#I can't believe I killed my post twice

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

Kyoshi, when she first sees Yangchen: ?????!!! MOMMY????!!! Yangchen:

[lumsel]

AITA for not wanting my roommate to use my toothbrush?

Hi reddit. A few days ago I (NB27) was getting ready for work when I caught my roommate (NB27) in the bathroom brushing their teeth with my toothbrush. I got really mad at them for this, but they didn't think it was a big deal and said I was overreacting.

Their logic was that because they were my exact duplicate all our germs are basically the same anyway so it's basically like just one person brushing their teeth twice. But my opinion was that we became "different people" one year ago, when they woke up in my bed beside me one morning without any explanation. But this made them mad because they said from their perspective I was the one who woke up in their bed one morning without any explanation, and they accused me of claiming to be the original again. Things got really heated after this but neither of us was able to kill the other because our abilities were perfectly matched so we basically just declared stalemate like usual.

This whole ordeal had been especially disconcerting to me because up until this point there have been no real points of divergence in our personalities. Every time we have made a decision we would both make the same choice, all of our opinions and beliefs have been identical, and any time we converse it's difficult because we keep trying to say the same thing at the same time. So for us to disagree on anything is unexpected let alone something this big. I was hoping to use this as a clue to help prove I was the original but unfortunately none of my friends or family can remember my stance on toothbrush clone sharing so I was out of luck there.

Anyway they still keep using my toothbrush even though there's another one there because they "like the blue one more than the purple one" but the blue one is mine!!! I really don't think its unreasonable to ask them to use a different toothbrush here, especially since I was here first. AITA?

EDIT: mods this thread isn't a duplicate, they just posted the same topic from their perspective at the exact same time that i posted mine. stop flagging this for deletion.

EDIT 2: I can't believe I have to say this, but a perfect copy of dubious origin is a completely different category of person to a twin!! None of the social dynamics are the same, you can't draw equivalences between them. So when we have sex it is NOT incest. Can we please stay on topic here?

[weepingchronicles]

Hello there! Regarding your recent post, what do you think about Arcane with platonic yanderes Jinx and maybe even Silco to throw into the mix? Not sure if you’d want to do this or not but what I had in mind was once someone of Zaun who worked for Silco but when they came to understand what exactly his operations were they used the funds they gained from the job and other favors to move into Piltover. Only to then return maybe a couple years from then to help Caitlin with her investigation.

this is so old, i am sorry but happy arcane season 2!! cries.

❝platonic!yandere jinx and silco with reader❞

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 i think this is an awesome idea, i think jinx and silco would react slightly different however to your betrayal.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 jinx would see it as a straight up betrayal. she been down this road before, she's just sad to see you turn out like the rest of everyone else.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 jinx would have a influx of emotions because of her trauma and sporadicidity. she'd be mostly angry, unwilling to forgive but that stems from her deep-rooted trauma of vi leaving her. it comes from how sad and hurt she is by you leaving.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 she'd be very quick to go to hating you to wanting to back. remember when powder instantly hugged silco and said "she is not my sister anymore" about vi? yeah, kinda like that.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 but once you come back, the years of hurt and resentment have piled up. and even though it hurts so much to see you, she still wants you. she misses you and thought of you like family just like silco. she constantly shifts between that black and white thinking and it'd be hard to gain her full trust in you again. if even possible.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 since she's yandere in this there is no doubt she'd kidnap you if she ever caught you again. yes, she hated your guts, yes, she wants to kill you but there is no way she is letting you go back to piltover with those enforcers. you're going to be with her, where you belong whether you like it or not. so come willingly or she might get violent, to others.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 silco on the other hand i feel is a tiny bit mature about this. he has been betrayed by people just like jinx, for sure. he'd be hurt and angry but he isn't as unstable as jinx is. he has the life experience to actually think things through before rushing in headfirst with impulsitivity.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 he is slightly delusional or rather it is a means of manipulation and control but he believes you've just been brainwashed by piltover and the enforcers.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 of course a thing like you would fall for their tricks. you're naive and too trusting, how do you think vander was played before betraying him? and look how he ended up.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 how is he doing anything wrong by just wanting to protect his people and most importantly of all, you and jinx. he didn't want to get his hands dirty but sometimes the means to an end are justified if zaun can become a greater place.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 piltover are the villains here, not silco. compared to them he has been microscopic by means of oppression and harm done.

🚀 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🦈 this is how he will manipulate you, to fall back into his side. he'll smile and hug you, telling you've made the right choice. but don't be fooled, he isn't going to let you make the same mistake twice. you'll be under constant supervision either by jinx, himself or sevika. he can't afford losing you twice.

[eveninglakehomeworld]

hi friends and lovers, I've gathered a small collection of dialogues from Zevran in DA:O regarding Antiva & the Crows.

I got this together mostly for myself, but thought I'd share in case anyone who is maybe looking to flesh out their new Crow OC, write fanfic involving Crow characters, or is looking for a refresher on early Crow lore would like something to reference. I trimmed down dialogues a bit, so mostly just information relevant to the Crows, Antiva in general, and Zevran's own attitudes about being an assassin are present.

this post has dialogues from Zev's recruitment event and a couple of early game camp conversations. because it's only a handful of dialogues, this is, ostensibly, part 1 of several. I plan to post more as I progress through my replay of origins. enjoy! <3

Recruitment

Warden: "What are the Antivan Crows?"

Leliana: I can tell you that. They are an order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done... so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man.

Zevran: Quite right. I'm surprised you haven't heard much of the Crows out here. Back where I come from, we're rather infamous.

Warden: "You came all the way from Antiva?"

Zevran: Not precisely. I was in the neighborhood when the offer came. The Crows get around, you see.

[After being asked if he's loyal to Loghain]

Zevran: Beyond that, no, I'm not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service.

Warden: "And now that you've failed that service?"

Zevran: Well, that's between Loghain and the Crows. And between the Crows and myself.

Warden: "When were you to see him next?"

Zevran: I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results... if he didn't already know. If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least, as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then.

Warden: "How much were you paid?"

Zevran: I wasn't paid anything. The Crows, however, were paid quite handsomely. Or so I understand. Which does make me about as poor as a chantry mouse, come to think of it. Being an Antivan Crow isn't for the ambitious, to be perfectly honest.

Warden: "Then why are you one?"

Zevran: Well, aside from a distinct lack of ambition, I suppose it's because I wasn't give much of a choice. The Crows bought me young. I was a bargain, too, or so I'm led to believe. But don't let my sad story influence you. The Crows aren't so bad. They keep one well supplied: Wine, women, men. Whatever you happen to fancy. Though, the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you. If you were considering joining, I'd really think twice about it.

Warden: "Aren't you at least loyal to your employers?"

Zevran: Loyalty is an interesting concept. If you wish, and you're done interrogating me, we can discuss it further.

Warden: "I'm listening. Make it quick."

Zevran: Well, here's the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead.

Warden: "And what's to stop you from finishing the job later?"

Zevran: To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I've paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might kill me just on the principle of failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you.

Warden: "Won't they come after you?"

Zevran: Possibly. I happen to know their wily ways, however. I can protect myself, as well as you. Not that you seem to need much help. And if not, well, it's not as if I had many alternatives to start with, is it?

Warden: "Why would I want your service?"

Zevran: Why? Because I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks. I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more... sophisticated... now that my attempts have failed.

A few early game camp conversations

Conversation 1 Warden: "What does it take to become an assassin?"

Zevran: Well, the Crows would have you believe that it is an involved process that takes years of training, the sort that tests both your resolve and your endurance. Survive that process and maybe, just maybe, you're good enough to start being considered one of them. But quite frankly the truth is that all it requires is a desire to kill people for a living. It's surprising how well one can do in such a field.

Warden: "It doesn't take any special skill?"

Zevran: I don't know about that. It's simply a slightly different skill set from your average killer, as I see it. An assassin simply specializes in striking from stealth... and in maximizing that first attack to be as lethal as possible. Debilitating your foe, either by poison or by crippling their limbs, makes any follow-up combat you need to engage in that much simpler.

Warden: "That sounds like it could be useful."

Zevran: See? Getting paid for the act is beside the point. An assassin is more a tactical choice than a lifestyle. Of course, the Crows like to pretend that their abilities are trade secrets, shrouded in shadows and wrapped in a blanket of mystery. So let's just keep this between you and me, shall we, hmm?

Conversation 2 Warden: "Why did you want to leave the Crows, exactly?"

Zevran: Well, now, I imagine that's a very fair question. Being an assassin, after all, is a living, at least as far as such things go. I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why should I not seize upon it?

Warden: "You didn't choose the Crows?"

Zevran: Mm? To be truthful, I didn't even know the Crows existed when I joined them. I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased. For three sovereigns, I'm told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bone and didn't know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end. The Crows buy all their assassins that way. Buy them young, raise them to know nothing else but murder. And if you do poorly in your training, you die.

Warden: "That sounds awful."

Zevran: "Oh, I don't know about that. The Crows who are actually good enough to survive come to enjoy some of the benefits. In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect. It gets you wealth. It gets you women... and men, or whatever it is you might fancy. But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always. And it means being expendable. It's a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty, but confining. [note: I transcribed the first line of the last section as it was written in the subtitles because it seemed to make more sense in context, but when Zevran speaks it aloud he actually says "That does not mean doing what is expected of you." presumably an editing error, but can't be 100% positive which is the intended message.]

[After being asked what he thinks his future might hold]

Zevran: As for what I'll do in the future... presuming that there is one... I truly can't imagine. It might be interesting to go into business for myself, for a change. Far away from Antiva, of course. For now, naturally, I go where you go.

Warden: "Won't the Crows eventually find you?"

Zevran: [laughs] Eventually can be a very, very long time if one plays one's cards right. Come, now. Enough chit-chat. Talking about the Crows summons them, you know. Any Antivan fishwife could tell you so.

Conversation 3 Warden: "Do you actually enjoy being an assassin?"

Zevran: And why not? There are many things to enjoy about being a Crow in Antiva. You are respected. You are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses. Even the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at. As for the killing part, well... some people simply need assassinating. Or do you disagree?

Warden: "You've never killed an innocent?"

Zevran: Now there's an interesting word, "innocent." How many men do you know who can claim to truly be innocent? But if you're talking generalities, such as children and relatives and bystanders and such... never on purpose, but it happens. It's unfortunate, but death comes to us all. If not me, then some wasting disease. Or a fall down the stairs. Or at the hands of a darkspawn. It's all relative in the end.

Warden: "I suppose that's true."

Zevran: "Death happens," as we like to say. And when I get paid for it, death happens more often. As far as enjoying the act of killing itself, why not? There is a certain artistry to the deed, the pleasure of sinking your blade into their flesh and knowing that their life is in your hands.

Warden: "I know what you mean."

Zevran: There are many things I did not enjoy about being a Crow, of course. Having no choice, being treated as an expendable commodity, the rules... oh, so many rules! But, simply being an assassin? I like it just fine. I will continue to do it, if I can, even if I am not a Crow. Honestly, could you picture me doing something else?

Conversation 4 [note: I trimmed this one down a lot bc it's just one of the ones where he tells you about a job and there's not a lot to be gleaned about Antiva, how the Crows operate, etc] [In response to being asked, "The Crows were willing to anger the Circle of Magi?"]

Zevran: In Antiva, nobody is too important to escape the reach of the Crows. They have killed kings and queens. That's simply how it is.

[After elaborating on how he fumbled an assassination attempt and the mark died accidentally, instead of by his hand]

Zevran: Then I found out she had told the driver to take her to Genellan instead. She has planned to lose me in the provinces. I would have looked very foolish to the Crows. As it was, my master was very impressed that I had done such a fine job of making it look like an accident. The Circle of Magi was unaware of foul play, and everyone was happier all around.

Conversation 5 Warden: "Tell me a little about Antiva."

Zevran: Oh? You wish to know about Antiva, do you? The only way to truly appreciate it would be to go there. It is a warm place, not cold and harsh like this Ferelden. In Antiva it rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom... or so the saying goes.

Warden: "Don't you want to go back?"

Zevran: [sighs] It is not really a matter of wanting to go back. I cannot go. At least not yet. I hail from the glorious Antiva City, home to the royal palace. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City. Do you come from someplace comparable?

Warden: "I'm not from any glittering gem, no."

Zevran: No? That is too bad. If you were, then surely you would spend as much time boasting about it as I do! Hmm. You know what is most odd? We speak of my homeland, and for all its wine and its dark-haired beauties and the lillo flutes of the minstrels... I miss the leather the most.

Warden: "Is that some kind of euphemism?"

Zevran: [laughs] It may as well be! But not this once, no. I mean the smell. For years I lived in a tiny apartment near Antiva City's leather-making district, in a building where the Crows stored their youngest recruits. Packed in like crates. I grew accustomed to the stench, even though the humans complained of it constantly. To this day the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home more than anything else.

Warden: "That's a little bizarre. There's leather everywhere."

Zevran: Ah, but it's not Antivan leather, is it? I do not know what the Antivan tanners do that is different, but ther is no leather more supple nor more fragrant.

Warden: "You sound like you've been away from home forever."

Zevran: Oh, not so long, I know. It is my first time away from Antiva, however, and the thought of never returning makes me think of it constantly. Before I left, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. Finest Antivan leather, perfect craftsmanship—ah, but I was a fool to leave them. I thought, "Ah, Zevran, you can buy them when you return as a reward from a job well done." More the fool I, no?

Warden: "Your home is still there, Zevran."

Zevran: True, and it's a comforting thought. One simply never knows what is to come next.

Now, if it is all the same to you, I would prefer not to speak more of Antiva. It makes me wistful and hungry for a proper meal.

Bonus banter snippet because I found it amusing:

Morrigan: You assassin types have a death wish, I see.

Zevran: [laughs] Only the really good ones.

[littlefankingdom]

Tumblr already showed me twice a post where OP implies that Bruce made the choice to not help Jaybin when he was attacked by an angry mob in Legends, so I had to check, and look at that, they were lying.

Context: the general population has been turned against superheroes.

An angry mob does attack Robin, and what is Batman's reaction? To come to the rescue! He even immediately calls him "son", switching to an endearing term to reassure him. However, Batman is hit in the eyes with a bottle of perfume and blinded, as his attention was on his boy. Gordon tries to get him to leave, but he refuses because he can't leave his boy behind, and when Gordon tells him that his men will take care of Robin, Batman is like "I don't trust your men with my son". Batman is forced out of here, he is so pissef, and he is called "arrogant" by the cops there.

This man trusts ONE cop, and it's Jim Gordon, that's it. And people dare to tell me Bruce isn't an acab believer. He grew up in Gotham and his parents were murdered when he was 8, of course he believes in acab. That's why he was so against his son becoming one.

Anyway, later on, Jason is in the hospital (Bruce was right, Gordon's men didn't do shit), and Bruce is pissed at the situation. However, Jason feels guilty and ashamed, and Bruce immediately goes to comfort him, reminding him he isn't at fault for getting beat up, that Bruce is proud of him and that he is a great Robin. And when Jason compares himself to Dick, Bruce stops that too, bringing up that Dick also had less glorious moments like this. And again, Bruce switches to "son" and "Jay", which convey affection in the goal of comforting his boy.

In the end, Bruce leaves his son safe at the hospital, resolved to not obey the president and get to the bottom of this. Later, Jason decides he cannot stay there and must help, even if it kills him. And people dare say that he wasn't reckless.

Anyway, the other thing about this, apart from Bruce didn't walk away WILLINGLY from Jason being attacked by an angry mob, is that as awful this is, the writers never intended this to be a traumatic experience for Jason. Of course, it would be normally, but it's just a plot point here to get Robin away from Batman while he works with the other heroes. Damn, there isn't even a follow-up to Jason leaving the hospital, he doesn't show up in the next issues to help.

Sometimes, especially with older stories, comics' events don't matter as much as you think they do. If you want to re-imagine them as impacting for the characters, that's your choice, but let's not act as if they were intended to be. Because I saw that moment being used as a comparison to Under The Red Hood, to be like "see Bruce keeps abandoning Jason", and like, calm down with the shortcuts. Because you are making that up, on your own, with what was given to you by different writers over the decades that didn't communicate with each others or agree on the characters.

[wisteriasonthemoon]

Do coincidences strike twice?

oh yeah, my replay. I got distracted. I was in chapter 1, at the very first free-time event

this is a great place to start blogging about it again, because there's a question that has been bugging me that Kokichi's event provides great context for. I would like to call upon fandom collective memory for a potential answer

in his FTE #1, Kokichi claims that he and Kaede have met before, but she's forgotten about him. after Kaede questions him, Kokichi goes into a very short story about how they supposedly met. he then rescinds his claim

Kokichi: Hmmm, let's see. We met... Kokichi: ...under hostile circumstances similar to this. Kaede: Huh? Kokichi: You sheltered me while I was on the run from my enemies. With your piano skills, you managed to raise enough money to fund my escape... Kokichi: But then I betrayed you! I sold you out to my enemies and you were swiftly killed! Kaede, thinking: Th-there is no freaking way any of that is true... Kaede: That was all a lie! Kokichi: Yup, it sure was! We met each other here! I can't believe you fell for that, Kaede. You're such a sucker. Kaede: Geez... Kaede, thinking: Yeah... This is the sort of prank a kid who wants attention would pull.

because of the fantastical and vague nature of the story, Kaede dismisses him without much consideration and some agitation, yada yada, Kaede leaves annoyed

okay, context established. smash cut. tumblr town time now

so, there's this DRV3 theory post from 2021 by tumblr user fit-artichoke8738 that I really enjoy. well, I say theory post, but it doesn't attempt to conclude anything about the game or its' mysteries. it's more of a musing connection between two background details: the DICE logo and Kaede's research lab door

for those of you who didn't click the link, basically, Kaede's research lab door resembles the right half of the DICE logo. or, to put it another way, the right half of the DICE logo resembles piano keys. like this

that's it, that's the whole post. fit-artichoke8738 doesn't further speculate. which is all well and good, because although nobody points it out in the notes, the right half of the DICE logo is ... the "C" and "E" in DICE ...

