#what does it say about me that my most fleshed out ocs are just the angsty vampire ones

[steelycunt]

ridi im sorry i need to rant and i think youll get it 😭 like not to be a bitch but this fandom kinda going off the rails and annoying the shit out of me https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRbYASpf/ everybody in the comments unironically loving it,,, i mean wtvr ship who you want but its kinda getting delusional like ppl are just operating on thin air and pretty fancasts atp and i do Not understand or emotionally connect with any of it. at least w wolfstar theres so much material and foundation to explore but what is all the rest of this?? just hot celebrity fancasts and crack. to be fair part of me respects taking a terfs canon material and making everybody gay but the way it seems to be so oversaturating fics and the fandom that characters dont even feel like their original selves .. atp its all just surface level OCs

hello! yes! i'll be honest talking about things like this always make me a little nervous, and i feel obligated to preface anything i say with a disclaimer that none of it really matters, nothing i say matters, and you should do what you like, because--who cares. i am not an authority on--anything, frankly. my opinion holds no more weight than the next guy's, and all i'm doing here is giving it, so. essentially what im saying is--people are perfectly entitled to disagree with me, but people are not entitled to be mean to me about it xx

having said that. it is my personal opinion that s x barty is one of the worst fucking things i have ever heard lol. who even is barty who is that guy. why would s be interested in him at all. i do not understand it it does not make sense to me. from where are we sourcing the character traits and personality that we are giving barty that would ever endear sirius to him, because it objectively cannot be canon.

overall i do not get the new interest in barty + evan + pandora (+ regulus, but we won't go there)...at all, other than guessing that people were bored with the marauders and wanted a new version of them (and new celebrities to fancast) while simultaneously changing next to nothing about them other than superimposing them onto the first slytherin side characters they could rustle up. i expect ive become a bit of a broken record in regards to my dislike of the popular meow-meow-ification + complete absolution of regulus as a character in order to make him a loveable oc (just as i think erasing all the negative traits that r/s have in order to make them more likeable is just as boring), and all of that applies to those other guys as well (with the slight difference that they are, somehow, even less interesting and significant than regulus in canon), so i won't get into that too much. but i think what you say about having no emotional connection to any of it is exactly right lol--it is a sort of shift? i guess? in the fandom that is simply of no interest to me. they are characters that i just have no emotional investment in and admittedly struggle a little to understand why other people do. i am emotionally invested in, like, five characters overall (and even out of those--there's only two i'm really here for innit xx) and i personally cannot extend that investment to a creepy little side character who is mentioned maybe twice in the entire series.

and that is okay! i do not need to understand it. i don't want to say it annoys me because honestly--i don't go there, its nothing to do with me. if i dont like it i just wont interact with it, and the fact that it doesn't interest me has no bearing on what other people are into or want to do, and i couldn't give less of a shit what people do with the canon material, which is largely garbage anyway. take the bits you want from it, play around with those and ignore the rest. in that respect we are all doing exactly the same thing. but yeah i think s x barty is genuinely awful lol. hate it. very terrible. he's already got a loser werewolf boyfriend and he loves him so so much. leave him alone.

[jumpscaregoose]

you can always draw oc minicomics that are entirely misleading without the lore only you know. if you were wondering.

[hoseoksluna]

— WIP 𐙚 pt III of vapor

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x steam!oc

about: the forbidden uncoils—along with your orgasm.

word count: 0.694

note: because i'm feeling IMMENSELY happy today bc of namjoon and bc this very work right here, i decided to express my joy by posting a little wip from the third part of vapor for you that's coming this weekend. *screams loudly* I'M SO EXCITED, OH MY GOOOOOOD. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT; LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. <3

warnings: mentions of punishment, oral sex (f. receiving), jungkook is needy but such a dominant daddy fuck my life

𐙚

“Spank me.” 

Lust and love. A peculiar concoction of it that doesn’t exist in the realm of words. He feels it, feels it with every breath he takes. 

“I should, right?” he rasps, dragging his fingernails down your carmine bum, sneaking his fingers around the squishy bottom of the flesh. He might drench his joggers—he didn’t wear his boxers to sleep; you’re wearing them for him. “For wanting to bite my nose off.” He clicks his tongue, squeezing, other hand wraps around your waist, holding you still. “I should spank you until it hurts. Until you cry.” 

The most gentle of a moan spouts out of your mouth and he twitches, his need growing—all because you want it as much as he does.

Jungkook lifts his hand in a promise he’s about to do it and you shiver in anticipation. 

“Please,” is all you say, but he’s not going to give it to you. He places his hand back in a soft manner, lifting it again to tease you and you wiggle your butt, his boxers still tucked halfway in between, the flesh rippling and he groans. A sight to die for. “I deserve it. Please, do it. I want it.” 

He sighs, a wet spot forming in the place of the joggers where his tip is, and he can’t see anything. Can’t see shit when he lifts you up and takes you inside. Can’t see anything but you and the surface of his kitchen island, which he sets you down on, spreading your legs. 

Confused by the swift motion, you rise to your elbows, but he pushes you right back down—holding your hips in the air, just like he did last night. You will see what he’s about to do to you, nonetheless. No need for you to strain your arms. 

And when he closes his mouth over your clothed pussy, you roll your eyes back, moaning his name so loudly that it echoes throughout the kitchen, rooting around his dripping length. And his arousal for you is so overwhelming, so sensitive that one thrust of his hips against the fabric of his joggers brings him such pleasure coursing through his body that he might as well come like this. 

Jungkook rids you of his boxers in a blink of an eye, throwing them somewhere out of his sight. No need for them, either. 

Burying his nose in your clit as he licks your slit and plunges his tongue inside, he narrows his eyes at you as yet another wave of pleasure comes down upon him. This time from having you for breakfast, at last. You mewl so sweetly that it drives him to thrust his hips again and he groans, groans so deeply for you. Needs you to know what you’re doing to him. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me one day,” he breathes out, lightly dragging the tip of his tongue across your clit before he swallows, hissing at the delight of your taste. You moan, trembling, barely able to take it. Fuck one day, he’s about to die now. “And you’re gonna make me come in my pants like a fucking boy. Is that what you want?” 

Jungkook flicks your bud, fleetingly, just to make your sounds shudder in the sudden intensity. You clench your small fists in the air, your tremor so terribly visible and rigorous, and with your breath hitching in your throat, he sucks that delicious part of you into his mouth. 

You stammer, badly enough that he begins to feel a sliver of pity for you, not enough for him to stop. He’s ravaging your little princess parts so hard that it takes a few tries for you to get the words out in a steady flow and he doesn’t help you. Doesn’t ease up for you, at all. Flicking, sucking, licking you up all over, rolling his tongue—he simply doesn’t stop, does it so fast that you lose yourself in it, submitting to it with all your being. 

And along with your submission come out your words. 

In perfect fashion.

“No, I want to suck you off.” 

And along with those your orgasm, too.

𐙚

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

WIP masterlist

[ereardon]

More Than Enough [Bob Floyd x Reader]

A Single Dad Bob Fic

Summary: The first two times Bob Floyd ends up in your emergency room he’s a mess. You never expected him to return a third time. But when he does, it changes everything.

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x OC 

Warnings: Medical setting, blood and needles, cursing Word count: 4.4K 

Bob Floyd masterlist here

“We’ve got another one.” 

You sighed, lifting the hair from the back of your neck and fanning it before clipping your hair up and straightening your scrubs. “Be there in a second, Liz.” 

Your charge nurse nodded, waddling away from the desk and you pushed back from your chair, wandering down the hall, knocking lightly before walking through the door on the right. 

“Hi,” you said, grabbing the chart from the folder on the wall and stepping further into the room. “I’m Y/N, I’ll be your nurse today.” 

“Hi.” You looked up. His voice was deep and gravely and insanely sexy despite the fluorescent lights of the ER and the sterile aesthetics of the triage room. The patient on the bed had sandy blond hair that was combed back neatly and a pair of wire glasses that slid down his pert nose. His pink lips were curled up in a delicate, shy smile, large hands spread out on either side of his body. “How are you?” 

You laughed, skimming the clipboard chart one more time before setting it down near the sink. “Better than you, Mr. Floyd, by the looks of it. Says here you have a hook in your foot.” 

The man nodded, lifting his left leg and you saw it immediately: an old fishing hook sunken into the flesh toward his ankle. You grimaced while putting on a pair of gloves. 

“And how did this happen?” 

“Playing football on the beach,” he said as you poked at the skin around the hook. “Just stepped somewhere I shouldn’t have, apparently.” 

You nodded. “Well, Mr. Floyd–”

“Bob,” he said. 

You smiled. “Bob. I’m going to give you a shot for tetanus. We’re not sure where this hook has been, so better safe than sorry.” 

Bob winced as he watched you dip the syringe into the glass vial of medicine. 

You sat down on the rolling stool and reached out, pushing up the sleeve of his shirt from his upper arm, rubbing a circle spot with an alcohol swab. “So beach football. That sounds fun.” 

“I, um, I play with my team.” Bob closed his eyes as you slid the needle into his skin, pressing the depressor slowly. 

When you pulled it out, covering it with a fresh cotton ball, reaching for a band-aid, he kept his eyes closed. You patted his arm softly. “Mr. Floyd, you’re doing just fine.” 

His eyes shot open and he smiled, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m a major wuss when it comes to needles.” 

“Most people are,” you said, examining his foot. “What kind of team? Like a rec league?” 

“Oh, no,” Bob said as you cleaned around the entrance of the metal hook on his foot. “My squadron. I’m in the Navy.” 

“Really?” You pressed down on the top of his foot, looking up at Bob. He caught your eye.

He nodded. “Aviator, ma’am.” 

“What’s that like?” you asked. Just as Bob opened his mouth to reply, you yanked on the hook, eliciting a sharp grunt from him. You shook your head with a sad smile. “Sorry, better not to see it coming.” 

“Think you’re right about that,” Bob said, his voice a little higher than before. 

You smiled sweetly up at him, pressing against the wound with cotton to stop the bleeding. Bob laid back against the bed, looking a little more pale than before. “Mr. Floyd?” 

“Bob,” he gasped. 

“Bob,” you repeated. “Are you feeling dizzy?” 

“Not a fan of blood, either,” he muttered and you looked down to see that blood had soaked through the cotton you were holding. You quickly switched it out.  

“Lay back for me,” you said softly, “and close your eyes.” Bob did as he was told and you wrapped his foot gently once the blood had stopped flowing from the wound. You ran the sink with cold water, dampening a towel and folding it up, placing it gently on Bob’s forehead. He sighed audibly. “There. Just try to relax, OK?” 

He chuckled. “Not a very good first impression, huh?” 

You smiled even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ve had worse.” 

Just as you were about to open your mouth and ask about his personal life, the door swung open and a beautiful brunette entered the room with a little girl on her hip. Your heart sank in your chest as she set the toddler down and watched as the toddler rushed to the bed. “Daddy!” 

Bob’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled brightly. “Hi Sugar.” 

“She insisted we follow you,” the brunette said. She was gloriously tan and chiseled, wearing just a black sports bra and a pair of small athletic shorts. She turned to you with a grin. “How’s our boy doing?” 

“He’ll be just fine,” you said, trying your hardest not to be jealous of this perfectly kind stranger who just happened to be the wife of your patient. But you also wanted to claw her eyes out and claim him as your own. 

“Daddy, you fainted.” The little girl had her hands on the sheets where she could reach and Bob leaned over, trying to scoop her up, but couldn’t quite reach her. 

“Here.” You crouched down next to the little girl. “Want me to help you get on your daddy’s bed?” 

She nodded enthusiastically and you smiled, lifting under her arms, plopping her against the sheets and Bob’s waiting arms. You watched as Bob enveloped her in his embrace, veins and muscles on his arms rippling as he held her tight. 

The brunette cleared her throat. “Floyd, I can take Andie home, depending on how long you’ll be here?” 

Bob turned to you. “Y/N?” he asked and you liked the way he said your name instead of nurse or hey you or even ma’am. “How long do you think?” 

“I just want to keep you here another fifteen minutes or so, make sure you’re reacting OK to the vaccination and you’re no longer a fainting threat, and then we can get your discharge papers completed. Won’t be more than an hour.” 

Bob nodded. “I’ll take her home, Nix, don’t worry about it.” 

The brunette put one hand on her hip. “You sure?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure. You want to stay with me, Sugar? Or do you want Auntie Phoenix to take you home?” 

Andie clung to Bob’s side. “I want to stay with you, daddy!” 

You caught the auntie part of the conversation. As you swapped out his gauze for a bandage you looked quickly. 

No wedding ring. 

Things were looking up. You smiled as the brunette leaned over, kissing the top of Andie’s head. “OK sweetheart, you can stay with your daddy. Floyd, I’ll check on you later. Bradshaw will drive you home, OK? He’s in the waiting room.” 

Bob nodded. “Thanks. Tell him we’ll be out soon.” Bob turned to you as Andie settled in his arms, her gaze already on the TV in the corner. “Sorry, that’s my pilot, Natasha.” 

“She’s pretty.” 

Bob flushed. “I, um, I was going to say the same thing about you.” 

You loved that he was flustered. In his arms, Andie stirred. “Daddy? How much longer?” 

“Just a little bit, honey,” he said. “Do you want to wait with Uncle Bradley?” 

She shook her head. “No, daddy, want to be with you!” 

“OK Sugar,” he said, looking up at you sheepishly. “Sorry, she’s three and a little antsy.” 

You waved one hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it. She’s adorable.” You finished your note on his chart. “Well, Mr. Floyd, you’re going to be just fine. In about fifteen minutes, the floor nurse will come in and get you the discharge papers and you two will be free to go.” 

Just as you were about to turn on your heel, Bob’s voice caught you. “Y/N?” 

You turned. “Yes?” 

He looked down at Andie’s blonde head and then back up at you and sighed. “Um, thanks. For everything.” 

You smiled but it was thin. “Of course, it’s my job.” You waved. “Bye sweetheart.” 

“Bye!” Andie’s sugary voice rang out in the sterile room. 

You turned on one heel, flattening yourself to the hallway after shutting the door, letting out a breath. For a moment, you had thought he was going to ask you out. But of course he wasn’t. Who were you kidding? A gorgeous pilot with a daughter? He was surely off the market, even if he wasn’t wearing a ring. 

You opened your eyes just in time to see an incredibly beefy guy slide down the hallway, his brown eyes landing on yours. He grinned, white teeth, slightly crooked smile. Fuck, he was beautiful, too. What was going on? 

“Hi,” he said, stopping in front of you. “I, uh, I’m looking for Bob Floyd’s room?” 

You hooked a thumb to your left. “Right there,” you said. 

He grinned. “Thanks.” He didn’t make a move to leave. 

You pushed yourself off of the wall and nodded. “Anytime.” 

The mustache man followed you with your eyes as you walked away from the room, as far as you could get from the tiny little corner of the hospital that was inhabited by the most beautiful people you had ever laid eyes on within a ten minute span. 

Back at the nurse’s station, you collapsed into your chair. 

“I know that look,” Liz said, eyebrow raised. 

“What look?” 

She shook her head, grabbing for her water bottle. “Watch out, sweetie. There’s only one reason you could possibly look like that?” 

“And how do I look?” 

“Fucked.” 

***

You hadn’t been able to get Bob Floyd out of your head. That’s why, two weeks later, when he rushed into the ER in the middle of the night, you blinked rapidly, convinced that the night shift was melding with your subconscious somehow. 

“Hello?” he called out into the hallway and you rushed forward, noticing that he had Andie in his arms, her face pink with anguish. “She won’t stop crying and throwing up and oh my God, I don’t know what’s happening.” 

