#When Reverse Falls and Monster Falls were a thing

[realmsalot]

Oh, How Forgetful Of You

Summary

After Stanley Pines falls through the portal, saving his brother in the process, Stanford has to make the hard choice of leaving him behind, reconnecting with his ex-assistant, and dismantling the portal. But after attending the equally fake and pitiful funeral held for his twin, Ford gets consumed by guilt and starts to remake his decision. Only for it to be unknowingly taken from him.

There's a hole in his mind where his brother should be...

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Or my take on a Reverse Portal AU! Specifically about why it takes Ford thirty years to get Stan back. Enjoy

Ao3 link

prev ch -- next ch

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Chapter 2 A1Z26

Chapter Summary

Soon after the corpseless coffin went into the ground, there's a conversation in a car parked in front of the mysterious cabin in the woods...

Or Fidds convinces Ford to grieve for his brother.

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Stanford had contacted Fiddleford not long after Stanley went through the portal. 

He needed help to finish Project Mentem, a way to encrypt his mind – to get rid of Bill– and he was desperate. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open even knowing that as soon as he closed them, Bill would come out and destroy his potential chance of escape. He needed Project Mentem to be finished so he could encrypt his mind and get out of his self-inflicted hell. He didn't know how much longer he could wait. So he crawled back to his ex-assistant, who (unfortunately) knows how to make machines that affect the mind best.

Ford was prepared to beg, having just lost a brother, and reached a breaking point that even his pride couldn't overcome. But to his surprise, Fiddleford readily agreed. That was the second time that week that someone he thought wouldn't want to see his face again helped him.

Project Mentem was done in record time, and Stanford's mind was finally safe. 

(At least he thinks so. Bill hasn’t possessed him since he had encrypted his mind, but could he be lulling him into a false sense of security? Making him think he is safe only to take anything he has left away when he least expects it. "We should make the trip to the unicorns, and get some of their hair, just to be safe,” Ford said to Fiddleford one night.)

Ford had expected whatever friendship or kindness or something that Fiddleford somehow still had left for him to end after that. For Fiddleford to then turn around and never speak to him again. He had betrayed him after all and that’s what he would do. ‘That’s what you did with Stanley,’ His mind reminds him.

But for some unknown reason instead, Fiddleford stayed.

“Only if you agree to destroy that- that monster in your basement,” Fiddleford said. Wide awake from the first true night's sleep he had in so long and vengeful at that accursed machine he had made, Stanford readily agreed. (Whether because of Bill’s betrayal or Stanley’s death, he does not know. He just wants that thing gone.)

And now, a few weeks of recovering from what Bill had done to his body, planning on dismantling the portal, and a conflagrant fake death later they were here. Fiddleford is pulling his car in front of Ford’s cabin after his brother’s fake funeral.

The inside of the car was quiet during the ride, Ford did not want to talk, and Fiddleford was seemingly unable to find any words to say considering Ford had caught him opening his mouth to say something only to close it a few times. Now in front of his cabin, neither of them is making any sort of movement that suggests leaving the car, and it's just as quiet. And Ford's thoughts are getting too loud.

He had killed his brother.

‘I need to get back to work,’ he determines. Stanford starts to unbuckle himself when Fiddleford finds his voice. 

“So, I know this mornin’ you wanted to keep on workin' after the uh ceremony…” He pauses, taps his fingers on the steering wheel, and glances at Ford trying to see any change on his face. Ford grimaces. Yes, he wanted to continue working on dismantling the portal after the funeral. He remembers that this morning he had thought of Stanley’s funeral as an inconvenient pause in their progress of taking down the world-destroying machine. Stanley’s funeral, his own brother’s funeral, was an inconvenience! Even though it was he who had killed him. Stanford had killed his twin brother– 

“But,” Fiddleford says, cutting through Ford’s thoughts, “if you need time to mourn we could put it on hold for now.”

“We don’t have time for a break,” Ford says automatically because it's true. They need to dispose of the portal as soon as possible. It doesn’t matter that the house and his brain are now safe from Bill. It doesn’t matter that all three journals are now hidden away from Bill’s reach. “The portal is too dangerous to keep up. It could destroy the world!” He says more forcibly. His logical mind trying to keep down images of Stanley going through the portal that start popping up unwelcome. 

“I know that,” Fiddleford states. “Holy Mother Mary above, don't I know that, Stanford. But I also know that with the way it is right now there ain’t a snowball's chance in Hell that that there thing is gonna be activating anytime soon. Even if someone got your journals.” 

Fiddleford is right and Ford knows it.

When the horrid machine turned itself off after devouring his twin he was left a crumpled heap on the floor staring at the beast, but that didn’t last long. Adrenaline, which was from a mix of what was left over from their fight and what he got from almost being eaten himself, coursed through his veins, he called his twin’s name, and he went for the lever. But just as he is about to flip it, he finally processes what he sees left of the doomsday device he made. A damaged wreck with no hope of reactivating. He calms his mind and starts to think logically about this. He came to this conclusion.

Stanley Pines always had a knack for breaking everything he left behind, and for once Stanford Pines is grateful for it. 

Fiddleford leans over and puts a hand on Stanford’s shoulder. He meets his eyes. “Stanford, I know you hate to admit it but you're hurtin’ right now. You need time to heal from this.” 

He pushes McGucket's hand away. “I already had time. Stanley has been gone for–,” he doesn’t know how long, “And before that, he hasn’t been in my life for a decade! His death doesn’t change anything!” It doesn't, doesn't it? He unlocks the passenger door. Ford can just keep on living– working like he’s always done for the last ten years. He leaves the car. 

He needs to work, not take a break. Working on his academics is what got him through the first time Stan left. Why wouldn’t working on the portal get him through now?

Southern not-quite-cussing follows him out. “Stanford Pines! I know you! I know that since the accident you haven't been letting yourself think about it much,” Fiddleford yells behind him. Ford stops and turns around.

“What is there to even think about,” Ford yells back. “Stan is gone! He’s been gone for ten years and has been such a non-entity in my life that I didn’t even feel the need to tell you that he existed until he had already left again!” Stanley is getting into his car and yelling about not needing anyone. Stanley is falling through the portal and trying to say something to Ford but is consumed before he can finish a sentence. “Stanley is gone again and that’s it!”

“And that’s it? Stanford.” Fiddleford has caught up to him and he puts one hand on Ford’s elbow. The other hovers next to his face for a second before falling onto his shoulder. They’re both outside Ford’s cabin just two yards from the porch steps. Since the morning the fresh snow that had dusted Gravity Falls has turned into an ugly, muddy slush and the wind now feels too cold for Ford’s suit. “Your brother is gone and this time you can’t change that. You can’t send him a postcard or give him a phone call or nothin’. He’s in a place where you can’t reach him anymore. You can’t reach out to him or take back anything you might regret saying to him. You need to process that. So please Stanford, take a break and mourn.”

“Your brother is gone and this time you can’t change that,” Ford’s mind echoes. ‘But that’s not true, is it? You could get him back,’ a small but dangerous part of himself replies. He shuts that part down quickly. There’s no logical sense to hope that Stanley is anything more than dead behind the portal. If anything he should hope that Stan really is dead considering how Fiddleford reacted to his peak through the portal.

He takes a steading breath and removes McGucket’s hands from his person. “Fine. I’ll take a single day–” Fiddleford gives him a look “–a single week off to mourn for my brother. But not a day more.”

“I suppose I’ll take it,” Fiddleford sighs and then gives Ford a small patient smile.

Just what kind of friend was he? Not telling Fiddleford that he had doomed his twin to the same fate he almost doomed him to.

Ford looks away from his friend. “I need to double-check my taxes. That IRS agent was giving me odd looks and I don't want any of Stanley’s trouble with them on me.”

“Yeah, you should do that. I tried talking to him at the funeral and even when I pointed out yer six fingers he seemed unconvinced,” Fiddleford says, taking a step back. Ford hadn't realized how close they were. “Now, I er have a book club meeting I uh have’ta get to, but just remember I’m here for ya.”

Ford frowns slightly at the mention of the so-called book club. It’s something that Fiddleford had apparently started going to after sometime after the first portal incident. He doubts it’s an actual book club because when Fiddford first mentioned it while Ford was still recovering from the lingering injuries from Bill, Ford’s interest in it was quickly shut down with excuses as to why he wouldn’t like it. His current theory is that it’s a cover-up for something, but he doesn’t know what it could be a cover-up for. Fiddleford is not one for big secrets after all. 

And yet. 

“I really do mean it, Ford,” Fiddleford says, making eye contact. “I’m here for ya.”

He is hiding something.

Ford wants to find out. He wants to ask or follow his friend and know what he could possibly be hiding from him. But Ford feels a deep tiredness in his bones and knows that if he does any of that, it could potentially start a fight, and he doesn’t want to fight with his only friend. So Ford smiles, and if there was a mirror behind the engineer he would see that it is a similar smile that his twin would give to him after he asked him if he was alright, and says, “Thank you, Fidds.”

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A/N:

Hey, remember how I said this chapter was done in the last chapter? Apparently, that was a lie. I kept going back and working on this while writing chapter 3. Wanna know another lie? Remember how I said I would post this chapter when the third one is done? Well chapter 3 isn't done. But I feel that we need a little escapism right now so I'm posting it. Chapter 3 is actually longer than I expected, but that makes sense considering how much happens in it. (I'm like halfwayish???? there.)

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the completely necessary chapter of someone telling Ford to take a goddam break because I doubt he would do so otherwise. I need you guys to know that in between Stan going in the portal in early February until Stan's funeral in like mid-to-late March Ford had been doing his damnest to keep his mind occupied, okay? Even when he was recovering from Bill. He's gonna need next chapter's break to really get consumed by the guilt. But yeah, see you next chapter.

[bugwolfsstuff]

Gotta love how all my fandoms awoke at once

Welcome to Night Vale

Magnus Chase

and Gravity Falls

[callmearcturus]

The vinyl comes with... this. This is not the lyrics to the songs. I'm gonna transcribe it, because I think the first time you listen should be with this.

You are about to listen to an album by the Glass Animals. You don't always listen to albums from beginning to end, but maybe you will this time. It was written for you. (Linear Notes by Gabrielle Zevin)

SHOW PONY

You are a child. Before you were a child, your parents were children. Most origin stories begin with love, and yours is no different. Once upon a time, two people fell in love, and then it ended. It's the first love story you were every told, and it teaches you the one certainty in life is that all things end. From this point forward, you are not a romantic. They call you the cynic, and to protect yourself, you take on many forms.

WHATTHEHELLISHAPPENING

You are kidnapped. You are in the trunk of a moving car, fetal position, darkness, screech of the tires against the road, the scent of gasoline. You don't know how you got there, but it isn't the worst place you have ever found yourself, and in a way, it feels inevitable. You know you could die, so you find yourself thinking about all the people you have ever loved. The trunk is like a womb. You could live here forever but eventually you'd get lonely. Your relentless need for company is your hamarita.

CREATURES IN HEAVEN

You are a psychic. You ask your lover if they want to know the hour and the day that the two of your will part. They laugh at you, and they say they don't believe in psychics. You suspect that their failure to believe in your gift might be the problem that leads to the demise of your relationship. But who cares? This relationship ends in three months, and you may as well enjoy it. Evanescence can sometimes be a profound pleasure.

WONDERFUL NOTHING

You are a prizefighter who is in love with a boxer. You say, "It's a bad idea." (JAB, JAB, CROSS.) And the boxer says, "It's only a bad idea if it gets in the way of our work." (SLIP.) And you say, "Promise me you'll never pull any punches." (CROSS. CROSS. HOOK.) The boxer swears they won't. (SLIP. JAB.) But when you fight, the boxer always pulls their punches, and you never do. You're pretty sure this makes you a bad person. You're a prizefighter, and you do not love this boxer or anyone enough to pull punches. (JAB. CROSS. HOOK.) Just before throwing the knockout punch, you whisper, "I love you so fucking much."

A TEAR IN SPACE

You are a sock. You are an earplug. You are a miniature glass horse. You are easy to misplace. You are you, so you think you matter. You are nothing. No one even notices when you left the party.

I CAN'T MAKE YOU FALL IN LOVE AGAIN

You are an astrophysicist. You believe you can use sound waves to control time and space. A song is a time machine, you tell your colleagues. If you sing the right song, you could transport the lover to a particular time and place. You could reverse time, and if you could reverse time, you could make them love you again. Your belief in science occasionally makes you pathetic.

HOW I LEARNED TO LOVE THE BOMB

You are a damsel, and you are in love with a monster. You're not sure how it happened. You'd been warned about such creatures by the fairy tales of your youth. But in bedtime stories, the monster always presented as monster. The beast was hirsute, the vampire had fangs, the wolf in your grandmother's clothing was clearly not your grandmother. But your monster is clean cut and has good teeth. They knock at the door. You invite them in, and just like that, you are fucking a monster. You should be upset about it, but you aren't. The thing they don't tell you about monsters is that they are sexy as hell.

