#his death has felt like the first time something was ripped out from under our whole generation

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

@actuallylukedanes sent me this and it is my favorite memorial of matthew perry without question. made me want to cry.

[agentwhiskeysdarlin]

Fooled Around and Fell In Love

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x F!Reader

Rating: NSFW 18+ (minors dni)

Warnings: mostly done in Jack’s pov with one switch to reader’s for a short time, mentions of death and funeral setting briefly, bar setting, alcohol consumption, (y/n) mentioned once, heavy make out session, smutty good times, oral (female & male receiving), p in v sex, the fluff is ridiculous topped off with the cutest ending I’ve ever written

Word Count: 3.4k

Author’s Notes: I honestly have had this fic sitting for weeks and completely forgot about it. Oops. This idea has been in my head for at least a year and I finally did it. This was also the first timeI wrote a lot in Jack’s pov which was a lot of fun. I’m probably not going to have anything else until kinktober 👀 Thank you as always to @clint-aww-no-barton and I hope you all enjoy! Also if you have never heard the song played in the fic go give it a listen!! Fooled Around and Fell In Love by Elvin Bishop

ao3 link

Jack Daniels had only been in love once in his life. She’d been his high school sweetheart. He never did figure out how he’d won her heart, but he had. They were going to get married and she’d been pregnant, a baby boy. Then it was all ripped away from him. He’d stood in the cemetery and watched them lower her into the ground along with his heart. Buried six feet under. He swore that day, when he turned his back to her grave, that he was also turning his back on love. He was done with the silly four letter word, that meant nothing but heartbreak. It was hard at first especially seeing his parents, knowing their story. It was a beautiful one, one people wrote books about but Jack just supposed that life wasn’t for him.

  He fooled around of course. He still found women ridiculously attractive, and sometimes it was just too hard not to try and charm his way in. He would flirt until he found the perfect girl, who just wanted a little fun for the night. By the morning he was long gone. It got lonely sometimes, but when it did Jack would imagine himself right back at that grave. It was a reminder to not get attached, not to fall in love. He couldn’t do that again. He wouldn’t live through it a second time.

  He sat now at a local, small town bar, which had pulled in a crowd not long after he’d arrived. He was nursing his second whiskey, turned around on his barstool watching the crowd as it grew. This was his usual Friday night routine, when he wasn’t working. He would come here and wait for the ideal woman and then make his move. Tonight was busier than usual which, Jack didn’t mind at all. The bit of sunlight remaining suddenly broke through the dim lighting, and Jack turned his head to see who was walking in. That’s when his eyes fell on you.

*Your POV*

  You couldn’t believe your best friend had dragged you here. Actually you could. She was strong willed, and didn’t take no for an answer much. You’d rather be sitting at home, binge watching a show and eating your weight in ice cream.

  “Oh come on. Let’s get you drunk and laid.” Your best friend looped her arm within yours.

  “I’m not the one getting over a dick of an ex. I’ll pass.”

  “You still need to get laid honey. You’re too cranky.”

  “I am not! I’m perfectly fine. Plus there’s not a single guy in here who would look twice at me.”

  “Tell that to Burt Reynolds sitting at the bar.”

  You glanced over and sure enough, a man who looked like a younger version of Bandit himself, had his brown eyes on you. You felt your face heat as you turned away.

  “He’s probably looking at you.”

  “Oh honey. He’s not looking at me. Come on, let’s get a booth and I’ll get our first round.”

  You rolled your eyes but let her drag you along to a booth. This was going to be a long night.

*Jack’s POV*

  Jack watched you, as your friend dragged you to a booth reluctantly. You were beautiful. Honestly one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. Something about the fact that you obviously didn’t want to be here, just piqued his interest even more. A little more liquid courage and he would go make his move. He watched your friend walk over, confidence so clear on her face. She leaned on the bar calling out to the bartender, placing her order. Two whiskey’s on the rocks. Then she turned to Jack.

  “Hey tell me, where you looking at me or my gorgeous friend over there when we walked in?”

  “No offense against you darlin’ but definitely your friend.”

  “Oh no offense taken. You’re definitely her type. I just wanted to prove that I was right.”

  She grabbed her drinks and Jack smirked.

  “I’ll add more to your case here in just a minute.”

  “You better be nice to her. I have a black belt and I’ll kick your ass.”

  “I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

  Jack chuckled at your friend’s protectiveness over you. It just made him wonder more about you. Jack realized then, that this was the first time he wanted to actually get to know a woman in a long time. He pushed it away, trying to focus on just getting you in bed, before he downed the rest of his drink and got up. He weaved through the crowd, keeping his eyes on you. Your friend said something to you and you turned, your eyes growing wide before you spun back around, your face turning red. Jack couldn’t help but to think it was cute. Luckily you had just finished your drink, and it gave him the perfect excuse to speak to you.

  “Can I buy you ladies another round?” He spoke as he leaned on the table.

  “You can buy her another round,” your friend spoke and Jack smirked as his eyes went from her to you.

  “Uh yeah. Yeah I’ll take another…”

  “Whiskey on the rocks?”

  “Um…yeah,” you spoke slowly your eyebrow knitting together in confusion.

  “I’ll be right back.” Jack smacked the table before turning away.

  He ordered two drinks for you and himself before making his way back over.

  “May I join you?”

  “By all means.” This time you spoke and slid over, making room for him.

  “Names Jack. I’ve seemed to have forgotten my manners.”

  “Oh (Y/N),” you spoke giving him a shy smile.

  Your friend introduced herself, and then her eyes darted to someone in the crowd and gave a flirty wave. She excused herself, your eyes burning a hole in her as she went. Jack moved to the other side so he was facing you.

  “I see you were dragged here against your will.” Jack spoke and you pinched your nose between two of your fingers.

  “What gave it away?” The way you looked at him was full of embarrassment, but a smile still pulled at your lips.

  “A guy just knows,” Jack smirked as he leaned back, his arm draping across the back of his seat. “Not your usual scene then?”

  “Not really. I went through a very small stage where it was, but it didn’t last long. It ended in heartbreak so I’m safer at home in front of my tv.”

  “Ah come on. You gotta have fun every once in awhile.”

  “I guess I’ve had all my fun.”

  Jack felt his stomach sink slightly but he’d dealt with this before.

  “Oh sugar I promise you haven’t.”

  “What makes you say that?” You raised a brow, challenge in your voice.

  “Because you haven’t been with me yet.”

  “You sure are confident,” you chuckled lightly.

  “That I am. I ain’t ashamed of it.”

  “Definitely nothing to be ashamed of. I wish I had an ounce of it.”

  “You should. You’re a beautiful woman.”

  You looked down at the table your face once again red.

  “Thank you.”

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “It’s just…I don’t have the best record so…” your voice trailed off and Jack felt his heart clench.

  He wanted to make you feel like the most beautiful woman on earth. He wanted you to believe it. It was now a mission of his, and he never left a mission unsuccessful. Jack slid out of his seat, and he watch your face fall slightly.

  “May I pull you to the dance floor sugar?” He reached his hand out and he saw a smile pull at your lips.

  “Yes you may.” You grabbed his hand, and he pulled you out of the booth and out onto the dance floor.

  A fast pace song was playing at the moment, so Jack spun you around and the two of you joined in on a little line dancing, before the song shifted to something slower. Jack pulled you close, his hands on your hips and yours wrapped around his neck. He watched you look around the bar, and he knew you were trying not to meet his eyes. He reached up and his finger brushed at your chin, moving your head until your eyes met his. You looked over his face, your eyes stopping briefly at his lips. He quirked an eyebrow and you gave him a soft nod. Jack dipped his head and his lips met yours. The entire world disappeared. It was just you and Jack. He felt something shoot through him, and it only made him kiss you deeper. He felt your fingers lace in the hair at the nape of his neck. You kissed him back with equal fever, and it made Jack wonder if you had felt the same as him. He never wanted to stop kissing you. He could stand here until the day he died, attached to your lips. He had to get you out of here, now. He pulled away and looked down at you. You were panting and searching his eyes. He could tell you were having a battle with yourself. You pulled him down, your lips brushing at his ear and pulling a shiver through him.

  “Take me home Jack,” your words were intoxicating and Jack gulped before nodding.

  You pulled him along to tell your friend where you were going. He could only let out a soft chuckle at the high five the two of you shared, before you all but pulled him out the door. Jack took the initiative then, and pulled you to his car. He opened the door for you and you slid in. He was quick to round the front and climb in, buckling and driving off. There was a comfortable silence, full of the tension that hung between you and Jack, as he drove as fast as he could without breaking the law. Your knee bounced rapidly, and Jack knew you were probably feeling the same excitement he was.

  Jack noticed far too late that he’d pulled into his driveway. He hadn’t even thought to ask you where you lived. He’d just driven straight here. Another sign he was off his usual game. Deep down, he already knew why. He shook his head slightly trying to clear his thoughts, to focus. The two of you filed out of his car, and he was quick getting the front door open. As he shut it, he moved to cage you between him and it. You were both panting, and he smirked, before he was kissing you again. Damn your lips, your kiss could make him drunk like he had several bottles of whiskey. You moaned against his lips and he shuddered. Your hands traveled over his shirt, and soon he felt his jacket fall to the ground. He was quick to get rid of yours, before he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. One hand stayed secured around you, flat against your back, while the other traveled down to your ass. He gave you a quick squeeze, and with a gasp against his lips, you jumped circling your legs around his waist.

  The two of you stayed there for several moments, never coming up for air, you pressed between the door and Jack. He let out a breath through his nose, and pulled away reluctantly. Your eyes fluttered opened and you panted. Jack’s breathing was rapid as well, and he gazed at you.

  “Please tell me you want to,” his voice betrayed him as it came out slightly hoarse.

  “More than anything,” you breathed, your voice not even going above a whisper.

  That was all Jack needed, before he pulled you back to his lips, his kiss hungrier than before, as he walked through his house and to his room. He kept you close still with one arm, as the other caught him as he laid you down on the bed and hovered over you. You kept your arms secured around him but your legs slowly fell away, spread wide for him to stay between. He kept himself propped slightly letting his other hand wonder. He his slipped under your shirt and then under the wire of your bra letting his thumb brush across your already hard nipple. It pulled a moan from Jack’s lips and he sat up slightly bringing you with him. His lips parted from yours as he quickly pulled your shirt over your head and discarding it somewhere in the room. Lips back on yours he soon tossed your bra away too. Then he finally let his lips drop and start to wander across your body. Your skin was soft and you smelled so good, that once again Jack could only think about how he never wanted to leave this moment. He kept his kisses feather light as he explored you, finding all the places that made you moan. He noted them carefully, before he finally moved to your breast. He pulled your left nipple between his fingers and pinched slightly. At the same time he pulled your right one between his lips and flicked the hard bud with his tongue. You let out a loud moan, your back arching into him and Jack smirked at himself. He flicked once more as he pulled and then was gone. He was quick to repeat the process on the opposite breast. You, once again, beautifully responding to him. He started to make his way down your stomach, until he came to the top of your jeans. He leaned up slightly, undoing your button and zipper slowly. He glanced up at you and you let out a whimper in a plea. Jack felt his cock twitch at the sight and sound.

  He pulled your jeans away, along with your underwear and let them fall to the floor. He stood then, still stationed between your legs and looked down at you fully bare for him now. You were beautiful, no that wasn’t even the right word. There wasn’t one that accurately described you. Jack knew he was in so much trouble. His eyes that had racked over your body, now met yours, that still had a plea held in them. Your pupils blown, your lips swollen. It was truly a sight. He kept his eyes on yours as he removed his shirt and didn’t bother with his jeans yet as he kelt between your legs. He wound his arms around your legs, flatting his hands on your thighs to keep your legs open. The sight before him made him lick his lips. You wiggled and let out another desperate whimper, that sent Jack reeling. He dove, his tongue licking up your slit, and you let out the most beautiful noise Jack had ever heard in his life. You tasted incredible and it sent Jack into overdrive. He kept going, sucking and licking at your clit. He felt his hat knock off from his head, and your fingers in his hair pulling slightly.

  “Jack,” you panted out, pulling slightly harder and he looked up at you still giving your clit little flicks with his tongue.

  “Please…I want to feel you…inside me,” you begged and Jack smirked.

  He reluctantly pulled his mouth away from you and stood. You sat up your feet hanging from the bed, as he watched you undo his pants. He helped you shove his jeans and underwear down, and before Jack could think to make a move you had his cock in your hand. You were quick to take him into your mouth, and it was so unexpected it took Jack a moment to catch up. His hand laced in your hair and he pulled ever so slightly, pulling a moan from you around his cock. He let out a hiss and closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in how good your mouth felt on him. He pushed his heavy lids open, looking down at you and it was such a beautiful sight, it was so hard for Jack to stop you. He pulled you up to him and kissed you deeply. The both of you seemed to moan in unison at tasting each other on your lips. He lightly pushed you back once again, and hovered over you. He pulled away, his forehead falling to yours as he glanced down and lined himself up with your dripping entrance, before he pushed in. He made himself go slow trying to take in how you felt as you opened for him. He buried his head in your neck as he finally filled you completely, and it was like the perfect puzzle pieces coming together.

  “Fuck,” you whined and that sent Jack into a frenzy.

  He pulled out and then snapped his hips forward, letting out a moan at the feeling. He did this a few more time, pulling moans and curses from you before he set a quicker pace. The room filled with the noises coming from the both of you. Jack tried so hard to be quiet, so he could hear ever last little sound you made. He wanted to hear them for the rest of his life. He wanted to spend every spare second he had pulling them from you. You felt so good around him and he swore he had never been with anyone that felt this perfect. It was making him climb his high, quickly.

  “I’m so close,” you suddenly whimpered out.

  “Let go for me sugar,” Jack spoke in a horse voice.

  You snapped and clutched at him like a vice. It was enough for him to follow you. He drilled deep inside of you, and you milked him. He let out a groan as he buried his face in your neck. Your fingers came up and ran lazily through his hair. The two of you stayed like that for awhile, until you’d come back down to earth. Jack pulled out of you and gently laid down next to you. You turned on your side and he did the same, the two of you looking at each other.

  “You were right,” you spoke after a few moments and Jack’s eyebrow quirked.

  “About what sugar?”

  “That was a lot of fun. The most fun I’ve had in awhile,” you smirked and Jack felt his heart jump slightly.

  “I must say it was the most fun I’ve had as well sugar. You’re breathtaking,” the last few words fell from his lips in a whisper as he reached out and brushed away hair that was stuck to your face.

  His fingers lingered as they softly brushed down your face, and he watched your eyes close and lean into his touch.

  “Let me clean you up and we can get some sleep. That is, if you want to stay?” Jack had sat up and he paused looking back at you.

  “Yeah I think I would like that,” you looked up at him and he smiled as did you.

  He cleaned you up gently, and the two of you settled into bed. Jack pulled you close and watched as you slipped to sleep before he soon followed.

