#even if he doesn’t he just embodies that energy entirely to me

[tuituipupu]

i have been inspired + i’m nosy so let’s do a lil kääryleet survey 🫡 (comment for aquarius ♒️ or pisces ♓️ because i ran out of poll options 🤧)

i’m a pisces sun ♓️

[hearts4hughes]

ECHOES OF LOVE | MARK ESTAPA

mark estapa x fem!reader

summary: in which reader confesses her love for her best friend— oops.

warnings: angst w/ happy ending, reader and mark both being blinded by love, nothing else!!

author note: my first writing after what feels like forever. oh my goddddd!! i have months of ideas and thoughts for more writings on the way. i haven’t done first person writing in forever, but i honestly love it!!

The University of Michigan had been my dream school since freshman orientation; Umich felt made for me. Yet, it wasn’t the only thing capturing my heart during those college years. Environmental Science class introduced me to Mark, and it wasn’t just about the subject matter. Mark, a walking ray of sunshine, entered a room like a force of nature, captivating everyone with his vibrant energy. Engaging conversations and lively class discussions made Mark the embodiment of an unforgettable college experience. It only took him two classes to claim the seat next to me, uninvited but eventually charming his way into my world.

Amidst my journey at Umich and with Mark, an opportunity to study abroad in Italy emerged. Excitement coursed through my veins, but it was tinged with a bittersweet undercurrent. Studying abroad meant a semester without seeing Mark, and my heart ached at the realization. The palpable truth lingered—I had feelings for him.

The day before leaving for Italy was spent entirely with Mark. We recounted memories, gossiped, and held each other. An emotional undercurrent hinted at something more than platonic love. In a moment of uncertainty and sadness, I confessed my love for Mark. The silence that followed my confession echoed in my ears as he stared at me with wide eyes. I had read the situation wrong, and tears brimmed in my eyes as I stormed out of his dorm.

The next morning, I vowed to leave the hurt and agony in Michigan and treat Italy as a fresh start. Italy became a sanctuary, a place where I could do as I pleased without worrying about the boy who rejected my love proposal. Now, sitting in the small, claustrophobic plane, dread overshadowed my return to the real world. Thoughts of making a scene to ground the plane lingered, as four months of studying abroad in Italy felt like pure bliss—warm weather, Italian boys, and zero drama. However, the sweet sounds of Taylor Swift couldn’t coax the cacophony of my racing thoughts. How to make a 12-hour flight even longer?

MARK: Hope Italy treated you well. We need to talk.

My hands trembled as I reread the message, the digital words carrying a weight that mirrored the turbulence within me. The plane had landed mere minutes ago, and as much as I dreaded my return to Michigan, a strange sense of comfort enveloped me the moment I stepped off the aircraft. As I navigated through the airport’s hustle, Mark’s message echoed in my mind, creating a symphony of worry and anticipation.

The journey from the airport to my dorm was a blur, the cityscape outside the window a mere backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts in my head. The prospect of facing Mark, unresolved emotions lingering like a specter, fueled a mixture of anxiety and a glimmer of hope.

He wants to let me know how he feels. Is that good or bad? What if he found someone else? What if he doesn’t want to be my friend anymore? What if… I mentally stop myself from spiraling down that certain rabbit hole.

With a heavy heart, I approached my dorm building. The door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit room adorned with posters and decorations. The message from Mark burned brightly on my phone, demanding acknowledgment. The empty bed next to mine indicated my roommate Miley’s absence. As much as I missed her, part of me was relieved to be alone. I read the note on my desk written in her neat handwriting. She wouldn’t be home for the rest of the night. Good.

MARK: Where are you? We need to talk.

The urgency in his words heightened the tension, and I hesitated, almost responding, but I couldn't muster up the courage to press send.

MARK: Y/N, if you're trying to ghost me, at least turn your read receipts off.

Shit. I silently cursed the advanced technology of iPhones.

Y/N: What do you want, Mark?

MARK: To talk, we need to talk.

Y/N: Oh, now you want to talk. Seems convenient.

MARK: I'm serious, Y/N.

I scoffed as I read his final text message. Who's he to say when I need to talk to him? I could ignore him for the rest of my life, and it wouldn't even bother me—scratch that; I'd miss him more and more every day.

Y/N: Fine. Let's meet at Logan’s around 7:00.

Y/N: Seriously, Mark, don't make me waste my time.

~

I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease that settled in my stomach. Logan’s, the pizza place around the corner, wasn’t fancy, but it held a certain charm. Memories of late-night pizza runs with Mark flooded my mind.

I grab my phone, checking the time for the fifth time in ten minutes. Everything feels wrong, from the headache-inducing bright lights to the fact that Mark is ten minutes late. The air inside Logan’s is thick with anticipation, and I can’t escape the nagging thoughts that something significant is about to happen.

The door chimes as Mark finally enters, a disheveled look on his face. I try to read his expression, but his eyes remain elusive. We exchange awkward greetings, and the atmosphere tightens with every passing second.

“Hi,” Mark says, gesturing to an empty booth. The weight of his words hangs in the air as I comply. The vinyl seats are cold against my skin, and the tension in the room is palpable.

Mark fidgets with his hands, avoiding eye contact. I want to break the silence, to demand answers, but fear keeps me silent. Finally, he takes a deep breath, meeting my gaze.

“I didn’t handle your confession well,” he admits, his voice strained. “I panicked, and I’m sorry.”

His words hang in the air, and my heart races with a mix of relief and frustration. The apology doesn’t erase the hurt, but it opens a door to understanding.

“Mark, I know what I did was stupid. I ruined a perfectly fine friendship for my selfish feelings,” I sighed, shame laced my words.

“Y/N,”

“No, Mark,” I interrupted. “You don’t need to pity me, I get it.”

“Wait, let me finish.” He spoke, reaching over and grabbing my hands in his. “Y/N, I didn’t handle what you said well because I was scared. I was scared because I’ve never felt so much for a person.” He huffs, eyes filled with sincerity and care. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you ever since I saw you. I can’t even put into words how you make me feel. These four months without you have been pure torture. Ask any of the boys, I’ve been a complete and utter mess.”

His admission hangs in the air, and I feel a whirlwind of emotions—shock, joy, and a lingering sense of pain. The rollercoaster of feelings leaves me momentarily speechless.

“Mark, why didn’t you say something before I left for Italy?” I finally manage to utter, my voice a mix of vulnerability and frustration.

“I was scared too, Y/N. Scared that you wouldn’t feel the same way or that it would ruin our friendship,” Mark explains, his gaze unwavering. “But the truth is, I can’t imagine my life without you. I couldn’t let this continue without being honest about my feelings.”

“Mark, I… I don’t know what to say,” I admit, still processing the whirlwind of emotions. “I thought you hated me.”

“I could never hate you, Y/N/N,” he brought his hand up to your face, caressing your cheek. “I’m stuck with you forever, whether you like it or not.”

I giggled, tears of joy spilling over and flooding my face. “I like that idea.”

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Sixteen

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers,

I'm so sorry! I've been so sick, but do not fret this fic is still alive!

Events of this fic take place right after Western Energy S2E4 of Helluva Boss. Full Moon events have not yet happened.

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Sixteen - Let's Kill God

Content Warning: Minors DNI!!!!!! Mentions of murder-suicide

Alastor smiles in his sleep. 

It’s not his Radio Demon smile. It’s not his half-cocked know-it-all grin. It’s a soft upturn of the lips, a bittersweet smile that’s more sweet than bitter. One that can only be worn properly by the innocence of youth and not by an Overlord of Hell. You’ve only seen that look on his face once before: in Louisiana. 

Over a round of King Cakes, Alastor told you of his mother and her joy. He made her seem perfect: the exact embodiment of what a mother should be. Your heart twisted in your chest for him. To have been loved, cared for, and cherished like that and then to have lost her in such a violent way…

Still, to have a mother ~period~ and one who raised such a respectable gentleman (despite the murders and cannibalism) is a treasure. In this moment, seeing the peace on Alastor’s sleeping face, you understand why he became the Bayou Strangler and then later the Radio Demon. To go after men of such caliber, of such terrible deeds over and over again. To prevent further violence and murder, those men might have committed.  

It was like he was saving his mother over and over again with each of their deaths. 

Alastor then wasn’t the Alastor you knew now. He was a completely different person before his father shot his mother in a murder-suicide. Just an innocent young man looking to make his own way in this world, all the while just trying to make his mother smile. He was powerless then and he’d never let himself be powerless ever again. 

That’s where his thirst first took root: a legend born of violence. Not much different from yourself. 

Alastor attempted to turn over in his sleep, but when his body couldn’t subconsciously turn from his back to his side, it woke him. The demon blinked out of synch, his left eye blinking and then his right, as if blinking the blanket of sleep away. It was cute, the way he dreamily met your gaze and smiled even wider. You couldn’t help but match his grin. 

“It seems I am trapped,” his voice was groggy as he spoke. 

“Oh, no. Whatever shall you do?” You joked. 

You woke not long ago, minutes before the demon stirred himself. Eventually, the silence of the room woke you. There was no music on his radio, no static - a barrier of white noise to keep out the silence that haunted your dreams. 

When you had woken you didn’t move. At some point in the night your wings had appeared and cocooned the two of you in a black blanket of feathers. It’s a good thing your feathers were soft - unlike some of your brothers whose wings poked and itched like Hell whenever you rubbed up against them. 

Alastor scooted closer to you, his eyelids drooping. The demon once told you he barely ever slept - his own personal curse. Yet, last night, the two of you passed out the second your heads hit the pillow. 

It had been a long, exhausting day, after all…

The thought that Alastor finally found some peace was a relief to you and most likely explained the radio silence. His body was finally able to relax, which meant he felt safe here, cocooned in your swaddle of protection. 

You snuggled up into the demon, not wanting to leave the warmth of your embrace, which encased the two of you from head to knees - well, your calves and Alastor’s knees. 

Alastor pressed a kiss to your forehead, “How are you this morning, mon couer?” 

You sighed in the fluff of his chest at the sound of Alastor’s raw and unfiltered voice, “Sore.” 

It was true. Your body had taken a beating - most notably your lower abdomen.

Alastor chuckled, the vibrations running through his chest and into your own. God, you’d kill if only to hear that sound again, a moment more. 

The demon ran a hand through your hair, the other trapped beneath the pillow supporting your head. Alastor shivered when you ran your foot across his calves and over his hooves. 

Hooves. Damn. Alastor was the only demon classy enough to not only make them look posh but also sexy at the same time. If only Hell knew. Maybe he would have won Hell’s Hottest Bachelor, after all. 

As the demon massaged your scalp, your wings tightened as if sensing the end of your perfect moment slowly slipping away. The two of you have been hiding up here since the fight. You hadn’t called anyone or texted anyone to let them know that you were alive - not that you could text, but Alastor did have a hidden landline. Rosie was probably the only one to think that the two of you didn’t kill each other off and that’s only because she was playing matchmaker and was still holding out. Everyone else? They are going to be pissed.

“What’s wrong?” Alastor asked, cupping your chin and tilting your face into his. The red of Alastor’s irises burned into your cheeks. 

If you ever found whatever force designed Humann Sinners’ demon forms, you would thank it a million times over for this man. 

Apparently, you had sighed a bit too loud at the thought of Angel throttling you when you got back to the Hotel.

“I just… I don’t want this to end,” you swallowed dryly. “I’ve had so few perfect moments in my life that I’ve learned to appreciate one when I am in it, but I'm desperate for them to never end.” 

Honestly, you had no idea what life was going to look like now, what it was going to look like when the two of you went back to the Hotel -  if there was a Hotel to go back to. What if Charlie didn’t want you there anymore? All your presence would do is invite competition, just as Sir Pentious came seeking Alastor that first fateful day you met. Not to mention the sheer emotional and mental damage you put Charlie through by lying to her about who you really are. 

Charlie had every reason to hate you and every reason to kick you out. What then? Would the rest of the Hotel gang still want to be friends with someone like you? It’s bad enough they know you're an Angel, but an Archangel at that… Mikaela Morningstar, the famous Golden Girl and General of all of God’s armies, and now a Hotel guest of Princess Morningstar. That’s a sentence you never thought you’d say. 

So no, you didn’t want to leave your little cocoon of protection just yet, but you knew you needed to. You had to face reality eventually…

“This does not have to end,” Alastor breathed into your hair, the demon woefully intoxicated on your scent.

You scrunch your nose in confusion. 

The demon ran his thumb over your cheek, “Join me for dinner tonight and we can pick up right where we left off?” 

A flock of butterflies erupted in your chest, “Alastor Hartfelt, are you asking me on a date?” 

As if in response, the radio on the side table flickered to life. Alastor smiled his half-cocked grin as Nat King Cole’s “Darling je vous aime beaucoup” thrummed to life on the radio. 

Oh, my God. A date. A date with the Radio Demon? A date with the Radio Demon! A date with Alastor! You’d compare this sensation to how you felt when Vox asked you out - repeatedly, you might add - but didn’t want to think of the overgrown iPod while you were naked in bed with Alastor. 

“I…” You smiled in disbelief. “I…”

“Say yes,” Alastor’s free hand found your hip. He pulled you flush against him, running his claws down your thigh, he hooked it over his waist. Your leg sat perfectly in the dip of where his hip crested - as if it was designed just for you. 

Actually, all of Alastor fit you like a glove: his hands a perfect cup full for your breasts; the way his curves matched yours as you lay enveloped within each other on your sides; he was the perfect height for you to lean into him and rest your head on the fluff of his chest. 

“Yes,” you said, capturing his lips with yours, but pulled back with a gasp as Alastor flipped you atop him. 

Straddling Alastor’s waist, your wings instinctively stretched out, unfolding to their full width. Groaning, you rolled your shoulders, working out the stiffness that had cultivated overnight. How long were you unconsciously cuddling Alastor like that? 

“Absolutely breathtaking,” the demon lay mesmerized by your feathers. Capturing a feather between his fingers, the demon traced the length of its spine, relishing in the softness of the black vane. 

Rarely have your wings been touched by hands not your own. Pain. Your wings have only known pain. In battle, they’ve been stabbed by steel, sliced by arrows, singed by magic… Bare hands have only ripped and shredded your plume. Never have they been touched by strong yet gentle hands. It was almost a shock to the system to feel his fingers caress your feathers.   

And, apparently, wings are very sensitive…  

You saw the question in his eyes before he even asked it. “I didn’t portal to Hell the day Rosie found me,” you shuttered when he collected another feather between his fingers, this one lower down and longer than the previous. “I slipped between the planes, the way a Soul would after it died. I didn’t notice that my wings had turned black or my hair grey until after Carmilla strung me up from the ceiling of Rosie’s back room, and the evidence was lying at my feet.” 

Alastor’s expression suddenly changed, his eyebrows knit together, his smile flattened to a thin line. “Did it hurt?”

You blinked. “Did what hurt?” 

“When you fell from Heaven?” A half-cocked smile slowly spread across his face. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Before you had a chance to stop him, Alastor flipped you again, this time placing himself on top. With wings splayed out around you - the tips just barely brushing the edge of Alastor’s gigantic mattress - the demon’s body encased your own. The fluff of his chest pressed into your bare breasts as he leaned in for a kiss. His tongue strokes yours for the briefest of moments before retreating. 

“How I do so enjoy the taste of you, mon couer,” the demon purred, placing one hand beside your head to support himself. The other found the crest of your wings. Tracing the bend in your black cape with his finger, the demon maintained eye contact, watching as your lips parted, the gasp escaping your teeth. 

His eyes sparked. “And that look, that sound - that reassures me that I have ensnared you as much as you have me.” 

“I think you also like torturing me,” you breathed, your heart kicking up as Alastor aligned his hips with yours. You were both naked - having foregone even the bathrobes not long after your session on the balcony. 

Alastor tilted his head back and laughed before wrapping his hands around your waist and tugging you down into him. Alastor’s cock was pressed firmly between your hips and his, settling on your lower belly. You debated folding your wings away, but the thought of fucking Alastor while his fingers stroked your feathers…

“Mon couer, I love torturing you.”

Before you had a chance to question his choice of words, Alastor sheathed himself inside you. You cry out at the sudden sensation, but already, he is withdrawing and thrusting back in. Wrapping your arms around his neck… 

There was a pull behind your navel. You stopped abruptly, your entire body freezing. Alastor also froze, sensing the sudden change. 

Orange and mint. Your vision was flooded with the hues of purple. Fuck. “Octavia,” you breathed. 

Alastor slowly pulled out, moving so you could jump to your feet. “The armoire on the left.”

Folding your wings in and magicking them away, you jumped to your feet. The wooden wardrobe was stocked with clothes you had never seen before—all obviously here for you. Move now, question later. Grabbing for a pair of pants, you searched the room for the black underwear and bra Alastor took off you yesterday two days ago? 

“Top drawer,” Alastor motioned to the dresser by the bathroom door. The demon sat on the bed, his elbows on his knees, the sheets covering his more sensitive parts - the parts your heart really wanted to see. 

You pulled open the first drawer, questioningly, before slamming it shut. “That is not underwear,” you couldn’t help but snort. 

Alastor raised an eyebrow. 

“Was that Rosie’s idea or yours?” You pulled on the slacks as Alastor ditched the bedsheets for a closer look. You stared then, taking your fill of where exactly that red happy trail led before he pulled open the drawer. 

The demon looked as shocked as you did, but there was an underlying hint of devilry that gleamed in his eye. Okay, so it was Rosie’s idea, but Alastor was more than pleased by it. You huffed and pulled out the least scandalous bra in the drawer—red, of course—and spun before pulling it on. You couldn’t look Alastor in the eye for fear you might never leave this bedroom again - not that you were complaining. 

The demon grabbed a grey sweater with a turtle neck - the same color as your hair - and a black clip. He held it behind you as you threaded your arms through the sleeves. Alastor took the buttons from you while you flipped your hair into a knot, the metal securing it in place. You did a double-take. Was Alastor taking care of you? 

SNAP! A portal appeared. The color of the sky told you it was the Pride Ring. What was Octavia doing in the Sinner Circle? 

The demon wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against him. Fuck, he was still hard. 

A wave of cold breezed past your ankles. “You’re not sending me alone.” A statement, not a question.

Alastor pressed a kiss to your forehead as a cold breeze swam past your ankles again: Rolf. You should have guessed - the demon didn’t leave you alone when you were his enemy, why would he start now when you were his… His what exactly? You didn’t dare ask, it was too soon, too early to broach that topic. But one thing did pop into your head as you stepped through the crack in reality: what were you going to tell Rosie?

 The Radio Demon smirked as he handed you a pair of shoes, “Till tonight, mon couer.”

POP! The portal closed, leaving you with a pair of brand-new Mary Janes in a dirty alleyway. You allowed yourself one final breath to think of the demon who so often took it away before bolting for the street. 

It was time to move. 

“Stolas got what? How…? He can get hurt?” Blitz’s voice carried over the crowd of reporters swarming the main entrance to St. An’s Hospital. 

What the fuck is going…

“Thestral!” Octavia appears behind you before you got a chance to speak, tugging you towards the I.M.P. Crew who looked absolutely defeated. 

Millie and Moxie are covered in blood. Loona’s in a cone. Blitz just looks absolutely dumbstruck. What is happening? 

“Where is he?” Octavia demands of the group. The poor owlette looks scared out of her mind. Which is saying a lot because she rarely shows emotion on her face. The girl could cycle through five different emotions and if you couldn’t hear the inflection in her voice you would never know what she was thinking. 

“They just took ‘em inside,” Millie bows her head. 

“How…” Blitz’s voice cracks. The imp continues to stare into the crowd, his mind still not truly processing the events unfolding before him. Meanwhile Loona is passed out in the back seat of the van. 

Jesus, what kind of day did they have? More importantly, why are you being summoned only now? Or had you been summoned earlier but were too busy to notice? 

Guilt sours in your stomach. 

Octavia takes one look at the crowd, and immediately you know what she’s thinking. 

“Rolf,” I whisper, knowing the shadow can hear me. “Get us up there.” 

Taking hold of Octavia’s arm, Rolf shadows you into a sterile white hallway. A team of plague doctors work vehemently behind a glass wall, doing whatever it is healers do to injured Goetia Princes. 

A sob rocks through Octavia’s chest as she collapses against the window. You do your best to catch her, your mind flitting through a million different scenarios as to how exactly this could have happened. 

Angels can die. Goetian Princes can get hurt. 

What next…? 

