it's about TRANSmasculine oppression. I'm not against having a dedicated term at all, but the content of our struggles gets lost in the weeds of attaching kind of understandably divisive terms like misandry and androphobia in an attempt to mirror a phenomenon very specifically about misogyny; it seems more trouble than it's worth considering ATM is right there

I'll be honest, this ask is confusing to me for a few reasons.

When I started talking about transandrophobia around the summer of 2020, the conversations I was encountering were very much, like, a handful of people across Twitter and Tumblr (literally, a handfull!). I picked up "transandrophobia" because it was one of two words I saw in use, and the other- "transmisandry"- felt much less clear and much more contentious. It seemed super obvious to me that people would draw a line from "men's rights activists" trying to push this idea that "misandry", as a systemic oppression of men by women, to "transmisandry", and assume some ill intent where there was none. It's confusing!

"Transandrophobia" was the better of two options being floated at the time, at least in any conversation I saw. "Anti-transmasculinity" was not really a term I'd been made aware of, if anyone at all was talking about it at the time.

I have seen people pick up "anti-transmasculinity" more recently (maybe in the last year?), and this is definitely the first I've seen someone shorten it to "ATM". The people I've seen use that term have been mostly people who seem really new to the conversation, and the vibe I've gotten has been very, like, "we're the Good Transmascs, our word isn't dirty and gross like those other Bad Transmascs everyone hates. you'll listen to us now that our word is Good and Pure, right?"

Which is like... kind of frustrating, and kind of sad, honestly. I think these people honestly believe that if they just choose the right word, all the people who've been dragging me and every other transmasc talking about these issues through the mud for the last 4 years or so will really just stop & listen. If they can just say it right, these people- who have been relentlessly harassing and spreading lies about every single transmasc who came before them for years now- will care what they have to say, and will be willing to engage with them in earnest, compassionate dialogue.

If you just find the right word, all of these people will care about your hurt, your pain, and the suffering of your community.

It kind of breaks my heart. It's an incredibly hopeful, kind, loving way to view the world. It's compassion and patience and forgiveness that these folks are not being given, but that they so badly want to offer to others.

And at the same time, it sucks to be the Bad Transmasc. It sucks to have fought so hard for so long, and for the people I've been fighting for all this time to turn around and say, "you're gross, and dirty, and evil, and everything you've done is a mistake." It sucks to see the people I've been fighting for agree with the people I've been fighting against, and shove me under the bus in an effort to appeal to the people running me over with it. Knowing that the bus is going to aim for them once it's done with me just makes it sadder, yknow?

@saint-speaks wasn't the first person to ever speak the word "transandrophobia", but he is the one who coined and popularized it in its current form. And then he was dragged through the mud so hard and so brutally that some people think I coined it, just because when I defended him (too little and too late, imo) I withstood the mud-dragging better than he did (and gee, I wonder white.)

And now people take for granted that everything everyone said about hymn to justify that frankly fucking evil harassment campaign was true, actually, and we should abandon the word he coined and find one with purer origins.

If you honestly think "anti-transmasculinity" is just a more practical word, that's fine. I don't care what word we use. But they're going to cover it in mud, too. They're going to cover every one of you in mud.

Will you keep fighting for "ATM" once they make it the new dirty, gross, bad, evil word? Will you keep fighting when they drag you and everyone else through the mud for using it? Or will you agree with them, make up a new word, and never look back?

Please don't let us drown in the mud. We've been fighting for you, and we want to fight with you. Please.

[kujakumai]

On the subject of being good with children, which characters do you think WOULD be good babysitters?

YUGIOH CHARACTERS AS BABYSITTERS, RANKED

TOP PICKS:

Seto Kaiba runs an entire company dedicated exclusively to safely entertaining children, and unless his parks are getting continually sued I believe he knows how. Your kindergartner is not only safe with him but will probably leave knowing how to play chess and write in C++. He may allow them to play with knives, but only if they're 9 or over, plus he has all the emergency numbers on speed-dial.

Hiroto Honda babysits his niblings on the regular. Can warm a bottle and change a diaper. A level-headed and practical guy. He’ll be fine as long as his friends don't drag him into a horrible game-themed deathtrap. Don't ask why that caveat exists.

Rishid Ishtar is safe, experienced, has dad energy, however he will crumple like wet paper at the first sign of conflict re: ice cream for dinner / no bedtime / blood-soaked cross-country quest for revenge / an extra episode of cartoons over the screentime limit.

Ishizu Ishtar would make a great babysitter. I don't really have a quirky joke here she just would.

"MAYBE"S

Jonouchi used to watch his little sister and I think he'll do about as well as any other teenager you're paying minimum wage, and with a lot of earnest enthusiasm. Your child will be fine at the end of the night, though they will probably have eaten some junk food and played a T rated videogame.

I do not think Atem would know what to do with a baby, and may panic about it, though if you have an older child he will be happy to offer a rousing speech and some deep-voiced mentorlike advice while teaching them to play board games. Not a bad choice, just try not to leave him with anyone under seven.

Yugi knows zilch about kids and often appears a little annoyed by them. Same general rules as Atem--do not leave him with a baby, but he'll probably just teach an older kid to play shogi or something.

Mai Kujaku will put the kid in front of the television and order pizza while she paints her nails. Honestly, though, what more are you paying her for?

Listen, I love Anzu. I do. She’s smart, driven, and big-hearted, but she is also sort of short-tempered and impatient, and patience is like 90% of child-rearing. Please do not ask Anzu Mazaki to watch your children. She WILL say yes because she needs the money, and she WILL go into it with optimism and gumption, and yes, both she and your child will both be in one piece at the end of the night, but it will be clear from both of their frazzled expressions that she lost most of her sanity an hour in after the fifth "Why?"

DEFINITELY NOT

Ryou Bakura would in theory be a perfectly good, if kind of spacey, babysitter, but you cannot trust him to remain Ryou Bakura, and the other guy is definitely not someone you want anywhere near your children.

I don't think Marik Ishtar has ever interacted with a child for very long and the number of people he talks to that are even his own age is in the single digits. And he is definitely not getting spat on or dealing with any bathroom stuff. I'm not saying he can't figure it out but the learning curve is going to be steep.

I have to put Yami Bakura here in principle and yet for some reason I think it wouldn't go that bad? I mean he definitely doesn't care about the safety of your child. And he may enlist them to the armies of darkness. And he's not cleaning anything up. But he's like, a weird socially awkward over-the-top guy? And children love those? Honestly I think they would both have fun. For at least an hour until everything goes horribly wrong.

Please do not summon Zork Necrophades to babysit your child.

[burnednotburied]

You're My People

AO3 Link

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Synopsis: You and Abby take refuge in an abandoned house to catch your breath and attempt to recover after the encounter with Ellie in the theater.

Tags: slight angst; hurt/comfort; mentions of death and blood; tending to injuries; (mostly) unspoken romantic feelings; reader is a young woman (same age as Abby)

Note: To be absolutely 100% clear, the reader is NOT meant to be Lev or Yara. Reader is a woman (about the same age as Abby) who met Abby on Seattle Day 1 when she was also meeting Lev and Yara. The four of them stuck together. None of this is super relevant for this story. (Just know that Yara was with them, but she was killed just as she was in the game, and Lev is around here somewhere.)

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

“Don’t ever let me see you again.”

That’s what Abby had said to that girl – Ellie – before walking away without so much as a backwards glance.

You had quietly followed Abby out of the theater, because what else could you do, but you didn’t know how you were supposed to feel about what you just saw.

Watching Abby incapacitate one man and shoot another in the face without hesitating. Seeing her beat Ellie into the floor while she lay there motionless.

And the other woman. The one who was pregnant…

“Good,” Abby had seethed when Ellie told her. She almost seemed happy about it. Happy to repay the wrong that was done to Mel. An eye for an eye. A life for a life.

If you hadn’t called out Abby’s name when you did, dragging her from the haze that was her desire for retribution…

Well, you could guess what would’ve happened.

You were just glad the two of you had decided not to bring Lev with you. That he was somewhere safe.

Neither of you spoke a word as you navigated through the dark streets of Seattle, her leading the way with you following quietly behind, just as you had been doing since you met. Although now you may have allowed for a bit more space between the two of you than you did before, trailing further behind. Lost in thought.

It had been three days since you met, but it felt like so much longer. A nagging voice in your head insisted that you really didn’t know Abby very well, despite how it felt.

She hadn’t given you any reason not to trust her. She had never hurt you. In fact, she had fought so hard to keep you and (more importantly) Lev and Yara safe. She had even turned against her own people, killed her own people, for the sake of protecting you.

No, that wasn’t right.

Those weren’t Abby’s people anymore.

“You’re my people.”

Abby had looked so earnest when she said it back on the Seraphite island just hours before. And you had believed her.

The words left you with a feeling deep in your chest that was hard to describe. You thought it might’ve been… belonging. Something you’d been hoping for but never found. You’d always wanted to truly belong to something.

Or someone.

There hadn’t been any time to dwell on the feelings or what they meant.

And now all you feel is a pit in your stomach.

Why were you so shaken up? This is stupid. You’ve killed before, and you’ve watched Abby kill.

But this felt different. It wasn’t self-defense. It wasn’t necessary. It was dark and angry and honestly terrifying. She was honestly terrifying.

But it was justified, wasn’t it? You could argue that maybe it was necessary.

Ellie had been hunting Abby for days, killing her friends and seemingly anything else in her path.

Ellie killed Owen.

You weren’t sure of the exact history between him and Abby, but you did know how important he was to her. And you had seen the look on her face when she found him dead.

Who’s to say Ellie would’ve ever stopped coming after Abby and the people close to her? Who’s to say she’ll even stop now?

You’re just beginning to arrange your fractured, contradicting thoughts in a way that makes sense when Abby comes to a sudden stop in front of you. You would’ve run into her if she hadn’t stretched her hand out behind her in warning.

“We need to stop. Get out of the rain. Regroup.” Her voice is strained.

You hadn’t really even noticed that it started raining again, harder this time, but you can walk in the rain. Lev is alone, waiting for the two of you to return.

You open your mouth to protest, only to shut it again when Abby turns to face you fully. She’s balancing her weight unevenly, heavily favoring her right leg. A significant bloodstain runs all the way down to her left ankle. And her face…  

The pregnant girl had come from nowhere, attacking Abby from behind. She managed to slash across Abby’s cheek with a knife before you took her down with an arrow through the shoulder. It had been your only real contribution to the fighting in the theater, but it had been unavoidable. Abby had been in danger.

Now she’s standing in front of you, soaked from head to toe, from the rain and with blood, and you have no idea how much of that blood is hers, but there are definitely some significant injuries that need to be tended to.

Abby takes in your silence and your wide-eyed stare for a moment before shifting a little in place and clearing her throat. “Um… we can try in there. Yeah? The houses here should all be deserted.” She gestures weakly to the building closest to you.

You finally find your voice. “Yes, yeah. Let’s—let’s go in there.”

You pull your gaze away from Abby’s and walk past her, toward the small house, pulling your bow from where it rests over your shoulder and notching an arrow in the string. It suddenly occurs to you that you’ve walked all this way without your weapon drawn while Abby was injured and unarmed. For a moment, you’re glad that the Wolves and the Seraphites are too distracted fighting each other elsewhere to be roaming around in this area. Or else you and Abby would probably have been killed by now, both of you practically stumbling through the streets like a couple of vulnerable, mindless children.

You shake your head, silently scolding yourself and promising to be more alert, starting right now with sweeping the house.

The front door is mostly intact and slightly ajar. You approach carefully, painstakingly forcing it further open with your shoulder, fighting against rusted hinges and warped wood. The floorboards creak beneath your boots as you step inside, quickly scanning the entryway for anything or anyone that poses a threat. Abby follows behind you, trying not to visibly limp on her injured leg and holding up a small flashlight taken from the aquarium.

“Come on. You need to sit down,” you say over your shoulder, just loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain outside. For a moment, it looks like she might argue with you, maybe insist that she make sure the building’s clear first, but she seems to decide against it, giving you a quick nod of her head in response.

With your bow still drawn, you lead the way through the first floor of the building, passing a bathroom and a kitchen before arriving in what was once the living room. The room is filled with furniture in various levels of destruction and decay, somehow the most well-preserved among them being an old couch pressed against the back wall.

You point to it. “Sit,” you tell Abby. The fact that she listens and moves toward the couch without protest, albeit very slowly, is further proof of the extent of her injuries and her level of exhaustion. “I’m going to check the rest of the house, okay? I’ll be back. Don’t move.”

Abby lets out a scoff, immediately followed by a second, more pained noise. “I couldn’t go anywhere if I wanted to.” An attempt at a joke, made through gritted teeth. You give her a hesitant, worried look, long enough that she forces a small smile and attempts to reassure you with, “I’m fine. Go.”

