#(this would have been far too long of a post if I started rambling about actual different excersizes to do)

[crystallizsch]

jhgnngggn i’m back to thinking about post-nrc yuusha and jamil--- extremely long ramble below prepare for uh angst??? i guess???

i buried some of these lore in the tags somewhere but anyways-

yuusha and jamil exchanged hair ties when they separated and went off on their own post-nrc as a way to "remember each other by".

they both have different plans for their own futures despite wanting to be "together"— whatever that means. yuusha stayed at nrc working as staff and jamil is out travelling.

at this point though they STILL never officially “dated” but oh they were so so close SO many times to putting a label on it.

“what happened then” <- idk man they’re incredibly stupid. yuusha is still horribly noncommittal and jamil is- jamil. (“…the hell does that mean” <- SHHHH i will not elaborate)

they ended as just "really good friends" (something something on they’re on the spectrum of queerplatonic but they didn’t understand that that was the case) .

━━━━━━✦

at first they did well keeping in touch from a long distance—

yuusha never forgets to check in on jamil, texting/calling whenever possible, she was always the first to initiate.

and jamil still would’ve made the same effort of course, but yuusha always beats him to it. he sort of just expected her check-ins every day.

and he looks forward to that 1-15 notifications that he gets as soon as he wakes up. it does get him going knowing that she was specifically thinking of him at the start of the day.

that wouldn't last though. eventually, the more yuusha met more people and cultivated new relationships, the more she felt herself grow further and further apart from jamil.

yuusha thrives on physical relationships and the majority of the time the only communication and contact between her and jamil is through the phone.

and so the messages from her became less and less frequent as yuusha got more absorbed and interested in her work and other relationships.

don't get it wrong, she still cared about jamil. loved him even, in her own way.

he just became less of a priority.

━━━━━━✦

it was bittersweet to think that jamil finally had the chance to initiate the conversation.

because that meant yuusha had been thinking of him less and he had to remind her himself that— hey he's still there, remember him?— although that's not exactly what he would say. that's a bit too antagonistic and petty. surely, she's just busy. right?

yuusha would respond as if everything was normal. but the usual fondness, the usual warmth, they weren't there. her words through the screen felt dry. forced.

she can use the unnecessary punctuations and emojis she wants but she is not getting past him.

they called. it was nice to hear her voice. but. there's the same feeling of detachment. why are they talking as if this was one of their first times?

yuu, what happened?— is what jamil wanted to ask. but he would also respond nonchalantly. as if everything was normal.

jamil still tried to reach out to her. similar to how she did with him.

but it was to no avail.

their interactions felt too far gone from what they had.

eventually jamil also realized that there was No Point.

if she wasn’t going to make the effort anymore, why should he?

━━━━━━✦

professor yuusha tala walks in to her class which her signature braid and feathered hair tie.

it's lovely having gotten used to working at nrc. her students are surprisingly behaved and she enjoys teasing chatting with her coworkers. surely she isn't missing anything, is she?

and the traveler, jamil viper. he's seen most of the sights, experienced a lot of things. it's like he is slowly fulfilling his childhood dreams.

he ties his hair with the same one he's been using for years. it's a surprise it hasn't snapped yet from how worn out it looks. this really belonged to someone so cheap, huh.

he wonders why he's still using it. he had come across fitting souvenirs that could replace it.

waste of money— jamil convinces himself. besides, this hair tie is fit for every occasion and it's still holding up anyway.

he'll just get a new one when this one finally bites the dust.

if it ever does.

it's really stubborn for a hair tie.

[former-general-geshu-lin]

You were doing some push-ups. Well, attempt to. You could feel the gaze of Geshu staring at your weak strength. And that was considering the general's 'average' build packed more strength than your average build ever could.

You lay on the ground shortly after, feeling exhausted from those exercises alone. No wonder you were mainly tasked with supplies and medics. Lifting some supplies seem like the most you could lift.

As you drink some water during a break, you decided to ask the phantom about tips on exercise. It sound like a dumb idea, but surely the former general have some secret tips. Right?

(too lazy to come up with dialogue today)

Geshu Lin observed as they seemed to be exhausting themselves with pushups, laying on the ground before getting some water. So he wasn’t too surprised when they eventually came to him for advice.

“Exercise works differently for everyone, as metabolisms fall on a wide range, as do body types. Though I assume you’re simply trying to build strength…. So focus your efforts on pushing your body to its fullest capacity.”

“It’s a long process and an exhaustive one, there aren’t any real shortcuts through it either, so as for personal tips, all I can say is treat it like something you must do. Don’t give up, don’t fall behind, and do not start to view it as optional. If you treat it like it’s do-or-die, you’ll see just what your body is capable of.”

[livecrow]

You've been kidnapped by the local butcher and he convinces you he's going to fucking eat you.

Dark!Ghost x fat fem reader drabble

CWs: dead dove, rape, dehumanization, gaslighting, bondage, undiscussed kink(?), animal play(?), threats and talk of cannibalism but no actual cannibalism

(A tidied up and extended ramble I subjected @391780 to on anon. Inspired directly from their post where Butcher!Simon draws a diagram of beef cuts on you.)

_____________________________________________________________

It’s pretty immediately obvious he’s a murderer. He’s probably a serial killer for all you know.

In reality, Simon doesn’t consider himself a serial killer, despite his body count. He’s just someone who doesn’t have qualms dealing with nuisances. He’s a retired vet, after you’d killed enough people, what’s a few more? 

No, his kills were just business, practical. They were men who made the mistake of getting in his way, of being inconvenient. Most, anyway—there’s at least one or two whose only crime was being an especially annoying cunt. Sometimes, some people  “jus’ need killin’”. 

As a butcher, he does find the implication funny, but no, he’s not eaten any of the scum he’s off’ed. “Don’t serve ‘em up to customers, neither”. After all, Simon’s got far higher standards than that. They weren’t even fit for dog food and he has a reputation to uphold. No one can compete with his quality. 

No, you’re nothing like them. You’re special.

Never in his life had he seen a prettier creature—and you’re absolutely prime. He’s salivating just looking at you, plump and oh so soft. He can see it in the way your skin wobbles gently as you move about. Simon couldn't find a straight line on you. And he’s looked. He’s been transfixed watching you, aching.

You live your life meandering obliviously, no brand in sight, not even a tag on your ear. He's surprised no one else snatched you up. Poor thing left to fend for itself ‘s cruel. Nothing else to it. 

Wrangling you was simple, it’s not like your large form actually offered you anything towards your defense. It was easy, really. Your lack of instincts was staggering, it was even more shocking that you lasted this long, he almost couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

You were clueless to the danger, even when it was directly in front of you, it only endeared you to him. Your eyes roved over him, not paying him any mind, just carrying on about your undoubtedly inane business. Only when he was on you and it was too late did you start to kick up a fuss.

The look of panic on your face was just priceless. All this crying and babbling nonsense like, “What are you doing?!” and “Stop!”.

Simon's main concern was not damaging you too much, he was careful. Just a single huge bicep around your neck and any fight you had seemingly evaporated with fright. You're bent over in a headlock, his grip as rigid as a pillory, but he’s not applying enough pressure to actually choke you. You’re just forced helplessly to come along or be dragged.

Not that it would have mattered if you were too wild to be led, he would simply tighten his hold, and allow up a quick nap. He’d pull out the dolly, load up the truck and be on his way.

On the big stainless steel work table the metal stings you even through your clothes. Unfortunately for you, even that scant protection doesn't last. The sight of the shears was enough to paralyze you again, and with a handful of strategic snips, Simon rips your last vestiges of humanity from you. All your skin transforms to gooseflesh, shivering on the table, but your nipples is where his roaming gaze finally settles.

He’ll have to remember to adjust the heat later. After all, “‘s a bit early to start chillin’ you”, he’d chuckle. You were a bit of silly thing, he thought. Maybe it’d be a minute till you’d actually catch on.

You're his little prize. Simon will coddle you, give you plenty of softness and warmth. You’ll not want for blankets, pillows, and other such treats, but not a stitch of clothing will ever touch your skin again. There would be no hiding your nakedness.

“Clothes? Clothes ‘re for people, what y’ need clothes for?” he scoffed. You don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s a question, because he doesn’t want you to answer. A dog doesn’t answer “who's a good boy?” does he? 

He’s measuring you, jotting things down. You think distantly that the pencil looks puny in his fist. While he's at it, he's feeling and squeezing every inch of you. You’re groped and prodded like some saran wrapped package of beef at the grocery store.

Only when you think there’s finally a reprieve, you’re being hogtied. You’re trussed up in practically half a roll of twine, fat bulging between the strands, desperate to escape its bite. Simon says it looks good on you, can’t resist taking one of your new little rolls between his fingers, giving you a teasing pinch. You struggle of course, but the terrifying man commands you to “Settle”, says the only thing your fussing will get you is rope burn. 

He claps you on the ass affectionately, assuring you that the scratchy string is only temporary. He knows a guy for leather, does good work. All hand stitched. Simon will have a proper harness made for you. Something with a lot of d-rings. It will be more comfortable for you and he can situate you how he likes with minimal bruising or chaffing. 

As he admires your skin, he’ll remark offhandedly that he’ll have to ""'ave somethin' from you" too. He’s not usually one to bother, but it’d be a travesty to waste hide like yours. Couldn’t find more supple could y’? He hasn’t decided what’ll be yet, he’ll need to do some maths to figure out how much material you'll make. Behind his mask and the façade of impassivity, he savors your reaction. That’d be about the first time your consciousness flees from you.

Simon will lay it on thick, praise how "well-marbled" you are. Delectable. So plump and well-fed, you can't blame him for any of this, really. He'll say something about kobe beef and taking good care of you. He’ll massage you daily, knead every inch of you between his huge oiled hands. He'd take his time, temple t' toes. You couldn’t get a knot in a muscle if you tried.

Your more delicate bits don’t escape his tender ministrations either. He takes painstaking work in rubbing your insides down with thick fingers, wringing orgasms from you until you're limp and still as the rest of the meat in his shop. Says it’s good for the flavor, will make you even sweeter.

It’s all completely horrifying, it has to be a nightmare. He says all this so casually, like he’s telling you the time of day. This man is truly completely deranged. 

His hands are always on you, it’s never fucking ending. He's taken it upon himself that you never “exert” yourself and you have no choice in the matter. Bastard won’t even let your hands free to eat or bathe. He "grooms" you. Brushes your hair, trims your nails, cleans your teeth, brushes, lathers, rinses, dries, moisturizes your skin. It’s humiliating and you hate every second of it.

The juxtaposition is too much, the horror and absurdity of it all. All the restraints and manhandling, your looming demise, while insisting on soft surfaces for you, water temperature just right, food carefully curated and cut up just so. He won’t let anything happen to spoil the meat.

He doesn’t spare any expense on your “feed” either. You eat what he eats, might as well be eating off his plate. Albeit simple, it’s good food, you don't see a point in denying it. It's fresh and flavorful and to no one’s surprise it includes a lot of meat. Always from his shop of course, only the best for you.

He’ll bring out some new parcel every night for dinner, unfolding the brown paper wrapping, holding up to you to admire his work. “‘S a ribeye”. He goes on about the marbling, the even color of the meat. “Couldn’t find fresher” he’d say, "was only jus' bleedin' this mornin'".

You’re his captive audience. There’s nothing else you can do but warily watch him make dinner, even if seeing a blade in his hand gives your heart palpitations. Steak, sautéed mushrooms, jacket potatoes, roasted broccoli.

You’ve long since stopped fighting him when it comes to meals. Because it can always get worse. After being bent over on the floor, forced to eat off a dish without the use of your hands, you’d resigned yourself to the fact that eating off his fork was a sufferable compromise. Still, if he’s in a mood he won’t even allow that. You'll eat off his fingers, and he’ll laugh at your expense and chide you when you inevitably “make a mess”. 

The food was prepared, but this time the kitchen knife didn’t leave his grasp. It wasn’t a steak knife. It was too big and not serrated, but that didn’t seem to bother Simon. It certainly bothered you. Its presence loomed like a guillotine in your peripheral.

He feeds you bites between his own. Every mouthful and he looks so pleased. You desperately missed his mask at meal times. At least then you couldn’t see his smug fucking face.

On the plate the steam billows and curls. The meat gives easily under your molars, practically melts in your mouth. Hot and rich and juicy, it’s basted in butter, with garlic cloves and sprigs of rosemary, seasoned with cracked peppercorn and flakey sea salt. It’s a touch rarer than you’d like. 

You wish you were capable of escaping the horror of it all for even a second, pretend you were anywhere else, with anyone else.

Simon punctuated his first bite with a low rumble of approval, watching you with those dark, cavernous eyes. He’d continued in that way, a man content in silence.

”...you'll taste better.”

He waited until your last bite to say it, maybe that was mercy on his part. The meat transformed in your mouth, became sinewy and bitter. You couldn’t swallow, and went to spit it out. But he expected that apparently, was on you in a second. Giant rough hand sealed over your lips, practically enclosing the bottom half of your face, smooshing your cheeks up into your eyes. 

“Chew.”

It takes longer than usual, but you try to obey. His hand hasn’t moved from your mouth.

“Swallow.”

His eyes move from yours to your neck, his thumb grazing your throat lightly, tracing the bite’s trajectory as you force it down. His eyes are back on you then. 

With Simon’s free hand he deftly pierces the last drippy morsel off the plate with the knife, popping it between his scarred lips. The hand still on you moves, migrates to cup your jaw, gradually starting to squeeze. You don’t have any fight left and open before it becomes painful.

