#THANK YOU ICE PICK LODGE

[crow-mortis]

Pathologic 3 - Planned to release in 2025

[ceilidho]

Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 2 | masterlist

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Sweat beads on your brow as summer approaches its zenith. Its hottest point. You splurge on an iced caramel latte from the gas station on the way over and pick one up for John as well. Your arm is already stretched out when he opens the front door to let you in, offering it to him. 

“I, uh…thought you might want one as well,” you explain, stuttering through your words. Crumbling under his amused expression. 

You crave it though. His approval. That fond smile that seems reserved especially for you. The rare murmured good girl, his hand sometimes coming down to ruffle your hair. Even the memory of it makes your breath get lodged in your throat. You covet every crumb of it.

He takes the iced latte from you though before heading out for the day. Gift received. Even squeezes your shoulder in thanks before he shuts the door behind him, and you manage to keep from swooning until you hear his car pull out of the driveway. 

You stand by the window with the baby pressed to your chest for so little that you can’t blame when a little fist tugs at your hair. 

“Sorry, lovie,” you whisper into his fuzzy hair. Inhale deeply. 

It’s not as though you’re starved for things to do. Were John’s son a few years older, you might have your work cut out for you, but there’s still plenty to do around the house even when you put the baby down for his morning nap. You save the vacuuming for when baby is awake and you’re not in danger of hearing him suddenly start crying through the baby monitor, but you dust and fold laundry and start the dishwasher and take the recycling out and by the time the baby is ready for lunch, you’ve already broken a light sweat. 

Let no one tell you that babysitting is a walk in the park.

That being said, you do put the baby in his stroller for a walk in the park after lunch. 

The park isn’t terribly far from John’s house, so coupled with the short path around the park and the walk back, you’ll get a good amount of steps in today without risking the baby being late for his mid afternoon nap. 

It’s hard to not have an accidental, forbidden thought. Something like I wonder if anyone thinks I’m the baby’s mom when you push the stroller past a group of moms gathered together near the jungle gym, their kids sprinting on wobbly legs and climbing like dexterous little wildlings. 

Those thoughts are dangerous though, best kept under wraps. Clandestine. Because once you start having those thoughts, they never really go away; they just get relegated to a part of your brain that switches on when the lights go off and you think about what it must have been like to carry a baby in your stomach for nine months. 

You’re in danger, girl, a small voice in your head warns you. It’s hard to hear her clearly these days. 

John comes earlier for once, around midday. It takes you by surprise. You jump when the door opens, the sound ricocheting off the walls like a gunshot and, in that same second, a wave of terror and rage washes over you, your heart already racing at the thought of someone breaking in while it’s just you and the baby home. You spring to your feet, hands already trembling by your sides, and then his familiar shape walks into the room, boots still on and all.

He pauses when he sees your shoulders slump with relief. 

“Sorry,” you breathe, heart still racing. “I thought you were…” Your voice trails off towards the end because you don’t know how to say it without sounding silly. 

His eyes cut to the baby in the bouncy chair behind you, your body still stood protectively in front of him, and then they soften. 

“No, that’s on me—should’ve given you a ring before I left,” he says, a light apology in his voice. He throws his keys into the bowl in the foyer before stalking towards you. You stare up at him wide eyed, only blinking when he ruffles your hair before bypassing you to go pick up his son. 

“How’s my baby?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the baby’s milksoft cheek, and your heart spins and cartwheels in your chest. All sorts of tricks that keep you rooted in place, unable to manage a single word. “You been good today?”

I’ve been good, you almost croak out, the words on the tip of your tongue. You swallow. Force them back down. You’re not his baby. 

Another dinner invitation that you can’t turn down. Not because it wouldn’t be polite but because you couldn’t muster up the will to refuse even if you really did have plans. Lucky that you don’t. 

When he puts the baby down to sleep for the night, you linger by the door, sure you’re a platitude or two away from being shown out for the night. John calls your name from the kitchen though, drawing you deeper into the house again. 

“Go put something on,” he instructs when you idle under the archway of the door. With his back to you, you can’t make out the expression on his face, leaving you no choice but to gawp at the undulation of his shoulder muscles as he washes out the dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher. “You want something to drink?”

“Just, uh—” you rasp, clearing your throat. “Just juice, thanks.”

You can’t settle on anything to stream, nothing perking your interests; or maybe you’re just too antsy to make an informed decision on what to watch right now. 

There are other things to worry about. Like John moving around in the other room or the way your denim shorts ride up when you sit down, bunching up at the crotch. You make an attempt to lift your hips and pull them back down as much as you can, but you panic and abort your plan when John comes into the room, embarrassed at the thought of being caught readjusting yourself. 

The cushion under you bounces slightly when John drops himself down onto the couch beside you, the motion making your shorts ride up even more. You wince when the seam presses tight against your clit, on the edge of mildly painful and turning you on. 

“Here, sweetheart,” he says, putting his own drink down on the coffee table before handing you your glass of juice. 

“Thanks,” you bleat, taking a sip almost instantly to mask the look on your face, afraid he’ll read the panic there and press for details. 

He sits closer than usual, as he always does these days. It’s not something you ever discuss. It just seems to happen. Slowly, like ice sheets drifting over water. One day you’re sitting on opposite sides of the couch and the next he’s all up in your space, thigh to thigh with you while the living room goes dark and the TV glows, the reflection throbbing against the glass. An ever-flickering light that illuminates the side of his head when you peer up at him.

Your tongue rests against the roof of her mouth, dry; sparing.

With his arm resting on the back of the couch over your shoulder, the scent of him is almost smothering. Each inhale makes your head spin. If you were to tilt your head to the side, you’d be level with his armpit, his scent strongest there, and that thought spins in your head like a merry-go-round until someone in the movie you’re supposed to be watching shouts, dragging your attention back to it. 

“Christ, these are little, huh?” John grunts, suddenly reaching over to pinch the frayed ends of your shorts between his fingers. “This what the kids these days are wearing?” 

You don’t know how to respond to that. Your body’s so hot that you feel like you’re swimming in heat, sweat prickling at your hairline and on the back of your neck. 

“I-it’s hot out,” you stutter, your whole body suddenly hot. With how high your shorts have ridden up, his fingers are precariously close to your core, just a hairsbreadth from skimming up your inner thigh and brushing against your folds, now plump and sensitive. 

You wonder if he can make out the outline of your pussy from underneath your shorts. They hug into the seam of your legs, pinching the skin of your inner thighs. You don’t dare glance down. 

He hums, pulling his hand away and you stare wide eyed at the television in front of you when you shift and the glide between your legs tells you just how wet you are. Sitting on the couch next to your boss twice your age with a wet pussy. 

You lean forward to try and readjust, masking the movement by reaching blindly for your glass on the coffee table at the same time. You must pick up the wrong glass by accident though because when you go to lift it to your lips, John’s hand stops you, fingers curling around yours and easily tugging the glass away from your mouth. 

“No, baby, that’s mine; bit young for a drink, aren’t you?” John chuckles, eyes squinting with his smile. 

“I’m legal,” you frown, pouting. 

He acts like that sometimes; like he doesn’t keep track of how old you are. 

“All right, but only a sip, got it?” he cautions, handing you the glass. 

You don’t know why you take it. You would’ve been better admitting to your mistake and putting the glass back down. 

He chuckles when you wince on your sip, nearly spitting it up. Horrifically embarrassing because it’s not like you’ve never had a drink before. You’ve gone out for drinks plenty of times with friends. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, taking the glass from you and flicking his knuckle against your bottom lip as he does. “That’s what I thought.”

And it happens again and again. Head resting on his shoulder when you drift off on the couch before he shakes you awake. In the grocery store, he comes up behind you while you’re pushing the cart and puts his arms around to steer you down another aisle, his broad chest pressed against your back. 

You hold your tongue. Bite off and chew the words. Because it’s nothing; it’s innocent. You’ve known from the get-go that John is more of a man of action than words. If anything, you’re the one reading too much into things. Little touch-starved girl from the bad side of town. It’s not his fault that you preen when he praises you; that you bunt your head against his hand when he ruffles your hair. Every drop of affection soaked up, savoured. Nourishing your heart and your soul. So lonely, so wanting. All those years holed up on your own, no warm body in the bed beside you. 

Then John Price waltzed in and you expected to keep everything sealed up tight in your chest.

So it’s no wonder you gorge yourself on his touch and hope he doesn’t notice the way you lean into it. The rabbit-quick beat of your heart. Your want simmering under your skin, a disgusting, base thing desperate for gentleness. 

You wonder if he sees the same thing when he looks at you.

In the heat of summer, John invites you to join him and the baby for a weekend at the beach in Portugal.

You only say yes because it’s the dog days of summer. At the beach, there’ll be umbrellas to sit under and beer coolers of cold drinks and the ice cold Atlantic to swim in. Plus, you’ve had little opportunity in your life to travel—you’ve barely stepped foot in France, never mind Portugal. But John has friends with a house in the Algarve that have graciously offered him the week, so who are you to say no to such a thoughtful gesture? 

The only reason you consider not going is because you can’t shake the sense of foreboding. 

“Baby, can you get my back?” John asks when you arrive at the beach the first day of your trip, and when you turn back to him, you have to act quick to catch the sunscreen lobbed your way. 

That’s how you find yourself kneeling in the sand behind him, rubbing sunscreen on his back. His shoulders flex under your hands, and you can feel the muscle bunching and relaxing with each swipe across his shoulder blades. The worst is when you get to his low back. John’s groans are obscenely loud, guttural rumblings from the back of his throat. Ravenous. 

“Okay, that’s everything,” you chirp, rubbing the excess off on your thighs. 

“Good,” John says, twisting around. “Now it’s your turn.”

Your eyes widen.

“Wait—I don’t need to—”

You don’t know quite how he manages it, but a couple minutes later, you find yourself lying flat on your stomach on your beach towel, John squirting a good amount of sunscreen onto the middle of your back. All you get as a warning is the sunscreen bottle tossed to the ground beside your head before two big hands come down to your back to massage the cream into your skin. 

There’s nowhere for you to go when John throws a leg over your hips to straddle you. He holds the majority of his weight off you, but despite his best efforts, you can still feel his dick against your ass, his loose swim shorts doing nothing to hold him in place. 

He doesn’t ask for permission before undoing the knot holding your bikini top together, one quick pull and then the garment loosens around your chest. You can feel the fabric pool around you on the towel. 

“John, you—” you start, almost coming up onto your elbows before realizing that your top won’t be coming with you if you do. 

“Just gotta make sure I get your whole back, baby,” he reassures you, both hands gliding up your back to curve around your shoulders before dragging back down. “Won’t be more than a minute.”

It’s no use calling him out on the lie because there’s nothing you could do even if you did.

With hands as big as his, his fingers can’t help brushing the sides of your tits every time he smooths his hands down your back. You bite your lip nearly raw to keep from letting your moans escape, toes curling in the sand underneath you and thank god John is facing the other way or else your arousal would be clear as day to him. The gusset of your bathing suit is already damp and you haven’t even gotten in the water yet. 

His hands drag up and down your back, lathering the lotion into your skin, massaging it into the muscle. Each pass of his hands making your eyes roll back, breath coming out in choppy pants. Tweaking when the palms of his hands easily encompass your shoulders, nearly tickling under your arms.

“There we go. All done,” he announces, jolting you out of the lustful fog you’d slipped into during his ministrations. 

“All good?” you ask, a touch breathy. 

“Mhm,” John rumbles, smoothing a hand up your back one last time, just to double check. Only clenching your fists until the skin around your knuckles tighten keeps you from shuddering at his touch. “Lemme just—” 

Your throat constricts when you feel him reknot the back of your bikini top, fingers quick and deft for their size. He’s tied knots before. It’s better not to let that thought sink in too deep. 

Turning over onto your back takes a near insuperable amount of energy, the rest wrung from your body by the hands now preoccupied with readjusting his shorts. 

“You alright if I take him for a swim?” John asks, holding his squirming son against his bare chest. 

You wave him off, a hand coming up to shield your eyes from the sun. 

You can’t help but stare at his ass as he walks away, practically mesmerised. In the water, he wades up to his knees with his son still cradled in one arm. The ocean water laps at his shins, dappled with light, low waves in the distance scintillating at their peaks. The ends of his swim shorts cling to his legs as the water leaches into the fabric. 

Trying to keep your eyes off him is a losing game, not when John’s clad in nothing more than a pair of swim trunks, broad shoulders and chest on display, and now your hands tingle with the memory of how they felt rubbing suntan lotion over his skin. His trunks are pulled taut around thick thigh muscles, just barely loose enough to keep from being indecent. 

The panic returns when you catch some nearby women ogling him, one angling her body towards him like she’s considering walking over, and that’s when your heart beats too fast and you stumble to your feet, leaving your beach towel and umbrella behind to go join John in the water. 

“Hey sweetheart,” he greets when you’re only a few steps away, shivering when the cold water touches your feet. “Missed us, did ya?”

He reels you in with his free arm, pulling you into his side before transferring the baby into the cradle of your arms. Doesn’t even flinch when your breast is pressed against his side, as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary. As if your cheek wasn’t nearly flush with the pelt of dark hair growing in whorls on his chest, your eye level with a dark, flat nipple. 

The girls hovering nearby scrunch their noses up when they notice you snuggled up against John’s chest. Assuming you must be someone special for him to be holding you that way; like a girlfriend or a wife—

You choke off the rest of that thought before it can take root. 

The rest of the trip is no better. You’re a right mess made worse by the cloying heat and the forced proximity. At the restaurant, John pulls your chair out for you and then sits right beside you, arm resting on the back of your chair while he talks, cologne clotting the air around you. He’s popular wherever he goes—easy candour and winsome smile able to make anyone, from the servers to the other patrons, want to get to know him better. 

All you can do is bask in the radiance; a sun in the middle of any room. 

Back at the house, you sleep in the other room, only a single, flimsy wall between your room and John’s. The walls are so thin that you can hear every groan and snore and snuffle, head ringing with his sounds until you fall asleep and they permeate your dreams instead. 

At seven in the morning, you wake to the sound of him rolling over in his bed, the mattress squeaking under his weight, and taking himself in hand. The sound of flesh against flesh; the groans bitten off too late for you not to catch them, sweat beading on your hairline as you stare at the white wall and picture John on the other side, big chest panting with his breaths as he tugs on his cock. You listen until his final groan, fingers petting at your clit until you have no choice but to turn your head into your pillow to muffle your sobs. 

As best as you try to put it out of mind, you can’t meet his eyes at breakfast. 

You flinch when the same hand that he must’ve used to jerk himself off comes down onto the top of your head when John goes to refill his mug of coffee. “Sleep well last night?” he asks, deep voice still coated in sleep. 

“Not bad,” you whisper. 

Shivering when he drops his hand to the junction between your shoulder and your neck and gives it a squeeze.

[imsuperhungry]

4 𝙖𝙢

ᴇɴᴛʀʏ 001

(yandere until dawn)

WARNINGS: Mild Yandere Themes, Mild Cussing

WORD COUNT: 1950

I’m really thankful my dad pushed me to upgrade my car last summer. With all the snow and ice piling up on the roads, my old car would likely have struggled or broken down by now.

The heater worked much better too—I was actually warm in the car, which was a relief given that I was driving through a mild snowstorm.

I had the route to the cabin memorized. For years, it had been a tradition to meet there every February 10th, but it used to be just me, Josh, Beth, and Hannah. Only recently did everyone else start coming along.

Just a few days earlier, Josh had sent a video to the entire group, reminding us that our tradition was still alive, even after his sisters' disappearance.

We had all assumed the tradition would end since his sisters were no longer with us, but Josh insisted he wanted to "honor their memory." He was certain they’d want us to carry on and not be weighed down by grief.

After an hour or two of driving, I finally spotted the entrance to the territory. Two large logs supported a sign that read "Blackwood Pines," confirming I was exactly where I needed to be.

I opened the gate and started walking up the trail, beginning the long trek up the hill. Not long after, I came across another gate, but this one had a note attached. Upon inspecting it, I saw it explained that the gate was broken, and I’d have to climb over it to continue.

Letting out a sigh, I placed one hand on the brick wall next to the gate and braced my opposite foot to start the climb. It took some effort, but I eventually made it to the top of the narrow wall. Now all that was left was to jump down.

I would have jumped off sooner if the drop hadn’t been so steep; it took me a moment to muster the courage. Finally, I closed my eyes and leaped into the snow below, officially making it inside. After gathering my bags that had fallen during the jump, I steadied myself and continued along the trail to the cabin.

After a few more moments of walking, I waited at a ski lodge for a car to pick me up, which then took me to the upper cable car station. Eventually, I arrived at the cabin, where I found Josh, Ashley, Chris, and Sam gathered together at the front door, chatting and huddled against the chilly air.

“Hey, guys!” I called out, making sure to announce my presence so I wouldn’t startle any of them.

Chris, who had his back to me, turned around and grinned as soon as he spotted me. Ashley beamed upon my arrival, waving her hands in the air and yelling, "HI!" Sam, facing me, began walking over with a smile, but she couldn’t reach me because Josh darted toward me before anyone else even noticed I was there. He lifted me into the air and spun me around, as if we hadn’t seen each other in weeks.

“____, god! Hey, I’ve missed you!” he exclaimed, continuing to spin me around. I giggled a bit and asked him to set me down so I could properly greet the others who were watching us.

