#look at her though. truly effervescent.

[majinie]

saw a snail today....... effervescent

[rax-writes]

I went looking for trouble… and boy, I found her.

Xavier Thorpe x Reader

warnings:  reader is a member of the Frump family (Morticia’s twin’s daughter) but no physical description is given, SMUT (MINORS DNI), slightly dom!Xavier, blood kink, unprotected sex, public sex / slight exhibitionism (but no one is around), brief choking, oral and fingering (f!receiving), p in v sex, porn with a bit of plot

Being the daughter of a pastel-loving, effervescent flower child such as Ophelia Frump was exhausting. Truth be told, she was a good mother – always doing her best to indulge in your macabre interests, or phoning her twin sister for some assistance in such endeavors – but the disconnect born from your polar opposite demeanors was ever-present.

After an incident in kindergarten that left you banned from all the local schools, you were homeschooled by private tutors. (Oh, how proud your Uncle Gomez and Aunt Morticia were – and oh, how horrified your mother was.) You had always dreamed of attending Nevermore Academy like your aunt and uncle, and being around other “outcasts,” but being that you somehow managed to always return from summers at their house even kookier and creepier than before, your mother feared what a stay at such a place would do to you. However, upon hearing that your dear cousin Wednesday would be attending the school, you had the leverage to work up some fake tears and a compelling argument to your mother about how it would benefit the poor girl to have a familiar face there with her, and off to Nevermore you went.

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

“Uh, Wednesday…?” Enid began, momentarily ignoring her breakfast to stare over her roommate’s shoulder with furrowed brows. “Do you happen to have a family member coming to visit?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because a goth version of Stevie Nicks with the same creepy, calculating look as you just walked in.”

Wednesday’s eyes widened a fraction, and she breathed your name in realization as she turned in her seat to lock eyes with you from across the Quad. Considering the bright, elated smile that crossed your face as Wednesday rushed to greet you, Enid noted then that you must be a bit more in the realm of “normal” than your pigtail-wearing family member. Although, Enid doubted that anyone in Wednesday’s family could truly be considered as such.

Determined to ensure that you got a positive perspective on Nevermore, being that Wednesday would undoubtedly give a grim depiction of the school, Enid insisted on joining the two of you for the introductory tour. Enid delighted in the way you smiled at her jokes, and even told a few jokes and anecdotes of your own, some of which even brought the faintest of smiles to Wednesday’s face. By the time the group returned to the Quad, it was lunchtime, and there were twice as many students as before.

In the midst of Enid’s thorough explanation of all the trouble Wednesday had already gotten herself into in less than a fortnight at Nevermore, the conversation was interrupted.

“Hey, Enid, have you seen – woah.”

The stunned whisper marked the abrupt end of the sentence of the young man who had jogged over to your table as you turned to face him. He just stared at you with wide, sage green eyes that seemed to look straight into your soul. And you stared right back, taking in the deep emerald hue of his irises, how pretty his lips looked, the light brown hair that brushed against his shoulders.

“Whenever you two are done mentally undressing one another, I would suggest introducing yourselves.”

Wednesday’s deadpan interruption of the tense silence caused him to look away, and shake his head as though to clear his mind, which brought a smirk to your face. He found you just as attractive as you found him. How delightful.

“Uh, sorry. I’m Xavier Thorpe,” he stated, reaching out to shake your hand. You did the same, but he then appeared confused. “Frump? I thought you’d be an Addams, judging from how similar you seem to Wednesday.”

“She’s a cousin from my mother’s side. Her mother is my Aunt Ophelia, the white sheep of the family,” Wednesday explained.

“Don’t you mean ‘black sheep’?” Xavier inquired.

“No,” you and Wednesday both replied in unison.

“My mother is exceptionally fond of… color,” you explained, saying the word as though it were something morally reprehensible. “She decorates with the most abrasive array of bright, colorful maximalism you can possibly imagine. Wednesday visited once, and went into anaphylactic shock the moment she walked in the door. She spent three days in the hospital.”

“It was deeply unpleasant,” the grayscale girl added earnestly, then shuddered as one typically does after seeing a repulsive insect.

“Ah,” Xavier said with a chuckle. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. Hopefully you’re more fond of Nevermore than your cousin, and hopefully we’ll be friends.”

A devilish smile spread across your lips. “We’re not going to be friends.”

From anyone else, it would have sounded insulting. But the way you said it sounded more like a promise, and fuck, did it thrill Xavier.

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

Naturally, you were right.

Which is how you found yourself desecrating the perfectly manicured lawn in the Nevermore gardens, Xavier’s head between your thighs, his soft hair tied back as his hands, mouth, and tongue caused you to see stars despite the cloudy night sky.

Although the arms keeping you propped up was weak, it was worth fighting the ache in your biceps to see him devour you. He did it so ravenously, yet with so much intention; always mindful of which motions brought out the shrillest whines or sharpest gasps, and doing them repeatedly, until you were a panting, whimpering mess.

When Xavier could tell you were getting close, from how ragged your breathing was and the incoherent muttering of “gods, please, please, Xavier, please,” he spared a glance at you to take in the positively wrecked look on your face. The way his emerald eyes bore into yours, just as they had the very first time you met him – you were a goner. You bit your lip so hard you tasted the familiar metallic taste of blood, to avoid waking the entire castle with your cries of pleasure.

The groan that left Xavier at the taste of you sent vibrations through your overstimulated flesh, causing you to jerk violently, and he then took pity on you and leaned back on his heels with a wicked grin. Seeing him leaning back like that, smirking as he unbuckled his belt, was truly a sight you never wanted to forget.

“God, I love that you’re always so pretty and put-together, and everything you do or say is so poised and perfect – but every single time I get my hands on you, I get to see this fucked-out version of you,” Xavier mused, shoving his pants and boxers down past his knees as you stared at his pretty cock with glassy, hungry eyes. He leaned down then, caging you in with his arms, before one hand reached up to grab your jaw – a bit forcefully, just the way he knew you liked it. “All for me. All mine. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his tip at your entrance. “All yours, my darling.”

“Good girl,” Xavier replied with a grin, before releasing your jaw to guide himself into you. He eased himself in slowly, allowing you to feel every inch of him, but once he was all the way inside, he drew his hips back, then thrust himself in again, fast and hard. Thankfully, he had the foresight to clamp his free hand over your mouth, muffling the loud, obscene moan that tumbled from your lips.

The psychic set an unrelenting pace, having been too turned on while eating you out to take his time with you. He had become far too addicted to getting you off to be selfish about it, though. So, in stark contrast to the fast pace of his hips slamming into yours, he slowly trailed his hand down from your mouth to your throat, giving it a firm squeeze and earning a moan from you, before continuing the descent until his arm wound itself around your lower back. Xavier used it to prop up your hips just a bit – enough to hit that particular spot deep inside you that had you biting your lip again, the taste of blood momentarily flooding your senses again.

As you wrapped your legs around him and hooked your high heel-clad ankles behind his back – knowing full well how much he adored that – he groaned, low in his throat, and leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss, not minding that they were covered in crimson. When Xavier broke the kiss, and you saw your blood coating his plump lips, the burning intensity in his eyes, all while his cock hit your sweet spot again and again and again – your orgasm hit you like a freight train, and you came with a soft, breathless cry of his name and your sharp black nails raking down his back.

“Oh, fuck,” Xavier moaned, low and gravely, immediately following suit, and the sensation of his release filling you up was nearly enough to make you come again.

The arm under your back released you to help Xavier prop himself up, and he was a vision. Eyes closed, brows slightly furrowed, lips still tinted red with the blood from the cuts on your lips, and a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead, neck, and chest as he basked in the afterglow, still buried inside of you.

Unable to resist, you simultaneously squeezed his cock with your lower muscles and gingerly raked your nails along his sides. Xavier shuddered from over-sensitivity and pulled out of you with a hiss, unable to handle the feeling. He leveled you with a glare, only to be met with a sinister smile.

“You’re evil.”

“Thank you.”

Xavier chuckled breathlessly, before standing to quickly fix his boxers, pants, and belt. He then grabbed the hoodie he’d worn to your rendezvous, and kneeled in front of you to tidy you up with it. Always the gentleman, you thought with another smile as he balled the hoodie up to hide the mess from anyone you may encounter on the walk back, then extended his hand to you. He hoisted you up off the ground without much effort, and as you both moved to fix your dress, you noticed in unison that your legs were still shaking from your orgasm.

Xavier merely held up his hands in surrender and said nothing as he reached down to grab his t-shirt, but that shit-eating grin was still on his pretty lips – along with the blood.

The two of you locked eyes, and just as Xavier smiled and opened his mouth to make an undoubtedly cocky, smart-ass comment, you held up a finger and warned, “Silence, or I’ll hex you.”

“Oh, but my love, you’ve already bewitched me,” Xavier said dramatically, holding a hand over his heart to further his theatrics.

“Mhmm,” you replied dryly, although you failed to fully hide your smile. “How about you just put your shirt on and walk me back to my room, Shakespeare. I’ve got a potion to brew.”

“I would also advise you to wipe your mouth. You look more like a vampire than a psychic at the moment.”

He appeared confused, but did as you bade him, and the implication of your words dawned on him as he saw the blood on the back of his hand. Evidently, in his lust-fueled haze, he hadn’t even realized he was kissing your bloody lips. Then, a lightbulb visibly went off in his mind.

“Wait, you liked that, didn’t you?” he asked, stunned. He had seemingly pieced together that you finished right after he kissed you and you saw the blood on his lips.

“Indeed.”

As you so often did, you somewhat expected him to shun you – to be appalled or horrified by you, as most typically were, for some reason or another. It was a very common experience for members of your family.

But, as always, he did nothing of the sort. He was entirely unphased. In fact, the corner of his lips turned up slightly, and Xavier merely replied, “Noted. Just promise you won’t dump me for a vamp. Since, you know, they’ve usually got blood on them, and it’s more of a rare occurrence for me.”

“You have my word,” you responded with a warm smile.

Xavier draped his arm over your shoulders, and the two of you began walking back to the academy, leaving the newly-christened gardens behind you.

“Have I told you how much I love those contraceptive potions of yours?” Xavier mused, with a happy sigh only a man who’d just finished inside a woman could produce.

“Every time we have intercourse, yes.”

“Hm…. Have I told you how much I love you?”

“Also yes, but I never tire of hearing that one.”

“Good, because I love you.”

“And I love you, Xavier.”

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

➼ this fic could be considered a part two

[malleux]

performance anxiety.

-> lyney x fem!famous singer!reader

-> warnings: mentions of past bad relationship, anxiety, no use of y/n

-> words: 3.4k

[a/n]: this was not supposed to be this long but. not proofread, idk what universe this is in where all of these characters are friends but shut up. i just started writing, gun to my head i could not tell you what happens in this story

Applause. Roses. Adoration. Entertainment. 

You craved the effervescence of the spotlight. The thrill of being on stage. Millions of eyes are on you and you alone– coming together for the sole purpose of viewing you. 

It seemed a bit voyeuristic, but you couldn’t care less as the final notes of your song rang out across stages all over the country and applause replaced the roaring in your ears. People stood as they clapped, whooping and hollering. All for you. 

You stood before them night after night, baring the roughest edges of yourself on the stage for them all to judge. You were vulnerable to every attack possible– verbal, physical, emotional. Yet none occurred, save for the dozens of flowers that showered you every night as you completed a performance flawlessly once again. 

It was only after you made it backstage to your dressing room that you finally took a breath. A very shaky, very exhausted breath. Stagehands ran back and forth, putting up props and fixing light fixtures for someone else’s performance the next night, but they reassured you that nobody could possibly outshine you after you had christened the Opera Epiclese. 

Your first performance in Fontaine. In your hometown. 

“That was amazing!” Your manager burst through the door, a cup of water in her hands. She passes it to you. “One of your best performances yet– not that the others were bad! Quite the opposite, actually–”

“I get it. Thank you.” You chewed on your lip, gazing at yourself in the mirror. You looked frazzled up close with the stage makeup slightly smeared across your face. Not enough for the audience to notice, though. No, to them, you were perfection. “I hope they thought the same.”

“Are you kidding? You were amazing. I bet you made at least ten men think about leaving their wives for you tonight.” You cut your eyes at her, and she backtracked immediately. “I-I mean! Oh, that was such a bad analogy, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” 

It really wasn’t fine, but you weren’t going to make your friend-turned-manager feel any worse than she already does for bringing up the past. You weren’t married– Archons, no– but you lived a fast life that not many were equipped to handle, especially if they were staying home while you traveled Teyvat on a tour. 

Your ex couldn’t handle you and your lifestyle, so he handled others in bed instead. 

It didn’t sting as bad as you would have expected it to. You couldn’t take the time to grieve, not when there was a performance in Natlan the night you found out. Other performers and those who lived a more nomadic lifestyle had warned you about failed relationships and friendships with those who did not stay close or did not understand the busyness of traveling. You truly believed you were the exception, and now you realize that such relationships are impossible. You chose this life, thus giving up the idea of a simple love. Your friends were your manager and the crew that traveled with you, and that was that. You didn’t stay anywhere long enough to culminate true, meaningful connections with anyone. 

“Are you ready for the encore?” 

You swiped another layer of lipstick on and fluffed your hair in the mirror before turning back to your manager. 

“Born ready.” 

