#i want to go to a rave where all they play is the book of boba fett theme song

[gbugify]

say what you want about the book of boba fett but the theme song is a banger

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Hi! I've been thinking a lot about hufflepuff!fem!reader biting more than she could chew whilst practising new spells and opening a portal to a new dimension (think of the multiverse) and ending up in Gotham where she meets Nightwing during one of his patrols, where he was helping out the rest of the Batfamily pin point the spot where an anomaly created by her was detected...thanks! xx

Falling First

AN: I am SO sorry, I realised how long it was this will likely be a two parter- but OMG I dropped everything this idea was too cute

WC: 6077

CW: Use of {Y/N}, vivid panic attack, blood, rat mishandling

“Are you going to keep reading that dumb book?” Damien’s judgmental voice called over to Nightwing from the other side of the rooftop. He was practicing his form, swinging around Nightwing’s staff as if it was one of his swords.

Dick was leaning against the concrete wall, holding a soda and reading a book propped on his lap. The title? Hogwarts: A History.

“Dumb book?” Dick scoffed playfully, leaning further back. "It's fascinating!" He raved, not taking his eyes off the pages. "Besides, who doesn't want to read about wizarding worlds and magical creatures? The.. the interesting ways in which students have harmed themselves. I wonder if there is another volume..” He began to mumble.

Damien rolled his eyes, still twirling the staff with practiced ease. "We deal with real villains and real threats every day. I don't see the point in wasting time on make-believe. And did father even say you could take that here? It's evidence.”

Dick glanced up from his book, a smirk playing on his lips. "You know, some day, you'll learn to relax. It's just a light read. Helps keep the mind sharp and the imagination alive."

With a final, flashy spin of the staff, Damien stopped and faced Nightwing, raising an eyebrow. "Imagination? You sound like Grayson. Oh wait, you are Grayson.”

Dick chuckled, shaking his head. "And you, my dear Damien, sound like a mini Bruce with a side of extra grumpiness."

Damien huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I just don't see the point."

"Well, in fairness, you do need a signal. Has it happened yet?” Oracle’s voice called out from their earpiece. Dick leaned back and pressed two fingers to his ear. “Not yet, it's still stable.”

Damien huffed and walked over, sitting down on the concrete wall and snatching the bag of open puffs. “We'll be here all night. What's the point?”

“To find more anomalies, Robin.” Barbara sighed and leaned back in her seat, spinning a bit from the large computer screen and sliding over towards a glass display, showing off several random items that had been appearing on the roof top for months now.

Scrolls, weathered and tampered. Random blue crystals, which Dick’s newest favorite book called ‘moonstones,’ quills, and even what seemed to be a wand carved from hazel wood. All of which had appeared on that rooftop with a spark of terrifying energy.

"Right, anomalies.” Dick smirked, sitting up a bit straighter and closing his book. "We can't have mysterious artifacts just popping up all over Gotham. That would be bad for business."

Damien gave a reluctant nod, munching on the puffs he had taken from Dick’s bag. "Still, I don’t see how reading that book helps us."

"Knowledge is power, Damien." Dick cheeked, taking a sip of his soda. "Even if it's from a 'dumb book'. Besides, it might give us some insight into what we're dealing with. These items don’t exactly scream ‘normal’."

Barbara’s voice crackled over the earpiece again. "He's right, Damien. Understanding the lore and history behind these artifacts could be crucial. It might help us figure out where they're coming from and possibly even how they are getting here.”

“Yeah yeah..” He mumbled.

“Besides,” Dick smirked. “Who's to say we can't have a little fun on the-”

Before he could continue, lifting the book, it began to spark and flicker in his hands. As if its very file was corrupted but somehow managed to manifest physical energy. The book glowed with an eerie yellow and pink light, and the pages began to flip rapidly on their own.

"Uh, guys?" Dick called out, his playful demeanor shifting to one of concern. "I think we might have another anomaly on our hands."

Damien immediately leaped up and snapped his attention around them, pulling his katana from his sheath and getting ready.

Dick got up next, taking his staff and looking around cautiously.

“We are getting it here too!” Barbara ’s voice was hardly audible, the lights around the city began to flicker and wave, as if he was staring at a terrible simulation on the break on destruction.

Barbara stood watching the other artifacts from the batcave, seeing them flicker and spark with life as they began to glitch from place to place.

Suddenly, there was a loud crackle from above Dick and Damien, and then a loud squeak.

“Shit.” Dick hissed and shot him, using his staff to propel him and catch whatever was falling before it hit the ground.

He found in his hand, a fat brown and white rat.

Just like that, the glitching stopped. The lights around them returned to normal, and they were left with a new friend.

Dick got to his feet, holding the rat much like you would a can of soda. Staring at it curiously as it squeaked and wiggled about in distress.

"Well, this is new," Dick remarked, raising an eyebrow at the squirming rodent. "Meet our latest anomaly." He showed Damien the squirming thing.

Damien sheathed his katana, looking unimpressed. "A rat? Seriously? This is what all that chaos was about?" He wandered over and held his hand out for it, Dick smirked and pushed his head away, stepping back with a chuckle as Damien tried to steal the rodent from him.

Barbara's voice came through the earpiece, much clearer now. "Dick, Damien, are you both okay? The readings just spiked and then dropped off the charts."

"Yeah, we're fine," Dick snickered and held the rat higher, still holding Damien off. "But it looks like our anomaly this time is a... rat."

“You're not holding it properly!” Damien hissed, muffled against Dick’s palm as he tried to get to the distressed animal.

"A rat?" Barbara repeated, puzzled. "That's odd. Any idea if it has any special properties?"

"Well, it did appear out of thin air." Dick noted playfully before he looked up at it, holding it flat on its stomach now. “Speak!”

It only seemed to huff in response and Dick shrugged. “Looks like a common city rat.”

“That's not a city rat!” Damien snapped. “Look at its patterns! It's domestic.”

“A pet rat?” Barbara muttered before she crossed her arms, confused. “So we started with random items and now a living creature?”

“Sounds like experiment progression to me.” Dick cooed at the rat before he lowered his arms. “Ima call him Mr. Squeakerson.”

Before he could stop him, Damien finally stole the rat from him, shielding the creature against his chest. "He's not a toy, Grayson," Damien snapped, glaring at Dick. "This is serious."

"Alright, alright," Dick relented, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Just trying to lighten the mood."

Barbara's voice came through the earpiece again. "Damien's right. If this rat is part of the anomalies, it could be important. We need to figure out where it came from and why it's here."

Damien nodded, cradling the rat gently, running two fingers down its back. "I'll take him back to the Batcave and run some tests. Maybe there's something special about this rat that we haven't identified yet."

"Good idea.” Dick agreed, his expression turning serious. "I'll keep an eye out for any more anomalies up here."

Barbara hummed. "I'll continue monitoring the readings. If anything happens, ring me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Both Dick and Damien called into their ear pieces.

~~~

“No!” You sobbed out as the portal disappeared, staring at the middle of the shrieking shack in distress.

“We can always try again next full moon.” Luna Lovegood’s airy voice called over to you. You gave another groan, walking over to one of the discarded desks and sitting down.

“It's not working! I just don't get it.” You huffed, looking over the tomes and scrolls you both had splayed out on the floor and tables, ones you had pinned and scraped together, littered with muggle sticky notes and ink that traveled between the pages as if to etch out a map.

Tomes of old magic with modern magic, the deep theory of apparition. And even some old muggle studies of what they would call inter dimensional travel. You began to scatter over the pages, stepping over the moonstones you had gathered, the fine line of black sand that had now crystallized with the energy of the portal, making it almost glass.

“What a waste of Diricawl feathers.” You whined and let your head hit the desk, Luna reaching over to rub your head to try and comfort you.

It had been months, months of you trying to create a portable form of Floo Flames, something safer than apparition and more accessible to the masses. You were turning 19 soon, you were so close to having to leave Hogwarts behind, and thus all the free materials needed to continue your experiments.

Luna continued to pat your head gently, her presence a small comfort to fight off your frustration. "You got closer this time." She breathed.

You sighed deeply, lifting your head just enough to glance at the scattered notes and artifacts. Lazily lifting your hand to grab one of your quills. "I know, Luna. It's just... I was so sure this time. We've been working on this for months, and it feels like we're no closer than when we started."

Luna gave you a dreamy smile. "Progress isn't always visible. Sometimes, it's in the small things. Like today, we didn't lose anything to the portal.”

You slowly smiled, lifting your head. “I guess so.” You mumbled. “And it was bigger this time. I could almost put my hand through.”

“That's the spirit.” Luna hummed and stood up, waving her wand as she began to set the items to collect themselves from the floor. You pouted a bit and Luna turned to smile at you.

“Still miss your wand?”

“Deeply.” You huffed and sat up, fixing your tie. “And that history of Hogwarts book is going to set me back a few galleons to replace.”

Luna tilted her head, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. "Oh, I did forgot to mention. My father still has his old copy. He said he'd love to have you for tea, lend it to you. I can ask him if this coming holiday works."

You smiled at her, feeling your heart throb at her thoughtfulness. How could anyone hate this girl? "Thanks, Luna. You're always so helpful. I just hope we can figure this out before I have to leave Hogwarts."

Luna nodded, her brows furrowing. "We'll get there."

Just as she finished speaking, a soft glow appeared on the desk beside you. A small, shimmering portal flickered into existence for a brief moment before winking out. Both of you stared at the spot in surprise.

"Did you see that?" You whispered, as if speaking too loud would wake you up from a dream, your smile growing tenfold as Luna’s brows only furrowed deeper.

“It materialized! On its own!” You lit up and quickly got to your feet, scrambling for your journal.

“Oh that can't be good.” She muttered.

You paused, looking back at her with confusion. "What do you mean, can't be good? This is a breakthrough!"

Luna's expression remained serious, her eyes scanning the spot where the portal had flickered. "If it materialized on its own, it means the magic is becoming unstable. It might be reacting to something we don't understand yet."

Your excitement dimmed slightly as you considered her words. "Luna, it's a marvel!” You insisted. Luna hesitated, seeing her mother’s fire in your eyes. She took a steady breath and frowned a bit, turning into a pout, as you slowly relaxed your shoulders.

“It's a breakthrough.” You insisted. “And it happened after 3am, is that it? Did we have the witching hour wrong?”

As you began to scatter around the room, Luna watched with a worried look, before she could speak up about her concerns, you reached out your hand to your table. “Templeton! Quill!” You called out. But when the quill didn't hit your palm, you looked around confused. Where had your rat gone?

There was a moment of pause before you looked back at Luna. “Looloo? Where did Templeton go?”

Luna looked around the room before she slowly eyed the circle in the middle of the room. You felt your heart drop.

~~~

The majority of the day you had been moping. You missed your rat.

It was all you could think of, through every class, you couldn't shake the worry gnawing at the back of your mind. You had grown quite attached to Templeton, and the thought of him being lost somewhere unknown was unbearable. Was he alive? Was he eating? Was what he was eating safe? Was he safe?

Luna tried to cheer you up during lunch, but even her whimsical stories and odd facts couldn't lift your spirits. "We'll find him.” She tried to reassure you. "Maybe he's on an adventure of his own."

"An adventure?" You muttered, poking at your food. You had already started pushing the peas out of your food for Templeton. "I just hope he's safe."

As the day went on, you found yourself increasingly anxious. What if the portal had sent Templeton somewhere you couldn't reach? What if he was scared and alone? Cold and wet? What if he was missing you as much as you were missing him? The questions swirled in your mind, making it hard to focus on anything else.

---

Back in Gotham, Damien was busy running tests on the rat in the Batcave. He had set up a small, comfortable enclosure for the creature, complete with food and water. As the automated scanners did their work, Damien couldn't help but notice how the rat seemed oddly calm, almost as if it was used with all the testing.

"Any luck?" Dick asked, strolling into the lab area with a curious look. He was out of his costume, just in sweats and a black shirt.

"Nothing yet.” Damien mumbled, keeping his eyes on the monitors. "But there's definitely something different about this rat. It's too comfortable around all this testing. And his heart is on the wrong side.”

Dick nodded, looking at the rat with interest. "Any signs of where it might have come from?"

Damien shook his head, glancing at the rat. "Not yet. But the fact that its heart is on the wrong side suggests it might not be from around here. It's an anomaly in itself."

Dick frowned, leaning in closer to the rat. "So, it's not just any rat. That makes things more interesting. We need to figure out where it came from and what it means."

As the rat continued to explore its new enclosure, Damien's eyes narrowed. "... it's really friendly. Doesn't seem to like it kibble, keeps trying to eat what Alfred brings me."

Dick nodded. "I've been cross-referencing the data from the anomalies with our existing records over the years- wait, have you been letting it out of its cage?”

Damien flustered, stammering for a moment. “It's a small enclosure!”

Dick chuckled, shaking his head at Damien's defensiveness. "Seems like Mr. Squeakerson is already growing on you. What? Don't have enough strays?"

Damien scowled, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Don't get too attached. We still need to figure out where he came from and how he got here." Barbara's voice came from behind them. She pushed herself down the strip walk way in her wheelchair, getting back to her monitors with a yawn. Looking over to the cage and smiling as the rat seemed to get excited at her return. “He's smart. Very friendly.”

"Yeah, a bit too friendly for a rat that just appeared out of nowhere." Dick noted, watching the rat scurry around its enclosure with curiosity. "What do you think, Babs? Any theories?"

Barbara adjusted her glasses and leaned closer to the monitors, tapping a few keys to bring up the data. "It's definitely unusual. The heart on the wrong side, the comfort around humans, and now it's showing signs of higher intelligence. This isn't just any ordinary rat. That has only been seen once before.”

“... you mean when Lex Luther-”

“Exactly.” Barbarainterrupted and gestured to the display. “A wand. Stones, papers and tomes, even quills? All of them tie back to your book.”

Dick furrowed his brow at her and she then gestured to the rat. “What was it your book said? You could bring pets?”

“A rat, an owl, or a frog.” Dick mumbled before Damien seemed to catch one.

“Are they…”

“From another universe.” Dick concluded with a slack jaw.

“One where their organs mirror our own.”

Damien's eyes widened with realization. "So, you're telling me this rat might actually be from a parallel universe? One where magic is that common?"

Barbara nodded, her expression serious. "It's starting to look that way. The items we've found, the anomalies- they might all be connected to this other world. And if this rat is any indication, living creatures can cross over as well."

Dick looked thoughtfully at the rat, now affectionately named Mr. Squeakerson. "If that's true, then we need to figure out how these portals are opening and why. There might be more at stake here than just a few random artifacts."

Damien nodded and Barbara sighed.

“I think we need to call in the others. Tell Bruce what we know.” Barbara mused and gestured to the rat.

Dick walked over to the cage and opened it, a bit surprised when the rat ran up his arm and straight to his shoulder. Like it knew exactly what he wanted.

“Huh.”

“I'll call the others.” Damian nodded, turning before Barbara called over. “Don't forget Jason!”

