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yinyangyandere · 5 months ago

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ll Yandere Anxiety HCs 🧡

[SPOILERS FOR INSIDE OUT 2]

Synopsis; A long list of headcanons on how I think Anxiety would be like as a yandere, as well as somewhat of a fanfic

ll Caution: General Yandere Mindset, Mental Manipulation, Betrayal, Obsessive/Possessive Behaviors, Bad Ending, Possible OOC Writing

A.N.; Not me literally writing a 9-page Google HC Doc yandere scenario for an emotion jfnjrndjnredj3j3er But seriously, I love Anxiety so much. I felt like she had a good deal of nuance to her character, in-between her wanting to help Riley for the future with good intentions in mind, but executing it poorly. Should go without saying she’s probably my fave in the franchise, and one of my fave Disney characters now.

At the same time, I noticed a lot of her behavior could potentially be ripe for a depiction where she wanted to protect Riley SO much that she’d do anything for her. Eventually, that led to me making this; it should be noted that you are not Riley in this though. It’s intended to be a what-if situation, if OG Anxiety displayed yandere-typical behavior and was inside your head instead. Hope that makes sense.

Anyways, make sure to acknowledge the warnings before reading further! If any of the above topics make you feel even a bit uncomfortable, don’t be afraid to look out for yourself and click off. Your mental health is important!

If anyone needs anything additional tagged, I’ll do so and edit the post with the added warning. Other than that, I hope you enjoy!

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First things first, I’m so sorry for you; imagine having a yandere that exists solely in your head, and no matter how hard you try to get rid of them, they’ll always be there. They exist as essentially a part of you, and removal of such things is far from easy. Especially so if that yandere in question is a personification of an emotion, which leads me to your lovesick “headmate” today: Anxiety.

🧡 ll Start:

She first showed up when you first began your puberty, similarly to Riley’s Anxiety from the movie. Like the others, she adores you and only wishes for the best when it comes to you. But all the while, the love Anxiety felt for you was growing more and more with each passing day, much more exponentially than what the other emotions in HQ felt.

Unconsciously, she slips her way into becoming the lead emotion, making you become an overall cautious individual as a whole. The others mostly disapproved of this, but they still went along with what Anxiety had in store for you since she could be pretty good at persuading everyone else into what she wanted.

Anxiety would, of course, step back so the rest can help you when needed, but as time went on, the other emotions needed to be more insistent on getting Anxiety to back down from the Control Panel. It had gotten to the point where Anxiety was basically piloting you for nearly the entire day without any of their input!

However, an awful pit in her stomach grew as well. Anxiety couldn’t help but squeeze her criss-crossed arms together as she observed your Joy manipulate the panel. ‘You were doing just fine with me in control!’ Anxiety couldn’t help but think to herself. ‘There’s no reason why I needed to step down!’

This feeling, this thought, persisted through multiple days and weeks. All the while, scenarios of you having a bad future because one of them made a mistake replayed on loop inside the girl’s head. She could’ve stepped in and stopped them, making sure you were safe, but she didn’t! She wouldn’t ever be able to forgive herself if she couldn’t protect you!

Anxiety, while she disliked these feelings, grew into someone who didn’t talk much to the others. She became antisocial, only focusing on tending to you and ensuring both your safety and happiness.

Sleepless nights and jealousy-filled days passed, and her obsession towards you never waned in the slightest. It grew, larger and more present, until it encompassed her entire life in her eyes. Anxiety lay awake one night, eyes wide open and staring up at the ceiling. Her mind just wouldn’t stop racing, thinking of you and how she could help you so much more if she was more in-control of things around here.

…Wait. Maybe…if she was more in-control…the sole emotion to take care of the Control Panel…

That idea persisted inside her head for days on end. She didn’t talk to the others during this time, refusing to answer their questions on why she was acting so weird and off recently. They wouldn’t understand. They’re your emotions, yeah, but Anxiety was your main one! She was the one who made sure you’d be protected in any situation!

Finally, it all came to a head when your Joy pointed out how obsessive Anxiety has been over you. The others agreed with Joy, and seeing everyone else loom over her with those questioning looks of theirs made Anxiety feel trapped. In an uncharacteristic act of rage from her, Anxiety shouted back at them, yelling that they would never be able to understand how she’d feel and that she was the only person there who truly cares for you. She stormed off before anyone else could retort back.

When she came back, in the middle of the night, she wasn’t alone. Alongside her was the Mind Police; she was able to convince them that the emotions there were actually rogue secrets and that the real ones are missing. Anxiety watched silently, fidgeting, unable to stop the slight guilt in her heart as she watched her former friends be pulled away and be stuck inside the Vault. ‘It’s for you,’ Anxiety reassured herself, talking about…well, about you. ‘Everything I’m doing is for you.’

It was weird at first, adjusting to being the only emotion left inside H Q, but she got the hang of it pretty quickly. Since, as the days ticked onwards, Anxiety swooned over you, sometimes talking to you as if you’d be able to respond back to her. Finally, she had you all to herself, and she’ll guarantee that she’d be able to keep you from harm’s reach while being able to bask in all of you.

🧡 ll Further Descent:

Boy, if you thought Anxiety had gone off the deep-end before, she certainly has now. Her days and nights are completely consumed by you. HQ is absolutely covered in drawings and little origami depictions of both you and her (and, while she’d often blush while doing it, she also enjoyed treating them like dolls and making them give little kisses to one another). Interspruced with all of that is her written ramblings, and it felt like that the further you went down in her notes, the more fanatical it became.

Sometimes, she’d have small sparks of self-awareness. Anxiety will clean up HQ and tidy it, all while reminiscing on her love for you. These small moments of clarity will give her twinges of regret and doubt, but she’d push them all in the back of her mind in the end. After all, it’s for the greater good. She’d assure herself that she really was the only person who could truly be able to acknowledge everything about you until that assurance soon became a truth in her eyes. A stone-cold, unrelenting truth.

Meanwhile, you’d become much more nervous, “unstable” in some cases. Nowadays, you feel too apprehensive about going outside, quitting your in-person job in favor of an online or at-home one. Groceries are delivered to your door-step, and appointments you need to go to, like for a check-up or surgery, are done with great reluctance. After, you immediately rush back to the safety of your abode.

When it comes to social interactions, Anxiety also makes sure that, while you’d have friends, they wouldn’t get too close to you. She can’t have them hurting you, physically or emotionally! Though, deep down inside of her, Anxiety does feel a hint of possessiveness towards you, but it mostly comes out as her afraid for your well-being.

Crushes definitely are a no-go. Any attempts on trying to get closer to a love interest you may have is completely out of the question in the eyes of Anxiety. She’ll break the button that makes you feel socially-awkward if she has to.

Anxiety notices soon enough that your feelings of loneliness are increasing rapidly, and attempting to brainstorm an idea where both of you could be happy, a lightbulb goes off in her head.

She goes down to the studio where they produce your dreams, and through some sly convincing and surprising ability to help sway others to what she wants, Anxiety is able to control your dreams with full access. Now, she hopes that her plan will work.

🧡 ll Meeting You in Person:

Well, in-person is in very large quotation marks, but it’s the closest thing she can get to doing such a thing.

After making sure everything was in working order and looked good, Anxiety waited for night to come and for when it was finally time to reveal herself to you. The studio, while it mostly worked with actors, also had the option of summoning your consciousness in a tangible form; how else did you think those falling dreams would cause you to wake up violently right as you hit the ground? Though, Anxiety was using it for a much, much different purpose now.

She sweated bullets while she waited, stimming in both excitement and worry on how you’d react to her. Anxiety suddenly stood still when your eyes finally shut, signifying that it was time to enact her plan.

Pressing various buttons and switches, she grinned as the thing shuttered and spat out smoke before shooting a project of light from the machine’s camera. It morphed, taking form, until you were finally there right in front of Anxiety. You blinked, confused, before turning to the delighted squeak you heard.