She’s lying and you know that, but you don’t have much of a choice. You turn to go quickly search the house.

The second floor is clear of any discernible threats but also of anything that would be useful in helping Abby. On your way back to the living room, you rummage through the downstairs bathroom and a couple of mostly empty coat closets in hopes of finding something. Medical supplies. Even clean cloths.

You find nothing there and move on to your last hope, the kitchen. This room is even more ransacked than the rest of the house, and still, you don’t find what you’re looking for.

“Ugh,” you loudly groan, clasping your hands together on the back of your neck and casting your gaze upward in frustration.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Abby quickly asks from the other room, sounding ready to jump up off the couch and rush to your rescue even in her current condition. It makes you smile until you remember that this is no time to be smiling.

“It’s nothing. The house is clear. I was just looking for some medical supplies.”

“Who needs medical supplies?” she asks, trying her hand at a second joke. This time you let yourself smile for just a second.

“You do, Abby,” you say, “You need medical supplies. Urgently.” You’re still staring up like the answer will be written up there if you just look hard enough, when something in the space between the one of the top cabinets and the ceiling catches your eye. If you’re not mistaken, it looks like the corner of a first aid kit.

It’s too high for you to reach standing, and there’s nothing for you to stand on top of. The countertops are broken, the pieces scattered across the room, and the wood of the lower cabinets is rickety and unstable at best.

You’re grumbling under your breath about damn high ceilings and unnaturally tall cabinets as you reenter the living room to find Abby almost exactly where you left her, left leg now up on the couch and elevated, right foot still on the floor. Both of her hands are hovering over the gash in her thigh, like she’s not sure if she should touch it or not, her face tense and focused. She’s in pain.

You pull your eyes away and look for something sturdy enough for you to stand on, eventually deciding on a mostly intact, only slight wobbly small metal table.

“Do you really think now is the best time to rearrange the furniture, honey?” Abby asks, glancing at you in her periphery. She’s joking again, and you know that, but you can’t help the warmth that pools in your cheeks at her use of the affectionate pet-name.

“I--“ You clear your throat, “I need something to stand on. I think I found something in the kitchen.”

“Aww, you can’t reach the top shelf by yourself?” Abby asks, amused. She turns her attention from her leg to watch as you drag the table out of the room. It squeaks along the floor the entire way, making her laugh softly.

 The fact that she’s being playful with you starts to ease your lingering panic about her many ailments. If she’s cracking jokes, she can’t be that close to dying, right?

“Crazy how you’ve lost like half your blood supply, and yet you still have enough energy to tease me,” you say, your own teeth gritted now. The table is much heavier than you anticipated. “And, for your information, the thing that I’m trying to get is not on the top shelf. It is above the top shelf. On top of the cabinet.”

“Uh huh. Sure… Take your time. I’m just over here, casually bleeding out.”

“Well, I’m no doctor. But I’m pretty sure that if the knife had hit any major arteries, you would’ve bled out a long time ago. So you’ll be fine for another minute. Probably.” With one final shove, you manage to get the table where you want it.

You carefully step up on the table, hoping that some sadistic asshole didn’t throw an empty first aid kit all the way up there just to waste the time and energy of some poor, desperate fool in need of medical supplies. (You, of course, being that poor desperate fool.)

After brushing off a thick layer of dust, you grab the handle. The kit is full.

“Yes!” you shout, nearly stumbling off the table in your excitement.

Abby can tease you all she wants and try to make light of the situation, but she can’t hide the look of relief that washes over her features when she sees what you’re carrying.

And, if you were paying closer attention to her face, she also wouldn’t have been able to mask the way her eyes go wide and her cheek – the one that’s not covered in blood – gets visibly pink when you get on your knees in front of her. “Uhhh hey, you can—you can sit on the couch.”

You raise your eyebrows, confused by her sudden nervousness. “No, the angle will be better this way,” you insist. “Just bring your leg over here.” She concedes, avoiding eye contact as you help her maneuver her injured leg so that her foot is back on the floor, practically between your knees.

There’s already a tear in her pant leg where the gash is. So to avoid having Abby stand up and take her pants off or cutting all the way around at mid-thigh, leaving her with half a pair of pants for the foreseeable future, you opt to just rip the fabric a little more on either side of the tear.

But you have a bad habit of occasionally thinking about something and then doing it, forgetting the often necessary in-between step of alerting the people around you to what you’re going to do first. You take the already-ripped fabric of her pants in your hands and tear, successfully making a hole large enough for you to properly clean and dress the wound.

The sound Abby makes when you do this surprises you. It’s almost sounds like a whimper—a noise that you don’t think you’ve ever heard her make before. There’s a twisting heat in your gut that seems to be a recurring side effect of being close to Abby, which you choose to ignore in favor of focusing on the more urgent (and honestly less daunting and less complicated) task at hand.

She’s quiet as you get to work cleaning the gash. Wincing slightly but remaining still.

The cut is deep, but as you expected it missed the femoral artery. You would have to stitch it up, though, and you told Abby as such. She nodded and watched you carefully as you quickly prepared, hoping to get this part over with as quickly as possible.

You moved even closer to her. Abby’s shin gently pressed against your front as you leaned over her knee, bringing your face closer, your movements precise and intentional.

Abby brings her hands down on either side of her legs, bracing herself. Her shoulders tense, muscles engaged. You have to tear your eyes away. Focus. You look back down at her thigh.

As you work, a strand of your hair falls from where you had tucked it behind your ear and into your face. You let out a light, annoyed huff. Before you attempt to blow the strand out of your eyeline, Abby’s fingers gently brush it back behind your ear. You feel yourself blush deeply, saying a quiet thank you before going back to sewing her up.

When the last stitch is done and you’ve carefully wrapped the wound, you feel Abby’s fingers run through your hair again, this time for no other reason but to draw your eyes up to meet hers.

“Come up here,” she says, her voice low. You stand, bringing the first aid kit with you, and feel the springs in the cushions creak beneath you as you sit on the couch, facing her, closer than is probably necessary. Before either one of you says anything else, you begin gently wiping away the blood surrounding the cut on her cheek, cleaning around the wound.

It's clear to you now that her wounds weren’t quite as detrimental as you had feared. With her leg sown up, her face was the only other thing that required your attention. Most everything else was superficial and would heal on its own. The rain had done a poor job of washing away all the blood, but it seems that much less of that blood had come from her than you had anticipated anyway.

“I can do that,” Abby says in a whisper, watching your face as you carefully and meticulously clean hers.

“I know,” you reply, just as quiet. “I want to.”

A few moments go by in silence until Abby once again breaks it.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” she begins, quickly adding, “Not sorry that I did it, but sorry that you had to… see me that way.” Her eyes are downcast. You know it’s weighing on her. Not just everything that happened today, but the fear that what happened could have a lasting effect on this thing you two have only just started to build. Call it trust or friendship or maybe something else entirely.

You shake your head. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad I was there. You shouldn’t have had to do that alone.” Abby nods, but you know it doesn’t do much to assuage her worries.

You still don’t understand what happened back in the theater. Or why it happened. Part of you wants to ask for the history now. How she knows Ellie. Why she wants Abby dead.

Maybe in time she will tell you, but you’ve already decided to trust her. To lean into whatever this thing between you is, and whatever it might become.

So instead, you ask another question that’s been in the back of your mind.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” You pull your hand away from her face, finished cleaning the cut there. It may form a scar, but it doesn’t seem deep enough to warrant stitches. (And you’re not brave enough to try, on her lovely face so close to her eye.)

Abby smiles softly, leaning forward just a bit to bring your faces closer together. “You’re going to have to be more specific, honey.”

That pet-name again. It makes your head spin. Makes you want to close the already shrinking distance between you and press your lips to hers. But you don’t do that. Instead, you explain, “On the island. When you said that… I’m your people.” You pause, hesitating over the last few words.

Abby stops for a moment, almost looking confused, and you start to spiral internally. You realize that it was probably just something she said in the heat of the moment. To calm you down and get you to keep moving, towards safety. You wish you could take your question back, retract your stupid words. Swallow them up and hide them inside you, along with your ever-growing feelings.

Abby finally answers. “Yeah. Of course I meant it. You’re my people.”

“Yeah?” You break out into a grin.

She nods, smiling and sincere. “Yeah.”

It’s that one, small word that makes you close the distance between you. Not to kiss her, but to gently rest your forehead against hers. Abby seems stunned, like maybe she was expecting the other thing, or hoping for it, but she recovers quickly, closing her eyes and maintaining the physical contact. You close your eyes too.

“You’re my people too, Abigail Anderson.” You can feel her laugh quietly and open your eyes, pulling away just enough to see her face again. “So… where do we go from here?”

“Santa Barbara, California,” she says. You remember overhearing part of a conversation about that between Abby and Owen yesterday. You figured that’s where she would be heading; you had just hoped to be given the chance to tag along. But you guess you didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

So you nod your head thoughtfully. “Sounds good… Sunny.”

“Hmm, yeah. That’s what I hear.” You’re both smiling. Happy, strangely enough, given the circumstances.

“Abby…”

“Hmmm?”

“We are going back to get Lev before we leave though, right?”

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

Note: If you read all of that, THANK YOU! This is the first fanfic I’ve written—and the first time I’ve written at all in a long time—so this is me dipping my toes in the water.

[dreadsuitsamus]

Teacher's Night Out | Satoru Gojo x Reader |

author's note: i just imagined a silly lil night like this with him haha he honestly would be so much fun for sooooo many shenanigans

pairing: satoru gojo x fem!reader

warnings: au verse, gojo and reader are college professors, small mention of nsfw topics but nothing remotely explicit, looooootsa kissing

"Your movie is in theater five. Enjoy!" The teen attendant smiles, pointing your way to the left of the crossroad of the theaters.

Satoru grins and leads the way, practically dragging you down the hall. It takes all of your coordination skills just to stay on your feet as the overexuberance from Satoru threatens to remove your arm from its socket. "Why are you so eager?? This movie is supposed to be really bad!"

"You answered your own question." Satoru looks back at you for a wink and pretty smile, tugging you closer to his body as he urges you into the darkened theater that's already playing the previews. "You never have quite as much fun watching good movies as you do making fun of bad ones!"

Letting slip a quiet laugh, your earrings gently knock against your cheek as you shake your head at such an intention. It's not shocking, not one bit, to think Satoru would genuinely rather watch a terrible movie than any other, though roping you into it was something you foolishly didn't expect. It was meant to be an after work thing, nothing more than colleagues spending some time together outside the confines of the time clock, but with the way nobody else showed up and Satoru wasted not even a minute waiting for your other work friends, not to mention how touchy he’s being, the inkling that Satoru is up to something starts nagging a bit more.

The fact that you don't mind is awfully telling to both you and him.

Satoru quickly ushers you both to your seats, the theater so laughably empty that, even though you're a bit late, you can still get the absolute best seats in the house. He slips a few boxes of candy from his pockets, offering them up to you like cards. "Pick any! Except the Sour Patch Kids." Those long fingers swiftly pluck the box from your selection, and you laugh and take another.

"I appreciate you sneaking in candy, but I'm gonna go get a drink from-"

"I'll do it!! Keep my seat safe!" With that, Satoru is quite literally leaping across the rows of seats to the exit, and you can only stare in awe.

He's truly an idiot, and somehow the most decorated professor at the college you're both employed at. It's said by nearly every student he's had how they simultaneously regretted and did not regret taking his class. The curiosity alone makes you wish you could experience the teachings of Gojo Satoru for yourself, though knowing him on the other side of the desk is much more ideal.

It isn't long before your colleague returns, two large sodas in hand that have your brows practically rising to your hairline. “Jeez, Satoru, there's no way I could even dream of finishing this!”

“And these are the medium cups! I was this close to ordering large, just to see how much of my hand and forearm would fit.” He places his drink in the cupholder to his left as you set yours to the one on your right, the one between you left to house the little boxes of contraband he's snuck in. Satoru quickly swaps glasses, leaving the more tinted ones in their case as he opts for his regular frames, not that he plans to actually watch the movie— he's already seen this dumpster fire of a film, and it wasn't even fun to make fun of!

Your gaze flicks to the large screen, briefly wondering just how many previews for much better movies, and maybe much worse, you'll have to see before what you paid for starts to play. Satoru’s slender fingers brush your jaw, gently urging you to look back at him instead. His brilliantly bright blue eyes look at you in earnest, a little smile on his lips as he chews a gummy. “I'm glad you came to see this with me.”

“Of course, Satoru. Especially since the rest of the 'invitees' didn't show.” Your voice is dripping with suspicion, lips curving and a giggle following at the completely unabashed look on his face.