She could hear his groan echo off the walls.

~~~

You were stressed, you were tired. You hadn't slept since Templeton fell through the portal. You went straight back to the shack after curfew, setting everything up once more.

Luna, ever the supportive friend, had accompanied you despite the late hour. She watched quietly as you frantically arranged the moonstones and black sand, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity.

"You need to rest.” She said softly, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "You'll think more clearly after some sleep."

You shook your head, determined. "I can't rest, Luna. Templeton is out there somewhere, and I need to find him. What if he's in danger?"

Luna sighed but didn't argue further. Instead, she waved her wand, casting a charm that made the various components float into place more efficiently. "At least let me help you. Two minds are better than one."

As you both worked, the night crept into day. Luna pushed more firm this time, asking you to at least rest before you attempt anything.

You agreed to a nap, though reluctantly, knowing that your exhaustion could lead to mistakes. Luna conjured a small, comfortable cot in the corner of the shack, and you lay down with a sigh, the weight of your worry making it hard to fully relax.

Luna sat beside you, humming a soft, soothing tune. "Just a quick nap, and then we can get back to work. Templeton will be alright. I have a feeling about it."

You nodded, your eyes drifting shut as Luna's gentle voice lulled you.

As you drifted into a fitful sleep, Luna kept watch, her wand ready and her eyes scanning the room for any signs of magical disturbances. She hoped that a brief rest would replenish your energy and clear your mind for the tasks ahead.

---

Back in Gotham, the Batcave was bustling with activity. Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, and Tim Drake had joined the investigation, each bringing their unique skills to the table. And, unfortunately, their unique attitudes as well.

"So, this rat just appeared out of nowhere?" Bruce questioned, his voice calm but with an edge of curiosity.

"Exactly," Damien replied, holding the rat gently. "And he’s not just any rat. His heart is on the wrong side, and he shows signs of higher intelligence. We believe he might be from a parallel universe."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, glancing at Barbara and Dick. "Any theories on how these portals are opening?"

Barbara nodded, pulling up a holographic display and gesturing out to each spike of energy. “We think it's intentional. Like they are testing portals.”

"Testing portals?" Bruce echoed, narrowing his eyes at the display. "That would explain the increasing frequency and the variety of objects appearing. But why?"

"Could be a number of reasons." Tim suggested, stepping forward with a thoughtful expression. "They might be trying to establish stable connections between universes, or perhaps they're searching for something specific. Like a person?”

Jason, leaning casually against a console, chimed in with a smirk. "Or someone pissed off the wrong wizard and now we're dealing with magical fallout."

Damien shot Jason a glare but didn't respond. Instead, he turned back to Bruce. “Whatever it is, we think it's on purpose.”

Bruce nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the information. "We'll need to be prepared for anything. If someone- or something- is intentionally testing these portals, it could be a prelude to something much larger."

Dick looked at Mr. Squeakerson, who was now comfortably perched on his shoulder. "And this little guy might be our best clue to figuring out what’s going on. We need to keep him safe and see what we can learn from him."

Barbara interjected, "I'll continue monitoring the energy spikes and anomalies. We need to pinpoint the exact locations and timings of these events. Maybe we can predict when the next one will happen. There may even be more than one at a time.”

Tim hummed and nodded. "I'll look into the possibility of any magical artifacts or entities that could be responsible for the portals. There might be something in our archives that matches the energy signatures we're seeing."

Jason shrugged, pushing off the console. "Guess I'll be on anomaly patrol then. Wouldn't want anything else to just drop out of the sky unannounced."

Bruce nodded in agreement. "Good. We need to cover all the ground we can. Dick-”

“I'll patrol with Damien.” He interrupted and Bruce narrowed his eyes for only a moment before he nodded. “Everyone's dismissed.”

~~~

You woke up to flashing lights around you. As you opened your eyes, you were greeted with a bright yellow light, more flashing, then, suddenly, you felt like you were falling.

There was a sharp surge of pain that rocked you when your back hit the rooftop. You gasped, the wind knocked out of you as you struggled to regain your bearings. Blinking against the harsh lights and trying to make sense of your surroundings, you slowly sat up, wincing at the ache in your back. The smell of the city- smoke, asphalt, and something distinctly metallic; all hit your nose at once.

You raised your hand as you felt something warm drip from your nose, only to feel another painful shock run through you. You gave a wail of pain as your body began to glitch, as if you were some kind of faulty Sunday cartoon.

It was unbearable, and you let out a throat tearing sob as the pain rocked through you. No one was around, no one near you anyway, and the glitching seemed to get worse. The lights of the city seemed to flicker in response to your pain, and after what felt like hours, you were able to lift yourself.

Your face was covered in blood, your uniform stained with the red fluid, and your head was light.

As your blurry eyes began to focus, you took in the city around you. It was nothing like you had ever seen before; the buildings were towering structures of steel and glass, illuminated by a myriad of neon lights and billboards- some brighter than the sun itself. The noise of the city was a constant hum, a combination of distant traffic, sirens, and the occasional shout from the streets below.

You staggered to your feet, clutching your head as another wave of dizziness hit you. "Where... am I?" you whispered to yourself, trying to make sense of the alien environment.

Were you in a muggle city? Where were your things? Where was Templeton?

Your breathing grew quicker as you realized, not only did you have no clue if you popped out where everything else had but that portal that brought you here was clearly unstable. You didn't summon it, nor did you think Luna did.

She was right, she always was.

You ran your fingers through your hair with a choked sob. Growing more and more frustrated with your own stupidity- you didn't have a wand, you hardly knew any nonverbal spells, you were in the middle of nowhere, and the backdrop of screaming and rowdy life of the city didn't bring any comfort.

Your breath started coming in short, rapid gasps, each one feeling more shallow than the last. Trying to calm your sobs, only worsening it with hiccups. Your heart pounded in your chest, a wild, erratic beat that echoed in your ears. The world around you seemed to blur, the neon lights and towering buildings warping and bending in your vision.

"I... I can't... breathe.” You choked out, your voice barely a whisper. Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you clutched at your chest, trying to will your lungs to take in air. Each inhale felt like you were trying to breathe through a straw, thin and insufficient.

You stumbled, falling back down to your knees and curling up against the concrete wall. Clenching your robe as the horrible and painful glitches returned, the lights and sounds of the city mocking you as the power flickered around with you.

Your mind raced with a thousand thoughts at once, each one more frantic than the last. Where am I? How did I get here? What if I can't get back? What if Templeton is gone forever? The questions swirled and collided, creating a cacophony of panic that drowned out any attempt at rational thought.

The ground seemed to tilt beneath you, making it difficult to keep your balance. You reached out, grasping at nothing, desperate for something solid to hold onto.

Your vision started to narrow, darkening at the edges as the pain rattled you into nothing but a trembling lump.

As your vision continued to darken and your breaths came in ragged gasps, you heard a voice, distant at first but gradually becoming clearer.

"Hey, are you okay?" The voice was filled with concern, cutting through the chaos in your mind. You tried to focus on it, using it as an anchor to the present.

A figure knelt down beside you, you couldn't make him out but he felt safe. He gently placed a hand on your shoulder. "Just breathe, okay? In and out, nice and slow." The voice was calm and steady, a stark contrast to the panic you felt inside. You tried to will away the tears that prickled your eyes.

You tried to follow the instructions, but your body was still wracked with tremors and your mind was a whirlwind of fear. The figure gently rubbed your back, trying to soothe you.

"It's okay, you're safe now.” His voice reminded you of something. Something soft, something gentle.

As you focused on the voice, you felt a small sense of calm start to push through the overwhelming panic. It was like a lifeline, something to hold onto in the midst of the storm inside your mind.

"That's it, just breathe.” The voice continued, steady and reassuring. "You're going to be okay. I'm right here with you."

You took a shaky breath, trying to match the rhythm the voice was setting. In and out, in and out. Slowly, very slowly, the world around you started to come back into focus. The neon lights were still bright, the city noise still loud, but they felt a little less overwhelming with each breath you managed to take.

As your vision cleared, you saw the face of the figure kneeling beside you. It was a large man. Well, certainly larger than you. He was in a blue and black uniform of sorts, and a symbol on his chest you couldn't make out with your hands in the way. You didn't realize that in your panic to find anything solid, you had reached out and grabbed him. Not that he seemed to mind, looking at you from behind his domino mask with such gentleness.

"Hey.” He said softly, his covered eyes tracing your face. He had such a sweet smile. "You're okay. I'm Nightwing, and you're safe now."

You nodded weakly, now gripping his arm for support. The tremors in your body were starting to subside, your breaths becoming steadier. Nightwing's presence was grounding, his calm helping to pull you out of the spiral of panic with so much ease you wondered if he had done it before.

"Can you tell me your name?" He prodded gently, not wanting to overwhelm you.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice, wincing as you tasted that copper flavor, your nose was still bleeding. "{Y/N}.” You managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "My name is {Y/N}."

Nightwing gave you a reassuring smile. "It's nice to meet you, {Y/N}. Pretty name for a pretty girl. Can you tell me what happened? How you got here?"

You took another deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "I... I don't know. There was a portal, and then I was here. I don't know where here is."

Nightwing nodded, his expression serious but understanding, his smile slowly falling. In your sensitive state, you felt your heart clench as you clearly disappointed this definite guardian. "You're in Gotham City. We'll figure out the rest. Can you stand?”

“I-I don't know.” You whispered, your voice shaking and he nodded.

“That's alright, you're alright. Can I touch you?”

“Seems only fair.” You whispered and began to move your hands from his arms.

Nightwing chuckled softly at your remark, glad to see a bit of humor returning to your voice. "Alright, I'm going to help you up. Nice and easy."

He gently placed one arm around your back and another under your knees, lifting you with surprising ease. You felt a bit of a jolt, but his steady confidence helped keep you grounded. As he stood up with you in his arms, you leaned against him, feeling an odd sense of safety despite the chaos around you.

As he carefully carried you towards the edge of the rooftop, you noticed another figure standing there, watching with a mix of curiosity and concern. It was Damien, still holding the staff, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

"Another anomaly?" Damien asked, his tone skeptical.

Nightwing nodded, carefully setting you down on a nearby crate, making sure you were steady before letting go. "Looks like it. This is {Y/N}. She came through a portal, just like the other items."

Damien approached, his expression softening slightly as he looked at you. "Are you alright?" He asked, his voice carrying a hint of genuine concern despite his usual demeanor. You didn't notice Nightwing raising his eyebrows in surprise.

You nodded, still feeling a bit uneasy. Nightwing pulled out a cloth and held it out to you.

Raising it to your nose you started to stop the bleeding, watching as he put two fingers to his ear. “Oracle, we found something. Send a car.”

“Car?” You whispered and Damien narrowed his eyes at you.

“You must of hit your head pretty hard, huh?” He prodded and you turned to him with furrowed brows.

“Cars? Like the muggle death traps?” You pushed and the younger boy gave you the same confused look you were sending him.

“Muggles? The hell are muggles?” He pushed and your stomach sank.

Nightwing and Damien exchanged a glance, both clearly puzzled by your words. Nightwing crouched down to your level, his expression softening even more as he tried to understand.

"Muggles?" Nightwing asked gently. "You mean non-magical people, right? Like in the book I was reading?"

You nodded slowly, feeling a bit relieved that at least one of them seemed to understand. Then, your jaw dropped. “You read my book?” You pushed and he slowly nodded.

“I guess that was yours? You have a lot of explaining to do.” He slowly smirked at you and you couldn't help how your stomach fluttered at his look.

“Explaining?” You whispered.

“Those portals have been opening up everywhere. It's messing with our entire power grid.”

“What's a power grid?” You pushed again and his jaw clenched a bit.

Damien gave a huff. “This will be a fun one to explain.”

The second the car pulled up you fell quiet. Looking down the several story drop. You looked between the two boys curiously before Dick smiled at you and easily wrapped his arm around your back. “Go ahead and wrap your arms around me, yeah?”

You gave a small yelp at the sudden contact, making him chuckle, which made you pout, furrowing your brow at him. Still, you listened, and wrapped your arms around his neck. Pulling closer to him much like a cat would. He sent Damien a wink and the young boy groaned, rolling his eyes.

You peaked just past Dick’s shoulder and watched as he pulled out a bat shaped trinket, only for him to shoot it out and latch onto the side of the building. “Tighten that grip, I won't choke.”

“Keep teasing me and I'll actually do it.” You huffed before you gave a small gasp at you own tone, Dick just barked out a laugh in absolute delight at your snark.

Then he jumped.

And you prayed to Merlin for a proper savior.

You watched as the hook began to slow your fall, staring curiously around you with an awe strucken face. Nightwing helped you down again and let you in, instructing the younger boy to go home on foot, it seems there were only two seats.

The ride there was filled with mindless chatter. It was mostly one sided, as Nightwing spoke to a small device in his ear.

You sat in the car, your mind racing to catch up with everything that had happened. The city outside the window was a blur of lights and movement, a stark contrast to the more familiar and magical world you had come from. Nightwing's calm voice was a soothing background as he communicated with his team.

"Yeah, we're on our way to the Batcave." Nightwing said into his earpiece. "We have a guest who might be able to help us with the anomalies. We'll need everyone there."

You glanced at him, your curiosity piqued. You kept your voice low so as to not interrupt what was happening. "Batcave? Is that like your headquarters?"

Nightwing nodded, giving you a reassuring smile. "Clever girl. Yeah, go ahead and lean back, we don't know what happened to you.”

You nodded and compiled easily. You found yourself wondering how easy you would be to kidnap, just send you to a foreign place and send in a hot guy who called you pet names and you were done for.

Nightwing continued his conversation through the earpiece, his tone professional yet reassuring. "Oracle, make sure the med bay is ready. We need to check for any injuries or anomalies. And get Bats and the others up to speed."

You felt yourself slowly slipping, the exhaustion form it all catching up with you. As the car sped through the city streets, the combination of Nightwing's soothing voice and the gentle hum of the engine began to lull you into a sense of calm. The adrenaline from your earlier panic attack was wearing off, leaving you feeling drained and exhausted.

"Just hang in there a little longer." Nightwing pushed gently, noticing your drooping eyelids. "We'll be at the Batcave soon, and then we can get you checked out and figure out how to help you."

You nodded weakly, feeling comforted by his presence. The car finally came to a long tunnel, one you couldn't see a thing in. Finally, a light broke through the darkness showing a massive cave. Nightwing helped you out of the vehicle, his grip was firm and the last thing you remembered was seeing the symbol on his chest, much more clearly.

It was a bat- of course it was.

[v3nusxsky]

I wanted to make a request of like dom!lesso and shysubby!reader where the reader is a quiet new librarian of the merging schools and they get off to an angsty start where lesso HATES the reader and the reader just wants to be friends and then maybe some smut happens and then lesso gets soft for the reader and they live happily ever after✨✨

Unexpected lover 18+

*Authors note ~ finally getting through my assignments which is freeing up some writing time to get through some requests I’m so sorry it’s taken me ages to get to it school literally is killing me*

Trigger warnings~ dom lesso, subby r, mommy kink, praise kink, thigh riding, sorta enemies to lovers?, degrading kink, begging, oral sex, slight pet play/humiliation kink

Prompt~ see ask^^^

You joined the schools staff team when the schools still held the divide. Good vs evil. And you happened to be the one stuck in the middle. As a librarian to both schools you had your fair share of encounters with people from each side. Sure the ever side was very sweet and friendly but there was something about the Never side that made your heart break, clearly they were misunderstood but trying to conform to why society makes them. Even with the two deans you could see the parallel between them. Despite her behaviour toward you, you were drawn to the dean of evil like a moth to light. She was just so intense and intelligent that your heart always beat an extra beat in her presence.

To Leonora, you were an annoyance. Her students raved about your calming aura and how respectful you were to everyone. How good. And that was a hindrance to say the least. Here she was doing her job, trying to mold the next villains into being successful and yet you seemed to fight against her every step by showing them kindness and respect. It was frustrating beyond belief. At least that’s what she told herself, it most definitely wasn’t that she felt drawn to you, completely and utterly ignorant to her own desires to be near you. Evil doesn’t love. Evil doesn’t like. Evil is chaos and mess, everything you weren’t. So she most definitely wasn’t drawn to something so… good. Pure. Fire would freeze over in hell before she admitted the truth that ate away at her heart.