You nearly barrelled over as you felt a sudden force of weight being flung right around your torso, and as you looked down through the wild forest of orange hair that somewhat covered your vision, you saw Anxiety tightly wrapped around you in a hug. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and her smile beamed wider as she snuggled into you just a bit more.

“I…I finally get to see you,” you heard her mumble. “I never thought I would, but…here you are! With me!”

You gave her a confused expression, unsure of how to react. “I’m sorry, but, uh, do I know you?”

Anxiety’s eyes snapped open, tears wiped away in a flash, as she glanced up at you and immediately backed off. “O-oh, oh my gosh! I’m so, so sorry; that was so dumb of me, ugh!” She muttered the last part under her breath.

What follows is what you’d expect: she explains to you that she’s your personification of Anxiety, but makes sure to add that she only steps in to prevent you from making possible bad decisions. At least, that’s partially true. Then, she gives you a small tour of the place, deciding to give you a tour of HQ another day (when she doesn’t have your face plastered all over the walls…). After, she insists to you that she’d do anything for you. Figuring that this was all a dream, you simply ask her for some levity from your struggles in reality. In short, you two have fun.

Anxiety is extremely reluctant to allow you to go, but she figures that it would be too suspicious and off-putting if she begged you to stay. When you awake, you just figure that it was some sort of strange lucid dream before going about your day.

So, it surprises you when you see Anxiety again the next night…and the next…and the next…and the next. Around the third time, you realize this is abnormal and start feeling uncomfortable around Anxiety. She notices, and asks you about it. You just wave it off, saying you’re a bit nervous for work tomorrow. Anxiety’s very doubtful, but she goes with it.

However, when she shows up again on the fourth night, you’ve had enough. You’re creeped out with her, and explain to a now very concerned Anxiety that she can’t be real. “I am!” She retorts back. “But-but that isn’t a bad thing! That just means you can talk to me if you have anything troubling you! Please, don’t run! I’m not going to hurt you!”

Even though you did, in fact, run away from her that night, she just showed right back up again the next. What then happened was a repetitive cycle of you running away from Anxiety as she tries to explain her side of the story, waking up, and then going right back to Stage 1. You ask your doctors for a higher dosage of anxiety medication in hopes it would quell what you perceived as delusions. But no matter what you tried, no matter what medicine you took, Anxiety will always be the first thing you “wake” up to.

It had maybe been almost two weeks when you finally relented. Anxiety, however, seemed a bit snarky. “So, have you finally run all out-of-steam? Can I finally get to tell you what’s going on?!”

It took you a few seconds to reply. “...Yeah. Go ahead.”

She let out a sigh of relief, before she explained more on why she’s being so persistent with you. She figured that, since your life wasn’t the best at the moment, Anxiety would help give you some escapism during the night as a relief. While you still felt a bit off-put by one of your emotions continuously showing up in your dreams, and of all of them it’s the Anxiety one, her reasoning did give you some respite. She made sure she didn’t slip that she just really wanted to spend time with you too, though.

It took you a little while to warm up to both the idea and her again, but after some time, you started to enjoy your little adventures with Anxiety. She was funny, sweet, kind, and had all the same interests as you did. She became your best friend, but in Anxiety’s eyes, you two were already in a relationship.

Every time you awoke, she did a little happy dance at the progress being made. Heck, she even had a checklist full of things to make certain you’d fall for her in return. Anxiety was not going to allow herself to destroy your bond together with her. At this point, her whole life really is about you. She loves you so, so much and every day she gets more exhilarated at getting closer to the stage where she’d ask you the question.

Months pass on, and it’s now around the end of the year. She decided to give you a little celebration, convincing the workers below to set off fireworks outside. HQ was decked out in festive decorations, illuminated by the glow of the bright flashes of light outside. When Anxiety sees your gorgeous face lit up by the colors set off from the other side of the window, her heart thumps louder in her chest, almost to an audible level. Her breath is caught in her mouth, but shaking off the stunned reaction she has towards you, Anxiety figures now would be a good time as ever to ask you: do you love her as much as she loves you?

✨🧡 ll Yes:

“Well…ah, it’s a bit weird to be dating one of my emotions…”

Anxiety’s wide-eyed face immediately turns down on itself, pupils shrinking and a frown making itself very well-known on her face. No, no! You can’t-!

“...Ah, why not? Sure!”

I hope you’re stanced up because if not, you will be thrown to the ground in another one of Anxiety’s tight hugs. She keeps on letting out happy squeals, unable to contain her absolute joy at your response. You laugh at how cute she was, returning her hug. She smiles even wider at that.

“I love you, I love you, I love youIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouILOVEYOU!” Anxiety repeated, her tongue twisting near the end making her almost unable to be understood until her final declaration of love. You giggle, and at this her green eyes open up and twinkle at you, a smile spread wider across her face than ever before.

“I love you too.”

While Anxiety never truly does let go of her obsessive tendencies towards you, they do somewhat lax now that she knows you love her back. Her mind sometimes wanders to the other emotions locked up in the Vault, and now on her off-days, she actually goes and visits them, talking to them through the cell. Of course, they’re pissed off at her, but she just can’t stop gushing about you and how much you love her back. Anxiety is too lovestruck to notice the gagging coming from Ennui, Anger, and Disgust inside whenever she goes on another long spiel about how your kisses feel or the flower you gave to her the other day.

Speaking of gifts, while she loves to talk to you about your interests and hyperfixations, Anxiety’s personal go-to love language will always be presents. Whatever you want, she’ll make it happen in the dream.

If you had a bad day too, Anxiety will do double-duty to make sure you wake up feeling ten times better than what you felt like going to bed!

As you grow older, Anxiety reflects back on how when you pass away, so will all of them. But while she still frets over it, there’s also the reassuring thought that she may be a human in the next life alongside you. So, instead of being inside your head, Anxiety will get to live out in the real-world right beside you. But as long as she’s with you, any future is great to her.

Overall, Anxiety feels like a weight that’s been on her since her very inception has finally been lifted. She’s much more relaxed and allows you to go out more as long as you don’t cheat on her. Thankfully, you never do, and she couldn’t be more than grateful.

Life was finally good for her, and she couldn’t be any happier.

💔 ll No:

You smiled awkwardly down at her, the tension in the room suddenly becoming more palpable to you. “I-uh, what?”

Anxiety’s grin falters. “Do you love me?” She repeats.

Your smile becomes a frown, and so does her’s. “I’m…I’m going to be honest with you, Anxiety. I love being your friend. But if you’re asking if we should date, I just can’t accept.”

Immediately, Anxiety shouts out. “WHY NOT?!” Panic is written all over her face, chest heaving in a faulty attempt to calm herself down.

You flinch back from her, suddenly unsure of what to do. “It’s just-I-I don’t know!” You replied back. “You’re literally an emotion! Something my mind made up! You’re not real!”

Those last words hurt her worse than any knife ever could. “You-you don’t mean that! I know you don’t! We’re supposed to be happy together! I did everything for you! So please just love me! LOVE ME!”

You took a few steps back, unknowingly bumping into an ajar closet. When you turn around, you gape in abject horror.

Thousands of drawings and art crafts of you, reciprocating Anxiety’s adoration, filled your sight. You turned down to a sheet of paper that innocently slid to your feet.

‘I got rid of the others. I hated to, but they’d never be able to understand how I felt towards them. They were in the way. But now, we can be together forever! I can’t wait!’

Oh toaster strudels.

You whip back around to face Anxiety, fear evident on your face. She looked just as stunned as you, her green eyes prickling with tears as she shook her head. “I-I promise,” she tried to explain. “I didn’t think it would ever go this far. But I need you to love me back. I NEED YOU!”

Fast on your feet, you’re barely able to dodge Anxiety’s attempt at grabbing you, and without thinking, you go towards the window. You need to get out of this dream, A.S.A.P.

“NO! DON’T-” Too late.

As you fell, wind sweeping through your hair, you turned to gaze up at the window. The last you saw before you jolted awake was the speck of orange looking out the broken window, crying her eyes out and sobbing to herself.

