#it's not like everything is just magically better now

[a-d-nox]

pac/pap: a letter from your future spouse

take what resonates leave what doesn't - nothing is 100% for you because these aren't personalized so please no angry comments or dms about what i am saying not being a good fit for you or that you "don't claim" just keep scrolling if that is the case. be kind, self reflect, and have fun.

last pac/pap: a love life check-up

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pile 1

i wonder what you’re doing right now. are you chasing a dream you’ve started to question? laughing with friends who see only parts of the real you? or are you like me - reflecting on the strange twists life keeps throwing your way, trying to make sense of how it all fits together?

i don’t have all the answers, but i know this: our story is unfolding exactly as it should. the setbacks, the detours, the heartbreak - it’s all shaping us, preparing us for the moment our lives finally align. even in the moments when you doubt that there is light ahead, know that i see it clearly. you’re the hope i keep reaching for, even in the dark.

i often imagine meeting you for the first time. maybe it’s ordinary - a passing glance, a casual conversation. but there will be something unshakable about it. something in the way your smile catches me off guard or the way your voice pulls me in. i’ll know it’s you. and even if i don’t say it right away, you’ll feel it too.

right now, i’m still figuring things out. life’s been throwing me in every direction, and i’m just holding on, trying to steer clear of what i can. the funny thing about fate is how it works even when you don’t see it coming. every choice i’ve made, every chance i’ve taken, has brought me closer to you.

when the time is right, i’ll be ready to step up for you, for us. i’m not the person i was yesterday, and i’m still becoming the person i want to be. there is one thing i know for sure: when we meet, i’ll choose you - again and again, every day, through every celebration and every challenge.

yes - there will be celebrations. i want to laugh with you until we can’t breathe, to celebrate to our wins, big and small, and to hold you close when the night winds down. i want to share your joy, your dreams, and every quiet moment in between. you’re the person i want standing next to me through it all.

until then, i’ll keep working on myself, learning from the lessons life throws my way, and holding space for you in my heart. when fate turns in our favor and our paths finally cross, i’ll be ready to give you my love, my devotion, and my whole damn soul.

yours,

future spouse

pile 2

i’ve been lost before. trapped in my own cycles, chasing goals that felt hollow or moving too fast to notice what i was really missing. there were times i poured my energy into the wrong things, thinking that success or control could fill the void. but life has a way of humbling you, of forcing you to stop, slow down, and face the truth: none of it matters without you.

you’re the one who will make me want to be better - not out of obligation, but because i’ll see in you everything i’ve been searching for. you’re my anchor and the softness in need in my life, the one who shows me that love isn’t about perfection or performance, but about presence. when i look at you, i’ll see everything i didn’t know i needed - warmth, patience, and a kind of beauty that radiates from the inside out.

i know i’ve taken the long road to get to you. sometimes i’ve been stuck, unsure of what to do next, afraid to leave what felt comfortable, even when i knew it wasn’t enough. but you’ll be the one who changes that. with you, there will be no fear, no hesitation - only a deep, undeniable pull that i can’t resist.

you have this power, don’t you? to nurture and create, to transform whatever you touch into something extraordinary. you’re a queen in every sense of the word - abundant, radiant, and endlessly giving. i want you to know this: you don’t always have to give. you don’t always have to hold everything together. with me, you can let go. you'll be able to lean on me. i’ll be the one to carry the weight when you’re tired, to remind you how much you’re worth, even when the world forgets.

i know i’ll mess up sometimes. i’ll stumble, i’ll falter, and i’ll get caught in my own head. but i promise i’ll never stop trying. i’ll never stop choosing you. even in the moments when it feels like we’re standing still, i’ll be there, holding your hand, reminding you that we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.

there’s no moving on from you. no walking away, no running from the love i know we’ll have. you’re the one i’ll keep coming back to, again and again, because you’re home. and when we’re together, i’ll spend the rest of my days showing you just how much you mean to me.

my heart is your's,

future spouse

pile 3

if you’ve felt a restless pull in your heart, know that i feel it too. i’m not the kind of man who sits still for long - i’ve always chased what makes me feel alive, even when i didn’t fully understand what i was after. somewhere along the way, i realized what i’ve been searching for is you.

you’re the spark in the distance, the promise of something more. i can feel your energy even now, calling me to move, to grow, to become the man you deserve. i’m not perfect—sometimes i charge ahead too fast, speak before i think, or get caught up in chasing every wild idea that crosses my mind. but one thing i know for sure: when i meet you, everything will fall into focus.

you’re the kind of person who could make a man rethink everything. your passion, your curiosity, your fire - i want to match it and watch us both burn brighter together. with you, every day will feel like an adventure, every moment full of discovery. i want to know your mind, your dreams, and your wildest ideas. i want to be the one who makes you laugh so hard you forget to breathe and who listens when you need to share the thoughts you’ve never spoken aloud.

but i also want you to know this: i’ll be the one who gives you space when you need it. life isn’t always about the chase; sometimes, it’s about the stillness. when the world gets too loud, when the fire feels like it’s burning too hot, i’ll be there to remind you to rest. i’ll be your calm in the chaos, your quiet in the storm.

i know we’ll make mistakes - together and apart. we’ll say the wrong things, take the wrong steps, and sometimes, we’ll need time to figure it all out. but isn’t that part of the beauty? love isn’t about perfection; it’s about showing up, learning, and growing side by side.

i can’t wait to see where life takes us, to chase the wild unknown with you by my side. you make me want to dream bigger, run faster, and still, somehow, savor every single moment. i’m ready to throw myself into this with you, no hesitation, no regrets.

until we meet, i’ll keep searching, learning, and preparing for the day when i get to call you mine.

yours always,

your future spouse

[patchworkcuddlebug]

Weredoll: Alone

It all started with that toy. I know it had to.

I only touched it for a few seconds. God, I should've known. That pull, that imperceptible radiance, of course it was magic. But it just looked so... pretty. I didn't think twice, I just wanted a closer look, and I could feel the jolt through my system as soon as I curled my fingers around it. Magic.

It's the same feeling that was in the seashells that made my best friend a mermaid all those years ago, damning her to the sea. The same feeling as the fae that spirited away my mother's name.

Yes, they looked happy. But I always knew better. You can't abandon your humanity, you just... can't. You shouldn't be able to, you shouldn't want to. It's just wrong.

I spent the whole day frantic. Combing through forums and blogs, staring down at the listings for dubiously reliable books. If nothing happened in the moment, the only conclusions were a crawling slow-burn transformation that would take me piece by agonizing piece, or... something conditional.

The door to my room was locked. My bed was pushed out from the wall and put in the way of the door, just in case. Now all I can do is sit at my computer desk, eyes trapped in the corner of my laptop.

11:59. Any moment now I would find what fate I was cursed to. I'd spent long enough wracked by anxiety, the humanity in my soul clung to my body in terror. Now, there was nothing but a silent, helpless anticipation.

12:00.

I flinch as the number changes. I pat my body down, trying to find any hints to my curse. But I can't find anything. Everything as it should be. Warm to the touch, but not hot. Just enough give before skin squishes against bone.

I wanted to feel relief, but the confirmation just brought on a defeated emptiness. A sighing, accepting resignation to the alternative, or a confused...

...it's spreading. The emptiness. It isn't just emotional. There is a visceral feeling of removal slowly expanding from my body.

I tried to stand. My hand was on my stomach, like I was trying to feel the thing eating me from the inside. I feel the void overtake my gut, leaving me with a hollow and cavernous lack. There was no sense of hunger, my body failing to cry out with need as it should with an empty stomach. The feeling instead slotted into place, as if I was designed for it.

I try and walk to the mirror. Everything's off. My limbs are too heavy and my torso is too light. I lift my shirt up, and see the beginnings of a seam. There's a small indent that traces around the base of my ribs. Exactly like a ball jointed doll.

I feel sick. I feel faint. But more than anything, I feel empty.

I stumble to the bed and collapse. I can't keep myself upright, I can't muster the will. Fuck, this is really happening, isn't it? I don't care if it's just for the night. I don't want to let go, I can't. Being a person is all I've ever known. How could I not be scared?

My hands fumble along my side. I can feel myself hardening, the texture changing as I move upwards. The seam's already deepened, god knows how far, letting my rigid body—

A violent shudder overtakes me. I cough involuntarily. It's reached my heart.

I can't take my hand off it. The other desperately grabs my hair, trying to ground me, as I feel my heartbeat get weaker and weaker. I try breathing harder, invoking my anxieties, anything to speed it back up, but it's mere seconds until it shuts down completely.

It feels... uncomfortable. Just uncomfortable. All my panic is forced. A cognitive understanding that I really should be terrified, that my heart stopping is something every person needs to fear, but the emptiness swallows all that away. There's a passive, almost reassuring understanding. I'm unharmed, and it's not permanent.

This shouldn't be good. It just shouldn't, right? This isn't the absence of life, it isn't an emptiness that destroys. It's tranquility, it's cleanliness, it's alleviation. I know this is part of the curse, but I just feel so... at ease. Any negative feeling I try to summon is just swallowed by the emptiness, tidied up and put away.

Oh yes, the transformation. It seems it's spread quite far while I was distracted. Down my thighs and up to my neck. I move my hands up to my shoulders, knowing my first joints are going to grow in any minute.

No, no. I can't let it take me. I refused to be reduced to a thing to be ordered around, some heartless construct that only exists for others. There has to be something. I can make my heart beat again, I have to, or I'll die, right? I make a fist and start pounding on my chest as hard as I can... only being met with a dull, hollow thud as the plastic dents into the emptiness inside me. There's nothing in there to start anymore.

Okay. This can still be salvaged. It's just a body, and while it may change, I'm still a human inside. I won't let that be taken from me, I just need to... a suctioning feeling settles in. My skin, just at my shoulder, feels... loose. Ill-fitting.

With a single jerking motion, I reach up and grab at my shoulder, bloodlessly tearing away my skin like it's a thick and heavy tissue paper. Underneath the scraps left behind is the beginnings of a ball joint. It's much too round, the indents where the mechanics let me move just beginning to burrow. It's as if my joints are trying to pop out of their place in my sockets, held in by the firm suggestion of an artificial material. I can already feel my muscle sinew being digested.

I need to be upset, I need to. This is an existential terror in the most literal form, a destruction of all that I am. But all change is death, sacrifice. You cannot become one thing without destroying another. It's rather beautiful to bloom... no, please, no. I refuse to accept such a fate laying down, no matter how much the curse tries to ease me.

I suppose if it can swallow my gut feelings and quell the uneasiness in my heart, it won't be long until it starts to harden this one's brain, leaving it with... leaving it. It. This one.

No. Not now, not ever. If this one can't trust its feelings, and if its starting to lose its cognition, it needs to rely on its behaviour. It will remain human, in one form or another.

Dolls like to clean, to keep things orderly and convenient for others. This one just needs to rip its bed apart! It tears at the corners of its covering, tossing its pillows across the room as it tangles its sheets into a useless mess. There, a bed no doll would be proud of. It tasks a moment to bask in the joy of a completed task.

A sickening pop. It turns back to the mirror and sees its joints as they should be. Perfect round attachments, manufactured just right to allow it mobility. All that remains are its shins and its hands. It's running out of time.

This one tries to walk back to its laptop, and is immediately distracted by its walk. No longer is there the looming clumsy tumbling from its discordant changes. There's an effortless elegance, a refinement of movement and intention. It feels rather pleasing to present itself in such a formal manner. Before the transformation began, it wouldn't have considered such a thing, finding much more comfort in more casual poses and movements. It feels silly to derive such comfort from informality now. Good dolls are-

This one freezes, taken aback by its thoughts. Good dolls are polite and dignified. It's a mantra, a commandment, a colloquialism. A reflexive proverb, as if it were so baked into cultural DNA as to be self-evident. Of course that is how a good doll is to act, it would be silly to pretend otherwise. That... doesn't have to imply anything about this one, it's still a person. This one returns to its task.

12:04. It feels as if it should have been much longer. Becoming felt so fundamentally altering it's bizarre to picture it as taking only 5 minutes, even if that is what this one's research confirmed to it prior. Oh well, it can't be helped. Good dolls are punctual, after all.

There has to be something it can do, something to keep the final throes of the transformation at bay. Dolls are meant to act, and... well, that's not entirely true, is it? Dolls are also meant to be still. To be posed, a beautiful decoration, dressed in the finest outfits...

This one finds its brain... shutting off. Floating away. This is no mere emptiness; it's a trance. A blissful, wonderful stillness. No concern for thoughts, no feelings beyond a gentle calm.

As it sees the clock change, it blinks itself back to awareness. Ah, so that was stillness. This one understands why other dolls find it so enrapturing. It will gladly return to it once it has finished all it has to do.

But first, it looks down at its body. Everything is stiff and rigid, the only movement being allowed by the segments through its hardened skin. Its behaviour has been overhauled, now much more prim and proper, only breaking its posture to help its self-examination.

Of course, this one thinks like a good doll as well. It desires to serve and obey another, and in their absence, it will simply busy itself with chores, doing all it can to help like a good doll. It seems its readings were correct, and the transformation has finished.

Well, that was quite the experience. This one prepares to reflect on it... in the morning, once it's a person. In the meantime, it elegantly walks back to its bed and begins to tidy up, the much more pertinent task.

[pixel7777]

Dedications - A Bloodweave Fanfic

The full version of the beautiful artwork commissioned from the incredible misfitlunatic (https://x.com/misfit_lunatik or https://bsky.app/profile/misfitlunatik.bsky.social) can be seen in all its glory here.

This fanfic is a sequel and will be better enjoyed after reading Editorial Prerogative.

🪶📜The Netherbrain has been defeated, and the party has gone their separate ways. Astarion and Gale have moved into Gale's tower in Waterdeep while Gale focuses on publishing the chronicle that brought them together. Astarion has an entirely different focus and... thoughts about their post-adventure life he has yet to confess.📜🪶

Read here below or on AO3!

Work Content Tags: Post Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, POV Astarion, ~5K words

This fic about the extensive contributions of editors and beta-readers had amazing beta readers! This one was much rougher than Editorial Prerogative as a draft and was improved extensively by their thoughtful suggestions. There was no time for a second round of edits after doing my best to merge everyone's ideas, and sometimes I am stubborn in keeping my errors. Kindly consider all those errors that remain to be entirely my own. You can blame the cum jokes on me as well ;)

Thank you very much silent_as_the_grave, bashfulexe, and hiraethey for your time and help! This one is dedicated to you!

Like Gale in this story, I cherish feedback! I'd appreciate reblogs and replies 😁

Dedications

"Seven minutes left," Astarion purred against Gale's ear, rolling his hips. "Still think you can hold the Fly spell that long?"

The moonlight through the tower's high windows cast blue shadows across their skin as Astarion pressed Gale against nothing but air, twenty feet off the floor just below the vaulted ceiling of their master bedroom. His lover's warmth radiated through him as their bodies moved in tandem, suspended by Gale's magic. Dimmed lanterns lit the bed lay far below, its sheets already rumpled from earlier activities.

Gale's breath hitched. "You underestimate—ah—my concentration."

"Do I?" Astarion shifted his grip on Gale's thighs, changing the angle. "One slip and we both fall."

"I'm well aware." Gale's fingers dug into Astarion's shoulders, a moan escaping him. "Though I suspect that's part of the appeal for you."

"You know me so well." Astarion nipped at Gale's neck, careful not to break skin. The thrill of danger, of testing limits—it made everything sharper, brighter. "Six minutes now."

Gale's magic held them aloft, but Astarion controlled their movements, using his grip on Gale's hips to drive his cock deeper. The tower's chill air raised goosebumps on Gale's skin. Astarion traced them with his tongue, savoring each shiver and gasp he drew from his wizard.

"Five minutes." Astarion grinned against Gale's collarbone. "Shall we make it interesting? If you drop us, you have to indulge that idea I had about Greater Invisibility and the Blackstaff library stacks."

"Not—ah—not a chance." Gale's voice wavered as Astarion found just the right spot. "And at some point you will need to explain your preoccupation with spells with limited durations."

"We'll see about that." Astarion quickened his pace, determined to drive Gale over the edge and test his vaunted concentration. "Four minutes, love. Still feeling confident?"

Astarion slid one hand from Gale's hip, tracing his lover's trembling abdomen before wrapping deft fingers around Gale's cock. They had been lovers for months now, and he knew every sensitive spot, every trick to make Gale unravel. A few strokes—firm and sure—and Gale's breath stuttered, his body tensing.

"Three minutes," Astarion whispered, with wicked delight. "But who's counting?"

Gale's response was a strangled moan, his nails biting into Astarion's flesh. Astarion could feel the precise moment Gale's concentration shattered—the magic holding them aloft flickered, and gravity reasserted itself. Gale's climax hit, his cock pulsing in Astarion's grip, and they plummeted.

Astarion twisted them mid-air and pulled out. They crashed onto the bed, laughter bursting from both as the mattress creaked in protest and they fell apart.

"Well, that was invigorating," Astarion chuckled, brushing a lock of hair from Gale's flushed face.

Gale grinned, still breathless. "You cheated."

"I did no such thing." Astarion feigned innocence. "I recall no agreements with regard to the means by which I may or may not distract you."

Gale pushed himself up, straddling Astarion's hips, and raised a questioning eyebrow. "My turn to take the lead, I think?" Astarion nodded a yes and ran his hands up Gale's thighs. Gale's eyes gleamed with mischief as he reached behind him, positioning Astarion's cock, his hole still wonderfully slick and stretched. He sank down slowly, a gasp escaping him as he took Astarion in fully again.

Astarion's hands found Gale's hips, guiding his rhythm. The room filled with the sounds of their pleasure, the bed creaking in time with their movements. And then—a soft, wet plop. Astarion glanced up just as another drop of Gale's cum fell from the ceiling, where it had splattered in generous abundance, landing on Gale's shoulder.

