#and she collected her soul with all the affection and care for them

[mari-thesapphic-lady]

Humans — The one thing that most affects primordial entities.

(This is basically a dialogue that must have happened around Salem times, when Rio had met Agatha and started talking.)

-

Infinity: He cannot go on like this, and you know it. Not even your sister causes as much chaos as that idiot son of yours!

Eternity: He knows what he did wrong, my sister.

Infinity: Oh really?! Just as he knew with the last time?!

Eternity: It was not that bad-

Infinity: Sister.

Death: Fine. I hate to disagree with you, brother, but, it was that bad.

Infinity: See my side once for all! Entropy needs to stop! Before long, that stupid will destroy everything he touches!

Death: I hate to say it, but, she is right. I adore that boy but-

Infinity: Ha! "Hate", "boy", "adore". See?! You developed these human emotions and and lost your sense!

Death: And here I was, defending her.

Eternity: Sister-

Infinity: He is too volatile! And that is your fault! You let him get attached to that woman, and with that, he developed this, this, human performance!

Eternity: That woman was his mother, and he is my son-

Infinity: She was not his mother, he does not have a mother! He was not carried in a womb nor grew up as a human!

Death: Sister, I think you are being too harsh-

Infinity: What? Is that witch making you soft too?

Death: Keep Agatha's name out of this.

Infinity: I truly do not understand what you two, in your right mind, saw in these mortals!

Death: Some things you have to see for yourself to understand, hermana.

Infinity: I refuse to lower myself like that, hermanita.

Death: Heh, maybe one day you understand.

Infinity: Ugh. Listen to me, brother. It is enough that you and our sister are stupidly affected by humans. We don't need one more. Stop treating your son like he is a, a human, a child, cause he is not. Stop making him weak.

[utterlyotterlyx]

Can I request something where Azriel has to pick up Nyx from school one day and thinks his teacher is cute & is very flirty with her?

Yes! Love this idea so much!

When I Kissed The Teacher

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - Feyre loves Nyx's teacher but loves playing matchmaker even more. After sending Azriel to collect Nyx from school one day after feigning a studio related emergency, she's very happy to learn that Azriel's affections are completely in the palm of your hand.

Warnings - none really, just cuteness all round

Feyre had always been worried about sending Nyx off to school, even though she believed Rhys when he told her that the schools of Velaris were the best in Prythian, she couldn't help but feel anxious that he wouldn't thrive.

Then she met you, and all of her worries faded away.

You were everything Feyre wanted in a teacher for her child, it had taken a lot of weight throwing to get him into your class, it was full to the brim of children from higher born families, only wanting the best for their offspring. Feyre wasn't even surprised.

It was clear how much you cared about your children, in nurturing them into intelligently creative creatures. Other teachers focused solely on the academics, but you had a passion for the arts, you said creativity helped children to find their passions and grow into more compassionate and joyful souls.

Nyx had run into her arms when she had come to collect him that first day, babbling on about what a wonderful time he had with you. Miss Y/L/N. Feyre had never seen such wonderment in his eyes when he told her in that broken infant language how great you were. Everyone's worries about Nyx becoming a shell had vanished.

The little thing had returned home with paintings, reciting poetry from your favourite passages; he had the desire to read, making different voices for the different characters like he had learned from you. Nyx was well and truly flourishing.

Feyre had insisted that you walk home with them one afternoon, since you only lived five minutes from the River House and it was on your route home anyway. From that walk, Feyre had learned much about you, that you were from Spring but left after being disowned by your family for wanting more from life than being married away to be used as a breeding tool. After that you had travelled the continent, making many friends along the way and opening your mind to the world before settling in Hewn City, only to be brought to Velaris on Rhys' orders because he had heard of your talents and passion and wanted it taking root in the children of his city.

The more you spoke, rambling on about art and books and theatre, did Feyre come to the realisation that a certain someone would be absolutely besotted with you. When you had hugged Nyx goodbye, ruffling his hair and telling him you'd see him in the morning, did Feyre begin to hatch her plan.

Azriel wasn't one for sunshine and rainbows, but even he had to admit that Nyx's and Feyre's gushings about you had him intrigued, even Rhys had commented on how sweet you were, seemingly very fond of how Nyx was excelling under your wing.

"Az, would you mind grabbing Nyx today? I have to head to the studio, delivery emergency," Feyre floated past him toward the door, a thin cloak fitted around her shoulders to protect her from the afternoon summer breeze that drifted along the Sidra.

"Uh, yeah. Sure," he waved Feyre from the house as she dashed down the path shouting over her shoulder what time to be at the school for.

The sun was beginning to dip in the sky but warmth still flew through Velaris, Azriel walked along the winding paths and up the hill to the school, the skittering sound of children's laughter filling his ears as he approached. Parents parted as he walked down the cobbled stone path, not wanting to graze against his wings with slight unease in their eyes. Azriel was used to it by now, the looks of disapproval, the slight fear in the people he passed.

The bell rang and birds shot to perch on the branches of the trees that surrounded the plush gardens teeming with bright flowers and wildlife. Children began to file out from the open door, grabbing their bags and running to their parents with wide smiles, excited to tell them what you had taught them that day.

Azriel spied the inside wall littered will paintings and cards, all addressed to you, as well as a wooden table filled with the gifts the children had no doubt made their parents purchase for you.

Then he saw you, and the Shadowsinger audibly gasped. There you were, dressed in a loose white blouse with stringed corset, an earthy brown skirt that fell to the floor covered in colourful handprints that reached your thighs, your hair was unbound and baby hairs whispered along the sides of your face.

You were sunshine. You were radiant.

Nyx's hand was curled in your own as you led him out of the classroom and Azriel could have sworn he'd never seen a brighter look on anyone's face as the little man searched the crowd, "Uncle, Az!"

Your gaze had also fallen on him and you drank in his smile as Nyx left your grip and hurtled to the Shadowsinger, his grin was large, showing off all of his teeth as he bent down and wrapped Nyx in his toned arms, laughing loudly and asking about his day before standing up.

"I don't think we've ever formally met," you held your free hand out, your other carrying Nyx's bag, "I'm Y/N, well, Miss Y/L/N."

You were as soft as summer rain, adoration in your orbs, and you radiated purity and grace. Azriel glanced at your outstretched hand, sliding his own into it and feeling a force of gravity will him closer to you, "So you're the one that has Nyx ready for school at the crack of dawn," he felt relief when you didn't recoil at his hand in yours, the hands that usually made people grimace, "Azriel," you giggled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your pointed ear.

High Fae.

"Guilty as charged," your voice was like butter, smooth and rich, the perfect balance of femineity.

"Can't say I blame him," he smirked at the heat that rose to his cheeks, at the sheepish smile that tugged at your lips.

"That's very nice of you to say," one of your students walked past you, waving goodbye, and Azriel watched you bend down and fix her jacket to her body, telling her to have a lovely weekend in the sun, "Nyx has had a lovely day today. He just keeps on flourishing, it's remarkable," you had told him once you had risen again.

"I'm sure anyone could flourish with you around. Must be the Y/N effect," he cocked his head to the side at your giggle, just happy to be able to examine the woman who had Nyx all excited every morning. Feyre and Rhys were right, you were remarkable. Like a rainbow rippling in a storm.

"Must be it," the birds jumped from branch to branch around you, like they wanted to keep an eye on you for as long as possible, flitting to the bird houses you had erected by the pond of ducks and in the trees.

"Would you like to walk home with us? Feyre mentioned that you didn't live too far from the house?"

Your mouth fell into the perfect o shape, "Oh, I wouldn't want to impose-"

"You're not," Azriel smiled, looking down at Nyx, shaking his little hand and asking, "Is she, Nyx? Would you like Miss Y/L/N to walk home with us?"

"Yes!" Nyx shouted and you laughed, a laugh that made the edges of your eyes crinkle, you disappeared into the building, returning a few moments later with you satchel, locking the door and taking Nyx's free hand in your own after handing his bag to Azriel.

Azriel was positive that he'd never seen Nyx shine so brightly.

The walk home was full of light chatter, you made Azriel laugh more times than you could count, and Nyx was pointing out random things along the way, looking up at you for approval and tapping his feet on the ground when you nodded and smiled.

From the house, Feyre watched through the curtains as Nyx ran up the path, and kept watching as Azriel lingered behind, she wished she could hear what he was saying to you. But as you smiled, and blushed, and then nodded at the Shadowsinger who was kicking his feet like a schoolboy, she knew it was going well.

Strong arms wrapped around her midsection and her back hit a hard chest, his deep chuckle vibrated through him and his warm breath fanned against her ear, "Playing matchmaker again, darling?"

Feyre hummed with a gentle smile, accepting the peppering kisses over her shoulder as she watched you walk away, looking back at Azriel and waving before turning the corner, "I think this is my best one yet," she told Rhys, noticing the pursed smile on Azriel's lips and the faint pink tinge to his complexion as he followed Nyx up the path.

"I'm inclined to agree."

SO CUTE!

Thank you for the request! x

[bella-goths-wife]

What would have happened if Vs pet made a deal with a different overlord

So basically we know what would happen if Vs pet made a deal with alastor and obviously vox, but what would happen if they sold their soul to Velvette, Valentino, Rosie or Carmilla instead

Warnings: obsessive behaviour, SA mentions, abuse mentions, forced affection, forced cannibalism, reader is uncomfortable, violence mentions

Velvette:

Now we know that even though you’d still belong to all the Vs collectively, if you made the deal with Velvette instead of Vox there would be a large power dynamic shift in terms of your care

Let’s say that Velvette found you first and was the one to make a deal with you, you wouldn’t be working for vox as his assistant in this scenario and would instead be a model or assistant to velvette

In the usual au where vox owns your soul, he is the one who creates your rules and enforces them

He’s the one who decides whether the other two can see you

But if velvette owned your soul instead then that entire dynamic is turned upside down, she’s the one who makes your rules and she’s the one who decides whether or not she’ll let vox spend time with you

This would absolutely infuriate him, and velvette can’t help but smile at that

Your rules would be much less restrictive if velvette was the one who owned your soul

Unlike vox who sees you as a surrogate daughter figure most of the time, velvette only sees you as a delightful little pet and occasional friend

And she understands that sometimes pets need a walk or a new toy to keep them occupied until she’s ready to play with them again

So you’d be able to leave the tower by yourself more often and you’d be able to hookup with people, but there is still a strict ban on forming intimate connections or starting relationships

Velvette requires your attention almost all of the time, and you can’t give her that if your chasing after some romantic partner

She should be enough of a connection for you!

You don’t need anyone else

You’d still be shared with the other Vs unfortunately as they share everything, so you’ll still have to deal with Valentino and voxs antics

But at least velvette will draw the line if she thinks they take up to much of your time

Your her pet after all, you sold your soul to her

A downside to velvette being your souls holder is that you’d be the weakest with velvette when it comes to your abilities and fighting skills

She doesn’t want you to improve so you don’t, you only use your power for frivolous purposes and for velvettes entertainment rather than actually using like a weapon like you would with vox or alastor

She doesn’t push you to get better, so you don’t get better

You’d have twice the attitude with half the power because of how velvette taught you and how she spoils you with materialistic things

Rosie:

Rosie would absolutely adore you

She has a soft spot for strays, and she’d heard quite a bit about you from alastor before he disappeared

And she once she met you she thought one thought, what a good friend she’d be if she took your soul in exchange for care and shelter before offering the contract to alastor when he gets back from his extremely long break

So she’d give you a job in cannibal town and she’d give you an entire makeover so you’d fit in more

She’d actually spend time to get to know you and what your life was like before you died

She can’t help but miss alastor when your around, you just remind her so much of him

She’d use your ability to create background music for her gossip sessions and for her party’s, but she’d also encourage you to use it as a weapon and practice with it in your own time

So you’d be more powerful than you would be with velvette but less powerful then you’d be with Vox or alastor

A downside to being in her care is that she wouldn’t be as protective as the others

She’s a busy woman who can’t be with you at all times, so there is a slight chance you may end up hurt while being in her care

She’d do her best to prepare you in case that happens, and you like that she offers you enough freedom to come and go freely enough

Another downside to being in Rosie’s care is that you’d have to adapt to her appetite unfortunately, it’s not like you can find a non cannibal place to eat in a cannibal town

So you’d be practically forced into cannibalism

But Rosie absolutely adores you, so she’ll look the other way sometimes if you want to eat something less gorey

She calls it a nice treat :)

Rosie would consider you a companion more than anything, maybe a goddaughter but she certainly doesn’t see you as a pet or a toy

So you’d be pretty happy with Rosie

But she gets so attached to you that when alastor does return, she refuses to give him your soul no matter what he offers

But it’s okay, because she says he can visit you any time in your home in cannibal town

He hates it but oh well, your her little darling fawn now

Valentino:

Oh god

He’d be the absolute worst choice on the list

If you sold him your soul, your guaranteed a situation similar to angel dusts

Maybe less abusive, but wayyyy more obsessive

You’d be a simple actress in a few of his videos until he becomes obsessed with you, and then you become his personal assistant

And when I say personal, I mean extremely personal

As in the ‘sleeps in his bed every night because he’s afraid you’ll run away’ personal

He wouldn’t see you in a romantic light, more of just a ‘your my possession’ light

You’d be absolutely miserable and constantly in his presence while also dealing with the other Vs

He’d force you to do videos for him and instead of your rules he’d use a ‘reward’ system

Rewards like ‘hold me for a few minutes and I’ll let you be on your own for an hour’

He’d be unbearably clingy and can sometimes get abusive with you, the same way he can be abusive with angel dust

You’d also be extremely weak because he won’t let you practice or explore your abilities at all

If he’s there to protect you at all times, then why would you need to be able to use your silly abilities?

