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neonovember · 11 months

Note

hiiii

could you write carmy x reader where she’s a high school friend and carmy always had a crush on her (but he thought she had a crush on mikey) ???? like maybe richie brings her up, and that she’s still in town and SINGLE and carmy gets red like a tomato and ??? richie makes her visit the beef and candy almost has a heart attack?? idk give me some in love carmen !!

pretty pleaseee and thank u

so I got this request and I immediately thought of swim by chase atlantic, and specifically the line that goes;

“I’ve been drowning for a minute, your body keeps pulling me in”

And holy shit if that isn’t Carmen in his denial-in-love with a long time friend era, I don't know what is. Carmen tries too hard to forget you, but you've marked permanently, you've ruined him for anyone else so can you blame him for waiting for you all this time?

Seriously though this request was so good! I got a bit carried away and turned into a 2 part series that may or may not have drabbles added to the universe…I really hope this isn't just a load of word vomit you don't want to read lmao. I just love their dynamic so much, and also FRIDAY DINNERS AT THE BEEF IS CANON OKAY.

Golden Boy

part one of 2

warnings: miscommunication (i know i'm sorry), friends to lovers, carmen and the reader have horrible communication skills and don't know how to call, angst, anxiety

a/n: part two will be up hopefully tomorrow so look out! it may or may not include a smut scene 😈

p.s, listen to swim whilst reading this you'll thank me later

You sat hunched in the tight enclosure of the classroom desk chairs, the once loud conversations fluttering across the huddled groups of classmates and friends that stood against tables and chairs now coming to a standstill.

The air of anxious trepidation falls across the atmosphere of the damp classroom, the windows that had been opened to let the air in felt thin as you and the rest of the students you had known for half a decade waited for that familiar ring of the bell.

The bell that would solidify your last day in this classroom, in these run down halls, in the school you had first stumbled into anxious and oblivious at thirteen.

Your heart ached at the nostalgia of it, and you can't bear to cast your gaze to your friends who had begun to sniffle, like they were holding back tears, the grandfather clock your geography teacher insisted on keeping ticked on as it always did, and whilst you had spent years burning holes through the glass, willing for it to go faster, your one dying wish is for the seconds to tick by in minutes.

You weren’t ready, it ran straight through you, all this time leading up, from when you had first learnt your desire to pursue architecture till the moment you finished that last sentence on your final exams, you felt you would be filled with joy at the sound of your true departure into adulthood and college.

And yet, you felt like a kid again, learning how to ride a bicycle without the training wheels, trying to reach the fifth monkey bar, falling headfirst into the dirt ground of the field when you had thought you were more flexible then you truly were.

You didn’t want to leave, you didn't want to leave this place, this place of memories and friends and people you knew and loved. And it was as if God was listening, cause the resounding echo of the school bell rang through the halls and it was as if he said ‘fuck you anyway’.

You gather the haphazard books and papers laying across your desk, you had purposefully delayed packing in order to waste as much time in this memory as possible, before adulthood would take it away and make it something of the past. You hear your friends calling your name, and you tell them to go ahead as you make your way to your teachers desk.

“Hey Mr Jefferson” You say to your teacher has begun to bid goodbye to the leaving students

Your teacher looks up at you with a tight smile, sadness washes over the wrinkles and creases of her features, her auburn hair falling in short waves at her shoulder and her olive lipstick wearing down. You have to swallow to stop the tears from dropping. Your Geography teacher, whilst not teaching Art, had been the catapult to realizing your fascination with Architecture and design. She had even helped tell your parents, who had been set on the idea of you going into Law or Medicine or anything other than creative arts.

“You’ll do amazing, I believe it because I see how hard you try. Don’t look back at this place, leave with the door wide open and come back only when you want to design me a house” Your Teacher replies with a grin, and before you can reply shes shuffling through her drawers, before pulling out a sketchbook that has been aged and stained with use over the years.

“What’s this?” You ask, twisting the book in your hand, it was good quality, despite being old, it felt like an heirloom.

“It’s one of my sketchbooks I had during college, maybe some of my late night sketches fuelled by coffee and donuts might inspire you”

“I couldn't possible-”

“Yes you could, hell whatever you create will probably be 10 x greater than whatever is in there” Your teacher cuts you off with a chuckle, and you hug the notebook tight against your chest before hugging her goodbye.

You step into the familiar walls of your high school hallways, crowds of seniors running to find their friends and hug them for possibly the last time, test papers and report cards left trampled on the ground, it's chaos, but you love it and the sight almost pulls tears down your waterline.

You walk towards your locker, before you recognize the familiar wisps of blond curls catch your eyesight. Carmen. You considered him one of your closest friends, bonding together over a love of game** and your equal hatred of your Period 4 Calculus teacher.

Carmen didn't have much when I came to be friends, and after he met you, it didn't really get to him anymore, he had you now, and you were more than enough. Over the years you had gotten close to every part of Carmen's life, Mickey, Richie, Sugar, they were all people you regarded as family.

But there was something unsaid between the both of you, it was like there was something beyond friendship, but the embers had just gathered and had left unignited.

He’s gathering his things from his locker, shoving them into a bag in that messy way he is, and he slams the locker with a jolt.

You're standing stationary in the middle of the hallway, classmates and other seniors running by you in confusion, your friends calling your name annoyed, but it's all muffled, it all doesn't matter because it's Carm and god your heart aches so bad.

You see Carmen and he sees you, stopping a few meters away from you, and a moment of recognition washes over him as he gazes with those cerulean blues. There's grief in the way you look at each other, tears streaming down your cheek as you try to smile at him, realising this might be the last time you see him, forever, off to an Art school in New York, leaving him behind. You feel like your heart is being ripped from your chest and he shakes his head, his eyebrows scrunching up as he steps closer so that he’s only a whisper from you.

He brings his hand up, brushing a strand and tucking in behind your ear, eyes strained as he wipes your tears away painfully. He moves closer, so that his breath is against your neck and whispers

“Thought you told me you'd punch me in the stomach if I cried on the last day” Carmen whispers into your eyes with a grin that breaks through the tears that cause his eyes to swirl in colour's of waves.

His words make you laugh and cry at the same time, and you shake your head as you reach for his arm, and playfully hit your stomach with it. Carmen rests it against your waist, looking up to you in a pained expression, his eyes shift to the notebook grasped tight in your hands

“New sketchbook? That..doesn't look new” Carmen says, turning his head to examine the old book more closely.

“One of Mrs Jefferson’s, her sketches are..their fucking amazing” You sigh, running your hand across the folded spine of the sketch book.

“Thought teachers weren't meant to have favourites” Carmen shoots out, a playful grin on his lips

“Hmm, well they aren't supposed to tell you exactly” You banter with a giggle, you flick through the pages of the book, half drawn sketches in grey lead and ballpoint, Carmen tracing his fingers gently across the ingrained lines and shades.

“God you're something, you know that?” Carmen says, all of a sudden, and when you look up you realise he’s been staring at you the entire time.

“Bear..” You breathe out.

“I don't know how I'm going to-, I, it's all so much” You exhale, waving your arms around this place that has held so many memories, so much of your past kept in the creaks and cracks of plastered walls and lockers

“You're the only person in this goddamn place that's going to make something out of themselves, I bet my entire life on it Bug. You're going to do amazing, in that big city, you’re going to show em’' Carmen replies, grasping you against his touch tight. You look up at him, trying to memorise every dip and curve of his features, the curl of his hair that shone honey in the sun, those eyes that were always searching, and the small cut on his forehead where he fell off his skateboard that one summer evening.

“Don’t say goodbye”

“Okay” Your tongue feels like deadweight in your mouth. what if i never see you again?

“You say goodbye and it's the end. Just..don’t” I can't breathe carmy.

You can’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around him, pressing your nose into his shirt to smell the scent of patchouli and cigarettes he always carried, you want to tell him to come with you, to pack an overnight bag and run with you forever, but the words don’t taste right when you try to speak and you see yourself letting him go, and turning away with a shaky step.

Turn back Carmen whispers, so softly that only the gods above and the wind around him can hear it

You feel an urge to turn back, it speaks to you from within, and before you can stop yourself, your neck cranes, turning your body to get one last look at your golden boy before time would take him forever.

Time would age him into a memory forever.

Carmen feels this tension leave his shoulders at the same time his heart shatters, you will find each other again, even if it was in another universe, where you're sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, going over groceries together with the afternoon light casting its glow across you. He will find you, he will find you and he won’t let go this time.

“Honestly Ma, it’s fine, I’ll get the movers to come in a little early”. You groan into the phone pressed to your ear, papers and unresolved bills are left scattered across your dining room table and you have this itch that's begun to turn chronic somewhere you can’t reach.

You take a moment to look around your apartment, now barren of furniture, and filled instead with boxes of badly organised stuff you've accumulated over the years. This place, albeit small, had been your home ever since you stepped out of the yellow cabbed taxi on your first day in New York, and whilst it wasn't pretty, you felt a pang of guilt leaving it all behind. These walls had seen you through it all, the late night study cram’s, the breakdowns, the accomplishments, the one night stands. You'd miss her, but maybe you were just a nostalgic person.

You’ve made a life in New York, but you felt misplaced, like pieces of yourselves were scattered across the states. Chicago kept a part of you, and it was only when you had gotten the chance to move back home, did it click. You missed your city. And you had cut your lease and emptied out the last of your savings without a second thought.

Now all that was left was tying up loose ends and making the trip down. It was funny, in a way. You had run to New York to pursue architecture, and it brought you back to the very same place you had left, there was a certain trepidation when you thought of Chicago, it held so much of your past, in its city streets and evergreen trees, and you don’t know if you were quite ready to face those memories again.

It still smelled the same. You itch your nose, sniffling against the blooming scent of cocoa and caramel from the Chicago roads, all this time, and all that you can tell is how it still smelt like maple leaves and chocolate. It was comforting, and it felt like the warm embrace of a childhood friend that had stayed sitting on the corner of your suburban street corner all this time.

“Thank you Mae, really, I got the call last minute in New York to come back here and if it weren't for you, I’d be moving back into my old bedroom at my parents” You reply, gratitude filling every word. It was true, your friend had swooped in the second you called, fixing you up with a lease and an apartment with her realtor links. She came in a clutch, and she had made you promise to never leave her again in exchange.

“Oh shush doll, of course. This is probably payment for all the times I’ve crashed at yours anyway” Mae winks, the bracelets on her wrist clinking against each other. She didn't look like a typical realtor, more like a bohemian solo-traveller with her filly skirts and auburn red hair.

“I’m not going to let a degree transform my entire wardrobe, my clothes are antiques, their heirlooms, they tell a story”

She had told you once, one late night on the rooftop of your New York apartment, sipping cheap wine and passing a blunt between you both. You wish you had known yourself as much as she did then.

She had visited you a couple times in New York, coming up for work and spending the time at yours instead of spending thousands on an Airbnb, but it had been a while since you've seen her, and all of a sudden you remember how much you missed her laugh.

“I’ve got some time to spend before it’s all hand on deck” You reply, placing the last of your boxes onto the empty wooden floor of the living room.

“Oh yeah? Can’t believe you’re gonna design a whole building on Michigan Av’, your a fucking inspiration Bug” Mae sighs in adoration, and you giggle, the feeling of embarrassment filling you at the mention of your reason back home.

You never got used to the praise and adoration you received over the years, despite your many accolades and awards, you still felt like that hopelessly broke architect student giving up lunch to pay rent. You didn’t remember when things started to change. When did things start to change?

“You know, if you’ve got time, you should check out the Farmers Market near River North” Mae replies, whilst flicking through her phone

“The one on Division Street?” You reply, you had a faint memory of the long strip of stalls filled with fresh produce, food and the rest of the little trinkets that were sold since you were born on the pleated table cloth of sheltered booths.

“That’s the one, this guy named Samson? Makes the best fucking bearclaw in the entire United States. Tell him you're a friend of mine and he'll hook you up…you know since you can't afford it” Mae replies playfully, and you roll your eyes with a laugh.

“Yeah yeah, you hook up with him or something?” You poke back, Mae had the tendency to know everyone in Chicago, from the mailman to the old woman you’d see feeding the bids on a park bench.

“Yeah, actually I did. Not like you could relate, how long has it been, hm?” Mae replies, stepping forward to whisper down at your pants.

“I’m so sorry she hasn't been taking care of you. What are you, mummify her?” Mae looks up from her crouched position with a raised eyebrow.

“Ugh, you know I've been too busy to think about that. She’s gonna have to be patient” You reply, you don’t want to think about how long it has actually been, since you've had any type of release. But the tension has begun to weigh on your shoulders as time went on and you fear it might become something you can’t ignore.

You begin to move some boxes into your bedroom, thanks to your planning your large furniture such as your bed and coach, had been moved into the apartment before the rest of the things had got here, so at least you wouldn't be sleeping on a mattress on the floor. Changing into a pair of dark jeans and a short sleeve top, you loop an embroidered handbag onto your shoulder.

“So, you coming?” You call to Mae, who’s begun to fill your fridge with the groceries she's swung by with.

“Sure would Bug, but got a call to come in. I’ll come by again later this evening though?” Mae replies, with a grunt as she lifts the 2 litre bottle of milk onto one of the drive shelves.

“Yes please, I’m dying for a glass of wine”

“And a blunt” Mae replies, snickering at the way you roll your eyes at her.

Mae offers to drop you off, but you wave her off, telling her you wanted to see a little more of your hometown. You needed some fresh air that wasn't the coffee and smoke scent of the New York streets.

The walk to the Farmers market was a short one, but you felt like you were wading through a current. By the way the memories of your past began to resurface as you passed the streets and shops. Every corner holds a part of you, and you have to rush by your old school to stop the pang of pain that surprises you. You weren't an emotional person, but god it was almost as if you were hanging by a thread the second you touched down on Chicago.

What was causing this? You felt like you were holding your breath as you stepped through the fallen autumn leaves marking the sidewalk, the gentle sun on your back, what were you waiting for?

You tear yourself from your thoughts momentarily when you catch the looming buildings that had been built on ions ago, the infrastructure of Chicago still enamoured you, in a way that couldn't be beaten by even New York’s impossible skyscrapers.

There was a charm to it, each of the buildings felt like you were stepping into a different decade, they had been the stepping stones to a lot of the infrastructure and architecture that spread into other cities. You felt like you were at the start of it all every time your eyes trailed across the facade and arcades of the century old stone buildings.

Without realising, you had finally made it to the Farmers Market, the constant stream of people coming in and out with boxes of produce or hauling wooden antiques with very audible grunts. You can’t stop the smile stretching your face as you step through the embroidered banner at the front of the street.

Despite the many different stalls and food around you, you don't feel overstimulated. This was your home, you felt like you belonged, like a name scratched into wet cement, remaining ingrained for years no matter the seasons that came.

You go over the haphazard list of things you wanted to look for in your mind, but you're caught off guard by a stall that seemed to be huddled by patrons. You step towards it, and as people move aside you see the blooming flowers and carefully wrapped banquets in woven wooden baskets to the side of the stall. A short woman with light brown curls is standing at the front, taking down orders with a grin, whilst a rather tall man behind her makes quick work to wrap delicate orders into soft brown parchment paper tied with string.

And all of a sudden the need to buy pink tulips becomes your first priority. The woman at the front looks familiar, but you can't quite put your finger on where you've seen her, but as you walk up to the front her face morphs into familiar as she looks up at you in surprise.

“As I live and breathe” She says your name with a screech and it's her voice that pulls her name to your mouth. Adeline, a close friend from senior year who’d taught you how to crochet and pick a lock.

“Bug? How've you been? What brings you back to town?” Ade replies after telling the man behind her your order without you even saying a thing.

“Tulips, pink ones right?” Ade grins, and you have to let out a chuckle at how you haven't changed even a little.

“Got invited to join in designing a new building on Michigan Avenue, so I'll be back for a while-”

“Michigan Avenue? Holy shit Bug! You’re making moves, knew you always were special” Adeline replies with a gushing smile and you rush to reply with the same adoration

“Are you kidding, look at this line” You motion to the increasing line of people forming at Adeline's stall.

“People love their flowers” Adeline replies with a shrug before you shake your head vehemently

“No, they love your flowers, and for good reason, look at these” You gush, pressing your face into the bundle of tulips that had been handed to you.

“They only look that good because Henry's so good at wrapping them” Adeline replies with a laugh, her eyes flicking to the brown haired man dressed in corduroy behind her. A look passes between them that tells you there was more than love between them.

“Henry huh?” You reply with a grin, and the man is quick to introduce himself, and you don’t ignore the cold press of an encrusted band on his ring finger as he shakes your hand with a soft smile.

And it's as if Adeline reads your mind and she slips her left hand in yours, looking up at you with a teary grin.

“Yes, yes I know, I should've called, and I’m so sorry-”

You press yourself against her, leaning over the stall to wrap your arms around her. You whisper words of congratulation, shutting down any words that hinted at you being mad at her.

It wasn't her fault, it should be you she's mad at, you hadn’t really made that much of an effort to keep in contact with your friends back at home, and the reality of it weighed on you heavy now, you had missed so many milestones of your loved ones, all to chase your own dreams in New York.

You felt like you were constantly playing catch up, and you couldn't lie when a strange feeling crept up at the thought of your friends moving on with life. You were so incredibly happy for Adeline, and you were even more elated when she had told you of the Wedding in April that you had to come to.

But that didn't stop that same strange feeling of being behind everyone else, you had spent so long climbing the ladder to wear what you wear now, relationships and love weren't even a thought, you filled your nights with studying and drawing and the occasional fling, but nothing more. And now doubts had begun to creep in, had you missed out?

Watching everyone around you get married and have kids whilst you were still drawing buildings in that same sketchbook your teacher had given you 8 years ago. You’re not looking as you walk past the many stalls of the Farmers market, and it is your thoughts again that causes you to accidentally stumble into the hard muscle of a man back. You feel yourself falling, before arm's reach out, grabbing you quickly to stop you from ending flat on your face.

You breath out a sigh of relief, shaking a head at your clumsiness

“God, ‘m so sorry, I’ve just been in my head, I wasn’t looking where i was going-”

“Holy fuck” Your quick to spit an apologetic thanks, you haven't even looked up to see who you've dubbed into, and when the sound of surprise meets your ease you look up, only to be remain stone faced with your mouth left open.

“Richie?” You say, the shock of it is still in the air. You hadn't expected to see him in Chicago, or maybe you did and it was sooner than you thought.

“When did you get back? Holy shit, thought we wouldn't see you again” Richie replies with a smile

“Yeah uh, came down for some work for a little while. How, uh How are things” You reply with a squeak, you can’t bear to say what you're thinking and Richie nods, a look of acknowledgement in his face. Mickey’s death had shaken you, it had changed you in its own way, and you still grief him, it still hurts when Richie's face kinda falls and melts at the reminder of his best friend's death.

“After, uh, after Mickey, he had left the restaurant, you know, the Beef?” You nod in agreement, the hazy memory of the sandwich shop on the corner of Chicago's, busiest streets, you stomach rumbles at the thought of one of those sandwiches you'd down in less than a minute during your high school years.

“Yeah well, get this, he left it to Carmen. And honestly, I was hesitant at first, real hesitant, I love him, but god, he's a self centred ass coming in like he knew everything, spewing the bullshit CDC shit he learnt up in the big apple? He changed things, and you know how I feel about change, but he made it better, I can;t lie, and you better not tell him this, but the Beef actually..” Richie’s familiar rambles are muffled to your ears, the only thing you can hear is Carmen.

Everything zones out as you scrunch your eyebrows, wincing almost, at the pain and it shocks you, it shocks you how the very name of him still brings back those memories. You still hurt the same way you did the day you left him.

You must have looked out of it, as Richie shakes your shoulder, anchoring you back to the present, and you have to swallow back the bite of pain that bleeds through your chest.

“Did you hear what I said? The Beef’s holding a little family dinner tomorrow, shutting down the shop early, inviting only friends and family, it’ll be like a little reunion for you! You have to come” Richie replies, and you nod trying to seem present.

Carmen took over the Beef? He was in New York? What?

