#like. he is a wretched little man but he's not wretched in that specific way you know?

[princehendir]

I mean "choice" is kind of a complicated word here. Like "marry this guy right now or else risk social death & disownment from your family" is kind of a... there's a word I'm looking for but I can't find it, I mean its just not much of a choice now is it? BUT I still think the fact that even the #1 Bianca Davri Apologist Two Decades Running's take on the situation is "yeah she chose to do that" is.... something. Like it implies that she at least had some flexibility in that situation, and that she wasn't idk, physically kidnapped and married at gunpoint, as some people like to weirdly insist is canon (its not)

[sergeantkitty]

Y'all, my man Lucifer just likes himself some duckies.

Anyway, feel free to read through my rant of why I think he likes ducks so much. SPOILERS for S1 Ep8 toward the end.

(Click image for better quality.)

So in case you don't know, there's this famous(ish) Christian story called "The Devil and the Duck". I'm gonna try my best to summarize it here.

This boy gets a slingshot as a present and decides to be a little shit and impulsively uses it to shoot his grandma's pet duck. This kills the duck and the boy feels extreme guilt. His stupid bitchass sister reveals that she saw the whole thing and holds the boy's guilt over his head (remember this phrasing for later) and makes him do her chores and stuff for him, using what he did as blackmail and a guilt-trip.

The boy for a while keeps doing his sister's bidding until he cracks under the guilt and exhaustion from all the chores, and in a break down he apologizes to his grandma, admitting what he did to the duck. The grandma then reveals that she saw what happened from a nearby window, and although she was deeply hurt by what the boy did, she still forgave him immediately. She says that she'll always love the boy since he's her grandson and that seeing his immediate regret was enough for her. She was just waiting for him to admit it, apologize, and stop letting his sister manipulate him.

In the story the boy represents humanity/any person, the sister represents the devil, and the grandma represents God/Jesus. The boy commits a horrific sin and feels immense guilt over it and the sister/devil holds the sin over his head and tries to convince him to do her bidding since the sin was so great that there's no way that grandma/God could forgive him. The lesson of the story's pretty obvious from there: don't let the devil guilt you with your sins into giving up and turning against God since God sees all your sins and faults and still loves you and forgives you anyway, so long as you apologize and repent for your sin against him.

I think Lucifer as we see him in Hazbin Hotel is placing himself both as the devil (obviously) but also the boy in the story. He's clearly interpreted more as a sympathetic, guilt-ridden figure. He surrounds himself with memorabilia of his greatest regret: the downfall of man (hence the apples and snakes.) Now keep in mind that I've highlighted the phrasing of "holding over [one's] head", well that's because that's the specific phrasing used in the story. Now look at Lucifer's hat. It has the snake and apple. Lucifer is LITERALLY holding his greatest sin over his own head and has given up on his dreams and happiness in favor of doing the bidding of his own personal devil: his depression. He's let himself whither away in isolation and gave up on trying to be a proper king for the people he granted free will to since in his mind they're all wretched sinners abusing that gift. All he sees is the bad side of humanity.

I think to him the duck symbolizes the dreamer still inside him, that bit of hope left in him, that hope that even though he's the cause of evil in humanity he'll still one day be forgiven and maybe even be let back into heaven. We see heavenly figures like Sera and Emily feeling clear sympathy for him in S1 Ep6. They don't hate him, they just fear earning the same fate. Even going into S1 Ep8 we see him decide to stop letting his depression rule over him and help Charlie redeem sinners. He's working to, in some way, repent for his greatest sin because, thanks to Charlie, he's seeing the good in humanity again.

Do I have any way of knowing if this is even REMOTELY accurate? ...No... but I like the thought of this being the reason behind Lucifer's duck hyperfixation, and I haven't seen anyone talk about this or bring this possibility up. Anyways, thanks for reading my little rant :3

[maxwell-grant]

Didn't realize you've read Riddler: Year One, any thoughts on it ? Also, in a more general way, what are your thoughts on the Riddler ?

Someone sent me an ask the past week or so saying that The Penguin is everything that the Joker movies should have been, and I don't think I agree on that in regards to The Penguin specifically. But if we're talking about a "Batman-less Batman villain origin story about a lonely suicidal man struggling with poverty and mental illness exacerbated by child abuse, who is pushed down through the cracks of society deep into the pits of his own mind until he can only save himself by becoming a horrible force of social upheaval and political terrorism, finally discovering joy and a reason to live at the expense of everyone around him, and now he will be Batman's problem someday", well this just completely embarasses Joker (2019) on every level. Impressively drawn, impressively written, impressive on it's own and as a prequel to the movie, WAY better than a movie actor's comic book tie-in has any right to be, and one of the greatest Batman comics ever made. Issue #5 in particular is one of the best and most harrowing comic issues and format breaks I've ever seen in the medium, and even if it's entirely self-contained, it very much belongs in the exact same conversation and should be considered inseparable from The Batman and The Penguin.

We spens 4 issues boiling the frog over every painful corner of Edward's childhood and humanity and misery, taking us through painfully intimate views and perspectives inside his headspace, seeing how and why he justifies his worldview and how easy it even is to do so, feeling truly sorry for this hopeless wretch even though we know he's losing it bad bad baddy bad bad and is going to step off the deep end forever. And then Issue 5 happens and suddenly you are one of the people in Gotham City tasked with sifting through this serial killer's personal diary and you can hear that creep shouting with that distorted voice, you can feel the final death rattle of Edward Nashton's soul ending where The Riddler begins to scream in your head 'I NEVER KNEW I HAD A REASON TO BREATHE", and by Issue 6 you fully understand why and how nobody was prepared for him, and why what he is and does and embodies is going to drag the city into an abyss it may never recover from, and why this was never going to stop even after his arrest, even after his defeat and humiliation in the movie. Everything here adds layers of sympathy and tragedy and heartbreak to the character, while simultaneously making everything he is and does in the movie so much more harrowing and disturbing, holy shit he really staked EVERYTHING, everyone's lives included, on being noticed by his savior.

I was already very much on board with Dano Riddler in the movie, whose execution absolutely sold what should have been, on paper, a storm of unadvisable fandom pitches and uninspired trends and straight-up bad ideas ("What if The Ridder was the Zodiac Killer", "What if The Riddler was a 4chan mass-shooter type", "What if The Riddler was a political terrorist with legitimate grievances but whose final goal was to kill off scores of people for little reason", "What if The Riddler was a creepy fascist responsible for a QAnon cult that ends the movie by metaphorically storming the capitol", "What if The Riddler was really, really, really obsessed with Batman", "What if The Riddler was another Dark Opposite Batman", fucking "What if The Riddler was Hush" even) worked into just this miracle magic bullet of a new take on the guy, fully capturing a lot of the essential bullet points of what makes The Riddler tick as a character while spinning them into new and significant ways befitting this increased role he has in the movie. Rereading the story now, so much of the movie even feels like it's specifically referencing the first Riddler story - The Mayor of Gotham City as a target, Riddler misdirecting Batman with a big target while his real plan involved a flood, Edward putting on a costume and naming himself The Riddler specifically because he wants to get Batman's attention, the glass maze, the written letters to police headquarters, The Eagle's Nest that is a nightclub and also the home of a millionaire with a bird last name (Falcone), a driverless vehicle careening wildly into a public place, even how the very first thing we learn about this fucker is that he cheats to win.

The guy in the movie is a version that fully works on it's own, but it clicks SO much more strongly and cohesively when you read this comic and what it establishes for him. It's the scene in the movie where the section of his diary reads "I must become something more" while Bruce finds the panicked desperate bat rattling against a cage, the thematic parallel between them that is the scariest thing he finds in the entire movie, but developed across six issues. This even begins with Eddie living through his version of the Wayne murders, with the first time he's felt anything other than crushing despair and misery, in part because he's seen the first hint of the puzzle he needs to solve, and where he needs to go. The moment the world stopped making sense for Bruce is the moment that the world started to make sense for Edward.

We understand, around the same time he understands, the childish nightmare that must become the pattern of his entire life from that moment onwards, how Edward Nashton would have killed himself, and no one would have cared, had he not become The Riddler, and how the only alternative to "Hey Edward why don't you crawl into the black hole inside yourself" is to, in fact, find this black hole inside of you and shaped like you and push other people into it instead. Become the creature of the night who can punch crime forever, become the avenging force too great for the Falcones to handle, become the kingpin whose name alone will live forever, become someone that the entire city will never again ignore or forget.

We see how it's less that he's been planning for this for so long, and more that his entire life has been broken and hammered into a Riddler shaped hole, and then when Batman dropped into it, he could start to understand what it is and put a name in it, in the fact that he's been training his entire life for this without knowing. Getting comfortable with flushing rats and making bombs at the orphanage, getting intimately and painfully familiar with self-loathing and alienation and misanthropic contempt for this city and it's people who sit by and allow all of this to happen, surviving his suicide attempts without being able to explain why, searching for answers as to why it hurts so much to live broken and unfulfilled and miserable and why he even bothers to keep on doing so, having nothing to love in his life but numbers and puzzles, spending his entire life invisible while trying to get Thomas Wayne and then his boss to notice and praise him, and then being the wrong man at the right place to begin his campaign, a little nobody accountant who noticed an inconsistency in the numbers, put the pieces together, and then decided he was gonna do something about it because he knew it could be done, because there was someone out there who showed it could be done, and if Eddie joined in, maybe this someone would notice him, let him be his friend.

Batman and R, forever.

(People don't talk nearly enough about how this Riddler's entire life ambition was to recreate Tim Drake's origin story, and they should, it's pretty funny)

And to be honest, I think this is the first Riddler origin story I've ever really liked. Some of the others, particularly the first, have their charms, and this one certainly wouldn't fit most takes on the character, even most of the ones I like, but I've never really been fully sold on the idea of a Riddler origin story until this one, he's always been a very backstory-proof guy to me. This doesn't have any particularly obvious shorthand moment as to why Edward became The Riddler, so much as an entire life twisted and torn and abandoned and rotten in ways big and small until this is what came out of him. No immediately abusive fathers or test cheating scandals or major company backstabbings as defining tragedies, just life for a poor orphan in Gotham City who can't figure out the answer to what's missing from his life until he does.

Still a horrible nerd hopelessly trapped in a life of trying to intellectually one-up everyone as the only thing he lives for and, like every horrible nerd, knowing that one day he will be recognized for what he is and then they'll all see how wrong and stupid and savage these stupid savage idiots all were to look down on him. Still a man driven to impose order on the world the way he believes it has to be. Still a cheater who loves puzzles and answers and the thrill of intellectual stimulation and victory more than anything else (and in this case, having had absolutely nothing else to even love about his life), and still very much this guy at the end:

I do have a lot of thoughts on The Riddler, and I think part of why I might not talk about him as much is because he's not a character I tend to have really exclusive or particular preferences for. There are a LOT of Riddlers out there, maybe more so than there are Jokers out there, and there's not really with him the definitive must-be-like-this that the other Batman rogues have. Everybody approaches the puzzle differently if they do so at all, and I like a lot of these Riddlers! They connect with each other surprisingly well even, in spite of being incompatible as the same person.

He's gone through some real ups and downs over the decades: given stardom in the Adam West show that made him a definitive Batman villain and spread his modus operandi across all the others, sacrificed in the altar of camp insecurity along with fellow snooty oddball Penguin, defanged and turned into a parody of himself, refitted for joke status, re-refitted for surprise baddie status, given a whole new lease on life and his own gimmicks with the arrival of computer puzzles and the internet and given his fangs back and then amplified, pushed back to the big leagues more horrible and topical than ever before and exponentially increasing as such until his next big movie showing, torn in multitudes across multiverses of takes and ideas, almost too many to even consolidate them all.

I like the first Riddler of Bill Finger's original story in Tec #140, this curious satisfaction-seeking master cheater growing exponentially more dangerous and more varied and more assured the more he fades into his endless barrage of traps and toys and puzzles,. I love Frank Gorshin's Riddler, and everybody loves Frank Gorshin's Riddler, he is the reason The Riddler became an iconic Batman villain overnight. I like John Glover in TAS, and I like Robert Englund's cold ghostly showman in The Batman (2002) much more. I love the Arkham games version of Riddler, probably because I never actually played the games and had to collect his dumb trophies. I love Paul Dini's Detective Riddler, and I especially love Brent Spiner's take on the guy for Justice League Action. I LOVE the more classic take on Riddler as played by John Leguizamo in The Batman Audio Adventures, and I LOVE Paul Dano's Riddler in The Batman, and they couldn't be more incompatible with each other.

I love the Riddlers who continuously undermine themselves in the name of criminal artistry and who look down on the profit-seeking rubes who think any of this is about money, and I love the Riddlers who are ultimately con-men doing money heists because they want to be the only crooks in town smart enough to have something to show for all their work at the end of the day. I like Riddlers who are widely despised and regarded with annoyance and disdain by the city and their fellow rogues, and I like the Riddlers who have good professional relationships with the other rogues, and the Riddlers who managed to become darkly inspiring figures in their own right. I love the Riddlers who've subsumed themselves into the mysteries and horror they embody, and I love the pathological pattern-finders trying to find a way out of this weird pathetic life, even if their efforts will be doomed to failure - The Riddler couldn't out-think his way out of Batman's toybox no matter how much he tried, and he has no desire to - where would it leave him? Down there with all the troglodytes? Please.

I can get on board with very human, conversational Eddies, the Eddies that did stints as sideshow carnies, that can tell on some level that they should be doing better things than this, who'll do bored stick-em-ups to fund the attention-seeking tantrums they're actually passionate about, and I can get on board with Eddies who are truly uniquely vile and scary even compared to the other Rogues in the room, who uphold this terrifyingly cold perversion of fairness, imposing a stark and utilitarian worldview on the city by which the penalty for falling short of his games is murder, that sheer calculated murderous menace that Frank Gorshin brought when he ended his first episode leering on a helpless Robin strapped to an operating table. And if I ever thought I couldn't get on board with the Riddler as a major serious scary existential threat to life on Gotham, well, The Batman sure proved me wrong. I may not love him as passionately as I do The Penguin or Hugo Strange, but I love too many versions of this guy to ever be able to narrow them all down, and there are even more still to be discovered.

Endlessly adaptable, able to change and mutate with the times on the same kinds of grand orchestral shifts and minute beats that Batman does, a greater variety of personalities than the Joker if not quite the same versatility (and where would we be without these two always pissing each other off or making out or both, living in each other's respective negative spaces), always an enduring and entertaining opponent regardless of whether he's the most pathetic man alive or a malevolent genius beyond understanding who routinely puppeteers an entire city and it's greatest hero into putting on their greatest performances for him. Always an adapting puzzle box, always leading into the next version of himself, always beguiling, and always becoming the most frustrating thing that Batman has to deal with, whether he's systematically destroying Batman's rationale and will and ability to be Batman or just being naturally the worst guy to deal with at the most unfortunate possible moment, in itself another key to his endurance. The Joker can murder sidekicks and torch the city and routinely try and drive Batman to breaking points of rage and indignity and despair - but sometimes The Riddler can get Batman there just by being himself, as anyone who's had to deal with this asshole in the Arkham games can attest.

It is imperative to believe in and understand Batman's worldview that his villains can be saved because everyone can and must be saved, just as it is to understand that, out of everyone in his Rogues Gallery, if The Riddler was drowning, Bruce would be inclined to throw him a cinderblock, and The Riddler would be glad to receive it, so long as his last gasps of breath could be spent laughing at Batman's inability to match wits with him.

For a villain who is meant to be fixated on knowing the one correct answer to every riddle, he’s uniquely able to be reinterpreted in endless new ways. He’s gone from being a camp and colorful performance artist to one of the most sadistic and sinister villains Batman can ever go up against. There is no one way to write a Riddler. There’s no single solution! And writers will always like the challenge that presents.

Just when readers think they’ve seen everything the Riddler has left to offer us, and the character is finally exhausted… a new lime-green envelope pops through the door of Wayne Manor to challenge us all once again. It seems we’ll never get tired of trying to unravel the Riddler, and writers will never give up on unraveling the character’s fullest potential. It unites readers, writers, and caped crusaders alike: this time, surely, we’ll crack him. - Batman's Greatest Enemy is...The Riddler, by Steve Morris

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝕙𝕚𝕕𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝕔𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕖𝕤 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Ascended Astarion x f!reader the vampire bride

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, kneeling, fingering, teasing, semi-public sex, creampie, praise kink, vampires being vampires

➺ 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: why Astarion woke you this early you don't know and he doesn't seem in a mood to give you answers, not right away at least. so you walk with him through the streets of Lower City, wandering what is so important. the Elder Brain is still a threat, everything else can wait, surely? but it looks like Astarion has a goal in mind today and it might not be all that serious in the end.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 6,624

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: a little late but happy patch 6! kisses, kisses, kisses! writing about them is just as fun as seeing them in game! enjoy <3

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎for @mist1e <3

The day was almost disgustingly bright. Despite attack plans being prepared by rest of your companions, today it seems that you have a free day. Saving Faerun can wait, can it not? But why in hells Astarion decided to wake you so early and drag you out of bed to accompany him – you have no idea. You tried asking but it’s like he has something on his mind that is more important than answering your questions. Such you walk by his side, wondering if you should try taking his hand in yours. Neither of you are big into holding hands, but things change. He changed. And so have you. Not so long ago you had warm blood in your veins, but you submitted that to Astarion freely, exchanging the warmth of your flesh for the heat of his touch.

“We’re going to the Counting House, dear.” he speaks up and your eyes snap to him. You have to squint just a little, the early morning sun is bright and his hair is reflecting it in a way it’s almost difficult to look at, like a halo of icy fire.

“What’s in the Counting House?” you ask, forced to turn your eyes away from his face in favor of watching where you step and you hear an annoyed sigh by your side which makes you frown. He was the one to drag you out of bed, now he’s annoyed you’re asking him what was the reason?

“Cazador’s vault. That’s why we’re going there.” Astarion’s tone feels snippy and now you start becoming annoyed in turn.