Fear paralyzes you again, when he brings the knife towards you.

The movement is slow, as if he’s actually concerned about frightening you. He’s holding it longwise, pointed off to the side.

Then it’s on your tongue.

He drags the flat of the blade’s length across the trembling muscle, leisurely, only moving it away to flip it and clean the other side, myoglobin discarded on your tongue 

“They’ll say ’m ‘spoilin’ ‘er rotten’. Eatin’ off my own plate, sleepin' in my own bed, warm under my roof. Keepin’ you safe indoors. Such a sweet, tame thing, are you?”. He strokes your cheek, wiping at a drip at the corner of your mouth with a thumb before popping that in his mouth too.

Whenever Simon’s put up enough with your smart mouth, he enjoys the look of your wide wet eyes and your trembling lips stretched around a padded ring gag.

The sounds you make when gagged are special little nonsense noises, almost like you're trying to talk like a person would. Sweet, pitiful sounds. He also loves when wet, choked sobs that cascade out of your open mouth, forcing you to drool. “You’re so messy, sweet’eart. Nose runnin’, too.” Says you're leaking from practically every hole. Eyes, nose, mouth, cunt.

Sometimes, you might almost be fooled into thinking he feels sorry for you in those moments when you're hyperventilating and hysterical, or wailing so mournfully. He always hushes you when you're crying, pets and hold you, dries your face, as if he’s not the cause of your tears. Despite how much Simon adores the taste of them, adores the soft jingling of the little cow bell tied ‘round your throat when your whole body quivers with sobs, the stress will sour the meat. He’ll say as much, but surprisingly it doesn’t help calm you down.

If it was necessary, he's not opposed to sedation. After all, he's done the research to find one that won't affect your flavor. But most of the time, his solution to your despair is yet another thorough fucking. Dopamine to counteract the stress.

Simon forces the orgasms out of your body as easily as he forces his cock into it, you're utterly helpless to stop either. His livelihood is working with his hands and unfortunately he’s damn good at it. When all's said and done and you're spent, he’ll lightly chastise you for working yourself up, for fussing.

He loves the heft of you in his hands, weighs your heavy tits in his palms, grips your ample belly. Simon can't resist taking mouthfuls of you into his mouth, worrying your supple fat with his incisors. Your tits, ass, thighs, arms, belly, back fat, hell, your double chin. It doesn't matter, any squishy bit of you. You're always afraid he might be getting impatient, that he’ll take a bite out of you, but he never does. Simon says he's just sampling, maybe tenderizing you a little. 

His favorite taste of yours is still between your legs. He has you thank him for being so careful there. Past you inner thighs and plump mons, the pressure of his teeth yields, feeling barely a graze. 

He likes putting mirrors in front of you, says he wants you to see how lovely you are. Your hands are clipped together, chain snagged in one of the shop's many meathooks, just low enough that you don’t strain your shoulders or quite have to stand on your tiptoes.

He directs you to watch, popping the lid off of a permanent marker with a squeak.

He maneuvers you this way and that as he works, dragging the marker down your body. His lines are surprisingly clean considering his canvas is such a pliant, organic shape. Hands are as steady as a surgeon. The marker tickled terribly on skin, the ethanol smell burning your nose, making it hard to think.

It only took a minute to recognize what he was doing. Your skin itches under the felt tip. You flail, trying desperately to smear it, to muss his work, but the ink dries too quickly.

Simon wouldn't let you keep your eyes closed, so in that moment you were grateful for the onslaught of tears blurring your vision somewhat.

That day, he showed you all your different cuts, as if you cared, as if you were together enough to pay attention.

Chuck, rib, loin, sirloin, rump, round, flank, plate, brisket, shank.

He tells you which are his favorite. Tells you which of his mates he’ll have over to enjoy you, ponders what pieces he’ll think they’ll like best. How to cook different cuts to get the best effect, that some cuts are naturally tougher and have to be cooked slowly, while the other cuts are tender and fatty, can be cooked at a higher temperature, quicker. 

From the very beginning, he’s referenced the “Big Day”.

He’ll ask if you're excited over the shinnnnk of a knife against a whetstone. Simon always keeps his tools in order, clean and sharpened expertly, but he thinks he'll polish them up extra shiny for the occasion. To a mirror finish, so you can see yourself. You're so beautiful, it'd be a cryin' shame for you to miss it. 

It’s been months now you’ve been with him and the day never comes. 

...

You didn't dare question it.

But if you did, Simon would just chuckle, amused that you're so eager. Maybe he'll say that he decided he wants some milk from you instead.

[taegimood]

— fate (c.sb) ♡

pairing: choi soobin x fem!reader genre: angst, fluff, smut rating: nsfw, mdni wc: 1.1k warnings: toxic ex (emotional neglect, abandonment), unplanned pregnancy, body insecurity, pregnancy/breeding kink, brief smut, let’s ignore the questionable timeframe lmao

a/n - this is actually not at ALL what i had originally planned for this concept, it was supposed to just be another one of my lighthearted smutty ramblings (which i might still do in a separate post cuz this concept + soobin’s breeding kink is too juicy for me to pass up lmao) but i like it regardless.. i haven’t done an actual writing piece in ages. this one might be weird tbh lol but i hope you enjoy ~ [written w my lovely @miupow in mind <3]

──────────────────────

it had been 12 months since you met the man who you thought would be forever — foolishly, blindly — the memory as bitter as the winter when you first saw him, mistaken then as something sweet.

it had been 10 months since you began to give him everything that he wanted — the body and the heart that you were never one to gift lightly — convinced that it was love, that it meant more in his eyes that you could never truly seem to read (though you always managed to fool yourself that you could).

it had been 6 months since you started doing anything and everything to make him keep wanting you, losing yourself so slowly in the process that you couldn’t even see it until one day suddenly you did.

it had been 3 months since he left you faster than the changing season when you told him the news, a hurricane of empty eyes and venomous words thrown like daggers that left you bleeding…

and it had been 3 months with a baby in your belly when choi soobin came into your life.

this time, the winter was nothing in comparison to the softness of his smile and the sunlight in his eyes when he stepped through that coffee shop door and into your forever.

—

soobin knew from the moment he saw you that you were someone he could see himself falling in love with.

he had no idea what made you say yes when he asked if you would have a cup of coffee with him;

(maybe it was the fact that he tripped and spilled his milkshake all over you while trying not to look like a loser as he passed by your table and then profusely promised to make it up to you and your poor pair of soiled sweatpants);

and he also had no idea what kept your pages closed even as he got to know you, what kind of shadow it was that would pass over your eyes at his compliments or what made you flinch at an accidental touch of your hands —

but he did know that more than anything he had ever wanted,

he wanted to see the smile reach your eyes.

~

falling in love with soobin came easily.

no matter how hard you first tried to fight it, deny it, run from it… it was as if loving him was something that you were simply made to do.

every soft smile, every careful touch, every word a caress as gentle as the breeze on a summer sunrise; every part of soobin slowly began to fill the cracks of your shattered heart with gold.

the day that he found out about the baby was the day that he told you his heart was yours.

“i know it hasn’t been long and i know i may sound crazy, but whatever happens or whatever doesn’t, y/n, i will love this baby, and i will love you.”

if this child’s father was a starless night then soobin was entire galaxies, the warmth and resoluteness in his eyes enough to melt away any claim that that man had left behind, and as far as you two were concerned, this baby’s real father was standing right here at your side.

——

it’s become harder to find room to love yourself these days as the months go on; your growing belly making it difficult to feel attractive, the insecurities that came with those months of feeling unwanted slowly creeping back into your mind and telling you that you’re not enough to make him stay.

logically, you know that your pregnant body is the only body of yours that soobin has so far seen, and of course here he is still wanting you — he proves it almost every night — but regardless you find yourself crippled by doubt and shame.

frowning at yourself in the mirror after every shower, stuck between the bubbling feelings of love for your baby and the guilt of hating how your body looks because of it.

little do you know, soobin has realized something about himself that he never saw coming before:

your pregnant body has him absolutely losing his mind.

he’s never felt so turned on in his life than when he’s got you laid across his sheets in the evenings with the curve of your swollen belly brushing against him as he slowly fucks into you, your tits full and bouncing softly with each thrust, small hands clutching onto him, your face flushed and beautiful and more undone than he’s ever seen it — free to let go of yourself in his arms.

it’s in these moments that he’s convinced he was made to worship your body with everything that he’s got.

soobin is so desperately attracted to every part of you, so determined to pour his love into you as many times as it takes for you to be able to see exactly what he sees every day;

he can’t help himself, can’t keep it in as he ravishes your cunt, the things he moans and whispers like a prayer in your ear enough to send shivers straight down to your core and push you over the edge every time.

you’re so so beautiful, baby, gonna be the most beautiful mama..

he touches you like he’ll never get the chance again.

perfect belly, perfect tits.. wanna fill you up like this, want you pregnant with my babies, f-fuck-

his name falls like a chant from your lips;

wanna give it all to you one day- wanna make you my wife and fill you up all round and pretty- you’re just s-so pretty, bunny, so perfect.

you feel prettier each time you fall apart.

i love your body, love our baby,

‘n i love you,

i love you,

i love you.

and when you ask him one morning if he means those things he always says, watching as a familiar rosy hue dusts across his dimpled cheeks, soobin takes your hand in his and promises you a lifetime.

——

it’s winter — your favorite season.

the air is crisp and full of starlight as you take a deep breath, the world falling quiet when you meet your husband’s eyes.

“the kids are asleep,” he whispers from the doorway,

and you’ve never been gazed at so tenderly.

you think about where you started and where you are now.

it’s been 5 years since choi soobin walked into your life, bringing the glimmering sun along with him.

5 years since he began showing you the meaning of well-kept promises and honest eyes,

of things that last and things that are allowed to be let go.

5 years since you welcomed your first child into your arms

and 3 since you welcomed your second; all beaming smiles and dimples just like her daddy;

and it’s been 12 months since your belly started growing with your third.

as you look down at the sleeping baby in your husband’s arms, every severed string of the past melts into one.

you smile at the boy from the coffee shop.

he smiles back, and soobin has all he’s ever wanted, because he has you —

because finally the smile reaches your eyes,

and he’s home.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Am I Forgiven?

Summary: one chance is all he gets

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 2650

Warnings: tinyy bit of angst, keir, rhysie poo being nosy. language ig? let me know if theres more i need to add here hehe 🫶🏻

A/n: based on this request by @nightless <3333 hope you like this pookie and please forgive me for taking over a year almost to post this 😭😭😭

(i feel like i kinda went off track but i tried to stick to the plot and my mind took the steering and was like. 'hmm this new route looks cool' im sorry lmaoo)

anyways, ENJOY🥹

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Y/n felt her eyebrows rise, glancing at the back of Keir’s head. She had thought the high lord would try to sweeten his offer, maybe start slow. But he apparently was in a no bullshit mood, and Y/n was not complaining. The quicker the ordeal was over, the quicker she could go back to her back and forth with the General.

Y/n was only here to help protect Keir, maybe even intimidate the high lord, though she knew that would only really happen in Keir’s dreams. That meant Y/n didn’t need to pay attention to whatever big words the two males threw at each other, and so she let her eyes wander.

Morrigan, Keir’s daughter, definitely got her looks from her father, but no one would point that out loud, not wanting to get into anyone's bad graces.

The shadowsinger was one of the most beautiful people Y/n had seen. Pity that he was so cold and closed off from everyone.

If he had been even a little less cold, Y/n would have had him in her bed long ago.

It was a good thing she didn’t really like pretty males.

She liked her males built, rough, and roguish.

Which, fortunately for her, her mate was exactly that.

Unfortunately for her, he was the Lord of Bloodshed, the General of the night court’s armies.

Cassian.

The thought brought a sly smirk on her face as she met the hazel eyes of the illyrian, who already looked ready to pounce over the table to get to her.

Y/n turned her attention back to the high lord before he could see the same urges in her eyes. She had mostly tuned everyone out, so when she heard the words muttered by Rhysand, shock jolted her entire body.

"So your darkbringers will fight when need be, and in exchange, you get to visit velaris. We’re settled then."

Y/n glanced at Keir, wide eyed, who simply offered a nod to the high lord before stalking out. Y/n had no choice but to follow, but she did shoot a last look at Cassian, who looked like he’d seen a ghost.

She knew how hard it must’ve been to receive such news, considering he called the place home and considering how much the elite members of the high lords inner circle hated hewn city and its people, Y/n would not blame him if he lost his mind in the cavernous meeting chamber.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Keir had led Y/n and Bastian to a smaller room, ordering the two to get the darkbringer army ready and prepared to leave at a moment’s notice, to increase their training time and try and test every single one of the soldiers to make sure they were giving their best. And after half an hour of unceasing droning about the upcoming war, he told them to leave, mumbling something about freedom and velaris under his breath as the two generals escaped the empty yet full room, hurrying to get away before Keir decided he needed to ramble more.

The moment they were far enough away, Bastian let loose a breath, stepping off to the side and leaning against the wall. Y/n followed, standing toe to toe with him as she focused her eyes on the rock formations next to his head.

"How soon do you think the war will be upon us?"

Y/n took a deep breath, meeting the onyx eyes that always seemed to know her a little too well. "I don’t know. But it will be soon, I’m sure."

He was quiet for a moment. "When are you going to tell him, Y/n?"

Y/n turned away from him, letting her eyes survey the nearby brothels and shops, full of drinking and revelling patrons.

"Y/n?"

