#Even if you're from another verse :P

[skyewritesstuff]

greedy | p. mellark

my masterlist.

summary: after months of being in what you think is a situationship with peeta, you finally confront him about whether or not there's anything truly there or if you're just another girl who has fallen for his kindness and misinterpreted the signs.

pairing: peeta mellark x reader (college!au, fratboy!peeta if you squint)

fandom: the hunger games

warnings: nothing too serious. implied nsfw at the end. afab reader. sorta ooc peeta...it's mostly environmental because we all know peeta's a flirt.

notes: based on greedy by tate mcrae even though the verse at the end gives me everlark vibes. also, this has been beta read. :)

word count: 2.8k

He’s here. Are you coming?

You looked at the blue and gray text thread, Clove’s name, and contact picture with a little clover emoji sitting right on top of it. A sigh escaped you as you looked up from your phone at the fraternity house that was positioned in front of you. You’d been leaning against the fencing that surrounded the yard for what felt like an hour, but in reality, it’d only been a few minutes.

As of late, facing Peeta Mellark has always been an unpredictable situation. While he was kind, polite, and charismatic, that charisma oftentimes led to him getting entangled metaphorically (at least you hoped) with other girls. You couldn’t tell if he didn’t know how to say no, was weighing out his options, or if he was what Clove often referred to as a “fuckboy”. 

Fuck it. You rolled your eyes, stuffed your phone into your jacket pocket, and made your way across the cement walkway leading to the house. Having second thoughts, you pulled your phone back out, pulling up the same conversation with Clove.

Is she here?

The person you were speaking of was none other than Katniss Everdeen. She was the most recent girl that Peeta had been hanging around with and was simultaneously the cause of your latest installment of confusion. According to some of your other friends, she’d been friends with Peeta for a while and the study date you ran up on in the library was nothing but a platonic catch-up amongst busy friends.

However, one Madge Undersee had more than the opposite to say. All it took was one group mirror shot in the bathroom at a nightclub posted on Instagram, featuring you and Peeta in the outskirts of the photo, his arm wrapped securely around your waist, for her to send you a heated DM saying that he and Katniss had been a thing for forever and that you were coming between them.

You very quickly sent back, “Funny how the alleged ‘other girl’ always gets shit while the dude gets to slide by.” with a sarcastically placed upside-down smiley that was left on read still to this day.

A typing bubble appeared in Clove’s thread.

I don’t think so!

You let out another sigh, relieved that for now, Katniss wasn’t a worry. You walked into the house, looking around. There was a cloud of smoke in the air, presumably from various substances and/or a smoke machine, and bright lights coming from various directions. You squinted, trying to make out anyone you knew, but specifically trying to find Clove.

“Hey!” The greeting was slurred, long, and drawn out as an arm was all but dropped onto your shoulders. Finnick Odair was standing beside you, laughing at what appeared to be nothing. Finnick was a grad student that you’d met while waiting in line for coffee, quickly discovering that you two had mutual connections.

“Y/N…Y/N…you look…beautiful, stunning, ravishing…Have you seen Annie?” 

You chuckled at how rapidly his thought process changed. “Nope, I just got here! Maybe try calling her?”

“Ha,” he let out, “I don’t…I don’t know her number…”

“But she should be in your… never mind, you’ll find her I’m sure.” you grinned, shaking your head.

“Alright, sweet!” Finnick started to walk away, but then quickly turned on his heel back to you, pointing in your direction.

“Almost forgot…Peeta’s looking for you!”

“What?”

The question was ignored as he walked away, approaching another male at the party the same way he’d approached you. Peeta was looking for you? Was he serious or just on another planet from the amount of alcohol in his system?

You kept maneuvering through the crowd, trying to locate the kitchen, knowing that’s where most of the snacks and drinks were. The kitchen also usually served as a good place to wait around if you were looking for someone. 

You pulled out your phone, shooting a text to Clove to meet you in the kitchen. You stared down at the screen, hoping for a speech bubble to pop up saying she was either on her way or giving you simple directions to wherever she was located. You then felt yourself collide with someone in a way that wasn’t painful, but most definitely was going to lead to an awkward exchange.

“Oh shit…I’m so sorry…”

You were met with blonde hair and a black hoodie and then a beautiful set of oh-too-familiar blue eyes.

“Don’t be!” Peeta smiled, “I was looking for you! I sent out Finnick to look for you and everything.”

You rolled your eyes with a smirk, “Well, you might want to find someone sober enough to complete the mission next time, just saying.”

“You are probably absolutely correct…but it’s fine. Why send someone else when it’s something you can do on your own way better, right?” he smiled, leaning on the wall, taking a sip from his cup, “Do you want something to drink?”

“What is that?” you gestured to the cup, raising a curious yet somewhat fearful eyebrow.

Peeta shrugged, “I think it’s some kind of jungle juice. The base has to be Hawaiian Punch because of the color if that helps.” He extended the cup towards you, “Want to see for yourself?”

You nodded and took the cup, taking a sip. It was definitely Hawaiian Punch, and it wasn’t as strong as you thought it would be, which could either be a help or a hindrance. 

“Pretty good, right?” he asked. You nodded in response, handing the cup back to him. “Do you want me to get you some of that…or I can try to mix you something myself?”

“Whatever that is, that’s fine.” you answered, following him over to a large orange Gatorade dispenser that had the word “NOT” written on a piece of tape, stuck above the label. You chuckled under your breath as you watched the blonde grab a cup, scoop out some ice, and then fill the drink. As he did this, you took the time to take in his appearance as your brain had been busy keeping up with the conversation instead of taking a good look at him.

He was in a black hoodie with a small logo on the chest; his blonde hair falling into his face a little. He also was wearing gray joggers with his university lanyard sticking out of the pocket, falling onto his leg with a pair of somewhat beaten-up sneakers. Despite his relaxed appearance, he looked put together. He looked good.

Peeta turned back to you, handing you the cup, which you took with a smile. “Do you wanna go somewhere quieter?” he asked, gesturing to the surroundings before refilling his cup.

Your stomach turned with nerves. He probably just meant to talk, but what if he didn't? You knew for a fact that your bra and underwear were not fancy, nor did they match, and you probably had the lowest body count in your friend group. You took a hard swallow.

“...To talk…” Peeta laughed, his tone sounding a little nervous as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and took a sip from his cup. The lights well-hid the red flush on his face.

“Oh…okay, yeah!” you laughed back, watching as he extended his hand. You took his hand, noticing how he immediately laced your fingers together as he walked you through the main hallway that you’d just walked through and up the stairs. 

Someone at a distance must��ve seen you both making your way upstairs, because someone wolf-whistled and then called Peeta’s name, causing him to sharply turn over his shoulder to try and identify the person. He quickly stuck his middle finger up at no one in particular, given the culprit was never identified, and then sped up a little as you both got up to the top of the stairs.

“I'm sorry. People are dumb and make ridiculous assumptions…like I’m really not trying to…”

“Peeta, it’s okay.” you reassured him, “If Clove had seen me, she probably would’ve been ten times worse and reminded me of one of her ridiculous tips to supposedly eliminate your gag reflex that she learned on TikTok.”

Peeta somewhat choked on the sip of his drink that he was taking, laughing at your comment, “Who said you couldn’t learn something off of the internet.”

He led you down a shorter hallway to a door. He knocked twice before opening it, finding it just as he must’ve left it, as you quickly put two-and-two together that this was his room. He shut and locked the door behind him, took another sip from his drink, and sat it on his bedside table before flopping on the bed as you leaned against the wall.

You took a big sip of your drink, hoping the alcohol kicked in sooner rather than later to get some control of the nerves that were bubbling up across your entire body. You watched as the blonde turned on his side and looked over at you.

“I'm not gonna bite, sweetheart…unless you’re into that.” 

You couldn’t refrain from rolling your eyes at his cheesy line before you walked over to sit your drink next to his. Then, you removed your jacket, hanging it from his footrest. Before you could even turn your attention back to him, you could feel his eyes on you. It was like he was bearing a hole into the exposed skin on your back that was left uncovered from your dress now that your denim jacket had been discarded.

When you turned back around, he rolled onto his back with his hands behind his head, smiling up at you. “You’re gorgeous.” 

It was spoken so matter-of-factly as if he was telling you the most basic of observations…as if it were obvious to anyone who looked at you. You could feel your chest swell slightly at his words. Your instinct was going to be to tell him to stop or to refute what he said, but you took a breath and let out a small, “Thank you” in response as you sat on the edge of his bed and then slowly inched your way back onto the bed, laying next to him.

The room was silent, aside from the bumping music that was playing behind the door and down the stairs, and your eyes were fixed on the ceiling fan, watching it spin to avoid meeting Peeta’s eyes, fearing the burning blush that would overtake your body if you did.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, breaking that silence.

“Nothing…” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. You weren’t giving your full thought process to anything. Instead, your brain was in several places at once. You’d thought about the makeup tutorial you’d seen earlier set to the song that was playing downstairs. You’d thought about how close Peeta was to you. You’d also thought about Katniss and Peeta’s study “date” from a while back too.

“Baby, if something’s bothering you, you can tell me.” he said. You finally glanced over at him. He was on his side, facing you, leaning against one hand while the other played with his hoodie string.

Baby.

Before you could stop yourself, the bigger question tumbled out of your lips, “What’s up with you?”

His features scrunched together in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“You take me on dates. You kiss me. You hold my hand. You call me baby.” you paused, “But then, I see you at the library with Katniss Everdeen and I have one of her stupid little friends in my DMs accusing me of being a homewrecker because you have your arm around me in a photo I didn’t even post…and I’ve seen you talking to other girls too, Peeta. You do the same thing, leaning against the wall, standing close to them. You’re smiling and laughing and the girl is playing with her hair and laughing back at you. What is all of that? Am I just the one you know will answer your random texts and calls to hang out…go to the club… make out in your car? Am I some weird escape from reality like…who…”

You were quickly silenced by his lips on yours, one hand coming up to your cheek, pulling you in closer to him. It was almost second nature at this point and your body quickly betrayed you despite your frustrations and melted into the kiss as it deepened, your hand coming to rest on his ribcage, progressively snaking onto his back and then upwards into his blonde locks as he moved over top of you.

The motion of him nudging your leg with his knee so he could position himself knocked you back into reality like a harsh slap to the face. You put both hands onto his chest and applied just enough pressure to jerk him back into the present as well. He looked confused. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and his lips were slightly swollen.

“Did I do something?” 

You propped yourself up, causing him to move, rolling back onto his back, his arm dropping across his chest as he rather obviously tried to cool himself down. You sat up, looking down at Peeta, whose eyes met yours.

“You never answered my question.”

“Yes, I did.” He looked at you like you’d missed the most obvious sign in the universe, but you already knew he meant the kiss, and that was not the answer you were looking for.

You shook your head, “A kiss isn’t an answer. If anything, it just proves my point. I don’t understand you. You clearly, in some way, want me. So, what is it? Are you just playing the field…fucking a bunch of random girls…Are you in love with Katniss still?”

“Katniss?” Peeta looked like you’d slapped him clean across his handsome face.

“Yes, Katniss…” You repeated, glancing from him to the door, wondering if it’d just be better to get up and go home. You knew fully well that he’d follow you. There was no getting out of this.

“I get it. You’re hot. You’re nice. I genuinely don’t think you’d try to intentionally hurt anyone, but…”

“That’s it, right there.” He pointed toward you as you spoke, “You talk about me and my mixed signals…what is that? You go from basically saying I’m some piece of shit heartbreaker to saying I’d never hurt anyone. You do that a lot. You’ll go from dancing with me and kissing me…letting me hold you while you’re sleeping to acting completely disinterested in anything outside of a friendship. I’ve never dealt with anything like this before. Girls are usually pretty forward with me…regardless of whether I feel the same or not. I don’t know if it’s intentional…like you think it’ll make me want you more or what, but it’s driving me crazy. Other girls may want me...I don't know for sure, but I know for sure that I want you, not them. I’m trying my best to show you that…but you just keep pushing me away and I wish you’d stop.”

Your eyes dropped to the floor, suddenly hyper-aware of a scuff on the toe of your boots. Your heart pounded as you tried to process what he’d said. He was usually so confident and sure in his abilities to keep sucking you back in, but the wavering tones in his voice indicated otherwise. He was serious.

You turned back to him, “I…I like you a lot…a lot more than just a friend…which is why seeing you with those other girls drove me fucking insane. I want you and for you to only want me. I don’t want to just be some kind of convenience for you. I’m either your girlfriend or nothing at all.”

His lips curved into a smile as your arms crossed over your chest, waiting for a response from the blonde. Peeta sat up and moved in closer to you, his forehead resting against yours, lips inches from your own.

“As you wish, girlfriend.”

His lips were on yours as soon as the title was spoken, moving slowly and sensually. His hand came to your waist as you fell back onto the bed, pulling him down with you as you finally let him move over top of you. The kisses grew needier and more passionate as your hands moved to the hem of his hoodie, pulling it and his white undershirt over his head and allowing for him to toss them behind him.

The articles of clothing caught your jacket, bringing it to the floor as well. Your phone slid out of the pocket as it vibrated, going completely unnoticed next to the clothing.

Where are you?

Hello?

