#just so i can get into the grove and get pushed on by comments and such lol

[aro-aizawa]

curious but:

(as in character names, internships, etc)

[lovelynim]

Too popular

Honkai Star Rail - Caelus x Dan Heng

A/N: It took me a few tries to get this one going because it's been a while since we had the Ghostly Grove event. Thanks to the wikia, I was able to read some of those dialogues and bring this little prompt back, hehe ~

Summary: After reading some "weird" comments about Caelus in the Ghostly Grove blog, Dan Heng starts to feel a little... jealous.

Word count: 1207 words

A loud thud echoed through the Astral Express’s Passanger Cabin, followed by the sound of someone’s desperate, helpless begging. “D-Dan Heng! Wahahait, p-please, ahahAHAH!!” Caelus cackled, wrapping his arms around his own torso in a fruitless attempt to stop the endless and merciless tickle assault that has been going for Aeons-know-how-long.

The trailblazer couldn’t figure out what he did to deserve such a treatment, and if Caelus didn’t know Dan Heng for long, this would be easily mistaken by some kind of murder attempt.

On top of that - and to add to Caelus’s demise - Dan Heng seemed to be awfully annoyed. No, maybe “angry” was a better word to describe him. Even while vigorously digging his fingers into Caelus’s sides, pinching over his ribs and prodding at his underarms, sending him into a fit of hysterics, Dan Heng kept a straight, serious face, with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

Caelus’s white tank top did little to no effect in protecting his torso from the tickling and no matter how much he squirmed or curled up, Dan Heng would still find an opening to strike. “I-I cahAHAhan’t breheheath! J-Just a brehEHEHeheak!”

“Yet you still can talk,” Dan Heng muttered coldly, grabbing both Caelus’s wrists and effortlessly pushing them high above his head.

Caelus let out a surprised squeal, already pressing his eyes shut to prepare himself for the next round of tickling. However, when it didn’t happen, Caelus slowly opened one of his eyes, peeking at his partner. “D-did I… do something w-wrohohong?” Caelus giggled nervously, already dying with anticipation when he saw Dan Heng’s free hand hovering over his body.

“No. Better saying, not necessarily,” Dan Heng continued with the same cold voice tone, but, for the first time in a while, Caelus could finally look him in the eyes.

“T-thehen, ahm, are you m-mad- wait! Wait wait, I’m not dohohone talking!” Caelus desperately pleaded when he felt Dan Heng pulling his shirt up, exposing his bare stomach. The cold air in Dan Heng’s room made goosebumps cover Caelus’s smooth skin, his body trembling just with the idea of getting tickled some more. “A-are you mad ahahat me?” Caelus continued, quickly looking back and forth between Dan Heng’s face and free hand, trying to prepare himself for a possible attack.

“...no,” Dan Heng hesitated, watching Caelus trying to suck his stomach away from that evil, threatening hand that was resting just inches away.

“S-so can y-yohohou let me g-go?” Caelus bit his inner lip, trying to shake Dan Heng off his lap with no avail. “Or go a lihihittle easier?”

“Also no,” Dan Heng snapped back promptly, deciding that those seconds were more than enough for Caelus to catch up his breath. 

“T-thehen why?!” Caelus asked - his voice full of panic, fear, but with a pinch of excitement - just as Dan Heng’s fingers were about to touch his sides. Against all the odds, the trailblazer sighed relaxed when he noticed that his question bought him some more time.

“Because you’re too popular.”

Tightening the grip around Caelus’s wrists and making sure they were pinned against the soft mattress, Dan Heng leaned forward and looked straight down to his boyfriend. Caelus gulped, noticing how serious Dan Heng was about… his reasons to nearly tickle him to death. “T-too… popular..?” He hesitated, but asked, ignoring the chances of getting wrecked right away.

“Ever since you started helping that girl with the videos for the Ghostly Grove blog,” Dan Heng explained, caressing Caelus’s torso with the back of his fingers, gently stroking all the way from Caelus’s waist to his ribcage, even pushing his shirt a little further up, “there’ve been an awful lot of comments asking her about a tall, gray-haired hot guy. Do you know who this person is, Caelus?”

“A-ahm, heh… is it me..?” Caelus giggled, half because of the nervousness, half because of the light strokes against his bare upper body. 

“Yes, it is you. And did you know that… some of them,” Dan Heng continued, gently pressing his palm against the middle of Caelus’s chest, feeling his accelerated heartbeat. He smirked, “were bold enough to ask if this hot guy in question was… single?”

“A-ah!” Caelus gasped, feeling the heat spread over his face and down to his neck. “I-I know, but I always said I wahahas tahahaken! D-Dan Heng, plehehease!”

Before he could finish talking, Dan Heng’s hand had already moved down. Using just a finger to circle Caelus’s navel, the Astral Express’s archivist made sure to keep his boyfriend giggling and, above that, remember him that this was supposed to be a punishment. 

“I know you did, I watched your videos. They were pretty fun,” Dan Heng chuckled, moving his hand a bit to the side so he could grab Caelus’s hip, using his thumb to playfully brush right above the bone. All Caelus could do was stiffen his body, hold back his laughter and pray that sensation didn’t grow any worse. “But that didn’t seem to be enough to your ‘fans’, Caelus.”

“B-but- ahahah, it’s nohohot my fahahault!” 

“I know that, but you can’t blame me… for feeling jealous when there are so many people with their eyes on my boyfriend, can you?” Dan Heng smirked as he looked down to Caelus’s face, admiring how adorably desperate he looked right now. “So I just want to spend some time with you and make sure you’ll never pay mind to those shameless fans of yours.”

And before he could protest or argue back, Dan Heng resumed the ticklish assault. Caelus couldn’t tell if it was thanks to now having his skin exposed or because of Dan Heng’s ruthless teasing, but, Aeons, it tickled so much more this time.

“What if we asked Guinaifen to give you some days off the blog, hm? Maybe this would help to calm that fanbase of yours a little,” Dan Heng suggested, barely able to hold back his own chuckles of amusement.

“AhahAHAH, plehehehease!! I-It tihihihickles!! I cahAHahan’t!! ~” Caelus cackled like an emanator of Elation. Some of the small tears that formed on the corner of his eyes began to roll down his cheeks as Caelus thrashed his head.

“Well, she could also hire someone to moderate her comment section and ban some of those bold fans. Is there a way for me to send those suggestions to her?” Dan Heng continued to talk, pretending that his boyfriend could properly answer him.

“N-nahAHAhat theheheree!!” Caelus whined through his laughter when Dan Heng’s hand made its way to his outstretched, exposed underarm and tickled it with ease. The trailblazer arched his back, using the last bits of his strength to fight back that sensation one last time, but all he earned was a confused, partly curious, head tilt from his boyfriend, who continued to look down at him with serious, cold eyes.

“‘Not there’? You mean we shouldn’t ban them only in the comment section, but in the whole blog? That’s actually a good idea. I knew you’d understand my point,” Dan Heng teased, managing to kiss Caelus’s cheek without getting hit by an accidental headbutt. 

“Now, what should we do with those forums’ chats about you? Ah, don’t worry… we have plenty of time to discuss them, Caelus ~”

[zuppizup]

Bloom

July 7th – Flowers

“How did you know Amaya and Janai were getting married?”

“Huh?” Rayla blinks, looking up from her book as she frowns, mind a little behind this random tangent.

“The flowers or something,” Callum shuffles a little closer to her, pushing his book aside.

The library is quiet this late in the evening, but he speaks softly anyway, head close to hers.

“Oh,” her own book becomes forgotten as she looks to him. “Those were traditional Sunfire wedding flowers, and they were in a bouquet. I suppose I just guessed.”

“Good guess.” Callum smirks, resting his head in his hand. “Could have been embarrassing if they were just making a flower arrangement or something.”

“That would have been a pretty fancy arrangement, don’t you think?” She rolls her eyes, snorting. “And they’ve been together for two years, it wasn’t that big a leap.”

“I guess.” Callum sighs, his smile falling just a fraction as his eyes wander. A moment later he shakes himself though, looking back at her. “So, eh, what are traditional Moonshadow wedding flowers?”

“We don’t have flowers.” She answers automatically, even though she’s surprised by the slight change in subject. “Or, well, cut ones. Weddings are usually held in the grove, I suppose, so there’s already flowers and plants there, but, we don’t really have bunches of flowers like Sunfires.”

“Huh,” Callum frowns as he ponders her answer.

“What?”

“I dunno.” Shrugging, he sits up a little straighter. “I guess I just assumed all cultures do wedding flowers. Katolis does. And Duren.”

Rayla thinks about this. Perhaps it makes sense in a place like Katolis or Lux Aurea, that bit more removed from nature. Or in her experience anyway. Growing up like she did, nature always felt part of her life. “Flowers are pretty, I suppose.”

It feels… charged discussing weddings and flowers with Callum and she struggles to think straight.

“Why don’t Moonshadows have flowers?” He asks, then seems to second guess himself. “Or, em, is that-”

“No, that’s- It’s not-” Insensitive? Over stepping? Early on in their acquaintance they’d both inadvertently insulted each other with long held prejudices or silly assumptions. It feels like they are so far beyond that though. Having flowers or not at a wedding is a simple discussion. Or it should be. “Flowers don’t really last, do they? Ones you’ve cut, I mean.” It’s not like she’s really thought about these things. They are simply part of her life, her culture. She likes how he makes her think about them though. Examine old ways and decide if they still fit who she is now. “If you’re making that commitment, well, we believe it’s supposed to be forever. Not just in this life, but you know, beyond. On the other side too.” She shrugs, maybe it is silly and old fashioned. “Flowers wilting and dying... I guess it’s seen as a sort of bad omen for Moonshadows.”

Callum watches her without comment, clearly pondering her words. “You know what? That makes a lot of sense.”

“You think?” She feels herself blush and hopes it’s not that obvious in the soft evening light.

Maybe she’s mistaken, but she thinks he might be blushing too. “Yeah, from the Moonshadow philosophy, I think I do.”

She can’t help but smile at him, rolling her eyes in amusement. “What, learning the moon arcanum now, mister mage?” That clever mind of his, always working, pondering, thinking.

He shrugs, smiling softly. “I’d like to.”

“Well, dont expect me to be of any help.” Rayla feels her stomach flip and her mouth go dry for reasons she can’t really explain.

He laughs softly, eyes crinkling in the corners. “You’re the most helpful with magic stuff.”

She snorts loudly and rolls her eyes, pulling her book back closer. He can tease her, if he likes.

It’s not as if she doesn’t like it too.

Callum doesn’t go back to his book though, clearly still interested in the topic. “So, if you don’t actually have flowers, what do you do for decorations?

Rayla looks up from her book, pondering how best to explain. “We craft flowers.”

“Craft them?” Callum’s interest is most certainly piqued as he pulls his chair closer.

“Yeah. Out of paper or cloth. Or wool, weaving them.” She thinks back to the various celebrations she’s attended over the years, smiling fondly. The home she can no longer call home. “Ethari would make them out if metal… But they last, you know? Forever. If you care for them.”

He smiles at her, eyes soft and cheeks most certainly flushed.

“What?” She desperately wants to know what he’s thinking when he looks at her like that, and though they’re growing closer again, she doesn’t quite feel like she can ask directly. “Sounds dumb and backwards to you cultured Katolians?”

“No, not at all. I- I really like it.” He reaches for her hand, squeezing her fingers gently. “It sounds lovely.”

Later that night, she’s getting ready for bed, brushing her long hair as she watches the moon through her open curtains. Sitting on the bed, she frowns when something crinkles under her foot. Pulling a sheet of paper from under her rear, her heart races when she sees the page covered with beautiful drawings of more flowers than she knows the names of.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A special sort of craving 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: A stranger appears at your cafe and leaves you unsettled.

Part of the Backwood AU

Note: I found this in my docs and then I was like this could be an AU and people will hate me but here we are. I am heavily considering adding at least one other character to the AU bc I have an idea I don’t think i’ll ever get to full length with.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The man finishes his pie and milk. You continue on busying yourself with tasks you've already done. You don't want to welcome any more conversation with this stranger. He belches and pats his stomach loudly.

"Delicious," he comments as the chair legs scrape on the floor.

"Oh, glad you enjoyed it, sir," you look over the counter as you work at shuffling the pastries from oldest to newest in the display.

"Mmhmm," he hums emphatically, "so, do I get table service or..."

You hide your chagrin behind a smile and close the back of the display, "of course."

You push through the little swinging door and come out to gather up his empty dishes. He watches you as you do your best not to acknowledge that fact. You just want him gone so it's quiet again. Usually, you'd mourn the lack of business but you don't welcome his.

"So, your husband must be the numbers guy, huh? Handling all the heavy duty work?" He intones as he bends his arms behind his head and stretches.

"No," you say as you back away.

"No.... what? He doesn't do your accounting or no you don't have a husband?"

"It's my business. I manage it," you insist.

"Right," he drops his arms and shifts on the seat, "think I should get a coffee for the road. Long way back to The Grove."

"Of course," you retreat behind the counter and set the dishes in the bin for washing. "Which roast?" 

He clicks his tongue, "hmph, you're... very attentive. That husband sure is a lucky man." He stands and dusts off his shirt, "I'll take the rest of that cherry pie too."

You nod and face him, "what size and roast?" You prompt again.

"Light roast, large-- hold up, actually, I'll take an americano. I could use the pep."

"Sure," you slide off a tall cup from the stack and go to work.

