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magicalmanhattanproject · 10 months ago

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man im just like. thinking about egg signs and how they've evolved over the course of the qsmp and how the qsmp has evolved over the course of the qsmp and just feeling so much love and affection for every part of the project. i dont have any grand overarching point with this just. like. here's a history of egg comms bc of the kind of person that i am

so wayyyy back ten months ago now at the start of the short and sweet egg event that was planned to last maybe a month at most, the eggs had their own custom, decorated signs!

[ID: Leo with a pink sign with an egg on the bottom corner that reads "hello" in all caps. Her nametag reads Leonardo. End ID]

They were extremely simple, single word signs. There was hello, hola, story, feed, sleep, and maybe one or two more and each was its own separate sign. The eggs could only communicate the most basic needs in words and everything else was through minecraft body language or just hoping their parents guessed right.

But obviously, there was a lot more that parents wanted to hear from their children. I'm not sure who was actually first, but the earliest departure from this system I know about is BadBoyHalo giving Dapper a simple oak sign so he could name his pet slime. (Screenshot from @/lxrd-ren)

[ID: Dapper wearing a diver's helmet standing next to a tiny slime in a boat with an oak sign reading "Bouncy (slmecicle but better)" End ID]

Parents quickly realized how much more convenient this was and pretty soon every single egg had stacks of signs to communicate with.

The next innovation came from Vegetta, who was the resident mod knower at the time. He knew about colored canvas signs and gave Leo signs in her favorite color purple because he loved her and gave her everything she wanted.

[ID: Leo's bed in her room under some Fooligetta fanart with a purple sign reading "<3" End ID]

Colored signs obviously had a lot of advantages. Being able to tell at a glance which egg placed which sign was a huge step forward in eggs being able to have long, complicated conversations as well as leaving obvious marks of their personality everywhere they went. It took a little while for them to be standard for every egg though. Bobby never stopped using oak signs even after Richas and Pomme both showed up with colored signs.

[ID: Two signs reading from right to left a red Pomme sign reading "we already started working on a guillotine factory" and a dark grey Dapper sign reading "thats the most french u have said so far pomme" End ID]

And this was the system for a while! And it worked pretty well for most people! The biggest struggle most people had was egg signs not being translated, but streamers adjusted to that by reading signs out loud so the translators would pick up on them. This also lead to adorable and fascinating dynamics like Richas swearing in signs he wrote for Bad and then warning Bad not to read them out. There was also the genuinely phenomenal development of Leolingo where Leo writes only in Spanish to Foolish because it's easier for her to write and he takes his time to puzzle his way through it and learn in a way that's super cool to watch someone else do onscreen.

Then Tubbo joined the server. And Tubbo himself had no problems at all with the system, but he is dyslexic and he casually mentioned offhand that it was getting kind of annoying to read signs after a ten hour long stream and the admin team Fucking Cooked.

Within 24 hours, they had TTS working on the signs. Within 48 hours, it was working on books too. I can't remember how long it took to get translation working, but it was definitely under a week.

And this opened up a whole new world of possibilities for the entire QSMP. The admin team has been on top of capitalizing on it for story purposes, but also just allowing the egg admins to speak in their native languages to everyone whenever they want has been so enriching for everyone involved. Leolingo is awesome but Foolish has been learning Spanish insanely fast and his process is a lot slower and more frustrating than most people can do in front of an audience of thousands of people without feeling discouraged. That's also one language. We've had everything from Foolish being able to check his work a bit more faster to Phil insisting on his eggs taking a day to speak to him in their native languages to Ramón writing a book for Fit in Cantonese, a language we haven't even seen on the server in any other context!

And all of it is fully understood and fully communicated! Sometimes the translators mess up but no one expects them to be perfect and people ask for clarification if the translator says something that doesn't sound right. It's not only a massive step forward in communication technology, but it's a great demonstration of how to use it and when you can and can't rely on it.

And finally, the most recent innovation! One of BBH's viewers sent him a dono saying they had trouble reading certain signs because they were too low-contrast. Bad, Richas, and Pomme just. Took it upon themselves to fix the problem right there and then. Based on One (1) bringing up their own personal struggle, those three came up with new signs that innovate tremendously on the originals.

[ID: Two separate images of the before and after. The first is the egg signs in their original colors with the corresponding egg's name written on them to demonstrate the font color and the second is in the new, higher contrast colors with the same text. The new signs also have custom decorations for each egg. The second picture also has two signs from Pomme in all caps that read "Send all the love to Richas he spent a whole night making this he's the best <3" End ID]

There are three main innovations visible in the above pictures

1: Obviously, the colors are higher contrast. The signs with white text have darker colors and the signs with black text have lighter colors.

2: The colors themselves are lower saturation. Richas said this made it easier for him personally to read them so he corrected that way, but that's open to change if it causes difficulties for more people than it helps

3: The decorations are for accessibility reasons! People with various different forms of colorblindness will find different sets of colors easier or harder to distinguish, but any of them can look at the decorations and use them to identify whose sign is whose instead.

But! Those innovations are not why I made this post! It's these ones!

[ID: The backs of the new signs when placed on the ground. Most visible are Chayanne's with vines and a hardcore heart, Sunny's with shining sunglasses, and Pomme's with an apple and the Eiffel Tower. End ID]

Richas added distinguishing marks to the backs of the signs too! This is something that Bad brought up specifically as something he wanted because it was hard for him to tell who was talking when he was using TTS from behind signs and couldn't see the colors at all.

We went from custom egg signs (a hotbar or so of words and nothing else to communicate with) through a long journey of expanding communication and expanding who we're bringing along on the communication and how easily they can join in and we've circled all the way back around to custom egg signs (they can say anything they want in any language they want and anyone will know it's them saying it from any angle)

and i guess i have enough feelings abotu that to write All This about it

#sorrelposting #qsmp

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moonstruckme · 2 months ago

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Hi lovely! I’ve been wanting to request to you for while bc I love your writing so much but I’m not used to requesting so idk 😭

Ok so I LOVE the way you write for wolfstar x reader. I was wondering if you could write smth where reader gets drunk (or just tipsy) and, bc of the alcohol, she gets more confident and starts being super verbally affectionate when she normally isn’t. It’s not that she’s shy but she just isn’t really a verbally affectionate person.

Thank you lovely!

cw: alcohol, inebriation

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“You don’t just casually brush a customer’s hand unless you’re hitting on them!” Sirius insists as he jimmies his key in the front door. “And right in front of us, too. The gall!”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to.” He can practically hear Remus’ eyes rolling. “He wasn’t hitting on me.”

“Our angel and I didn’t get felt up when he gave us our drinks.”

Something suspiciously giggle-esque comes out of Remus. “He didn’t feel me up!”

“I think you just don’t understand how handsome you are,” you say in a voice made of dandelion fluff, soft and light and pure. “People like you more than you realize. It’s sort of sweet how you don’t notice, though.”

The lock finally gives. Sirius opens the door gallantly, allowing you and Remus to spill inside first. You’re clinging to your boyfriend like moss to a tree, and Sirius is endlessly grateful for Remus’ physical stability even in inebriation so that he doesn’t have to support the both of you himself.

Sirius never sets out to be the most sober at the end of the night, but Remus only had as many drinks as Sirius and has somehow ended up twice as tipsy. Sirius’ theory: the bartender took a liking to him and poured him doubles as a token of his affection. Considering Remus’ tall frame, Welsh origins, and the fact that he’s been able to drink Sirius under the table since they were fifteen, this seems the only reasonable explanation.

“Me?” Remus sounds genuinely surprised, a bit of bashfulness creeping into his tone.

“Mhm,” you hum. “Remember that barista last week? She liked you, too, but you couldn’t tell then either.”

“She liked me because I had a simple order.”

You shake your head, smiling up at him all soft and adoring. “No, she liked you because you’re lovely.” You reach up, tracing the lines of one of his scars with your fingertip. “Very, very lovely.”

Sirius is inclined to agree, even as Remus’ face goes a very, very lovely rosy hue. You’re in rare form tonight, honey-tongued and expressive in ways you’re usually not inclined to. You’ve been overflowing with declarations of love and sweetness since you all left the bar.

“Do you want something to drink, my loves?” Sirius asks as Remus tries to collapse to the floor as carefully as he can so that he can take his shoes off with you stuck to his side.

“Awe, Siri,” you turn to him with a look of wonder, “are you gonna make sure we’re fed and watered?”

Sirius can’t help himself. He crouches beside you, slotting his hand alongside your face. You’re positively moony-eyed.

“I sure am, sweetness. Is that okay with you?”

You nod, rubbing your cheek against his palm. “I love you when you take care of us. I mean,” you get very serious, “I love you all of the time. It’s not conditional, just, this is a bit extra.”

Sirius is smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. “Noted,” he tells you.

You continue to look at him with that sweet, dreamy expression, and Sirius realizes you’ve likely forgotten he ever asked you a question. He’d be content to do this with you all night, except the only thing that sounds better than sitting here holding your face is getting to hold both you and Remus once he gets you both in bed.

