#shouldn't you be writing

[curiousbristories]

Mini Prompt: "I'm just here to establish an alibi."

What will you write with this prompt? A thief in the shadows? The meet-cute between the new girl and resident bad boy? A lovable, over-tired professor type who always a final quip in his back pocket?

[gh0sdae]

On how they still think curly tried to commit with the crash:

[calethescammer]

One of my favourite brain rotting tcf ideas is Cale having some tremor disorder. Basically, he has hands that randomly tremble without any reason.

It may be genetic to him, or he developed it as Cale because of not eating his meals properly and inevitably developing some vitamin deficiency.

Now comes the best part.

Imagine Cale, perhaps in some really gruesome battle, with blood of enemies and allies mixed around him. Imagine his family seeing Cale's stoic face, wondering how a person so young can be so brave, and then they see his hands shaking under his raven coat, even as they're curled tightly into a fist.

Imagine Cale looking at Jour's portrait, admiring her beauty and her alike face with his own. But then his family sees him, his gaze fixated on his mother's image and his hands trembling slightly.

Imagine him, standing at the forefront of some battle with his shields raised, with his hands trembling uncontrollably, even though he is not straining himself. The people protected under him can only tear up at his selflessness.

Imagine Cale after attacking the enemies with a wave of firebolts, but his hands again started shaking badly, even if he has them covered under his sleeves. His family misunderstands that as Cale hiding his pain.

Imagine Cale, resting on a couch after some battle, and when Raon, On and Hong excitedly climb upon his lap, he only smiles slightly and pats them with his trembling hands. The kids then worriedly inform Ron of this and Cale recieves sweet lemon tea for a whole week.

Imagine Cale talking about territory matters with Alberu, and Alberu is once again amazed by his dongsaeng's witty and almost experienced approaches to problems like war. But then he sees Cale's hands shaking while holding the tea cup, and he realises how absolutely not normal it is to not be nervous in such a situation. (Alberu later pledges to himself to give Cale the slacker life he always wished for.)

Just imagine Cale in any situation with trembling hands and it literally creates the most hilarious misunderstandings with some really wonderful angst.

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter two )

18+ 3.8k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation, lite humiliation kink, lite somnophilia, breaking & entering, petty theft, sublander flavored. nebulously takes place post s1. part 2/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander is the most powerful man in the world, and all he wants is to be yours.

After spending the majority of your evening and the following morning anticipating being fired, walking into work the next day feels like traversing a thinly frozen lake, each step webbing out in precarious cracks.

Clearly you’re not the only one who thinks so: you clock a handful of surprised looks from coworkers who’d attended the meeting and took note of the tension between you and Vought’s golden boy.

Maybe they’d taken bets on whether or not you’d be coming in this morning.

There’s no sign of Homelander on your way in. Not that you were expecting him–yesterday was the first time you actually saw him in person–but you still find yourself on the lookout. It’s hard to say whether you’re anticipating or dreading him. Part of you is still expecting to open your door and find a letter on your desk politely informing you that they’ve determined you aren’t a good “culture fit” for the company, and that your probation has been terminated.

After all, who in their right mind would take your side over Homelander’s?

You push open your office door, and sure enough, there is a letter waiting for you, but not in the way you expected. You stand in the doorway, staring in quiet incomprehension. The envelope, crisp and bright white, is propped up in a bed of rich red roses sitting in a pretty vase upon your desk. You glance behind you before you step inside, closing the door behind you, and approach the desk cautiously. You pluck the paper out of the bouquet, taking a moment to smell the flowers–they smell as good as they look–before you carefully rip open the envelope, tearing the small american flag sticker that sealed it.

Inside, there’s only one word on the folded piece of paper, scrawled in surprisingly elegant handwriting.

Truce?

You can’t help the incredulous little bark of laughter you give at that. It’s not even an apology. It’s a demand that he expects a gratuitous bundle of flowers will help you swallow, like taking medicine with a spoonful of sugar.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say quietly to the letter, setting it down on your desk. You give the roses one last sniff, testing one of the soft petals between your fingers. You wonder if what you said actually got through to him.

Homelander has no real reason to smooth things over with you: you’re no one. He’s posed no risk to himself by coming after you. He could no doubt have you fired by complaining that your marketing tactics don’t align with his brand. It’s hard to imagine Vought denies him much.

Yet he is apparently negotiating peace. It’s not nearly enough, but it is a start.

Or maybe it’s just more than you expected.

You sit, idly tapping the letter against your desk. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t still think him handsome. Homelander wasn’t the first man to ogle your tits while you gave a presentation, but he was certainly the first to fluster you like that when he did. His sly smile had made you want to slap him, but there was a questionable little part of you that thought about kissing it better afterwards.

Taking in a steadying breath, you slip the letter into your desk drawer and adjust the flowers to the side, admiring them a moment before you pull out your laptop.

If Homelander can behave himself enough to let you do your job without public humiliation, you can afford a truce. You don’t need to forgive or condone him to be civil, or even to continue having your own private fantasies. A little guilty pleasure now and again never hurt anyone.

You can’t know that Homelander is observing you throughout this internal conversation, watching through several layers of steel and concrete, his parted lips curving into a slow smile as you accept his offering. You can’t know that you haven’t just acknowledged a truce, but an invitation.

No, you can’t possibly know what’s to come.

Two days later, you diligently change the water that the roses in your office sit in. They’re doing well, the crimson buds having unfurled into a splay of velvety petals. You pinch one between your thumb and forefinger and stroke it absently. Homelander has continued to be a scarcity, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t seen him. Quite the opposite: you spend most of your working hours either looking at or thinking about his face to the point where it’s starting to follow you home each day.

That’s what you tell yourself when you think of him outside of work hours, anyways.

It’s been long enough now that you wonder if the flowers were the end of it. He was simply covering his ass with a half hearted gesture that slightly resembled an apology so that you could both comfortably drop the subject. That was entirely fine by you so long as he actually did improve his behavior.

A familiarly brisk knock at your door catapults your heart up against the cage of your ribs like a spooked hare. It’s the exact same beat, you’re sure of it. You stay quiet, half expecting to be barged in upon, but when nothing happens, you move from your desk and open the door yourself, intentionally blocking it with your body.

Sure enough, Homelander stands tall on the other side. He flashes his signature smile while your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Can I help you?”

“I think I’m the one who can help you,” he says brightly, that spread of teeth downright wolfish. He lifts a handful of papers that have been stapled at the corner, gesturing for you to take it.

Still wary, you take them from him and shift, wedging your foot to keep the door firmly in place while you flip through the pages. Your brows furrow as you recognize chunks of your own presentation. Understanding dawns when you realize that he’s annotated them.

“You read my presentation,” you say, unable to mask your surprise.

“Obviously. It’s my image on the line, right? Got some notes for you, but I have to say: y’mostly nailed it,” he says, reaching out to rest a gloved hand on the doorway.

“Mostly?” You echo, quirking an eyebrow at him as you look up from the pages.

“Yeah, mostly. Again, I have some minor notes,” he says, wiggling his other hand in a vague gesture. “But I figure I owe you praise on a job mostly well done.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Crossing your arms, you abandon your stern foothold on the door in order to shift your weight, your incredulity showing in every inch of your body language.  “What you owe me is an apology.”

Homelander’s grin softens into a smile that’s no less challenging. “Looks to me like you’ve already been enjoying my apology,” he says, leaning slightly to gaze past you, to the bundle of roses sitting prettily on your desk.

You briefly glance over your shoulder, but your expression remains impassive. Unimpressed. “That? That isn’t an apology. An apology would include the words I’m sorry.”

He scoffs a dismissive laugh, swaying back to look away, but you persist.

“I’m serious,” you say, luring his ocean blue gaze back to yours. “I want you to say to me ‘I’m sorry for the way I behaved during your presentation. It won’t happen again.’ “

The two of you hold each other’s gaze with all the magnitude of two gunmen in a duel, hands steady over your proverbial pistols. 

To your surprise, Homelander does not fire back. He raises a dainty white flag.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved during your presentation,” he says, words slow and measured. You watch his tongue flash over his bottom lip, wetting it attractively. You fight to not let your eyes linger on it. “It won’t happen again.”

You swallow, suddenly finding thought and speech an impossible task. You weren’t prepared for such raw, ready obedience from him, nor the intensity in his gaze that follows it. He reminds you of a charmed snake–docile so long as he is transfixed.

“Good,” you say, the word half a sigh. Homelander’s lips part and he breathes in like he’s caught wind of something particularly delicious smelling. “I accept your apology, and I appreciate that you took the time to do this,” you say, gesturing with the documents in your hand. “I’ll go over them and get back to you.”

He reaches out, bracing his hand on your office door. You half expect him to push it open, but he merely holds it there. “We could go over them together,” he suggests slyly.

“No,” you say, clearly disarming him. He looks as though he’s forgotten the meaning of the word. “I’m in the middle of another project at the moment.”

The leather of his gloves creaks faintly in your ear as he flexes his grip on the edge of the door. While what you’ve said is true, it’s also serving as a test. Words and flowers are pretty things, but only actions always speak the truth.

“At the moment,” he repeats, gears visibly turning in his eyes. “So… Later?” He extrapolates, displaying an uncharacteristic tentativeness alongside his obvious displeasure at the taste of rejection. You even see a glimmer of hope in the mess of his expression.. 

He did pass the test. You suppose you can reward him for that.

“Another time,” you say, giving your door an exploratory push. He relents, his hands sliding down the length of it before falling away as he takes a half-step back. “How about tomorrow on my lunch break? 1:00 o'clock sharp.”

He splits into a smile that looks more genuine than any of his you’ve seen before. “Aaalrighty-roo. Sounds gooood to meeeee,” he says, drawing out his vowels more the closer he gets to actually having to leave. At your silent, amused stare, he claps his gloved hands together with a muffled thump! and takes a few more steps backwards. “Yooooou’ll see me… tomorrow.”

Your smile pinches along with your brows. What a strange way to phrase it. “See you then,” you say, watching as his face is eclipsed by your closing door. You wait a beat and then let out a thin thread of breath from your pursed lips, resting your weight on the door.

Looking down at the papers in your hand, you push off from the door and head to your desk, flipping through them.

Such a strange man, you think, carrying the notes to your desk. You set them down next to the vase of roses and try not to think too much about the unconscious smile your lips keep settling into for the rest of the day.

Homelander’s got you hook, line and sinker. He’s certain of it. He lingers on the other side of your door just long enough to watch you through it while you settle, a charmed smile set on your lips. He can already imagine how those lips would feel against his own, how they’d taste. He swallows thickly and looks around before he departs, already plotting his next move.

The two of you have a date tomorrow, and in order to be at the top of his game, he’s going to have to do a little additional research. Knowing your work was a good first step. The next one will be learning about you.

Following you home is the easy part. It ultimately feels chivalrous to do so once he realizes you walk home even at this time of year, when the sun sets long before the work day ends. He drifts above you, cocking his head curiously. No wonder you walk. The streets are packed as tightly as sardine cans, and your apartment garage isn’t much better. The claustrophobia of it all serves as a stark contrast to the openness of Vought tower.

The interior of your apartment provides an even sharper juxtaposition to his penthouse. It’s tidy, but the comparatively low ceilings and minimal floor space still make it look cramped. Somehow, you simultaneously have too much and yet not much at all, the confinement of a downtown apartment making what minimal affects you do own seem crowded together.

That only becomes more apparent once he’s inside, slipped in through your balcony after sleep has taken you. Why would you bother to lock your balcony when you live on the 8th floor? It works out perfectly for him.

In all fairness, your living room feels cozier once he’s standing in the center of it. Your walls are lined with an assortment of art pieces and photographs, and the shelves are well stocked with books and knick-knacks. You have a decent film collection displayed on your media console, and he can’t help but snoop through it, bending at the waist, examining through the rows. He cocks his head.

Odd. You’d think an employee of Vought would have at least a few VCU films. He runs his index finger along the spines, slightly adjusting them flush as he goes. Pursing his lips, he straightens up and looks at the closed cabinets on either side. The left one yields an untidy assortment of electronic odds and ends, cords and the like. Nothing of much interest other than an indication that while you like to keep up appearances, you aren’t quite as together as you’d like people to think. 

It’s on the right side, however, he finds what he’s really looking for.

“Bingo,” he whispers, smiling to himself as he scopes out your little hidden collection of Vought hero flicks. Specifically, his films. He’s less interested in the handful of others you own (Queen Maeve: Her Majesty, Black Noir: Insurrection, Lamplighter: The Bright World, etc) and more so in the fact that you have nearly his entire catalog tucked away. 

Nearly. You’re missing his eighteen part miniseries, Homelander: Brightest Night.

At least that gives him something to gift you.

Closing the cabinet, he meanders about the rest of your apartment. You have some plants in varying states of decay, with only a few cacti looking to be in decent shape. Either your work keeps you too busy to properly mind them, or you just like the idea of them more than the reality. It tells him that you’re looking–and failing–to fill a void in your life. You want to feel less alone in your home, you want to nurture something. You just haven’t found the right something yet.

Striding into your kitchen, arms folded behind his back, he peers through the cheap wood veneer of your fiberboard cupboards, unveiling an unusually broad assortment of mugs. There doesn’t seem to be any particular theme: holidays, locales, characters, and a menagerie of patterns. 

He hums softly, pivoting out of the kitchen and down the hall, his steps preternaturally light. He listens for the beat of your heart as he draws near, tunes it in alongside the shallow cadence of your breath. Deep asleep. Good.

The walls are lined with pictures of you and others. Friends or family, he can’t say, but you look to have an abundance of both. He rarely sees himself in photos that aren’t promotional material. He pauses to straighten a picture frame, and finds himself so viciously jealous of the man sharing the frame with you–his lips pressed to your cheek, your laughing smile so genuine he can nearly hear it–that he almost knocks it to the ground.

Running his tongue along his teeth, he continues on.

Your bedroom door is open. He slips in silently, pausing just through the doorway. Your bed's a queen, too big for just you. You’re sprawled comfortably amidst pillows, limbs splayed in just such a way that he can easily imagine fitting himself in the empty spaces between them. He can smell the lingering burn of the candle you’d lit when you got home. He picks it up off your dresser, reading the label: Cup ‘o Joe. 

Eugh. He never cared for coffee, and the artificial sweetness surrounding the note is cloying. Your perfume, on the other hand, he doesn’t mind. He notices the bottle alongside a few other of your things and puts the candle down in favor of that, popping the cap off. The smell hits him before he sprays it: vanilla first, then amber and something more woodsy. It’s less impressive by itself than it had been on you.

