#'however; I love him regardless and he's fictional so people who really love me will not be upset if I rant occasionally'

[teaandinanity]

... what kind of ignoramus designed the EA app. Was this designed by a committee of corporate twits with too many business degrees and a complete dearth of common sense? Having to GO ONLINE to enable OFFLINE MODE is the stupidest fucking thing I have ever heard of in my life. Do you know when I need offline mode? Do you, incomprehensible moron from planet idiot who designed this feature? WHEN I DO NOT HAVE GODDAMN INTERNET ACCESS.

In conclusion I hope the fuckwit(s) responsible for this step on a lego and fall down a (short) flight of stairs in front of three people they respect and acquire a RAFT of bruises to both their bodies and egos both, amen.

[idksmtms]

willow (Cillian Murphy x Actress!reader) - evermore series

evermore series

A/N: I had an idea up on my masterlist about falling in love with Cillian while filming a movie so I just decided to merge it with this. Also I saw the picture of him and Emily Blunt walking in costume on the set of Oppenheimer and I thunk thoughts. (sidenote: I cannot write a summary to save my life) 

Extra info: I never say the title of the movie you guys are filming in the fic because I didn’t really want to get too detailed about it, but then I thought of the plot of The Delinquent Season the entire time lmao (I just changed random things because I’m a sucker for an age gap). Also, we’re pretending Oppenheimer hasn’t happened yet because it works for the story. 

Edit: I feel like the ending sucks but I’m too tired to change it. Sorry. 

Summary: When you met Cillian Murphy on set, you were already a fan. When you left, you were so much more…

Word count: 9,772  (oh my gosh I went so overboard with this…) 

Trigger Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, profanity, age gap, PinV sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, toxic!Cillian, like 0 communication between characters, secret relationship, not proofread but they never are (please let me know if I missed any) 

Disclaimer: This is written purely for fictional purposes and for the sake of writing. No disrespect is intended to the real people portrayed/concerned in this scenario. 

Always appreciate comments, likes, and reblogs :)

You met Cillian Murphy for the first time five hours before you kissed him. Despite being cast in the lead female role, you were a rather late addition to the movie. Issues had come up with the actress initially cast and you had gotten a phone call about two months before shooting started to get yourself to the studio to sign contracts and start costume fittings. This was an amazing opportunity, and regardless of the rush, you were excited to have it. You had been in movies before, of course, but this was your first lead role and if you did a good enough job, it could skyrocket your career trajectory. Aside from all the good things it could do for your career, you were simply excited to get to work, and to get to work with such a good cast and filmmaker. 

On top of all of that, you would be working closely alongside the Cillian Murphy. When you were told that he was to be your costar, you had been in shellshock for a moment before pressing an obnoxious kiss to your agent’s cheek. Cillian Murphy was one of those actors that only came around once in a lifetime. He was only in tasteful, and well done projects, playing a variety of the most interesting characters you had ever watched. You had seen Peaky Blinders, Inception, Dunkirk, and though you had no interest in superhero movies, you sat down and watched all three Batman movies just to watch him play a villain. In the few interviews you had done up to now, you had mentioned once or twice that you believed him to be the best actor of your lifetime, someone who was left unrecognised at awards shows but deserved all of them and more (as you walked onto set for the first time, you really hoped he hadn’t seen any of those interviews). So, to say you were a fan before the movie might have been an understatement, but you had worked with other people who you were fans of before, and Tom Glynn-Carney only had nice things to say about you afterward; you could be professional and a fan. 

You had been put up in a hotel the night before you were to be driven to the studio lot, your new home for however long you were going to be filming there, and in the morning a polite chauffeur arrived in a blacked out car to take you there. You felt a little giddy during the drive, as you always did before starting a new project. You hadn’t learnt the rhythms of the set yet, the director’s process, whether it would be a rush of technical work or a more relaxed set. You hadn’t worked with most of the other actors, you didn’t know how they approached the job, whether they were welcoming and friendly or preferred to focus on the job then return to solitude. It was all the unknowns that made your stomach feel swoopy, but you had come to like the feeling, viewed it as a challenge, the beginnings of an investigation to learn about your job and home for the rest of the duration of the project. 

You were deposited into the custody of one of the many assistants running around, and hurriedly walked to your trailer with a warning that you would only have five minutes to put your things down, change into your costume, possibly have a sip of water, before you would be taken to hair and makeup and given your costume. You smiled brightly at her, nodding and affirming her over and over that you understood. Your first actual job on a movie set had been as an assistant, you knew her job was hard enough without an actor giving her attitude, so you simply followed her. 

The area you walked through was like the other studio lots you had been to before, large buildings that looked like warehouses on the outside but probably held the coolest sets or the most intricate technology on the inside. People drove around in golf carts, some assistants sprinted while yelling down the phone, others hurriedly rolled clothing racks between buildings. You could see someone giving an interview in the distance but they were too far away for you to tell who it was. 

The trailer you were led to was in a wide space filled with other trailers, what you imagined the setup area for a circus looked like. It was bland and white on the outside, your name in big letters surrounded by the shape of a star (some intern clearly had fun with Canva) on the door, and you felt that bubble of excitement all over again. You let the assistant open the door for you, thanking her and shooting her a smile as if inviting her to join in on the excitement you felt before stepping in. It was exactly as you had expected it to be, and that made you happier than anything else. There was a small kitchenette area with cupboards and a minifridge. A counter separated it from a little seating area, couch seats against either wall, before a tiny hallway (which could barely be called a hallway) that had the door to the bathroom on one side and led into a little bedroom (which was just a bed with a little space on the side to walk and nothing else). Your clothes were hung up on a little hook on the bathroom door. 

You deposited your tote bag on the counter and went to the minifridge, pulling out a bottle of water and taking a big gulp. Ice cold and delicious. You scrunched yourself up and did a happy little jump and squeal because you were living the dream, and nothing could be better than that. You messaged your parents and friends that you had arrived, sent pictures and a little video of the trailer, before picking up your costume and getting into the little bedroom to change. 

It was a simple pair of mom jeans, well fitted and slightly higher than your ankle, accompanied with a plain white blouse that had blue detailing around the neck and off the shoulder sleeves that ended just after your elbow, something you could imagine a mum wearing on vacation in Greece. It was comfortable, and you made a little note to ask the costume designer where she got the pieces because it may or may not have been the best pair of jeans you had ever worn. 

You were able to take another big gulp of water before a knock and a voice at the door was telling you to get to hair and makeup. The trailer for hair and makeup was closer to the actual block of buildings you would be filming in, and a little golf cart was ready to take you there. You let out a little laugh as you settled yourself inside, chatting with the driver as he manoeuvred around people and other obstacles to get you there. 

It was quieter in this corner of the studio, more people walking than running, less things being shifted around in a hurry, and you felt a sense of calm in the air (or at least whatever semblance of calm one could get on a movie set). The driver stopped right in front of the doors and you thanked him, laughing at the parting joke he told you about a dog getting loose in the lot. You went up the first two steps for the trailer when the door swung open and you had to jump back to avoid being slammed into the wall with it. Someone came walking out with their head down, turning back to smile at someone else who had wished them goodluck from within the trailer. They paused when they finally noticed you, and you opened your mouth to say something but not a word came out. They smiled with a huff of a chuckle, and all you could think was that he was so much more beautiful in person than what any camera could capture. 

“I hope I didn’t whack you with the door,” he winced apologetically and you just took a deep breath in, shaking your head then breathing out quickly and laughing at yourself. 

“No, no, I just managed to avoid it,” you breathed out, giggling because your stomach was suddenly tingling and you couldn’t quite feel your hands (or maybe you could feel them too much). 

“Oh, good,” he nodded, “would not have been a good way to introduce myself. Cillian Murphy,” he held out his hand, smiling and polite, his eyes piercing through your skin. They were so bright, so blue. You blinked then kept staring into them as you brought your hand gently into his, hoping your grip wasn’t too limp nor too firm. 

“Y/n L/n, it is so nice to meet you. I’m sorry, I’m trying really hard to hide how starstruck I am and I think I’m failing,” you admitted, cheeks suddenly burning. You always talked when you were nervous, which meant you always overshared when you were nervous. But he just laughed, a deep chuckle that made his chest shake and drew your attention to it. He was broader than you, and wearing a cosy looking black sweater that you desperately wanted to push your face against and feel rub against your cheek. The sleeves had been pushed up to his elbows and you could see the round collar of a white t-shirt poking out at the neck. 

“Don’t worry, you were doing a good job so far, until you admitted it anyway,” he did that little huff-laugh again and you pressed a hand to your face, scrunching your eyes shut in shame at the bombardment of thoughts running through your head that made you feel brainless at the same time. 

“Alright, well then,” you laughed, shaking your head and stepping to the side so he could finally walk past you (which you thought he had wanted to do the entire time but was too polite to point out). “I’m sorry for keeping you trapped here, I’ll let you go wherever you need to go Mr. Murphy.” 

“Please, it’s Cillian,” he frowned in that way that said ‘don’t bother with such formality’, and waved the hand in the air that was carrying his script as if to bat the title away. 

“Right, sorry, Cillian,” and you smiled brightly because he was looking at you with those beautiful, beautiful, eyes, and watched him walk down the steps, wave back at you, run a hand through his hair that had been styled messily, and head for the door of the first building. 

When he had disappeared through the door, you slammed the heel of your hand against your forehead until it stung a little and made it feel like your brain had moved around in your head, grumbling “Mr. Murphy? Seriously? You’re an adult too, ya know? You can call people by their first names now, for fuck’s sake.” 

Cillian chewed on his lip as he sat in the foldable chair on set, waiting for everything else to be set up, his co-star to arrive, and the director to start dictating everything. He enjoyed these few minutes before filming, they helped him focus in on the set, get into the mind of his character, evaluate the situation and what would be needed from him. But he had a little extra time today, and he didn’t mind either because his mind was a little distracted. 

He didn’t think he had ever been called ‘Mr. Murphy’ by a co-star, and it made him laugh because it felt a little ridiculous, but it also made him wonder if you were just young or overly respectful. A quick google search told him you were younger, much younger, but didn’t necessarily answer the question. 

Regardless, he liked you, thus far anyway. He liked the way you looked, your hair was pretty and you had kind eyes, and you smelled nice, a soft flowery perfume. And he liked your voice too, a little loud sometimes, a little too quiet others, but it was nice. He hadn’t seen any of your movies, but he was feeling positive about you. Perhaps too positive, but he shut down that thought process with a snap. 

The makeup artist was best friends with the hairdresser and they were both some of the sweetest people you had ever met. They chatted with you the entire time, laughed at your story of embarrassing yourself in front of Cillian, comforted you that he was a nice, easygoing man who wouldn’t hold it against you, and offered you the little snacks they had lying around. Your hair was put into a simple braid, slicked down with pommade to control the flyaways you were plagued with, and the makeup was so natural you would question if you were wearing any if you hadn’t been there while she was rubbing and brushing the products onto your face. 

The costume designer had left some jewellery for you with them, and they helped you clasp the necklace and earrings while you rummaged in your bag for your script. The director had come in while your hair was being done and told you about some of the last-minute changes to the script and the scenes that were being filmed. The ‘first kiss’ scene was going to be filmed at the end of the day instead of in two weeks time because of scheduling complications and the intimacy coordinator would work with you and Cillian during the break at midday while they filmed some of the scenes that didn’t have either of you in them. You had simply nodded, you couldn’t have argued anyway, you didn’t have any authority here even if you had a lead role, and just told him you’d look over your script and mark it out. He had patted you on the shoulder with a smile and hurried back out and you had resisted the urge to press your face into your hands lest you ruin the makeup. 

Of course you were a little annoyed, you had been told to prepare for certain scenes and those were the scenes you had prepared for, but as you took deep breaths and rifled through the many pieces of advice your therapist had given you, you knew this wasn’t a problem to waste your feelings on. They would be lenient because of the last minute change, and if they weren’t originally then they would have to be because you weren’t a magician. A few deep breaths and reading your lines for the first scene you would be filming calmed you down and returned you to the necessary headspace for filming. 

You thanked both the makeup artist and hairdresser, then put in your headphones as you slowly walked toward the set. You needed to be in a sombre mood, needed to feel that apathy and sadness clawing at the edges of your mind. Your character was struggling, her life was falling apart and she felt like she had no solution, only minor escapes during her trysts with Jim, Cillian’s character. You tucked the script under your arm as you got to the set, taking out your earbuds and looking around for the director. You met eyes with Eva Birthistle who smiled widely and waved at you, excusing herself from the assistant director and walking over to you. 

“Hello, hello!” She hugged you tightly and you returned the greeting against her shoulder. 

Eva was the only member of the cast you had gotten to meet before filming began. One of your fittings had been at the same time as hers and you both had gotten to chatting about the movie. She was an absolute sweetheart, someone you could see as a mentor for yourself, and you were glad to see a familiar face on the set other than the director, a bonus that it was one as welcoming as hers. She wrapped her arm over your shoulder and led you over to the cluster of chairs behind the camera where Cillian was already seated, chatting with Andrew Scott. They both looked up and smiled at the two of you as you came and sat down on the remaining two chairs, Eva already engaging them in conversation. 

Looking at all of them sitting there, it hit you for the first time that you were the youngest person here, in both age and experience. These were all people who had done multiple movies in a variety of roles, had been acting by the time you were born, and had made names for themselves. A wave of shyness hit you that you scolded yourself for, your cheeks burning as you sat down and shook hands with Andrew. Thankfully, the wave didn’t last, because Eva and Andrew were chatty, and both ready to include you in the conversation. 

You were glad for this little moment, though it took you out of the headspace of the character you were trying to settle into. These were all people you would be acting closely with, yelling at or kissing on camera for the next few months, and the more comfortable you could get with them the better. 

Andrew was sweet, asking you questions about past jobs, the interview process, how you felt about your character, an endless supply of questions, jokes, and responses that made him an instant friend. Eva chimed in with her own stories and jokes, piling on top of his and making you laugh until your stomach hurt. Cillian was quieter, only speaking when directly spoken to or simply laughing along with the jokes, but his simple presence was enough for you to feel warm in your bones and excited at the prospect of acting with him. He was so nonchalant, so calm and focused but not deterrent or rude. While you seemed to learn a multitude about both Eva and Andrew, you learnt little about Cillian other than that he preferred living in Ireland to anywhere else. 

You thought maybe it was better that you didn’t get to know him too much. It would make the intimate scenes feel less personal, less intense. He genuinely was one of the most beautiful people you had ever seen and it was too easy for an actor to fall prey to the emotions of a scene in real life. You didn’t want to suddenly be sitting there after a sex scene wondering how similar it was to the real deal with him. You were here to do your job and nothing more. 

The conversation had quieted down as different checks were done on set and it was almost time for you all to convene with the director to get filming started. Cillian was reading quietly from his script, a pair of rectangular glasses with rounded edges and dark rims sat on his nose as he rubbed his index finger back and forth across his bottom lip. You watched him for a moment, the soft movement of his lips as he silently formed the words. Then the director was calling you all up and you felt like you were being snapped out of a trance you hadn’t known you had entered in the first place. 