He’d at least allow you to have your friendship with angel dust, but that’s only because he’s using you both to manipulate each other

He’d definitely get you hooked on something so you’ll be relying on him at all times

This would be the worst possible situation for you

Carmilla:

Carmilla would be interested in you because of your ability and how she could use it

She’d find you living on the streets and using your ability to get by and she’d wonder if she could incorporate your skills into making a new weapon designed for people with animal like ears which would be more sensitive

So she’d exchange your soul for her giving you shelter and a job in return

You would stay with her and her daughters and you’d spend most of the day with carmilla helping her design new weapons

It would be during this time that carmilla would become more obsessive with you and start to view you as a daughter

You were so young and so vulnerable, it reminded her of her two young girls and how she’d hate it if it was them

So she’d start acting more motherly with you, but she’d do it slowly so you could get accustomed to it

So she wouldn’t go straight to giving you rules and demanding you call her mom, instead she’d just make it more obvious that she views you as one of her family and that she’d appreciate it if you felt the same for her

But once you do accept her in some form, those rules are coming fast

And you know carmilla will not tolerate back talk or breaking rules

You’d have typical teenage girl rules, stuff like a curfew and drinking rules

But she’s still take the time to respect your boundaries and acknowledge that your an adult in your own way so she can’t act too overbearing

Which is more than you can say for the Vs

You’d also be quite powerful in this scenario because she’d give you training sessions to help with your personal abilities and your fighting skills

So I’d say she’s one of the better options

[just-some-user-hunny]

I hope Isekai!reader is firmly team green I’m sick and tired of characters born to Alicent being team black 💀 also I need to see her getting along with her platonic yandere FULL-blooded siblings instead of Rhaenyra (I beg you I don’t want to see her around here 😔🙏)

I think it'd be fun to write for team Green, I adore Helaena and Aemond's character, they're so interesting :) I really want to do some stuff on Alicent too, there's so much to get and it'd be fun to navigate what kind of relationship the reader would have with her in a yandere situation. She's really always done what she's been told to do, always following orders, even at her own expense. She's given and given, and although I think she is a questionable mother, I do feel so sad for her because she could have had such a wonderful life if it weren't for the people around her :( for once she has something- someone of her own.

I always see the comparisons of her children representing parts of herself, and for a yandere Alicent I feel that reader would represent the part of herself that dreamed for more outside the confinements of her life. You'd be her joy for life, and she's obsessively possessive over you. Perhaps since you'd be isekaid, you'd have a deeper understanding of her character as a whole. It's like you know her better than herself, and for once she feels seen. Not the heir creator, not the powerless queen, not the screeching mad woman. Just her. Just Alicent. You'd be her precious one, the only person who can see deep into her very soul and not recoil in disgust- only understanding. She needs that. She needs you.

Having her three children as your siblings as well would be another trial of its own. Still, going on the isikai!reader perspective, you've seen them grow up through your screen. Seen the challenges they've endured, so they'd also feel that attachment to you through your empathy and understanding.

Aegon would love you because you listen to him. He's seldom met with your eye rolls or enraged scoldings, and he deeply appreciates that. With you, he can smile. Genuinely smile. The one that makes his eyes crinkle like crescent moons and his smile lines to wrinkle like the ripplings in a still pond. He practically glows in your presence, like the sun.

Heleana, the sweet girl, often feels that you are the only one who can see her. You listen to her with full attention to her dreamy mutters and ramblings, never once raising a brow or finding her odd. You indulge in her fascination with bugs, and may even join her in collecting them out in the garden together. You two would be especially close, as she can't say she has many close friends like you, the person she can happily call her sibling. She is different, and you embrace that. Embrace her, and that's all she could ask from whilst in a family where she is often ignored.

And Aemond? Oh he is an interesting specimen. He's riddled with loneliness and lack of care, the added fire of his rage and cunning wit creating a frightening combination. He'd be extremely protective over you, often shielding you from harm and consoling you if anything upsets you. He's a little different, because although he takes as much affection and care as he can get from you like his siblings and mother, he also enjoys giving it back tenfold. Taking you out riding under his supervision, joining you in the gardens to read, having you watch him train. Your other family members would most likely keep you locked up tight in the castle to keep you as safe as possible, but he wants to give you at least some taste of freedom. As long as you are kept in his line of sight, of course :)

I may write more on isekai!reader since it's a fun concept, and delve into some more writing on team green. I adore Rhaenyra and team black, but both have plenty to explore and pick apart :)

[burningcheese-merchant]

yandere cheese drabbles? 🤲

Merry Crimmus to you all, my gift is more Accidental Yandere Golden Cheese things today

Can't think of a story title atm, buuutttttt here is a story nevertheless 😘

Tucked under a cut because this AU is still fucked lol

"I hate you."

How long has it been since she wrote that? How long ago did she take her seat beside her desk, pull out this paper, and bring her pen to it, only for nothing but those three words to bleed out of the ink?

Sucking in a sharp breath and steeling herself, Golden Cheese at last forced her hand to move again.

"I hate you. I loathe you. You are a sick, miserable, disgusting monster. It is only by the grace of the gods that you still live, and this world shall be a brighter, happier place when you no longer do."

There. That was one thought out of the way. Given life in the waking world. Now she just needed to keep going.

"Why are you doing this? Why do you torment me this way? What have I done to deserve it?"

She paused, briefly considering adding "If you utter even a single word about the Soul Jam, I'll rip yours out of your chest and grind it into a fine powder", but decided against it and continued.

"How can you inflict such untold suffering onto others? Onto complete strangers? How many lives have you ended? How many families have you torn apart? How many hopes and dreams have you cleaved in two with that axe? And for what? For me? When I never asked or wanted you to? What in cheese's name is wrong with you?"

She stopped again, peeking over her shoulder at the shelf by her bed - the one hiding the locked metal door, leading to... her collection. A shiver crept up her spine when she realized that the shelf was slightly ajar; she hadn't taken good enough care to close it all the way after leaving earlier that day...

"And on top of it all, you burden me with these... with these so-called gifts," she wrote when she turned back to face her little work-in-progress. "These tokens of... what? Your affection? You call this affection? You think handing a woman the blood and viscera of your hapless victims is how you win her heart? What parasite burrowed into your brain and took control of your senses to make you think this way?

"You sicken me, Burning Spice. Well and truly. You are selfish, wicked and unfathomably cruel. You are a blight on all mankind. You are hardly a step above a rabid animal. I should have put you down and spared us all of this chaos ages ago."

She stopped and set the pen down. Her eyes bore into the last sentence she wrote, unblinking. Dragging along each word, back and forth, over and over again for what may as well have been an eternity.

She should have killed him already. He should be long dead. She should have saved the world as well as herself by now.

But...

... Shaking her head, she moved the letter aside and grabbed another piece of paper. That train of thought is done. Time for another one.

"You curse me, Burning Spice. Not only with your presence, not only with your words, not only with your heinous actions... You curse me with the aftermath of it all, as well. I alone am burdened with the end results of all of your lovesick rampages. I have a closet full of severed heads because of you! Innocent men and women who have been denied their lives and their dignity to satisfy your sick infatuation with me! I struggle each and every day to find their names and identities so I may return them to their loved ones, in an act of penance on both of our parts, because I am as much of a sinner as you for even having them!!!"

She always had blood to wipe off of her hands every time she went into that room. That precious ichor, now cold and sticky, staining her delicate, flawless skin as she carefully tended to the new additions and tidied up the old ones. Every single time.

Not a single head ever left that room. She did all the work of uncovering who these poor, unfortunate souls were, and then... left it at that. Left those souls trapped in limbo. In that cold closet, behind that cold metal door. Never to see the light of day again.

Every visit inside that little den of sin only made the excuses she comforted herself with grow weaker and weaker.

"I don't understand you. I have tried, and tried, and tried with all of my might, to no avail whatsoever. Why? Why are you doing this? Why are you like this? What do you stand to gain? Is this really how you wanted to live your miserable life?"

Wait.

... Who was she writing this to?

She shook her head again - harder this time - and set the letter aside, on top of the first. No more. Next thought.

"I hardly sleep anymore. I'm haunted by the things you do. The things I do. The things I DON'T do. Why have you done this to me? Why won't you stop?"

... No. No more. Into the pile. Next thought.

"You-" Her hand was starting to tremble, smudging the ink. Another deep breath and an attempt to still herself kept her moving along. "You don't hurt children. You listen to me only this one time, for this one instance. How kind of you. How sweet. How thoughtful. Why you do it, I don't know; all life seems the same to you. Just a sea of useless little flesh automatons for you to toy with and crush as you see fit. Why do you obey the line I draw? Why does it matter? Is this the one shred of conscience that yet remains within the black hole your soul resides in?"

No more. She can't think of children. It didn't matter that Burning Spice listened to her and didn't harm them; the mere possibility was too much. Too horrible. Next thought.

"You drive me mad. You never leave my mind. Front, back, the spaces between. You consume my thoughts. Your image has been engraved into the insides of my eyelids. I even DREAM of you now, so oppressive is the hold you have over me. I can't bear it. The guilt. The shame. You curse me."

Next.

"It's a waste. You're a waste. Your entire life is a waste. You could've been someone worthwhile. Someone who made this world more bearable. You have the power, you have the means. Yet you always choose yourself. You were a hero once upon a time, there's no reason you cannot be one again. What a waste."

Next.

"Or were you not? You were never truly a hero, were you? You did it for the praise. For the gold and jewels. For the scores of people chanting your name, building statues in your honor. Selfishness. Arrogance. You're a thief. A coward. A fool."

Who- no, who is this? Who is this for, again?

"I hate you. I HATE YOU. I WANT TO KILL YOU. I WISH TO SEE THE LIGHT IN YOUR DEVIL'S EYES DIM AS I END YOUR WORTHLESS LIFE. YOU MEAN NOTHING TO ME. YOUR FEELINGS MEAN NOTHING. YOU ARE SICK! DERANGED! THE ONLY PERSON YOU EVER LOVED WAS YOURSELF, AND EVERY COURSE OF ACTION YOU TAKE ONLY SERVES TO PROVE IT MORE AND MORE!"

Her hands were trembling violently now. Ink splotches stained the pages. Deep, dark dots. Jagged streaks. Small, delicate fingerprints hovering above certain words.

"I want you."

Same as the very first letter, Golden Cheese stopped and stared down at the page with wide, unblinking eyes.

"I want you You're handsome. I think you're handsome. Devastatingly so."

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.

"I want you You're handsome. I think you're handsome. Devastatingly so. Your voice shoots through my ears and drills into my skull each time you speak. I never want you to stop talking. Why do you ever stop talking?"

His voice. That deep baritone that went from silky smooth to hot and rough effortlessly. Did he do it just to get to her? To rile her up? Did he know what his voice did to her?

It was working.

"Did your eyes always look the way they do? Is the fire within them ever-burning? Were they taken from a demon and given to you the day you were born? Why do I still feel them raking over me, consuming me, even long after we've parted ways? Why do you always seek to set me ablaze?"

"It's a waste. Really. A waste. You're a good-looking man. You could've lived a normal life. You could've found a nice girl and-"

And? And? And what?

"You could've used that face and voice and those eyes of yours to charm someone and-"

And? Why can't she finish the thought? Why did her heart pound against her ribcage so hard it ached every time she tried?

"You you would you could have you could've been a normal reasonable good man and had a wife and children-"

She took the page and crumpled it, tossing it at the wall.

"I want you. I want your voice in my ears. I want your eyes devouring me. I want to hold your face in my hands. I want you to give me another one of those hellish grins of yours. I want to feel you sink your teeth into me. I want to taste your lips. I want to feel your tongue caress mine. I want to feel your hot breath in my mouth, on my skin. I want your hands on me. All over me. I want you to touch me. You've told me about all the things you want to do to me- do it. Do them. I'm sick of waiting and so are you. Why do you tease us both like this? Do it. Touch me. Taste me. Break my bones. Break my bed. Praise me, call me a goddess, worship me. Worship me like you have been all this time. Tell me you love me. Tell me you adore me. That you'll die without me. That you'll slaughter us all for my sake. Do it. DO IT. Praise me, touch me, kiss me, fuck me, just fuck me, Burning Spice, PLEASE-"

No. No, no, no. Not this. She can't say any of this. She can't. SHE CAN'T.

"YOU'RE MINE. YOU BELONG TO ME NOW. IS THIS NOT THE LEAST YOU OWE ME FOR WHAT YOU PUT ME THROUGH? YOU'RE MINE! MINE! YOUR TROPHIES ARE MINE! YOUR BODY IS MINE! YOUR HEART IS MINE! ALL MINE! DON'T YOU DARE EVEN CONSIDER DOING ANY OF THIS FOR ANYONE ELSE!"

"YOU'RE MINE"

"YOU'RE ALL MINE"

"I HATE YOU"

She slammed her fists down onto the desk with such force that cracks formed in their wake. Out of the chair, away from the desk, out of her bedroom she went. Rushing down the hall. All but throwing herself out the nearest door. Taking off into the sky with a quickness that made her wings ache.

So absorbed in her failed therapy session was she, that she never noticed that the eyes of the marble snake adorning the decorative tree Burning Spice had given her had been glowing the entire time. Nor did she know that he himself, that object of her ire and her sick affection, was lounging on his throne, watching her fall apart with that devil's grin she loved so much.

----------------

Hope this is good. I'm sorry to keep you all waiting. New installment in the Accidental Yandere AU, there shall be more soon. Happy Crimmus 🎄

[thehigherseekerastro]

→ Venus Through the Houses 🪷 (the fourth house)

The manifestations of having the planet Venus through the houses in the natal chart, in a wider perspective, without being predictable about it.

DISCLAIMER 1: I am NOT a professional astrologer, traditional or modern. I study astrology for a few years, and this is a collection of what I've learned, and what I've seen manifested in real life.

DISCLAIMER 2: Use caution and discernment when reading, and understand that this post is about one isolated planet in one isolated house in a chart. There are 12 houses, 6 major planets, 3 outer planets, and at least 5 possible major aspects between planets in your chart. Those detail can and WILL affect how the energy shows up in your life personally, so it might not apply to you. Everybody is unique.

💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

Venus in the 4th house 🏡🏩

What a lovely, deep and rich placement, this one. I try not to overhype nor demonize any placement, because each one has its own moments, good and bad. But this one is very cute. I'll be honest with you and say that it does NOT guarantee a fairytale, but if it's well-aspected, if other parts of the chart agree with, it could be inducing to very beautiful things.

Imagine the planet of love making her literal home in your house of feelings, the deepest most private part of your chart. Here, feelings gush out like a waterfall. Venus in the 4H lives on cloud 9. It lives in a state of buzzing romance 24/7. Venus here also breaks her natural character of wanting to be pampered and waited on, and she wants to do the nurturing herself. Of course, she wants to feel cared for back too. Very generous Venus.

The good 😊:

Very nurturing people. Warm and welcoming.

Great listeners and very empathetic.

Beautiful way with words. Not in a poetic sense, but in an emotionally sensitive way. They know what to say, when to say it and how to say to make someone feel loved and protected.

Protective of loved ones, but not in an aggressive way.

Tend to be tender, sweet and gentle.

Very angelic demeanor. Might have cherub face too.

Knows how to make any place a home.

Is somewhat of a leader (since it is a cardinal house), but in a Cancer-like way. It leads not because it commands people, but because people just trust them to lead and feel safe with them, fully believing they will do the best to provide love and care and protection.

Put their heart and soul into whatever they do.

Knows how to build a genuine connection.

Great mothers. (And fathers).

Can be good cooks or bakers (but I myself consider baking part of cooking, so I don't separate them).

Romantics at heart. About all things.

Might like children a lot and want a big family of their own.

Could possibly get along with their family very well.

Can instantly make others feel safe and trust them.

Knows how to translate their feelings.

Good emotional intelligence.

The bad 😠:

Might be prone to melodrama, and could be overdramatic.

Could be too cautious with their feelings, to a point they become guarded.

Might be stingy and hold on to things too tightly.

Could "eat their feelings" when stressed, which could lead to unwanted weight gain, an eating disorder, shame around food, or not learning healthy ways to self-regulate.

Family could be ALL up in their business all the time. Serious boundaries issues.

Could be nitpicky, just as much as Virgos. Could be a snob about cleanliness.

Slight tendency to take their feelings out on other people.

This one is gonna be hard to say, and hard to read, so, please READ WITH CAUTION – it's not about everyone. Just SOME people: Could be the type who threatens to kill themselves if a lover tries to end the relationship. Depending on how problematic the person is, might actually go ahead and actually do harm themselves, not bc they actually want to end themselves, but to guilt their ex into not leaving.

Inability to let go of toxic relationships because they feel bad for the person, or don't wanna lose what's familiar, and might wear rose-colored glasses around people from their childhood. 4H Venus is like a combination of Scorpio and Pisces Venus.

Prone to immaturity fits, wanting to be babied by others.

Could struggle with a nasty little victim complex.

Could have a "me, me, me!" attitude, but in a different way than 1H. It's more "But, what about ME and MY FEELINGS?!" kind of way.

Could struggle to spend their hard-earned money on themselves because they keep giving it away to their family/friends/buying things for the house.

Might overlook themselves physically and emotionally because they keep waiting that others are gonna take care of them instead.

Forms bonds too quickly, get too eager, might scare people away.

In love 💕:

Wants to formalize quickly.

Prefers committed relationships.

Wants to have a family.

Will devote themselves to their partner.

Could get hurt easily in love.

Emotional manipulation.

Or could just be the utmost sweetheart.

Acts of service and quality time as love language.

A little jealous from time to time.

Will try to harmonize and find a common ground when in disputes or disagreements.

Could do some shady shit behind their partner's back to fulfill personal dreams (e.g.: stopping taking contraceptives without telling them to get pregnant without the partner's consent, because they want kids.)

Could struggle with boundaries themselves and overstep a lot. Might also force themselves into private parts of their lover's life that the person hadn't felt comfortable giving access to yet.

Could confuse drama and emotional turmoil with passion and might even romanticize it and think that if they just conquer it, love will be like a movie.

Could have a food compulsion.

Could struggle with laziness, even more so than 2H Venus.

The type to cook, clean, sew, nurse and therapize their partner.

Wants to feel safe and loved above all else.

Will share all the parts to them with their partner.

Will put the children before the marriage/union after having them together.

Will step into some form of a traditional role one way or another, regardless if they are male, female or otherwise.

Lasting love. Love that leaves a mark on their psyche.

Big hearts, even bigger hearts in love.

Makes a lot of plans and dreams they wanna achieve with their loved one.

Drama queen when feeling slighted.

Not a stranger to the occasional "psycho girlfriend" behavior, regardless if they are a male. That's usually a sign they are emotionally exhausted at that point, though.

Easy to love, even easier to give love.

Might preserve the relationship a lot, shielding it from the world.

"You and me against the world" type of relationships.

Usually successful in marriage.

MASTER LIST

[starberry-cupcake]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN: CHAPTER 33 PEOPLE, WE'VE MADE IT!!!

previously, on harrowcita del 9:

this was the last recap update

this was my recap of where I left off

this is the post about camilla's reappearance which I can't reproduce in its entirety in this post but I suggest you look at

CHAPTER 33:

harrowcita is hanging out in a nice planet that sounds very pleasant

we've been so long in the emperor's bolthole and canaan house that this feels like heaven, actually

let's build a cottage and live here forever maybe

even better, as previously established, camilla is here

there's nature, there's little bugs, there's camilla, what else do we need???

maybe gideon would be nice

camilla shows up like "hey, loser, I need you to do me a solid" and pulls out palmolive's reconstructed skull

harrow is like ???????????????????????????

and here's where things get complicated for that 3D model I was building

harrow remembers camilla and palmolive dying the way they died in the gideon-less au

like, shot in the face repeatedly

her memory of them is the memory of the gideon-less au: not knowing them much, not remembering their faces much, seeing them shot to death by a slasher villain

and I'm like...huh????????????????????

because, as previously established (5 months ago), in the gideon-less au, dulcinea isn't not!dulcinea

she's real!dulcinea and protozoa is alive

he's reciting poetry and ortus doesn't like him coming for his gig

however, harrow does remember not!dulcinea being a threat and yandere twin has repeatedly talked about how she took off her arm and all that

so...which is it????

camilla is like "look, I don't care about your lack of memory or the fact that you're currently bleeding out of every perceivable orifice in your head, I got a job for you"

harrow is, as usual, skeptical of everything, especially of camilla being real, because 1) they're like in the orbit of the emperor's supposedly top secret bolthole, 2) camilla was supposed to be dead and 3) she's too perfect to exist

well, that last one was mine, but still

and harrowcita is dealing with this thing in which she can't trust her mind because, for all intents and purposes, she has an emotional support apparition trailing her

so harrow starts attacking camilla to try to figure out if she's real and camilla is slaying all her constructs because she's that bitch

so harrow accepts to listen and then camilla gives her palmolive's skull that's all glued back together with a lot of care, love and patience

camilla says they planned stuff in case he died (Sixth house winning points with me every single day, they came PREPARED, not like you SECOND HOUSE, YOU JUDGMENTAL ASSHATS)

in case palmolive kicked the bucket, he'd tether his soul or energy or whatever incorporeal thing that makes him himself to his remains

his remains blew to bits though

sometimes it doesn't matter how much you plan, things just blow up and explode in a million pieces

like my plans of reading this book in less time

so camilla found some palmolive scraps and put them together but if whatever bit of him he's tethered to isn't there, she has to go back and look for more bits

basically, camilla needs harrow to tell her if palmolive's force ghost is in the collected bits

harrow is both bleeding from every orifice and also very confused with everything that is happening

those are the two things she's been consistently experiencing all book long

but she's harrowcita nonagesimus and she's no quitter so in she goes to the river to see if indeed palmolive sextus has managed to cheat death, so to speak

she's expecting to have to do this

but she finds herself here

there's a nice little room with a cushion-y bed, some books, a window, a chair, etc

and there's also my reluctant bestie palmolive (I'm growing attached to him against my initial intentions)

palmolive hugs harrow and harrow is even more confused than before because affection????? care???? in this economy?????

so my reluctant bestie palmolive was able to create a sort of bubble in the shores of the metaphorical ghostly river

he created a space in the nothing, so to speak, a space in which he can remain without being pulled away from the same spot

he tethered himself in a cellular level in a spiderweb-like form to his pieces and was able to craft an unmoving reproduction of the place where he died, with what he could see at that time

that includes one romance book he's in the midst of writing fanfiction of

as one would

palmolive is also very upset at harrow taking approximately 8 months to get to him

harrow is like ?????????

palmolive goes "how did you get separated from cam?"

harrow is like ???????????????????????????

and when harrow starts with the lyctor spiel...

(is anyone impressed by that? ever? the emperor is a clown)

...palmolive says "tell me you did it correctly"

harrow tells him she slurped her cav

which we all know might not be entirely true because 1) harrow thinks ortus was his cav (brother in being blown to bits to palmolive) and 2) she's lyctor lite

but palmolive doesn't know this

he's very disappointed in god, and aren't we all

palm, my reluctant bestie, if you knew the guy you'd be even more disappointed

BUT THERE'S NO TIME FOR ANY OF THAT BECAUSE THERE'S SOMEONE AT THE WINDOW JUST IN TIME FOR HALLOWEEN

IT'S THE SLEEPER/WAKER/SLASHER

palmolive thinks harrow brought him there but he doesn't know who tf it is because he's the real palmolive and not the gideon-less au palmolive

the slasher villain is trying to get at them

if harrow leaves palm's apartment, the waker/sleeper/slasher will leave too, according to him

he kisses harrow's brow and drops a funny one-liner, as he does, because he's a nerd

harrow reluctantly leaves and shows up in a dark corridor

but it's not a corridor and it isn't dark

and most shocking of all

THERE'S A "ME"

THERE'S A NARRATOR

"you never could have guessed that he had seen me"

WHO'S ME?????? WHO IS NARRATING????

and that's it for chapter 33, I'm glad I stopped halfway 5 months ago because idk if I would have been able to do what I did if I had read until the end

happy halloween fam! I'll post my costume later but it isn't locked tomb related although maybe next year???

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

im gonna cry again beacuase dapper. was so obviously Affected by bad forgetting him and dying and everything but just. always focused on finding him and keeping him safe and playign with him instead of talking through hsi own feelings. and like yea dapper has pomme. he can talk to her. but she's upset by this, too. all of the other eggs can talk to their parents. empanada did. pomme talked to bad. even richas talked to bad. but dapper didn't. bad worked so hard to collect as many neighbours as he could to build dapper a support system, but. bad has always been helping other people. dapper was along with him. bad was always there for dapper so dapper didn't NEED to build up that same support with the other islanders that the eggs managed to build up with his dad and their other non-parent caretakers. dapper has islanders he's friends with, like etoiles, and he claimed baghera as his mom, but id be fucking shocked if he felt like he could rely on them for this. and why would he. it's his own mess. his own research. his dad. he's not the one who needs to be taken care of here. its the fucking. the responsibility of caretaking and the way that putting other people before yourself to the point of hurting yourself is something that BAD taught him. the self sufficiency. soldiering on through the pain. is there really a difference between a thousand totems and a thousand soul vulture scars. the apathy towards his own wellbeing. even when bad was doing well, he praised dapper for helping people.

its just. its fucking. the sunshine song. just like when the eggs went missing, the only way dapper is going to hear that fucking song is when he plays the recording. but this time bad won't be singing it back. he'll be right there, and he won't remember the lyrics.

[circeyoru]

Heyyyy I'm so happy you are back I've needed you so much your post always made my day I loveee collection of souls its amazing 👏 I had a question if you haven't already answered it who was the favorite before alastor joined and how did they react when they realized they weren't the favorite anymore

Again love your post and take care

This is for {Collection of Overlords}, check MASTERLIST for the work

Oh ho~ The former favourite soul before Alastor. Hehehe~~

Now this might be obvious from the stories and trivia posts if you followed. Let’s do it by the process of elimination. Obviously we’re not counting Husk and the Vees because they are after Alastor, naturally that counts Alastor himself too. So the remaining ones are Zestial, Carmilla, Rosie, and Zeezi, there are other Overlords but they aren’t important cause they will be gone later so naturally they aren’t your favourite too.

Zeezi is a definite no no by the interaction she has with you even in the trivia posts. While you do provide seemingly more guidance to her so she stays in the collection, the attention she receives from you is more of a give-and-take basis. Lacking the devotion and trust of the other three.

Zestial is a close one but still no. He is the oldest surviving Overlord and soul in your Elite Collection, but he lacks that engagement to hold your attention. Don’t get me wrong, Zestial’s place in your collection is rock solid cause he collects relevant and reliable information for you, not to mention keeping your souls in line, so he’s nowhere near the thought of being rejected from your collection.

Rosie would be a candidate. IF she even has a soul. While it’s not revealed in canon, in this story, Rosie is said to be from the Gluttony Ring (check part 8). Hellborns don’t have souls. So Rosie’s a unique case, being taken in by you and given an Overlord status in the Pride Ring. She isn’t shown favouritism nor does she asks for it because she knows that it was asking too much. Instead, she returns as much as she can in seritiude to you.

So~ Who’s left? Yup, Carmilla Carmine. She was the second soul to join your collection and the most successful Sinner soul too, being the best weapon dealer in all of Hell. Pretty obvious, right? You hold meetings at her place and you extend your protection to Carmilla’s daughters as well, you didn’t do that to Rosie’s people. Carmilla’s ambition and pride paired with familial bond was what drew your attention, there’s this funny contrast that exist within her that you can’t understand. What’s a mother’s love or affection? Why are her daughters important to her, is it like you with your Cages? But you just use them to further your power. Why is she so prideful yet loving? All these questions.

As for reaction after Carmilla finds out she’s no longer the favourite… Hm… Funny, cause while she is the favourite, it wasn’t obvious to her nor do you make it a show. It’s Alastor’s case that was obvious, so it wasn’t until Alastor came along that the topic of you having a favourite is even possible.