Oh my god, Cato just said he saw you going upstairs with Peeta. Good luck. ;) Remember what I told you about spelling your name. Trust me, works every single time.

[deergravity]

Seeing as my internal rewards system has moved on to 'trans fiction' from 'queer horror audio drama podcast' I thought I should do a little roundup of everything I listened to the past few months.

A rough ranking:

Malevolent. Just squeaking into the top spot here based on 1) technical prowess (iykyk) 2) compelling characters and story and 3) they are my blorbos your honor!!! Mind boggling that Harlan Guthrie has so much chemistry with himself.

The Silt Verses. Only topped by Malevolent bc season 1 is not as polished, but it really doesn't matter. Top tier characters, amazing worldbuilding, intricate plotting and it had something to SAY about the casual violence of systems, the nature of hope, the complexity of being human in a world that tries to make us inhuman. Also, it doesn't rely on some thin recording contrivance (a framing device that has its place) and instead truly takes the mantle of audio drama without apology.

The White Vault. On the topic of framing devices, TWV has a very cool take on found footage recordings. A group of [researchers/archeologists] are sent to investigate a remote site in [Svalbard/Patagonia] and the podcast is structured as a documentarian presenting the notes, recordings and diary entries in a reconstructed timeline. My favorite element is that many of the characters don't make their notes in English, so the segments will often open with the VA speaking German, Spanish, Mandarin, Icelandic, Russian, etc etc before fading into the translation. There are miniseries between the seasons available on their patreon and they were so worth the $10 I paid to access them for a month. Reveals are slow, but worthwhile, and the mythology built for the show is highly original and intriguing.

Deviser. A one season contained story from Harlan Guthrie of Malevolent. Scifi, psychological, lots of wet awful body horror. If you're a fan of Harlan wimpering into a mic, you'll love this one.

WOE.BEGONE. Long, ongoing, and so so so far from the original premise it's hilarious, I'm ranking this higher than it maybe deserves for two factors 1) the creator and the VAs are clearly having a blast and 2) it's riding the line of taking itself serious despite a premise that invites irony poisoning without becoming too wrapped up in itself. It's fun, I think, that keeps w.bg strong.

The Magnus Archives. Should this be one up? Probably. But everyone bloody well knows tma by this point, it's good, great even! Beyoncé of horror podcasts.

I Am In Eskew. Only knocked down due to the actually godawful sound quality. Truly unsettling stories though (the one with the building architect haunts me) and a surprisingly realistic conclusion. You can see the bones of The Silt Verses here, from the same creative team.

The Magnus Protocol. Everything above this is there due to originality. As a sequel series, TMAGP will always suffer in that measure. However, I like our new cast and I do love an alternate reality. Curious to see where season 2 takes us. I'd like to kill Mr Bonzo in a fire.

The Inexplicables. Another one season story, this time from Rusty Quill, with really fun, flawed characters and no recording framing device!

Wolf 359. Storywise, great! Characters, excellent! Kicking it way to the bottom bc they just would NOT STOP referencing H***y P****r. Yes, Doug's characterization hangs on excessive reference humor, but that was one well I wish they'd left alone.

Red Valley. Knocked for HP references too (come ON british podcasters, do better) but more importantly for veering WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY too close to real life in season 3 onward. I was here for a horror sci fi story about cryogenics, not to listen to my worst climate disaster fears brought to life via hearing rich old sods try to buy their way out of consequences while the world burns and eco terrorism escalates. Too real. Not bad storytelling, just very much not fulfilling my escapism needs.

It's kinda crazy to me that anytime I mention this genre to normies in my life they say, "oh, like true crime podcasts?" And then I die inside. No dude, like radio drama. Like War of the Worlds.

Anyway, I'm off to get even less relatable by reading a zillion niche trans novels (hello Welcome to Dorley Hall, aka, what if there really was a 'trans cult' force femming dudes to undermine their masculinity? It's amazing how much yarn we can make by subverting the cis gaze.)

[roses-r-rosie3]

Dancing With Your Ghost: Unexpected Reunion

Miguel O’Hara x M!Reader

[Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

(Btw credits to whoever drew that spider-man character)

Warnings: angst, spoilers for SpiderMan: Across the Spider-verse, and memory loss-ish

Summary: Miguel was in love with his version of y/n from his universe but that y/n dies bc that’s his cannon, and he meets an alternate version of y/n who is the Spider-Man of his universe, but isn’t in love with Miguel

Quote: “I'm sorry, but you're not ringing any bells"

✁ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Miguel is what some people what call “cold hearted” but he wasn’t always like this. He was happy once. He was in love with y/n l/n. He loved y/n so much. But because he was a Spider-Man, y/n died. He died when that universes’s goblin blew up a building, while y/n was inside of it. It hurts Miguel to think about it. The way he held y/n in his arms while he begged for y/n to stay with him. But Miguel couldn’t undo the inevitable, and y/n died in his arms while he cried for hours.

"Miguel" Jess said, snapping Miguel out of his thoughts.

"Are you okay?" she said.

"Yeah, yeah, just a little tired, what did you want to talk to me about?" Miguel said.

"I found a case where an alternate version of the goblin from another universe got transported to another universe, and is now having a tantrum"

Miguel's blood ran cold at the mention of 'The goblin', the bastard took one of the only people making him happy away from him.

"I know you have some issues with the goblin, but you need to remember that he isn't our goblin-"

"Yeah, whatever let's go" Miguel said, completely ignoring what Jess had to say.

skip to when Miguel is fighting the goblin b/c i'm lazy af

Miguel spent what felt like hours trying to land a single punch on the goblin, each attempt getting him more riled up. All of a sudden another spider-man swooped in and kicked the goblin in the face dead-on.

"I'll take it from here" The masked hero said cockily.

That voice... it sounded familiar, but Miguel couldn't quite put his finger on it. But Miguel had no time to play the guessing game, so he immediately swung over to help fight the goblin.

When Miguel finally caught up to the other spider-man, the goblin had already been defeated.

"How-"

"it's easy when you're as good as me" said the cocky super-hero, as he cut off Miguel.

"Oh great another narcissistic one" Miguel said as he rolled his eye under his mask.

"I wouldn't call it narcissistic, more like- wait- what do you mean another- oh whatever, who are you and what are you doing here" said that universe's spider-man.

skip to Miguel explaining the whole spider organization

"Does you telling me this mean that I'm apart of this organization now, or are you gonna pull a 'men in black' and erase this from my memory?"

"Yes, you can join" Miguel said in annoyance as he opened the portal.

"Holy shit, very cool.." The masked hero said before walking inside of it.

"Hey, scary boss guy, can i take off my mask, that portal thing is making me feel sick" said the hero.

"Yes" Miguel said as he turned to see what the cocky hero looked like under his mask.

When the spider-man unmasked himself, he was revealed to be y/n.

Miguel couldn't speak, his once dead lover was in front of him.

"Oh I didn't tell you my name did I? My name's-"

"Y/n" Miguel cut him off.

"How did you-"

Y/n was cut off by Miguel hugging the life out of him.

"I missed you so much" Miguel croaked.

"Woah, woah dude I don't even know you" y/n said pulling Miguel away.

Miguel took off his mask, hoping that universe's y/n would notice him.

"I'm sorry, but you're not ringing any bells" y/n said.

"Y/n please, we have to at least been acquainted in your universe" Miguel said with tears in his eyes.

"Uh- you're starting to creep me out" y/n said

"Oh, uh, sorry about him, you just look like someone he used to know" Jess interrupted

"Okay then..." y/n said as he walked past them to explore the place.

"Listen Miguel, I know you loved y/n and he loved you, but that's a different y/n, I don't want to sound harsh, but he probably didn't know you until now, okay? Just know that our y/n loved you." Jess said as the other y/n was out of eye-sight.

Miguel just broke down. The fact that, that y/n will probably never love him like his y/n, He felt like he was re-living the grief he felt when y/n died in his arms.

[carionto]

It's smaller on the Inside

I find myself going down the Warhammer 40'000 route of scale for this verse I'm apparently building. It's silly, and I like it that way. I don't want to give myself a ceiling for anything I might throw in here :p Continuation of this

__________________________________________

From the outside, the Human ships are astronomically massive. Most, we guessed, doubled as population centers, something akin to a floating colony fleet. With their planet as hostile as they come, we had no doubt most of Humanity had moved into orbit.

"Hmm? Oh, no. The colony ships aren't ready yet. They'll be bigger than even the Dreadnoughts. I'd say the entire Space Force has around 300'000 active members. The Space Teamsters Union has about 8'000 members, and us science ships house just under 2'500 employees. There's maybe a few thousand unlicensed folk out and about, no doubt that number will skyrocket once we get some trade routes going with you guys, or, err... you know. Sorry, just a common expression."

Captain Knoslark explained. This didn't make sense. The Coalition delegates were informed Earth was home to 12,3 billion Humans. By reasonable estimates, their current fleet should easily be able to accommodate at least half that.

Okay, fine. The revelation their reactors were stupidly massive would drop that to around 3,8 billion, but still! What were they using all this room for?

Perplexed, the Captain itemized:

"Well for one, armor plating accounts for between 20 and 45 percent of the total mass, depending on the ship. For that you need sufficiently strong engines, plus reactors to power them, so there goes another 15 to 35 percent of mass and upwards of 50% of space. Military ships tend to go for extra everything minus luxuries, so taking that and all their additional weapon systems, a Dreadnought has maybe 0.7% of its displacement left for personnel."

The delegates just couldn't. What? Why? Nobody is even pretending that Human ships aren't vastly superior to everything in known space. Even halving all their bulk and power, no-one could take them on.

Sheepishly, the Captain answered:

"Well, yeah... I guess I can't disagree since you're saying it yourselves. But what about the unknown space? What if someone comes up with something better? We're doing that constantly. I mean, that's some of the reason why we have the science ships like the one we're on."

"But I can see your point. If safety protocols didn't demand all these winding bulkhead hallways and modular room structure and all that other stuff, something like a standard issue 3km Cruiser could house a crew of 45'000 instead of a maximum of 1'400."

(continued)

[rottingaches]

hello everyone ! my name is hyune or phobia, i'm 21+ and use he／they pronouns. i'm currently looking for long—term one on one roleplays with people 18 and older, preferably on discord, or roleplay groups to join ˎˊ-.

⊹ i write in a descriptive, 3rd person point of view, normally ranging from three to five paragraphs. if you have a different writing style, shorter or longer, i'll match ! i tend to use a lot of prose and flowery language, as well as visual changes in my writing — including using capital words or fonts for emphasis. if you would prefer i don't do this, feel free to let me know and i'll leave it out !

⊹ generally, i prefer plots where romance is not the driving factor. i will often include it as a subplot, or something that furthers the main point, but romance—centered stories are not for me ! that being said, if there is a romance plot that you're very interested in, feel free to offer it and we can see if it's something that can be worked with. i absolutely love soulmate plots where neither of them are expecting it, or the soulmatism is the cause of sooo much pain and anguish.

⊹ i love angst. i love it. i live it and breathe it and i will injure and maim and maul my characters for fun! sorry about this! i like hurting them! fluff is so rare!! what is a happy ending without pain so they can appreciate it! etcetera. i'm sorry!!

⊹ plot—wise, once more, i tend to work with darker plots. many of my writings include death, light gore, religious imagery and blasphemy, drugs and illegal substances, and more generally mature themes. while i may reference suicide or self—harm, it will not be actively written. that aside, i will not write r*pe, ab*se, in*est, p*dophilia or any of the above topics including a minor. i also do not tolerate racism, and prefer not to write any kind of sexism. homophobia is a theme that many of my characters will have in their backstory, but not one i'm willing to include in current roleplay events other than as a reference to the past.

* as a note : any action by my characters that is illegal or generally seen as wrong is not one that is endorsed by me. these are actions taken by fictional characters in a piece of writing that stays between me and another writer or group of writers, and are not identifiers of a lifestyle that i believe others should attempt to emulate.

⊹ i will write smut if it furthers the plot or if we are close only. please do not request it; i will not write it as a focal point. any smut or sexual mentions in my writing are based purely on built chemistry and generally, will shape the plot: i do not believe that casual sex will not change a relationship. if that is a plot point for us, then by all means ! — i do not have any issue with discussing sexual themes in writing, and do believe in a sex—positive environment.

⊹ i prefer queer pairings. my characters' gender identity and sexuality often play a crucial part of their journey and even if it's not active in the roleplay, it is important to me and i will be talking about it ! most, if not all, of my experience lies with mlm ／ nb pairings, but i'd like to reach into wlw pairings and writing to better myself. ˎˊ-

⊹ most of my characters have an irl idol or celebrity faceclaim. i do not do real—person roleplay, though i may reuse names, but my characters are not their faceclaims. i use them because they inspire me and are fitting. all my ocs are close to or older than their fc. most of my faceclaims are k—pop idols. if this bothers you, do not bother with interacting! i have a few that are not, but i tend to have very low muse for them.

⊹ i prefer oc and fandomless writing. that being said, i do have ocs and canon characters that i've written in the genshin impact verse and bungo stray dogs universe. i'm very open to writing these, it's just not something i've done as often ! i'm also willing to dip my toes into honkai impact 3rd, saw, hannibal, or something with a plot similar to inuyasha, neon genesis evangelion, stardew valley, legends of zelda, reanimator, and a lot more !