Eventually, with a reluctant grumble, Josh planted my feet back on the ground. I looked back up and skipped over to where everyone else was, but before I could say anything, I was enveloped in another tight hug—this one quite forceful.

This time, it was a group hug with Sam, Chris, and Ashley. One hand was patting my head, another was squeezing me tightly into the embrace, and a pair of arms wrapped around my neck, pulling me even deeper into the huddle. 

It had been a few seconds while they were all holding me before we heard a man clear his throat.

"While this is a nice little reunion we have going on, I think it would be even better if we moved it inside. It’s freezing out here," Josh said as he walked past us.

He somehow found my arm in the tangle of people and pulled me out of the pile toward the door. As he yanked me along, he grumbled under his breath, something like, "...fucking hell... weirdos..."

He bent down to unlock the door but quickly realized it wasn’t going to budge.

“Dammit... This freaking thing...” he muttered, fiddling with the lock.

“It’s iced?” Chris asked, standing right beside me.

“What else would it be?” Josh replied.  

“Maybe there’s another way in?” I suggested, desperate to find some warmth, as the biting cold was stinging my fingers pretty harshly.

“There are a million ways in, ___, but they’re all locked,” Josh replied, standing up straight to look at me. He then noticed my fingers, which I was rubbing together in a futile attempt to generate some warmth.

He wrapped his hands around both of mine and started rubbing them gently. His hands were already warm from the inside, and the friction created a comforting heat that spread through my cold fingers. I could feel the chill melting away as he continued to work the warmth into my hands, a simple gesture that brought me a sense of relief amidst the biting cold.

“There’s gotta be a window around the corner we can, like, get open or something,” Chris suggested, sounding a bit desperate to find a way inside as well. His eagerness to escape the cold was evident as he shifted from foot to foot.

Josh turned his attention to Chris, still rubbing my hands for warmth. “Wait a minute, are you saying we should break in?” he asked, a mix of faux disbelief and amusement in his voice. I couldn’t help but giggle a bit at the idea, the absurdity lightening the chilly moment.

“I don’t think it’s technically breaking in if you own the place, right?” I replied, making Josh turn to look at me with a grin. His expression shifted as if he was considering  my point.

“Hey,” he said, pointing a finger at my chest with a playful smile, “not if I don’t report you.” His tone was lighthearted, and the teasing glint in his eyes made me giggle even more. “Lead the way, Cochise!” Josh exclaimed, turning away from me, prepared to break in. 

Josh and Chris headed down the stairs and walked to the side of the cabin, leaving me, Sam, and Ashley  together.

Ashley sat on the steps, gazing out at the woods, while Sam leaned against the house, also staring into the distance. It looked like Sam had completely zoned out, lost in her thoughts.

I sat down next to Ashley, and she lifted her head as soon as she noticed me.

“Hey, Ash,” I began.

“Hey, _____,” she replied, sounding a bit bashful.

“It sure is cold out here, huh?” I asked, trying to spark a conversation.

“Yeah,” she replied, shivering slightly. “I think I’m going to pass out if we don’t get inside soon.”  

“Me too.” I began to zone out as well, taking in the beauty of the woods. The snow blanketed the trees and ground, and the bare branches swayed gently in the wind, creating a serene scene. It all looked so peaceful that I found myself wondering if I should move somewhere surrounded by nature.

I snapped out of my daydream when I felt Sam tugging me up and yanking me toward the door. Looking through the glass paneling at the top, I saw Chris melting the lock with a lighter. A sigh of relief escaped me at the sight; we’d be inside the cabin soon.

I turned to look for Ashley and saw her still sitting on the steps. Maybe she hadn’t noticed that I had moved at all.

"Ash!" I yell out

She whipped her head around and spotted me standing at the door. I waved her over with a cheerful "Come on!" and, without hesitation, she sprang to her feet and jogged over, grabbing hold of my arm.

After a moment, Chris finally opened the door, wincing as he accidentally burned himself on the knob. He quickly moved aside to let us in. Ashley stepped inside first, still gripping my arm, and I followed closely behind her. Turning back, I saw Sam walking in right after me, and it looked like Josh had made it back too, stepping in just behind her.

We stepped into the spacious living area, and Josh called out, “Home, sweet home.” It looked just as it always had: the couches remained in their usual spots, the paintings adorned the walls, and the chandelier hung gracefully from the ceiling. Everything felt familiar and comforting, a warm embrace of nostalgia that welcomed me back.

"Oh my gosh it's SO GOOD to be inside." Ashley say, I see a smile form on her face.

"Yeah," I say "even if it's still kinda freezing in here..." I say, still grateful for being out of the snow.

Upon hearing what I said, Josh jogs over to the fireplace, with an "I'll get a fire going."

"This place barely looks any different!" I say thinking out loud.

"Nobody's been up here, silly." Josh says, working on the fire.

"Even with all the police coming in and out?" Ashley asks, she's let go of my arm and plopped herself onto one of the three couches.

"Not a lot of action up here lately." Chris tells her, he's standing off to the side.

Eventually, two more people come up, it's Mike and... Jess?

“What's up, party people?!” Mike yelled, his eyes sweeping across the room.

“Heeey!” Jess called out from beside him, her eyes also scanning the room, as if they were both searching for something.

When Mike spotted me, he did exactly what Josh had done, lifting me into the air, though without the spinning.

When he set me back down, Jess appeared from behind and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug that nearly took my breath away.

“Hey, kiddo,” Mike said, giving my hair a playful ruffle. I never quite understood why he called me that, considering he was only a few months older than me.

Jess planted a lip-gloss-coated kiss on my cheek and giggled. “We both missed you so much, ____!”

“Yeah? Well, I could kind of tell,” I said awkwardly, trying to figure out why Mike had come in with Jess instead of his girlfriend, Emily.

“Maybe let’s lay off on the hugging; we can all warm up by the fire instead,” Josh suggested, his voice a bit tense.

“No can do, sir,” Mike replied to Josh. “I haven’t seen you in weeks!” He said, playfully jabbing me in the shoulder with a grin.

“Oh...” is all I could manage as I patted Jess’s arm, a silent sign that I needed her to let go. However, she ignored it and continued to hug me tightly.

After a few seconds of silence, punctuated only by Jess's contented sighs, I finally spoke up.

“Alright, Jess, I kinda need you to let go now. I want to sit down; my legs feel a bit tired from all the walking, you know?” I said.

She groaned in response but, reluctantly, let go. I immediately walked over to where Ashley was sitting and plopped down right next to her, seeking a distraction from how clingy both Mike and Jess had been for some reason.

Mike and Jess both settled onto another couch, and, confirming my suspicions, Mike wrapped an arm around Jess, indicating that the two were now together.

“Yikes,” I said aloud. Ashley heard me and let out an “I know, right?” as she curled up into a ball on my side.

I hoped this wouldn’t stir up too much drama, but as Emily and Matt began to walk through the door, I could see that it most likely wouldn’t be the case.

[peachybeom]

Valentine Blues

Taehyun x reader

ex-best friends to lovers

Please reblog if you like this!

You were currently experiencing the worst day ever and were about one more tragedy away from having a breakdown.

Huffing violently you stood in the middle of an alleyway, watching your home route bus disappear with the main traffic.

Your phone beeped at the same time and you reached for it while taking rest on a wall nearby.

[10:51pm] Roomate.

Hey Y/n,

I just wanna thank you again for staying out tonight!! Because of you me and Josh can FINALLY enter the home base tonite and get extra juicy iykwim ;)))

Happy Valentines day babes!

Okay yeah now you can feel the breakdown coming.

You were so engrossed in storming all the libraries in town, looking for a specific book for your asshole Professor, to get him to reward you some extra credit, that you had conveniently forgot the stupid promise you had made to your roommate.

As much as you wanted to crash on the soft mattress of your bed and mute the world for rest of the weekend, you weren't desperate enough to walk into your roommate having sex with her co worker while roleplaying as a nurse.

In your peripheral vision, you could see couples huddled together, walking hand in hand. Some sharing an ice cream, others practically devouring each other with their intense stares.

Love was definitely in the air, and it made you nauseous. It wasn't that you were anti love or something, in the past you actually looked forward to this cliche holiday.

But recently you had managed to convince yourself that after several bitter breakups and unrequited crushes, being in a loving, healthy relationship seemed just impossible for you at this point.

Shaking your head, you pushed aside all the pointless worries and tried to focus on your current problem which was being homeless for the night.

You racked your brain to think which one of your crackhead friend would be available to offer you a lodging.

Kai? No. You knew he had plans with his girlfriend in her dorm to watch some random Disney movie and cry like a baby while she consoled him.

Soobin? Doubtful. His still had problems prioritising his girlfriend over odi, so that was a territory you didn't want to enter.

Beomgyu and Jeongin? Never. Those two would definitely be somewhere wasted in a club while they humped their way through another round of beer pong. They had actually tried to convince you for an entire week to join them at the club tonight and form a 'Singles Union', An association which helped each other to get laid. No way you were walking into that trap again.

That left you with Yeonjun- ehhhh. You actually had no idea what he was upto. Last time you heard from him, he was 'Single like a Pringle and definitely ready to Mingle'- his words not yours.

Sighing, you crossed your fingers as you dialled his number on your phone. Hopefully he could be your saving grace.

After a few rings he picked up the phone.

"Hey Junnie, I know it's kind of late and well.....Valentine's day but I really really need a favor from you," You said rushing your words. The cold weather was definitely peeking under your raging emotions.

"Oh hi Y/n, yeah sure what's up," Yeonjun replied, in a whisper.

"Yeah so I actually- I hear a woman's voice. Are you on a date?," You asked, cutting off your own words.

"Yes I am, but I can help you. What's the problem?" He answered.

To this you stifled a laugh. Choi Yeonjun on a date? The no strings attached Choi Yeonjun taking some lady out to have a nice dinner? This day was getting more trippy minute by minute.

"It's a speed dating thing. Now tell me what do you want, I don't have much time." Yeonjun said in an annoyed tone, taking the silence as a way of you teasing him.

Ah that makes so much more sense.

You almost felt bad for interrupting Yeonjun on his 'date' but you knew he was the only one who could save you right now.

So you told him about your problem.

"Hmmm you are aware that you can just crash at my place right? You already know where the key is kept, I won't be home for the night anyways" Yeonjun stated matter of factly.

Your ears perked up at his suggestion and you almost cursed yourself for not thinking about it earlier until a face flashed up in your mind.

"And what about Kang Taehyun?" You questioned grimly.

"Beggars can't be choosers Y/n. Besides it's not like he's the spawn of Satan." Your friends responded.

"But Yeonjun-,"

"Listen I have to go but consider this. It's not like you have any other option. Byee happy love day!" And then Yeonjun abruptly ended the call.

You groaned loudly and stomped your feet like a baby, earning glances from a few pedestrians. But you couldn't care less about them.

You started to weigh your options.

Spending a night at a run in shady motel full with horny couples or with your friend's roommate, the annoying, son of a gun- who also happened to be your ex bestfriend, Kang Taehyun.

After giving both of them intense thought. You decided to swallow your pride and take up Yeonjun's offer. Atleast his bed would be free of mysterious bodily fluids unlike the motel's.

After almost walking for half an hour- a consequence of missing the bus earlier, you finally reached Yeonjun's apartment.

Your feet were giving up on you and your teeth began to clatter lightly due to the cold February weather.

You could hear faint music from the other side of the door.

Great. Taehyun was home.

You weren't surprised though.

Even though you despised Taehyun, you decided to knock on the door instead of unlocking it out of common courtesy.

Nothing happened for a few moments and you knocked again. Still nothing.

Growing impatient you reached for the key and was about to use it when Taehyun opened it.

Correction: A very shirtless dripping wet Taehyun, with a towel around his waist opened the door.

"Lover boy isn't home tonight," Taehyun started with a stern tone. Oblivious to the fact that he was basically half nude standing in front of you.

"I-uh," You gulped, trying to compose yourself.

Taehyun is annoying and irritating and an asshole. His chiseled abs could not facade his shitty personality.

"Yeonjun said I could stay here tonight, Now move." You continued before making your way inside the apartment.

You did feel a bit intrusive and rude but your day had already been a mess and dealing with Kang Taehyun was icing on the cake.

Ignoring and engaging in minimum conversation with him was your goal.

Reminiscing the comfy feeling of a bed, you made a beeline for Yeonjun's room and turned the knob to open the door.

"What the fuck," A string of curse words left your mouth as you saw the room before you.

It was completely trashed and the stench of freshly applied paint almost made you dizzy.

"Yeonjun's room is being renovated, didn't he tell you that?" A voice mocked you from behind.

Taehyun was now leaning against the door frame -now fully dressed- and drying his hair with a hand towel.

You wanted to cry. You knew that this proposition was too good to be true. Breaking down over a trashed room was childish but anyone in your place would feel the same way. Everything was getting on your nerves.

There was no way you could sleep in the living room too, your fingers were already numb and your throat felt scratchy.

"I'm gonna kill him," You muttered under your breath before taking your bag and making your way to the exit only to be stopped by Taehyun midway.

"Hey I can't let you leave. Yeonjun would kill me, also not to forget you are sort of homeless aren't you?" He said raising a hand.

Your eyes widened. So he knew, great.

The last thing you wanted to be infront of him was vulnerable and embarrassed, but here you were.

As much as you hated to admit it, he was right you didn't have any other choice.

"So where will I sleep?" You asked raising an eyebrow, refusing to admit defeat.

"In there," Taehyun replied pointing to his bedroom.

"No way I'm sharing a bed with you. You pervert, " You answered him in disbelief.

But the thing was even though you hated Taehyun, you knew that he won't make a move on you without consent.

Deep down you still trusted him.

You, Yeonjun and Taehyun went way back. They were the first two people you ran into on your first day of college, when you were a naive, insecure friendless student. They were the ones who took you in and made you feel welcomed.

"Oh no, You'll take the floor," Taehyun answered bringing you back to reality.

What?

You stared at him blankly as he broke out in a fit of laughter.

"God it feels so good to have the upper hand," He continued.

Suddenly the thought of walking home alone and witnessing your roommate doing the dirty didn't phase you anymore.

So once more you picked your stuff and started walking towards the door when you felt Taehyun grab you wrist.

You'd had enough. Fuck avoiding him.

"What the hell do you want Taehyun. I've already had a crappy day as it is, spent my entire day searching a useless manuscript for that Professor dimwit, ran two fucking stations only to miss my bus home and walked here in this freezing weather with people sucking off each other's face all around me. So No, I don't have the energy to deal with your petty humiliations. Let go." You turned around lashing at him.

Your fists were bawled and your lips quivered. Taehyun always worked you up, he made you feel weak and vulnerable and you hated him for that.

Something changed in Taehyun's expression and his eyes softened. He loosened his hold on your wrist as you pulled it away from him.

"You can take the room. I didn't plan on sleeping there anyways, got some assignments to finish," Taehyun finally spoke up, his voice soft and laced with guilt.

You stared at him for a minute too long and then without saying another word you made your way to the room and shut it behind you.

You sunk down on the floor, once inside.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair you let out a shaky breath.

This wasn't fair. While the rest of the world was busy celebrating love and happiness with their significant others, you were left here moping in the bedroom of the boy, one you managed to successfully detach and despise in your mind for almost a year now.

The reason you were so hostile towards Taehyun wasn't because he was sort of pretentious or his face was too annoyingly perfect, it wasn't because he was so calm in situations where one shouldn't be.

The true reason was that Taehyun made you feel things that you would never allow yourself to feel.

Everything thing he used to do drove you wild. Made your heartbeat like crazy whenever he was around you, the touch of his hands, the small comforting smiles which adorned his face when your eyes met.

You were always rational with your love life, never reaching for places you couldn't but Taehyun was an exception.

He led you on, starred in all your hopeful fantasies and dreams but then left one day only to leave them shattered on the ground.

"Y/n I think you've got it wrong. It's best for us to remain friends don't you think? Best friends can't hurt each other,"

Except Taehyun was wrong. Best friends can hurt each other, they can leave scars which can take ages to heal. Those words still haunted you to this day.

He had rejected you that day.

But it wasn't the response that upset you the most, it was the shitty excuse he gave you, because the promise to remain friends was just as difficult. You could never look at him the same way again, the pain eventually grew into hatred and here you were now.

Holding back tears, you finally looked around the room. Nothing had changed since the last time you've been here, Taehyun had always been a pretty minimalistic person. Everything felt the same except for two photo frames which were placed on his bedside table.

You went up and examined the two pictures closely. One was of the day when Yeonjun, Taehyun and you decided to take a spontaneous road trip to your home town. A smile spread across your lips as you recalled the happy memories.

However it was the second picture which earned a gasp from you. In it, you were shoving a handful of Chocolates into Taehyun's mouth laughing while he looked at the camera with mischievous eyes, hands wrapped around your arms.

You couldn't understand why Taehyun would still keep this picture with him, nevertheless framed and on his bed side table.

Before you could think about anything else, you felt a knock on the door. Startled you dropped the frame on the bed and went ahead to open it.

Taehyun stood there in front of you, holding a jumper in his hands.

"I have to grab some books and here, I figured you would be cold," His expression still apologetic.

His hair was messy and a hint of sleepiness evident in his eyes.

You took the sweater from him and moved to the side to let him in.

Your heart skipped a beat when you brought the jumper closer to your face. It smelled like him.