____________________________________________

It had been hours before the plague doctors allowed you and Octavia to enter the room. It was hours while you stood there and did nothing but watch. You could have healed him right then and there with your blood. You could have done something to ease his suffering instantly…

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not with the media breathing down your neck outside and an entire hospital monitoring his health. Hell knew you were an Angel, but they didn’t know what you could do. That was a secret you weren’t going to share but you did let yourself think about it if only for a moment. 

You stared down at your hands, your blackened fingers looking more elegant and refined than lethal. They didn’t look like weapons—not like Alastor’s claws. Your skin was soft, absent of callouses and scars a battle-borne soldier should have. In fact, you never scarred, save for the bite mark that refused to fade from your neck. It’s almost as if your body heard your wish and kept that one just for you. 

But your hands… If you didn’t know any better, you’d say they were hands of healing, not hurting. Was that what you were intended for before Father dug his twisted sense of morals into your brain? If not, then why gift you with the power of healing? Lucifer couldn’t do that. None of your brothers could. Their blood was golden, but it wasn’t magical. 

Why was yours? 

You swallowed that thought, the emotions burning your throat as you made to stand. You had to get back to the Hotel eventually, and Octavia was passed out in the chair at her dad’s side, a blanket thrown over her sleeping form. 

“She won’t forgive you when she finds out, you know?” Stolas’ voice shakes you from your thoughts. How long had he been awake? 

“Stolas,” you find your seat once more. “I’m sorry I…”

“You did not know,” the Prince answers softly, afraid of waking his sleeping owlette. “Neither did Octavia.”

“What happened?” You whisper back.

“Take Octavia to her mother, will you?” He changes the subject. If he didn’t want to talk about it, you didn’t blame him. You’ve seen enough shell-shocked soldiers to know when to leave it be. At least he was awake and talking.

“I will,” you breathe. Stolas still thought you were trustworthy enough to take care of his daughter even though…? “I gave myself away in Louisiana, didn’t I?” The keys. He knew a Human Sinner couldn’t cross between Rings. Yesterday’s news merely confirmed it. 

Stolas met your gaze then, his usual soft eyes now full of… despair. “You have protected my daughter like you would a sister, and for that, I am grateful, but after today…” The Prince huffed. “Take her to her mother and take the card with you.” 

You blinked. “Stolas, I would never hurt Octavia…”

“Take. It. With. You.” The Prince commanded, steel coating his words. “And the keys…” He added as an afterthought. 

You didn’t dare say another word. The message was clear as day. Fuck, you couldn’t argue with him. Your mere presence invited trouble now that Hell knew who and what you were. Regardless of how you run into Octavia in the future, you’d be putting her at risk just by being around her. 

And Stolas was a father scorned…

You nodded your head before collecting a sleeping Octavia in your arms. 

“Goodbye Stolas…” And Rolf shadowed you into darkness. 

____________________________________________

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Keenie squeaked. 

“Of course, I’m sure!” Cletus barked from his place beside her. 

“I’m so excited!” Collin sang. 

The three banished Cherubs stood peaking around the corner, searching the growing mob of media crowding the front doors. 

“She’s not just going to walk right in the front door!” Keenie argued, the yellow floof of her hair swaying with the shake of her head. “Look at how many demons are here!” 

“Well, how else is she going to get in?” Cletus argued. 

“Oh! Oh! During the Battle of Troy, she convinced the Greeks to build a giant wooden horse to hide inside…” Collin began.

Cleatus banged him on top of the head. “Would you shut up!? Mikaela Morningstar isn’t going to sneak inside the Hazbin Hotel in a horse! This isn’t one of your fan club meetings!” 

Two days ago, Cleatus received a phone call from Rachel, who had given them an ultimatum. Track down the rogue Angel and bring her home. In exchange, they earn back their place in Heaven. 

Then Cleatus got the picture. 

And Collin went ape-shit.

“Hey! The Golden Girls are not just a fan club, okay? We are a group of warriors who would volunteer our lives if General Morningstar were to ever go to war again! We have studied, we have trained…”

“We are annoying!” Keenie interrupted him. “I swear if I have to hear one more…!” 

“Stop it!” Kleatus jumped in the middle. “Look!” 

The Cherub pointed down the road to a figure melting from the shadows. A silver-haired, pale-faced woman took one look at the growing crowd blocking the entrance to the Hotel before taking a step back and disappearing once more. It was but a moment but it was long enough. 

“That’s her!” Collin’s jaw was practically on the floor, his eyes glazed over in amazement. “The last time I saw her in person was during the Welcome Home parade after the last Crusades on Earth!”

Kleatus and Keenie nodded at one another. 

It was confirmed. Their target was none other than the famous Archangel Mikaela Morningstar. And they were going to bring her home whether she liked it or not. 

____________________________________________

Niffty’s voice was the first one you heard as you shadowed into the lobby of the Hotel. “Yeah. Where are your tits?”

Vaggie sighs, “Any other questions?”

Husk grumbles, “I got one. How come every time Charlie talks to Heaven, we get in deeper and deeper shit?”

The gang hadn’t noticed you yet as you quietly tiptoed into the foyer—well, except for Alastor. The zip of static running down your spine told you he was here, and he knew you were, too. You hadn’t really talked to the crew since the big reveal. You didn’t know how they were going to take it, but walking in on a conversation such as this was not boding well for you. 

The ex-exorcist rubs her temples, “It's not her fault. Angels are just…”

Angel Dust interrupts, “Liars?”

And the other shoe drops…

“Mikaela, how lovely it is for you to finally join us!” Alastor lights up like a Christmas tree as you round the corner.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him in a newly pressed black tailored suit. Seems Rosie made him more than one, but this one put him in all black - even the suit jacket beneath. His hair was tied back from his face into a short ponytail at the back of his head, accenting his sharp teeth as he beamed at you. 

God, you loved this man in form-fitting black. It made the butterflies in your belly fly circles in anticipation. And his hair? You never wanted to wear your hair up again for fear of never feeling Alastor’s fingers combing through it ever again. Meanwhile, you never wanted Alastor to wear his down. He was too handsome, too deadly, too enticing, with his hair pulled back from his face. 

You froze as all eyes fell on you. 

Fuck. What do you do? Do you greet Alastor back and find a seat? Do you sit by him? Do you sit far away from him? Do you not even respond at all? Do you respond normally - wait, what would normal even look like!? 

You didn’t know what to do. You and Alastor hadn’t had a talk to straighten out whatever was between you. You didn’t establish boundaries or titles - if there were even titles to be given. No, this was all too soon. Maybe Alastor didn’t even want to have any titles? Maybe he wanted to keep this all a secret? Revealing what you meant to him…

Alastor stood and crossed the distance between the two of you before you could even think. Claiming your hand in his, the demon pressed a kiss to the top and smiled, “Tu es toujours aussi belle, ma cherie. You look as lovely as ever, my darling.”

You sucked in a breath, waiting for the others’ reactions.

“I’m outta ‘ere!” Angel threw his many hands in the air before stomping away. The spider demon stormed up the stairs, not daring even a glance in your direction. 

Was Angel mad at you?

“Come,” Alastor leads you to the sofa as Rolf swirls around your feet. “Take a seat.” 

The demon sat you at the end of the couch, directly adjacent to the armchair he had been inhabiting before you showed up. 

Husk gave you a quick nod as you passed, signaling that things between the two of you were good. However, the nasty look he shot Alastor after displayed his disapproval of that situation. Yet the group did not comment. Probably too afraid of what Alastor might do, had they. 

“Charlie’s trying her best,” Vaggie continued. The Ex-Exorcist didn’t know what to make of you in that moment, her eyes constantly flitting back to Alastor who was currently humming in his chair, nonchalantly listening to the conversation. The demon did love gossip.

You had a sickening feeling that Vaggie’s eventual confrontation was coming. Not at this moment, however. She had enough on her plate to deal with. 

Husk took a swig of his drink. “Yeah, well, her best is turning out real well so far.” 

You blinked, finally noting the Princess’ absence. “Where is Charlie anyway?” 

Vaggie shot you a look you couldn’t smell - the scents too muddled together. Exasperation? Annoyance? Sadness? Guilt. Definitely guilt. “She’s upstairs. Coming up with something. I’m sure. In our room. Alone.” 

Alastor’s “Hmm,” would have been barely perceptible had you not been hyper-aware of the demon’s every move. Alastor leaned in, “I’ll be back in a moment, ma cherie.”

You couldn’t help but smile, “What happened to ‘mon couer?” You teased.

The demon’s grin turned sideways. “I think that’s best saved for when we are… alone.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“Can hear everything the two of you are saying,” Husk grumbled next to you. “Just so ya’ know.” 

Your face heated as Alastor melted into shadow, silently giggling as Rolf whisked him away. 

Nifty ran to the base of your shoes, “Where are your wings?” 

POP! 

The black mass of feathers unfurled behind you 

“Ooooohhhhh,” Sir Pentious clapped. “Ssssssssplendid!” 

“Owe!” You jumped. 

Nifty grabbed a fistful of feathers. The tiny demon laughed maniacally, “For my collection.” Then she took off to who knows where to do who knows what. 

Yet again, you repeat to yourself, Nifty was not a mystery you wanted to solve. 

“Show off,” you heard Vaggie mutter. 

Okay, you kinda felt bad about Vaggie’s situation, but now everyone knows. 

“Hey, aren't you like her boss or something?” Husk asks. 

And the questions begin.

“Technically no…”

You begin, but Vaggie interrupts you, “The General was in charge of God’s armies. The Exorcists are under Adam’s domain and technically a secret division in Heaven.” 

“Wait,” Husk does a double take. “You mean to tell me that Heaven doesn’t even know about the Exterminations?” 

“Nope,” Vaggie crosses her arms. 

“What kind of fucked up…” 

Maniacal laughter interrupts the conversation as Nifty sprints back into the foyer, a ball of golden fluff in her hands. “Look! Look! Look!” She sings like a small child. “Another for my collection!” 

“What isssss that?” Sir Pentious asks. 

Husks plucks it out of her little hands. The tiny demon protests, jumping for her newfound treasure as the cat demon holds it out of reach. “It looks like wool.” 

“Like from a sssssheep?” The snake demon slivers over to get a better look. 

“Nifty, where did you get that?” Vaggie prods. 

“The little flying sheep gave me…”

“Ahhh!” You collapse as a burst of power shoots through your core, the sudden intrusion of magic burning you from the inside out. The room is plunged into an aura of green as your face hits the carpet. 

“No. No!” Vaggie screams and runs for Charlie’s room. 

Husk slowly lifts you off the floor and guides you back onto the sofa. “Are you okay, kid?” 

“Yeah, I’m…” You hold your head to force the world to stop spinning, the pain fading as fast as it had appeared. Whatever the fuck that was, it felt… familiar. “What was that?” 

Husk looked at you as if you had grown a second head. “It looked like Boss’ static.” 

Alastor’s magic. That was impossible. You released Alastor from his contract. You couldn’t have access to his magic anymore. At least, you shouldn’t. Right? 

Looking down at your hands you watch the remainder of the green aura fade into your skin. Your blood, it felt energized as if a surge of electricity had charged it like a battery. It was eerily similar to the feeling you got when you had Velvette by the throat atop V Tower. 

You had wielded Alastor’s magic in that fight as if it were your own. His static jumped at your command, the power pooling into a well large enough to take down one of Crim’s balls of electricity. Fuck, even your voice became riddled with Alastor’s radio filter. 

You had chalked that up to the verbal contract the two of you had made many moons ago atop the radio tower. Now? Now it didn’t make sense…

Sir Pentious joins you on the couch. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I just…” You had an instinct to run to Alastor since whatever had just happened was because of him. That’s why Vaggie took off for Charlie’s room. Did he… Did he make a deal? Is that what that was? You started to panic. 

Did he own Charlie’s soul? Did Charlie even have a soul? 

Shit. That’s not how this was supposed to go. Charlie was supposed to be an intermediary in this plan - a tool to threaten Heaven and nothing more. She wasn’t supposed to become part of the game. 

Wait. Wait! Don’t panic. Alastor also made a deal with Lilith and Lilith wasn’t stupid. If the protection of Charlie was part of your deal then it was also a part of Alastor’s. Whatever the demon had just done, Charlie wouldn’t be harmed. 

Hopefully…

You sat back on the couch, your mind swimming with a million different questions, but deep down… Deep down, you trusted Alastor. 

Fuck. You trusted him. 

“I just need to lie down a bit…” 

You trusted him, and you were okay with it. 

And suddenly, the ever-solo Golden Girl found herself not so lonely anymore. And you didn’t mind it - the thought of your little solo act suddenly becoming a duo. 

Only if that’s what Alastor also wanted…

____________________________________________

Shit. Fuck. Shit. 

You stood in nothing but a towel before the red dress hanging in your closet. That!? Rosie had made you that!? That devil of a woman. You were going to have a serious talk about her recent lengths regarding your wardrobe. Red, you were okay with, but the lingerie and now this!? 

The dress was a red crepe with a low-hanging neckline and thigh-high leg slit. It was completely backless, which meant you were going to have to wear your hair down (which you wanted to do anyway). But, it also meant hiding your rune in public was going to be difficult. 

Which meant you were going to need a shawl or something to cover it up. You didn’t have a shawl, however, but you know who would. And you got the sense that he was royally pissed with you. 

Forgoing your bath towel for a Hotel robe, you quietly tiptoed to Angel’s door. You didn’t know why you felt the need to be quiet; not like Angel was going to attack you or anything, but instinct just took over. 

There was music playing on the other side of the door—some sort of pop music, probably something by Verosika Mayday. You and Angel hadn’t really talked since Lucifer’s visit when he convinced you to tell Alastor the truth. Sure, he watched over you during that week when you and Alastor weren’t talking, but you had pushed him away the entire time. You had snapped, argued, rolled your eyes, and dismissed any attempt he had at trying to break you from your spiral of depression and guilt. 

You had pushed and pushed, and all he did was try to help you. So when you quietly knocked on his door, it wasn’t so much to ask for a shawl or a jacket or whatever. It was to apologize. 

“Go away!” Angel yelled over the music.

“Angel, can we talk?” You rubbed the back of your neck, the bubbles of anxiety festering within. 

There was a moment of silence before the door slowly opened but a crack. The spider demon stood on the other side, closed off despite his willingness to engage in conversation. God, he looked angry. 

“What?” His words were sharp and pointed. 

Fuck, you hadn’t thought this through, you hadn’t rehearsed anything. So, you simply said, “You seem mad…”

Angel raised an eyebrow, “Ya’ tink? Did ya’ big scary Angel powers tell ya’ that?” 

Shit. 

“Angel, I…”

“Be careful what ya’ say, Hairclip. Every time ya’ open ya’ mouth, ya’ lie.” Angel snaps.

Ah, that’s why he’s mad. 

“I…” 

Fuck, you weren’t good at this feelings thing. You were awkward and couldn’t understand how to comfort others. Friendships - not alliances - were new to you. But hadn’t that been what you were doing from the start? Despite your apprehension, you had grown attached to the Hazbin crew and they you. 

They were your friends and so it was time you started acting like one. 

Your Endgame plan was growing more and more complicated by the day. 

“I’m sorry,” it came out as a whisper. “I’ve been a terrible friend. I’ve disappeared on you not once but twice now. I’ve lied. I’ve manipulated. I’ve done nothing but hurt you and use you and for that I am sorry. I’m a horrible friend and for that I do not deserve your friendship.” You hung your head low. 

Angel sucked his golden tooth, the hallway filling with awkward tension. And right before you thought it was going to explode in a wave of anger, Angel spoke. “Look,” he huffed. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say I never pretended to be somethin’ I ain’t.” 

Right. That’s what killed Angel in the end. A gay Italian gangster in his time… The demon’s overdose wasn’t an accident. 

“But, if we’re gonna do this friendship thang, we gotta do it right. No more of this lyin’ and disappearin’ bullshit.” With one set of hands on his hip, the spider demon opens the door completely. 

Wait. What? 

“And you're gettin’ a phone. I want no pushback on that one, sistah. I ain’t havin’ ya’ disappear on me again without at least a heads-up.”

Holy shit. You thought he was going to cut you out of his life like Stolas had, but no, he was making room for you in it. With stipulations, of course, but you could follow his rules, no problem! Whatever he wants so long as you still get to call him a friend. 

A friend! A real friend you didn’t want to kill and who didn’t want to kill you! A friend that wasn’t being ordered by Father to hang out with you or forced to follow your orders! 

You jumped on the demon, bringing him into a bear hug that squeezed the breath from his chest. 

“Thank you,” you breathed into his fluff. 

“Alright, alright, toots. Come inside, we got a lot of catchin’ up to do….”

____________________________________________

“Why is she just standing there?” Cleatus whispered.

“She looks so pretty!” Collin drooled. 

“This is our moment. We should go confront her.” Keenie shoved Collin out of the way. 

“Wait!” Cleatus grabbed Keenie by her floof and hauled her back around the corner. 

“Hey! Stop it! My head is still sore from that rat pulling out my hair!” The sheep protested. 

“What are you going to say?” Cleatus whispered. “Hello, General Morningstar, we’re here to take you back to Heaven, so if you’ll just follow us…” 

“So pretty…” Collin continued to ogle at the Angel standing before the doorway in a red, form-fitting dress. Her hair pooled down her back and shoulders in curled waves of silver. The curved neckline accented her breasts, while the backless dress swooped just above the crest of her hips, highlighting her feminine silhouette. “She’s as beautiful as she is heavenly.” The goat swooned. 

Cleatus rolled his eyes. “We need a plan.”

“How do you know she’s not here on a mission from Heaven?”Collin stepped in. “Why do you assume she’s Fallen?” 

“She’s in Hell. Cavorting with demons!” Keenie shook him. “She’s killed human souls. We all saw the footage, Collin.” 

“But so did we…!” Collin countered. 

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! 

The three Cherubs stacked their heads as they peered around the corner. A large shadowed figure opened the bedroom door and chaperoned the Angel inside. The door shut and then locked behind her. 

“Now what…?” Keenie mumbled. 

____________________________________________

You wouldn’t be going out tonight. You’d be staying in. As Rolf guided you into Alastor’s pitch-black room, a series of candles lit as if on cue, illuminating a walkway that led into the Bayou. 

“What��”

Rolf smiled as he ushered you down the aisle way of fire, out into the grass of the pocket dimension. Your heels sunk into the ground, the bottom of your red dress dragging in the dirt. The shadow paused to take your shoes, then bunched the train of your dress for you to carry as you made your way across the plain.   

It was night in the Bayou. The only light was from the candles at your feet, which led you towards the ever-growing forest and the twinkle of the stars above. As you grew ever closer to the trees, the soft sound of jazz quickly replaced the chirping of crickets. 

You smiled as the static found your skin and the aura of Alastor’s scent filled your nose. As you rounded the large trunk of a tree, you came upon a small but familiar clearing. The same clearing he had shadowed you that night he meant to confront you. Now it was surrounded by candlelight and at the center… 

“Perfect timing as always, mon couer,” Alastor spun, a glass of wine in one hand and a bottle in the other. 

The demon stood there, hand outstretched with the goblet, in an all-black button-up and trousers. With his hair pulled back, the demon’s eyes soaked you in, and his smile dropped. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight. 

You dropped the train of your dress, the fabric pooling at your feet. “Have I done something wrong?” 

Alastor fell to his knees then and there, his radio skipping off its track. The goblet of wine and the bottle set gently in the glass. Taking your hands in his, he whispered, “You could never do wrong, mon couer.” 

“Then why do you look at me like that?” Your red lips turned down in a pout. 

“Can a demon not be rendered speechless by the most beautiful sight he has ever seen? Can he not be brought to his knees by such a wondrous creature, the embodiment of power itself? Can he not adore the vessel which adorns it, wholly and completely?” 

His words render you breathless, and your mind blanks with a response. Rosie was wrong when she said Alastor showed he cared through his actions, not his words. Alastor took days to show you he cared through action, and by words, well… the demon spoke poetry. 

So when he called you “absolutely beautiful” moments before he stabbed that Angelic blade into your gut, he was not talking about the power itself. He was talking about you. 

You smiled as you cupped his cheeks and pressed your lips to his. For what could you say to match that? 

“Come,” the demon said, climbing to his feet and pressing the goblet of wine in your hand. He had a wicked grin on his face as he led you towards the blanket, which held a picnic of food. “A little birdy informed me you enjoy a nice night in with a home-cooked meal and bottle of wine.” 

You smiled as you sit, “A little cat, you mean?” 

Yes, of course Husk rendered word for word your little rant after your date with Vox. Of course Alastor memorized each one.

“I know not what you mean,” Alastor smiles as he lay next to you, his own glass of wine in his claws. The demon’s fingers found the swoop in the fabric of your dress, his claw tracing the red as it lined your back.  