“Alright, you guys have had a small dinner get-together at Jim and Danielle’s house. This is a sort of regular thing, every couple of weeks, maybe once a month, you have this dinner get-together. You’re all sitting at the dining table across from each other, picking at the final pieces of your meals. Jim and Danielle’s children are asleep upstairs and you guys are simply drinking wine and talking.” He walked you all over to the dining table and pointed out the seats, sitting you down first next to Eva before scrapping the idea and having you sit across from her and beside Andrew. Once you had all been assigned your seats, he turned to Eva and Cillian. 

“You two have been married for a long time, you have two children, you’re in a place in your lives where you believe you’re simply secure in your relationship, but if anyone pokes into this it’s fragile, and you’re not sure if you’re secure and still in love, or you’re just going through the motions of a life you have lived for a long time and don’t actually enjoy. You don’t question anything anymore, just go to work, come home, kiss each other, cook dinner, have a little chat before bed, and do it all over again, day by day.” Then he turned to you and Andrew. He looked at you for a moment before reaching out, pausing just before touching you and silently asking if it was alright. You nodded happily, and he gently pulled your braid to rest over one of your shoulders, moved the pendant on your necklace so it rested a little more to the left, and pulled one of your sleeves a little further down so just the edge of your bra strap was exposed. 

“You two have also been married for a while, but things are a little different. You married Chris right after graduating uni, most of your adult life has been married life. Chris is older, was already pushing forty when you guys got married. All of your friends are his age, mostly couple friends, and you’ve always felt pushed into this older, more mature role, that you don’t necessarily feel successful in. You lean on him quite a bit during these situations, deferring to him to answer difficult questions or when talking about your family life. Chris takes this in stride, it’s how it has always been in your relationship, even after years of marriage and a child. Chris is struggling silently recently, he’s easier to anger, feels a little distant, but honestly? You don’t even realise. You don’t know what he’s hiding, you don’t even know that he’s hiding anything. Andrew, the weight of the disease, hiding it from his family, all those private struggles, are always in the back of Chris’s mind, ok?” Both of you nodded and as you went to sit down at the table, he beckoned you and Cillian over to the side saying, “just a moment.” 

Cillian stood next to you with his arms crossed, the black sweater still pushed up to his elbows, and the edge just brushed against the skin of your arm. You shivered and stretched out your neck for a moment, a nervous tick, before returning your eyes to the director speaking in a low voice. 

“Alright, you two are sitting diagonally to each other at the table. You guys take the term ‘friends’ loosely. You’re friends because she’s friends with Danielle and you’re Danielle’s husband. You’re friends because you’re both couples who are friends, but you’ve never spoken to each other without your spouses in the room. Ok? But there is a little bit of intrigue, I guess. You glance at each other, not for long, just barely a look, or you meet eyes while one of you is talking to the group. I don’t want chemistry, I want the possibility of chemistry. Jim is laidback, especially compared to her husband. She’s pretty and young, especially compared to the other people at the table. I don’t want to notice anything between you yet, I want to come back and watch the movie one day in the future and suddenly notice that there’s something there, but too subtle to hint at the future affair. Ok?” You nodded as he spoke, feeling yourself settle into that focus you usually found just before filming, no more smile and twinkle in your eye. “Alright, break a leg,” and he was walking back to the cameras. You turned to Cillian for a second and he nodded at you, those eyes that you would never forget looking over your face for a moment before he headed for his seat at the table. You clenched your jaw for a second, staring at his back as he walked away, before shaking your head and holding it up high on your way to the table. 

“Alright, change costumes, change the lighting, we’re moving to the living room scene for the next couple of hours, I need the kids and Eva there, please. Cillian and Y/n, head down to studio three after changing, the intimacy coordinator is already there, you have a couple of hours to get it together before we start filming. Hop to it everyone!” 

You were happy to be moving on. Though you had been in films that took even longer for singular scenes, you were starting to feel stale in that environment and reverting to the exact same routine over and over. An assistant was quick to come up alongside you and direct you back to hair and makeup. 

“Your costume is already there, and once everything’s been changed, someone else will come get you to take you to studio three,” he told you, not once looking at you but rather at the clipboard in his hand filled with typed and handwritten notes. 

“Ok, thank you,” you nodded, watching the assistant nod goodbye before doubling back to find Cillian to relay the same information. You stood still and watched him for a moment, the glasses tucked into the neck of his sweater as he nodded at the assistant. 

The longer hair looked good on him, you thought. It was going a little grey in the places around his ears but you liked it more that way. His cheekbones cast shadows on his face in the dim light, but you could still see the faint freckles over his nose and the very light smattering he had on his neck. You could even see the freckles on his forearms and it made something warm bloom in your stomach. He looked up and directly at you. Those eyes… those eyes you could spend hours talking about, uncaring that you probably repeated yourself multiple times simply because of how beautiful they were. You smiled, something that could just barely be considered a smile with only the corners of your lips twitching up for barely a moment and your eyes fluttering, before turning away and walking out of the studio. 

You ended up changing in the corner of the hair and makeup trailer, both the women standing with their backs turned to you as they organised pins and palettes and chatted away. Your next costume was a set of oversized mauve-coloured pyjamas that felt a little too thin for your liking. You were a little relieved that it was only the first kissing scene being filmed. You had read the entire script twice over, and you knew about the other scenes to come that required a lot more of you. You had only ever filmed one ‘intimate’ scene before, and even that had only been a rather simple kissing scene. While this scene was definitely more than that, it didn’t feel as big of a leap on the first day simply because it cut off after the kiss. 

Your hair was let down from its braid, mussed up with the hairdresser’s hands and sprayed with hairspray. All your makeup was wiped off before they went to work again. Dabs of eyeshadow in strategic places made your eyes look slightly puffy, like you just woke up from a haggard sleep. Purple under eyes appeared out of nowhere and the faintest bruise was brought to life on your right cheekbone. Little dabs of red on your lips made them look bitten and your nails were chopped roughly to look like you had been chewing on them on and off. Again, you thanked the women and in a simple pair of slippers made your way outside to meet with the assistant responsible for guiding you to studio three. 

It looked like a school drama studio on the inside, with blackout curtains hung all the way around, a black linoleum floor and big wood blocks wrapped in fuzzy material pushed to the edges of the room. You would have taken your shoes and socks off outside the room out of habit if you had known what it looked like on the inside. You smiled to yourself at the thought, before quickly shuffling over to where Cillian stood talking to two women who looked like the opposites of each other. One was dressed in plain white pants, a white blouse tucked neatly into said pants, and a cream coloured cardigan. The other wore a poncho-style dress that fluttered as she moved her arms and was covered in dizzying bohemian patterns. Ten necklaces were draped over her chest, anything from chains to rope, and she had a bandana neatly wrapped to keep her hair out of her face. 

“Hi! I hope I’m not late!” You called, stopping just beside Cillian and smiling at the two women who looked old enough to be your grandmothers (the realisation that you would be making out with someone right in front of them was not a pleasant one). 

“Not at all, we were just talking about boundaries,” Poncho Lady told you warmly, reaching out to shake your hand. The one in the cardigan followed suit, though she was quieter, and you simply smiled brightly at both of them before waiting for instruction.

“Alright, give your scripts here and just stand in front of each other.” Poncho Lady gently pried the script from your hand, took your tote bag from your shoulder, and set them both down on one of the wood blocks Cardigan Lady had pulled over. “Ok, so we’re just here to make sure you don’t feel uncomfortable doing this scene, that no one pushes past any hard boundaries, and to make it seem natural without being unprofessional. Now, before you get to it, is there any place on your body that you would be uncomfortable with your partner touching?” You shook your head and watched Cillian mimic the reaction. 

Awkwardness was cloying at the back of your neck and you desperately wanted to open your mouth and make a stupid comment about how it would just look weird in the movie if he grabbed you between the legs anyway, and it took every ounce of your willpower to keep your mouth shut. “Alright! Let’s get started then! We’ll interrupt when needed.” You turned to fully face Cillian, tilting your head back slowly when you realised how close he was standing. He was still wearing the same jeans and sweater, but the shirt underneath had been changed to a black one, the neck perpetually poking out. 

You dipped your head down again, pressing your hand to your face as you began rambling about how stupid you were and how insane it was for you to be asking him to have an affair with you. Your eyes were squeezed so tight you could see white flashes on the backs of your eyelids. Then, gently, he was interrupting you, voice low as he told you that it was fine, everything was fine, you did nothing wrong, he completely understood, you were tired, emotional after everything. But you kept berating, spitting out words about how he was so good looking and so loyal and you were you, a horrible friend and obviously never a second thought on his mind. And then he was cutting you off, rambling in return about how you’re a beautiful woman, and he can’t lie that he hasn’t thought about you, he’s a man who can appreciate beauty after all. But he could see that you weren’t calming down, could see you slowly folding in on yourself in your panic. Then he was grabbing your hand. Gentle, soft fingers wrapping around your wrist, skin warm and making your own feel tingly. You took a deep breath, your chest visibly shaking, and he brought his other hand to your chin, slowly tilted your head back up to look him in the eye with his fingertips. You blinked, eyes big and wide, and he pressed your hand to his chest, covering it with his own. 

The sweater was so soft under your fingertips, and you desperately wanted it for yourself. His palm was warm on top of yours, warm and firm and unrelenting. You tuned into the sensation of his heart, a wild beating, and your face changed to just hint at concern. 

“Can you feel that?” He asked, voice so low it was almost a whisper. 

“It’s racing,” you breathed out, flexing your fingers against his chest so they caught a bit more of the material of his sweater. 

“Yeah,” he huffed out with a smile, and you moved just a little closer, reaching down to grab his other hand and pressing it to your own chest. His fingertips were a little cold, and your entire body shivered, a small sound leaving your lips. Your fingers were slightly threaded with his, and you pressed his palm to the place where your collar split away and exposed your chest. His hand covered so much of your chest, his pinky and index dipping under the fabric, and was so gentle on its own that you pressed it more firmly against the skin. You wanted his fingerprints imprinted on your skin. He breathed out shakily, almost loudly, and your next breath mimicked it as you closed your eyes. It was so hot in the room.

Both of you stood there feeling each other’s heartbeats for a moment, his head dipped lower so your foreheads almost touched. You were standing so close you could feel each other’s breaths against your lips and the sides of your noses just brushed every so often. He gulped, licking his lips as sweat began to build on the back of his neck and the need to rip the sweater off was soaring in priority in his mind. Your lips just brushed each other, cupid's bows just grazing- 

“Alright, so that’s where you say ‘feel my breast’ and begin guiding his hand under your shirt,” Poncho Lady interjected, looking up from the script in her hands. 

You let go of Cillian’s hand and stepped back quickly. It felt like stepping into an air conditioned room from a hot sunny day outside. Your insides were still warm, and the heat that had been tinging your skin hadn’t completely gone away, but you were more awake, more aware. You licked your lips and gave a small smile that you hoped didn’t betray the sudden embarrassment falling upon you. 

You had been in the scene, you had been lost in it. There had been times before when you were acting and when stopped abruptly felt like you were suddenly reentering your body, like your soul had been extracted for a few moments into a different person and then quickly pulled back and thrust into its original form. But this was a different level. This had been you and not you at the same time. You had been doing those things, had wanted to do those things, but you were also being controlled by something outside yourself, being told to do those things. You quietly excused yourself, saying you had left your water bottle in the hair and makeup trailer and would just quickly run and get it. As you turned back one last time at the door, you watched Cillian run a hand through his hair and smile at Poncho Lady as if nothing had happened since he had walked into the room. 

After the door closed behind you, Cillian happened to glance at your tote bag on the block, and saw your water bottle peaking out. He laughed quietly to himself as he sat down next to it. 

He understood how you were feeling. Intimate scenes were always hard, regardless of how many times an actor has done it. Especially intimate scenes when two people have palpable chemistry. If Poncho Lady hadn’t interrupted, he would have kissed you right then. 

Usually kisses between actors were saved for only when they were filming, but he had been lost in that scene, lost in you. Your eyes, teary and pained and so big, were so authentic that it had been easy to fall into his role, the saviour, the anchor. And as you guys had stepped closer and closer, and his senses were bombarded so much, he had lost himself more and more. Your perfume from earlier had worn off, but your skin smelt so good, like cocoa butter body wash. 

From his line of sight, he could see a sliver of your neck where your hair had fallen behind your shoulder. In the moment a sudden, impulsive thought had flashed in his mind, the intense need to lean down and press his mouth to your neck, to kiss it and let his tongue just poke out and drag over the skin. He could even see it now as he sat and waited for you to return, the place where your neck joined your head and the skin went up to behind your ear. He closed his eyes and let himself linger there. 

Then the scene moved on and so did the little movie in his mind. Your hand in his, so soft and gentle as it settled against his chest. Then his hand in yours, your fingertips slightly sweaty and shaking. For a moment he had considered letting his hand stay limp, wanting to see how you would manage to drag the weight of his arm, but that was another intrusive thought that had to be pushed away. 

The skin on your chest was firm but with how firmly you held his hand against it he could feel the slight give of your flesh. His finger had just barely stroked your collarbone as his hand had rested there and he had wanted to move his hand so much more, to so many other places. Up to your neck to feel the soft skin there, to see if he could make you do that full-body shiver again. Down to your breasts, to the delicate skin stretched over them and then to cup them, to feel the weight of them in his hands. 

Cillian opened his eyes and took your water bottle in his hands, opening it and drinking from it as you came back into the room. You looked directly at him and he smiled at the wide-eyed, almost scandalised, look you gave him. He brought the bottle down and screwed the cap back on, putting it right-way up on the block for you to clearly see. He could see a little flush in your cheeks, and watched you rub the tips of your ears with a mischievous smile. 

Poncho and Cardigan Lady didn’t even notice that you returned without a water bottle. 

The intimacy coordinators only made you rehearse the scene two more times before letting you go. They said you both seemed comfortable enough, that you understood what the other person was and wasn’t comfortable with and you were left to your own devices. You left without a glance back and told an assistant you would be heading back to your trailer. She nodded, telling you that someone would come get you for touch ups on your makeup in an hour, and then you walked the entire way back to the makeshift trailer park. 

You only got about fifteen minutes on your own before someone was knocking on the door. You had washed all the makeup off, reasoning that you could simply head back early on your own and give them the time to do it all over again. As you walked, you tied your hair up in a ponytail, awkwardly opening the door with one hand. Cillian smiled politely up at you, arms crossed over his chest and you simply stared at him with wide eyes, blinking stupidly. 

“Hi,” his smile was jovial and infectious, but the one you offered in return felt forced. You felt so awkward around him now, as if you had violated some trust by being so caught up in the moment. “I thought we could walk around a little bit, get to know each other. I think it helps a little bit when filming roles like these.” You paused, fidgeting with the door handle. 

