#and least prone to violence when there are other options

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

ok shen is in a weird position because she is the sanest one and teh one with the most morals out of the authority but its a most not a the shes also completely abnormal in her own way but its weird cause i dont want her to be the woc with the braincellTM. but she is also the sanest.

so mad with grief because she gained an intrinsic connection to the world on top of her massive empathy just as it was dying :) this will have no long term consequences and wont lead to her and the group devolving into a mess.

[uvobreakmylegs]

Rework

vampire!Feitan x werewolf!reader (with a side of Feitan x werewolf!Phinks)

🎃Happy Halloween🎃

Warnings: mentions of kidnapping, captivity, blood, depictions of violence, death, murder, gore, body horror, stockholm syndrome, implied future poly relationships

Word Count: 13.7k

“So, what are you two going to be doing at that castle?”

The taxi driver's question pierced through the silence within the cab as he looked back to where you and Feitan were sitting, looking the both of you over in the rear view mirror. It came out of nowhere, as over a half hour ago the drive had begun with little chatter from any of you. It made you nervous, and you couldn't help but gulp as you kept your eyes on what you could see out the window. It would be better to pretend that you hadn't heard him.

Feitan didn't like it when you spoke to other people, after all.

When neither of you answered, the driver went as far as to turn his head around. Ultimately his gaze ended up on Feitan as he was sitting behind the front passenger's seat, making it easier for the driver to keep his eyes on him.

“Well?” the driver asked.

Feitan finally responded to that just to say “it's private.”

“Private business at a castle. That's a new one,” the driver commented, laughing a little to himself after.

Feitan didn't reply.

Luckily the driver seemed to get the hint that neither Feitan or you were in the mood to talk, and he returned his attention to the road as the taxi steadily continued up the woodland path.

You felt relieved when he stopped pressing, mostly because you didn't want him to be injured or killed. You had found yourself wanting to like the driver simply because of the hat he wore – it reminded you of your grandfather, as he wore that same style of pointed newsboy caps that your grandfather would wear when he went out, and thus you associated the cap with him. So you were feeling warmly towards the driver, as silly as it was, and you hoped that any sort of incident could be avoided when it came to him.

At least Feitan wasn't prone to random acts of violence against other people for no reason.

For the most part, anyway.

With the chatter in the cab now ceased and nothing else to focus on, you kept your eyes trained on the view outside of the window, watching as the car drove past brightly colored falling leaves and the trees whose branches were slowly becoming more exposed every time the wind blew past them, stealing away more of their leaves in a sign of the upcoming winter.

It made for a pretty view, and keeping an eye out for the various colors that came from the different types of trees kept you occupied on what would otherwise be another long and boring journey. Unlike Feitan, you didn't feel comfortable attempting to read while in the car as you were too worried that trying to do so would make you ill, so the options you had for entertainment were limited.

It wasn't much, but at least it was nice enough to keep your mind on.

It also kept your attention away from the luggage that sat diagonally from you in the front passenger's seat.

…. You shouldn't have even had that thought. Because just like that, the temptation was there again, and you needed to force your neck to stay in the same position. All to avoid your gaze straying in that direction. It was made harder due to the fact that the large burgundy suitcase was just within your peripheral vision. The very edge of it taunted you, it seemed. It would be so, so easy to keep your attention on that case for the entire journey, staring at it as you allowed the anxiety and desperation to fill your mind.

What if, this time, they wouldn't work when you got them back? What if they were ruined now and you were left like this permanently? Was there any accounting for that? Did he have a way to restore you if that happened? Or would you be in this state forever?

Would he even still want you if you couldn't go back to the way you'd been before?

You did your best to keep those thoughts at the back of your head as you focused on the outside. Worrying about it wouldn't do you any good, and as much as you wanted to blame it on the fact that the case couldn't fit in the trunk due to the wheelchair, directing your attention over to where it sat would only annoy him.

… How was Feitan doing, mood wise?

You tore your gaze away from the window to glance over at the man who sat next to you, finding that his focus was still on the book he had opened at the very start of the journey, several hours ago before the taxi when you had gotten on board the train the day prior. By now he was more than halfway through that book, though given that you were on the last legs of your journey, he probably wouldn't be able to finish it before the cab reached its destination.

He clearly noticed the way you stared at him as he glanced over in your direction.

Upon making eye contact, you gave him a small smile.

Feitan stared at you for a moment.

Then he ultimately chose to return to his book, turning the page once he picked up where he'd left off.

He was in a pretty alright mood, then. Though you followed suit and returned your attention to the window immediately after. Even if he was in an okay place, it was better not to press your luck, as it could be incredibly easy to annoy him.

That was one thing you had learned about him: he didn't punish you without a reason. Though his rules and demands were tiring and hard to keep up with sometimes, he had never ordered anything that was so unreasonable you were automatically doomed to fail. Some of the things he made you do were difficult, yes, but never had he forced you into something that was a losing battle from the start.

At least in regards to your captivity and the way he treated you, that was one thing to be grateful for.

And technically, with what was happening right now, you weren't being punished: he just didn't trust you enough during travel. Surely in the future things would be different. As long as you remained on good behavior and kept him happy with you, things would definitely be different, and hopefully different in a way that favored you at least somewhat.

Just keep your attention on the outside, you told yourself. Take note of all of the different fall colors that you were lucky enough to catch sight of and don't even think of what you would be going through in the upcoming days.

There was no way to put it off, but you could at least enjoy the current moment, even if it did feel somewhat stifling within the small space of the car.

The taxi continued to climb through the uphill path. At one point the forest that was directly next to your window vanished, the trees dropping off in favor of giving you a view of the entirety of the wilderness around you as the taxi drove along the edge of a cliff. The sight helped to calm your nerves a bit as you managed to relax a little more. Once the taxi left the cliffside and reentered into the denser forest, you again kept your focus on that, and you had an easier time keeping your mind off of the little worries that usually plagued you.

There was nothing to be done about any of them, after all. Not in this moment.

A sign that you were entering an older part of the area came when the driver took a turn to the right, and suddenly the ride became a lot more rough as the road turned bumpy. There was one moment where were it not for the security of your seat belt, you would have been thrown directly into Feitan. As it was, you found yourself lurching about uncomfortably regardless, and you needed to keep your grip on the handle of the door as you waited for the ride to become smoother again. The taxi driver made some joke about the rough terrain during that time, and Feitan made no response to him, though it seemed that the conditions were too much for him to continue his book as he soon shut it and put it away.

At some point during all of that, the blanket that you had tucked around your waist began to fall to the floor. Yet you didn't notice until it had fallen completely.

With that, your lap was exposed. Or rather, what was left of it. If the driver were to glance behind him, he would see what you had been so futilely trying to hide from him:

The stumps in the middle of your thighs where the rest of your legs should have been.

The fact that the rest of your legs were gone was still a sight that you struggled with, and seeing the way others would look over at you with questioning glances whenever you had the rare trip out in public made you feel worse. No one was ever rude enough to ask, but just to have that attention on you made your skin crawl. You didn't like it. Not one bit. If the impossible happened and anyone saw beneath the bandages that were hidden under the rolled up legs of your pants, they would have seen the sutures that held your flesh together and the still fresh wound that refused to fully heal.

But no one would ever get that close.

Feitan would never allow it.

Upon realizing that the blanket had fallen, you reached down, straining yourself somewhat in order to pick it off the rubber mat that covered the floor. Despite it being slightly dirty, you placed it back on top of your lap, once more securing it and this time keeping your hands on it just in case it fell again. Given that the taxi was now beyond the roughest part of the old road, that seemed unlikely, but you felt better holding onto it.

As expected, Feitan made no comment to you, but you could tell he was watching you. Without something else to keep his attention, his eyes would generally move over to your form, keeping an eye on you regardless of if you were doing anything noteworthy or not.

Why was he so fascinated with you?

As often as you had wondered that to yourself, you had yet to come up with a sufficient answer to that question. There was no point in attempting to ask Feitan directly as you knew he wouldn't answer. You had tried that once. A long while back, after your rage from being taken captive had died out and you were left with nothing but apathy, you dared to ask why he wanted you, of all people, and his only response had been to stare at you in that same intense way that he always did.

All this time later, and you still had no clue as to what the answer to that question was.

But by this point, it was easier to accept this as your current reality. Things weren't perfect, but they weren't completely bad. Not like they used to be.

After ten minutes of travel on the now only slightly bumpy road the roof of the small castle within the forest could be seen through the front windshield of the taxi. Five minutes after that, the yellow cab was pulling up to a large iron gate that was left locked, requiring Feitan to step out and unlock the large, gated entryway so the cab could gain access. Feitan watched you from the outside as the driver pulled into the rounded courtyard of the aged building. Creeping vines covered a majority of the base of the structure, the reddend leaves all piled upon one another while the thin branches reached upwards as if with the intent to cover the entire wall. Despite how old the building was by now, there was no sense of decay upon looking at it. The nameless castle within the wilderness remained strong, and it seemed certain that only some otherworldly force would be capable of bringing it down.

A part of you really enjoyed the place; it was nice to look at, and certain areas within the structure were cozy during certain times of the year. But there was another part of you that felt a wave of anxiety fall over as you looked at the building in its entirety and your hands began to clench at and fiddle with the blanket over your lap.

Being in this place would be much more enjoyable if Feitan bothered to bring you here outside of the timing of the full moon. Sadly, he never seemed inclined to do that, so you were forced to associate the castle with the awful few days you consistently experienced here.

Maybe that might change, you told yourself. Though you wouldn't hold your breath on that.

The cab driver got out, and both he and Feitan headed towards the trunk to unload the wheelchair and the other luggage that had been placed in there. When the trunk opened, the view you had of them from the backseat was obscured.

With Feitan not able to keep as close of an eye on you, you took the time to steal a glance at the burgundy case in the front seat.

It looked the same as it had at the beginning of your journey: an unremarkable but large suitcase that was slightly heavy from the contents it held. But from your vantage point, it didn't appear that anything was wrong with it. It didn't look damaged, nor did there appear to be any leaks spilling out of the seams of the case.

That had you feeling a little better, though your hands continued to nervously clench at the blanket.

When your door was opened and the wheelchair was brought out, Feitan didn't allow the driver to assist him in moving you. When you unbuckled yourself and moved to the edge of the seat to make getting you out easier, Feitan was the one who picked you up. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you allowed him to move you from the interior of the cab out into the courtyard, and you stayed in his embrace for only a few moments before he placed you in the wheelchair that stood not far away.

The blanket fell again, this time onto the leaves that covered the old cobblestone beneath you. As you were being set down, the driver made a move to get it for you.

Feitan beat him to it, and the shorter man gave the driver a look that seemed to make him nervous as he took a few steps backwards.

That was a slight overreaction, you quietly thought to yourself as Feitan shook out the now dirty blanket.

But as long as that was all that happened, it didn't matter much.

With everything out of the trunk, it had been swiftly closed, as had the passenger's door once you had been removed from the vehicle. The driver adjusted his cap as he watched Feitan hand you the slightly cleaner blanket, and you were quick to pull it back up around your waist. When the driver's side door had been opened, you couldn't recall.

In the middle of all of that, you heard the driver speak again.

“All right, guess that's it, then.”

You looked up to find the taxi driver had turned around and placed one leg inside his car as he prepared to get in and take off.

That was it? But-

The case was still in the front seat.

And he was getting in without taking it out.

He was going to leave with it.

That fact seemed certain when he settled into the driver's seat.

“NO!”

You yelled so loudly that it startled him, and he turned his head just before Feitan materialized next to the driver's side door, holding his hand against it in order to keep it open.

“Wh-what's wrong?” the driver asked, his head swiveling as he looked to the both of you.

“Front seat,” Feitan said.

“O-oh. Right….”

Dutifully, the driver exited the vehicle and walked around it in order to retrieve the case, though he didn't bother to hide the alarmed looks he gave the both of you as he did so. Feitan glared at him the entire time while you clenched at the armrests of the wheelchair. You weren't going to feel good until you saw that case out of that car.

The sound of the passenger's side door opening seemed to echo within the space of the courtyard, and you breath hitched when you saw him reach in and pull out the suitcase.

Be gentle with it, you wanted to tell him.

The driver circled around the cab, seemingly in an attempt to avoid Feitan. As a result, he chose to approach you, and handed the suitcase to you instead. You caught the way Feitan's eye twitched at that, yet you chose not to acknowledge it as you grabbed at the case being offered to you.

With a sigh of relief, you held it tightly against yourself, ignoring the weight and the awkwardness that came with holding it.

“Sorry for upsetting you,” the driver told you, though his tone didn't make him sound very sorry. The way he looked at you clearly indicated that he felt as though you had been overreacting.

It looked like he was going to say something more, but Feitan chose then to step in.

“Your job is over,” he told the driver, “leave.”

“Fine, fine.”

The driver headed back towards the driver's door of the taxi, stepping in as he had before. But just before the door closed behind him, you heard him mutter the word “assholes.”

The ignition turned and the engine rumbled, and within a few moments the cab rolled out of the aged courtyard, once more jittering horribly as it drove over the old, cobbled road. Feitan followed behind as the car exited through the entryway, and once it was completely clear, he closed both sets of iron gates shut and just as swiftly locked them. The key to the gate was soon back in the safety of his pocket, and the vampire stared at the vanishing cab before he turned around and set his sights back to you.

The case had already been set upon the ground in front of you, your hands now in your lap as you kept your gaze to the side.

You messed up.

You weren't supposed to talk to other people. Feitan didn't like that. Even though you had only said one word to that driver and it was just to keep him from driving off with the case, you had still done what you shouldn't have and spoke to him instead of trusting that Feitan would realize the man's mistake and prevent him from leaving.

Feitan's footsteps sounded against the cobblestone, and you straightened your back slightly, though you still kept your gaze averted.

If you apologized right now, would he forgive you?

It was worth a shot.

“I'm sorry,” you told him.

“Sorry?” Feitan repeated.

“For disobeying you,” you clarified, your hands wringing the blanket as you continued “I didn't mean to, I just – no. Never mind. I'm sorry.”

Stopping yourself from pointing out that he was about to leave with the suitcase was a good move, you felt. Doing that would have been interpreted as making an excuse, and that was never going to end well for you. It was better to acknowledge your failure and leave it at that.

“Hm.”

Feitan was standing in front of you now, staring down at you while you shifted uncomfortably beneath the weight of his gaze. You weren't sure what to expect from him in this moment, but you told yourself that whatever it was he said or did, you needed to go with it.

What a stupid thing to think. Of course you needed to go with it – what other choice did you have?

Your internal dialogue was interrupted when Feitan spoke.

“You did speak to him,” he began, “but this once, I'll overlook it.”

Your neck snapped up so you could look at him, uncertain if you had heard what you thought you had and wanting to know if he was being genuine or if this was some way to lull you into a false sense of security before pulling the rug out from under you.

Looking at him as he was now, it didn't feel as though he was particularly angry.

Feitan continued.

“He was going to drive off with it, after all. He's more in the wrong than you are.”

He then cocked his head as he looked at you before he asked “don't you agree?”

You waited a moment before you nodded your head in agreement, saying “yeah.”

That was all to be said on the matter, as Feitan then turned his attention to the suitcase you had set down. His dark eyes looked it over before going back to you, and he pointed to it with a single pale finger as he asked a different question.

“Do you want them back now?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Then you looked back down at the suitcase.

The answer was yes. Of course you wanted them back now. You'd never wanted them taken in the first place.

….. That sort of answer wasn't what Feitan would be looking for though, would it?

With your hands wringing at the blanket once more, you answered “only….. Only if you think I should have them back now.”

“Hm.”

The action after your response wasn't immediate, and you were left to sweat nervously in front of him as you waited for some sort of sign from him. He could tell you were nervous as well; his hearing was good enough that he could hear the way your heart began to beat frantically when you felt too much time had passed.

When he did choose to act, it seemed like that yours had been the correct answer, because Feitan reached over to stroke his fingers through your hair, petting you in the way he only did when he was pleased with you. Considering the trouble you had first believed yourself to be in, the action came as a relief. Not that it lasted long, as he pulled away soon after.

Without another word to you, he leaned down, lifted the suitcase by the handle, and walked around you as he made his way to the large doorway.

You bit your lip and clenched at the blanket once more, your shoulders sagging as you accepted his decision, even though it frustrated you that he had decided on that. It was being taken away from you again, the only option you had was to accept the unfair situation.

Maybe he was more upset over your outburst than he was letting on.

When you were certain that he was out of earshot, you let out a slow, sad sigh.

At least you had answered correctly, you told yourself.

Not long after Feitan returned for you, and given the age of the structure you found yourselves in and the lack of accommodation for the wheelchair, he needed to carry you up the steps and through the doors before walking along a familiar path through the castle, down a few hallways and up a single flight of stairs. Soon enough you had been placed in the room that would act as your bedroom for the remainder of your time here, and Feitan left you on the bed before exiting the room to get the rest of the things that had been left outside.

He wouldn't stay here long once that was done, probably. Once that was done, he would leave for the night, not coming back until morning. He had things to prepare for.

