#oOps

[crinkledmap]

I was snacking on Corn Nuts while removing a *teeny tiny* USB ID key from my computer. Then I popped it in my mouth. Thankfully, I figured it out before I bit down and/or swallowed. Those suckers are expensive.

woke up this morning, rolled over, and very confidently tried to blow out my alarm clock like a candle. absolutely no precedent for that.

[dreamsofhannah2]

𝓓𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓗𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓪𝓱 2

[kawaiim00n]

Washing the wagon

[eyeshieldsena]

Good ole Patrick Chewing lol.

[stetsil]

Oops

[anpanman95]

Hoy, my love for you is unmeasurable

[lost-romantique]

The Stolitz plotline didn't just "happen"...

One thing I will never understand is people complaining that the Stolitz plotline taking center stage happened randomly...

It didn't.

The plotline has been building-up since the very first episode of Season 2.

The only difference is the change of perspective.

During the start of Season 2, the Stolitz plotline has been solely focusing on Stolas' POV, while Blitz, the protagonist, was dealing with seperate shit.

Because at the end of the day, Blitz has a life outside of Stolas, he has people to worry about, and his own personal shit to deal with.

They had one episode together in Seeing Stars, but that's it.

Afterwards, whenever anything Stolitz related was put into focus, it would switch to Stolas' POV, while Blitzø was preoccupied doing something else.

Western Energy is a good example of this, an extremely controversial episode that divided the Fandom at large... and still does.

Major things happen to Stolas this episode:

Stolas, who initially didn't see the threat of Striker till he actually got stabbed, is made hyper-aware of his overall wellbeing immediately afterwards

Stolas is told of the class disparities between imps and royalty, and how much Striker despises them. However, Stolas doesn't get what the fuck Striker is talking about, he's too busy being cunty towards him (what a bloody legend)

This is the first time the audience is made aware of Stolas' overall lack of awareness, and his inability to grasp the class divide.

Stolas spends majority of the time hoping and praying for Blitz to save him, to fulfill that 'knight in shining armor' fantasy he puts him in

He's shocked and maybe even a little disappointed to realize that help came, not in the form of his suave knight he's been crushing on, but his crew

Meanwhile Blitz, was busy helping his daughter get a Hellbies shot.

I really don't want to argue about Western Energy right now, all I will say is that I don't hate Blitz for wanting to put his daughter first. Blitz, at the end of the day, is trying his damndest to be a good father to Loona, who has her own myriad of issues she's dealing with and that Blitz is aware of. Blitz is aware of the issues that Loona faces and her fear of needles. Blitz was not aware of Stolas getting hurt.

"He can get hurt?"

Western Energy is the only episode of Season 2 where Blitzø’s perspective in regards to the Stolas situation is ignored.

And I am hoping and praying that they will bring up Western Energy again before the season ends. Please...

Oops...

Stolas attempts to get his hands on the Asmodean crystal, and he reveals, for the first time, his growing affection towards Blitz.

Stolas, sweetie, I love you, but I hate your stupid fucking hat. Maybe Blitz would notice you more if you took your fucking hat off, he loves your feathers.

Meanwhile Blitz and Fizzarolli took center stage as they mended a friendship that's been broken due to a certain P.O.S.

Cash Fuckzo, I hate you.

Just Look My Way is the final piece of the puzzle right before Full Moon...

We are made fully aware just how much Stolas cares for Blitz. How much he wants to be there for him, how much he cares for him, etc.

So yeah, the Stolitz plotline taking center stage didn't happen at random.

It has been built up slowly and steadily throughout the entire season before everything imploded spectacularly in a great ball of fire.

We are just now slowly peeling back the layers of the depth of Blitzø’s feelings for Stolas, as their NOT-breakup, consumes a huge part of his life.

This is why I stress so heavily how much the Stolitz relationship, prior to Full Moon, is told in Stolas’s POV.

Prior to Ghostfuckers, all we had were assumptions to go off of when it came to Blitz's opinion on Stolas.

However, through Ghostfuckers we start to learn just how much Blitz truly cared for Stolas. Just how much he really meant to him.

[crownedinmarigolds]

*throws this against the wall and runs* NOTHING!!

[dollyonm0lly]

Emperor Geta would make you wear his crown while he fucks you from behind, your face pressed tightly against the cushions, held by one of his hands, the cold feeling of his index finger ring against your warm cheek, he likes to think that he has power over people even without wearing his crown on his own head.

Power over you.