WHITE ROSES

You are Proteus. You are a god and you can change forms when the situation calls for it. This is hand for work, but difficult when it comes to relationships. You have occasionally been guilty of taking a form that you knew would make you lovable to some unsuspecting mortal. But it always ends the same way. A terrible row at an inconvenient time-- say, just before you're about to leave for the airport-- and then, you're forced to reveal yourself. You don't always mean to change forms, but it's second nation for you to shift a bit here and there-- pretend you like a certain band, express an enthusiasm for sport. Are you shapeshifting, or are you concealing yourself, and is there a difference in the end? Still, you love making people fall in love with you. Every time you do it, you promise you'll never do it again. And they you do it again.

ON THE RUN

You are an escape artist. You are handcuffed, straitjacketed, loaded into a zipped and padlocked duffle bag, wrapped in chains, tossed into the bottom of the ocean. It is billed as "The Greatest Escape of the Greatest Escape Artist, and the Culmination of a Career of Death-Defying Acts!"

The spectators on the pier anticipate your deliverance. They are sure you'll surface because you always surface. They aren't fearful; they are waiting to be dazzled. What they cannot know is how bored you are of dazzling.

You exit the bag, careful to take the props of your confinement so there will be no remains. You swim to another, distant pier. You don't see the people on the pier cry. You don't read your obituary. It's no longer your concern.

A week later, you are homesick, and you concede that your plan has failed. You miss the people on the pier and your cat and your bed and your favorite restaurant and your wristwatch. You don't remember what problems your faked death was going to solve so you can't say if it solved them.

The greatest power in the universe is nostalgia, and it that's true, maybe the people on the pier will forgive you. maybe you could come back from the dead. Now wouldn't that be the greatest escape ever?

LOST IN THE OCEAN

Who are you, anyway?

Why are so many songs addressed to you?

It's simple, you think. The songs are for you because I love you so fucking much, and when you say you, you mean all the yours: the parents and the child, the damsel and the monster, the escape artist and the crowd on the pier, the sock and the one who forgets the sock, the prizefighter and the boxer, and the world that contains all these people. You are all the lovers you failed, and all the ones who failed you. You are the lovers you haven't yet encountered-- there will be many because this world is filled with people to love. You are the singer, and you are the song. And you conclude that the only way to resist the ephemerality of all things is by singing love songs to you, whoever you are, wherever you are in the universe.

[zarnzarn]

1/2/3/4

reverse Odyssey au where polites is still on the ships when Poseidon arrives, and that last bit is enough to push Odysseus to beg him to stop, to spare the men he spent ten long years fighting hard and bitter to save. 593 men is no less amount after all, not for a small island like Ithaca, only three generations old. he'll do anything, anything at all, blind him, torture him, kill him- just let his men go; they were not the ones to blame.

Poseidon considers, staring down at the king with the odd grey eyes that he knew the origin of. Athena would be furious, after all- so why not take away the one thing her favoured pet was known for?

the crew rushes towards their captain, their king, as shouting emerges from the other boats, as he hits the deck convulsing, grasping at his throat. the cries of his men rend the air as his legs melt into oceanspray, remerging as a fish's tail, Odysseus gasping for air wildly, his tongue a mess of mangled flesh on the main deck, unable to talk or breathe.

they have no choice but to pick him up and tip him into the sea, and they watch in horror as he falls beneath the waves and with a flick of the tail, disappears.

six hundred men chase their king down, following the odd silver glint that appears once in a while above the blue water, following the strange cursed monster that Elepnor sees when he falls drunk into the ocean one day. follow him all the way back to Ithaca, where the people gather on the shore to cheer their arrival.

telemachus is all of ten and untameable at the return of his father's ships, running past the guards and the priests to the dock, where the soldiers and heroes are all setting down the ramps, strangely quiet, unsmiling in the face of ten years of gore and bloodshed being done. Penelope catches up to him, laughing as she cranes her head up, scanning the ships to see which one- which one had-

she only has to time to see euroluchus' shame-filled tears and polites guilty devastation, feeling her heart slowly sink to the ground, when there's suddenly a splash and an outburst of screams and propped up on the dock is a man with a fish's tail and familiar curls and razor-sharp teeth and eyes that are solid grey. the soldiers cry out in horror and thunder down the ramps to them as the monster reaches out- and Penelope can't do anything, frozen, as it reaches out and places a webbed hand with deadly claws on her son's cheek, caressing almost; and her breath catches when it looks back up to her, and she knows the face as well as her own, knows the grief and fear and knows it is her husband-

Then the pounding footsteps from the closest ships and the guards behind reach them, and Penelope only has time enough to scream to stay their weapons, already shoving Telemachus behind her and reaching out to shield off any spears or arrows from battle-strung men who'd shoot first and ask questions later-

Instead she only feels the brush of cold skin under his fingertips for the briefest of moments and then she's caught up in a fisher's net, tangled and alone. More nets are thrown, men crying out for their captain with desperation and fear, Polites running straight past her and leaping off the dock to swim after him-

But her husband is a descendant of Hermes, and Odysseus is gone.

Penelope listens to the story that night and does not cry, sitting straight-backed in the face of her family sobbing around her, of the five hundred and ninety-three men staring at her with grief and guilt alike, of being the only widow in the kingdom. Pets Telemachus' wild hair and remembers his father's, and thinks.

"You have told me much," She says finally. "But I'm still to hear a single, solid plan."

The room rustles as all the heads swing to her.

"Plan?" Eurylochus says finally. Anger burns as soon she looks to him, but she pushes it down firmly- rage will not win her anything.

"Yes. A plan," she says, "To bring my husband back home."

Telemachus unfolds at her feet and stares up at her with a hopeful grin, echoed slowly on the faces of the men around the room. Penelope smiles back.

"My husband spent ten years fighting for his people to make it back home," She proclaims. "Let's wait at least that long before we give up on him, yes?"

The answering cheer shakes the walls of the palace and echoes through the streets of Ithaca.

[starhvney]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: mcd laurance x reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: the very thing that he wishes to protect is the same thing that causes him torment.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: angst, reverse comfort, love confession, lots of self loathing from laurance, violence, i love elaborating on how terrifying shadow knights are

𝐂𝐖: mentions of violence and gore, he is in fact going crazy, he almost kills you whoops

𝐀/𝐍: that boy is a monsterrrr mo mo mo monster that boy is a monsterrrr (me after writing more mcd laurance angst instead of finishing my requests)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

the constant traveling your group has had to endure has been difficult on everyone, but lately it seems as if laurance has been even more on edge, barely hanging on to his temper by a thin thread. he's usually reliable for being calm and collected when tensions are high, yet somehow it seemed like any little thing or comment sent your way was some sort of veiled threat. it wasn’t a mystery why he was acting this way, with the calling tormenting his thoughts and chipping away at his sanity.

you'd hoped to coax him into talking about some things that had been on his mind, and possibly calm the build-up of stress that he seemed to constantly carry on his shoulders. however, the walk through the woods went from anything from tranquil, the thread holding him together snapping when bandits had decided to ambush the two of you. you wanted to stop him, to calm him down. but when the meadow was covered in blood and that same shade of hellish red turned to you in the form of fury-filled eyes, you found yourself frozen in terror.

weapon still in hand, laurance stalks towards you with his sword raised, only seeming to gain back a piece of awareness when a frightened sob leaves your lips. he stumbles back, horror in his eyes as he looks down at you, nothing but pure self-loathing on his face when he sees the pure fear in your eyes.

your breath shudders and you quickly gulp back the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes. you knew that if you didn’t speak now he’d distance himself from you, closing himself away for the sake of your safety. “…laurance?”

he falters at his name being said, snapping out of his own thoughts as he stares down at you. his lips curl in an unmistakable expression of mental anguish.. "…you're…you're scared of me. you're scared of me."

the tone of his voice was something you'd never seen him have before. self-hatred, horror, and the sheer amount of pain in his tone was nearly overwhelming. you find yourself in one of the few moments where you've ever seen laurance nearly speechless.

shakily you stand up to your feet, clearly trying to deny his claims. your silent attempt was not very convincing, though, with the trembling of your body and your eyes blown wide. blood from the practical slaughter of the men had splattered onto you, smearing on your skin and soaking into your clothes.

“no…” you breathe, shaking your head as you gulp, taking a shaky step closer to him. “i’m not. i'm not.”

“yes. you are. you should be. i’m a monster, and you should not be getting closer.” he practically snarls out the words, though the look in his eyes was desperate.

“no, you’re not.” you quickly say. there’s a pause as you take another shaky breath, staying in place. “they were going to kill you and me—if not something worse—if you hadn’t done something.”

a flash of anger resurfaces and flickers across his face at the slightest suggestion of that outcome—of you ending up hurt.

“that doesn’t change the fact that i’m a shadow knight.” his voice is nearly a hiss, his sword shaking loosely by his side. “it doesn’t change the fact…that i almost hurt you.”

you take another small step closer to him, chest heaving unevenly as your mind raced. he was right. he did lose his grip on reality and almost eliminated you in his crossfire. what were you supposed to say to that? what could you say to that?

“you may be different, now… but you’re still laurance. my laurance. even after all this time, that will never change.” you whisper.

he’s visibly trembling, jaw clenching and breaths short as he stares at you. he almost stumbles when you take another step forward, eyes squeezing shut as a shuddering breath leaves his lips. 

“don’t. don’t come any closer, please, i may lose control again.” he pleads, voice a hoarse whisper. 

“no, you won’t. i know you won’t.” you say, voice still hushed and soft, and the trembling in your tone still there. “…sheathe your sword, laurance.”

slowly, he sheathes his sword, the loud noise of it sliding into its case sounding loud against the silence of the forest. yes, you realize, any animal or insect nearby has stopped its chatter, sensing the danger of laurance’s presence and likely fleeing in terror. any living being should, if following their instincts.

slowly you close the distance between the two of you, relying on his closed eyes and concentration on self-control to keep him from backing away from you again. he’s usually so observant, so alert. the fact that he wasn’t even reacting to your approach was telling in itself. 

you know the risk of approaching him now. how dangerous it is. in order for him to succumb to the calling all he’d have to do is lose control and kill the person most precious to him, and here you were serving yourself on a silver platter.

“you’re here. with me. you’re not going to hurt me.” you’re just inches from him now. raising up on your tiptoes, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace.

the moment your arms wrap around him, a shuddering sob leaves his lips, his arms flinching to hold you back yet hesitating as if to push you away. his brain is in a constant state of internal conflict, one part of him screaming at him to shove you away for your safety and the other part begging to hold you closer.

the possessive part wins.

unnaturally hot armor presses against your ribs as he pulls you up into his arms, his face burying into your neck. shuddering breaths brush across your skin, heated against your collarbone while you watch the flickers of embers leave his armor. 

“you didn’t hurt me. i’m fine.” you murmur near his ear, reaching your hands up to run through the hair near the nape of his neck.

your fingertips meet the sensation of thick warm blood, and for a moment you’re frightened it’s his before you realize it must just be from one of the bandits he’d torn through.

laurance’s breathing stutters again when your fingers soothingly scratch against his scalp. he slowly drops to his knees, bringing you down to the ground with him and cradling you to him.

“i could’ve hurt you. had i been a little later, had i lost a little more control…” his voice is nothing but a strangled whisper.

the thought alone nearly sends him spiraling into a panic, arms almost squeezing you uncomfortably tight against the firm metal of his armor.

“no, don’t think about that,” you say, gulping as you let him mold you against him how he needed. “you’re fighting something bigger than you, than both of us. you… you just…”

you trail off.

it’s true. if he hadn’t regained control just a moment later, you’d likely not just be hurt—but dead—and laurance would’ve completely transformed into a shadow knight.

“that’s the problem.” he hisses out through his teeth, the horror in his tone replaced with frustration and hands trembling against you. “i’ve barely been holding on by a thread, one wrong word or comment, and i could lose control. and i could lose you. because of me. what about the next time this happens, huh? when i can’t control myself anymore?”

you’re stunned into silence, mouth opening to speak but no words coming out. “i…”

hands clench against your shoulders as he lifts his face back up, his irises a duller shade of red as he stares down at you. the look in them was silently begging for you to say anything, anything to distract him from the monster he felt himself deteriorating to.

“i could kill you, and you’re defending me. why do you defend me?”

tears fill your eyes as you stare up at him, breath hitching as you reach up to brush your hand against his cheek. “because i love you.”

a quiet groan leaves his lips, eyes squeezing shut and his face tilting to rest his forehead on yours. 

“i’ve dreamed of you saying those words to me.” he murmurs, voice thick and full of emotion. “but it was never supposed to be like this. i’ve wanted you so long, and now i can’t have you.”

“you can.” you quickly say, eyebrows twisting up and chest constricting in pain. all this time he’s waited for you to reciprocate his feelings and now he can’t act upon them, with this horrid overpowering urge to harm what he wants most in his head.

a ragged breath leaves his lips, the sound a bitter, frustrated noise. 