He watches you, his gaze bearing down as hotly as the steam of the hot water. You fill his cup and return to the till to ring him up. You punch in the amount for the espresso and what's left of the pie. He taps his fingers on the counter, a fifty folded between his knuckles. He holds it out and you go to take it as the drawer snaps open. He hangs on to it, keeping you in a tug-of-war.

"Keep the change. You earned it," he winks.

"Oh, that's too generous," you say.

"I can be," he smirks.

He lets go and you count out his change. He sighs and leans on the counter, "I said keep it, honey bun."

"Really, it's too much--"

"Can't be making much in this place," he says, "go on, buy yourself something pretty."

You look at him, scrunching up your lips with a gulp. You drop his change in the tip jar. He scoffs in victory.

You pack up the pie and slide it across to him. He clings to your every move as he blows over the cup of coffee. He grabs a lid and clicks it on.

"I'll save a piece for you," he promises, "in case you change your mind."

He takes the box and winks. He struts to the door and balances the cup on the flat box as he lets himself out into the street. You chew your lip and quickly turn your attention to the counter. Those city types just stick out like a sore thumb.

🥧

The routine of your work quickly wipes the strange encounter from your mind. Early mornings filled with steam and the scent of cinnamon swirl by in a cloud. Melinda helps set out that day’s pies as you put on the coffee to brew. There’s usually an opening rush, as much as you get in a place like this.

Eden and Frigga enter with a jingle of the bell above and you greet them with a smile. They always come on Friday. You already have their order started as Melinda cashes them out. An oat latte with vanilla and cinnamon for Eden and simple black tea for Frigga. And a peach crumble to go, her first son’s favourite, Frigga proclaims each time.

That morning, however, she surprises you with a different comment. A question.

“Darling,” she stops you at the window as she grasps the wire handles of the paper bag, “are you available tomorrow night?”

“Pardon?” You bat your lashes in surprise.

“I’m sorry for my abruptness,” she touches the collar of her crisp white blouse coyly as Eden inhales the smell of her latte. “We’re having a special dinner and you did such a marvelous job last yule.”

“A dinner?” You wonder, “I suppose I could ask Carla if she can pick up an extra shift.”

“That’s wonderful. Apologies for short notice. It’s only we have an unexpected guest at the hotel, she does have particular tastes and it’s Thor’s birthday. He wants to celebrate. I have a list,” she sifts around in her handbag, “I may have been a touch presumptuous. He’s hoping for a cheesecake, rather than sponge. Oh and the younger one, he said it’s too rich so some of your shortbread shall do for the dissidents.”

“Right,” you accept the piece of paper as she unfolds it. It wafts with perfume as you read her elegant cursive. “I should be able to do most of it. I’ll need to do a run for some of the savoury ingredients… what time?”

“Oh if you could arrive at three or four, that would allow for set up and some last minute details. Oh, could you also make sure you and your little helpers wear red? Thank you so much, dear,” she reaches into her handbag again, “a deposit, of course.”

She hands you a check, signed by her husband. You’ll have to take this to the bank but you won’t mention the trouble to her. You smile and tell her you’ll figure it out. She claims her tea and crumble and sets off with Eden on their weekly excursion.

“I can’t do Saturday. Husband’s mother’s comin’ round,” Melinda says over the till as you approach her, “Carla was talkin’ about some party too.”

You frown and chew your lip. You suppose you could ask Katherine. She’s always eager to help, even with her meagre two shifts a week.

“Right, no problem,” you smile, “nothing you need to worry about.”

“I can help with some prep today. Do some shopping with Carla’s in for the afternoon.”

“Sounds good,” you fold up the list and the check and tuck it into your apron.

You grab a receipt and start on the next order. It’s a single tea latte; the blueberry oat. You go through the motions and bring it to the counter, calling out the item. A woman you’ve seen around sways as she sends a glance to a man still in line. You don’t recognise him, another new face. She shies away as he returns her gaze and she quickly scurries to claim her drink.

She gives a tiny wave as she comes up, “um, sorry, er, to eavesdrop,” she murmurs and you lean in to hear her, “if you need some help, I could do some… stuff.”

“Oh, uh…”

“Just for the night?” She pleads, “sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“No, no, that’s nice,” you assure her, “you live with your grandmother, right? Up behind the ridge.”

“Yeah,” she squeaks, “we could use the money.”

“Sure, not many jobs to go around in Hammer Ford,” you sniff, “can you be here for one?”

“Uh,” she peeks over again at the man by the register. The way he watches her makes you uneasy.

“Yeah,” she answers shakily, “I’ll be here. Thank you so much.”

“You know what, we have a special on, how about you sit and have a scone,” you offer.

“Um…”

“You got a far way back, you should enjoy your latte,” you insist, eyeing that man again.

“Okay,” she agrees easily. Too easily. That man is listening, he must notice that as well.

“You go sit down and I’ll bring you the scone,” you smile again, “if you stick around, we can chat a bit about tomorrow when it slows down.

“Oh, yeah, makes sense,” she accepts, “thank you so much.”

She turns and awkwardly moves around another customer. She weaves her way to the corner and sits at a table alone, cradling her cup daintily. You’ll have to keep her in the kitchen.

[javiersprincess]

tags: 18 minors dni, established relationship + marriage, set in the ending where wyll is the duke of baldur’s gate, gn reader, reader is implied to be a rouge of some sort, some type of brat taming. let me know if i missed something!

synopsis: you’re used to taking your pleasure in your hands. wyll has had enough of it.

If one were to ask you how you would describe Wyll you would say gently lost in the way he handles the children in the grove and how gently he offers his assistance to any in camp who need it. It’s easy to forget the steel of the Blade of the Frontiers behind the gleam of pearly teeth. And maybe Wyll let you get away with too much, letting you off with a simple teasing remark. That was then and this is now - Wyll is your husband by vow and decree, and you find that the gold of his wedding ring isn’t the only metal that gleams in the candlelight of your shared room. You’re on your side, trapped beneath the bulk built from 3 meals and daily training as his dark skin shines in the orange light that douses the room.

“You are so stubborn.” he grunts into your ear, bending the meat of your leg back and over his hips. The hair on his skin tickles your hips and you gasp - grunt and moan when his hand comes to grope at your chest. His cock is inside you, the only place he would ever want it to be.

“I’m not stubborn - fuck.”

“I’m your husband now, you are to lay with me whenever you wish.” He pants into your ear with a voice so wrecked with lust it cracks under its weight. You feel full, full of so much emotion it makes you weep and the blissful stinging ache of Wyll’s cock stretching you out that your tears are golden beneath him.

“Ah! I am not stubborn! Just don’t -“ You gasp in mid-sentence, words dying upon your lips as your husband takes it upon himself to set the pace. One akin to his love for you; deep, all encompassing and growing from a slow pace. Your face is brought to his, lips bursting into flames at the slight touch from their proximity.

“I don’t want to bother you.” you whisper against his lips, they feel like satin to your slightly chapped ones. Despite getting used to sleeping and living in the upper city you are still not quite used to the comforts it provides. You still wear the scuffs of your past, alongside the scars of your adventure.

“You never bother me - not your presence or your pleasure.” he pauses to sink into you all the way in. The tip of his cock pushes against every spot inside of you that makes you yelp like an injured animal. Wyll is not a cruel man but letting him have you like this makes him consider that it might not be so bad to be one.

“Not so tough now, are you?” Each word is punctuated with a thrust and followed by the wet squelch that comes from your lower half and you respond with a pathetic little yelp each time.

“No more scampering off. Next time you’re leaking between your thighs you come find me. I’ll make time to take care of you - I’m yours now so stop thinking you can pleasure yourself when I’m right here.” You don’t have it in you to argue, to make some sort of remark or comment. Instead you nod, your legs wracked with so much pleasure they only hang there, twitching with each shock. Wyll presses his lips to yours finally and it’s with the gentle heat of the kiss you unravel - tightening and spilling down your thighs and Wyll gasps as he finishes quickly in tow. He pulls away with the webbed strings of spit following him and when he speaks his words are wrecked.

“Give me a moment, we’ll go again. I’m not done with you yet.” You think on his words and with a heated face you only nod and go to kiss him one more time but not the last.

[moodyboozewriting]

grove magic (rolan x reader) pt. 1/2

part 2

reader is gender neutral

If only you’d been more guarded, perhaps you would have anticipated the insistent shove Astarion gives you from behind.

The force of the push sends you stumbling forward, and you find yourself suddenly wishing you hadn’t taken such a massive swig from your chalice (after much goading from your sly elven companion). Tripping over yourself, you find that you’re quite lacking in control of your motor functions. Still reeling, you find your shoulders firmly gripped by two concerned hands as you crash into a very solid figure. Oh… fuck… off. You can feel Astarion’s coy smirk burning through the back of your skull, the smug bastard. Steeling yourself as best you can from the effects of the alcohol, you steady yourself against Rolan’s biceps.

“Looks like someone’s had a few too many already,” he chides. You hope it’s as playful of a comment as it sounds to your ears. “Do you always get yourself gone as a drunkard as soon as you’re done saving the day?”

“Rolan!” Snaps Lia, who you could not be more grateful for at this time. As she ushers you to the bench to sit beside her and Cal, she begins to scold Rolan. You sit and sway lightly, watching them argue and smiling at quips from Cal. Lia and Cal don’t seem to see it, but when he rolls his eyes Rolan looks at you as if to say ‘can you believe I’m being reprimanded like this’. His teasing smile makes you giggle, and you return his exchange by jokingly shaking your head.

From eve to dusk, and dusk to night, you merry-make with Rolan and his siblings. You drink, and you laugh, trying not to focus (but undeniably noticing) the stolen glances and private smiles. By the end of the party, Cal and Lia had passed out on cots: you and Rolan had just about enough self-preservation to throw warm furs over each of them.

“Come,” Rolan slurs, stumbling in a way that is typically unbecoming of his stature, “I want to show you our place.” You follow Rolan as he grumbles something nonsensical about how it isn’t ‘their place’, but it is as much as they could find in the safety of the grove. The two of you stumble away from camp, and not without you noticing how Astarion gives you a sly look before ducking into his tent for the night. Still with a half-full bottle of wine in your grip, you make it through the front door of the small place Rolan and his siblings had been residing in. From what your spinning gaze could tell, it seemed quaint and quiet. Books lined the shelves- no doubt belonging to the wizard. Speaking of, said wizard had sprawled out on the sofa against one wall of the room. Smiling at his uncharacteristic demeanor, you saunter as well as you can over and join him to sit by his legs. He slaps a hand over his face and waves in the general direction of you and the bottle. “I don’t think we should have any more of that,” he groans. You nod, placing the bottle on the low table in front of you. He suddenly sits up, clearly regretting the speed at which he does so, and clutches his head in one hand. You laugh softly, amused at how little drunk Rolan seems to think about his actions before executing them. To be entirely fair, you weren’t much better in that department. On cue, you reach out with both your hands and hold the sides of his face, bringing the tiefling’s gaze up towards yours. His own hand falls from his face to rest on your wrist, and a comfortable silence blankets the two of you. “M’stilling your head,” you mutter, not really believing the excuse you give. “To help with the spinning.” He slowly nods, eyes not leaving yours. He gazes at you with an innocence you rarely get to see from him- the stress and gravity of the tiefling’s situation seemed to always loom over him. Rolan doesn’t move, save for the light and languid swishing of his tail as it hangs off the side of the sofa.

“It’s you.”

[ryind]

SPOILERS FOR OPPENHEIMER BY THE WAY BECAUSE I HAVE WAY TOO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS MOVIE AND WANT TO DISSECT IT

Okay so I know there are some very reasonable and valuable complaints, comments, and criticisms about Oppenheimer and how it handles the ACTUAL victims of the war, martyrizing Oppenheimer, an arguably very gray character in reality for more reasons than the atomic bomb and...trying to poison his mentor. You know. The basics.

THAT SAID I AM GOING ABSOLUTELY FERAL FOR CILLIAN MURPHY'S PORTRAYAL OF OPPENHEIMER LIKE I HAVE A 3 IN 1 DEAL FOR HYPERFIXATIONS RIGHT NOW I THINK BECAUSE WE HAVE THE ACTUAL MOVIE, CILLIAN, AND THEN OPPENHEIMER. AGH. LOSING MY MIND. PICKING APART EVERY SCENE AND DETAIL WHILE ALSO GUSHING ABOUT CILLIAN'S PERFORMANCE.

on that note here's some things I worked out about the movie, or rather, my takes on them for those curious (some of these are definitely a stretch, but I like seeing how far I can push a metaphor once I find one, so here we go):

Lotta controversy about the "I am become death" quote during the sex scene, which, fair. I can see why they included it though, upon reflection. In the moment, it just feels like a strange foreshadowing of the bomb itself, which did Not resonate with me and seemed fairly jarring, but upon closer inspection, I think the relevance of that quote in *that* context is that this is the first person Oppenheimer lost. Jean needed Oppenheimer, and he blamed himself for her suicide (or murder, maybe). This was the first time he "became death, destroyer of worlds"; the first marble in the bowl, which mirrors Oppie's reaction to the bomb's actual detonation quite well, too, I think. Something terrible has just happened, and yet the expectation is that Oppenheimer shows up and pretends all is well and he isn't horribly damaged, just martyring on.

SECOND

The orange from Rabi might be a bit deep or I might be a bit stupid. Oranges tend to symbolize positivity and aid, so being told to eat one by a friend in his most vulnerable moment is a kindness, hence some symbolism there. I did unpack this deeper though, say, such that oranges need to be peeled to get to the sweetness, and they are one of the sweetest citrus fruits, though they maintain their tang. This represents perfectly how the orange delivery felt in that scene; sweetness from Rabi in a moment of vulnerability, the orange peel gone, the bitter and trauma numbed exterior of Oppenheimer stripped away for just a moment before the sour slammed back in full force. Also just. Really stretching it but oranges being segmented could both represent a fractured mind AND the different perspectives on Oppenheimer as a whole and his reputation to this day.