—---

Lyney sat on the edge of his seat for the past hour and a half and continues to do so, staring at the dark stage. 

His sister keeps a hand near his chair, just in case he somehow leans too far forward and falls out of it completely. She’ll never understand his infatuation with such a famous singer– it’s not like he had a shot with you anyway. Nevertheless, she made sure to surprise him with front-row tickets the minute she learned of your performance at Fontaine’s beloved Opera Epiclese. 

Lyney nearly cried in happiness and he’s nearly crying now, praying to every Archon above that you’re going to come out for an encore and that this isn’t the end of your show. The tears almost fall as the spotlight graces the stage once more and music fills the room. 

Everyone in Fontaine tried to get tickets for your performance and the most influential of citizens were sure to attend. Furina sat in the VIP box, leaning on her hand as she watched you step back onstage. She was quiet for once, enraptured by your voice. Clorinde was at her side. Neuvillette sat near the twins, seated but smiling. Charlotte and Navia were a bit further back, Charlotte furiously scribbling on her notepad to review the performance. She stopped writing halfway through, though, unable to stop herself from just enjoying the performance. Wriothesley and Sigewinne showed their faces from outside of the Fortress, the former succumbing to the latter’s pleas for tickets. Even Freminet was there, on the other side of Lyney, just happy to see his brother so happy. 

And yet there he was, sitting in the middle of the row, front and center. A perfect view. And there you were, in that jaw-dropping dress that sparkled perfectly in the lights, reflecting the same way the stars in the sky shined. Lyney was positive there were also stars in his eyes, but he couldn’t help it. 

And when the performance was over, Lyney finally sat back in his seat and exhaled a deep breath– one he had been holding since the minute you appeared onstage. 

Lynette looked him over as if to make sure he was okay and happy. She didn’t need any words to tell that he was over the moon. “Are you ready to go?”

“Just– just give me one minute.”

—---

“How long will you be in Fontaine?”

“Probably a week or two, at most.” You hummed, finally eating a snack left for you by the Hydro Archon herself. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been home. I’d like to stay a bit longer.” 

“Hmm,” Furina’s finger tapped her chin– a clear sign that she was thinking. About what, nobody could tell. “How about another performance before you leave? Many people didn’t get tickets to this first show. You’ve had so many supporters from here since you started. Why not give them a special thanks? Especially me, since I’ve supported you and been your friend for all these years?” 

You squinted at her for a moment, trying to decipher what she could be devising in her head. You weren’t a mind reader, and Furina didn’t necessarily all have it going on in her head, so you opted to just ask her outright. “What could you possibly gain from that?” 

She reeled back, feigning offense. “Nothing! It’s-it’s just that it’s great for business. And we’re having special visitors soon who may want to see. Totally not because I want to watch it again– heh.”

“What special visitors?”

“Why, the Traveler and Paimon, of course!” Furina clapped, “Yes, yes. They’d love to see your performance.”

“Hm.” You continued staring at her, unconvinced that the legendary Traveler wanted to see your performance. But, you did get to perform again and get a part of the profits. You didn’t see why not. “Fine.” 

The squeal that came out of Furina’s mouth was enough to almost break your glass of water– a feat many singers trained to do for years and could not accomplish. Yet, your friend was close to doing it without even trying out of sheer excitement. 

She grabbed your hand once you were done changing clothes and dragged you out of the dressing room. You had no choice but to follow as she led you into the main room, where the audience sat. It looked much different from before with the lights on and the chairs empty. 

Except for two chairs, three people still present in the opera house. 

At the sound of her voice, the three turned around. There was a pair of twins and a younger blonde boy. The twin boy made eye contact with you and seemed to shoot straight up, becoming entranced as he saw you. This was typically a normal reaction for fans, but there was one difference this time. 

You were entranced too. 

Furina looked at the three and huffed. “Isn’t it time for you to go home?”

“Sorry, Lady Furina,” The youngest boy spoke and motioned to the other boy, whose face was bright red. “Lyney just needed to sit for a minute.”

“Is he okay?” You tilted your head, gently shaking free of Furina and walking to them. Furina gasped and crossed her arms, almost angry that she didn’t have your attention anymore as your self-titled “best friend”. “Your face is hot.” 

The twin girl hid her mouth with her hand. “He’ll be okay eventually. I think he got overheated or something. Got all nauseous and dizzy.”

“Oh my Gods, I’m so sorry!” You felt awful– you had told someone that you felt the air was a bit too hot in the audience, but you were brushed off. This just proved that you were right. “You all come with me, there’s fresh water and everything in the guest house I’m staying in tonight.”

You ushered everyone out of Opera Epiclese and into the small building next to it. It was the guesthouse, built solely for performers without a place to stay as they traveled. You were given it for your time in Fontaine and couldn’t be more grateful, especially at a time like this when someone is in need. 

Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet– as you learned their names were– followed you and a pouting Furina into the house. You offered them all a seat on the couches and chairs before running to the kitchen and grabbing a bowl of cool water and a rag. You sat next to Lyney, who was silent the entire time, and neared his face as you put the rag on his forehead. You were a bit confused at Lynette and Furina’s snickering behind you, but you could only worry about the boy in front of you whose face turned even redder at your closeness. 

“Say,” Furina spoke up, “Lyney and Lynette here are performing at the Opera Epiclese tomorrow. Fancy a show?”

“Really?” You looked into Lyney’s eyes, “What do you do?”

He swallowed, and you wondered if he needed a glass of water. “Magic.”

“You’re magicians? No way!” You grinned, “I’ve always wanted to see a magic show live! Furina, I think we should go. I’d love to see more of these two.”

“I do too.” Lynette joined, “We can get you on the reservation list for front and center… unless you’d like to sit VIP with Furina?” 

“We’ll both sit front row. Neuvillette can have front row if he wishes to attend.” Furina grinned at Lynette, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were missing out of something as you cared for Lyney. 

“Wonderful.” Lynette stands up, followed by Freminet. “I think Lyney just needs rest now, but we don’t live far in the Court of Fontaine. We probably need to head out before it gets too late.” 

You nod and hold your hand out to Lyney, who takes a second of staring before taking your hand and hoisting himself up. You both definitely hold on a bit too long to be typical for someone you just met, but exceptions could always be made. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Lynette.” You glance back at the boy at your side. “Lyney.” 

“Y-yes.” He speaks. You like his voice. “Tomorrow evening. I’d love to see you there.” 

After the three left, Furina stayed on your couch and stared. 

You sat across from her, staring back with a puzzled expression. 

This was the longest you’d ever heard her be quiet and it was incredibly unnerving. You couldn’t take much more of this. 

“What?”

Another beat of silence. “What do you mean ‘what’?”

“What do you mean ‘what do you mean’? What did I do?”

“You’ve never done that before.”

“Done what, Furina? I don’t have time for this–”

“Gotten all flustered like that. You don’t even dote on me like that and I’m your best friend.”

“Lynette said that he got overheated during the performance.” You defended, “I had to help him, I felt bad. I told the crew that it was too hot in there but they didn’t listen–”

“You’re stupid.” Before you could retort in offense, Furina leaned forward. “You haven’t been that open and nice since…” 

You’re glad she doesn’t finish that sentence– doesn’t let his name leave her mouth. Furina is right and you know it, but you definitely don’t want to admit that. Especially not to her. 

“I just felt bad.” She doesn’t believe you and you know it. “Fur, you know I can’t. People can’t keep up with my life. He’s cute, but I’m better off alone.” 

Furina looks away for a moment as if to think about what she’s going to say next for the first time ever. “He’s different.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“First, I know him better than you do. I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with that crew, and I’m the Hydro Archon. I know everyone in Fontaine.” She twirls a finger around her hair– a telltale sign that she’s desperate for someone to listen to her. You want to oblige, but your mind won’t let you. “Lyney understands the life of a performer. Has he traveled? No. But I bet he’d be more than willing to travel with you as like– an opening act or something!” She snaps her fingers as if this is some sort of life-changing revelation. 

Your anxiety says otherwise. 

“What about Lynette and Freminet?”

“They can go with you!” She says as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Lynette is Lyney’s assistant, so she has to go. Freminet would be good with helping with finances or something. Or if you happen to drop your wedding ring in the ocean, he can get it.”

“Wedding ring?”

“Yeah, for when you marry–”

A knock on the door interrupts her and you’ve never been happier. You give each other confused looks before you get up and open the door a crack. Behind it is a face all-too-familiar, and you open it wider. 

“I-uh, forgot my hat here.” Lyney, cheeks still rosy, rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. 

“O-oh, of course!” You stammer out, leaving him at the door and finding his hat in one of the other chairs. Furina stares him down in a way that makes him feel like he’s intruding on a very important conversation, but he tries to brush it off as one of her theatrics. 

Lyney’s smile returns when you appear again, his hat in your hands, and tries to ignore the jump of his heart as his fingers accidentally brush yours when he takes it. “Thank you so much.” You watch as his figure begins to retreat from the guesthouse, but he quickly turns around and waves. “And I do hope to see you tomorrow.”

—---

Lyney does, in fact, get to see you tomorrow. 

Peeking through the curtain, he sees you front and center, sitting in the same exact seat that he was in the night before. Furina is at your side, chatting with you happily and ignoring the questioning whispers of her citizens as they question why she’s on the floor instead of in her box. Their questions cease when they see you. 

A bit of jealousy hits him as he sees some citizens ask for your autograph or come up to talk to you, but he can’t dwell on it long before Lynette is behind him. 

“Is she here?”

“Yes.” He lets out a nervous breath. “Everything has to be perfect tonight.” 

“It will be.” She reassures, “And don’t worry about anything else. I have it all covered. She’s come to see you and you alone, so you just focus on being the best you can be.”

Lyney has never been more grateful for his sister than he is at that moment. Sure, it was one thing when she accepted his schoolgirl crush on a famous singer, but when she was actually here, at their show, watching him, she was the best wingman in Teyvat. 

He peeked out of the curtain once more, his breath catching in his throat when he sees you looking directly at him. You wave and send him a soft smile and Lyney can feel his entire body heat up. He’s determined and ready for this show to start. 

And with a short countdown, it does. 

In most performances, Lyney keeps his eyes above the crowd. It’s an illusion many performers learn– don’t look directly at anyone specifically, it’s easier to quell the anxiety of thousands of eyes being on you, judging your every move. He knows you do this tactic as well, getting to witness it firsthand last night as you wowed the crowd from the very stage he was on tonight. He wondered how he could possibly be equal to such a wonderful performance and his mind gets a bit louder as doubts start plaguing him. As quickly as they come, however, they disappear. 

Lyney looks at you. 

You’re dressed beautifully, hair and makeup done simply as if to bare the real you. Oh, how Lyney longs to know the real you. 

You think it’s a funny coincidence when the first rose comes to you. Just a chance that a draft happened to send it directly into your lap after Lyney throws it into the crowd. Same with the second rose, that he passed off to you personally as he walked by after doing his switch trick with the box. You realize it’s not just some happenstance when the performance ends and you are left with a bouquet of roses in your hands, your face hot as Furina teases you. 

“Rainbow roses have special meaning in Fontaine, you know.” She grinned. You swatted her away. 

“I know.” You huff, “He probably uses those in every show to make the little lucky audience girl feel special.”

Furina opens her mouth to speak, but a voice from behind speaks up before she can. “I normally use Romaritime Flowers, and only pull one out of my hat, but I thought tonight I could do something a little different.”

Lyney prays you aren’t uncomfortable when you turn around– the adrenaline of the show is the only thing driving him to speak to you steadily right now, and he didn’t know what he’d do if he got rejected. He’s pleasantly surprised when you do turn around and your mouth is slightly agape, your cheeks darker than usual. He did his job. 

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“Keep them, they’re yours.” Lyney places his hands on yours to push them back when you go to give him back the bouquet, but he doesn’t remove them when you clutch the flowers to your chest. “This is my official offer– let me treat you to dinner.” 

You turn your head to give Furina a look, but she’s long gone. You make a note to curse her out later. 

“Lyney, I want to accept your offer. So badly. But I just know it won’t work.”

Seeing Lyney’s face fall almost makes you want to take it back, but you can’t. You can’t get hurt again. 

“Please,” His voice has gone soft, “How do you know that?”

“It’s happened before. I’m just protecting you. I’m going to be gone soon and you can forget about this little infatuation–”

“No!” Lyney blurts out but quickly composes himself. “You’re not protecting me, you’re protecting yourself. I’m not whatever man hurt you in the past. I’m a performer too, I can handle all the things that entails.” 

“Lyn… This is only my third country on my tour. I have so many more left, I’ll be gone for a very long time. It’s not fair to ask you to wait for me.”

“I think I get to decide what’s fair for me.” You don’t respond, looking away. Lyney takes your chin between his fingers to make you look at him. “And I think that me waiting for you is a fair trade if it means you come back to me in the end. Please, ma chérie. Consider it.” 

You took a breath, weighing the options as seriously as the Oratrice. You think back to your conversations– the ones with your manager, the ones with Furina. Finally, you meet his eyes fully. Lyney hasn’t looked away, a softness in his eyes that you were not expecting.

“Let’s go to dinner. I’ve been thinking of hiring an opening act for the rest of the tour anyways. How do you feel about that?”

[copaline]

WIP Wednesday is here!

It's that time again! WIP Wednesday is upon us!

@man--eater (Yeah I know you don't go here but you did it to me!)

