#go deep enough in the show compared to some fics i read

[ladadiida]

𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

heavily injured from a battle in the xianzhou luofu, you thought it would be the first and last time you see your stellarmate—but then you wake up in his arms, with him treating your wounds despite showing signs of disinterest in your bond when you first met.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 soulmate au, angst, unrequited love, mentions of blood and injury descriptions, possessiveness, blade's pov, him just taking care of you with a sprinkle of angst

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 stellarmate = soulmate (inspired from stellar jade so original i know) this is actually from the blade fic that i plan on writing but this can be read as a standalone! also, if you get the ts reference in this we are automatically besties. may blade wanters be blade havers

𝐰𝐜 1.8k

soaking the dirty piece of cloth in the cold water, blade let the icy liquid gather in the fabric before lifting it out and wringing it dry until it became nothing but an improvised damp towel.

it wasn't even guaranteed that it was clean enough to be put on your forehead, since the cloth was only ripped off from your dirtied skirt. however, he had no choice but to use it in the end. your body went into a shock after losing too much blood in a battle between you and some mara-struck soldiers, resulting into a high fever.

with the moon positioned at its highest point in the night sky, blade guessed that it was already midnight, meaning that he hadn't caught a wink of sleep ever since he fled the xianzhou with your unconscious body in his arms and warped to a planet he first thought of. this was nothing new. he could stay up all night and his body wouldn't feel anything at all.

blade approached your resting figure in the small cave you were both currently residing in. observing your face for a moment, which was formed in a deep frown, he brushed away the stray hairs out of your face as carefully as he could, then placed the damp cloth on your forehead.

your fever wasn't going down throughout the evening, with your body covered in sweat and hastily wrapped bandages. your shoulders were bare since your most grave injury was a stab wound near your heart, caused by a sharp blade of a mara-struck soldier, and so he was forced to rip open the top part of your shirt to stop the bleeding.

beside your now wrapped wound was none other than your mark. your stellar mark. blade can only stare at it. even when he was placing a bandage over your wound, he didn't dare touch the area where the mark rested on your skin. until now, he was still in disbelief over the fact that the aeons gave him a counterpart, his other half. after all the torment and pain, he, of all people, was blessed with a stellarmate.

he went over to the bonfire in the middle of the cave, where he was boiling medicinal herbs with water using a bowl he made out of stone. years worth of travelling between planets made him gain knowledge of which food to eat or which plant is safe to intake. emerald-iii wasn't a foreign land to blade; he had visited the planet before twice, accompanied by kafka.

speaking of his companion, blade thought back to the xianzhou while waiting for you to wake up and for the medicine to finish cooking. she must be looking for him right now, maybe even asked silver wolf to track him down. your astral express friends might be searching for you too.

he closed his eyes. the image of you lying in your own pool of blood appeared in his mind. blood was also dripping down the side of your mouth, and your eyes were already starting to close when he found you. the pain and rage and fear he felt all over his body was nothing compared to his never-ending death. and he felt his mark burning too, wanting to seek revenge to the people who hurt what was his, wanting to kill them clean with his broken—

"b—lade?" your broken voice came out in a pained wheeze. you coughed shortly after, throat dry and parched. blade turned around and looked at you. your eyes were barely open, but he can see your confusion and distress. "you're...h-here?"

"fool. don't try to talk. you are currently in a weak state." he scolded, glowering at you with his crimson eyes narrowed in slits.

you shook your head repeatedly, slowly lifting your shivering arms and wrapping them around yourself. "i-it hurts, blade..." you complained as tears lined up your eyes, fingers brushing against your wounded shoulder, "...and it's c-cold."

blade gave you a blank stare. he didn't know what to say to you. it was the first time you talked to each other properly, and the first time you were alone together. but it seemed like you were in a state of delirium, seeing that you weren't scared of expressing yourself.

you whined while sniffing, "so cold...why is it so cold?"

he sighed in defeat and shrugged off his tailcoat, leaving him in only bandages wrapped around his torso. he scooted over to you and covered your body with his coat. "we are in emerald-iii, therefore, the weather is constantly changing. endure it while i finish the medicine."

"medicine?" you asked curiously, pulling his coat up to your face.

blade clicked his tongue in annoyance. "one more question and i will abandon you here."

you were silent for the next minutes as you patiently waited beside him. he removed the stone bowl from the fire, and saw that the water has turned a greyish green due to the medicinal herbs. to further melt down the remaining floating leaves, he gave the liquid a quick stir by moving it in a back and forth motion.

bringing it up to your lips, he commanded, "drink."

moving your head forward, you sipped from the bowl, but you immediately coughed it out. after recovering from the series of coughs, you let out, "it's bitter—!"

"you dare complain when i boiled these herbs for hours just so they become pure enough to consume." blade snapped impatiently, "do you wish to be well or not?"

you nodded quickly, not wanting to anger him any further. "okay. i'll drink it."

it took you a few more tries before you get to take all the medicine down your throat, your face scrunched in disgust by the time you finished drinking it.

without warning, blade scooped you up and placed your head against his shoulder. he started taking off your bloodied bandages, and once it was all removed, he examined the wound. he already cleaned and stitched it up hours ago, but it was still bleeding. it can't be helped. the supplies were sparse and the cut was too deep, and with your fever adding up, he was not sure if you'll survive the night.

sweat began lining up his forehead. gritting his teeth, he took a fresh batch of bandages and started to wrap them on you again.

why? why was he doing this? why was he trying to keep you alive? each time the bandage circled around your arm, blade's movements became more frustrated and quick and rough. he didn't even notice you gazing at him with a dazed expression until you chuckled softly.

blade scowled. "speak if you wish to say something."

"are you real?" you murmured weakly, your hushed voice cracking in between words, lacking the usual gentle tone yet it was still tinted with naivety and awe that it made him freeze. all the frustration and anger was washed away and was instead replaced with confusion to your question.

your eyelids kept drooping down, not allowing him to see the beautiful shade of your warm eyes that reminded him of the brightest stars of the xianzhou sky. it was fine; as long as he gets to hold you like this, your head against his shoulder, your bare skin against his with the moonlight shining over you, then everything was fine.

feeling his heart skid to a stop for a thousandth time that night, blade can't help but to slowly reach out, and although his bandaged hand hesitated to land on your skin, afraid it might tint your innocence with his sins, he allowed himself to caress your cheek. it did not surprise him at all when your face fit perfectly in the palm of his wounded hand, your warmth proceeding to seep through his thin and bloodied bandages. a stray tear suddenly fell down your smooth skin, and this time, he didn't hesitate to wipe it off with his thumb.

"what do you mean?" he whispered, leaning in closer to you. you didn't answer for a minute, your breathing growing heavy.

then you laughed. "i don't know," you said, "i feel like i just made you up."

more tears escaped from your eyes as you continued, "you wouldn't...boil some strange herbs for me, or wrap me up in your coat. or treat my wounds, or even talk to me. you wouldn't want to be near me. you wouldn't do that."

"i have no time for your nonsense." blade replied with the intention of sounding harsh, but it came out weak instead. you smiled at him tearily, placing your hand on top of his.

"we are going to be unbound soon." you assured him, and blade swore his stellarmark was stung the second you said those words, "and as soon as i get well, i will immediately seek the aeons and get our marks removed. then you wouldn't have to see me ever again."

he swallowed, speechless for the first time. unbeknownst to him, he was slowly pulling you closer to his chest, his fingers digging into your skin in an attempt to keep you all to himself. his breathing grew uneven as he thought of you walking away from him, forgetting him, not thinking of him, and you belonging to someone else that wasn't him. his heartbeat grew irregular at the thought of not seeing you again.

blade had the sudden urge to cover up his mark and protect it from the world. it was his. it was his and his alone, and no one was going to take it away from him. not even the aeons.

"but do you want to know a secret?" you continued quietly, your smile growing wide, "if the aeons would give me a chance to pick a stellarmate again, i would choose you."

yes. he was going to keep this mark. and he was going to keep you. ever single person who will lay their hand on your skin will meet the sharpness of his sword, and every single one who will stand in between your bond shall face his wrath.

"i would you choose you, again, and again, and again, until you want me back. until you love me back."

the second you wake up from your delirious state, he'll tell you of his new plans, and he imagined you in disbelief, surprised and hesitant and hopeless but you'll nod and you'll take his hand, and you'll run, run, run, and leave it all behind.

"oh, look at the moon," you exclaimed, pointing a finger to the crescent shaped light, and he ignored the way your breaths were growing shallow each time you talk, "look at the moon, blade. it's so pretty. the moon is so pretty."

blade pulled you closer to his chest and rested his chin on top of your head as a sinister grin started to grow on his lips, along with an unfamiliar flame beginning to ignite in his amber crimson eyes. you were his. you were his.

and not even elio can change that.

[pain-in-the-butler]

what are your favourite black butler fanfics?

Hello! Though I've made a post on my favorite Dadbastian fics, I suppose I haven't done one on my favorite Kuro fics overall. Some from the previous list will be included regardless, and also I won't be including unfinished fics here.

ad perpetuam memoriam by redrobin1989 I linked this in the previous post, despite not being an actual Dadbastian fic, strictly because it's just that good. Around 130 years after Ciel Phantomhive's death, a couple of students begin to uncover the history of who he really was. And they aren't the only ones interested in his name's revival...

bottom of the deep blue sea by sunflowergiorno I can't laud this fic enough. It perfectly encapsulates the angst and sweetness combo I so love in a Dadbastian fic yet so rarely find. Takes place during the Campania rescue on the trip back to England. The way Francis is written is the cherry on top.

Everything's So Green! by Cr4shjay Some heartwarming fluff by my friend and the editor for Coattails, Jay! A sweet story about bonding between the Phantomhive servants early on in Bard's career. Wah!

Front Page News by TheArchaeologist Another I included on my previous list, though it's not really about Dadbastian, having more to do with the servants finding out about the Campania sinking and their fears as they wait to see if Sebastian and Ciel are coming home safely, let alone at all. Mey-Rin's perspective is lovely.

His Highness, Comparative by three-sixtynine-hexose I don't often read fics that are about season two, but this take on the relationship between Alois and Claude is far better than the canon. This is not a lighthearted romp but a poignant and bittersweet look inside the head of a kid desperate for affection, whose designated caretaker is basically an emotional brick wall.

Jurassic Butler: The Butler, the Butler, and the Dinosaur by Cherumie Okay, obviously this one is a humor fic, and it's mainly going to be enjoyable to people who are familiar with Phantom & Ghost, but how could I not recommend it. I got my start in writing fanfic with parody, a genre that you hardly see explored anymore in this fandom, so I have to give it some props.

Sensorium by othercat A short but sweet read that I linked in my previous post. Explores the early contract days in a way that I think is more realistic, showing that Sebastian needed to reintroduce Ciel to his own humanity before he could possibly hope to cultivate his soul.

Singing in the Silence by Kimberly_T A fantastic Phantomfam story about the servants learning how to keep their young master safe "from any and all enemies… even enemies they can't actually see." Absolutely heartwarming. Mey-Rin's appreciation for music in Coattails is actually a small nod to this fic.

The Boy Who Called Down a Ghost by ivoryandhorn Probably the most unusual entry on here and not for everyone, but I remember being intrigued by this fic's unique voice. A rewrite of the contract scene if it took place in a cyberpunk future.

This might not be the list that you were expecting — I actually have some relatively specific tastes and it's not often I find something that suits them. But I hope that this can give you some more material to read as we wait for the manga to return! Thanks for reaching out!

[spockandawe]

You know what I can't get enough of? Speculation about what the fictional novel Proud Immortal Demon Way says about its fictional author. Because it would be completely possible to make a story like this without that connection. I'm not sure I've read any other transmigration story where the author was a character, so just that addition adds a lot of interesting texture to the situation even without getting deep in the author's head, but it's so interesting how deep I can speculate in so many directions if I think about getting in his head.