Still, it’s yours. You chose it for yourself.

Slipping off one of his gloves, he lightly sprays into the inside of it before he sets the bottle back down, recapping it. It won’t be the same, but he’s driven by the compulsion to spirit away any little pieces of you that he can. Just enough to satiate himself until he can have you properly.

That’s when he sees your blouse from today in a careless heap at the top of your laundry basket next to your dresser. Licking his lips, he tests the feel of the garment between his bare fingers. He’s always been sensitive to fabrics, and while the blend of this one is fairly cheap, it’s been worn and washed enough that it’s soft against his skin. He grabs a handful of it and lifts it to his mouth, brushing it along his lips, under his nose, and he deeply inhales your lingering scent mixing with the fresh pump of perfume.

He bites back a moan, screwing his eyes shut. His cock gives a dull little throb. Fuck, the spell you’ve cast on him makes him ache just for the smell of you, makes him salivate. He swallows it back, letting out a rough little breath as he reluctantly puts the shirt back down. Under it, he spies a little flash of something black and lacy. His stomach clenches, and he’s reaching for it before he can stop himself, fishing the black panties out of the heap and twisting the fabric between his fingers.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He can’t afford to overindulge. He won’t be able to control himself if he does, but he also can’t bring himself to put the little slip of fabric back down. He imagines he can almost taste where your sweet cunt had been pressed to it. Christ, he’s practically drooling. Out of sheer impulse, he yanks down the zipper of his pants with a quiet hiss of metal against metal and hastily pushes your underwear into his cup, biting down hard on his lip. He grinds once against his hand, savoring the feel of the fabric against his cock.

He’ll enjoy them far more than you’ll miss them.

Zipping himself back up, he carefully pulls open your top dresser drawer. He curiously pushes the contents around, mindful not to overly disturb, and his knuckles bump something solid. He shifts one of your bras–another near painful pang of arousal at the reminder of your breasts–aside and finds, to his delight, what any good marketing department would describe as  “a large purple massage wand.”

A vibrator. He chews his bottom lip briefly, turning it over in his grip. An exciting find on all fronts. It’s smooth and decently hefty, good quality. You deserve even better. You might be capable of indulging yourself with this, but he could make you scream. You’ll never need a silly little toy again. Not when you have him.

Homelander moves to put it back in the drawer, but–

“Fuck!” He hisses when the button catches on his finger, and suddenly the damn thing is buzzing.

Shut up, shut up, shut up, he chants mentally, jabbing at the buttons in an attempt to silence it, but pressing the same ones only makes the accursed device louder. In a frantic move, he grips the neck and squeezes. There’s a soft crunch beneath the silicone, and as abruptly as it had begun, the buzzing ends. His heart is thudding heavily in his chest. He listens to the silence, to you.

He looks over his shoulder. No movement. Your breaths remain shallow.

Christ.

So much for leaving no trace. He slips the busted toy back amidst your underthings and snatches his glove off of your dresser, tucking it under his arm. He hones his attention on you as he approaches your bed, assuring himself that you really are still asleep. He stands there for a while, admiring the part of your lips and the haphazard splay of your pajamas and where they cling to your body.

No bra.

His bare hand flexes. Being so close is too much of a temptation. He wets his lips with a quick slide of his tongue and bends down. He ghosts his fingers just over your cheek, not quite daring to touch. He can smell the faint remnants of your toothpaste on your breath, your shampoo, and beneath it all, you. It's intoxicating, it's…

Your brows furrow slightly in your sleep and you make a soft noise, interrupting his thoughts. He wonders if you’re dreaming–dreaming of him, perhaps. He’d like to think so. He’d like to think that you’re just as affected by him wanting you as he is, and that’s the real reason you invited him to lunch. He saw it in your eyes when he echoed your words, the thrill that went through you. He could have gone to his knees for you in that moment and had you in giving himself to you.

Desperate for just a taste, he kisses ever so gently between your brows, his own breaths matching the cadence of yours. Divine. You're divine. So effortlessly perfect and so aware of your own power. How could he not want every part of you?

He means to leave it there, to walk away with nothing but the slight salt of your brow on his lips, but the pull is too great. He's greedy, drunk on the smell and the taste of you, on the feel of your panties pressed up against his cock, and he can't stop himself from sampling your lips against his.

It’s the barest hint of touch, and yet the contact lances electricity through him like he’s been struck by a bolt of lightning. Your lips are soft, soft, soft. He knew they would be. Everything about you is so fucking soft. It takes everything in him to pull away, standing back to his full height.

He's aching, yearning so intensely he could rip the covers away and take you just like this, shake you awake, declare himself and have you. Would you scream, or would you have that same look of affronted understanding of him? You see him in a way few are ever brave–or stupid–enough to dare.

Not yet.

He won’t spoil the game. He agreed to play by your terms. As far as you’re concerned, he’ll do precisely that. You’ll be none the wiser in regards to his little reconnaissance mission–anything could have happened to your vibrator–and the two of you can play your little game as if you stand on equal footing.

Sucking in a silent breath, Homelander leaves alone, but not empty handed.

He’ll make very good use of his little trophy tonight.

( chapter three )

[seefasterdraws]

from the homumiko mines

[sciderman]

the mcrib is back

[ghost-proofbaby]

OH SAY LESS 14 WITH ASTARION PLEASE

so this is my first time publicly writing and posting astarion, so please be gentle. higher word count solely because i felt the need to add lore because, ya know, first time writing him! also, i changed the line just a tiny bit to better fit the character and scene. ALSO, uh... this is a little fade to black. i'm sorry. it just got too long.

14. "Oh, you're hard to please."

warnings: foreplay, sorta fade to black smut (it's there if you squint your eyes), an ungodly amount of pet names, mentions of past sexual abuse and healing from it, technical game spoilers, not edited, 18+ so minors do not interact

pairings: astarion x afab!reader (no pronouns used)

wc: 4.4k+

join the smutty party! send me one of these smut dialogue prompts with a character

How long had it been since Astarion had actually enjoyed sex? Craved it, even? 

If he recalls correctly, it had to have started to become tainted well over a century ago. Somewhere between the first and the third victim, when he’d realized how every single beautiful soul he had entrapped were simply being lured to their own death. And then, the sour taste left in his mouth only became more pungent the longer it went on, the more he came to the realization of just how used he felt. His body was no longer his own – it technically hadn’t been his from the very second he’d emerged from his own grave, and Cazador had been waiting for him – and everything about the act became an old rehearsed dance that he’d grit his teeth through. A chore, something to make his stomach churn, something to regret. A means to an end. 

Plainly put, it had been a while. 

But then you happened. You, who hadn’t blinked an eye when the first time you met him, he’d literally threatened you with a gods damned blade to your throat. You, who had repeatedly trusted him, even when it had been an objectively stupid thing to do. You, who had always offered him the utmost patience and genuine understanding, to the point in which if he thought about it too hard, he’d probably cry. You, who had led your group of misfits with brain worms right into victory, with plenty of personal demons defeated along the way. 

Personal demons including Cazador. 

Maybe that’s when things changed for Astarion. He’d already fallen for you before your group had reached Baldur’s Gate, he’d already gotten to know your body intimately before ever laying eyes on that ridiculously oversized brain you somehow made look easy to defeat. But that had been different, hadn’t it? He hadn’t really wanted to do that (not meant as an offense to you – certainly not after all was said and done), but had thought he needed to. To gain your trust, to gain your protection. And in the end, it turned out he never needed to do such a thing. You’d never said it outloud, probably at risk of making him feel even more regret after you’d learned all his secrets and darkest corners, but he knew. 

And knowing that you didn’t view him as something purely sexual, as a means to an end, as an item to use – well, it had the opposite effect of his request to no longer be viewed in that light. 

“What are you doing?” he says as he quickly looks up from his current book he’d been pursuing the moment you’d entered the room. He hardly cared for the words on the page – he just needed a way to pass the hours until you were available again. 

It was a hard habit to kick. Being so codependent on you, even with the end of the world resolved and the gift of safety being handed over to him on a silver platter. 

“We received mail,” you’re grinning wickedly as you hold up an embellished envelope, delicate fingers pinching the parchment as if it were the greatest gift to ever exist. He’d argue the real gift at hand was the last three months – time spent with you, in a place he can call home. But nothing could impede on your good mood as you throw yourself down on the mattress beside him, “From Withers, of all people!” 

His brows shoot up for just a moment before his face twists up with something akin to distrust, “Withers? What in the Hells does that sack of dust and bones wan-” 

“A reunion,” you cut him off, the look on your face warning enough against his attempt at an insult. “He’s reaching out to all of us to bring us together for a celebration, to check in on everyone, let us see each other again. Apparently, we were the easiest of the bunch to find.”

Astarion quickly lets out a tut as he snaps the book shut and discards it on the bedside table closest to him, “Well, we certainly need to fix that. Soon enough all of those little shits are going to end up on our doorstep, preaching about the power of friendship and how they want to check in on us.” 

You snort at that, laying flat on your back with your hair wildly spread out in a makeshift halo behind you. The sight causes something to stir within him, his gut twisting as he watches the way your knees knock together before slowly falling apart, your legs settling down as flat as the rest of your body.

He hadn’t taken you since that night at his grave. Before the epic final battle, before the two of you had made the decision to settle down somewhere for some well-earned peace and quiet. 

The moonlight dances past the open curtains, and his breath catches in his throat at the way the blue shadows dance across your skin. It almost reminds him of the first time he’d seen you fight. It hadn’t just been the blood splattered across your cheeks that had really gotten the better of his curiosity (even if that’s what he had told you when you asked), it had been the sunlight. Those rays of gold that had mingled with your own aura of warmth after you had helped the tieflings for the first time. 

You put the sun to shame, truly. And he missed it – Gods, did he miss it – but he was content to bask in the peace of night for a few months more before he finally cut you loose from the leash to begin your next phase of adventures to find him a cure. You had promised him you would, had already dedicated plenty of free time to research, and all you really needed was his word to begin. 

He’s selfish. The two of you can find a way for him to walk in the sun once more another day; all he wants right now is to bury himself in your warmth, to slot his body between your thighs, to hear every breathy gasp and the way you’d practically sing his name-

“Star?” you’re looking up at him from an awkward angle, eyes owlish and chin tilted painfully far back as you clearly await an answer to a question he’d been too lost in a daydream to overhear, “Did you hear me?” 

He clears his throat and adjusts the pillows behind his back, keeping him propped up as he admires you, “Of course I did, darling.” 

“Then what did I just say?”

“Something about how we’re absolutely not going to this reunion, yes?” 

Your smile is nothing but patient as you flip onto your stomach. He watches the way your shorts ride up your thighs, how the top of the soft fabric bunches at your waist. His fingers practically twitch with the need to weasel their way under it, to press his cold fingertips into warm flesh and hear you preen. 

Whenever you’re ready, you had whispered to him one night shortly after saving the world. Just tell me when, and I’m yours. 

He was ready. Insatiably ready, really. 

“Very funny. I said we should go, though. It’d be nice to see everyone again, wouldn’t it? All our friends?” 

You’re still talking about this damned reunion. Astarion has half the mind to figure out a way to summon the insufferable skeleton right here, right now, and drive a dagger into his bones until he’s truly nothing but dust. Solely for the distraction. 

“Your friends, my dear,” he corrects gently, “We both know they’re only overly fond of one of us in this relationship, and it certainly isn’t the one that they repeatedly threatened to stake.” 

The furrow of your brows is impossibly cute – he knows that look of determination. It’s the same one you wore when he mentioned it was likely that the two of you would never find a cure to his condition. 

“Our friends,” you insist, “Karlach adores you, Star. And Wyll has always been proud of you, whether he told you as much or not.”

“And what of Gale?” 

Your lips twitch at that, “Gale… certainly wouldn’t stake you on sight.”

“Ah, yes,” he flourishes, trying to keep his eyes from wandering anywhere but where your hands press into your cheeks as you prop your face up to speak to him, “Not staking me. The ultimate sign of kinship.” 

Focusing is a losing battle when you roll your eyes, and he finds his mind overtaken with insatiable lust again. Imaginative ways that he could have your eyes rolling for him under different circumstances. 

“You’re not getting out of this. They are your friends just as well as mine – so argue all you want, but we’re going to the reunion.” 

“Are you sure there’s no other way I might be able to…” he pauses with intent, finally lifting one of his docile hands to your cheek, letting his finger graze the skin with a feather light touch before it travels back into the mess of your hair, “Persuade you otherwise?” 

You almost fall for it, too. Your eyes flutter shut, your head tilts into his touch as if you were starved for the connection. But even with the lack of sexual intimacy, you both know there hasn’t been a day that has gone by in the last three months where Astarion hasn’t found a way to get his hands on you.

Holding your own, resting his cheek on your shoulder, spinning you like a child in the kitchen – he had quite the sudden arsenal of romantic gestures that didn’t involve old wounds. It had been awkward here and there, some of them landing and some of them leaving you both looking like fools, but he was trying.

Almost as hard as he was currently trying to not jump your bones. 

When you recognize the innuendo for what it is, however, you harden immediately. Your shoulders set, a frown settles, and your eyes open with set determination he knows he can’t falter without speaking plainly to you. 

“No.”

“No?”

You’re quick to lift yourself up onto your knees, putting distance between yourself and his hands, “The days of weaponizing sex are over. I don’t even want to joke about that.” 

And, oh, he’s finding himself in quite the mood tonight, because as soon as you’re retracting, he’s following. As you settle on the haunches of your calves, he’s lifting up from his reclined position, leaning forward so that his face is breaths away from yours. 

“I mean it,” you warn, narrowing your eyes and holding up a finger in that small space between you two. 

He tests his luck, wasting no time in snapping his fangs just millimeters from your skin. You both know he wouldn’t actually bite you, but it still humors him to see the way you whip your hand out of his reach. 

“Were you not the one who insisted that we ask before we bite?” you snap, and his smile only worsens. Like a cheshire cat, like a child never scorned by the world – he’s radiant and basking in the moment. 

He lets out a small hmph before saying, “You’re no fun, my dear. Come on – just play with me for a moment, won’t you?” 

Your face softens at his teasing tone, and he can see the way he’s withering away your defenses one by one. There was once a time where he’d done it with malicious intent, but this time around, it’s with nothing but good intentions. 