@i-prefer-base-twelve (I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THAT KIDS AU)

@punedrr (Girl I know you got something!)

@ancharan (Loved your fic and your art!)

Besties, you have been tagged!

No pressure to share but I'd love to see what you have! And as always, if you see this and want to join in, please do! Consider yourself tagged by me! The banner is free to use!

Anyway! As you may or may not know, @punedrr and @mask-knife-is-scarecrows-girl straight up failed as my impulse control and I started a little one-shot spinoff of Horror Vacui called The Dealer and the Oracle!

It's a fix it fic that answers the question "what if someone had rescued a young 1982 Model Ford as he was being tortured by Bill"! Here's a little snippet of the upcoming Final Chapter:

It was surprisingly easy to get into a daily rhythm.  Fiddleford took to Jheselbraum just as Leaf knew he would.  Peace, calm, stability, that was the gift of the Axolotl. The Oracle was an extension of his will, a universal constant, a healer, a seeker of order, in a word: Unswerving. If Bill was a raging inferno, Jheselbraum was the ancient forest sheltering the lost and watching the centuries drift by. Her very presence was soothing, and the longer Fiddleford remained in the cabin, the more his mind healed and his real personality shone through. He was brilliant in his own right, but also thoughtful and given to manic creative bursts. Leaf often came back from her excursions to a new robot or mechanical creation built in the spur of the moment. Leaf now understood why he and Ford were friends. If someone could fix the toaster by making a tiny clockwork welder, and smile at you while presenting his creation like a little piece of sunshine, how could anyone resist?  Leaf had fully expected Fiddleford to hate Ford, or at the very least resent him. However, all the anger he had melted away when he saw the bruises under the bandages. Although Leaf did her best to keep to herself, she saw the worried looks and the softness with which he held Ford’s bandaged hand. There was something in those moments that felt familiar. It was the ache of a person mourning an echo of what could have been.  She was sure he was blind to it and didn’t have the words to describe it, but Leaf knew what it was. He was mourning a dead path, a possible future that no longer existed and would never come to pass. Leaf paused for a moment to observe them from the doorway, before walking away.  Possibility beckoned and they all had their part to play. Leaf had, of course, introduced herself to Ford during one of the few times he had been awake. He had looked at her blankly, without a hint of recognition in his blue eyes. Their effervescent dreams were truly forgotten. Moreover, he stared straight through her and locked eyes with Jheselbraum. His paths shimmered in the Oracle’s presence and Leaf had merely smiled before excusing herself without him noticing.  His attention was elsewhere. His muse now had a rounder face and seven eyes. Good.  It made it easier to fade into the background. And so every morning, Leaf woke up, walked by Ford’s doorway without disturbing him and fled down the hallway as though there were still a Neverwere snapping at her heels. The world was far more bearable once she put some distance between herself and that bedroom. The promise of a fresh cup of coffee certainly didn’t hurt. She poured herself a mug and breathed in the scent.

[llovelyclouds]

notes on cristabel oct

here's all the relevant info on cristabel i took note of during my tlt reread, in one place!

you can find the rest of the posts in this project here!

CRISTABEL OCT

titles:

Mercymorn’s cavalier, first gen, founded the eighth (with Mercy)

name meaning: in latin the meaning of the name Cristabel is: beautiful christian/follower of christ

notes from harrow the ninth:

The reason Mercy is the Saint of Joy (htn. pg. 177)

Mercy won't talk about her to Harrow, even though John thinks she would, and that her name would upset Augustine (htn. pg. 177)

Augustine doesn't mind talking about her though, and says: "A total delight. Effervescent. Kind to animals and children. A master of the sword. Did not have the intellect you'd ordinarily find in a sandwich or an orange, and was a sickening twerp into the bargain. The Eighth House will never see her like again." (htn. pg. 177)

“‘You know what I feel… you know I don't think she was the best influence on Alfred… you know I think they brought out the worst in each other, and I don’t think you disagree.’ God said, ‘They were very similar people.’ ‘No,’ said Augustine. ‘They weren’t, John. She was a fanatic and an idiot- yes, she was, Mercy- and he… was a man who regretted he wasn't. It took surprisingly little to lead my brother astray.’” - Augustine and John, discussing whatever happened between Cristabel and Alfred (double suicide, maybe?) (htn. pg. 274)

Augustine hated her for sure, but he’s ok with pretending he didn’t for dios apate reasons (htn. pg. 279)

"Cristabel always said I was tidy." - Mercymorn (htn. pg. 410)

"you picked the wrong man to enter a suicide pact with. I hate 'em. Cristabel might have undone all my good work with Alfred, but here comes the reckoning." - Augustine (htn. pg. 487)

notes from nona the ninth:

"The only other people I put through that damn trial were Mercy and Cris, because only Cris didn't mind being trepanned on the regular."- Pyrrha, about her and G1deon's trial at Canaan house (ntn. pg. 84)

Was Mercy's nun best friend pre-resurrection (ntn. pg. 128)

"I was worried I was going to get the Antichrist bit from her too, but she was just like: stop doing this! Read your Bible! This was Christ's whole problem! I was like, What are you talking about, Jesus cured the lepers and everyone was all, Hooray, thanks man. M-'s nun was all, Are you kidding, Christ never said no and never asked anyone to pay and got everyone to pay way too much attention and brought the heat down on everybody, Christ didn't keep to office hours, she said. Don't do that." (ntn. pg. 190)

“Me in my bedroom with a nun and a migraine, her thinking that if she pushed me enough we’d instantiate the Trinity and we’d all be saved.” (ntn. pg. 399)

“Eventually it was the nun who changed things. She knocked on my door and said very nicely, John, how are you doing? And I said, Not great, honestly. She said, John, how close are you to finding the soul? And I said, I can’t, Sister, It’s too big. I don’t understand why it’s so huge. I can’t find the soul inside the body, I don’t know where to look. I don’t know what I’m doing. She prayed over me, and then she went away for the longest five minutes of my life. [...] Then the nun came back and knocked on my door and said, John, I think I have it. I know you’re very scared right now, but I’m going to help you. Please let me in. He said: I let her in. She’d brought P-’s gun. [...] She just smiled at me. She said, John, don’t misunderstand. I want to help you. I truly believe that in our most terrible hours we don’t instinctively reach out to God; we push ourselves away from Him. Don’t feel bad for not rising heroically to the occasion right now, Fear doesn’t help us achieve a state of grace; it deafens the heart. John, I truly believe you can save everyone. So concentrate, please. She said, Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for our sinners, now and at the hour of our death. And she shot herself.” (ntn. Pg. 404)

[peachdues]

peach oh my LAWD phanta 3 was so good 🥺. Would you consider explaining the title a little more? i read the para at the end with it and i kind of got it, but i wanted to pick your brain a little too!

(I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to get around to this pls don’t hate me too much).

First, thank you!! Second, I love this question bc honestly, the Phanta brain rot is still real. More below the cut since I went off lol.

spoilers below.

Almost everything in Phantasmagoria is, well, a phantasmagoria — an exhibition of optical effects and illusions; a constantly shifting complex succession of things seen or imagined.

Nearly every part of the story — character interactions, perspectives, plot points — is distorted in some way, whether it be by Wisteria/alcohol, grief, or just individual stubbornness.

The Wisteria is probably the most obvious example, as it literally distorts Reader’s perceptions of both herself, her environment, and her interactions with others

I was particular with not describing the Reader physically (even beyond her clothing) past that initial scene in Part I when she goes to the Kizuki for the first time with Mitsuri. When she does describe herself, she speaks of herself as a “raving princess” and “effervescent” — but nothing truly descriptive.

Why does it matter? Contrast that with the comments Sanemi makes about how he “wouldn’t have known it was her” (which later we find out is literally true); he also tells her, point blank, she looks gaunt, and she has no reaction whatsoever — not even an internal reaction. That’s the wisteria distorting her self-image, until she finally looks in the mirror at the end of Part II and fully sees herself for the first time in a while — and realizes what it has done.

But the Wisteria distorts other things too, namely, the appeal of the club/rave life that Reader throws herself into. At first, she calls it a paradise — it’s her escape from both her heartache and from herself in general. The club then distorts her perception of others — namely, Sanemi, like when she describes him as “menacing” under the club lights, and yet the flashback that immediately follows is one of the saddest in the series — and it shows that Sanemi is hurting just as much as she is. But the wisteria distorts everything around her, so she’s only seeing what she wants to see. Yet, when the illusion starts to crack, what happens? She panics — she describes the Kizuki as too loud, too claustrophobic; the Wisteria quite literally leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

The other major example of a phantasmagoria in the story is its main theme — grief. Anyone who has been up close and personal with grief can probably attest to the way it quite literally changes how you view everything — even if that means it narrows your perception (I.e. distorts it). Both Reader and Sanemi are grieving significant losses, and those losses make them blind to the other’s suffering in return. It’s not so much miscommunication as it is two kids who were forced to bear the weight of the world way too fast.

That grief then continues to distort their reality, but not in the sense that they’re misremembering events. Everything they say happened, actually happened. Y/N was abandoned by Kyojuro and Sanemi; but she distanced herself from them first, and she also abandoned Sanemi when he needed her. Neither of the boys were there for her while her mother was sick and when she died; but they didn’t know until it was too late. Sanemi did return her feelings 100% at the train station; but he was so overwhelmed and reeling from Genya’s death that he reacted poorly. Sanemi did see Y/N that day at the crosswalk; he just didn’t recognize her. Y/N was isolated after her mother died, but Sanemi was desperately trying to find her the whole time.

Thus, everything happened exactly the way both Y/N and Sanemi said it did, but their grief prohibited them from stepping back and seeing the broader picture — so their interpretation, though objectively true, is still distorted. This translates into other things as well, such as Y/N constantly misinterpreting Sanemi’s motives and efforts to make things right between them, because otherwise, it wouldn’t square with the understanding she has of what happened and why. She thinks he’s using her for convenience; he’s actually letting her use him in any way she wants just so he can have a chance to take care of her. She accuses him of being possessive because he feels entitled to her affection, but he actually loves her (deeply), and is terrified of losing her, because she is quite literally wasting away in front of him. She says he doesn’t care about her, yet she won’t let him. He tries to talk to her about everything right after they start hooking up, yet she refuses to engage. She runs away. She’s cold, and she shuts him down harshly even when he tries to offer her bare minimum affection and care (this also is supposed to contrast with what we know as the Reader, which is that she is still very much in love with him). We also find out that Sanemi spent every other weekend taking flowers to her mother’s grave — again, shattering that illusion she’s created in her mind that he doesn’t care about her.

It’s not until they finally hash everything out in the kitchen at Tengen’s that both realize they’ve been focusing on one narrow part of a much larger picture, and that they’ve both let their grief blind themselves to one another. When Y/N finally steps back and looks at the whole instead of the part, the illusion shatters. Love is the final phantasmagoria. Y/N realizes that she’s mistakenly believed she was running away from love (and thus, Sanemi) only to realize that not only has she been running in circles, but Sanemi has been running opposite of her the whole time. They’re two sides of the same coin; they were bound to crash into one another at some point.

This is just like, a bird’s eye overview of the mind map that I drew out in my journal for Phanta, and I’m sure I’m leaving something out. If y’all have any thoughts, I’m always happy to hear them (seriously).

Thank you for the ask, and I apologize that I went off the deep end lmao.

[t4z-0n-p4wz]

First chapter of my book

So this is a work in progress atm, I'm not that far into writing it, but i have written the first chapter/ prologue. It is called "It's Just A Campfire Story". Hope you guys enjoy!!

Warnings: cursing, mentions of suicide, slight descriptions of warfare

Night had already been draped over the once pallid sky by the time the fire had become a roaring inferno trapped in a stone prison. The sickly sweet stench of caramelising, melting marshmallows writhed its way through the breathable air, consuming every spare morsel. At least everyone could tolerate it, it was appetising to say the least. Softly, the dancing scraps of ash pirouetted through the smoky mass erupting from the flames in the centre of a circle of tightly huddled beings, all of which seemed to be human.  Moss seemed to be pulsating under their feet, or was it just the lighting? The residents of this small camping trip would never know for sure, but it certainly looked as though the floor their chairs leaned oh so well on was alive. 

Stars twinkled between the effervescent clouds that glided effortlessly through the atmosphere. It truly was an almost perfect night, apart from the fact that the Forest nearby sat there in melancholy, waiting for its story to burst out of someone’s mouth and spill out like fresh blood. Everything about those woods silently screeched the word “DEATH” and accumulated negative feelings, swallowing you in an inky darkness of dread, suspense and lachrymose. Although it was there, simply wasting its own time in patiently waiting, our humans around the fire were more focused on their own business in camping, not the Forest’s. 

Taz was a smaller girl than the rest of her acquaintances, but wiser nonetheless. Her perfect brunette ringlets floated beside her ears and sat neatly on her shoulders. Quietly, she twirled her marshmallow over the crackling flames, charring the outside until it nearly turned a charcoal black. That was how she liked it, ever so slightly burnt so that the bitterness contrasted with the sugary taste, morphing into the perfect combination. Even though her friends thought it was quite peculiar, they found it better not to judge. After all, with a diverse group like theirs, everyone had their own strange traits to them, all more personal than eating habits. Taz was fairly attractive on the outside, but once you knew her fully, she was the weirdest person you would ever meet in your lifetime (in a good way, of course), although she had a sort of charisma that only appeared in certain people, a kind of welcoming attitude toward newcomers in her life- the sort you would figure out the meaning, only to find that it’s too late.   