Your mind is scattered with the uproar of questions you have, the thought of Carmen, the memory of him is like a fresh wound. It un tethered and opens up a thread of thoughts and emotions you had thought you bottled up and threw deep into the ocean.

“You, you still talk to him right? Ya’ll were pretty close growing up, like fucking thieves attached to the hip if i can remember” Richie chuckles, fondly remembering the two of you.

You cough back, smiling up at him as you trying to reply coherently

“Yeah, uh sometimes you know” You lie

No. You haven't spoken to him since you left, and it feels like your tongue falls dead when you try to say his name again. You hadn't called and he hadn't picked up. Carmen told you not to say goodbye, but the truth was it had been the end of you even before you had both realised.

You had spent years pretending like Carmen not calling you, not making an effort to see you after everything didn’t burn, but the reality of it had marked you in a way that felt eternal.

“So you're coming, yeah? You and Carmen can finally catch up” Richie replies with a smile, and look of something passes through his eyes before it leaves, and you have to smile back with a nod, like you and Carmen were still close, like you don't feel that he might turn you away or scream at you the second he saw you, like you weren't both irrevocably in love with each other.

Bear. You missed him, you are shocked by how much you do, you thought bottling up your memories and emotions about him and stuffing them so far back into your mind you forgot would actually change anything. There had always been this lingering thought, at the recesses of your mind, the last thing you imagined before you fell asleep, the feeling that filled you the second you came back to Chicago, it was all Carmen, it was all your golden boy.

And now you would have to see him, in less than a day you would be in the same room as Carmen Berzatto, you don't want to say it, you don't want to speak it into acknowledgement but deep down, you wanted to see him again.

Beyond it all, you both were bonded in friendship, sharing something you didn't even have with Adeline or Mae, and you had felt like a part of yourself was missing each day that went passed without hearing from him. Had he forgotten you? Had it been as hard for him to go on with life? He had been in New York for christ sake, he didn't even think to visit you, that thought alone made you want to run back home and never come out.

You couldn't bare the possibility of exposing yourself to such heartache, to the chance of being rejected by the very person who you forever longed for. You were always searching for him, looking through crowds to see the familiar curl of his brown hair, or the scent he carried, ears always leaning in, trying to see if it would catch his syrupy baritone voice.

The two of you were forever connected, like the roots of trees spanning miles under the Earth. The kind of companionship that transcended time and space, and god did you want to feel the sharp edge of his jaw between your hands.

You couldn't stop it now, Richie had opened something you kept locked and sunk for a reason, and now it felt like you would break if you didn't see Carmen. Even if it would break you, even if it was the one thing in this world that would destroy you,

You had to see your golden boy.

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nellyofthevalley · 5 months

Text

wedding dress

astarion x fem!tav rating: explicit content: wedding night, marriage/domestic living, sad and sweet, stupidly soft tailor astarion, smut but it's not the focus (cunnilingus, fingering, piv), death. summary: astarion makes tav's wedding dress and looks back on their life together. i don't want to say too much, just read it :)

Hand-making a wedding dress was hard work, but he loved it. He would lose himself in it and insisted that he be the one to craft it because he couldn’t trust anyone else with the task. No other dress could do his love’s beauty justice, but he’d spent years perfecting the arts of tailoring and studying her—he knew better than anyone what was worthy of being draped on her body.

based on this post by @spacebarbarianweird! i hope i did the concept justice. it was a joy and a challenge to write.

i really hated writing the vows lmao don't laugh

read it on ao3 or below the cut

i'll be here

Astarion spent months and months in his study sewing away at the white fabric. All day, all night; the hours passed without notice. Not until Tav would softly knock and enter and put her arms around his neck and shoulders and ask him to retire to their room with a heavy yawn, taking care to avert her eyes from his project.

Hand-making a wedding dress was hard work, but he loved it. He would lose himself in it and insisted that he must be the one to craft it because he couldn’t trust anyone else with the task. No other dress could do his love’s beauty justice, but he’d spent years perfecting the arts of tailoring and studying her—he knew better than anyone what was worthy of being draped on her body.

“Come to bed, love,” she’d say, and he thinks of it often. He remembers exactly how she said it; he remembers her tone, her voice, the way she’d kiss his ear and down his neck to entice him on the nights he was particularly engrossed in his work.

He remembers one evening he’d been in his study since the minute they woke and shared ‘good morning’s, so close to finishing the skirt; she entered quietly and startled him, trailing her hands from his neck down the front of his shirt, begging for him to come to bed with a whispered ‘please’ that he couldn’t say no to.

He finished the line of stitching he was on and set the dress aside, turning his head to look at her and steal a kiss from her plush lips, just as eager to kiss her as he was in the beginnings of their relationship. The passion and desire never faded in the slightest, not after so many decades, and not even when they fought and yelled and cried.

Astarion kissed her over and over again with haste, cupping her cheek; he could hear the blood course through her body and feel the warmth rush to her face, a lovely, irresistible display of her own desire. He rose to his feet and picked her up, her legs draped over his arm and hers around his neck as he carried her to their bedroom.

“Darling, you’ve interrupted my very important work,” he said as he laid her down to the bed and crawled on top of her, trapping her under his weight. “I have a deadline to meet, you know.”

It was only a few weeks until their wedding night. The whole thing was a formality really, they’d been living as if they were married for years—rings and all, but Tav insisted on it. She dreamt of walking down the aisle as a little girl, she said, and Astarion relented despite his protests. But after a few weeks, after he’d started working on the dress, he was just as hellbent on it as she was.

“You’ve been working so hard,” she replied, fingers impatiently tugging at the collar of his shirt.

“For you,” he reminded her. “But now, I’ve lost my focus.”

She managed to unbutton half his shirt before he bent forward to press his mouth to her neck, giving her tender kisses down to her collarbone. He lifted her nightdress, pulling it over her arms and head and continued kissing down her front, slow and damn near torturous, relishing in how her heart raced for him; true power, he thought, was the power to make her plead for more.

“My sweet love,” he purred, finally tugging at the sides of her underwear and guiding them over her legs. “I’m afraid I can’t return to my work until I’ve tasted all of you.”

Never had Astarion felt more alive than on their wedding night.

A very quaint, private affair in the woods with the friends that could make it: Shadowheart, Wyll, Halsin, and a few friends they’d made in the city attended. Gale, honored by Tav’s request, officiated and he’d never seen Astarion looking so… elated, and so regal; the nobility in him blossoming in his white and gold attire, a fine suit and eccentric jabot. Astarion certainly softened during their journey, but here, he was far more than that: he bore a beaming smile that not even a God could wipe from his face and when Tav finally came out with her dress, the dress that he worked on days and nights for months, he watched her, thoroughly enraptured by her, as if the world around them had simply dissipated.

“Beautiful,” he whispered as she approached.

All he saw was her. Gale, the guests, the arch blanketed in flowers and strands of magicked lights were little more than a blur in his peripherals. Astarion lifted a hand to her face and delicately ran his fingertips across her cheek—the touch of her warm glow never lost its appeal—and brushed her lips with his in a modest, affectionate kiss.

“Usually, we save that for the end,” Gale joked.

“No chance in the Hells I’m waiting that long,” Astarion retorted, blithely aware the ordeal would last a mere few minutes. “And where did you find such a perfect, magnificent, finely crafted dress, love?”

It was his best work, and he was sure he’d never set his eyes on anything sweeter than her wearing it.

The bodice top of the dress hugged her waist exquisitely and donned a sweetheart neckline covered in detailed floral embroidery. The skirt was long and composed of layers of netted fabric with more scattered, intricately sewn flowers; it had an almost ethereal, softened look about it as it flowed when she walked. He’d spent weeks alone searching for the finest material with a cost difficult to swallow, but worth every last coin.

She was the embodiment of grace and elegance in it—like royalty, a beauty beyond the imagination.

How they gazed at one another while Gale officiated went unnoticed by not a single person; the vibrancy of their love and devotion radiated off from them as it breathed life into the air, and captivated every guest—every friend.

Astarion hadn’t cried since he killed his master, but a tear gathered at the edge of his eyes as he recited his vows.

You’ve given me something to care for. I choose you. I give you my hand, my love, my soul, and with you, I live again. I’ll always be here, my love.

Tav didn’t share his same composure, she couldn’t stop crying; she wept as she made hers, and through every word, he held her face gently in his palms and wiped them away.

Where you go, I’ll go. Where you stay, I’ll stay. I give you all my love, my passion, my heart; it beats for you, belongs to you, for eternity.

“Careful not to let your makeup run onto that dress, dear,” he smirked.

She managed to hold her tears as they exchanged rings—old but new; not the ones they’d been wearing for years as she expected to see, but ones Astarion had saved ever since they found them in the shadow-cursed lands. Tav extended her fingers and looked at hers, a cute little cute little alexandrite gem on a simple golden band.

There was something enticingly dangerous and bittersweet about them with their magical warding bond and tragic tale of the couple who once possessed them.

Astarion insisted she wear the ring of embrace, reminding her of his enhanced healing abilities since being freed of the tadpole and arguing, “My life has flourished with you, now let me protect you with it.”

“You may kiss the bride,” announced Gale, taking a deep breath before continuing, “again.”

Astarion reeled her in with one arm behind her waist and his free palm took one of hers, intertwining their fingers; he brushed his lips against hers, remarkably subdued as he taunted her with a little peck and gentle nip on her bottom lip before sweeping her into a deeper, heated kiss.

When he pulled away and lowered the hand on her back, she heard a sniffle coming from Gale.

“Are you… crying?” Tav asked with a laugh, still resisting her own cry, but when Astarion was the one to walk up to Gale and wipe his tears away, she couldn’t keep from weeping any longer.

They rented a lavish room in the Upper City and joked about becoming part of the snobbish high society for a night on the walk there, drunk on their new life, her new name. It must’ve only been two seconds they were in their room before Astarion swept her into his embrace, taking her by the waist and gently pushing her to the closed door.

“Astarion, wait,” Tav said, giggling as he removed the space between them and pressed his body flush against hers.

“Darling, I’ve been so patient already,” he argued, his hands meticulously removing the ties and pins keeping her hair perfectly in place. “I’ve been waiting ever since I set my eyes on you in this dress.”

She turned her head and tried to shy away as Astarion kissed the tip of her nose, her cheek, and beside her ear; he continued, “It’s been utterly distracting.”

His cold kisses spread goose flesh through her arms and raised all the tiny hairs at the back of her neck. No matter how many times it’d been, he could always incite her fierce need for him, crumbling her into dust with his carefully crafted words and sweet touch…

“Don’t you know how hard it was for me to focus on reciting my vows for you, when all I could think of was tearing the dress from your body and making you cry for me?”

Astarion knelt and lifted the front of her dress, draping it over his back and disappearing beneath. He hummed with satisfaction in the way Tav’s breath caught when he slipped his fingers under her underwear and kissed her over the dampening fabric.

“Seems it was hard for you too, wasn’t it?” he teased as he slid the garment down her legs.

“Oh, shut—ah.”

She wished she could see him—his face on her cunt, wearing that devilish look he had when she glanced down at him, every time, well trained in picking up on every small thing that made her weak between the thighs—but he loved to toy with her and slapped her hands away when she tried to raise her dress with a tsk.

Tav‘s palms tightened against the wall and her legs quivered while Astarion lapped at her cunt like it was every bit as delectable as her blood. He worshiped her with his tongue, tasting every part of her he could reach—and when she started to truly unravel, legs shaking and weak and her mouth unable to keep its quiet, he gripped her hips firmly and swept the very tip of his tongue across her clit.

“Astarion, I’ll—”

Ah, her protests only encouraged him. Two fingers slowly pushed into her cunt, coated in her fluids; she pawed at the wall like she was trying to rip through it as Astarion licked and sucked and curved his fingers inward. His pace hurried, curling and nudging her inside between thrusts until at last, she threw her head back and cried his name, a sound that paralleled no other, a sound he’d remember for the rest of his life, even thousands of years from now if he survived that long; no one said his name like her, and she said it best when he was on his knees.

He withdrew his fingers as she clenched and writhed around him, but he refused to waver and set her free, absolutely not, liking to push her and drown himself loving her until she nearly went rabid trying to get him off. He kept his hands firm on her hips, lapping up every last fucking drop of her come and circling her clit until—

“Gods, Astarion, please!”

She hastily lifted her dress and dug her hands and nails into his hair and scalp, clawing at him and pulling him away.

Astarion just stared at her with a smirk and her come shining all over his face, thoroughly pleased. She was panting, recovering, and she looked like a mess with her hair tousled and her face red and sweaty and it was fucking beautiful.

“You, my love, my wife,” he started to speak, kindly kissing her thighs before he rose to his feet again, “are divine.”

Before Tav could respond, he cupped her face in both hands and pushed his lips to hers, sharing with her a little taste of the divinity she’d granted him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he broke the kiss, seizing the opportunity to tuck a limb under her knees and pick her up, into his arms.

Astarion carried her to the bed, laying her down carefully and climbing on top of her; she looked so lovely, so perfectly messy with her hair sprawled across the pillow after looking so pristine in its updo. She reached up to remove his jabot as he shrugged off the jacket and quickly worked at the buttons of his shirt, tossing it aside in a hurry; tasting her wasn’t enough, he had to have more, needed to love her in every way he could—it was their wedding night!

He could hardly believe that this day had come at last, that he was married, after centuries of serving his master and being taught how unworthy he was of any sort of kindness, let alone love, something he’d long lost belief in…

The wedding had been her idea from the start, but over time she started to think, though she’d never vocalize it, that he wanted it more than she ever had. It showed, in his excitement when they looked for places to host it, in the countless hours he spent perfecting her dress—he tailored his own attire as well of course, and it came out wonderfully, but he seemed to get through it far sooner and paid more attention to the dress, not a single stitch out of place.

Tav sat up and reached behind her to undo the clasps at the back of the dress, but Astarion grabbed the sides and pulled violently, ripping it at the back and guiding it down, down her stomach and legs and sending it to the floor with his shirt.

“Have you lost your mind? I love that dress! And you spent so much time on it!”

“Darling, every minute I spent working on that dress, I thought of how you’d look on it on this day and how much I’d love tearing it from your body. It suited you perfectly, my love,” he replied, lifting her leg over his shoulder. He showered her with featherlight pecks at her ankle, and continued down, ending with a bruising kiss on her inner thigh that made her squirm. “I could’ve died the moment I saw you in it and lived a happy, satisfied life—it served its purpose, I promise you.”

A few months into their life as newlyweds, after a couple nights tucked away in his study working on another project, Astarion found Tav brushing her hair at the vanity and set a neatly wrapped pink-and-white gift box in front of her.

“Oh? What’s the occasion?” she asked.

“Just open it dear, you’ll see.”

He sat behind her on the stool, legs around hers and pressing his body to her back. As she tugged at the ribbon and unwrapped the box, he wrapped his arms around her and nestled his head into her shoulder, looking ahead to the mirror and attentively watching for her reaction. Tav opened it to find a nightgown, white with familiar embroidery around the edges, short and tight around the waist.

“Is this my wedding dress?”

“Of course it is.”

“You kept it all this time?”

Astarion saw her eyes light up as she held it and turned it over in her hands, admiring how perfectly he’d recreated every thread—the gown looked brand new, as if he’d gotten all new fabric and thread or spent a fortune at a luxury attire shop in the Upper City.

“Much as I enjoyed ripping it apart to unwrap you, I did put a lot of work into it,” he said.

“It’s beautiful, Astarion, just like the first time I saw it.”

Tav sounded like she had to hold back tears just from seeing it, like she’d expected it to be lost forever; he found delight in her surprise, as if he’d gotten away with a crime with how she somehow never noticed or suspected what he was working on in his study.

“Get changed,” he ordered quietly, lips to her ear. “I’ll tear it off you again and again, starting with tonight.”

His hands lingered on her body as she stood and stepped aside, then his gaze remained set on her as she undressed and pulled the gown over her head. He studied how it draped over her breasts and hugged her waist and fuck, he didn’t want to wait another fucking moment; he reached out and pulled her right back, into his lap and into hungry kisses on her neck.

“Astarion,” she murmured, already succumbing to his touch, “you didn’t even allow me a minute to see myself in it��”

“One minute then, love,” he said, and he meant it—one minute.

He lifted her by the waist, standing and pushing her forward until her palms rested on the vanity and she could see her reflection, unseen fingers raising the gown’s hem at her thighs. Tav rotated what little she could in his grasp, carefully pulling at it and observing how well it complemented her figure.

Astarion ran his hands softly along the sides of her hips, her waist, then leaned forward, pressing his hardening length to her backside. In the mirror, he saw how her face flushed, how the thin fabric appeared to magically rise from her body from his hand cupping her breast, how her head tilted back to where his would be as his other clenched around her throat.

“Look at you, I’ve hardly even touched you yet,” he teased, her swallow budging against his grip.

“I thought about this all day,” she choked out, an alluring confession that made it difficult for him to keep what little patience he had left.

“Did you?”

His hand to her neck loosened and let her free as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside, his feet shuffling and then deftly slipping off his shoes and socks, too. Every sound and every movement, the rustling of fabric and his cock pushing into her all taunted her as arousal grew from within and yearned for what she’d been fantasizing of, now barely out of reach—

“I was waiting for you,” she said quietly, pushing her ass back into him, desperate to feel all his cock against her skin, bare, frustrated at the paltry pieces of fabric still separating them. “For you to be done in your study.”

“Did you see me between your legs?” Astarion whispered, nipping at her ear. “Or did you think of us like this—me bending you over this vanity, fucking you so well that you can’t walk tomorrow?”

Gods, she couldn’t fucking take it anymore, how he dragged it out until she could think of nothing else—then, he lowered the straps and kissed her from shoulder to shoulder before grabbing at the neckline and pulling, throwing the gown down to her feet in one violent motion; a demand, a fervent need to have her.

“Astarion! Be kinder to it this time,” she warned, but her threats carried little weight as he knew he held her in his hand, wound tightly around his slender fingers for him to contort.

“Absolutely not,” he argued. “My dear, you forget I’ve mastered this craft. I’ll fix it right up, every time.”

Tav whimpered, grieving the presence of his cock when he stepped back and began unfastening his pants. She turned to face him, guiding him backwards until he met the bed and sat, her following and hovering over him, easing him further back. She finished undressing him, fingers dipping under the waistband of his pants and underwear and sliding them over each limb before crawling forward and taking her seat in his lap.

“Good,” Astarion said as Tav ground her hips against his and slid her cunt along his aching cock, drowning it in the slick dripping between her thighs, and drawing a low growl from his mouth amid his words. “I want to see your face.”

Her palms on his shoulders tensed, nails prodding at his skin and threatening to break it as she adjusted, aligning her body with his and, in disciplined motions made to boil his blood with the rising heat of his impatience, taking in only the head of his cock. The tension among them almost caught flame—each provoking the other until someone broke.

Astarion slid his arms behind her back and covered her mouth with his in a ravenous, needy kiss, tongue laving over the outline of her upper lip—and when she finally lowered and sat, impaling herself on his terribly hard cock that throbbed for her attention, he groaned and bit at her lip just enough to draw blood and coax a hushed yelp from her throat.

“Ah, you—”

“I know,” he acknowledged, tongue swiping across her bloodied lip. “Mm. Saccharine, sweet like honey. Move, my love, let me watch your pretty face come undone for me.”

He kept his arms on her back, tenderly running up and down with a soothing touch that encouraged her as she gathered her strength and rose, hitting a steady rhythm; he kissed her lips, her cheek, the edges of her jaw, anywhere he could—little marks of encouragement, physical expressions of his love, how well she was doing, how good she was for him.

Tav’s thighs tensed as she fucked herself on him, bouncing on his cock with all she had to give while he watched it disappear inside her, transfixed by the sight. He kissed along her collarbone, down her breast, fangs grazing her supple skin. She gasped and braced herself for his bite, but it never came; he garnished her with harsher kisses, promises of bruises in the morning—little blemishes that marked her as his.

He was wholly enveloped by her, body and mind; her tight, wet heat consuming his cock, the view of her parted mouth and half-shut eyes even more ambrosian than he imagined, and he needed more of it, more of her—Gods, just holding back slightly and allowing her control was testing his limits, he wanted to take her and fucking ruin her.