“Guess that cat's out of the bag. But come on! Can you imagine Nanami at the movie theater?! What a bore!”

Another laugh bubbles up despite your best efforts to stay somewhat hushed up. There are a few strays here, after all, and you'd hate to end up in someone's viral Twitter posting for being rude in a movie theater. “Satoru! Kento is a fine man; he can be more relaxed than you give him credit for.”

“Oh?” Satoru’s brow raises and he leans in closer, as if to whisper conspiracy in the dead of the night, his nose nearly tapping the tip of yours. “Have you and Nanami been spending extracurricular time together?”

“You do know we run the creative writing club together, don't you?”

“Literature nerds.” Satoru snorts, his breath fanning across your skin. “What kind of smutty, filthy things does he write, hmmm?”

“Gojo!” You scold, plucking his chest and just barely being able to keep your heart from pumping out of your chest with his awfully close proximity. Boundaries have always been a tad wavy with Satoru, personal space becoming less personal whenever he's around, but he's never quite… unabashedly close to your lips with his own.

“What?? Fine, fine. Keep his secrets! I’d rather hear about what you write anyway. That's the fun stuff.” Satoru leans in closer, his soft, pink lips a mere hair’s breadth from yours— half of an exhale and they'll be touching.

“Come to this Friday's meet then.” Your whisper isn't out of consideration for any other attendees of the movie, as the lights are drawn down and it's begun to play now. “We're doing poetry this week.”

“I can think of far better ways to spend a Friday night.” Satoru lowers his own voice to a murmur. “How about we have our own little meet, you and me?”

“Isn't that what this is?”

“What, you can't make a little more time for me?” Satoru pouts pathetically and you begin to suspect that he can cry on command after seeing how sad his eyes seem.

“I’m a busy woman, Satoru. You know the life of a college professor.” Your tongue darts out over your lips, tasting the vanilla cupcake flavored gloss you slid on tonight.

“So let's make the most of this time then.” Satoru's knuckle taps your chin up and then he's pressing his lips to yours. It's a gentle kiss, an ultimate test of your boundaries, but one he's confident will go his way. He notices the little things about you, the way you linger for him at the end of the day, just to walk to the parking lot together. You have his Starbucks order memorized, make him delicious sweets all the time and do plenty of other soft gestures that make his heart beat.

Warmth floods your face at Satoru's kiss— never in your life did you think things would get to this point between the two of you. All that time pining for him was surely wasted, wasn't it? You certainly could have made a move months ago, and he'd have received you eagerly. It's you that deepens the kiss, encouraging Satoru’s tongue to lick at your sweet lips and, little by little, remove the tasty gloss from your lips.

Satoru’s teeth gently dig into your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth for a moment, letting go soon after. The armrest between you is quickly flipped up, your poor candy boxes sent flying as Satoru moves in further, bracing a large hand on your back as he lays you back in the seat. A rumble echoes in his chest as your fingers find their place in his hair and gently thread through the white locks, spurring the professor’s kissing into something more frenzied, more desperate and with a tinge of neediness dabbled in too.

Your concept of time is muddied by the time Satoru pulls his lips back, your lip gloss smeared between both of your faces in a messy display of actions that you'd expect teenagers to do rather than adults past thirty. Satoru smiles down at you, eyes beautiful crescents to match the gorgeousness of his grin. “So you'll meet up with me again soon, right?”

Satoru can hardly register your snort before your arms are around his neck and pulling him down for more.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Satoru turns his head to the screen, his brows knitted as he witnesses a scene that certainly wasn't there when he actually watched this movie before. “We're in the wrong theater!”

It's a tad hard to explain to the manager on duty that there's been a mistake when the movie you were actually in was ten minutes from its end, but somehow Satoru manages to talk his way into a showing of the film you'd actually paid for, giving you just enough time to slather on some more lip gloss before Makeout Paradise 2: Electric Boogaloo.

[alittlelessalone]

Fun TGCF AU. So we know Mu Qing sent Hong’er away from the war, saying it was a reward, but clearly at least a little bit in jealousy/general dislike. But I’d also like to assume that there was an extent to which he also just genuinely didn’t want to see this kid die. Maybe not because he cared much about Hong’er, but certainly because he didn’t want to watch Xie Lian suffer more.

So anyway, we have no idea exactly how Hong’er died, but presumably it was completely ignoring Mu Qing’s instructions and continuing to fight. So imagine if Mu Qing was out, trying to quietly help with the war in his own way when he stumbles upon a fatally wounded child and immediately recognizes him.

And he gets mad at Hong’er and says he wasn’t still supposed to be fighting and Hong’er gets mad back for being sent away, but Mu Qing starts telling him how he just didn’t want Xie Lian to lose someone else and he was tired of innocent death and as he’s lecturing Hong’er, he’s futilely trying to heal him.

And when Hong’er finally dies, Mu Qing is left alone on the battlefield, crying over the corpse of a child he never really liked. But he knew Xie Lian cared and even though that bridge has been burned, he still tends to Hong’er’s body and funeral rites. But even if he’s making some money now, he’s not about to spend it burying some child he barely knew, but he’s also not dumping him in a communal grave, so he ends up simply taking Hong’er’s ashes with him.

And when Hong’er comes back as a ghost fire, he can’t find them, but decides to let it be to be with Xie Lian. But when Mu Qing shows up on the Spiritual Mountain, he suddenly senses them, but is too busy being enraged to really register it.

And it’s not until he’s finally come back as Hua Cheng and has both power and the inability to stay by Xie Lian, that he goes looking in earnest. And in that moment comes face to face with the martial god who both betrayed his god and held him close as he breathed his last living breath.

From there, I’m not completely sure where the story would go, but I honestly think that Hua Cheng and Mu Qing could be really fun friends if they didn’t hate each other so much. And I think it would be sweet for Hua Cheng and Mu Qing to each have someone looking out for them. And someone who could actually understand some of their struggles and pain.

And clearly they would need time to actually get along and become friends, but they have centuries! And Feng Xin would obviously get dragged in eventually too. Also probably they’d realize something was up with the heavens much faster if they all looked for Xie Lian together. Maybe we could even save a few people (and fix a few Blackwater arcs) along the way. Maybe help Yin Yu and Quan Yizhen!

[according2thelore]

i am super curious if you are interested in how the younger sam & dean handle conflict between the older two? are they picking sides or avoiding the room? i just feel like the later seasons sam&dean fight DIFFERENT and it would be jarring and strange and uncomfortable for the early seasons to see.

ooh that's a great question!

i mentioned this super briefly at the VERY beginning, but i completely agree--LS!Sam&Dean fight differently. for them, almost every fight is a drag-down all-out, tears-in-my-eyes, or i can't lose you, why don't you believe in us too, or if you want to hunt, let's hunt but we can't be brothers.

the emotional stakes--while less grounded in relatable things to the audience (S1 arguing over a parent's perceived neglect/heroism vs S9 you let an angel possess me and i can't forgive you for that)--appear much more intense in the later seasons because there's so much more baggage there. (despite my personal preference for sam & dean arguing about sam being put down like a dog in s2 but i digress)

for ES!Sam&Dean i'm sure it's super confusing and frightening and strange, because these are the things they don't say out loud. they talk around a lot of the big stuff (i'm thinking "be my brother again because...just because") whereas in the later seasons they call each other out specifically on how much they care for each other ("what about me? would you trade me?").

LS!Sam says, "after everything that we've seen, after all the shit i've done, and the shit that i've had to live through--" ES!Sam&Dean can fucking feel it like a detonation. there are depths here that they cannot understand, layers and layers of sediment and fear and love and forgiveness and grudges that have shaped them into completely different people.

ES!Sam&Dean argue and it's mostly petulant and earnest--stop treating me like a kid! let me look out for you, too! be my brother again! dad was a dick, and he didn't take care of us like he should've!

LS!Sam&Dean argue and it's bloody and hurtful--you killed my friend, after i asked you not to and i can't look at you right now. you didn't look for me when you thought i was dead. i can't trust you.

as for how the ES!boys would handle it, i think they would be flabbergasted. it's like watching your parents fight (which of course only dean knows). it's very personal, but alien at the same time. they feel blows land, but don't know where they come from. they would avoid that room at all costs if they can.

but at the same time, some strange force keeps pulling them back until they're standing at the doorway, because it kind of feels like someone's talking about you when you're not there. the curiosity of knowing what they think about you is too great.

at the end of it, it's the magnitude of the fight. if they're snippy at each other, they would immediately abandon all alliances and join with their older selves, because it feels good and fun and familiar to snap back and forth.

but if it's serious--it hurts to look at them. it hurts more to hear.

honestly, if LS!Sam&Dean have a fight and storm off, ES!Dean is slinking into LS!Sam's room later that night like "🥺 i'm sorry man 🥺 you know i love you right 🥺 are you mad at me?" because he can't help but flinch hard whenever LS!Sam shouts dean! come on! in his grown-up voice during the fight.

but ES!Sam is kind of inconsolable, honestly. he's not used to being on the outs with dean. there was stanford, for sure, but that was more sam's choice than anything. phones work two ways, and sam has never really been confronted with a dean that's that doesn't want to see him. they had fights for sure when they were younger, and hit and bit and screamed at each other, but LS!Dean's anger is different. it's consuming, it's massive, it blots out the sun. i'm sure ES!Sam has to talk to ES!Dean for a little bit about unimportant shit to function again after he sees the rage in LS!Dean's eyes as they slid off of LS!Sam and onto ES!Sam.

this was long! but i have so many thoughts about fighting between Sam&Dean and how that changes so much throughout the show, and how ES!Sam&Dean would react! this ask was delicious!!! nom nom nom.

thank you, anon! <3 brilliant!

-lizzy

[shoezuki]

"Honestly? I should've expected this."

Gepard sends Sampo a withering look from across the table; if the table wasn't stretching miles long, he'd probably kick Sampo, for good measure. Instead he just scowls at Sampo, anxiously tapping his fingers against the soft stone tabletop. "I don't know what you want me to have done differently, Sampo."

"Not wander off and get lost, for starters," Sampo hums, pointing what is probably this planet's version of a butter knife at Gepard. "I would've also preferred you not somehow someway accidentally dismantle the largest crime organization on this stupid rock in the few hours it took me to find you."

Gepard, for what it's worth, has the sense to look sheepish.

Sampo had definitely not expected any of this when he decided they should recoup on some planet barely the size of a moon. He'd docked their spaceship here so they could maybe figure out their weird situation of being kind of stranded in space, but mostly so him and Gepard could stop arguing about how they were absolutely not going to return their permanently borrowed space shuttle. Gepard had, in his anger, taken off into the bustling streets and left Sampo in the dust. In some series of events even Aha couldn't account for, Gepard had somehow managed to rescue a prestigious politician from a would-be mugging, find the dusty backalley tavern that a criminal group was using as a headquarters, infiltrate it with nothing but his fists, and promptly arrest the big figures of a powerful gang that had been destroying the local economy for decades. All before Sampo had even thought that, hey, maybe he should go find his headstrong boyfriend.

If Sampo hadn't been on the other end of Gepard's sense of justice many times before, he wouldn't have guessed that the other man in the room, sheepish and anxious and looking all too small in the massive regal seat the locals had shoved him in, was somehow capable of all this. But of course he knew him better than anyone. To him, deconstructing a major crime sphere? That was nothing. But getting labeled and celebrated as a hero and praised by the upper echelon? That had him blushing like nothing else.

"I-I don't know what you think I could've done. It just. Happened." Sampo sighs, leaning his chin heavy on his hand, elbow digging into the table. " I don't know either, Geppie. I thought planets with some good ol' political and criminal unrest would be fun. But maybe I should keep you away from any more. Wouldn't want to leave a path of statues raised in your honour all across the universe, right?"

Gepard looks horrified by the prospect of his inevitable worship. Sampo is glad for his distraction, using it to his advantage and pocketing another fancy, shiny piece of cutlery in his pocket. It was silver, probably. Maybe he could get some nice cash from the cutlery and small shiny goblets he's been filling his pockets with.

"I don't know why I'm here, though," he hums out, more to himself really, tapping his chin. "I mean, I'm just your handsome galactic travel guide! Of course I'm not going to turn down the opportunity to network, but..." He shrugs, meeting Gepard's eyes.

He gulps. "I, uh... I insisted." He bites his cheek, glancing away but always returning his blue gaze to Sampo. "It was... me. I asked them to find you. I just... wanted you here. Sorry?"

His smile is slight, an upturn of his lips and a small light in his eyes, but as genuine and honest as every part of Gepard is. It... well, Sampo expected he was fetched by the local police because of Gepard's insistence, and the reality of it didn't realistically change anything about Sampo's lingering annoyance with their previous arguments or the weird celebration he'd been dragged into.