You hoped with the schools merger that Leonora would come round. Everyone else in the schools had, the library was now filled with a gentle buzz, students mixing with ease, the staff seemed to be managing well too. All expect her. At first you blamed yourself. Perhaps you were too shy, too needy, or even weak to her. But then you’d remind yourself that everyone else likes you. Everyone else speaks to you in the corridor as they pass. Everyone but her. You are by no means a scary person, people often think you’re easily manipulated due to your timid nature, so it can’t be that. Leonora doesn’t strike you as the type of woman to be scared of little old you. All you wished for was the same cordial friendship with her that you had with others. Instead you seemed to be more of an annoyance to her, like she couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you. Breathe the same air.

Every story to ever be told has had a meaning, a message to the reader. You loved discovering what the words on the page were trying to tell you. Most story’s you adore have the clear message that the line between love and hate, like and lust and fear and desire can be thin. Sometimes so thin it’s hardly visible. You like to believe this is true, you see it daily as someone who observes the coming and going’s of people frequently visiting the library. Each day there’s something new, a development in their own story, something you thrive on noticing. Little did you know, your story was about to get a new chapter, with a curve ball no one would have expected to occur.

The new chapter began like any other, working to tidy all the books and close the library for the night, ensuring every book was returned to its rightful spot while students began to filter out and back to their dorms from the late night study they were engaged in. Yet the presence of one dean in your usually calm atmosphere was throwing you off. She seemed to be engrossed in her book that she’d swiped from the curses and death traps section. She sat ever so regally by the heater in the corner of the room. It was hard not to notice the striking woman in your space, yet if she noticed you she didn’t seem interested as she flicked through the pages of her book.

By the time you’d sorted all the books in the library you’d made many hints of the time, the fact the library was closing and even going as far to stand behind the counter nervously drumming your fingers against the wood. You wished to have the confidence to ask the woman to leave, yet you couldn’t find it in your heart to approach her. Not when this was the closest to co existing in each other’s presence you’d got since you took the job. You’d be lying if you said she wasn’t slightly intimidating, it’s unsurprising that she was the one to make the move.

Meanwhile Lesso was getting irritated with the constant sound echoing round the room, interrupting her book. Your nervous energy was practically suffocating the woman. It was obvious you were waiting for her to leave, subtly wasn’t a strong suit of yours she decided. That’s when something snapped within her, this cat and mouse game needed to end. Evil doesn’t need to ask, evil gets one way or an other and you aren’t any different if you want her to leave her you’re gonna have to earn it.

“Got something to say dove?” Her words flowed like honey, the nickname coming from thin air but feeling so right it just flowed, “why don’t you just say it?” Leonora was talking to you. You. The shock clouded your mind causing her to chuckle, “cat got your tongue huh?”

“I- you- uh” you stuttered dumbly trying to not make a fool of yourself with trembling limbs you asked her to leave so you could close up. “If you want me to leave then you should come over here and make me” her challenge was set, yet she couldn’t be bothered to even spare you a look. If she did she would’ve seen the crimson blush covering your cheeks as you internally fought with yourself. Could you just walk to her and get her to leave? Would it be that easy?

Minutes later you slowly rounded the desk, hesitantly making your way to the woman only to be stilled by a tut of displeasure. “Did I say you could walk to me? No. Crawl dove, be a pretty pet and put a show on for me.” Crawl? Seriously? “I - what?” You mumbled causing the dean of evil to lazily click her fingers at you as if you were nothing more than a disobedient puppy.

You aren’t sure what bothers you more, that you sank onto your hands and knees or that arousal rushed through your body at the treatment. Scanning the empty library you started to crawl forward, eyes downcast as you obeyed her wish. The carpet scraped against your bare knees, the skirt of your dress dragging on the floor and getting stuck as you moved. By the time you reached the older woman, humiliated and aroused she had discarded her book to appreciate the view. The way your chest heaved and you kept your eyes to the ground drove her wild as you sat back on your knees. So pliant for her. So willing. Desperately trying to please her. She’d have some fun with a pretty pet like you. “What do you say we have some fun, show me what a good girl you can be.”

You swear you’ve had this dream before. The kind you wake in the middle of night questioning your subconscious brain. It’s only natural that you immediately nod along to her request. With a simple demand of “earn it then” and a snap of her fingers her pussy was on display for your curious eyes to view. With a simple gesture to get on with it you dove straight in. You always imagined she would like the tougher side of sex, she wouldn’t want the teasing build up and you were right. Her hand came to your hair, gripping the locks so tight it was almost painful. Almost. The sinful moan you let free was immediately swallowed by her greedy core cause the vibrations to hit her clit deliciously.

“Mm my what a good dove you are. Just like that baby” she grunted as her hips started to buck into your mouth, covering your lower face with her slick. “God what a good slut I have here. Wouldn’t have waited this long to claim you if I knew you were such a whore.” If you weren’t glued to her core you may have protested at the language she was using. Yet again, you weren’t in the position to argue as you ate her out with abandon. You could tell you were doing a good job when her thighs tensed and her moans seemed to be louder than before. The closer she got to climax the more praise she threw at you causing you to press your thighs together. Desperate for some friction. Relief. And that sight, you being nothing more than a needy whore on your knees, eating her cunt like it’s the last meal on death row was what threw her over the edge. Inner walls clenching as you lapped up your reward with ease.

You only pulled away from her warm core because she made you. Tugging you up to your feet by your hair. You stumbled slightly as the blood flow returned to your lower legs causing her to easily settle you on her lap. Your clothed pussy settled over her good thigh as her hand settled under your chin to guide you into a passionate kiss, tasting herself on your tongue. Unsurprisingly, as soon as the kiss started she was in control. The way she would nip at your lip to allow the metallic taste to dance between your tongues caused you to whine into her mouth. The level of need this woman awoke in you should be criminal. You couldn’t be more glad that she gave in and crossed the line between love and hate.

Instinctively, you began to slowly drag your clothed pussy along her toned thigh, seeking friction as she kissed you. A kiss so good you saw you forgot your own name. Her hand came to grip your hip, guiding your almost pathetic grinding. Pulling away from the kiss she couldn’t help but tease you. “A desperate thing you are hmm? So needy you are gonna use my thigh like a bitch in heat? Poor girl. Have I neglected this needy cunt?” Her words combined with the friction she provided was dizzying. So dizzying in fact, you mewled “mommy please” before your brain could even catch up.

“Oh it’s like that is it dove?” Her signature smirk graced her lips before she trailed them to your lips, nipping and sucking the silky smooth skin there. “I- oh, mm please mommy. Oh God” you whined chasing the pleasure she was providing too much to even care about the name choice. “Gonna cum for mommy darling? Gonna cum all over my thigh? Such a pretty slut for me. Go on, cum” she punctuated the last word by sinking her teeth into the junction between your neck and shoulder causing you to hurtle over that edge, riding out every wave of pleasure that hit you.

Leonora couldn’t help but be star struck by the post orgasmic bliss that over took you, ragged breaths as you fought to calm your heart rate, shaking legs that tried to grip her thigh in order to keep the sensation alive. Big doe like eyes peering at her through hooded lashes. Stunning. A sight that should belong to the heavens alone. And in this moment where you collapsed into her, her arms wound around you too quickly to be thought of, she knew that you would be hers. Evil or not, she couldn’t bear to let anyone see you like this. A pretty little thing begging for mommy to help her. Perhaps good and evil could co exist. After all you fit so perfectly in her arms it would be sinful to separate you from her. Maybe just maybe, evil did get good, to love and to cherish and to enjoy.

Word count~ 2032

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Astarion with a chef s/o who loves sharing her cooking with everyone?

He wants to like this. Truly.

The first few decades of being a vampire Astarion missed the taste of food. Disgusted that he had to resort to rats. Feast on blood and death. When he was allowed out, he would always try to sneak meals out as Cazador never allowed him anything but the rats and vermin, but he soon realized that he had no appetite for it. Blood was all he craved. Even the rarest meats just tasted of nothing in his mouth as he chewed. He also realized very quickly that what he was missing was not food but the memories of it he could never capture again.

Astarion knew that [Y/N] was an excellent cook.

They boasted a resume of some of the finest restaurants and taverns in Baldur's Gate and Faerûn. Claiming they were a 'culinary adventurer' before all this mess started. The rave reviews from the public and their camp left no sense of exaggeration on their skills, so if anyone was going to cook something for him, he would like it would be [Y/N]. With their clever cooking skills and all the love they poured into it, surely this would fill him up, right?

Yet still, nothing.

"Everything alright Astarion?"

The vampire looked up to see [Y/N] clearing their mains. His own plate embarrassingly full compared to the almost licked clean ones of their camp mates. He really tried. But all he managed to muster was a few bites and to push the food around. "Oh yes darling. Delicious as always." He replied though. Charming smile in place as he handed them back the food. Guilt coiling into his stomach along with the few bites he ate for wasting it.

"Well, I hoped you saved room for dessert. I tried something new today."

"Dessert? My, what decadence." Shadowheart commented before sipping her wine.

"Sweets are for children. I won't be having any."

"Can I have Lae'zel's then if she's not going to have it??" Karlach asked as the githyanki folded her arms in full resolution against sweets.

[Y/N] came out of their prep area they had made in camp with a tray. Lined with small bowls and handed one to all around the fire. "Pudding?"

"What's so special about pudding?" Shadowheart asked as she poked at her own bowl of goo.

"First of all, it is not 'pudding'. It's sanguinaccio dolce. A southern sweet cream based dish made with bitter chocolate and pigs blood. There's a lot more work in that than just 'pudding'."

Astarion looked up from his bowl with about as much surprise as everyone else. "Whoa whoa whoa. There's blood in this?!"

"I mean, yeah. It's where the 'sanguin' part comes into play in the name Karlach."

"I'm not eating blood!" The tiefling remarked, with a level of disgusted that Astarion felt was warranted but still hurtful.

"There's blood in the roast you just ate. You had no problem with that." [Y/N] remarked.

Karlach seemed to start back tracking. "Well...yeah but...that was cooked...."

"So is this. Try it. You might like it."

"I've actually heard of this dessert before." Gale commented as he examined his spoon full of pudding critically. Like it was a science experiment. "It was mentioned in a few books I read. Not often mind you. It is certainly an acquired taste. More of a traditional dish than anything."

"Look. If you guys don't want to eat it...."

"No, no. I'll give it a try."

"Once you've had a tadpole in your eye I suppose...." Shadowheart said, before swallowing a lump in her throat just before the pudding.

They all took a bite in unison. The expressions of the others lost to Astarion as his eyes lit up. This was actually very good. Really good.

His mouth was filled with blood and dark chocolate. A sensual taste and sensation as his tongue was coated with the velvety soft dessert. And he could actually taste it. Was this what people meant when they said food was better than sex? Because he could almost believe it now.

Astarion ate his dessert with gusto, while the group continued to in trepidation, as [Y/N] came over to sit beside him. No dessert. Just observing their handy work. "What do you think?"

"It's delicious." It might have been the first time he meant it. "It's certainly a...unique concept. What inspired you to try it tonight of all things?"

"You never eat my cooking." Astarion was taken aback. Although honestly, he couldn't be that surprised. They had eyes. They knew he never cleared his plate like the others. "So I wanted to make something I hoped you would eat."

Astarion was surprised. All this effort just for him? No one had ever put in this much effort for him. Or any effort at all. He felt incredibly moved. But of course, he couldn't let them know that. "I eat you darling." Astarion quipped as he slid closer to them. "Isn't that enough?"

"It's not the same." They told him. "Cooking is my life. It's my passion. I wanted to share it with you."

"Are you suggesting our relationship isn't passionate enough?"

[Y/N] chuckled. "Not like that. But...I want more than that. Sharing our interests and hobbies. Not just our bodies." Astarion sat there for a moment. Contemplating their words as he stared at the now empty bowl.

He had heard the phrase before of ‘food nourishes more than just the body, but the soul’. He thought it was some other ridiculous saying like the food was better than sex comment and shrugged it off. But now, Astarion thought he could understand it.

He felt full for once. Not just by the small dessert, but for with the effort, the time they put into it, the thought. He knew very soon his usual instable hungry for what really sated him would be back, but for now he felt….content.

“I suppose I’ll have to start developing some hobbies.”

[Y/N] chuckled. Then gave him a kiss before they took his bowl and went to clean it. He licked his lips once they were gone. Still tasting sweet chocolate and ruby red on them. Already hungry for more.

[chaoticbardlady99]

She’s My Religion (Part 2: She Needs This Love Just as Much as Me) Astarion x F! Reader

Author note- totally not sure how I feel about this, but here we go! I hope someone enjoys this lmao.

I’m really tired and so this has been edited once and I’ll add the link for part 1 later. If you asked to be on my tag list- I am going to be adding you tomorrow simply because I can barely keep my eyes open right now.

CW: Domestic violence, physical abuse, emotional abuse, mentions of torture, violence, angst.

Picture does not belong to me and is not mine. I cannot for the life of me remember where I got it so I apologize in advance.

“You’ve been doing WHAT!?”

Astarion sits staring at the forest with his head hung with guilt and shame. Shadowheart sounds furious with him and admittedly, Astarion is also raving mad at himself.

Astarion miscalculated terribly- his plan was completely, utterly doomed from the start. Shadowheart is pacing back and forth in front of him- reading him the right act.

Astarion is zoning out as Shadowheart goes on and on saying all the things he’s already said to himself- he begins to drift to the first time he had ever met you about three years ago.

Astarion had been in solitary confinement for what had felt like forever when Cazador let him out. It was probably the only time Cazador had looked somewhat close to nervous with some sick twisted affection behind his eyes. He simply told Astarion he was to accompany you around the grounds and that you needed to be treated with respect. Your step-father did not want you to be present after dinner.

“You are allowed to take her to do what she wants- within reason. Do not let her leave the mansion grounds and make sure she is content,” Cazador said stiffly, “I am trusting you, boy. You know the consequences if you step out of line.”

Later, before you had arrived, Dalyria had made him privy to you and your… temperaments. Astarion relished in knowing you made a fool out of Petras. Someone needed to give the prick a wake up call.

It was also, supposedly, no secret to anyone in your family that you are the one Cazador wishes to marry, but due to your lack of royal blood, it would ruin his alliance with the Von family entirely. So Cazador is stuck with a woman named Daisy Von (who he cannot stand) and Astarion felt like it was the perfect karma for Cazador- the one time he wants something or someone, he absolutely cannot have it.

You were (still are) wildly different from your obnoxious step-sisters and step-brothers.

“Wild.”

“Rebellious.”

“Boorish.”

“Trouble maker.”

It was all this annoying group of people could seem to talk about- how terrible and horrible you were. What a disappointment. What a nuisance.

Dalyria told him beforehand that this was the norm and that it really only gets more embarrassing for them every time. You were kind, headstrong, ambitious, and beautiful according to Dalyria- when she had stepped in for Petras that night at the last minute, you had treated her like a person. You had asked her about herself, engaged in her hobbies by asking questions, and you had made a point of showing her all the medical books in Bridril Von’s library (you even let her take one, Bridril never goes in the library). Astarion had just stared at her in disbelief- she had to be playing a trick on him.

You stood on the farthest end next to the youngest girl and Bridril had scowled so aggressively, Astarion thought his face may cave in on itself. You are far more captivating than any of Bridril’s children could ever wish to be. No wonder Cazador wants you so badly that he’s willing to do anything to make sure you come over with them or that you show up for dinner at your own home- undeterred by the inability to actually make a proposal for your hand.

You looked positively irritated everytime Daisy opened her mouth and he was too. The woman is dense and over-the-top. Dinner had been awkward and you had barely even touched your food, but drank three goblets of wine- every time Bridril leered at you for getting another glass, a sly smirk would cross your lips. Your own silent rebellion.