“Put her down here,” you said, leading them to a bed and drawing the drapes tightly. Andie rolled onto her side, clutching her abdomen. “Hi honey. I’m just going to take a look at your belly, OK?” She nodded, but continued to cry as you lifted up the hem of her pajama top, touching her distended belly gently as she cried out. You looked up at Bob. “It’s most likely appendicitis but we’ll need a CT scan to confirm.” 

Bob ran a hand through his hair. He looked much more disheveled this time and you almost wanted to sling an arm around him, pull him into a hug. He looked like he needed it. 

“Let me call down to radiology, we should be able to get her in immediately.” 

You stepped toward the phone on the wall, speaking quickly, eyes on Bob as he hovered near Andie’s bed, whispering softly in her ear. 

“Another nurse will come and take her down in a minute,” you said gently. 

Bob looked up. “Can I go with?” 

You shook your head and his face fell. “I’m sorry. But you’ll get to see her before she goes into surgery.” 

“Is there anything you can give her for the pain?” he pleaded. “I just, I don't know what to do.”

You nodded. “We’ll give her some medicine before the procedure and after.” 

A knock on the door stole both of your attention. “Mr. Floyd? I’m here to take Andie down to radiology.” A short nurse with her hair tied back smiled at the door. “Are we all set?” 

“Yes.” You looked at Bob and Andie. “It’ll only be twenty minutes, I promise.” 

He nodded, leaning over and kissing Andie’s head. “I’ll be right here, baby, I promise. Be good for me, Sugar.” 

“Daddy!” she cried and you saw how it gutted him. 

He swallowed the pain. “It’s OK, honey. You’ll feel better soon.” 

And then they were wheeling Andie’s bed out of the room and Bob collapsed onto the chair near the wall, head in his hands. You waited a moment before walking over, squatting down and pressing one hand to his knee gently. “Hey. She’s going to be OK, I promise.” 

Bob looked up and you saw tears in his blue eyes. He wiped at them. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing scarier as a parent than rushing your kid to the ER in the middle of the night.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” you said softly. “I can’t even imagine.” 

“Do you have kids?”

You shook your head. “I don’t.” 

Bob sighed. “I never thought I wanted kids,” he whispered, like a confession. “And then Andie came along and she changed everything.” He paused. “She’s my entire world. I can’t explain how helpless I feel watching her in pain knowing it’s out of my control.” 

Your hand was still pressed against his knee. “She’s going to be alright,” you said. “I promise, nothing bad is going to happen.” 

“Thank you.” The two of you hovered there for a moment, eyes locked on each other. And then the door swung open and you stood up quickly. 

“It’s a ruptured appy,” the nurse said. “We’re taking her down to OR two.” 

“You have to let him talk to her first,” you said and Bob looked at you, surprised. “He has to tell her it’s going to be OK. She’s scared.” 

The nurse nodded hastily. “Fine, but do it quickly. Dr. Roberts is already scrubbing in.” 

The three of you trailed down the hallway to where Andie laid in a bed near the elevator, another nurse speaking with her quietly. Her eyes flicked to Bob immediately, widening with recognition and comfort. He reached out, stroking her hair. “Hi Sugar,” he whispered and you could hear in the pits of his voice how much he was holding back. “Listen, the doctors are going to make you better and when you’re done with your nap, I’ll be waiting for you.” 

“With a toy?” she asked, her voice light and soft.

Bob smiled. “Yeah, honey, with a toy.”

“Promise, daddy?” 

Bob nodded. “I promise. Be right here when you’re done, OK?” 

Andie smiled and Bob pressed a kiss to her forehead before she was wheeled down the corridor, through the double doors at the end of the hallway. He turned to you with sad, wide eyes. You were an ER nurse – technically, you needed to hand over Andie as your patient to the surgical team. You would go to the nurses station and finish the chart, have it signed off by the attendings who completed her surgery after it was done. But something about the frazzled way that Bob looked and how his leg had felt beneath your palm made you throw everything else to the side.   

“Come on,” you said, putting one hand on his arm gently. “Let’s get a coffee. It’ll be an hour or two.” 

He frowned. “You don’t need to see more patients?” 

You shrugged. It was three in the morning on a Tuesday. Only one bed was filled. “It’s quiet. They’ll cover for me.” 

“Are you sure?” 

You nodded. You didn’t want him to be alone. “Besides, I know where the good coffee is.” 

That’s how you and Bob ended up on the third floor doctor’s lounge sipping out of mismatched mugs, the sun still asleep beneath the blanket of the horizon. 

“So a pilot, huh?” you asked. “That must be exciting.” 

Bob smiled but it was quick. Tight. “Yeah.” He took a sip of coffee and looked up. “Actually, can I tell you the truth?” 

“Of course.” 

“People always say that and I always respond the same. Yeah, it’s exciting. Yeah, it’s cool. But the truth is, it’s fucking terrifying. Going up in jets every day not knowing if I’m going to be able to pick my daughter up from daycare later or not.” 

“So why do you do it?”

“Only thing I’ve ever been good at,” he replied. 

“That can’t be true.” Your eyes wandered over Bob’s strong hands, the way the coffee mug was engulfed by them. The wire glasses slipping down his nose. The way he carried himself. Like he was too much of a burden to compete for space in the room, even though there was no one in there besides the two of you. 

“Being a dad,” he said softly. “I’m good at that. I think.” 

“You are.” He lit up. “The way Andie looks at you? You’re her hero.” 

Bob put his coffee cup down. “You’re just saying that.” 

“You don’t know me,” you said, “but I don’t really make a habit of lying just to make people feel good about themselves.” 

He laughed. “So that’s why you became a nurse, huh?” 

“That and an oppressive need for academic validation. Plus I look cute in the uniform.” 

Bob smiled at you. “True.”

You blushed. In the dim light of the lounge, you could see Bob’s profile and he was even more beautiful than you had made him to be in your head. “So, Andie’s mom?” 

He shook his head. “She’s not in the picture.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” 

“I am, too,” he said quietly. “For Andie, not for me. We were never good together. Right now, I’m just trying to be enough. I’m doing everything I can, but I know that one day she’s going to grow up. And I am going to be useless when she comes home asking me to buy her a miniskirt or what dress to wear to prom or how to put her hair in French braids for some costume party.” He smiled at you sadly. “I just know that I won’t be enough.” 

“The fact that you’re already thinking of that tells me you’re more than enough,” you replied. “She’s lucky. And I’m not just saying that.” 

Bob chuckled lightly. His voice was deep and silky. “Do you give all your patient’s parents the VIP treatment?” 

“Nope,” you said, setting down your coffee cup and turning to where he sat in the leather chair next to you. “You’re special.” 

“Oh yeah?” Bob murmured, leaning forward over the arm of his chair, his face dangerously close to yours. “Why is that?” 

“Because–” Just then, your pager beeped. You leaned back and pulled it off your waistband. “It’s Andie’s surgery. She’s in recovery.” 

Bob jumped up, cheeks flushed. “And?” 

You smiled. “No warnings. It must have gone perfectly.” 

“Oh, thank God.” The relief coming from his voice could sooth a thousand wounds. 

You grinned. “I’ll take you down to her room.” 

As you turned to head out toward the hallway, Bob stopped you, his hand on your wrist, fingers circling yours. “Y/N, I–”

“I know,” you said softly, letting his hand slide into your own. “We should go, Andie’s waiting.” 

You understood what people meant when they said their ovaries were going to explode the second you saw Andie and Bob reunite in the post-op room. Her tiny face lit up as she watched Bob walk through the door, her little arms reaching for him instinctively. The way he cradled her head to his chest, patting her back softly, kissing her temple. There was a warmth spilling out into the room, radiating off of the two of them like an aura. You stood in the doorway as the sun crawled over the horizon and watched father and daughter reunite. 

After a while, you stepped up to the bed. “Hi sweetheart, heard you did great in there,” you said softly and Andie beamed. “I’m going to let you and your daddy get some rest, OK? Someone will be back in a bit to check on you.” 

“Bye!” Her small voice was like a thousand little violins. 

Bob turned to you, one hand still touching Andie, making sure she was there. She was safe. “I can’t thank you enough,” he said quietly. “Is this the end of your shift?” 

You checked your watch. It was six thirty. You had been off for thirty minutes. “Yeah, it is.” 

“I, um.” He looked down at Andie, her baby blue eyes tracking him. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow if we’re still here.” 

You smiled. “You two will be released by then, I’m sure.” 

“Oh.” There was something dejected about the way he said it. You shuffled from foot to foot. “It was nice seeing you again. Bob.” The way his name felt on your tongue. It was fuzzy and soft and you wanted to hold onto it for as long as you could. 

“You too, Y/N,” he said softly. 

You turned, heading for the door, before spinning back around, digging in your pocket, pulling out a tiny stuffed penguin on a keychain. Your niece had given it to you a few months ago for your thirty-first birthday and you had almost forgotten it was still in your pocket from where you had scooped it up earlier after it fell out of your bag onto the locker room floor as you were rushing for a code. “Bob,” you said quietly and he turned, eyes bright. You slipped the toy into his hand quietly so Andie wouldn’t see. He looked down then back up in surprise. You grinned. “You promised her a toy, remember?” 

His fingers lingered over yours before finally you pulled away, the heat of Bob’s stare warming you from your core like lava. “Thank you.” 

You smiled. “Bye again.” 

This time you did leave, your chest tight as you shut the door softly, turning down the hallway, putting as much space between you and Bob Floyd as you could. Because you knew that if you didn’t, you’d embarrass yourself. You’d run back into the room and beg him to take you out. To kiss you. To talk to you with a fraction of the love that he spoke to Andie with. That would be enough. 

It would be more than enough. 

***

It was the end of a long day. You sat down at the nurse’s station with a sigh, kicking your feet up on the desk, closing your eyes. Only a few seconds passed before someone was tapping your shoulder incessantly. 

Your eyes snapped open and you groaned. “What?” 

“You’re going to want to see this,” Kirsten said. She had one hand on her hip, head tipped toward the lobby area. 

“Bloody?” you asked excitedly. 

She shook her head. “You’re nasty. No, it’s better.” 

“If it’s not a bloody accident I don’t want it.” 

Kirsten rolled her eyes. “It’s better so just shut up, put a smile on that face and maybe puff out your boobs a little, you’re looking saggy.” 

“What?” 

She laughed as you stood up, fiddling with your scrub top, frowning as Kirsten pushed you around the corner toward the lobby doors. You stopped dead in your tracks. 

Bob Floyd stood in the atrium of the hospital, still wearing his green flight suit, blond hair perfectly combed back, wire glasses slightly askew. He had a bouquet of pink roses in his hands and a brilliant white smile when he spotted you. 

“Hi.” His voice wobbled a bit as you approached. 

“Hi back,” you said quietly. “I hope those are for me,” you said, gesturing to the flowers, “because you really need to stop showing up with emergencies, Bob Floyd.” 

He laughed, a throaty sound that eclipsed all other laughs in your memory. Now, anytime you ever thought of a laugh it would be like what Bob Floyd sounded like on a random Thursday evening. “Well it is the ER. Besides, how else would I be able to see you?” 

“You'd see me if you ever asked me on a date.” 

Bob flushed. “Well, that’s why I’m here.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

He nodded, thrusting the flowers out to you. “I, um, I wanted to ask you out the first time we met. But that didn’t really turn out like I planned. Practically fainting in front of you wasn’t what I had in mind.” 

You smelled the flowers. They were clean and crisp and you couldn’t remember the last time a man bought you flowers, let alone went out of his way to see you. You stepped closer. “It was kind of charming,” you admitted. 

Bob laughed again, that sweet chuckle that was quickly imprinting itself in your mind. “I’ll take it. So what do you say, will you go on a date with me?” 

“I don’t know, what can beat stale coffee in a doctor’s break room?” 

“What if I cook you dinner?” Bob offered and your eyebrows shot up. “What’s your favorite dish?” 

“Eggplant parmesan,” you said automatically. It tumbled out of your mouth. 

“Done.”

“So you can cook?” 

“No,” he said and you laughed. “But I can Google it.” 

“You’d go to all that trouble just for me?” 

Bob stepped in closer, reaching out one hand, tucking a chunk of hair behind your ear. His touch was warm and it practically electrocuted you with the fervor that started to course through your veins as his skin brushed against yours. Bob let his hand linger on the side of your neck, cupping you gently. “It’s no trouble,” he murmured. “Besides, Andie keeps asking about the pretty nurse who gave her the penguin doll.” 

You grinned. “Did she like it?” 

“She sleeps with it every night. But apparently, Mr. Penguin has requested that you come by the house to read him a bedtime story. So what do you say? Dinner and a book reading?” he asked. 

You locked eyes with Bob, nodding. “Is it weird to say I’m glad you got a hook in your foot and ended up in my ER?” 

Bob chuckled. “Is it weird to say I’d do it again every day if it meant I got to see you?” 

“Honey,” you whispered. “No need to stab your foot again. I’ll be at dinner any night of the week. Just say the word.” 

He held out one hand. You slipped your fingers into his. It was enough. It was more than enough.

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[dollfaceksj]

i hope yoongi and oc share tents together <333 so that someone could not sleep that night +we’re not using yoongi for jungkook we made out fgs i hope you get me! jungkook should realize his mistakes and that he should treat oc AS A GODDESS 👏

sawry but you just gave me an idea and it isnt this one.

warnings: angst, this one is pretty long guys, reader gets bothered, TENSIONNNN

forgot to mention what jk looks like so he’s just wearing a sweatshirt n sweatpants, hair like wednesday!jk in seven mv🤪 link to taglist at the bottom of the post

taste of a poison paradise | jjk (m) #9

masterlist

<- previous ; next ->

WHAT SHOULD YOU DO?

ACCEPT his request of hearing him out 64,9%

DECLINE his request of hearing him out 35,1%

248 votes

you chose:

ACCEPT

↓

his big black eyes pleading with you as he awaits your response has your resolve crumbling by the second

*sigh*

let’s see what he has to say

you rub your forehead as you slowly turn back to the seating area and sit down in your previous seat

he takes a quick breath and sits down across from you, elbows on his thighs and he leans forwards

“i wanna start by saying i’m sorry,” he starts, his fingers anxiously fidgeting and picking at the loose flesh around his nails

you glance down at his hands before back up at him

it’s weird to see him being nervous

“i shouldn’t have said those things. i shouldn’t have ruined your night just because i wanted to tease you and joke around. i didn’t realize the impact of my words at the time.”

you squint your eyes at him, did you really give him a chance to speak and he’s saying the same thing he said when he came to apologize about saying he doesn’t like you?

“why did you say those things?” you ask, you need more of an explanation on how he can just say that to not only you but to his fucking senior

like where does he get the fucking nerve

he quietly sighs at your question and runs his hands through his wavy black locks, the palms of his hands rubbing into his eyes as he thinks about his answer

you lean back into the seat and throw your leg over the other, impatiently tapping your foot against the floor

“should i remind you of the time we don’t have?” you nod toward the train driver, reminding him of the fact you’re still on a train that will leave soon and you need to get off

like you know you said he thinks the world revolves around him but geez

“i don’t know, okay? i just,” he shakes his head and looks up at you. “i just really wa–”

“we ready?” you hear yoongi’s voice coming from your side. you turn to look at him and nod before rising to your feet

jungkook sighs, head still in his hands

probably should’ve picked a better time to talk it out, dumbass

you reach for your suitcase but both men suddenly lunge at you to help you

“oh,” you say surprised as they both stand facing each other, hands on the suitcase

“you’re good, i can take it from here,” yoongi politely says to jungkook as he starts tugging on your suitcase

“let me do it,” jungkook starts, “they’ll need you at the front to navigate because they’re not that good with direction.”

feeling like you’re in a kdrama rn

yoongi glances at you for a moment as if to ask for permission to go on ahead

???

he doesn’t need to ask you for permission when it comes to anything

there’s nothing serious going on between you and yoongi

you’re just saying that now because you’re still hoping for something to happen between you and jungkook and you’d feel guilty if yoongi took whatever you two have seriously

that is such BULLSHIT

jungkook is gross HES GROSS!!!

you don’t hope for anything!!!!

