#you are an incredibly supporting community and it makes me want to cry

[cleoselene]

don't doomscroll, DO SOMETHING. Don't complain, TAKE ACTION. here are things you can do:

call your Congresspeople. If you are living in a Democratic district, this is so easy! Tell them how YOU want them to fight! Don't just sit back and complain that "Dems in congress aren't doing what I want." CALL THEM AND TELL THEM WHAT YOU WANT. EMAIL THEM. And be nice about it, lead with the illusion that you trust them to do the right thing. "I know you don't really want this to happen, you're a good person!" methodology.

If your reps are like mine and horrible horrible monsters like Byron Donalds, then you have to make your phone calls differently. You gotta strategize these. There are two ways to do this: 1) be incredibly angry and aggressive, but filibuster about it. Don't give them any ability to get off the phone. Don't curse or insult, just properly outraged. The key here is to WASTE THEIR TIME. I spend about 45 minutes on the phone with one of Rick Scott's people once. The other way, i think is more effective, but this is better than nothing. The other way, 2) is to frame the specific issue you're calling about from the most conservative angle possible. If you're calling to support Ukraine, cry about how your daddy fought in 'Nam to stomp out communism, now you want to let a KGB guy like Putin bring back the Soviet Union? Act super fucking scared of communism. Say the words "KGB" and Putin together over and over. Talk about how America doesn't roll over for Russia, not now, not ever. This is just an example of a particular issue, but it can apply to any. My mom calls it the "sandwich technique." Lead with a compliment, then say what you really mean, and end with a compliment. People get tricked into changing their minds.

I realize this is tumblr so if you are really really that phone-phobic, apply this to email. But really, this is worth making the call for. The call cannot be fully ignored. An email can.

Join the class action lawsuit against the government for Breach of Privacy if you have Social Security or Medicare, and tell people you know who do to join it.

get involved at the local level. Agitate at city council. hell, RUN for city council. I promise you that no matter how unqualified you think you are, less qualified people have run and won. There was a town that had a golden retriever as its mayor for a while. You have to start thinking locally. You have to start doing things ALL THE TIME, not just every 2-4 years. This isn't just voting, but making your voice heard. That tumblr post about ten people showing up at a council meeting being able to change thing significantly? True. "But I live in a red area!" yeah, so do I, and that makes it even more important, since they're doing shit like banning books in schools here.

Run for office!! I just said that, but seriously, run for office!! AOC was a bartender before she got where she is now!! If I were not completely disabled, I'd do it. If you don't feel like it's for you, think of the people in your life who are capable who might be persuaded!

Focus on the real enemy. It's Republicans. It's not Democrats. Like I said, if you're unhappy with the way your Democratic rep is doing things, TELL THEM. Sitting outside the party and criticizing accomplishes nothing, it only weakens our only opposition party in this country. If you want to talk about third parties, MAKE ONE THAT'S VIABLE. But realize that will probably be decades of work. Stop complaining and start doing, start reaching out to the people who at the moment have some ability to do things and influence THEM. You can say a lot of things on the internet and expect to change the world, but you won't. (Yes, I realize the ridiculousness of me posting this on the internet, but I will be doing things, too, not just shouting into this void)

[causeimcrayzeebee]

tetro back it again making me cry way too early in the morning alright lets talk about the things on my mind after this weeks episodes

first of all, (princess) Monomoko. goodness. i have really enjoyed seeing her become more and more sympathetic and aware, building her own consciousness. that really worries me about her, in the event that something could happen to her. the fact that she told seki that she cant justify the killing game anymore, and seki doesn’t really say anything about he feels. i wonder if he feels the same way. also from corrective approach, it seems like seki turned her in, but honestly is it just me or does it seem like something where kan found out on his own n seki wasn’t able to do anything about it? i mean obviously he’s still choosing to do nothing, but like i feel like it would be weird that he told on her yk? or am i just losing my mind.