Afterwards, you refused to fall asleep. You chugged energy drinks, made sure to take your anxiety medication every day, watched horror movies so you felt too scared, turned up your home’s lights, anything to make sure you wouldn’t go to sleep and see Anxiety again.

But in turn, you felt your own anxiety levels rising. You felt an irrational, unstoppable fear of attending to your job, jumped at every little creak in the house, the unexplainable drowsiness present in your fits of worry, you all knew it was the work of Anxiety to get you to go back to sleep and see her again.

Of course, you couldn’t stay awake forever. It happened one day when you did your best to explain to your boss why you haven’t been going to work. Your voice was slurred, giving away your sleepiness, and your boss on the other end worryingly called out to you as both your phone and your body landed on the cold floor.

🧡💔 ll Nice to See You Again:

You woke up on top of a comfortable bed, and while you were coming to, you noticed the rope wrapped tightly around you. A bandana had been wrapped around your mouth as well to make sure you didn’t make a peep.

At the foot of the bed, was Anxiety. She looked much more worn-out, eyebags present and hair an absolute mess. She was fiddling around with a clipboard at first, but as her eyes glanced at you for a moment, she realized you finally came to.

“Oh! Hey, didn’t notice you were awake there!” She ignored the cries of protests coming from you. She laughed, her loss of sanity being noted in her giggles. “I guess you always were a heavy sleeper!” You didn’t laugh back.

She got closer to you, any talk you had with her about personal space thrown out the (now repaired) window. Her eyes were bloodshot, like she hadn’t slept either. “I mean, it makes sense. You were awake for a really long time out there. In fact, you didn’t sleep for four whole days! Can I ask why that is?”

You glared at her. She huffed. “Ooooh, I think I know what it is,” she muttered. “I bet you didn’t want to get nightmares. Well, it’s okay now! Your girlfriend here, Anxiety, will make sure you have only good dreams from now on!” She puffed out her chest. You didn’t know if she was mocking you or genuinely deluded into thinking that was the truth.

You uncomfortably shifted as she crawled to the other side of you, wrapping her arms around your bound form despite your discomfort. “I’ve been so, so alone these past few days. I missed you, I missed you so bad. But now, you’re back! With me! I can’t wait for what adventures you have planned for the both of us.” That final note in her voice, that seemed to almost hiss out, gave you a sense of fear. You were too scared to fight back or even move, just allowing Anxiety to make up four day’s worth of no hugs.

“I promise that I’ll be the best girlfriend you could ever ask for. No other person knows you like I do. Nobody.”

Should I even have to explain to you that your two’s relationship is toxic now? Because it is. Like, hazardous waste-type of toxic.

In her deluded mind, Anxiety fully believes that you just ran through that window because you were scared of the commitment, and that you just responded no to her love request because of the same reason. In time, she thinks she’ll be able to win you over, and considering how you can’t really get rid of her, you’re unfortunately stuck with her.

When you eventually did wake up, you found yourself in a hospital room, alone. At least, physically. You couldn’t help the onslaught of hopeless tears that trickled down your face.

In the background, Anxiety was fiddling with your feelings, not thinking about your own desires on the matter. She smiled, chuckling, when she found what she was looking for, hidden deep within the recesses of your hypothalamus: the control center that managed who you found romantically appealing.

She was smart about it, though. Despite wanting to just crank it all the way up, she gradually made it so you found her more alluring without you even noticing the changes.

You were immensely terrified of her at first, discouraging her, but as she set your romantic feelings towards her higher slowly, Anxiety noticed the change you had in your demeanor.

Eventually, she was comfortable in allowing you to finally be untied (she had undone the makeshift gag a little bit ago), and while she was a bit disappointed at still seeing you be uncomfortable around her and shying away, that just made Anxiety more determined to get you to fall in love with her.

Was doing all of this morally wrong and cementing her fully into the deep-end? Yes.

But did she truly care about that currently? No.

She can think about the moral dilemma years down the line when you two are fully reciprocating love towards one another.

Anxiety accidentally let out an excited snort at you finally hugging her once again. She clasped her hands over her mouth, blushing right after. You found it to be…weirdly cute.

Eventually, your romantic feelings were almost at 100%. As time passed on, your life became better as you started to reflect that same strange comforting feeling Anxiety felt towards you.

You felt inclined to question why you were getting these emotions for your mental stalker, but any attempt to further examine this is usually quashed thanks to Anxiety’s interference. Soon, you don’t even get these questions anymore. They just feel like they come naturally to you.

Those same reactions Anxiety had towards you were now being felt by you, except obviously with her. Shy gazes at her cute orange hair before looking away when she goes to return your look, fully enraptured in her kind voice and nodding along to whatever she said, blushing whenever you were complimented by her, the list goes on.

The fact that she did awful things almost seems to become a distant memory to you, until much later on, it becomes completely forgotten in your eyes.

Eventually, it came to a head. One night, when the two of you were alone, you tapped her on the shoulder. You smiled at her, blush clearly evident on your face as you awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck.

“H-hey, uh, Anxiety? Can I ask you something kinda’...important? Promise not to freak out or anything, okay?”

Anxiety nodded violently. “Yeah!! Yeah, tell me anything!” She leaned in closer, eyes trained fully on you. Her hands were rolled up into fists, vibrating slightly in barely-disguised eagerness. After a bit of stammering, you finally were able to lock eyes with each other.

“Do you, um…want to go out with me-?”

“YES!! YES!!!” Anxiety jumped to respond, flapping her hands happily as she raced around the room. You laughed, before abruptly getting stopped by the kiss that Anxiety had placed on your lips. Both of you looked stunned for only a brief moment, before you happily returned it.

If emotions had brains, Anxiety was sure it short-circuited at that moment.

Finally relinquishing, you stepped back, only to lunge forward when you caught her about to fall right on her back.

“Woah, Anxiety, are you okay?” You chuckled. Anxiety looked up at you with a tired, but completely and utterly smitten look on her face.

“Never been better.”

Things were definitely better now. Much like if you said yes to her original proposal, she gives you more freedom in exchange for always being beside her when you’re dreaming. You happily accept, none the wiser of the manipulation Anxiety pulled to get to this moment.

She sometimes reflects on her actions, knowing full-well what she did was completely, morally-reprehensible. But at a certain point, Anxiety just sighs and puts it into the very back of her brain.

Yes, what she did was absolutely wrong. But, when she looks at you, finally head-over-heels for her as much as she is with you, Anxiety really can’t help but smile.

“I really am sorry, guys, but it was all worth it in the end.”

#ask to tag #long post #yandere tw #yandere disney #yandere pixar #yandere #yandere headcanons #anxiety inside out #anxiety io2 #inside out #inside out 2 #inside out headcanons #dark tw #manipulation tw

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dollypopup · 5 months ago

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"all the negativity is killing the vibe"

"just be grateful for what you got!" "was it perfect? no! but we got some good stuff!" "people are just being so down about season 3"

There is a reason people are displeased.

We are consumers of this media. We PAID for this media. With time, with money, with subscriptions. We bought the merch, we watched the promos, we paid in attention, we paid financially, we paid literally and metaphorically.

And they did not deliver.

So, yes, we have a right to complain because objectively speaking, it was a bad ending. It just was! It was poorly written and poorly edited, it did not leave viewers happy, and there is a REASON the engagement of part 2 is much lower than part 1. Polin is not the problem, sidelining Polin is the problem. Writing Polin poorly is the problem. Shoving Colin to the side (half of the pairing) is the problem. Inconsistent characterization is the problem.

the fact that we came in with high expectations and they were let down for us? makes it a bad ending. makes it bad writing. the fact that we waited 2 years for it and then another month in between and did not walk away feeling as though that time was worthwhile? makes it a bad ending.

the writing was disjointed, characters were underutilized, Colin was pushed aside in his OWN SEASON, they tried to do a #girlbossfeminism narrative and then threw Cressida to the wolves because she did a few things that hurt the main heroine's feelings, even after showing us as viewers we should (and do) empathize with her. I mean, for fuck's sake, there was literally a big speech and everyone clapped moment. stakes were defanged, there were threesome scenes that cut any and all tension building between Polin, Eloise's character was written inconsistently for the sake of swift forgiveness, they threw Babies ever After at us, momifying the one character who was said to be plus size representation at NINETEEN, there were more sex scenes for Benedict than there were for the main couple Polin. Lady Whistledown was a black hole for good quality because instead of writing a narrative that suited the couple's ending, they wrote a narrative to keep her as a plot device by any means possible. This season was a roller coaster that went up up up and then stagnated.

there are legitimate criticisms to be had about this season. as if we don't have a right to demand good quality from something we paid for.

and the worst part of it is that they set it up SO. WELL.