You had really wanted to take a nap, to reset yourself before filming the scene all over again. But this was such an enticing invitation. And maybe it would help you push past all this awkwardness. Maybe getting to know the other actor was better than not knowing. Maybe feeling connected worked better because you had more to think about, more defence in the moment. 

You nodded, holding up your finger for him to wait a moment so you could put your sneakers on and deposit your slippers in your tote bag. He waited patiently, leaning against the outside of the trailer while thumbing through the script. You hopped down the steps and waited for him to take the first stride before following alongside him, taking a winding path back up to the studios. 

“What do you keep in this all-important tote bag?” He asked, eyes squinting in the sun as he teasingly tugged on one of the straps. 

“Oh, heh, just little on-set essentials. Phone, headphones, little snack,” you paused, “my water bottle,” you added quietly, pursing your lips as you watched his smile widen. 

“That’s quite a nice idea, I should think about getting my own,” he nodded as he spoke, and you just smiled. Both of you walked for a little bit without saying anything, and just as the urge to open your mouth and spew out whatever comment happened to be on the tip of your tongue became almost unbearable, Cillian spoke again. “Have you filmed scenes like this before?” He asked, and you knew there were other questions behind it, insinuations. You felt embarrassed all over again, wrapping your arms around yourself and looking straight ahead to the path you were walking. 

“Um, once. And it wasn’t even this intense. I was working on this show, a supporting role with a romantic storyline. I was working with Tom Glynn-Carney?” He let out a little ‘ah’ nodding his head in recognition, muttering a ‘good lad’. “Yeah, it was really small, like a chaste ‘this guy has been my boyfriend for the past two years and I’m just leaving for work’ kind of kiss.” He laughed at that, genuine and melodic, as he looked at the floor and shook his head before looking up to the sky like he was exasperated with your silliness. “And Tom’s really sweet so it went really well, but this has a lot more expectation on it. It feels like going from the kids' pool to the deep end.” You chose to leave out the fact that his very good looks and insane acting abilities made it that much more difficult. 

Both of you paused for a moment, turning to each other in the late afternoon light. He stared at you and you wrapped your arms around yourself again, suddenly feeling like you were exposed to the elements. Slowly, he reached up and pressed the tip of his index finger to your cheek just under your eye. You stared at him, at his lips as he breathed in, and the moment was so slow, so natural, that for a moment you considered stepping forward and kissing him. But someone hit fast-forward again and he pulled back, holding up his finger to you. 

“I’m sorry, you had an eyelash,” he explained. “Make a wish,” he whispered, holding it close to your lips and you waited a beat, looking into his eyes as you leaned closer and blew the little eyelash away. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You turned and began walking quickly, a rain of dread suddenly drizzling onto your shoulders. Maybe it was a premonition, maybe it was delusion, but something told you that all these moments were leading to something and you wouldn’t necessarily come out of it for the better. 

You pressed his hand to your chest, breathing in slowly and looking into his eyes as if everything you’ve ever wanted was held there. His fingers flexed, just slightly, and you began to move it down, dipping it under the edge of the pyjama shirt. 

“Feel my breast,” you whispered, guiding his hand into your shirt until you could feel it searing the flesh of your breast. He was breathing heavily now, chest shaking as he pressed even closer to you, moving his head so his nose lightly brushed your nose. You tilted your head up further so your lips were aligned and only a little move was necessary to connect them. You looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, thoughts racing, trying to decipher what the other person was thinking but also knowing exactly the thoughts that rain through their head, peaking themselves out into their eyes. And then he was kissing you, mouth slightly open, pressing your bottom lip between his. You moved the hand on his chest up to cup the side of your neck, steadying yourself as he gripped onto your chest and devoured your mouth. And his tongue was in your mouth, delving in and pressing to yours, and you couldn’t breathe but you didn’t want to either and his thumb was pressing against your nipple and your entire body was tingling and- 

“Cut! That was perfect, guys!” 

You pulled away slowly, so so slowly. Your lips still stuck to his a little as you moved away. His hand was almost lethargic in its pace to snake out of your shirt, and you moved your own down from his neck to his chest before bringing it back down to your side. You were both breathing heavily, glancing away from each other then back, away then back before you finally turned away and walked off the set toward the chairs and cameras. You licked your lips as you walked, trying to savour the taste of him. 

The director let you all go for the evening, telling you he’d see you all bright and early on the other side of the studio lot for the ‘second meeting’ scene. You hauled your tote bag over your shoulder and practically ran to the golf cart. You spent the entire ride with your eyes closed. 

You didn’t bother eating dinner, just did your night routine and lay down on the bed. There was a little window in the bed area covered with blinds that had been left unfolded. Yellow light from somewhere on the lot was shining in through the cracks but you couldn’t be bothered to move them. You lay in a state between sleep and wakefulness until midnight. Your brain was buzzing with too many thoughts but you were too tired to think through them. 

Five minutes past one, and there was a knock at your trailer door, three soft thuds. You shifted on the bed, lifting your head up slightly to listen for another one. It came, the person was trying to be quiet, and you slowly slid out of bed. You tiptoed to the door and only opened it an inch. Cillian stood directly in front of the trailer, so close to the door that if you opened it wider he would basically be inside. He was wearing a plain white round-neck shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, his hands shoved into the pockets. His hair was still relatively neat, which meant he hadn’t gone to bed yet, and you suddenly felt self-conscious, patting down the back of your head as you blinked up at him. He smiled, a small thing that didn’t reach his eyes, and you opened the door a little wider, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie down so they wrapped over your fingertips. 

“Can I come in?” He asked quietly, low and serious. You nodded, moving back and letting him close the door behind himself.

You both stood in the little space between the kitchenette and the door. You felt fully awake now, but everything in the world was still. There was pin-drop silence and you two simply looked at each other. Then he was moving forward, slowly, one step at a time, until he was standing as close to you as he was when you were both filming earlier, maybe even closer. 

Every breath you took made your chest brush his. You could feel your nipples tightening and pushing against your hoodie. He brought both of his hands up to cup your head on either side, then leaned down and kissed you firmly. It was slow, a little pull back and then he was pushing in, kissing you again. Everything inside you was slowly heating up, like a saucepan set on a low fire. Your limbs were filling up with it, there was a lump at the back of your throat, and your core was slowly tightening into itself. Your hands shook and you lifted them to press into his sides, clenching your hands into the soft material of his t-shirt. He kissed you again and again until you were heaving your breaths in and leaning your upper body onto his. 

Cillian pulled away and looked at you, a pause as if waiting or asking, and you simply pointed behind you at the little hallway that led to the bedroom. He nodded, just one little movement of his head tipping down, then he pulled away, grasping your hand in his and walking you both to the little bed area. 

The blinds were still spilling orangey-yellow light into the room, and he simply sat you on the bed before turning around to adjust them so they were closed a little tighter but still let small slits of light into the room. Then he got on his knees right in front of you, pushing himself forward so he was between your legs and your knees pressed into his ribs. You were taking deep breaths in, staring at him with parted lips as he brushed your hair away from your face and kissed you once. 

Everything felt so… small. The room was only the space you two inhabited, your breaths were his breaths, your eyes only looking into his eyes, your lips only existing to kiss his. His fingers gently burrowed under the fabric of your hoodie and began lifting it up. He waited for you to raise your arms then slowly removed each of your sleeves, dropping it into a heap next to himself. You were only wearing a bra underneath it, and he lightly caressed your stomach, watching you shudder out breaths at the sensation. He reached up with his other hand and slid one of the bra straps down your shoulder, touching the little mark it had left behind before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to it. Then the other strap was shifted down, another kiss on your shoulder. Your mouth was dry, your hands shaking. You wanted him to consume you. 

You reached out and lightly tugged on the collar of his shirt. He instantly leaned back and took it off, exposing pale skin and softly defined muscles. Each ridge was gentle, like the artist had painstakingly smudged out any harsh lines. You wanted to feel his body pressing down on top of you. 

He gently tugged your shorts down your legs, waiting patiently for you to lean back and lift your hips up so he could get them off. His right hand moved to splay over your stomach, gently pressing until you were laying flat on your back while his left hand lifted your legs to rest over his shoulders. He slowly pulled you forward until the small of your back was curved to the edge of the bed and all the weight of your lower body was on his shoulders. He looked up at you once, bright blue eyes so shiny in the dim light that you wanted to stop and take a picture. But you only breathed out a little shuddering moan as he pressed his lips against your pussy, poking his tongue out and gently licking between the folds. You clenched your eyes shut, one arm thrown carelessly above your head as you bit down on your other hand. 

It was warm and wet and hot. The room felt humid and your skin burned. His lips were so soft, his tongue skillful, and your hips rolled with every movement, warm tendrils of pleasure moving in waves through your body. He licked until your thighs were messy and you could feel his cheeks stick to the insides. He pressed the tip of his tongue inside you until the pressure at your entrance was making you convulse and the sounds leaving your lips were a little too loud for your own liking. You bit so hard into your hand that you were sure your teeth marks would be there the following morning and let your body quiver on the bed as he pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

You could see his chest heaving up and down and you pushed up to lean on your elbows, watching him push the sweatpants off his hips before draping himself over you. You closed your eyes and fell back onto the bed, letting him spread your legs and drape them over his hips. When he pushed into you, you curled around him. Your legs tightened around his waist, your arms wrapped around his torso and you pressed your face into his shoulder, muffled sounds spilling from your lips and into his skin. You could hear him panting directly by your ear, feel the wet breaths against the shell of your ear as he turned his head to nip at it. He began moving, backwards and forwards, pull and push, drag and rub. You pushed your hips up against him, a little ‘unh’ sound pushing from your chest when the little space below his belly button pressed perfectly against your clit. 

You lost yourself in the pleasure. Time didn’t exist in that space, only the feeling of your insides climbing up, reaching for something that would make stars burst behind your eyes. It was the feeling of the bed sheets rubbing against your skin, the clasp of your bra pressing into your back. It was his skin sticking to yours, your hands digging into his back, his lips on your cheek, behind your ear. It was the sounds of your hips meeting, soft consistent thumps that slowly began to increase in speed. 

And then you were there. The moment where everything was just right. When the weight of him inside you and the press against your clit lined up perfectly. When his lips were pressed against your cheek and somewhere a star aligned in the universe. It was like warm flowers blooming inside your stomach, so brightly it was almost painful. You clenched around him, pressed your knees to his ribs as tight as they would go. You clenched your teeth tightly together but pressed your mouth to his shoulder so all the sounds came out muffled and weird, high pitched from the back of your throat or deep from the pit of your stomach. 

He groaned when he finished, hands gripping your hips so tightly you felt them even after he let go. His eyes were scrunched shut and when his hips convulsed a few times he almost hissed at the sensation. He quickly pulled out, falling down right beside you. Neither of you moved for a long while. 

When your joints finally felt like they would no longer fall apart if you moved, you slowly turned to lay on your side. He was already looking at you, eyes soft and tracing over every feature of your face. He reached out, blunt fingertips gently brushing hair off of your forehead and cheeks. He stroked one with his thumb, then moved forward to press the gentlest, most loving kiss against your lips. You kept your eyes closed even when he pulled away. 

He was gone when you woke up in the morning. You thought you dreamed it for a moment, the most vivid dream you had ever had in your life. But you were naked under the blanket, and you never remembered pulling it up from the edge of the bed so someone had tucked you in. Your hoodie and shorts were folded and placed on the tiny nightstand beside the bed, and your blinds were fully closed. When you shifted to get out of bed, you could still feel the way fingertips had pressed into your thighs and a soft soreness throbbing between your legs. Not a dream. 

But then everything felt weird when you left the trailer. You didn’t see Cillian until you were on set for filming and he was busy with the director until ‘action!’ was called. You followed him after ‘cut!’ but he only sat and watched the scene over or read from his script. He smiled politely at you, gave you a wave when he caught you looking, but made no special effort to come over to you. 

You felt off-kilter the entire day, like a joke was being pulled on you but you couldn’t figure out what it was. But then, as you curled up in your bed after sunset, watching the sky darken through the window, he knocked on your door again. And you let him in, let him kiss you and take you to bed. And in the dead of night he wrapped you up in the bed sheets, whispering little jokes, telling stories, watching you like you were precious. And then the cycle started all over again the next day. 

You reasoned with yourself. You guys were still at work, you needed to be professional on set, and it seemed to explain everything away. He snuck into your bed at night, wrapped his arms around you and kissed you, coaxed you into sleep eventually, but never in the daylight. Not even a touch other than the ones on camera. 

You couldn’t feel yourself getting attached, couldn’t see yourself manoeuvring your life around him until you knew you would beg for him to just take your hand in the daytime once, let you call him your man. You came when he called, followed where he went. You didn’t realise until you were devoted, didn’t realise until the willow had bent to the wind.

Taglist: @4ria790

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

Retrogression by Dazai Osamu

Translated by A. L. Raye

"He was not an old man. He was only around 25 years old, but at the same time he was, undoubtedly, an old man. For every year that a normal person lived, this old man lived it three times over." - Dazai Osamu, "Retrogression"

"And so, through Dazai’s own efforts, I hope that a day will come to pass where Dazai’s work will be instinctively understood by a great many people." - Satō Haruo, "A Respectable Yet Tormented Soul: Regarding Dazai Osamu"

"Having been metaphorically torn apart by his critics, every time he finished writing anything - anything at all - regardless of public opinion, the wounds of his humiliation would ache more and more, so keenly and so painfully, that the unfulfilled hollow in his heart spread further and deeper until finally, he died. He was deceived by the illusion of a masterpiece, enchanted by an eternal beauty, carried away by a fever cream and ultimately couldn't even save himself..." - Dazai Osamu, "Retrogression"

"I’ll stab him! I thought. What an absolute scoundrel! It didn’t take long however before I suddenly felt the hot and twisted love you bore towards me, an intense love which reminded me of Nellie from Dostoyevsky’s Humiliated and Insulted, a love that I felt deep within my heart. No. No, how could this be? I couldn’t believe it, I shook my head but that love of yours, concealed behind that cold exterior, felt Dostoyevskian in its deranged passion and made my body burn feverishly at the thought. And of course, you were completely unaware of any of this." - Dazai Osamu, "Letter to Kawabata Yasunari"

"Don’t say behind someone’s back what you can’t say to their face. I followed this principle and for that I was thrown into the looney bin." - Dazai Osamu, "Human Lost"

"Somebody put a live snake in my letterbox. I’m furious! This must be the work of someone who enjoys making fun of unpopular writers who feel the need to check their letterboxes twenty times a day. I was in a strange mood after that, and spent the rest of the day in bed." - Dazai Osamu, "Diary of My Distress"

"I’m jumping at shadows. I feel like my body has been ground up and picked clean, right down to the bone." - Dazai Osamu, "Human Lost"

"It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It really wasn’t supposed to be this way. You of all people should be clearly aware that being a writer exists within a perpetual state of ‘foolishness’." - Dazai Osamu, "Letter to Kawabata Yasunari"

"The cicada realised in the afternoon that it was going to die soon. Ah, it would have been better if I had been happier! I should have fooled around more, with nary a care in the world. Oh, do forgive me, I just wish to fall asleep among the flowers." - Dazai Osamu, "Human Lost"

"He has the kind of romantic spirit of a selfish, good-for-nothing wastrel, but more than that, he has let this seep deep down into the very marrow of his being. The uninhibited yet fragile self flows out of control, and it is the lot in life of this particular variety of man to continually contemplate himself until his self-awareness becomes intertwined with his bones." - Satō Haruo, "A Respectable Yet Tormented Soul: Regarding Dazai Osamu"

"Now, within the limits I have allowed myself, I believe I have accomplished everything I set out to do. As for the rest, I calmly entrust myself to fate." - Dazai Osamu, "January Letter to Satō Haruo from Dazai Osamu"

From the Introduction by translator A. L. Raye:

"This book aims to piece together the fractured and disorderly lifestyle of one of history's greatest romantics and pairs it with a particular moment in his life; losing the Akutagawa Prize. The ensuing drama that unfolded through private letters, newspaper articles, diaries, obituaries, and fiction created a scandal that disturbed the early Showa literati with its coarse and indecent honesty. Dazai's fiction, fiction about Dazai, speculation and reality intertwined to create an explosive event that not only changed the desired trajectory of his life but also raised issues of discrimination within prominent literary circles and the treatment of mental illness in 1930s Japan."