When her movements slowed and breaths strained, stamina running dry, Astarion trailed his fingers down with a feathery touch down her back, along the curve of her ass, then settled on her hips. His languid movements that of admiration, like she admired the dress—the little dimples in her back, her hip bones poking out, a scar she’d earned from battle that he vividly remembers tending to.

“Give me all of you,” he said, holding tightly and guiding her up to hover at the tip of his cock, eager and beyond pleased to take the lead and fuck her until she couldn’t walk as he vowed earlier. “Your body, your mind—all mine.”

“Astarion, please…”

“Please,” he started, a moan escaping as he harshly brought her body down to his, the slap of her ass on his thighs ringing through his ears, “what, love? Use your words.”

But she threw her head and voiced filthy cries for him instead, incapable of using her words, reduced to a sweaty, whimpering mess from what he was giving her—just his hands on her hips wasn’t enough; he bent his knees for leverage and pushed into her with rough, starving thrusts chasing release. The heavy pants mixed with lascivious moans pouring from her mouth and the scent of their sex and sweat in the air antagonized him, made him thrust into her harder until he couldn’t go any faster or deeper and—

“Don’t—don’t stop,” Tav whined, wet walls of her cunt devouring his cock as she neared the precipice and pulled at his hair and finished, “please, take me, come with me.”

Astarion sank his teeth deep into her neck the instant she said it and drank—she yanked hard on his hair and dug into his skin, her other hand scratching desperately at his back. He was close, so fucking close, he could feel it in her too as her cunt swallowed his cock and he could almost taste it in them both, sucking at her wounds and drawing out more and more blood, rich and thick and rushing past his tongue, then hot and sweet down his famished, dry throat.

He had to force himself to pull away from her neck, exhaling heavily, mourning it; he thrusted up into her once, twice before he broke, release rippling through him—overwhelming every sense, wringing him tight as he held her hips to him and filled her past the brim with come. Tav took his face and tilted upward, smothering him with messy, feral kisses as she came, too, her body writhing over his and constricting around his cock, drawing out all he had until it overflowed and seeped from her slit, dampening the bed below.

“Shit,” she cursed, pushing Astarion—weak and light-headed, as if all the blood he’d taken had simply evaporated—back to the bed and lying on top of him, his spend trickling down her thighs as they uncoupled.

Pale arms wrapped around her and he ran his fingers through her hair with delicate, adoring strokes, kissing the tip of her nose.

As promised, he mended her nightgown the very next day.

After years of blissful domestic living, the pair packed light and set off to travel; see new sights, adventure, reminisce on the journey that brought them together in the first place. The intent was to spend a few years on the road, but outside of the rare trips back home for a short stay, they traveled for decades, caught up in beautiful scenery, mercenary work, and the hope that they might find a cure for the sun or Astarion’s vampirism altogether.

On one visit home, Tav saw herself in the mirror and decided to stay longer than their typical few days or week long breaks. Surrounded by their things and memories of their younger years, her reflection was a harsh confrontation with the reality of her own mortality.

“I miss home,” she said. “And I love seeing the world with you, I do, but I want to stay here for a while.”

Astarion agreed, and they decided to spend a few years in their home in the city before heading back on the road for a final trip. He returned to tailoring in the evenings and she picked up new hobbies: painting, sketching, gardening, whatever she could get her antsy hands on.

A few years turned into more years and then another decade, and Tav no longer craved adventure again, so they remained at home, back to blissful domestic living. Astarion and Tav both missed the thrills and the pretty views many people would never have the chance to behold, but that time had passed.

“I’m too old for that now,” she said.

She grew vegetables and fruit to cook and bake with and took pride in it, and Astarion wished he could sit with her at the table with a full plate of her handmade food in front of him, too. He started cooking more, asking for her help and seizing these small moments of time together that he’d lose one day.

Tav started to leave the house less and spent more time sitting in the living room sketching, or tucked away in a little corner of Astarion’s study she’d made her own with an easel and paints. She drew and painted his face so many times over that he stopped looking in mirrors hoping that would be the time he finally saw his face; he saw it already, and he saw it through her eyes—he couldn’t ask for more.

Mirrors aren’t much use, but being reflected in someone else’s eyes? Well, I could do worse.

No matter how hard he tried, Astarion couldn’t escape the truth of her mortality. He constantly attempted to push the signs, the symptoms away, and convinced himself they’d find a way.

It was easy to brush off, at first. They started following a more humanlike schedule, awake during the day and asleep during the night. He found himself surprisingly accepting of house confinement; by then, the idea of outings were long forgone—the decades they spent out were enough to satiate his own wanderlust, though if Tav were capable and interested in traveling again, he would’ve done it in an instant.

He would’ve done anything she wanted, without question.

At nights, she made herself tea before bed to help her sleep. When she started to retire to their room early without tea, citing exhaustion too fierce to want to stand at the stove beside the kettle for so long, Astarion started making it for her.

And he knew something was very, very wrong.

“Love, you’ve been in that bath for hours, I swear,” he said on one rainy evening after returning home and finding her right where he’d left her.

The dark clouds and early sunset permitted him safety beyond the curtains, and he took advantage, walking a few streets over to pick up a hot meal from her favorite restaurant. Tav turned over in the bath to look at him in the doorway; she smiled and lifted her hands from the water, observing her wrinkly, pruned fingers and giggling.

“I was feeling a bit sore, is all,” she answered. “Don’t you want to get in with me?”

He knelt beside the tub and folded his arms over the rim, meeting her eyes and taking in the sight of her. Tired eyes, tired body, an expression that tried to look happy but something was so clearly missing from it.

“I’m soaked enough from the rain, dear,” he answered. “I brought you dinner, so let’s get you up and dressed, alright? I can bring it to you in bed.”

Astarion helped her out, dressed her and led her to their bed and she looked at him with melancholic eyes that he had to pretend didn’t rend at his heart and soul. After that night, he spent every night helping her with her bath, cooking her dinner (on occasion, picking up dinner from her favorite place again), making her tea, and delivering it all to her in bed on a tray.

He waited on her hand and foot, in every way he knew how. Tav hated asking for help, always trying to do things on her own, and Astarion had to learn how to offer his aid without troubling her—observe silently and learn what she struggled with or what could grant her another stretch of relaxation.

What hurt most was how much she wanted to spend time in the garden on the sunniest days and he felt useless, unable to help. He took her out when possible, when the clouds covered the sun or sunset started and he could don a heavy, dark cloak, but he was never able to take her out on the brightest, happiest days. As an unspoken rule, Tav never went outside when he couldn’t, at least not farther than a few steps—the few that he could take, if need be.

As her condition worsened, Astarion looked for doctors, healers, anyone; he sought out Halsin and Shadowheart and wrote to Gale all for naught. Nothing helped, and she started to fight him on it.

“Please just stay home,” she requested one time, when he’d come to see her in the study with her journal, telling her he’d found yet another healer only a few days travel away that might be able to help. “I’m done with this. I’ve accepted it, and you should, too.”

Accept this? It was awful enough to accept that she wouldn’t live in immortality with him—but to accept that she’d be gone even earlier than he ever anticipated?

The first time Tav stayed in bed a full day was the most harrowing experience of them all. She hadn’t budged; the fatigue piled on more and more each passing day and those feelings of self-loathing and worthlessness bubbled up until she couldn’t feign the happiness anymore and felt like nothing more than a massive, life-sucking burden.

Astarion came to their room with her nightly tea and when she heard him walk in, she yelled at him to stay out.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” she said.

“Don’t say that. Please,” he begged. “I can’t miss a single moment with you.”

He stayed home at her request; he stopped seeking out help and any hope of a cure, and the tradeoff for that was spending every possible fucking second beside her whether she liked it or not.

Tav said nothing, but her face said enough; she refused to look at him, lips quivering and eyes fluttering holding back tears, and it only made it hurt all the more how she despised him seeing her tired and weak.

Astarion knew this day would come, of course he did, but he didn’t expect it to happen so fast. It all happened so fast! They spent decades on the road and even through all the trials and discomforts of mercenary work and harsh nights sleeping in the cold in forests and fields, wherever they could find, she didn’t seem to age a day.

After they returned home for that short stay that turned into an indefinite stay, the years started to feel like days. He didn’t have to look in a mirror to see and feel how he’d not aged—he felt just as young and spry as he did when they met, but every single fucking day, he looked at her and saw how the time wore on her. She was still beautiful, perfect to him, but he saw the light slowly fade from her and it hurt.

Tav resented that it was her choice to come and remain at home. The shame ate at her, constantly creeping on the edge of her mind, telling her that it was her fault they were trapped here in this little house in the city, that maybe if they’d not come back things would be different, or they could have settled somewhere else, somewhere new, or perhaps, if nothing else, she could’ve died more valiantly.

Astarion laid down with her despite her protests, cradling her and brushing off the tears she finally cried until she had none left to cry, and he thought about how she wept as she read her vows on their wedding night.

“I love you,” he swore. “Now and forever.”

with you,

The little house in the city was always their home, even during the decades they spent abroad adventuring, but after she was gone, he couldn’t stand to live in it anymore. He wouldn’t sell it, either; he couldn’t imagine never again having the option to walk in and envision her cooking in the kitchen or painting in her corner of the study. He simply abandoned it and decided to travel the lands once more, alone.

He went to places they’d already been, remembering things they’d done at each stop—the days they spent huddled in inns or camp, the nights out exploring or heading to their next destination, the battles that almost incited a strange nostalgia for their tadpoled days. Tav adapted to life in the darkness; they still did what they could during the daytime, though options were limited. A cloak worked once sunset was near, but still too dangerous midday. They searched far and wide for remedies, temporary or permanent, and nothing proved fruitful. Even Gale researched when he could.

Astarion visited him first at his tower in Waterdeep.

Seeing him was a sharp punch in the gut. Of course Tav had aged, but it was gradual, it happened so slowly and yet so quickly; her sickness was the true brutal awakening. But Gale—he hadn’t seen Gale in decades and it was almost a shock, even though he knew better, to see the wizard so… old, so wrinkled.

“Gods, you’ve seen better days,” he said.

“And you’re still seeing your best ones,” Gale replied, but he had it wrong.

Astarion was seeing his worst days, and he questioned whether it was the right time to leave, whether he should’ve stayed behind and waited in their home until he’d worked through it all. But he wasn’t sure when that would be, and he couldn’t tolerate living there anymore with her things on the wall, on the shelves, in their room, all constant little reminders of how he’d never see her again.

It was an endless torment that trailed close behind him on his travels, because as much as Astarion hated seeing all these pieces of her, he didn’t want to let go, either. He left behind much of his own stuff, but carried around that nightgown he’d sewn from her wedding dress.

Gale kept him for a couple weeks until he was ready to move on. It was nice to see a familiar face. That first night, they sat at the table and reminisced of old times for hours and the sweet outweighed the bitter.

Gale didn’t ask about Tav, not until Astarion mentioned her. Perhaps he already knew.

“I buried her,” Astarion said unprompted. “A few weeks ago.”

“She was good for you.”

“Too good, in fact. I never deserved—”

“Stop right there,” Gale interrupted, raising his palm. “She loved you more than anything.”

There was a long pause, a heavy silence in the air as Astarion carefully considered what to say next, as images of their life together ran through his mind like a slideshow. Gods, would he ever escape them?

“I don’t know how to move on.”

“You’ll learn, I assure you. You must. For her sake and yours.”

Months later, he settled at an inn and when he unpacked and came across her nightgown again, he looked it over in his hands and something about it this time was different. Instead of the pain, he saw her wearing the dress at their wedding under the flowered arch and then splayed across their bed in the gown, watching him closely and waiting for him to join her.

He hardly tranced and spent sunrise to sunset tearing at the seams and separating the fabric. The next day, he drew up new patterns. For the next week, he spent the days in a chair by the fireplace sewing it back together. He pulled extra fabric and thread he saved from when he transformed it into a nightgown, having held on to every single piece of it from the start, and he used nothing new at all, yet the resulting clothing didn’t resemble the dress or the gown one bit, except in color.

Astarion held it up in the air once he’d finished stitching and to anyone else it must’ve looked like a simple, white shirt—albeit a bit eccentric—but when he held it close to his face, he swore he could smell her again.

For months, he’d searched far and wide for the perfect fabric for the dress, and for more months, he sat in his study and cut and sewed, dreaming of the day he’d finally see her wear it and Gods, when he saw her walk that aisle it was even more beautiful than he ever anticipated.

He was proud of it. More proud than he’d ever been of anything, possibly.

He thought of how he tore it off her body that night, literally tore it apart at the seams—and then, he remembered the time he pieced it back together into a nightgown and she chastised him for ripping it yet again, but he sewed it back together the next day; he tore it from her countless times and fixed it in the mornings every time, all because she loved it so much.

He wore the shirt everyday. He continued traveling with it and washed it far more carefully than he ever handled any other garment, and eventually, when he was no longer sure where he’d like to go next, he stopped by Gale’s again to stay a few weeks, knowing it might be the last time they met.

When he told Gale the history of the shirt and received a warm smile of understanding in return, Astarion thought he might be ready to go back home.

always.

Astarion finds their home how he left it, though with a thick layer of dust coating their furniture and possessions. He heads to their room first to unpack his bags. On her nightstand lies an old, dusty book; her journal. He avoided it for so long.

He wipes off the cover and turns the pages. Scribbles, notes, even quick sketches—of animals, of scenes from the city, of him. He flips through the book until his eyes settle on a page covered in her writing.

I’m scared. Any healer we speak to says it can’t be cured. That I’ll

He stops reading and skips to the end, the last page. Shaky, imperfect writing that’s a harsh contrast to the page he just read, but unmistakably hers. Written in her final days, when she became too weak to keep drawing and filling pages with her thoughts and spent the majority of her days in bed.

Love lasts forever, even if the body does not. I’ll always be here, my love.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #my fanfic #bg3 smut #astarion x f!tav

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gayerthanevertbh · 2 years

Text

stay

pairings: pervy!older!natasha x babysitter!reader

warnings: dub-con, natasha being a pervert, non-consensual kiss, anal sex, strap-on (r receiving), mommy kink (n receiving), breeding kink, biting, pet names, dirty talking, praise kink, and more 18+ MINORS DNI

notes: a universe where natasha could actually feel reader with her strap? LMAO? ENJOY??

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“How is she?”

I was startled by the sound of Ms. Romanoff’s voice that I had hoped that she wouldn’t have seen me flinching. Turning around, I replied quietly: "She's doing well, Aliana just got into bed.”

She smiled and walked to her room, probably kissing her goodnight. Since Ms. Romanoff prefers to be alone at times, this was my cue to get up and leave. I’ve always been her babysitter ever since I started senior year, and she once admitted that I was her favorite. Knowing how I have parental issues, that information brightened me up like a sunflower. I grabbed my sling bag and stepped outside when I heard a faint call from her, saying: “Why don’t you stay for a bit? It’s raining outside.”

“Oh, I can manage. My house is just–”

She interrupts me, shaking her head, insisting me to stay. “No, please, stay. I think I’d like some company.”

I was taken aback by this. Did she want to spend time with me? Why? I was younger than her by two decades, and the only conversation we would create is about Aliana and how she is such a good child – which I don’t mind. I gave her a small nod and walked back inside, hearing the door shut firmly behind me.

Natasha led me to the kitchen and grabbed two glasses that were meant for drinking alcohol. She took a looking expensive whiskey bottle and poured herself a drink. One thing I know about Natasha is that she loves drinking her favorite alcohol: whiskey. Sometimes vodka, but, that would depend on the feel of her day.

“H-How was the convention?” I asked with my tippy-toes.

“It was great,” she answered, her voice getting deeper as the night aroused. “Do you want a drink?”

“I-I’m eighteen.”

“Right,” she mumbles under her breath, almost cursing that she forgot that I was just a minor. Well, technically an adult who isn’t legally allowed to drink. “Sorry, I’ve had a rough day. You know… all these clients and stuff. Why don’t we sit on the couch?’

I followed her all the way back to the living room and sat down beside her, but we were inches apart. I’d say a good amount of gap between us. I pressed my knees together and started playing with the skin of my nails, wondering and thinking in my head about what else I could talk about with her. Possibly, she’ll be bored if I talk about my school, right? It was hard. It’s writing an essay that you don’t even like.

She pushes her hair away from her forehead and inhales through her nose, I could hear her breathing pretty well from the distance. She asked, “Got a boyfriend or something?”

I shook my head, dismissing the fact that I was never in a relationship.

“No.”

She chuckles, bringing the rim of her glass to her lips as she takes a long sip; smacking her plump lips afterward, tasting the sensational feeling of the alcohol on the tip of her tongue.

“Boys are dumb anyway.”

“I never had a girlfriend either.”

She looks at me with bewildered eyes. “Seriously?” she was trying not to laugh, but she couldn’t help herself but chuckle lightly at my confession – it almost made me want to cover my face. “Well, I assumed you were into girls as well.”

“H-How?”

“The way you dress,” she said with a long deep hum. “Maybe the way you would stare at me whenever you’re here.”

“Oh,” I let out a hiccup, taking my eyes away from the woman as I felt my cheeks heating up from the statement," she has said. Did she seriously see me staring at her?! “I-I’m sorry, I have a staring problem.”

“Me too.”

I looked at her and noticed that she was gazing into my eyes, then into my lips. But that briefly happened when she took another sip from her glass, and her eyes were removed from mine – as much as to my disappointment. Natasha said, “My daughter really likes you, she’s never been like this with any nannies.”

I giggled, covering my mouth. “I’m glad that I get to be her nanny, Aliana is a great kid.”

She nods, smiling to herself while drinking from her glass once more. “Yeah,” she mumbles. “She’s my only baby.”

“W-what happened to her dad?” my mouth didn’t stop me from speaking out of my mind, and I sincerely regret saying it out loud. She turns her head slowly and gives me a look that I don’t recognize from her. It’s a different look, and I knew I’ve crossed the line. “I’m sorry! I-I shouldn’t have said that, I was just curious–”

“Gone,” she responded, her voice on edge, but her eyes were soft like a petal of a rose. “He’s gone. He’s a fuck-up.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah,” she chuckles, rather deeply, and finishes her glass with a form of red seeping out of her eyebags. “Shit, it’s late. Why don’t you stay for the night? I have a spare room.”

“I don’t think so,” I replied kindly, rubbing my forearm in response to my anxiety. She tilts her head and smiles, shaking her head. “N-No, I’m sorry. My mom must be expecting me to come home.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll go tell your mom that you’re staying with me.”

It wasn’t because I was scared of her, it was more like I was trespassing into her home since I’m not a family member nor a friend in her eyes. I was just a babysitter, a good little babysitter for her kid. It was getting colder outside, and the windows started to fog up due to the coolness. So maybe staying at her place wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

But I couldn’t, knowing my infatuation for the older woman will increase like a gas pedal. I said quietly, “I have to go home, Ms. Romanoff. It is rather late and I have school tomorrow–”

“Please,” she asked, almost in a begging matter as she intertwined her hands with mine, holding it close to her stomach. “Stay with me, just for the night.”

Natasha sits closer and slips her hand into my shorts, touching my crotch through the cloth of my panties. I gasped loudly, knowing that this scene could go somewhere else and that it might as well be sinful to sight. I shake my head, trying to push her hand away, but she puts on more pressure and kisses the shell of my ear like a predator insatiable for its prey. “Natasha!”

“Please,” she begs again, kissing my neck with wet lips. “Let me touch you, just stay still for me…”

She palms my arousing core, breathing hard on my neck with whimpering noises that sounded too lewd for my ears. I turned my head away but her other hand pulled my chin to her side and sloppily gave me a kiss on the mouth, moaning with a cry cracking inside her throat. This felt surreal to me, the kiss made the uncomfortable silence slip away but I was in my head too much. I needed to slip away from her mouth, this wasn’t making me feel very good. She was sweet but rough, hard but also soft. And when she groped my left breast, I knew that was my last straw.

“Stay away from me!” I bolted up, padding my shorts away as I walked to the front door with my feet thudding on the ground. Natasha chases after me and tries to pull me closer to her, but I slapped her the face of her cheek hard. We both gasped, knowing that I’d just laid my hands on her, and I knew that I’d regret it the day I woke up. She rubbed her reddening face but kept her eyes on the ground.