Oh and General Groves when telling Oppenheimer he's essentially done with him but will ..try? To keep in contact? And update him?? He's buttoning up his coat if I remember right, mirroring his guard getting put up as he ends his amicable dealings and negotiations with Oppenheimer, adding layers and making himself less vulnerable. Oppie, meanwhile, smokes as the quiet, socially acceptable way to perform an anxious ritual.

Also the RAIN. Don't have this one fully unpacked yet and maybe never will but Cillian in an interview mentioned that Nolan described Oppenheimer as "dancing between the raindrops" and this has only half clicked with me but oh well here we go. The basic idea is likely that Oppenheimer doesn't abide by just one grouping of people or their ideas, or hop on any flow bound for one particular destination. Rather, he dances in the space between; in the uncertainty that looms closer towards the ground the further things fall. I think this works decently with what I've listened to and read about Oppenheimer as a person, saying he'd follow recent physics, always growing impatient with the current field he was in and seeking something more...I don't like the use of this word in relation to science but "trendy." I guess the dust particles and whatnot in the headspace sequences work in line with the whole rain theory too in terms of how Oppenheimer doesn't just think about the interactions and the space between, but lives and breathes it as the space between the raindrops; between those that make the biggest splashes, as he gets caught in the ripples. Also given his anti-war rhetoric throughout the movie I feel like there's maybe a fire/water thing going on with him trying to quench the bomb he created but ultimately failing? Who knows. Maybe it's just rain.

Anyways here's all the ramblings I did to myself to reach these conclusions. They are incomprehensible.

[tootoomanycats]

" The Closet Scene"

Buggy x Tall Fem OC

Pairing:

Buggy x Taller OC Fem

Word Count: 1,516

Summary: Buggy needs to focus on getting out of debt from Crocodile. If he pays back his debts on time, he will retain his majority ownership of the Cross Guild. When Crocodile realizes the clown is not easily distracted, he hires a retired professional to ensure the genius jester fails. Saoirse (SHEER-sha), the Mistress of Sleep Haven Island, is forced to accept a deal with Crocodile out of desperation. The terms: Keep the clown occupied with her...talents. In exchange, she will be paid her island's weight in gold. After months of trying to get the clown's attention, he finally starts to flirt back. When she pushes them both into a cramped cleaning closet, she starts to struggle with her feelings while staying focused on her debt to Crocodile. But how can she stay focused when Buggy is being such a good boy.

Warnings:

Mentions of breath play

Two ideots starting to have crushes.

Hand Job

Praise Kink

Author Notes:

Hello Everyone! This is a small teaser snippet of a much larger story called Performances. I have reworked this for the last two months to fit what I wanted. Its first chapter should be posted by the end of the month, so in the meantime, here is the scene that started my drive to finally begin posting fanfiction! As always if you like what you have read please remember that fanfic writers live off of likes, comments and reblogs- we wont admit it but we all have praise kinks. Have you fed your writer today? I give you *drumroll* The Closet Scene.

She leaned them against the wall with one arm, Buggy's shaking breath fanning across her jaw as he pressed his head back into the solid structure trapped between the two. His palms pressed flat to the smooth surface, not wanting to break the game’s rules. Saoirse leaned forward just enough for her cupid's bow to brush the clown’s bulbous nose as she spoke.

“Good Boy, now stay very, very still.”

She pulled her head back just enough to glance down and see the tent starting to form against the seam of his pants. Free hand moving slowly from his sternum, drawing small circles with the tips of painted nails before rotating her wrist for fingers to face downward, palm once again flush against him, the heat from his lower belly radiating into her digits.

Buggy gulped at the sensation that her hand made, especially when her nails had outlined their circles. Suddenly, the cotton texture of his shirt against his chest hair became too evident in the front of his mind. His eyes never left her face as he watched the subtle expressions that showed from her continuing menstruations. His hands now gripping their nails through white gloves and into the wood groves behind him, the fabric piling between nail beds. He was fighting between the loud voice of impatience internally screaming at him to move and the low vibrations coming to life from his body.

His breath caught in his throat when her fingers moved lower, smoothing over the leather of his belt and then hovering with a barely there touch at the seam in the front of his pants. Her eyes glanced back to his when she saw the tremor in his right shoulder, a barely there smile in the corner of her lips forming.

Using her index finger to hook into the belt’s tail, she unlooped it from the buckle. A sly smile grew at seeing the captain's chest shake, his body processing that the tension around his hips loosened. The loss of strength from the belt allowed his pants to slouch down by an inch, the fabric's friction against his growing erection forcing a quiet hiss to be pushed from behind clenched teeth. The sound of his nails scratching against the closet's wood was audible to them both.

“You are doing such a good job; remember to breathe.”

Buggy nodded his head fervently before licking his lips and letting out another shuttered breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Saoirse’s words sounded so soft and low, a honeyed calm compared to the electrifying sensation her touch was causing. He had to remember that they were in a precarious place that she pushed them into. The closet was dimly lit and passed frequently by the ship's occupants.

Usually, the pirate couldn't care less about being caught with a woman, even sometimes pushing the border of voyeurism with his encounters, but this was…different. He was used to being the one in charge of these situations, but recently, his curiosity got the better of him. Between the moment she first stepped onto BariBari Island to now, she had been trying to get his attention. Usually, women only went after him for money or free booze, and it was always evident during intimate moments that they weren't actually interested in him.

He had been so good about not getting distracted from his goal, and before this damn storm, he was getting closer and closer to paying off the debt to Crocodile. But, even to Buggy, a blind man could see how beautiful she was. She was charming and a hell of a talent on stage. Just this morning, he remembered how his heart would race when she touched his arm, or when he caught her looking at him, he would gulp. Now, he was pinned between the woman who had spent the last five months vying for his attention and a solid wall. There is nowhere to run or hide this time.

Saoirse’s heart was racing to the point of even feeling the artery in her neck pulsing. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt a rush from having a man in such a submissive moment. It took control not to show the tremble in her arms or her shuddering breath that mirrored his own. Her eyes dropped down when his tongue darted out, outlining both red-smeared lips, as a quiet huff came out when her hand pressed once again into his lower belly. Fingers nimbly undo the top button before gripping the laces and lazily pulling them loose.

Starting to look down, Buggy's head gave a soft thud when he pressed it back into place, the game's rules screaming internally with the reminder not to move. All movement paused. Seafoam green eyes opened to connect with redwood brown, the coil in his belly tightening at its intensity. He could sense the subtly of her shoulders as they rose and lowered from deep, controlled breaths.

“I adore your obedience.”

Oh, fuck. What’s a guy gotta do to hear that again?

The tension of a spring being pulled back further and further filled the air as Saoirse adjusted her weight, shifting to be closer, looking down at him from the added height of stiletto heels. The strength it took to hold back from kissing him, no, devouring him at that moment had her gulping now. She had to do her job, and giving in to silly feelings would not guarantee its success. Saoirse needed the pirate clown to become obsessed with her for this to work. This was work she had to remind herself…again.

Buggy’s mouth opened to form a silent O as the back of her knuckles ran the length of his still-clothed erection. His knees almost buckled with that one. But what made his eyes roll back was when the pad of her thumb rubbed at the wet spot of precum that stained his underwear. Long fingers gave slow and soft strokes to the underside of his now painfully hard cock. The friction of fabric was once again at the front of his mind.

The arm once used to steady her balance against the wall cupped his makeup-caked cheek, guiding his head to tilt up just enough to watch what she did next. Once she was sure he had caught his breath from her recent teasing, she smiled and brought the same hand from his still-clothed cock up to her lips, letting a thick drop of saliva roll down to the meat of her palm.

She rubbed her fingers together to spread the slick moisture, showing Buggy the slick webbing between her pointer finger and thumb before slowly lowering out of view. When his eyes tried to follow where her hand was going, his head became pinned in place. The other hand that once cupped his cheek so sweetly now gripped his face. Thumb pressing into the knife of his jawbone, the other four fingers gripping the base of his skull, forcing his head to the wall.

Panic did not even have time to set in before a wet hand slipped past the band of his underwear. Sickened fingers wrapped entirely around his cock, giving a languid pump from base to tip and base again.

“Oh fu- humph!”

Saoirse’s hand clamped over his mouth when his surprise moan was louder than expected. A wicked smile graced her lips as she watched the once overly confident clown's body twitch, his core tightening, hips twitching as her hand stayed wrapped around the thick mushroom head of his appendage, fingers pulsing quickly, causing suction to the overly sensitive tip.

Her hands' hyper-focus brought a paralyzing sensation through his body that was even too much to cum. Just when dark spots started to fill the corners of his vision, the torture paused, and the palm lifted from his mouth. Head falling forward to rest on a willowed collar bone, lungs burning in their gasping for air. Body in shock and desperately trying to process what had just occurred.

“Remember the rules.”

Buggy was slowly brought back from the gentle touches of a thumb rubbing small circles into his temple. She watched intently as the once-red nose regained its rosy coloring after becoming pale. Leaning forward to press their chests together for more physical contact, helping to ground the poor man from the high she pushed him into.

“Do you need a moment? I'm so sorry. We really should have talked about safe words before I started this Buggy. Why don’t we take a break.”

Saoirse’s words were filled with genuine concern. Her free hand, which was not lightly wrapped around his cock, unmoving, rubbed the back of his neck that had exposed itself when he leaned forward. A low chuckle filled the air of the small closet, growing into a quiet laugh.

A finger lifted into the air, wagging before turning into a point under her chin. The seam of the glove nipped into her skin as it lifted her head high, forcing her eyes to strain to look down at him. Darkened green eyes glared up at her through long lashes. Skull tilted to the side, a hard-to-read crazed expression on his face mixed with blown wide pupils. Voice rough as he spoke.

“Oh, we are going to have a lot of fun together, aren’t we.”

[femmeleatherface]

i know the accepted origin for monsieur mallah and the brain's epic gay romance is doom patrol V2 #34, and that's certainly the first time it was really explicit for sure, but has anyone else read the V2 swamp thing annual #3?

it was published in 1987, 3 years before #34, as a tribute to all the DC comics gorillas, so mallah gets a lot of attention in it and he is EXTREMELY gay coded. it ends up making his feelings toward the brain get presented in a very un-heterosexual way. and it's all tied in with the themes and structure of the annual's story so closely that it feels very, very deliberate.

[ ID: the cover to the swamp thing volume 2 annual #3. a golden gorilla sits menacingly in the center, looking directly at the reader. a torn white shirt is clutched in its fists and dangling from its fanged mouth. in the leaves and grass in front of it are the remains of the rest of a stereotypical safari outfit, including a rifle that lies propped on the gorilla's right arm. swamp thing's face is in the background, the red eyes glaring at the reader above the gorilla's head. end ID. ]

basically, the plot of the annual is that gorilla grodd has figured out a way to weaken the shackles of his mind prison in gorilla city, and he's using his telepathic powers to summon all the dc comics gorillas to free the rest of him and take down solovar through lightning magic. swamp thing... is also there. he doesn't do much. the annual is more preoccupied with the gorillas than its titular character, who's primarily busy having relationship drama with abby.

this drama is what the annual opens with. in the previous issue swamp thing apparently made a "merely human" comment toward constantine, which hurt abby's feelings since she is also human. this sets up the main ongoing theme of the story, about humans in relationships with non-humans.

this is very closely tied with the portrayal of gorillas in certain medias, particularly from the early the 20th century. the annual explores this very extensively, leaning heavily into the sexual implications...

[ ID: a series of three comic book panels featuring b'wana beast in his alter ego, mike maxwell, with his companion/girlfriend, djuba. maxwell is a blonde white man and djuba is a red-furred female gorilla.

panel 1: smiling, maxwell pushes an extremely phallic sticklike thing into djuba's mouth while she takes off his hat. their arms are around each other and their faces are very close. maxwell says, "don't have to play macho man with you... nooo. gimme a drink. gimme a drink..."

panel 2: maxwell and djuba's faces are touching now, their heads turned so they are cheek-to-cheek. djuba feeds maxwell a red bottle she has around her neck, and he sips from it. maxwell says, "just a tiny bit now... i have to drive our friend back... that's it..."

panel 3: a closeup of maxwell and djuba's mouths, basically touching. djuba's lips are parted and maxwell says, "ohhh yeah... that's it. i can feel it... i can feel it..."

end ID.]

[ID: a single panel of congorilla in his gorilla form. he has golden fur and is looking behind him to some bushes, where the heads of two black-furred gorillas are popping out. congorilla thinks, "i'm picking up the overpowering scent of females in the grove below and my blood's starting to boil. it feels good. too good." end ID.]