She sighed. "I don’t know, Bas. I feel like he knows already, but then he leaves every time. Every visit, I wonder if he will stop running in circles and finally talk to me about it, but then all he does is flirt all night and then vanish when I start to feel like we might be getting somewhere. I don’t know what to think anymore."

Bas hummed, rubbing his brow. "Maybe just talk to him? Tell him to get his shit together. After all, you do love ordering the soldiers around. Maybe he needs to get a taste of that to stop being a child."

Y/n rolled her eyes then, shaking her head. "Good night, Bas."

He laughed, then clasped her shoulder as she began walking away, halting her in her tracks. "Jokes aside, I mean it, Y/n. you should talk to him."

Y/n blinked at him, then nodded uncertainly. And with a last squeeze, Bas walked away, humming his favourite off key tune.

Maybe he was right. She needed to talk to Cassian.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Cassian’s pov.

Cassian was not someone who squirmed. Sure, when he liked someone and wanted to impress them, he’d be jumping off the walls. But he had never felt uncomfortable under his brother’s gazes, let alone Rhysand's gaze.

Azriel was supposed to be the intimidating one, the one who looked at people and saw right through them. But the way Rhysand stared at Cassian, his brows furrowed and lips pursed, Cassian wondered if he was trying to stare into Cassian’s soul.

Or maybe trying to get through his mental walls to find out the answer to the question he very clearly had.

When Cassian was tired of being stared at like a medicinal herb specimen while he scanned the crowd in Hewn City, he finally snapped. "What?"

"What’s the deal between you and the General of the Darkbringers?"

Instantly, Cassian felt his blood cooling.

"Is there supposed to be a deal?"

Rhysand scoffed. "Not really, but the way you two act around each other suggests otherwise."

Cassian narrowed his eyes, gaze fixed to a far corner in the throne room where a couple had started kissing. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

The high lord snorted. "Yeah sure, I believe you."

Cassian remained quiet, and before long, Rhysand was opening his mouth again. As expected.

"You know, I was wondering if she has something going on with her right hand man. What was his name? Blaise? B-"

"Bastian." Cassian half snarled, his gaze swinging to the knowing eyes of his brother, and he realised that this was his plot all along. He’d been poking Cassian about mindless matters the whole evening, and to add to the annoyance of the general, Rhysand had hit where it hurt the most.

Cassian had seen the two, Y/n and Bastian, interact. And while they probably merely shared camaraderie, it irked Cassian to no end that another male got to talk to his mate so freely and get no repercussions for it, while Cassian had to skirt around everything he wanted to say to that magnificent female, having to settle to flirting when he wanted to tear open his chest and present her with the organ that kept him alive.

"So, I’ll ask again. What’s the deal between you two?"

Cassian released a frustrated sigh, then turned his gaze to the wide double doors, knowing his eyes showed his longing more than he wanted them to.

"She…"

But then she walked in, and his breath caught at the way her eyes instantly met his, as if she had come here solely for the purpose of finding him. And as he watched her stalk to him, her posture impeccable and confidence unwavering, not even sparing a glance to the people as they stepped out of her way the moment they spied her march up to the thrones the rulers occupied without care, he knew he was right.

She stopped only once her boots hit the first step leading up the dais where the high lord and lady sat, brows high. She bowed her head, eyes looking up at them.

"My lord, my lady. Would you mind if I steal away your general for a few moments?"

If possible, Rhysand’s brows rose even higher, glancing once at Cassian before shaking his head. "We wouldn’t mind at all."

Y/n shot Cassian a look, which promptly made him move to follow, but he also could not help but be worried.

She looks like she’s gonna cut off my balls.

The further away he moved from his brother and his high lady, the deeper in the crowd, it got harder to focus on worrying about his assets over the sound of the loud, seductive lilt of the orchestra that blared from the corner.

Once again, he felt Rhysand tap on his mental shields.

‘What?’

‘Is she your mate?’

Cassian stilled for a moment, then kept moving before he lost sight of Y/n’s back.

‘Yes.’

Rhys was silent for a moment, prompting Cassian to wonder whether he had left his mind when he spoke again.

‘Look, I will understand if you don’t want to accept the bond, but do not fuck this up. Reject her after the war is over. If she gets upset, everything will be ruined-’

‘Shut the fuck up. What makes you think I don’t want her?’

Another pause.

‘I thought if you hadn’t yet accepted the bond, you didn’t want to-’

Cassian shoved Rhysand out before he could rile him up even more, pulling his wings closer to himself as he finally escaped the throng of revellers and stepped out of the throne room.

He did not have it in himself to tell his brother that he was the reason Cassian had suppressed his urge to claim his mate right the moment the bond snapped.

He had been worried that Rhysand, despite how much he loved his family, was also the high lord, and he would do anything to keep the court safe, no matter how much he despised it. And if Y/n had accepted the bond already, there was a high chance Rhys would use her to win this war, as he already was planning to.

Cassian did not want to go against his brother, but neither did he want to let his mate be used.

Fingers snapped in Cassian’s face, making him jerk back, wide eyes scanning his surroundings, snagging on the jutting rock’s overhead, the cavernous ceiling, the scarce lighting, before finally focusing on the reason for his abrupt departure from the throne room.

She stared back at him, her arms folded across her chest.

"Are you so distracted because you don’t want to talk to me?"

He blinked, swallowing.

How would he ever tell her that she was as far from the truth as she could get.

Instead, he offered her a smirk. "No sweetheart, I was wondering which wall I would like to take you against first."

Y/n was no shadowsinger, but she was a darkbringer. That brought along night powers, faint wisps of dark sky swirling around her wings frantically that were generally utilised for hiding better as she raised an eyebrow at him, and despite her calm exterior, Cassian knew she was getting agitated by his continuous refusal to acknowledge the mating bond.

He suspected that would no longer be the case very soon if the anger also glimmering in her eyes was any indication.

Also the tiny, foreign emotions taking root in his chest that came from the other side of the bond, because no matter how hard the two tried to block the pathway connecting their souls, it was as if the mother refused to let it be shut completely.

"Cassian, I am tired."

He swallowed again. "Well, that’s nice. Maybe I can give you a massage afterwards, oils and all. Maybe a bath together-"

"Do you feel it too?"

His mouth snapped shut, and he wondered if not speaking would help him at all.

And then he caught a whiff of his scent from her skin, and that set somethin feral that had till now been bound in his chest loose.

"Why the fuck do you smell like Bastian?" He spat out the name, as if even having to move his facial muscles to speak the offending male’s name disgusted him to the core.

Which it did.

Y/n blinked, her brows raising. "Are you serious right now? I just asked you a question and you respond like a typical animalistic illyrian." She shook his head, and the smile that lifted the edges of her lips sent cold fingers skittering down Cassian’s spine, knowing he had messed up. "But you did answer me, didn’t you? Even if indirectly. Pathetic."

Y/n turned away from him, her wings splaying out in a furious stretch before wrapping back tightly against her back.

"Wait, Y/n."

She paused, glancing back at him, incredulous tilt to her lips as she surveyed him. "I have been waiting for quite a long time now, Cassian."

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair as he released a frustrated exhale. "I know that Y/n, but I was doing it to keep you safe."

She barked out a harsh laugh. "Keep me safe?"

He nodded. "I didn’t want you to get caught in between Keir and Rhysand. And you know you would have if they’d realised what we shared sooner."

She was no longer grinning at him, the mocking expression having long melted off of her beautiful features. "And you could not have handled it better?" She took a step towards him, and despite her menacing shadows swirling around her, Cassian relaxed, happy she would stay for a few precious moments longer, even if it was just to yell at him.

"Cassian, I know you can feel my emotions too. You know how badly I wanted to talk to you and figure this out. You really could not have come to me and told me that we’d have to keep the bond under wraps instead of flirting with me and then leaving me waiting for you?"

Cassian dipped his head, shame burning through him. He had nothing to say, knowing she was right and nothing he uttered could possibly justify his actions.

If he really wanted to keep her safe, he would have left her alone. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. This was his mate. And he would have damned himself and everyone around him if he had to ignore his mate.

"Y/n, I- I’m sorry. I know I have wronged you, making you feel like I do not care, but please, give me one chance?"

Cassian watched as her eyes softened the tiniest bit, her shoulders slumping.

"Just tell me why you kept me hanging."

He nodded, rubbing his eyes. "I was scared Rhys would try to use you, and I did not want you to think that I only… accepted the bond to get closer to you."

She stared at him, then dipped her head. "I guess that makes sense."

He watched her, uncertain. "I… does it?"

She shook her head, a smile slipping onto her lips. "I am still mad at you, so don’t go getting too happy. I am not letting you off easy, but…"

"But?" He pressed.

"I guess it’s for the best that we don't do anything now because I need to focus on the darkbringers and make sure they are trained. I’m sure you also have duties, whatever it is you do."

Cassian blinked. He could not believe she was being so gracious. He had thought she would be angrier.

"So… does that mean there is a chance I will be forgiven?"

She snorted, turning away. "One chance, a lot of grovelling. And maybe I will consider it."

She walked away, hips swaying lightly, but then paused, head turning to look at him.

"For the record, I’m sure these walls would be pretty uncomfortable against my back."

And then she was gone.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

permanent taglist: @berryzxx @serenescureforboredom @cassie6392 @harrystylesfan2686

@sarawritestories @milswrites @throneofsmut

@daycourtofficial @sweetorangeblossom @secret-third-thing

Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

@cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1

@hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21

@mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @lady-of-tearshed @starsinyourseyes

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady

@lilah-asteria @girlswithimagination @garden-of-runar @girlswithimagination

@sunnyspycat @artists-ally @milswrites @kingdomofstarrynights

@berryzxx @buttermilktea11 @loving-and-dreaming @yucanbmylxdy

@mellowmusings

Cassian Taglist: @moonlwghts @samslittlespoon @nickishadow139

@illyriassweetheart

[gin-juice-tonic]

book of bill discussion ish post about a single line in the book. Despite it being one line, its a bit long and rambly

So. Ford's "hes making it all up as he goes along" line. Is what I will be talking about

If you read the whole book, you already know this, but just as a recap:

In the book of bill, Ford has placed several pages of messages written by him addressed to any possible readers. These first set of messages offer an explanation of what the book is, and why you should not read it.

In the middle of the book he adds in another set of messages, this time chastising the reader for making it this far and then warning the you to stop reading further.

At the end he stops chastising you and admits he read it too, and how the books presence has been agonizing and embarrassing to him, and how he felt the need to hide it from his family. He goes onto explain how his family finds it anyway, and they laugh at the contents of the book, and at how desperate Bill is for attention. They all reiterate to Ford how they of course care about him despite his past of being manipulated by Bill, and Ford finds comfort and strength from his family and seems more ready to put his shame about Bill behind him.

The above "He's making it all up as he goes along." line is part of this last set of pages.

Something that is notable about its placement, is that the last sort of "story" that Bill tells the player in the book is the "missing journal 3 pages". After that, Bill tries to make a deal with you and is interrupted by Ford's final message here.

As you all know by now, i think the missing pages are fakes. I also think this line and it's placement, if the pages are not fake, would hurt Ford's arc in the book.

One thing we know about the book is it changes contents based on the reader, so I do not actually think Ford *read* the "missing journal pages" in his own version, nor do I think his family saw them in theirs. However, I think the placement of the journal pages being basically right before Ford's final message is supposed to connect the two in our minds as the reader.

Like I have said above, Ford's arc is about being able to move toward putting Bill behind him:

If the journal pages are real, to me, Ford's comment ends up coming across as a sort of Denial (though likely inadvertent) of these pages. This flies in the face of the arc that's been built up for Ford. If he does not care about what Bill has to say about him anymore and is ready to start moving on, and these pages are real, I genuinely believe this line should not have been included.

Rather, if the pages are fake, his comment is more of an acknowledgement. Ford does not care about what Bill has to say about him, he does not care that Bill may be spreading lies about him, he knows Bill is nothing but an attention seeker and Ford is not going to waste his time worrying about what he has to say anymore.

So I think, from the perspective of how the book was written regarding its structure and Ford's arc, this line only makes sense within the context of those pages truly being "made up" by Bill. Whether you agree or just think Alex made a poor writing choice there is up to you.

...but that's my two cents on that.

[luckthebard]

Something I was musing about this morning is how if there’s one major critique I have of C2, it’s that Matt was almost too inflexible with the rules, often seemingly against his own instincts and sometimes to the detriment of the game’s momentum. I remember almost cheering when he firmly decided to stop looking something up they were going in circles over in episode 76 or so (“and that’s how I’m ruling it in my game”) and I think for a long time I blamed it almost entirely on Matt being way too aware of fan back-seat gaming, which he has thankfully really seemed to move away from or at least care less about.

But something I hadn’t considered until it groggily occurred to me on my commute this morning is that that change for Matt’s stance on the rules in C2 might also have been influenced by their massive campaign-long deal with DnD Beyond as a digital toolset.* Hard to be promoting a tool that puts the rules at your fingers if you’re not following those rules, or so I could imagine the logic/concern around the issue. But that also made me think about which players were not necessarily shy about brutal honesty about the way the tool didn’t work for them. DND Beyond in 2018 was a far cry from the functionality it has today. And Liam, whether simply from playing a wizard and having a complicated character or just being a straightforward and set in his way guy, would frequently turn to books/spell cards rather than deal with his tablet. Which also led to the funny ongoing phenomenon of Sam announcing improvements to the tool in an ad which just happened to coincide with something that was making issues for Liam a few weeks before lol.