Your demeanor and attitude resembled that of a bird trapped in a cage- wings clipped and feathers plucked. It made Astarion feel bitter- in what world were you trapped? You get to live in a nice mansion and go to dinner parties in nice clothes- Astarion just woke up in a TOMB after being in there for WEEKS. How dare a pampered princess such as yourself pretend that you are provided with anything less than perfection.

His bitterness (and biases) hadn’t lasted very long- it lasted for about 5 parties. Your relationship started out with a lot of bickering and miscommunication. Both of your words towards each other were passively laced with venom, but you never complained so he kept being assigned to you. It was never an option really either. Cazador insisted you be a part of every dinner despite Bridril’s grumbling.

The 6th meeting had changed everything. You had not arrived for the party your step-father was throwing and Bridril told Cazador that you were sick before hurriedly rushing off to talk to a local Magistrate. Cazador, naturally, wasn’t satisfied with this explanation so he had sent Astarion to find you.

Astarion had found you sleeping- bloody, battered, and bruised in your bedroom. There was a thick black banded bruise on your neck. The walls were empty, there was only a bedroll in the corner, and the book you had been reading the last time he was there was destroyed and in tatters on the floor. You had woken up when he accidentally slammed the door out of rage and you had looked around disoriented, but skittish and alert all the same. Your eyes softened when you realized it was just him.

You told him you had lost a competition because you hadn’t been sleeping well- too many bad dreams. Bridril had been so embarrassed that he had beaten you for the last several hours before- completely forgetting the mass amount of guests that he had invited to his home that evening. You weren’t allowed to leave your room. Astarion had been wrong. You were a trapped bird in a cage.

It was the one and only time Astarion ever willingly went to Cazador and told him what he had witnessed. You never had a scratch on you again at any future gatherings, but you always looked more tired than the time before. Bridril would boast about all the competitions you had won over the last month- Archery, jousting, mock combats, javelin throwing, etc, etc, etc. The list went on and on- you looked closer and closer to vomiting or keeling over from exhaustion with every activity he named. Life returned to your eyes when you and Astarion went off to dick around.

Escorting you around the Crimson Palace or around the Mansion quickly became his favorite part of those stupid dinner parties or any of the events Cazador threw or went to. You are complex and didn’t grow up in nobility. You despised it, but you were stuck because Bridril had enchanted your mother. You told him she breaks sometimes, but you rarely recognize the woman that pretends to be her nowadays.

You admitted to Astarion you thought he was a pompous bastard when you first met, but he is pretty so you let it slide. Astarion told you that he thought you were a spoiled brat, but because YOU were pretty, he also let it slide.

You had smiled at him, “I guess we are both wrong.”

“But not about being pretty.”

“Oh most certainly not.”

One evening, the two of you had had ‘too much’ fun according to Cazador. You had snuck him into the library and you had sat reading for the entire 6 hour affair. You had asked if it was okay if you sat near him and that eventually led to you leaninging against each other. Astarion had felt like he had been physically, painfully ripped from you when it was time to go. You had kissed Astarion on the cheek before he left and he kissed your hand. Cazador had flayed Astarion for that one night.

Astarion had felt some guilt regarding his resentment toward you after the incident. He knew he wasn’t helping his own situation by giving into your whims and your touch.

If Astarion didn’t know any better, he would think Cazador loved you, but he learned quickly that Cazador’s “affection” for you comes from a place of obsession and possessiveness. You looked like a previous lover of his from a lifetime that Astarion knew very little about. You were different from this woman, but it was not unwelcome in Cazador’s eyes- he has always liked a challenge. He could make you submit.

Cazador had wanted to send someone else to be your escort after you had begun to show an interest in Astarion- this was quickly squashed when you looked like you were going to light Cazador and his entire world on fire if he dared to volunteer another person. He had brought Leon, Astarion, and Dalyria and when Cazador volunteered Leon- you simply said, “No, I want Astarion.”

Cazador was infuriated, but he wanted- no needed you to be happy and to like him. Cazador had told Pale Petras that if he could win your favor, he was sure you’d just willingly come to him and ask to be his consort. Daisy could be thrown out entirely and maybe he’ll have negotiating room. The thought had made Astarion’s stomach turn- he wouldn’t be able to bare watching you become a lifeless consort under Cazador.

However, he always pushed those thoughts away when he was around you so he could stay in a good mood. You would flirt back and forth with Astarion, talk about irrelevant bullshit from the week, the gossip around the mansion, and you both mimicked and complained about how pathetic it was to watch Daisy grovel at Cazador’s feet- a lamb to the slaughter. You referred to the slaughter as being marriage, he referred to the slaughter as Cazador.

It had been a wonderful year of Daisy entirely failing at keeping Cazador’s attention, but she was determined and Astarion admittedly hoped that you may remain a consistent part of his life- the tiniest ray of light to look forward to once or twice a month. And if Cazador marries Daisy? Well, Astarion may never have to be that far away from you permanently.

Then, one night at a party, he had been in the Von mansion’s dining room- Cazador had instructed him to find you. He eventually gave up after he couldn’t and figured you would come to him eventually. Astarion was right, but not in the way he had originally hoped.

You had snuck into the second floor dining area and you locked it behind you. Astarion had been relieved to be in your presence again, but the state you were in… His relief was swallowed up when he had seen how bruised and beaten up you looked. Astarion had surprised you by his presence and you surprised him with your plan. You were escaping and instead of stopping you like a very massive part wanted him too- in spite of Cazador’s command to keep you from leaving the property having been shoved down Astarion’s throat, Astarion helped you tie the rope to propel down the side of the building.

Astarion can still remember the earnest look you’d given him- the way you begged him to leave with you. Gods he wanted to. Astarion remembered all the days that followed after where he kicked himself for not being selfish, but for whatever reason, he didn’t want there to be any way for you to be caught. Astarion knew if he went with you, neither one of you would ever get to know what it means to be free. Cazador would be able to find you through Astarion.

Astarion had told you “no”, struggled to get you to understand between tears, but then you promised him that you would be back. You would kill Cazador and he would be free- you just need him to wait for you. You didn’t know Cazador was a Vampire Lord at the time, but he still believed you. You said give you at least four years- you need time to prepare. He agreed.

Astarion never forgot your promise, clinging to it like a divine wish. There were only 2 more years left- then the Mindflayers kidnapped him.

Astarion had never felt more angry or defeated in his whole life. Astarion would have been free, but now he’s going to turn into a Mindflayer of all things.

Except it had been the best stroke of luck he’d ever had. You were there! In front of him after two years! Your softer noble appearance has been replaced with a scar that shows you dodged just in time to not lose an eye, an Oath of Vengeance sigil plastered to your chest, piercings along your ears, and a large beholder tattoo on your neck. Still beautiful, just far more authentic.

Astarion knows his initial plan to seduce you, sleep with you, and manipulate your feelings was a fucked up one-especially because he knew having you in every way would destroy Cazador without thinking of how it would make you feel. Astarion also acknowledged that a part of him had been doing all this for his own selfish pleasure- no one was in the way of keeping you from getting closer and Astarion didn’t want to have to share your affections with others in camp. And besides, he had been there first.

Oh and Astarion took every advantage of having you to himself. Talking to you, making you laugh, kissing you, being entangled with you while you sleep, drinking from you- fucking you until you only smell of him, leaving bite marks to show you are Astarion’s only.

What Astarion hadn’t anticipated was how much he would also want to be yours. He had been pushing down the feeling for a long time and he always brushed off Shadowheart’s puppy love jokes. Astarion was not smitten with you- he merely knows you and that’s why it’s all so easy. You had shown him simple kindness and you had a history together- you were the obvious choice to go to for protection.

Then the fight with Yurgir happened and Astarion watched you die.

The battle had been hard- brutal even for Astarion’s standards- and the constant bombs being dropped wasn’t helping the situation.

You were up top with Karlach, facing Yurgir head on while Shadowheart and himself tried to pick off the other attackers going after you both.

It had felt like hours, but in reality, what happened next lasted mere seconds.

Yurgir had made you and Karlach lose your balance, but Yurgir was focused on you. Astarion watched in despair as you were flung into the wall, crashing to the ground with a pained scream, a sickening crack, then nothing but blood pouring out of your head. Suddenly, a bomb exploded above you, the rocks began to pour down from the ceiling, and buried you.

The screams that had erupted from Karlach and Shadowheart had snapped him into action. Astarion didn’t remember the rest of the battle, just that it had been a bloodthirsty blur and now he, Karlach, and Shadowheart were clearing the rubble. Astarion had been the one to find you and your face was a bit bruised, the back of your head still seeping with blood, but you looked so peaceful and your skin was so so cold.

When you were completely uncovered, it was evident that you were dead- that this was a job for Withers or a scroll of revivify. Your neck was snapped in half, your limbs were broken- some even shattered. Shadowheart was able to heal and reset your neck so that the whole ordeal was slightly less grotesque. After, he had cradled you in his arms until Karlach and Shadowheart were sure there were no enemies between themselves and the exit.

Astarion had refused to let Karlach take you, holding your broken form against him as his silent tears spilled onto your hushed expression.

You had thankfully not been beyond the point of no return, but Astarion had realized that he needed to have a conversation with you. You are more than an upper hand to him, more than someone fun to tumble around with in his tent- you have somehow become his reason for going forward. Astarion had resigned himself to dying if you weren’t able to be revived. The thought had surprised him after wanting to be free for so long, but would his freedom be worth having if he couldn’t spend it with you? Astarion would rather take his chances and hope you end up together in the same afterlife.

That is what has led him and Shadowheart to having this conversation. Astarion wants to ask you to be something real to each other. Shadowheart had initially been confused, stating that you had “always been real?”, then he told her everything.

Whenever you left Astarion behind, he’d pass the time getting drunk with Shadowheart (if she was left behind). The last time, she had to ask Astarion if his entire conversation catalog is just about you because you were brought up every other word- he had felt incredibly embarrassed, so much so that he had gotten up and hid in his tent.

“Astarion- you never shut up about her, you’ve been following her around like a lost dog since day one- Hells you looked halfway to smitten on the DAMN BEACH!” Shadowheart says with a shrill voice, “What do you mean the entire time up until yesterday that it was all a lie!?”

“It wasn't yesterday only, my favorite wine drunk Sharran” Astarion stated matter-of-factly, “I just… didn’t want to acknowledge that I wanted more. After I first met her, I didn’t see her again for two years- it was bearable, but that had come with the promise of her coming back. She almost didn’t yesterday and I realized that, even after this is all said and done, I don't ever want her to go away. In any capacity.”

Shadowheart shook her head at him, “She’s going to be furious. Heartbroken even.”

“I know,” Astarion says thickly, “but I’m hoping she will forgive me or at least let me prove to her that I’m serious about us.”

You weren’t due back for at least another hour so they had begun working on the speech immediately.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Whatever we are,” you are glaring at him, your voice coated in venom, “or whatever you were pretending I was to you- it’s over.”

No. No. No. NO!

Astarion didn’t think it was possible for his heart to feel like it’s been shattered since it barely beats at all.

It’s over?

It can’t be over! It’s barely begun and you only have half of the story. Astarion knows you’ll listen- you’ll see sense. You have to… right?

“Darling, pl-”

“No! I hate you so much!,” you sob into your hands, his whole body hurts looking at you, “I hate you more than I thought I could ever hate anyone- undead, dead, or alive! I trusted you and you used me for your own gain- so unkindly, go fuck yourself!”

Astarion wants to grab you as you turn around and walk away. He wants to get down on his knees and plead to you- pray to you until you don’t leave him- that you take it back. You’ll give him a chance, even if he loses privileges like getting to hold your hand, cuddle with you at night, or even kiss you for a while, that would be far more bearable than losing you altogether.

Astarion falls to his knees, ruptured and humbled.

“Astarion,” Shadowheart says softly, squatting down in front of him, “it will be okay. She’ll forgive you. She just needs a second, okay? You knew and I knew that this was a toss up to begin with.”

Astarion nodded numbly and got to his feet. Shadowheart gives him a squeeze on the shoulder before going into her own tent and Astarion briskly begins to walk back to his. He makes eye contact with you as Wyll enters your tent and the look on your face when you saw him makes this whole nightmare all too real.

Once he secures the tent flaps, Astarion crawls onto his bedroll and lets the sadness consume him while being surrounded by your scent. This may be one of the worst days he’s ever had in the last 200 years- at least from what he can remember.

If Astarion wasn’t so afraid for your safety, he would have packed up all of his things and headed back to Cazador with his tail between his legs, but he can’t because all that does is put you in danger.

Astarion slowly peels himself off the bed roll and hugs his knees to his chest. He lets himself stare off into nowhere as he lets himself be consumed with the agony and vexation- it’s not like there is any wildlife to go take out his pain on.

Astarion gets up and rolls his shoulders. As much as he wants you, you are done with him and he needs to respect that. Astarion decides he’ll leave you alone, but remain in the background. He’ll stay until you tell him to leave and never return. It will hurt so terribly to not be near you like he was, but he’ll just have to be grateful for the time he did have- the time he took for granted.

Astarion begins to get ready for the long night ahead of him when an open letter on one of his books catches his attention.

It’s addressed to you, torn open and stained with tears. Astarion opens the envelope. He reads the note so many times he feels like he may go on a homicidal rampage. Not only was your mother dead, likely at the hands of your step-father, you are officially considered engaged to be married to Cazador fucking Szarr.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Astarion had waited until morning to try to talk to you again-giving up on leaving you alone. He knows that you have a very long cool down period when your feelings are hurt (he has made this mistake less severely in the recent past). If there is any hope of you hearing Astarion out- it would be today.

Except you had already left with Karlach, Gale, and Lae’zel by the time he has finally built up the courage to leave his tent.

Astarion spent the day with Shadowheart and actually attempted to help with camp chores. Astarion bounced ideas off of her, but he didn’t tell her about the note. It felt like that was information for you to share if you wanted and you probably hadn’t intended on him learning about this information in the first place.

Shadowheart looks at him after awhile, a troubled look on her face. Shadowheart turns towards Wyll.

“Hey Wyll, they should have been back by now right?”

Wyll walks over to Shadowheart and Astarion with the same troubled expression.

“Yes, it was just a quick supply run to Last Light Inn before we take a day to recooperate,” Wyll says slowly, “I’m wondering what has held them up this long…”

Their pondering and questions were quickly interrupted by the sound of foot steps racing towards them.

“SHADOWHEART! HALSIN!”

You and Karlach were screaming their names in unison. Karlach is supporting Lae’zel and Gale is slack against you as you fight to keep him upright. The usually wonderful smell of your blood is now making him ill as you come closer to camp.

Across your sides were long, bloody scratch marks- in fact, there are claw marks all along your arms and your armor. One side of your face has a superficial scratch. Karlach appears to be in better shape, but just as scratched up nonetheless.

“We- we were ambushed by an Absolute Cultist,” Karlach exclaims breathily, “a Fist named Marcus. He was trying to bring Isobel back to Ketheric.”

Astarion watches as you help lay Gale down near Halsin and Shadowheart so they can begin to get to work, Lae’zel being laid down next to him. Shadowheart catches your wrist with her hand and gives you a Superior Healing Potion- the soft smile you offer her makes Astarion think he may have a chance.

Astarion walks back towards his tent and toys with the letter on the counter. Does he bring it up? Does he just bring it back to you and not acknowledge it? What would you even want him to do?

The noise outside had diminished as Lae’zel and Gale were recovered enough to be moved and healed in their individual tents- Shadowheart healing Gale and Halsin healing Lae’zel. It must be an early night for everyone. Astarion takes a deep breath and opens his tent flap, ready to confront you- but it looks like he didn’t have to travel very far to confront you.

