#i like to think my tastes are wide and varied

[pikkish]

What’s your favourite part about writing and are there any particular tropes or genres you prefer?

Favorite part about writing is being able to cause emotion. I absolutely LOVE it when I write something and people respond just to say how it made them feel. The more viscerally gut-wrenching, the better. I just wanna make people feel things, yknow?

for tropes and genres, I try not to be too biased. Tropes are just tools for making a story, and genres are just colors of paint, or particular flavors. A skilled writer can make any trope into a good story, and any genre appealing. Likewise, a bad writer can make any trope or genre boring. So I try to base whether or not I like a story more on how well it's constructed and written, rather than just what tropes and genres apply to it.

That said, of course, certain tools can be more fun to use, and certain flavors appeal more than others. I like anger being presented as a good thing, or at least an acceptable thing, rather than something that needs to be suppressed or gotten over. I like characters who are undeniably and unshakably good despite having every reason to turn evil. Some internal or emotional conflict is fine, of course, necessary even, but I like it when they know who they are and what they want, and their bigger problems are figuring out how to get it. No particular preference for setting, fantasy, scifi, historical, modern day, it's all fine, but I tend to shy away from romance for romance's sake stories, and/or normal guy's real life normal problems stories- I like a bit more action and adventure. I'm sure there are other things, but those are the major ones off the top of my head.

[is-the-thing-actually-jewish]

are Hanukkah sweaters a Jewish thing? i've seen them before but 90% of the time, they're people trying to make christmas displays more "inclusive." so are they legit Jewish or no?

Rating: Capitalism.

Hanukkah sweaters are a prime example of what I previously characterized as "capitalism's tendency to tepidly repackage any Christmas symbols in literally or metaphorically blue-and-silver wrapping paper to appeal to a Jewish market." As the "ugly sweater" phenomenon has grown more popular, retailers saw an excellent opportunity to widen their market by having "Hanukkah" versions.

That said, there's a wide range of Hanukkah sweaters out there, some of which are more problematic than others. Ones that are literally just recolored Christmas designs with a couple Jewish-y things tacked on, like this "Shalom Gnome" design or this "Oy to the World" design are more problematic than enthusiastically tacky designed-from-the-beginning-to-be-Jewish ones. The former says "Hanukkah! It's Christmas for Jews! Jews! They're just Christians without Santa or Jesus!" while the latter says, "Oh, you're going to walk around with an eyesore sweater full of tinsel and actual little jingle bells as though anyone could possibly forget that it's Christmas season in this country? I see you, I see you, and I'm just going to casually wear this sweater with a menorah and candles that actually light up because Judaism rocks, that's why."

Then there's a whole genre of Hanukkah sweaters with, let's say, more adult content, and people's mileage may greatly vary on how they feel about them. Personally, I find the ones riffing off more secular aspects of the holiday to be largely harmless, such as this "You Spin Me Right Round, Baby" design with dreidels. On the other hand, while some may find it amusingly subversive, I find ones making fun of the religious part of the holiday (i.e., the actual hanukkiah/menorah) to be in poor taste at best. There are a plethora of "let's get lit" Hanukkah sweaters like this one that genuinely annoy me. (For one thing, Hanukkah isn't even a drinking holiday! If you want a drinking holiday, we actually have those but Hanukkah isn't it!) Ones like this that make it into a creepy pick-up line actively disgust me. And this "gelt digger" one is genuinely antisemetic, given the stereotypes about Jews and money.

I would be remiss not to mention what I personally think is the best of the Hanukkah sweater subgenres: animal puns. My fiance owns this Meowzel Tov sweater with a truly garish design. What does "mazel tov" have to do with Hanukkah, you may ask? Absolutely nothing, but hey, cats! Can't be upset about Jewish cats! Similarly, llamas? Not Jewish at all! But Happy Llamakka? Okay, cute pun, cute graphic, I'm reluctantly charmed. Your Menorasaurus would not be kosher for actual use as the candles are all different heights, but you know what, that actually makes me smile.

So, basically: If you get joy out of being loudly Jewish during a season where everything is yelling about Christianity all the time, go ahead and wear your ridiculous ugly sweater to the company party. Just take a close look at the design to make sure it's not actually full of Christmas trees, not pretending something extremely Christmas is Jewish because it's a pun now, doesn't use Charedi men as a cartoon stand-in for anyone Jewish, and doesn't makes being Jewish primarily about not being Christian.

In sum: RIP my browser history, I'm going to be getting such terrible ads for the next several weeks. Click the links at your own risk.

~Mod Leora

[thealogie]

ok spoiler free wicked movie review for the three of you who said you want me to go see it early and tell you about it:

-Let's get the bad out of the way first because (surprisingly) I mostly have positive thoughts. Do you know when a movie is so dark you cannot see? This was the opposite. Multiple scenes/shots in this movie were so bright I could not see. One shot would be beautifully lit/colored and then the next would be completely washed out with bright overpowering lighting reminiscent of an influencer ring light. I am not even a cinematography snob but some of this was distractingly bad. There's so much money on screen. Let me see it?

-Similarly, Jon M Chu cutting frantically between different coverages/close-ups/wide shots was just not for me but tastes can vary on this. Someone would be doing beautiful choreo and suddenly we'd cut to a reaction shot or close-up in the middle of a mesmerizing choreo move. Bro, I was looking at that why did you cut away? "Singing in the Rain" was not shot like this, bro.

-Ok on to the positive, which was most things. Most important thing: the movie understood the story and the characters. I truly don't see anyone walking out of there being like "the movie didn't understand the characters or their relationship." In the same vein, I think the performances were out of this world, which was to be expected. But like, stunning. Chemistry, singing...all on point. And I say this as someone who is not an Ariana enjoyer at all.

-As you might expect, they added some dialogue/backstory to fill it out and make it feel like a movie. These additions were small and excellent and improved on the story every time, which is often not the case with an adaptation.

-The crowd i saw it with was NOT a "clap after every song" crowd AT ALL but we were all moved to applause after cynthia erivo's wizard and I. Truly, otherworldly.

-There was not enough lesbian subtext in the broadway show and there is not enough lesbian subtext in the movie but there was more lesbian subtext in the movie. Lots of tossing and turning on beds during "what is this feeling" and otherwise. A win.

-Really really minor spoiler: rip to glinda's yellow emerald city dress. You will be missed.

-Amazing use of special effects (which were used judiciously and well and not distracting) vs. practical effects (which were stunning and looked good).

-Dancing through life was so beautifully choreographed and performed. I'm gagged. I just wish I could have seen it better what with the bright lighting and the constant cutting to people's faces while my man J Bailey was doing stunning footwork. Again, Singing in the Rain would never do this.

[slut4thebroken]

Exposure Therapy pt. 6

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jonathan Crane × reader

Summary | Dr. Crane wants to make some changes to your previous arrangement.

Warnings | 18+, sexual content, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, breeding, kissing, hickeys, grinding, riding, praise, degradation, crying (but in a hot way), consensual sex, cockwarming?, he’s a simp lowkey, but he’s doing his best to hide it.

Words | 3k

Notes | I hope y’all enjoy! I’m doing my best to keep it consistent with how his character would act but it’s definitely a challenge lol

Ao3 link | <3

Fic Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Part 5

True to his word, he did return the next day with a few things. He stopped by your cell, rather than having someone bring you to him. When he handed you the bag, you eagerly took it and sat down on your bed to look through it. A sketch pad, multiple pencils- some colored- and two books that you haven’t heard of. 

“I hope it is satisfactory.” He said, emotionless as ever. 

“It’s perfect, thank you.” You beamed at him and he gave you a stiff nod, awkwardly looking everywhere but your eyes. 

“Would you like anything else?” 

“This is plenty.” You lied, not wanting to abuse his kindness. 

“Okay. Bring that whenever you come to my office just in case you need something to do.” He gestured to the bag in your lap and you nodded. “Shall we?” You weren’t sure why he was asking, but even with the items he gave you, having only a little decent human interaction is not enough so you agreed eagerly. 

“Do you have something planned?” You asked as you walked next to him, bag in hand. 

“Not exactly. I just have some questions.” That’s all? He’s just going to ask you things? When you arrived, you sat down across from him, waiting for his questions. 

“Are you eating?” He asked suddenly. 

“Uh- yes? It’s hard to, though. The food is… not what I’m used to.” You did your best to say ‘the food here tastes like shit’ without actually saying that. 

“And that is preventing you from eating even though you must be hungry?” His tone was clinical… neutral. 

“I’ve gotten used to the feeling by now.” You shrugged and he hummed in acknowledgment. 

“From now on I think it would be best if you ate lunch with me, in my office.” 

“What?” You choked out, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“You are of no use to me this malnourished.” Is it really that obvious? You’ve only been here a couple weeks… “So I will bring you something and you will eat with me.” He said simply, as if his words didn’t have the impact that they do. He wants to not only bring you food, but eat with you every day too? 

“You can refuse, though I would highly frown upon that, given your current state of health.” 

“No, I- I’ll eat in here. Please.” The thought of actual food was already making your stomach roar to life. 

“Good. Starting tomorrow then.”

“Okay. Was there anything else?”

“When you offered your assistance, was that to satiate boredom or were you being genuine?” He asked casually. 

“Both. Why?”

“It might be nice to have someone to help with all of the paperwork so I can spend my time on more important tasks.” It wasn’t lost on you the way he phrased it as a statement, rather than him just asking for your help. 

“What would you have me do?”

“To start? Copying my notes onto forms, scheduling appointments, things like that.” While it didn’t sound like the most exciting job in the world, it seemed better than your current routine. 

“Sure.” He almost seemed caught off guard by your answer. “During lunch? Or would I do it another time?”

“You need to eat so, no, not during lunch. It will vary each day so I do not have a specific answer.”

“Okay.” 

 “Have you thought about my other offer at all?” You completely forgot about that to be honest. Which he seemed to be able to read from your expression. “That’s alright. You can think about it now if you want and I can answer any questions you have.” 

“Okay… I do have questions.” He motioned for you to continue so you did. “What exactly would I be doing?”

“Sometimes administering the toxin yourself, sometimes writing down my thoughts. Depends on the day.” He shrugged. 

“Why do you want me to do this?” 

“There’s no catch, if that’s what you’re asking.” He said coyly— trying to deflect.  

“If there’s no catch, then why?” He let out a heavy sigh and looked away from you as he thought. 

“Normally when a patient outgrows their… usefulness… Well, you saw the state of some of them down stairs. And as of right now, your fears are trivial. Phobias of a person or an object are common, it’s not something I need to use you for.” 

“So instead of giving me enough toxin to drive me mad, you’d rather I help you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then why can’t you let me go? If I’m not useful to you anymore.” 

“Do you want me to?” That made you falter. 

“I… I don’t want to leave you, I just want to leave here. I miss my bed, I miss real food and comfortable clothes.”

“You miss that… more than you would miss me. Is what you’re saying.” He almost sounded offended. 

“No, I just- I want to help you, but I can’t stay here forever. I’m miserable.” He looked down to the desk at your words. 

“And how do I know this isn’t just some plot to get out of here?” He said, looking at you again. 

“You’re the one with the psych degree, you tell me.” He narrowed his eyes as he examined you and you waited patiently for him to find that you’re telling the truth. He hummed in acknowledgment, seemingly not finding the right words. 

“Why do you want me to stay so bad? You said it yourself, I’m not useful to you anymore.” You asked softly, hesitantly. 

“Just because I don’t need to study you in my experiments, doesn’t mean you can’t help me with them.” 

“That’s the only reason?” You could already feel yourself deflating from his words. 

“What other reason would there be?” You bit your lip and looked at your lap. 

“Nothing.” You smiled dryly, looking back up at him. “Look, as far as I’m concerned, whatever I do is up to you. You’re not going to let me go and you don’t want to use me in your experiments so there aren’t many options.” You shrugged, not wanting to draw this conversation out so you can avoid any other tactless remarks. 

“Fine. Regarding your… treatment, that will be up to you.” Did he not want to do that anymore? You don’t want to say you want to keep doing it if he doesn’t actually want to. 

“You don’t want to anymore?” You tried to sound normal and not desperate or sad. 

“Do I want to keep raping you? No, I don’t.” 

“Oh,” You didn’t mean it like that. Honestly it’s hard to think of it as that now. “Okay, then… we can stop.” You said quietly. 

“Is that what you want? Or are you just saying that because of what I said.”

“It doesn't matter what I want if you don’t want to. That defeats the whole purpose of discontinuing the rape.” He eyed you curiously before responding. 

“If it wasn’t rape, would you want to continue?” He asked, looking at you through slightly narrowed eyes. 

“I mean… it’s- I don’t know… I haven’t really thought about it.” You shrugged, trying to play it off. 

“It’s a yes or no question.” He said teasingly with a glint in his eyes. 

“You answer first then!” You said defensively. 

“Would I want to keep fucking you consensually? Yes.”  He said lowly, making your breath hitch. 

“Okay well maybe I want that too.” You said, once again, defensively. When he didn’t respond and let you stew in your answer, you rambled out more. “And by maybe, I mean more than maybe.” You watched his lips turn up into a smirk at your rambling. “Stop looking at me like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like- like that!” You exclaimed, pointing at the growing smirk on his lips. 

“Would you want me to consensually fuck you right now?” He asked casually, making your eyes widen. You tried to stammer out a response, but he granted you mercy by continuing. “Come here.” As he took off his glasses and set them on the desk, you stood and slowly walked over to him, waiting awkwardly once you were by his side. He grabbed your hips and rolled his chair back a little, giving you room to straddle his thighs. Once you were settled, he placed his hands on the arms on the chair, making you frown. 

“It’s only consensual if you actually give consent. So far you haven’t.” He explained, raising his brows as he waited for your response. 

“Yes. Fine- I want it.” You muttered, embarrassed. 

“What was that?” 

“I want you to fuck me. Please.” You weren’t able to maintain eye contact as you spoke. His hands grasped your hips, pulling you forward to grind against his bulge, making your breath hitch. You lifted your hands to place on his shoulders, but froze, not sure if it’s okay. He seemed to sense your hesitation because he gave you a nod to your silent question. As your hips maintained the movement without him needing to guide you, your gaze drifted down to his lips. You’ve never seen a man with such pink, soft looking lips. You watched them curl up into a small smile, making your eyes snap up to his. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He asked, eyes fluttering down to your lips. 

“Yes please.” You whispered, subconsciously leaning closer. It hasn’t even been very long but you already miss the feeling of his lips pressed to yours— the way he eagerly swallowed down your sounds. 

He leaned up a little and captured your lips in a kiss, making your hips stutter. This kiss was less desperate and hungry than the previous one you shared. Instead, it was slower, more gentle. He removed one hand from your hip and placed it over your covered heat, rubbing your clit through the layers of clothing, making you gasp into the kiss. 

“Please.” You whined against his lips as he continued to tease you. That seemed to be enough for him though and he pulled away from the kiss to free his cock before pulling your pants and underwear down just enough to free your drooling cunt. 

“Tell me what you want.” He prompted, stroking his length to full hardness. 

“Please fuck me.” You whined, hips squirming, trying to maneuver yourself onto him. He relented, lifting your hips enough to line his cock up with your entrance, then pulling you all the way down. You let out a choked moan, brows furrowing and eyes slightly watering from the stretch— maybe I should’ve let him tease me a little more, you thought, trying not to wince. He seemed to pick up on that though and he let you remain buried on his cock, not moving yet. 

“Relax.” He said softly as his hands settled on your hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles. 

“I- I’m sorry.” You whispered, willing your body to just hurry up and adjust. “I’m okay… You can move.” You said, holding your breath, preparing yourself for the stinging pain to worsen. Instead, his hand moved to your clit, rubbing slowly to build your arousal. When your walls fluttered around his length, the only indication he gave that he was affected was a slight hitch of his breath. 

His other hand wrapped around the back of your neck and pulled you into another kiss. Your hips started rocking slowly and he pulled back from the brief kiss to remove your shirt. He leaned down, sucking your nipple into his mouth, not even teasing you first, and you gasped as your hands found their way to his hair again. The hand that wasn’t on your clit, moved to your other nipple, lightly pinching and rolling it between his fingers. After another few seconds, he pulled back with a wet pop, then switched to the other one. The stinging in your core was replaced with a dull ache by the time he had finished. 