"If we encounter Dazai without taking into account modern ideas of disability, there is a danger we might subject him to the same myth-making mindset that surrounds Van Gough; that of a tortured genius who needed to suffer for his art - or, perhaps more accurately, for our entertainment."

"Dazai was a complicated man, a man who couldn't even decide for himself who he was."

Retrogression also includes annotations and background information on every story, letter, diary, and eulogy, adding history and insights that are difficult to find available in other English translations so far.

You can find more information and free translations on Yobanashi Café. Retrogression is available for purchase in either paperback or eBook format on Amazon.

[facelesssbirds]

Cuddles || Genshin

A.N. Summary: How you (and them) cuddle. Characters: F!Reader, Neuvillette, Furina, Beidou (I promise Childe will be in the next one...) Rating: E - Everyone <33 P.S. If you have requests, I'd really appreciate it! I'm trying to grow my writing skills through fan fiction, because it brings a lot of joy to people, so... I'll do my best tysm!

Neuvillette is all seriousness and perfection in public, but when you get him alone, he devolves into a cuddly teddybear that just adores curling up on the couch with you, just lazing around.

That isn't to say he's opposed to days like this, where you've crashed his lunch break, he had planned to skip it completely, the overflow of documents from the court clerk's office standing tall and unrelenting at his desk.

"Neuvi!" You grinned, opening the door, "I brought lunch."

He looked up, only briefly, giving you a hint of a smile, "Oh? What'd you get today?"

He had long since learned that even kicking you out wouldn't deter you, and your insistence on making sure he got proper time to rest.

"Steak-Frites," You said, tossing a few bags onto his coffee table, "Nothing special."

He raised a brow, almost imperceptibly, "Oh? Then, ma trésor, why are you here so unannounced?"

You laughed nervously, wringing your hands behind your back, almost like a child who's been caught stealing from a cookie jar, your eyes darting to his, then away, a faint flush painting your cheeks.

"Well..." You trailed off, busying yourself with the cuff of your sleeve, "cuddles?"

He chuckled, a low rumbled, barely there as he stood from his desk glancing at the clock.

"I suppose I have time."

Furina is a clingy lover, you come to understand very early into the relationship, but despite her grandiose and facades, she's a private person. She didn't want her lover to be the subject of whispers and rumors, or scandals, no she wants you all to herself, safe and sound, thank you very much.

Still, when you're home alone, and she's just gotten back from a particularly interesting day at court, she'll hop down next to you on the couch, regardless of what you had been doing earlier, and snuggling into your arms. Then she'll talk.

You always enjoyed hearing Furina talk, it was where her passion shined out into the world, even when she was being particularly needy.

"And so I said, 'well you can't--'," Furina cut herself off, looking at something on the coffee table, she was snuggled right under your head, the book you had previously been reading discarded.

"Furina?" You probed quietly, your arms tightening around her waist.

She turns to look at you, scooting sideways, and pouts, "You had hot-chocolate without me!"

You chuckle, realizing what this is about, "Ma cherie, do you want some?"

She burrowed under the blankets, "Yes, please!"

"Well then, you know you're going to have to move... right?" You warned her, a amused smile creeping onto your face.

She pouts, again, this time more jokingly, "I will not! I am Lady Furina, the Hydro Archon and I will not move for you!"

You laugh along, gently moving her out of the way, so you can go to the kitchen and make your darling a nice cozy drink.

Beidou normally didn't do cuddling. Not that she was against it or anything, but the whole 'physical affection' thing came easy for her towards friends, it was entirely different with lovers. Not to say she was nervous, more-so she was just... unfamiliar with the concept.

As a girl who grew up on the sea, and with a love for the sea, work and friendliness ran in her veins, romance however was something of a mystery. She could flirt seven way to heaven and charm a man of his beard, sure, but that didn't make up for her absolute unawareness of the... fluff that came with love.

"Beidou--" You wined, coming out of the captains cabin just after the sun had risen. Today was supposed to be your and Beidou's day off, and you had planned to sleep in, and laze the day away. Naturally, you dearest, ever hardworking had derailed those plans.

Still, she looked up, smiling at you, and yelling your name. You waved back from above, yawning. Nonetheless she was beside you in a flash, "Good morning, sleepyhead-- you're up late."

You gave her a deadpan stare that conveyed, 'it's too early for this.' before nestling into her side, and arm wrapped around her waist.

"I wanted cuddles," You whined, it seemed that your day off had made you a bit bratty, "Its out day off, we should spend it... like, taking time off."

She laughed, hearty, "This is me taking the day off," She grinned, and you returned it with a smile, "But- I suppose, I can make an exception, just this once."

Your initial smile lit up, suddenly energized you tugged Beidou away from the crew. Perhaps a new experience wouldn't hurt?

[askew-d]

Hello again....if you don't mind me asking, can I ask your top 5 (or top 3) favorite characters from MDZS? And why you loved them? And your top 5 favorite moments from the novel? Sorry if you've answered this question before....Thanks....

sure! its no trouble at all. sorry i am embarassingly late and thank you for the question, i loved making this list :)

1. wei wuxian, our selfless yiling laozu

alright, you can call me cliché, everyone loves him, right? but kendrick lamar said it’s all about love and hate in the game so let me tell you, i love this man. i love the way that he walks, the way that he kills, the way that he dresses, the way that he mocks others, the way that he protect those he loves, the way he’s unbearably and so utterly good to the core (no irony or pun intended), regardless of everything he’s been through. because let’s come clean: other characters, such as xue yang and meng yao, did have their reasons to be evil, i comprehend them! i validate their motives to be who they are, but it does not, for the love of god, excuses their actions.

and that’s the thing! because wei wuxian has been though hell and back, way worse than them, yet he chose to continue doing good things. it’s just who he is (unbelievable, right?). he is, essentialy, someone who pursues justice. he sought revenge for what he suffered, that he rightly did, but he didn’t lash out on innocent cultivators who had nothing to do with his injuries. and the amount of strength, resilience, kindness and sheer wisdom that resides in this makes my admiration for him grow as deep as the ocean. he’s the ultimate main character of every fictional world. no one’s doing tragedy, revenge, inteligence, selflessness, love and being a troublemaker like him, ok. he’s one for the history books. and with that we go to:

2. lan wangji, our beloved hanguang-jun

i said this before, but i will say it again: i feel like wei wuxian might kill me every time i go around saying ‘lan zhan’ or even start worshipping him too much. however, who wouldn’t worship him? he’s a god among humans; a superhero in a novel about cultivators. if wei wuxian’s considered by some an antihero, he’s the true, righteous captain america right here. and it’s not just the looks, he’s a whole package: a terrific father, a dedicated brother and nephew, an esteemed cultivator, a marvellous husband and a fair human being.

most of all, i dearly love him for the fact that he’s been loving wei wuxian since the beginning and never let that go. this man fought for his love like no one else did. he remembered wei wuxian when no one else did. he tried and tried, for him. he waited thirteen years, for him. in fact, if wei wuxian had never returned, he’d just have been waiting and waiting, living his life in grief, watching the moonlight alone…… but that’s a thought for another moment.

the amount of love this man carries is unbearable, really. it’s who he is too. and i also adore the fact that he has a lot of personas: he’s a serious senior for the disciples, a feral animal in bed, silly in some moments and painfully romantic in others. he’s just unreal!

3. lan jingyi, the most atypical lan that has ever lanned

if this boy was in the modern times, im sure i would make friends with him. hes everyones spirit inside this story. he is one of hell of a representation: he can judge, yell, put some sense into other peoples minds, act even more senseless and tell truths without caring for the consequences (and then crying when faced with the punishment of headstands). and the best part of all: he is, oddly, a lan! i love him! best boy ever (alright, perhaps after lan sizhui, but i relate to jingyi harder).

put him in a modern school. can you disagree with me that he would be the one student lurking in the far away desks acting all angelic when the teacher comes close only to act like a little devil, screaming, laughing loudly and hiding food in his backpack during activities? can you disagree with me that he would be the one to run and jump like a maniac when its time for p.e class and sleep out of boredom when the teacher starts explaining serious stuff? can you disagree with me he would pretend to enact the rules only to receive bad grades and pull the most stupid facades to hide it from his parents?

in some ways, he does have similarities with wei wuxian. but wei wuxian is a genius who wouldnt even go to class when he didnt want to, sleep instead of play-pretend and even so receive the best grades ever, annoying everyone. theres this difference. but lan jingyi isnt a genius, he is just one of us. and i love him for it.

4. wen qing, my beautiful doctor

wen qing, my beloved, you didnt deserve that backlash.... this woman deserved to have a happy family, alright. she deserved a little bit of happiness! she deserved to have her brother with her! she deserved to be well and to not have suffered so badly just because of her surname. if there is one thing i agree with (and i dont remember exactly who said it, but it was from twitter), is that the girls from mdzs are underrated, underappreciated and deserved tons more love. but anyway, let us mention wen qing!

this woman protected wei wuxian and jiang cheng, did a procedure to give jiang cheng a golden core, never killed anyone, ran from fighting in the war against innocent people because she does not share these wicked principles, and still ended up watching her family get tortured, his brother dead and was burned alive. the sheer cruelty of what they put her (and them) through is unbelievable. i wanted her to have a lovely family and to continue being a great friend to wei wuxian, seriously, they were such a great duo. i cannot get tired of aus in which they are rommates or something! she is usually sarcastic, fierce, bossy and so responsible. how could someone not like her?

5. a-qing, the girl who went to her limits and beyond

this girl went over the limits of heaven and hell, in fact. i love her determination and how clever she is! look at how long she managed to trick xue yang! who else who could that? i believe not even wei wuxian could have topped it. she deserved to continue living within that world with xiao xingchen. i also cannot avoid to point out that she was not a cultivator. she was a simple girl, left to struggle in the streets, who still achieved what she achieved. she lived with an esteemed rogue cultivator, manipulated one of the most essential antagonists, returned as a ghost to protect people from this specific antagonist, used a lot of her spiritual strenght to show wei wuxian the truth, continued to give wei wuxian and hanguang-jun directions to find xue yang, and received many support, compliments and faith from the main group of our story.

personally, i cannot think of another female character in the story who did more than her. wen qing did a lot, sure, but she came from a big sect. jiang yanli too. mianmian was a cultivator too. a-qing was not, and nonetheless, this girl rocks! unbelievable. if i went through what she did, i would have lost all will to persist long ago. that is another thing mdzs brought me: the perspective that, even when you are kind and did nothing wrong, you might still have tragedies happen to you. people will die anyway. including you. kindness is important, and sometimes it may save you, but sometimes it may also cause you harm. are you strong enough to have all the kindness and all that tragedy and still endure?

because a-qing, wei wuxian and so many of them did.

well, now onto my favorite parts from the novel! i will try and make this quicker. haha, lets go.

when wei wuxian and lan wangji were stuck (stuck? not actually, i believe, wei wuxian caused it) in that farm and our main character just simply laid on top of lan wangji. and he still dared... to call himself.... not a cut-sleeve. yeah, sure, bro, no homo and all that. and thats definitely not a boner beneath your clothes, huh.

when wei wuxian starts falling real hard and he wonders if he will ever be able to sleep in a bed without lan wangji again, and later on after they have sex, he f i n a l l y realizes that there is no wei wuxian without lan wangji. in a dramatic mood, even. like, seriously, dude?? what a way to pine, but ok. go get your man or something, we all waiting for it.

every extra. i just... love every bit from the extra.

in the scene where lan wangji is drunk and they start playing hide-and-seek. and lan wangji just hides himself behind smth. and shows only a bit of his face. he nods, pouts, begs with his face to continue. i died right there.

the confession. the confession. the tear. the confession. the shock from everyone else. the 'hug me tighter!' after. the confession. the hug. THE CONFESSION.

hahaha i admit it, for me everything is about them. is it not about them? you cannot tell me otherwise. i love wangxian with all my heart. also, your asks are all lovely, i love them, feel free to always send whatever you want :) hope you have a great day and week ahead of you.

[yourantag]

The Red Means I Love You (Edgar×Reader)

AN: This was supposed to be finished and posted on Valentine's Day. However, as you can see from the word count, that was a fool's errand. I wanted to delve more into yanderes since I find them fascinating in writing, and now, here we are. Staining White Day red, I present to you the most generic title for an Edgar fic you will ever see. (Btw, I apologize to Edgar fans- I might've massacred your boy but I swear I tried my best.) Word count: 4.9k words TW: Blood, violence, murder, yandere themes, and blackmailing. Summary: Accepting the invitation of a dubious letter sounds just about as bad as it actually was. Oletus manor is not a name spoken without notoriety, after all. Was that where it all began? Was this your first mistake? No, it was further down the line, wasn't it? Yes, perhaps it was when you became the muse of an artist with no inspiration.

Reality has disappointed you time and time again. The expectations of a life of peace was crushed easily under the hands of society. So, you fled. You fled inside your head, transporting yourself into worlds of fiction. Romance, mystery, fantasy, and the likes kept you alive. It was the only thing you could really call safe.

Among many genres, you favored one above the others. 

Horror.

There’s a certain comfort that comes from these fictional tales. You know they aren’t real, that the killer can’t find you, that these psychopaths don’t exist. Are there people similar to them? Sure, but they aren’t in your life. Thus, they merely stay as silly little people within a book.

But, it’s not quite enough. The thrill of words upon a page cannot compete with the real deal. While you weren’t stupid enough to seek out murderers or the like, you were still dumb enough for Baron DeRoss, apparently.