  The sun pouring into the bedroom window pulled Jack from the most blissful sleep he could recall having. He turned his head to look at you, and my god how beautiful you were. You were still peacefully asleep. Your breathe was even and the sun danced over you. Jack watch you for awhile weighing these feelings that were creeping up on him. He knew deep down no matter how hard he tried not to, love was going to creep back up on him one day. Looking at you in his bed next to him he could feel it. He gently and slowly crawled out of bed, slipping on some pajama pants before padding to his kitchen. He turned on the radio and turned the volume low letting old classic rock and country music fill the silence. He started in on fixing you breakfast, silently praying that you would want to stay for it.

  “I must've been through about a million girls

  I'd love 'em and I'd leave 'em alone

  I didn't care how much they cried, no sir

  Their tears left me cold as a stone”

  The familiar lyrics of a song filled the air around Jack, and he found himself smiling to himself. He moved around the kitchen and then he caught you leaning against the doorframe, hair ruffled and nothing but his shirt hanging on your figure. He knew in that moment, one glance at you, eyes catching yours. Both of your faces breaking out into smiles. The lyrics of the song rang true. Jack Daniels had fooled around and fell in love.

Tagged: @jimmythegirl​ @arcadianempress​ @discogrrl​ @immundusspiritu​ @someplace-darker​ @thisis-theway​ @ohpedromypedro​ @scribbledghost​ @fioccodineveautunnale​ @princess-and-pedro​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @littlevodka​ @all-hallows-evie​ @mack4676​ @perropascal​ @audreyshepbvrn​ @mswarriorbabe80​ @kaqua​ @novemberrain221​ @weasleywinchester​

[sankttealeaf]

putting rue's letters she wrote to gale and gortash under the cut because idk where else to post them but the world has to read them too

i doubt theres any way to include them in the main fic because a) gale wont read his because rue is alive and b) gortash thinks its another taunt from orin and also won't read his

stupid men.

Gale, my love.

Please know there is nothing you could have done to change my mind.

With each day that passes I feel worse and worse with myself and you deserve something better than I can give right now. I’ve not been honest with you and the guilt is eating me alive, though I know it will be nothing compared to the hatred you will feel for me. I tried, countless times, to speak to you about this in person but my words get tangled in my throat and I end up pretending everything’s okay.

Everything is awful.

Since arriving in the city, since meeting Gortash, since getting a place here at the Elfsong I have lied to you every single day. You may already know, in fact I think you’re smart enough to have found out somehow.

I’ve been meeting with Gortash in secret. It started as a desperate attempt to regain my past but as each night went by and he told me less and less I realised I was going to him for other reasons. We’ve kissed. That’s the furthest we ever went. I need you to know this.

I’m going to finish this. By the time you’ve read this, there’s a high chance I may be dead. I want to end Orin, to destroy the temple of Bhaal and renounce my blood but I know that I will most likely not survive the outcome.

I love you. I really do. I think you were the first person I’ve ever said those words to. Love doesn’t sit well within me but with you it’s as easy as breathing. You were the best part of all of this and I’m glad fate fucked me so we could meet. You were the kindest person to me despite everything wrong in my blood and I have never felt hope as strongly as I have when I’m with you. I wish things were different. I would have loved going to Waterdeep with you, to meet Tara properly, to meet your mother, to have a nice life away from all this. There’s no soft endings for people like me. I understand that now.

And I’m sorry it has to end this way.

All my love,

Rue.

Gortash.

One day, you will die. Not by my hand, but by someone else’s who deserves to get their vengeance on the cruelties you put them through. If I could I would throw you to the masses for them to rip and tear into you but even then I think that death is too kind.

I didn't plan on writing this, nor am I entirely sure what I’m supposed to say. What do you say to someone you can’t ever remember loving? I truly believe she loved you. Rumour, that is. We both know we aren’t the same person anymore and it’s easier to think about her as a separate entity. Maybe that’s how I cope with what I’ve done. What we’ve done.

I think she loved you in such a way that it hurts me to see you go. Which is why I won’t be there. The thought of you dying kills me but I know I’m not supposed to feel like that. We were to die in each other’s arms when the whole world took its last breath. I can’t see you die before then.

I’m confronting Orin. Part of me knows that whatever happens, one of us will die. Maybe it will be me. Maybe this time she’ll finish the job. Or maybe Bhaal despises us both so much he plucks the blood from our bodies and kills us both. I’m fine with either.

I’m fine with death. A world with such kindness in it isn’t made for cruel hands like mine. I think I understand that now. I can only be forgiven if I leave this plane and that’s what I’m doing.

If our gods allow it, I would like to wait for you. Perhaps we can reconnect after death. You said that we will always find each other and I hope that whatever comes next for me, I will find you again. Maybe I’ll be a bird that nests outside your window. Maybe then I’ll finally feel free.

Enver. You were her friend. She did love you. I need you to know that. I’m sorry it’s come down to this. There’s no other way.

Forgive me.

Rue.

[rain-ghoul-appreciator]

ok ive the brain was braining and i have ended up with headcannons on how the ghouls died and all the lovely shit

(tagging @ominousposting cause our ideas r so similar its kinda scary) ((super telepathy magic right here kids)) (((cause im like 98% sure ive never seen they're ghoul lore posts before this so i dont really wanna say i got inspo from them but yea its cool we're cool everything is cool 🫶🫶)))

under the cut and obv tw for death, murder, overdose, disease, drowning, fire, suicide, car accidents and poison (wow thats a lot)

phantom

died in 2010 from a car crash

will not get in a car no matter how empty the roads are

was only 17 when he died

youngest ghoul in the band (death year wise)

has all the humor from the 2000s still and it drives everyone absolutely nuts (inspired this post)

aurora

died in 1925 from accidental poisoning

was one of the flapper girls and was from a fairly wealthy family

was 24 when she was accidentally poisoned by a drink that was meant for someone else

3rd oldest band ghoul (death year wise)

still absolutely loves 1920s fashion and experiments with it by adding current trends and basically becoming the fashionista of all time

cumulus

murdered in 1953 by her husband

queen in the kitchen then, queen in the kitchen now (like seriously she can make anything and everything and its kinda scary cause how tf does she do it)

was 33 when she died cause her husband thought that she was to old and not good enough for him anymore (fuck this random guy)

4th oldest band ghoul (death year wise)

found some of her old cook books from before she died and makes nice little homecooked meals for all the ghouls every sunday because it makes her happy seeing all of them happy

rain

died in 2003 from suicide

emo kid emo kid emo kid (that kid was mcr's second fan) ((frank iero was the first obviously)) (((but he was second)))

was 15 when he killed himself, his parents were devastated

2nd youngest band ghoul (death year wise)

was absolutely stoked to find out that mcr was one of the biggest emo bands and influenced so many other bands (he almost passed out listening to music again for the first time)

mountain

died in his sleep from a disease in 1979

was the kindest guy ever but when he got sick everyone kinda avoided him cause they didn't want to get sick and felt bad seeing him like that

was 27 when he died and his whole neighborhood wished they could have done something more

5th oldest band ghoul (death year wise)

was really excited when he was introduced to the greenhouse for the first time because his room was always filled with plants before he died and it felt like his own little piece of home

sunshine

died 1995 from breast cancer

was very lonely because she spent most of her prime socializing years in a hospital bed

eventually died at 29 and was happy when she did

3rd youngest band ghoul (death year wise)

purposefully grows out her hair really long so she can cut it and donate it to make wigs for people with cancer cause she wants to help ppl be more confident with themselves and not end up like she did

dewdrop

died in 1991 from drowning

never really learned how to swim because he lived in the middle of a desert where there was no water so he felt like he didn't have to worry

was 25 when a friend pushed him off a boat as a joke and he was never able to get back up

4th youngest band ghoul (death year wise)

even though the element switch hurt like a bitch and ripped a whole piece of himself out, he felt somewhat relieved because the lingering fear of water was no longer plaguing his mind

aether

died in 1864 from a house fire

had 2 kids and a wife and they lived out in the country side in the middle of no where

was 38 when the house caught fire and he died saving his family from the flames

2nd oldest band ghoul (death year wise)

was still so incredibly british when he was summoned that dew had a heart attack when he started talking

cirrus

died in 1798 after being murdered by an angry mob

was a major activist for womens rights and had her own little rebellion against all the stupid expectations set for women back then

was 32 when an angry mov finally snuffed her out and killed her along with the rest of her little rebellion

oldest band ghoul (death year wise)

is still a hige advocate for women's rights and has to try not to laugh when someone says that she looks like/acts like herself before death (cause they obv dont know thats her lmao she cracks up everytime)

swiss

died in 1981 from a drug overdose

was an addict and wanted to stop but he couldn't afford getting help and his family didn't want to be associated with him so he was kinda on his own

overdosed at age 35 because he couldn't live like this anymore so death was the only option that he believed was available

5th youngest band ghoul (death year wise)

refuses to do any other drug than weed because he is still so extremely paranoid about becoming an addict again or accidentally overdosing

[legendl0re]

A Court of Peace and Ire: Chapter 4: Repaying A Debt

Rhysand visits Tamlin, demanding answers and hurling threats about his son, and the fateful clash of two High Lords finally unfolds.

Notes:

Rhys vs. Tam fight scene as well as arguments to bring forward the crux of Tamsand’s relationship. Lots of angst but I swear the healing is coming xD

Trigger Warnings: Violence, Slight Gore, Fight Scenes, Emotional Angst, References to SA, Ideation of one’s death, Acceptance of death

WARNING: The fight isn’t as bombastic as it may be in canon for two reasons imo:

1) Tamlin has not been using his powers so they are much less refined than if he was using them every day.

2) Rhysand lost a great deal of his own power when he died.

That and also I didn’t want Prythian to be destroyed by their fight, which according to SJM, would be the case.

——

Tamlin felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of his temple as his magic swept glass off the floor, carefully shaping it back to a flat plane and nestling tight into the window frame. This morning, he awoke with the gift of the slightest motivation—a desire to fix some pieces of the manor to make it less broken, less dangerous.

Stepping on splinters and broken glass was nothing for a High Lord—one of his many small enduring punishments—but for a child through?

Tamlin shook his head, trying not to think about it. Replacing his wards was the first thing he had done; a starting measure in case that boy ever attempted to winnow back in again. But if that blonde’s snatching of Feyre was any indication, it probably was for naught.

He had little practice with abjuring magic, since he could always just be present to protect those he wished to defend, before he became High Lord.

“A warrior has little use for wards,” his father always said. “Why bother wasting energy with needless shields rather than saving it for the fight to come? If any are so brazen to approach Spring with killing intent, our power shall sharpen to claws to rip them apart, and nothing else.”

His father was a fool, a bloodthirsty fool whose shortsightedness left Tamlin with nothing, save the burden of a responsibility he had never wanted nor trained for.

As he released the arcane hold a breath shot away from him; he really had been out of practice with his powers, surprised to still be able to perform something as involved as reforging glass from hundreds of shards.

Like any weak muscle, he would have to work at it, but he took a moment to admire what he had done, how the window looked pristine as if it had never been shattered to pieces by one of his episodes.

Even though the rage felt like a distant memory, he knew in truth. It was lingering, slithering within his bones and lying in wait. Isolating himself was the only way to protect everyone from its lashing out, from the moments his anger took the reins and tore into the world with his magic.

It had gotten so much worse since his time Under the Mountain, every day a struggle to keep that gaping pit inside him from stretching farther and farther, threatening to consume him along with everything else it could get its hands on.

All because of her.

That hateful, murderous, predatory woman whose malice scarred Prythian even years after he had torn her to pieces…

Torn himself to pieces.

Tamlin shook his head; no sense in dwelling on broken bonds. Wood splinters groaned as his magic pieced them back together, gathering to reform one of the many structural pillars that struggled to bear the manor’s weight.

The High Lord then took a rest, sitting at the top of the steps by the double doors that led to the courtyard. It may have just been the foyer and the entryway, but the progress he had made fixing everything let the weight in his chest lighten just a little. A lone bookshelf, two love seats, and solid, uncracked floorboards were the few, minute details that he had gotten too, but tomorrow he would tackle the stairs and the frayed, broken banisters that flanked them.

Maybe he’d get far enough to see his own bedroom again—perhaps even sleep in it.

Tamlin rolled his sleeves down, thinking about the conversation he had with Feyre’s sister at the border, how much less vicious and vengeful she was compared to the past.

Having eavesdropped a bit on the discussion before making himself known, it seemed the Night Court was keen to keep favor with Eris in preparation for his eventual ascension as High Lord; the eldest Archeron serving as the lure.

Given she had cut the King of Hybern’s head off, she didn’t seem the type to seduce or cajole for the sake of anybody except herself. Yet now she was mated to Rhys’ war general while also serving as a carrot on a stick for Lucien’s disdainful brother?

What was going on there? No mated fae would ever even consider sharing their mate with anyone, even playfully. Eris had already suffered the wrath of one of the Night Court’s Illyrian brutes; why tempt the other one?

Tamlin stood up and shrugged off his pondering. The Night Court was beyond welcome to any inconvenience, and frankly, he had better things to do than waste any further thought on it.

If only the feeling were mutual.

The windows shuddered, then splintered apart, the fresh pane once again scattered on the floor as shadows burst through and coalesced into a familiar, dreadful shape. Tamlin however, gave no notice to the darkness, just staring blankly at the shards at his feet, and the reflection of his eyes within them.

He had long been past sitting in the anger that Rhysand’s presence evoked, instead opting for the small, comforting mantra that allowed him to mentally prepare himself for what was to come.

You did the right thing. You bought him back, and he will never forget it.

“Talk. Now.” Huh. Not even a hello or feigned attempt at cordiality; straight to the venom.

“I just fixed these windows.” Tamlin replied, still not meeting Rhysand’s eyes.

“I don’t give a damn about your windows.” The High Lord’s shadow coiled over, but even as his lethal cerulean gaze took over Tamlin’s in the broken glass below, the lord of Spring didn’t turn up. “Why was my son here?”

“I’d say “perhaps you should ask him,” Tamlin muttered, finally meeting the stare, “But he doesn’t seem to be at the talking stage yet. Perhaps you should keep better track of your things.” Rhys’ hand knotted around Tamlin’s collar, jerking him to a stand.

“That’s. My son.” Every word was laced with a promise of death, Rhys’ mouth twitching as he bared his teeth. “If you ever-“

“If I ever what, Rhys?” Tamlin barked back, swiping away Rhys’ grip. “I seem to recall only one of us has a history of mutilating children. So you can keep all of your paternal bloodlust and save it for the Illyrians.” Rhys looked confused at that. “Oh, you intend to spare Nyx the wonderful experience of breaking atop the mountain?”

Tamlin felt a single hint of regret as Rhys’ pupils cut down to slits.

“He won’t know that life.” He hissed coldly.

“That your decision, or the High Lady’s?” They were mere inches from one another now, Rhys’ shadows nearly thundering while Tamlin felt the claws stir within his hands. “You have a lot of nerve coming here and badgering me about visits I don’t even want, especially considering how many times I keep catching your oaf-general and his mate.” Rhys laughed, the sound brimming with disdain.

“Finally found a bit of nerve, Tamlin? You never had the gall to insult my brother to my face before.” Tamlin huffed a soft breath, eyes rolling.

