#they all mostly unlearn this eventually

[catgrandpa]

! 🏳️‍🌈 Happy Pride 🏳️‍🌈 !

Anyway here is my Most of The Todoroki Family are Both Queer AND Homophobic agenda.

Enji is gay and not repressed about it, he knows he is, but he’s still homophobic as hell. Will go on a public rant about how Sesame Street is turning all the kids gay and all you snowflakes are mad that somebody is finally saying smth. Then he’ll get cancelled and fuck a man about it.

Rei is a lesbian but also doesn’t think queer people exist. Sheltered by her family when growing up. Isolated by her husband in marriage. And life in a hospital isn’t usually conducive to learning queer rights.

Nurse: yeah my son’s husband-

Rei: that’s not a thing don’t be ridiculous 🙄

Shouto is queer but will say the most out of pocket homophobic shit but he doesn’t actually care either way. He would do the Norm Macdonald ‘I am a deeply closeted gay guy’ Larry King interview but entirely serious.

Natsuo is pansexual and is very loud and proud at pride to spite Endeavor. Will get in front of a news crew completely decked out in pride gear and say “Wishing everyone a happy Pride from the Todoroki Family 🥰✌️.” And yes this is after Endeavor gets canceled.

Fuyumi is lesbian but thinks it’s selfish to be out, and it just makes life hard and uncomfortable for other people. A friend of hers tells her that they’re coming out to their family and she very sincerely and without any malice asks why and urges them not to.

Touya is masc preference bisexual and hates everyone equally but in a South Park way and says awful shit all the time. Like when queer folks are homophobic as a bit, but nobody knows it’s a bit because he’s aggressively straight passing.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Spoiled Brat

Remus Lupin x Fem!Gaunt!Reader

August Taylor Swift

Masterlist

Summary: When your escapism over the summer turns a bit more real, as you fall in love with a half blood your father would never approve of}

Wc- 3642

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, sexual themes and scenes, cussing, }

A/N- This was an idea I have been toying with for a while, this may become a mini-series if you'd like

Taglist- @otterlockholmes

If it was one thing your parents stuck into your head when you were younger, it was that you, {Y/N} Gaunt, were better than any other witch in your presence. 

‘The Lost Gaunt’ is what they referred to you as. You, and of course, your parents fed into this idea. People were sure they had died out, either from your family's admittedly embarrassing financial status, or from a few choice family members disgracing your blood line with Muggle blood.

It wasn't a secret, your family's blood soaked history and ideals on muggles of any variety. Your father spoke especially lowly of half bloods, saying they were some of the most loathsome and desperate of them all, with parents who tainted their good family names by giving it to scum. 

Very opinionated, that man.

You were much the same when you were younger. Snappy and spoiled, demanded everything and no one ever fought you on it. Even with your family's position with lack of wealth, when your parents came out of hiding as Voldemort started his horrid flock, your father didn't hesitate to join. There was no lack of support from expected places. Every pureblood with half sense wanted to be in the good graces of the heir of Slytherin, even if she didn't attend the school. Little you was treated like an absolute princess. Even receiving a letter from Durmstrang personally, your father opting for the obvious choice, burning your Hogwarts letter before you even read it. 

It made you an absolute terror when you got to the foreign school. Suddenly, you weren't as special as you were in London. Your name still carried a lot of marit, but so did several other students. You learned to keep your mouth shut, to keep your cards to your chest, and eventually, you unlearned everything your parents taught you. You met half bloods there, stronger than you had ever known witches and wizards to be, making close friends with several other open minded purebloods and friendly half bloods. 

Of course, you still had a family name to uphold. You studied and worked your hardest, eventually making it high enough on a social latter that Gaunt no longer mattered, but {Y/N} did. 

You started your rebellious streak in year 4, when your father asked you if you wanted to return home for the summer. It was the first time he gave you the choice, you refused. Instead, you traveled to Muggle London without his knowing. You went with a few friends, half bloods, they wanted to show you where they grew up. Your father would have your head for this. You thought in amusement as you danced through the market and gawked at all the muggle contraptions. You were sure to them you looked absolutely delirious, but you couldn't care less in the moment.

You wandered down the streets with a few girls who had broken off from the group. When you noticed a record store, your friends waved you off, refusing to join when they knew you'd be in there for hours. A boy who fancied you gifted you a small record player, and since then, you had been collecting muggle records at any opportunity. Thank Merlin your father didn't keep track of your spending.

You walked in with your head held high, you already gave off the impression of someone too good to be there, a force of habit. You walked down the aisle and searched the albums, dismissing people who tried to educate you on what was best, mostly men trying to impress you, you figured. Nothing more charming than being spoken down to. Eventually, you made it to some of the older ones, clearly used and used and used again. A soft yellow album caught your eye from the top shelf. Etta Jones? You thought for a moment. You had never seen it before, but the woman on the cover looked beautiful. 

You got on your toes and began to balance on a shelf, struggling to reach the damned record. You have a huff, ready to give in, before you hear a chuckle behind you. Whipping your head around you nearly spun around completely. Then, you saw him. A boy, he looked to be your age, tanned skin with soft pink scars littering his form, with one large one across his face. He had shaggy sandy blonde hair, almost brown, and the cockiest smirk on his face.

You huffed at him and put your hands on your hips, tilting your head at him. “Not very polite, you know. Watching a lady struggle without even an offer of help.” 

His smirk slowly turned to a dazzling smile. “You want my help? You've been blowing past people who've offered you help this whole time.” He remarked and you scoffed.

“Don't be coy. They weren't exactly being truly helpful. Also, no one here is as,” You gestured to him with both hands. “Vertically gifted as you.” 

He laughed at this and you got another flash of his pearly whites. “That so?”

“I only speak the truth.”

“That I see.”

“So will you?”

“Will I what?”

You scoffed with a scandalized look, gesturing to the album. “Help a damsel in distress?” 

He gave a playful hum and put his hands in his jean pockets, leaning forward a bit in his brown jumper that laid over a mustard yellow button up. “I'm not really the princely type, princess.” He teased and you slowly smirked. “I'm more in line with the monster.” 

“Well, kind monster, would you do your princess the kindness of grabbing her this single?” You hummed and he laughed. “My princess?”

“If you behave.” 

He looked you up and down before he walked over and grabbed the record, looking it over and holding it just out of reach as you tried to snatch it away. “What if I don't?”

You huffed and gave up on trying to swipe it, crossing your arms and biting your cheek. “That's not a very gentlemanly thing to do.”

“I'm not a very gentlemanly person.” He gave you a look that had the alarm bells in your head sounding, but you bit your lip and nodded. “Fine then. What would you like in return, hm?”

“Your name.”

“My name?” You huffed and smiled once more. He nodded with a serious look, but a smile tugged at his lips.

“{Y/N}.” You introduced and held your hand out. “You don't need my last name. You'll never have to call me it.” You remarked and his eyebrows raised in delight. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You mused as he handed you the record. 

“And your name?”

“Remus. Guess I'll skip the last name too. But please, call me Moony.” He remarked and you nodded. 

“Until next time, Moony.”

“Next time, {Y/N}.”

The summer was absolute bliss. You spent it doing all the things your father hated about muggles. Running in fields and jumping in stray bodies of water, going to parties and drinking until you were sick. You kissed muggle boys, went to underground concerts, and even took enchanted pictures for yourself to keep.

Though, you didn't see that record store boy for the rest of the summer. Not from lack of trying, however, going to the store twice a week to try and snag a glimpse of him. Eventually you gave up and went back to your friends.

The next summer, you did see him again. This time, it was a month in, you were out late at a party, and were waiting for the bus to take you to the flat you had bought under a fake muggle name. Well, you say you bought, in reality you had been taking portions of money from your father and pureblood families that wanted your favor, from the start of the school year, saving up enough to be the spoiled girl you were. 

You were standing under a street lamp, leaning against it as you pulled out a packet of cigarettes. You put it to your lips, just as you did, a voice called over to you. “Need a light?”

You turned to face the boy who seemed to sneak up on you in alarm, before you slowly lit up at the sight of him. He seemed puzzled by your expression before recognition covered his features. “Record store princess.”

“Record store monster.” You cheeked and he walked over, leaning down to cover the end of your smoke from the wind, lighting it with a simple flick. You didn't even think about how you didn't hear the usual metallic click of a lighter, instead, a snap. That was how you lit them anyway. 

“Where have you been, pretty boy?” You asked after a long drag, and he watched you breathe the smoke out of your lungs, eyes lingering on your lips. This made you curl them to give him a better view. “Around.”

“Something caught your eye?”

“Someone.” He muttered and you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, glancing at the bus station. “I'm heading home, to my flat. Care to make sure your princess gets home safe?” 

He chuckled at the bold offer, rubbing the back of his neck and wetting his lips. There was a pause as he thought about it. “... lead the way.”

That summer was somehow even better than the previous. He spent the night with you, that night, then every single other night. He came and never dreamed of leaving, only gone a handful of days for a few hours at a time for his summer job.

There was this amazing peace, waking up, laying in your stomach, hugging your pillows in your plush massive mess of blankets and pillows, with him. Most of the boys you brought back would be gone in the morning, you preferred it that way, but when you woke up to his arm around your bare back and his nose in the nape of your bruised and bite ridden neck, you couldn't dream of another outcome.

He joked, the second he saw the large canopy bed, about you letting monsters into your private quarters. He seemed to not think so highly of himself, but with every part of your skin he discovered, with every touch and sound he drew from you, he seemed to grow more confident in your situationship. It was dangerous, you knew it, this muggle boy had you wrapped around his finger. Judging by the way he looked at you when you would fall into the clouds of euphoria, he met the same fate.

You had never felt so content, going out and partying, coming home before he did, and spending your nights and afternoons together. With the odd exceptions of a few days out of the months, he was glued to you. Your friends teased you, but for once, you couldn't find it in yourself to be embarrassed. When school came, you had never felt so crushed. You spent the day before lingering in each other's presence without a word. The silence was enough. 

When he brought you to bed, and your skin was pressed to his, his nose to your temple as he whispered sweet words of encouragement and pure infatuation, you were wreathing and gasping in short spouts, you muttered something that drew his rough movements to a stop. You hadn't even realized it, and he noticed how your eyes squished together and you whined with a huff. Fluttering open your eyes, staring up at his knee weakening hazels. He stared at you in silence and you slowly moved to sit up. It clicked to him, you hadn't even realized what you said. You'd never know that those three little words utterly destroyed him. Knowing that tomorrow he would be away from you again. He knew it would be hell.

He huffed and slowly pulled back. He began slowly, taking you in as if he was trying to commit you to memory. Every curve and blemish, every bit of scarred flesh he devoured with an open mouth kiss. You were lost once more to your own ecstasy. 

He wanted to say it back so horribly. 