Goosebumps formed on your skin. “And what of today?” You prod, referring to the small army Charlie arranged to fight Adam and his Exorcists. 

Alastor takes a sip of the glass as he lays back on the blanket, supported by his elbow. “A gift.” 

You blinked. “A gift?” 

“The spark to ignite your war,” he smiles. 

“You did that for me?” You asked. 

Alastor places his glass down next to the picnic basket filled with what you assume is Alastor’s cooking. “Not wholly.” 

You swallowed dryly. “You made a contract?” 

The demon’s eyes fall to the basket. “In exchange, the Princess owes me a favor.” 

Good, not her soul. 

“Charlie can not be harmed,” you said carefully. You were touching upon Lilith but didn’t want to mention her by name, which was a sore topic for Alastor. 

“I cannot, and neither can you,” his hand said, finding your arm and tracing it to the strap on your shoulder. 

Also, good. 

“We have three days,” Alastor continued. “I wish to spend them wisely.”

A.k.a. no more talking of plans and schemes. 

“Speaking of which, you saw Rosie today,” you take another sip. “How mad is she?” 

The demon hooked his claw under your strap, playing with it as he spoke, “On the contrary, the woman is insufferably happy.” 

You beamed. Of course, she is. 

“She’s taken it upon herself to design you a dress.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“To meet my mother,” Alastor played with the strap, his mind elsewhere. 

Oh… Oh! 

“But she’s… Unreachable at the moment.” You breathed. When had you become so breathless? 

“In Louisiana, darling. I wish to visit her grave. If you’ll take us?” Alastor’s eyes met yours. Nothing but grief and sadness filled them despite the smile on his face. 

“Of course,” you captured his hand with yours and brought it to your cheek. “In a heartbeat.” You press a kiss to his palm. 

The demon smiled. 

“But,” you smirked, “you must promise me something?”

“Anything,” Alastor answered immediately. 

“For the next three days, you’ll train footwork with me.” 

Alastor raised an eyebrow. 

“Your footwork and swordsmanship are atrocious, and…!” 

Alastor grabbed your hand and pulled you onto him. The glass of wine spilled into the grass as the demon wrapped one hand around the back of your neck and brought you into a kiss. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue darted out for yours. 

Alastor broke away, seemingly unphased by the action, a knowing half-cocked grin on his face, “I’m sorry, you were saying?” 

You were… Fuck, your entire mind went blank. 

“I apologize,” he chuckled. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you since you arrived. I would have greeted you with a kiss, but this dress was distracting.” 

You smiled back, your cheeks turning as red as the fabric. And then the question hit you again. “Alastor, when you spoke to Rosie today, what did you tell her?” 

The demon’s eyes caught on something behind you. “It’s time.” 

It’s time? 

The demon motioned for you to lay down next to him, your back on the blanket and your eyes on the canopy of the trees. “Alastor, what are we…?” 

“Shh,” the demon shushed. “Wait.” 

The candles winked out at once, plunging the two of you into darkness. It was a rather odd change to the conversation, but you let it happen. It's not like the answer to that question wasn’t killing you inside or anything… 

CLICK! 

Alastor’s radio switched stations. Nat King Col’s “My First and My Last Love” began playing.

🎶I recall all the days of my childhood

And that bashful romance that we knew

In my teens, as I roamed through the wild wood

Then my first and my last love was you 🎶

As if on cue, a wave of green fireflies shot out of the darkness. The small bugs surrounded the two of you, as if you were swimming in your own sea of stars. 

And the answer to your question has finally been answered: “was this romance?” 

🎶When I strayed from our green fields of Clover

Still I knew that my heart would be true

Though I wandered the world like a rover

Still my first and my last love was you🎶

No, this was not romance. It was so much more. 

You turned to Alastor, only to notice that he had not been watching the wonder around you but rather you the entire time. 

🎶And your love haunted me like a song

Till it brought me back where I belong🎶

The green danced in his blown-out pupils as you nudged closer to him. Alastor’s forehead met yours as he whispered, “You asked me what I had told Rosie.” 

🎶Now the days of my youth are behind me

And the years we have left may be few

But my memories will always remind me

That my first and my last love was you🎶 

You nodded. You held your breath in anticipation of his answer. 

“I told her what she had told me long ago,” he caressed your cheek with his thumb. “That one cannot live without their heart.” The demon cupped your face. “And you are mine, mon couer. I'm your guy, and you're my gal."

You sucked in a breath, “That doesn’t just mean being with me, Alastor. It also entails what comes with.”

🎶And your love haunted me like a song Till it brought me back where I belong🎶

The Endgame. Although Alastor had shown interest, he didn’t necessarily commit. Yes, today was a show of good faith, but there was something in it for him too. You needed a commitment to you and the plan. He could not get one without the other, but the demon already knew that. 

The demon chuckled low. His other hand coming to the slit in your dress, and you gasped as his fingers met the outside of your thigh and climbed higher and higher. At the base of your ass, he grabbed your leg and threw it over his waist, his eyes never leaving yours. 

The green danced all around you as Alastor ran a hand through your silver hair, his fingers playing with your curls. “Well then…”

🎶Now the days of my youth are behind me And the years we have left may be few But my memories will always remind me That my first and my last love was you🎶

His voice was low and filled with lust as he said, “Let’s kill God.”

And before you had a chance to reply, the demon pulled you in and kissed you savagely. 

There was no more need for words after that. The food was long forgotten - for now. You’d be eating it afterward… The demon pulled you fully up onto him, his vision swimming with nothing but you in red and the green of the fireflies surrounding you, illuminating you.

And as Alastor broke the kiss to stare up at the Fallen Angel above him, he had cemented what he had been telling himself all along. He'd destroy, he'd kill, and he'd raise Heaven and Hell if it meant keeping you here by his side. Killing God was a menial task if it meant he got to keep you as the prize, but the Radio Demon had left out a few details regarding his talk with Rosie. You were his heart, that much was true, but he had much bigger plans in store for you.

The demon ran his claw across your bottom lip, admiring the red. Alastor took his time memorizing the shape of your lips, the pooling of your silver hair, and the flash of yellow in your eyes as the green from the fireflies danced around you. He memorized you as if it was his dying breath, for the demon never thought he'd known Heaven till now and had surely died but just hadn’t realized it yet.

He gladly welcomed the day God died. The thought of anyone making a mark on this skin but him... Alastor instinctively growled at the thought. His hand fell from your mouth to your neck. He pushed the hair aside to appreciate the mark. The bruises had faded thanks to your unnatural gift of healing, but the bite at the base of your neck, that one refused to fade.

Good. Let all of Hell know you were his.

Alastor watched as you unfurled your wings behind you, the black masses stretching to their full width. An Angel... He'd laugh if he wasn't so completely enraptured. Who would have ever thought he, Alastor Hartfelt had fallen completely and totally...

He couldn't say the words. He didn't want to scare you, didn't want you to think him another man in your life obsessed to the point of toxicity. You had a history with men, and Alastor didn't want to become just another face that haunted you at night. You've endured enough emotional, mental, and physical torture for one immortal lifetime.

So he didn't say what he was thinking. He'd go slow, give you space and time. He didn't want to push for fear of losing you.

After all, it takes one emotionally damaged soul to know another.

Alastor caressed your wings and watched as your mouth parted ever so slightly, your lips forming that wonderful "o" they make when he catches you off guard with a sudden sensation. By Satan, he loved the little noises and faces he could draw from you.

"Where were we?" Alastor purred. He ran both hands up your thighs, bunching the dress as he went.

Tiny blue sparks jumped from your form and into the grass. The Bayou was a wet and humid place, and it would take more than that to ignite it.

"We have no vèvè to protect us out here, mon couer," despite the demon's warning, his fingers continued to climb until they crested your hips.

Alastor shot you a knowing look, mischief glowing in his eyes.

You weren't wearing any underwear.

You smirked at the demon as you leaned forward, your hands going to his hair as you settled against his chest, your wings folded behind you, "Try not to electrocute me."

"Try not to set my Bayou ablaze," the demon purred, relishing in the feel of your fingers in his antlers.

With your eyes half-lidded, you purred, mocking his tone, "As you command, Mr. Alastor."

Alastor pulled you down to him, but he didn't immediately tear into you as you expected. No. He kissed you slowly and deeply, as if savouring the very taste of you on his tongue.

There was something very, very different about this time.

Alastor’s radio clicks on a smooth jazz, his favorite, actually: Nat King Col's "Unforgettable."

Slowly, Alastor's hands traced your silhouette, caressing your hips, the dip in your waist, the shape of your breasts. His hips did not buck, his teeth did not bite, his lips did not bruise. The demon did not give you any of the usual signs that he was hungry, insatiable as he had been for the past few days.

And then it hit you. Alastor was letting you take the lead.

You smiled against his mouth, and took the opportunity you didn't have before to roam his skin. You followed the chiseled edge of his jaw, to the spot just below his earlobe, before nipping it and eliciting an extremely satisfying gasp from Alastor.

You followed down his neck, planting featherlight kisses until you reached his chest. Alastor liked having only the top two buttons undone when he was being more casual, so when your mouth found the third, your fingers undid the buttons as your lips continued south.

When you hit his belly button, you pulled back to admire the sculpted chest before you. With his shirt completely undone, you traced his pecs with your fingers, following the lines of his muscles down his abdomen to the lean six-pack of his torso.

Alastor's face was red with lust, his eyes glassy, his heart beating at a million miles an hour beneath your hand. To think, you had the Radio Demon completely undone, and you hadn't even taken off your clothes.

And you weren't going to let this go to waste.

You pulled off his belt and then undid the button of his pants. Without hesitation, you grabbed Alastor's shaft and pulled his cock free. The demon grits his teeth as his claws dig into the meat of your hips. You stroke, eliciting a growl deep from within his chest.

Oh, no, you were going to savor this moment.

His head swells as you drag your thumb over his slit.

"Fuck," Alastor moans as a few green sparks of static sink into the grass.

You debated using your mouth, but to be honest, you didn't know what to do with it, but your hips? You knew how to use those.

Alastor’s head rolled back at the sight of you tugging your dress above your waist. With one hand firmly wrapped around his cock, you lined your clit up with his shaft and rolled your hips, timing it with the stroke of your hand.

Alastor made a noise halfway between a whimper and a moan that made you roll your hips again.

If you knew all it took to take down the infamous Radio Demon was the roll of your hips, you’d have had this man begging on his knees weeks ago. Oh, there is definitely more than one way accrue power and you had just found it.

“Beg,” you command, referring to all those times Alastor made you crave him, desperate for him to be inside you, hopeless for release.

The demon’s head shot up as if he didn’t hear you correctly, but you silenced any protest he would have made with another stroke and another grind of your clit into his shaft.

“Fuck,” he groaned again.

“Come on now, Mr. Alastor, where are your manners?” You pouted, drawing his attention to your lips. You licked them, if only to incite more annoyance with your demand.

Alastor growled, showing off his canines like an alpha male ready to pounce, but the demon wasn’t giving in just yet.

So you decided to up the anty.

Scooting back, you leaned down and ran your tongue across the head, lapping up the pre-cum leaking from the top. Alastor gasped, his hands instinctively knotting in your hair.

“Ah, uh, uh,” you tutted, pulling away. You leaned over his belly, stroking his cock as you intentionally brought it closer to your cleavage. Alastor’s eyes practically bugged out of his head at the sight.

You weren’t wearing a bra either and from this angle, Alastor had full view of your cleavage and breasts as you stroked again.

“What will it be, Mr. Alastor?” You kissed his lower belly, following a trail up to his neck before seating yourself atop his waist once more.

You stroked as you sat there, waiting for the demon to find enough sense - and enough air, was he even breathing? - to respond to your demand.

But oh, it was practically killing him to do so. Alastor had never begged for anything in his life.

“Please,” he moaned as you stroked, the demon completely disheveled beneath your. “Please, darling.”

Aww, how cute.

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his nose, “Only because you asked nicely.”

You lined him up and gasped as you sank down to the hilt.

“Fuck, Alastor!”

The demon shot up and captured your moans with his mouth, his one hand helping to guide your hips as you slowly lifted up and came back down. With his other he palmed your breast and pinched your nipple through the red fabric causing you to yelp. Alastor continued to let you take the lead, his actions but mere assistance as you bounced up and down on his cock.

Using his antlers as leverage, you opted for hard rather than fast - knowing that’s how Alastor liked it. And with every bounce of your hips, the demon grew thicker and thicker inside you.

Alastor’s groans turned into full on moans, the most vocal you had ever heard the demon. And as your walls twitched, your climax building, you felt Alastor growing closer and closer to his own.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to last much longer, darling,” Alastor breathed.

“Good,” you smiled against his mouth. “I want you to cum.”

“Fuck,” the demon moaned.

“Cum in me Alastor,” you demanded, your hips moving faster and faster.

Alastor grabbed your hips then, his claws sinking into your flesh as he slams you down onto him harm. Sheathed to the hilt, his head bruising your cervix as he spilled inside of you with a low guttural grunt.

It was enough to send you into your own orgasm, your own personal high as the demon spilled inside of you.

You breathed heavily as your body rode the tingling aftershocks. Collapsing into Alastor, your head rested on his shoulder as the two of you sat there surrounded in a sea of green stars, your wings limp behind you.

It wouldn’t become apparent to you then, but about ten feet in every direction, with the two of you at the center, was a circle of scorched earth. You hadn’t burned down the Bayou but you had lit it on fire at some point.

And yet, the two of you did no harm to each other.

“Mon couer,” Alastor cooed as he ran a hand through your hair. “My heart,” he whispered. “Mine.”

The two of you sat there for a long moment, just drinking each other in, before continuing on with a long night of drinking, eating, laughing, and genuinely just being happy for the first time in your lives. You talked of jazz and radio, of Heaven and your life on the run with Eve. You talked of everything and nothing. You talked well past the point of exhaustion, never wanting the night to end.

And you savored every moment of it, for you had gotten good at recognizing the good times when you were in them, but knew they always had to come to an end eventually…

Awww, so cute. What could go wrong? *cough* foreshadowing *cough*

Possible alternate endings???? I'm indecisive AF

-> Chapter Seventeen

Tagged Hoteliers (Let me know if you wish to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @mommymilkers0526 @goyablogsstuff

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

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@mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

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@reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto @freshonyourpages

@chibistar45

[fettuccinealfred0]

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 9

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 12.5k

(CW: SMUT 18+, brief descriptions of gore, vampire biting/blood drinking, unprotected p in v sex, cunnilingus)

Summary:

“You turned me into a vampire?” You practically shriek at Astarion. You keep your palms pressed firmly into the ground, fighting against your instinct to immediately rip his throat out. It’s hard to restrain yourself. You feel like a wild animal.

There’s a flash of panic that passes over Astarion’s face before his brows knit together in confusion. “You’re angry?”

You huff out a humorless laugh, eyes turning up to the sky to check if this is some sort of cosmic joke. “Yes, I’m fucking angry, Astarion! What did you do to me? You killed me!”

“Raphael killed you!” He shoots back defensively. “You were dying! I didn’t have a choice.” 

Read on ao3 here

You can’t focus on anything other than this hunger. 

Oh. If this was how good blood tasted, how did Astarion ever manage to pull himself away from you? 

You want to fall into him and drown. You want to devour him whole. 

The aftertaste of his blood sticks heavy in your mouth when he finally tears his wrist free from your tight grasp. You need more. You never want to stop. 

“More,” you croak out and your throat feels like it’s burning.

“There are bodies everywhere, my love. Take your pick,” Astarion says. You’re cradled in his arms, and you can’t even think to question how you got there because your entire being is consumed with this burning desire for blood.

After freeing yourself from Astarion’s arms, you crawl on your hands and knees to a downed guard a few feet away. He’s still alive, but barely. You can smell the blood pouring from the gaping wound on his thigh and can hear how it rushes under his skin. You salivate.

It’s too much work to pull off his gloves to get to his wrist, so you go straight for the gap between his helmet and his chest plate, digging your teeth into his neck. His blood is sweet and rich and so good that you can’t think straight. 

The whole thing is messy and crude and violent. You can’t even bother to care right now. 

You hear yourself let out an angry growl when you’ve drained that man. More, still more. You crawl a few feet to the next body on the floor. This one is dead and their blood is stale. And still, you drink until there is nothing left. 

The more blood you consume, the more your mind clears and the sharper your senses become. Has the world always been so loud? So bright?

When you finish draining that man, still on your hands and knees on the floor, you look up to the rest of the group. You can feel the blood running down your chin and neck, staining the front of your dress. There’s blood all over you, in various stages of drying- the rusty tear tracks running down your face from the energy wave Raphael had unleashed, the thick clumps of your hair that are matted and still wet with blood from when your head had been bashed into the wall. 

Everyone's faces are painted with varying shades of displeasure and horror. Shadowheart has big, sorrowful eyes and Wyll is looking down at you as if you were a rabid animal. 

All except Astarion, who is kneeling on the ground and staring at you with a wide smile on his face, like this is the embodiment of his wildest dreams. 

You had just died and he had the audacity to be happy about it?

You burn with an anger that doesn’t fully belong to you. It’s uncontrollable. You’re scared of yourself. Everything is too much; your emotions all feel too big. 

What sort of monster had Astarion turned you into? 

The two of you had agreed that you would get to decide when you were turned into a vampire- that you would pick when and how, and it would be a lovely memory that you would get to cherish forever.

This is most certainly not that. 

“You turned me into a vampire?” You practically shriek at Astarion. You keep your palms pressed firmly into the ground, fighting back against your instinct to immediately rip his throat out. It’s hard to restrain yourself. You feel like a wild animal.

There’s a flash of panic that passes over Astarion’s face before his brows knit together in confusion. “You’re angry?”

You huff out a humorless laugh, eyes turning up to the sky to check if this is some sort of cosmic joke. “Yes, I’m fucking angry, Astarion! What did you do to me? You killed me!”

“Raphael killed you!” He shoots back defensively. “You were dying! I didn’t have a choice.” 

There’s genuine sorrow in his voice as he practically pleads with you to understand. And you do. But there’s something itching at your throat and you just died and you’re angry and you’re upset. 

It feels like you are watching yourself react, trapped away in a haze. There are tears rolling down your cheeks and desperate, heaving sobs choking their way up from your throat that have you curling in on yourself to weep. Astarion must have come to sit by you because you feel his hand run soothingly down your back. You wrench your body away from him. 

You did not want comfort. Not now. 

“You took away my choice, Astarion! Again!” You yell at him between your sobs, too aware of the way each tear feels as it rolls down your face. Everything was just too much. Everything felt wrong in your body. “My whole life, I knew I would have little control over who I married. But you took away the choice of whether I lived or died!” 

“You were human, we would have gotten to this point eventually. We had already talked about turning you.” Astarion’s hands have fallen in his lap and he looks at you with such melancholy. It makes your skin itch, to think he pities you in your current state. 

“It’s about autonomy, Astarion! It’s about choosing what happens to my body and when that happens. You of all people should understand that!”

If you were thinking clearly, you would never have brought up his past. The part of your mind that is still you and not this monstrous new version of yourself shatters as you watch his face scrunch in pain and anger. 

“So, you’re allowed to always be angry at me, but I’m not supposed to have my own feelings?” Astarion asks. “I’m just supposed to immediately forgive you and forget the fact that you invaded my privacy by reading my diary? Am I not allowed to be scared after I just watched your skull practically shatter in front of me?” 

He struggles in vain to steady the underlying shake in his voice. “Was I not supposed to do everything in my power to save you? Please, do not treat me like I have been completely unreasonable or like you have never done anything to hurt me. You know as well as I do that you would have made the same choice if I were the one lying in a pool of blood in front of you.”

And you simply sit there, powerless, as the person who knows you most intimately in the world calls your bluff. 

He’s right. He has seen right through you in the way that only he can. You had made that same exact choice when he returned home from a previous trip with that gaping wound in his side. You had not thought, you had not hesitated when you cut your hand open and fed him your blood. In that moment, all that mattered was saving Astarion by any means necessary. 

“Well, if you would have told me everything, we probably wouldn’t have even been in this mess in the first place, would we?” You shout back, trying to deflect from how Astarion had just exposed the flaws in your anger. 

To be fair, only you can comprehend the full weight of your question. Astarion still doesn’t know that you have the final gem. Nevertheless, it rings true. The communication issues have compounded on themselves. If Astarion had let you help in his search, you would not have read his diary and he would not have sent you away to be kidnapped. And if you were not kidnapped, you would not have had to fight Raphael. You would still be alive. 