[a-whispering-echo]

need a fic where autistic dust is on a mission with the guys, and he ends up in like, a store with soft toys and stuff, and he locks eyes onto one and gets that IMMEDIET attachment to it. (some) other autistic folks will get what im saying, but you know how you form a BOND with an item? like, you try not to, but suddenly youve named it, and you imagine them sitting alone without you in the store, and oh shit now yo NEED them. but Dust CANT have them. hes a full grown monster.

One: hes on a mission, his teammates are around, and if they SEE him with a KIDS TOY theyll make fun of him, and that SUCKS

two: its so fucking WEAK of him to want something like that. its a toy. grow up

Three: he doesnt DESERVE comfort. he doesnt DESERVE nice things. he murdered everyone. he murdered his own brother. he doesnt GET comfort.

so he just stares, and tries to force himself away. he could steal it maybe... put it in his inventory when theyre not looking- but Killers right behind him, covered in blood, talking about the mission and hes lost his chance-

so he leaves.

and maybe, later that day, and he heads to his room, wanting to break down over that STUPID fucking SOFT TOY with its fucking EYES and soft fluff- he opens his door and its just sitting there. one his bed...mattress of the floor... sitting, waiting for him. those eyes looking up at him with so much emotion and none at all, and FUCK-

who got it for him? maybe Cross or Horror noticed how he was looking at it. maybe Nightmare who was watching their mission saw it and wanted to be nice. (or maybe exceptionally cruel) . who knows. Dust doesnt LIKE not knowing. they could hold this over his head...

but for now, with his brothers voice screaming about how hes the SCUM of the EARTH for Manipulating his boss or his teammates into GETTING something for him that the fucking FILTY MURDERED doesnt DESERVE- he curls up with it in a ball and Shutdowns.

[freckledjoes]

Shittyfying? Fuckawfulicious?

[eliemo]

"Fuck off."

Wade, the persistent little motherfucker that he is, predictably doesn't fuck off.

He doesn't even look particularly put off by the outburst, pursing his lips like Logan is nothing more than a petulant child throwing a tantrum he doesn't mean, and all that serves to do is piss him off even more.

"I thought we were past this, peanut," he says. Logan is torn between hitting him and begging him to keep talking so he drowns out the sounds of the storm outside. "I get it, tough guy. You're so big and bad, yes you are. You're so cool and my dick is oh so hard. Happy? Now come here."

He decides he does actually want to hit Wade, but before he can make his hands move another clap of thunder shakes the walls, lighting flashing across the blinds. He jumps, hands flying defenselessly to his chest.

It's like someone set off a gun right next to his face, his ears ringing ringing ringing- and he's back in the dirt, eyes watering against the stench of blood and death and sick and the gunfire won't stop and he can't move-

"Logan, come on."

Wade's voice, exasperated as it is, is an anchor right back to the surface, back to their shabby little new york apartment away from the war and the suffering and the pain, and it's bullshit.

He's standing in front of him with a blanket and headphones in his arms, like he's decided to do every single time there's a thunderstorm or a firework celebration since he found out about Logan's embarrassing little trigger.

It's bullshit, it's such bullshit, and to make matters worse he's usually too blinded by panic and exhaustion to put up much of a fight.

He let it happen. He let Wade be soft and worried and caring, and Logan let himself want it. And now, without Wade's hands against his back and the weight of the blanket over his shoulders, the storm feels a thousand times louder. The flashbacks feel a million times more real.

He wants Wade- fuck that he needs Wade. He can't make it through this without him, he can't even sleep without the idiot snoring against his side, and that can't continue. He can't let this happen again.

"Why do you always fight me?" Wade asks, exasperated. The annoyance poking through his voice is good. It's good. If Logan keeps pushing those limits, he'll give up. He'll leave before it becomes too much.

The thought already makes him sick. He knows it's too late.

"Is it because the headphones are pink?" Wade asks, trying to worm his way under Logan's skin. "Too proud for a little feminity? That's not very progressive of you, peanut. That's not gonna fly with Tumblr in this climate."

"Shut the fuck up," Logan growls, because it's getting harder not to give in and slump forward and close his eyes against Wade's chest until the storm dies down. "Just shut the fuck up! Leave me the fuck alone!"

"No can do, honey badger," Wade says, and he sounds angry, frustrated, but he doesn't back down. He never fucking does. "It goes against the roommate code to let you sit there torturing yourself for no good reason. Because I know it's not me. I know you like me, you grumpy bear, and I know it's been helping to get wrapped up nice and snug when New York starts New Yorking with its weather. It's okay that you need-"

Logan snaps.

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

He's louder than the next clap of thunder, but it doesn't feel that way. He feels so small against it.