If you asked him, he’d go as far as to swear it on his own grave. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as if you’d done something wrong, and it makes more than half of his own playfulness drain from his face in absolute displeasure. Before he can so much as open his mouth to scold you about unnecessary apologies, you’re continuing on, “I just… After everything we’ve been through, it’s not something I find particularly joyous to joke about.”

What a rare thing, to have found someone to bare your soul and all your burdens to, and watch them offer to help you shoulder the weight without second thought or regret. 

He’s never met someone like you in all his years, and he might never again. 

“And if I told you I wasn’t joking?” he asks slowly, carefully, trying to choose each word with the utmost care, “I’m not weaponizing – I’m offering.” 

Whenever you’re ready. Just tell me when, and I’m yours.

He was ready. Very, desperately, sorely ready. 

The topic of the reunion is all but forgotten as you process his words, nose twitching as you decipher all that’s he laying out before you. “I want more than an offer.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He can’t help the small laugh that leaves him as he sits up properly, leaning into your space fully now with one hand pressing into the mattress just beside one of your thighs. He can feel the heat radiating from you, smell your blood rushing to your head as you try to be sensible. It’s a pitiful excuse for an internal war; all he has to do is close that conveniently small distance between your lips with his own, and you’ll have lost all sense of logic. 

“You’re…” you trail off, searching his eyes as if he holds the answer you’re currently looking for, “You’re sacred to me, Astarion. You must know that. And it will take much more than some joking offer to convince me to have sex with you when I know-”

“I’m not joking,” he’s nearly whining, letting his forehead fall forward to press to yours, “Gods, I am not joking about this. Cross my heart and hope to die again.” 

If he has to beg, he will. 

He’s spent two hundred years in an insufferable position of pure misery, pure shit, and the realization that he’s finally free has everything clicking into place. Proof of the change exists solely in the fact that he could have resorted to his tired old seduction routine from his life before to get what he wanted, but instead, he’s trying to just communicate. 

It was a novel moment. 

But he could appreciate it later, when the crotch of his pants wasn’t becoming increasingly uncomfortably tight and he wasn’t watching you closer than prey. When his stomach wasn’t so tight with desire and anticipation, just waiting for your word to indulge. 

“Do I need to beg?” he sighs, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly from proximity. He catches the shiver that runs up your spine. “We both know I’m not particularly fond of it, but if I have to get on my knees for you- well, actually, that’s the entire point of what I’m asking.” 

You laugh at that, and his gut twists again, because it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever had the opportunity to hear. Something more breath than any vocality, something sharp and spelling out the loss of words on your tongue. 

Your silence is enough for him to push it all a step further. Forehead still leaning against yours, he properly presses his lips to yours this time, slotting them between softer than a feather’s caress. Finding home as he can physically feel himself steal your breath away. His fangs just barely nip your bottom lip, unintentionally but still eliciting a delicious reaction of a gasp that makes him graze you a second time just to feel the way you’re leaning into him more, becoming absolute putty in his hands. Pliable for his taking, and Gods, he wants to take you. 

Something snaps. 

All hesitation has vanished as he grabs at your hips quickly, making use of the way your brain has gone blank from a simple kiss in order to lay you out below him. He moves you with ease, incredible speed in slotting himself between your legs before he’s caging your entire body in with his own. The squeak that leaves your lips from his manhandling affects him even more than your gasps had, a low growl shaking his chest as he kisses you deeper. Tasting, begging, searching – he wants this, but he needs to know that you want this just as badly. 

Your hands find purchase on each of his shoulders, squeezing tightly as if needing something to tether yourself to. You pull him in closer for a second, eagerly returning the kiss, almost feverish in the way you drink him in. But the next, you’re pushing him away, a game of want and sensibility still clouding your judgment impossibly. 

You always were stubborn about things like morals. And, well, it wasn’t very moral to just jump right into sex with your traumatized boyfriend who had explicitly said not to view him in terms of sex, was it? 

It was Astarion’s own damn fault. 

He could have just acted like a normal person, initiated a normal conversation in which he renegotiated his boundaries. But you’ve been on his mind all day, and he’s long since proven since the very day that you met him that he has little to none impulse control. 

“My, my,” he murmurs, pulling back from the kiss, eyes wild, looking at you with even more hunger than he had the first night you’d given him a taste of your blood in camp, “You’re just an impossible thing to please, aren’t you? Do you want me near, do you want me far? Tell me, my love, what do you want?” 

He settles all his weight onto one of his forearms as the other slowly brings his hand to your side, caressing over the soft fabric of your shirt – a shirt he’s quickly realizing is actually his own. He recognizes those flowy sleeves, that lacing across the chest, the off-white tone that had seen better days. Given all its wear and tear, he’s almost sure that it’s one of his shirts he had grown most comfortable wearing during the nights of your adventures against the Netherbrain. 

It’s cute. A sort of domesticity that he can ponder over later, when your legs aren’t hanging on his hips and your breaths aren’t coming out staccato as he hovers just out of reach from you. 

“I want whatever you want,” you whisper. Your eyes flutter open, looking at him with pupils so dilated they could swallow him whole. 

“Let me be very clear, then,” he hums, cold fingers creeping their way to the hem of the shirt, slipping beneath with practiced ease to find the smooth skin of your hips below. They dance and skitter up, up, up until he’s brushing against your ribs, “I want you. I want that warm cunt of yours, I want to feel every gasp and breath as your walls squeeze around me. I want to fuck you until you’re unable to walk on your own two legs, until you can only remember my name. I want to watch you come undone, my dear, and for it to be my own undoing.”

Your lips quiver in anticipation, and he feels your thighs tighten their hold on him, “Such pretty words. And… and no ulterior motives? No sense of obligation?” 

“None at all,” he smiles, a predator closing in on his prey, “I’m choosing this. If you want it, if you’ll have me, then I’m ready, pet.” 

Pet. The nickname rolls off his tongue, and he can imagine your walls fluttering just as your eyes do. 

Your hands lift from his shoulders to bury in his hair instead. One cradling the back of his head, the other resting on the nape of his neck as you toy with a snowy curl. It unfurls him further, has him humming lowly as he dips down to recapture your lips and bring you into him even closer. Closer. He needs all and any space between the two of you to become nonexistent. To feel every inch of your skin pressed to his, to allow you to physically curl up into his chest just as you had his mind all those moons ago, to make a home in a room with your name on it already somewhere between his third and fourth rib. 

“Do you really have to doubt if I’ll have you, my love?” you mutter against his mouth, smile breaking the kiss momentarily before he’s back with a vengeance. You don’t care – you’re apparently in a chatty mood, dodging his kiss to get your last words in, “There’s been a space in my heart for you since the moment I first met yo-”

“Yes, yes, very romantic,” he interrupts urgently, suddenly tugging your shirt up, “But, truth be told, love? I’m hoping there’s a space between your legs for me at this moment.” 

You snort, eyes pinched shut as you attempt to shake your head at the ridiculousness of the words that just left his mouth. At any other moment, you might point out how the outrageous comment is just another defense mechanism, veering him away from having to acknowledge the gentle sentiment behind your own words, but now’s not the time. When you open your mouth, probably to say something exactly along those lines, he rolls his hips down against yours, pinning your lower half deep into the mattress. You feel just how hard he is through his trousers – it’s impossible to miss, but he’s deliberating being sure that you feel it as he lets the tips of his fangs sink into your bottom lip. 

The resolve of fighting against his wishes is quickly dissolved. One thing after another, and Astarion has you bare beneath him before any other distractions or annoying conversation can send the two of you further off track. Your, his, shirt is tossed to one side of the room. Your parents fly to the other side of the bed. Only once he has the entire spanse of your body nude and vulnerable to him does he take the time to pause, to look down at you with absolute adoration. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” 

He’s said those words to you a million times before. Consistently greeting you with them, muttering them in the dead of night, whispering them as he kisses you awake. But they never lose their weight. And certainly not now, as he’s looking down at you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen that freckle on your chest or the curve of your stomach barren before him. 

“Please, if you’re comfortable with it…” you start, voice laced with desperation, but he shakes his head. 

He’s full of interruptions tonight, “Consider me comfortable with anything unless stated otherwise for this moment, my sweet.” 

“Take off your clothes, Astarion.”

His giddy smile should annoy you. That smug satisfaction in finally, finally getting his way as he undresses himself at almost twice the speed that he had stripped you. And yet he knows you’re enjoying yourself just as much as he is. You’re reveling in drinking in the bare caricatures of his body, every inch and every curve exposed to you just as you are to him. And when his cool skin meets yours again, his body sinking right into that space between your thighs that you’ve granted to him, you let out a short gasp that reminds him that you want this just as badly as he does.

You’ve waited just as long as he has. 

It almost mirrors that night on his grave. The slow descent of his body against yours, the way he slides a leg up to spread your own even further for him as he crawls his way back home to your lips. Unlike that night, however, he isn’t taking quite as much care, his movements far faster and far more needy. 

He’s been waiting long enough. He’s denied himself long enough. 

It really doesn’t matter when the last time he had enjoyed sex had been, because all that he cares about is that here and now, in this moment with you, there’s not a trace of imperfections to taint his enjoyment. 

Cazador is dead. The brain has long since been defeated. You are both safe. 

As he sinks into your heat, the only thing on his mind is that contentment, overwhelmed with the feel and smell of just you. 

He’ll never be a slave again. Never be viewed as something to simply be used and disregarded again, if you have any say. And one day, some day, he’ll even feel the warmth of the sun again. Thanks to you.

But until that day, the warmth of your love is enough.

When you sigh his name out so delicately, jaw all but unhinging itself in bliss as your back arches in reaction to his touches, he knows he’s made the right choice. 

And he supposes he lied, in a way, earlier. 

You’re not that hard to please – not when it comes to him, at least. Not when it’s his hands trailing along your skin, not when it’s his lips and fangs nipping at every opportunity. And certainly not when it’s his name that’s being chanted like a prayer from your lips in time with every thrust, every stroke, every single movement with the sole purpose of making both of you come undone. 

Astarion no longer questions when the last time he enjoyed sex was in the aftermath of it all. With you, pressed into his side, sweaty forehead nuzzling his chest, the only thing he cares about is the next time he’ll be able to do so. 

“We’re still going to that reunion,” you murmur, half asleep, fading away from him quickly to fall into blissful unconsciousness. 

He almost doesn’t breathe in fear of disturbing you. He’ll waste the night away, laying here, still as a statue for your comfort. 

It’s no surprise when he refuses to put up a fight, instead his hand simply drawing soft stars across the back of your bare shoulder blades as he sighs, “Yes, dear. We will. Now sleep.”

“I love you.” 

The words tumble from your lips so carelessly, so easily and without hesitation, he nearly shakes you awake to hear them once more. Again and again, he needs to hear them, to be reassured that you feel for him as ardently as he does you. 

But he has the rest of your forever to hear them. So he lets you sleep, sending you away with a simple press of his lips to your temples as your breathing evens.

“And I love you, my dearest sun.”

[the-artist-grimm]

Im sorry if you already answered something similar but does the twins ever reunite with Forneus in your au? If so how does it exactly work out, does Narinder, Anthea, and Forneus share custody?

Crimson Angel AU - The Situation between Forneus and the Twins

(Anon, @gerroacarnival  and @xquaserh Putting all these asks in 1 cause oh boy this is a COMPLICATED question to answer oof. I wanna preface this that while I love Forneus just going by the characters personalities/themes of this AU the reunion is not as fairy-tale happy as it is in game)

Anyway-the boys do reunite with her technically, but not in the way Forneus dreamt. Reunions are good in theory, the long lost children reunite with their ‘real’ family, hug their mother, go ‘home’ with her, start life anew, but life isn’t so simple, now is it? It’s never that easy, not when one side clings to the memory of three day old infants and a reunion she'd dreamt of for so long it just became her expectation, and the other side has no memory and complex feelings on the whole matter with this slight feeling that perhaps while their mother loves the idea of them, she doesn't actually love them.

It's messy, complicated, and no matter what, will NEVER be the reunion Forneus wanted. The second they left her embrace, she lost the chance to be the mother she'd wanted to be for them, yet never realize till too late what else died with them.

(Putting this under the cut cause it's longgggg. The Twins and Forneus's story has so little in-game text that it's become this favorite thing of mine to interpret/expand)

The Two Parents

Forneus did and didn’t have a choice to give the boys up. When Shamura appeared, the newborn, extremely premature kits were already doomed to die, so the choice to either let them pass naturally or to allow War to take them as gifts with a potential of reunion was an either damned if she did or damned if she didn’t, situation. And in her grief and desperation, she chose the option that gave the potential for hope. She gave the twins to Shamura, accepted the golden skull, and waited. Waited for her babies to come home, waited as a mother who never really ever had a chance to be a mother-one who works off feelings but no experience. 

Meanwhile when it came to Aym and Baal, Narinder never told them who their parent(s) were. How could he, when he himself had no certainty as to who they were? Though his 7th Vessel, Forneus, had left service specifically because of pregnancy, he had no means of tracking how much time had passed since when they first arrived (it could've been a century since for all he knew), nor any means to confirm without doubt that the black, newborn kittens were hers even once his next vessel gave him the date-he couldn't ask them to investigate something so personal and unrelated to their cause.

Their box held only their bodies, a spider-silk cloth which was their burial shroud, and a note penned in Shamura’s hand. ‘A Gift’ that’s all the note said. No names, no clues, no nothing. While Narinder had suspicions, he could not in good conscious tell the boys of a potential mother out of risk of being wrong-of getting their hopes up for a heroic parent only to be proved that it wasn’t her, or worse, told heroic tales just to learn they were abandoned all along. Vessel 7 was heroic yes, had a sense of justice yes, but during her service her luck had made her grow arrogant, had transformed flirting into a game of hearts and people into a way to get the upper hand-for all he knew, if they were hers, they could've all along been her means of trying to easily get out of vesselship. He just didn't know.

And thus Narinder raised them from there. He tried to use the title of ‘Master’ as a barrier in hopes that, if they did have a family awaiting them, he wouldn't take their place, (it was also out of guilt for being the reason they were trapped) but he also couldn't bring himself to fully shut them out either. The moment their dead bodies healed in the gate and they started to mewl for attention his unbeating heart bled for them, and he just couldn't deny them love because he knew how much it hurt to be without.

The Twins

As centuries passed Aym and Baal were content with Narinder as their 'Master'. He who told them stories of his time above, who taught them how to fight, who fashioned them clothes from whatever scraps of cloth he would get vessels to send-he was all they had and knew. When they felt the time to sleep it was in his paws they curled up, when they got hurt training or got bored it was from he they received comfort and attention. It was his magic which allowed them to age against the Gateway's stasis, it was he who saw their eyes open, watched as they learned to speak and walk.