“he’s right, they’re really bad with direction,” you mumble. you watch as yoongi slowly drops his hand from your suitcase and nods before taking his own luggage

did jungkook think he could send yoongi off to have more time to speak to you?

you allowed him to and he gave the most basic bitch talk

you don’t even turn to jungkook when you file out of the train with yoongi, leaving jungkook behind with your luggage because he said he could handle it, did he not?

you gather with everyone in a circle, everyone’s checking if everyone’s here, checking luggage and everything

you don’t even look at jungkook as he drags both his luggage and yours to the circle

enjoy!

it’s a short walk to the actual camping area and when you’ve finally made it, you breathe out in relief

“let’s start with their tents,” seokjin tugs on joon’s arm, leading him to hyunjoo & isabella to help them out with their tent

it seems like hobi and yoongi are sharing a tent

seokjin and namjoon are sharing a tent

jimin and tae are sharing a tent

you luckily brought your own tent<333

you just love privacy.. but who doesn’t

and apparently so did he who shall not be named

but it doesn’t matter

everyone is busy with their own tents

you nudge yoongi’s hip with yours

“i got my own tent, you know.” your flirtatious words make him chuckle

“are you implying what i think you’re implying?” he responds before squatting and fixing up some loose ends on his tent

you huff. “and what do you think i’m implying?”

he chuckles under his breath and shakes his head at you. “your minx antics are distracting me.”

you laugh and hit his shoulder before deciding to go fix your own tent

get away from him you’re on DEMON time

you didn’t think about how sharing a tent with someone means they’d help you set it up

cause you’re alone

and now you’re

:)

a dumbass

trying to fix your tent

hm. it says if you turn this rod this way..

..and you take that bit and put it there…

…and if you do this then the zipper should be on that side..

for fucks sake.

it’s been 5 minutes.

you sigh as you drop it, rising to your feet and staring at the pathetic attempt of putting together a tent in front of you with your hands on your hips like a soccer dad

ugh

everyone is seemingly still busy but they look successful

and you look a fool

“you gonna let me help you?”

you turn your head to the side, eyes meeting with big black tapioca pearls accompanied by pretty lashes and thick brows

why

why

why

can he just!!!!

leave you alone

you stare at him for a moment. “shouldn’t you be fixing your own tent?”

he nods behind you and you turn to look in that direction, noticing how his tent is ready

the hell

everyone else is still fixing their tents and they’re duos

he did that

this quickly

on his own???

you’re pretty sure he never leaves the house

let alone gone camping before

so how????

“so?” he closes the distance a bit more, looking down at you from his height

you click your tongue and shrug your shoulders. “i wouldn’t want to appear as attention-seeking.”

he sighs at your pettiness, bringing his hand up to rub his eyes

“yeah well, you weren’t exactly the nicest to me up till that point, were you?”

huh

what

“what?”

“did you mean everything you said to me? about me? like how i’m not good for anything and that i’m nothing but a fuckboy?”

you blink at him

you did say those things in the heat of the moment

if he had said those words to you you would have gone batshit fucking crazy

not to mention how you were acting toward him even before the night at the club

well.. no, you didn’t mean those things

is this his way of implying he also didn’t mean the things he said to you?

he sighs at your lack of response and scratches the back of his head. “forget it, y/n. i just want to put up your tent. will you let me?”

he does look sincere

hmm

well

whatever

might as well make him work for it

you nod toward your tent and take a step back

he wastes no time and gets to work on your tent

this is gonna be a loooong night😕

it’s 20 minutes later and everyone is now around your tent, trying to fix it

it seems like something is wrong with your tent

great :)

just what you needed

“yeah, the tent is fucked. how much did you pay for this joke?” seokjin asks as he rises from his squat position

you think about it. “like… 80 bucks.”

he shakes his head. “you should go ask for your money back cause they ripped you off.”

of course it’s YOUR tent that’s messed up

you sigh and place one hand on your hip, the other scratching the back of your head

“well, what now?” jimin asks as he’s still trying to fix your tent, not wanting to give up

“you’re gonna have to join someone’s tent.” yoongi says to you as he walks around the flat tent toward you

taehyung beams, “oh, in ours!”

“i’d love for y/n to join us but the two of us barely fit in it.” jimin is the voice of reason and they all sigh

hoseok says, “but you’re alone in your tent, aren’t you?”

there’s

no fucking way

is he implying..

for FUCKS sake

you try to fight it but you can’t, your eyes automatically snap towards jungkook

but he’s already staring straight at you

“yeah, i do. she’s welcome, of course.” there’s that arrogance that you know and love–

know and hate.

you hate it!

you glance at tae and joon and as you suspected, they’re glancing at each other

are they really planning on protesting that?

you don’t like how they act like you can’t make your own decisions

you step forwards. “alright, then.”

your eyes shift to jungkook and he’s staring at you, his eyes narrow at you for a split second and his lips slightly twitch

you can’t tell what tf he’s thinking

but it doesn’t matter

it’s just to SLEEP. nothing else

seokjin pulls everyone out of the awkward silence that has settled around you. “great! now shall we get started on dinner? i’m starving.”

yoongi and seokjin are in charge of dinner right now

hyunjoo and isabella are helping them out

hoseok and namjoon are working on the campfire

jimin and tae are organizing the tents and arranging a seating area around the campfire

leaving you and jungkook to just.. stand around

you’re just standing by the people cooking and jungkook is testing out a seat made by jimin

“oh, y/n!” seokjin calls out to you

oh fun

“hm?” you spin on your heels to face him

“can you and jungkook go to the closest store and pick up a few bottles of water?” he asks as he stirs whatever he’s stirring. “take my car.”

he kind of asked it but it feels more like he’s telling you to do it

and what are you going to say to your senior? no?

you can’t even drive but you know jungkook can

fuck

“okay.”

seokjin hands you his car keys and you gather all your courage to walk up to jungkook right now

he looks up from his phone as you toss the carkeys in his lap

“let’s go, gamerboy. we’ve got duties.”

you don’t even pause as you walk straight past him, heading toward the car

ooof

the look on his face is one you won’t forget

he looked happy you were acknowledging him but quickly stopped smiling when he realized it was only because you were given a task

it doesn’t take long for jungkook to join you, unlocking the car and getting inside

you get into the passenger seat and look up the closest grocery store

which is

a 35 minute drive.

if only the car blew up rn…

you set your phone into the cupholder next to the gearshift so he can see the navigation on your phone

he buckles his seatbelt and so do you, and he slowly reverses out of the spot and starts driving

the car drive

is so

tense

and

quiet

you’re just staring out the window

the silence disappears when his fingers dance across the car radio and turn it on

he skips a few channels before realizing all of them are shitty and just settles on one

you continue to glare out the window

this silence is TOUGHHH

“do you need something from the store?” he asks quietly, right hand managing the gear shift and the other is turning the steering wheel

and he looks so fucking good

“no.”

he sighs at your short answer and turns the music a bit louder, maybe an attempt at drowning out his own thoughts

the roads are pretty empty so you’d gotten there in about 20 minutes

jungkook was definitely going way over the speedlimit but if he gets a fine, seokjin will definitely tape it against jungkook’s door

you unbuckle your seatbelt and get out, making jungkook copy you

he follows close behind you as you enter the store

once you’re inside, he skims past you and disappears into the store as he goes to look for water

hmm

you on the other hand let your eyes roam the snack section

ooo kinder

doritos

CHEETOS

you’re scanning the bags of chips and bars of candy until there’s a presence next to you

thinking it’s jungkook, you look up at him

but

it’s not jungkook

and for the first time, you really wish it was jungkook

you frown as there’s a guy, probably in his mid thirties

standing

next to you?

“aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he says, eyes drinking you up

gross.

you squint at him as you put the bar of kinder back in it’s rightful place. “thank you.”

“you here alone?”

you keep browsing. he isn’t being overly creepy and isn’t invading your personal space so you don’t really feel threatened. just grossed out. “no.”

“what kind of crazy person would leave such a beautiful woman unattended?”

you internally roll your eyes at his cheesy line but mumble, “an actual crazy person.”

he takes the kinder bar you just put back and waves it at the cashier, who then nods at him

okay, maybe he’s a regular?

he then hands you the bar

you frown at it but take it nonetheless, free food is free food

“you wanna go ditch your responsibilities and join me for a night?”

just as you turn to look at the man, another presence is pressed up flat against your back

“how about you fuck off?” jungkook’s chest rumbles as he speaks, sending vibrations down your entire back

the man glances at jungkook and takes a step back

“hey man, shouldn’t leave a pretty girl by herself. i didn’t know she was your girl.”

bruh you literally… told him….. you weren’t alone?

well. ur not jungkook’s girl.

UR NOT.

jungkook continues, “well, now you do. get the fuck on, man.”

wha

did he just

okay

😂😂😂😂😂

he actually

does look intimidating rn

he’s towering over this other man, staring him down and clearly asserting his dominance

the guy glances at you before shaking his head and leaving the store

you slowly turn to him, his black eyes staring you down and a slight pinch in his brows

he looks really fucking annoyed

“thanks,” you mumble, referring to getting the guy off your back

he didn’t have to imply you two were in a relationship though but whatever

you watch as his eyes drop to the kinder bar in your hand

he doesn’t reply but instead takes the kinder bar out of your hand and tosses it aside before grabbing another kinder bar and a handful of other bars, chips and candy before heading to the counter

he pays for the sweets and the water

ouuuuu

you watch as he picks up two packs of 6 water bottles on his own, plus the bagged candy between his fingers

he’s

uhhh

kind of hot rn 😭😭😭

“let me help you–” you reach out but he just turns his body sideways so you can’t reach the water

“just open the door.”

you blink at him a few times before holding the door open and walking out with him

there’s a group of men just sitting by the side that weren’t there before

you open the trunk to help him load it in but he shakes his head, he just hands you the bag of sweets and says, “get in the car.”

he’s so

different?

you kinda

you kinda l*ke it

BE QUIET!!!!

you stare at him dumbfounded before actually complying and getting into the car

the ride back is even quieter than the ride there

but whatever right

it’s not like you want to talk to him

so you just

enjoy

the silence

upon your arrival, it’s already gotten rather dark out. you move to unbuckle your seatbelt but a hand on your bicep stops you

ahhh shit. here we go again

you glance at him over your shoulder and jungkook is staring straight ahead, out the windshield, hand on your arm like he doesn’t realize he stopped you

“sorry.” he takes his hand back. “listen.”

you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “why should i?”

“because you were right.”

hm?

everyone loves being told they were right

so

let’s actually hear him out

you settle back into your seat

he finally glances at you and you cross your arms as you wait for him to speak

“you’re right. i am childish.” he stares straight at you as he’s speaking and it’s SO intense

“so i’m coming to you as a man now and i’ll own up to everything.”

you tilt your head to the side in intrigue, a slight pinch in your brows which makes your pretty lashes kiss your brow bone

his eyes quickly scan your entire face before he continues, “the reason why i was pressing you and taunting you was because i wanted you to give in.”

his words from when he came to pick up his sneakers pop into your mind

‘i just wanna see how long you can go before eventually wrapping around my finger.’

you respond with, “yeah, you already made that clear.”

“no, listen to me,” he says as he places his hand on the compartment between the driver’s seat and the passenger’s seat, next to the cupholders

the intensity radiating off of him makes you want to listen

“i’m saying that my pride was too tough to swallow.”

uh

what???

why would he have to swallow his pride?

you frown. “i don’t get it.”

he sighs in frustration and closes his eyes for a moment. “i wanted you to give in, not to prove a point but because..” he pauses, “because i want you. i just didn’t want to admit it, not even to myself. because i never had to before.”

oh

oh

oh okay

👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍

wow

😀😀😀😀😀

how

do you even react

to that

he’s not done, though. “but you kept holding onto it like a dog with a bone and my patience was running out. i was not used to the feeling and i didn’t understand it at all. i lost my temper and said some shit i shouldn’t have, like a little kid. i’m sorry.”

now THATS how you apologize, ladies and gents!

he apologized like a normal person now

you blink at him a few times

he’s being sincere

you know he is

you want to accept his apology. you really do

but you’ve gotta get your lick back somehow

you quietly sigh. “come here.”

??

he frowns. “what?”

“come closer,” you chuckle, curling your index finger right next to your face so he knows where you’re requesting his presence

he wastes no time leaning into you but you stop him by his chin with your index finger right before his lips touch yours

you gently press your finger into his chin to push his face back from yours a few millimeters

you say, “apology accepted.”

he glances down at your lips before back at your eyes, his breath tickling the skin of your lips

damn

he is so damn close

“but that’s only because i love it when men–” you pause for a second.

“i love it when boys look and sound absolutely fucking pathetic.”

oh goodness

HELLO????

you see his adam’s apple bouncing up and down in your peripherals

you pucker up your lips just enough to graze his lips, basically pressing a soft peck to his lips

that peck only lasted half a second but….. his lips are … so soft

“that’s a thank you for this,” you say as you pull away and hold the bag of sweets up

you swing the door open without a second thought and get out, swinging the bag of snacks back and forth and leaving jungkook to deal with the reality of what just happened and the packs of water

jungkook: 2

you: 2

to be continued

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[novembermorgon]

Op i desperately need to know about your bolton oc(s) for they are beginning to haunt my waking dreams 🙏 i humbly ask for your intel 🙏

FIRST OFF … thank you so much for the interest ive been really rotating them in my brain lately so it means a lot to hear you like them (ʃƪ˘ﻬ˘)

i originally made them for funsies last year for a fic i didnt end up writing but i've gotten back into the swing of it so when i figure out how to put a story together i'll put it out there . for now... > here's a proper doodle of their fits i put together .

their names are ysabel and cayn bolton - their parents are maisie manderly and alaric bolton ( x ) . cayn is ~20 and ysabel is a few years younger but don't ask me about specifics because i ...... <3 haven't figured the timeline out yet .

ysabel is a severe case of troubled youth as a result of being raised in a household that centers its identity around the concept of flaying people . their dad is kind of balls off the wall nutso and insists very early on that both his kids have to uphold their family history and identity which leads to both of them being exposed to excessive violence before they really should have been and it definitely gets to her the most . at the core she's kind of squishy and more delicate than you'd imagine from the horrendous dead stare she has > growing up she definitely struggled more than cayn to deal with growing up in the environment she did > she has frequent delusions of what is basically a reanimated skin of a man that follows her around and gets in the way when she's especially stressed out . physical representation of the terror of her father's ambition and actions etc

she's kind of quiet and weird and doesn't have many friends aside from her brother but she IS very polite and well-mannered as is expected of a noble lady . very influenced by having a manderly mother in that she leans a little more into expectations of women as framed by the faith of the seven . likes poetry and embroidery and whatever else she's been told to like and is determined not to step outside her box of expectation . eventually spirals into further delusion of the religious kind when she gets to king's landing and things start to devolve politically > the spiral and downfall of what being a proper lady in medieval society means . her first encounter with aemond targaryen is in the king's landing gardens where she thinks he's about to attack her so she bites a chunk out of his neck so do with that as you will

cayn on the other hand is by all accounts outwardly pretty Normal . he's charming and an open book and very easy to get along with if you can disregard the ever lingering Blue Eyed Stare . being the oldest son just like ysabel he has a very specific set of expectations put on him but in a very different way . should uphold a clear image of being like his dad and learns to fight and hunt and rule but it all ends up being very fake . you look him in the eye while you chat about northern alliances and how to make sure this and that lord is satisfied and hes smiling but there is nothing behind those damn eyes .