All of it had to do with the night of the full moon that was fast approaching.

You felt compelled to turn your head then, the tall glass of the window that overlooked your bed giving you a good view of the sky. You found what you were looking for in an instant: the waxing moon, still hanging low due to the earliness of the evening, but still visible over the tops of the trees. Within a few days, it would be full.

Once that happened, you would change as you always did.

Hence why you'd been brought to this place: for the isolation. Feitan wanted a controlled environment for you as you waited for the full moon to come and bring about your transformation. When you would change into what could only be described as a monster. Ravenous and violent, you couldn't be allowed anywhere near a large population. During the time that followed your transformation, you would be completely out of your mind, and the only thing that would drive you was instinct; instinct to hunt down and devour anyone within your immediate vicinity.

The thought of all that made you shudder, and you reached back to pull the curtains over the window to hide the sight away.

Such a thing was useless, you knew, but it made you feel better.

Late into the evening of the following day, Feitan brought you down into the main kitchen of the castle, specifically the one with the fireplace that was especially nice to spend time in during the winter. When the snow outside and there was a large fire going, it made for a cozy feeling that was pleasant.

Though you doubted whatever happened here tonight would be in any way nice.

But then again, it could be something good. Feitan didn't seem upset with you as he placed you upon a chair that stood near the unlit fire. With the exception of your outburst at the cab driver, you couldn't remember the last time you had done anything to genuinely upset Feitan.

His temperament just made it so hard to tell if things were okay.

Feitan kept silent after leaving you at the table. He didn't stay in the room long either, leaving almost immediately as he stalked down the hallway. The place where you sat allowed you to watch as he stopped in front of a door that led down into the cellar, the aged metal of the hinges creaking as he pulled it open before he slipped down into that darkness. The door shut with a heavy thud behind him, and you were left alone.

You let out a shaky breath.

Something was going to happen. All you could do was hope that it wouldn't be too bad. After all, you haven't done anything wrong, you once again told yourself, so you haven't done anything to warrant cruelty.

You repeated that in your head over and over as you did your best to calm your nerves.

It was sad how often that was the only solution you had for your issues.

The cellar door opened again with the hinges creaking for a longer period of time as Feitan was forced to open it wider than before. Though again it shut with a similarly loud thud as Feitan let it go once it was through. The noise of the hinges combined with the echo that accompanied it through the aged hallway was unpleasant, and you flinched as the sound grated at your ears. Not that you had much time to focus on that, as you quickly noted that it sounded as though Feitan was carrying something.

One quick glance at him and you saw what was in his hand: the burgundy suitcase.

You tore your gaze away and found yourself sitting up straighter again, your hands gripping at the edge of the chair as you stared at the empty fireplace while your heart began to beat wildly in your chest.

He could hear that heartbeat.

He knew exactly how anxious you were as he approached.

Feitan was soon upon you, standing in front of the chair you occupied with the case still in hand. As was expected of you, you looked up at him from where you sat, staring back at him as you waited for him to say something.

Holding up the case a bit, he asked “do you want them back?”

“…. Yes.”

Things were silent between the two of you then, your heart continuing to beat erratically while you kept your grip on your seat. You felt like saying 'yes' was the right answer, but there was always a chance that you were wrong. Whatever it was, Feitan was choosing to drag this out, his eyes focused on you while you knew that he was aware of how much you were panicking internally the longer this moment lasted.

You would accept it if he decided not to give them back. You would be disappointed, yes, but like those other times before, you wouldn't argue or fight him on it and would instead simply accept his decision.

Cooperating with him was the fastest way to get what you wanted.

Feitan then made his decision.

With one swift motion, he dropped the suitcase in your lap. Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt the weight of the suitcase against you once more, holding it tightly as you looked back up to Feitan to make sure you had his permission.

He had already stepped away, pulling out a different chair from the table so he could sit in front of you before he also took his place, leaning forward and resting his arms on his legs as he watched you.

Feitan wanted you to open the case.

You were more than eager to do so, your fingers going to the clasps that held it shut as your heartbeat hadn't slowed even a little. No longer thrumming with anxiety, you were now shaking from anticipation. What was yours was finally being given back.

Wasting no time in undoing the clasps, you threw open the case and felt relief upon seeing what was inside:

Your severed legs.

They were folded neatly within the case, along with a few towels tucked in at the sides to keep them from moving about too much for whenever the case was being transported.

The relief you felt upon seeing them was immediate and you wasted no time in beginning the process of reattaching them. Setting the case on the table, you went to work on the bandages that covered up your thighs, tearing them off with ease until your flesh was exposed, and from there, you began to tear out the stitches that had been placed at the end of your thighs to keep the wounds from bleeding out.

Not that you would have died even if all of your blood had left your body.

The process of removing the stitches was more strenuous than removing the bandages, and you couldn't help the small noises of pain that came from you as the thin thread was torn out of your body, ripping through the skin when you pulled hard enough. But just as quickly as you had removed them, those injuries were beginning to heal, the small wounds on that part of your skin closing up and mending with no trace of there being any stitches to begin with.

When all of the stitches were removed and lay in pieces on the floor beneath you, you were left with the open wounds at the end of your thighs, bone and muscle exposed while blood began to drip down onto the surface of the floor alongside the torn up stitches. The excess skin at the end of your legs which had been used to patch you up like a band aid now hung loosely, waiting to be reunited to your legs that still sat in the suitcase.

Now for the next part which would take longer but wouldn't be as painful: putting your limbs back on.

Reaching over to the case, you grabbed one of them at random. It turned out to be your right leg. Despite feeling that you were in a slightly weakened state after dealing with the stitches, you were able to handle the weight of your own leg easily as you pulled it out of the suitcase's confines and slung it over onto your lap.

Feitan continued to watch, still saying nothing, but you were able to feel the interest he had in this part. You didn't quite understand why he was so fascinated by this; he was also immortal, so shouldn't he be used to seeing such things with himself?

You kept that thought to yourself and instead focused on the task at hand.

Lifting up one of the flaps of skin with one hand, you used the other to position your limp leg up against your open thigh. Like putting puzzle pieces together, you grabbed the end of your leg with both hands as you started the reattachment process by putting the bones of each segment together. Once you had positioned it correctly, you felt it when the two connected.

The sensation had you shudder and you needed to grab onto the nearby table to keep yourself steady as everything else followed suit with the bone of your femur.

Marrow mixed back together as muscles reached out for one another, ends connecting in the same way the thigh bone had melding together as they were supposed to. Veins and your nerves did the same, and you gripped the edge of the table tightly as the process left you out of breath. It wasn't that it was painful, just uncomfortable. Like the sensation of a limb falling asleep only for the feeling to come back once you moved it. It was just that this was ten times as intense as that, and no matter how many times you went through this, you doubted that you would ever truly get used to it.

You stole a glance at Feitan then, peeking up at him to find that his gaze was just as intense as you imagined it was. He was concentrated on the way your muscles repaired themselves, on the way the blood from the injury dripped down onto the floor until it didn't, finally stopped when the ends of those veins found one another and sealed themselves up.

When all of the internal components of your leg had been repaired, you only moved your hand to smooth out the flap of flesh that had remained pulled back. Now with everything else done, the skin of your leg was finally allowed to mend itself as well.

Within moments, your right leg was firmly back on you, and you took the time to stretch out and move your foot to test that everything felt right. When that appeared to be the case, you slowly pushed yourself back so you were sitting up straight again, and then you reached back to the case for your left leg.

At least the process was a bit easier the second time around.

By the end of it, both of your legs were back, reattached with no sign of having been chopped off in the first place. You, however, felt exhausted. Sweat had collected on the back of your shirt and you were laying your arms and your head on the table, breathing out from your mouth as you calmed down after the experience.

It was fine now. It was over. You did it.

The sweaty feeling was gross, though, and you desperately wanted a shower.

That thought was enough to incentivize you to sit back up, though that too was a struggle as your arms felt weak. Still, you made yourself do it, and you turned to look to Feitan once you were done.

He was no longer leaning forward in the chair; now he was resting his back against it with his arms folded across his chest. One of his eyebrows raised when you turned your attention to him, and he asked “want something?”

“Just to get a shower,” you answered.

He nodded, and you took that as permission to leave the room.

Not that leaving was easy. How long had you been without your legs? You weren't completely sure, but however long it was, it was long enough that you were incredibly unsteady as you brought yourself up to your feet, and you needed to brace yourself against the table, the chair you had been sitting on as well as the wall as you made your way out of the kitchen, taking small, soft steps as you hoped the feeling of walking would soon become normal again.

“Having a hard time?” you heard Feitan ask.

“I'll be okay,” you replied, “just need to get used to it again.”

“Hm.”

Pausing at the edge of the room to catch your breath, you made the mistake of glancing over at one of the tall windows at the other side of the kitchen.

Just like the night prior, the moon was in the sky despite the relatively early hour, and when you caught sight of it, you turned your head away, looking down at the floor and trying to will away the sight in your mind.

Feitan noticed.

“What is it?” he asked.

“…. Outside,” you answered.

He looked, and hummed when he saw the moon as well.

“Scared?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Why? Shouldn't you be used to it by now?”

After a long moment, you again nodded.

Feitan made a noise at that which almost resembled a laugh before he ultimately waved you away, telling you “get your shower.”

You nodded and exited the room.

The sound of the chair moving across the kitchen floor was loud, and once you had reached the door that led to the cellar, you heard him call out to you once again.

“I'll be gone when you get out.”

He probably wasn't looking at you, and he probably wasn't in need of any sort of response, but you nodded again anyway.

The ache had firmly settled in.

You were curled up on the bed, the sheets haphazardly thrown aside as it now felt too warm to keep them on top of you, but even if the cold set in again you weren't sure you would have the strength to reach for them again. Your arms hurt too badly by now, as did your legs.

You were hungry, too.

But as you spied the small refrigerator full of supplies that had been left for you, specifically for this predicament of yours, you had a hard time imagining you would be able to gather up the strength needed to crawl off of the bed and over to where it stood. You just felt too weak.

As much as you hated how it felt when you transformed into that monstrous state and the carnage that you had left in your wake more than once, you wanted it to happen just so this part would be over with already.

It would happen soon, you told yourself. Tomorrow, when the full moon would be in the sky, you would have your relief.

You began to feel cold again, but as expected, when you reached for the blankets by your feet your muscles protested vehemently and you were forced to bear with the cold as you placed your arms back down on the bed.

Ah, this part was always the worst.

You wanted food. You wanted a shower.

You wanted Feitan.

And by this point you were too far gone to find that feeling of yours to be wrong. Because once he walked through that door, you were fine again. The aches and the pains brought about in the period before your transformation would vanish the second you saw him, and the only thing you would be left wanting for after that was for him to be closer to you.

That wasn't how it had always been. In the months that followed your kidnapping, you were relieved that he was gone for that day and a half before you turned. It had been nice to get so much time to yourself, and you hadn't been afraid to show a sour expression when he came back.

You couldn't imagine doing that now. To treat him as though he were a pest that wouldn't leave you alone? Your mind wouldn't allow it. Not when you were in such a vulnerable state and you truly felt that you needed him with you. His continued absence during this time had set alight within you a yearning.

It was easy to wish that you could go back to before your time with Feitan, when the pains and the need for another's presence didn't even exist, when you had dealt with everything on your own.

But now, even if you went against your better judgment and defied him by running, it couldn't go back to that. He had done something to change you, and you feared that change was permanent. That you would always be longing for him and be happy to see him even when he returned covered in the scent of another.

He left you to spend time with someone else

For some reason, it bothered you. Both that he did so and the fact that you still didn't know who that person was. Those times at the beginning when you asked Feitan had refused to answer, and you had no wish to bring it up now as you knew he would only tell you if he decided that you needed to know.

As long as he came back, that was all that mattered.

That thought was what got you through the long hours that followed; when the sun finally set and the waxing moon rose, now only one step away from reaching the full moon state, you felt it begin to affect you. Knowing what would happen tomorrow night, the muscles beneath your skin began to loosen up as they prepared for the time when they would need to expand. The ache in your bones became more pronounced as they anticipated the way they would need to snap and grow, and your skin started the process of separating from the muscle beneath, all so it would be easier for when you would need to tear it away.

You hated it, but as long as he came back, you could deal with the pains, you told yourself.

The next day, after having spent all of those hours doing nothing but laying on your bed as you felt your body continue to prepare for the coming night, the sound of the lock clicking open had you shoot up from the bed, sitting at attention as your eyes were focused on the door, waiting for it to open.

Anticipating that you would see him.

The relief you felt when you saw that Feitan had indeed returned to you was immense, and all memory of the pain and longing you had gone through for the previous day and a half was forgotten as he stepped through the door, his eyes meeting yours before he looked you over.

No doubt you looked a mess, your wrinkled clothing and the circles beneath your eyes giving him some insight about the rough night you'd had.

As usual, he didn't comment on it. Instead, the vampire shut the door behind him before he headed over to the mini fridge, opening it to find that the food and water he had left for you were all untouched.

There was an ever so slight hint of a smile on his face when he saw that.

“Hungry?” he asked, turning his attention back to you.

Not feeling as though you had the strength for words, you responded by nodding at him.

Then come over and feed yourself

The words he had once told you at a different time echoed in your mind, and you gripped at the sheets, uncertain if he would have a similar response now. As usual, he noticed that reaction of yours, and for a few moments he watched you closely. Perhaps he was still deciding what treatment you would get today; no doubt he was going over the behavior you had displayed over the past month and deciding whether or not you had been good enough to deserve a bit of kindness from him.

Feitan made his choice when he took out a cup of yogurt from the fridge, pausing briefly after he closed it to grab a nearby spoon that had been left for you before he made his way over to the bed. When he pulled the seal off the top after he sat down, you held out your hands, ready to take the cup and the spoon from him so you could feed yourself.

The raised eyebrow and the annoyed look he gave you in response to that was surprising, and after a moment of him staring at you like that, you lowered your arms despite your confusion.

He wasn't just taunting you, was he?

You thought he might have been when he dipped the spoon into the cup, where it then seemed as though he was going to eat in front of you – he doesn't even need food, you dejectedly thought.

Then he turned back to you, the spoon raised up and hovering in front of your mouth.

“Open,” he told you.

You obeyed, and within a moment, he had placed the spoonful of yogurt into your mouth.

……

This…. This was horribly degrading. Your captor was literally spoon-feeding you.

After all of the hours you had spent wanting Feitan's presence with you, the irritation you felt at this one action was enough to break that spell, and you remembered all of the things that were so wrong about your situation. He had kidnapped you and had proceeded to train you as if you were an animal, teaching you to behave for him through punishments and rewards, all so he could get you here, to a place where you were so compliant that you didn't question or fight him on anything. Feitan wanted you to be dependent on him and he wanted you to be grateful for it.

You wished you could kill him.

As he pulled the spoon from your mouth to dip it back into the yogurt cup, you imagined yourself leaping on him and tearing his throat out. Gouging out his eyes. Smashing his head open against the floor. Biting off his fingers for having the nerve-

Feitan looked back to you.

The instant his eyes met yours, all of that fire inside of you died out.

He was strong; far stronger than you could ever hope to be. Even if you fought with all of your strength, you knew you would lose. Your rebellion would be ended swiftly and with more force than necessary, and the only thing you would gain from it was punishment. Many punishments, in fact. After he had spent so long to get you to this point, they would be harsher as a way to teach you the lessons you still refused to learn.

You didn't want to go through with all that again. Things with him were so much better now; why ruin that?

When Feitan brought the spoon up to your lips again, you opened your mouth and once more allowed him to feed you. There was no indication that he got any sort of enjoyment out of this, but the fact that he was doing so at all meant that he needed to be getting something out of it.

Feitan got up when the yogurt cup was empty, heading to the other side of the room to dispose of it.

That was when you spoke.

“Thank you, Feitan.”

Your voice was soft, but there was no way he hadn't heard you. Yet there was no verbal response on his end.

But when you glanced over to him and looked at his face, you caught sight of it again:

The barest hint of a smirk.

You had been hyperventilating for some time now.

With you locked away in the deep cellar of the aged castle, Feitan watched how you writhed about on the floor, breathing hard as you clutched at your head. Every now and then a twitch from a leg or an arm would jolt through your entire body and the pathetic noises coming from your mouth would only increase in frequency. Through your wailing and sobbing, he would occasionally catch words. Or rather, one word. One that you repeated over and over again.

“Please please please please-”

Feitan doubted you were trying to ask him to actually do anything – even if you were, there was nothing that he could do to relieve your pain. As content as he was to take complete control over your life, this was one aspect of it that was out of his hands. No matter what, once the light of the full moon hit you, you would transform. There was no getting around that.

He glanced up to the small window towards the ceiling, and he noted that it likely wouldn't be long until the moon came into view.

An idle thought came to mind – how was he handling it? – before his attention returned to you. And Feitan continued to wait, standing at the edge of the room as he watched what was the torment of your pre-transformation.

When the first rays of moonlight shown through the glass of the window, the result was violent.

Your entire body jumped, and the wails that had turned into quiet whimperings ceased as you were left speechless, your mouth hanging open and your eyes wide.