“Any specific reason we’re going to check it today?” you know your voice betrays your emotion and there’s a brief moment of silence while you two weave among the people hurrying with their own lives.

“I want to know if he had any more secrets I should know about. After all, if Cazador hid the entire dungeon from me and rest of his wretched spawn, what else he could’ve kept from me?” annoyance in his tone again, but this time you realize it’s not about you. Your shoulders relax, you nearly started picking a fight with him.

“Why now? Can this not wait?” you give him a short glance, noticing how his face is as serious as tadpoles in your heads, his crimson eyes focused, his eyebrows slightly furrowed – a man on a mission.

“I see you don’t understand.” Astarion looks at you for a moment, your eyes meet, then you both look ahead once more, avoiding bumping into people or stepping on wayward children.

“No, I don’t, care to enlighten me, oh lord almighty?” you tease him and you can sense rather than feel his smile at your words.

“Anything else I should care doing while I explain the grand plan of mine?” you feel a gentle smack on your rear and you break into a smile of your own, giving him another short look. Yes, indeed he seems more relaxed now, happier.

“Just tell me why you’re dragging me to the Counting House this early in the morning, hm?” you ask and realize his palm remains perched on your rear, then he pulls you a little closer to his side. It doesn’t hinder walking and Astarion’s touch is warm, even through the clothes you wear. Little gestures like that, you know what he’s doing – announcing to the world you’re his.

“You’re such an impatient little brat.” Astarion says and with a corner of your eye you notice his smirk. “But fine. You ask why now? Because I don’t want any nasty surprises after the Brain is gone. Once that is done, I want to proceed claiming my rightful place. Replacing Cazador is not going to be simple, there will be questions, I want to have answers. Mostly I want documents of Palace’s ownership and all other valuables he ever had. They are mine now, after all, by right.” a small chuckle escapes his lips. By right of murder, he meant and you smile at that.

Not like you can argue about that either, it’s just the thought that what was Cazador’s will now be his is a little bit daunting, because it means it will be yours too, but you haven’t even thought about this until now. Yet Astarion did.

“We don’t even know if we’re going to survive the fight.” your voice is hushed when you say that but also glummer and Astarion catches onto that.

Suddenly he stops, stopping you too with a quick grab of your waist and you turn to him, meeting his eyes with yours. You don’t know what you said to make him stop so abruptly and you look at him with a puzzled expression.

“Darling.” your Vampire Lord begins with a self-assured smirk, his hand is still on your hip. “Together united we can beat any obstacle. And I suppose we have those… friends of ours too, to give us a boost if we need it.” Astarion sounds so confident in what he’s saying and you try your best to believe him but the anxiety is still there. What if he is wrong? What if neither of you survive?

You are sure he can see doubt in your eyes so you don’t hesitate.

“A kiss might make me feel better, don’t you think?” you ask almost sheepishly, but you feel like you need it right now - a comfort of his lips, of his arms, of his presence, of him in his entirety.

Astarion pauses, then his confident smile widens.

“But of course, darling, I can’t deny you anything.”

You step towards him with a smile appearing on your face because you’re relieved to have been granted comfort but then his hand leaves your hips and stops you. Palm flat, right in front of your face. Confused you look at him, then his fingers curl and point to the ground.

What?

The look on his face clearly tells you he has something on his mind but surely he is not asking you to kneel in the middle of the city with all these people around you? Right?

Yet his hand does not move and you glance to the ground, uncertain about what to do but you feel your knees bending already. They bend because you trust him just like you trusted him with your life and you know can put that same trust in him right now too. So you kneel and his pointed finger follows your journey down. Before you can ask why he’s making you do this, he suddenly grabs your throat and you gasp. Your eyes widen in shock, you forget everything around you – the people, the noises, the street, the city itself. Astarion’s expression is a mischievous smirk, but your rising panic stemming from your confusion makes you blind to this, and your earlier anxiety only makes you scared.

For just a split second.

Then Astarion leans over you and his lips connect with yours, making the irrational fear melt away as if it was never there to begin with. You respond to his passion with yours, feeling that fire in your stomach burn hotter than the kiss itself. You remember how he made you kneel on the night of your becoming. It tied you to him for eternity, and many nights since then you felt this same familiar grip on your throat as he fucked you silently but relentlessly in that small tavern bed while others were asleep.

And then it’s over.

Astarion pulls back, a smirk on his face but you just look at him with disappointment. That’s all? You wanted more. Then his grip leaves your throat and you feel a push on your chest, making you sit on your heels. This time you frown instead, annoyed that he’s playing bedroom games with you with no intention of continuing them. Not that he should, at least not here.

When you rise to your feet and dust your pants Astarion looks triumphant, his grin wide enough to show his fangs.

“You always taste so sweet.” he exclaims with pride but you’re not as joyous as him. He got you worked up and for what?

“You made me kneel in a middle of this shitty street for this?” you complain and Astarion’s expression changes subtly, now he doesn’t look so sure that you enjoyed what just happened.

“Darling, I just wanted to remind you of your familiar position. On your knees in front of me.” he teases and you would blush if you could. Instead of that you pout.

“So that was your goal? To turn me on only to disappoint me?” you cross your arms on your chest but Astarion steps closer and sneaks an arm around your waist. His confident smile tells you he’s happy with himself after all.

“Distracted you from the worries of the Brain, didn’t it?”

This smug little shit.

“You better make up for this or else.” you grumble again and Astarion laughs loudly, unapologetically.

“Don’t I always make up to you, love?”

You give him a pointed look but Astarion either ignores it or does not see it as he resumes walking, making you walk with him. Out of curiosity you glance around, discretely of course, and notice quite a few residents of Baldur’s Gate watching you. Some of them are even whispering to each other.

“Did you just make me do that so that others see I’m yours?” you whisper to Astarion while still painfully aware of all the eyes on both of you. Astarion just laughs at your words.

“No, little love, I did it because this whole city is mine now. Or will be, once we are done with the trifling matter of the Brain. Why should I hide from the eyes of the masses? I can finally exist without fear. And they will witness me.”

You can’t help it. You laugh.

“Calm down there, big scary Lord.” you glance at him and Astarion smiles at you.

“You like it when I’m a big scary Lord. And that I’m yours only.” he teases and you roll your eyes but can’t help your smile widening at his words.

“So this vault. We have a key for it?” you try to distract yourself, if not him, from what just happened and how it made you feel. And the truth is it made you feel aroused, that’s for sure. Even if it was for a fleeting moment in that small yet confusing play he put on, you still find your underwear clinging to your folds with uncomfortable wetness.

Damn him.

“Yes. We found it in Cazador’s coffin, remember?” yes, you remember and Astarion scrunches his nose at the memory of the blood, the bodies but most likely the smell that was left after the Ritual of Profane Ascension. You can almost read it in his mind - he plans to clear that area the moment he seizes legal ownership of the palace.

You simply nod in response and having nothing else to add you just walk by his side, feeling the reassuring grip of his hand on your waist, watching Counting House getting closer. You wonder if you will find the documents he needs in the vault or not, but above all you are just enjoying the walk with Astarion, letting your mind drift with his words of ruling this city alongside him. It makes you smile. After all, now it makes all the more sense to save Baldur’s Gate – why would you let something rightfully belonging to you be destroyed.

With your hands clasped in front of you, you let Astarion guide you through the streets, enjoying the little display of pride he’s performing right now while you smile to yourself that seemingly such simple things make him happy. And he does look happy. That’s all that matters to you. Better yet, you get to share that happiness with him forever. No - you get to be the source of his happiness forever. He told you as much and you’re not going to doubt his words.

“Ugh, do we really have to stand in line?” you hear Astarion say and that snaps you out of your thoughts. You haven’t even noticed that you’re at the Counting House now, being led over the stone bridge to the open main door. You see many people inside and you sigh.

“We better not. I’m not in the mood for this.” you complain and Astarion gives your side a playful squeeze.

“What are you in the mood for then?” he smirks and you give him a warning glare.

“Don’t start it now, you know very well what you did back there.” you say in a tone that was meant to warn him but instead only makes him chuckle.

“Maybe I do. But if you’re going to be a good girl, maybe I will reward your patience. Just pout a little less, it does not suit you, darling.”

You give him another glare but say nothing else as you both pass the guards at the door and enter the building. The sounds of shuffled papers and people chatting echo off the walls, making you want to leave. This feels like a rat nest and you realize that this is exactly how Astarion feels about the Counting House too. You can sense his tension and annoyance. This place is below him, below you both.

Finally he lets go of your waist and steps forwards, cutting the line of at least six people and walking towards the dwarf manning one of the counters.

“Sir, you cannot-“ the man begins but Astarion just leans on the counter with a single elbow and smiles.

“I need to enter the vaults. You wouldn’t want a man like me kept waiting, would you?”

Something is not right. It’s more than just his regular charm. Your brows knit while you try to comprehend what’s going on. The dwarf relaxes, his shoulders slump and it looks like he cannot peel his eyes off your lover.

Ah, he got Charmed.

Wait, when did Astarion learn to do that? Your eyebrows rise with your surprise while you watch the scene unfold. Astarion telling the clerk that he lost the bank pass and the dwarf giving him a brand new one, behaving as if he’s in a beautiful dream. Other patrons seem not to appreciate being cut off but nobody raises their voices to complain. You can’t help but chuckle and try to silence yourself with your palm over your mouth.

When at last Astarion returns, he looks satisfied with the result and takes your hand, walking you the short distance towards the entrance to the vaults. Showing the guards standing there his freshly inked paper, the vampire opens the door and you both start descending the stairs.

“What was that?” you chuckle while glancing back at the guards like you’re waiting for them to rush after you and stop you but Astarion just smiles.

“Did you really think that it will take me forever to learn some new tricks?” he glances in your direction and you roll your eyes with a smile on your lips.

“Don’t have to show off like this, you know.”

“My treasure, if it were you in these vaults I’d wait even less than what I did just now. Now hush, let’s find where this key fits.” Astarion says, producing the key out of his coat pocket and handing it to you. You take it and inspect it only briefly because it does not stand out in any way.

Stairs and more stairs, more guards, you barely pay them any mind, you just feel your hand in Astarion’s and follow his lead until you’re there, among the rows of vaults. Now you begin paying attention. Some guards are there who look bored out of their minds and another dwarf, standing by the desk and scribbling away with a lengthy quill.

Once more Astarion approaches the clerk and they chat in hushed voices, then you watch the shorter man point at the vault to his right and Astarion returns to you with a smile.

“Lead the way, little love.” he gestures for you to walk in front of him and with only a moment of hesitation you do as he wishes, walking up to the vault door and inserting the key you kept thumbing all the way down here.

The lock is oiled and turns with ease, echoing a satisfying click when the mechanism moves to allow access. You glance at Astarion over your shoulder who’s standing just behind you, suddenly feeling nervous. What if the documents aren’t here? But your lover just nods in encouragement and you pull the door open.

You peer inside, unsure what to expect. At first glance it looks half empty, a bottle of wine or two and rolled up gazettes. Your doubt overtakes you and you look back at Astarion with questions in your eyes.

“Just look inside, maybe it’s somewhere at the back.” he gives you a shrug as if unsure too and you shrug back then get closer, leaning into the maw of the iron cage. It’s dark in there and the candlelight doesn’t reach deep enough to illuminate the back of the vault. You reach with your hand, feeling around with your fingers and then stop immediately.

“Astarion, what are you doing?” you ask because suddenly you feel his hand begin to rub lazy circles on your ass. A subdued chuckle is heard behind you.

“You just keep looking for the documents, dear. I’m sure they’re there.”

You bite your lower lip, trying to decide what to do: maybe you should stop him after all, but the ache you felt in that moment when he made you kneel returns and you just lean even deeper into the vault, your shoulders now passing the frame and you use your palms to search for papers of any sort.

“That’s a good girl, I am confident they are there.” you hear Astarion’s soothing voice that makes your desire rise its head like a snake preparing to strike and you feel his warm fingers trail up to the waistband of your pants, then pull at it.

“Astarion!” you hiss at him and nearly bump your head against the ceiling of the vault but he just smacks your rear with his other hand.

“Quiet now.” he curtly hushes you and you stifle a frustrated moan.

“Really?” you whisper and hear him chuckle, but you can’t even look back at him because vault walls are restricting you.

“Shh.” another soft command and you finally relent, staying as you are, bent over and partially leaning into the mouth of iron. If he wants to tease you this way, well why in the hells not, you deserve a little treat, do you not.

Astarion’s hand slips past your waistband onto your bare skin, getting lower, feeling the curve of your ass and when he pauses for a moment you hear footsteps, but then they echo away and his hand dips even lower, nearly pulling your pants down with it. And then-

“Astarion!” you hiss louder this time but then have to stifle a moan immediately after because his finger dips inside of you.

“Oh you were not lying, my sweet. You truly got in the mood back there, didn’t you?”

“Shut up.” you shoot back, making your lover chuckle. His digit leaves your entrance and you feel it sneak lower again, beginning to rub your clit in almost lazy circles while his finger is still slick with your arousal. “People will see.” your last protest is responded to with a push on your swelling nub that’s growing increasingly more sensitive.

“Do you really want me to stop?” you hear Astarion’s voice closer to you, bent over you like a shadow and you notice the edges of his cloak in your peripheral vision. At least there’s a bit of privacy.

“No, but-“ his finger makes you moan into the vault chamber before you can stop yourself and you hear him chuckle once more, he’s enjoying this maybe a little too much.

“Then try to be quiet, little love. We don’t want people interrupting our fun, do we?” a whisper disarms any other argument you could’ve had because he’s right, the thrill is intoxicating and his finger working in pleasurable rubs makes you want, no – need for him to continue.

You press your palms to the bottom of the vault and close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the feeling that is starting to send shivers down your spine. Astarion’s warm fingers continue rubbing in a pattern he already knows makes your knees weak and you press your lips into a tight line, not wanting to make a single sound.

“Finding those documents in there, darling?” Astarion asks in a louder voice - of course he’s keeping up the charade of nothing suspicious happening and it makes you break into a smile.

“Not yet, but there’s so much in here.” you respond while trying to keep your voice steady and have to immediately swallow another moan when Astarion leaves your throbbing clit alone for the moment and moves his hand slightly up, only to carefully insert two fingers into your cunt. “Fuck…” you exhale to yourself in a whisper, finally letting your head drop in an attempt to make your panting sound not as loud.

“Oh I’m sure there’s a lot in there.” your Vampire Lord teases and you hear a grin in his tone. That cheeky bastard, you’d hate him if you didn’t love him so much.

Your thighs tremble as you press them together but nothing saves you from the feeling of pleasure beginning to wash over you when Astarion begins moving his fingers. Your pants restrict his movements quite a bit but he compensates by gently exploring your core with his fingertips, looking for that sweet spot that makes you shout and your toes curl.

No, he can’t do it here, you don’t know if you can keep silent, not when he’s doing such sweet things to you.

“There’s a good girl, stay just like this…” you hear Astarion croon behind you and you bite down on your lip, trying to keep your voice inside your chest, trying not to move.

It’s difficult and then it becomes impossible. You moan when Astarion finally finds what he’s seeking and it makes your knees buckle, yet miraculously you remain standing. Quickly you clasp a palm over your mouth and tremble at his touch, almost forgetting where you are, nearly succumbing to the pleasure that is now increasing by the moment.

“Are you finding everything you need?” suddenly you hear an unfamiliar voice and your eyes snap open but you are too afraid to move.

“But of course!” you hear Astarion reply with an easy, casual chuckle all the while his fingers don’t miss a beat. You would be impressed if you weren’t trying your best not to react in any way.

Near impossible. His fingers curl and tease, press and slightly circle, not relenting, not giving you a break and you close your eyes again, bowing your head low enough so that your forehead rests against the cool iron. With your palm still on your mouth, you fight with everything within you to not make a sound.

But what a thrill it gives.

You barely hear the rest of this short conversation because you stop paying attention. You are too far gone to care in this moment, your only focus being just on keeping silent and letting the sensations overtake you.

“You did so well, darling. Now for the grand finale.” you hear Astarion whisper again, you can feel his presence bent over you once more and you whine ever so slightly.

His fingers inside of you curl again and you feel the palm of his other hand press between your shoulder-blades, keeping you in place while he works you towards your bliss. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to keep your legs straight but even this is becoming harder by the moment. Suddenly Astarion pulls out his fingers out of your drenched cunt and returns them to your clit, rubbing faster and faster with each small circle. You can’t help it, you mewl louder and bite into the flesh of your thumb, sinking your fangs just to keep yourself quiet. You’re so close, so so close, you can feel your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

And next moment your world explodes. Your orgasm overtakes you and you shudder, your body trembling with pleasure and you squeeze your thighs together even harder. Your nails scrape the iron of the vault while you try to keep yourself up and you bite down even harder, tasting your own blood now, pain giving equal measure of satisfaction to your bliss. Oh it shouldn’t feel so good.

Your body spasms once, twice and after few more seconds your mind returns to you, but not before Astarion’s fingers give one last touch to your overstimulated nub, making your body respond with a jerk. Finally, with a satisfied chuckle he removes his hand from your pants but you remain still for a moment longer, trying to recover and to catch your breath, then finally release your hand from your bite. It throbs with aching sensation.

“Come here, love.” Astarion coos softly and you move to do just that before you realize that you are gripping a cylinder in your other hand. You must’ve grabbed onto it during your rapturing delirium and you hold onto it as you step a shaky step back, then another.

“Ow.” you murmur while rubbing your lower back. Being bent over in this kind of position and for this long made you sore.

Astarion helps you stand straight and you hope that once the tadpole is gone your full vampiric powers will eliminate such mortal pains as this. Finally you turn to him and look your lover in the eyes. You see pride, satisfaction and mischief in them. Oh he is happy with himself about what happened, of that you are sure.

“I think I fou-“

“Hm?” Astarion interrupts and makes a show of holding eye contact with you while raising the same two fingers he used as beautiful weapons against you. They are still slick with your arousal and he puts them in his mouth, sucking them slowly, then pulling them out with a loud pop and a satisfied sigh loud enough to echo through entire chamber. “You were saying?”