... probably??? right???

which means this could easily be explained as an artistic coincidence. both are black and white, composed of common shapes, and the devs might have not been thinking about the similarities given all the time and work that goes into creating a game like DRV3

I have an addition though. is this *also* an artistic coincidence

IS IT?

did the devs consciously choose to write Kokichi doing a "you were my ally once! psych!" rug pull on Kaede in his first free-time event with her and then they just. spilled paint and accidentally made this design on her shirt

a design, btw, that I am aware is officially listed in the DRV3 in-game gallery as her former high school emblem. it also names the school as "Shining Star International High School". it's a reference to Seisa International, a real conglomerate of International schools in Japan, or so claims the danganronpa.fandom wiki

the only post I can find of similar speculation is from 2020 on VK, a Russian social media, where someone else pulls "LIE" out of the same emblem, just without utilizing the whole thing

and jokes aside, I can guess why this isn't talked about much. this is a background detail, the framework that most people (seem to) view the truth of DRV3 is through Tsumugi's game-show explanation, and there are several ways to dismiss the "DICE" reading, including but not limited to the fact that Kaede has a very inconsistently rendered emblem between her cut-scenes and sprites

but I expected to be able to *find* that dismissal. like "oh. that's weird. ANYWAY." kind of posts. nada. am I missing them??? where are they??? I'd love to understand where the logic for current DRV3 interpretations comes from. the lack of theory discussion these days makes that difficult for me. might as well start with what happened with this idea, since I'm interested in it

if anybody knows, that would be cool. and with that out of my system. I'll resume replay next weekend. maaaaaybe tomorrow

[felikatze]

I think Happily Ever After and The Cage both explore some similar topics in inverse ways and once again the Prisoner and the Damsel are twisted mirrors of one another

Pristine Cut spoilers and discussion of abusive relationships below. One suicide mention but it's STP what do you expect tbh

Compilation of rant I went on on discord 👍

prisoner and damsel are very much always parallels since u take the same path to get to them so they're both versions of the princess that you the player Trust, right. and the Greys are a betrayal of that trust if you kill them, and all that. obvs w the prisoner being reluctant trust and the damsel being unconditional because Knife.

but HEA and Cage are both about being Trapped. In Cage, the Princess has seen the same thing happen twice now, she's disillusioned, she's never going to escape. It will be The Same Thing, Forever.

WHICH IS. THE EXACT SAME AS HEA. The Princess believes she is never going to escape. That it will be Just This, Forever. And both of them believe that it *has* to be Just This Forever even if they don't *want* it to be.

Both of this is shown through an Externalized Force. in Cage, that is the Princess' body, which she has conceived as separate from herself. The body simply acts as it must, which she has no input over. Ignoring, of course, that she can *make it stop.*

And that's the same way HEA can't imagine she'll ever escape the Smitten! She's afraid and scared of change, of the torches going out!! But she wants it more than anything!!

Yet these two routes are foils for each other, too. Bcuz in Cage, it's the Princess who enforces the pattern, and in HEA it's the Hero. (part of him, anyways.) What's interesting here too that both of the routes result from a breakdown of communications.

I said in my big long rambly Cage post, but Cage route doesn't happen bcuz Fate, it's bcuz the Princess wants the Hero to carry her head out and he just *doesn't get it.* He just didn't understand what she wanted.

And the leadup to HEA, everyone in Hero's head is upset because they can't communicate to the Princess what is freaking him out, and Smitten tries to... well... show her, I guess.

(Post-rant addition: Hey, both the Prisoned and the Smitten kill themselves to get their points across. Add that to the parallels tally!)

also like abusive relationship metaphors on both ends tbh. Smitten doesn't respect Princess' autonomy at all. I think part of that is the end of Damsel means he doesn't think she *has* any interiority when it's Hero + Paranoid/Opportunist who want the Princess to be a person instead of a doll, which causes her to be a Person Again in HEA. But Smitten is, again, just so stuck on the vision of Damsel who no longer exists.

+ you could also read Damsel chapter in the context of HEA as just seeing that this is the first person who could conceivably save her so she is leaning in HARD to the romance angle because she sees it as the best way to finally get out. Got herself into the romance out of desparation and now she's stuck and regretting it.

So TLDR Smitten doesn't actually respect Princess as a person and just wants her to be this perfect image he has of her, and we see also in HEA how he literally restrains Princess + Hero and deliberately scares Princess when she even dares voice her own opinion. Smitten sucks so bad in this one and it's shit of him but also thematically interesting and again a good escalation of his character.

Cage on the flipside is the typical "I can't help myself" excuse. See, *she's* not at fault here. It's her *body* doing this! Really, nothing could change this. And u see the rebuttal of that angle from the Hero's dialogue options ("You're making a choice. You're choosing violence *right now.*)

No matter how often she says she's just a head, she's still the one who physically restrained the Hero (wow, just like the Smitten!), it's her who refuses to listen to anything the Hero has to say (wonder who that reminds me of), and it's her who is hurting him, on purpose, to feel better about herself.

the "good" endings to these chapters (as much as there are no wrong endings) meaning leaving with the cage's head / dancing with hea under the stars, both of these only occur once Hero/HEA are finally heard and acknowledged. Cage is so rattled that the Hero didn't bring the knife that she finally actually listens to a single word he's got to say and the two can break out, and the final torch in HEA only goes out once Princess says "I'm so tired of this." and has the courage to say what *she* wants and is *listened to.*

in conclusion (x2): STP good 👍 i love you missus the cage

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Grays II

Frankie Morales x f!reader

{ Grays - Part I | Grays Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: Leaning in close, you hiss in his ear, ‘You’re getting laid tonight if it kills me, Morales.’

Warnings: Insecure Frankie in need of self-love comes with his own warning, Reader is a hairstylist and has a related nickname, matchmaking elements, meddlesome mother, lots of teasing, not-quite-friends to lovers dynamics, mentions of hair, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, oral sex (F and M receiving), protected sex, dirty talk.

Word count: 8.5k

Notes: It's here - 4 months later! First of all, thank you so much for the love for Grays Part I. I still can't quite believe the reaction to Frankie and Shiv, you guys sure know how to make a writer feel special 🥰 This one was so much fun to write, and nervous as I am posting this follow-up, I'm telling myself to let go of my insecurities and just enjoy it because that's what it's all about. I hope y'all will have a good time at this wedding with the gang 😘

Francisco Morales likes to think of himself as a reasonably competent man. 

He can pilot a helicopter under intense enemy fire. He can take out a target from miles away in the tightest of spots. 

But he can’t do his fucking hair.

He glares at himself in the mirror. He can’t put his finger on it, it just doesn’t look like how you did it. He’s already washed it out and started over twice, and for a second, he considers driving to your salon. A quick glance at his watch tells him it’s far too late for that now.

Leaning over the sink, he says to his reflection, ‘Focus, pendejo. You can do it.’

He’s a pilot for fuck’s sake. He’s a man of procedure, he can follow steps. He just needs to break it down.

Hair half-dry - check.

Hair mousse applied - check.

Now he just needs to dry his hair all the way and style it - but the how is where it gets hazy. 

Frankie closes his eyes and casts his mind back to your salon. He’s sitting in the chair and you’re standing behind him. He wills himself to recall what you were doing with your hands, but all he remembers is the scrape of your of your fingertips on his scalp, the ghost of your breath on the back of his neck, and then -

Don’t be gentle, Francisco. C’mon, harder, deeper - don’t hold back.

He scrubs a frustrated palm down his face when his cock twitches in his haphazardly ironed dress pants, not for the first time… hell, not even the fourth time since he left your salon on Wednesday afternoon.

‘Goddamnit,’ he bites out, dropping the hairdryer with a clunk and grips the porcelain sink. He needs to calm the fuck down. 

He didn’t ask for - this, whatever this is. You’re you. You’re Shiv. The loudmouth with the wild hair he’s known since fifth grade. The fourth wheel at guys’ drinks when Will can’t make it. A relentless tease on a good day, and downright insufferable when you get enough tequila in you.

And quite possibly, the only person who’s ever driven him to the brink of unconsciousness with just the touch of their bare hands.

Frankie pinches the bridge of his nose. Maybe you’re right. It has been a while since he’s been with a woman. He just needs to get laid at the wedding, get this weird tension out of his system. And then hopefully, he’ll be able to go to sleep without being kept up by you telling him to go harder, deeper -

By the time he gets his head out of his ass, it’s too late for second-guessing. He rakes his fingers through his hair, sets it with hairspray, and quickly rubs the beard oil he bought in town yesterday into his whiskers. He takes a moment to look himself over while he clumsily does up the tie he borrowed from Pope.

This is as good as it’s gonna get.

He’s the designated driver tonight. By some miracle, he’s only five minutes late when he cruises into Pope’s driveway, where all three of the boys are waiting and sipping on beers.

‘Damn Fish, you look good,’ crows Santi as he climbs into the passenger seat, patting him on the shoulder. ‘You should get your hair cut at Shiv’s from now on.’

‘Only if you keep paying for it,’ retorts Frankie while he backs out of the driveway. He pauses as he changes gears, and adds in a grumble. ‘She’s making me use shampoo and conditioner.’

Pope barks in laughter, twisting in his seat to give Benny a knowing grin. ‘Someone had to, you caveman.’

The younger Miller brother ribs good-naturedly, ‘You ready for some action tonight, Fish? I brought some extra rubbers just in case.’

Meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror, Frankie rips into him mercilessly. ‘You know your small ass condoms don’t fit me, Benjamin.’ 

The car erupts with playful jeers, and the corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked smile as he palms the steering wheel.

‘That’s some fighting talk, Fish!’ goads Santi, punching him on the arm.

Will joins in the banter. ‘You better watch out, little bro. Big Dick Morales came out swinging tonight.’

Benny grins. ‘Ok, I see how it is. Let’s make it interesting, Fish. Whoever picks up a one night stand first wins a hundred bucks.’

Frankie shrugs in mock nonchalance and quips, ‘I mean, I can use the cash. Shampoo ain’t cheap.’

Benny chuckles and clasps his shoulder. ‘You’re on, man.’

It’s eight on the dot when you lock up the salon. While you did RSVP for wedding drinks - opting out of the sit-down dinner earlier in the evening - you hadn’t planned on actually going. But it seems like the whole town did, you’ve barely had two customers walk through the door all afternoon. 

So you let Ashton go home early, and after a quick snack, you take your time getting ready. Might as well have a Saturday night out - your first in many months.

The hotel is just a short Uber ride away. When you climb out of the car, you bite your bottom lip at the unfamiliar tension humming under your skin.

Nerves.

You’re nervous.

And worse, you know exactly what you’re nervous about. 

Or more precisely - who.

‘Pull it together, Shiv,’ you mutter under your breath. Steeling yourself, you stride into the hotel.

From his vantage point at the bar, Benny watches in amusement as Frankie glances towards the doors of the reception hall yet again. He doubts the pilot even knows he’s doing it, or at the very least, he doesn’t think that anyone would notice.

Grabbing his beer, Benny sidles up to his friend. ‘Looking for something, Fish?’

Frankie takes a sip of his Coke and feigns nonchalance. ‘Yeah, looking to win that hundred bucks from you.’

‘Dunno ‘bout that. I don’t see you trying very hard.’

‘Biding my time, Miller. Just make sure you have enough cash to -’ 

When Frankie breaks off in the middle of his sentence, Benny doesn’t need to look to wager a guess what caught his attention.

Turning around as you approach, he flings his arms out to give you a hug, eyeing you up and down appreciatively. ‘Babe, look at you all dressed up! Doesn’t she look nice, Fish?’

In lieu of an answer, Frankie stares intently at some invisible spot over your shoulder until Benny elbows him right in his stomach, jerking him out of his trance. ‘Fish?’

Frankie clears his throat and stutters. ‘Um. I - I don’t know.’

You arch an eyebrow at him. ‘You don’t know if I look nice?’

Benny has to stopper his mouth with beer so he doesn’t laugh out loud at the panic on Frankie’s face as he fumbles for a response. ‘I mean. Um, nice… pants?’

‘It’s a jumpsuit, Morales. Try to keep up,’ you reply and take two steps towards him, which has him backpedalling so fast that he upsets the table behind him, sending half-empty glasses spilling wine all over the white tablecloth.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he growls at you like a cornered stray.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you pull him upright by his tie. ‘Is he ok, Ben? He’s even jumpier than usual.’

‘Well, it’s a funny night for him. Watching his ex get married and all.’

‘I swear to God, Benjamin Miller, if you don’t shut the fuck up -’ 

‘Pipe down, Morales, we’re just messing with you,’ you shush him, tugging on his slightly skewed shirt collar to set it straight. ‘Can’t believe you own a tie.’

‘Borrowed it from Pope,’ he grunts without making eye contact.

Smoothing the lapels of his slightly crumpled suit jacket, you probe, ‘You’ve been using shampoo and conditioner like I asked?’

Frankie huffs a dry laugh. ‘I don’t remember you asking.’

‘Someone’s mouthy tonight,’ you tease. ‘And the beard oil?’

He concedes with a sigh. ‘Yes, Shiv.’

‘You look good, Francisco,’ you grin and reach up to push his curls back from his eyes.

He looks away as he admits, ‘Took three fucking tries.’

At least he holds still when you make small adjustments to his hair, shoulders stiff with hands stuffed deep into his pockets. You catch yourself missing the way he leaned into your touch in your salon, and you have to forcefully push that thought away as you push your fingers through the roots to boost the volume. His curls feel softer already than you remember them, with a noticeably healthier sheen. 

After a final rustle to loosen up his fringe, you wink at him. ‘Mark my words, the bride will rue the day she dumped your ass when she sees you.’

A voice from behind you interrupts. ‘It’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it?’

Trading a look with Frankie, who gives you a sarcastic thumbs up, you put on a smile and turn on your heels. ‘Mrs. Morales, it’s been too long!’

‘I see you haven’t dyed my son’s hair like I requested,’ she says by way of a greeting, drawing you into an embrace.

Frankie’s taunt is so quiet that you nearly miss it. ‘Told you she’d come after you.’

Without skipping a beat, you elbow him in the ribs, ignoring his pained oomph from behind you. ‘You look wonderful tonight, ma’am.’ 

‘You can’t sweet talk your way out of my question, young lady.’

You cross your arms with a sigh. ‘I didn’t dye it because he looks good with the grays.’ 

‘Well, I don’t think so.’

‘In my professional opinion, he does,’ you retort pointedly.

‘If he looks so good, why is he still single?’

Frankie throws his hands up in exasperation. ‘Gee, thanks a lot ma.’

You turn to Benny, who has been silently watching you two spar. ‘What do you think, Miller?’

He dithers, eyes darting around in desperation until he spots Santi and his older brother coming back from the bar. ‘Look! Here are the guys, let’s ask them!’

‘Ask us what?’ asks Santi, giving you a kiss on the cheek and a glass of bubbly.

‘Do you think my son looks good with the grays?’

Your eyebrow twitches when Mrs. Morales carelessly ruffles his hair to emphasise her point. To your surprise, Frankie bats her away with an irritated ma!, before hastily rearranging it.

‘Your honest opinion, if you please,’ you add.

The boys hum and haw, sipping their beers and shooting uncertain looks between you and Mrs. Morales, clearly uncomfortable being caught in the middle. Upping the heat, you narrow your eyes at them, and Will folds first. 

‘Yeah, I mean - he looks good,’ he mumbles, avoiding the Morales matriarch's glare.

‘Pope?’ you prompt.

‘Cabrón rocking those grays,’ he nods supportively.

‘Ben?’

‘Uh huh,’ he replies vaguely, but at your menacing glare, clarifies, ‘Yes, I meant - yes, ma’am.’

Mrs. Morales scoffs. ‘They’re men, what do they know! I don’t see him catching any girls’ attention.’

Ah, that’s the easy part. You look around, scanning the crowds - and bingo, you see a brunette staring openly from across the dance floor. You hold up a finger for dramatic effect. ‘Excuse me for one second.’

Frankie looks ready for the earth to swallow him whole by the time you return with the said woman in tow. Pointing straight at him, you ask, ‘Lucy, this is Frankie. Do you think he’s hot with the grays?’

To her credit, she’s a good sport, and plays along with a cheeky wink. ‘Yeah, he is. You wanna dance, handsome?’

‘Yes, he absolutely does!’ you answer quickly before he can get a word in.

‘What the fuck, Shiv?’ Frankie seethes through clenched teeth, literally digging his heels in, but to his despair, his shoes skid uselessly on the tiled surface as you push him towards the dancefloor with this complete stranger. 