"I'm sorry Y/n. I acted like an asshole earlier," Taehyun said minutes after, eyes still settled on his giant bookshelf.

For a moment you didn't know how to respond but then you spoke,

"I'm sorry too for lashing out on you, it's just today's been a pain in the ass for me,"

As you were speaking you realised, how much time it had been since the two of you spoke without bickering, let alone apologize to each other.

"I thought you'd probably be out tonight celebrating," He continued now looking at you.

You scoffed at this.

"My love life has been in shambles since forever," you replied letting out a pathetic laugh.

Since you.

"Same for me, if that makes anything better,"

Even though the three of you did not hang out together anymore. Yeonjun always used to give you updates on Taehyun's life even though you pretended not to care.

You had no idea where this conservation was leading. At any moment you could ask him to leave, but there was piece of you that wanted him to stay just like it did a year ago.

"Actually I- uh got something to give you, just a second," Taehyun said abruptly before leaving the room.

He exited the room in such a hurry that you didn't even have time to process what he said.

Something for you? What could it be? The thumping of your heart making it hard to concentrate on anything.

The door opened again and this time Taehyun returned with a mug in his hand.

He stood beside you next to the bed and placed the mug in your hands.

"What's this?" You asked him, puzzled.

"I know the circumstances aren't the best but I couldn't break the promise," Taehyun replied, his expression soft and a little embarrassed.

You still couldn't get it.

"I can't cook or bake to save my life so here's some hot chocolate instead....Happy Valentines Day Y/n."

That's when it hit you. A few years ago you and Taehyun had made a made a pact with each other, for every valentine's if either of you were single or sulky the other person's job would be to look out for them and cook them a 'comfort' food of their choice.

Taehyun remembered. Of course he did, that explains that picture he kept on his nightstand.

You were overwhelmed to say the least.

"Hopefully this makes everything just a bit better," Taehyun finished off.

That's when you heard your own sniffs and felt a tear running down your cheek.

Taehyun looked at you with a panicked expression as he sat beside you and opened his mouth to say something but you cut him off.

"I can't do this anymore Taehyun, it's too unbearable. I did everything to get over this Despised you, avoided you but I'm just so weak. I'm pathetic," Even though your vision was blurry, you could still clearly see Taehyun's sculpted face in front of you.

It was pathetic really. The facade you managed to pull off for so long came undone the moment he confronted you.

Beomgyu and Jeongin would probably laugh their heads off and label you a loser if they ever got to know about this.

But Taehyun pulled you into a hug, his warm embrace enveloping the whole of you.

"Don't say that, I hurt you and it's my fault. I was a coward Y/n, I didn't want to ruin or complicate things but it only caused pain for both of us,"

He pulled back to face you.

"I know I can't ever make up for the things I said that day, but- fuck it I miss you. There are so many things I want to say that I couldn't back then but most importantly Y/n I- I love you."

Although your mind was an emotional mess. Hearing those three words from Taehyun made the butterflies in your stomach wild. The school girl crush, the giddy feeling you felt everytime Taehyun was near you returned.

"Same," you blurted out meekly not trusting yourself to form coherent sentences.

This earned a wide grin from Taehyun, giving a perfect view of his pearly white teeth and adorable eye whiskers.

He placed a hand on your cheek, wiping the tears and then leaned in dangerously close.

"May I?" He whispered against you lips and without thinking twice you smashed your them against his. This exact moment, you dreamt of it countless time. Being in Taehyun's arms was something you thought you could only see in your dreams. Actually you still weren't sure if this all was real or you were just lost in another dreamland. .

"I've missed you so much y/n oh my god" Taehyun breathed against your lips.

What eventually started soft and slow turned hot and steamy in a matter of seconds. Hands roaming all over and your entire body melting into his.

When Taehyun slipped his hands under your jumper to take it off you suddenly pulled away from him, breaking the kiss.

"What happened, did I do something wrong?" Taehyun asked with a worried look.

You shook your head quickly and pointed to the mug now placed on the nightstand.

"The hot chocolate will get cold," You replied.

Hearing this, Taehyun visibly relaxed and entwined his fingers with yours.

"I can make you a thousand cups of hot chocolate later but right now let's focus on us," He said in a deep voice, laying you down further on the bed.

"Am I really going to get laid with Kang Taehyun on fucking Valentine's day? Past us would be cringing so hard," You teased him further.

Taehyun replied by burying his face in your neck.

"Happy Valentines Day baby. Lets believe in love again."

The next day when you woke up to a naked Taehyun sleeping peacefully beside you. You had to pinch yourself to convince yourself that this wasn't a dream.

Never in a million years you thought such a disastrous day could have such a perfect ending.

Taking a sip of the cold chocolate milk from the night before, you started down at his beautiful face.

He gently stirred beside you, eyes opening slowly.

"Good morning, you're real" He speaks in a hoarse voice, eyelids still heavy with sleep.

"Yes Tyun, I am" You smiled at his cute state.

Taehyun pulled you closer to his side and whispered in your hair, "Did I tell you, you make all my problems go away"

"Speaking of problems-" You started but were cut off by the loud bang of a door opening.

"Hey Taehyun, Did Y/n come here- WHAT THE FUCK MY POOR EYES. DO YOU TWO NOT KNOW THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE LIVING IN THIS HOUSE" Yeonjun screamed covering his eyes.

You giggled at Yeonjun's mortifying reaction and slipped yourself deeper into the sheets.

"You're the one walking in without knocking, get the fuck out yeonjun" Taehyun screamed back, throwing a pillow at his direction.

[perseephoneee]

Pls write about damon salvatore x y/n going skiing

ski cabin (damon salvatore x f!reader) {ficmas 2023}

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ happy day 10 of ficmas!

warnings: damon, smut (i censor it so you can skip!): fingering, blood-sharing, unprotected vamp sex

a/n: i tried writing smut. might be a failure. might not. i have no clue. i just work here. also i wrote this while watching the matrix and eating homemade nachos

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2023

Once upon a time, your life resembled a sense of normalcy. And then you met the Salvatores. Vampire brothers who seemed to attract trouble no matter where they went, and somehow, they had clung themselves to your life. You would love to blame Elena for this. Still, truthfully, you also had a fascination with their propensity for idiocracy and probably landed in this situation alone. The situation? Being a target for whatever big bad it was this week. 

It was decided that people should split up to minimize their chances of being caught. Unfortunately, you ended up with Damon Salvatore. Damon was the oldest of the Salvatore brothers and the most annoying. He was morally grey, somewhat self-serving, and handsome in a way that should be illegal. Sometimes, you thought he might be fond of you, but then he'd say something sarcastic and mean, and you'd remember why you loathed being around him. Since everyone split up, you and Damon opted to go to one of the nearby mountains, ending up at some ski lodge that some families would use more for vacation than for hiding. It was snowy, and the ice bit your cheeks as the wind tried to push you back aggressively. You sighed in relief when you finally got to the resort lodge and could breathe warm air. Annoyingly, Damon was barely frazzled. 

"We should ski," Damon said to you. You brushed your fingers through your hair, trying to get snow out as you glared at him. 

"I don't ski."

"Quitters talk," Damon sighed, taking in his surroundings. "Besides, what else is there to do? Besides each other." He whispered that last part to you, that stupid half-smirk on his face. You slapped him in the arm. He was a compulsive flirt at the worst of times. He also loved to ignore you when you expressed disagreement with what he said. So, he rented skis (he had no money, so you guessed compulsion) and forced you to suit up. You tried biting him when he attempted to help you, but you think that only added fuel to his fire. Waddling outside was even worse, as you relied on him most of the time. Looking at the snow-capped hills made fear grip your heart. You wished that the enemy would just kill you already. "Why do you look like you're going to throw up?"

"I don't like this."

"It's fun. We could be brooding in a cabin like my brother, but instead, we're in the great outdoors," Damon laughed. You tried shifting on your skis but felt your knees lock up. "Seriously, what's your problem?"

"I like having control over whether my body is going to eat shit or not."

"You and your control," Damon grumbled. "Y/N, learn to live a little." Shockingly, Damon was weirdly patient with you as he showed you the basics of skiing. He even helped you down the bunny slopes with minimal teasing. He taught you how to pizza, and when you felt yourself start to slip, he'd grab you and hold you upright. It was one of the few times where you weren't sniping at each other the whole time and instead actually having fun. Your body was exhausted when you returned to the lodge, and you were thankful to take off all the warm and heavy gear. Unsurprisingly, Damon immediately got himself a glass of bourbon. You got a hot chocolate and enjoyed picking the whipped cream off with your finger and licking it off. While you enjoyed your dessert, Damon went to find an available room in the lodge. He came back a few minutes later with a devilish smirk on his face. 

"I don't like that look," you mumbled, sipping more hot cocoa. 

"Guess what, princess? The only room left is a single bed," Damon fell next to you on the couch, throwing his arm around you against your protests. "Guess we'll be sleeping together after all."

"You're ruining my quality hot cocoa time," you hissed, pulling away from his arm. He just laughed, as he never took your threats that seriously. Why should he? You were human. He was a vampire. It was an unfair fight. 

You hadn't packed much when you ran, so you just tossed your backpack in the corner of your room when you got there. It was a queen-sized bed, at least, with an ensuite bathroom and winter cabin appeal. There wasn't a couch, just a scratchy-looking chair. You could sleep on the floor. 

"You're not sleeping on the floor," Damon said behind you, almost scaring you half to death. 

"I didn't say anything."

"I can hear you thinking," Damon muttered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine at his proximity. He went to the lounge on the bed, laying back against the pillows, every bit emulating Adonis with how he wrapped his arms around the back as his face caught the light streaming through the window. Sometimes, you wondered whether Damon's favorite form of torture was just being the object of desire that was unattainable. Yes, he drove you up a wall, but you weren't stupid. He could be loyal when he wanted, and his body alone was sculpted by some vain artist who wished to achieve perfection. You could see his arm muscles, the sunlight dancing across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and his lips. His eyes were the color of the sky reflected on the snow, a dangerous blue. Like a wolf just waiting for its prey to slow enough to make its bite. "Admiring the view?" he purred, turning to look at you. 

"Admiring a view, not necessarily you." You stepped closer into the room, removing the scarf and jacket around your neck. You kicked off your boots, leaving you in just your sweater and jeans. You pretended not to notice him watching your movements. There was a desk against the wall; you sat at the chair and faced Damon, curling your legs up under you. 

"You're scared of me," Damon said, turning back to face the window. 

"Am not," you huffed. 

"You think I'm gonna bite you?"

"Yes," you answer plainly. Frankly, you had yet to learn where you stood with Damon. Sometimes, he treated you like garbage; other times, you thought he would give up everything to protect you. 

"Come here," Damon sat up, moving to the end of the bed. You look at him with confusion. He huffs in frustration, grabbing you and pulling you onto the bed with him. You fall against the pillows with a yelp, glaring at the vampire as he sits back next to you. "I would never hurt you."

"You're not always the nicest," you mumble. "Sometimes I can't tell."

"Y/N, look at me," Damon grabbed your chin, forcing you to face him. "I'm damaged goods, but don't think that I would agree to hide out here with you if I didn't care. I do care. A lot." He brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear, his touch gentler than expected. "The best thing about returning to Mystic Falls was meeting you."

Damon was never a subtle person, and he doesn't try to be one now as he leans down and kisses you. His hand cups your face, tilting your head back so he can deepen the kiss. You let out a sigh of contentment, which just fuels him further. He tasted like bourbon, and you found you enjoyed it. 

*smut!!! proceed only if you want to*

Your hand found its way to his hip, fisting the fabric as he moved to be above you. He was assertive but not rough, and it was something you appreciated. His hand dipped under your sweater, feeling its way to your waist and under your breasts. You let out a gasp as he moved his lips to your neck, leaving nips and kisses and, most likely, many marks. Your hand flew up to his hair, gripping the raven locks and causing him to growl. 

"You drive me crazy," he mumbled, helping you pull your sweater over your head. He kissed you again, his hand running over the smooth skin of your stomach. He pulled away when you shrank back, hesitant. "You're beautiful, don't worry." He dropped down, kissing over the expanse of your belly, helping you feel more comfortable. He kissed his way up to your bra, for once looking unsure. You gave him a smile as you sat up, reaching behind to unhook your bra and toss it aside. Damon wasted no time planting kisses and licks over, under, and in between your breasts. The moan you let out was embarrassing, but Damon was just encouraged. He came back up to your lips, his fingers still playing with your nipples. 

"I see you like my mouth now," Damon whispered. 

"I hate you," you kissed his jaw, leaving bites down his neck. It was your turn to smirk when he became the one making noises. Your hands ran under his shirt, feeling the muscles in his shoulders. He sat back to remove it, and you spent a second admiring his figure. The both of you feeling impatient, you pulled off both your pants, so you were left in your underwear. Damon flicked the waistband of your grey panties with a bow in the middle. 

"Cute."

"Do you always talk this much?"

"Only to girls I like."

You rolled your eyes, smiling at the boy as his hands ran up your thighs. You pulled him down for a scorching kiss, already addicted to his lips on your own. One of his hands ran between your thighs, lightly touching your clothed center. You hissed into his mouth, and he only smirked. 

"Can I remove these?" Damon asked, looking at you. You nodded, shirking them so you were completely bare. You felt so vulnerable and yet comfortable in his presence. You sighed in pleasure when his finger found your clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure to make you crazy. When he entered you with his fingers, his thumb replacing the gentle motions on your clit, you let out a moan that was almost pornographic. You buried your head in his neck as he pumped his fingers in and out. If his touch was this heavenly, you weren't sure you were capable of learning what else he could do. You moved your hand to his briefs, but he nipped your jaw as a warning. "No touching." He removed his hand, leaving you feeling empty and disappointed. You were about to deliver a sarcastic retort. Still, it died on your tongue as he removed the last piece of clothing, and you were faced with his better-than-average member. Damon grabbed your calves, pulling you farther down the bed and situating himself between your thighs. He kissed you hard, lining himself up before pushing in slowly. The stretch was a lot, but the pleasure overrode it as you felt your head drop back in a moan. 

"Fuck," you swore, wrapping yourself around him as he started to move. He fit you in a way you hadn't experienced before, and you weren't sure who you'd become when he left you empty. 

"I should've done this sooner," Damon groaned, kissing your neck and shoulder. He let out a hiss of pleasure when your nails scraped across his shoulder blades. He pulled out, sitting back against the headboard and pulling you onto his lap. He helped you sit back down on him before you had time to complain about the temporary emptiness. His hands grabbed your thighs, helping you bounce on him. Both of you moaned, and your head fell back as you fell into a rhythm. 

"The sight of you coming apart on my cock, tits bouncing, is the best thing I've seen in my life," Damon smirked, leaning forward and attaching himself to one of your tits. You had no clever retort, nothing to match the sense of euphoria you were experiencing. You noticed the veins under Damon's eyes and used your thumb to brush them gently. 

"You can bite," you whisper, eyes widening at the dark overtaking his eyes, but you aren't scared. He didn't go for your neck like you thought; no, he sunk his fangs into the top of your tits. One of his hands gripped your hip, the other reaching between your legs to circle your clit. It was so much pain and pleasure at once that you raced towards a finish you had been nearing for a while. You came with a shout, head falling onto Damon's neck. He came after you, fangs detaching and a growl leaving his lips. 

*end of smut*

You separated, falling to rest next to Damon. He pulled you into his side, biting his wrist and touching your lips. You accepted the blood hesitantly, letting it coat your throat before pulling away. He kissed the top of your head, one of the most domestic things you had ever experienced. 

"Damon," you whispered, tracing his chest with your fingertip. He looked at you in question. "I would be open to being yours." You see a boyish smile on his face, something that makes him look the age he was turned and not the age he is now. 

"I think that can be arranged," he said, kissing you again. 

The next day, he took you skiing again, but you kissed at the bottom of the slope this time. 

[late-to-the-party-81]

Merman, maybe?

AN: Screeching in, to get this written and posted before the Stucky Bingo deadline, and somehow managing to get it to fit two bingos plus the extra challenge in one of them. A big thank you to @buckyismyconstant for the quick beta on this fic.

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Summary: Steve hadn’t been sure what memories he’d get out of a year backpacking around Europe post-graduation, but meeting an honest-to-god mermaid - merman - merperson - whatever! - hadn’t been one of them.

Relationship: Back-packer Artist Steve Rogers x Merman James

Word Count: 1.7k

CW: Modern AU, Mermaid AU, Non powered Steve Rogers, Merman Bucky Barnes, Meet-cute, Language barrier, Cultural barrier, Artist Steve Rogers, Curious Bucky Barnes, Fluff, Mild angst, mildly flustered Steve.

Bingos and Challenges:

@stuckybingo B2 -Sokovia and the May Challenge- Mermay 

@steverogersbingo E1 - Mermaid 

Steve hadn’t been sure what memories he’d get out of a year backpacking around Europe post-graduation, but meeting an honest-to-god mermaid - merman - merperson - whatever! - hadn’t been one of them.

It had started off simply enough. Having crossed from Western Europe (northern Italy) to the Eastern part (Slovenia), he’d wended his way through Hungary, into southern Slovakia and made it into Sokovia just at the start of May. Like other places he’d seen in his journeys, the country was one of dichotomy - modern, bustling cities and then small rural villages that felt like something out of a fairy tale. It was while he was staying in one of these small villages that the strangest thing happened. 