And oh man, I could talk for AGES about how Shang Qinghua and his iconic protagonist reflect each other, but a lot of people have written about that already! Including in the medium of fic, which is my favorite way to consume that kind of crunch. So let's talk about familial neglect and mistreatment and the author's favorite character.

Honestly, when I look at how iconic this ship is, I'm astonished there aren't more hit novels where the author gets yeeted into their own book and has to navigate platonic or romantic relationships with their own characters. A lot of the parallels between Shang Qinghua and Luo Binghe are about them being alike in ugly and vulnerable ways, ways I don't think either of them likes about themselves, and regarding aspects of their personalities that I don't think they'd be happy discussing period. Like, Binghe very much hates himself, that's right there on the page. And Shang Qinghua is a ridiculous character, he's very funny, but he's also not stupid. He's very aware of who he is and what he is, and makes a decision to behave the ways he does. I'm typing this up because I was scrolling through an old chat looking for something and tripped across a conversation about shang qinghua and fawn trauma response.

He knows he does this thing! He has an easy opening to turbokill Mobei-jun while he's unconscious and decides to go the route of begging for his life and trying to ingratiate himself after Mobei-jun wakes up instead, which is a much trickier process. He says it himself, that Mobei-jun is his ideal, that he embodies everything Shang Qinghua wants to be, that etc. And that's hilarious and all, especially in light of the eventual romance and the clownery it takes to get there, but in classic svsss fashion, it also becomes a lot sadder when you add up all the pieces and see everything Shang Qinghua hates about himself.

In some ways he's an even more avoidant narrator than Shen Qingqiu, he deflects and jokes like a motherfucker, so it really is a matter of assembling all the pieces and seeing where there are gaps. But what really underscored the connection for me was Mobei-jun's reaction to parental neglect. Because that's what pushed Shang Qinghua into being an author in the first place, his parents divorced and remarried and kinda just.... forgot about him.

Mobei-jun's dad doesn't exactly do that, but he is operating without a mom in the picture, and rather than remarrying, he just chooses to ignore the thing where his shitty brother is persistently trying to kill his son. That really sucks! But Mobei-jun never shows the smallest hint of weakness or vulnerability over this, even when it would have really helped to use his words, like 'hi my uncle is coming to kill me and i trust you to protect me.' He's everything cool, aloof, arrogant, proud, all a bunch of adjectives that really do not apply to Shang Qinghua. Mobei-jun honestly looks like a boring character if you just stick to the main story, because he's so self-contained and controlled. Compare and contrast to Shang Qinghua, who accidentally outs himself as a transmigrator like two minutes after showing up and proceeds to be hilarious for the rest of the book.

(Brief aside to say that I don't think Mobei-jun is necessarily a happier or healthier person for all of this, lmao. The conversation that fawn reaction thing came from was talking about freeze (tee hee) versus fawn in response to threats or stressful situations. But that goes along with the svsss theme of people used to engaging with this universe as a fictional property coming to terms with the depth and complexity of other people's emotions and not just seeing them as simplistic not-real characters in a book)

(Additionally, this makes the ship hilarious as a take on 'opposites attract,' but also it gives me actual Emotions that Shang Qinghua's ideal who he wishes he could be, purely incidentally, he is able to value and love Shang Qinghua in a way that Shang Qinghua can't and doesn't seem to totally understand)

And what's very interesting here. Is that Shang Qinghua made these two characters, Luo Binghe and Mobei-jun. His protagonist ultimately reflects a lot of his own vulnerabilities and insecurities (secretly and quietly in pidw, much more.... overtly in svsss), and Mobei-jun corrects for his vulnerabilities and insecurities. He's the person Shang Qinghua wishes he could be, which is basically... the opposite of Shang Qinghua, to an almost comical degree. And he then gives Mobei-jun the VERY BEST plot armor he can devise. It's hard for a male character to exist near a stallion protagonist without getting swept up in rivalries/suspicions/etc and getting killed by the protagonist, but he makes sure that his favorite character is safe from these things. He's protecting the character he wishes he could be from the character whose faults most reflect his own. That is very sweet and weird and sad, and that's very reflective of the svsss experience, I think.

[dallianceangel]

Don’t Worry Baby 🎄🔥

privatetruths asked: Can i request a Clay Morrow Smut Fic.... Ive loved your chibs writing and would love to see what delicious dirty thing your beautiful brain comes up with

summary: while having some alone time with clay, you can’t help but panic.

author’s note: here’s one of the many fics i have planned for you, i hope you enjoy reading ;)

story song (basically what i listened to on repeat while writing this): i’m coming by tove lo.

word count: 806 words.

pairings: clay morrow x fem!reader

warnings: adult content. age gap but reader is of legal age. 18+ only, minors DNI.

🎅🏼 comments, likes and reblogs are highly appreciated 🎅🏼

It’s Christmas Eve, and you’re sprawled out on Clay’s bed, gripping the covers for dear life. You’re on all fours, hips rocking gently as he thrusts behind you. His hands grip your hips, pulling you back onto him as you both move in sync.

Glancing at the mirror in front of you, your reflection is a little blurry from the sweat beading on your skin. You catch a glimpse of his face, noticing the way his jaw clenches, and how his eyes narrow in focus. You can’t help but moan out in pleasure, arching your back, pushing back against him. You’re so close to the edge of the bed, barely hanging on, but it’s nothing compared to how he’s making you feel right now.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he growls in your ear. “Look at us, baby. Fuckin’ perfect.”

You bite your lip, his words turning you on even more than you are right now. The pressure is building, tightening your core. Your head starts spinning, trying to focus on him, on how good he feels, on how he makes you feel. And then you hear it.

A car door slams outside, followed by footsteps crunching on gravel. Your heart races.

“Shit, is that Gemma?” you murmur, panic hovering over you like a dark cloud.

Clay doesn’t stop. Instead, he pulls you back harder against him, growling in your ear. “Gemma doesn’t live here anymore, baby. Stop worrying.”

But that isn’t enough to stop you from worrying. Gemma likes turning up to places unannounced. The last thing you need is her walking in while you’re like this, with Clay balls deep inside of you. They’ve only just gotten a divorce. Who’s to say she wouldn’t kill you if she found out?

You glance over at the window, feeling sick with worry. “Clay, it could b—”

His lips press against your neck, silencing you. His hands grip your hips harder, his pace increasing. “Relax. She’s not got a key. We’re okay.”

You try to ignore your worries, but the sound of the footsteps seems to be getting closer. It’s too much. You’re close, so fucking close, but your mind won’t let go of the thought of Gemma showing up. Clay stops moving behind you, pulling out so that he can look out of the window. You moan in frustration. You feel so empty.

His eyes narrow, scanning the driveway and the surrounding areas. He mutters under his breath, smirking. “Not her. Just some fuckin’ asshole next door.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, moaning his name as Clay slides back inside of you, pressing you down into the bed. His hands pull both your wrists behind your back, grabbing them so he can pull you back into his thrusts. His cock feels so fucking good inside you, hitting all the right spots. The room starts echoing with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, and he just knows you’re about to combust. You quietly beg him to go faster, but he doesn’t seem to listen.

“Clay… please!” you shout, watching him in the mirror, knowing exactly what he’s playing at. “Please let me cum.”

That’s all he needed to hear. His movements turn frantic, his groans growing louder. “Cum for me, baby. I’ve got you.”

And you do. So hard that you see stars, your body shaking from the sheer force of it. You can’t hold back the scream that leaves your mouth, triggering something in Clay. He thrusts once, twice, three times, before he lets go too, pulling you back into him as he climaxes with a groan, his body shuddering behind you as he spills inside of you before collapsing onto the bed.

The room falls silent for a few moments. All you can hear is the sound of your heavy breathing, both of you trying to catch your breath. You stay collapsed on the bed, your body still trembling, and Clay’s arms are around you, pulling you closer, the heat of his chest comforting against your back. He’s still inside of you. He doesn’t want to pull out just yet. 

“You okay?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. 

You sigh, relaxing into him. “More than okay,” you mumble, a grin tugging at your lips. “I fucking love you, Clay.”

He chuckles, his hand rubbing your back. “I fuckin’ love you too.”

Thirty minutes later, you’re on your way home, All I Want For Christmas Is You playing quietly on the radio, and the memory of Clay fucking you senseless all you can think about. You’ll see him tomorrow. At the clubhouse, where everyone will be, including Gemma—opening presents and spending time together before you tuck in to a wonderful Christmas feast. But it won’t be the way you want it to be. It’s not the right time to go public. 

It fucking sucks.

[laura1633]

i need to say this somewhere and i hope you won’t mind if i send this “rant” here. bc this is just a stupid smut pet peeve that i let annoy me so much.

but anyway every time i go to the lestappen tag i get really disheartened bc there is such a imbalance. there is so much bottom charles and omega charles and charles being loved and worshiped and i honestly wouldn’t mind that at all but the number of fics where max gets the same are pretty much nonexistent compared to charles-centric fics like there are bottom max fics but they get drowned out. pretty much all the popular fics that have thousands of kudos and that ppl recommend to everyone are bottom charles. seriously i saw a rec list once where the few bottom max fics had the fact that they are bottom max mentioned in the same manner as content warnings for some other fics. it was super weird but maybe the person who made that didn’t think it would come across like that.

i know there are lots of bottom max fics (i’ve probably read them all lol) and ppl who like both, like you. i’m happy about the ppl who comment on bottom max fics those fics still get a lot of love even when it seems so little in the grand scheme of things. but i’m just annoyed and a bit confused that it’s so disproportionate. probably bc charles is more popular than max and bottom charles has gotten so popular ppl are inclined to it and it's "safe" and gets more love.

then again there’s so much talk about omega max on tumblr and then none of that shows on ao3 weirdly. (except maybe on the maxiel side i literally became a maxiel shipper bc i wanted more omega max lol) some ppl on here who say they’re bottom/omega max “truthers” have like several top max fics on their account and no bottom max fics which literally not that deep everyone should write what they want and what they are inspired to write but not practicing what you preach confuses me a bit not gonna lie haha. i’ve written my own fics which are pretty much premises i want to desperately read but no one has written them (like fine i'll do it myself) and i've gotten a good response but i’m a slow writer so i haven't written everything i want to write. thank you for everything you’ve written laura!

I don't mind at all anon, I have added your second ask too <3 Sorry this ended up being a lengthy reply. I love that we can yap about the bottom or omega Max agenda though 😂

I started writing maybe about two years ago and at the time a lot of the Lestappen stories were definitely bottom Charles and omega Charles. I started writing because a little bit like yourself there was some stuff I wanted to read that didn't exist so I just wrote it myself. At the time I had no clue how to write but I have hopefully improved over the past couple years! I was just desperate for there to be some more soft Max or Max being looked after and cared for. I just think Max doesn't get enough love and there can never be enough fics where it's pointed out just how hot he is!

I also like the idea of sexy, hot alpha Charles and think it's fun to not always see him in that 'babygirl' role if that makes sense. Although I can see why he ends up in that role a lot, he is also very pretty

I used to read a lot of Maxiel for the same reason as yourself, in fact I do still read Maxiel because of that reason and also because there are some very talented writers writing it. (although I also think of Daniel as being quite omega like!)

I definitely agree that there is a lot more bottom and omega Max within the lestappen tag now compared to a couple of year ago.

For me, I like to swap it around. I like to write soft alpha Max and even bottom alpha Max. The main thing for me is that the dynamic works for the story I want to tell. I have started leaning more towards omega Max though because I know that there is plenty of omega Charles out there and there are plenty of people who can write omega Charles much better than I can!!