“So, you all enjoy your mallows?” She asked, breaking the eerie silence. The 4 others around the fire gave muffled sounds of agreement as answers, their mouths filled with masses of the soft sugar candy. They were soon to swallow it - just in time for the fun to finally begin. Taz rubbed her hands and grinned like a lunatic, her forest-green eyes darting around the circle of her friends, the cogs in her brain grinding along, whirring and figuring out which one to put on the spot.

“Johnny - what was the war like, old boy? I reckon we need some stories now. After all, this is a campfire.” She asked, a spark of playfulness in her raspy voice.  John, on the other hand, was the oldest of the group - 53 to be exact, and he had endured a long war starting when he was only 17. At least he was one of the ones thankful to survive.

“Oh it was hell.” He chuckled, closing his eyes for a moment, taking in the vivid memories that whistled through his mind. “You would have your mates near y’ in the trenches, but no- one ever talked to each other, no no. It was impossible to hear anyone over the gunfire. Boy, was I glad when they announced it was finally over.” John smiled, a genuine gleam of relief to be alive. And whenever John smiled, everybody else smiled too, whether they wanted to or not. I swear, it was infectious (in a good way). “Right, there’s something I want to address.” exclaimed Rory, an energetic 16 - year- old with an eccentric sense of humour. Once he had successfully caught the attention of everyone around the roaring flames, he spoke up again. 

“How the hell can this be a PROPER campfire when we haven’t told any stories that scare you out’a your fuckin’ skin?!” he groaned, half shouting into the fire, which ominously reflected in his wide eyes.

“I was getting to that.” Taz grumbled, a sour expression pasted over her face. When Rory eventually did shut up, she could get down to business.  

“Be prepared, because you ALL will be unable to sleep peacefully after this.” She paused for an attempt at dramatic effect, but it failed, and she was met with awkward silence. 

“This is the tale of Two inseparable girls, a Tragedy, and one blunt Axe. On the way, we will find four serial murders, a suicide and unrequited love. What’s the worst that can happen, right?” Everyone’s faces lit up, both figuratively and literally, as the fire cast a warm orange glow to the surroundings and the organisms in the area, both human and entity, were all itching with glee to hear Taz’s story. The forest lurched, creaking with pure ecstasy.

[ghostoffuturespast]

Shimmer & Shine

Dear @shimmer-like-agirl,

I don't know if you remember last May. I sent you an ask for one of those word prompt games. Which for the life of me, I can't find the actual list for. (Thank you, tumblr search function. You barely work when I need you to.)

Now, I don't begrudge you for not doing the one I asked, but you need to know that you not doing the one I asked has literally been sitting with me for the past eight months. This whole time. It's been on my mind. Your own namesake! Took me a while, but I just couldn't let that go.

Anyway, I wrote this little number for you, friend. Hope you don't mind I took ya girl for a little spin without asking. 🧡👻

Read below or on AO3.

Chin cupped in one palm and free fingers entwined around the stem of her wine glass, Darisha sighed. Despite the abysmal amount of wintry rain pouring down outside, the club was boisterously packed. And, even though the weather wasn’t doing her curls any favors, she should have been thrilled at the full house for this evening’s show. However, Darisha’s mood was scraping the bottom of the barrel and even the effervescent bubbly of her sparkling white wine wasn’t enough to lift her spirits. 

Perhaps she was pouting. Maybe a little too much. But it was hard not to when the one person you wanted to be there wasn’t. Sighing again, she picked at the shimmer of purple sequins lining the hem of her cocktail dress before swirling her glass, tipping it back, and finishing off the last of her drink. 

Her time probably would’ve been better spent warming up in her dressing room and not worrying about it. After all, it wasn’t his fault that something important had come up. Wasn’t his fault that he’d been slammed with cases all week. And wasn’t his fault that she had insisted it was fine before he’d given her a quick kiss and swept out the door with those long strides of his. 

But saying and knowing were two different things. And it was just one of those nights. When doubt insisted on cuddling up next to you.

Amethyst eyes scanned the crowd, but only focused on the empty seat next to her.

A murmur of excitement rippled through the club as the house lights dimmed and the band filed out. The show wasn’t about to stop for her disappointment. Darisha took that as her cue to vacate her seat at the bar and drag her ass to the stage, the clack of her heels solitary as she walked across the floor.

The musicians made a business of settling themselves in, making last minute adjustments to mics and instruments; the quiet rattle of cymbals, the low pluck of strings, the test of keys. Darisha fiddled with the cable running down her microphone stand, even though it didn’t need it. Swiped the imaginary dust off the satin of her skirt, even though there wasn't a speck on it. Blinking the brilliance of the stage lights off her lashes, she made introductions to the backlit faces of the crowd and took a deep breath.

Let the sultry balm of song take over.

The music soothed her heart, took the edge off the loneliness. 

But it was a rest, a moment between numbers, that lifted her heart. Truly made it soar.

Darisha caught a glimpse of him when the stage lights transitioned. When the blinding glare of the lights softened to reveal what was behind the partition of that invisible curtain. He’d squeezed himself in at the back corner of the bar, the collar and shoulders of his coat drenched from the rain. The bartender handed him a beer. They exchanged a few jovial words before he took a sip and looked up, caught her eye and made her heart skip a beat.

River beamed at her. A brilliant smile.

One that helped her shine.

Needless to say, after the show, her heels were a lot more excited to get off the stage than they had been to get on.

Darisha practically threw herself at River, not caring about the damp still on his coat. The hug was worth it. “Thought you weren’t gonna make it?” 

He squeezed her back. “Managed to wrap up early.” And pulled her into the sweetest of kisses before parting to whisper in her ear. “Wouldn’t miss you for the world, Darisha. Not if I can help it. Love you, babe.”

“I love you too.” She grinned up at him and made a futile attempt to fix the wet fluff of his collar. “Even if you're a little too fashionably late sometimes.”

“Well, I can see about making it up to you. Made sure there was only one name on my calendar for the rest of the evening… Might’ve even bought an extra bottle of wine.” River winked at her. “I’m all yours.” 

“Sounds like a deal. Let me grab my coat and let’s get out of here.”

They walked to the dressing rooms, hand in hand.

The door to the alley creaked open and shut just the same. The two of them watched as the rain poured down, sheets cascading off the awning overhead while slips of neon reflected off the puddles that had gathered in the asphalt. Sparkling drops of iridescence amongst the grime and grit.

Darisha should’ve worn a warmer coat. Perhaps a longer dress. Icy air pricked at her knees and made her shiver. But then there was an arm around her, River tucking her into his side to share some of his warmth. She leaned into him, sighing content as their breaths curled with one another in the cold.   

Worth it.

“I can bring the truck around.” River offered.

She considered for a moment. “While I appreciate the thought, I’ve spent enough of the evening alone without you. We’ll make a break for it.” 

“In your nice heels?”

“Mhmm.”

“How about a piggy back ride then?”

“Not very dignified in this dress.” She reached down to clasp his hand, tugging him forward and smiling over her shoulder. “Trust me, you’re worth way more than these shoes. Keep up, will you?”

“You don’t even know where the trucks parked at.”

She’d do it. Maybe with some reluctance. But she’d trade her entire wardrobe just to hear the music of his voice. She’d certainly, at least, brave the weather.  

Darisha got a head start. River laughed.

And they both dashed out onto the streets together, hand in hand through the shimmer of winter rain.

[thisisnotthenerd]

got a little too bored today and started tallying up d20 cast appearances for the intrepid heroes (and brennan). this is only off of the top of my head so if i forget something don't get on me about it.

Intrepid Heroes D20 Cast Appearances, including sidequests (and BLeeM), ranked from highest to lowest:

Brennan Lee Mulligan with a total of 17/19 seasons that he has appeared in; dm/gming for 14 of those seasons. 7 of those are main cast/intrepid heroes, so assume they each have a baseline of seven.

next up is mister Lou Wilson, with a total of 10 seasons; 3 sidequests, all with guest gms. the man is a combination of dnd knowledge and commit to the bit. great with any season, but has always sidequested with brennan.

tied at nine, we have zac oyama and ally beardsley; ally featured heavily in 2021 sidequests while zac has been more recent in '22 and '23.

tied at eight we have the lovely ladies emily axford and siobhan thompson! i'm so glad siobhan has joined the ranks of intrepid heroes in sidequests, it feels like they just have a lot of fun on the shorter runs.

and in last place, mr brian 'murph' murphy. i know he's busy with naddpod but only intrepid heroes seasons? 7/19? please come on a sidequest my guy. i promise it's fun.

halfway through this process i've decided that guests are also being included now.

Guest Cast D20 Appearances, ranked from highest to lowest:

at the top of the guest list, the effervescent aabria iyengar, with 5/12 sidequest seasons! 2 seasons of gming, 3 seasons as a player, all 3 of which are in established d20 worlds e.g. spyre and calorum. assuming we have an intrepid heroes season coming up at some point in the future, murph can get a bit of a lead, but if aabria's coming on to guest more there's a very real potential that she will outcompete him. i look forward to the day.

next up: erika ishii with 4 seasons. they came on in the first sidequest and have had a steady stream of appearances since. always some kind of mage--tends towards druids/nature magic. 2/3 of her dnd appearances have been druids with an eye for creepy crawlies and the darker side of nature. he's got an aesthetic that he sticks to, and i admire that. real commitment, and not just to the bit.

tied with three we have rekha shankar and matthew mercer. ooh four-syllable names. sorry i got distracted. anyway. very excited to see rekha in desiquest, though she's a fantastic player on d20. big swings, fun character choices, a good balance of support for narrative and spotlight. and then we have matt--one season gming, but for the seasons he's played? some truly cringefail guys who learn to believe in themselves and break out of their personal depression to deliver an asskicking in their finale episode. man likes his themes.

now for the team of two (not the 2 crew) in chronological order of first appearance: mike trapp, ify nwadiwe, lily du, carlos luna, danielle radford, and izzy roland. just enough to make an average d20 table! i'm getting my fill of trapp and danielle in the current season, but seeing a table of these players together? it has potential.

and for the full list of one time appearances on d20 in chronological order of first appearance (only full seasons, not including oneshots atm):

amy vorpahl

justin mcelroy

clint mcelroy

jessica ross

griffin mcelroy

travis mcelroy

marisha ray

krystina arielle

b. dave walters

katie marovitch

sam reich

raphael chestang

grant o'brien

becca scott

persephone valentine

gabe hicks (gm!)

dani fernandez

jasmine bhullar (gm!)

omar najam

oscar montoya

surena marie

anjali bhimani

monét x change

alaska thunderfuck

bob the drag queen

jujubee

alex song-xia

freddie wong

hank green

i've devoted entirely too much thought to this. and i still have more thoughts. too many thoughts and not enough time. can't wait to see who comes on in the future! don't know if i'll edit this or make a new one. probably just edit this.

[lorduller]

banter starter for @devanitoland

where and when: on route to the westerlands for the celebration being held there. the group traveling has stopped to rest for the night at a smaller lords estate.

it wasn't difficult to discern that something weighed heavily on devani toland.  over the years doran had observed her countless times with dante, witnessing the effervescent energy that enveloped her in her day to day life. yet now, there was a palpable shift in her demeanor, a heaviness that cast a shadow over her usual carefree aura. he couldn't help but ponder whether it was solely due to dante's passing, or if there were other underlying factors at play. he knew how close the two of thm were up until his death, so it would make sense if that was truly th sole reason. but somehow something was biting at the back of his mind telling him there was more.

despite their last unusual conversation, during which devani implored him to send dante to essos with her—a notion he staunchly rejected, knowing his son's true intentions to kill him and take over as ruler of hellholt— felt compelled to check in on her. it would be easy enough to leave everything be. let her be and just walk away. not when it looked like she had barely slept at all, or like she was looking for ghosts over her shoulder every second.

so instead he walked up to her, two glass of wine in hand, hoping this wasn't a poor choice. "it seems like you might need this," he remarked, offering the glass to her with a gentle smile. "i hope you don't mind the intrusion, though. it appears you've been standing out here alone for most of the night. thought maybe a little company might be nice."

[telomeke]

Thai QL Favorites Tag Game

Tagged by my Internet buddy and fellow QL fan @pandasmagorica! Thanks 🥰

Credit also: this game was created by @thatgirl4815 as Thai BL Favorites Tag Game.

So let's get into it:

Favorite Thai QL: Bad Buddy, still. After all this time it continues to hold up, I think because it packed so much intelligence into its short run of 12 episodes. I also have a soft spot for Moonlight Chicken, although it is arguably more queer cinema in episodic form and not classically a QL/BL.

Favorite Pairing: Umm, gonna leave aside the ships and talk about professional pairings for QL series. Ohm and Nanon as PatPran still top my list; they tore my heart to shreds in Bad Buddy and healed it too. But I don't need to see them as any other pair in another series also for that reason. MaxTul seem to bring it in any series they're in, so they get a mention too.

Most underrated actor: Have to agree with @pandasmagorica about Fluke Gawin Caskey. They need to use him more – he's doing a truly credible job in Be My Favorite plus wow he can sing really well. And I think Krist Perawat in the same series is also surprising all of us; he's certainly matured since his stumbly, mumbly turn in SOTUS.