The envelope is white as a dove, a blood red stamp sealing it shut. It whispers promises and praise, false hope and rewards. It’s an enticing offer, truly. Would you let it guide you astray?

Well, you were never one to turn away from the call of the abyss.

-

“I really don’t get it. I know it’s game changing, but it’s not helpful for anyone else but me! Why do they want me to team up with them?” You huffed, resting your face on your palms. Edgar merely rolled his eyes, flicking his wrist. Focused on the canvas in front of him, he let the brush streak red through white.

“You said it yourself, your abilities are game changing. We don’t even know the full extent of your abilities– who knows? Maybe you could completely uproot the current meta. Besides,” He smirked, peering at you from the corner of his eye. “The hunters are terrified of you.”

You paused, letting your arms fall flat against the table.

“Scared? Of me? I’m just another survivor– what do they have to be afraid of?”

Edgar hummed, tapping the handle end of his paint brush against his lips. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t quite fancy being stabbed.”

Okay, yeah, that was fair.

Most survivors didn’t possess the ability to fight the hunter, not really, yet here you were. When Jack had first chased you, he had the reckoning of his life. You wince at the phantom feeling of stabbing steel into flesh and bone. That was, admittedly, not what you had expected to be your special skill.

You pouted, cheek against the cool wood of Edgar’s table as you glanced around. His room was an odd combination of an art exhibition hall and an actual bedroom. It was big and extravagant, but you wouldn’t expect any less from him. 

Well, kind of.

Edgar confused you. Intriguing, even among the sea of other unique characters within the manor. You suppose that’s why he’s your favorite comrade and closest friend, if you could call him that. He’s never kicked you out of his room or flat out yelled at you, so safe to say he didn’t hate you, at least. 

He’s neutral on all matters within the manor, composed regardless of what he faced. All he cared about was his art, nothing more and nothing less. Perhaps that was how he was unaffected by everything.

You suppose that’s natural for an artist. You can’t claim to understand it perfectly, but in a way, you truly understood.

“It’s like… you’re a moth drawn to a flame, right? Art is something you’re willing to give your life to, dedicate your whole body and soul to. Even if you have to sacrifice your time, energy, or health, for the perfect outcome, you’d do it.” You had said it off handedly, not thinking much of it then. In some respects, wasn’t his passion for art just like your obsession with thrill?

But then he had grabbed your hands, looking into your eyes with such fervor. His gaze burned, a certain desperation flickering within it. What was he seeking so fiercely? What was making Edgar, apathetic, snide Edgar, act like he had found an oasis in the desert?

“You get it?” He whispered, almost pleading. 

“Maybe,” You responded.

That had been enough for him. 

Since then, you and Edgar had become an odd pair. Not quite friends, but too close to be acquaintances. You gravitated towards him, as he did to you. More often than not, you’d ask him if he’d like to team up for matches. More often than not, he’d say yes.

You suppose that’s another reason why other survivors regard you with care.

Edgar isn’t the most difficult person to work with, but definitely not the easiest. He’s all too much and too little: haughty and snide, distant and cold. He’s a reliable teammate, not a likable one. 

Still, the playful sparkle in his eyes as he led the hunter straight to you made you beg to differ. You’d curse him out as you ran, glaring at him after the match was over, before begrudgingly thanking him for supporting you with a painting or two.

However odd it was, you wouldn’t trade your friendship for the world.

-

There’s a letter in your mailbox. 

That isn’t especially weird, considering that’s what a mailbox is for. Letters, mail, packages, whatever. Still, you can’t help but pause as you stare at it. A white envelope with a lovely red seal, the stamp itself in the shape of a camellia. The embossed flower is outlined in gold, shimmering softly in the low light of your room.

Gently, you pry open the seal, careful not to damage it or the envelope. Once you’ve successfully extracted the letter without destroying everything, you stare at it with uncertainty. 

It seemed like this was a love letter from the presentation alone, yet you couldn’t help but feel a bit unsettled. You couldn’t understand why, however. It was beautiful, but simple. It wasn’t overwhelming, nor alarming. So why, from the depths of your heart, was your subconscious screaming at you to run? As though you were about to open Pandora’s box?

You unfold the letter and read.

-

Edgar gives you the nastiest side eye you’ve ever seen. Perhaps you deserve it after the stunt you pulled. Then again, what else were you supposed to do? He was going to be sent back to the manor if you hadn’t let yourself go down.

In the end, thanks to your sacrifice, the potential tie had turned into a win. Sure, you were the one sent back to the manor instead, but a win was a win! Though, Edgar seemed to disagree.

“You’re an idiot.”

You would be offended if it weren’t for the fact that he was wrapping your wounds. The tender touches were barely there, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. He was being careful, making sure you didn’t feel even an ounce of unnecessary pain. The concentration he was putting into taking care of you was something you had only seen when Edgar was painting. 

The subtle quirk of his lips, eyes barely narrowed, and relaxed shoulders expressed more to you than any words ever could. The guilt that pooled into his chest, made evident by the quiet sighs he’d let out, seemed to manifest itself as kindness and gentle care.

It made you really want to tease him.

“Ow!” You hiss, flinching slightly away from the man. Edgar freezes, staring at you with concern.

“Shit– sorry, I didn’t mean to.” The sincere remorse in his voice immediately makes you regret your decision.

“Wait, wait, wait, no, I– gah, sorry. I was just messing with you.”

The painter’s formerly soft expression faded into a scowl, a glare sent your way even as he finished wrapping you up. Edgar immediately stands up, leaving you scrambling to do the same as he leaves the infirmary.

“Ahhhh, wait, I’m sorry! Wait, Edgar, I’m sorry, I swear I won’t do that again! C’mon, don’t leave me like this! I–” You trip on something, stumbling as you lose balance. You fully expect to kiss the ground, what with one of your arms in a cast, when lithe arms catch you.

You glance up at Edgar with a sheepish smile, gazing upon the apathetic look upon his face. Apathetic, to anyone else but you. You can see the little curl of his lips, the faint swirl of amusement in his eyes.

He helps you reorient yourself, hands on your shoulders. Once you’re safely standing, Edgar turns and continues down the hallway. His steps are slower than usual. It’s probably the closest you’ll get to an invitation.

You grin, chasing after him once more.

“So does this mean you forgive me?”

“No.”

-

“How do you manage to stay sane, painting the same thing over and over again?” You ask, half dangling off a couch. Edgar’s room is still as grand as ever, but you can see the changes. It seems more lived in, more homey. There’s a table that isn’t covered in paint, brushes, or other art supplies. There’s shelves with books instead of art supplies. Then, those cabinets have, wait for it, something other than art supplies.

It seems like a small shift to others, though that’s probably because they don’t visit Edgar half as often as you do. The first time you saw the couch, you thought you were hallucinating. 

The Edgar Valden, using something other than a stool? Incredible, revolutionary, absolutely groundbreaking.

He did not appreciate your dramatics, or so he claimed, but you knew he was covering his mouth to hide his smile.

“I’m not painting the same thing, and I am, in fact, going insane.” Edgar responds, frown deepening as he mixes a few colors together. You hum, peeking at the canvas as much as you can from your position. From the sketch, you could tell it was a portrait. A rare occurrence, considering Edgar preferred landscapes.

“Why the sudden interest in portraits?” You ask, sitting more comfortably on the couch. Glancing at the shelves, you skim through the books. Edgar wouldn’t mind if you read one of them, right?

The man pauses, his expression almost bashful. It’s so bizarre you can’t help but raise a brow. Edgar has never been afraid to draw attention to himself. He’s no pushover, willing to fight for what he wants while still remaining relatively neutral. To see him like that, a dust of what can only be blush upon his cheeks, twists something in your heart.

Before you can untangle what exactly you were feeling, the painter coughs.

“Well, I tried talking with Victor about expressing oneself. He suggested letters, or other mediums I’m comfortable with. So…” Edgar stares at his canvas, his smile more so a grimace. “I’m trying out his suggestion, I suppose.”

You tilt your head, humming to yourself as you nod. Sliding off the couch, you grab one of the books on Edgar’s shelf. “Well, then I wish you the best of luck.”

His eyes linger on you, closing softly as his expression relaxes. When he opens them again, he starts creating new hues with more focus.

-

“I’ve been getting letters recently.” You mention, flipping another page in your book. Edgar paused, turning to look at you.

“And?”

You closed your eyes, contemplating. This really wasn’t something you had to tell him. But, well, nothing too interesting has been happening lately. The matches have finally grown duller, the thrill fading as you stayed longer. You were running out of things to ramble about, so why not?

“They’re love letters. Nicely decorated, with neat handwriting. If I had to guess, someone born into privilege.” You think Edgar flinches at that.

“It’s really sweet, honestly. A shame they’re anonymous.” You skim over the words on the page, brows knitting themselves tight. The main character was oblivious to the danger so close to them. How frustrating. 

“A shame, really.” Edgar echoes back, delicately brushing shadows along the red camellias. His painting seemed nearly finished, if you only stared at the beautiful flowers. The rest of the canvas was rather barren, a figure still not yet painted whole.

“C’mon, theorize with me! Who could it be? I put my bets on Jack.” You sighed dramatically, head thrown back with your hand on your forehead. 

You received no response, however.

“Hear me out! He called me darling, dear, and tried to kill me. Obviously, he fell for my sick kiting skills and great looks. I rest my case.” Still, nothing.

You were getting really worried with how unresponsive Edgar was being. Usually, when you started overexaggerating like that, he’d make a snarky remark. Something like “please, you get terror shocked at 5 ciphers” or “you make amphibians look appealing.” 

The silence was really getting to you.

“I mean, he’s got confidence in spades so it probably isn’t him. Still, I kinda hope it is, he’s rather attrac–” SNAP!

Your head snaps up from your book, turning to Edgar so quickly you nearly give yourself whiplash. There, in his hands, are the remains of a broken paint brush. Blood oozes from his tightly clenched hands, slowly trickling down his palm and under the cuff of his shirt. That was reason for concern as is, but the most startling thing of all was his eyes.

Blue, like the sky. Blue, like the sea. Blue, like the wings of a morpho butterfly.

Blue, like the swirling vortex of the night sky.

You rush over, grabbing the first aid kit you know he keeps for you, before standing next to him. You’ve never seen him like this, eyes so dark and blank. It’s honestly scaring you a little, but that means nothing when he’s hurt.

So, you kneel, pulling out tweezers, disinfectants, and bandages. Gently prying his hand open, you discard the larger pieces of the brush. With the tweezers, you pick out splinters of wood embedded in his skin. You whisper apologies as you do, knowing this definitely hurts, but he doesn’t so much as flinch.

By the time you finally disinfect his hand and wrap it, Edgar seems a lot more like himself than before. He gazes at you with quiet consideration, blinking slowly. Languid, calm, almost cat-like.

“Are you okay?” You ask, holding his hand. In all the time you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him react like that. The kinder side of you hopes it’ll never happen again, if only so he won’t needlessly hurt himself like that. The morbid side of you wants to see him like that again, what you can distinguish as cold, searing rage threatening to consume him whole.

Edgar leans his head forward and onto your shoulder. The scent of citrus, chamomile, and something chemical tickles your nose, brushing against you as the painter sighs. He seems… tired.

“Let me rest my head, just for a bit.”

You don’t have the heart to say no.

-

The next few letters you get are… odd. Passionate as always, but far more obsessive. The first few had been sweeter, more tender. This was escalating in a weird direction, and as much as you loved yourself a good horror story, romance and horror never mix well. They were starting to threaten you, saying they’d hurt the people around you, and that was where you drew the line.

So, you start ignoring them. It sounds foolish, especially for a connoisseur of all things freaky, but life is more mundane than fiction. If this person doesn’t have the guts to confess to you, does it make sense that they’d have the guts to actually go through with their threats? Logically, no. 

Besides, even if they did, the people of the manor are strong. They can hold their own. Even if they can't, that person will get outcasted for hurting a survivor, regardless of if they’re a hunter. “No violence outside of matches,” that was the first rule both factions set.

So, it was safe to assume you had nothing to worry about. You have more important things to deal with, anyway, especially with a new survivor arriving. His name was Orpheus, a novelist. You were thrilled, especially since he was the author of some of your favorite series.

You were busy with preparations, practically skipping with joy. The other survivors poked fun at you, both for your enthusiasm and the lack of a certain painter at your side.

Edgar was concentrating on his art, as per usual, and you didn’t want to bother him. He seemed a little lonely, though, so you tried to convince a few people to talk to him. They all just looked at you as if you grew another head. 

“Are we… looking at the same person?” Mike asks, smile strained. You frown, turning away from the banners you were fixing. 

“Yes! Edgar Valden, our resident painter, our sassy rich boy, our lovely old friend. I say he is lonely, and I think you should talk to him. I mean, you’re easy-going, fun, and silly. Who wouldn’t like you?” Even if half of it was an act. Still, Mike was one of the people Edgar tolerated better than most. Perhaps it’s because he’s another form of an artist?

“Why can’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him yourself? You guys get along just fine.” Mike looks away, fiddling with his hands. You narrow your eyes at the sight.

Mike Morton, local funny man, someone with dedication and deceit running through his veins, nervous? It’s not faked, the sweat rolling down his neck and the faster breathing all indicating he was genuinely nervous. Maybe even scared.

“Edgar, I really do love him, but he needs more friends. I think the only people who talk to him on a regular basis are Luca and I. Adding a few more people to that list would be nice, so…” You bring your hands in front of you, clasped tight as if you’re about to pray. “Could you please talk to him?”

Mike deflates, sighing as he nods. You smile brightly in response, promising to make it up to him.

-

“Hey bestie! You excited for the new survivor?” Demi croons, grinning as she tosses an arm around your shoulder. You laugh in response, leaning into her.

“That’s about the dumbest thing you could ask me. Of course I am! He’s written so many good books. God, I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around him. He’s made some stories that have basically shaped who I am now!” You sigh, smiling so widely your face hurts.

“Well, don’t forget your boyfriend in all the excitement! I can see he’s basically seething with envy.” 

You pause, turning to look at Demi.

“Who?”

Now, it’s Demi’s turn to look confused.

“Uh, you know, Edgar? Are– are you guys not together?” She asks, genuinely shocked. You feel your face heat up, your hands itching to cover your blush. 

“Wh– no! We are not! Why would anyone ever think that?”

Demi gives you a deadpan expression in response.

“You two are basically glued to each other’s side, go into every match together, hang out almost every day– Hell, you’re the only one Edgar has allowed in his room without it being necessary!” 

Well, that’s news to you.

You furrow your brows, blinking in shock. Sure, you two hung out a lot, but it wasn’t like you guys were friends exclusively with each other. You had Demi, Mike, Melly, and even Violetta while Edgar had Luca, Victor, Andrew, and Galatea. It wasn’t like you… hung out… every… day…

“Oh fuck, we really do look like a couple.” You mutter, having half a mind to smack Demi as she laughs. She’s completely unapologetic about it, struggling to breathe as slowly calms down and giggles.