“Fuck me.” You whispered, hips rocking greedily. He had to look in your eyes to be sure, but once he was satisfied with your honesty, he moved both hands to your hips again and slowly lifted you before letting you drop back down with a startled moan. He continued the slow, teasing pace, you started to whine impatiently as you pulled on his hair. You could tell that he was having an internal battle of whether or not he should fuck you like you wanted or punish you for being greedy and you did your best to hide your smirk when he chose the former. 

He grabbed your hips tighter and planted his feet to start thrusting up into you, but he only lasted a few seconds before his chair started rolling back. He cursed under his breath and stood up, making you grab onto his shoulders as you let out a startled sound. Holding you up by your thighs, he walked you over to the couch, then sat down and almost immediately started bucking up into you. 

“Shit-“ You said through a breath at the suddenness of his thrusts, but he paid no mind to it. He just held you still and fucked you with an intensity you didn’t know he had. 

“That’s it- just take it. Just be a good girl, sit nice and still, and fucking take it.” He growled, making you whimper. 

“Please.” You cried, holding onto his shoulders so tight that your fingers ached. 

“Tell me what you’re begging for.” He said lowly, but his voice was starting to get breathier. 

“I- I don’t know… please!” 

“Poor thing. I fuck you for just a few minutes and already you’re too cock drunk to even know what you’re begging for.” He cooed mockingly, making you whine and clench around him. 

“Dr. Crane,” You whimpered, eyes filling with tears of desperation. 

“I wonder how long I’ll have to fuck you for until you’re permanently cock drunk.” You sobbed out a moan at that, feeling the knot of arousal in your stomach grow even tighter. 

“Please!”

“You want that? You want me to turn you into a cock drunk whore? Just a little sleeve for my dick?” You let out an embarrassed whine, feeling your cheeks heat up as you nodded. 

“I bet you do.” He chuckled breathlessly. “I bet you just want to be turned into a proper fuck toy— you don’t need to think, you just need to be fucked and bred.” You let out a choked sob, his words feeding into your kink enough that the fear was at the back of your mind. You nodded again with a whimper. 

“If you want something, you need to ask for it. And quickly too, otherwise I’ll have to pull out. You don’t want it to go to waste do you?” He frowned, making you mirror the expression. 

“No… Want your- I want your come, please…” You whimpered, eyes burning with tears of humiliation. 

“Yeah? You want me to fill you up? Say it.”

“I- I want you to- to fill me up... Please, Dr. Crane.” When the tears started falling, he removed one hand from your hip to wipe them away as he shushed you. 

“There’s no need to cry. I’ll give you what you want.” He said softly and you sniffled in response.  

“Thank you.” You whimpered. 

“Ready?” You couldn’t respond, not as his grip became painfully tight on your hips and he fucked even rougher. All you could do was nod. “Rub your clit.” He said through a breath. You moved a shaky hand between your legs, rubbing fast circles over your clit as you felt your orgasm rapidly approaching. He let out a low groan as your walls spasmed around his length from the pleasure, then forced you all the way down, the tip bulging your stomach a little. You let out a choked moan, feeling his cock twitching inside as hot come painted your walls. Through your moans you could hear him groaning and panting, eyes squeezed shut as he rode out his orgasm. When he stilled, you whimpered painfully, feeling close to your own orgasm. 

“Please.” You cried, hips trying to rock against him even though he was mostly holding you still. “Please, I wanna come.” You whined, eyes filling with tears once again. 

“Go ahead.” He said simply, removing his hands from your body and settling into the couch with a small smirk. 

“But I want your help.” You frowned. 

“I’m giving you my cock. Would you rather I let you hump my leg instead?” You let out a long, needy whine as you pouted. 

“…No.” You muttered. 

“Then go ahead.” You whined, but started rocking your hips faster, continuing to rub your clit. “That’s it. Put on a good show for me.” The emotion in his voice was new to you— even if it was just smug amusement. You moved your hips faster, rubbed your clit harder, eagerly chasing your orgasm. 

“Good girl.” He was teasing you, mocking you, but you still let out a strangled moan from the praise. Your orgasm crashed over you suddenly, making your whole body tremble as you rode it out, sobbing out moans from the pleasure. When your sounds died down and your body stopped shaking, you sagged in exhaustion, hissing as his cock went even deeper in your now sensitive cunt. Your eyes fluttered open and you looked up at him through your lashes, sleepiness clear in your features. 

“Good girl. Did that feel good?” He said softly and you nodded, not even attempting to talk. You wanted to lean forward against his body, lay your head on his chest and let your heavy eyes fall shut. But you knew there wasn’t even a slight chance that he would react any way other than negatively. So you placed your hand on his chest, forcing yourself to stay up and not give in to the sleepiness. 

“Are you tired?” He asked and your eyes fluttered open again, not even realizing you closed them. 

“Yeah.” You did your best not to slur the word. 

“You can rest here before returning to your room. I have quite a bit of work that needs done so I’ll be here a while.” 

“Mhm.” You nodded, giving him a small smile that you swore he almost returned. When he grabbed your hips and started lifting you off his cock, you whined. 

“I know.” He said quietly. Once you were sitting normally on his lap, he pulled your underwear and pants back up, then gently set you on the couch. When he stood up and walked away, you frowned, but he quickly returned, holding your shirt. He slipped it on over your arms and head, then let you lay down, resting your head on your hand as you curled up on your side. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled, not able to keep your eyes open long enough to wait for a response. 

Part 7

[aclowntiny]

Good morning/evening 🥳🤩

Can you do ateez reactions when they loose a bet with their s/o? (Any type of bet and of what the looser has to do) 💖💖💖

Call Your Bet!

Hello friend, hope you like this variety of bets 😘Warning: varying levels of suggestive (never explicit as always)! Sorry for late post here, I have covid 🤪🤙🏻

Hongjoong

Insinuating you knew the guys better than their leader was, in fact, fighting words, but you didn’t care. It was fun to tease Hongjoong, though perhaps it had gotten out of hand.

“I bet you you don’t know them all,” he challenged you, arms crossed.

Exhaling, you felt your posture drop. You weren’t afraid of a little betting, it was just that you were with a man who had expensive tastes. “What are you wanting to bet on this?” It wasn’t even that big of a deal, just that you could remember all the Ateez members’ drink orders.

“Hm,” he put a finger to his chin, gazing at you playfully, “how about a massage?”

Your eyes perked back up at that, a smile creeping onto your lips- that you could do. Gladly. A bet with no punishments was certainly not what you expected. “Of course. Let’s go.”

~

“Wow, how’d you know what we wanted without asking?” Yunho inquired with a smile.

“I just know you guys that well,” you replied, gaze sliding from your friend’s wide eyes to those of your incredulous boyfriend.

Hongjoong for his part glowed with pride. For all his bravado, it did his heart good to see you caring for some of the people he loved most. Laying a hand on your shoulder, he pulled you closer. Your heart settled warmly…at least until he leaned closer and whispered in your ear.

“I’ll show you later why I feel like I won.”

Seonghwa

“There’s no way I’m losing at this!”

“Come on, I know exactly what he's going to say."

Goofing off with your boyfriend, you'd made a bet that you knew how Hongjoong would reply when he entered the room. Seonghwa, of course, insisted he knew his best friend better and thus came the agreement that the winner would choose the next couples' day activity. Likely a movie or a new lego set if Seonghwa was the victor.

“There’s no way if you tell him we’re going to be making a mess in here the first thing out his mouth won’t be ‘no’ or ‘don’t you dare’!”

“Well, I think he’ll at least ask what we’re doing first.”

Seonghwa’s mouth opened, but footsteps at your back cut his chance of a snappy retort. The doorknob clicked as the man of the hour entered the room, greeting his friend first, then you with faintly pleased surprise.

“Hi, Hongjoong! Is it ok if we kind of make a mess in here?” You asked him innocently.

Ateez’s leader instantly arched a brow at you, glancing between you and his best friend. “Doing what? Are you tearing the whole place up?”

“Oh, like your reforming doesn’t do that,” Seonghwa teased him with a little shove.

For your part, you just pointed at him. “That counts! That counts though!”

“Yeah, you were right.”

Hongjoong’s smile fell. “What did I do?”

“We’re not actually making a mess,” you replied with satisfaction as you glanced between both men, “I just get to give Seonghwa a makeover now.”

Yunho

When Yunho invited you to game with him, he’d expected you to get competitive within the actual realm of the game itself, but alas. You taunted him with bet after bet until he finally agreed, sealing, well, someone’s fate.

“I bet I’ll win.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I bet the hoodie I will.”

He turned to face you with a look of exasperated amusement, hands leaving his laptop keyboard. “How can you bet my hoodie?”

Yunho had one hoodie you’d been desperate to steal ever since he first lent it to you. It was the most amazingly comfortable oversized dream of a garment and it was even your favorite color. Many a joke had been made in light of its wonders.

One corner of your mouth tilted up as you gave him your sassiest little head tilt. “You know how.”

You saw a look flash across his eyes ever so briefly, his most YA shut-up-make-me look, but then it faded into pure smugness. “Alright, fine. If you want it so bad, you’ll have to earn it. Ready, babe?”

All you could do was grin and ready your own screen, swiveling to face it. “You know it.”

~

“Well, I’ll be. Hiding was your whole plan?” Yunho’s look of equal parts frustration and awe as he spun in his chair to face you furthered your victory high, raising your smile and speeding your nod even more.

“Well, it was a survival match,” you reminded him with a shrug, “now pay up.”

Shaking his head fondly at your grabby hands, Yunho rose, stretched, and crossed his room to the closet, where he extricated your precious trophy and tossed it to you with a playfully voiced “Catch!”

Squealing with joy, you sat up to do just that, all but cuddling the garment to yourself as you savored the feel, the scent.

As he sat back down in his gaming chair, your boyfriend leaned against his desk with a soft smile. “Man, if I knew you were going to be this cute about it, I would have just given it to you.”

Hey, at least he got a kiss for a consolation prize.

Yeosang

“I’m going to find it first!”

“Says who?”

“Says me! I’m always lucky with these sorts of things,” you told your boyfriend.

Strolling across a green field had somehow turned into a competition, not that you regretted it as your heart sped a bit at the excitement and your chest burst with chuckles at the skepticism on Yeosang’s face.

Four-leaf clovers struck your fancy as you’d strolled, waving greenery reminding you of old tales of luck, not to mention childhood experiences searching for them and calling yourself a leprechaun if you found one. Thus bargaining with Yeosang for a pot of gold of your own.

“Loser buys dinner!”

At that, your boyfriend pouted. “I was going to buy dinner.”

“Then you better lose,” you winked and ran past him, bending over to scan the widespread greenery for wondrous irregularity.

Out of the corner of your eye you see him bend his knees too, stepping forward in the comical waddle you were surely mirroring. Trios of leaves danced in the breeze before your sight, drawing your focus such that your vision began to blur-

There! You had no idea how many minutes had passed, but right as your knees began to ache and the clover growth had practically burned its pattern into your vision, a beautiful variation to it all. A four-leaf clover.

“Found one!” You exclaimed in triumph, plucking it for proof.

The wide-eyed look on Yeosang’s face alone was priceless, the shocked smile slowly spreading across his… wait a minute.

“Did you lose on purpose?” Hand on your hip, you fixed him with an accusing look.

Batting his eyelashes innocently, he singsonged, “Maaaaybeeeee….”

“Hun,” you sighed.

He stepped closer, taking hold of your shoulders. “I just wanted to spoil you, what can I say?”

“Alright, sweet-talker,” you shook your head, leaning in for a quick kiss.

San

“So you think you can beat me at my own game?”

“Yes, obviously, that’s why I’m betting with you,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at San playfully.

Your boyfriend had taken you to the amusement park and you’d endeavored to see who could go the longest on the biggest roller coaster without screaming.

Pulling you into his chest, he shook his head with amusement. “So the loser buys the winner a souvenir?”

You nodded into his shirt, stepping forward in line.

“Sounds good to me. You’re on.”

“You’re going down.” Even as you chugged to the top of the most massive hill you’d ever been on, your eyes were locked firmly upon San’s sculpted profile, the way his fell back onto you as he turned.

“I’m sure I am,” he replied right as your car began its descent.

The moment the momentum started he threw up his hands and let out a loud whoop. You laughed despite the wild hoot it came out as, fixing San as best you could when a sharp turn threw you into his side.

“You didn’t even try!” You shouted over the wind’s exhilarating rush.

San grinned against the assault of air. “I want to buy you stuff!” He exclaimed triumphantly as you sailed down the next smaller hill.

Mingi

Corny as it may have been, you guys decided to try one of those couples’ bets where you see who can go the longest without touching the other. You had bragged enough about it being easy that if nothing else, your pride was at stake let alone any penalty.

You weren’t the type to play dirty (in this case literally or figuratively), so for the most part you just went about your day, though you had worn Mingi’s favorite outfit on you and you couldn’t help a faint smirk at the way his eyes traveled up it.

“Ready for the first movie, hun?”

“Yep!” For all his wandering eyes, your boyfriend had relegated himself to the furthest edge of the couch where he sat straight as a pin, hands folded in his lap.

With a snort, you chose the middle cushion, placing yourself just out of his reach and crossing your legs. “Popcorn?” You held out the bowl in your hand.

Narrowing his eyes, he leaned forward and curled his fingers around the top edge to lift it from you. “Nice try.”

You shrugged. “I’m just trying to enjoy the movie. You gonna be ok with this one?”

“Yeah,” he replied between crunching mouthfuls of popcorn, “of course I am, why?”

“I dunno,” you answered in a faint singsong and batted your eyelashes innocently, “it’s a pretty romantic movie.”

“So what?”

~

So what indeed. You heard the springs of the couch before anything, turning more out of curiosity, but you barely had time to register a single sight as Mingi surged forward and yanked you into an electric kiss in time with the main interests’. His hands slid from your shoulders down to your waist, your hips, as you metaphorically shook off your surprise and responded.

“To hell with the bet,” he said as you pulled away, satisfaction joining the smattering of red across his face at your smile.

“You won’t be saying that when you have to do whatever I say for a day,” you reminded him.

“Maybe I like that punishment,” he shot back with a shameless smile, returning to his sweet laugh the moment you playfully shoved him.

Wooyoung

“You’ve really never tried this before?”

“When would I get a chance to?” You countered, shifting beneath the sheets to face Wooyoung.

“I dunno,” he shrugged, leaning just inches from your face as his voice lowered, “you tell me.”

You accepted the kiss before you spoke, smiling into the shocking passion of it and leaning in deeper before you finally broke it. “I’m not exactly the ‘stay in bed all day’ type on the average day.”

“I know,” he leaned over you with a grin, “that’s why there are stakes. Last to get up and you get to pick how we spend the afternoon.”

“Or evening.”

His eyebrows shot up and down. “Or evening.”

You laughed and gave him a little push away, but he came right back forward to wind his arms around your waist. “There’s no way we’ll stay down that long. We’ll have to eat or, you know, go pee or something.”

“Not if we keep busy enough to forget.”

You didn’t disagree with the logic there, but he still got a light smack with a pillow.

~

“You know what?”

Wooyoung pressed even closer to you- if that was even physically possible. “What?”

“You’ve got me on your side now. This day’s been almost perfect.”

His eyebrows raised at that as he searched your gaze. “Almost?”

“Yeah, it’s been great,” you replied, giving him your most earnest eyes.

“But what could make it better?” He urged you, one of his hands finding yours.

“I’m just thirsty is all.”

Over a drink, yet his stare was so intense, eager. “I’ll get your favorite.”

“No, you don’t have to do that,” you told him.

“Anything for my darling.” Pressing a kiss to the back of your hand, Wooyoung rose from the bed, pulling on his robe. “I want to.”

“Ha!” You exclaimed. “Sucker! I can’t believe that worked!”

Realization hit him like a ton of bricks, widening his eyes and slumping his shoulders. “Oh, shit.”

“I win!” You cheered, raising your hands above your head.

He crossed his arms and stuck his tongue out at you despite still crossing the room to fetch your drink. “Whatever. We were probably going to pick similar things anyway.”