There you are, cleaned up now, standing in front of Astarion’s tent looking nervous and heartbroken. In his shock, Astarion offers you his hand and gently pulls you inside, closing the flaps behind you.

“What did I do?” you blurt out, tears streaming down your face as fast as words are coming out of your mouth, “I can be useful again. I can do whatever you need me to- be whoever you need me to be.”

You take a jagged, heart wrenching inhale and he can hear you fighting the lump in your throat.

“I can’t do this alone- I just can’t,” you sob and look down at your feet, “I know what I said. I know I’m a fool for crawling back here begging you to keep pretending, but please. I can be what you need me to be, I promise. I’ll be- perfect for you. Please.”

Astarion bridges the gap between the two of you and puts your face between his hands, guiding your melancholy eyes to his.

“Darling, you have always been perfect. I have never needed you to be anything more or less than what you are. You are a Godsend.”

“Then why?” you whisper, “Why would you practice breaking up with me? What did I do?”

Astarion sits there and looks at you with bewilderment- practicing breaking up with you? He was practicing trying to ask to be with you!

He chuckles despite the tears that are slowly spilling from his eyes, “You insult me, my Love. I have no issues with breaking up with people- I think. Never really had the chance and I had no desire to end our relationship yesterday.”

You look at him with regret and guilt in your eyes. You go to move away from him- evidently worried about him rejecting you and hurting you. He moves with you, not letting you go anywhere and he kisses your forehead, one of his hands moving to the small of your back while the other remains on your cheek.

“What I was trying to tell you, my Dear,” Astarion softly whispers, “is that, regardless of my original intentions, my plan failed terribly.”

“How so?” you whisper in return.

“It was all so simple- seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me. It was easy- instinctive. 200 years of instinct had kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it and all I had to do was not fall for you.”

Astarion traces your bottom lip with his thumb, pulling you into him by pressing into the small of your back. You gasp gently at the contact.

“And that is where my nice simple plan fell apart,” he says woefully, “you’re incredible. You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”

Your eyes search his face for any signs of ingenuity or deception.

“I do too, more than anything,” you say breathlessly, “but what about everything I said yesterday? Everything I said was terrible.”

“It was,” he ponders, then he says teasingly “if my feelings weren’t so hurt and if I wasn’t the one on the receiving end- I dare say I would have been proud of you.”

“Well I learned my dramatics from the best after all.”

“I didn’t know Wyll was such a great teacher- I’ll have to ask him for tips some time,” he quips.

Your laugh lifts the painful fog that has been smothering him in his tent for the last day. Astarion pulls you down with him into his bedroll, you curl up around him and he spreads the blanket out. You lay your head on his chest and he pulls you into him tightly- inhaling your scent and savoring the thrumming of your pulse underneath his finger nails.

“Those nights when we were together,” you ask, peering up at him with worry, “did they not mean anything to you then?”

Astarion freezes before he releases a deep sigh. This may be the part where you change your mind and he is mentally preparing for it- taking account of the way you feel against him just in case this is truly the last time.

“I don’t know what real looks like,” he confesses, “being close to anyone-any kind of intimacy- was something I performed to lure people back for him.”

He feels you flinch at the mention of Cazador.

“Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels… tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing. I don’t know how to be with someone- no matter how much I’d like to.”

“I care about you deeply- we can be together without having sex for however long you need,” you pause, “you are so much more to me than sex and I adore you for so much more than just your body.”

“Really?” the shock in his voice is blatant.

“Really,” you say with a smile before laying your head back on his chest.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” he says giddily, running his hands through your hair, “ but I know that this, this is nice.”

You hum in agreement and he draws circles on your back. Astarion basks in your presence and sits in the relief that you are back in his arms again.

“Astarion,” you break the silence, “I have to tell you something- I got a letter. It’s not… good.”

“I know, Darling,” Astarion says tightly, “you left it in here. Unfortunately I let my noisiness get the best of me.”

You both sit in the heavy silence that fills the air.

“I’m to be married off to him, Astarion,” you choke out.

“I won’t let him have you, “Astarion snarls, his voice coming out much harsher than he intended.

“But what if there isn’t a choice? What if it would protect yo-”

“No.”

He is looming over you, you are now flat on your back staring up at him. Astarion feels like a coil ready to spring. If it’s ever between him and you regarding who goes to Cazador- he’d serve a thousand life sentences before he’d ever let that vile man so much as look in your direction.

“Astarion-”

“No,” he says between clenched teeth, “you will not sacrifice yourself for me. I don’t care if you marrying Cazador and being his consort would make me mortal again. You will not be his- he cannot have you.”

You look up at him with bleary, adoring eyes, “okay.”

Astarion kisses your trembling lips and he tastes the tears staining them. Astarion pulls away and strokes your cheek softly. He lays back down and you turn towards him, tangling your hands into his hair, gently detangling it. Astarion rests his hands on your hips, using his fingers to delicately adjust you until your legs are entangled in his.

“My mom is dead, Star,” you say remorsefully “she’s gone. She was all alone and probably so afraid. I never even said goodbye before I left her to her fate- I was a coward.”

The hurt in your voice is raw and bleeding- it breaks Astarion’s heart all over again.

“I am so incredibly sorry for your mother and your loss, Little Love, “Astarion says softly, “but you are not a coward. You did what you needed to do. You were always planning on coming back.”

“I was,” you whisper, “I was going to get her first and then you.”

“Foolishly enough,” Astarion chuckles, “I never lost faith in you. I felt like if anyone could do it, it would be you- the glimpse of sunlight amongst the secondhand embarrassment that is Daisy Von.”

You giggle and press your face into his chest- the vibrations fills his chest with warmth. Astarion is so incredibly happy you are back where you belong- here with him.

“I am hardly comparable to the sun,” you say, “I think I’m a candle. Ordinary, accessible, there when you need it.”

Astarion turns over your words in his head- he agrees with the statement but disagrees with the reasoning entirely.

“You are a candle,” he says slowly, “but a candle has always been a luxury to me. It allowed me to sew or read- to have a tiny piece of my humanity back. It was nice to have a break from the dark, huddled around the small flame.”

He pauses, “ I suppose that is why I am so drawn to you. You make me feel like a person again and you are a luxury I never thought I’d be lucky enough to afford outside of those monthly visits.”

“Well, then I promise I will remain here,” you say with adoration, “your humble candle- for as long as you need me.”

“Be careful what you promise, Little Love,” Astarion teases, “if you aren’t careful, you may be stuck with me for eternity.”

“Gods, I hope so!” you say with flourish, “everyone else is terribly boring and does not appreciate my predisposition for shenanigans.”

“How ungrateful!”

“Entirely ungrateful!” you agree.

Astarion pulls you in for another kiss, a grin forming as you gasp at the suddenness of his actions. Astarion kisses the tip of your nose, both of your cheeks, and your forehead. You settle into him and he strokes your hair- your breathing evens out and you are slack against him.

Astarion takes in your sleeping figure and feels another surge of protectiveness enveloping his body. He doesn’t know how accessible his thoughts are to Cazador, but he hopes Cazador hears this one.

You cannot have her- she is mine.

_________________________________________________

Author note- should I do a part three and four with the Cazador confrontation? I’m torn- let me know your thoughts pleaseeeeee

[half-oz-eddie]

Billy couldn't be discharged from the hospital unless he had somewhere to stay and someone to care for him.

He could hardly move on his own, needed medication and was haunted by nightmares. Simply put, he couldn't do this on his own even if tried.

The Byers moved to California, he learned, wishing he could have gone with them.

Joyce said he was more than welcome to join them when he didn't require as much medical care. Traveling in his condition was dangerous anyway.

Steve's parents ranted and raved about how incompetent Steve was and he wasn't capable of being a full-time nurse for anyone when he could hardly take care of himself. Steve just believed it was an excuse for them to say no. While Billy was in the hospital recovering, Steve was constantly by his side. The rumors spread, and everyone knew there was something between them, but Steve didn't care. He loved Billy and promised he'd check on him everyday, no matter where he was.

Mike offered up his basement, and Billy told him he would rather get flayed again than stay in his house. He'd never explain why, though.

The obvious option would be for Billy to go home, but Neil didn't want to be bothered. He called Billy a "burden" and told him to check himself into an adult care home. As much as Max hated it, she had no say in the matter.

That left Mrs. Henderson, who, upon learning Billy had nowhere else to go, offered him the spare bedroom in their house. She was recently laid off, and took a job from home stuffing envelopes.

Billy received a generous amount of hush money from the government, and was willing to pay for the room.

The first night was a little awkward. Billy had never spoken to Mrs. Henderson before, and he hadn't spoken to Dustin very much, aside from some small talk when he visited him at the hospital.

He was in too much pain to sit upright at the dinner table, so Claudia propped him up on his bed and convinced dustin to join her in keeping Billy company.

They ate together and watched Shadowlands, which Dustin and Billy found dreadfully boring.

As Claudia had her back to them, Dustin turned to Billy, mouthing about how boring the movie was.

They tried to hide their laughter, pretending to enjoy the movie when Claudia turned back to look at them.

"Wanna see something cool?" Dustin whispered.

Billy nodded. He doubted anything Dustin would show him would be cool, but he was wrong.

Dustin was working on some figurines for D&D and Billy thought they looked pretty badass.

Claudia turned to them again, smiling. "So I was watching the movie all by myself, hm?" "Sorry, mom. I thought Billy would want to see some of the stuff I was working on and—"

"It's alright, Dusty. You boys have fun playing with your toys, I'll clean the dishes."

"They're not toys mom, they're..." Dustin sighed. "She doesn't get it."

"At least she's here."

Dustin nodded. "Yeah, she's a great mom! Hey, d'you like comic books?"

"Max used to leave them lying around and I'd look at them. They're okay, I guess."

"Wait here—I mean...sorry. I forgot you...couldn't move." Dustin winced.

Billy sighed, brushing off Dustin's awkward comment. "Bring me a drink while you're up."

"You got it!"

Billy watched Dustin run out of the room, then glanced down at Dustin's figurines.

"Steve will get a kick out of knowing his best friend likes me."

[paperglader]

about francesca's look after kissing john (and their relationship)

first, about john:

in the book: i really liked the brief little bits with john at the beginning. i think fran, john and michael's dynamic was super interesting and fun, i even wished that it would've lingered in it longer. i liked that their relationship had layers to it and yet still remained loving overall. i really liked the way that he haunts the characters and the narrative after his death. i think that the way that francesca spoke continuously about him and about their bond was super sweet.

in the series: i love him. i love him with francesca. i died of sweetness each time they were on screen. i love that their love is different, and i love how pefect they are for each other. i love how he makes francesca smile and look so at ease. in my opinion they nailed it with them, and ended up being my favorite part of the season (to say that pen and colin very much grew on me would be an understatement- i think they're the cutest- but franchaela and john are my personal favorites). they're soulmates and they are best friends. love them.

the few things that they've already changed from the books: first the fact that we get to see more from john at all and his love with francesca. secondly, though, their bond IS different. in the book i did get the feeling that there was physical attraction and, truly that their love was a regular bridgerton love, if that makes sense? like, francesca did say that it was less passional than with michael but it's not quite the same as what we're getting from the show, is it? the physical stuff could perfectly develop over time, but it does seem to be absent from where we left it off. i do believe that francesca loves him. truly. it's just not necessarily super physical. Which doesn’t make it any less valid or any less of a true love! personally, i find any love stories that don’t really “stick to the norm” to be super interesting, which is one of the reasons why they were my favourite couple.

Now, about the kiss: i don’t think that the look necessarily means that she’s a lesbian. i truly think that it was mostly disappointment of not immediately feeling those fireworks that everyone raves about, or even just discomfort with having to display her affection for the very first time in front of a crowd.

she could be a lesbian, or she could be an eighteen-year-old woman who’s still figuring out who she is, still figuring out how love looks like to her, and that more than anything wants to find a companion in someone that uplifts her as a person rather than drown her voice in their own sound. and she did! for some people love just doesn’t play out as easily as it may for everyone else, and that’s fine.

what she has with michaela is different, but she loved john first and she chose him, and they will be happy together. her and Michaela will have a long way to go before they can even begin to explore their relationship anyways. it is simply not their time yet.

Francesca did feel immediate attraction for Michaela, but depending on how they choose to navigate the period typical prejudice and such, she might not even have the language to understand that sort of attraction for another woman, and it won’t be the time to figure any of that out until six years later because she does love John throughout their marriage and afterwards she will mourn him. It’s not until after all of it that Michaela will become available as an option.

ultimately: maybe she doesn’t feel attraction towards men (that’s great! welcome to the club!) or maybe she just finds the navigation of romantic relationships to be a little trickier than most, and maybe we get to explore that through her storyline.

[vacantgodling]

i'm ren (or vacant), writing as R.A.A. and this is my main writing blog!

this is a catch all space for me to post about all things writing which will include things like snippets from my many wips; live writing updates as i craft prose; horny and meme posting about my ocs; meta about the themes of my wips, their plots, and writing in general; as well as me just talking about whatever else comes to mind regarding my interests as well as talking with friends.

you can pretty much find me mostly here or on bluesky (though because it is a twitter clone i am much, much less talkative. the war flashbacks are still hard to get over apparently). you can also read my fandom writing on ao3 (though i’m taking a bit of a hiatus from it right now). if you read anything i’d highly suggest reading cage.

i don't have asks on currently, but feel free to interact with me in other ways like messaging, rbing my posts, or @'ing me. thanks for stopping by :3c

:MY WIPS:

to see a full (mostly) list of my wips, i made a handy-ish list that lists all the main things that i'm working on and their (mostly current) importance in my ever-rotating roster HERE!

however, there are a few wips that i am mostly going to be talking about more often than not, and i've taken the liberty of making a few scrapbook-esque posters in canva to illustrate their main points. so, without further ado:

BETWIXT THUMB & FOREFINGER (BTAF) -> wip intro

THE FALL OF GALERE BOOK 1: PARAMOUR -> wip intro

HE WHO SMITES THE SUN -> wip intro

:NAVIGATION:

ren writing -> all of my writing in one place

ren poems -> all of my poems in one place

ren art -> all my art

talking -> musings and personal thoughts

about renjamin -> insight to me / who i am

ren analysis -> when i get meta about my wips

ren mix -> a treasure trove of my music taste

ren polls -> any polls i make

ren reads -> for my ramblings and analysis as i try to get back into books

ren hot cakes -> when i'm firing shots in the house to keep the mortgage prices down

ren plays -> video game rantings and ravings

friends tag -> talking with friends or boosting my friends work

others work -> boosting other writeblrs work

hall of fame -> praise / things that make me happy that i want to keep

ren is jopping on main -> for the rare occasions where i talk about kpop

ren rabbit hole -> i like history and mythology and the ancient world and i Will ramble about it

ren fights linguistics -> i'm starting to try and conlang!! it will be hard!!

writing in review -> for my end of the year lookback at wtf i was doing writing wise that year :) usually done in november bc december is a bad month for me usually

events -> gonna start keeping track of the writing events that i want to try and do

[feyd-meowtha]

Have you seen the pilot of dune prophecy? If so, what are your thoughts?

Peering over the screen like 👀👀👀👀👀

Ok, I'm late to the party but I finally watched the first 2 eps: have my very disorganised thoughts

- LANKIVEILLLLL HELL YEEEEE

- love the rampant drug use, that's what it's all about though I am begging them to rack a line and use a snorty, theyre being so wasteful and messy and spice is EXPENSIVE (I'm presuming it's spice, could be something else though? Cus this stuff seems like 'space coke' and I will die on the hill that spice is much more like space acid, or if you want something snortable, space 2cb which also has a little buzz. Guess we'll see. Maybe we'll see some samuta or Sappho juice as a treat)

- THE BENE GESSERIT I LOVE THEM

- VALYA I LOVE HER!!! also thank fuck for some human-looking harkonnens at last. She is ruthless but very human!!! This is what we NEED from our harkonnens thank fuck

- one of the acolytes is played by the girl that my bf had his first kiss with so that's.... extremely funny. Get in there Mr Hilly, what a pull.