⊹ i've been roleplaying and writing for over eight years, on multiple different platforms from wattpad to tumblr to twitter, discord, and mewe. generally, i prefer plotting before deciding on characters as it allows me to be sure the characters will be ones that will help rather than hinder the plot and leave us at a standstill !

⊹ i am a student, so i may not respond immediately but will always try to get back to you in a day or two max ! feel free to poke at me occasionally and leave messages, i'll respond once i can.

⊹ send me a dm or interact with this post if you're interested in plotting! when you reach out, i'd appreciate it if you'd introduce yourself and let me know what you're looking for. i return the energy i receive ! i love talking ooc and would love to make friends, whether we rp or not. ˎˊ-

divider. rts appreciated!

[serendipnpipity]

My name’s Phil Lester thankfully not Mo It’s finally time to make my diss track yo You thought I was too innocent to roast myself? Well watch out bitch This might be bad for your health

A Youtube dinosaur His channel older than your mum He’s so insanely clumsy Always falling on his bum Some people think he’s weird Cause he doesn’t like cheeses He’s so frickin' pale You’d think the sun gave him diseases

His name’s AmazingPhil (What?) Why’s he so great? (Dunno) For ten years he had hair From 2008 All that time Hiding behind a fringe And on top of all that He’s secretly a ginge

You quiffed it up What is this a rebrand? If you didn’t dye it black You’d be totally bland And innocent whatever Wait till you're in private Your mouth’s so dirty You sound like a pirate

Hey you say you’re an angel You know that’s a lie You just don’t want to get Demonetised Your vids are so sweet You can’t even say crap I bet you’d even censor A swear in this rap

You look like a badly photoshopped Benedict Cumberbatch And I realize nothing rhymes with Cumberbatch So I guess this verse doesn’t rhyme

(Okay, this is terrible, I'm out, bye)

I’d better get going And end the bants I murdered this beat Like I murder houseplants If you can’t keep a cactus Why’d you want a dog? I’d give it three weeks Until the funeral vlog

Don’t get me started on that guy called Dan The only reason I’m here is people ship phan More followers than me I’m living in his shadow Next thing you’ll know He’ll be playing the piano

EMMMMMMMM YEAHHHHHHHHHHHHH

okok lemme see if i can do dan's without looking now:

a month without uploading, he comes back with a tag that no one even tagged him in, he's not a challenge to drag so prepare for an attack (and by that I mean cringe) cuz this mfer's boutta get DRAGGED BY HIS FRINGE

first things first, you're freakishly tall it's weird, you look like a noodle you've got hair that was cool in 2007 and wet you just look like a poodle just throw in an annoying posh voice and... yup, that's dan! you're what would happen if winnie the pooh f*cked slenderman!

you procrastinate making videos 'cause being judged is scary you're so close to being irrelevant the hate's imaginary! the only reason you get views is you're another white guy that people ship with his friend 'cuz they think it's ~kawaii~!!

reasons why dan's a fail---YAY!

you never tweet, you overeat, all you do is cry and sleep, your jokes are shitposts and memes with no originality, your family's sad you dropped your law degree at university, and anything embarrasing about yourself you just delete. you were a vegan for what, three weeks before you missed the meat? wow, i'm so impressed by your clear moral integrity. try so hard to be peaceful and diplomatic but can't make toast without tumblr saying you're problematic

*deep inhale* I could go on, there's more if I check. there's more things on this list... than chins on your neck!

your celebrity crush was JLaw, but now it's Evan P, what the fuck even is your sexuality? it's hard to put you in a box when you keep it so blurry, i think it's just to hide that you're secretly a FURRY.

woah now, that went deep. repress it? yup! before I start crying, let's wrap this shit up.

i'm gonna go and masturbate, then cry into a slice of pizza, shoutout to the other youtubers, especially Ryan Higa a cringe compilation mixed with cultural appropriation met with no depreciation, it's the youtube nation.

click SUBSCRIBE if you wanna watch 4 videos a year (ha) to see my last one (from ten years ago) just click over here something something, you can call me a liar 'cause you just witnessed the roast of danisnotonfire

[explosion noises]

[angel-of-the-moons]

Hello, can you do the spider verse characters x reader with bad Anxiety also can the reader be Japanese or Korean if you don't want to do either that's fine.

I always try write in a way that the reader's race is up for personal interpretation, so you can for sure read this as Korean or Japanese if you like!

The Little Things We Know

(Headcanons for a partner with anxiety)

Spider-Men x Reader

TW/CW: None really, mentions of anxiety, comfort, fluff

A/N: Anxiety is another thing I suffer from so a lot of this is some self indulgent stuff I'd love a partner to do for me

Miguel O'Hara

• Miguel won't admit it, but even he suffers the occasional anxiety attack from time to time. His outbursts however tend to be his anger, his violence. He has the weight of the multiverse on his shoulders, and doesn't want to push the burden to anybody else. He feels like it should be his alone to bear.

Personally that's what I think it was really about when he was so... feral with Miles. He was so freaked out, so worried about another universe collapsing on his watch when he could have prevented it... he just didn't know how to react so the adrenaline and panic took control and drove his actions. (But that's just my take)

• So when Miguel comes in and sees you curled up on the floor, hyperventilating in the middle of an attack, he's on you at mach Jesus; immediately straining his senses to listen to your heart rate, blood pressure...

• He'll always ask permission before touching you, in case physical contact might only worsen your attack.

• If you consent to his touch, he will sit cross legged on the floor next to you and pull you against him, locking his arms around you in a cocoon of safety, murmuring sweet things in your ear while you sniffle and sob.

"Ay, mi corazón. I'm here. What has you upset? Can I help?"

• Miguel O'Hara is large. He can and will use his size and weight to calm you, if you want that.

Need him to be your weighted blanket? Done. He's curled up with you on the couch or on the bed in the span of a few heartbeats, his head resting at the curve of your neck.

Need his obnoxiously large hands to massage you, to help ease the tension? He's gonna grab your favorite lotion or oil and have you sit in front of him or lie down so he can work his magic.

• Miguel never wants you to be stressed out, seeing you upset is like a dagger in between his ribs. He will do whatever is in his power to help you.

• Lights too bright? He understands it can be overstimulating and worsen your anxiety attack, he will use his watch to dim the lights, or he will draw the curtains.

• He'll even play some soothing music for you!

Peter B Parker

• The Peter B Parker himself? Full of self doubt, even if he tries (and fails) to hide it at times. When he comes home and sees you in the kitchen, wringing your hands out in the sink as you tremble, unable to breathe, he himself starts to panic, thinking you cut yourself while cooking, or sliced your hand on some broken dish.

• After checking you over, Peter wraps his arms around you and murmurs softly on your ear, in a nice, cool tone.

"Hey, babe. It's okay. I'm here. Wanna play the naming game? C'mon, name three things you can see that are green."

• He will bring you all the snacks. All. The. Snacks. This is a man that understands your need for comfort foods.

• He'd rub your feet and ankles, if he feels you've been standing too long, humming to himself as he starts to play "This Little Piggie" with your toes, just so he can see you smile.

• The man is clingy, his love language is snuggles and kisses. He will kiss every single time you breathe too hard, or too fast for his liking; peppering your face until you break down into a fit of giggles.

Pavitr Prabhakar

• Pavitr Prabhakar is a blubbering, frantic mess when he finds you curled up on your bed, rocking with your face in your pillow.

• He immediately makes a bound for you, at your side in an instant . If you're in tears, he automatically breaks down himself, the poor man is very very very empathetic.

Sometimes you have to come down from your own attack to stop his crying.

• Provided Pav doesn't break down, he will immediately sit behind you, massaging your shoulders and asking you what has you upset.

Some jerk on the street shoved you, said something unkind and sneered at you? Well, have no fear, the P-Man is here!

"Hey, hey, hey, lovie. I'm here for you, okay? I know! Why don't I ask my Aunty Maya if she can put some of her special chai on? C'mon! I know we have some khari left!"

• Pavitr is a bubble bath man. If you don't want to sit down and have a nice cup of chai, he will gladly run a bubble bath with your favorite soaps, and body oils and salts added into the water as he sinks into it with you, even if it's cramped, he knows you love the closeness as he gently uses his hands to massage the sweet-smelling water into your skin; some soft music from your favorite station playing on the little radio in the window nearby.

After the bath, he'll even put some of his super special "secret" hair product in your hair, making sure it's left light, fluffy, and shiny.

• Pavitr, like Peter B, is very cuddly. He will latch onto you like a koala bear baby, rubbing his cheek onto yours until you finally laugh and try to shove him away, his hands still making grabby motions at you for extra effect.

Hobie Brown

• Hobie Brown. I've said it before, I'll say it again. He has a heart that's dipped in some gold spray paint. He'll act all tough, all badass and anti- establishment... until he comes home. Where he finds you. His one little respite in the world conspiring to keep people like the two of you down.

• Hobie spots you at your desk, hands gripping furiously at your hair as you cry softly, your legs bouncing in unison to the point your tendons and muscles ache, but he knows you can't stop it.

He slings off all his spikey, potentially aggravating punk gear, leaving a trail of it straight to you as he leans down and slips his arms around your shoulders.

"Ay luv? What's got ya in a tizzy, hm? Need my charm to ease ya back, eh?"

• Hobie has no hesitation, he can and will scoop your ass up and wrap you in a blanket burrito, order your favorite takeout, and hold your upset burrito-ness against him while he puts your favorite program on the telly, playing with your hair as he does so.

When the food gets there, he feeds you. He knows that when you get like this, sometimes you can barely function. So, he pampers you like the treasure you are.

• He will do whatever he can to make you laugh, from telling stupid jokes, asinine and unbelievable stories of what's happened in the "Spiderverse", or just stupid shit his band has gotten into, he will cover all the bases with you until he finally hears a muffled snort in the blanket tortilla he's wrapped you in.

• He will be your one-man concert, performing special previews of new songs he's working on, singing some idle lyrics, or bullshitting a love song dedicated to you like some punk serenade.

• Even if you start to feel better, and try to wriggle out of that burrito? Hobie will lay on you. He will lock his long, lanky limbs around you with that cocky smirk of his, laughing about how he's not about to let you go now, you're stuck as a burrito for the time being.

[v3nusxsky]

Hello miss Mars, can u do this for me

Let's say lesso was turned into idk an animal by one of her students of course she gets turned back to normal but the only thing that didn't change was her strap she has ready for her professor gf reader.

(So do you know when animals F the males D gets swollen and big on the inside right)

First round was smooth(just c@mming), second round reader is riding lesso(by that readers legs are shaking, and a tear, squirting)

Third round it's alot more heated,(doggy style, reader keeps telling lesso faster) because of what happened earlier her strap had gotten swollen and big, stretching the living out of reader(which reader enjoys very much) which causes reader to c@m,squirt alot, and maybe a little pee leaving the sheet just wet. Leaving both reader and lesso breathless, shaking, and unable to speak. Lesso then pull out of her, pulling and stretching reader alittle more.

{Mommy kink and breeding kink}

(You don't have to but can we have alot of dialog, even the moaning and screaming...can this be long too?)

{Please do not rush with the stories or this one please we appreciate your work miss Mars have a nice day/night😊❤️⚘️}

Leo’s omega

*Authors note~ my first ever a/b/o omegaverse fic I'm absolutely in love with these kind of fics*

Trigger warnings~ Alpha Leo Omega r mommy kink breeding kink knot squirting rough sex heat rut praise degrading begging G!P lesso

Prompt~ see ask^^^^^

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

You loved when you got to assist in your girlfriends classses, it was always an experience. Most of the time after the lessons ended you were promptly leant over her desk and railed into a new universe. Only this time things happened more literally than normal.

Lesso had her class practicing curses, and you were intrigued with how well they'd progressed until Hort has a go. He decided to curse Leonora and yourself, so confident with his abilities that he would be able to turn you both back. Lesso threatened him with the doom room should he fail so the pressure was on. He did his curse, you and Leonora being transported into another universe, one where you felt the need to be with Leo, all the time. You noted that Leo seemed to be backing in that universe and extremely protective of you, her stance guarding you from the strangers here. Only then you were ripped back into your normal verse. Nothing went wrong to your knowledge until you felt it. That same need to be near her, and the scent was overwhelming. You felt your thighs drench with slick.

You and lesso were active but you'd never felt this before, you seemed to be triggering Leonora's senses as well, she immediately became territorial of you, the students now shaking with fear at her dominance. Hort admitted to sending you to the OmegaVerse, and before he fled the room he reminded Leonora of one think, you'd never be human again. A hybrid and it was clear to Lesso what stance you both took. The straining member in her pants replacing her strap as you stood an unmated Omega, her Alpha wanting to claim you as hers. No not want, needing to. Your scent sweet, too sweet. She needed you and that took forefront of her mind Hort could be dealt with later.

Both yourself and Leonora made your way to your room, the scent of your own items calming you slightly. But Leonora couldn't say the same, "fuck you're in heat" Leo whined seemingly knowing more about this than you, yet all you acted about was quenching this insatiable need. "Leo I need you so bad it hurts, want you to claim me make me yours need you." 