“No nerve, Rhys. Just a lack of interest in whatever you have to say, and an ever-growing wish for you to leave me the hell alone.” Tamlin pushed past Rhys, unsure of where he was even going. He just had to get away from him, had to remove himself from the stirring in his chest, the rushing in his head. The High Lord of the Night Court was furious; utterly thirsting for a fight and willing to say anything, touch any nerve he could to get it.

“My son comes here by accident, and suddenly you’re tidying this place up.” Rhys’ hands found their way into his pockets. “Peculiar, isn’t it?”

Tamlin paused. Shit.

“I told him to never come here again. So if I see, if I hear that he is here a second time, I will hold you personally responsible.” Tamlin’s hand gripped the edge of the doorway, wood whining as his nails latched into it.

Enough, goddamnit. Enough!

“Sure.” The High Lord of Spring crooned, head coiling back like a serpent. If Rhys’ words had so much venom, it was only fair that Tamlin shared some of his own. “I’ll be sure to ward up my mansion so the next time he winnows here, he bounces right off and finds himself outside with the naga. I’m sure he’ll be a nice snack.”

Rhys took a step, the shadows of the room drawing back to gather deep within him.

Preparations for the inevitable.

Tamlin turned to face him in full, complete acceptance of what was to come filling his heart.

Ever since the day Rhys and his father cursed him to rule this Court, he knew things between them would only end one way.

“Your son ever comes here again, do well to remember that I’m the only thing standing between him and oblivion, so perhaps you should be thanking me for sending him home, fed and warm.” Rhys continued laughing, as if ignoring every single word Tamlin had said.

“You know. I never did repay you for your words at the High Lord’s meeting. About Feyre.” Regret would have given the high fae a slight chill, had fury not boiled it all away.

“No. You didn’t. And I haven’t repaid you for letting your father open my mother’s throat, or Feyre for setting my court aflame. There’s many things that haven't been repaid, so be mindful of the debts you owe.”

Tamlin didn't’ realize what he had said until it left his lips, and Rhys’ smile vanished entirely.

“What did you just say?” He whispered, a wrathful shudder as he inclined his head.

Tamlin felt a flicker of worry, an urge to scramble back and try and balm the words over with something, anything…

But there was nothing. There was no want for peace, no wish for change, no reason to continue and suffer this abuse in the name of hoping things could go back to the way they were.

This was it. The end. One of them would live, and one of them would die.

“It means,” He growled, teeth elongating to punctuate his words. “Be mindful. Of the debts. You owe.”

Rhys pointed a finger, a blast of misting power ripping through the air between them, but just as Tamlin had burned through Amarantha’s magic when he slew her, his energy flooded over Rhys’ and crushed it to nothingness.

He tore forward, hands turning clawed as they pounded into the floor for a leap, before bludgeoning Rhysand through the double doors into the courtyard outside. The half-Illyrian’s hands clamped down on Tamlin’s growing jaws, warring to keep his teeth from tearing his head from his neck.

Tamlin continued to shift in his grasp, golden fur and horns bursting forth before he planted his legs, and swung the ruler of the Night Court through a stone fountain.

Rhys tumbled up to a stand, wind shooting into Tamlin’s face as his wings burst out in full splendor, drinking in all the color of spring around him.

“I should have tore you open the second you put your hands on her.” Rhys threatened, violet globes of energy bloomed in his hands. Tamlin smirked as well as he could in his beast form, cobblestones cracking as he stepped toward his great tormentor.

“And I should not have wasted my power bringing you back. But come on, Rhysie. Let’s see who handles it better. You? Or me?” The vines and greenery around Rhysand begin to coil like snakes, enlivened by Tamlin’s power and wrath. “I'm sure Amarantha will be glad to have you warm her bed again in Hel.”

Rhys howled, taking to the air as his hands shot forward, energy exploding against Tamlin’s body in violet flame. Circling around the courtyard, his power burned the remaining flowers in the garden to blackened ash, Tamlin using stone rails and the manor’s remaining pillars as cover against the magic. Catching a fallen column in his jaw, he hurled it at Rhys, sending the High Lord crashing through the roof into the house’s second level.

“You pushed me to this!” Tamlin hollered, the tree shaking from the volume. “I never wanted to be High Lord, and you fucking forced it on me!” The manor’s wing erupted, spears of raw magic shooting from Rhys’ eyes at eating up all the stone and wood in its way. Black mist boiled from the half-Illyrian’s mouth as he screamed, like the shadowy breath of a dragon.

Tamlin scuttled through into the opposite wing, narrowly evading the power that threatened to disintegrate to shreds of flesh and bone. The light then vanished, replaced with a swiftly rippling darkness that surrounded him at all sides. Every angle was completely black, Tamlin knocking into furniture and feeling glass and splinters puncture his hands.

A fist crushed into the side of his skull, then came a kick to the ribs hastened by the flap of wings. Tamlin swung his claws out blindly, only to be rewarded with an open palm to the throat that nearly knocked him unconscious.

As his throat pulsed in pain, he drew back his rage and opened his ears, listening to the quietest step, the subtlest beat of wings, anything to tell him where Rhys was going to strike next.

Tamlin heard the glass shriek to his left, and thrashed his horns just in time to catch Rhys lunging towards him. To block being skewered by antlers, Rhys gave up the concentration of his spell, and so the darkness fled and revealed the manor once more. The High Lords struggled, Rhys’ hands bleeding as he pushed to keep Tamlin from goring him with horns.

Once again, their gazes clashed together like swords, utter hatred compelling one another to rip, to fight, to tear and scream and forget any possible semblance of good the other may have once had. Neither of them realized that tears had begun falling from their eyes, a quiet, repressed mourning that neither would ever acknowledge.

Rhys drew himself down to get the leverage he needed, lifting Tamlin up before crashing his knee into the Spring court ruler’s lower jaw. Tamlin felt his teeth loosen, and the High Lord of Night drew all of his power into his fist before plunging it into the beast’s flank, sending him careening across the hall and down the stairs.

Agony tore through the high fae, lumbering to a stand as he struggled to breathe, the left side of his torso flaring with blood.

“You pushed me to this.” Rhysand said, the half-Illyrian’s voice infesting Tamlin’s mind. “When you laid my family out for your father on a silver platter. When you decided to fuck my mate.”

“She wasn’t your mate at the time.” Tamlin growled, and suddenly his bones, his muscles, his entire body, began to betray him. Rhys’ talons had plunged into his mind, knowing that no matter the volume of magic he levied at the High Lord of Spring, a physical fight would be an uphill battle.

“I could snap your brain in half and trap you in the form forever. Maybe I’ll put a collar on you and take you back home, make you a pet for Feyre.” Tamlin, despite the agony coursing through his brain, grinned.

“It…won’t change…a thing.” Tamlin felt Rhys swoop down from out of sight, and his thumbs pressed into his forehead with the full force of his Daemati powers piercing into him. He wailed and roared for his power—his court—to save him, and the brambles that had roped around his home leapt to his rescue.

Before he could shatter his mind, Rhys was torn away; latched to the floor by roots and thorns as Tamlin was forced back into his fae form. But with a swipe of his wings, the High Lord of Night slashed through the vines and turned them to rotted dust for good measure, before slamming upward to get him back to his feet.

Tamlin coughed and tried to wade through the pain in his head, until Rhys gripped him by the neck with one hand, before plunging the other right into the wound at his side. His ribs being pulled centimeter by centimeter, Tamlin strained to remain still, right where Rhys wanted him.

“Guess I wield it better.” Rhys muttered, the whites of his eyes now entirely drowned in black as he embodied his full power. Both his hands and mental talons had clenched in a vice around Tamlin, like a hawk with a struggling rabbit.

“Does it feel good?” Tamlin managed to get out, blood dripping down his chin.

No. Tamlin heard? Or, felt? Rhys hasn’t said anything, his teeth clenched so tight they threatened to break, but that “no” was in his voice, as were the thousands of other thoughts worming their way into the High Lord of Spring’s head.

In his rage, in his need to lock Tamlin’s mind down, Rhys had left his own mind wide open. Images and feelings were pouring a deluge, a psychic rapid of anger, fear, and self-hatred that had been all locked up inside.

He saw Rhys and Feyre form a new bargain; one of unity in death and foolhardy desperation.

He saw Feyre’s sister kneeling before her pale, pregnant body, wielding primordial power to change fate itself.

And he saw the darkness Rhys had been lost in upon giving his life to seal the Cauldron, and the small kernels of Prythian’s High Lords to guide him back.

Tamlin’s eyes widened, and he let every muscle loosen in a final surrender.

Rhys was broken, harried, lost between the mask he wore and the truth that lay in his heart. It was the same sort of suffering Feyre had gone through, the one he had been blind to while trying to make everything perfect and meaningful for them.

But whereas Feyre could fight, could push and claw herself back from that abyss, Rhys it had seemed, could not.

“I hate you.” The High Lord of Night said, his hateful voice tinged with sorrow.

“I wish I could hate you.” The High Lord of Spring replied, shimmering eyes meeting those of the soon-to-be ender of his life.

It was true—even when he served Amarantha, even when he slew his family and cursed him with rulership, even when he stole his one possible chance of happiness away—Tamlin never hated Rhys.

That made what he was about to say all the more worse.

“You can’t live with it.” Rhys paused at Tamlin’s words, his fingers having already grown to talons primed to cut his throat. “If it wasn’t for me bringing her here, you never would have met Feyre, and if it wasn’t for me convincing the High Lords, she would still be dead.” The high fae swallowed, throat raw as if he had swallowed glass. “If it wasn’t for me giving you that last light, you would be gone too.“

Tamlin remembered clear as day why he did it; because someone needed to live. Someone needed a happy ending after everything that Hybern had done.

Everything that he had done.

“Your love, your life, and your son, are all because of me. And you…can’t…live with it." Rhys let his claw dig into the side of Tamlin’s neck, his eyes wide like a mad man.

“You think you convinced the High Lords to bring Feyre back? When Amarantha died, when the curse was broken, we all got our powers back, Tamlin. You think I didn’t peer into their minds and make them give it up, make them bring her back?” Tamlin winced, teeth stained red from the blood in his throat.

“Of course.” He lilted. “They wouldn't have done it because they owed her everything, because she freed them from fifty years of torment. Why should Feyre have earned anything on her own merit, when you and the Night Court can just take the credit for every good thing that happens in Prythian?” Tamlin sniffled, eyes stinging at the mention of her name so many times. It had taken its toll.

“I loved her, more than you ever will, and more than you ever could. So do it. Just do it. I’m tired of being alone.”

Rhysand’s trembling hand rose up high, the sun gleaming against his claws, and Tamlin closed his eyes as his chin lifted to expose his neck.

Finally.

“Rhys!” The two High Lords heard, the faint rumbling of a winnow right before it. Both of them turned, and found Feyre standing in the middle of the room.

Nyx was seated in her arms, eyes wide with fear at what was unfolding before them. One look at his son’s face sent Rhys up to his feet, releasing Tamlin from the grasp of both mind and body.

“What’re you doing here?” The High Lord of Night asked, Feyre stepping back as he approached. Catching his reflection in one of the broken windows, he saw the black-sclera of his eyes, the wounds and welts that had patterned across his face and his body, and the blood that coated his hands, hair, and face.

He looked like a monster.

“Feyre, I…” Nyx hid his face away, and Feyre’s brow furrowed in a cold, solemn rage.

“Rhys. Go home. Please.” Rhys faltered for a moment, but then slowly rose ram-rod straight.

“I’m not leaving you here with him.” Not after what he had done. Tamlin would have laughed if he wasn’t in the worst pain imaginable.

“Yes you are.” Feyre retorted, nostril flaring as she took a step toward the ruler of the Spring Court. Rhys reached for her but she wheeled back on him, and Tamlin weakly watched as a bout unfolded with their minds. Yet the entire time, he noticed that Nyx had turned up slightly to face him, a small tear running down his round cheek.

Eventually Rhysand relented, sighing in defeat as the space behind him peeled in a winnow. “Please have Mor look at you.” Feyre urged, Rhys not even nodding before he left.

And there they were, just how it started.

Feyre and Tamlin, alone in his manor.

At least that's what she had thought, until she learned of the glamour and how her sneaking about made her look like a fool in front of his court.

Tamlin sat up as best he could, eyes chained to the floor as if he just couldn’t meet her gaze.

“I told him not to do this.” She started, voice cold and distant as if to hide her initial horror, her concern for him. The High Lord said nothing, his chest undulating with a mixture of fear, distress, and resentment. Why couldn’t she have just remained as hateful as he thought she was, and sat back while her High Lord peeled him apart, finally freeing him of this torment?

“It’s fine.” He said, clutching his side and grunting as the pain surged. Feyre knelt down, trying to meet Tamlin’s eyes, but he shied away.

So she opted for a different approach, nestling Nyx closer to her as her son turned to face the Lord in full. “Nyx wanted to come back. I…supposed it would have been a good excuse to talk.”

“About?” Tamlin hissed, retreating further into himself.

Feyre ran through the list. Beron? Koschei? The changes in Prythian? Lucien and Elain’s situation? There were plenty of subjects, but Tamlin hadn’t been around for any of the now seasonal High Lord Meetings to be informed of them. But she kept silent, waiting until the silence between them grew unbearable for the High Lord.

“I think your mate had the same idea,” He murmured, “To talk…”

Feyre walked over and placed Nyx on one of the few undamaged chairs. “Stay here.” She ordered, earning a nod from him. Turning back, she approached Tamlin again, but he shuffled away from her touch.

“Get away from me.” She pursed her lips in a stern look, the pointed stare of a new mother.

“I’d rather we speak without you having a gaping wound in your side.”

“I’d rather we didn’t speak at all.”

“Glad to see your stubbornness hasn’t changed.” She offered her hand again, the blooming light of the Court of Dawn’s healing magic resting within it. A shock of agony in his left side made Tamlin relent, taking his former lover’s hand and letting the energy course through him.

Best case scenario, it was a trick and he would die anyway.

“Rhys told me you were living peacefully.” She said, a half-truth. Rhys never talked with her about his visits with Tamlin, and after what she had just saw, she could see why. Perhaps she just hoped that he was doing fine without ever having to hear about it.

“I didn’t realize how I lived my life was any of your business anymore.” Tamlin replied, wincing as Feyre willed the flesh, muscle, and bone to knit itself back together.

“From a personal standpoint, it isn’t. But you’re a High Lord, and I’m a High Lady. We can’t divorce ourselves from each other entirely, much as we wish.” Feyre felt the weight of that truth, forever unable to unlatch herself from those first memories no matter what she did.

Tamlin suppressed a small smirk. We. As if any of this breaking had been mutual. At least she was taking her new role seriously.

“There was a lot going on, which was why I was keen to let Rhys handle everything.”

“I noticed.” He replied, both their gazes moving over the fidgeting Nyx. The stuffed night beast was still in his hands, the boy making growling noises as he let the beast rove over the hills of the oversized couch. “Congratulations…I guess.”

Tamlin’s words threw a wall of cold bitterness between them, and Feyre pulled her hand away as the last of the wound was repaired.

It confounded her a bit, how Tamlin could not want to tear Nyx apart or hold him over Rhys and her as some sort of hostage, some sort of last vengeance against them. But it seemed the conversation she had with Nesta held true; Tamlin had bought Nyx back safe and sound.