[ID: two comic book panels in gorilla city.

panel 1: sam simeon, a more anthropomorphized gorilla with human-style white skin, black hair, and visible chest hair, speaks to solovar, a non-anthropomorphized gorilla with blue fur.

sam says: "lemme tell ya... here i could do my best work! y'know, get into a little self-publishing, maybe put on a comic convention or two every year... i bet we could get thousands of atilla gorilla fans!"

solovar says: "umm, yes, of course. i see that your human friend is enjoying her stay here, too..."

panel 2: angel o'day, a thin white human woman in a strapless black bikini with her white hair pulled up, smiles at a crowd of four gorillas clustered around her. they all smile back at her, enamoured. one gorilla holds her hand and another writes something in a small notebook. solovar and sam watch on in the background. sam looks confused, maybe even hurt. he says, "angel...?"

end ID.]

this is primarily where the humor of the comic is supposed to come from. it's honestly a bit uncomfortable because most gorilla media--particularly ones with this sexual element--draws upon a lot of extremely racist and eugenist ideas when utilizing these tropes.

the annual mostly ignores this; except for a white savior-y joke with b'wana beast's introduction early on, race never really comes up and it's primarily just wacky horny shenanigans with white people and gorillas with zero interrogation or even acknowledgement of where those tropes come from and why they exist. since the comic isn't all that interested in acknowledging the questionable racial elements at play, i'll just leave the discussion at that so we can get moving along to the fun part of how mallah and the brain fit into all this, but i did want to point it out because uh. yikes.

anyway. moving on!

mallah and the brain are the first non-grodd gorilla-related team introduced, right after the relationship drama is set up with swamp thing and abby. while they are on their way to commit international terrorism and kidnappng, a lackey harasses mallah by asking him if he wants to have sex with lois lane. mallah spends the entire conversation looking completely dead inside.

[ID: a single comic book panel. roland, a white human man with orange hair holds a newspaper. he leers at monsieur mallah, an auburn-furred gorilla. mallah stares back at him blankly while smoking a cigarette. roland says, "whaddya say, mallah? how'd you like to get between the sheets with superman's girlfriend? y'think you're more her type? you got animal magnetism, don'tcha?" a speech bubble from the brain off-screen shoots back: "enough, roland!" end ID.]

so our entire introduction to mallah as a character is dependent upon him experiencing a microaggression deeply rooted in heteronormativity, and he is very clearly having none of it. interesting!

at this point, grodd's mind control beam reaches mallah. he kills all the lackeys who were picking on him, which the brain is really only mildly annoyed by, something that, sidebar, is absolutely hilarious. he could be more supportive of the whole microaggression thing, but ultimately he's just like: "why did you do it NOW? you should have waited until later!"

[ID: a single comic panel. cigarette still in his mouth, monsieur mallah kneels on the ground, holding the lifeless arm of a dead white man. the leg of another dead white man lies on the ground in front of him, and there are puddles of blood everywhere. standing in the corner and covered in blood, the brain says: "sacre bleu! mallah, what has come over you? why have you slaughtered them? couldn't you have waited until they had outlived their usefulness?" end ID.]

at this point, though, mallah turns on the brain and breaks his life support chamber. the brain is fine, but feels betrayed, and in his first line mallah explains his behavior simply by saying "c'est la vie!"

[ID: two comic book panels.

panel 1: the brain and monsieur mallah inside a tank. monsieur mallah sits at the controls with his cigarette, still a bit blank-faced but looking more relaxed. the brain stands in the corner, his dome broken and a burst of elecrosparks. he says, "y-you betray me, monsieur... crackle pop... i... i who created you... fitzz fitzzz. why, monsieur... cracklcrackpop... tell me, why??"

panel 2: an exterior shot of the tank zooming off through the desert, treads and billowing dust behind it. a speach bubble coming from the tank reads: "c'est la vie!

end ID.]

this ends up being a running gag in the annual, where the brain tries reaching out to mallah but the mind control is so strong that mallah just continues torturing him. it's poetic justice, since the brain's entire plan before the mind control happened was to kidnap a child and torture them, but it's also buildup to something at the end. we'll get to that.

first though, they pick up sam simeon and angel o'day from the angel and the ape comics. throughout the annual angel has been used as the designated "white woman all the male gorillas go bananas for," but i want to note that we never see mallah as one of those gorillas. we never see him interact with angel at all, in fact, except arguably once, where even under gorilla grodd mind control he is more polite than angel's friend sam:

[ID: a single comic panel of monsieur mallah, the brain, sam simeon, and angel o'day inside the tank. monsieur mallah is at the open tank hatch, lowering himself inside. next to him, the brain pops out of his life support chamber as a mess of wires and cerebral matter. sam simeon is at the tank controls, angrily clutching the wheel in one hand. angel grabs sam's shoulder, looking worried.

mallah says: "look! it is ze sign we have been waiting for! attack, mes amis!"

angel says: "sam?"

sam says: "shaddup!"

the brain says: "fzzt."

end ID.]

it's like the cracks the lackey made about mallah and lois lane earlier and how apathetic he was to the conversation. this mallah is shown to just be SO disinterested in human women compared to most of his male gorilla counterparts. he also doesn't show any interest in b'wana beast's gorilla companion/girlfriend, djuba, when she shows up, which one might expect considering the raging gorilla horniness and grodd's own brief flirty remark to her. but why? why is mallah so disinterested in all these women?

obviously it's because he's gay as fuck, but is that what the comic is actually trying to imply? i'd say yes! that is where the ending comes into play, and why i feel the gay coding in this comic is intentional.

after grodd is defeated by frying his own brain, we get one last scene between mallah and the brain. it's only a page, so i'm just going to paste it here, because all of it is... amazing...

[ID: a full comic page layout.

panel 1: a closeup of the brain lying in the grass. he is little more than a mess of cables and metal being stepped on by monsieur mallah's bare foot. a sound effect reads, "plltch!" the brain cries: "aakk!"

panel 2: monsieur mallah and the brain in the jungle at night. mallah picks the brain up from under his foot.

mallah says: "monsieur brain! what luck zat i have found you! come, we must move quickly! ze coup has failed and ze soldiers of solovar are after us. apparently he did not take kindly to my little uzi love taps."

the brain says: "m-mallah? ooooh-nooo..."

panel 3: monsieur mallah cradles the brain to his chest and runs through the foliage.

the brain says: "n-non! please, monsieur... leave me be... or better yet, kill me now! i can't take zis torture any longer!"

mallah says: "kill you? monsieur, you offend me! mallah owes you his own life, many times over! one of our old hideouts is nearby. i'll have you safe and snug in one of your spare life support modules very soon, wait and see!"

panel 4: monsieur mallah huddles under a large leafy plant, hidden by that and the grasses with the brain close to his chest. mallah looks out cautiously, watching as three shadowy gorillas walk by with flashlights and metal helmets. the outlines of mallah and the brain's dialogue boxes are dashed to indicate they're whispering.

the brain says: "y-you will? but i thought... i thought you wanted to destroy me?"

mallah says: "nuzzing could be furzer from the truth, monsieur. i am here to help you and care for you, to protect you and serve you in any way i can!"

panel 5: mallah races through the foliage, holding the brain tight. the gorilla soldiers are walking away behind them.

the brain says: "b-but... why?"

mallah says: "c'est l'amour!"

panel 6: abby arcane, a young white woman with white hair that has black streaks in it, lies on the ground. she is in a fetal position, her eyes shut. behind her, a lake stretches out in the great yellow moonlight, the great trees of the swamp further beyond that.

end ID.]

JUST. SO MUCH EVERYTHING GOING ON HERE.

the mind control is gone at this point, so this is the only point in the comic where we get to see monsieur mallah fully as himself and how this version of him would normally interact with the brain. and it's so... passionate and sweet? he just basically says that he's going to be always there for the brain because... because of love? whAt???? did he just straight up tell the brain that he loves him??????? oh my god.

and just... the way the comic has spent so much time sexualizing the relationships between humans and gorillas, and how the ending scene with abby and swamp thing after this is also so freaking horny, and here we get a human/non-human relationship where one of the parties doesn't have a body and they cannot be physical, and for them in this comic at least... it doesn't matter. because love. the way this explores and subverts the horny gorilla tropes in such a unique way. oh my god.

and it's treated as a joke, for sure. the entire punchline for the running gag of mallah treating the brain like shit for the entire story is "he loved him all along!" which. uh. questionable in so many ways. but the entire origin of the brain and monsieur mallah as a gay couple came from a joke in a one-off doom patrol comic, so really this is all in the exact same "mallah and the brain as a big gay joke" vein. it honestly makes me wonder if grant morrison read this annual and that's where it gave them the idea for #34. but idk.

ALSO. that closing panel with abby waiting for swamp thing? yes, that's setting up a transition to a new scene, but it's also a reminder of abby's previous scene. swamp thing temporarily got hit with the grodd mind control beam and actually went to go impact the plot of his own annual, and she had her own big speech about her feelings:

[ID: a full comic page layout.

panel 1: abby stops at the edge of a lake, looking down at it. she is in a swamp with tall trees and a ramshackle cabin behind her. she says: "i don't understand, alec... i just don't get it at all. something's wrong with you... something's terribly wrong."

panel 2: a closeup of abby's hand touching the surface of the lake. she says: "one minute you're perfectly fine, the next you're unraveling. it's almost as if your personality were coming apart piece by piece... you don't have alzheimer's disease, do you? no, i don't think a plant can get that..."

panel 3: abby sits sadly huddled on the ground. her knees are pressed to her chest and she's stacked her fists on them to support her chin. she says: "it was probably what i said, wasn't it? i shouldn't have acted like that towards you, i know... sometimes i'm such a spoiled brat."

panel 4: a closeup of abby looking sadly at the water. she says: "i just wanted you to know that my feelings were hurt, and that we should work on what we have, alec... but i'm a stranger to you now, and that hurts worse than all the stupid remarks either of us could ever make."

panel 5: a distant shot of abby sitting and holding her knees while she continues to look at the water. she says: "i don't pretend to understand it... but i--i know where i belong... right here, waiting for you to come back. even if it takes forever. you are coming back, aren't you, alec? i mean... what would i ever do without you?"

panel 6: swamp thing under the water. moodily, he sits squatting with his arms crossed over his knees. a tire is half-buried in the sand next to him.

end ID.]

THE PARALLELS. the being hurt and hurting someone you care about but being determined to stay by their side because you love them. what. the fuck. what the fuck. this has got to be intentional and more mallah/brain fans need to be aware of this comic and add it to their lexicon because what! GAY!!!!

[meowzilla93]

This little fic is just a pure angsty little thing of Baxter realizing his college deadline is coming up and he is going to need to deal with the turmoil of that, along side his parents being the uncaring people that they have always been.

WARNING: the parents do make a transphobic comment, so be warned before continuing

“The usual?”

Baxter was pulled from his thoughts as his hairdresser gets her tools ready for another colour session for him. Close to four years he has been coming to see her to sort out his iconic hairstyle, but today would put an end to that.

“Ah, no. It was fun whilst it lasted, but I think it is time to go a standard black now.”

“Baxter… After so long?”

He isn’t surprised at her reaction; After being dedicated to a certain style and colour choice, the question of ‘The usual?’ became more a silly joke. That now will be ending. Showing off his charming, amiable smile he looks at her in the mirror, not being able to truly meet her eyes,

“Yes, I am certain. I can guarantee to you that I will not be coming back next session, requesting you to turn back the clock.”

“Haha, very well. If your certain, let’s get started.”

“Yes, lets…”

Baxter stares in the mirror and watches the last three years of his life slowly be erased. A new deadline was approaching, his graduation was in six months, and he managed to succeed in nothing. He will have a piece of paper saying he has a degree but nothing else meaningful happened. He could try to lie to himself and say that he tried, but what point was there in doing that. He knew he was the reason behind his own unhappiness, might as well accept that and the obvious trajectory of his life.

//

Back in is his dorm, new black hair in full glory, Baxter stood in the middle of his room clearing out his closet. His iconic black and white shirts, outfits and accessories finding themselves in a pile in the corner of the room.  If he wants to gain employment as soon as he graduates, he need to start going in for interview and with that, needs more professional clothing to present himself accordingly. After all, there is no need keep up with his monochrome themed clothes anymore, not when his hair will no longer suit and he simply just doesn’t care anymore. As the pile increases with each additional article of clothing, Baxter notes what he needs to replace with simple black iterations. Any lightness in his life is now gone. May as well encompass that in every aspect of his life.

His whole life has turned dark, there is no point to this anymore. Soon he will graduate, and he will back to square one. What would his younger self think right now? What would the people he once held onto think about him now?

//

The deadline was reached, and Baxter as found himself sitting across his parents at an expensive restaurant that they chose to dine at. “To celebrate his success” was their reasoning. But Baxter knew better; It was another celebration that his parents used to celebrate their own success in raising him. Another excuse to make themselves look good in front of their acquaintances rather than celebrate how he has completed his four years in study and is looking towards his own future. Not that his future held all that much at all, simply another lonely life in a different way.

As he pushed around the salmon on his plate, not feeling hungry at all, he listens to his mother talk about the most recent charity event, she suddenly catches his attention with her next words,

“Well then, now that you have your degree, you will be able to assist your father and myself with the business and events. What a brilliant way to start your career, if not by helping your family with the current work that already needs to be performed.’

Staring at his mother, he almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing,

“Mother, I didn’t plan on returning to Golden Grove. I thought that I had made myself abundantly clear about this matter.”

“Nonsense. Searching for a job will be difficult and can take a while, especially when you have little to no experience. Working for your Father in the meantime will provide you with the skills you need to eventually manage your own business and eventually take over your Fathers.”

Baxter was stunned at what he heard. Four years he tried to separate himself from his parents, four years he spent snubbing them as much as he could because he didn’t want to become anything like them. Yet, there they were, expecting him to come back as if nothing had changed, the last four years didn’t happen.

“We will discuss the particulars at a later time. But I must tell you, the Johnsons at the last event…”

Baxter stopped listening to whatever his mother was talking about, not at all surprised that they did not care about his opinion, nor wanted to hear what his aspirations were for himself. Not that he had much really. He lived a lonely yet safe life, not letting people in so to not allow himself to get hurt. He gave up his monochromatic black and white palette that highlighted his college years and failed relationships, opting to focus on just wearing black. Simple. Bland. Lacking in personality. Much like he was.