He’d gotten into the habit of travelling to a scenic spot during the day to try and capture the beauty of the landscapes before returning to the village and sketching the people he saw as he ate at one of the eateries.

On this particular morning, having had a hearty if basic breakfast at his lodgings, he’d set out on foot towards a large lake just outside the village. It was nestled at the base of the Carpathians, which rose out of the ground as if to challenge the sky, and was surrounded by swathes of wildflowers. He knew he had to capture it as best he could - his friends back in New York would never believe that such a place was real.

Steve set up his travel easel on a large rock, and placing in his ear buds, he started to make his preliminary sketches, making sure the proportions were right. It must have only been fifteen minutes later that he had the feeling he was being watched. With a frown he lifted his head and looked around, but there was no one to be seen, and nothing other than a few wild sheep and the movement of the lake water as fish made their way around.

Putting it down to his active imagination, he returned to his pencils, but the feeling didn’t go away. However, everytime he looked up, all was the same - a few sheep and circular ripples caused by the fish. Although, he thought, there must be some big fish in there to cause ripples that size. Maybe, if he set up his phone just right, he might be able to catch one of them on film if it came to the surface again? He propped it up on the edge of the easel, with the camera lens pointing at the lake, and he pressed record.

The next time he felt he was being observed, instead of lifting his head, he just flicked his eyes towards his camera… and jumped back, tripping over his feet. Looking up at the lake all he saw was a large, red tail making its way back under the water. Picking up his phone he stopped the recording and then rewound it.

A head, distinctly human looking, appeared from the water with long dark brown - possibly black hair - laying in wet tangles on its pale shoulders. It looked like a man, with ice blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and plump lips, but there was something uncanny about him. He could tell the moment he fell back, because not only was the sound of his shout audible on the recording, an expression akin to panic crossed the merman’s face and he dove back under the water, flicking up that tail that Steve had then seen. If he hadn’t had it recorded, he’d have thought he was dreaming. He walked carefully up to the edge of the water and stared down into it, yet saw nothing but the bubbles of small fish.

Trying to make sense of it all, he decided to break for lunch. Sitting down on a rock at the water’s edge, Steve pulled out a sandwich of local sliced ham and cheese and some fresh strawberries, and began to eat. He tried to keep half an eye on the water, but every time he thought he saw the water swirling as though something big was coming to the surface, the movement of his head seemed to scare the creature - man? - away again.

Having satisfied his immediate hunger, Steve got up to return to his easel. Before he did though, he left the last part of his sandwich and a few strawberries on the rock he’d used as a seat. This time when he started drawing, he decided not to put his ear buds back in, but turned his phone speaker up, so that he could still hear the music and hum along. He was notified of the merman’s return by the sound of a wet splat as a half eaten strawberry impacted against the back of his sketchbook.

Peering around his easel towards where he’d left the offering of food, Steve saw that the sandwich had been partially eaten and then deconstructed and discarded apart from the ham and all of the strawberries, except the one that had become a missile, left untouched. 

He chuckled to himself. “Not a fan of cheese or fruit I see. Not totally surprising. I doubt there’s much of that in the bottom of the lake, or the sea, or wherever you’re from.” It was hard to concentrate on his drawing after that, despite his best efforts.

The hours passed and he tried not to look up every time he felt himself being observed, difficult as it was. However, it did seem as though his audience was getting more used to his presence, because when Steve did redirect his gaze at one point, he was happy to see that the top of the merman’s head was still poking out of the lake, his eyes and hair visible, at least for a moment before it ducked back under the blue waters.

Finishing off the drawing he’d been doing, Steve decided to reposition himself. He went back to the rock on the edge of the lake and sat down with his sketch pad in hand. His hands flew over the paper as he worked from memory, trying to recall the features he’d seen. He felt the presence close to him, but kept his gaze on his paper until he’d finished. Then, slowly, he turned and gasped as he saw that the merman had pulled himself up onto the shore, looking over Steve’s shoulder at the sketch of himself. 

His tail glistened in the afternoon sun and water ran off his pale, muscular body in fat rivulets. There was an obvious wave to his hair, wet as it was, and when the merman tossed his head to the side, Steve could see the gills on the side of his neck. Speckles of water flicked onto Steve’s sketchbook and the merman reached out with one finger to touch one of the wet spots, obviously intrigued by the difference between wet and dry. Steve let out a soft chuckle and the creature reared back slightly, looking at him with wide eyes.

Steve allowed himself to smile, not a difficult feat, hoping that the merman would accept the gesture as one of friendship. What he wasn’t expecting was for the merman to grin back, displaying a mouth full of sharp teeth. Perfect for ripping through fish, he thought.

He raised his hand to his chest. “I’m Steve,” he said. The merman blinked at him. He’s unlikely to speak English, you idiot. He tried again, halting Sokovian. “Moje meno je Štefan.” If the merman spoke any human language it was likely to be one from this region of the world. The merman ran his tongue over his pointed teeth. “Jakov,” he replied. “Moje meno je Jakov.”

“Jakov,” Steve repeated, translating in his head. “Jakov a Štefan. James and Steve.” He pointed between them.

“James,” the merman parroted and then pulled himself closer to Steve again with his muscular looking arms. He peered at the pencil in Steve’s hand and Steve held it out to him. James plucked it from his fingers and brought it close to his face, studying the combination of wood and graphite with his icy eyes. Steve retrieved another pencil from his bag and lightly pulled the tip of it over the paper, leaving a trail of graphite in its wake. James poked his tongue between his lips and tried to copy, his clumsy attempt producing a thick, dark line. The merman seemed happy with himself though, as he grinned broadly, turning to look at Steve with sparkling eyes. 

Over the next hour or so, as the sun began its descent towards the horizon, Steve tried to satisfy the curiosity of his new friend. James had plucked at Steve’s clothes with his fingers, leading to Steve shedding first his jacket and then his t-shirt. He tried not to think too hard about how he felt when those cool fingers trailed over his body, tracing the swirls and lines of his tattoos. Eventually though, it started to get cold and Steve’s stomach started to rumble. “I have to go. Už musím odísť.” 

James cocked his head and Steve let out a huff, trying to work out how to explain himself. In the end, he mimed sleeping and James seemed to get it. He packed all of his stuff away, under the merman’s watchful eye and then rubbed at the back of his head, not quite sure how to say goodbye. “Zbohom…” His farewell was cut off when James surged up on his tail and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Then, before Steve could even process it, the merman dove back into the lake, circular ripples the only thing to show he’d even been there.  “Zbohom, Jakov,” Steve finished with a whisper. 

He walked slowly back to his lodgings, finding himself turning and looking back more than once on the journey. As he ate his dinner that evening, instead of sketching the passers-by he found himself returning to his sketch of James: the wet spots, although dried, having left smudges which just seemed to add to the portrait. And when he went to bed that night, it was to dream of an underwater world, sharp teeth and a red tail winding through his legs.

Tag list: @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796, @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @doasyoudesireandlive, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @crayongirl-linz, @mightstill, @nicoline1998enilocin, @starrkermarvel, @ronearoundblindly

[itgirlgyu]

˖ ֗ txt and big spoons!

⋆ ࣪ 🌿 ミ i have no idea what goes in my head. ot5! x fem! reader.

ਏਓ... WORD COUNT/ 1265!

.... WARNING: IT GETS MORE AND MORE UNHINGED AS YOU GO DOWN! extremely unrealistic.   ִ° ⋆ 

yeonjun...

so we already know that our boy likes his bites large.

likes why is it even called mouthful if you're not getting a glasgow smile. 

so when you wake up one day at night and when you're going to the bathroom next to the kitchen.

you hear something and you grab your barbed baseball bat that you keep beside the fridge that you use whenever beomgyu barges in crying for more doritos

you tiptoe to the kitchen and you see a silhouette moving. 

with one hand on the switch and another gripping the bat you're ready to swing. 

but you come face to face with your boyfriend stuffing a big ass spoon of his favourite ice cream into his mouth. 

it being lodged in a way that he can't even yell. 

but you can

so you yell and he's surprised and working on his instinct he flings the tub at you to defend himself 

because he hadn't registered that it's his girlfriend. 

so now he's icing your forehead on the floor of the kitchen while apologising profusely while you sit there contemplating how he even stuck that huge spoon into his mouth. 

soobin…

he's a big spooner, like the actual term of it. 

and he likes to assume he's the ever loving cute boyfriend who loves to cuddle 

but the problem is that everytime he spoons you

you feel like getting smothered by a giant monster that could only be conjured by lovecraft. 

you know the creator of cthulhu. 

his extra large, lanky limbs snaking on top of you like a very familiar scene of a specific genre of anime. 

not hentai, it's when you get strangled by said tentacles in hentai.

and you refuse to tell him that because you know he will get sad 

you'd rather squeeze fresh lemon into your eyes before telling soobin what is equivalent to,

"your love smothers me." 

so after days of contemplation, and suffrage you come up with the perfect way to save both you and your relationship. 

everytime you feel his hold getting tighter and your oxygen level depleting

you just punch him slightly in the gut which causes him to turn back times and if he wakes up you pretend to sleep. 

so he won't be able to bring it up with you. 

and once he's a bit away from you.

you distance yourself from him, so that you're able to sleep without having to worry about dying randomly on a wednesday night. 

beomgyu ...

beomgyu is literally a thumbelina. 

he's so tiny and precious and adorable. 

you had never thought much of it. 

probably because you were like, oh yeah my boyfriend is so adorable. 

what you didn't know is that he's keeping a secret from you. 

so this one time, you were eating your breakfast in the afternoon, as one does. 

with your milk poured in the bowl, you get a call as you leave to pick it up. 

beomgyu appears and he is like, 

"wheee a big bowl of milk."

and then takes most of his clothes off and transforms into a tiny little fairy and dives into the bowl of milk to give himself a good, beautifying bath to begin his day. 

but his relaxation soon turns into panic when he notices your figure approaching. 

so beomgyu resorts to hiding in the milk, but as you pour the cereal into the bowl. 

his stress level keeps on climbing on a peak he didn't know he was capable of. 

beomgyu knew his love for you would consume him one day but he didn't expect you to consume him before it happened. 

that too literally. 

beomgyu is thanking everybody and seeking forgiveness for every and any sin he has committed in his lifetime as you take a spoonful of your breakfast. 

beomgyu feels as though his time has finally come when he finds himself lodged on your normal spoon, which now is a giant vessel of death for him, with a few of the fruitloops to keep him company. 

but maybe his stress level had reached its ultimate peak and broken the meter because before you can even grasp the little bug looking thing is actually your boyfriend. 

beomgyu appears before you, drenched in milk in only his underwear. 

and that's how you find out that your boyfriend is a shape shifting pocket fairy.

at first you were like okay that's weird, that's suspicious. 

now having him everywhere is kind of cute. 

but i'm afraid yall became that couple. 

those who don't even go to the bathroom without each other. 

taehyun… 

taehyun is not a violent person by nature.

that's what you always assumed. 

like you saw this man was well known in the campus for annihilating your three lineages without speaking a curse word.

so yeah everyone knows how dangerous he might have been despite being a man of non-violence. 

but that all changed then you were practicing a ritual to debut as the new witch in your clan around 3:33 am. 

the last thing you expected was taehyun rushing in behind a panicked huening kai, who missed your pentagon by mere inches, and behind him was taehyun holding a metal spoon in his hand, probably aiming at huening kai. 

you don't know what happens next but as soon as taehyun steps on the ring, it triggers some sort of lights to go off and taehyun starts levitating. 

and before you can see what had transpired, taehyun had disappeared. 

right before your eyes. 

because of your ritual. 

you were rightfully panicking, dialling your coven leader's number with your shaky fingers when a dishevelled taehyun appeared back into the circle. 

the spoon was gone and taehyun looked extremely traumatized with his clothes tattered and donning a stubble. 

"i think i altered history…" 

and then next day you find out that taehyun shortly became the closest assistant of isaac newton because after the apple fell on him and taehyun's spoon punted from his hands to isaac newton's head, further proving the theory of gravity. 

also later you both find out it was his 200 IQ and the vibrations from his metal spoon that flung him back in the past. 

huening kai… 

he's your local superhero. 

but he's still new so he's kind of still clumsy but he's so cute. 

always says it's the power of community and love that helped him save the day. 

and half of the population believes him, because his control over his power is um… 

like if you knock into the windows of a high rise building, and crash into the stalls along the street because you haven't learned when to stop and brake properly. 

public isn't gonna love you all the time. 

but it's still cute to some people I guess. 

cause other half of the population find it extremely adorable!

and he got like 6 fan pages. 

if we avoid the 10 other hate pages. 

so how you knew him is one of the days he was practicing his flying after drinking three cans of red bulls. 

it started fine, until it wasn't. 

and before huening kai could gather his thoughts he comes crashing in through the open balcony of your living room. 

proceeding to break half of the stuff in there. 

with his mouth open, because screaming obviously. 

the spoon full of chocolate cake you were holding in front of your face placing itself perfectly inside his mouth. 

breaking his acceleration and causing him to stop skidding. 

with your spoon stuck in his mouth. 

"wow that's a big spoon but good cake, did you make it?"

@ITGIRLGYU 2023/ FEEDBACKS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!

PERM' TAGLIST: @impureperhaps @full-sunnies

[thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos]

YO OK OK I just saw "You were... lying." and felt I had to send an ask in for it, if you're still doing it. If inspiration strikes it gives me... angst vibes. I don't really have a specific turtle in mind, but I do belive there's a lack of both Mikey and Donnie angst out there.

Pick your poision (turtle) >:)

Ummm HI NINNO!!!

Yes, I also saw this on the list and was immediately thinking pain

I LOVE WRITING ANGST so thank you for this!!

*cackles manically* >:)))

Mikey x reader (no specific iteration) aged up turts

cheating reader, FEELINGS ARE HURT, angst, swears

The flowers fell from Mikey’s hand, dropping to the floor in a clump of petals, stems and broken dreams as he stared at you, unbelieving, at your confession. 

“..wait…what..?” His voice was a strangled whisper as he tried to speak past the lump in his throat. “..what do you mean… you have a…a boyfriend?”

You wiped at the tears on your cheeks, the tracks never-ending as the despair poured from your soul, dripping onto your shirt like stars in the sky.

It was Friday- your date night, and he had practically flown all the way from the lair to pick you up; but he was early. 

He had been so excited when he slid through the window; gift and heart in hand, a smile glowing on his cheeks.

But he wasn’t supposed to be here. 

Not yet. 

He had stopped in place immediately in your living room after spotting the framed photos of you and your boyfriend on the coffee table. 

And you had explained.

Or tried.

“Mikey, I..” You choked back a sob as you looked up at him from your seat on the couch, his once bright blue eyes now murky with the wetness of misery. “I’m sorry, baby- it’s complicated, we’re not officially broken up yet, but-”

He turned as abruptly as he came, eyes ripping away from yours with disgust as he strode quickly back towards the window, body tense and vibrating.

I can’t lose him.

“Mikey, please-” Your hand shot out, catching his wrist with a trembling grip. “Please, I…you have to believe me.”

Please don’t leave me. 

His blues were now ice as he turned his gaze over his shoulder, glaring at where your hands lingered on his skin. 

He shook his arm free. 

“You… have a boyfriend.” His eyes slid back up to yours, voice gritted through teeth and sharp. 

You couldn’t hold back the sob in your throat any longer, but nodded. 

He deserved the truth. 

“You were… lying…this whole time.”

His eyes were daggers as he glared at you now, hurt and anger swelling behind them and threatening to overflow. 

“You let me fall in love with you. And this whole time….” Mikey’s voice trailed off as his words lodged in his throat, frozen, his eyes flicking away from you to look at the city through your window. 

Please don’t leave me too, Mikey.

He raised the glass pane, slamming it up in the frame as he spit his words into the brisk night air. 

“..Fuck you.”

You collapsed to the floor of your apartment as you watched his shadow leap over rooftops, out of your life forever. 

The love of your life. 

Gone.

Hope you liked it! Thank you sm for sending it in and saying hi!!

tagging the squad: @thelaundrybitch, @sophiacloud28, @the-cauldron-witch, @zombiesnips-blog, @4evrdreamin5

[what-the--curtains]

Fire & Ice

Chapter 6 - Dances & Diatribes

(Robb Stark x f!Targaryen!Reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: Tenuous bridges are built with the arrival of a wedding present from across the Narrow Sea. Bridges that are tested by a visit to the Vale

Authors note: She's Baaaaaaaack (by unpopular demand) Let me know if you want to be untagger I know I've been gone a while!

TW: Fighting, Swearing (maybe?), mentions of blood, hallucinations, alcohol

Taglist: @kittykylax @winxschester @mihrimahsultan03 @stargaryenx @the-desilittle-bird @roselibrary @luxlisbonlover @r1dd1kulus

Word count: 5.1k

Playlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Snow dusts the foliage around you. The quiver hangs on your back, reigns grasped loosely. A hushed barter with a stable boy allowing your escape for a few hours most mornings. ​​The woods are silent this hour. You basque in the quiet knowing the men would soon return from the front. The sky glows copper as the sun rises, blood has been spilled. 

You slow your horse to a walk stopping when tracks appear in the distance. Three pronged digits jut out from a large base, the prints were uncanny, unfamiliar, distorted. The air goes silent as you raise your bow. No birds chirped above, no crunch of the frosted ground beneath you, no wisp of the wind. 