You began convulsing on the floor.

When you began to choke, you rolled over onto your back. The blood that had begun to block your throat spilled out from your mouth as hacked it out in violent coughs, and after a few moments, the red liquid that came from your mouth was accompanied by something else: your teeth. They came out in bunches, scattering as they were spat across the floor, one of them traveling far enough to bounce off the side of Feitan's shoe. Tears were streaming down your face again, this time accompanied by the blood that poured out from your gaping, bleeding gums.

The holes in your gums didn't stay empty for long, as Feitan could see the tips of the sharp, canine teeth coming through to fill up the empty spaces.

Then your bones began the process of rearranging themselves.

The way your bones cracked apart before they splintered back together filled the small room of the cellar, and he watched with no small amount of awe as you changed before him. Your limbs were becoming longer with the skin on top of them starting to tear apart as it no longer fit. Your face was going through a similar change as your skull broke apart, moving about as it changed its shape completely in favor of the form the moonlight wanted you to have. The skin of your face was tearing up as well as your nose and mouth began to push outwards, and more blood managed to come pouring out of your mouth as your gums were ripped apart by two long rows of sharp teeth.

By the time your hands began to tear away at your old skin, your mind was gone. Your eyes were wide and wild as you ripped yourself apart, showcasing the fur that had formed underneath. First your arms, then your torso followed by your legs; the skin was swiftly removed and tossed to the side as easily as trash. By the time you got to the skin that had once covered your head it was already in tatters, tearing further when your claws dug into it and ripped it off.

With that, your transformation was complete.

Anything that could have been identifiable as “you” was gone now. What stood before him was nothing less than a beast. With sharp teeth, long claws and powerful muscles that meant that few were capable of fighting or even outrunning you, you truly had become the monster that was the subject of stories that had been passed down through the ages, capable of decimating entire towns just to satisfy a primal bloodlust.

This version of you was breathing harshly, still affected by the trauma that had been the transformation process. But he was most interested in how you would react once you saw him.

Feitan knew very well by now that immediately after a transformation, werewolves had very little control over themselves. The first actions that would be taken were that of violence against anyone who was in their immediate vicinity, and if there was no one to be found, they would hunt for someone, anyone, to exact that violence on. Only then would anything resembling rational thought return to the shifter. After seeing the process so many times, Feitan had began to wonder if that was the result of the brain still catching up after the body had changed. The mindlessness seemed to indicate that, and maybe it was that act of taking a life that shocked the brain back into normalcy.

Though he also knew now it didn't need to be a life to snap you out of it.

He waited, his hands still in his pockets as he watched you collect yourself up from the floor, the blood still clotting your fur as you stood on shaking legs. He saw the way you sniffed at the room, but the scent of iron clogging your nose must have been too much, otherwise you would have noticed him by now.

It took you rising to your new, full height and looking in front of you before you noticed him, and you froze within an instant, yellow eyes growing wide as your fur stood up in shock.

Feitan's eyes met yours, and he waited to see what action you would take.

You stayed shocked for only a moment before your lips curled back to reveal the newly formed rows of canine teeth snarling at him as your ears folded back and your legs tensing as you crouched slightly.

One of aggression, then.

He tsked.

You lunged at him, claws extended and mouth open as you snarled-

Feitan hit you with the back of his hand.

The force was great enough that you were flung to the other side of the room, rolling over on the floor before you crashed against the wall. The hit made you yelp, and he had heard something crack beneath the force of his strike. Now you were cowering on the floor again, one monstrous hand clutching at the area where his hit had landed.

Had that been enough to wake you up?

Feitan again waited to see what you would choose. He was prepared that you may very well decide to keep fighting him, though at this point he trusted that you were past the point of fighting him through the whole night. From early on you recognized that forcing him to fend you off until the sunrise only left you hurting for days after, so these days it only took a few hits to knock the fight out of you.

When you pushed yourself back up and looked to him, your ears once again folded back. But not in anger.

This time, your form cowered against the wall as you bent your head low, letting out a small whimper as you did so.

A sign of submission.

That was better.

Your ears perked back up when he spoke to you.

“Come here,” he ordered.

A few seconds went by before you moved, shuffling over to him across the floor while still holding your injured maw, though he knew it wouldn't take long for that injury to heal.

Feitan couldn't help the smirk that made its way to his lips. Although you still weren't where he wanted you – ideally you wouldn't attack him at all – this was progress. Even in your most unstable form, you were learning what your place was.

When you were kneeling beside his feet, that same hand that had struck you now reached out to lay upon your head, petting the matted fur softly. You kept your eyes averted as he did as he pleased, your head still facing downwards.

“Hungry?”

That question of his made you look back up before you faced down again, answering with the smallest of nods.

He chuckled as he pulled his hand away, and he was about to motion for you to follow him out of the room when-

A wolf howl could be heard in the far-off distance, coming in clearly through the thin layer of glass that separated the both of you from the outside. You reacted, jumping slightly in place as you turned your head in the direction of the noise, your ears going back again in fear.

Feitan brought your attention back to him when he told you “don't worry about him.”

Then he motioned with his finger as he told you “follow me.”

When he began to head to the room's exit, you got up to follow, trailing behind him by a few paces.

It would be some time still before he would let you out to hunt. The way you had attacked him earlier was a clear sign that he couldn't let you out yet; if you were to get even the smallest taste of freedom from him, then you might very well try to run from him. And then all of his work would be set back and he would need to start again from the beginning.

As much as Feitan tried to be patient in the process, he didn't want to go through with all of that again.

Walking wordlessly through the cellar, he led you to a different door, one that had been padlocked from the outside. From inside the room, the sound of someone crying could be heard, though it was muffled by the heavy door. A few moments later a different voice snapped at the crying person, hissing at them to stop.

What followed after was tense silence.

Removing the key from his pocket and unlocking the door, Feitan pulled it open for you, revealing the half a dozen people he had gathered for you in the days and hours prior. One of the women in the room shrieked at the sight of you, and all of them began to cower in the furthest corner, all yelling at one another as they tried to push past each other in an effort to get away from you.

Half a dozen sets of eyes looked at you in fear, and that was enough to make you shudder in place as you stared back at the people in that room.

Yet you hadn't moved. Instead of going in, your yellow eyes looked to Feitan, who still held the door for you.

He nodded.

That was when you charged in.

The screams started up immediately as Feitan shut the heavy door behind you.

Waking up felt similar to the way your father's ancient desktop computer would boot up back in your childhood home. It had been the kind with the monitor that looked like a large square box, and while it would initially turn on at the touch of the power switch, it would take several minutes until it was actually operational, the screen staying black with little bits of text popping up before it would wake up. That was how you felt now. Your eyes were open and you were staring at whatever was directly in front of your line of view, but you weren't really taking any information in as your brain needed some time before it could function properly.

That memory came to mind first: when you were a child living in your family home and watching from around your father as he turned on his computer, waiting for him to get up and allow you to get online to play games on some website. It was so clear in your head and yet you couldn't remember what games you played or even what the website was called. That was enough to get you to huff out a small laugh.

It felt like a lifetime ago that you were there.

But now you were here, naked and sprawled on the floor of the cellar with the only source of heat you could feel being the sunlight coming from the window that hit a small portion of your legs.

You closed your eyes as you took in a deep breath.

Finding yourself on the cold, hard floor was normal now. It had happened so often that there was no longer any surprise when you came to and discovered that you had been left in one of those cellar rooms. Sometimes surrounded by the remains of your victims from the previous night, sometimes not. A quick look around the room showed you that you were alone, nothing else with you aside from the ashes that surrounded you from your change back into your human form.

Pushing yourself up to a sitting position, you idly thought that it was nice of him to bring you back here. Even if you still felt like shit, it was nice that he didn't leave you locked in that room he had taken you to last night.

You knew you had hurt people – more than that. You had killed them. While your memory of it was only bits and pieces, you knew that it happened.

And you also knew the night ended with you nuzzling your face into Feitan's lap while he was petting you softly.

Like you were a dog.

……

At least you were a dog that he treated somewhat well, as you noticed the over-sized sweater hanging from the hook on the back of the door. If he only intended for you to be his mindless beast that killed at his command, he wouldn't bother letting you have some dignity by allowing you to cover up your nudity. Even if, after you had slipped the sweater on, it showed off a lot of your bare legs that were still covered in goosebumps from the chill of the cellar. But at least all of the important parts were covered.

This was a consideration – a kindness – that he didn't need to show you. The fact that he chose to do so meant something.

…. You certainly hoped that was the case.

The heavy door opened easily when you pulled on it, and you walked out into the hall on unsteady legs, still feeling the affects from the night prior. You were so unfocused that it took you reaching the stairs to realize that there was a wailing coming from one of the rooms at the other end. Taking a glance back, it didn't seem as though it was coming from the room you had been taken to previously. So someone else was down here.

…. You couldn't tell if they were crying out of pain or if their cries were that of emotional distress. Perhaps from being kidnapped.

Perhaps from something worse.

Listening for only a few more moments, you turned your attention back to getting yourself up the stairs, putting your weight on the railing as you hauled yourself up.

You wanted a shower. Your skin always felt so weird after transforming, like there was an invisible layer of grime that you needed to scrub off before you felt you could do anything else. You would see Feitan after that was done, probably. He was never around when you woke up, but he would always be back once you left the bathroom. Though you often wondered where exactly he went off to, you didn't bother asking him.

Much like whatever was going on with that wailing person you were leaving downstairs, there were things he did that you didn't need to know about.

The door at the top of the stairs as another heavy one, but it too opened easily when you pressed against it. This time your walk was more of a stumble as you entered the first floor, holding onto the knob for a moment before closing the door behind you.

You felt a bit more light-headed than usual. What had caused that? Certainly you had eaten enough. Ah, maybe it was water. You couldn't remember when you last-

You turned around and saw a man standing in the kitchen at the end of the hallway.

All the thoughts in your mind went silent as you froze.

As you stood there in shock, you noticed that he seemed just as surprised as you were.

It was clear that he had showered recently as his blonde hair was still wet, and despite your senses still being out of whack, you caught the smell of his body wash that had all but just been applied. His height made him slightly intimidating, as he was far taller than either you or Feitan, and by looks of his muscles, he was clearly strong. Whether or not he was stronger than Feitan was hard to determine, but certainly he was far stronger than you. At least, as you were right now.

His golden eyes were wide as he looked you over, that expression of shock and awe still clear on his face as his gaze traveled downwards before it traveled back up again, those eyes meeting yours once again and this time maintaining the eye contact.

As for you, once the initial shock of seeing a random man in the kitchen passed, you were hit with another sense of shock as you realized something:

He wasn't human, was he?

Despite your senses being frayed, you were able to tell that much after a few moments in his presence. Like you and Feitan, this man was something else, one that only appeared to be human at first glance.

So then what was he?

Why the hell was he here?

What was Feitan going to do when he found out about this intruder?

And did this man plan on doing something to you?

Now you were scared to move, keeping your hand on the knob of the door next to you as your palms grew sweaty. A wrong move on your part could make this man snap, and with how weak you still were, you wouldn't be able to run far if that happened. The only guaranteed safety you had was if Feitan were to appear, but you had no idea where he was at the moment.

The man wouldn't stay like this forever – what do you do?

You didn't get a chance to consider your options further because the man's expression changed, and he smiled at you.

“It's nice to finally see you,” he said.

You blinked, uncertain what to make of that.

Your heart began to pound hard in your chest when he began walking towards you, however, and the grip you had on the doorknob was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I've waited a long time,” he continued, still walking towards you at a pace that attempted to be steady, yet it was hard to miss the pure excitement in his step.

“I really wanted to see you earlier but he's so particular on how things should be done. He really thinks that if you weren't ready when you met me that I'd manage to bungle your training.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at his words, not understanding what exactly what he was saying. Was he talking about Feitan?

The man stopped in front of you and noticed your confusion.

“… Do you know what I'm talking about?” he asked.

You shook your head.

To that, he sighed, looking disappointed as he gazed at you.

“Figures,” he grumbled, “though I really thought by now he would've mentioned something about me.”

You were listening to him. Technically. But now that he was so close, you were caught off-guard by something else: his scent.

It was the same scent that was always, always all over Feitan when he returned to you before you transformed. That of another werewolf, going through the same pre-transformation stage that you were.

… This was him?

He was like you?

He had known about you all this time while you were left in the dark?

The man was speaking again, and what he was saying came in clearer when you noticed how he was raising up a hand to cup your cheek.

“But that's okay. We have all the time in the world to get to know each other.”

Still uncertain as to what was going on, you kept silent. You kept still as well, even when his palm came so close that you felt the heat that radiated off of him on your skin.

When was the last time someone with a pulse had touched you softly?

He opened his mouth, starting with “I know we'll all-”

“Phinks.”

Feitan's voice called out, and chill ran down your spine. Based on the look on the blonde man's face, one ran down his as well.

The two of you looked to find the vampire standing at the other end of the hall, his hands in his pockets and his cowl missing, allowing both of you to see the full extent of his disgruntled expression.

“Not yet,” Feitan continued, his eyes on the male werewolf.

The blonde – Phinks, he seemed to be called – scowled before he looked back to you, pulling away and placing both his arms by his sides. But his hands clenched into fists after, and it was clear that he wanted to get ahold of you.

The blonde werewolf made no move of touching you, but he didn't make any move to back away from you, and when a few seconds ticked by like that, you saw Feitan's gaze narrow as his expression grew darker.

“Phinks.”

The warning in the way he said the man's name was even more clear this time, and even Phinks flinched slightly at the sound, gritting his teeth as anger was growing within him as well. It was clear that he didn't want to listen to Feitan, but he was compelled to do so.

With a deep sigh and something incomprehensible that he mumbled under his breath, Phinks turned away from you, heading back to where he'd been when you saw him before. He stopped when he reached Feitan, and from the way the two of them glowered at each other, there was some sort of argument that was silently playing out between them. One that Feitan was victorious in as soon after, Phinks' shoulders slumped downwards in defeat before he walked past the vampire.

Feitan then looked back to you, and upon seeing those dark eyes on you and the way he ordered you to leave without speaking, you jumped into action. With renewed energy, you turned and spotted a door that you knew led to a bathroom.

Perfect. You could clean yourself off and by the time you were done, hopefully whatever confrontation Feitan was having with this other werewolf would be over and you could go back up to your room.

Though technically you could've headed up the stairs that were only a few steps away from the door you had entered. Although by the time you thought of that, you were almost halfway done closing the door behind you, and if you changed course to do that, you might actually end up angering Feitan.

Better to just commit to this.

Only once you looked at the room you now found yourself in, you realized that you forgot that the downstairs bathroom didn't have a shower. Only a bathtub.

Oh well. You'd get clean either way, right?

You could pick up on the voices down the hall, recognizing both that of Feitan and Phinks. It was possibly an argument. Though you didn't try to listen in, instead heading over to the tub and turning the handles. Water immediately began rushing into the empty tub and all that noise blocked out their voices.

It took a few minutes until the temperature of the water was to your liking and the tub was filled, and when you shut the water off, you couldn't hear either of them anymore.

It was confusing; not knowing who Phinks was when he clearly knew you. Feitan knowing him and clearly not having any major issues with him considering that he didn't attack the blonde upon seeing him with you. And the thing Phinks had said, something about having all the time to know each other?

Just what was Feitan keeping from you?

You sighed before you slipped the sweater over your head, leaving it on the floor as you stepped into the tub, slowly lowering yourself before you were submerged up to your shoulders.

The next sigh that escaped you was one of relief, as you felt the tension leave your muscles once you had settled in the water. This was nice; nice enough that you felt safe as you closed your eyes, leaning your head against the rim of the tub while you let your thoughts drift away. Perhaps it was a little dangerous to be in the water when you were still feeling so weak, but you told yourself it would be fine.

Even if you did slip under, you no longer needed to fear death by drowning.

The moments of peace you felt lasted for some time, and you made no move to scrub yourself down like you had originally planned as you felt too content to bother now.

Then the door creaked open.

The daze you had been in was broken immediately and you sat up as you turned your attention back to the door.

Unsurprisingly, Feitan was the one who had walked in. When he shut the door behind him with a good deal of force, you found yourself cowering slightly as you worried what that might mean for you.

You sat quietly as he approached, his steps echoing off of the smooth surfaces of the bathroom until he reached the edge of the tub. Feitan's gaze flitted down to what he could see of you beneath the water's surface for a moment before he turned around and sat down on the edge of the tub. Oddly enough, his attention was on the door.

What was his mood right now? Your brows furrowed as you tried to figure him out. With him being closer now, you found that he didn't seem angry, or even annoyed as he so often was. If anything, he just seemed a bit perturbed.

All because of your encounter with Phinks? Why was it that bad that you met him? Were you even supposed to meet the other werewolf? Phinks made it sound as though you were, but with the way Feitan was acting both outside and in here made you wonder if your paths were never meant to cross.

Curiosity drove you to say something then, and you cleared your throat as you asked “did I do something wrong?”

Feitan glanced at you, then shook his head.

“Then…. Can I ask who Phinks is?”