"Oh, for the love of—" Astarion started, laughter bubbling up.

Gale looked down, bewildered, then up at the ceiling. Another drop fell, this time on his cheek. He wiped it away, a laugh escaping him as well. "Well, this is... distracting."

"Focus, darling," Astarion teased, though his own concentration was waning. "You have a task to complete."

Gale shook his head, grinning, and refocused his efforts. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on Astarion's chest, and rolled his hips with renewed determination. Astarion stroked Gale's thighs encouragingly, his breath coming faster.

Another drop fell, this time on Astarion's forehead. He swiped it away, growling playfully. "Gale..."

Gale bit his lip, trying to hold back laughter. "Not my fault you wanted to defy gravity. Gravity, apparently, wants payback."

Astarion bucked his hips, driving deeper into Gale. "Less talking, more riding."

Gale complied, his movements becoming more urgent. Astarion could feel his own climax building, the tension in his body coiling tighter. The lantern light glinted off the oil on Gale's spent cock and the sweat on the planes of his chest. Beautiful. His lover was so damned beautiful. He reached up, pulling Gale down into a fierce kiss. Gale's body pressed against his, their movements syncing perfectly.

And then, finally, Astarion's release hit, his body arching as he spilled into Gale. He broke the kiss, a groan escaping him as he emptied and gave himself to the moment. Gale rode him through it, his own breath ragged, until they both stilled, panting and sated.

Astarion looked up at Gale, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Well, that was—"

Another drop of cum fell from the ceiling, landing squarely on Astarion's nose. He sighed, laughing as Gale collapsed onto his chest, their laughter filling the room.

Gale pushed himself up, kneeling over Astarion as he surveyed the ceiling. "Well, that's quite the mess."

Astarion smirked, stretching languidly beneath him. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Gale rolled his eyes but grinned as he stood, careful to keep his balance on the mattress. He reached up, stretching to his full height, and began to chant softly. A faint glow enveloped his hand as he waved it toward the stain, his Prestidigitation spell making quick work of the mess.

Astarion watched, appreciating the view. Gale's body was lean and toned, his muscles shifting under smooth skin as Astarion's own spend ran down Gale's thighs. "You know, I could get used to this sight," he mused.

Gale glanced down, a smirk playing on his lips. "Me cleaning the ceiling?"

"You, naked and on display," Astarion corrected. "The chores getting done is just a bonus."

Gale shook his head, returning to his task. Once the ceiling was spotless, he turned his attention to them, cleaning them both efficiently. Astarion sat up, gently pulling Gale back down to the bed. He reached for a small vial of the soothing oil they favored for aftercare on the nightstand, pouring a generous amount onto his fingers.

"Let me," he murmured, guiding Gale onto his stomach. He started at Gale's shoulders, massaging gently before moving lower. His fingers found the spot where Gale's back met his ass, and he rubbed slow circles into the skin, feeling Gale relax under his touch.

Astarion took his time, his fingers eventually slipping between Gale's cheeks, applying the oil with tender care. Gale sighed softly, his body melting into the mattress. Astarion loved this—the quiet moments after, when Gale let him take control in a different way.

Even as he tended to Gale, a restless energy hummed beneath his skin. The night had been perfect—dangerous and thrilling and everything he had wanted—but already his mind flitted to what came next. There was always another sexual adventure to plan, another boundary to push.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Gale's spine. "How was that?"

Gale hummed contentedly, turning his head to look at Astarion. "Perfect. Thank you."

Astarion smiled. He lay down next to Gale, propping his head up on one hand.

"You're thinking," Gale murmured, eyes closed.

"Always," Astarion admitted.

Gale cracked one eye open, studying him. "About what, I wonder?"

Astarion shrugged, his fingers still moving. "Just... possibilities. For next time."

Gale hummed, a small smile on his lips. "Dangerous word, 'possibilities'."

Astarion's grin sharpened. "Exactly."

Gale chuckled, shifting to face Astarion fully. "You've been insatiable lately."

"And you love it," Astarion retorted.

Gale's smile softened, his hand reaching up to cup Astarion's face. "I do."

Astarion leaned into the touch, but his mind was still racing, already planning. This night had been a success, but there was always more to explore, more pleasure to experience. And he intended to make the most of every moment.

Gale shifted, reaching for something on the nightstand. Astarion spotted a manuscript bound in stiff canvas. Another proof copy from the printer, of course. Astarion sighed. The book. Again.

"Must we? I can think of far more entertaining ways to spend our time." Astarion traced a finger down Gale's spine, trying to distract him.

"The printer needs the final draft by tomorrow. I just need you to look at one more thing."

"Volo's barely started shopping his version around." Astarion rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling to avoid meeting Gale's eyes, hoping that for once Gale would just set the book aside and come fully back to him without having to be chivvied into it. "What's the rush?"

"The rush is getting the true account published first. Before he can romanticize everything into nonsense. And I want you to edit the dedication."

"The dedication." Astarion's voice went flat. Of course Gale would want his help polishing the final touches of his grand scholarly achievement. "Surely you can handle that without my input."

"I'd really like your thoughts on it."

"What's to think about? 'To my beloved companions, who provided such invaluable assistance.' There. Done." Astarion waved a dismissive hand. "Now put that away and come back here."

"That's not—"

Something about Gale's earnest expression made Astarion's skin prickle uncomfortably. He didn't want to examine why being asked to edit the dedication bothered him so much. Better to provoke, to push, to make Gale as unsettled as he felt.

"Or perhaps 'To my dear editor, without whose sharp wit this tome would be unbearably dull.'" Astarion sat up, indulging the impulse to be perfectly dreadful. "Though I suppose that might undermine your scholarly authority."

Gale's expression shifted from amusement to concern. "Astarion—"

"No, no, I've got it." He snatched the proof copy from Gale's hands. "'To my reformed vampiric lover, who made this chronicle possible by not eating me that first night.' How's that?"

Gale gaped. "You really think that I would mischaracterize your contributions? Or that that's how I see you?"

"Isn't it?" The words came out sharper than intended. "It's your book, after all. Your legacy."

Astarion's fingers tightened on the manuscript, the binding creaking under his grip. He knew he was being unfair—Gale had never treated him as less than an equal partner. And he had loved working on that manuscript together during the long months of their adventure. It had been the thing to finally bring them together.

But lately, everything felt... off. Wrong. Like an itch he couldn't scratch.

He had thought it would be simple after they'd saved the world. No more running, no more fighting, no more desperate scramble for survival. Just pleasure and comfort and Gale. And for the first few weeks, that had been enough. More than enough.

But now...

The empty hours stretched endlessly. While Gale pored over proof copies and attended meetings, first with various publishers and then the printer, Astarion found himself prowling their tower like a caged animal. He had tried everything—shopping, decorating, arranging elaborate dinners he couldn't eat just to watch Gale enjoy them.

Sex helped. For a little while, at least. When he had Gale's full attention, when they were testing limits and discovering new ways to please each other, everything felt right again. But then Gale would reach for that damned book, and the emptiness would creep back in.

It wasn't fair to resent Gale's dream finally coming to fruition. His beloved wizard was thriving, getting the recognition he deserved. But a nasty voice in Astarion's head whispered that Gale should be focusing on him instead. After two centuries of serving others, wasn't it his turn to be the center of someone's world?

He glanced at Gale, who watched him with patient concern. That was almost worse than anger would have been.

Astarion hurled the manuscript onto the bed. "Oh, don't look at me like that. Like I'm some delicate thing about to shatter. I've had quite enough of your concerned wizard act for one evening."

"This isn't an act. You have witnessed my best attempts at acting—why wouldn't you think my concern was real?" Gale's brow furrowed. "I genuinely don't understand why you're upset."

"Of course you don't." Astarion stood, pacing naked across the floor. The moonlight caught his pale skin, turning his already pale skin a nearly ghostly white. "You're far too busy with your precious book to notice anything else these days."

"That's not fair—"

"Fair?" Astarion whirled on him. "You want to talk about fair? While you're off being courted by every publisher in Waterdeep, what exactly am I meant to do with myself? Sit here and look pretty? Wait for you to need an editorial opinion?"

Gale's mouth opened, then closed. The sudden understanding in his expression only stoked Astarion's anger.

"Here's a confession for you—perhaps something you could work into an epilogue. Do you know what I did yesterday? I reorganized our closet. Again. Then I spent three hours watching the unseen servants clean because I was so desperately bored I considered doing it myself." He ran a hand through his hair. "I can't even go outside during the day anymore, now that this blasted tadpole is gone. I'm just... here. Useless. Decorative."

"You're not—"

"And do you know what I did last week?" Astarion continued his pacing, each step precise despite his growing agitation. "I reorganized our library. Twice. First alphabetically, which was mind-numbingly dull, and then by level of pretentiousness—you'll be delighted to know your treatise on the standardization of arcane nomenclature ranked near the top. And you have been so singularly focused on the book you never even noticed to complain!"

His laugh came out sharp and bitter. "Then I spent an entire evening categorizing your spell components by color. Not utility, mind you. Just aesthetics. Because apparently that's what I've been reduced to—interior decoration and waiting for you to need my opinion on your prose. "

The words tumbled out now, each confession carrying a twisted satisfaction at revealing his pathetic pastimes in all their absurdity. "I've named all the rats in the cellar. Did you know that? There's Herbert—he's missing half an ear—and Old Lady Whiskers, though she might be dead now. I haven't checked today."

"Astarion, I didn't know…"

"How would you? You've been so very busy at the printers." Astarion gestured wildly at the wardrobe. "I've arranged your robes by the seasons. Then by texture. Then by how likely they are to get you propositioned at academic functions. I even tried to learn that ridiculous card game Wyll taught us, but it's significantly less entertaining when you're playing against yourself and can see all the hands."

Astarion's lips curled into a sneer. "I thought saving the world would finally free you from your compulsive need to make your name, but alas, here we are again—we're both naked, but you're distracted by paper.

"And now you want me to help polish your grand achievement. To put the finishing touches on the story of how we saved the world. Except we're not saving the world anymore, are we? You've found your new purpose. While I..." He gestured vaguely at himself. "Well, I suppose I can always fall back on being very good at fucking you senseless. At least until you tire of that too."

The hurt that flashed across Gale's face should have felt satisfying. Instead, it just made Astarion's gut churn. He had gone too far and been monstrously unfair. It didn't help that he knew it and couldn't stop spewing attacks he didn't even mean.

Gale reached for the discarded manuscript. Astarion turned away, not wanting to see more of that wounded expression, but Gale moved to his side and held the book out. The silence stretched between them.

"Really?" Astarion snapped. "After all that? Now?"

Gale didn't respond, just kept holding out the book. Fine. If that's how he wanted to play it. Astarion snatched the manuscript, ready to tear into whatever flowery dedication Gale had composed.

"Read the cover first," Gale said quietly.

Astarion frowned. "The cover? What—"

The words caught his eye, and his throat went tight. He blinked, certain he was misreading. But no—there it was, clear as day: "The Fall of the Absolute: An Eyewitness Chronicle, by Gale Dekarios and Astarion Ancunín."

He read it again. And again. His name. On the cover. As co-author.

He looked up at Gale, unable to form words.

A brilliant smile spread across Gale's face. "Did you really think I saw this as just my book? Your perspective shaped every chapter. Your commentary challenged my interpretations, made me question my assumptions." He stepped closer, taking Astarion's free hand. "Your voice is woven through every page. What kind of historian would I be if I neglected to give my co-author the credit he deserves?"

Astarion's fingers clenched, his chest tight with something that wasn't quite pain.

Astarion stared at his name on the cover, tracing the letters with his thumb. His name. Not in a footnote or acknowledgment, but right there beside Gale's. Equal. Co-author.

He glanced at Gale, then back at the book, checking for an illusion to fade, for the joke to materialize. No, the words remained unchanged.

He flipped through the front pages, scanning for the inevitable correction—some footnote or disclaimer that would put him back in his proper place. Surely there would be a note: "With editorial assistance from..." or "Based on the contributions of..." But the title page bore both their names. The introduction credited them equally. Even the publisher's mark listed them as co-authors.

Gale's voice washed over him, explaining how he had meant it as a surprise, how he had never meant to make Astarion feel excluded. "I've thought of it as our book for ages, since before we were even an us. I should have told you sooner—"

But Astarion barely heard him. Two centuries of being nothing more than Cazador's property, a toy to be used and discarded. Even after their victory, even after becoming a "hero," he had been defined by others—the reformed monster, the redeemed villain.

But this... this was different. This wasn't just surviving or being forgiven.

Astarion's hands trembled slightly as he opened to the first chapter. His own words jumped out at him from the page—not just in commentary, but woven seamlessly into the narrative. His marginalia hadn't just inspired edits—they had shaped the story itself. Where Gale's original draft had focused on the metaphysical implications of their tadpoles, the final version explored the visceral horror of violation, the psychological toll of being changed against one's will. His perspective on what it meant to be transformed, to lose control of one's own body, had deepened the scholarly analysis into something raw and real.

Even his most acerbic comments had been valued. That entire section comparing various theories about the tadpoles' nature had been completely restructured after he had written "For fuck's sake, Gale, get to the point before your readers expire from old age."

Astarion traced a finger over a particularly elegant turn of phrase—one he distinctly remembered suggesting as an alternative to Gale's more flowery original version. His words. His thoughts. His perspective. Not filtered or edited to be more palatable, but presented as essential to understanding their shared story.

This was creation. His words, his perspective, preserved in ink and on paper. Not as a cautionary tale or a victim's testimony, but as an author. A chronicler of his own story. Gale was right, of course—by the time they had exchanged back-and-forth notes on any given page, it was likely half Astarion's words and thoughts. He just hadn't thought of it that way.

His throat felt tight. He swallowed hard, trying to find his voice. "Gale, I—" The apology stuck in his throat. He had been so quick to lash out, to blow things all out of proportion.

"Don't." Gale's hand covered his where it gripped the book. "I need your help with something more important. The dedication—"

"What is it with you and this damn dedication?" Astarion's voice cracked slightly.

Gale smiled as Astarion hesitated, the pages half-turned.

"Go on." Gale's voice was warm, encouraging. "It's the best part."

Astarion's throat tightened. He had already received more than he had dared hope for. What if this undid it all? What if, after seeing his name on the cover, the dedication reduced him back to a mere contributor?

"My love." Gale's hand covered his on the page. "Trust me."

He turned the page.

Two passages faced each other on the creamy paper—mutual dedications, Astarion realized with a start. Astarion looked up at Gale, blinking fast to keep traitorous tears from falling. Gale's own eyes were suspiciously watery, but his smile was radiant, their argument and Astarion's ranting obviously forgiven. Gale moved to wrap his arms around Astarion from behind. Astarion nestled back into Gale's embrace before shifting his attention to the pages. He read Gale's first—formal yet intimate, managing to capture their collaboration in a way that left his chest tight.

"To my dearest Astarion, whose sharp tongue, sharper mind, and inexhaustible patience turned these words from mere history into something worthy of remembrance. And to our companions, who lived this story alongside us. This book is but ink on parchment; you are the legends."

But the second... He recognized his own words—remembered scrawling them in the margins months ago during one of their late-night editing sessions. He had been marking up Gale's latest chapter with increasingly ridiculous commentary, each note an excuse to keep their conversation going, to stay in that perfect bubble of possibility...

"You kept this?" His finger traced the words. That night had been months ago, before they'd even kissed. Before he had realized that their endless exchanges of notes and rebuttals had become something more than editorial collaboration.

"I kept all of them," Gale said softly. "Every margin note. Every correction. Every time you called my prose 'insufferably flowery' or suggested I was 'compensating for something' with my extensive footnotes. They are as much a part of our story as the text itself."

He had been tired, punch-drunk on lack of rest and the joy of their collaboration, and had written what amounted to a love letter disguised as snark. Gale had picked lines from it and composed a dedication on his behalf.

"To Gale Dekarios, who never met a sentence he couldn't overcomplicate. On the darkest days, your relentless optimism that our story would be worth telling made the endless footnotes (almost) worth it. And to our comrades-in-madness, who not only survived but triumphed despite their best efforts to the contrary. (P.S. You are all still insufferable.)"

"I borrowed that from your notes," Gale whispered, drawing Astarion closer as he spoke the words against his ear. "But of course, you should write whatever you'd prefer. You obviously don't have to dedicate anything to me. Presumptuous, I know, although I meant it to be romantic. This was just a placeholder until—"

Astarion stared at his own words on the page, all his usual sharp retorts deserting him. The dedication—their dedication to each other of the book that had brought them together—was there in permanent ink, ready to be bound into countless copies. His thoughts, his perspective, his story—preserved forever.

He stepped out of Gale's arms and sank onto the edge of the bed, still clutching the proof copy. The weight of it felt different now. Real. Lasting. Not just Gale's grand scholarly achievement, but their shared legacy.

Gale stood before him, radiating that particular blend of smugness and affection that should have been infuriating. But Astarion had long since learned to love these little moments of his wizard's self-satisfaction—especially when they came from making him happy. "Do you like it? Or shall I prepare myself for another ten pages of revisions?"

"I think..." Astarion's voice came out barely above a whisper. "I think it's perfect."

Gale's eyebrows shot up in pleased surprise. He turned to the side table where—of course—he had already set out a bottle of wine and two glasses, clearly having planned this moment. The bastard.

Astarion found his footing again, a smile tugging at his lips. "Though I still reserve the right to deface every copy in circulation with additional notes."

"I would expect nothing less." Gale handed him a glass of deep red wine, raising his own. "To our book?"

"To our book," Astarion agreed. "And to the idiots who made it worth writing."

Their glasses clinked softly in the moonlight.

Astarion savored the wine, letting its rich flavor chase away the lingering tension. "To our book," he repeated softly, still caught on those words.

"I should have told you sooner," Gale said, settling beside him. "About the co-authorship. About all of it. I got caught up in the excitement of publication and forgot that you might not see what I see when I look at these pages."