Nothing. Not even the sound of your own breath reached your ears. 

Something is watching you. 

 You turn and a chill shoots down your spine, every hair on your neck lifted. Your heartbeat fills the empty space as cold breath hits your neck. You grab an arrow and drive it backwards, but it falls to the ground imprinting in the snow that dusted the remaining grass, the sound of the forest returning. 

Your hand reaches back again and you fire into the nearby bush pheasants flocking upwards and you shoot two down.

You were spending too much time alone, too much time with your head buried in books full of tales meant to scare children. The chilling legends that had always managed to find themselves lodged in your head.  These occurrences were the last thing you needed, a senseless distraction. 

You prayed Jorah's return with the rest of the men would settle you, though you hesitate to share your visions with him considering your lineage. Unless it progressed further, it was best kept a secret. 

In addition to the sense of comfort you hoped Jorah would provide insight into Talisas departure, you had your suspicions but you weren't one to breathe life into rumour before it was fact. The thoughts are fleeting and they dissipate as you dismount inside the stable. Coming forward to thank the mare for her efforts.

“Thank you for lending her to me, and for your discretion,” you say to the sable haired boy appearing from the shadows of a stall he was cleaning. He smiles, but it drops slightly as footsteps approached. Had it followed you back from the woods? You look over your shoulder to see Robb freshly returned from war, unwashed and bloodied. 

“Fear not, he is not nearly as ferocious as he looks, and he only turns into a wolf on the battlefield” you whisper to the boy who smiles. 

“You ride?” Robb asks, rinsing his hands of blood in a nearby barrel. 

“A long time ago, in another life,” you admit, your wedding gift from Drogo passing through your mind. You hand the saddle to the boy who runs off as quickly as he came. 

“You're working in the stables now, is he sharing his pay with you?” Robb asks. 

“Yes, and you should pay him more, it's hard work. Do not blame him I am very convincing,”

“Seems people find you impossible to refuse,” 

“I can think of at least one person always ready to refuse me,” 

“Your lack of broken neck suggests you ride well, you should take your pick'' Robb states, “save for the white mare, she's mine. ” he relays storking the creature's speckled face, one of his fathers final gifts to him.

“She’s beautiful, do the rest not have owners,” you ask, hanging the pheasant on the wall as the boy leads the horse back into the stable, you hang them on the wall as you wash your hands of the mud. 

‘Four in the back lost their riders, they would do well to have someone keep them in shape, try them, choose your favourite. Did Ser Darrion shoot these?” he asks, before you have time to thank him.

“I shot them, your Grace.” His eyes flit to you then back to the birds “they go to the boy, he takes them to his family, that was part of our deal,” you relay pulling them down off the wall “He wanted nothing of course but I told him to never do anything for free, especially if the person asking is wealthy,” Robb’s laugh catches you off guard 

“Aren’t you angry,” you ask, turning to make sense of the lightness you felt in the conversation. 

“Quite the opposite. You’ll have to teach my youngest sister, Arya when… if we find her,” he relays, stone faced. “She would like you,” he admits. 

“I look forward to meeting her,” 

“His family must be well fed, you're a good shot,”  Robb says, looking the birds over. 

“I've been hunting for a long time your Grace, though Visery didn't think it a very lady-like hobby so naturally…” 

“Well my mother would agree, but if it keeps you out of my hair for a few hours I see it as a benefit to our union,” 

“Did you come here to land an insult or was there something else you needed?” you ask 

“I believe I just paid you a compliment,” he states

“What was your intended purpose here then?” 

“A gift arrived late last night, a wedding present for you,” he says as you re-don your cloak. 

“A compliment, a horse and a gift. Seems a very fortunate day for me. Why haven't you opened it yourself?” You ask, looking down in confusion at his arm extended to you.

“They are not addressed to me” he states, “And we may as well look the part” you link your arm in his and exit the stable. Appearances were crucial now, and any effort on his part at this point seemed miraculous.  “You’ve grown more accustomed to the cold, last I saw you wore three cloaks when you went outside,” 

“We run warm, I just needed some time to adapt,” You explain, though the heat radiating from your arm was welcome as days grew colder. 

“Blood of the dragon, I almost forgot,’ Robb states. 

“Was that a joke your Grace,” you ask looking at him. 

“Was that a compliment?”  he replies, mouth cautiously upturned. 

“I don't recall saying it was funny,” you remark dryly as he pulls the tent flaps open. Perhaps there was a reason his men followed him to death after all, now he was no longer blaming you for his anguish; he was, dare you say it, tolerable.  Your heart skips seeing Darrion inside, and you instinctively drop Robb's arm. 

“Ser Darrion, Ser Jorah,” you address “It does my eyes good to see you both alive and unharmed,” your eyes trail down to the chest before them. 

“Thank you Ser Mormont for delivering this to us, safely and for ensuring it is not tampered with,” Robb states, so Jorah had brought them back. 

“Who are they from?” you ask 

“An Iilyrio Mopatis, you stayed with him a while as a child after the maesters. I told him you were married and he said he had been saving it for the last true dragon,”

“Rheagar was the last true dragon,” you reply, “but I will not refuse a gift from someone who cared for me when the rest of the world would not. I will entrust you with a letter of thanks that is to be delivered to him, I will write it myself,”

“Yes, your Grace,” Jorah replies

“You may leave us,” Robb finishes throwing his gloves down on the desk. Your eyes involuntarily stuck on Ser Darrion as he bows, his own eyes trailing up your body causing a heat to flush throughout your inside. 

“Are you going to open it?” Robb mutters, removing his blood stained linens and rinsing himself with the water from the basin, warmed by the hearth burning beneath it.

“Have you always been so impatient or are you just used to getting what you want?” you prod playfully, looking over your shoulder quickly. 

“I have always been good at getting my own way,” he relays

“Privilege of being the eldest,” you replay, kneeling before the chest on the floor. 

“Topped only by the preference for the youngest,” he counteracts, watching your hands ghost over the box, hesitantly.

“It has been checked, both by Jorah and Darrion, though I can open it if you…” 

“I am fine your Grace, just admiring the craftsmanship, appears to be welded in Dothraki gold,” you click the latches open slowly pushing the wooden lid eyes widening as the contents are revealed. 

“What has he sent?” Robb asks, unable to hide his curiosity, noting the look on your face your hands reach in, pulling out an egg, the size of a man's head, a bright gold. 

“Dragon eggs,” you reply breathlessly, wonderment plastered on your features as your hands trace down the scales, warming them.  “Three of them.”

“All gold?” Robbs queries, watching  you intently as you carefully place the first down on the hearth. 

“No. It’s rare any within a brood are remotely alike,” You lift the other two together, one black and one green reuniting them with the gold on the hearth. 

“Dragon eggs have to be kept warm if you want them to hatch, they cannot survive in the cold and before you start I know they are decorative in a likelihood, but you have your gods and we have ours. To leave them in the cold would be disrespectful,” you explain looking up to meet Robbs own gaze of bewilderment at the mythology placed before him. 

He pulls a clean shirt on and sits down in his chair rolling up his sleeves before decanting wine into a glass, watching curiously as your hands gently stroke the scales of the matte coloured eggs illuminated by the embers.

“I realise now I know nothing about you, or your family or your beliefs. Well apart from what I assume are the most horrifying details and some of which I assume to be less than true,” 

“Whose fault is that?” you counter eyes still on the eggs, hands trailing across them. 

“Must you always be so difficult,”

“Me?” you begin, but when you turn towards an argument he's smiling at the wall, so you forgo it. It was the first time he had asked you a question about yourself, the first time either of you had to be fair.  “Well some of the atrocities are certainly elevated though many I fear to inform you are true. Tell me then, your highness, what it is you wish to know,”

“Is it your highness now? Is that better or worse than your grace,”

“I am only trying to uphold the standard of address you set for me when we first met,” 

“Tell me about the dragons. They were the only part of my lessons I could focus on from what I remember,”

“Oh I find it hard to believe you were anything but the perfect student. Would you like to hear the truths or the myths?” you ask and gently stroking the tops of the eggs, the scales lining the shell shine in the flames, and for a moment you swear you feel them beating.

“Are they different?”

“You have much to learn your Grace,” you replay standing, brushing off the ash from your skirts. 

“Then teach me, perhaps some of your ability to perceive strategy will rub off on me,” 

“As much as it pains me to say, you would survive without me, most of my conclusion are easily found once you know what you're looking at,” 

“Yet none seem to find them,” he replies 

“Was that another compliment? Two in one day, have I strayed into a dream?” you joke  

“Eye for an eye,” he replies, a playfulness playing off you both, previously unknown. 

“Very well, I concede, what would you like to hear about the dragon's your highness”, you ask, curtseying, causing Robb to shake his head. 

“Where did they come from?” he asks as you pour yourself a glass of wine. It was bitter compared to that you'd had in Dorne, but you were growing accustomed to it. 

“Depends on the source. Some say they were born from deep beneath the mountains. When Westeros and Essos parted and the earth cracked open, ash and fire rained down from the sky as dragons crawled out from the centre of the world. Others say they fell from the moon, a gift from the gods,” 

“Why was your family so favoured by the gods,”

“The gods simply placed the dragons on this earth, the Targaryens learnt to train them,”

“How did they manage that?” he continues. 

“My fore-bearers knew of their breeding grounds, before kings and kingdoms existed, before Targaryens and Starks and Lannisters and Baratheons. We lived alongside them in trust until a rule was broken. An egg stolen, dragons devastated bruning the land before them,”

“Creating the red waste,” Robb finishes, enraptured in your words glad for your immersion in tale lest you see his stare, one he could not seem to deter as the warmth of the light illuminated your features drawing him further in. 

“See, the perfect student,” he chuckles, “ Well the dragon went into hiding as the kingdom of men grew, and relationships strained. It became a tradition, a ritual, a rite of passage; it was the entrance into Targearyn lineage. Before the incest and the inbreeding a Targaryean was any who would be bold enough to survives the dragons nest and return with the eggs. Then it became a customary practice of marriage and engagement, and eventually even a gift for children, but populations dwindled. The dragons became few and populations inbred shrinking them making them vulnerable and weak in the mind, an easy correlation perhaps to my own family history,” you admit sadly, swilling your wine around in the glass. “You know, we once rode them to war,”

“I have heard that tale, They said your forefathers would ride to war a back them,”

“It is not merely a tale nor was it only the men. Women rode alongside their husbands; you'll find that in any book you read.”

“Will I,” he challenges 

“Are you calling me a liar,” you press 

“Perhaps I'll believe it if I ever see it, for now the hour grows late, so I must call a truce,” he states, weary from battle, your tales having entranced him into a state of relaxation he rarely felt. 

“I accept,” you reply, placing the glass down, going once more to the eggs to bid them goodnight. Your arm reaches down but they are caught before they make contact. You look up to Robb whose thumb runs gently over your wrist. “You’ll burn your hands beyond repair touching those now…” he drops your wrist, realising the intimacy of the moment “ without gloves at least,” words fail you, but he clears his throat. 

“There is another piece of business that demands a truce,” he admits and you look at him. “ We are stopping at the twins. My grandfather survived another year, he is to celebrate his name day at the Vale, and my mother demands our attendance. I agreed with her on the sole condition that more support is needed if we are to win. While you need not attend, I believe you would be an asset,” 

“Truly,” 

“Yes,” he confirms. 

 “If you believe I will be useful, then we shall attend,” 

“Be warned, since her husband's death my aunt has gone somewhat mad, try not to take offence,”

“Salt helps well with the blisters,” he says, nodding down to your hand “They stop forming once practise with the blade is consistent, they should heal up by the time you meet my grandfather, I do not know what kind of chastising I will get for allowing you near a weapon. Also, it may also be best if you address my by my name when around family,”

“Is your grace giving me permission to forgo his initial request?”

“Robb, is very much indeed asking that of you,” 

“Very well, if your grace demands it, who am I to refuse,” the haze of the wine had seeped into the surrounding air, the whole room slightly out of focus when you blew out the candle and pulled the furs over your shoulders. “Goodnight, Robb,” 

“Goodnight Rhaeanya,” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Vale

Light blue garments adorned your body, intricate silver clutching around your waistline flowing up into trees and woodland scenery and downwards into roots, starks colours for the night. 

“You look well,” Robb says, offering his arm as you meet him by the base of the stairs. 

“As do you,”  you reply, taking it, you had arrived a few hours ago from the front, Cat had arrived early in the morning.  The ride to Riverrun was silent for the most part, Robb having fallen asleep, saving you the need for unnecessary small talk, less chance of irritating the other. 

“The celebration is due to begin shortly but I will first introduce you to my aunt ,nephew and grandfather,”

“Lysa, Robyn and Hoster,” you list

“Very Good, my Uncles will likely be here as well, The blackfish and Edmure. The former is interesting and the other is relatively useless but harmless.”

“Lots of family, once again my job is much harder than yours. I only had one and that proved so difficult for you to remember you killed him,” you state, relieved by Robb’s huff of amusement.

“Best behaviour, just for Lysa and my grandfather, the rest well they are easier to converse with,” your feet almost trip over one another when you enter the large room, taken aback by the woman sitting high atop a throne nursing what appeared to be an eight year old boy. 

“Lady Arryn,” you curtsey  “I wish to thank you for your hospitality, your home is truly a work of fine craftsmanship, and its upkeep impeccable,”

“The last time I saw a Targaryen here was when I was a few years younger than you, I believed you all dead,” she states, a carelessness that implied neither malice or hatred, neutrality was better than you had expected. 

“We are sturdy folk, hard to be rid of my lady, and my lord. Your son looks well, may I ask his name”

“Robyn,” she replies, the boy looked sickly with large eyes and runny nose perched atop a somewhat frail frame. 

“Robyn Arryn, a gentle name, but a strong one as well. One of good fortune and friendship, it is a name as high as honour one that carries the Tully spirit with the Arryn name,” she smirks. 

“And your name,” she asks

“Rhaeanya, my lady,” 

“Flowing with grace in the common tongue, we shall see if that holds true,” she replies, sushing Robyn who had begun pulling at her hair. 

“I hope it does, my Lady“

“And what of you my beloved nephew come forward you need not stand in her shadow of all places. The king in the north , avenging your father and your uncle against the evils birthed of lannister incest.”

“Thank you aunt, your husband gave his life for my family, that will not be forgotten, but I must see the guest of honour before the festivities begin,”

“He is with your mother, and Edmure no doubt gossiping without me,” 

“It was lovely to meet you lady arryn and you as well lord robyn,” you smile at the boy whose brown eyes stare at you as if you were an apparition. Though your features were likely obscure in the north especially to a boy who hardly left the tower walls. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Please my lord do not rise on my behalf,” you begin

“Fear not you grace, I am old but I am not dead yet,” 

“You have her likeness, your mothers,” he says sitting down at the dresser, and your heart drops 

“I am glad to encounter one who knew her, though I warn you I may bore you with many questions now we are acquainted,”

“Tales I am happy to share, none find my words interesting these days, not since they were children, and I am always happy to share the past especially with one so full of beauty,”

“I see Robbs charm is not merely a product of the Stark lineage,”

“The Tullys were always less serious my dear,” 

“Where on earth would you get the idea Robb was serious?” you joke opening the door allowing his dressers to enter. 

“Speaking of serious,” Robb interjects, “There are matters I hope to discuss,not tonight grandfather not on your name day but there are things that need seeing to before we depart,”

“Of course, my boy, tomorrow we will discuss before you leave but tonight we celebrate. Rhaeanya, a pleasure to meet you, and what a joyous thing for you to be apart of our family,” 

“It is my greatest joy to have found family here, I thought it lost to me forever,”

“Well you shall have children soon enough, I hope to meet them,” your chest tightens, your throat closing as you swallow your panic, fear of being caught for the fraud you were. Unable to complete what was needed to ensure a war won. 

“Well my aunt only slightly insulted you, and my grandfather seems to want you for a son, so  all in all its going quite well,”

“Had you not prepared me for the breastfeeding that would have thrown me, how old is the boy?”

“Must be nearing 8, and for once you are speechless. I suppose we should make our way down to the festivities am I still presentable,”

“Are you asking if you appear kingly,” 

“Yes,” he replied, his earnestness catching you off guard, you refute the joke sitting behind your teeth and take a step back. You move forward, hands reaching up, his gaze following you as you shift the crown on his head just to the left. 

“It's never quite fit right,” he mutters,

“It fits, and more importantly it suits you, shall we,” you ask. There is a steadiness to him as you enter the hall, despite the eyes and the whispers, the paranoia you felt entering a room was absent in him. You wonder if he felt through your facade. You watch intently as he pulls out your chair waiting for you to sit before taking his place next to you taking up conversation with his grandfather. 

“And you must be the new bride,” a rough voice speaks out. 

“Perhaps the old bride now, but yes, no longer a Targaryen by name,”

“But in appearance, the lineage is unmistakable”

“You must must the Blackfish,”

“Aye your Grace, I see my reputation precedes me, I hope you don’t think too ill of me,”

“Well, hard to pass judgement while rebelling against a kingdom that deemed my entire family an outcast. Perhaps we are more alike than you think,” 

“And how does Westeros compare to Essos,”

“Essos is warmer, the wine is sweeter and it smells less of piss and more of flowers,” you relay, causing the Blackfish to cough into his drink caught off guard. “Apologies my lord, but I assumed you of all people would forgive such low language. Now tell me for I must know, what was he like as a child, I imagine he came out stern faced and serious, shouldering the weight of the world before he knew it,”

“In ways he was, but unlike now it was attributed to an almost unbelievable shyness,”

“Shyness,” you respond, shocked at the revelation. 