Feitan turned his attention to you fully and you couldn't help but shrink down slightly into the water once the weight of his gaze bore down on you.

“You can tell, can't you?” he asked.

You nodded.

His eyes narrowed as he continued with “so why ask stupid questions?”

Your response to that was to look down into the water as you mumbled out a “sorry.” Feitan scoffed in response, but then he shifted himself on the edge of the tub so his body was turned more towards you. He wasn't saying anything more, instead once again choosing to stare at you.

Did he really need to do that when you were in the bathtub?

Unable to stand the silence and the irritation that came with his last answer, you meekly asked “was I not supposed to meet him?”

Feitan let out a small sigh as he said “not yet.”

With a roll of his head, Feitan looked back to the door one more time as he added “he's just too overeager. He doesn't understand patience.”

You nodded along like you understood everything that he was saying, although when you thought on it, previous experiences with Feitan had you thinking that it was rather hypocritical for him to criticize others on being patient. Especially when the vampire had been around for as long as he had, you would have thought patience would be something that he was a master of.

That was yet another thought in a sea of them that you kept to yourself.

Not wanting to leave things there, you spoke up again.

“Phinks seems nice,” you said.

Feitan looked over to you and his expression was blank.

“…. Is he not?” you asked.

“He's better now,” Feitan told you, “but you wouldn't have liked him at the beginning.”

“Beginning of what?”

“His training.”

The vampire dipped his hand into the water, moving it about with gentle motions as he added “the process of teaching him to be obedient took decades. Training you has been much easier in comparison.”

He said nothing else as he kept his hand in the water.

You stared at him as you felt slightly shocked.

… Feitan… The things he had done to you…. Had he also done them to Phinks? Were you not the first victim of his to be kidnapped and subjugated? Phinks was so much stronger than you, and he had honestly seemed to be just as strong as Feitan, if not more.

Yet Feitan had managed to gain control over him?

Part of you wanted to ask the vampire more while another part of you never wanted the subject to be brought up again. And luckily for that latter half of you, that part was the one that got its wish as you got the sense that Feitan didn't want to talk anymore. In his mind, no doubt, he had been nice enough to give you the answers you had sought. Answers to questions that you shouldn't have even had since it truly seemed you weren't meant to meet Phinks. Not this day. To push him further would be to cause distress for yourself. If not now, then in the future.

You desperately didn't want that, if just for the sake of your own well-being.

There was then a quiet that settled within the confines of that room. Neither you nor Feitan spoke, and the only sound that regularly battled against the emptiness in the air was that of the gentle sloshing of the water against the smooth sides of the bathtub. With nothing else left to say to him, you told yourself that you should continue as you were. Clean off that grime and refresh yourself as you had been intending when you first entered the room. If Feitan wanted to watch then he would. If he didn't, he would leave.

…. For some reason, you didn't want him gone yet.

What possessed you to do what you did next, you had no idea. But slowly, you moved, scooting up slightly in the tub until your head reached where Feitan's thigh was sitting on the edge. Just as slowly, you moved your head forward until your cheek was resting on his leg.

Feitan said nothing, nor did he make any move to stop you.

Eventually, you were resting the weight of your skull on his leg, the parts of your hair that had been soaked by the water getting his pants wet in the process. Still, Feitan didn't do anything.

He couldn't have been completely against it. If he had, he would have shoved you away or stood up and left. That he allowed you to do as you pleased meant that he couldn't have minded that much.

When he finally reacted, you held your breath.

Feitan pulled his hand out of the tub, and with the water still dripping off of his skin, that same hand came down to rest on the top of your head. How he felt about this became clear when he began to pet your hair with soft, gentle strokes. At that, you allowed yourself to relax more against him, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch, humming contentedly.

It was similar to what had happened last night.

The memory came back again: of you kneeling before him in a room full of blood and body parts while he stood before you, and a single hand had reached out to stroke the top of the head of your monstrous form, his fingers becoming stained with red as they moved through the blood soaked fur.

This time was much nicer, you felt. The clean bathroom and the soothing water were much better accompaniments to the rare gentle touches from him that you had come to yearn for. Because he only did as such when he was especially happy with you. As you thought over the events of the past few days, you counted three different times, including this one, where he had shown you such affection.

That was good, you told yourself. It meant you were doing something right.

Things would be easier if you did the things that would please him. If you made that your goal, then you could be happy. And already, you felt a fragmented part of you wanting just that: for Feitan to be happy with you. To please the ancient vampire that had decided to choose you. Please him and accept whatever he wanted, be it to keep you to himself or to bring Phinks into whatever it was the two of you had.

Or were you the one being brought into something he had with Phinks?

It didn't make much difference.

As long as your mind could break enough so that it could accept this life with Feitan, that was all that mattered.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

howl, i wanna ask your opinion on a particular aspect of killer that i'm not sure about: is stage 1 capable of doing violence or heinous acts all by himself? like, i know it's the stage closest to sans, the most vulnerable, most trustworthy, and most affected by emotions, but can he be dangerous in any way? since i want to have a situation where killer is strongly affected by emotions and commit some questionable acts. but idk if that would be stage 1 or stage 2 going to stage 3...

thank you in advance :]

I think every Stage probably has capacity for violence, it’s just that their motivations behind it is different—-and in Stage 1, much more likely to be triggered into higher Stages, as when he’s like that: Killer tends to avoid and hide from violence and conflict, often making himself small.

He’d probably try to resist going into higher Stages, but the act of doing so would cause significantly more internal conflict and distress, which would lead him into dissociating.

For Stage 1, i highly doubt he’d take any action to protect himself—and given how he gave no external reaction to how Nightmare harmed his cat right in front of him, it seems as if he’s prone to learned helplessness if he’s learned that fighting back against this specific person or situation is something he can’t win. In which he’d probably just be triggered into Stage 2 to be able to handle it.

In the Swap vs Killer comic, we don’t see how it ended, but Killer was switching into Stage 1 by the end—driven by the sight of seeing Papyrus and Chara in the same place right after being reminded of the Resets I’d presume—seems he’s the type to cry during violence.

In the Stage 4 comic, even when Killer was triggered into Stage 1 thanks to a flashback, he kept insisting he doesn’t want to hurt the other Papyrus. I’m not sure if he was seeing his Papyrus, due to the flashback, or if he was aware that this Papyrus was a different one. Probably wouldn’t have mattered—as it triggered him into Stage 4 and he killed him anyway.

I’d say it’d take a lot for Killer to be provoked into physical violence into Stage 1 and is likely a very last resort—as he’s more prone to running and hiding (from Papyri at least) or switching into other Stages to endure it (Stage 2) or fight back (higher stages) when violence is directed at him, likely to believe he deserves it anyway. Dissociating and shutdowns.

Any violence Killer does in Stage 1 is highly unlikely to be done with malice or intention or deliberate. If anything I’d say he avoids situations that could trigger him into higher Stages (especially Stages 3 and 4) because he fears hurting and killing more people—which he also views as inevitable. He values others safety a lot more than his own—even if he fears and avoids anyone who has hurt him in higher Stages as well.

There may even be a situation where, if running and hiding isn’t an option and he feels cornered, he lashes out first in an attempt to prevent being triggered into Stage 4–because he knows that then the other person isn’t going to survive, Stage 4 will kill them.

He may think something like “if I hurt them or scare them away, I can escape and they’ll survive. No added numbers to my count.” A deeply conflicted act.

If these people intend to kill him, he won’t allow them to do that—not because he doesn’t think he deserves it or because he doesn’t want to die, but because he doesn’t want them to die. With every moment that escape isn’t possible, the chance of triggering higher Stages rises.

Another way may be flashbacks—renacting a memory—or even hallucinations, Chara’s voice and visage threatening him with another Reset or Bad Ending or Consequence if he doesn’t do it. So things like emotional breakdowns, trauma flashbacks, panic, a sense of unable to differentiate past vs present and reality vs unreality, a guilt ridden attempt to protect someone.

His violence is likely to be sloppy, confused, frantic, deeply regretful —as opposed to the calculation and deliberation of Stage 2 or the instinctive, survival, self protective, fear and paranoid driven rage of Stage 3. If his SOUL can’t seem to decide if it needs to be in Stage 1 or Stage 2, it might just hurdle him right into Stage 3– who will attack everyone, even the ones he may have been wanting to protect or allies.

The aftermath is likely to be not good for Killer. As in yet another spiraling breakdown where he tries to punish or kill himself, emotionally shuts down and dissociates completely, or is triggered into Stage 2 to numb out the guilt and emotions and dissociate himself from it all.

At its worse, he may even completely forget what he did in Stage 1 or feel it wasn’t real—“that me could never do that. Too weak.” (Not supposed to do that.)

If that’s the case, probably best not to tell him about it or ask him about it if he doesn’t seem to be able to handle it. Might just provoke Stage 2 into violence to avoid confronting things. Especially if he thinks someone knows things about him that he himself doesn’t know—and may use that against him.

[citrus-soju]

I already talked about it in this post, but I want to share all of my thoughts properly.

The Metal Masked Assassin (I'll refer to him as MMA) was an incredibly unlucky person when you think about it. His mother passed away right after he was born. It's assumed she either died of blood loss due to birth complications, or she might have even been murdered, due to her baby being born with albinism.

We don't know anything about his father's whereabouts, if he's alive or dead, if he would take his children in if he knew. Either way, he's not in the picture. But unluckily, MMA was "left a brother".

Logically, we can put together that MMA's brother was older than him. We don't know for sure how many years the two siblings were apart, though. Judging by the picture of them as teens, their age difference doesn't appear to be too great. Of course, MMA might simply be tall, even as a teenager, and looking older than he really is.

There's also a possibility that, while both of them are depicted as teenagers in this picture, Agent 216 was actually already an adult while MMA was still young. It would make more sense for authorities to leave an infant in the care of a relative who's over at least 16 years old than leaving two young children completely on their own.

We can only speculate about their childhood years, honestly, since there is not much known at all. They could have been adopted by a distant relative, placed in a foster family, given up for adoption... But one thing is for sure, just from looking at these pictures - Even as teenagers, they were already prone to violence, and already hiding their faces.

Perhaps they got by thanks to armed robberies, perhaps they were already training to be assassins at this age. Personally, I'm voting for the first option, just because their clothes appear to be in a bad condition, holes and all, which is not the case in the image depicting them as adults. Their weapon of choice is also quite different; the bat and axe being more commonly used for self protection or work, and the machete/knife looking much more professional.

But now to the part I've been wanting to talk about.

Let's start with what we know about Agent 216. According to General Crozier, he is a "trained killer". That means, someone, or some kind of organization, must have taken him under their wing and taught him the art of being an assassin at some point. At least as a teenager. It's never specified where the two assassins got their education from. But however and wherever they spent their youth; Agent 216 was most likely the more skilled assassin, considering he's the one the General confides in and claims to be "perfect".

Ah yes, General Crozier. At least as an adult, Agent 216 must have some sort of connection to the US Military, or at least General Crozier directly, since it's him who personally hires him, and then informs MMA about his death later. No other tribunal members are present, nor are they aware that he was hired to kill, not just to spy.

What I find really interesting is that Agent 216 has a tattoo of the FalconBack Project logo on his left arm. Whatever that means. It makes me wonder if he and Crozier have some kind of connection outside of the deal, and if the assassination attempt on Dethklok was more of a personal favor to the General instead of a one time deal. Whatever connection they have was apparently meaningful enough for Agent 216 to get involved in a top secret project led by Salacia himself - but not his younger brother.

This raises a whole bunch of questions, but that's for another day and another post.

So where is MMA in all this? Where was he in all this?

While MMA is a violent person and seemingly has a passion for murder, what stood out to me is that he is never actually seen involved in any assassination related jobs that don't directly involve avenging his dead brother in a way - besides that one time where he's introduced. The people he fixates on besides Dethklok themselves are Klokateers and Charles Ofdensen, in particular. Perhaps that can simply be blamed on MMA's lack of screen time, but I would leave it up to Brendon Small to consider any small detail.

MMA appears to be as goal driven and determined as he is violent, with only a single goal in mind throughout the entire series - avenging Agent 216, regardless of what it may cost. He's willing to dispose of anyone who gets in his way, including his allies (Magnus).

What I'm thinking is... what if he wasn't even a blade for hire before the death of his brother? What if the only reason why Crozier was able to "hire" him was because of his promise for revenge? What if Agent 216 was the "actual" assassin among them, while MMA was more or less a sick and dependent child who simply got caught up in the situation?

This sounds farfetched but hear me out.

Regardless of how they grew up, regardless of what led up to this point; MMA's older brother was clearly very dear to him. So dear, in fact, that avenging him consumed every bit of space on his mind. While MMA willingly recruited people to assist him in his cause, for the most part, he used people who felt wronged by Dethklok for his own gain. Instead of viewing them as likeminded individuals, he saw them as underlings. Even Magnus, who did most of the "negotiating" during DSR, treated Toki's wounds and fed him, was just a puppet to MMA in the end. Once Magnus didn't cooperate with him anymore (claiming that the death of Ishnifus "wasn't part of his plan"), MMA didn't hesitate to show who's the REAL mastermind behind it all ("this was never your plan").

Throughout the series, we definitely saw that MMA has a tendency to use people for his benefit, and discard them once they're no longer useful to him, without any consideration for their feelings, or even their lives. We also learn that he's not much of a "talker" and much rather a "do-er". He leaves all the talking to Magnus, who dramatically goes off to Toki and Abigail about his reasoning, while MMA is in the background only thinking about revenge and his brother.

He seems to do very poorly with things not going his way. He doesn't listen to instructions from Crozier. He refuses to let Magnus berate him. Like a child, he no longer wants to play the game if it's not by his rules.

This is acquired behavior. Which means, somebody taught him that this is the way to go through live. Most likely - his older brother.

While he clearly holds a lot of admiration for Agent 216, it makes me wonder. The contrast between how much he looks up to his brother and how much he looks down on other human beings is stark. It's almost like he looks up to his brother like he's some kind of God leading him on his path, even displaying his body during the torture of Toki and Abigail. He MIGHT just be a crazy dude with a lust for blood who saw an excuse to kill and torture. He MIGHT just be very obsessed with the only person he has a real connection with.

Or perhaps, his brother isn't the good person he views him as.

I believe Agent 216 might have always made MMA feel inferior to him, knowingly or not. Being labeled the "perfect" assassin, the older brother who was kind enough to raise an abandoned baby, the one fending for them. Plus, with MMA having some visible physical deformities, he most likely was the "better looking" one, too.

Perhaps the reason why MMA isn't seen assassinating anyone for other reasons than revenge is that his brother simply took the spotlight. In the best case, Agent 216 merely wanted to protect MMA from this kind of lifestyle, both because he's his little brother who he cared for, as well as considering Albinism comes with a long list of potential health issues, depending on the exact diagnosis. Examples are vision problems, ranging from nystagmus (rapid uncontrollable eye movements) to legal blindness, sensitivity to (sun)light in both eyes and skin, a weaker immune system, a higher risk of infections, premature aging, etc.

Or perhaps all these things were a lot of excuses for Agent 216 to treat his little brother harshly and cast him into the shadows.

Tidbits that made me put this together in my mind would be, for example, the fact that MMA is covered in scars, while Agent 216 is not. Strange, considering that his targets are mostly seen tied up, hanging from hooks or otherwise immobilized. And somehow, all these scars look the same. They all look as if they were inflicted by... a machete perhaps.

In early concept art, MMA is shown with what appears to be burn marks. They almost look as if they were deliberately inflicted on him. The spotting doesn't exactly appear like he got caught in a fire, much rather that they came from separate instances.

And one more thing, which might just be an observation I made that you might disagree with. But as someone who worked with both abused and disabled children in the past... I recognize some of his patterns and behaviors.

Looking up to the one person caring for him without even a second thought. Enduring great pain for their sake. HAPPILY doing so. Not being great at dealing with instructions. Not handling it well when someone disagrees with him or even scolds him. Letting the "adult Magnus" do the talking for him in difficult situations. Struggling to relate to people, perhaps even due to low emotional intelligence, or simply not understanding that people have feelings. Not CARING if they have feelings, possibly. Using people for his benefit, then discarding them like dolls he's done playing with once they're not useful anymore.

All acquired behaviors somebody taught him in his life.

Considering his condition, harsh upbringing and visible deformities, it wouldn't surprise me if he was a younger age mentally. His behavior is almost childlike in ways. The way he phrases things, too. Revengencers, instead of Revengers. The fact that he has these scars, yet his brother didn't have a single one on him.

This might be a reach. A big reach. But what if Agent 216 had him completely wrapped around his finger. All like "I had to endure so much for your sake, so I have a right to take my anger out on you", and perhaps followed up by an "I do this because I love you and because that's the only way you learn". I can see him making MMA feel inferior, for his appearance, for needing food, medication, comfort. Guilty for "killing" their mother. For being a burden. How dare he want love. Isn't it enough that he puts his life on the line for him every day? What is love? Baby don't hurt me

To me, he's a lost, disabled person stuck in a trauma bond with his brother until the end.