“If you want us to leave, we’ll leave. But I’d rather we actually talk.” Feyre stood and took a seat by Nyx, before picking him up and placing him on her lap. “And Rhys won’t be coming back here anymore.”

Tamlin chuffed, sitting up fully. “Never knew him to take being told what to do lightly.” Feyre remained stoic, unshakable in her resolve. She had long since passed the feeling that she could just leave things as they were, ignoring Tamlin and being unable to face the harshness of the things they had done to each other.

That wasn’t a good example for a mother to be, nor was it for a High Lady, a role she had finally begun to sink her teeth into.

“I have an unfair advantage.” Feyre smirked for a moment, but then realized just how much every sentence spilt more salt into the old wounds they had with one another. Every word, every attempt at light heartedness, was soured by all that had happened between them, all still raw and unresolved, left to dry and rot like a festering wound.

“Regardless,” she continued, “He can take it how he likes.”

Tamlin finally let his eyes rise, catching the visage of Feyre seated with her young son at her lap. “Is that not what you wanted?” He asked. Admittedly, it was a low blow to tug on Feyre’s vengeful streak, but it was the truth.

“I never wanted him to hurt you.” She answered, a slight pain in her voice even as Nyx reached up to her and spoke in incomprehensible babbles.

It should have burned Tamlin—the sight of her with her son—should have awakened in a torrent that brought down the last of the manor upon them both.

But it didn’t. He just kept focus on the boy starting to teeth on his little night beast, and his mother watching him dutifully. She practically paid Tamlin no mind beyond the initial concern, having grown strong enough with her own right that she had nothing to worry about.

Tamlin felt as if a small part of him would have been proud, but he sighed, careful not to aggravate his bruises as he stood up.

“Has he eaten?”

[savage-rhi]

I wanna know about your WIP Everything Zen!

@krisssssssy Big thank ya for asking! I don't have much written up yet for this one, but this is what I have thus far and this is the song that inspired the story:

Summary: It is said in the holy book that when Lucifer fell from heaven, he was plunged into the depths of hell and awaits the apocalypse. What if hell wasn't a firey pit of despair, but in fact, living as a human being for all of eternity?

Zen--the most recent reincarnation of Lucifer--after several lifetimes has finally pieced together a way he can break free from the reincarnation cycle. With the aid of a woman with her own troubles and tribulations--Zen seeks the legendary 10 crowns or "horns" of The Beast to return to heaven.

There's paranormal and supernatural elements in the plot, and a lot of existential themes that both the characters go through. I'm also playing around with throwing in some psychology elements too.

I'm not sure when I'm going to go into full sandbox mode with this one, but I jot down concepts and ideas for the major plot points quite often.

Below is a snippet I wrote a while back. The name Sawyer is going to be used for my fanfic Duality, so I might change this characters name later on:

I imagine Zen looking like Tom Riley.

"So," Sawyer let out a sigh. "When this little road trip of ours comes to an end and you go home. What happens next?"

Zen raised a brow and shrugged. If he were more honest with himself, he hadn't thought that much ahead of the game. Not that he'd admit it out loud.

"I suppose I try and break bread with my father," Zen scoffed. He then smirked as another amusing thought came to mind. "Maybe sing kumbaya with Michael while I'm at it. Hell, maybe pops would like a souvenir from--"

He paused and frowned, looking at the inside of the diner trying in vain to find something that popped out. "Bumfuck Montana, or wherever we are right now."

"Bumfuck Montana," Sawyer repeated. She sounded so unimpressed that Zen could feel his pride take a few steps back. "That's original."

"Oh yeah?" Zen smirked. "You think you can do better?"

"I probably could," Sawyer admitted with a grin. "But I don't need Satan on my ass for the next decade or however long I got left."

"Eh," Zen's eyes scanned over Sawyer in a scrutinizing manner. "You don't have much going on there, ass wise. I wouldn't fret."

"Asshole," Sawyer growled under her breath.

"You walked into that I'm afraid." Zen snorted.

Although Sawyer smiled and laughed off his counter, Zen could sense a little more of herself closing off to him. The way her shoulders firmed and the subtle twitch of her fingers against the coffee mug had him uneasy. His therapist from the late 1800s stated such unease from physical tics was due to abandonment issues. He remembered laughing himself to death over that, but admitted perhaps they had been onto something. He hated it when someone pulled away. It demonstrated a dishonesty that infuriated him to the core.

Zen felt eager to verbally rip Sawyer apart, but reminded himself of how fragile her current state of mind was. He gave credit where it was due. She was certainly a phenomenal actor, pretending nothing got under her skin. That was a quality he had come to admire about humans over the centuries. How their resilience was impeccable. He couldn't say the same for himself as he ruminated on his earlier feelings of disgust.

What happened at the truck stop bothered him a great deal, and he wasn't the one who had been assaulted. He may had "saved the day", but the damage had been done. It was clear in Sawyers eyes and the way she had carried herself since then.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Zen murmured.

"Not really," Sawyer replied. Her eyes scanned over the diner, reminding Zen of a meerkat scouting the plains for hyena. "It's not the first time something like that has happened to me. I'll get over it."

He felt the hairs on his neck stand, and blinked a few times as his mind pondered more than it should've on Sawyer's remark.

"You're not alone in your misery. If it's any consolation."

Sawyer's eyes landed on him, sensing a familiarity in his cadence. It took her but a few moments to register the weight. "You too?"

Zen nodded. He sunk further into his seat as he relaxed and stretched. "You seem surprised."

"I didn't think…since you're, you know who, that you'd know what that's like--"

"I've lived many lifetimes. I'm not a stranger to bodily harm of the highest. Be it male or female." He interrupted, offering a small grin to soften the blow of his confession for her sake. Zen felt something akin to shame shortly after, and dismissively waved his right hand. Trying to tell Sawyer without words not to think too hard on anything. He focused on the birds in the parking lot outside the window. Watching them peck at stale leftover french fries someone had tossed.

"I'm sorry," Sawyer softly replied. He didn't have to see her face to tell she felt foolish for whatever assumptions she had held of him.

"It's whatever," Zen shrugged with a grin. He realized how odd that must've looked considering the circumstances, but didn't linger upon it.

Once the birds took off, having their fill, did he look at Sawyer again. He bit the inside of his cheek.

"You don't me owe me your past or anything you've been through, but I do want you to know that so long as we travel together, that won't happen again."

"How can you be certain?"

"I'm not," Zen admitted. "But contrary to popular belief, I keep my word if you'll have it."

[blackjackkent]

Ehehehe I had a feeling our next long rest wasn't going to be very restful.

Narrator: Your thoughts are back on the twisted Sceleritas and his honeyed words of violence.

It has been a terrible day, and the night is equally excruciating. Denied Isobel's death, the beast churns in Rakha's head, gnawing at the inside of her skull. The images of blood, her constant nighttime companions, soak outwards into her waking moments and she twitches restlessly on her bedroll, unable to settle.

Not since Alfira's death has she been so acutely aware that something is terribly wrong with her. In the weeks since then, she has learned from Wyll, from Lae'zel, from Karlach; she's learned, at least sometimes, to choose when and how and who to kill, to attack with purpose. But she has been reminded, all too sharply, that the beast still lurks ready to rip and tear and shred apart anything without cause, and that she still does not know why.

Somewhere in her past, utterly lost to her, is an explanation for this hunger for blood, for the murderous instinct, for the presence of that terrible butler--

"You called for me, Milady?"

Shriek.

She opens her eyes and finds Sceleritas's face only a few inches from hers, his skeletal features grinning horribly. All the tension explodes out of her body in a sudden, undignified yelp and she scrabbles backwards off the bedroll and up onto her feet, almost overbalancing in an attempt to put space between herself and the butler.

"Shhhh shh shhh..." Sceleritas clicks his tongue and hisses at her softly, as if chastising an unruly pet. Then his manner shifts again rapidly, back into his usual obsequious whine. "Quiet, dear depraved one," he murmurs. "We wouldn't want to wake the others. They would be so jealous..."

Would they? Rakha thinks unsteadily. Who are you? What do you know of me? Why are you here? Her brain feels fuzzy with agitation and she struggles to form the thoughts clearly.

Sceleritas trots a few steps closer to her and peers up at her with eager deference. "I come here for I wish to bring you another powerful tithe." He raises one finger in a cautioning gesture. "But I cannot grant you this prize quite yet. You must do something divinely unspeakable first."

Rakha swallows in a suddenly dry throat, willing her thoughts to come to some sort of steady calm, to think through the moment rationally as she usually does. The last time Sceleritas was here, he gave her the cloak she wears on the road - and it has proved an incredibly valuable tool.

Now he means to offer her something again... but at a cost this time.

"What must I do?" she asks hoarsely.

Sceleritas grins, a horrible expression on his skull-like face. "You will receive a royal prize," he says, "for killing this pretty girl."

He begins to weave a spell around them, an image slowly coalescing into view next to him. It takes a few moments for the figure to fully appear - but it doesn't really matter. Rakha knows long before he is finished who he wants her to kill.

"Isobel. The cleric with the sweetest face of the moon," Sceleritas croons. "She is too precious to live."

A spasm of pain rolls through Rakha's head, and the beast laughs.

Yes. Yes. Kill her. And they will all die screaming...

"I felt the desire to kill her so strongly when we met..." she mutters haltingly. I don't want to. I won't...

Sceleritas's smile takes on a nasty edge. "Your unconscious, clever mind hungers for extreme violence," he purrs. "Who knows who you might kill next if you do not satisfy your Urge?" There's a distinct note of menace under the words now, an unspoken threat. "Be true to yourself, my Lady."

He vanishes, taking the image of Isobel with him. Rakha sits down heavily on her bedroll, staring at the spot where they stood. Her mind whirls. Everything is chaos.

She doesn't know what to do.

[queer-whatchamacallit]

Here’s my observations of 1x03 - Brigade of my beloved, The Bear!!

When Carm’s at the beach, there’s a “let it rip, Buddy” which I’m pretty sure is our very first let it rip

Carm takes “the chemistry needs to change” and “just try to keep my side of the street clean” and absorbs it

I think I’ve counted 4 pepto and tums stashes? The office, the bathroom, the locker room, and his bedroom

I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Carm sleeps with socks on

In the Al-Anon pamphlet, under the DO (as opposed to DON’T) section was “take it easy— tension is harmful”

Manny, Angel, and Marcus are all definitely there before Carm. Marcus said Carmy was early, but he came in at the same time as Syd, so might be able to assume she comes in before him normally

We get to see a little bit of Carm’s purer passion for cooking. Him just deciding to teach Marcus about the plum thing because he has that knowledge to share. The Carm-Marcus mentor relationship is so superior

Also he says Har-EE-bo which threw me off. I always say HARE-ih-bo

Carm starts the French brigade to keep his side of the street clean and change what he can, but there’s also the layer where Carm likes consciously or subconsciously reliving his traumas, but in a situation he has more control over. Carmy is trying to remake New York here, except he’s the Executive Chef, but he’s not going to be overbearing like his Chef was

“Ebra: I was in a brigade once. Tina: What happened? Ebra: Many people died. Tina: See, Jeff? Carmy: It’s gonna be different” is such a good back and forth, Ebra is easily the funniest person here

Carmy parrots, “They keep their side of the street clean,” and you can almost tell he’s been rolling those words over and over in his head all day

We get Ebra’s first “I accept” !!!

After the call from Niko, it’s like Carm either doesn’t hear Richie the first time he asks, “What was that?” Or he just can’t get words to come out of his mouth. Carm’s voice goes kinda small and quiet. Richie asks if he blew a fuse, and I could imagine that’s exactly what it felt like

“I just felt like Michael was alive for a second.” Carm wasn’t there for the funeral, it’s hard to tell how it was long after Mikey died when he moved back from New York, he never grieved with anyone. He knows Michael’s dead, he can say it without a second thought, he jokes with the “I’ll ask him when he’s not dead” in 1x06, but the deepest proof he has is word of mouth. There’s bound to be some part of him that’s in denial about Mikey’s death

He hears, “I want to set this place on fuckin fire,” in his head, same as after the nightmare in 1x08, so did he know about the failing fire suppression stuff? Did Mikey say that to him at some point? Idk this is just a weird quote, some good s1 unreality tho

As Carm runs from wherever he was to out the door, you can hear shit being knocked over behind him, but he doesn’t look back. He’s pretty okay with telling people when something is wrong, but actually having them be there for him is a different story. The second he crosses the threshold into panic, he bolts, so no one can see it. When he gets off the call with Niko, he never turned around to face Richie and just waited until Richie walked out before he let himself press a hand into his chest and sit down

No matter how pissed Tina is with Syd, she’ll still ask, “What happened? Let me see” when she cuts her finger <3

Tina goes up to Sweeps and Marcus who both have the blue aprons and there’s such a good bit I forgot about, “Tina: You two look like you joined a dumbass cult. Sweeps and Marcus in unison: Thank you”

Another good Ebra bit: “Syd: Well, it’s not good, so Ebra: You betrayed me!”

When Syd goes out front looking for her onions, Richie is talking to Crooked John from 1x06 !!!

There’s a bench outside no one ever seems to use after this (that I’ve noticed), but I guess whenever we see someone go out back, they’re probably either nervously pacing (Carm) or too sad to feel like they deserve a bench (Marcus)

Even after the hellish half day she just had, it takes a little prompting from Carmy to open up about it, and when she does, it feels almost straightforward, I told you this would be bad, you didn’t listen to me, and that isn’t the job I came for, you suddenly gave me this responsibility then left, and it didn’t go well, etc. She also gains a little bit of revenge by fucking with Carmy and lightening the mood. She may not be super comfortable with explaining this stuff to others, but she seems to have a good bit of emotional intelligence (especially compared to Carm) to pinpoint everything that bothered her

Ah, the classic “fuck brunch” <33

And after all that, Carmy snuck out again at sunset to go to the beach and feel painful emotions about it being Mikey’s birthday

I think the first 2 eps introduced external and internal conflict respectively, so now, we could start getting into some recurring stuff. It starts planting the seeds for the season 2 Carmy ditching the restaurant for what he thinks will be healthier arc. And Syd gets her shit rocked, and that’s so rude because she deserves the world

Anyway! Ep 3 boom done!!

[silentprincessandsweethibiscus]

They say your life flashes before your eyes as you died, but Green found it happened the day he first truly felt alive again.

This is my entry for week three of fsff, past.

warning for this one, it a flashback/backstory chapter to Green's death, i don't know how graphic i would call it, but it is fairly detailed, and as stated last week, he was killed by a vampire, so do keep that in mind.

It was a clear night when Green died. The moon was high, the stars were bright, and there were not even the wispiest of clouds to dace across the daring expanse of space. It was the perfect night, and Green intended to spend it with his fiance, enjoying their last moments of peace before their wedding next week.

He had spent the day cleaning their shared home, and tending the garden, and making them dinner, so that when his love came home the two of them could simply relax. They could eat the pumpkin stew that was currently being kept warm over a low fire, and then the two of them could go stargaze. Green would make up facts about the constellations to watch the way his dearests face would scrunch up at Green’s blatant mirthful pestering.