Also, now your boyfriend is watching the two of you with a lovelorn expression, clearly feeling left out, and Sirius can’t have that.

“Do you want some water, darling?” he asks him.

Remus’ cheeks pinken again at being caught. “I wouldn’t mind some. I can get it.”

“No, you say here.” Sirius stands, setting a fond hand atop his boyfriend’s head. “Why don’t you two take your shoes off, and I’ll bring it to you.”

Sirius can hear you and Remus whispering and giggling to each other from the kitchen. Your voices intertwine in a sweet, steady susurrus, as much as part of your home as the hum of the refrigerator or the creaking of the pipes. When Sirius comes back with a cup for each of you, you’ve waylaid Remus on the floor, your torso half atop his and his hands cupping your face. You’re both smiling tenderheartedly. One of your shoes is still on, the clasp undone. Sirius sits by your feet.

“My lovely dovely,” Remus is murmuring, sozzled, squishing your face between his hands. You look nearly ready to melt into a puddle on their floor when you feel Sirius pulling off your remaining shoe and look back at him.

“Sirius.” You appear delighted to see him. “Did you have a fun time tonight?”

He presses cups of water into both of your hands. You sit up to drink yours, whereas Remus tips the cup half on his face when he tries to drink it lying down.

“I did,” Sirius replies. He clasps Remus’ hand to help him up, and the other boy lets him. “Did you?”

Remus runs his fingers up the length of Sirius’ forearm. “Did you really?” he asks. There’s a small divot of worry between his brows.

Sirius frowns. He leans forward, kissing it away. “Of course I did, lovely. Why are you asking?”

“We were just saying,” you answer for him, “that we hope you did still have a good time, even though now you have to look after us.”

A little laugh puffs out of Sirius, relieved. “Oh. Well you’ve got nothing to worry about there, yeah? I love looking after you.”

You glance at Remus, smiling. “That’s what I said.”

“Next time,” Remus says somberly, “you can get as drunk as you like, and we’ll bring you home and feed you water.”

“And massage your back,” you add. “And give you cuddles, if you like.”

“I like the sound of that very much,” Sirius agrees. “Is this your way of telling me you’d like back massages and cuddles?”

You smile at him dopily. “I love you,” you say.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “I love you too. Alright, you win. Back massages and cuddles if you both finish your waters and get in bed.”

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vigilskeep · 4 months ago

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things to love about lucanis dellamorte (on top of how enthusiastic he is about killing slavers), courtesy of tevinter nights

i find it personally endearing that a tevinter altus who complains about his fellow venatori “quivering over antivan propaganda” about the approaching crows immediately breaks a wine glass when he hears it’s lucanis dellamorte coming

lucanis finds the monotonous motions of sharpening his weapons soothing before a job. he has a favourite sword and on top of that carries no less than seven daggers

he groans overhearing his cousin illario’s terrible pickup lines. he also later, while completely alone, snorts literally just imagining stupid excuses illario might make

his abusive grandmother taught him an absurdly evil murder nursery rhyme and he still recites it in his head while assassinating guards because, and i quote: “it’s catchy”

“if someone wants to pay me top coin to kill a bunch of racist blood mages—who have it coming—i’m not going to complain.”

he writes dossiers on targets for his cousin to read, which his cousin ignores to instead ask him questions right before the job while he’s trying to focus, to which lucanis responds with helpful advice about the target like “he’s weird”

at the first gala he attended in minrathous, lucanis opened the wrong door and walked into an orgy: “getting out of that had been interesting.”

while illario has the silver tongue, lucanis is more agile and better in combat. when they sneak down stairs in the dark, lucanis goes ahead to show him where to put his feet

lucanis remembers people’s names—contacts, allies, people illario seduced for the job. illario, despite being the people person of the two, doesn’t and doesn’t care

repeatedly responds to the questions of the evil slaveowner he’s here to murder with “sì”, correctly “knowing even a single syllable of a foreign language would disgust [him]”. the guy snapping at him over it “earned a genuine smile”

goes into a bar covered in blood, walks right past the angry bartender who tells him to leave, finds his cousin and literally just says “get that man to stop yelling at me”

#lucanis dellamorte

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yuri-is-online · 1 year ago

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And in With the New (Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, and Diasomnia x Yuu)

"Look I would get rid of this thing if I could afford a new sweatshirt." You drag the offensive article of clothing over your head completely missing the spark of curiosity and mischief in your companion's eye. "I've got a lot of bad memories associated with this."

"If it's that uncomfortable we can go look for a replacement instead of-"

"Oh no not like that, it's super comfy. I just don't like it because it technically belongs to my ex."

notes: they/them used for Yuu, their ex is implied to be kind of a shit person, other dorms can be found here (x) Ortho is somewhat included in Idia's part but does not have one of his own.

Kalim- "Do you have any other things from your world?"

Kalim has expressed a desire for you to see as much of Twisted Wonderland as possible, and he stands by that, but it would really suck if the only physical connection you had to your home was something that brought up painful memories. Your past relationship isn't something that makes him jealous, just concerned since it clearly causes you distress. He can wait to get you more appropriate clothing until after he makes sure you're ok. If the sweatshirt really is the only thing you have from home, he'll be asking if there are any foods you remember or activities you liked to do with the people you actually cared about that the two of you can recreate in Twisted Wonderland. That way you won't have to feel the need to hold onto something painful and he gets to make you happy.

Jamil- "Then why didn't you get rid of it before you came here?"

On the one hand he does feel a bit second rate at the thought of you holding onto something form an ex, but his primary concern is the implication that your financial straights have always been this... dire. He definitely wants to know about your previous relationship so he can judge them for how much better he is, but once he notices that the memories are a bit on the traumatic side he stops pushing and feels just the slightest bit guilty. But really, if it's something that hurts you to hold onto then why do it? You aren't him, you don't need to do that, people love you and want to take care of you, him included. He's not going to just give you his hoodie, he would literally die of embarrassment, but he does get you a sweatshirt. If for no other reason than to keep him from staring holes into your back now that he knows where the other one came from.

Vil- "It doesn't suit you at all."

If his treatment of Epel is anything to go by, Vil is not above spending money on something he considers to be a pet project. Not that this... friendship is one of those, nor is he particularly jealous of some no name extra who was too blind to beg on their hands and knees to get back in your good graces. Not that he needs to do that you understand; as arrogant as Vil has a reputation for being, he is one of the people who has been more genuine when expressing concern and gratitude for you. His comment isn't meant to be a slight, clothing that makes you feel bad about yourself is failing to do its job as fashion, and as a world class super model that is unacceptable. In other words get in the car looser we're going shopping.

Rook- "Ah, I thought it was something like that."

Is it bad if he says he meant he hoped it was something like that? Not that he was rooting for your ex to be a bad person, he would never wish a subpar lover on you. But when he saw the tattered edges of your sweatshirt and how it clashed with the things you bought for yourself, he hoped that maybe someone in your world hadn't wanted your hands to be cold. If that's not the case, then if you are ok with letting it go as a lover of romance who is he to deny you your freedom? Granted tossing roses onto a fire while you burn an ugly sweatshirt is both very extra and very Rook but hey. He's having fun and you've got a new jacket.

Epel- "Afford shamford I could'a just made ya one!"

Offering their sweetheart their hoodie is something manly tall guys get to do and Epel has really really REALLY. Been looking forward to getting to that point in his relationship with you. He wants to feel like a real man, like your real man to be specific. The thought of some other piece of shit getting to do that first and treating you like a used dish rag pisses him off. Best believe he is huffing and puffing his way back to Grandma Felmier's boot camp with a mission to do you one and your ex two better by knitting you a pullover to go with your uniform. Everything that comes from Harveston is a top quality product prefect, better than whatever you left behind he guarantees it.

Idia- "So this is that kind of route huh..."

Of course you had a partner back in your world, if he can see your good points then a normie absolutely could. That doesn't make you less appealing, it just makes him feel all that more convinced he doesn't have a chance. He's halfway through whipping out his tablet to excuse himself when Ortho asks what you meant by "shitty memories" and they both get blindsided by just how much vitriol you have for a person whose clothing you technically kept on you. And suddenly he's back in business because there are few things that unite Idia with someone faster than a good old fashion bitch fest. Sure, his insults are weirdly possessive of you, but if he had any doubts about your feelings for this person he doesn't now! He's never heard you talk about anyone like this before and he finds it so attractive he almost forgets to short circuit when Ortho convinces you to try on his hoodie. Almost.

Malleus- "..."

Sometimes he feels like a broken record, constantly marveling at how little fear you have of him, but really child of man, you have no fear. Malleus has very little in the way of emotional intelligence, so he doesn't fully understand that what he is feeling is jealousy he just knows the thought of you with someone else's clothes hurts. Unfortunately for you both, in addition to not being emotionally intelligent he also isn't with the times and there is a non zero percent chance he will be bringing you a cloak and be genuinely confused when you don't immediately replace your old hide for his. (Lilia takes responsibility for that, he was making a joke honest.) Oh? The point was it's supposed to be something he wore so you can feel closer to him when he's gone? Well why didn't you say so child of man, he is more than willing to offer you a scale- what do you mean you can't wear that either?