But that’s not to say neither did think of whoever was left behind from time to time. Baal tried to keep hope that he and his brother were taken-stolen by the Bishops, with whatever parents they’d had having desperately tried to keep War away. Aym, meanwhile, only felt anger, bitterness and resentment, for who lets two three day old kits be taken and sacrificed? Narinder himself simply tried to keep neutral on the subject, not wanting to feed into either side in hopes that'd avoid a heartbreak or the smooth transition to their 'real' kin.

The Lamb

When the Lamb appears and starts to befriend them, it's then the boys suddenly find themselves feeling the same sense of security and comfort Narinder gives them towards Anthea. As the lamb brings them toys and books catered to their interests, teaches them to read, uses the crown to show them the world above and encourage their boundless curiosities. As nights suddenly see the lamb visit in their nightgown book and quilt in hand, letting the twins snuggle into their sides as the three are cradled against Narinder's chest while reading a book, and the boys fall asleep to a heartbeat for the first time. Narinder had always been stability and security, Anthea became tenderness and warmth.

Anthea teaches them what a 'Father' is as well, and the boys realize that's what their master actually is-he's their dad and tentatively start testing calling him as such, and while it's not until just before Silk Cradle they realize it (yet don't call them Baba yet) Anthea's long on their way to feeling like a parent too.

Which then begs the question…what of the parent(s) left behind?

First Contact

Baal still wants to meet them, he's always been curious and just wants to know who they are, while Aym is still angry and wants nothing to do with them. They got a parent in their master, and Anthea's their friend and practically a parent too, so why bother with the ones who abandoned them? Narinder overhears the boys debate over it more and more, and as Anchordeep’s door opens, Narinder hesitantly asks the Lamb for a favor.

He’d heard rumors of a shopkeep she-cat who wore a golden skull, and Anthea had been the first to confirm that cat's name was Forneus. He’d never asked a vessel to do such a thing before, mainly out of not feeling close enough to ever ask such a personal, unrelated to the Bishops, task, but he wants to give the boys closure, and Anthea would happily do anything to help the kits. And thus they're sent out, and in a bit of a side quest work their way to getting Forneus to sit down and just...talk.

She explains her side of what happened, how the boys were born too soon, how she had really no choice, breaks down, and as the cats had been listening in and Aym who's now uncertain feels bad, and he requests Narinder for permission to speak.

“Save your tears for when we meet” is what he says, and that’s all that’s said through the crown.

For Aym it’s an olive branch-he’s sorta gotten an answer as to why he and his brother were sacrificed, though he's not entirely sure how to feel since well...she still gave them up, but she looks sorry so... Baal's eager and happy to hear that they were cared about but is a little disappointed at realizing that she didn't really hesitate despite the situation, but regardless, both are willing to give her a chance. They want to get to know her, and then they'll decide how they feel after that.

They, do not, see her as a proper 'Mother'. Just someone who shares their blood who they want to meet. To then Narinder's still Dad-he's still the one who makes them feel secure.

Meanwhile for Forneus it’s proof that she’ll get what was promised. Her boys are not only alive, but they’re children-they’re still children, so she'll now get what she wanted and more. They'll reunite and she'll then take her children home to travel by her side-she’ll get to raise her dear little babies just as she’d planned, and while it took so long it's going to be perfect.

She's dreamt of the boys seeing and running into her oncoming embrace crying. That they'll love her instantly and had already because she's their mother so of course that's how they'll feel. How could they not? Children ALWAYS love their parents.

The Lamb promises to help her meet them once they’re free, and every visit after, Forneus tries to get the boys to talk again-offers gifts for the lamb to bring to the Gateway, rambles on about all the things they'll do together while the Lamb browses her shop. And...well they're things, at least. Most of the toys she offers are either baby toys or things that just don't interest the boys, and some of her plans are...plans. They're elaborate-taking them to X mountain, to X landmark, traveling here and there and everywhere. Big and grand and...and never mentioning their Dad or Anthea being there.

Baal thinks it's sweet how excited she is while Aym is getting more and more unsure-but even Baal eventually admits that she's a little...loud. Forneus is loud-she's energetic and eager and while he and Aym can be too, seeing it from a stranger about them is...weird. She keeps calling herself their Mama , and calling them Zamir and Delshad despite being told otherwise because apparently those were their names (a fact not even Shamura had been given. Narinder had to name the boys himself). She keeps talking about those three days they were with her, and it kinda feels like she loves the babies she gave up and not them.

Anthea tries to tell her about them, but she usually doesn't realzie since she's busy talking to her babies and not them, it's as if the lamb isn't even there. The boys can't even try to think of trying to talk-she never leaves an opening for them to try. Eventually the boys ask Narinder to mute the crown during the Lamb's shop visits the more uncomfortable it gets.

It's like going to a family reunion and being brought to your great Aunt who last saw you as an infant at your christening. She insists on kissing your face and hugging you tight and going oh how big you've grown sweetiepie and this and that and...and you put up with it because she's family but...well she's a stranger despite the shared blood. She doesn't actually know the you of now-and you don't know her.

Reunion

When the final Bishop falls is when Forneus suddenly finds herself left in the dark. For 6 months she sees hide nor hair of the Lamb, and gradually gets worried because where are her sons? The Bishops are dead, why hasn't she been given back her babies?

(The Lamb had been avoiding her cart during crusades out of both grief and guilt-Aym's dying word of calling them 'Baba'...it broke something in them, made them realize just how much the boys had meant. They had a shattered heart and endless guilt, and having to face Forneus and explain she'd never meet her sons? It'd been too much as a grieving parent themself)

The twins were revived after 4 months but Anthea only finally approached Forneus after 6, and she was too relived to finally hear she could meet them to bother asking what'd happened. Anthea invited her to come to the cult that weekend, and Forneus happily accepted, not even noticing the tiredness in the Lamb's eyes nor the uncertainty in their tone. Even on the day she arrived at the cult, she didn't mind the lamb, not even as Anthea gave her a final warning.  

"There was trouble setting them free…they’re wary, skittish, they’ve been through a lot... I know you’re excited but please be gentle when you speak to them, be calm and keep your distance please they’re so easy to startle."  

Meanwhile the boys waited at the temple with Narinder, who, for the hundredth time, asked if they were certain they were ready for this. Though it'd been 2 months, the toll of dying so traumatically via turning to ash, of being trapped in the gateway, the trauma of resurrection, the fear of being alone without their parents because that's what he and Anthea were to them, Narinder had wanted them to wait as did Anthea. The boys could hardly sleep without at least one of them there with them in bed, were just starting to be ok interacting with other people, could only handle the touch of a select few and even then sometimes would just break down into panic attacks out of seemingly nowhere. They weren't ok, but the boys had insisted. This woman who claimed to love them had been kept in the dark for so long, they felt bad and wanted to try.

They felt guilty for not being ok. Even as Narinder and Anthea repeatedly and gently reminded them that it was alright-that their feelings were valid, that they could take all the time they needed and they'd be right there to support them, the boys had insisted and they just couldn't deny them their choice.

But once Forneus arrived no one got the chance to even properly introduce the boys to her-she just saw them, ran towards them for the reunion she dreamt up, swept them into her arms, and next thing she knew she had two yowling, struggling kits trying to break from her hold. In her excitement and in not listening to Anthea's warnings she'd done the worst thing anyone could've done-she was louder, bigger, stronger, scarier than them, and as the kids managed to shock her into dropping them suddenly Baal was hyperventilating, and Aym was working himself into a panic attack. And Narinder and Anthea, having two months practice in calming them like this, and having long been the twin's safe people, immediately fell into place. Narinder got Baal, Anthea got Aym, and Forneus could only watch.

Could only watch as Baal started gasping for Dad as Narinder tried to get him to breathe, as Aym started sobbing for Baba and practically tried to bury himself in their embrace, as her babies looked at her in fear and clung to someone else.

And then all she can feel is anger. She'd waited 300 years-those boys were hers. Why are they clinging to someone else?

From there it just becomes a mess, she gets into a very loud, very heated argument with Narinder especially for 'stealing' her sons which just scares the boys more, and in a very poor move tries to just grab one of them which prompts Anthea to use a show of godly power and threaten her to get out of the Cult which she does since a crowd has also formed (the Cult was ALL aware of the twin's poor mental state, and they'd all grown very protective of the community's first children despite having to keep their distance because by gods those kids deserved more than what fate had given them).

Forneus leaves angry, and Narinder and Anthea now got two kits who had been tentatively healing temporarily back at square one, and who are now gonna start having nightmares of a stranger taking them away on top of preexisting ones.

I wanna note that Forneus isn't a bad person. She isn't, but she's also not used to things not going her way. As a vessel she was 'Lady Luck', she who rarely died, who always had the upper hand, who would pop curse shots at the Goddess of Famine for fun and be the heartbreaker of her own cult able to flirt and tease and talk her way to whatever she wished. She's kind and cheerful and charismatic sure and she genuinely does want to help people and do the right thing, but there's still this...ignorance, arrogance-that she doesn't even realize is there.

Like how above in Starfall Part 1 she VERY casually mentions how she 'knows what it's like missing her own twins' and 'how 'hard' it must be for Anthea to have nothing of their family to remember them by', but the thing is...she doesn't know. She's so hooked on this idea that she WILL get her boys back that she completely has just ignored the grief that comes with loss entirely this whole time. The way she misses her sons is NOTHING like how Anthea misses their brothers-she misses them like a relative you haven't seen in awhile but will see soon. Anthea misses their brothers because they're DEAD and they know that they will NEVER see the two again, especially now. Like Forneus has not considered how she's lost a LOT of moments with her children. They're still kids yeah but they're not returning to her as blank slates-though physically and mentally 11 they've been with Narinder for over 300 years, that's a lot of time to be without her. She loves them, but kinda more-so the sons she thought she'd get back.

Thus when you've been envisioning this 'perfect' reunion the entire time only for it to not go your way...it's a hard pill to swallow. She gets disappointed/angry understandably-anyone would, but instead of stepping back and realizing she can't fault the boy's feelings she takes it out of the ones who 'took' her place instead, which then turns her into this loud scary bad-guy to the boys.

And Aym and Baal aren't to blame in this situation, like they're kids, and like with my 'great aunt who last saw you as a baby' analogy, it's not their fault they don't immediately love her. She's a stranger-one whom, the more she tried to force interactions via the crown during their imprisonment, seemed to have little interest in them personally and more in whatever children she assumed she'd be getting back. And after that disaster of a first meeting? They don't want anything to do with her she scared them that much.

As for Narinder and Anthea they both feel awful because they understand why Forneus is angry, she only gave them up because she was promised a chance for reunion (though she ignored the CHANCE part of that), but in the same breath Aym and Baal are their sons and they'll take their side first over anyone else's. And the thing is there's nothing that could've been done on their part to prevent this really either.

Anthea telling Forneus the twins had died? Anger, grief, then upon their revival a fierce insistence for the boys to NEVER go near the Lamb or Narinder again, which the twins would've been just as terrified and against.

Narinder not showing care to the kits for those 300 years? They would've gotten attached to him anyway since he was literally all they had, though they might've turned out worse emotionally because of neglect

Telling the boys to wait longer to meet Forneus? She likely would've just shown up on her own within another month anyway since by that point Anthea had just freed Heket from Purgatory and word was starting to get around about the new God of Death so this would've happened but worse.

The only way Forneus could've had the reunion she'd wanted would have been if Narinder never forced the twins to start aging against the stasis. But then there would be two 300+ year old infants, which is a whole other can of worms.

Notes/Explaination

Again I love Forneus in-game she's so adorable and my one of my favorite NPCs to visit, but I also like making imperfect characters, especially parents and their relationships with their children. And while I love the idea of her being this wonderful, sweet, amazing mother, I also like the idea of her being really flawed about it to.

Crimson Angel is about learning to communicate with your loved ones, and in this case, it needs to be her looking at things from the twins view and realizing that if they don't want her in their lives, she has to accept that. She needs to realize that she's not entitled to their love just because she gave birth to them. She also has to let go of the sons she gave up that day-those three day old infants who were perfect little blank slates, and get to know the boys they became without her. She has to realize someone else took her place in their hearts, and realize that if she wants to join them, she HAS to let the boys come to her, and that she has to work on THEIR terms.

She cannot try and force a love if she wants a chance for it at all, and must swallow her pride and listen to others who know the boys better-Anthea and Narinder, alongside the boys themselves.

She'll get a relationship with the boys eventually, but it's not going to be the one she hoped for. She's gotta work on herself first and realize her flaws, maybe get some practice with handling children via unintentionally adopting a certain fan-favorite grave spider kid after finding him all alone, and just...wait. Narinder and Anthea are the twin's primary parents, and while Forneus does eventually get to a place where they're comfortable with her, it's never going to be on the same level, and they all just gotta contend with that.

Boarders are by @/lambouillet

[cuubism]

I REALLLLLLLLLLLLLYYYY LOVE YOUR BELOVED PROFESSOR DREAM FIC!!!!!!!! PEOPLE TEND TO FORGET THAT!!! EVEN IN CANON!!!! HES FULL OF LOVE!!!! AND PASSION!!! AND HE CARES SO MUCH IT LITERALLY DOOMS HIM!!!!! AND IF ONLY HES BEING GIVEN A MUCH MORE KINDER CIRCUMSTANCES!! HE WOULD BEHAVES EXACTLY LIKE YOUR FIC!!! I FEEL SO CRAZT!!!! PLEASE NEVER DIE I LOVE YPUR WORKS SO MUCH!!!

I've grown quite fond of him myself 🥺 @five-and-dimes and I discussed him at length and created more lore for him. It was determined that Dream's earnest whimsy probably got him bullied a lot when he was younger. Not since he met Hob though.... it's probably a coincidence 🤷‍♀️ surely everyone just realized the error of their ways and decided to grow up and be kinder! Dream knew it would happen some day :)

-

Dream is still reeling as he reaches the cafe where he's meant to get afternoon coffee with Hob. He feels a bit shaky, but happy. Joyful. In disbelief.

When Cori had cornered him after class, Dream had been sure he was going to shove him up against a wall, or throw his books on the ground, or any of the other number of things he seemed to get satisfaction out of doing. He'd clutched his books tight, bracing himself.

Instead, Cori had, with halting, uncomfortable words, apologized to him. Actually apologized! Dream had been wary at first, sure it was just another way to hurt his feelings--he's been called gullible many times and he knows there's truth to it--but Cori hadn't taken it back, or suddenly turned on him again like he had every other time Dream had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. He seemed genuine.