As he was humming a tune and stirring the soup, the front door of their small home opened, and Green heard a familiar voice swirl into the space. Just as he registered the distressed tone, and the fact that the front door never closed, there was a crash from the living room.

Green yelled out in surprise, abandoning the soup to make sure everything was alright. He yelled again when, something, tackled him to the ground. All he could see was red, and by the time he registered the pain in his neck he was already going numb.

He kicked and screamed, trying desperately to get the creature off of him. Or to get any kind of response from the living room, to indicate his beloved was alive. There was no response, and enraged, Green finally managed to slam his fist against the creatures face just right. Unfortunately, he felt even more of the flesh on his neck rip away as the creature flew back, but he still grinned in satisfaction when he heard the damn thing slam back against the door frame.

Everything was fuzzy, and the kitchen was swirling around him as his shirt soaked up what blood the vampire hadn’t drunk from him. There was noise, like shuffling coming from the direction of the living room, and Green could only hope it meant the daemon was leaving them.

There was movement to Green’s left, and he let his head fall that way to see what it was. As his vision swirled to black, the last sight that greeted him was his fiance, covered in blood, lying on the floor across from him. His beloved’s lips where moving, but if any sound was coming out, Green was unable to here it.

He smiled, and mouthed out a final, “I love you,” as the world around him fell to darkness.

Green woke with a gasp. The sun was shining in his eyes, but it did not hurt, and the ground under him was solid, but not uncomfortable. He squinted in confusion. Why had he fallen asleep on the kitchen floor again? And why had he been allowed to stay there? Shouldn’t his fiance have woken him up? What was he forgetting? Fiance. Fiance? Fiance! The wedding! Yes. That’s what he was forgetting! It’s time for their wedding!

Getting up, he searched the house for his beloved, humming a happy tune as he strolled through their small home. When his search came up unsuccessful, he frowned, before shrugging and heading off to the church, where his love must certainly be already waiting for him.

The streets of the small village where empty as Green walked, and he began to worry about how late he was going to be. He’d hate to make his fiance wait. Especially since Green didn’t have a good answer about why he was late. Did he pass out getting ready? Has he been on the kitchen floor since last night? Worried, he began to run.

Quickly enough he made it to the church, but something was not right. All their friends and family where there, but no one looked happy. Or even annoyed with Green for being late. After he was unsuccessful at getting the attention of several of his friends, Green decided to simply head into the building. He was needed at the front anyways, and if he was late, he needed to clear up the mix-up.

Green stopped short halfway to the alter. Instead of the roses and violets they had planned to line the church, there where purple gladioli, soft pink carnations, and pure white daisies. The painting he had commissioned of him, and his love was front and center, with two caskets to one side, and the podium where the preacher had spoken of the two, taken to soon, just prior to Green’s arrival.

The caskets where both closed, and Green, now beginning to recall his last night, understood why. He wasn’t even sure which one was his, and which one was his love’s. Instead, he walked up to the painting. As he reached up to stroke the only image left of his lover’s face, he realized for the first time, that his had was translucent.

“Oh,” he mused, “of course, that’s why no one reacted to me.” Green hated how slowly everything was clicking back into place. Like his memories were covered in a thick layer of molasses. He had known he was dead, when he saw the caskets, but it still took him time to realize he was a ghost.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, in the church, but it was late when his sister came to take the painting away. He wrapped his arms around her, telling her one last time that he loved her. As she left, with tears in her eyes and the painting protectively wrapped under her arm, Green set out to the cemetery, to find where they had laid, he and his loves bodies.

It wasn’t hard, the freshly dug soil, and flowers from ever garden in the village where shining like beacons to him, even in the dark. The villagers had given them a joint headstone, beautifully engraved with the words; Two young lovers, Buried on the eve saved for their union, Sleep peacefully together now.

Green stood there, all night, reading the words to himself, over and over, until the first lights of dawn. He would not leave. He would not move on. Not without his fiance. His life. His love. His whole world. As the sun came up, illuminating the words, and casting tiny rainbows from the dew on the flowers, Green finally broke. Once the tears started flowing, he couldn’t stop them. He collapsed onto where his loves casket was so carefully buried by their family, and sobbed.

When the tears finally stopped, he was still alone, and the gravestone no longer looked so pristine. It was clearly still looked after by someone, but it was weathered, and had small patches of moss growing on it. Instead of the bouquets of flowers that had been surrounding it, there was just one. Roses and violets, just like the flowers that should have surrounded them that day.

Eventually, Green decided that waiting here wasn’t working, and that he needed to go find his fiance. They had always talked about traveling the world together, so that’s what he would do. Death was a blur to him for a while. He never tired, never needed to eat, and with his single-minded determination, he wasn’t exactly picking up hobbies in his travels.

He walked, he searched, and he longed.

At first he just wanted his love, but as time passed, he found himself craving any human, or inhuman, interaction. And that’s when the hauntings started. He would reach a new village, or town, or city, and when his search came up empty, he would find a home, and haunt. Never anything big, or scary. No blood dripping down the walls, or ominous GET OUT messages scrawled on any viable surface. Just little pranks. move someone's things. Lock a door. Anything to get a reaction.

The more the person insisted it wasn’t a ghost, the more fun it was to tease them.

Usually.

He had stopped in a collage town a few years ago, he loved them. Fresh outta high school and their parent's houses, new adults where always so determined to prove that they could live. He loved to see it. And this demographic loved pranks, so it was always a challenge to convince them it was a haunting, and not just their friends fucking with them.

And then the werewolf moved in. The first time Green tried to fuck with him, she called her partner, asked if it was the one who did it. The human showed up in less than ten minutes, proceeded to tell Green off for “scaring” its girlfriend, then they both laughed and invited him to hang out.

Blue and Shadow where the first people to really interact with him since his death. And he loved them. Not the same way he still loved his fiance, but they didn’t want that from him. They got him a phone, so he could always be a part of conversations, and they took him places, and showed him the world as it was now. Made him see, not just look, so he could enjoy the beauty in it again, and he remembered the real reason his fiance had wanted to travel. They even agreed to travel with him, once their schooling was over.

And so maybe, just maybe, this was, in a ways, his own fault. He still held to much to his chest. That’s why he now stood here, completely unprepared as his best friend, the partner of his girlfriend, introduced them both to the vampire it's been dating.

This is what Green got, for only telling Blue, and not Shadow.

There were several tense moments, as the two simply stared at each other. Shadow’s smile was dropping in concern, and Blue was practically bristling, as she positioned herself to stand in front of Shadow, not sure how to interpret the look on Green’s face.

The vampire spoke first. The vampire that wore his loves face, and answered to their name. They spoke in a low voice, raspy with tears threatening to spill. They spoke only one word, but it’s all Green needed, for no one has ever said his name like His Violet.

Green knows he responded in kind, even if he couldn’t hear the sound of his own voice. He knows he did, because as soon as he did, Vio moved. The two met in the middle, as they always had in life, embracing in a reunion over seven hundred years in the making.

Their lives had been short, and their deaths have been very long, but they are no longer alone. And as Vio sobs through apologies about that night, the last pieces of the puzzle fall into place. Green comforts them, assuring that he knows it was not their fault, and that he has been looking for them.

Later, later they will talk about it. With calm heads, and clear words. Right now, however, is for relief, and joy, and soft words held in for to long. Green will not move on without Vio, and right now, he is pleased that doesn’t mean leaving his new loves behind. He is happy he can share his past with them, and show them the world he knew, just as they have done for him.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Hello, so this not a request per se; but seeing your reaction to the latest archon story quest, I was curious, but which nation do you think has the best story arc so far? Sumeru or Fontaine? what you like the most? Just want to hear your thoughts and opinions, that’s all.

oooh that's a good question!! i'll put my answer under the cut because it got kinda rambly and there are spoilers (i'm also quite opinionated i'm warning you now!)

in terms of a consistent plotline, i think Sumeru was better. but in terms of personal enjoyment, i liked Fontaine more.

as for why i liked Fontaine more (except the prison part, fuck that), it's for a number of reasons- i like the characters more (Arlecchino and Furina being two of my absolute favorites), the stakes felt higher and more mysterious (Sumeru i kinda figured out what Dottore and Scaramouche were doing early on), the NPC deaths hit hard because they actually stayed dead (rip Melus and Silver you two will not be forgotten), i really liked the trial aspects, and also FOUL LEGACY APPEARANCE!!!! HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY!!!!! it also helped that Fontaine was the first archon questline to not feature the Fatui as the main bad guys, which i absolutely love

oh and i like the narwhal weekly boss better than the Scaramech boss. in fact i have a bit of a hatred for the Scaramech boss because of how it's entirely based off of the floating rabbit-thing gimmick- the only reasons i generally enjoy doing it is because A.) we're beating up Scaramouche and B.) the music slaps

Furina is also one of my favorite characters in the entire game now. she doesn't quite top Childe/Foul Legacy, Arlecchino, or Baizhu, but she's up there. i liked her from the beginning because she was goofy and dramatic, and now i think her story was beautifully written and it was something i can also relate to in a sense, although obviously not nearly on the same scale as Furina's struggles. Nahida's story was also good and very tragic, but i don't have anywhere near the same attachment to her as i do to Furina (sorry little radish)

Fontaine also brought back the trend of Fatui Harbingers actually feeling intimidating. the last time i really felt in danger around a Harbinger was Dottore, and since he wasn't the focused Harbinger of the arc i knew he wasn't going to do anything super drastic- i kinda knew Signora was going to die (still in mourning btw) and Scaramouche lost his intimidation factor when he tried to become a god, so Arlecchino being a quiet but powerful force through sheer voice and stance is very lovely

also i generally enjoy underwater exploration more than the rainforest and desert desert MORE DESERT exploration in Sumeru, so that contributes to my Fontaine bias

obviously there are some parts that could be done better, like the implementation of the narwhal boss and the plotline flowing a little better and Chlorinde definitely needing more screentime (better than Sara at least), but yeah Fontaine is my personal favorite. also the whole "erase our problems from everyone's memory" conclusion in Sumeru is kinda ehhhh, i can see why they did that but also the tree containing literally all the world's knowledge is lowkey boring and becomes a bit of a plot hole if you think about it. why couldn't we just take a little trip back to Sumeru to find out the origins of Fontaine's prophecy? i'm sure Nahida, bless her heart, would be more than happy to tell us what's up, but obviously we can't do that because it'd be too easy

i think Fontaine had higher highs and lower lows while Sumeru was consistently pretty good, so if you want a good, solid plotline to show someone, show them Sumeru. i liked Fontaine better, but that's definitely personal preference, hope that answers your question!

[hrodvitnon]

And now for some new 'Abraxas' Qs from me! :) (1) What thoughts, if any, did Tejada and Travis have during KotM when Jonah decided to do nothing about Ghidorah? Did they have any thoughts of their own on the matter, or did they just go along with whatever their commander wanted and dismissed Emma's "we hit the BLACK button instead of the green button" ravings about Monster Zero? (2) [FEEL FREE TO SKIP THIS Q IF YOU'RE STILL PLANNING ON MAKING THAT OLD FIC IDEA OF GHIDORAH'S P.O.V. DURING THE MASS AWAKENING:] How do you imagine Ichi and Boston!San felt about getting separated from Vivienne after San was decapitated with her still inside the old head? (3) How much, if at all, would you say each of Ghidorah's heads fear dying each time it happens to Ghidorah?

Woohoo!

I wanna say that during the Mass Awakening, Travis and Tejada just went along with Jonah's decision; they were totally loyal to him and didn't have any reason to give Emma the time of day. They might've figured that Emma's resolve was crumbling considering how hesitant she was to awaken Rodan, and Madison's attitude wasn't helping matters, plus Emma was a textbook case of hubris biting her in the ass and she wasn't any use to them anymore. Travis and Tejada could've talked over cards and decided, "Welp, we opened Pandora's Box, nothing to do but ride out the apocalypse. We'll live like Mad Max warlords once the dust settles."

Hmmm... why not take a peek under the cut, eh? :)

Ichi probably feared death the least of all three heads, being so confident in Ghidorah's inherent superiority over all things and not so much believing but knowing that no matter what curve balls the universe throws at them (like Earth in general), Ghidorah will come out on top in the end. I wanna say Ni isn't so much afraid of death compared to his brothers, but is something of an adrenaline junkie on top of his Blood Knight tendencies; combat is like a drug, and with Ichi acting as the head of reason he's not as much at risk of losing himself in the high of a good fight as a certain shed skin of his will. The thrill of it rushes through their shared system and drives him to greater heights of glory, and the prospect of death (or at least the possibility of losing a fight) makes it all the more exciting to Ni.

The Deep One is laid low and the lowly Earthborn Titans are rising, enthralled by Ghidorah's dominance. Youngest Brother finds himself glancing now and then towards the ocean, yearning for the little human they snatched up who is now stuck in a shed skin sinking to the sea floor. She is his responsibility! It ought to be him tending to her, not some discarded lump of scales and horns! His distraction forces Eldest Brother to latch teeth around a horn and wrench him back to the present.

YOU FORGET YOURSELF FOCUS but our little one our bone singer YOUR SHED SKINS HAVE THEIR USES IT WILL ENSURE HER SURVIVAL yes it will of course THEN QUIT YOUR WORRYING AND FOCUS THE WORLD WON'T STOP TURNING JUST BECAUSE YOU LOST YOUR TOY

Elder Brother snorts derisively. He itches for combat. The Deep One had been dominating them in the waters! That'd been why Ghidorah had avoided battle in the ocean, having been built for aerial conquest, but the thrill of their nemesis coming so close to victory, only for the conclusion to be ripped away by the Green Glow... unfair! That lumbering beast better not be dead -- the Green Glow is not allowed to be how the Deep One dies! And the Third's constant whinging about something as pathetic as their warden only exacerbates his irritation.

PATHETIC TO FRET OVER A SPECK OF DUST she is not dust SHE IS A COWARD AND NOT WORTH THE ATTENTION

The Second is startled by teeth digging into his scales, the First snarling thunder into his flesh.

SO NOW YOU HAVE RESERVATIONS ABOUT MY DECISION I'VE HAD RESERVATIONS FROM THE START YOUR COMPLAINTS ARE MORE USELESS THAN THE THIRD indeed EVERYTHING HAS GONE INTO MOTION IT IS POINTLESS TO WHINE ABOUT IT SO WILL YOU FISH YOUR TOY FROM THE SEA LIKE SOME LOWLY BOTTOM FEEDER we cannot leave her behind LITTLE WONDER YOU WOULD BE SO FIXATED ON SUCH A THING

The Third is surprised; the implication is not directed at him, as would be expected, but at Eldest Brother. Lightning cracks around them, the middle head's glare meeting the right's bared teeth.