Carmilla thinks Zestial’s the favourite cause his place was unmoving, Zestial thinks Rosie’s the favourite cause she and her town was in your interest, and Rosie thinks (knows) Carmilla’s the favourite cause she was allowed to hold Overlord meetings even without you present. Zeezi doesn’t care for the favourite and aims for staying in the collection.

Basically, there’s this uncertainty of who’s the favourite and no one thinks it’s them. Naturally, that applies to Carmilla not being aware that she’s the favourite. But it does explain their future interactions. So I’ll add that instead.

Zeezi isn’t seen interacting with Alastor in the show, but I view it as more of a neutral relationship between the two. While Zeezi is surprised that you do favourites, she doesn’t aim to fight Alastor for it. She knows her loyalty to you is undesiring when compared to Zestial, Carmilla, and Rosie, so how can she be compared to Alastor’s when he’s your favourite? She makes note of Alastor’s attitude, behaviours, and actions so she can learn and adapt to herself, but it’s only to the level of maintaining her status as an Overlord in your eyes.

Zestial’s interest in Alastor stems from wanting to understand what it is that got your attention and change in the form of your favour. As said, before you were cryptic enough that no one is aware who’s the favourite, but after Alastor it was so obvious to the point of jealousy. Make no mistake, Zestial doesn’t want to fight for the title of favourite, he just wants to know how to better himself so he will remain in your best interest and favour. 

Rosie’s friendship with Alastor is pure friendship. Like her unwavering devotion to you, her friendship and kindness to Alastor has no strings attached after knowing that Alastor sworn loyalty to you in a similar way to hers but even farther. She does offer opportunities for Alastor, like deals as seen in Episode 7, because she can’t make deals so what better way to help you by helping Alastor? She knows you don’t like wasted chances and when Alastor’s the favourite and her friend, he’s the best demon to help and stand by.

Carmilla’s disinterest and subtle passive aggressiveness towards Alastor is cause of the favourites. When it was first made know that you can and do do favourites, she does question if she was one but the thought was quickly pushed back when she remembers she was arrogant in her beginning time with you. There is a certain degree of jealousy that Carmilla has towards Alastor holding your interest and favour, but she thinks she can’t compare with it. All she can do now is be as unaffected as she can while striving to do better in your eyes. She might not be able to match Alastor’s level, but maybe, just maybe, at least she can be a competitor or come close to challenge Alastor’s place.

[theblueboxscholar]

People who think the Classic Doctor era Doctors don't fuck, have eyes clouded.

Like. I'm sorry. ONE had 13 children. Then collected son and granddaughter figures like crazy. Fell in love and got accidently engaged and was VERY OBVIOUSLY upset about having to leave her (Cameca), keeping the token of her affection.

TWO quite LITERALLY met Jamie, Polly said "can we keep him", Jamie said "ive got no better options. It's you or the south Americas." And TWO spent the better part of a season earning Jamie's loyalty. Jamie literally repeatedly fights off time lord mind wipes so he's more often than not plucked from time to do missions with Two whose also often out of time for Time Lord nonsense. Jamie is basically all TWO needed.

THREE (whooooo boy you guys are blind) literally was so smitten with Liz, but she was too smart to tolerate his nonsense, and he was SO grumpy about it. And then there's Ms. Josephine Grant. THEY LITERALLY MIRROR HIS MEETING HER WITH HER MEETING HER FUTURE HUSBAND. THEY ARE MIRROR IMAGES. JO LOVED THE DOCTOR AND HE LOVED HER! HE LITERALLY WENT AND STOLE THAT DAMN CRYSTAL, FOR HER! But too late, so it was a wedding present and he literally drove sadly off into the sunset.

Enter Sarah Jane who he also very quickly began "My dear"ing (something he does if you're special. Note two and three say this to the Brigadier as well 👀). They have such a short time together, but the amount of times he gently touches her face. They WHOLE fast cut away from Three nearly kissing her at one point (i believe it was Sarah not Jo, but that cut edit makes me so livid. Jon was going for the LIPS), and the way Sarah looks at Three. SHE WHOLE BREAKS DOWN when he's dying. And all he can do is touch her face and say "a tear for me Sarah?" He's so gentle and kind. She was so enamored with him. Very early Clara Twelve of her tbh.

FOUR and Sarah Jane are literally soul mates (my own preferences aside, I cannot deny them). Four is so into her. The way they act together is so Nine Rose, the way they behave. But then he runs away because damn those Time Lords again.

Enter Leela. Honestly. She's the first Classic Who lady (Vicki, Victoria, Polly, and Zoe don't count, they're too young) who's not romantically interested in the Doctor. And while he definitely loves her, it's more akin to platonic best friend soulmatism; Leela joins Barbara as a "Best Friend" of The Doctor. Aka both become Donna Nobles before Donna Noble. "I shall miss you too savage." Is a line that tears my heart out every time. He is so sad to leave her, but at least he knows where she is. (And whole rescues her from the time war during the day of the doctor event. What a man.)

Romana I. Now this one is tough. They're very obviously flirty, but there's a sort of school ground resistance about the attraction. She makes Four feel old because she thinks it's funny and he has to up his game to impress her cause she's not a backwaters human with no knowledge. (I'll be honest. She's my least favorite of the two so while I enjoy her and she's in great serials, I retain basically nothing. Will hopefully change with the next watch through.)

Romana II. She whole changes her face and body and shows it off like she's showing him new clothes. But she's also teasing him. They whole both fall into "well we have a son now... that's..fuckin great i guess" when they meet Adric. They both are such begrudgingly parental figures but they do it and they care about him so much. Romana's departure is lame. I said what I said. But it's fine. She eventually goes to do dubious lebianisms with Leela and her girlfriend and husband it's fine. Shhh.

Tegan. (This one might get me crucified ngl) Tegan and Five. I know. I hear you. But Tegan is bisexual. And she definitely had a developing thing for Five. The way they act together is so "we could probably be epic together, or at least satisfactory... if you'd just stop being an asshole for TWO SECONDS--!" They're the screaming cat kinda couple. That never manged to couple. Because there were kids (Adric, Nyssa.) And so much bullshit happening constantly. But also don't forget Five and his fling(s) with Harry Houdini. Harry definitely thought Five was pretty.

Five and Turlough. Did you even watch Five and Turlough? Are your eyes THAT clouded? That's a Doctor and his twink. And Turlough is a different brand of twink than Jamie, and he's not much of an attack dog. But Five quite literally knowingly and willingly rehabilitate and gives him more than a 2nd chance. He tends to Turlough. But also, like Sarah Jane, Turlough was 100% a writer getting back at BBC. "Oh you thought Jo Grant wasn't weak and feminine enough? You want us to make someone the opposite of her who will be a weak damsel? FUCK YOU! CURSES YOUR HOUSE WITH SARAH JANE SMITH! AN EVEN BIGGER BAD ASS THAN JO! HAH!", "you're homophonic? Fuck you, writes a literal faggy ass twink with long legs to fawn around with The Doctor, fuck you!" And best of all, it is canon that Turlough would have stayed forever if he wasn't trying to make The Doctor proud and tend his responsibilities. (You're a good boy T.)

PERI BROWN did not breast boobily throughout the Doctor Who backdrops (nearly catching her (the actress') death btw) for y'all to say The Doctor wasn't into her. FIVE was so into her. Sure it's a rebound so he tries to play it off, but Turlough sees it. Sees the "God i miss Tegan" vibes Five gives off. Peri Brown forcefully and loudly insinuated herself into the Doctods hearts. And good thung too, cause she is the ONLY companion who can handle the SIXTH Doctors nonsense. Only an American could tolerate his ass and still actually truly wholly love him. I'm sorry. Six whole would have murdered a man and changed so much history that earth would have been unrecognizable ALL because he thought Peri was dead. Like. Six would burn up a sun to bring Peri back to life. His only concern is "is Peri alive?!?" And relieved enough to see her alive and content (it's dumb) when the time lords lied and said he'd lead her to her death.

Mel. Oh sweet Mel. She joins the Pre-Donna Noble's gang (Barbara, Leela). But unlike the rest she is PLATONIC SOULMATE BEST FRIEND TO ALLLLLL THE DOCTOR, REGARDLESS THE FACE~ (bless her.)

Seven MAKES the CHOICE to be celebate Meaning, The Doctor's before him, FUCKED. SEVEN IS NOT ASEXUAL OR AROMATIC (you keep your headcanons going tho never stop ever ever ever youre doing amazing sweeties) and shows on a few occasions the desire to be close, but knows he's not worth it. (He's kinda right, but i still would REDACTED his REDACTED till the cats come home.)

Eight. ... HAHAHAHAHAHAHhHaha....

HahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHANANAHANAHAHAHAHAHAHAH.

You think Eight doesn't fuck. Get the hell outta here man. Fuck haha. That's hilarious.

"The world doesn't end just because The Doctor dances." Did... did you miss that Dancing is a metaphor for sex? Oh... sweet innocent bean. Baby. Baby. Rose Tyler was talking about fucking. Jack Harkness was talking about fucking. The Doctor was embarrassed bevause he's rusty/he HIMSELF that version, had yet to fuck. And then they all three did. A lot. There was so much weird fucking and flirting between The Doctor Dances and Boom Town. It's not even subtle.

Ten. Rose is RIGHT there. You're an idiot. ♡ ilu tho.

Martha wishes, but she dodged a bullet.

Donna Noble is best friend shaped, they literally show no sexual chemistry. They are platonic best friend soulmates. They love each other, would die for each other, but fuck each other? No. Not even a little. Having to kiss even under duress might mean avtual death because neither of them could pull it off convincingly.

Eleven fucks way more than Nine OR Ten but it's so far and in-between he always feels kinda awkward about it. But also he's FAKING the hip with the youngins stuff. All of Eleven is an act. He admits it A LOT. And he showcases a few times he CAN turn on the sauve I know what I'm doing thing. Usually at the wrong times but still. He and River fuck. So much.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AND ESTEEMED MEMBERS OF THE NONCOMFORMING--CLAAARA OSWALD~

Clara and Eleven start off as awkwardly flirty, a sort of unintentional cat and mouse. I mean the whole "this isn't a ghost story, it's a love story" scene wasn't exactly subtle. Yes he's referencing Ten and Rose unintentionally most likely, but narratively it's telling us the audience that it's talking about 11 Clara. It's also the first on screen moment we see the light bulb go off for Clara. She KNOWS now that he likes her for sure for sure.

Oh Twelve Clara we're really in it now huh? Like Sarah Jane Smith before her, Clara Oswald wants to WRECK that old man. She has a whole tirade to madam Vastra about how she's always been into old dudes so The Doctor is TOTALLY still her type MORE so in fact now! (Look. She was unprepared for a traumatic regeneration event. She comes around, grow up. AS if Rose Tyler wasn't there sobbing like a baby about it.) And then she spends the rest of her run doing nastier shit than fucking with Twelve until it literally kills her. She fucks so much with The Doctor, matches his fucking freak in ways companions of the past (Jo Grant you are excluded from this) just haven't! She manages to make The Master (Missy) jealous! HA! YOU THOUGHT THE MASTER WAS JEALOUS BEFORE???? NOOOOoooOoooo hahahahahha. Not since Delgado!Master has The Master sort of had a situationship with the Companion. Clara matched Twelves freak so much it literally killed her, and then it didn't.

Bill is a lesbian and that's her grandad.

Again. River Song is right there, and Twelve spent 24 years fucking her. And probably crying after, because let's be real... we'd cry to if we got to fuck River Song.

Yasmine Kahn... you're kicking yourself for not fucking The Doctor. And she's definitely kicking herself to stop her from kicking you too for not fucking her! (From the show alone, there was definitely no fucking. At least not between Yas and Thirteen. Thirteen does fuck however.)

Fourteen. Personally, I think he fucks. I think companions will be calling him up, catching up, and they're definitely going to end up in bed together. Like, the ONLY reason he wouldn't fuck Tegan now is because she's married to Nyssa and that'd be weird cause she's a daughter figure. /he'd make that great grossed out face David does./ But you cannot tell me he doesn't invite Dan out to France and they end up getting down and dirty in a way that would have NEVER happened with Thirteen. It briefly makes Dan wonder if he's a lesbian now. Fourteen just says he doesn't think that's how it works.

But in all seriousness, Fourteen probably could, and probablt gets offers, but more often than not he probablt just wants to chill, share dinner, maybe watch telly nothing more.

Fifteen. /Will Smith gesturing meme/ LOOL AT HIM! YES OF COURSE HE FUCKS! (Begrudgingly I gesture to Rogue. If the night had been longer they definitely would have fucked. But we'll probably never see him again so I'm not holding my breath.)

Let the scales fall from your eyes! Go, rewatch, SEE.