“So, you two aren’t dating?” She asks, wiggling her eyebrows. You huff, fighting back a smile.

“Nope, not at all.”

“Then in that case, I’m allowed to flirt with you as much as I want!” Demi cheers. She spins you around, causing a laugh to bubble up from your throat. The two of your twirl around in a silly dance, the faint sound of Frederick playing the piano the only background music.

At the end, she dips you down, smile upon her lips. She leans close to your ear as your smile is wiped away.

“Be wary of him.”

-

With Edgar, it’s like you’re taking three steps forward, then five steps back. Just when you think you’ve got him all figured out, he throws a curveball at you.

That desperation he had in his eyes the day you became his friend, flickering like a brilliant flame, you understand it now. However much he claimed he didn’t need people to understand him, how he didn’t need to understand others, it didn’t mean much. He still craved it, to be understood. To not have to be questioned, to not be approached with dishonesty, with intentions that lied beyond just him being him.

You suppose that’s exactly why you got along. You wanted to understand him, and he wanted to be understood. A match made in Heaven, you suppose.

It’s why it miffed you a bit that you really can’t understand Edgar at the moment.

He hates drawing portraits, yet he draws a figure, the same exact one, in every one of his new pieces. They look familiar, a lot like you, but you’re pretty confident Edgar would rather die than paint you. You’d tease him to Hell and back, all while he complains and swears up and down he’s never being nice to you again.

The landscapes, adorned in reds of all shades, always have that figure in each one without fail. Is he in love with someone? That would explain why he’s so weird lately.

Edgar’s odd behavior was already messing with you, but on top of that, the letters were getting worse. Instead of being slid into your mailbox, they were flat out in your room now.

Normal people would think someone just slipped it under the door. Reasonable assumption. However, unless that person has not only a very thin arm, but a long one, you don’t know how they’d manage to get it all the way to your desk.

You stare at the white envelope, stamped shut with a red seal in the shape of a camellia. The outline of the flower is in gold, though the beauty of the letter and the seal means nothing. Not when it got into your room. Not when it clearly has a splotch of dark red glaring at you.

Your hands are shaky as you open the envelope, a familiar curl of thrill fighting with your new found protective instincts. The letter is white as a dove, the red tainting it made all the more stark.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you read.

‘I didn’t imagine love would be like this. Wonderfully warm, like the rays of the sun in winter, and unbearably painful, like a knife in my heart. Do you just like hurting me? No, I know that isn’t true. After all, you always look at me with concern when I’m injured. Still, it’s hard to believe you’re this dense.

These past few weeks have been driving me mad. Your attention has been solely on the arrival of the new survivor. You’ve been ignoring me so much I can barely stand it. Can’t you spare even a moment for me? Is that novelist really that important? Seeing you look at him with stars in your eyes… it makes me want to rip his head off his shoulders. He doesn’t deserve your attention, nor your admiration, not like I do. I’ve known you longer, loved you for longer. He doesn’t deserve anything from you, yet he gets everything I could ever want and more.

Did you know? When you’re excited, your smile turns bigger, more genuine, till dimples show. Your eyes crinkle just a little, your hands moving to curl in front of your chest. You stand taller, you shine brighter.

It’s such a beautiful sight, I hate that I have to share it. Sometimes, I wish I could just put you in a cage and never let you go. Then, you wouldn’t look at anyone else but me. You wouldn’t think about anyone else but me. But, that’s not how you should live. You deserve to be free and happy. So, I’ve decided to get rid of anyone that doesn’t deserve to be around you.

I think I’ll start with that novelist.’

Your blood runs cold.

Fuck.

FUCK.

Just who is this? Who are they and just why are they so obsessed with you? Get rid of those who don’t deserve you? Who gave them the right to decide that!?

You take a deep breath, desperately trying to calm your nerves. Your heart is racing, and for the first time, the thrill in your heart turns into true fear.

You’ve never minded being the one hunted. In fact, you practically adore it, the addicting rush of adrenaline pumping through you. It’s why you came to the manor. But your friends? They’re not the same, and you wouldn’t want them to be. You want them safe and happy, not hunted down by some freak who thinks they “aren’t worthy of you” for whatever sick reason.

“Fuck, fuck… Orpheus, I need to find– no, it’s probably too late for him, there’s blood on the letter. Okay, okay, stay calm, stay fucking calm. Who would be the next victim? Mike? Melly? No, it’s probably Ed–” You pause.

Almost comically, everything clicks in place.

Camellias.

Red.

Ignoring them.

Edgar.

You bolt out of your room.

-

Normally, you’d knock. You know Edgar hates it when people barge into his room. However, considering the circumstances, you think that’s the least of your concerns.

You can’t help but pray in your mind. To whom? You don’t know. You don’t think anyone can truly help in this situation. It couldn’t be anyone else but Edgar, but still, you prayed. You hoped against all hope that your conclusion was wrong. 

Edgar would scold you for barging in, sigh, before smiling and asking if you were really that desperate to see him. Everything would be fine. It would all be just a cruel joke.

But just as life is more mundane than fantasy, reality is far cruller than fiction.

The large windows to Edgar’s room let in the light of the falling sun, casting the room in many shades of gold and orange. In the middle of the room, in all his glory, is Edgar. His back is to you, paint brush in hand. You’re hit first by relief, then with the heavy scent of iron.

You shake, hands covering your mouth as you finally process what's around Edgar. Orpheus, drained of blood, head sat on a chair, body left haphazardly on the ground. Jack, ghastly white and face twisted, his horror eternally memorialized in death. Demi, eyes closed and serene, seemingly asleep if not for the purple veins that roam along her arms.

You fall to your knees, the shock hitting you so strong you can’t stand up any longer. He was your secret admirer. The one who kept sending letters. The one who went into your room just to place them on your desk. The one who threatened to kill your friends. The one who did kill your friends.

Edgar, finally, turns around. His cheek has splotches of blood on it, his hands no better. It’s startling just how much of it is on him, but worse yet, you know not all of it is on him. There’s a lot of blood in a human body, much more in two, so where was it?

When he smiles, it’s just as sweet as it was yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. Was this really your friend, or a demon in disguise?

His smile, ever so sweet, only serves to unsettles you, looking more like a nightmare.

“Ah, you’re here! Come, I need to show you my newest masterpiece.” Edgar steps closer to you, dragging you by the hand to a canvas you hadn’t noticed before. He was standing in front of it, so it was only natural.

You numbly follow, heart in your throat. You’re grateful, distantly, that the “masterpiece” is not the corpses of your friends. You think you’re going to throw up, eyes trying to look at anything but them.

So, you gladly look at his so-called masterpiece.

You really wish you didn’t.

There, on the canvas, is a portrait. This time, it’s so painfully obvious it’s you that you can’t even deny it. Surrounded by red camellias, hands curled in front of their chest, with a smile so genuine, dimples showed. Eyes crinkled, back straight, and God, did it have to be so accurate?

The red of the camellias are familiar, as is the red of your blush, the colors of your clothes, your hair. 

It’s all been painted using your friend’s blood.

Edgar comes behind you, his arms circling your waist. A content sigh leaves him, his chin resting on your shoulder. His hold is gentle, but firm, possessive in a way you never thought him capable of. His lips brush against your neck, a kiss much like a collar pressed into your skin. You can feel them curl into a smile.

“What do you think, my muse? The red means I love you.”

[stylerm2world]

I am really sad and heartbroken over the Chenford breakup. It’s not rational, I get that. But, it was my escape from the painful shit and now it’s part of the painful shit.

What is the most disturbing thing to me is the reaction of the fandom. I posed a question in in a group about how I completely understand from Tim’s perspective, why he broke up with her. I totally get his behavior is a trauma response. However, I have consistently brought up with other members of the fandom my struggle with the breakup. My issue is how Lucy could ever trust Tim again. I keep getting answers referring back to Tim’s decision making and people continuing to justify it.

That is not my question!! My question is about the woman he destroyed emotionally, while claiming to love her. It feels like the woman in the group have been so conditioned to accept men’s shitty behavior that, of course, their response is, they will get back together. I’m like “who cares, why would you even want her to take him back?” My argument is if Lucy has self-respect, why the fuck would she ever get back into a relationship with someone who treated her so poorly, who knowingly and willfully broke her heart, regardless of the reason, even if he does love her. I am absolutely disgusted with men’s lack of self-awareness, lack of emotional maturity and being afraid to step up to the plate for your partner. As women, why would you accept that, why would you think it’s okay, why would you make the question itself about the male partner. Accepting shitty behavior because “he didn’t mean it, he really loves me and I love him, so it’s okay.” That is the response of a person who was abused and continues to make excuses for the abuser to continue. Yes, it’s fiction, but I can’t help but wonder, what kind of fucking advice you give to women friends who bring problems in their relationship to you. Do you respond with, “that’s sad, but you know you’ll get back together. You’re endgame.” What.the.absolute.fuck?

So fucking disturbing…

[shanastoryteller]

I think one thing about siat I personally relate to is how Draco loves his parents despite their racism. All too often I hear people say cut the racists out of your life, but that's really hard when its your parents and your entire extended family who you love dearly. Do I call them out on their prejudices? Yes, of course, but cutting them out is not going to change their minds but maybe me sticking around to show them a different perspective will.

ah. well. i'm glad you liked it and you found things that resonated with you!

i am obviously saying absolutely nothing about your parents, because fictional situations do not at all map against real situations, and i know absolutely nothing about your family and your experiences. and "stay with you family and help change their minds" is actually the advice of several activists!

however

draco did cut his family out of his life

he and lucius get in a big screaming fight after the world cup about their family and draco becoming a death eater and lucius being one and he stops talking to his parents for a whole year. he refuses to go home for the holidays and would rather NOT being published in the charms review than break his silence with his parents to get their permission. he does send them christmas gifts, because he does still love them, but that's it

until he runs back to the manor to save lucius's life, because obviously he doesn't want his father to die, but that's not the thing that bridges the gap between them

it's lucius refusing to kill harry and nearly getting himself killed because of it

and lucius does have a little bit of conscious here, because harry's his son's age and all he's done the past year is think about his son, but that's not why he doesn't kill him. lucius malfoy is not a good person. in the second year he doesn't lose any sleep over all the muggleborn children he's almost killed but is devastated at the idea that he could have harmed his son. he doesn't kill harry because he wants draco to be proud of him, to love him, and he worries that if he does this thing then maybe he won't and the idea of losing his son's affection is worse to him than gaining voldemort's ire

narcissa is sort of go with the flow, in a way that makes her a bit of a psychopath. she'll play the game on either side, will kill whoever she needs to kill, and not care much either way. she cares about her family. she doesn't care about who dies at the end of her wand

draco tells lucius not to get caught again, even if it means doing terrible things, because now that voldemort's back they don't have much of a choice if they want to live - which is a very different situation than they were in after the world cup. and lucius knows that draco feels differently and supports him and does everything he can to protect him

and then, when it comes to a head, he betrays voldemort outright and fights voldemort wandless because draco is in danger

none of this makes him less of a bigot

lucius doesn't really change his mind about anything. he still doesn't care for muggles or monsters or freaks, but he's a slytherin to his core, and he certainly doesn't mind winning, regardless of who he's doing it with

draco does the equivalent of holding his breath to get his parents to change sides. and it works

narcissa and lucius are not good people. they are flighty and ambitious and fought on the wrong side of the war and switched only because their son gained a moral compass and their stance is family first. if draco can't be swayed, then they must be the ones to change

and it's fiction! so that means we love them. in real life we'd be dragging them to guillotine, but it's not real life, it's a fun little fanfic, so real life rules don't apply, and being good parents who love their son more than anything makes up for being sort of insane serial killers

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

i say this all in the nicest way possible, but act your age, not your shoe size.

first off, don't like, don't read. It should be that simple, but for all y'all who can't get that, i'll explain: there is a feature on tumblr where you can block tags AND CONTENT, so if there is a topic that you don't like seeing/a trigger for you, you can not only block the tag, but also block the content. i'm severely emetophobic, so i have content related to that blocked (don't wanna say the word, it's legit a trigger for me). it works wonderfully. if you do not want to see fics about dark content, there are terms you can filter. the internet is a place where people can post what they want, and you need to understand that it will not cater to you all the time. You can curate your own feed so that you can cater to your own needs, but everyone else is not required to change their content to suit your fancy.

in regards to leon and RE specifically, i hate being the "you have to know the lore to read/write" person but (and btw watching playthroughs counts if you cannot afford the games bc things are expensive, and i get that) if you have not made an effort to play or watch anything from the series, i don't know why you feel like you have any knowledge of 1. resident evil and 2. leon kennedy. he is not your "pookie bear", "lil innocent sweet cutie" (you can write him like that and I am not going to stop you! it's okay to write OOC). he goes through traumatic events in this horror series and is a suicidal alcoholic. he would probably not be a perfect father who brings home flowers everyday after work. ALSO HE IS NOT REAL. HE IS FICTIONAL AND HE DOES NOT HAVE REAL BEHAVIORS AND FEELINGS. "he would never do that". yeah, he wouldn't because HE DOESN'T FUCKING EXIST. it applies to all "versions of leon" that you wanna make up in your head. it's fictional. we're all talking about fake people. get a grip.

most of us on this site are adults. if you are an adult, you can consume and produce dark fics. if you don't want to, then you don't have to. here's a parallel: i really like the book american psycho and they sell it at barnes and noble where you or i could buy a copy, but neither i, nor the barnes and noble employee will force you to read it. it's the same thing here.

if you are a minor and you are old enough to get onto the computer/your phone and type "leon kennedy x reader" then I hope you are old enough to comprehend the words "minors do not interact". in fact, you can block the "leon kennedy smut" tag because those works involve sex and are therefore 18+! I do understand, however, that not everyone will heed the warnings, regardless, i am not responsible for putting up the metaphorical baby gate, as I am not anyone's parent.

more about dark content in general: some people write it because it's therapeutic - to those of you who say "it's not a healthy coping mechanism", show me your degree in psychotherapy and then, we'll talk. others enjoy writing or consuming dark content because it's interesting. personally, i don't write dark content, but i do consume it because i find it interesting. i have never found pure fluff interesting. when i was a child, i did not enjoy disney movies. i loved ghost stories, i remember begging my parents to let me watch the corpse bride when i was 5, i used to go on r/nosleep when i was a kid, my friend and i would get her older sister to take us to the movie theater to watch horror movies when we were too young to go by ourselves. all that is to say: i find certain shit boring.