But...

Gepard met his eyes, smile widening and some of that tension leaving his expression. "I missed you, Sampo." He was absolutely earnest, steadfast. Gepard's absolute honestly always threatened to drown him.

Sampo exhaled and grinned in turn. As always, his fondness heavily outweighed any exasperation.

"You're cute," Sampo cooed, "do you know that? No wonder these people wanna put up statues for you. I'd want to immortalize you too."

Gepard squeaks out Sampo's name and burns fire red, the intricate doors opening just at that moment and letting the entering politicians see Gepard melt.

[sunwarmed-ash]

Max Prompts 1

From @sweeteatercat

Prompt: Jake x Ed 😬 A heated, aggressive atmosphere ~ with Ed as the bottom~

Tags: Twilight, Jacob x Edward, bottom Edward, rough sex 🔞😈👀

It became a game, seeing how far he could push Edward,

“Cut it out,” Edward growls, because this errant teasing is getting old. 

‘I'll stop when you tell me,’ he thinks, because Edward still hasn't told him about his major orgy in The Village and Jake hasn't been able to focus on anything else since Bells left for Phoenix. 

“You really aren't going to give this up are you?”

‘Nope,’ Jake thinks, taking more of the straw of his soda into his mouth and thinking very pointedly all the ways he wants this straw to be his boyfriend's dick. 

“Fine. But not here.”

-

As soon as they are back at Edward’s place their game continues. Though the reason why is all but forgotten now, leaving only the unresolved sexual aggression between them.  

Jake gets the rare opportunity of the upper hand and uses it to shove Edward into the wall so hard that the plaster behind him caves in a few inches. 

Edward would have cursed at him if it wasn’t so fucking hot. He hasn't had an equally strong partner in decades. And Jacob fits the build perfectly. 

“Well, they weren’t quite this rough,” Edward chuckles, pulling Jake in closer to kiss him. 

‘Need me to adjust?’ the wolf asks telepathically, his lips busy kissing their way down Edward's neck.  

“Yeah, don’t go easy on me,” Edward teases and it gains him the perfect, annoyed reaction. 

“Oh fuck you,” Jake says before biting hard into Ed’s lower lip. 

“Was that not the plan?”

-

Edward's teasing finally gains him the desired effect. Mostly because he knew since the beginning Jacob had been pulling his punches. A force of habit when interacting with humans, but Edward wasn’t human. That was his whole point. He doesn’t want ‘Jacob the human’ to fuck him, he’s looking for the wolf.  

“How’s this?” Jake asks, and it's honestly hard to hear the question over the sound of their bodies snapping together. 

“Fine, I suppose,” Edward teases, even if every drag of Jake’s thick, heated cock against his insides is making him shake with how hard he’s trying to keep back his orgasm. 

“Oh you're such an asshole,” Jake laughs, biting hard into his shoulder. His tempo increases but Edward knows there's still more potential to tap. 

“And you’re still holding back, come on, I know you have more in you.”

It's finally the right sequence of words. Jake has Edward flipped onto his back and his cock back inside him before he can think of another smart remark. The angle is even better than the first one. And now he has the benefit of being able to reach Jake’s neck. 

As soon as Edward's cool tongue runs over the bugling muscle of Jake’s throat, the wolf’s fucks stutter. 

“P-Please,” Jake pants at the same time Edward's fangs sink into his skin. “Fuck!” Jake growls before his hips start fucking in earnest. 

Edward's teeth remain in his neck, sucking until Jake whimpers a yielding plea. 

“You’re going to pay for that,” Jake groans and Edward chuckles. 

“I sure hope so.”

-

He is paying for it, and fuck, he’d repay every bet this way for the rest of his life if it felt like this. 

Jake’s got Edward’s body pinned between the heated, sculpted muscle of his chest and the firm mattress below him. His hands are touching Edward everywhere. Everywhere but his dick of course. That Jake is purposefully avoiding because made the overconfident bet that he could make Edward cum without touching him. 

Edward took that bet knowing full well he was on his way to the hardest orgasm he’d ever had. And yes, he’s factoring in his 100 years of life. He’s grateful, not for the first time, Jake can't read his mind. 

“Please, come on Jake,” Edward pants, he’s close, he’s so so close. 

“Yeah,” Jake asks hopefully and Edward can hear the full extent of the energy he’s exerting to fuck him. 

“Yeah,” Edward agrees. 

Jake pulls him up again. The angle allows gravity to help him sink onto every inch of Jake’s cock. Edwards’ eyes roll back in pleasure. “F-Fuck,” Edward suddenly squeaks. Jake’s huge and hot hand is finally touching his dick. Edward had given up the hope that was ever going to happen, and if Jake ever repeats it he will tear the wolf's throat out. “Fuck…”

“Come on, I want to see you lose it for me,” Jake urges and that’s it. 

Edward’s hips thrust desperately into Jake’s hand and then back onto his cock. He repeats the motion until-

“Fuck, fuck,” Edward whines, melting against Jake’s chest as cum shoots past the tip of his cock and down Jake’s hand.

--

Thanks so much for this prompt! There's also a very real chance this will be edited again and added to the Love bites but so do I story 😈😘😘

[trickstarbrave]

omegaverse 2.... PART 2

continuation from part 1 here

this part is mostly angst. the next one will also have a lot of angst, but dw, nerevar gets brought back and voryn dotes on him again.

why is this fic so fucking long.

--

His heat is unbearable now. Something was very clearly wrong with him, his body burning like fire and desperate. He’s covered in sweat, panting, and miserable. 

“Don’t worry, we’re almost there.” Voryn reassured him, a hand running through the sweaty locks of Nerevar’s messy hair. “I can see Kogoruhn out the window, we’re almost home.” The words were supposed to be reassuring, but they honestly just made Nerevar feel worse. 

“I’ll make a nest for you in my bed.” Voryn explained, his voice soft and tender. “Pile it up with pillows and blankets, and I’ll take good care of you.” Nerevar knew Voryn was ignorant now rather than just lying to him. His rut must have completely clouded his senses.

Perhaps they were too young to try this stunt. They were young adults, yes, but far too emotionally immature to handle spending a heat and rut together. Voryn was getting far too possessive, doting, and sentimental. And Nerevar…

Nerevar was getting selfish. Far too selfish for his own good, wishing this would never end. He wanted to toss the potions aside, crawl into Voryn’s bed, present his neck, and mate with Voryn in earnest. He wanted it so badly it was hurting, his body protesting the fact it couldn’t happen.

True to his word, they arrived at Kogoruhn quickly, the loud droning of voices outside the cart as the other carts were unloaded of their supplies. Voryn gathered their things, before wrapping an arm protectively around Nerevar, bringing him inside. Nerevar knew the other canvasari ran ahead to tell Voryn’s brothers or even his mother--they wouldn’t pass up the opportunity. But even if they didn’t, the servants were muttering as they walked through the winding halls to Voryn’s room. 

Nerevar couldn’t blame them. He was, after all, wearing their heir’s clothes, covered in his pheromones, and very obviously in heat as Voryn guided him to his room. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what they had been up to. The more they walked, it seemed the more the stronghold was descending into chaos, people muttering and speaking, moving quickly out of their way. 

Finally, in Voryn’s room, Voryn quickly began arranging the pillows and blankets to something comfortable, before guiding Nerevar to the bed. 

“There, much better, isn’t it?” Nerevar wanted to think so. Certainly it smelled much more strongly of Voryn, wrapping him in the spicy, musky scent of the other, not to mention it was much more comfortable than the cramped cart he was stuck in for half his heat. But Nerevar couldn’t shake the anxiety. He knew it was going to turn sour any moment. 

“I should… Really be in my room.” Nerevar didn’t want to leave the comfort of Voryn’s bed, obviously distressed and unable to even bother masking the pheromones, but he knew it would be better if he was hidden away in his room. Then the others wouldn’t know how serious Voryn was, or how clouded his senses were. They would just think this was a moment of weakness and nothing more, hoping to cover the event up and pretend like it never happened. 

“Shh…” Voryn hushed him, climbing in to join Nerevar after discarding his outer robes. “If you need anything from your room, I’ll get it or have a servant bring it here.” Voryn was scenting him all over again, gently stroking his hands along Nerevar’s body and nuzzling into his hair. 

“That’s not what I--” Nerevar was cut off however by a loud banging on Voryn’s door. Voryn growled possessively, his arms tightening. 

“Voryn Dagoth, get out here.” It was Gilvoth, no doubt seeing red hearing about the situation. 

“Leave.” Voryn hissed, not letting go of Nerevar in the slightest. 

“You either come out here or I drag you out myself.” The threat was serious, and all of them knew it. He could tell from how tense Voryn was though that he didn’t want to. 

“Go.” Nerevar coaxed him, earning another growl, before Nerevar continued. “It’ll be alright.”

Voryn looked at him confused, and maybe a bit hurt, before his gaze softened and he nuzzled against him once more. 

“I’ll be back.” Voryn promised, before reluctantly pulling away. “I’ll be back, so wait right here.” 

As he stepped outside, shouting followed, Gilvoth throwing accusations left and right. 

“You mated with your stupid s’wit guard?!” He was trying to keep his voice hushed so the whole damn stronghold didn’t hear him, but he was failing at it. 

“I haven’t mated with Nerevar yet.” Voryn defended himself. “I wasn’t going to claim him in the back of a cart. I’m going to do it properly--”

“‘Properly’?! There is nothing fucking proper about taking a fucking canvasari as your mate!” Gilvoth shouted in return. “Are you so fucking dense that you think you can take whoever you want as your mate?”

“He’s mine.” Voryn stressed, teeth grit as far as Nerevar could hear. “Nerevar is going to be my mate.”

“Vemyn, grab him.” Aranays suddenly called, and Nerevar could hear shouting and spells being flung as it quickly devolved into chaos in the hall. He curled in on himself further on the bed, anxiety swirling in his stomach. He knew he should run out the moment it subsided, fleeing to his own room, but he felt paralyzed to leave. 

It finally got quieter and quieter as the others dragged their youngest brother off. Nerevar hoped they managed to talk some sense into him and snapped him out of whatever haze had overtaken his senses. But being left alone, even in Voryn’s bedroom, wasn’t helping him. The room felt cold, and his body felt blazing hot. All he could do was squirm on the soft, silken sheets, hissing and whining. 

He wanted the sensation to stop more than anything. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Something was wrong with his body in a way he rarely felt before. He only got the sensation when he was terribly injured or gravely ill, a creeping sense of dread coming over him for no reason. But nothing was wrong as far as he could tell--he shouldn’t feel this way just being separated from Voryn! There was no need for him to feel this way, but like before, he couldn’t use logic to convince his body to stop. 

After a few moments, two healers came in, one Nerevar recognized as the chief healer, and both bonded omegas along with two guards. The guards stayed outside the room, thankfully, but Nerevar didn’t really like even the healers looking at him. 

“Sit up,” the chief healer Llevena instructed him. “We need to look you over.” He knew what she was referring to as she motioned towards his neck. He growled on instinct, however weakly, as the other healer gingerly pulled his hair aside so she could inspect his neck and throat. 

They weren’t alphas looking at him, but he wanted to vomit. He wanted to cry and scream and cover his neck in protest, his body trembling. He’d never felt more exposed than in that moment, the room quickly reeking of distressed pheromones at the offense, his body pleading for it to stop. After confirming there was no bite present, she motioned towards his trousers. 

“Your thighs next.” Nerevar was shaking even more as he was undressed, tears actually rolling down his cheeks, unable to stop them. Claiming bites were, although uncommon, possible to leave on thighs after all as that was where the other prominent scent glands were with thin enough skin to claim reliably. But just like his neck, there was no bite mark present, though his body grew more and more distressed. 

It was like a cruel humiliation, even though Nerevar knew it shouldn’t be. She was just following orders to ensure Nerevar wasn’t claimed yet as Voryn said. But his body took offense to it, wanting to curl up and cry and beg for Voryn in earnest. He refused to beg for Voryn though, however much he wanted to; he knew Voryn wasn’t coming, and it would only make him look worse. 

Thankfully, they left after that, letting him cover himself back up. He even pulled a blanket over himself, trying desperately to cover up. He didn’t want anyone else to see him. He didn’t want to be looked at by anyone else but Voryn. But the foreign feelings only made him more distressed as he couldn’t make sense of them. 

Nerevar didn’t know how much time passed after that. Maybe it was minutes, maybe it was hours. All he knew was his heart was still racing, pounding in his chest, and he felt hot and sick. All he wanted was Voryn, but he knew until the rest of House Dagoth figured this out and could subdue him, he wasn’t going to get to see Voryn. He knew he should leave the room still, but the idea of leaving the warm, comforting scent was even more nightmarish than the hell he was currently in. 