I ended Part 1 pacing my apartment, giddy and kicking my feet and rewatching the ending over and over. Part 2? None of that. And the reason people have been so negative about it is that IT SHOWS.

Yes, in part, some negativity is homophobia for Michaela, who I honest to god adore and am so happy to see on screen. Yes, in part, some negativity is for Polin from haters, a couple I love with all my heart.

But most of the negativity comes down to poor writing. Inconsistency. A lack of bravery for dropping a plot device (Lady Whistledown) that the show has held onto not for Penelope or for Polin, but for Bridgerton's story moving forward that writers do not feel confident portraying without a narrator so it might crutch them.

Stop licking a plate of crumbs and claiming it a meal. They had 2 years to deliver a fantastic season. They didn't do so. That is not at all on the actors, because they are FANTASTIC, it is on the writers, and on the production. Was it beautiful? Sure. Was it well acted? Absolutely. Was it good? Well edited? Well written? Meaningful? Fun?

No.

There are parts of it that are, but when you fumble an ending, it sours the entire experience. The reason people loved Part 1 so much was because of the ending of Episode 4, which was done beautifully. It felt satisfying. And then Part 2 felt like an entirely different beast. If you settle for mediocrity, that is all you will get. So yes, I demand better of this season. I demand that we get more than just one thirty second scene of Pen and Colin being intimate after their marriage. I demand more characterization and time devoted to the main couple instead of useless side plots. I demand better writing. I demand better EDITING. Cressida was done dirty, Colin was done dirty, Eloise was done dirty, Penelope was done dirty. And at the end of it, VIEWERS were done dirty.

There's a reason Part 1 had such glowing positivity and then Part 2 is garnering horribly mixed reactions. It's because one is better than the other. And if this show is CAPABLE of delivering content like Part 1, then yes, I will absolutely demand it of part 2. One day, Bridgerton will learn how to write a proper final episode, a proper closing to an arc.

That day was not in Season 3.

#bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #polin #bridgerton season 3 spoilers #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #luke newton #nicola coughlan #eloise bridgerton #cressida cowper #they dropped the ball y'all #we want a better vibe #invite me to a party i paid money for and waited months to attend and it doesn't deliver? yeah i'll have words #and maybe you'll throw a better party next time #even looking at it outside of an adaptation: it is just poor writing #disjointed and unsure of itself at the end #they wanted the cake and to eat it too: and in the end we got one with eggshells still strewn in #at least sift it

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gothfleur · 3 months ago

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home again - sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader/vampire!reader ➖⟢ genre : angst, hurt/comfort, fluff ➖⟢ cw : features dean x reader (platonic), near death experience, injuries, blood mention, animal death mention, swearing, so much pining, petty dean, crying, guilt, poorly edited, lmk if i missed something! ➖⟢ wc : 1.5K summary : after being turned into a vampire, you struggle to face sam again.

prefer to read on ao3? read it here!

note: this is my first time writing in a long time, and i'm trying out a new style... this is also my first time writing for sam! pls be kind and enjoy!

It’s been fourteen days since the vampires took you away as you slept in a dingy motel room with the Winchesters. Twelve days since they turned you into one of them. And seven days since you wasted them all.

The vampires had turned you, kept you, and starved you. Ensuring you would be driven into a bloodlust-fueled frenzy when they gave you something alive.

And when they did, you couldn’t help yourself. Soon, there was a crumpled human body at your feet, red pooling in a puddle beneath it—her. Thus leaving you a full-fledged vampire, bound to this way of life forevermore.

When you came to, mind clear now that you had been fed, you were careful in making sure none of them would hurt you ever again. Or… anyone else, for that matter.

You found Sam first. Asking around for you not far from where the vampires had taken you.

Sam felt as if he was running out of time. He had been worried sick, hardly sleeping or not sleeping at all. How could he rest if he didn’t know where you were? If you were even safe? He didn't even want to entertain the thought that you could be dead. You were out there, and he was going to find you.

You ultimately swore off seeing Sam and Dean ever again. You would just have to forget them; you were what they hunted now. You couldn’t face them, a monster in the perfect likeness of their friend. You were afraid of what they would think and what they would do. Would they forgive you? Would they turn you away? Worse yet, there was a possibility they would kill you, right? You were a vampire now, after all.

So, you tried to keep it low-key before you could get your shit together and get out of town, leaving your old life behind. Feeding only on animals and staying away from the humans around town. But when Sam and Dean caught wind of some mysterious blood-sucking disease affecting the animals, they knew they were close to finding the vampires who had something to do with your disappearance.

Little did they know, they just found you.

You had your teeth buried deep in the neck of a rat when you felt a blade press to the back of your neck.

“Fine dining out here, huh? Rats, yum.”

Dammit, Dean. Always with the sarcastic comments.

Your vampire instincts said to attack, but your human heart said to flee. You didn’t want them to see what you’d become.

“Answer our questions, and this blade won’t have your head rolling on the ground.”

Sam.

He didn’t sound like himself. He sounded desperate, worried, and at wit's end. If threats were going to be the quickest way to find you, so be it. He hoped this vampire would listen, that violence would be a last resort. This isn’t how he likes to go about things, but with someone he cared about in danger, he didn’t want to waste time.

Hunger stabs at your stomach at the smell of them. Blood is pulsing beneath the fragile layer of their skin. You can hear it sliding along their veins, and you fight back a gag. These were your friends, not something to devour.

You move, trying to stand and run, but the blade at your neck presses into your skin. You yelp, and a hand turns you and pins you to the ground, back pressed against the damp grass. You squirm in an attempt to free yourself, but you're weak and untrained. Your vampire strength can’t and won’t save you now.

You watch helplessly as their faces strain and relax in realization. Morphing from surprise, relief, then to some emotion you can’t place. Something tells you it's somewhere between anger, fear, and denial. Probably some fucked-up human mix of all three.

“Y/N…” Sam murmurs, his eyes softening as he looks at you, the blood drying on your lips. You can hear his heart slow; he’s relieved to see you, despite everything.

Dean removes his hands immediately, realizing it’s you who he’s hurt and pinned to the ground.

Sam takes a step forward, crouching in front of you and reaching to pull you up. You can’t help but shirk away, scrambling backward away from him. Sam winces at your reaction, and he bites at the inside of his lip.

“I’m so sorry, you guys. So sorry… I,” Words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. If your heart was still beating, you’re sure it would be leaping out of your chest right about now.

“Shh, shh. Y/N, we aren’t… we won’t hurt you,” Sam says, his voice soft and sweet like it always was. It’s only been two weeks since you saw him last, but so much has happened since then. It felt like a lifetime had passed between then and now. You were a completely different person now, on an entirely different level of existence.

“But what if I hurt you?” You cry, twisting your fingers between blades of grass as you lift your gaze to them. “I can’t trust myself. I’m so scared; I don’t want to hurt you.”

Dean has his hand hovering above his knife’s sheath, and you don’t blame him. You’re grateful. If you can’t stop yourself, maybe he will.

Sam swallows, glancing back at Dean to steady himself. He wasn’t expecting this, and if he was being honest, he didn’t know what to say or to do. But this was still you. The person whose coffee order he’d memorized, whose smile he’d tease out with compliments and stupid jokes, whose eyes he'd find himself lost in more times than he could count. You might be... different, but you’re still Y/N, and he’s going to make you remember that. You’re not a monster, and you’ll never be, at least not to him.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” he assured, his voice as gentle as possible. He reaches out again, his large hand coming to rest on your shoulder. It’s warm against your eternally cool skin, and you realize you’d forgotten what his warmth felt like.