Lilia- "Oh? Are you asking for one of mine?"

Shame has not been a word in Lilia's vocabulary since long before you showed up prefect. He always buys oversized clothing because of how cute the long sleeves look on him, but oh they would be so much cuter on you prefect, don't you want to see? Oh and while the two of you are at it, why don't you let him paint your nails and do your eye shadow. He's never had one of those slumber party things you humans do, you should make a night of this so you can both get a new experience out of this. He can have a slumber party and you can be the center of someone's world. Also what do you mean you're supposed to summon the devil at these things, he's already here.

Silver- "Would you like one of mine?"

Lilia raised a very good boy who thinks nothing of offering the shirt off his back to save someone in distress. Silver isn't a jealous person by nature, he's more concerned with making sure you are safe and taken care of than he is making sure you don't still have feelings for your ex. Above all else, Silver wants to be a safe space for you to come home to at the end of the day, like a proper knight in shining armor. Though he does have to admit, you look really nice in Diasomnia colors, they're really close to Briar Valley's so if you decide to come and visit he's assures you that you will fit right in. He's sure his father would be very happy to play host. Maybe too happy.

Sebek- "HOW UTTERLY DISGRACEFUL."

You think he's upset at you but he's not, that's made painfully clear with the rant he starts to go on about proper courtship procedure. Offering clothing to someone is supposed to be a sign of high affection, nay eternal devotion! And it suddenly becomes clear to you that Sebek has somehow managed to confuse the concept of a stolen hoodie and a knight's favor. He seems to have managed to convince himself, in the span of two seconds, that you are wearing this not because it is one of your only pieces of clothing, but because your ex convinced you that they're the only one who could love you which IS NOT TRUE. YOU UNDERSTAND HUMAN? DO YOU UNDERSTAAAAAAAAND?

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #kalim al asim x reader #jamil viper x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #rook hunt x reader #epel felmier x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #silver x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader

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thekeeperof-thefandoms · 7 months ago

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Hazbin Hotel characters react to your stims

(I'm doing my personal favorite characters, so if there are others you wanna see, ask me. They may also be slightly OOC.)

Vox

You can't convince me this man doesn't also have ADHD. He's just spent decades masking it, as well as most of himself, to present a perfect image. Probably heard the term as it got more well known but didn't really connect the dots until meeting you.

He fidgets a lot, tapping his claws, bouncing his legs, can't sit in a fucking chair properly.

Doesn't realize he's overstimulated and burnt out from multi tasking dozens of screens until you point it out.

Once he's aware of it you help him manage his work better so he can be less stimulated and tense. You buy him proper fidget toys to mess with and he makes himself some top of the line bass boosted sound canceling headphones. He gives you a pair, too. When you're both alone, you look up songs with loaded bass in 8d just to watch each other twitch and involuntarily move your head with the sound.

That's about the extent of the conscious level of unmasking he'll do though. He gets self conscious.

But, he adores the fact you're comfortable enough to stim around him. Or in public. He can and will violently end people for even giving you dirty looks for stimming in public.

If you show excitement and joy over being around someone through happy noms he will literally get heart eyes. Just be careful where you bite him because it may lead to something else.

He's happy to let you stim, which means tricking him into doing it more.

He remembers and sub consciously absorbs your echolalias or any word replacements you use. If you do a lot of call and response vocals he learns them. (Call and response is basically when you memorize a sound with two people. One calls the other responds. You can just say both parts yourself ((I do)) but it's more satisfying with someone else).

If you do happy flappies this man will short circuit. (He will laugh if you accidentally smack yourself though).

If you squeal and kick you may give him a heart attack. He thought you were hurt or something. He gets used to it eventually but it still startles him.

Vox is also a chatter box so you two can info dump about special interests to each other for hours. Neither one of you expects the other to remember details, but the fact you don't tell each other to shut up and are content to do your own thing while listening to your partner/friend gush is enough.

He has long since forced himself into strict routines so if you struggle to get tasks started or get distracted in the middle of them he's understanding but stern. Tends to cause more harm than good because he talks down to you unintentionally.

If you're a visual/hands on learner he also gets frustrated with you for wasting hours trying to figure it out yourself and getting yourself upset instead of just letting him do it for you. You get into a lot of fights about it at first. He gets better when he sees it genuinely prevents you from enjoying things or trying new things and that you just kinda default to defeated and helpless. He didn't mean to make you feel dumb, he just doesn't understand why you wouldn't want help. Until the tables turn and as he's getting worked up over something he can't figure out and you just stare at him.

He finally snaps at you what the hell you're doing and you smirk "need help? Why don't I just do it for you and you watch? Come on, you've been struggling for an hour, stop being so stubborn and just let me do it. I'll show you later, it's not hard." You feed his own lines back at him and his stomach drops.

"Oh....that feels...mmmm. Nope! Don't like that. Ok. Won't happen again, doll."

Realistically if you work with him and you make mouth noises a lot (bird whistles, tongue clicks, humming, random shrieks) he will get annoyed. It's distracting him and sometimes you don't realize you're doing it and mess up anything he tries to record. The first few times he snaps at you and it causes problems (hello rejection sensitive dysphoria) but eventually he learns how to better talk to you/communicate without accidentally convincing you he hates you.

Alastor

Probably on the spectrum himself, but it also could just be his anti-social habits. Either way he finds you entertaining and your bouts of sporadic energy and gremlin like behavior don't phase him. He's been dealing with Niffty for years.

If you sing or hum a lot to get work done, or listen to music he's all for it. But if you're the type of ADHD where work fast music=horny and bass he'll insist you wear headphones. If you're content to listen to swing (he'll compromise with electroswing) or jazz, he'll play the radio for you.

He doesn’t even care if you're a good singer or not, he just likes seeing you get into it. Will show off by singing it better than you though.

If you're someone who picks your fingers or skin, he'll slap your hands. You bleeding is making him hungry and distracting him. He'll find you something else to do with your hands. Same with nail biting.

He tends to pull his hair when stressed so if you stim with your hair he gets it and unless it's harmful (eating/pulling) he'll leave it, but if you're like him he's either cutting your hair short or braiding it.

Will die before admitting it but thinks you flapping, hopping, clapping, squealing is the most adorable thing ever. Also, laughs at you if you smack yourself, though.

Doesn't understand your memes so half your echolalia go over his head and he just kinda stares at you.

Scolds you for not sitting in the chair properly.

Smiles, nods, and occasionally says "that's nice dear" when you info dump. It's not that he doesn't care, he just can't listen to something he's not interested in for that long.

Mouth noises make his eye twitch but so long as they don't interrupt him, he won't scold you.

He understands you're not dumb but he also doesn't have the patience to help your or wait for you to get things done so he does them for you and tells you stop pouting when you get upset with him.

He likes you enough to not reject your touch and enjoys being in your space, but please refrain from happy biting the cannibal. He will bite back and it's less cute when he does.

Lucifer

The original AUDHD. You two chatter for hours about special interests.

He makes you stim toys.

You two do the adhd laugh so hard over dumb shit you gotta hold onto and smack each other thing. You both wind up on the floor.

Literally would never talk down to you or trigger your RSD. He's spent centuries feeling like he's constantly annoying, dumb, and struggling to time manage and do tasks.

Is equally fed up with people offering to do things for him because he can do it he just needs help getting started. The more you ask if he wants you to do it or when he's gonna do it the harder it is. So you two just sorta hobble together a system for getting shit done.

It's not perfect but if it gets outta hand he can just snap his fingers and fix it.

He happy flaps with his hands and wings and constantly knocks you or other shit over. It embarrasses him but you're in love. You two sometimes hold hands to do the happy bounce squeal, shaking each other.

He initiates happy bites more than you do. Honestly you both start looking like chew toys.

You two echolali all the time and share new ones you find. If you ever can't find each other, just shout one of your current vocal stims and he'll respond.

Literally, the definition of choas couple.

#hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #alastor x reader #lucifer x reader

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suhkusa · 4 months ago

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EGOIST 18.

PAIRING. Atsumu Miya x f!Reader

CW. plot, angst, did i say angst, betrayal

A/N. atsumu biting the curb in 4k

-> MASTERLIST.

Atsumu’s been nervous, yes. He’s also been scared. But nothing can describe the pure terror he felt in his heart when he opened up the link to gossip about you with a picture he took being the star of it.

He barely slept last night. He’s scared because things had just gotten good with you. He’s scared because how else did the media get a hold of this? He was never planning on releasing, nor does he ever remember sending it to anyone. So, why?

Atsumu is stuck where he is. He can’t move. One because you’re sleeping on him, and two because he doesn’t want to wake you up in fear of how you’ll react. He can hear your phone buzzing on the floor from when it fell.

He’s absolutely lost.

Atsumu decides it’s for the best to keep his mouth shut. To just be there for you.

No one would ever have to know.

———

You wake up to Atsumu shaking you, “Y/N,”

You’re groggy as you open your eyes. You’re almost blinded when Atsumu shoves a phone in your face, a twitter post being left on the screen.