definitely does not help that ... he IS a homosexual <3 both of them are meant to be people who put up very firm appearances of being well-adjusted, matching expectations essentially perfectly - only to have those expectations torn down entirely when they're strained enough . going to sound like a fucking insane thing to say but cayn to me is very medieval patrick bateman - in the sense that he's obsessed with appearances and what others think of him, but it's all just a means of covering up the fact that he is 2 seconds away from snapping and killing someone or himself at all times . i have all the characteristics of a human being: flesh, blood, skin, hair; but not a single, clear, identifiable emotion, except for greed and disgust. something horrible is happening inside of me and i don't know why. my nightly bloodlust has overflown into my days. i feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip etc, if you will .

the plot here is a little lost on me because i havent written it all out yet and i cant keep information in my mind for longer than a second but it's essentially dance of the dragons but if i took all the events and scrambled them around and made it completely different . ´･ᴗ･` more book-focused than show-focused at least in terms of the characterization of people like aemond and alicent (i like when they're a little meaner and more crude . my bad ...)

before the war begins - the greens plot away, realizing viserys is not going to name aegon heir even as his health worsens and tensions become more apparent at court. more political action is taken here with the starks declaring for rhaenyra in any matters of succession much earlier - working counter to this is a little already-formed cluster of northern houses that kind of band together under the boltons with the help of some marriage ties and general disagreements with the starks (ie ysabel + cayn's dad is married to a manderly, cayn eventually gets betrothed to a karstark before the starks can snap them up a generation later as they do in canon). with the north kind of silently divided the greens reach out with the intent to form an alliance there with the promise that the boltons will be given the spot as wardens of the north when the war eventually ends knowing full well when viserys kicks the bucket things are going to spiral without question . they accept and head down south - which obviously makes for even more tensions considering they're still stark bannermen . everyone is a little bit or more than a little bit mad at each other and viserys dies and things spiral as usual .

ysabel marries aemond to secure that northern alliance , goes to storms end and promises daeron + lands and wealth to make up for the fact he can't marry one of borros daughters himself, lucerys dies etc and well ........... i need to iron out some wrinkles . <3

as for their relationships obviously as mentioned ysabel marries aemond and its Weird . she really likes him but in a weird almost obsessive way . watches him from afar before they even get introduced officially and sits awake at night and stares at him and i think part of it is because she doesn't know how to approach . wants to be affectionate and loving but also wants things to be on her own terms while also knowing that the circumstances (WAR) doesn't allow for that to the extent she wants so she's at a loss at what to do . which manifests in Being strange . with both these relationships there's a touch of strange hunter prey dynamics and here its definitely more laid back than with cayn and aegon . you watch from afar but never strike . you learn someone's patterns and habits and the threat of having that used against you is always present but te tension only ever builds and never comes to a peak .

because ysabel is very tall and slender and kind of gangly she struggles a lot with pregnancy and when they eventually do have a child it's a girl . which she's intensely conflicted about . you have a child put in your arms and theres a moment of complete joy that turns just as quickly into horror because she believes so firmly that a son would have been what makes her husband and her family happier . sort of anne boelyn esque . she ends up with health issues and a line of lost pregnancies after that before having a son who is incredibly weak and sickly and doesn't make it into adulthood . horrorshow in the capital here

cayn and aegon ........... scratches my chin. on account of being gay in westeros it's obviously very different . aegon is married and cayn is betrothed and still i think cayn meets him and it's a case of well i will die before i give up being able to be with you . they're kind of similar on the surface in that they bond over sort of skipping out on court duties and prefer to spend time out in king's landing . a lot of watching aegon give out his attention to others freely and getting nothing in return (because shockingly you have to initiate sometimes instead of staring at someone you like longingly and looking like a creep) . again that sense of not knowing how to approach just like ysabel . a slow buildup of shared glances and mutual want that you both know will never be okay to anyone but the two of you . cayn wants to hunt and kill him and tear him apart and make out sloppy with him because it's all he can do to show that affection . violence in place of love in a society that would never accept your happiness .

when that hurdle of Figuring out they're both a little homo for each other is crossed they're definitely more direct than ysabel and aemond . very heavy handed physical affection moreso than verbal or emotional signs. rip at each others flesh but never express all the things you'd do for each other . share desperate fumbling kisses in some back alley but don't begin to think about what it might be like to run off and never be seen again or how differently youd be able to see each other if one of you happened to be a woman . i <3 medieval homosexuality !

THAT'S ABOUT ALL. sorry this was a whole load of nothing but i loved getting to ramble about them . final notes are some design pointers

the little eyes on the necklace ysabel wears + the eye on the armour design i did for cayn is meant to be similar to 18th century lover's eye jewelry! : -) essentially a form of affection in literally carrying a lover's gaze with you . i think it's very bolton esque

cayn has a little gold ring to tie back to aegon . and the earring is meant to look like a drop of blood

the armour is his dad's . he dies like halfway through the war and i think it's very telling to have the deeply imperfect son don his dad's fit after he dies . bad fathers who haunt their children etc

he does go off to fight in the war as well hence the scars and the hair . loses parts of his arm as well as parts of his face (lip + his eye is injured so he doesn't see very well) . unfortunately the rat tail had to go but it pains me as well

the white gown instead of black for mourning i think was mostly just for aesthetics (tough to fit with the dark background) but also has SOME intent behind it . atp ysabel ends up barely existing as a person properly as per what war does to someone especially when they're already struggling - it's meant to be a nightgown because she rarely gets dressed beyond that . white was also historically a mourning colour in specific countries in specific eras of history and i do really like that . gives sort of sad miserable ghost in the castle vibes idk

[senualothbrok]

Promise

Screenshot by @dolceaspidenera

Summary: Gale learns what it means to love and be loved.

Sequel to Progress - a Professor Dekarios x OC journey through mental illness and recovery.

Word count: 7.9k

Disclaimers: Non-18+, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, mental illness and recovery.

Trigger warnings: Mental illness, eating disorder, body dysmorphia. Please practise self-care.

AO3 link

She looks happy.

She is smiling at you. You are lying in bed, facing each other. Sunlight streaks through your bedroom curtains as dawn breaks. You have to remind yourself that this is not a dream. She is really, truly here.

She closes her eyes as you run your thumb over her freckles, which fan out like stars over the contours of her face. Your fingers dance over her arm, the dip in her waist, the curve of her thighs. She does not shy away from your touch, nor try to hide her flesh from you. Her grey eyes quiver.

“I love you,” she whispers.

You cannot tell whether it is your tears or hers that linger on your tongue as you melt into each other.

---

You can still taste her salt and sweetness as you lie on your back, your arm curled around her as she nestles into your chest. She smells like lavender, soap, and sweat, and you cannot get enough of her scent as you bury your nose into her dark, damp waves.  She is playing with the hairs that trail from your chest to your navel, and you shiver from the shadow of her fingers. She notices.

“It’s a new experience, having such an effect on a man. It’s quite…flattering.”

She looks up at you with a small smile.

You chuckle. “You don’t know half of the effect that you’ve had on me, Aurora. I’ve spent two years imagining this moment, and still, my fantasies scarcely touched the surface of the miracle that you are.”

She is blushing, shifting. You kiss her on the tip of her nose, where she has the tiniest scar. You are engraving her every mark on the shrine of your memory.

“So…” She clears her throat. “You’re saying that you’ve been lusting after me since the first day we met? Your eyes met mine across the lecture hall and you thought, ‘This is a maiden I long for’. One glimpse of me was enough to rouse the fire in your loins. Is that it?”

She is playful now, teasing. You are aflame with this new side of her that no one else has seen.

You laugh. “Perhaps I exaggerate. But if not two years, then twenty months at most. I fell in love with you very quickly, Aurora. Much as I resisted it, or denied it to myself.”

Her gaze is evasive now, as though she is embarrassed. You clasp her to you. You need her to know, to feel the truth in your words. She must understand what she means to you. What she has meant to you, all this time.

“I’ve been alone since Mystra cast me off. At times, it’s been immensely lonely. To meet you, a kindred spirit, a soul that touched mine so instantly … that happens very rarely in a lifetime, if at all. Let’s just say that my body and soul yearned for you like water in a desert.”

You do not tell her about the frenzy that so often overcame you, slumped over your desk or under these very same sheets, thinking of her. The appetites of a schoolboy that she restored in you, when those desires had been all but dormant. Some things are better left to the imagination.

She is quiet. You can feel the faint timbre of her heartbeat through your skin.

“These things fluster you,” you observe.

She nods, biting her lip.

“Why? Don’t you believe me?”

“No, Gale, it’s not that.” She shakes her head. “I just find it hard to believe that someone like you could feel that way about me.”

She takes a deep breath.

“When we first met, I thought I’d found my first ever friend. And even that, I struggled to believe. I didn’t want to admit to myself that… well, I didn’t know what love was. Besides, how could it be possible? You’re the best man, the most beautiful person, I’ve ever known.”

You have such an urge to answer her with your mouth, your tongue, your body. But she is hesitant, and you must wait until the doubt passes. You must help her understand.

“But that’s what you are to me, Aurora.”

A frown passes across her brow.

“You’re the one and only.”

You brush your lips over her forehead.  She sighs, her features softening.

“Also,” you add. “Little things that you did drove me wild.”

Something glints in her gaze. “Like what?”

She presses herself closer to you.

“Too many to count. The way you bit your lip, for one. How delicately you turned the pages of every book. The way your face lit up talking about an illusion or a poem you loved.”

You can feel a familiar ache building.

“The way you widened your eyes when you looked at me. Like that. What you’re doing now.”

You thought you were spent, but you are already hardening.  She runs her tongue over her bottom lip.

“So I’m driving you wild at this very moment?”

You move your mouth closer to hers. “Yes.”

“Well.” She tilts her head. Her hand begins to float downwards from your navel. “It would be cruel to stop at that.”

As you push yourself on top of her, she lets out a little moan.

---

“Are you sure I look acceptable?”

She is fussing at the waistband of her skirt, the buttons on her sleeves. She fidgets with her hair clips, smoothing and re-smoothing her bodice.

“Is this the sort of thing that your mother will expect? Or should I wear something more modest?”

You chuckle. “You’re hardly baring every inch of your flesh to the world, Aurora.”

“Is it too conservative, then? Should I-”

You move closer to snake your hands around her waist. She leans her forehead against your chest.

“You look perfect. Marvellous.”

“I don’t,” she murmurs.

“You’re breathtaking.”

You are playing with the fabric on her shoulder. It torments you, the trail of freckles that drifts down the curve of her cheek, disappearing on the edge of her neck, only to reappear on her collarbone and shoulder blade. Aurora’s freckles are like winding roads in an unchartered territory, waiting to be discovered. Instinctively, your mouth dips down to follow where they lead.

“Gale…”

She looks up, frowning.

“What are you doing?”

You are losing yourself. There is something about having her here with you, in the home that you have occupied for so many years with only Tara for company, readying herself to meet those you cherish most. You never thought such a thing would be possible. You are suddenly dizzy with love and desire. Your tongue swirls against her skin, yearning for more of her.

“Your mother and Tara will be here any moment.”

But you can hear how her breath is hitching. Her eyes are half lidded, her lips parted. That she cannot resist you only fuels your hunger. You slide your hand underneath her skirt. She trembles against it.

“They can let themselves in,” you rasp.

---

Morena and Tara cannot conceal their joy when they see you stumbling down the stairs. The flush on Aurora’s cheeks has not yet receded as you make introductions. It does not escape their eagle eyes, how you repeatedly clear your throats and smooth your clothes and hair. How you rub at your beard again and again. When Aurora bites her lip, the images that rush through your mind make you shift to find your centre. Morena and Tara glance at each other with glee as you sit, sipping at the lukewarm cup of tea that has been waiting for you.

“I’ve heard so much about you from Tara and Gale, dear.” Morena beams. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you at last.”

She clasps Aurora’s hand. Aurora’s eyes widen. She is surprised by your mother’s warmth, just as she was taken aback by yours. You remember that she has never known a mother to give anything but punishment.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs Dekarios.”

Morena huffs. “Please, let’s dispense with such formalities. You can call me Morena, and hopefully, one day, you’ll call me Mother.”

You choke on your tea, glaring at Tara as she tuts at you. Aurora strokes you on the back as you cough and sputter, trying to conceal her alarm.

“Mother,” you say when you can breathe again. “Will you have some cake? A cookie? Something to stuff your very empty mouth?”

“My dear son,” she chirps. “It’s so kind of you to worry over your mother’s happiness and comfort. In fact, it brings immeasurable joy to this old heart to see you in your current state. Just look at the two of you. Glowing, positively radiant, with love.”

She claps her hands together with a sigh. Tara joins in with a fluttering of wings.

“Now that I’ve seen you in person, dearest Aurora, I know that all of Tara’s reports are true. You and my son are perfectly matched. You’re a vision.”

Aurora’s cheeks are reddening. Pride surges through you as she speaks.

“That’s very kind of you to say, Mrs- I mean, Morena. Your son is an exceptional man. I’m very lucky to be here with him.”

She interlaces her fingers with yours under the table. You almost wish that Tara and Morena would leave now, so you can keep showing her how exceptional you can be.

Tara and Morena exchange a look. As if on cue, they flash their teeth in a grin.

“You are such a dear.” Morena titters. “Now, I hope you won’t take offence in me pointing this out, but neither of you are getting any younger-”

You bristle, raising a finger. “Mother, may I ask where you’re going with this?”

She pushes your finger down instantly. “My son, I was coming onto the future for the two of you. Tara and I have been waiting for years for-”

“Oh Gods.” You stand, waving your hands around. “Look at the time. I didn’t realise how late it was.”

Morena narrows her eyes.

“Mother, don’t you have an auction or something to hurry off to?”

“I actually-”

You stare at Tara. “And Tara, don’t you need to escort my dear Mother to her next appointment, to make sure she doesn’t get lost? She can be ever so disoriented these days.”

Tara arches her back.

Confusion and panic brim in Aurora’s gaze as it flits between the three of you.  There is a long silence. You do not back down. Morena purses her lips and rises to her feet slowly.

“Yes,” she drawls.  “I’m in an awful rush. I’m so grateful that you reminded me.”

You give her your sweetest, most innocent smile. You embrace her, kissing her gently on the cheek. She squeezes your shoulder.

“Come on, Tara. Let’s leave the lovebirds to their merrymaking.”

---

“Your mother is…”

“Difficult? Wonderful? Awkward?”

“I was going to say persistent.”

You laugh, whether it is from relief, amusement, or fear, you are not sure.

You are sitting on the sofa in the library. Her head rests on your lap as you untangle the braids from her hair. You had hoped that her first meeting with the inimitable Morena Dekarios would not be catastrophic. From the way that Aurora giggles now, you are reassured that it was not. Though whether this was solely owing to your premature termination of the meeting, you cannot say.

“She likes you,” you remark.

Aurora sighs. “I hope so.”

“It’s clear.” You chuckle. “You would know if she didn’t.”

She nestles further into you. You trace your finger up and down her jawline. How is it possible for a heart to feel so full? Perhaps that is what makes you feel brave.

“What did you think of Mother’s question?” You clear your throat. “About the future?”

She tilts her head. “That depends.”

“On what?” you ask, a little too quickly.

She pauses, and the sorrow in her smile wounds you.

“On how long you can put up with me.”

You pull her up into you. You kiss her so deeply, so desperately, that your flesh aches from where it has touched her. She is shaking when you come apart.

“I don’t want a future that doesn’t have you in it,” you breathe.

She pants into your lips. “Neither do I.”

---

There are good days, and there are bad days.

You expected this. The doctors and nurses warned you. You are prepared for the worst. You told them that nothing could phase you, and you are determined. You love her, and you will do what it takes.

You are an intellectual. You can measure things in the abstract, and see things with an academic’s remove. You know that the good days outweigh the bad days. You can see how she is changing, growing. You can see the chains which she is fighting to break.