CHOOSE YOUR WORDS CAREFULLY LITTLE BROTHER YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU OBSESS OVER HER JUST LIKE YOUNGEST BROTHER SHE CONTAINED US LIKE THE MAKERS DID MORE THAN THAT SHE IS NO DIFFERENT FROM WHAT YOU ONCE WERE AND WHAT WAS I SMALL AND WEAK AND FEARFUL AND OH SO CONCERNED WITH OTHERS THINKING HERSELF A PROTECTOR WHEN SHE COULDN'T EVEN DEFEND HERSELF AND WAS LEFT BEHIND TO DIE YOU WOULD HAVE DONE THE SAME ONCE

Eldest Brother's eyes narrow. He is silent for a moment, but then his lips curl back into a knowing grin; Elder Brother's raised hackles lower a bit, having anticipated a more vitriolic reaction. The First spares the ocean they left the Deep One in with the slightest of glances, licks his chops.

THEN YOU'RE GOING TO LOVE WHAT WE'LL DO TO HER

[wolfie-2013]

Ok so I’m this post I showed off my Spider-Sona. Originally it was for a Spider-Man x Mha AU. Specifically one in which Todoroki was Spider-Man. It was only recently that I really started to come up with story for that au. I wanted to share what I have so far, but I’ll probably be splitting it into parts since the google doc is like 8 pages. So this first part will be before UA.

The MHA earth is gonna be Earth-2016, and it’s basically gonna be canon mha. So quirks are still a thing. But now todo has his quirk + spider powers.

He got them a year before UA. And that was when endeavor took him to his agency, shouto got in trouble for doing something at the house and Enji decided that he would not be left alone, and got bit by a radioactive Spider.

The spider in question was brought in as evidence from a drug lab bust that was performed about a week prior. The only reason they noticed the spider was because it was kept in a container and had the “warning radioactive” sticker in it. The agency looked at the files but there wasn’t much on the spider. On that day, the spider managed to somehow escape its enclosure, and while a completely unaware shouto was wandering the halls the spider bit him.

So he feels pretty normal the rest of the day, but that night he starts to feel sick. He goes to bed and the next morning he’s magically feeling better. (Also in this au his vision in his left eye was damaged from the boiling water.) He wakes up and can suddenly see perfectly out of his left eye. He goes to get out of bed when he hears a rip. He looks at the bed sheet in his had to see that he had ripped them with a pair of talons that had grown on his hands. (The talons are retractable and not as big as Miguel’s) He shoots out of bed and runs for the door, his hand gets stuck to the door knob for a second before he finally gets free and makes a beeline for the bathroom. His mouth had felt weird since he woke up. It was unnaturally dry and felt as if it was overcrowded. So he looks in the mirror and sees a large set of fangs protruding from his top gums and a smaller but still unreasonably big set on from his bottom gums. (Unfortunately for our poor boy these are not retractable. He has a venom that is released through his fangs. He also has natural spinnerets in his arms now)

Anyway: time skip, he gets his suit made (it has web shooters built into it as a back up)

(Also in this au todoroki is more similar to my todoroki, so he’s pretty loud. But because of the fangs he now has to hide he started speaking much softer. (No one really noticed a change at home since shouto definitely wasn’t very loud there, and since he was homeschooled he didn’t have to worry about any classmates noticing) so that will explains why he’s so quiet and kinda mumbles in the show.)

So he becomes the Spider-Man of (whatever Japanese city he’s nearest to as well as a few others) and you may be asking “well what’s his uncle Ben moment?” Well when he’s starting out, he hasn’t the slightest idea of how to be a vigilante though he does try his best. Eventually a much more experienced vigilante( idk her name yet or her quirk) feels kinda bad for him and decides to take him under her wing. They get really close and she kinda becomes the mother/aunt figure that shouto has never had but always desperately wanted. Until one night they’re both working together to try and take down a gang that’s been extorting people for “protection”. There’s a lot of gang members and the two are out numbered but they’re managing. That is until someone either shoots his mentor or she gets impaled by someone’s quirk. She goes down and shouto sees red. He takes down the gang, webs them up and runs over to her.

She dies in his arms.

The person that killed her fled as soon as shouto began overpowering the gang. Shouto chases after her killer and eventually corners them. He hangs them high above the ground, and he wants to freeze them to death, or drop them, he’ll he’s even mad enough to burn them. But he stops. Killing this person would make him just as bad as them. And it’s definitely not what his mentor would want.

So he ties the thug up and leaves a note.

This is the first time Spider-Man makes the front page of the news, It’s all Japan can talk about for weeks.

And also right before UA he actually gets recruited to the Spider Society. So he has the “Goober” or dimensional travel watch. (He gets invited a few months after across the spider-verse happens as well as the events of beyond the spider verse. Miguel and miles have made up and are working on it) So he also is constantly wearing the watch. Miguel along with noir are his spider mentors. Miguel helps with the talon and fang aspects of his powers (how to properly retract his talons and how to deal with the fangs and how to hide them. Noir trains him with hand to hand combat, detective skills (noir is a private eye), stealth, and also pickpocketing and a couple of other tricks.

So the typical Spider-Man villains aren’t the big guys in this au. The League of Villains is still the biggest concern. And while shouto does fight them sometimes. His villains are still threats but definitely aren’t as well known or as feared as the league. Anomalies are also still occurring, So sometimes another spiders villain will pop into another’s dimension.

That’s it for this one.

[deityoftherain]

cherry sibling oath - Cherryblings Fanfic

Rating: Mature

Relationship: Gen

Archive Warnings: Major Character Death

Status: 3/4 Chapters | In Progress as of Nov 22

Word Count: 7,804

Summary: One's childhood trauma is best understood by the siblings that went through the trauma right beside them... as true as that can be, for better or for worse, even siblings have different experiences from one another, each with their own mental battles as they try to protect each other and themself from further damage.

Please interact here or on AO3 if you enjoy "fallen stars"! Full chapter is under the cut.

click here for chapter one on tumblr

and click here for chapter two

Numb. 

He wished to be numb again. He wished to banish the panic he lived and relived again as his mind forced his memories to loop the moment he lost the one person he cared the most in the world. He wished to not feel, or to simply be left to sulk in his misery, but it could never be that simple, could it?

Alia pressed the base of his palms against his closed eyelids so hard he started seeing stars. His emotions felt as if they were teetering on an edge, flipping back and forth from a numbness so hollow and empty that it throbbed to terror identical to that of which ripped through him that dreaded day…

The terror of a locked door and no answer.

The growing concern as he broke into the bathroom they’ve shared since they were small just to find his sister submerged in the tub, limp and fully clothed.

The frenzied worry of lifting her soaking, water-withered corpse out of the bathtub and onto the floor.

The fear of not being able to find a pulse nor see the typical rise and fall of her chest, even after attempting CPR.

The whirlpool of emotions that traded spots with such a sorrowful, aching numbness that he didn’t even know what to do with himself.

What is the point of continuing on? Alia wondered, struggling to see a future for himself without his reason for living in it. I have nothing pleasant without Gem her. She was the joy in my life, my favorite person, the only one I could be myself around. 

I could join her, Alia thought bitterly as he bit at his fingers. I could go up to The Haven’s roof right now and jump off. I’m sure the other Havenites would have a field day finding their favorite punching bag, sex doll, and scapegoat broken and snapped in half on their lawn. 

“Alia, be a lady!” Grandmother swatted at his hands, prompting him to stop biting himself. “I know that you’re upset at Gemini’s passing, as am I, but you can’t act like a toddler with her fingers in her mouth! Either go socialize with those who took time out of their day to pay their respects, or stay by my side and be quiet, like a good granddaughter.”

He wrinkled his nose, but obeyed begrudgingly, forcing his arms to hang by his sides. He didn’t care to stand by Grandmother as she socialized, but it was better than talking to others himself. “Poor Henrietta,” someone nearby sighed in a false-quiet. “She won’t have any legitimate great grandchildren with Gem ascending to Oasis far too early.” “Maybe Alia’s to blame,” someone suggested in a faux-whisper. Alia could see a blur of hand movement in his peripheral, meaning they were likely gesturing as they spoke. “You know, with her tendency to curse those who get too close to her with misfortune and all.”

“Oh, I doubt that’s true,” the first dismissed.

“But it is!” the second insisted. “My cousin– the one who lives near The Haven just down south– tried to charm her, thinking she was pretty, and she rejected him! Ha, like she could do better with her unchastity. Anyway, he broke his leg just two days later! He’s never broken a bone before then; that can’t be a coincidence.” “Well, I heard Gem killed herself,” a third chimed in, turning the first two’s attention. “Maybe Alia did something to drive Gem mad?”

“See!” the second exclaimed louder than a whisper this time, though they did try to lower their voice again as they continued. “Alia’s curse must have poisoned Gem’s mind! Oh, that poor girl. She was so nice.”

“Wait, what?” the first gasped, seeming to ignore the second’s exclamation. “Gem committed suicide? Really? I thought she drowned.”

“She did, but my dad is one of the police officers that went to the scene, and he said there was an empty bottle of this medication or something that’s supposed to help insomnia,” the third explained. “He pushed for an autopsy, but Elder Henrietta refused. Something about not wanting to see Gem all cut up before her casket closed to be buried or whatever.”

“Gods, that is so unfortunate.” The second sighed, almost wistfully. “She had such a promising future, and I had always intended to become closer friends with her. She just seemed so sweet– was so sweet– and she was the most dedicated of all of us in her religious studies, but I was always far too intimidated by Alia to approach her. I didn’t want to get on Alia’s bad side– to be infected by the curse– and I think the guys agreed. I know plenty of the boys who tried and failed to meet up with Gem when Alia isn’t around, and several more who have been waiting for her to be of age to ask for her hand.”

“Hmph,” a third chimed with a huff. “I do wish they would pay more attention to me. It’s so unfair that Gem got all the praise and crushes. I want the boys to like me and not her for once.” “Maybe they will,” he could almost hear the cruel smirk on their lips, “now that the whore killed our competition.”

Another high-pitched gasp, one of excitement. “Do you think?”

Alia had tried to ignore them– he really had– but he couldn’t bear to listen idly any longer as those disgusting bitches gossiped on and on like they were, talking about Gem’s his sister’s life like she wasn’t a living and breathing person, like she was nothing. 

She’s dead, though, a voice piped up. Isn’t that more or less the same thing? 

Alia ignored the voice, refusing to ever think of his beloved little sister as nothing. The dial controlling his emotions turned, switching him from a depressive state to filling him to the brim with pure, unfiltered rage. Too unfiltered for what was proper, considering that, next thing he knew, he was pinning some nobody on the ground outside of Gem’s his sister’s a funeral.

...

Maybe it was a good thing he barely remembered what happened after that. 

The most prominent memory he had of the next however long was more of an urge, an urge scarily close to bloodlust and the desire to go on a murder spree. Alia never considered himself a violent man, but the rules he tended to govern himself by often went out the window when it came to Gem those he cared the most about.

The best way he could think to describe the experience to himself was to imagine he was watching his body through a hazy filter while half asleep, not feeling in full control. Alia only came to as the door to the basement slammed behind him, fear overwhelming his senses for he knew what was to come. Grandmother only threw them him down here like this when she planned to lock the door.

His grandmother locked the door and jiggled the handle to ensure it was closed, stealing the air out of his lungs and confirming his suspicion. No! 

Previous times Grandmother locked him down here, he at least had Gem– his sister– Gem to accompany him. Now, all he had was the site of– he choked on nothing– of Gem’s suicide and all of her their things to keep him company. They were nothing compared to the real deal.

“Grandmother!” Alia cried, tripping over herself as she scrambled up the stairs to the basement door. He twisted the handle, praying that it would open, but he knew better than to genuinely believe that it would work. “Grandmother, please! Don’t leave me down here!”

“You attacked a fellow Sister of The Haven at my granddaughter’s funeral, dishonoring not only her name, but mine.” Grandmother’s voice was tight and firm, free of any emotion except maybe annoyance or irritation. “You are to be punished, and I can think of nothing greater than three days of isolation for some much needed reflection. Afterwards, I think it may be time to send you off to Reconditioning.”

Blood drained from Alia’s face as he squeaked out, “Grandmother–” “Silence, Alia,” Grandmother commanded, and Alia forced himself to comply. “I’ve held off for this long because I hoped you would improve without outside help, but you have proven time and time again that my hopes were displaced. I have scheduled for them to collect you at the end of the three days, so, perhaps, if you behave, I won’t send you to them on an empty stomach.”

Alia wanted to scream, to curse, to destroy things, to break down the door with his bare hands– but he didn’t. If he acted in such a manner, there would be no convincing Grandmother to have mercy on him. He had to figure out some way out of this! He had to! Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm– 

But he was only human.

He could only manage to compose himself for so long…

Alia bellowed out in anguish, bawling as he broke under the pressure. The weight of everything going wrong in his life crashed down on him, leaving him more broken than before and unable to glue the pieces back together. 

He pounded his fists against the basement door for what seemed like hours as pleas spilled from his lips. Alia screamed for his grandmother to take mercy on him– to not leave him down here alone– until his throat burned so bad that he couldn’t scream anymore. All that came out was weak and pitiful, his inner spirit nothing more than a stray ash in the wind.

Alia slowly descended down the stairs, abandoning the fruitless venture at the top. He stumbled towards the bathroom, knowing that he’ll have to face the location of his sister’s last moments eventually. His heart clenched as he entered the familiar room, but he ignored it as he turned on the sink faucet and cupped his hands to collect enough water to drink from.

The tap water did little to soothe his scratchy throat, though the physical discomfort was nothing compared to his heartache. He sunk to the floor, letting his vision unfocused as he lost himself in his mind. What is left for me? 

Alia allowed himself to dose in and out of sleep, and in and out of grief-induced dissociation, for as long as his body would allow. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, alone down here for hours upon hours on end. 

What will they do to me at Reconditioning? Will I be able to recognize myself once I complete their program? Alia scoffed bitterly. Probably not. 

He had no idea how long it had been since Grandmother locked him in, but his body did not appreciate all the floor time. His mind was all groggy and his limbs were all sore. Even still, he didn’t get up. He wasn’t sure he would even be able to find enough energy within himself to even make the walk to his bed. There’s no point. 

Alia reached up onto the counter to grab his hairbrush, but he ended up grabbing Gem’s his dead sister’s someone else’s instead.

Someone else who had red hair, redder than his strawberry blonde.

The very hair Aria learned to braid on.

Gorgeous ginger hair on a gorgeous dead soul.

Ginger hair. Ginger. Ginger! 

The word popped into his mind, electricity sparking through his body as recognition took hold of him. Gem’s cat stuffed animal! She barely ever went anywhere without Ginger, and if she did, she would be in her proper spot, but she’s not and I haven’t seen her since before– 

… 

Since before Gem died.

She’s dead.

She’s not coming back.

She killed herself.

Gem is dead.

Stop acting like she’s just on holiday.

She drowned.

Gem is not coming back!

Stop lying to yourself and just fucking accept it already, you pathetic, ungrateful slut–

Aria pulled sharply on some of his strawberry-colored locks, using the tingly sensation of hair threatening to be pulled out of his scalp to ground him enough to focus. He took a sharp breath in as he scrambled to his knees, ignoring the popping and cracking his body made with the sudden movement. Yeah, my body really isn’t happy about my chosen sulking spot. 

He shuffled over to the open-air cabinets situated under the sink, stocked with cleaning sprays, spare toilet paper, extra tubes of toothpaste, and more typical-household bathroom products. His eyes scanned over the various items for only a moment before he began to push the bathroom supplies aside, looking for a very specific box of tissues. The very box of tissues that he and Gem had altered to have a false bottom, using it as a place to hide small items from their grandmother whenever she made the hike down to search their room for whatever reason.