- pre-horrible Salusa Secundus? Noice

- druggy sex club!!!! This has been my agenda since day 1, we love to see it. Fremen bartender girl is hot. The two who actually bang? Not really it for me but ok whatever. I would also have it be way grimier but this is a rich people club so I get that. One day ill get my Geidi Prime warehouse raves

- that blue spice inhaler???? THATS MIST!!! The drug from Prayer Of The Rollerboys, an incredible 1990 film about a roller skating drug-cartel of pretty-boy Nazis and starring COREY HAIM!! (Featuring NIN on the soundtrack). The drug is called mist and it's a blue vapour in an inhaler exactly like what they're doing in that one scene. Go watch POTRB now, it's free on YouTube. It looks like this, it's amazing

- very extra marriage ceremony, a little heavy handed but I'm into it

- that annoying kid was literally playing with a forbidden bakugan battle brawler lmaooo (rip)

- the Atreides guy is sooooooo Scouse like why? I love it, it's hilarious but I do laugh at everything he says. Where in the universe are the Scousers? Are all the Atreides Scouse in this time period? So many questions

- neither of the corrino siblings or scouse Atreides man are doing it for me but it's ok cus I have milves galore in the BG and also crazy Nordic man who I can vibe with

-idk wtf is going on with the fire guy himself, what he can do is p outside the norm of what I expect from this universe so colour me intrigued I guess (rip Kasha (?) you were hot)

All in all I am enjoying it very much and am excited to see where it goes! I haven't read the prequels and dont intend to any time soon so I'm pretty chill about the whole thing. Honestly, at this point I have been both delighted and disappointed by every version of Dune so I'm just here to have fun. I'm a fan of the books, the 84 movie, the sci fi show and the new films and I'm happy to enjoy this too.

[vertigovineyard]

Samhain: Agere edition!!

For those of you that don’t know Samhain (pronounced “sow-win”) is a pagan religious festival taking place October 31st-November 1st. This Celtic tradition acted as a celebration to welcome in the harvest and “the dark half of the year”. This time of year is significant because many believe that the veil between the spiritual and physical world is thinning and therefore creating more paranormal or supernatural occurrences.

Originally fire was used as a community after harvest for the participants to take home and light the hearth. It was also belief that celts would dress as the “monsters” of their time in an attempt to prevent fairies from kidnapping them when the veil was thinned. During the Middle Ages people turned towards more personal fires and used carved turnips known as jack-o-lanterns which Irish tradition later switched out with pumpkins.

“Dumb Supper” was another practice during in which a feast would be set up for the ancestors the celts were expecting to cross from the other side and then be used by the physical people after the spiritual had their fill.

(Under the cut is my personal experience and practices)

Samhain is one of my favorite sabbaths to celebrate because it is during the time of year at which I feel most connected with my spirituality. I love to combine agere with these types of things as a way to bring together two different parts of myself that I chose.

List of things I do from Mabon(autumn equinox) to October 30th:

- Color magick: rearrange my wardrobe and current makeup styles to simpler and muted pieces as a way to slow down and focus on nature and the items I use

- Watch moon phases: keep an eye out for the phases of the moon during this time of year, this is because I feel more connected to the moon specifically and begin to write letters to her(the moon) as a way to manifest her energy and change with the seasons. This also allows for more rituals to be done during this time including lots of energy cleaning (I stay inside most days and I don’t want things to feel stagnant)

- Journal: journal all dreams, signs, numbers, or deck spreads that you happen to come across and stick with you. Intuition is very important during this step but don’t be scared and overthink things. Trust yourself so the self trusts you.

- Shopping!!: This one may not be seen as magickal as the others but for me it plays a big part in setting my energy for my space and my mental. This includes things like candles, blankets, books, incense, certain herbs, and even a new deck. I’ve also found that I tend to buy new jewelry before every season that sets myself up for the energy required to be attached spiritually so that may be a good subtle way to achieve this connection if you’re still in the broom closet.

During Samhain Activities:

- first things first is have my costume ready. I prefer to go by a more closet cosplay like take on my outfits so I can wear them for the entire day without any strange looks or restrictions. This is just a way for me to enjoy myself and also view it as a way of protection.

- Act as usual: seriously, I don’t spend all day thinking about the sabbath. I know a lot of witches may have a full day to celebrate but unfortunately I know a few who definitely don’t and I don’t want it to seem like you have to be dedicating all your time to it to be celebrating correctly. Spend time with your friends. Listen to loud rave music. Do whatever makes you feel most comfortable during this time and be grateful that you made it to this part of the year. This is usually the time where my age regression joins the most: I spend most of the day coloring spooky Sanrio Sheets, watching kids Halloween episodes, and eating whatever I want. Many people view being a witch as being strict with sabbaths and having a certain aesthetic when doing so, I don’t follow this belief and I just allow my kid-self to have the Halloween he’s used to as a way to have nostalgia and think of the good times the year has offered me before this moment.

-Dumb Supper: My favorite was of celebrating is having a dumb supper, which can be even more special as a kitchen or hearth witch. I do this at my working altar currently because I'm still in the broom closet but I still set up a simple dinner, light my ancestor candles, and do a few readings to listen to their advice. I am usually regressed during this because to me it feels like the one time of year I get to sit at the adult table and ask them questions and listen to their stories about their lives and all the things they learned they want to pass on to me.

-Lighting: I always use candles on this night and other light up items such as star projections to bring a child-like thing into the night of Samhain.

-Journaling: after doing all of this I sit in bed and read through my journal from the month before and make any editions or notes, also documenting all that happened that night

I write this post to explain the origin, traditions, and personal practice of Samhain and I hope many of you can learn that it’s ok to incorporate age regression into spiritual or “adult” practices <3 Happy Samhain and Halloween everyone!! (Feel free to add on or tell me your costumes through reblogs or comments!!)

[dreadfuldevotee]

Thank you for this last post. The discourse on this fandom can often be so annoying. I hate it when people are like "this is a Gothic horror, let them be toxic and problematic!!!!11!!!1" because it's not take they think it is? At the end of the day, they still want us to root for these characters and relationships, right? So how can we do that if they're stereotyped vampires, who is dark, cold, just hurt each other and don't have an ounce of growth, development, empathy and humanity? And this is such a dismissive opinion of the show and even the books, because their conflict with humanity and vampirism is a central aspect of the plot. That said, if you reduce them to the abuse alone, you're also missing the point of the story? I mean, you can totally have your opinion, you can see them as unforgivable even on this fictional universe, you can hate and root against them... But this show isn't about punitivism, it is about them navigating immortality. There are consequences for their actions, as there should be, but the goal is for them to find a way to make this work. You don't need to agree (idgaf about the British monarchy and still watched a few episodes of The Crown for the acting, for example), but if you expect otherwise, you're just playing yourself? But this fandom seems to have a problem with finding a good balance. Not to mention the hypocrisy of never forgiving certain characters and reducing them to their problematic actions, but treating their faves very different lol. And I'm like, okay, you don't need to love everyone, it's okay to have a favorite, but at least don't be contradictory? Your fave does the exact same thing or worse? Anyways. Thanks again for putting it so well. It's refreshing to see posts like that here.

Thank you! I'm glad that other people get anything out of my ranting and raving, as I am a chronic yapper and really only talk for my own health LOL.

But yeah, there is a lot of selective hearing in any fandom, really; but it pisses me off a lot here because of all the "Gothic Horror" handwaving going on. Interacting with the fandom, reading the books and seeing clips & bits of personal writings from Anne Rice, the image it paints for me is a profound unwillingness to engage with contents of the story if they're not fun and sexy. Shit, even my own odyssey into the books is spurred on in one part, to be able to form my own opinion and critique on the writing and secondly, realizing that book readers were straight up lying at times about how things went down.

And there is this persistent idea I've seen on here and twitter of "If you have issue with XYZ then this series isn't for you" and like, okay if you don't wanna see gay people who have everything-but-the-bagel of mental illnesses then, yeah, sure. But when someone goes "Hey there is like,,, a ton of casual pedophilia and CSA in these stories that is framed as cute n' casual and/or deeply romantic, I wonder what that's all about" and then people crawl out the woodwork trying to convince you its not weird or that you're weird or weak for think its kinda fucked up- then at that point, I think maybe there is actually a different issue occurring here, you know?

Anyway, I think where I'm going with this is- TVC is a cultural phenomenon and has a tangible impact on Vampire and Gothic Horror canon and that's good and fun. But if we can recognize something like H.P Lovecraft's racism/classism/general fear of change having a profound effect on his writing and the spark of the entire Cosmic Horror Genre, then I think we can interrogate how AR as a Rich White Woman who grew up in mid-21st century New Orleans has an effect on the kind of stories she writes and how she does it.

[bordysbae]

what if the reader likes to journal and shes been keeping a journal where she writes about her relationship with (guy of your choice) before they were like dating or something up until now and she gives it to them on their birthday and it’s all emotional and stuff.

“you kept those?!”

adam fantilli x reader

word count: 1k

sorry i couldn’t help myself but pick adam!! he’s too underrated ugh, but anyways this idea is so so so cute!

you and adam have been friends since before you can even remember. your moms were college roommates throughout all four years of university at michigan. so when they found out that you and your older brother drew, who’s the same age as luca, got into michigan, and that fantillis would be playing hockey there, everyone around you was ecstatic.

your feelings for adam began in the third grade, and you’re a freshman in college now. you guys began dating last year, and everyone was waiting for it to happen. you guys were clearly meant to be, according to both your families and friends, but nothing ever happened until now. of course you’ve had other boyfriends before and he’s had girlfriends, but deep down you always knew that he’ll forever be your first love.

when you starting having these ‘tingly feelings’ around him, as your 10 year old self described them, you decided to keep a diary. you would write in it every time you and adam had cute moments, and you still write in it sometimes. you’ve already filled up one whole diary, and you’re halfway done with another one, but being in college now, you don’t really have the time to write in it. so you thought, why not give the diaries to adam for his birthday?

written in the diaries are things like how once he cut you a slice of pie at the annual fantilli’s friends-giving, or even how you would get jealous that he was playing chel with your older brother instead of hanging with you. the first diary is from third grade to seventh grade, and the second one is eight grade till now.

—

you and adam drove about forty-five minutes to detroit, to eat at a fancy resturant everyone has been raving about. you’re sat at a candle lit table in a restaurant, with a view looking over the city, when the perfect moment comes up to give him the diaries.

“so as your birthday gift this year, i didn’t get you much, but i thought maybe you’d enjoy something a little more sentimental.” you say shyly, as you reach into your purse to grab the two old diaries.

adam let’s out a little chuckle, as he reaches across the table to grab them from you. “holy crap! you kept these?! i remember seeing these in your bedroom as a kid, you’d never let anyone touch them. i remember once me, luca, and drew tried to steal it from your room and you started screaming and hitting us” adam laughs, making you blush from embarrassment.

“yeah well you’ll see why when you open them.” you say, embarrassed that you’re letting him finally read all of the diary entries you’ve written about him over the years.

he cracks open the small book in his hands, and begins to attempt to understand your messy elementary school hand writing. he reads through a few pages and you both laugh about it, and he switched over to the other diary. he opens it to a random page, which happens to be from freshman year.

october 31st 2018

dear diary,

it’s halloween night, and this is the first year since fourth grade that we haven’t gone out together. me and adam swore to never stop trick or treating until we’re both old enough to drive, so that we can go to parties together, but looks like him and his new girlfriend have other plans. adam keeps sending me a bunch of snapchats of him at this stupid party with her head on his shoulder. it doesn’t help that luca and drew went out to a party too, so now i’m at home trying not to cry. i hate having a crush on adam, i never want to feel like this again.

adam looks up from the diary and gives you a small pitiful smile, making you hide your face in embarrassment, “i regret giving you these!” you groan and hide your face in your hands. he reaches across the table and takes your hand in his.

“don’t be embarrassed, i think these are super cute. they’re warming my heart. i can’t wait to read the rest of them, and if it makes you feel any better i had a crush on you during like half of these too. you think i really liked fiona that much? i remember i kept thinking how much i wanted to be trick or treating with you instead.” he blushes.

“you’re just saying that!” you laugh, unbelieving of what he’s saying.

“i’m dead serious! why else would i be sending you snaps you while i’m at a party. i really only dated her cause i was just tired of always getting chirped for not having a girlfriend, she she had a crush on me,” adam chuckles, making you giggle a little bit at the thought.

“i was always right there, y’know”

“i know that now, and boy do i wish i could go back in time and do it all differently. you don’t know how bad i wished i was the one who took you to homecoming freshman year. me and fiona weren’t even matching colors! oh and don’t even get me started on homecoming junior year. you went with one of my teammates, i was pissed!”

“well hey, you did take me to senior prom!” you chuckle a little, looking at your lockscreen photo of the two of you from last year.

“because we were dating then! that doesn’t count”

“yes it does adam! plus all of the stupid relationships we got into during high school just proves we were bound to be” you cheesily grin, making adam smile as well.

“yeah i guess so, but seriously if i could go back and change it all i would. i would’ve asked you out like, i dunno, five years ago!”

“oh sure, cause you definitely had the balls to do that. the real question is, wouldn’t our braces have gotten caught in each other?” you joke, remembering how ugly you both looked with braces five years ago. adam laughs, almost spitting out his water, making you and him both laugh even harder. you guys get a few stares from the older adults around you guys, but you both don’t care. you’re just enjoying the moments with the man you finally get to call yours.

[pattytasm]

Raul Esparza - Company - Report - The New York Times

Breaking Character for the First Time in His Life

By Joyce Wadler

Nov. 26, 2006

THOSE who have doubts about the pressures that only children in immigrant families face just need to see Raúl Esparza imitating Mother. That’s mother with a capital M because Mr. Esparza’s mother, born in Cuba and shipped out at 14 to make her own way in the world, is theatrical and bossy enough to be a Sondheim character herself.

Consider that Mr. Esparza, just turned 36, is the star of “Company,” one of the most anticipated Broadway revivals of the season. It doesn’t even open till Wednesday, and already Mother is on him about the next step.

“She says now you’re going to have to get some work in a TV show,” Mr. Esparza says in his dressing room, taking a break from the stuff that is tearing him apart, though of course this is part and parcel of the stuff that is tearing him apart. “I said, ‘You don’t mean that.’ What I’m hearing is: Your name over the marquee in a Sondheim show on Broadway is not enough. And you kind of internalize that.”

He’s laughing, riffing: “Well, I guess I could be king of France, ’cause it’s not good enough to be the president of the United States. I’m going to orbit Mars. Why not three times?”

“Company”: The story of Bobby, a charming single man, who is unable to commit to a relationship and who may have questions about his own sexual identity.

Raúl Esparza: No longer truly married but not entirely separated, whose romantic conflicts go far deeper than that of the character he plays and have no easy fix.

His dressing room suite is done all in beige, the better to soothe. To make it more so, Mr. Esparza dims the lights. There’s the comforting sound of the little electrical waterfall and Bill Evans’s mellow jazz, though how much this helps is difficult to say. Broadway denizens may remember Mr. Esparza for a confrontation with Rosie O’Donnell when he had a featured role in “Taboo” and she was the producer, but there’s no hint of a difficult guy now.