Aurora has never lived with anyone but her mother. She has never known freedom, and it is a struggle to adjust. She has shed her glamour, and for the most part, she no longer hides behind the shroud of loose robes. She is full of passion and apprehension as she takes on management of Mr Serpentil’s bookstore. She supplements her income by hosting poetry and novel readings with elaborate shows of illusion. She is building a life for herself, which comes with as many obstacles as gains. There is laughter alongside her tears, hope alongside her despair. Her tenderness for you overflows between and beyond the sheets.

The doctors had wondered if it was too soon, if you were moving too fast. You have only known each other for two years, they warned, and Aurora’s affliction is not for the faint-hearted. Such challenges break even the strongest and most well-established relationships. You rebuffed them. You feel like you have known her your entire life, and you cannot waste any more time. You have suffered much, lost much, and you do not take anything for granted. You want to spend every moment with her.

You want to share everything with her, to bare your soul to her so completely that there are no more secrets between you. You tell her everything about your past, even the things that cause you grief and shame. You give your whole heart to her. It is the only way you know how to love her.

But there are times when the weight of her condition is crushing.  When she hides from you, and cannot be touched. When she cannot speak of the fears that claw at her, and retreats to a place you cannot go. When she freezes at the dinner table, stifling tears that come later in bed, when she shrinks away from your embrace.

It does not touch your love, only your resolve.

You know that kindness can overcome the burdens that a person carries. You yourself had friends who stood by you when you were a walking apocalypse, a ticking time bomb. They never abandoned you. They did not leave you to die.

You know that knowledge is the weapon to face any challenge.

You must find a solution, a cure, for her affliction.

---

Birthdays are difficult for her. All they signify is the devastation of yet another wasted year. She has never celebrated them. Her mother certainly never bothered, beyond reminding her of her shame and failures.

So when her birthday comes, you decide to celebrate her as she deserves.

You do what you do best. You array the dining room with candles and floating orbs. You fill the room with the scent of flowers, covering the table with a velvet cloth of rich green, her favourite colour. You spend hours preparing a rich, three course dinner, making sure that you dress the plates just so. You set the piano playing songs that have made Aurora smile. You brim with nervous excitement.

Tara insists that you wear your deep blue doublet and shave your beard, so you look your best. You humour her by doing the former, but you ignore her latter suggestion. From the speed with which Tara leaves, you can tell she thinks this night will involve more than a simple birthday celebration.

When Aurora returns home from the bookshop, shock blooms on her face. You take her hand and lead her into the dining room, where she looks around in bewilderment.

“You did all this for me,” she breathes, her eyes dilated with gratitude and desire.

“Happy birthday,” you reply, drawing her close.

You stumble and sway as your mouths find each other’s. She tastes of peppermint and smells of sea wind. You come apart panting, flushed, and you pull away from her only so you do not burn the food that is cooking. You glimpse a spasm of anxiety on her face, so you pass her your gift as you make your way to the kitchen.

“Gale.” She takes the box from you. “You really shouldn’t have.”

She stands at the boundary of the kitchen door as she unwraps it. You have found first edition copies of the complete works of Lorazelle Staunth, one of Aurora’s favourite romance writers. It took you some wrangling, but you managed to convince a colleague, a distant cousin of Staunth’s, to get them signed by their author. It is difficult to focus on the gravy you are stirring as you watch her out of the corner of your eye. She gasps, beaming, turning each book over in her hands with wonder and reverence, murmuring to herself.

You grin. “You’re welcome.”

She strides into the kitchen, over the invisible border that she has always feared to tread. Your breath catches as she leans into your back and wraps her arms around you. She does not let go, even when you have to walk back and forth to gather the dishes together to serve. Nor do you have the heart to ask her to release you.

You have never loved anyone so completely. You have never felt such happiness.

When you eventually sit down to eat, you take for granted what it is that you are asking. It dawns on you, as her jaw clenches and she grimaces. She tries, so hard, smiling, thanking you, complimenting your efforts. Her cutlery clatters on her plate, her movements are laboured. She tries to follow the thread of conversation, even when her gaze glazes and her words become broken. But in the end, it is too much, and you know you have pushed her too far, too soon.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps.

When she retreats to the bathroom, guilt engulfs you. You leave the untouched dishes, blow out the candles, silence the piano. You follow her, standing outside the locked door, listening to her muffled cries. You want to ask her to let you in. You do not know what to do, what to say. You wait.

How could you have been so foolish, so thoughtless? How could you have caused her such agony? You, who have always taken pride in your wisdom, your keen powers of observation. You have pushed the woman you love off a precipice, because you were selfish and insensitive. She has every right to be angry. To decide that you love her poorly. That you are unworthy.

You should have known better. You must make it up to her. You must find a way.

“This is my fault, Aurora,” you manage. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I should have been more mindful… Please forgive me.”

The door creaks open slowly. Her eyes are swollen, her voice is hoarse.

“There’s nothing to forgive. You didn’t do anything wrong, Gale.”

She trudges back to the dining room, and you trail behind her. You can tell from her footsteps that she is exhausted. Adrift.  She gestures towards the table.

“Do you mind if we…”

You wrap your arms around her. She stands stiffly. She neither returns nor rejects your embrace. When you step back, she will not look at you.

“I don’t think I can give you what you need, Gale.”

You are taken aback by her words. Panic grows within you.

“What do you mean?”

She bites her lip, shaking her head.

“That’s not true, Aurora.” Your stomach lurches. “Please don’t say such things.”

She stares at you. There is something like coldness in her gaze, but you know it is not that. It is a wall of resignation, shame. There is bitterness in her voice, but it is not directed at you.

“You deserve someone who you can enjoy a dinner that you took such great lengths to prepare. Someone who’s grateful for all the amazing things you do. Someone who can receive the gifts that you give without reservations and certainly without…”

She swipes her hand towards the bathroom, the dining table, herself.

“…This. You deserve more than this shambles.”

“No, Aurora.” Your voice shakes like a plea. “No. I love you, what I deserve is-”

Her face twists.

“What if this is what it’s like, for the rest of my life? What if I can never sit beside you like a normal person and share such a wonderful meal that you so lovingly made? Will that be enough for you? Truly?”

You do not hesitate, not even for a second.

“Yes. Always. You’ll always be enough for me.”

She jerks her head back and forth. She knows you are being genuine, but there is dismay in her reaction.

“It isn’t enough. You deserve better.”

When you reach out to her, she turns away.

---

“Gale.”

There is uncertainty in her voice. She is flicking through the books and papers that clutter your desk as you look up from the letter you are furiously writing. When she last visited, Shadowheart told you about Sister Rose, a cleric at the House of the Moon, reputedly an expert in afflictions of this nature. You are bent on making her acquaintance as soon as possible.

“There’s an awful lot of research here about...”

You nod. She still struggles to give her condition a name.

“What about your own research? Your studies on Illusion?” She frowns. “Do you have time for…all this?”

It is true that you have put your own research on hold for the moment, but it hardly matters. You do not understand why both she and Tara have been asking you about this. You place your quill to one side and stand, crossing over to her. You place one hand on each shoulder, lowering your head to look straight into her eyes.

“This is my only priority right now, Aurora. If there’s anything out there that can help you be free of this burden, then I’ll find it.”

She winces. It stings you. All you want is to show her that you love and care for her more than anything. You do not understand.

“I think it might a bit more complicated than that, Gale.” Her gaze flickers away, then back to you. “I don’t think it’s an equation that can be solved with a simple formula.”

You search her eyes. She is withdrawing, you can sense it. Soon, you will not be able to follow. Desperation bubbles within you. You must show her that you can do it. You can help her.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way. There’s a wealth of knowledge that I’ve not even touched yet. We’ll find a way out of this together.”

Her features spasm. She closes her eyes.

“This isn’t your burden, Gale. It isn’t your problem to fix.”

You take her face in your hands. Her eyes are misted now, darkening. You feel helpless to stop the clouds that are coming.

“You’re the woman I love. I do this because I love you.”

She presses her hand against yours. It is so small, so cold.

“Gale, your research, your studies-“

“Nothing matters more to me than you.”

She makes a choked sound. There is anguish in it. You need to prove to her that it can be done, that you can find her the keys to freedom. She holds you, and you can feel her shivering slightly. She turns, and you watch, bereft, as she leaves the room.

---

You jolt awake on some nights, clutching your chest where the mark of the orb used to be. Pain still blazes through you after the nightmares, emanating from the orb’s phantom, ripping through every muscle.  You grit your teeth and clench the sheets, waiting for it to pass. You do not know if you are imagining it, or if there are traces of the orb which remain. Perhaps Mystra is not fully pleased with you, despite having promised her forgiveness. Perhaps you still disappoint her, and this is the only reprimand that she can be bothered to muster.

Your dreams are black and purple. Gossamer veils and black tentacles wind around you, flooding the chambers of your heart. You are a young boy behind a rose bush, and then you are a man stripped bare by a command, and you are on your knees, undone before the astral abyss. The goddess looms over you, pronouncing your judgment, and you are terrified and alone.

Every time you wake trembling, shouting, she is by your side. She holds you, her dawn light caressing your hands, your chest, your eyes. She cradles you, and her whispers are like healing spells. You are loved. You are safe. You are enough. You are still here.

You wish you could do the same for her, every time the darkness comes.

---

“The dancing figures, and then the dragons that you conjured… the battle that you represented with those floating lights… It was truly spectacular, Aurora, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

You have returned home with Aurora. Your hands are a flurry, and you can barely contain the excitement and pride in your voice. For almost four months she has been working with a collection of poets and playwrights to put together a showcase of their debut works. A small production, but a raving success. That only a modest crowd attended the performance seems to you the greatest injustice.

On the walk back, she has been smiling, nodding, making the occasional sound of agreement. But you can tell that she is not present. You tell yourself it must be post-performance exhaustion, frayed nerves. Perhaps she has not eaten or drunk enough. Maybe she needs more sleep. Her days have been long lately.

Yet there is something in her quietness that gives you pause.

“Aurora, are you alright?” You place a hand on her cheek. “Is something the matter?”

She shakes her head. “I’m fine, Gale.”

You can tell from the way that she hunches into herself, from the wall that has come up behind her eyes, that she is not fine.

“What’s wrong? Was it something I said?”

“No.” She turns away. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Aurora.” You take her hand. “Please, tell me.”

Her lip quivers. She starts and stops. “I can’t. I don’t…”

She closes her eyes. She pushes you away when you try to hold her. Sometimes, it is agonising when she withdraws. When you have shown her your whole soul, and there are parts of herself she hides from you. Tonight, it feels like a rejection. Perhaps it is not that she cannot give you everything, or that she fears to do so. Perhaps she simply does not wish to.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

Your voice comes out flat, but inside you are breaking. The torment in her gaze is like a gash in your heart.

“No, I…” She balls her fists. “I just…”

You never thought you would ever wish to have a mindflayer tadpole again. But tonight, you remember how it was, to so easily join your thoughts to another’s, to share their memories and feelings, to see the world through their eyes. Tonight, you wish you both had a tadpole, so you could ask her to let you in. So you could understand her.

But perhaps she still would not wish to open herself to you.

“It’s alright, Aurora. You don’t have to tell me.”

“Gale…”

Old memories are coming to you now. Old wounds, from giving of yourself and asking, then failing to receive. Of waiting, fighting to become worthy. Of being shut behind icy walls, left with nothing but your lack.

“I understand if there are things you don’t wish to share with me.”

She steps towards you. “It’s not that…”

A flood has begun inside you now, and you feel like you may drown.

“I understand if you don’t feel like you can trust me. Perhaps I need to do more to earn your trust.”

She is shaking her head furiously.

“I know that I’ve failed on many occasions to be what you need me to be-”

“Gale, please stop.”

There is such an urgency in her words. You stare at her.  

“It’s not your fault.”

A tear rolls down her cheek.

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you… I just don’t have the words to tell you. Everything inside is just… a mess.”

There is a flash of light inside you. A wave of relief ripples amongst the flood.

“I want you to read my thoughts.”

You are speechless for a moment. You are considering what this means, what she is giving you. The weight of rejection that you no longer have to carry. The fear that you can cast out.

She nods at you, firmly, earnestly.

“I want you to know everything. Please, Gale. Cast the spell.”

---

When you read her thoughts, you see. You feel the anguish that jolts through her, watching the meaningless flirtations that are cast your way. The painted faces and willowy figures flaunted by younger women she believes are more worthy of your attentions. You hear the voices within her, screaming at her for the ways in which she differs from them. Her hair, lank and dark, her skin, blemished and rubbery. Bulges in her flesh where other bodies lay flat. Endless mirrors, laden with shame and anger twisted inwards like a blade, a barbed yearning to be different, better, beautiful.

He is so beautiful, the voice chants, and you are not. He will soon see, and grow weary of you. And then he will leave.

There had been a few women, after the performance, who had thrown themselves at you. You scarcely remembered them, they were so trivial, their chattering so absurd. You had never been one to fawn over such superficial things. Others may consider you attractive, but what of it? You have no eyes for anyone else but her.

But now you see, and you understand. You realise that the frequency of such incidents hurts her. It is not your fault, but she struggles nonetheless.

“Aurora.” You are afraid you might cry from the intensity of her pain. “There’s no one else. You’re the only one I see.”

You are not on your knees, but you feel as though you are begging.

“I love you. Only you. You must believe me. You must see it.”

You can tell how badly she wants to say yes. But she does not.

“What can I do to prove it to you?” you plea. “What more can I do to show you? Because I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you.”

She takes your face in her hands. She looks at you with love and despair.

“You’ve given me everything, Gale. There’s nothing more you can do.”

---

“Thank you so much for seeing me, Sister.”

Her face crinkles as she smiles. She seems kind enough, but you are uncertain she will be able to give you more than the leading scholars you have harangued. But you are willing to try anything. Even an elderly cleric of Selune who has spoken to you for half an hour about gardening.

“It sounds like you’ve done considerable research into this condition, Professor Dekarios.”

“I have,” you confess. “But I’m aware that you have considerable practical experience in healing individuals with this affliction. And that’s why I’m here, to understand the methods that have given you such success.”

“Oh?” She rests her chin on steepled fingers.

“Yes,” you continue. “I’ve been trying to apply the recommended approaches, Sister, based on the latest advice from the House of Healing in-”

“Approaches?”

You nod. She considers for a moment, her brow furrowed.

“Professor Dekarios,” she begins. “Do you love your fiancé?”

“She’s not my-”

You stop yourself. She is more to you than even that.

“Yes. I do. Very much.”

“And do you show her that, with your words and actions?”

You are not sure where this line of reasoning is leading. But you are reassured by the gentleness in the Sister’s voice.

“Yes. I do.”

She leans forward in her chair.

“When she struggles, do you show her patience, kindness, and respect?”

“Of course.” You frown. You assume this is obvious. How could you not? “And I try, always, to broaden the limits of my understanding.”

She hums. “And when you speak to your fiancé, do you speak to her soul, or her affliction?”

You arch an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what you mean, Sister.”

“Do you truly see her? The truth of her person, beyond the hold that this condition has on her? Who she is, outside of this suffering?”

You remember the way she rocked against you as she wept, that first time she had let you visit her in the House of Healing. ‘This is all I am,’ she had said. ‘This is all I’ve ever been.’ It was not true then, and it is not true now.

“I do, Sister.”

She nods, then leans back again.

“Then you’re doing everything that you can do.”

That cannot be all. You cannot mask the exasperation in your voice.

“Surely there must be something more I can do. There must be a remedy-”

Something steels in her gaze. “May I speak frankly, Professor Dekarios?”

“Of course.”

She draws in a sharp breath.