He looked down at his plate, not really seeing what was in front of him, not really seeing the food, but just wanting to exist in his own world, not wishing to listen to his mother prattle on about the gossip she heard at her recent event. But that changed when she mentioned a name he never thought to hear again.

“Oh I still cannot believe the Murrays’. Letting their son parade around like that.”

He lifted his gaze, looking at his mother who was paying her attention to his father.

“I know. Seems the town doesn’t care how this is going to affect the other children in the area, seeing him dress up like a girl all the time. And calling him by a new name? What utter nonsense.”

Baxter blanched, knowing without even saying the name who they were talking about.

Renee.

His old childhood friend, who found herself as she got older and realised, she was a woman. Renee, who was sweet and kind and gentle and deserved to be loved and supported by all around her. Someone he left behind over four years ago but still cherished in his heart, along with his other friends he made in his teenage years. And he was listening to his parents berate and talk foully about her, when she has done nothing wrong, and they have done plenty.

Refusing to listen to another word, Baxter placed his cutlery down, tidied himself and stood up.

“That is quite enough. Mother. Father. I will not be returning to Golden Grove with you. In fact, I will be having nothing to do with you from this point onwards. You are not the sort of people I want to have in my life, not with the way you look down upon others around you, simply for existing and wanting to be happy in this life. I am not you. I will never be like you. I do not want nor require your support to make something of myself. I am capable of succeeding in that on my own terms. I would wish you luck in your endeavours, but that would a lie. I ask that you do not contact me any further.  Goodbye.”

With that, he turns and walks away, ignoring his mother calling out to him, demanding he return and explain himself. No. He didn’t owe them that, not with how cruel they are. As he steps out into the cool evening air, he feels a lightness in his chest as he makes his way to the cab pick up point, waving down a taxi. Jumping in, he directs the cab to take him back to his dorm, which he was already in the midst of packing in preparation to leave; Not just the campus but Virginia entirely. Watching the streetlights flash past, he can’t help but feel a sense of relief coursing through him. It didn’t completely alleviate his sense of self-loathing and utter numbness he had felt this last year, however it did grant him a piece of serenity in what he was doing.

This was the start he needed. A true new start. He had cut himself from his parents and the toxicity that they infected his life with; Moving to Southern California to start a new life where he initially founded his independence, though only temporarily. After all, he did hurt other friends there too. The last thing he wanted to do is stay somewhere he might not be welcomed. But it was better than staying in Virginia where his parents allowed him to study, or back to Oregon where he cant escape the memories of his sad childhood and his parents.

No. Even though he burnt some bridges there, it was preferable to potentially walk into them there, than have to deal with anything that his parents had touched and spoiled. As the night sky continues to darken and the stars shine in all their glory, Baxter feels a soft smile spread across his face. Perhaps some parts of his life he will never be able to improve on, but this part? This gave him a glimmer of hope that maybe he could still live a relatively happy life. Just maybe.

[tiangouaway]

thoughts on little goody two shoes

took me a while to get around to it, but i finally finished watching a playthrough of this game and all the endings! i wouldn't say it's a game i would want to play for myself, but it's definitely one i would recommend to anyone with an interest in the genre

spoilers for the game below

positives!!

the game is... a lot less scary than i thought it would be? even with the all the sacrifices and monsters everywhere, aside from some blood, there was nothing too grotesque. no jumpscares either! just running from creatures ^_^

honestly, for all the creepy shit going on, the game is just pretty wholesome? the reason elise does everything really isn't to get rich - she wants love and respect. she mentions that she feels worse after her grandmother passed, and wants to leave the village where she gets pushed around all the time. she just wants to be happy.

the conflict between ozzy (+ his followers) and walpurga is just really cool to me. i like the thought of two beings fighting over a person, and the specific situation this game presents is interesting. ozzy made elise for holle, but in walpurga's grove. her desperation to have a child makes her obsessed with claiming elise as her own, causing a conflict. not to mention ozzy's followers! i just love infighting between antagonists for some reason.

the artstyles are all so pretty! and they all blend together so seamlessly?? the 90s sprites for the dialogue, the pixel chibis for the gameplay, and the more detailed/painted look for the backgrounds!

the music!! it's all so good, and i just love the female vocals even if they're going la la la or ba ba ba ba! i've rewatched elise and rozenmarine's cutscenes multiple times now, and even though i muted the playthrough at times bc the bgm and sound effects were too creepy for me, i always turned it back on whenever a golden girl appeared. the mysterious yet calming music that plays whenever a girl speaks is definitely my favorite track!

i LOVE the minigames being structured like arcade machines. just. beloved <3

negatives...

FUCK that part of the thursday witching hour where you have to play in complete darkness. just fuck off. i know i sound dramatic but this is a "what were the devs thinking" bit for me. no one on earth would want to play that.

some comments of the playthrough said that the puzzles were a nightmare, especially for first time players. and i have to agree to some extent. all the puzzles that take place in the crow's section (the yellow castle/wheat field/maze) just feel exhausting, mainly the shaky bird trees and the saving apfel quest. at times it feels like a "you have to take damage to continue" segment

muffy :/ she's adorable, but she's only used for the suspicion mechanic and stealing your food. maybe it was just the playthough i watched, but food can be pretty costly along with buying regen supplies and oil. maybe she could've vouched for elise in a tense scene if the player helps her! that would've felt nice. also, the joke about elise constantly calling her the wrong name is just... really lazy humor

when it comes with the endings with the girlfriends (1-3 and 5-7), despite how the happy ones are very different, i don't feel like replaying the game to get them is worth it. honestly, the ending that intrigued me the most is ending 4 with father hans because it's so unique

as i said above, the game wouldn't be something that i would want to play for myself, but i would definitely share with others. i'm tempted to check out the original pocket mirror and the remake now!

[bubblebaththoughts]

Honesty - Joel Miller

joel miller x f!reader

After working with eachother for nearly five years Joel begins to open up

Warnings: ten years before the events of tlou but reader and Joel have only known eachother for five years, age gap(reader is 29 and joel is 46), typical canon violence, angst, comfort. sweet joel miller. no direct feelings are confessed but its implied

"Jesus- fucking- Christ." Joel grunted as he pushed the now-dead runner off of him and into the snow

"Get up, we have to go." Y/n said as she continued to move along through the forest

"You almost killed me." Joel complained as he caught up to the woman

"No, that infected almost killed you, I killed the infected, which saved you." She explained, simply shrugging, as if it was nothing

"The bullet went through its head and into the ground, an inch from my face." He exclaimed

"Yeah well you're still here aren't you?" She smiled back at him

Before Joel could respond, a gun went off, somewhere behind them.

The pair looked at eachother, and in a moment where they felt like they read eachothers minds they both took off, towards their destination.

Their destination in question was a small ghost town, less than a mile from where they were currently at, a place where you could hole up, in case of any trouble.

"We're gonna find y'all! No reason to run!" The manic voice rang out, through the woods

"Shit, Joel, the snow, our foot prints." Y/n reminded him

"Through here." He pointed to a grove of trees that had leaves so thick that the snow barely fell through "It's a longer route but we'll get there." He reassured

It would only take about five more minutes than the other route but if they moved fast enough they could cut that in half.

On their way to the town, three more shots rang out into the woods, each sounding closer and closer.

"Hold on a second." Y/n stopped as the put her hand on a tree to catch her breath

"I thought I was the old one?" Joel found a way to make a sarcastic comment "Cmon now, we gotta go."

"Okay, Okay, I'm coming." She began following him once again, trying to keep up with the man in front of her they were now on the outskirts of town

"I can hear you!" The manic voice started up again, sounding closer than ever

The voice came from complete silence, scaring Y/n causing her to trip uo as she looked back to see if the man was close.

"Shit!" She exclaimed as she immediately felt the pain in her ankle

"Damnnit y/n." Joel grumbled as he turned back to help her "Can you stand?"

"Joel, it hurts." She groaned

Joel sighed as he scooped her up, holding her head to his chest. "You're lucky you're useful." He remarked

What he meant was: You're lucky I like you enough to not leave you behind."

"Act like we ain't been friends for damn near five years." She chucked against his chest

"Friends?" He asked

"Co-workers, acquaintances. Whatever you want." She dismissed

"Cmon, we're almost there." Joel sighed as he led them behind an old butcher shop and began to open up the cellar to get inside their hide out.

They'd had to hide there before, when they got stuck in a pinch, hiding from both living humans and the infected, one time or another.

Joel jumped down first, it wasnt a bad jump, just four feet, but if y/n jumped down there with her ankle, they would be spending longer in there than needed

"Cmon, I got you." He said as he raised his arms to catch her

"I got it." She began to climb to the edge

"Stop bein' stubborn, you're gonna hurt yourself." He grumbled

Y/n let her legs hang over the edge before she jumped down, letting him catch her. His hands landed on her waist, immediately slowing her fall, and her feet lightly hit the ground.

His hands squeezed at he waist, as if to say "I told you so" before he said anything he let her lean against the wall so he could close them in.

"Damn it's dark in here." Y/n said as she waited for Joel to light the small lamp in the corner, soon after, he did.

"Come on now, lets get this elevated." he said as he walked her to the back room in the dinky basement

There was a bed and a small side table in there, and in the main room there was a couch, a shelf of board games, along with a shelf of canned food, courtesy of you and Joel.

The pair had assumed that whoever owned this butcher shop had some free time on their hands, with all the board games and what not.

Joel set y/n down on the bed, letting her rest for a second before he pulled one of the pillows down the put under her foot "Keep that up." He pointed to her ankle as he backed out of the room

Y/n nodded, leaning down to pull the boots off of her feet and took the sock off of her hurt ankle

She then sighed letting her head fall against the other pillow.

Sleep came to her fast than expected, but it felt as soon as she fell asleep she was woken up by the cellar doors slamming shut.

"Y/n? Here I got this for ya." Joel came in as he held out some medical wrap, a bottle of water, little white pills, and some romance novel he found on the shelf at the pharmacy he "borrowed" from.

"You left?" She questioned as he sat down next to her foot, beginning to open the package

"I came back, didn't I?" He shrugged as he pushed the bottom hem of her jeans up

"You're right." She sighed, not in the particular mood to argue

"I know I am." He scoffed, continuing what he was doing

There was a long moment of silence as he wrapped Y/n's ankle.

"Here, take this." Joel hamded her the water and the little white pills

"What is it?" She asked, examining the littpe pills in her palm

"Painkiller, should help you." He shrugged

Y/n downed the pills, better that than nothing.

"You okay?" He asked, trying to get her to make eye contact

"Embarrassed, but could be worse." She shrugged

" 'M sorry bout your ankle." He sighed

"Don't worry about it, it was my fault." She replied

Joel leaned foward "I worry, okay? It's just bad luck I guess."

"Better luck than some people." She smiled, hoping he knew what she meant

"You always know what to say, huh?" Joel scoffed, smiling down

"I think I'm just making up this shit as I go along." Y/n shook her head at the thought

There was a small second of silence, of just them, only them.

Y/n decided to break the silence "Y'know I feel like I don't really know anything about you, Joel."

Joel's smile dropped "What do y-" He stopped to clear his voice "-wanna know?"

"Anything you're willing to tell me." She explained as he began to awkwardly look around the room to avaiod eye contact

"What's there to know? Everything we've ever known is long gone, trust me, you know a lot about me than most people." Joel grumbled as he stood up from the bed, knowing she wouldn't follow him because of her ankle

"But-"

"Quit it, you need to rest, we'll talk later." He ended with closing the door to the room, though she could still see the shadow of his boots at the bottom of the door, she watched for a second as he stood there.

As he stood there he was debating going back in, instead, from the other side of the door he says, "You've met Tommy, my brother." Before continuing, he sighs "I have- had. I had a daughter, before all this."

Y/n heart sank, she felt like she'd pushed him too far.

"Her name-" He paused, not sure if he should keep going, or to let it go "Her name was Sarah."

She could hear the pain in his voice as every memory flooded back to him.

"And she was everything to me." And that was the end of that, y/n watched as Joel's boots got farther away from the door

Y/n grabbed the book Joel picked up for her, flipping to the first chapter, she wasn't tired, and there was nothing else to do.

Time began to pass as she advanced in the book, she heard Joel snoring, and then Joel stop snoring, assuming he had woken back up.

Y/n pulled the blanket from her body, swinging her legs overso she was now sitting on theedge of the bed. "Here goes nothing." She scoffed to herself as she pushed up from off the bed.

The pain had mainly subsided, thanks to Joel's painkillers but it was still tender as she limped to the door, dragging it open.

The door opening gained Joel's attention as he strained his head to look back at her "What're you doin' up?"

"Got tired of bein' alone." She shrugged, making her way to the couch "Move your legs."

Joel pulled his legs back, adjusting himslef so he was sitting upright again, to let her sit down next to him

"Well you know I'm not much for company." He shook his head, setting the book he had gotten for himself down on the arm of the old couch

Y/n sighed looking into the older mans eyes "I'm sorry about earlier Joel, I didn't-"

"I know, I'm sorry too, I didn't mean to freak out on ya." He cut her off, saving her from trying to explain herself farther "You were honestly right, we don't really know much about eachother."

Y/n sighed again, knowing he was right. She still felt guilty for earlier, feeling like she now owed him.

"I had a kid too." She revealed

Shock came through Joel's body, "You had a kid?"