Astarion’s crimson eyes flare with anger because he knows that you are right, too. You both just stare at each other, challenging the other to back down. In the background, you hear someone awkwardly clear their throat, but you and Astarion stay fixated on one another. Apparently, a side-effect of vampirism was unwavering focus. 

You break first, though, when you begin to grow impatient. 

“You say that you are not allowed to have your own feelings, but the minute you set your mind on something, my feelings on the subject become completely irrelevant. It’s all you, Astarion. It’s always about you and how you feel,” you snarl. “I have given you every opportunity to listen to me and to be honest with me and you have fought against me at every turn.”

Astarion opens his mouth like he is going to interrupt, but you cut him off.

“No. Even when you promised that you would tell the truth, you still carefully selected what insignificant information would placate me without giving me any of the meaningful details. How am I ever supposed to trust you if I doubt every word you say?”

“I have never once lied to you,” Astarion defends, his jaw locked tight.  

“A lie by omission is still a lie. Evading my questions with half-truths is still half-lying,” you point out, “Astarion, I don’t know how I can be with you if you’re unable to understand why your actions hurt me.”

“Are you-” Astarion stumbles on his words, unable to even finish the thought. But his eyes betray him, asking are you done with me?

“No, never. I-” you cut yourself off, bringing your hands up to cover your eyes and block out all the too-bright lights. Have candles always burned so brightly? “I think you were right. I think we need some space so we can both process for a bit. I need time to be angry at you. I need time to adjust.”

“My love, I’m so sorry, but that can’t happen.” He sounds so genuinely remorseful. His hands wrap around your wrists, gently pulling your hands away from where they shield your eyes from the overwhelming, flickering candlelight. You can tell Astarion wants you to be looking at him while he speaks and his eyes are soft and round with concern. “You need me now more than ever. You’re going to be hungry, going to need to feed. There’s so much I need to teach you.”

“So you’re making this decision for me, too? That’s wonderful.” You rip your hands out of his grasp. 

Why does he keep insisting on reaching out to touch you? Does he not see you struggling? Does he not remember how disorienting it was to first wake up all those years ago? You’re so aware of everything and it makes his touch against your skin practically hurt.

Some distant, detached part of your mind reminds you that he is probably looking to ground himself. Touching. Always touching. Astarion needed that comfort and you weren’t able to provide him with that right now.

You feel guilty and angry at yourself that you somehow keep hurting Astarion without even trying. You’re mourning your life and the loss of everything normal that you once knew. And you hadn’t even begun to fully process the fact that you had just killed people. It was all a blur when you had jammed your knife into Raphael’s throat but his blood was caking uncomfortably on your hands and that poor man who you had just drained on the floor might have been at the brink of death, but it was still you who killed him. 

You lean over and throw up. Bile and congealed blood force their way up your throat and leave a dirty, metallic taste in your mouth. Astarion reaches out again, and this time you let him hold the hair away from your face as you vomit on the floor. Over the sounds of your sobbing and heaving, you faintly hear a discussion before everyone leaves the room. 

And then, it is just you and Astarion and it’s finally quiet. Astarion whispers soothing words to you in a smooth, low voice that doesn’t make your eardrums feel like they’re splitting open inside your head.

When your sobs eventually diminish into little sniffles, Astarion lets go of your hair. He makes a motion like he’s going to stroke your face before he hesitates and pulls away. 

“Are you okay?” He asks softly. “The transition can be… a lot. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. It’s been so long since I was turned.”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” you ask.

Astarion’s face falls. “Is that really what you want? I’ll leave if you tell me to.”

“No,” you say, almost immediately. You look at your hands in your lap, stained an ugly, rusted brown. Your first instinct isn’t repulsion, but rather that you want to bring them up to your mouth and lick them clean, even if the blood is stale and dry. You feel disgusted with yourself. “What happened to me?”

Astarion seems at a loss for words.

“I want to go home,” you say.

Let there be some comfort, some sense of familiarity, in this tidal wave of foreign sensations.

“We can’t yet,” Astarion says. His voice is so forlorn, as if it is hurting him to see you like this. “It’s about to be daybreak and we can’t travel in the sun.”

It’s yet another reminder of everything you have lost.

“Great, just what I needed,” you scoff. 

“There’s an inn across the street. The others went over to get us rooms.”

So that’s where everybody else went. How long ago was that? How long had you been curled in on yourself on the floor, weeping and sick and desperately craving blood?

Astarion must have been trying to give you privacy. Even now, he was still taking care of you- allowing you to grieve without the other’s prying eyes and helping to take away some of the overwhelming stimulation in the room.

“I can go tell Shadowheart to prepare a bath for you, if you’d like me to?” Astarion asks, almost as if he can sense that you are getting lost in your own mind again. He offers you a little smile, “I find those help.”

Those words sounded so familiar… It takes you a moment to place that you had read them in his diary. Astarion had not meant his jab as a jab but it still makes you painfully, acutely aware of how cruelly you had betrayed his trust. You want to start sobbing again.

You simply nod at Astarion, accepting his offer, unable to find the words to say anything else. He seems reluctant to leave you, but he finally pushes himself up from the floor.

“I’ll be back in just a minute, okay?” His hand stretches out awkwardly between the two of you and when you don’t reach out to grab it, he drops it. With a shake of his head, he turns on his heel and leaves.

“Wait-” you call after him and Astarion turns to regard you curiously. You look down at your hands in your lap, feeling a bit silly that you don’t know the first thing about vampirism, despite all the months you spent married to one. “Will I need more blood? I don’t- how do I even know when I’m hungry? I don’t want to accidentally hurt someone.”

“You won’t, little flower, precisely because even now, in the peak of your bloodlust, you are still aware enough to worry about others.” Astarion’s eyes soften. “Though, it is probably a good idea for you to drink a bit more while I’m gone. Can you promise me that you’ll try?”

You nod and Astarion gives you one last fleeting smile before he is leaving the room. 

And for a moment, you close your eyes and let yourself sit in nothing but darkness. You sit until you can no longer deny your unquenchable thirst. You don’t even need to look, don’t even need to open your eyes as you drag yourself to a new source of blood.

Only, when you open them again, you are met by Raphael’s cold, dead stare and the deep gash in his throat, nearly severing his head from his body. That is not an image you will ever forget. You fall backward on your hands in horror, trying to back away from him as quickly as possible. 

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you pull your knees into your chest. You are too aware of the devilish body sitting just a few feet away from you. Raphael’s face stays at the front of your mind. His eyes had not even been that different than when he was alive, looking at you with pure nothingness behind them, like you were so insignificant that you did not even deserve to be seen.

But you had promised Astarion that you would try to drink something and the idea of blood is slowly consuming you, pushing away that horrible image. You scan the room and find another dead guard to drain. 

And you do feel marginally better after drinking some blood, so you finally pick yourself up off the ground. It feels too cold in the room. You hadn’t even realized that you were shivering. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the familiar shimmer of one of the green gems, still encased in glass on their pedestals, completely unharmed by the commotion.

You step closer to them, reaching out a hand to press against the glass covering. From this close, there’s no shred of doubt in your mind- your mother’s necklace had contained the final gem all this time. But why? How did she even get one?

It seems foolish to just leave them there when Raphael had gone through so much trouble to find them. Lifting up the covers, you slide the gems off their pedestals. You’ve just tucked them into your skirt when Astarion’s voice surprises you. 

“Are you ready, darling?”

You try to gauge whether Astarion had caught you slipping the gems into your pocket, but he simply leans against the doorframe on the other side of the room. 

When you come to stand a few steps in front of him, Astarion asks,“Did you treat yourself to a snack while I was gone?” 

You nod but you can’t help the way your gaze darts nervously over to Raphael’s body at the mention of a ‘snack.’ His dead eyes feel like they have followed you as you walked across the room. 

“Oh,” Astarion’s smile drops instantly. He holds his hand out to you. “Come, let’s leave. We never have to look at him again.” 

You know Astarion means to be reassuring but you fear the image of Raphael’s cold, dead face has been burned into your retinas. 

Attempting to clear your mind, you give your head a little shake and take a deep breath before reaching your hand out to grab Astarion’s. You do not miss the subtle way he squeezes your fingers, as if he is afraid that you will drop his hand again. 

When you finally leave the room, it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. With your hands laced, you let Astarion lead you through the maze of Raphael’s house to the inn across the street, where a warm bath is waiting for you. Astarion shows you to a room. Shadowheart is there and when she sees you, she gives you the same melancholic little smile that had been painted on Astarion’s own face all night and it makes you want to roll your eyes in disgust. How long would everyone insist on treating you like you were made of glass?

“You’ll tell me if you need anything?” Astarion asks. He’s trying to keep his voice measured but there is a pleading, desperate undertone. You know he is only trying to help, but that is of little comfort to you right now. You just need time by yourself.

You nod stiffly at him and he awkwardly clears his throat, finally dropping your hand. 

“I love-” 

“Don’t,” you cut Astarion off. “Please, don’t do that to me right now.”

Astarion’s brow creases in displeasure and he turns on his heel to leave immediately. You stare after him, watching his figure retreat to the room next to yours. He shuts the door with an angry slam. 

Where there would normally be a heavy ache in your chest, there is nothing. Just a deep dread settling in your stomach.

When you close the door to your own room, Shadowheart’s back is turned. Seizing your opportunity, you quietly tuck the gems into a drawer in a dresser. You aren’t entirely sure what possesses you to keep them a secret, but after so long of being kept in the dark by Astarion, it’s only fair you get to have a secret of your own for a while. 

Shadowheart helps you peel off your dress, which is stiff and hard where the blood has dried into the fabric. 

“I sent Gale into the city to get us all new clothes. I fear this dress is beyond repair,” Shadowheart says, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Hopefully, he’ll come back with something at least somewhat presentable for you to wear on the ride back. You never know though. It is Gale, after all. He only ever wears purple.” 

There’s a small smile on her face and you can tell she is trying to raise your spirits. It was usually easy to goad you into poking fun at Gale. But this time, you just hum in response. The idea of laughter seems too foreign, too impossible right now. 

In the tub, you let her scrub the dried blood off your skin as you numbly stare ahead at the wall. The water surrounding you turns an unpleasant shade of red. 

After your skin has been cleaned, Shadowheart gives you a towel and instructs you to stand behind the dressing screen in the corner of the room. She calls upon some of the workers from the inn and they refill the tub with fresh, clear water. 

You climb back and sink into the warm water, watching the steam curl around the edges of the tub. Shadowheart lets you sit there as long as you want and you stay until long after the water has grown cold and started to make you shiver.

Shadowheart helps you into the dress Gale brought back from the city (which is indeed a rich, deep purple). You’re too aware of the way the once-soft velvet scratches uncomfortably against the skin of your arms. 

It’s only after you’ve dressed and Shadowheart has put your hair into a simple braid down your back that you pass by a mirror. You don’t see yourself. Immediately, you try to conjure the last glimpse of yourself that you had gotten in the mirror before you left on your trip. Even then, the image in your mind is fuzzy- you had not been paying attention to details. You had not known it would be the last time you would ever see yourself. 

Tears begin welling up in your eyes again.

“Let’s just cover that, why don’t we?” Shadowheart says, turning the mirror around to face the wall.

You spend the rest of the afternoon just sitting in your room in the inn with the curtains drawn and the lights all turned off. It should be silent and dark. It isn’t. Somehow, your new senses cause you to hear every creak and groan of the building. You can hear the mice in the walls, smell the blood of all the other bodies moving in the building.

How did Astarion manage to live like this? 

Eventually, Shadowheart knocks on your door to let you know the sun has set and it is time to leave. You follow her outside, down the cobblestone streets of the city to a stable on the outskirts of town.

Everyone else is standing together. They all look better- washed and free of grime and dressed in fresh clothes. You would almost be relieved to see them if they didn’t all immediately fall quiet in your presence. It makes you feel murderous.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better.” Halsin breaks the silence with a friendly smile. 

“I may look like it, but I certainly don’t feel better,” you hiss back, even though you know Halsin does not deserve your anger. “Just because I am no longer vomiting blood on the floor doesn’t mean that I’m not in constant agony.”

Everyone’s eyes dart around nervously, like they’re unsure what to say in such an awkward situation.

Astarion laughs, with a roll of his eyes. “Oh, stop being melodramatic, you’re perfectly fine. You’re adjusting.” 

Of course, Astarion looks beautiful in the moonlight. His hair is silver and incandescent, shining brightly against his dark, black coat. 

“You don’t get to tell me how I feel!” You snap at him, crossing your arms over your chest in defiance.

“So, what?” Astarion asks you. “You’re just going to keep behaving like a-”

“Ehem,” Gale interrupts. “Not that… this isn’t fun to watch and all, but we need to leave if we want to make it back by sunrise.”

You and Astarion lock heated gazed for a moment longer before you’re shoving past him to the rest of the group. Everyone else is standing next to horses, which have been saddled and prepared for the ride back to the Ancunin manor. 

“Horses,” you say, a bit surprised.

“They were quicker than carriages,” Astarion answers, coming to stand by your side. His gloved hand brushes against your own for just a moment. “I wasn’t about to leave you with that vile man a second longer than was necessary.”

“There’s not enough of them for me or Shadowheart to have our own,” you observe.

“You’ll ride with me and she can ride with Lae’zel,” Astarion says, as if the answer was so obvious.

“No, I will not be riding with you!” You look at Astarion, incredulous. “You’re not allowed to make decisions for me anymore.” 

Since Shadowheart already has a riding partner, you turn to your next closest friend, Halsin. “Can I ride with you?”

To put it bluntly- you’ve never seen cool, collected, go-with-the-flow Halsin look more uncomfortable and unsure in his life. He obviously doesn’t want to be in the middle of your and Astarion’s argument. Astarion is glaring daggers at Halsin. That selfish, monstrous part of you which has grown louder since your turning feels a bit vindicated that Astarion is jealous.

Halsin clears his throat nervously. “I’m truly sorry, my lady, but propriety dictates that you can’t ride with a man that’s not your husband.”

Of course. Silly you, thinking that a friend would be willing to help you in your time of need.  Could this day get any worse?

You turn to your backup plan- the only other woman who does not already have a riding partner. 

“Karlach, please.”

“Not a good idea.” Astarion interrupts. “We don’t know if you can control your bloodlust, darling. I’m the only person here you can’t hurt.”

Selfish bastard. Why does he now suddenly feel the need to control even the most minute details of your life, like who you ride on a horse with? Does he no longer love you enough to offer you this small sense of comfort in what has been an obviously distressing time?

“Please,” you ignore him, begging Karlach again.

“Alright,” she agrees warily. “But if I catch you staring at my neck for too long, you have to get on with him.”

“Deal,” you say, reaching out to shake her hand. 

Which, maybe, is not the most sensitive thing to do the day after you had just resolved Astarion’s deal with a devil. He shoots you an annoyed look. 

The first half of the ride is quiet and contemplative. Every time you turn to look, Astarion’s eyes are already on you and he’s got this distant, faraway look that tells you he’s a bit too lost in his thoughts. You can feel everyone else watching you carefully, as well, like you are a ticking time bomb bound to explode at any moment. 

It does not occur to you until hours into your journey that perhaps Astarion had been so insistent on you riding with him because he is worried that you are going to leave him the moment that you get home. In his mind, perhaps he was simply trying to spend one last moment with you. Perhaps he even believed he could convince you to stay. It was just the kind of foolishly insecure thing that Astarion would think. He should know better by now- you were not so easy to chase off, even if you had complicated feelings about him at the moment. 

And the ride continues in silence until eventually, Karlach nearly bursts with the need to talk. The two of you start chatting, with others joining in occasionally. Everyone seems to start relaxing around you, now that you have proven that you are not completely feral. 

Ultimately, the ride home is uneventful. Karlach talks and by the end, her mood is so infectious that she even gets you to laugh a couple times. You’re so grateful for her humor, it was just the amount of levity you needed. 

You’re sure that you’ve never been more happy to be home before and you're desperate to be inside. As you walk from the stables back toward the manor, you find yourself fantasizing about how wonderful it will feel to lie down on your bed, even if you don’t need sleep anymore. 

Lifting your foot, you move to step over the entryway. Except, you’re stuck. It’s as if there’s some sort of invisible wall barring you from entry. 

Of course, because vampires can’t enter a residence without permission.

Astarion’s got a little smirk on his face as he stands in the hallway, looking back at you stuck outside. 

“I’m waiting for you to ask nicely, little flower,” he teases. 

“Can I come inside?” You spit out through gritted teeth.

Astarion looks like he’s considering it for a minute before he frowns. “Not nice enough, try again.”

“Oh, beloved husband, can I please come into our house?” You ask, voice dripping with sarcasm. But you plaster a sweet smile on your face at the end and Astarion seems to have had his fun with you, anyway. 

“Welcome home, darling. Please, do come inside. You’re keeping everyone waiting,” Astarion says, sweeping into an overdramatic, elegant bow.

You make sure to shove his shoulder with your own when you pass him. 

Shadowheart has already drawn the heavy curtains for you when you enter your room. 

The first thing you do is carefully tuck the gems away in the hollowed out book on your bookshelf. You could deal with that problem later. For now, it was time to wallow.

For hours, you lie in bed, staring up at the mahogany panel on top of your four poster bed. It all feels wrong. You’re so tired, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t will your body to sleep. You wish you had some book, like Essential Knowledge on Being a Vampire, to teach you how to solve this issue.

Later that evening, there’s a knock on your door and you open it to find Astarion.

“I have something for you,” he says, producing a jar of sloshy red liquid from behind his back. 

“It’s not fresh,” you say with a twinge of disappointment.

“You’re too spoiled, pet.” Astarion laughs. “I lived on nothing but rats and bugs for 200 years. I assure you, many vampires would kill for stale human blood.”

You pout, hoping that trick still works and Astarion will give in to you. “Why can’t you just call up one of your snacks for me? Why do I have to drink it like this?”

“Now, now, darling,” Astarion reprimands you as he finally steps past you into your bedroom. “It took me a very long time to curate such a wonderful collection of vintages. The last thing I need is for you to drain one of them dry and scare the rest off.”

“So, I’m stuck with that then?” You ask, pointing to the jar of blood in his hand. 

“Or drinking from me,” Astarion shoots you a flirty wink. “I’m more than happy to drink enough to sustain the both of us.”

That hungry, lustful part of you runs wild with the idea. You and Astarion could spend your nights wrapped together again, but now it would not just be him biting you. Now, you could bite back. You could finally taste him.

But that doesn’t seem like a good idea with the current state of your marriage- it would just add confusion and more unnecessarily complicated emotions.

“I don’t want anything else from you, Astarion.” Your harsh words aren’t filled with the normal tenacity behind them. 

It’s all too much, the constant smells and having to hold yourself back from sinking your teeth into everyone around you. You collapse into a chair in the corner of your room. 

“I’m so tired, but I can’t sleep,” you confess in a quiet voice. 

You know Astarion heard you. Now that you are a vampire, you understand the sensitivity of vampiric hearing. 

Astarion places the jar of blood on the table next to you. You’re reminded of so long ago, that first day you were here, when Astarion kept sending you food even though you were determined not to eat. He was too good at this- at caring for you even when you were determined to be difficult.

“That comes with time,” Astarion assures you, sinking to his knees in front of where you sit. He looks unsure for a moment before he reaches out, grabbing your hands in his own and pulling your attention to him. “I know that you’re stubborn and impatient and you just want everything to go back to normal, but things have changed. It will take time. I have learned the hard way that you cannot just rush past all the hardships in life, no matter how desperately you wish to.”

Astarion’s thumb traces soothing circles on your hand as he continues speaking, “We’re both here and we’re both safe. And I know you need time to be angry at me. And though I know I will forgive you, I’m still hurt by your invasion of my privacy. So… let’s just… spend some time apart. And know that whenever you decide you’re ready, I’ll be waiting for you, okay?” 

Astarion reaches out, ghosting his thumb along your cheek as the corner of his mouth quirks up in a half smile. “And don’t rush, we have all the time in the world, my love.”

You nod, unable to speak in fear that tears will start welling up in your eyes again. Gods, was this some sort of horrible symptom of vampirism that you just kept crying all the time? If so, you need to figure out how to deal with that quickly, because these constant tears were a nuisance. 

Astarion gives your hand a little squeeze before he’s rising from where he kneels on the floor, turning to leave your room. 

“I- thank you, Astarion,” you say when he’s in the doorway. He pauses but doesn’t peek over his shoulder to look back at you, as if he knows that will cause you to lose the nerve to continue speaking. “I don’t say that to you often enough, but know that I am very grateful for all that you’ve done for me.”