“True,” you giggled, rolling your eyes fondly, “but I’ll find a way to make it interesting, don’t you worry.”

Jongho

He started it, teasing as ever and confident in his victory if his crossed arms and prematurely triumphant smile said anything. Leaning against the counter, he’d briefly enjoyed your amusement at the apple he’d snapped in half for you before speaking.

“Bet you couldn’t break me one.”

“What,” you’d just teased, “getting tired of being the strong man?”

“No, it’s nice to be powerful,” he grinned shyly, “but I’ve just never seen you try anything like that before.”

You’d seen it done by ordinary folk before. Sure, why not? It was Jongho’s shtick and you never moved in on it, but if he asked, so be it. Reaching over to your countertop basket, you curled your fingers around one’s shiny red surface and straightened. “What are you betting?”

“Hmmm,” he paused, dark eyes drifting upward in thought, “a massage?”

“So boring! I want you to watch my favorite show with me!”

“All of it?” His eyes widened; his fingers flexed faintly against the counter. “How many seasons is that? Isn’t that a lot for one apple?”

“Alright,” you stepped closer to teasingly nudge him, “fine, first three episodes, then you can bounce.”

“Not that I’ll need to. Begin,” he urges with a grin and a wave of his hand.

Again, you’d seen this done plenty of times. One trick you remembered was to roll your thumbs when you squeezed and twist opposite directions- right? You liked to think if Hongjoong could do it, so could you, not that he wasn’t fit. If you had half the pecs he did-

Snap! Ok, guess it was opposite directions, because with a kickback of your hands you felt the pressure of a tear and saw two distinct halves, one upon each palm. Your smile rose dramatically like The Grinch’s as your gaze slid back up to meet Jongho’s.

“So…wanna make some popcorn?”

[fettuccinealfred0]

Til Death Do Us Part | Part 9

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 12.5k

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

Summary:

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

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

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

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

Read on ao3 here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What sort of monster had Astarion turned you into? 

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

This is most certainly not that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You did not want comfort. Not now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Astarion seems at a loss for words.

“I want to go home,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you ready, darling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears begin welling up in your eyes again.

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

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

How did Astarion manage to live like this? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Horses,” you say, a bit surprised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Karlach, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—------------

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

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

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

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

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

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

My dear wife,

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

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

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

Your husband, 

Astarion

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

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

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

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

—------------

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

Time moves. You don’t. 

You feel dead. Guess that makes sense. 

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

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

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

“What’s the difference?” You scoff. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes at her comment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shrugs, but you see her smile.

—-----------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I came to apologize,” you tell him.

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

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

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

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

Astarion nods. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s so much warmer than you remember. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about as a husband?” You tease. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t you dare.”

Is this Astarion initiating?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His words send a shock straight to your cunt. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gods, and how does he smell even better now? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You come.

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” you ask.

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

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

“Is that okay?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you,” you tell Astarion. 

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

“I love you, too.”

Somehow, you manage to smile even wider.  

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

Notes:

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

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

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

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

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

[kvetchlandia]

Henry Miller and Anaïs Nin, Paris Uncredited and Undated Photograph

August 14, 1932

Anais:

Don’t expect me to be sane anymore. Don’t let’s be sensible. It was a marriage at Louveciennes—you can’t dispute it. I came away with pieces of you sticking to me; I am walking about, swimming, in an ocean of blood, your Andalusian blood, distilled and poisonous. Everything I do and say and think relates back to the marriage...

Here I am back and still smouldering with passion, like wine smoking. Not a passion any longer for flesh, but a complete hunger for you, a devouring hunger. I read the paper about suicides and murders and I understand it all thoroughly. I feel murderous, suicidal. I feel somehow that it is a disgrace to do nothing, to just bide one’s time, to take it philosophically, to be sensible. Where has gone the time when men fought, killed, died for a glove, a glance, etc? (A victrola is playing that terrible aria from Madama Butterfly—"Some day he’ll come!“)

I still hear you singing in the kitchen—a sort of inharmonic, monotonous Cuban wail. I know you’re happy in the kitchen and the meal you’re cooking is the best meal we ever ate together. I know you would scald yourself and not complain. I feel the greatest peace and joy sitting in the dining room listening to you rustling about, your dress like the goddess Indra studded with a thousand eyes.

Anais, I only thought I loved you before; it was nothing like this certainty that’s in me now. Was all this so wonderful only because it was brief and stolen? Were we acting for each other, to each other? Was I less I, or more I, and you less or more you? Is it madness to believe that this could go on? When and where would the drab moments begin? I study you so much to discover the possible flaws, the weak points, the danger zones. I don’t find them—not any. That means I am in love, blind, blind. To be blind forever! (Now they’re singing "Heaven and Ocean” from La Gioconda.)

I picture you playing the records over and over—Hugo’s records. “Parlez moi d amour.” The double life, double taste, double joy and misery. How you must be furrowed and ploughed by it. I know all that, but I can’t do anything to prevent it. I wish indeed it were me who had to endure it. I know now your eyes are wide open. Certain things you will never believe anymore, certain gestures you will never repeat, certain sorrows, misgivings, you will never again experience. A kind of white criminal fervor in your tenderness and cruelty. Neither remorse nor vengeance, neither sorrow nor guilt. A living it out, with nothing to save you from the abysm but a high hope, a faith, a joy that you tasted, that you can repeat when you will.

All morning I was at my notes, ferreting through my life records, wondering where to begin, how to make a start, seeing not just another book before me but a life of books. But I don’t begin. The walls are completely bare—I had taken everything down before going to meet you. It is as though I had made ready to leave for good. The spots on the walls stand out—where our heads rested. While it thunders and lightnings I lie on the bed and go through wild dreams. We’re in Seville and then in Fez and then in Capri and then in Havana. We’re journeying constantly, but there is always a machine and books, and your body is always close to me and the look in your eyes never changes. People are saying we will be miserable, we will regret, but we are happy, we are laughing always, we are singing. We are talking Spanish and French and Arabic and Turkish. We are admitted everywhere and they strew our path with flowers.

I say this is a wild dream—but it is this dream I want to realize. Life and literature combined, love the dynamo, you with your chameleon’s soul giving me a thousand loves, being anchored always in no matter what storm, home wherever we are. In the mornings, continuing where we left off. Resurrection after resurrection. You asserting yourself, getting the rich varied life you desire; and the more you assert yourself the more you want me, need me. Your voice getting hoarser, deeper, your eyes blacker, your blood thicker, your body fuller. A voluptuous servility and tyrannical necessity. More cruel now than before—consciously, wilfully cruel. The insatiable delight of experience.

HVM

--

Everyone else seems to have the brakes on… I never feel the brakes. I overflow. And when I feel your excitement about life flaring, next to mine, then it makes me dizzy. - Anaïs Nin to Henry Miller, 1932

[velvet-vox]

My Top 10 Favourite Male Villains of all time.

"How arrogant of you to think that any of us are anything but irrelevant". -John Greer, Person of Interest (2011-2016).

There comes a moment in a blog's life where some things are just long overdue, and while the argument could be made that this happened way too early, I'd say that as long as this helps me to find my groove, I am free to experiment as much as I want.

So..... Villains.

Gotta love them. As long as I do not meet them in real life. This post is in particular about male villains since I have one dedicated to their female counterparts in the pipeline so expect that to come soon enough and for this part to be rewritten. By the way, "villain" is a generalisation, I can totally put antivillains, antagonists or more general antiheroes in this list; your definition of "Bad Guy" can vary greatly and so can mine, someone like Walter White from Breaking Bad could have made it in here. My taste is very unusual, so prepare yourself for some unexpected picks.

Also, since these are meant to be some big celebratory posts, for the occasion I'll reveal my Italian heritage and translate every line of dialogue in Italian and publish it separately with a link, so that English readers who are learning Italian can exercise.

Here's also a follow up to this post, the first part of my top 30 favourite female antagonists of all time. Check it out, if you are curious to see more.

The bad girls

But first, some honourable mentions:

Oropo (Wakfu): Once you see the number 2 spot for both this list and the female villains list you might notice that I tend to gravitate towards characters with wasted potential more often than not, but while we're just talking about this guy, I cannot stress enough the amount of unceremonious mishandling that lies within his concepts and execution. Really needed two seasons of 25 episodes each to explore it to their maximum.

Tai Lung (Kung Fu Panda): I love him, but not as much as others, it's a matter of personal preference. He's an amazing antagonist, so even if he is just an honourable mention, I wouldn't call him a lesser villain by any stretch of the imagination; I once felt like he was too sympathetic for his movie's sake, but looking back at it again, he's actually moderately evil for a lot of reasons, even if Shifu is the main one.

Bill Chyper (Gravity Falls): It's been way too long since I watched Gravity Falls, I really can't give you an accurate opinion on this guy anymore.

Flintheart Glomgold (DuckTales 2017): That season 2 episode. If you know what I'm talking about, you KNOW. Also the music for that whole sequence was a banger, really driving home the deranged nature of that twist reveal.

Big Jack Horner (Puss in Boots The Last Wish): I feel like when people praise Jack for being a breath of fresh air in a stale environment, they often forget just how good of a villain he was in his own right without the larger industry wide void of truly devious antagonists that act out of pure malice.

The Wolf (Puss in Boots The Last Wish): Two villain entries from one movie? Of course it was gonna be The Last Wish, what else could it be? Honestly I don't even wanna talk about this guy, you need to experience the movie for yourself.

Rob (The Amazing World of Gumball): Everything I have to say about this guy gets talked about much better by the number 6 Spot on this list, but as it stands Rob was my first villain OTP and the guy who opened the box of Pandora for me on what an antagonist could and should be, since then my perception of villainy only widened and now I enjoy their role in a story in much different way.

And now, with that out of the way, let's finally start with the ranking of my personal favourite male villains of all time.

Major spoilers down below:

Number 10: Silco (Arcane)

This guy is the reason that brought me to specify who or what counted for this list as trying to simplify Silco into one specific group of characters is a challenge that can only end in a misunderstanding of what makes Silco such a complex and fascinating character with an amazing character arc, that ends with him not being redeemed, mind you, but allows the audience to grieve in such a way that would make a side character death jealous.

When writing an antagonistic character, Silco is my goal and high standard, and just for that he deserves all of my respect and endless praise.

Now, admittedly, Silco's arc takes a while to kick in, but it works out to his advantage by the end of it since you don't realise just how much you've grown to care for him until he's dead and you're left with the surprise.

10 out 10, the nation of Zaun would have been much better (worse) with him than with Vander.

Number 9: The Riddler (DC)

The Riddler is literally my ride or die villain, when I'm in the mood for him, he's literally my favourite antagonist ever; when I am not in the mood for him, I completely forget about his existence.

When compared to many other entries on this list, Riddler is definitely more on the pop culture side of antagonism, and when you've been around for almost a century, you tend to have many different versions of the same character written by different writers, so I wanted to highlight here my favourite versions of him:

Arkham Games: He's hilarious. He's not my ideal Riddler, but whenever he comes on screen, his whiny rat's ass voice stimulates my pheromones.

Batman The Animated Series: I've heard somewhere that this version of him is disappointing, and to that I'll say... yeah, but only when he wasn't on screen, because otherwise, he kind of slayed.

Matt Reeves The Batman: This is the version that rekindled my love for him after so long. Out of every interpretation of The Riddler throughout the years, this is the one version that treated Edward more as a character rather than an obstacle for Batman to overcome, and for that I'll be eternally grateful.

LEGO Batman The Videogame: My very first introduction to The Riddler and the Batman universe as a whole, this version has a permanent place in my heart , I love how much information and emotion you can get out of him by just looking at his mannerisms and quirks alone; unironically, being silent helps him reach that quote on quote idealised version of Riddler that I was talking about earlier.

Number 8: The Snatcher (A Hat In Time)

There are many things that can carry on a villain in a story, their evolution, stage presence, complexity, thematic contrast to their counterpart, and so on and so forth. While an antagonist can check off many of these boxes simultaneously (like the one pictured), there's one box that is almost impossible to truly nail perfectly: comedy.

You see, comedy is subjective, and when your main antagonist is also the funniest part of a given story, it becomes hard to also match a sense of gravity and menace that allows them to also be an imposing threat, even harder is to give said antagonist depth and a tragic backstory.

But somehow, out of nowhere, The Snatcher from A Hat In Time manages to simultaneously be the funniest character in his section of the game, carrie said energy throughout the whole experience even down to the DLC, simultaneously strikes the balance between being scary, wholesome, sympathetic and tragic, exude an insane amount of charisma, all while having a deeply disturbing backstory that touches on some heavy themes and re contextualises his actions into something more complicated and out of a broken man, everything I just said + he's the biggest bastard in his videogame and never repents nor does he have his actions called out.

Snatcher really has all the right cards that make a stationary character work and uses them to his maximum potential, and it works because his character arc throughout the game is more about becoming affectionate to Hat Kid than it is about redeeming himself.

Lastly, his voice actor, Luke Sizemore, aka Yungtown, really sells the performance of this devious soul eating worm and burns his catchphrases into your brain for the rest of eternity, much like his boss theme,

Your Contract Has Expired

A song that switches around being scary, epic, energetic and desperate in a short, yet perfectly paced amount of time. You need to listen to it regardless of if you've played the game or not.

Fool.

Number 7: Judge Claude Frollo (Hunchback of Notre Dame)

You can never say no to a classic.

There's nothing that I could say that hasn't already been said by thousands of videos on YouTube, but I'll try anyway: you see, Frollo is the reason why we need a new term to identify certain villains that aren't "sympathetic" but still make you feel some sort of human emotion and a form of "I wish someone could give you the care you need to fix your life", I guess the term empathetic exists, but when do you really see it used?

Now, don't get me wrong, Frollo is absolutely not sympathetic in the slightest, he wants to r##e a Romani woman that's way younger than him, but you can still feel that he's very troubled about it in the Hellfire scene and has definitely a lot of unidentified issues and internalised bigotry that could be worked through, even if it's too late to work through them right now.

In general, I feel like people forget that the main reason why past Disney villains worked had to do more with their human traits juxtaposed to their malice rather than just their plain wickedness, otherwise the Horned King from the Black Cauldron would be top of the Disney villains league and that couldn't be further from the truth.

We should really strive towards writing more villains like Frollo, less omnipotent beings that end up falling flat because they don't have much thematic relevance aside from being a threat (Bill Chyper works because he represents Ego and he's used sparingly) and more average vicious individuals who use their power and influence to get what they want.

All in all, if you've seen The Hunchback of Notre Dame, then you know why this guy is here, but just to cite a couple of repeated points, the Hellfire scene is perfect. It's immaculate. It's unreproducible; there will never be another scene like this coming out of the House of Mouse or animation ever again, the excessive amount of stars and elements that came together to create this gothic classic is so vast that it's literally a miracle.

Frollo is truly the personification of the dark, twisted side of humanity peaking through the door and into your mind, from which he shall never escape as his performance still remains perfect to this very day.

Number 6: The Spot (Spider-man across the Spiderverse)

"You've hit me with a bagel!" It's still the greatest villain origin story of all time. There's truly something maniacal about this reveal, like the entire universe was shattered and reality was shocked at the mere realization that while Miles was having his coming of age moment back in the first film, this guy was having his normal life completely and utterly shattered by a combination of both our heroes stepping up to do the right thing and our doofus lack of foresight and self reflection; all of this stuff is hilarious and completely made up for the film but good god they did such an amazing job tying all the elements together in an unexpected way that makes sense and parallels the journey that our protagonist faced in the first movie.

Like with Rob from The Amazing World of Gumball, and a little bit like number 2 on this list, I just really enjoy the concept of turning background characters who had no relevance whatsoever into the big bad of the story who's been there all along and the heroes (and the audience) just couldn't notice.

With The Spot in particular, there's that sense of satisfaction of turning the wasted potential of a villain who has been underestimated for literal decades and treated as a "villain of the week" (God do I love the meta narrative of this movie) into an actual competent, well written antagonist that is aware of his reputation and strives towards bettering himself and his powers.

He's also the funniest character of his movie too and the voice acting of Jason Schwartzman only accentuates his mannerisms and pettyness.

