#reading comprehension is well and truly dead

[siobhanbooks]

Another people don't have basic reading comprehension rant:

Why have I just seen a tiktok saying that brennan being gay is something that everyone's missed??? Is it not very clear that Brennan and Naolin were a thing??

Their evidence was Violet wondering if naolin and brennan meant more to each other (obviously, they were in love). And in response to Vi asking if he was married, Brennan said 'no partner'. Which is not conclusive because straight people use partner all the time (eg Remi and Xaden in Basigaith Remi's version by @skyfallscotland) .

But, like, did other people question whether naolin and brennan were in love, or am I going crazy?

[deadsetobsessions]

Cassandra Cain knows how to read people. Every twitch, every micro-expression, every sway of their pupils.

She knows people better than they know themselves. She could pick out a person’s life without having to speak or hear a single word from them.

Language, without a sound.

Honesty, complete and unwilling, at her fingertips.

David Cain had beaten it into her; to observe, to read, to kill without protest. She was never a daughter to him- even if Cassandra hadn’t understood what love or being a daughter meant before she met Bruce- and she understood that.

There are scars lining her body, truths carved into her flesh that she knows she could never truly hide. But that’s alright. She’s learned by now that no one can read her quite as well as she reads them. Not even the metas. They notice it, of course, the tells and the twitches. But none of them could flawlessly put everything together like Cassandra could. They focus on the big things, like heart beat or sweat or flickering eyes. Cassandra takes note of the twitching fingers, the stances, the breaths, how lax their legs are, or which muscle groups are bunched up. She figures things out about them far before they even have a hint of her outer workings.

Cassandra Cain knows there is subtle faintness to her frame, a wildness lurking beneath her skin that she’s never going to be able to tame completely, the ways in which she leans that betrays her time as a starved and feral street kid. She also knows that no one will ever know the extent of it unless she allows them to. It’s nice, having that security.

It’s also lonely, that no one will understand her the way she understands everyone else. Well, until Danny Phantom.

Just like how she can see the scars left on him by people he trusted, the marks of crackling electricity behind a boy who should be dead, he also sees her. The training, yes. But Danny Phantom also sees the pavement like side to her where it should have been downy feathers. He sees the wildness prickling at her fingertips, the violence set in her bones.

And he still smiles at her anyways. His acceptance is screamed to Cass, though simply relaxed to anyone else.

Cassandra glides over to place a hand on Danny’s shoulders and squeezes twice.

Yes, she tells him without a word, spoken, you’re my little brother. I am not alone anymore.

Yes, she tells him without a sound passing through their eyes, we will protect you.

Danny beams up at her as the rest of the family relaxes. She still feels a thrill when she realizes (not belatedly, only slow comprehension) that they were waiting for her verdict.

She sighs in relief. Message received. Danny, eyes glowing green, leans back to rest on the couch.

He shrugs at her with a sincere grin.

And he even says thank you.

And he meant it.

[cynthiav06]

Ok, so I am HOWLING with laughter.

So, have you heard? People are comparing Percy and Annabeth to................Odysseus and Penelope.

When I heard this, you don't know how funny it was to me. I almost choked on my spit. LMAOOOOOOOOOOO

Penelope would NEVER hit or insult Odysseus. She doesn't play mind games with him and they communicate properly.

Odysseus and Penelope are not toxic. Percabeth is.

Also, Rick Riordan is LEAGUES worse than Homer. Like, the guy cannot even compare to the ACTUAL GREEK POET.

And people are actually comparing the two.

Percy Jackson IS good at times, but it will NEVER compare to Homer's compositions. Literally never.

TBH that's just my personal opinion.

Also, Homer actually composed many of the Greek epics that we still read today.

I get why people would want to compare them, but there is no comparison, really. It's so fucking funny to me.

Anyway, what are your thoughts on Percabeth compared to Odysseus and Penelope?

That comparison alone has ruined the New Year for me. It's an insult to the Odyssey. Hell, it's an insult to the recently released Ithaca Saga of Epic the Musical.

But seriously, are these things actually being said? Cause that puts Percabeth stans from delusional category to brain dead.

Homer's Iliad and The Odyssey are one of history's most reputed myths of all time. And the primary source of Greek mythology for many people. I am certain Rick himself referred Homer's works for ideas and references. Even Riordan himself would be ashamed to compare his writing to Homer, in even the slightest manner.

Now to Odysseus and Penelope; the greatest couple of all time, truly and undeniably. The orignal eternal love. Even Hera, the goddess of marriage and family, considers Odysseus and Penelope's marriage bed sacred. Which Odysseus carved out of a living tree as a symbol of their undying love and so that it could never be moved.

Odysseus crawled through hell to get to Penelope and Telemachus. He survived and won the 10 year long Trojan war, defeated/ tricked a Cyclops, countless mythical monsters, Circe, Calypso, and even Zeus himself and at last Poseidon. That alone is beyond comprehension. Because Odysseus isn't a demigod or any specially blessed being. No, he is just an ordinary mortal, a genius mortal, one trained by the wisdom goddess but an ordinary mortal all the same. Yes, he is one of a kind genius, but these are literally eldritch creatures compared to him.

Let me put it this way, Odysseus is the OG Batman. He is who all smart fictional human characters aspire to be.

The Odyssey is literally about the all transcending power of human will. Of Odysseus's sheer fucking will to get back home, to his wife and son. That's it. A common desire of a common man, yet so miraculously burning and indomitable in Odysseus's mind that it alone outshines his extraordinary genius.

He quite literally died on his way there. Had to hitch a ride through the Underworld and then some.

Then he had to sacrifice his ENTIRE CREW, HIS FRIENDS, HIS COMRADES to get back to Ithaca. Mind you, Odysseus had the record of getting every single one of his 600 men alive out of Trojan War. The only one to have done so. And he had to lose some to the tragedies and then WILLINGLY SACRIFICE others to get back to Penelope.

I don't think there are words enough to encapsulate Odysseus's dedication.

Now Penelope. The thing is, she is just as bloody impressive. The Queen of Ithaca and a Spartan Princess, she is also one of a kind. Throughout Odysseus's departure and the suitors' invasion , not five, not ten, 108 SUITORS, Penelope held her own, keeping the castle, her son Telemachus and herself secure. All the while, raising Telemachus and running the kingdom on her own as well.

She tricked the suitors into an eternally futile game of trying to lift Odysseus's bow and shoot with it. Tricked them by telling them she was weaving Odysseus's shroud, which, when finished, would signify that she is picking a new husband. Each day, she would weave for all suitors to see, and each night, she would unravel the shroud. All in an attempt to stall. Among the many other ways, she did so. Including STEADFASTLY DENYING EACH AND EVERY SUITOR CONSTANTLY FOR YEARS AS THEY ASKED FOR HER HAND, NEVER ONCE LOSING HOPE OR FAITH IN ODYSSEUS.

When Odysseus returns, disguised as a beggar, she not only immediately recognizes him but subtly helps him in killing the suitors, which then Odysseus and Telemachus proceed to do.

All 108 suitors dead in a night. Add that to 600 men under Odysseus's command. 708 lives murdered and then some all for Odysseus and Penelope to reunite.

And this is me abridging the whole thing. Imagine the struggle, the suffering, the mental and physical trauma. 20 years straight. You can't fathom it.

I don't think I have words enough to state how repulsively disrespectfully wretched this comparison is. I would use an analogy, but it's so horrendous that I don't think there's one that suffices.

I literally have more than half the posts dedicated to dismantling the delusion of percabeth being a perfect ship, so I won't preach to the choir, but I mean Annabeth's fatal flaw is Hubris and Percy's is Personal Loyalty. Go figure.

If that isn't enough, Percy jumped in Tartarus for Annabeth. She fell, but Percy jumped, among the many other ways he has saved her from countless deaths. And Annabeth offers him what in return? It would have been alright if she gave him nothing in return, but somehow, the situation is EVEN WORSE.

Physical and mental demeaning. Toxic and controlling attitude and of course BLAMING HIM FOR GETTING KIDNAPPED AND HAVING HIS MEMORY WIPED BY A GODDESS. WOW, THAT SOUNDS SO SIMILAR TO PENELOPE AND ODYSSEUS.

Not to mention, Penelope accepted her husband, as he was. Even after being so completely changed by his tragic journey that he was quite literally NO LONGER HIMSELF.

And Percy when had to CHOKE AKHYLS WHO WAS DEFINITELY GOING TO KILL HIM AND ANNABETH, WAS KILLING HIM AND ANNABETH, OUT OF SELF DEFENSE AND SHE BLAMES HIM AND FORCES HIM TO PROMISE NOT TO USE HIS POWERS TO DEFEND HIMSELF???

WHAT THE FUCK??? And sure it would have been ignorable had it not had any long term effects. BUT NO PERCY ALMOST KILLS HIMSELF OUT OF KEEPING HIS PROMISE TO ANNABETH.

Call them whatever the hell you want but DON'T EVER COMPARE THEIR RELATIONSHIP TO ODYSSEUS AND PENELOPE.

PERCY DESERVES INFINITELY BETTER THAN ANNABETH. Enough said, really.

[lyrisnightblood]

Dear "lovely" "canon Jiang Cheng Stans",

I see what you're doing here. I can see y'all talk about "book meta" and "writing Jiang Cheng as canonically accurate" and you know what?

Y'all are doing a fantastic job, keep it up 😍🎉

Yeah really! I mean it!

Y'all are doing a fantastic job showcasing just how utterly pathetic y'all are, how chronically online y'all are, and most importantly, y'all are doing a marvellous job showcasing your hate boner for a fictional character you claim to hate and is an "antagonist".

Keep up the lovely work y'all, show the world how you lack an ounce of reading comprehension, you booktok obsessed peeps!

And while you're at it, let me go spittin' facts, straight from the book.

Jiang Yanli is dead. End of the story. You can fantasize to your heart's content about how "she'll react to JC raising her son" and get your pants in a twist about all the bad things she'll supposedly say, but that's just it. You can only imagine it.

You know why?

Hmm idk cos she's fucking dead and no one knows what the dead wants?

This is exactly like "Don't do this your mother wouldn't have wanted this of you" "don't talk like you know my mother she's dead and i don't know what she wanted cos she's dead"

Well

I should've expected such callous behaviour from antis 🤷

Admit it, y'all wanted Wei Wuxian to raise Jin Ling huh? C'mon, don't be shy🥰 you can say that

Except your fave never could've raised Jin Ling cos 1) as if the Jin Sect would let their Sect heir be raised by the jianghu's most wanted person (Gasp, "wEi wUxIaN sLaNdEr" love check your books even wwx acknowledges that fact lolll) and 2) how tf could a dead man, no less a man who's soul got ripped into shards, take care of a baby?

"but Jin Guangyao was a better parental figure, and an actual parent"

Yeah, a parent who killed his own child cos he was worried about his reputation (I can already smell y'all coming at me to defend him like chill, I only said the truth, and yes, man was more worried about people knowing he married his sister and losing position than the life of his own son, just because he loved Rusong didn't change the fact that he was ready to go to the extreme). Not to mention how Jin Guangyao held a string to his own nephew's neck and threatened to kill him to save his skin while it was Jiang Cheng who begged him to let Jin Ling go

Betcha Jiang Yanli's ghost is watching the scene while sipping tea and praising Jin Guangyao huh

"but one of Jin Zixuan's cousin-"

Jin Zixun is dead. And is a truly despicable person. Or did you forget how he insulted Wei Wuxian left and right?

Oh wait. Of course you forgot, "criticizing" Jiang Cheng takes precedence! My bad, i should've known!