Favorite Character: Eep. This is like trying to choose among your children. I love so many! Pat and Pran for different reasons (I'm very much like one, more than the other, but I love them both). But I also like Li Ming in Moonlight Chicken, maybe because of his confident self-knowledge, and all the hope he represents for the next generation.

Favorite Side Character: Arm from KinnPorsche for the wrong reasons; devastating combination of nerdy and also hot when shirtless. Also maybe Daddy Chan from the same show. And (odd/unpopular choice) maybe Dissaya from Bad Buddy; I'm just fascinated by her character and backstory, and wish we got told more of it. Also Manaow from Until We Meet Again and Yihwa in Together With Me for being the effervescent supportive besties I wish I had growing up.

Favorite scene in a QL: The opening scene in Ep.5 of Bad Buddy because it tells us so much, in so many layers, and upon the re-watch you can sense that something's starting to turn (though the closing scene on the rooftop is a very close second, for obvious reasons).

Favorite line in a QL: Pat and Pran at the end of BBS Ep.5 going "Do you want us to be friends?" followed by the softest, most gut-wrenching "No..."

Most Anticipated QL (& why): Only Friends – looking forward to something steamy for a change. Been too long since KinnPorsche.

Healthiest relationship in a QL: HeartLiMing in Moonlight Chicken. And PatPran in BBS, but only post-Ep.12 timeskip. They're so respectful to each other – but also a bit boring, so I'm not sure I'd want to watch them in another show because a drama with no drama wouldn't be a drama, now then would it?

Most toxic relationship in a QL: VegasPete in KinnPorsche? I'm still divided about their dynamic. Or TharnType in TharnType perhaps. That was just badly written.

Guilty pleasure series: KinnPorsche. Nuff said.

Most underrated series: He's Coming to Me really needs more love. Production values not the strongest but themes, acting, storyline are all top-notch (with some minor points only that I might want to quibble about). One of the earliest to deal with cultural themes in Thai QL and it was fascinating.

Tagging @airenyah, @dribs-and-drabbles, @waitmyturtles, @bengiyo, @twig-tea, @colourme-feral, @miscellar, @ranchthoughts, @chickenstrangers, @dudeyuri, @inventedfangirling, @dimplesandfierceeyes, @wen-kexing-apologist, @starryalpacasstuff, @kattahj, @lurkingshan, @neuroticbookworm...

...@theheightofdishonor, @dimpledpran, @silvercrystal1, @mineonmain, @sharingfandoms and anybody else I might have missed, feel free to play (or not!).

[movementsofmylife]

bad buddy ep 10 (rewatch)

how many times does pran pull out his entire (extremely intense) set of markers and not use them:

total so far: //// / (i actually don't think we see the markers ever again after ep 7, and this is wild to me, because i thought they were so much more present)

this ep just leaves me shattered every time.

and it starts off so cute. i love that pat's shirt is hanging off the back of pran's chair. they're so domestic.

honestly i feel kind of robbed of 5th year pran. because pran is clearly pretty high on the arch hierarchy. he can organize this wild confession plot and even get joke to take part. he would have been incredible to see in his final year fully ruling over arch lol.

also, not be on the kornwai agenda, but this scene. also, everyone else is also clearly on the kornwai agenda because this is the most replayed scene lol.

i paused with them for a bit bc wai was being extra annoying and on his 'i'm a straight boy' arc. but clearly clearly, that simply should not be the case. (i could definitely headcanon them in some kind of messy fuck buddies situation at this point. it would be so chaotic and incredible.)

ink is the most confident gay one could be. like goddamn. she's an inspiration. on her peak game this ep.

also, these shirts. adorable. also, i think the vibe of this ep is almost too bright? it's like effervescent and lovely and it's the sun with a rainbow without the rain. and obviously we get the rain at the end.

and i also think this is a tiny glimpse of what patpran would have been without the fall out with their parents.

it's not that they're not happy at the end of the show. they're happy and together and thriving. but they're also carrying what secrets they have to carry and cognizant of the limits they push against. they're adults who have learned to enjoyed the boundaries of the space they've built for themselves. and that's fine, that's truly extremely normal.

but here, for a short while we get patpran at their most naive and reckless. who are in love and out to friends and faculty and to random old teachers. and they could have had this, they could have been this, but for their parents and i think that's a tragedy, and i think we're supposed to see that.

like look at this face. and pat casually confessing he watched pran as long as pran watched him

they truly committed to the episode's theme of secrets revealed. and the contrast between purposeful joyful confessions and ones dragged out of you by circumstance. like this show is the queerest shit in the world.

pran casually devastating me with this line. they're so in love.

and then we get the jindapat siblings being truly so much better than they have any right to be.

pa's "your sister is too hot" is an incredible line. she should say it like it is.

my girls:)

i have written and thought and despaired so much over this scene.

and i think this is the core of it. their entire childhood was fucked up over a grudge that didn't have to be.

it was a shitty thing that ming did. but they could have resolved shit like adults. but instead there's a grudge and saving face and secrets and pitting their children against each other. and it's so fucking shit because patpran aren't star-crossed. they didn't have to be. and this is pran telling his mom that.

and this is pat learning that.

also fuck his mom for this.

this episode though.

[your-divine-ribs]

The Christmas Wish Part 1

Words: 2k

Single Dad Van’s kids only have one special wish for Christmas // Christmas fluff // a friends to lovers story 🤍

The Christmas Wish Masterlist Main Masterlist

🤍 Sacha's POV 🤍

"Miss Wilson! Miss Wilson! Ryan just said a bad word!"

"Did not!"

"Yes you did! I heard you! If Santa finds out you've been naughty you won't get any presents, that's what my daddy says!"

"Don't be stupid! Santa's not even real! Aghhhhh!"

"Hey, hey! What's going on over there?" I darted across the classroom just as the tears erupted, sinking down on to my knees on the carpet. I wasn't expecting to see Ryan Carter, the class trouble-maker, in tears. He was normally the cause of any upset, yet here he was, face bright red and blotchy whilst he jabbed an accusing finger at one of his class-mates Grace McCann.

"She kicked me!" He sobbed, finger still outstretched whilst the other hand was wrapped around a reddened shin.

"He said Santa wasn't real!" Grace shot back, her face screwed up in defiance, hands folded across her chest as she stared her class-mate down.

In truth I was glad to see someone stand up to Ryan but I couldn't let my true feelings show. As a primary school teacher I had responsibilities. I was a guiding light to a class full of seven year olds so I couldn't just let casual violence slide, even though a well placed kick to the shins of the class bully was wholly well-deserved. The only trouble was it was the second time Grace had lashed out at him this week. Although she'd swore blind that Ryan had accidentally trapped his finger in his desk drawer after he was making mean comments to one of the other children, I hadn't missed the poorly hidden smirk Grace had worn as he'd howled in pain.

"Grace, is this true? Did you kick Ryan?"

"I did but he deserved it!" The little girl pouted, her cheeks flushed and rosy, her tiny brows pulled into a frown. "If you say you don't believe in Santa out loud it ruins the magic and then he won't come. I was trying to shut him up."

I told myself I shouldn't have favourites.  Every teacher did though, it was only natural. Grace was one of mine. Her feisty demeanour and quick-temper was balanced out by a big heart and a natural effervescence that I couldn't help but warm to. She was the first to volunteer for anything, always eager to help, her bright and enquiring nature usually a delight to teach. It was just situations like this that were becoming more commonplace that had me tearing my hair out. I couldn't brush over it with just a simple telling off this time either, it was against the school rules... and as a newly qualified teacher I had to adhere to them.

"Nobody deserves to be physically hurt no matter what they've done. It's not the way to solve a disagreement. Now we had this very same discussion last week didn't we Grace? And what did I tell you then?"

I spoke with an even tone, trying not to react to the way the little girl's lower lip trembled, her eyes becoming glossy as they flooded with unspilt tears.

"You said that if it happened again you'd have to call my parents," she muttered quietly, now subdued.

"That's right... so it looks like Mr and Mrs McCann are going to be getting a phone call from me then doesn't it?"

God, I hated disciplining the kids. It was the worse part of the job. Difficult but necessary. I thought it might be easier if they were my own children, I wouldn't feel so bad then. Then I'd know for sure if they'd truly been naughty or if they were acting up for another reason. I'd done all the mandatory training courses, learnt all about possible reasons that usually well-behaved kids developed an uncharacteristic disruptive streak. I wondered whether something was going on with Grace, some kind of home trouble that had brought on this atypical aggression. She'd always been feisty and stuck up for herself but this was a whole other level.

"Please Miss Wilson, please don't call them. I'm trying to be good, I really am. I really need Santa to come through for me... especially after what happened last year."

"What happened last year?" I probed, shifting into a sitting position on the carpet. I pulled out a small chair opposite me, patting the seat, urging Grace to sit down. A quick glance up had reassured me that Ellie, my class teaching assistant had everything under control. She was currently comforting Ryan, successfully distracting him with some festive crafts.

Grace pulled a face, conflicted as to whether she should confide in me. She sat down nevertheless, leaning in to whisper even though no one could hear over the background babble of twenty-five children.

"I shouldn't talk about Christmas wishes, it's the rules. It's a secret between me and Santa."

I smiled, recalling my own childish wonder at the magic of Christmas all those years ago. It had been so real back then. Sometimes I thought it was a shame that children had to grow up and turn into skeptical, cynical adults.

"Of course," I said in agreement. "You don't actually have to tell me the wish you made, but did anything bad happen?"

Grace's face fell as she focused on an obviously painful memory.

"It was just before last Christmas that mummy and daddy started fighting. I tried... I tried really hard to be good. I asked Santa to make them love each other again but it didn't work." Her eyes widened at once and she slapped a hand over her mouth with a gasp, horrified that she'd just let out the secret wish and broken her own rules. "I shouldn't have said!"

"It's okay," I tried to placate her, placing a reassuring hand on her forearm. "I won't say anything, don't worry. I'm guessing your wish didn't come true?"

It was all starting to fall into place now, the reason for Grace's outbursts, her erratic behaviour... it's just the timing was off. She'd seemed much more carefree at the beginning of the school year and that was September. Maybe something else was the cause.

"Uh-huh," she nodded in dismal confirmation. "I think Santa didn't give me my wish because I was naughty, I just don't know what I did wrong. I thought it might be different this year... if I was really good..."

"You wished for the same thing again?"

My heart ached for the little girl before me. All of a sudden I was twelve years old again, sitting on the floor in my bedroom with my back pressed against the door, my headphones on with the volume turned up as loud as my ears could stand it to drown out the sound of my own parents arguing viciously. I'd been older than Grace but it didn't make it any easier seeing the two people I loved the most in the world falling out of love.

Grace sighed. "No, it's a different wish this year, but I can't say." She mimed pulling a zip across her mouth. "It'd be silly to wish for the same thing again. Mummy and daddy aren't getting back together, I know that now. Mummy's got a new boyfriend, see."

"And what's he like?" I enquired, watching her closely, relieved when she broke into a smile.

"He's nice... but he's not daddy... no one's as nice as daddy."

I smiled back as her grin grew until her whole face lit up, her blue eyes sparkling. "He's a rockstar you know, he's super famous and he plays the guitar and he sings really good. He has loads of fans. Everyone loves him."

"I remember you telling me about him."

I thought back to 'show and tell' at the start of term, Grace proudly bringing in a CD so she could show the class her dad's music. She'd instructed me to play a track called Hourglass because her mum and dad had penned the lyrics together. She'd told me it was a love song so I assumed it'd be safe to play. I sniggered internally when I recalled how I'd had to dive across the classroom to switch the music off after Grace's dad dropped an F bomb exactly 22 seconds into the song. I probably should have checked it out first before playing it to a classroom full of innocent seven year olds really. The fact that the album cover had featured a cartoon drawing of a couple with their hands shoved down each other's trousers should have probably given me cause for concern.

Grace's smile faded fast to be replaced by a glum expression. "He's the best... but I guess mummy doesn't think that anymore. She told him he loved the band more than her. She even said it was more important to him than me and my little brother! I don't think I was supposed to hear that but I did."

I wished I could have said something to make it all better for her but I knew that I couldn't. Not right now when the pain was still raw. It would get better though, I knew from experience that the age-old adage of time being a great healer was actually true. I just hoped that her parents were mindful of their children whilst they navigated the stormy waters of their breakup. Mine hadn't been and the scars still lingered, even all those years later. I made a mental note to discuss Grace's worries with either Mr or Mrs McCann, whichever one I ended up seeing to discuss their daughter's behaviour.

"I'm sure that's not true," I tried to reassure her. "Look Grace, grown ups say things they don't mean all the time, especially when they're mad at each other. I know it's hard to understand but sometimes people fall out of love and it's nobody's fault. Sometimes things just don't feel the same anymore. No one can fix it, not even Santa."

Grace's bottom lip started trembling again, her hands balling into fists in her lap. "But what if mummy and daddy stop loving me and Leo? What are we gonna do then? If they know I've been naughty they'll be so mad at me!"

Oh shit... I'd been trying to reassure her but now she looked even more upset. I floundered for a second but quickly recovered, reaching out for her hands and taking them in mine.

"Your mummy and daddy love you and your brother very much. You're probably the most important things in their lives... in fact scrap probably... you are the most important things. I know you are!"

"Really?"

Grace looked up at me from under her long lashes, eyes wide and hopeful.

I tipped her a little wink. "Yes really... Santa even told me so."