(This message is NOT for repulsed asexuals. You just keep doing what you're doing~ 👍🏻)

[onehundredandeleventropicalfish]

In your opinion which of the Endless do you think has the hardest job and why?

short answer? death

slightly less short answer - either death, dream, or none of them, depending on the angle you're looking at it from

long answer... they're all perfectly suited to the task they were made for, so in the sense of physical ability, none of their jobs are difficult. which means difficulty can only be measured by emotional toll. and that's not really based on the job so much as it is on how much they care

the big thesis in sandman is that life = change. that's an equation that cuts both ways, and a theme that runs through almost every character. the endless, as the fundamental aspects of life, all have power over something that can change people, right to their core

and that's a huge responsibility, which they all have their own ways of coping with

we never learn that much about how it affects destiny or despair, but death had a huge character arc to go through (everything she says in the show is originally in a winters tale, as well as the fact that she stopped collecting souls, because it was getting to her too much - until she realised that was doing more damage), so now she copes by finding meaning and purpose in it, by befriending everyone she comes to take, by living in some ways a human life of her own

desire ignores it, and tells themselves that mortals don't matter to them, so why should they care who gets hurt? they turn it all into a big game and they don't let themselves think about it for even a second, because if they did it would destroy them (the narration tells us this at the end of dolls house)

destruction didn't cope with it, he left, and refuses to let there ever be another destruction of the endless

and del... just observes it. she accepts the difficulty and the responsibility, and sees it with a lot clearer eyes than her siblings. and sometimes that means she's the most fit to cope with it. other times it breaks her too, and that's when she gets her bad days

the reason i list dream as a possible option here, is because dream is not coping. he's trying to do everything his siblings do at once and none of it is working for him. he can't be desire, because he cares too much about mortals to ignore and laugh at them. he can't be death because he doesn't see himself as someone with a life, just someone with a job - that has to come before everything else. he can't be destruction because again, he values his purpose more than his happiness, leaving is inconceivable. and he can't be delirium because that would require him to see the world as it really is - and his nature runs fundamentally contrary to that

so that could be why dream. but this could also be why none of them - because that's not really the job that's hard, so much as it's not working for dream specifically. if he was somebody just slightly different, he'd be able to handle it a lot better

(the other reason i might consider dream is the vortexes - we don't see enough of the other endless to know if this is something they have to deal with (or something similar), it might be, so this might not be a dealbreaker? but it's definitely not easy for dream, overture goes into that plenty, he viscerally hates the idea of killing people, it goes against everything he is, and yet he has to, or the entire universe will die. and that's a tough responsibility to have)

so why death? because she's the only one who will never die. she doesn't, herself, change, not even if you force a reincarnation like with dream. her sigil will stay the same forever, the necropolis only holds six funeral cerements - death is unlike the others, its written in the rules. it's not the only way she's an exception either; it's mentioned at one point in brief lives that the endless all feel uncomfortable in each others' realms, they can sense that this place is made of an entirely different energy to the one they're used to. except death, who can traverse all the other realms as easily as her own, because even her siblings have to die eventually

more people under your charge, more people to care about. the more it hurts if you let it. her job covers every being in existence, and for the most part it involves being something they don't want you to be. she has had every negative emotion people are capable of directed at her, in a much more first-hand way than her siblings may get. and you have to be okay with it, you have to

because the only way to be free of it is to be the only person left in all existence

[lesbicosmos]

day 1 of @painlandweek !!

day 1 prompt: language of love / sickfic

summary: charles gets hit by a witch's spell that was originally intended for edwin. edwin takes care of him in the aftermath.

notes: title from unknown/nth by hozier <33

also on ao3!!

i could break beneath the weight of the goodness, love, i still carry for you

Ghosts couldn’t get ill – at least, not in the traditional sense. They had no immune system to be affected, so they never had anything to worry about in terms of typical human diseases. It was possible, however, for a ghost’s physical form to be altered by supernatural intervention: curses, enchantments, hexes, and the like; and the side effects of these could resemble what a ghost would recognise as sickness or injury.

Running a detective agency for troubled ghosts meant Charles and Edwin had dealt with their fair share of paranormal maladies. Luckily for them, Edwin’s extensive collection of medical tomes and the many spells he had learned over the years were usually just the thing they required to help the soul in need. It was usually a client; it was very rare that the soul in need was either of the two of them – and it never happened on any of their ‘typical’ cases.

Their current case was not a typical one.

They had thought they were done with witches after the pandemonium with Esther Finch back in Port Townsend, but they could not have been more wrong. They were currently fighting another one, who was ironically also trying to trap ghosts – not to hook them up to her spectral energy super-battery, but to use them as test subjects for the potions and spells she invented. They were ‘free guinea pigs’, she had claimed. ‘An abundant supply.’ Of course, the Dead Boy Detectives Agency couldn’t have that. When they had a young woman who had died sometime in the 1960s come by the office to tell them about her 18th century girlfriend who had been kidnapped, they immediately took the case.

So, several days of researching and keeping watch on the witch later, the four detectives had arrived at her house, prepared for anything. They had distracted her for long enough for Charles to sneak down into her cellar and rescue the ghosts trapped down there in iron cages, including their client’s partner. Now all they had to do was get rid of this witch once and for all, or at least come to an agreement. They didn’t enjoy having to take drastic measures against those who wronged their clients, but sometimes they were necessary.

The four of them were outside in the garden facing the witch, who didn’t look alarmed in the slightest. She wasn’t amused, though. She hadn’t got that manic grin on her face that Esther had when she was torturing souls. No, this witch clearly just wanted the four of them out of her way. And evidently she was more than willing to use force. As Crystal gripped her arm, slipping into her mind, Edwin prepared a spell. He was focusing intently, desperately trying to ensure it was ready for when Crystal let the witch go. Unfortunately for him, the witch also had psychic abilities, and was much more efficient at fighting back against Crystal than they had anticipated. She broke free of her grasp, Crystal falling backwards into Niko, and the witch turned to Edwin.

He was still crouched on the floor, swirling a blue liquid in a vial and muttering something in Latin, and hadn’t had the chance to move or attack before the witch made her move, muttering something in an ancient tongue and throwing her hand forwards in front of her.

Edwin shut his eyes tightly out of instinct, preparing for whatever this witch had cooked up for him in her mind.

“Edwin!” he heard Charles scream.

He heard footsteps quickly approaching, presumably the witch drawing closer to increase the strength of her attack. A green light shot forwards, so bright Edwin could almost see it through his eyelids. A strangled gasp echoed around the walls of the garden as ghostly body collided with concrete patio.

Edwin’s eyes burst open at the gasp that was most pointedly not his own.

Directly in front of him, Charles lay on the ground unmoving, his cricket bat thrown aside. A green glow gently faded from his chest, where the spell had clearly hit him square-on.

“Charles!” Crystal shouted, moving to run to him, then retreating when the witch turned instead to her, her hand still pulsing with the magical light.

The witch simply laughed. Edwin fell to his knees beside Charles, who still hadn’t moved a muscle since he collapsed.

“Charles!” Edwin gasped, out of breath and panicked. “Charles, can you hear me?”

Edwin gently shook Charles’s shoulders, and his eyes slowly opened, looking up. Then, his eyes moved downward, and Edwin followed his line of sight until he reached his hand, where Charles was weakly giving a thumbs up.

Fundamentally, Charles was fine. He couldn’t feel any pain, aside from the dull ache of where the spell had hit him directly. It wasn’t that he couldn’t move, only that it suddenly felt as though he weighed several dozen times more than he did before. Even lifting his hand to signal to Edwin had made him feel as though he was trying to deadlift an elephant. It was strange, feeling this sensation of exhaustion, something he had not physically felt in so long. He’d felt it mentally, emotionally; there had been many times he’d gone to sleep – or, at least, the closest a ghost could get to a state of rest – but he’d never felt the tiredness so viscerally, never ached all over just to move.

“Can you talk?”

He tried. It didn’t work. Not only was it too much to open his mouth, but he came to realise he couldn’t even breathe. When he tried, it was even worse than lifting his hand, this time as though he had the weight of a building sitting on top of his chest. It wasn’t that he needed to breathe. He hadn’t actually absorbed oxygen into his lungs since that cold night in the attic, but it was their strange ghostly equivalent to breathing that allowed him to speak, and right now he couldn’t.

Charles’s head moved ever so slightly from side to side. That was just manageable.

“Not full paralysis, okay…” Edwin muttered under his breath, looking Charles up and down. “You’re going to be okay,” he said, this time looking him in the eyes.

Edwin didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t leave Charles in this state, but there was still a ghost-napping witch to deal with. But if he didn’t know the specifics of the spell Charles was hit with, he couldn’t know what the full effects would be. He could be off trying to deal with the witch while Charles ‘s spectral form faded away for all he knew, unnoticed in the silence. He began to panic. He needed books, but all the volumes he could think of that would help were back at the office. He looked up to Crystal and Niko, who were still facing the witch.

All of a sudden she dashed off, through a gap in the hedges at the edge of the garden.

“Get him back to the office,” Crystal told Edwin. “We’ll deal with her.”

“Are you sure?”

“We’ve got this, you go and help him!"

Edwin hurled the vial he had finished concocting to Niko, who caught it in one hand.

“Throw that at her. Make sure it smashes, and make sure you do it on the property. It should trap her here for now, we’ll figure out what to do with her another time.”

The girls nodded, turning and following the path the witch took out of the garden and out of sight. Edwin turned back to Charles.

“I’m going to lift you up now,” he said.

Charles didn’t do anything to argue – not that he physically could – so Edwin got his footing before sliding one arm under Charles’s shoulders and the other under his knees, lifting him up.

Something in Charles’s mind had expected that Edwin wouldn’t be able to lift him. He was far too heavy, too weighed down; Edwin was strong, but he wasn’t that strong. He had been wrong, of course. The spell hadn’t actually turned Charles to lead; it only felt like it had. His limbs fell straight downwards as Edwin carried him through the witch’s house to the huge mirror on the wall in the entranceway.

He stepped through it, and they were in their office within a second. Edwin hurriedly but gently lowered Charles down onto the small sofa.

Charles really didn’t like that he couldn’t breathe. He knew he didn’t need to, knew he hadn’t really breathed in years, but that didn’t stop the habit. He was panicking, and that only made him feel the need more. Soon, he was gasping, desperately trying to inhale but being unable to as his chest wouldn’t rise an inch.

Edwin had been carefully arranging his limbs on the sofa, desperate to make him as comfortable as possible. That helped calm him down, but it didn’t stop the attempts. He had to breathe. He needed to breathe. Not being able to reminded him of being under that lake, hiding beneath the surface for as long as he physically could to shield himself from the oncoming attacks from the boys he had once considered his closest friends. He so desperately wanted to reach out, to grab onto Edwin’s arm, but the most he could do was wriggle his fingers around.

Clearly noticing his distress, Edwin grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“Charles, you don’t need to breathe my dear. You’re okay. Just try and relax, I know it’s uncomfortable.”

Edwin’s voice grounded Charles, and he closed his eyes, focusing on the sound and the feeling of Edwin’s hand in his. He wished he could squeeze back, thank him for being there as always.

“Are you alright?” he asked once Charles was no longer trying to gasp for air.

Charles barely managed a nod. Edwin placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head before standing up, letting go of Charles’s hand and pacing over to his shelves. He thought for a moment before reaching out and grabbing a book, an old one with yellowing pages and a dark purple cover. He flicked through, his eyes darting back and forth across the pages until he found what he was looking for.

“I think it was a paralysis hex gone somewhat wrong,” he explained, moving back over to Charles and sitting on the sofa beside him, the book open on his lap. “It’s a specific type of witchcraft, a spell which the caster has to specifically cater it to the intended victim. Since she forged the spell for me, it’s having a milder effect on you.”

This is mild? Charles thought. He would have groaned in annoyance if he physically could.

“It should wear off on its own, but I’m afraid it’s going to be several hours.”

Charles closed his eyes once more, rolling them as he did so. Edwin turned to place the book on the arm of the sofa, giving him another free hand to comfort Charles with. He placed it gently on his chest.

“Can I do anything to help?” he asked.

Charles’s hand twitched next to Edwin’s thigh, moving ever so slowly towards him. Edwin looked at Charles’s eyes, and could tell by the soft pleading look he found there what he was reaching for. Edwin took his gloves off, reaching out to take Charles’s hand back into his own. He knew he would need the direct contact, the softness of skin-on-skin, the only true feeling he could have in his afterlife. Edwin gently stroked circles on the back of his hand in the repeating pattern he knew always calmed him down.

Edwin hated seeing Charles like this. He was always so energetic, constantly moving around wherever he was, barely ever stopping to relax. It felt wrong seeing him stuck so still, unable to move and unable to talk. It should have been me on the other end of that spell, Edwin thought. Charles’s endearing yet frustrating need to protect him had ended in suffering for him once again.

He was shaken out of his thoughts when he felt Charles squeeze his hand, just weakly. He turned to look at him at once, worried.

“What’s wrong?”

Charles managed to shake his head. Nothing was wrong, he was just trying to tell Edwin something. Holding his hand was perfect, just what he needed to ground him and ensure him he was still there, this ailment was temporary. But there was one other thing that would help even more; one thing that had helped Charles calm down and relax so many times since they had met, even if it had taken quite a few years for him to ask for it. He moved his eyes back and forth, hoping Edwin would notice, looking at him and then at the desk behind him, over and over until Edwin got the message.

Edwin turned his head to the desk. The only things on it were a stack of books, the ones Edwin was currently part-way through reading.

“The books?”

Charles nodded. Moving his head and face was becoming more bearable by now, so he managed to open his mouth just slightly - even though he still couldn’t talk, he managed to mouth something, and Edwing could easily make out what he was saying.

“Read to me,” he said soundlessly.

“Of course,” Edwin smiled.

It was strange, how much Edwin reading to him comforted Charles. It wasn’t even the book itself, not usually. What really meant so much to him was simply hearing Edwin’s voice, so gentle and only for him. He’d always thought he shouldn’t like it. It should remind him of the night he died, the night his life slipped away from him as this strange ghost boy read his favourite detective comic aloud. And it did remind him of that night, but that night wasn’t a bad memory for Charles, not really. The hours before the attic, the months of abuse from his father that led up to it…they were the bad memories, the ones Charles wishes he could forget. But the trauma of his death itself had been diminished by the presence of that kind boy, the boy who had become Charles’s everything. So yes, Edwin reading to him did remind him of his death, but it reminded him of the kindness of a stranger, of just why he had chosen this boy over heaven itself in the first place, of why he loved him. Edwin’s voice made him feel at home, more than the house he grew up in ever did.

Edwin stood up to pick up the book from the desk, but as he turned around he found Charles seemingly trying to shuffle around on the sofa.

“Charles, what are you doing?” he asked worriedly. “You’ll exhaust yourself.”

Charles’s eyes flicked to the space on the sofa beside him, his deep brown eyes looking into Edwin’s, asking a question.

“Ah,” Edwin realised. “Let me help.”

He placed the book on the floor in front of the sofa, kneeling down.

“Are you alright with me moving you?”