"And what do you see?" Astarion asked, trying for lightness but not quite achieving it.

Gale's expression softened as he set his wine glass aside. "I see us, darling. Not just our adventures, but the way your wit cuts through pretense to find truth. The way you take my meandering thoughts and sharpen them into something precise and powerful." He took Astarion's free hand. "I saw a future where we might do this again. Together. Writing about whatever catches our interest."

Astarion's chest tightened at the earnestness in Gale's voice.

"And once again, that was presumptuous of me," Gale continued. "Just because you excel at this doesn't mean it needs to be your future. I should have discussed my hopes with you instead of assuming. Asked what you wanted rather than letting you feel trapped here with nothing but closet organization and the corruption of my virtue to occupy your time."

"I suppose I haven't been particularly... forthcoming either. About how adrift I've been feeling." Astarion gave a short laugh. "Though attempting to seduce you into distraction every time you mentioned the book lately probably should have been a hint."

"Gods, I've been stupidly oblivious, haven't I?" Gale ran a thumb over Astarion's knuckles. "Here I was, planning our literary future while you were naming rats in the cellar."

Astarion traced the rim of his wine glass. "Well, to be fair, I hadn't exactly been making any competing plans, really. Beyond finding new ways to scandalize Tara." He gave a hollow laugh. "Two centuries of torture and degradation, and all I could think about was pleasure. As if that would be enough."

"And now?"

"Now I don't know what I want. Isn't that ridiculous? I finally have everything I dreamed of—wealth, safety, you." He gestured at their opulent surroundings. "I should be content with endless pleasure and no purpose. But I'm not content."

Gale's fingers ghosted along his jaw. "There's nothing ridiculous about wanting more than hedonism, love. Though I must say, your dedication to corrupting my virtue in the wake of our trials has been a thoroughly appreciated respite."

"Has it now?" Astarion managed a genuine smirk. "And here I thought you were too distracted by your—no, our—precious book to notice."

"Oh, I noticed." Gale's voice dropped lower. "In fact, I've been taking extensive mental notes for future reference."

"Always the scholar." Astarion leaned into his touch. "Though I suppose that's served us both rather well, hasn't it?"

"Indeed. And perhaps..." Gale's thumb brushed his lower lip. "You might consider that pleasure and purpose aren't mutually exclusive. You have a gift for this—for taking complex ideas and making them sing. Why not pursue that alongside your campaign of corruption? Something to consider. And to talk about—together, I hope. We have plenty of time to work through our options, now that the editing is done, at least for the moment—" Gale began.

"For the moment?" Astarion's head snapped up. "What do you mean, 'for the moment'?"

"Well, perhaps—just perhaps, of course—there will be our next book to consider." Gale said it so casually, as if he hadn't just upended Astarion's entire worldview for the second time that evening. "But I think we've earned a break, don't you?"

"Next book," Astarion echoed faintly. The implications spun through his mind—more late nights arguing over prose, more shared discoveries, more chances to shape how their story was told. Not just this one volume, but others. A series, perhaps?

"Though at present," Gale continued, his tone shifting to something distinctly more promising, "I find myself rather more interested in your earlier claim of more interesting ways we might spend our evening."

Our next book. The idea seems so absurd that for a moment, he doesn’t know what to do with it. A future, stretching beyond just this one volume.

Astarion set his wine glass aside, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "You know, darling, maybe we should begin thinking about potential topics for our next collaboration. Perhaps something focusing on the political implications of—" He broke off as Gale's lips found his neck and a frisson of pleasure made him shiver. "—the various factions within Baldur's Gate during the crisis."

"Fascinating," Gale murmured against his skin. "Do continue."

"Well, considering the complex web of alliances—" Astarion's breath hitched as Gale's hands slid down his sides. "I believe my name should appear first on this one, given my unique insights into the city's power structure."

Gale hummed noncommittally, pushing him back onto the bed. "We can discuss the particulars later."

"But the publishing contract—oh." His protest dissolved into a gasp as Gale's beard brushed over his nipples in that way Gale knew he liked. "That's not fair."

"What isn't fair?" Gale's innocent tone didn't match his actions at all. "I'm merely expressing my enthusiasm for potential future literary endeavors."

Astarion struggled to maintain his train of thought as Gale shifted lower. "The... structure would benefit from..." He lost his place entirely as Gale did something lovely with his tongue and borrowed blood left his brain to chase the sensation. "What was I saying?"

"Something about structure, I believe." Gale's muffled voice held entirely too much amusement.

"Right. Structure. And proper credit for—oh gods." Astarion's fingers tangled in Gale's hair and tugged gently. "You're making it very difficult to discuss business arrangements."

"Am I?" Gale lifted his head, eyes dancing with mischief. "How terribly inconsiderate of me. Please, continue outlining your publishing strategy."

Astarion's protests died away as the room was filled with the soft sounds of their breaths, the rustle of sheets, and the distant hum of Waterdeep's nightlife. There was no urgency this time, no ticking clock of a spell about to expire. Just the two of them, realigned in purpose and desire, and it was wonderful.

Astarion breathed into the pleasure as Gale's tongue worked this other magic of his. He could feel Gale's smile against his skin, the warmth of his breath as he moved. Astarion moaned, shamelessly, as Gale took him deeply, swallowing him down and then sucking hard as he pulled back. Gale looked up, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Enjoy that, do you?"

Astarion laughed. "You're far too smug for your own good."

Gale grinned. "And you're far too delicious for yours."

Astarion reached down, tracing the line of his jaw. "You know, I think we might have a real talent for this."

Gale's eyebrow quirked. "For what, exactly?"

"Sex, darling. I think we should write a book about it."

Gale laughed, a full-throated sound that warmed Astarion to his core. "A sex book? Really?"

"Mmhm," Astarion hummed, already imagining the possibilities. "Think about it. We've certainly done enough research, more than enough to fill certain gaps in The Quarta Sune and make our own, unique contributions to the field."

Gale's hand took the place of his mouth, clearly intrigued by the discussion but unwilling to abandon Astarion's pleasure entirely. "And who would be the target audience for this illustrious tome?"

"Everyone," Astarion declared, happily rolling his hips into Gale's touch. "Think of all the poor souls out there, fumbling around in the dark, metaphorically speaking. We could be doing a public service."

Gale's laughter shook the bed and disrupted the rhythm of that exquisite stroking. "A public service? Really?"

"Absolutely," Astarion insisted. "And of course, I should be first author on this one too."

Gale's hand moved faster. "And why is that?"

"B-because," Astarion stuttered, his hips bucking up into Gale's grasp. "I have more experience."

Gale's smile was positively wicked. "Is that a challenge, my love? Because I would like to point out the difference between qualitative and quantitative research."

Astarion grinned, pulling Gale up for a kiss. "It's a fact, darling. But I'm sure with your natural prowess, you'll have no trouble keeping up."

Gale's lips curved against his. "I do love a good competition."

"Mmm," Astarion agreed, his body already racing toward the finish line under Gale's firm touch. "And I do love a good—oh!"

Gale's fingers did something particularly clever, and Astarion decided that perhaps they should do a bit more research before committing anything to paper. Between the two of them, he was sure they'd get it right.

[ballroomblitzzzz]

Okay I know this post is already super long but I've thought about it a ton and I feel like I didn't properly get across everything I was trying to say (even after editing the shit out of it).

So I wanna talk more about the idea that sorcery is a metaphor for goodness. And you're probably like CHRIST how many metaphors will this guy waffle on about, but hear me out okay.

So Glinda can fake being good as much as she can fake having magical powers. People will love her regardless of what's real, which is fundamentally what she wants, to be liked. But she also desperately wants sorcery AND to genuinely be good, she wants it to be real.

So Elphaba giving her the Grimerie I guess is sort of her way of telling Glinda to never stop trying to be good.

And of course (as is one of the main points of like all of the book and musical) goodness and wickedness are entirely subjective and far more about perception. So I'm in no way saying that portraying Glinda as having no powers proves that she's actually evil. Because... No.

It's all about perspective. To the rest of Oz, Glinda has magic and she is the embodiment of everything good in the world. But to Glinda herself, she's powerless without using other people and so she believes she's wicked. But she'll never stop trying to be good, for Elphaba yes, but also because that's just the person she's always wanted to be.

But speaking of, let's talk about Elphaba for a second. (And I know this started as an analysis of Glinda's character, but you really can't talk about one without the other.)

Because if we take the idea that magic is goodness, then that means a witch should be very embodiment of it. That every time Elphaba uses sorcery, it's pure and just. So it makes sense that in the scene where she's training with Morrible, she can't levitate the coin until she thinks about what happened to Dr Dillamond. Because she can only use her magic when she's fighting a cause. When she's doing good.

Which is exactly why Morrible and the Wizard can't use her. And if sorcery is goodness, then what better way to try and take away someone's power than to make them wicked.

Because of course, in a corrupt system what's more dangerous than someone good having power. And this isn't exactly a new or even particularly perceptive take, but god it makes me angry. (Especially considering recent politics)

But anyway, all this means is that No Good Deed is gonna hit a lot harder now and I truly cannot WAIT to see it performed when part two comes out.

Thanks again for listening to me waffle on about these witches with clumsy attempts at making eloquent points. And please tell me if you have any more thoughts about this, or really just any thoughts about these characters, I mean it all feeds the same obsession.

So I've been doing a lot of thinking recently, about wicked, because of course it's about wicked.

Specifically Glinda and her relationship to sorcery. (Hold tight this one's gonna be a whole ass essay) I find it interesting that the film really tries to make it clear that she has, not just little power, but none at all.

Because in the book she does have magic! Like there's this great scene where her, Nessa and Elphaba are talking about sorcery and she explodes a sandwich in their faces to prove a point.

This isn't relevant at all I just really like the scene. Point is, book Glinda's magic ain't too shabby. And in the musical (unfortunately I've only seen it once so apologies if I've read this wrong) I kinda saw it as she did have magic, but just didn't really get good at it before act 2. But in the film it's clear she doesn't have any. Like in NOMTW she pushes a pedal to make the bubble instead of using her wand, similar to how the wizard uses mechanics to fake sorcery. So why is it different? I hear you ask.

Well my curious child, I'll come to that in a minute (promise) right NOW I wanna talk about why Glinda wants magic in the first place.

And this is something that's had me stumped for a while, I mean it's not like she needs it. She can easily get whatever she wants from social manipulation, and yet it's still her heart's desire to become a sorceress.

And it's SUCH a big part of her character that couldn't just go around not being able to answer that question now could I?? And guys I think I figured it out.

So she's always been jealous of Elphaba, right? Right. And the thing about Elphaba that she envies, is that she's powerful without having to rely on other people. Glinda doesn't have that. She gets to the top because people like her. She said it herself, 'its not about aptitude it's the way you're viewed'. She knows the way to truly succeed is to make sure that you're liked. And she's very good at that, so she doesn't need sorcery, and YET she wants it. And to me this proves that Glinda hates the reason that she's liked. She wants people to love her for what she can do, not for the shallow persona she presents. She wants to have a power all to herself. She doesn't want to need people. She wants to be the kind of person who hops on a broom and overthrows the government at the drop of a hat (pun intended) but that's not who she is.

Of course she doesn't go with Elphaba. Elphaba can be strong on her own but without the public on her side Glinda is powerless.

And just think it's soooo fucking interesting how Elphaba and Glinda's different kinds of power can be seen as just another metaphor for their sense of self. Because Elphaba has had to trust herself, to have a strong enough identity to know that she's better than what people say. But Glinda's entire identity and self worth are tied to what people think of her, she's only as good as people say.

So of course she doesn't go with her.

But here's where she changes (for good hehe). And of course, it's down to Elphaba. Because Elphaba has always believed that Glinda is powerful outside of other people. And, back to sorcery now because yes that is what I started talking about, it's Elphaba who invites her to sorcery class, it's Elphaba who asks Glinda to come and meet the wizard with her, it's Elphaba who asks her to come with her in defying gravity and (SPOILERS FOR PART TWO!!) its Elphaba who gives her the Grimerie. Because Elphaba has always believed Glinda was strong even when she wasn't.

Glinda always wanted to be a sorceress but it was only Elphaba who had faith that she could do it. And this is what makes Elphaba giving her the Grimerie so symbolic and so, so fucking sad. Because Elphaba's showing her that she's better than she thinks, she just going like 'hey, you got this'. And srhstjdyfkvhlvukflyyc. And so the way Glinda's viewed doesn't change at all, but the way she sees herself does, and so don't mind me while I go cry in a corner.

And you know maybe all this was obvious to literally everybody who watched the film and I've just mansplained lesbianism to everyone but I just really needed to write this down because I've been going insane about wicked and I can't shut up about it.

Because DUDE all these characters are so COMPLEX I just wanna peel them all like ONIONS, but oh BOY does it make my eyes water.

[berryispunk]

Insomniacs

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: friends to lovers, insomnia, mental health struggles (ptsd, depression), soft! Frankie, kissing, yearning, swearing, nicknames (hermosa), fluff, idiots in love, no smut, no physical description of reader apart from having hair

summary:  What if you can’t sleep and you call for your best friend to come over and suddenly everything changes ?

word count: 3,1 k

It’s nothing new that you can’t sleep. Dealing with various mental health stuff over the years and chronic pain on top, you should know better. 

You tried every sleeping aid under the sun; meditation, counting sheep, lavender on your pillow and melatonin. Nothing worked, so you started to build your life around it. Midnights became your afternoons to quote Taylor Swift. 

But you were creative, somehow still holding up the hope that it magically gets better or you’ll just get used to it. But it never happened. 

So tonight as the red numbers of your digital alarm clock illuminate your face, mocking you once again, you groan in frustration. You stare at the ceiling, watching the various colored lights of the cityscape dancing around and if you weren’t so damn defeated you would be able to find beauty in this, but you can’t. Not today. You reach for your phone charging on your nightstand and scroll mindlessly through social media. Minutes turn into an hour and you finally sit up in your bed, opening your messages app. It’s 2:30 a.m., who could possibly be awake at this hour? Your international friends? Yeah, for sure. But as you go through your various contacts you stop at one name, smiling to yourself as you press the call button. 

It takes three rings until a familiar deep voice fills your ears. 

“Hello?” the voice murmurs and you immediately feel guilty because you didn’t expect him to have been asleep. His voice sounds exhausted.

“Oh my god. Sorry Frankie, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” you apologize and he chuckles softly at the other end. 

“‘s alright, wasn’t really sleeping just… dozing off. What’s up, hermosa? It’s….” he pauses shortly. “It's, fuck, 2:32 at night. What is going on? Are you alright?” The worry in his voice is palpable and it’s one of the things you admire about him.

“Yeah, it’s the same old insomnia again and I figured why not call the one person that gets my pain?” you say apologetically and you can practically hear his smirk. 

“Us good old insomniacs, huh? Is it your brain or the pain this time?” he asks and you sigh heavily in response. 

“Probably a mix of both…” you sink deeper into your cushion. 

Frankie might be the only person you ever met who understands the struggles that come with lack of sleep. His military background and the resulting nightmares made him an ally in the cruel game that called itself life. The two of you spent countless nights like this, on the phone or texting, watching nonsense over whatever TV channel was on but you’ve never done one thing: late-night meetings. 

You weren’t sure if it was a secret agreement the both of you made that late night meetings were off-limits in all the time you’ve known each other, but tonight something felt different. 

“Hey Frankie?”

“Hm?”

“Why have we never met? At night, when we weren’t able to sleep… I mean, you only live on the other side of the city, not the world.”

The other end stays silent and you think you may have overstepped an up-to-now invisible line by asking. 

Then he clears his throat. “Would you want me to come over? You never asked and I never did, because no way in hell I let you wander alone through the night…” he clarifies and you can’t help but roll your eyes. Of course, ever the gentleman Frankie Morales did not want to risk your safety. 

“Well, what if I’d ask you to come over now?” You hear him swallowing heavily at the other end of line. 

You don’t even know why you’re wanting this all of a sudden, maybe you’ve finally lost your mind. It’s not like there isn’t some underlying tension between the two of you anyway. Mindless flirting and playful teasing is all part of your friendship. 

Frankie is way too trusting for his own good, getting screwed up by his lack of judgement concerning other people and his soft heart, even if he would never let the boys know. They would give him hell about it. But around you he’s let his guard down and you have deep conversations with him about all things going wrong and the few that haven't. He’s one of the few people who know about your troubled youth and strained relationship with your mother. You in turn are one of the few people that know the severity of his PTSD. 

He makes you feel heard like no guy has ever managed to do. He really looks at you when you’re talking and it always makes you feel giddy when he remembers little things you told him a while back. 

You like his attentive nature, but somehow you have never found yourself thinking of him as a potential partner, even if he’s awfully attractive with his broad shoulders and unruly dark curls. His million-watt smile that, if it’s honest, creates little wrinkles around his eyes and makes your own smile widen every damn time in return.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice strained and uncertain. 

“I am,” you say boldly even if you feel anything but.

Fuckin hell, why does your heart beat so fast? 

“Give me 20 minutes,” is the last thing you hear before the line goes dead. 

You immediately jump up from your bed and panic takes over. What were you thinking? What do you even expect to happen when he’s here? Or worse, what if he expects something to happen? No, he would never. It’s Frankie after all, he would’ve had plenty of chances to make approaches but he never has, always keeping a respectful distance. And now you wonder if he only kept it because you made it seem like you weren’t interested in more than a friendship? 

When you first met him, you actually had a little crush on him but held yourself back because you told yourself he was out of your league and he was in a relationship. Then they broke up, but he was in a new one only a few weeks later. It went on like that for a long time until you were taken. Your ex never liked the boys so you kept your distance and the estrangement grew until you broke up with the guy and picked up your friendships where you left off. 