—------------

The next evening, there’s another gentle knock on your door but no one is there when you open it. The only thing you see is a leatherbound book propped up next to your door. 

It looks remarkably similar to Astarion’s diary and it must have been left by him, but there was no way he was just… giving you his diary, right? Not when it was still such a sore subject between the two of you. 

What, was this some sort of weird way to test your loyalty?

You debate whether you should ignore the gift completely but as usual, your curiosity gets the better of you. After grabbing the book, you curl up on your bed and open the front cover. 

The first thing you see is your name, your actual name, which Astarion called you so rarely. It’s written in his beautiful, looping cursive and it nearly pulls the breath from your lungs when you see it.

Underneath your name, the first page is a letter to you.

My dear wife,

I know that you are inquisitive by nature and I am sure you are filled to the brim with questions about being a vampire. It seems unfair of me to turn you into one and then send you off into the metaphorical dark, so I thought I might offer you some advice. As you have learned, I have grown to find writing rather cathartic, so I thought it fitting to write to you about my own experiences as a vampire. I hope this will help ease your transition. 

Please, forgive me if I have forgotten anything. I have tried hard to think of everything you might ask and I like to think that I know you very well, but I am not nearly as creative in my curiosity as you are. 

With all that I am, know that I love you.

Your husband, 

Astarion

When you turn to the next page, a loose sheet of folded paper flutters out. There are only two sentences scribbled hastily on the paper.

I told you I would give you your space. I intend to honor that promise.

Oh, how unexpected and perfectly timed. Just yesterday, you had been wishing for a book exactly like this. It was as if your husband, Astarion, had read your mind.

Your insides feel warm and fuzzy as you hold the book to the chest, over the spot where your heart used to beat. For the first time in a long time, you have hope that everything will be okay again, that your anger will fade and love will bloom in its place, a love that was far more radiant than ever before. 

—------------

Slowly, you lose track of time. You spend a little time feeling sorry for yourself and a little time feeling sad. But mostly, you spend a lot of time not really feeling anything at all. There’s just numbness and staring at the hypnotic, swirling patterns of the wallpaper in your bedroom. 

Time moves. You don’t. 

You feel dead. Guess that makes sense. 

You settle into a new routine. Sometimes, you and Astarion bump into each other around the manor and you’re both cordial and polite, scared of intruding in the other’s space. 

You miss him. You spend your evenings rereading the book he had written for you, tracing your fingers over his lovely handwriting. But at times, the anger inside you still flickers back to life. You do not dare to approach Astarion until you are sure the flames of anger within you are long dead.  

“You know, he could have turned you into a spawn,” Shadowheart says one day. It’s enough to finally shock you out of the monotonous routine of self-pity that you had found yourself in. 

“What’s the difference?” You scoff. 

You were faintly aware of the difference between true vampires and spawn but the subject had not been discussed in any great detail in the book Astarion had written for you. You know this is due to the traumatic nature of his own life when he was a spawn. 

“He gave you his blood,” Shadowheart answers. “You’re a full and true vampire. You aren’t bound to serve him; you aren’t forced to obey his commands.” 

Shadowheart is purposefully avoiding your eyes while she continues to braid your hair. 

“You know, I thought he was going to make you a spawn,” she says. “Trust me, I’m happy that he made the right choice and didn’t. But for a second, it really looked like he was considering…” She trails off and sighs. “Well, I guess I didn’t think he would be able to resist guaranteeing that you could never leave him.”

“Why are you bringing this up now?” You ask. “Are you just trying to point out that my life isn’t as bad as it could be?”

“No, stop being difficult,” Shadowheart punctuates her statement with a tug on your hair that is a bit rougher than what is necessary. “I’m just trying to paint a full picture for you. What you do with that information is up to you.” 

She falls into a contemplative silence for a moment before she finally says, “Though, it is rather annoying when the two of you are fighting. I have to go out of my way to avoid two places. When you’re together, I only have to avoid one room.”

You roll your eyes at her comment.

“Something still feels wrong,” you confess. “It still feels like he’s controlling every aspect of my life. He decided we would be married. He decided that I was not allowed to know any details of his past or about his deal with Raphael. He was the one who decided that we would go on the trip which got us kidnapped. He decided to turn me into a vampire. He confined me to this house and made me a prisoner of the sun.”

Shadowheart sighs. “Have you tried telling him any of this? Tried explaining how you’re feeling? Have you asked him what he’s been thinking and feeling?”

“I already made it perfectly clear what I think.”

“No, you yelled at him,” Shadowheart says. She finishes braiding your hair and moves to lean against the vanity to look down at you. 

“How do I explain…” She looks off into space as she thinks for a moment before she turns back to you. “Look, Astarion has had a long and traumatic life. Have you really not noticed how he shuts down when people raise their voices around him? Same as how you start spewing insults you don’t always mean. You fight, he flees. Neither of you are capable of listening to the other in that sort of state.”

Damn her. That’s a good point. When did she have time to notice all this about the two of you? 

The realization washes over you like a wave- for all your anger about Astarion never listening to you, you had neglected to see that you had been ignoring Astarion’s needs, as well. 

This intervention from Shadowheart was good. This was what you needed- someone to shake you awake from the haze you had been trapped in so you could finally see all the damage you were causing. 

“Oh gods, I’m a horrible person, aren’t I?” you groan, letting your head fall into your hands. “I’ve been a terrible wife.”

You hear Shadowheart’s twinkly laugh and her voice is amused. “Stop being so dramatic all the time. You’re just as bad as Astarion.” 

You shoot her a look of warning between the fingers covering your face, even if you secretly relish the fact that she brought up your and Astarion’s similarities. 

“And you’re not a horrible person.” She pats your back in a comforting, reassuring motion. “You’ve been through a lot of very big life changes in the last year. You’re adapting. You’re learning. And I wouldn’t even say you’ve been too harsh on Astarion. He can get a bit too full of himself. He needs someone like you to keep his head screwed on. The two of you just need to talk and actually listen to one another for once.”

“You’re strangely wise, when you want to be,” you tell her.

She shrugs, but you see her smile.

—-----------

Astarion’s faces away from the door when you approach the study, focused on the stack of books next to him. For a moment, you silently watch him hunt along the different rows in the bookshelf before he places a book and grabs a new one from the stack. He must be reorganizing. 

You reach out and knock on the door to draw his attention. 

“You don’t need to knock if the door is open, Gale,” Astarion says, annoyed. He doesn’t even bother to turn around.

“Oh, I- I’m not Gale,” you stutter out nervously. You fear that he will be disappointed when he sees you- that the beautiful smile that used to light up his face whenever you entered the room will be gone.

But instead, Astarion’s head whips around to look at you. He nearly drops the book that he’s holding, but he manages to catch it before it clatters to the floor. It’s a clumsiness that is so uncharacteristic of Astarion, who always moves so gracefully and elegantly. You have to hide your smile. 

Here’s this man, this vampire- so powerful and so strong- and your mere presence makes him so nervous that he nearly drops everything he is holding. 

“And thank the gods for that. One Gale is already bad enough,” Astarion jokes and you manage a soft laugh at that. The smile on his face is lovely and you’re struck by the urge to just stand and watch him for hours, to study him how you used to. He tilts his head a bit to the side, in question. “What are you doing here? I thought you still weren’t speaking with me.”

“I came to apologize,” you tell him.

“Whatever for? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Well, that’s not true at all. I’ve done plenty wrong. And I’ve actually been a bit of a tyrant as of late.” You laugh, though you are sure Astarion made his comment earnestly. You were starting to realize that he viewed you as far more infallible than you actually are. 

“You’ve been going through a big change,” Astarion continues to defend your actions.

“Please, don’t make excuses for my bad behavior. Will you just hear me out for a couple minutes?” you ask. “After, you can tell me to leave or stay or say whatever you’d like but right now, I need you to be quiet and let me speak, okay?”

Astarion nods. 

You take a deep breath and ready yourself for the speech you had prepared in your head. You had been working on it for the greater part of a day, trying to sort through your thoughts and figure out how to vocalize everything in a way that could be easily understood. You had even forced Shadowheart to listen to you practice it earlier, though she was a rather unwilling participant. 

“First of all,” you begin. “I’m sorry I read your diary and I’m sorry I haven’t given you a heartfelt apology yet. That diary was yours and I know that I never should have touched it. It’s as simple and as complicated as that. And I kept giving excuses to justify my actions rather than actually apologize, but I fully recognize that any frustration I felt about you not being upfront with me never warranted invading your privacy. I truly, sincerely apologize. It will never happen again.”

Astarion surveys you curiously, though his face remains soft and open. It’s a good sign, at least, that he seems receptive to your apology. 

You continue speaking. “And when you confronted me, rightfully angry, I got upset and yelled at you because I felt guilty. I need to stop doing that- I need to learn to take a break when I feel myself getting upset. I know that I can be mean when I’m provoked and I lash out and hurt other people. It happened when you tried to distance yourself from me, it happened when you found me with your diary, and it happened again right after you turned me.”

“I won’t apologize for what I said after you turned me. I stand by all that. I’m allowed to be frustrated and angry at the world. But I am sorry that I took that frustration out on you. That wasn’t fair of me.” You can feel yourself growing more and more impassioned the longer you speak, so you try to tamper yourself down to a calmer level. 

“I promise that I am going to do better at listening to you Astarion, but I need you to promise me that you will do the same. I need to see changes,” you implore. “I feel like I have made it perfectly clear by now, but let me be overly explicit for a final time- I don’t like when you make my decisions for me. I know that it is supposed to be my place as a woman to defer to your judgment, but frankly, I think that’s stupid.” 

The corner of Astarion’s mouth tilts up in a grin- he always did love your pluckiness. 

You feel a phantom heart beating in your chest as you continue speaking. “I have a mind and a will of my own and it is unfair to make me do things that I don’t want to do. A part of me will always be sad that I wasn’t able to enter into our marriage or choose to be a vampire of my own free will. I don’t want my memories of you to be tainted by that. I value and respect your opinion, but please, trust me to be the one to make my own choices from now on.” 

“And lastly, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You look up to the ceiling, trying to force down the tears that you feel brimming in your eyes. This was the part of your speech you had been dreading the most, the part that you had not rehearsed with Shadowheart because it felt too personal. But if you had ever inadvertently contributed to Astarion’s pain by being too forward in your intimacy, you needed to apologize to him. “It’s not a valid excuse but I didn’t know about your past, Astarion. You have to believe me. I know that I probably pressured you into uncomfortable situations because I was so insistent. Please know that there will never be enough words to tell you how sorry I truly am.”

“And… I miss you, Star. I can’t tell you how many times I've reread the note at the beginning of the book you gave me. I think I practically have it memorized at this point.” You breathe out a shaky laugh. “Okay, that’s… I think that’s everything I wanted to say.”

You pull your gaze back down from the ceiling to gauge Astarion’s reaction. He just looks stunned. Which is fair, you did just dump a lot on him. 

And then Astarion just keeps staring at you, like you have broken his brain completely. The longer you wait, the more nervous you get and eventually, you have to close your eyes, terrified of the rejection that you are certain is coming. You can feel yourself start to panic a bit as you prepare for Astarion to tell you to get out and how could he ever love someone as weak and stupid as you?

Instead, you feel his arms wrapping around you. You cling to him, burying your face in his chest and letting the tears that had been building finally leak out.

He’s so much warmer than you remember. 

Astarion tilts your chin up so he can look at you and he brushes away the tears that have fallen down your cheeks.

“I don’t know where to start,” Astarion says, at a loss for words. He gives you a sweet smile. “For what it’s worth, I already forgave you long ago for reading my diary.”

The crushing weight that had been sitting on your chest for so long finally lessens. You feel so light now that you can breathe again.

Astarion’s thumb continues tracing along your cheek and his eyes watch the motion, rather than stare into your own. You are too familiar with the fact that it can be easier to get your feelings out without the pressure of eye contact. 

“I see now that I was wrong, too. I’m sorry that I didn’t fully trust you. It’s just-” Astarion huffs and his brow furrows, “How do I explain this? You saw me as the man I am now, detached from all my trauma and background, and you loved that person. And for so long, I was scared that if I admitted my past to you, you would no longer see me as the man you knew and loved. I didn’t want to ruin the illusion for you. I realize now that I was mistaken.”

You’re stunned, partially because Astarion just admitted he was wrong and that was a minor miracle in itself. But also, you had never considered that Astarion might have been afraid that his past would make you see him differently. 

And you do, but not in any way that matters. He just feels like a more complete person now. All those little reactions and details you could never place finally make sense. 

Astarion wipes away another stray tear rolling down your cheek. “And I need you to trust me, little flower. I need you to hear me when I say that I love you and I want you. I like having sex with you. Believe me, I don’t do anything that I don’t want to anymore. I’m past that point in my life.”

And with his words, Astarion continues to quell any shadows or doubts in your mind. It feels wonderful to finally speak so freely with each other. 

“And now, it’s my turn to apologize,” he says. “You’re right. I haven’t been listening to you. Throughout our whole marriage, you’ve basically been shouting from the rooftops that all you wanted was to make your own choices and I kept making them for you in fear that you might choose to leave me. That’s not fair of me, either- I need to trust that if you love me as much as you say that you will choose me.”

Astarion pauses, sighing gently, “And I’m sorry for the circumstances surrounding your death but I won’t apologize for the outcome. You know that I am a deeply selfish man. I wasn’t going to lose you- not now and not ever. I will not apologize for what is done, only that my actions have caused you pain. I know nothing I can say will make this… right. And it probably wouldn’t help you feel better, anyway. But know that I am here with you, every step of the way; as a mentor, as a friend, as a lover. However you want me, you have me.”

“What about as a husband?” You tease. 

“Well, that can certainly be arranged,” Astarion says as a devilish grin splits across his face.

“I love you,” you tell him. “Thank you for waiting for me. Ever since you caught me with your diary, all I’ve wanted is to go back to how it was before.”

“I don’t think we ever will be able to go back to how it was before,” Astarion says, and his words fill you with a deep sadness. Your face falls but Astarion is still smiling. A real one, not a performative one. “It will be better this time; we’ll be true equals.”

“Equals. I like that.” You smile back at him. His knuckles stroke lovingly along your jaw.

“And now I should probably tell you that I actually kind of like that you get a bit nasty when you’re angry,” Astarion says with one of those smirks that makes you want to get into all sorts of trouble with him. “Maybe just direct that at other people in the future.”

You laugh. “Just point and I shall destroy your enemies with my vicious mockery.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, please.” He giggles in delight. “That sounds wonderfully entertaining.”

And it feels so good now that everything is out in the open. Like you and Astarion are truly seeing each other for the first time as you embrace, grinning like love-struck fools. 

“How have you been?” Astarion interrupts the moment, his voice turning more serious. “I feel like I’ve hardly seen you.”

“Um, it could be worse, I guess? I could be dead.”

Astarion frowns at your joke. Note to self- don’t joke about your death with Astarion. 

But you’re not sure how exactly to explain the fog that it feels like you’ve been trapped in for the past… Actually, you don’t even know how long it’s been since you’ve been turned. You lost track of time. Has it been weeks? Months? 

Now doesn’t feel like the time to unload all that on Astarion. You had just gotten him back, you weren’t about to go chasing him away again with new issues. You would wait until later. Maybe even bringing it up as you cuddle in bed so you do not have to watch how his pretty face twists with worry at your confession.

You deflect by turning the attention back to him. “Thank you for all that you’ve done for me. You must have been pretty busy trying to get all that blood for me.”

For a moment, Astarion looks like he wants to pry into what’s on your mind, but he resists. It was time to trust each other and that involved having faith that the other person would bring up issues when the time felt right for them. 

“Ugh, you don’t even know, pet. It’s more work than I’ve done in years,” Astarion complains. “I have to think about what I want and then go and ask Gale for it and that always takes forever. I was made for looking pretty, not for organizing blood draws.”

You giggle at his theatrics. “Well, if you’re going to be so dramatic about it, I’ll go offer my thanks to Gale instead.”

You move to pull away from Astarion but he catches your wrist and pulls you tighter against his chest.

“Don’t you dare.”

Is this Astarion initiating?

He’s looking at you with hungry, red eyes and the way his hand rests just a bit too low on your back isn’t entirely innocent. 

You chew on your lip, debating in your mind whether you should just lean forward and kiss Astarion. You haven’t fully adjusted to the new sharp fangs inside your mouth and you found yourself forgetting them constantly. You let out a little hiss at your mistake and your finger comes up instinctually to dab away the bead of blood from your lip. 

You stare at the drop on your finger, entranced, former train of thought completely lost. The room fades away and for a moment, there’s only blood. 

And then, Astarion reaches out to grab your wrist and he sucks your finger into his mouth with a moan that should send him straight to the hells. Your brain goes blank, yet again, as you watch how he slides your finger out his mouth, never breaking eye contact with you. 

Your whole body feels like a live wire. Reaching out, you tug Astarion down by the back of his neck to press your lips against his. You had been without him for so long and now, you’re ravenous. 

This isn’t one of those sweet, loving kisses that you and Astarion share so often. There is nothing loving about this kiss- only hunger. As if you can make up for lost time by consuming one another whole. 

Your lips crash against his, two sets of fangs ripping and tearing into one another’s skin. There’s blood everywhere- coating your lips and electrifying your taste buds and trickling down your chin. 

And just for a second, you hesitate. Did he want this? You hadn’t checked. You had pulled him down and kissed him and, sure, he had kissed you back, but that doesn’t mean he wants more. Despite his words earlier ensuring you that he enjoys physical intimacy with you, your doubts are still present. You aren’t sure how to act anymore. 

Astarion, sensing your moment of hesitation, pulls away immediately.

His voice is low and hoarse. “What’s wrong?”

You try to find the right words. “I just- I’m sorry. I should have asked. Did you want me to kiss you?”

Astarion chuckles. “I always want you to kiss me. But please, no doubts, my love. I promise I’ll tell you if I don’t want to do something. But this-” His hand traces along the curve of your ass as he moves his lips down to brush against yours, “this is me initiating. Trust me, I’m nearly out of my mind with how badly I want you.”

His words send a shock straight to your cunt. 

“Get back here, then,” you practically growl, pulling him down by the collar of his shirt.

Your lips collide again and the world closes in around you- there is nothing but you and Astarion and this impossible need to be closer. You can’t think past the hunger itching at the back of your throat and the molten fire pooling in your cunt. 

You urge Astarion backward until his back is pressed against the bookshelf. You must overestimate your own vampiric strength because a few books are knocked off the shelf and Astarion lets out a little exhale of ‘oof.’

“Sorry,” you apologize into his mouth, not bothering to fully separate your lips from his. 

“Don’t be, pet,” he says in a breathy pant. “I like when you lose control.”

Fuck, you need to lose control more often if it makes Astarion talk like that.

Your hands move down, untucking Astarion’s shirt from his trousers and you ghost your fingers over his abdomen. It’s still shocking how warm his skin feels now that you have become a vampire. You had grown so used to the cold. 

Astarion separates his lips from yours only long enough to pull his shirt up over his head and throw it somewhere in the room. 

There are hands everywhere. Your hands move down the planes of Astarion’s chest, continuing downward to trace over the outline of his cock hardening in his pants. And his hands pull you so tightly against him- one follows the curves of your body and the other comes up to thread through your hair. He gently tugs at the roots, tilting your head back to give himself easier access to lick into your mouth. 

Eventually, you part from his lips and they’re all swollen and bloody and wet. His beauty will always stun you.

Gods, and how does he smell even better now? 

You run your nose along the column of his throat. There’s bergamot and rosemary and underneath that, the intoxicating scent of the blood sitting still in his veins. He must have fed recently. You can’t even bother to be jealous that someone else got to experience the ecstasy of Astarion drinking from them because he smells so good.

“Go on, little love. You can have a taste,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. He’s a bit breathless, as if he can’t contain his excitement at the idea. 

You take his permission and bite into Astarion’s skin, careful to pick a spot far away from the twin scars on his neck. This was meant to be a new memory, separated literally and metaphorically from the struggles of his past. 

His blood is so fresh after so much time of only drinking blood from the jars stored in the cellars. Astarion lets you swallow a few mouthfuls before he guides you back up, crashing his mouth against yours again and chasing after the taste of himself in your mouth. 

Astarion continues kissing you, but he presses forward, forcing you backward until your back hits the edge of his desk. You raise your hips to sit at the edge, widening your legs so he can slide between them. 

He fiddles with the buttons on the back of your dress while he continues to kiss you senseless and you sigh into his mouth, picturing his wonderful hands at work.