ojima. oh my goodness ojima, I did not expect a lore dump, but wow. hayashi telling him that talking about it could be his chance to be strong,,, and he actually starts speaking. i really loved that hayashi was the one he told, especially considering their similarities. ojima throughout the ep was hugely impressed that she survived the year of being kidnapped and locked away, and thinking he himself as incapable of being that strong, but hayashi saying that she’s not stronger, she’s just had more practice was a key thing. ojima took that first step of saying something all those years ago, and when the people around him (his father not his brothers) blamed him of lying, he didn’t feel like he had the people to support him that he needed, thus backing away. ojima opening up again after that (and about something he’s avoided for most of his life) is HUGE. now, as he tells hayashi what happened to him, she can be part of that support system for him.

hayashi has gone through so much too. i think her story really highlights the importance of having people around you. her parents were still searching for her, and once she was actually able to escape, she had her parents back. the whole kidnapping was incredibly fucked, it’s amazing that she made it. she’s so strong and i love her, she really has stepped up to giving the rest of the cast support, just like she was by her parents.

on another note MY PARENTS [hayashigeki] ARE NO LONGER ON THE PATH TO DIVORCE!!! the fact that yanagi was so distraught and worried about restricting hayashi and being controlling just like his father, only to find out hayashi was mad at him for putting himself in danger... I really liked communication attempt, I'm so glad they actually talked. yanagi talking about long term plans though worries me..... king pls.....

speaking of long term plans, this is what got me bawling again, in refulgence post mortem. kamimura kazutoshi, the guy literally trying to kill himself just before the killing game (which I still wonder what this means for how they got the participants into the game,,, did they have to like resuscitate him??) , was thinking about going back to school to pursue his dream. he wanted to reconnect with his aunt. hasegawa saying he was proud of him really got me. kamimura had found something he wanted to do, something to strive for in the future. and then he was taken away. hasegawa's distain for okazaki is clear in this episode. they way that hasegawa talked about kamimura was full of love, both when he talked about the little things that were negative about kamimura, like how he was easily annoyed, and when he talked about how funny and kind he was. i think it’s really interesting too how Hama was asking hasegawa, someone the rest of the group knows even LESS, about kamimura. it feels like when two mutual friends talk about someone they knew and get closer through that. i really hope this marks hasegawa beginning to reach out more. (OH YEAH ALSO HASEGAWA CLEANING KAMIMURAS BODY AND THE SCENE,,,, WHAT IF I CRIED.) this episode was also something that really hit how isolated the two were from the rest of the group; we all knew this about kamimura, but hama was hearing a lot of this for the first time.

i really loved hama in this weeks episodes too. teacher hama made me so happy I cant believe we had five minutes of hama yapping about yokai that was AWESOME. wama nation rise this week was peak.... the way he responds to wada in extra credit is so fucking sweet, and him reading chibas story (AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH) to help wada fall asleep was so fucking adorable I lost it. hama is truly someone with so much love to give.

wada this week has clearly been going through a lot. I think definitely in chapter 4, he's starting to grow a bit more confidence and strength to move forward, but shit is hard. it makes sense for wada to backpedal a bit. i knew a lot of what happened cause of wada.exe but damn was it so painful hearing it VOICED. shout out to literallt every single tetro VA, i think their work has absolutely enhanced the story so beautifully. wada has so much to deal with and his past will always be with him. “it can't be trauma because that means it won't go away”, was a really striking line. i really loved all the lines in these episodes, they held so much power.

oh yanagi, you sweet son of a bitch. I'm so worried for his survival chances this chapter, he's been serving everyone. he treated Monomoko to the princess experience despite everything. he helped wada talk about his issues with food and set out to help him do something about it, just like how he did with his sister. he kept trying until finally having the opportunity to talk to hayashi. yanagi is someone who knows where he comes from, but has made huge strides and constant effort to not be like his father.