He wanted you to know he loved you too.

~~~

You spent all of your sixth year waiting for summer, but when it came you dreaded it. Your father told you that you were to move back to London and resume your normal life in preparation for finding you a suitor.

He had promised your mother that he would wait until you were at least 20 to start, but her passing this year it seems he changed his mind. So you returned to business as usual, being enrolled in Hogwarts for your last year of schooling, and being undertaken by the Black’s matriarch, Walaburga, to learn how to be a pureblood witch worth marrying.

Every day she would come to the Gaunt manor, quiz and train you on behaviors and etiquette. You hated those meetings, she was needlessly cruel and fake nice, to the point it was painful for you to watch her try and flatter and build your fathers ego. It made you sick. Soon, but not soon enough, the summer was over and at least you would be at Hogwarts and away from that sour faced woman.

~~

Remus had gone to your flat that summer, he stayed there for a week before he realized you weren't coming home. He hated it. He hated how you didn't tell him where you were, where you were going. There was this silent agreement between the both of you, You never told him where you would be and he never asked, Never exchanged much about your current personal lives, just the past. So if someone was to ask him where you were, he wouldn't have a clue.  You promised him you'd see each other next summer, and that was enough. 

At first his bitterness was winning, he wanted to believe you left without a word because you wanted nothing more than what you were that summer. Deep down, however, he knew. He knew by the way you looked at him in the morning, how you would pull him into the middle of the room in your socks and his shirt, like it was a dress on you, twirling around and slow dancing to that record he got you the first time you met. You always got what you wanted, and Remus knew he was what you wanted. When he left, he set a paper folded up between the door and the wall, a simple but desperate note. He needed you.

So when he got back to Hogwarts, he was a wreck. His friends noticed immediately. When he sat on the train, and looked out the window instead of shoving his nose in a book or teasing the others together.

“Moony, you good man?” James spoke up first after the three shared awkward looks. 

“Yeah dude, you look like a kicked puppy. Or James when Lily isn't looking at him.” Sirius tried to joke, looking through his suitcase before he paused and his eyes widened.

Remus was suddenly filled with dread. “Don't-”

“Let me guess, the cool girl you met last summer didn't show up this time? Told you, muggle girls her age are crazy.” Sirius laughed, not looking up, only to get jabbed harshly in his side with James’ elbow. Sirius hissed and held his side, looking at James with a glare before James flicked his eyes to Remus.

Sirius looked over and saw just how broken up Remus seemed to be about it. He sighed and gave him a pained sympathetic look. Watching as Peter took out a chocolate bar and handed it over to Remus. He muttered a thank you and took it. Sirius sighed and shook his head. “Look, I'm sorry dude. I don't mean it.”

“It's fine.” Remus answered quickly. “I was surprised she even gave me the time of day. I guess I always have that summer. I'll be over it in time, I'm sure she isn't missing me as much, as I'm moping over her, maybe that will help me get over it.”

He tried to believe that. He really did. His words were coming out low, he tried to sound wise but he truly sounded pathetic. He felt pathetic. She was all he could think about. From the train, to the carriages, to the Great Hall. Lily saw him and gave him a pout, he had written to her over the summer about what had happened. He wanted her perspective about what had happened, where he could have gone wrong, and out of the thirty he sent her she responded in kind to all of them. She walked up to him, straight past James which left the tall boy to theatrics. 

“Sirius did she just-” James gasped and clenched his chest.

“She did, James, she did.” Sirius walked up behind him with a smirk.

“Does she love me anymore?” He turned to Sirius and the shorter boy snickered.

“I don't think so, Jamie. I'll always love you, though.” Sirius indulged his theatrics and caught James (totally not with a struggle, totally smooth, Sirius is very strong) and James gasped. “You will, won't you, pads?”

“Always, my love.” Sirius declared his affections and James fanned his face like a swooning Victorian debutante. Lily rolled her eyes so hard she swore they would fall from her face. 

She turned back to Remus who gave her a painful smile. “I left her a note like you suggested.”

“Anything?”

“Nothing.” Remus sighed and she nodded carefully. 

“I'm sure there is more to it, Remus. Don't let it consume you.” Lily tried to reassure him and he sighed again, making James and Sirius catch up as they sat down. 

“Yeah, there are a million girls in the world!” Sirius tried to cheer him up and both Lily and James winced at that.

“None of them are like her.” Remus sighed and Sirius gave an owl-like look and then gave a breath of shock. “... Damn Remus, that much, huh?”

He groaned and hit his head on the table. “I just want to sleep.”

“We could always ditch the sorting ceremony.” Lily tried to nudge him, he seemed to smile at her a bit at the offer. 

“Yeah, but then you'll miss a seventh year being sorted.” Peter piped up and the four of them snapped over to look at him. 

“What? Seventh?” She asked as she looked up at the kids in front of the hall, before she bit her tongue. “Right.. that Gaunt girl every Slytherin is losing their mind over?” 

Sirius choked on his pumpkin juice before he quickly cleared his throat as James patted his back. “Woah mate!”

“Her! My mom was tutoring her all summer. Regulus told me. That girl, trying to be the perfect bride or some shit? Just another spoiled pureblood.” Sirius huffed and Lily gave a faint nod. “I hate to agree, but apparently she's the worst.”

“Of course, she's the Slytherin heir.” Sirius huffed. “Apparently she went to Dumstrung, and you know how awful they are.”

“Ah.” Lily mumbled and her eyes landed on you past the crowd, nudging Remus. “There she is. Oh Merlin, spoiled and pretty? Dangerous combination.”

Remus sighed and looked over as you sat on the chair. His entire body froze. “Ahh! {Y/N} Gaunt! Slytherin!” 

The hat didn't hesitate. You had a calm blank expression you were tutored on all summer. Looking across the students, almost bored. You stood up and dusted off your robes, before you froze up at the sound of your name being shouted across the hall.

Remus didn't think. He saw you and shot up from his seat. Lily looked at him, startled, looking between the two before her eyes widened at the name. Oh Merlin. 

Sirius was bewildered, James was stunned, and Peter hid his face away from the crowds of students who turned to look at Remus. He got a variety of different looks from everyone, but there was a running theme. Who do you think you are? Talking to Gaunt.

“{Y/N}.” He called again, firmer. You looked like a deer in headlights. Staring at him in a stunned silence before one of the girls you met on the train tugged at your sleeve. You glanced at her and by the time you looked back, Remus was rushing across the hall to you. No no no no no.

“Fuck.” You hissed and snatched your sleeve from her. You watched as he closed in on you. You felt every hair on your neck stand up. “Fuck fuck.” You whispered.

You panicked. And you ran. He was stunned and froze on the spot. You ran straight out of the hall. Remus cursed and turned to his friends, then to the professors. Lily tried to stand and bring him back to sit down, but as if he was a wild animal, the movement gave him a rush of adrenaline. What did he do? What did this absolute stupid and love sick fool do? 

He ran after you. The entire hall was silent, even the professors stunned before his head of house yelled at him to sit down. He ignored them, turning the corner out of the hall and dashing down the hall he saw you run down.

The hall was quiet for a moment or two, before Lily spoke up. “I'll make it up to you, Professors!” She shouted back before she ran after the two. 

“Me too!” James shouted and followed after her. 

“I will not!” Sirius laughed and ran after them, Peter looking at the shouting professor before she made eye contact with him. Peter slowly sat up and she gave him a warning glance, before he quickly scrambled after his friends. 

McGonagall could only sigh as Dumbledore stifled a laugh into his sleeve.

[daretoassume]

the conscious and the unconscious

we all manifest from the day we are born. the only difference is that when we are younger, we unconsciously manifest things into fruition, unaware that we are doing so. but how can we create our life consciously?

unconscious creation

this is where we are not aware that we are manifesting simply because we don't know anything about manifestations, or we don't believe that things we constantly think about and that come out of our mouths manifest at some point.

sometimes, we manifest good things unconsciously; perhaps we believe in something that will come and feel good about it. but mostly, when we have not had a good childhood or environment, and negative people surrounded us, we had no choice as a child but to absorb all those negative energies and narratives. we eventually act like them even though we don't want to grow up like them. negative situations become familiar to us to the point that favorable conditions are unlikely to occur.

most of the people we are surrounded by as children have this "victim mentality." they believe that life happens TO them, not that life happens FOR THEM. they have a negative outlook on life, and other people, as though the world is against them. they feel helpless and desire to be in control because they believe that bad things will persist. guess what? that kind of mentality will continue and manifest until they change their way of thinking, their thoughts, and their beliefs.

"until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and call it fate." ♱ carl jung

but we don't have to blame those who taught us a negative way of thinking; perhaps it is our parents, siblings, relatives, or friends. they only teach us what they know; they are not aware. would they teach us something like the law of assumption, the law of attraction, spirituality, or self-love if they knew it?

no, they are not aware, and they are probably raised in a similar manner by their parents; additionally, trauma and circumstances in life shape how we perceive the world.

conscious creation

this is where we become aware that our dominant thoughts and feelings create our reality. we start to become aware of our thoughts and beliefs. at first, it will feel very uncomfortable because it is hard to believe that we create our own reality, especially when we come from a hostile environment for years, perhaps most of our childhood. but this is the point at which we do inner work because we want to unlearn those negative experiences and limiting beliefs from our childhood.

how do we turn the unconscious into the conscious?

1. awareness

you would not be here reading this if you were not aware, so good job on that. awareness is about recognizing that we are separate from our thoughts; we simply observe them as they interact. it is about reflecting on whether a thought serves us better or not. if we are aware of our trauma and limiting beliefs, we will likely engage in healing to unlearn them. it is always our responsibility to heal.

2. change the negative narratives

create narratives that are just as true as the negative ones. if you think about it, "i need to work hard to survive" and "i don't have to work hard to survive" are both equally valid. sometimes, changing our sentences, our narratives, and how we talk to ourselves in our minds can alter how we perceive our reality and our feelings.

3. state of being > new personality > new personal reality

i learned this concept from dr. joe dispenza, which is quite easy to understand. the state of being is our dominant thoughts and feelings. now, transform those thoughts and feelings into the vibration you want to become. what would your higher self do? what do they think? if we are aware and practice this over time, it will eventually become our new personality. and if there is a change inside us, there will be a new personality, a new approach to life, leading to a new personal reality. the key is to become unfamiliar with it. a change is necessary to occur internally, and everything else will follow.

"you can have more than you have because you can become more than you are. unless you change how you are, you will always have what you have." ♱ jim rohn

𓍯 entryfromsane002 (extracted from the old blog two years ago)

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - The Tavern

*kicks in the door* HELLO! :D Guess three times who had an idea?! IT is me! Your homie!

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

I am so excited because I finally got an idea on how I wanted to mention a few things! And It fits together! :D

Also, The mentioned OC is from @spotaus Who made a lovely drabble that I personally also consider canon for this AU <3 Give it some love and look at it okay? They are very talented!

*---------------------*

Dust looks up at the building as he tilts his skull. It looks nice enough and doesn't look like the general Grillby's building. It looks grander and like it has been expended a bunch. Dust can see some newer repairs around the fench and the walls and can only assume those had to be repaired.

Cross shuffles somewhere near him "Are we sure about this?"

Killer hums as he looks at the building himself "I mean. Dusty got that cash reward for that repair thing at the last market..." and he shrugs.

Dust nods "WAs a lot." and that is an understatement. When the mayor had said they would send a thank you for Dust repairing the generator and fridges he had figrued it would just be like some flowers.

That was usually with political people did. Send some weird present and a card about how good of a free service yoou did and all that crap.

Instead she just send a cash package that none of them had expected. As thank you for saving their market. Aparently it was the normal amount they payed for a emergancy service of this big with a nice tiny bonus. As a welcome to the community present!

It had been welcome mostly because it would help get them started after the winter and made sure they didn't need to keep getting by with tiny jobs here and there.

Horror nods in agreement "Crop said this would be a good way to get more friendly. Be seen less as hermits." Dust blinks back into the conversation and actually pays attention as he is suposed to be part of it.

Cross sounds deeply unhappy "I like being hermits..."

Dust hums as he keeps holding Nightmare. Nightmare stares slightly enchanted at the building before shaking his skull to snap himself out of it. Dust thinks they are doing a good job with helping him unlearn the bad and unhealthy habits he had from being forced into his guardian position.

But it will take more time, Nightmare still feels awkward and weird for being a child and childlike sometimes. They will eventually get that mindset out of his little skull.

More shuffles and Dust glances over. Yup. No Cross in sight. Dust doesn't point it out and just thrusts his elbow out into the general direction he last heard Cross. A groan and Cross sends him a glare as the weird invisibility starts to shift off of him.

That is another thing all four of them had silently decided to just... not talk about. Much like how he tended to now be more charged with actual electricity instead of just mana. How Killer's silver tongue has gone to the extreme and even the most stupid lies seem to be believed if he says it with enough confidence. How the very layout of their own farm shiftly slightly when Horror had been staring and nudging the area.

They just...

It is probably fine. Ngihtmare hadn't seemed alarmed by it and they just figure it is because of the apple situation. Nightmare is still slowly losing that old magic and they are nearby a lot. It would make sense they took it over slightly.

They hadn't been actively bothered by it yet and while annoying and something to keep in mind it didn't seem dangerous.

Dust nods to the door "Lets go." and he walks forwards wiht Ngihtmae in his arms.

The inside is nicely lit and warm. People are all around and Dust recognises quite a few people from all of his trips to town to repair things. he also sees some of the people who came to help them with their new house. Dust still doesnt'quite know the names of them all as he never was the best with names. That is more of a Killer and Cross thing.

Dust looks around and spots a table which is empty and marches over there. By this point easily ignoring the curious glances. He also knows that Killer is shadowing him with most likely that same stupid challenging and charming grin on his stupid charming face.

Dust takes a seat and looks at the chairs around him. He ends up pulling one near and putting Nightmare in it. Nightmare manages to look over the edge but it is a near thing. Dust tilts his skull "That good?"

Nightmare thinks it over before nodding. Then he looks to the side as he takes in someone playing the guitar and singing live music. huh. Dust wonders if that is a regular thing.