When you finally come to your senses and read it, you jump up.

“W-What?” you feel around your person, “Where’s my phone?”

Atsumu is slow but he finally hands it to you. You’re frantic as you open your messages to almost 100 new notifications.

Coach Foster [7:45AM]: Stay indoors, there are paparazzi everywhere. Take care of yours…

Sissy [8:01AM]: are you okay? please call me back when you get a chance. me and mom are…

MSBY JACKALS (25 New) - Meian [8:04AM]: This is so weird, people have nothing else better….

Kiyoomi [8:07AM]: Are you okay?

You don’t know who to answer, what to answer. This is bad, really bad. Your eyes begin to water when you look at Atsumu, dumbfounded.

“I-I don’t know what to do,” your hands are shaking, “Do I make a post or- or-”

His eyes look worried as he pulls you into a comforting hug, “It’ll be okay, alright?”

You nod into his shoulder, “Just listen to Coach for now and we’ll figure out how to settle this,”

You sigh in defeat as you shut your phone off. “This is so bad, a scandal right after you guys won, I-I’m so sorry,” you begin to cry.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so drunk, I should’ve been c-careful,” the palm of your hands dig into your eyes as you cry as if they were trying to plug the waterworks.

“It’s not your fault, there’s always journalists around trying to find their next hit story,” he comforts, hand on your back rubbing soothing circles in it.

“Just rest, I’m gonna make some breakfast,” he kisses you on the forehead before leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You snatch your phone up to look at your Instagram. There’s DMs, new followers, likes and comments. Out of nervousness, you temporarily deactivate your account. Closing out of the app.

You’re about to click onto Twitter when a call begins to make your phone buzz. “Kiyoomi” labeled as the suspect.

“Kiyoomi?” you answered, “L-Look, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think-”

“Why are you apologizing?” he interrupts, “It’s not your fault, alright? But are you okay?”

His voice is filled with genuinity, it somewhat calms your nerves.

“No, I’m nervous, I’m scared. What if I lose my job? What if something happens to you, I don’t know how I’d deal with that,”

There’s a pause on his end before he continues, “You shouldn’t have to worry about any of that. Coach Foster knows what happened that night and wouldn’t lay it out on either of us. Gossip on social media is out of our control,”

You sniffle in response, allowing him to continue, “Just lay low for a little bit, we already have people working on stuff behind the scenes. I only called to make sure you’re alright,”

“Thank you, Kiyoomi,” you cry, “I hope you’re alright as well, and I’m sorry again,”

“No worries, I’m glad to know you’re safe. And again don’t apologize,” Kiyoomi comforts, “I’ll see you soon alright,”

“See you,” is what you mutter to your phone before you’re met with the sound of an ended call.

With a sigh, you fall back into the pillow and comforter of Atsumu’s bed, wallowing in your own thoughts.

“Food is ready,” Atsumu pokes his head into the room, a white apron adorning his body.

“You look goofy,” you laugh a bit, “I’ll be right there,”

With a nod he’s whistling through the halls on his way back to the kitchen.

Working up the energy, you force yourself up and walk with sore legs into the kitchen, finding a seat on the stool by the counter.

“How are you feeling?” Atsumu questions with a mouth of waffle, pushing a plate towards you.

“Are these Eggos?” you laugh, grabbing one with your hand and taking a bite.

“Duh, never said I was a chef,” he smirks back before finishing the one in his hand. “You didn’t answer my question, though,”

“Oh, yeah. I’m feeling somewhat better,” you start, finishing what’s in your mouth, “There’s not much I can do about it you know?”

There’s a look of relief on Atsumu’s face that confuses you but you look past it.

“Coach already knows what happened that night, and so does Kiyoomi, so there’s nothing I really have to worry about,” you sigh, finishing the waffle in a swift bite, “just gotta wait for it to die down,”

“Mm, I see,” he grabs your plate before placing it into the sink. “That’s good then, but unfortunately for you, that just means you’re stuck with me for another day,”

“Oh no how terrible,” you roll your eyes, pushing your chair back and hopping off of it, “I’m gonna watch TV,”

Atsumu nods at you before turning the faucet on to wash dishes.

You click some random Netflix show to play in the background as you filter out your thoughts. It feels for a while you’ve been on autopilot, but the gravity of everything is finally hitting you. It’s terrifying.

You went from hating Atsumu Miya to essentially dating him. The team you helped manage won the Division 1 Volleyball championships. And now, you’re in a dating scandal with someone you considered a close friend.

If there was a way to put your life on pause, you would. In a heartbeat.

A buzz on the table catches your attention. Atsumu’s phone buzzes a couple more times before halting.

The name “Angie” appears on the notifications, drawing your curiosity.

“Atsumu, who is Angie?”

You look back at where he stands in the kitchen, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

There’s a brief moment of silence before he snaps out of whatever trance he’s in.

“Oh, that’s my cousin,” he says, drying his hands off, “Sorry, I just haven’t, um, spoken to her in a while,”

“Ah, I see,” you put his phone down before drowning yourself back in your thoughts.

Atsumu joins you on the couch, grabbing his phone before his butt meets the cushion. He puts it on the side of the couch before wrapping a strong arm around you.

“What show is this?”

“It’s this one show, Ginny and Georgia, terrible, but I like to experience it,” you say which he nods in response to.

“I see,” his phone buzzes again, causing him to pick it up and type a somewhat long message.

“What does she want?” you prod.

He looks down at you then back at his phone, “She’s just reaching out after some family drama,”

You mouth a silent oh before turning your head back to the TV.

———

The 50 minute episode ends and Atsumu hasn’t gotten off his phone since then.

“Atsumu, pay attention to me,” you pout, shaking his arm.

“Fine, fine, let me send one more text,” he quickly taps his phone a couple more times before setting it down.

You smile before you hug him, earning a kiss in response.

“Ah shit, I need to piss, just give me a second, ‘kay?” you nod before he’s frantically rushing through the hallway, pants pulled down before he even reaches the bathroom door.

You laugh a bit to yourself. You reach for the remote when you see his phone light up with a new text.

He didn’t shut it off.

You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. You’d be lying if you said you trusted Atsumu with all your heart, but it’d kill you if you didn’t trust him and he caught you in the act of something stupid like searching through his phone.

Bzzt.

Curiosity might really be killing the cat, because you can’t help the way you look at the bathroom door then back at his phone, quickly grabbing at it and reading the most recent texts.

If you were a cat, then curiosity really did kill you. Your heart sinks at the texts between his “cousin” Angie.

Angie [10:02AM]: URE the one who took those pics. i just happened to find them

Angie [10:02AM]: who do you think uploaded that picture of sakusa n that girl? lol u can finally get ur mind off of her now

Angie [10:03AM]: what do u say? u tryna come over or what ;)

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #atsumu x reader #atsumu angst #haikyuu series #haikyuu atsumu series #atsumu x reader angst #haikyuu x reader angst #raeworks #atsumu fanfic

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lazycats-stuff · 2 months ago

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Hiiii! I was wondering if u could so a batfam x deaf male reader? Where everyone in the family knows sign language and all that. But during one of Bruce's galas the reader gets kidnapped and no one's knows until Damian notices that his younger brothers not there anymore? U can decide how u wanna finish it and its completely if Ur not comfortable writing it. Also I love Ur writing 😙

Oh hell yeah. Thank you for loving my questionable writing though.

Summary: (Y/N) is deaf. That doesn't help him when he gets kidnapped.

Warnings: kidnapping, protective family, fluff I guess...

Bruce was protective of all of his children. But he was more protective of (Y/N), his youngest child. Why? The reason is very simple. (Y/N) has been deaf since birth and that made Bruce beyond protective. (Y/N)'s brothers were no better than Bruce. Of course, they knew that deaf people could function normally in society. They knew that very well.

However, problem lies in two points.

First one being that they live in Gotham City. Crime is rampant, criminals are absolutely everywhere and the fact is that you get mugged at any point during the day or night. Although most of criminal life in Gotham operates during the night, no one wants to take any chances.

And even though (Y/N) doesn't go on patrol, Bruce still worried about his youngest son. Always has and always been.

The four birds shared the same sentiment. Everyone made sure to learn sign language and how to live with a deaf person. Rules were determined, such as, if entering (Y/N)'s room, just push your hand in and then flicker the lights on and off to signalize that you are entering. Don't approach (Y/N) from behind because he would often get spooked.

(Y/N)'s own words.

The second problem lies in the last name Wayne. Bruce Wayne is a well known businessman in the world. And the world of business is like a sea full of sharks. Bruce knew that very well. One drop of blood and they would be out for you and your weaknesses. And one of those is your public image.

Bruce was a proud father, attending anything that his children might have. Anything there is. He wants to be there for his kids, sue him. He would never allow work to take him away from his children. And the way he presents himself in the public is the way he is. More often than not, he hates how many people can be ignorant about deafness.