“Sam,” You whisper, eyes flickering down at his hand, then back to his face. He’s handsome as always, his hazel eyes shining in the moonlight. You search them, scanning for any fear or disgust. There’s none of that. Instead, you find acceptance and concern. Your breaths come easier, and you swallow. Everything is easier when he’s by your side. Tears well in your eyes, and you realize that under all of your fear, there is comfort in seeing him again.

Sam watches as your eyes flutter shut, a tear rolling down your blood-streaked cheek. He wants so much to hold you, to wipe your face clean, and to tell you he’ll always be here for you. You’ll always be his Y/N.

“Aren’t you scared of me? Scared of what I’ll do? Of what I am?” You whine, looking up at Sam and Dean with a pleading look that crushes their hearts.

“You’re still you. Changed some, but still you.” Sam nods as he speaks, his inner brow raised worryingly. His words make you want to burst into tears. You were so scared of rejection, of them leaving you—all that makes you feel kind of silly now.

Dean sighs, his hand falling to his side as the other reaches up to rub his temple.

“Just keep your teeth to yourself, you hear?” He jokes, but you know he’s partly serious, too.

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” You chuckle, sniffling and wiping the tears from your cheek. You feel the dried blood crack on your face, and you wipe at it, scrubbing hard as it flakes off. Overcoming your sanguine urges would be hard, not to mention the fact you’re likely facing eternity. But maybe with these two by your side, it won’t be so bad.

Sam pulls you close, wrapping his long arms around you. He missed you. He missed hearing your laugh and breathing in your perfume whenever you walked past. He wasn’t going to let you go again.

You hesitate to hug him back at first, your vampiric instincts firing at full blast. But when you finally hold him, that all melts away. You feel human again, for a moment. And strong enough to beat this thing. After all, you’d met vampires who were able to resist their urges.

Sam strokes the back of your head once, feeling your hair under his fingers before breaking the hug. He smiles at you, and as he stands, he brings you up with him. His warm hand holds yours, and you never want him to let go.

“Jesus, you two,’ Dean rolls his eyes and motions back towards baby, ‘let’s just get back home. Y/N, you need a shower.”

“I missed you too, Dean.” You smile, and the three of you start back towards the car.

You breathe in the cool night air. You’re home again.

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thegamingcatmom · 2 months ago

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Vampire!AU where Mother Miranda takes you as her bride.

...

That is all.

JK-

Right so:

Miranda is obv. the Vampire Queen or whatever.

Alcina and her daughters are vampires too, obv.

So are the maids that were canonically experimented on. (Miranda gotta have some numbers.)

Since we got vampires in there, we also gotta have werewolves, right?

-> Enter Heisenberg and his lycans.

Sal is the butler (aka: The heart and soul of the house, bless him).

Donna is...a mystery.

"The Mold" is basically Miranda´s nest

Eva is alive and kicking.

And a vampire too.

She can be...scary.

Just like Momma.

The "vessel" operation is still going strong. However-

It´s her long deceased wife Miri´s trying to bring back.

Reincarnation style, if you will.

Uhhh, what else...OH-

The villagers are under some sort of vampiric mind control (aka the mold?) that allows Miranda and her coven to feed on them undisturbed.

-> Enter MC (aka The Disturbance).

aka: The bane and salvation of Miranda´s existence.

Miranda is hooked right away for obv. reasons (points to the aforementioned wife thing).

(Eva will be overjoyed to learn her Mama has returned.)

She must have MC.

Their wedding shall be a grand celebration for the whole village to see.

A celebration fit for royalty, as it should-

MC: "Uhhh...excuse me?"

Miranda: *gradually snaps out of her frenzied inner monologue to blink at MC with a mix of confusion and reverence*

MC: "I´m looking for a dude called Heisen...*checks her palm* ...bur-BERG. HeisenBERG. Do you know where I can find him, by chance?"

Miranda: *slow blinking*

MC: *slow blinking too*

Miranda: *remembers this is her soon-to-be bride*

Miranda: "Ah...forgive my...manners. *awkward smile cause being nice is indeed quite awkward, bride or not*...Heisenberg, you say? Why, yes...I am quite familiar with that...man."

Miranda: *fights back an instinctive hiss! cause werewolf*

...

MC: "...O-kay...? Can you tell me where I can find him, then?"

Miranda: *slow blinking*

MC: *slow blinking too*

Miranda, getting sus: "...And to what possible end, if I might ask?"

MC: *tf is that question*

MC, getting annoyed: "...Because I asked...?"

Miranda: *eye starts twitching as she fights back the urge to lash out at the sheer audacity-*

Miranda: *...soon.to.be.bride*

...

Miranda: "...Of course... *dark fake chuckle*...You shall find him in that factory of his. *points down the road* Follow this trail until it splits, then proceed to the right, where you will come across a large windmill. From there, it is rather impossible to miss."

Miranda, under her breath: "Unfortunately..."

MC, who is totally not weirded out by now: "...Okay...thanks. Uh...cya around?"

Miranda: *wedding bells*

Miranda: *satisfied smile starts spreading*

Miranda: "Hm...cya, indeed..."

MC: "..."

Miranda: "..."

MC: *slowly turns around and continues down the road*

Miranda: "...Little bat?"

MC: *stops in her tracks*

MC: *hesitantly turns around cause, despite being the only other person present besides Strange Lady, she still doubts whether that nickname was actually meant for her cause...whut?*

MC: "...Yes?"

Miranda: *satisfied smile becomes even more satisfied because her term of endearment has been accepted*

Miranda: *turns serious all of a sudden*

Miranda, doing her vampire compelling thing: "...Tell me."

MC, without hesitation: "He´s my uncle."

...

Miranda:

This was supposed to be a sexy vampire thing and then it turned into reincarnation & vampires vs werewolves with MC in the middle of it all cause our girl might just be the only one capable of uniting their worlds and ending a war that has been raging for centuries.

(Could this war have anything to do with a certain someone dying at the hands of a certain someone else? Good question. 🤔)

And it all starts with a (rather questionable) marriage.

THAT IS ALL.

This post was brought to you by The Invitation - a (rather poorly made) movie about vampires.

EDIT:

NO BUT LISTEN-

Miranda going "I'll take what is due", just like she did in Resi Village? Except what is "due" is her wife, who died at the hands of one of the lycans? Or even Heisenberg himself??

Miranda going "I've waited so long for you..." when she meets MC, just like she did in Shadows of Rose when she met Rose??

THOUGHTS FEELS IDEAS 😭

(Dammit, I might actually have to write it now cause I am OBSESSED. 😩🤌)

#thinking thoughts #resident evil 8 #re 8 #resident evil village #re village #mother miranda #vampire queen #vampire au

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kyleemm2 · 6 months ago

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Art Supplies I'd Give to JJK Characters [Villain Edition]

My credentials are cuz i said so

Ryomen Sukuna: metalworking- whether you create pieces that have visual appeal or technical use, there’s no doubt that it’s a practice that requires skill and dedication that many don’t have. Let's be real, he'd make scary shit that he could use as a weapon later on.

Kenjaku: word working- much like metal work, attention to detail and a methodical prowess are a must, creating pieces that can be used for form or function. He'd make anything and everything, and he'd do a surprisingly intricate job.

Uraume: watercolors, one of the classiest and most difficult paints to use (if not, the most difficult), despite that, the are easily recognizable and are in a class all of their own. While I'd like to believe they'd make simple landscapes, we all know they'd make portraits of Sukuna lol.

Mahito: crayons…need i say more? But like the crappy Cra-Z-Art crayons, even the quality ones. If he even knows how to hold them right, I guess I have nothing else to add lol.