Let me stop y'all before you say "Jin Guangshan". You must be the utterly worst person in the planet to want a known womanizer and child abuser and rapist to raise a child. IDC Jin Guangshan is related to Jin Ling. Y'all just want a known abuser and sexual predator to raise Jin Ling just say you don't give two cents about the poor boy except when you want to hate on Jiang Cheng 🙄

"what about Jin Furen"

Yeah what about her? Or did you forget how she canonically had a role to play in Jin Ling's upbringing?

Who do you think is responsible for Jin Ling spending half a year in Lotus Pier? Certainly not Jin Guangyao!

If there was one person in the Jin Sect who could have enough sway to ensure that her own grandson is spending a significant amount of time in another sect, it's Jin Furen.

Three guesses why she did that?

Lol you actually thought I'd wait for your guess? LMFAOOOOO you're so cute 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

She did that because Jin Furen cared for A-Li and - wait for it - A-Cheng!!!

Reread the books if you missed it, mmkay?

She was fond of Yu Ziyuan, and by extension her children, and post-SSC, she offered to support both of them on multiple occasions (which they declined because any political support from Jin Sect would've come with strings attached cos JGS😑)

Establishing the fact that Jin Furen cared for Jiang Cheng, she had agreed to Jin Ling spending half his time in Lotus Pier because she sensed that he was all Jiang Cheng had left, and vice versa.

Y'all also have utterly forgotten about the cruel way Jin Ling's paternal cousins have bullied him for being an orphan. Like, Koi Tower is supposed to be his home, and he was bullied to the point where Lotus Pier became his sanctuary.

"AHA! GOTCHA! QIN SU SHOULD'VE RAISED HIM!"

Laughing My Fricking Ass Off TM

My man Qin Su was RIGHT THERE! No one was stopping her from raising Jin Ling! She could've been the maternal figure Jin Ling needed! And no one would have questioned it, it was actually expected for that timeline.

Except.... Did she? Did she do anything to make Jin Ling feel loved? Has Jin Ling ever talked about his aunt the same way he talks about his uncles? Apart from the respect that he gives to her as his paternal uncle's wife, does Jin Ling refer to her fondly? Even once?

"Alright, your point?"

Why thank you for asking 💗😌

My point is that Jiang Cheng is canonically the best guardian for Jin Ling, and this conclusion comes AFTER analysing every other candidate.

And you know what?

I am absolutely right🎉💗🌸😻

Evidence?

Exhibit A: Jiang Cheng accompanying Jin Ling's nighthunt to look out for him but also keeps himself at a distance so that Jin Ling actually participates in the nighthunt

Exhibit B: Letting Fairy enter Lotus Pier despite the strict dog ban (which he had adhered to even after wwx died)

Exhibit C: Jin Ling never once flinches or looks scared when Jiang Cheng shows his temper and says "I'll break your legs", he knows his jiujiu is all bark but would never hurt him

Exhibit D: "how dare you hit me? Even my jiujiu had never hit me!" - Jin Ling to Wei Wuxian (who btw oh so casually hits Jin Ling as if it's a normal thing to hit a child💀)

Exhibit E: "A-Ling! Who made you cry?" - Jiang Cheng when he saw a crying Jin Ling. No admonishment. No Judgement. And certainly no anger directed at Jin Ling.

Exhibit F: Jin Ling being unafraid to cry in front of his jiujiu, he knows he won't be judged.

Exhibit G: Jiang Cheng saving Jin Ling on multiple occasions.

Exhibit H: Jiang Cheng begging Jin Guangyao to take him hostage and release Jin Ling, without hesitation, despite his spiritual energy being locked and being stabbed in the chest.

I could go on and on and on but unlike you lovely people who have no hobby other than slandering Jiang Cheng, I have TONS.

And also a life.

So, go fantasize about your Jiang Cheng hate boner elsewhere. I see your pathetic attempt at taking over the Canon Jiang Cheng tag and it ain't working.

Ciao 🤟

[ladymirdan]

I always find the “warhammer/40k is fascist propaganda”-discussion fascinating.

On one side there are acctual fascists seeing this horrible and depraved world and going: “Goals!”

On the other there are people saying its indeed fascist propaganda and glorifying its abuses. “Just look at the former group and how they act”

And im just sitting here in the corner going “its a cautionary tale, sometimes handled not very well since they have like 400 different authors and a lack of cohesion.

I'm being screamed at from both sides, and im starting to actually doubt my own reading and comprehension abilities, is satire truly dead? And am I beating its dead horse?

So I went and checked out the biggest BL authors twitter pages, its editors, game developers and lore experts too.

Pretty much every single one of them reblog or post about social issues, are anti-royalist and pro free healthcare and feminist issues. They genuinely seem like good guys, very unlike the “fans” in the first group.

I find is so bizarre that this discussion even exists when social media makes it so easy to reach out and just go “Hey, what are the allegory and moral behind this story?” and its author actually answers.

And still, people misconstrue things, claims it isn't satire, and just make things up that aren't there. When the truth is so easy to find with just a few minutes of research.

[my-beloved-ghosts-and-me]

YOU'RE THE QUEEN OF THE KINGDOM THAT HAS MY WHOLE HEART

꒰ synopsis: fate has a weird way of working and you still can fully understand the way everything it's delicately interconnected

꒰ content warnings: nsfw (18+), fem!reader, smut, masturbation, male pov, fem pov, breeding kink if you squint, rough sex, making love, virgin reader (at one scenario), Tangerine is a bit of an asshole, emotionally constipated idiots

author's note: this is probably bad, english it's not my first language, no beta we die like men, im still simping about a motherfucker called Tangerine, lalalas

Tangerine knew that there was no such thing as an easy job, but Jesus Christ nobody ever told him that things could be this fucking difficult.

Lemon warned him. His brother, god bless his good soul, tried to talk his way out of this ridiculous job, but Tangerine didn't listen to him. Maybe he truly was a Gordon after all.

At first, the decision seemed easy. Rescue the White Death's son and bring back the ransom money for a great payment or rescue Tora's sister and keep a job as a nanny in a luxurious house without having to worry about anything but your safety until your brother himself kill the motherfucker who decided to mess with his remaining family for a marvelous payment.

Lemon thought the second option was too easy, too good to be true. Turns out fate really was on their side because the White Death's mission was some kind of trap and everything went to shit. From what they heard, they were going to be dead if they accepted that job.

And now here he was.

Sitting in a ginormous comfortable chair with a fantastic book that he got from your bookcase trying to read while you and Lemon were on the couch talking excitedly about an anime that you convinced him to watch saying that in exchange you would watch all the twenty-four seasons of Thomas the Tank Engine.

He didn't know how much longer he could handle this situation with sanity in his mind, but with how much your brother was paying just for them to keep you safe inside your house he knew he would rather eat his right hand out of his body than mess this up. Even because Lemon, that traitor, was having the time of his life. Every day since the second half of the first week in your house, Lemon says he's grateful for Tangerine accepting the job. The easiest job of their life. And the higher-paying too.

Maybe, just maybe, if Tangerine was a little bit less of a professional this actually would be the easiest job in his life. A beautiful house in the middle of a forest that looks like a scenario out of the fucking Twilight movie that you made Lemon watch in exchange for that one cartoon with the human and the dog, his brother is happy that he finally got a friend to share his interests, a good payment at the end of every month, not even one day of violence since the beginning of this job and you.

The level of frustration and violence running wild in his body is not comprehensible, right?

Everything was just perfect.

.

.

.

Except Tangerine wanted to bend you on every surface in sight and fuck you dumb on his cock at every opportunity. It was the first time he tried to resist the impetus to take something that he wanted and maybe Lemon was right and he should have seen a therapist. But you were just so sweet, always concerned about his well-being, always smiling in the morning and making coffee for you and Lemon and tea for him, always offering yourself to moisturize his hair and asking his opinion on everything like the food you cooked or the books he's reading. It would be hard to resist nevertheless.

But again, Tangerine was a professional. The fact that your brother was one of the most dangerous mafia leaders in Eurasia and you used to date his best mate before he got murdered trying to protect you a few years ago sending your brother into a spiral of madness and cruelty was just a detail.

He didn't know your brother very well, and it was hard to gather pieces of information about him, or you for that matter, but you seemed very fond of him and even if he continued to ignore you every time you tried to reach him you didn't allow him and Lemon speak a bad word about him.

Your soft voice was distracting him from the words displayed in front of him. He didn't even recognize exactly what was being said because he was trying really hard to ignore Lemon and pay attention just to the sound of your voice. Your sweet voice. He didn't know if he was able to live without listening to you every day from now on.

Given the amount of erotic and vivid dreams he's having about you, he doesn't think he will, but physically was way better than his imagination. Although he didn't have the chance to listen to your moans and sighs in reality yet. He did listen to you beg to him once. "Please, Tangerine. Please. I promise you will enjoy it. Let's watch this movie with us." you had said. The first phrase got printed in his brain like a burn and it's almost present in every dream he has about you. You beg so prettily, pouting unconsciously just a little bit. A truly divine sight.

He could feel his cock getting hard at the memory and the annoyance building up inside him together with the hot white desire he feels for you. Why did you have to be so perfect and so good for him? Tangerine knew he would ruin you if he got the chance.

He wanted to fuck you so hard that you wouldn't be able to walk in the ridiculous aristocratic way you always do like the world knows better than demand hurry from you. He would fill you with his dick until you couldn't feel anything else, but him. No sadness, no worries, nothing. Only him and his burning love and desire for you. He would put your mouth to use and with the way you're always so careful with everything you do to him, he bet you would be a natural. He just know you would worship his cock with kisses battling your long lashes at him until he couldn't take any more teasing and started to fuck your mouth with wild abandon like the madman he is. And you would let it because you would be so good to him.

Given the chance, he would kiss you for hours. Slow kisses, steamy makeouts, soft pecks after fucking your brains outs. He wouldn't waste a chance to claim your lips in rough passionate kisses.

But he doesn't get a chance with pretty little things like you. He's not like your ex.

Did Tangerine know anything about your ex or the depths of your relationship? No, just the thought of you loving and touching someone that wasn't him makes him sick in the stomach. But he could tell by the way you spoke about him with Lemon sometimes that he had been different from him.

Although there's one thing that you said that stuck with him and made him think that maybe he and Draken are not that different after all. "He used to say that I was the queen of the kingdom that has his whole heart. I guess I'm in exile now huh?" You spoke softly and laughed when Lemon said he didn't understand what you meant.

Tangerine understood. He understood very well. And given the chance he would give you another kingdom to rule.

"Oh, for fuck sake, you both don't know how to shut up?" Tangerine shouts angrily out of nowhere and both you and Lemon are staring at him like he's some sort of alien.

It's not out of nowhere. He got an aching boner and if he didn't know himself any better he could say a broken heart. He denied himself too much, but you two didn't know that so it looks like out of nowhere.

Your face does show something, a brief emotion he can't read it very well, but after you press the heels of your hands against your eyes and he listens to your small quivering voice, he knows he fucked up again.

"I'm going to my room. I'll sleep early tonight. You guys feel free to stay here in the living room as long as you want okay"

His eyes followed your figure and maybe lingered a little bit on your round arse until you were leaving his sight. Tangerine wants to hug and apologize promising he'll never scream at you again, that he'll never let you sad again. But he can't so maybe it's for the better if you think he's a crazy unpredictable angry man. Like that, you'll stop treating him affectionately and will give him what he deserves from you. Nothing. He wasn't worth of you and he knows it.

Turning his head forward he comes across his brother facing him. They both keep staring at each other and Tangerine suspects Lemon knows what's up with him.

"Gordon wouldn't act like that." Lemon said with a straight face and turned around to face the TV.

If the room was a little bit more silent would be possible to listen to Tangerine's heart breaking a little more.

--x--

The cold of the night was soothing against your warm body and restless mind. You easily could see how you got yourself in this situation, but at the same time, you had no idea how you ended up like this: baking a lemon cake at two in the morning, trying to keep yourself from making a very reckless mistake that could get you in a lot of trouble.