It’s always been so easy to be with Frankie. You could be yourself around him, no need to pretend to be someone you’re not. He saw you in every state: drunk, crying, bed head and pajamas or all dolled-up for another unfulfilling date. He still looked at you the same and it gave you some sort of confidence you’re usually unable to muster. So right now you don’t even think about changing. You stay in your sleep shirt and shorts, no underwear whatsoever, because it doesn’t matter anyway. The only thing you do is brush your teeth and open the messy bun your hair has been in, making it fall loosely over your shoulders.

For a moment you wonder whether he wants anything specific to drink, but as you check your fridge you see that you have plenty of soda and beer - both beverages you know he enjoys. So you sit down on the sofa, only the soft dim light of the standing lamp in the corner illuminating the room and you grow nervous again. Why, you can’t tell. This isn’t different from all the other times you’ve met him, the only difference being it’s late at night. But then you remember the saying ‘nothing good happens after 2 am’ and you get restless all over again until a soft knock on the door announces his arrival. 

With a few quick steps you open the door, but only a crack and Frankie looks at you, tired brown eyes mustering you. He’s smiling as per usual and holds up a plastic bag. “I brought the pretzels you like so much.” 

You open the door all the way to let him in. He’s wearing grey sweatpants, the standard oil cap which has to be glued to his head at this point, and one of his worn-down band shirts. Sometimes you “borrow” one of them when he doesn’t notice. You’re actually wearing one right now. 

“Hi,” you grin as he places the plastic bag on the coffee table. 

“Hi yourself,” he grins back and his eyes wander over your figure for a moment as his smirk widens. “Is that my shirt?” he asks, one eyebrow raised questioningly. 

“Maybe,” you tease back, mirroring his smirk. “You want it back?” 

He shakes his head, lifting his signature cap to run a hand through his curls before he puts it back on. “Nah, looks better on you anyway,” he says and somehow it makes your cheeks turn a bit warmer.

“You want something to drink?” you ask, clearing your throat. 

“Yeah, a beer maybe? But please tell me you’ve got more than the muck from the gas station? Because that tastes like piss,” he complains and you laugh as you walk over to your kitchen, opening the fridge. 

“Well, good for you I have actual beer, some Corona even if you’re feeling fancy.”

“Oh, I feel very fancy, hermosa,” he laughs and leans over the kitchen countertop as you reach for the beer. You feel his gaze on your backside, but decide to say nothing. 

You place the beer on the counter, a soda in your hand, and the noise of it opening echoes loudly through the apartment. He opens his beer with a lighter before he takes the first sip. 

It’s quiet for a moment before you ask, “How’s that girl you were talking about last week? Cindy or what’s her name?”

He shrugs, a lopsided smile on his face. “You’re asking me about my dating life?” 

You frown, tilting the soda can in your hand before answering “Guess so.” 

“Didn’t see her again,” he simply states and something blooms inside of you. Is it relief?

“Ah, okay…” you say, trying not to let your emotions show too much. 

“And… you? How’s that guy you told me about? Jack?”

“Jacob,” you correct, not that it would matter. You met him once and it’s clear that he’s still very much in love with his ex-girlfriend.

“Yeah, Jacob, sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “How is he?”

“Guess he’s fine…I wouldn’t know, as I only went on a date with him once.”

“Oh.” “Oh?” you scoff and he chimes in with a chuckle. 

“Yeah, what else should I say? He didn’t seem like a good match for you.”

“You know, you never said that about any of the guys I dated.”

“They were all losers.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“Shit, I‘m sorry…” he babbles but your eyebrows are furrowed.

“So tell me who’s a good match for me then?” You glare at him. It’s infuriating that he even thinks he’s allowed to judge you when he clearly isn’t better with all the girls he’s dated in the past. 

“Someone who really cares for you and sees you for who you are. Someone who treats you right and would do anything to make you happy, you know…” He’s fiddling with the label on the beer bottle. You just watch him, too stunned to speak as his words strike a chord. You know he’s right and that makes it hurt even more. 

“Maybe I’m just not made for a relationship,” you sigh as you take another sip of your soda, mimicking his stance by leaning across from him against the counter. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” 

“So what? You’re gonna tell me that there’s someone for me whom I just haven't met yet? That I didn’t search long or hard enough? I am 28, Frankie. I am tired of being in the dating pool. I just want… “ you exhale defeatedly. “I just want someone to come home to and who’s as happy to see me as I am to see him.”

“I am happy to see you,” he says quietly and it makes your heart miss a beat. 

“Yeah, but that’s not the same and you know it.”

“Why not?” he asks back, your eyebrows shooting up as he finally looks up from the bottle in his hand and places it onto the next available surface. “You’re a smart girl, hermosa. Don’t tell me you don’t know?” There’s indignation in his voice.

“Don’t know what?”

With one big step he closes the distance between you, standing so close to you you can clearly smell the last bit of his perfume he’s probably worn during the day and most of all you can smell him. The earthiness, musk and warmth are weirdly comforting as he looks down at you. 

“Do I have to spell it out for you or can you feel it as well?” he murmurs when you finally have the courage to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and searching. 

“Frankie, I–”

Suddenly he’s so close, so all-consuming it makes it hard to think. 

“Tell me you don’t feel it and I stop,” he whispers. You feel his breath on your face and the warm feeling inside your chest spreads further. 

Of course you’ve felt that way before, but you didn’t think too much about it, not wanting to risk this friendship that's so important to you. 

“I won’t,” you croak out and he smirks in response, the cocky smile he always has when he is certain about something. 

“Figured,” he continues before adding, “So tell me, how many of these dickheads do you want to date until you give the one guy a chance that really cares about you?” 

“But.. We are…”

“Friends? Yeah, and I want to be so much more than that to you. Do you really think I would drive through the city at this ungodly hour for just anyone?”

You search for his eyes again, slightly blushing and shaking your head. 

He starts playing with a lock of hair, curling it around his thick fingers which makes you incredibly nervous.

“I woke you up, didn’t I? And now you stand here at 3 in the morning… I feel horrible.”

“Well, I don’t. I’m glad you invited me over. Who needs sleep if I can be with you instead?”

You smile at that. 

“I’m still sorry.”

“No need,” he assures you. “There’s no place I’d rather be right now…” 

And his voice drips with honesty as his eyes lock with yours and the intensity of his gaze paired with his words make your breath hitch. Your eyes flick onto his plush lips which look so much more kissable up close and you bite your own lips. He mirrors the movement and suddenly his big hand rests on your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheek bone as he pulls you a tiny bit closer. You reach for his cheek in return, his patchy stubble tickling your hand and you part your lips as he takes the cue, dips his head and his lips are only a hair's breadth away from yours. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he whispers hoarsely against your lips and you just nod in agreement.

His lips capture yours in a soft, tentative kiss and your stomach does somersaults. You’ve wondered in the past what kissing him would feel like, but nothing could’ve prepared you for this. He knows exactly what he’s doing, his lips moving with purpose without being overbearing. The softness of his lips is a stark contrast to the slight scratch of his stubble against your skin. You practically melt into the kiss and you’re certain that no one has ever kissed you like this, so soft but purposefully determined it makes your head spin.

You tangle your hands in the soft locks on the ape of his neck as you deepen the kiss. He’s parting his lips voluntarily so you can invade his mouth with your tongue as his hand wanders from your cheek into your hair, cradling the back of your head. He presses you against the counter with his body weight as his other hand wanders to your hip, his fingers digging into the tender flesh under his shirt. As your tongues dance feverishly his breathing gets uneven, panting into the kiss and you can’t help but smile softly that he gets so worked up over a kiss. 

“You okay?” you whisper as you part to breathe, your foreheads touching. 

“Yeah,” he breathes “It’s just.. Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long so I wanna get this right.”

You take his head between your hands, your thumbs stroking his cheeks now. 

“You’re doing everything right, Frankie,” you smile softly and his face lights up.

“Can I maybe take you out on a date first before I ravish you right here in your kitchen?”

You can’t help but laugh at that, an honest laugh not many people are able to elicit from you. 

“I’d love that,” you say softly and nuzzle your nose against his while his thumb draws small circles over your hip where your shirt rode up. 

Suddenly the tiredness comes back to you as you yawn heavily and he creates some distance to be able to look at you. 

“Do I bore you, hermosa?” “No!” you quickly protest. “But I’m tired all of a sudden…”

“No shit, it’s late. Let’s get you into bed, yeah?” 

He takes your hand and leads you to your bedroom where you fall headfirst into the pillow with a groan. 

“Frankie?” you call for him, lifting your head up slightly, his name suddenly sounding so big in the quietness of the night. 

“Yeah?” you hear faint footsteps as if he’s about to leave and the thought makes you sad.

“Would you mind staying?”

It’s deadly quiet for a moment before you hear the rustling of sheets and his weight next to you on the mattress. “Not at all,” he murmurs softly and you scoot closer to him, cuddling into his side as he puts his arm around your shoulders, his chin resting against your head. It feels so natural. It feels like coming home. You yawn and close your eyes again. 

“Thank you,” you murmur softly as your hand rests on his chest. 

“Anytime,” he says and then adds, “And just for the record, her name was Clara.”

“What?” 

“The girl I was on a date with, her name was Clara not Cindy. Not that it’d matter anyway because the only person I go on dates with from now on will be you,” he chuckles softly and you grin widely, even if he can’t see it. 

“Good to know,” you say sleepily and for the first time in weeks you drift off into a deep, restful sleep.

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[butterfly--empress]

And Another Thing...

Because actually, the more I think about it, the more it just pisses me off...

If The main writer wanted this to just be a simple formulaic "magical girl powa" kids show that sells merch. With no overarching story plot.

MLB could've just simply BEEN that. A cutesy Sailor Moon inspired story!

MLB could've just BEEN an all female superhero team with Marinette as leader, Alya second in command, and Chloe and/or Kagami being her love rivals/friends for Adrien's affections.

And Adrien could literally just BE THE DAMN LUKEWARM LOVE INTEREST that she wins in the end. Because the Deuteragonist of this show, sure as shit ain't been him since at least S4, let's be so for real.

Nothing against Alya, I love her, but girlfriend has overshadowed what used to be Adrien's role.

But in this version of MLB, being an all girl team of superheroes with a secret identity. Marinette's absurd 'whacky' antics in this show could easily be ignored/deflected/handwaved away, if we never knew much about Adrien outside of him being a popular, good looking rich kid, whom Marinette crushes on and daydreams about often.

And TA doesn't have to twist himself into a pretzel to defend his poor writing choices, when the only POV that matters is Marinette's.

There would be no need for the lore, or vaguely changing it when he feels like it. Or worrying about the unnecessary drama of the whole 'they can't know each others identities' main plot that has all become meaningless.

The original main plot of the whole secret identities for romantic drama and the reason many of us were drawn to this show to BEGIN WITH, is moot when the writer constantly refuses to do ANYTHING with the setup he writes for himself.

He won't let none of his characters have any real development and growth and only seems to care about ONE-HALF of the original two man team.

And I'm over it. 4 episodes and a lame ass Special that literally excuses the main heroine's reasons for LYING to her One True Love has shown me this show is NOT interested in doing anything beyond what it's given.

All of us invested or holding your breath for any real progress with the romantic/main subplot are going to be waiting for naught.

I was already convinced but now I'm certain:

There will never be a big reveal. And if there is one, it'll be purposely left to the VERY end of the series. And it won't even be satisfying.

Nothing will EVER be done with the Lie. Why should it? Marinette finally has the boy she wants, and even if it ever got addressed, the writer would handle it in the most contrived way possible that somehow excuses Marinette's decision anyway.

How much you wanna bet, he'll just end up retconning his own story to SOMEHOW scapegoat Marinette's bullshit to be Lila's fault?

Or Chloe's? Because even when she's not around, not in the same school, city, or even country, the writer STILL finds a way to hate on Chloe.

No...wait even better! Adrien finally finds out and to avoid allowing Marinette to own up to her fucking mistake/betrayal of trust, she decides to 'sacrifice' her memories and being Ladybug...and oh my fucking god.

......This is why TA had Marinette entrust Alya as the new leader isn't it? He thinks he's so goddamn clever!

Marinette's gonna fuck up big time in this season and then get temporary or semi-permanent amnesia to forget EVERYTHING to avoid owning up to her mistakes?

And instead of people seeing the manipulative writing to handwave away how she's been very selfish and self-centered, and her need to control everything. People are going to praise TA for believing or redeeming her bad decisions/behavior on how much she was finally willing to 'sacrifice' herself for a change for Adrien.

*groans*....god this sounds even worse.

You know what, this post had a point and I spiraled again.

Oh yeah...MLB should've just been another inspired typical 5 teamed magical girl knock off because hoping the writer does anything worthwhile with his Deuteragonist, is just waiting for Levithan to reveal itself from the deep, dank, ocean depths, and in this timeline the world's in rn, that's actually more plausible than hoping for meaningful character arcs after 6 seasons of MLB...

[confused-reading-ink-rat]

(Snippet from the previous part:)

“Galinda, who is it?”

Galinda stared at them, taking a deep breath she beamed.

“Elphaba.”

_____________________________

Elphaba tuned out the murmurs and whispers around her as the students gave her a wide berth. She was no stranger to stares and the occasional sneering remark or three. She had dealt with worse. Maybe she should commend Shiz for hardly ever having direct confrontations with anyone. Except last week, she decided it didn’t count considering it was a one-time occurrence, and no one had been brave enough to confront her again.

Well, save for one particular blonde girl, which more than made up for the silent dislike the student body had. The girl that loudly proclaimed her as her rival, always neck-in-neck in every class, always trying to best her, always arguing to prove a point, always just around the corner to give her a headache.

The blonde,

Galinda.

Her soul-

She’d rather drown than complete that thought, thank you very much.

What’s worse about this sudden attention is that it did not stem from her strange verdigris, her blunt attitude, her magical abilities, or about anything she had dealt with before. No, this tied back to Galinda all over again, like it always did. Same car, different coat of paint. They weren’t staring because she was green, they were staring because there was something on the green. 

Bold neon pink below her right ear.

A poppy with heart-shaped petals etched onto her skin.

A matching soulmark to the blonde she refused to think about, which she undoubtedly showed off this morning.

Oh, Oz that girl has no shame. Now, everyone knew. 

The realization made bile rise up to her throat, then suddenly everything shattered into a million pieces. It felt like the number of students that gaped at her doubled, there were constantly eyes on her that weren’t looking in disgust or disbelief. They were looking at her in awe, admiration, curiosity, and even looks that bordered on envy. 

She doesn’t know which was worse, all she knew was that she needed to get away from here. From everyone.

Her once heavy steps turned lighter, faster. Her body taking her desperation to disappear and turning it into fuel for her sprint. She turned sharp corners, feeling goosebumps at the mere murmur about her mark. 

And of course fate decided there was no better time to bump into Galinda Upland.

_____________________

Galinda, Pfanne, and Shenshen were on their way to the quad, the latter duo had thrown her question after question, it was starting to feel more like an interrogation than a peaceful walk across campus.

“How are you going to get the girl to reciprocate?” Pfanne asked as they turned a corner. The blonde froze, she hadn’t thought that far ahead. She blinked as she felt Shenshen pull her forward, raising an eyebrow at her, she swallowed.

“I have no idea,” She answered absentmindedly.

“Well good for you, we do.” Shenshen said with a smile, Galinda gave her one in return. 

“We do?” Pfanne asked, surprised. Shenshen gave him a nudge on the shoulder. “Oh yes, we do.” He nodded.

“Well then,” Galinda tossed her hair back, “Let’s not dawdle, I have a soulmate to win over.”

___________________

“Charming her with your charisma?” Pfanne suggested.

Galinda shot him down with a look. “First day failure, Pfanne.”

“Chocolates?”

Shenshen raised an eyebrow, “Isn’t that a little more down the line?”

“Love letters?”

“What did we just say about that?” 

“Oz, this girl is difficult!” Galinda groaned, head in her hands.

They’ve been at this for hours already, smudged ink at their fingertips, fountain pens in their hands, papers thrown across the table, books opened on random pages. Why was this so much more difficult than it was supposed to be? Romance was second nature to Galinda!

She took a deep breath, trying to rack jog her memory. There had to be something, right? Something remotely personal? She was roommates with the girl, and the rivalry hardly made her a stranger. What did she know about Elphaba? She’s green for starters, she’s good at magic, she’s unfortunately behind on the fashion scene, she has a sister named Nessarose, she’s a Thropp, she lived in Munchkinland- 

Galinda blinked, her cheeks warming as she realised how foolish she had been, flowers, of course! Why didn’t she think of that first? They were a staple in the romantic scene, it was one of the most basic things one could think of. Flowers. Munchkinland’s main export! Aside from crops, but she didn’t think that would help her right now.

She reached over for the Floriography book before she caught herself.

Start with something simple, she thought, retracting her hand, but impactful. Simple but impactful. She needed a bouquet on a short notice, really short, today would be nice. It had to be sentimental, and she had the strange need to pick it herself.

“Poppies,” she breathed. She shot up from her seat, turning to a bewildered Pfanne and Shenshen. “Girls, we need to find the best florist by sundown because I will be making a bouquet.” 

“The town nearby has a shop with a great selection of them, ” Shenshen answered, Galinda beamed.

“Excellent!” She clapped her hands together, then gave them a somewhat serious expression. “Now, we better go before I start overthinking everything again.”

“You will.”

“Which is exactly why we need to hurry!”

They packed up their things, leaving the table mostly spotless save for some spilt ink. Galinda had tried to remove it, but no such luck. They walked out of the library. “What’s your first period, Shenshen?” Galinda asked, turning to the taller girl.

“I have linguistics-”

Galinda’s breath hitched as they turned a corner, slamming into what she assumed was a wall of black bricks. She began to fall backwards, and the girl caught her by her waist.

“Elphaba?” 

Previous Part:

Part 3

Happy Valentines day everyone, here's your new chapter!