You glance at him, feeling slightly embarrassed but say nothing. Instead you show him the cylinder you found in the safe and Astarion’s eyes widen slightly.

“May I?” he extends the same hand he just licked your juices off, his fingers still glistening from his own saliva and you place the metal tube into his waiting palm.

Quickly Astarion opens one end of the cylinder and pulls out a rolled up thin parchment. He tucks the tube under his arm and unrolls the document beginning to read it. You step to his side with curiosity, feeling calmer now after what happened just earlier and eye the text yourself.

“Kozakuran?” you raise your eyebrows and Astarion frowns.

“Of course. What a bastard.” he grumbles but then closes his eyes for a moment and lets out a deep sigh. After he calms his sudden annoyance, Astarion rolls up the parchment and stuffs it back into the cylinder, closing it. “Does not matter. We have the dictionary, we can translate it later. But I’m sure it’s what I wanted.”

Vampire Lord shoves the cylinder in his pocket and finally looks at you, his unhappy expression immediately changes into a smile.

“Look at you, precious thing. Even with all of that being done to you, you still manage to do your task beautifully. I’m lucky to have you as my consort.” Astarion’s eyes sweep down your face and your breath catches in your throat. A feeling of anticipation takes a hold of you. And then he suddenly grabs your jaw with a familiar grip.

“Astarion…” you whisper softly. You’re not scared of him, but you don’t want to cause a scene when you just barely avoided getting caught with his fingers in your pussy.

However, Astarion doesn’t seem to be in a mood to listen to your gentle protests. He turns your face to the left, his eyes greedily devour the eternal bite marks he left on your neck on that faithful night, after a moment he makes you face him again, a smirk pulling at his lips.

Then he presses his lips against yours, deeply and passionately. You grab onto the front of his coat, leaning into the kiss eagerly. This alone is enough to rouse your passions again and you slightly open your mouth, touching his lips with the tip of your tongue, wanting to make the kiss deeper. Yet your Vampire Lord has another idea. Suddenly you feel him bite your lower lip and your eyes snap open in surprise, then you feel his fang break the skin and you begin tasting your own blood. Of course.

You relax again and close your eyes, then with a small smile you kiss him again. He’s done this before, this isn’t new. It’s like he’s addicted to you, to your blood, and when Astarion’s desire arises to taste it – he does so no matter where you two are. Seems this time it simply happens to be the underground vault of the Counting House that becomes the stage for his display of love.

You feel your lover pull back and you look at him, immediately noticing the blood trickle on his chin and begin feeling the stirrings of desire even stronger, you are sure your feelings are reflected in your eyes and maybe that’s why Astarion now playfully shoves your face away with a grin.

“Naughty. I see how you look at me. You want more, don’t you?” Vampire Lord quickly wipes away the blood trickle from his chin with a finger and licks it, his eyes not leaving yours. “You think you deserve it?” his tone of voice is suggestive and you don’t need to feel him up to know that he’s hard for you already. Most likely have been hard before he even slid his hand down your pants.

“I found what you were looking for, didn’t I?” you smile to him and gently tug at his coat. “Come on, didn’t you just say you’re lucky to have me? How about making me feel lucky to have you?” you tease and Astarion raises an eyebrow at you.

“Perhaps I will. But not here.” he smiles and raises his hand, this time wiping blood from your bottom lip too, making sure you’re presentable before the eyes of strangers can find you, then he offers you a lick.

You don’t look away from his eyes when instead of giving his thumb a lick you take it into your mouth and suck on it, slowly moving your tongue around it. You feel pride when you see a moment of surprise on Astarion’s face but it quickly gets replaced by a smug smile.

“Ah, I see how it is.” he pulls out his thumb from your mouth and you let him, enjoying the sensation of him rubbing your bottom lip with the same digit. “Let’s go. I think a reward is in order after all.” Vampire says calmly but you recognize the look in his eyes – passion and need. And that need is for you only.

Quickly now Astarion closes the vault, locking it and pocketing the key. He takes your hand and begins walking towards the massive steel door leading outside of the chamber. As you walk by you notice the clerk eyeing you both, and some guards seem to give curious looks as well but that only makes you want to giggle before you realize Astarion’s steps are becoming faster, yet you easily keep up with him.

Your footsteps echo off the walls as you both hurriedly get up at the stairs and you can’t help but break into a smile. Here’s that feeling of anticipation again and you feel the fire burn hotter inside of you. You need him, want him, as soon as possible and from how Astarion nearly drags you after him, rushing to the massive steel door, you know he feels the same.

He pushes the door open, just enough for you both to get outside and you pause, letting him push it closed, then turn and keep going but only for one step. You feel Astarion tug at your hand and with a graceful twirl you are spun around, forced against the door and being kissed passionately.

Your response is immediate. You kiss him back with everything you have, pushing your fingers into his silver locks, tasting his tongue on yours, feeling your body heat up from the sheer idea of having his cock inside of you. When Astarion pulls back he can see your dazed eyes and the lustful craving etched in your face like a beautiful picture. It makes him swear under his breath.

“Fuck. I can’t wait any longer.” he whispers before his fingers trail down your stomach to the laces of your pants.

“Here?” once more you are not sure if you two should be this intimate when you can get caught any moment but Astarion doesn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“Here. Or else you’ll be responsible if I stain my pants, darling.” Lord’s eyes are focused on his fingers that are hurriedly pulling at your laces and you can only slowly exhale in response. He wants you this badly. It turns you on more than anything else could in this moment.

So you follow his lead, glancing down to find the laces of his breeches and you swallow hardly because you can see his erection stretching the fabric so tightly it must make him uncomfortable.

“Less staring, little love.” Astarion’s words are snippy, he’s impatient and already done with his task. He pulls your pants down your hips and with two fingers he reaches between your thighs to rub your cunt, exhaling. “You’re so ready for me. Delicious.”

“So are you.” you whisper back with a smile after your put your hand down his pants and pull out his already weeping erection. You give it a few slow strokes and Astarion’s eyes rise to meet yours.

“Turn around.” he commands and you smile wider, not moving just yet but he gives you no choice when Vampire Lord’s hands move to your waist and turn you around with ease.

He presses you chest-first against the door and with your cheek you feel the steel. Astarion pulls at your hips just enough to get your body at an angle he desires.

“You’re so bratty. If I didn’t need to fuck you right now I would keep you wanting until you’re silly with lust.” you hear Astarion mumble behind you and feel the heat against your inner thigh where the tip of his length presses for a brief moment, then gets aimed at your drenched core, nudging your folds. “Now be a good pet and take my cock like I taught you.”

You smile and with your palms pressed against the cold door you remain still for him, just like he wants you to. You let out a small gasp when you feel his dick slide into you with ease and you can’t help but moan loudly when he thrusts himself into you completely, claiming his rightful place.

“You’re going to alert everyone.” Astarion snaps at you with frustration and he pauses, rummages in his coat’s pocket then takes out the cylinder out of it. It comes into your vision when he presents it for you. “Bite onto this and don’t let go.” he instructs and you don’t argue, opening your mouth and letting him place the tube between your teeth horizontally. You bite down.

Without another word your Vampire Lord begins thrusting, his fingers gripping your waist to keep you steady while his hips snap against you relentlessly, already powered by his desire to cum quickly, before anyone interrupts. You close your eyes and try not to moan. You thought you had enough practice already by secretly doing this same thing during all those nights at Elfsong, but it doesn’t seem to get easier for you. Yet you try, not letting your moans leave your throat while Astarion grunts behind you, his cock easily filling you with every push, stretching your walls in a way that makes you dizzy. He’s perfect.

Then you feel a bite on your ear that makes you gasp and nearly release the cylinder from your lips. Astarion nibbles for a bit, his pumps not slowing even for a moment and you hear him panting heavily.

“I’m so close already, fuck, you feel too good, my love.” his whisper is strained as if he’s trying not to moan himself and you mewl silently because he’s driving you crazy. Your pleasure is building fast too, what he did earlier was not enough for you. You hunger for this sensation of fullness that only he can give you.

As soon as Astarion leans back from your ear you hear him let out a muffled groan and his thrusts change from controlled to increasingly erratic as he chases his orgasm and you’re not far behind him. You try to breathe through your nose and it’s becoming more difficult by the second since your own bliss begins to quickly overtake you.

Few more pumps, deep and driven by passion, are what it takes to make Astarion bite down a moan that you hear so clearly. That’s enough to make your body spasm in response to your orgasm. Couple more thrusts while your cunt clenches around his cock, milking him for all he’s worth and you feel Astarion’s fingers dig deep into your soft waist until he finally stops.

For a moment you both remain like this, trying to recover but you feel the cylinder being tugged from your mouth and you let go with relief, finally being able to breathe through your mouth, although for a moment you forgot you were even biting onto it.

“We should go.” Astarion mutters and pulls out of you, then gives your bare ass a playful smack. “Come on now, little treasure, I can’t let anyone see you like this. You’re mine to enjoy.” Vampire’s voice is playful and you smile, gathering yourself from against the door and you pull up your pants. With him filling you so thoroughly as he did just now the walk back to Elfsong is not going to be the most comfortable one, but oh was it worth it.

You spend only a short time to make yourselves look presentable and when you lift your face to him Astarion surprises you with a kiss. You smile against his lips and he pulls back with a smile of his own.

“Let’s not idle.” he gently brushes a strand of hair from your sweaty forehead and you give him a short peck on the lips then nod.

“I’m sure you’re eager to see what’s in that document.” you say and Astarion offers you his hand. When you take it he begins to lead you out of the vaults.

“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll allow you to distract me again.” a short glance from him is all what it takes for you to want to be his biggest distraction.

“We’ll see.” you smile while walking with him and Astarion sighs loudly, happily.

“Maybe I don’t dislike Counting House after all.” he says and you both laugh in unison.

[just-a-sleepy-idiot]

Herbert West Imagine: Being your Roommate and slowly starting to care about you

Why is he so cute it’s so unfair. Shout out to @herbert-west-did-nothing-wrong for being an archive of cool Re-animator content and furthering my hyperfixation hoho hehe

Content/Warnings: Gender neutral Reader, Some fake dating, Violence against Zombie animals, Dr. Hill is obsessed with Reader the way he is with Meg in the movie, Swearing, Herbert being addicted to the Reagent like in the uncut version & Withdrawal, Autistic Herbert West

When his unsuspecting Roommate turned out to be a Insomniac night owl his initial plan of secrecy had to be turned around. Or to be more specific, it was rather the very unfortunate moment when you happened to catch him wrestle the Re-Animated Raccoon that tried to claw through his labcoat in the middle of the night when he realized that he couldn‘t get around some explaining. „Get it off me!! Get it off me!“ He yelled, trying to keep the beasts treacherous little zombie hands away from him. „Fuck! Fuck, Herbert what the hell!?“ You yelled back while hurriedly grabbing a towel and trying to pry it off him with that. The Racoon ended up Re-Dead eventually, after an excruciating fight that showed you the extent to how fucking Undead that thing turned out to be. You stared at Herbert in Horror, he was heaving and leaning back against the Operation table he had set up. He was quick to jump and talk to you, „Listen-„

You were this close to demanding he‘d move out as fast as he had turned up that evening a few days ago, when he knocked at your door with the sign you had posted to the Hospital staff‘s board about looking for a Roommate. You were vaguely aware of what he was studying, at least you witnessed how strongly he defended his opinions about Brain death against Dr. Hill, who was the head surgeon of the clinic but also his teacher. And as such the older man was more than inclined to fail Herbert in class over his upfront disrespect. You were somewhat uncomfortable with Dr. Hill as well for a long time, and maybe the fact that Herbert openly disputed against him was part of the reason why you didn‘t turn him off when he turned up on your doorstep.

But he showed you, he proved to you, that the insane claims he was using as his explanation were actually true. His research has led him to revive the dead, no matter the damage the body has taken before, because soon after the wretched beast you had just thought dead came back to life, if that absolutely murderous state it went into could be called life.

You were sat there, next to him and stared at the cadaver. Blood on Herberts shirt and loosened tie, and you in your silly Pyjamas. „Which is why I need your help Y/n.“ Your head turned quickly, „Help you?“ He scooted a bit closer, „Yes! You are the perfect assistant. You are hardworking, we work in the same Hospital and you have no functioning sleep schedule.“ You frowned at that, but well, he was right. „We could do something great, conquer Death!“ He put a hand on your shoulder and you looked him in the eyes for a very long moment. You let out a stressed out sigh, „for gods sake.. ok, alright. This is.. just insane, Herbert, but it‘s the kind of insane that I can‘t just leave be. I‘ve never seen anything like it.“ Herbert smiled, patting your shoulder enthusiastically.

That is how he got himself an Assistant by chance. As long as he could keep you motivated to keep going and pushing through the Horror his research would really benefit from the help you were providing.

You weren‘t as obsessed about working day and night as he was though, which is why you didn‘t react too pleased when he stormed into your room at nearly 4 in the morning to tell you about a new theory he had. He didn‘t really notice how you were snuggling a plushie, or how you had curled up in the moment as he ranted on and paced your room excitedly. You let out a long stretched moan and grimaced at him, “I was sleeping..!” You complained, but he didn’t really listen. Only when you threw a pillow at him he halted, looking at you in offense. “That was uncalled for.” “Apparently it is! I wanna sleep Herbert now gooo” you stood up and shoved him out of your room. “No bursting into my room while I’m sleeping!” He turned around, getting a last look at your sleepy, disgruntled face before you shut the door on him and went back to sleep. Only when he huffed and puffed, walking back down into the basement, he remembered how you have looked sleeping. Curled up like a Pillbug, he thought.

The next day he found that the lack of sleep had not really made you forgiving towards him when he tried to tell you about his findings. He clenched and unclenched his fists nervously, frowning as he tried to figure out his next step of action. Herbert never needed to prove himself to anyone or be particularly likeable to make it to where he was now, his work spoke for itself. So he genuinely didn’t know how the heck he was going to fix something that was well.. a person. He needed you to be cooperative, and pissing off his only assistant was not very beneficial to his work.

When you came home, Herbert was already sat there and stood up quickly. „Look,“ you already looked at him pretty much pissed, much like this night while you threw him out. He came forward and firmly held out a plastic bag, neatly wrapped inside was a piece of your favorite cake. „No more bursting into your room while you’re sleeping.“ He said, lowering his head without breaking his continuous eye contact. „Is that.. how did you know I liked that?“ He nodded, „See I‘m not always listening but my brain is always taking in information.“

You took the bag and raised your brows, a slight smile on your lips as you took out the cake. „Alright.. I accept.“ you said, putting down the cake to go into the kitchen to get a fork. „So what did you find out?“ He smiled as well, clapping into his hands and starting to explain it all. You came back with two forks. You made Herbert try some too, as it turns out he is more a dark chocolate kind of guy, and he makes a face when he finds things too sweet that makes you giggle.

Herbert was always eager to go back home and experiment after work, the days were Dr. Hill taught were especially agitating to him. „I feel like every minute I am forced listen to this man it’s diminishing my brain capacity.“ He complained every time. Those were days were he stayed in the lab until the sun rose, and listen, throwing stones in a glass house and all but this was too extreme. You noticed he was still up when you woke up to pee. Did he even eat dinner? You spied into the kitchen, no trace of dishes.

He was scribbling down a new variant to his substance he had thought of, it was brilliant! This would solve at least one of the major problems you had been encountering in your experiments, he couldn’t wait to put the chances into action and see how the reagents power changed. Herbert lifted his gaze without fully looking up when he heard the familiar creak of the wooden stairs. „You need to see this Y/n.“ He bickered you closer. He was surprised to find a plate with Pancakes in his field of vision. He looked up from them to you. You were in a different set of silly pyjamas now. „You didn’t eat. How are you gonna save me from Zombie Goldfish if you faint?” You joked and reached for his notebook to read his new results. He stared at you for a while, then said „Why do all of your pyjamas look like that.“ „Hey!“ “Also by now I deem you capable enough to bring down a Zombie fish yourself.” “That is the sweetest thing you ever said to me Herbert.” He shot you a look over his glasses.

Though, he ate the pancakes when you left and they were good. You didn’t make them too sweet. Judging from the way you giggled at his reaction to the cake you must have had remembered. Hm.

It was another night, another period of labwork he was up to with you. You were replicating the reagent for him into smaller, portable versions you could take into the Hospital to begin and document the reactions to human bodies with low dosages. You poured some of it too quickly and a cloud of poisonous gas errupted from the glass, you nearly fell back trying to evade it- your chair already tipped over and you closed your eyes, but the crash didn’t come.

You looked up, still holding onto the glass for dear life, and saw Herbert looming over you from behind the chair. He had swooped in and grabbed it from the back before you could fall. Why did this somehow feel.. close, the way you looked up at him that way. The way his knuckles turned white from gripping the chair, and the way he frowned down at you. You eyed his face. “You should avoid dying before I perfected my reagent.” He said, still holding you. Your feet dangled in the air, you put your head further back. “Don’t worry, I would come back as a ghost to haunt you.” “Why would you do that?” You raised your hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks, surprisingly gently. “I wanna spook you once, not see you as composed as you always appear to be.” Herbert swallowed, his eyes flickered over you for a moment. Your fingertips were warm against his skin. Why were you.. your lips parted in a smile. He cleared his throat and carefully set your chair down again.

“You really need safety googles, let me see if I have an extra.” He looked through his stuff, finding his thoughts trail off. He paused for a moment without noticing, briefly letting his eyes flicker around without really focusing on something. When he found them he turned around and gave them to you for you to try on. “Do I look good?” “You look safe. That is good.”

A week or so later you were both at the Hospital, working as usual. Herbert went to your station to discuss your next test subject, he happened to find an older man who was sure to die soon of his illness that he intended to try and Re-Animate. If the bodies weren‘t registerested in the Morgue in the first place it couldn‘t be traced back to the few with the authority of entering it, aka you. So if he just waited until the patient died and took his chance before anyone took the body he would make for a perfect test subject. When he arrived at your station he looked around for you, only eventually finding you cornered against a door by none other than the most dimwitted person in the Hospital; „Dr. Hill, I really need to be getting back to work..“ you said and tried to walk past him, but he blocked your way with his body.