Five years ago your first love and long-term boyfriend Draken got murdered trying to protect you. He was your brother's best friend since childhood and early in your teenage years they started a gang but things escalated quickly. An amazing duo, an unstoppable force, and delicious naive if you stop to think about it now. Nothing could ever last forever.

After your lover's death, your brother started spiraling into a darker path mentally and morally. He became a ruthless murderer, a tireless man, and crawled his way to the top distancing himself from every single person he used to hold dear, including you.

At least that was what everybody thought, but you know that's not true. Even if he refused to talk to you or answer your texts, he never blocked you. He bought you this house, a house that he knew was your dream house since you both were teenagers.

A soft laugh escapes your mouth at the memory while you finish putting the dough into the cake pan. You always said how much you would love to live like the Cullens and even if he claimed he always slept when you forced him, Draken, and the rest of your group of friends to watch Twilight in those rainy autumn evenings, you knew he was paying attention. You just knew. Just like you know he's not the monster people think he is. He's your brother and you have known him all your life.

He still keeping you safe even from afar just like he promised he would after your older brother died in your childhood. He's still your Leo. You know if you could just talk to him, face to face, you could knock some sense into him, but he never let you get close to him. Maybe he knew that too and that's why he refuses to see you but he wouldn't give up on you so you will not give up on him.

Putting the cake pan in the oven you ask yourself how you still handling life without losing your mind. Again, baking a cake in the middle of the night was not the best sign that your mind was 100%, but it's not like you are in the worst-case scenario given your history and current situation. Being a baby witch helps because gives you a sense of fate and fate brings you hope that you are not insane when you feel that everything is going to be alright sooner rather than later. Or maybe you're just delusional, but it works too.

But you didn't feel delusional. You feel like there are missing pieces to this puzzle and that's partially the reason why you awake to see dawn once again. Only partially. You don't like to admit it, but the man sleeping in the room next to yours is also a factor that contributes to your insomnia.

Sitting in the cold soft chair next to the kitchen bench, you let yourself relax a little while looking at the soft light radiating from the oven. Cake for breakfast, just like when you were a child and you had both of your brothers and nothing to worry about, but before you could drown deep in your thoughts a man appears right in front of you, and before you could scream, Lemon's hand cover your mouth and finally you're back to reality.

"What are you doing?" He asks without removing his hand from your mouth so you grab his wrist and push it down yourself.

"What does it look like I’m doing?” you ask.

Rubbing the back of his neck Lemon says a little wary. “Well, to be quite honest it looks like you're going a bit mental."

That gets your attention and your eyes finally snap up to his.

“I’m not going mental, Lemon! I’m making a lemon cake." you say trying to sound calm and composed "Clearly.”

He blinks once, twice. “A lemon cake?”

“Yes.”

“At two in the morning?” Lemon it's trying to read you right now, but he doesn't know which Thomas character he can use to understand you better nor he has watched an episode that could prepare him for this.

You pause, and then answer with a straight face: “Yes. Clearly.”

The younger fruit keeps looking at you expecting you to elaborate a little bit more, but no explanation comes out of your mouth. In the deep silence of the kitchen you both keep staring at each other. You shift your weight between your feet and keep your eyes on his waiting for something, anything, to happen and save you from this situation because you know if you don't make an excuse plausible enough, Lemon will figure you out.

Suddenly you hear a step at the stairs and you know it. He listened to you both talking and he is coming to see what this is about. That's not what you meant when you said you wanted anything to save you from this situation.

A deep voice with a thick british accent comes from behind you. "What the fuck?" Tangerine asks and you know, even without turning around, he's pissed that he got his precious sleep disturbed.

At the first month in your house, he was cranky enough, but Lemon said it was his normal self. A little bit aggressive, a little bit sarcastic, and a huge asshole, but it was his normal self after all so you didn't mind him. He's keeping you safe, he's a good brother and that's such a personal subject for you, he's intelligent and has such good taste in books. He's so unbelievably handsome too. But as time went by he got irrationally angry at little things and apparently he couldn't get a decent night of sleep in a while.

"I'm baking a lemon cake." You answer still without turning around and you're surprised that you can keep your voice calm.

"Why the fuck you would bake a lemon cake at TWO IN THE MORNING? A lemon one nonetheless. It's this some kind of fucking twisted joke? "Let's bake a lemon cake and wake Tangerine up just as he was closing his eyes after hours trying to sleep?". This fucking ridiculous, assholes. If you want to be insane at least keep it quiet." At the end of his little speech he was screaming and although you didn't know exactly what your face was showing, Lemon seemed to take pity on you and decided to speak for you.

"Tangerine, mate, you need to get help."

Oh, at least he tried.

"I need to get help? I'm the one who needs to get help? You both inconsiderate twats decided to be insane and bake a lemon cake late at night and chit-chat until you wake a poor lad trying to rest and I need to get help?" You could bet that Tangerine eye was doing that little twitch thing that always happens when he was about to get into a discussion with Lemon.

"Look, first of all: we weren't even talking that loud, but most importantly: this is her house. It may be a little weird, but there's nothing wrong about it."

You gathered courage enough to turn around and face Tangerine. You weren't scared of him, that was not the problem here. That would be too easy. You could just send a text to Leo and your brother would find someone else to protect you. The real problem was you were uncontrollably attracted to him and how could you not? The man was a god among men, handsome enough to make pornstaches sexy again. When he was angry you could see the veins in his neck popping, his face slowly reddening, his blue eyes darkening and his accent getting thicker while spitting all kinds of curses and insults. But now, in addition to these classical traits, his soft curly hair was falling around his head and he was shirtless, his waistband hanging dangerously slow.

Oh god, you hope he didn't catch your wondering eyes following the line of the hair just below his belly button into his pants.

You already touched yourself thinking of him today. Twice. Nothing new, you've been doing this for almost two months now. But three times was a new personal record.

You had just finished coming down your high when you decided that you wanted to distract your mind from wandering to him again and the best way to do this was baking a cake. But fate had other plans and now you had no choice but to touch yourself again. You honestly don't know how much you could resist the urge to get into your knees and beg to suck him for all he's worth, but if you could delay this humiliation a little bit longer, you would.

You got lost in your thoughts again and didn't realize when the shouting match between the twins started.

Your voice was small, but both of them stopped talking the moment you made yourself present in the situation. "I'm sorry, Tangerine. It was my fault. It will not happen again. Sorry for waking you too, Lemon. I just wanted to clear my mind and baking helps. Let's go back to bed, shall we?" Not a complete lie, just not the whole truth, you think to yourself hoping they would buy it.

You get up without saying anything else and walk towards the stairs hoping you can keep your walk as normal as it ever is and pray that they don't notice how much you wanna run from the kitchen. You still hear their voices from upstairs. "She was kidnapped and we have no idea what happened to her, man." Lemon said trying to defend you, but you already closed the door of your room so you couldn't know how Tangerine replied.

Your cat, Luna, was spread around your bed like she worked all day to pay the rent that was due. Your chance of trying to relieve the aching between your legs was ruined by this fur ball because you may be going a little bit mental, but you draw a line at masturbating around your pet.

Climbing to the soft surface you finally let yourself relax. Luna didn't enjoy it being disturbed, but quickly forgave you when you wrapped your arms around her and started caressing her ears. Feeling the soft fabric of your nightgown and the warmth of your cat around your chest, you started to succumb to the tiredness and the dark even if the desire running through your veins didn't vanish as you would liked to.

Maybe if he wasn't hired by your brother to look out for you or maybe if he actually could develop a relationship with you, but most importantly maybe if he didn't hate your guts for no reason... Maybe if wasn't for that you could try despite the odds. But all you can do right now it's wish for good dreams.

And this was your last thought before falling asleep.

--x--

In the silence of his room, laying in his bed, Tangerine knew he couldn't deny himself any longer. Your flimsy nightgown and perky nipples because of the cold night were his last straw.

He could feel his member in his hand, hot, pulsing, and begging for relief inside his pants.

God knows how much he tried to avoid this from happening because he knows once he lets his mind succumb just a little to the thought of you he will need more and more and soon just thinking about you will not be enough. But now it's over. His cock was throbbing so much and was desperately needing release.

Every goddamn time you made him hard he tried touching himself picturing another woman, but every time it was you that he was imagining you without him even noticing what he was doing. When Tangerine switched back to another woman he became almost instantly soft. It was driving him to the brink of madness and he couldn't deny himself any longer.

He was so eager to finally give in that he didn't even know where to begin with. Should he let you take the lead and be the sweet little thing he knows you are and be all soft and small kisses before giving in to desire shyly and slowly or should he take the lead and ravish you without mercy making you succumb to him faster and messier?

He wants to go down on you, that's for sure, but he can't decide between exploring your body slowly, anticipating you when he finally starts to eat you out, or going straight to the place he dreamed of for almost three months now and devour you until he was satisfied.

"Fucking hell, I need to slow down or I'll come and I didn't even decide exactly how I'm going to take her." Tangerine was getting close to spilling himself all over your stolen panties just with the flashes that he was conjuring of you but he wasn't able to decide how to make you his yet. He decided to test himself to see how much control he had over his body in case he needed to be soft and tender with you in case you're still a virgin and just cum after he was able to conjure both scenarios in his head without touching himself during this process of torture. He needed to prove himself worthy of you and be prepared for all possibilities concerning your well-being.

Tangerine moves his hands to his hair, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath imagining you asking for him to be careful with you "Please, go easy with me okay? I've never done this, not even with Draken? So please be gentle" you would say and he couldn't explain the feeling that bloomed in his chest and made his dick twitch uncontrollable.

"Of course, love. Do you feel prepared enough?" he asked while rubbing his cock along your slick pussy making obvious with the lewd sounds that you were more than ready.

"Yes."

"Can I put in?" he answered pressing the tip of his member in your tight opening.

"Yeah. And don't need to have pity okay? Just worry if I say stop unless keep going" Oh, but how could he not be pitiful of you if you're such a crybaby and he crumbles when he sees you with a tear in your eyes?

"Okay, darling. I'll try my best." Tangerine whispers against your neck, his hot breath making you shiver, before pressing his tip further into you making you suck a little breath.

You put your arms in his shoulders looking down mesmerized by the scene of finally having Tangerine filling you.

At that thought his cock throbbed so violently he instantly knew that he needed to be a little more alert otherwise he would cum before imagining you getting fucked dumb on his cock.

Tangerine is trying to calm himself after being carried away for too long taking deep breaths and holding firm the base of his dick so he wouldn't finish before accomplishing his goal. You will be the death of him, he's sure. Your pussy will be his reason to come back after every job in one piece. He just knew that.

His cock was running hot but stopped twitching a few seconds ago. He was stiff as a board and couldn't even phantom the idea of letting go of the tight grip on his hair because he needed to keep his hands firmly placed somewhere away from his painful and sensitive member.

After a few ragged breaths, he started to move his hand again, slowly and avoiding his sensitive tip.

He knows that once he's fully settled inside your warm tight cunt, he'll be careful and take it slow with you. There's nothing worse than the pace he's imagining for you. Nothing so torturous as feeling you heat swallowing him every time, her walls so tight and unused, begging him to just start going feral, but he knows he need to make you get used to his size.

So, just like that, he's fantasizing about taking you. Slowly, kissing you with eyes closed and tongue insistent, swallowing your mixed moans of pain and pleasure.

The pain was almost too much to bear, but so good at the same time. And the pleasure, oh God, the pleasure he's giving you. Your brain could only think of Tangerine, all you could only, feel, taste, and see was Tangerine. He was everywhere and you felt so full you swear you could feel your belly bulge a little.