[princesssarisa]

A clarification about a triggering issue in "Jane Eyre"

I was just thinking back to Samantha Ellis's commentary in her book How to Be a Heroine about Jane Eyre.

In general, Ellis is an author I disagree with. Her feminist perspectives on classic literature are interesting and valuable, but I can't go along with her "Anne Brontë is the only good Brontë" view, or her blaming her former love of Wuthering Heights for the bad romantic relationships she had in her youth, or her dislike of Little Women, among other things. She also makes some inaccurate statements now and then, and that's what I want to address now.

Namely a remark she made about Jane Eyre.

She wrote that when Jane resolves to leave Rochester after the reveal of Bertha's existence, Rochester threatens to "crush her" and "tear her" if she tries to go.

Except he doesn't. The things he does say are bad enough, but he doesn't say that.

I just went back and reread the scene of their last meeting before Jane runs away. Near the beginning of the scene, when Rochester realizes Jane has resolved to leave him, he threatens to "try violence" if she won't listen to reason. Now, I'm not quite sure what he means by this. The annotations in the Penguin Classics edition interpret it as an outright threat to rape Jane. But I'm not sure if that's what he really means, or if he's "just" threatening to hit her, or (more generously, but harder to believe) if he just means violent emotion.

But whatever he means, that one sentence is the only real threat he makes to Jane.

The section Ellis is thinking of is later in the scene. Rochester goes off on a tangent, more to himself than to Jane – as he's prone to do – about how physically fragile Jane is. How easy to would be for him to "crush" and "tear" her, among other brutal imagery, and to "conquer" her body. Now again, I don't know exactly what Rochester means. I'm not sure if he means literal rape, or if he just means using abuse to coerce her into staying with him. (Of course there's arguably not much difference, because either way Jane would end up in his bed against her will.) But the important thing is that in this speech, he's not threatening to do it. The conclusion he comes to is that he won't do it, because it would do him no good. Even if he possessed Jane's body by force, her spirit would still be out of his reach, and it's her spirit he wants. The ultimate point of the speech is that he won't abuse or threaten her because he wants her to love him willingly.

Now, is it okay that he even contemplates the option of using violence to force Jane to be his? That it even crosses his mind, let alone that he says it out loud in brutal, visceral language? No! On a purely emotional level, for me at least, this is almost worse than the attempted bigamy.

But he talks about it – again, more to himself than to Jane – only to resolve not to do it. Apart from one brief, ambiguous line at the very beginning of the scene, he doesn't threaten to do it as Ellis claimed.

I don't know if this makes Rochester any more redeemable or the central romance any less problematic. But personally, I think Ellis painted him as more of a monster than he really is.

[adventuringblind]

Oscar Piastri Ghoulverse HC's

Oscar won the poll I put out, so now I am subjecting you to all the ideas that have been rolling around my head. I'll do a whole fic, eventually, but to give you an idea, I present you with this!

Specific scenarios are always welcome, and my inbox is open to questions!! If you want to make a request, it's an option on my request form, which you can find HERE!

I'm super excited to share this, and feedback is always appreciated! What do y'all want to see more of?

GORE, VIOLENCE, AND NSFW CONTENT BELOW THE CUT!!

IMAGES NOT MINE

Appearance

A trait amongst all ghouls is dark eyes. Docile, unhungry ghouls have iris' but they are hard to make out if you aren't staring at them from at least four inches away. Oscar's are golden, and you can't change my mind.

See images for horn and tail references

His tail, although it has sharp ends, is olldly soft to the touch. It's nice to cuddle with and be wrapped in. Soft tails are prone to getting matted, but Oscar hates anything to do with combs. It's a struggle to get him to his tail groomed.

Ghoul horns can range in neutral colors and shades. Oscar's are black. Some horns are scaley, where others are more bone like. Oscar's horns are bone material and shed away the out layers ever so often. Oscar's are ridged, but the flat surfaces are smooth.

Similar to Max's due to the Ao3 fic. I just haven't been able to picture him any other way.

All ghouls get pointed ears and sharp, elongated canines. Oscar has a wickedly sharp set of teeth that he takes pride in.

Abilities

Reminder that all ghouls have really strong senses and are incredibly strong.

Oscar's abilities lie in smell. He's in the select group of ghouls that can pick out individual scents and discover emotions with his nose.

It smells different for each ghoul.

Like sexual frustration smells like a he snorted a sour patch kid and sadness smells like bleach.

That being said, he reads people like an open book.

Heaven forbid you lie to this man... he will know.

The good thing is that he knows when someone you dislike is approaching and can warn you.

Mannerisms

His tail has a mind of its own and betrays his inner emotions that he doesn't show on his face.

Oscar will say he's fine and doesn't need affection, but his tail will refuse to let his partner go.

It you watch carefully enough, it will play charades to reveal what Oscar is truly thinking about.

He's doesn't like to hunt. He'd rather find food sources through morgues or ghouls that do hunt.

However, he's also not afraid of it if it's truly necessary. Especially if it's for his partner.

The tribe the drivers have created usually switches off on who is tasked with finding food. Some get it through trainers that are trying to help them, some have deals with hospitals and morgues, and other prefer to vigilante style that shit.

Oscar does all three. It usually depends on where they are and who he can get in touch with, if anyone. If he can't, then he'll opt to hunt. But that's a worst-case scenario.

He always goes for the throat and the chest. Something about eating a heart is alluring to him, and his tail makes it easy to get to them.

As a romantic partner

POSSESIVE

He is not afraid to admit that he likes people knowing that his partner is claimed.

Furthermore, it's a protective instinct. Oscar knows the dangers that are out there regardless of what species his mate is.

He'd prefer not to have a dead lover, thank you very much!

It doesn't help that ghouls are rather territorial of what's theirs. Oscar behaves, but you can FEEL him growling at people he doesn't want to get too close or he wants to get away.

To the outside world, he's perfectly smiley, and nobody would ever know. In private, he's attached. He just needs to he near you and smell that you are okay and he'll be fine.

Prefers to stay in with the tribe to do anything fun. It's easier when he gets to look like himself.

The most patient of people.

If his partner is a ghoul but hates the eating human dilemma, then he'll try to make it as normal as he can.

If they are fine eating but not gathering, say no more because Oscar will take care of it.

Because he can smell emotions, he is very attentive. He knows you're sick before you even do. He knows every emotion you're feeling and exactly how to respond.

He's a romantic at heart and wants his lover to feel safe and valued. He's willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.

Sex!

Yes, sex with ghouls is it's own ordeal

They've got feral animalistic instincts.... tell me they aren't good at it

Humans are also naturally drawn to ghouls

Easily seduced

Which is good considering ghouls have these lovely phases where they get riled up with pent up energy and emotions from pretending to be human all the time.

It depends on the ghoul how often this happens.

Oscar's is, at the very least, going to explode twice a year.

He saves it all up and just loses it at some point.

That being said, he's had consistent sex but typically, it's set up by one of the older tribe members until he learns to do it himself.

Also, it should be noted that these phases are all sorts of intense emotions and not just sexual.

Oscar is doubly clingy and possessive and WILL NOT let his partner leave him if he can help it.

Good luck getting away until he's calmed down.

His tail makes a very good rope to hold a partner where he wants them.

If his partner is a ghoul, then you can expect intertwined tails all the time, including any kind of making love.

Biting... this is a thing for most ghouls, but I felt I should mention it. Oscar bites a lot. Especially a human mate because the amount of trust that would take is ridiculous. He'd never break that and wants to show that through his actions.

Plus... you taste like the most delicious god damn meal ever, and all he has to do is lick you to be satisfied.

If you try to feign arousal, he'll lose his shit. Don't lie to him about it because he'll spend hours figuring you out and leaving you a mess in the process.

Oscar is experimental, and let's be real here... the quiet and most unassuming of people are often the kinkiest beings.

He is open to everything as long as he's not actually eating you, and it's SANITARY. Maybe he'll draw blood from a human partner and bite down on the mating bite he's already put there, but he's not insane... he's not going to rip you open in any kind of dangerous fashion.

Unless his partner is a ghoul because that brings in new factors. If his partner likes hunting then they'd do it together and have probably fucked high on adrenaline and covered in blood. He will also pay special attention to a ghoul partners' horns since they are so sensitive. As in... he'll lick them. Maybe he'll use them as guides.

Giving him head? Best believe he's gripping his partners horns instead of their hair.

Depending on the mood, he will either growl or purr during sex. There is no in-between. Oscar is patent and always tame, but when his emotions do breakthrough, then it's an extreme. This is no different.

We're on the dom Oscar agenda for this blog, btw... (if you haven't noticed already).

He can and will man handle you if he's in a mood and you're not cooperating.

You can't really tease him because he'll just give it back worse later on when you're alone. You can certainly try, though! All you have to do is bite him on the clavicle (mating mark spot) and it'll drive him insane.

Why? Because he's possesive and love when the feeling is reciprocated.

[disruptivevoib]

Chonny Jash HMS Labyrinths AU Explanation & Art Dump: The Masterpost

Before we get into the thick of it. Here are the tags and links to all involved:

Purpose 1/2 Soul: @disruptivevoib (Me. Lol.)

Being 1/2 Soul: @calamarispider (Kai)

Pursuit 1/2 Heart: @agent-8449 (Agent)

Texel 1/2 Heart: @rosy-fox-art (Rosy)

Function 1/2 Mind: @jesterberries (Oswin)

Morality 1/2 Mind: @shxwrunner (Andy)

The Ever Impossible Whole: @kelpo-art (Francey)

Here's the premise, just before the cut for all your "I don't want to read this long ass post" needs:

The base concept for Labyrinths is: what if HMS' Psyche and loop was split into three phases? Each being some kind of maze? The first phase would be closest to the original Album loop, however, throughout it Heart, Mind, and Soul would split themselves into halves. Their splits would result from their own dissonance between the internal and external of themselves.

These halves would then move on to the second phase, where they must then attempt to become themselves again before being able to enter the third phase, the one which leads to the center, to the beacon, to Whole.

Elaborate, fary more in-depth explanation below the cut alongside designs and a lot of art:

The Loop, or Phases 1-3 In-depth

Phase 1 begins as the album does. Whole splits down into three, the concepts of his emotion, rationale, and self. When Mind is first shot, he splits between Morality and Function.

Morality is the "Internal Factor" of Mind, he is the conscience, what is deemed wrong and right by the standards of his assumption. He is perfectionism but in a manner which will not hurt someone else. He is where most of Mind's "emotion" goes. Though Function is entirely capable of bias, Morality is VERY prone to bias. He is belief. Function is the "External Factor" of Mind. He the pure, factual logic. The things you cannot refute. What is known, what must happen, how something works. He is immoral, he is uncaring, he is weighing his options in only what is most logical, most beneficial.

Phase 1 continues into the Pit, where Heart becomes Pursuit and Texel.

Texel is the "Prey". In concepting, Rosy named him after a type of sheep. He is the "Internal Factor" of Heart and a manifest of Heart's depression, fears. The flight to Pursuit's fight. He is still very much a wolf in sheep's clothing, being able to grasp onto others and pull them down with him as much as himself. He is the smothering and drowning part of emotion. Pursuit is the "Predator". He is the "External Factor" of Heart. He is the repression, the ignorance, the end of "Good Day". Pursuit also embodies the violence, however. The big energetic emotion opposing Texel's heavier, tired emotion. Pursuit is the Passion, the movement. Texel is stagnation. Both of them are very much capable of Heart's common self-victimization.

Finally, Soul cannot quite take this, and where Soul Eclectic would be, is his split into Being and Purpose.

Being is that personhood within Soul. The vying to be someone without needing to be Whole. He is the depression, the rage, the exhaustion, the human you're being!! There he is.. and he is very tired. Being is kind of just a guy, but he is also.. very much prone to the ideation of death as a source of escapism, especially from everyone else in the Psyche. Purpose is the tool. The need to be Whole, to fit in, to be normal, to be happy, to be safe. He is self-preservation, he is the knowledge that they have to be something more than what they are, they should be human and they cannot be as much like this. He embodies what it means to be the mask. To hide behind being a functional person.. and yet, without Being, is the least human of them all.

Phase 2 begins after this, with the middle most maze, where the six of them now must reconcile with themselves first. Most, however, regard their other half as the weaker one, or the evil one. The one that must be purged in order to continue.

And they can continue by killing them all, however, Whole won't ever be possible. The right way is to accept the truths on both sides. Their flaws and their importance.

Does that ever happen? It's hard to say. But if it does, Phase 3 happens.

The Innermost maze has a tower that is visible even from Phase 2. There, Whole sits and waits. He is a beacon of light, and a shell of someone, a black hole that projects all its light outward but has none for itself.

----

On to Designs.

Initially, as original creator of the AU, I had ideas for everyone except Mind. I knew his half/half face would be swapped, but I wasn't sure how else to differentiate the two.

As for Soul and Heart, I had concepts for both of them.

First, Purpose and Being.

Purpose embodies the mask, and thus became a little "Horror Movie Serial Killer" esque in vibe. After all, everything human within him has been taken and put into Being. He is neatly put together, hair slicked back. It is all curated, and it is all an effort to seem like somebody when he is nearly nobody.

Being has imperfections. His shirt is only half tucked in, his hair is not as slicked back, being able to fall more naturally. He also has the eyeliner I normally put only on Soul's left side. Far more.. guy looking!

Kai and I pretty much stuck to these designs! Following is Purpose's official colored ref, and Kai's art of Being.

The only BIg change was that Being has higher heels and also wears the noose, which is the part of Whole he very much exemplifies, as a belt.

Speaking of, the Trident belongs to Purpose here too! The trident is able to disrupt each halves special ability, as neither Soul is immortal or has high regenerative healing like Mind or Heart. The Souls are squishy. Purpose's trident is very helpful for putting his Ids in line!

Now on to Pursuit and Texel, who were originally just "Predator" and "Prey"

Originally, both Heart's had one half of Whole-Heart's wings and also had a sort of inky/shadowy manifestations of what they embodied. Prey had hands and the shadow of a slinking figure holding onto him, grasping at and pulling him down or grabbing at others. He also had the ball and chain which made him slower, made him trapped. Despite this, his clothing is comfier, wearing sweats, a hoodie and socks. His hair was longer too.

Both had the blindfold, as well.

Predator had the shadowy claws which wrapped around his lower arm like gloves and fizzled off in a billowing cloud-like way. His clothing is still comfortable but much less loose. He wears baggier pants, foot wraps, hand wraps (visible without the shadow) and a loose long-sleeves shirt. His hair is also shorter.

Agent and Rosy took these ideas and expanded upon or changed them up. Both Texel and Pursuit are very different from the original concepts. All art of Pursuit belongs to Agent, all art of Texel belongs to Rosy.

Pursuit retained his comfy but tighter clothing style, but lost the shadow hands, instead gaining an adaptivity ability. He is VERY cat coded, and he is very much the kind of cat that bites you and holds your hand so you do not move and stop giving it attention. He is a menace to society, I would not have him any other way. Lethal weapon motherfucker... scared cat..

Texel retained his shadows! But he gained hooves.. truly becoming the sheep. He also gained the ability to be entirely consumed by the shadows as self defense. Both giving into his fear and self-victimization but also projecting those horrors outward. Denial keeps you safe and hurts everyone else trying to help.

The Minds.. Like I said, I never sketched anything substantial for them, so we will go straight into Oswin and Andy's designs! Oswin drew everything for Function, Andy drew everything for Morality.

Morality is closer to a purple, which is indicative maybe, of how much he feels. As well, he has a white eye and his source is on the non void part of his face! His hair is down and more relaxed. Overall, actually, Morality's design portrays him as more casual. Morality is.. electric. He has a defensive mechanism of being electrical fencing wire and zapping anyone who touches him.

Function is the opposite, with a black eye and glowing teal pupil. His source is on the right. He wears a button up and his hair is higher, more put together and "formal". Function is capable of changing smaller parts of the maze at a time. From the wallpaper and flooring, to shifting walls around in order to escape the others or find them.

Whole had no concept design from me either, esp bc I did not initially include him in the au, however in development, he came to be! and thus... Francey drew the blackhole man himself :)

Other Drawings

Here are some more drawings of everyone! Most from Agent and Kai who went bonkers... I really REALLY love all this art. So much.

Here is Agent's art of everyone. The first one includes some titles for each of them Agent made :]

Here are also some 2/3rd or more like 2/6th Wholes Agent drew. I won't specify who is who. You can guess.

Aaand, Labyrinth Heart too :]c

Here is a drawing I did of 2/6th with Purpose and Function. He didn't get a name, I'm not cool and creative like Agent with that. Also next to it is my art of Labyrinths Soul.

Also my concept for the Six-Pronged trident.

Here is a bunch of art Kai did too. :]c

First up is everyone in Kai's style!

Next is Being in the maze :]

Also... Oswin's meme videos. Which are very important. But I can only upload one.. so have this one.

Volume Warning though!!

AND... And I think thats it! Actually.. There are a LOT more doodles but this post is long and I am terrified it won't save.