producing and consuming dark content does not mean that you are endorsing that content. capcom makes horror content. do they endorse murder, rape, incest, etc.? i highly fucking doubt it. (yes, all of those things happen or are directly implied in the resident evil franchise). capcom makes the good guys the protagonists and i think that's why it's hopefully pretty easy to understand their intentions. sometimes, people write things where the bad guys are the protagonists :0 - that doesn't mean that they are endorsing the bad actions of the characters. bret easton ellis was not supporting murder, rape, cannibalism, necrophilia, etc. when he wrote american psycho (it's a social commentary about the vapid nature of consumerism and wall street in the '80s and it's a really good book.) vladimir nabakov was not endorsing pedophilia when he wrote lolita - humbert humbert is the villain. if you can't comprehend this, then i don't know what to tell you.

here's another great example to help you: i might reblog content that includes father/daughter incest, but that does not mean that i would do that stuff with my own father. FIRST OF ALL EW, and SECOND OF ALL I AM A FUCKING LESBIAN. I WOULD NEVER HAVE SEX WITH A MAN. EVER AGAIN.

learn critical media consumption and critical thinking in general.

also, if you are telling people 'you're not a real sa victim because you write/like dark content' or 'you're doing harm to victims', YOU ARE THE PROBLEM. most people that i know who have gone through sa (including myself) have struggled to accept that what someone else did was not their fault. it's a huge step in the path to overcoming/coping with trauma to recognize your experience and know that your experience was valid. if you try to invalidate people's trauma, you are actively pushing back their recovery process (for lack of a better phrase), so don't act like you give a fuck about victims! there are conversations that we can and should have surrounding SA, but that's not the conversation you're looking to engage in. i can almost guarantee that none of you are saying that in good faith. you are using SA victims as a reason to police content and i am telling you - as an SA victim - stop it. i understand that some of you may also be victims and i'm sorry that those things happened to you, you did not deserve it (no matter what side of this issue you are on, it's an awful thing and i don't wish it on anyone). if you have not experienced it (I hope you never do), please stop saying things like "this is harmful to SA victims" because it's not your place to speak on that at all.

also, i know some people have been getting rape threats, death threats, etc. YOU CANNOT ACT LIKE YOU HOLD THE MORAL HIGH GROUND AND THEN DO SHIT LIKE THIS. aside from the "moral high ground", you should never be sending that shit to anyone. knock it off. that's harassment.

in line with that, write things that you'd want to read. if you want to read fluff or "wholesome" smut, then write it, and encourage/interact with writers who write that content. for those who are looking for attention, maybe try making content. write what you want. bringing up drama is 1. going to bring hate your way too 2. not a sustainable way to garner attention 3. hopefully not fulfilling for anyone? do something creative. have fun. stop being negative and shitty just to have some weird puritanical circle jerk.

i didn't want to talk about this because I know that half of the people who are bringing this shit up just want attention but jesus christ i'm done hearing people invalidate, name call, harass. just shut up and grow up. i'm tired of reading your dumbass posts. thank you.

tl;dr:

you cannot control what people post on the internet, but you can control what you produce/consume

people creating dark content do not endorse illegal activities

stop weaponizing SA victims (especially when victims tell you to stop) to justify your puritanical content policing

if you are seeking attention, this is a pathetic way to do so

if you want to see fluff, write it and encourage fluff writers to write more

stop harassing others. period.

the world does not revolve around you

<3 i mean this all in the kindest way. i'm just annoyed and hopefully you can understand my reasoning. i don't endorse hate to anyone on any side of this. this shit just makes me want to leave the internet tbh. or like, write for a different fandom idk.

[starhaloeklypse]

Ladies, Gentleman, Those who identify as neither or both, It is FINALLY here. I am so excited to bring this comic to you all and I hope it resonates with many of you out there. Here is my cover of the Undertale Fan Comic I’m working on; “JigsawTale : The Ascension of the PuzzleMaster”. A Post-Pacifist ending long-running Undertale fanwork that centers the perspective of Papyrus. He’s our main character, and we’ll get to see how well he integrates into life on the surface in the human world , along with all of his friends and found family. How difficult is life for monsters who are perceived as even stranger than the average monster is ? He’ll have many obstacles to overcome because Papyrus just isn’t like most monsters. I’m very excited to share my work with you all, this story means so much to me and so much of it is inspired by and informed by my own lived experience. Papyrus is the character I relate to the most in pretty much all of fiction and I feel like I’m telling my story through him, sort of, but also his own at the same time. He’s my favorite for a reason and I think it’s time we give him a moment to shine. The story may contain some potentially triggering topics and events , but when the time comes I’ll be sure to give multiple detailed warnings for anything that needs it. It’s also meant to be viewed by older audiences as such, I’m not really intending for this story to be viewed by kids, it is a story that centers the perspective of an adult who doesn’t always get to feel like one and not only do I think it’ll resonate with that audience more, but it may not be suitable for those who are younger at all times, so I’d proceed with caution. Also I feel I should clarify, I don’t personally see this as much of an “AU”, To me it’s not an alternate universe, so much as it is an extended timeline that asks “What happens to everyone after the end of the ‘pacifist’ run, and what if we looked at all of that from Papyrus’ perspective ?” It’s closer to an epilogue story. Outside of Asgore and Toriel not being immortal in my version of the story and closer to middle age, there are no major differences to the original game, not enough to be considered an AU anyway, but if you see me tag it as one, that’s just to make it easier to find. Regardless , I hope everyone who’s interested gets a chance to read my story when it’s out, it’ll still probably be a while before that happens as I have a lot of things to work on and art skills to improve , but when the day comes , you will know. I plan to continue trying to update when I can. This is just to promote the comic and I hope it reaches as many people as possible. Thank you all for your time and patience, I’m beyond excited.

If you’re interested in the comic and would like to support its development financially , considering I’m a one-man band working on all of this by myself, I’d really appreciate it. If you’d like to request art from me I’d be happy to do so in exchange for donations as well. Any amount helps, and I’d be eternally grateful. Of course however, do not feel pressured to donate. I appreciate you tuning in either way and I hope you all enjoy the story.

[xxvi0lent-vahlkampfiidaexx]

ik i should never ever get stressed about warrior cats fandom drama but the way you guys talk about Nightheart sometimes makes me not feel super safe in this community

Sparkpelt is not a bad cat or a bad mother for her post-partum depression. However, Nightheart still has the right to be upset about her absence in his kithood. Regardless of intention and fault that doesn't make what he went through not traumatic. Sparkpelt named him after her ancestor, and the name was decided before his birth. The name has value to her and that's okay. Nightheart being upset that his name did not reflect who he was as a person is okay, too.

Nightheart is a character who is in an identity crisis. He tries too hard and ends up messing up his warrior assessments. He wants to be seen so he can have a sense of self. To prove himself worth something to himself and to his family. What he's going through is heavy and painful and reminds me so much of myself. I've been ornery when I shouldn't have been. There have been times when every bit of encouragement felt like a personal attack, and the lack of it felt devastating. He responds well to his ego being inflated because it gives him a sense of self. He can only grow out of this with love and support.

OBVIOUSLY, this is just my interpretation and analysis of his character. I am someone who has had a rocky relationship with well-meaning parents who were good people who also left me severely traumatized, at really no one's fault. Anyway my point is it really bothers me when you guys see a traumatized character acting like a traumatized character and call them "an ungrateful brat" and Yeah this is just literal Kids Fiction so i don't really care (or I guess I shouldn't) but Yeah

[yuikomorii]

Heya! In which of the boys route do you think Yui was broken/hurt the most?

I always wanted to know which would be the worst scenario (route) for like.. an avarage girl irl . I know most girls would not survive there😅 but just wanted to know your opinion which of those 6 doors you would never open. Or 13 if we count all the characters.

// Since it's an otome game, it goes without saying that there will be a lot of plot armor and that the love interests can't really harm the heroine seriously throughout the route, regardless of what she does, because the plot would go nowhere like that. Most characters are jerks but not really that hard to handle, since they were known for scaring Yui rather than letting her get genuinely hurt. However there were certain Diaboys who were very scary, as it felt like they had no feelings of remorse or empathy.

Laito:

Can’t say that his HDB route is the worst thing Rejet has ever written (because it’s definitely not) but it baffled me how he was so okay with Yui breaking like that to the point where she lost all her will to live and only wanted to be set free from him. I mean, she literally tried to commit and he was just there not even intending to stop her bleeding veins despite being the one who cut them?? It’s true that in the Vampire Ending she doesn’t turn out that bad but after all, this is just because it’s fiction.

Kanato:

He was easier to understand than Laito because at least you were able to know that he had a soft spot for sweets and Teddy. Nevertheless, it was a bit too much how he kept stabbing Yui with the fork and a few chapters later, I’m pretty sure he stabbed Yui with a knife in more places as well. Still, it’s surprising how she turned out worse in his route, considering the fact that in the afterstory she kills innocent people—

Kou:

I love Kou but he was a literal demon in MB. I really hated how he made his fans bully Yui JUST FOR FUN. It wasn’t even any sort of punishment, he merely wanted to make her suffer. Another thing I couldn’t stand was how he kept putting Yui’s life in danger, only to make her prove her love. I understand wanting to test someone but it would have been way better if he actually saved Yui after seeing her do something dangerous. That way it would have proved that he cared for her yet he continued to watch her get hurt for him over and over again, without feeling any empathy. He was sorta redeemed at the end but yeah, most of his route was big yikes, especially since you wouldn’t have expected a cheerful and friendly idol like him to be such a wicked person.

Carla:

I like the Tsukinami family's desire to preserve their lineage but sorry, I must say that I find it repulsive that a 17-year-old would be forced to become pregnant out of the blue with strangers. I understand that Yui was partially to blame for Carla's anger and subsequent dungeon scene but that moment grossed me out sooo bad. She lost her will to live but Carla literally jumped on a depressed girl and was on the verge of rap€ing her, if his Endzeit didn’t kick in. He gets gradually better throughout his route but this scene left a sore taste in my mouth.

Kino:

Look, Kino is a great villain and a lot of fun, but his LE route was trash. Kino killed a child, mistreated Yui, abducted both Yui and Ayato, planned to sell Ayato to the church for execution, manipulated Yui and tortured Ayato. The pain he caused them both was immense and although I appreciated Yui calling him out, it's so sad that she was brainwashed. While it's true that Kino can be quite cute when he wants to, their romance was so rushed and forced because they didn't give us any reason why Yui would fall for him other than manipulation when Ayato, who was seen to care more about her than for himself, was right there. I wish they developed Kino’s feelings better, given that he straight up blackmailed Yui to become his, otherwise Ayato would had been killed, therefore Yui had no other choice but accept the situation. That’s why his CL route is way better.

I only mentioned 5 instead of 6 but that’s mostly because no other character came closer to them in terms of bad scenario. The rest of them felt decent in their routes for a game called Diabolik Lovers, lol.

[lady-phasma]

Phazzie could you please explain the appeal of Aemond? In great detail please and thanks

I can and I would be honored! I have been saving this one until I could really dig into it. Thanks for your patience, anon.

I'll start with the hair and get it out of the way. Targaryen hair. Now that's done we can move on to why Aemond is such an appealing character for so many in the HotD fandom.

Aemond doesn't have very much screen time and that makes him a bit mysterious. It also makes him fun for fic writers because there is so much blank space to fill in until the next season. You asked for "great detail" so I think the best place to start is with younger Aemond because that part of his character sets a solid foundation for aged-up Aemond who is the primary focus of the Aemond stans.

This kid is complex! Not going into controversies about bullying or whether his actions were justified, objectively Aemond was designed to be more than a one-dimensional character. Your question wasn't about why people hate him but I have to mention that his claiming of Vhagar is the point where fans seem to begin to disagree. However, that such a moment can be so divisive is evidence that it is crucial to his character development.

Back to his appeal. Until this decision is made Aemond is a kind of privileged underdog. He shows disappointment that he was not expected to fulfill any princely duties as his brother is. He is pushed aside as a second son. He isn't a true underdog because, well, he's a Targaryen prince but he has been given a hurdle that is perceived by other characters to be a major disadvantage: he does not have a dragon. For Targaryen royalty that's an embarrassment as well. We all know about the Pink Dread but it's deeper than that.

He makes a rash decision to claim Vhagar at the first opportunity. He's a kid, they act before they think. But he succeeds. Vhagar allows this princeling to ride her. I may not be a good judge of character but dragons are, they know if the rider has the mettle it takes to ride them.

So here's this kid, who lacks for nothing but a dragon, and he finally gets one... under the most inconsiderate circumstances possible. Yup, at Laena's funeral. Kids aren't smart or thoughtful as a rule. Regardless of the 'why's and placing blame, little dude ends up losing an eye by the hand of his nephew Lucerys. Now Westeros is no longer his oyster. A damaged prince, a "cripple" as Bran Stark puts it, and a second son who will have even less duty placed upon him. He's still not to be pitied and he is still privileged beyond imagining, but now his complexity becomes more interesting.

Let's jump ahead. What makes this bizarre, cocky, one-eyed price so likable? Especially when about half of aged-up Aemond's screen time is sass and being rude and literally shoving people. All of that, that's what.

Aemond's appeal is his lack of fucks. He has none to give. He lost them all with his eye. Yes, he loves his mother, honors his father, brother, and sister (don't come at me I'm sure he loves them too). He also worked hard to make sure that he could be arrogant. He didn't wake up a badass. He strove for it. He earned his cockiness. He doesn't give a shit about tourneys because tournaments are for pretty knights who wear armor and ask for favors. He needs no armor, he even discards his shield and still bests a man wielding a morning star. He antagonizes his nephews immediately because he is hyper-aware of his surroundings and planned his words carefully to instill the most insecurity in them as possible.

You might be asking 'how on earth is that appealing?' Well, because the average viewer has to give fucks, day in and day out. His air of superiority is something very few people can get away with without alienating everyone around them. This is why fiction is fun. He is superior and he knows it.

He has no plans to overthrow his brother for the crown but this man knows, and I mean knows, that he is better suited to be king. He knows he is better at everything. Is he right? That's irrelevant for most fans. This grandiosity is sexy. Not only in a sexual attraction kind of way. It's gravitas.

Yet all of that comes from this thin, graceful, precise young man with only one eye. Can you see the juxtaposition, the contradiction, that has been set up for this character? He is, by Westerosi standards, a broken thing. He inhabits a nebulous space, a space not yet concretized by the series, that requires nothing from him while also requiring everything from him.

On top of all of this is a fierce need to rectify what he sees as injustices. He is an ass when he makes his 'strong' pun, as princes can be. He isn't a lovely, compassionate person who rises above, takes the 'high road,' or 'turns the other cheek.' That is appealing as well because it's not how viewers get to navigate their own world. They have to bite their tongues and be the better person. Aemond doesn't have to at all.

To wrap up this monster answer, I want to skip to Storm's End and no, not the chomp, a bit before that. Viewers see Aemond as this rakish, cavalier, sexy Targaryen but I have my doubts that he is viewed that way in the narrative. Lord Borros's daughter isn't fanning herself and melting into a puddle at his feet. He might have Targaryen hair (you knew I couldn't mention it only once) but he is not at all "traditionally" handsome, not as he could have been perhaps, again by Westerosi standards, if he had not lost his eye.