Charles nodded. Edwin repeated the movements he’d done at the witch’s house before: one arm under Charles’s knees; the other under his shoulders, and he lifted him just enough to move him further towards the back of the sofa, leaving space for Edwin to climb next to him.

That was just what Edwin did, sitting beside him and manoeuvring them so that Charles’s head rested on his chest, the way he would have been if he could have moved himself. His movement did seem to be improving gradually, and he shifted his own legs to tangle with Edwin’s. Edwin supposed it was because his legs were furthest from his chest, so didn’t suffer the effects of the hex as drastically.

Edwin intertwined his fingers with Charles’s, picking up the book with the other hand. He pressed another gentle kiss to the top of his head before beginning to read.

In addition to not suffering from normal illnesses, another thing ghosts didn’t do was sleep. Similar to the supernatural intervention however, they had their own complicated equivalent to restore their energy when required.

Neither of the two of them required it, though. And ghosts didn’t get sore throats from reading aloud for too long either, so Edwin read Charles the entire book. By the time they finished, the sun had already half-risen, a pinkish orange glow illuminating the office.

“How are you doing?” Edwin asked, after the first few minutes of silence in several hours.

“Brills,” Charles replied, his voice back, and as confident as always.

He snuggled impossibly closer to Edwin, burying his face in his chest.

“Wait,” Edwin said, pausing the gentle strokes of his hand up and down Charles’s arm. “When did the hex wear off?”

“About an hour ago,” Charles admitted, his voice slightly muffled against Edwin.

“Why did you not say something?” Edwin chuckled. “Or start breathing again?”

“Didn’t wanna interrupt you. I like your voice.”

Charles lifted his head slightly, rolling further onto his front to look up at Edwin, smiling.

Edwin laughed softly, smiling back.

“Thank you,” Charles said. “For doing that.”

“Of course, Charles,” Edwin held him somehow even closer. “You know I am always here for whatever you need.”

“I’m always here for you too,” Charles assured.

“Yes, well…it was very reckless of you to jump in front of that hex for me.”

“What was I supposed to do? You said it yourself, it had a weakened effect on me. It would’ve been worse on you.”

“Well, yes I suppose, but my point still stands.”

“Sorry love but there’s nothing you can do to stop me. I’ll always jump in front of witches’ curses for you,” Charles kissed the tip of Edwin’s nose softly.

Edwin sighed. He knew there was no arguing with Charles, ever-protective as he was.

“Well, did you enjoy the book?” he asked, changing the subject before he thought too much about the extent of Charles’s devotion to him and started to feel like crying over how much he loved the charming impulsive boy he got to call his boyfriend.

“Oh. Uhh…” Charles trailed off.

“Did you pay attention to the plot at all?” Edwin laughed.

“Your voice is very relaxing.”

Charles didn’t know how else to answer. It was the truth – what was being read wasn’t important, only that it was Edwin reading it. Edwin shook his head slightly, the smile never leaving his face.

“I suppose I’ll just have to read it to you again, then,” Edwin faked disappointment.

“Oh no,” said Charles, dramatically leaning backwards to put his hand over his heart in faux shock before leaning in to kiss Edwin.

Just as their lips brushed, the front door to the office burst open. Both of them sat up on the sofa to see Crystal and Niko running in.

“Oh, thank god you’re okay,” Crystal sighed, rushing forward to hug him.

Charles hugged back with his free arm, the other still wrapped around Edwin’s waist, and Crystal squeezed next to them on the sofa. Niko knelt on the floor in front of them.

“’Course I am,” he said proudly. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, and I had Edwin to look after me.”

Charles turned to face Edwin, his signature smile plastered across his face. Edwin could only grin back.

“The hex faded on its own, Charles,” he said. “I did nothing.”

“You read to me! That helped.”

“Aww,” Niko smiled.

“How did you two get on last night then?” Charles asked the girls.

“We were done in like an hour,” Niko explained.

“Yeah, that potion you made worked its magic and she couldn’t leave.”

“I’m glad.”

“We went back to Crystal’s after. We figured Charles would want some time to get better before we came barging in here.”

“Thanks Niko,” said Charles.

“We’re just glad you’re alright,” Crystal squeezed his arm.

“I’m aces, don’t worry.”

Charles leaned his head on Edwin’s shoulder, holding both him and Crystal close. The case wasn’t fully closed yet – they still had a witch trapped in her own house with all her equipment she could easily use to figure out a way to escape to deal with – but for now…yeah, for now they were aces.

[ficbrish]

Threadbare

[AO3 Link]

[Here we go! @flufftober Spring Edition 2024! Thank you for the prompt 🥰 March 11th - New Beginnings]

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

tw/cw: Sexual content, blood, blood drinking, past abuse, cptsd, choking kink, interrupted masturbation, alcohol, light hurt/comfort

Late in Act III, Astarion finds Vistri cuddling with his old shirt alone in their rooms at the Elfsong.

LATE ACT III SPOILERS!

“...And gave him a taste of a flaming fist! ” Karlach howled, leading the whole tavern in laughter.

Other mugs echoed her pounding on the bar with a dull, banging rhythm. Little golden drops of mead spilled over the tops, dripping down the glasses and mixing with condensation.

Astarion personally never tired of this story of hers. A Flaming Fist had been inappropriately whistling at Shadowheart, and Karlach responded by knocking the man flat on his ass in one swing. While Astarion smiled quietly and nostalgically at her recollection of those events, the other tavern patrons, who’d never heard it before, were an eager and raucous audience.

Shadowheart’s face turned Karlach’s color. Shouting over the Elfsong’s laughter, she protested, “I could have handled it myself. Really!”

Wyll threw an arm over her shoulder, “Come, come, Shadowheart. Was it not a bit satisfying for such a gallant devil to step in and exact your revenge?”

A huge smile spread over her face, “Galant devil could describe any of us.”

Astarion raised his glass, “Cheers!”

Wyll met his delicate wine glass with his own burly mug of mead. Unprepared for how much enthusiasm Wyll would use, Astarion ended up with red all down his front. A collective groan sounded along with wild laughter.

“It’s all right,” he assured Wyll, whose eyes were apologizing faster than his mouth could move.

“Astarion, I’m so—”

Funny thing, how such a sight affected him. Astarion wasn’t used to apologies. Or friendships for that matter. Wyll’s genuine sorrow over such a small inconvenience was like a hearty meal to a starving soul. He couldn’t let the apology continue. It was too painful to witness.

“No, no! It’s all right,” Astarion insisted, “Please don’t put yourself out. I’ll just go change. This tunic is hideous anyways.”

It wasn’t. It was a pretty blue thing with silver thread. But there was a prettier blue thing with silver scales waiting for him upstairs in their rooms, one he was eager to get back to.

Vistri was having a lie down. She wasn’t sick, just exhausted. Her body was fine, but her mind was ragged. Astarion was only reluctantly dragged from her side through her stubborn, repeated insistence to be left alone for a little while. He had the sense she’d been saying it more for his sake than hers. She didn’t want to be the reason why he didn’t spend time with the others.

“You say no one else has my heart, but they do!” she’d said, “You do!”

He’d frowned at the way she used his own words against him. Especially so inaccurately. Astarion was right, there was no one else like her. He’d stand by that forever.

“That’s not—!”

“Yes, it is! Go down there and have fun. Let them earn your trust as I have.”

Raising his brow, he left her with one last tease, “Certainly not in the same way you have?”

His charm wasn’t enough this time. He was dismissed.

Let the others in .

Well, he’d gone down with the others, had a bit of fun, and now he was covered in wine. He had the perfect excuse to go back up and check on her. The fretting in his stomach turned into excitement. 

So much had changed in so little time, after two centuries of endless, torturous consistency, spilled wine was now just spilled wine. He would just change his clothes, maybe wash up a bit, and there would be more waiting for him to wear. Choices.

Sewing was a skill Cazador forced on all his spawn. Keeping them all as cheaply as possible, they had to make every article of clothing last. No matter the care, or the tending, their clothes always ended up degrading into rags and tatters. Astarion was almost jealous of the way his outfits got to age and die. They had a temporal escape, while his torture was bound to be endless.

It also had the side benefit of shame. Sewing was for servants. It reminded the spawn of who they were.

Now that was all over. Cazador was gone. Ended by his hand.

And he had so many new clothes.

He had choices. How bizarre! Astarion was sure he’d forgotten how to make them.

And then he chose her.

A smile brewed on his face just at the mention of her in his thoughts. He took to the steps three at a time, surely looking absolutely ridiculous. He didn’t remember much from his life before undeath, but the more time he spent away from Cazador, the more he realized how much his desire to avoid appearing foolish was part of the weight of those old chains. If he tripped and fell on his face, he would probably laugh from the rebellious feeling of it.

The tadpoles brought him the sun and then Vistri. She helped him find love, true freedom, and then true love.

He decided looking a fool was worth it the moment he stepped through the door. His eyes found her immediately on one of the sofas by the fireplace. The dancing reflections of the flames rolled over the silver scales on her brow in waves. He could see it from the door. She was lying down; her eyes opened at the sound of his entrance.

She seemed a little shocked, “Astarion!”

“Hello, dear!” he greeted with open arms and a wide smile. It felt like ages since they’d been in the same space.

Although, reading her expression, he was a little worried she wasn’t as happy to see him.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, “Are the others—?”

“Just me,” he stated, then dramatically drew attention to his ruined shirtfront, “I’ve been decorated with libations! I need to freshen up. Is that all right?”

“Of course it’s all right! Don’t be silly.”

Vistri was a sorcerer; she was used to her thoughts becoming reality. But her mind was reeling from his sudden appearance. Like he’d stepped from her thoughts, but with an entirely different attitude. The Astarion in front of her was all lightness and soft good-humor. The one in her head was a whole other, harder side of his.

Their storage trunk was near the fireplace as well, by the other sofa. As Astarion walked towards her to rifle through it, she slowly removed her hand from between her legs, careful not to let the movement show under the blanket, which wasn’t even a blanket, but his old shirt.

Gods! It couldn’t be more embarrassing.

He came over to her first, bending down to plant a gentle kiss on her damp forehead. Astarion looked at her curiously, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Vistri nodded, humming a high-pitched, “Mmmm-hmmm.”

His brow was all questioningly screwed up, but he decided to drop it, and started unbuttoning his tunic.

Vistri subtly wiped her fingers on her thigh, then sat up, “Here, let me help you.”

“I’ve got it love,” he insisted, “You just lie down. Say… Why aren’t you in our bed?”

The way she smiled and repeated the words, “Our bed,” in that bright tone allayed all Astarion’s fears in an undead heartbeat. He was welcome. She was just as happy to see him as he was her. Poor love was just worn out.

He sighed and bent back down to kiss her. Her pulse pounded, he could feel it rush at the brushing of his lips. A rumble brewed in his middle and his fangs ached. She gave a little moan without meaning to, losing herself in the power of his affection.

“Don’t get too excited,” he teased, “I’m only here for a moment.”

“Why only a moment?” she asked genuinely.

With a smile, he tucked her braid behind her ear, “Didn’t you want to be alone?”

Her eyes were wide, like a begging dog, “I can be alone with you here.”

Astarion froze. He swallowed heavily, then giggled, “What a silly idea! Doesn’t that defy the whole concept of being alone?”

She pouted, and he rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” he scoffed, sitting down next to her, “I can be—Hang on!”

Upon reaching for her hand, he finally noticed her blanket. Her expression filled with panic at his recognition, and too late, she tried to hide it.

He chuckled with sinister delight, “Why, is this my—?”

“No!” she stubbornly refused.

“Bloody liar! ” he laughed.

“It’s not!”

Vistri was cuddled up with his old shirt. She must’ve taken it out of the trunk and sat down nearby.

“That’s why you’re not in bed! You came over here for my shirt!”

Blushing deeply, Vistri was struggling to accept her fate. She couldn’t get out of talking about her feelings now. Eventually, she admitted, “...I did.”

His query was meant to tease, but there was something… raw and needy in his voice that made it something entirely different, “You were…”

She was nuzzling his old rags like they were something precious. Intentionally. Used her alone time to fish it out of the stuffed trunk, and secretly treasure it. While he was just downstairs in the tavern, missing her, she was up here longing for him.

“You were holding onto my old shirt?”

Vistri rolled her eyes and groaned. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s ridiculous!” she exclaimed.

Astarion made a “tsk” sound and smirked, “Aw, don’t reject it now, darling. My poor shirt! You’ll hurt its feelings.”

“No! I don’t want that!” she whined, as if that were something possible to really do.

He held it away from her reaching grasp, “Nuh, uh! Apologize first.”

“Astarion!”

“That’s my name, dear. Not an apology.”

Vistri frowned. Astarion leaned in and kissed it into a smile.

“I hate you!” she giggled, playfully pushing him off her.

“I hate you too,” he said lovingly, “Now! Walk me through the process of deciding to take out my shirt. Was this before or after you shooed me away?”

“Must I?”

Savoring the look on her face, he nodded, “You must, dearest.”

She bit her lip, “Okay. Ugh. Fine. You left and I…”

“You what?”

“I missed you! ”

“Hah!” he boasted.

“Arsehole!”

“An arsehole you love to kiss,” he grinned, “Shall I call you butt breath?”

“No!” she protested, laughing, “Please no!”

“Here,” Astarion handed her his old shirt, “Hold this.”

He stood and finished undoing his tunic, then threw off the soiled shirt underneath. Bare-chested, he climbed over to her side.

“Scoot over,” he demanded.

“There’s no room!” she laughed.

He pulled her tight once his body was flush against hers, “We’ll make it work.”

Vistri felt dizzy. Like she was flying.

“Okay.”

Not letting it go, Astarion asked, “So you missed me, and then what happened?”

With his fingers absently drawing figures on her waist, Vistri had no fight left. Sighing, she continued to expose herself, “I started thinking about… When we met, and I first saw you.”

“How you adored me instantly?”

“No, actually. How much I despised you. Like really, really just wanted to… shake you.”

“That’s so romantic.”