Anyway, this post is rambling and doesn’t have a point other than that I’m glad Matt feels more free to houserule in C3 for whatever reason (mostly cause he seems more comfortable) and reminding myself of how funny it was how thinly concealed Liam’s dislike for the virtual character sheet was for at least the first half of C2.

*important context for this for people who joined CR later is this was also waaaay before WotC bought DnD Beyond. It was a start-up that was acquired by Fandom in 2018 (around the time of the CR partnership) and would remain a 3rd party toolset until WotC paid good money for it in 2022. Just to level-set about the business relationship that happened in C2.

[jmdbjk]

I'm telling you, their life flashed before their eyes...

The staffs' I mean...

WARNING: CONTINUED POSSIBLE SPOILER ALERT! I may or may not mention "Are You Sure?" scenes in detail and their outcomes during these long rambling messy posts beginning with the next sentence.

While on the kayaks, JK flipped over almost immediately. this sequence will be legendary in my mind:

All is well so far. Let's go kayaking! After being assisted by the Black Hall Outfitter staff, including Mr. Gino, they take off.

At this point, staff is walking away, ready to get on a boat to follow. Everything is cool. But something's not right. Why is the horizon at a 45 degree angle?

Staff has not noticed yet...

Jungkook's $1700 Balenciaga fancy pants are about to get soaked.

Jimin does not see what's going on behind him. Yet.

I can read his mind: "WTF?"

Staff finally notices and thoughts of living on the street start to flash through their heads...

Jimin can't believe what he's seeing...staff is sprinting into action...

He was first worried about his phone but one of the staff had it.

Staff thinking "I'm too old for this shit."

Drowned Rat Jungkook was not on my bingo card. I need a new bingo card.

Meanwhile, Jimin fearlessly paddles out to the middle of the river wearing his $70,000 Patek Philippe watch on his wrist... gasp.

Please take a moment to appreciate that gorgeous sunset in the background.

Seems some of Jimin's Slytherin has rubbed off on our little Ravenclaw (I know that's debatable but that's for another post).

Jimin was probably clenching so tight that flipping over would have been disaster for him.

Jungkook gets back in the kayak and is on his way... staff breathes a sigh of relief that they won't be jobless tomorrow.

Remember when he said this?

And this is how we know Jungkook is able to move past his own missteps.

But still desires some sort of collateral retribution from those more fortunate than he:

And this is the true and lasting take away from this little incident:

A moment that can be a beautiful memory.

And this is about the time this moment happened:

Now we know.

Jungkook was about to put on his royal blue Salty to the Core t-shirt. He wasn't taking off a shirt, he had already taken off his wet shirt and he was about to put on a dry one. That shirt in his hands is not black. And now we know Jimin was about to put on his turquoise one. And now we know what kind of fun they'd had up to that point. And now we know Jimin was struggling with a stomach bug when this pic was snapped. And now we know that Jeep parked next to them was theirs. And now we know they were about to head to the campsite. And now we know why this photo was special enough to Jimin that he posted it on his Instagram for Jungkook's birthday. They'd just had so much fun doing something they never get to do. Definitely a cherished memory for them. It was so endearing to me. I feel privileged knowing so much about this particular day. I hope they are doing all right today...

Things I cannot relate to and will never happen to me:

• Driving over a bridge not realizing Jimin and Jungkook are the ones on those kayaks down there on the river.

• Shopping at Dick's Sporting Goods and running into Jimin and Jungkook while they shop for mens size small shorts and Nike slides.

• Sitting at a bar at my neighborhood craft brewery while global stars next to me sample several pale ales and hard sodas.

Again, I will end it here as I've used up the posts image limit. I will be back with part three of Episode 1.

[dystopyx-blog]

with the ask about all the characters that overblot, you mentioned we’d be better off when they’re regular yanderes as opposed to overblotted yanderes—so who do you think would be the easiest and who do you think would be the worst in their regular yandere state? and do you think some of their yandere tendencies would be different pre-overblot compared to post-overblot?

gonna ramble for a second here… i am honestly not too sure with leona, vil, or idia but i kind of imagine riddle lightens up significantly after it. probably more lenient with his darling in general, but especially regarding the whole following rules thing. i see azul being a 50/50, it probably depends on your reaction. having his darling witness his overblot, aka seeing his deepest darkest insecurities, and react poorly might validate his not-so-good tendencies, i.e., blackmail, lies, manipulation, gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss. but if they react more positively, i assume he would feel more inclined to establish a relationship in a healthy… or at least in a more normal/conventional way. with jamil, i am under the belief it wouldn’t necessarily improve or worsen, it’ll just change. prior to the overblot, his methods likely follow a more sneaky approach, i’ll let you decide what that means lmao, but afterwards, he just becomes more blatant and likely won’t even attempt to hide it anymore. malleus is the only one i am almost certain will become even more difficult. the fear of losing you is still very prominent, but now he also fears hurting you again. he definitely thinks that he is the only one capable of keeping you safe, or at least he did think that, but now that delusion is… essentially shattered and he knows it’s all his fault. i don’t even know what he would do, but i just feel like it will be 10 times worse. stop i didn’t realize how much i’d yap hope you don’t mind…

mmmm, I love ramblings <3

Tbh I was already thinkin of doing a general “what kind of yandere are they?” Post, this gives me a lil head start on it, teehee.

Riddle - riddle is WORSE pre overblot! Because overblot teaches him to be less strict. So after overblot, he’s more forgiving with you, even if he wants to just keep you locked up. But pre overblot riddle is an extremely strict and possessive yandere! You are his king of hearts, therefore you must stay beside him and FOLLOW HIS RULES! No exceptions, even for his darling! Especially for his darling, you are supposed to help lead by example! He can’t stand it when you misbehave in front of the others, no matter how much he loves you. It’s only after his overblot he becomes far more lenient, and it is only after his overblot that he starts treating you with exceptions. He doesn’t want to be like his mother, after all. So he shows you proper love and affection, instead of just rules rules rules. And post overblot riddle feels so so so fucking bad for basically putting you through a speed run of what he GREW UP WITH, which gives you an extra bit of leniency, as well.

Leona - Leona is pm the same pre or post. Like at most he will try a little harder after his overblot to have you. He also will likely be more interested in you after his overblot.

Azul - Azul could very well be worse after his overblot. He watched all his contracts go up in sand. And he went from being fairly confident in himself to once again feeling pretty self conscious, as you said, he had all his insecurities on display. I imagine that after his overblot, more of his confidence is for show. He is SHAKEN after that, in a way that the others aren’t necessarily. All this greatly increases his desire to have you, and have you completely, in a way that leaves no room for doubts. He’ll find somewhere even more secure than where he kept his contracts just for you.

Jamil - I agree, I see Jamil as far more blunt. Pre overblot, tbh I imagine you’d be a secondary goal. Like he’s been waiting so long for this opportunity, he’ll deal with romance later. And/or romancing you is a goal he views as going hand in hand with his takeover—like replace Kalim, charm the girl, that’s not two steps, that’s one and a half, y’know? He’s charming you while he ruins Kalim. But after overblot, he’d probably just walk up to you, no bullshit, just “I like you. I am asking you out.” But if you reject him… well, wtf else is he supposed to do besides try to slither his way into your a heart? Oh but one way to guarantee he’s worse post overblot is if you prefer Kalim. That is the one thing absolutely un allowed.

Vil - Vil is worse after overblot. Pre overblot he honestly doesn’t think about you that much, sorry. He has competition against Niege and like a million other things on his mind. But you… you make him better. In more ways than one, even. He NEEDS you, his overblot only proves that. He is worse after overblot, because pre overblot he will give you quite a lot of freedom (as in he’ll let you go as you please, but he’s still controlling in the same way he is with pomefiore students), but after his overblot he requires you by his side 24/7 or he will freak the fuck out.

Idia - idk much about his overblot :’) Idia is one I see getting worse tho, in a similar vein to Azul.

Malleus - idk much about his overblot :’) but I very much agree with you.

[lucabyte]

obligatory ramble about postcanon loop ask

also your art is amazing

Hiiiiiiiii :D thank you :)!!

and thank you for the excuse to post the. just absolute wall of text that i truncated down to form the tags of that post. (i did,,, hit the tag limit. i forgot tumblr had one of those...) so let me just paste that and tidy it up a bit...

I am putting this under a readmore because it's a bit long. but:

This is like. The General Context for all* of my postcanon doodles? (Except AUs obviously) Like this is the base idea I've been drawing them all in. So, feel free to backread with this in mind. I've basically had this 'postcanon' timeline set in my brain since finishing the game...

My general thoughts are that I like the idea of Loop (even if through dubiously ethical means) being able to slowly reintegrate with the party as a whole new person, because they are, in fact, their own person.

It's a muddle of thematic threads im pulling on and "wouldn't it be fucked up if", but. (at its core, it's powered by the fact that like, while narratively isat's theme of 'the only person who can truly take the first step to help you is yourself'. (wrt: loop helping the party help siffrin in act 5) which i LOVE AND IS GREAT NARRATIVELY…. would be super fucked up irl to learn that your friend 'learned as a lesson' while you stood by kinda uselessly. I know i'd be upset about it. but thats mostly background here. doesn't really come up. at least not until loop has to explain who they are and the party realises they had to fall back on literally themselves again for help, but i digress,)

The real core concept is: Occam's razor. It is like, inherently, a buckwild thing to accuse a person of being somehow a clone or copy of your friend. Even if they start vaguely alluding to a backstory it's far more likely they were some other person before all that. (I still think Odile has that theory in the back pocket but she's rational enough to know it's a really long shot without a solid explanation. and i think Loop deep down knows this, and would, if cornered into confessing, turn the situation around to go J'ACCUSE and make HER explain it instead. Ever longer dodging being direct with their emotions...)

And the party are nice! And if someone has changed and wants to keep stuff secret it's kind of not their business? (Though it's hard not to speculate… see: the main joke of the doodles) And they seem important to Siffrin so they just try to accept them abrasive quirks and all. And eventually the question of their prior identity just fades away since, well, they're Loop. Their friend Loop.

but yeah. personal headcanon is that a few months/weeks after picking up and getting aquainted with Nille** (since that was presumably the IMMEDIATE TASK postgame), Loop reappears (either after a literal period of nonexistance, or just spending a few months wandering the french countryside alone being attacked by wild dogs). Since Siffrin has had a while to be therapised by the party they're doing mostly okay, but Loop showing up and still being agitated/aggressive pulls them both into a bit of a backslide behaviourally and puts the party on the back foot again.

Hooowever, I do think that due to no longer being literally stewing in the worst pressure cooker of all time together, the two do mostly actually sort themselves out with productive conversation. (Via a cycle of: genuinely distressing argument -> weeeird lovebombing -> ok we're good -> repeat, that gets less intense over time)

Thus, allowing the party to just. Integrate loop as a new person. They and Siffrin shuffle into different ecological niches (Loop taking over stuff Siffrin is now too squeamish for, etc (see: hunting, mostly)), and while it's not exactly what Loop wanted they generally get that beggars can't be choosers and it's a pretty good deal. And the rest of the party does straight up just like them as a friend, especially when Loop quits trying to actively antagonise them after a few weeks of being around them, since they just can't keep up being mean to people they like forever.

As for how I think the truth eventually drags itself out. This is where I invoke The Isabeau Torment Nexus™. So its gonna get shippy here for a bit hold on.

Which is, I think giving them time before Loop reappears long enough that Siffrin and Iseabeau actually manage to become established, Isabeau has to be the one to nudge the pair of them and go. "Hey. You know we're in Vaugarde right. I'm okay with polyamory if we all communicate." Before Loop and Siffrin actually even acknowledge that whatever the fuck they have going on kinda looks a lot like a relationship of some kind. (or have already been agonising about that via fighting and arguing, depending) (Obviously this comes after Isa "Emotionally intelligent enough to keep a lid on the jealousy" Beau has managed to use that big brain of his to Not just go Scream somewhere on the daily because oh godddd they keep talking like theyre suicide-baiting each other jesus chriiist. is it overstepping his boundaries to bring that up?? god)

This, taking a bunch of the tension out of Loop and Isabeau's relationship (Since I imagine Loop is a. being weird for the obvious reasons and b. feeling kinda guilty about 'getting in the way of' Siffrin and Iseabeau), allows them to actually get close in a normal friend way. (I think an interesting turning point could be Isabeau actually taking Loop's side in an argument vs Siffrin, which would absolutely break Loop's brain. Especially if it's an argument that matters. Like what do you mean he isn't just going to play favourites. What?)

Then Isabeau, just actually open minded and charmed by Loop (and maybe even somewhat at Siffrin's suggestion?) tries to close the final open side on the polyamory triangle here and that's the final straw for Loop on "This lie by omission is too unethical to keep up, this is just actually sick and wrong. I can't do this while he doesn't know who I am." Though. Obviously it probably goes. Very poorly with emotions high like that. And the added element of several months of deceit. Getting dark here for a second but that dagger is going MISSING and so are THEY for a hot minute.

Then yaaay everything works out in the end 👍 yippieee!! all it took was maybe a lot of harrowed recontextualisation of all the weird shit your new friend said and did when it turns out they're your old friend. It's fine.

But yeah. this is basically the context all of my postcanon doodles have existed within? And those exist to give other people something to chew on. So this does too.

I suppose TL;DR: Imagine if sloopis almost fucking happens before isabeau knows who loop is. can you fucking imagine. can you imagine having to navigate that. nightmare.