But eventually, another servant entered, two guards filing into the room as well. Nerevar growled at them, curling up more, before this healer urged him to sit up. Then, she plopped a bag into his hands, filled with small potion vials, a silvery liquid inside them. 

“They’re suppressants.” She explained, keeping her voice level. “They should be more than enough for the rest of your heat.” There was, as Nerevar could count, enough for the full week and then some, even though he was already halfway through with it already. “Take them, grab what you can carry, and leave Kogoruhn.” Nerevar’s blood turned to ice in his veins. “You are not to return, is that understood?” 

Half of Nerevar felt numb, paralyzed as he stared at the vial in his hand. The other half was screaming at him not to--screaming at him to refuse and instead curl up, continuing to wait for Voryn. But Nerevar knew Voryn wasn’t coming back; House Dagoth got the confirmation that Nerevar hadn’t mated with Voryn, but no doubt Voryn was still fighting them tooth and nail, trying desperately to return so he could claim Nerevar properly. 

Their solution now was exile. A small kindness because he hadn’t crossed the line yet, they were allowing him to leave with his life. 

The fact that almost every fiber of his being was screaming out to stay, to wait for Voryn, to have Voryn back at his side and protecting him, was only confirmation to Nerevar that something was horribly wrong with him. It was frowned upon but normal to spend a heat or rut with someone and then going your separate ways. No one else felt like this--whatever the hell this feeling was. For fucks sake, his cycle was normally fairly regularly, but he went into heat a whole two months early, and now both he and Voryn were acting completely out of character and nonsensically. 

Besides, he wasn’t really given a choice. This wasn’t an option, but an order. House Dagoth had ordered his exile. He could take the suppressants and leave with his life, or could die here. And Nerevar knew, deep down, how much that would hurt Voryn. When the dust settled and Nerevar was dead and gone, his family members injured from his outbursts, and half the stronghold ruined, he was going to be devastated. Nerevar knew it, in the pit of his stomach, how much it would ruin Voryn. 

He uncapped the vial, downing the potion. He was bitter, making him gag, but he forced it down. They were strong suppressants, quickly working to force the sluggish feeling and uncomfortable heat in his body down as he grabbed his travel back from nearby, going to his room to collect a few more things, escorted by guards the whole while. He tried hard not to think about the situation in detail, leaning into the numb feeling coursing through him. But Nerevar was at least quick as he grabbed several changes of clothes, stuffing a second bag full of whatever he thought he might need. He wasn’t worried necessarily of being dragged out there, though he knew the threat was there. Moreso, he was worried about Voryn breaking out from whoever was holding him and his resolve crumbling. 

Finally outside, the longing persisted, but Nerevar tried to ignore it. He didn’t dare look back at the stronghold. He wasn’t strong enough to do so. All he needed to do was focus on getting out of the settlement, to the next nearest town, and scrubbing Voryn’s scent off him. With the suppressants he wouldn’t need an alpha’s scent masking his own, after all.

--

“I believe we know what’s wrong.” Llevenna announced after careful deliberation. Morvani was eager to hear it, eyes sharp as she silently demanded an answer. 

It had been a shitshow the moment Voryn had arrived back. What was supposed to be a routine sale of dwemer items to House Hlaalu down south had resulted in something disastrous the moment her heir had arrived, his s’wit guard in his arms, in a full rut. 

The story was: Nerevar went into heat suddenly while traveling, and Voryn offered to spend it with him to help ease the struggle. A stupid decision, in Morvani’s opinion, given her son’s typically out of character aggression in a rut no one could seem to explain. But the other canvasari observed that Voryn was rather calm despite his usual behavior at home, almost docile, as he quietly tended to his guard. He even went out of his own violation to pick up supplies for them like food, additional blankets, and birth control--unhappily, yes, but without trying to attack someone over it. Her initial thought was that Voryn’s behavior then must have been an intense desire for a mate for some unknown reason, but that didn’t explain the other factors.

Namely, Nerevar and Voryn were giving off the same pheromones as a mated pair. Anyone could smell it on them, unmistakingly. The scent of an alpha protecting their bonded mate, and an omega desperately calling for their alpha to tend to them and protect them were impossible to fake. It wasn’t a mystery that everyone reacted poorly, assuming Voryn had made the stupid, impulsive decision to take his commoner guard as a mate without so much as discussing it with his family beforehand, or even properly courting him. 

But Llevena searched him thoroughly and there was no claiming bite whatsoever. Not on his neck, throat, thighs, not even on his wrists which were difficult to mark properly in the first place. He was, by all accounts, unclaimed. The healers desperately looked for reasons why, all the while Voryn’s brother’s restrained him. Not even suppressants seemed to calm his rage though, as once the pheromones signaling he was in rut died down he was still fighting them, desperately seeking Nerevar out. 

“There is… Only one real conclusion. The symptoms and behaviors only match up with one such case.” The three best healers in House Dagoth had been working tirelessly for answers, feeding Voryn cure disease potions, casting spells, and everything to try to calm him down. Calm spells worked, but only for so long, mostly resulting in her youngest son breaking down crying once the rage subsided before he went on the offensive again. 

“Out with it.” Morvani stressed, and Llevena closed her eyes anxiously. 

“They… Are most likely a fated pair.” 

“... You must be joking with me.” Morvani wasn’t angry, mostly staring in disbelief, feeling like all of the wind had been knocked out of her. “Wouldn’t the signs have been present before now?”

“T-typically yes, however,” Llevenna continued, “There has never been a recorded case of a fated pair meeting prior to present. They are exceedingly rare, and all recorded cases are of pairs that met after presentation.” That was true; finding a fated mate prior to presenting was unheard of. A scent that was supposed to trigger the intense draw being given in small doses since you were young might result in symptoms less noticeable, until of course, the intensity of pheromones from a heat or rut made them all the more apparent. 

“Apparently Nerevar’s shirt was ruined during a cliff racer attack. Voryn gave him one of his undershirts to wear to keep the sun off him, and that evening Nerevar went into heat two months early.” Llevena was still shuffling papers around on the table, anxiously. “We believe being exposed to his fated partner’s scent so intensely long term must have triggered an early heat, and the draw began once Voryn found him in his tent.”

“... Shit.” Morvani swore under her breath. 

Fated mates were a blessing and a curse in that way. While mortals had their own methods of selecting mates, the gods can and will override those rules. While they were a blessing in that they were intense, god gifted connections that resulted in long, healthy bonds if encouraged with strong children, they could also be intensely problematic. Sometimes fated mates were between warring houses or families who desperately tried to keep the two apart, or in this case, were from two very different social standings. 

Though, Morvani supposed, she was lucky. Nerevar received an education, due to how enthusiastic Voryn was. She thought it would be bad to deny him a decent friendship with someone his own age given his brothers were a lot older than him in many cases, and she thought Nerevar would be good for him to develop into a proper leader of House Dagoth. Nerevar was, all things considered, a clever and precocious child, already knowledgeable about differences in class and how to manipulate others or see their weak points. He was also, despite from a lesser house and humble origins, not from a house or clan they had any bad blood with, nor did they have to worry about recklessly “stealing” him away from his family as they forced out the traditional, lengthy courting rituals for their own social benefit at the detriment of their children. For all outsiders might mutter about Nerevar’s mixed heritage and original status as commoner, they all knew how sacred and important fated mates were, and wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. 

“We can work with this.” Morvani rubbed her temple. It would be annoying to inform the council of, but they wouldn’t be able to fight it either. Keeping two fated mates apart was, after all, a stupid decision as well. No one had successfully resisted the draw, and attempts to separate a fated pair only resulted in deteriorating health for the both of them. They could even rush the typical courting rituals and just have Voryn claim him so this fighting and arguing could be over and done with. Then they’d move on to official announcements, instead throwing a celebration that her heir had found a fated mate of all things, and how this would be beneficial for the rest of House Dagoth. 

Morvani then made her way down the hall where all of her sons were. Gilvoth had a black eye, Vemyn had some burn marks that were healed, Anarays a few bite marks… But Voryn was currently paralyzed as they all caught their breaths, waiting for the spell to wear off and for their youngest brother to lash out again.

“Enough,” Morvani announced, and they all looked at her, confused. “He’s free to go when the spell wears off.” 

“But Mother,” Anarays explained, “He’s going to return to Nerevar--”

“Let him.” Morvani sighed, once again rubbing her temple in an effort to soothe the migraine that was coming on from all of this. “The head healers believe it would be for the best.”

“And let him mate with that s’wit?” Vemyn protested, “Absolutely not--severing the bond will make it even worse on Voryn.” He had a point; under normal circumstances severing a mated connection was anywhere from uncomfortable to a miserable experience. But this was not normal circumstances.

“They’re fated mates.” Morvani explained. “Keeping them from mating will do more harm than good.” 

“Fated--?!” Gilvoth looked beside himself. “They are not fated mates! We would have known before this--”

“Nerevar and Voryn met before presenting, so it’s likely the symptoms weren’t as noticeable until now.” Morvani explained, repeating what she heard from the healers. “It does, however, explain Voryn’s out of character aggression during his ruts we haven’t been able to explain until now, as well as the fact they were both giving off pheromones of a mated pair despite Nerevar having no claiming bite on him.” 

Her sons were quiet at that, unable to argue. In the corner though, Morvani spotted Uthol looking away as though ashamed, his fists clenched.

“Speak up, Uthol.” Morvani ordered. She knew that look: it was the same one he had as a child when he had been up to no good. 

“... I heard Llevenna explain that Nerevar had no claiming bite on him.” Uthol explained. “So I… Ordered my personal healer and some guards to bring him suppressants and escort him out of Kogoruhn.”

“What…?” Morvani’s brow furrowed in rage. “Didn’t I explicitly say I wanted no one coming and going until we figured out what was going on?!” She couldn’t help but raise her voice. “Why did you deliberately ignore me?!”

“It was before I heard you give that order--” Uthol continued, his voice trembling slightly. “I was--I was afraid for Voryn, Mother.” He was always a coward like this, shaking when confronted by someone of much higher standing. It was why he wasn’t a suitable heir. He preferred licking boots and acting on someone else’s orders or manipulating things behind the scenes exclusively. “If Voryn broke out and bonded with him--without us knowing they were fated partners--the punishment would be death.” His hands were trembling too, still afraid to meet her gaze. “And if we had to kill Nerevar, that would have hurt Voryn.”

His reasoning checked out. She knew he must have personal motivation too, but she could worry about getting that confession out of him and punishing him accordingly. Instead, she turned to the guards. 

“How long ago did he leave?” She demanded, and just like Uthol, they were trembling.

“S-several hours ago, my Lady.” They explained. “He grabbed his belongings and left without protest.” Morvani found that difficult to believe. The draw was supposedly undeniable, and leaving would no doubt be killing him. Then again, Nerevar was stubborn and headstrong, not to mention under a lot of stress given the situation. Depending on how it was presented to him, he likely fled thinking it was an order from the council or her directly, not just Uthol throwing his weight around. 

“He couldn’t have gotten far.” Morvani stressed. “Search for him and bring him back immediately.”

--

Nerevar had stopped in the town a distance away from Kogoruhn, though not for long. He needed to get out of the territory quickly, after all. It was tempting to stay in an inn for the rest of his heat, but the town had only one inn, and it was so cramped you were almost always obligated to share a room with strangers. Under normal circumstances he’d take it, but not when he was this miserable. Instead, he simply picked up supplies, scrubbed himself down in the bathing house, changed his clothes, and continued on. Making camp far away from any towns would likely be the best way to survive the rest of his heat. After all, anyone else so much as looking at him made him miserable. 

They did have a guar for sale, which he took. Perhaps it was a bad decision; he had limited funds right now, after all, but two hours after he left Kogoruhn he ended up vomiting, so Nerevar thought it was a good investment. It would get him further away even faster, after all, no matter how weak he felt. Getting out of House Dagoth territory before nightfall was a good goal to have. He never did get payment for the last caravan trip he was just on, but then again, he didn’t really finish the job, instead spending the last three days seducing the heir he was supposed to protect and accidentally infecting him with… Whatever the hell he had.

The guar had a lot of energy in stark contrast to how weak Nerevar felt. The beast ran well past dusk, getting them safely into House Redoran territory before slowing down. Nerevar made camp on back roads no one really took, close enough to them that he wouldn’t get lost, but far enough out of the way that he was less likely to encounter anyone. 

He should really eat. He was well aware that it would be for the best. Normally when in heat he was ravenously hungry, and being in heat consumed a lot of energy. But he found himself too nauseous to really attempt it. He nibbled on saltrice crackers, but that was about all he could stomach. Mostly he just curled up in his tent, half wishing he was just dead already.