“no, i can’t.” he sounds like he’s forcing his voice to be harsh, the tone gruff yet trembling in pain. “i want you. i want you so badly, it’s eating me alive. but i can’t have you, not with the calling.”

your lips tremble and tears finally spill over the lids of your eyes. a moment later you’re leaning up and kissing him, hand cupping his cheek and the other over his chest.

the sudden action pulls a strangled sound from his lips, his whole body tensing and freezing in place. for a moment he stays that way, not even breathing before he breaks all at once.

he makes the most pathetic noise against your lips, wrapping his arms around your waist and yanking you flush against him. the way he kisses you back is desperate, his lips trembling and hands attempting to pull you impossibly closer to him.

you could feel his internal struggle with every tremble of his muscles against you. it was like he was begging you to stay while screaming for you to run away from him while you still could. having you here in his arms now, after all this time, felt like both the highest blessing he could receive and the worst curse sent to torture him for eternity.

“i love you.” you breathe against him, barely able to get the words out in the times you part before his lips crash down against yours again.

“don’t.” he mutters against your lips, his next sentence barely a gasp against your lips. “you’re going to drive me mad, saying those words. you should hate me. you should leave me.”

his body continues to contradict his words as his hands squeeze against you. he knows he needs to let you go, but he’s starving for the feel of your body against his. he knows he needs to push you away. but the selfish… the possessive part of him wants to mold you to his body and to keep you there.

“i love you,” you repeat, fingers digging into… not into firm, unyielding armor, but soft shoulders through the fabric of the linen shirt he was wearing before.

you can’t bring yourself to pull away, too caught up in the feeling of his lips against yours to confirm that he’d transformed back into his human form. but you know. he feels closer, like you’d stepped back into your home and smelled the familiar scent of your belongings after a long and tiring journey. 

drinking in each shuddering breath and soft murmur from your lips, he’s pulling you in like you were his first drop of water after wandering through the desert for years. finally, you pull back, regaining the air in your lungs as you look up into his eyes.

and there he is again.

the hellish flicks of firey ashes no longer surround him, and the red veins that showed through his sickly skin have receded, leaving the familiar olive tone of his skin under your fingertips. no longer are his irises an unsettling bloodthirsty red, but back to the cool grayish blues. for a moment, you think you even see a flicker of the green that resided there all that time ago, but then it’s gone once again in the next second.

“…you just need to remember who you are. to ground yourself.”

his eyes squeeze shut at your words, still struggling to catch his breath as he attempts to gather himself, leaning forward into your hands that cup his cheeks.

“…i feel like i’m slipping away more and more.” he whispers out suddenly, voice breaking slightly. “it’s like i can feel it eating at me. i don’t want to lose myself.”

“i won’t let you.” you quickly murmur back, thumbs brushing under his eyes. “you’ll still be you, and i’ll still be me. no matter how much time passes.”

laurance can feel himself leaning further into your touch, desperate for the comfort of it. when he looks down at you again, his eyes look so… incredibly exhausted, dark circles lining underneath them.

you glance back towards the bodies of the bandits around you. there was so much more that needed to be said. to be discussed. but you know the energy to say anything was lost between the both of you.

“let’s go back and rest for now. okay?” you whisper, eyes trained on a splatter of blood against the grass, before looking back up to him.

laurance tenses, following your gaze to the bodies surrounding you. he looks horrified, lips pursing in disgust at the amount of bloodshed and gore he’d left behind. it was easy to forget while in that state, but now, looking back at the lives he so easily extinguished, he feels nauseous.

before he could spiral again you turn his face back towards you, brushing your fingers across his skin. he tears his gaze away from the death surrounding you, hesitating for half a second, before slowly nodding.

“…okay.”

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

taglist: @wasting-away-on-the-internet, @bakugocanstompme 

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Crimson Ties✨

Vampire! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Masterlist Part 2

A/N: I was listening to “I’m Not A Vampire (Revamped)” by Falling In Reverse, and this angsty one shot just slipped inside the keyboard. I love love love writing in Joel’s POV, especially when it is filled with angst 🩵

Summary: Joel was a creature of the night, a monster who begged to be released from his curse. He wasn’t a good man, didn’t think he deserved anything that shined light on his dark soul. But there was you, the girl he so desperately wanted to stick around, if only for one more night.

“And whiskey seems to be my holy water. And mothers better lock your doors, and hide your daughters. ‘Cause I'm insane, I can feel it in my bones.Coursing through my veins. When did I become so cold? For goodness sakes, where is my self control?If home is where my heart is then my heart has lost all hope.”

-“I’m Not a Vampire” by Falling In Reverse

Word Count: 3.6k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only MDNI)

Tags: Angst, fic in Joel’s POV, mentions of blood, mentions of murder, feelings, pining, smut, oral receiving (female), unprotected p in v, creampie, vampire! Joel, outbreak AU

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  Another night of lying on the cold floor, another full bottle of amber whiskey chugged and thrown to the ground, glass littering the dirt covered wood, blood staining the blue flannel that’s wrapped around his tired body. He’s worn out, exhausted from the endless feedings, the mind numbing displeasure of having to drink the blood of the living again and again and again. 

   Wild animals could only tie him over for so long, humans were the only things that remotely silenced his cravings. But you. Well, you’d be the only thing that kept the unrelenting hunger from ever dissolving from his dead body. 

   You. The woman he could never truly have. You were a fragile particle of sunlight in his midnight clouded black nights. You were… exquisite, something he never should’ve lured into his lonely, monstrous life. 

   How many times has he had you? Over a dozen, each time risking your life with how dangerously delicious your blood smelled to him when you writhed beneath his naked body, the silhouette of your sensuous curves and delicate skin glowing under the moonlit skies. 

   He always came so close to nipping at your neck, biting into your sweet flesh each time his fingers were curled up into the soft walls of your dripping core, your melodic moans filling the room with every stroke of his thick cock inside you, each quake you gave from him running the blood soaked lips down your soft skin, begging to be let in, to taste the perfect rush of blood that coursed through your supple breasts. 

   It’d take just one bite and he’d be gone, not able to detach himself from your glistening skin, getting blood drunk off your crimson red life beneath your muscles. He can see it now, ripping the flesh from your perfect neck, nails digging into the meat of your skin, so fucking gone that he’d turn into the blood thirsty monster that he was, that he is. 

   Maybe he should end it, drive a wooden stake through his own non-beating heart, stop the endless cycle of whatever the two of you keep doing with each other. 

   He wants to end it, needs to keep you away, but he can’t. He has no strength, no ounce of restraint from you. So he lures you back into his king sized bed that’s donned in crimson red velvet sheets, the one where he fucks you relentlessly until you have nothing left to give but your own shaking breath that blows down the dip of his neck night after night. 

   He holds you tight in his arms, watching you slip from his grasp while you fall asleep on his broad chest, soft breaths breathing in and out after he takes control of your whole body against the damp sheets that are filled with the smell of you. 

   He almost can’t stand it. The smell of your rose scented hair, the feel of your buttery soft skin against his jagged nails, the taste of your sweet, drenched pussy as his tongue parts your folds and laps up the sticky slick that he gets so drunk off. The taste burns against his tongue, even hours after he’s finished, making his cravings deepen with every flick and taste of you on his lips. 

   He fights the monster that begs to be released when he’s clawing at your back, his sharp fangs hidden from view when his lips glide down your neck, sucking the taste of your syrupy skin, drowning in the smell of your rosemary perfume, fighting himself to not sink his sharp incisors deep into your jugular veins. 

   He distracts himself when he’s slotting his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your pretty little moans that slip out of you each time he thrusts his cock deeper and deeper into your core, eliciting the most insatiable moans that he will never tire of hearing. He feeds into your desires, caging you against his broad chest, flexed arms hugging your body, making you cum time and time again until he’s right on the edge himself, throwing back his tousled curled head, extracting his fangs as the blood rushes through his cock, threading his eyebrows together in a tight line until he’s calling your name and spilling warm ropes of cum deep inside you, claiming you as his own.

   He always feels the guilt after watching you sleep in his arms night after bloody night, his eyes never leaving your pretty face, his hand stroking light circles into your delicate skin. He hates it, hates having to leave you before the sun rises. All so he can go hide in the dark shadows where the blazing sun won’t burn him alive.

   He fights himself day after day, tormenting his mind from holding back what he really wants to say to you. He wants to tell you. God, he wants to. The way he never stops thinking about you, the way your hand fits perfectly into his calloused palm, the way he can’t ever shake the way you feel beneath his skin, the way he loves the way your eyes sparkle in the moonlight as the white curtains blow against your flawless face. The way he…. loves you, even though he shouldn’t because he’s a monster. A fucking blood sucking demon that should be dragged to hell where he belongs. At least there you wouldn’t be able to reach him, even though it kills him to think about losing you.

   He sits in a heap on the cold floor, clawing at the fraying wallpaper, tears staining his eyes as the crimson blood soaks through his blue flannel. He couldn’t hold it any longer, his thirst for blood. He had to feed. Another deer wouldn’t do. He smelled the stench of fresh blood and pulsing veins in the forest, attacked with his sharp fangs before they even knew what hit them. He didn’t stop. Not when they screamed, not when they fought with white knuckles and strained cries that were silenced by the weight of his fangs that were sunk deep in the unknown stranger in the middle of the night. 

   He sucked them dry, hollowing out their bleeding body while he bathed in the delectable crimson that stained his clothes dark red. He didn’t care at the moment, was too drunk on the blood to even realize what he did, until it was too late. 

   When he was finished feasting he stumbled back, wiping his bloody mouth on the back of his hand, dark eyes growing wide with every step taken after breaking the spell of the hunger that drove him to this. He gasped at the sight, violent red staining the dirt crimson, mind twisting into sheer horror from what he did. This wasn’t the first time, wasn’t even the second time, but it never got easier to realize just how monstrous he had become over the years. 

   He ran all the way back to his empty home, tears spilling down his dark eyes, muffled cries for help fleeting from his lips, but who exactly was listening? He was alone, forgotten, a broken monster that sunk his sharp incisors into the world, spilling bloodshed all around whatever he touched. That’s why he was so afraid for you, his perfect girl, the one he could never truly make his. He was afraid, so scared of hurting you one of these nights. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, but that didn’t mean accidents couldn’t happen. He’d surely kill himself before he killed you, though. Not his precious rose, your soft petals cushioning the blow of his fucked up life. You were never supposed to enter into his life, but you did. And god, he loved you so fucking much that it hurt. 

   The smell of fresh blood is everywhere, covering his flannel, his hands, his chin, even the tips of his grey threaded dark locks. His body shakes beneath him, anger and turmoil crashing over his system until he buries his face into the corner of the wall and hides his hideous face from the world. He’s a monster, nothing more and nothing less, only a mere speck of dust in the corner of the room that begs to be taken away from the darkness that encapsulates him.

   His blood stained lips quiver, thinking that could’ve been you in the forest. He could’ve fucking ripped your throat apart until you were nothing but a ghost left in the dirt, fangs tearing you apart until your gorgeous eyes shined no more.

   He claws at the wall, warm tears pricking the backs of his eyes as he bares his teeth, body clinging against the wall until he feels like he could split it in two. His body is so cold, lifeless, haunted by the cries of fallen victims and innocent bloodshed spilled. He should get up, run far away, somewhere you’ll never find him again. But that might kill him more than anything, leaving you without one last goodbye. 

   He clenches his jaw and lets a fresh tear slide against the side of his dark beard, body barely holding on to life while he clings to the memory of your sunlit face, your pure essence, your soft, lilty voice that haunts his sleepless nights. He’s so in love with you that it physically hurts, but he could never tell you. Never bear to burden you with those words, those goddamned three words that haunt him day after day. 

   He’s just a worthless, blood shedding monster, but you’re the only one that knows how to tame the fangs. The only one that can remotely cure him of the sickness that invades his eternal body. You were pure sunlight, and he couldn’t even begin to describe how much you meant to him. His sunflower in the bed of nightshade that made up his body. You were eternal sunlight, so how could he turn away from that?

   He gets lost in his thoughts, doesn’t even notice the creaking footsteps against the hardwood floor until he hears the whisper of your shaking breath. 

   “Joel?” you call, voice quaking against the sight of the blood doused flannel. 

   He freezes, not daring to turn around when he’s a mess on the floor, eyes averted from your wandering gaze. “Go away,” he shivers, his voice rugged and broken, just like his tired body is from the loss of the life he stole.

   “Joel,” you try again, taking one timid step in his direction.

   He clenches his jaw, his fingers digging into the crimson stains in his dark jeans as he fights another sharp response. “I said go away.”

   He smells the fear on you when you see the dark red stains that coat the front of his flannel, cringes at the repulsing feelings that must be flying through your head right now. You’ve never seen him like this, right after a fresh attack, the blood clinging to ever fiber of his clothes. It kills him, it fucking kills him. 