He also has the coolest usage of portals I have ever seen and his whole "There's a hole inside all of us" metaphor is simultaneously hilarious and very deep personal information that can only be understood if you put yourself into his shoes.

I can't wait for Beyond the Spiderverse to come out and see how his arc resolves, more importantly, I wonder if he's going to rank higher in the future.

Number 5: Lord Shen (Kung Fu Panda)

"Happiness must be taken. And I'll take mine"

.....

What a character.

What a movie.

You cause so much pain and suffering, because you don't understand the people around you, and then those people banish you, and you can't understand why, so you start to believe that they hated you.

They never loved you, so you keep causing pain and suffering but it's not that easy anymore; the guilt starts to resurface, all those bodies keep piling up, but you can't stop because then it would have all been for nothing; so you keep chasing those dreams of grandeur because that's all you have left; the emptiness in your heart can no longer be filled by love, so you try to fill it with something else.

You try to fill it with power. You try to fill it with glory. You try to take everything else for yourself so that you can fill that cup, but it doesn't work, because that cup has no bottom.

And so you're left... with yourself.

And the damage you've done. But now it's different; you've failed. You are left with nothing. Nothing.

And so you outrage, for the last time... And then it all ends. Forever. And you've finally come to accept this, after all....... Who could ever love you?

Number 4: Spamton G Spamton (Deltarune)

You know, in retrospect, it's kind of insane what Toby Fox managed to achieve when creating Spamton.

Not only because Spamton feels like the most insane combination of ideas ever conceived, but also because Toby Fox created such a complex character with such a complicated language and personality and then not only shafted it all aside for the players to go out of their way to interact, but also made all of this in what are officially 2 or 3 cutscenes at most (4 if you consider his shop encounter as one) and only one of them being truly mandatory.

You spend so little time with Spamton, and most of that time is spent fighting him, and yet by the end of it you've become enlightened by the knowledge of him, that after a while... you forget how scary it all was.

All the memes comparing Spamton with Turbo are 100% correct and justified, Spamton truly is Turbo but better; you go through an insane rollercoaster of emotions with this character that you are left absolutely dumbfounded when it all comes to a stop and you go back to play the rest of chapter 2 normally.

His insane mannerisms and mood swings are pretty funny at first, but once you peel back the layers a bit they reveal a pretty realistic and sad portrayal of mental illness, mania and hysteria coupled with an unhealthy amount of social distancing, loneliness, and abandonment issues, that reinforce into your brain the idea of someone lacking proper healthcare and needing to be locked away from society for their (society) own good, simulating the vicious cycle that Spamton lives by: nobody wants to help him but he's still expected to act like a regular individual despite the amount of hardships he's facing and the lack of a support system keeping him from falling back into his bad habits.

I'll admit, I've considered putting Spamton in place of the Number 3 spot on this list; but then I've realised that on an objective level, the next entry totally deserves to be ranked above Spamton; plus, with at least 5 more chapters of Deltarune on our way, whose to say that one of the next gremlins won't be able to dethrone even the number 1 spot?

Drumroll for our top 3:

Nox, the Watchmaker (Wakfu)

There will never be another experience in my life as cathartic as watching the first season of Wakfu for the first time ever again.

On a later rewatch, the initial problems that you've noticed throughout the first half of the season and a little bit in the second half become too apparent to ignore, but the first time everything that goes from the ball tournament to the finale is one of the best paced arcs of television, and everything that happens when the team reaches the Sadida kingdom is just peak Wakfu.

And the king, the culprit, the crown jewel of properly paced stories and arcs is no other than the sad clockwork dilf himself: Noximilliem Coxen the Watchmaker.

Arguably, the greatest sympathetic villain of all time. There has never been another case of a character who has committed such vile, unspeakable crimes, and yet still managed to make me root for them while simultaneously not putting down the heroes.

And let's not be mistaken here, Nox is pretty evil:

Aside from the generic murder, Nox also defiled and stitched together the corpses of multiple victims and turned them into his obedient puppets in order to commit even more murder and genocide in order to achieve his goals.

Also, this is one of the funniest crimes Nox has committed: he abused his dog. It's really not that hilarious nor is it that important in the context of the show, but if you look back at it from an outside perspective then it's really like: Oh yeah. That happened too. Lol.

One of the best parts of his entire arc is his defeat. The "20 minutes" scene deserves a "One Villainous Scene" coverage video to forever immortalise it amongst the greatest. Everything from the music, the subversiveness, the cinematography, the voice acting and just the general art direction of it is worthy of an Eminem award at the Oscars, there's genuinely nothing wrong with this scene, it's truly immaculate.

Words alone cannot do justice to the treacherous, gut wrenching emotional rollercoaster that is experiencing his story for the first time. An hour long video essay would only serve to cover the basics and fundamentals, while for the real deal you need to watch the first season of Wakfu for yourself.

Number 2:

Bradford Buzzard (DuckTales 2017)

And now it's the perfect time to pull out my final wild card, the hole of the sink of my autism, the masterpiece of wasted potential that is Bradford Buzzard from the DuckTales remake of 2017.

When you'll also see the number 2 spot on my villainesses list, you'll come to realise that this spot is more of the "I really wish I could put this at number one but I can't because objectively he doesn't deserve it and the majority of things I love about him in canon were probably an afterthought and in fanon were never plausible to begin with."

And that's how I feel about Bradford Buzzard, an antagonist I spent more time thinking about than probably anybody else on the Earth.

The show runners were so genius for this: we are going to create an original character that will probably struggle to maintain a foot print on the franchise due to the way the Duck verse works, we'll give him an insanely cool backstory and motivation, all coupled with interesting character traits and ideology, we'll make him the ultimate foil to Scrooge McDuck that has been working with him for literal decades, we'll make him the one who has got the closest to isolating Scrooge and destroying his family, and THEN we'll turn him into a generic anime villain that shoots lasers and fumbles his own plan and loses because of insane plot armour and contrivance. Good job writers.

Anyway, I should probably make the case for why this guy ranks so highly in my mind to the point of almost taking the podium for my most liked villain of all time, especially when compared to the stiff competition that we just went through.

Now, part of it is just because this is a personal top 10 and so I can put whoever I want in whatever order I want. But also, with Bradford in particular, there's a personal aspect of relatability, various interests, and passions all coming together to make him stand out in my brain.

The thing is, I've had a pretty strong connection to Disney's Duck's comic books my entire life, even if my love for them came dwindling over time, so when I finally started watching the Reboot and it was amazing, all of that buried passion and love finally re emerged back to the surface, turning me into an annoying super fan. But while season 1 and 2 were great, season 3 actually gave me something to latch on for the rest of time even after the show had ended: the character of Bradford Buzzard.

You see, DuckTales, both in the shows and comics, always had a plethora of villains; from the crazy, megalomaniacal millionaires, to witches, demons, and other mythological creatures, to power hungry aliens, to straight up super-villains. But while all of that is true, there has never been another villain, aside from Magica, Glomgold and Rockerduck at traits, that was built specifically as the anti Scrooge McDuck, and even further, there has never been another antagonist who challenged the very core ideas and concepts of the entire franchise.

Bradford is like the Frank Grimes of DuckTales: just a regular, average, real world guy who's fed up with the nonsensical constant state at which their fictional universe operates and seeks to correct it in the most logical way possible. And while Frank was ultimately a victim of a world in which he couldn't conform, Bradford's outrageous and extreme plans and methods put him on everybody's hit list until he was left all alone, but not before indirectly causing every major disaster throughout the reboot's runtime.

A cold, calculating, machiavellian mastermind whose impact and presence secretly permeates the show, right till the very end.

Shame he wasn't written better.

And now, for the one and only,

Number 1:

Qilby (Wakfu)

Qilby is the biggest example of an anomaly that you could ever observe in a work of fiction. The first time experiencing a story is the most important and impactful moment of that story, as every future rewatch won't be as good as the first. In particular, this is an important aspect of twist villains, as they can only surprise you the first time, since at future rewatches the twist becomes predictable.

Furthermore, if the twist ends up ruining the character that was established up to this point, or it doesn't make any sense, then the story is kind of ruined and it only gets worse on future rewatches, since now you know that everything that you are seeing right now is ultimately worthless and doesn't provide any value.

So why do we love twist villains and keep churning them out? Well, you see, it's a matter of execution. A bad guy introduced in an unconventional manner is much more memorable than one introduced in a straightforward way; the twist can also serve to showcase different aspects of the character before becoming an obvious obstacle, be it quirks, interests, personality in casual settings, or cunning.

Let's not beat around the bush.

If Nox is the single greatest sympathetic villain of all time, then Qilby is by far the greatest twist villain of all time, and the crazy thing is, that he surprises you two times in a row, at first by revealing himself as more evil than you could ever imagine, and then, by outing himself as more complex than you could have ever anticipated.

Let me paint you the picture: you just finished the first season of Wakfu, and you are still pretty fresh of the hype surrounding Nox, so you think to yourself "Oh, now every future antagonist is ruined because nothing could ever top the emotional gut punch that I just went through. Whatever, I'm going to stick around just to see if the story gets worse" and you start the second season.

So far, everything is normal, even better of the first season in terms of engagement value, but you can't help but feel the lack of a Nox like figure inside of the story, but at this point, you just accept it.

Then the final six episodes roll around and OH MY GOD WHAT IS HAPPENING, HAS THE WHOLE SHOW JUST GONE INSANE?

Somehow, in some mystical, french, magical way, the season 2 finale is arguably even better than the ending of season 1 despite the fight having less buildup and introducing a lot of brand new characters and an entirely irrelevant faction into his conflict.

The entirety of the scene in Emrumb is some of the best writing I have ever experienced in any work of fiction, and the music accompanying it only accentuates the repressed dopamine being released after various episodes of filler, all of them important for this moment to be as impactful as it is.

Qilby is also just a great, tragic character, that is simultaneously an unforgivable bastard that tried to kill his family and doomed his entire race for a family trip, and a sad, nihilistic man still trying to reconcile his love for his family and his need for knowledge and discovery; his curse never truly allows him to move on or relate to others but his ego and need for his forgetful brothers attention just pushes him even further into resentment, ending up damaging himself and those around him, until he's finally isolated again by the vary people he harmed and showed his love towards.

He's as good as the evil secret sibling trope can get and I never get tired of watching him on screen. His reveal scene to Adamai still gives me the chills to this very day and demonstrated me just how good the surprise villain concept can get when it's executed correctly.

Just an all around great show.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

iirc I think you said you don’t like Trey and Malleus’s hair but somehow excuse Rollo’s hair 😨 so where does everyone else stand if you were judging them based only on physical appearance?

Disclaimers: I'm not including any Yuus (like, from the manga), mob students, reused assets (ie ghosts and pixies), or characters that we've only gotten the silhouettes for (that means no Mrs. Rosehearts, no Farena/Falena, no Zigvolt parents, etc.). I am only giving my thoughts on the looks of named characters with fully realized designs. If there is a significant variation of their hairstyle I like, I'll make note of it. Additionally, I will be commenting on general style rather than on individual outfits. This also involves official in-game artwork only; it is NOT inclusive of merch artwork or fan art since those can vary widely.

These are my opinions, please don't take them too seriously. I think all the designs work as is to convey the background and personality of each character, but everyone will have different tastes and preferences in terms of visual design; these are just mine! (And remember, just because I may like how a character looks doesn’t mean I like the character overall!!)

***PLEASE NOTE: This post contains spoilers for the main story and events that have yet to be released in EN!!***

Pretty

Jade - I'll admit that it took me a while to get used to his haircut (I typically don't go for the super short bangs), but it grew on me! I really like his face in particular; it can be very calm and pleasant but also mischievous and sinister. When he's angry or upset, it's much more subtle and hard to read in his face. That's something I can really appreciate. It all works very well with his neat, tidy, and unassuming appearance.

Jamil, Najma - THE VIPER FAMILY HAS SUCH GOOD GENES, just look at their luscious hair and mysterious, dark eyes... They dress so well too, I love all the hair accessories and flowy fabrics the Viper siblings have.

Meleanor - Malleus's mom has got it goin' on 🙃 She really kills the warrior princess look! Very imposing, yet elegant. I can totally understand why Lilia used to crush on her.

Fellow - Not usually a fan of gingers (and nor do I simp for fox man), but there's just something so charming about Fellow's face. I think it's the eyes and his self-assured, fun-loving smile. His outfit's snazzy and he makes it work so well! I especially like the cravat, spats, and the cape hanging off one shoulder.

Cool

Leona - OKAY FINE I'LL ADMIT HE'S HANDSOME, ARE YOU HAPPY NOW????? 😭 As much as I want to wrestle Leona, I have to admit that he has a very striking face (especially when he smirks) and powerful presence. He knows how to command a room (and he’s just about the threshold of muscle I’m willing to accept). I'm not really into hair past shoulder length or how he usually dresses, but what I think is the coolest about him are his eyes. It feels like they'll follow you everywhere. Ponytail Leona is the best Leona, in my opinion.

Ortho - I was debating between putting Ortho in "Cool" or "Cute", but ultimately went with "Cool" because he by far has the most unique look of the entire cast. I love learning about his different Gears and their functions, each one different than the last. I don't find the pale skin and blue hair as off-putting on Ortho as I do on Idia, and I think that's because Ortho's more child-like.

Crowley - His aesthetic is nice! I find the bird mask really goofy and his hair a literal rat's nest (DON'T @ ME, IT LOOKS LIKE LIMP SEAWEED), but his suit and cape are so dapper! All the keys and mirrors would look gaudy on any other character, but they fit so well for Crowley. The extra shiny details give him an air of mystery, like threads of light peeking through the dark.

Trein- Trein's robes and cravat make him look so classy and regal! The colors also remind me of Edgeworth from Ace Attorney-- He looks very stern at first glance, but when he gives his little smiles you can tell how much he really cares.

Sam - He's way overdressed for running an on-campus school general store but hey, it works for him. There's lots of little details I enjoy in his design, from the stitching on his top hat to the locs he sports.

Cute

Lucius, Grim - LIL' KITTY CATS 🥺 I especially think Grim is adorable whenever he gets a new themed bow or a whole ass outfit like in the Halloween events!

Chenya - His haircut is so uneven but I commend his style. Chenya's look isn't too busy; his jewelry and decorative patches are spread out so they don't crowd for your attention. Gotta love those callbacks to Alice in Wonderland! This might sound weird, but there's power in his plain white shirt half-buttoned and loosely tucked into his pants; it gives the right amount of casualness to feel "accidentally stylish". There's also just something really whimsical about how cat-like his facial expressions and gestures are. It's quite endearing!

Ruggie - His hair looks perfect for ruffling! The fact that he often dresses in hand-me-downs and Leona's oversized clothing makes him appear "small" and even cuter. Pair that with Ruggie's crooked little smile, and it's perfect. I like that his build is lankier than those of the other Savanaclaw students; it makes him appear less intimidating on an initial evaluation.

Cheka - Have you SEEN Cheka?????? How does your heart not melt at the sight of him 😭 I adore his little :3 face and how he shines when he's innocently asking Ojitan to hang out with him...

Floyd - I feel like I kind of have to put Floyd in "Cute" since he's Jade's twin. Floyd just places lower because I find his eye shape less cute and his personal style doesn't really align with my tastes.

Kalim - This type of hair isn't usually my jam, but Kalim dresses it up well with a headband/scarf (?) and jewerly. When he moves, I imagine that the jewelry is jingling its own song. Kalim always seems to be smiling, so just looking at him puts me in a good mood too. His fashion choices tend to be extravagant and not very viable for everyday wear, but it's fine as long as Jamil stops him from making impulsive decisions.

Rook - I actually don't like his bob (I prefer it in an awkward little ponytail), but his face--especially the mouth--is beautiful. I BEG OF YOU, LOOK AT HIS CEREMONIAL ROBES GROOVY. Rook can be so expressive, it's like he's a one-man play. Alas... He looks naked without a hat :(( but I appreciate the mystery of covering up his limbs for the most part so we can’t see how truly muscular he is.