You are absolutely correct about the comments and kudos thing. Firstly I should say that there are some amazing writers writing some amazing bottom and omega Charles fics that deserve all the love in the world and I am not for one second suggesting that they only have so many responses because of the dynamic but (at least to start with) I found that my omega Charles fics got more kudos than the omega Max ones. That might have just been a coincidence but when I start writing a story I know it will get more attention if I write it with the omega Charles dynamic. I'm not for one second suggesting that that is what people are thinking about btw, it's just a fact I have noticed with my own work. These days I just write what I like and hope some other people like it. If I ranked my fics by kudos they definitely wouldn't be in quality order so I don't worry about that now 😂

Like you have said, everyone should write what they like as it's all for fun. I am just glad there are other people out there reading and writing bottom/omega Max or even just Max getting the love and attention he deserves.

I will read top Max and I enjoy top Max. The only Max fics I don't like are where the writer clearly doesn't like Max and is making him unnecessarily aggressive or just making him the butt of the joke in a mean way. I prefer to read Lestappen when I can tell that the writer likes both of them if that makes sense (obviously people have a favourite but that's different. )

The content warning for the bottom Max fics made me giggle. I don't know what context that was in as I didn't see the post but it definitely made me laugh. Maybe it needs a content warning because its likely to alter your brain chemistry and you'll not be able to see him topping again 😂

I will always write some bottom Charles and some omega Charles because it just works in certain contexts for me but I have felt myself leaning more towards the other dynamic. Hopefully most people don't mind because there are so many Lestappen writers these days so there is definitely plenty of omega Charles to chose from.

I am shocked there is not more Omega Max x Omega Charles though as that seems to fit quite well.

Sorry, I totally rambled there but I am a huge lover of omega and bottom Max and always will be. I am also a huge lover of Max being treated nicely and softly and getting all the attention and affection in the world.

[irisbleufic]

Of all the bullshit I never expected to be back on with the same intensity of October through December of 2000, Beetlejuice was not it. But I finally got to see the musical yesterday, and the part of me that has adored all 94 episodes of the animated series from the moment I started watching them on ABC Saturday mornings in 1989 just fucking flared—this fond, awful tightness in my chest. It’s the first TV show I ever imprinted on; it’s been with me since childhood. Surreal.

About 4 years into watching the cartoon, I finally saw the live-action movie that the cartoon was based on. I hated it, because it was so malevolent and empty compared to the incredible world-building characters in the animated series. Serious shout-outs to Stephen Ouimette and Alyson Court for all that stunning, hilarious, and often moving voicework.

Now, okay, I need to go back to 2000 again to make this all make sense. I’d watched the show from 1989 until whenever the 4th season ended. It wasn’t until I was in my first semester of college, newly transplanted to New England, that I found a couple folks within my program who had loved the show growing up, too. I ordered all of the episodes on VHS. It was difficult to track them all down in 2000, and it was expensive. But I pulled it off, and we had Friday night watch parties for weeks over the month of October. But that is not where this ends.

I was in the process of winding down the writing I’d been doing on Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hollow for the entirety of my senior year of high school. Suddenly, I’m in college and watching this fucking cartoon and thinking, there is so much heart in this. How the fuck is there so much heart. I haven’t seen two characters this wholesome codependent in, well, ever. I went looking for forums and mailing lists devoted to the cartoon. I found a mailing list. There were a handful of artists drawing amazing fancomics on there, and they were like, what do you do? Oh. I write. And they were like: do you understand how desperately some of us have wanted fic, but just can’t find it?

That is the wrong thing to say to me when I’m on a downward spiral of realizing I’m not going to escape a fandom without getting myself into a project so long that it’s all I’ll be doing for fucking months on end. If you’re one of the people who knew me back then, you know what I did for those four months in the fall/winter of 2000. I wrote a novel. Sure, I came close to failing a couple of classes, but it was the first time I understood exactly what I was capable of building as a fanwriter. Maybe even as a real writer.

“Time Will Tell” was hosted on a friend’s Angelfire site for a handful of years. People found it via LiveJournal, too, because I linked it there. I put it on AO3 somewhere circa 2012 and took it down again in 2017 because I didn’t feel there was enough interest in it, and also, my 19-year-old editorial foibles and typos were aspects I wanted to amend in it.

The musical took more inspiration from the cartoon than the film. I’m stunned and grateful for that. I found the “Time Will Tell” file buried pretty deep in my Gmail folders. I’ve been reading it since the drive home last night. I just can’t believe there’s now enough of a fandom for me to consider finally polishing it and getting it back online. It’s one of my two oldest surviving pieces of writing.

Anyway, sorry for the Gotham fic delays that I’d been trying to get a handle on. Now that the semester’s over, I feel that getting this thing I wrote twenty-three years ago back to the light of day is the best use of my time for a couple weeks.

If you’re one of the people who read “Time Will Tell” back in the day, thank you. I don’t know how many people out there still remember it beyond maybe ten or so friends I’m still in contact with all these years later. I’m sorry it disappeared for a while.

[thedreamlessnights]

Someone to shed some light - pt. 6

Astarion x gn!reader

{series masterlist}

Synopsis: You learn your place in Calthir and what that means for your future. An unexpected conversation is overheard, and it changes everything.

Warnings: Threats of suicide/self-harm, very brief suicidal ideation, mentions of blood and death.

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading, you have no idea how much I appreciate you! Your comments on each chapter are so inspiring and I've been having so much fun working on this fic. There sadly isn't as much Astarion interaction in this chapter, but there'll be plenty of that to come. I hope you enjoy! And thank you once again to @aerynwrites for brainstorming over this chapter with me and making the lovely header image!

It’s the harsh light of the morning sun that pulls you from a lovely dream, scalding into the sensitive skin of your eyelids and searing at your skin. Even through the tent, it’s unbearable. Or, perhaps, it’s the memories that accompany it that you can’t stand. 

Within seconds, the dream is gone - a sweet, fleeting picture lost to a bitter reality - and you’re left laying on your side, aching in every part of yourself. Mind, body, and soul.

All your anger at Cal has seeped out of you and left something else entirely: numbness. Gods, you feel absolutely nothing. Or - no, that’s not quite right. You feel hollowed out. It’s as though every muscle of yours has been filled with lead. You can’t find it in yourself to get up.

Astarion isn’t at your side, but when you force yourself to shift a little, you see he’s still in the tent - very clearly eavesdropping on a conversation taking place outside. His head is tilted toward the sound and his shoulders are tensed: ready to leap out of the way should he hear someone coming. He’s nimble enough, surely.

For a moment, you stare at him, the half-view of his form that you’re able to see from your bedroll. Pinched brows, a deep frown, dark eyelashes that meet his cheek when he looks down, lost in whatever he’s listening to. 

What is he thinking? What’s caught his interest so keenly? And, gods, there’s something softened about his features that you’ve never really seen. It takes you a moment to connect why.

This is Astarion as he really is. No show to put on. No royal mask, no seductive charm. Just himself, almost alone in this tent, sitting under the sun and listening to something he shouldn’t. The only thing comparable to this is when you’d caught him sunbathing at the palace, lost in the feeling of the warmth of his skin. 

Even after last night, it’s clear he still hasn’t let his guard down around you. Given everything that’s happened, it’s not difficult to guess why. With time, perhaps. But, for now, you need to stop staring at him. 

Sit up, you instruct yourself. You need to sit up. 

Your body doesn’t budge at first, but you’ll be damned if one measly betrayal is going to rob you of your motivation. You force yourself up, wincing at the stiffness of your joints, shaking away the fog that’s overtaken your head.

Upright as you are, the anger slowly returns. You like it. You thrive on it. It’s something to feed off of, something to fuel you. The numbness hadn’t worked like that. It had been so - empty. You’ll take anger any day.

Astarion still hasn’t moved.

“Hearing anything interesting?” you ask softly, and though he doesn’t turn to look at you, his head tilts ever so slightly in your direction, letting you know he’d heard you.

“That Aris has just arrived,” he says. “I’m sure it won’t be long before they all darken our door.”

“Lovely.” You fold your arms around your knees, stomach suddenly churning. “Freedom was nice while it lasted, I suppose.”

“It was,” he agrees. “A shame. Just when I was almost enjoying it, too.”

Your smile falls weak on your lips, but he can’t see it. You know you should eat, but you doubt that you’d be able to stomach anything. Instead, you pull out one of the bottles of water in your pack and take a tentative sip, praying that it won’t disturb your stomach.

After a moment, Astarion finally moves to get dressed for the day, and you catch a brief flash of the scar on his neck before it’s covered up. Two puncture wounds. The mark of the bite that turned him, marred into his flesh. It doesn’t pass your notice that he chooses a high-collared shirt. 

You wonder if he knows that you’ll die before exposing him to these people.

Maybe, if Cal hadn’t betrayed you, Calthir would feel like an extension of you. Your kingdom. Your people. Instead, it’s just another prison. These soldiers mulling the camp are strangers, and you have no loyalty to them. You certainly won’t be what they’d expected of you.

What the hells did they do to you, Cal had asked. Are you the one who is different, or is he? You don’t feel different. Yes, you care about Astarion now. Yes, you’re on the run - or, you had been. But had that shifted you so much? Are you so changed? 

It occurs to you that Cal may not have ever known you at all. 

You scramble into a change of clothes before the leader can arrive, and when you hear the approach of footsteps, your throat tightens. The tent is pulled open without warning, and the sun that streams in burns your eyes. You hold your arm to your face, attempting to block some of it out, but you still can barely see the figures standing before you.

“Come on,” a voice says. “Out.”

You make your way to your feet, keeping your shoulders squared and your back straight. They won’t break you. Your fists are gearing for a fight. Your teeth are ready to draw blood.

Astarion follows after you without so much as a word, and the two of you find yourself in front of a group of armored soldiers. Aris is clear from the moment you see her: her composure says enough, and so does the anxious way her men stand behind her. A high elf. Long, dark hair, braided into a neat updo. Piercing green eyes. 

“My, my,” she says. “It’s not every day that the ruler of Calthir walks straight into my camp.” 

Is that what Cal had told her? He’s nowhere to be seen.

Her glance skates next to you, and when it lands on Astarion, she frowns. “And who is this?”

She really doesn’t know? 

“This is Lirien,” you answer quickly, subtly shifting your right hand over your left to hide your wedding ring. “He helped me escape.”

Aris quirks a brow, cocking her head and folding her arms across her chest. “How interesting,” she says. “You see, I got a report last night that one of Queen Erelin’s carriages was attacked not two days ago. The two occupants inside are now missing, but presumably still alive. Occupants who happen to match your description.” She pauses, keeping her eyes locked on you. “One of whom was her son.”

The blood slowly drains from your face, but you hold her gaze. “That’s strange,” you reply, pasting on a smile. “I’d love to meet these doppelgängers.”

Behind you, Astarion lets out a loud sigh. 

You turn to look at him, staring in sheer disbelief. “Really? You could try to play along!”

“Er - yes,” Astarion says flatly. “I’m Lirien.”

Aris shakes her head, clearly unimpressed. “Had enough?” she asks, framing her hands on her hips. “You brought an Ancunín with you. The heir to our enemy kingdom. I… I’m appalled. I really am. I don’t know whether to call you a fool or thank you for delivering him to us. In any case…” She turns toward Astarion, eyes scanning over him, and something like admiration forms in her gaze. “My deepest apologies, pretty boy. Your death is a necessary sacrifice for Calthir. ”

She makes a gesture toward her guards, crooking two of her fingers, but you act before they can. Your hand flashes out to the side - or more precisely, toward the dagger you know is in Astarion’s belt. It’s removed and pressed to your neck in an instant, the chill of the blade kissing the delicate skin of your throat.