   “No,” you whisper, taking another slow step in his direction, your breath faltering with every motion you take.

   He cringes with every step you take, having you so close in such a vulnerable state. He can’t fucking take it.

   He shouldn’t have ever pulled you into the reins of his hands, should never have lured you into his bed chambers. You’re too good, too delicate, too soft. One taste, that’s all it took to keep you coming back for more. It was almost resentful how he was so selfish to keep you, even though he never intended to. You were too special, a rare rose in a sea of thorns that made up his life, but you stayed. You stayed. And he’ll never understand why a rare flower like you would stay for him. A monster that only shreds and devours pretty flowers. 

   “Why won’t you ever fuckin’ listen? Jus’… go.” His voice is defeated, gravelly tone breaking on the last syllable as he hangs his head low, across the stained shirt that reminds him of what he did. 

   “Because. I… I don’t want to leave,” you mutter, your voice catching on your shuttering lips. “You need me. You need…”

   He growls in your direction, turning his body so you can see just what kind of monster he really is, scowling your way as his eyes darken to black pits. “This is what you need?! A killer of the night? Look at me, I’m a goddamned monster! I KILLED someone tonight, I MURDERED ‘em in cold blood because I couldn’t control myself!” 

   You look taken aback, eyes wide and teary as he snarls up at you, demanding with his big teeth that you turn and leave, run away so you won’t have to look at the blood that covers him and marks him a murderer.

   You just stand there unmoving, waiting for god knows what. And that makes him angry, so fucking angry that you won’t listen to a goddamn thing he says. “Well! What’re you standin’ there for? I said LEAVE!” His words come out pained, tears licking the corners of his saddened eyes while you just stand there speechless staring at the man that could never keep you safe, not really. 

   “Joel,” you whisper, words failing you as a tear streaks down your crimson cheeks. It makes him cover his head, hide his face from the girl he can’t stand to show himself to at this moment in time. He’s broken, so fucking broken, and not even you could take away every sliver of pain he’s felt in all his worthless years. He regrets ever bringing you here, drawing you in till you didn’t want to leave. 

   “Jus’… stop. I’m not good for you, I never was. I’m jus’ a monster. A goddamned bloodsucking vampire. Now jus’ go. Please…” he begs, hiding his face in the shadows while you stand there in a puddle of sorrow. 

   You inch closer, tip-toeing the floorboards until you’re crouched down beside him, pulling on his blood stained flannel, begging him to just look at you. “Joel, please. Look at me.”

   He shakes his messy mane, trying to pull himself away, but you thread your fingers through his greying scruff and turn his head towards you. He fights your touch, finally giving up when your soft fingers dig into his soiled shirt, one hand delicately skimming the side of his jaw, your thumb rubbing off the blood that stains along his tainted lips. 

   He watches you quietly brush away a teardrop that escapes his watery eyes, mesmerized by how soft you are with him, even in the rough shape he is, after he just murdered someone in cold blood. 

   He can’t take it, the guilt that eats him alive. So he breaks, shedding another tear while you so gracefully wipe it away with the flick of your finger. “I killed someone tonight, I did that. I…”

   You silence him, quietly shushing him while he bites back another whimper. “It was an accident, only an accident,” you reply softly, no taste of bitterness or fear in your voice, only something that’s so you. Soft, you’re so soft, so lovely, something that he never deserved. Not after all he’s done, after all he’s killed.

   He tries to pull away, tries anything to get you to pry your fingers from his button-up, but you don’t. You just stay right there, coiled around him while you smooth a tousled lock of hair back in place, eyes never leaving his.

   “I’m a monster. I watched them die, I didn’t stop, I didn’t have the will to. I jus’ drained them. And that could’ve been you. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if…”

   “Shhh,” you say soothingly, fingers dancing down his greying scruff, glistening eyes reflecting that he’s okay. He’s home, safe in the shadows, safe with you. “It wasn’t me, Joel. It was just an accident. You didn’t mean it. It’s alright now. I’m here.”

   Something in your soft words soothes him like a distant lullaby, calming his fears, but eliciting more tears from his wide eyes, staring at the girl that started a fire in his dead heart long ago, revealing a way to get his heart pumping just by looking at your beautiful smile, your kind soul, your very essence.

   Something breaks in him when you flick your eyes over his bloody clothes and don’t even cringe, only giving him those soft puppy eyes that he can never say no to. He crumbles into your arms, pulling you flush against his chest as he cries into the crook of your neck. He feels your fingers comb through his hair, the other clinging to your back as it draws lazy circles up and down his spine. 

   He can’t hold it in any longer. It slips from his tongue, an elation of words that he never thought he’d ever say again. “I love you…”

   You sigh into his broad chest, lips brushing against the fading material as you muster up the words you too had been holding back. “I love you too, Joel Miller. I have for quite some time…”

   He brings his head up and cups the sides of your face, his dark eyes brightening by the swell of your teary eyes, your sweet smile curling up towards him, pure love screaming from the pits of your beautiful irises. He wastes no time and crashes his lips down on yours, fusing his lips to yours like a sworn oath. You melt into his chest, circling your arms around his neck while you slot your lips and allow him to enter. He licks slowly into your mouth, tongue finding yours while they dance together in unison, bodies entwining until you're pressed beneath him on the sheets, completely naked while you toss and turn in the massive bed. 

   He marks his way down your body, caressing your supple breasts, splaying your legs open for him to lick and suck you dry, tongue pressing meticulous circles over your aching clit until he gets you right where he needs you to be. You spill, covering his tongue in your sticky slick while he laps you up and drinks you down feverishly. He drowns in your sweet taste, swears nothing has ever tasted better than being between your legs. He could make you cum all night long, hearing your pretty moans fill his ears while he takes it all from you, leaving you with pure ecstasy running through your sweet veins. 

   When he’s finished tasting you he takes you slow, sliding his cock between your slick folds while he gently bottoms out inside of you. He takes his time and rocks back and forth, swallowing your moans as he kisses you deeply, sensually. He doesn’t stop either, not even when you’re right at your next release.

   “Joel,” you moan, body writhing beneath him while your walls squeeze his thick length, causing him to groan over you.

   “Attagirl. That’s it, my love. Takin’ me so fuckin’ good,” he praises while he ruts deeper inside you, chasing his own release which doesn’t take him long. He throws his head back, knits his eyebrows together and calls your name, spilling his hot cum inside you just how you like it.

   He slips out of you, crashing down on the opposite side of the bed while he pulls you into his chest, kissing the top of your head softly while his fingers trace circles over the back of your shoulder soothingly.

   He’s quiet for a minute, reminiscing on everything that happened tonight. The way you chose to stay. For him, you did it all for him. 

   He whispers, a ghost of a breath lingering over the shell of your ear. “You stayed… you weren’t afraid?” he asks nervously, biting his bottom lip while he waits for you to answer. 

   You nuzzle deeper into the side of his neck and murmur sweet words against his jawline. “No, Joel. I was only afraid of losing you. I was never afraid of you. Not even when you showed me your fangs. I guess I just saw past all that. I saw a man that was dying to be seen, to be heard, to be known. You were so… lonely. And I just couldn’t bear to leave you alone. You’re not a monster to me, Joel. You’re the man I fell in love with. You’re mine. Just as I am yours,” you whisper, settling closer into the side of his chest.

   “Mine…” he repeats breathlessly, eyes locked on the beauty that never ran away. You’re his. His.

   “Mhm. Yours…”

    A few seconds later you’re out cold, face nuzzled into the scruff of his beard, one arm slung around his broad chest. He lies there staring at you, running his calloused fingers up and down your back, gently carding them through your beautiful locks. He stares wide-eyed, a tear falling from the side of his eye as he looks at the beauty that saved him from slipping away into the shadows forever.

   He’s got you, forever, as long as you’ll stay with him. He hopes it’ll be for eternity.

   All he’s ever wanted was someone to stay by choice, all these years waiting for nothing to happen. But then there was you. You who chose to stay. You stayed, and that’s all he ever wanted. 

   You. The love of his life that chose him when no one else would’ve. Love. He’s so in love. Maybe he’s not all teeth and darkness anymore, maybe he’s more. You made him more. The moonlight that lights the way out of the darkness forever. His guiding light home.

Tagging some mutuals 🩵 @msjarvis @alltheirdamn @mountainsandmayhem @sawymredfox @littlevenicebitch69

@yxtkiwiyxt @magpiepills @jasminedragoon @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape

@survivingandenduring

[xnchxntmxnt]

hurt comfort with the astarion guy pls I don't don't know anything about the game I've just seen clips of him on youtube and I love him

you aSK AND YOU SHALL RECIEVE i love him

Blood is Rare and Sweet as Cherry Wine

Character: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)

Warnings: reverse hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol (reader doesn’t drink), general astarion backstory information but it’s nothing super specific. not proofread

Notes: almost cried writing this. im sorry. anyway I'm a hozier lover what else is new.

gn reader

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Astarion stared at the fire, leaning back against one of the boxes under his tent. There was something serene about this area—they’d never been attacked at camp, and it comforted him to know he could let his guard down somewhere. If only slightly. 

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice you walking up to him until you spoke. 

“Astarion?” you asked, voice softer than he expected. “Are you alright?”

He must have looked upset—he didn’t need your pity, though, so he tried to shake himself back to reality. “What can I do for you, my dear?” he asked, sitting up a bit straighter and taking a sip of the ale next to him. 

You paused, looking at him with your eyebrows furrowed slightly, then finally decided to sit next to him. He offered the ale but you declined. Instead, you turned your body to face him and slowly, gently, brushed a bit of hair out of his face. 

And he flinched. 

You quickly pulled your hand away from him and rested it in your lap. He stared, wide-eyed, terrified of his own actions. He’d inflicted pain on countless others and never felt guilt for it, but such a simple gesture broke him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice small and quiet. It was unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Astarion was always so eccentric, so proud, so…unafraid. This was an entirely new side to him, and he was even more embarrassed to show it to you. He wanted to run, he wanted to hide, but he didn’t have the energy to make his feet move. To make anything move. 

There was a beat of silence, where the two of you only listened to the crackling fire a few feet away. Then, you spoke. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

He didn’t understand how you could be so kind to him. There were so many things wrong with him as a person, or things from his past—he’d hurt people, tricked them, found ways for dear Cazador to turn them into mindless little puppets. Like he was, before all this mindflayer business. 

There was so much wrong in the world, and there you sat. His ray of sunshine—his hope. Somehow with you, things seemed a little less dreary. True, there was some mystical dream-being that followed you around keeping everyone from sprouting tentacles, so that was something positive. But your general disposition, the way you smiled at him when you caught him staring at you, the way you snuck away from the rest of camp with him to watch the stars…all these things made him fall so hopelessly in love. 

He couldn’t be that person for you, though. He never learned how to make big, romantic gestures or show his affection in a way that made sense. A way that made sure you knew he adored you in your best and worst moments. Cazador had ruined him—he’d ruined any semblance of having a normal life. On top of being a vampire spawn and ripped away from his life before, he was stuck in an endless loop of servitude and puppetry or constantly fearing for his life. He never learned or could afford, to just relax. You deserved someone who could love you whole-heartedly, not the monster he’d become. 

“I care for you so, so deeply, my dear,” he all but whispered, voice tight with emotion. 

“I know.”

“I cannot, for the life of me…” he trailed off, quickly wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “I cannot understand why you care for me.”

His head hung low; you stared at him, shocked and unsure how to react to his words. He felt embarrassed, he felt small—there was nothing he could do, it seemed, to pull himself out of this rut he had himself stuck in lately. 

Then he heard your words. 

“Can I hug you, Astarion?”

He glanced over to you, seeing teh pleading look in your eyes. You’d asked. Maybe that made him feel a little more normal, a little less messed up. Hesitantly, he leaned into your embrace. The moment he felt the warmth of your arms around him, though, he melted. He laid his head on your chest, his full weight falling into you exponentially by the second. And with it, he began to cry. 

It was heart-wrenching sobs that felt like someone stabbing him through the heart every time, but he couldn’t mistake the comfort of your hands running through his hair. The soothing, repetitive motion calmed his nerves more than he thought possible. After what felt like ages, he began to sit up, trying to put himself back together like that hadn’t just happened. His eyes looked slightly irritated, but he tried desperately to wipe any evidence of his outburst from his face—

Suddenly, he felt your hands around his face, thumbs running over his cheeks. He stopped—his hands slowly fell, and he relaxed into your embrace once again. 

“You do not have to apologize for feeling things, Astarion,” you said softly. “And you certainly don’t have to hide from me. Not your thoughts, not your emotions.”

He nodded, turning his head slightly to the side to kiss the palm of your hand. His voice was hoarse but surprisingly gentle. “Thank you. I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s the thing. You do.”

He smiled softly—it had been a long time since he felt like he could do so freely. 