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@filofandomfrenzy

@thestorytellingfool

@mulder-its-me-223

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SHOUT OUT TO CAGE ANON!

warning: FUTURE GLIYERABA (JURY'S STILL OUT)

[theyellowhedgehog]

The Coven

Here is a little backstory for the Coven.

Cass' backstory:

A baby girl was born in the 1600s, in a small little village. Due to her mother being very beautiful and educated, people accused of her mother being a witch. The baby was left behind that night after her birth. The father, fearing his daughter would became a witch, he didn't teach her to write nor speech nor basic communication. To the point where her father doesn't even name her.

At the age of 16, the mute little girl met a man whom responded to her and talked to her. The man was the first vampire progenitor, Bruce, he went with no last name. Bruce taught her language and retold her the stories from his magical long and immortal life. The little girl excited over her new found chance to learn, she soaked up everything Bruce taught her like a sponge.

When the girl turned 18, she wished for Bruce to gave her a name, and Bruce agreed, went out to search for a name worthy of the girl. That night, her father saw that words his daughter had written, he was furious and afraid.

Bruce made it back too late to see his little girl already burning on the stake. Her flesh were melting and one of her eyes already bursted, when her last fleeing sight caught Bruce, she felt as if she was given new found hope and strength. The fire burnt away the thick ropes as she step down from the stake. Taking a burning stick in her hand, she ran. The village was burnt down that very night.

Maybe it was Karma, none of the villager lived. Excepted for the little girl holding on to her last breath. Bruce knelt down and hesitantly kissed her unrecognisable forehead, with a slit to his finger, the vampire fed his blood to his daughter.

That night, Cassandra was reborn. Her burnt healed and she remained 18 forever. The nameless little girl was never given a chance to see her future or knowledge. Now, Cassandra had all the time she want to pursue her future and knowledge. This nameless little girl is now unstoppable, her name will be written down along with her father's in history as a force unshakable and unreckonable. She is now times infinite better than those who had shunned her.

Cass became the first blood brood of Bruce's coven.

Tim's backstory:

late 1800s

Bruce and Cassandra had been travelling when they decided to settle on a ground before Gotham was built. When the city was uncivilised and dense with trees and vegetations.

That's when Bruce pick up a wolf pup, only a few days old, his home was destroyed by the Holy Crusaders. Cass bonded with the wolf pup and named him Tim. Tim is very loyal to Cass and Bruce. (I stated that Tim was a werewolf before but Tim was originally a wolf, an animal so, I'm not sure if that's the right term but we'll stick with that.)

When Tim was just 5 week old, Cass gave him a special collar that allows him to transformed him into a human. Tim, who love spending time with his older sister was eager to talk and act just like her. And Cass patiently taught her younger brother the human language and how to use cutlery. An animal that use different part of his throat will never sound the same as a human. Tim's speech is always low pitched and restrained. But his big sister always understood him. He never got a hold of using the fork and knife and always ended up eating with his hands and teeth. His big sister just smiled and told him to have a good meal.

By the time Tim was 7 months old, he started to go out into the woods alone and when he came back he always brought his kills to his leader, Bruce, first. Bruce was to say, disgusted at the rodent, cockroach and bugs Tim always came back to show him. When Bruce didn't accept his first kills, he took them to his big sister, which she just smiled and pretend to eat them.

The small kills started to grow to bigger targets as he aged. But a lone wolf hunting can only hunt on easy prey likes squirrels, and hares.

When Dick and Jason joined the Coven,Tim didn't really get along with them. One thing that was always on his mind was that, his pack is growing bigger and his leader doesn't even know how to hunt to feed them properly. So, Tim started trying to hunt bigger prey to feed is grower pack. Hunting is a strategic pack play, and him alone did not have the ability to bring enough back to the table for his pack, so he started staying out late in the woods.

Cassandra was the first to notice the strange behaviour of her little brother. And when asked and Tim communicated his difficulty to hunt bigger game to feed the pack, Cassandra sniffle her chuckle. She didn't told him to stop because they only drink blood. No, she accompany Tim on his hunt. Tim's first pack hunt. It became a tradition for the two of them.

That night they came back with the biggest elk. The skull and the antlers were hang in the living room as Tim's achievement by Cassandra.

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

Extra:

Tim's little wolf brain couldn't comprehend it when Jason told him that they don't really feed on meat to stay full. Cassandra whacked her newly turned brother in the head, "We are his pack. We hunt with him."

Jason tsked, "He's a domesticated wolf!"

WACK

"Be kind, Tim is our brother."

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

Cassandra spoils Tim too much, lol

Bruce is the dad who is in denial of accepting Tim as a son

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4

[cursedfallingmoon]

Listen

Rory and reader dancing in the forest in the rising sun's light while they both him and the reader humming "Once Upon A Dream" softly as birds sing along all around them

Wfkysjiolc

I need it

- Anon💤

Who?: Rory

Type?: G/N Reader

Cw?: Possessiveness

A/n?: Sorry this was responded to so late! I got caught up in IRL stuff and my writer's block hit me so hard. Hope this is up to your expectations!!! Sorry for the weird ending, I wanted to fit the crows in from the first headcannons.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Rory was enchanted by the person in front of him. Their eyes were beautiful under the orange hue of the setting sun. The two were in the very forest they had first met. Where Rory found his true love. Rory followed every move, every gesture. He let you lead him. The rustling of the trees added to the serenity of the moment. You were alone with him. Him! It had been a couple moons since you saved him from the eternal sleep he was victim too. Rory couldn't imagine not being able to see you for a hundred years. Nor could he live with himself if you had died. But those worries are far behind. He's here with you now.

The sky covered you both in a magical light. The rustling of trees slowed as Rory caught your voice. You were singing! Your voice was so soothing. He could fall asleep with just listening to you. You could say everything was okay, and he'd believe you without question. Your singing was even better.

"Once upon a Dream..."

Your voice was so alluring that even the birds started to sing the same tune. Rory held you tighter as you guided him through the dance. It was a fluid harmony between you two. He had been working on his dancing. After your first waltz during Rory's birthday party, he had been inspired to improve. You inspire him to do more. Right now, though, all he can focus on is you.

The sun continued to set, the birds singing along with you got a bit louder, and your eyes shined. Rory fell in love with you even more. If that was even possible.

This moment was perfect. His dream come true.

Rory found himself humming along with your tune. He made sure he harmonized with you. Rory felt safe. Loved. Like nothing could ever harm him. Nothing would take him out of this moment. As long as he had you in his arms, then he could be happy. He could be safe.

This started out as a simple picnic date. That was what this was meant to be. That alone was perfect. But when you held out your hand to Rory, and pulled him against your chest, the date became perfect. He would do anything to make this moment last forever. To be in your arms forever. Your chest, and your arms, were where he was meant to be. No other space was ever warm enough for Rory.

When the sun finally set over its horizon, Rory felt saddened. The moment with you was over. Slowly, the birds dispersed, leaving you the only one singing. It was haunting how it echoed. Rory's body broke out in chills. His dream slowly seeped into a nightmare. He didn't like it.

"Dear… It's getting late."

Rory felt so meek. Small. He hated it. His hands tightened around your back. Rory found himself pressing his body tighter against yours.

"Oh. I hadn't noticed. Your smile distracted me from the sun. I swear it's just as if not more blinding."

Rory's anxieties slowly eased out of him. You always knew what to say. How to make him feel better. That's why he adored you so much.

As you pulled away to clean up the picnic, or what was left of it, this sinking feeling made its way to his stomach. The vibrant birds that sang along with you were all replaced with crows. Their eyes never left you.

Rory crept closer to you, his hand missing your arms a few times before he managed to grasp it. You noticed his tremble. You gathered everything up from your outing in one arm, using the other that Rory was holding onto to steady his hand.

"Come now. Let's get you back into the castle. You must be exhausted."

Your voice pulled him out of his worry. He nodded slowly and remained close to you as you both made your way out of the forest.

"You will cuddle me when we get back, won't you? I want to remain closer to you, even if our dance ended."

Rory asked softly, even the evening winds could blow them away. You heard him, however. You always did.

"Of course."

Leaving the crows, and the eeriness the night brought, Rory and you returned to the castle. Even with the eerie ending, that moment with you will forever live in Rory's heart. Nothing will ever take it away.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Property of @cursedfallingmoon! Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome! ₊ ⊹ . ݁

[bratbarzal]

you said i could send multiple requests and you wouldn’t block me

could you do roommate (or neighbour) nico with ³⁾ “i’m guessing that the fact you’re already home will tell me everything i need to know about how your date went.”

✩‧₊˚ bratbarzal's valentines event!˚₊‧✩

“i’m guessing that the fact you’re already home will tell me everything i need to know about how your date went.” with neighbour!nico!!!!! bc of course neighbour nico joins your boozy galentines, wears pink fluffy cowboy hats and sings horrific karaoke duets with you. why wouldn't he? not to toot my own horn (again) but beep beep this is a dream that I have had since lunch and I am not giving up on it now.

“I’m guessing that the fact you’re already home will tell me everything I need to know about how your date went.”

You're locking up your apartment when Nico emerges from the elevator down the hall, shoulders slumped and face downcast as he trudges over to his door.

You'd seen him when you got home from work, earlier - dressed in a dinner jacket, hair all styled, shirt tucked neat - and he had told you he had a date. On Valentines Day.

And yeah, your heart had pretty much plummeted to the very core of the earth, but at the very least, you got to see him looking so good - a vision to store in your memory bank for a rainy day, when you're thinking too hard about how close he is, just across the hall, but so far away, only being your neighbour, and all.

And that was only an hour ago. Just enough time to get ready, yourself. Hair curled all nice, makeup done - the sexiest outfit you could possibly throw together, because it's girls night, and you deserve to feel your best.

A good date doesn't last an hour. Doesn't end up with a guy slumping home, hair all mussed from running his hands through it, jacket slung over his arm and his heart crushed into pieces.

"Got stood up," he huffs, reaching into his pocket for his keys, "Said she didn't realise I was a hockey player, and didn't think I had the brain cells to hold a serious, thoughtful conversation for a few hours."

"Ouch," you frown, feeling anger more than pity - because, wow, what a bitch!

"You look nice, though," he throws out the compliment almost as an aside, but you can tell by the way his eyes linger that he means it - fixated on the spot where your skirt ends and meets bare thigh. You're probably gonna freeze, but you're going to get some great pictures for your Hinge profile, so does it really matter? "Didn't realise you had plans."

"Going out with the girls," you tell him, "Galentines, 'cause we're all single this year."

He nods, his gaze trailing back up your body until your eyes meet, torturously slow, only enhanced by the darkened colour of his irises. "Have a good night."

"You should come," you tell him without thinking better of it - hypnotised by the low, sexy tone of his voice. It goes straight through you - almost takes control of you like a puppet on a string.

"I'm not a gal," he frowns, although he makes no move to go into his apartment.

"You're single, though," you shrug, "I don't think they'll be too fussy on the criteria once we get a few drinks in."

"Are you sure your friends won't mind?" he asks, eyebrow wiggling and head tilting in the adorable way it so often does.

You press your lips together as if you're rethinking it, casting your eyes slowly down his figure - broad shoulders, big arms practically bulging through his shirt, slacks clinging to his thick thighs for dear life. Your friends will have the time of their lives with this.

"Considering a night out only won the vote for what to do by fine margins, I think they'll be okay with it." You smile, knowingly, nodding toward the elevator, "C'mon, we don't want to be late."

"I don't get what that means, what came second?"

"Magic Mike." You smirk as you walk backwards, reaching to press the button and laughing when his jaw drops. "You take your shirt off later and we'll be golden."

The poor guy has no idea what he's in for.

--

Your girlfriends don't mind when you and Nico meet them at the bar, not once you've introduced him - his name not ringing a bell until you mention he's from the apartment next door, and you see the flash of recognition wash through them almost like cascading dominoes, knocking each other over one by one.

They don't know him as Nico, he's much more fondly referred to in your group chat as sexy neighbour, after all.

You've only been telling them about him for the past 18 months you've lived across the hall - regaling them with stories of bulging muscles carrying grocery bags for you, compression shirts sticking to him when he comes back from the gym, and the one time the fire alarm went off in summer, and he hadn't thought to put a shirt on when you met out the back of the building.

Yeah, sexy neighbour is pretty much a celebrity in your friend group.

They welcome him with open arms, and the night evolves, as they so often do in your friend group, in highly chaotic fashion.

It starts with a round of shots, because of course it does. The bar is rowdy, the music loud, and those tiny little glasses of you-don't-even-want-to-know-what loosen lips all around. Nico picks up on the dynamic of your group pretty quickly, shifting the shyness he had walked into the establishment with and charming them all with that same dimpled smile he got you hooked on the day you met.

Shots turn into drinking games - chugging cocktails, taking on dares, spilling secrets, and you learn so much about Nico that you would never have known otherwise, so much that you would never have had the guts to ask.

Drinking turns to dancing, which starts in a crowd on the floor, bodies all smushed together, and ends up on tables, Nico by your side the whole time, hooking an arm around your waist so that you don't fall.

You end up bar-hopping to an extent, the second place you go being a little quieter, and you're all way too drunk to stay, so you end up at the karaoke joint further down the street.

Your friends all pick the girls night classics, Man I Feel Like A Woman, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun and there's even a full dance intermission for three of your friends to perform Single Ladies.

You all end up adorning fluffy pink cowgirl hats from god knows where, fluffy feather boas slung from your shoulders, and Nico is suddenly grabbing your hand, dragging you on stage, and handing you a mic before you're fully aware what's going on.

But by then you're too drunk to care, belting What Makes You Beautiful at the top of your lungs with him, still conscious enough to blush when he directs the lyrics towards you - as out of key and awful as they may sound.

And you don't know what happens between that and ending up at the club, bass thumping in your ears, blood pumping, skin sweating, and your back is pressed against his chest. You can still see flashes of feathers in your peripheral, your friends close by, but you can't really focus on anything else.

Anything other than the heat of Mr Sexy Neighbour, himself, flush against you, one of his hands holding yours to keep you steady, the other in the dip of your waist, and his breath warm on your bare neck. You lean into him more than you probably should - more than the sober you of tomorrow will be comfortable with, when you're bumping into him again and unable to look into those pretty eyes - and he leans in right back, nose at the junction where your jaw and ear meets, lips flush against your skin, where you hear him mutter, "I should get you home."

You nod, because what are you supposed to do, speak? With him looking at you like that?

Fat chance of that happening.

And he takes your hand in a firm, clammy grip, doing the rounds between those friends that still remain - the ones he hasn't had a chance to personally see off into a cab - telling them to text him if they need help getting home, and to text you when they eventually make it there.

He guides you practically the whole way home - helps bundle you into the back of a cab, buckling you in for safety and sitting in the middle, where you can lean on him with a heavy head, and your hand in his the whole way.

He throws an arm around you to help you stumble your way through the lobby of your apartment building, holding you up in the elevator and pressing the button for your shared floor. And then he props you up beside your front door, taking your keys from your purse and unlocking the door for you as you watch him with a tired but focused gaze.

God, you want him.

Is the world really so cruel that he would never want you back?

When he finally tries the right key and pushes the door open, he looks over at you, a heated gaze assessing if you're fit enough to send in on your own, and you imagine it's the way you blink slowly at him that tells him you're not.

You were just admiring him, really - your buzz wearing off, and the stumbles added for dramatic effect so that he wouldn't stop touching you - but he doesn't need to know that.

He makes a come here motion with grabby hands, and you practically launch yourself back into his arms, him accepting you with an amused smile as he walks you into your apartment, throwing your purse onto your counter and leaving your keys on the side.

You tug a little to steer him down the hall - in the direction of your bedroom, because if he's gonna play white knight, he may as well go the whole way.

"I had fun tonight," you tell him once he's dropped you off onto the safety of your bed, the bouncing motion only making you slightly dizzy again as you watch him stand before you, hands on his hips. "I don't want to say I'm glad you got stood up, but-,"

"I had fun, too." He tells you, dark eyes landing straight on yours as he slowly lowers, dropping to his knees in front of you and reaching for your leg. He starts unzipping your boots for you, and you watch him with what you can only assume are hearts in your eyes, a slow, dreamy sigh wracking through you.

"Wish I got to see you with your shirt off."

He laughs, in a way that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners and his shoulders shake - genuine amusement flooding through him as he looks back up at you, the angle straight up sinful and sobering.

He holds your other leg behind the knee, large hand warm against your bare skin, and slides your other boot teasingly slow - your gazes locked for the whole manoeuvre - his hand following down your leg until he discards both boots to the side.

He stays down there, kneeling in front of you, staring up at you with the prettiest eyes you've ever seen - a flush to his cheeks and a million thoughts racing through his brain.

You lean forward before you can think, and he meets you half-way in a kiss that's slow - sensual and pressured, firm and assuring - the taste of tequila on his tongue as it swipes against yours, which no doubt tastes the same.

He's the first to pull back, but it isn't all the way - just until your lips smack apart, his nose still pressed to yours as he avoids your chasing with a big grin.

"You're drunk."

"Don't care, wanna kiss you." You just about manage to catch him before he pulls back again.

"Not like this."

And then the touch of him is gone, the bump of his nose and the press of his forehead to yours disappearing in a way that makes you pout.

The way he kisses you again is quick - too quick to react, really - before he retreats again.

"You know where to knock when you're sober."

You let out a groan as you watch him leave, unashamedly watching his ass as he goes, eyes still lingering when he stops at your door and catches you with a knowing smirk.

"Happy Valentines Day, sexy neighbour."

[marlynnofmany]

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

“Okay, calm down. I’ll preface this explanation with one thing: unbelievable scenarios sound more real if there’s something to complain about. Also, I have not touched a thing in here, and I am literally lost.”

“Lost in my house.”

“Apparently so. An inconvenience for us both.”

“So what’s your explanation before I beat you about the head with this and call the cops?”

“Right. Do you know what teleporters are?”