"He was only four when all of this started, we had made it to a FEDRA-run quarantine zone, I thought we would have been safe there. It was about a year in, when they kept making promises that were never ever being fulfilled." She paused, mainly to see if he was still listening, which he was, already nodding for her to go on.

"City was taken over by rebels, they all gathered everyone in the center of the city and began executing whoever they felt like deserved it, told the remaining to join or leave the safe-zone. It was like a stampede, Joel, I was so scared." Y/n's voice cracked as the first tear began to fall

"Oh darlin' come here." Joel held his arms open, letting her fall into them

"He was ripped from my arms," She continued, though now the tears couldn't be stopped, as a sob came from her

"I know, I know." He soothed, squeezing her around the waist with one hand and the other rubbing her back

"I was only fifteen when I had him." She sniffed, "He was all I had.'

"I had Sarah young too." Joel shared, holding y/n closer than ever

Joel started to imagine y/n's little boy, he imagined he looked just like her, hopefully getting all of her best features.

"The worst part is." Y/n began again, "I don't even know what happened to him."

Joel felt like sword had gone through to his heart, the thought of the unknown, not knowing whether or not he was alive must tear through her everyday. In that moment he realized she was stronger than he ever imagined, she had been carrying that weight with her, with absolutely nobody to help her through it.

"I like to think that he's still alive. you know?" She explained "But then again I don't think I'd want him to have to grow up in this world anyways."

Joel's arms felt like heaven to Y/n, the warmth he gave off, and the way he was trying his best to not squeeze her too tight.

"You trust me right?" Joel asked, deterring the subject

"Of course I do." Y/n answered

"Good, I trust you too."

Y/n felt the double meaning of the sentence, she felt that's the closest she'd ever get to Joel telling her that he loved her.

There was very few people either of them trusted anymore, the mutual feeling of trust settled into comfort, giving them a relaxed state of mind for the time being.

[captainkingsley]

Visiting Caduceus is a nice break for Kingsley.

He enjoys the time he spends with the rest of the Nein, of course he does. But there are always slip-ups. Someone calls him Molly by accident or references something from before he can remember, and it always hurts. Like a sliver he can't quite get out, a sharp sting of pain he can't describe.

Caduceus doesn't see that. He doesn't even see Lucien, actually, which is another comfort. He's got more of Lucien's memories by now, slowly creeping in despite his best efforts to push them away. Not because he doesn't want them, but more so that they don't influence who he is, so they don't completely overwhelm him at once. Like Yasha and Beau both said, he needs to continue on a better path, not the one Lucien took a running leap off the cliff of.

The memories aren't bad, for the most part. They're helpful, when they come in small bursts. A quick thought of danger and how to avoid it, or memory of how to use a skill he'd previously not understood.

Molly's memories are less helpful. They hurt more. Like an unfinished story still begging to be told, filled with love and ache that won't find solace. Brushes of hands or a closeness he's not familiar with, or playful jabs when he's more than tipsy. Molly's memories make him uncomfortable, because the Nein look at him and see them, too, and he always wants to grab them and say he's not me, he's not me, stop trying to put those memories onto me.

But he doesn't. He's an asshole, but he's not going to ruin the memory of a dear friend to the Nein in that way. Instead, he rolls with the punches, jokes around with them, and keeps it all inside.

Except with Caduceus.

Caduceus, who'd come around after Molly, had never met him, and had only seen Lucien without any of the biases or ties the rest of the group had. He'd welcomed Kingsley back into the Grove with no issue, no comment on his past, just a simple gesture and a mug of tea.

He likes Caduceus. Likes his family, too — they're more family than he's ever had, himself. He distantly recalls Lucien's family, but the memories of that feel sour. What little he can gauge of Lucien's parents isn't good, and his siblings, well —

He'd woken up one night after remembering Aldreda saying there's no room for you in my life anymore, and the memory had felt haunting and painful.

And he doesn't like to recall Elric. Sometimes he wonders how Lucien ever slept with those hollow, blackened eyes staring at him.

"You've got that look again." Caduceus says, looking down at Kingsley who's currently sitting in the longer grass of the yard, near the pond. Caduceus has finished his portion of re-casting the temple blessing for the day — how he has the focus to do it for so long every day, Kingsley will never understand.

"What look?" Kingsley asks, innocent as can be. He even bats his eyes to throw Caduceus off. Caduceus, however, has learned to read him, even his lies, and he's not swayed.

"You're remembering things." Caduceus says. "Which one this time?"

Kingsley grumbles to himself for a moment, settling back into the grass.

"Lucien."

"Good or bad?"

"Weird, mainly."

"Care to talk?"

"Already am." Kingsley huffs. But he gives in after just a moment. "Only if you make some of that tea we had last time."

"I can't guarantee it'll be the same," Caduceus says, reaching down to help Kingsley stand once more, "But it'll be close enough. And something to heal the hurt."

"Booze?" Kingsley says. Caduceus laughs.

"No booze. Just tea and a bit of talk."

"At least feed me if you're not going to give me alcohol," Kingsley says, following as Caduceus heads for the repaired home — the last several months, Caleb's old friends have been coming by to work on the home and the surrounding yard. They've done a good job, though the work will only be completed once Caduceus has finished his year-long spell.

"I'm sure we've got something." Caduceus assures him, and they head inside together.

[girlwiththepapatattoo]

The Unlikely Similarities Between Kittens and Vampires, Chapter 10

Warnings: Astarion being himself, fingering, vaginal sex

Summary: A very good way to wake up.

Notes: *chants to myself* I will not dwell on how vampire anatomy works, I will not dwell on how vampire anatomy works, I will not...

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Thanks to all you lovelies who've commented, each one makes my day. <3

Read on Ao3 here!

Previous chapter | First chapter

When Astarion had lain down to sleep after getting his new lover off for her first time, he’d forgotten that she’s a druid. 

And they’re in the middle of a druid grove. 

In the middle of nowhere.

So when he wakes from a rare full sleep, he’s surprised to feel something small, warm, and incredibly soft curled up right on his cheek. 

He doesn’t jump, of course not. But he would admit to a brief, tiny moment of surprise upon waking to find Sable isn’t the only thing sleeping on him. His left eye opens and he sees something tiny laying on his face, covered in brown fur. 

“Don’t move,” Sable whispers, and his open eye look at her. The morning sun lights up her features, makes her practically glow…though the absolute delight in her expression helps that along immensely. 

So instead of pushing the whatever-it-is off of him like he’d normally do, he instead does his best to whisper without moving his cheek. “What’s on my face?” 

Sable does her best to ignore the goosebumps running down her arms as she realizes that she really likes to hear Astarion whisper. “A baby bunny,” she replies, and she looks down. 

Astarion follows her gaze. Tucked on top of and around them are a small family of bunnies, an adult female with five small babies, all of which are still asleep. 

He blinks. “...there’s a baby bunny sleeping on my face.” 

“Yep,” is her reply, and he can all but hear the giggle in her voice.

He has to resist the urge to sigh. “This is going to happen a lot with you as my bedfellow, isn’t it?” 

“Yep.” She has to bite her lip to keep from laughing. One of the bunnies twitches a leg. “Think of it as extra warmth.” 

“I’m thinking of all the potential animal hair on my clothes, actually,” he replies, but Sable doesn’t hear any real ire in his voice. 

“Like I said, extra warmth.” But she gently reaches down and rubs a hand over the mother rabbit, who comes awake instantly. She says something to the small creature, who gets up and makes a short chirping sort of noise. The babies all wake quickly, the one on Astarion’s cheek giving a stretch, its tiny feet on one of his nostrils. His eyebrow twitches at how disgustingly cute it is. 

The bunnies hop off, and Sable, to his surprise, leans over and presses a quick kiss to his chin. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” he asks in confusion, trying to ignore how warm his chest feels from her kiss. 

“For not scaring them off. You looked so precious, sleeping with a bunny on your cheek,” she says, and her smile is so fond that it makes his heart ache. 

He clears his throat and props his head up on his hand. “Yes, well…” His voice goes low and suggestive. “I had been hoping for an altogether different way of waking up.” He pauses for a moment, as if thinking about what could have been. “But you’re welcome,” he finally says, smiling very faintly. 

As he hopes, she blushes, heat flooding her face at his words. “I-I um…w-we can still…if you want.” The events of last night run through her head, and she gasps, her eyes going wide in horror. “Astarion, oh gods I’m so sorry!” 

His brow furrows in confusion. “What could you possibly have to apologize for?” 

“After you…” She drops her gaze and her volume. “After you…used your mouth on me. I just fell asleep! You never got…well, anything!” 

He laughs, snuggling her up close. “My precious kitten, that’s where you’re very much wrong. I might not have gotten to spend myself inside your luscious body, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t avail myself of your other splendors.” He sighs, the sound half a moan. “Your taste…your scent…the way your insides felt, squeezing my finger as you came apart on my tongue…those sweet little noises of yours as I sent you to heaven…” He hums, the look on his face like he’d found nirvana. “Yes…oh, I was more than satisfied with what happened between us, darling.” 

She stares up at him, dumbstruck. His words, his tone, leave her frozen in desire. She wants to say something, anything, but the only thing that gets squeezed out of her throat is a very articulate, “Hng.” 

His lips tug in a slow, languid smirk, and he shifts. His movements unhurried, like a predator assured of a kill, he slings one leg over her, straddling her hips. His eyes don’t leave hers as he pulls up the opening flap of his tent and ties it shut. 

Her hands press across his thighs, his form lithe, but she can feel the corded muscle under her touch. He leans down, his hands pressing to either side of her head, and she watches as his tongue curls out, pressing to her collarbone. She shudders, remembering exactly what that tongue is capable of. 

He traces a pattern down, down, until he reaches the ties to the laces of her shirt. He takes one between his teeth and draws back, the loose knots he’d left last night coming undone easily. His hands cup around her hips and push up, and as they go they take the shirt with it, slowly baring her to his gaze. Her heart pounds, her hands squeeze unconsciously around his legs. 

He pulls her shirt off and tosses it somewhere behind them. He says nothing, but his touch is reverent as his fingers trace over her sides and hips. He leans down further, nuzzling into her soft belly, leaving a line of cool kisses up her stomach and into the valley between her breasts. She whimpers softly, her fingers sliding into his curls, before she very gently pushes at his head. “A-Astarion…I want to…w-well, it’s your turn. Switch with me.” 

He clicks his tongue. “You’re really going to make me give up my fun?” he pouts, before nipping playfully at the side of her breast. 

Her breathy gasp makes him groan softly, his hips grinding down on her. “Ahhhhstarion, please, I-I want to touch you like you’re touching me,” she gasps, and starts tugging on his own shirt. “Please, let me, please!” 

“Well, when you beg so nicely, how could I say no?” he purrs. He leans down and kisses her, a passionate meeting of lips and tongue that takes her breath away, before he tosses his shirt off and lays down. 

Eagerly, much less gracefully, she straddles his hips this time. The sun illuminating the crimson fabric of his tent paints everything in soft shades of red, the color flattering on his skin. She bites her lip, looking at him as if he were almost too beautiful to stare at for long. Her hands press softly to his stomach, the lines of his abdominals softened after being at rest all night. She traces over his skin, nonsense patterns that slowly move up and over his chest. 

His eyes half lidded, he watches her enjoy his body, an awed look on her face. It’s a look he’s seen hundreds, thousands of times, but right here, right now…this isn’t to bring his master back a meal. This is for him, with someone he’s starting to care very much for, who cares about him in return. 

A sudden surge of emotion has his hands clamping around her hips, and he grinds up into her core. A soft cry leaves her lips before she could smother it, but she quickly claps a hand over her mouth. 

“I’m sorry, my kitten, my lover,” he all but pants, sitting up against her. “I don’t think I can wait any longer.” He curls his arm around her waist and flips their positions easily, smothering the beginnings of her protest with a deep, devouring kiss. His fingertips slide down her belly, relishing in the sounds she’s releasing into his mouth, and tug at the laces to her pants, pushing them down over her hips until she can kick them off. 

He swallows her cry as his hand cups her, those clever fingers stroking, dipping, swirling until she’s a writhing mess of heat under him. He’s got her so thoroughly distracted that she’s not even sure when he takes his own pants off, only that suddenly he’s kneeling between her legs, her calf brushing up against his bare thigh. 

“Are you ready, my kitten?” he purrs into her ear, tonguing at the shell, his free hand cupping over her mouth so that anyone walking by the tent would be none the wiser. “Are you ready…to be mine?” 

“Yes,” she gasps into his palm, her warm breath puffing gently against his cool skin. 

He smiles and pulls his fingers from her, where he’d be building her up, spreading her open gently and slowly. He spreads her legs wide, wrapping a hand around the base of his own cock and guiding himself to slide against her slick folds. The feel of his velvety head rubbing against her clit has her shuddering, her nails digging gently into the flesh of his shoulders. 

He groans at how warm and wet she is, before he guides himself to her entrance. So aroused is she, so ready for him, that there isn’t an ounce of tension when he starts to push in. “That’s it, my sweet, my darling, just like that,” he moans, spreading his hand just above her mound as he works himself into her inch by inch. 

Astarion has a nearly perfect cock. Not comically big, but not small by any means, he’s got just enough girth to be a wonderful stretch, with a lovely branching vein running just right of center and an upward curve. The only odd thing about it is, like the rest of him, it’s cool when he slides in at first. But he warms to her body temperature quickly, and then they’re both holding still and quivering. 

“Gods, Sable,” he gasps, his body tense to not drive into her from the get-go. “You’re so tight, you feel so perfect around me…” 

“‘S-Starion, f-fuck you feel…you feel so good, y-you…p-please move, please!” 