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@grays321

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

Deadline - BTS OT7 CEO AU Chapter 15

This is what I call the fluff before the fall, there are a few events mentioned here that aren't in previous chapters but are in canon drabbles/pseudo drabbles, so I recommend you read this and this before the chapter below. 4.6k words

Hope you enjoy 💜

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Seven boyfriends, seven days a week, might sound like a lot for one person to handle, especially since now you were sexually active with them. It was as if you unleashed Pandora's box but instead of a plague that kills the world, it was seven sexy men that didn’t want to let you go to sleep alone. 

“Min Yoongi, why are you in my bed on a weekday?” Your eyes narrow in suspicion at the man staring at the ceiling. You just walked out of the ensuite in nothing but your robe, if he thought this was easy pickings he had another thing coming. 

“Relax kitten, I just wanted to talk,” he sighs, turning onto his side so he can face you, a soft but sad smile on his face that made you want to climb into bed with him and cuddle, so you did.

“You’re not here to break the rules?” you tease, arms wrapping around his middle when he embraces you. It earns you a chuckle at least.

“Because that worked out well for me last time,” he shakes his head. “You and your rules.”

“Who would’ve thought the roles would reverse huh,” you say absentmindedly, trying not to laugh.

“What do you mean?” He frowns, seemingly confused, he was never an enforcer of the ‘rules’, that was you and Namjoon. 

“Well you always went against them while Joonie lived by them, and now…”

Well now Namjoon had a new lease on life, where before he would always be militant with those broad shoulders of responsibility that carried the weight of everything, now he was a lawless man, and your biggest deviant. Since that morning you were both late to your respective workplaces, the one where he ate you out for breakfast and then fucked you against the counter, the troublesome trio became the least of your problems. Now it was Namjoon that tried to keep you up late on a work night until you had to force him out of the room. Namjoon who tried to sneak into the shower with you in the mornings, pretending he was going to behave and be good, “we’ll save water baby girl” he tried one morning. Seriously, did he think you were stupid? Namjoon who wanted to hold your hand all morning before you walked out the door for work, the others yelling at him that he was hogging you, while you tried to do your morning routine one handedly (his grip was strong). But he didn’t care, the others had gotten away with more in his eyes, it was his turn. 

“And now you’ve unleashed the monster in Kim Namjoon,” Yoongi finishes your thoughts for you, shaking his head before sighing, “can’t blame you too much, it was always there.” 

Too many times this week he’s had to be the level headed one, he’s sure it's just a phase but it needed to end quickly or Yoongi was going to get a headache. 

“It’s been a week, why is he still mad at me and not you?” Yoongi grumbles into your hair.

“I had sex with him,” you deadpan, shrugging before you bury your giggles in his chest. 

“Ah this is why Jimin calls you a vixen,” he thinks aloud playfully, making you pull back to look at him in question, did he?

“Well that’s a new one…” Your arms come around his neck, looking up at him longingly, waiting for him to figure out what you wanted without asking for it. 

“No it isn’t, he just calls you that behind your back, when you’re being too enticing for your own good,” he kisses your nose.

Your cheeks burn as you scoff, ‘enticing’, what was wrong with them?

“Like right now,” he calls you out, your favourite gummy smile beams endearingly at you when you gasp in mock outrage.

“I’m not doing anything right now,” you deny, ready to bicker with him.

“Hmmmmm,” his gaze changes dangerously, eyes almost mocking you, “So you’re not asking me for a kiss right now?”

You scrunch your nose, pressing your lips together to hold back a smile, dammit he could see right through you.

“No I’m not,” you shake your head, holding your head proudly. “You’re reading into things.”

“I don’t think so, Kitten,” he hums again. “I can read you perfectly.”

This time round he accepts defeat easily in your playful little squabble, lips pressed against yours and you both smile. 

—

Kim Jongin was a flirt, a shy one at times, but when the women bundled around him he couldn’t help but flirt, hopeless romantic and all. You however indulged him in no such thing, and he couldn’t help wondering why. He wasn’t serious, he was playing around, everyone knew it, but you didn’t even acknowledge it. 

He even called Jimin to ask him if something was wrong with you and after about a minute of silence on the other end from his friend, where he thought the line disconnected and called his name repeatedly, he got lectured for an hour. His friend and business rival went on and on about how he shouldn’t pursue you, and you were all business and professional and … well he stopped paying attention after that. But it did make him curious. It was almost a challenge, the cliche of forbidden fruit.

“Y/n you’re practically glowing today,” he says in passing, interrupting your conversation with your supervisors. 

You stop speaking for a second, looking at him briefly before resuming whatever it was you were saying. Heechul hides a snicker poorly, covering it up with a cough, not even paying attention to you.

“Aren’t you going to tell me how good I look?” Jongin presses, pout on his face, his eyes drooping in faux sadness. 

You almost glare at him, and he kind of likes it, the fire in your eyes. Why did Jimin warn him against you? Surely he would want to set up his friend with such a woman, or at least keep her to himself.

“Oh Director Kim you look so handsome today,” Kyunghoon says dramatically, Heechul unable to stop his laughter this time. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. 

“Somethings wrong with Y/n if she doesn’t see how handsome our favourite director is,” Kyunghoon continues, trying to act cute. You look at him disgustedly, what a suck up, and that was coming from you, the world renowned teacher’s pet. 

“I heard she went on a date with Mark and then ghosted him,” Heechul stage whispers to his boss as if it’ll win him favours. “I don’t think Y/n is good enough for our precious director.”

You lost count of how many times your eyes rolled in annoyance, it wasn’t a reflex you could help otherwise you would’ve thought twice before doing it in front of your boss and two supervisors. 

“It wasn’t a date,” you grunt, frowning at the paperwork. It was bad enough your boyfriends thought the same, and you sincerely paid for that. You shudder involuntarily, skin starting to heat up as you try to push the memories of those nights out of your head since you were at work. 

“Someone should’ve told Mark,” Heechul mutters under his breath to the other two.

—

“Should we sell the company?” Namjoon breaks the silence in the office with words so off-kilter that Jimin falls out of his chair. The lead CEO is practically bouncing in his seat, wanting the day to finish so he could go home and see you, maybe convince you to break some more rules.

“Who are you?” Jin asks, watching the CEO with distrust. 

Kim Namjoon, selling the company he got off the ground with his bare hands? Unheard of. Impossible. Pigs would learn to fly first. 

“Hyung!” Jimin whines, picking himself off the floor. “Please, come back to your senses! What’s happened to you?”

The CEO shrugs, looking at his desk as the words leave his mouth.

“I’m happy,” he grins, the others looking at him dumbfounded before they groan.

“You’d sell it and then cry,” Hoseok says, knowing his friend all too well, getting back to the papers on his desk before adding, “Sunshine would kill you.”

“If you sell the company I would never forgive you,” Jin adds. “I’m far too young to retire.”

“Plus you’re only saying this so you can spend more time with Noona right?” Jungkook continues, “but could you ever imagine Bunny giving up work?”

“You’d sit at home bored out of your mind,” Yoongi grumbles, agreeing with the maknae. 

“We could always convince her,” Namjoon suggests, making the others laugh in disbelief. 

“Have you met Kitten?” Yoongi grins, “the word stubborn doesn’t do her justice.”

Yoongi looks up from his desk when there’s no reply, Namjoon staring daggers at his head. Oh shit, well he walked into this one.

“You managed to convince her just fine,” he accused, making all of them groan again.

“Can we not do this again?” Jin sighs, closing his eyes, if he had this conversation again his brain would explode trying to escape it. 

“Please can we let this go,” Jimin almost yells, they all had enough of the silly war Namjoon was trying to begin with Yoongi. “Jealousy is an ugly trait you know.”

“Who’s jealous?” Namjoon contests, not sounding believable at all. “It’s about principle.”

“And the principle is Angel and Hyung did nothing wrong,” Jimin uncharacteristically sticks up for Yoongi, even the usual stoic CEO was shocked. “We were all dating at the time, they were both well within their rights, even if it was at work.”

Namjoon looks away dejected, knowing Jimin was right but wanting to hold on to the petty anger. 

“I mean why Yoongi hyung is an acceptable question to ask, but Angel doesn’t have the best taste in men does she?” Jimin smirks, teasing him.

“She’s dating you as well, Park Jimin,” Yoongi scoffs in reply, but the feeling of gratitude towards the younger one doesn't dampen. 

“It’s inappropriate at the workplace,” Namjoon finally  mumbles in response, making Jin roll his eyes. “What if they got caught?”

“You’re the head of the company and you didn’t catch them in the act,” Hoseok mocks with a smirk, an eye brow rising. “And you were in the room with them.”

A knock on the door interrupts their conversation, Jackson looking unusually cautious as he enters. He greets them all with a bow, approaching Namjoon’s desk.

“Depyunim…” he hesitates, putting the envelope in front of him. “There’s another one.”

Namjoon’s carefree disposition disappears, instead Jackson sees a bull about to charge, the fear instilled in him so sudden it takes effort not to move out of his line of sight. 

“How many is that now?” Jin asks quietly, the atmosphere in the office now dead. The youngest three looking at their hyung’s in question.  

“It doesn’t matter,” Namjoon seethes before commanding Jackson to burn it like every time before. The secretary never did, instead he always put it in the shredder and disposed of it in the confidential waste bins.  

He nods, leaving with the envelope and whatever contents it held that shook the four oldest CEOs. As curious as Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung were, there was something about the murderous intent on their leader's face that stopped them from asking what was going on.

“How much longer are we going to hide this,” Yoongi says, knowing how much you hated secrets.

“We don’t need to worry her,” Namjoon dismisses the idea. He was content with pretending the problem didn’t exist, they all were. But how much longer could they ignore a mountain and pretend it was a molehill. 

“Maybe we should air on the side of caution and read what he’s said at least,” Hobi suggests.

“We don’t give criminals the time of day Hoseok,” Namjoon replies. “Nothing he has to say is worth our time, or Y/n’s.”

“But he’s incessant,” Jin states. “We thought he’d give up but it's been weeks Namjoon.”

The maknaes all watch the back and forth quietly, trying to decipher what the hell was going on.

“I don’t want to read his threats or blackmail, he has no power where he is.”

“Where we put him,” Yoongi scoffs, “he’s lost everything, which means we shouldn’t underestimate him, there’s nothing he won’t do.”

“What can he do?” Namjoon yells back exasperated. They were pretending for so long he almost forgot about the whole issue. 

“Well we won’t know unless we read the letters,” Yoongi responds calmly, knowing Namjoon’s emotions were all over the place. The anger was forefront, their leader usually was able to keep his cool in all aspects of his life, or at least use his emotions productively, but this was different. This made his level-headed nature dissipate, until all that was left was a man desperate to hold onto what he had, regardless of the consequences. 

—

“You wanted to see me sir,” you say as you enter the office. Kyungsoo was a good boss, he was a bit scary and blunt at times but always fair. The blank expression he usually wore gave nothing away, which is why everyone who ever interacted with him was always on edge. 

“Y/n take a seat,” he says, gesturing to the chair in front of him. The other CEOs were nowhere to be seen. 

“Is everything okay?” you ask, starting to worry since his expression seemed more serious than usual. 

He sighs. That one action has your heart dropping, you fucked up somehow, you must have. What other reason could he have to call you in here?

“I want you to know I usually don’t pay attention to baseless rumours,” he states, looking you dead in the eyes almost apologetically. “However there is one going around about you that has put your colleagues at a bit of unrest.”

Oh fuck, this again? This again because Jongin tried to flirt with you in front of your supervisors? You press your lips closed before you can start filling the silence with explanations, the man hadn’t finished your accusation yet. Innocent until proven innocent, you were guilty of nothing.

“A few of your supervisors have come to us with the senseless belief that you are somehow a spy for bangtan corporations,” he pauses watching for your reaction, other than your eyes widening in shock and your lips parting, he doesn’t see anything damning there. “We had no reason to believe it, except one of the managers claims to have seen you at dinner with your old bosses.”

You can feel yourself start to sweat under his gaze, for all the reasons he is unaware of. You were not a spy, but yes you had a secret, one that could not get out no matter what. 

“Director Do, I assure you, I am not a spy for any company,” you say sincerely, hoping he’ll believe you. “I’m close with my old colleagues and bosses after working with them for so long, but I can promise you I never talk about work.”

He takes in your explanation with silent eyes, you couldn’t read them and you hated it. When it was one of your seven boyfriends you could always read their moods and you missed that, you didn’t realise how much comfort it brought you until now. Even Yoongi, who was dubbed a stone by your old colleagues, you could always grasp his emotional state, this was foreign to you and as a proud teacher's pet it was making you anxious. 

“Okay,” he nods, seemingly accepting of your honesty. 

You breathe in relief, albeit mind in overdrive trying to think when this manager could’ve seen you. You all went out for dinner recently after coming back from Italy as a call for peace between the hyungs and maknaes. The so-called peace lasted for about ten seconds before they were arguing again about who was in the right and why actions were justified etc etc. It must have been then, the table was in a private VIP booth but they were loud, the noise levels could’ve caught anyone’s attention. 