Sure, some may be genuinely curious about it and the questions come from a genuine place of interest. Unfortunately, such people are far few in between. Bruce can sniff them out rather quickly. More often then not, they often look condescending. Which is a rather judgmental way of looking at people, yes, but it's obvious.

Whenever they had a gall, one of the boys would be with (Y/N) to translate. And despite the fact that (Y/N) can read lips, he's not a fan of that. If someone turns their head and he can't see their lips, it gets more complicated.

Even now, as they are at the gala full of people, (Y/N) stuck close to his brothers, needing a translator. Bruce and others often rotated, to make sure that (Y/N) knows what's going on and that he's in the loop. (Y/N) was happy with that he wasn't out of the loop. It's not a good feeling to be out of the loop. Hearing or not.

He signed to Jason that he was going to go to the bathroom, who nodded, sipping his drink.

Jason signed back. " Sure, go ahead. I'll be moving around so don't expect to find me here. "

(Y/N) nodded and started walking to the bathroom. Jason glanced at him for the last time before moving to the table with food, ready for a snack. He was hungry and the catering at galas is just great since rich people pay for it. AKA Bruce Wayne pays for it and he also loves good food.

As Jason went to the food table, (Y/N) was on his way to the bathroom. He was about to enter when someone grabbed him from behind, putting a cloth over his mouth. (Y/N) panicked and tried to remember the self defense that he was taught. He tried to break free from the person, but the smell of the cloth made him go out cold.

Something was off. Damian glanced around the room, trying to spot what that something could have been bothering him so much. His eyes moved around the room, trained to find anything out of the normal. Then it hit him.

Where is (Y/N)?

Damian moved around the room discreetly, trying to figure out where he went. He talked to Jason about it and Jason told him about (Y/N) going to the bathroom. But that was far too long ago... Damian now became more suspicious and worried. He was on edge. He could feel himself getting more and more restless, his mind screaming at him that something is wrong.

He quickly walked over to his family as they all took a chance to breathe on the balcony. Damian made sure that they had some sort of privacy.

" Are you alright Damian? " Bruce asked, glancing over Damian. He could feel that something is wrong with Damian.

" I'm not alright father. I can't seem to find (Y/N) anywhere. " He crossed his arms as he leaned on the railing of the balcony. Everyone tensed up at that.

" Hold on, he went to the bathroom the last time I talked to him, " Jason declared and Damian nodded.

" But it's been far too long though, " Damian countered the point.

" Did he come to anyone, at all? " Bruce asked and everyone shook their heads.

" Okay, maybe he went to his room, " Tim said, trying to provide a logical explanation. " But he would have told one of us where he would go. He would find one of us and he would tell us... " Tim muttered, now worried himself.

" Should we check the security cameras? " Dick asked, worried, but trying not to show it.

" I'll check the cameras near the bathroom. " Bruce took his phone out of his pocket and going into his security feed.

Jason remained silent, feeling guilty that he didn't notice sooner. Bruce noticed and put his hand on his shoulder. " Do not blame yourself Jason. Please. You couldn't have known. This is our home and none of us should be on guard in our own home, " Bruce murmured and Jason sighed.

Bruce brought Jason into a hug. " (Y/N)'s going to be fine. We are going to find him quickly. "

Dick and Tim furrowed their brows. " What do you mean? " Dick asked.

" You 4 have to swear to me that you won't tell (Y/N), " Bruce stepped away from Jason and everyone muttered that they won't tell.

" I put a tracker on his suit. It's a small one, " Bruce admitted and everyone was shocked by it. They knew that their suits that they wear for their vigilante activities have trackers on them, but a normal suit, for galas and other events...

" It's only when we are at galas and such. There's no tracker on him 24/7, " Bruce elaborated before his sons could accuse him of something.

" Well, we can't tell (Y/N). But lets go get (Y/N) please, " Tim said and everyone nodded.

" I'll have Alfred make something up and we'll make a story so it doesn't seem suspicious about why we didn't know (Y/N) was taken. "

And that's what happened. They concocted a story about it and once Batman dropped him off at GCPD, Bruce came in as a worried father. Media had a field day with the story, a father and son reuniting after a such traumatic event. Bruce couldn't care less about them, his sons are his priority. Screw the media.

Understandably, (Y/N) was shaken up by the entire ordeal. Anyone would be shaken up after being kidnapped in their own home, but with (Y/N) being deaf, he couldn't hear anyone walking up to him. Not to mention, they put a bag over his head. Being in the dark, not being able to hear...

It tugged at Bruce's heartstrings. The other 4 weren't immune either. Damian, the normally stoic one, was affected by that aspect. Even he saw how scary it was. Not being able to see due to the bag over your head and not being able to hear because you are deaf sounds like hell. Damian saw it as a form of torture. And in a way it is. Sensory depravation. Only being able to feel with your touch or feel vibrations, but still...

Damian still shuddered as he tried to envision it.

The other 3 shared the very same sentiment.

And even now, as (Y/N) was with them, on the couch, bundled up in blankets, sipping some herbal tea that Alfred made to calm him down. Both Bruce and Alfred were trying to calm him down too. Bruce was going to find a therapist for (Y/N), that much is sure. It would have to be someone who can sign though...

Well, he'll make sure to find one. For now, he'll focus on making sure that (Y/N) is calm enough to try and sleep. Buce knew that adrenaline was still pumping, but that it will stop soon and (Y/N) would essentially crash.

Everyone sat around (Y/N), trying to calm him and make him feel safe again. Bruce and Tim were going to see how in God's name they managed to get into the manor. This place is more safer than Pentagon, designed to keep any intruder out. And he was going to find out why they wanted to kidnap him.

The best bet was probably money, but then again, you never know. And Bruce was going to make sure that he knew why. You have to nip the problem in the bud.

#dc comics #dc x male reader #x male reader #batfamily #bruce wayne x male reader #batman x male reader #jason todd x male reader #red hood x male reader #dick grayson x male reader #nightwing x male reader #tim drake x male reader #red robin x male reader #damian wayne x male reader #robin x male reader

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sarahreesbrennan · 14 days ago

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I remember reading in one of your blog entries (years ago??) that in the new book you were writing, the main character's *sister* had cancer. Does that mean that Alice was originally the main character of Long Live Evil? Was she going to go into the book to save Rae, instead of Rae going in to save herself?

How extremely kind of you to remember!

No, that was actually a YA murder mystery that I wrote while ill, revised while recovering, and sent out into the world where it died on submission. (Which means we sent it out to about 12 editors and the editor either said no, or said yes and took it to acquisitions - a group of people at the publisher including sales and marketing - and acquisitions said no.)

One editor told me she really wanted and really tried to buy it. Another person who worked in publishing (and has since changed jobs, or I wouldn’t share this) said the response at her acquisitions was - if you like this writer, find the next her (implications about health and youth were made).

I was terrified my agent was going to ditch me too, but she said ‘We’ll sell that one day, for now let’s write the next thing.’

I remember another writer telling me she missed my work that wasn’t a tie-in, and I felt ashamed to tell her it wasn’t that I wasn’t writing other things - it was that I couldn’t publish them.

The tie-ins meanwhile were paying the bills (they still are tbh!) and I was and remain so grateful for them. But I also really loved writing them - especially my Sabrina tie-ins, you don’t forget the first, and it reminded me I want to write horror and poly one day - and how they got me to love and sympathise with so many fandoms.

I see the burnout of caregivers all around me, and I wanted to write the story of one. But maybe I also wanted to take a step back from cancer. I didn’t think I did, at the time. I had a whole lot of things I tried writing before Long Live Evil, and I think some of them were really good. One of my critique partners gave me a lipstick with the same name as someone in the murder mystery. There was a romance novel another critique partner said was her favourite thing I’d ever written. But none had someone with cancer at the heart of the story.

And even though Rae isn’t much like me, maybe I had to start there. You can’t make real magic using someone else’s liver. Maybe I had to wait to be brave enough to use my own liver.

I do get requests for advice on how to cope with rejection of your writing, and I always worried I didn’t have anything else to say, but I suppose my example says - if you can, (and I know it’s hard, you feel so terrible at writing and so useless) (and you love the work you’ve done so much and you don’t see a way forward to loving the next thing) (but still, if you possibly can) write the next thing.

Even if the first thing sells, you’ll want the next thing one day. Writing the next thing is more writing practise, so it’ll make you better. Write the next thing.

Ultimately I’m really glad Long Live Evil was my comeback book. I think it needed to be. It took the time it took.

But maybe it was a shade of that past book (where the heroine’s sister with cancer was six, so not much like any of the Time of Iron characters) that made me think of the YA version of this book, which I always had in my mind as something I was intentionally hewing away from - a more straightforward book, a book that might have sold better - in which shy reader Alice was the hero. She’s the one with the suggestive hero name - Alice through the looking glass - the heroine looks, and the more projectable-upon personality. She’d get called annoying less often (though still some, because she’s a girl), partly because she is (with love, Rae knows I’m right) a genuinely less annoying person. Much kinder, much sweeter, and much better at in-depth reading! Her sister being in trouble would’ve been a backstory, a catalyst point, and - you’re totally right - a great motivation for her to get the Flower. Saving a family member is a much more sympathetic and heroic motivation than saving yourself and one I do love (the Hunger Games, Labyrinth, Mahy’s the Changeover, and I write it a lot!). I think Snarky While Tragically Dying Rae would’ve been a pretty popular side character, too. I think it would’ve been a good book! Just not mine.