The others join them and they all take a moment to really familiarise themselves with the area. It is different but small details are the same. The shade of the lighting. The colour of the shelves. Tiny things that make the scene more familiar.

Dust used to get disbalanced and well, fucked in the head by seeing things that reminded him of his own universe. He still gets missed up if it is too much alike but he likes to think he got a bit better at handling it all.

They look up when Light walks over to them. Their flames bright as they carry menu's in their multitude of arms. They greet them and gives everyone a menu before getting a small notepad out "Any ideas for drinks?"

Dust shrugs as he lokos at Ngihtmare. Nightmare reads the drink part of the menu wiht a serious and thoughtful look before looking up at the fire elemental. he pauses for a moment before speaking "Can I have a root beer float?"

Light's flames flicker happily as they note it down "One root beer float for the very polite skeleton." they looks at them and wait.

Dust hums and mutters "Same." Light nods nad notes it down.

Killer looks at the different drinks and settles for some latte coffee which he will probably put an unholy amount of sugar into. DUst would be worried about the caffeine if he didn't already know that caffeine just didn't affect Killer.

Horror ends up asking for some fresh mint tea and Cross just asks for sparkling water.

With those orders out of the way Light lets them be to look at the menu. Some items hit the guilt filled part of his soul as it reminds him of things of the past but he shakes it off. Those are normal menu items. Even so Dust decides to take the chicken and egg dish. Mostly because it seems like a this universe thing.

Horror ends up picking the same as Killer ends up going for an unholy amount of fries. Nightmare ends up picking pumpkin soup and Cross joins Nightmare with his order.

Light brings them their drinks, which honestly? Rather brave of the fire elemental to bring them liquids. They take their order and leave for a short while to get everything ready.

Nightmare goes back to listening to the live music as Dust and the other three make light conversation. They keep their conversation vague as they talk abotu old missions and stupid stuff that happened. They share chuckles and it is honestly nice to relax.

Their food is brought over and Light looks at them nervously "So... How is the flower doing?"

Horror looks up before answering "It is well. It stands in the window near the fire place."

They had ended up moving the burning flower there as it served as a nice night light for Nightmare. Nightmare denied being uncomfortable in the dark but Dust thinks the darkness still freaks him out a bit now that he lost his nightvision after becoming little again.

Dust can only imagine the panic he feels if he thinks he was left alone agian. Abandoned again.

It is also why Cross invested some of the hard earned cash into fairy lights and strung those up all along and above the nest. Light it up better.

Nightmare slept much more soundly and woke up less int he middle of the night now and for them it hardly mattered if it was dark out or not.

Light, heh, lights up as they say they are happy to hear that before happily skipping off.

Dust snorts and shoots Cross an amused grin "they are enchanted by you." and he snorts again when Cross sputters.

"Hardly!" Cross glares as he blushes and his arm disappears out of view again. Luckily Killer sees and nudges where the arm used to be, bringing it back into view.

Cross crosses his arms and huffs.

Killer grins and winks at Cross "I can see why. soldier boy is so strong and reliable and a true knight in shining armour." and he winks again.

Cross sputters and his blush grows even darker as he looks away from Killer "Stop being weird..." Killer laughs and hugs Cross.

Horror watches them with a fond look before turning his focus on Ngihtmare and getting him to eat his soup. Something about little babybones needing energy to heal and grow.

Dust gets to work on his own meal as he watches the others. Soul feeling warm and content to see them all here. He really likes not being alone anymore.

*---------------------*

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[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Twelve

Summary:

You finally work up the nerve to ask Astarion about his past.

Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.6k

Tags/Warnings: discussions of traumatic pasts, not just Astarion's, but Tav's as well, specifically partner abuse; depiction of a panic attack; mentions of (canon-typical) violence; spoilers for Heathers the Musical; somewhat feral kissing that honestly at this point shouldn't surprise anyone with these two

This chapter should be fine to read if you're not familiar with the plot of Heathers (movie or musical) but in case you want to read a quick summary, you can get that here.

I have officially retconned chapter 9 that Karlach got the home brewed beer from Lakrissa, not Aradin.

I can't believe I got the chapter out on both AO3 and Tumblr on the same day! It's been a few chapters since this has happened lol. As per usual, the screenshots are from @zipzoomzaria, although with me recently downloading the free cam mod I cannot take ENOUGH screenshots. I'll be uploading those soon.

Read it on AO3 ~ Masterlist

Astarion’s chest feels cool beneath your cheek as you slowly blink yourself awake. You listen to the sound of his breathing for a few moments – not a necessary impulse for him, just one he never unlearned. You eventually turn your head upward to see him looking at his phone. He notices you stir and a smile spreads across his face as he puts his phone down.

“Good morning,” he lilts, rubbing your shoulder gently with his thumb. You strain your neck up towards him, wordlessly asking for a kiss. He leans down and obliges, his chilled lips working against your warm ones, still sticky from sleep. You adjust your arms so you can wrap your hands around his neck and run your fingers through his curls. He presses his palm against your lower back, pulling your chest flush with his. His movements are unrushed, languid and sensual, and you’re just enjoying the soft feeling of his skin against yours. 

“Morning,” you hum sleepily, slow blinking like a contented cat. He props himself up on an elbow and as his visage comes into focus, you realize just how put-together he looks. He’s already wearing his glasses and his hair looks as carefully coiffed as usual. You frown. “How long have you been awake?”

“How do you want me to answer that?” He quirks an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly like I sleep.”

Right. Elves trance instead of sleep. You probably could have paid more attention in your humanoid biology class in high school.

“So what do you do all night while I sleep?”

“Read, mostly,” Astarion says with a shrug. “Sometimes I grade. Just killing time, really.”

“Don’t you ever get, like, bored?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Sometimes. More often than not I simply enjoy being near you.” His candor makes you flush, so you deflect with a teasing laugh.

“Ew, you like being near me? Gross.” You grin as you pull him back down to you, your hands curling around his neck and you kiss him, soft and slow. He slides his hand under your knee and pulls your calf around his waist. Your usual insatiable lust for him is tempered, and you just want to bask in his coolness like you have all the time in the world. He pulls away, brushing your hair behind your ear, and looks at you over his glasses with those blood red eyes of his.

“What would you like, love?” he murmurs, and you yawn reflexively.

“Coffee, before anything else,” you reply, rubbing sleep out of your eyes. You roll out of bed and adjust your bra and shorts that got twisted overnight. You pad into the kitchen with Astarion close behind you, and he perches himself on a barstool while you pull out the instant coffee and set the kettle to boil.

“Darling, no, instant coffee?” he sneers as you scoop it into your mug.

“Don’t be elitist, it doesn’t make sense for me to make a full pot every morning when it’s just for me, and Keurigs create a hellish amount of plastic waste.” You turn up your nose at him, and he stands to take the mug out of your hands.

“This is not elitism, this is self-preservation.” He dumps the granules into the sink, earning a quick “Hey!” from you. “I’d rather like to be able to kiss you without the taste of rotten dirt in your mouth.” He picks up his phone from the counter and pulls up DoorDash. 

“My breath doesn’t get that bad,” you mumble and cross your arms obstinately.

“Perhaps not to a mortal, but trust me when I say this will be better for both of us.” You glance over his shoulder and watch as he loads up the cart with expensive artisan coffee beans, a French press, and a stainless steel coffee grinder.

“Astarion, I can’t afford all that,” you press, trying to take his phone out of his hands.

“Then consider it a gift,” he lobs back at you, holding his phone above your head so you can’t reach it. You plant yourself on a barstool and sulk for a moment before actually processing what he said.

“Wait, so you can tell when I’ve eaten or drunk something made with low quality ingredients?” Your brain spins the rolodex of all of the times you kissed him after having some trashy food.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he says with a regretful frown.

“And the night at the bowling alley when I was drinking that terrible beer?”

“Not particularly pleasant. But worth putting up with, because, well,” he clears his throat and flashes a coy smile, “it had been a while.” Your ears flush and he saunters over to you, planting a kiss just below your earlobe. Your hands rest on the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“But… coffee,” you pout, and he takes your hands and pulls you over to the couch.

“If you’re patient, my dear, it’ll be worth the wait,” he coos, sitting you down and pulling your legs onto his lap. “And speaking of waiting.” He brings your hand to his lips, running his nose along the blue-green veins in your inner wrist. “Do you mind terribly if I have my breakfast while you’re waiting for yours?”

Your breath catches in your throat as he gently grazes the point of one fang across the sensitive skin. “You’ve never fed from my wrist before,” you breathe, almost as though speaking too loudly might spook him.

“Does that make you reconsider?” His eyes flick up towards yours but his lips remain on your wrist, ghosting over the flesh. You shake your head, transfixed by his subtle movements. His lips stretch into a smile before he sinks his fangs into you, the sharp pain sending a twin bolt to your heart and your core before melting away into that sublime numbness. You’ve never watched him feed before, and you’re almost taken aback by how beautiful he looks. His lips pressed to your wrist, his hair falling into his eyes, his back expanding and contracting as his breath quickens. He must sense your gaze because he looks up, his red eyes sparkling. Your heart rate spikes, and it only takes a few seconds for him to smile against your wrist, reacting to whatever your sudden arousal changed in your bloodstream. 

It feels too soon when he pulls away, despite the oncoming lightheadedness suggesting otherwise. Unlike his usual animalistic expression he wears after drinking your blood, he has a sated, almost goofy look to him. You giggle and swipe the red droplet from his bottom lip and suck it off your thumb. 

His sleepy gaze moves to you, but when he sees you licking your blood off your finger, his features sharpen into the more predatory look you’re used to. He shifts your legs so that he’s towering over you, and you have no choice but to sink down into the couch on your back. He presses a knee between your legs and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. He descends onto your lips and you taste the blood that still coats his. You arch your back into him and he slides his hand beneath you, pulling your center closer. He slides his knee upwards, pushing your thigh with it, and rolls his hips into your now spread cunt. You groan into his lips, hands scrambling for purchase on his bare shoulders. His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts and you’re about to wriggle out of them when there’s a knock at the door.

You both freeze, then suddenly you remember. “My coffee!” you squeal excitedly, pushing Astarion off of you. “They probably just left it right outside the door, babe, can you grab it while I reheat the water?” You clamber over the back of the couch and over to the kitchen while Astarion shakes his head at your antics. 

He pulls the front door to your apartment wide open and a startled half-gnome stands there holding a paper bag full of coffee supplies. Their eyes travel down Astarion’s half-naked form, lingering momentarily on the growing bulge in his boxer briefs. They flush a violent purple before muttering a quick, “Sorry,” and shoving the paper bag in his hands. They practically sprint down the hall as Astarion calls, “Have a lovely day!” with an impish wave.

“Astarion, you scared the poor thing half to death,” you scold as he closes the door, and he responds with a nonchalant shrug.

“Probably more exciting than anything else they’ll see today, I did them a favor.” He brings the coffee supplies over to the counter and hooks his thumbs into your shorts. “Now, where were we?” He presses into your back and kisses the crook of your neck. 

“Can I at least have my coffee before an orgasm?” you groan breathlessly, and Astarion chuckles.

“Who said that’s my intention?” he hums into your ear, causing you to shiver.

“Historical evidence,” you throw over your shoulder at him as you shimmy out of his grip. You pull out the various implements and stare at them blankly. You shift your gaze to Astarion and frown. “You bought all this stuff, show me how to use it.”

“Fine. Sit.” Astarion pushes you onto the barstool and begins to open the boxes with the French press and the coffee grinder. You watch him while he stands over the counter, and your eyes trace over the elaborate scarring across his back. You suddenly realize you’ve never been able to get this good of a look at it, he’s usually so carefully guarded. You’ve been afraid to bring it up again since that first night he told you about it. 

You chew on your lip while he assembles your coffee, anxiously weighing the pros and cons of asking him about it. You want to ask him more about his past, but you can’t even fathom what it’s like for him to have lived more than three times your entire lifespan and still have an eternity to go. 

He hands you the mug and looks at you expectantly. You snap out of your mini reverie and look down at the coffee in your hand, a few shades darker than you’re used to.

“Thank you, although I usually put in a little more milk than that,” you admit sheepishly. 

“With that offal you had been drinking, I don’t doubt it. Try it first, I’ll put in more if you want.” He puts his hands on his hips as you eye him suspiciously. You take a tentative sip, bracing yourself for the acrid bitter taste, but are met instead with something smooth and rich. Still bitter, but tempered by a creaminess that has nothing to do with the milk. You look up at him with a pleasantly surprised look on your face.

“Okay, I hate to say it, but you were right,” you groan reluctantly. He smirks and tilts your chin up to give you a tender kiss.

“Still as sweet as ever,” he purrs, and a light flush rises to your cheeks. Then your mind wanders back to your earlier train of thought, and your brow furrows. 

“Um, Astarion, can I ask you something?” Your voice is a little dryer than you’d like it to be. His eyebrows shoot up over his glasses, and he nods. You take his hand and lead him over to the couch, curling your knees into your chest and holding your coffee mug in both hands. “Can you tell me more about… about your scars?”

Astarion exhales a breath of relief. Whatever he thought you were going to ask, it wasn’t that.

“Er, yes, well… How much do you know about vampires?” He looks at you carefully and you blink in surprise. Very little, and you’re surprised it didn’t occur to you to look up more.

“Besides the basics, I guess, no sunlight, mirrors, garlic,” you rattle them off in your head. He giggles when you say ‘garlic.’

“The garlic is a myth, but you’ve got the basics, yes. Haven’t you ever wondered why I’m able to bite you without consequences? Well, besides the dizziness, I suppose,” he adds with a sly grin.

“I guess not, no,” you frown, wishing that he would just tell you instead of this weird quiz.

“I am not technically a full vampire – I’m a vampire spawn. I was turned while on the brink of death by a vampire named Cazador Szarr,” he spits the name like it’ll poison him if it lingers too long in his mouth. “I was his slave for two hundred years, compelled to do anything and everything he commanded. Most of the time it meant luring victims back for him to feed.” Astarion’s eyes glaze over, and you slide out your foot to gently touch his knee. You’re at a loss on how you can possibly comfort him for something this traumatic, so you let him continue in his own time.

“And once, it meant lying still while he carved this into my back over the course of a night. He claimed it was a poem. He made a lot of revisions as he went.” He scowls at the memory. “I only found out that it was something written in Infernal after his death.”

“How did you escape?” Your voice is small, hardly able to comprehend what he’s telling you.