You meet instead a funny, self-deprecating man who arrives in jeans and an old sweater and kicks off his shoes. He starts out a little fast and nervous; joking about his star dressing room; saying that in Cincinnati, where he won raves for this production earlier this year, his character wore Hugo Boss and here he wears Armani, not that he can see the difference. He talks about those windows to the actor’s heart, the photos on the makeup mirror. That’s the grandmother who raised him; that’s Michele, whom he married at 23, on their honeymoon.

But he gets to the stuff that’s been tearing him up, the stuff that most leading men would never discuss, pretty early, almost as if he wants to make a public statement. He’s been reading a book that suggests sitting quietly for 10 minutes a day and just seeing what feelings come up, he says, and “basically, there’s a lot of sadness underneath, sadness and anxiety.”

Image



Raúl Esparza, who plays Bobby in the new production of “Company,” says the emotions raised in the musical have a particular meaning for him.Credit...Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

Why is that?

“Michele and I are separated,” he says. “It’s the end of something I thought was going to be perfect. She’s my best friend, I’ve known her since high school.” They’ve been separated, on and off, he says, since he came to New York in 2000; they even went for divorce papers once, in Miami, but couldn’t go through with it. He can’t get away from the feeling that he’s doing something wrong, disappointing other people, particularly their families.

“Life has been very complicated,” Mr. Esparza says. “I’ve been very unsure of things since I came to New York. I was terrified that I would never work here, that I would be starving and useless. Then all those things that happen to an actor. Issues of sexual identity too.”

He says those issues, which first arose in college, “shook the core of who I was.”

“So many artists I admire are bisexual,” he says. “I knew a lot of gay men growing up. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it as long as it was someone else, but not me.”

Mr. Esparza grew up in Miami. His father was an engineer, from a family of engineers; his mother was always working, as interior designer, banker or travel agent. The family moved a lot, and his parents fought. Mr. Esparza’s maternal grandmother, America García Pell, moved in with the family when he was 5, and it was she who provided unconditional love. Mr. Esparza attended the Belen Jesuit Preparatory School, which stressed service to the community. He liked girls. He wanted to be a lawyer. But while still in high school he started acting professionally, and his parents encouraged him to pursue that. Perhaps because they had lost so much leaving Cuba, he says, they understood that life was short and you should do what you love.

Then he went to New York for his sophomore year in college and everything changed. He fell in love with a male instructor at New York University, a composer, who was only a few years older. After Mr. Esparza graduated, it was this instructor who helped him get an audition in Chicago at the Remains Theater Company, which resulted in a job.

“He was tough and impossible and manipulative and brilliant and really inspired and believed I’d be a big star,” Mr. Esparza says.

Was he in love with this man?

“Yeah, I think I was very much,” he says. “The best thing about him is he made me feel like a great person, no matter what I was doing. He didn’t seem to feel gay or straight was much of an issue.”

Mother, however, very much did. She discovered the affair by reading his journal when he was home on vacation and demanded Mr. Esparza see a therapist.

“He told me my mom would be better off visiting him,” Mr. Esparza says. “He also said he thought I’d be successful, no matter what happened in my life, but that something was wrong with my mother prying in my life.”

Mr. Esparza did not appear entirely comfortable with the experience himself. Two years after graduating, in 1993, he married his high school girlfriend. And, like the character he plays in “Company,” he was able to distance himself from difficult emotional entanglements.

Image



Raúl Esparza, leaning against the piano in the revival of Stephen Sondheim's "Company."Credit...Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

“There was a part of me that was trying to get rid of it,” he says of his relationship with a man. “That was saying: ‘That was interesting, that was part of me, but it’s not all of me. I choose, because I love this woman, to marry her.’ It was a little bit naïve of me: That was then, that’s that city, that was an experience and wasn’t that interesting back then? When the truth is, it’s not a person, not a place, not an experience. It’s you, who you are.”

In 1998 his former lover killed himself. Less than two years later, after starring in a 20th anniversary tour of “Evita,” Mr. Esparza came to New York — alone. It was a move he felt he had to make, but had resisted, for years.

Had the death made it safer to come back? “Yes, yeah,” he says. “It also made me look long and hard at myself about all the things I had been hiding from now, and not just about gay/straight, man/woman. I also realized that if I didn’t come to New York, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.”

He was terrified. But talking about it now he recalls an actor who told him that when you’re doing a play and you’re afraid of a scene, that’s the scene you should embrace, because that’s the scene that will tell you something about the play. Or, in this case, something about yourself. Still, those first months in Manhattan were awful.

“I couldn’t get arrested,” Mr. Esparza says. “I didn’t have any furniture. I had an apartment on 44th Street, sleeping on an air mattress. I had to sleep with the TV and lights on, I was so scared of the dark.”

What did he see when the lights were off?

“I saw this guy, one time, at the foot of the bed laughing at me,” he says, even now not using the words boyfriend or lover. “This dead man, my friend who had killed himself. He was rotten in the dark, laughing at me and how unhappy I was.”

His days were also depressing. Getting coffee at the Marriott Marquis, he saw some actors he knew from “Evita” who were working on Broadway. “I was embarrassed to go say hello because I didn’t have a job, I didn’t have a home, my marriage wasn’t the way I wanted it,” he says. “I just stood there with the coffee like there was a wall between me and them.”

Six months later he landed a job in “The Rocky Horror Show” and he was on his way: in the Off Broadway musical “Tick, Tick, Boom!”, for which he won an Obie; in two Sondheim shows at the Kennedy Center in 2002; as the male lead in “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang,” in which, as he’ll tell you, the real star was the flying car.

Then came “Company.” John Doyle (who directed last season’s minimalist “Sweeney Todd”) offered him the role after their first meeting, without even hearing him sing. The casting director, Bernie Telsey, says the lead had to be someone whom all the characters are “a little bit in love with — only if it was love as in really like.” Mr. Doyle prefers to say that Bobby is the character to whom everyone is drawn, “not in the romantic sense, but as a catalyst.”

“Bobby is the man who is on the outside looking in,” he explains. “What’s interesting is that he’s observing, not doing.”

Image



Mr. Esparza in the musical "Taboo" in 2003.Credit...Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

As for Mr. Esparza himself, he says: “I think the real thing that Bobby is going through is that he’s trying to grow up, and that means accepting things you can’t change, and it also means that in spite of all the messiness and failure you make a choice to love someone and live your life in the way that’s right for you. It’s messier than the pretty picture you painted for yourself. I had a romantic idea of what it means to be an adult: all husbands and wives who love each other get to stay together forever, love is enough.

“There’s a song in the show, ‘Sorry/Grateful’: ‘You holding her thinking you’re not alone/And you’re still alone.’ I remember with Michele one day holding her in bed and being very, very sad because we were talking about things that were so difficult for us to deal with. I remember feeling like this was a chasm between us. That the person I most loved in my life was as far away as another country, and there was nothing I could do or say to change.”

Mr. Esparza is now involved with an actor — nothing he can talk about, it’s still too tenuous, he says — but his wife is still in his life and, he says, he still adores her.

“We’re still trying to figure a new way to figure it out,” he says. “Boy, are we.”

Mr. Esparza and the man he plays have something else in common: the many people telling them how to live their lives. With his father it’s business advice; with his mother it’s professional. There are friends who still tell him that he and Michele should get back together.

“All this chatter, and I invite it in,” Mr. Esparza says, laughing. “I’m the one who says, ‘You are cordially invited to come to Raúl’s house and tell him everything that is wrong with him.’

“And I just did it to the readers of The New York Times. I’m only now learning not to issue an invitation. I can say you are not allowed to comment on my life.”

How is his family dealing with his sexuality these days?

“Dad doesn’t talk about it,” he says. “Mom used to really hate me for it, call me names and get ugly, but she doesn’t do that anymore. She wants me to be happy.”

Mr. Esparza spoke earlier of embracing the scene that scares you. In “Company” it’s the climactic moment when Bobby sits down at the piano and sings “Being Alive.” And yes, that’s the only thing Mr. Esparza can play on the piano. It’s tough both because of the song’s familiarity and his character’s emotional breakthrough. But he’s also had a rough time with “Marry Me a Little,” which was cut from the original 1970 production.

He talks about the contrast between the rhapsodic music of that song, “which alone can bring tears to your eyes, and laid over it these practical lyrics.” He recites them:

Oh, how gently we’ll talk, Oh how softly we’ll tread.

All the stings, the ugly things, we’ll keep unsaid.

We’ll build a cocoon of love and respect

You promise whatever you like

I’ll never collect.

“It seems so practical,” he continues, “It gets me right in the gut. I know what that’s like, to be in a relationship and know there is something seriously wrong here, but I don’t want to acknowledge it, because if I do I’ll have to talk about it. Let’s not talk about it, and it’ll be all right. And you know what? It can be all right for a long time and not just all right, great. And then one day, you’re not.”

[odericevertz]

2, 17 and 28 for the writer ask game <3

ooh!

2. anything that you'd like to write but feel like you're unable to?

i have a very straightforward answer for this. DEFENSELINE FIC!!!!! i feel so insane about the dynamic they have going on over there. i have a whole section in my gdocs of wilo/gabi moments in interviews that i want to build a fic off of but i feel like i just can't nail down their voices well enough to write a fic from either of their POVs. a lot of rpf for me is feeling comfy enough in their voice to write it but i don't think i have a good enough handle on how they speak to write about how they Think... if that makes sense.

(one of my fave wilo/gabi interactions is where they're arguing about who's the best dressed on the team and wilo goes yeah but you like my fashion and gabi's like eeeh sometimes. and wilo presses like so sometimes no? and gabi fake-winces at how bad it is and says no....and they kind of devolve into a laughing argument which wilo ends by saying something like yeah but i know you like that one outfit of mine. OUGH.)

17. past or present tense? why?

OKAY. even though both of my published ones have been in present tense i actually like past a lot more......i feel like there's a depth and reflection to it that lends it a lot more weight. present for me comes naturally when i'm writing shorter fic / when i want the fic to feel more stream-of-consciousness and really immersed in the character's POV. then again i love that present always feels more real to me......more (unintentional pun) present, like i can see it playing out in front of me. as you can see i'm quite indecisive which is a huge problem with my WIPs because for a single fic scenes always come to me in different tenses and i end up having to decide which one fits better.

28. any writing advice that works for you and you feel like sharing?

i am the worst person to ask this bc i genuinely don't look up writing advice....i've always believed that the best way to improve is to read more & write more. READ! both published books AND fic from authors you like. figure out what exactly you like about their writing, learn from them, try to recreate the same feeling their writing gives you. in 22/23 when i was arsenaling but unaware that there was actually a fan community i read every single one of tetrapod's arsenal fics and their style had a HUGE impact on me.....big fan also of old footie fic that's on livejournal/ported to ao3 etc because that was actually how i got into football (users saltstreets redandgold guede rave etc, basically all my ao3 bookmarks)

thank you for asking <3

[morlao]

Headcanons: Friends to Lovers

Daiki Aomine x reader

- You and Aomine have known each other since you were little kids. Your moms are best friends, so you two basically grew up together and as a result you started to get pretty close. Not a day goes by where you don't hear from each other and you have sleepovers almost every weekend.

- When the two of you were younger you spent almost every afternoon on the basketball court. You sat on a bench and enjoyed the warm weather while Aomine showed you his tricks. He always made sure you watched his each and every move.

"Watch this y/n!"

"Did you see that?"

"There is a new trick I want to show you!"

He always got so excited when he saw how impressed you were. Of course you tried to play it cool, but he could read you like an open book.

- One time you asked him to teach you how to play.

"That's super easy, just watch this!"

And he dribbles you out and doesn't even give you a chance to score once. Maybe basketball wasn't exactly your thing (especially with Aomine as a teacher).

- Aomine is not exactly good with words. Whenever you feel sad he doesn't know what to say and when he tries to cheer you up, he often comes off as grumpy or annoyed. But he still wants to be there for you and comfort you. Therefore he will rely on physical contact instead. A long lasting hug, stroking your hair, lying down next to you and cuddling until you fall asleep.

- As you grow older you often go shopping together. Most of the time Aomine will complain about how long it takes you to choose the perfect skirt or the perfect dress, but he secretely loves how you always ask him for his opinion whenever you try something on.

"What do you say, Dai? The red shirt or the white one?"

- Of course you still visit his basketball games but you don't hang out at the basketball court anymore during the week. After all Aomine thinks he doesn't need practise anymore. His famous words "the only one who can beat me is me" is the only answer you get when you ask him if he planned to skip training again. And yes, each and every time you want to punch him in the face for that. At the same time, however, it breaks your heart to see that his passion for basketball is gone. He always seems bored, tired of it even. It has been a very long time since you last saw him smile while playing. You miss this happy version of him.

- There is something about Daiki Aomine, you definitely can't deny it. The way he smiles (he does smile a lot around you), the way he always seems so relaxed. You like joining him at his naps on the roof and resting your head in his lap while he grumbles something you can't understand. Every touch (no matter how small it is) makes your heart flutter. You try to ignore it though, thinking he would never see you as more than a friend.

- While you never told Aomine about your little crush on him, you do tell him about your crushes on other boys. He's your best friend, so of course this is something you want to talk about. Aomine often teases you about it, as he loves seeing you blush and cover your face with your hands. Lately, however, he cramps every time you rave about another boy. He also finds himself glaring at the boys you fancy during his classes while wondering what the hell you saw in them. He's absolutely not good at hiding his jealousy so he will be grumpy the whole day. Of course he doesn't tell you the reason for his behaviour but starts to distance himself instead.

"It's nothing, y/n, stop bothering me!"

His behaviour really starts to upset you lately. Why was he acting so different? Did you say something wrong? You start to keep a comfortable distance. You're used to Aomine's mood, but this is the first time he also starts acting bitchy towards you.

- So the next time you have a crush on someone, you don't tell him. Instead you start hanging out with this boy more often and you two really get along very well.

- Of course it doesn't take long until Aomine hears about it. Y/n hanging out with another boy? Jealousy starts burning inside of him and even though he knows exactly that it's none of his business who you're meeting, he can't switch it off. With his hands clenched into fists he stomps through the streets, not caring if he bumps into someone.

- When he finally finds you in your favourite cafè, drinking your favourite drink and laughing about something this boy had said, he can't take it anymore. He storms over, grabs your hand and pulls you to your feet and away from that boy. Of course you are more than upset about this and soon the two of you start screaming at each other.

"Who the fuck is that?"

"Why do you care, Daiki?"

- A very good question that he has already asked himself several times. You were his best friend, the one person who knew him better than everyone else, the one who always supported him and accepted him. The one who always forgave him whenever he said something rude or acted like a total idiot (which happened very often). Of course he also thought you were beautiful. Even hot. Why didn't he want you to flirt with someone else? The answer popped up in his head all of a sudden. Maybe he knew it all along. He loved you. He fucking loved you.

- Again, Aomine isn't good with words so he doesn't know what he should answer you. Instead he just pulls you towards him and kisses you. A deep and passionate kiss, filled with everything he wanted to say. After a few seconds he breaks free, breathing heavily.

"I want you to be with me."

- You're absolutely shocked. Yes, you have dreamt about kissing him several times, but you have never thought it would actually happen. You didn't even think he likes you like that.

"Didn't think I would ever see you speechless", he smirks.

That stupid smirk that always makes your heart melt.

"You can't just ignore me for days and then crash my date and kiss me."

Your eyes search for your date but the boy' s seat is empty. You didn't notice him leaving. Aomine's gaze still rests on you.

"Didn't I just show you I can?"

You roll your eyes and Aomine finally sighs, scratching the back of his head. He is nervous, yes, and he can no longer hide it from you.

"I love you, y/n. I guess I always have. Give me a chance to proof to you that we're the perfect match."

His words make your heart flutter while at the same time you know exactly that it's up to you to decide.

"Dai..."

You look in his eyes and see panic. Quickly you take his hand.