“Y-You touched me,” I whimpered, holding my bag close to my private area. She only gave me a sad look and scratched the back of her neck, almost feeling ashamed for what she had done. “I always had a crush on you but I never thought you’d be a pervert!”

“Y/n–”

The truth is, I liked the way she touched me down there. I most certainly loved the way she kissed my neck, how she was desperate for me and only me. It’s almost as if I was important – validated. But knowing that she was in her drunken state and the sense of infidelity, I couldn’t bear myself to ruin a relationship between us that seemed fragile at this point.

“Touch someone of your own age,” I didn’t realize how vocal I was when I suddenly become so… aroused from what happened recently on the couch. “B-But don’t ever do that on me.”

“Admit that you liked the way I touched you,” she smugged, chuckling from the side as she got closer, which I immediately backed up. “Come on, you know you liked it.”

“No, I didn’t.” I lied.

She grabbed my wrist, but I wrestled away as I pushed her chest. I gave her one last look before storming out of her house, not caring if my bag gets wet from the rain, not caring if I cry throughout my walk back to the house. I debated to myself whether I should still babysit for her daughter or not, but I realized that if I did leave, Aliana would be devastated. But if I stay; Natasha will keep touching me, and I would end up having sex with her.

I got back to my room safely and took a warm shower with the previous incident that had happened not even thirty minutes ago.

—

Once again, I found myself in Natasha’s home, much to my surprise. But this time, she was here with me and Aliana. I had hoped that at least she would be away again from work, but she was here the minute I rang the doorbell. The only difference is: she had a friend over, I think her name was Wanda… or something. I don’t know, why would I need to know? It’s not like I’m her girlfriend.

I knew she had guilt in her eyes the moment I walked in, I could barely even look up at her with my pearling eyes. The atmosphere has gotten thick as well as our relationship, I don’t know how I would respond to her if she ever talked to me again; somehow wishing that she would.

“Is mama mad at you?”

I was taken by surprise by Aliana’s question, which clenches my heart with the thought of us not having an interaction. Though, I shook my head in response, pretending that everything was okay between me and Natasha. Even just for the little girl in front of me.

“No,” I whispered, patting her head with my hand. “What makes you say that, honey?”

“Because I saw mama crying before you came by,” she said sadly. “She looked really sad, Y/n. I didn’t know what to do.”

I didn’t know what to do either – I felt bad when I remember speaking to her like that. Calling her a pervert, and hitting her on the chest, is something that I regret deeply. I could’ve just spoken to her in a calm way, I could’ve just done that.

“Your mama and I are okay hon,” I smiled at her, gently pinching her cheek as I received a huge smile on her face. “Listen, why don’t you play with your dollies? I’ll go check it out on your mama.”

The little one went back to the living room as I cleaned the kitchen area, sighing to myself. If I speak to her now, I will get a paycheck and might never see her again. Because if I tell her that I wouldn’t want what she wanted, the only reason for us to depart is me going away first. But deep inside, I wanted what she wanted. I wanted her to touch me, to lick me, to kiss me as if I’d lost my breath.

It’s a treacherous feeling; something magical yet devious.

“Y/n?”

In front of me, Natasha held a glass of whiskey and a cigarette in between her fingers. I looked at her briefly, then kept my eyes on the stove instead. I could hear the other woman, Wanda, having a conversation with Aliana while Natasha was in the same area as me. I wish that she could just walk away and never talk about what happened that night. Because if we did – this time, I’d let her kiss me.

“Is there anything you need, Ms. Romanoff?”

“You know we have passed formalities, Y/n.”

I sighed, nodding at her answer. I turned my back on her when I felt her hand gripping my wrist – gently this time – and looked at me firmly with her watering eyes. I know she was about to cry, and I didn’t want to see any of it. After all, she did touch me that night without my permission; even though it was a great turn-on for me.

“I-I think you shouldn’t touch me,” I whispered, my lips trembling as I spoke. “We still haven’t talked about what happened that night.”

“I know,” she said, whispering to me in the same tone as mine. “Can we talk? Please? Maybe when Wanda leaves?”

“I have exams tomorrow,” A pause. “I-I think you should let go now, I have to go soon anyway.”

“But I want you to stay…”

“Please,” she asked, almost in a begging matter as she intertwined her hands with mine, holding it close to her stomach. “Stay with me, just for the night.”

No–stop. You can’t feel like this, she’s literally your mother at this point. Get over it.

“I…” I hesitated for a moment, trying to form the words in my hand as I think about other sentences that wouldn’t offend the woman before me. I realized how she was gently gripping me this time, and I could only whimper in the slightest way. “Okay, w-we can talk.”

As soon as Wanda left, it was alright nighttime. At around 9 pm, Aliana went to bed with Natasha’s Russian lullaby; which I find greatly amusing. I was waiting in the living room once again, holding a glass of water between my hands. I watch the clock tick, which represents my heartbeat. Tick tock, tick tock, I hear from afar – and I could admit that I was feeling nauseous each time it ticks.

What if we kiss again? What if I push her away? This doesn’t feel right, yet it’s something exciting like a burning passion of desire.

As soon as I felt tired, Natasha came by the scene. She sat down beside me with tired green eyes and pried her legs open as she sat down with a hunched back. She groans, rubbing her face softly with her hands, and murmurs: “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Oh.” I breathed out, not sure how to reply to that.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice shaking. “Fuck–I’m so sorry, Y/n. I knew I touched you too far, but I couldn’t help myself. I’m so fucking attracted to you and I only knew that since the day I met you.”

I was speechless. I didn’t know that she was attracted to me, or so I thought. I cracked my knuckles in the quiet air as silence was abrupt in the scene. I could almost hear the wind swooshing from outside; it was getting too quiet. Then, I felt the couch dip. I sensed that she was sitting closer to me, and I didn’t move. I just let it happen, almost as if I let her touch me that night.

She rests her hand on my thigh and squeezed my skin, making me let out a sharp breath. Her face was so close to mine that you think we might kiss, but I was damned to even think like that. She whispered with her breath trickling on the corner of my mouth, “Kotenok, look at me. Please, just look at me.”

“I can’t.”

I could feel her hand creeping closer to my core, and I made no effort to close my legs. Instead, I let her do it, I let her do whatever she wanted to do with me. She kisses the bare skin of my shoulder as she finally touches my covered core, her mouth letting out a victorious moan.

“Are you a virgin?”

I shake my head. I remember losing my virginity to a girl once, I wouldn’t say it felt amazing but I’d say it felt nice. I think.

“N-No, Ms–”

“It’s okay,” she whimpers, turning me around as she puts me into a hand-and-knee position on the couch. Except, when that happened, she pushed me down on the cushion until the side of my face collided with the soft leather that was on the couch. Natasha kisses my neck while her hands are on my waist, going up and down from time to time. “Please don’t be scared, ‘M not going to hurt you…”

“You’re touching me too far–”

“No it’s not too far,” she whines, shaking her head in exasperation. “Please just be good, I promise it won’t hurt. Has anyone fucked you in the ass?”

If my innocence was obvious, then she would know that. But it wasn’t obvious, so I shook my head in response. I could feel her smiling a bit, and I wish that I would’ve seen that instead of being pressed against this couch.

“Can I fuck you in the ass?”

“I–”

“Please?” she pleaded with whimpering, her hands squeezing the roundness of my ass. As much as I wanted to say no, I also had this firing feeling that I wanted it to happen. I can admit that I needed her to fuck me in the ass if it means to stay connected with her. If she didn’t kiss me that night, I don’t think I’d ever let her do this to me.

“Won’t Aliana hear us?” I asked, moaning quietly when she pulls up my skirt, gasping to herself when she sees me in my tiny panties that could barely cover my buttocks. “T-Tasha–”

“No,” she said as she kissed my nape once more. “She won’t, it’s just you and me, pretty baby. I’m going to take my strap out, okay?”

That’s why there was a bulge in her pants, I thought to myself. I can hear her pants zipping and a ruffling sound, knowing that she’s taking off her pants along with her underwear. As soon as I was about to close my eyes, I felt her strap grazing against my inner thighs, I let out a tiny whimper.

“I-Is it going to hurt?” I asked shyly, clenching both of my fists together as I feel my panties dragging down all the way to my ankles – until it was discarded.

“A little bit,” Natasha admitted, palming my left cheek. “Lift your butt, little girl. I’m going to spit on your hole.”

The knot in my stomach tightens, I could feel her breath trickling on the skin of my ass and I knew that this was bound to happen. I belonged to her, I just simply belonged to this woman who I merely don’t know of other than taking care of her child.

She spits on my hole and spreads the liquid around the tight ring of my ass, as she spits again and again – lubing it up. I was grateful enough that she was working me open, or I could have had serious injury if she just pushed inside of me. Nothing would be enjoyable if that would’ve happened.

“You’re my favorite babysitter,” she murmured to my neck as she wrapped her arm around my waist, pulling me up slightly as she gave my collarbone open-mouth kisses. Wet kisses, to be exact. I let out a sharp moan and she chuckles from that. “You’re loving this, aren’t you? You like it when Mommy is about to fuck you in the ass?”

“Yes,” I said urgently, giving myself to her, as I should be doing in the first place. “Please, just do it…”

I want her, I want her cock, I want everything that she can give to me. I want it all.

She presses her lips against mine and kisses me like no other, holding my body close as she kisses me with full of her tongue. Natasha pulls away with our lips creating a soft wet smack and spits on her hand, lathering her faux cock with her thick saliva all around it. She looks back at me and starts humping me from the back, moaning each time her cock slips in between my buttocks. It was a pretty sight for her, especially when I’m fully submitted to her glory.

“No one else could touch you, okay? No one,” she said, almost in a demanding voice, but you could hear a tinge of sweetness in her tone. She kisses my nape again and leaves a nail trail mark on my ass. “Open up for me, it’s okay… I’m not going to hurt you.”

On the first push, I screamed from my throat. She quickly covered my mouth and shushes me by the ear, whispering: “You can’t be loud little one! You’re going to wake my daughter up.” and kept pushing her length inside of me, I couldn’t help but whimper and cry at the same time. It felt good, too good for my liking. I never thought I’d be such an… anal whore, as they say on the internet. It’s like she’s opening me like it was the last time; I was on top of the hill.

Natasha breathes heavily on my collarbone as her eyes stare at her cock pushing inside of my asshole, her other hand on my hips to hold me back up. “God,” she cries out, resting her forehead against the back of my head. “You’re so tight, I can feel you… I can feel your ass wrapping around my dick.”

“W-what?”

“That’s right sweetie,” she coos, pulling out a bit and pushing back in with the couch squeaking underneath me. “Oh yeah–that’s fucking it, you feel so good around me.”

She brings my face closer to hers as we kiss once again, our tongues battling for dominance. But I simply let her take the lead as I’m too dazed by the feeling of my asshole being fucked with her enormous dildo inside of me, almost as if she’s pounding into me this quick. Natasha pulls out again and snaps her hips back into me until my ass hits her pelvis.

“We’re connected,” she said, cracking a tearful smile. “You’re squeezing my cock too good, I can’t believe I’m fucking my daughter’s babysitter…”

Natasha begins peppering lingering kisses on my shoulder as she thrusts in an upward motion, both of our hips moving in sync. The couch squeaks more, as the slapping of our skin fills up the entire apartment, knowing for the fact that people might as well hear us. But she didn’t care, and neither did I. You could say that I was a cock whore, a cock slut. But I wouldn’t broadcast that aloud, because then – I’d lose my innocence.

“Feels good,” I breathed out, clutching the arm of the couch tightly as she grunts above me each time the tip of her cock hits my spot. “D-Don’t stop, please don’t stop…”

“I won’t,” she reassures, giving my ear a brief kiss before bringing both of her hands to grope my breasts, mounding and pressing them together while thrusting inside of my gaping hole as if it was my vagina. She removed her mouth from my skin, and muttered: “Is this what you wanted?”

I nodded. “Mhm…”

“You wanted this big fat cock didn’t you, pretty baby?”

“Yes–yes!”

“You make me so happy,” she moans in a high-pitched tone, closing her eyes tightly as she feels herself having an orgasm. “You wanted this… you’ve always wanted this.”

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted it or not. Either way, I never thought it would feel this good. Because, in my defense, I was only a babysitter for Natasha’s daughter. And now, I’m a total cock sucking whore for her that would do anything for her will. Whatever she wanted, I’ll let her do it, I was hers anyway.

“I’m close,” she murmurs into my neck, grunting quietly as she gets deeper. While trying to have my climax, I felt her thumb pressing against my clit – rubbing the bud furiously to have an orgasm with her. “Hump my cock, baby. Just push back.”

I did what she told me to do, I pushed back. And boy, she loved it. She was moaning about how delicious my asshole felt around her dildo, praising and kissing me with our bodies pressed together even though we couldn’t feel each other in the way we wanted to. She slowly humps my ass, dragging the length in and out while moaning with whimpers and cries.

“Gonna cum in your fucking ass,” she cries out, biting softly on my neck. “Want me to get you pregnant? Huh? Wanna give me a baby?”

“Mommy, no…” I pleaded, sobbing out loud in the area. What if she has the power to get me pregnant? What if, whatever is in that dildo, does it get me pregnant? I wasn’t ready, I don’t think I was. “W-Wait, no! Don’t cum inside of me, please don’t–”

“It’s only in the ass baby,” she whispers in my ear, slowly thrusting inside of me. Too slow. “Just let me get you pregnant, sweetie… shh, it’s okay! It’s okay…”

Her words were starting to slur, as her hand gripped my waist – surely enough that my skin would be imprinted by her nails. She drags her wet lips all the way to my nape and shoots her fake load inside of me with staggering moans, mixed with her whimpers. She humps my ass twice and holds me down on the couch. “Take it, baby! Take all of my fucking cum in your ass…”

While having an orgasm in my absent cunt, she was still fucking me from behind with her loud lewd moans and deep cries that would ring in my ear forever. She kisses my lips sloppily and whispers with a hazed look, “You’re amazing, you’re just fucking amazing…”

After we were done, she pulled out of me and placed the strap-on on the coffee table, not caring if it would stain my ass cum. She gets behind me and hugs me close, our bare legs intertwined as well as her pelvis pressed against my ass. She rakes her fingers through my hair, and smells it deeply; satisfied with herself.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked, and she received a shake of my head. She smiled. “Good, I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

After a long while of silence, I asked in the cold middle of the air: “Are you going to dump me now?”

Natasha lifts her head a little and scrunches her eyebrows in confusion.

“W-What?”

“You’ve used my body,” I replied, cracking a sob between my lips. “The first time I had, s-she left me! She went away and now you’ve taken me you’re going to go–”

“No, no, no…” she shushes, cupping my face as she kisses me deeply with her tongue slipping into my mouth. Natasha pulled away and pecked my wet lower lip, and continued. “I won’t ever leave you, okay? I want you to stay with me.”

Maybe staying with her wasn’t such a bad idea, after all, maybe everything would feel better with her if I did stay. I can hear her in the back of my mind, saying: please, stay. Just stay and I remember being so stubborn about it too. But now as I look at her, I can feel the sincerity in her eyes.

I wanted to stay.

“I’ll stay,” I whispered as I felt her head cradling my head. “I’ll stay.”

“Okay, my little girl. You’ll stay, you’ll always stay.”

i want pervy!natasha to touch me in the-

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #mommy natasha #black widow x reader #black widow x you #a's oneshots!#enjoy lmao

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carniferous · 6 days

Note

dil do you have any spare thoughts on jegulus 🤲🏼

jegulus is like a years-long social experiment i keep expecting someone from harvard university to pop out of nowhere and be like Jegulus was a an engineered mass-hallucination for the purpose of seeing if a harry potter yaoi ship between two characters that have never interacted on account of being dead for years at the start of canon could make it to the top 20 most popular ships on ao3

lmao no but in all honesty jegulus is my favorite… if you couldn’t already tell from. the 100k+ words of fanfiction i’ve written about them. they’re the doomed love affair of All time to me. and like… the doomed aspect is very important and compelling to me. not to plug my own fucking fic but this will always be a core part of my jegulus thesis:

He worries that he’ll always wish to be back there, waiting for Regulus’s call. Decades will pass, a lifetime, and the wish won’t fade. He could love a thousand people and nothing will ever compare to the frightening, purposeful way he loved the first time. No one will ever know him so bare and uninhibited as he was at sixteen. The thought scares him so much that he almost throws up again.

it’s the first love and the first end of love that changes you so fundamentally. you can never love like that again bc you’re no longer capable of it. you are a fundamentally different person now bc of that love. it’s this

jegulus is also the love story that wasn’t meant to happen yk? i joke about this all the time but also it’s so serious to me. in a canon setting their love story is always woven through the gaps in the Narrative. they love each other despite the story they’re supposed be living out… and they have no choice but to live that story out! regulus has to take the dark mark. he has to die. james has to marry lily and have harry. he has to die. all in all their love changed nothing about their story but it also changed both of Them so fundamentally. just not in ways that are apparent to anyone but themselves

we also cannot ignore sirius….. sirius!!! sirius might be more important to jegulus than james and regulus themselves. he is the inadvertent crux the accidental catalyst. he would never ever dream of james and regulus falling in love he would actively stop it if he could but he CANNOT bc he’s the reason it happened. regulus and james are only aware of each other’s existence because of sirius. they’re bound to each other by the fact that they cannot separate themselves from sirius.

but i don’t think that james wants to save regulus because he saved sirius. i think james is aware of the fact that he Didn’t save sirius. sirius saved himself. and therefore james understands the differences between regulus and sirius and wants to save regulus himself. he wants to be the white knight rescuing the princess from the tower. he wants to give regulus a better life. and regulus wants that more than anything…. but he doesn’t believe in it. he can’t let himself hope that james is telling the truth bc if he is then it means that Sirius was telling the truth and regulus can’t bear that. it’s this endless misunderstanding……

i think a lot of jegulus fans make the point about how “love isn’t enough to save someone” and while i do think this is a correct statement… the only thing that can save regulus is love. there’s nothing else for him there’s nothing he’s been denied in life except love and connection and if he let himself believe he could have those things…. he could walk out!! james COULD save him!!! love CAN be enough

send me ships/characters !!

#this is way less coherent than my bartylus one sorry #my jegulus thoughts are just like. my entire blog. so i struggle to find new things to say about them #they’re just soulmates to me. sometimes doomed soulmates. sometimes they undoom themselves though #ask #jegulus #thank u mil i love yapping

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pseudophan · 13 days

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sometimes I like stumbling across archived/heritage phandom blogs bc I was only really active in phandom spaces during their peak like between 2014-17 and I’ve been watching consistently since then but just not engaging with blogs and stuff and I’ve been having the time of my life on here since the revival (just as a lurker/asker/appreciator of everyone on here for their gifs and posts) but then I remember that I ran an Instagram page for that time period and it’s such a fucking trip looking back I’m constantly reminded by old cringe comments on YouTube but wdym I was there for when the radio show and dapg was first announced and why the fuck do I have captions saying “guys pls respect cat” “i hope the 4chan stuff calms down and they don’t get targeted”

NOTTTTT the 4chan thing lmao this sends me every time i'm reminded of it. i love looking through old blogs as well but it's such a weird feeling when their last post was way before dnp came out. like a lot of people were inactive for years but then came back for just a day when big dropped but then some blogs have been fully dead since 2015 and it killllssss me like i need to know what their reaction was!!! stranger on the internet whose decade old blog i found five minutes ago what was your reaction to dan and phil coming out..

#answered

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thenukacolachallenge · 10 months

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In defense of the One Piece Live Action Adaptation’s stylistic choices: A Cosmetologist’s Perspective

Hello! My name is Dia, and I’ve been a licensed cosmetologist since 2015(almost a decade now!). For those unaware of what exactly that entails, cosmetology is traditionally defined as ‘the professional skill or practice of beautifying the face, hair, and skin’. For me specifically, I have worked in the fields of hairstyling/haircutting/hair coloring, skincare, nail care, and makeup application(both traditional makeup and FX makeup) in my eight years of being licensed to work in these industries.