„Now Y/n there‘s no need to be in a rush, I‘m sure someone will handle it. Surely you‘ll have some more time for me to discuss dinner.“ „Well.. um, like I said, I‘m sorry but I‘m already getting something with Mr. West tonight.“ The older man rolled his head back for a moment and laughed spiteful at the mention of his name. „Yes but you are rooming with.. Mr. West, so you will have plenty of occasions to eat with him. But you see, I am a very busy man and my company is high in demand. You should prioritize me making time for you.“

Herbert saw the way you smiled, and from what he had learned about body language over the years he would most likely interpret this as a sign that you were flattered and comfortable with his invitation- but there was something that went against that deduction; Your eyes. Either way he didn‘t look people in the eye or he did so to an extent that was considered staring. But he had seen you smile, at him, at the cake he got you, at the note he left on the fridge that said ‚Leftover Dinner left, Bag of Eyes right! Do not accidentally microwave‘ so he knew what you looked like when you smiled. And.. you weren‘t smiling with your eyes right now. You always smiled with your eyes, did that mean that your expression was simulated? Were you in distress?

He approached swiftly, clearing his throat to get Dr. Hill to turn around. „I shouldn‘t be surprised to find out that your ignorance isn‘t limited to your scientific research, Dr. Hill, but here we are. Y/n, I need to discuss something with you.“ You were more than happy to use the moment of Dr. Hill‘s bubbling irritation and slip past him and next to Herberts side. „Mister West.“ He said through gritted teeth, „It seems like you are compensating your inability to surpass me by taking something from me in reach, but let me assure you that a Roommate isn‘t as important as a Lover can be.“ When he said the last words he looked at you with a smug smile, not even hiding that he thought of himself as your suitor. You looked horrified.

„I agree. Now if you‘ll excuse us, it’s 3 PM and therefore Y/n‘s Lunchbreak.“ Herbert held eye contact with Dr. Hill as he put a hand on your back and led you away. The older mans eyes widened in disbelief at the implications of him agreeing, of the way he put a hand on your back when you left. „Are you saying you are-?“ Herbert didn‘t stop to listen and made you follow his pace as well. Did he just hugely imply that he and you were affiliated? Yes. Did he plan to do so? Certainly not, but it just happened to be the perfect split between pissing of Dr. Hill and helping you out of the situation and potentially even future attempts like these. How wonderfully efficient.

„Now, I wanna show you the perfect candidate for our-„ „Herbert“ he looked at you, eyes flickering over your features as he rapidly noticed a change in your expression. Your cheeks were reddened, your lips slightly pressed together. The redness even extended to your ears. „You are embarrassed. Or flustered. Which is it so I know for future reference.“ He observed and you blushed even more.

„Now the whole Hospital is going to think we are a Couple!“ He shrugged his brows and led you further through the Hospital, you whispered as a colleague walked past. „Potentially, since Dr. Hill is more concerned with spreading misinformation anyway than working.“ He paused, „Ah, I did not account for the possibility that you already have a crush on someone here. If they heard about that it wouldn‘t be to your advantage.“ „Yes, I mean, I don‘t but- now we gotta act like it in front of him too.“ He hummed in acknowledgement, well, surely that wouldn‘t be too hard.

He had you meet the man that he meant to Re-animate if everything went according as planned, you inspected him and gave Herbert a look. It was doable, his body was weak so in case of aggression he could easily be restrained for both your safety, and lastly the man had decided to donate his body to science anyway after his passing.

„I think I can ask to switch shifts to his station and make sure the beeper doesn’t go off once he passes.“ You said as Herbert walked you back to your station, „Then you distract the nurses while I get the body out in a Wheelchair.“ Herbert added and you nodded, slightly nervous about the whole thing already. Bringing a full human back to life.. was it even possible to conserve the refined parts of the human brain and personality or would it operate like the animals as well that he brought back?

You reached your station. Herbert surprisingly took your hand in his, your eyes widened yet you didn’t resist the gesture. Reaching out, he did that a lot, he does in when he fails to verbalize what he wants to communicate in an emotional extent. But people usually react with.. a leap of faith, and trust in him when he does this instead. Touch, hold onto their arm for a moment. And he reaches out for your hand now and you trust him, you let him.

„Listen, Dr. Hill is watching us.“ He said, and you blinked, eyes darting to your hands as you suddenly understood his gesture for what is meant- an attempt at portraying romance.

Your hands were warm, almost beaming with heat. It wasn’t uncomfortable.

„Would you consent to me pretending to kiss you for the sake of proving our lie. He isn’t close enough to actually see if our lips touch.“

You squeezed his hand and slightly stepped closer, breath hitching. „I consent.“ He studied you, sighing and wetting his lips. The way he looked at you, if he reciprocated eye contact at all, was always intense and yet this was.. as if he was actually taking in much more of you. Not just reciprocating a gesture to an intense amount, but actually looking at your face, all of it. Why did he feel his pulse raise? He took another step towards you and closed in- until there were centimeters left between your lips. Your noses slightly brushed against each other, your breath gently fanned over his skin. Both of you had closed your eyes, Herbert felt your hand on his chest clenching slightly onto his shirt. You radiated warmth, why did he want to have you even closer than that?

He stepped away again, opening his eyes. For a second he saw you, with closed eyes and a reddened face.

„I think that will suffice for a bit, depending if Dr. Hill has enough audacity to flirt with someone who is supposedly already committed.“ He concluded, straightening his glasses. He felt weird, somehow.. anxious? Anticipating? Frustrated? Disappointed? Hm. Hard to tell.

„Ah.. yup! Um, maybe it works!“ You said, swallowing and bidding him goodbye until work ended. And Dr. Hill actually walked past you that shift without saying anything else, purposefully not acknowledging you as it seems.

You felt anxious about going home that day, not really knowing what has changed exactly that made you feel that way. What did you expect to happen? Nothing actually.. happened! You did not kiss, this shouldn’t feel so Sitcom-ish. And yet-

you came home, the kitchen light was on but you didn’t see Herbert. He must be home, he was always tinkering with something as soon as he was free to do so after work. Sometimes he didn’t even wait until then, but right now there was no light coming from the basement. Only from his door, and that was unusual. You never even saw that man in a pyjama once! As far as you were concerned he had an identical set of clothes to sleep in. ‚I can get behind wanting to revive the dead but that is just weird Herbert‘ you once told him, to which he replied ‚at least I don’t sleep in something that is patterned with geese‘ which really only showcased your point.

„Hey, do you wanna eat something?“ You asked, not straightforwardly showing your concern. „Y/n..“ he muttered, and you frowned, now opening the door. What you saw was a very distraught looking Herbert, rummaging through his things with the small fridge he kept in there open as well. „Fuck- there are no probes in the right stage!“ he howled, hands shaky and room disheveled. „What are you talking about??“ he turned around but didn’t look at you, his eyes darted over the room panicking. „I can’t.. inject any of them at this stage this is..“ his breath hitched, you were putting the pieces together in your head. He was talking about using it on himself, and judging from the erratic state he was in he was physically addicted to it. He was pale too, the withdrawal must have kicked in a while ago. He behaved both impulsive and weakened. There is.. something you needed to do. He sat down on his bed, fidgeting and running his hands through his hair. „It keeps me awake, keeps my mind running.“ That didn’t even sound unlike him, it made sense for him to try and find a way to ditch any kind of the human experience he didn’t like. He did it with death so why not sleep too while he was at it.

„That means you‘ll go to sleep after a while, once your body gets exhausted enough from the withdrawal.“ He nodded, you sat down next to him on the bed. „The Hospital doesn’t have a the tools of dealing with the specific addiction you’re dealing with right now and we don’t have any reagents that are ready to fix either so.. I‘m gonna stay here ok? Monitor you so I know you‘re safe. I‘m gonna fetch that terrible Novel I‘m reading right now to distract you from the pain with a different kind of pain, hold on.“

And he let you do so- listening to you read the book to him while fidgeting nervously and running a hand through his hair or over his arm as he tried to let himself be distracted by what you were saying.

You kept reading to him until 5 AM, Herbert was still struggling but getting more weaker by the hour. He frowned and closed his eyes here and there to rest a bit, visually displeased to be requiring that sort of thing. He muttered that it was wasted time he could use better, but his physical agony seemed to find a bit of relief in this. ‚You were usually asleep now‘, he said when he noted how tired you were at this point, ‚you should just go to bed.‘ He didn’t understand how stubborn you were on staying with him to look out for his safety even though he assured you he was fine. You were nearly drifting off to sleep yourself, resting your eyes as well when he asked „Why do you even care so much?„ Your answer was murmured as your consciousness slipped, „Because I care about you“ your head sunk more against the bed frame behind you since you both resorted to sit at the end of his bed.

Herbert stared at you, frowning once more but slightly bewildered. He was important to you? Personally? Your lips parted as slumber caught you fully in mere moments after those spoken words. If it wasn’t for what you said.. he would have never even thought about wether he reciprocated what you felt, but somehow he found that- he did care about you too. He had cared about your distress earlier and went to resolve it without fully acknowledging why, despite being highly agitated just by the thought of exchanging a word with Dr. Hill. He cared about your opinions on his Experiments. And he even cared about how you felt about him, and it wasn’t even fully based on the necessity of having you as his Assistant. He pressed his lips together.

Herbert straightened his glasses and looked over to you again. With a sigh he grabbed the blanket and put it on top of you, covering you up to your shoulder which made you intuitively sink further into the mattress. He crossed his arms and closed his eyes for a bit as well, fully keeping his stern expression as he slowly fell asleep as well without noticing.

For the first time in a long time he fell asleep again, and for the first time in a very long time he wasn’t alone.

I was literally non stop writing this since I watched the movie a few days ago. I would love to write more for him or maybe even write a part 2 of this? If ppl like this and want me to I‘d love to hear what you have to say. Comments get me motivated and keep the hyperfixation running

[lynnlyrae]

The Devil, the Scientist, and the Most Beautiful Creature 

This is my attempt to analyze the connection between the Teacher, Faustina and Luna through the lenses of Goethe’s “Faust” and determine the origins of the “cursed moon twins”. There’s also alchemy.

This text will consist of four parts. And yes. It is long. Reader, you are warned.

Enjoy!

PART ONE: PARACELSUS, THE FATHER OF BABEL 

What do we know about Paracelsus:  

Lived in 15-16 centuries; 

Was a scientist;  

His actions led to the Babel Incident. 

The real world Paracelsus was “the father of toxicology”, our Paracelsus is The Shapeless One. Alright, this is a bold statement, but why not. 

The twin six-pointed stars above Paracelsus head (Ch. 7) have always stood out to me. Guess who else has exactly same two six-pointed stars as well? Teacher/Saint Germain (Ch. 55)! 

Some other similar motives: 

Paracelsus’ face is always obscured, we never see his eyes, only vague shadows. Teacher’s face was always drawn without eyes before the Big Reveal Moment in Ch. 55. He’s also known to frequently change his name and appearance, to the point where it’s not always possible to determine whether one’ve met him before (Vanitas has met him in another form, but has no idea when and how it happened). 

Paracelsus wanted to save the world from sufferings and guide people to happiness (Ch. 7). He also assembled a team of scientists to conduct a research. Teacher/Saint Germain is referred to as savior by Misha, and he also saved Noé from human traffickers. He also claims his ultimate goal is world peace (Ch. 61). But the goal is shared with someone (he says “our” wish specifically). 

And honestly, their vibes just fit so well. Paracelsus and Saint Germain, two mysterious figures who are renowned scientists and alchemists with ambiguous lore — why wouldn’t they be the same person?  

Since I want to use “Faust” as base for analysis, let’s assign him a role – Mephistopheles. I mean, just look at this (Ch. 61). It’s as devilish as it can get! The free force in s shape of a fine gentleman that ultimately creates destruction. 

Mephistopheles also claims to be an observer: 

“I’m so involved with Man’s wretched ways,

I’ve even stopped plaguing them, myself, these days”. 

And look how well it fits to Teacher, who left the Court to enjoy his little things in a secluded mansion (manipulating kids and raising pawns) and also claims to be an observer!  

Alright, I’d like to keep this part short because my main focus here is Faustina-Luna situation, so let’s move on. We’ll get more bits of this manfailure there anyway. 

PART TWO: FAUSTINA, THE QUEEN OF THE RED MOON 

What do we know about Faustina: 

she’s a Queen and the first vampire of red moon to ever exist, while Teacher was by her side the longest; 

she has a special power to control other vampires as herself, not as Naenia; 

she’s mostly active as Naenia and was likely cursed in 17 century; 

there are two physical bodies that are stated or hinted to be her: one in her bedroom in Carbunclus castle and one in Ruthven’s lab. 

Now let’s take a look at Faustina’s bodies (Ch. 13, Ch. 26). I briefly mentioned in one of my recent posts that I think Faustina changed bodies at least once, possibly due to them being damaged by curse. I believe these pics support this idea: the body in the castle looks like that of an adult person, with limbs and fingers much longer than those of the body that was seen in Ruthven’s lab and reacted to Naenia’s name (Chloe also summoned Faustina in the same body of a young girl). 

Additionally, when Ruthven talks about her connection with Saint Germain, she is portrayed as having adult-like proportions (Ch. 19). And when Naenia takes more human-like shape, it also has adult-like proportions (Ch. 9). So I think she was cursed as an adult, and her original body is the one in the bedroom, but her soul went from one vessel to another, while her cursed form remained more like her original body. 

While we are on the topic of bodies, I’m going to show you this. Thankfully, the moment when Luka stayed at Faustina’s bedside wasn’t omitted from the anime — and the queen’s skin looks quite the same color as Luna’s. I’m not sure what to do with this information yet, but it creates another link between them. It’s quite interesting that Faustina’s corrupted form looks a lot like Luna’s normal form.

Ok now that I’m done with this idea, let’s move on to something more interesting: Faustina’s role in the story. 

Right now her position is not really active: she steals true names as part of the Charlatan, but it’s unlikely that she in control of the organisaton (at least in present time), and Ruthven leads it. She obviously can’t fulfill her duties as a Queen either: they’re taken over the Senate (which again includes Ruthven) and a puppet-on-the-throne Luka (who is, again, under Ruthven’s control. Ruthven, what kind of power play is that?).  

But I think it’s wasn’t always like this. After all, she was an absolute monarch with magical power to make every vampire fall to her feet! And, well, she had to do something even before that, right? 

I believe that prior to becoming a vampire she was involved in Paracelsus’ research, possibly even as an alchemist. While the majority of well-known alchemists were male, there were some cases of women conducting and publishing researches in this field as well. A notable example are Sophie Brahe (1559-1643), who studied astronomy and was also well-versed in Paracelsus’ medical texts, and Isabella Cortese(fl. 1561), who was the first woman to publish a book on alchemy, titled The Secrets of Lady Isabella Cortese. Tbh I just really hope that Paracelsus team (Ch. 7) will include women in general…

Of course, my desire to see Faustina as an alchemist is not enough to claim that this is a credible theory. So let me elaborate on that a bit more (and we’ll get to Luna right after that). 

Her name derives from the name of a Ghoete’s character Faust, a man who makes a deal with the Devil to exchange his soul for fulfilling his desires of knowledge and pleasures. Faust is deeply dissatisfied with his life: 

“He drives his spirit outwards, far,

Half-conscious of its maddened dart:

From Heaven demands the brightest star,

And from the Earth, Joy’s highest art,

And all the near and all the far,

Fails to release his throbbing heart”. 

… And Mephistopheles offers him everything he wants. 

I think she literally is Faust. And her Mephistopheles wanted to grant her wish that they probably shared (Ch. 61). 

Faustina (well-educated person dissatisfied with reality) met Paracelsus (who offers a way to change the entire world). Perhaps he plays both the role of God and Devil in this version, since Paracelsus is described as someone who actually wanted to help people, but his action led to a literal apocalypse. Way to go, Paracelsus! 

Anyway, in my theory, she joins the research and becomes the first vampire during the Babel incident. Perhaps all other scientists, except for her and Paracelsus, died during the incident (but the research itlsef survived and was later used by Chloe’s family). Faustina was reborn as the Queen and Paracelsus as the Teacher. 

Why only Faustina is considered to be the first vampire and not both of them? Well, they didn’t necessarily fully awake as vampires at the same second of the same day. Or maybe the Teacher hides his identity and true powers this good… After all, he is known to mess with history (for example, he removed everything about Ruthven from his books, leading Noé to being completely oblivious about his existence). But honestly the parallel between vampires reacting to presence of Faustina (Ch. 38.5) and Teacher (Ch. 55) are interesting… 

PART THREE: LUNA, VANITAS OF THE BLUE MOON

What do we know about Luna: 

they’re the only known vampire of the blue moon and are considered abnormal and dangerous; 

Naenia is the one who steals vampires’ true names, but it’s believed to be the fault of the first Vanitas;

they’re told to have created the Books of Vanitas (it may of may not be true); 

they’re canonically agender, neither male nor female, and regret knowing what they are (Ch. 51).

I mentioned here that Luna is a Homunculus. Now it’s time to explain what led me to this idea.

Noé points out that Luna and Faustina look alike (Ch. 49) Is it connected to whatever knowledge Luna regretted having? Considering Luna’s unique blue skin, blue blood and their statement “I’m not like any other living thing in the world”, I don’t really think Luna could be Faustina’s human twin. Or rather, it’s not my first guess. I’m inclined to believe that Luna was an artificial being whose creation was connected with Faustina. 

In “Faust II”, the theme of artificial human, the perfect creature that surpasses humanity and yet serves their creator, is also present. Faust’s student, Wagner, works on a project when Mephistopheles visits him. Wagner claims: “A Man is being made!”, Mephistopheles jokes about a “loving couple hidden up the chimney”, but Wagner pronounces this way of creating life “unfashionable” (🤝) and delivers a beautiful speech: 

“The tender moment from which life emerged,                                      

The charming power with which its inner urge,

Took and gave, and clearly stamped its seal,

First in a near, and then a further field,

We now divest of all that dignity:

Though the creatures still enjoy it, we,                                                   

As Men, with all our greater gifts, begin,

To have, as we should, a nobler origin”. 