“What your fiancé suffers from cannot be cured with a spell or a tincture, a scalpel or a course of medicine. She must walk herself through a tangle of vines, and cut them off one by one at the root. It may take her a few months, or it may take her a lifetime. But you can’t do this for her. Neither is it your responsibility to do so.”

She cuts you off before you can interject.

“You can’t cure her. All you can do is love her, and show her what lies beyond the vines. That’s enough, Professor Dekarios.”

Her smile is light, but her words are heavy.

“You’re doing enough.”

---

As soon as you open the front door, the smell of burning assails you. You rush into your home, leaping from room to room, calling out her name. Eventually, her voice comes to you from the kitchen.

You find her there, crouching on the floor amidst a scattering of broken china. She is holding a cloth around her right thumb, drenched in crimson.

“What happened?” you gasp.

You hurry to her side. As you fuss over her injury, gathering up the sharp shards around you, she tries to reassure you that she is fine, everything is fine.

“I wanted to make you something,” she explains. “Something we could share together – I wanted to try, to show you I’m getting better.”

She stares at her bleeding thumb, at the remains of the charred dish she could not prepare. You wrap your arms around her. You do not want her to be crushed by disappointment, feeling she has failed. You want to shield her from it all, forever.

“You have nothing to prove, Aurora.”

“But I do.” She looks up at you with whirling eyes.  “I don’t want you to run yourself into the ground, trying to fix me.”

“It’s not like that-”

“But it is, Gale. I love you, and I always will. You don’t need to earn it. You can’t fix me. You don’t need to.”

The words stick in your throat. You are overwhelmed by the knowledge that even in her distress, she has sought to give you comfort. To assure you of her love. In the light of her gaze, the shadows of your old wounds seem to fade.

“I’m not going anywhere.” The resolve in her voice fills you with hope. “And I’ll fight this until the end.”

She curls into you, and you cradle her head against your heart. You are not sure how long you remain there, still and silent, cocooned in each other. You become aware of her lips brushing against the exposed skin of your chest, drifting softly up the side of your neck, over the line of your jaw. You tremble as her tongue flutters on the bristles of your cheek. Her searching mouth opens to yours.

And then, all you can feel and taste and smell is her.

---

“Where did you learn all these things?”

You smirk at the question. Your body drapes over hers like a mantle. There is awe and mischief in her tone. Dusted with pink, her skin gleams with the after-effects of your passion. You cannot get enough of the sight.

“Aurora,” you chide. “A gentleman doesn’t speak of such things.”

She arches an eyebrow. “You aren’t always a gentleman.”

“I suppose not.”

You swipe your tongue around the peak of her nipple. She moans, batting you softly away as you laugh.

“But Gale,” she whines. “I’m curious.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, I am.” Those wide, bright eyes again. You can never refuse them.

“I’ll do my best to sate your curiosity,” you mumble into her neck.

She chews her lip. “I know there were a few others, before Mystra.”

“There were.”

She sighs as you nibble at her collarbone.

“But no one of note, you said.”

You hum, tracing your nose down her shoulder. “Forgettable. Distractions.”

“And then Mystra preferred things abstract, incorporeal…”

“She did.” You are following Aurora’s freckles again, down to the underside of her breast. You can feel the vibrations of her body.

“So how did you gain such proficiency in-”

She sucks in a breath as you lick at the spray of freckles around her navel, meandering down to her centre. Her hips roll ever so slightly. You are surging.

You grin as you look up at her. “I studied and practised.”

---

Your clasp and unclasp your hands behind your back. Your throat is dry, your chest a tangle. In a haze, you scan the smiling faces of all your nearest and dearest, gathered before you with eager anticipation. The scent of lavender drifts from the arch behind you, stilling your thoughts for a moment.

You had been planning to ask her. For weeks you had fretted over the words, the time and place. You had worried that it was too soon, too much. Your research told you that such events could often trigger an exacerbation of her affliction. You did not want to subject her to such agony. And though you knew her love and desire for you, fear still clung to you like your phantom orb. Part of you was still afraid she would not accept.

She had turned up at Blackstaff unexpectedly on your birthday. You had planned to take a stroll into the city together after your classes were over, but she wanted to give you a present before then. With wonder, you unravelled a collection of poems she had written. Entitled “Promise”, the first page was a dedication to you.

Her poems conjured the splendour of stars bursting. It did not take long for you to devour them all. And she had known you would, because the last line of the final poem ended: “Marry me.”

It is true that there were tears, and half-eaten meals, and broken mirrors. You tried to take on as many of the preparations as possible, to shield her from the stress. You reassured her that the wedding could be postponed or cancelled if she was not ready. You could not take away her fears about what she might wear, how she might look. Yet she had promised that she would fight, and fight she did. And now, you are here.

You can see your mother giggling as she whispers to your aunt and uncle, your cousins jostling keenly around them. Nurse Mona sits amongst a small group of druids and bards, Aurora’s closest friends. Elminster bobs his head to the rhythm of the lutist. Karlach glimmers with muted fire, grinning at you and waving. You wave back, extending your greeting to a beaming Halsin beside her. You glimpse Astarion and Tav, fiddling with each other’s collars, and Shadowheart examining a piece of parchment with Xan. Lae’zel watches and listens with silent pride.

It has been years since you have come together with your companions from the old days. Time and distance could not sever the bonds that formed between you so long ago. Yet their absence was a hole inside you that ached to be filled, until today.

To stand here, surrounded by these people you cherish so dearly, knowing you are loved and desired by her so completely – it is overwhelming. You are blinking, rubbing your eyes hard.  Wyll squeezes your arm behind you. You turn to face him.

“Remember what we talked about, Gale.”

You inhale sharply, running your fingers through your hair.

“Breathe…” Wyll chants. “Think: Calm. Composed. Dignified.”

“I am calm and composed,” you echo. “I am dignified.”

He nods sagely. “We have the whole day ahead of us.”

“And I can’t be a blubbering mess already.” You clear your throat.

Wyll chuckles. “If anyone can handle this, my friend, it’s you.”

In his gold-embroidered, midnight blue doublet, Wyll exudes courtly bearing. When he and Karlach had returned to Baldur’s Gate, it did not take long for you to rekindle your friendship.

“Thank you for being here, Wyll. I can’t think of a better man to stand by my side.”

His smile is warm as the summer sun.

“Thank you, Gale. The honour is all mine.”

---

When Sister Rose begins her opening remarks, you are barely listening. Your eyes have caught on a flurry of movement in the distance. Your breath hitches.

Tara flutters down the aisle, and comes to rest opposite you and Wyll. Your oldest companion, your most loyal friend. The one who cared for you when you had no one else. Now, she stands by the woman that you love as her most ardent defender, her confidante. You reach out to her. She nuzzles your hand with her cheek. Your vision is beginning to blur.

Everything around you dissolves as Aurora steps forward. She wears her dark waves like a crown. Her face glows in the sunlight, bare except for a flicker of blue kohl on her eyelids and a dusting of glitter on her freckled cheekbones. Her gown is a waterfall of stars at midnight, resting lightly around her waist, cascading around her as she moves. It is a masterful, delicate illusion, but it does not conceal her, nor temper her beauty. She strides towards you with the certainty of hope, the resolve of love.

The tears come, and you cannot stop them.

She does not take her eyes off yours as she approaches. You have never before witnessed such a miracle, nor felt a happiness so bright and raw.

You are both crying as she takes her place. There is a ripple of sighs from the crowd as Wyll passes you a handkerchief and Sister Rose presses a cloth into Aurora’s shaking fingers. You are laughing as you wipe away each other’s tears.

You take hold of her hands, and it begins.

---

“Here he is, the man of the hour.”

You dip your head at Astarion. Tav embraces you.

“I do apologise. I was making a beeline for you, but got accosted by a very merry Elminster, extolling the virtues of our cheese board in painstaking detail.”

“None of us have been able to get near it,” Tav laments. “Or dared to try.”

“Lovely cloak, Astarion. Very… vampiric.”

Astarion arches an eyebrow. “It was either this or not coming at all. Fashion is less important than not frying in the sun, I’m afraid, even for such a momentous occasion.”

You chuckle. “Thank you for coming.”

His fangs glint as he grins. Tav circles an arm around his shoulder.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world, Gale,” Tav exclaims. “We’re so, so happy for you.”

“We just had the pleasure of your wife’s acquaintance.” Astarion takes a sip of wine. “I didn’t think I would ever meet someone so similar to you in every respect, yet not insufferable at all! Your wife is simply charming. An absolute delight.”

“Astarion,” Tav warns.

You titter. “I think I’ll take that comment in the spirit in which it was intended. She’s exceptional. Remarkable. I agree.”

“I can only imagine how many long and intense discussions you had in the library,” Astarion purrs. “Staring longingly at each other, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s-”

Tav jostles him. “Astarion, stop!”

Astarion cackles.

“What’s so funny?”

You flinch a little from the force of Karlach’s hug. Halsin, deep in conversation with a smiling Aurora, follows behind. She radiates with joy, and you have never wanted her more.

You clasp Halsin’s hand in greeting.

“Just to be clear, Halsin.” You plant a kiss on Aurora’s cheek, intertwining your fingers with hers. “My wife and I are quite happy with our relationship, as it is. Just the two of us.”

Halsin holds his hands up. “I wouldn’t presume otherwise, Gale.”

Aurora looks at you in confusion. You touch your nose to hers.

Karlach chortles. “You two are so fucking sweet.”

---

“So we’ll see you again next month?” Aurora asks hopefully.

“Of course.” Shadowheart takes the wine that you offer her. “I might end up staying longer at the House of the Moon this time. I’ll bring you those scrolls and tinctures that we discussed.”

Aurora’s eyes dance with delight.

“Will you bring the owlbear?” Karlach gushes. “Wyll and I have missed the little guy.”

“Perhaps that would be an opportunity for Xan.” Lae’zel glances at the child. “You wanted to make a sculpture of a great beast of Faerun, did you not?”

Xan nods thoughtfully. He scribbles something in his notebook.

“It would be a great opportunity for us, too, Lae’zel,” you muse. “To hear more of your jokes.”

Lae’zel twitches.

“And to learn about more unconventional uses of Githyanki psionics.” You catch Aurora’s eye, and she bites her lip.

“Observe, Xan,” Lae’zel remarks, gesturing between the two of you. “Waterdhavian mating rituals are indeed more refined than others in Faerun.”

There is the slightest lift of Lae’zel’s eyebrow. You clap your hands together and laugh.

---

How is it possible for a heart to feel so full?

You stand silently, bathing in the light of the stars, buoyed by the song of those you love around you. You search for her, and it does not take long to find her.

She lingers near the central table, admiring the intricate designs on the cake which your mother crafted with tenderness and zeal. Gently, she takes a small slice in her hands, lifting it to her lips.

She takes one bite, and then pauses. She takes another. She smiles.

Her grey eyes meet yours across the expanse. You bound towards her, and she squeals as you lift her up and spin her around. You can taste brandy and chocolate as her mouth glides against yours.

“I think it’s time to go,” you whisper.

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

Author's note: When I finished Progress, I thought it would be a standalone fic. But I was so in love with Gale and Aurora, and so wanted to give them a happy ending. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you so much for taking the time to engage with this story.

If you liked this fic, you can check out my other work here.

Please, feel free to reach out, I'd love to hear from you.

--

Read the sequel: Revelation

[rainstormfrost]

Sometimes I think... What if Willow was not a canon character? What if she appeared only in some fanfic on AO3, how people would feel about her?

I mean, she has pattern of standard Mary Sue from some fan fiction. Lemme explain.

Firstly, she is strong. Even stronger than Emperor's Coven scouts, who've been, I'm reminding, harshly trained for years and have a lot of experience. But Willow just beats them like it's nothing for her.

Meanwhile, there is no clear reason for her to be so strong. All creator says is «she is talented and trains a lot», but... Willow has started training after the Grugby episode from season 1. That means she's been training only for two or one month. I'm not an expert but I think you can't get so much strength by that little time.

Well, okay, we can assume that Willow started doing Flyer Derby specifically after the Grugby episode. Maybe she was training even before that, but... It's still a shitty argument. I have some friends who've been training for many years and I can say they can't defeat a trained soldier. After all, a soldier knows special techniques and special fight skills. Scouts in EC can use any kind of magic, so they MUST learn every of nine tracks magic. So, how do you think, can a schoolgirl-plant-witch defeat a trained soldier with an experience.

Secondly, Hunter's character after meeting Willow. Hunter was positioned (before «Any sports in a storm») as a goofy, strong, confident person, but then we know him as a traumatized, apathetic and lost character who needs someone to help him to get out from toxic influence of his «uncle».

But what he's becomed after meeting Willow? He became a poor little boy who needs hugs and comfort 🥺🥺🥺. After joining the Hexsquad Hunter lost most of his power, he sometimes becomes a damsel in distress so Willow can save her little meow meow.

Please, separate a traumatize character who needs help and spirit mentor from a poor little thing who need comfort. Hunter is not the first thing. He is the second.

I know, this is kinda not Willow's problem as a character, but just imagine if all episodes after ASIAS were just a fanfic. How would you feel if a strong and mean character (Hunter) became a weakling who needs help from his girlboss?

Thirdly, cliche. I don't think Willow's story is bad, but I must admit it's kinda unoriginal. She has a standard Y/N storyline. «Poor girl was bullied, but then she discovered her true power and became stronger than her bullies». Where have we seen that? Well, practically in every fanfic.

What do we have in result?

Willow is somehow stronger that trained soldiers.

A strong and complex character became a total mess and crybaby because of interactions with her.

She has a quiet standard backstory.

I'm pretty sure: if Park was a fan character she would've been hated by everyone. We would've seen a lot of angry posts about little girls spoiling canon character's personality for their own fantasies.

But why the canon character with such traits is considered as something good?

UPD: It gets more sad for me, because I read fanfics and have my own TOH fan characters. I saw a lot of good, fleshed out and deep OC, but they was branded as Mary Sues because they was smart and powerful. Must specify, but all, these powers were explained, so characters wasn't skilled out of nowhere. I'm trying to make my own characters as realistic as I can. I paranoidly make a lot of flaws to my OCs so they can't become Sues. But then I see canon TOH characters and think: does it worth it? Why am I trying if I know that all of the canons are overpowered without any explanation?

[mintmoth]

Your oc's are so cool!! It's such a surreal feeling to get back into a fandom and wake up up find that one of my favorite artists is also there. Say, quick question do you plan on making executions for your oc's or do they survive? Well whatever you do I hope you'll have fun with it and as always remember to be well hydrated and take breaks, I hope your doing well mint.