“There’s too many-” Astarion cuts himself off with a growl and you hear a sharp ripping noise as he tears open the back of your dress. “Too many buttons.”

“I liked this dress,” you huff and Astarion leans down to press a kiss to your collarbone in apology as he begins bunching up your skirts. 

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he says, as he helps pull your dress over your head. He presses his lips to yours again, slow and sweet and a complete shift in tone. He leans his forehead against yours, “I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

It’s a sweet sentiment. You’ll appreciate it more later when you can think clearly again. 

Taking a moment to appreciate the sight of Astarion before you, you try to commit this moment to memory. You try to memorize the way that the rivulets of blood running down his chin highlight the lovely blush staining his cheeks.

And over his shoulder, you notice that the door is still wide open. 

“The door’s still open,” you squeak out. You don’t love the idea of someone barging in on you and Astarion’s private moment, but you hate the idea of parting from him long enough for one of you to shut the door more. 

Astarion must have a similar thought because he chuckles, deep and dark, as his hands grip the back of your neck, pulling your gaze back to his face. His thumb runs down the hollow of your throat and you feel yourself gulp. Astarion watches your throat move, entranced. “They all know better than to interrupt us. And if they don’t… Well, I wouldn’t say no to a snack, would you?”

The idea of draining someone dry with Astarion makes you salivate. Something to look forward to in the future. 

Astarion kisses you again, pushing you to lean back at an angle on the desk and distracting you from the lovely images that you had concocted in your imagination. His mouth moves down to nip at your skin and kiss along your collarbones.  

“You still have to get past my corset,” you tease. “Can’t rip your way through that one.” 

“I can try,” he practically growls, one of his hands coming up to trace menacingly along the boned seams. 

“Don’t,” you grip his chin and turn his gaze up to yours. His eyes light up at your command. 

Astarion listens and helps you remove the rest of your clothing. Miraculously, your corset and chemise make it off your body without being destroyed like your poor dress.

The cool wood of his desk against your bare skin makes you shiver but you’re quickly distracted when Astarion brings your wrist to his mouth. His eyes lock onto yours and he presses a kiss to your skin before his teeth sink in. You had missed that rush of coldness when he first bites that sends electricity shooting through your veins and it’s almost obscene as you watch him. He drinks from you slowly and sensually and his eyes burn into you the whole time.

As he drops your wrist, a fresh streak of ruby red runs down his chin and you lean forward to lick it up, greedily pressing your mouth against his again. 

You fumble with the buttons on his trousers, pushing them down so you’re able to free the hard length of his cock and wrap your hand around it. He groans as you pump your hand up and down his length.

“Missed you being inside me,” you whisper. “Missed how good you fuck me.”

“Then what are you waiting for, pet? Take what you want.”

You guide him into you and he lets you adjust for a moment before his hips are snapping against yours at a ruthless pace that betrays his desperation.

You had missed this- this closeness, this feeling of being whole and one and loved.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you,” Astarion promises, and he grabs the back of one of your thighs, lifting your leg up to wrap around his waist. It has him hitting that much deeper inside you with each thrust of his hips. Your eyes practically roll back in your head.

Astarion brings his lips down to ghost against yours before he teasingly pulls away. “Look at us. I belong to you just as much as you belong to me.”

You moan at his words, losing yourself in the sentiment and the feeling of Astarion moving inside you. Just him and you, like how it was meant to be. He is yours and you are his. 

“Say it,” he commands, pulling your attention back to him. It sends a lovely shiver down your spine. You’d do anything he asked if he kept talking to you in that rough, low voice. 

“Yours. Only yours,” you breathe into his mouth, chasing after his lips. He gives you a gentle tug on your hair that pulls you back so that your lips are still just a hair’s breadth away from his. 

“And I’m yours,” he says, before he finally kisses you.

And Astarion’s hands are everywhere. As if he is determined to memorize your body by touch alone. It makes you smile. Touching. Always touching. You doubt that Astarion will ever let you out of his grasp again. Nor would you want him to.

The way he fucks you somehow feels even better, even more wonderful now as a vampire. All your senses are tingling and hyper-alert and it only serves to make you that much more aware of how Astarion feels pressed against you and how he moves inside you.

It’s carnal, it’s feral, it’s utterly vampiric. 

His hand reaches down between your bodies, his magical fingers moving against your clit in a way that sends sparks through your cunt. It has you reaching the precipice far sooner than you had hoped. That aching desire pools low in your stomach, rising into an inferno. 

You come and it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Every nerve ending in your body is molten fire.

“So tight, so good,” he pants against your mouth. You whine at the way his hips keep driving into you at a pace which feels so good it’s almost painful. “Can you come for me again, little flower?”

Oh, this man was going to the death of you, wasn’t he? You nod frantically, unable to form words. Astarion presses open mouth kisses along your throat before he’s biting down again. The sudden shock of cold has you gasping for air and digging your nails into Astarion’s skin. You feel that coil tightening deep within you again, ready to snap at a moment’s notice. Astarion keeps moving his fingers against your clit. 

You come.

Astarion manages a few more frenzied thrusts before he comes, too, spilling inside you.

And thank the gods you’re already dead because that second orgasm might have just stopped your heart entirely. 

You’re just coming back to your senses when you Astarion sinks to his knees in front of you, lifting your legs over his shoulders. He’s staring at your cunt like it’s a four-course meal and you eventually have to tug at his beautiful white curls to pull his attention back to you.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“You’re dripping all over my expensive desk,” Astarion says. “I’m going to clean you up.” 

Your brain is already a bit slow after two overwhelming orgasms and the sight of Astarion on his knees before you, offering to lick away the traces of his come leaking out of you, has you practically feral with lust. Astarion squirms under your gaze the longer you continue to stare down at him, his confident facade dropping. 

“Is that okay?” he asks.

You sigh out a breathy ‘yes’ and he’s back to smirking arrogantly at you. Astarion’s arms wrap around you so he can shift your hips to the very edge of his desk. 

He devours your cunt. His tongue is everywhere- lapping at your inner folds and dipping deliciously inside you. You lean back on your hands to steady yourself, but that does little to help when Astarion moves to suck on your clit and your whole body trembles with ecstasy. 

You aren’t entirely sure how this is helping to ‘clean you up.’ It seems much more likely that Astarion got distracted by all the noises that you are surely making and is trying to drag this out into some sort of religious experience. 

“One more, please,” he practically begs, like it’s some big favor to him that you should orgasm another time. His chin is glistening with your wetness and he sounds practically breathless. “You’ve no idea how badly I missed watching you come.”

His words send another spark of heat straight to your cunt and you let out a surprised, strangled whimper. Astarion’s mouth quirks up in a haughty grin, so you simply reach out to tug his head back toward your cunt.

You feel Astarion’s laugh before he begins feasting on you again, sucking and licking and rolling his tongue in some unholy way that has you seeing stars. 

For a moment, there is nothing but the white-hot waves of pleasure that roll through you as Astarion coaxes yet another orgasm from your body. 

His mouth continues moving against you until you are shaking. He presses gentle kisses to the inside of each of your thighs before gently lowering them from where they sit on his shoulders and the small, caring act brings a goofy grin to your face.

How is it possible to love someone more with every passing moment?

Astarion surges back up to press a final kiss to your lips. It’s slow and deep and you can taste the combined taste of your releases on his tongue. Astarion gently traces down the column of your throat with his thumb, over the spot where he had bitten you just a few moments ago. You can tell your skin is already healed. 

“No more marks.” He looks genuinely forlorn. “A pity.”

“I’ll always have this one,” you remind him, holding up your wrist. Astarion brushes his fingers over the twin bite marks on the inside of your wrist from when he had turned you. 

You watch him study the marks and you wish you could hear what he was thinking.

“Speaking of which,” Astarion finally breaks the silence. He leans over you to pull open a drawer in his desk, shuffling around in it blindly. He gives a satisfied little smirk when he finds whatever he was looking for. 

“You might want this back,” he says. When he opens his hand, your wedding ring is sitting on his palm. 

“Give me that.” You feel the smile light up your face as you snatch the ring from him and place it back on your ring finger. “Are you still wearing yours?”

“Never took it off.” Astarion proudly displays his left hand as proof. Sure enough, the gold band glints enchantingly when it catches the candlelight. 

“I love you,” you tell Astarion. 

The way he’s looking at you can only be described as awe. He catches your hand and brings it to his mouth so he can press a lingering kiss to the spot where the ring now sits comfortably on your finger, once again.

“I love you, too.”

Somehow, you manage to smile even wider.  

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

Notes:

So next week, we wrap up the plot (since we still have that pesky Crown of Karsus hanging around) and then the final chapter is the epilogue. I'm actually kind of happy that I decided to move things around a bit because now I get to add in an extra smut scene that I was originally planning as a fade to black since the epilogue was getting too long.

I loved seeing everyone's reactions to last week's chapter! Can't wait to see what you all think as we start wrapping this bad boy up!

As always, huge thanks to my beta-writer AliensNSuch on ao3.

Taglist: @ayselluna @idkbrodontaskme @maruichio @fanfic-share @the-littlest-bruja @asterordinary @divineknightmare @fandomarchiveilyd

Feel free to let me know if you would liked to be added/removed from the taglist for future chapters!

[romiantic]

KISS ME BABY!

KISS ME BABY, first kiss with the atsv characters !

→ INCLUDING miles, gwen, hobie

→ READING: black!reader

→ GENRE + WARNINGS: fluff + partial ooc for like everyone

→ A/N: listen…I tried on miguel’s part, I really did. but I’ll just make it a separate post :( miguel content is coming, I PROMISE

Such a mess, confident as he is as spiderman, Miles was the embodiment of mess. the multiple nervous laugh, his clammy hands that he is constantly playing with, and the tugging at his shirt. You were curious as to what was the cause of his nervousness, was it you? Was it the small distance between you two? What is it? What’s with Miles? You would ask but instead you took a longing look at his facial features; his curly hair that bounces just as much as he does, his amber eyes that tend to shy away when eye contact is involved (or when he’s badly lying), his lean-ish body that comforts you with hugs, and his lips. The lips that were running a mile a minute, speaking absolute nonsense, but were quickly cut off with a kiss. A kiss that was swift but the both of you fell into, the feeling of bliss and your heart feeling fuzzy had grown, your arms trying to hold onto each other while the both of you were gaining balance. Even as you both pulled apart from the kiss, the fuzzy feeling still stayed and your smile grew so bright, and Miles still shy but stuck on cloud nine.

“Wow, that was umm wow! Can we umm…try that again? I wasn’t really ready the first time.”

Gwen, your typical high school spidergirl that stays in her own shell and doesn’t really talk much. If she does talk, a couple words here and there or a quick “yes” “no” or “hm?”. So usage of her lips was definitely not something used often, until she asked that question. What question was asked? “How do you kiss someone?” The question shocked you since you wouldn’t picture Gwen as the affectionate but you were up for the question. You asked where the question came from and she explained that she always wondered how a kiss felt, you looked at her puzzled, head tilted to the side and that look made her immediately shut down the idea. Her head pulled away and her eyes showed immediate regret, though it was awkward, you decided not to let that question go. You gently laid your hand on hers and slowly grabbed her fingers, intertwining them and softly kissed each finger. You could see a small stain of pink on her cheeks but she hid it away, she wouldn’t dare to show her nervousness in front of her partner. But it didn’t stop you from moving closer to her, inch by inch until your shoulders are brushing one another. Your girlfriend’s shyness made you more antsy to grab her face and kiss her right then and there, but rather taking it slow; holding her chin with your index finger and thumb, and subtly inching yourself closer to her lips, and lying your down your lips on hers, guiding her to “kiss”.

Such a high Hobie is experiencing, his eyes lit and his breath shaking after performing in one of the biggest arenas in London. To think your boyfriend would reach this level in your music career felt unreal but it was real, all too real. His band going from local concerts at fairgrounds to opening up for a rock legend has had the both of you in a frenzy the entire night. Of course, Hobie kept his “cool, calm, and collected” look on after the performance, he couldn’t show his excitement on stage, he’d rather share it with his favorite person. You’re all that man could think about, your positive energy, your feedback on his music, the times of comfort when he felt like his music career wasn’t going anywhere, the quiet times of you playing with his wics and humming one of his songs, you were always there. Nobody else stayed longer and fought harder for his career other than you. He couldn’t be any more anxious than sharing this dream turned reality with his partner, which could explain the tight hug he gave you after entering his dressing room. The hug lasted quite a while until he pulled you off and immediately smashed his lips on yours, you were quite shocked at the action but immediately kissed back. You hoped this feeling was endless and that kisses with Hobie would always feel like this; a euphoric sense and some lighthearted sort of chord playing on your heartstrings as his lips guided yours and his hands held yours. That kiss saying everything he was feeling and everything he’s going to tell you after.

⭑ I’m not doing this format again, this was so hardddd 😭 but I love how this piece came out, so imma stop complaining 🫶🏽

⭑ if it seem like I was being suggestive with gwen’s part, I really wasn’t 😭 or at least trying not to

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐃 💗: Proverbs 16:7 !

SPIDERMAN: ATSV MASTERLIST + MAIN MASTERLIST

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟥 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗆𝗂𝖺. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[mana-jjk]

i have the flu right now y’all so um sick inuokko xoxo gossip girl (i’ve never seen gossip girl don’t correct me)

yuuta

• yuuta has no idea how to take care of himself when he’s sick, i kind of headcanon that rika’s cursed energy kept him semi-healthy so i don’t think he was sick very often

• when he was little, his mom used to make him okayu, but it’s been a long time since he’s even seen her

• so in a word, sick yuuta is a little pathetic lol

• he gets confused and a little delirious, which translates to being majorly clingy and forgetting that most of the time he’s contagious

• maki does not play about getting sick, she needs to be at peak 24/7 so she’ll literally get a ruler to keep him 6 feet apart, but she will throw some medicine at his face

• panda can’t get sick, but he does find sick humans pretty gross. so he’ll let yuuta cling to him, pat his back, but as soon as the mocos comes out, he’s nudging him away to go spray Clorox on himself

• toge probably gives in the most to him, he has no life preservation instincts when it comes to his friends. as soon as yuuta sniffled pathetically, looked at him with lost, wet eyes, he was a goner

• he forces him into blankets, bundling up and letting him lean on him. at some point, yuuta always ends up laying his head on his lap, toge’s fingers brushing through his slightly gross, sweaty hair.

• he panics a little when yuuta bursts into tears at the first taste of his okayu, he thinks it tastes even better than his mom’s.

• yuuta gets extremely weepy when he’s sick, sometimes he’ll just sit there and suddenly he’s the embodiment of T^T

• toge patiently wipes the tears from his face with his thumb, putting a hot towel on his head to fight the ensuing headache with a fond if not exasperated noise, trying not to blush at the way yuuta looks at him with round eyes as if he came down from the heavens

• when yuuta feels better, he’s always mortified of how he clung to his friends, and apologizes profusely afterwards. secretly though, he’s so relieved to have not been alone, to not have his desperate hands starving for affection brushed away again

toge

• toge is kind of the opposite when he’s sick

• having anemia and tearing his throat open so often leaves him a little more susceptible to colds and infections, he’s usually stocked up on medicine but they’re always a little worse than he expects

• he’s already afraid of little noises escaping him, so the moment his throat starts getting scratchy, he locks himself in his room in a self-imposed quarantine

• maki and panda are used to this, know how this little bit of control is essential to him, so they leave him be for the most part. dropping off snacks and soup they heated on the stove outside his door

• he’s never really had anyone take care of him when he was sick, so he doesn’t really know any better to feel the loneliness of it

• so he was entirely befuddled at how insistent yuuta was that he not be alone

• unlike maki and panda, yuuta stands outside his door with a tray of steaming food that he coerced them into helping him with. slightly falling apart onigiri, a little watery okayu, and perfect honey chamomile tea

• toge tries to shoo him away, but yuuta is so insistent and he’s so tired that he eventually just gives up

• part of why toge is hit so hard by sickness, is because he never allows himself to actually go through it. he’s always stifling himself, always hiding in some way or another and it’s enough to push yuuta into being a little more forceful than usual

• toge refuses to let him on the bed since it’s full of his germs, so yuuta sits on the floor right next to it. toge ends up glaring at him half heartedly, hiding under the covers to try and keep his sickness in a bubble

• but yuuta just smiles at him sheepishly, and sneaks the food into his hands, talking quietly about the endeavors it took to make

• eventually, toge falls asleep listening to him talk, but something even he doesn’t know is that eventually, silently, tears escape behind his closed eyes.

• yuuta holds his hand through it, doing what little he remembers from his parents, and everything toge does for him

• toge scolds him when he’s better, worried that he passed his illness on to him, but yuuta never promises to not do it again, not when he has full intention

anyway, forgive the typos because i literally cannot see right now, being sick and living alone sucks absolute ass

[shirleydanders]

“Reunion”

CHARACTERS: River Cartwright x James ‘Spider’ Webb

SUMMARY: It’s been about a month of silent hospital visits before River hears that Spider’s awake. He goes to see him and their game, as ever, is on.

WORD COUNT: 1,664

WARNINGS: Angst, violent imagery, bad language, deep, deep sadness and weird dudes.

NOTES: This is kind of a fix-it fic because I refuse to accept Spider’s death as laid out in either the book or the show. Also, I tried to do a bit of a character study into why River is so pathetic and Spider is such a fucked up little freak, so I hope you enjoy that.

River knows how it feels. To be worth more vivisected than whole. Maybe he can sympathise. There’s something more compelling about his destruction than the half-life he’s slipping through.

So loneliness will always be preferable to the feeling of being sifted through for something more valuable. He watches as the light in everyone’s eyes dies on contact with him. He carries on talking even though no one’s listening. He was made a pawn, but the game’s over.

He knows he’ll let his guard down eventually. Sooner or later, he’ll offer himself to someone, to be broken down into those familiar disembodied bits. He can feel useful then, if only for a moment.

Pathetic, that’s what most people would call it. River has given up trying to justify himself. He doesn’t have the energy. He’s half a person; half the vital functions. His thoughts dissolve as soon as they arrive. Any emotion feels a hundred miles away. If he does catch up, it’s already petered out.

He thinks about his mother briefly. How she left him on his granddad’s doorstep at seven. Well, of course she did. She could see it, even then. He’s always been a ghost.

He thinks that’s why he doesn’t stay whole for long. Whatever he is isn’t worth being saved, not even an entire being in the first place. And haunting people is so painful. So he lets them take him apart. All the pieces. Until he’s just a husk, and they’ve slinked away.

Spider’s anxieties are different altogether. He is sure of his importance; knows he’s needed. But the idea that someone could overtake what he’s managed to achieve makes him sick. The constant need to sabotage, to prove himself above others. He marks his card as one of the elite, but the conviction he embodies it with doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Taverner never liked him. He doesn’t need her to, so long as she doesn’t like anyone else either. But she did before. She liked River. So when she came with the request to ruin him, a Shakespearean betrayal, he’d done what he had to. There was no place for him but the top of the food chain.

It’s never bothered him. There’s always someone undeserving in the place he should be. Who was the one weeping, smeared across the floor in the torture resistance training? Not him, that’s for sure.

It’s not personal. What River is or isn’t to him has never even been a consideration. It’s London Rules, as it always has been. Covering your arse is a lot easier when you can push someone down to do it for you.

When they meet again, for the first time since Spider woke from his coma, there is that stilted silence – the great unsaid. That has always been a game they played. There’d always been a hushed nature to their… relationship. Before the resentment kicked in, there was something else that was keeping them apart.

Now, even the love’s gone, but the distance remains unchanged. They’re too incompatible for that to be overcome.

Nevertheless, they are drawn together every single time.

River is the first to speak.

‘Long time, no see.’

Spider nods – a smile, half expressed, half tangled up in another moment, resting on his lips. He catches River’s insinuation. That Spider hadn’t seen him, even though he’d visited.

‘You gonna use that against me? The coma?’

‘Well, I’ve never been in one.’

The pair laugh, acidicly.

‘Never too late to try something new.’

The thin veil of playfulness shatters. They both wilt, as though resigning themselves to the opposite. It is too late. It’s all too late, and too messy, and too much.

‘That’s the last time I ask your lot for a favour.’

‘Yeah, well, we’re slow horses,’ River replies, teeth grinding slightly as he forces it out, ‘what did you expect?’

‘I would’ve thought not letting people get shot while you’re running security is common practice, even among your kind.’

They both know they’re not here to speak as though they’re on the record, in some unseen competition. They want to be candid. To possibly even be vulnerable. The trouble is, someone’s got to break first. Spider had never knowingly broken in his life. Ah, but River…

‘I thought you were gonna die.’