He groans and kisses her again before moving his hips. He rolls against her, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing back in, the motion he uses and the size of him letting him hit every sensitive spot almost at once. She moans brokenly into his mouth as he loves her, as he traps her into this abyss of pleasure. She’s surprised her skin isn’t on fire, how warm she feels, how desperate she is for him. 

He shifts, pulling her legs up and over his shoulders, and if she thought he was deep before…He hits a spot inside her now that makes her squeal, and he growls at the sound and speeds up, pushing and pressing into that spot over and over until she’s sobbing in pleasure. 

He breaks the kiss as he snakes one hand between them, and all but snarls into her ear. “You’re going to come,” he rasps, his fingers finding her clit and beginning to trace quick circles over the engorged bud. “You’re going to come, and milk my cock, and I’m going to bite you and drink your pleasure.” 

“Yes!” she cries, muffled into his shoulder, feeling that tightening in her lower belly already. “Yes, please, Astarion, oh gods oh shit I, y-you, I-I–!” 

Her orgasm shatters her. He catches her scream into his left palm, his right still rapidly rubbing her clit, and he pulls her head to the side and bites down on her neck. His hips stutter as his own orgasm hits him with the force of the nautoloid crash, heightened by her blood bubbling up into his mouth. She tastes even better now, her flavor bright and thick with heady pleasure, and the cry he utters is nearly broken. 

Neither of them know how long they writhe together, how long they stay high, soaring the bright skies of endless rapture hand in hand and bodies intertwined. When Sable comes back to herself, she finds Astarion nuzzling into the bite marks on her neck, every so often licking at them to get a lingering taste of her pleasure-addled blood. “‘S-Starion…” she all but slurs, sweaty and blissfully sore. 

“Sable,” he purrs, shifting his focus to pepper kisses where her jaw and neck meet. “That was perfect. You’re perfect. Gods, what you do to me…” 

They aren’t sure how long they lay together, basking in the afterglow, the vampire’s cock slowly softening and slipping out of her channel. They both hiss at the motion, before he presses one more gentle, fond kiss to the column of her throat and shifts off her. 

He chuckles softly at her wine of protest. “Now now, darling, I’m just getting a rag to clean you up with. I don’t want you leaking all over my bedroll.” 

She turns crimson and hides her face. “A-Astarion!” 

“What?” He laughs softly, gently wiping her clean. “No reason to be embarrassed, darling. Spread your legs a little wider, there’s my good girl.” He hears her heart skip a beat when he calls her that, and his playful grin darkens to something slightly more…calculating. “Well now…won’t that be fun to play with one of these days,” he purrs. 

But she doesn’t get the chance to say anything, because Shadowheart suddenly speaks from next to the tent. “Are you two lovebirds going to stay in bed all day? We have things to do, you know.” 

“Ugh.” Astarion scowls at the woman’s silhouette. “How long have you been lurking there, Shadowheart? If you were hoping to hear something, you’ve missed the show.” Sable squeaks and immediately shapeshifts into her cat form, wriggling out underneath the tent wall and running away. “Now look what you’ve done!” 

“Don’t blame this on me, Astarion,” she says calmly, already turning to leave. “You’re the one who said something perverted.” 

There’s a rustle as he pulls his clothes on and unties the tent, and by the time he comes out the cleric has already walked off. He frowns in the direction he thinks she went, then looks around for signs of Sable. Nowhere to be found, and there’s too much going on in this place to track her by scent. 

He sighs. “I’ll let her have some time alone,” he murmurs to himself. “Later on, I’ll make sure she’s all right. Honestly…this is why I hate fucking in camp.” 

He grabs his sewing kit and heads off to find the group, and if his thoughts stray constantly to his skittish new lover…well. As long as no one uses the tadpoles to pry into his mind, who’s to stop him from fantasizing?

[whatacaitastrophe]

Is It Over Now - Chapter 4

Previous Chapter

Chapter Song Inspiration: "Friends" - Ed Sheeran

Chapter Warnings: none!

Spotify Playlist: Here

Chapter Notes: if you have read this fic, liked it, reblogged it, or left comments THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart. keep the comments coming bc i love hearing your feedback (and like tinkerbell, i need applause to live).

Chapter 4: There’s A Limit to Everything

“Come now, Fallon, you do better than that.” Wyll scolds her. “You’ve felled a dragon, surely you can hold a plank for thirty more seconds.”

If it were possible for Fallon to look up at Wyll in her current position, she would glare daggers at her friend. When Fallon agreed to train with Wyll to prepare her for this adventure she and Astarion were planning, she’d expected the coach she saw in The Druid Grove the day they met. He was kind and gentle, but still firm in his instructions with the tiefling children on sword wielding and defending themselves. The Wyll before her now is a drill sergeant. Though Fallon doesn’t think Wyll is capable of yelling at her (or anyone, really), training with him is tough. It doesn’t matter to him that Fallon hasn’t picked up a sword or done a push up or a single abdominal crunch in over a year. Breaking into The House of Hope, stealing the Orphic Hammer, and fighting Raphael was easier than going through Wyll’s training regimen every morning.

The very first morning of training with him, Fallon vomited all over the streets of the Lower City not ten minutes into their run. Then again, that could have also been because Fallon drank her weight in wine the night before. Wyll was sympathetic long enough to make sure she wasn’t going to pass out and for her to drink a full canteen of water, then the drill sergeant came out and they were right back to it. ”I won’t make you go all out today, but you’re going to finish this run whether you like it or not. If you have to stop again, so be it, but we’re not turning around.” He’d said.

Almost a month later it hasn’t gotten any easier, but that could be because the moment Wyll realizes she’s capable of more, he makes it harder. Case in point: Fallon has been holding this particular plank for a full minute thirty already. Fallon whimpers pathetically in Wyll’s general direction.

“Oh go easy on her, Wyll, she’s lived at the bottom of a wine barrel for the last year.” Fallon hears Shadowheart chirp.

Fallon didn’t hear the Selunite cleric enter the already crowded suite, and she frowns. “I’m sorry, but when the fuck did my training become a group activity?” She manages to grumble as her arms and legs shake, begging for relief from the plank she’s holding. In any other situation, Fallon would be happy to see Shadowheart, but Fallon really didn’t need all of her friends seeing her struggle through a simple plank.

“I’m just here for moral support,” Shadowheart answers innocently and if Fallon could laugh, she would. “Plus it’s nice to see Wyll put someone else through their paces for once.”

“If you want to be supportive you could get down here and do this plank with me.” Fallon suggests dryly.

“Ohh, I’m afraid I can’t. I’m not dressed for that sort of occasion.” Of course she isn’t.

“Besides, you’re done.” Wyll adds, and Fallon collapses face down onto the floor with a grunt.

“Wyll, come here so I can kick you.” She whines, and The Blade of Avernus laughs loudly.

“If you want to kick me so badly, you’ll have to come over here.” he says, and Fallon scoffs.

Fallon feels a presence approaching her. There’s suddenly someone’s hot (and smelly) breath on her neck and they are aggressively licking her ear. A smile blooms onto Fallon’s face as she rolls over, too excited to take it slowly. “Scratch!” she exclaims with a squeal and immediately begins scratching the dog behind both ears. His assault on her ear moves to her face and neck and Fallon is in a fit of giggles on the floor. “I missed you too, buddy.”

Before he left her standing in shock on the docks, Fallon had every intention of bringing Scratch home with her, wherever her home ended up being. It became clear pretty immediately after she broke down in Karlach’s arms that she was in no condition to care for another living being, so the dog went with Wyll. It was the better arrangement anyway, because Wyll has spent most of the last year helping rebuild Badur’s Gate and Scratch’s presence was a comfort and distraction for the children whose lives were upended.

“Leave it to the dog to be the first one to make her smile genuinely in god knows how long,” Astarion quips as he enters the sitting area from the kitchen. “If I had known all it would take is kissing your face and neck repeatedly, I would have tried that ages ago.”

Fallon nudges Scratch away from her to sit up. “Excuse me, I’m fairly certain it was you who chastised me not a month ago for using sex as a coping mechanism,” She teases, still smiling. “Nice to meet you, Pot, I’m Kettle.” The fact that she can joke about what a mess she was when Astarion found her fucking that drow in an alleyway is a small step, but at least she’s healing. Astarion has all but moved into the suite. He hasn’t slept at his own residence since the night he found her, so perhaps not being alone all the time anymore is helping, too.

There’s a sparkle in Astarions eye when he looks at Fallon. He raises an eyebrow and smirks at her. “I didn’t say anything about sex, darling, just that I should have taken a page from Scratch’s book. You’re the one who immediately made it sexual. Get your mind out of the brothel.” Astarion shoots her a wink, really hitting the flirtation home, and Fallon rolls her eyes as she stands. They both know damn well he’s flirting with her, because he’s Astarion and he can’t help it. He flirts with everyone, and Fallon? She just might be flirting back because it’s nice to feel something other than miserable.

Shadowheart and Wyll exchange looks, but they don’t say anything.

“So I can see how half of the preparation for your trip is going, what about the other half?” Shadowheart flops unceremoniously onto Fallon’s couch.

“Slow,” Fallon crosses the room to her half-empty canteen and drinks heavily. “It’s been more difficult than I’d anticipated to get access to the library’s volume’s on Velrea, and the ones I can find hardly mention Asha at all. We’ve not even left Faerun and we’re already resorting to skullduggery, cloaks, and daggers to get the information we need.”

“Gods, you sound like Gale.” Shadowheart muses offhandedly.

Fallon’s entire body freezes and her mind shuts off. She hasn’t heard his name out loud in…well, probably a year. Fallon’s eyes immediately divert to the floor and she begins following the various patterns woven across, willing her mind to focus there, and not on the name of the man who broke her heart.

“Shit,” Shadowheart gasps, immediately realizing her mistake. “Fallon, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean– I wasn’t–The way you said that, you just– I didn’t know it was still this bad, I–Fuck.” The cleric rises from the couch and attempts to stride over to Fallon, but she’s cut off by Astarion and Fallon looks up.

“Don’t.” He tells Shadowheart sharply, his red eyes filled with fire. “I believe it’s time for anyone who doesn’t live here to leave.”

Wyll does not need to be told twice, as he’s already collecting Scratch and heading for the door. He offers Fallon a sympathetic look. Gods, she fucking hates the way they’re all looking at her. At this moment, she misses drill sergeant Wyll. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says to Fallon and Astarion gently.

Shadowheart, on the other hand, bristles at Astarion’s order and folds her arms across her chest. “Last I checked, you don’t live here either, Astarion.” She says cooly, daring the vampire or Fallon to tell her differently.

Fallon is still unable to do anything other than focus on making sure oxygen enters lungs. “For now, I do, while we prepare to leave for Velrea. Now get out before I throw you out.” Astarion threatens, and they’ve all known each other long enough to know that Astarion will make good on that threat if provoked.

“Fine,” her tone is icy, and Fallon could swear the temperature in the room actually drops ten degrees. “Fallon, I’ll come by later to try this again while your dog is out hunting for his supper.” Fallon jumps slightly when the Shadowheart slams the door behind her as she leaves.

“Is it just me, or has our dear cleric become more prickly since she and Lae’zel moved in together?” Astarion huffs haughtily. He turns to look at Fallon. “Are you alright?”

His tone is much softer now, as though the second any perceived threat towards Fallon disappeared all of his anger went with it. She’s quiet for a moment, chewing on her lip.

“What did she mean earlier?”

“I’m going to need you to be more specific, darling.” Fallon looks up and into Astarion’s eyes. “When she said she didn’t realize it was still this bad?”

Astarion takes pause, a surprised look on his face, as though he didn’t even realize Fallon heard what their friend said at all.

“I mean…surely even you can recognize what a mess you’ve been since Ga— since he left. She— I— we, all thought you’d…” He hesitates to even finish his sentence.

“You all thought I’d be over it by now,” She nods and swallows before letting out a dark laugh. “You think I’m weak.”

Astarion sighs with a hint of frustration. “No, Fallon, that’s not it at all. It’s not that we think you’re weak, it’s that we’ve only ever known you to be stronger than this. You have to understand, darling, we spent a year of our lives watching you fiercely and fearlessly lead us across The Sword Coast in order to save the world,”

Fallon wraps her arms around herself, and rubs her hands over her arms. She averts her eyes from Astarion’s, embarrassed to hear how she must have disappointed her friends all these months. Astarion reaches forward and tilts her chin up so she’s looking at him.

“You showed so much strength, even when all seemed lost and like it was the end. That’s the only Fallon we’ve ever known. We’ve been to the hells and back, and it never broke your spirit like this has.”

Fallon understands why her friends would think she’d be so indifferent to having her heart broken. Fallon had put on a brave face for her companions at every turn, because she couldn’t stand the idea of them perceiving her to be weak. When she finally broke down crying, it was either in isolation where nobody would catch her, or in his arms. Karlach also witnessed her break once; after she failed to save Yenna, the little girl that made herself at home in their camp after her mother went missing, only to be brutally killed by Orin, disguised as Lae’zel. He’d gone down in a fight and had wounds that needed serious mending, so Fallon was already on edge when Orin made her move. Burying Yenna just brought everything bubbling to the surface, and she broke down right there in front of the little girl’s grave.

Even so, Astarion is right. She’s faced so much worse than a broken heart, and even the things she cried about in private were far worse than this. Yet none of those moments have a hold on her psyche the way that day on the docks does. “It’s not like I never cried back then, you know. I’m not heartless. I just didn’t want you all to see.”

“Well yes, I don’t think anyone who has spent time with you would call you heartless, but you always bounced back. We’d have a hard day, you’d disappear to have a cry, and the next day you’d be fine.”