"Do you ever stop fucking talking? Are you that far up your own ass? I don't like you. I never fucking liked you, you stupid little prick. I'm stuck with you. Do you fucking get that? I can't get you to leave me the fuck alone! I don't want anything to do with a pathetic, attention starved shit for brains asshole who can't take a fucking hint but here I am! Because you stranded me here! You stranded me in your dimension because you were too stupid to save the world by yourself. Because you're not a hero, you're a goddamn car salesman who can't make rent and can't get anyone to put up with you long enough to do anything but show up for a birthday party once a year. I don't want you and I sure as shit don't need you. I never fucking needed you, don't flatter yourself. I don't need fucking anyone. Can you get that through your thick fucking skull? Does your brain function enough to get that, Wade? I said leave me alone."

It takes a few seconds of suffocating silence for Logan to register all the things he just said. For the red to fade from his vision, for the words he didn't mean to sit like something stale on his tongue.

And the hatred for himself is heavy, because he always does this, but... fuck, maybe it's for the best. He's not sure if he's trying to push Wade to hit him or kick him out or walk away, but no matter what he'll hate him.

And he won't be able to stomach that, not after letting himself love again, but it's easier to handle the loss when he can control it. He can make Wade leave before Wade decides to leave him.

The silence is the worst part. It reminds him of the Honda Odyssey, the way Deadpool had been silent, still, for the first time since Logan had known him. It was eerie, blank white eyes picking him apart before throwing that first punch.

It's different now. It's worse. There's no mask to cover up Wade's reaction, no weapons on his back, but he's somehow just as blank. He's quiet for too long.

"You know," Wade says after another beat, and Logan braces himself. "That would have been a lot more believable if you didn't start crying halfway through."

"I'm not crying," Logan snaps automatically, but his face is wet and stinging when he reaches up to touch it. "Fuck-"

He's cut off by another round of thunder, the loudest one yet, and Logan jumps so hard he loses his balance on wobbling legs, crashing backwards onto the waiting couch. He slams his hands over his ears and squeezes his eyes shut, hating himself hating this, wishing it would just stop, make it all stop-

Arms wrap tight around him, despite the threat of claws resting just beneath the surface. Logan doesn't stab him, as much as a part of him wants to.

All he can do is curl forward and choke on a pathetic sob, frustration and panic and dread choking the life out of him while Wade just stubbornly holds on.

"Please," Logan begs, because threats and anger and hatred aren't working. "Please. Please don't do this, don't fucking do this to me."

"Do what?" Wade demands, and he still sounds pissed, rightfully so, but he doesn't let go. "Hold you?"

"Yes." It's pathetic, and it's stupid, and Logan contradicts his own damn pleas by letting Wade hold his head to his chest and run his fingers through his hair. "I can't-"

"Drop the tough guy act," Wade says, but that's not what it is. It's never been about that. "Come on, Logan, seriously. Please. It's okay to need this. I wouldn't be offering if I didn't want to."

"It's not like that." Logan's muffled against Wade's shirt, clutching at him with shaking hands like a pathetic child. "S' not fucking like that."

"Then tell me what it's like, Logan."

"I can't do this again." It all comes spilling out like poison, and Logan can't stop it. "I can't, Wade I can't- it's going to hurt so fucking bad when I lose you. I can't keep anyone or anything and you'll... you'll leave and I'll need you but you won't be here and it always hurts but I don't... fuck, Wade. I can't survive it again, I fucking can't."

He doesn't know what he's waiting for. Yelling, maybe. Or pity. He'd rather claw his own throat out than face either of those right now.

But Wade starts shaking, and there's a terrifying moment where Logan thinks he's crying, he made Wade cry- only for the world to screech to a halt when he realizes the asshole is laughing.

Logan scowls and tries to pull away, tips of his claws poking out from his knuckles, but Wade just squeezes him tighter to keep him in place.

"Something fucking funny, bub?"

"Yeah," Wade says, and it's bitter but he's still laughing. "Yeah, mostly the fact that you're a fucking idiot."

Logan grits his teeth. "Get off me-"

"No, you called me a pathetic attention starved asshole. I get to call you out for being a stupid moron."

It pisses him off, but he can't exactly argue with that.

"You're so stupid," Wade reiterates. "You're so so fucking dumb, Logan, holy shit you're such an idiot. And I thought I-"

"Is there a point?"

"You think you're gonna lose me?" Wade asks, and it's genuine but he doesn't give Logan time to answer. "You think I don't need you? You think you're not the best thing to ever happen to me in my miserable fucked over existence?"