Spider’s eyes snap up to River, quiet satisfaction setting his lips in a smile.

‘That was never on the cards.’

‘Be fucking serious, I…’ River began with the anger that only really expresses itself for Spider. Every other inconvenience he felt was par for the course, worth little more reaction than an eye roll, but Spider is the one who gets under his skin. It’s impressive, really, how instantly he can boil River’s blood. He starts again, softer. ‘It just made me think about training.’

The glint in Spider’s eyes extinguishes itself.

‘You know, they say that when you’re in a coma, you’re aware of everything around you. That wasn’t true for me.’ Spider begins the observation in a cold, guarded way. As though armouring up in the terrible event of his vulnerability.

‘I heard nothing. Saw nothing. One minute I was awake, the next minute I was awake again. Nothing in between.’ There’s a pause, as he draws breath like a gun. ‘It’s what I imagine your life’s like at Slough House.’

River looks at him, really looks. If this is a joke at his expense, it hasn’t landed. Spider’s as serious as a heart attack, his words grave.

‘And, so what? You– you feel sorry for me?’

Spider just looks away. Maybe he thought about training too. What they had been through– only for Spider to leave his legacy in blood on a marble floor. For River to still experience a living death, everyday. Maybe he considered how sitting at that desk must feel to someone with the world to give.

Or maybe not.

The blood’s up again in River’s ears. His cheeks are beet red and his jaw aches from clenching. So much has changed. So much has stayed the same. They walk a hall of broken mirrors; a corridor leading to the abstract nothing. The walk had almost ended for Spider, but he clung on. If only to throw River ahead of him.

Why does River continue the cycle? Why is he even here? A voice in the back of his head answers:

Because he’s the only one who knows what to do with the bits you break down into.

‘I haven’t missed you being such a prick.’ River is serious when he says it, but it’s an evasion. It’s pointless too. Spider can see it for the hubris it is.

‘Cartwright,’ River hates when Spider calls him by his surname. Like an old schoolmaster. It’s loaded with association, too. His grandfather, the super spy, and him, Cartwright the Younger. The disappointment. The black sheep no-one had the decency to send to slaughter. ‘They tell me Taverner’s coming down. You might wanna make yourself scarce.’

Something like vengeance flashes in River’s eyes. How sweet it feels when the upper hand begins to guide you.

‘If they’re sending her down in person, there’ll be two choices.’

He let that hang. Maybe Spider had already considered this.

Maybe not.

‘I don’t choose Slough House.’

‘Didn’t think you would.’

‘As a new expert on fates worse than death–’

‘Yes, fine.’

It irks River. That, even while lying in a hospital bed, Spider still commands the room. His confidence, misplaced though it is, is like a dagger between River’s shoulder blades. The first piece begins to come away.

‘When will you be discharged?’

‘End of the week, all being well. Few more tests.’ He’s vague, lest River mistake his condition for any sort of weakness. It was simply a matter of record keeping that he had been shot. Dodging death in a manner almost offensive, and powering ahead like he still has the world at his feet.

Only, it’s starting to settle in. What River had said. When one choice is Slough House, the other is quit the Service. There’s no route back to the Park. This isn’t the minor blip he’s pretending it is. This is as good a death as he’ll ever get.

River might feel sorry for him. Under all the resentment, there might be a tiny sliver of him that wouldn’t wish his life on anyone else. Especially Spider, for some reason.

They sit in their torturous silence. When they built their walls, they’d been too close to see that they’d hemmed each other in with them. Stuck in a hellish limbo between saying nothing and saying everything. The goodwill between them, if it ever had existed – in the liminal ‘before’ – had run dry. There remained only an itch, like a phantom feeling for something that could still exist, but never will again. River needs to be broken down, and James needs to consume him. That was the unspoken order of things. But, to admit it would be the worst betrayal. Instead they sit, in this prison of their own making, thinking of what life would look like, as if they didn’t already know.

‘I’m gonna go.’ As River turns to his coat, he finds the forgotten bouquet beneath it. Spider’s eyes widen. ‘Oh, yeah. I got you these.’ He extracts them, now more than slightly squashed, and hands them to Spider. ‘Lilies, in case you’d died.’

Receiving them now, Spider knows what he should say. He’s opened up a clear line of sight. You got me flowers, you pathetic fuck? But he can’t. Some unseen chain snags around his neck. He holds the flowers, plastic crinkling as he turns them over in his hands.

‘I wouldn’t make it that easy for you.’

River finds himself smiling, despite himself. Despite everything.

‘I’m sure.’ He throws on his coat. ‘Give Taverner my love and… erm– enjoy unemployment!’

‘Fuck you, River.’

‘Fuck you, Spider.’

And although they both wish it weren’t, the world as they’d always known it is back.

[carmenlire]

rewatching the first episode of bloodhounds and the instant connection between gunwoo and woojin has struck me all over again! I adore that gunwoo just genuinely loves boxing. This hobby-turned-passion may have started to protect his mother but it’s something he finds such solace and joy in. He truly embodies the heart-of-a-boxer mentality that he mentions on the rooftop.

You can see gunwoo be a little taken aback at the showmanship of woojin. I’d like to put a little bit of intrigue there too because it’s so different to his own serious, by-the-book style. And then after the match, when gunwoo is waiting outside the locker room and his puppy energy is just off the charts!!! he says that everyone else left :( but I think he secretly he was just waiting for woojin. And he is so eager and woojin is just staring at this kid like what the fuck? shouldn’t he be annoyed at this rookie who KO’d him? but nah how could he be when it’s so glaringly obvious that the kid loves boxing for boxing’s sake and he’s such a sweetheart.

so they get dinner!! at the barbecue buffet!! and it’s at this part that woojin’s interest is well and truly piqued. He wants to know more about gunwoo and his rapid-fire questions are his way of getting the information. the two of them bond and i gotta love sangyi’s and dohwan’s  chemistry because you can literally see their friendship come together, that bond unbreakable.

And then the next morning! I could write an entire thesis about that first morning after the match! Gunwoo immediately calls his new friend woojin and woojin answers and even when he’s so tired and he doesn’t understand just why gunwoo would go to the gym, he still picks up the phone and his little amused-- and already so fond!!!!-- “gosh, you’re so clingy in the morning” is immediately nullified whenever he tells gunwoo to come over! 

and i love that woojin rapidly and without missing a beat understands and reworks his potential first impression of gunwoo. you can literally see him decide that “idk how this kid has managed this long without me but now i’m here and i’m not letting anything hurt him.”

and just the moments later-- their married couple ass bickering the second time they go to the buffet with hyunju before they are once again a united front as they both bicker with her! 

the montage after the devastation of Episode Six-- the way gunwoo so totally loses it all, his driving need to save his hyung, the way he carried woojin’s drunk ass to bed the night before (and if i hc that woojin wasn’t as drunk as it showed? that maybe there’s a conversation that happens in that moment?). his sheer relief. the way that in the wake of everything falling to pieces, they have each other and nothing will ever come between them-- the way they’re stronger than ever.

and don’t even get me started on their time in the granddaughter’s apartment?! it’s so obvious??? the way she tells them not to be creepy old men and they’re so confused but as soon as they realize what she’s alluding to, their faces wrinkle in disgust and they’re like “lmao wtf absolutely not u don’t have to worry about that” the way they’re talking one morning and??? they don’t realize she’s in the room???? and that’s because she was ON THE TOP BUNK AND THAT NECESSARILY MEANS THAT THEY SHARED THE BED ON THE GROUND FLOOR BECAUSE HOW ELSE WOULD THEY NOT KNOW SHE SLEPT THERE??????????????

[tigreblvnc]

BLUE LOCK MATCHUP EXCHANGE — @o-sachi / @chimi-cheese-fries

Your match is...

— Karasu Tabito

✦ You remind me of someone who is in a relationship but doesn't tell anyone they're in a relationship.

✦ Like, you have many circles of acquaintances, and you don't mix them together.

✦ So yeah, it's the classic "relationship-behind-the-curtains" trope.

✦ Or the Spider-Man/MJ trope.

✦ I feel like you are two sides of the same coin, and people either meet one or the other side.

✦ As you said: "I’m a bit socially inept as an introvert, but I change drastically when I’m around people I’m close with." This is exactly what I’m talking about.

✦ It’s to the point where people can’t imagine HOW and WHY you and Karasu met each other.

✦ "Dislike: stepping on wet floor that isn’t the shower." This fact is so specific and yet so relatable.

✦ Another dislike of yours: "people who [...] take up the entire path" and "people who touch me when I’m not close friends with them."

✦ Okay, you know what? I think you actually embody both the "behind-the-curtains" trope and the "enemies-to-lovers" trope.

✦ I strongly believe you and Karasu hated each other at first. Like, really.

✦ On the field, we know he’s the type to stick to someone VERY closely to block all exits. And you’d probably deeply hate him for doing that to you.

✦ Let’s imagine you’re a soccer player too.

✦ Let’s imagine he’s on the opposing team.

✦ Let’s imagine you both run after the ball at the same time...

✦ You can see the crow's shadow growing on the grass, closing in on you.

✦ You can also feel it swallowing you whole...and stealing the ball.

✦ God, he’s so damn annoying.

✦ Maybe you started glaring at birds after that match.

✦ I always take a look at the sun sign of the character I match, and guess what? You and Karasu share the same fierce and brave Leo energy.

✦ So it doesn’t surprise me that the two of you always fight during matches.

✦ You’ve already gotten a red card, haven’t you?

✦ Just because of him, you muttered.

✦ He smirked at you every time.

✦ You also started hating hair gel after that.

✦ On the field, you don’t see the 10 other players. You only see one. The most annoying one.

✦ The day you snatched victory from him... You sometimes rewatch the match just to savor the look of defeat on his face.

✦ And that was weird after that, you know, because the matches you played against other teams weren’t as satisfying to win.

✦ They were even boring.

✦ Something was missing.

✦ ...Or someone.

✦ You thought about it, without mentioning it to anyone. That’s no one else’s business. Just yours.

✦ But on your own, you couldn’t figure it out. What’s this missing piece?

✦ You ended up understanding one day, when you were practicing your dribbles on the training field.

✦ You didn’t notice right away, but there was a gaze fixed on you.

✦ It’s only when you missed your shot at the goal that our crow emerged from the shadows.

✦ You jumped a bit, and it made him smile. Again.

✦ "What are you doing here? There’s another field for you to train on, y’know." you throw out.

✦ "Heh, you mad at me? I just got here. You're still training, I see."

✦ "It’s late. Why aren’t you with the others?"

✦ "I could ask you the same. You’re not the only one wanting to improve."

✦ "Did you lose another match again?"

✦ "You'd like to, huh? Nah. This time, it was easy. But my next opponent won’t be that cool."

✦ "Oh? And who’s that?"

✦ Karasu didn't answer. Instead, he chuckles softly. Like he never did before.

✦ "You still like to play ignorant, huh." he says.

✦ "What ignorant?"

✦ "I didn’t forget that crazy shot you made."

✦ You went silent, frowning a bit.

✦ "Maybe it’s not me who’s mad at you."

✦ "Yeah. Maybe."

✦ But then, Karasu smirked. As always, with that arrogance and fiery spirit. He caught the ball with the tip of his foot, before making a controlled pass to you:

✦ "So I hope you don’t mind helping me beat you tonight!"

A word about your match: I’m on the verge of writing an entire fanfiction about the two of you. I loved writing this one. Oh, and besides Karasu, I also considered Oliver, but ultimately felt like something would be missing with him too. A complete rivalry worth living for.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | INTERESTED IN A MATCHUP EXCHANGE? CHECK THIS.

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

Warning: Venting, moaning, and spoilers ahead. Enter at own risk.

You know, after watching 73 Yards I had a LOT that I wanted to write about. Stuff about the themes like abandonment, but also about science fiction vs fantasy, the need for answers vs the desire never to know, eerie atmosphere vs cool rationality, blah, blah, blah.

But I’m a week too late. That’s old news now, it’s Dot and Bubble time. And I don’t have the time and energy to say much except…

OMG! Did RTD always have such an unrelentingly bleak and cruel vision of human nature??? I mean, okay, we had a woman heroically staying to take care of babies in the goofy first ep, but we also had a world that would abandon a bunch of babies to die. And the last two episodes…

73 Yards depressed me in a way no Doctor Who ever has. I’ve seen every episode that still exists, seen the recons of the lost, listened to every Big Finish audio over it’s first 14 or so years, and read the “wilderness years” novels like popcorn. I mean, I have absorbed so damn many Doctor Who stories in every medium that I wouldn’t know how to count them. Some were dark. Some were depressing. Some were miserable in every way.

But this….

73 Yards made me wonder if there was no damn point in me keeping on living.

Ruby’s plight resonated far too deeply.

Alone and upset she makes the mistake of stepping of going into pub where the locals, in a display of cruelty **that reminded me why I never go into small local places, deliberately scared and then mocked her. Then her life gets soooo much worse as everyone she loves and everyone she turns to for help ends up turning on her. She isn’t merely abandoned, she is treated with complete disgust and with not even a hint of compassion to soften it. She is haunted by the “ghost” of herself, an embodiment of both a mistake of her past and her future death. This “ghost” becomes her only companion as her life speeds on to the always lonely grave. Every birthday is her all alone, no friends, no family, just her and her always distant “ghost” self. And then she grows old and “dies”. Always alone…

99% of my time is alone. I have no friends to turn to. Every friend I ever got close to ended up leaving me. Heck, even online friends always just go away without a trace. I’m in a rural area where the community I’ve lived my entire life had never made me feel included. Back in school once a year I’d get shunned for not being a Christian as they rediscovered it, and the rest of the time there was mere bullying, mocked and belittled, for all the other things that marked me as an outcast. My family were outcasts too, for that matter. My family, where Mom is the only one left who loves me, just a frail voice on a phone I can no longer reach out to. My brother has openly wished me dead and doesn’t want me setting foot in his home, telling me constantly how worthless and disgusting he finds me. Everyone else I’ve loved is dead or gone away. Every birthday is alone, and I’m increasingly aware I’m spiraling to my own death…

No one. Never anyone. Never able to make new friends. Doomed to isolation unto death. No friends. No family. No help. Just me and…..me.

Yeah, it got to me. Ruby gets a moment of using her pain for good, and the reward of a do over. But that’s fiction. My “ghost” self offers no chance to do good, and when I die I will simply rot away (or burn, if whoever gets stuck with disposal duty decides to cremate me. They’d probably just flush me down toilet if I would fit! LOL)

And I thought, ok, maybe that’s just me. Maybe most people won’t feel borderline suicidal as escapist entertainment rubs salt in very open wounds.

But then I thought about the harsh cruelty of the world in the story, the complete lack of warmth and hope. Hell, our heroine stands by and lets a young woman get (strongly suggested) abused by a man she KNOWS is a baddie simply because she needs to prove that that baddie is bad enough to deserve what she is about to do. So even Ruby is a terrible person deep down, tainted by a world devoid of love to the point of treating people as test subjects.

Okay, this is bleak stuff. Great episode, even if I am ambivalent about that all fantasy/no explanations take on Doctor Who.( It also joins things like Grave of the Fireflies on my “Great but NEVER watch again!” list. ) But it’s surely won’t be so dark next time.

Oh dear.

So in Dot and Bubble we get a world of the young and privileged living in their social media bubbles (oh, very subtle), completely unable to function in the real world to the point of being unable to walk.

Okay, that’s not bleak. A bit cynical and harsh, kicking an easy target, but dark comedy material. And the obnoxious gal we are following will surely come to her senses, learn to connect with people, will be grateful for help, and…

Oh. OH!

This is THAT kind of story. Where we are reminded that people are essentially selfish and shallow, where they do things against their own best interests out of things like snobbishness, and the one decent human being we meet is doomed to death by betrayal.

Okay, now the question is, which do I find bleaker. The “you are doomed to always be isolated” episode or the “most people don’t even deserve help” episode.

People complained about the ending of Boom being sappy, but TBH it was kinda a relief for Moffat to pop in and say “Ok, look, love will give you at least a pseudo happy ending now and then. Now don’t go slitting your wrists at the utter nastiness out there…”

And the RTD whispers “I’m not saying slit your wrists, I’m just saying that if you do no one will care. The hysterical laughter at snot monsters and musical diva gods is just the universe having a nervous breakdown in the dark, but that’s fun, isn’t it?”

I’m not saying I think these episodes are awful! Just to be clear, I’ve enjoyed stuff about all of them! I haven’t hated any of them (No, not even Space Babies with their poor little freaked out faces and ill fitting CG mouths creeping me out) And if you don’t feel depressed after these recent episodes I’m very glad. Really. I just wish I had YOUR brain!

It’s funny, after an era where I complained (quietly) about poor writing I am now complaining (loudly) about the horrible mood the better writing is putting me in!

Yes, I will keep watching, trying to hold onto whatever light I can in the darkness. But I can’t say I’m looking forward to being miserable every time. I’m not sure I’m actually having fun. My life sucks enough lately, and Doctor Who making me feel worse is something I NEVER expected to have to deal with.

**Note to self: be glad you can NEVER go to Wales! Yeah, my grandma had a penpal from Wales. It was a lovely old lady she met while they both rested on a bench in the Smithsonian Natural History Museum. I met her and she was quite nice, even as little me withered in shame hearing grandma, in her lifelong childlike innocence, tell an embarrassing detail about me. I rationally know people from Wales are just people. But after that pub scene…

[netherzon]

A summary of why I prefer Matthew being the older NA brother:

1. I liked the chapter where Hima explained why Matthew is older, personally. I think its a good chapter with some really sweet interactions between Matthew and Arthur and some fun goofs, so that’s a part of canon I’ve accepted in my interpretation of the characters

2. On that note, I can’t imagine Alfred ever insisting on being older after that. I know people like the “protective older sibling vibes” but to me that’s just not a distinction Alfred would care about? I think he’s a protective brother, and doesn’t really give a shit about if he should be younger or older to do that. It wouldn’t change anything to him, and with my opinion that Matthew would insist on being the older one because he does care, Alfred would just say “alright, whatever you want bro ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ “ and continue doing what he was doing.

3 & 4 (sorry it was hard to explain them separately). I think the family drama is juicier that way honestly, also Matthew just gives me big sibling energy. Just something about Matthew not living up to the expectations that usually come with being the oldest sibling, trying your hardest to be the best you can be in the eyes of someone else while watching your little brother completely reject that and somehow ending up with basically everything in even less time. I honestly don’t imagine Alfred was a well behaved kid, not to Arthur’s standards for behavior at least, so I think Matthew, who pretty much embodies the idea of a “well behaved child” would’ve become a stark contrast. The way I see it is a lot of Alfred’s behavior that he might’ve gotten away with before would’ve suddenly become a “why can’t you be more like your brother?” thing with Arthur. This would’ve bothered Alfred a lot while simultaneously giving Matthew the feeling of being a kind of role model, being the mature one, and being mature is a sign that he’s older of course, and because he’s older he’s the one in line for the throne of course. He will be, if not more successful in the long run, than at least he’ll be successful first. He’s doing the right things the right way, and Alfred is obviously not because he hasn’t grown up yet. Then Alfred has his revolution, and then he wins, and then he takes over the family inheritance that should’ve gone to Matthew by convention, if convention was something Alfred had ever cared about, and that part of Alfred’s character just doesn’t have the same impact to me if he’s the oldest the entire time

[andro-dino]

For Manny and Nuri, is there any canon characters that they either really get along well with or really don't? Also, I really love their designs, Manny's hat and all the little space detailing on Nuri's outfit look so cool!!

waaaa ty!! they r definitely some of my favorite designs I’ve made I will say

Nuri is kind of a menace and basically like. hates everyone. and the feeling is generally mutual because he is a menace and frequently Causes Problems On Purpose. I imagine him and Kyoya especially have beef, for no other reason really than I think it would be funny. Nuri embodies a lot of traits that Kyoya probably hates, being both incredibly annoying and getting on his nerves as well as being a kinda weak, cowardly blader who doesn’t really stand on their own two feet as much as they do just kinda hide behind and rely on Manny, which is definitely something Kyoya does not like. And Nuri I think would just find him lame and unlikable and frequently try to bother him on purpose bc he finds him lame and unlikable <3 they just get on everyone’s nerves all the time really. If he were to get along with anyone, I think is would be funny if Nuri took a liking to Kenta. It’s basically entirely one sided and Kenta thinks he’s really weird but I think that something abt Kenta just makes Nuri wanna ramble to him endlessly, usually praising themself excessively or talking about how much they love manny. Kenta is basically powerless to stop this. I think it would, if anything, make Kenta more empathetic to Nuri than most others would be, as he would probably come to understand a little bit more of the depth of their personality that way, but mostly is just kinda wary of them

Manny, by contrast, would get along with basically anyone else who would give her a chance really. He and benkei especially have a lot in common and I think would get along really well. Not when manny’s with Nuri, but when she’s on her own, benkei enjoys hanging around her and they match each others energies very well. Their friendship is important to me they make me happy. I could see manny and masamune being friendly rivals. Not close enough to be really friends outside of beyblade, but I imagine that they would get along in battle and push each other. Generally I think manny would gravitate the most towards other high energy characters but for the most part is really amicable and doesn’t dislike anyone unless they give her a significant reason to. Example of which being kyoya, who already doesn’t get along with like anyone but Manny especially wouldn’t like him since he and nuri have more beef than is generally normal for nuri to have with most other people. Honestly I think it would really just depend entirely on how specific the beef nuri has with anyone else is would decide how manny feels about them, because even if they were a total jerk, I think mannys friendly enough and I guess a little air headed enough that it doesn’t really bother him. I like manny and nuri together so much bc they are such total opposites that it is absurd that they are as incredibly in love with each other as they are but like, they’re just so different enough that it cancels out and they end up being perfect for each other

[tearsofalonelyprince]

Leviathan is actually OP: Expansion Pack

Alright here’s all of the reasons why Leviathan is OP as FUCK. [ This is the quick version. ]

Now before we begin! These are just part of my personal Levi headcanons and in no way am I caught up to the lore. I just re-read the fanwiki to fact check.