Lilia - Peepaw really stands out from the rest of Diasomnia; he doesn't come off as scary right away, he just relished in how adorable he is and is confident in that. Lilia's shorter stature and more experimental style certainly plays into that uniqueness too. It's fun to see what he comes up with! I especially love that he wears more traditionally feminine things like tulle skirts and gathered fabrics, and even dyes his hair and paints his nails in various colors. The cut itself is a bit of a clusterfuck when I first saw it, but I've really grown fond of it over time. It's such a bright expression of who Lilia is. I can't say if I prefer his long ponytail or the shorter trim; both are good!

Sebek - Like Jade, Sebek is also very well-put together. I like him with both his hair up and down; each has its unique appeal! With his hair up, Sebek appears much fiercer. With his hair down, he reminds me more of a puppy drenched from the rain. I feel like even though his face can be menacing, his smile overpowers how scary he can be. It feels so pure, clashing with his usual attitude... (His pathetic/sad expressions are also cute, but don't let him know I said that.)

Marja - Sweet granny... She looks so kind and cozy, I just wanna give her a hug.

Rollo - I’m a bowl cut apologist, what of it 😭 I like how he's so straight-laced and proper in his dress. It goes together with his face very well. Moreover, the dark eye bags and pinched, stern mouth only add to his charm. Rollo can go from neutral to devious smirk to a flash of anger--it's so interesting to observe how his face contorts.

Gidel - He looks like a mix of Ruggie and Cheka, so by default Gidel goes in "Cute". His oversized sleeves, patchwork pants, and mismatched socks give him such character!

Dylla - ANOTHER ATTRACTIVE MOM!!! Her clothing is more on the tomboyish side, but she still wears them well. Dylla's face in particular is really stunning; I get a mature big sis vibe from her.

Mid

Ace, Deuce- The most generic hair styles of the entire cast. I don’t have much else to remark on. What I will say is that I prefer Deuce’s hair slicked back (which happens in a lot of gan arts) more than his standard hair.

Azul - I don't know how else to say this, but I think Azul is handsome but in heavily regulated manner... to the point where it doesn't feel natural?? Like yes, he obviously cares about his appearance, it just feels "too" controlled of a narrative to me. The same goes for his smiles. Like Eliza says, he does it too much, so it feels fake.

Crewel - His hair and mostly monochromatic color scheme with splashes of crimson is cool, but I'm not into his clothing. It's very jarring to see his hair and vest color blocked, and I don't find his big flashy fur coat appealing.

Neige - He's wearing such an ugly sweater, but the innocence of his face evens things out. I find Neige cute in that generically sweet way, and for that I cannot place him higher than "Mid".

Epel- Same "generically sweet" cuteness as Neige. I do like his colors though.

Silver - Also has very generic hair. Silver just looks like Some Guy to me (although I will say his lopsided smile is cute). I’m slightly put off by the super muscular arms in his PE uniform too.

Eliza - I think Eliza could be a lot more appealing if they hadn't presented her to us in such a different style. Like the generic ghost NPCs, she's drawn more like a western cartoon rather than like an anime so she feels "off" from the rest of the named cast. Because there isn't unity between her and the characters she is shown with, Eliza sticks out like a sore thumb. I gotta hand it to her though, she still slays in that tattered wedding dress.

Fairy Queen - Love how the buns in her hair resemble roses, and how her entire body looks like it's golden and glowing from within. I wish her dress was more detailed though, more fitting for a queen.

Don't Like, but Could be Worse

Riddle - ROACH ANTENNAE........ . .. ... . . .... . ...... . .. . . . .. .... . .. Oh, and he looks so funky when he gets all red in the face.

Vil - For as much as we're told he's beautiful, I don't find Vil's brand of beauty to be digestible. He comes off too strongly, if that makes sense??? 20 cm heels, face beat to the gods with makeup, carrying himself at all times like there's a camera pointed at him and he has to pose 24/7 (look at most of his groovies)... It's hard for me to get behind that, it feels too overwhelming.

Eric Venue - My guy has the same sort of severe-ish facial structure as his son. Also not a fan of facial hair.

Seven Dwarves - I find most of the dwarves way too cartoonish, and not in a cute way. I think the only design I genuinely find okayish is Timmy (the timid dwarf).

Ambrose - He's an older gentleman in his wizard Halloween costume. I find his design sort of... generic??? But I'm knocking him down a little because I also find his overall appearance to be goofy and unflattering.

Idia - I DON'T CARE WHAT THE MAGICAL ARCHIVES OR ELIZA SAY, MAN LOOKS LIKE A WALKING CORPSE AND THAT AIN'T CUTE 😭

Shroud parents - Cool helmets, but I wish we actually got to see their faces.

Baul - I find Sebek's hair color more pleasing to the eye. Baul has a lot of other elements that Sebek doesn't (due to Baul being full fae and Sebek being half), and I find that they overcomplicate his design. It's hard for me to focus on his face because there's just so much to take in, from the scaley beard and more voluminous hair to the fangs and pointed ears.

Dawn Knight - This is the "bro, can I copy your homework" / "sure, but be sure to change it a little so the teacher doesn't notice" meme. I wish the Dawn Knight wasn't just long-haired, recolored Silver (with the exact same voice actor too). I would place the Dawn Knight in "Mid", but that armor is not doing him any favors. It's way too excessive with all the wings.

Kifaji - The big brows and the really long goatee make me go "???"

Actively Dislike

Trey - His hair reminds me of a freshly mowed lawn. Trey's design is otherwise inoffensive to me, but that hair color and cut are bringing him down so much. The only memorable thing about how he presents are those rare moments when he whips out his one brow raised smirks, and even then I think he looks slightly silly and it's hard to take him seriously.

Cater - Again, it's the hair for me. I like it better when it's all down (like in his Club Wear card). In his usual hairdo, there's a middle segment that's weirdly pulled back from the rest of his face in a... scruffy ponytail??? That really bothers me. I don't vibe with his usual style of dress or how he presents himself either, it's a bit too... lax?? (I know I said the same thing about Floyd, but he looks similar to Jade and therefore gets a pass).

BURN WITH FIRE

Jack - He commits the sin of having a confusingly styled mullet and has a muscular physique which don't bode well for my tastes. I guess he does have those "looks intimidating, but is actually a softie at heart" vibes going for him, but I just cannot look past the haircut I'M SORRY.

Malleus - I'm not into super pale emo/goth guys, and Malleus somehow presents as even more of that than Idia. He dresses in mostly black (and while there is a lore reason for this, that doesn't make me like the color any more or less), has a sort of mopey face (I guess it's supposed to be elegant, but I don't perceive it as that), and dear god that haircut and the ashy grey lips… It doesn’t help that the expressions he makes (particularly on his birthday cards) give really strong “are u lost bby ghorl” energy and that weirds me out 💀 So many things about him just don't work for me.

Vargas - Too muscular. Also not a fan of facial hair or athletic wear. Vargas doesn't seem to have a very keen fashion sense either, judging by the outfits he put together for his camp events.

Heinrich - His face is very grotesque and twists into making some of the most comedically evil and smug expressions I've ever witnessed in all of TWST.

[perotovar]

into the beat of the night (ch 6) "precious"

header by the lovely @sp00kymulderr ♥

pairing: frankie morales/oc!river price (they/them) rating: E (18+) chapter warnings: swearing, marisol makes a proper introduction, river bonding with a 4 year-old (it's cute, i promise), worried/frantic dad!frankie, google translated spanish (sorry), sub!frankie, oral (m receiving), rimming, fingering (m receiving), cum eating, if i missed anything else lmk! word count: 3.7k dividers by @saradika-graphics beta: @scenaaario

for notifications, follow @oakslibrary and turn on alerts ♥

series summary: frankie thought he had himself figured out by now. he liked both men and women, had dated both in the past. but when someone that challenges what he thinks that means comes into his life, in an unlikely place, he truly learns who he is, and more importantly, who he loves.

series masterlist

“I’m positive.”

Frankie bit his lip, arms crossed over his wide chest. “I know kids aren’t really–”

“Oh, hush,” River laughed, rolling their eyes. “She’s your daughter, babe. Of course I want to meet her.”

“Alright,” Frankie nodded, a small smile appearing on his lips. He exhaled softly, taking their ring-clad fingers in his and rubbing the knuckles. “I’ll get my keys and we can go pick her up from daycare, then.”

Warmth spread through River’s chest and they nodded, leaning over to kiss Frankie’s jaw. “Lead the way.”

As they drove to Marisol’s daycare, Frankie let River take over the radio this time, promising that they could show him more of their own personal taste in music. A lot of it sounded like the stuff they played at The Night Owl, but River’s taste was more varied. He surprised himself by how much of it he ended up liking. 

“You know what that means,” River’s face lighting up with a grin from the passenger seat. 

Frankie glanced at them before turning his blinker on and continuing through the intersection. “No, what?” he chuckled.

“It means,” River started, voice full of delight and teasing, “That you’re goth.”

Confusion graced Frankie’s features as he slowed down at a red light. He looked over at them like River had grown a third eye. “But I don’t look like it?”

River rolled their eyes and laughed. “I keep telling you guys that it’s a music-based subculture. As long as you like the music, then you’re free to identify that way,” they paused. “If you want to, of course.”

A laugh bubbled its way up Frankie’s chest and he smirked. “Oh, then I am so goth.”

“You only just figured out who Siouxsie and the Banshees are, Francisco.”

“I still don’t know why she has to spell her name like that,” he mumbled as they pulled into the parking lot of the daycare.

River laughed and Frankie melted.

A giggling bundle of pink barreled into Frankie’s open arms as he knelt down to pick up Marisol. “Hey, sweetheart,” Frankie smiled, kissing her cheek. “How was your day?”

Marisol didn’t answer him, eyes transfixed on the new figure standing next to her father. Her big brown eyes traveled over River, her cheeks flushed and warm from running, and maybe a little bit from nerves. 

“This is River, honey,” Frankie said, resting her on his hip as he stood. “This is daddy’s new friend.” The two of them had decided on easing Marisol into their relationship, when they figured out a way to describe River in a way that the little girl could understand.

River’s heart melted at the two of them. Frankie was right about River not being one for kids, but seeing their boyfriend be so soft and attentive to this little girl was doing things to them.

“Hi, sweetie,” River smiled, reaching out to tug on Marisol’s dress. “This is very pretty.”

Marisol blushed and smiled, hiding her face in Frankie’s neck. 

“What do we say?” Frankie encouraged, patting her little bum.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I like your name.”

River and Frankie exchanged soft looks before River smiled gratefully. “That’s very sweet of you, honey.”

Marisol giggled and tucked her face back into Frankie’s neck, grabbing a tiny fistful of his t-shirt. When they made it back to Frankie’s truck, River climbed back into the passenger seat while Frankie buckled Marisol into her car seat. 

“What kind of music do you like, Marisol?” River asked, looking back at her.

Marisol’s little face scrunched up in thought, taking the question very seriously. “Hmm… pretty stuff! Stuff that ballerinas dance to,” she nodded, happy with what she decided on. 

River thought about it and scrolled through their playlists on their phone. Soft piano and an ethereal feminine voice rang through the speakers of the car as Frankie got into his own seat and started the truck. He raised a brow in River’s direction as he started driving toward his apartment.

River shrugged and smiled. “Kate Bush has pretty music. And she’s a classically trained dancer, so I think it qualifies as something a ballerina would dance to.” They both looked back at Marisol to see her with her eyes shut as she let the music overtake her little body.

Frankie smiled and nodded, accepting that defense. “Alright,” he chuckled.

Marisol was currently talking River’s ear off and Frankie was horrified. His little girl was as sweet as can be, but normally very shy. River seemed to have brought her out of her shell, a fact that filled him with joy, but he didn’t want an unexpected toddler question to make River uncomfortable.

“Did that hurt?!” Marisol squealed, poking River’s nose next to one of the piercings there. River spluttered and laughed, gripping Marisol’s tiny hand in theirs to remove it from their face. 

“It did, but it doesn’t hurt anymore,” they laughed softly. “This hurt more, though.” River poked their tongue out, showing her the piercing that lay in the middle.

“Wow!! That’s so weird!” Marisol giggled.

Frankie shook his head in amusement as he cleaned off the pan he’d be using to cook dinner. This was River’s second time at his apartment, but his first time cooking for them. The first was after their first night spent together. He and River had a movie night, and his thoughts quickly drifted to how that night progressed. River on their knees in front of him while he sat on the couch, his knuckles clenched white around the throw blanket to keep from coming. Their long hair framing their face as they kissed and licked down his hard–

“Frankie? Hello…?” River grinned, standing next to him and leaning against the kitchen counter. He startled and snapped his head up to look at them. His cheeks grew warm at their smirking face, and he felt the blush spread to his neck as they held his gaze. 

“Distracted?” they whispered, stepping into his space and kissing his jaw. They delicately licked  the patch of skin on his cheek void of any facial hair.

Frankie gulped and shivered. “I–I have to cook dinner, tu amenazas,” he chuckled softly. River smiled and gave him a quick kiss before settling back against the counter. “What were you saying before?”

“Oh, right,” River said, pointing toward the living room where Marisol was playing with her Barbies. “She wants to watch ‘mermaids’, and I didn’t know what that meant, but I assume you do.”

Frankie nodded and set down the pan in the sink before drying off his hands. “Yeah, c’mere, I’ll show you where all her movies are.” He smiled, leading River back into the living room. 

Marisol now enamored with her movie and River sitting on the floor next to her, Frankie felt warmth in his chest. As he made dinner, he couldn’t help but think of this being a regular occurrence. He knew that asking River to be a parent wasn’t fair to them, and this was still a pretty fresh relationship, but he allowed his mind to wander. He wanted to catch a glimpse of what the two of them would look like a few years down the line.

“Está listo, ustedes dos,” Frankie smiled, turning the stovetop off as the food sizzled in the pan.

“C’mon, you,” River grunted as they got up, holding their hand out for Marisol to take. Marisol happily took River’s hand as they walked into the little eating nook of the apartment. River picked her up and sat her down in her chair and set a plate in front of her.

Frankie's face visibly melted at the gesture and before he could stop himself, he leaned over and kissed River’s cheek. They both froze and looked at Marisol, who was too busy making her Barbie dance and do flips to notice. River snorted and gave Frankie a wink before taking a seat across from him at the table. 

Dinner went surprisingly well. River entertained all of Marisol’s silly questions with grace and an amused smile. Frankie watched with rapt attention and a bursting heart. Marisol was a curious little bug and he loved that about her, so it surprised him that she hadn’t already asked—

“Are you a boy or girl?”

The room seemed to still as Frankie and River made eye contact. Frankie started to panic, face pinched with worry, but River just smiled and put their hand on top of his to calm him down. 

“You have long hair like a girl,” Marisol mumbled over the thumb in her mouth. 

“I do,” River chuckled. 

“But kinda sound like a boy…”

Frankie looked at River, completely lost for words. He had no idea how to change the subject but River didn’t seem to be worried. 

“Well,” River started. “Some people are princesses,” they winked, poking Marisol’s tummy and making her giggle. “Some people are princes.” They looked over at Frankie and smiled, giving him a quick once-over. “And some people are a mix of the two.”

Marisol furrowed her little brow as she listened. “So… You get dresses and capes?” 

River met Frankie’s eyes before snorting, resting their chin in the palm of their hand. “That’s right,” they smirked.

“Ugh, that’s so cool.”

Frankie visibly deflated, eyes closing softly and exhaling. River rubbed his knuckles with their thumb comfortingly. “River is really cool,” Frankie piped in, smiling softly.

“I know that, daddy.”

River’s face softened as warmth colored their cheeks. “Thank you, sweetie.” They looked over at Frankie and made a show of checking him out, silently telling him what was in store for him later.

Frankie’s chest puffed up and he grinned, checking them out in return. “Alright, conejita, it’s getting late,” Marisol whined in protest. “Hey, you told me you’d be a big girl today, remember? Head into the bathroom and get onto your step so we can brush our teeth, okay?”

Marisol deflated a little and grumpily made her way down the hall. River gave Frankie an amused look before taking his hand in their own. “C’mere,” they hummed, pulling him close. They looked up at him from their seat and gripped onto his hips and ass, squeezing appreciatively.

Frankie shivered and cupped River’s face, kissing them deeply. “Gimme five minutes,” he breathed against their lips.