Tangerine feels another violent throb run through his dick and his balls are twitching, itching for release. He let go of his dick again and press a pillow into his face screaming in frustration. A sudden urge to just give in and fuck his fist almost make him faint, but he can't give up now. His body was burning and his soft pink lips were bruised with how intense he was biting them, the skin on the verge of breaking with the force of his teeth.

He would never admit it, but the despair he was feeling was so intense that small tears were spilling from the side of his eyes.

"I can do this, I can do this" he thought to himself while taking deep breaths without the pillow on his face. His muscular chest was rising and falling quickly, the red in his face spread into his neck and started to fall into his pectorals, and his body was covered in a thin layer of sweat. A vision to behold.

Your shy tongue started to explore his neck, his skin hot against your wet tongue, and you could feel salty drops of sweat. Your teeth graze against the sensitive flesh and he let a breathy moan close to your right ear. Boldly you suck his pulsing point strong enough to leave a mark and he moans your name loud and clear.

These intrusive thoughts are the death of him. Even without taking his hands from his mischievous hair, his cock was pulsing against his abdomen, leaking from the tip. All his veins are startled like never before and his pretty sure his balls are getting really close to having cramps. Tangerine thought that maybe it was better to get shot in the neck than feel like this, delirious and fighting so hard to control himself for the first time in his life.

"Tangerine, I'm close, please" You didn't know exactly what you were begging for, but Tangerine knew. He picks up his pace? put his large, calloused hand around your neck applying a slight pressure, and keep his lips hovering over yours, like he's trying to decide if he wants to kiss you or keep listening to you moaning his name.

"Come on my cock, love. Be a good girl for me and let yourself go." His raspy voice so filled with desire and something that you still can't figure out what it is yet is enough to send you over the edge. Your orgasm is a hot white force that sends you over the edge and keeps your body spamming for what it seems forever.

The way you keep squeezing the life of his dick is enough to give Tangerine the best orgasm in his life. He's cumming so much inside of you that he's sure you're already full of his seed and he's not even finished yet.

"I can not do this." Tangerine says out loud. Did someone ever die of orgasm denial? Because he was sure he was about to. He was actually in tears at this point and was suspicious that blowing his load would not be that pleasing anymore. There was so much pre-cum pooling in his heated skin even with him stopping himself from touching his throbbing member a few minutes ago.

But now Tangerine could imagine how rough he would take you if this wasn't your first time and without his permission, his imagination started to run wild, and without him realizing it his hands started to crawl their way into his aching cock trying to relieve his pain.

He wasn't going to take it easy on you after everything you made him go through. Tangerine would take you hard, rough, borderline violent, and make you beg for more. More of him, unhinged, a beast out of the cage. More of what only he can give you. By the end, you would be completely addicted to him and his cock in the same way he was already addicted to you.

He would leave marks all over your small body. His fingertips would bruise the soft flesh of your thighs and of your round ass, bites, and hickeys around any smooth skin his hungry mouth could find. Your cunt would be tight and sensitive from the abuse his thick cock, a little too big for you, was making you endure it. But you would love every single second of it, Tangerine was sure.

His big hand was tightening his grip around your delicate neck cutting short your blood circulation and making you feel dizzy. The lewd sound you two were making, moans and skin slapping against skin, was out of a porn movie. To match his pornstache, you think.

You squeeze your tight walls around him and he groans so deep from his chest that you unconsciously squeeze him again.

"Fuck, my dirty little whore. You want me to come inside you so much huh? Is that what you want, love? My cum filling you up to the brim, leaking of you for days?" Tangerine's mouth is right against your ear so you can hear all the sweet sounds he makes, but listening to his voice calling you "his", degrading you, and calling you "love" sends you to another level of delirious"

Tangerine was sure he was losing his mind with how vivid his fantasies were, but now that he was getting close and actually was going to be able to cum he didn't want to question himself about it. His cock was throbbing in his hand, the sounds getting out of his mouth were pure filthy, and his fist slapping against his skin were the only thing he could focus on.

"Tangerine, please, please, please. I'm so close. Keep going just like that, but I'm begging you. Cum inside me. Let's cum together. Please?"

His heart missed a beat. He was staring at your pleading big doe eyes, left hand holding your hips in a bruising grip, right hand still holding your neck itching to give you a soft slap in the face.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Tangerine hisses through his perfect white teeth and when he's just about to spill all his seed, he fantasizes about you saying you love him, right after you finish. He's imagining you pulling him into your tight embrace after he pumped you full of his seed, his head resting on your soft tits, both of you trembling and heavy breathing.

Deep down he wants to think that you were holding all of his ugly and twisted sides of him. Deep down he's dreaming that you hugging him despite his dark desire for the result of this night to be your belly swollen with his child.

And with that wild picture, you round with his baby inside you, he cums. And he doesn't stop cuming, his balls heavy with much more of his thick seed to spill. Such a mess everywhere. His hand, abs, cock. He was sure you wouldn't mind licking him clean.

The sudden image of you on your knees with his cock in your mouth sends a new wave of fresh desire through his guts. Looking left while sighing he sees your stolen panties. In the middle of his self-imposed torture he forgot about it, but now he's going to start over he could put it to good use. He doesn't mind his burning, sweaty body nor his lack of oxygen because of his uneven breathing, the only thing he cares about it now it's his still hard cock.

This is gonna be a long night, isn't it?

--x--

You wake up the next morning feeling thoroughly fucked feeling your body running hot. You have a few flashes of your dream with Tangerine and you are actually on the verge of tears realizing that it was just a dream just like Bella in Breaking Dawn. In the only day you don't touch yourself to the thought of him it's the day that your brain reminds you of what you shouldn't try to ignore.

Maybe if you didn't manifested your life in your early teens wishing a life like Twilight and other book series your life wouldn't be such a mess right now and even with all the disasters in the history, the romance plot was the one consuming you the most.

Speaking of manifestation, you did asked for a sign that the spell you used of that old book with hand-written spells worked. And since you don't believe in coincidences there must be a connection between these things no? Maybe you should ask for a clearer sign.

[leupagus]

Gonna be honest, I'm at the "noodling around instead of buckling down to actually write it" so here have another scene of whatever this ends up being

(From my doc which is labeled "sexnanigans lol")

"Why don't we just get it over with?" Crowley asked, a few days later. He was lying in bed, sprawled on his stomach along the top bit of the mattress with Aziraphale using him as a sort of very angular pillow. Every once in a while Aziraphale would rearrange Crowley's limbs into a new configuration to suit himself; at the moment he was contorted into something that most closely resembled a half-melted curly wurly.

"Mm?" said Aziraphale, his familiar I'm not really paying attention to you but I am recording what you're saying for playback in about thirty seconds, at which point I'll decide if anything you've said was worth listening to sort of "mm". He was reading yet another sexual manual; judging by the age of the cover and the deadness of the language contained therein, it was unlikely to be useful. The etchings were fun, though.

"You've been doing all this," he waved vaguely at the book, along with the half-dozen others piled on Aziraphale's nightstand, "For almost a month. Why don't we try something—"

"Get it over with?" Twenty-seven seconds, Crowley thought smugly, but attempted to school his expression into something serious when Aziraphale turned to frown at him. "I don't think this is something we ought to do at all, if you think of it like that. There's a rather good book, in fact, about enthusiastic consent and—" He reached for the nightstand.

Crowley tugged his arm back. "I didn't mean it like that," he said. "I'm all for it. I even invented some of those positions.* I'm just asking," he added, before Aziraphale could start demanding which positions, and with whom, which he was sure to say instead of who because jealousy in Aziraphale always manifested in creakingly correct grammar, "Why all this… research?"

Aziraphale shut his book, which could either go very well or very poorly; either way it meant Crowley was about to get his full attention. But he just sighed and said, "Do you recall the first time I tried food?"

That memory was too precious to deny. "You decimated an entire ox," Crowley said, not even bothering to keep the gloat out of his voice. "Most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."

"I think you really ought to be embarrassed about how much you mean that," Aziraphale said musingly, and right, this is why Crowley should have been wary about the closing of the book. "And then three hundred and eighty-seven years after that I tried wine, and got comprehensibly — what's the word?"

"Shitfaced."

"Blotto, thank you, is the word I was actually looking for. I had a hangover for two months."

"Wasn't that at my urging, too?" Crowley asked, reaching out to curl his fingers in Aziraphale's hair. "You really were rubbish at thwarting my wiles."

"Well, I was a rather rubbish angel, as it turned out," Aziraphale said, shutting his eyes and leaning into Crowley's touch. "Thank God for that. But that's my point, dearest. Whenever I've experienced the delights of Earth, it's often been — well, to use the old-fashioned term, gluttonous affair at first. Or if I'm using modern parlance, more gourmand than gourmet. And for this I want—"

"You think the terms 'gourmand' and 'gourmet' are modern parlance? D'you think the term 'modern parlance' is modern parlance?"

"I want," Aziraphale continued, relentless, "To savour it, this time. Savour you."

Crowley said, "Oh," and couldn't think of anything else to say. 

Aziraphale watched him for a few moments, those clever eyes seeing far too much, then made an absentminded tutting noise and maneuvered Crowley's elbow into a truly preposterous position before he resumed reading. 

Crowley let him.

[cherry4ecstasy]

The real meaning of vampirism.

(A reading from the point of view of a mortal nestled in the arms of a vampire lord)

🦇¶Whether or not a vampire retains any memory from its former life, its emotional attachments wither as once pure feelings become twisted by undeath.¶🦇

Angst.

Losing myself in his stiff, marble-like embrace, I wish only to quiet the ceaseless torrent of paranoid thoughts that swarm his mind.

His arms, cold as stone, might offer a brief reprieve from the agony of knowing what he truly is, what he has become. My heart aches with a grief I can never express, a sorrow born not just from what I feel for him but for the cruel fate that shaped him into this hollow, haunted figure.

Cazador Szarr was not born a monster. He was cursed to become one.

The weight of that curse is evident in every calculated movement, every smile that never quite touches his eyes. His emotions, once perhaps rich and complex, have withered under the relentless strain of immortality. I know that somewhere, deep beneath that cold exterior, there was once a spark of humanity; now twisted into something unrecognizable.

Being undead doesn’t just strip away life, it distorts your very soul. What once was friendship becomes jealousy, love becomes obsession, desire turns to possession and beauty shifts into lust.

I have to remind myself that his cruelty is not the result of some sadistic game he enjoys playing.

No, it’s simply who he is now.

His emotions, like everything else, have decayed, leaving behind nothing but twisted shadows of what once was. To expect warmth or tenderness from him would be to ask the sun to shine in the dead of night. He is a product of centuries of loss, of a life that can never be reclaimed, and in that realization lies the tragedy of my feelings for him.

Despite knowing all this, I still long for him. I long for that cold embrace, for a fleeting moment of stillness where I could pretend that beneath the monster, there is something, anything, of the man he once was.

And right now, in his crushing embrace, there is no heartbeat to match my own, no warmth to cling to; only the cold void that fills the space where life once thrived.

The silence between us is deafening, an emptiness in perfect, chilling harmony with the fragility of my weak, mortal body. His nails brush through my hair, each movement precise and deliberate, but the tenderness is overshadowed by the sharp, lingering sting beneath my scalp. Pain flows through me, but I stay still, letting it root deeper, because this is the closest I will ever be to him.

As I look into his eyes, gleaming red like embers that never truly die out, my tears fall without restraint. They are warm, alive, in stark contrast to the frozen depths of his gaze.

If only those salty drops, filled with the essence of my vitality, could somehow wash away his eternal damnation. My sorrow wells up not only for what he has lost, but for the terrible truth that nothing in this world, not even my love, can lift the curse that binds him.