Also spoiler warning for Levi Lore!

Alright now let’s get into this Gamers!

First things first, what is a Leviathan in the first place? It’s a big ass sea monster (A Sea Serpent if you wanna get specific) that’s on a level similar or, dare I say, better than Angels. They are neither Angel nor Demon but something entirely in their own lane. Depending on what lore you read it is either the Embodiment of Chaos itself or just straight up some weird, scary, powerful thing God threw in the ocean. Honestly I like the juxtaposition of this snake. It furthers the Levi OP Theory I have.

Now, as we all know our own Levi is a water snake as well. He obviously isn’t always a big, monstrous snake, but from his demon form alone it’s likely he’s able to transform into one if we are going off the logic that Demons can appear as whatever they want to be seen as. BUT THAT IS NOT WHAT MAKES HIM OP! What truly got me thinking about the fact that Leviathans aren’t seen in heaven. So just how did he become a General of the Celestial Army as an Angel? Personally, my head cannon is that Mammon found him while running away from Michael one day but that’s besides the point. Also, Generals are pretty high in ranking so this also begs the question of just what type of angel was he? Whatever he was, he had to be pretty strong in the Celestial Realm to be that high in their Army, right?

This brings me to his rank among the brothers. Leviathan is the Third strongest Demon Lord and is the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy. That’s a pretty high fucking ranking out of every single demon in the Devildom. Yet despite this high ranking Leviathan is often seen as “weak” and “out of shape” to the point that he can’t jump rope or run one lap around the HoL. Most often attribute this to him being a chronic gamer and rarely ever leaving his room. I, however, call bullshit.

There is no way he’s the Grand Admiral of the Navy and he’s out of shape! It just doesn’t make sense!!!

The fact that he still has that title not only implies that he’s still very much in that position, but Hell’s Navy is still functioning. Now I don’t know shit about how the navy works or anything like that but I do know that’s not a position you can still have by sitting on your ass all day. The fact that he’s “out of shape” also contradicts directly with the fact that he uploads dance videos on Deviltube to support his idols. As someone who has tried to do idol dances, there is no fucking way he’s doing that if he can’t even jump rope. I’m being serious. Knowing that Levi likes anime character types like Ruri-chan and a group called “Starlet Hearts” leads me to believe he’s probably doing “cutesy” idol dances which are often high-energy and have a bunch of jumping.

If you’re curious on just much jumping, energy, and coordination goes into these types dances then I implore you to watch [ This classic cover ] and think about how this is the style of dances that Levi is most likely uploading on to Deviltube. And seeing how one of his videos goes viral, he’s probably very good at it too.

Now think about how he “can’t jump rope and run around the HoL”. It’s not possible that both are correct.

If you’re still not convinced that Levi is OP as fuck then I offer you this nugget of information. Leviathan says if he was in water then he and Mammon would be on the same level pretty much. Mammon, who is the fastest demon in the entire Devildom and has more control over his power than all 6 of his brothers. Mammon the Second strongest Demon Lord in the Devildom. Now fact check me if I’m wrong (which I could be, I haven’t been able to find the screenshot of him saying this), but this just further pushes into my fish out of water analogy. Leviathan has a terrifying amount of strength in the water not just from his muscles but the powers he possesses as well.

Leviathan calls himself the “Master of Water itself” when summoning Lotan. He has the power to not only summon Lotan, who is older (and most likely more powerful ) than Levi, but also can control all of the magical creatures in the sea. Pair this with the fact that he can conjure a trident and throw it like it’s a baseball…. He’s Strong as fuck! Let’s not even get into the fact that in mythology the Leviathan is like a younger version of Lotan. The sheer amount of power it would take to have control over every single magical creature in the ocean is mind boggling. One would think the Avatar of Envy would want to have the image of being the strongest so others could envy him, right?

Wrong.

There’s two reasons for why Levi could be not showing his full strength and when combined offer a whole new view of our lovely shut-in.

Reason one: Self-Esteem

It’s been shown to us time and time again that Levi has a low self-esteem to the point where he regularly calls himself a “lowly otaku”. He truly believes he doesn’t deserve the basic decency that is MC wanting to hang out with him. To me, this implies that Levi truly doesn’t see himself as a strong being. He sees his power to summon Lotan as a boost of an intimidation, not strength. So for him, the Title of Grand Admiral is the equivalent of a beginner rank he got in a game. It’s the bare minimum. He thinks anyone could do it. He takes his place as third place and nothing more because he doesn’t think he’s anything better then that. He convinces himself that all of his brothers must be stronger despite his obvious skills.

Reason two: Strategy

Being the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy means you have to lead hundreds if not thousands of troops. You have to have plans on top of plans for everything. You can’t lead a squad into a fight without a good strategy. You can’t tell me Leviathan doesn’t know how to strategize with all of the games he plays either. As a gamer myself, I can tell you right now I’ve used my knowledge in games to get through completely new games easily just based on general knowledge. Being the leader of such a group also requires meticulous planning skills which Levi definitely plans. You can’t play multiple on-going games and not plan how to play events if you want to get the best rank in them. Knowing Levi, he probably applies this logic in everyday life. Whether it’s from anxiety or not, Levi goes as far as to plan out how conversations go which further help him prepare for any outcomes. He also probably has incredible pattern recognition as well from all of the different games he plays. That’s something that’s incredibly useful when seeing how past battles have gone down or how to spot any inconsistencies. Now here’s where it ties into the Levi Op Theory. I believe Leviathan uses his gamer/otaku image to throw everyone off of his trail as the third strongest. After all, what better strategy to best your enemies is there then to fool them into thinking you’re weak and frail? If everyone thinks you can’t even run around the house then they will underestimate you in battle. Spending hours charting Devildom maps out is nothing compared to memorizing the entire map to 6 different games with expansion packs plus rhythm game master charts. Defeating an entire battalion is nothing more than a flick of the wrist when the entire battalion is only 50 low rank demons. The Avatar of Envy is such because those around him are jealous of the seemingly random power boosts he gets in battle.

Combine those two together and you get a wave of pure nightmare fuel because the boss you’re fighting against has 4 extra stages that he didn’t even know about.

Leviathan is a UR++ card hidden behind the guise of an already upgraded S rank card.

Okay I think that’s all of my thoughts on why Levi is OP. Feel free to let me know your thoughts. To put the icing on the cake, I didn’t even plan for Levi to become one of my comfort characters but he’s among my top 5 Obey Me best boys now lmao

[amandacanwrite]

The Happy Ending Isn't Always Happiness

Hi friends, this is something I originally shared on my newsletter, but I thought a lot of people here would benefit from reading it as well!

I spend a lot of time thinking about the Japanese art of Kintsugi.

For those of you who don’t know, Kintsugi is a Japanese practice in which broken ceramics are repaired with gold instead of ceramic slip. The idea is that by highlighting the imperfections in the broken glassware, you repair the vessel while also granting it a beautiful acknowledgement of its journey to what it is today. The origins of the practice aren’t entirely clear, but it is believed to embody the Japanese philosphy of wabi-sabi; the appreciation of simplicity and the beauty of imperfection.

The results are stunning, to say the least. But the real reason I find myself thinking about it so much is not necessarily because of what it looks like, but because of the symbolic power of mending broken things with gold—a rare and precious metal.

With the practice of Kintsugi, a cheap or even poorly made vessel is granted new value far beyond its original worth. In fact, it is through the shattering that the vessel is able to become more than what it was.

I don’t think very often about the things that capture my heart. To me, it is enough to be inspired by them and I don’t think too hard about why they move me so much, but this particular artform has had me thinking a lot lately. In particular thinking about how much I let my own mental health struggles and the day-to-day failings in my life get in the way of the things I desperately want for myself.

I am finally learning to take the advice I wrote in my own debut novel. (Holy hell, what a concept, right?)

“Juni,” he said, “You’re not going to be able to sort everything out in a vacuum. You can only grow and change by challenging yourself.” “But how can I challenge myself without falling to pieces? I can barely function around most people,” she said. “You lean on the people who love you; the people who have been supporting you anyway. You lean on me and your father and your mother. You let us help and protect you; you see yourself through our eyes until your own eyes adjust to the lighting,” he said.

I truly believe these words I wrote, and yet for so long I have been holding myself to the impossible standard of having to be “well” or “fixed” before I pursue something I really want. The feeling that I have to wait to be perfectly mentally healthy before I could even dare to strive for something.

For me, it’s never been about feeling undeserving. It’s always been about wanting to be able to seize the opportunity once I get it; something that can be hard to do when I’m struggling to get out of bed and take a shower in the morning. Or when my ADHD makes even the smallest of tasks feel like mountains.

But as I’ve been working with my editor on my book, I’ve realized that if I wait to “be well” to pursue things—if I wait until the stars align and a window of high functionality opens up—I will watch all of my endeavors sputter and peter out.

Facing this has required me to accept that in order for me to have success in life, I’m going to have to do it from a place of vulnerability. I’m going to have to fail publicly, falter on promises of how quickly I can finish things, and I’m just going to have to be honest about it when I simply do not have the energy to do things the way other folks do.

I want to embrace my cracks. I want to forge them in gold.

Sometimes the happy ending isn’t happiness.

Sometimes it’s just learning to keep going and to keep trusting the world around you to keep you buoyed and cradled in its kindness.

Sometimes it’s learning that the world will drop you sometimes; that you’ll get more cracks and will have to spend more time reconstructing yourself with that molten metal.

Juniper, the main character in my book, doesn’t cure her anxiety by the end of the book. She grows, and she gets braver, but much like it is in real life, those things don’t simply go away. I wrote it that way on purpose, because when you have a chronic mental illness it truly doesn’t go away. It sticks around and you learn how to make it your ally.

It feels silly to be learning this lesson now, close to three years after I wrote the words of my first draft. But, better late than never, right?

Thank you for sharing this journey with me.

I’ll leave you with a little snippet from the epilogue of With Love, Juniper.

Yes, she still had many of the odd fears and behaviors she always had; it was still nerve-wracking to place orders at restaurants or buy tickets at the train station. There was still the rare customer who would force an uncomfortable smile when she extolled the virtues of the nutrients found in cow manure or caught her speaking to her seedlings when they wandered into her store. But that was alright; she knew she wasn’t meant to appeal to everyone. She found the comfort in being an acquired taste, a delicacy for a special chosen few, so long as Oleander was counted among them.  She wasn't entirely sure that it would always be easy, wasn't sure she would always feel so brave—but she knew that she had the support of the ones she loved to make it through the times that were truly frightening. She had done it once before, and she could do it again.

If you want to be involved this year in the release of my book, feel free to comment below and let me know if you'd like to join my writing taglist! ARC readers will be something we need soon, and I'm also doing a really cute cover reveal that you can participate in! Thanks so much for considering it either way!

[outpost51]

Happy STS! If you were to design a deck of playing cards based on characters in your WIP, who would you assign to be the King? The Queen? The Jack? The Ace? And the Joker?

Happy STS Nopal!!

You’ve triggered my cartomancy trap card!!

And given me the chance to ramble about some characters folks haven’t seen in Arsonist Chronicles yet!! [happy stim]

So I read a standard deck of playing cards the same as I’d read tarot (sans the major arcana), with the suits converted as such: spades = swords, hearts = cups, diamonds = coins, clubs = wands, jack = knave, ace = knight (I know, I don’t read the aces as aces, great crimes have been committed on this day). You didn’t come here for that though, you came for blorbos and blorbos you shall receive!

★○★○★○★

♤

King of Spades: Taredd is as brilliant as he is charismatic — a shame he uses what would otherwise be qualities of a good leader to be a manipulative little bastard. He’s the current king of the Fae while the Seelie Courts hold power, and only recently assumed the throne after his father mysteriously abdicated mid-Revel. The whereabouts of former king Theodas are unknown.

Queen of Spades: Princess Cassara, Cassie my beloved. Sharp, clever, and as calculating as her brother, she’s quite happy in her position as second-in-line — she gets all the perks of nobility with none of the boring work that comes along with it. That, and she might have a massive secret mutual crush on her personal guard, and as queen, she’d be expected to marry someone for political gain. No thanks!

Jack of Spades: Funny enough, a queen — the nebulous queen of the Unseelie Courts, to be exact. Although, she technically isn’t a queen just yet; she slipped away into the night right before her coronation a few months prior to the start of Unlikely Adventures. There’s a rumor she’s sought a fresh start among the humans, in retail no less, but it’s so preposterous, it’s passed around as an ironic joke rather than viable theory.

Ace of Spades: General Nelene is the aforementioned personal guard. She was part of the ritual trade-off when the Seelie Courts took over — the monarchs of the two choose new guards from the ranks, and then trade. It’s supposed to be a show of trust but, well. Fae. Anyway Nellie has a big lesbian crush on Cassara and they’re totally ✨ Doin’ It ✨ on the DL, and they’re definitely Not Planning Anything Nefarious. What do you mean the Knight of Swords represents unbridled ambition? Noooo, no, Taredd trusts her with his life, his sister’s life, and control of his forces—

♡

King of Hearts: Life — not for the King thing, it’s because she’s compassionate and generous, but she’s got great control over her emotions and she’s wary of disrupting the universal balance.

Queen of Hearts: Death. Yeah, we saw this one coming. She’s all the hyperempathy and none of the balance, thinks with her heart, doesn’t consider so much the consequences of her actions. Listen, you take an evening stroll through a graveyard and not feel your heart shatter into a million pieces over a little girl crying about her sister. I’m not saying I’d hand her a book of necromancy instructions, but I totally would.

Jack of Hearts: Ayla, of course. She’s the very embodiment of why we should not let our id run around unchecked. War crimes.

Ace of Hearts: Phada — she’s a whole can of worms by herself, and the reason we can’t have anything nice have vampires.

♢

King of Diamonds: Savras Zegan! Yes diamonds is my FZS&S suit. Savras is a funny little hoarder of objects both mystical and mundane.

Queen of Diamonds: Paghana Fithum, mother hen of the entire supernatural community.

Jack of Diamonds: Miorina Stazor, don’t fear the Mia, but do fear the Reaper. Something, something new life, resurrections, etc.

Ace of Diamonds: Tom Smith — a man of utmost diligence. Nuff said.

♧

King of Clubs: Acheron La Croix, Sang-d’origine bloodline. Imagine, if you will, the stuffiest, velvet-smoking-jacketest vampire ever. Now give him Dad Energy™️. Yeah, that’s Acheron.

Queen of Clubs: Fiery, determined, strong — Pamela Foster, president of the HOA and progenitor of the Castlebury Park vampire bloodline. It’s not often a new bloodline forms but when it does, it’s a big fucking deal — not to Pam. She has gardens to judge and citations to write and meetings to run and bake sales and festivals to coordinate and boy does she give the Vampire Council a run for their money.

Jack of Clubs: Psyche Hunter is a newer vampire and brings “fresh, young energy” to the council, whatever Acheron means by that. Personally, I think it’s because she taught him how to use a smartphone. Also, she’s been adopted by Keir and they’re bisexual power besties, and I just think they’re neat.

Ace of Clubs: Keir Toussaint is the perfect example of a centuries old immortal who’s fully integrated into modern society. This man was turned in fucking 1802. Fuckin regency era rake ass loves Fortnite and shitty beer. Brash, impulsive little punk.

🃏

Finally, we’ve reached the end. The wild card. The very embodiment of universal entropy. The Deep. [kisses his stupid head] Bastard <3

[catscratching]

Tagged: Altitis Edition

Favorite | Seda Ballard This was actually a difficult choice, as I have two characters that will forever be near and dear to my heart.   But Seda is who I spend the most time thinking about and writing for, so she edges out to the front.

Oldest | Veriinya Irenellar Veri was born in 2007? 2008? She was my first… ‘actually roleplay in an MMO’ character.  I had stories written about previous characters, but never did ‘live’ RP with them.  She’s mostly retired these days, although I still write her in an AU setting with a friend.  (I love her to pieces, and she’ll always be very very special to me - and it was through Veri that I met @valdiis!  She was always intrigued by one of Val’s characters and wanted to know him better, but we never had the opportunity. :D)

Newest | Rucio Corcoran I needed an antagonistic character I could use as a foil and part of my XIV roleplay, so Rucio was born.  I had a number of sources of inspiration for him, and I’m not entirely cemented in who he is as a person.

Meanest | Rucio Ambitious, obsessive, amoral and cruel, Cio is one of those characters I have to be in the right headspace to write.  His casual derision and abuse doesn’t come easily, and I’ve got a long list of notes about the characters that inspired him to keep me on track. 

Softest | Anisai Swiftwater Ani is one of those ‘outwardly aloof, but a big softie inside’ types.  He also originated in another MMO, and it seemed natural to me to bring him to XIV.   He’s devoted his life to healing and supporting the people around him - which can sometimes lead to tunnel vision, obscuring larger social problems in the world around him.  

Most Aloof/Standoffish | Seriol Irenellar Veriinya’s father, Seriol is an academic researcher and mindhealer.  Before I quasi-retired him in 2015, he was working with priests of the Dead (who had direct contact with the spirit/souls of the departed) and his research revolved around the things you could do using the pure energy of those ghosts.  … He is not a terribly nice person, and I have considered bringing him into XIV as a second antagonist.

Dumbest (Affectionate) | Keialaar Irenellar Veriinya’s younger sister (I do have a habit of giving my characters connections, although this was the first time I wrote a nearly complete family), Kei isn’t actually dumb exactly, as I just don’t find that dynamic enjoyable, but she’s a very low WIS character.

Dumbest (Derogatory) | Keialaar See above.  She’s the living embodiment of ‘YOLO’ foolishness. :D

Smartest | Seriol Absolutely brilliant, he has very little patience for people that cannot keep up with his intellect.

Horniest | Seda Physical intimacy is one of the easiest way to feel connected - not just to a romantic partner, but to people in a more general sense.  Seda doesn’t conflate sex with love - she’s had enough physical encounters where love did not enter the equation to have a very firm understanding that they are separate.  But sex, even if it’s a solo activity, helps her relax, and now that she has a partner that she’s absolutely crazy about, intimacy with him makes her feel closer to him on an emotional level.

Character You’d Bang | … (Can I say Fakhri here?) - Probably Seda I think she’d understand that sometimes you just want to be naked in someone’s arms, feeling that connection, and sometimes you want to crawl into comfy PJs and just cuddle.  Her feelings wouldn’t be hurt by the latter, and given that she has many of the same emotional hangups I do, we’d understand one another.   (Or there would be horrible misunderstandings and we’d both be miserable. :D )

Also have you seen her freckles?  Goddess.     [She’s not a consolation prize, don’t get me wrong - I just adore Fakhri that much. :3 ]

Character You’d Be RL Besties With |  Seda or Veriinya Both ladies are generous, compassionate, and insightful.  They have their differences - Veri is very much Lawful Good and Seda is Chaotic all the way, but they’re definitely the type you can call at 2am because you’re lonely and can’t sleep, and either of them would show up with tubs of ice cream and horrible movies when you need a friend.

Tagging: @valdiis, have you done this yet?  Consider yourself tagged!  Also @briar-ffxiv