Leaning in close, you hiss in his ear, ‘You’re getting laid tonight if it kills me, Morales.’

‘Have fun, Fish!’ calls out Pope impishly, which earns him an emphatic middle finger. 

You beam at Mrs. Morales smugly. ‘And that’s how it’s done.’

‘You better keep it up, young lady,’ she says over her shoulder as she turns to leave.

You raise your drink. ‘Don’t you worry, Mrs M. I promise you - he’ll be leaving with his future wife tonight!’

Santi is minding his own business, sipping on his beer as he stakes out the ladies, when a hand shoots out from nowhere and snatches the bottle from him.

‘What the fuck, man?!’ he bristles indignantly.

Frankie polishes off the drink in one mouthful, before slamming it onto the table and demanding, ‘Where’s Shiv? I’m done. I’m not fucking dancing with anyone else.’

Pope jerks his thumb to the other side of the room. ‘She’s arguing with your mother.’

Frankie flops into a chair, the dress shoes that he never wears are pinching his feet and he fights the urge to kick them off. He folds his arms across his chest petulantly, one palm over his mouth as his eyes wander across the hall to you, where you’re gesturing madly at his ma, embroiled in an impassioned discussion, probably still about his damn hair.

You’re all dressed up tonight, which is new to him - he’s only ever seen you in jeans when you go out drinking with them, and he’s certainly never seen so much of you. The ‘jumpsuit’ (he learns something new every day) is black and cut low both front and back, and fuck, all he sees is soft skin and the dip of your curves and red lipstick -

Pope must have nipped to the bar while he wasn’t looking, and a fresh bottle of beer appears under his nose. Glancing up at his best friend, Frankie mutters, ‘Thanks.’

‘You can’t marry her, Fish.’

He chokes violently at the casual non-sequitur, spraying beer everywhere. ‘What the fuck, Pope.’

Santi beams. ‘You got that look on your face, man. I’ve seen that look before.’

‘I don’t have a look on my face.’

He chuckles, mostly to himself. 'Damn, I really should've seen this coming.'

‘What are you even on about -’ Looking up, Frankie spots you making your way over and panics. ‘Shut the fuck up, pendejo.’

‘Why aren’t you dancing, my little debutante?’ you ask when you come within earshot.

Santi chortles and takes his leave, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘Good luck, Fish.’

You sink into the empty seat next to him and he deliberately twists his body away from you, drinking deeply from his bottle to drown out Santi’s words ringing in his ears. 

‘So, I heard you have a bet going on with Benny. I want splitsies if you win.’

Frankie rolls his eyes, staring resolutely anywhere but at the swell of your cleavage. ‘No.’

‘40/60.’

‘Fuck off, Shiv.’

‘30/70?’ you counter-offer.

He sighs. ‘You’re impossible.’

Ignoring him, you jump up with a happy squeak when someone Frankie vaguely recognises as a girl who used to be in your class approaches with a shy smile. You pull her close by the crook of her arm and ask, ‘Morales, you remember Sadie?’

He tries not to scowl too openly as he too gets on his feet. ‘Sure, hi Sadie.’

Herding them towards the dancefloor, you grin, ‘Go dance, get reacquainted.’

As he passes by you, Frankie grits his teeth and curls his fingers into the meat of his palms to crush the urge to reach out and touch you. 

But it’s easier to fall into your well-rehearsed roles, to toe the line that has been drawn in the sand since you were teenagers. And easier is certainly the safer option when it comes to you.

So he throws you a deliberate glare over his shoulder, with a deadpanned, ‘I hate you.’

You blow him a kiss and grin wider.

Frankie can’t hold back a relieved sigh when the interminably long song finally ends, and the woman he’s dancing with - he won’t even pretend he remembers her name - tucks his phone back into the pocket of his jacket after tapping in her number. ‘Call me, gorgeous.’

He stopped counting after the eighth woman you shepherded his way. This is it. He’s not above hiding in the toilets if that’s what it takes to make this stop.

Except he’s not quick enough. He spots you out of the corner of his eye, marching straight towards him with a fresh glass of water and a look of purpose on your face.

He doesn’t exactly know what came over him. He could probably blame it on the one and a half beers that he downed, or being pushed to the end of his tether. Whatever it is, there’s something he has to say to you, and it can’t wait.

You push the glass into his grasp. ‘Here, hydrate.’

‘Shiv -’

You’ve already swivelled around, your focus somewhere else. ‘Where is she? She was literally just behind me -’

‘Shiv -’

‘Mind you, she’s a sweet girl, but clearly not the brightest tool in the -’

His patience snaps, and he barks, ‘Shiv!’

You spin around, brow furrowed in confusion, and snarl back, ‘What?’

Frankie pauses, and you blink as his warm eyes hold yours. On an exhale, he says, ‘You look nice tonight.’

You’re vaguely aware that your jaw has gone slack, but only because his eyes follow the movement, dropping to your mouth. He considers you for a moment, head tipping just slightly to the side as he watches you. Then, satisfied that he has your attention, he brings the glass of water to his lips, throwing his head back as he drinks. 

Your breath catches in your throat when his Adam’s apple bobs with his swallow, before he leisurely swipes his lips with the back of his hand.

Except in your mind, it’s not water that he’s wiping from his mouth.

In a perfectly mirrored imitation of what transpired between you earlier in the evening, he takes two measured steps forward, prompting you to back up against the table behind you. The tinkle of glasses falling over hardly registers in the back of your mind. 

The fabric of his suit is cool on your skin, brushing your bare arm as he looms over you, so broad and warm. Though his front barely makes contact, your peripheral vision gives and all you can see is him.

‘What are you doing?’ you croak the same words back at him, hating the way your voice shakes.

Frankie smiles - really smiles at you, with no colour of the usual irony or sarcasm. Warmth settles into the creases in the corners of his eyes as he holds up the empty glass. ‘Just putting my glass away,’ he says coolly, an edge of cockiness at your tragically obvious reaction to him.

You feel your cheeks heat up as he does just that - the back of his hand bumping into your forearm as he moves, the breadth of him pinning you against the table. He doesn’t pull away, clearly basking in the way the tables have well and truly turned -

‘Hi! You must be Frankie, I’m Jan.’

Frankie squeezes his eyes shut in irritation at the voice behind him, nostrils flaring as he collects himself. A resigned smile tugs at his lips, and he tips forward, his words grazing your ear. ‘Catch you later, Shiv.’

You only let your knees buckle when he’s safely out of sight.

You’ve barely stepped back into the reception hall from a much needed bathroom break to clear your head when someone grabs you by the arm, tugging you onto the dancefloor.

‘Benny!’ You reprimand, stumbling over your feet. ‘I’m busy.’

‘Relax, Shiv. Frankie can survive on his own for a second.’

‘You’re just jealous that he’s hogging all the ladies’ attention.’

He scoffs, palms on your waist as he sways to the music. ‘He has an unfair advantage, ok? How do I compete with the bride’s ex?’

Clasping your hands around Benny’s neck, you catch Frankie’s eye over his shoulder. You wink at him casually, having somewhat recovered your bravado - it’s easier to pretend from a distance anyway. He rolls his eyes at you over Jan’s head, but he doesn’t look away, watching you with a hint of something you can’t quite make out.

Glancing up at Benny, you ask a tad bashfully, ‘I know we give Frankie a hard time about all this, but is he - ok?’

‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

You hesitate. ‘Well, we’re not exactly that kind of friends.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, the kind who sit around having heart-to-hearts and painting their nails.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘What kind of friends are you, then?’ 

‘I don’t know, he probably doesn’t even count me as one,’ you admit. ‘He barely tolerates me on a good day.’

Benny shoots you a cryptic look, but before you can quiz him on it, he changes the subject abruptly. ‘Can I swing by the salon tomorrow morning? I have a promotional shoot at half past eleven.’

‘As long as you bring donuts and coffee.’

He twirls you around. ‘Deal.’

Frankie slinks out of the hotel, somehow managing to dodge both you and his mother on his way out, which he takes as a win.

It’s cold outside. He inhales deeply and feels it burn down his throat. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he watches his breath mist in front of his face, savouring the quiet.

‘Hey.’

His shoulders stiffen. He knows he should’ve been the bigger man. Should’ve sought her out first, to congratulate her.

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.

When he turns around eventually, she smiles brightly at him, her engagement ring catching the lights.

Closing the space between them, he presses a kiss to her cheek. ‘Congratulations. You look beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ she replies. ‘I’m glad you came. Your mum too - it was a long way to travel.’

His gaze falls to his shoes. ‘Yeah, well. You know she loves you.’

‘How are you?’ she presses on, always one for polite conversation. ‘Are you seeing anyone?’

Frankie shrugs but doesn’t answer.

‘Just because it didn’t work between us doesn’t mean I want you to be happy.’

He nods slowly. ‘I appreciate that.’

She points behind her. ‘Well, I should go back inside.’

‘Of course. I’m happy for you,’ he says. And he means it.

The hotel doors swing open, and Frankie looks up at the sharp clack of heels on the concrete. You pause at the sight of them by the curb.

‘Are you leaving, Shiv?’ the bride laments as you walk over to give her a hug.

‘I am, I’m afraid, gotta open up shop early tomorrow,’ you pull back. ‘Come by the salon any time, my treat.’

Once the bride is out of earshot, you turn to Frankie, hands on hips. ‘Alright, no more shirking, Morales. Get your ass back in there, your mother is on my case again.’

He folds his arms across his chest. ‘Oh no, I’m not going back in there without you.’

You sigh dramatically. ‘Am I the only one in this town who’s not scared of your mother?’

‘You should be,’ he snorts, then nods towards the parking lot. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

Taken aback by his offer, you hesitate. ‘Um - I thought you were the designated driver for the guys tonight.’

He brushes off your concerns with an easy shrug. ‘I’ll come back to get them after I drop you off.’ 

Typical Frankie - he walks off without even glancing back to see if you’re coming with him.

You smile to yourself and follow.

You must be drunker than you realised, because you’re staring. Again. For what must be the fifth time in the ten-minute drive.

It’s a lot of staring, even for you.

His jacket lies abandoned in the backseat, his tie jostled loose and the top two buttons of his shirt unfastened, sleeves bunched up to his elbows. You watch from the corner of your eye as his left hand grips the top of the steering wheel steady, fingers flexing every now and then on straight stretches of road.

As if you’re not already discreetly squeezing your thighs together, he’s also rubbing his right palm idly on his leg, the innocent rustle of fabric against skin getting you far too hot and bothered under the metaphorical collar. 

And then - your eyes trail higher - settling on the heavy bulge at the top of his spread thighs.

Fuck. You’re definitely drunk.

You mull silently to yourself that you actually prefer him in his beat-up jeans and threadbare t-shirts before catching yourself. You weren’t aware you had any preferences when it comes to Frankie Morales. And you have no business doing so.

Clearing your throat, you break the tense silence. Well, tense for you, anyway. He seems completely oblivious to your inner strife.

‘I’m sorry you didn’t win the bet.’

His lips quirk, but he keeps his eyes on the road.

‘I had another five girls lined up for you, you know.’

He scoffs. ‘No, thank you.’

You reach over to punch him on the arm playfully. ‘C’mon, you know you enjoyed the attention, Morales.’

‘You don’t know me very well, do you?’ he peers at you.

You make a face of disbelief. ‘If you hated it that much, why did you go along with it?’

Cruising into your street, his truck rolls to a smooth stop outside your salon. Frankie kills the ignition, then turns towards you. His answer is simple, and hits you right between the ribs. 

‘Because you wanted me to.’

You force a chuckle in a weak attempt to lighten the mood. ‘Since when did you care about what I wanted?’

He smooths his palm over the steering wheel and holds your gaze. ‘Sometime when I wasn’t looking.’

It would be simpler to pretend you didn’t understand what he means. To brush off this pull between you as a champagne-induced episode that you could sleep off. If you did, you could still show up at Tuesday nights drinks next week as if nothing has changed, and carry on.

It would be simpler. So you ask -

‘Do you want to come in for a nightcap?’

Frankie follows two steps behind you as you grapple with the keys on the doorstep. Once inside, the salon is quiet, and you strategically turn on the lights by the backwash, the semi-darkness making it more homey than it would have been if fully lit up. 

‘I would invite you upstairs -’ you pause and add hastily, ‘I don’t mean upstairs like, upstairs in that way - it’s just that my apartment is tiny, and the backwash is the closest thing I have to a couch. Are you okay with beer?’

‘Beer’s good, thanks,’ he answers. ‘Need a hand?’

You shake your head vehemently. ‘Oh god, please no - it’s a disaster upstairs. I’ll be right back.’

The rickety stairs creak loudly under your heels, and once you let yourself into your studio, you fall back heavily on the door, taking a second to catch your breath.

You invited him inside. 

He said yes.

You leap into action, shoving all your dirty laundry into the already full hamper. You try not to think too hard about why you’re cleaning up, you just hope you’re not making too much of a ruckus while you’re at it - because you have a boy waiting for you downstairs. 

Francisco Morales, of all people.

Despite having been in each other’s lives since high school, you’re pretty sure you’ve never been alone with him. Not even once. There’s always a buffer with Pope on his side, Benny on yours, and Will in the middle. And while some find Frankie hard to read, you’ve always known exactly how to act around him. You have an unwritten playbook - you bait him with cheap jokes, more often than not joining forces with Benny to gang up on him. He rolls his eyes and snaps at you to shut up. It’s the longest running show in town.

But this? Alone, after his ex’s wedding, in your salon? You’re going off-script and off-piste. Dangerous enough on a good day; outright stupid after a night of drinking.

Frankie is quick to help when you reappear, armed with beer and a bag of ice, using the backwash sink as a makeshift cooler. Your shoes clatter onto the floor as you settle in the chair next to his. Hugging your knees, you hold out your bottle, which he clinks with his.

‘Did you have fun tonight?’ you ask, rather mundanely.

‘As much fun as one is expected to have at an ex’s wedding,’ he answers with a sardonic smile. Taking a sip of beer, he adds, ‘Gotta admit, you winding up my ma pretty much made up for it.’

‘That never gets old,’ you smirk. ‘Although, I promised your mother you’d leave with your future wife tonight - so that’s a bust.’

You startle when Frankie chokes on his beer, his eyes visibly watering as he thumps a fist on his chest. When you ask if he’s ok, he won’t meet your gaze, downing more of his beer.

Not thinking anything of it, you move on. ‘You know, she sent a bunch of customers my way when I first opened up the salon.’

His voice is still a bit tight from his coughing fit. ‘And I’m sure she’ll deny it till the day she dies.’

‘I can’t figure her out,’ you admit. ‘I can’t decide if she hates me or not.’

‘She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t understand you.’

You hum, unconvinced.

He nudges your knee with his. ‘She was really proud of you when you opened the salon, you know.’

You toss him a sidelong glance. ‘You talk to your mum about me?’

He’s ambiguous in his answer. ‘She asks after you sometimes.’

‘And how would you have anything to say to her? We’re not exactly bosom buddies.’

Frankie concedes with a wry smile, ‘Benny talks.’

‘Ha!’ you laugh, echoing his words from a few days ago back at him. ‘Benjamin fucking Miller.’

He goes quiet for a second, looking around your salon as if taking stock. ‘It’s pretty amazing that you’ve built all this.’

The unexpected compliment catches you blindsided. You reply diplomatically, ‘Ashton helps me loads.’

Frankie’s eyes widen in feigned surprise. ‘Are you going humble on me now? What have you done to Shiv?’

‘Shut up,’ you grumble good-naturedly, adding, ‘Ben tells me you’re doing really well yourself.’

‘Yeah. I got promoted at work last month, and I’m saving up for a house,’ he replies, a hint of pride in his voice. ‘Things are looking up.’

‘You’re actually acknowledging your achievements?’ you gasp in mock outrage. ‘What have you done to Francisco Morales?’

With a shrug, he leans forward to put his empty beer bottle in the sink, but he doesn’t sit back. Instead, he sways even closer, one palm landing on the leather of your seat next to your knee, eyes darting to your lips. His voice is deep as he rasps, ‘Can I kiss you?’

It would be so easy to say yes, but when have you ever made things easy for yourself? 

Instead, you blurt out, ‘Why?’

Frankie looks amused, like he expected this from you. Slowly, not wanting to spook you, he gently plucks the beer that you’ve barely drunk from your grasp.

‘Because all fucking night, while you were throwing woman after woman at me, I just wanted to have a drink with you.’

He leans in close. 

You stop breathing.

‘Because since Wednesday, every time I wash my hair, I get hard thinking of you touching me.’

Closer still.

Your lungs ache.

‘And because when you told me to go harder, deeper - I nearly lost my fucking mind.’

He’s hovering over you now, and you can almost taste the bitter sweetness of the beer on his breath. He smirks at you, but there’s only warmth and mischief in it when he teases, ‘Speechless for once?’

‘Shut up, Morales,’ you breathe and grab him by the collar of his shirt.

And then you’re kissing him. You’re kissing Frankie, and he’s kissing you back.

It’s messy, and disorientating, and you clumsily fumble over each other until he’s sitting up in one of the chairs, with your thighs on either side of his narrow hips as you straddle him. He’s licking up into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip, his hands gripping your sides almost painfully hard.

‘Is this really happening?’ you garble into his lips, ripping off his tie and undoing his shirt buttons as fast as your shaking fingers allow you to.