"You-"

"I need you," Wade says, and Logan snaps his mouth shut. "I don't care if you can't admit the same thing, but I need you. You're the only one... you get me, okay? You're the only person in the entire universe who does. And you're the only one who tried. You know about the cancer and the chronic pain and the nightmares and fucking Francis and all my raging insecurities and yeah, sometimes you throw them back in my face when you're being a little bitch like today but hey, I've probably said worse to you."

"You haven't."

"Don't challenge me," Wade warns, and smiles. "I was so miserable, peanut. Like one day away from finding a mutant collar and letting the cancer finish the job levels of miserable."

The very image of that makes something ugly swirl in Logan's chest, a sickening storm of emotions waging war in his gut. Wade doesn't give him time to say anything about it.

"I still am, on bad days," he admits. "I'm always gonna be fucked in the head, but you don't care and you're the only one. you like me, I don't care what you said I know you like me. You could have fucked off to the woods like in Wolverine 2 and I would have let you, but you're still here sleeping on a pullout couch with me because you like me."

Logan swallows. His head is still resting against Wade's chest. He curls his hands in and out of fists, and the claws slowly sink back in.

"I do like you."

"There we go," Wade says. "I like you too, you know. Like, a lot. An unhealthy amount, really. I like coming home now. I like waking up to you burning toast and then blaming me for it. I like sitting and watching TV and drinking bad coffee with you and arguing about everything under the sun. I didn't think I could love again after all the shit the universe put me through and after Vanessa and the Avengers but I did and I do, and I'd rip a hole in the goddamn multiverse to bring you back if anyone tried to take you away from me. You're stuck with me, babygirl. So stop trying to get rid of me because it's not happening."

Logan pulls away, and this time Wade lets him. He meets his gaze head on, like he's challenging him to argue, daring him to try and keep pushing him away.

There's... there's a lot. A lot to unpack, a lot to mull over.

One piece of the puzzle is stuck on loop in his head, fragile, and he's not entirely sure he even heard it right.

"You love me?"

it sounds stupid coming out of his mouth, and he wonders if he should have ignored it when Wade's demeanor changes entirely, eyes going wide in barely concealed panic.

"Uh. I mean. In the sense that... that like- you know."

Logan stares, not sure what to say, and Wade grimaces.

"We can ignore that part. The rest of it is... I meant it, but we don't need to- I don't expect anything from you, peanut, I mean look at you and look at me I'm not gonna ask you to do anything that would scar you for life, I just mean that-"

Maybe it's the storm, fueling Logan with nothing but adrenaline and instinct. Or maybe it's the fact that he's never been very good with words anyway. Anything he tries to say here will end up clamming Wade up more.

So he just moves.

He grabs Wade by the shirt and drags him closer, closer, until he can cut off that self destructive rambling by pressing his lips over Wade's.

And Wade melts into him, making a small noise of surprise against the kiss before returning with just as much passion, eagerly grabbing Logan's shirt like he's worried he'll disappear if he lets go again.

The storm still sends Logan spiraling for the rest of the night. He knows better than to assume it'll ever really get better.

But Wade holds him the entire time, and it makes it a little easier. And kissing through the night isn't half bad, either.

Do you ever think about Logan being terrified of thunder and fireworks (too proud to ever ever admit it, of course he's not scared of shit) both because of PTSD from the wars and also because his enhanced hearing makes those sounds 100x louder for him than anyone else.

And how he's always been shut out and alone so it was easy to hide it and hide away until it's gone but now he's living in a tiny apartment with Wade so there's no way to keep avoiding it

WELL NOW I HAVE

And you're so fucking right, he'd never want to admit that he's scared of thunder storms and fireworks of all things, he's the fucking wolverine, he's seen things regular people can't even imagine, and he's scared by the fucking weather??

He tries so god damn hard every time to just be okay and power through it, he knows it can't hurt him, but every time no matter how prepared he is and how hard he tries, with the first crash hes spiralling, it feels like someone shot a gun right next to his face, his ears are ringing and his head starts hurting and he looks around and all he can see are trenches and guns and the dead bodies of his fellow soldiers. Before Wade, he'd always just find somewhere to hunker down and wait it out, pretty much in a constant state of flashbacks and panic attacks until it finally stopped.

This is just me projecting but I feel like Logan would feel safest in small spaces where he can shove himself into a corner, so he knows no one can sneak up on him, so he spent a lot of stormy nights and fourth of Julys shoved into the closest of a shitty motel.