So! \o/ I am happy to answer any other questions about Labyrinths as well, I am sure the others would be too. But don't let me speak for them... Though maybe check the replies here for any notes from them. I know I've missed something.

[chireikiden]

Has Chireikiden changed your impression of Flandre? More/less sane, more/less violent, etc?

(Happy Flanday.)

Since 17.5 came out during CDS, it's hard to fully separate its influence from CDS's. So I won't.

My impression before was (in my opinion) mostly in line with EoSD and BAiJR, i.e. her only real appearances, where she's mostly a snarky and somewhat ominous brat. I believed, and guess I still do, that the fan idea of her violent nature was more or less entirely based on her EoSD profile, while her actual appearances made her seem a lot more level-headed. I vaguely enjoyed that depiction, but there wasn't too much to say about her, except to protest when fanon was mistaken for canon. I tended to have a negative kneejerk reaction to either doujins or discussions involving her simply due to overexposure/how tiresome much of that fanon was. On average, though, I considered newer Flan doujins a lot better than old ones.

CDS and 17.5 have made her swing a lot harder both ways. She's proven to be pretty prone to wanton explosions and violence after all, but neither in the "innocent baby who doesn't understand" way nor some omnicidal maniac way; she's fully aware of how strong she is, and enjoys getting excuses to fight and blow stuff up, but is fully in control of herself and doesn't just do it at random. She can be pretty eloquent or even suave, yet that doesn't stop her from doing something completely unhinged right after with the exact same smile. While I think she's "sane", she's also thoroughly unserious. Pretty fun archetype, honestly.

I can't help but think that unless I've completely missed something in the older works, either ZUN or the other people involved with CDS and 17.5 ended up adjusting Flan's characterization to be somewhat closer to the fan version. We know ZUN hadn't really thought about Flandre for a long time and kinda dug her back up recently. But I don't mind the end result. (If there's one bit I choose to ignore in my head, it's her casual cruelty towards Meiling, because Meiling being Flandre's "Sakuya" and favorite person is one of my favorite completely unfounded fan concepts involving them.)

Somehow manages to be chuunibyou even in the context of how strong she actually is. Guess it runs in the family.

Very sweet of her to at least explore the option of not destroying Marisa. Not enough to actually stop, though.

[dellamortethelesser]

Kyr Farwhisper - The Dark Urge

"Everyone has unseemly thoughts. Being able to quieten them is what sets us apart from the beasts."

Sharing some screenshots from my Dark Urge playthrough, which has just about hit 21 hours. BE WARNED. EVERYTHING BELOW THE READ-MORE LINE IS SPOILERS FOR THE DARK URGE PLAYTHROUGH. There is spoiler content, gore, and violence beyond! I tag with "#durge spoilers" if you want to block.

[Narrator: *You have nothing in your skull, besides your name and a headache. But you are in danger.*

Curse whoever did this to you.

Say your name aloud. You have a part of yourself.

Take a deep breath, shake your head, and start anew.]

The Dark Urge, in my opinion, is an origin that is preferable even to the custom ones that a player can make. Like the origins we get from the other PCs, such as Shadowheart or Astarion, there are custom cutscenes, content, and dialogue options specifically tailored to the Haunted past that you bring to the party. The Dark Urge isn't a play-through I would recommend if you want the feeling of a Noble, Righteous Hero. In some ways, it can be very stereotypically "edgelord"; you have little memory of your past, and are prone to violent and grotesque proclivities.

I suppose if you wanted to truly run an evil route and see how many dear companions you could kill along the way, you could play this route as Indulgent, or giving into the Dark Urge. I chose to play Kyr as a hopeless struggle; he is frightened by himself, and does his best to resist his dark temptations and try to do good. Resistance. It's made for a delightfully fulfilling roleplay experience, especially because I have chosen to romance Wyll on this play-through.

Even recruiting Astarion can be a little frightening.

The intro runs about the same, except when you wake up on the Nautiloid, you are bloodied, frightened, and have no memory of how you got there. In fact, there are no real signs that there is anything wrong with you, at least not in the dialogue you get until after the crash. Everyone's a little nervous, on edge, and then you have the chance to recruit Gale from his little portal. If you give into the Urge... it goes poorly. Fantasize about chopping his hand off?

I didn't make this canon for Kyr's run, but I was curious what would happen. I don't know what becomes of Gale, if you can recruit him later--if you can, how strange. You did just remove his hand for seemingly no reason. Astarion, too, has something to say about it immediately after.

This is your first sign that the Dark Urge run is going to be, well.. full of dark urges. Kyr seems to have a strange and compelling urge to commit harmful, violent acts--but doesn't seem to be aware he's doing it. I went back and he recruited Gale normally, resisting the weird desire to fantasize about chopping a man's hand off. Things were quiet--for a little bit.

Lots of dialogue choices specialized for the Dark Urge present in one of two, maybe three ways--commit this horrible act, or be shocked by your perversions and resist. Along with all of the usual options, such as based around your skill checks and your class. You have fewer culture rolls--you don't remember your past, after all (but you can imply to be Baldurian later on in Wyll's conversations, which I did). The lack of backstory and the amnesia is meant to heighten the strange horror of your situation, but I like building on what Kyr could be missing. A father, maybe, and a mother he never knew.

You can even tell Withers that you don't think your life is worth very much--something that he has a sage rebuke for. It's implied that he might know a little bit more about your circumstances than he's letting on, but if he does, he doesn't deem it fit to share with you.

Back at the camp, you do have options to speak with your party members--even so early--about your concerning affliction. Two new choices are available to you: concern about your memory loss, and concern about your violent urges. So early in the game, I decided I would start to bring up the memory loss. They are... quite flippant! And quick to dismiss your concerns on having to do with the mind-flayer tadpole.

It's late, and I'm getting sleepy, so that's all I'll add for this post. More is to come.

Part 1 | Part 2

[roskirambles]

Halloween Movie of the Day: The Addams Family Reunion (1991)

As perhaps the oddest people in America, the Addams need no introduction. But this time, they are about to welcome a new member into the family; turns out Morticia just recently gave birth to little Pubert!

Yes, all is good and well with a new baby in the family, unless you ask Fester. Seeing all others tie the knot has got him forlorn, so he's now looking for love. And love he finds in the new nanny, Debbie Jellinsky. But something is amiss, as this woman is pushing Fester away from them just as the two get married. And as Pugsley and Wednesday get sent to summer camp, the family faces their biggest crisis yet in a black widow trying to separate them all. Will Fester return to their side before it's too late?

A compelling argument for how sometimes a sequel is actually better than the original, this comedy goldmine by Barry Sonnenfeld takes what worked in the first 90's reimagining of the Addams and cranks it up to eleven. And yet, more than just a rethread the film is also a mirror of it's own prequel (which I must say also comes with a hearty reccomendation by proxy on this end); one being about how strangers end up joining the family by learning to connect with the Addam's eccentric but enotionally fulfilling way of life, the other being about a different stranger with violent motivations failing to do the same. Which brings us to Debbie: with such a violently petty energy and delusions of grandeur, she's a delight to watch even when she's trying so hard to murder Fester.

Outside of a gag about Michael Jackson aging like milk (for reasons they couldn't have forseen), it's incredible how fantastically this film has aged. The black comedy, the haminess, the slapstick absurdity, the wholesome family dynamics undercut by a screwed up sense of normalcy, and the lighting in a bottle casting that redefined what the public sees these characters as. They REALLY don't do them like they used to.

Ok, I just HAVE to gush a little over the casting, because it really, REALLY made these movies shine.

The obvious one is the late Raul Julia as Gomez. With a classical background and being adept at musical theatre, he really gives his all every moment, which makes some of the funniest scenes come out of either the earnestness on which he plays a romantic situation, or the incongruity of how most people would react to what he's experiencing.

Anjelica Houston as Morticia works marvelously as the complement to Julia's Gomez too, being equally passionate but in a much more composed way, which grants her an elegance and snark that simply cannot be beaten.

Christopher Lloyd as Fester was sheer genius as well. You're telling me there was a better option for someone with uncle Fester's well known level of quirky manic energy than Mr. Emmet Brown and Judge Doom? Get outta here.

Jimmy Workman as Pugsley looks like the weakest of the bunch at a glance, as he almost feels like the straight man by contrast of how vivid the other performances are. But then you really think about it, and it's PRECISELY that nonchalance which makes him work. He can do incredibly troubling unchildlike things without batting an eye.

And of course, Christina Ricci as Wednesday is a no brainer as to why this role shot her to stardom. While a diversion from how Wednesday was portrayed in other versions, it stands out as one of THE big examples of how to do a goth creepy girl. She is not an uncaring person, but boi, is she more prone to violence than Pugsley AND a scheming gremling with a creepy heartthrobing smile. Yes, I was crushing hard on Christina Ricci's Wednesday as a kid, shut up

Last but not least, since we're talking about Family Values in particular, Joan Cussack as Debbie is just a joy to watch, with such a delightful level of entitlement and the perfect opposite rosy masquarade to make her less annoying or disturbing, and more someone with the proper level of crazy to absolutely fit with the Addams were she not all about herself.

[dyns33]

The Bond

I miss writing about Charlie Cox characters and so I made a real long Vulcan Owen stories

Things weren't always easy between Y/N and Owen.

This might seem normal, because things had never been easy between Humans and Vulcans. Although Vulcans had a reputation for being logical beings, they could be very cold, insensitive, rude, and mean.

Faced with Humans, emotional, illogical, easily offended and prone to violence, this did not make a very good mix.

Fortunately some humans were calm enough to appreciate the Vulcans' attitude, and some Vulcans were intelligent enough to adapt to the difference of Humans.

Between Y/N and Owen, that should have been the case. Everyone in Starfleet thought so when Captain Kirk announced that these two new recruits were going to work with his crew.

Owen was a Vulcan like almost all Vulcans. Y/N was not a human like all humans. Without having followed Surak's teachings, she loved science and reflection, and with her intelligence, she demonstrated great rigor and logic in her work.

Her colleagues had a hard time with her. They could see that she wasn't mean, maybe a little shy, not knowing how to deal with them. It was still rare for her to make friends.

“It will probably be easier with a Vulcan.” one of her instructors had said.

It was worse with the Vulcan.

The first problem encountered was Owen's inexplicable habit of pointing out all her errors and omissions. It wasn't often, but whenever it happened, he was there to say so, without ever congratulating or complimenting her when, on the contrary, she was doing a good job.

“Do you know the quality of your work ?”

"Indeed."

“So I don’t see why I need to tell you about it when there’s nothing to add.” he decided, keeping a neutral expression. “But when you clearly cannot see that the quality is not acceptable, it is necessary for you to be informed.”

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek to keep from answering him. Because it was pointless, and because she knew he wasn't wrong. She didn't want his compliments anyway, his opinion didn't matter.

She continued to take his criticism, letting Dr. McCoy and her other colleagues come to her defense when it became unbearable.

The second problem was that Y/N would have loved things to go well with Vulcans, and even more so with Owen. If she forgot the times when he opened his mouth to insult her work or her intelligence, he was much more interesting than most of the people on the ship.

Cultivated, clever, and very pleasant to look at.

They could have at least been friends if he had behaved differently, and she tried not to think that anything more than friends might have been an option either.

The last problem, the most important, occurred following an accident. This should never have happened.

If she could have, Y/N would have slapped Captain Kirk for his catastrophic management of crises, which he created himself most of the time, because of his need for adventure.

The ship had suffered a lot of damage from an attack, there had been a lot of injuries, including Owen, and Y/N hadn't thought when approaching him to help him.

As soon as she touched him, she knew she had made a mistake. One more.

Owen didn't tell her this time, watching her hand on his arm, which she quickly removed after an electric shock ran through her body, as well as a strange feeling in her head.

"We'll need a healer." he whispered.

"… The Medbay is full, but I can treat you here."

"No. I'm talking about our bond. It will need to be stabilized with a Vulcan healer."

"…Our bond ?" she asked, avoiding looking at him, not really wanting to hear what he was going to say, not wanting to understand.

"We are compatible. Your mind touched mine, and we are now bonded."

“And the healer can undo that ?”

"No. The bond seems strong, we are highly compatible. It would be risky. And after what happened to my planet, bonds are rare and precious."

The bond. Owen only spoke about this bond, and its importance, and never about her, about them, about feelings or that kind of thing that was obviously useless and illogical in his eyes. Nothing romantic, even though it seemed so strong.

Very strong according to the healer who examined them, stating that it was indeed a rare bond, formed without the help of a priest, and that it was impossible to undo.

This did not seem to bother Owen, who simply stated that he would use his shield as often as possible, to prevent their work from being disrupted by stray thoughts.

That's what she was in his mind, a parasite, who made mistakes, who risked compromising him with her base human instincts. He must have seen what she felt for him, this strange mixture of hatred and love, this desire to be closer to him.

Everyone congratulated them on their "marriage", which hurt her even more. So romantic. Y/N then discovered that a lot of people had noticed that she wasn't completely uninterested in Owen, which was worse than anything. A real humiliation.

She locked herself into work, preferring to stay alone the rest of the time. No one seemed to notice, her "husband" first, too busy with his own experiences.

Y/N told herself that she shouldn’t blame him. He hadn't asked for this bond, and he was acting the way his culture and species had always acted. She had inquired about it, she had discovered this shameful secret that was the pon farr. The only time he would come to touch her, if he didn't choose death through meditation.

At least, that was what she told herself until she saw Captain Kirk with Commander Spock in a corner of the ship.

They were kissing. The commander's cheeks were green, his eyes sparkling, as he whispered what sounded like tender words to the captain.

He was half human, but Spock had always acted according to Surak's principles. Vulcans were therefore capable of romance and proof of love. Owen just didn't like her. This had been obvious from the start. It was a real test to remain calm when he came to her to discuss a problem while checking her calculations, which seemed wrong, again.

"… These are not my calculations. They have been changed." she sighed as she read the report, staying as far away from him as possible and refusing to look at him.

"Really ? I'm going to ask to find out who made this mistake in this case. Can I see the original calculations ?"

"Here."

"Hmm. They are correct."

"Sorry you can't criticize me this time. Leave me now."

Except Owen didn't let her. He stood by her desk, staring at her with a weird look, and for a moment a strange feeling took over her body, something warm, almost comforting.

Then he approached, which made her step back, afraid when she saw that he had moved his hand in her direction.

"What are you doing ?"

"Ashayam… It appears you are troubled. Emotionally compromised. I can help you channel…"

"I don't want your help. I don't want anything from you, leave."

“Ashayam…” he repeated with an almost sad look, before greeting her and leaving the room.

This word was unknown to her. Ashayam. Another insult ? Y/N asked Uhura who seemed surprised by her interpretation, telling her that it was better that she asked Owen. She didn't, returning to her work.

On her desk, she found flowers. Odd. Probably a mistake, a prank, or her colleagues who saw that she wasn't doing well lately and who tried to cheer her up.

Then there were the chocolates. A ring. Science books. And finally a long parchment written in a language impossible to understand. In Vulcan.

Reading it, Commander Spock's cheeks turned green again, muttering that it was an old poem.

Y/N didn't know that Vulcans wrote poems, and she didn't understand why she had received one. It seemed absurd that Owen would offer her all this.

Her pride and curiosity being stronger than her fear, she finally decided to go see him, finding him in his room, reading. She placed the poem in front of him.

"Why ?"

"I do not understand your question." he said very honestly.

"Why all these gifts ? Why now ? You saw that this bond made me suffer and so what ? Are you pitying me ? I don't want your pity. I wanted to love you, really. I'm afraid that I love you a little to tell the truth, which is the worst mistake of my life, the stupidest thing I ever…"

"I love you too."

It was rare that Y/N didn’t know what to say. As a scientist and an intelligent woman, she always knew what she should say or do. But no one had taught her how to react to a Vulcan who told her that he loved her.

“I have loved you for a long time, without daring to declare myself.” he continued. "I didn't know if it would be reciprocated. Now I know that you love me too, I knew it when we touched, and our bond is an irrefutable proof. It was a great moment of joy. So intense that I needed a healer quickly to not lose my mind, then a lot of meditation to remain calm. I think of you all the time. So blinded that I did not perceive the rest, your unhappiness, the need for contact, of communication. You are psi-null, you did not perceive my feelings in return. If anyone made a mistake, it was me."

"… You criticize me all the time. You spend all your time showing me my mistakes !"

"It is important to see your mistakes in order to correct them and not do them again. Most of them are due to fatigue and overwork, not of lack of intelligence from your part. If I didn't know you were clever, I wouldn't even have try to show them to you. But my primary goal was for you to rest, in addition to having an excuse to see you. I… I must have expressed myself incorrectly. As with the rest. I am now trying to repair my faults, Ashayam, but I can't find the right method. It says here 'if you love them, let them go', but I don't understand the meaning of the sentence. What can I do to make you happy ?"

It wasn't a book for his work that he was holding. Like her, Owen was reading up on Terran culture in order to know how to properly court Y/N. He had also asked their colleagues for advice, which hadn't really helped him because they all said something different.

There was nothing logical about love, the poor guy was lost. He might have known what to do if he had thought less, but he seemed afraid of what he might do. He still wanted her happiness. He loved her.