‘If you want it,’ he mumbles back, loath to pull back from you even for a second to shuck off his shirt. ‘If you want me.’

He kisses you wet and insistent, but he doesn’t push you, waiting for you to make up your mind. Reaching behind you, you tug on the tie that holds your jumpsuit together with a decisive pull, letting the fabric ripple down your bare front and pool around your waist.

Frankie bites his bottom lip so hard it goes white. ‘Fuck,’ he cusses, his grip on your hips twitching as he stares at your tits. ‘Can I, please -?’

‘Touch me, Francisco.’

Your poor second-hand Ikea bed that Benny helped set up when you moved in was not made for this.

This being the way Frankie effortlessly tosses you onto the mattress, his arms flexing with an easy strength that goes straight to your head, as you stare giddily up at him.

His hair - your handiwork - has been well and truly undone, errant strands falling over his eyes as he watches you, his broad frame looming over the foot of the bed. He pulls at his belt, which falls open with a careless clink, and he makes quick work of his now crumpled trousers, kicking them off impatiently.

Your head is swimming, yet somehow, you muster the strength to shuffle towards the edge of the bed, rearranging yourself to sit on your haunches, knees folded neatly beneath you. Boldly, you reach out to slide his dark boxers down his hips, and they fall around his knees and onto the floor. His cock springs free, half-hard and heavy, and Frankie swallows thickly as you tilt your face towards him.

‘I want to suck your cock.’

His eyes close as if he’s in pain, nostrils flaring at your words. Taking advantage of his distraction, you wrap one careful hand around his length, and he jerks violently at the first velvety slide of your palm against him. 

‘Fuck, Shiv -’ he chokes, eyes flying open at the contact, pupils completely blown. He protests weakly, ‘No, stop, need to get you off first -’

You shoot him a lopsided smile, pumping him slowly, your pulse racing at the way you feel him swell in your grasp. ‘Can we not argue this one time?’

You lean forward and, holding his gaze, flatten your tongue and lick your way up the underside of his cock. His breath stutters, one big hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his eyes wide and almost frantic as you press open-mouthed kisses on his sensitive flesh.

With an insolent grin, you tease, ‘You’re a big boy, aren’t you, Morales?’

He whimpers, and you know you have him.

His size is obvious by sight, but you really feel it in the pressure bearing down on the hinge of your jaw as you sink down on his cock, fighting to squeeze the girth of him into your mouth. The guttural groan from Frankie makes your pussy clench, and he tastes like he looks - clean, and all man. 

There’s no way you can take all of him, but you’ll be damned if you don’t try. He’s hot under your touch, muscles pulled taut with tension that you can feel thrumming under his skin as you take your time with him. Focusing on your breathing and relaxing your throat, you bob patiently up and down on him, slicking up his length with your spit, working him slightly deeper with every stroke - until you’re so full of him that you gag, hard.

Frankie is slack-jawed when you release him with an obscenely wet pop, spit trailing from your lips to the swollen tip of his cock, eyes wild as swipes his thumb across your puffy bottom lip. 

‘You’re beautiful,’ he declares, almost solemnly.

Slinking down his front, one hand securely around the base of his cock, you take him between your lips again, moaning at the salty taste of his precum, which makes him quake above you. As you swallow his length and pump your fist in tandem, your spit wetting your fingers, you peer up at him through your lashes - nothing could’ve prepared you for the utter wreckage that you find on his face. 

His lips are pulled back, baring his tidy teeth into a snarl as he very clearly struggles to hold himself back from fucking your mouth. You feel every bump and vein in his cock with each descent, the wet squelches filling in the gaps of his low grunts and moans. His grip in your hair stings as he starts panting in earnest above you, and somehow he gets even harder on your tongue, making it harder to breathe - 

‘Stop, stop,’ he wheezes suddenly, pulling back in a hasty retreat that has you whining at the sudden loss of him. ‘C’mere.’

He practically hauls you up against him, kissing you deeply, delving into your mouth to taste the bitterness of himself on your tongue. The world tilts on its axis when he tips you back onto the bed, and holding himself above you, he peels the jumpsuit off, leaving you in just your panties.

‘Gonna eat you out, baby,’ he drawls by your ear, trailing one palm up your body, which stops at your tits and squeezes. ‘Get you good and ready to take my big cock. How does that sound?’

‘Fuck, yes, Frankie, please,’ you beg.

There’s no shyness when he pushes your legs up and apart, and instead of taking your panties off, he hooks a finger under the thin fabric and pulls it to the side, his eyes darkening as he stares down at you.

‘So pretty,’ he praises you lowly. Holding your breath as he sinks onto his front, you breathe heavily in anticipation as his shoulders slot neatly underneath your legs. ‘Look at how wet you are for me. All this from sucking my cock?’

You nod frantically. ‘Frankie -’

Straight to the point as always, he ducks his dark head and drags the broad of his tongue over your clit - and you’re gone.

Admittedly, you have not had the best experiences with your exes. There was always too much gratuitous moaning and too little finesse, and afterwards, they always act like they deserve a medal for failing to get you off. But even if your past lovers had been more adequate in the field, you’re sure it still wouldn’t have prepared you for this. 

Frankie goes about it with a quiet focus that veers on reverential, the intensity in his dark eyes watching you makes your knees weak. He’s obviously picking up signs and reactions from you and adjusting his game plan accordingly, the pilot in him clearly in the driver’s seat. 

Not that he’s silent - far from it, you feel the reverberation in your core with every satisfied  hum deep in his chest, and the occasional, muttered fuck, so wet, want more in between licks and groans. But there’s nothing performative or showy about it, just a forthright competency that has you hurtling towards a toe-curling orgasm.

‘Frankie,’ you whine when you feel it about to hit. ‘Frankie Frankie Frankie -’

‘Eyes on me,’ he slurs against your sopping folds, and you listen - for once - watching him watch you fall apart on his tongue, thrashing in his hold as he grips you harder to keep you in place while he laps you up, until the burn of his patchy beard on your inner thighs makes you arch away from him from overstimulation.

Your pussy is still fluttering when he sinks two thick fingers into you, and he hisses at the way it clenches around him as he fucks you, leaving his digits slicked and slippery.

‘So tight, baby,’ he declares through gritted teeth, working you open for him. ‘Gonna feel so fucking good on my cock.’

You point towards the nightstand. ‘First drawer,’ you pant.

Needing no further prompting, Frankie yanks your panties off and flings the soaked scrap of fabric over his shoulder, then lunges at the cupboard where the condoms are. You scrape your nails over his thighs as he kneels over you, his usually steady hands visibly trembling as he tears into the wrapper and rolls the rubber over his heavy cock. He watches you with hooded eyes and settles between your legs, kissing you desperately as the swollen tip of him nudges at your entrance.

‘Ready?’ he asks, nose skimming yours sweetly.

You wind your arms around his neck, holding him close. ‘Fuck me, Frankie.’

The first push is a tight squeeze, and you can’t help the wince at the slight pinch as he sinks into you slowly. With a grunt of effort, he buries face into the slope of your neck and breathes, ‘Fuuuuck. You ok?’

‘Give me a second,’ you gasp, feeling your walls throb tightly around his length. ‘You’re so big, Frankie.’

He tangles his tongue with yours lazily in a deep kiss, before brushing his way down your throat and sucking on one nipple, making you cry out. He murmurs against your skin, ‘I know, but you’re doing so well for me, baby.’

Shifting your hips, Frankie groans when you slide him in deeper, the friction making you quiver beneath him. ‘Move, Frankie, please.’

He starts carefully, his strokes measured and deliberate, making sure you feel every inch of him as he draws back then sinks back in, exhaling shakily. ‘You feel so fucking good.’

‘Harder,’ you demand when you feel your pussy relax around him. ‘Fuck me harder.’

‘Shit,’ he growls and snaps his hips, drawing a squeal from you as he hits somewhere deep inside. You wrap your legs around his waist, bracing yourself as he drives into you again and again and again, the bedframe hitting the wall with each thrust.

‘So good, Frankie,’ you plead in between hard pants. ‘Keep going. Don’t stop -’

Looking up at him, you admire the way his hair falls over his eyes, swaying with his movement. Absent-mindedly, your fingers wander into his curls and his reaction is instant - he cries out, arching into your touch, his hips faltering as he seems to lose his rhythm. ‘Oh fuck, baby, been thinking about those hands all fucking week, just wanted to feel you touch me again -’

As wrecked as you are on his cock, you smile at his confession and slide your hands languidly in his locks, dragging your nails on his scalp, your chest swelling with pride when you watch his face - dazed and completely wrecked - fucking you so hard that you’re sure the bed is about to break.

When he finds his voice again, it’s your real name that slips past his lips. ‘Gonna cum so hard, oh fuck - I’m gonna -’

Frankie’s thrusting frantically into you, eyes screwed shut until his hips stutter and then - after one perfect moment of stillness suspended in time - shudder after shudder thunder through his body, your name a broken record as he spills into the condom, his scratchy baritone moaning into your neck as the frenzied energy bleeds out of him.

His weight pins you to the bed as he catches his breath, and you play with his curls gently, basking in the rumbling purr in his chest as you run the strands between your fingers. Eventually, gathering himself, he rolls off you to let you breathe, tying the condom neatly and tossing it into the trash can.

For a second, Frankie lies on his side, watching you quietly. You watch him back, casting your gaze over the curls stuck to his sweaty forehead and his broad outline backlit by your nightstand light. Before self-consciousness can settle into the small distance between you, he cracks a smile and quips, ‘You did say I’d get laid even if it killed you.’

You laugh, which makes him grin. One strong arm reaches out to tuck you into his side, securely beneath the duvet. You hum at the tickle of his beard on the back of your neck and the steady rise and fall of his chest behind you.

Right on the cusp of sleep, you sass, ‘Guess you’ll have to split the winnings with me after all.’

Any other day, you would’ve woken up if you heard someone on the stairwell. Hell, you’d hear if they were knocking on the salon door downstairs.

When you’re rudely shaken awake by frantic knocking on the studio door, you realise it’s because your hearing has been impaired by the side of a very warm body smooshed into your ear.

‘Shiv! Open up! I need to leave in fifteen minutes for my photoshoot!’

‘Shit,’ you croak, throat dry, limbs flailing as you try to sit up. ‘I forgot about Benny.’

‘Fuck him’, grouses Frankie, pulling you back into his arms, eyes still closed.

‘I can’t, I promised to help him with his hair. Fuck, do we need to hide you, or -’

‘The door’s thin, Shiv, I can hear him. And we put two and two together when you guys disappeared last night. We're pretty, but we ain't dumb!’

Frankie lets you go with a grumbled Benjamin fucking Miller under his breath, but he visibly perks up when you stumble out of bed naked.

You half-jokingly shield your boobs from his view. ‘Are you perving on me, Morales?’

He smirks, leaning back into the pillows with his hands folded behind his head while he eyes you appreciatively. It’s not fair how his triceps flex deliciously with the movement. ‘Why bother covering up? I’ve seen everything already.’

Trying - and failing - to shoot him a stern scowl, you pull on a robe and yank the door open, nearly careening backwards at the sight of Benny’s grinning face right in the doorway. 

‘Since when did you bang paying customers?’ he demands in lieu of a good morning.

You roll your eyes and usher him downstairs. ‘He’s not a paying customer. He’s on Pope’s tab.’

Benny flops into his usual chair, making it squeak, one eyebrow up as he does the air quotes. ‘Well, I guess we now know what kind of friends you guys are.’

‘Shut up, Miller,’ you gripe, but your mouth twists into a grin, giving you away as you set up.

‘Damn, that good, huh?’ he laughs. ‘I mean, Fish does have a rep, but I've never had insider confirmation.’

You point your styling scissors at him menacingly. ‘Shut up, or I won’t be held responsible if my hands slip by accident.’

Benny feeds you a sugar donut while you work quickly, trimming the ends before styling it, going for a tousled bed head look. You hear the water pipes run upstairs and the carpeted floors creak when Frankie gets up. Trying to play it cool, you only briefly glance up, catching a glimpse of him in the mirror as he makes his way down the stairs in his rumpled shirt and trousers, zipping up the fly when he reaches the bottom.

‘Morning, stud,’ sing-songs Benny, which earns him a slap on the head. ‘Ow! What the fuck, Shiv!’

Frankie loiters behind you for a second, scratching the back of his neck, before pulling you to one side. Not that it affords you much privacy anyway, with Benny wriggling his eyebrows impertinently at the two of you in the mirror.

‘I - uh -,’ he starts haltingly, one hand rubbing at the silver patch in his beard sheepishly. ‘I had a really good time last night.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ you smile.

His voice dipping lower, he asks, ‘Can I take you out to dinner sometime?’

Benny, being the shithead that he is, interjects loudly. ‘Hey lovebirds, I’m kind of on the clock here, if you don’t mind -’

‘She’ll get to you when she gets to you, Benjamin,’ snaps Frankie, one hand on his hip and the other pointing a stern finger at him.

Something about him being so assertive sends heat running up and down your spine. Stepping into his space - beaming when he doesn’t back away - you smooth a palm over the front of his shirt, unintentionally catching the rabbiting of his heart underneath.

‘I don’t know,’ you shrug nonchalantly. ‘Do you intend to come back as a cash-paying customer?’

His eyes flash with want, one hand closing around your hip and he leans down to let his heated words brush by your ear. ‘Not if I can keep paying in other ways.’

Reaching up, you run a hand through his curls, preening at the way he closes his eyes at your touch. ‘Alright then, take me to dinner, Francisco.’

Peering around you, Frankie barks, ‘Miller, I’m cashing in on our bet.’

‘Fuck’s sake. I was hoping you’d forgotten about that,’ he gripes, digging into his wallet reluctantly.

Swiping the bill from Benny, Frankie winks at you before pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth - chaste, but charged with meaning. ‘Looks like you paid for your own dinner, Shiv.’

With a roll of your eyes, you shake your head and playfully push him towards the door. ‘Get outta here before I change my mind!’

‘Yeah right - as if you would now that you know what you’ll be missing.’

You’re not sure which makes your jaw drop - his cocksure declaration or the roguish confidence with which he walks out the door. In either case, Benny howls with laughter as you struggle to stay on your feet, your kneecaps having been rendered completely useless.

Just as Frankie climbs into his truck, Ashton whistles to a stop outside the salon on his wheels. Jaw dropping at the sight of the disheveled pilot nodding at him through the windscreen, he abandons his bike right on the curb and dashes into the salon, the door banging against the wall as he rushes in.

‘Excuse me - what the fuck did I just miss?’ he demands frantically.

You roll your eyes. ‘Calm down, Ashton, it’s not what it looks like -’

‘It’s exactly what it looks like,’ interrupts Benny as he starts singing. ‘Shiv and Frankie sitting in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-’

He breaks off with a yelp when you stuff a donut into his mouth to shut him up, sugar flying everywhere as Ashton picks you up and spins you around, squealing like a banshee the entire time.

‘You guys are the fucking worst,’ you laugh, out of breath by the time Ashton lets you go.

Glancing outside, where Frankie is still parked watching the whole embarrassing episode, he gives you one last wink and an amused grin before he pulls away from the curb.

In an almost exact repeat of the scene from a few days ago, Ashton joins you at the window, and the two of you watch, shoulder to shoulder, as Frankie smoothly steers his truck out of your street.

‘He even drives sexy,’ sighs Ashton dreamily. Nudging you in the side, he adds slyly, ‘You’re in so much trouble, Shiv.’

You grin. You know you are - and luckily, it’s not a spot of bother that you’ll be in a hurry getting out of anytime soon.

Notes: I'm so excited to have finally completed this little two-shot. The two of them have been hanging out in my head all these months, it feels amazing to finally yeet this part into the world! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you had as much fun as I did with these two 🥰 Reblogs and comments are always greatly appreciated ❤️

Now that I've got you here, if you want more of Shiv, I wrote some silly little drabbles of her hair appointments with our handsome Pedro boys for a recent milestone celebration. There are also some fun thoughts that came out of an impromptu Grays sleepover we had last week 🤍

I'm sure we'll see more of Shiv and Frankie somewhere down the line. For now, thank you again, I love you all so much ❤️

[victorie552]

Ok, so Noldolantë, "The Fall of the Noldor" is a lament composed by Maglor about what happened before, during and after First Kinslaying at Alqualondë. It's such a good song that it's played regularly in Aman and Valar listen to it often (I swear, I swear it was in the Silmarillion I just can't find it now).

It's also a more or less common fanon that Maglor continues writing Noldolante through the whole First Age. Makes sense - it's about fall of the Noldor, and Noldor did a lot of falling back then.

Headcannon time: So my first thought was that Noldolante must a long, long, long epic of a song. So it probably has many parts, right? Iliad has 24 books/parts, somehow I think Noldolante would be at least just as long, and there are longer epics. And again, just like Iliad, unless you're a scholar, in the daily life you don't really listen to/read the whole thing, just reread and repeat the most dramatic fragments. What I'm trying to impress upon you all is that the story would have different segments, or chapters, if you will.

And if Maglor continues to write the story during the FA, there would absolutely be a moment in the lament where the OG Noldolante becomes Noldolante 2, and even Noldolante 3. There may be the same musical motif or something, I decided that Maglor IS that good of a bard to keep it all consistent enough so you know it's all the same story, but the style changes a lot - it's been 400 years in the making, let The Music Elf have fun!