I love your question because I love thinking about POV, and all the decisions that are the building blocks of a story. To me, the Alice centric Time of Iron is a version that exists. As are several versions of the Lia centric Time of Iron. And versions centring other characters exist to me, too. (Eric, absolutely.)

Speaking of POV musing, I think Rahela the wicked stepsister featured more in the musical than the book. If the Time of Iron series ever became a TV show (and at this point in time I think I’d rather a movie because it wouldn’t… get cancelled…) and I got to write it (don’t know why I would…) I would start with the beginnings for three characters about to go on a journey to somewhere strange to them: Key in the Cauldron, Rae in the hospital, and Vasilisa in the icelands. There are so many possibilities! And I really wanted the sense that there were so many possibilities, too.

But I wanted the chronically ill one to be the centre of the story, and for it to be her villain origin story, and to ask a lot of questions (hence a lot of villains!) about who gets villainised and why. And I thought hers, to my mind, would be the most fun of all the possible stories.

So that’s the one I made. But Long Live Evil has a lot of origins. Thank you for remembering one of them! I don’t think I would’ve dared tell the story, if things hadn’t worked out for me (so far, fingers crossed).

And I also tell it to be clear my publisher was taking a RISK with me and Long Live Evil, and I really appreciate that, and I’m so happy it’s worked out for them (again so far, early days, fingers crossed, etc).

I hope some writers - whether in the process of submission, rejection or making the choices that are the building blocks of story - find this helpful, and some readers find it interesting.

Let this be one of the universes in which your story is told.

#publishing #writing tips #villains #cancer #epic fantasy #isekai #Long live evil #alice in wonderland #labyrinth #the hunger games #the changeover #chilling adventures of sabrina

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feyascorner · 10 months ago

Text

8 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You try to swat him away, but his thumb swipes the droplets of blood to the side of your face, staring down at you with eyes that resemble rubies. You’ve always loved them, describing them as the gems you’ve stumbled across in such dire times, but now all you want to do is look away. They’re too harsh. They’re too cold. They’re too him.

You swallow the lump in your throat as he licks your blood off the pad of his thumb.

“It would’ve been better if one of us died that day.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. a little peek at what this guy is thinking before i move onto act 2 of this fic!! <3 also this specific flashback is not the usual pre breakup flashback it's right after the blushing mermaid incident !!

His nightmares have long stopped making him sick.

The same dreams where Cazador would have shackles around his neck and wrists, laughing maniacally while he carves runes into Astarion’s flesh, no longer bring him the same dread the morning after. Instead, he feels a kind of numbness that spreads past his physical being into the mindless stare he bores into the ceiling. Even before the birds awaken outside the city, it's quiet in the morning. This eerie sense of stillness used to be his favorite time of day.

Because when there’s nobody outside, there’s nobody to bring to Cazador.

Now, it feels too empty. Too alone. As if he’s the only person left in Faerun.

With nobody but his own mind, he begins to replay the events of the last few months. No matter how many times he does it, it doesn’t seem quite real. The nautiloid, the grove, the underdark—all of it. From the second he first bathed in the sun’s glory to the second he lost it all anyway, it doesn’t seem real.

It doesn’t seem real that he once had someone to care for him.

But he supposes he’s mistaken. He’s had plenty of affection throughout his centuries lurking on the city's streets, albeit rare for something genuine. Regardless, it did happen. Like Sebastian or other fleeting victims of Cazador who weren’t as crude as his usual prey. Genuine people whose biggest crime was falling for Astarion’s charms at the wrong time and place.

He doesn’t remember most of their faces anymore. He’s given up on trying to.

And like clockwork, his mind fades to the moment he first tasted humanoid blood as he begins to zone out from a particular part of the ceiling. A proper meal, rather than those disgusting rats on cellar floors he’s been allowed for most of his vampiric life. He remembers the liquid gold sliding down his throat and the sheer energy that came with it—some of which he hadn’t even known he had. He recalls the heavenly metallic taste of your lifeline. How, despite all the blood, all he could smell was your soap. How hot you’d felt against his own cold and unforgiving husk of a body.

Astarion swallows, forcing himself to focus on the chipped wood on one part of the ceiling.

While on any other occasion, he’d remind himself that he’d never have a taste of you again, you had given it to him. Even though he swore all the gods above were against his odds, you’d offered him your blood as he lay pathetically against the walls of the Blushing Mermaid.

But it had been different this time. Instead of that soft smile you’d give him when he’d drink from you in the past, all that remained was a stern frown. You hadn’t run your fingers through his curls and instead chose to grit your teeth, forcing your eyes away from where he bit into your wrist. Your generosity hadn’t been one stemming from affection but one of necessity.

You had flinched away from his touch.

He’s not surprised. In fact, he should’ve expected you to shove him away the second his mouth neared your skin, and he did expect it. But instead, all you’d done was brace yourself—as if you hated his touch—and forced yourself to stay still for his sake. It was akin to watching himself endure the skin of so many strangers in hopes of convincing them into Cazador’s dungeon all those years ago. He knows it’s not the same. He knows this, but hells, did he hate how dry his throat felt after, despite feeling satiated.

He would’ve preferred if you’d just left him there to bleed.

He hates that you hadn’t done so.

He hates that you hadn’t let him ascend.

He hates that he’s forced to live alongside you.

He hates you.

Before he can tell what he’s doing, he’s standing in front of your bed. How he got here is a blur, but he has a dagger in one hand and a fist in the other. You lie blissfully asleep, unaware of the blood-red eyes that stare down at you in a daze, illuminated by nothing but the moonlight peering through the windows. He takes a moment to take in the state of your room–and though he’s not shocked at the mess scattered around the ground and desks, he’s not pleased by it either.

“Gods, how do you even live like this?” he asks, as if you can hear him.

He glances at the glint of his blade and then at your sleeping face. The same face once peppered at least a hundred kisses against his cheek, laughing loudly when he’d feign annoyance at the marks left behind. You’d only snickered then, tackling him into an embrace and allowing him to return the sentiments. Those same lips of yours are now chewed raw, almost a bloody red.

“I could finish this endless fight right now,” he whispers, his grip tightening around the handle of your blade. “I could wake you with this knife at your throat, and you’d have no choice but to kill me. I’d return the violence, of course, but only one of us would live. There would be no use fighting any longer.”

Your chest only rises and falls steadily, and he notices he hasn’t seen you at such peace since he last slept beside you all those months ago. He doesn’t see the same expression anymore because when you look at him now, it’s always accompanied by furrowed brows or a downward quirk of your lips.

He wishes you would respond.

“Ha,” he scoffs pitifully, dropping his hand. He places the blade in its rightful place on your bedside table again and sighs. “This is much too pathetic of a death for either of us. If we were to kill one another, it should be done properly—not in this mess of a room.”

With one last pathetic scan at the details of your face, he turns to leave. But before he can even reach the door, he hears a soft gasp from your bed.

For a moment, he thinks he’s been caught.

When he whips around, all he sees is your clearly asleep form, yet this time, there is no peace in your expression. Instead, it’s scrunched up into a painful grimace as your fingers grasp at your sheets and your mouth falls open to take in breaths of air that don’t come to you. He thinks you might be choking on god knows what until one of your hands flies to your throat. Your nails claw at a collar he can’t see.

He glances at his own hands.

Oh.

Astarion slowly paces back to his spot beside your bed, watching as you writhe against nothing but the air. He realizes you’re not suffocating, but it sure looks that way. He doesn’t know what to do besides watch blankly with wide eyes, but fortunately for him, the moment doesn’t last long. In seconds, your hand falls from your throat, and you continue to grimace painfully. Still, you’re no longer choking.

The bruises have faded, but only physically.

The vampire feels his hand inching toward you but freezes, unable to bring himself within a foot of your restless body without doing something he’d regret. His mind flashes back to how you’d flinched away from his touch, and it’s enough to make him drop your hand again. And being unable to decipher what he’s supposed to feel, he just stares at the wetness of your lashes, his jaw tight.

His voice is rough as he speaks.

“You foolish bard.”

“You’re one of the Gur children.”

“So what if I am,” the small child, too frail for her age despite the fangs protruding from her gums, crosses her arms, huffing. It’s been mere minutes since you managed to sit her down on the forest grounds, bent down on one knee to reach her eye level, but she remains positively stubborn, glaring at the other vampire spawn who stands idly by your side while twirling a comb in his fingers. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“It’s important. You were turned recently, then, weren’t you?” you frown, and a flicker of recognition passes her before it vanishes again. “Why are you alone? Where are the other kids?”

“That’s what you want to ask?” Astarion hisses from your side, his hands stopping. “Stop indulging such trivial questions and demand to know whether the little brat was the one to kill that poor husband. The clock is ticking, and I still have to hunt.”