*Yes this includes the implied cannibalism comic. Uhh. Comes part and parcel with headcanoning that Loop went way off the deep end similar to A5 Sif But Maybe Worse before giving in. Add weepy half-asleep confessions to murder wherever you see fit in your mind palace. 👍👍👍

**Re: Nille footnote. I don't have anywhere to put this besides here! I have some thoughts on Loop and Nille having an odd dynamic. I don't imagine Nille to be super gung-ho on trusting a bunch of adults (even if they are majority around her age) given their implied backstory. It's probably a big shock to the system, especially since Bambouche is a good couple hundred Kilometers up north from Dormont and these guys don't seem to have trains. She would've been unfrozen and without Bonnie for some time....

Which is to say: I think she's suspicious of them. I think she may be looking for excuses to distance herself, keep Bonnie safe. SO.... A new guy showing up? And antagonising the party? What do they know that I don't...? I should find out.

And since... Loop didn't ever know Nille, they have no ammunition or real reason to be cruel. Plus, if they're trying to stay on Bonnie's good side (SINCE... if Bonnie thought Loop was cringe they may as well kill themselves. In their mind.) they SUPER have no reason to antagonise Nille.

Mostly, they might be able to open up to each other easier than they can the rest of the party?

I feel like this resolves with Loop feeling compelled to apologise for what they and Siffrin let happen to Bonnie, though... Hmm... Depends on how you interpret Nille that they'd be glad nobody else had been told about that yet, or furious it had been secret this long. I lean toward the former.

[slytherinshua]

RUBY OUT OF CONTROL

genre. fluff. brief angst(?). friends to lovers. steven universe au (post steven universe future by a few decades). nicholas is half-gem half-human like steven :D warnings. yn and nico arguing (before the fic starts). nico produces some fire accidentally. just two flustered friends in love with each other. not proofread. pairing. half ruby!nicholas x fem!human!reader. wc. 2k. request. no. a/n. i need to write more steven universe aus fr why is this hitting so hard skdjks. net. @kstrucknet

You had never really fought with Nicholas, at least, never like this. You’d been best friends for years since you met one Summer at an ice cream parlour when you were 16. It seemed like fate when you started talking and bonded immediately. He lived only 5 minutes away from your house with his dad, so seeing him every day started to become routine. 

He said he didn’t really have many friends, besides some gem buddies. You were his first human friend, but you didn’t find it unusual. Gems had assimilated to human society for a few decades since the infamous Crystal Gems created Little Homeworld. You’d had some fun conversations with a few introspective sapphires and a rambunctious peridot yourself. You were always curious to learn more about them, if you ever got the chance. 

Over the years, Nicholas learned everything about you, and you thought you knew everything about him too. You had never expected him to be hiding such a big secret as… this. He was half-gem himself. A rarity, even since the population of gems came to Earth. As far as you knew, there had only ever been one other; Steven Universe himself. 

It wasn’t the fact that he was a half gem that made you upset. You were always ready to accept Nicholas for whatever he was. But the fact that he hid it from you for so long had you confused, and regrettably, you had let your hurt emotions lash out at him. To make matters worse, in the heat of the moment, your feelings for him had slipped out in a messy spew of upset rambling. You weren’t ready for that— neither was Nico. The result? He hadn’t texted you in 3 days.

You were a bit scared to reach out, and too busy overthinking and beating yourself up about how you reacted to even think of how to make it up to him. He deserved better than his closest friend starting an argument when he was vulnerable. It was so easy to see now that he had probably been scared to tell you for years. Of course it was a sensitive topic; and now you had fucked it all up by making it about yourself. 

It was painstakingly clear now that you could put the pieces together. You were almost surprised you had never suspected him of being a gem before. You’d sometimes spotted over the years a hint of red peeking from under his hoodies or t-shirts. And you often wondered why he didn’t like swimming, or wouldn’t show off his muscles like other teenage boys. He was obviously in shape, you’d seen his arm muscles enough times to know that at least.

The red mark you always spotted wasn’t a birthmark, or skin irritation, or acne, but his gem. You felt so dumb for not putting the pieces together earlier, and even dumber for not being gentler with him. But, after the third day of stewing in your regrets and sorrows, you decided enough was enough. 

You were going to apologize to Nicholas at the very least, and hopefully, he would put the argument behind you (and forget about your stupid confession). You really didn’t want to lose your best friend after almost 8 years. You didn’t care about the secrets or even your feelings for him anymore. All that mattered was saving the friendship and seeing him again. 

So, you bravely walked out the front door and started the dreadful 5 minute walk to his house. You hoped he was home. Chances were high that he was. He had never been one to get outside on a Saturday morning when he could be lazing around in bed instead. When you knocked on the door to his house, his dad answered it. 

“Y/n… You looking for Nico?” He asked gently. He looked tired, and you were sure it wasn’t just because it was 9 am on a Saturday. You hoped you hadn’t hurt Nicholas that much…

You nodded, “Is he home?” You were surprised at your own ability to regulate your voice. Although you were seconds away from crying in reality, you tried not to show it to Mr. Wang.

“Of course, of course— he doesn’t go anywhere on a Saturday. I was hoping you’d stop by, actually. Nico’s been having a tough time for a few days; I was hoping you’d be able to cheer him up.” You tried not to get too disheartened by hearing that. You didn’t have the heart to tell Mr. Wang that you were the very reason he must have been having a hard time. He opened the door wider for you to step inside. When you did, you were met with the distinct smell of smoke. 

“Is something burning in the kitchen?” You asked immediately, assuming that your knock on the door had distracted Mr. Wang from cooking his morning breakfast or something.

“No, that’s just… Nicholas.” 

Your eyes widened in confusion, but Mr. Wang merely ushered you towards Nico’s room, backtracking to hand you a small fire extinguisher before allowing you to knock. You didn’t have time to ask why in the world you would need it, before he was knocking on the door for you and then disappearing to a different part of the house. You gulped nervously before forcing words from your throat. 

“H-hey, um, Nico? It’s me… If you don’t want to see me right now, that’s okay, but… I wanted to say I’m really sorry for the other day. I shouldn’t have reacted like that and—” 

The door swung open, and Nico’s dark eyes and red hair came into view. He was in a loose t-shirt, and you could notably see his gem poking up from the neckline. Now that you knew about it, you couldn’t help but stare at the shimmering jewel. You forced your eyes back up to meet his, though.

“—I hope I can make it up to you.” You finished quietly. 

Nicholas sucked in a breath, pulled you into the room by your wrist, and shut the door. Neither of you said a word, and you avoided eye contact with him or even looking at him, surveying the room as a distraction instead. 

“Are you aware your bed is… on fire?” You whispered, not sure whether to be alarmed or not about it. There was already so much else going wrong that a small flame in the room somehow wasn’t your biggest worry. Now the fire extinguisher that Mr. Wang had handed you made sense. 

“Uhm… yeah. Sorry about that.” He awkwardly patted out the flame with his hand, but soon another one sprouted. Flustered, he tried to smack them with his pillow, but as his face grew redder, the flames only grew.

“Is it from your gem?” You took a guess, fairly certain that the fire wasn’t of natural causes. 

“It happens when I’m… angry. Or flustered. Or when I can’t think.” He explained softly, a pain and confusion to his voice. He gave up on the flames, knowing that they wouldn’t catch on anything else in his room. 

“I see. Are you angry at me?” You asked, hoping it wasn’t the case, but with no justification to blame him if it was. You deserved it.

“No. I’m not. I don’t blame you for reacting like that. I was the one hiding something so big from you for so long. I think it’s just cause I’m overwhelmed. I can’t really get myself to stop thinking about 3 days ago.” 

“Me too.” 

“You meant it, right? That you like me?” He dared to maintain eye contact with you, anticipation and nerves bubbling in his chest. They manifested themselves as little puffs of smoke surrounding him. 

You were embarrassed that he asked about it right away. Part of you hoped he would forget you ever said anything, but you supposed there was no way to go back and unsay it. 

“I did mean it. I still do. I’m sorry for the way I reacted, but I promise it was sincere when I said that.” 

It was almost as if you could see the relief wash over Nicholas at your words. The room, which was quite hot when you came in, noticeably cooled in temperature, and the flames on the bed died down. 

“Thank you.” Was all he said, yet the emotion in his voice cut deep into your heart. He took a seat on the bed, and you followed suit. Soon, both of you were shoulder-to-shoulder, sitting in silence. But unlike when you first came in, it was a comfortable silence. A familiar silence. The kind that usually happened naturally whenever you spent time together. But still, something had shifted. There were still unanswered questions to get to— you were both waiting for who would be brave enough to address them first. You took your shot first.

“So… I assume you’re part ruby, right?” 

He nodded, “To be honest, I don’t know much about my gem. My dad tells me stuff about my mom sometimes, but I still feel disconnected from it. Rubies are pretty weak. They used to just be low-ranking soldiers for Homeworld. That’s the capital gem planet out there in space. I’m not sure why or how… I came to be. My dad won’t tell me much about that. He’s a little sensitive when it comes to the whole… self-sacrifice thing.” 

You nodded along to his explanation, all of it making a decent amount of sense for what you knew already about gems. 

“Can I see it? Do you mind?” 

Nicholas could see the sparkle in your eye, filled with curiosity and wonder. He smiled— he always loved your excitable fascination with new things. This reaction to his gem was one he infinitely preferred. He pulled the neckline of his shirt down a bit, revealing the entire gemstone. It was even prettier when you saw it up close. A dark rich red colour with glints of shimmer and sharp cut edges just below his collarbone. 

“Can I…?” You asked softly, hesitant to touch the gemstone without his approval. A cute flush of red covered his ears and cheeks and he nodded, eyes following your hand as it made gentle contact with the gem. He could feel his heart beating faster in his chest at the contact, his suppressed feelings for you growing to an uncontainable size. As if it was about to spill over. As if he was about to do something that he might regret. 

You looked so beautiful, admiring him and his gemstone like he was the most precious thing in the world. He had never felt precious, or like anyone cared about him in this way. His dad loved him, but he could feel how he missed his mother every time he looked at the ruby. Other gems found him unique, and naturally compared him to Steven, only to get disappointed once they realized he would never be as influential or powerful as the legendary diamond. 

But the way you looked at him was different. You didn’t see him as a replacement to his mom, or falling short of a living legend. You just saw him as Nicholas. Nothing more, nothing less. He was the same in your eyes; still your best friend, still the boy you had a massive crush on, still the most important person in your life. 

The feelings exploded, just as Nicholas feared, and a small spark lit under his hands, producing the smallest of flames.

“Oh my god—“ You laughed, eyes travelling down to the flame and then back up to his face, “Are you flustered right now?” You were smiling so fondly, giggles escaping past your lips in a hypnotising and beautiful way. He was frozen— all he could do was stare at you, his face turning a deeper shade of red as butterflies swarmed and his heart raced from your presence. 

And then he felt your lips kissing his cheek softly, and it broke him out of his trance. You still had that same smile on your face. A mix of adoration and amusement towards him. And there was a particular glint in your eyes, as if teasing him, telling him to make the move and kiss you properly. The chance was laid out right in front of him. Who was he to let it run away from him?

↳ &team taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @kpoprhia,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @blossominghunnie,,

@chiiyuuvv,, @seunghancore,, @sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,,

@talking-saxy,, @nicholasluvbot,, @hursheys

[slut4thebroken]

Soothing

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Dark!Jason Todd × innocent Batgirl!reader

Summary | Jason just likes the sound of your voice.

Warnings | Sexual content, 18+, corruption kink, masturbation, no female orgasms, lowkey misogynistic!Jason lol, adopted siblings, but like... he doesn't think of her that way and neither does she, Jason pov.

Words | 1k

Notes | Finally wrote the fic from this post. Also I realized that I said that good weird was the first in this collection but I guess technically this is. That was just the first time they actually got together. (Help I’m literally so bad at choosing gifs/pictures for fics💀)

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Other innocent! reader fics

Backstory for this series here

It had been a long fucking day. A long week to be honest. He never really liked working with Dick or Tim, always preferring to work alone, but he couldn’t deny that he needed more manpower for this, and everyone else he knew was busy, so he swallowed his pride and called them. 

Even though it was his mission, Dick always naturally took the lead, so it was no surprise that he did this time too. The whole week so far was spent arguing about whose plan was better and Tim trying to diffuse the tension, but primarily siding with Dick. He almost considered making them go home so he could do it alone, but he knew that would get himself killed. Again. 

But today was by far the worst of the whole week and he wanted nothing more than to hear your voice. So even though it was 4am for him, he called you, praying you’d pick up. When you did, you started the usual greeting of “hi” and “how are you?” as he took off everything but his underwear and slipped under the covers. 

“When do you come back?” You asked, making him smile. 

“Just a few more days, princess. Promise.”

“Okay.” You said quietly, then, “I miss you.” He let out a low chuckle and could imagine the pretty blush painting your cheeks from his reaction. 

“I miss you too, sweetheart. What have you been up to though?” You rambled on about your day, telling him about how Alfred made cookies earlier and that you were quickly growing bored in the mostly empty manor and your completely empty apartment. 

He tried to pay attention, honestly he did. But he hasn’t touched his cock in almost a week because of how busy he’s been and he missed the sound of your voice. So what else was he supposed to do when his cock fattened up in his briefs? 

When you started talking about this new show you’ve been watching, he tuned out your words a little bit, just listening to the softness of your voice, imagining the pretty little whimpers you could make with it. Pushing the covers and his underwear down, he freed his cock and instantly took it in his hand, stroking slowly. His breathing started to change a little, growing heavier and faster, making you trail off in the middle of your sentence. 