After a few more days, the worst of it passed, though the longing was still present. He packed up his tent and continued on with the guar, though he was still as miserable as ever. Often the nagging feeling he should turn around and rush back to Kogoruhn, but he knew he couldn’t. They were nice enough to let him leave with his life, and returning from exile would mean certain death. 

The big issue though would be where he should stay. He didn’t want to be a vagrant; he’d need somewhere stable to spend a heat, as well as stability and time to see multiple healers, maybe even look for work again. He debated joining a great house, but under normal circumstances it could be a hassle to find one looking for outsiders. And they would be less likely to accept him in when they found out he was exiled by House Dagoth despite them being kind enough to house him with his status as an outsider. 

It was then that Nerevar remembered his uncle, Nelvon, had sent him a letter a little over a year ago. The letter was short and simple, not particularly hostile despite how much his uncle disliked him when they last met, asking if Nerevar was alright and saying he could visit Nelvon if he was ever in the area. Perhaps it was just unnecessary pleasantries, but Nerevar had few other options. His gold supply wouldn’t keep him housed in inns forever, and he needed time to see a healer and recover from whatever disease was plaguing him. 

Near Ebonheart, after he followed the coast down, a merchant’s cart was stopped. One of his guars had been attacked and died, and he needed two to pull the cart. 

“Are you certain you want to sell me it?” The man asked, brow raised. 

“I’m headed to the mainland. I won’t need it.” It had been a nice traveling companion, all things considered. “Besides, it has a lot of energy. I’m sure it would be happier pulling carts all day than sitting around a pen somewhere or being eaten out in the wild.” Domesticated guar rarely did well in the wilds, after all. 

“... Alright then.” The merchant looked at his own canvasari. “Get it strapped in.” He then handed Nerevar a nice pouch of gold; more than he paid for the guar originally, so it was nice to get his money back and then some, not to mention he wouldn’t have any lingering guilt of leaving the poor thing to die out in the wild. “If you come knocking I won’t return the guar, understand me?”

“Understood.” With that, Nerevar turned and continued down the road on foot, hoping to catch a boat going out of Ebonheart to Mournhold.

--

“Nerevar?” Nelvon asked, staring in disbelief. “I didn’t expect you to drop by without saying anything.”

“I would have written, but I didn’t have time.” He didn’t even know where he was going when he was kicked out, after all, only figuring it out after days on the road. “Is it possible for me to stay here for some time?”

“... Is everything alright?” Nelvon was still looking him over, quietly taking in his appearance. Nerevar knew he looked like shit. He hadn’t been eating or sleeping well, he’d been living on the road, and more importantly he felt miserable. 

“... I was exiled from House Dagoth.”

“Exiled?!” Nelvon looked baffled, before quickly lowering his voice and ushering Nerevar inside his small home. “What on Nirn could you have done to be worthy of exile?”

“... I went into heat on our way back with a caravan.” Nerevar explained. He didn’t want to talk about it, but he knew hiding the truth wouldn’t help his case. Already his uncle wasn’t fond of him when they parted ways as a child, and he didn’t want to push his luck by lying about the situation. “Voryn offered to spend it with me and… There was a very strange reaction of some kind.” Nerevar sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow. It was hot and muggy in Tear, and he was already missing the cooler weather of Northern Vvardenfell. The month and a half long trip had been a miserable experience, and the weather wasn’t doing him any favors. “I think I caught something and gave it to him. I didn’t have any intention of seducing him, but Voryn was… Eager to try and claim me, so they gave me suppressants, told me to grab what I could carry, and leave.”

Again, he never dreamed of trying to seduce Voryn. He never intended for things to get so out of hand. If he’d known how bad it would have been for both of them, Nerevar would have declined, instead suffering alone throwing up, getting harassed by the other canvasari, and waiting until they reached a town so he could buy suppressants. Even being assaulted and claimed by an alpha he didn’t like but of his own station could have been reversed, after all, and he would have at least been allowed to stay in Kogoruhn while the bastard stood trial for claiming an omega without their consent. But instead he had to want to take the easy way out and let it blow up in his face. 

He’d hoped Voryn was doing alright. Once his rut was over he’d likely calm down, and House Dagoth had good healers who could figure out what was wrong with him and treat it accordingly. He was probably already doing much better by now, embarrassed by the whole affair, and more than a little sad their friendship was cut so short by such abnormal circumstances. But Voryn was still heir of House Dagoth and took that role very seriously; he’d get over Nerevar, in time. Certain things came before friendship, after all, and when logic returned to Voryn he’d be thankful they never fully crossed the line. 

Nelvon was quiet hearing that, and Nerevar refused to put his bag down. Honestly, he came here with nowhere else to go, but he wouldn’t blame Nelvon for throwing him back out. 

“... I never expected the young lord to try such a thing, but…” He sighed, covering his face slightly, “That is something that would get you exiled.” 

“I didn’t mean for it to happen.” Nerevar tried to explain, ready to defend himself. To him Voryn was just a friend, after all. The person he trusted the most, yes, but not someone he had any ambition to keep all to himself. “I--”

“I know.” Nelvon cut him off. “You wouldn’t have tried to do something so reckless, especially knowing the consequences.” Nerevar was relieved hearing that, thankful his uncle wasn’t jumping to blaming him. “You can stay here however long you need to.” Nelvon still gave him a soft smile, trying to be encouraging. 

“... Thank you.” Nerevar was still relieved. He had a place to stay, at least for the time being. “I’ll try to find a place of my own soon.”

“Don’t worry about it, you’re still young.” Nelvon motion to a door in the small home. “There’s a spare room you can use. Take as much time as you need.”

--

His next heat had been all the more unbearable. Nerevar tried suppressants again, knowing they were less effective the more cycles in a row you took them, but it was still ridiculous. 

He could barely keep food down. He could barely leave the room. Before, he wondered how he’d get by in his heat having to go back to masturbating, but he didn’t even want to touch himself when it heat anymore. All he could do is curl up, shaking, crying in the bed silently, and praying for it to be over. It felt like his body was rejecting itself, trying to set itself on fire, his thoughts a mess and the intense urge to run back to Kogoruhn overtook him again. 

He long since sold all of his old clothes. Fabric was precious, yes, but he couldn’t risk any clothes that had Voryn’s scent on them, however faint. He often found himself curling up with them outside of his heat, whimpering miserably in a way that made him feel so much worse. He never felt so fucking pathetic as he did now, like nothing more than a simpering, whiny mess. Nerevar was thankful he had sold them though, as he was certain he would have tried running if he caught Voryn’s scent anywhere near him in heat, fleeing into the wilderness in an effort to get back to Kogoruhn which was miles and miles away. 

He’d been seeing various healers, though none of them had any luck diagnosing him with anything. Most told him it sounded like he was just a lovesick fool, or even that it was his own fault for daring to lie with an alpha of higher standing and “omegas need to be more cautious for this reason”. 

“I believe,” The healer he was currently seeing said, after he came back post heat to tell her his symptoms were worsening, “This sounds quite a bit like an omega trying to reject a fated mate.”

“What?” Nerevar looked at her in disbelief.

“After a fated mate has been encountered, if someone tries to fight the draw, a lot of the symptoms are quite similar to what you’re experiencing.” She continued, moving her notes around to find the two lists of symptoms side by side. “Poor appetite, inability to eat in a heat, hot flashes, an intense sense of longing, mood swings…” Nerevar grit his teeth. “It’s quite obvious when you look at it like--”

“He is not my fated partner.” Nerevar stressed, offended at even the idea. “We knew each other for years prior to this.” Fated mates didn’t just change overnight. It was a connection you were born with or not. If they were a fated pair, they would have known years ago when they met, or at the very least when they both presented. 

“That’s the only thing out of the ordinary, but the rest of your symptoms suggest otherwise.” She added. “If you could tell me more about your alpha’s symptoms we could confirm it--”

“He is not my alpha!” Nerevar snapped, annoyed. Even as a slip of the tongue, calling Voryn his alpha was unacceptable to Nerevar. 

They weren’t mates. They weren’t even would-be mates or potential mates. They weren’t fated partners or anything of the sort. They were former friends--very short term lovers at most, but that was a mistake they should have never indulged in in the first place. 

“There’s temporary treatment for it, but it’s expensive. I think you really should return to him, it will ease your symptoms--” Nerevar put the gold he owed her on the table, getting up annoyed. “Sera--”

“I’m not seeing him again.” Nerevar spat, heading to the door. “I’ll see a different healer.” With that he left, not caring if she was calling for him. 

Nerevar hated this fucking city. A major hub for House Dres, their capital city, and he couldn’t find a decent fucking healer. All they did was dismiss him as an over emotional omega who was sad about being dumped, or this one who seemed to take him seriously and then spouted nonsense. Fated mates? What netchshit. Clearly she was too busy reading shitty romance novels to be of any help as a healer. 

He walked back to Nelvon’s house, still irritated. A month since his last heat and it still wasn’t clearing up. He was still waking up in the middle of the night to run to the bathhouse, scrubbing every inch of his body thinking he could smell Voryn faintly on his skin. He still had a poor appetite. He was still so fucking miserable, not even wanting to train with his sword most days, instead just wanting to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling until the numbness in his body made the day pass by and he could go right back to sleep. 

“Nerevar,” Nelvon greeted him as he entered, and it took everything in Nerevar not to snap at him. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful, after all, but it felt like he was going insane. “I received a letter from House Dagoth.”

“What?” Nerevar’s brows furrowed, as Nelvon handed him the parchment, though reading it only made his blood run cold. 

House Dagoth was looking for him, even going so far as to ask his uncle if he had seen Nerevar, saying Nelvon was under an obligation to hand him over, and that if he didn’t reply within a specific timeframe they would come and search his home themselves. 

Shit. Gods fucking dammit. 

He thought that since they hadn’t mated it would be over and done with. Nerevar had been exiled. He didn’t even bother protesting, just taking what few belongings he could carry and leaving as instructed. Was that still not enough?

Voryn must still be looking for him, desperately trying to see him again in a foolish attempt to claim him. And, knowing that, they wanted to beat him to the punch and execute Nerevar before he had a chance to cross that line. 

“Tell them I was here, but that I left a few days before you got the letter.” Nerevar explained quickly, opening all of the windows in the house to air it out. It wouldn’t be enough to remove Nerevar’s scent entirely, but it would be enough to make the story convincing. “Tell them you don’t know where I went.” 

“Are you really leaving?” Nelvon followed him as he opened all the windows, before hurrying to the spare room to pack up his belongings. “Nerevar?”

“They want me dead.” Nerevar explained simply. “If I stay here, they’ll drag me away to kill me.” He knew that was the case; it was the only logical reason they would bother looking for him when he already took the exile and hadn’t so much as bothered to set one foot even near their territory. “They aren’t just going to believe you if you say I wasn’t here or I already left. They’ll come here to check and want you dead for lying.” 

House Dres and House Dagoth had bad standing, so he doubted they would be able to drag Nelvon off and kill him, but they could protest it to House Dres, and order his torture or punishment. He knew House Dres wouldn’t defend Nerevar of all people, and several members of the Ra’athim clan would get mad that Nelvon protected a half-nord chimer of all things, especially one House Dagoth marked for death.

“They can’t just kill you like this--” He protested, infuriated. “You’ve done nothing wrong to deserve this, you already left--”

“Voryn is probably still looking for me.” Nerevar knew if Voryn had it so much as half as bad as Nerevar, he would still be miserable, after all. “And they want to eliminate any risk of him finding me. Easy way to do that would be to just kill me.” 

“That’s completely unfair--”

“The world isn’t fair.” It was a core teaching of the Good Three, after all. “What’s one outsider’s life to securing their heir’s future?” Nerevar, having finally shoved all his belongings back into his two travel bags, put them on his back. “But I’m not going to let them kill me. I have no intention of dying, and I know it’ll only hurt Voryn in the long run.” They thought they were doing the right thing, that Nerevar couldn’t deny. If he was in their position he might do something similar, given how nonsensical the whole situation was. To them it probably only made sense to kill him--Voryn was acting ridiculously out of character, pained with longing for a stupid omega he wasn’t allowed to have. They didn’t know deep down how much it would devastate Voryn to lose Nerevar like Nerevar knew. 

“Where are you even going to go?” Nelvon was distressed, and Nerevar found it oddly… Touching. He thought Nelvon would jump at the chance to have Nerevar out, all things considered, especially if it put him in any risk to keep him there. 

“I don’t know.” Nerevar replied honestly. “But I’ll just be putting you at risk staying here.” 