“I believe so, but duty always prevailed and he always did what he needed to,”

“Well that what not nearly as fun as I had hoped, nor did it provide me with any such ammunition for teasing,”

“He use to be funny, though now I fear joy may be lost on him, make sure he finds some,” 

“I will try, though I do admit I may not be the best candidates,”

“Well you made me laugh, and that's a victory in itself these days,” he nods his head back and you turn your attention to where your name had just been called

“Rhaeanya, when may I expect a great grandchild, I will be first in my family to see such a sight,” Hoster states loudly, Robb seemingly gone white

“Soon, we hope, I pray everyday” you say, taking Robbs hand in yours. 

“Unfortunately the situation with the Targaryen lineage,” Lysa chimes in from further down the table, “they are mad and rumours say their offspring have been born deformed and scaly, monsters. You should have found better breeding stock for your eldest son, such a fine young man surely others would have been willing,” Lysa shouts loudly, words clear over the crowds clamour, you feel Robbs hand tense as your eyes glaze over. 

“Lysa,” Catlynn warns, but she doesn't let up, and you feel your demeanour shift, cowering inwards at the fear of being found out. An uncharacteristic meekness that caught the attention of another. 

“Your highness,” Ser Darrion interrupts, you release Robbs hand and tune back into the crowd  “may I request a dance with your wife,” 

“It is her decision, though I encourage it. Conversation here has grown tiresome, she has my permission if she wishes to leave,” you feel his eyes on you

“Thank you Ser Darrion. I would be glad to leave the scene,” you state standing from the table and making your way to the floor. 

“Her stock is higher than any I am aware of, she's the only with a true claim to the iron throne, and in addition to that she is invaluable in the war room. She does the work the Lannisters entire counsel cannot. As for scaly children, perhaps you have fallen victim to propaganda dear aunt, ” Robb defends. “A war your father supported,” Lysa fires back

“A war that saw her entire family slaughtered, and would have seen her dead had my father not intervened,”

“Enough, no more of this on my name day, celebrate, the night is young and I am old, I do not wish to spend my last days listening to family squabbles,” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Apologies for interrupting your conversation,” ser Darrion whispers.  

“Is that what it was, felt more of personal attack from a woman who still breastfeeds her son,” you mutter

“I have missed you,” 

“And what about me is it that you have missed,”

“Every aspect, you face,  your voice, your laugh, your stories,”

“Enough of my stories, I need a few of yours,”

“Anything you request,”

“You have known Robb since childhood”

“I have,” 

“Was he always so… well… him,” you chuckle 

“Yes, but infinitely more reserved. He never danced, hardly laughed, was always shy, and very serious. Keep to himself, drove most of the girls to him of course, man of mystery and all,”

“Is that jealousy I sense in your voice,” you joke 

“I’d like to say I’ve gotten over it,” 

“Oh i'm sure you did just fine,”

“Well I was able to make them laugh, does he make you laugh” the lightness of the conversation shifted. 

“He is my husband,” you reply, hoping to avoid broaching an intimate topic so publicly. 

“If I was your husband I would ensure your happiness,” he whispers  “My hands would never leave you, there would not be a day that went by without my love for you being expressed,” 

“Ser Darrion,” you whisper

“Rhea,” he replies seriously, 

“You forget yourself,” you mutter sternly,  eyes boring into his, resisting every urge in your body. You stare over the shoulder to see Robb staring directly at you grey gaze amber under the light as the music ends

“Thank you Ser Darrion, but you should be on your way,” you reply, and he kisses your hand.

“If you ever wish to leave this behind you need only ask,” he states, and your stomach drops, heart racing.  Your eyes watch as he leaves the floor, ignoring the women walking towards him. 

Your heart flutters, beating up into your ears. Against better judgement you lift your skirt and follow him, but by the time you reach the outer room he’s gone. You walk off into a hallway looking around when you turn to go back you see Robb. Concerned at the look in your eyes during Lysas trade, seeking you out as another olive branch, only to see you following another. He had not been concerned with the dance, not until he saw you rushing out after Darrion.

“What do you think your doing?” he asks

“I… I was… what was I doing with what?” you stutter. 

“Don’t act stupid, we both know you are not,” he relays, and you shift into defensive mode. 

“So you get to go gallivanting around into every whorehouse in Westeros, but I am not allowed to walk in the same direction as a man?”

“I will not have an uncertain heir, I cannot, do you understand,” he states firmly

“Are you jealous,” you ask, echoing back words he had once shouted at you. 

“Of what? I seem to remember getting an earful about making you out to be a fool. You dancing closely, so closely with your guard makes me look foolish. Do you understand that? They will not follow a man they do not respect. If you cannot see that then perhaps I overestimated your intelligence,” he scolds. 

“Do not mock me,” you reply evenly, feeling smaller than you expected

“You do it so easily for yourself in your hypocrisy,” he digs further into you.

“You are being unnecessarily cruel,” you snap. 

“Perhaps you bring it out in me,” he states

“Apologies, your highness have I awoken the dragon,” you shoot back.

“Do not compare to that man,” he states, anger now evident in his features. 

“Then stop acting like him,” you state clearly

“Perhaps if you were not such a spoiled brat…”

“Me?” you laugh, “ I am not the one currently in the throes of a tantrum. You have had everything handed to you since the day you were born, the perfect prince, beloved by his kingdom, adored by all. Well perhaps not so perfect considering your failures of late,” there it was. The dagger behind your teeth sharpened to a point, always ready to strike, always to kill, never willing to only wound. 

“I am well aware of my failures, I know my fathers death , and my sisters' continued torture falls into my hands. So yes I am a failure to them. I need not have a stranger remind me of this,” You feel the truth in his words and guilt washes over you. 

“Tonight by all accounts has been a success. So we will go back inside, we will dance, we will drink, we will stay a night then we shall return to a war I'm failing to win. Join me once you have composed yourself,”

“Robb,” you call and he turns around

“Save it, I do not care to hear anymore from you tonight besides what is owed to my family.”

[herbgroom]

I'm back for an important post.

Frostpunk 2 just came out, and it's priced at $45.

the first Frostpunk came out in 2018, a year before Pathologic 2. its team, scope and budget are very similar to Ice Pick Lodge. its full price is $30 (P2 at full price is $35)

that being said, do not bitch, complain, or harass people when the Bachelor route comes out and it's priced at like $50. it's just how the industry works nowadays. thank you

[ashe-smash]

Steam ❤️‍🔥

Endeavor x Reader (SFW)

Freshly divorced, the Hero Commission decides Enji Todoroki needs a “vacation.” He doesn’t like it but with everything that happened with the war, with Touya, maybe it’s for the best. They send him somewhere cold, in the mountains. The Commission picked it knowing his tendency to overheat, but Enji thinks it’s some sort of bitter reminder of his wrongs.

Japan is still healing from the war, learning to trust heroes again- and they certainly aren’t going to put their trust onto him first. Even if he is the current holder of the “number one” status. He’s not so sure how long he’s going to remain that- especially after his son’s class graduates from UA.

He meets you right after deboarding off of the private plane he flew in. You’re a sweet local from the resort, the commission arranged for you to attend to whatever needs he has during his stay. He doesn’t need help with his luggage, but you do anyway. Enji is a guest, you treat him as such. Nothing more, nothing less.

He’s staying at a little ski resort. You have him check in at the main lodge- but that’s not where he’s staying. He’s been booked one of the private cabins… but that’s not all- you’re also staying in the cabin. Your permanent lodging is elsewhere but you’ve opted to stay in the smaller spare room in the cabin.

You assure him, you’re only here to assist as needed. You’ll stay out of his hair as much as possible. Just for some light housekeeping and attending to his meals and such.

You’re so nonchalant about the whole situation. About him. Like you have no clue about who he is, which is likely impossible. The commission surely briefed you about the situation. Honestly he only sees you a few times a day- you come and go as needed. Bringing him fresh towels and such, making coffee in the morning, ferrying away dirty dishes from his meals. You give him a key to the gym and the pool so he can use it while it’s closed to the general public. After dinner you usually slink into “your” room for the night.

Enji should be relaxing, which is unsurprisingly hard for him to do. He works out as he usually does, catches up on paper work. He’s restless, a little annoyed by this whole situation. He just has to wait it out, go back home and return to hero work. Return to trying to repent.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this but I see it coming to a head during a snow storm. Power goes out, and you’re snowed in together. Holed up together in the main room of the cabin with the fireplace lit, to keep the warmth in. Enji is fine thanks to his quirk, but he can tell you’re not faring quite as well.

He assumed that being a local, one who grew up here their whole life you’d be used to this weather. But you’re sitting maybe far to close to the fire, dressed in more clothes than is probably actually comfortable. Hands curled into the sleeves of your sweater as you read a book to pass the time.

But ever so often, he can hear the clink of your teeth as you shiver. It’s not cuddling but you do end up awfully close to him, your legs could brush against each other. One of his big arms is draped on the back of the couch, still not touching you but still around you.

You stop shivering.

After that, he realizes it’s nice to peacefully cohabitate with someone. Maybe this is good practice. Not that it really matters, it’s not like Enji really has anyone at home to return to.

Maybe it’s so easy because this feels like a fresh start. Not that he should be given the grace of one. But for this short time- this “vacation” maybe he can allow it. Then when he returns home he can fight tooth and nail to atone. Not redemption, but to try to repent. But for now, on those cold mountains he can try to let the ice on his soul finally melt away.

(I have some other musings with this scenario but I don’t know if I could write a full fic. Maybe I’ll share them later.)

[peterstamatin]

The Beginner’s Guide to The Void

(by caspiancomic)

The Void is my favourite game that I’ve never played.

Released in 2008 under the name Tension, it’s the second major release from Russian studio Ice-Pick Lodge, following 2005′s Pathologic. If you are familiar with this foreign indie art game, you are probably full to bursting already with indie gamer snob cred, but I implore you to help yourself to a bit more. If you’ve gone so far as to play it, you’ve got more snob cred than even I, so congratulations on that. For those of you interested in experiencing it, which will hopefully be all of you, it is available to PC users on Steam, but for the rest of you, I recommend CannibalK9′s spectacular Let’s Play.

Let me repay my debts right away. In this essay, I hope to open your eyes to some of the thematic through lines of The Void, encourage you to experience the game yourself, suggest that in the future you think more fully and deeply about the thematic core of your chosen games, and maybe expose you to a beautiful, little understood, and criminally under appreciated diamond of a video game. But if all I accomplished with this essay was CannibalK9 reading it and learning how much his LP affected my ability to read and appreciate games, media generally, and life, I would still consider it an unqualified success. CannibalK9 speaks beautifully, a trait I admire in others and seek to cultivate in myself, and he has a great deal of knowledge and wisdom regarding this game. Many if not all of my own ideas are indebted to his observations of and reflections on the game. If you know him, or are in contact with him, send him this way. I’d love a chance to thank him for everything he’s done for me.

And before we get down to it properly, one last thing. Ice-Pick Lodge is, at the time of writing, running a Kickstarter to fund their next game, called Knock-Knock. If you’re a fan of either The Void specifically, or atmospheric horror games generally, I’d highly recommend chucking them a few bucks. They’re only looking for a modest $30 000 to fund the game, and even a tiny donation gets you access to the finished game, so please do go check that out.

But enough sentiment for now, eh? Let’s get down to it.

Once, when asked what Neon Genesis Evangelion is about, I cherished the opportunity to glibly respond with “everything.” It’s an answer that only makes sense to those already familiar with the series, and as such, was completely unhelpful to the person who asked me. But I maintain that it’s true. On a textual level, of course, Evangelion is about children who pilot giant robots to fight against alien invaders. But thematically, Evangelion is about religion, death, parent/child relationships (and as an extension, God/creation relationships), sex, puberty, loneliness, identity, free will, science, and basically anything you care to name. The Void is similarly weighted with thematic theses. The primary difference is that even on a strictly textual level, The Void is borderline incomprehensible, particularly on a virgin playthrough.

Still, that’s all just stage setting. I’m here to provide as in-depth an analysis as I can manage for a couple of The Void’s thematic hearts. Like Evangelion, The Void has a lot to say, and it says it quietly and clearly. For the purposes of this essay, I will be examining The Void’s relationship with death and the afterlife, and feminism and patriarchy.

But first, crib notes! The Void is dense with information, and I’m going to be referring to characters and concepts by their names from now on. The section that follows is more comprehensive than a “Beginner’s Guide to The Void” probably should be, but nowhere near an all-encompassing overview of the game. Some of the elements of the game that are not of importance for the discussion to follow- like glyphs, the presence and role of predators, etc- have been excluded from this explanation to keep the focus tight and the length tolerable. Also, where multiple characters give conflicting information on a topic (which happens all the time in this game), I’ve either attempted to include all the information, or focus on whichever version of events ended up being most true.

It features what you might call spoilers, but in order to progress through this discussion it’s important that we all know the characters and terms I’m about to discuss. So if you’re hellbent on a blind playthrough (the best way to play, according to CannibalK9), go play the game and come back when you’re done, the essay will still be here. As for the rest of us, let’s dive on in.

How do you feel? Dizzy? Overwhelmed? Confused? Well, believe me, it only gets worse. This information is presented gradually, obliquely, and resentfully by multiple characters all whispering different lies and half-truths in your ear over the entire game. Detangling this particular Gordian Knot has taken a lot of careful examination and consideration of the game’s glut of information. Even so, I am 100% open to the idea that I have misinterpreted or otherwise misunderstood some element of the game and its mythology. Necessarily, any summary of the events of the game is going to involve some conjecture, a bit of artistic interpretation, and your own interpretation may differ from my own. This is as close as I could come to the “truth” about this game, but the beautiful thing about The Void is that finding your own truth amid the cacophony is one of the most satisfying facets of the story. If the above summary doesn’t mesh with your interpretation of the events of the game, I’d love to hear about it. Otherwise, definition of terms aside, we can now jump into an examination of the thematic undercurrents of the game.

The world of The Void is married to death. The first character you meet, the melancholic Nameless Sister, is called Sister Death by her siblings. Throughout your journey, when you are approaching death, it will be Sister Death who warns you. Towards the end of the game, Sister Death will also make the ultimate sacrifice: she rips out her final heart and surrenders the last of her Colour to you to aid you on your quest. This act of generosity deeply disturbs the Sisters and Brothers, and I don’t mind telling you it deeply disturbed me. The characters of the game were shocked because “giving” in this world is either impossible or taboo, depending on who you ask. I was shocked because I didn’t realize until her sacrifice how much I really cared for Sister Death, and how much she obviously cared for me.

But for all Sister Death does to keep you alive, it is implied from the very beginning that our character is dead already. The Sisters, or at least Sister Death seem to believe you fell into the Void from above, while the Brothers insist you came up from below. Brother Triumphator insists that the Guest is “not alive, he’s quite dead.” In any case, Master Colour makes it perfectly clear (if his word can really be taken on the subject) that the only way to travel between Limits is to die. In the final leg of the game, Master Colour will also tell you that you are the soul of the Void- that you are the reason the Void is dead. Should that be true, you would be the wandering spirit of the well and truly deceased Sleeper, and therefor quite dead indeed. No matter how you cut it, the Guest is almost certainly dead, as the accounts of the various factions of the game only disagree in this respect on where you came from.

In spite of your posthumous nature, the threat of death still looms large over The Void. The sprigs of Colour you harvest to survive will periodically tell you that “there is no death in the Void.” This is, of course, patently untrue. Sister Death warns you early that beneath the Void is the Nightmare, the realm of Absolute Death. Should your hearts empty, you will sink into the Nightmare. In addition to this, Brothers can be killed in combat, and Sisters can be cannibalized with Aya’s Vampire glyph. At the end of the game, you will allow a Sister ascend, and if Colour is to be believed, travelling up to a new Limit requires death in the current one. As if that wasn’t enough, it’s made unambiguously clear that one Sister will ascend to the detriment of her siblings: everybody but the selected Sister, including the player character, must die for her to reach Breakthrough.

When we examine these elements of The Void’s mythology, then, we can reach a conclusion about its thesis regarding not only the afterlife, but life. Let’s sum up. In The Void, reality is described as being like a chain of Limits, one above the other, travelling up infinitely high, but with a definite bottom in the Nightmare. Travelling between Limits is only possible upon death, and the deceased will either travel down, or with a great deal of effort and sacrifice, up. The Brothers, nightmarish creatures themselves who believe yourself to be one of them, and believe you ascended to the Void from the Nightmare, refer to the Void as Paradise. The Sisters, beautiful human women in appearance, aspire either secretly or obviously to reach Breakthrough and ascend. Sister Ole and Sister Yani, the uppermost Sisters in the Void, occupy chambers almost uncannily similar to the Limit above, and Sister Yani even claims she has been there. From these elements we can draw the conclusion that afterlife and life are, essentially, one and the same.

What we perceive as the world of the living is merely our own Limit, and upon death our spirit will either sink into the Limit below, which we will perceive as either a purgatory like the Void or a kind of hell like the Nightmare, or we will travel up, to what we might call Paradise. The Void suggests that there is no after life: only life.