Haruta Shigemo: ballpoint pen. While they are capable of producing great works, it can be hard to take them seriously. He'd draw smutty things (very poorly).

Jogo: acrylic paint- easy to use and arguably one of the most forgiving fine art mediums on the market, perfect for folks who are impatient and need to step away from their piece after messing up. Despite that, works rich in color, rhythm, and texture can be created. He'd make a mess, who are we kidding?

Hanami: textile art, derived from natural resources (idk it just felt mean to leave them out). They would probably make large and dynamic abstract pieces that have a lot of movement but are still visually appealing.

Mei Mei: prison crafts

#you like what i did to Mahito's eyes?#ofc my babycakes gets watercolor paint #jujutsu kaisen #uraume #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk #haruta shigemo #mei mei #kenjaku #jogo #hanami #sukume

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lurkingshan · 1 year ago

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Just saw your tags on turtle’s post and would love to hear more of your thoughts on Cheum

Oh, boy. Okay, I guess we’re doing this. So, when I think about Cheum I am usually making this face.

And embodying Oprah what is the truth.gif, because I think she is incredibly underwritten to the point of incomprehensibility. I think the term I used with @so-much-yet-to-learn to describe the writing for Cheum was "a void of characterization.”

By which I mean, I don't understand anything about her. I don't know what she wants or what she cares about. I don't know anything about her relationship with April. I don't know why she is friends with these guys or which she has real bonds with, if any. I don't know why she does things or whether I am supposed to see her as a neutral observer, a voice of reason, or another chaotic shit stirrer. I've seen some confusing messages from the creators about her that don't track with what I'm seeing on screen, so I find it hard to parse their intent versus the impact of what she is actually doing in the story.

But what I can tell you is that based on what I've seen, I don't like or respect her, and I certainly don't see her as in any way better or above the other characters in this story. Let me sum up what we've seen of Cheum over the course of the story:

She is mean to her friends, making lots of catty, passive aggressive remarks that dig at their sore points and taking sides against each of them on a whim

She pushes Mew to date Top and then to forgive him for cheating, to the point of ignoring Mew's stated wishes to conspire to help Top get back into his space

She somehow makes Ray nearly getting arrested all about her and in general gets overly involved in the boys' drama before turning around and berating them for causing her stress

She is judgmental and shaming about gay sex, making Boston out to be a predator for having a lot of sex and leveling a homophobic attack against him by claiming he took advantage of her "straight" brother

She lacks grace and humility and doesn't admit it or apologize when she is wrong, sticking to her bias against all evidence

And we have seen precious little in terms of positive attributes to balance this. We haven't seen her show up for any of the boys as a true or loyal friend. She seems reasonably good at school and conscientious about the hostel project, but we don’t get much there either. She's not even fun! Her function in the story is to be an antagonist to each of the boys in turn, even as the narrative seems to sometimes be suggesting that she is outside the drama.

It all reads very confused to me, and I can't say with any certainty how much of it is intentional and how much is just failures of writing and editing. She's not getting enough screen time for a confident read on who she is, and what she does get feels half-baked. At this point, I think it's safe to say Cheum is just a poorly executed character who has little purpose besides being the token lesbian in the friend group.

#only friends the series #only friends cheum #thai bl #shan answers

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cartridgeconverter · 5 months ago

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Don Giovanni characters as fountain pens

I have long postponed making this post as I was afraid it might convince me to spend more money. However, armed with a new sense of fiscal responsibility, I think I am prepared.

I've tried to have a range of prices that roughly correspond to the status of the characters, as well as many different brands. Honestly all of these are just vibes, but I've tried to give my justifications were I can.

Leporello - Sailor Profit Junior in Kohiru ($60 as part of a limited edition set, including other products)

I know I just said that I would try and match the lower-class characters to appropriately-priced pens, but look at it. It has a bunny on it. This is the best pen ever.

Don Giovanni - Visconti Opera Gold in Red ($348)

This is probably the only pen on this list that I would absolutely never buy, no matter how much opera-themed branding it has, because it is a ridiculous price and also looks stupid. But "ridiculous price" and "looks stupid" are both things I associate with Don G, and he would definitely be a Visconti whore -- it's a brand highly associated with luxury.

My other choice for him is also a Visconti model, this time the Divina Matte in Bordeaux. This is an even more ridiculous price, at $796. However, it is less obnoxiously red than the Opera Gold, so it is an alternate. He probably would have both anyway.

Donna Anna - Nahvalur Voyage in Shanghai ($130)

I have this one! She is beauty, she is grace. She is also very poorly designed but I forgive her for that. This pen is super elegant, albeit large, and is made from resin with real diamond flakes in it. I love the color also - black, with streaks of blue that show up under light. It reminds me a bit of Anna's costume in the Kasper Holten production. It's simply a very beautiful pen (with tons of design flaws and constitution issues, grr).

The Commendatore - Parker Jack-Knife with silver filigree ($5 in 1902, which is equivalent to $183 today)

This is a very lovely vintage pen from the Parker company, of which I scoured this ancient website for a picture (https://parkerpens.net/index.shtml). As an aside, this site is great; it's very well-kept and contains a detailed account of Parker models through time, with pictures. This pen, though gaudy, is exactly the type of thing that I think old men who do things like duels in the middle of the night would have. (Please work with me here, I don't exactly have a lot of content to go off of :P)

Don Ottavio - Sailor Pro Gear Slim, Shikiori Amaoto collection in Kirisame ($360)

Honestly, any purple Sailor will fit for Ottavio. They're generally on the smaller side, but the designs have an elegant simplicity to them. Also, purple. It's him! It's just him.

This will probably be the ultimate piece in my collection. It's such a lovely little thing, with a 21k gold nib. Unfortunately, I will not be purchasing it any time soon, due to my responsible spending habits.

Donna Elvira - LAMY Al-Star in Black Purple ($48)

Also another model I own -- I swear by Lamys as a great everyday pen. They're reliable and ergonomic, even if they're not as visually appealing as some other brands. The Al-Star, being made of aluminum, is a bit of an upgrade from their plastic model, the Safari with a slightly higher price. I think it's very fitting for Elvira, as a travelling woman.

Zerlina and Masetto - LAMY Safari in Savannah Green and Terra Red ($19)

The Lamy Safari is my favorite everyday pen to use, full stop. It's the same model as the Al-Star, but made from a lightweight plastic. They have a very practical and minimalist aesthetic, but it works, and it works well. They're super durable and apparently can survive being run over by warehouse equipment. I just think this model really suits these two, or maybe I'm biased since it's my favorite.

In particular, these are the two special edition colors made to celebrate the 40 year anniversary of the model, as they were the original colors to be manufactured. The green (which I own) matches Zerlina's dress in the IvH production, which is why I named it Zerlina to begin with. That seems to have been a good name - although filling the converter for the first time was a dramatic ordeal, it's been a reliable pen no matter how much wear and tear I put it through (the black paint on the clip has completely flaked off by now).

Hope you guys enjoyed this tenuous connection between my nerdy hobbies that was actually just a vessel for my rant about how much I love Lamy Safaris. I had fun putting it together, even if a few of these are out of my price point right now. Maybe I will do inks next, although I have put less thought into that.

Off of this list, I hope to eventually buy both Sailors (Leporello and Ottavio) as well as the other Safari (Masetto), although that's not a priority. I just like thinking about having nice things.

#don giovanni #operaposting #pen talk

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screamingmandrakes · 2 months ago

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Due to the interest in my Tomarrymort post yesterday, I’ve decided to dump a Harrymort WIP I’m not sure if I’m going to finish. This is a little over 1k words. Content warning for non-consensual Somnophilia and references to previous sexual assault. So fair warning - dead dove: do not eat.

Thank you to @xenomorphology-ao3 for some lovely touches on this fic.

Given as this is not finished, this is not edited. Some things in it might be worded poorly because I hadn’t refined it yet. Basically, don’t hold this to too high of a standard lmao.

This was intended to be a sequel to all is fair (in love and war) It’s Voldemort having a inner crisis about the fact Harry will die some day lol.