BXDISBSK OH HELLA!! Also thank you 😭😭 I'm glad you're enjoying my silly dr2 art and my oc planning lmao

Honestly I was originally planning on having only 2 ocs specifically because I wanted one to kill the other in order to maintain the same group of survivors in the end lmao. I'm still trying to fully work out the setup and inevitable execution because the plot writing for dr2 is really tight and well progressed imo, so I feel like adding anything would weaken it-

BUT I'm also just having fun and being silly so I know it doesn't have to be perfect it just needs to let me have fun really lmao

I'll add a readmore but I'll ramble about each of them a little if anyone has any interest

First up is the first one I made, Haruka (forgive all of their basic bitch Japanese names, I can't do the fun wordplay to the level I wish) they're the ultimate ballerina, and by extension also nonbinary kind of feminine leaning androgynous but can be masc if needed because they can do any kind of role required of them for a performance

When they're tossed into the dr2 mix they'd probably be found being a third wheel to the dynamic duo that is Akane and Nekomaru, since they're also technically more athletic and would be stretching and practicing every day. I want to sit down sometime and draw them and Akane engaged in a flexibility battle and Kazuichi walking in on them and screeching because they look so creepy

Haruka is planned to be a murderer and I'll definitely get some drawings out once I flesh out my concepts for their execution more

Next up is Nao! She's the ultimate sharpshooter and yes that is a little vague but it's because this includes bows and such on top of typical guns. Hell, she probably even does well with throwing stuff if there's enough focus

With the dr2 cast she'd be mostly a friend to Ibuki and Kazuichi, their eccentricities are endearing to her, plus if either of them just want to ramble about something they're working on she's gonna listen for hours. Honestly they're such a movie night squad to me. Also post game I feel like she's like a girl in the same way I still see Kazuichi a guy, like in the vaguest terms cuz they're both just Themselves and are gonna have fun with it now since they're apart from society. Ibuki isn't included only since I feel like she'd struggle less, but this is the bi/pan gender fuckery trifecta of the group to me

Oh yeah and Haruka kills her. I've got the death already planned out and ideally I wanna do a cg style emulation for it but idk if I can swing it lmao I'm not very good at style emulation tbh

And last but not least is Tōru. I didn't plan on her existing so idk how I'm gonna get rid of her in time for the end hmm. But she's the ultimate tattoo artist and has the most fleshed out backstory of the three but it's embarrassing and I know it LMAO

Basic run down- and stick with me here- she lives with family that work under the Kuzuryu clan, so she's done a lot of sick yakuza tats, partially because of her skill and mostly because this shit is so good that her tattoos have like, an "aura" that influences the viewer a little. So these dudes have extra intimidating tattoo bullshit going on- BUT ANYWAYS so things start and she can recognize Fuyuhiko and Peko and knows what's up with them, but neither of them have officially met her so she's like "oh thank fuck they have no idea that I know who they are I'm gonna avoid these assholes like the PLAGUE"

But of course that won't hold forever but it just makes me laugh like chapter 3 Fuyuhiko trying desperately to be kinder to everyone like "yeah, maybe I'll see if you're good enough to tattoo me some day" and she's choking on her drink because Haha About That-

But yeah hopefully I can rope one of my friends into having their oc knock her off because I think that would be funny like, getting down on one knee please kill my oc tragically

[asukaskerian]

prompt 4 for moshang with the mood "incensed" would be hilarous i imagine

Mythology - Foretold by the gods - moshang

--

So he might have, maybe, at some point -- some late at night or maybe very early point -- tried to figure out an OC for Mobei-jun to ship w fuck. Dude was so perfect, it was a shame his dump truck ass and sequoia thighs remained unembraced. (Also the whole "he's so mysterious and never opens up and unveils his deep thoughts and tender feelings except for me" fantasy but never mind all that.)

He'd gone exactly as far as 'Meeting: why tf would he notice anyone. Dashing rescue? Why does he need a rescue he's too cool and basically untrappable anyway, what are they rescuing him from socializing with his cousins lmao???' on his notes before giving up on making it realistic. The next scribble was 'cuz i said so ok next'. 

There had been no 'next'. His battery had died and when he managed to get home and get his laptop plugged in it was time for another word vomit on the topic of Bing-ge's meat truncheon.

[Secret side-quest: Easter egg! 1/536 discovered. Keep going!][Category: "is it a headcanon if you didn't think it up with your upper head?" 1/413]

'System-bro, what the entire fuck!?!' Airplane screeched inside his heart of hearts; ass on the floor (bruising), clothes askew (from sleeping in them!!), and the most gorgeous, terrifying man he'd ever seen staring down at him from the bed they'd crashed into (Mobei-jun first, because unconscious, Airplane later, because idiot) the previous night.

Because he had expected being sneered at; being talked down to; being attacked on sight. Being haughtily ignored, after sufficient groveling at crotch level.

But his most perfect, most unattainable creation, that Himalayan peak made flesh, saying that --

--

The problem with Airplane was, he didn't trust people. He didn't trust them to share their feelings and decisions with him freely instead of leaving him reeling at yet another swerve of which he was merely collateral damage. He didn't trust them not to lie to themselves, or even know they were lying to themselves, so even if they did tell him what they thought or felt he assumed they were doing the polite 'the real reason is none of your business but telling you to fuck off is rude' thing at best.

So yes, his favorite game from childhood had been to pick someone in the crowd and tell himself stories about their life. This guy is a grandfather of seven and doesn't know the birthday of a single grandkid and his eldest son just pointed it out to him, but not even angrily which is worse because that's how low the bar he failed to clear was, that's why the fancy package and the gloomy expression. That girl just broke up -- she's so angry though -- he was fucking her sister. No wait, her nails are short, it was a girlfriend for sure; she fucked her brother, a double betrayal. It had evolved into telling himself stories about his classmates and his half-siblings and his parents, since they were never ever gonna bother to invite him to take a real glimpse inside, anyway. 

He was fully aware that statistically speaking he was probably wrong a lot of the time, but 1. coming up with coherent narratives was satisfying enough to smother the jealousy and loneliness and 2. as far as he was concerned it was true until proved otherwise, which was never.

But a guy who gave him nothing to work with. That was a challenge. That was fascinating. 

....

But a guy who greeted him by "You are to be my husband?" with a tone of dismay?!

What the fuck! What the fuck!! What the flying dick-flapping fuck!!!

He was so shocked, he forgot to kowtow. 

"You uh. My king?" He hadn't made the guy so above it all that he landed straight back into a a naive ingenue, right? "Just sleeping on the same mattress doesn't -- people don't have to be married to share--" 

The muggy air of the inn room went so cold so fast that condensation rolled cold drops down his back. 

(The effect didn't last; there was a haze in the air, briefly, and then a suffocating breeze from outside ruined the surprise air-con.)

"You will not speak to me like an idiot child," Mobei-jun-to-be rumbled threateningly, and then ruined the cool by continuing in that wtf vein. "My husband will show respect to his wife or his wife shall reign as a widow."

Holy shit, now Mobei-jun was the wife???!?!??? What? What! Airplane was dead. Again. For good. 

He stayed down there sitting on his ass, waiting for the world to make sense. It didn't happen. The man of his masochistic dreams had crossed his arms over his massive bara titties like a barricade and was now sulking up there like an offended wi-- no, he couldn't even think it. 

"My -- my king? It's only, ah, your humble servant doesn't... recall... getting married...?"

Eyes as blue as the afterimage of a lightning strike speared him through, metaphorically.

"Not yet. But we must." 

He let out a long sigh; and his face didn't twitch when he moved to aggravate his wound, but the way he stilled for a breath was telling. Shang not-yet-Qinghua winced in reflexive sympathy.

"There is a prophecy."

"... Ah?" A prophecy. About his king. That he hadn't put into the story. That he hadn't even scribbled into the margins or thought about. 'System?!'

[Yes, valued User?]

"There is a prophecy for each generation, and most of them don't matter," the ice demon using that shitty inn bed as his throne said with a bitter tone. "But the eleventh ruler of the Northern Desert will be heralded by his foretold spouse; that is how he is confirmed."

"Ohh," Airplane said intelligently and with characteristic eloquence. 

"'You will know them by these things," his king quoted sourly, "first, they will heal you; second, share your bed; third, offer their hand, and service, and their soul."

'Their soul! Their soul!! I was offering my sneakiness and maybe my dick, ah?! System!!! Who told you to mess up my creation with made-up prophecies?!'

[The easter egg category: "is it a headcanon if you didn't think it up with your upper head?" belongs to the third rung of canon : Word of God.]

But he hadn't told anyone--

But he'd written it down, he remembered now. 'Cuz i said so.'

Oh god. Oh immortals ascended before him. Oh little ancestors in both and either worlds. Someone fix this for him. "My king. Haha. My king, that is -- so vague! So vague?! How can there not be a dozen candidates with criteria so -- so stupid? And if the prophecy is common knowledge then people knew them in advance?! How were you not sabotaged right and left--"

...Oh no. He was gorgeous when he smirked like this, slow and feline, satisfied. My king, so unfair.

"This prince has long since made it a point not to sleep where others may catch him." A delicate pause. "He has also made it a point to return misplaced agents to his most obstinate siblings's chambers at a time his elders may not miss them."

"--Oh. Disqualifying them for trying to disqualify you -- so smart, my king!" For a moment, he had gotten enthused. But then he remembered that they were discussing his sudden non-canon matrimony, and then he started poking it for plot holes. "But -- just anybody can share your bed."

"The language is old, and clear. The prophecy speaks of the only person to ever share this king's bed."

... Hhghhhk.

That stare. So hard. Offended. Those cheekbones. So cutting. That nose, regal; that hair.

"My king," Airplane said as he climbed up to his feet, eyes trained on the floor and his knees and the things spread on the table and anything else at all. "Have you ever thought that the 'sharing a bed' section was metaphorical?" 

He met the demon's eyes then, incredulous and angry, buoyant with it. "You haven't even shown me your dick and you think I should be making recompense?! What the fuck! Passing out on the same shitty mattress doesn't mean getting deflowered! I didn't knock you up with a snowball ass egg, why the fuck should I--"

Oh, he was tall. Also wide. Especially wide. Flatten me daddy indeed. 

Oh, he was angry.

"It is not. Metaphorical. Though if all you need is to see my body--"

His hand landed on his belt. Shang eventually-Qinghua stopped breathing, body hot and bubbling with too much emotion--

It read like one of his waifu plots, the Joan of Arc types, unconquerable holy virgins except via the pressure of greater good.

A vague scrying over some random-ass kingdom, a little prophecy and welp! Nothing to it, just gotta fuck it out for the marital bed and then never again. At least you getting lawfully reamed has saved Bumfucknowhereistan.

'System. Demerit if I say hell no?'

[The bonus Mobei-jun questline remains optional, and brings User no penalties on opt-out.]

'Great.'

Like hell he was jumping into marriage because he liked some guy's face and didn't want to be bothered by geriatric busybodies tittering over his lack of wedlock. Who was he, his mother?

"I'll pass. Sorry, my king, at least I'm ditching you long before the altar?"

And with a sweep of his hand, he dumped all his things off the table and into his qiankun pouch, and was jumping out the window and doing a sick flip trick on his trusty borrowed blade. Airplane over and out, bro! 

Thanks for nothing. Now his spank bank was forever tainted.

--

Three days later he was still dealing with bursts of anger and anguish and other moronic emotions, which didn't help navigating his miraculous return to the sect ("I was so scared!" lost its impact if he broke a sneery judgmental Shixiong's ankle with a well-placed kick) or the medical peak's nosiness ("Who cares about the bruises, my biggest injury is my blue balls and broken heart, thanks!") or Shen not-quite-Quingqiu's scalpel eyes.

His king's eyes were prettier. 

His king was never going to be his king. Optional quest line. Yeah. He vaguely wondered how the System planned to make him betray the sect, then, who for, and then decided it wasn't his problem. Fuck it. He was sure it could do blackout poetry with his notes and pull out some contrived justification that would amount for half as much incentive as Mobei-jun's everything. 

His fierce determination, his fearlessness, his skill, his -- his body.

His body that was extremely too visible on Shang in-his-soul-Qinghua's disciple bed, shoulders draped in furs and bountiful meaty muscle on full frontal display.

"I will not," he growled low and quiet, "be discarded by my spouse."

"Hhg."

He had snow leopard rosettes on his flanks in dusky blue, secret patterns never appeared in any cover art Airplane had commissioned. 

[Secret side-quest: Easter egg! 2/536 discovered. Keep going!]

... Oh god, it turned out Shang Qinghua was exactly as stupid as Bing-ge's most ice-cold chaste wives. Because 'lie back and think of England?' Yeah, he was going to think of England and that dick.

[scaly-freaks]

how did you create amara? she's so compelling. i'm itching to create an hotd oc (mostly for aemond tho) but i'm absolutely unable to. i grew up on the era where every female oc was called a mary sue and every time i think someone could think that of my oc i become unbearably sad. enlighten me senpai

Aaahhh the Mary Sues. Such a silly way to diss what were usually teenage writers simply trying to explore the foundational stages of creating a character. There are so many popular Gary Stus in popular media (James Bond is definitely one) but men don't get called out for it the same.

I will say it took time for me to lean into writing a character who isn't just better than me in every sense of the word, and is allowed to make her own mistakes. I have to empathise with her a lot when she does some stupid shit and I'm sitting there like girl...

The key is probably to mix the stupid shit we all do on a daily basis (and judge more harshly when done by a fictional character) with real emotions and inner thoughts that would connect to most readers. Insecurities, anxiety, etc etc. But it's important to show her wanting to get out of these pitfalls of human nature, striving to do better even when she fails. She can't be perfect and smart and sassy out the gate or there's no fun watching her become a more well-rounded person.

The most important thing about an OC isn't how she's created at the start, but how she ends up at the finish line of the journey you're taking the reader along on. Don't flesh her out too much. Give her a few key traits - habits, emotional instabilities, insecurities - and then let them expand as she interacts with Aemond. Let her be human. Rolling the eyes, smirking, and sassy comebacks are all well and good, but real people don't behave like that. Sometimes, I like to put myself in the situation and realise I would never have such a put-together response because a fic writer isn't actually writing me (unless God has something to tell me about the sham of a plotline my life currently is). Once you've figured out what you'd do in a scene where you're stuck on what to write next, then bring back all you already know about your OC and modify your own response to become hers.

I didn't plan Amara at all when I put her into Burning Jasmine. My aim was to give Aegon someone that he could call his own in a way no one else in his family was. But I also knew Aegon is a dipshit. So, their first meeting is him basically yelling at her to get him more wine and stop telling him he needs a doctor, and her immediate reaction is girl fuck you, ew. Then, he softens, because the urge to be loved always comes out in the end (see here's where canon existing does help), and then I created Amara's background with the kidnapping from Lys, and how her parents raised her with love, and understood that she would see his anger as a facet of his isolation and vulnerability, not as something independent to him that he wields like a weapon.

Also my last pointer is always going to be the same but read, read, read. I would suggest contemporary books as unlike with fantasy, they're not worldbuilding, all they have are their characters. Learn from them. Get comfortable with inner monologuing for your OC that doesn't constantly revolve around Aemond, and how she is an accessory to him. She's the main character in her head, with a whole inner world of her own, and that'll be the best way to approach it.

If none of this made sense, disclaimer - I'm not the best with advice *-*

[rainba]

I wanna start a blog and you are really inspirational do you have any advice for people making their first blog?:3

(I got a tip for you, and it's pink..../ref)

Awwwe, that’s sweet of you to say! (´｡• ω •｡`) ♡ I do have a little bit of advice for people making their first-time blog!

I would say, to start out with, you should have maaaybe a general play as to what you wanna post? Like, do you want to make just fanfiction? OC content? Etc? You could have a couple of posts planned in a row, and then post them slowly. And if you wanna have a few people notice your stuff, I would say post something as a “hook” of sorts! ( ´ ▽ ` ) I also try to have my posts be a little bit colorful, just so they stand out more... But that's just a me thing.

If you wanna make a blog about one of your OCs, I would say to think about your OCs biggest, most important trait(s), and then really focus on them. After you get the main point in, then you can slowly branch out from there, fleshing out your characters. (≧◡≦) ♡

Like, for me, I think I ended up doing that unintentionally with Kairos– I really focused on how silly and pathetic he is in the fic with him getting naughty with a pillow. (Which… I can’t believe that it has over 1,500 notes?? Silly cute goth/emo boy fucking a pillow might be my magnum opus. Can’t even complain or anything, I actually still like it, hehe ( ´ ꒳ ` ).)

But this is all just general advice–! I’m not even sure if any of it is good advice, really, it’s just something I think I’ve noticed/how I feel.

For advice that I'm confident in, though, here’s a few points!

I’m someone who always feels deeply insecure every time I’m about to post. Like… “Is it good enough? Did I mistype anything? Does the picture look okay enough?” Every time I make something, I find myself stuck in this constant loop of rechecking everything, hoping that I might catch something that’s off. Sometimes I just stare at a piece I’ve made, and I just really don’t like it that much and wanna delete it. My, um... My mouse is forever edging that "post" button. So, here’s my advice on how I’ve been dealing with these kinds of feelings!