You snap in his direction. “Will you stop it? She’s a child.”

“A spawn—she’s a spawn. Get it right, darling, she’s no child.”

“You’re acting like a nine-year-old yourself.”

“Ha! As cute as it is that you’re attempting to insult me, let’s leave the lines to me, hm? Your delivery couldn’t be less enthusiastic if you tried.”

“This isn’t a joke, Astarion.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

You glare at him, and he glares straight back. The smallest of snorts, stifled by a hand, comes from Berry, and you both turn to look at her in an instant. By the time you do, she’s already back to huffing, her brows furrowed.

With an exhausted sigh, your shoulders slump. “So, did you kill Roger Highberry? Was everything an act?”

She hesitates, and though you dare to believe that what you see is sorrow, she wipes it away with a blink of an eye, gaze glued to the ground before her. “I didn’t kill him. I didn’t lie.”

“Do you think we’re idiots?” You nearly roll your eyes at his voice. “You’re telling me a spawn—one that’s been newly turned, might I add—wouldn’t go ballistic at the sight of fresh blood sleeping soundly just a room over each night?”

“I didn’t!” she spits, baring her teeth. “And I’m not talking to you! I don’t want to talk to you, you—you—asshat!”

It’s apparent that it’s her first time using the word, but you don’t bother mentioning it.

“You wretched little–!”

“Berry,” you sigh for the umpteenth time, ignoring the fuming elf behind you. “I want to believe you, but I need you to be honest. And when I say honest, I mean absolutely everything. Including why you followed me out here and tried to attack me earlier.”

She falters. And almost shamefully, she looks down at her hands again. “...I ran away from the other spawns. I didn’t want to be with them anymore, and I pretended to be an orphan to stay with Cora and Roger.”

“What?” you blink. “Why would you do that?”

“Ulma taught us vampires are evil for the blood they take from people,” she mumbles. “I didn’t want to be evil too. Even if it means leaving my friends.”

As she speaks, her face dawns with a wave of solemnness–one too familiar to yourself.

“If you’re not with the others, why did you send me to the Blushing Mermaid knowing that there’d be an ambush?” you finally ask, gentler than you should be with how Astarion impatiently taps his foot behind you, but you couldn’t care less. “It could’ve killed us.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” she blurts, searing eyes darting to your silver-haired companion. “I was trying to kill him. He tried to perform a ritual and kill the rest of us with the power he’d get…I might not be with my friends, but I don’t want them to die either. I don’t want to die.”

You feel your breath still. Astarion does the same, now unmoving from his spot. However, his shock stems more from offense. “Cazador would have rid of you anyway. You were doomed from the start.”

You glare at him, still maintaining a soft tone toward the girl. “He can’t harm you anymore, Berry. Nobody can.”

She points a finger at Astarion. “I can’t be sure until he’s gone!”

“Berry–” You reach toward her hand.

“I let you see Dalyria so you’d turn him in! Not to keep him!” she hisses, slapping you away with a snarl. “And the worst of all, you let him drink from you! You let someone who wants to kill the rest of us drink from you while the rest of us have to pay greatly just to survive! If you’re his friend, then I have to hate you too!”

Eyes going wide, you find yourself standing again, cheeks tinging red. “I—that was just–”

Astarion’s attention still seems elsewhere. “I don’t want to kill you, as appealing as it sounds at the moment. Even I don’t indulge in harming children, despite how annoying I find brats like you.”

“Stop lying!” she shrieks. “Petras said you’d kill us all! That the second you finish the ritual, you’d kill the rest of us to make sure you have no competitors. That there isn’t another person like you who’d go against the will of their very master—”

“Though it sounds positively delightful, I wouldn’t be the one doing all that bloodshed,” he snaps in return, fangs visible through the grit of his teeth. “It seems my dear brother has misinformed you. The ritual itself would’ve wiped you all—which would’ve been far better for the city, clearly—but I would only be making a choice. A sacrifice.”

While the two are too caught up in the wrath of their distaste for one another, realization quickly flashes across your eyes. Suddenly, you’re standing between the two, one hand inches from Astarion’s chest as a warning, while you keep Berry shielded behind your free arm. The act catches him off guard, and you think the downward curl of his lips should scare you. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Go hunt—or whatever it is that you do,” you demand, fingers inching closer to your weapon. It feels too dramatic, but you decide you can never be too safe. “I need to talk to her without you here to bicker and argue with a child.”

He scoffs. “Talk about what exactly? What more is there to know? You do realize that if I were to leave now, the brat would take another attempt at your life.”

“She’s a kid. I can take care of myself.”

“When you cowered behind me just minutes ago over a damn squirrel?”

Hells. You should drive a stake through his heart just for that.

Your eyes narrow. You might’ve entertained this quip on another occasion, but that moment is not now. “Go.”

His gaze flits from you back to the child, his expression indecipherable. You want to look away from his harsh stare, but your pride doesn’t dare allow you. And you’re thankful for it. “20 minutes then. 20 minutes only, and then I shall return.”

You nod.

With one last fleeting glance and a hesitant footstep, he turns on his heel, stalking to disappear into the darkness of the woods. It doesn’t take long because, after only a few dark strides and the rustling of leaves, he’s gone, leaving only you and the blazing vampire spawn behind you.

“Is that what Petras told you?” your brows furrow at Berry. “Is that what he told everyone else? That Astarion would’ve killed you once, he became an ascendant?”

She stares up at you, gaze blazing with rage. But there’s more to it. Loneliness, longing, and the most prominent: grief. Grief for the life that’s been taken away from her and reciprocated her payment in the form of fangs. She adjusts uncomfortably in her cloak, her tiny fists clenched at either of her sides.

Her silence is the answer you need.

This must be why the other spawn isn’t against the ascension. They can’t be against it because they don’t know how it works in the first place. Just as Astarion’s siblings believed the ascension would’ve rebirthed them alongside Cazador, the remaining 7000 spawns believe the same—almost ironic, in an endless cycle that repeats itself no matter what. They aren’t even aware of the ticking clock attached to their lifelines.

“Astarion wasn’t lying,” you say softly. “He wouldn’t have killed you after becoming an ascendant. He would’ve killed you becoming the ascendant. It’s the price of the ritual.”

She releases a frustrated grasp of her nails digging into her palm. “No, you’re just saying that because you’re his friend!”

“I’m not his friend,” you admit.

And despite expecting a pang of regret pulling at the strings of your heart as you say the words. No tightness in your chest, no dryness in your throat, and no shame for the lies pouring so effortlessly out of your lips. It makes you think that perhaps it’s not a lie. You dearly hope that’s the case.

“Then what are you?”

"I'm like you,” you say. "He tried to kill me too."

She frowns. “You let him drink from you. Nobody does that. Not for something like us.”

Your heart cracks a bit at her words, but you shake your head. “It was to keep him alive. To save him, as I intend to do for you.”

“You? You’ll save us?” she scoffs, clearly unconvinced, as she picks at the makeshift bandages wrapped around the wound on her arm. It’s a flimsy piece of cloth you tore from your cloak, but it’s better than risking it against whatever natural elements the forest offers. You gently pry her fingers away, preventing her from agitating the split skin.

“I did last time,” you remind her. “I’m the one that stopped Astarion from ascending—did Petras tell you that too?”

She falters. And while there’s an apparent hesitance in her eyes, there’s something behind all the rough exterior she’s built up from an undeniably traumatic experience of becoming a spawn. She looks up at you when you squeeze her tiny hand, almost hopeful. Because despite what irreparable damage the past few months have done to her, she remains a child. An innocent caught in a war of bloodshed. And what more can you gather from a child but hope?

“You want to stay with Cora, right?”

She nods sheepishly.

“Then you’ll stay with her,” you smile. “I’ll lend you my trust if you lend me yours, and you don’t run off anyway.”

“Promise?” You hold out a pinkie. She stares at it, but when she meets your eyes, she lifts her own hand to interlink with yours. For a moment, she almost looks like she's forgotten about the reality of her situation. That even if she were to live, she wouldn't be able to stay with Cora for long, given her inevitable nature.

How childish. Innocent. And you’d do anything to keep it from becoming more sinister.

“You let the girl go?” After ensuring Berry returns to her room, Astarion repeats the question for the third time as you turn away from the Highberry household in utter disbelief. The cold night air sends chills down your skin, and you wrap your torn cloak tightly around yourself, walking straight past him. Despite your apparent intentions of ignoring him, he trails after you urgently, following no matter how quickly your steps take you through the dead stillness of the city. “And what if she decides to kill the wife?”

“She won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” he hisses. “What makes you so sure she can go against her very nature to kill just so she can stay in a bedroom she shares with four other kids? All of which are very appetizing meals to her, by the way.”

You shoot him a glare. “I’m sure you would know.”

“I do. Which is all the more reason for me to step in so we don’t have to deal with yet another dead body on our hands.”

“I don’t need advice from someone who wouldn’t hesitate to use a comb as a weapon.” You rub the side of your head to soothe your headache.