“Oh, that’s actually quite a fun story.” He lights up suddenly. “His six other spawn and I rose up to overtake him. It took years of planning, and we were under the constant threat of being caught. But we were successful, and we tore him to pieces.” His eyes sparkle with a bloodlust that you haven’t seen before and your heart pounds in your ears. You had said that you want to see the more predatory side of him, and you’re getting your wish. His face softens and his gaze refocuses on you. “That was about 100 years ago,” he concludes with a wry smile. He puts his hand on your foot next to his leg and pulls it into his lap, and you curl your toes against his hand.

“Well,” you exhale, still processing his entire story. “That certainly puts the trauma from my shitty ex into perspective,” you say with a pained smile, trying to make light of it.

“Suffering is relative, the enormity of mine doesn’t reduce yours.” He tilts his head as he looks at you, a silent question. He’s leaving it open for you to tell your story, but refrains from pressing. 

“Well, it almost seems mundane in comparison,” you start with a heavy sigh, and he squeezes your foot lightly to encourage you to continue. “I’ve only had one even remotely serious relationship, and he was a piece of shit. Well,” you reconsider as you think of what those early days with him were like. “At first he just seemed like one of those ‘lovable asshole’ kind of guys, plus he had a Yorkshire accent, so clearly I have a type,” you say with a feeble laugh.

“No, a northerner? Darling, want better for yourself,” Astarion grimaces, and you glare at him.

“Like I said, I have a type,” you sneer. “But after a while, it became clear that he didn’t particularly respect me, I think partially because I was studying theatre and he was in STEM. He constantly talked down to me, he hated it any time I disagreed with him, and he would go out of his way to piss me off because he thought it was funny.”

You see Astarion wince, slowly putting the pieces together. You don’t particularly feel like rehashing the night you saw Taming again, so you continue.

“His friends weren’t terrible, though, and he was never as awful to them as he was to me, so I thought it was my fault. Like, if I were just somehow less annoying, or smarter, or more interesting, then he would suddenly stop being an asshole. There were some nights,” you swallow thickly, surprised by how difficult recounting this is. You thought you had worked through all this with Jaheira. “Some nights he was so persistent that I would just let him have sex with me so he would shut up and go to sleep.”

You feel Astarion tense beneath your leg, and he’s clenching his jaw so hard you’re worried his teeth might shatter. You quickly continue to try to put him at ease. “I sometimes wish I could go back to my 20-year-old self and just give her a huge hug and tell her that she’s worth more than that dick. But I’ve grown a lot since that relationship, and probably because of that relationship if I’m being perfectly honest. Wish I could have learned those lessons without an abusive asshole, but we play the hand we’re dealt.” You shrug and stare blankly at the dregs at the bottom of your mug. 

When Astarion speaks, his voice is icy and measured. “And what’s this man’s name?”

“Aradin. Aradin Beno,” you answer, keeping your eyes cast down. Your gaze shoots up to Astarion with a sudden realization. “You’re not allowed to kill him, Astarion,” you warn. You would have been joking had you said that thirty minutes ago. But after learning exactly what he’s capable of, a genuine spike of fear runs through your heart.

“But why?” he says in a whiny voice. “I can make it look like an accident, I promise!”

“No, no murder!” You kick your other foot out at him, and he grabs your ankle in a single swift motion. His sudden movement makes your mouth twitch as you suppress the smile spreading across your lips.

“Does the prospect of me being a killer make you feel something, little love?” he drops his voice and your breath catches in your throat. You don’t want to admit just how much it does, so you choose to remain silent instead. You watch him with unblinking eyes as he prowls over you, taking your empty mug out of your hand and setting it on the coffee table. The way his eyes sparkle and the flash of his fangs tells you that he knows exactly what it makes you feel.

“Are you? I mean– have you? Besides the one, I guess,” you stammer as your heart threatens to pound out of your chest. He looms over you, pressing his thigh down between your legs.

“Would it be better or worse if I said yes?” His lips hover over yours, and the noise that slips out of your throat is a little embarrassing. He closes the distance and kisses you roughly, slipping his hand beneath your lower back and digging his nails into your skin. 

You’re certain you would feel differently if you saw it in person… but the mental image of Astarion covered in blood after just having torn Aradin limb from limb sets you off. Something surges through you and you suddenly flip Astarion onto his back. You straddle his hips and crush your lips together, struggling to control your hungry kisses. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling hard. He claws into your thighs, pulling you down onto his rapidly growing erection, and you groan into his lips. You move your mouth down to his neck, biting down, and your whole body seizes when you hear his breathy moan in response.

He pushes up off the couch, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist while you cling to his shoulders, your assault on his neck never relenting. He carries you back to your room and throws you down on the bed hard enough to bounce slightly. He looks borderline monstrous as he crawls back onto you, pinning all four of your limbs down so escape is impossible. 

Your breathing grows heavy as he ravages you, your hands messily grabbing at any part they can reach. He tears at your bra with his teeth and you moan loudly, panting uncontrollably. He bites your skin, not to feed but to mark you, to cover you in punctures and bruises that brand you as his. You arch your back into him, asking for more. You want him to tear you apart, to leave you broken and consumed. You whine, your breath wracking through your lungs.

But before long, your vision starts to darken around the edges. You feel your heart pounding in the well of your throat – not the way Astarion makes your heart pound, but the way your anxiety does. You get lightheaded and your muscles grow weak as Astarion, unaware of your change in faculties, bites down on the soft tissue of your breast.

“Wait,” you call weakly, and grabs your hair and pulls your head back, pressing his lips against your ear.

“What was that, love?” he growls as his pointer finger tugs on your shorts.

“Star, stop,” you croak, and his entire demeanor shifts. He pulls back to look at you, his red eyes round and shining with concern. You’re a little surprised when the tears fall from your eyes unbidden, streaking down your temples and into your hair. You start hyperventilating, shaking as you lose control over your breath. You shove your fist into your mouth, hoping fruitlessly that the pain might ground you. 

After a moment of staring at you helplessly, Astarion pulls you into his arms and you curl up face down into his lap, choking out sobs as you grip his thighs. Your throat tightens and you feel like you’re being strangled by your own larynx. You gag as your stomach heaves, trying to expel itself from out of your mouth.

Astarion rubs your back, rocking you gently. A soft stream of “shhhh” and “it’s okay, love, you’re okay,” pours out of his mouth. He breathes in and out slowly, and you eventually find your breath enough to steady it, lengthening your inhales and exhales to match his. You lay there trembling for what feels like hours until you manage to push yourself back up into a sitting position.

“Gods, I’m sorry, I don’t know what that was about,” you chuckle feebly, wiping tears and snot from your face. Astarion starts to reach out to touch your cheek, but he pulls his hand back hesitantly.

“Darling, you don’t need to apologize. Are you… are you alright?” he asks, voice unsteady. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes until your vision goes starry, then take his hands in yours.

“I am, yes. I’m sorry. I know you said I don’t need to apologize,” you add quickly as he opens his mouth to protest. “Like, I’m sorry that it happened as much as I’m sorry that I probably freaked you out.”

“Did I do something wrong?” His voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it, and you furiously shake your head.

“No, gods no. The opposite, actually.” You attempt to flash him a smile, but it just comes off as tired. “I think it just became too much too quickly. And I guess I’m not as… worked through… the Aradin stuff as I thought I was.” You frown at your clunky phrasing and he more confidently reaches out to stroke your cheek. You press your face into his palm, holding his hand to your lips as you take a few more long, grounding breaths. You finally drop his hand and look down at your torn bra, raising your eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, er… sorry about that,” Astarion smiles sheepishly. 

“Honestly I’m more impressed than anything else,” you laugh as you start to try to scooch off the bed to get another shirt. Astarion puts his hand on your knee to stop you and walks toward your dresser. It takes him a few tries to figure out the right drawer, but eventually he pulls out a tank top and hands it to you. You inexplicably turn away from him as you put it on, suddenly self-conscious in front of this man who has seen you naked maybe a dozen times. 

You pull yourself to the edge of the bed, your dangling feet not quite touching the floor, and reach out to him with grabby hands. He steps closer to you and lets you embrace his waist wordlessly. You press your nose into his ribs and take a steady inhale. His scent is so much more concentrated from this angle, all sweat and pheromones. He runs his hand through your hair and you can feel tears welling up in your eyes again. He feels the wetness on his skin and pulls away suddenly.

“What? What did I do?” He sounds genuinely panicked and it gets an honest laugh out of you.

“No, it’s nothing. I’m just…” in love with you. Fucking hells, you haven’t even let yourself think those words before. You push the thought down, so very far down – you’re not even remotely in a position to confront it right now. “Do you think you can hang out for a bit? You don’t have plans today, do you?” You take a shaky breath. “I just don’t think I want to be alone right now.”

“Yes, my sweet, of course.” He takes your chin and tilts your head up so you’re looking up at him. “But will you please eat something? You’ve had nothing but coffee and I’m sure the blood loss isn’t helping.”

You smile and nod, standing to give him a proper kiss. The sudden movement does, in fact, make you wobble a bit. He grips your arms and glowers at you as your eyes scan down his bare chest and legs.

“Do you want, like, clothes? Maybe I can ask Shadowheart to run to your apartment and get you a fresh set?” You don’t mind staring at him half naked, but you figure you might as well give him the option.

“Well, as a matter of fact, do you think she would mind terribly feeding His Majesty? He gets awfully cranky if he doesn’t have his regular meals.”

“Huh, I wonder where he picked that up?” you ask with a coy smile and he rolls his eyes. 

“You’re one to talk. Go eat.” He pushes you through your bedroom door. “And yes, please ask Shadowheart.” You laugh as you stumble through your living room to the kitchen. You pick up your phone from the kitchen island and pull up her number.

-Shade, are you busy? Can you do me a huuuuuuuuuuuuuge favor?

-what

It’s a bit on the early side for her, so frankly you appreciate the answer at all.

-Can you run to Astarion’s apartment to grab some clothes? And also feed his cat?

The typing bubble pops up and disappears a handful of times. Then, she finally replies:

-...what?

-Please Shade, it’s important. pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaassssseeeeeeeeeeee

-Moon Maiden, yes, calm down. I’ll come over to grab his keys.

“Okay, she said yes,” you tell Astarion as you put your phone back down on the counter and grab a sleeve of cinnamon raisin bagels from the drawer. He watches you carefully as you assemble your breakfast, almost like he doesn’t trust that you’ll actually do it if he looks away.

It doesn’t take long for Shadowheart to walk into your apartment without knocking. She’s wearing an oversized Next to Normal t-shirt and shorts. Her eyes first settle on Astarion sitting at the island in just his underwear and she stares blankly. When her gaze shifts to you, and she sees your puffy red eyes, she turns back to Astarion in a fury.

“What the fuck did you do?” she hisses, and you throw out your hands to stop her from committing murder. She stops just short of getting slathered in cream cheese from the knife still in your hand.

“Nothing, no, he’s good, I swear. Perfect, even.” You glance back at him abashedly. “No, it was just… Aradin stuff.” You mumble the last few words, and watch as Shadowheart’s anger deflates and then flares twice as high.

“Oh? Do I need to hunt this piss kid down?” she seethes, pumping herself up for a fight.

“No, she has forbidden murder, I already tried,” Astarion drawls, and Shadowheart’s expression dulls to a scowl.

“Fine,” she grumbles, then turns back to you. “Where am I going and what am I getting?”

“I’ll text you his address, just a change of clothes. Oh, and where do you keep His Majesty’s food?” You start typing out the message and Astarion takes your phone from your hand.

“It’ll be simpler if I give you instructions,” he says as he types out what looks like a novel. “Make sure you go to the fish market on Bleeker, not the one on Mayweather. And if they don’t have the nice fatty tuna, you can get the yellowtail, but only if it’s been caught within the hour. If they don’t have either, then ask for Thodric, he’ll know what to get.”

Shadowheart stares at him with a mixture of confusion and revulsion. “The little rat’s getting Fancy Feast and he’ll like it,” she finally says when Astarion hits send. You shoot her another pleading look and she groans. “Fine. Anything else for Your Majesty?”

“Oh, His Majesty is fine, but could you also grab my maroon cardigan and–”

“Gods, really?” she snaps. You’re chewing on your bagel when you finally process what she’s wearing.

“Wait, isn't that shirt–” you begin and she whirls around, her loose silver hair swinging down her back.

“I’ll text you when I’m on my way back,” she barks as she slams the door shut behind her.

***

You and Astarion spend the day together mostly in comfortable silence. Shadowheart does, in fact, give His Majesty the fresh fish he so desperately requires, but she only brings Astarion a pair of jeans and a black v-neck t-shirt. He grumbles a resentful thank you, even if she didn’t bring him the maroon cardigan.

You’re lying on the couch leaned up against Astarion, who has borrowed your tablet to grade papers while you answer work emails on your phone. You get another reminder from the chair about season selection and you groan.

“I swear, we’re not going to have a season next year if we can’t fucking agree on something,” you bemoan, dropping your phone and rubbing your eyes wearily. “Plus, the rest of them feel like we need to settle on a musical first and then build the season around that,” you gripe, crossing your arms like a petulant child.

“Well that’s nonsense, the musical is always just a garish over-produced spectacle,” Astarion scoffs.

“But it’s the thing that makes the most money, so we are kind of dependent on it, as much as I hate to admit it,” you concede reluctantly. “Alfira really wants to do Heathers, and I read it, I just can’t get behind it as much as the rest of the faculty. I want to make sure the classical play is in conversation with it, and I can’t think of an interesting choice.” You slide your eyes to Astarion with a smirk. “Lucretius suggested Hamlet and I would literally rather fling myself out a window than direct Hamlet.”

“Well now, I don’t believe self-defenestration is necessary,” he laughs. “But you’ve only read it? Aren’t you the one always going on about how theatre is meant to be seen and not read?” He mocks you a little too well and you smack his knee.

“Fine, I guess I’ll see if there’s a recording available,” you mutter, picking your phone back up and googling it. “Oh, there actually is. A proshot is available… on the Roku app? I swear to the gods, there are too many apps these days.” You sit up and turn towards Astarion. “Will you watch it with me? Pleeeeaaaassee,” you add in a whine when he gives you a pained look. “If we don’t like it we can make fun of it together, I promise. That’s a better deal than you’ll get from 95% of theatre people.”

He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s bad enough you’re going to make me see it in the fall, you’re going to make me watch it again now?”

Your heart leaps at how casually he mentions still being together in the fall, but you quickly shake the feeling off. Instead, you divert his attention by offering, “What if Karlach and Shadowheart watched it with us? Karlach should probably watch it too, honestly, and then you and Shade can commiserate together as non-theatre people.”

He glares at you for another moment before putting his glasses back on and huffing a great sigh. “Fine,” he relents, adding with a glare, “you’re very lucky that you’re cute.” You giggle with delight and text Shadowheart.