The reason I’m making this post today is to talk about the Netflix adaptation of the hit manga/anime One Piece, and specifically to address a lot of complaints I’ve seen about the wardrobe, makeup, and hair choices of the main cast thus far. I’ve seen quite a bit in the way of complaints, and a lot of it seems to be, to put it as politely as I can, not based in reality of how makeup, hair, and acting in general works, and I’d like to address some of it to possibly explain why certain choices were made, to maybe help people come to a better understanding of the why and how of these sorts of decisions.

I’d like to also, before I dive in, note that I am not in any way, shape, or form affiliated with this production! These are merely my personal thoughts and speculation as someone with some experience in this field. None of this is set in stone unless I provide evidence from the cast and crew to back my claims up. As well, I’d like to point out that I have next to no experience working on film sets(I have worked on VERY small productions in the past, for things that go up on sites like Youtube and not Netflix lmao), but I am married to a person who has a degree in film and has worked on live production sets before, and I did defer to them for a lot of the knowledge that I lack with live action production specifically.

I’d also like to point out that while I’m not mad at anyone who has the critiques I cover in this post, I may come across as a bit exasperated. I promise this isn’t me being angry at anyone, but more of just.... I’ve seen the same critiques over and over again, and to me, a lot of the choices seem fairly obvious as to why they were made, and some of the critiques come across as extremely silly to me. This is of course due to my own background related to these sorts of things. I promise I mean no offense or disrespect to anyone saying these things! I just want to make this to be able to help others understand why production may have made the choices they did.

Now, under the cut, I’ll be discussing some common complaints I’ve heard with regards to this production, and provide some potential explanation as to why these changes were made. On to the post! It is quite hefty, so please bear with me.

First and foremost, the most common complaint I’ve seen thus far is some variation of the phrase “I’ve seen cosplayers that look more accurate to the characters than this show does,” and I’d like to address this one first, as I think it’s the one that probably frustrates me the most. It specifically frustrates me because comparing cosplayers to actors feels like an apples to oranges situation. The two groups are designed to do entirely different things! Cosplayers do typically look more like the characters they portray than a live action actor will, and that’s a very common occurrence, but there’s a reason for that: the two groups are not doing the same thing.

Both cosplayers and actors put a huge amount of time and effort into their work, and I love cosplay personally. However, cosplayers are typically in their outfits for 8-10 hour days at most for a weekend, doing things like photoshoots where they have to pose, walking around conventions, and maybe filming a small amount of video(Not to say that this takes no effort! Please do not take this as such, I have helped friends with cosplays and I fully understand and appreciate the level of dedication and hard work that goes into it!). Actors, on the other hand, are in hair and makeup on set for 10-12 hours a day(if not longer) for weeks to months on end, and have to be fully in character while filming, as well as(specifically for a show like One Piece) doing things like stunt work, being submerged in water, and being on boats with lots of wind and ocean spray. There are certain things you simply cannot do, hair/makeup/costume-wise as an actor that you can as a cosplayer, so I really don’t think this comparison in specific is being very fair to the actors and the crew who are in charge of makeup, hair, and wardrobe in this case.

I’ll be getting into a lot more specifics below, but I will be deferring to my main point here very often, which is this: The safety and comfort of the actors is far more important than 1-to-1 accuracy in the way cosplayers can do, especially for minor changes in appearance.

Now that I’ve addressed that specifically, I’d like to move onto some common complaints I’ve heard for each specific main cast member, and my opinion on these complaints, as well as listing potential reasons as to why these things may have been changed!

We’ll start with everyone’s favorite funky little pirate king, Monkey D. Luffy:

For Luffy, the number one complaint I’ve seen is the live action’s choice in shoes. in the manga/anime, Luffy wears and fights in flip-flops, but this was changed in the live action. This was changed for a very simple reason, and Emily Rudd, the actor that portrays Nami, actually addressed this on Instagram while being asked by a fan:

Simply put, trying to do the kind of stunt work that Luffy has to do is not safe in a shoe like a flip flop. This is something that falls very completely under my original point of the comfort and safety of the actors being more important than 100% accuracy. It would be entirely too easy for Iñaki or someone he’s in a scene with to get hurt if he weren’t wearing the proper footwear. Fairly simple explanation there!

This is really the only gripe with Luffy costume-wise I could find, to be honest! I have seen a few people saying that he doesn’t have his signature undereye scar, but he does, although it’s not as visible as it is in the original work:

They kept him fairly true to the spirit of his original character, and although I don’t know why they chose to give him this specific potato shoe footwear, it is what they went with, and the main takeaway is that it was for safety reasons.

Onto our favorite wayward booze-loving swordsman, Roronoa Zoro:

Similarly to Luffy, I’ve only seen one main complaint regarding Zoro, and it involves his use of swords. In the anime/manga, Zoro has pioneered a specific fighting style called “Santoryu��, known in English as “Three Sword Style”: one sword in each hand, and a third in his mouth.

I’ve seen several people wondering where his third sword(the one that goes in the mouth) is from the trailers, and I was initially wondering this as well, since in most of his action scenes that have been revealed so far, he seems to only be holding either one sword or two. However, there was a brief clip(I’m talking, like, maybe one second) of him utilizing his three-swords style in the teaser trailer released in mid-June:

Now, as to potential reasons as to why this seems to be the only clip of him thus far using all three of his swords:

1. Again, this could be for the safety of the cast. Obviously being a cartoon character, Zoro wouldn’t have to worry about potential damage to his jaws and teeth, but Mackenyu, Zoro’s actor, is a real person who does have to worry about such things, especially as an actor who relies on(among other things) his facial expressions to earn a living. Carrying something like a sword, even a prop sword, in your mouth for long periods of time cannot be good for the health of your jaw and teeth, and I could understand if they chose not to film him with a sword in his mouth very often for this reason alone. 2. It could also be he uses all three swords less often so he can still deliver lines while fighting. In an SBS(”Shitsumon o Boshū Suru”, when translated means “I’m Taking Questions”, essentially an AMA for mangaka to answer questions their readers may have), Eiichiro Oda, the author of One Piece, once answered a question about how Zoro was able to talk with a sword in his mouth with quite a funny answer:

Sadly, in real life, Mackenyu cannot speak through his heart as Zoro does, so it’s possible that some of the scenes have been changed for ease of dialogue. 3. It’s also entirely possible that he uses his three-sword style as often as he does in the anime and manga, and the small amount of what we’ve seen in the trailers isn’t necessarily the full picture. I imagine this is something we’ll have to wait for the full series to drop to find out definitively one way or another!

Now, onto our lovely citrus-fruit-loving navigator, Nami!

I have seen two main complaints with Nami’s looks, and I’ll start with her hair, as it’s the more common one I’ve been seeing. I have seen a large number of people saying that her hair looks like(and I am slightly paraphrasing here) “a bad cosplay wig”, and honestly? I think this is just not true, and either comes from unrealistic expectations or just plain being mean-spirited.

First and foremost, this is very obviously human hair:

Now, I don’t know what kind of bad cosplays y’all have been seeing, but the ones I’ve seen start with synthetic hair wigs, not human hair ones(This is not to say synthetic wigs are inherently bad for cosplay! Simply that they are much harder to work with, though they are cheaper than human hair wigs). As well, I know for a fact Emily Rudd got her hair done similarly to this, to the point where I wasn’t actually sure that this WAS a wig at first(this picture comes directly from her Instagram account):

This is very obviously almost the exact same haircut as the wig chosen for Nami, save with more layers, and even the color choices are similar. To say that this wig looks like a “bad cosplay” is honestly just flat-out wrong in my professional opinion, and moreover, it’s quite rude. In addition, to me at least, it really looks like the wig was styled to resemble anime-esque hair, which is actually quite common among cosplayers. If anything, I have the same complaint on Nami’s wig that I also have with Sanji’s(which I’ll definitely be touching on later): it’s not thick enough. Both Nami and Sanji’s wigs just seem like they could use more hair attached to the cap in general, but especially for Nami’s, I really don’t think it’s as bad as people are saying.

I think this “bad cosplay wig” complaint specifically is mainly coming from people who only see the tail end of cosplay productions, which tends to be photos that are often times edited to look a certain way, which can often include doctoring the hair. There’s nothing wrong with a cosplayer editing their photos, for the record, but it can absolutely give unrealistic expectations to those who aren’t familiar with this practice, and I personally think this may be where these comments are coming from. Obviously you cannot photoshop every frame of a live action production, at least not without a lot of time and effort on the behalf of the post-production team, and I highly doubt Netflix would have greenlit something like that for such a small detail. It’s simply not realistic.

As well, I do find it quite interesting that I have seen far less complaints about the wigs of characters such as Zoro or Sanji(played by Taz Skylar(as stated previously, I have seen complaints about Sanji’s wig and I will be speaking on that later)) than I have about Nami’s. I’m not saying it’s outwardly misogynistic, but it does make one consider such things.

The only other complaint I’ve seen directed towards Nami’s live action look(and truth be told, I’ve seen this one far less than the comments on the hair) is the discrepancy between Emily Rudd’s eye color and Nami’s. As you can see from the above photos, Emily Rudd does not have brown eyes, which are the color of Nami’s eyes:

Now, I didn’t actually see this complaint until after the first full trailer dropped on July 21st. Specifically, I saw someone saying that it seemed strange that Steven John Ward, who portrays Dracule Mihawk in the series, is wearing colored contacts to better resemble his character, while Emily is not.

Now, there could be a lot of potential reasons for this, including that Emily may simply be not wearing colored contacts because they irritate her eyes(going back to my original point of the comfort and safety of the cast). But more importantly, I think, is that Mihawk’s unique eyes are directly related to his character, specifically through his epithet: Hawkeye. This is a seemingly important enough part of his character, to the point where it’s directly mentioned in his title. Nami has no such distinctions with her eye color, so I really don’t think it’s as important, and at the end of the day, it takes nothing away from her character to have a different eye color. So, while I don’t know the particular reason she doesn’t have brown contacts, I also don’t think it’s nearly as important for that detail to be as canonically correct as it is for Mihawk. To me, this particular comparison is another apples to oranges situation.

Onto our beloved liar, God Usopp himself:

Of course, the number one talking point I’ve seen about the live action Usopp is that Jacob Romero Gibson, Usopp’s actor, is missing his trademark long nose.

As One Piece fans know, one of Usopp’s characteristic traits is his tendency to lie. His name, Usopp, comes from a portmanteau of the Japanese word “uso”, which means lie, and Aesop, the famous Greek storyteller and the namesake for Aesop’s Fables. Because of his propensity towards tall tales, Usopp’s anime and manga character designs also added a reference to another character who’s known for lying, Pinocchio, whose nose grows when he lies. Thus, Usopp in his cartoon form has a long nose!

Considering how many gags in the story involve Usopp’s nose, a lot of fans were surprised to see that aspect of him not carried over into the live action. After the drop of the official trailer, seeing that the character Arlong had his signature sawshark-esque long nose in prosthetic form, there was even more confusion about this choice.

(As an aside, Arlong’s costuming choices will not be discussed in this post, as it’s long enough with just the main cast, but believe me, I do have Opinions on it lmao)

Now, as to why the show chose to not give Jacob a prosthetic long nose to better match Usopp’s appearance, I don’t know the specifics. I can only speculate, and really, the only things I could feasibly come up with are the following:

1. It’s entirely possible that for whatever reason, Jacob is unable to wear a prosthetic nose. This could be due to several things, including allergies to either the prosthetic material itself or the adhesive used to attach it, or the makeup required to blend the prosthetic into his skin. If this is the case, then it of course goes back to my main point here that the comfort of the cast takes precedence over accuracy to the source material. 2. The only other explanation that really makes sense to me is that they did in fact attempt the nose in costume fitting, and either the absurdity of it was just either too distracting to audiences/the crew/Netflix execs/possibly even Oda himself, or it could have potentially been a problem during stunt work. Usopp primarily fights with a slingshot, and I have no experience with slingshots so this is just me taking a stab in the dark, but it’s possible that the extra length on the nose could have possibly messed with the actor’s depth perception while attempting to act out Usopp’s fight scenes.

Overall, I genuinely don’t know why they decided to axe Usopp’s long nose. But at the end of the day, I know that for me specifically, this is a minor detail, and not something I see as a genuine problem, nor will it ruin the immersion for me. That being said, I can definitely understand the criticisms here. I’m hoping that a lot of these changes will eventually be answered, perhaps in some behind-the-scenes footage that comes out after the show’s release.

The only other comment on Usopp’s costuming that I’ve seen is much more easily explainable, and I also haven’t seen nearly as much in the way of commenting on it: Usopp’s hair is not in dreads in the anime and manga, and instead is kept natural, especially before the timeskip.

As we can see in the above picture, Usopp seems to keep his hair fairly natural, whereas Jacob, Usopp’s actor, sports dreads in his portrayal of Usopp, as seen in the above photo.

Luckily, I haven’t seen very many comments on this, and I think that’s a good thing, since the explanation seems fairly simple to me. Usopp in canon is based off of (mostly unused in this day and age, for good reason: a lot of the design is highly based off racist blackface caricatures) old-school anime portrayals of Black/African people. As well, in an SBS, a fan asked where the Straw Hats would be based out of if One Piece was set in the real world:

As stated above, Usopp would come from Africa! As well, if I recall correctly, Oda had a hand in casting the live action adaptation, which all points to the undeniable proof that Usopp is and has always been intended to read as Black/African in some form.

The reason I bring this all up specifically, is because of the way African hair grows. Obviously not all Black/African people are a monolith, and even among curly haired people there are different curl tightness and growth patterns, but for a large portion of people of African descent, their hair would not grow similarly to the way Usopp’s is portrayed in his cartoon form. His hair is indeed curly, but it grows down, similar to most wavy or straight hair types. This is especially evident in his post-timeskip hair growth:

Usopp’s hair, which was once above his shoulders before the two year time skip, now extends down past his shoulders. This is not necessarily inaccurate to Black/African hair types, as, since stated previously, different curl patterns and tightness exist, and even with super tight curl patterns, if grown out long enough, the hair will eventually grow down, due to the weight of the hair strands. But for a lot of Black/African hair types, the natural hair tends to grow outwards, instead of downwards(or at the very least it grows outwards before it begins to grow downwards). This type of hair is typically referred to as afro-textured hair, and is the namesake for the afro, a hairstyle wherein someone with afro-textured hair combs out their natural hair growth in the shape it naturally grows.

Now, I’m not familiar with Jacob Romero Gibson’s work prior to One Piece, and I have never seen his hair without his dreads, therefore I can’t say with 100% certainty how his hair grows naturally. However, he does have an Instagram account, and on this account he has photos of himself. I looked through his account, and although he doesn’t seem to have any photos of himself without his dreads(indeed, they seem to be his signature hairstyle) as an adult, he does have a few photos of himself from his childhood. I don’t personally feel comfortable linking his baby photos to this post, so I’m not going to do so here. However, they are visible there, and from what I can see from those photos, he does indeed have afro-textured hair. This may not be 100% accurate to how his hair grows now as an adult, as lots of things can change hair growth types and curl patterns, including things such as hormones, medications, stress levels etc. In my professional opinion, I feel fairly confident in saying that Jacob most likely has afto-textured hair, and therefore his natural hair likely wouldn’t fully grow in the exact same way that Usopp’s does.

Overall, I only bring all of this up to say that if Jacob did have his hair in a natural, non-protective style in his portrayal of Usopp, I feel that the same people who are complaining about the dreads now would likely complain that his natural hair doesn’t match Usopp’s exactly. Either way, Usopp’s hair is not a huge characteristic that defines who he is as a character(especially not in the way that his nose is), and therefore I don’t think that him having dreads in the live action takes away from the character in any way.

Finally, we’ll discuss the Straw Hat crew’s first-rate cook who attacks through kicks, Black Leg Sanji:

Sanji has the unfortunate position of being the character who’s had the most changes to his design from his cartoon to the live action, and there’s a lot of criticism that’s been lobbed his way. Some of it I think is fair, but there’s also quite a bit that I think is honestly quite silly. So without further ado, I’ll go through the four main critiques I’ve seen, and my opinions of each.

Let’s start with the one I’ve heard the most often, and the one that’s easily my least favorite to hear about at this point: the missing eyebrow swirl. Maybe it’s just because Sanji is personally my favorite on the crew and I’m just paying the most attention to him, but my god, the way some people are going on about the eyebrow, you’d think the showrunners made the decision to axe his signature curly eyebrow specifically to spite the Sanji fangirls. I think a lot of the complaining about the lack of eyebrow swirl would simply be changed to complaining about how bad the eyebrow swirl would look if they’d tried to keep it, and I’ll explain why below.

Like many of the costuming changes made to the live action adaptation, I don’t know the exact reasoning as to why they decided to get rid of the eyebrow swirl. As someone who has worked as a makeup artist, however, I do have a theory as to why they got rid of it, and my theory is fairly simple: it is just not really very possible to create a realistic-looking eyebrow swirl that reads well on a film camera.

Yes, the makeup team could have very easily drawn on a swirl with a brow pencil or some pomade and called it a day. However, it would have been fairly obvious that it was in fact drawn on, especially on a film shoot. I’ve seen a lot of people complaining about the missing swirl point to both cosplayers and stage actors as “proof” that it could be done, but again, this is an apples to oranges situation. Stage makeup(like that used for stage actors), photoshoot makeup(like what cosplayers would employ), and live action film makeup are three entirely different types of makeup application, and while they each have their own merits, that doesn’t inherently mean they translate into other mediums, and this is something that you have to learn fairly early on as a makeup artist if you want to continue getting work. If you are doing makeup professionally, you have to keep a lot of things in mind, one of the biggest things being how your work will read on camera, specifically the camera your canvas will be in front of. You have to keep in mind things like flash photography, shine versus matte, whether or not post-production editing will be involved, and the like. A fairly popular example of this is makeup influencer James Charles’ old meet-and-greet photo, which has become a meme since surfacing. Charles was used to only doing makeup and being photographed a certain way, leading to him using a setting powder that didn’t lend well to flash photography, and made him look like he was wearing makeup that was far too pale for his skin tone, when in reality it was just a makeup product that didn’t work for the kind of camera it was in front of:

Another example is basically the entire Cosmo Queens video series done for Cosmopolitan magazine’s youtube page, and I’ll use Kandy Muse’s video as a specific example, since she uses her natural brows in addition to her makeup. This series focused on the makeup of drag queens, and it’s very obvious when watching these videos that there’s a huge discrepancy between makeup meant for the stage and makeup meant for other avenues. Drag queens typically are live performers, and there is a common saying among drag artists, which is to “paint(apply makeup) for the back of the house(so that even those in the back row can see your makeup)”. On stage, Kandy Muse’s makeup is quite stunning, but it’s very clear that it’s not fully meant for the editorial style that Cosmo uses during these videos:

Even from a distance, you can very clearly see where Kandy’s real eyebrows sit versus her makeup. And while this is obviously an extreme example, it’s even more obvious when zoomed in, which film cameras have to do often in order to capture the expressions of their actors:

In a similar vein, film cameras, which are typically designed to catch a lot of definition and lend better to a more realistic look, likely would not be very kind to a drawn on part of an eyebrow. Without any hair growing there naturally to make the eyebrow makeup look more realistic, it would be very obvious that it was makeup, and would likely be more distracting to audiences(especially first-timers to the series; it’s important to keep in mind that Netflix would want to cater to those people as well as long-time One Piece fans) than omitting it entirely would. In addition, we have to take into account the actor, Taz Skylar, and his natural hair growth and the direction of his brows.

As is visible from the photo, Taz Skylar’s natural brow grows downwards at the end, whereas Sanji the fictional character’s brow grows upwards into his swirl at the end. In order to match the character 1-to-1 and change his own natural features, Taz would have to either shave/pluck/wax the entire outer half of his brow(which for an actor would be extremely inconvenient for other projects and would be an absolute pain to grow back out), or he would have to sit longer in the makeup chair to have his brow covered by FX makeup, which takes extra time and effort and could throw off the timing of the entire shoot. In addition, neither of these potential fixes would necessarily make the obviously-drawn-on swirl look good and read well on film. Add on the facts that Taz’s character is fully submerged in water in at least one scene, if not more, and has several fight scenes, and it’s not even a guarantee that the makeup swirl would even last throughout the shoot.