“Seeing as you set a spawn free into the city, I’d argue differently.”

“Will you just shut up?”

“I didn’t accompany you to be a pretty toy piece at your side, darling. With the foolish choices you’re making, I have no other choice but to nag,” he rolls his eyes. The snarkiness in his voice is enough to snap what remains of your already worn patience.

“And you think you’re allowed to give me advice?” you spin around to face him, stopping dead in your tracks. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re basically a hostage! You don’t get to make decisions on what we do!”

“Well, who else will you get advice from now that all your little friends seem to have lost all respect for you?”

Your jaw unhinges. He stands firm, arms crossed, and it’s enough to make your blood boil. “Gods, you’re—you’re such an asshole.”

Astarion laughs bitterly. “Care to tell me anything new?”

“About your personality? We’d be here all night. You’re also forgetting that I fought with the others for your sake, you bastard,” You step closer, teeth gnashing together. “I saved your life.”

“I would’ve survived with or without your help, darling.”

“You only got this far because our friends helped you!”

“Would you like me to be grateful?” he guffaws, and your chest tightens at how condescending it sounds. “Because must I remind you that you also stole the only chance of me escaping this filthy life where I rot away on the streets and feed on lowly criminals? You’ve forced me to be what I am, and now you think I’m indebted to you?”

Why does he keep saying that? You fight the urge to just punch him.

“I’m not saying you owe me anything, you fool!” your eyes meet his in a blaze of fire. Your heart beats rapidly, and you sincerely hope it’s gone unnoticed. “How many times do I have to tell you that I never forced you to do anything—I was stopping you from becoming like Cazador!”

He’s suddenly looming over you, his gaze sharper than before in a frenzied manner. Just mentioning his old master’s name is enough to push him on the offensive. “I never would’ve become like him…not after what that bastard did to me. I would’ve become stronger and been able to help you. Us. So why in the bloody hells you ever stopped me–”

The words pour out like a mountain of sand held by a twig, and you reach to grab the collar of his shirt. “I didn’t need help! Neither of us did, Astarion. It would’ve been hard, but we would’ve made it out like we always do if we just tried!”

You’re unsure you’ll make it out this time, but does it matter anymore?

His frown creases as if none of your pleas are getting through his thick skull. And while you have half a heart to keep blurting out whatever comes to your mind, his sudden silence and the smallest of steps he takes away from you make you seal your mouth shut. Like he’s closing the door again. Like he’s leaving you all alone again.

Your voice drops, and you bring your hand back to your side.

“You’re not being fair, Astarion.”

“Darling, I’ve followed all your stupid rules and remained on my best behavior till now, even when I could’ve caused more than a few casualties. Hells, I even watched that girl go back to the orphanage alive,” he says, quieter. “I’ve been more than fair.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What is it, then?”

“It feels like you know everything I’m constantly thinking of, whether it be you or something else,” you mumble. “But you won’t let me know what you’re thinking. I’m not asking you to tell me your deepest secret…I just need to know what I’ve done to deserve the bullshit I have to put up with. I took away the ascension from you; I get that, but is that really it? Is that really why you hate me this much? What’s worse, is that very time it feels like we can finally talk, you just—you tell me that you hate me again and then leave it there to fester even more anger on both sides.”

Astarion stares at you, his expression impossible to read. Horrified but unrelenting of the mountain of unsaid words, you continue. “Just talk to me.”

Why, you want to ask. He knows you only did what you thought was best at the time, so what have you done to deserve such cruelty?

Why do you hate me so much?

He gives you a long, hard look. It was surely only a few split seconds, but it seems like hours as you don’t even dare to breathe, rooted in place as you await his answer. It’s infuriating that you can’t tell what he’s thinking even now. He’s always been far too good at masking his feelings, and while he’d used it against you once, you never thought he’d have to again. And finally, when he moves, he doesn’t move to speak.

He shuts his eyes, and when they open again, he’s grinning. That fake, beautiful grin that brings you so much anguish and conflict simultaneously that it makes the sides of your head pound with the beating of your heart. “Fine, darling. Let’s talk if you want to so badly.”

It's so artificial that it leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

You wish he’d just tell you he hates you again.

He’s blocking you out again. Again and again, no matter how many times you take a step forward, he takes a few back, and the distance between the two of you grows larger. It’s just so exhausting and repetitive. You’re sick of it.

“Why do I hate you? Where should I start?” he hums. “Ah, perhaps when you took it upon yourself to be the one to stab a knife through Cazador’s heart. I’m rather curious myself, darling, how did it feel? Could you feel his screams through your dagger, or were you too occupied watching the life drain from his face? Was it hard to reach his heart? Did he struggle? Oh, do tell, I’d love to know how that bastard suffered.”

The words feel like a knife to your own chest.

“To think that could have been me if I hadn’t seduced you when we met…You could’ve pierced a stake through my heart when you first caught me longing for your blood. Can you believe it? If you’d just killed me then, you wouldn’t be standing here now. You wouldn’t have let me bed you in that dirty forest clearing, and you would have never felt my lips upon yours. I could have chosen anyone else---anyone in the camp---and we wouldn't be standing here, but Gods was it easy to seduce you."

He stops, and his next words make the blood drain from your face.

"Just like the thousand other victims I brought to Cazador. You're no different from them...all you want from me are my weaknesses. You kept me this way to keep me fragile, and pathetic."

Has listening to someone's voice always been so difficult?

“I didn't—”

“But I suppose you’re the victor in another sense, my dear,” he sneers, his face impossibly close to yours, but he’s never felt so far away. “You should count yourself lucky. Few can say they’ve managed to bed me and survive to tell the tale. You even managed to make me fall for you! You, a simple naive bard, managed to seduce me! And Gods, did you put up a glorious show, darling, betraying me like you did. It was an ingenious move on your part, preventing me from reaching my full potential—the hero of Baldur’s Gate wouldn’t want anything tainting their beloved city with blood, after all–”

No, this is all wrong. This does nothing but make things worse. You wish he'd just stop.

In the blink of an eye, Astarion stops speaking. With expecting eyes, his attention flickers to the knife now pointed at his pale throat. You practically gnaw on the inside of your cheek as you inch the knife just a few centimeters from breaking skin. “Shut up.”

Astarion’s glare narrows on your hand. “Enough talking for you?”

You see that whatever man you fell in love with in what feels like another lifetime was a mask. Deep down, you’ve known that the face he wears is nothing but a facade ever since this entire fiasco started and he’d situated himself into your home. Yet, the cruelty still hurts. It hurts how much he detests you with the very same face that once worshipped your very breath. Gods, you’d been so foolish, thinking a damn vampire spawn could feel anything other than hunger….much less love.

He’d likely prefer to eat out your heart than hold it in his cold, dead hands. He’d watch you with those sultry eyes as he sinks his teeth into what remains of your heart and feels nothing but his own thirst being satiated.

So you won’t give him the opportunity. You won’t give him your heart again, even as the sky falls and the ground dissipates.

You’ve done it once, and you’ve never regretted anything more.

“You’re turn, my dear,” he says. “If you wish to say something, feel free to do so.”

He steps closer, and the tip of your blade draws a small bead of blood. He doesn’t seem to care.

Red, red, red. Your vision is growing blurry.

You inhale sharply. Breathe. You can still breathe. Words that had been bottled up inside dissipate the longer you watch him, as you understand that no matter what you say or do, he will remain as he is. While you want to tell yourself it’s because time itself has ceased for him, you know he doesn’t want to change in the first place.

“I should kill once this is over,” you mutter calmly. His blood now falls down the side of your knife. “But I’m not like you. I’m not as pathetic or petty as you are, even though I’ve been through less than you probably have. I don’t attempt murder just because things don’t go my way.”

His smile twitches.

“If you like being alone so much, then I won’t stop you. Once this is all over, I never want to see you again. I don’t care what you do, but I just want you to disappear. I want you gone, forever, in whatever shadows you hide in during the day.”

It only seems like yesterday when you begged the moon to see him one last time.

Even though he’s speaking through his teeth, he nods as you bring your knife back to your side. “I’m glad we have something to agree on.”

You want to laugh, but you fear it’ll come out as cracked.

“And you’re right,” you wipe his blood off the dagger on your sleeve, not bothering to spare him a glance. “I should have let the others behead you when we met.”

If he wants to sabotage the little good left in his life, let him. If he wants to be miserable for the rest of his undying days over what’s already been done, let him. You don’t care anymore.

Amusement drips from his voice. “A shame.”

His finger tilts your chin upward, his thumb rubbing at the side of your cheek. It’s then that you realize there’s a whiff of blood coming from a wound on your skin—a result of the forest, you’d guess. You try to swat him away, but his thumb swipes the droplets of blood to the side of your face, staring down at you with eyes that resemble rubies. You’ve always loved them, describing them as the gems you’ve stumbled across in such dire times, but now all you want to do is look away. They’re too harsh. They’re too cold. They’re too him.

You swallow the lump in your throat as he licks your blood off the pad of his thumb.

“It would’ve been better if one of us died that day.”

He takes his time to respond.

“I know.”

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