“Don’t stop talking, princess.” He rasped, hand speeding up. 

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly. 

“I’m perfect. Your voice is just so soothing, baby. Keep talking.” 

“O-okay.” You continued hesitantly, telling him about how you fell and scraped your knee, wishing he was there to help bandage you up like he’s done in the past. You told him about how you’ve been having trouble sleeping since you can’t come to his room in the middle of the night after having a nightmare. God- he fucking misses that too. It’s one of his favorite things, being able to caress your body or grind against you while you sleep, never waking up because of how safe you feel in his arms. When he let out a quiet grunt, you stopped again. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? What was that?” 

“I’m so good, princess. Keep going.” He tried not to moan through the words. 

“Okay…” He swiped a thumb over the tip and took in a sharp breath, making you stop again. “Why are you breathing weird, Jay?” 

“Baby, I'm not.” He sighed. “I promise I'm okay. If you don’t want to keep talking, we don’t have to.”

“No!” You said quickly, because of his tone. “I didn’t mean it like that, I was just worried.” Instead of letting him reply, you continued talking about random things that have happened while he’s been away. Every once in a while he’d let out a sound to let you know he was listening, a grunt disguised as a sound of acknowledgement, but you bought it. 

He started tuning out your words again, just focusing on the soft lull of your sleepy voice. You being sleepy is probably his favorite thing, closely followed by you being scared or in pain. You’re so pliable, so easy to manipulate. He can caress your tit or your ass and pass it off as an accident, or even tell you that he can’t sleep in clothes, only underwear, and that it’s perfectly normal for your big brother to sleep almost naked beside you. Sometimes, if he’s really lucky, he can convince you that you won’t be comfortable in those modest pajamas you wear and that you’ll be able to sleep much better in just his shirt. And you almost always agree. 

He stroked his cock even faster, quickly nearing his orgasm after so long without one, and when he cursed under his breath, then let out a long, quiet groan, you trailed off again. 

You did your best to keep speaking, stuttering through the sentences, but it fell on deaf ears as he came, thinking about how fucking hot it was that you didn’t even know.  When his noises quieted and he was lightly panting, you decided to ask again. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I’m perfect, baby.” He sounded significantly more tired and relaxed, but he knew you’d be too stupid to put it together. “You’re so good for me- my good girl. Thank you, princess.” 

“You’re welcome…?” You asked, confused, but he wasn’t going to bother explaining. “Are you tired now?” 

“Just a little, but I can stay up for you.” He murmured, grabbing a tissue from the nightstand to wipe his come off his stomach, cock twitching as he imagined you licking it off him instead. 

“You don’t have to, Jay. I’m tired too.” He knew you well enough to know that was a lie. 

“How about we go to sleep, but don’t hang up. How does that sound?” 

“Okay, yeah. Thank you, Jay. I love you.” You said quietly, but he could practically hear the smile in your voice.  

“I love you too, princess. Sweet dreams.” He knew he would at least have some. 

[roseblog-rog]

Dog of War Changed My Life For the Better

Okay, I know a smut fic doing that sounds silly, but trust me this post is really important.

I wanna take a moment to talk about Mindcrank’s HDG fic Dog of War. Now I could go on and on about how well it’s written, how engaging the story is, how…hot it gets 😵‍💫…but that’s not what I’m here to do. No, I want to talk about the part that really helped me come to an important realization: Princess’ plurality.

//spoilers ahead for DoW up to the end of chapter 33

While not the center of the story, Princess’ plurality is an integral part of their character, being explored and explained throughout the fic. They were, as the fic has said, “two parts of one whole.” Now, to cut to the chase, the specific moment that woke me the fuck up was towards the end of chapter 31, where Princess and her other half “cut themselves in two.” The moment itself sent me into hysterics, prompting a full on panic attack and spiral. I was not only scared for Princess, actually having to contact a friend who had already read the whole thing to confirm her other half would come back, but also for myself.

Because you see, what made this moment so raw and powerful for me is that I too am plural. It’s a fairly recent realization, one that I am only just coming to terms with after reading this, but I did much of the same thing as Princess did. My alter, Skye, is the conglomeration and personification of years and years’ worth of repressed and stifled feelings. Emotions I hated having and experiencing, pushing them away in fears I would hurt someone. Being pushed down and getting cramped together for so long resulted in a fairly recent personification of these repressed emotions. It was terrifying, making it all the more likely I completely lose myself in the feelings, quite literally losing control of myself. Despite the personification, as well as the few times they fronted being almost completely non-harmful, I continued to push them away, down and down until I couldn’t feel their presence at all. I believed I hated them and everything they stood for, having intense trauma towards the feelings of anger and numbness that originally sparked Skye’s formation.

But when I read the moment where that same thing happens to Princess, seeing that split secondhand and not knowing if her other half would ever come back, I screamed out in pain. I realized I didn’t want to lose Skye, that we too were “two parts of one whole.“ I didn’t want to lose them, I don’t want to lose them. I was SCARED. When that breakdown ended, I finally realized that I couldn’t push my other half away anymore.

It will still be an arduous process of healing for the both of us, and it will definitely take a long time before they’re right up at the front with me, side by side, but it’s a start. And when Princess’ own other half came back, saying “we don't truly exist without both reflections, we can't be apart for long”, I couldn’t help but feel the same about myself. Or, I guess, my selves.

Long-winded ramble aside, I wanted to thank @magicalgirlmindcrank for not only producing an absolutely beautiful and incomprehensibly hot story, but also for helping me realize that I’ve been pushing my other half away for far too long. Words cannot describe how grateful I am.

And if anyone reading this is also plural, or going through a crisis of realization or something else of the sort, know that you are not alone. While the journey will be perilous, know that you too will find peace with your selves.

Thanks for listening, I really appreciate it.

[halemerry]

hii first of all, i absolutely love your metas on GO s2! your breakdown of the last few minutes of ep6 was really insightful and i love you for your meta about aziraphale and his role as a protector - it is a very astute look into his character and motivations which not a lot of people acknowledge in their theories/speculation after s2.

more to the point of this ask: this is something i've been mulling over and is the only thing that still doesn't make sense to me in ep6. why is crowley so nonchalant, or at least not noticeably worried, about the metatron showing up to the bookshop (a space he is very protective of) and taking aziraphala away for a talk after aziraphale has already been threatened by micheal? throughout the whole season crowley has been extremely protective over aziraphale and is very much aware of the real danger he is in (re: the book of life). this is also right after crowley has returned from heaven and has learned what the metatron was willing to do to gabriel to ensure 'institutional integrity' and that much bigger plans were afoot. i find it hard to wrap my head around his calm demeanor when the metatron enters the scene and takes aziraphale away, even if it's supposedly for a harmless talk. i wonder if you have any thoughts/speculation about this?

(opps this got too long and rambling). i would love to hear your thought but ofc please don't feel pressured to answer :) love your posts about the season and i look forward to reading more from you. have a lovely day!

Hi!! Thank you so much! This ask has had me by the throat basically since you sent it. It sort of touches on some things I already wanted to write about so forgive me if this spirals a bit.

So in a lot of ways I think this is a question that can have a one word answer. But since I do wanna talk about the way the show gives us this answer I actually want to start with Nina. Specifically I want to start with the thing she tells Crowley as Aziraphale’s off with the Metatron.

“You’re the hard bitten one that can’t trust anyone ever again and Mr. Wherever He Is is the soft one that still believes in magic people being basically good and all that."

I’ve talked a little bit about this line before in my meta about the build up to the Confession here because I think it’s important to view from the perspective of how it preps Crowley for the following conversation he’s about to have. But, aside from that, I think it's really important because it's wrong. Nina is describing herself here, not Crowley. She’s projecting her own issues onto him and Aziraphale in the way that she perceives herself relating to them. Crowley himself is actually the one that calls out her trust issues for what they are explicitly. 

Nina doesn’t trust and she sees herself in Crowley far more than Aziraphale both in demeanor and aesthetic so she assumes he doesn’t trust either. But she has it backwards. Because Crowley isn’t hard bitten as much as someone who tries very hard to be perceived as such. And, most importantly in this specific context, Crowley actually trusts quite a bit.

And he nearly always has. Even as far as back as the Starmaker.

Just look at the way that the Starmaker and Aziraphale both talk about interacting with God. Aziraphale is nervous, anxious and pretty much immediately clocks that what the angel that would become Crowley is saying is going to get him into trouble. But the Starmaker? Even upset about the information he’s been given, he remains confident in the fact that it can’t hurt to ask a few questions. He trusts there to be no consequence for expressing an objection. He trusts that his opinion is valued. Even if he ends up wrong here there’s no inclination at all that he thinks his words will be taken inappropriately. And even the Fall itself doesn’t burn this out of him.

We see him trust Aziraphale, the cherub who was supposed to be guarding Eden from things like him, not to smite him on sight. And trusts him enough to not only have a conversation but express his own worries about his own actions. He then approaches Aziraphale like a friend at the Flood and makes no attempt to censor his horror at what is happening there.

Job is the first time we see Crowley act in a way that implies mistrust between them. This is the first time they’ve met since the Flood which I suspect is contributing to his reluctance to be honest with Aziraphale here. They fall into their roles and then very rapidly fall out of them. The fact Azriaphale reaches out to Crowley here is important. As is the moment where Crowley asks Aziraphale if he’s sure. After Aziraphale more or less agrees to be all in something changes. Crowley is surprisingly honest about his view on the world, mostly trusting Aziraphale not to use it against him. He places himself in front of a host of angels, trusting that Aziraphale would not expose him. And then later he’s even more honest, admitting to Aziraphale he’s lonely in an attempt to show solidarity.

The entire Arrangement could not exist without them trusting each other. Crowley’s pushing at Aziraphale’s boundaries is a constant exercise in trusting that Aziraphale will come around eventually - or that he at the very least isn’t about to weaponize the treacherous things Crowley is saying against him. As early as 1601 we see Aziraphale voicing active concern for Crowley's well being. We then see Crowley actively trust Aziraphale with both their safeties in 1941 - whether it’s trusting Azriaphale to save them from the bomb about to drop on them or trusting Aziraphale’s trust in him to not accidentally discorporate him during the bullet catch. They even explicitly talk about their mutual trust in this year during their shades of gray conversation.

During Armageddon Crowley shows up trusting that Aziraphale will help him fix this and once Aziraphale agrees never once seems to consider the idea that Aziraphale would hide anything from him (even when Aziraphale is actively doing so).

He also critically knows that Aziraphale tried to reach God and got himself discorporated as a consequence. And likely specifically knows that Aziraphale talked to the Metatron and came away from that conversation realizing that Heaven would not help him. It's worth noting whether Crowley knows this bit or not that in this conversation Aziraphale not only explicitly questions the Metatron's authority but also uses the conversation to extract information from the Metatron.

Aziraphale leaves this conversation with an active lie to the Metatron and attempts to call Crowley to tell him everything he knew. He then continually chooses Crowley over Heaven. They pick their own side and help stop the world from ending.

And then, all season, Aziraphale keeps proving that the trust Crowley has always had in him is well earned. Aziraphale, even more than Crowley himself, brings up ideas of 'us' and 'our side' and 'our car'.

Aziraphale openly talks negatively of Heaven. Not only does he agree with Crowley's disbelief that Heaven managed to stay in charge sending people like Muriel down, but he even goes a step further, implying that they perhaps never had control over earth in that way.

He also, most critically, immediately and without hesitation, tries to turn down the Metatron's offer to even have a conversation. Aziraphale, who has also just brought a group of archangels to order, reaffirms his lack of interest in Heaven right then and there in front of Crowley. Right when the Metatron has reaffirmed the threat of the Book of Life is out of play.

Crowley trusts Aziraphale. He always has. And more than ever lately Aziraphale has given him proof that he doesn't have to worry about where he allegiances lay.

But. It's also worth noting. I don't think Crowley is as chill as he maybe seems like he is. Yes, he's sprawled out and speaking casually here, but to some degree this is a bit of posturing. He's playing it cool and also not encroaching on the control Aziraphale has managed to wrangle on this situation. But he also doesn't just let them wander off either. As soon as they hit the door, Crowley is out of the chair and walking to the front of the shop to watch them leave through the window. He's keeping tabs as they walk away.

He then banishes Muriel and promptly starts to clean. Now I'm always a little wary to mix Book and Show canon, but I do think his cleaning of the bookshop (as well as him carrying around stacks of books while babysitting Jim) are manifestations of Book!Crowley's tendency to want to stress clean. He's keeping himself busy and gets done too quickly then promptly glances at his watch before throwing himself into the chair with a frustrated noise. He's anxious and stressed the entire time Aziraphale is out of his line of sight.

In other words, Crowley's not actually as calm as he's presenting himself to be. He's trying to take that nervous energy out in a way that doesn't conflict with giving Aziraphale agency. Because he trusts his angel. And that in part is why it hits him so hard when it all blows up in his face.

[misasimagines]

this isn't well written or anything I'm just. I'm Desperate to get Ren out of my head he's been living here rent free and I NEED to switch into Taiga mode to write that request so. Please enjoy structureless Ren rambles. He doesn't come off as character with Much Nuance (like some others, Rui!! Jin, Subaru, Haku, etc) but like. When he's been sitting in your head for the past 14 business days....things unravel.