She chuckled, “I’m sorry. It’s horrible, but it’s true. But then… I also…” She shifted so they were chest to chest, and she could look at his face as she spoke. Without thinking, her nose nuzzled his as she admitted, “I really liked you.”

He sort of snorted and sighed and called out in the same second, like a baby that didn’t know if it was hungry or tired or perfectly content. That didn’t know whether to coo or cry.

“You did?” he asked, heart on his tongue.

Nodding, Vistri admitted it all, “I think I’ve come to learn… It wasn’t you I was mad at, but everyone else you reminded me of. And part of me knew that, and the unfairness of it made me hate myself more.”

“Wanna know a secret?”

“What?” she chuckled.

“I hated myself and liked you too.”

Grinning, she humorously exclaimed, “And that’s why we had sex!”

Astarion gave a hearty laugh. It was rich and deep, and sounded like relief from a long-ago burden.

Instead of joining his mirth, Vistri’s expression grew more serious, “I don’t believe there’s a single thing I could hate about you. Not now that I know you.”

“Not a single thing?”

“Impossible.”

He caressed the length of her ear, gentle like a caretaker, then kissed her cheek.

“So what was that you were saying, about thinking of how much you hated me when we first met?” he whispered, stroking the side of her face with the tip of his nose.

“I didn’t hate you, I was falling in love. That’s what I was thinking of. Falling in love.”

“With me?”

She laughed, “Who else?”

He kissed her forehead, waiting with bated breath for her to continue.

She breathed deeply, leaning into his kiss, “I wanted to run down and get you, but we can’t be together all the time.”

“Who says?”

Chuckling, she shook her head, “We can’t!”

“And the next best thing was my shirt?”

“The one I met you in.”

He’d almost thrown it out. Now that he had new clothes, he no longer needed Cazador’s old rags.

But he couldn’t. And he was glad he didn’t.

“And then you just decided to relax here? And daydream about me?”

“Uh…” she said way too awkwardly for him to just accept.

Brow raised, Astarion repeated, “‘Uh? ’”

“It’s just so incredibly lame!” Vistri looked horrified.

“Then I have to hear it!” he giggled, thrilled to have her in this little trap she set up herself.

“I was… Oh gods! ” she rolled her eyes, “Can I just… tadpoles?”

He laughed, “It’s so embarrassing you can’t speak it?”

“Yes.”

Laughing even harder, he agreed. He put his forehead to hers even though they didn’t need touch for brainworm-to-brainworm communication. Relaxing into his embrace, she let her memory play out through his senses.

Vistri was thinking of him, and Astarion found beauty in himself he could only see through her eyes. Like freedom, it was overwhelming. A goodness he could drown in. That she could drown in. He was her, and she was him.

Knots in her stomach, tied like strings of fate, spelling his name in her blood.

Rushing, pounding, flowing. Her heart.

Stillness. Serenity. Bliss.

After lying down on the couch, she held his shirt to her face and breathed into it. Even washed, it smelled like him. Like his heat and his lusts and his heavy soul. She kissed its loose threads like it was his chest, where his heart was. Imagined his arms around her like they were now.

Astarion felt Vistri loving him; fell into her blurred line of desire and devotion. He could taste it on her tongue as he kissed her now and felt her love him through that too. Past and present blended, and they shared all of it like one being. In her memory, her hand traveled between her legs at the thought of his laughing face. Then there was the sincerity in his eyes as they both kneeled over his grave. I want you, spilling out of his lips. She was touching herself, thinking of him, adoring him, with the shirt she’d met him in clutched to her throat. As they lived through it together on the same sofa, he kissed her again and again.

She didn’t even mean to break the connection, but his mouth was too distracting. He just couldn’t help himself. It felt like coming home after two centuries.

“How rude,” he muttered, “I seem to have interrupted.”

“It’s fine,” she said breathlessly, “I’m glad you came back.”

He chuckled warmly, “Darling I was just downstairs. At your insistence!”

“I know,” she said plainly, holding him tighter.

His heart ached, still absorbing what he’d just felt and seen through her memory, “You… Thinking about me–how you love me–makes you…?”

Unable to look at him, she buried her face in his chest, “I told you it was lame!”

Helping her out of hiding, he lifted up her chin, “I don’t think it’s lame.”

His tone sounded like he thought it was the most extraordinary thing. A miracle that couldn’t even be perceived, even with it plainly in front of him. It tore her heart open, but filled it rather than took.

Astarion kissed her neck, “I think it’s quite hot actually. Makes me want to finish what you started.” Vistri felt the heat of her blush again, and he moaned, “Fuck! I love when your blood rushes.”

He scraped his fangs hungrily against her skin. Her heart grew heavy with the weight of his need. She wanted to be the reason he felt better. Stronger.

“Go ahead, Astarion,” she said comfortingly, “Have a bite.”

He kissed her neck, from her chin down to the base of her throat, and bit into the muscle that connected her shoulder. Vistri gasped, surrendering to the sharp pain, and to him, leaning into his bite. Her blood dripped between them as it rolled messily off his lips.

Just allowing himself a taste, Astarion released Vistri from his fangs, licking up the remnants and kissing her wound until it closed. The hunger wasn’t sated, but he was dizzy with power nonetheless.

“Are you all right, love?” he asked, still concerned despite knowing how much she loved it.

“More than all right! Are you—?”

He met her warm smile with one of his own, “More than all right.”

“Good.”

No other partner ever cared. Neither had ever been asked genuinely what they wanted or who they were. No one else but them, making such questions a lyrical aphrodisiac for them to exchange.

Astarion could read her arousal in a thousand different languages. His tongue could feel it in her frantic heartbeat. His teeth could smell it in her glistening sweat. She was a meal ready to be devoured, prey begging to be taken. His hands traveled along her waist, and she twitched pleasantly. All the places that usually tickled made her shiver with want.

Vistri was always so ecstatic that it was him touching her this way, and no one else, that her skin would cry if it could. He could have clumsy hands and awkward touches, and still his embrace would make her shake. Astarion could easily bring ecstasy to her, even if he didn’t know what he was doing, just because it was him.

But gods did he know what he was doing! He played her body like it was one of her instruments, and all he did was fondle her torso.

His fingers lingered just under her waistline as he rubbed his arousal against her thigh. Throbbing under his pants, Astarion let his hand dive into her knickers. The wet lace made him groan.

“You’re soaking,” he sighed, licking his lips, “Might I have another taste?”

Whimpering as he teased her sensitive skin with brushing fingertips, Vistri pleaded, “Yes!”

First, he undressed her one article at a time, unwrapping her like a gift.

It was better than being alone. The whole purpose of her rest was to not think. She didn’t want to disappear, not anymore. She wanted to be present, but out of her head, and this was so much better. However, her heart still ached and missed him. Demanding more touch, more feeling. 

Being wanted by Vistri was the prettiest sight. Astarion had only ever known admiration, not adoration. Images of her in her memory ran through his mind; and with them came echoes of her emotion as she’d nuzzled into his old shirt, desperate for his lingering smell, pretending it still held his warmth. As the monster in his head screamed to devour her, he slid a finger up and down her soaking slit.

Following the roll of her hips, he almost lost himself in their rhythm as he teased her clit. Her desire was one he’d never known, a love he’d never felt. Vistri gave herself to everyone, but never like this. It was the same for him. Everyone had him, but no one knew him like this. Between them, old habits were entirely new.

Crawling his way down her legs, he had another taste. Vistri’s hands caressed his head and her fingers wrapped around his ears in a way that made him hum with security.

She cried out at every lash of his tongue.

He whined licking her, the rushing blood just under her skin overwhelmed his senses as much as her taste. It made him feel alive. Pangs of need made his fingers tremble as they pushed into her, stretching her. She moaned, a song promising this would always be his. He wanted to fuck her until he saw stars.

And it felt good to want. The desire he felt was his. All his.

“Astarion,” she called out his name in a breathy voice, her body tensing with pleasure. Even without tadpoles, he knew how close Vistri was.

The next words from her lips yanked his heart out of his chest and brought it to his sleeve.

“Yours. I’m all yours.”

He’d planned to pleasure her in so many ways, but those words took away his will to perform. They didn’t need ecstasy as much as each other. She’d touched herself thinking of his laugh and his expressions; of his being, not his figure. Vistri just wanted him.

Lifting his head up, he asked, “Can I—?”

“Get back here!”

She pulled on his shoulders as he rushed to her lips, climbing her torso. She was so small, but it felt like miles. Ages until they were face to face.

His mouth was like a bully, commanding hers about. Vistri struggled with things like self love and acceptance, but could adoringly savor her taste on his tongue. It was so sweet mixed with his underneath. Astarion took her by the wrist to rub her hand along the outside of his trousers, almost growling as rutted into her palm. Being used by him was the best thing in the world, just as being used by others was the worst. Her ecstasy from it was as sharp as her bruised soul.

One long, deep, “Uuuuh,” from Vistri was the final snap in Astarion’s composure. One hand went to her neck as the other started undoing his laces. 

He licked along her jaw, and spoke in the crook of her throat as it called to him, “Do you know what it means? When you say you’re all mine?”

“I know what it means,” she looked him squarely in the eyes, seriously, which was unusual for either of them, “I say it because I know what it means.”

When there was enough give, Astarion pulled his trousers and pants down in one motion, just far enough to reveal himself. He spread her thighs apart and rubbed his aching cock along her belly to show off how deep he’d go.

Writhing, wanting him, she uttered, “Fuck, I love you.”

Astarion buried himself in her, saying he loved her too. Vistri screamed his name so loudly it probably answered what was taking him so long to change to the others downstairs.

“Wait, is the door locked?” he asked, suddenly remembering.

Vistri groaned, realizing it wasn’t, “Shit. Nooo.”

It was a rare occasion for their rooms at the Elfsong to be empty of everyone but them. Anyone could come back at any time, and they were in the middle of the room.

“Well, we don’t want to make an unsuspecting audience out of Shadowheart’s parents. Do we?”

Cackling, she suggested, “Or Withers.”

Astarion giggled, “Old bastard might try to join.”

Vistri’s laughter made her shake and pulse so pleasantly on his cock, he didn’t want to leave.

“Go lock it,” she could barely get the words out, overtaken by hilarity. Like she was wearing that cursed amulet again. 

Sighing with frustration, he reluctantly pulled out of her and got up, tearing the rest of clothes off of his legs. Her slick covered his whole length, making the air cool on his dick as it bounced with his steps.

At the sound of the lock snapping shut, Vistri stupidly called out, “Please!”

He stood by the door smiling with his arms crossed, “Please, what?” The crimson-violet scream of his skin, his retreated foreskin, and the precum pooling at his tip betrayed his casual nature.

“Fuck me!” she begged.

He smirked and held up two fingers.

Vistri buried her face in the side of the sofa to hide her laughter, “I cannot stand you!”

Wishing to see her face again, Astarion dropped his game and broke into a full run. She squealed as he leapt to her, and then cried out as he tore through her again. He savored the look on her face. Her eyes spilled the truth of her heart. Their expression exposed her even though she wasn’t trying to hide anything. Vistri belonged to him, gave herself over to him to use and take care of at whatever whim. As long as she was his .

“What was that about not being able to stand me?” he smirked, distracting himself from the pleasure shaking his spine like a tree in a rough storm. He wanted Vistri to find ecstasy at least once before giving into his.

Running her hands along his chest and stomach made him almost whimper. Vistri licked his earlobe and kissed his ear before whispering, “I lied. I actually adore you, and want you all the time.”

Roughly, he pushed her down into the sofa. He wrapped a big hand around her delicate neck and held it firm, like a brace. Slowing his thrusts to an unbearably slow pace. A teasing rhythm.

“Do you adore me now?” he asked. It was impossible for even Astarion to tell if he was asking out of seduction or sincerity.

“Even more,” she promised.

A devious smile tugged at the corner of his lips, “Turn around.”

After tucking pillows, and his old shirt, under Vistri for a better angle, Astarion playfully bounced his hard cock against her ass. They both laughed at the smack, but grew serious as he began to touch her from behind. She rocked back into his palm so deliciously he had to angle himself against her. With a slight push, he was covered to the hilt. They shivered in tune with each other. Vistri felt ripped open at his thrust; his hands firmly holding onto her hips grounded her.

She reached back for one of them, and his finger twisted around one of hers as they met.

He froze, “Is this still what you want?”

“It is all I want,” she answered, caressing his finger.

Even though Vistri couldn’t see his smirk, she could hear it, “Then let’s give the others an update on our whereabouts.”

He roughly pumped his hips, angling deep.

“Astarion!”

He wanted them to hear it, everyone her voice could reach; hear the news that she was his. Going faster made her louder.

“Astarion! ” 

“Yes,” he groaned, as he felt her tightening around him, “Yes.” It was a word he wasn’t used to meaning, and the truth of it felt like the sun tingling like home on his skin.

Gasping through the edges of death, in unison, too quickly, they cried out.

Astarion wanted to see the stars, and there they appeared behind both their eyes. They never really knew why it was called a little death before they met. It became clear the first time they transcended flesh and spirit together under the thrall of an all-consuming ecstasy. In that bliss, they were gone from the world, and in coming back to it, were reborn into their shaking embrace.

He rocked his hips gently, even when there was nothing left to spill into her. Just because he didn’t want the moment to pass yet.

As Astarion sat back on his knees, Vistri turned around and covered his face with a flurry of breathless, grateful pecks. He chuckled, and wrapped his arms around her. Vistri threw hers over his shoulders too and pulled him tighter.

“Never leave me alone again,” she half-joked.

Astarion was so happy his words had a sobbing laugh under them, “Oh, I’m never leaving you alone again!”

They squeezed each other even closer at the same time. Never wanting to let go.

Miraculously, nothing got on the couch. So all they had to clean off was each other. After freshening up, they crawled into their bed. Which wasn’t really their bed. It was rented. But, unless tents and bedrolls counted, this bed was the first sort of home they’d claimed together.

“This is my favorite part,” she said as she nuzzled into his chest.

“What are you talking about?”