Fallon gapes at him. “You all knew that when I went off on my own that I was upset and none of you came after me?” She doesn’t know whether to be offended or pleased that they respected her need for space.

“Don’t look so scandalized. Wyll tried to go after you once, after one of the days we spent down in The Grymforge; but the rest of us just kind of agreed that if you’d truly wanted company, you would have asked, and that was that,” he explains with a wave of his hand. “The point I’m trying to make is that you are so much stronger than you think you are, and knowing that you don’t believe that about yourself kills me,”

He lowers his hand to her shoulder, and raises the other to rest on its twin. “And I could honestly kill himfor breaking you so thoroughly that a year later, the mere mention of his name puts you in a panic. You didn’t deserve that, and he never deserved you.”

In all the time Fallon has known Astarion, she can count on one hand the number of times she’s seen this level of sincerity from the vampire.. She can see the weight of his words in his eyes, and it’s mixed with something else she can’t quite place at first. Though the longer she looks into his eyes, the more she begins to understand. At least she thinks she does.

Without another thought to second guess her gut, Fallon reaches up to cup Astarion’s face in her hands, and she kisses him.

Chapter List

[banisheed]

TIMING: Before Siobhan met the real "Regis" LOCATION: Gallows Grove cemetery PARTIES: Siobhan (@banisheed) & Fang (@ronin-for-hire) SUMMARY: Siobhan hires Fang to deal with some spawns keeping her from Regis Cadaver, who is definitely a real, living person. CONTENT: some spicy implications at the end

Siobhan was starting to suspect that her plan to track down every single person in Wicked’s Rest named Regis was a bad idea. So far, she had encountered vampires, stinky men and more vampires. But to admit she was wrong was a greater crime. And if she wasn’t searching for Regis, then who? And so, the search had led her to her current predicament, staring at the slayer she hired; eyeing her up and down and up again. “You’re cuter than I expected,” she commented, uncaring for how she came off. “Usually hunters are kind of ugly; all covered in dirt and stinking of mud. But you…you’re kind of like someone who looks like they could earn a few free drinks at a bar.” Hiring people wasn’t Siobhan’s style, but she’d done her survey of Regis Cadaver--her most likely candidate for the person she was looking for--and saw that their hideout in the graveyard was encircled by a few spawn vampires. Siobhan was not the sort to deal with that; it was far too tedious for her. Fang, however, was exactly the kind of person for the job--for a price that Siobhan was more than willing to pay. “Do you follow a specific beauty regime or is that all genetics?” Unfortunately for the hunter-for-hire, Siobhan wasn’t a usual client; no, she was far too annoying to justify the price point. 

“Well, to be fair, I’m not a local hunter,” Fang tried her best not to chuckle at that…compliment? It had been a while since the last time she got one. Well, the last time she got one from someone who was pretty. She’s had gross employers before, usually men, who’d try to pick her up, woo her, so to speak, but Fang has standards. They weren’t that high of standards—a girl’s got to pay her rent—but they were standards. “I don’t get paid in drinks, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Well, there was that one time, but in Fang’s defense, that employer was also pretty. Too bad she didn’t heed the hunter’s warning and went back to her toxic ex. Her toxic ex was a vampire. And he wanted revenge. But there was no use crying over two corpses. Well, one corpse buried on a random highway just outside California and ashes scattered all over a local pond. Close enough. “I— What? No, I don’t know, maybe,” Fang shook her head, trying her best to push past the small talk and get right to the point of business. “You gonna fight? I can take all of them, but it’s gonna cost you extra.” She winked. Unintentionally. 

“I’m not local either,” Siobhan replied. “You should see the hunters in Ireland. Grease! So much grease.” Perhaps it was personal bias; most of the hunters in Ireland were wardens and they were, inherently, ugly. “Not like the musical,” she clarified, wondering if that needed to be clarified. “I wasn’t going to pay you in alcohol but if you wanted to get drinks after this I wouldn’t complain.” Siobhan eyed her hired hunter. Was it against her code of conduct to be doing this? No, she thought, because she didn’t have one. Rules couldn’t be broken if no one made rules up to begin with. “Extra?” She blinked. “You’re kidding me….What is it with you hunters and charging more to do your job? I thought you would be thrilled to dust vampires!” Siobhan considered this; it wasn’t as though she didn’t have the money, it was the principles of the matter. Emilio had also charged more for dusting Regis Coleslaw and she had paid it at least in part because the show was thrilling. She looked over at Fang. Could Fang be as exciting as a man who looked like he cried in his sleep? 

“I could help,” Siobhan started. “But you wouldn’t like it. You’d be all ‘oh no why are my ears bleeding’ and ‘why I am so aroused’ and ‘why did you stab me we’re on the same side’.” Siobhan waved a hand in the air. “It’s too much hassle. But if you do a good job entertaining me, I will reward you handsomely.” Siobhan winked, intentionally. “Do you have a plan? I would hate it if you died in there….because then I would have to do all the work.” 

“You’re from Ireland?” Fang looked the woman over. She didn’t have red hair. Or did she dye her hair? Either way, Fang wouldn’t know. All Fang knew was that something about this woman was off. Not undead off. Probably just weird off. Like she’d put mustard in her ramen or something. “You’re a long way from home.” That was an odd statement to make, considering Fang was the same. Kinda like the pot calling the kettle black. “At your place?” Fang teased. The Irishwoman did call her cute, and Fang had never been with an Irishwoman before. Might as well have fun while she’s there. “Like I said, I’m not like local hunters. I don’t really care about…dusting vampires, only that I can pay my rent.”

Another thing Fang didn’t really care about? Her ears bleeding. She’s bled from worse places before, and bleeding was pretty much part of the job. When she mentioned the word ‘aroused,’ Fang perked up. Like that meme with the blonde woman… What was it called? The ‘No, But Yes Lady’? ‘Kombucha Girl’? Whatever. Fang scowled at the idea of getting stabbed by her client, though to be fair, it wouldn’t be the first. Bleeding was pretty much part of the job. “You had me at reward,” she grinned, liking that wink. “I don’t. Not really much of a planning kind of girl. Just go in and kill everything? Make sure not to die? Wouldn’t want to miss those drinks!” She gave her a wink of her own. “You sure there’s just vampires there, though? No one…alive? Because once I’m in there, I’m stabbing everything dead. Won’t be able to stop.”

“I know,” Siobhan held her hand over her chest. “A very long way.” A strange, sudden seriousness took her, easily dispelled with the bright smile that erupted over her lips a second later. She could understand when she was being teased and, after all, she had called her hired hunter cute. Well, immediately she realized she wouldn’t be opposed. Sleeping with hunters was a risky game and Siobhan enjoyed danger. Was it morally questionable, given what she would be doing if Fang was a warden instead? Perhaps. Was it unsafe given the obvious nature of the two scars that lived down her back? Perhaps. Would she do it anyway? “Mhm, impress me and I think we can work out a more pleasurable reward for you, in addition to your money.” Only time and Fang would tell. Siobhan had lived too long to be prudish and not long enough to understand what kind of danger she was inviting into her life. “I can respect a woman with such clear incentives.” If Fang wasn’t one of the eat-the-hunter’s-code-for-breakfast types, it would be less of a bad idea to continue complimenting her fine form. 

“Oh, yes, it would be such a shame if you died.” Siobhan made no efforts to hide the way her gaze trailed from toe to tip, lingering by her curves. To anyone, it must have seemed like she was admiring another body. To her, however, she was planning out which bones she would take in the event of Fang’s demise. She couldn’t take all of it, she had just enough sense to recognize that the humans needed a body to autopsy, and if Fang had someone come looking for her, they probably wouldn’t believe the woman who kept her skeleton that she hadn’t done the killing this time. She was thinking about taking the clavicle. Thankfully for Fang, she wasn’t going to die. Not yet, at least; Fate could be funny sometimes. “Oh, there should be someone alive in there.” A Regis Cadaver. “But she won’t be a vampire, so just get anything that looks at your neck for too long but if you do stab her, that’s her fault.” Technically, she didn’t need to bring Regis back alive. 

Though, another dead banshee wasn’t a good look. Siobhan stiffened. “I’ll take care of her,” she said, offering another sudden serious look to Fang. “You do your job, I do mine, we both go home happy, potentially together.” She paused. “We’ll work that part out.” She started off towards the crypt. “Are you ready?” 

Fang grinned. From ear to ear. It has been a long time since she’s had any pleasurable rewards. There was doubt she’d even get one after this, as these fights can be very tiring, but the mere thought of sharing a bed with the Irishwoman was inspiring enough of a motivation. Then again, Fang didn’t really need much to be motivated. Slaying the undead was like the candy to her fat kid. Or however that whole stupid saying went. All kids love candy. Didn’t have to be a specific weight. But whatever. 

“That’s always good to know,” Fang took out her oni face mask and put it on before taking her katana that was still stowed in its scabbard and pressing it against her chest. With her eyes closed, she momentarily whispered a prayer in Japanese. It wasn’t the same as a prayer to a god or a prayer to a dead relative’s ghost. It was more of a prayer recited to honor the memory of those that had led her to this point in time. “I am.”

As Fang followed Siobhan, she made sure to keep her senses heightened. As with most slayers, if not all, she could see in the dark, so nothing should be able to surprise them. At least that’s the thought. Fang wasn’t omni…seeing. She didn’t have eyes all over her body. What she did have was discipline and swordsmanship that was unrivaled. Anything that tried to lunge at them in the dark, she would cut in two. Head off their shoulders cleanly. As per usual in this line of work.

With a nod, Siobhan opened the crypt doors and like stones tumbling down a cliffside, spawns tumbled out of the crypt. They were thin--thinner than usual. To Siobhan, they looked more skeletal than monstrous. She would’ve appreciated it if the sudden scent of warm bodies and fresh blood didn’t set them all off. With a skip, Siobhan took her place in the safety of Fang’s shadow. She could have screamed once and gotten the whole thing over with, but damage to a cemetery was unforgivable. “Go on then, love.” She smiled at the hunter, wondering how she’d go about it. Obviously she had that gorgeous sword but was she a run-around-like-a-chicken-type or a stand-still-and-let-the-vampires-flock-to-her type? Only time, and the hunger of the spawns, would tell. “Give ‘em a show, will you? They’ve been dead so long…when’s the last time they saw a beautiful woman cut off some heads?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Fang grunted as she started making her way toward her undead prey, calmly unsheathing the blade of her slumbering katana from its cozy sheathe. Her steps were measured and her intimidating intensity rolled over the opposite end of the cemetery like a stereotypical gray fog announcing the atmospheric horrors of a graveyard. As if the spawns and the slayer and whatever Siobhan was were not enough to set the mood. 

Fang let out another grunt as one of the spawns screeched at her, mustering all its remaining effort to let out a spine-chilling battlecry. The slayer has heard everything, though, and was unfazed by the boisterous attack, simply sidestepping the creature as she guided her steel through the side of its body and immediately piercing the back of its neck without even shifting her attention to it. In one fluid motion, Fang pulled her blade from what remained of the creature’s flesh and stomped its head to ashes, egging the others to do what the first one could not. As an extra incentive, she even took out a small vial of blood from her person and spilled a drop on her nose. Emphasis on extra.

And that, they did, much to Fang’s maniacal delight. Without even wasting any effort on screaming or yelling, the slayer simply ducked and dodged the infuriated and starving monsters, flashes of silver cutting each and every one of them down. She wasn’t as precise as she would’ve liked, mostly because there were too many of them, most of which surprisingly still agile despite her expectations, and there was only one of her. When the dust settled, only Fang remained standing, few of the barely surviving spawns couldn’t even move, having lost their limbs as well as most of their body, and wouldn’t be around for long. The slayer stomped on another nearby skull, turning it to dust while turning her full attention to Siobhan, “All vampires… You sure whoever you’re looking for’s here?”

Siobhan’s life had been steeped in violence; born on the cusp of war, given up at the altar of bodily sacrifice. It would have been stranger not to admire Fang at work, slicing through spawns as though they were no different than the air around them. Unfortunately for Siobhan, she had a different job for the night. Slipping through the haze of battle, she stepped into the crypt. “Regis?” She called out; she didn’t get an answer. Laying in the center was the exhumed body of a Regis of indiscernible importance. Cobwebs decorated the space between her ribs, torn open by the clawing of some creature; her clothing was turned into slits of fabric. Regis Cadaver was, as the chilling realization hit Siobhan, an actual cadaver. Outside, the sounds of battle raged on: the slash of Fang’s katana in the air, the roar of hungry spawns, the chirp of male crickets that had an impeccable sense for romance. Siobhan sighed. 

By most definitions, Siobhan should have been lucky: beautiful, powerful and only a small victim to temporary stupidity. It was obvious enough to her that luck didn’t exist. The world wouldn’t reward her for her intentions or efforts. Regis, wherever she was, wouldn’t just fall into her lap. One hundred and six years of life had taught her an odd sense of patience and humility. When she met the night air again, it was with a smile. “No, I’m afraid I got the wrong one.” Again. And it wouldn’t matter how many agains she would have--she could wait out centuries for her Regis. She stepped closer to Fang, surveying her work of dust and sweat. “You did such a good job.” 

Pressing her hand gently against Fang’s shoulder, Siobhan’s smile turned sharp. Not all of her night needed to be a failure. “And good work deserves a good reward, doesn’t it?” Her hand trailed down the length of Fang’s arm, eyeing her dust-touched katana. “Follow me, will you?” Leading Fang through the cemetery, the only destination was her house.

She’d find Regis another day. Eventually.