-Do you wanna come over with Karlach tonight and watch Alfira’s pick for the fall musical? You can bond with Astarion over your love of expensive wine and the annoyances of dating someone in the theatre department.

-🍷👌🏻

You laugh at her response and go back to leaning against Astarion’s side, a small shiver running up your spine as he squeezes you a little closer to him.

***

Shadowheart and Karlach come by later in the evening, Shadowheart with two bottles of wine and Karlach loaded with snacks. They move around your kitchen, taking out bowls and glasses, while you take a sudden new interest in the ingredients for Doritos.

“And is it like, highly processed ingredients?” you frown as your eyes scan over the lines, some of the words familiar to you and some of them not. Astarion shrugs.

“I haven’t kept a detailed list of what’s fine and what isn’t, if that’s what you’re asking,” he drawls, looking over his glasses pompously, and you huff.

“Well then I’m going to eat them just to spite you,” you threaten, attempting to open the bag of Doritos menacingly. The gesture falls flat when you crunch down on a chip and it crumbles down your shirt. He takes the back of your neck in his hand and pulls your lips to his, his tongue swiping up cheese dust. You flush and he pulls away, contemplating the taste.

“Well it’s certainly not the most pleasant,” he finally decides, and you dejectedly put the chips down and pick up the wine Shadowheart has just poured. Astarion looks down his nose at the bottle.

“Decent choice,” he intimates with an approving look, and Shadowheart gives him a sideways glance.

“Ah yes, I heard you were a bit of a wine snob.” She tries to match his haughty energy, and doesn’t do a half bad job. “I saw what you brought,” she says, referring to the bottle still on the counter from last night. “It looks… fine.” The corners of his lips twitch upward and you can tell that he likes her, despite their constant bickering.

You and Astarion settle yourself on the couch while Karlach and Shadowheart sit on the floor. Karlach leans against the base of the couch, one knee propped up and an arm around Shadowheart’s shoulders. You smirk at your best friend, remembering your conversation of her insisting that she likes to sit on the floor, despite the fact that the two of you always sit on the couch together. Astarion, legs crossed and arm around you, pulls up the Roku app on your TV and finds the Heathers proshot.

September first, 1989. Dear diary:

A spotlight comes up on a young half-elf woman wearing a bulky denim jacket, big scarf, and a long hippie skirt. Veronica, it quickly becomes clear, is one of the more unpopular kids in school, along with her best friend Martha Dunstock.

“Wait, Veronica isn’t already one of the Heathers? And she’s already friends with Martha?” Shadowheart asks. The eponymous “Heathers” are the archetypical mean girls who rule over Westerberg High.

“No, is that how it is in the movie?” you reply. “I’m only vaguely aware of it, I just read the musical.”

“Interesting,” she muses, narrowing her eyes. “Yeah, she’s supposed to already be in the Heathers, and she doesn’t even speak to Martha until the last scene of the movie. I guess this way she gets a classic movie montage makeover.”

“That tells a very different story,” Astarion says, bouncing his foot slightly. “Following a protagonist who starts wealthy and popular rather than one who is an interloper into a position of power.”

“I wonder why they changed it,” Karlach says, and you nod in agreement.

“I can almost guarantee it was because of the success of Mean Girls and not simply a narrative choice they wanted to make,” you add, wrinkling your nose with distaste. 

“Maybe,” Shadowheart takes a thoughtful sip of her wine. “Mean Girls was so heavily influenced by Heathers that it does seem like a nice homage.” She pauses for a moment, then giggles, “You know, I used to think that I had a crush on Christian Slater and I wanted to be Winona Rider, but it turns out it was the other way around.”

“Honestly, I think that tells me all I need to know about you,” Karlach teases.

Honey whatcha waiting for? Step inside my candy store. Time for you to prove you’re not a loser anymore.

The trio of Heathers pose centerstage, their synchronistic dance moves and bright color coordinated outfits creating a striking stage picture.

“Visually, it’s a nice stylistic choice,” Astarion notes, “but I wonder if the aesthetics will detract from the effectiveness of these three as antagonists.”

“Maybe,” Karlach says with a shrug. “But you know that Carm would have a field day with these costumes,” she adds, turning to look at you over her shoulder.

“Oh she absolutely would,” you agree, looking at their sharp blazers, plaid skirts, and thigh high socks. “But I think Astarion’s has a point, they’re almost too appealing to convey any real villainy. Plus, so many of these lines have become such an iconic part of pop culture that they’re almost meaningless. When the main Heather shouts, ‘Shut up, Heather!’ it feels more like she’s quoting a famous line than bullying her friend.”

“I’m sure Alfira will want to address that in the room,” Karlach nods. 

Love this dead girl walking Love this dead girl walking Love this dead girl– Yeah– Yeah– Yeah– Yeah!!!!

After committing the social suicide of not bullying her unpopular best friend, Veronica decides she wants to go out with a bang – literally – and sneaks into the bedroom of resident bad boy JD. You still get an uneasy feeling about him as a character, but you’re trying to parse out your judgment of yourself versus your analysis of the text.

“Sorry,” Karlach shakes her head and holds out her wine glass, pointing at the screen. “Did we just witness that girl have a musical orgasm?”

“Surprisingly more common than you’d think in musical theatre,” you laugh, and Astarion pulls you into him until his lips are on your ear.

“Would you like to be my dead girl walking?” His voice is a husky whisper, sending a shiver reverberating through your body. You press your lips together and dig your nails into his knee to keep both of you in check.

-Oh my gods, I just killed my best friend! -Oh, and your worst enemy, so– -Same difference!

Veronica may have been the one to unknowingly hand a mug full of drain cleaner to the most popular and powerful of the mean girls, Heather Chandler, but JD was the one who knowingly handed it to Veronica.

“So they just immediately kill their primary villain?” Astarion scoffs in surprise. “Bold choice, I wouldn’t have expected it from a musical.”

“Oh don’t worry, she’ll be back,” you laugh. “Hey Karlach, who do you think should play Heather C?”

“Oooh, that’s a good question. I feel like it has to be Arabella, right? Who else has got the chops?” Karlach tilts her head to look at you.

“Arabella would also be really good as Veronica though,” you respond, shuffling through all of the theatre majors in your head. “Do you know if Mol is going to audition?”

“Maybe, but I think she wants to stage manage this fall.”

“Oh that makes sense, she’d be great at that,” you nod in agreement.

He’s hungry for a hunk Of the junk in your trunk

“Oh, weird. I don’t remember this song in the script I read,” you say with a frown. It was a while ago when you read it, but you’re pretty sure that this moment – when the high school jocks Kurt and Ram corner Veronica alone – felt a little more comedic and a little less sinister.

“Yeah, same,” Karlach says. “I feel like it was much sillier. Something about balls?”

“I think the hook was ‘you make my balls so blue.’” You try to force a laugh, but what’s playing out on screen is making you uncomfortable. The visual of the jock, Kurt or Ram, you can’t remember which, lewdly humping the air in front of a terrified Veronica doesn’t sit well with you. “This song being about date rape raises the stakes very differently from it being a blue balling joke.”

“Yeah, that’s so much more intense.” Karlach’s frown deepens as Veronica tries to pull her skirt down lower while the boys grab at her aggressively.

“I mean I get it, it’s a much stronger choice narratively, but we’ll have to be careful, give proper warnings and stuff.” You take a sip of your wine and Astarion gently rubs your shoulder.

“Okay, darling?” he hums in your ear. You nod but pull his arm around you a little tighter.

I worship you. I’d trade my life for yours. I’ll make them disappear.

There’s something so much more menacing about JD’s sung lines after having killed the jocks, Kurt and Ram, who tried to sexually assault Veronica. It makes your hackles raise, in part because you can see how toxic it is, but also because you can’t deny that it stirs something inside you. Just earlier today, you threw yourself at Astarion at the mere mental image of him murdering your abuser.

It’s okay if it’s just fantasy, Jaheira’s words ring in your head. Sure, someone saying that they worship you and committing homicide over it isn’t healthy in real life. But in a fantasy that isn’t hurting anyone?

But… how do you decide what’s harmful and what isn’t?

Can’t we be seventeen? Is that so hard to do?

After JD murders Heather Chandler and both Kurt and Ram out of a sense of misplaced righteousness, Veronica begs him to hold on to his youth a little longer and not let the trauma of his mother’s suicide make him grow up so fast.

You feel Astarion’s chest shaking slightly against your back. You glance up at him and his eyes are shining.

“Babe, are you crying?” you whisper and he glares at you.

“What? No. Shut up,” he spits as he wipes away a tear. You strain your neck and kiss his cheek.

VERONICA! Open the– open the door please, Veronica, open the door. Can we not fight anymore, please?

The repercussions of JD's streak of murderous revenge finally catching up with Veronica, she hides from him in her bedroom while he attempts to cry, scream, and sing his way back into her heart. 

“This is the one,” you call out. “This is the song that’s all over TikTok with teenage girls saying that she should’ve opened the door.” The context is no different from when you read it – his violent outbursts mixed with unhinged sobbing still make for an energy that you don’t quite know how to respond to. 

“I’m pretty sure they know it’s satire, it’s really over the top,” Karlach shrugs.

“Most of them probably do,” you say with a frown, remembering a concerning post that you saw somewhere that said ‘musical JD really loved Veronica while movie JD was just a manipulator.’ 

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Astarion says, pointing with his nearly empty wine glass. “You’re telling me that young girls like this behavior? Why?” 

Shadowheart snorts. “Apparently there’s something appealing about a pathetic wet cat of a man,” she laughs, and Astarion pouts.

I wish your dad were good,  I wish grownups understood. I wish we’d met before They convinced you life is war.

Veronica is pleading with a gun-wielding JD to not blow up the school during the pep rally when something suddenly clicks for you.

“Oh my gods, that’s the thesis statement, that’s what this whole show is about.” You sit up with the realization. “It’s not about mental health, or bullying. I mean it is,” you falter a bit, the wine sloshing around your brain. “But at the root it’s the parents’ fault. All of the adults in this show have been neglectful at best and selfish and bigoted at worst.”

“You know, if you want a good classical play with that theme,” Astarion shrugs, “then you should propose Romeo & Juliet.” Your jaw drops and you whirl around to face him.

“Holy shit, you’re so brilliant, I love you.”

Hey yo, Westerberg, tell me what’s that sound? Here comes Westerberg, comin’ to put you in the ground!

Your whole body freezes as the blood drains from your face. Somewhat delayed, you slap a hand over your mouth to keep you from accidentally revealing anything else. Astarion stares at you, his mask completely expressionless. Karlach and Shadowheart seem to remain oblivious to the monumental tension between you and Astarion.

Westerberg will knock you out And send you straight to–

Fuck.

[captain-mj]

Hey gimme that alien thing

Glad you finally sent me this! I loved talking about it with you! btw if you guys want to talk about an idea, feel free to message me

This is really horny but Roach is a human biologist with an alien Soap and Ghost (different species).

Roach felt weird being the only human on ship sometimes. He and Ghost were also the only species evolved from predators which only made it worse. His instinct to smile or stare at them directly when they spoke made most of them uncomfortable, too reminiscent of what they expected from the apex predators of their worlds.

Roach would never blame them! It was their instincts that made them afraid just as much as it was his instincts to be polite. He tried not to get irritated at them when they'd flinch or make a big deal of telling him that he was "Staring predatorily" again. Eventually, he just covered the bottom of his face so he didn't have to worry about it.

Ghost understood. He looked like a predator. Unlike Roach who was omnivorous, Ghost was an obligatory carnivore. Beside occasionally eating these plants that tasted like mint, he only ate meat. His teeth mostly resembled several canines, though some were clearly meant to break bones. His ears were sharp and pointed like a cat that could easily swivel all the way around. A fascinating part of his biology was his voice. Or more accurately, his vocal cords. They were designed to mimic sounds. His voice was not his own. Apparently, it came from some man from Manchester that talked to him and then was killed later. Didn't even remember his name. Just noticed it put others at ease.

"Gary." Ghost purred, sounding like gravel. "You're doing it again."

Roach shrugged. "I like categorizing our crew mates. I am a biologist."

"Planning on exploring my anatomy again?" Giant dark eyes with vertical pupils stared at him. Meant for hunting at night. Ghost looked amused with him.

Roach hated that he wore a mask. His features were gorgeous. Sharp and attractive. But he refused to unlearn baring his teeth and looking calm all the time. So he wore a mask just as Roach did. Kept himself carefully under wraps. He heard rumors that Ghost was disliked by his own species. Roach couldn't think of a reason why.

Ghost and Roach stayed perched where they were, staring down at everyone below. They acted so... odd. Almost herd like.

Except for Soap.

Johnny Soap MacTavish.

Roach would love to explore his anatomy. Maybe his psyche as well. He was a strange man. Right now, he was sniffing the air and looking around, soft deer like ears flicking up. Roach had a feeling the creature he evolved from was similar from a Cervinae. His ears were so big and soft, designed to hear things for miles. Long legs meant to run quickly and a poof of a tail that seemed to mostly just give away his mood. Roach wasn't sure what other uses it would have. Despite the sniffing, Roach knew he was not that sensitive to smell. He had to rely on his hearing and sight. It was close to impossible for any of them to sneak up on them.

Well, not Roach and Ghost. It was almost too easy for them unless Roach wore his cologne. Soap never seemed to mind. He never scolded Roach for walking too close or jumped out of Ghost's way when he saw him coming through.

Soap had giant eyes. His face looked very human because of it. And... innocent. Roach knew he wasn't. Soap had made jokes so dirty they turned Roach's ears red. He seemed to find a special joy in it. But it was hard when giant blue eyes blinked at him.

Ghost tapped sharp nails against the metal they were sitting on. Roach watched it.

"Nervous tic?"

"Hunting instinct. It's to check if my nails are sharp enough."

"You can't eat crew." Roach gently reminded.

"Two types of hunting, Gary. There are more hungers than just food." Ghost stood up, long tail lashing behind him. Roach wished he knew what it meant. His species relied mostly on body language, meaning he probably spoke volumes more than he bothered to translate to Roach.

Instead, he finally went downstairs to eat. He sat next to Ghost like usual.

Unlike usual, Soap sat in front of them. He seemed agitated, ears and tail twitching every few seconds. However, he straightened up and tilted his head at them, ear standing up. It was his version of smiling and looking Roach in his eyes.

Ghost pulled his food a little closer to himself, eating faster. Roach followed suit. It felt really weird, eating meat in front of Soap. He didn't miss the way his eyes followed it, watching it disappear into Roach's mouth.

Soap started to eat his own food. "Is it true humans regularly drink coffee? I heard it's toxic."

"To a lot of species, it is. It's because of the caffeine. You would probably be fine."

Soap hummed. "Is the stuff here any good?"

Roach shook his head immediately. "No. Next time I find some good coffee, I'll tell you."

Soap leaned forward, giant eyes blinking at him. They didn't look him head on. Just slightly down but still more direct than was considered proper. Roach stared at him openly and watched him blush. He didn't seem scared though, so he didn't look away.

The three of them kept eating. Ghost licked his fingers, getting the blood off of it. Roach grimaced and he grinned.

"Not my fault you need it to be cooked."

Soap tilted his head. "Because of bacteria right? Meat contains more bacteria and potential parasites so humans need it to be heated."