Aris jumps, holding out her hand. “Wait-!”

“What in the hells?” Astarion exclaims, staring at you as though you’re crazy. And, well, maybe you are. But you’ve played your fair share of card games. This isn’t much different.

“Let’s be honest with each other, shall we?” you ask, facing Aris. “I admit it: this is Astarion Ancunín. But you’re not going to lay a hand on him, or I’ll cut my throat here and now, and you’ll be without your precious ruler.”

Aris stares at you, raising a brow. She’s disturbingly calm. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” you ask, pressing the blade further in. It stings, but doesn’t quite pierce the skin. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t exactly have much to live for. If I stay, I’m either a pawn for you, or a pawn for Erelin. Astarion is the only thing I have going for me. Leave him alive, let him stay with me, and I’ll go with you. Do so much as lay a finger on him, and I’ll become very intimate with this blade very quickly.”

“Go ahead, then,” Aris urges, her voice steely. “We don’t need you.”

“Oh, really?” you ask. “So that’s why you’ve spent so long looking for me, wasting - what was it - hundreds of men?”

Her jaw clenches almost imperceptibly. “And who the hells told you that?” she bites out.

“Cal,” you answer. “He raised me, remember? He rubs his neck when he lies. I know he was telling the truth.”

“I can’t do what you’re asking,” Aris tells you, her tone almost pleading. “I can’t let him live.”

“In that case,” you sigh, pressing even deeper. The stinging sensation increases. A drop or two of warm blood streams down your neck, and fear finally enters her eyes. At your side, Astarion goes tense.

“Fine!” Aris says. “Bloody hells. Fine! Just put the fucking blade down!”

You keep it where it is. “Give me your word.”

“What?”

“Give me your word that he’ll go unharmed. Mentally, emotionally, physically.”

“Hells, I’ll put it in fucking writing!” she exclaims. “Just put the knife down, will you?”

You don’t remotely trust her, but you don’t have much other choice. You gently remove the dagger from your neck, reaching over to slide it back into Astarion’s sheath. He just scowls at you, looking shaken. His eyes linger on the blood on your neck for a moment, then snap back to face.

In response to his expression, you flash a smile at him. You’ve just saved his life, after all. He could at least be a little grateful. 

“Can we agree that you’ll never do that again?” he hisses, leaning in close so his voice spills into your ear. He pulls a loose rag out from his shirt pocket, hastily wiping the blood away from your skin. His hands are shaking.

“Astarion,” you say softly, teasingly. “Was that concern I heard in your voice?”

He scoffs. “Just - warn me next time, will you?”

“If there is a next time,” you start, “I promise I’ll warn you in advance.”

Aris is watching you with no small amount of distaste. “If you’ll come with me,” she says stiffly, “I’ll lay down the terms of this… agreement.”

You follow after her, keeping Astarion close to you. He wraps an arm around your waist, and you wonder if it’s part of the little display the two of you are setting up. You know how this must look to them: that you’d fallen for Astarion, and brought him to this camp like a fool. That Astarion is a spy for Erelin.

And - well, one part of that thought is true. You’ve fallen for Astarion. His touch, though cold, seems to scald you even through your clothes. You’re no fool, though. You certainly hadn’t come here of your own accord, waltzing into camp. And, if Astarion is a spy, he’s doing a terrible job of it. He’d wanted to leave the moment the two of you laid eyes on this place. 

You follow Aris into a tent that’s clearly used for planning. There’s a large, sprawling map of Faerûn spread over a table. Lanceboard pieces are being used to showcase all of Erelin’s forces, as well as some Calthirian outposts. There’s more of Calthir than you’d thought - some along the mountain pass, some along the borders of the city. The battle plans are scribbled hastily along the side, and it looks like there’s some disagreement about them, given how much of the text has been crossed out. It’s illegible, for the most part.

“Here,” Aris announces, scrawling down some words on the parchment in front of her. “I, Aris Alderfate, swear on my life that Astarion Anucnin will come to no harm: whether it be mentally, physically, or emotionally, by myself or anyone under my command. Satisfied?”

“How do I know that your soldiers won’t harm him?”

She clicks her tongue. “Disobeying orders is a death sentence. He’ll not suffer a scratch.”

You stare at her, trying to find any sense of deceit in her eyes, but there’s none. Her gaze is bright, and her face is open - inquisitive. “Alright,” you finally agree. Fear stirs in your stomach, thinking about how trapped you are. How cornered in, with only your life to barter. “What now?”

“Now,” she says, “your handsome prince leaves us. This is private business.”

You shake your head. “He stays.”

“You are asking me to trust the son of our enemy,” Aris hisses, placing her hands flat on the table set in front of her. “The only child of the woman who dethroned your parents. I cannot and will not trust him. I’ve spared his life, as you’ve asked, but he will not be a part of this. Do you understand?”

You can tell that she won’t budge, but it unsettles you to have Astarion out of sight. Out of sight, they can do anything to him. She may have signed that document, but you’re desperately outnumbered, and you don’t have a dagger in your hand as a bargaining chip anymore.

Seeing your face, Aris lets out a quick rush of air. “If any of this is going to work, you’ll need to trust me. This entire operation is built off of intelligence and trust.” She reaches forward, placing a hand on yours. “Trust me when I say that I have your best interests at heart. And, when this discussion is over, you’ll return to your tent and find Astarion just as he is now.”

You glance at him. He gives a light shrug, but you can see the tension etched into the crease of his brow, the squaring of his shoulders. After a long moment of internal debate, you nod. 

Two guards step forward, lining themselves on either side of Astarion. “Come with us,” they instruct. 

He’s led out of the tent, and a pit digs into your stomach.

“Relax,” Aris says. “I’ve given you my word. I’ll hand it to you - you’re stubborn. An idiot, maybe, but stubborn.”

You give her a half-hearted smile. “Is this how you address all your rulers?”

She straightens, letting out a sigh as she walks along the table, trailing her fingers over the map. “No,” she says. “But I don’t sugarcoat my words. Whatever you think he is to you, it’s not true. He’s trying to get you on his side. Cal was adamant you’d be too smart for that, but here we are.”

You lean forward, observing the sight in front of you. “Agree to disagree, I suppose.”

Frustration flashes over her face. “Well,” she says. “You’re a mascot, Highness. An image for the people, and that is all you’ll be. We have the forces. I have the plans. You have the royal blood. None will work without the other.”

“Alright,” you agree. “What, then?”

“We take the throne,” Aris says. “Erelin dies. This is non-negotiable. You take your rightful place as heir, and the kingdom of Calthir returns to her former glory.”

“And?” you ask. “Will I actually have a say in how I lead, or will I just be another pawn to you?”

Her expression tightens. “You’ll have a council that assists you in your decision-making,” she says, but it’s clear enough what she means. You’re nothing more than a face, a sack of precious blood. “Your marriage will be dissolved, and you’ll be settled with someone else.”

Your spine runs cold. “What?”

Her eyes pierce into you like a knife. “You’re married to the enemy’s son. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but that’s a problem. Having Astarion in any position of power is a problem. You can keep him around if you like, have your fun with him, but the marriage cannot stay.”

She really does think you’re an idiot, fooling around with a handsome prince. “And who would be replacing him?” you ask. 

“Duke Ravengard has proposed his son,” Aris says. “Wyll is a good man. He’ll be kind to you.”

You flinch at the suggestion. “I know Wyll,” you answer. “He’s an old friend.”

“Then you know he’d treat you with the utmost respect.”

“I do. And I also know he’d hate to be a pawn in your game,” you snap back. 

Aris sighs. “If he refuses, then we have other options. First, we need to take the kingdom. Your suitors are less of a priority.”

“Then tell me how you’re planning to do it!” you exclaim. “What am I here for?”

Gods, you’re tired of her, and it hasn’t even been five minutes. If it’s going to be a lifetime of her breathing down your neck, maybe you really should run that dagger through your throat.

“That’s easy,” she replies evenly. “For you, at least. We’ll write you speeches. You’ll rally the soldiers. For the most part, you’ll sit pretty.”

“Sit pretty?” you ask, unable to hide the disgust in your voice. “I’m your ruler, and you want me to sit pretty?”

“Yes,” she says, “I do. Like I said, you have the royal blood. You’re the symbol - important only because of your image, nothing else. I’ve worked all my life to get to where I am, and I won’t let anything compromise that. So you are going to live a life of luxury, be the face of our revolution, and be fucking grateful for it!”

She takes in a deep breath, collecting herself. “You can go,” she says. “We’ll retrieve you when you’re needed. The guards will lead you back to your tent.”

Just like they had with Astarion, they cage themselves around you. It’s suffocating. The cool breeze in the air does nothing to stop the feeling.

They lead you to the same tent the two of you had been in last night, and when you crawl through the flap, you find Astarion in one piece. Unharmed, just as she’d said. The guards all leave, and you know exactly why. Cal’s spell is still there. You can almost feel it, still hot on your skin.

You pull the flap shut, absurdly angry, planting yourself at Astarion’s side. You need to hit something. Or scream, maybe.

“That bad, darling?” he asks. “You look like you’re about to explode.”

“Will she find us here?”

He blinks in surprise. “What?”

“Erelin. You said she’d never stop looking for us. Will she come for us, if she finds out the two of us are in this place?”

“Yes,” Astarion answers. “She’ll stop at nothing.” He tilts his head. “Betraying your own people?” he asks softly, though admiration lights his eyes. “That’s low, darling, even for you.”

“I’m not betraying them,” you answer. “But if she is what you say, then she’s going to find us sooner or later, isn’t she?” You pick at the edge of your shirt, hesitating. “Who do you think will win? Be honest. Just between you and me - who will win?”

He inhales sharply. “My mother’s no fool,” he says. “She married you off for a reason. She knew that Calthir was a threat. But…” He shakes his head. “Even if all of their camps are as impressive as this one, I’d place my bets on her. These Calthirian ‘recruits’ are untrained. I doubt they’ve ever seen battle. Even if they do have more men, our experience would overrule the numbers.”

You’re silent for a moment, not knowing how to respond. Which is worse - being under Erelin’s thumb again, never given the opportunity for freedom? Being nothing more than an image, married off to Wyll? 

Gods, something isn’t right. If they’re having you marry Wyll, then they’d never let you keep Astarion at your side, even if they dissolved the marriage. No - something here is rotten. Unfortunately, since you can’t do a thing about it, that knowledge is pointless.

“Then I suppose we’d better wait for her,” you finally say. “And see what happens.”

There’s not much else of a choice.

The tent falls silent as you think, that pit of anger rising and ebbing as your thoughts pull at you one by one. You need them to go away; you need some peace, for once.

“Did you know your father?” you suddenly ask. “I know he died when you were young, but… do you remember him?”

“No,” Astarion answers. “I… don’t remember much of my past. Before Cazador.” He leans back, propping an arm behind himself to support him. “And you? Your real parents, I mean.”

You shake your head. “They died just after I was born. They fell ill, apparently. Cal is all I’ve ever known.” A bitter smile twists itself on your lips. “I used to think… I didn’t need anything else. He loved me, cared for me. He was as much my father as the one dead in the ground, his blood running through my veins.”

Your voice hitches, and you swallow hard. “All a lie, though.”

Astarion stares at you, his brows pinching. When he speaks, his voice is hushed. “When my mother - rescued me,” he starts, shifting, “I was… different than before. She kept trying to get me back - to normal,” he says. He smiles, but it looks more like a grimace. “She didn’t want a vampire for a son. Most days, she could barely stand to look at me. I…”

He pauses, giving a light, loose gesture, then turns his gaze to an empty spot of the tent. “I really thought she cared about me until then. How kind of her to open my eyes.”