So, Point 1: Many, Many Parts, basically Maglor's FA WIP

My second thought was that, while Feanor invented his alphabet, elves learned their history mostly through oral tradition aka songs and spoken stories. Noldolante is definitely a historical record, where a historical event was archived for future generations.

(It was a also a way to deal with grief, guilt and blame Maglor and all Noldor have faced regarding First Kinslaying - free therapy! But that's not what this post is about)

Archived.

My 2.5 thought was that Noldolante isn't just recallings of how pretty and horrified the beach looked during the murdering or how mad and sorrowful the sea was at everyone during the voyage or even how awesome and charismatic Feanor looked during his speeches that every single Noldo was ready to fight Morgoth barehanded in his name - no, this is a record of who killed who, who got killed by whom, and how.

Noldor and Teleri knew each other (were friends, even!) before the First Kinslaying, so I'm confident that after a lot of interviews, detective work, and cross-referencing, Maglor could and would create a very good... name list. Practically every Noldo and Teler present during First Kinslaying would get a stanza in a song, more if he killed someone, most if he killed many people. Killers and killed would show up twice, first in a fragment listing the killers and their victims, then in a part listing the victims and their murderers. Basically it's the same thing twice, but from different POVs. With when, where and how included.

(It was seen to be in bad taste to compare kills during Maglor's Regency, when most of his interview-part work happened. People did it anyway. There were a Saddest Kill, Funniest Kill, and Weirdest Kill discusions. There was a Tier List. These were weird times to be a Feanorian Noldo.)

(It WAS in Bad Taste, but at least people talked about it. I cannot stress enough how much free therapy this lament provided)

(Little did they know, when Teleri started getting reembodied in Aman, they had very similar discussions, but more in a "I can't believe he killed me like THAT" way. Long, long, long after the First Age. Noldolante is a gift that keeps giving)

So, Maglor had all the historical grith and no common shame to create a "We Killed All These People And We Feel Bad About It" banger of a song, and every Noldo had a very personal reason to at least remember the fragments they are in. It's a hit on a scale never seen before.

(I'm not sure how to tackle the issue of Nolofinweans and Arafinweans learning about Noldolante after crossing the Ice. But there were discussions. There was anger, there was "????", there was controversy. Basically, the song got bigger and bigger rep no matter what your opinion on it was. By the time of Mereth Aderthad it was an important cultural and political piece and at least Fingon's forces were included in the main song. It had parodies.)

Point 2: Archive Function/Kill count storage. Cultural phenomen, every Noldo included

This is where my personal nonsense begins: Main Noldolante was done, there was nothing more to say about First Kinslaying, all killings and deaths were well documented.

But the Siege started. And the Noldor kept dying.

It was less dramatic than it sounded - between the big battles the siege was maintained, but orc raids also happened and sometimes one to few Noldor died in skirmishes. The legal procedure was to document the death of a fellow elf and send a word to king Fingolfin. The cultural procedure, technically started by Feranorians but adapted by many more, was to send the name, common characteristics and cause of death to Maglor's Gap. After few months, King Fingolfin would send reinforcements, short condolences and financial compensation if they had family. After few months, family of an elf would also receive a personal lament for them and a place for them in a Noldolante.

Yes, every lament Maglor created in that time was technically part of the Noldolante. Noldolante 1.5, if you will. Laments make in that time were very customized, and simpler than Noldolante Main, but were still considered a part of the same song. Of course, nobody was expected to know and remember laments for every single Noldo, younger Noldor born in Beleriand could even only know fragments about their family members. Only Maglor would ever know Noldolante in full, but it was understood that everyone had their place in The Song.

The results of Great Battles were harder to document, but Maglor did that. Of course, Dagor Bragollach was hard on him personally, but he worked his way through.

(High King Fingon forbade creating laments for his father. There were no songs for Fingolfin. Apart from in Noldolante, of course. Of course. Maglor did not share the lament with anyone, but he sat long hours and many nights with a blank paper before him, looking at the candle flame and thinking of the past and the future. The song unsung, but there)

Nirnaeth was... Maglor was never more hated and more approached at the same time than then. Still, Noldolante grew and grew, as if people knew the end was near.

It was Second Kinslaying that destroyed the myth of Maglor's song. Feanorians didn't know the Sindar they killed, but surely, they couldn't just left their names unmentioned like they did with orcs? So, Noldor talked, but the battle happened in caves - it wasn't uncommon to find dead bodies in empty rooms, with no witnesses to what happened. Surviving Sindar didn't want to share any names, even when Maglor strong-armed some into talking with him, and good for them. Maglor made a big lament anyway. Maglor, wild, with no shame and dead brothers, with legacy crumbling around him. Noldolante, with holes.

After Third Kinslaying, Noldor didn't want to talk. Lament for Sirion didn't have any names. Clearly, songs weren't a way to go anymore, it was always about live witnesses. And so Maglor raised the twins.

Lament for Maedhros was sung repeatedly. There was no one to hear it.

Point 3: Only Maglor knows Noldolante in full. But that doesn't matter, because everyone knows the important part: the Noldolante is finished. The Star of Hope rises in the West and the story goes on. The Fall has ended.

[clown-cafe]

After talking about this with a friend earlier, I wanted to make a post as a place to theory-craft about Jonathan potentially being the Little Pale Girl's next vessel (the witch?)

I know this is a popular theory

But these are things I've picked up on that made me personally believe it. I'd be super interested if people have other ideas/interpreted any of these differently 👀

1) In Terrifier 2, Jonathan wanted to dress up as Art for Halloween. That's always felt like foreshadowing waiting to happen to me personally.

2) Sure, Sienna can see the Little Pale Girl in Terrifier 2 because she's some kind of warrior angel force for good. What about Jonathan being able to see her? Is it just because they're related, or was he chosen to be able to see her?

3) Sienna and Jonathan always felt like direct parallels of Art and The Little Pale Girl to me. Not exactly evidence, but I've always correlated them in my head.

4) The Little Pale Girl/Victoria have already nailed mimicking Jonathan's voice. I know she also mimics Sienna's aunt and uncle, but mimicking Jonathan twice in two different forms... Hm...

5) Jonathan is seen taking medication and telling someone in a very deliberately included shot of his phone that "It's getting worse/bad again (can't remember wording - I need a rewatch)"... what is? We never find out the details of his trauma. We never find out what exactly caused Jonathan's meltdown. Are his issues similar to Sienna, or is he dealing with something far more sinister.

6) We never see what Art and Victoria did with Jonathan. I do not believe he's dead. I simply do not. Maybe they're holding him somewhere. He feels like a real ace in their sleeve for dealing with Sienna - why wouldn't they kill him in front of her if they wanted to break her that bad.

7) Victoria/Pale Girl were built up to be a very important figure in Terrifier lore in Terrifier 3. But Victoria is presumably dead now as a vessel. She'll n e e d a replacement.

8) Jonathan is particularly closed off and calloused in Terrifier 3 which, don't get me wrong, can definitely just be his trauma. But he wasn't at the start of Sienna's hospitalisation. When he was studying demonology and writing to her that they "Need to kill the Little Pale Girl before it's too late." He of all people knows what she is - where's his urgency.

9) Lastly, this may be entirely unrelated. But Art ate Victoria's face. Then she was possessed presumably by the time she attacked Monica Brown.

At the end of Terrifier 2, Art is seen attempting to eat parts of Jonathan.

Not killing him.

Biting him.

With all his tools that he has there

That he could have been torturing him with-

Biting him.

And I'm sure Art has bitten more people and I just forgor

But it keeps coming to mind again and again.

Feels significant somehow.

With all the chances Art had to kill that boy.

Why was he alive so long.

[set-wingedwarrior]

I wasn't sure about writing this post.

Even right now, as I am writing, I still don't know if I will actually post this or just add it to my drafts as nothing more than a personal vent. Regardless, I guess that if I am here I just need to talk about this.

So let's talk.

The way the FNDM has been acting all defeated all month long has really grown to annoy me, and I am tired.

RWBY's future is unsure right now, and all this uncertainty is painful. My feelings are all over the place, swinging from terror and sadness to hope, all the time. I constantly check Kerry's and RWBY's Twitter page in hope to find any kind of news.

I can't give you a certain answer because, again, this is all uncertain. But that also means that there's still hope.

My point is, acting as if we have already lost isn't going to help anyone. Not RWBY, not CRWBY, and not ourselves, the fans who love this show so dearly.

I don't know what is going to happen, but I know that I refuse to stand around and do nothing. It's why I keep checking for news, why I am playing the show both on rooster teeth and crunchyroll all the time for views (I think that on CR I already replayed the whole series at least twice). It's why I am spamming tags, and being loud about my love, and looking and sharing all RWBY and CRWBY posts to give engagement, why I am watching every rwby_vt live on twitch.

I want to know what is going to happen more than anything, not knowing is killing me, but at same time I am terrified of the answer. Despite that, and despite my feelings swinging all around, I am still choosing to have hope.

Hope is a conscious choice, and a brave one. Because I know that being pessimistic is easier, it avoids setting us up for disappointment... but if we rob ourselves of the chance that things could turn out alright then all we're doing is decrease the chance that it will happen, and just anticipate our pain and disappointment.

As Yang said, no hope means we have already lost, and that's not the case. CRWBY, Kerry, is working really hard to save RWBY. Acting defeated already isn't just a disservice to us, but to them specifically and to everything they are currently doing. It's like telling them that it's all useless, that they've already lost, and I find that insulting. I refuse to. They deserve to see that we care and believe in them.

RWBY is THE show about hope. Shouldn't we follow the example?

[faerievampling]

Killing Time

Chapter 4: The Hunt

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

Pairing: Soft Ascended Astarion x Spawn Female Tav

Word Count: 4.8k

Link to Ao3!

Warning: 18+. Explicit. Vaginal Fingering. PiV. Dom Astarion. Violence. Blood. blood drinking. Possessive behavior.

A/N: Posting early. can't believe this story is already at nearly 20k words. I hope you all enjoy. <3

Screenshot by: @cheekylittlepupp <3 <3

If you weren’t a vampire, you knew you would have been sore as all hells when you woke up. But lucky for you, the only thing that was aching was your fangs and your swollen, slick cunt.

Your night with Astarion was so sweet, tender, but now you were both craving each other. Your stomach growls as you nestle further into Astarion’s arms. 

“Are you ready for what the day will bring?” Astarion reaches out, gentle as ever. You knew he had bad news for you, so he would treat you tenderly. 

You sigh. “Just tell me what you’ve decided on.” Your voice is but a whisper because of your still sleeping servant, Cynthia. Your internal vampire clock tells you it’s rather early in the morning, just before the rest of the crèche will awaken. 

Astarion turns on his side, pushing his hardening cock against your abdomen, rutting into you ever so lightly. He just wanted you to know he’s interested, is all.

“We must keep the feedings to twice a day. You will eat human food between those feedings.”

You move to meet his gaze; his face is still, but his eyes are round, open, and you sense his uncertainty. You place a hand to his chest, eyes widening to a girlish stare you knew he loved.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Astarion quips at you, but his tone is hushed, tender, loving, and you know he very much does like when you beg. “I’m serious, Tav.”

You bat your eyelashes. “Then don’t be serious. Tell me you're joking.”

“Be my sweet girl and don’t fight me on this, love.” Astarion pleads before pressing his lips to yours. 

When he deepens the kiss, you catch his lip with your fang, lapping at the crimson that flowers from the wound before healing. Astarion grabs your jaw, his grasp firm, your cheeks between his fingers and thumb.

Behind his ruby eyes is a burning furnace of passion for you. His consort. His wife. His eternal lover.

His movements are quick, his fangs gently sinking into the taunt flesh of your neck. His cock is begging to be freed, but Astarion can only rub it against you as he drinks you in.

He’s only sipping on you, just wanting a taste of what is his.

When he pulls away, his eyes are wild, and he swiftly re-adjusts to nestle you to his own neck, where you waste no time sinking your fangs into him.

You bite down rather hard, causing Astarion to gasp, which only excites you further. Your hand has mindlessly found its way to his cock, and you’re stroking it through his clothing as you drink him in. 

With one hand settled into the root of your hair, Astarion grips the curve of your hip, nails digging into your skin. 

“Be quiet.” His voice rings out so fast in your mind that you barely register it before you feel Astarion’s hand between your thighs.

Instinctively, you lift one leg, draping it over Astarion’s hip as his fingers move past the waistband of your panties, stuffing a finger inside you effortlessly. Your hand flies to cup his jaw, your senses on fire.

He inserts another finger into you on his next stroke, and your body is already vibrating at the sensation. Astarion already knows where he wants to be and reaches into your depths, behind your throbbing clitorus, to that sweet tender spot inside you.

You mewl a bit before Astarion hushes you. When his thumb begins to circle your swollen nub, he has you creaming around him almost instantaneously, and you feel absolutely fucking incredible between your orgasm and his blood.

As you’re seeing stars, clenching around Astarion’s handsome, dexterous fingers, his half of your shared connection envelopes you: he’s savoring your orgasm, riding along the folds of your mind as you feed and come. Sharing in your exhilaration only makes him adore you more. 

“Oh, my darling…” Astarion presses his cheek into you, his hands continuing to explore your body as you gently hum against him, careful not to tear his skin with your fangs. 

When you finally unlatch, you both begin to sense the stirring of the crèche.

Astarion’s imagination is going wild at all the ways he wants to fuck you. His cock still rocking against you, desperate for release. 

“Don’t worry about me, my love. We will find time for you to fully satiate me soon. You can count on it. I’ll be buried in your cunt soon enough.” Astarion is teasing, still touching your sensitive folds as you try to squirm away from him, the overstimulation of your clit being too much. 

You certainly felt better after your orgasm and feeding, but you’re still upset at the sudden reality of the prospect that you wouldn’t be able to feed whenever you wanted or sip on blood and wine all day.

You knew this would happen, of course, when you accepted Lae’zel’s quest.

But still, actually living it was different than knowing it was going to happen. There has been no real way to prepare yourself, so you do your best to gather your thoughts and stay focused. 

Cynthia wakes as you are helping Astarion with his complicated camp gear, which he insisted on wearing. He looked absolutely stunning in his black, fitted ensemble that boasts his gorgeous, muscular arms.

You went for something more simple, but more modest than the strappy camp clothes you arrived in.

If the gith warriors were to act like that around people of different races, then you felt it was up to you to change their perspective. But you wouldn’t let them gawk any longer. No, you would dominate and evolve their perspective of your race and vampires like yourself with your raw power, talent, and dark beauty. 

And, you say to yourself, wanting to continue this little pep talk, I will dominate my bloodlusts. 

“You look lovely, my lady,” Cynthia says to you genuinely, and you almost smile. 

“Thank you, sweet Cynthia,” She looks crestfallen at your reply, like a woman mad from her unrequited love. She dare not speak to Astarion directly, but you’re sure that she thinks him lovely as well.

You and Astarion walk to the War Room, down the twisting halls of the spire. Astarion takes your hand in his: he’s already thumbing a ring as you begin to share in the pit in his stomach. 

“Why are you nervous?”

“You shouldn’t worry about it.” Astarion would say no more, which you were ultimately fine with. He always told you about the important things.

The two of you make it on time, finding seats next to each other at the rounded table in the center of the room. You swear Astarion is puffing his chest out, his broad shoulders seemingly wider than usual.

Elan began the meeting, but you could hardly focus as Astarion’s hand was gripping yours. Elan speaks for a while before addressing the two of you. 

“Ancuíns, you will have the pleasure of meeting your warriors today…” Astarion’s pain begins to seep into you through your bond. Elan kept talking to the both of you, unaware of the inner turmoil. You’re now gripping Astarion’s hand back; he half-heartedly tries to tell you not to worry, but it’s hardly your fault.

“…the hunt. It is a tradition of this very crèche, and its boon will allow us to properly prepare for the beginning celebrations in the coming days.”

Astarion simply nods before the two of you meet each other's gaze simultaneously. The issues of the crèche fall away as the pain suddenly subsides.You see a flicker of wetness in Astarion’s eyes. Blinking it away before anyone else could notice, Astarion confirms what was just felt: “One of our spawn is dead.” 

The rendezvous went on for some time; Astarion kept his hand in yours, his fingers musing with your jewelry and your nails. 

“So refined. So beautiful.” Astarion is trying to decide what to do. He wasn’t scared, but a silent terror was building inside you. You tucked it away, imagining that’s what Astarion would do if he felt fear: you simply don’t. 

***

The gith warriors you were set to command stood before you: ten young women and men. All traditionally trained in the art of war.

“They are yours, Tav.”

You look to Lae’zel, and then to Astarion, who is standing before his own ten soldiers. Astarion considers them only for a moment before his mind shifts back to lewd thoughts of you: you, bent over just enough for him to see the sweet, pink folds of your inviting cunt and your tight ring of muscle. He loved the way your arousal smelled, and your scent in general, which was distinctly of him.

He was a part of your very essence, your very birth, and you knew your darling will always be part of you: he had connected the two of you in the most intimate way, and had never regretted it. You were his. Your future was his to decide, and there were only two rules that you were truly beholden to, with a few minor provisions, of course.

The words Astarion first heard so long ago ring out in your shared mind matter: thou shalt not leave my side, thou shalt know that thou art mine.