The interesting thing here is that Wagner’s creation is alluding to Paracelsus’ recipe of homunculus in Of the nature of things, 1537 (I found this in an article which referenced a publication by R.D. Gray Goethe the Alchemist. A study of Alchemical Symbolism in Goethe’s Literary and Scientofic Works.) Paracelsus called the creature “chemisch mensch”, but Goethe adapted that to Homunculus, an alchemical term. 

The Homunculus desires to become fully created: “Since I exist, I must find things to do”. He (this character is referred to as a male in “Faust”) seeks “the beginnings of creations”, to “reach at last the human state”. In order to achieve it, he wants a connection with the sea goddess Galatea (here a version of Aphrodite), but his brittle flask hits her chariot-shell and breaks. He spills in the sea and dies, but he also merges with the sea itself. 

Now that I’m thinking about it… Painfully familiar… Blink if you too were forever traumatized by “I won’t die, Noé. Even if I’m no longer here…” in Ch. 1… 

Well, back to Luna. Just like Goethe’s Homunculus, Luna was created in a certainly unique way. Here it’s time to remember the fairytale about Vanitas, told by Noé to Amelia (Ch. 1). Granted, it’s something he learned while under Teacher’s care, and we know he isn’t above censoring of wildly retelling anything, but Amelia doesn’t correct him on anything, so let’s accept this fairytale as it is. 

Perhaps the “birth” of the first Vanitas on the night of a blue moon refers to the artificiality of their creation? Artificiality can be equalized with “unnatural” birth of the Moon in the fairytale version. Even if the concept of homunculus will not be directly named in VnC, we already have the idea of an artificial being that differs from all living things in this world, is nonbinary and possibly agender and is able to perform unique functions — to control the book of Vanitas. 

Interestingly, our Vanitas and Misha are also to some extent “artificially created” – without experiments of Moreau and Luna’s bite they wouldn’t have been able to control the Books. It’s possible the reasons for the existence of Luna and both their children were somewhat similar – it was merely an experiment conducted in order to change the design of the world. (Ch. 48) 

Perhaps those “reasons to exist” are also the reason of Luna’s regrets and the reason to forbid Vanitas to allow Archivists to read his memories. We don’t know why it’s so. Maybe Vanitas learned something about Luna, and now those memories are meant to be hidden carefully. Maybe Luna just wanted to find out about themselves, asked an Archivist to read their memories (Machina, perhaps), and was so traumatized that simply wanted their children to never go through this kind of pain. 

And the knowledge that traumatized Luna? It could have been knowledge about the purpose of Luna’s existence. I don’t think Luna was created by accident. They were meant to do something or to be something. The Books are said to be created by the Vampire of the Blue Moon, but they could have been created for them as a tool to rewrite the world once again. 

In “Faust” Mephistopheles tells to the audience: 

“In the end we’re dependent on

The creatures we’ve created”. 

What if Paracelsus and Faustina needed someone else to fully realize their plan? And that someone was Luna, “the most beautiful creature in this world” (Ch. 55) (he’s so real for this). 

Saint Germain, the president of Luna fan-club, everyone!

Oh, one more little thing. The “perfect creation” of alchemy is the Philosopher’s stone.

Carbunculus is one of many synonyms for Philosopher’s stone, which may be anything from a rock to a human-like being (waving at fellow FMA fans); 

It’s also the name of Queen’s castle;  

And Goethe uses this word to describe how Homunculus looks: 

“The deep alembic now has passed, 

And like a living coal at last 

A fine carbuncular fire is glowing 

Into the dark it’s brilliance throwing”. 

No way it’s a coincidence. Just. No way. C’mon, it Jun. So… Luna is the “ultimate creation” of alchemy, VnC’s version of Philosopher’s stone and Homunculus at the same time. 

PART FOUR: THE THRIAD 

Now that we’ve assigned roles to all of them, let’s go deeper in another rabbit hole that is alchemy. This one is hella hard to research because of the amount of extremely different modern occult groups. But alchemy was my childhood hyperfixation, so… let’s do it. 

Together, Faust, Mephistopheles and Homunculus form a triad. (Yes, Wagner created Homunculus, but he kinda diss appears from the plot afterwards and Homunculus goes on a journey with Faust and Mephistopheles). This is kinda relevant, because Goethe actually researched the topic and it’s not unreasonable to connect his characters (and their VnC analogues) to certain alchemical symbols.

The triad is Salt, Mercury, and Sulfur. Here we can see irl Paracelsus at work again, because he was among the alchemist who popularized this theory. In alchemy, the idea of “feminine meets masculine” is pretty common, but unfortunately, different sources assign these qualities to different elements in the triad. That being said, the common point is that one is “female principle”, one is “male principle” and one is “neither, or the spirit itself”. The most common division of that in the triad is: 

Sulfur — the active male principle. Causes change. Brings an object to be changed. Associated with fire and sun. Red King. 

Mercury – the passive female principle (it’s just medieval occult stuff is I’m sorry). Needs something to give it shape and change it. The chaos of creation. Associated with earth or water and moon. White Queen. 

Salt – pure and undivided salt is the result of the interactions between mercury and sulfur. Such perfect things are the purpose of alchemy. 

Here are illustrations from Splendor Solis, which was also written under the influence of Paracelsus. Really can’t get away from this man… The first one is the Chemical wedding, the second one is… also that. Just in a fusion way I guess. Here the result of the Weddking is portrayed as Hermaphrodite with two heads (like in the myth, where human souls were originally of dual nature, but got divided into two parts that are men and women), but sometimes it’s a child or a person with both male and female features. Hermaphrodite can also be called Rebis (which means “dual matter”, aka Philosopher’s stone) or Androgyne (hello Luna).

I don’t expect Faustina, Saint Germain and Luna to fulfill this specific roles just like that. Rather, I think their roles would be mixed a bit, like how Saint Germain is both God and Devil. Still, the idea of the first one providing an idea, the second one helping him work on it and a third one being born out of it all as a perfect creature is intriguing to me. 

The three of them are the oldest, most ancient and perhaps the most mysterious vampires in VnC, and I’d love to them connected in such a way where one can’t exist without the others.

In conclusion: tragic ancient vampires own by brain.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Mr. Egg, Mr. Pickle, and Mr. Hot Dog

Debut: BurgerTime

BurgerTime is one of those retro games and that's about it. It existed, and it's Retro!, and I feel like people don't really care about it aside from that. It never even got an awkward attempt at a scrimblo adventure reboot, like Frogger did! Poor BurgerTime.

Anyway, my first time playing BurgerTime was not by playing BurgerTime at all, but a SpongeBob Flash game clone of it. I have no personal connection to BurgerTime itself... but I know it has some enemies that are living foods! I always get a kick out of that! So I'm going to talk about some of the various design incarnations of them!

These original designs are exactly what you would expect from a 1982 arcade game. I feel like I've seen Pac-Man ghosts drawn EXACTLY like this. I like how Mr. Egg has the strangely realistic crispy bubbling detail around his edges. They're all fine.

...is what I felt before I noticed their elbows and knees! Ew! Bones! Wretched creatures!

Ohoho... now what have we here? The in-game sprites are delightful! The simplicity makes them very cute! Their feet are interesting, being just little floating lines, except for Mr. Egg's, because his legs are made of amorphous albumen! Mr. Egg is really the breakout star here. Look at his yolk! That's his EYE! This is so awesome! That's such a rare design choice to see, especially since egg creatures that are not of the "creature hatching from them" variety are pretty rare themselves.

Mr. Pickle is no slouch either! I appreciate him being specifically a pickle slice, often portrayed as nicely crinkle-cut. I just have to question why he is a villain! Pickles are one of Burger's best friends! This is like if Cheese was a villain! I think if anything Mr. Pickle should be a cute little sidekick on the side of burgers, and in his place can be, I don't know, Mr. Olive? Of course, pickles are much funnier than olives!

Mr. Hot Dog is not as interesting as the other two, but a simple sausage with eyes and feet is still cute. He is like the leader of the bunch, the main antagonist of our hero, Peter Pepper, who I do not really care about. I like that it's him! Burgers and hot dogs are like counterparts, but in no way equals. Hot dogs are easier to hold and eat, but burgers are just Better. And hot dogs have finally decided to give burgers a piece of their mind!

This flyer art is funny. I don't LIKE any of the designs showcased, but they're funny! Faces are moved around on the foods, noses are introduced to the series, and Mr. Egg is now a slice of a hard-boiled egg. You will also notice the elusive Mr. Lemon! Mr. Lemon is not real! I don't know why there is such an emphasis on lemon here. Finally, of course, you will notice the personified Cheese, as she noselessly beckons Peter to recline atop a beef patty. Ooh la la! Don't you wish you were invited to hang out with such a beautiful female cheese who is a girl woman?

Really, the designs of the core food fiends never diverged much from the classic cartoon-style versions they started out with, appearing like that in pretty much every sequel. Except...!

In BurgerTime World Tour, which was not a good game at all, these guys have been utterly rebooted! Now known as Frank Furter, Ruthless Dill, and Sonny! Are these their real names? Or just some similar guys?

The designs are rather basic, as to be expected from Foods With Faces, but it IS interesting seeing them generally made so much more monstrous. Something ESPECIALLY interesting is that Sonny the egg is the only one with limbs, reminding me of how Mr. Egg is the only one to have actual legs in the original sprites!

Ready for the SCARIEST redesign from World Tour?

This game's version of Peter Pepper is this horrible gentrifying millenial and I'm glad his game was prematurely delisted. I hope he got eaten by an egg and chewed by teeth made of yolk. I hate him!

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 36 - Closer

The rogue gets a taste. 😈

On AO3.

Astarion pulls the last out of the drow he can manage. The man is starting to cool in the fingers and face. He’s been struggling to get a mouthful the last few times. Finally, regrettably, he has to declare the wretch entirely drained and let the limp body slide off to be left behind.

His leader considers her own, empty potion bottle, but tucks that into the saddlebag.

Her soul flask is once again looped around her neck and tucked away into her cleavage. From what he’s gathered, the priestess took direct ownership of that and tucked them away into her bag, still strapped to the magnificent lizard they sit atop.

The drow had also stashed the foreign phallus in there. He’d teased his recovering leader about that as best he could through the tadpoles (after she finally opened the frazzled and sparking connection to the others to assure them all of her safety).

Astarion had taken his time draining that drow. The man fought at first. Astarion’s bite hurts, at first. He’s felt his dearest leader wince. But where she volunteers herself and lets herself sink into his embrace (pulling her close, she would feel so good held tightly to him), this one hadn’t wished to depart with his blood.

Which had ripped his neck open more than what Astarion would have preferred. Still. He hadn’t died quickly. Or easily. Judging from the over the shoulder glances his leader shot back at him, Astarion was correct in his deduction on identifying her tormentor.

So he let the drow fight a little, as he fed. Just so he would know how useless it was. Let him have the full cognizance of what was happening to him.

His leader had merely turned and left him to it.

But now that’s done and their lizard has slowed and his recovered leader starts to fidget. They’ve found the stream again. She’ll likely follow it; all water leads to the same place, and all.

“Are you alright?” he says. She doesn’t answer. He starts to reach for her, but then she pulls the lizard to a stop. Slips one leg over the side. Staggers as she lands.

He’s off and after her before she can fall. Grabs her arm to steady her, but she yanks free, jerks away.

They stand there as her heart races.

Her eyes are wide. Astarion knows all the ways a person can be afraid. All the tells, big and small, and the flash of terror in her eyes he’s seen in his siblings countless times. She smothers it swiftly. Straightens herself, points to the river, and mimes splashing herself.

“A bath,” he says.

She repeats it, waits for him to nod.

Blood wasn’t the only thing he’d smelled on her. Sometimes, after a correction, that bastard let him wipe himself down with a wet cloth. Only when there was time enough for Astarion to go lure back some pretty thing. Only so as not to spook them (though sometimes, as extra punishment, he was put out as he was specifically to try to lure the exact type of person who saw a broken and bleeding man wandering the streets and saw an opportunity).

“Of course,” he says.

She nods to the lizard. He’ll need to, what, secure it? Somehow? At least this beast doesn’t spook as he steps close. It only stares at him with one eye.

His leader makes her way over to the stream. Starts unlacing her stays. Her hands are still mottled, fingers puffy. They move stiffly as she undresses herself. She’ll need a new set of stays. A new outfit entire. Between the flood and the rivers and the cave mud—to say nothing of what she’s acquired in the last two days—that outfit of hers really ought to be burned.

He wishes he could have found that birdshark sooner. Ran just a little faster. That it did more damage before it retreated.

Then, as she reaches to pull her tunic over her head, his leader stops. Glances back to him and blinks owlishly.

“Um,” she says.

He waits.

“Astarion’s eyes,” she says.

“Yes?”

“Astarion’s eyes. Good eyes. No bad here now. Um, is well.”

The same “well” used to ask if someone is injured. She must mean healed?

It’s not until she makes a twirling motion with her hand that it dawns. He can see her now, and she doesn’t want an audience.

He has a notion—small though it may be—to tease her again (listening to her and imagining the water sluicing over her bare skin is fine, but gods forbid he actually sees it). But she still wears that hint of…broken openness. So he gives her a small bow and does as she asks.

She moves quickly. Strips efficiently, from the sound of it. He can imagine her face blank and focused, tossing her clothing into a ruined pile as water sloshes around her legs. She swears—the water is no less cold closer to the lake than it was in the tunnels. Astarion studies the lizard. Wanders along its side—keeping it between him and his bathing leader, and he stops at the saddlebags.

Drow, like their elven counterparts, tend to be of slim build. Nothing in that pack will likely fit her. He can modify any trousers he finds, and far better this time, but he finds nothing in there to suit her for now. Save a chest piece of light armor. He’ll have to loosen the straps, but he may be able to open it up enough to awkwardly fit her for the time being.

He knows how badly he wished for armor after bad nights.

Perhaps their wizard—should they ever find a bleeding waypoints stone—can enchant it to resize for her.

Though part of him does think to swap it for his own. It has a delightful spider motif along the collar and centered on the chest, and it would look quite handsome on him. But he manages to squash that (barely). She might not even catch the difference, but he’d wager the gold in his bag that this armor belongs to the priestess herself, and if she ever learned that not only a surface-dweller, but a non-person surface dweller wore it…

Priceless.

He finds a few more potions—ooh, drow poison, excellent. Among them is a greater healing potion. She’s going to drink that next.

Soon the splashing stops. He shakes out a spare tunic he finds. Probably too skimpy for what he knows of her, but she might appreciate wearing something not crusted in blood?

No more water splashes. No wet feet patter on stone.

“Darling?” he says.

No response.

If he were still blind, he could tap his way over to where he last heard her. Now?

He taps gently at her mind. And out loud, she sniffles.

No question to it. He pops up just fast enough to locate her, and then slaps a hand over his eyes and marches down towards her. This time, he’s careful to make noise so she doesn’t startle.

“Darling,” he says.

She takes a shuddering breath. Then comes a large splash. A gasp and a sputter. Did she just submerge herself?

She says something. Nudges across that she wants him to wait.

So he does. For a long, long moment. Lets her gather herself. And finally, she sloshes back and he holds out the tunic he found.

She takes it. Pauses for a few heartbeats. It’s small and won’t fit her (the image of a strange, paper tube splitting along the side and dough bursting out along the seams).

“No blood,” he says in Chondathan. “And I have this.”

He’s never seen her in armor. He’s not sure it’s something her world even uses. At least, not in a way that’s familiar (how could earthenware stop an arrow).

Cloth rustles. She grunts. The fabric stretches alarmingly, a few threads snapping. Then she moves past him to gather up her castoff hip wrap.

He did not find any of the panties he made for her. She must be lacking in that area again. As soon as they’re clear of the drow, he’ll fix that, and much better than the last time (well, one of them might be embroidered with a suspiciously phallic mushroom, best not disturb tradition too much).

He can open his eyes, now. Just as she all but snatches the chest piece from him. She’s got it over her head before he can really catch so much of a glimpse of her (save for one flash of cleavage pressed tight and shoved up). Then the collar of the armor covers all that from view as she slips her arms under the shoulder straps and fiddles with the sides.

Her face is puffy. Not from injury—the lesser healing potion took care of that. No, it’s not from physical injury. She’s careful not to make eye contact as she tries to lace up the first side. Keeps her face turned from him.

“Allow me,” he says. Comes up behind her and takes the leather cording from her fingers.

Her hands fall to her sides. Until he taps the left one, signals her to lift it so he can get her secured.

He works in silence. She stands in silence.

She’s tense. Shifts her weight back and forth. Water drips from her shaggy hair to run in rivulets down the back of her neck, and he has thought to lick it. Lick a whole stripe up to her ear and nuzzle his face into her warm skin just to bury his face in her scent. Safe and alive.

He must still be hungry (he’s always hungry). She’s so full of delicious blood.

He finishes. Shifts to reach the other side and she obediently lifts that arm without him asking. Yes, he’ll need to see how useful their wizard can truly be, because once he finds a full kit for her (and for him), they’ll both be stunning in this outfit.

Then he’s done. Clears his throat. Expects her to step away, only she doesn’t. She just stands there, hands clenched but for her pointer finger tracing a pattern over her thumbnail.

“I,” she starts. “Thank you, Astarion.”

“Of course.”

She still doesn’t move. He taught her that phrase, didn’t he?

“Er, you’re welcome,” he says in case he didn’t.

And then, slowly, she turns.

He’s seen her up close. When they first met and he had a knife to her throat and she stared up at him so blankly he thought she was a simpleton.

The night he fed from her, her heart racing, blood pumping hot and thick and so, so rich into his mouth as she shivered under his tongue.

The night he seduced her. Nearly seduced her? The disastrous seduction. When he had her against a tree and he started to remove himself from his own body, but not before he did, truly, appreciate how her body felt against him. What a novel change.