I will never be his sun, for my light would reduce him to ashes. But still, I ache to be something, anything, in his world of perpetual night; a small place of warmth, where my fleeting mortality might offer him a taste of what it is to live again. Perhaps in the brief brush of my fragile life against his immortality, there could be some small solace for him, even if it is fleeting, even if it is hopeless.

His beauty is unlike anything else, so unnatural yet deadly charming. He is my favourite painting come to life, a work of dark art perfected beyond mortal comprehension. His black hair, sleek and lustrous, falls like liquid night over his broad shoulders, a cascade of shadows that only heightens his mystery. It frames his face perfectly, parting just enough to reveal the tips of his elven ears and the gleam of silver piercings that catch the dim light, adding a touch of cold elegance.

His pale skin is flawless, like marble brought to life, each feature chiselled with such precision it feels unreal, as if sculpted by the hand of a master artist who knew no limits. The sharp angles of his jawline, the high, aristocratic cheekbones, the curve of his lips; they all speak of an otherworldly perfection that haunts my every thought. He is a living statue, a vision of untouchable grace, and I can’t help but yearn to be as perfect as him.

Yet, I know that beneath that perfection lies the curse, the darkness that twists beauty into something cold and unreachable. But still, I am drawn to him, captivated by his deadly allure, willing to lose myself in that darkness if it means being near him.

Entangled in the heavy silence of the night, the occasional howl of the wind and the distant hoot of an owl are the only witnesses to this moment. His cold, undead lips brush against my forehead in a gesture that feels both reassuring and possessive. It's a quiet reminder, unspoken but understood, that I belong to him and him alone. No words pass between us, because none are needed. In this stillness, we share something deeper than speech; a connection forged through the burden of survival that weighs on both of us.

For him, it's the endless existence that strips away the warmth of life, leaving only the icy necessity of control. For me, it’s the fragile, fleeting mortality I cling to, even as I feel myself drawn deeper into his world. Together, we are bound by the quiet, eternal struggle against the loneliness that haunts us both. In this moment, we are neither predator nor prey, just two souls navigating the shadows of an existence that no one else can understand.

Under the nocturnal sun, I search for a word to describe this complex relationship. A bond that defies the simplicity of love, or even obsession. It is more like a rare flower, one that only blooms in the dark hours, hidden from the world and nourished by shadows. It thrives in the quiet, unseen spaces between us, delicate yet resilient, beautiful yet dangerous. A love tainted by survival, where tenderness and terror intertwine, feeding off each other in a way that is as intoxicating as it is destructive.

Perhaps there is no word for something so paradoxical.

It is simply us.

((Paintings, Schiele - The embrace; Munch - Love and Pain))

[authorautumnbanks]

Stuck In Another World With A Demon Fox (Ch 2)

Read Chapter 1

There is a difference between falling asleep and being knocked out. Being knocked feels so unnatural, like there is a black hole in my memory.

“Here.”

I jerk back. My eyes snap open. Ohmygod! What is that pungent smell? I gag.

“Do you not eat?” Roharu holds out what I can only assume is fruit. It’s neon pink with thorns. Square shaped. Odd.

“Of course I eat, just don’t wanna eat raw meats or things that smell like crap. Is that even edible?”

Wait a minute. We aren’t in a tree anymore. I stand so quickly my head is woozy, but there’s no time for that, no matter how much my body is yelling at me. How long was I knocked out? The light is blinding. I didn’t think this forest could even get this bright.

“Human.”

“It’s Megan. You know that,” I mutter, rubbing my head. Ouch okay. My hair is tangled as all get out. Not like I keep a comb on me. I must look like a wreck. “Is there like a restaurant around here?”

“Restaurant?” He sounds out the word. “There are no establishments here. Only beasts and the dead.”

Dread coils around me like a snake, strangling me until there is nothing left. Only beasts and the dead? What kind of place is this? I suck in a breath and count to ten. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Damn.

I’m still here in this awful place.

“Then why are you here? You don’t look like one of those things…though you are a bit feral looking.”

Roharu preens. “Hunting.”

“Hunting…what?”

The smile slides off his face for a split second before he plasters it back on like a mask. “If I tell you, I’d have to kill you.” He tilts his head, and even though he’s smiling, the shadows are quivering.

That’s not normal. Shadows don’t quiver. They don’t do anything really, and yet the shadows around Roharu are.

“If you do not eat, you will perish. Unless that is what you are after?” He slices open the fruit with his claws and holds it out again.

I grimace. It smells so rotten like eggs left to sit out on a counter for days and then placed on a hot sidewalk. “How do I know this isn’t a ploy to kill me?” I squint. That’s it. Roharu is trying to kill me. He said he’s hunting. He probably gets off on that kind on that kind of thing. Torture or whatever it is that crazy serial killers do.

“You think I’d resort to poison?”

“I don’t know you at all!” This fox man cannot be serious. He didn’t even try to deny that he would kill me. “You know what, just take me back to where you found me, and I’ll be on my way.” I dust off my pants. The faster I get back to my world, the better. I’m hungry, cranky, and I need a bath like yesterday.

Roharu bites into the fruit and chews slowly. “No.”

Great, he’s going to take me back and I’ll retrace my steps. Maybe I’ll fall into another hole and that will transport me to my apartment. Preferably in my bed.

Wait.

No?

Did he tell me no?

Roharu quirks a brow as he continues to slowly eat the fruit.

“Did you just tell me no?”

“Is human hearing truly that terrible?” Roharu sighs. “Or maybe it’s a lack of comprehension.”

“I’m going to smack you,” I growl, bawling my fists at my sides. “Just take me back to that area and you won’t have to worry about me. It’s a win-win for both of us.”

“Very well.” He tosses the remaining fruit behind him and walks past me. His tail hangs low, swishing gently. That’s a good sign, right? If he was annoyed, then his tail would move in sharp bursts like a cat. Maybe? Dang, I should have paid more attention in that wildlife class I took on a whim. “Are you going to gawk? Or are you going to move?”

I scowl and march after him. “Give me a break. I just woke up from you knocking me out. Thanks for that, by the way. I just loved being knocked out.”

“You’re welcome,” he quips. His ears twitch and he halts. I freeze. My muscles tense. Is it a zombie? Please don’t let it be a zombie. I am not cut out for this. He resumes walking and I suspect the slow pace is more for my benefit as I trip over tree roots and plants that are far too grabby than they outta be.

Seriously, is everything in this depressing forest out to kill me?

“I was being sarcastic. No one enjoys being knocked out.”

“Had I not, you would have shrieked like a banshee and drawn more attention to us.” He glances over his shoulder and his purple eyes shine like jewels. “Your form is…” A fang pokes through his upper lip. “Weak.”

I blink once. Twice. I’m going to hit him. Who is he calling weak? I’m plenty strong. “First of all, I work out.”

“Right.” He snorts.

“I do!” Where does he get off? I walk in front of him, place my hand over my biceps, and flex my muscles. “See, I work out.”

Roharu snorts and then laughs. “You couldn’t even take care of the klarvak, and you think yourself to be strong?”

“Okay, so I didn’t have any weapons on me then, but I could have taken that thing on if I put my mind to it.” I jut my chin out. “I was just letting you show off a little.”

“Even a kit tells tales better than these lies you are trying to weave.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m not in the mood to waste any more time. We will go back to this area, and you will reveal why the undead are looking for you.”

“Buddy, I don’t know why the zombies are looking for me. I’ve never met a dead person in my life. At least not one that could talk back and move around, or want to eat your brains. That stuff only happens in movies. Not real life.”

“M-o-v-i-e-s?” He struggles around the word as though it is foreign. How strange. Some things go over just fine, but Roharu has no idea what a restaurant is or even what movies are. What kind of backwater world is this? God, I’d kill for a cupcake right now. My stomach rumbles. Roharu huffs.

Who cares if he is offended? I am not eating raw meat or pungent-smelling fruits.

The heat is beating down on my back. I wipe my forehead. What the hell is this? This forest is temperamental. Why is it suddenly so hot? My feet ache.

I sniff.

Something sweet is in the air. I’m going crazy. I just know it, but my legs turn and walk left, ignoring Roharu’s growls.

What is that smell? I sniff again. Chocolate?

“Human!”

“Megan,” I reply, off-handily. Seriously, what is that smell, and why is coming from deeper in the forest? It can’t be the zombies. They should smell worse than that weird fruit Roharu tried to kill me with. My mouth drops. Is that…hell yeah! I rush over to the cupcake in the middle of the forest floor. Not even the creepy plants are near it.

This is a sign!

Everything is going to be okay.

“Human!” Roharu calls again, but screw him. I am not sharing my cupcake. He can find his own. I grab the cupcake and hold it in my palm. It even has pink and purple star sprinkles on top of white whipped icing! Oh, this is Heaven. I’m saved. Something to eat finally, and Roharu is taking me back to the portal area.

I’m positive if I look hard enough, the portal will reveal itself.

“This is my cupcake,” I tell him, right before going to take a bite. Something glints and I jerk back.

“What are you doing!” the cupcake yells, wielding two mini swords. I drop it and scream. My cupcake just talked!

I take everything back. This isn’t Heaven. This is Hell! Why are there murderous cupcakes here?

“Get back here!” the cupcake jumps up and down with its little legs that stick out from the green wrapper. It waves a sword at me in anger. “I will fulfill my—ah!” Roharu plucks the cupcake from the ground and holds it out in front of him. “Let me go! You mongrel!”

I snap out of my stupor and walk around Roharu. The cupcake glares at me with its large dark eyes, and I glare right back. “The hell is wrong with you! You don’t just try to kill people.”

“You tried to eat me,” it retorts. “And I have my orders,” it mutters the last part.

“What orders?”

“As if I’d tell you.”

Roharu pinches the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps a little fire will open you up,” he says it so casually, as though he is talking about how hot the sun is.

The cupcake blanches and squirms, trying to get out of Roharu’s hold, but its tiny swords aren’t doing a lick of damage. They might not be hurting Roharu, but those things would have definitely hurt me if its plan succeeded.

“So, you weren’t going to say anything?” I hiss. “About there being sword-wielding cupcakes?”

Roharu slides his eyes towards me and then back to the cupcake in his hand. “They normally don’t travel this far, but more importantly, what idiot picks up a cupcake in the middle of a forest and tries to eat it? Your survival skills are worse than a whelp’s.”

“I’m hungry! Give me a break. Cupcakes aren’t supposed to kill, and they certainly don’t talk.” At least not where I’m from. Sure, someone might get crafty and sprinkle something on a cupcake, but how common is that? Spoiler alert, it’s not. Not at all, unless someone is cheating with someone’s spouse and the whole office smiled in that poor lady’s face. Then it’s common.

I suck in a breath and count to ten. This is fine. Everything is fine. Peachy. This must be a dream. A very, very long dream because I am not walking around with a fox boy, and a cupcake did not try to kill me based on someone’s orders.

Roharu scoffs. “Who are you working for?”

The cupcake snaps its mouth close and crosses its arms. “I’d never tell you.”

“That so?” Roharu smiles and then squeezes the cupcake until it calls for mercy. “Are you ready to talk now?”

“Fine! Fine. I don’t know, okay! It was an order to come out and take care of the human. She’s the only human here.”

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. Someone told him to come out and take care of me? My face warms. The heat is beating down on me. It’s far too stuffy. Far too humid. Someone is after me? But why? I just got here. How do I already have enemies?

“You in the habit of working for an employer you don’t know?”

“The identity has never mattered. What matters is the coin,” the cupcake says with a scoff. “And she’s worth a pretty coin. Look, if ya help me out, I’ll split it with ya. No big deal. A powerful demon such as yourself wouldn’t want to be shackled with a human, anyway. Trouble they are.”

My blood turns to ice. That overbearing heat? Yeah, I wish I was sweltering right now. Now? Now everything is cold. My body tenses like it is going into shock. Roharu wouldn’t actually kill me, right? We’re kind of friends, though I did threaten to slap him a couple of times, but he knocked me out first, and oh my God, Roharu isn’t saying no.