There was once a time where Astarion mocked Cazador for stealing Vellioth’s rules. 

“Tav, attention!” Lae’zel spats at you, breaking you out of your brief trance. You can tell a few of your warriors are trying not to smile. “They are expecting an introduction.”

Astarion is watching you, anticipating what you will say.

“I need not. They already know who I am.” You look away from Lae’zel, deciding to put on a cock show for your beloved. “Are there not statues of me throughout the realms? Famous poems, songs, smut?” You’re posing a bit, a seductive smile on your face as your vampiric charm graces the room: this was the easiest way to get them to obey. The more exposed to the charms the mortal is, the weaker they become. You and Astarion called this vampire insurance. 

Your warriors are young, already blushing from your charms.

“You are a natural, my love.”

“Tch. Insufferable.” Lae’zel leers, clearly well protected from your manipulations, prompting Astarion to commend her for trying to protect herself. He always found a way, if compulsion was required. “You agree to come here, to help me, and yet you refuse to take this seriously.” 

“It’s ten warriors, Lae’zel. My darling can manage just fine.” Astarion said confidently, because he knew you were more likely to eat them alive than anything else. 

“Just say something, Tav.” Lae’zel is practically begging you now. “Go on.”

“Alright,” You say with a sigh. You’re silent for a while. “I was never good at doing this formally. Uh, at ease, please.” You smile awkwardly at your little rhyme, but it doesn’t translate well on your terrifying face. 

You poke into the mind of the young lady standing in front of you. She’s scared of you, more so than she is of Vlaakith’s army. 

You take a deep breath, moving your fingers and toes as you try to animate yourself. “I’m sorry if I frighten you.” You weren’t all that sorry, because you liked it. But if Lae’zel wanted you to take this seriously, then you needed to level with them, to know them and be a team. 

You realize that has never really left you: that natural leader within. 

“You can call me Tav. Lae’zel will insist on Sarth Ancunín, which sounds awful to me. My husband,” You look over to your gorgeous darling standing next to you, a smile on his pretty face as he gives you his undivided attention, which you loved. “Will likely insist on calling me Lady Ancunín, at the very least. But I insist you call me Tav.”

The warriors visibly relax, but you still sense their lingering fear. 

You breathe again, and also remember to blink. “We are to participate in the hunt today. I, uh, welcome any comments or questions you may have.”

“Tav,” A boy speaks from the back, behind the still trembling young lady at the front. “I am Zii’ro. They say you are thousands of years old.”

“Yes. I am.” 

Zii’ro stifles a smile. You can sense he has questions, which you aren’t opposed to answering, but the look he was getting from Lae’zel ensured he kept his mouth shut. 

They look so young.

“They don’t appear any older than you, my love,” Astarion muses, the thought bringing you a fair amount of pleasure. Who wouldn’t want to be young and beautiful forever?

Astarion is so glad you agree. 

“Ah. No wonder so many of the gith think that I’m just your young little plaything instead of your wife.” You respond to your husband; Astarion looked nearly fifteen, maybe twenty, years your senior, a fact he did not like upon first realizing. 

You had forgotten just how young you were when he turned you. 

“It wasn’t long after your coming of age year, my love.” Astarion spoke, answering the question that was on everyone’s mind. 

Lae’zel snorts. “Practically an eternal teenager.” 

“We’re all adults here, Lae’zel. Including these little warriors,” Astarion sweeps his eyes over the twenty gith standing before you. “Don’t be fooled by her appearance. My darling is an ancient vampire. The two hundred years between us hardly mean a thing, anymore.” Astarion has a big, menacing smile on his face. 

“Nothing could ever stand against us, Tav.”

It wasn’t until Lae’zel told you that the two of you would be separated when you started to feel a silent panic. Lae’zel wanted you to leave his side, to command your soldiers alone, to see your capabilities in the field. 

Astarion immediately begins to protest. He quickly becomes angry with Lae’zel for even suggesting that he’d ever leave his consort alone on a strange continent with even stranger people. 

“This is out of the question!” Astarion sneered. “You’ve not known me recently, Lae’zel, but do you really think I would be okay with this? Abandoning my wife?”

“It would hardly be abandonment, Astarion. The man I once knew was one who would’ve let Tav choose for herself.” Lae’zel crossed her arms, her gait wide, relaxed. She wasn’t afraid of Astarion: not in her domain, anyways. 

Astarion really doesn’t like this. His eyes narrow, his stare intense as he tries to unnerve the gith woman.

But Lae’zel is looking to you. As they’ve been arguing, you’ve been squaring yourself with having to actually leave Astaron’s side. You’re scared, but you remember why you’re here. 

Fear never stopped me before, you think to yourself before directing your thoughts to your pale lover. “Is this not the very reason why we have our connection, Astarion?”

The two of you have now blocked out all others: any notion of the outside world has been lost to you. Locked in an intense stare, you can only wonder what the two of you looked like to mortals. 

You go back and forth. Someone gasps when the two of you show fang at one another.

“You’re my wife. You do as I say. I know you’re strong, darling, but we can't risk it. I won’t allow that much distance between us. We’ve never been so far apart.” Astarion’s excuses were endless. You never realized how quickly Astarion’s mind would jump to isolating you in the boudoir whenever there was a disagreement between the two of you.

You hadn’t ever argued this much before. 

You hiss, but Astarion has an intense look in his eyes, nearly making you cower. But you don’t back down. After what feels like a lifetime to the mortals, Astarion comes to a decision.

“You will take Ruth with you.” Astarion says, frustrated by his lack of control of the situation. He’s trying to brush it off, but it’s hard for him. Between this, and the death of the spawn that he was decidedly ignoring, Astarion was doing his best to keep it together. 

You tried to comfort him, to go to him and wrap your arms around him, but now was hardly the time. 

“Just come back in one piece.” Astarion’s voice is as intense as his stare.

***

The enchanted forest was ethereally dark, beautiful and scary; nonetheless, your warriors followed you into the thicket. It took you a while of hiking before you could see the crèche in its glorious entirety.

The Crystalline Spire was far more gorgeous than what you or Astarion could have imagined. Jutting from the ground, the crystal stood straight from the ground, the outside of its walls smooth and milky. It glittered and towered far beyond what even seemed natural, only adding to its ethereal nature. 

“It could almost hold a flame to you, my consort.” 

“It is breathtaking.” You say. 

“We take great pride in its beauty,” Zii’ro replied from behind you. When you turned around, your group was admiring you, admiring the spire. 

You could sense Astarion was already on the hunt: his senses greater than yours, he had a wider radius and quicker reflexes. But you aren’t so inferior to the Vampire Ascendant: you were a formidable vampire yourself.

Your senses perk up: you hear the rustling of the leaves, the faint beat of a heart, and you zip away faster than your warriors could keep up. Ruth stayed close, silently lingering behind you, eyes never leaving you.

“Hey!” You hear, already in the distance, one of them calling out to you. Shit. You had to go back. 

“We’re supposed to do this together,” Zii’ro explained. 

Chae shook her head. “We can’t even hear what she’s running for.”

“Oh,” You say, having to stew on this for a little. “Well, follow me then. I’ll go slow, so you can keep up.” 

They follow, and you take them running through the thicket. You can hear the rise of their heartbeats, unable to really become a plateau from a brisk jog; the forest was untamed, the ground having no clear path, and you were practically jumping.

You consider taking your bat form, but that would be against the spirit of the game. You think Astarion has done this, or something similar; because if this was a contest (you weren’t even sure, you hadn’t listened or asked, realizing maybe your lack of attention was becoming a problem) Astarion was going to win.

Maybe he’d let you win, if he was feeling generous. But you decide you’re determined to get something more out of this than a win. 

That light in you still remembers.

It wasn’t until you came upon your prey that your human mind, your conscious mind, was forgotten: gone is any pretense that you’re anything but a vampire. A monster. A natural hunter in the night.

One of your archers, Quinel, draws the first blood.

You feel yourself slip away, but it happens so quickly it makes you writhe with frustration. Your warriors engage with the monster: its large, snake-like body towered over you. You notice it has feathers, despite its reptilian appearance. 

You claw, you bite, thick hot blood dripping down your chin and neck, but the monster doesn’t go down. It bites at Chae, who drops her weapon with a yelp, crying as she realizes she’s stuck in its jaws. 

The fear on her face makes you want to devour her next, but something about her reminds you of an old friend, an old lover, Lae’zel, and it brings you back to reality just enough to grab onto the monster's jaws.

Each hand is jutting into the teeth of the monster, your blood flowing freely in its mouth, but you don’t care; you’ll heal almost instantaneously, anyways. 

The monster is strong but no match for your determined strength. After a moment of you using your might, the monster's jaw is wretched apart, cracking at the joints as the monster howls in pain. 

Zii’ro has plunged his sword into the mouth of the creature as Chae is pulled out of its jaws. One last yelp of life is screeched from its stinking maw before it hits the ground. 

You already hear another beast, and you’re back in the hunt, ready for more.

***

You couldn’t begin to tell Astarion and Lae’zel what the hell happened on your hunt. But you return to the spire drunk, drenched in animal blood, having gorged yourself on a variety of wildlife. The hot, sticky crimson wasn’t nearly as delicious as intelligent blood, but there was a lot of it, which you are a fan of. It drenched your leathers, your throat and jaw, even your hair.  

Astarion, standing at the entrance to the spire, looked immaculate as he narrowed his eyes at you. But you can only laugh at his handsome, pouty face.

Your warriors followed you, equally covered in blood and guts. They prattle and grunt behind you, Chae hobbling along despite her injuries. You were too incapacitated to focus on what they were thinking: but half of them looked rather amused, and the other half looked angry. 

You looked around yourself, realizing you didn’t even have a weapon on you. Shit. You must have abandoned it during your frenzy.

Astarion is immediately scanning your memories, your brain, having preoccupied himself during the hunt. Looking over to where his warriors are at, you realize they brought back several animals, and your team had none.

“You clearly enjoyed your hunt. Have you not brought back any game?” Lae’zel asks tentatively. You are hardly listening to her, because you’re focused on your ambivalent husband.

You could feel his upset. You tried to weave through it, but you are still caught up in your bloodlust. You giggle when he takes you by the arms and pulls you into him, studying your face as he closes in on you.

“Don’t be mad, my darling.”

“Don’t be mad,” You repeat aloud, giving him a little smile to try to butter him up.

It wasn’t until Lae’zel and the other soldiers were out of hearing distance that Astarion spoke.

“Well…you’ve ruined that darling outfit I bought you,” He says, his voice low.  

Astarion is deciding how to react to this: he doesn’t like it, but it doesn’t necessarily break any of his rules, and he thought you looked rather beautiful covered in blood. 

But he decidedly did not like you drinking animal blood. “Come, my wife. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

***

Astarion remembers you just a few days after the defeat of the Netherbrain: writhing beneath him, utterly breathless and beautiful, even dizzy, from all the orgasms he had given you. You had fought him, only a little, before submitting and allowing him to ravish you again.

He wanted you all to himself for a little bit, before all the work began: the two of you were going on day two of the indeterminate amount of time Astarion decided you would stay at the hotel in the Upper City. 

You were worried about him, which he thought was rather sweet. You were also a little afraid of him, which turned him on even more than he anticipated. 

The fucking was instinctual, animalistic. When Raphael had told him the ‘appetites of man’ would return to him, he couldn’t have ever imagined how desperate his cock would be for you.

With the tadpole gone, Astarion’s powers were growing dramatically. His body was changing, his strength increasing, his entire state of mind and being was changing.

He made you a part of him, now. You were his, he was yours, and he needn’t be ashamed of pleasuring himself and his darling. He could nestle himself in your body and mind, and know that it was just the two of you: him and the only person he ever loved. The thoughts of disgust and loathing were kept at bay, only when he was with you. Only you.

Astarion had you in a mating press, pushing your thighs back as far as they’d go. He had already come inside you once, and he watched as his thick white come billowed out of you. 

The sight was delicious.

“This is amazing,” Astarion had laughed, pushing his cock into you deeply, hips banging against pelvis. His tip kissed your cervix, which is exactly where he wanted to be: as deeply nestled within you as he possibly could. “It’s never felt this fucking good before!” 

You whined and mewled beneath him, begging him to both stop and continue your torturous pleasure. But if you didn’t know what you wanted, Astarion would decide for you. 

“Haha! I can’t believe this is all mine!” Astarion hadn’t been able to contain his excitement. When you flutter your sweet cunt around him, Astarion plants a confident kiss to your lips, bringing his hand down to idly play with your swollen nub. 

“The palace, the wealth, the power, even you. All mine.” 

Astarion tightens his grip on your neck as he bites down on your shoulder. He doesn’t ask, because he doesn’t need to, and he wants it to hurt.

When you yelp at the pain of his bite, before descending into moans, it makes his cock feel so filled with blood that he only wished he could devour you further; to make you his all over again. It had been the best fucking godsdamned feeling in the world, turning you into a vampire.

As he felt the mind numbing effects of his impending orgasm, his thrusts becoming uneven and sloppy, Astarion concluded that this was the best place to train you. You’d be an obedient little wife if he kept you fucked out and full of his cock; he just knew it. It was what was best for you, anyways.

He repositions you, lifting your hips up on his thighs, where he starts to rut into you: it’s too deep, it’s too much, and he knows it. 

You start to push him away, trying to close your thighs to prevent his intrusion. 

“Oh, my love,” Astarion muses, capturing your wrists with one hand, using his other to force your thighs open. 

“Please…“ You had begged—but in your mind, you told him to give it to you. You wanted all of him, and Astarion loved this so much, his heart swelled to proportions previously unknown to him, and he was a man maddened with lust, with love, for his sweet wife. 

And there was something about making his sweet wife, the strong leader of the group, so submissive and needy for him…

With that, Astarion’s powerful mind flits to another memory; he would never forget your face when he asked you to kneel for him in front of the others. 

A guilt fills Astarion’s chest, a feeling he was no stranger to, but it pissed him off. He hadn’t initially thought of it as humiliation, and had been surprised when you told him why you had stopped asking him for kisses in public. 

You were so delicate, so beautiful, and it was both the reason why he was desperate to protect you and keep you by his side, and why he wanted to dominate you.

He’d especially never forget how you looked when you obeyed. He was so happy.

Now, seeing his consort covered in the blood of lesser creatures, he couldn’t ignore the shifting visions of the past that flit across his mind. 

He decides the best punishment for you was to stretch you out with his cock and take his pleasure in you, just as he had decided two thousand years ago. He plans to leave you breathless and desperate with no intention of making you come.

He imagines withholding your orgasm from you, leaving you covered in his slick seed. Yes, my consort hates being denied. He’d command you to push his semen back inside your wet, sloppy entrance, pleasuring yourself while coated in his essence. 

He knew he probably wouldn’t be able to go through with it. He loved making you come too much, but he certainly enjoyed the thought.

Astarion scrubs your skin with the washcloth, the flakes of dried blood stubborn even with hot water and soap. “What am I to do with you, my love?”

“I tried. I participated. I tried to be what they wanted.” Astarion senses your hurt, your confusion. 

He brings a hand to your jaw, drawing you to face him. Astarion sighs before he speaks, giving you a little smile. “It’s alright, love. I don’t like it, but I’m not angry with you. It’s only your nature.” 

Astarion sighs when you smile, relief washing over him as the fog of your upset dissipates from his assuring words. Once you’re clean, Astarion is next, and soon, the two of you are wrapped up in each other once more, taking the opportunity to adore each other after a long day. 

Astarion wants you to be quiet, even when he finally slides his swollen, needy cock inside you. You’re so perfect, Astarion wants to stay here forever, just like this with you.

He keeps his cock in you for a while as he captures your lips with his own. 

“You are my everything.”

Masterlist

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

[akookminsupporter]

ARE YOU SURE?!: EIGHTH EPISODE

MY IMPRESSIONS

 Preface: This is not an analysis post, and honestly, I don’t want to overanalyse their interactions or everything they said and did—many others are already doing that. My intention with this post is simply to share my thoughts on the episodes, my impressions, and perhaps my conclusions.

Oh man, I don’t want AYS to end. I can't believe it's already over. It’s not fair. I don’t think it is. We should protest.

Yes, this is my second time watching this episode. I’ve been super busy, so I couldn’t watch it again. I’ve survived by watching clips and gifs on Twitter.

Objectively speaking, Jimin and Jungkook are seriously handsome. Gorgeous. Cute. And they look especially adorable without makeup. They look so young too. Jimin looked amazing in that grey sweater.

I’m unsure if Jimin and Jungkook keep track of the charts and that sort of stuff. Based on things they've said in the past, it seems like they’re not too fussed about it, but it’s nice to know that, in one way or another, they do see the results of their work and the fans' support, even months—or in Jimin's case, more than a year—later. When they were in the US, Jungkook also mentioned something about listening to the music charts in Korea, didn’t he? He did the same thing here, and their songs are still on there. They’re really killing it with their solo careers. Jungkook wasn’t lying when he said his favourite part of SMFPT2 was the second half, where Jimin came out half-naked, just saying hahaha.

When they arrived at the restaurant where they’d eat, the video looked like it was shot by a paparazzi or something, hahaha. Jimin looked incredible in that video. I don't know how to explain it, but he looked… famous, hahaha.