In all that, he’s never really looked at her this clearly. She has the faintest freckles dusting her skin, invisible until he’s close enough to count her eyelashes. And one eye looks just a touch paler than the other, until he realizes she has the tiniest band of amber around the pupil. The smallest sliver of sunlight caught in her dark gaze.

She stares at him, perhaps an inch shorter with her bare feet and him in boots. She still has that air of…vulnerable about her. Brow furrowed slightly. Gaze darting about. But she inhales and squares her shoulders and forces herself to look him in the eye. Down to his mouth. Her gaze flits about his face.

“Astarion,” she says. Oh, her heart thunders in her chest. And his lips suddenly feel too dry. “Astarion kiss?”

He blinks. Oh yes, he’d taught her that, hadn’t he? Before the drow took her. She’d stood there, speckled in gore in the soft, blue light of the magical tree that returned his sight, and he’d ached to lean in and taste her lips.

“You and I kiss?” he says. Taps his lips. Reaches across the narrow space dividing them and carefully, a hummingbird alighting on the edge of a night flower, touches her bottom lip.

“Yes,” she says.

He moves in. Slowly. Gives her time to stop, to step back, to change her mind. But she, the walking contradiction, the bold virgin, she leans in and meets him halfway.

He’s kissed her before. The disastrous seduction. And then she revealed that he had been her first. But that kiss doesn’t matter. Chaff in the wind. This, this is a first kiss proper.

It’s slow. Soft. Incredibly chaste. The kind of kiss he dreamed of receiving when he was a thirteen-year-old boy.

He hadn’t known, that night. He would have altered his approach. Taken his time and eased her into it. Made it memorable for her (though he supposes he did just that) (his guts slither in his belly).

He leans back and opens his eyes, a little amused she follows. Quite the greedy thing, he’s learning. Fish and potions, gold and weapons and magic scrolls. She hoards them all.

Then she blinks her eyes open. Stares at him rather dazedly.

Doesn’t move away. Just watches him, takes in all of his face.

He knows this. Finally, territory he can navigate.

He takes a half step closer. Reaches up with his very naked hand and brushes the tips of his fingers over her cheek.

“Kiss?” he says, voice low and breathy.

She nods.

Her lips are on the thinner side, but no less warm or soft for it. He keeps it innocent. No tongue. Just the brush of lips. Lets her feel him as he feels the shivers racing through her. One of her hands comes up to latch on the edge of his shoulder piece. Such a shy creature, even now. He nearly guides it up to his neck, or encourages her to bury her fingers in his hair. That can feel quite nice.

She mimics him as she did that first time. Clever thing. She has the sense to breathe through her nose, until he eases back to let her catch that breath more properly. Notices she exhales to the side, as if she doesn’t want to bother him.

Then he hooks the fingers of his other hand into the lacings he just tied up the sides of her armor, and guides her closer. Not quite pressed to him. And she makes a soft sound against his lips.

He almost bites her then and there. Almost cradles her head in his hands so he can open her mouth and properly taste her.

But he retrains himself. That’s not the script for someone this new.

But what would it be like to teach her? To feel her improvements—she’s hesitant and a touch clumsy, but committed to the deed. What would it be like to taste her increasing boldness as he worked confidence into her? Coaxed her to bloom against him, beneath him, around him? Untouched but for him. Something of his own after so, so long.

Gods, he wants it. Wants her. Finds himself pulling her the last distance against him. Flicking at her mouth with his tongue, because he has to taste her, wants this for himself. Something of his own before he has to take her back and hand her over to—

Something sours in his gut. He pulls back. Wants to fling himself away from her, but that spooks the mark and he must not, must never do that. He manages to keep his face soft. Barely. Fingers loose and jaw unclenched.

She comes out of it slower. Innocent thing. Trusting thing. Looks up at him and blinks slowly, as if she’s drunken another bottle of wine on her own.

“Sorry,” she says.

That must simply be an instinct for her.

He forces on an easy smile. Brushes some of her hair out of her eyes. “No sorry.”

She blushes. Not out of awkwardness as she did that night in the clearing. This is a proper flush running from her cheeks, down her neck, probably all down her hidden cleavage.

(Would her skin taste differently flushed like that? All the blood so close to the surface?)

He should shove her away. Rage at her. Bare his fangs and command her to run as he could never do after that once.

He should keep her against him. Bury his face against her and hold her tight and never, never let her go.

“Come, darling,” he says. Motions to the lizard watching them in the bored manner of farm beasts.

She nods. Starts to follow him.

He catches the smallest flicker of movement as she touches her fingertips to her own lips.

***

Notes:

A ha ha ha! It only took like 200k to get to a real first kiss!

I'm gonna take Wednesday off, because I need to catch up on typing out the next chapters, and the later ones start getting long again. But I'm currently drafting the last chapter of this fic, and plotting out the next part. See y'all next Saturday.

[madness-combat-confessions]

Homeboy let me tell you on this one, I didn't know there's a madcom specific confession blog out here its quite surprising which. oh brother (gender neutral). you would loooovvveee this particular gossip that had been navigating its way to the dark tunnels of my mind back and forth like a wandering ghost about to get fucking tazed by someone who's reeling in power trip in the distant northern region of britain because buddy, do you know that feeling of self discovery plundered about with self resignation? I've been WAITING to confess this my whole life, I'm like a sinner in one of those confession box and you in your awesome fit is listening to a year long obsession crumpled into few paragraphs with no way of knowing who I am or where to exorcise me. ehhehehehe. AHAHAHAHHAHA.

I FUCKING HATE PHOBOS. IHATEHIMIHATEHIMIHATEHIMIHATEHIMIHATEHIMIHATEHIMIHATEHIMIHATEHIMIHATEHIMIHATEHIMIHATEHIMIHATEHIMIHATEHIMIHATEHIMIHATEHIM—

OBSESSION SO FIXED IT IS A BLESSING IN FORM OF FAILED LOBOTOMY. HE'S BEEN ON MY LIFESPAN UNBEARABLY WELCOMING LIKE THE GRIP OF AN BOXER,

I HATE. HIM.

HIS EXISTENCE IS NOTHING SHORT BUT AN MIRACLE TO MY BLEAK EXISTENCE, OF WHOM HAD FILLED MY TORMENTED COMPLEX WITH A LITTLE BIT OF JOY THAT IT. HURT. IT'S A SENSATION OF RETURNED LOSS WHENEVER HE MADE HIMSELF AT HOME WITHIN MY TORMENT NEXUS AND IT SPEAKS OF AN UNSPOKEN RESIGNATION TO A DEATHLY WORSHIP, A FIXATION SO BOUND SO BLINDING ITS LIFE RUINING YET SO FUCKING REWARDING. MY MUTUALS, MY DEAREST BELOVED MUTUALS WHO HAD KNOWN ME FROM MY MADCOM PHASE (if y'all see this and recognize me somehow, hey man), SEES ME AS— you know what they see? THEY SEES ME AS T.H.E PHOBOS ENJOYER. THEY CAN S E E ME SCRAPING HELL TO BACK FOR A REMINDER OF HIS IMAGE ON THEIR WINDOWS AS IF I WAS THEIR NEIGHBOR GOING MAD AND DIGGING A HOLE OVER IT BECAUSE I HATE HIM SO MUCH

HOWEVER... I LOVE HIM AS A CHARACTER TOO BECAUSE OF HOW MUCH HE HAD OFFERED ME TO GROW AS A PERSON AND THAT UTTERLY WRECKED ME.

THIS VISAGE OF A BARREN EMPIRE, HE HAS BROUGHT ME TO TEARS AS MUCH AS HE HAD MADE ME BARKED. HE HELPED ME UNLIKE ANY OTHER IN MY FUCKING LIFE AND ISN'T THAT JUST DISSAPOINTING YET BEAUTIFUL? ITS HIM. HIM THAT MADE ME REALIZE MY HUMANITY.

He's a reminder of what I could've be if I don't step up to care for my mental health, and as hot as the idea of me being a CEO there's no fucking way I'll fucking bootlick the horrors beyond my comprehension especially when I have the corporate power not to. I wanna fight those thangs, I want a war not power. Its because of this very reason that he's my existential horror that I don't mind worshiping. A welcoming hand to my new world as a human being instead of a piece of nothing, and I don't know if I should be thankful or be angry that it was him instead of tha hottie sweetie Sanford. But. Its undeniable of what he had done to me. There's a piece of me in that wretched soul, I can't help but to care but for the HATE I have for him this care has been translated in the same manner of how people treated Spamton G Spamton. Violence all the way, a beautiful blend of loving violence. I'll worship him from hell to back if it meant that I could beat the ever loving FUCK outta this mf, I want his blood in my kidneys and for it break down the animalistic copper from my taste buds into nutrients so that my arteries can intimately understand how much I have come to HATE him since he decided to break into my psyche all those years ago. He made me understand myself, I find that beautiful.

Its been one year since the obsession wore off you know? I don't gone mad no more baby, the sin of gluttony and wrath no longer traced the ceiling of my mind because all is there is ORDER. A calm acknowledgement of what he had done to me as a person. But no laws can tame the most shitheads of them all, you won't hear me saying this if it had won the internal war back here in my frontal cortex.

I love him, your honor. And because of that I desire so greatly for the act of violence both to him and in his name as a honor to myself, whole and bare, which eventually circles back to him again.

The complexity of my opinion on him were a beautiful tapestry of my own personal growth, a careful blend of colorful care. I no longer feel indifferent towards myself and its all thanks to him. He's my most beloved blorbo, he saved me from a life of neverending agony. I pray every day that I could get a job just so that one day, ONE. DAY. our lord Krinkles turned him into a marketable plushie. Just so that a visage of him can complete the shrine I'm about to build for him as I whisper promises of violence for him and to him.

Yeah... He's my blorbo ♥

I'm gonna start getting therapy appointments for you guys../j

[the-saltiest-saltine]

Enjoy this heartwarming fic about the importance of having reliable nondescript friends in the face of a scary situation. You and her can totally fight off a prospective attacker together, you’re sure - after all, you’ve got the power of friendship!

Yan!Chrollo x Reader

Word count: ~ 1.9k

Warnings: Yandere, stalking, implied voyeurism, implied torture

You’ve got a stalker. You know this for sure.

Wherever you go, you can feel a gaze. 

Your train rides and walks through some of the dodgier parts of the central business district after a busy day have always had their fair share of sketchy characters - it’s been a near-daily part of your life since you first came here several weeks ago - but this feeling was different. It wasn’t some junkie looking for a punch-up, no. It was specific. It was targeted.

What started as a feeling of slight watching in public, became a metaphorical spotlight in your apartment, blinding and irritating. You keep your windows shut and locked, not wanting the biting chill of the smoggy winter air to creep its way inside your residence. This doesn’t stop you from constantly coming home to find your kitchen window wound open, all these stories up. You know it’s definitely impossible for a regular man to get up here from the outside, since your front door is always locked and there’s no balcony.

You wish he’d leave you alone at the library, at least. It’s nice and relatively quaint, a much-appreciated juxtaposition from your otherwise industrial setting, and the least your stalker could afford is some privacy so you can enjoy it to its fullest.

The stare is intense, filled with neediness and darkness. You’re sure the eyes of whoever is creating it are a void, the most unusual colour of emptiness and depravity. You can’t pinpoint any particular reason why this is happening - generally, you’re pretty quiet and unassuming. You have no rich family to pay a ransom, and your organs wouldn’t be worth much. Simply put, a person like you is not worth the trouble.

Your best cure for this feeling so far has been to simply sigh, and open up your latest novel, indulging in a few chapters. The feeling subsides after a little while. Perhaps he gets bored of watching you partake in an activity so unappealing to an outside viewer. Perhaps he grabs out his own book and indulges himself, though you doubt that’s the case (-but that would be a nice thought, wouldn’t it? Imitation is, after all, the sincerest form of flattery).

Tonight, you found a card on your kitchen bench. By the looks of it, it’s not a parting message, rather the opposite. The intricate red pattern on it is almost enough to be considered romantic, but you’re hardly feeling the charm. It’s unsettling, to say the least, but you can’t even bring yourself to be scared. 

If anything, this issue annoys you now. It’s been a long, exhausting day at work. It gets uncomfortably cold if the window's left open. If someone’s going to kill you, they might as well just try already. Being stalked is so tiresome.

You don’t have enough tangible evidence to file a police report, simple sensings of a watcher not nearly enough proof to have police aid you. Funnily enough, this takes the bottom rung on the ladder of reasons why you can’t contact them. You can almost laugh at the thought of even trying. If this persists, you’ll call your friends instead.

Unfortunately, your welcome to this city has been anything but warm. 

Luckily, you’ve got one modicum of hope.

There’s a woman in your life.

She’s beautiful, inside and out. Her smiles are a breath of fresh air in this wretched city. You can’t say you’re exactly dating yet, but whatever tier below it you’ve got now is certainly better than whatever was there before. Something like gratitude, as much as you’re naturally inclined to overlook it, hits you like a truck whenever you’re together.

Unlike you, she’s not new here. She’s been a great tour guide so far, introducing you to practically every street corner, every Indian restaurant, every speck of dirt and faeces on the wrecked footpaths that the slimy Mayor neglects. It’s hard to worry about a stalker when you’re being bombarded with random questions and consumed by her laugh, echoing between the skyscrapers and into comforting mugs of hot chocolate.

The time you spend with her is precious, sacred even. You won’t let the mystery man get in the way of that.

Long before that card made its way to your residence, you did call a friend, the friend, about your problem, getting a response within two rings. You told her about your stalker, sniffling and regularly hiccupping, telling her about how you think there’s someone after you. She was practically frantic, demanding that you come over to her apartment right that instant, barking out her address without hesitation. It’s only fifteen minutes away, she assured. You got there in seven.

She flung open the door at the first knock, saying your name with relief and letting you in. You spared her most of the details as you sat on her couch, not wanting her to put herself in harm’s way. Despite your shaky insistence that you’ll be fine regardless, she gave you some pepper spray to help defend yourself, and some tips on how to hold your keys between your knuckles most effectively.

I’ll protect you if anything happens, she says, her support of you positively admirable. You know she’d try and fight him off if you were together when he strikes. 

You’re certain that your combined forces are enough to fight off a fully grown man, you declared in response - and you meant it. In fact, you added, scratch that, you’re absolutely convinced that your cumulative strength - consisting of four arms, pepper spray, and her high-pitched scream - is enough to fight off a bodybuilder pumped full of anything and everything you can get in the alleys behind the city’s numerous smoke shops. She laughed at that, but you know she still worries for you.

You can come with me anywhere if you’re uncomfortable, she said. Really, if you’re worried, just call me up. I can leave work early if you think you’re in danger, honestly. My manager is flexible enough.

Appreciation swirls around you in waves again. Naturally, you have your scepticism. It’s almost too generous, too forward, something you’re certainly not accustomed to. But alas, you’ll firmly grip whatever opportunities present themselves. She offers you what she can, and you don’t hold yourself back from accepting it with open arms.

You’ve accompanied her to the bar, to the library, to her favourite café. It’s pleasant. It’s peaceful. You’re still being watched for certain, but the ability to have a brief moment of levity whilst in her presence, something to help you forget about work and responsibilities and stalkers, is something to be treasured.

She’s so calming, so sweet, so caring…

And so, so oblivious.

You’ve accompanied her to the bar, to the library, to her favourite café. However, if you were to ask, she’d say with the utmost conviction that you were never there (and that she’d love to show you). You’ve accompanied her on her commute home, made cups of tea in her kitchen, folded dog ears in the untouched novels on her bookshelf, hoping she’ll note the romantic scenes and lines you’ve kindly bookmarked for her. 

She’s promised to protect you. She never questioned why your little whimpers died down so suddenly after she gave you her address. She never questioned how you got there so fast. If she’d been wary enough to use the location services on her phone, she would’ve been able to see that seven minutes was actually a while to arrive, considering you were a twenty-metre walk down the hallway when you’d called.

She simply ate up your little performance over the phone, and in her apartment. And, soon enough, she’ll be coming to yours. 

Yesterday, she told you about the new exhibit at the city’s museum - she went to get a glimpse of it the other day, and it looks promising.

You went to get a glimpse of it too, twenty metres behind her.

The day before, she told you about how she ordered a new drink at a café- it was absolutely to die for, and oh, by the way, did you know that café is her favourite in the city?

You inferred that much from her frequent visits there, following her routine so effortlessly that it became your own. You tried the drink out too, taking sips in time with hers, admiring her profile as she scrolled through her phone. She was so pleased to finally have an afternoon to herself, after a week of hectic shifts.

Something unfamiliar stokes inside of you as you make your observations. Perhaps it’s comparable to a parent seeing their child grow and develop, or a botanist seeing rare flowers bloom, or an astronomer observing the most uncommon and exquisite of meteorological events. It’s something like happiness, something like attachment, something like wonder, something like pride.

On the other hand, you must admit, you’re a little disappointed. She lied to you.

She didn’t tell you about the man she slept with from the bar last week. Technically, you never asked about it, considering that you weren’t supposed to be there, but you’re a man who considers lying by omission to be on an equal plane as wholehearted deception. She promised to never lie to you, but now she has. What should she have to do to earn your forgiveness?

Although, perhaps this encounter was no matter, the sounds she made being enough fuel for your frantic stroking outside her bedroom door, her whines teaching you what to do when you would be in the stranger’s place, a point in time that won’t be too far from now. For the sake of equality, though, you’ll let this one slide. After all, you didn’t tell her about the man’s fate after that night, about your other friend who’d assisted you, about the teeth scattered on the cold basement floor, about the strips of flesh that hung from his back and how you’d apathetically tugged on them.

She’s a very good source of information for you. Truly, you hadn’t expected to spend so long in this city, nor had you expected for the museum to open up again so quickly since your heist two months ago only a few towns over, locked down for precaution (a laughable concept, really). Without her, you wouldn’t have anyone to debate the validity of the Old Testament, the extent that Raskolnikov can be justified, or theories on what happens after death. Also, without her, you wouldn’t have found out about the museum’s new exhibit of Goya paintings so soon, teasingly left out in the open, ripe for the plucking mere minutes away from your penthouse. It’s a temptation you’ve never bothered resisting.