It was what Dream had always wanted, what he had always hoped for, so decided to take it and just pray that Cori wouldn't change his mind again in the future. Or trip him as he walked away.

He didn't, though. And as Dream left to walk to his next class, he couldn't help but feel victorious. He knew he would get through to him eventually! He'd always known that eventually people would grow out of their juvenile pranks and learn to treat others better. And finally it was starting to happen.

None of the other usual suspects bothered him that day, either. Nobody tried to trip him, or snickered when he said something overly sentimental in class. It was like overnight the world had woken up and decided to better itself. It was magical.

So he's still shaking a bit when he sits down across from Hob, who's already gotten him his mocha latte. When he doesn't say anything at first, just takes several long sips of his drink, Hob nudges his leg under the table.

"Everything alright?"

"Cori," Dream says, "apologized to me."

He must have milk foam on his lip, for Hob reaches across the table to wipe it away with his thumb, lingering on the corner of Dream's mouth. "Did he?"

Dream nods. "It- it did not seem to be a joke. Hob, I think he actually learned."

Hob smiles sweetly. "That's great, honey."

"Nobody tripped me today," Dream muses. "Or made fun of what I said in class. I cannot believe it. I knew that eventually people would grow up and learn how to treat others kindly, but it's startling to see it happen in real time."

"They must have learned from your example," Hob says. He takes Dream's hand on the table and starts playing idly with his fingers. Hob is very touchy-feely with him, always holding his hand, or playing with his fingers like they're a fidget toy, or petting his hair while they're lying in bed together. Dream found it strange at first. He was used to others he had attempted to date wanting to rough him up a little. When he questioned it, they would say, with a laugh, you're just too sheltered. Dream didn't think he was, particularly, he just didn't understand wanting to push someone around. At least not without finding out if they even liked it.

When Dream mentioned it, Hob had said, with a grimace, that Dream's kindness could be misinterpreted as innocence, and it made people want to 'corrupt him.' Dream didn't get it, but there were a lot of things he 'didn't get', at least according to other people. In any case, Hob didn't do that, because he knew Dream didn't like it, so Dream is content now. And he has Hob to at least attempt to interpret other people's odd behavior for him.

"I hope it sticks," he says, worriedly. "I would hate for Cori and the others to backslide now that they're finally making progress."

"Oh, don't worry," Hob says, bringing Dream's hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles. He looks at Dream over their joined hands, gaze absolutely sure, a look that never fails to make Dream shiver pleasantly when it's directed at him. "I think it'll stick."

[yeoldenews]

"I hope you are not getting tired working, but I want presents, and I want as many as you can spare. I want a silver cornet, a bick (bike), and a velocipede for brother, Christmas I think you are getting old, so I sent you a letter. Yours truly Verne U. Lee."

(source: The Ontario (California) Record, December 22, 1896.)

[oliversrarebooks]

you shouldn't have

tw: mind control, hypnosis, demeaning language, dehumanization

December 1986

Light, heat, and an unfairly delicious smell poured out from a restaurant's door as Phil passed by. It was Christmas Eve, and he was freezing his goddamn ass off in his worn-out sweatpants, battered coat, and leaking shoes. His empty stomach didn't help, either. The library had already closed down for the night, and most of his usual haunts where he could warm up were also closing early on account of the holiday.

Some fucking time to get his heat shut off. Merry Christmas to him.

He'd scrounged up enough money for a shitty hot dog from a convenience store, which wasn't nearly enough to quiet his growling stomach, and his hunger definitely wasn't helping him deal with the cold. At this rate he might as well go home to his cold apartment, curl up in bed under as many blankets as he could find, and hope for better luck tomorrow.

He passed another restaurant, this one a high-end affair, all done up in garlands and ribbons and twinkling lights. The people inside were sipping wine and laughing, and he couldn't help but stare in envy as some rich asshole cut into an enormous juicy steak. Phil hadn't had a steak since --

No. That was the last thing he should be thinking about. Going back was not an option.

But of course, now that the seed had been planted, his stupid brain couldn't help but poke at it again and again. A soft, warm bed. All the food he could eat. A hot shower.

And the bloodsucking asshole who'd put him under a spell and drained his blood for the better part of six years.

That vampire was the reason he couldn't hold down a proper job any more. All that time spent in a servile daze had given him permanent brain fog, not to mention an unexplainable gap on his resume, and all of his skills were woefully out of date by the time he got back to the real world. Trying to go back to being an accountant was out of the question. Instead, he struggled to hold down a minimum wage job stocking shelves at the grocery store. It was barely enough money to make rent and eat, and that was before he got fired for showing up late one too many times.

And so, here he was on Christmas, broke as fuck with no future.

The frigid wind howled through the buildings, cutting him to the bone, and Phil pulled his coat tighter and started to walk back to his apartment. He tried to put the vampire out of his mind and ignore the darkened shop windows full of things he couldn't afford. He'd fought like hell trying to free his mind of the vampire's hypnotism enough to escape. There was no way he could just give up and go back, not when he could take his life back.

And after eight months, what did he have to show for it?

Fuck. He really, really didn't want to spend Christmas in his ice-cold apartment, shivering under his covers, ignoring his stomach. More than that, he really didn't want to go searching for another low paying job he hated, spending his days doing mind numbing chores, then going home and slumping in front of the TV, only to wake up the next day and do it all over again.

Phil stopped at a crosswalk and waited for the light to change, glancing in the direction of the vampire's stupid fancy brownstone where he'd been confined for so long, only leaving when the vampire wanted to show him off at a party, or have a servant to carry his shopping, or take a convenient meal with him on vacation. The place wasn't very far away. Maybe a ten or fifteen minute walk from here.

He forced himself to look forward and cross the street. It didn't matter that the vampire spoiled him with a rich and comfortable life, he'd been a prisoner. The vampire had his mind half reduced to mush, convinced that he lived to be a servant and a bloodbag, fawning and simpering at his undead feet. Any resistance was met with another round of hypnosis to keep him docile and obedient. He'd been happy, sure, in the way a loyal and stupid dog is happy, smiling blankly when the vampire treated him as a dumb little pet. The thought of returning to that made him sick. It didn't matter how bad things his life was now, nothing could be worse than that.

At least, that's what he tried to tell himself. It was hard to believe it on nights like this, when the icy wind whipped through his threadbare clothes as if he were wearing nothing. Sometimes it was hard to convince himself that a soul-sucking job was really so much more noble than being a vampire's personal blood supply. He had a far higher standard of living when he worked for the vampire, too. It only cost his free will.

Phil found himself stopped on the street corner, trying to keep himself from doing what he was so sorely tempted to do. The filthy, melting snow was leaking into his shoes and soaking his socks, his toes turning numb. His stomach ached. His head throbbed. A woman in a hurry, carrying four big shopping bags, jostled into him, almost knocking him over.

When he regained his footing, his heavy, sore feet began to sleepwalk towards that old brownstone, as if he were in a dream.

His throat felt dry, his hands clammy. He couldn't really be doing this, just to get a hot meal and a warm roof over his head. He couldn't give up, not after working so hard to escape.

The light turned and he kept walking down the familiar streets to an all too familiar gilded cage.

This was crazy. Even if he did want to do this -- and he didn't -- he didn't even know if the vampire would want to take him back. Phil had run away, after all. The vampire might turn him away out of scorn, or worse, decide to punish him for his disobedience. While the vampire had never been overtly cruel to Phil, there was no doubt that he had cruelty in him, and Phil didn't want to be on the receiving end.

It wasn't as if he could just show up on the vampire's doorstep and be welcomed back with open arms, everything back to the way it was. Just because the vampire had generously indulged Phil's insubordinate attitude in the past, finding it amusing -- just because the vampire's only punishment was hypnotizing the resistance out of him -- just because he sometimes would lie awake at night wondering if the vampire missed him --

He stopped. He was there. Despite arguing with himself every step of the way, he arrived in front of the vampire's home, his former prison.

There was a warm glow coming from inside. The vampire was certainly home. All Phil had to do was knock, and he'd see that awful smug face again. He wanted to puke.

He had to walk away right now before he did something he regretted, probably for the rest of his life. It had taken all of his willpower and a lucky break for him to pull free of the hypnotic spell long enough to form an escape plan. There was no way the vampire would allow that oversight to happen again.

And hell, the vampire might be angry at him for escaping and subject him to some horrible punishment just for showing up. Maybe he'd even been replaced as a thrall. It had been eight months, after all.

Phil didn't want to acknowledge how the idea of being replaced made him feel.

So there were many good reasons why he absolutely should not climb those steps and knock on the door, why he should turn around now and go back to his cold, empty, messy studio apartment for the most depressing Christmas Eve ever. It was better than turning his life back over to the vampire. Wasn't it?

As Phil stood there staring at the brownstone and fighting with himself, the wind began to blow harder, the sky opened up, and freezing cold raindrops began to dot the sidewalk. He swore under his breath, already getting soaked.

Fuck it.

He climbed the stairs and knocked on the door, trying not to shiver as the rain came down harder. He could still walk away. It wasn't too late --

The door opened, and there he was, looking just the same as the night Phil had escaped -- thick dark curls, deep and inviting eyes, self-satisfied smile. The vampire was dressed in one of his thick velvet bathrobes and it looked as if he'd just stepped out of his shower. Phil hated that he knew that the vampire had changed his shampoo just by the scent of him.

"Phil," he said, eyes going wide.

"Virgil."

And there it was, that insufferable smug grin. "Well, well, well, I wasn't expecting a Christmas present."

"You don't celebrate Christmas," said Phil. Oh, this was a mistake. Virgil being happy to see him was perhaps the worst outcome of all.

"I might have to start," he said, stepping aside and beckoning Phil forward. "Come in. You surely don't want to be out in that."

Every warning bell in Phil's head went off as he stepped over the threshold of the vampire's home, leaving behind the freezing rain and entering into surroundings that were all too familiar, Virgil's taste for the expensive and avant-garde on full display. Virgil wasted no time in invading Phil's personal space, standing so close and hooking one soft finger under his chin to lift it.

Phil averted his gaze from the vampire's eyes. He may have returned here willingly, but he wasn't going to just submit to Virgil's hypnotic spell like that. He still had some dignity.

"You're soaking wet, dear," Virgil purred. "You must be absolutely freezing in those gross things. Why don't you go upstairs and get changed into something warm? Then we can have a little chat."

"A chat?" Phil asked, struggling to keep his teeth from chattering.

"Yes, dear, a chat. If not that, what did you come here for?"

Phil's face felt heated even as the rest of him was cold. "It's not like that. I just…" God, he didn't want to admit to the fucking vampire how badly his attempt at taking care of himself had failed, how he'd been fired from three jobs, how his heat had been shut off, how little food and sleep he'd had in the last few weeks. He knew that Virgil must see the failure all over him, even if he didn't say it. He was dressed in ratty clothes and sopping wet, leaving a puddle on the marble floor. "It's Christmas Eve, and I didn't know where else to go."

Virgil's grin at that statement was positively predatory, making Phil feel like a mouse under the paw of a cat.

"You don't have to look so smug about it," Phil said.

"Oh, dear, you know me better than that. Of course I do. Now why don't you run upstairs and get changed like a good boy, hm?"

Ugh, that condescension. Why the hell had he come back here? Now he was stuck in the house with Virgil who was certainly going to try and put Phil back under his sway. He'd known that, of course, but the vampire's smile was what really drove it home. He probably wasn't leaving this place of his own free will again.

So he begrudgingly climbed the stairs, not even bothering to ask Virgil where he should get changed, knowing before he'd opened the door that his bedroom would be untouched since the night he'd escaped. It was all there, just as he'd left it -- the basket of knitting with the unfinished sweater, the fancy binoculars and telescope Virgil had bought him that were so sophisticated that Phil had barely learned to use them, the overflowing bookcase, the black and white TV with the rabbit ear antenna. The only difference was that the bed had been made, and god, did it ever look inviting. The second floor of the vampire's house was even warmer than the first, almost stiflingly so, and Phil could feel the cold melting away as he stripped off his clothes and left them in a wet heap.

The wardrobe was the same, too, full of disgustingly expensive designer clothing, all picked out by the vampire. Half of it was garish shit that Phil would never normally wear that Virgil had bought so that they could match. Phil pulled a plain black t-shirt and cotton pants, the simplest and most comfortable things he could find, and put them on.

He couldn't stop himself from flopping onto the bed, trying to keep his heavy eyes from drifting shut. He knew he couldn't go to sleep here -- Virgil would certainly take advantage of that, and besides, the vampire seemed to want to chat, whatever that was going to be. But the bed was warm, and comfortable, and fitted out with the softest blankets and sheets…

He was staring up at the ceiling he'd stared at so many times before, dazed and drowsy after the vampire fed on him, the throbbing in his neck washed out by mind controlled bliss. And now, here he was again, and he'd spent so much time fighting with himself and daydreaming about food and warmth that he didn't even have an exit plan. Avoid looking into his eyes, try not to let his voice lull away his senses, ask him real nicely pretty please don't enthrall me again -- good luck with any of that.

God, he was so fucking stupid. His stomach growled at the same time a yawn was forced from his lips -- being hungry and exhausted always caused him to make idiotic decisions. Really, he should just leave. Put his own clothes back on, rush out the door, and hope Virgil couldn't be bothered to chase after him in the freezing rain. It was a long shot, but the only way he could --

"Knock knock!" said Virgil, opening the door without knocking. "I'm having Bernie make you an absolutely enormous breakfast. You're welcome."

Phil's stomach made an unholy noise. "You don't need to do that."

"Nonsense. I could hear your stomach from downstairs, you know. Now come along to the kitchen." Virgil grabbed Phil's wrists and pulled him to his feet, ushering him towards the door. "It'd be rude to waste Bernie's cooking, and I know you have better manners than that, because I trained them into you."

Phil dug in his heels. "I'm not going to be your thrall again, Virgil."

"Oh, dear, who said anything about that?" said Virgil. "I certainly didn't propose that. I think someone's desires are causing him to get ahead of himself."

"I do not desire --"

"Hush, hush, come along now."

With no better options, Phil allowed the vampire to drag him off to the kitchen, where he was slapped in the face by the mouthwatering aroma of eggs, bacon, and buttered toast. All rational thought went out the window. He hadn't eaten a meal like that in weeks.

Bernie, Virgil's former favorite thrall and current housekeeper, was standing by the stove, with a saccharine smile and daggers in her eyes. "Welcome back, Phil," she said through clenched teeth.