It was as if those words awoke her most carnal desires, her lips on yours instantly as she tore through your clothing. You weren't much better shredding her clothing in a instant, her scent driving you wild with need. You need her to rail you into next week and something foreign. Your thighs were absolutely covered in slick, "Leo? Why's so much?" You mumbled confused before your eyes found her erect cock and it seemed to be starting to swell at the base. "You're in heat my Omega" she growled which caused something to stir within you. Hers. But when you touched your scent gland there was no mark there. "Show me alpha."

There was no need for any foreplay with how your slick was dripping but lesso still wanted to shower your breasts with attention while she fucked you sense, her pace more brutal and fast than normal. Due to your heat, the scent of an alpha you were cumming within minutes. Once was not going to be enough for either of you. So lesso flipped on her back and guided you to straddle her cock. "Fuck mine, fuck want to breed your cunt and fill it with my pups, you will look so beautiful full of my pups" she growled her fingers gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as you bounced on her cock. Leonora wasn't going to stop until you came all over her while she tried to hold herself off wanting to pleasure you as much as she could before she let you have her knot. You came when she bit into your scent gland squirting all over her stomach, the stretch of her new appendage tearing you ever so slightly not that you cared, the state of euphoria you were in was unlike no other.

You didn't realise you were crying until you felt her tongue licking her mark clean, the little droplets of blood causing her to moan happily before she came to lick your tears. It was animalistic not that you cared, you needed more and you were in a state of being willing to do anything for it. "Leo, need  more, alpha please knot me, make me full of your pups, please alpha I need you" your whispered and whines of need caused Leonora's restraint to snap. You were quickly positioned on your hands and knees as she entered your cunt so easily, her hands massaging the oil gland on the small of your back which has a pleased whimper falling from you. Her pace ruthless as she hammered into you feeling the pressure at the base of her dick become overwhelming. “Faster alpha harder got more please Leo faster please!”

"Oh mommy! Want your knot. Give it to me alpha please make me take it" you all but screamed for her as she bit over her mark she'd previously made causing you to squirt as her knot slipped into you, bonding you both together, her spurts of white hot cum painting the walls of your fluttering cunt white. The knot to ensure some of the cum with catch with your womb and you'd be round and full of her pups. Your stomach had a slightly noticeable bulge as you both howled in delight, your inner desires met. The scent of your alpha easing you down from euphoria.

Only when her knot depleted did she remove her dick from you, your cunt gaping from such a large intrusion and the tear noticeable there, you couldn't help but whimper before burying your nose into her scent glad. The effect she had on you was addictive and all you wanted was for her to hold you surrounded by the softest blankets and pillows, the urge to create a nest for you both slightly overwhelmed you but your exhaustion won out as long as she was with you. You'd create a nest later when your heat died down until then you'd need Leonora, your alpha, to make it all better and fuck you into a euphoric bliss, you quickly realised the uncomfortable body temperature was a sign of heat but knowing she'd claimed you as hers helped. "I love you my Omega." Was the last thing you heard.

Word count~ 1337

[ivystoryweaver]

Decadent chapter 10

prev next || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist

Summary: Can you say no to the man you love?

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara from the film Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse x female reader

Word Count: 1.9

Content: nsfw, 18+, cursing, p in v, creampie, jealousy, angst, not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY on Decadent...

"I need you."

"You don't," you insisted. "Not all of me, not really. You only put up with me for your research. You don't need me. You don't need anyone."

"Mi corazón, por favor," he breathed, desperately grasping at your hips to pull you closer. "You're the one person I need more than anything. You have no idea how much I've missed you."

You had a decision to make - your heart and your body wanted nothing more than to spend the night with Miguel, in his arms, in his bed, with him inside you. But your mind was trying to protect you.

As if you were going to say no to this man.

You were soaked and ready - desperate for him. He'd taunted you with one quick orgasm on his fingers. His pants were conveniently already shoved down around his hips from where you'd sucked him. He had you pinned against the wall. You were both ready. Eager. Sharing one another's breath. You both wanted it. Needed it.

You were supposed to say something like, "Goodnight, Miguel," or anything sensible, really. But what came out was, "please."

Your dress was already bunched around your waist. Miguel gripped his hard length and rubbed his tip through your folds - the promise of him filling you stealing the very breath from your lungs. Still, asked if it was okay as he started to push inside you.

"Don't stop," you gasped, grasping at his shoulders, your body quaking with anticipation.

Easing into you slowly, he groaned at how tight you felt, hissing out a few curses in Spanish as the greedy squelch of your wet cunt sucked him in, like you owned him.

"Been too long," you cried, shifting your hips to accommodate his size. The burn - the hot weight of him drew a desperate whine from your lips.

"So tight," he echoed, inching a little further in, groaning as you clenched around him.

"'S big, Miguel," you moaned, desperate to feel the full length of him deep inside you after week after week without him.

"My girl," he darkly husked. "Been waiting for me, haven't you? Only me."

"Yes," you panted. "Please."

"Say it, baby," he coaxed, tasting your lips one at a time. "Say you're mine."

"Yes," you repeated, gasping.

With a final push, he was all the way, deep inside you - every part of him rubbing up against you, easily holding you in place. Gripping your hips underneath your dress, he manipulated your position, moving you on his cock just the way he knew would make you see stars.

You gasped out, your head thumping against the wall behind you, exposing your throat to him. "You're so thick. Feels so good."

"Missed you, baby," Miguel groaned against your throat, twisting inside you deliciously. His lips sucked at the hollow of your throat so hard it was sure to leave a mark.

Everything happening right now was everything you could want. Miguel was inside you again, he missed you, he said he needed you. As he thrust into you hungrily, your body seemed to chant, 'yes, yes..." - all your worries miraculously dissipating.

Then you felt the slightest scratch of his fang. God you wanted it.

"Fuck," he growled, talons scraping at your flesh as his strong hands scooped up your ass. His thrusting grew frantic - carnal - his tongue laving wildly all over your throat.

You lost your grip on his massive arms as he pushed into you vigorously. Your body was his to manipulate.

"I don't want him touching you again," he snarled, breathing hotly on your ear. "I don't want him even looking at you. You're mine."

And that sent your body hurling into blissful oblivion. Miguel swallowed your cries of pleasure, covering your mouth with his own, licking in hotly. His tongue thrust heavily in your mouth in rhythm with his hard length deep inside you as he pumped you full of his spend.

He fucked you through your orgasm until you felt him leaking out of you, making a mess of your thighs.

Your body sagged limply against his chest - you were sure to be sore tomorrow morning. And the thought of it made you almost giddy - feeling the stretch of him - the sting, remembering how he pushed you up against this wall and took you.

Your lips chased after his as your fingers reached for the sides of his face. He didn't leave you wanting, running his strong hands up the curve of your back to hold you securely against his chest.

His kiss was almost desperate, although he was still careful not to pierce your tongue with his fangs. He mouthed a trail across your jaw, sucking and licking your throat.

"I'm so fucking hungry," he whimpered, his body still joined with yours, although soft and wet.

You didn't know what to say. Whatever you did say would inevitably be wrong. Plus you could barely think straight because of the mind altering sex you just had.

Miguel had superhuman stamina so he was already getting hard again as his fangs toyed with the flesh right over your pulse point.

Your fingers slid into his dark waves at the base of his neck, twirling gently - hoping he would stay calm, and here with you, in this moment.

His breathing grew shallow - the grip on your hips almost bruising as his lips latched onto your skin, sucking hard. You mewled as pleasure rippled up your spine.

Finally, he tore his mouth away from your throat, rapidly shaking his head. "No," he rasped. Releasing his hold on your hips, he eased out of you, setting you down.

Your legs nearly gave out, but you managed to lean against the wall for support, momentarily distracted by the slick wet heat trickling down the inside of your thighs.

"I can't," he gasped, jerking his clothes back into place. "I can't do it to you. I won't." His handsome face crumpled in anguish as he shook his head rapidly. You had been here, in this situation, with him too many times. You wondered if he was going to punish you with silence or distance. If he did, it would be the last time.

He stumbled back, as if drunk or dizzy, and you realized then, that he seemed weak. Physically weak.

"Miguel?" You softly called, smoothing your dress back into place as best you could. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

He held his arms out, as if to keep you at a distance, pushing his hands through his hair. "It's - I'm just hungry. I shouldn't have... I mean...I was so close." Shaking his head rapidly, he turned away from you. "I need to go. I’m sorry. I think...I think I might pass out."

Whoa. Miguel was way too big to be passing out a public event meant to be in his honor. The two of you didn't exactly look presentable at the moment either. You had to get him out of here.

"Come on, let's get you home," you advised, offering your body as some tiny amount of support. Probably wouldn't do him much good, but you had to try to help him.

You could tell he wanted to protest, but he'd learned by now that you were as stubborn as he was. His eyes flashed a wild, alarming red, but he nodded once, slinging a massive arm over your shoulders.

Lyla appeared, indicating that his driver had been summoned and would be waiting. She directed the two of you to a discreet back entrance.

That made you wonder...where was Lyla this whole time? Last time, she shock-collared Miguel for even leaning in like he might kiss you and now she was quiet during a passionate interlude in the hallway - one in which he almost bit you?

"Did you reprogram Lyla so you could fuck me tonight?" You challenged, trying not to laugh.

Miguel looked like his giant frame might hit the ground any second, but he found it in him to lazily smile down at you.

"You little shit," you admonished, grateful that he was allowing you to help him.

"Can't help it," he softly returned, "I've missed you so damn much. Don’t think I can stay away anymore.”

You waited until he was finally tucked safely into the back seat of his car to respond.

"I'm right here, you know," you told him, climbing into the car beside him and tangling your fingers with his. "You don't have to miss me when I'm right here with you."

He squeezed your hand as his eyes drifted closed.

You didn't ask - you simply directed the driver to your address. Miguel didn't protest. He didn't trust himself not to rip your throat open and drink you, but your presence was somehow equally soothing and tantalizing. And he was so fucking tired of living without you in his arms.

Besides, he had found rest and peace in your presence last night, when he came to your bed.

You made it back to your place and suddenly found yourself with a handsomely dressed, deliciously disheveled, weak-from-hunger not-boyfriend - with you in your evening gown looking comedically out-of-sorts.

Without invitation, Miguel flopped down on your sofa, sighing tiredly as his head dropped back and his eyes drifted closed once again.

You leaned over from behind the sofa and slid your fingers into his hair scratching softly. "I'll be right back, okay? You just relax."

He mumbled an affirmative and, as you headed to your bedroom to change clothes and clean yourself up, you almost felt like the two of you were a couple.

You returned several minutes later, dressed in only an oversized t-shirt and panties, and carrying a damp wash cloth. As you eased down beside Miguel on the couch, you realized he was asleep. His lush, pouty lips were slightly parted as he breathed in and out heavily. He looked like a gigantic puppy.

Your heart swelled with concern. This man had stamina for days, so this not-feeding thing must be weakening him beyond belief. Releasing a sigh, you pushed careless dark waves out of his eyes, leaning in to place a gentle kiss against his temple. You had planned to place the cool cloth on his forehead, but you hated to wake him.

"What am I going to do with you?"

Kneeling down, you started to unlace his dress shoes, realizing that one of them probably cost more than your dress. He didn't stir as you relieved him of his socks and shoes. You wished you could help him out of his suit jacket, but that would prove difficult.

You decided to hang up your dress and freshen up the apartment just a little before summoning Lyla.

"Heyyyy it's my second favorite boss," Lyla chimed brightly. “Uh, no offense. What can I do for you?"

"First of all, keep it down," you admonished, nodding toward your sleeping boss. "And secondly, I need to know how Miguel is doing...medically speaking."

"Sorry, babe," Lyla fired back instantly. "That's classified. It's against my programming to discuss Miguel's physical health without him fully conscious."

You folded your arms over your chest. "Seriously? That's what he programmed?"

"Hey, I don't make the rules!" She chirped. "Take it up with the boss man."

Oh you would.

Eventually, you got sleepy, so you decided it might be time to get into bed. Probably best to leave Miguel resting on the couch...

Nah. Kneeling down beside the sofa, you shook him gently. "Miguel? It's late. Come to bed with me."

His eyes drowsily flickered as he mumbled something unintelligible. It took a few tries but he finally managed to wake up fully.

"Sorry," you whispered. "Let's get you out of this suit, okay?"

He groggily nodded, pushing off the sofa and lumbering toward your bedroom, guiding himself there with such ease that it almost felt domestic.

He peeled off his jacket, heading for the restroom. When he emerged a few minutes later, he wore only boxers.

Aw hell.

"I probably shouldn't be here," he grumbled, even while his massive body melted into your bed, reaching to take you with him.

Your heart fluttered as he possessively pulled you on top of his chest. Your cheek rested against the solid warmth of him as his muscled arms wrapped you up like a treasure.

"My girl," he sleepily mumbled, lazily running his hands over the curves of your body. "Love you."

Miguel fell asleep.