Your hands clench into the pillow under you. You force them to relax. “It sounds like she wanted a trophy rather than a son,” you tell him. “You deserve better than that.”

He tuts. “Bleeding heart, spouse of mine,” he responds, leaning toward you. “Come here, darling.”

He pulls you in for a kiss, and the outside world melts away.

When you finally gather the strength to emerge from your tent that evening, Cal is waiting for you. 

The sight of him carves a fresh, bleeding stab of pain into your chest. You keep your eyes very pointedly on the empty space in front of you, and he sighs.

“So this is it, then?” he asks. “You’re just going to ignore me?”

You whirl around on him, hands clenching into fists. “And what would you have me do, Cal? Jump for joy at the sight of you, after what you did? I’ve just heard your kingdom’s wonderful plans for me, and I’m supposed to - what? Be thankful that you’re imprisoning me? You lot are worse than Erelin!”

He flinches at the mention of the queen, but his shoulders square. “Gods below,” he says. “I know you’re upset, but if you’d just listen-”

“-Listen to what?” you ask. “To you, somehow making this better?”

“To reason!” Cal snaps. “For the sake of the gods. Listen to reason, child.”

When you don’t respond, trying to keep yourself from losing it all, he steps closer and lays his hands on your shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. “I know how Aris can be,” he says gently. “I know how you must feel. She is our leader, yes, but only out of necessity. She knows what must be done and is willing to do it. She’s not your parents, or their legacy.”

He shakes his head, continuing softly. “She wants to feel in control, you understand. But it’s you - you’re the one the soldiers are here for. Not her. If she loses you, she’ll have nothing. We’ve worked so hard - and the gods know I’ve tried my best with you. Keeping you safe, keeping you shielded from what you are: it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

He steps a little closer, and the familiar scent of him, cinnamon and sandalwood, is making you want to fling yourself in his arms. When you were small, he used to wrap those arms around you and squeeze, claiming he was squeezing away all your sadness. What you wouldn’t give to feel such comfort again.

“Don’t confuse Aris with Calthir,” he says. “She’s intense, but she alone does not signify what this kingdom stands for.”

“And what does it stand for?” you ask. “Holding a ruler against their will? Sham marriages? Fake governments?”

“It stands for goodness,” Cal says. “How many times have you felt dissatisfied with this world? How many times has an unfair ruling been laid down by the queen?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you bite out. “I won’t even be laying down the new rulings. You’re using me for power, and I’m not getting even a taste of it.”

“Or so you’ve been told,” Cal replies. “Aris doesn’t trust you. How can she, when you brought an Ancunín with you? Gods, even I was wary, and I raised you! I - I still don’t understand your attachment to him!” 

You just stare at him, giving a slight shrug. “Erelin makes him suffer as much as the rest of us, Cal,” you murmur. Your voice is quiet, choked. “You don’t understand.”

He takes in a long inhale. “You have a good head on your shoulders,” he says. “I want to trust you on that. It’s not like you to be swayed by a pretty face, but… gods, I don’t know.”

“Try to trust me, then?” you ask. “I’d appreciate that, considering that no one will even be trusting me to rule. I won’t even have a say in my own kingdom.”

His brows pinch. “That’s not true. You’ll be on a council of ruling. Multiple people in power. And, no matter what Aris says, you’d have your vote on that.”

He takes another step forward, and his hands seem to scorch through your clothes, warming you from the outside in. “You could do so much good,” he says. “Give it time. Aris will soften. She’ll see who you are, just like I see you.”

“And what do you see?” you ask weakly.

He smiles. “Someone strong. Who does the right thing, when it comes down to it. Someone fit to rule.”

You look in his clear, grey eyes and wonder when exactly it was that he stopped actually seeing you. 

You gently ease out of his grip, heading toward the edge of the camp, but you can feel him watching you. You can feel that damned spell of his still present on your skin. He thinks he’s doing the right thing, no doubt. It’s the complex so many have: that in order to succeed, things must be compromised, precious things sacrificed. 

You’d just never thought that it would be you on the table, a lamb up for slaughter. 

The next few weeks consist of the same progression of events, over and over again, played like a hellish retelling of the same story. You and Astarion are escorted around, but given no real freedom. Even the woods seem like an upgrade - at least you’d been able to choose the direction you were walking in. Such a brief taste of it, before it had been robbed from you. 

You’re taken to and from meetings. You’re provided with books to keep yourself entertained. You’re provided with decent rations, clean clothes, and the occasional bath. These are the luxuries your life consists of. 

You and Astarion lightly chat at night, but there’s nothing more than the occasional kiss, a brief touch of his thumb over your cheek. A shared bedroll. The circumstances of your situation are off putting enough, but it’s the soldiers and their constant, loud conversations through the night that ruin the mood for anything else.

As for the camp, there’s something unmistakably brewing in the air. 

You hadn’t been able to feel it at first, but as you and Astarion spend more and more time in this place, it’s immediately clear that something is happening. You hear whispers, bits and pieces of things you can’t make out, but something is clear: there’s a restlessness to the place, like something held in chains but waiting to break free.

You may hate Erelin, but you at least admire her intelligence, her cunning. Aris, you despise through and through. 

She treats you like a puppet. For the few, brief meetings you’re permitted to attend, she speaks over you, ignoring you when you chip in, not even looking you in the eye. It’s very clear that you are nothing more than your title to her, and at night, you dream of setting fire to her precious battle plans and watching the smug look on her face fall flat.

Astarion plays more bored than anything else, but you see the occasional slip of anxiety in his shoulders, the restless way he paces about. Wherever Erelin is, how will she know you’re here? Will she really use your blood to track you, like he’d told you in the carriage all that time ago? 

Cal, meanwhile, has taken to following you around. It seems that he thinks, with enough time, you’ll forgive him. You don’t even look at him. If he’d ever agreed to you living like this, then he really couldn’t give a shit about you. You’re determined to mirror that feeling back to him.

Three weeks in, the camp begins its march. From what you’re hearing, Aris is joining forces with another post outside the city, but what it means for you is that you and Astarion are dragged along with the soldiers, forced by day to endure the burning sun, and given a barren tent to rest in at night.

It’s a long journey, consisting of aching feet and sweat-stained clothing and the faint brushes of relief under the shade. There must be a thousand times your eyes flit to the trees, aching to break free from this hell, but you know it’s useless. Cal puts a new tracking spell on you each morning to ensure it doesn’t expire. You shoot daggers at him through your eyes and hope he knows you hate him.

When the group finally, mercifully arrives, there’s so much chaos that you can barely think. You can’t even rest. There are so many soldiers milling around that you can’t possibly imagine how the city doesn’t realize they’re there - or maybe they do, and just don’t care.

Baldur’s Gate in of itself has no resources for war. Erelin might, and she has control over the city, but it’s not so simple. War means planning and resources and death. War means defending your actions to your people. If Calthir hasn’t attacked any major sections, then any preventative action Erelin might take will come off as dealing the first blow. 

Even with the spell on you, you’re tempted to run. You’re not sure how accurate the tracking is, but in the city, you could blend in with the crowd. It’s hectic enough here to get away without anyone noticing, likely not for hours. You could hide with someone you trust. Someone who knows magic well.

But you don’t dare to risk it. If they catch you and Astarion, who knows what will happen to him. Instead, you stick by his side for the most part, wandering about long after the sun has set and the night has brought in her velvet skies. He retreats to your assigned tent once it’s dark, but you don’t follow him.

As you stroll along your new boundaries, passing by a small, inconspicuous tent, a raised voice catches your attention. Cal’s raised voice. It stops you in your tracks. You’ve seen him devastated, frustrated, determined. This is none of those. This is pure rage like you’ve never seen, bellowed anger that you’re not supposed to overhear.

“-cannot stand for this,” he’s saying. “I know you hate the boy, but this? This is not who we are!”

“This is who we must be,” comes a voice that can only be Aris. “We don’t stand a chance by ourselves. Alliances must be formed, and we cannot be stingy about our choices. Rebellions require sacrifices, Cal! If we let every moral dilemma stop us, we’d be nowhere!”

“Morals are the entire gods damned reason we’re doing this!” Cal protests. “Or have you lost sight of why we’re truly here? What we’re fighting for?”

“We’re fighting to win,” Aris replies. “Everything else is secondary. I thought you understood that.”

There’s a long, cutting silence. Your heart pounds erratically in your chest.

“They’ll never trust you after this,” Cal says. His voice sounds thick, strangled. “I hope you know that. You’ll ruin every chance of them cooperating.”

“If that’s the price that must be paid, so be it,” Aris replies.

You hear footsteps approaching and instantly duck behind the tent, waiting for the sound to fade until you’re sure they’re both gone. Alliances, she’d said. The word itches at your mind, burying itself within your distrust. Alliances with whom? What are they planning?

As carefully as you can, you sneak into the tent they’d been in. It’s small and dark, with only the barest bit of light from a torch outside spilling inside. It takes a bit of digging to find anything behind basic battle plans and lists of stations, but when you do, your heart sinks down to your stomach. Something sick and nauseating flows under your skin.

It’s simply a letter, accepting an unspecified plan. Bring what I ask for, it says, and I will fight at your side. What’s most important, though - what’s sickeningly relevant - is not the contents, but rather, the person it’s from.

In a neat, cursive scrawl at the bottom of the page is the undeniable signature of Lord Cazador Szarr.

tags: @amica-aenigmata-naboo @sadslasher13 @peachy-possum @the-lonely-abyss @maddiedrmr @starved-kitten @catching-fire-in-the-wind @aoirohi @g0retash

[iamthemain-character]

hi! I rlly loved ur recent Kaz Brekker fic n I was wondering if u could do one where the reader had an ED. Like how Kaz would react to it and what he would do to help?? I’m currently getting over an ED n need some comfort rn xx

Hi! Thank you so much for reading and for requesting! As someone who watched many loved ones go through recovery, let me just say how proud I am of you (and anyone reading this!) for trying. You’re amazing and doing great, I promise. <3

Not Giving Up

show! kaz brekker x reader

gender neutral pronouns

TW: eating disorder (following the symptoms and recovery for anorexia nerviosa), low self esteem, mentions of restrictive eating. nothing graphic, and there is comfort/healing in this fic, but please be careful when reading

shadow and bone masterlist

Kaz Brekker didn’t know how he never noticed it before.

When it came to you, he typically was so attentive, noticing even the smallest details. And he did technically notice all the symptoms; the way you were always cold, the way your wounds would take longer to heal, or how you would sleep too much or none at all. But it wasn’t until The Crows were gathered for brunch one Sunday morning that Kaz finally put all the pieces together.

It was a joyous occasion, and despite being some of the most secretive people in the Barrel, the seven of you made quite a ruckus. But it was joyful, everyone teasing and messing with each other. Weekly brunch was Nina’s idea, her having lamented that she never got to see everyone all together anymore. So everyone agreed that once a week, they would all get together, the true Crow Club.

And every week, you would join in on the fun, laughing and joking with everyone. But as Kaz watched you nonchalantly tell the waitress, “Oh, I’m not really hungry”, that something clicked in his brain.

As the gears in Kaz’s mind began to turn, he soon came to realize that you said that every week. And beyond that, Kaz couldn’t recall a time where you had eaten a full meal around him or any of The Crows. It was plausible that you ate alone or when Kaz wasn’t around, but when compared with some of your other behaviors and symptoms, Kaz was fairly sure of what was happening.

Not wanting to cause more distress, Kaz had the good sense enough to leave you be during the brunch. But the moment the both of you got back to the club, he uttered only three words as he walked pass.

“My office, now.”

Despite being close with Kaz, those words still brought a chill up your spine. Cautiously you followed your friend up the stairs and into his office, following his gesture to sit down. For a while, the two of you sat in silence, Kaz staring at you with his chin resting on his clasped gloved hands.