You’re dismissed from the office, head hanging to the ground in thought. Do you tell the others? You probably should so you can all collectively be more careful, but at the same time, you didn’t want to worry anyone. 

—

In the end, you do decide to tell them. Your downcast expression when you got home gave away that something was wrong anyway, you didn’t have much choice after the probing from the maknaes. Yoongi begged you to tell them just to shut Jimin’s whining up. They didn’t like it, in fact they went a little too quiet for your liking, but they all agreed they would have to be more careful on dates out, which led to a compromise you weren’t all too happy about but hey, never look a gift horse in the mouth, whatever the hell that meant.

When you all started dating, Namjoon made a point about renting out whole places so you could all enjoy some privacy away from the public and you had vehemently refused. It was too costly, it wasn’t fair on other people that wanted to also visit the places of your dates, and it just didn’t seem normal. Now though, you had to give in, at least to keep your relationship under wraps. 

“Is it really worrying you?” Jin asked you after you were silent for a while. Both of you were sharing a slice of cake between you on the dining table, you mind preoccupied. 

“Yes,” you say honestly, sighing.

“Oh beautiful girl, I’m sorry,” he replies sincerely, pulling the leg of your chair so you’re closer to him. The action has your heart galloping despite your uneasiness, you’d never told them before but it was your favourite move. In every drama you watched, whenever the male lead did that you would just swoon, and when your boyfriend did it you swooned and died. 

For the first time tonight you smile genuinely, shyly trying to hide your expression as you play around with the cake. Jin can see the change in your demeanour, he wanted you closer to comfort you but he can see it had other affects. He pulls it closer even still, his face a centimetre away from yours so he can feel it burning. 

“Cute,” he comments quietly, but you hear him. Stupid racing heart, pumping blood to your face, why did you always have to heat up like a volcano whenever they did anything? 

He chuckles to himself when you fail to reply, mouth opening as if you were going to but you couldn’t find the words. He kisses your flaming cheek, possibly making them ignite even more going off how your skin almost scorched his lips. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers, “why are you suddenly being shy?”

You shake your head without looking at him, as if to say, ‘no reason’. He laughs at your antics, pleased that he’s managed to distract you from your worries for a little while. When you finally do turn to him, you've scooped up some of the cake on your fork, holding it out to him expectedly. Internally he could combust himself from the action, but he hides it well enough, as long as you don’t look at his ears. He doesn't break eye contact with you as he takes a bite, a little of the frosting still on his lips that catches your attention. You wait patiently for him to swallow before you lick it, turning back to the plate as if nothing had happened, leaving Jin spluttering in shock, his face blushing profusely as he tries to calm down. Oh what a dangerous girl you were. 

—

“Did you just lock the door?” You laugh incredulously at Hoseok as he climbs into your bed. “You know there’s enough room for more than just us right?”

You’re only teasing but he’s not all that impressed. 

“After all you were the one to say that was the reason I got the biggest bed,” you continue, laughing harder when he pins you with a hard gaze. 

“I’m not sharing you tonight,” he states, pulling you closer under the covers before reaching over to turn off the lamp. “Plus you still owe me after halloween.”

You’re about to answer when you’re interrupted before you can begin, there’s a knock on the door but Hoseok stops you from answering it.

“What part of not sharing didn’t you understand sunshine?” he says seriously.

“Sorry,” you reply sheepishly, making him finally break into a smile. 

There he is, your Sun like boyfriend, you always found it funny that he called you sunshine when he was literally made from it. People gravitated towards Hobi, he was full of character and laughter, you would have to be out of your mind to dislike him. Sure he was a little more… authoritative at work and in bed, but all in all he was one of the nicest people you had ever met, you were lucky to have him to yourself. 

The knocking on the door turned into loud pounding, making his smile falter into a stern expression. Oh you felt sorry for whoever was on the other side if they unleashed Hoseok’s mean commander persona. You remember the days working with him, he accepted nothing less than perfection, it was a trait he carried home, but it did lead to a lot of self induced stress from time to time. 

“Just ignore it,” you whisper, turning his face away from the door to you in the darkness, “they’ll get the message eventually.”

Unfortunately, whoever is on the other side has a death wish, the banging doesn’t stop for a second. You can feel the patience in Hobi wearing thin before he detonates.

“We’re trying to sleep in here!” He yells with a scowl, his head pounding to the same rhythm as the beats on the door. 

For a moment it seems like he’s won, the silence welcomed as he settles back into your embrace, before the sound comes back harder and faster. 

“I’m going to kill them,” he growls, about to get up before you tether yourself to him. 

“Babe, they’ll give up eventually,” you reassure him, pecking his face wherever you could in the darkness, quelling his anger. You couldn’t see the look of love he was giving you, despite the incessant noise and now voices of demand and displeasure (surprisingly Namjoon and Jungkook, you were so sure it was Taehyung and Jimin), both of you lose yourself to soft touches and as the sound settled, you both fell asleep. 

—

“Namjoon no,” you command like he was a misbehaving dog when he stands at the kitchen doorway staring at you with mischievous eyes. 

He only grins, staring at your accusing finger like it was nothing, no threat behind it at all. You were on your way out, purposefully avoiding him like every morning since his new habit of trying to steal time you didn’t have. You shouldn’t have risked filling up your coffee travel cup, but the drinks at your new company sucked, they only had machines, no cafe no nothing, you were truly spoiled at bangtan. 

Your train of thoughts distracts you from your current predicament until your boyfriend takes a step into the room towards you. Your eyes narrow, his hands behind him playfully, a carefree gait in his movements but his face was nothing less than predatory. 

“I just wanted some coffee,” he shrugs innocently, but you know he’s up to no good. You eye the exit behind him, calculating how to manoeuvre your way out of here when he closes the distance. You try to slip past him but he blocks your movement with his arm clutching the counter behind you. His other hand takes your travel mug from your grasp, taking a sip before wincing at the burn. 

“It’s hot you dumbass,” you try to snatch it back but he only places it out of reach on the counter beside you, before wrapping his arm around your waist. 

“You're hot,” he flirts shamelessly, making your jaw drop and your skin crawl with heat. You were not used to this new carefree attitude they all adopted in disarming you with compliments, your heart couldn’t take it. 

“No,” you draw out the vowel as if explaining something simple to someone stupid, “I’m going to be late, move.”

But he doesn’t, he just grins before stealing the kiss he’s been wanting since he woke up.  

“Joonie,” you whine when your lips part with a smack, the grin he has on his face is devious as it is sexy. He plays with a strand of your hair avoiding that hard stare you had that told him to behave as he cornered you against the kitchen counter. 

“So we’ll be a little late baby girl,” he kisses the corner of your jaw before sucking gently on the skin of your neck. You push him back firmly, face adopting Yoongi’s stoic mask while your heart flutters uncontrollably. 

“One of us owns the company and can afford to turn up late,” you say, voice dripping in sarcasm. 

“The other one had enough charm to win over 7 of her ex bosses and is cute enough to get away with murder,” he contends, the smirk on his face getting wider when you roll your eyes. 

“So you want me to flirt with my new bosses to get myself out of trouble,” you say with a raised brow. 

That wipes the smile off his face, he removed your hand from his chest pushing himself onto you, smothering his face in your neck as you giggle uncontrollably. 

“That wasn’t funny,” he mumbles against your skin. 

“I’m going to be late!” You complain while laughing, you feel him grin against you at the sound.

—

Immediately you can feel something wrong at work, the atmosphere was off but that was the least of your problems. Your coworkers weren’t being subtle in their whisperings and stares, but they were avoiding you and keeping their distance. Even your supervisors who usually confronted you about anything suddenly looked away when you saw them, muttering something between themselves and leaving before you could question it. 

Your phone buzzes in your hand, why was Namjoon calling you? He knew better while you were at work. You let the call go to voicemail, trying to get your head into work mode but everyone’s attitude around you was making you anxious, your skin felt like a thousand millipedes were crawling all over it, or under it, your heart switching to fight or flight mode, ready to run. They were looking at you like… you couldn’t explain it, like you had done something awful.

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, this time a message, and when you read it that sinking feeling only gets worse. 

Office romance

Namjoon : Y/n go home ASAP

Your heart was in your throat, you were trying not to hyperventilate. The murmurs around you suddenly get louder as a new figure approaches, splitting the sea of colleagues apart until he finds you.

“Miss L/n, a word please,” Kim Junmyeon had never looked so stone faced, his disposition was usually kind and gentle.

Without a word you follow him, putting your vibrating phone away in your pocket, you couldn’t look at it now. 

As you walk the stares only get more intense, more curious, and you wonder what the hell was going on. Your brain starts going into overdrive, remembering the conversation between you and Kyngsoo merely days ago. Was this about being a spy?

You expect the CEO to take you to his office but he leads you to one of the meeting rooms, the other CEOs sitting solemnly not meeting your gaze. The screen on the 60 inch tv screen used for presentations was on, and paused, on a news channel. 

“Care to explain this Y/n,” Junmyeon says, reaching for the remote and pressing play.

You really wished you listened to Namjoon.

[gentleanddamned]

safe : werewolf/monster x black!fem reader

summary: Reverse of the "you bring a hurt dog home and nurse it back to health only to find it's a hot man" where you get injured or attacked and you wake briefly up all bandaged up in bed with what looks like a really big dog watching over you.

Each time you wake up progressively getting better snuggling the dog when you're in pain until one night a half naked man with fangs is checking you for a fever and the only thing you can concentrate on is the fact that he has a patch of white in his hair that reminds you of the white patch in your four legged friend's fur.

triggers: violence against reader, blood, injuries, hurt/comfort

"it's a small town, nothing bad happens here." be so fucking forreal.

this was supposed to be your fresh start, small town mountain views, coffee shop around the corner, the kindness that the big city seemed to be lacking with each day that passed.

how wrong you were.

the small town kindness you encounter one wintry night after work left you unconscious in the alleyway next to your favorite coffee shop and those mountain views must have been so damn good that no one seemed to see or hear you.

until someone did.

too much of your blood on the concrete made your vision blurry but you could still feel everything. warm, calloused fingers gently pressing into your neck, a dry jacket over your chilled body, and a bonfire of a voice hushing your pained whimpers, a whisper mantra in your ear with only word you could make out.

safe.

when your sight became clear again, you don't remember hospital rooms having flannel sheets or fireplaces.

or giant fucking dogs.

a colossal furry beast precariously nestled in a chair next to you raised its fluffy black head in what could only be strangely described as relief, quickly jumping down from the chair only to slowly walk towards the unfamiliar bed and gracefully leap upon it, scooting toward you.

the pain that came with consciousness prevented you from doing much more than stiffly raising a bandaged hand for the puppy to sniff, a small smile on your cracked lips.

you were not prepared for the dog to bypass your hand completely and put its weighty head on your chest.

the rise and fall of your chest became more steady as you ignored the spike of pain to run your hand over their side, stroking a patch of snow white fur, trying to keep your tears from falling with each pet.

with each remembered kick and cut, the spike soon became a tidal wave of hot agony, chest rising and falling too fast for the beast's liking, a series of panicked barks and licks upon your face the last things you heard and felt before the darkness crept back in.

in the in between you felt those hands again, winding and unwinding bandages, bringing cool water to your lips, replacing sweat drench pjs with clean ones, strong arms rocking you back and forth when tormented moans escaped from your mouth, urging you to breathe when you could not.

at one point you swear you can feel clawed fingers in your box braids, gently massaging shampoo into your bloody scalp only as instructed by the sounds of a way too familiar YouTube tutorial echoing in your ears.

when you wake again, the dog is there and this time you have the energy to pat the place next to you. as if you've known each other forever, you take your places, his head lounging over your heart, your hand softly petting that patch of white.

and when the pain and panic strike again like clockwork, you meet it with a Clydesdale size pup snuggled into your non-injured side, inhaling and exhaling with you till the panic fades. this time when the dark comes it is not due to trauma induced unconsciousness but sleepy peace.

those hands return once more to bring broth to your mouth and discard bandages, a deep voice speaking softly of your progress, tucking you in with care.

you urge yourself to get better if not for your own health, but for the chance to meet that voice and hold those hands.

the dog is there each and every time you wake with less and less pain, graduating from sitting on your chest to your lap all the way to walking by your side when you get out of bed all on your own. you're not quite sure if a growl can sound proud but you'll take it nonetheless.

and when the back of a hand meets your forehead, your eyes flutter open this time.

there's no dog in sight, just a man with dark curls and fangs peeking through soft lips curved in a gentle smile, a large hand on your cheek.

you're not afraid, why would you be?

your fingers intertwined in a patch of snow white curls on the crown of his head tells you everything you need to know.

safe.

[rdng1230]

Sal Deluca Meta

Okie dokie here we go. Just remember y'all asked for this.