"Good to see you, Bernie. Thanks for breakfast," Phil mumbled, withering before her gaze. Bernie had always been jealous of him. That might make her an ally in Phil's plan to leave after breakfast, except that the only thing stronger than her jealousy was her starry-eyed devotion to Virgil. She'd only ever poisoned him once, and that was when Virgil was mad at him, and she'd relented and called an ambulance before he actually died.

Of course, Virgil was probably mad at him now…

"Eat up," she said.

Phil groaned and tucked into the food, all thoughts of potential poisoning disappearing as he ate. He really did need this.

"So," said Virgil with a terrifying gleam in his eye, "Christmas Eve and nowhere else to go, was it? I take it your little human life has been disappointing so far? Not matching up to your hopes and dreams?"

"My life is amazing. Couldn't be better." Phil stubbornly looked at his rapidly disappearing mountain of eggs and not at the vampire.

"Oh, no doubt." Virgil rested his head against his palm, shamelessly watching Phil eat. "But I couldn't help but notice how unhealthy you look." He reached out a hand, brushing Phil's cheek and directing Phil's gaze to the deep pool of his eyes. They were so dark, so captivating, so soothing, that Phil found himself swaying in a daze just from a moment's contact.

Phil shook his head, pulling out of Virgil's grasp. "You don't need to do that."

"But I want to. I know you must have missed it."

He stuffed his mouth full of eggs. "No, I didn't."

"Mmm." Virgil leaned back, appraising. "You did hurt me, you know. You betrayed me, leaving without so much as a goodbye or a note, not even trying to talk to me to work out your troubles. And after I had spoiled you, I trusted you --"

"You didn't trust me," said Phil, slamming down his fork. "You hypnotized me."

"I quieted your anxious mind. I helped you relax and enjoy life."

"You took my freedom away!"

"Ah, yes, your precious freedom, so very important. Your freedom to live your amazing life." Virgil's facade cracked, allowing his anger to leak through. "Your life that was so amazing that you were out wandering in the freezing cold rain on Christmas Eve, starving and desperate."

"Fine. You want me to admit that my life sucks? Yeah, it does. It sucks," said Phil. "And that's mostly your fault. You took six years from my life that I can't explain to anyone without looking crazy, and the spell you put on my brain makes it so I can't concentrate and can't hold down a serious job."

"I allegedly did all of those terrible things to you and yet you're here, aren't you, choosing to spend Christmas with me, the big scary vampire."

"I make poor decisions," said Phil with a huff. "We're alike in that way."

Virgil laughed. "So we are."

"So you're angry at me. I don't really care," Phil lied.

"Perhaps I am, more than I expected," said Virgil. "But I've also realized how much the entire situation was my fault. After all, I was the one who was so caught up in my own drama that I neglected your poor mind and allowed it to become unmoored. It's a mistake I don't intend to make again."

And there it was. "I said I'm not interested in becoming your thrall again."

"Oh, you did say that, and it's such a pity. I really am quite fond of you, despite everything. But I don't give up easily on what I want." He reached out and nudged Phil's face back to look into his eyes. "I think I can get you to see things my way."

"Uh…" Those eyes seemed even larger, more beautiful, more mesmerizing, and the temptation to curl up and rest in them was eroding Phil's convictions. He looked away with far more difficulty this time, standing up despite his knees shaking. "I know what you're trying to do, Virgil, and it's not going to…"

"Hush hush hush now." The vampire pressed down on his shoulders, pushing him back into the chair. "It's time to relax. Just relax and obey, dear."

"Um --" Phil had forgotten, or perhaps underestimated, or just pretended like he didn't know how strong the vampire's powers were. His mind was fogging, filled with memories of subservience, following the vampire around and doing his petty biddings like an obedient little lap dog. How humiliating. How blissful…

"That's right, just look me in the eyes, if you please, dear," he said, his words like snakes coiling around Phil. "There you are. That's a good boy. A good, obedient boy."

Mustering all of his willpower, Phil managed to push the vampire away, overturning his chair and falling to the floor. He'd made such a huge mistake coming here. He was going to be a thrall again, charmed into mindlessness by Virgil, docile and fawning…

"Ah-ah-ah, none of that," said Virgil calmly, picking up the chair with one hand and pulling Phil back onto it with the other. "There will be no resisting, dear. No fighting your better. Just relaxing. Relax and obey."

Once more, Phil found his gaze tethered to the vampire's eyes. "I -- I won't --"

"You will," the vampire insisted, stroking Phil's cheek and running his hand through his hair. "You're such a good boy, so obedient, I know you are. You don't want to fight me. You want to know your place. You want to sink into bliss."

"I…" He tried to struggle, but his limbs felt like jelly, barely attached to his body. His jaw dropped as his eyelids drooped, losing himself in a daze, swaying along as the vampire played with his hair.

"Now tell me the truth, dear. You did miss me, didn't you?"

"I… missed you…"

"And you missed having my firm hold guiding your poor, anxious mind, didn't you?"

"Uh…" One small struggle, and then it was over. "Uh-huh…"

"That's right, dear. You don't want to have to worry about jobs and bills any more, do you?"

That was an easy one. "No…"

"That's right, it's all too much for your tired little brain. Won't it be so nice to have me take care of everything?"

"Yeah…"

"Good boy. Of course it will. Now it's time for you to relax. I'm hungry too, you know, and my hospitality isn't free."

Phil slumped in his chair, offering no resistance as Virgil tilted his head to the side and brushed cold fingers against his neck. The sensation was familiar, almost comforting. He knew his place.

"What a wonderful Christmas present," said Virgil, his cold breath on Phil's neck, breathing deep of his scent. "You shouldn't have. You really, really shouldn't have."

Rare Bookseller Side Stories Masterlist

Thanks for reading my self-indulgent vampire stories, and happy holidays!

[curiousbristories]

My story: I'm sci fi!

My story: and a heartwarming coming of age story!

My story: with maybe a hint of magic!

My story: and a found family!

My story: You'll love the main character!

My story: She's just like you!

My story: ...

My story: ...

My story: ...

My story: And she becomes the villain!

[arttsuka]

what’s the bad ending to mer-fidd?

Getting cannibalised by Bill probably

[weevil-wallflower]

A Jedi & A Droid

Cal Kestis x Jedi!Reader

Summary: Your life was never the same after You stumbled upon another Jedi and a droid.

Warnings/Tags: No warnings, SFW, hurt/comfort, minor angst, fluff, mutual pining, no use of Y/N, no pronouns used, pre/during Jedi: Survivor, minor spoilers for Jedi: Survivor.

A.N.: My third entry for Cal Kestis Week 2024! Prompts: Day 3 - Droid & Day 4 - "We shouldn't be doing this".

I am so late but responsibilities called! Also, this story, initially meant to be simple, got wayyy out of hand and turned into a combination of little snippets. So a bit of a wordy one but I am so happy to finally write this, as the idea had been sitting in my drafts for so long plus I really enjoyed writing it! I think this is one of my best stories yet :3 Gif by me!

Also on AO3!

Word Count: ~6,800

After the crew of the Mantis had split apart, Cal found himself adrift in the galaxy with only BD-1 by his side, spending years drifting between missions and without a crew—a family. While working for Saw Gerrera, he had formed strong friendships with fellow rebels; Gabs, the Klatooinian twins Koob and Lizz, and Bravo. However, it never felt quite the same. He longed for the camaraderie and companionship he had once known, yearning for a friend, a family and perhaps even a partner, to share in their journey’s hardships and victories.

Then, one fateful day, while Cal and BD-1 were navigating through a crowded spaceport, they came across You—running desperately from a squad of unrelenting stormtroopers. Cal's sharp senses detected the hurry in your movements and the terror in your expression as You ran through the packed streets, desperately trying to evade capture.

Without hesitation, Cal leapt into action, his instincts kicking into overdrive as he made his way through the chaotic crowds, dodging blaster fire and weaving through narrow alleyways in pursuit of You. Out of breath, he finally caught up to You, halting You in your tracks and reached out a hand to offer his help.

“Come with us!” The redhead urged, his voice firm yet reassuring as he glanced back at the approaching stormtroopers. “We have a ship. We can help you escape.”

Despite the opportunity presented before You, You hesitated, your eyes wide with fear and uncertainty as You weight your options.

“I’m not getting in a stranger’s ship!” You protested, your voice trembling with apprehension.

Cal’s gaze softened, understanding the gravity of your situation as he met your gaze with unwavering determination.

“You have a better idea?” He asked, his tone gentle yet firm as he kept his hand extended towards You.

You still appeared hesitant but the thunderous footsteps of the approaching stormtroopers and the urgent “Beep-bo-beep!” from the droid perched on the redhead’s back sealed the deal, making You choose the lesser of two evils. With a slight nod, You reached out to take the redhead’s hand, feeling a sense of trust and reassurance wash over You like a wave. Was it the Force trying to tell You something? You had no time to dwell on it, however, as Cal led You to his ship.

As the three of you boarded the Mantis, Cal’s eyes widened with excitement when they fell on the lightsaber strapped to your side, realisation dawning on him.

“You’re a Jedi!” He exclaimed, surprise apparent in his voice. “That’s why those Imps were after you.”

The knowledge brought him some hope, knowing that he had finally found another Jedi besides Cere, after all these years.

You simply nodded and hesitantly took the offered co-pilot seat as the ship soared through the vast outer space. You were unable to shake the feeling of apprehension that gripped You. The knowledge that Cal now knew You were a Jedi filled You with a sense of unease, knowing all too well the dangers that come with being hunted throughout the Galaxy. The thought of bounty hunters and Imperial forces closing in on You sent a shiver down your spine, and You couldn’t help but wonder if trusting Cal was a mistake.

However, as You stole a glance at him while he piloted the ship, You noticed something that caught You off guard—a lightsaber attached to his belt, just like yours. Your eyes widened in surprise as You turned to face him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you… are you also a Jedi?” You asked, your voice full of uncertainty.

Cal’s face lit up with a smile, his green eyes sparkling with excitement and happiness.

“Yes, I am!” He exclaimed, voice full of joy. “I can’t believe I’ve finally found another Jedi!”

“Me too…” You whispered as the revelation sent a wave of relief washing over You. And sure enough, You felt his Force signature resonate around You, feeling his resilience, determination and a strong connection to the Light Side of the Force. However, while the signature carried traces of sorrow and grief, You were surprised by how warm and comforting it felt, enveloping You like a protective blanket. You were unable to remember the last time You felt someone’s Force signature—much less one as soothing. The feeling replaced your earlier apprehension with a sense of solidarity and companionship, relieved to know that You were not alone.

However, it still took time for You to feel comfortable around Cal, despite his warm demeanor and infectious enthusiasm. But slowly over time, You found yourself gradually opening up to the redhead, sharing stories of your past and your hopes for the future. Yet, a lingering sense of caution remained, a barrier that felt insurmountable at times.

But BD-1, Cal’s loyal droid friend, proved to be a source of comfort and solace during those moments of uncertainty. Seeing how happy Cal was once more, all because of your presence on board, BD-1 went out of his way to make You feel welcome with his cheerful chirps and friendly demeanour, offering You small gifts and gestures of kindness that never failed to bring a smile to your face.

And as You watched the little droid trot around the ship, trilling with excitement, You couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude towards him. His efforts to make You feel comfortable and at ease did not go unnoticed, and You found yourself growing fond of BD-1 in return.

Cal, too, noticed the bond that was forming between the both of you, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his droid friend bringing joy and laughter into your life like he did for him. Seeing You happy lifted Cal’s spirits in ways he couldn’t fully explain, and he found himself opening up to You even more, sharing his hopes and fears with a newfound sense of trust and vulnerability.

Overall, BD-1’s efforts to make You feel comfortable and welcome were essential in helping You overcome your initial apprehension and form strong bonds of friendship with Cal and the droid. There were numerous instances which contributed to strengthening your bond with both of them.

One day, Cal and BD-1 ventured out on a mission while You agreed to stay behind on the Mantis to look after it and to provide backup support if needed. But when the duo failed to return when they should have, a sense of worry began to settle deep in your mind. Especially when You were unable to contact them via the comms. Time appeared to stretch on endlessly as You waited for their return, each minute that passed only made your concern grow. Feeling restless, You paced the length of the ship, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridors as You anxiously awaited their safe return.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, just when You contemplated going out to search for them, You heard footsteps and beeping sounds. You quickly rushed down the ramp to be greeted by the sight of Cal, looking a little worse for wear but otherwise unharmed. Your worries melted away in an instant as You ran over to greet him.

“Cal, you’re back!” You exclaimed, relief evident in your voice.

The redhead grinned wearily, his expression softened by your sight. “Hey…” He greeted, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “Sorry for the delay. We ran into a bit of trouble out there.”

Before You could respond, BD-1 chirped excitedly, leaping down from Cal's back and presented You with a tiny gift he ejected from his stim dispenser. With a delighted giggle, You accepted the gift, a simple trinket made from scavenged materials—a token of BD-1's affection and friendship.

As You thanked the little droid for the thoughtful gesture, Cal couldn't help but chuckle at the scene unfolding before him.

"Well, it looks like BeeDee gets all the attention," he quipped, his tone light-hearted as he approached you. "No warm welcome for a valiant hero like me, huh?"

You grinned at his playful remark, thankful that despite the dangers they faced on their mission, Cal and BD-1 had returned safely, and that was all that mattered in the end.

As you all walked back inside the Mantis together, Cal's arm draped casually over your shoulder, You couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging wash over You. And when BD-1 chirped happily beside You, You knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together as a team.

Another day, You remember sitting alone in the quiet solitude of your quarters at the back of the Mantis. With the weight of loneliness and longing pressing heavy on your heart, You couldn't help but feel the ache of missing your long-gone family and friends. Memories of happier times filled your mind, each recollection a bittersweet reminder of the bonds You had lost to the war of the Galaxy.

Meanwhile, out in the common area of the ship, Cal paced back and forth with furrowed brows, his concern for You evident in the worried lines etched upon his face. He had sensed your melancholy from the moment You had withdrawn to your quarters, and despite his best efforts to coax You out of your seclusion, You had insisted that You were fine, not wanting to burden him with your troubles.

But BD-1, after sensing your distress, took it upon himself to cheer You up. With a soft chirp, the little droid scuttled into your quarters, carrying an assortment of gifts and trinkets.