I'm not like citing sources here. This is pure vibes. Please don't crucify me if I got smth wrong 🙏

So he has a Thing about the ocean. He watches horrors movies related to it, he seems especially grossed out by it, but he doesn't seem like he's never had experience with it. Which is why I just can't not think he came from a small, coastal town (like from Aquamarine lmao). The kind that has a Barrage of tourists in the summer and over holidays and he Hated it because now he can't just go anywhere without risking being in the background of someone's vacation pictures. And I also can't help but feel like he probably had a parent/parents who parentified him, probably not maliciously, but they still did it. Like two immature parents or one immature parent and one completely absent one, so when it came to actually being responsible about things, he had no choice but to step in. Which is why he's so annoyed by and against hard work- he's done enough of it and he doesn't want to keep getting involved when he now doesn't feel the responsibility to. He probably feels a lot of resentment towards them for what he had to take on. Whether he feels bad about that resentment or not, I can't say.

He doesn't like messes or the animals in Jabberwock. He doesn't want to have to care for anything besides himself. Haru might remind him of his family which is why he's so hostile towards him. Because like Notably, Ren isn't BAD at hard work. He does go to classes, does missions, has a job at the diner, and still has to help around Jabberwock no matter how much he tries to avoid it. He's even dedicated to his mobile games, which seems silly, but those require a lot of routine daily to keep up and it seems like he has a few he keeps up with! And if we consider the Jabberwock chapter, even though he was against Calamari and resented taking care of it, he still did and he still felt guilty when he didn't do a good job at it, so much so that he ran off to the beach to try to revive the poor thing. Not the actions of someone who truly is selfish and doesn't care. Him carrying Haru to safety too- yes, leaving him to die would have been really. Kind of reprehensible but he carried the guy and rejected any kind of thanks and appreciation for it. He could have used that as guilt-leverage to try to get out of things later but...did he? Not as far as I know.

Like he does all of that no matter how much he complains. Also, who ELSE has a campus job? I'll wait. 🥱. Sho doesn't count, the food truck is a passion project. Even BROKE ASS Kaito doesn't have a campus job. Why is Ren working? Does he NEED the money or does he feel some kind of compulsion to make it for some reason? Because he's responsible? Because he sends it back home? Because he wants to have money for post Darkwick life? Who knows!!!!! He got that job like INSTANTLY bro enrolled and got that work study like the first damn week.

And this is way less in the realm of Theory Crafting and conspiracy and more just a pure hc but I just feel like maybe his hostility towards other people, the MC included, is because he might be dealing with the aftermath of a damaged or lost relationship. Not exclusively romantic but like possibly? Like if he grew up in a small town, he probably knew the people around him from childhood to adulthood. And it's not unlikely that he had a childhood friend that stuck through all the years with him. And it's not unlikely that, if they were friends that long, that people would start making jokes and suggestions about them ending up together long term. And! It's not unlikely that! He felt some kind of pressure to at least pretend to reciprocate feelings towards them. So maybe a close friendship became a relationship and maybe he did have feelings for them and maybe he didn't or just wasn't ready for them. Either way, now he's in Darkwick and given how unhappy he is, it doesn't seem like it was his first choice to be there. Is he running away? Does he not have a home to go back to (either self imposed or true exile)? I just. I have questions.

Please someone ramble with me I'm going crazy here. I'm like God I'd kill this guy [thinking about making out with him sloppy style]. Hate him truly he's so annoying I'd argue with him every day. What if this were us

[rallamajoop]

Queer lit of the 1800s: Two gay Victorian vampire stories you've probably never heard of

So, I have this post in the works tackling that all-important question: just why are there so many gay vampire stories? But in writing it, what was supposed to be a brief tangent about a couple of little-known m/m vampire stories from all the way back in the late 1800s era… started expanding into something not-so-brief, as such tangents are prone to do.

But what the hell, the internet tells me it's queer history month: clearly the only solution is to give those stories their own post, where my tangent can spin out as far as it likes!

Now, if you know anything about Victorian vampire literature or the lesbian vampire genre, you’ve probably already heard about Carmilla, by Sheridan le Fanu (1872), the world’s very first (known) lesbian vampire story. To this day, it's easily the second best-known and widely adapted tale in all the Victorian vampire canon (after Dracula, obviously) – and it probably deserves to be too.

But this is not a post about Carmilla, because Carmilla is not the only gay-vampire-story written way back in the Victorian era. It's not even the least subtle gay-vampire-tale.

There are (at least) two others, both featuring male/male vampire/human pairings. And whether or not they ‘deserve’ to be remembered in the same breath as Carmilla, they’re both fascinating works in their own rights: Manor, by Karl Heinrich Ulrichs (1884) – one of the world’s first gay activists – and A True Story of a Vampire, by Count Eric Stenbock (1894).

You can read both online. A True Story of a Vampire is long out of copyright and can be found on Gutenberg (Carmilla is too, if you're interested), and many other places. Manor has been translated into English only much more recently, but you can still get hold of it in pdf form, or buy it in ebook format. But if what you really want are some summaries, and/or whole lot of extra context and analysis to go with the stories themselves, I've got you covered below.

Manor (1884), Sailor Stories, and Karl Heinrich Ulrichs

We’ll start with Manor, since it was published ten years before our other example, and because I’m not quite cruel enough to leave you going "wait, did you really just tell me there was a legit gay activist writing vampire slashfic in his free time way back in the 1880s?" while I ramble on about the other story first. We'll start with the author himself, because his own story is at least as interesting as any fiction he ever published.

Born in Germany in 1825, Karl Heinrich Ulrichs knew from a young age that he was attracted to men. He trained in law, but wisely resigned before he could be fired in 1854 when his proclivities came to the attention of his superiors. Most in his position would've redoubled their efforts to hide; Ulrichs spent the next several years joining societies dedicated to science and literature and developing his own theories about non-hetero orientations, before officially coming out to his family in 1862.

He was just getting started. By 1867, he was ready to come out to the whole world.

Ulrichs is far from the first gay man to recognise his attraction without shame and find society in like-minded individuals ‒ but he may well be the very first to come out voluntarily and publicly, and advocate for the decriminalisation of homosexuality. And when I say "publicly" what I mean of course is, "in a formal address to the Congress of German Jurists." He was shouted down, but it was still a staggering act of bravery for a man of his time. It would still be a staggering act of bravery in many parts of the world today.

Undaunted by his reception, Ulrichs would also publish a dozen booklets advocating for rights for his community between 1864 and 1879, framing their sexuality as natural, inborn and wholly benign. In 1880, after multiple arrests for his political advocacy, he left Germany for self-imposed exile in Italy, where he would remain until his death in 1895. But it's during this period that he published some poetry, as well as Sailor Stories, a collection of four short stories inspired primarily by Norse mythology, including Manor (which we’ll get to, don’t worry).

Though Ulrichs saw little legal success in his lifetime, through modern eyes, his greatest failure might be only that he was so far ahead of his time. When he began writing and advocating, the word 'homosexuality' didn't even exist yet ‒ he himself used the term 'Urnings' for gay men, eventually coining terms for variations like 'Mannling' and 'Weibling' (gay male equivalent of 'butch' and 'femme') as well. He also came to recognise bisexuality, lesbian attraction, and even intersex conditions, theorising that all resulted from some combination of male and female characteristics developing in the same individual, as the available knowledge on embryonic development suggested might be possible. For a guy with only Victorian era science to work from, that's still remarkably close to the modern consensus today.

Nor did Ulrichs' work die with him. His writings would go on to inspire and be republished by gay rights movements that followed him ‒ including the work and advocacy of Magnus Hirschfeld, who created what may be the world's first trans-affirming clinic. Even in his own time, responses from his own readers show much his work meant to them, reassured at last that they weren't alone.

So how does a German activist from the 1880s find himself publishing gay vampire fiction based on Norse mythology while living in exile in Italy? I only wish I knew. My sources suggest his main goal with Sailor Stories was to publish something that would sell. Unsurprisingly, given the subject matter it seems to have sold very little. Manor is the third of four short tales, and by far the gayest of them all. It's also (IMHO) by far the best, and the most interesting.

Set in a Norwegian fishing village, Manor tells the story of the romance between a 15-year-old boy called Har, and the titular Manor, a sailor 4 years his senior, who rescues Har from the wreck which killed his father. In the days that follow, the pair become close, and Manor takes to swimming across the bay on summer evenings to visit Har at his home. And so they meet whenever they can, until tragedy strikes again, and Manor is killed in a shipwreck near the coast, leaving Har inconsolable with grief.

But this being a vampire story, in the nights after Manor’s death, something is seen swimming across the bay to Har’s home, just as Manor used to do. Har is visited night after night by the spectre of his beloved, who lies beside him in bed, strokes his cheek with cold hands, and kisses him with icy lips, draining his blood from his heart, "like an infant at its mother’s breast." Har himself awaits each night with mixed joy and fear, longing to see Manor again, even in such a form.

As Har weakens, the villagers attempt to trap Manor in his grave by hammering a stake through his body, but he continues to visit Har nonetheless, now sporting a gaping wound in his chest. The villagers return with a new stake, widened at the base like a giant nail, and finally, Manor is restrained in his grave. But it’s too late for Har: weakened and heartsick, he dies, begging only that he should be buried beside his beloved at last. Neither rise again. 

Though I can’t speak to how it reads in the original German, in translation, Manor is relayed in largely workmanlike prose. Its tale is short, simple, and sad – but so much about it fascinates me all the same.

(Draugen, Theodor Kittelsen, 1891)

There’s the incorporation of elements you might better recognise from Norse draugr folklore – revenants more typically associated with deaths at sea, or charged with guarding their own graves ‒ but still far more closely related to the vampires of Slavic mythology than most people probably realise. Manor is also one of painfully few stories which clearly recognises what is surely the original purpose of hammering a stake through a vampire’s body: not to kill it, but to hold the creature down and prevent it from leaving its grave. As a hopeless vampire-nerd (I've presented panels at conventions about this stuff, it's dangerous to get me started), I can’t tell you how much I love those aspects of this story.

But above all, Ulrichs’ tale captures what might be one of the oldest and most traditional versions of the folkloric vampire: the spectre of a lost loved one, and the potent mixture of fear and twisted longing thus inspired, that the weight of their loss might drag you down into death to join them. Many ‘real’ tales of vampirism have been inspired by outbreaks of wasting diseases like consumption, working their way through a family, one member at a time. But in Har’s case, it is clearly grief as much as Manor’s physical visits that claims him. He loves Manor so much that he welcomes his lover back, even as a revenant. In his own way, Har too is cursed by Manor’s death to wander the world like the walking dead, until finally reunited with his lover once more.

Nowadays, tragic love stories like this tend to get an eye roll from a lot of the queer community. The old ‘bury your gays’ trope has been done to death, and we’re largely sick of being told that noble suffering is the best we can hope for. But it’s notable nonetheless that Manor’s sexuality has no bearing on his death, and little about the story would change were Har female. It's far from clear if the rest of the village even recognises Har and Manor's love for what it is, let alone whether they'd disapprove ‒ after all, vampires will often go after friends and acquaintances when lovers and family members are exhausted. As such, it’s hard to read the village’s attempts to keep Manor in his grave as a simple matter of prejudice. They're also genuinely trying to save Har's life.

And yet, the way Har keeps the undead Manor’s visits a secret, even begging for the stake to be removed so they can resume, echoes the real experiences of so many gay and lesbian couples far too clearly to be accidental. And however disturbing to a contemporary audience, Har’s willingness to follow his lover to the grave leaves little doubt of the depths of his feelings. To an audience in the 1800s, even the most cliched example of bury-your-gays would be revolutionary.

Did I mention that this story fascinates me? There are layers to this thing.

For completeness, I’ve also read the rest of Sailor Stories (and you can too at the same link). Only one of the other three tales contains any queer romance: the first, Sulitelma, where a boy called Erich falls for a handsome sailor called Harald he meets aboard a spectral storm ship. But there's no happy ending: his sister falls for the same handsome sailor, and shoves Erich overboard to his death to eliminate her competition.

Atlantis, the second story in the collection, is a direct sequel to Sulitelma, but it's even more bizarre. Erich is barely mentioned, and instead we find ourselves reading a tale which I can only summarise as like something I might have found on fanfiction.net back in the early aughts, written by some 14yo trying to straightwash the original material. Here, Harald and some of his fellows go on shore leave to the land of the phoenix, populated by Greek nymphs and Cupid, and mildly comedic hijinx ensue. It is fascinatingly bizarre, but not exactly satisfying as a read (or a sequel).

The final story, The Monk of Sumboe, tells of how two close friends destroy their relationship and themselves with their fixation on the tale of an alluring siren. There's a solid concept in there somewhere, but it's far too short and abrupt to do much with it, and all the characters remain strictly heterosexual. But if there's one thematic detail that ties it to the rest of the collection (beside the many Norse elements), it's that hopeless longing for something others would warn you away from ‒ whether that be a phantom ship, a visit from a vampire lover, or an elusive siren. None of these tales end well for their protagonists, but we're drawn to sympathise with them nonetheless.

I cannot guess what reception Karl Ulrichs expected in publishing this book. Sailor Stories is neither a work that could expect good reception from mainstream audiences or a defiantly-radical queer masterpiece. What did people make of it in its own time? Was it read and cherished by at least a few boys or men like Har and Manor? I’d hope so, but I’ll probably never know.

If you'd like to read more about Karl Ulrichs, I can recommend (among my sources) this New York Times article for a quick overview of his work, or the various work of Michael Lombardi-Nash and Hubert Kennedy (link 2). You can also read the first chapter of his published correspondence online for free.

A True Story of a Vampire (1894), and Count Eric Stenbock

Our second Victorian vampire tale was first published in English, though it was written by a Swedish Count. Like Carmilla in its own day (and quite unlike Karl Ulrichs), both story and author seem to have flown largely under the radar until many years after publication, the queer subtext little noted or commented upon (if at all).