Despite being a Nen user, whoever’s stalking you doesn’t care to hide himself properly. His perfect Zetsu is rendered useless from his other behaviours. You can hear his footsteps outside of the window, see his shadow in your periphery, hear his heavy breathing and salacious groans as he watches you.

If you were more dramatic, you’d roll your eyes. With Skill Hunter available on command, you have no doubt that this fool would lose to you in a fight. You’ve been observing his patterns, feeling his aura, preparing yourself for the inevitable.

You’ve been doing the same for your friend, however loosely you may use the term.

Whatever the man following you wants, you’ll take from him tenfold. You pick up the playing card from the bench, a queen of hearts, and regard it between your fingers.

You’ve got a stalker. She’s got a stalker too. But, unlike you, she won’t have the means to counter his next move.

[dragonpikachu]

so Bill's bitterness towards Stan still has my mind in a vice grip so naturally I've been thinking about it a lot and I wanna key in on one specific part from the poem:

It's been a theory since the show ended in 2016 that since Stan got his memories back Bill might be able to weasel his way back too, and although the book shows he's pretty well contained, the poem seems to imply this theory could be true in some way

But here's the thing, this is coming from Bill, Mr. "Even His Lies Are Lies". In the book of bill, he's shown being so desperate to escape he made the book in arts in crafts and just chucked it into the world hoping some sucker would take him up on his offer. Personally, I think if he could come back through Stan, he'd have done it by now

When you type in "on your mind" in the website, you get this:

It's hard to make out much but to me this just sounds like Stan having a good time, Ford probably not too far away. It doesn't sound like a guy who thinks too much about the freaky evil triangle man, I personally think Bill's just talking shit

.....or maybe I'm just enjoying the thought of Bill being this pathetic bitter little lying wretch too much, that's completely possible. It's just that this idea of Bill hating Stan so much he flies into blind rages while Stan doesn't seem to give him a spare thought....

This concept keeps me up at night

[seth-burroughs]

I think many fanfics or other works featuring Yomi depict him as like Way Too Serious than he actually is like. That's the guy who mastered the skill to ugly cry on command just so he can mock pretend to be distraught at Seth's heinous atrocities (pointed out by his gf of course) before sending him to the chopper this is the only scene where he did so they even gave him like three unique sprites just for that. This is the man that upon watching the liveleak footage of the submarine explosion (whilst using his gf as a seat) exclaimed in the most enthusiastic voice "KABOOM!! It sank all right! Haha!" in front of tens of his men completely unbothered, minutes later after the woman cube incident he says "alllll right now let's go and find the corpses of those detectives that got blown up :)" with his hand up in the air. And that is after his cube scene. And I cannot state this enough, the Cube Machine was not specifically just made as a one time thing for Martina, the weirdly passionate way he speaks about The Cube, stating he's gonna carry the woman flesh cube on his form at all times in front of tens of his men once a-fucking-gain, the goddamn "even humans can be turned into pretty (highlighted in game.) little cubes" line that even I can't fucking decipher is just... he's just really obsessed with the Cube object. There is no normal (well, as normal as attempting to turn your gf into a cube can be) explanation for this. Plus, invented detectivephobia, according to some people. Even if he claims to Makoto, he can easily also be just... gently coaxed by him just politely saying "please🥺" once, into letting an alleged terrorist completely off the hook, that he wanted to capture and torture so bad before that point. He fumbles his insults so fucking tragically "that's even more impossible than a chance meeting between an umbrella and a sewing machine on an operating table" "empty headed balloon boy" so far I can name only one (1) that actually landed, and that's debatable too. After momentarily getting rid of Makoto resulting in him being alone in the room with Yuma (the goons don't count as people), literally after 2 seconds with the tiny wretch his first question is "what even are you. why do you exist. you aren't from this city. you aren't a detective. so what point is there in your existence :/ not like i care anyway... take him away girls" (what was he on about, how did he know yuma is and isn't a detective, guess you will never know). The "YUOUR IN NO POSITION TO ORDER AROUND THE GREAT YOMI!!1!11". His honest reaction to Makoto getting those documents is to start screeching "CAPTURE HIM EXECUTE HIM CHOP HIS HEAD OFF CRUSH HIS SKULL!!!!!!!!". That was my hopefully comprehensive Yomi moment scene list. Let Yomi be silly and deeply, incredibly unserious. Cringe, even. I am begging. While he can absolutely act intimidating when he wants to, he usually fucks it up like, 3 minutes in with his uncontrollable desire to be the goofiest guy in the room. Genuinely tragic

[vickyvicarious]

Then seizing the shaving glass, he went on: "And this is the wretched thing that has done the mischief. It is a foul bauble of man's vanity. Away with it!" and opening the heavy window with one wrench of his terrible hand, he flung out the glass, which was shattered into a thousand pieces on the stones of the courtyard far below. Then he withdrew without a word. It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave, unless in my watch-case or the bottom of the shaving-pot, which is fortunately of metal.

.

He has a curious habit of looking one straight in the face, as if trying to read one's thoughts. He tries this on very much with me, but I flatter myself he has got a tough nut to crack. I know that from my glass. Do you ever try to read your own face? I do, and I can tell you it is not a bad study, and gives you more trouble than you can well fancy if you have never tried it. He says that I afford him a curious psychological study, and I humbly think I do.

Several of us pointed out last year how the timing of Dracula Daily juxtaposes these two lines/scenes, with Jonathan's mirror being taken from him just before Lucy talks about looking into hers. I'm going to try not to retread the same point too much, but instead I'd like to note the contrast between the way Lucy and Dracula speak of mirrors.

Dracula calls mirrors an agent of man's vanity. Essentially, he's dismissing them as promoting excessive ego. Looking in the mirror too often leads one to think too highly of themselves. And the image of a beautiful young woman spending time staring at herself in her mirror plays right into stereotypes about exactly that. It suggests self-absorption, obsession with beauty over substance, etc.

But that's clearly not what Lucy is doing. She links her mirror to self-knowledge, not self-praise, and in fact specifically points out the difficulties involved. She is flattering herself a little here as she says, but only in the context of realizing it can be hard to figure her out from appearances alone. Her doctor friend says she's a curious study, and despite looking her straight in the face cannot figure her out. Even she has trouble telling from her mirror. This could hint at her deliberately putting on a false front, or perhaps at feelings of uncertainty about her own identity, or difficulty expressing herself in the ways she wants. Regardless, her time spent looking into mirrors isn't vain, it's inquisitive.

And while that doesn't match up to what Dracula says about mirrors, it fits very well with the reality of what mirrors mean to him. He has no mirrors in his castle. Not because he's humble; he's obviously got a very inflated sense of his own importance and superiority. But he doesn't keep mirrors because they reflect what he is by failing to reflect him at all. It's a curious mix of being unable to see or know himself by looking at his own reflection... but also being known/revealed in a way that cuts past any examination of his actual face. Jonathan looks very closely at Dracula when he meets him, but despite spotting various unusual features* he doesn't realize his monstrous nature. But when he sees him in the mirror - or rather, nothing where he should be - he finds his first real proof that Dracula is inhuman. And that's why Dracula gets rid of Jonathan's mirror; he hates being known, unlike Lucy who enjoys the struggle of trying to figure herself out.

Mirrors as a window to knowledge also connects back to Jonathan. With his mirror stolen and destroyed, his ability to assess himself is hampered accordingly. Perhaps it would be a difficult study regardless (as Lucy says) but no mirror makes that even harder. He will have to rely on sub-par reflections in tools not made for that purpose. Not just to shave, but to be able to see himself. This coming when he realizes there are no other people around cuts him off even from seeing himself from the outside, so he can't see a human face... only Dracula's face. But also, Dracula is outright trying to deny him knowledge, and Jonathan is in a position where he's having to try and maintain his faith in his own sanity. The inability to look at his own face and examine his appearance might make that harder... although it also cuts him off from comparing his current appearance to how he used to look, and I suspect the lack of that comparison might be better than the alternative at times.

* This also ties in physiognomy. An inherently racist "science", of course, but one that was popular at the time this book was written, and engaged in by a couple characters. I don't think Jonathan outright says he's examining Dracula's features for that purpose, but I believe readers could be expected to take that description and use it to 'figure out' aspects of his personality. It's possible that Lucy is hinting at using a similar process on herself here, but if so then she seems not wholly satisfied with the results. She isn't saying that studying her face reveals her true character - closer to the opposite, if anything.

[hermiola]

My GO Fanfic Masterlist

Growing on Me (M, WIP)

Human AU | Rockstar Crowley | Writer Aziraphale

Anthony J. Crowley isn’t up to much these days. In fact, you could almost say his days as a rockstar are pretty much behind him. Rotting in bed all day, with half-written songs plaguing him and no lyrics to speak of, everything points to his career being over for good. That is until Maggie, his manager, claims to have found him the perfect lyricist to get him out of his slump. And what better way to get the creative juices flowing than spending a whole month together in a secluded cottage on the Isle of Skye? That is, provided Crowley’s attempts at making the man run for the hills aren’t successful…

Take a Little Love From Me (M/E, 80K, 12/12)

Human AU (Pretty Woman) | Bickerflirting | Happy Ending

“How would I go about persuading you?” The stranger tilted his head to the side, considering. “For starters, you’ll have to pay me.” Aziraphale scoffed. “You can hardly charge me for directions.” “I can do whatever I want, angel. I’m not the one who got lost, now, am I?” * After fleeing a disastrous work event masked as his 50th birthday party and getting lost in a car he can’t seem to drive, Aziraphale Eastgate, CEO of Eastgate’s Booksellers Ltd., meets the mysterious Anthony, who offers to help… and not just with directions. Things escalate as they are wont to do.

Crazy Little Thing (Called Love) (T, 9K, 1/1)

Silly Misunderstandings | First Kisses & Love Confessions

Aziraphale can’t actually be suggesting what Crowley infers he’s implying… Satan bless it, he can’t even bring himself to think the thought without discorporating on the spot. “On a what?” he chokes out, because there can be no room for error here. Aziraphale glances away, then opens and closes his mouth multiple times before whispering: “On a date.” “Which date?” he asks dumbly, hands desperately itching for his sunglasses. He’d break eye-contact and look for them if he didn’t suspect he was hallucinating the whole thing. “Like… like a specific day?” Aziraphale’s expression, a heady mix of hopeful and anxious, melts once again into haughty annoyance. “Goodness gracious, no. I meant on a date. Like… like, you know, romantically,” he clarifies, fidgeting. “With another person.” Whatever excitement Crowley was starting to feel dies a very sudden, very depressing death... * (Or: Aziraphale tries to ask Crowley on a date, but they misunderstand each other. So Crowley agrees to help Aziraphale pick up someone in a bar while secretly trying to sabotage him; little does he know that the angel is also trying to sabotage the whole thing. Shenanigans ensue. And kisses too.)

Let There Be Rock (T, 6K, 1/1)

First Meeting after 1967 | Bittersweet Ending | Misuse of AC/DC songs

Aziraphale doesn’t know what to expect, and to be quite honest with himself, he doesn’t even care, curiosity having already been replaced by sheer annoyance. The excited shrieks have turned into something awfully resembling howls and the last thing he wants to do with his afternoon is stare at a wretched rock band signing records for dreamy-eyed admirers. Music is now playing in the background and Aziraphale, who has spent millennia reporting to Gabriel and has become quite adept at blocking out irritating noises, wouldn’t even notice it if the lyrics didn’t catch his attention straight away. Well I met her in the garden, underneath that old apple tree... * Or: The year is 1979 and The Small Backroom is hosting a record signing event for a band called Let There Be Rock. Aziraphale has opinionsTM about it, especially when he reads some of their preposterous lyrics about angels and demons. First of all, angels cannot, under any circumstances, be tempted. Secondly, he has no idea who this mysterious Angel is even supposed to be... nothing to do with him, of course.

Final Breakthrough (Now!) (T, 10K, 1/1)

Post-Season 2 Fix It | Angst with a Happy Ending

“Aw, what happened? Bad day at the office?” He’s both very proud and very ashamed of the whiny voice that comes out of his mouth. “Did you suddenly realise your esteemed coworkers are a bunch of tossers?” Aziraphale keeps looking at him in a way that makes him feel exposed even behind his sunglasses, and he doesn’t waver. He just… stares. No, glares. And he doesn’t move either, doesn’t even breathe properly. The angel slowly wets his lips like he’s tasting a subpar chocolate mousse, tilts up his chin and says: “No,” like he’s stabbing the air with it. Crowley laughs, a short, ugly thing that quickly turns sour in the back of his throat. “Of course you didn’t.” --- Or: 5 times Aziraphale and Crowley don't talk + 1 time they finally do.

When Hell Freezes Over (T, 17K, 2/2 **Epilogue coming soon-ish**)

Human AU | Illusionist Crowley | Critic Aziraphale

“Not afraid at all” the angel finally says. “I mean, maybe slightly afraid. You see, my editor-in-chief doesn’t know I’m here.” “He doesn’t?” “I was supposed to review the new production of Hamlet…” “The one with Ian McKellen?” “Yes, exactly, but Eve – Miss Gardner, that is – she’s been working so hard and she would love nothing more than to be taken seriously, and she thought Gabriel gave her this assignment for all the wrong reasons, you see – and, between us, knowing Gabriel, I’m quite sure she was right – and, and I realized she needed my assignment way more than I did. So, if you really must know, I just… gave it away.” “You what?!” “I gave it away!” the angel repeats, slightly distressed. “Let me get this straight: you traded the chance to review one of the most anticipated shows of the year to interview… little old me?” - (Or: Crowley is a magician with a new Inferno-inspired show opening in London, Aziraphale the angelic-looking journalist who's supposed to interview him. Crowley immediately tries his best to ruffle his feathers. Much to his surprise, though, Aziraphale isn't as pearl-clutchy as he looks. Things go as you'd expect.)

[markerofthemidnight]

The Disappearance of Russel Hawke (DoaI: Oneiric Observation Fic)

I’m finally finished with my first Oneiric Observation fic! This one will help you get to know a whole lot about a Veldigun I’ve neglected talking about so far.

I’m posting it here on Tumblr mainly because that’s apparently the norm in the DoaIblr community, though of course you should expect to see it on AO3 in a little bit too!

Now, turn your gaze upon these wretched OCs of mine!

—

August 2nd, 2005.

It was just before noon when an old, dark grey car pulled into the road near the gate to Westfield Park- or as near as it could get, given the circumstances.

Shortly after, a man stepped out, looking to be in his mid-to-late 30s with faint but noticeable stubble, wearing a dark grey hat matched with a dark grey coat: and under that coat, a light grey suit with a red tie.

The very epitome of a master investigator at work. And it was just the way Russel liked it.

He closed the car door behind him, needing no introduction as he stepped past the police and into the park. Just with a glance, they all knew who he was, and they all let him through.

Westfield Park was usually a fairly lively area, or as lively as it could be in such a small town. But then, the park was completely clear, save for a couple of birds here and there. It had been so since the discovery of the body around an hour beforehand.

Given what he had been told, he didn’t particularly envy the first people to find it.

Either way, it was only about a minute’s walk from the gate to the crime scene. He approached a bush with a barely-visible hint of red hiding beneath it, and there waiting for him- among a few others- was a man fairly younger than him: Ryan Mills, another investigator, though not quite as well-known as him.

As soon as he saw Russel, Ryan sighed and started walking towards him. “Oh thank god you’re here- Russ. I assume you’ve already been told?”

“Yep,” he nonchalantly replied. “Another animal attack, huh? That makes it the tenth this year.”

“Probably, but something about this time just doesn’t sit right with me. Take a look,” he said, gesturing towards the bush as his superior approached it- or more specifically, the corpse hidden inside.

The body belonged to a woman who looked to be in her late teens to early 20s. Blood poured out of a series of large claw marks on her chest, and her head seemed to have almost been crushed by something. It was covered in holes, with one of her eyes dangling down from its socket.

Aside from that, the only other obvious external injury was her left leg, broken to the point where it was barely recognisable as a leg, and covered in large bite marks.

Russel Hawke had a bit of a reputation as the best detective in Westfield and all surrounding areas. He had a great mind, a resilience that never gave up and eyes like… well, a hawk.

Even then, despite the many bodies he had seen in his time he had been a full-blown detective, he couldn’t help but hesitate after seeing the sheer state of the body.

After a short while of just staring at it, he sighed, which Ryan took as a sign to start getting to work. “Now, first of all: obviously, this looks like an animal attack. The first people to find the body called it a horrible animal attack, and I get that. But then, why’s it hidden in a bush? Or in the middle of a public park?”

“We never hear reports of any bears around this part of town. And if they were here, of all places, we’d know.” He let out a short breath before turning to the ace investigator, “What’d you think?”

In response, he simply shook his head. “I dunno what gave you that idea, but there’s no way a bear did this. Look at her leg.” He bent down on one knee and pointed. “Those are bite marks, obviously, but they’re gigantic. Far too big to just be a regular bear.”

Ryan didn’t respond, simply letting him explain things. “Not to mention her head. Those holes look almost exactly the same as the bite marks, but again, a bear’s mouth isn’t big enough to do something like that. Even if it was, I doubt they have the jaw strength to just crush a whole human head.”

“Finally, there are bite marks, but you can just barely call this body even third-eaten. Animals kill to eat: whatever did this, on the other hand, probably just killed her for the sake of it.”

The officer next to him breathed through his nose, running his hand through his hair. “You’re a lot smarter than I am, Russ.”

“I know,” he smiled as he got up to face him.

“First the Davies girl, now this…” Ryan tapped his foot impatiently, anxiety creeping through his head as a thought occurred to him. “You think they might be connected somehow?”

If he wasn’t able to hide it under his usual stoic disposition, he might have seen Russel hesitate at that. “…No,” he lied. “You’ve really gotta stop thinking about that.”

“Wh- easy for you to say! You’re not the one with two kids to think of!”