I’ve also seen people say that they could have added the swirl in post, but I think that’s it’s very unrealistic for Netflix to greenlight that for a minor detail such as a singular visible eyebrow.

While I am very sad that they weren’t able to translate Sanji’s signature brow to the live action adaptation, I think a lot of the complaints regarding him not having it and insistence that the production should have included it are entirely overblown, and are mainly being made by people who don’t have a lot of knowledge of what goes into film makeup versus other types of makeup. And while Sanji’s brows are fairly important to his character, this fact doesn’t actually come into the story until far after the timeskip, and we don’t even know if the live action will get another season outside of this one. I really hope this can help explain why they may have made the decision to nix the brow swirl for people who are still concerned about it, since from what I’ve seen, it seems to be the number one point of contention when it comes to live-action Sanji.

Next, I’d like to speak a bit about Sanji’s hair. Now, I have some complaints of my own about the wig used on Taz, but most of the criticism I’ve seen regarding the wig actually revolves around why it doesn’t cover his eye completely, as Sanji’s hair does. This is something that seems fairly obvious to me: Taz has to do a lot of stunt work, and he needs to be able to see! This is a potential safety issue more than anything else, and therefore goes back to my main original point. As well, there’s no real way to make the hair not move without completely overloading it with product, which, again, would be very obvious on a film camera, and likely wouldn’t read nearly as well as people think.

As for me, my personal critiques around the wig are just how sparse it is. Sanji has a lot more hair than is in the wig, and I really think a wig that had a little more hair attached to the base would have looked better. As well, I don’t know if the styling of the wig works for me personally.

I was actually really hoping that the live action adaptation would take cues on Sanji’s hair from the character who Sanji was modeled after. A lot of people still to this day think that Sanji’s appearance is based off Leonardo DiCaprio, specifically his role as Jack Dawson from the hit movie Titanic or his role as Romeo from Romeo and Juliet, but Oda has actually explained in an SBS that this isn’t the case:

Sanji’s looks and his “vibes” are based off of Steve Buscemi’s character Mr. Pink in Reservoir Dogs, and personally I would have loved to see his live-action hair more closely resemble that, but sadly, it wasn’t meant to be.

Another critique of live action Sanji is that he hasn’t been depicted with his trademark cigarette, and I kind of knew that this would happen from the moment I found out about the live action adaptation. This is not the fault of Tomorrow Studios(the production company), or even Netflix at large, but instead this is largely based off backlash from anti-smoking lobbies.

(As a former smoker myself, I have a lot of opinions on the ridiculousness of anti-smoking groups going after smoking in fictional scenarios like films and shows, but that’s a gripe for a whole other post lol)

Netflix notably caught a lot of flack for the depiction of commonplace cigarette smoking in other series, such as Stranger Things, even though the series takes place in the 1980′s, where smoking was incredibly commonplace. The major backlash even got to the point where you can actively see the drop in depictions of smoking between each season. I am hoping they at least give Taz one scene with Sanji’s iconic cigarette, but I’m not holding my breath on this one. I doubt Netflix wants to deal with that backlash again.

Finally, the last big complaint with Sanji’s wardrobe I’ve seen is his signature suit, specifically regarding the fitting of it. Sanji’s suits in the anime/manga tend to be fairly fitted in nature, while the live action once Taz wears, while still having a slightly tapered fit, is a bit baggier than what Sanji typically wears.

This is a fairly straightforward change, in my opinion: if the suit was as form-fitting as Sanji’s are, Taz(and his potential stunt double(I don’t know if he did all of his own stunt work or not)) simply would not be able to move the way Sanji does! This is an issue of cartoon versus reality: Oda is able to depict his characters doing whatever they want in whatever clothing they want. However, real life is sadly not as accommodating, and because of that, Taz’s suit has to be a bit less form-fitting so he can still do all of Sanji’s signature footwork. Going back to my original point, the sacrifice of the fitted suit had to be made so the production could actually work.

I tried to touch on all the biggest differences I’ve seen people talk about, and I hope this was helpful to anyone who may have been curious as to why some of these changes were made. Please let me know if I missed anything big or if you have any additional questions/need me to explain anything further, I love what I do and I love being able to have insight like this. Thank you so much if you’ve read this far, and please reblog if you found this post helpful or informative <3

#one piece #one piece live action #one piece live action adaptation #opla #tomorrow studios #dia drabbles #a rare case of nonfiction in my writing tag lol

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stardustjmk · 2 months

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Tears For Fears | J.T.K

Summary: in which spending some time with your friends sounds like a fun time, until alchohol gets involved.

Warnings: angst, alcoholic parent, alcohol consumption.

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Fem!Reader | Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, friends to lovers | Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: one thing about me is i’m gonna write self indulgent fics. i’m also sure there’s someone else out there who needs this, and even if you may not relate, i hope it brings you some joy and comfort, because who doesn’t love a good, fluffy jake fic? also, i apologize if there are any errors, it’s been so long since i’ve written anything. oh, and this fic has nothing to do with the duo tears for fears i just rocked with the name LMAO

You knew alchohol was bound to be involved. After all, you’d spent almost a decade with the four boys, so their habits weren’t something you we’re oblivious to. Regardless, you accepted, reminding yourself that even when damn near shit-faced, they never acted like your mother. In fact, the last time you’d been around the group while they were drinking, you felt comfortable enough to relax, and even have a drink of your own. It was only a wine cooler, but it was a step farther than you’d normally go, and the fact that you felt comfortable doing it was a big deal to you.

So, going into the little getaway, you figured it would be like that again, but that wasn’t the case. At the time you accepted the offer, you were in a good mood, almost entirely unbothered by the idea of alchohol being present. In fact, having a few drinks of your own sounded nice, but now, as you pad down the stairs and hear the unmistakable popping sound, your heart sinks.

You were all to familiar with it, and when you rounded the corner to then be hit with the smell of whiskey, you swear your stomach flipped, and your head began to spin. You’d taken a deep breath, trying to not let it bother you, but then came the sound of ice clinking as it hits the glass, with the crackling sound of the liquid being poured over it a moment later. For a second, you felt like your younger self again, the dread you felt then coming back to you in this very moment. For your sake and everyone else’s, you decided that a breath of fresh air would do you some good, and made your way to the back door.

You step onto the back porch and pull the door closed behind you, being ever so gentle with it. For whatever reason, if you used even a little bit too much pressure, the door would slam shut, and you remember Karen jokingly scolding you for it the first time you’d been here. The memory brings a small smile to your face, despite the anxiety that manifests in your chest. You suck in a sharp breath, the cool air filling your lungs as you do so. It’s refreshing and grounding, your breath swirling in front of you as you exhale.

You release the door knob and fold your arms in front of yourself as a gust of wind travels through the Michigan night, and your body shudders involuntarily. You scan the porch, and the scenery surrounding it, taking in the nostalgic view. Then, you remember the boys mentioning that they’d put up fairy lights the last time they were here, and sure enough, the string lights lined the roof of the porch. You scanned the floor, searching for where you could plug in the lights, and did just that as you found it.

It lights up the porch, casting a gentle, warm glow over everything. The light only travels a few feet out from the porch, leaving the rest of the yard to only be lit up by the bright moon. You sigh, then walk to the steps that lead to the grass, and take a seat on the top one. The wooden floor of the porch is cold, on your thighs, making you shudder again. It’s quiet, aside from the muffled chatter coming from inside of the cabin. Then, the whole reason you’re sitting here dawns on you again, and inevitably, your mind wanders to an unpleasant place.

Jake is the only one who knows about your past. In depth, at least. He found out years ago, when you both were still teenagers. It was common for you to flea to the Kiszka home to get away from your mom, but usually, you would disguise it as something else. Fortunately, they were always welcoming you with open arms, happy to have you no matter the circumstance. Normally, you’d be able to leave your house before it got bad, until one night where you’d pushed things too far.

You were fed up with your moms habits, and for the first time, tried to stand up for yourself. You simply tried to stop her from getting another drink, doing your best to be calm, but of course she, in her intoxicated state, blew up on you. Normally, you wouldn’t fight. You’d disassociate as she scolded you, telling you that you’re too young to understand, and that you should wait until you’re her age, having to soak up everyone’s bullshit, and then you can ask about how many drinks she’s had.

That time, though, you fought back. You argued with her for at least an hour, and by the end of it, were in shambles. She’d told you off in a way that you’d never been told off before, essentially calling you a disappointment and a burden. You managed to text Jake before she took your phone - for no reason, might you add - and when you told her that you were leaving, she said “Go cry to the Kiszka’s like you always do.” with a venom dripping from her words unlike any you’d heard before. To this day, you remember that vividly.

You held off your tears long enough to get past Karen, as the last thing you wanted to do was worry her, certain that she had enough on her plate with her own kids. Despite being able to tell you were upset, she could also read that you didn’t necessarily want to talk about it, so she dismissed you. You’d been to their house enough to know who’s room was where, so it wasn’t hard to get to Jakes- the twins’ room. You were relieved to find that Jake was the only one in the room when you walked in. Not that Josh being there would have been a problem, - in fact, in most cases, you’d gone to Josh for comfort, as he was always the perfect balance of silly and comforting - but this time, you longed for Jake.

Before you could determine why that was, you’d broken into tears. Jake immediately jumped up from his bed and took you in his arms, hugging you tightly. You buried your face into his neck, wrapping your arms around him twice as tightly as he did you. He was taken aback and remained silent, just letting you sob in his hold. He carefully brought you to the bed, where he continued hugging you. Unsure of what exactly to do, he wearily rubbed your back. You missed it in the moment, just Josh had come into the room, and before he could say anything, Jake shooed him away.

Josh closed the door and left, knowing that wasn’t the time to be snarky.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to guess?” Jake said, his tone somehow a mix of playful, concern, and comfort. You drew in a shaky breath and ended up explaining everything to him. You told him how it happened, what your mom had said, and even traveled back to past experiences. Jake was at a loss for words, but his touch delivered a comfort that surpassed anything he could have said, and you spent at least an hour clinging to him.

Later that night, your mom called, having sobered up. At that point, everyone except you and the twins had gone to bed. Josh was the one who picked up the phone, and you ended up taking over. You’d been too exhausted to fight with her, and simply went along with her suddenly apologetic acts. She didn’t put up a fight when you said you’d be staying at Jake’s place, but you knew she’d be on your ass about it the next day. However, as Jake looked at you from the couch with worried eyes, you couldn’t be bothered. This was your home - he was your home, and in that moment, you were sure of it.

In the midst of recalling the bittersweet memory, the back door opens and brings you back to reality. You look over your shoulder, relieved to see Jake standing there. “Hi,” you say softly, your voice strained slightly. “Hi,” he hums in response, shutting the door in the same manner you had done when you came out a few minutes ago. “You okay?” he asks, the soft rasp of his voice making you slightly giddy. “Yeah,” you say, but he knows all too well that something has to be bothering you at least a little bit.

He remains silent, standing near the back door, his gaze lingering on your backside. It’s quiet for a few moments, before he speaks. “Is it the alcohol?” he asks, and you should have known that he’d be able to easily detect the issue, but a part of you is still shocked that he was able to figure it out in such a short amount of time. Reluctantly, you nod your head. Guilt begins to pool in the pit of your stomach, as you hate the idea that your own issues might affect their fun, but unbeknownst to you, that’s the last thing Jake is worried about.

He takes a few steps forward and leans on the railing of the porch, forearms resting on the wood. He glances down at you, then looks out in the distance, following your own gaze. “Do you want me to tell them to put it away?” he asks, and you sigh. It’s frustrating, in a way. The fact that you can’t seem to get past it, that you can’t just let loose and trust yourself, and your friends, all because of a bottle of alchohol. “No,” you respond flatly. You can feel Jake’s eyes on you, and you try your hardest to stop your bottom lip from quivering as you get the urge to cry, but you can’t help it.

Fortunately, Jake doesnt overreact. He takes slow steps behind you, his signature chelsea boots thudding on the floor with each step. He plops down beside you, his thigh pressed against yours. It’s a subtle move of comfort, one that works, and only does so when Jake does it.

Your relationship with him, at this point in time, is hard to explain. You’re not just friends, you both know it, and so do the boys…hell, even his parents have probably caught onto it. That being said, you’re not officially dating either. Neither of you are oblivious to the chemistry you share, and you suppose that’s why you never felt the need to bring it up. However, as time goes on, a part of you wants to push the line of friends, to see what could become of your relationship if you were to bring attention to the aforementioned chemistry you have.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Jake asks, his eyes practically staring into your soul as you make eye contact with him. Your heart leaps at his words, and you swallow harshly. “I don’t even know,” you mutter, chuckling softly. It makes him smile; your brief amusement. “I guess i’m just frustrated,” you say, eyes flickering down to his lips as they purse. “Elaborate,” he says simply. Now, he’s turned his full body towards you, and rests his arm over your lap, his hand cupping the outer side of your thigh. Again, your heart leaps in your chest, and your stomach flips.

You avoid his gaze, looking off into the distance once again. You press your lips together for a moment, thinking about how to word your thoughts. “I feel bad…like, I hate that I can’t just relax and let you guys have fun.” Jake hums, “We are having fun,” he says, making you roll your eyes subtly. “You know what I mean,” you finally return your eyes to his, and every part of you wants to lean in and kiss him, especially given how cute he looks in these moments. He’s staring at you with big, brown eyes, ones that are too often hidden behind dark sunglasses, and the way he looks at you makes your head spin.

“Sure, but we don’t have to drink to have fun,” he explains, pressing his point further. You eye him, shoulders slumping with defeat. “I know, but,” you pause. It’s always conflicting; the half of you that wants to join in on the drinking, to just goof off and enjoy the tingly feeling of alchohol in your system, versus the other half of you that wishes it would cease to exist. “But what?” Jake asks, his voice impossibly softer. Your brows furrow, “Do you do that on purpose?” you ask, and his expression mirrors yours, with his brows knitting together in confusion. “Do what?” he asks.

You aren’t even sure how to explain it to him. If only you could put him in your shoes right now. “I don’t know, Jake, you just,” you’re getting flustered now, almost regretting that you even said anything. He waists, and you swear he’s batting his eyelashes at you. Your breath catches in your throat, and it takes every fiber of your being to remain still. “You just have this way of…being, I suppose,” you say, and you know it sounds stupid, but it’s almost worth it when Jake smiles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs, looking away, and a part of you is almost frustrated with him, but it doesn’t last for long.

“Come on, talk to me,” Jake says after a few moments of silence. “About what?” you ask. “Either the drinking situation, or whatever my way of…’being’ is,” he uses air quotes when he says ‘being’, playfully mocking you. You huff, “I guess i’m just scared,” you say, then clarify, “of drinking, I mean.” He nods, “What are you afraid of?” he asks, and your mind goes right back to where it was earlier, when you’d seen Josh pop open the very whiskey your mom used to drink - you weren’t upset with Josh, or any of the boys. They didn’t know, and even if they did, you wouldn’t have been upset.

“Well I mean, for starters, it doesn’t even feel that great to drink-“ Jake stops you. “No, what are you afraid of?” he repeats, making you swallow. You stay quiet, pressing your lips together. You’re searching for any comfort you can get, and Jake delivers it as he takes your hand in both of his, his thumbs soothing over your skin.

“I’ve seen what it does to some people, Jake,” you mutter, and he leans in to ensure he hears you. He nods, thinking back to the night where you told him everything.

He felt so helpless, it hurt. He remembers it almost as vividly as you do, and certainly remembers the way his chest ached as you cried into his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He also felt angry, knowing that you’d have to go home and deal with your mom again, but he knew better than to try and do anything - at the end of the day, all he could do was hold you, be there for you, and even if he wasn’t sure how to do that, he internally promised himself to do his best.

“I don’t want to be the way my mom was-is…she stopped for a while, just drinking wine here and there, but she’s picked up whiskey again,” you explain. Jake had yet to learn that, and that tells him all he needs to know. “I’m so sorry,” he says, and the sheer gentleness of his words makes you want to dissolve into a puddle of tears. “It’s okay,” you respond, voice barely above a whisper. “We don’t have to drink, but I want you to know that you will never be like your mom, okay?” He says, and you can feel a lump forming in your throat. You choose to nod rather than speak, not trusting that your voice wouldn’t fail you. He lifts a hand to your cheek just in time for a tear to fall from your eyes, and he swipes it away gently.

“Come here,” he says sweetly, cradling your head to his chest as he embraces you. It’s nostalgic, this moment, and how similar it is to that night you spent with him, sobbing in his arms. Fortunately, this time, you’re much more calm, even if the tears are still falling. “Jakey,” you hadn’t intended to use the nickname, but sometimes, it finds it way out almost instinctively. “Yes?” he responds, rubbing your back. You nuzzle into him, taking a moment to relish in his hold.

“Do you want a drink?” you ask. He didn’t know exactly what to expect, but that wasn’t it. Between the overwhelming urge to confess to him right now, and your desire to finally overcome your own fear, you’re warming up to the thought of a shot or two.

“Yn, sweetheart, I already told you that I don’t care. I don’t need to drink to have f-“ you’re the one to cut him off this time. “I know, but do you want to have a drink? Because I think a drink sounds kind of nice,” you say. Jake sighs, not a frustrated sigh, but rather a…disappointed sigh? He’s unsure of what exactly he was sighing for, but the possibility that you were going to confess to him flashes through his mind, and he knows deep down that’s the reason for it. Suddenly, he’s on par with a drink as well, but remains mindful as you lead him back inside.

Youre half expecting to be bombarded by the other boys, but you find sam sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep, with Josh and danny in the middle of some intense conversation, one that they don’t pull away from. “Probably talking about music,” Jake mutters, shutting the back door. You glance at Jake, then look at Josh. His hands mimick Danny’s when he’s drumming, and what Jake said makes sense. “Seems like it,” you respond, then follow Jake into the kitchen.

“Please tell me you bought something other than whiskey,” you say, grimacing at the sight of the half empty bottle. “Honestly, I don’t know, I didn’t buy anything,” he says as he starts rummaging through the cabinets, and the idea that he refrained from buying anything because of you warms your heart. You watch as he scans the cabinets, and eventually, he finds the stash of drinks, listing them to you. You take your pick, grabbing two glasses as Jake opens the bottle. He pours a small amount into both glasses, and you don’t miss the way he takes a second to put the whiskey out of your view.

He turns his attention to you as he grabs his glass. “Thank you, Jakey,” you say softly, and he smiles, clinking his glass against yours. “Your welcome,“ he says softly, and you both down the shot, almost in sync as you place your glasses on the counter. You stand in a comfortable silence for a few moments, and given how rare it is for you to drink, it’s not long before you feel the subtle affects of the alcohol taking place.

“D’you wanna tell me about my way of being, now?”Jake asks suddenly, eyeing you. You know that, unless you seriously didn’t want to, he’s going to press you until you expound. Now, you’re even more unsure of how to explain it. “I don’t know how to explain it,” you mumble, looking at him. Your eyes meet, and he waits patiently for you to continue. “You just…” you bite your lip, hesitant to tell him the truth. He steps forward, closing some of the distance between you both. “Talk to me, baby,” he says, and it takes everything in you to keep your composure.

The amount of love you feel for him is overwhelming, and right now, between the very slight buzz you’re experiencing, his closeness to you, and the nickname, you’re almost dizzy. “Nobody makes me feel the way you do, Jake,”

you finally give him a peak into your mind, and even though you can’t tell, his heart is rapidly beating against his rib cage. He nods, encouraging you to continue. “Like, everything you do is so…you bring me so much comfort and peace, just by existing,” you explain, and despite trying to fight it, tears well in your eyes.

“You just mean so much to me, Jake and…I don’t know what i’d do without you, and especially nights like these, I can’t hardly stand just being your friend,” you know you’re jumping around a little bit, but you figure your point is getting across just fine.

“Then, what do you want us to be?” he asks softly. He’s not trying to be flirtatious, or teasing, he’s genuinely asking, and with the way he steps even closer, making you feel like he’s the only person in the world, you feel so comfortable giving him an answer. “Everything,” you respond. “I like what we have, I dont want to lose it…but I also want more, I suppose,” you say, eyes unable to break away from his. “I want to wake up to you, to go to sleep with you, to go everywhere with you, to just-“ you pause, choosing to save him the long explanation. “I love you, Jake.”