If nothing else though, A True Story of a Vampire aptly demonstrates that at least someone of that era spotted what Carmilla was really about – because he wrote his own version, only about men. Stenbock’s tale is effectively a much shorter, gender-swapped version of Carmilla – but with a larger age gap between vampire and victim lending the story uncomfortable pederastic overtones.

"Vampire stories are generally located in Styria; mine is also," it begins – though I couldn’t name you any vampire story from the era besides Carmilla set there. The narrator, the surviving sister of the vampire’s victim, is called ‘Carmela’, if you needed further proof.

Much like in Carmilla herself, the vampire, Count Vardalek (a Slavic term for vampire) arrives at their house after being forced to seek local hospitality when some convenient ‘accident’ interrupts his travels. There, he bewitches and slowly drains the life from her brother, Gabriel – a boy described in terms variously angelic and fey, a wild thing who befriends wild animals and would rather climb a tree to a window than take the stairs to his own room, but who cleans up beautifully for church – a sublime, cinnamon roll of a creature, far too good for this sinful earth, too pure. Gabriel is a true male equivalent of the likes of Dracula’s Lucy, feminised further still by his youth and innocence. Had a vampire not got him, one can only imagine he’d have eventually have been spirited away by the fairies.

Gabriel and the mysterious Count are drawn to one another immediately. Even as Gabriel wastes slowly away, he greets Vardalek eagerly each time he returns by throwing his arms around his neck and kissing him on the lips. Count Vardalek himself seems to be a vampire of the psychic variety, gaining in health and vitality while Gabriel wilts, merely after spending time in one another’s presence. Vardalek himself seems to genuinely regret Gabriel’s inevitable death, but unlike in Carmilla, there’s no rescue at our conclusion. Gabriel dies, and we’re given no reason to assume he’ll rise again.

To the modern reader, the true horror of this tale lies not with the vampires or even the homoeroticism, but with those uncomfortably pederastic implications. Gabriel can’t be more than twelve years old, his youth and innocence emphasised in his every description. Pains are taken to suggest that Gabriel’s own attraction to Vardalek is as much responsible for his fate as the vampire himself. Gabriel’s father is similarly bewitched by this charming stranger, and never recognises the danger, or the reason for his son’s tragic death. Even the narrator, his loving sister, cannot truly hate Vardalek for taking her brother from her – even when her father dies of grief soon after. Gabriel’s fate seems sealed from the moment the Count enters their home.

But knowing how often real child molesters get away with it, their actions excused or downplayed by their family, their victims accused of ‘seducing’ their abusers and made complicit in their own misery… I can only say that, for my money, A True Story of a Vampire is a very effective horror story in ways the author probably never intended, once you start to question the reliability of its narrator.

It won’t surprise you to learn that the author, Count Eric Stanislaus Stenbock, was a (very) gay man, deeply involved with the gothic and decadent artistic movements of his day. Born to a Swedish Count and an English heiress, Stenbock seems to be remembered less for his writing than for his character. In The Oxford Book of Modern Verse, 1892-1935, W.B. Yeats describes him as a "scholar, connoisseur, drunkard, poet, pervert, most charming of men" ‒ naming Stenbock as an exemplar of the poetic zeitgeist of the age. Notably however, none of Stenbock’s actual poetry is featured in the volume.

Stories about Stenbock are so bizarre that it’s hard to know how much should be believed. Eric Stenbock supposedly travelled with a multitude of exotic pets and a life-sized doll he referred to as his 'son', dabbled in religions ranging from Roman Catholicism to Buddhism, and decorated his dwelling with peacock feathers, oriental shawls, a bronze statue of Eros and a hanging pentagram. One acquaintance once compared him to a 'magnified child': "very fair hair beautifully curled, and a blond, round, blue-eyed face," who paused at the door and "took a little phial out of his pocket, from which he anointed his fingers, before passing them through his locks." But by his thirties, he was already dying of liver disease after years of alcoholism. He passed away at only 35.

Stenbock’s surviving artistic legacy consists of three volumes of poetry and one of prose, with some of those poems including explicit references to Ganymede or male lovers. So how did he escape the same controversy that dogged similar works by other queer creatives of his day, like Oscar Wilde or Walt Whitman – let alone Karl Ulrichs? Well, simple: his work never attracted enough attention to generate real controversy. Stenbock may have been just as much a character as figures like Wilde, but he hadn't nearly the same talent or success.

One last minor biographic detail that may be worthy of note (discovered courtesy of some very poor-quality scans of his one proper biography) is that the youthful Gabriel of A True Story of a Vampire may owe his name to a real Gabriele ‒ a female cousin ten years Stenbock’s junior, whom he would've spent time with in his teens, and seems to have been especially fond of. Whatever the true significance of that name, he'd use it more than once in his fiction: another short story, The Other Side: A Breton Legend, also stars an angelic little boy called Gabriel, with a similar dangerous attraction to the strange. It features some lovely mood and imagery as it sets the scene, but (perhaps as a result of the lack of a suitable model story like Carmilla) it is, in my opinion, a much weaker story overall.

But again, the most disturbing aspect of Stenbock's biography are the hints about his own relationships with much younger men. His second book of poetry, Myrtle, Rue and Cypress, is dedicated to three people: Simeon Solomon (a gay painter of the pre-Raphaelite movement, whom he met at Oxford), Arvid Stenbock, Eric's cousin, and to "the memory of Charles Fowler" ‒ the son of a Clergyman, who died of consumption at only 16.

This enigmatic dedication is all we know about Stenbock's relationship with Fowler. We don't even know how the they met (Fowler seems to have had a relative at Oxford at the same time as Stenbock, but even this is speculation). But that dedication, in a book which will go on to feature poems about the beauty of Ganymede, or explicitly addressed 'To A Boy' (Tis ever a delight, dear, To gaze upon thy face, To love the life within thee, Fair fashioned, full of grace) makes it hard to read Stenbock's feelings as remotely platonic.

It doesn’t help that the same volume includes a poem about an actual vampire, published ten years before A True Story of a Vampire would ever be penned, but with very comparable subject matter:

With slow soft sensual sips Draw the life from the tender spray, And brush from thy soft lithe lips The bloom of thy boyhood away

It's worth keeping in mind that Stenbock himself would've been only 21 at the time of Fowler's death, and that we don't know whether he ever acted on his attraction (whatever form it may have taken). He may well, as I've seen suggested, have kept his admiration private, idealising the image of the beautiful, dying boy in his final days, in that classic Victorian-gothic way. But it doesn't help that Stenbock's cousin Arvid, from that other dedication in the same book, was 8 years his junior, and that their family apparently disapproved of their relationship as "unnaturally close." Or that another famous Stenbock-associate was Norman O'Neil, a composer whom he met on a London omnibus in 1891, when O'Neil too was only 16. Stenbock was apparently taken by his intelligence and beauty, and would go on to leave him a considerable sum of money in his will. By 1891, Stenbock would've been 31, but his fixations hadn't aged with him.

So how are we to take all this? This was an age where a marriage between a 16-year-old girl and a suitor of Stenbock's age would scarcely have raised eyebrows. Uncomfortable as it may sound today, for many queer youths of the era, a romance with someone older and experienced enough to play mentor may genuinely have represented the safest real option available. There are layers of complicated subtext, meanwhile, in the idea of any gay man of the Victorian era casting himself as a vampiric monster, doomed to ruin the object of their attraction with their very touch. There may be layers more in Stenbock framing his tale as "A true story" before telling us of the misery a foreign Count brought to an innocent family, with his helpless fixation on their youngest child.

It's worth noting also that even in Manor, by Legit Gay Activist Karl Ulrichs, our love story is between a boy of 15 and a man of 19 ‒ an age gap of only 4 years, but large enough at 15 to raise some serious eyebrows. His first story too, Sulitelma, involves attraction between a man and a boy (exact ages unknown). Though Ulrichs explicitly viewed relationships with prepubescent children as reprehensible, he seems to have had no problem with relationships between young teens and much older adults ‒ even printing a story sent in by a reader (details in this article), joyfully recounting how he (the reader) was initiated into the world of male/male love as a 14-year-old by his brother's riding master. Ulrichs saw no reason to disapprove.

To confuse things for anyone looking this up today, google Ulrichs, and you'll find a number of online articles claiming that his own first experience involved being sexually assaulted by a riding instructor when he was only 14. This is wrong on multiple fronts: not only is the story related by Ulrichs as a positive experience, it wasn't even Ulrichs it happened to. No, shit like this would not be okay if it happened today (and frequently wasn't then), but we don't help ourselves by distorting the stories told by our queer forebears to fit modern expectations.

But none of that surrounding context makes the youth of the day any less vulnerable to predation, or Stenbock's fixation on youthful beauty less creepy. Today, no evidence remains to help us guess whether idealising the beauty and innocence of youth was the greatest of Stenbock's actual crimes, or the least of them. Anything is possible.

In brief: welcome to the joy of trying to reconcile the complicated place of pederasty in queer history! I'm afraid you can look forward to seeing a lot of it from here on back.

A True Story of a Vampire is not a bad work of fiction by any means. There are some lovely descriptions and entertaining turns of phrase, and the horror is certainly effective. It may even be considerably more readable than Carmilla to many, simply for being so much shorter. But how you feel about it is really going to be up to you.

One last digression about Carmilla and Christabel

There’s one additional work that I’ve once or twice seen listed as an even earlier queer vampire tale: Samuel Coleridge’s unfinished poem Christabel (1800) – the only problem being there’s no vampire in the story (and how queer it is may be questionable too).

Like Carmilla, Christabel tells of a Baron’s daughter (the titular Christabel) who comes upon a mysterious stranger in apparent distress (Geraldine) and invites her into her home. We never learn what kind of being Geraldine truly is (three further parts were planned in addition to the two that were completed), but when she undresses, Christabel spies something that horrifies her, remembering it later with the words "Again she saw that bosom old / Again she felt that bosom cold." But under Geraldine’s spell, Christabel’s recollection of this incident comes and goes, and Geraldine has soon bewitched her father too.

All ‘evidence’ that Geraldine was intended to be a vampire rests on such details as Geraldine having to be carried past an iron gate into the house, much as vampires have to be invited in – but that particular vampire trope wasn’t actually codified until a solid century later (like most vampire-tropes, we have Stoker's Dracula to blame). The idea that Geraldine has the cold, shrivelled body of the undead and revives herself on Christabel’s blood is a perfectly valid reading, but the more obvious interpretation would be that she’s some manner of shapeshifting fairy creature, weakened by the iron of the gateway, not the entrance to Christabel’s home. The aristocratic literary vampire had existed for over 40 years and appeared in numerous works of fiction by Carmilla's day; but Christabel predates the origins of the genre a solid two decades. For Coleridge to have come up with the idea independently seems vanishingly unlikely.

I mention Christabel here partly for completeness, but mostly to bring us back around to the greater family of Carmilla, which is still legitimately the first known queer vampire story. Though far better known than any other story discussed here today, how it came about is perhaps the most mysterious.

Sheridan le Fanu was a prolific writer, but I don’t know of any other story he’s penned with subtext like Carmilla's (and I’m not quite invested enough to read all of the rest to check, though someone totally should so I don't have to). Le Fanu was married, and had children, and that's all I can discover about his personal life. Was he some shade of queer himself? Did he have connections to anyone who was? Did he even realise what he was writing with Carmilla? Nothing I’ve read about him provides any answers. Nor can I tell you how many readers spotted the subtext it the story was first published. In its own time, it caused no great scandal, nor even seems to have garnered much attention (by contrast, Byron & Polidori's The Vampyre caused an uproar when it was published in 1819, mostly thanks to Byron's established fame and debates over its true authorship). It took until well into the 20th Century for it to obtain the reputation it has today.

But I’m sure it’s no coincidence that it was Carmilla that spoke to Stenbock enough that he chose to retell it. And while A True Story of a Vampire is still the only other vampire story of the era set in Styria, there was almost another one: Dracula, at least Stoker’s early plans for the novel. Styria also remains part of the unused prequel chapter later published as Dracula’s Guest. The setting isn’t the only detail Stoker nearly-borrowed from Carmilla either, my favourite example being the weird schedule by which both she and Dracula seem to have to be in bed in their coffins at dawn each day, both apparently helpless and immobile in sleep, though both are also repeatedly seen up and about later in the day. Neither tale offers any real explanation.

Have I mentioned lately that Stoker, too, was almost certainly some shade of gay?

Now, the fact that two different queer writers both found Carmilla so very inspiring – and would even both publish their own works of vampire literature within five years of one another – isn’t much to go on, in trying to establish what a story like Carmilla might’ve meant to England’s queer population some twenty years after it was written. Maybe Carmilla was being eagerly passed around London’s own Uranian gothic societies at the time. Or maybe two different men happened upon it by chance in wholly different circumstances, and took very different things from reading it. Maybe Stoker didn’t even notice the queer subtext himself. But I can’t help but wonder if just maybe, there's something more than coincidence at work here.

Carmilla the vampire is an explicitly villainous character, her victim confused and unwilling. But she remains one of the most complex and sympathetic vampires of her era. And perhaps, to a community who had never seen Ulrichs’ writing published in their own language, and might never see themselves represented in fiction except as monsters buried in layers of protective subtext, that still meant something to readers like Stenbock, and Stocker, and who knows how many others.

In short, maybe old, gay vampire stories like these really are worth remembering. I'll leave that one up to you.