“There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!”

- Chapter Thirty-six, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Little does Lord Voldemort value.

Few things are preeminent: power, for starters, second only to the blood of his mother coursing through his veins. Third, his body: spindling with skin stretched tightly over sharp, protruding bones, the vessel that brought him to victory. Nagini, a weapon forged for battle, with jagged fangs and the speed of a whip, follows suit.

Before all these things comes something immeasurable. His Soul. His Boy. His Harry. But as little as Lord Voldemort values, so too does he fear. He is an unstoppable force, unmovable by will. Unbreakable, even when abandoned in the forests of Albania. His Death Eaters paid the price for their insolence, yes, but he is a forgiving Lord. After all, he had forgiven Harry many times, drowning out the angry screams and curses until they finally faded away.

There is only one thing Voldemort fears, and that is death.

Not for himself, not anymore. Lord Voldemort will never die. Power rests heavily in his hands, soldiered into the minimal soul he has left. Time and victory have built him into an indestructible being, but His Boy does not exist as the same. He is not as fragile as Voldemort often deems; even as a young boy, he had withstood the force of his master, protected by the blood of his mother. But he is mortal — whole. Harry spends most of his days locked in their chamber, sitting in the middle of their inordinate bed while glaring bitterly wherever Voldemort stands. When he does not, he is kept close to his master’s side, bound to him by magic. Lord Voldemort takes care of what is his, and His Boy is no exception, but as mighty as he is, Harry does not exist without vulnerability.

It is now, as His Boy sleeps once more, dosed under yet another sedative potion brewed by his Lord’s dutiful servant. In the morning, Harry will rise to a goblet tainted with Amortentia. Harry has only a few precious moments to feel the full spectrum of his fury-led resistance before he’s subdued again, lulled into the fantasy fate crafted for them upon the death of his mother. This is a cycle driven solely by Harry’s refusal to submit – to accept the reality that has always been meant for him. It is not one Lord Voldemort prefers, but a necessary step he must take.

Food comes aplenty for His Boy, served on silver platters by trembling house elves. With a loud crack, they apparate out of the room as swiftly as they arrived, leaving Voldemort alone to attend to Harry. A product of his parents, Harry is just as willful as his foolish mother had been, refusing to accept mercy at the expense of his autonomy. Under the effects of the Amortentia, he is a willing participant, eagerly lapping the juices of freshly ripe pomegranates from Voldemort’s skeletal fingers. When he wakes, barely coherent, he fights with a fury Voldemort yearns to consume.

His Boy’s rage is a delicacy. Who is he to deny himself such a feast?

But for now, he is compliant, stretching across their bed with a dazed look on his face. His eyes rest at half-mast, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he comes in and out of consciousness. With each sunset, Harry’s body grows thinner. His pallid skin stretches over his bones, bleached from months without the sun. Voldemort’s long, bony fingers graze the tender skin of Harry’s inner thigh, his shirt bunched above his belly button, and he is reminded once again of Harry’s mortality. Each breath Harry takes is a breath closer to death.

He further trails the curve of Harry’s thighs, his sharp nail snagging on the expensive fabric of his pants. They’re tailored perfectly to his size, crafted from the highest quality material he could acquire. The Malfoy’s were not pleased to offer their funds for such a service, but Lord Voldemort’s word comes as law and no request by him shall be overlooked. Moving upward, he traces the button securing the clothing around Harry’s waist, his nail momentarily slipping under his waistband. Harry stirs, blinking hazily but otherwise does not object. Voldemort’s power does not come without resources; he is accompanied by the most skilled of potion makers. Snape brews as he’s asked, holding no questions for the purpose. A dash of valerian root does nicely for a modified sedative — not quite awake, yet not asleep.

“My Soul…” Voldemort hisses to nobody in particular. Harry’s chest rises and falls with a gentle motion. He seems truly at peace like this, far from the sobered version of him. Voldemort craves such a reality, but the taste of Harry’s stormy temper isn’t entirely opposed. It’s strength, something Voldemort has always valued. A narrow, shallow scratch lingers in the wake of his claw as he graces the hair lining Harry’s torso. Though still thin, Harry is far different from the scrawny boy Voldemort had faced while existing as nothing more than a part of Quirrell. Yes, he should have known then, known when Quirrell’s skin bubbled under Harry’s fingers, that His Boy was part of something much bigger than a prophecy.

Voldemort’s nail travels further, combing through the dark, coarse hair until he dips into the divet of Harry’s navel. Harry shudders sleepily, his stomach twitching under his touch. The bed groans as Voldemort leans closer, his other hand reaching to brush the hair from Harry’s face. He is just eighteen now, only a few years older than Voldemort was when he murdered his father. Yet Harry is different. When he isn’t bellowing at Voldemort or existing in a drugged up stupor, Harry is kind. He speaks to the house elves with compassion that makes them scatter, fearful of the unfamiliar sweetness. He tells them please and thank you and offers a smile, even when it’s exceptionally weak.

His Boy is nothing like him, yet they are one of the same.

Perhaps, one day he’ll allow Harry to have a wand again. Not yet, as His Boy is still rather combative. Their duel in the graveyard had been a fluke, a stroke of luck, but Harry is not entirely inept at battle. Not enough to give him freedom. But now, as His Boy remains plaint under his fingertips, it is Lord Voldemort that harnesses all of the power. The hand not on Harry’s stomach grazes over the scar on his forehead, feeling the thrum of their connection in his fingertips. Voldemort does not feel whole—cannot feel whole—but there is a snap like two puzzle pieces fitting together whenever he touches Harry.

His hand falls from Harry’s forehead, passing over his collarbones and down his chest until he stops where the boy’s shirt scrunches up. For a moment, both hands rest there, white claws stark against his skin. It’s the perfect image — Harry, long limbed and thinly built, muscles undefined from months of inactivity, at his Lord’s disposal. He is frighteningly fragile like this, and the thought makes something acidic churn in Voldemort’s gut. It’s an abnormal feeling, one that doesn’t belong to a being like him. Lord Voldemort does not care for others, but Harry Potter’s life rests in the palm of his hand, his to twist and mend. His to protect.

His Soul will yearn for nothing — feel pain only from the hand of his Master. He has made sure to take vengeance where it is due; the remaining heirs of His Boy suffered terrible, merciless deaths. Voldemort feasted on the pain, savored the wailing of the detestable mother and the terrified yet defiant bellowing of the red-faced father as their brat of a son thrashed on the floor. Exterminating vermin comes with ease.

But love — no, love is not something that comes naturally to Lord Voldemort. It is an act met with repulsion, perceived as weakness. There is no good and evil, yet the notion of love remains inexplicably good. Voldemort does not feel love— no, love is a vulnerability, love is foolish. Love is what killed Lily Potter, yet kept His Boy alive. He does not — cannot — love Harry, but he holds the urge to tear the world apart and offer him the pieces. Power has little place within Harry Potter, and Lord Voldemort owns no desire to share such a thing. But Harry has no place among the Mudbloods of the world, and what can Voldemort offer if not rightful respect?

Slowly, Voldemort moves upward again, his hand gliding along Harry’s torso until his fingers slip under his shirt. Harry shifts once more, his eyelids fluttering open to show glassy, unfocused eyes as he attempts to find purchase in reality. Voldemort merely smiles, lip pulling back menacingly to expose the two serrated teeth protruding from his mouth. He knows Harry will not remember this come morning.

His skin is hot to the touch as Voldemort’s fingers, cold and clinical, explore his body. It is not much different than he had been fifty some years ago, but the curves and contours of Harry feel much more delicate. Despite his inactivity, in actuality, Harry is still rather strong, clawing at his Master with ferocity whenever Voldemort comes to take what is his. His fingers slip through the splattering of hair on Harry’s chest.

#meg.txt #tom riddle #voldemort #tomarry #tomarrymort #harrymort #lord voldemort #dead dove do not eat

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chairofchaos · 4 months ago

Text

Letters of Love: Little Bonus (3.5?)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.6k (much more manageable for me, and hopefully for you as well!