River changed, sporting a tank top and boxer briefs, and started looking around Frankie’s bedroom. On top of his dresser was a selection of photos: one of him lifting Marisol into the air, both of them giggling. River smiled, before moving their eyes to the next one: an old black and white photo of a man and a woman, presumably Frankie’s parents. The last photo was the one that really caught their attention: a much younger Frankie stood ramrod straight dressed in his military fatigues with a stern look on his face. “Must be after basic training,” they hummed under their breath. Frankie’s hair was cut short, none of the curls they loved so much to be seen.

Above the photos hung two separate certificates; one for the military, and one for flight school. Frankie had told them about his job a little, but because it was through the military, he could only explain so much. He could explain the maintenance part of his job, though.

“Alright, Marisol should be falling asleep anytime, her rain sounds are on full blast,” Frankie chuckled as he came into the room and locked the door. “What’cha lookin’ at, mi amor?”

River hummed, their thumb rubbing the side of Frankie’s young face on the photo. “You were so skinny,” they frowned, setting the photo back down.

Frankie came up behind them and rested his chin on their shoulder, swaying them back and forth a little. “Yeah. I was always pretty thin. Then Marisol came along and I started eating more regularly to keep her healthy,” he chuckled, kissing River’s cheek from behind them. 

River raised a brow and turned in his arms, holding onto the sides of his stomach. “You’re telling me this only happened within the last four years?” They asked incredulously, a smirk on their lips.

“Shhh,” Frankie chuckled and pressed their lips together, humming happily into River’s mouth. “Just go with it.”

“But I like this,” River pouted, squeezing Frankie’s fuller middle lovingly. Frankie blushed, smiled, and shrugged in acceptance. “Now,” River grinned, squeezing Frankie’s ass. “On the bed.”

A shiver traveled down Frankie’s spine, and he nodded, removing his clothes as he went. He laid against the headboard, bare legs spread out in front of him. His cock was already twitching to life at the sight of River pulling their long hair out of their face and into a loose ponytail.

“You kept stressing yourself out today,” River started, crawling onto the bed and getting comfortable between the thick muscles, kissing up his leg. “How come?” Their eyes moved up to his face as they sucked a mark on the inside of his knee.

Frankie relaxed, watching River’s mouth closely. “W-wanted things to go well with you and Marisol,” he answered, resting his hand on top of theirs on his opposite thigh. “Not burn dinner,” he laughed quietly.

River hummed, eyes shutting as they nibbled on the soft flesh. They rubbed up the sides of his legs comfortingly and made eye contact with him. “Think you did just fine,” they smiled, their lips making a small pop when they let go of his thigh. “Wanna thank you, in fact,” they breathed, their mouth moving to kiss and suck at his balls softly.

“F-fuck, for what, Río?” Frankie grunted, his cock twitching violently against his lower tummy. 

“Taking care of us,” they said casually, kissing up the length of his cock before engulfing the head with their mouth and flicking their tongue over the tip. Every time the piercing in their tongue made contact with his cock, the air left Frankie’s lungs.

A long whine left Frankie’s lips as he shivered, his stomach tensing. He looked down and groaned at his cock stretching River’s mouth to its limit.

River’s mouth popped off so they could lean forward and kiss Frankie’s ribs. They curled their fingers around his shaft and pumped languidly, their mouth sucking another mark below his pec. “Quiet, baby,” River hummed. “Don’t wanna wake her, right?”

Frankie nodded frantically, trying to keep his breathing under control. “R-right,” he gasped, River’s thumb rubbing over the head just right.

“Good boy,” River smirked, kissing their way back down to his cock. They started bobbing their head up and down at an agonizingly slow pace, watching Frankie’s face the whole time. Frankie moaned quietly, one big hand cupping the back of River’s head to keep them in place, and the other braced on their tattooed shoulder.

“B-baby, fuck, your fuckin’ mouth,” he groaned, shutting his eyes and tipping his head back.

River moaned around him and subtly moved down the bed until Frankie was lying on his back, one long leg draped over their shoulder and down their back. An idea popped into River’s head, making them smirk to themself. Their mouth lifted off of his cock again and they put two of their own fingers into their mouth, making them as wet as possible. Their hand kept a steady pace, their eyes locked on Frankie’s blissed out features. His eyes were still closed and he was moaning weakly, his whole body twitching and shivering.

Slowly, they lowered their mouth back into their original position, but this time, they flicked their tongue along the inside of his foreskin and gently grazed their teeth across the exposed head. Frankie let out a louder moan, eyes shooting open to see what they were doing. River hummed and winked at him, one of their wet fingers moving between his legs and teasing around the rim of his asshole.

“Riv,” Frankie panted, face pinched in pleasure. 

River shut their eyes in bliss and bobbed their head again, their first finger pushing past the tight ring of muscle. Frankie let out a shaky exhale, his breath hitching as River went deeper.

“Fuck,” he whined, chest heaving and toes curling. River added the second finger, and watched his face as they pumped them in and out slowly. His head was pushed back into the pillow underneath, that thick neck of his taut and flushed a deep red color. 

River moved their free hand underneath one of his thighs and pushed it back until his knees were up closer to his shoulders, exposing his hole to them. They hummed around his cock, relishing in the weight of him. His obedience made them shiver as heat built in their core. They sped up the rhythm of their fingers enough to get him to moan weakly again, the wet suck of their fingers inside him loud in the otherwise quiet bedroom. 

They sucked hard around the head of his cock before pulling away. “Touch yourself,” they hummed, voice thick and lips swollen. 

Frankie was on another planet and just barely heard them. He looked at their flushed face, eyes half lidded and glossy, plush lips parted. Frankie looked beautiful. Wrecked. 

They spread their fingers slightly, keeping up the pace. Frankie’s eyes rolled back and he groaned, long fingers curling around his cock and pumping. 

“Slowly,” they commanded, removing their fingers, green eyes stern, but not unkind. They knew Frankie needed to be told what to do sometimes and it made Frankie’s heart soar. He did what he was told, slowly moving his hand over his cock.

River hummed appreciatively and held the backs of his thighs steady. “Good boy,” they grinned, collecting saliva on their tongue before spitting directly onto his hole.

Frankie gasped loudly, squeezing his cock, and looked down at River. “R-Río! Wait–”

“Shhh,” they soothed, kissing down his thigh until their tongue met the rim of his hole and teased it over the puckered skin.

“H-holy fuck, Riv,” Frankie groaned, his free hand covering his mouth so he’d stay quiet. “I-I’m gonna fucking come,” he whined, voice muffled behind his fingers, and squeezed the base of his cock to prolong the inevitable.

“Not yet,” they said casually, their pierced tongue dragging over the tight ring of muscle before venturing further in. River moaned once their tongue was inside him, their lips sucking on the rim simultaneously. They made eye contact with him, their green ones determined and nearly black with desire.

Frankie was a fucking wreck. His thighs trembled on either side of River’s head and his toes were curled so hard his feet were nearly folded in half. His entire body was covered in a thin layer of sweat, and he could barely breathe. His head felt fuzzy, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. “B-baby, please, I can’t–”

River moaned and removed their mouth from him. They licked their lips and wiped the back of their hand over their mouth to collect any left over saliva. They dragged their knuckles over his hole teasingly before pressing the pads of their fingertips back inside him. Frankie whimpered and bit down onto his hand as he looked at them pleadingly.

“You wanna come on my face, baby?” River said softly, soothingly. Frankie’s nearly purple cock twitched violently in his hand and he nodded frantically.

“P-please, yes, I–”

River chuckled softly as they lowered their face toward his cock, exposing their pierced tongue to him, eyes shut softly.

Frankie groaned and started pumping his cock quickly, aiming it toward their face. His fist was practically a blur, the amount of pre-cum covering his cock working in his favor. 

“Oh, mierda. Ay dios mío...” Frankie whined, voice pitched up an octave or two before his cock burst, thick ropes of come painting River’s face. Frankie kept stroking himself until there wasn’t anything left. He panted heavily, little whines and whimpers leaving him sporadically.

River smiled, licking the cum off their lips and chin before wiping the rest off with their fingers and sucking them clean. “Good boy, good fuckin’ boy,” they hummed, crawling between his legs so they could kiss Frankie deeply. 

Frankie moaned at the taste of his spend on their tongue, his big hands cradling the sides of their face. He was still catching his breath, but didn’t want to stop. River came up for air, a big smile on their lips as they pressed their forehead to his. They just breathed for a moment, letting Frankie come back down to earth.

“You okay?”

Frankie blinked up at them, eyes half lidded and shiny. He hummed, his body feeling fuzzy and satisfied, heavy. “Yeah,” he smiled. “That was… wow,” a dopey giggle escaping him.

River snorted and kissed the corner of his mouth. “First time someone’s done that?”

Frankie nodded, pulling them down until they were chest to chest. He rubbed up and down their back. “Yeah, I’m usually the one doing that sort of thing.” River hummed in response, laying their head against his broad chest and getting comfy. “Speaking of which,” Frankie tapped their shoulder, then his own chest. “Come up.”

River shook their head. “No, honey, it’s not transactional, I wanted to–”

“Get. Up. Here.”

River shuddered and obeyed, crawling up Frankie’s torso until they were sitting on his lap. “You sure?” 

“Mmm, positive,” Frankie grinned, squeezing their thighs.

Frankie startled awake, something loud crashing in the kitchen. He looked around his bedroom briefly, arm reaching out toward River’s side. When that side felt cold, he frowned and looked toward the open bedroom door. Marisol’s giggles drifted into the room and he relaxed, throwing the sheets off his tired body. He grunted as he bent over to grab his underwear and the t-shirt he was wearing yesterday.

He yawned and scratched his head, curls messy and sticking up in every direction. He slowly walked down the hall towards the kitchen. He stopped in his tracks when he heard River speaking quietly to Marisol. 

“No, we’ll get you some orange juice instead,” they chuckled, the sound of a ceramic mug being placed on the kitchen counter.

Marisol shook her head and scrunched her face.

“No? Well, what would you like instead?”

Frankie leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. He stopped next to the kitchen, staying out of sight, a smile growing on his lips.

The refrigerator door opened and Marisol grunted quietly, like she was reaching for something.

“Ahh, apple juice. I agree, this is way better,” River whispered, like it was a big secret to be revealed. 

Marisol giggled and Frankie rested his forehead on the wall. His heart thundered in his chest as a wide smile grew on his face.

[izurou]

THE AIR BETWEEN US FT. SUNA RINTAROU

synopsis: your best friend comes to a realization when you go out on a date — leaving him all alone in his brand new home.

contains: female reader. best friend suna. brief mentions and allusions to marriage. reader is a bit oblivious to rin’s feelings. swearing. lotta banter. one small part features jus rinnie (while reader is on her date) 2.8k words.

note: okok i’ve never written smth like this before but i’m so super proud of it and had so much fun ?!? ahhhh :’)

rintarou’s apartment is warm.

a little place about five minutes from the heart of downtown—rather mundane, and lacking a bit of everything. he has a few decorative pillows and other small trinkets, most of which were pawned off on him by his mother as he was moving out.

almost everything else he now owns was bought on a whim, with no regard for how any of it would tie together in a room. luckily, he had no desire for colour, and opted for neutrals when available.

his home is often quiet, lifeless—whether he’s there or he’s not, varying shades of navy blue seep through the blinds and cast dark shadows onto his walls.

he’s adjusting to it—the solitude. getting himself out of bed every morning, no incessant nagging from his father about it being half past noon, no music blaring from his younger sister’s room. it’s just him, the buzzing of his toothbrush, and the little sticker on his bathroom mirror that reads hello gorgeous, courtesy of atsumu.

and yet, out of the handful of times you’ve been there, the space has felt nothing but alive—with artificial orange hues filling the rooms, and the scent of freshly sprayed linen hanging in the air. even with the crisp breeze floating in through the wide open windows, it’s warm.

but sometimes, it’s incredibly loud.

“professional big spoon?” you hear him howling from the kitchen, mock and hilarity woven into each syllable—and immediately, regret starts to bubble in your chest.

you have a date tonight, soon. it’s nothing more than a casual dinner, with a guy you recently met on a dating app. he’s cute, tall, friendly—which is already more than you could say for most of the men on there, so why the hell not?

of course, upon hearing about the whole ordeal your best friend insisted that you come over the day of. you knew he’d want to poke his nose in your business and ask about the man—but the more rintarou talks, the more you begin to think he invited you here just to ridicule your match.

“this has gotta be the world’s douchiest bio,” he scoffs, furrowing his brows as he stares down at the screen. “6’2 my ass.”

he mutters the last part under his breath, opening his near empty fridge in search of something to wash down the sour taste flooding his mouth.

“what does he gain from lying about his height?” you chime, slipping into the room and watching as rintarou tilts his head back, chugging the remainder of yesterday’s gatorade.

he wipes at his mouth with the back of his palm, shifting his gaze over to you. quickly—he allows his eyes to travel from your head down to your feet, and back up once more.

hm.

“more matches,” he shrugs, leaning against the edge of the countertop and averting his attention back to the screen. “a little confidence, maybe.”

“so, you lie on your dating profile too?” you quirk a brow, tossing your jacket over the back of a of dining room chair. you slink a bit closer, preparing to snatch your phone back as soon as the chance presents itself.

“i don’t have to,” he huffs, jerking his hand away mere seconds before yours comes swooping in. “too slow, thanks for coming out though.”

“rin, stop fucking around,” you grumble, tugging on his arm as he holds it above his head. “you’re going to be the best man at our wedding, right? might as well practice not being a giant ass while you still have time.”

tch.

“hey, easy lovebird,” he hisses, feeling your nails dig into the skin on his wrist. his nose scrunches up and his brows furrow—a grumpy, get the hell away from me face you know all too well. placing the base of his palm flat against your forehead, he lightly pushes you away. “i’ll definitely be the best man there, but i’m not giving any speeches.”

“whatever, give me back my phone,” you mutter, glancing at rintarou’s brand new, never been and hopefully never will be used oven. “we’re meeting at eight, i have to go.”

“here, might wanna declaw before you leave,” he hands over the device and frowns, rubbing at the subtle red line forming near his elbow. “fuckin’ gremlin.”

you ignore his comment, reaching for your jacket and slipping the leather onto your arms. you fiddle with it, shifting and repositioning the fabric until it sits on your shoulders just right. it’s a bit oversized, but not too much, and it compliments the black lace trim on your cami. at least, you think it does.

“do i look okay?” you ask, peering up at rintarou who, is now wrist deep in a bag of calbee hot and spicy potato chips.

“mmm, you look like you do every day,” he replies through a mouthful.

“wow, i’m sure there’s thousands lining up to hear that one,” you laugh, and something resembling a smile forms on his lips.

“what can i say?” he agrees, weakly gesturing to himself before bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking the flavouring off. he strolls over to the front door, where you’re already reaching for the knob—trying desperately to flee. “hey, text me later, okay?”

“will do,” you assure.

“and have fun,” he adds, leaning his head against the doorframe as you step out into the hall. “but not too much.”

“yes, mother, bye now.”

he watches you practically skip down the narrow, dimly lit corridor until you disappear around the corner—and again, he’s alone.

⋆

rintarou props his feet up on his little black coffee table, aimlessly flipping his way through netflix—searching for something, anything to distract his saboteur mind.

it’s dark, the sun has long been set, and hues of navy blue bleed past the blinds. the streetlights outside paint the shadow of a tree onto his living room wall, though it resembles something much more frightening—a monster. could it be the same one who used to hide under his bed when he was a kid?

he continues to scroll until he comes across an anime, ouran high school host club. huh, you like that one. not his cup of tea by any means, but it’ll do—it’s just something to fill the silence after all. a shiver greets rintarou’s spine as he presses play, and he instinctively nuzzles into the collar of his sweatshirt. it’s cold.

craning his neck back, he narrows his gaze onto the window—wide open and practically begging for the frigid air to waltz right in. he inhales, shuts his eyes, and exhales. it’s too far.

he blindly throws his hand over the back of the couch, patting around until he feels the familiar fluff of his old rick and morty blanket. usually, it’d be sitting at the foot of his bed, but he just so happened to be in a similar predicament before you arrived late this afternoon.

he spreads the fleece over himself, and it barely covers three quarters of his body, but it’s a hell of lot better than nothing. he tugs his sleeves over his balled up fists and crosses his arms over his chest, allowing his eyes to close once more.

yes, this’ll do. he can feel himself drifting off, becoming less aware of the sounds emanating from the television, less aware of the nagging thoughts feeding off his brain—except, for one.

vows don’t count as speeches, do they?