“Just how much coin are we talking?”

I take a step back. Is he serious?

“50,000 Thi. We split it and both of us could have enough for a small home with a couple of servants.”

Roharu tilts his head and then looks at me. “50,000 Thi, huh?”

I glare. Oh, I dislike that gleam in his eyes. If Roharu tries anything, I’ll go straight for his ears.

“60—40 split, and we’ll have a deal.” Roharu smirks.

My eye twitches. Damn fox.

[octopuscato]

Coming here from reading through the comments on the AO3 news to say: Kudos, you have the patience of a saint. I would never have managed to reduce my irritation enough not to unleash a truckload of snarky passive-aggressiveness onto some commenters, so I applaud you for managing to answer many people's innocent and good-faith questions calmly and refute many a stupid comment in good faith. Seriously, kudos and respect for that.

Late answer is late: THANK YOU. I was internally losing my mind at just how STUPID people were being. Like, whyyyyyy why why WHY are you on the reading hobby website if you can't bother reading the post you're replying to? HOW can it be that with how dumbed down the TOS became, you STILL don't get them? And why the everloving fuck do you get up in arms about underage sex content when Ao3 is THE ANTI CENSORSHIP BASTION?! Reading comprehension is well and truly dead. How dare you piss on the poor! I think my favourite comment was one saying they should "just rip off the bandaid now" and forbid underage, since "when you start running the site for profit, you'll have to do it anyway". I just

[steelycunt]

hiii ridi, how are you!! i finished trc last night and i am still not over the fact that gansey didn’t end up actually dead??? like ngl i’m very disappointed, it just robbed us of the emotional impact that his sacrifice was supposed to have, and we spent 4 entire books awaiting his death and for what! ahh. and i say this as a gansey enjoyer! he’s such a little guy, like i truly appreciate him and his anxiety and his need to control the narrative and fix his friends’ lives and ! ugh. i also was just really surprised that he came back to life because nothing on tumblr (like primarily your blog hahah) had me under the impression that he wouldn’t actually die?? i was waiting for the “get him off the road, he’s not an animal” bit because i knew it was coming and then. two pages later. well… anyway yeah, would love to hear your thoughts on all this <333

hi darling im not too bad!! how are you!! agh yes the not-death...to be honest i dont remember it particularly bothering me but i can definitely see it on both sides!! and i dont remember if i knew whether he lived or not when i read it lol..but i can definitely see what you mean like we spend four books structuring the story around this supposed fated ending and he doesnt stay dead for particularly long. i would not have minded if hed died and stayed dead!! as a fellow gansey enjoyer i mean the book ends anyway so its not like as gansey enjoyers we'd be deprived of anything. i suppose from the other side you can look at his obsession with glendower over the series and this quests he feels hes fated to complete and the way he feels his life is owed to answering this question after it was saved and say that the real question of the series is what ganseys life looks like if you remove that element from it. like theres that whole question of what lies on the other side of the glendower quest for him, what happens if he finds him or does not, because it is this thing orchestrating his life and trapping him in this perceived purpose that he literally has to die to get out of and actually maybe that has been the point of his journey all along (cringe way of putting it but its 11.30pm here and im an idiot)...his sense of being caught up in this bigger thing and being duty bound to live out a certain fate as if his life almost does not belong to him. and then he dies and that is that life ending and when he comes back his life is his again....glendower was dead and gansey kind of wanted to live etc...not saying this is a correct reading or one is more right than the other im sure there are people who have given this story more thought than i reading this and shaking their heads at my stupidity and poor comprehension skills...but i read these books a few years ago to be fair to me....but yeah!! both are valid imo i can see why someone would feel a bit cheated by that ending but i can also see how it works : ^ )

[sillygoofyqueer]

I wrote this when I read the latest chapter of losing hope but I didn’t have time to send, so here:

Four, I love you so much.

The comfort to the hurt of the previous (and probably future) chapters?? Unparalleled. It is so late it’s early as of reading it so reading comprehension is a bit weird but frankly? I’m probably going to do a reread. Maybe of the entire fic. Who knows! Everything in this latest chapter has me squealing of joy and also crying over how bittersweet it all is! The lan juniors doing everything they can to make Wwx comfortable? And Wwx realizing who lan yuan is??? Adorable. I’m going to cry over this until the end of time. LWJ and Wwx misreading each other hurts tho. Like,

LWJ: he’s been suffering for so long while I have done nothing to stop it. Helping him and showing we care for him would be the bare minimum and I should be ashamed of myself for letting this wonderful man suffer so.

Meanwhile, Wwx: sooooo… is he going to turn me in…? Not that I want to go back but just wondering. No…??? But he hated me back then?? Guess this is the best I’ll get since everyone else wants to kill me..?

They’re idiots. I love your portrayal of them. I also can’t wait to see when LWJ realizes how much of this was done by Jin Guangyao. That man is dead twice over considering if Nie Huaisang joins LWJ in making Jin Guangyao regret living? Oh jgy is going to be begging for death.

Can’t wait for the next chapter but remember to take breaks and take care of yourself :3

Looking up at you with big ole eyes. BIG ole eyes. I am quite literally dead. Gone. On the floor and wiped out. Cough cough cough, bleh. ...... ANYWAY!!!!!!! I was really concerned when portraying Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji this chapter because...well, it's their first interaction together after thirteen years! There are complete different circumstances to canon!! So, hearing that you like how I am portraying them is nothing but literal music to my ears. Lan Wangji being the repenting worshipper and Wei Wuxian as the traumatised prisoner??? Mmmmmm. It is something that I've been wanting to write well, but I've been PETRIFIED. Also, Wei Wuxian hasn't figured out who Lan Yuan is just yet because boy oh BOY if I'm not going to make this reveal dramatic. I did Drama for GCSE, it's in my blood. And AND, I shouldn't be telling you this but because I'm so madly in love with you, you get little hints towards the plot. I literally cannot wait to introduce Nie Huaisang. I've been wrestling myself the the floor every time I want to prematurely introduce him, but trust me when I say it's going to be brilliant when he's finally dragged into the plot. And he will be. By his ear, kicking and screaming, but oh..he will be. And it will not be helpful for Jin Guangyao when he is. Don't worry! After all of this hurt I would be truly criminal to deny a little comfort. Not much though - what do you take me for? FUN FACT!!! There may be certain guest appearances in the next chapter. Who knows? Maybe you'll never know. I can't believe I haven't mentioned it yet, but I am truly violently sobbing. I'm thrashing around in my grave (where I'm writing this from) every time I reread this ask. I LOVE YOU TO BITS. YOU BRING SUCH JOY IN MY LIFE. AAAAAAGGGGGHHHH. On another note...am I writing chapter ten?.....DON'T LOOK AT MY DOC. DON'T LOOK AT IT. THERE'S NO PROOF. I'm not procrastinating my summer work to write it.. (listen, I've only just realised that this is exactly what I'm doing. Will I sort that out? No. BACK TO THE DOC-) (context here)

[hausofd3ath]

𝔊𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠 𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔢𝔲𝔪

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What is Gothic Literature?

Gothic literature can be defined as writing that employs dark and picturesque scenery, startling and melodramatic narrative devices, and an overall atmosphere of exoticism, mystery, fear, and dread.

Getting into the genre can be quite intimidating, as many of the original books and writings are written using old English. Of course, there have been modern rewritings that are more comprehensible to the average reader, but if you wish to truly experience the art of gothic literature, I'd suggest trying your hand at reading the original texts.

"Gothic Horror" first appeared in Mid-18th century Europe with the publishing of Horace Walpole’s dark, "The Castle of Otranto" in 1764

In 1818, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley’s debut novel, "Frankenstein", marked a shift in gothic horror by changing the typical gothic villain from an evil man or supernatural creature into an physical embodiment of human folly, brought to life through the power of science. Edgar Allan Poe managed to condense elements of gothic horror within his short stories, starting in 1839 with the release of "The Fall of the House of Usher."

The Victorian era (1837-1901) produced some of the most well-known examples of gothic horror with the publication of such novels as Wilkie Collins’ "The Woman in White" (1859) and Bram Stoker’s "Dracula" (1897) and novellas such as Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu’s "Carmilla" (1871) and Robert Louis Stevenson’s "The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" (1886).

-- Source : "A Brief History of Gothic Horror" by the New York Public Library

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For Beginners.

Introductory level to see if the genre is your cup of tea. Keep in mind these might require looking up the meaning of words if English is not your native language.

"Dracula" by Bram Stoker (1897) - "Dracula" tells its story through journal entries, diaries, letters, and telegrams written by the novel’s main characters, making it an epistolary novel. The novel follows the narratives of multiple characters including Jonathan Harker, Mina (Murray) Harker, and Abraham Van Helsing, as they work together to defeat Count Dracula, a centuries-old vampire.

-- Source : Dracula by StudySmarter

"Frankenstein" by Mary W. Shelley (1818) - "Frankenstein" tells the story of gifted scientist Victor Frankenstein who succeeds in giving life to a being of his own creation. However, this is not the perfect specimen he imagines that it will be, but rather a hideous creature who is rejected by Victor and mankind in general.

-- Source : Frankenstein by BBC

"Carmilla" by Sheridan Le Fanu (1871) - In an isolated castle deep in the Styrian forest, Laura leads a solitary life with only her elderly father for company. Until one moonlit night, a horse-drawn carriage crashes into view, carrying an unexpected guest – the beautiful Carmilla. So begins a feverish friendship between Laura and her mysterious, entrancing companion. But as Carmilla becomes increasingly strange and volatile, prone to eerie nocturnal wanderings, Laura finds herself tormented by nightmares and growing weaker by the day.

Pre-dating Dracula by twenty-six years, Carmilla is the original vampire story, steeped in sexual tension and gothic romance.

-- Source : Carmilla by The Last Word Book Review

"Short Story Collection" Edgar Allan Poe (1935-1950) - Though not really a book on its own, There are many collections of Edgar Allan Poe's short stories that were written between 1935-1950.

Good short stories to read on their own are ; "The Fall of the House of Usher" (1839), "Eleonora" (1850), "Berenice" (1835) and "The Oval Portrait" (1850).

"Poetry Collections" by Edgar Allan Poe (1929-1975) - Once again, Not a book, but rather a collection of Edgar Allan Poes poetry. Poems you must read are ; "The Raven" (1845), "Spirits of the Dead" (1829) and "The Valley of Unrest" (1845).

-- Source : poestories.com

"The Woman in White" by Wilkie Collins (1859) - "The Woman in White" famously opens with Walter Hartright's eerie encounter on a moonlit London road. Engaged as a drawing master to the beautiful Laura Fairlie, Walter becomes embroiled in the sinister intrigues of Sir Percival Glyde and his 'charming' friend Count Fosco, who has a taste for white mice, vanilla bonbons, and poison. Pursuing questions of identity and insanity along the paths and corridors of English country houses and the madhouse, "The Woman in White" is the first and most influential of the Victorian genre that combined Gothic horror with psychological realism.

-- Source : goodreads.com

For those wanting to continue reading gothic novels and literature

If you enjoy the genre, here are some mroe books id suggest reading to expand your library.

"The Monk" by Matthew Lewis (1796) - Shocking, erotic and violent, "The Monk" is the story of Ambrosio, torn between his spiritual vows and the temptations of physical pleasure. His internal battle leads to sexual obsession, rape and murder, yet this book also contains knowing parody of its own excesses as well as social comedy. Written by Matthew Lewis when he was only nineteen, it was a ground-breaking novel in the Gothic Horror genre and spawned hundreds of imitators, drawn in by its mixture of bloodshed, sex and scandal.