I also think that it reminds him of the night the X-Men died, like most things do. He'd run off to go drink himself into a coma at a nearby bar, and a storm picked up while he was there. He didn't think anything of it at the time, but later realized that it had probably been Orroro's last attempts to save herself and her friends. He blames himself for not thinking of that at the time, just one more reason to hate himself.

But then he moves in with Wade, and it doesn't occur to him at first to even worry about it, so much happened so fast, storms and fireworks were pretty low on his list of concerns with a whole new universe.

Luckily, Wade isn't home when the storm hits, neither is Althea. Unluckily, Wade returns about 30 minutes after. He almost thinks Logan went out, since he isn't in his usual spot on the couch, or anywhere else for that matter, until Wade goes into the bedroom and hears the tiniest shifting sound coming from the closet.

Logan freezes when the door opens. He'd been hoping Wade would stay out until after the storm, but when did Logan ever get a lucky break? For a solid ten seconds, it's silent, Wade staring down at Logan, Logan remaining squished in the back corner of the closet, knees to his chest, looking like he can't decide whether he wants to stab Wade through the skull or bolt out of the apartment into the rain.

Wade opens his mouth to say..something, he hadn't actually figured out what yet but it didn't matter because before he got the chance there was another crack of thunder, and Logan jolted like the lightening had hit him square on his head. His eyes went distant and dark like they did when he just woke up from a nightmare and he slammed his hands over his ears, pressing his face into his knees. Wade felt kind of stupid, once he realized what was going on, of course Mr. Logan every-war-ever Howlett would have a problem with noises like that.

Wade panics, for a second, because scared of not, this is still Logan, and he's well aware of how Logan tends to feel about being caught in a vulnerable position, but then he sees Logan's hand shaking, and hears a sound that if he didn't know any better (he doesn't) he'd call a whimper (it was), and his heart just shatters, he can't stand seeing Logan this afraid, so he quickly steps into the closet and closes the door behind him. The closet is hardly big enough for one grown man to crouch in, much less two, but Logan is clearly in no state to leave, so Wade shoves himself into the corner between Logan and the door, careful not to lress up against him incase the touch is to overwhelming.

At this point, Logan has recovered slightly from the most recent crash of thunder, and he lifts his head, though he still won't look at Wade. He wants to be angry, mad at Wade for catching him like this, he wants to scowl and tell him to fuck off and leave him alone, but he's been panicking for thirty minutes now, flashing back with every clap of thunder, slowly starting to calm down only to be yanked right back into his own mind when it happens again, he's exhausted and just doesn't have the energy, so he just sighs, swallowing thickly to try and stop his voice from shaking and grumbling something about how he's fine, it's just loud, Wade can go about his day and he'll be out in a bit.

Wade honestly only understands about half of what he says, between the mumbling and the shaky voice and the storm outside, but he's sure as hell not gonna leave Logan to deal with this alone, and besides, the closet isn't to bad, kinda cozy once you give it a chance, and hey what're the odds they have a closet big enough for this in such a shitty apartment anyway? pretty plot convenient if you ask him. He ends up telling Logan all of this, partly to reassure him he doesn't mind but mostly to buy time while he figures out what to do. After a moment he lets out a quiet gasp and stands up, assuring Logan he'll be right back. Logan just nods and puts his head back on his knees, resigned to his fate of riding out his PTSD episode stuffed into a closet with fucking Deadpool.

Wade comes back a minute later with a small assortment of items in his arms, shuffling to sit back down. First, he sets down a small electric candle that he had laying around for some reason, because even if Logan can see in the dark closet, he can't, and he explains as much as he turns it on and the soft, warm light fills the space. Wade's heart breaks just a little more now that he can see Logan better, the way his whole body is shaking with every breath, the tear tracks covering his face, some dry, some fresh, but he does his best not to make to big a deal out of it and moves on.

I'm gonna put something on your head now, Peanut. You trust me? Wade asks, trying to keep his voice low and even.

No. Logan grumbles in response, but he leans towards Wade just slightly, and Wade places his gaming headset over Logan's ears. Logan pauses, evaluating, before giving a small nod and relaxing ever so slightly. He can still hear the storm, but it's better. Wade grins, trying desperately to keep his cool as he shows Logan the rest of his items. He brought a bag of Logan's favorite chips, a water bottle, and a bottle of whiskey.

They spend the next hour and a half in that closet together, alternating between Wade talking (much more quiet and restrained than usual) and Logan nodding occasionally in response, to out of it to say much but appreciating the distraction nonetheless and, with every crack of thunder, Logan panicking, and Wade doing his best to keep him tethered to reality.