If Ginger is going to be anywhere, she is going to be here. She has to be. Gem… Gem would have wanted to die visit Oasis with Ginger with her, but she wasn’t, so Gem must have hid her for a reason, for me to find her. 

He knew it was foolish to get his hopes up, but it was all he had! He had to try, at least! Aria located the tissue box in question from the back of the cabinet, hidden within regular household items. He barely could keep his hands steady enough to open the box, positive anticipation and excitement pulsing through his veins for the first time since Gem… left.

Since Gem killed herself. 

Aria choked back a mournful wail that yearned to accompany such a thought, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. For the first time in gods-know-how-long, Aria got lucky. Inside the false bottom was the twelve-year-old stuffed cat in question and… and a note. A suicide note.

He bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, holding Ginger close to his chest as he stared down at the folded piece of paper. Tears blurred his vision, and he allowed them to as he attempted to find his courage. Slowly and hesitantly, Aria reached for the off-white notebook paper. Breath caught in his throat as he unfolded the paper and struggled to focus his vision enough to make out the words.

Dear Alia Scott big brother,

I love you. 

I’m sorry. 

I was never going to make it to eighte– 

I’m sorry, I shou– 

We both deserve freedom, and I found mine in death– 

Does the Cherry Sibling Oath cover final words, or only Sleepovers? I hope so, and if not, I hope you make an exception and allow me to explain myself: 

I was never as perfect or as favored as they all said I was. I prayed, and prayed, and prayed, and the gods never listened. Or, if they did, they never fulfilled any of my requests. Hopefully they’ll fulfill this one. 

I am in so much pain every day, my brain fighting against my mind, and I just can't find it in me to go on anymore. All I am is a lie, a fraud, and I can't fake it anymore. I can’t keep sitting idly while you are punished in my place. 

I was just another reason for them to hurt you, yet you stayed. You suffered so much to protect me, even when you arguably shouldn’t. Maybe, with my death, I can protect you this time. I can free you from your never-ending sacrifice.  

Once I'm gone, you won't have to protect me anymore, and maybe they'll leave you alone. Or maybe you could finally leave like you should have the moment you became an adult. You can live life as your most authentic self without having to hold yourself back for my sake anymore! I just– I never wanted to hurt you, and I never wanted you to get hurt for me. I’m not worth tha– 

Just trust me– Trust me when I say that my death is the best thing for the both of us. 

I love you so much, but I have to leave this place. I can’t do it any longer, and I’m going to do it in the only way I know how. I've held out for this long, for as long as I could, I did! I stayed on earth for you and you only… and maybe a little bit for Grandmother, but you– You were the only thing that kept me here for so long, but that is selfish of me, because it made you stay too. I was being selfish, and I’m sorry for that, but I can attempt to make it up to you with my final act. By dying, I am letting you go, I am releasing you from the chains I kept cuffed to your wrists, neck, and ankles. 

During my last hours on this plane of existence, I prayed to every god that would listen, asking them to accept my life as a sacrifice in exchange to improve yours. That’s supposed to comfort you, not– You're better than everyone, including yourself, gives you credit for, and you deserve the chance to find a place worthy of your presence. I hope you find that, find a place that loves you for you.

I love you more than I can express,  

Gem <3 

P.S. If you weren’t just trying to make me feel better or whatever by saying you don’t have a specific name in mind yet, then I’m going to place my final vote on Scott. You looked most at ease when I helped you try that name on, and I think it suits you! Up to you, though <3 

Droplets of water dripped onto the note, further warping the already tear-stained paper. Alia Scott was so unbelievably overwhelmed with emotion that he didn’t know what to think. Once he reached the end of the note, his gaze bounced back to the top to start again. Alia Scott wasn’t sure how many times he read and reread Gem’s last words, but he didn’t exactly care. He would read it a million more times if that’s what it took to commit such a small fragment of his little sister to memory forever.

If how dark it was through the small, rectangular windows were anything to go by, it was very late, likely past midnight. If it were a regular day, he may have curled up in his bed and slept until morning, but he hadn’t known a regular day since he lost Gem. 

I need to get out of here. 

A plan to respect Gem’s final desires formulated in his mind, filling him with a new sense of purpose. He couldn’t let Grandmother send him to Reconditioning. He couldn’t fail his sister again by losing the parts of himself she loved. He couldn’t fail himself, allowing them to erase everything that made him Alia Scott and build up a stranger in his place.

Scott started to gather a few choice items– including Ginger, Gem’s suicide note, and the cash they’ve managed to save in another hiding spot without their grandmother knowing– to pack in carriable bag, just so he wasn’t leaving with only the clothes on his back. After he finished packing, he would need to figure out how to escape the basement without Grandmother knowing, and then walk toward the nearest bus stop. Once he arrived, he would need to look at the map to determine which bus would take him the furthest and what stop that was. 

Mental note to buy a cheap, old phone. One of those will probably be useful. 

Scott wasn’t sure what he would do after he got on the bus– or how he would even get through the basement door, he was working on that still– but that was for future him to figure out. All Scott knew was that he was about to start his new life away from his hometown, just like Gem he always wanted. He could finally put Alia to rest, allowing her to stay behind and watch over their little sister as he sought to find the life Gem prayed for him to have, a life as his authentic self, a life as Scott, however that was supposed to look like.

[umbralsong]

Astarion & Intimacy

Astarion: The man of your dreams, the hope of him, is your own worst enemy.

Am I ready? NO. Do I have to be ready? All the fucking time? In this economy? I'm just going to collapse dramatically, on a personal note. Also, this may be best as a work in progress somewhat.

I want to acknowledge his resonance with [sex workers]. Check out this author's excellent [fan fiction] handling the matter and the nuances.

His arc is understandably very personal to survivors of sexual abuse, so please take care as you go along and know you aren't alone. These observations are meant to be a character analysis and my personal interpretations.

Oh, Megan Thee Stallion, we're really in it now. I mean, we were before, but now also more.

The United States is experiencing an exponential rise in racism and hate crimes thanks to our [gutless, greedy leaders]. Racism is a system of oppression and an ideology of dehumanization, not a quirky character flaw. [Fandom has forever been a place used by extremists to recruit]. I've addressed issues surrounding the element of racism in Astarion's writing [here]. I would also like to highlight issues surrounding the portrayal of sexual slavery highlighted [here] by the excellent Stitch Media Mix.

Donate to Gaza here: https://gazafunds.org/ Support good causes with a click here: https://arab.org/ Ceasefire Now: https://ceasefire-now.com/ Donate to the [Sidewalk School] [Pay your rent], settlers. [Crips for E-Sims for Gaza].

Astarion has a fraught relationship with intimacy.

We meet him at the start of his new un-life. He continues to operate as though under Cazador's control. He hints at the things he had to do and only discusses it frankly in Act III. He was a sex slave to the vampire who sired him with no autonomy. Whatever affection or attraction he felt, he always had to deliver them to what he assumed was death on command:

Astarion: Ah, the bedrooms. Never once slept in. This is where I took our 'guests'. I'd entertain them here, until Cazador appeared and... took them away.

Vellioth and Cazador have rules. Here they are respectively:

Vellioth's first lesson is always to dominate. Allow none to be your equal. Vellioth's second lesson is that power comes from solitude. To share with others is to be weak, and to be weak is to fail... and die. Vellioth's third lesson is to act not in haste. A near immortal has time to plan, time to act only when others will pay the price of action.

How they were adapted in relation to Astarion:

First, thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures. Second, thou shalt obey me in all things. Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed. Four, thou shalt know that thou art mine.

*sigh* So, understandably, his view of relationships is like:

Astarion: You never asked me to take my shirt off. I always thought they were a sign of my humiliation. I never realised there might be more to them. But Raphael told us he can make the impossible come true. I have to try my luck. Player: We really shouldn't trust him. Astarion: I don't trust him. He doesn't trust me. We are using one another for our mutual benefit. You should try it some time.

(idk if this is cut or not, but I found it interesting.)

Give his, um, "approach," there is an understandable question of how much of his romance is sincere. Mechanically and as far as the story is concerned, it begins with enough influence/on the first night he spends with the PC and he says things to indicate as much later. I do still understand why this would leave a sour taste in other player's mouths and come off as unnecessarily manipulative, considering it's not a conversation you can hash out with Astarion.

This is as close to confronting him about his intentions in Act I. I believe this happens if you slept with him once and never spoke to him again until Act II (RIP players with ADHD):

Astarion: Seeking to correct your mistake? Player: I'm not sure. I feel there's something you haven't told me. Astarion: Perhaps you got the wrong idea. I never slept with you for pleasure alone. Couldn't you tell? Back in the forest, we both came out on the winning side. The game was clear. You get a moment of escape with a world-endingly beautiful vampire. I get someone to defend me from Cazador. Now, though, I'm hardly going to give you a treat when you haven't helped me in exchange for my excellent services. Player: You were just tricking me into thinking you wanted me in earnest? Astarion: This is what I do. Who did you think you were dealing with? Some fairy tale prince? You are one of a tiny number of people I've slept with who aren't dead. Cheer up, it's quite the achievement! There isn't going to be any more 'us', though. I just don't see the point.

("Treat." Interesting. He has many allegories to consumption, gluttony, greed, and the ouroboros. He also has a tendency to behave and speak like Cazador in his idea of fairness. We may glean a lot about Cazador from Astarion's initial interactions.)

To acknowledge the depth of the wrongs he unwillingly committed with his own hands and the hurt he felt would be psychologically overwhelming compared to pretending to be someone like the perpetrator he was forced to emulate (and who notably pretends not to hurt). It is not always healthy to tear through someone's defensive adaptations, even though people still have to make amends.

His trauma with intimacy is not only with others, but with himself. Personally, I interpret his Act I scene as his first consensual attempt at intimacy, both in sex and in his trauma, in body and soul, embodied by his scars.

Initiating the Romance

He's a vampire, so we're playing into the seduction trope to begin the romance. My demipansexual ass believes there is room for an ace route since *gestures at Karlach and the topic of this essay,* but I digress.

The game takes two interesting tones, depending on whether you have high approval when he propositions the PC or propositions at the Tiefling/Raid party. I'd argue the former is slightly more affectionate than the other, but they're both good for different reasons and for different Tavs.

Should he initiate a relationship with the PC, he sets expectations early on. He's afraid of returning to Cazador's control even with a lot of influence, so he keeps the PC at arm's length and sticks to his One Night Stand routine. He's hilariously taken aback at the party by being asked to say "please." Devnotes for the party:

After the party, Astarion is standing in a corner, bottle of wine in hand, in a bad mood. Everything's too merry for him, not hedonistic enough. But there's the possibility of a little hedonism with the player, if you both agree to meet up for a little 'fun' later in the night. That's a tantilising thought - there might be something to look forward to after all.

High approval (and acting, uh, much more agreeable than my Tav to demonstrate Astarion's double-edged language):

Astarion: Darling, I was just thinking about you. Remembering our time together, the things we've shared - and I don't just mean that lovely neck of yours. I'm growing to like the whole package, honestly. And you clearly like me too, so... Player: What gave it away? Astarion: I could feel it as I was getting lost in your neck. Your little shakes of excitement. You enjoyed it, didn't you? Player: Yes, I did. Astarion: So did I. More than words can say. You deserve a reward. I am so very pleased with what you gave me. We could take an evening to ourselves. Get away from camp - get some privacy. I know somewhere quiet. Somewhere intimate. Somewhere we can... indulge in each other. Player: That sounds pretty good to me. Astarion: Wonderful. I just hope we don't have to wait too long before we can steal away. But once we can, I promise you a night you'll never forget. See you there, lover

The devnotes say "wonderful" is said with a big smile.

He'll be disappointed if you choose to spend the night with someone else in both situations, though he plays it off with his classic icy facade - the defense mechanism against emotional intimacy he developed under Cazador.

This is hard to articulate because it is entirely based on emotional logic, but I'll try my best. A gentle reminder that Astarion can reject the PC, so the fact this is one of the first acts of intimacy he chooses to engage in is important. This is the beginning of his romance, however you headcanon the event for the couple. It is partly what is a real romance scene, even if he can't fully commit himself for psychological reasons.

He still chooses to do so because intimacy is fun for him. Let's acknowledge, sympathize with, and not excuse the limited scope of interaction he had for two centuries, so traumatizing he doesn't remember much of his previous life. While he once engaged in intimacy under enthrallment, now he does it out of attraction, curiosity, and guile.

The second night with the player has this is in the dialogue notes:

Second time Astarion propositions the player to sleep with him [...] The player starts to realise Astarion might have been just playing an act to seduce them the whole time, and that his affection for them might not be genuine. Bridges the gap before he confesses this in his act 2 romance, and says he wants to stop manipulating people and have a real relationship.

The only real "indicator" for me was just that he didn't seem... affectionate. For all of his reactivity and greetings, he is surprisingly bereft of scenes that confirm or put to question his feelings. I do appreciate much of the subtlety, mind you - but he's notably rejecting of intimacy throughout the game and I did interpret it as a one night stand. A few transition scenes would have done us much good, though there are definitely ways to play it with satisfying sweetness.

When you agree meet up with him with high approval the second time:

Astarion: I hoped you would come. I have missed you. And now you're all mine, and I'm all yours. Until morning at least. Let's see where the night takes us.

The devnote says: "with a smile - he's not about to commit to anything long-term"

When you reject him:

Player: I think it's better if we leave last time as a once-off. Astarion: Well, well, excuse me while I die of a broken heart. In all honesty, it is a shame. That time was special to me. I've gotten on my back ten thousand times or more, and forgotten half of them. But you... you I'll remember. Have a fine evening, dear.

The first time I heard it, I was taken aback that he found it in himself to be sincere.

Oh, and that it wasn't actually a one-night stand.

In hindsight, the fact this is one of the few times early in the story he offers any honesty at all tells me he's being genuine. Spending the night with his lover was special to him, and we understand why with context.

Something Real

Astarion: I was trying, with you, you know. In the only way I can try.

Well, this dialogue option may make it seem like he does try, but I will point out that he isn't particularly overt about his affection (I want to emphasize that I understand this characterization to a point - but remember that the PC does not know him and that this affection is supposed to be genuine. You can convey that without being cheesy).

The times this is clearly played out are during break-ups:

Player: Whatever is between us, we need to end it. Astarion: I - I can hardly blame you. I don't exactly have much to offer right now, beyond new burdens to carry. Player: This just isn't what I wanted, when we first slept together. Astarion: I was beginning to believe someone truly wanted me. But I shouldn't have deluded myself. From the start, I was rather counting the hours until it was going to end. Midnight chimes, eh?

How adorable would it be if he truly played up this Cinderella reference in romance? Instead, there is a lot of bitterness and mixed-messaging in his romance. It makes for a weaker story.