-- Source : goodreads.com

"The Turn of the Screw" by Henry James (1898) - A very young woman's first job: governess for two weirdly beautiful, strangely distant, oddly silent children, Miles and Flora, at a forlorn estate... An estate haunted by a beckoning evil. Half-seen figures who glare from dark towers and dusty windows- silent, foul phantoms who, day by day, night by night, come closer, ever closer. With growing horror, the helpless governess realizes the fiendish creatures want the children, seeking to corrupt their bodies, possess their minds, own their souls. But worse-much worse- the governess discovers that Miles and Flora have no terror of the lurking evil. For they want the walking dead as badly as the dead want them.

-- Source : goodreads.com

"Wuthering Heights" by Emily Brontë (1850) - "Wuthering Heights" is not a love story. It’s a disturbing, grasping, claustrophobic exploration of jealousy and revenge played out in two family homes located within spitting distance of each other on the desolate moors of Yorkshire. There’s not a hint of sunshine in the tale or the setting, and that’s what makes it so potent.

The plot tells the life story of Heathcliff, a mysterious orphan who is adopted by the patriarch of the Earnshaw family. The Earnshaw’s farmhouse, called Wuthering Heights, is a hard environment for hard people: dark, cold, situated atop a windy rise. As children, Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw become inseparable and obsessed with each other — the un-love story that makes moody teenagers swoon.

-- Source : strongsenseofplace.com

The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole (1764) - "The Castle of Otronto" is a story of one man's desperate and villainous plot to protect his family's claim to the throne. In seeking to divorce his wife Hippolita and marry the young Isabella, he tries to gain a son to secure his family's reign, but fails.

-- Source : bbc.com

The Italian by Ann Radcliffe (1796) - From the first moment Vincentio di Vivaldi, a young nobleman, sets eyes on the veiled figure of Ellena, he is captivated by her enigmatic beauty and grace. But his haughty and manipulative mother is against the match and enlists the help of her confessor to come between them. Schedoni, previously a leading figure of the Inquisition, is a demonic, scheming monk with no qualms about the task, whether it entails abduction, torture - or even murder.

-- Source : goodreads.com

"The Ghost-seer" by Friedrich von Schiller (1787) - "The Ghost-seer" is an experimental, deliberately fragmentary work. Thrillingly held together by its dramatic plot and lavish, operatic setting, it is a multi-layered fiction of deceptive simplicity. For a rich young prince and his loyal companion, Venice promises nothing but unfettered pleasure—until they encounter a mysterious masked Armenian who delivers them a strange prophecy. And when his words prove true, this enigmatic figure develops a deeply sinister influence over them, drawing them into darker forms of “magic.” As the narrative progresses, it become increasingly unclear whether the apparitions the prince sees are the manifestations of a troubled spirit world or simply an elaborate hoax.

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This is my first time making a blog of this kind, i am quite new to reading but i did my best to research each book and compile them into one post. All Sources used are listed. Follow me on GoodReads if you wanna :)

[slothquisitor]

What Moves in the Dark: Chapter Sixteen

A post-campaign Baldur’s Gate 3 eldritch horror AU.

Chapter summary: Liv and the gang look for Astarion. TW: Body horror, mentions of past abuse.

Read from the beginning.

Read on AO3.

_____________________________________________________

When the door opens and light pours into the room that is his cell, Astarion doesn’t move. He has done this before, after all. He’s not exactly sure how to play this, so he opts for nonchalance. He sits, unbothered and without reaction as the figure enters the room. 

He learned a long time ago that the only control he truly has in these situations is within his own mind. His body would obey an order, bleed, he might even scream despite how hard he tried to bite them back. But in his mind, he could be anywhere…untouchable. So he retreats there, pulling his consciousness back, retreating from his own limbs, embracing the numbness. 

The figure is closer now, and he can see who it is now. It is Lucian. Or whatever is puppeting Lucian. He’s not sure that there’s a person still in there. He is moving like a normal person at least. Which is a small mercy, he’s not sure he’d be able to keep it together if whatever this person is sauntered in on all fours again. 

��You are dead.” The voice rasps as if the words have clawed themselves out of Lucian’s throat. There is no expression on the face at all as if it either doesn’t understand how to move the muscles of the face or simply doesn’t care to try. 

“Is that a threat? Forgive me if I don’t take it very seriously. If you wanted me dead, I already would be.” He keeps his tone even, careful. Watching for the way each word lands. He’s getting startlingly little. 

“Observation, merely. You do not live. You have no heartbeat…no pulse of life.” There is no intonation, no flicker of emotion in the voice. It is more than simply off-putting. 

“Oh, I don’t know. Not a lot of corpses have this vigor.” Keep it talking, whatever this is. Figure it out, what it wants, what it wants from him.

“Are there others like you?”

“Well, there’s no one quite like me.” 

Not a smile, not even a hint of anything living behind those dead eyes. “How many?”

“Oh, at least seven thousand and six, give or take. I’m sure not all of them survived their trip to the Underdark. But I did find letters from Cazador to another vampire lord…”

Lucian lunges at him, his face mere inches from his own. He has dropped into a crouch, and it takes every bit of two centuries of pretending to not be afraid in the face of Godey and Cazador and his siblings to not flinch away. This close, he can smell Lucian’s blood, it is so foul it makes him want to retch. He stops breathing to avoid gagging. 

“How many?” He expected the words to come out angry, annoyed, but there again is no intonation, no emotion behind it. 

“I don’t know. Vampires aren’t exactly popular in this realm. Something you might be familiar with since you’re wearing this body. What are you?”

“I am beyond comprehension.”

“Try me.”

Lucian’s righthand paws at the dirty floor, but Astarion keeps his attention on his face, on the expressionless, emotionless void. “I did. You are the first thing I could not control. I could not use you to find the others. But I will learn. That is why you are here.”

He doesn’t know what any of that means, but a cold spear of fear spreads through his limbs. Suddenly he’s very glad he had blacked out for whatever happened before, whatever this thing did to him. Or tried to do. There’s an anger there, too. A rage he doesn’t know how to name. He cannot deal with it now.

“I should try again,” Lucian says without judgment or anger, jaw dropping open and drawing closer. The room is dark, so it takes a moment for Astarion to be able to see the way the tendrils spread and reach from the back of Lucian’s throat toward Astarion’s face. He doesn’t bother tamping down the fear now. He’s not sure that this thing cares anyway. He leans as far back as he can, but there’s nowhere to go, he’s already up against the stone wall. 

He doesn’t dare touch Lucian, not sure what will happen, what might emerge from him. But the tendrils are coming closer and closer, branching and grasping like tiny vines. He’s not sure how Lucian plans to use him, or if those tendrils need to go down his own throat, but he keeps his lips pressed firmly shut, twisting as far away as he can.  

But he is trapped. He can feel the tendrils brush against his skin, a vicious caress. He closes his eyes, he’d rather not see whatever fresh horror is in store. 

Suddenly the sensation disappears. He forces his eyes open. Lucian’s head has snapped to the side…it is twisted unnaturally far to look back at the open door. And then without another word or a glance back at him, it scrambles out of the room. Astarion’s breath comes back to him in gasping pulls. He doesn’t need to breathe, but his body doesn’t always remember that. He leans his head back against the stone wall and closes his eyes, grateful for the moment that he has managed to survive this. That whatever was about to happen didn’t happen…but it might later, and he needs a plan. 

It is then that he looks down at the ground, and sees where Lucian had been pawing at it with his hand, but that’s not what he was doing at all. 

Written in the dirt, messy but legible, are the words, “Help me.”

Is Lucian still inside whatever that thing is?

***

“You’re mad at me,” Percy says as Liv follows him up through the wide Upper City streets. The moon shines coldly above them, drenching the empty streets in silver light. 

No, she isn’t merely mad or merely scared. Somehow, it feels as though every emotion, every new piece of information, and every decision made, is too fucking overwhelming. It is all too much, and so it all just runs together until she feels more numb than anything else.

“I’ve been mad at you most of my life, Percy. I don’t see why it needs to matter now.”

He’s leading them through the Manorborn District. Before they’d left Ramazith’s tower, Percy had handed over every one of his weapons. Shadowheart, Veska, and Minsc have been tasked with keeping an eye on him, in case whatever he’d infected himself with had less to do with voices and more to do with action. 

That is yet another thing that feels too overwhelming to deal with. So she tries not to think about it at all. 

Rolan, Cal, and Lia had opted to stay behind at Ramazith’s Tower believing that if Astarion managed to escape on his own, he was likely to go there first. It has been well over the promised hour, but Kharis hasn’t gotten back to her. She’d like to check in, but doesn’t want to waste a spell she might need later, so they’re going into this blind. Which seems to be bothering her much more than anyone else. Is this how they saved the whole damn world? Just by jumping in without all the information first? 

“I guess that’s…understandable,” he replies. “I should have reached out after you left. Told you everything.”

She is not really interested in exhuming the past right now. Not when there are much bigger problems, but then, he’s infected and she doesn’t have a way to fix it that’s not draining him of his blood and hoping for the best. 

“How long?”

“Since Brelia died.”

She doesn’t look at him, keeps her eyes trained instead on the street. They’ve never talked about this. She’s not sure that she wants to do it now. “I see.”

And he’s been living a double life ever since. Working with the Guild…helping Veska. But not her. It is just another sort of betrayal amongst betrayals. But knowing that Percy has the capacity to help, to be so different than what she has always known. She wants to ask him why. Why he never helped her, why he set the Guild to keep an eye on her, but wouldn’t talk to her himself. Why he helped Astarion without telling him who he was. But she’s not sure she wants the answer. Percy is a lot easier to hate at a distance. A lot easier to find untrustworthy when he’s not infecting himself in order to find Astarion. 

She’s having a very hard time reconciling her ideas of who her brother is, the person he’s always been to her to the person she’s seen over the last hour. And maybe all of those things will get to matter, but they don’t right now. He’s here and he’s helping, and everything else will have to wait. 

“This way,” Percy says, leading them down a narrow side street. The walls of the two manors that flank it rise up in the moonlight, dark and imposing. It looks like a dead end. 

“I do not believe that this will lead us anywhere,” Jaheira says, glancing at Gale with one eyebrow raised. 

There’s a stone retaining wall at the end of this side street, and Percy pauses at it and then begins to run his hands over the stone while he looks for something. 

“What are you looking for?” she whispers to his back, glancing back at their companions who are looking doubtfully on. 

He doesn’t stop tracing the stones with his fingers. “This.” There’s a slight click as one of the stones pushes into the wall, and then part of the stone pushes back and away, revealing a passageway. Percy turns to the group looking more than a little proud of himself. 

“Well, this looks promising. Nothing bad ever happened when we went into strange dark passageways,” Shadowheart says. 

“Well, let us hope this works.” Jaheira opens her palm and whispers Astarion’s name as she casts the spell to locate him. A tiny golden arrow appears in her palm, it wobbles a bit, but as she holds her palm near the doorway, it settles on a direction. Jaheira grins. “And now we have a heading.”

It takes all of Liv’s self-restraint not to rush into the darkened passageway in search of Astarion, instead, she waits for further instructions from Jaheira or Gale who everyone else seems to defer to. 

“Stick close to me,” Jaheira says to her and then ducks inside. 

Liv glances at her brother, who has moved aside to let her through. There are so many things she wants to say, should probably say. She thinks that maybe she should be grateful, but no words come. 

He merely leans against the stone threshold, all relative ease.  “Go on, find Astarion.”

Later. They will talk about this later. And then she follows Jaheira into the dark. 

***

Astarion is grateful for once, for the darkness. There is movement beyond this room that is his cell, heavy footfalls, voices murmuring. He retreats as deep as he can into the darkness, unsure if it is better to go undiscovered by whoever might be beyond the door or risk a rescue by someone who is just as bad as his captor. 