⋆

rintarou wakes to a low buzzing—vibrations that stem from the pocket of his hoodie and roll up his torso. someone’s calling.

he reaches, but his hand is forced to take a detour to the back of his neck, where a kink is in the midst of settling into the muscle. a few profanities slip out, all directed at himself for not laying down like a normal nap taking human.

“yeah?” he answers, leaning his head against the back of the sofa while pressing the device to his ear. he didn’t bother reading the contact name—he hasn’t heard from his mother at all today, and she’s made a daily habit of checking in on him, asking if he’s eating proper meals and doing his laundry.

at this point his microwave has stolen the title of best friend right out from under your nose, and there’s a basket of clean clothes that’s been in the corner of rintarou’s bedroom for the past three days. still, he always answers yes.

“rin, did i wake you?”

wait—it’s you. what time is it?

“oh, hey. yeah, you did,” he yawns, squinting at the tv, where a few boys in purple uniforms are talking about—fancy tuna? you are so weird. he pulls back for a moment, peering at the numbers sitting at the top of his screen—9:13 pm. “you home already?”

“no, i’m still here.”

shit, he better start practicing his i object.

“well? did they give him a booster seat?” there’s a teasing lilt to his voice, but his expression remains deadpan.

“he didn’t show up, rintarou.”

yes, maybe he doesn’t have to.

“huh? so you’ve just been sitting there?” he asks, using a finger to push the fluff on his blanket from side to side—against the grain, and with.

“yeah, i had hope for a while.”

he wants to say something—but he can’t decide on what. is this the appropriate time to insert a short joke? usually, he wouldn’t give it a second thought, especially when it comes to you. you’ve been there for at least eight of his top ten most unsavoury comments—such as when he felt the need to guess how many husbands your english teacher has had throughout the years while she stood not two feet away—only to settle on none.

yet, the thought of you sitting all alone at a table somewhere—dolled up and waiting for someone who never even planned on coming in the first place—has the wings of every butterfly in his stomach wilting, causing them to nosedive into his bottomless pit of gatorade and potato chips.

so, he finally decides.

“i’ll come pick you up,” he blurts out, shoving rick and morty off to the side before rising to his feet.

“no, you don’t have to do that,” you protest—guilt lingering in your gut and causing you to second guess your decision to call. he’s been so sluggish as of late—sleeping in past his alarms, napping more often. it’s obvious that life has been doing a number on him recently. the last thing he needs is to be dragged out.

“no? why else would you call?” he hums, shuffling over to the pitch black void where his kitchen is. he feels around a bit until the familiar jingle of his car keys fills his ears. “text me the address, i’ll be there soon.”

he hangs up without warning, leaving you with no choice but to sit and wait.

rintarou grimaces as he nears the door, feeling a gust of wind as it sneaks in through his window and engulfs the entire living room in a frigid hell. he’s tired, exhausted even—and he doesn’t feel like driving right now.

but, he’s glad you’re dragging him out.

⋆

“don’t even say it,” is the first warning you give rintarou when you slide into the passenger seat of his car. he’s sitting, slouched forward a little as he rubs his hands together for warmth. you know the words are right there on the tip of his tongue, but you don’t want to hear them.

“oh come on,” he groans, visibly annoyed by your sudden demand.

“i’ve been embarrassed enough tonight, thanks,” you give him a faux smile—the passive aggressive kind you’d give to an irate customer.

“so, shouldn’t you like be used to it by now?” he mimics your tone, slightly raising the pitch of his voice.

“tch, you’d think so,” you mutter, noting the stray flakes, fluffy and white, that begin to encase his vehicle. huh, first of the season.

a comfortable silence settles between the two of you—nothing but the sounds of wet tires on pavement and an overly enthusiastic radio host.

rintarou’s never been one to offer verbal support to his friends, or anyone for that matter—it makes him feel awkward, vulnerable. he’s more or less always let his actions portray his feelings, so—him taking twenty minutes out of his evening to come get you means something, you’re sure of it.

still, you like seeing him squirm a little.

“why do you think he didn’t come?” your voice is like a dagger, cutting through the silence before settling at the base of his throat.

“dunno, maybe he has trouble getting it up,” he responds, dulling the blade completely.

“rintarou,” you sigh, blunt and a little defeated—but he swears he can feel you breaking skin with the second syllable of his name. eyes on the road rintarou.

“i don’t know, does it matter?” he tries, sweeping your attempt to kill him right under the rug. however, the wound is already there—open and weakening his resolve by the second. “it’s not you.”

“and if it is?”

“it’s not,” he’s firm, hoping that his words drill into that pretty little head of yours. “he’s missing out, would’ve been one hell of a wedding.”

“yeah,” you agree, “i was looking forward to that speech of yours. highlight of the night.”

“what about when i start drunk dancing with this guy’s mom?” he says, glancing over to catch the smile blooming on your lips—and it’s as if that dagger never existed at all.

“you? dancing?” you scoff, watching as rintarou’s skin glows a momentary orange with each passing streetlight.

“just because you’ve never seen it, doesn’t mean it can’t exist,” he’s quick to defend himself—clearly taking your disbelief to heart.

you turn, holding back laughter as a very specific mental image pops into your brain. rintarou—drunk off his ass in a suit and tie, holding the hands of your groom’s mother as he awkwardly tries to dance with her—simultaneously pissing off half the guests in attendance.

you wonder how many drinks it would take for him to get to that point, or if it’d even take any at all—you’re almost certain that a pep talk and a measly twenty from atsumu would suffice.

either way, the thought alone almost has you wishing this date would’ve gone a little better.

⋆

now, the route back to your place is quick—but it’s not the one rintarou took. instead, you’re coming up on the small 24 hour convenience store, which is about a two minute walk from his place.

“rin,” you start, “i thought you were taking me home?”

“huh?” he glances over at you, putting on a faux look of innocence. “all i said was that i’d pick you up.”

“asshole,” you mumble, noting the increase in wind—which is giving the illusion of a horizontal snowfall.

“relax,” he snorts, pulling the car up in front of his apartment. “i’ll drive you home later, now get out.”

you watch as he shoves a hand into the pocket of his sweatpants, lifting his hips ever so slightly to fish a pair of keys out—one large and one small.

“head up, i’ll park.”

he waits for a moment, watching as you scurry up the stairs and into the warmth of the lobby before he drives off into the parking lot.

in a matter of twenty minutes, the weather has taken a turn for the worse—and rintarou braces himself for the short walk to the side door. he’s going against the wind, hands shoved into his pockets, hood blown off his head. he can feel the wind creeping beneath his sweater, penetrating his skin. it’s horrible.

then, it’s not. he’s inside, safe from the storm threatening to tear the building from it’s soil. he opts to take the stairs—remembering what his father once said about taking an elevator during a storm.

his nose and ears are pink, bordering red as he swiftly makes his way down the hall. as he nears his suite—a warm amber glow greets him from beneath the door, and his chest tightens. those damn stairs, maybe he should take them more often.

he swings the door open, and there you are—sitting on his couch, drowning in his blanket, table side lamps on, window shut.

“what the fuck, rin!” you gawk, pulling your knees to your chest and shivering. “close your goddamn windows before you leave.

he can feel it too, this numbing temperature—it’s much worse than it was before his nap.

“also, i cannot believe you were watching this without me,” you cut him off before he has the chance to respond—and he’d expect to be embarrassed having been caught, but he’s not.

he’s happy, because you’re patting the spot next to you while wearing what he thinks has to be the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen. maybe he should start practicing his i do.

because even with the season’s most polar air standing between the two of you,

rintarou’s apartment is warm.

[pricelessemotion]

old friend | E.M.

summary: [1.5k] eddie walks into a diner looking for the past. he doesn't expect for the past to find him.

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x waitress!reader

warnings: angst, missed connections

a/n: i can’t believe it’s been one whole year of eddie! here’s a little something that’s been swimming around my brain for a while. should i write a part 2?

masterlist

Blue Diner sits lonely a few miles off the interstate. It’s the outskirts of Indianapolis, surrounded by industrial compounds and office buildings. The patronage of the place varies. There are the regulars, who wear down the same booths and bar stools so much that they leave a lasting impression. And then there are those who come in for a quick bite to eat, dressed in pajamas, only deciding to eat here because they didn’t plan their road trips out well enough. 

Eddie knows that he’s a part of the latter, but he used to be the former. He used to live in diners as a kid. That first summer he came to live with Wayne, the older man took him trucking with him. He hadn’t much in the way of childcare and was hard pressed to find a job on such short notice after his brother-in-law unceremoniously dumped the kid on his doorstep. 

Eddie spent the summer of ‘78 in passenger seats and diner booths. He learned to appreciate the taste of burnt coffee, though he always snuck in more sugar when Wayne wasn’t looking. The long drives were spent looking out the window and trying to draw what passed by in the blink of an eye. The fact that they never spent more than a day or two in one place didn’t bother him much. Eddie was used to moving around a lot. He was used to packing up and going without a moment’s notice. He was used to waking up alone, with nothing more than a tattered blanket and the hum of a television. But this summer wasn’t like that. In fact, he saw Wayne in that one summer more than he did his father in his whole life. 

The thing that Eddie loved most about diners is that no matter how different they were, they were all the same. They all smelled like coffee beans and bacon. They all had the same pink packets of Sweet’n Low at every table.

When Wayne quit trucking to work at the plant, Eddie was heartbroken. He knew it was for the better, that the man did it so that he could be there for Eddie in a way that no adult had ever been. Still, the reality that he was the reason Wayne was tied down weighed heavily on him. Johnny Cash never sounded as good when he was sitting in the driver’s seat and there wasn’t a gruff voice humming along. 

Now, Eddie is walking into the diner, his heavy boots thud thud thudding on linoleum floors. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that this is the summer of ‘78. That Wayne has just gone to the bathroom to freshen up and he’s still a wide-eyed kid who found whole worlds in windshield landscapes. 

But that was a lifetime ago. So Eddie takes a seat at the counter, longing for his trucker companion, and waits for someone to come take his order. 

You’re looking down when you step in front of him, pencil and pad in hand. Your voice sounds tired as you welcome him, already asking him if he wants to know today’s specials. He can see the name tag pinned just below your collarbone, but he doesn’t need to read it. 

Eddie came here looking for the past. He didn’t expect the past to find him. He says your name without thinking. It comes out of him like the sun peeking behind the clouds on a stormy day, warm and unexpected. 

It takes a second. You look up, features clouded with surprise, a wrinkle between your brows.  Eddie almost wants the floor to swallow him up for embarrassing himself. He doesn’t know what’s worse, if you don’t remember him or if you’re pretending not to. He wouldn’t blame you for either. 

Then you smile. 

“Eddie Munson… as I live and breathe.” His name hangs from your lips like he used to. 

He lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. His hand comes to rub the back of his neck, and he feels like a bashful kid again, wanting so badly for you to think he’s cool. 

“And here I was thinking that you’d forgotten all about me.” 

The warm smile on your face grows melancholic. Eddie tries his best not to read into it. 

“You're a hard one to forget.”

It’s not like you hadn’t tried. 

You tried to forget days and nights colored by calloused hands. Whenever the sticky scent of Marlboro Reds was brought your way from a wayward wind, you changed directions. If a metal song came on the radio, you were quick to change the channel, feigning a disinterest in electric guitars and heavy drums. You tried to pretend like it wasn’t senseless, like there was a method in the madness of forgetting. 

The reason is sitting right in front of you, looking at you like you hold the meaning of life in your hands and not a pen that barely worked and a pad of paper used to take orders. 

It was only one summer, but Eddie came and went with it. Blowing in when the temperatures got too hot to be comfortable, and leaving just when the cold got biting and you actually needed something to keep your bed warm. You shake the thought of your head, lest the bitterness set in your mouth like a cup of black coffee and you say something that you don’t really mean. 

“What brings you to this fine establishment?”

Eddie considers telling you the truth. The full truth. A kindness that he hadn’t properly extended to you all those seasons ago. It doesn’t come out. 

“Good food.” He replies simply, before deciding to add on. “And good company, I hope.”

You make a show of looking around the diner, eyes passing over every person trying to eat their lunch in peace, unaware of the hurricane that just walked in the door. 

“Well, we have good food.” You say, smartly. “But as for good company, I think you might be stuck with little ol’ me.” 

Eddie’s grin burns twice as bright as the last time you saw him. You’re not sure if that’s true or if the memory of him has just faded as the years have gone by. 

You tell your manager you’re taking your lunch after you put Eddie’s order in. You notice that he’s ordered enough for two people, but decide not to be presumptuous, just in case his stomach is bigger than the last time you saw him. 

It’s not, and you find comfort in the aspects of Eddie that you memorized. All of that time spent forgetting has been wasted, because you still know him like the back of your hand. He slides a plate of pancakes over to you. You catch up over coffee and hashbrowns. He evidently still has a sweet tooth, the way he tries to distract you with conversation as he pours half of the sugar container into his cup.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm with him. Eddie is a beat that your heart can’t quite shake. You both tiptoe around the big things. You don’t ask him about California. He doesn’t ask you how all of your big dreams landed you eighty miles from your hometown.

You don’t ask him why he left without saying goodbye. He doesn’t tell you that if you told him to stay, he probably would have. 

Seeing as the lunch rush has passed, you manage to slip out of the doors of the diner without a hint of protest from your manager. Your eyes search the parking lot for that familiar black van, but it isn’t there. Instead, Eddie sidles up beside a sleek red sedan. A joke sits on the tip of your tongue, I guess being a rockstar pays well, huh? You decide against it. You’ve spent the entire time with him avoiding the topic. It’s too late to bring it up now. 

Boxes are piled high in the backseat, just like you thought they would be. This is what you’re used to. You don’t ask Eddie where he’s going, he doesn’t tell you when he’s leaving. 

“It was nice seeing a friendly face.” His words hang heavy in the air, hands jammed into his pockets like he’s afraid if he reaches for you that he’ll never be able to let go. 

“It was nice seeing you too, Eddie.”

He doesn’t ask for your number. You don’t offer it to him. You both know that goodbyes have never really been the strong suit between the two of you. 

His van kicks up dust as he pulls away, waving at you through the windshield. You try not to think about how that’s how he always feels to you. Behind glass, impossible to reach. 

As he drives away, Eddie thinks about how much better you’d look in the passenger seat than in his rear-view mirror. He almost stops the car. Every red light before the interstate, he thinks about turning around and running back to you. He doesn’t. He keeps driving. 

likes are appreciated, comments and reblogs are cherished ♥️

[dumpfrontdesk]

my personal vincent solaire headcanons because i've been thinking about him alot lately.

these range from funny and goofy to kind of sad.

potential spoilers for right up until lovely's turning, i haven't gotten beyond that.

i tried so hard to make this post look good but tbh don't nobody gaf, so it's mad basic!

over the years, william has tried to teach vincent french but none of it's really stuck. he can read a bit, but decided he sounds funny when speaking it, so, he's given up.

if lovely came from a background where they've struggled with money, vincent has a hard time relating to them in some aspects. he's always willing to lend a sympathetic ear, though.

vincent's got pointed ears (my personal hc is that all the vampires do, to varying degrees) it's a fantastic opportunity for piercings, which vincent has taken.

if vincent if ever confused about something his eyes get really wide, and it's obvious he has no idea what's going on.

vincent vapes but is totally one of those who'd be like "a cigarette?? ewww!! i would neverrrrrr" while he's huffing on a green apple nic stick.