I do also take his dialogue literally. He thinks you will only want his beautiful, eternal, and dead form, and not the mutable person beneath. There are other indications, even outside of a romantic partnership:

Player: Unlike you to be so unwilling to receive a new power... Astarion: That was before I knew the cost. Before I knew it meant transforming into some grotesque beast. I remember how it hurt when I turned to a vampire. My body writhed and warped while I was utterly helpless, the grip of death owned my heart as it beat its last. I - I don't want to turn into anything else. I can't do that again. I can't watch my body be taken over. Player: You're afraid? Astarion: I'll happily murder my way to whatever powerful artefacts we can make use of. Point at the back and I'll stab. Just don't ask me to sacrifice my body. It hasn't been mine for so long.

The few dialogues that clarify Tav's complete domination over him, the one Cazador acknowledges.

Once more:

Player: Your illithid powers are the only reason you can stand up to Cazador. This will help you defeat him. Astarion: I'm really not sure... Player: Tell me of the weakest moment you ever felt in those two hundred years. Narrator: *As you pick apart his mind, you discover his worst memory. That which brings him the purest terror. Complete solitude after being disobedient. Sealed. Buried alive. Voiceless. Will this be forever? A year of horror. Then the release. He will never disobey again.* Player: You never want to risk that again. Even if it means becoming part-illithid. Astarion: Damn it. Damn you. All right... I'll do it.

The player may command him to change his very being.

I think we must view this in the context of one of his few real attractions: Sebastian.

Narrator: *Approaching the cells, you're met by hollow faces and eyes reluctant to meet your gaze. There's an almost physical stink of decay and neglect.* Sebastian: You. I know you. Narrator: *The last time you heard this voice, it was singing drunkenly, whispering sweetly, then sighing with pleasure. One of your conquests, claimed for Cazador. He should have been consumed long ago.* Astarion: I remember you. Sebastian: I can never forget you. Astarion: How are you still alive? Sebastian: It's your fault. You stole my life - stole my death. You smiled and joked and got me drunk. You called me so many sweet things. My name sounded like a lyric on your tongue. I want to hear you say it again. Say my name. Astarion: *Among the scars on his face is one you recognise - it's identical to one of the runes carved into your back.* That scar on your face - it must bind you to Cazador's Black Mass. Sebastian: No more games. Say my name! Narrator: *He looks at you expectantly, his hollow eyes boring into yours.* Astarion: Sebastian. Sebastian: You still make it sound so beautiful. You were my first. And my last. [...] Astarion: You should be dead. Why didn't Cazador feed on you? Sebastian: He made me a spawn. Left me here to rot. But I can't rot - I can't die. Astarion: I'm so sorry. Sebastian: You brought me to this hell. Abandoned me. How long has it been? Astarion: One hundred and seventy years. You were one of my first too. Sebastian: My family - my friends - they're gone... You took them from me. You took everything from me!

Against the threat of complete annihilation of his lovers, he still wanted connection. Pursuing his romantic and sexual interests were empowering to him. His autonomy is a weapon that can be wielded against him to great effect.

In his ascension:

Astarion: *Sigh.* There's no use in us fighting any longer, is there? You are a person of rare talent. You aided greatly in my conquest, even if you did not end up a part of it. And if we were beholden to one another? Well, how is that too different to being enslaved? It is for the best. Player: You were terrible for me. And I did terrible things for you. Astarion: The gravest crimes committed in this world are committed for love. A hunger crueller than bloodlust. I know how to play with it, and can't resist playing the hand I know. I would have ruined your love, used your trust until you were nothing.

The PC was not "part" of his conquest. Being in love with them was equal to the torment of enslavement to him. His worst impulses say: Let none be your equal.

Love: A hunger crueler than blood lust.

The man of your dreams: Your worst enemy.

He embodies them all in ascension, or becomes himself.

After completing his quest and breaking up in Act III:

Astarion: Well... Goodbye, then. I suppose. You brought my dead heart back to life. It will keep beating.

This is when he comes to a healthier place and keeps romance as a part of his life, and not its driving force. Good for him.

[finsterhund]

Doing shit like watching Anaconda while high has made me realize that an integral part to how humanity has demonized snakes in culture is by depicting the animal as an inherently sapient serial killer with a vore fetish and then proceeding to try and gaslight the audience into believing it's just a normal naturally evolved animal without human comparable sapience.

Sharks get a bad portrayal too of course but if anything the "mindless killer" depiction sharks get is less of a drastic demonization than "this ambush predator goes out of its way to torture fellow sapient prey first even if it's not at all advantageous to its survival" that snakes get.

There's a scene where the snake somehow curls its coils like they're a prehensile tail around prey before THEN LOOMING OVER and slowly going to swallow. When snakes literally lead in with a bite and then reflexively curl their coils in a similar motion to how alligators death roll to rip pieces. Like. That snake is intentionally doing something stupid and unnatural for the benefit of the audience. It's showing off. The snake is fully aware of the theatrics. There's no way this animal can be how snakes evolved in our real world. That thing cound understand the trolley problem. That thing could probably be taught to work a call center or pay taxes.

Jurassic Park always felt pretty realistic despite wildly inaccurate mutant dinosaurs because while clever, you get the sense that say for instance the raptors in particular, are behaving like real animals. The things they do are within the realm of possibilities for what we know about the species and modern comparisons. They act like birds! Like corvids. Then you fucking have pennywise-tier "fear seasons the meat" snake making sure his throat pouch looks real nice in the wide shot angle.

Ironically the most realistic portrayal of a hypothetical man-eating snake is Kaaa from fucking Disney's jungle book. The OG motherfucker. This bastard is in a 2D cartoon singing and using hypnotism and shit but still within this cartoon slapstick ass universe behaves more like you expect a snake would. Fat lazy and stupid. Just find a way to get the prey to give itself over to you. Sure. Fuck it I don't care. I'm gonna nap in this tree until something comes and bonks me on the head.

With that being said I also do find other creatures that aren't anatomically modern bipedal hairless apes having comparable sentience and sapience to us in media to be deeply fascinating so you must understand that I do have some fondness for the serial killer snake bullshit. But yeah. It kinda sucks people do it to a real animal though.

Then I have my monsters where I'm like, not trying to deny they're like, sapient, but there's evolutionary similarities between them and lizards. Because fuck it. That's cool. But I'm not gonna like, throw real life geckos under the bus for the sake of giving added "legitimacy" to my fantasy creature. Just fucking own it that it's a fantasy creature. Like tremors did. Fucking love tremors.

Anyways.

Idk where I was going with this.

Human media in its portrayal of snakes as an inherently evil animal has always really leaned into "this snake is sapient and likes to hurt things on purpose" pretty much since square one. It's actually really depressing. My mom is absolutely fucking terrified of snakes and every time someone tries to get to the bottom of why it's because she's attributing human reason to the behaviors of a wild animal. This is a fucking tube of stinky boy that likes to be fat and warm and safe. It is the most basal of instincts to want to be fat and warm and safe.

Anyways I love snakes if you couldn't tell. And I don't mean to insult them by calling them big dumb lazy fat stinky idiots. You can also call human babies these things. I'm just saying they literally don't have a thing going on in those cute little stubby heads of theirs even remotely comparable to malice. Provided they feel safe they are one of the more docile types of animals out there.

I think humans just want to see dragons where there are no dragons. I'm sorry you can't see a dragon. I'm really sorry. I wish we had dragons too.

[beobhcm]

THE FUTURE CHAPTER WON’T BE FOR MINORS, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Chapter: 1/?

Category: Multi

Fandoms:

The Sandman (Comics)The Sandman (TV 2022)

Relationships:

Desire of the Endless/Original Male Character(s)Desire of the Endless & Dream of the Endless | MorpheusDesire of the Endless & Dream of the EndlessDeath of the Endless & Dream of the Endless

Characters:

Desire of the EndlessDream of the Endless | MorpheusDream of the EndlessDeath of the EndlessDespair of the EndlessOriginal Male Character(s)Roderick BurgessAlexander BurgessPaul McGuire (The Sandman)

Additional Tags:

AngstHurt No ComfortDesire of the Endless has a Bad TimeImprisonmentDark Dream of the Endless | MorpheusManipulationAlternate Universe - Canon DivergenceDysfunctional Family

Summary:

Desire made Roderick Burgess want to target Death but it was actually to target Dream instead. But everything had gone wrong when they were the one who got captured. Morpheus found out and he wanted to show Desire the worst consequences for messing up with him.

Note: I saw this type of fic once but the authors don’t seem to continue anymore, so I make my own version =)))

“I give you a coin I made from a stone.”

“I give you a song I stole from dirt.”

“I give you a knife from under the hills. And a stick I stuck through a dead man’s eye.”

“I give you the blood from out of my vein, and a heart I ripped from an unknown creature.”

“I summon you in the name of the old lords.”

“We summon you, together. COME!”

As Roderick Burgess and his followers kept repeating the spell, a strange figure was dragged inside the large magic circle drawn on the stone ground. That figure was human-like with neat blond hair. It had a pretty good shape and wearing a fancy black suit. It grunted while struggling to get up as its eyes opened, the golden gleam from the eyes piercing through the darkness of the chamber, but fell unconscious after that.

“We did it. I don’t believe it. We did it.”

“No. We failed. This isn’t Death.”

“Then who is it?”

“Death has family. Destiny, Despair, Delirium,…”

“Who do we get?”

“Desire.” The Magus stepped in the circle as he flipped the figure over, revealing its beautiful and gorgeous face.

“What a lady.” Everyone looked at the entity with surprise and adoration.

“Lady? It’s obviously a man.” Roderick’s son, Alex, started to confuse. He was the only one in the room saw Desire as a man, when the others considered it as a woman.

“Desire is no man or woman. Its appearance reflects what we desire most.” Roderick glared at his son as he had realized something. Unlike his eldest son Randall, Alex was always his disappointment so he didn’t need to pay attention to him at all. The Magus focused on snatching its jewelries, those things might contain powerful magics inside and maybe he would be able to use them for his own purpose, he reckoned. While taking out the necklace, his hand placed on its soft skin and he suddenly felt something. The curves were so perfect, which gave him…arousals. This high feeling increased as his fingers pressed on its round breast, urging him to go further. But his thoughts were cut off when one of his followers called him to ask some questions. He lost his interest right away so he ordered all of them to leave the basement, letting his ‘guest’ have a little rest.

Roderick didn't know the ritual he committed had led him to the weirdest and most terrifying dream which he would never forget in his life. In that dream, he was walking to his study. There was a big throne placed in the middle of the room and a dark figure was sitting on. The glowing eyes, the freaky but deadly look had terrified the Magus for the first time he saw it. He tried to run but his body was not his own anymore. He froze, then shaking as the entity’s shadow slowly covered the entire space.

“Who…who are you?” Roderick was totally frightened.

“I am Dream of the endless, the lord of dreams and nightmares.”

“Dream…of Endless?” Roderick got aware of the dangerousness he was facing as he took a step back and attempted to run. But he slipped off, then falling into a bottomless black hole. Strangely, the Magus found himself wake up on his bed. The first person he saw was Randall. Roderick looked at him with astonishment. His dead son was standing next to him, asking him if he was okay. The Magus didn’t seem happy. On the contrary, he sensed something wrong. Randall talked to him just like the time he was alive. Things went normal in a strange way until his son’s head dropped down. The bloody head turned to him, throwing a wicked smile. Roderick screamed on the top of his lungs, and woke up again. Everyone, his followers, his servants, Alex were surrounding him. Each of them grabbed a knife and stabbed him, cursing him to die. Not letting him a second to figure out what happened, the pain had already overwhelmed the Magus. He closed his eyes, and woke up once again. It was an infinite loop of torturing. When it almost drove him crazy, he was suddenly transported back to the throne room. That entity was revealed in front of the Magus as a skinny pale man. He had a black messy hair, along with his starry black eyes, which looked like the whole galaxy inside.

“What…what do you want? Why did you do that to me?” Roderick shouted. He was completely terrified after what he had been through.

“Listen up, Roderick Burgess.” Dream’s eyes glowed as sharp as knife edge. “The figure you have captured in your basement is my younger sibling, Desire of the Endless.”

“So…you…you want me to release it?” The Magus asked when his legs could not stand still anymore.

“No. Since you already had it, keep it.”

“Wh…what?”

“You targeted my sister, Death. But you summoned Desire instead.” Morpheus grinned. “Lucky for you, you are now having the cruelest and merciless endless in your hand. Once it escapes, you mortal could not imagine what terrible punishment it shall give you for revenge.”

Roderick was out of word when Dream’s shadow shaped into a crooked pair of hands. The hands placed on the Magus’s head tight, giving him spine chill.

“You should be grateful that I am here to warn you. So, you want it to destroy you, or follow my instructions to keep your filthy soul safe?” Morpheus’s hoarse voice echoed with haunting tone. Roderick gulped. His arms and legs trembled before the dark figure growing bigger and bigger. He had no choice so he eventually accepted to listen to the Endless’s orders.

“The magic circle is not strong enough to imprison it. You need to cast more magics and runes, along with keeping it unmoved.” When Dream waved his hand, the black sand floating around the Magus like metal chains. “Mark my words. It will try to lur you to release it at all cost by using its venomous mouth. You’d better wrap its tongues before it gets you.”

Roderick could not do anything but nodding his head in response.

“And the last thing. If you dare to target any members of my family again, I’ll show what’s even worse than a nightmare.”

Roderick suddenly woke up, sweat covering his face. He immediately checked if this was the reality or he still stuck in that horrible dream. Last night was the scariest night he had ever experienced. By the time he found the black sand scattering on his bed sheets and pillow, he knew everything was not only a nightmare.

Desire finally awoke after days of unconsciousness. They felt the cold iron chains on their wrists and ankles. A white cloth wrapped around their mouth, preventing them from speaking. There was a big amount of magic casted on the circle and the chains so they couldn’t move an inch no matter how hard they tried. It felt like something heavy was pinning them tightly on the cold ground. Desire recognized this place immediately right after opening their eyes. This was the Magus’s basement, where they first planned to get Dream imprisoned. But now, they were here, and being captured.

“Greetings, my sibling. It seems like you have been busy with your plan, haven’t you?” Morpheus suddenly appeared and standing outside of the circle. “You made that foolish human eager to capture our sister, but it actually attempted to imprison me. Am I right?” He crossed his arms while confronting them. It was supposed to be him, but his elder sister could have been put into great danger, too. Fortunately, to Dream at least, everything had gone wrong and they finally received the consequences. Since it hadn’t satisfied him yet, Morpheus wanted to make them pay even more.

“Your twisted little game is over, Desire. It’s my turn now. The rule is simple, you may choose to escape yourself, or call us for help.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “… But if you prefer the second option, you are not allowed to get revenge on Roderick Burgess or anyone around him.” He smirked. This idea appeared in his mind seconds ago and he decided to bring it into his game. It would definitely trigger Desire. Watching them get furious in helplessness was such amusing. “Is everything clear, my brother-sister?”

All Desire could do was throwing him a sharp glare. He could see the hatred through their glowing and deadly golden eyes. Their anger towards him grew stronger and stronger as Dream was humiliating them by those challenging but also hurtful words. Due to their pride, Desire had determined to find a way to get out of this cursed place despite their current situation. They couldn’t accept they had lost in their own game.

“Call anyone whether you need help, sibling.” Morpheus slowly faded and vanished in the air after he finished.