There is, however, an interesting caveat to that unique interpretation of the after life. The chain of Limits has a bottom, the Nightmare, which we could call Hell, but it is infinitely tall. The Brothers (who, it is my belief, ascended to the Void from the Nightmare) refer to the Void as Paradise, in spite of the fact that to our eyes it is miserably bleak. From this we can infer that the Limit above our own would be perceived as a Paradise. In fact, ascending a Sister with the Rite of Devotio is said to create a world “for” or “from” that Sister- a world both created from and perfectly suiting the ascended soul. This is all evidence that the Limit above our own is equivalent to the concept of Heaven. But, the chain of Limits is infinitely tall- meaning that “Paradise” is, essentially, relative.

In a couple of ways this is sort of depressing. First, it implies that something approximating “perfection” can never be achieved. Sister Aya refers to Breakthrough as “creating a life from mere existence”, but no matter how high you manage to ascend, you will never reach a sort of “Absolute Life” to counterbalance the Nightmare’s Absolute Death. The second way this chain of Limits can be interpreted negatively is the implication that there is a Hell, but no Heaven. The Nightmare is a very real and definitive dead end on the chain of Limits, but no such finish line exists at the top of the chain. This means traditional western concepts of Heaven- perfect happiness, tranquility, peace, and togetherness with God- simply do not exist in the world of The Void.

And yet in spite of this, I personally can’t help but interpret this positively. Consider it a facet of my- to borrow a phrase from CannibalK9- “gratingly optimistic” personality. For a start, as an atheist the idea of Heaven isn’t compatible with my belief system. But more than that, the idea of a final resting place in which souls spend the rest of time in perfect harmonious bliss is not in keeping with the tone of The Void. The Void is about struggle- tension, if you like- and it values hard work and dedication above all things. The idea of struggling your entire life to make the world around you a better place, and being rewarded with a higher Limit to work your craft on, is much more appealing to me than a kind of winner’s circle in which spirits congratulate themselves for the rest of eternity.

In his Let’s Play, CannibalK9 makes an inspired comparison between the infinitely tall chain of Limits and creative pursuits: you can always improve, but never perfect, your given craft. Perfection is dull. Everything interesting in life comes from tension, from learning, practicing, struggling, trying, failing, and succeeding. Why should the after life sanitize the most rewarding elements of life? In the cosmogony of The Void, there is no resting on laurels, no pats on the back, and no air of self congratulation. The end of every life represents a new opportunity to improve yourself and the world around you. How often have you looked back at your own life in abject embarrassment, wishing you knew then what you know now? Have you ever looked at something you wrote or drew several years ago and been repulsed by your own inexperience? Are you haunted by the time you were cruel or inconsiderate to someone who trusted you? Did reckless mistakes you made when you were younger have a disproportionately strong effect on the course your life took? In The Void, the end of every life represents an opportunity to approach the whole ordeal again with more and better wisdom, inspiration, trust, intelligence, and kindness. Consider it a New Game Plus mode for life. How many people here would prefer that option to an eternity spent strumming on a harp?

You might think it’s strange that a game in which a host of powerful male characters protect and repress a sorority of helpless little girls could be considered feminist. Is it possible for a game in which women are literally bound, have no power except their beauty, and depend on a male spirit for sustenance, could have a healthy and sympathetic tone for women? What are we to think of a game in which the only female characters are forced to provocatively pose and strip in exchange for the substance they need to live, like a gentleman’s club where the dancers beg for food stamps? Well, it’s my opinion that this game has deep, strong feminist themes in its very DNA.

When feminism and video games enter the same conversation, more often than not attention is drawn to female characters with strength and conviction. Well, no, when feminism and video games mix more often the result is entitled children throwing their toys out of the crib and making fools of themselves. But in the more civilized corners of the internet (they do exist), great attention is payed to Lara Croft, Jade, Samus- the girls who kick ass and take names. And rightly so- a woman who can accomplish any task a man can and doesn’t make a big thing out of it is commendable progress in an industry that is overwhelmingly male-dominated.

However, while these characters and games are great examples of feminist game icons, I think they all fall into the same category: feminist power fantasies. There’s nothing wrong with a good feminist power fantasy, of course, but it’s only a single facet of what could be a much larger jewel. The Void has a more subtle, more literary feminist streak. It’s my belief that The Void can be very satisfyingly read as an allegory for modern feminism- a woman’s eye view of life amidst the patriarchy.

The Void’s gender politics are extremely obvious, and impossible to ignore. The Brothers and the Sisters have gendered names even as factions. They are totally segregated by gender, and the Brothers are the exclusive wielders of all the power there is to be had in the Void. With the exceptions of Echo and Aya, the sisters are prisoners in their chambers, each one both guarded and dominated by their respective Brother. Even those ostensibly “liberated” sisters are only free to move about the Void at the behest of the Brothers. In other words, the women in this game are utterly repressed by the men. This isn’t a coincidence- the singularly male ruling class keeping the female population in their place is a literal manifestation of the concept of the patriarchy, silently handicapping women to benefit a small ruling class exclusively composed of men.

Although women in video games being attractive by traditional standards is nothing new, the way the Sisters’ loveliness contrasts with the monstrousness of the Brothers is significant. Divorced from its here strictly physical manifestation, The Void seems to suggest in this way that all women are beautiful (intelligent, courageous, selfless, inquisitive, creative, etc) while all men are ugly (vain, egocentric, hypocritical, self-righteous, pompous, and so forth). This is an extremely strong stance to take, and contrary to the opinions of many a Youtube comments section feminists do not believe that women are superior to men, and certainly not to the degree seemingly hypothesized by The Void. But, The Void does not strive to create an allegory representative of the real world, remember. The Void represents the patriarchy as viewed through the lens of its female victims.

As long as we keep this in mind, the loveliness of the Sisters and the striking grotesqueness of the Brothers will make more thematic sense. Through this lens, many of the character decisions made by Ice-Pick Lodge will come into focus. For example, the fact that the Brothers consider themselves the infallible champions of the Sisters, or that the Brothers consider the Sisters somehow dangerous or threatening, or even that the Sisters resent rather than fear their Brothers. Using this interpretation we can also make sense of the seemingly problematic concept of the Sisters being unable to free themselves: one of the core tenets of a functioning patriarchy is that it is a system in which women are powerless, subservient, and subordinate. If the Sisters were capable of fighting the Brothers themselves, The Void would cross over into the above mentioned “feminist power fantasy”, and would not be representative of a “pure” patriarchy. In order to represent an airtight allegorical representation of the patriarchy, the female characters are necessarily powerless.

There are two factions still to incorporate into this formula, though: Colour, and the Guest. Colour is certainly a masculine presence, and Colour in The Void is representative of power. The patriarchy is so entrenched in the Void that the very voice of “power” is male, and what’s more, power itself desires to remain exclusively in the hands of men. In the final leg of the game, Colour begins speaking to Golden Eyes constantly and aggressively. Although Colour introduces the player to the concept of Breakthrough, and teaches you that this rite ought to be performed on a Sister, as the game progresses Colour at first suggests, and then demands with increasing annoyance, that Golden Eyes perform the Rite of Devotio on himself. It is never suggested that a Brother could achieve Breakthrough- although they are explicitly referred to as being able to “take”, they consider Nerva to be poisonous- so Colour’s only option for keeping power in male hands is to ascend through his male vessel, the Spirit.

The final piece in this particular puzzle is the Guest. The Guest is by all accounts outwardly male. He has a masculine body when you view his hearts, and he spends much of the game successfully disguising himself as a Brother. However, the Guest lacks many of the qualities The Void associates with masculinity. He doesn’t speak, which contrasts him with the Brothers and their interminable self-righteous tirades. He also, strikingly, lacks genitals. Don’t dismiss this as censorship or authorial restraint either: any one of the Sisters will stand as naked as a newborn should you unlock all her hearts, and all their sex organs are clearly visible. In these ways The Void differentiates between a character who is a pillar of the oppressive patriarchy- the Brothers and Colour- and a character who is simply male.

But why is the Spirit male at all? The suggestion to me seems to be that overthrowing the patriarchy and creating a society in which women are truly considered equal to men is the responsibility of everybody, including men. In the Void, Colour is power. In a power-unbalanced society, evening the odds requires the empowered party to sacrifice power to the powerless party. The relationship between the Guest and the Sisters is collaborative- it represents men willingly and happily draining their own privilege and power and offering it to women. With this interpretation, it makes one male character offering power to women under the disapproving gaze of ten empowered men that much more significant: according to The Void, the power equalization between men and women is going to come slowly, from a dedicated minority of male feminist allies, and is going to be met with outrage and violence from the vast majority of men.

This makes Master Colour’s description of the barriers between Limits as a “glass ceiling” much more meaningful. By willfully surrendering his own power to a woman, against the wishes of the ruling patriarchy, the Spirit allows a Sister to literally break the so-called glass ceiling, and ascend to a position above that of even the Brothers. Now that we accept that it is the responsibility of men and women both to overthrow the patriarchy, we can make more sense of the Spirit’s systematic elimination of the Brothers. The Void’s contention is that for women to truly ascend, feminist men need to not only empower women, but actively destroy the patriarchal elements in their society and themselves. The Guest- the male feminist- literally destroys the patriarchy in his quest to empower a Sister.

Finally, the ultimate goal of The Void is coloured, if you will, with feminist (or at the very least, feminine) themes. The Rite of Devotio will allow one Sister to ascend to the Upper Limit- creating life from mere existence. This is tantamount to a kind of birth. If the Upper Limit is where true “life” occurs, then the Void is not only an afterlife, but prelife. You could call the Void a kind of womb, in which there exists the possibility for many different lives, but only one can be chosen. Even the concept of the Void- vacant, hollow, accepting- is symbolically vaginal. The layout and design of the Void even echoes the appearance of a uterus, fallopian tubes, and ovaries. The Sisters in their chambers could be said to be unfertilized eggs. In this analogy, then, Colour becomes seminal. It’s the substance used to fertilize a Sister so that she can ascend to the Upper Limit to be born. After all, in order to perform Breakthrough, the Spirit must reach a state of Turgor- turgidity, the opposite of flaccidity, being the state of tissue that has become rigid with the absorption of fluid. In other words, for humans, an erection. In this light, try not to think too hard about the fact that the oldest Sister is nineteen.

Well, that represents just about the sum total of my most concrete theories regarding The Void. The Void is a spectacularly nourishing experience, and I had to trim away several potential avenues of thematic exploration to save on space and time. In the future, I may return to The Void, and use it as a jumping board to discuss art, love (platonic, familial, romantic, sexual, it’s all there in some form or another, and every player will have a different reaction to every Sister), religion, truth and lies, how we define ourselves against those around us… essentially any topic you care to mention can be meaningfully addressed using the language of The Void. For today, though, I hope I’ve managed to enrich your understanding of this and all games, the way CannibalK9 nourished my own understanding of this and all games. Once again, I’d like to implore you to check out Ice-Pick Lodge’s Kickstarter, and for any PC users, don’t forget that The Void is available on Steam. If you good folks have something to add about The Void (and anybody who has experienced it must have something to say about it), whether you’re building on or tearing down something I’ve said above or you’d like to pursue your own avenue of thought, please feel free to drop a comment, or even contact me personally. I could discuss this game to the end of time, so it certainly wouldn’t be an imposition.

[ladymdc]

Chapters: 5/15 (~14,750 at present) Updated: 04/28/24 Rating: Explicit Relationships: Astarion/f!Tav Additional Tags: Inspired by Hades & Persephone, Vampire Ascendant Astarion, POV Astarion, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Powerful Persephone, Spirit of Nature Halsin, Developing Relationship, One-sided Hate to Lovers, Falling In Love, Astarion is an asshole but he’s Trying™️, Vampire Turning, Blood Drinking, Protectiveness, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Voyeurism (once), Explicit Sexual Content, Unreliable Narrator, Manipulation, Minor/background Halsin/f!Tav (not the focus but it is there), Angst with a happy ending

Summary: The moment Astarion saw her, he knew. He could feel the fire in her. See it in her eyes. He decided to take her for himself. To give Asher more than just flowers and trees.

Astarion had always been drawn to the sun. He should have known then that he wouldn’t be able to live without her.

(Excerpt from CH1 under the cut)

CH1: The impatient, burning, dawn.

I asked Persephone, “How could you grow to love him? He took you from flowers to a kingdom where not a single living thing can grow.”

Persephone smiled, “My darling, every flower on your earth withers. What Hades gave me was a crown made for the immortal flowers in my bones.” 

— Nikita Gill

____________________________________________________

He had to have her. 

It was all Astarion could think when she turned to face him. Prior to materializing behind her, he had not decided what his course of action would be. Ask for recommendations on lodgings for the night or drain her dry for the energy and continue on to Baldur’s Gate, but now— 

Astarion wanted. 

She looked as exquisite as she smelled. Her features were delicate and refined, though her beauty was somewhat marred by the scar branching across her right cheek. Or it ought to be, but it only added a brutal sort of grace to her.

The setting sun picked out the strands of gold in her red hair, highlighting the freckles across the bridge of her nose and the crest of each cheek. She stared at him with incredible, dark golden eyes lined heavily with kohl that made them seem to glow in the dying light. 

“You seem lost,” she said. 

The wind picked up from behind him. The golden fields rippled and swayed, seeming to bow before her. 

“I feel like I am right where I’m supposed to be,” Astarion said. 

“In a wheat field just outside of Reithwin?” 

Astarion laughed softly at her wry tone, the sound shocking him. When was the last time he had laughed like that? Something not false and laced through with complete cynicism?

“No, in your presence, darling. It is a fine one.”

“Is that the only reason I’m still alive?” She said it tonelessly, like a casual observation. One surprisingly lacking in concern for someone able and willing to recognize the reality of their situation. 

Instinctively, curiously, Astarion reached out to gently press into her mind. For a moment, he had access to everything. 

Astarion saw a longbow, sunlight drifting through speckled glass into a room and illuminating countless motes around it, a trail of tiny purple flowers. He tasted her wishes, her regrets. Her name.

Her anger. 

“If you could not do that,” her voice was ice. “I would appreciate it.” 

“My apologies,” Astarion lied, inclining his head. “It’s a habit. Though, people do not usually detect I am there.” 

“It appears neither of us are what we seem.” 

Astarion grinned, excessively pleased with that fact, and provided a convenient glimpse of his canines. “Quite,” he said. “Which is why, as delectable as you would undoubtedly be, killing you for a few minutes of bliss would be a waste.” 

“I suppose I should thank you for that.” 

“It would be the polite thing to do,” Astarion agreed.

It was interesting how the very air around her seemed to thaw. 

“Thank you,” she said, that wry tone back again. 

“You’re welcome, my dear, and now that we’ve gotten the formalities out of the way, my name is Astarion.”

A glimmer of amusement lit in her eyes. “Well, Astarion, assuming standard fare will sate your appetites. The Last Light Inn has an excellent cellar, and the main suite should suffice. It’s not Upper City, but it’s better than most places outside the Gate.”

Astarion stepped closer, relishing the slight increase in her pulse. It was not fear, exactly. Nor desire. Anticipation of the unknown, perhaps, because she did not shy away. She just looked up at him as if facing down the prospect of death was nothing new. Astarion had seen enough of her mind to know these fields were not all she had ever known. 

Nor all she wanted to know. 

“Sating my appetites aside, you’re willing to set me loose here?” Astarion asked.

“I doubt you need my permission to go anywhere.”

“I don’t, but we both know that isn’t what I was asking,” Astarion admonished gently. 

Her eyebrows furrowed into a faint v. “There is no need to cause problems for you, no matter how minor,” she said. “You haven’t done anything.”

Astarion almost laughed again. “Oh, darling, I’ve done plenty.”

“As much as I don’t doubt that, I also don’t care as far as it relates to me.” 

“How…” he tilted his head to the side. “Pragmatic of you.” 

“Not everyone has a death wish,” she said simply. 

The wind picked up again, and his fingers itched to tuck a lock of hair that had fallen loose from her bun back behind her ear. 

“You should come with me to Baldur’s Gate, Asher Claill,” Astarion said, permitting her name to touch his tongue alongside the decision. “This place is too insignificant for someone like you.” 

“And die in a week when you get bored? No, thank you.” 

“I believe tiring of you would be impossible.” 

Asher did not say it, but Astarion felt it. How the comment touched on her pride. It was in her smile, slight as it was, and in the whisper of warmth in the air that hadn’t been there a second before.

“Goodbye, Astarion,” she said. Then Asher turned and walked away as if she did not comprehend that she had piqued his interest more than anyone had in his entire existence. 

Or what that meant. 

____________________________________________________

For the time being, the Last Light Inn would suit his appetites precisely as Asher had said. It did have an excellent cellar, and the main suite was, in fact, sufficient. Despite his lack of a retinue, his attire and chain of office marking Astarion as a magistrate opened both to his immediate disposal. Not that Astarion had suspected anything to the contrary. 

Asher had exhibited no telltale signs of deceit. No increase in respiration. No hesitation. However, Astarion dealt in lies and embellishment. Disappointment, it seemed, had somehow become his standard. That he was left feeling satisfied, for once, only added to the appeal. 

It was with thoughts of her filling his head that Astarion selected another grape from the cheese platter. 

“Are these grown here?” he asked the innkeeper. 