Here are some repeated talking points I’ve seen about Sal and why I think most of them are ignoring certain contexts or misattributing things to Sal that were said/done by somebody else. Also just general thoughts about our little mook.

Hen Begins

That Sal was a raging racist/sexist/homophobic. 

Let’s deal with the first one first. Is he a member of the white boys club? Absolutely. He makes no effort to include Hen and doesn’t really acknowledge her at all until he’s complimenting her for her skills at the end of the episode. This is OBVIOUSLY not good. He should’ve been kinder and more welcoming to her. But the only one who specifically makes negative/mean comments about Hen is Gerrard and Tommy. Literally the only thing you could even interpret that way is him saying “for real?” to Gerrard’s diversity hire comment and the fact that he drops the pick axe or whatever the hell that metal thing was on the floor along with everybody else besides Chim. Not great, but also with what we know about how other rookies are treated even by Hen herself, I don’t think any of this behavior falls into “irredeemable racist monster” Buck chased Ravi with a chainsaw for christ sake. 

Ok now the sexism. He actually stares daggers at Gerrard for the entirety of his stupid “waste of taxpayer money/women won’t be able to rescue my guys” spiel. Like the camera specifically focuses on Sal looking pissed as hell. Another thing I’ve heard falsely said is that after Gerrard storms off, Sal/Tommy follow him. That’s not true. They do get up and leave but they actually leave in the ass opposite direction. Sal’s face when he signals to Tommy to get up reads to me as “let’s get the hell away from the fallout of that grossness.” not “I agree with what that dinosaur just said.” But I also realize people can interpret that moment differently. 

I think the sexist reading largely comes from the Kristen Stewart conversation. And come on, This is the lesbian website, if we start dinging people for finding Kristen Stewart attractive, we’re all going down. Plus again, Buck was STEALING EMERGENCY EQUIPMENT TO GO GET LAID AND HE’S EVERYBODY’S FAV SO I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT. We see Sal kind of ignore Hen but also agree with her at the same time during this exchange. Again a case of Sal not really acknowledging Hen but not attacking her either. Go and look at his face when Tommy says that NY bitchiness comment. Sal does not look at all happy with him. Most of the time when anyone is being actively mean Sal looks pissed off, not approving.

Ok now the homophobia thing. And it's at this point I’m going to bring up the idea that some characters seem bad/good not based on their actions but on whose perspective we’re viewing those actions from. I see this being a problem with several characters. Most notably Taylor Kelly. But that's a whole other post. 

Sal’s team Jacob comment is homophobic and gross but it's also 1) 2009 and 2) directed at someone who he clearly knows incredibly well and who we KNOW gives as good as he gets. I easily could’ve seen this interaction reversed with Tommy saying that to Sal because that's who they are and how their friendship works. But because we’re seeing this from Hen’s perspective it's another thing that makes her feel isolated and othered. And again THAT IS NOT GOOD SAL SHOULD NOT BE DOING THAT. But I don’t think Sal at all said that with the intention of putting Hen down, it very clearly reads to me as Sal teasing/riling Tommy up as they always have. Now obviously the harm still hits even if the intent wasn’t present. But I think if we can forgive Tommy for comments that were MEANT to be mean, then we can forgive Sal for comments that were just him fucking around with his best friend of several years. 

That Sal was the ringleader or Gerrard’s right hand man

Does Sal have a sort of in charge vibe? Yeah absolutely. But very notably the only thing he actually initiates is the olive branch. It’s him that offers a hand to Hen and says nice job and you’re good at what you do. I also will die on the hill that the hemorrhoid complaint was his. Chim would definitely say that but not in an official report, Tommy would definitely bad mouth Gerrard, but not like that. Now who is known for kind of cruder language and a short fuse and absolutely would put that down in an official report? Sal motherfucking Deluca that’s who. 

One notable thing that I find interesting is that Hen herself distinguishes Gerrard’s behavior from the rest of the team's. She definitely gives them hell during her big speech but when Chim does dishes with her she specifically says men like him not men like them. Just something I realized on my most recent rewatch. 

To summarize, the only real thing Sal did that was unique to him (because they all failed to stick up for Hen, yes even Chim. Chim was nice to her but he never actually stood up for her to Gerrard’s face. He tried to redirect the conversation a couple times but that was it.) was the Kristen stewart comments and the Team Jacob comment. I would argue Tommy’s comments in Chimney begins and his NY bitchiness comment in Hen Begins are way more targeted, hateful, and fucking rude. (said with all love because we know Tommy had a bunch of growth and change and became the man we all know and adore.) IMO nothing in Hen begins that Sal says/does is as bad as what Tommy did/said.

Bobby Begins Again

Ok another reason why I don’t think Sal is this irredeemable sexist/racist/homophobic pig is WHY ON EARTH WOULD HEN STAND UP FOR HIM IF HE WAS???!?!?!? Hen is THE FIRST PERSON TO CALL OUT THAT CRAP even from the first episode she says something like “why is that always the first instinct with you whiteboy macho types?” So why why why why would she stand up for Sal if he hadn’t shown any improvement in that area in the now 7 years minimum that she’s worked with him. Answer: she fucking wouldn’t. Ok moving on.

The Bobby stuff

So remember how I said perspective changes everything? This is the major reason why. We as the audience love Bobby and know intimately the struggles he’s faced, so we’re naturally going to be angered by anyone who is antagonistic towards him. The thing is Sal doesn’t know ANY of that. This is what Sal knows about Bobby.

He’s from somewhere in middle America and has never worked in a MAJOR American city like LA/NYC. That’s it. He COMPLETELY ACCURATELY I MIGHT ADD predicts that anybody with that background will struggle to adapt to the specifics of LA. It’s Sal that has to pick up Bobby’s slack as he adjusts, calling out the shots at the tree trimmer call, taking the initiative with Maurice even though Bobby does ultimately do the saving. (Which Sal actually seems impressed by btw.) Bobby still can’t even read the city map when they pull up to the restaurant fire call. 

Now imagine you’re Sal. First you had Gerrard as captain, who (I think it's fair to say) you DID NOT LIKE. One of the things he did was put down firefighters who disobeyed orders by rescuing people. We saw this with the “fetching a tide” call and with saving the boy in the submerged car. Hen disobeyed orders but showed real skill as a firefighter. And all she got for her troubles was being berated by her Captain. 

Ok then after Gerrard you have an interim captain that seems like a decent dude, but he leaves and for a while you have a revolving door of retiring brass that are checked out, behind the times, or just generally disengaged. You become used to filling in as captain and get actually pretty damn good at managing the team. (I say this because Sal leads the team several times in BBA and nobody looks at all like this is a new development) Then they finally pick a nobody who has never worked in a proper city before and to you he’s just the newest asshole that will probably screw up and get someone killed. Sal has no idea about the challenges or traumas Bobby has had to face, just like we have no idea what might have happened in the 5+ years between HB and BBA. Sal has probably MANY REASONS not to trust Bobby that we don’t know about. 

So how would you feel after you’ve successfully rescued a teenage boy’s life, if your new captain who you’ve known for like a day and still doesn’t even know how to get the engine to calls on time, calls YOU stupid for SUCCESSFULLY SAVING A CHILD’S LIFE. I think you’d be likely to blow up a little too. 

Was Sal a hothead? Absolutely. Was he being smart by mouthing off to Bobby? Absolutely not. But I think his lines to Bobby during that scene are so telling. “You’re just the latest jag off in a long line of jag offs to come to this house and think you know how to run it.” In other words, he’s not really seeing Bobby during this exchange (he couldn’t possibly, Bobby is still being very closed off and won’t tell anyone what his story is for years) he’s seeing the long line of assholes that started with Gerrard that Bobby is unknowingly falling into the pattern of. Just like how Bobby didn’t really see Sal and one relatively tiny restaurant, he saw his wife and family and a massive apartment building with no way out. That to me is the tragedy of Bobby and Sal. I genuinely think they could’ve learned a lot from each other if they had left their baggage at the door. 

In other words, would we judge Sal if he had gone after Gerrard in the way he went after Bobby? I doubt it. And that to me is what Sal is actually doing, going after Gerrard and all the other nameless asshole captains he’s been dealing with for YEARS. Sal was hotheaded and impulsive, but at the end of the day I think he was just dealing with misplaced anger that he put on Bobby, something both Buck and Eddie have done at some point or another even when they DID have all the information. If you can forgive the lawsuit arc, and Eddie’s comments in season 5 about Bobby’s kill count than dear god I think Sal has more than earned a pass. 

Overarching things I find interesting about Sal that I don’t see anyone talking about 

He cares a lot about the people they save on rescues, he’s the one on the majority of calls saying some variant of “its gonna be ok/we’re gonna get you out/don’t worry. Whatever the firefighter equivalent of bedside manner is, this guy has it. 

His personal code of who he gives a shit about seems to boil down entirely to who has skills/is talented and who isn’t. The minute Hen shows real promise by saving that little boy, he is down there hand shaking and complimenting her. Ditto Freddie Costas. “Smart kid, probably saved his own life with that move.” You see this in his conversation with Bobby too “that wasn’t luck man that was skill.” You have to earn Sal’s respect and the way you do is by demonstrating competence. Sal genuinely does look impressed with Bobby for apprehending Maurice and showing ingenuity, the problem is it's immediately undercut when Bobby belittles him for saving the kid. 

Anywho, that’s my Sal defense thesis. There’s probably other stuff I forgot but that's the bulk of it. I reserve the right to randomly reblog this with any other shit that comes to mind. Also as a disclaimer I still LOVE reading toxic Sal or asshole Sal content, absolutely eat it up with a spoon gimme gimme gimme. But I think it would be unfair to say that’s the ONLY read of him. He clearly does give a shit and is capable of growth and change, he just also happens to have a short fuse and very little willingness to go about things in a tactful way. 

TLDR: free my man, he did do some of that shit but so did your blorbos, it's just your blorbos had the narrative on their side when they did it.

[seduzist]

can I please request a blurb of what if the roles were reversed during Mockingjay PT 1 and 2 where the reader was taken by the Capitol instead of Peeta and when the reader is rescued, they are hijacked to be afraid of Peeta? I would imagine Peeta would try his best to help the reader remember what’s “real” or not real and be incredibly patient during this process :) tysm

you looked at the boring looking food on your lap, no much colors and not very appealing like the ones in capitol, but still much better than no food at all.

when you were about to eat - with the one arm that wasn’t tied up to the hospital bed, you heard the door opening, immediately turning the attention mode inside you, looking directly at the door, trying to be ready for any possible danger, but how could you, tied up to a hospital bed like a criminal?

peeta comes in, pain in his eyes watching your state, deep eyes, with so many pounds lost, black and purple bruises all over your body, dry lips and a scared expression on your face, it almost made him cry, but the boy keeps his composure and took a deep breath, coming closer to you.

your whole body entered the full defensive mode, and of course peeta noticed that, even though he couldn’t believe when katniss and haymitch told him snow turned you in a weapon, that he changed everything you knew about peeta, about your love for him, that you were confused and scared, that you were supposed to fear him, to kill him, now, he knew deep inside that was very possible for capitol to do such a cruel thing.

“y/n…” he whispers, feeling his own voice fail.

“i don’t want you here, who sent you here?” your voice sounded harsh, confident, threatened.

“i… i just wanna talk to you, i’ll be quick, i promise you.” everything he say is a lie. you told yourself. a lie can’t hurt me. you let him proceed. “i know what happened, i know what they said, that i don’t love you, that i’m the monster.” tears threatened to fall from his eyes as he spoke. manipulator. “but i’m not, you-you don’t remember but i love you, and you love me too, y/n.” he stops for a moment, waiting for you to say anything, but nothing comes out your mouth, your expression doesn’t even change a bit. he sighs. “it’s okay, i just wanted you to know that i’m not giving up on you, i’ll help you remember everything, and i know that you’ll love me again. you’ll remember what’s real or not.”

when he was about to leave, trying his best to stop his tears from flowing down, he heard your small voice.

“your favorite color is orange.” he looks at you, a smile starting to form on his lips. “real or not real?”

“real.”

[cairoisashapeshifter]

Mortal

♡ Word count; 858

♡ Warnings; Mentions of blood, death, violence, angst, cursing.

♡ Genre; Reverse Comfort & Established Relationship

♡ Notes; Wrote this while listening to a song, not sure how I feel about it, but decided to put something out there even if it was a small drabble.

♡ Summery; Heimdall needing comfort from mortal!reader after he is confronted by their mortality.

Silence fell in the great hall, no soul dared to breath wrong in the direction of the God whose fist dripped strings of blood. And, as he moved the crowd made sure to part for him and for you. "Heimdall!" He kept moving, his steps unfaltering. "I did not want this" Heimdall stopped at your words before turning suddenly anger as hot as coal seething through his eyes and words "I don't care what you wanted, I don't care what you think this isn't about you, I promised no harm to befall you, and he laid his hands on you. He broke my word, the word of a god under my roof. Count yourself fucking lucky his alive." Behind you, healers surrounded the unrecognisable man hoping to salvage his life, Heimdall had beat him to a shape other then human, they didn't know if they could do much. You did not care. Your eyes still focused in the direction where his figure disappeared, brows furrowed and horror shining through your features.