You looked up when BD-1 dropped the presents at your feet, startled by the unexpected intrusion. But when You gazed into the droid’s photoreceptor lenses, You noticed something—empathy, compassion and a silent invitation to share in his company.

With a small smile, you reached out to accept the gifts that BD-1 had brought for You, each one a small token of friendship and comfort in the midst of your loneliness. A handcrafted charm bracelet, a bundle of aromatic herbs, and a holorecording of soothing music—all thoughtfully chosen to lift your spirits and ease the ache in your heart.

As You held the gifts close to your heart, a wave of gratitude washed over You, grateful for the droid’s unwavering support and companionship.

When Cal noticed BD-1 entering your quarters, he longed to join in as well, wanting to do everything he could to make You feel better and suddenly, an idea came to him. Quickly, he brewed a cup of your favorite caf, its rich aroma filling the air. With each measured step, he poured his heart into the simple act of preparing the beverage, hoping that it will bring You some solace in the midst of your turmoil.

As the redhead slowly walked into your quarters with the steaming cup in hand, he felt a sense of relief wash over him at the sight of the little droid’s offerings laid out before You on your bed. He was grateful for BD-1’s presence, knowing that the little droid was looking after You in his own unique way, offering You comfort when You needed it the most.

When You saw Cal enter your quarters with hesitant steps, You couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth in your chest at the sight of him. The small, sympathetic smile he wore tugged at your heartstrings, and as You watched him walk closer, your lips curved into a small smile of your own.

Slowly, Cal extended the cup towards You, his gesture a silent offering of support and understanding. And as You accepted the cup of caf, You felt a sense of gratitude, knowing that with Cal and BD-1 present, You were never truly alone, even in your moments of solitude. Their presence and unwavering support filled the room with a comforting sense of companionship that eased the ache in your heart.

When Cal moved to leave You to your thoughts, as You had requested earlier, a sudden impulse seized You. “ Cal, wait!” You called out, surprising yourself with the words.

Turning back to face You, the redhead’s expression was one of curiosity, his eyes searching yours.

“Would you… would you mind staying here for a while?” You asked, your voice soft with uncertainty. “I could use the company…”

A flicker of emotion passed through Cal’s eyes; a mixture of surprise, gratitude and something deeper You couldn’t quite recognise. With a small nod, he settled into the seat opposite You, his presence along with BD-1’s providing reassurance amidst your troubled thoughts.

And as you all sat together in the comfort of your quarters, the warmth of the caf and the gentle hum of conversation filled the air, slowly dissipating the tension from earlier. With each passing moment, You found yourself drawn deeper into the warmth of Cal’s presence, the sound of his deep voice soothing your worries.

As You listened to him speak, your gaze wandered, taking in the details of his appearance with a newfound appreciation. His fiery red hair, the brightest You had ever seen, seemed to glow in the soft light of the room.

His green eyes, so vibrant and full of life, sparkled with intelligence and kindness, drawing You in with their magnetic charm. And as You met his gaze, You found yourself captivated by the depth and warmth that lay within them, a reflection of the soul that resided behind those beautiful emerald orbs.

His freckles, scattered like constellations across his sun-kissed skin, added to his charm, giving him an air of boyish innocence that belied the immense strength and resilience he possessed. And though his face carried the marks of battles fought and hardships endured, each scar only served to enhance his rugged allure, a testament to the trials and tribulations he had overcome over the years.

While You took in the sight of him, bathed in the soft glow of the room, You couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration wash over You. In that moment, surrounded by the comforting embrace of his presence, You knew that You were in the presence of someone truly special—a friend, a confidant, and perhaps something more.

As time went on and the bond between You and the duo deepened, You developed a deep, almost parental affection for the little droid, despite not understanding what he said half the time. Often, in moments of excitement or tenderness, You found yourself affectionately calling BD-1 "Beebee" or "BB-1," much to Cal’s amusement.

During one particularly heartwarming moment by the campfire during a stop on Bogano, as Cal's hand brushed against yours and the stars twinkled overhead, You couldn't resist reaching out to BD-1 with a soft smile.

"Come here, Beebee," You cooed, beckoning the droid closer.

BD-1 chirped happily, nuzzling against your side with a warmth that made your heart swell.

Cal chuckled at the endearing nickname, his eyes crinkling with affection as he observed the exchange.

"You're my little bebe!" You exclaimed, unable to contain your adoration for the droid, causing Cal's laughter to fill the air, a melodic sound that echoed through the night.

"You're going to spoil him with all that love," he teased, his playful tone only adding to the warmth of the moment.

You grinned, feeling a sense of contentment wash over You. "Well, he deserves it," You replied, reaching out to pat BD-1's head affectionately.

Another one of your adventures led you all to an enchanting night market, where the dim glow of colourful lanterns illuminated the bustling streets. Cloaked in hooded robes that disguised your identities, You and Cal strolled through the bustling streets and crowds of people. The outer rim planet that you all had landed on was far from the watchful eyes of the Empire, but the threat of being hunted down as Jedi still lingered, necessitating caution in your movements.

As you both moved through the sea of sellers and stalls, You couldn't help but steal glances at Cal, admiring how handsome and mysterious he looked in his black cloak.

Cal too stole glances at You from beneath his hood, unable to contain his admiration. The way your eyes sparkled with curiosity as You took in the sights and sounds around You, the delicate curve of your smile as You marveled at the many stalls— it all filled him with a warmth that he couldn't quite explain.

His thoughts drifted to uncharted territory as he found himself yearning for more than just companionship with You. The urge to reach out and hold You close, to feel the warmth of your embrace and the softness of your touch, tugged at his heartstrings with an intensity he hadn't anticipated.

But the redhead knew better than to act on such impulses, especially in the midst of such a perilous situation. The threat of danger loomed overhead, reminding him of the risks involved in allowing his emotions to take control. And yet, despite the rational voice of caution in his mind, he couldn't shake the longing that stirred within him whenever he looked at You.

And as You turned to face him with a curious expression, he felt a rush of warmth fill his chest, the desire to protect and cherish You overwhelming any doubts or fears that lingered within him. In that moment, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the night market, Cal knew one thing for certain; he would do anything to keep You safe.

The redhead’s thoughts were interrupted when You suddenly rushed inside a bookstore with shelves full of interesting titles. Among them, a book on how to learn Binary stuck out, with a cover full of symbols and characters that attracted your interest.

"Hey, Cal, check this out!" You exclaimed, excitedly holding up the book after he caught up to You. "I've always wanted to learn Binary, especially now so I can understand Beebee better. What do you think?"

Cal glanced at the book, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I think that's a great idea," he replied, his voice warm with encouragement. "Learning Binary could definitely help you and Beedee communicate more effectively."

Turning to BD-1, who was perched on Cal's shoulder, You addressed the droid with a playful grin. "What do you think, Beebee? You think I can learn Binary? Then you and I can gossip like schoolgirls, won't that be fun?"

Cal chuckled at your remark, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I definitely think Beedee will have some juicy gossip to tell you," he quipped, eliciting a series of excited beeps from the droid. "But yeah, learning Binary sounds like a fantastic idea. Just promise me one thing: as long as you both don't gossip about me, I'm all for it."

You giggled in response before purchasing the book and tucking it safely into your robes. For some reason, You hadn’t thought to ask Cal for lessons, thinking You could learn on your own and not wanting to trouble him as he already had too much on his plate. But now, with the book in hand, You were eager to begin learning.

After weeks turned to months aboard the Mantis, You received communication from a distant friend from within the rebellion You worked for, presenting You with a difficult choice. The holographic image flickered to life from within your now fixed comms unit, revealing the face of a trusted ally, their voice filled with urgency and determination as they extended an invitation for You to return to the rebellion.

For a moment, You felt torn, the call to duty and the desire to make a difference in the Galaxy making You feel conflicted. The rebellion was your way of fighting for freedom and justice alongside allies who shared your ideals and convictions.

But as You glanced around the familiar surroundings of the Mantis, the faces of Cal and BD-1 staring back at You with concern and uncertainty, You realised that this ship had become more than just a travelling vessel—it was your sanctuary, your home.

Cal, ever perceptive to the turmoil raging within You, approached with a gentle hand resting on your shoulder, his eyes filled with understanding and empathy. “Whatever you decide, know that we’re here for you,” he said, his voice soft and reassuring. “You’re a part of this crew, a part of this family, and we’ll support you no matter what.”

With a heavy heart, You weighed your options, torn between the duty to your cause and the love for your newfound family.

In the end, You made your decision, lead on by your stubborn sense of duty to the cause. The call to serve the rebellion beckoned with an undeniable urgency. In a way, You and Cal were very similar, feeling like you both needed to keep fighting, unable to shake the sense of duty that weight heavily on both of you.

Cal accepted your decision with great reluctance, having half a mind to join You but he had his own duty to fulfill for Saw Gerrera’s rebellion.

When the moment of your departure drew closer, Cal and BD-1 stood beside You as You gathered your meagre belongings, their expressions a mirror of your own conflicted emotions, as You prepared to leave. The duo knew that your absence would leave a void aboard the Mantis that would be difficult to fill.

Cal, ever stoic and composed, held his emotions in check, offering You a reassuring smile as he bid You farewell. His words of encouragement and support echoed in your ears, reminding You that You were not alone in your decision, no matter how difficult it may be.

BD-1 on the other hand, unable to contain his emotions, wailed and cried, clinging to your legs desperately as You attempted to walk down the ramp of the Mantis and onto the planet. The little droid’s cries of distress tore at your heartstrings, filling You with a sense of guilt and anguish as You struggled to pull away.

“Beebee, it’s okay,” You whispered, calling him with that endearing nickname, your voice thick with emotions as You tried to soothe the distraught droid. “I’ll come back, I promise. We’ll see eachother again soon.”

But BD-1’s cries only grew louder, his little legs clinging to You in a desperate embrace, refusing to let go. Tears welled in your eyes as You looked into the droid’s photoreceptors, seeing the depth of his sorrow reflected back at You.

As he watched BD-1 cling to You with such desperation, witnessing the droid’s anguish and your distress, Cal felt a pang of sorrow and longing grip his heart as well. He slowly approached you both, gently reaching out to the droid. “’We shouldn’t be doing this’,” he murmured softly, his voice laced with sorrow as he pried BD-1 away from You. “We must respect others’ decisions…”

The redhead wanted nothing more than to embrace You, to hold You close and offer You comfort in this difficult moment. But he knew that if he allowed himself to give in to that temptation, he would break down completely. With a heavy heart, Cal settled for a handshake instead, his touch gentle yet firm as he bid You farewell. He knew that letting You go was the right thing to do, even if it tore him apart inside.

With a heavy heart, your touch lingered on Cal’s hand before You gave BD-1 one last reassuring pat before finally stepping away and descending down the ramp. And as You walked away, the echoes of BD-1's cries followed You, a haunting reminder of the sacrifice You had made in the name of duty.

As your silhouette faded into the horizon, Cal couldn’t shake the weight of grief that settled in his chest. Watching you leave, he couldn't help but reflect on the bond that had formed between You, him and BD-1, realizing how much he and the little droid had come to cherish You.

In the short time You had been aboard the Mantis, You had become like family to them. And now, just as they had grown accustomed to your presence, You were leaving them, all too soon, like so many others before You.

The thought of saying goodbye was nearly unbearable, a painful reminder of the transience of life and the fleeting nature of companionship in a Galaxy ripped apart by conflict and suffering. But even as the pain of loss threatened to overwhelm him, Cal knew that he couldn't hold You back, knowing all too well that your duty to the rebellion was a call You could not ignore.

As Cal returned inside the Mantis, a heaviness settled upon him, weighing down his spirit with the burden of your departure. Unable to muster the resolve to fly the ship just yet, he found himself sinking into melancholy, the empty space around him echoing with the absence of your presence.

Sitting in the cockpit, Cal held BD-1 close to him, the little droid providing what comfort it could with its mechanical chirps and beeps. But even as he clung to BD-1, a sense of loneliness overcame him, a stark reminder of the void left behind by your absence.

"BeeDee," Cal murmured softly, his voice tinged with sadness. "We... We both really did come to love our new friend, didn't we?"

"Boo-woo..." BD-1 beeped in response, his photoreceptors dimming with sorrow as he nestled closer to the redhead. In that moment, as they sat together in the silent cockpit, Cal sought solace in the presence of his loyal droid.

BD-1 then emitted a flurry of hurried beeps, crying out to Cal with urgency, telling—demanding him to bring You back right this instant. Cal felt a pang of sadness grip his heart as the desperation in BD-1's cries mirrored his own inner turmoil, reminding him of the depth of the bond that had formed between him and You.

"We shouldn't be doing something like this..." Cal repeated solemnly, shaking his head as he recalled his earlier words when BD had clung to You. "We can't force someone like that..."

His voice was heavy with resignation, a reflection of the harsh reality they faced. Despite their wishes and desires, they couldn't force You to stay, no matter how much they wanted to. The decision was yours alone to make, and they had to respect that, no matter how difficult it may be.

BD-1 emitted a series of mournful beeps in response, his sorrow palpable as he nestled closer to Cal, seeking solace in his presence. Together, they sat in the quiet confines of the cockpit, grappling with the emptiness left behind by your departure, silently hoping that You will return to them one day.

Meanwhile, as the evening turned into night, You found yourself immersed in the routine of life within the rebellion's base once more, but the memory of leaving your newfound family behind weighed heavily on your mind. Amidst the chatter and activity of your fellow rebels, a sense of longing gnawed at your heart, aching for the companionship and camaraderie You had experienced aboard the Mantis.

In the quiet solitude of your old quarters, You unpacked your belongings, the Binary language book You had purchased a few weeks earlier catching your eye. The sight of it brought back precious memories, reminding You of the laughter, the warmth, and the sense of belonging You had felt with Cal and BD-1. In that moment, You realised with a pang of regret how big of a mistake You had made in leaving them behind.

With resolution burning within You, You made a spur-of-the-moment decision to return to the Mantis, hoping against hope that it wasn't too late. Racing through the dimly lit corridors of the rebellion's base, your heart pounded with anticipation as You hurried towards the landing pad where the ship was stationed.

As You approached, the silhouette of the Mantis came into view, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Relief washed over You as You realised despite the few hours that had passed since You had left, the ship was still there, almost as if waiting patiently for your return.

You ran up the ramp and inside the ship, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your gaze fell on the solemn figures of Cal and BD-1. For a brief moment, confusion flickered across their faces, but it quickly gave way to surprise and joy as they realised that You had returned.