"What's an engineer doing researching humans?" Roach turned his attention back to Soap, watching his flinch and the way his eyes tilted back down.

"I research all my crew mates."

Ghost leaned in. "Need to know what might eat you?"

"Need to know which machines are more vital. How much oxygen is the right level? Nitrogen? If one of the machine for food storage fails, what needs to be prioritized?"

"And you decide that?"

"On paper? Not at all. In reality? Yes. I fix the machines. I'm the first person that messes with them. If an emergency happened, I don't always have time for order."

Ghost tilted his head. "And what would you prioritize?"

"High nitrogen levels. High oxygen isn't a necessity. It would awful to make you wear a mask, Roach, but if you need to, you'd have a much easier time and you'd be the only one really affected as long as we kept the oxygen levels above about eight percent. Also, you guy's food. Hungry herbivores for a few days means some complaining. Irritation. Hungry you two? One of us might be on the menu. Risky business."

"Saying I can't control myself?" Ghost leaned in, giant teeth bared. The still healing mark on Roach's shoulder throbbed.

Soap swallowed, looking at his mouth. "Aye. That's exactly what I'm saying. If you had to eat one of the crew, who would it be?"

Roach hummed. "Morbid question. I could live on plants for a good while."

Ghost licked his teeth. Black tongue dripping with blood. He swallowed. "I'm meant to survive a few weeks with no food. I'm sure they'd hurry up and get food before I start getting dangerous."

Soap nodded quickly. "Still. Question remains. Hopefully, I never have to get a proper answer." He smiled. It was an awkward expression, one he clearly wasn't used to making. "Regardless, I hold you two in high esteem. I doubt either of you would ever be dangerous if it could be helped. I'll talk to you both later." Whatever had irritated him before seemed to have gone away.

Roach got a weird feeling that he was both being mocked and also complimented.

Ghost left before Roach could turn to him to keep talking. He didn't need a translation to read his body language as irritated.

Soap continued to get closer. He had never been one that looked afraid, but now he seemed almost comfortable around them.

Roach found himself drawing in closer. Bewitched by Soap. A simple taste and maybe he'd be cured.

The next time the three of them were together, because it was always the three of them, that Soap smiled again. It looked more natural and both Ghost and Roach wondered if he practiced it.

Ghost thought of slipping off his mask. To stare directly into Soap and see if it made him afraid. That or grab that little tail of his and bend him over the desk.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. It was the mating time of his lunar year. It meant nothing to anyone else. He did not emit hormones or act like an animal or try to drag people into his office or room for the sole purpose of fucking.

Ghost just got a little easier to irritate and his mind would come up with silly things. Like how Soap could manage to look past his claws and his teeth. With Roach, it was easy to ignore. His nails were similar enough to Soap's. Their hands, though differently sized, were the same general way. Ghost's finger were longer. Made to grip and hold struggling things. Scars dotting him.

Roach saw him as a bit of fun. A "chance to satisfy scientific curiosity" about what certain aliens looked like unclothed. He had said so himself while Ghost had been undressed in his bed. Above him and vulnerable. His gentle hands holding Ghost's shoulders when he felt like he'd shake apart from the sweet contact.

It was silly to think things would change between them or that Soap would be any different. They were... better than Ghost was. Far better. He was a problem. Incorrect on his own planet. Incorrect here. Too big or too small.

Soap's hand on his shoulder caught his attention and his eyes flicked over to him. "Save ya a seat, sir?" He looked to the left of Ghost's ear. It gave the illusion of directness. Horribly rude normally. It made Ghost want to touch. To feel connection.

How pathetic of him. He still sat in the seat Soap saved.

Soap was enraptured by the two of them. Their sharp eyes. Lean muscle designed for endurance. The teeth.

He was well aware his tastes were... well. Among his people, they would outcast him in moments. Finding those traits so alluring. Despite being almost their height, only about two inches shorter than Roach and six under Ghost, he knew they could easily pick him up. He was built for speed. Short bursts to easily get away from things just like them.

Soap had tried to push it down. The feeling of longing. The jealousy when they so easily understood each other. He knew logically that it was just because they were the ones that stuck out. But they fit together so well and Soap wanted that. Yes, he could play pretend and get people's attention all day long, but it never felt substantial.

They never looked at him. While they should be normal. He shouldn't want to be viewed. The way Ghost and Roach looked at him as if he had their whole attention. How their eyes trained on his in a way that monsters had before pouncing. It made his heart race. His mouth go dry.

Soap wanted. longed. needed. He wasn't sure what. Maybe it was as simple as just their attention.

He got it when Ghost put his hand on his back. His hands. They were made to rip apart things like Soap. Get inside and devour. But it was gentle. Sweet even. Just a careful press. His tail started to swish side to side like wild and he could feel the tip brushing against Ghost's gloves. He found it hard to breathe.

"Johnny."

"Simon."

His thumb started to rub in circles. "Roach is omnivorous. He would survive just fine without meat for a while, it's just not their ideal diet. It's why he wouldn't answer your question that day."

"oh."

"But me? I'd eat the accountant that lives in the room next to mine."

Soap looked up at him. "Why?"

"He's the closest thing to a creature I had on my home world. It's from the water. A lovely little thing. You just pop those in your mouth and sink your teeth in. I think he'd taste similar."

Soap nodded. "You've thought about it?"

Ghost hummed. "Emergencies as you said. Sometimes, we don't have time to think. And if came down to it. Well. I'd rather make a level headed decision instead of a rash one. Might hurt someone valuable."

"It's cruel to place us on a value system."

"Not much different than you decide who breathes easy. I'd rather eat an accountant than my only engineer."

Soap did not miss that Ghost said "my engineer". Not the ships. Not even ours. Just my. He looked at him and swallowed.

Slowly, he moved closer. Their tails brushed and he didn't miss the way Ghost's breath caught. For Soap, it was a bit like brushing hands. A simple gesture to show affections. Judging by Ghost's reaction, he had a feeling for him, it may mean a bit more.

Roach caught up to the two of him. His eyes were crinkled like he was smiling. Soap wanted to see it properly. Without the mask. Those beautiful brown eyes. He felt weak to them. He had once heard the term "puppy dog eyes" and when he looked at Roach, he thought he might understand the phrase. While they did not quite match the canines he had seen (and quickly learned to loathe), they did have the same adorableness. They were also perfect for begging as Roach had proved countless times by looking at him and asking politely to try whatever Soap was eating. He gave it up each time without a second thought, even though it could never be reciprocated.

"Soap. You look nice today."

His heart somehow sped up more. It hurt his chest. "Ah. Thank you. You look lovely yourself."

Roach's ears went red and they fell back in line. It felt easier when the three of them were together.

Soap stayed with them late in to the night as Roach did his research. He studied one of the new animals he had gotten from a planet, gently coaxing it to eat. It was like a moth, though it's wings were made of a material he was not familiar. Standard procedure would lead him to dissect the poor thing, but... well. He felt too guilty.

Ghost kept glancing at Soap. Usually, if he and Roach were alone in his lab, he could convince him to come to bed with him. That didn't work if Soap was there.

"So, why is a high ranking member of the ship such as yourself sitting in here while a biologist works?" Soap asked.

Roach hummed. "Ghost helps me with experiments occasionally." He gently grabbed one of the... scales? that had fallen off his creature. He slid it under a microscope.

"What experiments? Maybe I could also be of assistance?" Soap's tail wagged. He looked so excited.

Ghost huffed. "He means we have sex."

The wagging stopped and Roach whipped around. "Simon."

"What?" Ghost's tail twitched. He was getting agitated. It wasn't Soap's fault but Ghost wanted... fuck he just wanted.

Soap had a pretty blush on his face. "My apologies. I didn't mean to interrupt."

Roach paused. "Actually. Soap. Could you..." He looked at him.

Soap paused before swallowing thickly. Alone. With two predators. Being asked... "You want me to... what?"

"Undress for me. I've been curious because most of the diagrams we have of your species don't cover everything. So, if you really would like to assist me." Roach batted his eyelashes.

Damn those puppy dog eyes.

Soap swallowed and started to unbutton his clothes. He was always so confident around them. Always ready to push further. As his shirt slid off his shoulders, so did any form of bravado he might've had. His hands shook as he undid his belt, fear and arousal fighting hard. They wouldn't hurt him. He knew that. But they were looking at him.

"Take off your mask." Soap asked as he pulled the belt from his loops.

Roach slowly did. Pretty mouth. Freckles.

Ghost didn't quite yet.

Soap kicked off his shoes. "Please, sir."

His mask fell on the floor next to Soap's shirt. Giant teeth. Scarring. Gorgeous hair that kinked and curled.

Soap finished undressing and closed his eyes. He resisted the urge to cover himself up.

Roach's hands, he could tell by the softness and bluntness of the nails, brushed against him. Every bit the scientist, he actually did take notes. Measurements and pictures. He gently tilted his head so his face would not be seen.

"Why do you have a tail?"

"What?" Soap felt like he was on fire. He didn't know where Ghost was but he could feel their gazes burning into him. Normally, he'd say with certainty that his body was attractive but was it what they'd find attractive?

"What purpose does it serve? Is it behavioral? For balance?"

Ghost grabbed Soap's tail and his free hand was on his waist, moving him easily. Soap gasped, mouth hanging open and more blood rushed to his face as his body reacted. "Think I found it. Mark that it's a mating thing."

Roach actually did. Soap could hear the scratching of the pencil and it made his head spin. It was so cold and calculated and borderline cruel but he liked it. Liked that Ghost's hands tightened their grip.

Breath right against his ear. "Johnny. Are you okay?"

"Yes." Soap nodded frantically, mouth falling open as Ghost gently ran his fingers down his side. He burned all the way through. It only got worse when Roach's deft fingers touched his cock.

"Similar anatomy to a human's." Roach had a tinge of disappointment in his voice. "I wonder." He gently traced his fingers up and down and Ghost's hands were the only thing that kept Soap still. "Soap. Am I okay to continue?" Gary sounded unbearably sweet. Both of them breathing him in and he was stuck between the two of them.

"Yes, please. Please."

Ghost's mouth pressed to his throat at his pulse. They sank to the floor, careful with him. Roach used something on his fingers to make them slick and then he was gently pressing against Soap's hole. Ghost's hands kept his legs spread and Soap's hands were split between holding on to Roach's shoulder and desperately exploring Ghost's chest.

Soap panted softly. The texture of Roach's hands was... new. It felt so good. He wanted to try something. Carefully, remembering where he was, he tilted his head and pressed his mouth to Ghost's. His tongue gently lapped at Soap's lips.

Soap came with a shudder, body tensing.

Roach hummed. "That was a lot faster than I was expecting." He went to pull away and Soap quickly yanked him back.

"I'm meant for multiple rounds, just keep going. Please keep going, whatever you want to try on me." Soap kept kissing Ghost, pulling him closer.

Roach smiled and gently bit the inside of his thigh, loving the little shivers and tremors that ran through Soap. He gently pulled his fingers out and Soap whined.

"Gary?"

Roach kissed his tummy which made dozens of butterflies erupt in both of their stomachs. "Do you think I could fuck you properly?"

Soap nodded desperately.

Roach undid his pants and looked at Ghost. His dark eyes. The way his teeth stabbed into his bottom lip. "Take turns? You're quite a bit bigger. Might be a good idea."

Ghost nodded and kept Soap held open. It was for the best, he'd be too worried he'd hurt Soap to really enjoy himself. This also gave him a very, very good view. Roach went to bury his face in Soap's neck and Ghost growled, making it clear he wanted to see both of their faces. His face went a brilliant red as he kept eye contact with him. Soap still had his eyes closed, lost to the world and in utter bliss and that's where Ghost wanted to keep him. Blunt nails and claws dug into him, keeping him in place. Sharp teeth and rough tongues ran over his throat and his shoulders and his collarbones. Marks that wouldn't heal for weeks.

Soap arched so hard Ghost worried he'd snap as he came again, making tiny, almost pained moans. And then he came a third time. He was almost at the end of his fourth when Roach came in him. Soap groaned when Roach pulled out of him but he was immediately moving again. He tried to copy the way they nipped at him, biting at Ghost's throat. It sent something sharp up Ghost's spine and he picked Soap up with ease and twisted him. His face was pressed to Roach's chest and he pulled his arms behind his back before sinking into him.

Ghost growled softly and his head fell back. He didn't let Soap have a moment before he pulled back and Soap writhed, feeling an odd sensation.

"Fuck, fuck..." Soap cursed and sniffled. "You're... Yeah, you're big. You..."

Roach cupped Soap's face and looked at him, loving the way he squirmed. "His anatomy is unique. Ridges along each inch that give a great feeling. I could bore you with my theories on the evolutionary process but judging by your expression, I think you're a little too cock drunk for that."

Soap most definitely was. His eyes were unfocused but staring back. Desperate. He reached up and managed to kiss Roach. Ghost continued to count Soap's orgasms. A fifth. Sixth. Seventh. He really was meant for multiple rounds. Maybe later, he and Roach could talk. See how many they could get out of him.

Ghost yanked him to his chest and shoved all the way in as he came inside him. Soap finished one last time, barely lucid anymore. He tried to press down on him, get him even deeper. His body fluttered as he let out beautiful little whimpers.

Ghost put Soap over his shoulder and snatched up Roach who had just managed to grab their clothes. They were a bit heavy, but it wasn't difficult to carry them. Well, except for Roach squirming and insisting he get them both dressed. He did not, instead bringing them to his room. He curled around the two of them, tucking them both into him and dragging Roach back when he tried to get out of bed to get dressed.

"No."

Roach sighed and put his head on Ghost's chest. "Fine. Fine. You're lucky no one saw us."

Ghost didn't mention the cameras. He'd just delete the footage in the morning.

[s0lar-ch3ri]

thinking about him (spoilers for jrwi)

thinking about how in atleast 2 scenarios chip has blamed himself more then needed, first with ollie ("i took him from his home") then with gillion ("i gave him the card") and each time he tried to put on a confident face but really it ate away at him inside.

thinking about how gillion is constantly taking on responsibility and chip canonically sees gillion as inspiration (humble beginnings, bizly says the inspo from the future is from gillion tidestrider) and its not like he only takes some blame but usually its all the blame because gillion knows how to acknowledge his faults somewhat.

thinking about how chip takes promises ever so seriously (ie, not even doing simple lies after promising gill that he wouldnt) yet hes such an example of "change doesnt happen overnight" and how he acts can be directly or indirectly related to past adventures and/or trauma (probably even how he copes is atleast somewhat connected to the guy he killed under price).

thinking about how chip grew up looking up to arlin and seeing what a great example of pirates the black rose were and trying to be something atleast somewhat great and feeling like he failed when hes the only one on deck with somewhat an idea of what a pirate is.

thinking about how chip would lie to protect his friends yes but became a lying machine to protect himself before and hid his intents because while he can absolutely trust his crew his instinct is too not because he got used to being on his own and putting himself first and now hes around people (mostly gill) who put themselves before him to help protect him.