It still sucks, storms probably always will for Logan, but it's better, and when the storm finally ends Wade leads him out of the closet, and he doesn't make a big deal out if it (like Logan feared), He doesn't make fun of him or think less of him, he gets it. And damn it if that doesn't make Logan feel more cared for and understood than he has in years, maybe ever, even if that fact alone pisses him off to no end.

[harrowharr0w]

i fear i accidentally made him look like merold

[pitconfirm]

do you think este cried during captain america civil war

[pangur-and-grim]

I love how you can use the environment in baldur’s gate.

for instance, I got my ass completely handed to me in a battle, so on my second attempt I piled barrels of gunpowder & wine near where the enemies would run out, and had one of my guys posed with a fire spell to ignite them. and THIS TIME, I triggered a massive explosion on my first turn of combat, instantly killing my entire party.

[violettebones]

Ok, I've been thinking about this.

Friendship is a kind of Immortality:

You met as children. In that stage before puberty when friends are the most important, most intense relationship you know. And you stayed like that all through adolescence.

You were each other's entire world and probably the only reason you survived high school.

The scariest thing you had ever done was go to different universities.

Your love transcended distance and time. You stayed in touch, you visited each other. You spent every summer together.

You were growing apart, its true. But nothing could really separate you. Not yet.

It was the summer before forth year. You had postponed coming home by a few weeks at the behest of an enchanting stranger. You didn't know what your future sire's plans for you were. And it wouldn't have mattered.

You left the moment you heard about her disappearance.

If only you had come home when you meant to. You'll think about this often in the coming years.

No one could figure out when exactly she disappeared. You are sure its the moment her texts started to glitch.

You joined the search. Of course you did.

She was missing for fourteen days. And then she was back.

But there was something off. You were the only one who noticed.

She had always been so graceful, so agile. It was a quality you'd envied. Now it was like she had lead feet. And she didn't remember things. She couldn't recall where she'd been. When she came back she wasn't wearing the necklace you gave her. When you asked she didn't know what it was.

Still she was back. And wasn't that all that mattered?

The hallucinations started shortly after that.

She would tell you it felt like there was glass under her skin, and wool in her head and if she could just get it out she could prove it was real.

You didn't really believe she'd try. You didn't understand how bad it was. You didn't see her enough anymore.

And then she was institutionalized and you had died. So visiting hours were kinda out of the question.

Still, you refused to leave her. You would not make that mistake again.

Quietly you helped pay for her treatment. You called her every evening. You helped her think about the future. At least one of you could still have one.

And it worked. She got better.

She went back to school to get her master's in ecology like you'd always talked about.

With a kind of latent horror, you realized that you were going to watch her grow up without you. It was the worst pain you'd ever felt, and also the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.

And you promised yourself that no matter what, you'd be here to see it this time.

Sometimes she would tell you she felt fake. That she though she'd see people like her on the street. They'd run when she tried to talk to them.

You told her that couldn't be real. And she should stop trying. And GOD weren't you such a fucking asshole?; an actual undead monster telling her that she couldn't possibly have seen a man with feathers for hair.

You had to say that. You'd read it was best not to indulge the hallucinations. And you prayed it wouldn't be a wedge between you.

Sometimes, late at night she would ask you about the parts of your past she didn't remember.

Little things;

The night after prom.

What she promised you at your thirteenth birthday.

The first night at camp together.

You told her. Your memory wasn't perfect either. It was good for both of you.

It happened again during one of her field work seasons.

She was out in the forest, miles from civilization, studying the secret lives of beetles, or something. You didn't really understand her research.

This time, you had no idea when she disappeared.

And this time there is no way you could get there to do anything.

The nights are too short, and the days are too long. You could not possibly get all the way to the interior to look for her.

It is maddening.

You scramble. You pull every contact. Every resource. Your sire cautions you; this is a lot of favors to call in for a mortal. Despite this your sire still helped you. The height of compassion among your kind.

It comes to nothing.

She is never seen again.

And you do not recover from this.

Sure, you'd known that one day she would die and you wouldn't. Long before that, as she got older, and you didn't, you'd have to stop seeing each other.

But that was supposed to be years away. You were supposed to have more time together.

For the first time in your unlife, you wonder if there is a point to living forever.

You think that in five to ten years maybe another field team will find her remains. Her bones, picked clean, will be in some news story. You'll see her parents interviewed about the closure this has brought them.

It never happens.

Over the years you think about her. Count backwards how old you'd be if you were both still alive.

Now neither of you are.

The first time you see her its fleeting.

A mistaken reflection in a darkened shop window spooks you. It's easy to say its not real.

But you see her again and again. A face in the crowd, a shadow on the street. She haunts you.