"You're an absolute idiot! But you're my idiot! Come here."

You grab the collar of his shirt and pull him in for another kiss.

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of guns,, drug use,, threats,, mentions of affairs

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 21

Putting together the best musicians, sound and lighting technicians, costumers, and choreographers, he was taking no chances this time. He scoured the music scene for the top sidemen in the business. Auditions were held and he handpicked each player—names such as James Burton, John Wilkinson, Ronny Tutt, Glen D. Hardin, Jerry Scheff. He loved the sound of the Sweet Inspirations, backup group for Aretha Franklin, and he hired them on the spot as a warmup act and to sing backup vocals. He also hired his favorite gospel group, the Imperial Quartet.

Before leaving Los Angeles, Matt rehearsed at RCA Sound Studios for ten days and then polished the act for a full week prior to the opening. It was the event of the summer in Vegas. Colonel Parker brought the preopening publicity to fever pitch. Billboards were up all over town. On the third floor of the International, administrative offices bustled with activity. No other entertainer coming into Vegas had ever stimulated this kind of excitement. The hotel lobby was dominated by Matt paraphernalia—pictures, posters, T-shirts, stuffed animals, balloons, records, souvenir programs. You’d think Barnum and Bailey were coming to town.

Back home there was also excitement as we girls discussed what we’d wear to the opening. “I want you to look extra special, Baby,” Matt said. “This is a big night for all of us.” I hit every boutique in West L.A. before finding just the right outfit.

Though it had been nine years since Matt had given a live performance, you never would have known it from his opening. The audience cheered the moment he stepped onstage and never stopped the entire two hours as Matt sang, “All Shook Up,” “Blue Suede Shoes,” “In the Ghetto,” “Tiger Man,” and “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” He mixed the old with the new, the fast and hot with the lyrical and romantic. It was the first time I’d ever seen Matt perform live. Wanting to surprise me, he had kept me from rehearsals. I was astounded. At the end he left them still cheering and begging for more.

Cary Grant was among the stars who came backstage to congratulate him after the show. But the most touching moment was when Colonel William arrived with tears in his eyes, wanting to know where his boy was. Matt came out of the dressing room and the two men embraced. I believe everyone felt their emotion in that moment of triumph.

I don’t think we slept that night. Nate Doe brought in all the newspapers and we read the rave reviews declaring, “Matt was great” and “He never looked or sang better.” He shared credit for his new success with all of us.

“Well, we did it. It’s going to be a long thirty days, but it’s going to be worth it if we get the reception we got last night. I may have been a real tyrant, but it was well worth it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” we all agreed, laughing. “You were a tyrant.”

The International Hotel was delirious over Matt’s performance and the box-office receipts. The following day they signed a fiveyear contract with the Colonel for Matt to appear twice a year, usually around the same time, January and August, at the then unheardof salary of one million dollars a year.

Matt literally took over Las Vegas for the entire month he was there, playing to a packed house every show as thousands more were turned away. No matter where we looked, all we could see was the name Matt—on television, newspapers, banners, and billboards. The King had returned.

Initially, Matt’s triumph in Las Vegas brought a new vitality to our marriage. He seemed a different person. Once again, he felt confident about himself as a performer and he continued to watch his weight and work out every day at karate.

It was also the first time that I felt we were functioning as a team. I made several trips to New York, trying to find unique accessories for him to wear onstage. I bought scarves, jewelry, and a black leather belt with chain links all around it that Bill Belew would later copy for the famous Matt jumpsuit belts.

I loved seeing him healthy and happy again, and I especially enjoyed our early days in Vegas. The International provided an elegant three-bedroom suite that we turned into our home away from home. During his show I always sat at the same table down front, never tiring of watching him perform. He was spontaneous and one never knew what to expect from him.

On occasion, after his midnight show, we’d catch lounge acts of other performers playing Vegas or we’d gamble until dawn. Other times we’d relax backstage, visiting with entertainers captivated by his performance. This was the first time I’d been with Matt at a high point in his career.

With the renewed fame came renewed dangers. Offstage he could be guarded by Sonny and Red. Onstage he was a walking target. One night that summer Nate and Sonny were tipped off that a woman in the audience was carrying a gun and had threatened to shoot Matt. A true professional, Matt insisted on going on. Additional precautions were taken and everyone was on the alert. Matt was instructed to stay downstage, making himself a smaller target, and Sonny and Jerry were poised to jump in front of him at the slightest sign of suspicious movement in the audience. Red was positioned in the audience with the FBI agents.

The show seemed to take an eternity. I glanced at Patsy apprehensively and she in turn grasped my hand as we comforted each other, longing for the night to end without incident. James remained backstage, never letting Matt out of his sight and praying, “Dear God, don’t let anything happen to my son.”

Because of this and other threats, extra security was arranged wherever Matt appeared. Entrances through backstages, kitchens, back elevators, and side exits became routine.

Matt had his own theory about assassinations, based on the murders of the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert F. Kennedy. He felt that the assassins gloated over their “accomplishments,” and told his bodyguards that if any attempt were made on his life, they should get the killer—even before the police. He didn’t want anyone bragging to the media that they’d killed Matt Sturniolo.

Sonny and Red lived in so much tension these days that they were constantly frenzied. Suspicious in crowds of overzealous fans, they were quick to respond to any sign of danger. Compared to Sonny’s diplomacy, Red’s reputation was to act first and ask questions later. Eventually, numerous assault-and-battery charges started piling up against Matt. When James warned him about Sonny and Red’s aggressiveness, Matt said, “Goddamn, Red. I hired you to keep the sons of bitches away from me, not get me in any legal binds. Somehow you’re going to have to control that redheaded temper of yours.”

Although Matt would joke about the death threats—and there would be several more throughout the Vegas commitments—the fear and constant need for security heightened the pressure of nightly performing.

In the beginning when Matt began doing regular Vegas engagements, we girls visited frequently. We’d fly in over the weekend, sometimes bringing our children, spend three or four days, and then return home.

On the days we were apart I’d take hundreds of Polaroids and home movies of Charlotte. She was growing so rapidly I didn’t want him to miss out on her development. Daily he’d receive his “care packages,” as I’d refer to them, including tape recordings of me teaching Charlotte new words and Charlotte mimicking me. Each week, upon my arrival, I’d paste photos on the mirrors in his bedroom to remind him that he had a wife and child.

During his first couple of engagements he still seemed humbled by lingering doubts of whether the public was fully accepting him. At this point he had no interest in outside affairs or flirtations, his concentration on daily rehearsals and performances every evening excluding everything else.

Later he would become more cocky. The crowds’ admiration took him back to his triumphs in the early fifties and he found it hard to come down to earth after a month of nightly cheers. His name on the International’s huge marquee would be replaced by the next superstar. The offices on the third floor would be cleared out and incoming calls for reservations would stop.

Thriving on all the excitement, glamour, and hysteria, he found it difficult to go home and resume his role as father and husband. And for me the impossibility of replacing the crowd’s adoration became a real-life nightmare.

At home in Los Angeles, there was just the usual group around—strictly a family atmosphere. This abrupt change was too much for him and soon he developed the habit of lingering in Vegas for days, sometimes weeks, after a show. The boys were finding it increasingly difficult to resolve the conflict between working for Matt and maintaining a home life.

Crazed with inactivity and boredom, Matt became edgy and temperamental, a condition exacerbated by the Dexedrine he was again taking to control his weight.

Sometimes, to ease the transition home, Matt would insist we all pile into cars and head for Palm Springs. Since our marriage we had spent-many weekends there sunning and watching football games and late-night television, but after Charlotte was born, my needs changed. The Palm Springs heat was too much for her, the long drive boring, the idleness of resort life wearying. One weekend I suggested, “Matt, why don’t just you and the guys go down?”

From that time on, the guys developed their own lifestyle in our secluded desert home. Occasionally we wives would be invited to spend the weekend, but by and large, Matt now considered Palm Springs his private refuge.

He made it clear that this time away was good for him, giving him a chance to think, to hang out with the guys. In reality Matt was lost. He did not know what to do with himself after Vegas. He escaped in more powerful, unnecessary prescribed drugs to raise his spirits and ward off boredom.

After he had conquered Vegas, it was agreed that Matt should go back on the road. Colonel immediately began booking concert tours around the nation, starting with an impressive run of six sold-out shows in the Houston Astrodome, which earned over one million dollars in three nights.

The night I arrived in Texas to watch the performance, Amber, Judy, and I flew in on a private jet. I looked down on the Astrodome and found it hard to believe my eyes. The length of a football field—and already sold out. It made me nervous. I could imagine how Matt felt.

Matt too found the Astrodome overwhelming. “Goddamn,” he said when he first walked in. “They expect me to sell this son of a bitch out? It’s a goddamn ocean.”

However dwarfed he was by the giant facility, he electrified his audience. Houston was our first run-in with mass hysteria. The limousine was strategically parked by the stage door for Matt’s immediate getaway. Even so, screaming fans surrounded the car, frantically yelling out his name, presenting flowers, and trying to touch him.

If anything, Houston was an even greater victory than Vegas. The King of Rock and Roll was back on top. The strain of sustaining such a hype was just beginning and, for the moment, I could believe that everything would still be all right. I did not realize the extent to which Matt’s touring was going to separate us, that this in fact was the beginning of the end. After Houston Matt began crossing the country, making one-night stands, flying by day, trying to catch some sleep to maintain the high energy level demanded by his performances. From 1971 on, he toured more than any other artist—three weeks at a time with no days off and two shows on Saturdays and Sundays.

I missed him. We talked constantly of being together more, but he knew that if he let me join him, he couldn’t refuse the requests from regulars whose marriages were also feeling the strain of long separations. For a while a group of us would fly in from time to time, but this didn’t last long. Matt noticed that his employees were lax in discharging their duties to him when spouses were present, and he established a new policy: No wives on the road.

I didn’t really miss the one-night stands, a tedious routine at best: Jump off the plane, rush to the hotel, unpack as little as possible, since you had to check out the next day, go to the performance, then back to the hotel for a little rest before heading back to the airport. Everything was the same except for the name of the town.

It was the day Matt suggested I come to Vegas less often that I became really upset and suspicious. He’d decided that we wives would attend opening and closing nights only.

I knew then I’d have to fight for our relationship or accept the fact that we were now gradually going to grow apart as so many couples in show business do. As a couple, we’d never sat down to plan out a future. Matt, individually, was stretching as an artist, but as man and wife we needed a common reality.

The chances of our marriage surviving were slim indeed as long as he continued to live apart from Charlotte and me, and in bachelor quarters at that. It came down to how much longer I could stand the separation. Matt wanted to have his cake and eat it too. And now, as the tours and long engagements took him even further from his family, I realized that we might never reach my dreams of togetherness.

I had trouble believing that Matt was always faithful, and the more he kept us apart, the more my suspicions grew.

Now when we went to Vegas, I felt more comfortable at the openings. He was always preoccupied with the show and I felt he needed me then. On closing nights I always felt uneasy. Too many days had gone by, enough time for suspicions to poison my thoughts. The Vegas maître d’s invariably planted a bevy of beauties in the front rows for the entertainer to play to. Curious, I would scan their faces while watching Matt closely to see if he seemed to direct his songs to any girl in particular. Suspicious of everyone, my heart ached—but we were never able to talk about it. It was to be accepted as part of the job.

Backstage one night James was jokingly negotiating for a key that had been tossed to Matt. She was an attractive middle-aged blonde—James’s type. Matt said, “Dad, you’ve got enough problems at home with one blonde. You certainly don’t need two.”

“Well, okay,” James said. “You’re going to have problems of your own if your wife goes out in the street looking like that.” I had begun wearing skimpy knit dresses and see-through fabrics that were daringly revealing. Steven and Charlie whistled and gave wolfcalls, while Matt proudly showed me off.

The jokes I played on him were also efforts to get his attention. One night, after he’d left early for a show, I put on a black dress with a black hood and an exceptionally low-cut back. When it came time for Matt to give away kisses to the girls in the audience—a regular part of his show—I went up to the stage. Instead of kissing me, he kept on singing his song, leaving me to stand there. With my hair hiding the dress strap around my neck, I appeared from the back to be nude from the waist up. I could hear the “oooh”s and “ahhhh”s of the audience. They were under the impression that a topless girl had cornered Matt and that he couldn’t figure out what to do.

I kept whispering to him, “Kiss me, kiss me, so I can sit down,” but he decided to turn the joke on me, and made me wait in the spotlight for the duration of the song. Planting a big kiss on my lips, he surprisingly introduced me to the audience. I felt a bit embarrassed and made my way back to my seat.

Later in the show he’d strut back and forth onstage, tease his audience, talk to them, tell them stories, even confide in them. “You know,” he’d say, “some people in this town get a little greedy. I know you folks save a long time to come and hear me sing. I just want you to know, as far as I’m concerned, there won’t be any exorbitant raise in price when you come back. I’m here to entertain you and that’s all I care about.”

Matt was having an ongoing love affair with his audience and the next time I was home alone I knew I had no choice but to start more of a life of my own.

It was with that thought in mind that Amber, my sister Michelle, and I planned a short trip to Palm Springs. In the course of the weekend I opened the mailbox to check the mail and found a number of letters from girls who had obviously been to the house, one in particular signed “Lizard Tongue.” My immediate response was disbelief, followed by outrage. I dialed Vegas and demanded that Nate find Matt and bring him to the telephone. When Nate said Matt was sleeping, I told him about the letters and insisted I speak to Matt. Nate promised that he would have Matt call as soon as he woke up. He did, but it was clear that Nate had filled him in on the situation and Matt had his explanation ready. He was totally innocent, the girls were just fans, they were out of their minds if they said they’d ever come to the house, and besides, it was their word against his. As usual, in the end I apologized for putting him on the spot, but things at this point were becoming too obvious.

He said, “Get out and do things while I’m gone, because if you don’t, you’re going to start getting depressed.”

Although my choices were limited—he still objected to my taking a job or enrolling in classes at college—I continued my dancing and started taking private art instruction.

Matt was a born entertainer and although he tried to avoid crowds, disliked restaurants, and complained he “couldn’t get out like a normal person,” this life-style suited him. He handpicked the people he wanted to be around him—to work with and travel withand they adjusted to his routine and his hours and his temperament. It was a pretty close clan throughout the years. A few arguments erupted and a few couples left over some misunderstandings, but they usually returned in a week or two.

My view of life had been fashioned by Matt. I had entered his world as a young girl and he had provided absolute security. He distrusted any outside influences, which he saw as a threat to the relationship, fearing they would destroy his creation, his ideal. He could never have foreseen what was happening as the consequence of his prolonged absences from home. A major period in my growth was beginning. I still feared our separations but felt that our love had no boundaries, that I was his and if he wanted me to change, I would. For years nothing had existed in my world but him, and now that he was gone for long stretches of time, the inevitable happened. I was creating a life of my own, starting to achieve a sense of security in myself, and discovering there was a whole world outside our marriage.

Over the years of playing Vegas, other pressures began to mount. There were more death threats and lawsuits, including alleged paternity suits and assault-and-battery charges. Jealous husbands claimed they’d seen Matt flirting with their wives, and others continued to charge that Sonny and Red were manhandling them. Matt began to get bored with these nuisances as well as with the sameness of the show. Inevitably, he tried to change the format, but then he felt it just didn’t have the same pacing as the original. He’d add a few songs here and there but then revert to the original. Pointed suggestions that he make changes before the next Vegas date added to the pressure.

Bored and restless, he increased his dependence on chemicals. He thought speed helped him escape from destructive thinking, when in reality it gave him false confidence and unnatural aggressiveness. He started losing perspective on himself and others. To me he became increasingly unreachable.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - welll..🎀