There’s a moment of silence, and you talk again just as he opens his mouth to speak. “And that’s not the alcohol talking,” you assure him. He laughs, shaking his head. “Baby, you had maybe an ounce or two, I know it isn’t the alchohol,” he hums. If it weren’t for the pet name, you’d likely have been annoyed at his teasing, but instead, you feel like you’re melting under his gaze. He takes one more step, your body’s almost touching. He slowly leans down, cupping your cheek as he does so. You lean into the warmth of his palm, eyes fluttering shut. They open only for a moment, and close when his lips land on yours. It’s a soft, but passionate kiss. One of your hands finds its place on his chest, the other gripping his wrist to keep his hand on your cheek as you fervently kiss him. When he pulls away, you’re both giddy.

“I love you too, yn,” he says honestly, and even if the way he just kissed you should have been enough to tell you that, hearing him say it lifts any doubts you had. “…And that’s not the alcohol talking,” he playfully mocks you, laughing as you gently smack his chest.

#new fic who cheered #i need jake #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka x y/n #jake kiszka x you #jake kiszka fanfic #fanficiton #jake kiszka fluff #jake kiszka fic #jtk x reader #gvf x reader #greta van fleet x reader #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fanfiction #gvf fic

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aquatark · 14 days

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text post incoming!

endless ocean luminous is only one day away!!! the moment we’ve been waiting for… for 15 years…

however, especially after reviews got published, i’ve been seeing a lot of negativity towards the new game from fans of the series… especially on the endless ocean subreddit, that place has gone full doomer lmao

i wanted to examine this just a little - not because i want everyone to love luminous. there are plenty of reasons a person may not like the game that make complete sense to me! i just find the turnaround so jarring, when all these people who have yet to play the game have been feeling so disappointed because of what they heard in reviews that came out only in the last day or so.

i’ve been speaking with some people who are longtime fans of the series, who have gotten copies of luminous early… and they’re really enjoying it! it is true that some series staple mechanics are missing, but the scanning of sea creatures and exploration of each new stage has been plenty entertaining to them! there’s tons of callbacks of all types to satisfy old fans as well, but ofc i won’t spoil them~

i think the issue here is that critics were very harsh on these games, as they have been for the series in general! (some outlets gave the original game terribly low scores over here) it’s worth mentioning that games like this one are not really prime for day one reviewing, and upon reading many of these reviews… they were written by people who endless ocean doesn’t appeal to as a concept anyway. don’t let these people get you all downtrodden!

if you’re a fan of the endless ocean series, there’s a good chance you’ll like this game too. just don’t go into it with specific, high expectations, because that’s a one-way ticket to being let down. remind yourself that this game is not a sequel to endless ocean 2, and it should be smooth sailing!

the thing that worries me the most about this game has nothing to do with the game itself… i worry it’s going to tear the community apart. i don’t want this lovely place that we’ve spent the last decade cultivating to crumble in on itself over divisive opinions… especially not about a game that, if you had told fans about five years ago, they’d be amazed!

a new endless ocean game is something most of us thought would never happen, and the success it has already seen may encourage the development of more arika diving games… and hey, who wouldn’t want more of that? :>

#sorry for the ramble #just had some thoughts abt the past day in the community #endless ocean #endlessocean #endless ocean luminous #endless ocean 3

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faeriecap · 1 month

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okay i know i’ve literally said this 8000 times in a variety of different posts before but it really bums me out that mcu only started giving sam what feels like actual, valued screen time after removing steve rogers from the equation specifically because their friendship was such a crucial part of the captain america narrative, both within the comics and the films! maybe i’m wrong because it’s been a long time since i’ve watched the trilogy and years since i saw fatws, but it seems to me like sam is constantly going out of his way to help and support steve, and despite the very genuine connection between them we get on screen, we never actually get to see steve giving sam that same support back or reciprocating the friendship he receives in quite the same sense??

like… literally what does steve ever do for sam that doesnt in some way also stem from or end up benefiting him? all the missions they go on and stuff get him his wings back and induct him unofficially into the avengers sure, but that all ties back to steve and his needs, his ultimate character progression throughout all three films. in cacw steve breaks him out of the raft but it’s also kind of his fault sam is even there in the first place (despite the accords being wrong and steve being right to resist them). even when he takes up sams mantle so to speak (apparently “in his honor”) by leading support groups, all he can talk about his his stupid ex situationship from decades ago who died of completely unrelated natural causes and not the two beloved companions who gave their lives trying to fight with and for him? and then of course sam’s just gone for most of steve’s final scenes. i get they intended for sam to be a supporting character at the time, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t EVER be the focus of some scenes nor that steve couldn’t be supportive???

when it finally comes down to focus on sam, just sam, steve dumps a shield on him he might not even really want with very little consideration for any personal implications or risks it might pose and then ABANDONS HIM. APPARENTLY FOREVER. to figure out what he even intended for sam to do and then derive his own meaning from it virtually by himself and almost IMMEDIATELY after sam just came back from being dead for five years too?! only to instantly end up fighting steve’s battles one more time for. old times sakes. i guess. lmao what a way to repay such devotion and love

this post is in no way me trying to deny the validity of sam wilson as captain america nor suggest he at all doesn’t deserve the shield so if you’re here to comment that crap save yourself the time and block me rn; i absolutely think he does but the circumstances in which he received it were really shitty and lack virtually any regard for his actual wants or needs as a character and a person… you know… again

#he can’t even let him win at running 😭#sam sat vigil by his bedside while he was comatose and steve’s just like omg bestie tysm now here’s all my fucking baggage yw <3 #i speak #steeb #sammich #samsteve #anti mcu #fatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #falcon and the winter soldier #captain america #steve rogers #sam wilson #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe

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atopvisenyashill · 25 days

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Who are Sansa’s potential contenders in your opinion?

i’ve talked about this before but i’d love to talk about it again lmao. i think the potential romantic endgame contenders are (in order of most to least likely) jon, brienne, theon, and podrick (there’s a wide gap between theon and podrick) and i use the term romantic like……i mean a little loosely. i’m gonna explain my criteria a bit.

sansa’s suitors must be

within a decade of her age

someone who has, when they meet her, a claim to a seat powerful enough to at least be in the same ballpark as the Starks

someone who would be willing to relocate to winterfell or near winterfell

someone who won't feel threatened by her title

shares her romantic sensibilities

someone whose identity subverts the typical Westerosi idea of what a True Knight and a Proper Husband is

someone who is actively trying and at least partially succeeding at being a good person, but specifically someone who has themes associated with what she desires - a True Knight and Hero From A Song

so let’s explain.

firstly, when we’re talking “potential contenders” i think everyone is picturing something slightly different. i’m talking about like. the relationship that will be one of the focal points of her story going forward, the relationship that will mean the most to her bc it fulfills her dreams while matching her growth and maturity, the relationship her story is building towards her meeting. i think there’s a lot of,,,idk confrontations on the horizon. theon hearing bran in the trees. dany’s nightmare about (probably) euron. everyone and their mother hearing wolves howling in the distance. half these characters are like on a boat, on a dragon, on a walk in the woods, literally on the way to meet someone when we leave them in feastdance and sansa is no exception to this - the Themes Are Coming For Her.

i think there’s been a build up over sansa’s story that she is going to meet The Hero Of Her Dreams, but they will not fit the typical mold of a hero. They will help empower her, protecting her physically while she protects them politically. There will be genuine love, and dedication. A bond to rival Naerys & Aemon, Florian & Jonquil, a person who will love her until the end of her days…a person who is also going to be helpful when it comes to her new role as The Stark In Winterfell. this means a) the line of succession will be dealt with in a practical manner and not swept under the rug and b) someone who likely has some sort of background in either politics or battle.

Maybe it’s a contradiction to say this relationship can be romantic and satisfying to read while also saying there's a chance it will be “subtext” but…I just think, looking at his inspirations being soooo focused on things like courtly love, chivalry, that a spin that involves Sansa feeling a deep affection for a Knight protecting her, with no men around (but again, crucially, having discussed how the hell she’s going to have kids, with a partner who will not shy away from a frank discussion like that) is still a satisfying "romantic" arc. Yes i am saying this is how I have my cake and eat it too, where Braime fucks and then Jaime dies, then Brienne stays in the North with a conveniently (publicly) single Sansa who leans on her for comfort. This is my meta and we're never getting the winds of winter to disprove it, but also I'm thinking specifically of the focus on rumors surrounding the sexualities of a lot of characters in F&B - Alyn and Addam Velaryon, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Laenor and Laena Velaryon, Rhaena the Black Bride, to name just a few very obvious ones - as well as the repeated princess and knight dynamic that follows both Sansa (with Dontos and Sandor) as well as is present in F&B (Rhaenyra & Harwin, Rhaenyra & Criston, Alysanne & Jonquil Darke, Aegon & Visenya imo also fits this) that this dynamic can be romantic but also not explicitly stated to be a sexual or romantic relationship. MOVING ON.

I think it’s actually most likely that Briensa and Jeynsa that are winning the “so which one is actually gonna go canon” war bc they’ll be single, in the same place, and clearly devoted to each other while like, Jon/Theon/Aegon/Sandor/Tyrion/Basically Every Man Shipped With Sansa are miserable and cold or dead elsewhere. (littlefucker isn’t included bc he’s definitely dead 😁). I just need everyone to understand my definition of “goes canon” is so so loose. ANYWAYS. EXPLANATIONS-

within a decade of her age

i am once again saying that every relationship with a huge age gap that starts with one of them below the age of 17 ends badly and the reason is bc george is not a pervy moron, he is actually writing about the ways in which the hypersexualization and forced child marriages in westeros are damaging to these girls. “but he said dany & drogo were in love!!” he’s very clearly the sort who likes to find the romantic and erotic in the grotesque and horrific, and looking at this from the character’s point of view. i think his comments line up just fine with the justifications these girls make to themselves about the marriages they are forced into. also he’s just an old man and he phrases things in ways that make you cringe sometimes, pls be serious 😭 the only exceptions to this rule are really Rhaenys/Corlys and arguably Rhaenyra's various romantic ties but a) none of Rhaenyra's romantic relationships end well and in fact help speed her right along to her gruesome death and b) Rhaenys and Corlys' relationship is fraught with political problems and also, he has an affair with a teenager so again, george is Saying Something about the reasons why certain types of men prefer women much younger than them. "but what about roose and fat walda?" they are both gonna die horribly, next question.

SO. it’s not gonna be tyrion. it’s not gonna be sandor. it’s not gonna be littlefucker. they’re too goddamn old and sansa spending the rest of her life rationalizing these guys perving on her when she’s barely even middle school aged is not (imo) the ending she is going to get.

this leaves us with the rest of her more popular ships - jeyne, margaery, harry, sweetrobin, aegon vi, jon, theon (admittedly pushing it here! i can be logical about this!), podrick, and brienne (technically bran and arya are here too ig, i mean if we want to be really fair to all ships). onto the next criteria-

someone who has a claim to something in the same general social circle as winterfell

technically i do think there’s a chance george goes for something radical at the ending like abolishing the monarchy and if he does that i will kiss him on the mouth (with consent from him & parris). BUT. i think the most likely ending is more of a loosening of the feudal system - showing us the next few hopeful steps away from absolute monarchies. what i’m saying is The System still exists and will still exist throughout twow and ados, so I think it’s logical to assume that Sansa is not going to marry “beneath” her. if anyone does, it's arya.

anyways that’s a double pass on sandor & littlefucker. this is also why i admit pod is a stretch - the paynes aren’t nobodies but pod himself is from a cadet branch, so fairly low in the pecking order . i mostly include him bc i think he’ll make a name for himself alongside brienne, potentially enough to overcome that gap and he fits the rest of the criteria too well imo to completely disregard him. “why can’t sandor or littlefucker do that” bc sandor doesn’t have enough time before the end of the series to make up for all the shit he did as the hound In The Eyes Of The Public Or, Crucially, Sansa’s Family and littlefucker is going to die 😁

you could argue this also crosses out jon and jeyne. COUNTERPOINT - jeyne is a girl it literally doesn’t matter so long as she’s high enough to be one of sansa’s ladies and she is, so she passes; jon is one of three targaryens left alive (and even if aegon's a blackfyre, he doesn't know that so still counts!!) and all the secrecy around jon's legitimacy + robb’s will means clearly something is cooking here. also he has an impressive resume on paper.

someone who would actually live in Winterfell

I don’t feel it’s necessary to argue that Sansa is going to be IN WINTERFELL and END UP IN WINTERFELL bc she lichrally builds Winterfell after Arya, the sibling she interacts with the most, hears a prophecy about a girl slaying a giant IN A CASTLE MADE OF SNOW. This does not feel subtle nor like a stretch. Whether she’s a regent for Rickon/Bran, a ruling lady, or a queen, she is GOING HOME the same as the rest of the Starklings and she will be important in helping rebuild it. Therefore, the person she’s with has to not only be cool with being at Winterfell often, they have to not induce immediate fury and rage in her siblings.

sandor? triple dead. tyrion? we’ll call him 1.5 dead to be polite. aegon vi? doomed and dead. harry hardyng? does Not seem likely to relocate. littlefucker probably would relocate but good luck getting two steps into the north or riverlands without every living starks’ “it’s time to beat that annoying fuck up” alarms blaring in their heads ready to run him through.

theon is a hard maybe but since he actually feels bad & also grew up with them, i think he has plenty of time in the next 2k pages of story to make up some ground with jon, arya, and bran. margaery feels like a hard maybe as well - it’s looking bleak for the tyrells & i don’t think margaery’s family is going to let her move to the north without a good reason. but i also feel like. there’s too many unknowns to technically count her out.

brienne & pod Will be living in the North and they Will be on the guard and That Is That. jeyne & jon don’t seem to have any plans on leaving the North any time soon either.

someone who won't feel threatened by her title

this is a near constant through line in her story - that whoever marries her will want her for her claim first and foremost. it's going to factor into her relationships, specifically about how she's going to have a child. whether she has a secret marriage, longstanding affair, or a public husband, it's going to be someone who is not constantly trying to usurp her power literally or metaphorically.

that means no aegon vi, no sweetrobin, no harry, no littlefucker, no tyrion. tyrion's claim to the westerlands is a competing one with her, and tyrion himself is interested in her title way more than sansa as a person (it's why he doesn't see her escape coming and why he's so bitter over it - the whole time he thought she was a silly girl and had no idea she was plotting to escape and nearly did escape at several points. he thought she was helpless! you can bet your ass he is going to feel threatened by the idea that she does not need his ass). sandor, imo, will also feel threatened by her having such a lofty title, and i cannot see him being capable of any sort of secret marriage. "well they could just marry publicly" she's not publicly marrying a man known to be a child killer. to be completely honest, i think margaery would feel threatened by her title as well.

jon, podrick, brienne, jeyne are all people who would not only not feel threatened, they would be proud, celebrate it, actively fight to keep her in a state of power. theon is imo a maybe - the theon we meet in the beginning would objectively feel threatened by Sansa having a title loftier than his. a theon who has lived through everything he has by the end of the dance is imo much more likely to be happier out of the spotlight. all of them as well would be willing to be frank about how she's going to have a child, and would not mind Sansa saying something like "my children were fathered by a wolf."

someone who shares her romantic sensibilities

listen. she's gonna like, get along with her suitor. someone who won't laugh at her for wanting to be swept off her feet, someone who also craves a more romantic life.

this eliminates, imo, harry, sweetrobin, littlefucker, and sandor, probably aegon vi as well.

brienne, jon, theon, jeyne, and podrick are all romantic types - jon imagines having children named after ned and robb just llike sansa, theon had dreamed as a hostage of marrying sansa and calling ned father, brienne dreams of lofty knightly ideals of protecting the weak, and podrick and jeyne both have stories very much tied to subverting the ideas of a true knight and a damsel in distress.

someone who is an Atypical True Knight

💙✨this is a post about briensa✨💙

true knight/hero from a song themes + marginalized in some way in Westeros = brienne, jon, theon, tyrion. sandor feels relevant here in that he is not a true knight but he clearly wants to be after his encounters with the stark girls and also he doesn't look like one either.

aegon vi could arguably count due to being dornish, so i guess i'll give him a .5 in this category. harry is as typical as they come, and neither margaery nor jeyne have anything that links them narratively to the concept of a true knight or hero from a story (except, i suppose, for jeyne's link to theon). podrick is also fairly typical but again, kinda lowish for a noble so i guess .5, and he also has several scenes where he's expressly linked with being an Atypical True Knight (mainly, the scene where he saves Tyrion during the Battle on the Blackwater).

a True Knight

i simply do not think the lesson sansa is going to “learn” here is that no one will ever love her for who she is and her marriage will be about her claim and nothing more because there are no True Knights left. every time someone is like “she won’t have a romance bc her story is about not needing love” i find it mind boggling because in what world is asoiaf about not needing love, first of all, and second of all, her arc wrt her desires for marriage and love has so clearly been tied to this concept of a True Knight and the idea that a True Knight does not always ~look good~ and that someone who is not a knight may be capable of good and that you can always just Choose To Do Good at any point but you have to Make That Choice, and that is all very different from “not needing love.” Sansa is naive yes but!! Sansa is Dunk sitting there surrounded by strong handsome men in expensive, gorgeous armor and asking if there are any true knights among them-

EXCEPT SOMEONE WILL STEP UP TO THE PLATE.

“a dream of spring” means there will be just a little hope. so help Will Come and they will be a True Knight they just won’t take a form she expects. this is a large part of the reason why i’m on the briensa train. Brienne is The Truest Of True Knights! She serves a King she's in love with who doesn't love her back faithfully, she swears a vow to Sansa's mother after comparing Catelyn's courage to that of a knight's and laments the fate of women who die unremembered in a birthing bed, she's on a noble quest to find Sansa with an assist from The Most Infamous Knight In Westerosi History, she’s the secret descendant of The Other Truest Of True Knights, and I feel it’s very clear from geography, theme, and foreshadowing standpoints that Brienne and Sansa are going to be linking up soon.

I have always felt that the Ashford Tourney Theory is linking Sansa to both Jon and Brienne narratively - Jon for being the dark haired Targaryen Prince defender and Brienne for being the Dunk descendant and True Knight that interrupts the tourney. Not only that, but Jon has that "she wished for a hero to strike him down" "ed, fetch me a block" parallel that I think is really important.

BUT. They're not the only ones with links like this. Theon has the similar link of how life is not a song and is actively grasping for redemption when we last left him. Podrick, like Brienne, is on a True Knight's quest to save Sansas and is discounted as a hero despite having several heroic moments for himself - including actively seeking Brienne out to help with her quest. Tyrion frequently struggles with concepts of morality but is on an absolute downward trajectory.

Who is not tied to these last two concepts nor acts at all like a True Knight? Aegon VI (arguable I suppose), Harry Hardyng, and once again, Littlefucker.

IN SUMMATION

Who doesn't fit any of the critera? Littlefucker, and that's why his ass is grass.

Who fits very little of the criteria? Tyrion (too old, not likely to live in Winterfell, cares too much about her title, on a downward spiral), Sandor (too old, too low born, not a True Knight and not becoming one any time soon, plus Arya will kill him if he tries something), Aegon VI (would not relocate, is not tied to the concept of a True Knight, plus he's doomed), Harry Hardyng (would not relocate, cares too much about titles, is not a true knight nor atypical in way, doesn't seem given to romantic sensibilities).

Who fits most of the criteria? Jeyne Poole and Margaery Tyrell. However there are pretty big plot reasons Margaery won't have any sort of romantic, subtext or otherwise, long lasting relationship with Sansa so even though on paper she fits, I think she's highly unlikely to impossible.

Who fits all of that criteria, ie, close to her age, has an important name (or has a reason why it doesn't matter), and is an Atypical True Knight with a romantic outlook on life with narrative links to Sansa? Brienne of Tarth and Jon Snow, and arguably Theon Greyjoy and Podrick Payne.