Love made Kings fools, peasants abundant, and Gods sometimes monsters.

The room was quiet expect for the slight splashing of water, he was inside the washroom cleaning off the blood from his hands, unlike his brothers, he hated being dirty, hated the feeling of blood on him. "Hemie... I-" you try to reach out, to comfort him but he flinched out of your touch as if it were hot iron "Don't touch me" he breathed out, you retreated your hand "Heimdall it's ok-" "leave". You frown. "I never left you before when you needed me, I won't start now" He cringes at your soft voice and places both hands on the basin of water "My only job was to keep you safe, as a god, as your husband it was my only job and I failed" somehow during his low toned words he found himself with his arms wrapped around you and yours wrapped around him, he sounded broken like a glass shattered into a million pieces

"It's not your job Hemie-"

"Yes it is, I am the God of Forsight, the watcher and protector of Asgard, and a mere fucking low life managed to hurt the one thing I care about more then my fucking title" anger returned to his voice, yet he didn't raise it at you.

"You weren't there"

"You're right I wasn't there" You pull away to look at him. His face had become unreadable, he looked completely neutral, an empty canvas ready to be painted on.

"I wasn't there" his lips shakily quirked up "would I not be there when someone decides to kill you? Would I not be there if you fall or if an accident happens? Would I come home one day and find you dead? Is that it?"

The once warm Himinbjörg felt cold. No longer did the hearth banish away the shivers or the tears, instead, it seemed the orange glow called for it. Light fell on the man you fell for, illuminating the side of his face making his glowing eyes shine even brighter. After not hearing an answer, his already stiff body turned rigid within your embrace, he seemed to find it unbearable as he quickly pulled away while still keeping himself close to you.

"You're a mortal"

Those three words were enough. A gentle hand placed upon his cheek, you pull him close resting his head on your shoulder. You move a hand to the back of his head threading your fingers through his hair, the other you pulled over his back and hugged him with it tightly. Heimdall was afraid, he was afraid to loose you.

"I thought.... thought that your mortal life span didn't matter, that I had a hundred years with you. But it's not enough, its no where near enough, I can't bare the idea of anything less than an eternity but I learned to cope, I learned to enjoy the time we had but now? Knowing it's not just you growing old but that it could be a simple fall or a bad meal away for you to leave me? That it could...that it could be one fuckers bad day for you to die? and I wouldn't even be there"

"One day I will die sure-" He moved you before you could finish, now, you laid on the bed with his face stuffed in your chest and his arms holding you so tight it ached slightly. "Stop it. Just... just stop don't talk I don't want... I don't need..." His voice trailed off when he felt your fingers scratch his scalp easing his tense body and forcing his voice to catch in his throat, "I know, it's okay, I'll be okay, you'll be okay Heimdall" he felt a chuckle leave his lips, a breathy pained laugh tempered with his voice giving out "A mere mortal comforting a god, how funny" you only responed by kissing his forehead. You never saw him this way, vulnerable, open like a new born baby bird that fell from his nest, "Well let's hope the mortal is doing a good job with it"

"You are"

[afunnylittlevampireguy]

When it comes to the old popular Gravity Falls Aus, I only really interacted with Reverse falls and Monster falls (there were other AUs I would see but I don't believe they were popular, plus wasn't much).

Which comes to my thing I need to know, what's up with the Relativity falls au?

I think I saw someone say b4 that it used to just be an age swap between both the pines twins, but now it seems that spread to a multitude of other characters. I've seen it with Pacifica and her father Preston, Fiddleford, even Wendy and her father a bit, Gideon and Bud (less Gideon but I'm assuming he's there yk?). Which also makes me wonder what would happen with Bill in this au, like would his parents take over as the overall big bad or sum? and would he become some strange powerful child who is just hiding out in gravity falls, or maybe waiting to be summoned? The questions are endless lol

[ryder-writes]

After the Dinner- Natuso x GN!Reader

A/n: I don't think I've ever written reverse comfort before tbh. It was an experience lol. Ive also never written for Natsuo before so srry if I messed up the relationship with his family and stuff

CW: Reverse comfort, take place before Dabi's reveal, family issues, mention of abuse

WC: 841

Natsuo felt heavy. Exhausted. He knew he shouldn't have gone. Why did he even bother at this point? Nothing was going to change. He would never forgive him. 'Forgive but never forget'- four words he never hoped to hear from his therapist and would never follow. How could he forgive a literal monster? The sole cause for the death of his childhood, his relationship with his family, his peace?

He swallowed, a faint burning in the back of his throat. Every dinner ended in yelling. Every. Single. One. Him and Endeavor- his dear dad- screaming, Fuyumi trying to calm them both down. It rarely worked. They were all forgiving him too fast, really. At least Shoto wasn't taking his 'apology' quite yet. Natsuo sighed, trying to calm himself down. He unclenched his fists, feeling the coldness dissipate from his palms. His quirk tended to activate whenever his heart rate increased a lot. He's pretty sure he accidentally left some frost on the door when he stormed out. Walking down the hallway to his apartment, he took a deep breath. He never liked falling apart in front of you. Even though he knew you would catch him.

-

You knew that Natsuo would be different when he came home. And, as much as you wanted to greet him with a hug and tell him that everything was going to be okay, you couldn't. 9 times out of 10 he just needed space to cool down. So, that's what you gave him.

-

When you heard the front door open followed by the lack of a tired "Hey, honey" or "I'm home", you knew things got pretty bad. You could faintly make out the sound of the door closing and him putting his shoes in the little organizer by the door. You stayed in bed, knowing that he would come to you when he was ready. If he wanted to talk. You heard his footsteps get louder as he walked towards your shared bedroom. He pushed the cracked door open, immediately going to the dresser to grab some clothes. He didn't acknowledge you, so you didn’t acknowledge him. You would wait- as long as it took.

After taking a cold shower, Natsuo felt a little better. He felt clean for the first time in hours. He walked back the bedroom in gray sweatpants and a white tank-top, putting his dirty clothes into the hamper in the corner. The bed dipped beside you as he sat down. You continued to look at your phone, waiting until he was ready. You heard him sigh. In your peripheral vision, you saw his hands drag across his face. He exhaled a shaky breath. You put your phone down and shifted a little towards him. This caused him to lock eyes with you. You saw the sadness and exhaustion. The pain. The bed creaked as he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. He started to shake, finally allowing himself to cry. Your right hand found it's way to his hair, scratching gently. Nothing was said between you two for a while, the only sounds being the air conditioning and Natsuo's soft cries (when he was little he taught himself to cry quietly and still does it to this day).

Your hands grounded him, reminding him of where he was: here, with you. His fiancé. He sniffled and mumbled something.

"Hm?" You questioned, unable to hear what he said.

"'m sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for, baby." You kissed his temple. "I'm always gonna be here, no matter what. I'm not going anywhere." He hugged you tighter, afraid you would evaporate into thin air if he let go.

You sat there for another few minutes before Natsuo spoke up again.

"How does he expect us- me- to forgive him…? He ruined our lives. W-we were just kids." He sniffles, leaving your neck and resting his forehead against yours.

"You don't have to forgive him. There's no obligation." You remind him.

"Touya wouldn't've forgiven him." The soft whisper leaves his mouth before he has a chance to stop it. He had told you about Touya and his death, albeit hiding many details and specifics about it.

You grabbed his hands off of your shoulders and held them to your heart. He could feel your warmth and the faint beat of your pulse. It was then he realized how thankful he was for you. How much he loved you. And how much that scared him.

You seemed to read his mind and kissed his forehead.

"You're not him. You are Natsuo. You are my partner, the love of my life, my fiancé. Nothing will change that. Nothing will change who you are."

You looked down and saw a single tear run down his left cheek.

"Thank you."

You kiss the tear away.

"Of course, baby. Are you feeling better?"

He hummed, feeling the dryness of his throat. He leaned forward and nuzzled your noses together. You giggled, happy to see the playful side of your partner start to peek out again.

My Masterlist :]

[vickyvicarious]

To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.

Jonathan, 3 October

She lay in her Vampire sleep, so full of life and voluptuous beauty that I shudder as though I have come to do murder. Ah, I doubt not that in old time, when such things were, many a man who set forth to do such a task as mine, found at the last his heart fail him, and then his nerve. So he delay, and delay, and delay, till the mere beauty and the fascination of the wanton Un-Dead have hypnotise him; and he remain on and on, till sunset come, and the Vampire sleep be over. Then the beautiful eyes of the fair woman open and look love, and the voluptuous mouth present to a kiss—and man is weak. And there remain one more victim in the Vampire fold; one more to swell the grim and grisly ranks of the Un-Dead!…

Van Helsing, 5 November

One thing I noticed this year was the way Van Helsing echoed Jonathan's declaration about lovers joining the ranks of the undead. They both use very similar language, but with a couple huge differences. This makes these quotes almost a reverse of one another in a really interesting way.

Van Helsing's theoretical men who become vampires out of love are very clearly victims. They are foolish, fascinated by a vampire woman's beauty, and don't need to have known her beforehand to be mesmerized. Their hearts fail them, when they allow beauty to stay their hand which had previously been poised to kill the undead they've been hunting.

Jonathan's very real man willing to become a vampire (and his presumed others before him) is making a deliberate choice. He is not being tricked into anything. He knows exactly how horrible a choice he is making, and is in fact doing so well away from the sight of any supernatural beauty or mesmeric power. His heart feels the holiest love, which guides it into darkness rather than ever even consider harming the undead he loves.

Van Helsing's assumption is that the men who falter didn't already know the vampire who eventually turned them, and thus no deeper love is really possible. This is very much not the case for Jonathan's quote. But I think even in that situation, the Professor would still consider Jonathan himself much closer to the foolish, mistaken victims of his own quote - rather than recognizing the agency and deliberate nature of Jonathan's choice. That's the main difference for me - even more than the depth of the connection/length of association (though of course that hugely informs the situation and is a necessary distinction), it's the knowing/unknowing nature of each one.

In both situations the men are guided by their hearts, but Jonathan knows the truth even as he declares he would join his love to be a vampire. In Van Helsing's scenario, the men act against what they know by feeling pity and affection for what they intended to treat as a monster. They forget that the ranks of the undead are "grim and grisly" just long enough to fall prey. But Jonathan never does. He knows Mina would become a monster, knows that in this scenario he'd be joining the "ghastly ranks" of the undead. He doesn't forget that fact. He just considers his love to be more important, enough that he is willing to subject himself to such a terrible fate rather than harm or be separated from her. It's the opposite of someone mesmerized into delaying and being enticed into putting down their weapon. Instead he resists entreaties to pick it up in the first place. (At least to point towards Mina.)

[dimonds456]

Okay Undertale community:

Since Undertale Yellow, I have been thinking.

UTY placed itself so firmly in the timeline, with so much to say, so much added to the worldbuilding (in a good way), so many wonderful characters, new locations, ect. that I believe we can make a prequel for each of the SOULs.

The hardest to do will probably be Integrity since their story intertwines so well with Clover's, and we hear about their actions at least twice if not more.

The only thing we gotta be aware of is that Flowey absolutely wouldn't exist before this point. He wouldn't have seen any other humans fall down, since Flowey is a more recent experiment. The Amalgamates, too, are relatively new in the Underground's history. So they might not exist.

If we were to create a prequel for Integrity, it should do something similar to UTY and create new characters, new locations, visit the old locations sparingly, and of course, end somewhere before New Home, since each soul made it a bit further and further than the last one.

The difficulty comes, again, with the fact that we know Integrity killed at least one monster- a child, no less- so doing different routes may be a bit weird. But it shouldn't be too bad; only one route is canon, right?

Maybe.

I'd like to propose a question that I don't have an answer to: Who had the ability to save/load/reset before Flowey did? He was the most determined being in the Underground, so it makes sense he got it, and then it was passed on to Frisk when they showed up, but what about before that? Imagine going up against a monster who isn't as determined as Flowey, but comes close.

The question then remains why that monster didn't stop Integrity from killing. Did that monster know they held that power at all?

I'm not here to propose ideas- that's for the fan game creators to handle. But I am absolutely LIVING for the idea that we could LITERALLY build our own canon.

Imagine a fan game for each of the souls, going in reverse order. We start with Yellow (Clover), then go to Integrity, so on and so forth until we get to Patience. Hell, we might even be able to do a Chara's Origins game after that!

If I knew how to program games, you KNOW I'd be jumping at the chance to do something like this. Since I can't, I'll just cheer y'all on from the sidelines should anyone decide to do this.

I might make an askblog or fan comic based on this, idk. Could be fun fgsdh