“I know they’re made up, from movies and—”

“And this one is the worst crock of compost I have ever had the misfortune of pressing buttons on. It’s a scam; look, even the straps are coming loose. It could have fallen off completely and stranded me between worlds, or come halfway loose and scraped my face across the edges of the realities. If I ever get back to the anus leech who sold this to me, I’m going to do thorough and creative violence to him. There will be duct tape, a sockful of batteries, and several Andromedan firewhips involved. I can borrow those from my neighbor if I ever get back home. She owes me for helping fix the antigravity in her apartment after the cat stepped on the buttons.”

“Okay. I’m willing to listen, and not beat you about the head just yet. Is it supposed to blink like that?”

“What the sweet and salty afterlife — Oh no, I’ve seen this before. Stupid straps! Fine, breaking is better than unfastening. Quick, which thing in this room do you hate most?”

“Lamp.”

“Got it.”

KatchewwwPOP

“Okay. I believe you now.”

“Sorry about the lamp. Here, I’ve got a light.”

“And of course it’s a magical floating one. Why would I expect anything else? Or probably a high-tech one, not magic.”

“Right.”

“Do people eat ramen where you’re from? I’ll make us something while we talk. I’d like to hear all of the everything, please, and I imagine you need to figure out how you’re going to get home.”

“Ah, yes. To all of the above, thank you.”

[hrrtshape]

now that u shifted, what was ur favourite dr?

so, they were both so different. my vampire dr was a full immersion experience. the time gap alone is insane. no computers, no phones (obviously), no modern conveniences. the culture, the way of living, everything was so vastly different. i could literally do magic there. meanwhile, my better cr is modern, familiar, comfortable. entertainment-wise, i probably enjoy my better cr more just because, well, it's tailored to me. but my vampire dr is for history. that’s for witnessing the rise and fall of civilisations, the weight of time pressing down on me in real time.

but i won't sugarcoat it!!! shifting there for too long might be exhausting. even a week felt like i had to completely rewire my brain to exist there properly. obviously thank god that when i shifted there i had all the memories and knew how to live it out, but, i still had to apply it. so for now.... baby steps. i’ll get there, but pacing is key.

[ancha-aus]

I finished two more chapters of the Real Age editing!! We euh...

Don't talk about how one chapter went from 3600 to 4000... and one went from 3500 to... euh... 7300...

INSTEAD!

Have a sneakpeak!! Of the rewrite! :D

This is from the drabble: Parentalbond Dust.

*-----------------*

Dust watches as some dude bro guy walks through the forest, shouting about how he isn’t scared and to come get him. That he can defeat that creep with his tricks.

“… Why?”

Dust almost didn’t hear the question. Nightmare spoke quietly and just barely above a whisper. When Dust glances at him Nightmare is only just barely looking at him from the corner of his own wide sockets, eye lights big but shaking a tiny bit.

Anxiety? Fear? That are usually things that cause that kind of reaction from the magic that makes up their eyes. People aren’t joking when they say the eyes are the windows to the soul. For most monsters it is very much fact as magic affects their eyes and that comes from the soul.

Dust makes sure to break eye contact by turning towards the phone. He paused the movie as soon as he realised a question had been asked. He turns back slightly towards Nightmare and sees he is a bit more, not relaxed but calm. Mh. Doesn’t like the focus on him? Dust does remember that even as adult Nightmare much preferred to work from the shadows or the backlines.

Dust shrugs “Why the guy is screaming and making himself an obvious target? I don’t know exactly, it is either bad writing or a show that this guy is too confident in himself or just too stupid to realise what will happen to him.”

Nightmare frowns as he looks away “No. I mean… Why… this?”

Dust frowns. He isn’t exactly sure what about the situation he is asking about. He glances at his phone “I mean. I was bored. I figured a movie and some food would be nice…” as a distraction. As a way to pass time. To make sure that Nightmare has energy and food in him. It just… made sense.

Nightmare looks more frustrated for a moment. Glaring at his hands which formed into fists. Shoulders tense as he obviously searches for the right words.

Dust thinks it is very strange. He is so used to Nightmare being well spoken and always aware of what he feels and in turn wants. Nightmare now… just isn’t like this. He is struggling to put his thoughts into words. He is more expressive and the emotions shift easier from one to the other. There is less control, less refined skills.

He is acting like a child would.

…

He is a child… and struggling with the problems and limits that brings him.

Dust can almost feel the shift that follows that thought.

It happened in a second as Nightmare sighs and just looks down as he is mostly lax “Okay.”.

Dust frowns. That is wrong. That isn’t Nightmare accepting something. No, that is the sound of someone who resigns himself to something. Nightmare doesn’t do that. Nightmare keeps asking, Nightmare keeps looking. He wants to know everything and more importantly understand everything. After all of them told their stories he didn’t just accept those as fact. He would keep asking. Asking about details about their thoughts. Everything.

Dust frowns as he remembers the anxiety of before. If he keeps Nightmare’s past in his mind it makes sense. It isn’t like he would be used to having adults listen to him, and when they did Nightmare was an adult. Maybe he needs to prod himself instead?

Dust is so bad at this. Killer should have stayed here, he is much better at this whole conversation thing. Still Dust mutters his question “No. What why?” is that enough? Does that explain what he wants?

Nightmare tugs on his own phalanges. Tugging on the small bones and Dust can hear a soft creaking sound coming from it. Dust is already reaching towards those hands and Nightmare flinches at it.

Neither of them move as Nightmare looks much more panicked as his breathing picked up.

He is… terrified… He is actually terrified.

How… how does he fix this?

A loud laughter “Fix this?! You can’t fix this! Nothing you can do can fix this! These are the consequences of your actions dear brother. You forced a traumatised child to experience more trauma, more abandonment and then took his choices from him. Forcing him to remain by those who clearly don’t care. There is no fixing this. And you deserve to be aware of this.”

No. No he… He can… fix this? Maybe Horror can? Horror is a good brother. Horror could explain and reassure him… Killer knows Nightmare better than any of them. Killer could maybe say something to connect with him. Or Cross!! Cross is trustworthy and a true protector. Maybe Cross can make him feel save.

Dust… Dust can’t do that. Any of it.

Nightmare is still shaking as he stares at him. Frozen. He always froze when he encountered something he didn’t know the answer to. They thought it was to think… Was it to think?

Dust realises he still has his hand out. With some difficulty he slowly pulls it back. Nightmare watches the hand silently. Nothing moves aside from his eye lights, which are only looking at the hand. Dust manages to bring his hand back to the phone and holds unto it, afterwards he just waits.

*----------*

It was a large sneak peak!! :D

[sorrygotthesesacks]

This hits on so many of the scenes that I point to when discussing FloRid. I shared the entirety of Floyd’s school uniform vignette with someone before they were into twst. Me: "Just look at them!”

Might I also add to the above list:

Phantom Bride event

Riddle is bristling over not being considered a suitable suitor because he isn't over 180cm tall. Floyd says "Oh, man, you can't reach the 'You must be this tall' sign?" - tells Riddle being small has its own charm - and then pretends not to see Riddle: "Where's Goldfishie? Did he just disappear?"

When Riddle asks what he's talking about because he's right there, Floyd goes back to teasing: "Oh, THERE you are. I couldn't see you from up here!" Of course, Riddle's face turns his trademark red.

But then after the final battle, it's Riddle that Floyd talks to: "You're one powerful goldfishie!" and "Seein' all that got me in the mood to throw down. C'mon, punch me a little."

And Riddle doesn’t straight out say No! He replies, "This is not the time nor the place!"

Camp Vargas

In Chapter 5, Simply Better Trained, a few students have gone to fetch blankets for the night. Floyd and Riddle are next to each other, and Floyd asks, "What'sa matter, Goldfishie? You're tremblin', and your lips are all blue. You won't be a goldfish no more if your hair turns blue too. Whaddaya think I should call you then?"

Naturally, Riddle turns red with rage: "Grrr...you never lay off, do you? Not even in an emergency!"

To which Floyd replies: "Ahahaha now you're all red! Glad you warmed up."

This is very much like the way Floyd got Riddle all riled up before Riddle went home for break in Book 4.

In the very next chapter, when the shadow attacks, Riddle throws himself in front of Sebek. That leaves just four of them who haven't been captured. They are all saying how everything happened so fast and Floyd says: "Even Goldfishie's gone. That shadow's gotta be mighty strong."

Which again shows that Floyd really does respect Riddle, even if he teased him in:

Beanfest (Bean or Be Beaned)

Floyd again teases Riddle for not pulling his weight. He says that without his magic, he's like a goldfish out of water. "Shouldn't a housewarden be...better?" Then follows it up with "But hey, don't worry - any monsters try to attack you, I'll scare 'em off myself. You can just huddle up and hide behind me."

Riddle, in response: "Grrr GET YOUR ARM OFF MY SHOULDER THIS INSTANT."

Other instances I think of when I think of the dynamic between Riddle and Floyd:

Trey's ceremonial robes vignette

Trey tries to calm Riddle down because Riddle is, as always, concerned that everything is per the Queen of Hearts' rules. He tells Trey "If only Floyd had not meddled, we would have finished most everything yesterday."

To which Trey replies: "Yeah, I have noticed Floyd following you around a lot lately, with that big grin on his face."

This is mirrored in -

Jade's ceremonial robes vignette

Jade and Azul are discussing preparations for orientation, and after Azul leaves, Riddle catches Jade in the hallway. He asks "Please do something about Floyd," stating "he is interfering with Heartslabyul's welcome party preparations!"

Then we see a dialogue box in which Floyd calls out, "Oh, Goooldfishie! Where you at?"

Riddle charges Jade with keeping Floyd in line, as Octavinelle's vice housewarden, and after Riddle leaves, Floyd catches up with Jade.

"Oh, Jade. Have you seen Goldfishie? We were having such a great time together, but then he up and vanished."

Floyd sees their interactions as playful and fun.

And then there’s Jade himself.

Floyd’s labwear vignette

Floyd is upset after being chewed out by Crewel. He runs into Jade and Riddle in the hall and Floyd tells Riddle "No offense, Goldfishie, but I ain't in the mood today. I'll play with you some other time."

When Riddle starts protesting being called a goldfish, Floyd cuts him off to say he's going for a walk.

Riddle asks Jade: "He's awfully taciturn today. Is he in another one of his snits?"

Which means that this is not the first time Riddle has seen Floyd act this way. When Jade says that he occasionally has episodes like this, but today it seems to have hit him especially hard, Riddle replies, "He's too moody by half, if you ask me" but follows it up with "Is there a reason for it?"

Riddle could have just left it there, but he wanted to know why Floyd wasn't his usual self.

Jade explains that "problems and pet peeves have nothing to do with it" and that he likes it best when Floyd is in his element, enjoying things as they come.

"Conversely, I suppose it's nice for you when Floyd's out of sorts, since it means he's not picking on you."

And then this crafty, crafty eel asks, “Or do you actually miss it?”

I know this is Jade’s form of teasing - Riddle has flat out said that Jade is worse than Floyd - but that doesn’t mean it’s not a valid question.

(I think that Riddle does miss it. It's been part of his experience at NRC since orientation. And Floyd's fascination has not waned one bit. How can I not love these two together?)

A FloRid Analysis using science (but only at the beginning)

I would like to preface that post by saying that I am not a biology -or scientific- expert at all. I am a humanities major -more specifically a foreign languages one- who just happen to have developped a huge hyperfixation on Twisted Wonderland, its story and characters. And it so happen that FloRid is my OTP. So, brainrot happened.

The hyperfixation and brainrot went so far that I started to hoard facts about octopodes and eels here and there, reading scientific papers written by biologist when the last time I had a science class was like... In first year of high school (en 2nde, pour mes amis francophones)

Okay, so. FloRid. Floyd and Riddle. One of the most appreciated ships in the twst community, being the 4th ship with the most fanfics on Ao3 (with 727 fanfics when I’m writing these words), just behind KaliJami, MalleYuu and RookVil (in this order). I saw a lot of people discussing these two with varying degrees of media literacy (I see you, who claims that this ship is “problematic” because it is a bully x victim ship.). And while I really like to read all of those takes (except the bully x victim one. You’re missing the point sweetie by saying that) and I wanted to add my two cents on that matter.

A while ago, back in September 2024, I stumbled on a twitter thread on FloRid. I can’t find it again, too far back, sorry for that. Basically, what the thread was about, was that Floyd’s interest in Riddle spawned in the fact that Riddle is red, and red doesn’t exist underwater.(see photos below)

It isn’t really that red doesn’t "exist" in aquatic environments, moreso that the wavelength for that colour is absorbed by the environment not that deep (around 6 metres underwater for those (like me) who use the metric system). Oh, by the way, if someone has an explanation of why the hot pink is still as vibrant that deep, I would love to hear that !

So basically, red starts to "disappear" around 6 metres deep, and is completely black around 24 metres deep. It is, let’s be honest, not that deep, especially when we compare to the depths of the ocean.

In fact, red "disappears" in what is called the epipelagic zone - or sunlight zone - the first level of the ocean (see photo below). Which is interesting since, in our world, all species of moray eels live in that zone. And, as it is well known, the Tweels are based on moray eels (possibly Green Moray Eels if we follow the colour scheme of their characters), so, in our world, they would live not that deep below the surface (at depths down to 40 metres (130ft)). Which isn’t true in the game, as it is mentioned multiple times that the Coral Sea is deep below the surface.

As we can see on the picture, the Sun won’t go deeper than 1,000 metres (3280ft) below the surface, and the Octatrio mentions once or twice that there’s no sunlight where they come from. On the wiki, we can read :

"It is said to be very dark and cold and has a smaller population than countries primarily inhabited by humans"

Twisted Wonderland wiki, World, Locations, Coral Sea

So, where am I heading with that ? Well, did you know that Moray eels can’t see colours ? Indeed, in a research done in 2011 by researchers of the Tawain Ocean Research Institute as well as the Sensory Biology Laboratory of the Academia Sinica in Taiwan, simply named "A comparative study on the visual adaptations of four species of moray eels" , the researchers have proven that the four species of moray eels studies are colourblind. They, in fact, can only perceive green and its shades/tints, meaning that, even if it was possible to perceive the colour red underwater, Floyd, in his eel form, wouldn’t be able to see it.

There is a technical side, one that shows that moray eels only have one type cone cells (cells present in our eyes to process colours) in their eyes, to explain this colour blindness (in comparison, human beings typically have three types of cone cells : red, green and blue). The only type of cone cells moray eels possess, as I mentioned earlier, is the green one. The closest example we, as humans, can have regarding this sort of colour blindness is the red-green colour blindness (here, "protanopia"), or the complete bolour blindness ("monochromatism")

(if you can’t see the difference at some point, I have some news for you...)

Basically, in the aquatic world, everyone has protanopia since red isn’t perceived, but moray eels are monochromastics since their eyes can only process greens. (Can I add that the colour palette for tritanopia is really pretty ?)

In the game, it is mentioned multiple times that Floyd couldn’t perceive red at all before coming on land. And the best example is the Stitch event (aka the FloRid event. There’s so much content on these two inside) where Floyd explicitly says that red looks black underwater.

"Colours look a lot different underwater. It only sticks out ‘cuz it’s on land. A red like this would look black in the deep sea where we’re from. You’d barely be able to tell it apart from a rock."

Twisted Wonderland, Stitch’s Tropical Turbulence chapter 3-2-3 "Sparkling in the Sand"

Here, Floyd only presents the fact that the wavelength for red is absorbed by its environment. He says nothing on the fact that he and Jade are supposedly completely colour blind (and just. Basically blind since moray eels are famously known for their shitty vision) before taking their potions. And we have seen time and time again that both twin’s vision and perception of colours on land is pretty good. Just the fact that Floyd can note how red Riddle is, as well as how he was able to see him in a crowd during their orientation (or just how he is able to see small details here and there), is a good indicator of that change between their life in the sea and their life on land. Would it have been funny, and really interesting to make the Tweels colourblind on land ? Yes. Yes it would have been amazing. But alas, I love my two chaos junkies the way they are and wouldn’t have it any other way.

Where did I want to go with that ? Well, if it wasn’t obvious already, I think that Floyd’s interest in Riddle spawns from the fact that Riddle represents something inherently new for Floyd.

When you think of the colour red in regards of twst, you would think of Riddle at some point. I mean, the guy is in the red dorm, his hair is red, he gets red from rage really easily (and the colour usually associated with rage is red), he’s based on the Queen of Hearts, the red queen... Oh and his element in his dorm Uniform card is fire. Red (even if we can completely debate over the fact that fire IRL tends to be more orange than red). That’s a lot of red for a 160cm tall guy, don’t you think ?

Oh, and Riddle was the first person to send Floyd flying, as highlited in Floyd’s Beans Camo vignette.

"Y’know, back at my orientation, a guy way tinier than me used magic to blast me through the air. All I did was razz him a little, and he just SNAPPED. His face was so red, it was almost like he was on fire"

"There weren’t many guys stronger than me under the sea. But here ? This school is crawling with people like that."

Twisted Wonderland, Floyd Beens Camo Vignette,"Nowhere Near the Best" Part.3

If it isn’t said outwradly that the "guy way tinier" than Floyd is Riddle, is it easily understandable from the whole Beanfest event, with Vil telling Epel that Riddle and Floyd had been at each other’s throat ever since their orientation (while adding that every orientation he lived had something disrupting it. What happened during your orientation Vil ? I want to know !), we can also undertsand that the guy was Riddle with Epel’s reaction, stating that "Vil wasn’t kidding about what he said before", referencing Vil’s words.

Oh, and, wan we talk just a second about the groovy of that card ?

In the vignette, this scene happens between the two quotes I used (the tiny guy sending Floyd flying and the fact that Floyd’s pretty strong). Let’s be true five seconds, trying to not look with a shipping lense through that.

WHO LOOKS LIKE THAT WHILE TELLING THAT KIND OF STORY ???