"You... you mean you actually know Santa?" She asked in astonishment, sitting forward on the edge of the seat. I allowed a knowing smirk to curve my lips, secretive.

"Oh yeah, I have a direct line to Santa, all the teachers do. It's not just mummies and daddies that tell Santa who should be on the nice list."

I watched Grace's mouth fall slack as she stared at me for a second, then she was glancing around surreptitiously at her classmates like I'd just entrusted her with the most confidential top secret knowledge. I grinned at her, pressing my index finger against my lips and she nodded quickly before slipping down off the seat and rushing to take a seat at her desk.

A small sigh of relief escaped me as I rose up on to my feet.

"Oh my god Sacha, I can't believe you used the old 'be good, Santa's watching' trick. I thought it was only parents that were allowed to use that one!"

Ellie was beside me, nudging me with an elbow, grinning and shaking her head.

"Don't judge me," I laughed, pleased to see Grace with her head in her reading book, carefully following the text with a finger. She usually didn't have the patience for reading on her own. "I don't think I'll be getting any more trouble from Grace McCann this side of Christmas."

Little did I know, this was only the start of it...

[builtfromflowersandvines]

Teal Deer: I’m reviewing every historical romance author I’ve read in 2023 so that I can get recommendations.

Never Again:

Amelia Gray - I’ve got zero time for this conservative pick-me-girl bullshit. The male protagonist actually said, “I like a girl with spirit.” You can’t have your protagonist saying the villain line, that’s gross. This shit is for my amusement. If I can tell how you vote by how you write, you’ve got to be voting like me. Did not finish. 

Jillian Hunter - I just can’t care about these assholes. The men are loud, boorish, selfish, clueless. They are a frat boy stereotype dressed in Regency clothes. I don’t remember the female protagonists, I read her a month ago. That’s pretty forgettable. 

Maya Rodale - I don’t mind a little pop culture reference, here and there. However, writing a book that pulls *heavily* from Bridget Jones’ Diary (which is already referencing Pride & Prejudice) and Mean Girls? Really? When I saw the line, “On Wednesdays we wear pink” I threw the book across the room. I like light, effervescent, and fun, but this was dumb. 

Elizabeth Hoyt - Grimdark as historical romance? Nah. If you show me a dark, brooding, bad man as the male protagonist, I’m not going to swoon guys. I find that shit exhausting. “I’m so evil, and a little mean” ok, well I’m bored. I will never find a Pure Woman’s Love Redeeming A Piece Of Shit Dude even a little compelling. Babygirl, he isn’t worth *that* amount of labor. 

Rachael Miles - too boring to finish, too boring to remember. 

Sabrina Jeffries - Her series have a mystery at the heart of them. You learn a little more about the mystery in each book in the series. Unlike Lady Sherlock, which is a Mystery series written by a Romance author, these are romances that have an element of mystery. She can’t always keep my attention. The juxtaposition of light-hearted romance and gritty mystery doesn’t always work. Her characters also run a bit immature. Actually after reading what I wrote, maybe she has disappointed me one too many times. 

Eva Leigh - too boring to finish, too boring to remember.

Undecided:

Jayne Fraiser - Um… the story was alright. It was a little too focused on just the protagonists, the families and friendships are the reason I read these books. To not have many fleshed out characters was disappointing. Also, if you are going to have your protagonist have a career or a hobby, you have to know enough about that career or hobby. The book I read the female protagonist was a modiste. Y’all? I’ve read a fuck ton of these books and I have a degree in history and my history degree is mainly British history. She did not do enough research. That really does count against her. 

Minerva Spencer - Witty. Constantly, exhaustingly witty. Your characters don’t need to cut up at each other all of the time. 

Amalie Howard - I did enjoy this book. But. The characters and the slang are too modern. Progressive is fine. Actually, it is kind of necessary for me. To ignore the milieu, the culture, for the story doesn’t work for me. You cannot tell me that this Not Like Other Girls girl also gets zero flack for not being like other girls. It felt like there should be cell phones and social media and that is not what I’m looking for in a historical romance. 

Olivia Waite - Loved it. But I’ve only read one. I need more information before I can make a determination. As an aside; I skim the sex scenes, they are usually more funny than hot. I want to know if they do/say/feel anything germane to the story while they do the deed. Um, The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics has some hot scenes. Sophie Irwin - Have only read one. It was good though. The female protagonist is pragmatic and flinty, I enjoyed that. Will have to read a couple more before I can truly determine the ranking

Christina Dodd - She has flashes of good writing. However, I’ve read 3 of them and her male protagonists are interchangeable and so are the female protagonists. All the dudes are high-handed, imperious assholes and all the ladies are *so conflicted* Also, not enough showing us who the characters are. Those flashes of good writing are tempting but…. The downsides are pretty down. 

Shows Promise:

Johanna Lowell - If she fulfills her potential, she will be legend. She has something that not many authors have. How did they get so much story in so few pages?  Terry Pratchett has it. Eloisa James has it. Looking forward to the next one, I really hope it is as good as the 2 I’ve read. 

KJ Charles - Charming. Witty. There is often a mystery contained within the romance. Charles was the first m/m romance I’d ever read. It does approach sex differently than the m/f or w/w romances I’ve read. I was a little shocked at the pacing and the lack of tenderness. The only author that isn’t shelved in Erotica as opposed to romance that Charles reminds me of, is Susan Johnson. Her sex scenes also give me the same kind of whiplash. The story outside of the sex is amazing though. It is really taut, it feels more like mystery than romance. 

Emily Sullivan - She is another author that, if she lives up to her potential, will be amazing. I’ve read 2 and I can’t wait for the third. The characters came alive on the page. She shows the realistic conflict of being progressive in the Victorian era. She doesn’t pretend that things were better than they were. But she also doesn’t feel bitter and hopeless. (one of the reasons it would be very hard for me to write a historical romance is because I wouldn’t be able to have the optimism about the future that the characters do)

Cat Sebastian - I loved one! And I didn’t finish the other. Really, I just need to start another and see where it goes. Their m/m romance was so good. (and had some tenderness, that was missing with KJ Charles)

I Enjoy Them But….

Elizabeth Boyle - She can be amazing, but she isn’t always. She has maybe 4 books that are chef’s kiss no notes good. The rest of them need some notes. There are a few phrases she beats like a dead horse. I understand that language amongst the upper ten thousand was very homogeneous, but not all of your characters should have the same phrases and cadences. Her characters also run a bit immature. 

Kiernan Kramer - She is hit and miss. More hits than misses. The spying for the Home Office plotlines are fun, very fun, not at all believable. Which is fine. I don’t need it to get dark. It is something to keep in mind though because the cavalier way they are doing intelligence work would drive me insane in a more serious genre. These are light and fluffy and fun, she has never made me cry, but she has made me laugh. 

Julia Quinn - this one is gonna be controversial. She is a hits and misses author though, no matter how popular she is. The Duke & I has an infamous scene that makes me rageful. I wish they would just communicate, sex and procreation are BOTH things that have to be consented to. When she is good, oh my word, she is so good. When she is bad, she is boring. (or in that specific instance, offensive) There are books of hers I would highly recommend, but she doesn’t have an entire series that I can recommend. And that is what takes her off of Legend. I want the whole series to be worth recommending and worth re-reading. 

Julie Ann Long - She’s darling. Her books are so cute. They’re practically YA, except they absolutely have semi-graphic sex scenes. There is supposed to be Danger and Adventure, but I just think everyone is so adorable. I’m not sure I’m supposed to though. They aren’t very deep. They give me zero anxiety. I can’t remember any of her characters making me angry, maybe exasperated. Even the books I adore have characters I want to shake until their teeth rattle. Honestly having a good hateable character is key. 

Victoria Alexander - Sometimes she’s charming. Occasionally she has a female protagonist who has not figured out that Independent Woman does not have to equal I Need No One! And that’s exhausting. Sometimes her male protagonists are a bit… dumb. A little dumb and a little ineffectual. Look, I’ve read other authors writing less than brilliant protagonists both male and female. It doesn’t usually feel like a dig. I just want her to expand her idea of what women might find empowering. I don’t need the men in my life to be less than me. 

Liz Carlyle - Good character development. High drama. All the characters are so reactive. Fun to read, but I’m very happy that it isn't my life or my romantic relationship. She has had a few male characters who I just could not hang with. All romances will make you want to shake the protagonists and yell, “just fucking truthfully communicate!” Liz Carlyle has that in spades. You might stroke out from frustration with all the lying and secret keeping. 

Erica Ridley - I’ve only read The Wild Winchesters series. It’s really fucking good though. One of the books in the series is a sapphic love story. I’d love to put her on top tier or legendary status, I just haven’t read enough books by her to know if she is consistent in this kind of quality. 

Evie Dunsmore - I’ve read the 3 books she has published, and I have enjoyed all of them. The characters are complex. There is so much more than just a romance going on. I appreciate a well done subplot. I do expect to reread her. She has the hallmarks of my favorite romance authors; complex characters, the characters have an/a estate/career/hobby/passion, there are subplots, the friendships are almost as fleshed out as the romantic relationship. 

Vivienne Lorret - Light, good, fun, strains my suspension of disbelief at times (yes, even more than usual). I’ve read about 8 or so, they’re like m&ms. I’ve only given up on one of them, those aren’t awful odds actually. Great friendships and sisterhoods. She is another author that feels a little YA other than the graphic sex. 

Mimi Matthews - Lots of promise. Her research does need to get a little tighter, making a historical error really will pull me out of a book. She has not done anything as off-putting as the book that had the egregious error of having Bonnie Prince Charlie in the wrong century, but this is not the genre to write in if you aren’t going to get the details right. Her characters are charming! Her friendships are well-written. There is a lot of potential, the books I’ve read were really good. I just want a little more, something isn’t quite hitting.

Top-Shelf:

Sherry Thomas - Okay, to be fair, I haven’t read any of her romance novels this year. I’ve read her mysteries. She was a romance author first though so I’m including her anyway. The Lady Sherlock series  is the best mystery series I have ever read. And I love a good mystery; historical mysteries, cozy mysteries, I like them. Reading a mystery that was written by a romance author made a perfect pairing. I get all the details about the clothes, food, friendships, gossip, and I get an intelligent mystery along with it! Heaven. I have read her romances but it has been a minute. Go read the Lady Sherlock series, immediately. 

Sarah MacLean - Oh Damn. She is on her way to Legend status. Seriously. No notes. Her legendary status really is just a matter of time. She has been publishing since 2009, I have yet to read a book by her that wasn’t top shelf goods. Now I haven’t read her YA, she does write both. Her books intended for adults do not remind me of  YA. There is a fair amount of darkness. The graphic is pretty graphic. 9 Rules to Break is one of my favorite romance novels of all time.

Lisa Kleypas - See, this breaks my heart a little. If it weren’t for her first few books, Lisa Kleypas would be up on Legend. Those first couple books have genuinely repulsive male leads though. I stopped reading one of them on the fifth page, I was appalled. (I do not need the protagonists to be someone I would be interested in. I do need them to be someone I’d trust with an uncovered drink though). HOWEVER, starting at Again The Magic published in 2004, she has not had a miss. Genuinely she is one of the best! It just took her a decade of publishing to hit her stride. 

LEGENDARY:

Loretta Chase - one of 2 authors that I will read what they published before 1999. Look, when it comes to consent if it is not a “Hell Yes!” it is a “Fuck NO!” if the protagonists aren’t being crystal clear about consent that does not fucking appeal to me. Loretta does not ever have a problem with her male protagonists blowing past consent. That is really important to me. Loretta Chase has likable characters. She can make a character who I would hate in real life and make them an appealing person. I would never want to date any of these characters, but I’d love to be friends with them. Her Dressmakers series is the best example of a realistic idea of what would happen were someone in trade to marry into the upper classes. I’m a huge fan of the Fallen Women duo because of course I am. Her adventures genuinely feel like adventure, some romance authors never quite manage to get the light and dark to balance, Chase does so well at it. She has variety, some authors write the same couple every damn time just giving them different names. That is not a problem here. 

Jo Beverley - The other romance writer that I will read what she wrote before 1999. When it comes to action adventure, James Patterson has nothing on Jo Beverley. I have read every single book in The Malloren World, Company of Rogues, and Three Heroes at least 3 times. Three Heroes and Company of Rogues are linked. The villains are bad to the bone and scary believable. Actually that is why I rarely recommend her to others. Almost all romances will have a trauma to make the character more complex and deeper and such, most of that happens before the book starts. The characters' behaviors and motivations are informed by their trauma. In Jo Beverley books you might be there for the traumatic event. I love having action adventure where I get to know what people are wearing, and eating, and gossiping about. A lot of action adventure is really boring because it is all a lone man up against…. whatever, he is already boring me. In Jo Bev books there are often several people working together, women and men, to fight the good fight and I find that far more compelling. Again, I don’t want to be in any of these tumultuous relationships where the ladies are high spirited and the men are high handed, but damn are they fun to read. I do love these books so fucking much! They are well written, witty, smart, complex, fun, funny, but unless you can handle murder and sexual assault as plot elements I would not recommend them. There are other traumas too, but if you can handle the biggies, I’m not worried about the lesser traumas. Again, she is one of the best, she is one of my favorites, I hope if you read her you love her too. Just head’s up and be aware. 