thinking about how easily gillion made friends with people on islands and eventually it rubbed onto chip too (ie: gryffin, felipe, etc) as he unlearned the idea that hes alone in a cruel world that only exists to make him suffer and theres a light in everyones life that makes it even just slightly better, no matter the background (main example is gill again).

thinking about how much gillion is willing to sacrifice for his friends and when felipe wanted to stab him every night, it was chip who tried to talk sense into gill because he cares for gillion and (most likely) was worried that felipe may be lying about healing and may full on kill him.

and all these thoughts (and more) make me feel so much when they found the empty rowboat with nothing but ashes and a fiendish smell and gillion starts blaming himself so chip grabs his shoulders and says "its not your fault, you werent the one who made him grab the card" because somewhere in my heart it feels like maybe chip isnt just talking to gill but to the part of himself that keeps on trying to hold onto every wrong hes done, every sin that keeps him up at night, every lie that is amplified in his skull, that he deserves forgiveness and not everything in the world lays on his shoulders.

and with these thoughts, one more comes to mind: chip and gillion are so similar in backgrounds and morals and thats why theyre the ones that break each others walls and misunderstand each other and fight because they probably dont even fucking see it.

[gaylordscooter]

i only ship kist because of you. i didn't even like shipping or any romantic connections between characters before seeing your kist content. your kist propaganda is too powerful

im flattered that my stuff is good enough to be the sole reason someone ships something

also between u and me, anon, i hardly shipped kist (or ANY sans pairing really) myself before making this blog. only reason i ship them now is because in a narrative sense it just became an interesting pairing to explore.

those two are extremely similar with few key differences, and having them interact calls for interesting stuff to happen. I haven't read that many utmv fics, especially ones focusing on the bad sanses so i was mostly working from the ground-up while loosely looking at canon.

and one of the similarities i noticed in canon is the self-loathing they have and how they wear it differently. in killer's case, he feels as if he's too far gone to ever be redeemed and tends to lash out whenever anyone tries to help him (and also works for nightmare somewhat out of his own volition). in dust's case he literally has his own personification of his self-loathing in the form of his own brother constantly insulting him and assigned himself the sisyphean goal of killing the human over and over and over

but obviously my versions stray from canon a fair bit but the self-loathing still stands, which is the starting point for their relationship (because i am a sucker for relationships where they initially don't get along and then eventually do). AND through learning to love the other they're also unlearning self-loathing (it is here where i tie in that they're the same monsters from alternate universes because when i write a dynamic between two people i must use ALL the context okay)

however tbh i don't see those two as specifically "romantic", they wouldn't consider the other their boyfriend. nor is this shit platonic, they are secret other thing to me (self-love)

[bitchfitch]

How did Vincent's family react to seeing whatever he is for the 1st time

Poorly! "We should kill this newborn baby" levels of poorly.

So here's the thing, Vincent isn't weird by the standards of this setting. he's literally just a guy. This is a post turbo nuclear apocalypse world where Basically everyone is some degree of ultra fucked up. Lino is weirder looking than him by current standards because of how mostly normal he looks. (like he's a stunted albino with 8 hands, four arms and five kidneys. but he's still like. dude shaped.)

But Vincent's family were some of if not the last holdouts still hiding in the radiation proof bunkers. They were all what we'd consider to be perfectly normal and natural humans. "Classic looking" in the language of the setting. they where also hyper-religious and considered the mutated people they saw of in the cameras and knew of from communication with long abandoned bunkers to be vermin. People made monsters by God's wrath as punishment for the peasant uprisings that lead to the wars that destroyed the planet.

None of his family had left the bunkers since they were sealed until his mother managed to escape.

She left and joined up with a nearby settlement, and like. had a life there with this new kind of people. There were hurdles and things she needed to unlearn but she was happy. She had friends and casual partners and then a more serious relationship that turned into the equivalent of being married. They eventually decided they were ready to be parents, the world looked so hopeful after all now that it was beginning to heal from the war.

and then there were complications. Things the meager medical supplies of people rebuilding after Armageddon couldn't treat. If it had just been a matter of loosing the pregnancy, she would have stayed and gone through with an abortion. It wouldve been devastating but they might have tried again eventually.

But it wasn't just a matter of loosing the pregnancy, she was having false contractions and was pre eclamptic. It was choice between going home to the bunker full of prewar capitalist utopia medical supplies or dying.

She went home. She knew she would never see her partner again. She knew she would never see anything outside of the bunker again. But she'd be alive.

Her family welcomed her, she got treatment and a few days later Vincent was born. He looks a lot like his father. She's weak, she's been through so much. She refuses to let her mother take away her child because she knows she'll never see him again if she does.

Vincent's family saw him as a punishment from God for his mother. They saw him as vermin. They raised him making sure he knew he was filthy and unwanted no matter how much his mother insisted she loved him. And he believed them.

[dross-the-fish]

Started hanging out with some new friends in a Discord server on days when work from home is slow but I'm not able to leave my desk to draw or write, and I'm honestly surprised by how good of a time I've been having, how at ease I feel. This is the first friend group I've had where most of, if not all of, the people in it are queer in ways that are similar to myself, and not just cisgendered gay or bisexual people, but people who are also non-binary/genderfluid and on the aro/ace spectrum. After a lifetime of being friends with people who were mostly straight or gay and almost all of them cis except for maybe the odd binary-transperson all of whom are allosexual. It also made me realize that I've been walling myself off from most of my old high school friends for the duration of our relationship and haven't even noticed it. I always tend to sit and let little comments slide because I don't want to get into a debate or call too much attention to aspects of myself I'm still figuring out. Dealing with behaviors that were vaguely phobic and excusing them as my friends just "not knowing better," because they seemed well intended otherwise and nothing said was overt. Feeling like before I presented ace characters to them that I needed to have some justification and explanation at the ready and brace myself for people to try and tell me that "well this character can still have sex right?" or "What's the point of making x aromantic?" because they were allosexual and alloromantic and couldn't enjoy characters that weren't "available" in that way. Debates about whether asexuality should even be part of the LGBTQ spectrum weren't common, but they happened. Being made to feel like not being attracted to my partner was unfair to my partner because "everyone deserves to feel attractive to the people who love them." "A stands for Allies" is a thing that came out of one friend's mouth. "Non-binary is trans-lite," is another. "I could never love someone I wasn't attracted to, it must suck so bad to have that part of you missing." When I eventually came out as gender fluid, they seemed accepting but never bothered to use masc pronouns because I still accept fem ones. So they just felt free to ignore my gender all together and one of them even slipped and tried to correct someone who called me "sir" because it was that easy for her to forget, even with me standing right there in a chest binder and men's clothing.

There was always been an element of being ready to defend myself, of weighing my words before I spoke them and agonizing over whether I'd have to hear empty platitudes, excuses of people just "not being used to it" and an obvious, palpable discomfort that no one was willing to unlearn, that would be left for me to bear and to feel like I was at fault for creating by simply existing. And I never noticed it because it was so prevalent and it was still preferable to the blatant hostility most of the conservative population around here has for the LGBTQ community. I can talk to these people about every other thing under the sun, call them when I'm in trouble and they'll help me and turn to them for advice and support in every other area...but the little things still matter. Even when I told myself they didn't. Being around people and feeling like I can be unguarded is such a bizarre feeling that I'm almost afraid of it. Hearing one person talk about how an aromatic character I write isn't broken and wanting strongly for that character to be told that by somebody made me want to cry. Being asked if I would prefer couple art to be sfw vs nsfw because the asexuality of one character was taken into consideration actually felt like a big deal because NO ONE HAS EVER DONE THAT BEFORE. I didn't know these things mattered so much until they happened and now I feel I'm at a crossroads and debating if I should make the effort to advocate more for myself among some of my old friends. Acceptance matters, community matters. I always knew this intellectually but it's a whole different level now that I've experienced it. I've learned that it matters to me.

[chewing-drywall]

METALOCALYPSE HEADCANNONS

(Part 1/??)

Buckle in yall this will be a long ass post

TOKI WARTOOTH

Earlyklok! Toki

-the most sincerely homophobic in the beginning. You don't just get raised the way he's been and not have some WILD ass beliefs about the world, he eventually unlearns it but being surrounded by dude bros who constantly call things gay as an insult and his tendency to take things litterally DONT help. And it's not like active hate or anything it's just getting raised that gay people are sinners and are gonna burn in hell is definitely a topic you gotta make an effort to unlearn.

-seeing two girls kissing on the streets of florida for the first time??? SHOCKED, litterally did a full head swivel to check if anyone else had seen it and imploded when no one seemed to be as surprised at he was

-Doesnt really even understand why the rest of the band likes casual sex so much, it feels good but at first he thought it was strange there were all of these girl fawning over a him, a technical stranger, and he just goes along with it.

- got his ears pierced about 4 months into earlyklok sitting on the ledge of their shared apartments crusty bathtub

they were all packed into the tiny bathroom, talking over eachother, the room thick with weed smoke, skwisgaar perched over him in the bathtub holding his head straight

pickles did it with a safety pin and an icecube, joint hanging off his lips as he squinted in concentration

Toki didn't flinch, didn't even stop talking to Nathan about the newest Cannibal corpse album that Nathan wanted to buy a cd of

He liked the feeling of skwisgaars hands engulfing his face, it was a touch that wasn't cruel. Plus knowing that the best guitarist he's ever heard in his whole life hands were soft was a fact that he's gonna ingrain into his head.

Murderface and Nathan actually looked mildly concerned at tokis complete lack of reaction

- the kid will offhandedly say really cryptic shit, through broken English and weird reactions to what they think is normal stuff. the band gets the gist that they'd have to be a hell of a lot drunker to handle his truth (toki: oh don't worry I'm used to the dark! :), everyone else:👀)

-got a lip piercing but didn't take care of it properly, so of course it got infected and had to be taken out

-this is when he starts age regressing but doesn't realize he's doing it,

-he'd watch a kids cartoon in complete silence until the season ends and it's the only way to keep him completely still and quiet

-is attracted to bright and colorful things even if it gets him made fun off by the guys, secretly LOVES Lisa frank art

Regular adult toki

-AUTISM AUTISM AUTISM

HATES tables that aren't clean, when it's noticeably sticky or there's crumbs that stick to his arms when he leans on the table

-same with the feeling of spilt beer, has gotten used to it over the years but the feeling of dried sticky beer still has his skin crawling

-has drunken bong water as a dare (all of them have as some point but still)

-has also smoked weed through his nose (again on a dare)!

-if you look really close into his eyes, his eyes go so light blue it looks pale yellow

-very very kind and pretty eyes, the downwards slope of them make him look sad with a neutral face

-LONG AND THICK EYELASHES

-works out mostly regularly to keep his shape, he gets too energetic for the others to handle so it's a good way to blow off some steam

-Likes the idea of wearing feminine stuff, skirts seem sooooo comfortable but doesn't wear them cause yknow the teasing would be absolutely relentless

-medium thickness chewed on lips, does it mindlessly

-knows hes capable of incredible violence, the band is also very aware and whenever he gets legitimately pissed off during a argument (like a genuine, seriously bad argument) they'll usually just back off and wait to bring it up later when toki doesn't look like he's three seconds away from curbstomping them

-FAT crush on Nathan but for some reason gets really shy around it??

-Nathan will compliment him and toki will deadass write with a fluffy pink huge glittery pink pen in an equally pink journal kicking his legs and giggling

*Nathan told me when I got that chord I kept fucking up correct that he could *see me improving* EEEEE he's soooo big He could throw me Like a football

-fond of murderface, knows people deal with their own shit in diffrent ways so he doesn't take his insults to heart (usually)

-relationship with skiwsgaar is. Weird.

I'll probably get into it on another post but it's SO complicated like. Were both emotionally constipated around eachother, our relationship used to be so kind and gentle skiwsgaar was tokis mentor and wanted to see him grow but has such anxeity around toki surpassing him he purposely beats him down; and toki doesn't have the work ethic or drive to truly get to thay level and it impedes the progress of the band. But engages with this weird rivalry thats also a form of love and respect like. Your the only one I could ever be worried about being better than me and I've watched you grow so much and I don't know how to express that properly YADDA YADDA YADDA

-loves pickles very much, he was the most welcoming in the beginning and always made a space for him at the table, later on a shoulder to cry on.

[winglesswriter]

Writerly Questionaire

I was tagged by @theink-stainedfolk and @willtheweaver.Thank you, guys, this looks like fun! ❤

About Me

When did you first start writing ?

When I was about 6yo. My mom wrote down my first story about a lonely squirrel :D

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

I write the same genres as I enjoy reading

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you're often compared?

Not emulate really, but I look up to K. J. Charles, Cat Sebastian, and Ginn Hale

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

I'm currently building a new writing nook in a new apartment :D I§m looking forward to having a nice space for my writing because I used to write in my bed which is less than ideal for my back.

What's your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Inspiration usually isn't a problem. Give me some music or a picture and ideas will flow. It's much harder when it comes to finding time, energy, or motivation.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Not really.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

Yes there are and yes they do :D I'm surprised how often my characters have to unlearn things and how many of them struggle with self-worth (even though that shouldn't be so surprising when I'm the one writing them)

My Characters

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character?

Right now I'm pretty obsessed with Deril Hendersen. Mostly because he's new and I'm developing him, but also because he's the villain that the hero falls for and I've never written anyone like him.

Which of your characters do you think you'd be friends with in real life?

Definitely with Jan Xiaoli because he's loveable and sees the best in people. Maybe with Ikath because I tend to befriend very girly girls and they seem to be attracted by my gender nonconformity.

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

Lothir because he's everything I hate. I'm afraid we would clash with Shi Saxe and Yarren because we have too much in common (we are all stubborn assholes).