It can't be real. Maybe all mortals look the same to you now.

Then you see her across the street through a diner window. She does not disappear when a car drives between your line of sight. Her face does not change into a stranger's when you get closer.

You're in the diner at her table before you can stop yourself.

It's her; exactly as you remember her. Maybe a few years older? Or younger? You aren't sure.

"Its you. Its you! You're alive!" Your voice is shaking.

You wait for her to say she doesn't know you. That you must be mistaken.

"Ya I'm alive." She whispers it like a confession.

She looks at you. Reticent and sad. Her eyes are the same, only older. Somehow, older than yours.

"And you're dead."

– more vampire the masquerade x changeling the lost concepts that will not leave me alone. (part 2)

continuation of this post: part 1. "but vtm and ctl are from different settings–" shhhhhh :) if you've seen this post before no you didn't

before i begin: i have been dabbling in vampire the masquerade and changeling the lost content for a while, i am not a fan of changeling the dreaming and vampire the requiem is unfamiliar to me. anyway! buckle up, enjoy the ride, this is another long post!!

trigger warning for obsessive behavior, abuse/unhealthy relationships because vamps again, i guess.

– you're a changeling. kidnapped into arcadia and trapped there for who knows how long. in your durance, you dream of going back home, of reuniting with your friends and family, escaping your keeper to finally, finally enjoy freedom in the world you were born in.

– and one day, you do escape. back into your world, never feeling completely safe with your keeper looking to get you back and huntsmen being a very real threat, but you're ready to rebuild your life and enjoy your newfound freedom.

– except...

after a series of events, you have been forcibly/begrudingly assimilated into a coterie. perhaps a tremere found out about your changeling nature and took great interest in the faerie magic you can wield, deeming it useful for their interests, or maybe a friend or relative of yours turn out to be kindred and are now dragging you into their messes.

(this is particularly annoying if you're more of a diurnal faerie, rising with the sun and going to sleep as soon as it goes down. your circadian rhythm sucks [no pun intended] now that you're up until 3 am running around with a bunch energetic vamps.)

(bonus points if the other members of the coterie don't know what you are, initially mistaking you for a random human and being confused as to why you're there.)

you're not very familiar with kindred, but at this point you're not as wary of them as you should be, either. after all, you've dealt with the treachery and cruelty of the fae, traversed goblin markets, escaped the hedge - you think you can handle yourself pretty well.

(... that's why you see no problem in making a pledge with that mysterious fanged gentleman, offering your blood in exchange for whatever you might need in return. when the pledge is over and they're no longer needed, you ghost them, unknowingly leaving behing a vampire who is now addicted to changeling blood, your changeling blood, and the rush of human emotions brought by being in contact with glamour, no matter how terrible the withdrawal feels.)

on another hand, purposefully letting a vampire drink your blood to torment them might be a fun little prank >:)

(note/context: there is a bit of a contradiction regarding how kindred reacts to changeling blood. some books mention that it doesn't do anything different than a human's, but tastes heavenly and causes no damage to the vampire consuming it, and it might even resurface human feelings or emotions long forgotten. however, changeling the lost: rites of spring, though establishing that changeling blood isn't directly harmful to kindred, still has a hallucinatory effect on them. it is said that the vampire suffers -1 penalty to perception rolls every vitae worth of changeling's blood they consume, because they suffer misleading visions that also plague the Lost of low Clarity, a.k.a it causes one hell of a bad trip ["faces sprout in the environment and babble nonsense rhymes, colors shift and bleed, the outlines of objects warp and shudder."] that lasts until the vampire sleeps it off, and even then they might be plagued with vivid nightmares. so i guess whatever works best.)

a kindred parent who has dedicated their life to finding their missing child after witnessing their kidnapping by an otherworldy, inhuman creature. it might very well be the reason they sought out the embrace, in the first place, after learning their child might still be alive even after centuries have passed, and to be strong enough to protect them from whoever tries to take them back.

using oneiromancy on your malkavian mother to give her beautiful, pleasant, peaceful dreams. perhaps she dreams of you, and picnics with food she can taste under a summer's day sky, and the sun on her skin doesn't burn or frighten her. and it feels so real, so much so that she is filled with a sense of warmth and longing she can never shake off. you do what you can to take care of her. from a distance.

traditionalist ancilla parent who naturally turns to you when they are experiencing issues with technology or anything related to the modern world because you are their child and therefore should know about this stuff, but they forget you were stuck in Arcadia for like three hundred years and you have no idea how to operate an IPhone.

if anyone remembers the ventrue dad using his ghouls as his changeling child's bodyguards, let me expand on that: you are an absolute MENACE to the ghouls babysitting you. if you have been isolated from the world, that means they're basically your social circle, so you talk their ears off and trick them for fun quite often. not only that, but they're the ones that have to run around to retrieve you when they notice you have succesfully escaped again.