The power behind it was barely a push. It was a nudge more than anything. Hardly a compulsion when a charm could make someone believe Astarion’s thoughts were their own or be a force to turn someone’s body and mind against them. 

“They are, my lord,” the innkeeper said. 

Astarion allowed his fang to pierce through the skin and release a burst of flavor onto his tongue. He hummed, pleased. 

“Delicious,” he said, then selected a slice of bread to be the vessel for some goat cheese pressed with chopped almonds. “Cheese from the Dalelands is a pleasant find all the way out here.”

The absent comment struck a chord of unease. Astarion paused for a moment, considering its value. Then he finished smoothing the cheese over the crusty bread. Lesser vampires needed eye contact to maintain compulsions, but Astarion was not lesser. 

“Is its absence going to cause problems for you?” Astarion asked. 

“No, my lord.”

“Then what’s the issue?” 

“There isn’t one. I like to have it in stock for one of the residents, is all.” 

Her voice had been dark and fluid, accented like the honey touched by lavender that Astarion drizzled over his creation. 

“Who?” he asked, seeking confirmation. 

There it was again, that tension tightening as the man tried to tip toward breaking free to protect this individual. Astarion smothered it. Pressed into the innkeeper’s mind, digging into it like a spike. 

What little mental fortifications this half-elf possessed were immediately broken. The man’s life was laid out before Astarion in still frames and fragments of memory, but he only touched on what he was looking for and withdrew.

“The wood elf with red hair,” Astarion prompted. “Tell me about her.” 

“There’s not much to say, my lord. She keeps to herself for the most part.” 

Astarion didn’t speak for the space of two to three bites. “I’m sure she does, though that doesn’t help the rumors, does it?” he asked, at last. 

“It isn’t as bad as it used to be,” the innkeeper said. “Time and memory work in her favor, but it’s believed she’s responsible for the eternal spring here.”

Astarion swirled the wine in his glass, triple-checking his own memory, but no, he could not recall ever hearing the name Reithwin or of a place untouched by winter. Not that the information would necessarily reach him, and if it did, Astarion had centuries working against him. 

So much of the outside world still seemed new as time reshaped the land while his focus remained on the Gate. It was pure circumstance that Astarion’s errand had sent him farther south than planned, putting this pocket of color and warmth in an endless grey landscape directly in his return path to the city.

“Do you believe it?” Astarion wondered. 

“I do, my lord. It’s a rarity now, and it wasn’t always that way, but I remember a time when flowers used to bloom in her footsteps.” 

“Where does she live?” 

Astarion could feel the innkeeper trying to stop himself, but Astarion had control, and he pushed until the man was hemorrhaging secrets.

“I don’t want to harm her,” Astarion soothed, keeping his voice low and persuasive. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

(read the rest on Ao3!)

[rathologic]

hi there, you run a great blog!! i was wondering if you have any advice or suggestions on how to responsibly/respectfully get into patho and patho2? as in, do you think there are any things a new fan should keep in mind while playing (i.e. with the grooming allegations, i have also seen racism and misogyny mentioned)

honestly i'm not entirely sure what i'm asking for help with here, but maybe just resources that further discuss the shitty views/opinions/actions of dyb that taint aspects of the game? thank you so much

hey! it really is going to depend on your personal tolerance for these aspects. racism is a major in-world topic discussed by the games, but also thoroughly present within the storytelling the franchise presents, so there's a fair amount of nuance; the elements of misogyny and pedophilia are just visible throughout. if you're at least passingly familiar with such topics, you'll be able to recognize and think critically about their presence as you get into the games (if you decide to at all)

baseline recommendation is always "don't pay for pathologic 2". Ice-Pick Lodge is not financially struggling, 2's racist and misogynistic elements are more pervasive and widespread than the first game's, and the mainstream praise it receives (unduly) goes straight to dyb's reputation as a writer. honestly I would not recommend paying for patho1 either but it usually sells for $1, so if that's justifiable to you... in no particular order here's some things to have in mind:

"tl;dr just respect the kin" is a Google doc outlining some ways that anti-Indigenous beliefs show up in the fanbase, and touches slightly on racist aspects of the games, like the p1 butcher models

look through the patho1 character ages, and keep the large age gaps in all of the m/f relationships in mind (patho2 just doesn't have canon ages)

this patho1 mod gets rid of a pedophilic dialogue exchange, and removes dybowski's face from the player screen; highly recommend that desktop users install it

my #p2crit tag is mostly very informal complaints about the writing and mechanics of pathologic 2, but there are a few decent critical points in it (though also many game spoilers, so don't look through this first!)

one of those points is that the herb bride (and Eva's) model textures in p2 include their genitals, as like. a baseline for how the game regards women

also new fans should Really be aware that rubin was being adopted into the burakh family in patho1. a lot of people, willfully or unknowingly, post pseudo-incest of him with the haruspex; it's a gray area in p2, but foul with the original designs

and some resources re: dybowski:

turaform's regarding nikolay dybowski is a video summarizing the grooming allegations, and describing the events by which they became known to the western fanbase- it was made in april 2021 soon after the news became widespread, but to my knowledge remains the most thorough explanation

this post links to the document of tweets referenced (the version with identifying information removed)

this post cites part of an interview with dybowski (at ~32:00 in the video), about how attractive he finds a young-looking naked girl model from the making of The Void, IPL's game about naked girls

in the society of dead poets is another interview not directly related, but I think it's worthwhile background that dyb's great-grandfather married his great-grandmother, a chinese woman, when he was >60 and she was 20 (page 57)

from all that you'll see patterns in the franchise, especially a tendency towards "beautiful woman gets killed young" (the Feverish Feeling ARG, in between games, is also fundamentally this), and be able to make your own judgements about its treatment of the Kin. maybe it just won't be acceptable to you! a lot of people have left the fanbase from discomfort or frustration, and that's completely understandable. I only hold that it's more valuable for people who are comfortable engaging at all to discuss and circulate discussion of patho's harmful aspects than to let them be only praised as profound & perfect narratives in the public eye :~)

[violant-apologia]

No Man

A secret swap fic for @indefinitely-sealed, for @fallenlondonficswap! I've wanted to write something about the Discordance for a while; thanks for giving me the opportunity, and I hope you like it!

Words: 1736 Spoilers for: The Hurlers

Read it on Ao3 or here!

There is a prick in the air. Neathy cold is usually damp and bone-deep, saturated for decades into every available surface. This is the cold of early spring on the Surface: cold which brushes your skin before settling in shadows and corners. Given that it’s currently a late summer morning, (and you’re not on the Surface,) cold like this is rather out of place indeed.

You are nearby Hangman’s Arch, and most passers-by seem oblivious to the temperature. Some, however, have pulled their coats tight about themselves and sheltered their hands in their pockets. If you walk against the flow of these individuals, you should find your way to streets of colder climate. This theory proves effective; soon you can feel the cold’s presence deepen. It embraces you like an over-familiar stranger and the chills of embarrassment that ensue. You are going in the right direction.

Scanning the crowd, you spot a rubbery man with a sinuous scarf and an old woman clad in ratty mittens. If they felt the need to bundle up when they left their homes, the cold there must have been strong enough to penetrate those elegant Ladybones facades. You push antiparallel to them once again.

It’s not long before you spy the first hints of frost. It glazes the spaces between cobbles and settles on brickwork like icing sugar. The cold itself pervades further, too. It paws at your clothes, claws scraping your skin where you leave slivers exposed. Now that you’re closer to its source, you recognise this breed of cold. It’s not of the Surface after all; this is the cold of the Upper River.

A commotion reaches your ears, interrupting your thoughts.

“Leave us be!” a screeching youth shouts from on high. “We don’t know you! Take your cold someplace else, why don’t you?”

This is followed by the slam of a window.

You round a corner and find the cause of the youth’s distress — a figure at a townhouse door, bashing the knocker desperately. The being is a pure, frosty white, clothes and all: a noman.

It sinks to its knees and cries plaintively, “Hazel! Hazel! You must remember me, you must!”

As it continues on this trend, you notice the frost. It grows from the noman’s position and spreads across the cobbles, looking for all the Neath like a light cast from a lantern.

The youth seems unlikely to open the door to the noman. The noman, in turn, seems unlikely to accept this. A sparse but growing crowd has gathered to watch the affair, deciding that they can eschew warmth in in favour of schadenfreude. Two constables whisper in the sidelines, too — one eyes her baton. It would have good chances against a person made of snow.

You make your way to the front of the crowd and slowly approach the noman. Up close you can see its features. They’re pristine — sculpture-like in their precision. You’ve never heard of a noman living this long past winter, let alone in such good condition. Perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps out of concern for the creature’s wellbeing, or perhaps simply out of a desire to foil a constable’s good time, you approach the sobbing noman and offer it a hand up. It wordlessly accepts and you pull it to its feet, letting go before frostbite begins to cling.

In the following hour or so, little passes between you and the noman. Walking through London’s streets with you seems to bring it a little comfort, however. Its disconsolation gives way to mere despondency, and then, eventually, to manageable unhappiness. You stop by your lodgings to pick up a coat and scarf — the noman pokes idly at the ice-rimed windows as you do.

“Unseasonably cold, this,” it says, breaking the silence with the old British classic of ‘the weather’. Still, it’s odd for the noman to be so confused at the cold that it itself generates. “What?” it asks when it catches your look of puzzlement. “The whole Neath is frosty, seems like. Hasn’t been like this since I was a kid on the Surface.”

This, of course, is patently impossible. No noman could live on the Surface, beneath the sun’s indelible gaze. The situation becomes clear to you: this creature believes itself to be human.

Nomen tend to be acutely aware of their temporary nature. Many of them won’t pipe down about it, in fact — as is understandable. One unaware of its existence — wilfully, it seems — is an oddity in the extreme. Did it never know its original? Or perhaps an encounter with irrigo was the cause… To ascertain the nature of this oddity, you continue with the small talk. Something relevant usually comes up.

Except it doesn’t. You learn of the pristine noman’s history (or the “noman’s” history) as you wreak icy wrath on passers-by.  Its memories of the Surface come into clarity, but nothing of note seems to appear. You prompt it for its more recent activities, but it notices a sign that takes its interest.

“Dante’s!” it cries. “This was always a favourite of mine. Let’s go in!”

And it bustles away from your questioning, towards the undoubtedly-full restaurant. It negotiates for a moment with the door’s frosted hinges, but then manages to push it open.

For the slightest moment, you get a taste of Dante’s delicious warmth — before the heat flees in a split second. The diners nearest the door disperse in the sudden cold, pushing past you to the (relative) warmth outside. The pristine noman sits at one of the newly vacant tables, and you take a seat opposite. Trying to ignore the gazes of the waitstaff, fiery with lost profits despite the cold, you continue your line of questioning. What does the noman’s recent history hold?

“Well, recently…” it fidgets, “I’ve made the acquaintance of Penstock. I knew of him before, of course, but we’d never talked until lately.”

This must have been the noman’s original. Penstock hold the secrets of the Sundered Sea — where nomen are made. You prompt for something a little newer.

“Um,” it says, seeming to wrack its brain, “I came back from a trip to the Hinterlands? I walked back. A personal tour of the west, you know?”

Something is coming to you, pieces coalescing into a discernible image. You ask it how it got out West in the first place.

“I…” it pauses, confused. “The train, surely. Yes, that’s right, we got the train.”

We, you ask?

“What?”

It said “we”. Who was it travelling with?

“No, I…” it stammers. “Me. Just me.”

Alright. What was “just it” doing out west? Surely it didn’t travel all that way just to walk back.

“I was being disp— I was disposing of something.”

Something dangerous?

“No, it…”

A mistake?

It nods.

Did it leave its mistake near the Hurlers, by any chance?

Another nod. The noman’s anxiety is frozen across its face. You understand what it’s experiencing, more or less: being lead to a conclusion your mind won’t accept.

Then what happened? Did it leave?

“No,” the noman says, voice small. “No. Then I realised what I was doing.”

A twist. What did it do then?

“I—” it starts. “I—”

The noman struggles for a moment before lapsing into quiet. You wait for a moment before pushing further: what did it do—

“I didn’t mean it!” the noman cries, slamming its hands on the table and casing the silverware to clatter. Its eyes are alight with fear. “I just couldn’t control myself!”

Now you’re getting somewhere. The floodgates are broken now, and an avalanche of confessions ensues.

“When I realised what I was doing, I was just so angry; I didn’t mean for it to turn out like that!” Even as the words tumble from the noman’s mouth, it trembles. “I just meant to shove me, but the ice was so slippery; I just watched as I tumbled, as my head cracked against the ground, as the snowflakes melted in the pooling blood…”

The noman’s voice fades. It looks at its snow-white hands as if seeing them for the first time.

“I was going to leave me,” it says, the words dripping quietly from its icicle teeth. “And when I was gone… what am I without myself? But the stones… they promised me that I didn’t need me. That I could be one, alone, original. They sung, and I believed them.”

The noman shudders. Its body is human-shaped; it could not be hiding a freezing sigil.

“Thank you,” the noman says. “It’s clear to me, now. I am a shadow with no owner, a pale imitation of nothing, no matter what the stones said. I see that, finally.” 

The heat of Dante’s is beginning to return. The noman looks around with glazing eyes.

“I could have been a good me, I think,” it says, its features already beginning to drip. “Though I suppose it wouldn't have worked. That damnable could — my fault too, I imagine.”

There’s a sluggishness to its movements now, a slur to its speech.

“You’ve been very good to me, to lead me through this,” it says. “But I must ask… did you know what this would do to me? This knowledge, this…”

It tries to gesticulate, but a couple of its fingers carry the momentum and disconnect, splattering into inanimate snow in the tablecloth.

“Ah,” it says, embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”

It lurches in its chair. Its features sag.

“It doesn't matter either way, now.”

It barely resembles a human any more. Its layers slough off to water on the tiles. The noman laughs a little, then sighs.

“Remember me,” it mumbles. “Nobody else can.”

And it's gone. The noman is naught but slush, water, and the cloying stench of ammonia and tragedy. Soon there is nothing at all left of it: certainly not a sigil left glistening on the restaurant floor. And if there was, it wouldn't have travelled here in a body of ice and snow: nourishing it, sustaining it, acting as permafrost bones as it walked east towards London.

You get up to leave the table, not passing the sigil (because it isn't there). And because it isn't there, there's no need to quarantine the restaurant, to take precautionary measures, to pry the frozen words from the tiles. As you don't pass it you don't read it, and no unreal promises lodge themselves in your mind:

no copy shall have an original

[edgessunflower]

heyyyy could i request chris from Until Dawn? Something cute and fluffy plzzz! Thank you!! <3

Finally a until dawn request! Hope it's great 💛

Keep warm

Pairing:Chris Hartley x reader

Description:After being left outside in the snow Chris brings you in and stays with you

You felt like you didn't belong in the group of friends you were in locked outside of the lodge none of you have been to in years. You were listening to music when Emily came in your room saying that she needed help outside and would only take seconds leading to you in boots,a loose coat,and pajamas thinking you were helping with the power box but while walking she goes back in telling you she forgot a flashlight but instead locks the door leaving you outside alone with no one knowing. You wait a few minutes going to the door to see what she was doing but find it locked and no one to open it knocking until you look closely seeing Jessica laughing at you sitting on the stairs by emily in her pajamas before going to bed as you huddle against the door knowing that you wouldn't keep warm for an hour. You sit on the front porch quietly crying as you shake from the cold feeling tired wanting to get in to change and go to bed and wait to confront emily and jess about what happened as your vision dims and you can feel the ice and snow through the bottom of your pants leg on the ground. You thought that you may not be found until morning in the barn or even dead with how you felt until you heard a voice then a blurry figure and feeling hands on your face not being able to see who it was until you listened closely "Are you okay? What happened your freezing!" you realize it was Chris who was with you putting his coat on you picking you up in his arms banging on the door just as Sam walked in opening the door. You and chris met through sam and Ashley having becoming attached at the hip with him at first he had feelings for ashley until she got a boyfriend but he realized that he had feelings for you abit after keeping his feelings secret not wanting to ruin your friendship chris takes you to the fire rubbing your arms and blowing on your hands as ashley and sam come with blankets putting them around you having you drink tea slowly calming down looking at them "What happened to you?" ashley asks as you sniffle with tears running down your face "I went out with emily to help her but instead she left me outside...her and jess laughed at me before they left...I was out there for 2 hours" they look at you wide eyed feeling their blood boil not only what happened but also that it happened to you. You were the kindest,sweetest,and most wonderful person that they had met and for something so traumatic to happen to you it made them all especially chris angry but he stayed holding you while you cried and calmed down drinking tea and eating leftovers from dinner "Chris thank you for helping me...I know you might not feel the same but...I love you" you look to see him smiling at you leaning forward kissing your cheek then you meet halfway in another kiss connecting your lips laughing and laying by the fire the rest of the night waking up in his arms the next morning. You walk inside the kitchen seeing jess and emily going to go upstairs when you see everyone else behind you going straight to the kitchen "What the hell were you both thinking?!" everyone yells at them for how stupid they were for what they did not really caring until chris snaps "YOU LEFT HER OUT THERE NOT CARING WHAT HAPPENED! SHE COULD HAVE DIED!" ashley pushes jess yelling for her to get out while sam grabs and throws emily outside and jess walks out after mike stands with everyone not leaving with her hugging you and cheering spending the rest of the night with chris in his room listening to music.