Viewers see him as extremely sexy, again that gravitas as much as his appearance, but aren't frightened of him. The fourth wall protects the viewers from the frightening aspects of Aemond's personality, shields them. And that is the space from which all the appeal emerges. I think I've done pretty well so far to not say "I like this or that" about Aemond. I'm going to do it now. I find him appealing because he is unpredictable. I could very well be frightened of him. I'm not special. I only have a special viewpoint: from behind the fourth wall. His unpredictability makes him interesting (like claiming Vhagar at a funeral) and it makes him a bit dangerous. Of course I think he is beautiful, but that's not the je ne sais quoi of him. What Aemond does that few characters in HotD seem to be doing is making viewers genuinely curious. How that curiosity is expressed is as varied as the fans. Some hate him because he is enigmatic, others love him and project their needs onto him, some want him to be one-dimensional and perhaps evil, and nearly all of them wait with bated breath to find out what he will do next.

[retribution-if]

-> Demo (TBA)

-> Playable Trailer

-> Character Appearances

-> Vibe Playlists (Part 1, Part 2)

You never really learned to let go.

Did you?

Hello, little godling, are you here to seek out an exchange? What is the phrase those mortals say? "Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth"? Are you here to exchange death for death? How counterproductive, no? Though it seems that you refuse to listen to any sort of reason nowadays.

A pity, really.

I expected better from you. However I can't blame you and the emotional storm you brought yourself into. Afterall, having the man you called "Grandfather" turn on you and slaughter your family one day is an understandable thing to fuss over. Personally, I could care any less if my brother died. Your aunt and I would be just fine, frankly. Everything would be better off with one less Primordial, but really, does that matter now with the problems he helped cause?

Regardless, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Here you are, a child of barren nature and moving time, with the dagger of your wilted sister Spring, the sickle of your arid brother Summer, and the laurel of your decayed brother Autumn.

Now, tell me this, little godling.

How much blood must be shed until you think it's enough to satisfy your sense of naive justice? Until every enemy you'll make and have have their blood spilt and pooling by your feet? Until they are on their hands and knees, begging for mercy, for you to spare them, just so you can be the judge of their fate?

Whatever your choice is, I'll simply be here watching you struggle and fall, and drop what remains of chaos you choose to leave in your wake.

~•~•~

Retribution, He Cries is a revenge story set in the Dark Ages of the fictional world of [REDACTED] and other realms, and will be written in Twine. This IF is rated 18+ for heavy themes such as: talks, witnessing, planning, and execution of murder, mass genocide, graphic violence, graphic gore (dismemberment, mutilation, disembowelment, & beheading), body horror, blood, physical assault, witness, descriptions, and mentions of death, religious themes.

*Content Warnings will be updated when needed.

Customizable Winter deity—let your appearance be the last thing He sees

Command and control the howling spirits

Learn how to hunt like your siblings

Give head pats to your dire wolf

Avenge your mother and siblings—leave chaos in your wake

Romance or befriend 4 people that walk with you in this journey

Seek justice for those who have fallen

Don't forget to keep running, little rabbit.

◈ Despoina (Goddess of Magic, The Arcana, Mysteries) She/Her)

The former lover of the god of life. Your grandmother is a powerful goddess of magic, and the giver of it to her mortal disciples known as "Magi". She's been cast out of the Pantheon due to being blamed for her inability to stop your grandfather. Currently, she's been deem "mad" for her constant dreamy attitude despite the horrible circumstances occurring around her.

~•~•~

◈ Nyx (Goddess of the Moon, Peace, Strategy) She/Her)

Daughter of the primordial cosmic goddess Emmera and the [late] god of fate Karma. She is your cousin and a fellow traveller in your journey. For being the goddess of peace, she isn't a very tranquil person, often resorting to violence at every inconvenience. She holds a calm aura whenever she's around, a bit aloof and insensitive at times, though has a soft spot for loved ones.

~•~•~

◈ Sansone (God of the Sun, Wrath, War) He/Him)

Son of the primordial cosmic goddess Emmera and the [late] god of fate Karma. Nyx's older brother and your cousin as well. He's here for the same reason as you and his sister, though mostly just to keep an eye on you both. He has this underlying storm underneath his relaxed façade, but you know better than to provoke it. Often takes the more pacifist route in situations, an opposite to his sister.

~•~•~

◈ Ectorius (Deity of Art, Fae, The Forest) He/They) ♡

You never expected them to join you on this journey. A close confidante and dear friend of your sister, Ectorius is an eccentric and somewhat odd individual. Always blabbering on, and on about making his next greatest magnum opus whenever he can. Though despite how dramatic he is, they are extremely cunning, but he likes to call it "persuasive".

~•~•~

◈ Nakia (The Former Priestess) She/Her) ♡

Having lost her village to the same god she worshipped, her faith in the gods has diminished. Seeking justice for her people, she joins you in your journey, unaware of your origins. An astute and patient woman who is willing to risk all for what she thinks is right. You worry for her and her inability to pick up and swing a sword, preferring to use the way of words to handle conflict.

~•~•~

◈ Faisal (The Archangel of Justice) He/Him) ♡

A member of High Court, which is Malkiel's Fifteen Generals in Zion. He is sent down to assist you in your mission to avenge your family. You know him from your time growing up in Zion, one of your first and only friends after the tragedy. He's willing to lay down his life to protect you from anything, even if you won't do the same.

~•~•~

◈ Lilith of Locked Heart (The Sin of Pride) She/They) ♡

A demoness from Hell, and the personification of Pride. She is a Queen of a kingdom in Gehenna, and accidentally stumbled upon them when she was crawling out of a cave, bloodied, bruised, and broken limbed. Now she joins you in your journey to, in their words, "beat the bastard that ruined them", though you have doubts that it's simply just that.

~•~•~

◈ Abel (God of Life, Joy, Birth) He/Him)

Your grandfather. The catalyst of this madness.

◈ Horatio (God of Time, Wisdom, Change) He/Him)

Father Time himself, and well, your actual father. A scarred and grieving man that refuses to partake in your journey. He does not wish to seek the justice for your family, but instead chooses a more passive way instead.

~•~•~

◈ Emmera (Goddess of The Cosmos, The Unknown, Fear) She/Her)

Your aunt and one of the three Primordials. Grieving over the death of her husband, she has formed an everlasting rage towards your grandfather and grandmother. She has gone spiteful over the years, with a scowl and glare on her face.

~•~•~

◈ Samar (God of Stars, Childhood, Shepherding) He/Him)

Sansone and Nyx's younger brother. Traumatized and confined in the body of a child, he has gone fearful of many things. Samar is often found in the arms of your aunt, clutching a wooden sheep figurine in his hand that he refuses to let go.

~•~•~

◈ Malkiel (God of Aether, Order, Angels) He/Him)

One of the three Primordials and one of two of the oldest gods. He's the man who housed you and your remaining family in his realm. Your father and aunt often warn you to stay away from him whenever you can.

~•~•~

◈ Radian (God of Void, Bonds, Justice) He/Him)

Your uncle. You don't know much about him, since you rarely ever see him during family gatherings. A mysterious and stoic man, with a heavy weight on his shoulders and of few words.

~•~•~

◈ Blair (Goddess of Death, Grief, Funerals) She/Her)

You're not expecting to nor know that you have a grandaunt, and she's not the kind of woman you expect her to be.

[bethanydelleman]

Northanger Abbey Readthrough Ch 13

Isabella's true character is revealed Catherine, "Isabella appeared to her ungenerous and selfish, regardless of everything but her own gratification." and James Morland, smitten with Isabella, has his worst moment:

“I did not think you had been so obstinate, Catherine,” said James; “you were not used to be so hard to persuade; you once were the kindest, best-tempered of my sisters.”

And then when Isabella and John Thorpe PHYSICALLY HOLD CATHERINE IN PLACE, James continues to do... nothing. He only finally tells John to stop after Catherine breaks away herself.

#downwithJamesMorland

It's unfortunate because James Morland is one of the few unmarried Austen men by the end of his novel and you'd like to use him for fan fiction but his sister defence score is so low... (nothing is sexier than a man who treats his sister right!) James ends up reminding me a lot of Edmund Bertram. There is nothing wrong with having a crush on a girl, but you should not be willing to sacrifice your principles for her!

Catherine stands resolute. Her big defining moment of moral backbone is resisting peer pressure, which might not seem like much but it's hard! Especially with the opposition of her older brother. And I want to point out, it's not just to avoid another horrible carriage ride with Thorpe, she does offer to go with them the next day. As she contemplates herself, it was not only for her own pleasure that she refused, she believed herself in the right not to lie.

I love this quote:

If I could not be persuaded into doing what I thought wrong, I never will be tricked into it.

Also Jane Austen playing cheeky with our imaginations:

“She is as obstinate as—” Thorpe never finished the simile, for it could hardly have been a proper one.

My mind automatically goes to "ass" (donkey) by the way.

This type of sentence, that immediately contradicts itself, is used a lot in Jane Austen's juvenilia:

Her explanation, defective only in being—from her irritation of nerves and shortness of breath—no explanation at all, was instantly given.

Here is an example from Frederic & Elfrida:

They were exceedingly handsome and so much alike, that it was not every one who knew them apart. Nay, even their most intimate freinds had nothing to distinguish them by, but the shape of the face, the colour of the Eye, the length of the Nose, & the difference of the complexion.

We also have our first hint here of the General's true character:

To such anxious attention was the General’s civility carried, that not aware of her extraordinary swiftness in entering the house, he was quite angry with the servant whose neglect had reduced her to open the door of the apartment herself. “What did William mean by it? He should make a point of inquiring into the matter.” And if Catherine had not most warmly asserted his innocence, it seemed likely that William would lose the favour of his master forever, if not his place, by her rapidity.

He definitely has a temper and very exacting standards, for both his staff and his children. However, he is very polite with Catherine, which makes her think favourably of Thorpe, "made her think with pleasure that he might be sometimes depended on." If only she knew!

Catherine then learns that Mr. Allen doesn't think that the trip would have been entirely prudent, Mrs. Allen agrees but only from a fashion perspective. Catherine is mortified to learn she has done something wrong, but Mrs. Allen doesn't seem very concerned:

Young people will be young people, as your good mother says herself. You know I wanted you, when we first came, not to buy that sprigged muslin, but you would. Young people do not like to be always thwarted.

This is actually a pretty wise statement, though I'm not sure Mrs. Allen has really been doing her job as a chaperone properly. It also speaks to those grey lines around propriety. We don't see women in Jane Austen's novels ruined by a single act of impropriety in the way that contemporary Historical fiction/romance is always imagining. It is usually a pattern of behaviour. And people clearly understand that young adults/teenagers will be a bit wild at times, because you know, people are people and have always been people.

Now we get to one of Catherine's flaws (which will come up again) she doesn't understand when her actions will be taken as officious or meddling. Her desire to warn Isabella comes from a good place, but as Mr. Allen points out, it's only going to make people dislike her. Elizabeth Bennet has a much more delicate and prudent approach when it comes to Lydia going to Brighton, even though that doesn't end up changing the result. She knows that direct opposition to the scheme would only make her younger sister hate her, which would solve nothing and only create more problems. As Mr. Allen points out, if Mrs. Thorpe is allowing it, let it go.

[xx-slug-xx]

For the choose violence ask game 1, 7, 12, 17, 18, and 21 (Some of these are like blank part of canon ones so feel free to choose any media you enjoy for them)

Using Homestuck once again for this :D

1: The character everyone gets wrong

Equius, full stop. You are not a true Equius fan unless you accept his character flaw and don’t try to defend him at every turn. Or, if you hate him and only see his flaws. Yes he’s a creep, yes he deeply cares about his friends, yes he’s classist, yes he’s great moirails with an Olive, yes he sweats when he gets worked up over anything at all, yes he’s hypersexual, yes he’s autistic, yes he built Tavros legs when he really didn’t have to, yes he chose his kinks and ingrained submissiveness to highbloods over his own life and got his moirail killed too, yes he said he’d deal with Gamzee and it ended in nothing (wow, heir of void moment). What about it?

7: What character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how the fandom acts about them

I love all the characters for their own reasons, so I can’t really say I hate any outright (or for any reason). However, I really get annoyed with peoples’ interpretation of all the Dancestors. It’s ether “uwu they are perfect” or “they are horrible and suck and if you like them, you are awful”. Very few people are normal about them and it makes me not like as much content that depicts them since it feels like nobody gets them

12: The unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

The entire Midnight Crew. Everyone focuses on the trolls and humans and I feel like they get forgotten about. Carapacians are really interesting and all the Midnight Crew members are really likeable characters. They are fun, violent, and cool as hell. My fav is Clubs Duce! But their alternate counterparts are also cool and I feel like people forget about the versions from other sessions besides Jack Noir (Save me Draconian Dignitary, Courtyard Drool, and Hegemonic Brute!)

17: there should be more of this type of fic/art

Unironically nsfw and smut. Since a large part of the HS fandom is made of antis who think if you sexualize any of the characters, regardless of aging them up, then you are a pedophile, it really makes the kinky alien sex smut fics/art lacking in terms of amount. The Alternian trolls having underaged sex is integral to their survival, that’s part of the canon anyway. Like, hs smut and nsfw is so fun to explore since it’s alien emotions and cultural views on sex! It’s my absolute favorite! But so many people are called pedophiles, even if you use the characters who are IN Beyond Canon and are old as shit (they aren’t old as shit, but it’s funny to say it like that lol). Shit makes me upset

18: It’s absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on

Already answers this one, but I can add on to what I previously said :)

Classpecting based on personality instead of just “what class/aspect would thematically look nice”. This is for Classpecting other fictional characters aswell as one’s self. ESPECIALLY one’s self! It’s about personality traits and patterns more than anything else! Players with the same Classes and/or Aspects always have similarities in their personal being! No matter what! Also though, there’s too many knights, princes, and heart players out there and it’s mostly because people kin or have fictives of the Striders imo. Fictive are cool, and are not necessarily included in this. However, I don’t give a fuck if you kin the Striders. There are not this many Knights, Princes, or Heart players! Do your research and find what suit you best! Don’t use the class/aspect quizzes online as you 100% this is what you are! Use them as a base line and for inspiration!

21: Part of canon you think is overhyped

This is hard because if anything, I think of the parts that are underhyped more lol

Probably Dirkjake. Not the ship itself, just their canon interactions. I love the ship since it’s tragic and toxic as hell. But based on the way fandom mostly seemed to treat it when I read HS, I thought it was going to be so much more tbh. It was minuscule and you never saw them together, but the majority of the fandom at the time treated their relationship like it was some perfect yaoi and I was tragically misinformed. Thankfully, the Epilogues gave me more substance to work with lmao

Also Aranea as a villain. People make her out to have played a major role in Game Over. No, she died almost immediately. She’s a great character, but she’s not as great of a villain as I’ve seen people try to make her out to be. She made things worse, but everyone probably would have died anyway even without her influence since Vriska wasn’t there to change things