“You need to think this through--”

“I’ll probably leave Resdayn.” Nerevar admitted. “They’re going to be hunting me down, and I doubt they’ll stop here just because I wasn’t with you. But,” Nerevar at least pulled Nelvon into a light hug, surprised again with Nelvon clung to him tightly in return. “... Thank you for letting me stay here.”

“Please stay safe, Nerevar.” Nelvon stressed. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“... I will.” Nerevar replied, enjoying the embrace for a moment. “I’ll stay safe, Uncle.”

--

Just as Nerevar predicted, it wasn’t long until House Dagoth came knocking on his door. 

Nelvon just hadn’t really expected Voryn Dagoth of all people to be leading them. Had he intercepted the letter and thought to come first? 

“He isn’t here, young lord--” Nelvon tried to explain, but Voryn pushed his way inside without really asking, inhaling the scent of his home. “Young lord this is--”

“... He did leave roughly a week ago.” Voryn said quietly, walking almost as though in a trance to the spare room. Nelvon followed, still antsy. Airing out his home for a few days had done the trick, as Nerevar said it would, but it was still distressing to know he couldn’t protect Nerevar even if he had wanted to. 

Nelvon had thought leaving him in House Dagoth’s care would have been better for him. He’d receive an education and have a friend he adored at his side. Nelvon wasn’t in the right state of mind to take care of him anyways--he couldn’t give Nerevar the love and support he deserved. Only after more years passed and Nerevar’s absence in his life wore him down did he genuinely miss him. His nephew was his only family he had left after his parents died--the only thing from his sister he had left. 

Voryn looked haggard as he walked, dark circles under his eyes, robes sloppily done. But he continued walking to the spare room as though he knew that was where Nerevar was. 

Upon entering, Voryn’s shoulders slumped, and he collapsed onto his knees in front of the bed, burying his face in the neatly made bed. 

“... Neht,” Voryn whispered softly and affectionately, though with also a deep, pained longing in his voice. 

He could smell Nerevar on the blankets, so close and yet so far. He could smell his mate--his omega--on the fabric so clearly. Nerevar’s old sheets had begun to lose his scent, driving Voryn up a wall, but he was here. If Voryn had just been a bit faster, he might have been able to hold Nerevar in his arms.

Voryn could still make out all the pheromones on the fabric too; his mate had gone through a heat alone, begging for him. He could pick up on the distress with ease, and if it was anything like Voryn’s past rut, he must have been miserable. 

Voryn should have had him. He should have come here in a rut when he realized Nelvon might know where Nerevar was. If he had just fought off his brothers and hopped in that propylon chamber, he could have been there within a day, holding Nerevar gently and comforting him, scenting him and whispering that it was alright now. But instead his damn brothers held him back, saying the house could send a letter to Nelvon instead, and that Voryn was in no condition to be tearing his way through Tear looking for Nerevar who may or may not be there. 

Voryn took the top blanket, gently folding it, still feeling hollow that his search had turned up empty. 

“Thank you.” He said simply. He didn’t ask for the blanket, but he would thank Nelvon for his time, at least.

“Why are you looking for him?” Nelvon asked, though a little hesitant. “Mating with him without your house’s permission is going to put him in danger.”

Voryn stiffed at that, teeth bared, before he suppressed his anger. No, as angry as he was at someone accusing him of putting Nerevar in danger, he knew Nelvon was just looking out for Nerevar’s safety. He had agreed to house Nerevar after he was kicked out, after all, and judging from how strong the scent was it was for more than just a few days or even a week for his heat. 

“... I have permission.” Voryn explained, gripping the blanket a bit tighter. “He isn’t just an omega I want to claim without my family’s consent. He’s my fated mate.” 

Nelvon blinked in shock, before the information sunk in, and he realized how much it made sense in hindsight. 

He hadn’t considered them being fated mates. Not when it seemed to be a new development and the two knew each other for years, but there could be an explanation for why it only showed up now. But Nerevar’s symptoms were… Abnormal. Even the situation he described of Voryn trying desperately to claim him seemed out of character and reckless for what he’d heard about the heir. Nerevar couldn’t even eat either when in heat, rejecting any food Nelvon left him except the most bland of things, though he only ate a few bites. It was leaving him weaker and weaker by the day, which is why he was so worried about Nerevar running off on his own. 

“... He said he was going to leave Resdayn.” Nelvon explained as Voryn turned to leave. “I don’t know where he’s headed, but if you want to find him,” And Nelvon prayed Voryn would; after all, fated mates weren’t supposed to be kept apart. It was detrimental to both partners’ health for them to be separated long term, and he didn’t expect Nerevar to survive long outside of Resdayn if Voryn was telling the truth. “I would search all border towns.”

Voryn gave him a soft smile. 

“Thank you.”

[paigemathews]

"A Warren. It's a family trait. So are the short tempers, the great cheekbones, the strong wills, and, of course, the powers. All blessings. All signs of where you came from."

Honestly, thinking thoughts about Warren witches and the short tempers. We see this one best through Piper obviously, but I was thinking about the way that this manifests in especially Wyatt out of all the next gen kids.

I feel like Wyatt really represses a lot of his negative emotions. Don't get me wrong, I do generally think that he's a pretty kind, optimistic person in general, but I also interpret him as someone who has this kind of fear at what he's capable of. I've mentioned this before, but the way I went about "depowering" Wyatt, for lack of a better word, to a manageable level is that he locks down most of his powers so that his control is somewhat resigned to not using them because while he's not necessarily afraid of his powers, he's afraid at their potential power. I mean, my Wyatt is currently hovering around 23ish in my next gen stuff, and that is an intense amount of power (and pressure) to put on someone who is still trying to figure out what the fuck they're trying to do right now. However, the issue is that a witch's powers are closely tied to their emotions, so with Wyatt basically locking down his powers, he basically locks down those emotions as well. The trigger for a lot of the particularly destructive powers, aka the ones Wyatt ruthlessly extinguishes in fear of unleashing tend to be rooted in stuff like anger or fear.

So when it comes to Wyatt's temper, I think it's really hard to actually unleash it. One, I think that he's just kind of hard to piss off in general. Chris and Mel have always been the two to start fighting, so he tends to take on a mediator role with them (especially bc the only other next gen kid to stand a chance is Peyton, Phoebe's eldest). So he's pretty good about letting shit roll off his back, because both of his siblings will turn their anger on him if his interference goes poorly. Two is that he's at least. kind of aware of other people's expectations of and for him, which don't really tend to be very human. He's pretty awkward with some of it, because so many people expect this saintlike, godlike figure of the Twice-Blessed and he's a 23 year old working as a library assistant at Magic School trying to figure shit out. (Especially when it comes to the magical politicking bullshit, Wyatt's so earnest and open that he struggles with it. It's an interesting time when the Marks family manages to drag any of the Halliwells to a witch event bc of the layering expectations and personalities for each Warren.) But he's pretty good at the compassion and gentleness that people expect, and he leans into that when he can sense those expectations. Thirdly, and I'll relink this post, Wyatt internalizes the fuck out of shit. He doesn't really blame someone else, even if they've wronged him. Instead, he fully takes on the blame and guilt himself and basically self-flagellates himself about it.

For the most part, he's very difficult to anger. However, when someone actually does manage to piss him off, there are two possibilities. Firstly, he basically unleashes it if he's able to, aka evil beings. Secondly, he hardcore represses it. Not even in a swallow the acid in your throat type of way, but like he ruthlessly shoves it so far down that he can't even taste the burn in his throat anymore type of way. In that case, he just blocks it out and pretends it doesn't exist until he basically believes it. The biggest thing is that when it comes to short tempers, no one really realizes that Wyatt even has one.

Needless to say, and actually the inspiration for this is that repression demons can wreak a whole lot of havoc through Wyatt if they can get to him. It'd be a source of pretty significant power to the demon and damage to those around Wyatt, and the guilt he'd have afterward? Could honestly power another repression demon. An important part of growing as a person and as a witch for him would need to be embracing and dealing with his emotions, all of his emotions, in a healthy manner instead of just repressing them entirely. I feel like that'd make some cool plotlines for growth, especially with the empaths in the family.

[dameronscopilot]

hi. it's me again. no surprise there.

I would like for you to choose between a Fall day spent with Steven Grant or a Winter day spent with Poe Dameron.

apologies.

hi i'm sorry you want me to CHOOSE?! why not both, bestie? we're going to start off with Steven here, though.

SLEEPOVER SATURDAY

Autumn with Steven Grant

Steven Grant x reader

Really, you didn’t think that you could love this time of the year any more than you already did…until you started dating Steven Grant.

Content: Copious amounts of fluff.

While Christmas is plenty magical, there’s just something about fall that never fails to bring a smile to your face each and every morning you wake up to brisk morning air, vivid leaves painted across the trees in your front yard, and a small army of pumpkins of all sizes scattered across each and every porch on your street.

Needless to say, you have a tendency to happily embrace each and every fall tradition. And while you’ve had plenty of exes in your past that have unfortunately been less than enthusiastic about the whole thing, Steven couldn’t be happier to share these moments with you.

When you overhear two of your coworkers at the museum griping about society’s ongoing pumpkin spice obsession, you cringe as you look down at the to-go cup in your hands and turn to Steven, admitting that you actually do love to indulge in pumpkin spice in the fall. Steven frowns as your coworkers begin to poke fun when they notice PSL written on the side of your cup. The next time you show up at his place for a movie night, you find an assortment of each and every pumpkin spice themed food and home good strewn about his apartment (including tissues (?!), which you’re more than a little iffy on, but you use them regardless to dab away the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes when you see what he did for you).

(Marc outright steals the stockpile of K-Cups from the staff break room and replaces them all with pumpkin spice flavored ones, both for your benefit and to antagonize your coworkers.)

When you find out Steven’s never been apple picking, you can’t drag him to the nearest orchard fast enough (and he’s more than happy to hoist you up onto his shoulders to help reach the best ones up on the high branches).

He’s initially worried you’re going to get in trouble when you toss him an apple and begin snacking on them right there as you waltz through the lines of trees with your basket in hand (“We need to test the flavors, Steven! There’s so many different kinds!"). However, he eventually joins you in your taste testing venture, which finds both of you nestled under the shade of a large tree with apples of all sizes and colors spread out before you. You inevitably get distracted and climb into Steven’s lap, kissing him languidly as he threads his hands into your hair, a soft noise escaping his mouth.

(Marc had other plans for that day, honestly. But when you showed up at Steven’s door bright and early with that earnest, excited smile on your face, ready to embark on your trip to the orchard, he decided Khonshu could fucking wait.)

When you mention to Steven that you wish there was more fall foliage to enjoy in the heart of the busy city, he surprises you one Sunday afternoon with a fall picnic in the middle of a small but lush park that you’d never seen before. Tucked away in between the bustling streets like the city’s best kept secret, you can’t help but tackle Steven into a pile of leaves when you arrive, laughing brightly as he sits up and looks at you with a smile that mirrors your own. And when he reaches out to carefully pull a leaf out of your hair, warmth curls in your gut and floods through your veins at the gesture.

Steven’s absolutely shit at carving pumpkins, and honestly, you love it. Your own pumpkins are nothing to write home about either, and you like to make a tradition out of hacking away at your terrible creations together to decorate your front porch.

(Marc impatiently asked to take over more than once, insistent that he’s a bit of a jack-o’-lantern connoisseur. But Steven politely told him to bugger off as you began to cry laughing the first time you observed both of your decimated pumpkins, which then found the two of you entangled on your couch, giggling between kisses as you picked pumpkin guts out of Steven’s hair and off of his shirt.)

[brittababbles]

House of the Dragon S2e1: blow by blow reaction on second watch

Spoilers beyond this point

1. I love the tapestry opening. Very reminiscent of GoT’s maps.

1a. Matt Smith gets top billing, huh? Interesting choice.

2. Ah Winterfell, and the Wall. And a nice thick northern accent doing voiceover. Is it weird that I can smell Winterfell? I’ve missed this place.

3. :( sweet Jace seems to be having a nice time in the North. Enjoy while you can, sweet boy. Though he’s got to be freezing at the Wall.

4. What does it keep out? Don’t worry about it, Jace. It doesn’t matter right now. That’s a different series entirely.

5. Jace looks hauntingly like Jon Snow when he’s standing on the wall and I Don’t Like It

6. Rhaenys not taking Daemon’s shit makes my soul less unhappy. She’s all “hey daemon remember how you let my daughter die? This is like that.”

7. In fairness, Daemon isn’t wrong.

8. “Would that you were the king” gods be good, Rhaenys. We’d all be dead

9. I have nothing to add about Rhaenyra in the Stormlands. The entirety of it is just beautiful and sorrowful.

9. Why are we still talking about the Stepstones? That was soooo last season, Corlys.

10. Who is this burly handsome fellow chatting with Corlys? He’s delightful. Dragging bodies out of the sea! Wowweee 😍

11. Dude if you can see her from that far out, that dragon is Vhagar. Chill.

12. Aegon seems to at least like his children. And Helaena, at least on some level.

13. “The rats” oh my sweet girl.