^ to add to this, if he loses it he totally freaks out ("lovely where's my vappeee??")

vincent is the kind of guy who calls cars "sexy"

since he doesn't have to eat to survive, vincent's developed a taste for expensive food, particularly exotic fruit.

he's got an impressive record of speeding tickets, and has used his powers to get out of them more than once

vincent misses his mortal family deeply, particularly, he really wants his mother to be there sometimes.

on the rare occasion a new vampire joins the house of solaire, vincent goes out of his way to be friendly to them.

whenever he's out, vincent tips really well.

if you look around vincent's hometown, particularly in those spots that collect a lot of trash, you'll find some of those 'do you know what happened to me?' posters for vincent, as they didn't find a body.

sometimes, vincent can't help but think he's the worst thing to happen to lovely, especially after adam, the inversion, and their turning.

[bitter69uk]

Q: What are you thankful for? A: “My health and my family. And Lana Del Rey.” John Waters interviewed in AnotherMan magazine, 2018

“She’s unearthly suburban and unreasonably talented, and she can pretend to be a normal person. I think of the ad campaign for Russ Meyer’s Lorna... [The tagline] could go for her: ‘Longing, love, lust, life, Lana. Too much for one man.’” John Waters interviewed in Harper’s Bazaar, 2023

Q: What is it you like about Lana Del Rey? “She’s very David Lynch to me. Everyone makes fun of her, but that first album [Born to Die] was on the Billboard chart for three years, longer than a Kid Rock album. She infuriates people, but I think she’s in on it. I really want her to hook up with David Lynch, because he produces great albums these days.” John Waters interviewed in Rolling Stone, 2014

“She tells a story in her music. She gives a mood and a story and a way to think, and she paints a picture in your brain.” David Lynch interviewed in Harper’s Bazaar, 2023 Happy 39th birthday to pop’s alienated and complicated dark princess, the glorious Lana Del Rey (née Elizabeth Woolridge Grant, 21 June 1985). Remember when the “gangster Nancy Sinatra” first emerged with Born to Die in 2012 and uptight stale pale male rockist cultural gatekeepers bugged-out, labelling her a phony because she wasn’t really some trailer park Laura Palmer-type and she’d adopted a show biz name (guess what? “Bob Dylan” and “David Bowie” aren’t their real names, either!). Seems like a lifetime ago! And all these years later, the defiant and triumphant Del Rey is a veteran artist with an entirely singular body of work under her belt. My favourite tracks by her vary all the time but today let’s say it’s “White Mustang” from 2017. Now sing along with me: “My pussy tastes like Pepsi cola / My eyes are wide like cherry pies …” Pictured: bad girl Del Rey photographed by Nadia Lee Cohen for the February 2023 issue of Interview magazine. Styled by Mel Ottenberg.

[fountainpenguin]

"All the other guys, they are so- interchangeable! Little talent, yeah, but you know, that's debatable... Toss 'em to the left, to the left..." (x)

New Fairly OddParents 'fic update today!

Frayed Knots - Chapter 39

"Godparents For Hire"

📖 Read on FFN || Read on AO3

☁️ Cloudlands AU

🦇 Ridwork Guide || Chapter Recaps

✨ More Fairly OddParents 'fics

Let’s do this in style. I twirled my wand between my fingers. “Good evening, my young friend! It is Mandelro, isn’t it? It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance tonight, and the honour’s all mine. I’m Anti-Cosmo-” “-and I’m Wanda,” she chimed in, butting her shoulder against my own. Mandelro froze, fingers tight on the rocky ridges, as she and I lifted our wands in sync. “And we’re… your Fairy godparents!”

In which Anti-Cosmo and Wanda visit their Boudacian godkid in the Summer of the Flaming Clouds, and Anti-Cosmo meets a green-haired fairy with an unmentionably horrible job.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

Godparents For Hire

Well, I thought, prepping easy-to-grab sandwiches to stock the icebox with, this promises to be a semester I’ll never forget. The sandwiches had been Mona’s idea. Even without tasting them, I could already tell she was brilliant… Not that that was a surprise. I’d be grateful for these things when I was on the go. Especially since I was making all mine without cheese. I’d bought special stickers just for this occasion: blue circles for my wraps and pink ones for Wanda’s. I had orange stickers on hand for Mandelro, just in case we ever had to feed him on short notice before a school club or sport or… whatever it was Boudacian kids did after classes released.

“What do you think, Lohai? Does he sound more like a boar-lover or a pheasant fan to you?”

Her lantern rested on the counter with me, but the only response I got from her was a sleepy sort of hum. Ah, genies… You can’t do a thing with them when the pregnancy’s this far along, wot? They really are so very sweet.

One thing had become apparent quite quickly last night: Wanda and I both liked sticking to a schedule if we could get our minds around it. Ha. Jotting down ideas didn’t cause me any trouble. That was the easy part. Now, the commitment to hitting my tasks at the right time of day…

Well, you never could predict that. It varied by the season, if I must be honest. And it varied by my mood. My daily ritual of pheromone application, the oils smeared across my cheeks, certainly seemed to have taken the edge off my wild ups and downs. I’d picked up two new bottles before our study abroad began. “Let’s hope they don’t drip in the sandwiches,” I muttered, and wrapped the sandwich in a wrinkled mulberry leaf for Wanda. Very filling. If she didn’t eat it, I certainly would. I marked it with a sticker and into the pile it went. Last one for the morning. I threw my hands in the air, smirking wide for no one but Lohai to see.

“Haha! And soon, not only shall I master lunch preparation, but I shall conquer premade dinners, too! … I’m thinking mushroom soup. Oh Lohai, you’ll be so proud of me… I’m prepping meat for her meals, and I’m not writhing on the floor!”

“Meat sounds nice,” Lohai murmured. Her voice echoed through the lantern. Oh, pooh… All my yelling mustn’t make for a relaxing naptime environment.

“Sorry, my dear,” I whispered, and went about cleaning the counters as quick as I could.

Our schedule for today looked quite simple, really (Smashingly so, I might add). Even now, Wanda was well on her way to Boudacia with our rat cage in hand. Once there, she would set the beginnings of a portal underneath the crawl dish. I’d take up the end of the so-called magic thread she’d left behind, intertwine her spell with my own, and set the receiving end. Here in Carriage Corner, I’d pair the magic with a special closet door set aside explicitly for such a purpose. Now, presuming that I did it right - and as a long-time demon summoner, I had no doubt in my coordination - we ought to score high-class marks that would set us up for weeks to come. By the end of the week, Wanda and I were both due to turn in a write-up about our experience. Simple enough.

Portals came in many shapes and forms. Far too many things could go wrong with such a spell, but I didn’t worry. Technically speaking, Wanda had the more difficult job (and a much longer morning). We’d agreed it was best I stay behind given my history of unpredictably unstable magic. Why, I might fly out to Boudacia and land myself unable to contact her, unable to form my half of the portal link, and unable to travel far to get back home. And given that her crown floated higher above her head than mine, I felt quite certain that Wanda had more power to give in the first place. Yes… all the better that she travelled out while I stockpiled sandwiches for the rest of our week.

Could portals really work if a fairy cast one end and an anti-fairy the other? Every twitch and curl of magic in my system churned at the thought. I ran through the steps again. Soon enough, Wanda would launch the spell my way. I simply had to prepare myself to draw it in, then tie it off. Nothing to it. I’d closed gates after my demon summoning plenty of times, not to mention watched Mona spay or neuter a few animals, so locking down the waypoint’s local end seemed exactly the right fit.

This, you may have guessed, did leave me twiddling my thumbs for a lengthy time as Wanda skimmed across the universe. So when I’d made all the sandwiches we had bread for, I sought out my faithful friend and study partner. Whyever not? I tapped on her door until she opened it, halfway through re-dyeing her hair from brown to pretty pale yellow. Oh, she looked a dreadful mess with dye dripping down her face, but I knew in that moment she cared nothing for embarrassment. She didn’t hide herself. She, in her imperfect beauty, came to speak with me. I shall cut to the underlying point without dressing it in the talk-around-the-subject way my people do:

"Blonda, I need a favour… I do so hate to ask, but I don’t see how they’d give the information I’m looking for directly to an Anti-Fairy. Could you perhaps, if it isn’t inconvenient, track down a fairy named Lucas Rainwings? He's…" I hesitated, air hissing through my teeth. "He's my nana's fairy partner, but they were separated by the war. Before things become… even remotely physical between you and I, I'd like to talk to him. I'm quite certain he's still alive." My nana had implied as much over migration when she'd told me she keeps away from him on purpose out of mercy for the Rhoswen syndrome raging in his head. Ha. Mercy.

Blonda looked curious, not nearly as annoyed to be given this task as I'd feared. "I didn't know you had relatives in a cross-Court relationship."

"Well, they aren't together anymore, but I'm technically his grandpup. Really, I don’t know how I’d go about finding him- Fairy World is huge and I’ve only seen a small portion of it, not to mention my border pass grants me only limited wandering. I do wish I could meet him, though. Not even my mum ever met my biological grandfather, and my nana always mentions Lucas as her partner before she mentions Anti-Jasper. So terribly sorry to drop this all on you; I didn't think of it any sooner."

📖 Read on FFN || Read on AO3

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 3/19/2024

boy hope i never run out of zelda games to play or my mental health is going to Tank. there are very vague endgame stuff spoilers (not where zelda is, but some of the time fuckery) but i am going to spoil a bit of the rito sage quest. nothing is rot-13'ed. i feel like that's a fair compromise since this game has been out for about a year? please let me know YOUR opinions on recent game spoilers

listening

Thanks A Lot But No Thanks from the 1955 musical It's Always Fair Weather, sung by Dolores Grey. this was Dolores Grey propaganda in the @hotvintagepoll. i love a sugar baby song and this is sort of an. anti-sugar-baby song? a satitrical sugar baby song? she thanks suitors for increasingly improbable gifts (the state of Maine, et al) before killing them??

the PIPES on this woman!!! the comedic timing!!! she pulls out a gun and shoots suitors dead while thanking them for an autographed picture of john wayne!!! she pulls a big lever and they all fall under the stage!!! ive been having kind of a Time in the depths of unemployment and this made me genuinely laugh (not one short sharp bark of laughter, full on cackling).

thanks for the darling uranium mine indeed

reading

the moonstone by wilkie collins (and philip). this has been my falling asleep reading book. this is decidedly not a cozy mystery but the stakes are not like. so high i have to keep reading through the night to find out what happens. i'm having a good time with it, currently about halfway and still very irritated with rachel, the main character right now. i have not revised my "spoiled brat" opinion and i look forward to seeing if i ever revise it.

-

watching

The Three Musketeers (2011, dir. Paul W.S. Anderson). thank you mackintosh (this is a discard from my hometown library and no one needs to know where that is thanks). it's pretty widely available on free platforms rn which is how you know it's good. it's not Good is the thing but it is extremely fun. it is straight up the three musketeers but with an airship. milla jovovich jumps off an airship into the channel. milla jovovich does some assassins creed shit. luke evans does some assassins creed shit. there is an airship fight and an airship chase. it is So cheesy and unfortunately never got another sequel. it also inexplicably has some of the finest cinematic swordfighting since the golden age of hollywood.

this was a really successful impromptu movie night pick for a more widely varied gang than usual, including some teens. my bestie also enjoyed it, which i am So pleased by bc she has extremely exacting movie taste. this cast is so stacked for no good reason: orlando bloom, luke evans, christoph waltz, mads mikkelsen, matthew macfayden...

-

playing

i have a post in my head about breath of the wild and tears of the kingdom and their dialogue with each other about loss and grief, but i think that's going to have to wait until i have a little bit more brainpower. perhaps i can talk a little bit about how they make me feel about loss and grief, and how i was upset for zelda and her hundred-year siege in the last one but i am so so so desperately sad for zelda in tears of the kingdom.

i played through breath of the wild with a constant background sense of loss and grief. this is only partially due to the real-life severe depression and joblessness. i think this is a personal brain thing and not a game thing, but i did feel guilty when fucking around in breath of the wild and not actively doing main quests to save zelda. like i would look at the castle off in the distance and feel kind of bad. the champions (and zelda!) telling link as soon as physically possible that it wasn't his fault made me cry in real life every time. i get it's like a month max of in-universe time between games, but it still feels like he has once again missed SO much. i think this is sort of a larger symptom of depression in that i look at [REDACTED] in tears of the kingdom and get a bit hopeless about [REDACTED] and it's like. well i might as well go pick golden apples and not do main quests. time is meaningless.

i am really glad they kept the shrine of resurrection on the plateau in tears of the kingdom. if that hadn't been there i the player would have felt very unmoored. i cannot begin to think how unreal and depersonalized it would have made link feel.

enough of that! the hero's path function is so funny. there are such huge swathes of the map i looked at and said No Thanks! Not Yet!

my depths map is even funnier. eight lightroots so far. no thank you! too scary still! i thought until VERY RECENTLY that all the caves and wells led to the depths and was avoiding them. mistake! cool shit in caves and wells! some horrible boys as well but they are vastly outnumbered by the cool shit.

the rito sage quest fucked SO severely. i had so much fucking fun with that boss fight even though it took me a real life two hours to get up to the arena with the puzzles to unlock the boss fight. i also surprised myself and did not have to look up how to beat any of the puzzles or the boss! just entered a state of flow and looked up and it was three hours later! i know a lot of people are very grumpy about how this was not a totally new game with a totally new map, but i have nothing but praise for the mechanics in this completely new section. knocked my socks off. made me think but wasn't too frustrating. made me use all my powers and all my weapon types. it was simply a great deal of almost frictionless fun! some over the top sick as shit stuff that is the whole point of video games as a medium imo

unlocked all the geoglyphs and i am Upset. i am UPSET.

and now for some horse talk (TM): i kept the very first horse i caught out of nostalgia even though these stats are not very good. i think the naming scheme for this game will be H (the last game was C). the breath of the wild giant ganon horse is so funny. you can't do shit with this horse. you can't change the mane. you can't change the tack. you can't increase his stats. he's just There. Large.

tangential horse talk: why is this lynel in the wetlands. his feathering and fetlocks are going to rot off. he is going to founder

some places ASCEND works where i didn't expect it to: tree. water you can stand in.

i stumbled across the last power completely accidentally while trying to deliver some eyes to a mysterious god and this was so fucking funny. i DID throw this guy down a big pit in the last game and he never came back. i forgot about that.

also people were fucking gaga for rauru but why didn't i see people talking about either of these two last summer on this, the -girl affix site and the scruffy shredded boy site

some other bits and bobs:

i was so annoyed patricia was part of the compendium in the last game i fucking got her this time ok

very hashtag relatable languages moment

unrelated to either of those things, i have done the gerudo sage quest except for the boss battle and i missed two huge swathes of hashtag tunnel gameplay (going to find riju through the tunnels. simply went overland) and getting to the central temple chamber (simply used ascend). whoops

there's a little tower concept art piece in purah's room in the ancient lab! that's a fun little touch i really love, it really helps differentiate the games and show changes in the overworld between games in a very cheap and east way for the devs

bc i play these games like dressup simulators, i also want to note that misko's tents are also really fun, they really feel like they're from a much earlier era and i'm stumbling across an untouched archaeological site

-

making

garden update: growing along okay, it has been so so so wet lately and i should have bitten the bullet and bought the big expensive bag of perlite, the drainage is not terrific. i should elevate all the planters and that would help a bit too. tomatoes are bit leggy, i moved them out of the partial shade on the end of the balcony and in front of the window. i am a bit concerned about them getting scorched, but again it's been so wet lately they need all the help they can get. i feel like they're established enough to be pruned a bit to make them bushier but i am Afraid. there are worse things in life than leggy tomatoes

the pic on the left below: these bush beans are looking a bit strange as well. the four shorter ones came up, promptly withered their cotyledons, and i thought they died until they popped out their first true leaves. the larger ones i think may have some kind of mosaic virus but it's a little early to tell. these are bins that haven't been used outside (they stored clothes in for the move) and new dirt from home depot. either the dirt or the seed stock itself may have been infected? very strange. the cucumbers in the bin in the back (hidden by the beans) are also taking forever to get going. at least the sweet peas are doing fine. the spinach i planted in that back bin withered where the stems met the soil and died. i think it was simply to early and too damp for them.

anyway on the right pic above: these normie peas and normie climbing beans seem to be doing fine. that's dill in the gray pot and basil in the bucket, they also seem to be doing fine. just sort of a perplexing corner on the other side of the balcony.