Because Lucian, or whatever the thing is that’s puppeting his body…Not-Lucian needs to control him…for what? What can he do…because he could find other infected people? Is it gathering them all here? Moira had said she’d been hearing voices telling her to come to the Upper City…to come here? Is every other infected person here too? Why would it need all the pieces of itself back together? 

He has to get out of here. 

He examines his shackles again, desperately searching for some way to open them. There’s no keyhole, but maybe he’s wrong, maybe they’re not magical. Maybe they can be broken. He begins banging the shackle on his wrist against the sharpest stone outcropping on the wall. 

All he gets for his trouble is a sore wrist. 

He might be able to get his hands out if he’s willing to break his thumbs. His thumbs have been broken before, not by himself, but he’s fairly certain he could do it, but that won’t solve the problem of his ankle shackles. He leans his head back; he hates how quickly the depressing calculations of pain versus freedom have reared their ugly head. The futility of his ability to change his situation is sinking in, and with it comes a certain degree of panic. What if he is trapped here forever? What if Not-Lucian comes back? What if it learns - whatever the hells that means?

There’s movement at his door, but not simple footfalls going past, someone is opening it. He presses further against the wall as if he can disappear into it. He will not be taken by surprise. Not here. He’ll fight back this time; he’s ready. 

Except that he isn’t. Because the door opens and wreathed in golden lights that bob around her head, it is Liv. Liv is here .

He whispers her name, half convinced that she will disappear like smoke. But she doesn’t.  

“Astarion!” She rushes forward into the room, toward him. She drops to her knees in front of him, eyes filled with so much genuine concern as they roam over him. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” 

“Never better, my dear,” he says, chin raised as if he hasn’t been scared shitless since he woke up. He forces a smile as if he isn’t a mess, covered in dried blood, clothes ruined and stiff. As if he was never worried at all, as if being captured was a mere inconvenience and not a reminder of his darkest and bleakest memories.

She’s here and the rest doesn’t matter. He can see her look at the shackles, realize there’s no keyhole, and then rest her hand against them, murmuring something he doesn’t quite catch. He feels more than sees the magic fall away, and then the shackles follow. It is a profound relief. 

“You came for me.” The words are out before he can stop them, before he can smother the way emotion fills them out, pressing up against every syllable, giving his fear away.  

She freezes, her emerald eyes have caught an edge as she looks at him. “Always.” She says it like it was never a question like she was always on her way to him. He loves her for that. 

And quite without thinking about it, his now free arms are around her, pulling her into a tight hug. She is here, and he is safe. He’s sure that the way his hands clench at her robes dispels the illusion of nonchalance, one that she had perhaps seen through already, she is so good at seeing him. He’s not sure he cares anymore. He breathes her in, feels her warmth and her familiarity. 

Her hands move in comforting arcs against his back. “You’re alright,” she whispers, and he’s not sure if it’s more for his benefit or hers. But it is hard not to melt into the comfort she offers, the quiet, fervent hope. 

“How did you find me?” he asks, pulling away, but only just, he can’t quite keep from touching her, as if she might disappear if he doesn’t keep a hand on her. It’s ridiculous, but he can’t stop himself. 

She smiles and inclines her head toward the doorway. “I had an awful lot of help.” 

He glances back at the door, at the familiar figures quietly watching their exchange. “You know, if you wanted to get the old crew back together you could have just invited us to a nice dinner rather than getting yourself captured,” Jaheira says with a hint of annoyance that is entirely undone by the smile that follows.

Gale stands just behind her offering a wave. “Shadowheart and Minsc are here too, but they’re scouting ahead with Veska and Percy.”

They’re here. His friends are here. For him. The realization rocks through him, knocking loose the last of the bitterness that had taken up residence inside him when he’d missed a goodbye on a dock. When he’d stood looking at a river until sunrise, missing his friends. But Liv and Gale and Jaheira and Shadowheart and Minsc…even Percy, and whoever the hells Veska is are here. They’re here for him. 

He glances around doubtfully. “Jaheira, is this venue not up to your expectations? I’m hurt.”

And then this room that has been filled with nothing but terror and panic and worry is suddenly filled with laughter as well as light, and it manages to banish some of the awfulness of the last few hours. They’re here, and together, they’ll solve this. 

“I brought your armor and weapons,” Liv says, opening her bag. 

He could kiss her for that. “Thank you, I’m afraid these clothes are rather ruined.”

Liv looks him over. “The blood isn’t yours, is it?” 

He shakes his head. 

She nods. “I could try to prestidigitate some of the blood away.”

He extends his arms, ignoring the impulse to scratch the dried blood off of him. “Please.”

It takes a few moments, but most of the blood does disappear from his skin, and his clothing feels less stiff. Perhaps he might still be able to salvage the coat. At any rate, it’s not the most pressing issue. Liv pulls out the pieces of his armor and then his weapons from her bag, setting them out in a neat line before him. He immediately begins undressing, eager to be in the safety of his armor, back in control. Back to himself. 

He isn’t particularly concerned about undressing in front of her or Jaheira and Gale, but he still notices the way Liv flushes just the tiniest bit pink and turns away. It’s rather endearing. 

So is the way she clears her throat before asking a question. “Have you seen anything that might help us know what we’re about to be up against?”

He sighs. “That man the Bhaalists met with? Goes by the name of Lucian….I met with him…with…whatever is using his body. I think Lucian is still in there. While I conversed with it, he scratched ‘help me’ in the dirt.”

“So this is all against his will?” 

“So it would seem. Whatever this is seems to be trying to get all its pieces back together. Was rather miffed it couldn’t infect or control me in order to help it get it all back. So we have the upper hand since it’s still looking for Moira’s blood, and perhaps others too who didn’t follow the voices.”

Liv stiffens before turning to look at him, her face pale. “Oh shit.”

He’s just finishing strapping his last dagger on his body. “What?”

“Moira’s blood isn’t Moira’s blood anymore. Percy infected himself so we could find you.”

Shit, indeed. “And he’s scouting ahead…deeper in?” Which means closer to whatever Not-Lucian is doing…playing exactly into its hands.

His alarm is mirrored on Jaheira and Gale’s faces. Liv is already running for the door. “We need to go!”

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

why is cecio problematic?? 👁👁

buckle up your in for a long ride!!! this might be the most comprehensive post on Cecio yet...

[background info: Cecio is an oc of mine that atm mainly resides deep in the background of part 5 of jjba alongside his older sister Celia and their fucked up found family. that are also in a criminal organization. Cecio is... well read on. warnings for mentions of gross misuse of police power, read more as this got longg]

Hes a self centered man who was manipulated into not only throwing away his only shot at escaping the poverty and violence he was born into, but metaphorically sold his soul to the devil twice, by becoming a mafia plant in the local police force.

He has no shame and while he spins a tale of a dead sister- [Who is very much alive but took the opportunity to shed her old legal life] wrapped up in gang violence to earn money for him, with him not knowing until it was to late, then after learning the horrifying truth because of her death, joining police training to avenger her- its nothing but lies wrapped around a tiny kernel of truth. what truth? who knows. certainly not anyone around him

Reality is subjective to Cecio, his mind bending facts and obscuring the aftermath of his actions so he can stomach himself, playing a constant game of deluding himself that he has no other choice and is just trying his best- on some days he even believes it

He uses his power often and to devastating effect, setting up rivals and traitors and even just people who got in the way for jail or death, using faked evidence and emotional manipulation. a snake of a man he plays the moral man in a den of greed and yet leads all people who join with even the faintest shred of good in their hearts into the jaws of greed and despair.

Cecios greatest trick is those grains of truth and genuine emotion at the heart of his greatest lies- his false flames of passion for justice are instead fueled from a desire for him and his loved ones to survive, his kindness stolen and reused from others, little lies he tells himself as so to create 'genuine' emotional reactions. Every victim is his dead mother and supposedly dead sister, every corrupt cop not on his side is the man who manipulated him, every little thing a lie and misdirection.

He has killed, lied, maimed and set people up to do and have done to them worse. his elder sister Celia may justify everything she does as for their family, but Cecios justifications pile up so high all they are is truly hollow- no semi-noble sacrifice for the good of their family, but a selfish desire for power and survival with only his tenuous connection to that family as what stops him from being entirely heartless- or if you look at it another way if it wasn't for his family he could have a heart without risking others if it is weak and fails.

Life handed him suffering over and over and because of that he sees himself as the ultimate underdog- no matter how much power he grows to hoard. He is always sixteen and being told he has to do this to help his sister, after all she has done for him.

[eaglet-if]

hey there- as an autistic person myself, I do appreciate that it is an option, but I am concerned how it is implented; while I also feel people often don't say what they mean, my personal 'awkwardness' stems less from "I can't read their face" and moreso "I do not know what to talk about that will not make them upset with me or otherwise embarrass any of us" and so I tend to mold myself into what I think the other person wants.

(sidebar: I was trained to read faces/body language from a young age, by my dad who was definitely undiagnosed)

I also have some friends who are not autistic, but have social anxiety, and thus are awkward in conversation. I also have some friends and family who appear and identify neurotypically, who just don't grasp smalltalk or serious conversation very well.

including the autistic experience of "can't read expressions" is genuinely commendable, but in this current demo, it is equated both as 1) the Only reason someone could be uncomfortable with social situations and 2) the only option (as I have yet seen) that allows you to claim being autistic, when there are many other facets to it as well

I am not suggesting you remove it, but maybe it would be reasonable for the "awkward at social situations" option to lead to further options reading (for example) "Yes- autistic (not confident reading faces)"/ "Yes- autistic (not confident speaking)"/ "Yes- autistic (both)"/ "Yes- social anxiety"/ "Yes- other"/ "No, go back"

you do not have to publish this, nor is it intended to be read as "you should not be writing"- I am just trying to acknowledge that I kind of felt alienated by the assumption that autistic people like me wouldn't be considered autistic by the game, without sacrificing what is (to me) a very favored part of reading interactive fiction.

in reality, we can all get things wrong. but in fiction, it is nice to be able to believe we are getting it right 9/10 times- or even leaving it a little vague instead of claiming to be all-knowing.

I really like this demo overall, and simply ask that you consider more freedom for folks to see themselves in it- not even all at once, but over time.

Things I like (to try to convey my sincere enjoyment on the rest):

-Sasha telling me his dream (mothra v godzilla right?)

-Yakov/ Yasha is a delight- and very relatable at first meeting!

-incredibly cool selection of weaponry!!

-the little moment with the guard who hands us water when we are choking on bread (very sweet)

-horse customization (I never truly got into the equestrian lifestyle, but some of my earliest memories involve a family friend and her horse. I love being able to recreate him when I can<3)

-the option to be as defensive/peaceful as possible, and the way some people showed sympathy for the army (quite realistic imho)

Hey there-

first off, the autistic route is woefully underdeveloped right now. You basically only get a special set of reactions to Lavrentiy's rudeness and a meltdown after rising from the dead.

However - I won't change the direction it's in right now. The autistic experience(TM) differs for pretty much everyone, and in order to write it comprehensively, I will first continue to model it after my own.

Which means it'll roughly develop from "too clueless to be anxious" over "learning social conventions and thinking you can do it", then "realizing you're messing up all the time actually", and ends in "pretty much capable of 'normal' social interaction but too insecure/anxious due to prior experiences".

Nonverbal is already an option, autistic MC not being able to read faces is forced at the beginning (but MC will get better at it over time), and awkward is implied in the clueless phase and explicit in the last phase.

I may consider making the route more 'modular', with choosing which general symptoms you display at which phase of the game, but a) I don't know if this is really realistically doable and b) right now I definitely don't feel confident writing about autistic experiences that differ from my own.

(I'm very happy someone got the Godzilla/Mothra reference btw ^^)