You stayed awake the rest of the night....

next

@deputy-videogamer @toecurlingstories @zephyrixx @juleshadalittlelamb @tsukkie-daisuke

@pockcock @minigirl87 @uncle-eggy@cookielovesbook-akie @wyldeflwr

@animechick555 @tiffanypooh @thexsanctuaryx @majestic-jazmin @rosecentaur1916

@deezisnotreal @serren-diamandis @alexxavicry @onefinnedwonder-fm @spidey-3

@lilacspider @imonmykneessir @saints-and-sinners @steven-grants-world @aquaarietes

[odessa-castle]

Thank you again for the absolute glory that has been NLTS Part 1. I have enjoyed every word immensely so far, and can't wait to see more of it when you pick it up again. In the interim, if you're still accepting ficlet prompts for this verse, I will surprise absolutely nobody by saying that I would love to see more of Astarion having a bad time, if it so moves you.

Consider me so moved!

This is safe for work, technically, but the vibes are unpleasant. Content warnings for references to offscreen torture, and for Cazador being, well, himself. This is set sometime shortly after the end of Part One.

~~~

Cazador trails a claw down each knob of Astarion’s spine. It’s a worse feeling, somehow, than the pliers. “My foolish child,” he says. “What am I to do with you, if you will not learn?”

Answering is a trap. Not answering is a trap. If Astarion still had his fingernails, he’d dig them into his palms; as it is, clenching his fists only sends raw bolts of pain shooting up his arms, and he bites his lip to keep from crying out. It doesn’t matter, really. This is going to go the same way that it’s gone the last – however many times. Astarion’s lost track of how often Cazador’s gone through this cycle of compelling answers out of him, punishing Astarion when the answer displeases, and then, once Astarion’s screamed enough to satisfy him, returning to the same damned questions as before.

If Cazador wants a different answer, he should let Astarion bloody lie about it for once, but then Astarion wouldn’t be bringing all these punishments on himself, now, would he?

Cazador seizes Astarion by the hair, yanks his chin up from the table, forces Astarion to look into the red depths of his eyes. “I ask you again,” he says. “Do you still love Wyll Ravengard?”

The command hooks itself in his chest, drags the answer out of Astarion’s unwilling throat. It isn’t fair that Cazador gets to hear this, over and over, when Astarion never got the chance to tell Wyll –

“Yes,” he says. He can’t look away. He swallows, braces himself as best he can for Cazador’s next eruption of fury. (He can never brace himself enough, even after all these years.)

A cold smirk curls on Cazador’s lips, this time. “Perhaps we should go about this lesson a different way,” he says. “I cannot help but think back to the last time you fancied yourself in love. It was during our first decade together, was it not?”

No. Not the tomb. Not again – “Please, Master,” he begs, “please don’t make me go back there, please, I’ll be good, I promise, I swear I’ll obey –”

“Your promises are as empty as your head,” Cazador snaps. “But you misunderstand me. I was thinking not of the tomb, but of that darling boy of yours. You were dreadfully fond of him, I recall.”

He – yes. He had been. He remembers fragments: warm, callused hands; a dark mop of curls; the softened consonants of southern Faerun. His trade had something to do with travel, didn’t it? A sailor, perhaps, or a merchant, or a caravan guard? 

“What was his name, again?” Cazador’s eyes glitter with malice. He gives Astarion’s curls another wrench. “Surely you remember, don’t you? You gave up so much for him, after all. He must have been important to you. You must have cherished him, in your way.”

Astarion furrows his brow, runs through the ruined corridors of his memory for any sign, any signal. He would have known the boy’s name. He must have known the boy’s name. 

“Perhaps there is some pity left for you in me yet, boy,” Cazador says, in a tone that indicates anything but. “Tell me that man’s name, and I shall allow you to return to the dormitories for the night.”

Astarion swallows, his throat working soundlessly. There must be more he remembers. He forces himself to cast his mind back. His name began with a P, didn’t it? Or a V, maybe. Was it a T? And he had freckles across his nose. Astarion can’t recall their color, or the exact tone of his skin, but he kissed those freckles, and the boy laughed. Or does that memory belong to another man, another year?

“You’ve forgotten, haven’t you? Say it.”

“Yes, Master,” Astarion whispers. “I’ve forgotten.”

At last, Cazador releases his grip on Astarion’s hair. Astarion presses his cheek to the table, stares at a bloodstain on the walls.

“Oh, my child,” Cazador says. He strokes the curve of Astarion’s cheek with his thumb. “We are eternal, you and I. For creatures such as we, who know true permanence, these fancies cannot last. That boy from centuries ago is dust now, forgotten to all who knew him – including you. And so, too, shall Wyll Ravengard fade, until he is but the shadow of a thought.”

Astarion wants to deny it, wants to shake his head, wants to slap Cazador’s hand away. But with the weight of time bearing on him like this, it’s impossible to move.

“How fortunate, then, that you shall never fade,” Cazador says. “And neither will I. Now, then. Shall we begin again?”

[thefoconnection]

Ring ring. Hello?

Thank you for calling the F/O connection. This is @silver-heller speaking. Having traveled several places in the multi verse, I've decided to put my knowledge of these worlds to good use.

Here at The F/O Connection, we provide three services. F/O recommendations, F/O Analysis, and the Similar F/O Finder. For a recommendation, I will review the information given and recommend you an F/O, supplying general information along with a little blurb where they introduce themselves. For the analysis, I'll look over a list of your F/Os and discuss the trends I see. For the Similar F/O Finder, you'll give me one of your F/Os, and I'll search the multiverse to find other characters that are similar to them.

If you are a bigot, below the age of eighteen, a h/arry p/otter fan, ship with irl people, or you're a pro/shipper, this line is not for you, and I ask you to please hang up.

If none of those things apply to you, please review the request guide below, and get your F/O connection today!

*Talk of alternate universes and such is completely fictitious for the sake of this blog's theme.

Request Guide

To request an F/O, please be sure to answer these questions:

What type of F/O (platonic, romantic, familial) do you want? Describe the personality or vibes you are looking for as well.

If you want a romantic F/O, what is your gender and do you have a gender preference? Are you okay with them having a canon partner?

What spice level are you comfortable with (see spice levels below). When giving a spice level, please specify if you're fine with any F/O within that spice level and below, or if you want an F/O specifically from that spice level.

Are there any sources you are not comfortable receiving an F/O from? What about genres or media type (show, movie, video game, etc.)? Are you alright with the source being incomplete, or would you prefer they be from a complete source? Would you dislike receiving an F/O from an obscure source?

I'll even make an F/O recommendation for one of your F/Os if you'd like, just be aware I may not be familiar with them and give me the necessary details. This can either be as a fun "if my F/O was a selfshipper alongside me, what character would they F/O" type deal, or, you could use it if you're looking for another F/O for a polycule. I'll do the same for any fictional character you want, so long as they are an adult and you give me details.

*For my own comfort, all suggested F/Os will be adults.

Spice Levels

A character's spice level essentially describes their intensity morality wise to ensure you are not matched with a character that may make you uncomfortable. I will never recommend F/Os that are confirmed rapists or abusers. However, some of the F/Os I recommend could potentially be antagonists, and commit things like crime and murder. See the spice levels below to figure out which you are most comfortable with:

🌶 Level One - For characters that are goodie-two-shoes. They'd never commit a crime or so much as hurt a fly.

🌶🌶 Level Two - For characters that would do something like commit a crime, though mostly only in specific circumstances, such as to help someone or to stop the antagonist.

🌶🌶🌶 Level Three - For characters that would commit a crime and potentially murder someone, but not thoughtlessly or without reason. They are typically still seen as "the good guys" or are given sympathetic motives. Essentially, beloved murder hobos.

🌶🌶🌶🌶 Level Four - For characters that would commit a crime or even kill someone if it suits their needs, but are still arguably morally gray in some regards. Some antagonists will fall under this category. Characters that are trapped in a dangerous gray area may be placed here as well. For example, there may be questionable elements to their character or the media they are in is incomplete and their character could go down a dark path, but the other aspects of their character do not fit under level five.

🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶 Level Five - For full on evil characters that would commit crimes and murder without mercy. They're bloodthirsty fuckers but, I won't judge if that's your thing.

Keep in mind that these rankings are done subjectively by me and we may not always agree. I am doing my best as someone with my own opinions, so please be respectful, and if there is anything specific you want me to avoid, please let me know. I also apologize in advance if I forget certain details when it comes to characters, as my brain fog sometimes makes me forget the specifics.

Analysis Request

Keep in mind this analysis is done for fun and never judgmentally.

If you request it, I will analyze trends within your F/Os, from personality type, to aesthetics, to vibes, and see what types of characters you most commonly F/O. If you have more than six F/Os, please select six or less F/Os to present for analysis. Avoid F/Os from extremely obscure sources. I say this because I use the personality-database to find out a character's personality type, and I may not be able to find them on there if their source is too obscure. Feel free to check for their source on the website ahead of time if you are unsure!

Similar F/O Finder Request

This one is quite simple. All you have to do is give me a description and picture of your F/O if you are able, along with letting me know what similarities you want me to search for:

Personality

Vibes

Aesthetic

Motifs

I'll give you a short list of six or more characters that I believe fit the ticket.

[abyssembraced]

[LOOKS AT YOU] HOLLOW KNIGHT / RAINWORLD ......

Send me “📝 + (fandom)” and I’ll reply with a character I would RP from that fandom (Still accepting!)

*Stares back at you* 👀 gfhdhshds

I'll start with Rain World first!

Of course, I've already got my AU for GLaDOS in the works, which I think is mostly planned out at this point? It's. Just a matter of actually writing everything down so that I can actually use the verse dgsbshfs. And I've actually also added ATLAS and P-Body as request muses, specifically for their Rain World verse! (Though I could probably write them in their canon universe too)

But, as for canon muses (and also muses who aren't already on the blog dhshdfh), I have actually kinda considered Rivulet before? I haven't played their campaign yet, since my friend and I don't have Downpour yet, but I've read the major details, dialogue, 'n stuff for it on the wiki. And, at least based on their portrayal in the dating sim, I think they're a cute, silly lil' guy <3 Not sure if I'll ever actually add them for real, but. They feel like the most likely one to join the roster

-

Onto Hollow Knight!

Now. Ghost is my darling, most dearly beloved little Creature of the Void. My most specialest little guy (gender neutral) of all time. We know this. Gfdgsgds

And ultimately, I'm content with just writing them! They're easily my favourite character in the game, maybe even my favourite fictional character In General right now, as hard as it is to commit to saying something like that. I've poured a lot of thought into them, including stuff I've never gotten around to talking about on the blog. If I were to add another Hollow Knight character, I wouldn't be able to put that same level of thought and care into the new guy. Though I'd still be open to NPC-ing other characters in threads if needed, or at least trying to!

However. Beetle. Beetle I am looking directly into your eyes as I say this.

I have, occasionally, also considered adding Monomon.

I didn't think I ever actually would! For the above reason, and also because I'm not entirely confident I'd be able to write her?

BUT LIKE-- IF YOU'RE GONNA GO AND SAY THAT YOU'VE CONSIDERED ADDING QUIRREL, THEN--- 👀 👀 👀

If you do end up adding him, then. I suppose I will have to start seriously considering adding her even harder fgdgdsgdfdgs

[adozentothedawn]

Six-song soundtrack

Rules: If you're tagged, make a new post with links to music and/or lyrics describing the following:

An event that defines your character's past

How your character sees themselves

How others view them

Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic)

A major fight scene

End credits song

Tagged by @solas-backpack-mug (and others but I never got around to it and now I forgot, sorry :( ), thanks!

Favaen (with Emblyn making a guest appearance)

So this was hard, on the one hand because I didn't really have anything on hand and on the other because when I went looking I suddenly had a bunch for the same point.

The Shore - Basia Bulat

Dakara Hitori Ja Nai - Christina Vee (Little Glee Monster)

Rise and Fall - Black Water County

We'll Meet Again - Laura Brehm and TheFatRat

Burn It Down - Vixy and Tony

Like The Dawn - The Oh Hellos

Throwing a tag towards @adraveins and @stylishanachronism for some good music recs. 👀

An event that defines their past

(This was so hard to limit, holy shit)

The Shore - Basia Bulat

There is no one who will take me by that shore Close to the smoke, far from the fires of your harbour But if I am awake this time I'll know All over your eyes, a storm is rolling over, rolling over

Emblyn, dearly regretting her decisions.

Oh you can take away the divine my dear And comb your hair And I won't mind at all Even when the thought's behind I came just to remind you I love you so

And while she does regret a lot, this one thing she clings onto.

How they see themselves

Dakara Hitori Ja Nai - Christina Vee

(an english cover translation)

Once I hated everything Sadness seemed my destiny Couldn't see the beauty all around me (If only) my future spans in front of me A crossroad branching endlessly The road is paved, the course is set I'll grab my dreams, the time is now

Favaen used to have severe emotional management problems and had no idea what to do with herself, a problem she eventually worked out with the help of her mentor and mother figure.