He loved her.

"… A kiss would be a good start." Y/N whispered.

Owen looked at her, as if to determine if she was serious, before nodding, standing up to come towards her, and holding out two fingers. She looked at his hand with a frown.

"Uh… Yes ?"

“I'm initiating a kiss.”

“I see a lot of fingers and not a lot of lips.”

“Lips ?” he repeated, frowning as well. "Oh. A Terran kiss. My apologies, I didn't understand, Ashayam."

"What does that mean ?"

“Beloved.”

Without giving her time to process what he had just said, he pressed his mouth to hers, obviously unaware of how to act, but doing his best. As soon as their skin touched, the pleasant feeling returned, Y/N's body immediately relaxing and moving as close to Owen as possible, one hand on his neck, and the other on his cheek. He imitated her, letting himself be guided.

He was shaking a little, his breathing quickening as Y/N kissed him really hard, sucking on his lips, searching for his tongue, and letting her hands roam his back. Quickly, she found herself against a wall, Owen abandoned her mouth to nibble on her neck. One of her moans unfortunately seemed enough to stop him.

"… I need to meditate."

“It was a good start though.”

"I need to meditate. I have to conduct an experiment in a few hours."

“That gives us a lot of time."

“Ashayam, if I don’t meditate, we won’t leave this room for several days.”

Oh ? Oh.

Y/N was a little disappointed, but she was still a professional, bowing to the importance of sience over everything else. So she left him, even if she couldn't help but kiss him on the cheek before leaving while he was already in a meditation position, which made him groan.

In the corridor, she passed Commander Spock and Uhura, who showed a big smile.

"I see you've been talking to Owen."

“Indeed, why ?”

“You should zip up your collar.” Spock said simply, looking down.

In the reflection of a window, Y/N saw the small bite marks and hickeys that the Vulcan had left, which she hid with her hand while stammering, while Uhura chuckled gently, patting her shoulder.

"They can be bestial and possessive, like cats. Be careful, they are much more sensitive than they let on."

"Nonsense."

"Kirk tells me almost everything, Commander."

"… Please excuse me, I need to speak to the Captain."

“Speak, or speak like Owen with Y/N ?”

Commander Spock growled, which actually made Uhura laugh, giving Y/N a chance to run away before the linguist had time to ask her questions.

In the end, things were pretty simple between Y/N and Owen. They were two scientists with very poor social skills, in love, respecting each other's work and abilities, and living proof that it was perfectly possible to be intelligent and stupid.

[frostfall-matches]

[ matchmaking... ]

@anni-is-here : [ match report ready ]

your match is…

✦ Nanami Kento

You, coming off as intimidating with your RBF and cold exterior? Nanami is right there with you. As handsome as he is, he is so stony-faced, serious, and imposing that others are often hesitant to even approach him. However, he isn’t the type to become intimidated by someone’s cool exterior himself; especially when you’re his student or junior. He has no qualms interacting with you whatsoever. And, really, it’s not too terribly long before you begin to open up into someone warmer and more playful. Nanami quite enjoys seeing you open up to him bit by bit; it’s a pretty noticeable difference, so he’s glad when he sees that you’re comfortable enough with him to drop the distant front. Although, once you’re comfortable around him… he’s subjected to you goofing off and saying out-of-pocket things. He’ll roll his eyes and complain, but he’s secretly fond of it deep down.

When you playfully suggest violence as a solution, Nanami responds so seriously that it’s comical. Since he’s so deadpan with his humor, it’s almost hard to tell if he’s serious or not in his response (he’s smart enough to know that you’re just joking around… at least, you’re probably joking… but it all depends on the situation, right?). You’ll casually suggest to Megumi that he should just beat up the next person who bumps into him in the street and acts all rude and snooty about it; a nearby Nanami simply speaks up with a stern “absolutely not” before going into detail how much trouble Megumi (or you) would get into by doing such an act. Megumi’s rolling his eyes and internally complaining about the reprimand (he didn’t even ask for this!) but you’d probably just end up laughing because of how seriously Nanami responds to your quips, regardless if he’s joking or serious.

If you’re the type to enjoy deep, interesting conversations, Nanami is a great option. He’s smart, thoughtful, and has gotten a variety of experiences under his belt. He has definitely done some reflection on his past experiences, considering that he’s come up with his own personal philosophy about youth and adulthood - and really, he quite enjoys discussing deeper topics, as long as he enjoys his conversation partner, that is. The conversation doesn’t even have to be particularly philosophical, either. If he’s on good terms with you, he’d be interested in hearing your thoughts on just about anything. Nanami would also be open to debates, or tactical conversations centered around the best strategies for certain types of enemies and situations. The only other person who hovers around Nanami often is Gojo, and he is not going to bother talking with Gojo if he’s not in the mood. You’re absolutely a breath of fresh air for him - most of the time, at least, considering you’re prone to goofing off and exasperating him yourself!

He appreciates that you’re so willing to learn and grow as a person. Nanami has met plenty of people who don’t apply themselves, people who get complacent and ultimately stagnate. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it can be a frustrating and dangerous mindset to jujutsu sorcerers. So, he admires your initiative when it comes to asking him for tips and advice. That being said, he believes that experience is the best teacher. He’ll offer guidance when needed, step in when he thinks a mission is too dangerous, but he’ll let you make your own discoveries and mistakes. You won’t get anywhere by someone holding your hand the whole time, after all, and jujutsu sorcerers don’t lead easy lives. Not that you would let him coddle you, anyway - you’re determined to carve your own path and master your own abilities. It wouldn’t be the same if you didn’t put the effort in yourself.

Nanami is quite interested in your skill in martial arts. A significant portion of his fighting style includes hand-to-hand combat, so it’s not surprising that he becomes interested in your abilities and how you incorporate your training into your combat style on the field. In fact, the two of you could learn a lot from each other based on your fighting styles and previous training. Perhaps this is where you most often ask him for tips and guidance; a good sparring match here and there keeps both your and his skills sharp between missions. And perhaps it’s a way of bonding or flirting… On a different, yet similar topic, you have a long history in other athletics and willing to try out other active hobbies - he won’t press too much, but he’s intently listening to you as you ramble off all the different sports you’ve done or at least attempted.

Nanami is acutely aware of your habits and fidgeting, but it doesn’t bother him. Perhaps it’s because he’s gotten used to it, or perhaps it’s just because it’s you, but he genuinely doesn’t think much about how you often run your hands through your hair, mussing it up, or bouncing your leg while sitting. At first he might’ve considered it to be distracting, even mildly bothersome, but that ebbed away once he started becoming more fond of you. He might question if you’re feeling antsy or nervous, but if you insist that it isn’t nervous fidgeting then he’ll leave it be. Still, even as his eyes catch your figure as you perform those habitual tics, he simply just sees it as you being you. It means things are normal, you’re feeling fine, and things are as they should be.

He would totally vibe to the 80s and 90s rock you put on while chilling out at home. You have a way of making the space you’re relaxing in feel like you. It’s the way you get comfortable, how your band t-shirts reflect your music taste, how you enjoy getting comfortable in sweatpants and hoodies. Both you and Nanami struggle with taking yourselves too seriously at times, but it’s important to take some time to relax and not worry about expectations, how people perceive you, or the missions coming up in the near future. He’s a bit envious how quickly you can just get comfortable - but the more time he spends with you, in your own space, or in a space the two of you create together, he feels that relaxing becomes more and more natural. And it all starts with that 80s or 90s rock; he can’t help but bop his head right along to the beat.

Nanami graciously accepts whatever gifts you’ve gotten him, large or small. He is quick to pick up that gift giving is how you show your affection for him. And, while he’s not naturally the gift giving type, he does make a serious effort to reciprocate. If you’re giving him a gift, it’s only natural that he should return the favor, yes? And he does surprisingly well picking out thoughtful gifts. He tends to lean towards more practical objects, but sometimes he will pick something up on a whim that reminds him of you, or something that he feels would make you think of him when you look at it. Nanami’s main love language would be quality time, which isn’t surprising considering that he really tries to lock down on the time and effort he’s putting into work. Once you’re his partner, his resolve to avoid overtime only solidifies further - he has to dedicate time to spend with you, after all.

[colorfuldream]

It's crazy that even now people still are mitigated on Frye like they literally have her everything to be a fan favorite?? Girlie is an amalgam of the best traits of the previous idols but people got stuck on her forehead

Droopy but big eyes, nice body, fun and bubbly personality with the hints of a more feisty/harsh temper along with being cunning whenever she's being a bandit, kicks ass, overall loving person and very silly, cool boss fight... And she still has some sassy comebacks to round her up

The difference between her popularity and the others' is crazy, they gave her everything to win everyone over. Genuinely if they hadn't given her such a big forehead as they had planned, she'd be a fan favorite or a string contestant. Even her beta designs have a stronger feel than Shiver's who got a more mellow vibe (side note but it did fit her wanting to be edgy and cool along with her being into fashion! They haven't shown it yet but the early designs, particularly the punk-ish one, did. Her being able to create a desired image of herself through her style would have been a great detail!)

Another thing is how Frye's flaws are underplayed, a bit like Big Man's, and just played as her being silly, cute, and a bit feisty. Shiver's are obvious. She's greedy, jealous, petty, passive aggressive but still quick to anger, and prone to violence. Her personality is properly displayed at all times, though personally I think we should see more of it as Deep Cut are supposed to be villains and not as prim and proper as the other idols, and her flaws are a big part of it. The same goes for Big Man.

So even when Frye is the least obviously flawed of the three and the closest to a regular idol, she's the least popular. Her Splatfest options are often the "obvious" ones (either to her character or to the question).

The devs really, reaaaally tried to make her liked and they miserably failed. Yes, they can't force it but by trying so hard, they set her up for failure. You know why people love Shiver? Because she's flawed, bitchy at times, boasting when she wins, lying to make her team more popular. When she said who she would be without Deep Cuts in the dialogue instrument Splatfest, it was believable. Ofc same with Big Man. Yeah, with everything we know about them, I can believe that she would be a loner and getting into fights and that he would stay far away from the spotlight.

But with Frye? Nope. I don't buy that she'd hop from band to band, from project to project. The only thing that makes it work is that she's bubbly. We don't know enough about her to imagine how she could be and how she normally acts. At most, her look when she was in school hints that she was popular/outgoing but nothing more.

All Frye gets is hints. She hints that she also gets into fights herself and possibly with Shiver, though Shiver has a need to prove herself and do it alone, but she doesn't get caught. She was said to not have been good at stealing at first, which in itself hints that Shiver taught her and was good at a young age (worrying, she doesn't seem to have a good childhood!), but now she's hinted at being the better of the three. She can use the smoke bombs, she's actually threatening, she wants to fight and doesn't goof around (even if she gets distracted before the rematch but by then you aren't enemies). She's greedy, less than Shiver and possibly not because she wants money (Shiver is highly implied to want money for the sake of it and not (just?) because they donate it (and are constantly broke)), she's resentful and petty, she's quick to anger but hides it for a while. This last thing? Implied. We get hints that she puts on a persona, possibly amplifying certain traits, to be more idol-like. She slips up sometimes but nothing bad. One could theorize that she started it when she was young, putting on an innocent and sweet persona to cover her misdeeds and that it made her well-liked/not as isolated as the other two, but it has little to no proof to justify it. One could theorize she's not the most emotionally stable person but apart from Marina's statement in Side Order and how quickly she gets angry there isn't much to back it up.

Frye is thus flat. Information about her is too scarce and too vague to properly build her up as a character. Not to mention that her flip-flopping on things like her hatred of Inkopolis. It makes her inconsistent, which is a problem that applies to the entire group but not to this extent, instead of nuanced. She doesn't have to be as obvious as Shiver but my God just give us details and let her flaws shine through. Deep Cut barely having any development impacts her the most, in my opinion. At least it's obvious that Shiver's silliness doesn't show in the Anarchy Splatcast because it's a more controlled environment, she doesn't want to appear cool in the same way, and she's more natural (though still a try-hard) and it's obvious that Big Man's not just a softie but also a coward and doesn't think of warning/communicating with his friends and frequently goes behind their backs. We get to see just enough of them to have an idea of who they are while Frye is just... Silly hot-headed woman who's cute but gets into (dance) fights. Her biggest accomplishments are her picking fights with OTH with Shiver on her tail.

It isn't helped with the news dialogue: what do we learn about her? She likes food. She has a big family that she adores (which took a LONG time to be talked about, the dialogues were so dry at the beginning!) and, while this is realistic, it makes up for most of her lines. What about her friends? Pearl, for example, had a devastating line about having a best friend... While Marina thought she was her best friend, implying that Pearl is HER best friend but SHE isn't. That's such a nice tidbit of information! We get similar details about Shiver and Big Man: Shiver doesn't have any other friends, never has, and it's stated a few times; Big Man is open to other people but shy, and a bit afraid because Shiver is possessive and one could argue that so is Frye, but he sometimes tries to reach out and succeeds (yay Big Man and Mariana friendship!). But we don't get squat about Frye. Does she have a lot of friends? Acquaintances? Has she narrowed her circle to Deep Cut and family? Since she gets angry easily and they're all competitive but somehow not for Splatfests (except Shiver who gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss to victory), are her friends an exception or is she keeping it in? Can't we have a line along the lines of "you're lucky it's you" while the other two rag on her choice (or when one of them boasts about something) or something like "Splatfests are about having fun and partying!" to show that she doesn't care about results? We do have a small hint that she sees them as parties (and it makes sense with her being influenced by Indian culture and Splatfests in Splatsville having religious connotations). Just a little quip to get more information out. The Splatfest dialogue is so dry, I get that they don't care and there's no stakes for them but jeez, please come to another conclusion that "yay all three options are nice" and "let's do them all!"

Deep Cut has a lot of information about them repeated but not a lot of additions. With the end drawing near, I really hope the next few events drop some information about them before they inevitably get pushed aside for the new idols (or OTH again. Please Nintendo, give us a Deep Cut DLC. I don't care if it doesn't make sense for them not to be in the Splatslands, give us ANYTHING)

Side note, they keep switching which yellow Frye is even in things that use her 3D model. I get that the main 2D art is more orange-y/less bright because it was made before and then there's an orange hue on the concert image but why is the Anarchy Splatcast segment in the latest concert has her colors be different?? It's a lot more pleasant to the eyes. I get they (originally) meant for her to be on the same side of the color wheel as Marie and Marina but gosh they could have done something to make her less bright. Their refusal to use her canon colors just goes to show that it wasn't the best choice,,

[augment-duke]

Baseline information for Alex, MC of [Redacted] and an absolute treasure in my heart. Most of the setting is a explained in the 'general novel info'

-

Alexander Finch is the epitome of 'Wrong place, Wrong time'. His life has been a trial in itself (Mother deported due to the Phage Boarder Control Decrees when he was 14, Father a blight of a man who could never see Alex as 'man enough', he ended up choosing pretty shitty relationships over living with the man just to try and finish some kind of university - didn't end up finishing - got into drugs, started using and selling, and then eventually just started living on the streets until he and the group he was with here 'rescued' by men of one of the large corporations known as Yggdrasil, where surprise surprise! All that help was actually finding human testing that no one would miss.)

The first thing Alexander remembers after a six-month mental blackout, is waking up on an autopsy table being taken apart by doctors. Over and over and over again as his body endlessly regenerates, somehow moved from America to St.Cairn Canada, where he's now stuck legally speaking.

He's unable to die, and is the only one of the program to 'survive' (not that anyone was really aware of that fact till he escaped with the help of ??? Someone He didn't know??)

Now he's just trying to prove to the government that he's not a danger to the world, and that he belongs somewhere. Roped into working for BAEL, or the other option of 'die'.

At least he has a found family now!

Personality-wise, He's as lax as you can get, and doesn't seem to take much seriously as he's used to things just eventually fucking him over, or for things to go wrong, so he just doesn't get his hopes up. Very prone to comments of self-defeat or using himself as a joke/ 'Whoops, I'm an idiot' types of things. -- He's the ''happy to get along with'' kind of depressed, always putting other people before himself in an unhealthy self-sacrificial kind of way. He is honestly smarter than he thinks he is, and is actively a very good person, he's just so used to people taking advantage of those facts it's the common expectation.

He does make lots of jokes and laughs quite a bit! He's a fun guy to be around and likes to make other people smile -- the kind of 'live in the moment and forget your fears' kind of conversation.

Within his novel, most of these things are helped by the other characters, and he does get much better-coping mechanisms and mannerisms! Life does get better for him, despite the horror show of violence and Phages.

[yennefer-of-vengerbergs]

[Original version] Confession

Astarion reflects on his feelings towards Syanna, from when they first met, up to when he finally decides to confess everything to her.

Pairing: Astarion x f!durge

Other notes: This is my own spin on Astarion's thoughts on the relationship he and my durge character, Syanna have, finishing with his confession scene, where I took the liberty of expanding a bit on it, combining most of the dialogue options, as well as mixing in small parts from the Araj confession. I've also followed the order in which some things happened in my own Durge playthrough so far (I'm still in Act 2, haven't gotten to his confession yet, but I am using what I know from my regular Tav playthrough, while double checking other things online).