Vistri hummed happily and sighed, running her fingers along his arm, “This.”

Smiling, he bent to kiss her head. She gave another happy hum.

“You’re perfect,” she said.

“No, I’m not,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

Looking up, she poked him on the nose and refuted his denial, “Yes, you are!”

Astarion smirked and made a show of trying to bite her finger. Vistri squealed, laughing.

“No, don’t bi—”

A series of loud, rapid bangs on the door snatched them from their lighthearted moment, and instinctively, they got ready to fight. Each made a protective gesture over the other. Astarion sat up and pulled her closer by the waist, as she positioned her body in front of his.

Drunken shouts answered them before they could call out and ask who was there.

“—en it!”

“‘S’locked! ”

“OY! WHY’S THE DOOR SHUT?!” That would be Karlach.

Vistri smirked at Astarion.

Brow raised, he remarked, “Looks like this time, we forgot to unlock the door.”

She snickered, “Ready to let them in?”

He made a show of thinking about it for a moment as kicks and insults shook the door, “Hmmm, I don’t know. I think we should make them wait.”

The burst of laughter that left Vistri was loud enough for the others to notice, and the muffled shouting now included their names.

Astarion rolled his eyes and got out of bed, “You’ve done it now, love.”

As he walked to the door, he took a look back at Vistri, who had sunk back into their bed, holding her sides in a laughing fit. He felt as free as she sounded, and so full of happiness Astarion couldn’t feel his feet on the ground.

Vistri was wearing his old shirt. She’d insisted on changing into it when they got dressed. Telling him she didn’t want to spend a second without him wrapped around her.

The sight made him smile so broadly his cheeks ached.

[z-eusie]

Since the children of Nyx clearly dont seem to be winning that pull, would you possibly be willing to share some headcanons instead? 😔

listen, the poll can't stop me forever and i do hope to write something SOME day, but until then... yes :)

i think the most significant thing to talk about is that they definitely aren't like the rest of the gods, or humans, or anyone else. their definitions of what it means to be family and their closeness looks unique - as in, a few hundred years without seeing one another means absolutely nothing. existing as formless entities in the same space counts as hanging out. affection looks different for them, as in hugs aren't necessarily normal.

that being said, they all still adore each other in their own ways - i see no reason to suggest otherwise!

oizys is easily the kindest of the bunch, despite her reputation. she's the goddess of misery not because she sows it, but because she represents it. she's always crying, a never-ending flow of tears, because she's carrying the weight of misery with her. she will literally take pain away from her family, and from strangers, and everyone else. there's not a malevolent bone in her body, and the rest adore her for it, even if her crying gets to be a bit much

i've always written thanatos as a pacifist of sorts - not that he cannot kill, nor that the nature of his collection of souls cannot be gruesome, but that he will not kill or harm if it is not someone's time, sometimes to his own detriment. he's a reserved, mostly gentle soul (by his sibling's standards, anyway), so they become very protective of him. which sometimes annoys him. i headcanon him as the youngest (him and hypnos, of course, who i say is the older twin) which doesn't help his case lol

hypnos is a bit of a mother hen, fussing over the others. he's the one who advocates most for a semblance of "normality" among them - aka, go the hell to sleep. stop picking fights. stop imbuing humanity with swells of emotion and get some rest, damn it!

my baby boy momus, the most annoying of all, a scourge upon the gods - he literally cannot stop himself from mocking people unless they go through great lengths to be uncaring about it. but he clings. he's desperate for attention and is physically incapable of asking for it, and the rest know this. so they embrace his quirks, annoying as they are, and eventually the mockery fades. he's a little leech but it's Okay!

nemesis is somehow both the most intense and the most reasonable - that's balance. she'll be the first to rip the others apart for their stupid decisions, and also the first to be there when they need something. she will tear apart their enemies and coax them out of the grips of their domains. she's very Eldest sister coded, in her own way haha

geras is a grumpy old man and philotes is the overly affectionate young woman, and they're basically an unstoppable duo. besties, really. philotes is easy enough to befriend, of course, and gets along with everyone, but somehow she has geras wrapped around her fingers.

they sort of take each other's quirks in stride - like yes, you have to exert a lot of patience with momus and empathy with oizys, and you have to acknowledge that geras is rarely going to have something kind to say, or that philotes is going to try and get you to laugh even when you don't want to, but that's simple. that's easy, because that's just what they do.

and they show affection in different ways. oizys takes your pain, momus sketches you, nemesis and moros will wreak havoc on your behalf, philotes offers a listening ear, and hypnos will coax you towards taking care of yourself. it's cute! it's also not unusual to receive bones as a gift from one another or find them lurking together like little gargoyles in their grotesque forms. IT'S CUTE!

[yanderes-galore]

Hello! I would like to request a Mama Bear Yandere Concept from Dark Deception please! Could it be a Romantic/Platonic concept as well? Thanks!

Adding another to the psychotic bear collection.

Yandere! Mama Bear Concept

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Kidnapping, Isolation, Possessive/Vaguely protective behavior, Sadism, Manipulation, Murder mention, Mentions of being a pet, Forced affection, Forced companionship.

Mama Bear can be seen as a twisted form of platonic or romantic but I do feel she leans more towards platonic.

If romantic she'd probably try to force you into some sort of parental role, like a spouse.

If platonic, the motive she'd most likely have towards you, she acts like a suffocating mother.

Mama Bear is a collection of the souls from mothers who ruined their kids' lives.

As a result her behavior is much more akin to that.

She's suffocating towards you regardless of the intentions she has in her obsession.

You are the only mortal in her care that she hasn't killed for her babies.

She would take her darling into her “happy family” instead of killing them.

Not sure what's worse, death or being forced to persist in her realm.

Like her usual victims, there's no escape for you.

You'll be lost in twisted tunnels and the halls of her cabin for all of eternity.

She doesn't plan on killing you, either.

There's no point in waiting for that portal to open… it won't open for you unless you get help.

Where are you even going to get help?

Malak probably sent you to her for one reason or another fully expecting her to feed off you.

Instead he comes back to see her making you her pet.

Oh well…?

Mama Bear would be overly affectionate with you.

She often calls you affectionate nicknames, like “dear”, even if you express distaste for it.

She'd probably give you literal bear hugs too.

Even if you hate her affection she doesn't care.

She's your new mama, regardless of the intention….

This is her home! What she says goes!

Not only are you endlessly lost in the twisting paths of her home, but you also have Trigger Teddies tracking your every move.

Mama essentially has eyes everywhere to keep track of you.

She doesn't want you escaping or helping any of her prey, yeah?

Mama Bear expresses sadism at times towards you.

Any time you try an escape attempt she gets excited at the idea of catching you again.

As a result I doubt she gets bored or irritated at your escape attempts.

You really are a new toy for her.

Her affection/obsession tends to border on you being a toy/pet and a twisted form of love.

You're mostly kept with her in her cabin, the basement locked away from you.

You'd stay there unless she felt you needed to be punished for one reason or another.

In that case she'd drag you to her tunnels, her real den, to keep you there.

Overall I feel Mama Bear is a predator/hunter at heart, one that finds joy in the hunt yet a twisted form of obsessive care for her darling.

She'd be really taunting about the fact you can't escape her.

You're stuck in her little game… in her little family… for as long as she wants you to be.

There's no running from Mama… Mother knows best!

[dovesintherain]

all encompassing

word count: 1.5k

warnings: fluff, extremely brief mention of smut

an: this poured out of me… so i wrote it impulsively. consider it a love letter of sorts, to our most cherished larissa.

tears not of sadness or joy... but of love

It was a rare sight to wake before her, your early bird. A sight so rare that each miraculous time it happened you cherished the moment like the gift that it was.

The sheer curtains that hung from her windows did little to block the crisp winter sun, but you found it impossible to be agitated when it painted her with such grace. Your sleeping swan, unconscious and innocent to her ethereal state, was a near mirror image to the icy landscape that stretched into the horizon. Freckled alabaster hills and valleys lay bare and untouched next to discarded linen sheets. You were utterly enraptured as the warm rays tangled themselves around her, illuminating fair eyelashes and messy curls spun from sunlight. You could have watched her for hours, finding a new way to be awed by the woman laying next to you as minutes blew by with the wind. The careful mapping of her sleeping figure came to a sudden pause when you noticed that you, too, were being observed. 

Those eyes… so deep and vast like the sky and the sea, were glossy and unfocused. Her usual sharp stare softened around the edges as she pulled herself into the waking world. These were the moments that placed a gentle hum in your bones. A quiet buzz that tugged at the corners of your mouth and brought colour to your cheeks. The wrinkles beside her eyes that appeared when she smiled back downright levelled you. Completely unravelled and utterly safe in the warmth of her, your Larissa. You knew you had to get up soon, you both did. But in this moment, enveloped in tender and endless softness, you couldn’t find the willpower to move a single inch. The blue of her eyes poured so much of her love into your soul it began to overflow, filling your eyes. 

You felt foolish. Powerless against the sheer magnitude of affection you held for her. The evocative mixture of memories you made in this very bed merely hours ago initiated the retelling. Neurons firing haphazardly within your skull as the memories, moments in time, filled your mind. All the laughter, the hushed conversations, the secrets, the sex, the fights, the lingering touches, the longing gazes glided rapidly behind your eyes. The story, the journey, in all its complicated and messy glory. Flashes of your time together dancing all the way back to the beginning. It all brewed together in your belly as a warmth began to grow and a burning stung your eyes. Sizzling until a boiling point where you could no longer contain yourself. Suddenly it was all too much. It was all her. It always was. When you finally caved, the dam finally breaking, you blinked and the tears fell.

She knew you so well. With an unbreaking certainty. Like the lines in her palm or the feeling of her favourite sweater against her skin. She knew you like how she knew the sun would rise only to fall and reveal the moon. She knew you beyond your body, beyond your mind and dare you say beyond your soul. She knew you so well that to her this was no surprise. No reason for unease or perturbation. As her gaze shifts once she notices the tracks on your cheeks it does not falter, it only grows softer. 

To you, it always felt silly, the endless expanse of love you held escaping through the leaky faucets of your eyes, but every drop that landed on your skin would fill her soul ten fold. You watched as she slid her hand out from under her pillow and brought it to your face. The pads of her fingers collecting your tears would feel like an invitation for needless apologies, but you see… you also knew her. You knew that her fingers dancing across your cheek would press ever so slightly against your lips, making your words retreat back into your throat and into the far corners of your mind. Unreachable. So you hold them, where they remain lining the roof of your mouth and the backs of your teeth.

You knew that she would remind you like the endless times before that there is no need to be sorry. She would remind you what a privilege it is to feel so deeply. Deeply, unconditionally, wholeheartedly. Her gentle caresses would lose precision due to the trembling emotion in her fingertips when she would tell you what an honour it is. How privileged she feels to be held and kept so safely in your heart. Your heart. That poor useless thing. Stuttering, jumping and in most cases stopping completely in the presence of your lover. Maybe if your maker had known just how hard and fast you fell for the woman inches away from you, they wouldn’t have given you such a feeble vessel. 

You knew that the low register of her voice in the morning would disarm you completely. The rasp of her sleepy vocal cords would vertebrate through you and create yet another crack in your shell. As if she hasn't already stripped you of all your armour, you'd think to yourself. The shell you once carried, that you once retreated into… long gone, instead morphing into the shape of the woman laying next to you. Your haven, your castle, your home. So you let the tears fall freely and let your mind and heart feel full. Full of her. There was no need to worry as the woman who held your soul in her hands saw your love for her reflected in the shine on your cheeks. 

Larissa was a force. She was strong, she was fierce… but God she was gentle. Gentle in the way she addressed her students, folded laundry and turned the pages of books. She was gentle but never with herself, which broke your heart. Never good enough. That traitorous and poisonous lie you knew she told to herself everyday. You didn’t have to hear the words leave her lips to know how heavy the weight she carried was. You saw it. It was difficult to catch but with a trained eye you could see it. You knew her well enough that it stared at you in the face. The cynical shadow that hovered over her. You saw it in the bags under her eyes that she would shift away or cover with makeup. You saw it in the residual wine at the bottom of her third glass. You saw it in the countless nights that you would wake up to a cold bed only to find her working tirelessly down in her office. Your pillar of strength cracking itself from the inside. 

But what that shadow didn’t know was that there was an aid. A light that Larissa went her whole life without… you. You with your feeble heart that would beat in sync with hers. Your presence would chase it away, back into the recesses of her thoughts, giving her a moment's peace. Relieving her of the weight. You always let yourself feel smug when her negative thoughts would retreat with its tail between its legs because in those moments she was entirely yours. Your pillar of strength unburdened. It was a promise you made to yourself, that any damage the lies she told herself would cause, you would mend. Brick by brick. 

It was such a simple thing really, and even if it wasn’t… you would still do it for her. You’d do anything for her. But the little acts of kindness were enough. Little reminders to show her that she was always enough because nothing fed your soul quite like seeing her happy. The chuckles that escaped her when you attempted to carry a ridiculously large bouquet of flowers (that you could barely see over) through her office doors. The flush that would take over her complexion when you would tell her how beautiful she looked when she was completely undone. Even the way you could feel the tension leave her through a quiet exhale when you would wordlessly lace your fingers together with hers. You knew that if she’d let you, that you would do those little things for the rest of the time you’d be graciously granted with her.

Oh the little games you played. The unspoken rules you both followed. Fighting her demons while you let her wipe your needless tears. Your early bird, your sleeping swan, your pillar of strength, your keeper of your feeble heart, your lover, your everything… your Larissa. As the tears finally slowed to a stop, her hand drifted from your cheeks. Her fingertips traced over your lips with the precision of a well practised painter. Among the million thoughts of her flying through your brain a single phrase reared its head. Just like it did every morning, evening and night. A truth that ran so deep in your bones it shook you to your very core. Three little words that were carved into your heart and with a single breath you whispered them into her skin.

“I love you.”

xx

cheers to the discomfort of exposure therapy @weemssapphic !