Finally, you couldn’t take it any longer. “Is there someth-“

“Do you have an eating disorder?”

You weren’t sure what you had expected Kaz to talk to you about, but it was certainly not that. Your jaw slack, you rapidly blinked, trying to collect your thoughts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kaz’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have an eating disorder?”

You started breathing rapidly, wondering how this man had put the pieces together when you had been so careful to hide it. “I’m fine Kaz.”

“Why don’t you eat with us? Or ever?”

“I-I,” Your words failed you, your brain trying to find some way to combat Kaz’s questions. “Like I said, I’m totally fine. I’m just not hungry a lot.”

With a deep sigh, Kaz got up and moved around the table to sit next to you. When you looked into his eyes, you were surprised by just how gentle they were. “You don’t have to lie to me…or to yourself.”

As you saw the pure concern and affection in Kaz’s gaze, you felt the dams break. Tears freely fell from your eyes as the fears you had been holding in for so long finally came out. Kaz gently placed his hand on your back, trying his best to show comfort and support.

“I don’t-I don’t like my body. Or me in general. Or life. I just…” You trailed off, hanging your head. “I just thought that if I could control what I ate, everything would be so much better.”

“And did it?”

Closing your eyes, you let the truth come out in the smallest whisper. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.” Kaz responded, his voice thoughtful. “Do you want to get better?”

Slightly surprised by the question, you looked back up into Kaz’s eyes. “I—I think so. I’m just scared of what might happen.”

Kaz took his hand off your back and took your hand instead. “You don’t have to go through this alone.” He promised.

“You want to help me?” You asked, searching for any sign of doubt or falsehood in Kaz’s eyes.

But as his blue eyes pierced your soul, you felt the truth of his words. “Every step of the way.”

———————————————————————

Good to his word, Kaz Brekker was there for you through everything. He found the best physician and psychologist in Ketterdam, and he was there for every meeting to be a support. Kaz also let you tell the other Crows at your own pace, but when you did, your support system went from one to six instantly. Your little family was there for you, and even though you were scared, it gave you comfort.

Following the treatment plan was difficult. The old inner demons that had haunted you for so long constantly reappeared, making eating difficult. But Kaz and the Crows made sure that you were never alone at mealtime, and they never shamed you for struggling with a particular food or for needing more time. So slowly, with the help of everyone and especially Kaz, bit by bit you learned to heal your relationship with food and your body.

———————————————————————

It was a surprisingly clear and sunny Sunday that spring when Ketterdam’s deadliest gang walked down the street, laughing and cajoling the whole way. Upon entering the familiar restaurant, all seven of the crows managed to squeeze into their familiar booth, with only a few complaints and pokes along the way. As you all settled in, a serving girl came up to the table.

You and Kaz were sitting closest to the edge, but the girl elected to talk to you first. “Are you ready to order?”

Kaz held his breath as he watched you hesitate for a moment, looking at the menu on the table.

Looking back up at the serving girl, a bright smile adorned your face. “I’ll have [your favorite breakfast food], please.”

The girl nodded as she wrote down your order, and moving on to Nina, who launched into her elaborate waffle order. But Kaz felt his heart swell with pride, knowing deep down the effort that you were putting in. Kaz reached out underneath the table, and softly he took your hand inside his gloved one. Slightly surprised, you looked up at him, but looking into Kaz’s eyes told you everything he couldn’t say aloud.

Gently squeezing Kaz’s hand in return, you looked around at the little family you and he had built. The journey ahead was long, but your future was bright and full of love.

———————————————————————

Recovery is possible; you are wonderful and loved, and you deserve happiness. Real, true happiness. If are struggling with any kind of ED and you are in the united states, please go to this link and get the help you need. <3

[anzynai]

New Discoveries

Akito x Toya (Project Sekai)

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BEST FRIEND IN THE ENTIRE WORLD @thatonetickleblog im so glad to be spending your birthday with u another year and ofc i had to do the traditional birthday fic.. chose akitoya cuz that was at the top of ur list when i asked so i hope u enjoy it! worked very hard on it.. i sweat, i cried, i bled, but i mean. u dont have to like it if u dont want to. i mean. irs not a big deal…. ANYWAYS, enough talking. happy birthday and hope u enjoy this sickeningly romantic akitoya tickle fic LOVE YOUUU 🫶

summary: today was the day that akito was going to confess to akito. things turn out much better than he expected.

word count: 1.3k

——

Today was the day.

Today was the day that Akito was going to confess to Toya. After lots and lots of nudging and encouragement from Kohane, An, and even Ena, he decided to gather his courage and tell Toya about his feelings for him. He honestly had no idea if Toya returned his feelings, but he would just rather be honest than hide it from him. Even if Toya didn’t like him back, he was sure the other wouldn’t stop being friends with him over it.. at least, he hoped.

At the moment, he was at the park, idly sitting on some swings waiting for his other groupmate to arrive. It was getting late, so there was no one there, which he was grateful for. He always felt a bit awkward singing in front of a crowd if it wasn’t at a show. The nervousness he felt in his stomach did not compare to how he felt when he finally saw Toya walking towards him, his heart settling deep into his stomach. He took a deep breath, then attempted to smile weakly.

“Toya.” He said, watching as the other let an easy smile slip into his face that completely melted Akito’s heart (as much as he would hate to admit it).

Forcing himself to act somewhat normal, he swallowed and watched the other join the swing beside him. “Ready?”

“Of course.” And the two spent the next hour running their duet together. Akito never really felt that he could admire Toya’s singing voice enough. Where his was powerful and loud, Toya’s was gentle and soft in a way that made you feel like you could fall asleep to it. It was truly his favorite sound. His normal voice was not much different, calm and controlled. Akito liked to listen to his voice.

“Sounds pretty good, huh?” Akito said after they finally ran through their duet without any mistakes and Toya nodded, agreeing. The pair fell into silence. By now, the sun had nearly set, causing a red glow in the sky and Akito allowed himself to think that Toya looked beautiful like this, and that’s when he realized it. It was time.

Taking a deep breath, because confessing is hard, he starts before he can talk himself out of it.

“Toya.” He says, but the other has decided to speak up too.

“Akito.”

“Ah— sorry. You.. first.” Akito mumbled, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. Toya looked down and paused, before making eye contact with Akito. A faint blush was planted on his features.

“Akito, I like you.”

What?

What?!

For a moment, Akito couldn’t respond. He couldn’t think at all, in complete disbelief, because not only did Toya like him of all people, he beat him to the punch. He cleared his throat as it started to feel dry and he brought a hand to his face.

“Y-you… wait, you like me?” Akito asked.

The blush on Toya’s face was more noticeable now and Akito would have teased him about it if he wasn’t sure that his face was just as flushed.

“I do.” Toya nodded. “Do you like me back?”

Yes. Is that even a question? Akito thought.

Then, he remembered Toya can’t read his mind and looked up at the other, awaiting his response. Akito averted his eyes.

“Of course I do.. wasn’t it obvious?” Akito muttered, quietly, but Toya heard it and when Akito looked back at him, the smile on Toya’s lips was one he would have spent all of his savings to see just for a second longer.

“Not at all.” Toya said. It shocked Akito, but Toya had always been.. sort of oblivious about these kinds of things. Afterall, everyone else seemed to know.

“Are we.. dating then?” Akito mumbled, fidgeting with his fingers. He wasn’t sure if it was a stupid question, but he had to know and he needed a clear answer.

“Do you want to?” Toya responded, looking a bit nervous. As if he had anything to worry about, Akito thought to himself.

“Obviously.. you idiot.” Akito groaned, trying to ignore the fact his heart was racing a mile a minute and he was resisting the urge to die of happiness.

“So then.. what now?” Toya asked, when they both fell silent. Feeling bold, Akito allowed a smirk to slip onto his face. He took Toya’s face, pulling it closer to his.

“This.” He replied, when their lips finally met. He felt Toya smile against his mouth as the other deepened the kiss.

They each allowed their hands to roam, touching the other with fervor and desire they had always been afraid to act on. It was perfect. Akito had never felt happier and part of him wished that moments like this would never have to end.

And well, maybe it didn’t.

Because Toya liked him back. He liked him back.

He continued kissing Toya, biting his lip and relishing in the gasp Toya let out. That is, until Akito let out a gasp of his own.. for a completely different reason.

Toya’s hands had ended up caressing his backs and sides, two spots that made Akito feel ticklish. Toya didn’t seem to notice, but as he kept doing it, it was harder for Akito to keep his reactions at bay.

When he gasps again, Toya pulls away, concern written in his expression. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry.” Akito responded, unable to come up with a believable excuse. Toya looked at him with doubt.

“Are you sure? You were moving around a lot..” Toya examined his body before he seemed to come up with some conclusion. “Are you hurt?” He gently grazed his sides, as if trying to feel for an injury. Akito, not expecting his touch, giggled.

And then, it seems to click what was going on.

“Oh.” Toya realized, eyes widening and Akito blushes. Then, Toya sent him an amused smile and begins to tickle him… and Akito let him.

“T-tohohohoya!” Akito laughed, his voice raising an embarrassing octave.

“How have I never known you were ticklish?” Toya wondered, seemingly amazed by his discovery.

“I-I dohohon’t knohohow! Stahahap!” Akito gasped, squirming in the swing. It makes tickling Akito harder for Toya, but he doesn’t look like he minds.

“Do you really want me to?” Toya asked with a raised brow. The dying protests are all he needs as an answer.

“Hahahahaha!” Akito laughed, his hands trying to get Toya away from him.

“You’re beautiful.” He heard the other mutter, flustering him. The tickling was bad enough, but this was too much!

“Dohohon’t sahahahay thahat!” Akito chuckled, hiding his face with his hands. That idea backfired, because it gave Toya a lot more options to tickle him at.

“Say what?” Toya looked genuinely confused, making Akito feel like such a loser. He should not get so flustered by one measly compliment! “That you’re beautiful?”

Akito nodded, a squeal passing through his lips when Toya found a particularly sensitive spot on his ribs.

“But you are. You’re gorgeous. I’ve always known that.” And if Akito thought his face was burning before, he is sure he is one second away from spontaneously combusting right there. He tried groaning, but it sounded strangled.

“Nohohoho!”

“No?”

“Nohoho! Tohohoya!”

“Yes?” The worst thing about the situation was that Toya was absolutely amazing at tickling, his fingers precise and evilly gentle. It didn’t hurt at all and the touches were so light, Akito was shocked that he could feel it.. and feel it this much.

“Nohoho mohohore!” Akito shrieked, at last, when his cheeks began to hurt from smiling. Toya stopped, peppering his face with kisses. It flustered Akito to no end, but he didn’t stop the other, taking a few moments to catch his breath.

“Are you alright?” Toya asked, looking him in the eyes.

Akito smiled, looking back at him. “Yeah. I am.” Then he forced himself to frown. “But..”

“But?” Toya looked worried and he almost felt bad.

“Isn’t it your turn now?” Akito smiled, mischievous and devilishly. Toya unconsciously began moving back.

“W-whahahahaat?!” Toya laughed, now finding himself to be the victim as Akito pounced.

Akito looked at his partner—his boyfriend— laughing beside him and he couldn’t help but laugh as well. Yeah, he could get used to this.

[yamayuandadu]

Can you talk about MikoSeiga and why you like the ship ?

I think at least for me the appeal of Miko/Seiga lies in the plot of the game itself more than anything. As I already said at some point in the past it’s bizarre that a pairing which is in no small part based on character a declaring character b coming back to life is going to be a bigger deal than Jesus doing it is so niche. And that’s even without taking into account character a does it after waiting for nearly 1400 years for said resurrection (which she facilitated, and which involves character b implicitly transitioning on top of it all; also going by SoPM Seiga’s interest in people is often brief which makes waiting for Miko’s resurrection all the more unusual imo). If this happened in a mediocre live action tv show there’d be 10000 fics on ao3. More under the cut.