But those empty words are not a plan Lucky stars don't care So don't rely on counting them I'm thinking way too hard about my past I gotta push myself, I'm facing my worst fear, oh Don't care if I'm crying (I'm crying) I'm flying (I'm flying), I made my mind up Trust me, I will keep trying I'm stronger than I know (I'm stronger now) Don't care if I'm lonely (I'm lonely) It's only (It's only) the end of the old me It's time to let her go Say goodbye! (Say goodbye, say goodbye!) Love never lies

She is inherently optimistic because she made the decision and effort to be. Despite her past (both personal and Emblyn's) still on weigh on her, she does her best to move and make the future a better one.

How others view them

Rise and Fall - Black Water County

Listen here, tell me dear What have you now got to fear? Took you long to realise Take it one day at a time verse You've been wasting the minutes In the hours of your days Look around and you'll find That it's just another way

But there's something on my mind That I need to leave behind So tear the page, hit erase 'Til the day you hear me call Make a promise that you'll be The best to rise and fall

Favaen makes herself a turning point for the people around her. An opportunity to do better, to move on, to be someone you's rather be. Be that for Edér who ties himself to her in turn with such a force he literally sails across the ocean on the vague hope it might save her, or for some random bandit who gets to make the choice to leave, live another day, and never see her again.

Their closest relationship

We'll Meet Again - Laura Brehm and TheFatRat

This one had a lot of options, both in relationship and song (Edér being a good contender for example) but I realised I already had this one saved and it's too good not to take so Eothas it is. This is probably pretty self explanatory.

Suddenly you're nowhere to be found I turn around and everything has changed Looking for a way to work it out I'm trying to find some peace to navigate Everything we wanted turned to gold (Turned to gold) The path we chose, the future on our side Never thought I'd do this on my own (On my own) But now I wield the sword you left behind Dark for the sunrise Clouds for a blue sky Space for the travelling star Strong from the inside You're still my life-line I feel you wherever you are The oak tree where I met you And the writing on the statue I still remember every word you said I'm not a soldier, but I'm fighting Can you hear me through the silence? I won't give up 'cause there will be a day We'll meet again

Fight Scene

Burn It Down - Vixy and Tony

This was kinda hard for different reasons. I eventually landed on this one because it fits her as a character and is energetic and inspirational. Some expamples:

The legend of the firebird Is one of transformation If you dare to take the journey And you give the wolf his due Let the flame inspire For you are your own creation Throw your fear upon the pyre And let it rise as something new

So you think you don't burn bright enough? I tell you it's not true Burn it down, burn it down, burn it down Throw your fear upon the fire and burn it down Throw your voice out to the wind Feel the heat upon your skin As you hunger, so begin Burn it down

End Credits

Like The Dawn - The Oh Hellos

(The Oh Hellos are such a treasure trove for this)

I was sleeping in the garden when I saw you first He'd put me deep, deep under so that he could work And like the dawn you broke the dark and my whole earth shook I was sleeping in the garden when I saw you At last, at last Bones of my bones and flesh of my flesh, at last

Imagry of how Eothas kept Emblyn's soul with him repaired it over time and how she was eventually reborn as Favaen with pieces of him holding her together, making them essential soul twins.

You were the brightest shade of sun I had ever seen Your skin was gilded with the gold of the richest kings And like the dawn you woke the world inside of me You were the brightest shade of sun when I saw you

Being a form of soul twins it made Favaen absolutely miserable to be apart from him (something he didn't consider at all as a possibility cause he is in fact, not very smart) and eventually officially joining the clergy was an incredible relief for her.

[lcftyambiticns]

THIS BLOG HAS MOVED TO @lcftyambiticons-archive !! moving back to this blog!

♔ ❛ 𝑰nd. &. private 25+ 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐔𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐄 roleplay blog for ℒORROAKAN ; self-appointed MASTER OF RAMAZITH'S TOWER &. ARCHMAGE of Baldur's Gate. TRIGGER WARNING for dark / adult content. SECONDARY MUSE: Rolan ( on request only! )

MEMES | HEADCANONS | GALLERY | VERSES

RULES AND MUSE INFO: UNDER THE CUT.

STORIES: ✍︎ ℳEMORIES.

RULES.

GNEREAL

25+ ONLY. This blog is written by an adult for other adults, so please act accordingly.

I'm careful about how I curate my online space. The block button and I are besties. Muns who engange in OOC drama, OOC bigotry and LGBTQA+ phobia of any kind, callout posts, OOC political discourse will be blocked on sight. I also tend to steer clear of writers who have lots of DNIs or triggers.

This blog is anti-censorship. Fiction =/= reality. If you don't like someone's content, block them. Protecting your online space is a mature thing to do, and I promise I'll 100% support that. What's NOT okay is trying to police adults on what to write on their blogs (go touch some grass).

Triggers you may encounter on this blog: violence, murder, abuse, gore, monsters, gaslighting, manipulation, cults, canon-typical fantasy racism and overall offensive / problematic themes. Triggers won't always be tagged. If you're triggered by any of these, this blog isn't for you. I love angst and exploring dark content!! If you have any triggers, let me know.

Communication is key! <3 Writing is so much more fun if the muns get along. I promise, I don't bite!!

INTERACTION

This is a private blog simply because I can't spread myself too thin. I'm particularly selective when it comes to mumu-blogs featuring muses from fandoms outside the DnD / BG3 verse. If I follow you, I have read your rules and want to interact! Don't be shy <3 I will also assume that if you follow me back, you're fine with me sending you memes / tagging you in starters / sliding into your IMs to plot.

Personals are welcome to follow, but no touchy my RP stuff.

If you're a RP blog, I'd love it if you follow with the intention of interacting. Also, if you followed me first, I'd appreciate it if you reached out first to start things off — I'll do my best to do the same! I feel like this approach makes it easier to get interactions going.

If we're not mutuals: You're welcome to send headcanon and plot-idea asks! If I can take on another thread, I'll let you know. <3

Formatting: For accessibility reasons, I won't follow if you use spaced out words and punctuation, all caps or all lowercase (for entire paragraphs).

MEMES. YES! If you want to continue a meme, go right ahead!

Plotting: Hmu with a plot idea anytime! I'm not a fan of plotting out every detail, but Lorroakan is a particularly uncooperative muse. Having a general idea of where we want this to go really helps to keep the ball rolling, even if we end up going in a different direction!

SHIPPING / RELATIONSHIPS

This blog is multiship, male lean. Fair warning; Lorroakan isn't particularly interested in romance or sex, and he's a prick. I'm open to shipping, BUT ships will most likely be toxic / one-sided, particularly with Rolan (with the potential to develop into something wholesome over time!), and slow burn. By slow I mean glacial. In most cases, at least.

I won't write smut on the dash. The steamy stuff will be moved to discord or IMs.

Pre-established relationships: Yes. While first meeting or "they have been business partners" threads can be fun, they often take a while to get juicy, or they end up fizzling out. What if your muse was Lorroakan's childhood bestie? Another (former?) apprentice? A fellow scholar of the arcane he used to work with? An ex?

MUN NOTES

Mun =/= Muse, I obviously don't condone any of Lorroakan's bs IRL. While I will absolutely respect your boundaries OOC (if you talk to me beforehand about them, pretty please with a cherry on top), I won't water him down.

I have the memory of a soggy pickle. If you don't want me to interact with you, hard-block.

Activity: Sometimes I'll reply super fast, sometimes it takes me ages, and sometimes I can only focus on specific threads / muses.

Discord is available for moots I interact with frequently.

They / Them, hatched 1995, dog parent, hyperfixating on problematic villains, D&D player.

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄

GENERAL Lorroakan is in his mid-late 30s, fairly young considering his achievements (mostly obtained through deceitful methods).

He presents himself as the great archmage of Baldur's Gate, but while he is a compentent wizard and keen enchanter, he is nowhere near as powerful as he claims to be.

Lorroakan laid claim to Ramazith Tower after its previous owner mysteriously disappearend, and he refuses to share the knowledge it holds (at least for free).

He is originally from Athkatla, one of the wealthiest cities in Faerun, but he grew up in the shadows of its splendor. His family (mother, father, two sisters, four brothers) could barely make ends meet, but Lorroakan has always been ambitious and harbored dreams of one day being just as wealthy and powerful as the elite of the Gem District. The practice or use of arcane magic is explicitly illegal within the city of Athkatla, but that didn't stop him; he practiced in secret whenever he could get his hands on a spellbook.

PERSONALITY IN A NUTSHELL . . . as interpreted by the mun ; Ambitious, diligent, intelligent, clever, creative ; selfish, arrogant, manipulative, power-hungry, petty, vain.

He has a superiority complex ; he is vain, has an overly high opinion of himself, makes boastful claims that aren't backed up by reality, has a habit of putting down those who outshine him.

(The way I see it) Lorroakan isn't a straight up villain. However, his ambitions and narcissistic nature drive him to commit morally questionable, and at times, outright despicable acts.

CHARACTER STUDIES / RELEVANT HEADCANONS: bad money habits more about his past & why he is how he is

Shippy HCs CONs of being his lover PROs of being his lover NSFW headcanons

[pixel7777]

The Downside of Daring Rescues Chapter 10: Killing Me Softly

🎶 A song takes shape, truths are told, and Darla discovers that sometimes, the hardest battles aren’t fought with swords. Meanwhile, Astarion wrestles with nightmares he can’t escape and feelings he might not recognize.🎶

Read here below the break or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please reblog or reply here, or comment and leave kudos on AO3! Your thoughts are the heartbeat of this story.

The campfire's warmth barely reached the edges of their roadside camp, where Darla sat cross-legged on her bedroll, making final adjustments to her composition. She'd been wrestling with the opening verses for days, trying to strike the right balance between entertainment and respect.

"When danger stalked the city streets, a hunter sought his prey..." She hummed the melody under her breath, fingers moving in time. The firelight caught a flash of white hair at the camp's perimeter—Astarion, perched on a fallen log and pretending not to listen. He'd been oddly quiet these past few days, his usual sharp wit dulled by what seemed like exhaustion.

Dark circles shadowed his eyes, visible even at this distance. Something was clearly wearing on him. Still, he'd positioned himself just close enough to hear her working on the song.

Darla gathered her notes and stood, brushing dirt from her bright traveling clothes. "Hey," she called softly, approaching his log. "I could use another perspective on this." She gestured with the papers. "Since you're sort of the co-star."

Behind them, Zee's booming laugh carried across the camp as he dealt cards to Syl and Thal. The familiar sounds of their companions settling in for the night—the shuffle of cards, the clink of cooking gear being cleaned—created a comfortable backdrop for what might be an uncomfortable conversation.

"I've been revising our song… um, I mean, that song about how we met," Darla continued, when Astarion didn't immediately respond. "The one I sang in Candlekeep. I think I've finally got the opening right, but..." She shifted her weight. "Well, it's your story too. Would you mind hearing it?"

Darla watched Astarion's face carefully as she waited for his response. His distant expression worried her—she'd seen him tired before, but this seemed different. Like he was somewhere else entirely.

"If you'd rather not, we can—"

"No, go ahead." He waved a hand, rising from the log with familiar grace despite his apparent exhaustion. "Lead on."

Darla picked her way through the scrub brush, heading toward a cluster of rocks just beyond earshot of the camp. The paper crinkled in her hands as she searched for the right words.

"You were right, you know. About the tavern songs." She glanced back to make sure he was following. "I kept trying to make it entertaining, when that's not what every story needs."

"Shocking revelation." But the words lacked his usual bite.

"I think I've found a better approach." She settled onto one of the rocks, patting the space beside her. "It starts with both of us thinking we're the clever one that night. You hunting, me feeling heroic for driving off a vampire." She let out a short laugh. "Gods, I had no idea what I was actually doing to you, sending you back empty-handed."

Something shifted in Astarion's expression—a spark of interest breaking through the fog. He perched on the rock's edge, one leg drawn up. "And how do you plan to capture that particular irony?"

"That's the tricky part. I left your name out, but..." She shuffled through her notes. "I wanted to show how we were both caught in something bigger than ourselves. You under his control, me thinking I was being the big hero." She looked up at him. "Would you be willing to hear what I have so far?"

Astarion's posture had relaxed slightly, his attention now properly focused on her rather than whatever had been preoccupying him. "Well, you've managed to make me curious. That's something."

Darla's fingers trembled slightly as she held up her notes in the moonlight. The parchment caught a cool breeze, forcing her to ask Astarion to hold the pages so she could play her lute and sing. She kept glancing between the words and Astarion's face, searching for any flicker of response.

The verses flowed from seduction to revelation, painting them both as unwitting players in a darker game. Her voice caught briefly when describing her initial attraction—how his grace and charm had seemed so natural, so perfect. Her cheeks burned at admitting this aloud, but she pushed through. She'd promised herself honesty in this telling.

Where her tavern version had played their kiss for laughs, this rendition lingered on the tragedy—two souls desperate in different ways, neither of them understanding each other or the actual situation. She watched Astarion's fingers tighten on his knee as she described her fury upon discovering his nature, the self-righteous chase through darkened streets.

The song's momentum built toward their arrival at Szarr Palace, but Darla let the words trail off there, before the true horror of what she'd find inside. She lowered her notes, heart pounding.