The investigation continued like that for a while, until Russel got a call. He sighed, fetched his flip phone from out his pocket… and stopped as soon as he saw who was calling him. He quickly excused himself, to which no one objected, and after walking a relative distance away from the others so no one would hear, finally picked up.

“HEY-HEY-HEY-HEY, HAWKY! I HEAR BEAU GAVE YA SOME TROUBLE!” A staticky voice, peppy and slightly high-pitched, was on the other line.

“Who the hell’s- no.” He mumbled, before speaking up slightly- though still quiet. “I know you had a part in this, Myke. Is this your way of taunting me, or what?”

“TAUNTING?” The entity, known as Mychael (or, as he insisted, Myke), questioned. “OH, NO-NO! NOT IN A BILLION YEARS! I JUST WANTED TO CHECK UP ON MY BUDDY… AND TELL YOU SOMETHING.”

“I TAKE IT YOU STILL HAVEN’T TOLD ANYONE? THAT YOU KNOW WHAT’S BEHIND ALL THIS?” Before Russel had a chance to reply, he answered. “GOOD, GOOOD. SO, IF YOU COULD JUST KEEP IT THAT WAY FOR THE NEXT… OH, LET’S SAY ELEVEN HOURS… I HAVE A PROPOSAL FOR YOU.“

He stopped. Myke never requested to talk to him about anything. He just… popped up whenever something remotely related to the Veldigun crossed his path. At least, that was what the past two months were like.

This was something important. And as much as he wanted to… he knew he couldn’t decline.

“…Fine. 10:45 tonight, we’ll talk.”

“THAT’S MY HAWKY, NEVER LETTING ME DOWN! HAVE FUN CLEANING UP BEAU’S LITTLE GIFT, BABE!”

“Goddamit, I told you to stop calling me that.”

“HEY! DO YOU WANNA TALK OR NOT?!”

—

10:45 that evening.

Russel hadn’t known Myke particularly long. He was pretty sure he preferred it that way. But either way, he knew he never went back on his word, at least when he was acting that serious.

He was standing in his house, facing the television. It was displaying the local news, something that- as a detective who already knew basically everything going on the local area- he was barely interested in.

And Myke knew that. He knew that Russel knew his capabilities, and he knew exactly why he was so intent on watching a channel he rarely ever touched. The perfect time to strike.

Suddenly, the TV screen fizzled. Sparks emanated from it for a second as a yellow, zig-zagged smile with spirals for eyes flashed on screen a few times.

And before he knew it… a black creature with tentacles for arms and glowing green lines all over its body, with two cartoony eyes, a pair of antennae and a mouth that spread far wider than its face, was staring at him.

“DO YOU KNOW WHY I WANNA STOP YOU SO MUCH? I JUST REALISED WE’VE KNOWN EACH OTHER FOR LIKE NINE WEEKS, BUT I HAVEN’T TOLD YOU WHY I’M EVEN TALKING TO YOU!”

“It’s because you want me to let you get away scot-free with killing people.” He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the ghost.

“BINGO! BUT… NOT THE WHOLE STORY.” Myke rested his… “chin” on his “hand,” smiling as always, as he elaborated. “Y’KNOW, ONCE THERE WAS A TIME WHERE WE WOULD ONLY TAKE WHEN WE FELT LIKE WE HAD TO.”

“PREDATORS DON’T JUST GO ON KILLING SPREES: THEY KNOW THEIR SUPPLY IS LIMITED, SO THEY WAIT UNTIL THEY REALLY NEED TO, THEN EAT. AND WE VELDIGUN ARE EVEN SMARTER THAN THAT!”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” he coldly snapped. “What happened at the park last night wasn’t a necessity: it was hunting for sport.”

“NUH-UH! NOT HUNTING FOR SPORT! SENDING A MESSAGE! A MESSAGE… TO YOU!”

Russel stopped at that implication, but stayed silent, prompting the Smiler in the Static to continue. “LOOK. I’M GONNA BE CLEAR HERE: DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH SHIT WE’D BE IN IF THE FEDS FOUND OUT ABOUT US? NOT SOME SMALL-TOWN DETECTIVE LIKE YOU, THAT IS- I MEAN THE REAL BIG GUNS.”

“EVEN THOUGH THEY CLEARLY HAVE NO INTEREST IN THE PUBLIC GOOD, OUR CAREFREE HUNTING DAYS ARE OVER IF WE EVER GET THEM ON OUR BACKS!” He exclaimed. “EVEN IF JUST WESTFIELD KNEW WE EXISTED, WE DON’T NEED THAT KIND OF PUBLICITY!- WE GOTTA KEEP THINGS QUIET, Y’KNOW?”

He took his time, carefully considering the information he was given. “…So what you’re saying is that you things can be killed.”

“WOAHWOAH- NOW WHEN’D I SAY THAT?”

“Just makes the most sense to me,” he simply replied. “If you’re so powerful, it can’t just be the idea of being monitored 24/7 you’re so afraid of.”

The creature blinked, muttering “dammit, that’s a good point”, as he looked away, considering his reply. Then he stopped, and piped up “SORRY, I’M GONNA PLEAD THE FIFTH ON THAT!” while winking smugly, and raising his right hand.

The detective groaned as Myke chuckled. “Look, would you just get to the point already? You said this had something to do with… sending a message.”

“AND THAT POINT IS… WE CAN’T AFFORD TO LET SHMUCKS LIKE YOU REVEAL US TO THE REST OF THE WORLD… AND WE’RE BEING CONSTANTLY PLAUGED BY ENDLESS HUNGER FOR HUMAN SOULS… SO I THOUGHT…”

He leaned in closer, the most sadistic smile yet on his face as voice became unusually hushed: and yet, the cruelty in his tone was as evident as ever.

“…why not kill two birds with one stone?”

They both knew what that meant. Russel froze up at the implication, Myke simply nodding at his shock, before confirming his fears. “TELL ME, MISTER HAWKE, AS A BEING CAPABLE OF EMPATHY AND THE LIKE… HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THE FACT THAT EVERY DEATH SINCE WE FIRST MET… is your fault?”

With those words, even the great Russel Hawke was rendered speechless. Well… he had a feeling, with how high the death rates were getting as of recent, but still. He was the one who wanted to save this town, and that desire… did nothing but make the problem worse? Was he really the one to blame for everything that happened since they met?

…It was difficult to accept the responsibility for that.

And so, he didn’t.

“…No. No, you’re the monster here, not me. You were the ones who killed them, dammit!” He retaliated, pointing at the screen.

The monster behind said screen, on the other hand, just smiled. “AM I? I WOULDN’T HAVE GIVEN THE REST THAT ORDER IF YOU DIDN’T FORCE MY HAND, Y’KNOW.”

He stopped, but only for a second. “…Bullshit. If you wanted to silence me, you could’ve just killed me a long time ago.”

Myke hummed from inside the television. ”TRUE! I DON’T LIKE RESORTING TO SIMPLE SOLUTIONS, THOUGH- AND WE HAD TO GET OUR BLOODLUST OUT SOMEHOW!”

He let out another one of his monstrous cackles, the detective snarling in indignant rage, before sighing and getting back to the point. “SO I’M GONNA GIVE YOU A DEAL. IF YOU GIVE UP THE CHASE, I’LL TELL THE OTHERS TO PUT A STOP TO ALL THIS, OK?”

Once again, he stopped at that. Was he… saying what he thought he was?

“IF I TRY HARD ENOUGH, I MIGHT EVEN CONVINCE THEM TO JUST GET ONE EVERY TWO MONTHS!”

…Dammit. That’s what happens when you get your hopes up… but it was still better than what it was like right now. Either way, he kept his guard up, folding his arms as he coldly questioned, “And what happens if I decline?”

“IF YOU DECLINE?” The ghost snickered. “PSHH! NOONE IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD TURN DOWN AN OFFER LIKE THIS, BABE!”

It was true. The offer did seem very reasonable, but… he almost had everything he needed. If he just held on a little while longer, he might be able to get the truth out. Even with a few sacrifices, maybe…

…Well, four deaths for each other Veldigun every two months, that came to about… 24 each year for the foreseeable future, with a few extra thanks to Myke and his… duties. If he finished quickly enough, surely the few deaths that would come before something was done about it were better than 24 lives lost each year, right?

He couldn’t just… give up the chase. It was too late for that now. Maybe if he held his guard… he might be able to make up for everything he’d inadvertently done.

“…No.”

Myke’s antennae twitched, his eyes blinking in confusion once he answered. “UHH… WHA?”

“You heard me: I said no!” Russel doubled down, taking a step towards the screen, snarling. “I’m not giving up everything I’ve been working for and just let you assholes rampage! What kind of person would that make me?!”

The asshole in question continued to stare. “…HUH. I DIDN’T THINK YOU WOULD ACTUALLY DO IT…” But it wasn’t long before that all-familiar grin came back. “NOT BAD, HAWKY!”

“Yeah. Now go fuck yourself.” He flipped off the TV before moving to turn it off, before his nemesis spoke up.

“YOU KNOW ONE THING YOU WERE RIGHT ABOUT, THOUGH?”

He slowly stopped, before grabbing the remote and turning back, coldly snapping “What?”

“OCCAM’S RAZOR.” Myke smiled… before his tone started to become more hushed, and his grin, far wider. “The simplest solution is more often than not the correct one.”

The Smiler in the Static held his pseudo-hands up to the screen he was trapped within, and began to push. Suddenly, it began to fizzle and spark, static engulfing everything but his grin.

Wh… what was this? What was he doing? He flicked the remote to try and turn it off. Just like that, the fizzing stopped and the screen went black.

He sighed in relief- before suddenly, it started back up, even worse than before, as a sadistic and enraged voice echoed from the box. Mycheal’s mouth had parted, revealing rows of sharp, glowing, green teeth.

“̴D̵O̸ ̵Y̶O̵U̶ ̶R̸E̷A̵L̶L̴Y̷ ̵T̴H̸I̶N̴K̸ ̸T̵H̶A̷T̷’̷S̵ ̸E̸N̶O̶U̵G̵H̵ ̴T̷O̶ ̸S̶T̸O̶P̵ ̴M̸E̴?̷!̸”̶

Two pairs of dark grey claws began to emerge from the screen. Hawke panicked, pressing down on the remote multiple times, but to not avail. Seeing no other option, he ran, retreating further into the house.

He ran until he reached the top of the stairs, and stopped, looking down at the ground floor below, and sighed. He didn’t know Myke’s full capabilities just yet, but from up there, he would at least see him coming.

Okay. The bad news was, he was being hunted by something that has successfully killed dozens, if not hundreds of people before. The good news was, now he could confirm- or at least intuit- that they could be killed.

On that note, though… as smart as the detective was, he certainly wasn’t any kind of physical fighter. Battles of the mind were ones he was more experienced with.

There wasn’t really any option but to run. Lock the door, get help, see how that fucker likes being outed to the entire neighbourhood and town, and… and… prove that Veldigun really exist.

Despite his usual demeanour, Russel grinned. Time to teach that smiling freak a lesson.

Slowly, carefully, he crept downstairs, keeping his hand on the railing and his eyes to his feet- aside from the occasional glance at the doorway. It was dead silent. That meant he was fine.

When reached the bottom of the steps, he continued to stay as quiet as possible- though he wasn’t necessarily being slow- as he reached for the door handle-

-only for him to hit an invisible, almost fleshy surface beforehand.

As soon as he realised his mistake, two screens appeared out of thin air, both containing the image of a human eye staring at him.

He stepped back with a startled shout, the trick image of a human face made of static appearing before him, grinning as it crackled, stuck between two invisible antennae.

By the time the monster had fully unveiled itself, he had already started running- but it was too late.

A long, dark green tail with glowing green stripes wrapped around him, stopping him in his tracks and crushing his lungs almost instantly. He screamed- or tried to, for a second, before a hand slapped over his neck, claws digging into his throat to keep it in place, crushing his vocal cords and reducing his voice to a chocked gasp.

And before him, looking down with the same sadistic grin from five minutes ago on both its real and fake face, was all 30 feet of the real Mychael, in the flesh.

“Do you know what it’s like in a Veldigun’s head?” Its voice was far less staticky or electronic, but still, it was undeniably his. “I’ll have you know, a whole lot more is going on in here than you might think.”

It leaned in closer to him. “I’m giving you the rundown so you don’t panic once you’re in there and make the others start screaming,” it giggled, before bellowing, “̷AFTER ALL, T̷H̵E̶ ̵N̷O̷I̷S̵E̷ ̷M̶A̴K̸E̸S̶ ̴I̴T̸ ̵H̶A̶R̵D̶ ̷T̸O̵ ̷F̴O̵C̶U̵S̸!̸”̶

As he said that, every distortion that usually came with its voice returned tenfold, to the point where in his panic, Russel could barely even tell what he said. He could have fought back- he certainly would have, normally, but his mind was drawing a blank in all the chaos.

Seeing the despair in his eyes, Mychael tilted its head, grinning as always. “Ohhh… don’t worry, Hawky. After all, you’re the star of the show right now. They’re going to love you in there. In my head, there’s an audience… and in a few seconds, you’ll be a part of it.”

Then, the Smiler in the Static unhinged its jaws.

“̸̺͆N̷̨̈́O̵͊͜Ẅ̸͍́ ̵͚̅Ṡ̷̲Ḿ̴̺I̸̙͊L̸̬̽Ē̸̩ ̶��̍F̸̡̈́O̷̱͂R̴͛͜ ̵̗͊T̵̟̆H̴̠̄E̷̦͌ ̶͉͑C̷̚͜Ǎ̴̗M̶̱̈́E̸̬͗R̷̥̎A̶̞̾!̶̹̀”̴͈̈́

As it leaned forward, on instinct he did the only thing he could. He put his left arm- his only free one, at that moment in time- in front of his face, and could just barely brace for the pain as rows of fangs dug into it.

After an attempt at a scream and an indignant, staticky grunt, the monster’s grip tightened, it began to pull, and no more than five seconds later, Russel lost his left arm.

The struggle was enough to both loosen the flesh poltergeist’s grip and give the detective time to get out of it. He gripped the profusely bleeding stump that could once be called an arm, finally given time to at least try to scream- but only for a moment.

In no more than a few seconds, the Veldigun swallowed the leftovers of the amputation, before turning its attention back to the main course, its smile now painted red with blood.

With whatever strength he had left, he returned to his feet and ran, the monster behind him gearing up for a pounce. Just as it struck, however, all it did was hit a wall in the next room- and to the side, it heard the sound of glass smashing.

It turned to see that the great Westfield Hawke, even after losing an arm, had resorted to jumping out of a closed window in order to escape him.

Hyperventilating in obvious pain, Russel got up to see the monster staring at him. It knew what its unspoken message was, and in reply, he glared and said:

“Go ahead. But if you do, the whole town will know you’re here.”

Then, still clutching the bleeding stump, he ran away.

He wasn’t there for long enough to see how Mychael paused at his words.

For as much as he loved being the predator that he was, as much as the audience in the back of his mind was chanting for their host to give them a good show… he couldn’t make such a reckless risk like that. Not again.

Myke was smart enough to know his own capabilities. He knew that his illusions weren’t anywhere near as good when he was focused on chasing someone: if he did so now, it would be just as that asshole Hawky said. The whole town would know about him.

However, if he just let him go, the same thing would happen anyways. He would find help somewhere, and with both his missing arm and the ensuing… side-effects of coming into contact with him, the town would learn about them anyways.

With that, it was clear what he had to do. Follow… but not chase.

Watch from the shadows, make a few illusions. Do whatever it takes to make sure he doesn’t find any help before the symptoms of Veldigun sickness really start to kick in.

Sure, he hated the fact that he had to deal with another Candice situation, especially knowing everything that little shit did to him, but… maybe he could make the most of this. Sure, he couldn’t break his body… but if there was anything Veldigun specialised in, it was breaking minds.

So with that, Myke slipped into the shadows, watching carefully like always.

—

Ever since Russel went missing, it seemed like things had been silent in Westfield, for once.

Other than the rampant investigation into his disappearance, that was. But no matter where they looked, they couldn’t find anything. It was almost as if he… vanished into the night.

That seemed to happen a whole lot around this town. But a month later, things were relatively quiet in the way of new disappearances: the members of the police force that weren’t rendered completely depressed after their friend’s disappearance were pretty thankful for that.

Finally, after a whole six weeks of more and more mysteries piling on top of each other, things were still… and then, there was another disappearance: Ryan Mills, another member of the police force, one of Russel’s closest friends.

Having those two specific people go missing in a row was too specific to be a coincidence, so they did their best to try and find him.

And just like that, the trail was still cold… until the police got a call.

“Hello, WFPD-“

“Ryan’s buried in Falke Woods, a mile or so from the Vedalia house.”

The call operator paused at that. She was still processing the sudden information before suddenly, her apparent lead hung up.

Sure enough, the body of Ryan Mills was found in Falke Woods, just as the caller said he would be. Though of course, Eliza Vedalia and her husband denied any involvement with a body so close to their manor.

Those who were near a pay phone close to the forest at the time, for a second, might have seen a figure with a feathered, almost boneless left arm, and a hawk beak instead of a hand.

But even a month-old Veldigun wouldn’t let himself be caught so easily.

[generaltulip]

I love all the little tidbits that you can find about characters in BG3. Specifically my favorite little trash man Gortie, but damn I still feel like there's holes or things that I wish were clarified.

Like does anyone know how old Gortash roughly was when his parents sold him? because the dialogue from Nubaldin he calls him sniveling and "bruised my knuckles on his whimpering face." Just strikes me as a child vs a teenager who had joined a gang (according to that true biography paper that doesnt mention anything of Raphael -_-), which like both are terrible don't get me wrong, but him being a small child makes things more fucked especially when his parents don't seem all that apologetic about what they did and claim he was always a hateful wretch. How hateful can a ~8 year old be?? Though it could obviously just be them trying to rationalize and justify what they did, but still.

Just Damn, they've got no problem trying to blame their own child for the shitty thing they did. No wonder he turned out the way he did. Well done guys, -10000/10 parenting