I mean, even while taking Floyd’s persona and character as a whole into account, that’s just the face someone makes when sharing a good memory with a loved one, or someone they’re proud of (my own twin makes that face when they talk about their -adopted- children).

And I even went to ask friends of mine about that face, without telling them the context just "okay, what do you think is happening right now ?" and (without taking into account that one friend who made a lousy joke) the majority of them just answered "he’s ogling his crush". And I mean. Yeah... Yeah that’s definetly the face someone would make when watching their crush. (after telling the whole context, the first answer I got was "Yeah no, he’s masochistic" and I can’t really go against that...). Most of those convo where in French and in between is littered more private convo so I won’t give you any screenshot of that, just know that my friends -some of which aren’t even in fandom spaces- are just as unanimous than I am. That eel is down bad.

On my first draft for that document, I spent a whole 10 paragraphs on their orientation, going as far as trying to explain that Floyd’s interest in Riddle wasn’t firstly based on his hair colour, nor really on his size, but on his strength. I won’t go as deeply into details as in my first draft, but let’s just be clear on that point.

It is said multiple times -as well as shown- that students are expected to wear their hoods during orientation. We see that during the prologue as well as during most Ceremonial Robes vignettes that takes place during (or diretcly after) orientation. For example in Epel’s vignette, we see him and Vil wearing their hoods up, and it is mentioned once or twice by the Savanaclaw guys that they have to keep their hoods up during orientation (which brings them a lot of problems, seeing that the hoods aren’t made for their ears). So, in no world would have Floyd seen Riddle’s hair colour before his altercation with Riddle. His interest first spawned because of Riddle’s magical strength. And the fact that our little guy became housewarden only one week after orientation cemented that interest. I mean, someone that strong ought to be interesting, no ?

Oh and, I won’t go into details here, since it’s not on NA server already, but during Floyd’s dream section, and from what I understand from a reddit post explaining the Octatrio dreams, Floyd starts to remember reality after Silver mentions what really happened during their orientation, with Riddle sending him flying. Ooooh I can’t wait to see that part on the eng server ! More info pleaaaase.

Another point of interest of mine is Floyd’s nicknames. They are based on people’s characteristics, whatever that characteristic may be. For that, Vil is Betta since betta fish are renowed for being beautiful, Ruggie is sharksucker since he’s (literally) sucking off of Leona. And Riddle is Goldfish(ie) (in the sense that officially Floyd calls Riddle "Goldfish" but everyone in the fandom ended up calling him "Goldfishie").

Some points on Goldfish here. First of all, despite their name in English, Goldfish in the modern world tend to be more red than gold-coloured (in French they are called "poisson rouge", literally "red fish" for that fact), but they also are an invasive species once released into the wild. Oh and they are mostly kept as pets by humans.

And, who was kept as a "pet" most of his life by someone, is famously red, and once he was "released" into the world acted somewhat invasive in the life of other people ?

At the time of giving Riddle his nickname, Floyd wouldn’t have known what was going on behind closed doors (or maybe he knew, with Jade fetching information on anyone and everyone for Azul, it’s a possibility) but I find that really funny that Riddle’s nickname suits him on more points than him being small and red (I’m putting once again the screenshot of Floyd saying that, but it’s the exact same one as the one I put at the very beginning of the analysis)

(to think that I took this screenshot a when I first started playing...)

I’d like to point out that this is the first -and only if I’m not mistaken- instance of Floyd explaining the reasoning behind one of his nicknames. While I saw him name other characters here and there (with this specific card, he names professor Trein at one point in his Home Taps) he never goes to length to explain the reasoning behind a nickname. And to be honest, the reason behind this screenshot was to go scream at my friends that he’s completely unpromted. Riddle just spawns in the conversation out of the blue. And, I mean, when you’re interested in someone/something, you usually find a way to include them/it into the conversation. Especially when you’re neurodivergent.

And we come to my next point : Floyd’s neurodivergence.

The boy has ADHD. Is it canon ? Well, it’s not said clearly but it is shown in some points. ShoujoISM made a really good video on that matter some time ago, and that video explains my own point of view on the subject really well, so I won’t go into that many details here. But, if you’re not really interested in watching a 52 minutes long video essay (which, let’s be honest, with the attention span of our generation, would be completely fair), I’ll try to summarise as fast as possiblie with just that sentence : Floyd checks most of the points of diagnosis for ADHD in the DSM-V-TR.

As a fellow ADHD-er with a huge hyperfixation on mental illnesses, I tend to have fun seeing if some characters check the boxes for some diagnosis I headcannon them to have. And, after watching that video, I opened my version of the DSM-V-TR (yes. I have a pdf of that book.) and checked myself every criteria for ADHD and... yeah, no, he fits into the boxes so well. And with the prevalence of neurodivergence in the cast (especially depressive characters), it wouldn’t be extrapolation to say that when Yana created Floyd, she had ADHD in mind.

One of the main points of ADHD is hyperfixation (aka, what is driving me to write fanfic and analyses of those characters) and hyperfocus. And Floyd is shown having periods of hyperfocus. Like that time he hyperfocused on learning how to dunk for 2 days straight. Azul even makes note of that in Floyd’s Tropical Wear vignette.

"My word... When you put your mind to something you want to do, your focus is incredible. I wish you could maintain that attidute when you’re on the clock"

Twisted Wonderland, Floyd Tropical Wear vignette, "Flying Jellyfish", Part.1

Usually, a period of hyperfocus can be a relatively "short" period of time, but it so happens that in people with ADHD, who usually struggle with this exact perception of time, hyperfocus periods can be counted as pretty long for neurotypicals, or neurodivergent people that don’t experience them. As someone who has lived through hyperfocus periods, time seems to just. Not exist, so for Floyd to spend two whole days trying to master a dunk just because it looked fun ; it doesn’t seem that long for me (as a personnal experience, I was once so engrossed and hyperfocused on a paper for uni that I spend more or less a whole week on that paper, skipping classes and everything else...)

And for me, Floyd has a sort of hyperfocus on Riddle. Not really in the sens that he can spend days thinking of him and do nothing else, but more on the sense that he can find the other in a crowd easily, and is just looking for Riddle really often. In Floyd’s School Uniform vignette, it is implied that Floyd looking for Riddle in the library is a common occurence, and it is shown multiple times in the game (in the main story as well as in events) that when confronted to a crowd, Floyd will find Riddle first. For example, in the scene at the beginning of Book 4 where everyone is in the Mirror Chamber, the whole Heartshackle gang is discussing, surrounded by literally the whole school, Floyd makes a beeline towards our group and the first person he talks to is Riddle. Same at the beginning of the Stitch event, when Floyd comes into the library and comes across our group, the first person he talks to is Riddle. Keyhole vision, this is what I call this.

And hyperfixation. You would mostly know what this is is you’re chronically online or in the mental illness side of social medias (especially tiktok). From what I experienced and what I saw with my ADHD friends, sometimes, hyperfocus is caused by a hyperfixation. And in the case of Floyd and his "I really want to learn how to dunk" mindset at that time, we can quite easily conclude that that state of hyperfocus was born from his hyperfixation at the time on basketball.

It is mentioned at some point in the game that Floyd’s interest is fleeting, meanning that even his hyperfixations don’t last that long (once again, from a neurotypical point of view). He kinda abandonned basketball at some point, still going to his club activities when he deems them to be interesting. But do you know what kind of activity he has deemed interesting for quite a while now ? Bothering Riddle. It has been a whole year (at the beginning of the game) since their first meeting, and this dopamine addicted eel is still looking for his Goldfishie. Because Goldfishie is interesting. Riddle keeps on being interesting to Floyd, the same way that Azul is. And, I mean, from what we can see when we see Azul and Riddle’s interactions with Floyd, they don’t seem to go out of their ways to entertain him, and act mostly "in character" for them (Azul being overly calculating and mumbling about the problems that Floyd causes and Riddle being quick to enrage). Yet, Floyd keeps finding things interesting with them. I mean, outside of Jade, Floyd stuck himself to Azul (and Riddle to some extent) the longest. So they must have something in them that makes them so interesting to him (I have a whole lot of rambling on Riddle and Azul since they’re my fav characters (along with the Tweels) so I get you Floyd. They’re really interesting).

And, in a way, Floyd seems to care on a deeper level only to the people he deems intereting (aka. Jade, Azul and Riddle). We can see his care for his brother in multiple ways, his care for Azul in Book 3 before Azul Overblots (really well depicted in the manga btw) and his care for Riddle is littered here and there.

First of all, begining of Book 4. Floyd (and the rest of the Octatrio) comes to meet us in the Mirror Chamber and... Proposes to Riddle to stay with him over the winter holiday ? My boy you’re really down bad you know that ?

Seriously, we can easily understand that Floyd realised that Riddle was hesitant to go back to his mother for the break, and his first reaction is not "well, you can always count on your friends, and go to them" (Trey even proposed !). No. His first reaction was like, welp, you can always stay with me. The way the chapters are made, Book 4 chapter 3 ends with Floyd’s interjection.

"What’sa matter Goldfishie ? Don’t wanna go home ? Then, there’s an idea : don’t. We’re not. C’mon, you can join us in the stay-at-school club. Heh heh !"

Twisted Wonderland, Book 4 "Schemer of the Scalding Sands", Chapter 4 "A Sendoff from Morays"

It’s literally the first two dialogues of the chapter. I didn’t go further, but Riddle gets irked by Floyd sticking his nose in his business and Jade chimes in to temperate things between the two. Floyd then retorts something quite interesting for me  :

"Aw, c’mon Jade. It’s boring spending every new year with the same old suspects. Besides, Goldfishie’s so teeny, I’m sure Azul would love to keep him as a pet !"

Twisted Wonderland, Book 4 "Schemer of the Scalding Sands", Chapter 4 "A Sendoff from Morays"

Riddle answers by becoming all red from rage and is really close to trying to collar Floyd. The rage is defused by Trey and the rest of Heartslabyul, but I’d like to point something quite interesting. In the end of chapter 3 (after having discussed with the Savanaclaw trio), Riddle is shown to be out of the loop, Ace and Grim making remarks on that note :

"Huh, he’s soundin’ kinda defeated."

"Oh, right. The housewarden’s got an extreme case of helicopter parenting waiting for him at home. No wonder he’s not enthused about heading back."

Twisted Wonderland, Book 4 "Schemer of the Scalding Sands", Chapter 3 "Leaving for the Holidays"

We can more or less see the Heartshackle gang trying to cheer up their friend, but nothing seems to work. Until Floyd appears, makes a beeline for the redhead and angers him. And I mean, a reaction, even as "bad" as that one is still a better outcome than whatever he was feeling before. Even Trey notices it.

"Good grief. Well, at least he’s got his moxie back."

Twisted Wonderland, Book 4 "Schemer of the Scalding Sands", Chapter 4 "A Sendoff from Morays"

It is quite easy to see, with minimum media literacy at play, that what Floyd was doing was trying to ellicit a reaction -any reaction- from Riddle, in a convoluted way of, not cheering him up per say, but making him concentrate on something else, something that is not what hell would be waiting for him at his house. And he succeded. Any punishment he would have possibly faced hadn’t Riddle been stopped by Trey and Cater would have been fair game in his book (and he would have defused the spell either way).

I’m probably over analysing that but I can’t remember a moment in the whole game (in the parts I played at least) where Floyd is shown caring that much for someone. I mean, his words are the literal reason why Azul overblotted (I’m pretty sure that if Floyd hadn’t say what he said to Azul at that time, the overblot would have happened, yes, but a bit later if not at all). Floyd is the exact definition of not really caring outwardly for people ! But here, he is shown caring -in some convoluted ways once again- for Riddle who is clearly distressed about going back to his mother. And I found that the jab of keeping Riddle as a pet is somewhat sarcasticly funny. I mean, Riddle’s mother is treating her son like a doll, or a pet to train and show off. It shows, in some ways, that Floyd is aware of what happens in Riddle home life at that point in the story. Was it through rumors after his overblot, or did he piece the puzzle himself after havig seen Riddle’s reaction to going back to his mother’s during their first year ? We will probably never know.

What I also want to say by that, is that Floyd is deeply intelligent. Not just academically, but emotionally too. He’s probably the most emotionally intelligent guy in the whole cast, contrary to what he lets on (reminds me of Perceval in Kaamelott in some ways). He also possesses a really good sense of ebservation. Once again, in his Beans Camo vignette, he realises that if he lets Epel grow freely, the little guy might become a worthy opponent.

"I was gonna let him get a little roughed up to remind him who's boss, but hey. If I let Guppy keep swimmin', he might grow into a meal worth eating one day. I'll lay off him for now. After all, it'll be way more fun to crush him when he's strong and all sure of himself. Aha ha."

Twisted Wonderland, Floyd Beens Camo Vignette,"Nowhere Near the Best" Part.3

And I’m not sure if, at the time of the vignette happening, Epel has developped his unique magic. It’s possible, but not of good use since the use of magic is prohibited during Beanfest.

Anyway, his ability of perception (which I find quite funny since eels are famously known for having shitty vision) is also highlighted in my previous point. He realised, on his own, that Riddle wasn’t doing quite alright. No one told him "hey, your favourite ‘victim’ isn’t doing well", he just went to make sure that Riddle as okay on his own volition. And it’s not the first time something like that happens. Indeed, in the first halloween event, at the end of it, we can see Floyd caring for both Jade and Riddle. He forces the first one to stop working and sit down for a while, and he pushes the other to eat more. Here, it’s Floyd’s reaction towards Riddle that interests me, not because that post isn’t on Jade and Floyd, but more because it is prompted before Floyd’s entrance in the scene that Jade has been working a lot, while it’s never mentioned once before that Riddle hasn’t eaten enough.

"Psh. Teapot tyrant, meet kettle. You haven't had more than a couple'a nibbles yourself, Goldfishie. Even a real goldfish eats more than that. Aren't you a growing boy?"

"I'll have you know I consume my recommended caloric intake every day, without any excess or deficiency!"

Twisted Wonderland, "Twisted Halloween : Terror is Trending", chapter 5-7

A bit farther, at the very end of the same chapter, Floyd grabs Riddle and brings him to the buffet,       forcing him to eat.

"You got it! C'mon, Goldfishie!"

"I told you, Floyd— Would you stop tugging?! Argh!"

Twisted Wonderland, "Twisted Halloween : Terror is Trending", chapter 5-7

It is easy to understand that Floyd is used to Eating Disorders, especially considering he is friends with Azul, who is the reference in EDs in the cast (I mean, just see his backstory and read through Book 3 and you’ll have the big picture). Riddle’s ED isn’t the same as Azul’s, in the sense that it isn’t self inflicted, but ingrained in him. And for the sceptics, EDs aren’t just anorexia or bulimia. The fact that Riddle counts his calories and takes notes of every intake of food is very much a symptom of an eating disorder (this is another proof of Madam Rosehearts’ abuse on her son btw). And what does Floyd do ? he takes care of bringing Riddle with him to the buffet. Especially after seeing the reaction the boy had when cake was mentioned. Again, no one mentioned Riddle before Floyd intevened, only after that did Ruggie make a comment on that fact. (I also would like to point the change made to the idiom "pot, meet kettle" here. It’s funny as hell and shows a form of intelligence, because, being able to modify an idiom to one’s whims asks for a deep undertsanding of a language and its codes).

It was the last bit of trivia I had to analyse for the time being. At the time when I write these words, we only have 116 chapter of Book 7, so we haven’t encountered the dreams of the Octatrio yet, and even if I keep myself updated on what happens on the jp server I am not aware of everything that happens in details (I can’t read japanese for the life of me so I won’t play on jp server at all).

I realise that I have gone away from my first point of trying to analyse Floyd’s interest in Riddle using only biology and ended up doing a full-on analysis of FloRid moments... Oops...

So, let’s conclude once and for all that lit- *checks the word count* that analysis, shall we ?

While I think that Floyd’s interest in Riddle first spawned during their orientation (and his dream sequence gives us a hint on that matter), I think that Floyd’s continually renewed in Riddle isn’t just some sort of simple interest, but some form of infatuation. I mean. The anthology manga is there for a reason (even if its canonicity is debatable). We can see in various examples that Floyd cares for Riddle to some extent, the same way he cares for Azul (or Jade, but it’s not really the same form of care), and that his neurodivergence makes him hyperfixate on Riddle for some reason or another. I didn’t delve into my "theory" that Floyd might have some form of Bipolar Disorder because it hasn’t as much proof that it is here than the ADHD theory/headcanon, and it’s more a headcanon of mine than a fully fledged theory I have. Either way, it is clear that our moody eel is deeply attached to the teapot tyrant, and I think I was quite clear on that matter.

Now, and before I save this document and post it, I would like to talk about something. The "bully x victim" trope that opposants to the ship see. While I can understand the idea, I think it is not taking into account the numerous events where Floyd and Riddle are together. Sure, in the main story it is easily seen that Floyd has a favourite "victim" to his overly excitable moods, but a bully x victim would imply that Riddle isn’t able of defending himself. And he is. He just lets Floyd act that way because, whatever he will do, nothing would deter the eel. He is literally the guy that sent Floyd flying on their first day, for Samael’s sake ! And, I mean, Beanfest and the Stitch event do tell us a different story than "Riddle is a damsel in distress, victim to the whims of evil evil Floyd". Even in the halloween events  we can see that they -at least- tolerate each other. But, I get it, when the game fist came out in english (because I see that discourse more on western fandom spaces (thank you to my friend who acts like a translator for me to scroll through the jp side of the fandom)), people didn’t have any access to the second Beanfest event, even less to the Stitch event, and were only privy to Floyd’s School Uniform vignette and their interaction in Book 2. But right now, with everything we have for us, I think that this argument is just plain media illiteracy. You can say that I’m over analysing Beanfest, sure. But don’t come at me for things that are clearly said in the game (like the Stitch event or Halloween events). And please, by Demon’s law, let people enjoy their silly ships however they like. I’m not coming at you for liking a ship I don’t have a particular affinty to, to come at me and call me deranged for shipping what is just basically a Red and Blue ship.