Read below or on Ao3

Astarion found himself thinking about her. 

What a walking contradiction she was.

On the one hand, she was prone to being a bleeding heart on occasion, wanting to help those she ran into.

Barely off a crashed Nautiloid and she was picking up other survivors from the ship, himself included. Even if he had thrown her to the ground, threatening her with a dagger. She’d taken it surprisingly well too, stating she probably would have done the same in his position.

Then she was agreeing to help out the tieflings from the Emerald Grove. 

And rescuing a child from being killed by the druid leader. 

And helping that bard, Alfira, with her song. 

On the other, she was also prone to bursts of violence and murder, dark urges which she could not always control or resist. 

She always felt guilty afterwards though. Especially so after she had brutally murdered Alfira. Barely a few hours after joining their camp, she was laying there, on the ground, in her own blood.

She had always been completely honest about how broken her mind was. She had asked for advice. She had asked everyone in camp for help. 

Nobody knew what to do or say to her. They just spun some version of ‘oh, we all have those thoughts sometimes’ and that ‘she should focus that on their enemies’. She felt as if nobody was taking her seriously, not realizing just how bad things were.

And once everyone else had seen that she had killed the bard? 

They were scared. They judged. They blamed her. They told her to keep her distance, that they would be watching her. That if she tried to hurt them, they would defend themselves.

She couldn't blame them, not really. 

***

Naturally, she had distanced herself from everyone. 

He noticed that she had taken her bedroll to the small ruin that was next to their camp and started staying there at night, away from everyone, her reasoning being that it was fine, really. Part of the roof was still intact, so she could at least be safe from the elements. If anything, it was an improvement over trancing in the dirt, next to the campfire. She could always use a spell to start a fire of her own to keep warm.

During the day, when they traveled, she would either wander ahead, or stay further back. After all, they had made it clear that they wanted her to keep her distance, so keep her distance she did. 

He’d told her at one point that he didn't blame or judge her for what she had done. 

She appreciated that. 

What she hadn't appreciated was how he then told her that the look of guilt she had on her face was priceless and that she could have been more subtle about it. 

Oh well.

***

One day, they had found a dog, Scratch, close to its dead owner. The dog was hostile at first, but soon calmed once she had talked to him, even sniffed her hand, remembering her scent.

She always seemed to have a potion on hand that would let her speak to animals. She liked animals, so she hoped the dog would follow her to camp.It did, eventually, always keeping her company afterwards.

On another day, they had found the so-called devil that Wyll was hunting, Karlach. Said devil was in fact a tiefling. Syanna had immediately sided with her when Wyll wanted to kill her, pointing out what they had all been shown by the tadpole connection, that Karlach was indeed telling the truth and was not in fact a danger to anyone. 

Astarion found himself approving of that. Hells, in time, there were other things she did that he approved of. Some were chaotically fun and hilarious to him. Others were on the practical side. Others yet were oddly heartwarming, even to him, like how she had taken in the owlbear cub from the goblin camp they had cleared. Most people would have refused to do that, seeing it as nothing more than another beast that could kill them, another monster to be afraid of. 

She didn't. She saw a young cub, scared of its surroundings, wounded, alone, his mother having been killed by the goblins that captured him for their own entertainment.

Most importantly however, she hadn't shunned or staked him when he tried to feed from her while she tried to rest. She had been surprisingly reasonable. Even offered him her blood afterwards. She’d taken his side when the others didn't seem particularly pleased about him being a vampire. She'd agreed with his idea of feeding off their enemies, seeing as he could start fighting with all his weapons, fangs included. But she had also offered to let him feed on her, if and when he needed to. An open invitation, as it were. 

It was a gift. One he would not forget.

***

She seemed better as time went on. The two animals they took in were always near her when in camp, keeping her company. 

She had gotten closer to him and Karlach. Not a surprise, seeing as they were the only ones who truly didn't judge her. 

Karlach had appreciated her help and trust when they met, as well as her bleeding heart, so in her eyes, Syanna was someone good overall, if a little tortured. She had also been honest with the tiefling about her urges and what had happened with the bard, but she had simply told her that if she had the guts to say it outloud, to feel regret, then she would be able to change. And if she was willing to resist those urges, as Syanna said she was, then surely she was on the right track. She had also given her the same line about focusing on their enemies if the urges became too much, but somehow, she felt that Karlach had been more supportive overall.

Later on, when the druid, Halsin had joined their camp, she got along with him as well, for similar reasons. He had even offered to help her with her broken mind once their tadpole problem was solved.

The others, she wasn't as close to. Things had gotten better, but it was obvious whose company she preferred. 

That would do nicely for his plan. All she had to do was fall for it. Easy.

So he had started flirting with her, something which came easily to him. He wanted her on his side, trusting him, never turning on him, helping him.

Seducing her was easy, truly. 

She reciprocated his attention. 

She already preferred his company.

She had accepted his advances when he propositioned her one night.

What he hadn't expected was to… enjoy the night they spent together. Not fully, as at one point his mind had gone somewhere far away (which she had noticed and pointed out the morning after), but at the same time…there were moments that he had enjoyed prior to that. 

She actually seemed interested in what he wanted that night as well, not willing to just be a passive participant. She wanted to reciprocate, to touch him, to show him how he made her feel and to bring him the same kind of pleasure. 

It was surprising to him. Unexpected even. 

He would also be lying if he said he didn't find her attractive. She was a beautiful woman, it was impossible not to. 

All in all, his plan was moving along splendidly.

So he carried on. 

He continued to flirt with her, honeyed words dripping from him each time. 

He invited her back to his bed frequently. Or back to that pretty clearing that he had found. He’d even stolen her away during the party the tieflings had organized once the goblin camp was defeated, their leaders killed. 

Even though several of their group had also propositioned her that night, she still went to him. Excellent. 

At some later point, she started spending her nights in his tent, seeking out his company. When it involved sex, she would simply stay the night, wrapped around him. Others, it was just being with each other. They would read and they would talk. Most surprisingly though, they would cuddle . 

He never had been a cuddler, but having her so close, holding on to him, it was nice. All those nights actually seemed to mean something to him too, a strange comfort starting to emerge whenever it was just the two of them. And when she didn't spend the night in his tent? He actually found himself wanting her there.

Shit.

***

She had done him kindness after kindness on multiple occasions, not expecting anything in return.

She had given him various things for his tent whenever they cropped up during their travels - a new bedroll, alongside a pillow and blanket; she pointed out books that she thought he might find interesting; she grabbed small pieces of decor and art she thought he might appreciate. His own little spot in camp was actually starting to look more comfortable. Tidier even. 

Meanwhile, she didn’t even have her own tent, just a bedroll.

She listened to him whenever he confided in her about something.

She had pointed out his scars and how they were written in Infernal. She drew them out for him to see, first on the ground where they stood, then on paper, so they could both research them more easily. She had promised to keep an eye out for any books, occult or otherwise, that might help him with information too.

it wasn't her problem, but she still wanted to help him.

She had acted as his mirror when she found him trying to look into one, telling him how she saw him. She then had the idea to cast a Mirror Image spell on him so he could actually see himself for the first time in centuries. Seeing that it worked, she then brought him any scrolls for the spell that she found on their travels so he could cast it himself whenever he needed to.

She was always willing to help him - she was already looking into finding out what the scars on his back were before they approached Raphael about them. She respected his wish to keep it between them and not to involve anyone else from camp. 

She then had helped him with his deal with Raphael (and that she did, Yurgir was dead, his end of the deal done, the mystery of his scars clearer, but turned into something even more muddled at the same time).

She even swore she would do everything she could to help him with dealing with Cazador and the ritual of profane ascension that he was meant to be a part of. 

She also stood up for him when they encountered that vile drow in Moonrise Towers, something that he was incredibly grateful for. 

He was grateful for everything she did.

Anyone would agree his nice, simple plan was a resounding success.

So why did he feel so awful?

Well, it just so happens that he had started to genuinely enjoy her company the more time had passed during their travels.

He found himself thinking of her more often. Looking out for her in combat, his arrows always aimed at those who were too close to her. 

He was distraught whenever she was downed by an attack, immediately on his way to help her, a revivify scroll and healing potion at the ready..

He was always first to help her when she slipped or had to climb somewhere, or when she became entangled in some twisting vines. 

He loved teasing her when that happened, tsk-ing and saying that he was starting to think she liked being restrained. She would always tease back, telling him to find out for himself later.

He even wanted to find her a tent she could use when she wasn't spending the night in his own one. 

***

At the same time, he was so concerned for her. She was frequently exhausted and in pain, rest, actual rest, almost always eluding her. Often, she preferred to skip going into a trance altogether, too worried about the nightmares that could return. Of the urge coming back. He could also see how she sometimes was shaking, or how she looked ready to faint. He could see how her urges were eating away at her, how she struggled with them. 

Sometimes, when she was finally too exhausted, she would actually fall asleep next to him, her face nuzzling his chest, an arm draped over him. Whenever that happened, he found that he would have much rather stayed there and let her sleep until late morning, not having the heart to move and risk waking her. 

He felt like such a fool.

***

One night, she woke him up, scared she would hurt him, scared she would kill him , not knowing what to do or how to stop it, asking him to get to safety, to stop her, anything . 

When she collapsed, unconscious, he moved, grabbed a length of rope and tied her up. 

Then, he waited. 

When she woke up, she wasn't herself. 

She threatened, she growled, she tried to bite him, she screamed at him, fighting against her bindings. 

But she also was trying so hard to resist, to break through, to regain control of herself. She tried to show him that she understood, that she was grateful, but it was so, so difficult.

More threats. More screams. 

She sobbed, begging him to just kill her, to make it stop.

It truly worried him, seeing her like that. He had been worried about himself at first, yes, but he was even more worried about her.

He wouldn't let that thing have her. He wouldn't let it win. 

He spent the night with her, trying to offer words of comfort and encouragement where he could. Keeping her safe. Shooing away the rest of their companions whenever they came to see what was happening. 

The night finally passed, bloodless. Syanna was laying on her side, still tied up. She looked defeated. Guilty. Remorseful, with tears in her eyes. She let out a sob. 

Astarion moved to untie her and helped her sit up. Her wrists were raw and bloody from how much she struggled against her bindings. 

He hated seeing her like that. 

He handed her a healing potion and listened to what had happened before she came to him.

He reassured her he would be there to make sure she would get through it all, that she wouldn't be alone, no matter how much she protested that it might happen again, and what if she hurt him then? 

She gave him something to care for and that was worth the peril. After all, they were in it together.

Did he really say that?

Yes, yes he did.

***

He also found himself wanting her approval. 

He wanted her to think of him as something more. 

He didn't want to lie or manipulate anymore.

He cared.

He wanted to tell her the truth, as frightening as it was to him.

Still…

What if she broke things off?

What if she hated him afterwards? 

He could just… not tell her, he could just let things continue between them, knowing that his plan had gone out the proverbial window long ago. That it was real for him. Why risk ruining it?

No. No, she deserved the truth. She deserved something real, something more. She didn't deserve his lies. She deserved to choose if she wanted to continue whatever was between them or not.

Making up his mind, he walked over to where she was sitting. Noticing him, she set aside her book, greeting him with a smile.

“Do you have a moment? I think we need to talk.” 

Gods, he sounded so concerned. Scared almost. 

Noticing this, her smile fell. She stood up.

“What's wrong? Are you alright?”

“Oh yes, I’m fine. I just…feel awful.”

She frowned. 

“That's not how I would define fine, Astarion. Please, talk to me?”

Gods, why was she being so nice to him?

“Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan - seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me.” he laughed nervously.

She didn't say anything. She seemed too taken aback by the sudden confession to say anything.

He continued. He had to continue.

“It was easy - instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it.” 

He hated the way his voice started to crack as he kept going on. He hated how she had tears forming in her eyes because of him. 

This is it. Surely she would leave him. He would lose her.

Still, he carried on.

“And all I had to do was not fall for you…which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.” He paused for a moment, gesturing towards her. “You…you're incredible. You did so much for me…you helped me, you…cared about what I wanted… you didn’t ask me to throw myself at that vile drow, didn’t trade me for a potion, what I wanted be damned.” he paused. “You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

He looked at her, with sad, scared, but hopeful eyes.

“So…the time we spent together meant nothing to you then? All those nights, all those moments, were they just lies?” 

“Of course they meant something - that's the problem! Or part of it.” He sighed. “Being close to someone - any kind of intimacy - was something I performed to lure people back for him . And even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels…tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing. I…don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to.” 

He’d said what he had to say. He looked at her, vulnerability obvious in his expression, waiting for a reply. 

It terrified him.

“Astarion…” she swallowed. “I’m not naïve enough to think that things were something…more between us when they started, but…” she took a breath to calm herself, to keep her voice from breaking any more than it already was. “But they actually became real for me. I thought…I hoped it was mutual. I wanted it more than anything. I do care about you. Deeply. But this…this hurts.” 

Tears were rolling down her cheeks, but she was trying so hard to keep herself composed. 

He hated himself for causing her to feel that way. 

He didn't know what to say to her. 

Could he even say anything that would make things up to her, that would comfort her in any way? He didn't know.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I’d understand if you wanted to end things between us now.” 

It hurt him to say it, but he wouldn't hold it against her if that was what she wanted to do. Which is why what she did next took him by surprise.

She hugged him. 

He was so taken aback by it that he didn't know how to react or what to do at first. He couldn't even remember a time when he had been hugged.

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her.

He didn’t want to let go of her. 

Her voice was a broken whisper, but he heard her. 

“That would hurt me even more.” 

She let go of him and stepped back. She cleared her throat. 

“I meant what I said. You mean a great deal to me. And I want this to be real too. More than anything.” 

Relief washed over him. But he was still….nervous.

“I…just don’t know what ‘real’ looks like. Not after two hundred years playing the rake. I…don’t even know what to do.” 

“Then…what do you want to do?” 

He paused, thinking about her question. “...I don’t know what I want. It’s been so long since I’ve had to decide what I wanted.”

She thought for a moment, unsure how to proceed. 

“Maybe…maybe we can start over then? We can be together. And to make it clear, we don’t have to have sex, for as long as you need.”

“Hah, why, that almost sounds like a challenge.” he was nervous again. He didn’t know how to react. What else could he even be good for, what else could he even offer her? 

“I mean it. I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. We can just…be and just… get reacquainted with one another.” 

He took her hand in his own, a small smile on his face. “Honestly, I have no idea what we’re doing. Or what comes next.” 

“Then we can just see where this takes us.” 

He placed his other hand on top of hers. 

“I do know one thing though. I know that this…this is nice.” 

As emotional as she was feeling, she couldn’t help but agree. It was nice to have that honesty between them now. To know they were both on the same page. That if they got through this, then things would be alright. 

[gamebird]

@rembrandtswife (I can't tag you for some reason)

But here are my current loves. They were hatched out just this spring. The rooster is inventively named "Dude" and his sisters don't have names. Although they do have fancy anklets so I can tell them apart from their mother, who didn't run outside for treats like these two did.

These are asils, which is a breed originally bred for naked heel fighting in southeast Asia and India (these particular ones being more of the Indian type, Rajah asil). They don't fight - at least not intentionally. Dude had four brothers but one day they all chose violence and on that day I was very glad I was home, as I separated them before they could do much damage. His brothers went to my father's house where they enjoy separate pens, and my father has sold two of them to other fanciers. They are a difficult breed to manage because of how early they decide to fight and how serious and to-the-death they are when that kicks in.

But they are gentle and charming with people, less prone to manfighting than other breeds, and they tend to live a long time. My last one, Sunny, had a respiratory disease from the day I got him at the age of 6 months and died of it finally 8 years later. I am hoping Little Dude makes it past 10 years.

My dad has a lot of strains of game chickens. He fought them when he was younger (and so did I, we're talking decades ago), but now that he's in his age he enjoys raising them and selling them to people. They're very pretty.

I currently have Dude, his three sisters, his mother, a roundhead hen named Legolas (or Leggy-lass, or optionally 'Butthole Woman' because she was very mean to the other chickens but now that the asils are older she is okay with them), and a buff orpington named Buffy, whom Dude has decided is too big and threatening and he has tried to kill her even though he was raised with her, so I have her in a separate pen and put one or two of the asil girls in with her from time to time as company.

Buffy is entirely innocent in this and has done nothing to deserve his aggression. She's going on four years, which for her breed is fairly old, so I'll just keep her until she passes rather than try to find a different situation for her. I have two pens, both with runs like you see in the background of the picture. So I keep Dude in one and her in the other.

Next month most likely the asil girls will go to my father's. That will be for the breeding season. Dude doesn't need to get it on with his sisters and mom. I will then just have Dude, Legolas, and Buffy, so maybe I'll pick up a hen or two. My dad has a couple of truly ancient asil hens I might take on if they can be safely integrated. He doesn't tend to keep them if he's not able to use them in breeding, but I have them entirely as pets so I don't care if they don't lay anymore.

I could go on and on about chickens but this is enough.