(this might evolve into the ghouls becoming your sorta kinda motley. they figure that taking you out during the day won't hurt when you're under their supervision, as long as it means you'll stop running away. you end up dragging them into all sorts of changeling shenanigans, from seasonal court drama to trips to the goblin market, pledges gone awry and etc. they become quite involved in the whole changeling thing. and you STILL prank them when you're bored.)

now the dynamic between the changeling child and their parent's revenants far more removed from humanity might be... interesting.

alternatively, a fetch-maker changeling making a fetch of themselves in order to escape their captor, be it their parent, a partner or a just a kindred who got too interested in them.

(alternatively again, a fetchmaker changeling will continuously make fetches of themselves to throw off/escape their vampire, and said vampire just keeps noticing the differences every single time. it might take them a while, but they notice!)

a vampire who wants you but cannot have you going after your fetch and seducing them instead, maybe even in a conscious attempt to disturb you.

(drinking the fetch's blood will make them immediately regret it, though. fetch blood is just... Not A Fun Time).

a tzimisce's vicissitude is an all too familiar horror.

ancilla toreador who enjoys toying with emotions and sire their lovers just to abandon them after x centuries-old, manipulative fairest who spent their long durance in arcadia being revered for their beauty and talent = potentially the most toxic interaction to ever exist, so nuclear people grow extra limbs just from existing within their vicinity.

(tldr: toreador x fairest cunt off who wins)

"nice is different than good" is a lesson you thought you learned after years of dealing with all sorts of fae creatures, be it the gentry, hobgoblins or even your own changeling peers. but you're not in arcadia anymore, and isn't learning how to trust again a part of healing? ... and somehow that means ignoring the red flags your newly-acquired partner is exhibiting. point is: you didn't exactly sign up for a vampire making your strange life even stranger, but now they're becoming more and more attached to you. not that you're aware of this, or the fact that they're kindred, but you'll find out. oh, you'll find out.

(eventually, their vampire antics are bound to catch up to you. eventually, your changeling antics are bound to catch up to them. it's just a matter of which one will happen first.)

(unhealthy kindred relationship tendencies aside, it's not absurd a vampire lover or secret admirer would become obsessed with a changeling, without even knowing the changeling's true nature. there's just something about them. becoming the subject of obsessive behavior is possible, romantic, platonic or otherwise, born out of a spark of curiosity or a grudge. look at rose gonzalez and roddy van bastelaar, for example.

and if they are aware of what you are, it's all the better. you're like a fairy-tale come to life! but changelings can be a little too similar to their keepers sometimes, and it sometimes backfires. add an obsessed or scorned vampire into the mix and you'll have a recipe for disaster.)

alternatively, a good, healthy (as it can be) relationship with a vampire that absolutely embraces the whole changeling lifestyle. anarchs? camarilla? no. a nosferatu or hecata girlfriend would feel right at home at the moon court's freehold. a tremere boyfriend would love nothing more than to sit with their autumn court changeling partner and read through piles and piles of old books on fairy magic.

a spring courtier changeling helping a vampire acquire necessary information using memory of trees.

(vampire: so you're telling me that you know that one scripture i've been looking for over twenty years is buried underneath the chapel because a fucking tree told you about it?

spring courtier changeling: yes? :3)

when a malkavian surprises you with a cryptic prophetic vision about your life, surprise them back! tell them about the cryptic prophetic vision you had about them, and try to rope them into a pledge by telling them you can alter their fate with simple little spell :) for a price, of course :)

in true fairy-tale fashion, you return home to find that not only your parent has been embraced in your time away, but they have found a lover as undead as they are. maybe it's their sire, maybe someone they met after becoming kinred. but while your parent is overjoyed with your miraculous return, your new evil step-parent just sees you as a nuisance.

(there are so many ways this dynamic can be expanded upon!

not being aware of your parents and their partner's vampirism, but still feeling that something is fundamentally off whenever you're at their new fancy mansion/penthouse [maybe your live there. maybe you drop by for a visit, after they get you settled in a nice house or apartment close by]. your new stepfather is insufferable, eccentric and treats you coldly, perhaps outright shitty when your parent is not around, but your parent seems happy enough - or not, but they won't hear a word of concern from you.

and if you are aware, then... well. they'll just take it as an opportunity to further terrify you.)