Anyways I think Sansa should start a bisexual polycule in the North. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#asks #anons #sansa stark #fathered by a wolf #rani attempts meta #briensa #theonsa #jonsa #anti sansan #anti petsa #anti sanrion #book jonsa

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cc-horan28 · 3 months

Text

The Little Things You Do for @wishingforloushair <3

Written for the @1dlibrary Valentine's exchange!

“What’s that supposed to mean, then? I’m romantic, aren’t I?!” His voice went up an octave with indignation and Harry couldn’t help but giggle at the offended look on his face.

Harry sat back up from where he was snuggled up with Louis, careful to not spill any of his wine onto the older man as he leaned forward to peck his cheek. “Sure you are, Lou,” he grinned.

The one where Harry makes a throwaway remark about Louis not being a romantic, and Louis is desperate to prove him wrong.

Read on AO3 or under the cut <3

Long note incoming:

Oof so this one was... Yeah, I had it all in my head from the start but i questioned all of it so much. It was fun to write but it turned out WAYYY crack-ier than I'd intended so hehe

I added the stalker bit WAYYY before the actual thing happened with H and I thought it was in bad taste for so long but I couldn't figure out a replacement for it :') . (I apologise if you find it in bad taste I really m sorry)

Huge huge huge thanks to Liv for staying crazy with me while I worked over this (also the moodboard ily). Nashie, Coco ily guys ty for everything. Also everyone in the 1DLibrary server, I could not have finished this without y'all sprinting with me. Much love <3

Louis is like Murphy's Law personified idk man lmao <3

So yeah, this one's for Loz

They were both amazing prompts! Much love and I hope you like this <3

“Okay, Haz, babe- That’s the third time you’ve sighed in the last five minutes. Something has to be on your mind. What is it, love?” Louis stopped short, fingers still tangled in Harry’s hair, the other wrapped awkwardly around a crystal glass Harry had insisted on pouring his beer in, finding the can ‘unromantic’. Louis thought the can had arguably been the better option while they cuddled, but, oh well.

Harry met Louis’ eyes, face expressionless for a moment. “I mean… I’ve just been thinking- It’s about to be Valentine’s day, soon…” he trailed off, smiling up cryptically at Louis.

Louis raised an eyebrow, utterly confused. Valentine’s day… What did that have anything to do with what they were talking about. Was he forgetting something? Had he forgotten something? He waited for a few moments, trying not to panic. A few moments later, he tilted his head slightly, motioning for Harry to continue, unable to wait any longer.

“See, it’s exactly this,” Harry blew out his cheeks and sighed again, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve been wondering-” he paused, before blurting out the rest of the sentence with the words all meshed together, “It’s almost been a decade and a half and I still haven’t managed to turn you into a romantic,” He watched Louis from the corner of his eye warily.

Louis’ jaw worked up and down for a few moments, trying to make sense of Harry’s rushed words. “ Turn me into a romantic!?” Louis exclaimed, realisation hitting him with the force of a train, “What’s that supposed to mean, then? I’m romantic, aren’t I?!” His voice went up an octave with indignation and Harry couldn’t help but giggle at the offended look on his face.

Harry sat back up from where he was snuggled up with Louis, careful to not spill any of his wine onto the older man as he leaned forward to peck his cheek. “Sure you are, Lou,” he grinned.

“Hey- I’m not a child! Don’t just say it for the sake of it! It’s- I’m-” Louis sputtered, “That’s not going to convince me! Say it like you mean it,”

Harry’s lips curled up with amusement and he pouted exaggeratedly at his husband. “Well, Louis… I mean, what’s the last big romantic gesture you made that you remember?” he asked with a small, crooked smile, tilting his head as he watched Louis gnaw at his lower lip. He felt almost bad for Louis, how seriously he was taking this, but Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t find it all just a bit funny.

“Thought so,” Harry said after a pregnant pause, choking back a laugh at the look of concentration on Louis’ face. “You look like you’re gonna blow a nerve, babe,” he said, reaching out to gently run his thumb along Louis’ jaw, “It’s not that big of a deal- I was just wondering. Don’t stress yourself out,”

“You can’t just say something like that and expect me to forget it!” Louis motioned helplessly, forehead still scrunched up, “You’ve got me all worried now, I- Be honest, have I been a bad husband all this time?”

Harry couldn’t help but giggle at that. “Never, Lou. I love you. So so much. You’re the best husband I could’ve ever asked for. You’re just- It was just an observation, that’s all,”

“Oh no no no. It’s you who’s got to have got it all wrong- I mean- I am romantic, aren’t I?” Louis turned to frown at Harry, folding his legs up and looping his arms around his knees.

“Sure you are, Lou. I said that ages ago, didn’t I?” Harry said with the long-suffering patience of someone who had been dealing with this for a long time.

“Not like you meant it. I- You know what, Haz? I’ll prove it to you. Keep your eyes peeled-”

“Don’t generally need to carefully look for grand gestures,” Harry interrupted with a chuckle, ducking away when Louis made to swat at his arm.

“Just you watch, you’re not going to be that mouthy when I’m through with you,”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek and was just about to say something when Louis rolled his eyes, sighing as he turned further towards him. “ Don’t say it. I know what you’re thinking and just- Don’t,”

“I didn’t say anything!” Harry burst out, palm pressed over his mouth as he tried to stifle his giggles.

“But you were thinking it!” Louis mumbled, fake cross with him as he made to pour out the rest of his beer into the glass “And you say I’m the unromantic one,”

Louis smiled smugly to himself as he cut the call, lifting his phone to check the time until the delivery.

He’d stocked up on roses the previous day, placing them throughout the house one at a time in places where Harry could find them, even putting one in Harry’s car before he left for the studio that morning. The younger man hadn’t mentioned them yet, however.

When Louis had checked later, the flowers were gone, so Harry must have seen them, but his husband was nothing if not unpredictable, so he chose to ignore it for the time being.

He’d called and practically begged Mitch to not let Harry anywhere near his car until it was time. He was doing his best to keep the plan under wraps, not wanting to make it obvious and so, had decided to restrain himself from asking Harry to come home early, barely able to contain his excitement. Later, they’d had a little conversation over text during lunch, and Harry had promised to be back by dinner.

Louis was holding Harry to that.

Glancing at his phone again and scrunching up his face when he noticed only a few minutes had passed, Louis strode to the kitchen, turning on the kettle to make himself a cuppa before peering into the fridge, unsure why he was relieved when he saw the cake was still intact. It wasn’t like anything would happen to it still in the fridge, but he’d been anxious all day. He wanted it all to be perfect for Harry.

Louis perked up as soon as he heard the door swing open, quickly stubbing out his cigarette and throwing his phone off to the side, turning around to grin at Harry. “Evening, love,” he smiled, watching patiently as Harry shucked off his coat, throwing his shoes off to the side before practically falling onto the couch beside Louis, looking tired and frustrated.

“So…” Louis started, watching Harry intently “Did you like the flowers?” he asked expectantly, the other man’s reaction not what he had in mind when he had sent the flowers. He had been expecting more… Well- Anything but this.

“Oh my god, Louis,” Harry said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned towards him.

“That’s not the ‘Oh my God’ I was expecting, if I’m being honest,” Louis deadpanned, picking some imaginary lint off his t-shirt, feigning nonchalance while his mind reeled with what could have gone wrong to make Harry react this way.

“I almost called the cops here, Louis- To the house. Mitch had to intervene. He stopped me,” Harry paused, a smile betraying the strict tone he was trying to adopt, “ And I still made them go through hours of footage at the studio to confirm who put the flowers there,”

Louis sputtered incoherently, brow creased in confusion “But Mitch told you, didn’t he?” he asked weakly.

“He did but- I thought I had a stalker, I- I mean- The flowers were everywhere! By the door, yesterday? In the car, this morning? And I- The whole car was covered right now, babe. What was I supposed to think, it’s not like you sent a card saying they were from you,” Harry said, holding back from dissolving into a fit of giggles at how ridiculous the whole situation was now that he looked back at it.

“Who else would know you’re at the studio? How did your mind go straight to fuckin’ ‘stalker’?!” Louis asked, a smile creeping onto his face, “They were just flowers!”

Harry leaned into Louis’ side, full-on belly laughing now as he tried to speak coherently. He nearly called the cops on Louis, for sending him flowers. When he was the one who asked him to be romantic. It was all a bit crazy, he couldn’t lie.

“I’m- Sorry. But I mean- You could’ve added a note,” He managed to choke out, grinning up at Louis, having somehow ended up with his head in his lap.

“I just wanted it to be a surprise! So much for being fuckin’ romantic,” Louis sighed dramatically.

Harry decided to skip replying, choosing to pull Louis down for a kiss by the neck of his t-shirt.

“No incidents this time,” Louis promised a few hours later, giving Harry a sheepish smile as he drew his chair for him. He’d planned on making his date night usual chicken-parma ham but then decided not to take any chances. He’d ended up ordering in and impulsively getting a cake as well.

He sat down across from Harry, taking in the sight of his face bathed in the flickering light of the candle and reflecting back to when they’d had their first proper date. It had been something similar, dinner he’d made, with just the two of them giggling over nothing the whole time, giddy at the novelty of it all.

“ ‘M never gonna get used to this,” he said, voice slightly thick with emotion, “All of this. You’re so pretty, my love. You look fuckin’ gorgeous in this lighting,” he smiled shily, “I don’t know how I was lucky enough to end up here. I’ve said that for years, I know, but I just- I look at you, at us- And we’ve come so far. It’s- I just love you so much,”

“The season’s getting to somebody,” Harry joked weakly, sniffling in what he hoped was an inconspicuous manner. “We’ve barely started and you’ve already made me all emotional,” he said, the look on his face despite his playful tone telling Louis all he needed to know. “I love you too, my soppy fool,”

Louis stood up, rubbing his hands together like a little kid just about to be let loose on Christmas morning. He tried not to overthink it, this was his chance to make it up for the roses. Harry had to love the cake.

“Don’t look back,” he reminded, keeping the nervousness out of his voice. He had made Harry sit on a barstool with his face away from the refrigerator, once he’d gotten the plates cleared away. He was standing in front of the fridge himself and tried not to bounce too much as he carefully got the cake out, biting his lip in concentration as he crossed over to the kitchen island.

“Don’t peek,” he repeated, bending over Harry’s shoulder to place the cake in front of him. He smiled to himself as he stuck the little heart-shaped candles in, getting them centred on his first go. He went through the drawers, looking for a lighter, swearing under his breath each time he shut a drawer he didn’t find it in.

“Try by the couch?” Harry suggested, “And I didn’t look, Lou, before you ask. I mean- It’s pretty obvious,” he added, turning towards what he thought was Louis’ general vicinity to show him his still-scrunched-close eyes.

Louis, however, was in the living room by then, groaning as he snatched up the lighter innocuously lying on the centre table.

“What would I do without you?” He asked dramatically as he walked back into the kitchen, lighting up the two heart-shaped candles. “Even with your eyes closed you’re more competent than I am,” he mumbled, stepping back to survey the setup.

The pink of the candles almost clashed with the colours of the cake, but Louis had a feeling Harry wouldn’t mind. His husband was a sucker for anything blue and green.

“What are we blowing out candles for?” Harry asked from behind him and Louis jumped slightly.

“Well, I dunno-” Louis said, cracking his knuckles anxiously, “I just thought-” He trailed off. Maybe this was a stupid idea, he thought with a sting of doubt passing through him. Who blew out candles when it wasn’t their birthday? And even if it was one of their birt-

“Oh, I’m not complaining!” Harry exclaimed, “I was just curious, is all. Can I open my eyes now, Lou?” he added, sounding apologetic.

Louis hummed, perching on the stool beside his, watching Harry’s expression as he took in the blue and green house shaped cake. It was simple, but in the dim lighting and with the candles on, it looked rather good. Plus, it was the sentiment that mattered. Despite all the teasings, they both knew Harry was the soppy one.

“Two hearts in one home…” Louis trailed off, motioning vaguely to the cake, “Since we’re going for big romantic declarations- Nothing more apt,”

“Wait- There’s sparklers as well,” Louis mumbled, fumbling with the lighter again as he lit them up,

“Happy Almost-Valentine’s Day, Harry,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.

“We’re definitely making this a thing,” Harry smiled when he pulled back, “Happy Almost-Valentine’s, Lou,”

The sparklers had died down and Louis pulled them off, crossing over to throw them into the bin. When he came back he was met with Harry sitting in front of the candle, palm slapped over his mouth.

Louis stood there, staring at the cake and back at Harry, a sinking feeling of realisation heavy in the pit of his stomach.

“No incidents, you were saying,” Harry grinned, nodding towards the cake, “Watch,”

He gave Louis a significant look before pursing his lips, blowing hard on the candles. Louis was strongly aware of the blush creeping up his neck as he watched the candle go out, only to come back to life a second later.

“One more time,” Harry giggled, blowing out the candles and snorting out a laugh when they jumped back to life.

“This wasn’t the plan,” Louis groaned, slumping onto the stool beside Harry.

“I don’t mind, they’re fun,” Harry chuckled, blowing out the candles again. Louis couldn’t help but smile at the look on his face. Maybe this incident wasn’t all that bad.

Harry opened the door, shucking his coat off and hanging it on the hooks over the table, dropping his keys into the little bowl. He then stopped short in his tracks, staring dumbfoundedly. There were petals. Forming a path. Leading up the curving glass staircase. Presumably to the bedroom.

He scoffed lightly in surprise. It was all a bit over the top, even by his standards. Perhaps he had truly made a romantic out of Louis. If just asking him was all it took…

Barely aware of it, he followed the trail, stepping lightly on the petals, smiling when he felt them give a little beneath his feet. He could imagine Louis laying the petals down, crouching with his tongue caught between his teeth. He smiled to himself at the image, turning to glance back down the stairs to take in how it all looked.

He pushed the bedroom door open, the generally silent snick of it connecting with the magnet on the wall echoing across the closed space. “Lou?” he called out, lingering awkwardly in the doorway as he stared around the room. The floor here was covered with an even thicker layer of petals, and in the back of his mind, he wondered how they would clean them up.

There were also several candles dotted around the room, most of them unlit, but the low scent of something spicy was undeniably present in the room. He had the feeling he was a bit early, and- Well, he had thought Louis would appreciate it, he never stopped moaning about how long Harry spent in the studio, but- From the sight of the room, it seemed like Louis would’ve appreciated a bit more time.

He considered returning to the living room, wasting a bit of time, and pretending he hadn’t seen any of this. Maybe Louis wouldn’t have heard the main door open. Maybe he could act like he’d just gotten home. Maybe-

“Haz!” Louis exclaimed, stepping out of the en suite with a towel clasped between his hands. He threw it carelessly off to the side and crossed over the room to where Harry was standing, and Harry flinched a little, detachedly thinking about who would pick up the towel.

He shook himself mentally, realising Louis was saying something. He hadn’t registered a single word. Hopefully, Louis wouldn’t notice. “ -And I mean, you weren’t supposed to be home early- I’m not- Don’t take this the long way, I love that we can get a head start, but I would’ve liked to have at least gotten all the candles lit,” he rambled, chuckling lightly before placing his hands on Harry’s hips and stepping closer.

Harry bit his lip sheepishly, giving him a small shrug. “It really just isn’t meant to be,” he teased, “Every time you try to pull an extravagant gesture, someth-”

“Oi! Watch it, then. Don’t get all cheeky on me,” Louis reprimanded, smiling despite himself.

“Just stating the facts,” Harry grinned, leaning down for a kiss.

“I love you so much,” Louis sighed dramatically when Harry pulled away, getting on his toes to peck him, “But now that you’ve seen the surprise already, help me with the candles, yeah?”

“Yeah, I… could…” Harry cocked his head to the side, smiling smugly “Or… we skip the candles,” he teased, cupping Louis’ jaw and running his thumb over his cheekbone, “And we get to whatever it was you had planned in the bathroom?”

A flush crept up Louis’ neck from the sudden change in Harry’s demeanour. It wasn’t like Harry to take the reins, and Louis liked to pretend he would rather be the one in charge, but they both knew he loved it when Harry got like this. “Oh- I wasn’t- It… Um, later?” Louis squeaked.

“Yeah, the candles can wait for later-” Harry smirked, dipping his head down to peck Louis’ lips, then moving to press kisses along the line of his jaw. He placed his hands on Louis’ waist, barely aware when Louis took a step towards him, guiding him to the ensuite door.

Harry instinctually took a few steps back, letting himself be guided by Louis. He barely registered something nudging the back of his calves, and then heard a dull thunk. He broke off, swearing under his breath, and whipped around.

It was one of the candles. Oh-

“Fuck,” Louis hissed, grabbing the candle and blowing it out, setting it upright before looking around wildly for something to clean up the wax with. “Haz, where’s that fuckin’ towel I- Fuckin’ hell,”

Harry didn’t even stop to think, throwing the towel over to Louis and standing awkwardly over his shoulder as he mopped up the spilt wax. It wasn’t until later that he realised the better option would have been to let the wax harden and scrape it out.

At the time, all he was focused on was the small black singed circle on the carpet. Right in front of the window.

“Oops?” Harry bit his lip as Louis turned to face him, grimacing apologetically, “It’s um- The carpet is… yeah. And the candles, I mean- I’ll light them again, later?”

“Forget the candles, the cinnamon was getting on my nerves anyway. Too fuckin’ strong,” Louis smiled back, and Harry was internally grateful for the offhand way he was taking this. He knew Louis must’ve wanted it all to be perfect, and he nearly would have gotten it right this time, if not for Harry’s clumsiness.

“I love you, Lou. Thanks for doing all this,” Harry said in a small voice, feeling warm and fuzzy as he watched Louis go around the room and blow out the candles one by one.

“No need to thank me, Harry. Y’know that, babe,” Louis smiled, eyes crinkling up as he leaned against the table, crossing his arms and gazing fondly at the younger man. “I won’t lie… All of this- All that I did” he motioned vaguely, “Could’ve gone better, but- That would’ve been boring, at best. I mean- At least we’ll make more memories this way. No fuckin’ way to forget your husband almost calling the cops on you because you sent him flowers,” he giggled.

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?” Harry sighed.

Louis just shook his head in response, cracking into a wide smile and holding out his hand towards Harry. “Last surprise,” he motioned towards the slightly open bathroom door and Harry grinned back, intertwining their fingers together.

The scene that greeted them when Louis cracked open the door was not the one Harry had been expecting.

Suds. Suds everywhere.

Harry watched expressions flick over Louis’ face, his own jaw hanging open. Surprise. Bewilderment. Confusion.

Harry understood the flood of emotions Louis must have been feeling. It really was a lot of bubbles. The bathtub in the corner was nowhere to be seen, completely engulfed under a mountain of suds. Harry bet it would’ve at least come up to his knees if he waded all the way to the bathtub.

He could actually see when the realisation of how this all happened hit Louis. He watched his expression change as it dawned on him.Harry bit the inside of his cheek, suppressing his giggles at the look on his face.

“Best Valentine’s Day ever,” Harry said seriously. Louis rolled his eyes at him, looking entirely unimpressed.

“No I- For real, How did you even manage this?” he asked incredulously.

“A bit too much bubble bath?” Louis offered, still staring incredulously around the bathroom.

“A bit more than just ‘a bit’, I’d say,” Harry chuckled.

“Stop it,” Louis giggled, shooting Harry a fake-offended look, “Or there’ll be no bath for you,”

“What? You’re going to actually bathe in that ?” Harry raised an eyebrow coolly.

“Well since all the bubbles are already there , I figured- Might as well use them, yeah?” Louis grinned, stripping off his clothes as he walked into the foam, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry.

Harry shook his head and tugged his own shirt off, discarding it off to the side carelessly. He laughed out loud when Louis stepped into the bathtub, disappearing under the bubbles, apart from his head.

Louis really was such an idiot. But he was his idiot.

“I’m not an idiot,” Louis exclaimed, sounding offended. Harry realised he said the last part out loud. Well, oops.

“I love you, Lou,” Harry giggled, getting in the tub with Louis, reaching for his shoulder when he slightly lost his balance. Maybe it hadn’t all gone according to plan, but Harry wouldn’t have had it any other way. Louis was always there for him. There was nothing more he could ask for.

All that mattered was Louis. And all the little things he did.

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