Mary Balogh - the Queen of hobbit romances! Hobbit romances is a phrase Nathan came up with when I told him some of my favorite romances don’t have a big blow up of a conflict, they have people getting to know one another and figuring out how or if they fit in each others lives, there is usually like hurt feelings and miscommunication but no major dust ups between the protagonists. The trauma is usually something from outside and they face it together. These are my favorite kind of romances, they are the only ones where I maybe… might… put myself in the shoes of the protagonists. When I read I like to be an invisible demigod that is experiencing the story but not participating. Just like almost everything I prefer observation to participation. But the hobbit romances, those I might dip my toe in for.  Not all of her romances are hobbit romances, but most of them are. Her characters are more fully realized than the top of  Maslow’s hierarchy ok? I know them better than I know several of you. I could go gift shopping for these characters, I know them that well. Mary Balogh is a damn genius at fully fleshed out and perfectly formed characters. Her families are my families. I would (and did) start at One Night for Love published in 1999. The Bedwyns, the Dudleys, the Huxtables, the Westcotts, I love these families! They provide all the positive family feels without y’know actually having to interact with family. I also adore the simply series that is four teachers and friends who work together all finding love. I LOVE the Survivor’s Club!! I thought I was going to have to opt out because of my own PTSD issues but no. These are powerful moving books but they do deal with warfare and the aftermath. They weren’t easy to read, and I know this is weird to say about a romance series, but I think it helped me get past some of my own shit. It was hugely cathartic. Vincent and Sophia in The Arrangement, oh that might be one of the best books I’ve ever read. Not just one of the best romances, one of the best books. Mary Balogh is the Queen of hobbit romances and we LOVE her for that. 

Best In Show: Eloisa James

Look, if Mary is a Queen, Eloisa is a Goddess. I own a physical copy of every Eloisa James book. I mainly read historical romance, and I love it. I don’t own physical copies of any other romance author’s books. (I’d like all of my legends, but I made a point to make sure I had Eloisa) I’ve given away so many Eloisa James books. I made her a favorite author when I worked at the book exchange. No one writes like her. I love her characters more, I hate her characters more. She gets so much story into so few pages! She gets more out of me than other authors do. I’m more invested in her stories, I feel them deeper. My very favorite romance ever is between two of her characters, but they don’t have their own book, their story is told as a subplot to the books in her Duchess In Love series. Sebastian and Esmee is my favorite love story and I’m not even sure why, I’ve nothing in common with either character, but I adore their story. (damn, I might have to reread that series.) One of my favorite characters ever is in The Wildes of Lindlow Castle series. Lady Knowe, the Duke of Lindlow's twin sister. She is the maternal presence in the series, but she is not a mother. She is fascinating, she helps her twin run his estate, she is unconventional, but she knows what convention dictates and stays within the appearance of propriety most of the time. One of my favorites characters of all time, I want to be like her when I grow up. Eloisa James has the dubious honor of writing the only female protagonist that has made me seeing red mad at her. Don’t get me wrong, lots of the ladies make me super exasperated. But this was more Bloody Enraged. I think it is the mark of a damn good writer if she can get you seething foaming at the mouth angry at a figment of their imagination. Her side characters are so well fleshed out you guys! There is not one boring character. Reading her books is like being possessed in the best possible way.

[donvilaro]

New beginnings

Something Bri and I were chatting about, just Niccolo doing what he does best hahahaha @mrsgiovanna I think your new url needs to be @mrsvilaro

He would always get lost in her eyes- shimmering onyx gems that she didn't appreciate, but could bring a god to his knees. It was always like that with her, flitting about blissfully unaware of her own charm. It was both frustrating and endearing, because were she aware of how she had affected people, she might have been more wary of how she behaved. She had left a trail of broken hearts behind her, none worse off than Niccolo.

"Have you even heard a word I said?!" Bri asked, delicate hands gripped the sides of his face and brought his attention to herself.

"... something about... I'm sorry, could you repeat that, " he admitted with an embarrassed grin. He didn't want to remove her hands from his face. She sighed with a smile and released him from her grip and walked to the large glass door in his study to catch the last rays of the setting sun.

"It's so beautiful..." Bri trailed off, those pretty eyes never leaving the scenic view. He responded in agreement, his eyes fixed on her and the way her golden brown skin absorbed the sunshine, and how the ochre flecks in her eyes danced in the light. Her shiny raven hair framed her delicate face in thick waves that stopped just above her shoulders and in that moment, she looked as though she was illuminated from within. She looked up at him with a soft smile, and his heart raced from that action alone. It had been a few months since she had moved to Sicily to live with her father and twin brother, and her life had finally begun to normalize after her exit from Passione.

"How are you, Bria? Honestly,"

"Honestly... I'm okay, it's been an adjustment but I can finally say I'm over everything... I miss Naples, but I feel like I'm home here... truly home,"

"Have you spoken to any of them since?" She shifted awkwardly and looked down, her hair concealed the pained expression on her face.

"Everyone... except him. It's okay though, I know he's probably very busy... and well, you know the rest..." Niccolo lifted her face by the chin, and gently coaxed her to face him, only to see her teary eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you... I-"

"It's okay," she said through a small laugh, " I don't even know why I'm reacting like this... I was stupid to think it'd last,"

"You weren't stupid, you were in love..."

"Same thing, no?" Another hollow laugh. It hurt him to see her this broken, trying to hold it in and keep her composure.

"Yes and no... we can do silly things when we fall for someone, but it's not stupidity..." Bria looked up at him and smiled politely before she paused to really look at him. The sun was in its last few moments and had cast a glow on everything in the room. Up until that point, she hadn't realised how strong his features were or how his eyes looked like molten gold. She had felt something effervescent in her chest which rose to heat up her cheeks when he turned to meet her stare.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, genuinely concerned by the way she shuffled beside him.

"I... no no, nothing... I just -"

Before she could finish her sentence, Bria was interrupted by Arturo, who had been set to join them for dinner. He had gaged the atmosphere in the room and tried to change the subject.

"Am I early?" Arturo had casually threw himself on the couch at the corner of Niccolos' study while Bria excused herself. Arturo waited until she was far enough before he spoke again.

"Be honest, what did I really walk in on?"

"Nothing. I was just asking how she was doing..." replied Niccolo, who couldn't help but laugh at Arturos' suspicious expression.

"Just... don't hurt my sister, it's hard enough watching her try to get over that freak with the weird hair-"

"By now, you should know I'd never hurt her, " Niccolo cut him off before he could continue. The tension hung in the air until Bri had returned, prompting the men to put their differences aside for the moment.

"Ava is making paella, so I hope you guys are hungry,"

"And I brought dessert- chocolate... something, I don't know, dad just asked Gabby to make it," Arturo got up from his seat and slung an arm around his twins shoulder, dwarfing her. Niccolo looked at the pair with a smile, for a pair of twins, they couldn't have been more different.

"All my favourites... I know what you guys are doing... you don't have to treat me with kid gloves... I'm okay," Bri had put on her most convincing smile and as the night had continued she found that her mood had eventually matched her expression. Niccolo had given Ava the rest of the night off and so when it came to putting the finishing touches on the desserts, Bri had taken the task upon herself.

"Would you like coffee or wine with your dessert? Niccolo asked, looking through his selection of wine when Bri and Arturo both answered that they had wanted coffee instead.

Niccolo chuckled and nodded. "Coffee it is, then. I'll prepare some fresh brew for all of us." He walked over to the kitchen counter and began grinding the coffee beans while Bri focused on the desserts. Arturo hovered nearby, offering occasional assistance and engaging in lighthearted banter.

As the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, Niccolo poured it into mugs and brought them over to the dining table. The desserts were laid out beautifully, tempting anyone with a sweet tooth. Bri had done an excellent job, and she took pride in her creations as she joined Niccolo and Arturo at the table. They sat together, enjoying the warmth of the coffee and the company of one another. The conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with laughter and anecdotes. Bri found herself feeling at ease, basking in the comfort of this newfound family. It was a stark contrast to the tumultuous life she had left behind.

Niccolo watched Bri with a mixture of fondness and concern, his eyes never straying far from her. He knew that healing took time, but he was determined to be there for her every step of the way. As the evening progressed, he couldn't help but feel a growing connection between them, a sense of understanding and shared experiences.

After dessert, they lingered at the table, not quite ready to part ways for the night. Arturo excused himself to take care of some errands, leaving Niccolo and Bri alone. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated the room, casting a gentle ambiance.

Niccolo leaned back in his chair, studying Bri's face, which now held a hint of tranquility. "You know, Bria, I meant what I said earlier. You don't have to pretend to be okay all the time. It's alright to let yourself feel and heal. And I'll be here for you, no matter what."

Bri met his gaze, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. "Thank you, Niccolo. It means a lot to me to have you and Arturo by my side. I don't think I could have made it this far without your support."

Niccolo reached across the table, taking Bri's hand in his. His touch was warm and comforting, grounding her in the present moment.

"You're stronger than you realize, Bria. And I believe in you. We all do. Together, we'll create new memories, ones that overshadow the pain of the past." Bri squeezed his hand, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I'm starting to believe that, too. And I'm grateful for this fresh start, for the chance to find happiness again."

As they sat there, hands intertwined, a newfound sense of hope and possibility filled the room. The journey ahead would not be without its challenges, but with the support and love they shared, Bri knew she had found her home, not just in Sicily but in the hearts of the people who cared for her. As the conversation lingered in the air, a gentle silence settled between Niccolo and Bri. The connection between them seemed to intensify, their eyes locked in a moment of shared understanding. It was as if the world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them in that intimate space.

Niccolo's heart raced in his chest as he leaned forward, his hand still holding Bri's. The anticipation hung in the air, a subtle tension building between them. He could feel the warmth of her hand against his, her presence enveloping him.

Bri's breath hitched, her eyes flickering between Niccolo's lips and his gaze. Her heart mirrored his rapid rhythm, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. The vulnerability she saw in his eyes sparked something within her, a desire to let go of the pain and embrace the possibility of happiness.

In that suspended moment, Niccolo closed the distance between them, his lips gently brushing against Bri's. It was a soft, tender kiss, filled with unspoken emotions and a silent promise. Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the sweetness of that connection. Bri's eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the moment and allowing herself to be carried away by the tenderness of Niccolo's touch. Their kiss deepened, a shared longing and the unspoken words of affection passing between them.

The world outside their embrace ceased to exist as they became immersed in the depth of their emotions. It was a moment of solace and healing, a testament to the newfound love blossoming between them.

Eventually, they pulled away, their breaths mingling in the air. Niccolo rested his forehead against Bri's, his hand gently caressing her cheek. They both wore smiles that spoke volumes, conveying a mutual understanding of the significance of that moment.

"I'm here for you, Bria," Niccolo whispered, his voice laced with sincerity. "No matter what lies ahead, I'll be by your side."

[cha-melodius]

15. Wild Card “Seeing your ex at the Christmas party and realising that you still love each other and the break up was over a huge misunderstanding” for Napoleon/Illya and au. or 8. “My holiday dish is better than your holiday dish.” and Napoleon/Illya or Napoleon/Illya/Gaby. Either canon or au idm.

(Thanks for the prompt! I have to laugh a little though since my original post was about writing holiday fluff, and this is fairly unrelenting angst until the end, but that's exes fics for you. I have to apologize because I completely missed the "AU" part of the wild card prompt, and ended up writing this in canon-setting. Sorry about that, I hope you still enjoy it!)

Love is a Deserter

Read it on AO3 (T, 3.2k)

It’s just a party like any other. Lift an invite (thanks to light fingers), case the venue thoroughly (especially for quick exits), work the room (laugh at unfunny jokes, flirt with septuagenarians, try not to get groped by the same), pocket a few valuables (that part’s omitted from the mission report), get the intel (another wealthy socialite dabbling in world politics—when will they learn?). It’s not first or fifth or even the fiftieth that he’s worked since things fell apart. It shouldn’t feel any different.

And yet it does. Blame the twinkling lights, blame the glittering tree, blame the jaunty carols, blame the mistletoe that he has to make sure he avoids getting caught under at all costs. Napoleon was always fond of Christmas, until last year. Now it’s all just kind of nauseating.

“Remind me why I have to be here again?” he mutters through clenched teeth into his earpiece as he extracts himself from another utterly mind-numbing conversation.

“You know you’re better at these things than me,” Gaby tells him, her voice distorted through the new comms. “And someone has to sit out here and document every person going in the door tonight, so here we are.”

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit, my dear,” Napoleon says. “I’ve seen you charm the socks off the most uncooperative mark.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Doesn’t have to get me anywhere. I’m not the one stuck in there.”

Napoleon sighs. “You could have taken pity on me. Tonight, at least.”

“I seem to remember someone saying, and I quote, ‘I don’t want anyone’s fucking pity,’” she counters. Then, “Ugh, that guy.”

“Who?”

“De Clare. He was at that thing in Monaco. Remember— oh.”

Napoleon had been sick in Monaco, a year and a half ago, and confined to a bed. He hadn’t worked the thing, which by all accounts had been excessive in the extreme. Illya had stolen a bottle of champagne and brought it back for him, pretending like the gesture didn’t mean anything. The three of them had drunk it that night, laughing with the effervescence of expensive bubbly, Illya crawling into the bed next to him as Gaby sat cross-legged at their feet; a few days later, Illya had come down with the same illness. Napoleon remembers little about the actual mission, and certainly nothing about some upper-class twit named De Clare.