Oh, and, last point before I close that document. At one point, Jade says something that stuck with me.

"Heh... As long as you’re enjoying yourself, Floyd."

Twisted Wonderland, Floyd Halloween Vignette, "A Big Fan of Pirates"

And we see Floyd having fun in most of his vignettes. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what this is. (Yes, it has nothing to do with FloRid, but I wanted to put this here since I love the Tweels and their bond.)

Welp. This is the end of that analysis. Thank you for reading all of that, it’s more than 5k words, and I did most of that at work. I have a lot of things to say about the Octatrio and Riddle (as people who follow me on my private instagram has been victims to. I literally yapped about twst for 3h30...) as well as on other characters.

If you’re interested in reading what I write, here is my Ao3 link : https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phenixa. At the time I’m writing these words there is only two twst fanfics (being FloRid) and a small dozen of Kingdom Hearts fanfics, but more twst is coming in the future. I’m currently working on a college!AU if you’re interested ^^

I finished vomiting my analysis, it is time to say bye !

[superfluouskeys]

gonna be kind of funny to go to the counseling appointment i made last week when i was in crisis and be like yeah so most of the stuff that was making me crazy just suddenly and unexpectedly resolved like yesterday so i'm probably mostly fine now aside from being confused that that happened LOL

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

DINNER IS (finally) SERVED

3000ish words later and part 8 is here! hope you guys enjoy!

(p.s my headcanons explainations are in the tags if you're curious)

(p.p.s credit also goes to @rin-solo for the first headcanon )

the post/thread that started this whole au

dinner scene: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

there's a masterlist now!

*odysseus is making his way to the dining hall, while athena and poseidon are following behind*

poseidon: *looking around at the decorations/tapestry dotted around*

poseidon: *see’s a tapestry of what looks to be a very much younger odysseus in full king & armour attire*

poseidon: *stops walking, and turns to look at the actual odysseus in front of him, then back at the tapestry*

poseidon: *to odysseus with a sardonic tone* do your weavers like making you look like a boy, or was that a decision you made to make yourself look younger?

odysseus: *pauses his walking to see what poseidon is talking about*

athena: *also pauses and turns to poseidon*

odysseus: *sees the tapestry in question*

odysseus: *sighs* of course you point that one out 

athena: *who knew odysseus before he was king*

athena: *glaring at poseidon* uncle, you shouldn’t make assumptions, especially when you don’t know the facts

odysseus: *pats athena on the shoulder as he passes her*

odysseus: it’s fine athena

odysseus: *next to poseidon and looking up at the tapestry* if you must know, that is actually the age i was. 

poseidon: *not believing him* yeah right, you couldn’t be older than fifteen in this

odysseus: *turns to him with a sharp look* you’re correct, i was fifteen

poseidon: *slightly wary of odysseus’ mood* so… you became king at fifteen? isn’t that a little bit young for a mortal to rule a kingdom?

odysseus: *turns back to the tapestry* i was already the king, i was actually crowned when i was thirteen

poseidon: *shocked and confused* why would a child be given a kingdom to run?

odysseus: *looks down with a sad smile, at the memory of his father telling him about him losing his mind, and how sorry he was to place such a huge responsibility on his young son’s shoulders*

odysseus: well, i had no choice, but i would do it again if i had to… 

odysseus: *turns to athena* besides, i had athena to help guide me

athena: *smiles with a nod at odysseus*

odysseus: *starts walking in the direction of the dining hall again* anyway…enough of that, can we please just make our way to the dining hall now

*they all continue making their way down the hall*

poseidon: *notices a stain on the floor tiles not far in front of them*

poseidon: *points* i think your servants missed a spot

athena & odysseus: *both look to where he’s pointing*

athena: *chuckles to herself in knowing*

odysseus: *smirks* 

poseidon: *sees both their expressions, and is confused* 

odysseus: oh that..oh don’t worry it’s clean

odysseus: *shrugs* it’s just so hard to get bloodstains out of white titles

poseidon: *wide eyed* blood?

odysseus: yeah.. not long after i finished with you, i arrived back on my island to find my palace overrun with 108…mutts… all vying for my wife’s hand. 

odysseus: *waving his hand like it was a simple issue* so i made sure to deal with them all myself… unfortunately one of them left a stain.

odysseus: -oh look we’ve made it

odysseus: hope we haven’t kept them too long

poseidon: *shocked at all the new odysseus lore he’s unlocked*

athena: *laughing at poseidon’s expression*

odysseus: *opening the door* come on let’s head in

poseidon: *shakes away the shock*

odysseus: *to poseidon* i guess it’s time to introduce you to my wife

*they all walk through the doorway into the dining hall*

*there penelope and telemachus both stand not too far from the dining table; which has quite the feast laid out, and from the steam coming off of it, it had not long be put there*

odysseus: *heads over to his son & wife*

odysseus: *looks at poseidon* poseidon, you’ve met my son telemachus before.

telemachus: *can barely keep in his excitement* 

telemachus: hi- i mean good evening lord poseidon, i’m so happ- grateful you accepted my father's invitation for dinner. 

telemachus: *puts his arm on his chest, and leans forward in a  bow of respect* i hope you enjoy the evening.

odysseus: *narrows his eyes at poseidon, silently threatening him to not be rude to his son*

telemachus: *looks back up at poseidon, smile on his face*

poseidon: *quickly nods his head in greeting to telemachus* good evening prince, your father tells me that this was all your idea 

telemachus: *raises a hand to nervously scratch under his chin* um… yes i guess it was

poseidon: well then, thank you for the idea to invite me.

telemachus: *hand leaves his chin and a big smile breaks out* well of course! you are my father’s friend after all!

poseidon: *eye twitches before he quickly composes himself* 

poseidon: yes… friend.

odysseus: *coughs* yes and now that you’ve both reacquainted yourselves again… telemachus why don’t you go speak with athena for a moment

telemachus: sure!

*telemachus makes his way to athena, and they start talking amongst themselves*

odysseus: *puts his arm around penelope’s waist* now, please let me introduce you to my wife; the queen of ithaca, penelope. 

penelope: *doesn’t bow like telemachus, but nods in greeting* welcome to our palace lord poseidon

poseidon: *nods back* thank you for having me queen penelope

penelope: *smiles but her eyes have a certain glint to them* 

penelope: my husband has told me all about your part in his journey home to us

poseidon: *totally not panicking a little* uh-

penelope: *glint leaves her eyes, but her smile remains*

penelope: -and also how you have helped out on his and my son’s fishing trips lately.

penelope: of course, i would also like thank you for taking the time to attend tonight

poseidon: sure… no problem?

odysseus: great, everyone has met everyone! 

odysseus: *to everyone* now, shall we sit down and eat the lovely feast the cooks have made us, before it gets cold?

odysseus: *moves to pull out one of the chairs at the head of the table for penelope as he normally does, when he notices that, there is only one chair instead of two*

odysseus: *looks up at the table and sees a piece of parchment with ‘mother’ written on it* 

odysseus: huh?

telemachus: *makes his way over to his father* oh! there’s a different than usual seating plan for tonight! i’ve put everyone's names where they should sit.

odysseus: *smiles at telemachus* oh ok, sure!

odysseus: well, i guess i should look for mine then, hey?

telemachus: yes, and please everyone else too!

*everyone makes their way to the table to see where they’re sitting (even though three of them already know)*

odysseus: *sees the parchment with ‘father’ on it* 

odysseus: *expecting to have either athena or telemachus next to him*

odysseus: *watches as athena stands in front of the seat opposite him*

odysseus: *thinks it’s weird to put athena & poseidon together, but thinks telemachus has done is as they are uncle & niece*

odysseus: *then sees telemachus stood in front of the seat next to athena*

odysseus: wait-

poseidon: *sees his name and heads towards it, only to look up and see odysseus standing in front of the seat next to him*

poseidon: wait-

poseidon & odysseus: *both look at each other in horror that they're stuck next to each other all evening*

telemachus: *not noticing the looks of doom on their faces* isn’t this great? it’s a family dinner, so what better than friends sitting together? 

telemachus: *turning to penelope* sorry you’re by yourself at the head of the table though mother

penelope: *smiles and waves her hand* i don’t mind

penelope: anyway, let's sit and eat!

*everyone but odysseus and poseidon sit down. both who have a death grip on the back of their seats*

penelope: *clears her throat* odysseus, lord poseidon… would you both please sit down.

odysseus: *snaps out of his staring at poseidon* 

odysseus: uh sure…

odysseus: *sits down and look back to poseidon, nodding his head at poseidon’s seat in the motion for him to also sit down*

poseidon: *still doesn’t sit*

odysseus: *a millisecond of a flash of red eyes* 

poseidon: *sits*

odysseus: *internally to himself* oh this is gonna be a long evening

odysseus: *to everyone* ok, everyone dig in!

odysseus: *to poseidon* can you get what you want for yourself, mighty sea god? or do you need a mortal’s help?

poseidon: *grabbing a lamb chop off a platter and tearing into it savagely in defiance*

odysseus: *rolls his eyes at poseidon, but goes to place a filet of fish on his plate*

*everyone has been eating and talking*

poseidon: *looks at penelope (who is talking to telemachus & athena) and then looks at odysseus*

poseidon: *thinking and then looks back to penelope*

odysseus: *to poseidon* is there a reason you keep looking at my wife?

poseidon: *jumps at little at being caught looking* 

poseidon: *turns to odysseus* oh do not worry yourself, i have no interest in your wife

odysseus: *unimpressed* why do you keep looking at her then?

poseidon: im..curious 

odysseus: *narrowing his eyes* about?

poseidon: normally you mortal men choose women younger than them for their wives… yet clearly your wife is; from my estimates… about a decade older than you

poseidon: *now with his hand under his chin, leaning on the table* 

poseidon: do you perhaps…prefer older women odysseus?

odysseus: *hands tighten in grip around his cutlery*

poseidon: *notices odysseus hasn’t responded yet*

poseidon: i’m right aren’t -

odysseus: no.

odysseus: *his eyes may not be red, but are clearly full of anger*

poseidon: *eyes widen in worry* whoa whoa! no need to get angry, it’s just a simple observation…. anyone if they pay attention can see the age difference

poseidon: *moves his hand to flick his hair back over his shoulder* it’s not a bad thing

odysseus: *takes a breath in to calm down and then slowly releases it*

odysseus: we are- were the same age… physically at least

poseidon: *confused* i don’t follow

odysseus: *looks at poseidon* during the 10 years it took for me to get home… i found myself stuck on a goddess’ island for 7 of them…

poseidon: ok…

odysseus: *closes his eyes* caly- the goddess had full control over everything on the island… her magic influenced everything… including a mortal's ability to age.

poseidon: so you didn’t-

odysseus: -age? yeah

odysseus: *sighs and opens his eyes* when i realised i wasn’t… i- i- 

odysseus: lets just say i didn’t handle it well

poseidon: *blinks at this new information* oh

odysseus: yep ‘oh’ indeed… 

odysseus: *looks back at poseidon*

odysseus: didn’t you think it was odd that i looked exactly the same when we met again, almost 10 years after our first meeting?

poseidon: in my defence… i was angry and trying to kill you, i wasn’t really paying attention to how you looked

odysseus: *rolls his eyes* i guess that's true

telemachus: uh lord poseidon? may i ask you a question?

poseidon: *happy to not continue his conversation with odysseus*

poseidon: *to telemachus* ask away prince of ithaca

telemachus: is it true that you gave achilles his horses balius & xanthus?

poseidon: *amazed at telemachus’ knowledge* 

poseidon: not directly… but yes i am the reason he came to acquire them. you see i gave them to his father peleus, as a wedding gift for his wife thetis…

*poseidon continues to tell the tale, and odysseus speaks with athena and penelope while more time passes*

*the meal is continuing smoothly as can be*

poseidon: *notices that odysseus has only been eating the fish. not touching a single bit of pork, beef or lamb that's also on the table* 

poseidon: *who has continuously eaten all meats available*

poseidon: *to odysseus* is there something i should know about the meat?

odysseus: huh?

poseidon: *points at the selection of meat in question* what's wrong with the meat? you’ve only touched the fish.

poseidon: if i hadn’t seen the others eat it, i’d worry you’d asked your cooks to poison it or something. 

odysseus: *raised eyebrow* poison won’t hurt you though? 

odysseus: *pointing a fork at him* also, why do you care about my eating habits?

poseidon: *frowning at the fork* i don’t, i’m just-

odysseus: curious? poseidon, i thought you were the god of the sea, not curiosity…

poseidon: *huffs* forget it-

odysseus: i can’t

poseidon: *now his eyebrow is raised* you…can’t?

odysseus: *now using the fork to push the food on his plate around* i can’t stomach eating lamb, pork or beef anymore

poseidon: *forever confused by odysseus* uh why?

odysseus: *gives poseidon a ‘do i really have to explain everything?’ look*

poseidon: *just stares*

odysseus: *once again sighing because of poseidon* well i thought you’d understand lamb… after the whole sheep incident with… your son.

odysseus: then after i escaped you with the wind bag-

poseidon: *rolls his eyes at the memory*

odysseus: we wound up on the sorceress circe’s island… where she turned my men to pigs. 

odysseus: i managed to convince her to turn them back, but it now feels weird to eat pork

odysseus: as for beef, short story is my men ignored my warnings and killed the sacred cattle of the sun god… so yeah beef is a no go for me also. 

poseidon: *wondering how one mortal managed to interact with so many gods on a journey to get home*

poseidon: *laughs at odysseus* and you’re letting that affect your eating habits? i expected you to be stronger than that odysseus

odysseus: *narrows his eyes at poseidon* oh just like how you let my handling of your trident, affect you into doing as i say?

poseidon: *now glaring back* 

poseidon: *turns away from odysseus* whatever, more meat for me

*dinner continues, with telemachus asking poseidon more questions. poseidon loving the interest in him and telelmachus’ knowledge, answers the all the questions with surprising enthusiasm*

*eventually what was once a giant feast of food has nearly been cleared from the table, thanks to having two gods eating most of it*

telemachus: have you enjoyed yourself so far lord poseidon? 

telemachus: *smiling* it’s been really fascinating and fun to learn so much more about you

poseidon: *almost letting a small smile appear on his face in return*

poseidon: *instead just nods* yes, it certainly has been an interesting & knowledgeable evening

telemachus: what about the seating, was it a good idea to put you with my father?

poseidon: *wants to answer no, but feels a kick from under the table. clearly from odysseus*

poseidon: yes, you came up with an ok-

odysseus: *gives another kick* 

poseidon: -great idea

telemachus: *laughs in happiness* 

telemachus: oh but i can’t take all the credit

odysseus: *raises an eyebrow in curiosity* 

athena: *who is sipping wine next to him*

athena: *slightly chokes* wai-

odysseus: *suspicious* son, you must make sure to tell us who else to thank for this

telemachus: *not understanding the bombshell he’s about to drop* oh athena actually came up with the idea!

athena: *suddenly nervous with the two very intense stares directed at her*

athena: w-well it was just a suggestion really…

telemachus: no ‘thena! remember you said as it’s a family dinner, friends should sit with friends!

odysseus: *to athena with the fakest smile* oh athena, how considerate!

penelope: *who has been quiet this whole exchange*

telemachus: *as if he hasn’t already unknowingly thrown one person to the wolves* but i of course had to run it by mother first, as she was helping me with all the planning!

penelope: *eyes have totally not widened*

telemachus: she said it was a great idea!

odysseus: *now to penelope* oh my dear wife, a great idea eh?

poseidon: *just chugs back his cup of wine at the revelations*

*after a awkward moment (at least for 4 of them) they continue on finishing the meal*

*eventually the food is finished and the dinner has come to an end, everyone has moved away from the dinner table and are now sitting on cushion chairs or standing around them talking amongst themselves*

poseidon: *looking out the window seeing just how dark the night sky now is* 

poseidon: well this has been a lovely evening, but it is getting late and i have been away from the sea for as long as i can.

poseidon: *turning to penelope and nodding his head in actual respect* queen penelope, thank you for your hosting

poseidon: *without nodding at them* athena, odysseus… good night.

*before poseidon can turn to bid telemachus good night, the prince runs out the room*

telemachus: *yelling before he leaves the room* please lord poseidon, wait a moment! i forgot something!

poseidon: *turns to look at odysseus in confusion* 

odysseus: *just shrugs also confused* 

poseidon: *turns back to the door, telemachus long gone* uh sure.

*not long later telemachus runs back into the room dishevelled but holding something in his hand*

telemachus: *walks up to poseidon* 

telemachus: *bows and holds out something covered in a silk cloth to him*

poseidon: uh-

telemachus: it’s a gift! i’m not expecting anything in return, and i’m sure you have better things… but i saw it and thought you’d like it

poseidon: *blinks, but takes the gift from telemachus’ hands*

poseidon: *carefully unties the silk cloth*

poseidon: *breathes in sharply*

telemachus: *not sure if that's a good or bad reaction* uh if you don’t like it that's fin-

poseidon: *holds his hand to stop telemachus* 

poseidon: prince of ithac-

telemachus: telemachus- sorry for interrupting. please my lord, call me telemachus

poseidon: …telemachus. thank you, this is a very thoughtful gift. 

poseidon: i will cherish it.

penelope & odysseus: *curious over what's got the god of the seas ‘cherishing’ something*

athena: *small smile as she knows*

*penelope & odysseus move closer to poseidon who is still staring down at his gift. once close enough they can see in his hand is a a handcrafted glass/crystal hippocampus*

*poseidon ended up wrapping it back in the silk cloth, and placing it in his chiton. He then thanked telemachus again and bid him good night & farewell. odysseus offered to walk back to the cove with him, but poseidon waved him off and told him to stay with his family*