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

Half of my MCs started with an image of a real person or were inspired by a different character. The other half I created as their love interests.

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

Yes, they are all assholes :D I also tend to pair a slutty one with a virgin.

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc

I imagined them as real people (even though some of them start from real-life inspiration they eventually get their own unique appearance) but I also like to make artwork depicting them.

My Writing

What's your reason for writing?

Uh... to shut the voices in my head? Or give them a purpose at least. Also, I think there's still not enough stories where queer people go on adventures or save the world. Especially not adult ones.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

I love all the comments. But it's especially great when readers pick up on something I thought they wouldn't

How do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who "gets" the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

I don't really want people to perceive me, I just want them to enjoy my stories :D But if I must choose I'd say I want them to think of me as a queer person who understands and shares queer joy.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I think my greatest strength is dialogue and making characters plausible. And I'm pretty good with pacing.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

Telling a lot in a few words, dialogues, strong characters (even the side characters), and interesting worldbuilding.

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

I know it's not very common so I almost feel ashamed to say it, but I'm proud of my writing. I'm good and I work hard to be better.

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

Yes. It would still be a great way to escape reality and entertain myself.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it's a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

I write purely what I enjoy and hope that someone else will like it too :D

Wow, that was pretty hard but now I'm interested in other people's answers so I'm tagging a lot of you! Please feel free to ignore it.

@pcm-vandermeer, @wolgerrswraith, @vinniehorrible, @sunset-a-story, @words-after-midnight

@oh-no-another-idea,  @lychhiker-writes, @wanderingcas, @tylerjflynn, @sergeantnarwhalwrites,

@buffythevampirelover, @ramwritblr, @druidx, @coffin-hopping, @author-a-holmes

[jeanstapleton]

fine ill embarass myself & put them here since they dont show up in the tags. klingcahy thoughts

klinger is a virgin; he's never known what to make of the link between his bisexuality & relationship to gender, which made his few attempts at romance in the past end awkwardly.

mulcahy has had sex prior to becoming a priest -- mostly raunchy impulsive trysts as he was discovering his gayness -- but he ultimately chose priesthood/the military as a sort of "cure"; this doesn't affect the way he views other lgbt ppl.

crossdressing quickly became a very serious thing for klinger, which he obviously can't express to the rest of the camp; hawkeye is the only one he trusts with this information until his relationship with mulcahy develops further

the bible is not mulcahy's only reading material, as the show likes to joke about; he has a lot of gay/lesbian pulp that he conceals between the pages since they're so thin, and a good amount of science fiction. also his trusty boxing manuals 👀

klingcahy intimacy starts with little offerings of comfort to each other; klinger comes to mulcahy's tent often not necessarily to confess but to vent; eventually he toes the line & tries bringing up his thoughts about gender & sexuality, & to mulcahy its like a light in the darkness.

one thing that happens is that mulcahy starts offering to wash klinger's feet under the pretense of providing him some relief from the high heels; the intimacy does not go unnoticed between them, nor does the allure of mulcahy's gentle strength or klinger's legs.

one time klinger offers to make mulcahy proper priest robes & while taking measurements it starts leaning into mulcahy trying crossdressing; its alien & almost scandalous to him at first but klinger describes it like mulcahy's softness/tenderness is visible on the outside now & it changes his entire outlook.

there is a Lot of slow body worship when their relationship eventually culminates, but they don't have sex right away. mostly making out & dry humping; in an environment where sexuality is free & easy for everyone else, kissing is particularly important to them. its sips of water in the desert, & they know if they push beyond that before they're ready, they'll choke on each other.

klinger is afraid of penetration & mulcahy needs to relearn a lot of things; more than anything, they need to learn how to view their bodies as "deserving" of intimacy.

mulcahy has a higher threshold for pain, & being that catholicism is *waves hands* all of that, some of the things that turn him on are in the realm of self-flagellation (pinching, scratching, biting, slapping, etc); klinger does not engage in this nor does mulcahy expect him to, but sometimes the first two are easy to fall into.

i dont view it as a top-bottom/dom-sub relationship, but mulcahy is both a receiver & an instructor, so in that sense, he takes charge while klinger is more passive (also a plus that klinger's praise kink gets fluffed every time mulcahy lets him know he's making him feel good)

they dont have penetrative sex until they finally get an R&R weekend

i think theyd be nb transfem if they had the terminology back then; their respective senses of fashion/gender expression are very important in foreplay (or at least eventually, since theres a lot of internalized homophobic guilt to unlearn in that area).

[theheightofdishonor]

I have a couple more shows on my watchlist and once that's done i think i'll be taking a (probably brief) break from asian dramas to focus on some of the other dozen watchlists i have (anime maybe? i might skip jojo and try daiya no ace again- we'll see though)

I'm hitting the 300 dramas mark soon (that's 300 completed mind you, not counting movies, and not counting things i've dropped) so i'll probably write something later in the year too reflecting on both the shows that've come out this year and the ones i've watched

For now i thought i'd jot down a couple notes about the currently airing shows i'm keeping up with since i haven't had time to do that in a while. I'll be doing this in the order I watch them in.

Middleman's Love- ngl I'm solely watching this for King and Uea. I know some of you like this show but the main couple just don't work for me and the side couple are only mildly more interesting. I'll keep watching it to the end but it's a skim watch.

Twins- A great example of how silly is fine when it's enjoyable. I fucking adore this show right now. This has volleyball in it and I'm a haikyuu!! fan before i'm a person so of course i was going to watch this show no matter how dumb it is but it's great. I'm having a blast. I like the family dynamics, I like Sprite, I like how they're committing to the 'slow' part of 'slow burn', I like all the stupid hijinks, I like that I can watch this show and be like "oh he's a Setter, like Kageyama!", I just like it. Poor First though, doing all this work of unlearning his hatred for Zee for no damn good reason.

My Dear Gangster Oppa- This one used to be first on my list but after the dumb breakup last week, it's dropped down. I hate the noble idiocy trope as @lurkingshan calls it. It's stupid, it's annoying and I don't think this week's episode made up for it. Shame really, I was quite enjoying this show at first. The chemistry's good and cliches are fine when they're enjoyable. If it wasn't ending next week, I would drop it.

Last Twilight- Saving the best for last because a) it's a heavier show with more to think about than any of the above and b) youtube's interface annoys me.Tbh I only started watching this in the hopes that it might rewrite my current reflex of wincing everytime I see Jimmy's face in a gifset but it's such an excellent show. Aof's directing and storytelling is excellent as usual and he really does deserve credit for how handles his actors. Watching JimmySea in this and then vv is like whiplash.

ps. Pit Babe- i'm not invested in keeping up with this show and my desire to do so depends on factors such as the amount of free time I have and how reluctant I am to use youtube to watch Last Twilight. It seems to have inklings of an interesting plot + obviously it's fandom history cuz of the a/b/o but the way they only half lean into the omegaverse aspects of it without explaining anything makes me wonder what people who aren't familiar with the concept of omegaverse think about this show and how they understand it. Like it has to be confusing without context, right? Mostly, i'm just watching for Nut Supanut and Nut Supanut only though it remains to be seen whether my affection for him will eventually be worn down by how annoying his character is. I swear, if it were played by anyone else or if I cared about the main characters to any extent, I'd find Way insufferable. But so far, i'm supporting all his wrongs. Especially when he looks so damn pretty doing it.

[wingstobetorn]

Working through THONYS personalities for the turtles (these are a work in progress. Things may change.)

Leonardo: the leader, the eldest, the caretaker. she's intimidating to most but has a soft spot for her baby siblings. is more hardheaded with Raph, but she does care for him too, and just wants the best for him as much as she wants everyone else. always strives to do what's best for her family and, eventually, the people of New York. she's pretty standoffish towards strangers (ex: April and Baxter) but learns to trust more as the story goes on. because of her father's illness and absence, she's become more of a mother figure.

Raphael: the sarcastic one, feels the biggest emotions out of all of them, doesn't know how to regulate them. gets into fights with Leo a lot, mostly about how to take care of their siblings, but usually backs down because Leo's intimidating and strong-willed. He's overprotective of his siblings and is pretty hostile to anybody that isn't family, but he likes joking around when you get to know him. He's also a hopeless romantic and keeps a small diary of poetry he's written for his 'non-existent' future girlfriend.

(I'd say their dynamic is similar to Katara and Sokka's, if Katara was the older one, and Sokka the younger.)

Donatello: the genius of the group, the inventor, the heart and compassion. a pacifist who just wants to do good. the first to trust April, Timothy, and Baxter, and ultimately being the one who gets his siblings to learn to trust more. how do I describe him more without just basically repeating ‘oh yeah he's really nice and sweet and everybody loves him’?? He's an overthinker, anxious as hell, and doesn't react well when things don't go as planned OR have a plan. My favorite THONYS turtle :) Sure hope nothing devastating happens to him.

Michelangelo: the hyperactive kid, the learner, the jester. they're wreckless with their nunchucks and never go anywhere with a plan, which is exactly why they're not allowed to go anywhere without supervision from Leo, Raph, and sometimes Donnie. they look up to their older siblings, but listens to Donnie more than they listen to the others; because Donnie's the smart one! Their favorite sibling who's more similar to them in age than the others – seriously, they're 1 year apart from Donnie and 6 years from Leo. They're just a fun little guy who thinks before they act and seriously need to unlearn chaotic destruction.

[aldor-der-wear]

So after posting the concepts I started thinking about the plot l, so I'm just going to write down my top two ideas, but they both branch off so I'll start with their common ground. Also here's more context for what I'm talking about

This is bigger than I thought so I'm color coding this

Red- important context of the world (titan lore and world political BG)

Orange- pre S1 -s1 (The world building and bonding)

Green- s2 [Route 1]

Blue- s2 [Route 2]

Purple- s3 (post apocalypse)

Pink- s4 (learning what happened/ the gargoyle titan au)

*world building*

there are many species of titan. I covered and am still working out the kinks, but here all that are currently relevant, old gen star titans (absolute giant, lived around the demon realms equivalent to the Cretaceous period, this is the boiling isles species), and the living titans are modern/neo moon, sun and star (aka collectors).

There are subspecies but those are the three broad categories. Neo titans are not located near the boiling isles corpse, and therefore the inhabitants have very little knowledge and exposure to any titan other than the isles. So basically there is a bunch of wars that make a bunch of tension in the titan world, and only thing relevant rn is that there is a group of star titans called the archivest, who are trying to wipe out all the other titans.

When the titans vs archivists war breaks out the boiling isles is suddenly subject to titans again by battles being fought all around the globe. Imagine a god species you thought was extinct suddenly just appearing and fighting other gods, yeah.

Pre S1 and s1

King somehow made it to the isles pre war, and finds Eda, and they live together. Belos is in the process of cracking down on wild magic, and Eda is in and out of jail, but there really is no foster care system so king is fending for himself while she's in jail (important).

Eventually around 7 years after this, the political climate is calming down in the isles, and Luz is sent to be her apprentice. This is where S1 starts, it's mostly filler, world building etc. I want to note that at the point of S1 they are more aware of the archivests, and titans, but there still a lot of religious belief surrounding them.

We start to set up the collector and other archivests as bad gods. In s2 a there is a bit more political tension as religion is being more prevalent but problematic, the owl family goes into hiding as belos is now using the titan more and more to push covens.

S2B is where the two ideas branch off, so we'll start with A:

Kings hiding works and is not found out, day of unity plays out relatively the same, just the collector is trapped more previously and never met belos but was trapped and hidden by a titan. King gets way more injured, and the separation is different.

B

King is found out. He gets kidnapped and his horn shaved to remove his memories and basically make him more obedient and "trainable".

He is used as an alterboy by the state church to help get the people more under belos' thumb. They pull a church of england and if you don't belong to the titans church it's considered treason.

He finds his horn, and while not fully back it's enough to make him realize he needs to get the fuck outta there. He dose a few days pre DoU and hides out, then the apocalypse comes and basically the same thing as the first branch happens.

S3

The collector is taking care of king. They are just surviving. Collie is a bit more than fucked up and freaks out king, however collie is just parroting the learnt bigotry, he will learn to be better. King heals up, and they start playing when it's safe enough (like kids do, they are still children).

Collie starts unlearning and healing mentally. Eventually the owl family reunited in s3b and they spend time at the owl house trying to get out of survival mode. The war is mostly over now with most adult titans dead or dieing. Leaving behind juveniles at the oldest and eggs at the youngest. King and collie assume they are the last (they get NO contact or anything indicating otherwise).

S4

A time skip occurs (idk I need to do some math) after s4. The isles is mostly back to normal, king goes to school, the collector bounces between his home and the planet.

Eventually Lilith finds a titan palisman (gargoyle) in hibernation, and brings king to show him. Kings magic awakens it and and there a mini arc if just that.

King collie and the gang then go to sort out the titan trapper thing, and discover an old archive. Gargoyle then runs away into it, and then they find a statue of a titan (ire) king touches it and ire gets un archived. Drama happens, and then ire gets brought back and then goes through his adjusting arc.

Then ire just teaches king about titans. He also explaines the lore of what happened earlier in the series. There may or may not be another titan added to explain even more idk yet. Eventually a surviving archivest or neo archivest (as in the connotation of neo natzi) comes down, and a big battle insues and eventually ire and said archivest get fuzed in the in-between never to be seen again. And then the au Basically just ends there.

Ending notes;

This au is about going through a traumatic childhood but not understanding what was going on, no longer haveing memories of it, and then going about the process of healing from it. It is about unlearning lies you were taught, and trying to be more than your abusers.

This will likely be used to vent out my own life, as this is what's happening to me. I have very little memories of my life before 2022, and I know I didn't understand anything of what was happening. I only really have my parents to tell me what happened but they have two polar opposite stories, and I really don't know how to navigate what's real and what's fake. It's scary and confusing man.