A/N: I am Experiencing Emotions and forgot to post this yesterday. Sorry about that. ANYWAYS. Click HERE for the Update/Plan for LoL! (Edit: This does not count as the August LoL Update since I forgot, so you’ll get more this month!)

*****

Dear Eris,

Two months is a long time to wait. How about you come for Winter Solstice? Lucien and Elain would love the company. We can make a week of it.

Helion

*****

Dear Helion,

I’m afraid I will be busy during solstice. Thank you for your invitation.

Eris Vanserra

*****

Dear Eris,

Your brother is my heir, and he says you lie. I trust him more than I do you. Come for the week. If you truly have Solstice plans, you can make your argument with me in person at your convenience, though you are most especially invited for lunch at noon.

Helion

*****

Dear Helion,

I’ll come around noon.

Eris

*****

Lucien,

I’m coming for lunch at noon. Do me a favor and be somewhere in the vicinity in case this goes poorly.

Eris

*****

Eris,

What is it you plan to do?

Lucien

*****

Lucien,

Your father is inviting me for Winter Solstice. I want to come, but I won’t without Azriel. He and I talked and agreed that perhaps Helion may be the best place to start for informing the other High Lords.

Eris

*****

Eris,

Mother save us. You aren’t serious. Are you?

Lucien

*****

Lucien,

I’m very serious. I would bring Azriel if I thought it would convince Helion.

Eris

*****

Eris,

It’s your funeral. I’ll be ‘in the vicinity’. Bring some more of that sleeping tea you brought me last week when you come. I’m out.

Helion is dead set on having you for Solstice, so I can’t imagine it will go poorly. He may just be a little shocked. Don’t think any of us have forgotten his comment about his ‘new fantasy’ from the High Lords’ meeting. Plus, half his determination is his insistence on inviting Mother. I won’t try to talk him out of it, and I can’t imagine you would after everything I shared with you yesterday.

Also, a warning that his current favorite read is Ms. Drake’s latest. Prepare to be inundated with questions. If you plan on seeing Elain, expect a similar line of questioning from her. She heard all about your little side conversation with Nesta the other night. Of course, she already knows who it is, she just wants to poke fun at you.

Lucien

*****

Lucien,

This is the third time this month. I’ll bring you the tea, but I really should be insisting you visit the healers. Don’t think your mate isn’t worried about you either – Azriel and I each had a letter yesterday about how ill you seemed. She’s more worried about you than anything relating to the baby.

If Helion hadn't planned on inviting Mother I would be surprised. He’s been trying to invite her to come to Day for years, though it’s usually much more casual. Tea, or lunch. Maybe he’s growing desperate.

Thank you for the warning. That would be a jarring conversation to enter into without one. Elain can ask all she wishes.

Eris

*****

My dearest Azriel,

A report of the day, as promised. I’m holding Flora while writing, so please forgive me any smudges or awkwardly cramped words.

Helion looked rather stern when I arrived. I think he half expected me to be there to fight him. Lucien walked in with me, and asked to stay. I’m sure Elain insisted. She seems to want to know everything. Helion looked surprised at his request, but allowed it, so we all sat in his sitting room. Lucien really does look awful. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. His hair was tossed up in some awkward knot on top of his head with pieces sticking every direction. Flora must be doing a number on his nerves.

I told Helion that I would be happy to join him, provided he could accommodate my mate. I think I shocked him enough to take him off his guard. Even Lucien laughed a little at his response. He immediately said yes and started asking the expected questions.

I waited for a pause longer than a breath to tell him it was you. His questions immediately stopped. He looked more pleased than I thought he would, even at first, and then said he would be more than happy to add anyone from Night to the invitations. All in all, I think it went well.

I told him what you said about the traditions you wanted to keep in Night, and so promised him that starting in the afternoon of Solstice Day, we would be there. He nodded, said something about you keeping your winning streak (really, what is this tradition, Azriel?) and said he would amend the party invitations to fit the obligations we all had. He’s going to invite Rhysand’s entire inner circle.

We figured out all of the logistics, and before they could bring lunch in, Helion kicked Lucien out, telling him to go get some sleep. Once he was gone, Helion congratulated me. Truly. At one point, he actually pulled me from my chair and hugged me, patted me on the back and insisted we celebrate.

It was a good day. I’m going to stay and help with Flora so Elain and Lucien can have some time this evening. I’ll be back for a late dinner (normal, by your habits). I love you.

Eris

*****

Entry from the Journal of Eris Vanserra:

December 19

I told Helion about Azriel today. He was pleased. Much more pleased than anyone except maybe Elain. Lucien is too nervous about Flora to care. But Helion was overjoyed.

He hugged me. He pulled me up from my chair and nearly lifted me off the ground with his hug. I didn’t know what to do. Lucien seemed to enjoy my discomfort, the little shit. He just shrugged at me when I glared at him. Damn Helion for being so ridiculously tall. And strong. I bet he could put up a good fight against Azriel.

When he kicked Lucien out, he hugged me again. He said he was proud of me. He said he was grateful I was involving my mate in my life. We talked through everything. I don’t believe Helion and I have ever spoken so bluntly before, but it was surprisingly easy to talk to him.

He asked how it all happened, and I found myself telling him about the orchard, watching Azriel fly away. It’s only been twenty-two days since the mating bond snapped. Somehow, we talked about everything that’s happened for over an hour and a half.

I told him about how kind Azriel was, how much he cared for the little things. I haven’t even found myself writing about them. I think I may need to. The small touches when he passes. The kisses he presses to my wrists when he is holding my hand before we sleep.

I told him how much I missed him, and how often he had been gone. It was the only time Helion looked even remotely displeased. Empathy for my sorrow at my mate’s absence. The irony didn’t escape me. The rest of the time, he was smiles and joy.

When I couldn’t share any more (really, I think I’ve shared enough for a century) I turned the focus to him. I asked him about what Lucien had explained in his letter, the rooms Helion had set apart for Mother for all those years.

It was like watching the sun get covered by storm clouds. I really think the room darkened, as if the sun stopped shining as brightly. He said he would show me, if I wished, but that he hoped the next person to walk through those doors would be Mother herself.

He had been so joyous. I asked him (somewhat reluctantly) if it would help him to tell me, or show me. He seemed conflicted. I know Lucien hopes Mother will come. I will admit it was heartbreaking to see that wound coil around Helion like a vise and draw such darkness from him. Still, I can’t imagine Mother here. She belongs in Autumn. Her fire is like mine. And who knows how she would keep up the work she’s been doing all these years.

I need to give more thought to Azriel’s Solstice gift.

Solstice Gifts

Azriel:

Two cobalt sweaters like the black one he wears constantly (maybe also one in a dark red? consider)

A crate of wine from the orchard

Tell him the new bed is also partly a present for him, since it’s twice the size of the old one just to accommodate that damned wingspan

A cream for his hands – write to Nuan in Dawn

A puzzle box from the continent

A cupboard for all his weapons so he can stop dumping them in the entryway

Mother: The new writing desk (shipped last week - confirm delivery)

Lucien: A copy of his favorite Autumn childrens’ stories (sort of also for Flora?) and more calming teas without the sleep additives. A new weapon belt and set of throwing daggers

Elain: a personalized S.D. book and stationery with the daisies she admired (delivered December 12), the book on the unique flora of the Spring/Autumn border

Flora: The baby blanket of Lucien’s

Helion: a new bottle of whiskey, and an order of the hangover tonics Thesan sent

Rhys and Feyre: a crate of wine

Nyx?: a fire-breathing dragon toy

Cassian: a fire-breathing dragon toy that strategy game Lucien and I used to play

Nesta: a personalized S.D. book, plus two or three signed copies for her friends or to keep if she wishes

*****

Taglist: @c-starstuff-man0 @ninthcircleofprythianian @slowpress @talibunny30 @dusk-muse @jir67 @lilah-asteria If you want on or off the tag train, let me know!

#fictionalchaos #letters of love by chaos #azris

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