One of the descriptions we read a lot when AYS was announced was that Jimin and Jungkook would immerse themselves in the local cuisine wherever they visited. That description couldn’t have been more accurate, hahaha. These guys really travelled just to eat, hahaha.

Every time Jimin said he didn’t look good, or that he’s not handsome, or that his face wasn’t right, I just wanted to jump through the screen and give him two slaps to snap him out of it.

That clip of them waving at the camera through the window is… Jimin looked stunning. His messy, blonde hair at that length was perfect.

The "boyfriend shot," okay. Jimin, I need you to answer a few questions to fully understand that part. I understand what you were trying to say, but why did you say that? I don’t know if it’s a thing in Korea, but when you Google "the boyfriend shot," nothing even remotely close to that photo comes up, so it's not a trend or anything like that. So, that was... interesting. Jungkook’s non-reaction and just commenting on the photo itself was... he wasn’t bothered at all.

I think Jungkook loves to eat. He loves food. I think. It’s not something I can confirm, because it’s not entirely clear. But I reckon he loves eating.

It’s so cute when they mimic the silly things the other one does. They’re just too adorable.

That quirky habit Jungkook has of showing off everything he's about to eat. And Jimin too.

I mean, Jungkook, why did you tell Jimin to take off his pants and underwear? That’s a bit much, don’t you think? Hahaha. Jimin’s response to Jungkook, saying, "loud, repetitive noises make Jimin nervous" is hilarious, and we know he’s said it twice when Jungkook was teasing him. But I wonder what context that phrase has for him. Seriously, I’d love to see a copy of his YouTube watch history and search history to know how they find these videos. It’s clear Jungkook knows the context, hahaha.

Someone on Twitter mentioned that Jimin and Jungkook swap roles in their dynamic or relationship. One day, one acts like the hyung and the other like the younger one, and vice versa. Another day, one is the annoying one that the other just smiles at, and vice versa. And another day, one is the silly, cute one, and the other pretends to put up with it grudgingly, but really, they love it. It’s super interesting, especially when you think about the age difference between them and what that means culturally.

Jungkook in the car watching—or better yet, waiting for—Jimin to notice he wasn’t behind him is just too cute. That happy little giggle when Jimin finally noticed and came to get him was adorable. Jimin pretending to be annoyed about it is funny because we all know that man never gets annoyed about anything Jungkook does or says.

Jungkook was right—Jimin really did love the gimbap option he bought, hahaha.

"Jimin is Jungkook's Jungkook." I saw this in a tweet a few days ago, and I remember making a post about it. Reading the comments, I see some of you gave it a slightly different interpretation to what the tweet explained, and what I realised when I read it. What we mean by that, in this context, is that Jimin does the same thing Jungkook does with the other members’ songs—singing them all the time in a funny, but slightly annoying way, hahaha. The members usually just laugh or ignore Jungkook because, well, he’s Jungkook, hahaha. Jimin does something similar, and Jungkook just laughs and looks at Jimin like he’s thinking, “Cute,” because, to Jungkook, everything Jimin does is cute.

The editors syncing the song with the parts Jimin was dancing—or trying to dance—is way too funny, hahaha. Jungkook grabbing more things while they were already paying is so... all of us, I’m sure, hahaha.

I know there are a few theories—let’s call them that—about which card Jimin and Jungkook used, particularly in Sapporo. But something I noticed is that they always made sure to get the receipt, and at least the times I caught it, it was always Jungkook who kept it.

Why did they laugh when the staff member said the jacuzzi in this last place was bigger than the cold tub from the day before? Not just the laugh, but the tone when Jungkook said, “Ahh, from yesterday”—I didn’t get that part. Why that reaction? Even the staff’s little chuckles were interesting. What did we miss?

I think Jimin likes "Standing Next to You." I don’t know, just a gut feeling, hahaha.

The accommodations where Jimin and Jungkook stayed throughout the show were amazing, but the ones in Sapporo were definitely the most beautiful and impressive. The clip of them entering the house without context would be so hard to explain, hahaha. Did they choose the places they stayed in? Or did the staff show them the options before they arrived? Them walking down the stairs backwards... they’re so alike, hahaha. Jungkook, the fact that you two have different ages didn’t matter at all—you’re practically the same person, hahaha.

Oh? The room they were in when Jungkook was unpacking all the snacks he’d bought is different from the one where they slept, so they left their bags in a different room.

Jimin looks stunning in that clip where he asks Jungkook if he was going to get in the jacuzzi, ahahaha. Jimin and Jungkook bickering over silly things is one of my favourite discoveries about their dynamic in the show, haha.

Didn’t Tae say that this second chapter wasn’t about seeing them naked or something like that? Could he explain to me why that’s exactly what this second chapter has been about so far? Not that I’m complaining, hahaha.

Them in the jacuzzi. Jimin and Jungkook have such enviable bodies. They’re slim but muscular, they barely have any fat on them, and they’re delicate yet masculine at the same time. It’s enviable. And I’m not a man. Seeing them in the jacuzzi also reminded me that they are, after all, men, and like most men on earth, they do stupid things for a good laugh.

The way Jungkook looked at Jimin when he picked up the snowball to take into the jacuzzi was so sweet and innocent, and the way Jimin interpreted it as Jungkook saying ‘Are you really gonna throw that at me?’ was hilarious. What’s even funnier is seeing other fans, especially non-Jikookers, using that clip to say, “This is how Jungkook would look at you if he were your boyfriend” or “This is how Jungkook looks at X member because they’re together.” Like, do they not realise that by saying this, they’re acknowledging that Jungkook doesn’t look at Jimin like he’s just a friend or how you’d look at a simple mate? This also applies when they use clips of Jimin looking at Jungkook. The way Jimin and Jungkook looked at each other in that moment is... yeah.

When Jungkook lost rock-paper-scissors to Jimin to see who had to lie in the snow – honestly, men – and took a little extra time warming up in the jacuzzi before facing his punishment, was funny haha, the way he looked at Jimin was like, “Are you really gonna make me do this?” But what’s funnier was how he looked at Jimin when he said, “Come on, baby,” ahahaha. Jungkook was like, “Don’t come at me with cute nicknames,” hahaha.

Have I ever mentioned that I love Jimin’s tattoos, especially the ones on his back? I don’t think I’ve brought that up before.

Seriously though, do they share social media accounts and watch the same videos, memes, etc.? Wasn’t that song Jimin was singing when he was lying on the stairs the same one Jungkook sang on the first day in Sapporo when he was picking which sunglasses to wear?

What Jimin said – that if we see his trip with Jungkook, we’d know what he’s like at home – it’s no surprise, but is he like this WITH Jungkook at home too?

Kookoo-ah. The different ways Jimin says Jungkook’s name is just too cute.

Oh, it looks like the whisky Jimin bought or brought to drink with Jungkook is the same one Jungkook took with him the second time he went on Yoongi’s show. So, either Jimin bought/brought/ordered it because he knew Jungkook liked it, or they’re even similar in their taste for alcohol.

So, when Jimin said “honey,” he wasn’t saying it to Jungkook, he was talking about the whisky, and I guess that’s why Jungkook responded that they looked alike. That said, I choose to believe he was calling Jungkook “honey,” haha. They’re such drama queens, hahaha. Jimin, are you really gonna leave us hanging for a whole year?

Is it just me, or when Jungkook asked Jimin if he’d had his physical exam for the military, did it not sound like a genuine question? Like, he already knew the answer? Does that make sense? Hahaha. The way Jimin responded was funny, and something I noticed is that when Jungkook brought up the military service, Jimin seemed to avoid the topic, which is understandable.

It was nice how they included the staff too. In a way, it was also one of the last times they’d be travelling/working with them for a while. The staff member who suggested they watch the first episode of the show deserves a bonus, hahaha.

Have you guys noticed that when Jimin and Jungkook are sitting together, they tend to lean towards each other? Especially in relaxed seating arrangements, like when they were watching the first episode of the show. It’s not just that they sit really close, but they lean their bodies towards each other, almost like they’re trying to face each other.

Something I’ve always noticed is that Jimin doesn’t like watching himself on screen, except when he’s monitoring performances or music videos, of course. Even then, he’s super critical of himself. But in videos like the one they were watching, he tends to question or criticise his own behaviour, or he’s just embarrassed by himself. I really wish he’d stop being so hard on himself, so critical. Another thing that’s impossible not to notice is that whenever Jimin does this and Jungkook is around, Jungkook reassures him, saying he did well, or that it’s funny or cute, or he just laughs along with him. They really do have a sweet relationship.

Jungkook really didn’t like falling out of the kayak, the way he complained to Jimin about being left behind is hilarious, ahahaha, and Jimin trying to defend himself, hahaha.

They honestly laugh at the silliest things they say or do. I love that about them.

Even though Jimin told Jungkook he could keep watching the episode without him, Jungkook paused it until Jimin came back.

Okay, this conversation was so interesting:

Jungkook: “We were worried a lot while we were filming it. Is this going to be okay? Will they be able to edit this right?”

Crew: “We were also a bit worried.”

Why were Jimin and Jungkook worried? I know that in the first two episodes especially, they kept questioning whether they’d be able to do the show, or whether certain moments would make it in, etc., but why did Jungkook say they were worried about how it would be edited? What did they get up to? Or was Jungkook specifically referring to Jimin being sick the whole time, or part of their trip in the US? Because in that case, it makes sense why they’d wonder how it’d be edited, hahaha.

Jungkook was right when he said that Jimin just had to look at his face to start laughing, and also those times when he said Jimin was happier when he was with him.

I mean, Jimin telling Jungkook how dare he enjoy the scenery and his coffee while he was dying over there, ahahaha. At least he was looking out for him, haha. So, the stone tower was indeed for Jimin, haha!

Yeah, it was really fun. AYS is a blast. I can’t believe it’s over.

Hey, I wonder if the minutes they cut from the third behind-the-scenes were of them sitting at the table having drinks. Their faces looked a bit flushed by the end, haha, I imagine from the whisky. Not them apologising to each other for snoring from the alcohol, and not the editors putting in and describing their snoring sounds—everyone’s just too unserious, haha.

God, Jimin is so cute. His outfit on the last day looked amazing. Jimin tends to wear oversized clothes like Jungkook, but not as much as Jungkook does. And they look so good on him.

Was Jimin tearing up from the cold or because it was their last day?

Jimin went to wake up Jungkook, but why we didn’t get a clip of Jimin waking him up? I mean, did the editors rob us of that too? Incredible.

Wait, didn’t they sleep in the room they entered on the night they arrived? The one with the camera? Jimin just walked past it when he went to wake up Jungkook and remember Jungkook wasn’t in that room when he was unpacking the snacks he’d bought the day before. Oh, they did sleep in the room they walked into when they arrived, the one with the camera. So, Jungkook must have already been awake when Jimin went to look for him, or he was getting dressed in the other room where they left their bags! Okay, that makes sense because in the clip where they were about to sleep, the bags weren’t in that room.

Jimin, I can’t believe they didn’t get in the jacuzzi one last time. Jungkook walking over to Jimin to touch his head and say Jimin doesn’t like it when people do that, but that he can do it, felt a bit unnecessary. I mean, we get it Jungkook, you have privileges with Jimin that others don’t; no need to brag about it. Jimin looked super cute and fluffy at that moment.

I’ve always found it funny how the guys—not just Jimin and Jungkook, but all of them—are incredibly obvious when they’re promoting a product on one of their shows, ahahaha.

On the last day, Jimin looked a bit sad, nostalgic, and down. And that’s totally understandable. Did you notice that on the last day, Jimin wasn’t using his GoPro? Only Jungkook had one on, at least when they arrived at the restaurant for their last meal in Sapporo. Jungkook also seemed a bit livelier, but only to cheer up Jimin. When they sat down to eat, a GoPro appeared filming Jimin, but when he started eating and showing what he was having to that camera, they didn’t show those clips. I wonder what happened.

When the waiter brought the beer that Jungkook ordered, he put another one on the table but then it disappeared—did Jimin send it back? Jungkook realised that if he drank the beer, he wouldn’t be able to drive to the airport and continued to ponder whether he should drink it or not, even after the staff told him not to worry about it, shows... Jungkook wanted to be the one to take them to the airport. And he wanted it to just be the two of them in the car.

Are there no flights from Sapporo or Tokyo to the US? If there are, why did Jungkook decide to fly to Seoul and then the next day to the US? Wasn’t that way more tiring for him and his staff?

Jimin asking Jungkook which piece of sushi he wanted to eat, even when he won rock-paper-scissors to choose what to eat first, says a lot about the kind of person Jimin is. It’s the little things.

They really do have a peculiar and similar sense of humour.

Jungkook genuinely wanted to be the one to take them to the airport. That’s just too sweet. And now what that person said last year makes even more sense—that they saw them in the airport parking lot, I think, together with no staff around, just their cameras, and that a few minutes later their security showed up.

Jungkook really said: “We’ll enlist together, so even in dreams we should be together,” ahahahaha. God, I love the way they talk to each other. Jimin really did look melancholic that last day. Jungkook did his best to cheer him up.

They really loved doing the show; that was more than obvious. And I love that they had those moments of relaxation and fun before their world came to a halt for nearly two years. I love that they did it together, creating all those lovely memories together. That said, I love that they mentioned it. That they said they should do it again. A reboot, as Jungkook said. For Jungkook to say those were the best trips he’s had in his life is incredible and says a lot about what his time with Jimin meant to him. To them. And yes, they ate a lot during the show, hahaha.

Jungkook: “It’s like we were on a trip but not on a trip at the same time. It was all over the place, and that’s what made it fun.”

I don’t know how accurate that translation is, but what Jungkook said really resonates because, at the end of the day, that was “work” for them, and it didn’t feel like it. They felt at home, but not in a literal or material way; they felt comfortable. They were themselves. Yes, some things were planned, but the way they reacted to those or the unexpected things that happened is what made the trip special for them and for us.

“We’re probably enjoying ourselves right now too.” – Jeon Jungkook.

I want to believe that yes, wherever they are, they’re enjoying it together.

God, the way Jungkook looked at Jimin in one of the clips at the end of the episode. The man was enchanted. Do you know what it reminded me of? The Wlive the group did in 2021, the 210219 live, where Jungkook looked at Jimin with so much adoration.

I won’t lie to you, when I saw the last clip of them on the day they were enlisting in the army, my heart stopped for a second. I never expected that. It hit me with such nostalgia and sadness at the same time. It was a cruel reality check after all that happiness.

I loved AYS, and it’s something I’ll always treasure.

If you’ve made it this far, I’m sorry and thank you—I just couldn’t stop writing ajajajajaja.

As I mentioned a few days ago in a post, I'm going to share my thoughts/conclusions on the latest episode of AYS and the show as a whole in a separate post, which you can read here.

[indecisiveavocado]

words english badly needs, Channukah edition

Ambidreidelous: able to spin a dreidel equally well clockwise or counterclockwise. Example sentence: "I have discovered that I am not ambidreidelous."

Channuconfusion: Goy confusion and misunderstandings of Channukah. Example sentence: "Mary was so Channuconfused, she said dreidel was gambling!"

Channukah: Goy understanding of Channukah. When spoken, the "Ch" is pronounced as in "church" or "cheese". Closely related to Channuconfusion. Example sentence: "Mom, I can't go to school today, we're 'learning' about Channukah and I won't be able to stand it."

Channukemphasis: Channukah being overly emphasized or implied to be more important than it is. Example sentence: "It's classic Channukemphasis - Rachel's school 'taught' about Jewish holidays, which apparently means Channukah, Channukah, Channukah, with the token word about Yom Kippur or Shabbat."

Christmecca: When people of other religions try to claim or appropriate Channukah. Example sentence: "Why are the goyim always Christmeccing? Aren't their holidays enough?"

Christmissed: When "teaching" or "celebrating" or "honoring" the token Hannukah thing, getting the date wrong because they assumed it would be near Christmas. Example sentence: "They included a little menorah by their giant Christmas tree, but they Christmissed--Channukah ended last week."

Christmurge: The urge, when someone says/implies Channukah is the Jewish Christmas, to mention how the Channukah spirit is killing those who try to destroy us (or similar). Example sentence: "Oh, you think that's the strongest Christmurge anyone's ever felt, do you now, you innocent little child?"

Countfusion: Confusion when trying to calculate Channukah-related things because it starts at night. Example sentence: "Sorry I'm late, I kept getting countfused about Channukah."

Transliteranxiety: Worrying about how to transliterate Channukah. Example sentence: "It takes me twice as long to write a post about Channukah as it should because of transliteranxiety."

EDIT: @hyperpotamianarch has suggested the following word:

Transliterhate: hating how Hebrew is latinized. Can apply for transliteration between any two languages. Example sentence: "the name James really lights up my transliterhate, could you believe it's somehow supposed to be יעקב?"