I can't deny that a major obstacle is that despite the interesting portrayal of the connection between Seiga and Miko in the Youmu route in TD no subsequent Touhou media does much with it. Things are further complicated by SoPM throwing in the reveal that Seiga basically doesn’t have much camaraderie going on with the other members of the TD cast; the fact Miko basically became a one for two deal with Byakuren doesn’t help either (will admit I think that has outstayed its welcome, I’m glad they appear separately from each other in recent Detective Satori and Lotus Eaters).  With that being said, I nonetheless think Seiga is still the most interesting option when it comes to Miko’s shipping prospects - and vice versa. Granted, Seiga’s only other real options are… Yoshika, who’s dead and barely a character (and also waste of a name; her stocks would be higher in my eyes if she was anything like the legendary version of her namesake, who according to Oe no Masafusa called himself the “greatest madman under heaven”, enjoyed alcohol and company of women, decided to become an immortal after cucking his examiner a day before his civil service exam, and feuded with Sugawara no Michizane) and I guess Kasen, who she interacted with like once for two pages... which is not much compared to other WaHH-based Kasen pairings. Yoshika arguably does have a backstory to explore but the more takes on it I’ve seen, and the more I learned about her namesake, the less the fanworks focused on that interested me; meanwhile I still feel the same about the aforementioned plot elements from TD.

In addition to what is directly said or implied in the game, I think imagining how Seiga and Miko met and what their interactions in the past were like is another major draw of this pairing. It doesn’t seem like this is a popular position either though - Seiga doesn’t appear much in fanworks focused on Miko’s past even though you’d expect her to hang around for a while - you don’t learn Daoist secrets in a day, in legends immortality preparations might take decades. Granted, Miko’s pursuit of immortality honestly feels glossed over in most fanworks about her in general, even though it does reflect an actual legend. Tragic! Speaking of legends, funnily enough if you dig deep enough you can even find direct precedent for adding a romantic component to the transfer of immortality knowledge itself, “Daoist adept falls in love with a female immortal” is basically a stock type of Six Dynasties/Tang romantic and/or erotic poetry. I like to think Seiga would read or even write these herself and that she sneaked some into whatever more standard Daoist literature she provided her with. As a joke, of course. Totally not a suggestion or anything. I think even just the fact it can be a purely romantic relationship is interesting in itself in the context of Miko's backstory, tbh. Sure, if she is prince Shotoku, she has 4 wives - but most if not all of these marriages would be political (and let's not look deeper into the family tree, too). Romantic love and marriage were not necessarily the same, as the cases of many famous literary characters and historical figures attest. Also, do any of the wives have immortality elixirs to offer? Yeah, thought so.

A final angle I think offers room for interesting is considering what impact Seiga might have had on Miko’s decision to take the form she did. Fwiw, Ge Hong recorded a legend about an immortal named Liu Zheng who after being mentored by Change’s could change own gender (and also magically ripen fruit and vegetables and hide armies as animals to let them surprise enemies, among other things; I sadly think in context the gender fluidity is just meant to be an outlandish wacky power, based on that). The precedent for Seiga discussing magic hrt with Miko is there. A potential issue with exploring the last option is the common weird fandom opinion that Seiga is uniquely immoral or whatever, which might bring unsavory implications, but it’s not like I’ve ever endorsed this view. Save for the grave robbing Seiga isn’t really very different from how actual immortals act in legends, and her actively facilitating Miko’s transition would go well with the symbolism of an immortal choosing to stay out of heaven (which typically served as a way to display opposition to prevailing attitudes of the time and a desire for freedom - heaven mirrored the earthly bureaucracy, and historical texts about seeking immortality often reflect disillusionment with the latter).

[tripleglitchwriting]

Hello everyone, I’ve been having a bit of a tough time so here’s a short VERY angsty-venty fic

Also not beta read, sorry.

Blue Flowers

TFP Bulkhead x gn Human reader (platonic)

CW: Character death, Grief, mourning, ANGST!! Heed the warnings!!

Some say “to love and lose is better never having loved at all”. I agree, to an extent I suppose. When you love someone it can be the best feeling in the world- be that platonic, familial, romantic, or anything else. And when you lose them, it can be the most devastating thing you’ve ever felt. Everybody’s been through it, and everyone will go through it. Life and death, black and white, sky and sea.

==========

“Do you miss him?”

“Of course I do. I miss everyone I lost in the war.”

“I miss him too.”

The stars were so beautiful the night you had that conversation with Bulkhead. They barely lit up the sky on Earth, but you knew each and every one could bring day like the sun could. It was a frightening to find out aliens lived among you and hardly any of humanity knew it. At least they were nice. Most of them. The ones you’d met at least. They were more human than some of the people you’d seen.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for? You didn’t do anything.”

“I know, I just- I just. I don’t know. I don’t know. How… do you do this? I can’t even imagine what it would have been like to… to be there when….”

“Yeah, well, that’s what we signed up for.”

“…Are you not, like, upset? At all?”

“Of course I am! It’s just… ‘been through it so many times… it never loses its sting though. It hurts more every time.”

“Well- well don’t you want to get revenge? Don’t you want to hurt them back? Why can’t we just- just- UGH!” Tears pooled at the corners of your eyes, joining the streaks that had already stained your face.

“I do. I really, really do. And I have, when it happened before. But killing never made it any better. It never…. I never got the relief I was looking for.” You didn’t respond that time. Instead you sat up on the grassy hill you were stargazing on and hugged your knees to your chest. Bulkhead’s usually bright optics were dimmed in the darkness. A light you had known to be comforting shaded with a grief you had never known him to show.

“I… I just can’t stop thinking…. I can’t stop thinking about how he’s- he’s-” you broke into a sob, “he’s not gonna come back.”

“I know, I know. Trust me, I know.” Bulkhead cupped his hand to you back in a contorted version of a hug. Head radiated off it, but you never felt colder. For awhile you didn’t move. And neither did he. Stoically, he watched you bawl and release the pain you undoubtedly felt. When you slowed down to a sniffle, the courage to ask a question you already knew the answer to made its way to your throat.

“Does it get better?” Bulkhead smiled.

“Yeah. Yeah it does. Promise.”

“Okay.” You managed to whimper out before collapsing into a crying mess again- but this time he put out his thumb for you to cling to. You squeezed it tight, and he brought his other fingers closer to your back. The embrace lasted for a long time. Long enough for you to fall asleep in his grasp.

When you were deep in slumber, he found it to be a good time to move back to base. You didn’t wake up at the bright flash of the groundbridge or the mildly bone rattling effects it typically brought. The last thing you saw before you went off to a dreamless rest was a very big hand putting a comparably tiny sheet of fabric around you.

It wasn’t something you experienced yourself, but from what you heard, Bulkhead spent the entire next day setting up a memorial. He put all of his friend’s favorite things together. No one spoke to him other than to check on his well being. When it was all said and done, the only thing left was a grave labeled “Wheeljack”, and blue flowers left on its topsoil.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Miles to Go Before I Sleep--a Scarf Exclusive 🌺💙🧣

A ✨minor miracle✨ happened, and I was able to finally write something somewhat cohesive for the first time in what feels like forever...

if you want to check out this Aloha from Hawaii themed Pink Scarf Universe story, join us HERE on Patreon! 🎉

(I'm hoping to have enough energy/inspiration after 5 weeks of illness to write something for everyone soon!💕)

(and thanks to @be-my-ally for the Pinterest collage tips!! 💋)

TW: references to period-related health, diet/ED, and drug issues, mentions of Dr. Nick, passing mention of Jack, Elvis' temper and how that brings up some things for Reader, cussing, baby talk, and of course a smidge of smutty smut 💋

Sneak Peek:

Very early morning, January 14th, 1973

This is bad, you think, buzzing with worry.

When you arrive in the dressing room, your heart pounds erratically in your chest, and not just from the massive, ground-breaking concert you just performed in or the roaring crowd in the arena. No, it’s when you look at your husband and see he’s looking through you, not at you. To be fair, he is distracted by the towel lobbed over his shoulders and the Mafia circling him with congratulations and pats on the back. Telling yourself that’s all it is, you snake your way through the guys and to his side.

“Elvis. Elvis, honey?” you whisper at him, trying not to yank on his bejeweled American Eagle suit with too much force. It was already heavy enough before he spent a few hours sweating in it, and now you guess it’s ten pounds heavier by the way it sticks to him and weighs him down.

“Hmmm?” he murmurs back at you, then finally seems to register your presence. “Oh, here’s my girl.” He squeezes you into his side and for the slightest moment you feel reassured, but the hug feels superficial and weak compared to how he once embraced you so tight you thought he’d never let you go.

He’s usually wired and riding high after a performance by this point. Instead, he seems exhausted and uncharacteristically out of it.

The itch inside you to pull him away and ask if he’s okay is so strong it makes your fingers tingle. You know doing such a thing now could perhaps hurt his ego, so you bite your tongue for the moment. But the way he lets you go and seemingly brushes you off has you grinding your teeth.

Stepping away, you tear off your own suit jacket, throwing it over a chair back and roasting from the inside out, even though it’s monumentally cooler in here than it was under all those lights on stage. Worry and brewing anger will do that.

The guys are sycophantically praising Elvis’ performance, and he nods along, not quite absorbing the words based on his blank expression. Perhaps you are just exhausted yourself because usually you would be singing his praises, too, but you know deep down it wasn’t his best show and that there is something fundamentally off about him.

He sinks down onto the sofa and a sense of relief washes through you. But you still feel on guard and uneasy. Maybe it’s the way Dr. Nick lingers in the corner, talking to Joe...

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Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

 @precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

[minkkumaz]

CIRCLES

changbin was a romantic, and he wanted nothing more in the world than to run away with your hand perfectly fit into his. if not forever, for a little while. he just wanted to show you how much you were worth.

PIERCE THE VEIL series

PAIRING seo changbin x gn!reader WC 1.0k TAGS established relationship trope. hurt/comfort. reader has implied body issues. insecurities. kissing. OMI NOTE this is the final part of the series! it was a struggle getting this one out because characterizing changbin is really hard for me for some reason? i had to read so many bin fics to kind of get a clear picture and in all honestly i'm still not super proud of it. despite that, this series as a whole has been a journey, so ty to everyone who tuned in !?!?!

it was the little things that changbin would always do for you. over time it became extremely obvious that acts of service were one of his favorite love languages. nothing mattered to him as long as you were a happy and spoiled significant other, and words could never begin to explain how grateful you were. 

he was extremely true to ‘go big or go home,’ taking you on dates to fancy restaurants, big viewing spots with the most gorgeous sunsets, or just whispering sweet words into your ear during a movie night in his apartment. 

even when things weren’t perfect, and you didn’t feel deserving of the love he gave you, he was always there to treat you. it was almost like you couldn’t escape him.

maybe that was the beauty of it all, having someone to keep you steady when you felt yourself falling. having someone to care for you when you didn’t feel worthy enough. someone so willing to grant the world at your feet.

you practically felt your heartbeat in your ears, pounding loud enough to drown out any sound. the built up anxiety in your stomach, an unknown void of creatures in the back of your mind convincing you that you weren’t good enough. despite being able to subside it for just a little while, it always came reeling back. 

a victim in your own mind, trapped in the idea that you had more flaws than you can count. on the outside it seemed like nothing, but inside it was everything. squeezing at your skin in the mirror, flesh raw from trying to move it around to your liking. 

this was a battle between you and yourself, but there wasn’t a clear winner. you never won, and it killed you. it felt impossible to be slightly comparable, a goal that rot in your head. what else were you supposed to do when you were displayed on someones arm, but none of his fans seemed to think you quite fit? 

but he always heard your cries.

coming home to a quiet apartment, the only sound being muffled sobs from your shared bedroom. he immediately rushed to find you, the feeling of worry drowning him suddenly. when he opened the door, you turned to look at him with such a heartbreaking expression.