BD-1 was the first to react, emitting a series of excited beeps as he rushed towards You. Tears welled up in your eyes as You knelt down to greet the little droid, wrapping your arms around his small frame in a tight embrace.

"I'm so sorry," You whispered tearfully. "I didn't mean to leave you. I didn't realise how much you both meant to me until I was gone."

BD-1 chirped softly in response, his photoreceptors gleaming with happiness as he nuzzled against You. Meanwhile, Cal approached slowly, his expression a mixture of relief and concern as he watched the emotional reunion unfold before him.

"Welcome back," he said softly, his voice tinged with emotion.

With BD-1 by your side as a reassuring presence, You rose from your embrace with the droid and turned to face Cal, the weight of your emotions spilling over as You threw your arms around him in a tight hug.

As You hugged Cal, your heart overflowing with emotion, he returned the embrace just as fervently, his strong arms enveloping You in a comforting hold.

"I'm so sorry, Cal," You whispered once more, your voice trembling. "I didn't mean to leave you both..."

Cal held You at arm's length, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of relief and sincerity. "You mean a lot to us, you know," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of his feelings. "We've come to rely on you, to count on you. And when you left..."

His voice trailed off, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. But before You could respond, BD-1 let out a series of joyful beeps, trotting over to nuzzle against You in his own display of affection.

The redhead grinned fondly at the droid before turning his attention back to You. "Beedee's right. You're not just a member of the crew," he continued, his words filled with warmth. "You're family. And we're just grateful to have you back where you belong."

Tears of gratitude flowed down your cheeks as You gazed at Cal, feeling the weight of his words sink in. In that moment, surrounded by the love and acceptance of your chosen family, You knew that You were exactly where You were meant to be.

Your adventures continued, roaming the Galaxy with Cal and BD-1. Despite using your book to teach yourself Binary and spending more time with BD-1, your grasp of the language remained shaky at best, leading to frequent misunderstandings with your droid friend that often led to comical yet occasionally embarrassing moments.

During one very tense mission on a remote planet, BD-1 emitted a series of urgent beeps, which You interpreted as a call for action. Without hesitation, You activated the nearest control panel, thinking You were helping to disable a security system. But your actions did the opposite instead, triggering a blaring alarm and alerting nearby guards.

Cal chuckled softly at your mistake, but his amusement turned to concern when You misinterpreted BD-1's attempts at giving directions using the help of his holomap. Confused by the droid's beeps, You accidentally led the way into a dead-end corridor, much to Cal's bemusement.

"Oh, wrong turn…" You mumbled sheepishly, earning a sympathetic pat on the back from Cal.

As the mission progressed, so did your series of misunderstandings. At one point, BD-1 signaled for a left turn, but You mistook it for a right, resulting on a wild goose chase through a maze of corridors. Cal laughed good-naturedly as You backtracked, feeling slightly embarrassed but grateful— and very surprised—for his immense patience.

Later, during a small respite from missions, BD-1 chirped happily and nudged You, prompting You to offer the droid a sandwich You had just made.

Cal chuckled again, gently correcting your mistake. "He's asking for a power recharge, not a snack," he explained, suppressing a grin.

Blushing, You quickly helped BD-1 into the charging station, feeling a bit silly but grateful for the opportunity to learn.

As you three continued your journey, your misunderstandings with BD-1 became both more frequent and more amusing. One memorable incident during a mission on a remote outpost, BD-1 quickly warned You about a slippery surface ahead. However, You misinterpreted the droid's chirps as encouragement for a fun slide.

With a playful grin, You ran and launched yourself onto the surface, expecting a thrilling ride. Instead, your feet flew out from under You, and You landed with a loud thud that sent a cloud of dust into the air.

Cal rushed over, concern etched on his face, but as he helped You up and noticed You were fine except a few scrapes, his expression softened into a grin.

"You really need to work on your Binary," he teased, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

Blushing furiously, You burst out into laughter along with him, grateful for his good humor and unwavering support.

One evening, as the three of you sat around a campfire beneath a blanket of stars, the flames casting flickering shadows across the campsite, You couldn't help but steal glances at Cal when he wasn't looking. His red hair, illuminated by the warm glow of the fire, appeared to shimmer like molten copper, framing his face in a halo of fiery strands.

His freckled cheeks, kissed by the suns of countless worlds, added a touch of youthful charm to his rugged features. And when he laughed, his eyes sparkled like twin galaxies, filled with a light that seemed to chase away the darkness.

But it wasn't just his appearance that captivated You—it was the effortless grace with which he moved, the strength and agility evident in every fluid motion. His muscular yet lithe physique reflected countless hours spent honing his skills, preparing for the challenges that lay ahead.

Lost in admiration, You found yourself drawn to him in ways You couldn't quite explain, feeling a sense of déjà vu during that moment as You admired him. And as You watched him tend to the fire, his movements sure and purposeful, You couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest.

While the flames danced and crackled, Cal couldn't help but steal a glance at You as well when he thought You weren't looking. He felt a surge of gratitude and relief to have You there with him, especially after the rest of the Mantis crew had split, each going their separate ways.

In those quiet moments by the campfire, Cal's thoughts drifted to the challenges you had faced together so far—the battles fought and the bonds forged in the crucible of adversity. And through it all, You had stood by his side, a constant companion whose presence filled him with a sense of hope and purpose.

He also admired your determination to learn binary, your willingness to laugh at your own mistakes, and the genuine warmth and affection You showed towards BD-1. In your company, he found a sense of peace and belonging, something he hadn't felt since the fall of the Jedi Order.

Lost in his thoughts, the redhead couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for You, grateful for your unwavering support and companionship. And as he watched You, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Cal's gaze remained on You longer than usual, a hint of something more lingering in his eyes. As the crackling of the fire filled the silence, he reached out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze, You nodded, unable to tear your eyes away from his.

"I... I think so," You stuttered, your heart racing in your chest.

In that moment, the world around You seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in the soft glow of the campfire. Without another word, Cal leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, hesitant kiss.

Time seemed to stand still as You melted into his embrace, the warmth of his touch sending sparks of electricity dancing across your skin. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you, lost in the embrace of the night.

As You pulled away, breathless and flushed, Cal's eyes sparkled in their intensity, his calloused hand reaching out to intertwine with yours.

"I've been wanting to do that for a long time," he admitted, his voice filled with a mixture of longing and relief.

With a smile, You squeezed his hand, feeling a sense of peace settle over You. "Me too," You whispered, knowing that in that moment, You had found something worth fighting for amidst the chaos of the Galaxy.

As You and Cal continued to lovingly gaze into each other's eyes, soft little footsteps filled the air, accompanied by the joyous chirps of BD-1. However, in your post-kiss daze, You misinterpreted the droid's enthusiastic speech, thinking he was teasing You for being all googly-eyed over Cal.

"Beebee, not now," You whispered nervously, blushing furiously as You tried to compose yourself.

Cal laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he gently nudged You. "I think BeeDee is just happy for us," he teased, his tone laced with affectionate amusement.

You shot him a sheepish grin, realising You mistook the little droid once again. "I guess I still have a lot to learn," You admitted.

Cal's teasing grin softened into a warm smile as he squeezed your hand. "Well, lucky for you, I'm an excellent teacher," he replied, his teasing tone hinting at something more than just language lessons.

You couldn't help but blush at the underlying implication of his words, a flutter of excitement dancing in your chest. You leaned in to kiss him once more and as the tender moment between You and Cal lingered, bathed in the soft glow of the campfire, BD-1’s lenses suddenly whirred to life, capturing the scene in a flash of light. Startled, You pulled away from the kiss, blinking in surprise as You turned to see the droid standing nearby, his photoreceptors zooming in and out as they focused on You and Cal with mechanical precision.

“BeeBee, what are you doing?” You asked, a mixture of amusement and curiosity apparent in your voice.

Cal chuckled softly, his arm still wrapped around You as he glanced at the small droid with a playful grin. “I think BeeDee wanted to capture the moment,” he explained, his eyes alight with amusement.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the unexpected gesture, feeling a rush of warmth fill your chest at the thought of having a memento of this special moment.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to thank BeeBee for the souvenir,” You replied, leaning into Cal’s embrace with a contented sigh, giggling when You heard the little droid let out an excited “Whoop!” in response.

You, Cal and BD-1 settled back into the quiet comfort of the night, the image captured by BD’s lenses served as a reminder of the bond You shared with the other Jedi—a bond formed from friendship and love.

As silence once again fell upon the campsite, You found yourself lost in a moment of quiet reflection. The memory of how Cal and BD-1 had found You, helping You escape from the stormtroopers, flooded your mind with a wave of gratitude. If it hadn't been for them, You might not be here, nestled in Cal's arms, sharing laughter and companionship under the starry sky.

With a sweet smile, You turned to Cal, the flickering flames casting shadows across his features. "You know," You began softly, "I often find myself thinking about that day when a Jedi and a droid came into my life. If it weren't for you, I don't know where I'd be now. Thank you, Cal, for everything."

Cal's gaze met yours, his expression tender and sincere. "You don't have to thank me," he replied gently. "I'm just grateful that we found each other. You've become a part of our family, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

His words warmed your heart, filling You with a sense of belonging that You had never known before. With a grateful nod, You leaned even further into his embrace, savoring the comfort and reassurance of his presence. In that moment, surrounded by the silence of the night, the warmth of Cal's love and the joyous chatter of BD-1, You knew that You were exactly where You were meant to be.

[amaltheas-garden]

people still shocked that in the year of our lord 2024 some of us don't want to see Dany get her 'happy ending' by becoming the white savior who was promised

[project-sekai-facts]

do u think prsk writing is good?

it's inconsistent. sometimes it's pretty good, sometimes it's not so good. this is something i would like to go way more indepth on but i don't think i'll have the time for a while, but i'll outline a few things here.

honestly early events are much stronger than some more recent ones. partially this is preference on my part due to preferring more character driven stuff which most early events were, but also in general the writing was much higher quality.

most year one events had a very strong sense of flow between them that has been lost over time. while events usually revolved around one character's issues, they would introduce aspects of the other characters and their issues which would be focused on later. if you read wonder halloween you'll notice there's foreshadowing for emu's arc across smile of dreamer and wonder magical showtime. this is partially because of the fact the events were so early on. we weren't as familiar with the characters as we are now and we were also new to the plots. you can also see how much more cohesive stories were back then as well because of there being way more mixed events marked as key story, like twilight parade and sakura for ln and picnic for n25. while most events still pick up from where the previous left off the sense of flow for most units just isn't felt as strongly as it was going through, say, l/n arc 1.

it also in some ways feels like the writers had a much stronger vision for early events than they do now, though distribution meta may come into play a bit. first arcs were the ones planned from the getgo. this is what they had already planned ahead for by launch. pretty much everything past year 1 was written after the game launched. we know they have a clear end, and it's evident they also had a clear start. we're currently filling in the middle and some events really feel like there's a slight lack of vision for the middle. vbs is a good aversion what with rad weekend having happened (aside from arata and souma's arcs lmfao), but other units and characters feel shafted.

to add to that last point as well as distribution meta. tsukasa5 is arguably one of the hardest hit. what seems to have happened is that they needed a second wxs event to focus on daigo's troupe, and tsukasa is the character who is most fitting for that troupe's speciality. unfortunately in order to come up with the actual plot, they had to retcon elements of tsukasa's character. tsukasa5 overall is probably one of the worst written of the recent events. it's really rough and doesn't make sense in some parts. it truly just exists bc they needed a wxs event with daigo and a wxs event in that slot.

kanade is another character who got hit hard. while she had the white day event in 2024, she was heavily shafted in terms of n25's story due to the focus being on mizuki and ena for half the year. mafuyu and ena's events were also very focused on them as individuals, leading to kanade getting like no character development for a year.

for non-2024 examples the 2nd arc enders were a mixed bag. step by step is very clearly a shoe-in because they needed to pad for time. retie functions perfectly well as an arc ender and reads like one in a few places, especially near the end. while minori had some good moments in this event it honestly feels like a mixed event. hell look at the banner card. shizuku and airi are also only in this event for a few lines of dialogue it's really rough.

oyf is incredibly rushed and tries to wrap up way too many loose ends from lutf. it feels like this arc was cut short, and you can really feel it in arc 3 when all the loose ends that still existed after oyf get their proper conclusion. side characters barring kotaro excluded, tatsuya and gurney flap had the shittest resolutions ever (tatsuya is also. barely a character lol). kohane had some good moments here, but other than that it was a really weak event.

same can be said for ohe they really needed more time and it's painfully obvious considering how much foreshadowing they did with rui only for... him to get one chapter in an emu event. there's some other things that really make this feel like it was meant to be rui or be two events one rui one emu, like the travelling troupe show. remember when rui wrote that show about his life and wxs rewrote it to show him he had a place with them. clpl doesn't. obviously it's always been important to all of them but it's significance to rui specifically has always been highlighted for obvious reasons. hell it was even mentioned in wxs first live like a couple weeks before this event dropped. while again this has good emu moments and good wxs moments it's painfully obvious at points that this was either a rui focus at one point or they combined two events. i wonder if part of the reason for that is because they realised that rui graduates at the end of the next arc so "wxs disbandment arc 2" (tentative name) will probably be more centered around him, especially with asahi's return looming over the story, and they didn't wanna make it seem like they did the same character arc with him twice.

sayonara persona and starry song are fine.

clpl really fucked themselves over with wles and the event schedule lol.

another issue with the writing from a technical standpoint is that recent events have really obnoxious exposition. listen i know we all make fun of people who only read chapter 1 and 8 of an event but did you know that actually works. you can sometimes even just read chapter 8. there's this need to constantly remind the player of stuff that happened earlier on in the event, sometimes in gratuitous detail, and i can understand why this might be necessary for the really long events like lutf or curtain call, but most events since 3rd anni have been under 1hr 30, in most cases just over an hour. the player can retain significant events that happened in the previous chapter. we don't need it constantly explained and it can actually make the audience less engaged if you constantly treat them like they don't understand what's going on. even for a game aimed at the tween/teen demographic you don't need to handhold them through the story. while yes younger audiences won't have the same literacy as an adult you should also trust that they can follow the basic story and read into basic subtext (honestly prsk is usually fine with subtext this is just an example).

"outline a few things" my ass this is pretty much everything i wanted to say. i do games writing next year and i think we cover VNs so maybe i can provide more insight then if the blog isn't dead.

(obligatory i'm not saying you can't like the events i outlined here i'm just saying that from an objective standpoint they're not the best. doesn't mean you can't find enjoyment in them. like whatever you want i'm not here to dictate your opinions)