14. So. How long have you and Cole been doing this, Alicient? More than once? Is he your whore, perhaps?

15. But also why do you have to stop? You’re a widow. You can do what you want.

16. CHEESE?!

16a. And Cheese’s dog, whom I adore.

17. Aegon is… so bad at this being king thing. Just so bad at it and it’s weirdly endearing. Also little Jaehaerys? So sweet. Poor thing.

18. I love how nobody likes Tyland Lannister. I don’t like Tyland Lannister.

19. Aemond!

19a. Does Aemond straighten his hair or is it just like that?

20. I forgot about Otto Hightower. And Larys Strong. I am happier having forgotten them and shall continue to do so.

21. Larys knows you been fucking the lord commander, Alicent. And he’s spying on you. And he’s still the creepiest guy in a series that casually accepts incest as the norm.

22. Syrax is my second, maybe third favorite of the dragons and I have missed her.

23. Rhaenyra my Queen. My gods this was tragic. Daemon is right: she shouldn’t have done this alone. I’m glad at least Syrax is with her

24. “Aegon the Magnanimous” wh wh what 😂

25. You’re so bad at this Aegon. But I guess at least you’re earnest about it. Aegon the Frat Boy is too on point, I suppose.

26. You know, I don’t like Otto, but honestly. Bless his heart for herding his grandson through King-hood is painful to watch.

27. In retrospect, the odd shots of the castle make sense. This whole episode foreshadows the end of it with these weird, creeping shots of the Red Keep, particularly in the halls and through the railways.

28. I see that nobody in Aemond’s family understands him at all. Except maybe Daemon.

29. Oh that’s not someone knocking on the door. That’s the drums of the soundtrack. Heh.

30. Baby goats!

31. Mysyria is… not my favorite. But she does have a thorough understanding of Daemon that Rhaenyra seems to sometimes lack.

32. Whoa. Damn, Daemon. Easy now. Don’t break the table.

33. Syrax is back! Hi Syrax!

34. Aw, that Targaryen forehead touch.

35. “I want Aemond Targaryen” I feel like that’s a common feeling toward him, for better or worse, Rhaenyra. Just based on fanfic results alone.

36. Daemon I know where this plan ends and I don’t like it.

37. Jace! Mama Rhaenyra! Oh Jace is trying so hard to be brave for his Queen.

38. I’ve seen a lot of people raving against this sequence in the Sept but I really liked it. Alicent did not mean for Luke to die and I do think she still cares for Rhaenyra. Her childhood friend lost a son, and to pray for peace for a dead child is not something that should be shamed. Also on a cinematography level, the candlelight vs the pyre flames was gorgeous.

39. Little Joffrey is breaking my heart.

40. I spent a solid ten seconds trying to work out why Aemond was screwing around in Blackwater Bay because I assumed he had taken over the Cloak of Crime. But no! It’s Daemon! Again!

41. Ehhhh Blood and Cheese and I just don’t like it. Cheese is just gross.

42. Interesting departure. Daemon orders Aemond’s death.

43. Speaking of whom. Aemond is… odd. He isn’t wrong, but he overestimates himself. But then he’s not entirely wrong. His mother’s fondness for Rhaenyra could be seen as a weakness. Though he certainly is playing his own hand here.

44. Ah the “cunning spider” line from Cole that is just a hilarious projection.

45. Does Aemond not have to get up when Otto walks in the room?

46. No Otto. Vhagar is the greatest single power in the realm. Aemond is but a fly on her back.

47. Cheese’s dog looks so much like my dog and I am so upset about it.

48. So… y’all are just going to waltz across the throne room and nobody will notice? That’s… fine?

49. Loyal as a hound, eh?

50. I hold with Aegon the Frat Boy as his title.

51 Uh, you go up the stairs to get upstairs, Blood. That’s how upstairs usually works.

52. DON’T KICK THE DOG!!! 😫😫😫

53. So… Daemon told them that if they can’t find Aemond they should just… improvise? Any male’s head will do? That’s not what Rhaenyra said at all.

54. Why are they just wandering around the castle unchecked? This just doesn’t make sense

55. I really wanted to see a bit more from Helaena here. Some pleading, some begging, some bargaining, maybe. I know she’s probably shutting down emotionally, and Phia’s face shows terror - and guilt - very well. But this whole scene is just so odd. But, I do think there is something genuine about this performance

56. “They killed the boy” she’s in shock. This part didn’t feel at all out of place for the Helaena we’ve seen on screen.

57. And that’s it. What a strange episode.

[raziraphale]

I've learned not to trust my memory, so I wanted to make a note for myself of some things I enjoyed from the Neptune production of RAGAD before it all leaks out my ears. It's mostly for me but thought I'd post it here in case it's interesting to anyone else.

Note for people that aren't me: this is the only production of RAGAD I've seen live. I've seen the movie and the 2017 NTL recording as of writing this, for reference. So, forgive me if I gush about elements/choices that are common to RAGAD productions and not unique to this one lol. Also I was an English major but not a theatre guy outside some Shakespeare, so also bear with me if I'm lacking some specific terms.

Performances:

I feel like this almost goes without saying but Boyd and Monaghan are excellent as Guildenstern and Rosencrantz. Their chemistry is great. There was an excellent rhythm to their dialogue together that was really fast-paced without feeling artificial (imo there is a certain point where performers talk so fast it can only feel fake. They were all believable enthusiam).

I particularly liked Monaghan's Rosencrantz! like there was just something so earnest about him. He had this character tic of chewing on his finger most of the time out of anxiety or inattention and that stuck out for me for some reason. It was endearing. Also the line "I wanted to make you happy" made the whole theatre let out a wounded animal noise.

Also Boyd's Guildenstern really did a good job of projecting an aura of "person trying really hard to appear in control but may also snap any moment". Control freak recognizing control freak o7

The Player (Michael Blake) was amazing. He had such huge stage presence that you really believed the character was a seasoned performer. I fully believe this man could successfully sell me snake oil with the power of his presence alone.

Personal note but I was jazzed to see Drew Douris-O'Hara as Alfred. I'm not a regular Neptune patron so I don't know how often he appears in their productions, but I have seen many a Shakespeare By The Sea show in my time so he's a very familiar face. Always a really fun presence.

I also feel like I have to mention Ophelia (Helen Belay) even though she obviously doesn't get much to do here. The actress really sold every small appearance though like my heart broke a little every time I saw her in anticipation for her off-stage fate. Less important but have you ever seen a woman so beautiful you started crying?

Costumes:

I really liked Ros and Guil's tattered suits. They looked like they were dragged behind a horse. These are the clothes of two guys that have been trapped in a play for like 50 years, truly.

They also had an inverted colour scheme (Ros had a blue suit with a green waistcoat, Guil had a green suit with blue waistcoat) that really emphasized the two-sides-of-the-same-coin/ yin & yang vibe. Also the colours weren't really shared by the rest of the cast much (they tended to be a bit more muted) so it made them stand out as separate from the rest of what was happening.

Also personal note but I was enchanted by Monaghan's slightly stupid-looking grown-out fauxhawk. He basically had a lesbian mullet haircut. That combined with his single dangly earring was a Look.

The Player's coat was gorgeous. It felt grand but also appropriately dated/worn. It wasn't fully a feather jacket, but it had a smattering of large feathers that got more dense as it went down. It kind of reminded me of a vulture, honestly, which I think is fitting, with him being an opportunist that loves some corpses.

Script:

Misc. Stage Stuff:

Unless I'm really mistaken, I think they cut/modified the few lines with some outdated racial terms (I have two specifically in mind, referring to Chinese and Inuit people). So unless I just somehow missed hearing those, that's nice.

Just a note to say that the line about who the English King is will depend on when they get to England got a huge laugh. Thank you to King Charles' cancer for making everything funnier

The lighting !!! It really did a lot to separate the scenes from Hamlet from the rest of it. The stage was dark for most of it, with cool lighting (like a blue darkness). For the Hamlet portions, though, the lights were suddenly bright and warm yellow. That combined with the differences in the performances gave a strong impression that the curtain had just suddenly risen on a more traditional production of Hamlet right in the middle of Ros and Guil just doing whatever.

I really liked how they used the two risers on wheels they had (not sure if that's the right word -- they were those three-tiered platforms I remember from doing choir in school. Kind of like bleachers). They looked like they belonged on an empty stage and also gave the actors something interesting to climb on. They were able to reposition them pretty easily with the wheels, which really worked for the portions on the boat tbh. They just pushed them together so that the lower tiers touched to create a half-pipe-shaped skeletal "boat". They could climb "above deck", or even go below while still being fully visible from whatever angle. The whole thing was spun around a lot during the pirate attack, which was fun.

The risers also separated the stage really well in the first two acts. For most of it, there was one on the left side facing the audience, for characters to sit on, and one on the right facing backwards and partially obscured by the curtain they had covering that side of the stage. The curtain was backlit, so you could see the silhouettes of anything behind it. At some points, you could actually see shadows of events in Hamlet happening in the background while Ros and Guil were doing their thing in the foreground. Unfortunately I didn't get the best look at them, bc I was sitting at far right of my row, so the far right of the stage was partially out of my sight line. Still a really cool effect!

They did turn the risers fully around to face the back during the players' performance of The Murder of Gonzago, with the curtain pulled across. You saw the shadow of the king standing up and storming out.

For the final scene, they did the expected thing, where Ros and Guil are alone in the dark, illuminated by a single narrow spotlight each. The spotlight goes out when each of them die and they disappear from view. The detail that made me insane though is that each time a spotlight went out, they played the sound of a flipped coin hitting the stage and the audience was so quiet it felt like a gunshot both times.

After all the deaths they had Rosencrantz and Guildenstern start from the opening scene again tossing coins for a bit before the final curtain. They did not escape the narrative 😔

Will add more if anything else comes to mind?

[zukkacore]

Whenever I get into the Jace hireling au it's his relationship with Ragh that I find the most fascinating. Does Jace know Ragh saw him? Does he know that Ragh told the others that he saw him? He could totally explain it away if Ragh asks him about it and pretend he has no idea about Kalina's threats, but would Ragh want to risk his mom's life trusting that this guy isn't in on it?

Oh my god SORRY this took a hot sec i got super distracted but had a lot of thoughts but they are also kinda formless and i kept dragging my feet but. I think about this so much too. And i feel bad b/c i feel like im such an opinionated bitch who loves to come to conclusions abt shit but i honestly don't know what ragh would do in that situations (that being said, i do love to hold things in both hands. So many possibilities...)

I really do love Ragh (there's a lot of refreshing queerness in FH but there is something abt him i like especially) and i love when his interiority is taken very seriously and i feel like the throughline for that is he's just so loyal w/ this sense of fraternity w/ the owlbears, w/ his friends, and how earnestly he loves his mom. Ragh is obviously a little too trusting with people he likes and respects, people who are often authority figures who can give him direction, so the question is, if Jace gave him an explanation for what happened. Does he like and respect Jace? Maybe. He probably doesn't know Jace but i imagine there's some degree of jaceporter always a duo overlap that he is somewhat familiar with Jace. Compelled also by what Ragh's relationship to Porter might be. He was obviously very attached to daybreak bc he was. groomed, and Ragh does embody a lot of the traits of an ideal barbarian in Porter's eyes so I imagine he would probably be pretty good in that class.

But he's so protective over Lydia and idk how Jace could bounce back from that if she's at risk. I don't think he's particularly good at keeping secrets tho. So If there's a chance the bad kids hear that Ragh saw Jace talking to Kalina, if they tried to keep it a secret that they know, that they're suspicious of them, would they be able to manage that? like. I don't know if Jace knows Ragh told everyone right away, but i think he could find out soon enough. I honestly don't know how to reconcile what the party would DO with jace once they knew. Or could he talk he way out of it. He could even play the stupidity angle, i had no idea, i was a pawn in this. I know he hates when ppl view sorcerers as dumb but maybe this time it can bail him out. The bad kids are often suspicious kids (i mean riz is right there in the center of all this, and Fig is fig), but i do think they have this perception of Jace that kinda underestimates him.

(He could always say give the "earnest" or earnest answer. Someone wanted to steal his goddess lol. I have so many thoughts abt him n cassankarna... Anyway Maybe that could buy him some goodwill back. I fucked up but it was for my own reasons. But i digress)

Anyway. So many thoughts. None of them conclusive. I would like him to stick around tho. Like. As much as it might practically make sense for the bad kids to ditch him. I REALLY want him in that gd nightmare forest