"That's as far as I've gotten," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "I know it's different from my usual style. Maybe too different." She smoothed the crumpled edges of her parchment, needing something to do with her hands. "I've never tried writing something this... real before."

She waited, holding her breath, for his verdict. The silence stretched between them like a drawn bowstring.

Darla lowered her lute, watching Astarion's face in the moonlight. His expression had shifted from distant to thoughtful, but she couldn't read beyond that.

"What's your goal with this version?" He tilted his head. "Before, it was simple enough—make them laugh, toss you a coin. Besides sparing my delicate feelings, why rewrite the whole thing?"

Darla set the lute aside, choosing her words carefully. "I learned something that night. Something I think almost no one knows, but they should." She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Everyone's so afraid of spawn, but it's the masters who are to blame. The ones who create spawn and control them and then..." She gestured vaguely, not wanting to name the specific horrors she'd witnessed in Cazador's palace.

"And you think a tavern song will change centuries of prejudice?" His tone was skeptical, but not cruel.

"Maybe not by itself. But if Dalyria succeeds—when she succeeds—spawn will need to rejoin society somehow. People should understand the context." She met his eyes. "And it's just... true. Shouldn't that count for something?"

Astarion was quiet for a long moment, his fingers drumming against his knee. Finally, he nodded. "If that's your goal, then I think you're doing well." He stood, brushing invisible dirt from his clothes. "Though you might want to work on that third verse. The rhyme scheme is a bit forced."

Darla twisted her hands in her lap, watching his face. "Is it too much? I can pull back on some of the details if—"

"Oh, it's absolutely too much." Astarion's laugh held a brittle edge. "But my comfort level with exposure lies somewhere between total invisibility and simply not existing, so I'm hardly the best judge."

"I could revise it," Darla offered quickly. "Make it less personal—"

"No." He turned to face her, moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face. "If your goal is what you say, then it needs that honesty. Just..." His fingers drummed against his knee again. "Don't make me a figure of pity. I won't have that."

Darla looked up at him then—really looked. The deadly grace in every movement, the razor-sharp mind behind those red eyes, the way he'd survived centuries of horror and emerged with his wit intact. Even exhausted, he radiated danger and intelligence.

No, she thought. Pity wasn't remotely what she felt when she looked at him. Sympathy for his pain, yes, but—

But Astarion was already gone, leaving nothing but a whisper of displaced air and the lingering scent of wine. Darla stared at the empty space where he'd been, the words she hadn't found still caught in her throat.

***

Astarion slipped into his tent, methodically unbuckling his leather armor. Each piece found its designated spot within arm's reach. The straps and buckles yielded to practiced fingers while his mind circled back to Darla's song, trying and failing to maintain his usual distance from such things.

He laid out his blades—first Rhapsody, then the daggers—checking each edge with his thumb. The familiar routine should have been soothing, but her lyrics kept intruding. The way she'd captured that night at Fraygo's Tavern, both his calculated seduction and her genuine response, rang uncomfortably true. No more cheap mockery or heroic posturing, just... what had actually happened.

"Damn her observant eyes," he muttered, setting aside his boots after checking the hidden knife in the left one. She'd seen right through him, past the desperate hunger and the manipulation, to the cage of Cazador's commands that had driven him that night—how that had felt.

His fingers traced the leather of his bracer, finding a scratch that needed attention. The song had portrayed him neither as monster nor victim—just someone doing what he had to do. Someone trapped by circumstance to act contrary to his wishes.

It made him feel… seen. In ways maybe only Thal or Dalyria had ever really approached. She hadn’t tried to make him a villain or a hero. Just a man. And damn her for it, because that glimpse of understanding had felt... good. Too good. It was intoxicating. It was terrifying.

Astarion shrugged out of his shirt, reaching for the softer linen one he wore for rest on the nights they were forced to camp. His movements slowed as he recalled how Darla had leaned close, her hair falling forward as she'd shown him the lyrics. The scent of her—jasmine and ink—had wrapped around him, made more potent by his heightened senses.

His fingers fumbled with the ties of his camp clothes. The intimacy of it—just the two of them, her voice soft and meant only for him—had been... different. On stage, Darla commanded attention, drew every eye. But here she'd been... genuine. Real. The way her voice had caught on certain phrases, the slight tremor in her hands as she'd gestured for him to turn the pages.

Astarion eyed his bedroll with distaste. Another night, another unwanted dream lurking in wait. Despite the bone-deep weariness pulling at him, he settled at his small camp table instead, journal open but untouched before him.

His mind drifted back to those quiet moments with Darla. He'd been too tired to maintain his usual careful distance, worn thin by nights of unnatural sleep and disturbing dreams. The moonlight had caught in her dark hair, silvering the edges as she'd bent over her papers.

Foolish. He'd thought himself safely numbed by exhaustion, but her artistry had awakened something in him. His fingers traced the blank page before him. He should write about the dreams, document their increasing frequency. Instead, his thoughts lingered on how the moonlight had played across Darla's face as she sang.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, but couldn't quite summon his usual cynicism. The attraction coiling in his chest felt different from his calculated seductions. More dangerous. More real.

They'd already played this game of seducer and seduced twice now. It had ended badly then and would certainly end badly now. Yet... the way she'd waited for his permission, shown him such consideration—it stirred something in him he'd thought long dead.

He drummed his fingers on the journal, fighting a smile at how she'd leaned close, the warmth of her shoulder pressed against his...

Astarion traced idle patterns on the journal's blank page. Her song hadn't shied away from that initial spark between them—the genuine heat of attraction she'd felt before discovering his true nature. His own memories of that night were far hazier, clouded by the gnawing dread of returning to Cazador empty-handed yet again.

Even now, he couldn't recall the specifics of their kisses. Those moments had dissolved into blind panic when his fang caught her tongue, when that forbidden taste of thinking creature's blood had hit his system. Everything after became a blur of terror.

He'd taken so many to their deaths before her. Nobles, merchants, anyone who might please Cazador's refined palate. Their faces blurred together in his memory, deliberately forgotten as soon as possible.

Self-preservation, really. Harder to feel guilt over people you couldn't quite remember. But he found himself in the absurd position of wondering what it might be like to kiss someone he had, in fact, already kissed.

He couldn't really recall his impression of Darla that first night at all... now he knew the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed at her own jokes. How she'd drum her fingers against her thigh when working out a particularly tricky rhyme. The determined set of her jaw when she thought someone needed defending, however foolishly.

Astarion closed the journal untouched and forced himself to stretch out on the bedroll, though every instinct screamed against making himself vulnerable. The exhaustion dragged at him like lead weights, and he needed rest—real rest—if he was to be of any use tomorrow.

His eyes had barely closed when the familiar vertigo seized him, pulling him down into unwanted sleep. The throne room materialized around him, its oppressive grandeur unchanged from his years of service. The unknown vampire lord lounged on Cazador's throne, shadows writhing at his feet.

"Still playing at being an adventurer?" The master's voice held the same cultured accent as before, but now amusement tinged the words. "How quaint."

Astarion's muscles locked as guard-spawn dragged a struggling figure into the room. Darla's hair had come loose from its elaborate style, and blood stained her chin and throat. Her eyes met his, wild with a hunger he recognized all too well.

Explain this,” the master demanded, his voice oozing disdain as he gestured toward Darla. “Did you think your new companions would protect you? That your pet bard would sing you free of consequence?” Darla’s wild eyes met Astarion’s, filled not with fear, but betrayal. ‘You let this happen,’ her gaze seemed to say.

Astarion's throat closed. He couldn't form words, couldn't move, couldn't even look away as Darla snarled and snapped at her captors with new fangs.

The scene shifted, rippled, reformed. Now Darla lay crumpled at the foot of the throne, her throat torn out. The master's boots left bloody prints as he circled her body.

"This is what happens to those who refuse to come to heel," he said. "Come home, and perhaps we can avoid such... unfortunate outcomes."

Astarion's fingers dug into his palms, blood welling around his nails. He wanted to run, to fight, to scream—but his body remained frozen in place as the master approached, reaching for him with bloodstained hands.

"The kennels miss you," the master whispered. "Shall we visit them together?"

Astarion broke free of his paralysis and fled down the corridor, his boots sliding on the polished wood. The hallway stretched before him, familiar gold-threaded wallpaper and flickering wall sconces that had haunted his nights for over a century. He ran faster, harder, his chest heaving with unnecessary breath—but the corridor twisted, bent, and deposited him right back in the throne room.

"You always return in the end," the master said, gesturing to where Thal lay bleeding at his feet. "Why fight what's inevitable?"

Astarion spun on his heel and bolted through another door. This time the hall was lined with empty cages yawning open like hungry mouths. The rattling of chains echoed off the stone, a symphony of torment he knew too well. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed on, refusing to look, refusing to remember—

Only to stumble back into the throne room. Now Syl sprawled across the dais, limbs bent at unnatural angles.

"Come home," the master crooned. "Before anyone else suffers for your... independence."

Another door. Another desperate sprint. This time through the great dining hall where he'd served so many "guests" to their doom. The tables were set with silver and crystal, dried blood crusted in the goblets. He vaulted over a chair, knocked aside a candelabra—

And emerged once more into the throne room. Zee's broken body had joined the others.

"You know how this ends," the master said, reaching for him with those bloodstained hands over the pile of bodies. "Come home, and I'll make it quick for them."

Astarion backed away, his shoulders hitting cold stone. There were no more doors. No more hallways. Nowhere left to run as the master advanced, promising mercy if he'd just submit, just come home, just…

***

From Darla's Journal, written in flowing script with various doodles and crossed-out phrases in the margins

Finally mastered that tricky chord progression I've been working on! And the way it weaves through the minor key before resolving—pure genius, if I do say so myself. The look on Astarion's face when I played him the revised version... He actually listened. Really listened! Not just that polite attention people give when they're waiting for the bawdy chorus.

I think I'm onto something with this more serious direction. There's real power in telling the truth about what happened, even the ugly parts. Maybe especially the ugly parts? Note to self: Work on the bridge section about Cazador's palace. Something about the shadows and silence, but not too flowery. Keep it real.

Astarion's reaction was everything I'd hoped for—attentive, thoughtful, and, dare I say, even a little impressed. Of course, I couldn't bask in that for long before my brain decided to fixate on the way his stupid perfect curls caught the moonlight. Damn him.

A sketch of musical notes trails off into an elaborate doodle of curly hair

DAMN IT ALL TO THE NINE HELLS.

Those stupid perfect curls. That ridiculous grace when he moves. WHO NEEDS TO BE THAT ELEGANT WHILE SHARPENING A DAGGER?

Several angry scratches through the previous lines

Have I learned NOTHING? The first time I found him attractive, he tried to KILL ME. K-I-L-L. ME.

Ok, I guess that wasn't his fault, and I did try to kill him back, but the second time he was blatantly manipulating me, and that was all him.

But the way his eyes softened when I sang about his past... NO. NO. NO.

A rough sketch of an angry face with horns takes up the corner of the page

Multiple ink blots suggest the quill was stabbed into the page several times

New song idea: "The Fool's Guide to Falling for Vampires"

Verse 1: Don't.

Verse 2: Seriously, don't.

Verse 3: What is WRONG with me?

A detailed sketch of Astarion's amulet fills the bottom margin, with tiny hearts that have been aggressively crossed out

At least I'm improving as a bard. I'm proud of how I'm developing the narrative throughline. Even if I'm apparently still stupid enough to notice how beautiful Astarion's hands are when he's picking locks.

I need a drink.

Fuck. He's broody, witty, challenging, terrifyingly competent, impossibly resilient, and stupid hot. I'm screwed.

I don't need a drink — I need a lobotomy.

The entry ends with a surprisingly skilled sketch of Astarion's profile that has been partially scratched out

[philtstone]

Kundavai Nandini bitch

whos ready for another round of perfectly stupid barely plot-coherent modern road trip fix it au. please dont take this seriously, as i didnt. this verse probably would have worked more smoothly if i wrote it in chronological order but instead. i didn't do that. thanks 2 maya for helping me decide the funniest option at every juncture. a sequel to this fic, if you're interested enjoy

“It’s just, legally speaking, this looks quite a lot like a kidnapping.”

“Oh, please. Legally. This is a family matter.”

“Which, I feel obliged to point out, has resulted in kidnapping.”

“Hm,” says Aditha, rubbing at his chin and looking down.

“I guess I could see your point of view, Nambi,” allows Vandiyadevan, tilting his head such that his floppy brimmed disguise hat sits at a jaunty angle. He takes another bite from the open aluminum package of Magic Masala Lays. “We’ve got him in a van and everything.”

“Thank you,” says the older man proudly. “It is not often you concede my point.”

“My van is a very nice van,” says Poonguzhali at the same time, sounding somewhat aggrieved.

The young fellow in the trunk of Poonghuzai’s van continues to sit slumped, and unconscious. They observe his slicked back hair, thick with pomade, and his rather inadvisable moustache.