[lotstradamus]

i'm loving all your vampire posting lottie! if you're ever so compelled i'd love to hear what you make of the books vs the show and if there are any book things you'd especially like to see done on the show! (also, bookwise, are you a lestat girl or an armand girl or a louis/marius/david/akasha/claudia girl or or or)

as someone who tried to read Interview with the Vampire thrice (THRICE!!!) pre-AMC show revival and simply could not get through it (it is melancholy), I cannot BELIEVE how down bad I am for these books right now. I keep seeing bad reviews on goodreads and girding my loins for each new book expecting the quality to nosedive, but 1 star bitch WHERE? WHERE??? I AM HAVING THE TIME OF MY GODDAMN LIFE

in terms of books vs show, honestly after a point the books are kind of Unadaptable unless they radically change the main cast, vibe and format of the show every single season, and the changes they made to IWTV were good to the point of sending me fucking insane so they can just keep on doing whatever their little hearts desire with the source material imo!!! howmever I DO have some suggestions for the upcoming seasons:

Lestat crying twice an ep (non-negotiable)

I would kind of love it if Lestat is the only character who tells the truth. the most reliablest narrator and normal girl to ever live. and yet every time he says something like "I killed a pack of wolves single-handedly" or "I woke Those Who Must Be Kept by playing violin" or "I snog my mother with tongue" Daniel is just sitting there like "............riiiight."

Gabrielle. Gabrielle Gabrielle Gabrielle. mainly I would like to smash cut to Gabrielle in the middle of really intense Lestat/everyone else scenes and she's just like peacefully sleeping in the ground... strolling through a distant jungle... sitting on a mountain looking at the stars in silence...

EXCEPT that one scene where she pulls up to Lestat's concert like she's in 2 Fast 2 Furious

it'll be interesting to see how they adapt Queen of the Damned because so little of it is actually from Lestat's pov, and all of it is amazing and cannot be cut out: [Stefon voice] the Twins, Jesse, specifically Jesse being haunted in Louis and Lestat's old New Orleans house, everyone hanging out/playing out terrible interpersonal dramas at the Sonoma compound, NIGHT ISLAND...!

I cannot stress this enough: GHOST CLAUDIA.

I want them to do Body Thief. fuck it, why not. must haves are Mojo, a random hunk with a PhD in Sam Reid's mannerisms playing Lestat for 6/8 episodes, Lestat nearly dying 25 times cos he pilots his human body like a drunk muppet, and, most importantly, Lestat BEGGING David Talbot for some old man pussy

oh and an entire episode set on a cruise ship

my favourite scene from the whole of Body Thief was Lestat turning David at the end against his will cos it was genuinely quite awful and frightening but also. um. you know. awooga

if they include Gretchen, then I would like the opposite of my Gabrielle request for everything post-Body Thief: whenever there's a peaceful, quiet scene it smash cuts to the wilds of South America where Gretchen is absolutely stark raving mad on the floor of a chapel with stigmata

I can't even begin to think about how they'd adapt Memnoch, but regardless I want them to keep the scene where Lestat drinks someone's period blood. thanks

also his cunty little lilac-tinted sunglasses that he will not fucking stop talking about

and finally, human Armand getting drunk and falling into the Grand Canal

bookwise, I am a Lestat girl the house down boots... I love his over-dramatic idiot crybaby ass!!!!! although the final page of Memnoch the Devil made me burst into tears and cry my whole face off until I confirmed that Lestat comes back as the narrator in future books soooo maybe like calls to like. self recognition through the other, etc. I do also get a shot of pure joy every time Armand shows up, especially in Lestat's pov. 'ah, there he was, the Botticelli angel, so beautiful. I fucking hated him. we kissed.' sis THEE dopamine.

currently suffering because I want to a) stop reading the series immediately so I can go back and reread The Vampire Lestat, and yet also b) never ever stop reading the series for love nor money. please help me budget this my family is dying

[hiraya-rawr]

so i betrayed you, my love– (2/5)

Xiao Version || Childe Version || Thoma Version || Gorou Version || Ayato Version

synopsis !! Part 2 of “You Were The Enemy All Along” featuring the aftermath of betrayal and confrontation, with more depth to their stories! (Part 1 of each character was also included to make reading convenient.)

contains !! some character lore spoilers / a little violence / dialogue heavy in some scenes / reconciliation but also complicated relationships mending together / cameos of other characters! / might be easier to understand if you knew the lore of the characters 

notes !! This was commissioned by the wonderful @mh8 who allowed this to be posted in public for everyone to enjoy! and honestly childe scares me to write bc I've barely written anything for him but I tried to bring out his charm? idk 😭

CHILDE

wc !! 2.4k

The noisiest of them all. He doesn't understand at first, tries to deny it by making jokes. The prank is up, what are you still doing? It's only when your betrayal becomes painfully obvious does he allow himself to laugh. It's ironic to be surprised coming from his line of work. He should really be used to these things.

"If you're this desperate for a fight, you could have just said so," He laughs, "Though, I warn you comrade, I won't hold back this time." It's so easy to drown in the adrenaline of battle and if he doesn't think hard enough, it feels no different than any of your usual spars together. There's a battle crazed look in his eyes at the thought of not holding back with you, but it's odd how numb he feels as Foul Legacy takes over. 

Whether or not he wins the fight, the result remains the same; with him lying in the middle of the battlefield, mask still on, staring blankly upwards. He thinks of the abyss he fell into as a child, and briefly wonders when did it all go wrong.

— Before Him

You sighed in relief, a long day of training was finally coming to an end. Dottore was not an easy harbinger to be a rookie under; aside from the harsh training requirements of a Fatui Agent, you also had to deal with a lunatic scientist for a mentor. You were lucky enough to have the doctor more distracted on conducting his experiments rather than training fresh meat like you. 

You leaned against a wall. You were in an isolated, snowy village, a mile away from the nearest Fatui training ground. It existed quietly, the villagers were as cold as Snezhnaya in that barren wasteland. You knocked twice on the concrete behind you, then an additional four times, then once more.

“Agent (Name), report.” A voice muffles from behind the wall, a figure you can't see.

“Pulcinella adopted a strange boy. . . He's coded as Childe. They say he fell into the abyss. He's quite strong, we've only sparred once but I know there's something off with him.” 

“Hmm. A peculiar new recruit. I've heard from the other agents.” Muttered the figure of the shadows. He doesn't talk much. You know it's to keep identities hidden and to avoid letting you know too much lest you get caught and the information forced out of you (and believe me, the information will be forced out of you).

“You think he could rise in the ranks? Perhaps become a general or diplomat?” You question quietly.

“I think he could be the next Harbinger.”

A sharp intake of breath, surprised. A Harbinger. The next and possibly youngest one after so long.

“Continue your work. Do what you believe is best for our organization. Leave any files you found useful under the gap.” Were his last orders before hearing the footsteps walk away. Work was never easy; you dealt with loneliness most of the time. The only comfort was when an ill-reputed plan of the Fatui failed, knowing it was only possible through your contributions and warnings. For every plan you thwarted was a step closer to revealing your identity and getting killed for it.

Yes, you're prepared. You've been preparing for it ever since you joined the Fatui.

With a sigh, you went back to the training grounds. 

— With Him

There’s a reason why Diluc Ragnvindr survived the hunt by the Harbingers when he sought out revenge in Snezhnaya. That should have been the first red flag for Childe. You were transferred early under his platoon, just when he was solidifying his position as a Harbinger. You were the subordinate he sent out to represent the 11th and, having the approval of Dottore (The old geezer, what a wack. Should he really be trusting a mad scientist? Childe questions this everyday) he trusted you enough to do your job.

Yet, the winery-heir-slash-fatui-serial-murderer escaped Snezhnaya with the help of those damned underground pests they've been trying to get rid of. Honestly, Childe could care less about the guy— if anything, he was immensely excited to try and pick a fight with him! But it still hurt his pride that one of his early missions as a Harbinger didn't turn out well. He needed to prove himself to the Tsaritsa after all! If not to at least make Pulcinella proud.

Going back to you.

It was always him and you; you and him ever since you transferred; sparring blade against blade. It was easy to get along when you were one of the only trainees close to his age, even easier when you managed to keep up with him in everything, bloodlust and all. 

You were his match and he was yours, or so he believed.

“Say, why did Dottore transfer you anyway? Did you get kicked out, pissed him off somehow?” Childe once asked, boots scraping the ground as he dodges an attack from you flawlessly. Despite Dottore’s rather crazed way of managing his platoon, agents were given a handful of benefits for being under a high ranking Harbinger with a budget larger than the others (Experiments don't pay themselves, you know!).

You huff, a little tired from the onslaught of keeping him entertained in battle, “No, didn't he tell you? I requested for transfer.”

“Oh really? What, did the good looks of a new Harbinger catch your eye?” He teases, going on the offensive once more as he sprints to slash his blade. You block it with yours, trying to push him back with force. When he does pull back, getting pushed a few meters away as hir boots skid on snow, you scoff.

“Good looks? If that were the case, I would have transferred to–”

He immediately sprints ahead again, blade nearly catching you off guard as you block the attack.

“Aww come-” Slash. Block. “-on! Don't tell me you're not-” Kick. Jump. “-even a little bit enraptured by-” Hit. Block. “-me?” He huffs heavily, finally catching your eye as your blade stays on his, pushing each other back with all your strength.

“Hmp. Must you be so arrogant?” You strain out, matching his force before– “Maybe. . . maybe just a little bit.” You avert your gaze at the very moment he catches sunlight in your eyes. Childe pauses, his grip on the blade loosens momentarily at your admittance. You take the chance— kicking his stomach back with force as he skids across the training ground, the sword clattering on the ground.

“Does this mean I won?” You giggle, your weapon still in your hand as he looks at you from where he crouches, a smile on your face.

Maybe it's the butterflies that erupted in his stomach, but he laughs out loud. Childe wonders to himself; Is this the thrill of battle? Or something else? You tilt your head in confusion.

“As if! I haven't even gone all out yet!” He yells enthusiastically, “Agent (Ņ̸̛͕͔̏̓ͅa̶͍͊m̸̲̫̄͝ȩ̴̹̙̄̀ͅ.)”

Your smile tenses. Your heart beats. Pensively, you also wonder to yourself; Is this the success of a mission? Or . . . something else?

— After Him .

You should've known.

You should've known, you should've known, you should've known that the Fatui would never have let a betrayal such as yours go so easily. The past few months after him was spent laying low, hiding from daylight and any chance that you could be recognized. A large bounty was on your head and the Fatui weren't cheap by any means. The organization shielded you as much as they could but even you had missions you had to continue fulfilling. You’d gladly risk your life for the better good; after all, if you didn't, you wouldn't have went undercover in the Fatui anyway. 

But now, he was chasing you.

It's back to the snowy forests of Snezhnaya, sprinting and dodging all the tall pines in your way. You hear him gaining speed from behind you, hydro blades swishing as they cut through branches, unbothered to waste energy on dodging. Distantly, the sound of a Fatui gunner prepares his shot. You immediately switch directions, a pyro blast landing inches from where you once were. It’s followed by more blasts, each hitting a little closer to you until—

“Ah!”

It grazes your shoulder, blood escaping the wound and soaking your clothes. You don't stop running, adrenaline keeping you alive and conscious. Childe barks something out in Snezhnayan. You’re too distracted with running to understand what he said, but the Pyro Gunner stops shooting and soon enough you focus on escaping.

A clearing appears in your line of sight. A field of snow and endless white and—

Crash! You're knocked off your feet, landing on the snow. You feel him on your back as you quickly force him away, rolling to the side and kicking. It's a blur from there on— a flurry of kicks, punches, scratches, the snow around you forming the most unrecognizable snow angel.

Until his hydro blade was on your neck as he keeps you pinned underneath him. No amount of sparring could've prepared you for a battle to the death with a harbinger. Your breaths fog together with every exhale, the proximity feels bad for your heart but finally, you get a clear view of the face you haven't seen for months.

“I win,” He says, an ever-so-childish grin on his lips, “Any last words?”

It astounds you how casual he is, as if you weren't running for your life just moments ago. Sparring had always been his favorite game but this wasn't like the other times. You do as you were trained (by both the Fatui and your organization)— you keep your mouth shut. Last words are worthless in the face of the enemy, you’d rather bite your tongue off.

“Hmm. . . the (Ņ̸̛͕͔̏̓ͅa̶͍͊m̸̲̫̄͝ȩ̴̹̙̄̀ͅ) I know would have barked back some words. You would've scoffed.” Childe says, the blade pressing deeper onto your neck, drawing beads of blood to the surface. “Or was that some personality you made up? Was it fun for you?” 

Silence.

The smile falls off his face. Something darkens in his eyes. “Alright. You won't talk, that's okay. Anyone who would dedicate their lives living undercover naturally wouldn't respond. I can respect that.” He starts, the blade doesn't move an inch on your skin, the snow numbing more of your back, “But at least answer me this. Not for your organization, not for you. . . answer it for me; was I ever anything to you?”

Silence. Keep quiet.

Something unrecognizable crosses his face. There’s a smile on his lips, but his eyes are pained.

“You know,”  He whispers, leaning down closer to you. “Whenever we sparred, did you feel anything? Anything at all?” His face contorts to a mix of frustration, “Because I sure as hell knew I loved you. I can differentiate things, (Ņ̸̛͕͔̏̓ͅa̶͍͊m̸̲̫̄͝ȩ̴̹̙̄̀ͅ.)! I knew what was bloodlust, it wasn't just me being battle hungry. I’m not dumb! I knew— know I love you!”

As if wanting to hide from your gaze, he hides his face on the crook of your neck. Forehead to the snow, blade stilling on your skin. Despite how cold everything is, the warmth of him seems enough to coax you in.

“. . . At least tell me how much of it was real. Please.” He mumbles slowly. Did you mean to cause this much anguish? Did you have to go fall for someone like him? 

The words fall from your tongue before you could even catch them. The lack of hesitation, the urge to come clean; “Everything. . . everything was fake. Even my name. (Ņ̸̛͕͔̏̓ͅa̶͍͊m̸̲̫̄͝ȩ̴̹̙̄̀ͅ.). It's fake.”

He freezes over you, listening intently. Snow falls quietly into the ground, you wonder if you'll be buried in— caved to become timeless underneath the ice. Briefly, you think it would be fine if it happens if it's with Childe.

“I know it's hard to trust me, but please— loving you,” Pause. You feel tears well up in your eyes, blinding your vision of the descending snowflakes. “Loving you was real. Is real. It was the realest thing I had in that life under the Fatui. I’m so sorry, Childe, I’m really sorry. And I’m sorry we have to end like this.”

“You mean it?” He asks, hushed.

“Yes, yes, archons I mean it.”

“Then what's your real name?”

Your breath hitches, “(Name).”

“(Name).” He repeats.

The awareness of the metal on your throat becomes all too obvious. Breathing too hard would cause it to press more against your skin. You try to calm down, trying to accept the falling of the snow (the fall of you) as the end of your life nears and suddenly—

the blade is retrieved. You hear the shuffle of leather as it's placed back into its holder. Blinking, bewildered, you glanced up at him only to see his boyish grin.

“You honestly didn't think I'd kill you, right?”

Your mouth falls open. You want to hit him.

“You're going to let me go?”

“I mean, I did kind of let the traveler go back in Liyue.”

“The senior Harbingers reprimanded you for that!” You sit uo, hands flailing as you grab a handful of snow to throw at him. He lets it hit his stomach, laughing.

“It's fine, it's fine! The higher ups don't really care about me as much as they do the others anyway,” He shrugs nonchalantly, “It gives me a whole lot of leeway. If I say I don't want to kill you, they'll just nod along.”

You stare at him longer than you mean to, holding his cheery gaze as the snow continues to settle around you. How quiet and peaceful to exist with him in that space. 

“Is this really okay?” You ask and he falls silent with you.

He looks away to the white horizon, speaking in a softer voice, “Well, of course not. You still betrayed me, I still got hurt,” He inhales, “But you love me. I think that's all that really matters, no?”

Tears well up in your eyes. You can't bear to think how close you were to losing your life (losing him) and how easily he pushes your lifelong conflicts aside. So who cares if you played for the opposing organization? Who cares if you struggled with love and truth?

You've faked yourself for so long but Childe would still embrace you, lies and all.

“Come on, the snow must be cold.” He extends his hand, gesturing for you to take it, “Sooner or later the other scouts would be arriving. You should keep running east.”

“Ajax–” You start but he hushes you gently.

“We won't be seeing each other for a while. I don't know when we’d meet again but. . . you know, I’m sure it'll work out if it's us. So don't cry anymore, (Name).”

Stiffly, you nod. It was this moment that you tried to memorize everything about him— his eyes, his ginger hair, the way your name -your real name- falls off his tongue. You replay every sound he made to say such a name, just for the sake of remembering.

“Now go—” He pushes you to the direction, “Don't worry! I won't let them catch the love of my life!” He grins widely, hydro blades appearing in his hands once more as you nod towards him, tear stained smile in response. Your feet take you away, further and further away as you hear the familiar sounds of his blades against his own agents. Icy wind whipping against your face. You can't help the laugh that escapes you, surely the agents would think their blood-crazed superior is in another one of his impulsive moods. 

You pity them and envy them all the same.

~

notes !! thoma is up next, featuring some of our fav inazuma characters <3 ill edit it into a post once my finals settle down (currently cramming in a cafe) I hope you guys liked this one

childe // i really tried to fulfill that he's the more talkative of the bunch! and honestly with childe’s history of forgive and forget, i dont think it's a surprise that he’d easily forgive MC and brush everything under the rug. if anything, he kind of likes the complexity as far as i could tell! by the way, did you like the inclusion of “before him, with him, and after him”? i think it was a poem or a dedication in some book. I really like the thought of it since it's a good way to divide timelines. BY THE WAY do you like the parallels? In part 1, he was left on the snow looking up at the sky. Now in part 2, ur the one on the snow looking up at him :D