“It’s not that serious.” 

Just go ahead and post whatever you want! It doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to be the best thing you’ve ever made. It’s all for fun at the end of the day– it’s really not that serious.

“Just go ahead and post it! The sooner I get this out of the way, the sooner I can work on something else that might be even better!”

After I’ve read over something a couple of times, I usually have to forcefully stop and tell myself that. ^^;;;; The piece you’re making right now might not be perfect, it might not ever be, so… Why fight with it? Writing or drawing anything is good practice, so you can just call it that! Just call it a practice piece, the steppingstone for the next greater thing you’re gonna make. Who knows, when you post a piece, you might eventually come to find that you actually really like it, and you were just fooling yourself as you were editing. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

“Someone out there might really like what I make, so I should share it!”

I swear, for as long as I can remember, I’ve always been a sucker for yanderes. There’s just something about them that has always spoken to my soft, gothic heart… (o˘◡˘o) But, uh, finding good yandere content has always been a struggle!!

For all these years I’ve been hunting for good content, and I hadn’t really found any until the past 2-3 years. But it wasn’t through big, official content or anything– all of my favorite yandere stuff has been created by small little people on the internet. I’m so very thankful that so many talented people have come around and shared their works!! Without it, I feel like I would still be a lost soul, painfully searching through a barren desert, trying to find ‘water’ known as dark romance content of anime boys… wahh. ( ´ ▿ ` )

So, how does that tangent relate to you and your blog? Think of it like this: your blog could be the water in someone’s desert. Your OCs could be everything that somebody is hoping for! Your writing could be the reason why someone excitedly turns on their phone and checks Tumblr every day! There’s no need to be afraid or nervous about posting. Just post what you love– if you love it, then that means somebody out there is going to love it too. 

One of my favorite parts about this blog is sharing what I love with other people who love the same things. Every comment, every reblog with the silly tags, every ask, etc... It all keeps me really motivated. I'm super glad that I'm able to make fellow yandere-lovers happy!! It's an honor!

☆*:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:*☆

(Also, I just really love seeing people make stuff. Creativity is such a beautiful thing to me. A little more on a serious note... I really despise AI art and AI writing. Seeing the joy of creation being slowly dampened and taken away is really disheartening- so I will always encourage people to make and post genuine stuff, no matter what! Please, put your love and your heart out there, simply to spite AI. ~~~)

TLDR: go ahead and post! Just do it!

(Also... Help... What are you referencing? 😭)

[lemm-moxx]

Silly things abt my utmv oc's

(i don't have a specific name for this thing as the "T.U.A" is more a vehicle to interact with the wider multiverse in the story and all of the characters are picked from my other au's so likkeee)

But mainly a kinda(?) in universe analysis of random aspects of these two as i hate just explaining things upfront. WARNING theres a lot

The preceding 2 excerpts are sourced from scattered papers and tapes found in universes generally surrounding the institute (including #11567 #11542 #00145 #10001 and #23479 ) The texts overall are disjointed and nonsensical. creator unknown. [[Ask M.E dept for more info to amend case file.]] 1) He's one of the best men money can provide! He takes orders with out question or thought. Work oriented, highly professional and determined- Really he's what everyone should aim to be in this field. He's worked at the company for 15 years so naturally he's at the top.

Oh ok! I mean that's a good start i suppose, What else is there?

What else.. ? I mean what else is there to say-he's successful. That's it. That's all you need really. Well surely- What about hobbies? Free time? People aren't just their profession. Ok, but why does he need a hobby? He barely has enough free time as it is. And that's wasted sleeping and eating. Well i mean, it fleshes out the character for one? He does nothing when he gets home from work. Not even watch TV? No? Nothing, you mean like actually nothing. Yeah.....? i don't-is there something wrong with that? No- no it- I'm not insulting your writing or anything. It just seems a bit bland.... If I'm honest. 2)

[[TAPE BEGINS]]

I lived in a nervous place, at an anxious town- so it didn't come as a surprise when they all started avoiding me after my brother died. His death was an accident- I mean who leaves a small kid to babysit a toddler? Really, really if your asking me the townspeople killed him. Not me. I just feel like you need to understand why i did it y'know? Anyway I grew up alone. A house on the outskirts of town, they never warmed up to me in the end. I would work in the library day to day, for the money. Nobody came in anyway and because we also sold books i actually had a paycheck. Buy myself food and go home. Rinse and repeated until all stains are washed away. Though, i guess in my case. Some stains are too tough to be washed out. I had heard about human falling down, i was a skeptic of course. It was the smell of dust that scared me at first, every time i walked into town it was there. Nobody ever seemed to need a funeral, that was the confusing part. Maybe a couple monsters went missing day to day, but they were back without a scratch after a while. I put it as something probably explainable. That was until i died- I mean i don't know if i actually died but.. When the human finally found me they seemed, exited. They looked at me like they had found buried treasure, unveiled some kind of hidden secret. And, and I was exited too if I'm honest. Though you wouldn't be able to tell-i was as horrible as i was to anyone on the surface. But he second they stabbed me in my chest. All my sympathies were gone. And, and when i woke up in my bed. Like puzzle pieces. it all clicked y'know? I wasn't strong so i needed some kind of external force, i did it though in the end. I wasn't soppy or friendly like the rest of them, so it was easy. I ruined my clothes but some eggs need to be broken -or whatever they say. When i strutted into town i thought i was a hero. But of course they were ungrateful; couldn't even thank me, i was chased out .And that's when your head archivist found me-and uh that's at. And I appreciate the job offer, really i do! I mean i didn't realise you were lacking in employees from the look of the place, then again i guess the library was the most organised place in Snowdin and I was the only there. I just uh- i need to be in a quiet place for a bit, maybe not here- I just need to think it over really" "That's fine, i'm sure you've had a nasty scare. and there's a lot you need to understand quite fast considering your position. I'll drop you off in one of those timelines for out codes! Yes, yes someone will explain it there" "I'm sorry timeline-" "A month? How's that-is that too much? i apologise if I'm inept. I'm not very good with time these days. Maybe not a whole number, that seems too equal; 2 weeks? How's that. We are desperate for employees for the archive so i would appreciate it if you could come back sooner." "Oh well i uh-Sure, sure! ill take a look through everything on the leaflet you gave me in the mean time." "Oh wonderful! I hope to see you again in the future- hopefully as an employee ha-ha!"

[[TAPE ENDS]]

[ask-commander-arild]

OOC Post:

Hi, there! I'm @jnix-2006 and welcome to my ask blog, ask-commander-arild!! I made this blog for @pkmoth's @motherbound-askapalooza, and I plan on participating the entire month of August, but if it does well, I may continue it!! But, bear with me, because I don't use tumblr much, so this is all very new to me, haha. Before we start, I feel I should give a little bit of introduction to what exactly this is. So, firstly, what exactly is an Arild? Well, Arild is an OC I created for the game Mother 3 (Heavy spoilers btw)! He can be seen below!

Art done by @pinkalliums!!! Go check them out!!

Say hello to Arild Eskildsen! A young Norwegian lad of 15 years old who, through a series of unfortunate events, was once a pigmask. I know his design may look a little... 2015, but the design quite literally came to me in a dream, and I would've been stupid not to use it. Now, as much as I'd love to go into detail about his backstory, I wanna save most of it for the asks. I guess the most basic gist is that he was taken from our time, currently in the 2010's but may change later, from a very young age, and made to be a pigmask. Yippee, child soldier! He goes on to be promoted to captain. But after yet another unfortunate event, he ends up being chimera-ified and he gets promoted to commander, but not of the pigmasks... Of what, you ask? Well, we'll get there. For now, here's him as a captain!

Art also by @pinkalliums!! Seriously, go check them out! >:)

Few things to keep in mind for this blog:

1. I don't have many artistic abilities, unfortunately, so this will be a text only blog. Some friends have kindly made a few pieces for Arild, and I will show them off, but for the most part, there won't be much in the way of visuals. If you feel like making art of him, feel free! I would actually love to see it!!

2. Quite a lot of the stuff here is going to involve my own headcanons for the Mother series, especially post-game Mother 3. For example, in my headcanon, Claus survives and becomes the leader of the army, rebranding it in the name of peace, and that is why Arild is a commander. Basically, since everyone has unique headcanons for the series, you can just consider this an AU.

3. There will be mention of a couple real life places that will have Mother-ified names. With any mention of Norway, the name will changed to Fjordland, on account of its many... fjords. Canada is also an important place within the story, and that I have decided to call Mapleland. Creative, I know. I figured I would bring it up to avoid confusion

4. Feel free to ask whatever! Though, obviously, just make sure it's on topic, of course. Silly questions are easy to answer and will usually be answered quickest! Lore relevant questions are a little trickier and may take me just a bit longer to respond to, but I will be happy to get to them!! Also, RP is okay with me, if you want to!!

5. When it comes to asking questions, please don't be weird or anything. Like... being a former pigmask, Arild is a plus-sized character, so a comment about his weight would not be great. More importantly, absolutely NO NSFW. This character is a minor, and that stuff is not okay to ask. I don't think any of this will be an issue, but it's good to mention just in case

6. I do not speak Norwegian, so if I want to sprinkle it in a little bit, I have only on option. Google Translate. I know, I know... it's not the best, but I will try my best to avoid mistranslations or misuse of phrases. I wouldn't want to be the new version of that one post about the Norwegian Butter Crisis, haha.

If you're still here, thank you for reading until the end!! As said, I've never done something like this before, so this intro is probably super chaotic in comparison to other blogs, haha. I am really excited to get started here! I've always wanted to do an ask blog, and I really needed an excuse to flesh out my OC, so I'd say this is perfect! I'd like to give thanks to all the friends, and my bf, who helped me out on this!! Thank you to Moth for setting this event up! Thank you to Hal and a few others for the art! And also thank you so much to my friend Red who helped me create this character in the first place! He didn't tell me what his tumblr was, but he is @/Doc_Glowstick on Twitter!! Alright, I think I've rambled enough now. I'll probably go through this and change it later, but for now, let the blog begin!!!

[ddarker-dreams]

Hi! I have a question, you can ignore this if you want to but I’ve found myself really loving the way you write and the range of writing you can articulate as well. Speaking from someone who is nowhere close to that level of skill you possess, would you mind being able to explain your journey of writing, if you practiced any particular methods or anything else to get to this stage you are at right now? Unless you have been gifted the talent of writing from birth and didn’t need to try for much long or long enough to call it a journey. Could you also spare some tips and advice for someone who wants to start writing stories and what to look into/practice?

I love your work a lot and I am constantly waiting for the notification of your new posts, despite not being a writer myself I do love breaking down and analysing writing and your stories are always such good options for me to look into. Thank you so much for writing and sparing your time to produce such well done pieces of work — I felt extremely corny writing this, excuse me for this language, I promise I’m not a pimp!

THIS ISN'T CORNY AT ALL!!!! ❌🌽❌!!!!

i'm deeply grateful for all your kind words, thank you so so much 😭

i don't mean this in a self-deprecating way, but i've never considered myself a gifted or super incredible writer, i just get hype about story ideas and try to make them as good as i can. due to that, i start sweating when people ask for advice because i don't consider myself qualified... i do have a writing advice tag, but take everything i say with a grain of salt!! if it's fanfic literally all that matters is that you enjoy whatever you're writing.

i'm more than happy to share my writing journey though!! it's kinda fun to reminiscence.

i've loved reading and writing ever since i was a little lock. while thinking about this ask, it occurred to me that what i've always been the most invested in are the characters. i'd think about 275894275 different storylines with them. i didn't start writing fanfic until i was around 11 though, everything was handwritten. or in flipnote hatena.

i did a lot of fanfic writing from 11-14 buuuut then my interest in it kinda fizzled out. it wasn't until i watched hxh for the first time that i took it up again bc chrollo is that powerful. that's when i started conceptualizing HWR. i looked at my early writing folder, the first HWR fanfic i wrote was in 2016 when i was 15 ?? here's a cursed excerpt:

anyway, once i started making googly eyes at chrollo, it was gg. i've been writing often ever since.

what's helped me the most is to focus on the elements i find interesting. for example, i like fleshing out my MCs, focusing on dialogue, and developing a universe around the main pairing. because i enjoy this so much it's (mostly) always easy to devote time and effort toward it.

so i think it comes down to finding out what niches you like and working with those. some writers prefer to write with heavy prose, others are more succinct, some writers like dialogue, others prefer to be more action based... etc etc. this does require a little time if you're completely new to writing, but you know yourself best. you'll eventually pick up on what part of the story you're most excited to write.

this isn't particularly mind-blowing or anything but i hope it helps some 😭 what completely Altered my mindset was when i realized i can be as self-indulgent as humanly possible. cringe is not in my vocabulary. write a MC where every single character is in love with them if you want. write a 100k word fic about your OC being isekaid into x world. post about your f/os, draw art of you with your fav, go ham.

[dinxieyinxie]

I beg ya tell me about your OC Yonal and Snape, I need to know about them.

omg,, my heart is so full rn qwq i didn't really expect anyone would be interested in them so idk where to start DFHFDHJ

Yonal isn't fully fleshed-out yet but I made a post sometime ago about them to kickstart their story and a snippet of their friendship with Snape but I'd like to add a few new info for their lore (I did mention that I'd delve deeper into their friendship) so buckle up!

(I am not well-versed with words so lmk if you'd like me to clarify something! ><)

Their friendship is something these two weren't expecting at all tbh and the fact that they managed to build such a strong foundation is somewhat peculiar to me, in a way that they have the most contrasting personalities that it even clashes from time to time but still having that "homey", cozy feeling about it. Yonal being carefree and chaotic, the type to just "go-with-the-flow", and thinks that the glass is half-full while Severus is completely on the other side of the spectrum, with him looking at everything realistically and pessimistically at the same time. I could describe their relationship as:

Sun and Moon

Yin and Yang

Achilles and Patroclus

Red String of Fate

There's more but they're basically rocking that "opposites attract" typa energy HAHAHA

Yonal is most of the time, if not, completely, unaffected by Severus' attitude but rather he (Yonal goes by he/they!) chooses to respect and understand why Severus is like that and would even offer insight in which Sev would always be taken aback. (Not saying Linx is a dunderhead but he can be quite clueless LOL) I like to think Severus learns to accept Yonal the way he is and even appreciate it (He wouldn't outright admit it tho)

There's a lot of things Yonal and Severus don't particularly agree in but there are a few that allows them to connect with each other like the thirst for knowledge, great interest for the Wizarding World, socks, dead-beat dads, loneliness, and other things that I cannot think at the top of my head rn hehe

Idk if I've mentioned this already but even though Yonal loves being an absolute headache to Severus, he deeply respects that raven-haired mf and wouldn't dare ruin their deeply-rooted friendship in any way. I explained in this post how he's willing to bend his habits for him and it is still true to this day!

What fascinates me about them is that they definitely keep each other grounded in a sense that they have that ability to calm each other's turbulent souls, which opens to a lot of vulnerable moments. Something that both of them don't really allow themselves to be in. I like to think they'd grow closer as they confide with one another. Sometimes, home is a person.

Back in the day, they had underlying feelings with each other but these two dumb mfs didn't want to poke and probe in fear that it might end the bond that they have so they set these emotions aside but it does slip out sometimes teehee! In present times, the old flame ignited on its own and over the course of the time they have together, I think it's safe to say that they'll eventually finally confront these feelings and get it over with. But for now, I'm evil and love to hurt myself so im subjecting them to a slow-burn love (angst included!) <333

There's much more that I want to spew but I think that would be for another time. Honestly, I just want Snape to be happy bc God forbids he have peace in his depressing life

As a treat, here's a silly one I made uwu