“How hard did we hit him on the head, anyway? Poor guy looks like he won’t wake up for a while.”

Nambi makes a faintly regretful face, eyeing his thick walking stick and rubbing his ample belly.

“It is not my fault God has made me so strong,” he says.

“Be real,” says Vandiyadevan, who must begrudgingly acknowledge that it wasn’t a terrible decision to call up Nambi, after all. “You’re not even the one who knocked him.”

They turn to the willowy figure who stands proudly to the side with her hands clasped tight around Nambi’s co-opted walking stick. Her long silver hair flutters, unbraided and somewhat naiadic, around her face. Her feet are bare, despite the fact that they are standing on paved sidewalk behind a very large and shiny building. She is wearing four bead bracelets on one wrist – there had not been time to distribute them before enacting The Intervention. Mandakini smiles sweetly at them. The lines around her overlarge eyes crease and dance. The head of their kidnapped man lolls downwards a bit.

Aditha returns her smile, awkward but encouraging; Vandiyadevan rubs with consternation at the back of his own neck.

“Madhurantakan will be fine,” Arunmozhi, who has been deep in contemplation (or maybe just a little stunned) til now, decides firmly. “The pomade will have eased the blow. You know what I’ll do? I’ll fetch one of Vanathi’s juice boxes so he’s got something to wake up to.” 

He speaks with such authority that the others cannot help but feel comforted. Vandiyadevan says,

“It’s a good thing Arunmozhi lugs all those juice boxes around for her, isn’t it,” as his friend indeed goes to fetch the refreshment in question, “Madhurantakan doesn’t even have diabetes.”

“Only that terrible moustache,” Poonguzhali agrees. 

“And to think,” sighs Nambi, “when we set out this morning, it was to pimp out our friend Vandiyadevan for the greater good. Truly, Lord Vishnu works great mysteries.”

“I wonder how the girls are doing,” Poonguzhali says pointedly, as, while Aditha groans, Vandiyadevan pours the remainder of the chip bag upon Nambi’s head.

**

It was, in matter of fact, quite early in the morning when the collective began arguing over Vandiyadevan’s virtue. At this point in the day, they had not yet kidnapped anyone.

“It won’t be difficult,” Nandini is saying, with a serene, if perhaps calculated, shrug. “I do it all the time. I have about twelve on rotation just now.”

She is sitting perched, even lounging, against the cramped fabric upholstery of the van’s leftmost window seat, as if it was the chaise of an ancient royal mistress. Vandiyadevan is a clever enough man; he can see where Nandini is going with this. After two weeks on the road, and the transformative power of meeting one’s mother, even the most vindictive of lonely people – Vandiyadevan opines, with great and compassionate wisdom – can thaw out a good deal. He was there (well, trapped in the toilet and unable to emerge lest he ruin the moment) to overhear the quiet tears of relief which Nandini shed against Aditha’s shoulder four nights ago, after everyone else was asleep. Neither of them seem inclined to even remotely acknowledge it in the light of day, but that’s none of Vandiyadevan’s business. What is his business is that Nandini has just declared she will save Chola Incorporated by seducing the siblings’ idiot cousin, and by God, Vandiyadevan can’t say it’s not sort of a good idea.

At the moment, though, he’s quite hungry, and so his nimble intellect is more focused on the possibility of a packet of Blue Lays, which he thinks might be in the glove compartment of the P Investigator, Lady Detective van – just in front of him. It could be his, if only he could get past Poonguzhali’s sharp looks. She is giving quite a few of them today – when she isn’t looking fondly at Arunmozhi, that is. Vandiyadevan sighs. Yes yes, it is her van of course, and therefore her chips, but seeing as they are a reconciled team now, very deep into their quest …

“And they really don’t mind that you never follow up on your promises?”

Vanathi, Kundavai’s sweetly bespectacled personal assistant, asks this in a tremulous voice. She, too, has been looking fondly at Arunmozhi all afternoon, though perhaps more secretively. If you could call her enormous doe-eyes secretive. Vandiyadevan would think it all very silly, but then, Arunmozhi does inspire the fondest of looks on a day to day basis, even when he’s wearing that bucket hat his older sister dislikes so. He’s just that kind of fellow. In answer to Vanathi, Nandini holds out her phone, with the contacts page open, to illustrate her long roster of – rather happily, it seems – strung-along men. They all lean in as one, jostling one another in the cramped confines of the van’s interior, to peruse properly.

“CEO … tech billionaire … Rajinikant?” 

“The superstar?” 

“Thalaiva?” 

Nandini wrinkles her nose, shrugging, and wags one delicate hand back and forth so-so; someone squawks loudly and happily (it must be Poonguzhali), which is a sound loud enough to cover the small pathetic choking noise that seems to come from Aditha’s general direction.

“He’s the one who looks like our treacherous uncle, isn’t he.”

“You just think that because they are both old.” 

“God, he is so bald. Uncle has his hair, at least.”

“Tatta thinks that it is a toupee. He told me so two months ago, at the poetry reading.”

“Hey, be quiet a moment – someone give Aditha a juice box, he looks ill. Is that a sandwich shop owner in there?”

Vanathi had been the helpful soul who wired the crores necessary to Arunmozhi in Thanjai when they needed to bail their previously missing person — Nandini’s long lost mother and Arunmozhi’s enigmatic friend — out of jail. She reads aloud the contact name: “Arjina’s Super Sandwich Speedy Fast N Go”

“I get hungry sometimes,” Nandini says, twirling one lock of glossy raven hair around her finger. Vanathi rubs at her forehead, adjusts her spectacles twice, and shakes her head a little, allowing,

“It must be very nice to have easy access to a good sandwich whenever you like.”

Poonguzhali is by this point wheezing with glee; Vandiyadevan wonders if she is still thinking of Thalaiva’s terribly bald head. Does Nandini’s effortless ruse involve assuring him that it is not, in fact, so hairless?

“Oooh,” snaps Kundavai. Nandini’s chin lifts upward immediately, “Vanathi, we must aspire to be strong and resourceful women. You can make your own sandwiches, can’t you?”

Kundavai began this conference looking as if she may finally be willing to admit she and Nandini’s forced cohabitation of dumpish motel room had not been the end of the world. She looks now as if she has sucked upon a particularly bitter lemon. Vandiyadevan takes a moment to appreciate, absently, the particular radiance with which the corners of her mouth pinch and pucker in judgmental annoyance. Then he remembers between whom he’s sitting, and pulls himself together. Arunmozhi is nodding with philosophical curiosity and pausing every few minutes to sign the newest developments in their consultation to Mandakini, who is sitting in the backseat, making bead bracelets with the craft materials she discovered in Aditha’s messenger bag. Aditha (who, it might be noted, possesses quite an impressive head of hair) does indeed look like he is going to be sick. He does not seem to want to give this fact away, and so persistently looks at the ceiling of the van, and when asked about it, claims in a strained voice that he has spotted a small lizard, which they must immediately expel from the vehicle. No one quite buys this, but no one feels the need to expose him either.

Vanathi must crane her slender neck somewhat painfully so as to properly peruse the details of Nandini’s phone messages. They really are diverting; the girl’s rose coloured lips part in a soft and open oh of morbid curiosity, her luminous brown eyes the size of saucers. One of the text strings promises a Benz sometime in the next week. The other is paying for Nandini’s apartment.

“Isn’t that something,” hums Arunmozhi, with pleasant fascination. Vandiyadevan would be inclined agree if Poonguzhali were not looking so impressed. 

“Isn’t it though,” says Poonguzhali, before the gratified Nandini can reply. “Twelve! I can only scam three men at a time. That’s brilliant, that is.”

“That is not brilliant,” Kundavai disagrees. If Vandiyadevan were not so hungry he’d be able to hear her blood pressure rising, just by listening hard enough. Ah, to bask in the lovely tones of her irritated voice … “It’s not anything. We are not going to stop a few buffoons from usurping our family business via seduction.”

Arunmozhi has been very good at keeping them all working together so far, but he makes a slight error in judgment here (Vandiyadevan privately thinks), by taking a quiet breath and starting, gently to his credit, “Akka, just because you are not skilled at a particular art …”

Kundavai shrills with immediacy.

“Ayyo! How could you say that? It is not a matter of skill, it is a matter of principle! We are not seducing our cousin!”

Ah, yes. At this point in the day, they had not yet put their considerable minds together and determined to distract an Uncle or two; the first idea on the table, given that it was Madhurantakan they needed to waylay on his way to the Very Important Board Meeting, was cousin-seduction.

Aditha, who had been focused on the imaginary lizard’s affairs until this interval, seizes his opportunity.

“We are not seducing our cousin,” he clarifies in gritted, authoritative tones. Which is impressive, given that the contents of Nandini’s contacts app seemed to any rational observer to have had temporarily rendered him mute a moment before. 

“No,” says Kundavai, in a manner so uniquely bitchy that only Nandini could have inspired it (Vandiyadevan thinks this with affection and no small amount of dreamy internal sighing), “clearly we are not.” 

“Mmm,” is all Nandini offers, tilting her head just so.

“Surely there is an alternative, indeed clever solution –”

“Yes,” Aditha barrels forward, rather bravely Vandiyadevan thinks, as if neither girl has spoken, “Nandini may do what she wants, of course —“ (there is a tremendous strain to his voice; Kundavai, who had eagerly looked over at the sound of her brother agreeing with her, rolls her eyes with relish) “But how do we know — really — that Madhurantakan is into women? I think Vandiyadevan should go.”

There’s a prolonged moment of silence. Vandiyadevan hears a small crunch beside him, and realizes to his horror that Poonguzhali has snuck out the Magic Masala Lays.

“Eh!” he whispers. It seems for some reason appropriate to whisper. “You sneaky little imp! Share those, why don’t you?”

This unexpected turn of events was clearly not the solidarity Kundavai had in mind. 

“You want to pimp out Vandiyadevan?” she hisses, horrified.

Even Nandini is displeased by this. “I am more than capable of doing this myself!” she says, irritably. “Just because you are jealous –”

“I am not jealous!” Aditha yells, in the voice of a man very clearly jealous. Nandini has turned pink to match her sari. It really is sort of funny, how swiftly her own efforts turn against her.

“Well – let’s lay out all the possibilities, here,” inserts Arunmozhi, helpfully. With his free hand, he takes the bead bracelet Mandakini hands him – she must reach over Kundavai’s shoulder to do so – before starting on the next one. “If Nandini shouldn’t do it, and Vandiyadevan shouldn’t do it –”

Vandiyadevan, who is in the middle of wrestling with Poonguzhali for the chip bag, says, “Sure, I’m game,” without thinking. Kundavai turns a shade of pink to rival Nandini’s; he course corrects, with swiftness, “Or, I mean, well, it really depends – how do we know I’m his type?”

“Don’t be silly,” Aditha says, “you’re everyone’s type.”

“Absolutely not,” says Poonguzhali.

“Perhaps our clever Madame Detective –” starts Arunmozhi.

“Absolutely not!” says Poonguzhali. 

Mandakini has started humming a girlish tune to herself. It sounds a little bit like the theme song to Robo.

“And as for alternate man –”

“It really is too bad he’s your cousin. Say, we could call Nambi …”

It’s here that Vandiyadevan decides they are in terribly dire straits.

“Who’s Nambi going to seduce?” he yells. “Forget him. Isn’t it Pazhuvettaryer who’s running the meeting, anyway? Someone go and seduce him!”

With a final flourish, he acquires the chips, squashing half of the bag to his chest with tragic finality. Nandini, Kundavai, Aditha, and Arunmozhi blink at each other, then him. Poonguzhali socks him in the shoulder (he just barely stops himself from exclaiming in pain). Mandakini holds out a second completed bead bracelet; this one has little sparkly charms hanging from it.

Nandini, whose face had grown to be just as pinched as Kundavai’s, softens immediately, and says, “Oh – thank you, Amma.”

She looks so tender taking the stupid thing from her mother that the collective ire deflates, little by little, until they are sitting in their cramped seats and back to square one: despairing about how to stop a bloody board meeting from happening. Vandiyadevan quietly crunches on a chip; Poonguzhali socks his arm again.

“If I may,” says Vanathi’s unassuming voice, piping into the chaotic silence before an ow can be uttered. “That is – I was only thinking. What if I went?”

Everyone gaps at her.

She refuses to meet Arunmozhi’s eye, staring instead – determinedly – at the little tiger charm Poonguzhali keeps hanging from her rearview mirror. There’s a quiet frown creasing Arunmozhi’s brow. 

“Wh – what?” asks Nandini. For perhaps the first time since Vandiyadevan has met her, she looks truly speechless. Even when reuniting with her mother, she embodied a tragic sort of blubbering grace. Right now there is not a single sound coming forth, despite the fact that her mouth is open like a fish.

It matches Kundavai’s perfectly.

“Vanathi,” ventures Aditha, before his sister can say anything; this complete change of pace seems to have quelled some of his lizard-adjacent turmoil, and he speaks with a gruff gentleness that doesn’t quite match his unraveling ponytail. “... Where exactly do you mean to go?”

“Oh!” Vanathi shakes her head frantically. “No! I meant – what if I pretended to swoon in front of Pazhuvetteryar?” 

Another round of blinking. “What?” says Nandini again.

Vanathi adjusts her spectacles a second time; her head-shaking has jostled them. “Chola Inc legal policy says that any medical emergency must be attended to by the person most immediately at hand. A-and … well, I’ve gotten a lot of practice in. At … you know.”

“Because of the diabetes,” says Vandiyadevan aloud, before he can stop himself.

Poonguzhali socks his arm a third time.

“Ow!” 

Thankfully, no one really notices this exclamation, as everyone continues to stare at Vanathi in shock. Until,

“Vanathi,” says Arunmozhi finally, into the silence. He is sitting up straight, a look of complete wonder upon his handsome face; very different from the philosophical fascination of before. “That’s perfect. I think you might just be a genius.”

Of course, it is here that – flushing so pink as to rival both Nandini and Kundavai combined – the beaming Vanathi looks very close to fainting dead away.

Good thing they’ve got those juiceboxes on hand.

Until Madhurantakan needs them, anyway.