“He won’t know me,” he mutters, because there’s nothing else to say.

He should probably do another circuit. See what kind of conversations he can eavesdrop on, what nuggets of information he can pull out of people eager to boast about their latest acquisitions. First, though, he needs more whiskey. When he asks for a triple the bartender gives him a look like he can somehow read all of Napoleon’s miseries on his face, and maybe he can. Bartenders are special like that. Napoleon ends up asking him to top up the glass with soda water, as if that will somehow make it better. The bartender clearly sees right through him.

Gaby is now babbling away about the arriving guests, filling his ear with snarky commentary on gowns and hairstyles. He appreciates the attempt at taking his mind off things, truly, but it’s not really working. Not tonight. Somehow, at this stupid party that should mean nothing, everything reminds Napoleon of him. So much so that Napoleon’s starting to actually see him, standing across the room chatting with a countess. Maybe he shouldn’t drink anymore tonight.

Wait.

“Fuck,” Napoleon swears emphatically.

His tumbler, slick with condensation, slips out of his fingers and hits the floor, shattering into a million pieces and drawing the attention of every pair of eyes in the room. Including his.

Napoleon ducks behind a passing earl and practically dives out of the room into the corridor. The soles of his shoes, slick with spilt whiskey, slip on the tile floor as he scrambles away, desperate to put as much space between him and the ballroom as possible. Not that he can actually leave, they haven’t gotten all the intel they need yet, but he needs a fucking minute.

“Solo! What the fuck is going on?” Gaby demands. She’s definitely been yelling at him for a solid thirty seconds now.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he accuses, and Christ, that can’t be his voice. It sounds too ragged. Too broken. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here?”

“What? Who?”

“Him. Fuck. What are the fucking KGB doing here?”

Gaby is silent for a long moment, long enough he thinks the comms might have failed. “If he’s there, he didn’t come in the front door,” she says finally, her voice oddly flat.

“Of course he didn’t,” Napoleon huffs. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know, your job?” she retorts. “You’re a spy, Solo. You know how to handle an enemy agent.”

There’s a coldness to her tone now, unmistakable even through the static, which is fair. He didn’t just leave Napoleon when he left. Gaby was just better at hiding how it affected her, better at powering through and carrying on as if nothing had changed. It was Napoleon who had given too much of himself over to another person, been too shattered when their partner had walked away with it, and she’d been the only one with any hope of picking up the pieces that were left behind.

“He’s not an enemy,” he hears himself say, as if someone else has control of his mouth.

“Well you can’t be sure he’s an ally.”

“Gaby—”

“I know, Napoleon,” she says, more gently. “I wish it were me in there instead of you.”

Napoleon lets out a shaky laugh. “Not sure that’d be a good thing, for the mission’s sake. Or for his.”

“You’re not wrong there.” There’s a long beat of silence, and then she ventures, “How are you doing?”

“Not great,” he admits. His back is pressed against the wall in a small alcove, palms flat at his sides as he tries to calm his erratic heartbeat. “I mean, I knew this was a possibility. Thought I’d be able to handle it, at this point.” Napoleon drags a hand over his face. “I should be able to. He was right. I am a terrible spy.”

“Fuck that,” she says emphatically. “Stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself. You’re the CIA’s best. You’re UNCLE’s best. And you know I don’t blow smoke up anyone’s ass. If anyone can walk back in there, look his ex in the eye and fucking smile like it means nothing, it’s you.”

No one could ever accuse Gaby of being soft, but she had her own brand of tender tough love. It was the only thing that had gotten him through those dark months, and he’s pretty sure it’s the only thing that will get him through tonight.

“Besides,” she adds, “you know how much he always hated your masks. What better fuck you?”

She has a point. Put on a mask, bury the pain. Don’t let him know he broke you. Don’t give him that satisfaction.

He can do this.

Napoleon straightens up and smooths down the front of his suit, gratified that it’s a particularly fine cut. Apart from the dark circles under his eyes, the hollowness that lurks there that he hasn’t been able to shake, he knows he looks good. He can sell this: the story that he’s unaffected. That it never meant more to him than it did to his partner (which was apparently not much, in the end). He adjusts his tie, takes a deep breath, strides purposefully down the hall and through the door into the ballroom… and walks right into Illya.

“Cowboy?” Illya says, surprised, like he hadn’t seen Napoleon was there minutes ago.

Fuck, he looks good. Of course he does, he was always the most beautiful man Napoleon had ever seen, but Napoleon would have been lying if he hadn’t hoped to see some sign that Illya had been having a rough go of it. Some evidence that this had affected him even a tiny bit as much as it had affected Napoleon. Ok, maybe he looks a little thinner than he had, a little more worn around the edges, but that could be anything. The KGB are almost certainly running him ragged, like they always did before.

“Hello, Kuryakin,” Napoleon replies coolly. He’s not using nicknames tonight, and first names… well, it had taken them years to come around to those. That’s not what they are to each other anymore. Illya flinches subtly at that, though, which is definitely not what he expected. “I’d wager you’re here for the same reason that we are.”

“Probably,” Illya allows. He shifts uncomfortably. “I— how are you?”

Napoleon can’t believe what he’s hearing. How is he? How is he? Illya can’t be fucking serious. (It’s gratifying that Gaby also squawks about that in his ear.) “Are we really going to do this? Here?”

“Ok. Do you want to…?” Illya asks, gesturing toward the door Napoleon had just come through.

“I’d rather not do it at all, actually,” Napoleon says curtly. He moves to brush past Illya and rejoin the party, but Illya catches him by the arm and holds fast. “Do you mind?” Napoleon huffs, trying and failing to pull away from him.

“Yes, I do,” Illya retorts, scowling at him. “Can we not be civil?”

“Civil,” Napoleon scoffs. “I’ve been nothing but civil, Peril.” The name slips out, and Napoleon just manages to keep himself from reacting. He sets his jaw and glares up at Illya, hating every inch of their height difference tonight. “You’re the one who apparently wants to turn this into an altercation.”

That at least makes Illya let go of him. “I just want to talk,” he pleads.

“Tell him no,” Gaby hisses in Napoleon’s ear. “He’s just working you. Trying to figure out what you already know.”

“He can try,” Napoleon says to her, which makes Illya frown in confusion for a moment before he realizes what is going on.

“Is that Gaby?” he asks. “Is she here?”

“Tell him to fuck off,” Gaby puts in vehemently.

Napoleon almost smiles at that. She always fiercely protective of them. Until Illya got on the wrong side of it. However, there are certain conversations she doesn’t need to be party to, and this is one of them. “I appreciate the advice, Gabs, I do, but I’m gonna have to turn you off right now.”

“Solo, don’t—” she starts, but he reaches up and presses the button on the side of the earpiece, silencing the device.

“Does that mean we can talk?” Illya asks. He sounds almost hopeful. Napoleon tells himself he’s imagining it.

“I’m not sure what there is to say. You made things pretty clear when you left.”

“I did not choose to leave, Cowboy,” Illya grinds out. “I was recalled.”

“Which you didn’t fight,” Napoleon points out.

Illya’s mouth opens and closes again, his expression growing stormier by the second. He takes a step toward the door, then turns back and gestures impatiently when Napoleon doesn’t follow. Which Napoleon absolutely should not do. He should listen to Gaby, go back to the party, to the mission, and forget he ever ran into Illya here. He’s always been terrible at doing what he should do when it comes to Illya Kuryakin, though.

“How was I supposed to fight this?” Illya hisses when they’re standing in the empty corridor.

Napoleon throws up his hands in frustration. “I don’t know! I thought— I thought we’d figure something out. Fuck, Illya,” he says, his voice breaking over his name. “We always figured it out.”

“There is no figuring out KGB,” Illya snarls as he paces across the narrow width of the hallway. “There is only being hunted. Never seeing family, or friends. Running forever.”

“I would have gone with you,” Napoleon confesses, the words spilling out of him without his leave. It brings Illya to a halt.

“What?”

“If you had asked me to run away with you. I would have,” Napoleon tells him. Fucking might as well. Not like he has any more dignity to lose. “Whatever you chose—run, fight—I would have been by your side every step of the way, no matter what. But that’s not what you wanted.”

“What I wanted? What I—” Illya scoffs incredulously, his voice clipping off in a growl. He takes a step closer, nearly looming over Napoleon now. “You have no idea what I wanted.”

“Yeah, and who’s fault was that?” Napoleon snaps. He lets out a laugh—bitter, humorless—and pastes on an insincere and conciliatory smile. “Look, I was the idiot for thinking that you’d ever choose me over Mother Russia. That’s on me.”

For some reason, Illya looks stunned by that. “Is that what you think happened?”

“Yeah, because that’s what happened. You walked away without a backward glance.”

Illya lets out a frustrated huff and takes a few steps away again, dragging a hand over his face before he looks back at Napoleon. “I left to protect you. Because if I did not, you are first ones they would come for,” he says, which is as unsurprising as it is infuriating. Of course he’d try to play that card.

“Christ, not that bullshit,” Napoleon nearly groans. “At least have the decency of being honest. You can just say that you never loved me. Not like I loved you, anyway.”

“That is untrue,” Illya gasps, and he looks so stricken, so utterly horrified by the idea, that for a moment Napoleon almost believes him.

Almost.

“Well it certainly seemed that way when you left,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Illya takes a deep breath and screws his eyes shut, like he can’t quite look this admission in the face. “I walked away the way I did because I thought it would be easier if you hated me.”

A beat of silence stretches out, and then another, as Napoleon waits for something else that would make this statement comprehensible. Surely that can’t be all of it. Finally, he prompts, “How does that make any sense?”

Illya opens his eyes. With a start, Napoleon realizes that there are tears glittering in his long lashes, illuminated by the dim light of the hallway sconces. “I knew I would never stop loving you,” he says, his voice barely louder than a whisper, and almost inaudible over the sounds of the party from within the ballroom. “I could only try to bury it, knowing I would live with that ache for the rest of my life.”

Napoleon’s heart does something complicated in his chest as his breath catches in his throat. He wants so, so badly for it to be true, even if it can’t be. He did believe Illya loved him, once, but then Illya had pulled away. Put up all the walls that Napoleon had spent years tearing down, like what they had meant nothing. Then he left on Christmas Eve without even really saying goodbye, not in any way that mattered. The only way Napoleon could make sense of it was to assume that he’d read too much into Illya’s feelings all along, because surely someone who loved him wouldn’t be able to do that to him. To them.

“But you…” Illya continues, “you always had plenty of friends. Lovers. I thought… if you hated me, you could move on faster. Find someone who is more suited to you. Whose love does not put you in danger with every heartbeat.”

“That is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Napoleon blurts, because it is. How Illya could think he’d just get over him, like he was nothing more than one of the convenient strangers Napoleon used to entertain, he has no fucking clue. He cautiously crosses the distance between them, until he’s standing right in Illya’s space again, staring up at him. “Losing you didn’t make me hate you. It destroyed me,” he says. Illya flinches so hard at that that his eyes briefly close again. “If you think I could ever come close to loving someone else the way I love you…”

“Napoleon,” Illya breathes shakily. One of his hands comes up to hover near Napoleon’s jaw, almost but not quite touching him, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed anymore. “I am so sorry.”

“Why now? After all this time, why tell me?” Napoleon manages through the knot lodged in his throat. “Here, in the middle of a fucking mission?”

“Because I saw you here tonight and I had to know,” Illya tells him. “I thought if I could just see that you were fine—happy, even—I would know I made correct decision.”

“Well I’m not,” Napoleon says bluntly. He might love the asshole, but it’s going to take a lot more than one little apology for him to get over this. “Sorry I couldn’t give you the absolution you wanted.”

“What I wanted,” Illya murmurs, “was only ever you, Cowboy.”

“So fucking have me,” Napoleon insists. “Ask me to help you get out, and I will. We all will. Well, Gaby might take a bit to come around again,” he adds as an aside, “but I promise you, we’ll find a way.”

“You cannot promise—”

“I promise, Peril. We will. Ask me.”

He’s expecting more arguing. Even at their best, they could hardly do anything without a lot more back and forth than that. Instead, Illya’s hand finds its home on his cheek and he pulls Napoleon into a kiss. It’s soft and tentative, his lips moving chastely against Napoleon’s, but it somehow manages to be more breathtaking than their fiercest, most passionate embraces. Maybe it’s because Napoleon was sure he’d never have this again, never again feel Illya’s lips on his, never be held like he’s something fragile and unspeakably precious.

Illya pulls back from the kiss but presses their foreheads together, heedless of the fact that anyone might come through the door and see them. “I do not know if it is possible to get out,” he says, his voice thick, “but I do know that going on without you will eventually kill me. So I have no choice except to try. But I will need your help.”

“You have it,” Napoleon says immediately, emphatically. “Anything you need, it’s yours. Always. Just… promise me you won’t leave me like that again.”

“I swear. Not while there is breath left in my body,” Illya says, and this time, Napoleon believes him.

There’s no question that it will be a herculean uphill battle. There won’t be any easy answers, and it could be months, years, before they’re out of the woods. But right now, with Illya’s arms around him again, he feels invincible. He feels like he could take on the KGB singlehandedly and win (ok, ok, maybe that’s a bit far-fetched). It doesn’t matter. Right now, as he stares up into Illya’s eyes and Illya stares back with a expression of unfiltered, unrestrained, unconditional love, he can believe that anything is possible.