“binnie..” you sniff as he scrambles to get his arms around you in an embrace.

“baby.. i’m here. i’m here. tell me what’s on your mind” he coos, caging around your fragile body.

“this is so unfair.” you cry into his chest.

“i know baby, just take deep breaths.” he guides you, rubbing circles into your back, “you’re so perfect, y/n. your face, body, and everything else inside.”

“but people always say–”

“it doesn’t matter what people say. who are they to say what’s good for me? you’re good for me.”

“i just wish i could run away from everyone. with you” you say, though it comes out more like a beg.

“then let’s run away.” he responded with no hesitation.

“binnie,” you move your head from his chest, looking at him with glossy eyes, “that’s impossible– you have a job and so much here.”

“shh, don’t worry about that. if not forever, at least for a little while okay? let me take you somewhere.”  he cupping your cheeks gently.

“where?” “wherever you want to, i just want to help you get away for a bit.” 

“okay.” you whisper hesitantly, the crack in your voice sending a spike through his heart.

“take binnie’s sweater, i know you like it when it smells like me.” he smiles, pulling a sweat shirt off his head and over yours. 

warmth floods you, a familiar scent wafting through your nose. when the hood peeks over your head, you were met with your loving boyfriend once again. he took your hand and led you to the door, letting you stop for a moment to slide your shoes on.

and while you weren’t exactly sure where he was taking you, it felt right. his hand wrapped in yours, making your thoughts a little less loud. 

changbin walked you to a park, somewhere the both of you liked to stroll though during the day when the sun was still beaming; but never at night. the calm atmosphere surrounded the two of you, the temperature was cold but not freezing.

“i’m sorry that you had to walk into that bin.. i was just having trouble.” you mumble, looking down at your feet.

“hey, don’t say that. i understand that you have your troubles sometimes.i love you and i’ll never leave your side.” he squeezes your hand. 

“i love you too. it just gets so– so crazy in my head sometimes. and listening to all these things people are saying makes it so much worse, because you’re so so perfect. i feel so stuck in my own skin.”

“no fan of mine knows you the way i do, y/n. do they know how absolutely ethereal you look in the morning? do they know how much of an effort you make to come to the gym with me even though you hate workout out? never in my life have i ever found someone as special as you, and this goes so much beyond your looks.” he tells you, taking a deep breath after he got all his words out.

“gosh, you’re gonna make me cry again.” you choke, feeling overwhelmed with so much emotion.

“you don’t have anything to worry about, just don’t ever look back. there’s nowhere to go, nothing to worry about, when it’s just us.” he walks in front of you, taking your head in his hands to angle a kiss on your head.

“do you promise me?”

“promise.” he wipes a finger under your eye to dry your tears, before leaning in to catch your puffy lips in a kiss.

and with his lips on yours, everything disappears for a couple seconds. it will take so much time before these thoughts can truly leave you. but as long as he held you in his arms, you could forget about it for a short moment.

you knew you’d make it eventually.

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PIERCE THE VEIL series

[kitcat992]

Just wanted to stop by and let you know that I was thinking of you and sincerely hope life is being kind ❤️

I’ve read a few Irondad fics lately that have been so well articulated and beautifully written, and they’ve reminded me of your stories. But your work will always be the GOAT to me. Everything else I read is always compared to your version of the MCU, because that’s canon in my opinion.

I secretly love that your stories keep going, that Identity Within is still a WOP, because parting with a finished story when you reach the end… a story that you’ve grown to love and formed a bond with… it’s really hard to say goodbye. It feels a little like grief if I’m being honest.

I’ve lived in the joy of knowing that there’s no permanent end (yet) to the Identity Series for years now, and I’m actually really grateful that I haven’t had to read an ending or experience that final farewell.

I just wanted you to know that your work is so appreciated, and while I’m sure it weighs on you sometimes that the updates take a while and the series has been ongoing for a few years, it actually brings me so much comfort ❤️ You deserve to know that you make that difference for someone.

Life is being....SOMETHING to me 😅😫😩So when I say that this message rejuvenated the very essence of my soul, I truly mean it ❤️❤️❤️

I've had some very rough nights recently, thanks to the wonders of ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ stress ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟI've got front row tickets to the "when it rains, it pours" show, and to add onto that, I started a whole new career where I'm *running a freaking business.* Yeah, sleep doesn't really happen as often as it should for me.

And because I'm still trying to sleep, I don't keep my mind operating at such a capacity that I could do anything worthwhile other than watch Tiktoks re-read through my series for shits and giggles, because I wrote it having wanted to read these things, and now I can go back and have fun reading the story that was once all jammed packed into my head. And in doing this, I tend to remember comments that made my entire day, month, year, and so I go into my inbox and just....I just read all the comments, over and over again, with such a profound, appreciative, ecstatic, blessed feeling in my heart.

The love that everyone has had for this series is what makes me still so deep in love with it today. And hearing that from people like you, who are so kind to take a minute of your time and express these things as if it were your first time ever reading the story...god, a girl couldn't be anymore lucky. Truly, #hashtag blessed.

My free time is far and few inbewteen these days (why did I decide to go run a freaking business 😳) but I promise you, no job will ever take this series away from me. I'm far too excited for everything that's yet to come, still to be written, and needs to be told, that I'll never leave this piece unfinished. Knowing that the pace it's taken isn't something that bother people does ease my nerves and calm me a bit, and I thank you so very much for expressing that and all the love alongside with it.

Chapter 9, Bachelor Party, is one BEAST of a chapter that's nearing closer and closer to finished every day. I hope for an update within the month or two. It contains a whooping 17 characters in a single scene, with character interactions we damn right deserved in the MCU. 2/3rds of the way done and and I think my inability to control the word count says enough about what to expect.

These characters have gone through far too much to rush through chapters now. In fact, the more things go on, the richer things get -- and to know amazing people like you are along for the ride...that's just so dam nifty. ❤️❤️❤️

[lucysarah-c]

hi! thinking abt starting up my own little writing projects on tumblr (obv with levi as the star) but i was wondering how ur experience was with building up your page?? also love ur work 🤍🤍

Hi, dear! How are you?

Aww, that's lovely! When I see little new Levi blogs, I always feel so much tenderness and love. The new blogs are the ones who keep the fandom going, so all my love and success to them!

I... don't know if I'm the best blog to ask for advice? Like, I think there are Levi blogs out there that are more known or loved, I guess, than me. Like, I feel deep down I'm a little blog too haha.

BUT, my only three pieces of advice are: write what you want. Look, as a person who gets a lot of comments like "your Levi is so canon," and stuff like that, I always, of course, feel very touched by those. But also, I feel like "what's canon Levi truly?" The whole point of fandom is having fun and connecting with people. Writing what I like has gotten me friends of many years. Yes, sometimes I've gotten comments like "your Levi sucks, bla bla," but the truth is that when you write what you want, people notice. Yes, you can write trendy stuff, but the truth is that only writing what you want will get you people who deep down love you for what you truly like.

Following the previous one, don't get sad or disappointed by stats. Look, some fics get more, some get less. Some blogs are well-known, some blogs aren't. But that doesn't define you. Yes, we all love to be recognized for what we do. But I usually tell myself and others, you should only compete or compare yourself to your version of yesterday and nobody else. AND also, the internet makes us feel like no numbers are ever enough. So think of reading your story out loud in a room and suddenly five, ten, thirty people come inside, take a seat, and listen to you. You'll think, "Wow, ten, thirty people dedicated a spare of their day to listen to my idea. Isn't that amazing? Wouldn't you be nervous?" Think of it that way, and if some of them leave in the middle of the lecture, the show must carry on and keep going for those who are still sitting down.

Finally, and certainly not least. This is MY personal approach. DO NOT reply to haters. Delete their comments, delete their asks. Those people don't want to have an exchange of opinions, they want attention, they want YOUR attention. Do not give it to them. Why waste time and energy on them when you can use that time and energy to create more content? Plus, this is just my personal belief, but I want people to log into Tumblr, go to my blog, and have a safe space to read about Levi and enjoy. I don't want them to have to log into my account and see that I'm picking fights with everyone. The difference between you and a hater anon is that you're using your time to create something you and other people are going to love. They are using their time to try to ruin someone else's day. That's the difference.

Wish you the best of luck with your blog! Have fun! Enjoy! I may see you writing around any time soon!

Have a lovely day!

[unevenpatterns]

I sat down and read AI fics so you don't have to...

So I got curious about how difficult it would be to tell apart AI writing compared to regular fics, and I've seen people be concerned about how to distinguish the two. So I read some fics across multiple fandoms, with different lenghts, popularity and ratings.

Here are my main take aways:

Continuity and logic: AI is terrible at remembering what it has already told you and make it make sense with what's to come. Many examples of X said this in the first paragraph, and then further down the line it was suddenly Y who said or did the thing. The longer the story gets or the more characters it contains the worse this problem becomes.

Physical placement: Suddenly people are in a different room, not as close to the thing or closer to each other than previously described. Are they holding a cup or not? Where the heck did their hands suddenly go? who knows. The robot has glowing eyes when everyone in the fandom knows it ain't the eyes that glow on robots in this fandom🙃

The mood: Wtf on this one. The moods are so strange and there is a severe case of telling instead of showing. I've read some that were clearly prompted to give a certain mood which meant that it was mentioned at times that just didn't fit. Like "there was tension in the air between them" when absolute zero things have happened to create this tension. Or quick shift from comfortable -> tense -> comfortable in one paragraph. Yikes.

Generalizations: AI uses whatever it can find to fill in the gaps. Example: if you're writing about someone in a certain profession it will just grab whatever it might have picked up about said profession and fill in wherever it can. So you end up with strange descriptions that might fit a stereotypical person from that career, but certainly not this particular character. Makes for some real out of character descriptions.

Conversation: The individual lines might make sense, but the overall conversation doesn't necessarily make a lot of sense. Or the things they say are so vague and unspecific that it's meaningless. Think "I'm 13 and this is deep" kinda things. I also saw plenty of cases of a child/teen/college student would not talk like that.

Word choice: You know how some authors use different words than what you might expect, but it just works? Gives a funny, quirky or heartfelt vibe? AI does basicly the opposite. The word choice in many of these fics made me stop and reread multiple paragraphs because it really didn't suit the setting. You would think it would be easy to make it pick the right choice between formal and informal language, but if it also needs to fullfill other criteria simultaneously it gets messy. If it's a subject that is usually talked about in a formal tone, but in this case shouldn't be... the poor thing can get confused.

Repetition: This one surprised me, but I'm pretty sure it happens from poor prompting that doesn't have enough info to go on. So damn many repetitions of the same word or almost same phrase popped up in many of them. I know we're already telling nothing with these stories, but come on how many times to we hear about the lamp on the shelf?

Pacing: Either too fast and skipping parts in a way that doesn't make sense (see above logic problems) or sloooow where it really shouldn't be (see above repetition issues). Makes for an overall either confusing or very boring reading experience depending on which direction it went in.

-

To avoid all of these mistakes, you have to be a somewhat decent writer to start with. So if you think "I'm a bad writer AI will be able to fix it for me" - Yeah, no. It can help with grammar, but it cannot write a compelling story as it is now.

The worst part was that some of these stories were based on ideas that I would like to read about. But the AI execution completely killed the story.