and finally, speaking of families. watari. oh my goodness, I love watari so much. her interview was amazing, it was such a rollercoaster (girlie is the number one wama n hasemura fan lmfaoo), but I really enjoyed the whole thing. i had a suspicion that she really just longed to be a teenager without responsibilities when I read her secret files, but damn. i think the wish for her mom to be more involved is something so sad but so real. tons of kids have to end up taking care of their siblings like how watari has to, and it’s a lot on someone who’s still growing themselves. i didn’t make that connection to why she loved having fun with okazaki until this interview, and wow. Firefox nation how we feeling (im going to explode UAHSHDJEJEJE). this killing game, ironically, gave her the opportunity to be free, just for a bit. i also find her instinct to say she wants to be an only child interesting, as I think it’s instinct to blame the immediate people around you for a problem that is more (likely?) systematic. but in reality all she wants is her mom to do things for her, like a mother should.

I think this is the first proper time watari has acknowledged how she’s been feeling about Okazaki (Y’all are cruel with these questions LMAO). okazaki was someone she could have fun with, to enjoy herself with. okazaki let her be who she wished she could’ve been, and she wanted her. if Okazaki hadn’t killed like she did, maybe things would be different. clearly, under all her hatred and anger towards Okazaki for the fucked up things she did, she loved her. she misses her. she still wants to be foxes with her, in another life, where they can start over and have a clean slate. she wants to spend life with the one who let her be the carefree teenager she wanted to be. she wants her. don’t mind me bawling my eyes out!

overall, I've really loved the themes of support from tetro recently. I think it's been a common reminder coming through that people need others to keep going. support is a powerful thing, and when so many of the cast of tetro have been alone in some aspect during their life, finding the people to help them through it to move on through their life is an incredibly powerful thing.

[the-kingshound]

Hej hej! Please dont worry about updating!! Honestly, reading your blog is already super fulfilling! I get really excited whenever I see youve posted on here <3 Like, tiny lore drops or RO asks or drabbles or literally anything, Im squealing like a cartoon teenage girl "Kal posted!.!.!" <33 Really, really love your story (stories, ig i love from the ashes we rise so much as well), and any smidge of info or content you give us of it :D Im obv excited and pumped for whenever the update might come out but its 0 rush! Please take whatever time you need for whatever reason! <3

I love you anon please accept this realistic picture of me while reading:

[chronal-anomaly]

I can't believe I've done it.

Today was my last class ever.

One more internship and it's Grad School Graduation Time

[neverendingford]

.

[pixiecaps]

recapping a bit of what haru said on stream

haru on her stream spoke about how shes had a really awful past five years and all her experiences just from this past year has been incredible. she gave a massive thank you to everyone and that she has no regrets.

“i never imagined i’d be where i am right now and i mean it with all my heart thank you so much. i had a very good time and i hope to have made you guys happy.”

she mentioned that since she was young shes always wanted to make content that makes people happy because she felt the world was missing a lot of love so shes happy to have given the world a piece of her heart. she mentioned how shes met so many incredible people who motivated her to see the good parts of life. to have found even this little bit of sunshine has left her so grateful. she says thank you for all the kindness, all the moments, all the memories, all the words, everything. shes very happy and mentioned this has been a very special experience for her. she reminded her chat that theres always another day and to enjoy life to the maximum, to live, to love, to talk, to hug each other, to be happy always, and that all the beautiful happiness we’ve given her will be returned back to us. she continues to express her gratitude. she mentioned this is one of the most beautiful communities shes ever had the pleasure of meeting in the entire world. she goes on to include the spanish, portuguese, french, english, german, and korean community in that statement.

“there is love in all types of languages and that love needs to be shared.“

she said her words will never be enough to express all her gratitude. she gave a reminder to always keep being kind. her voice falters a couple times from all the emotions. she mentioned shes cried enough and didn’t want to keep crying since she had something to do tomorrow and she didnt wanna have swollen eyes lmao.

she then shares a more personal moment. paraphrasing here.

“after i lost my dad i swear i felt like my life was falling apart. i never thought i’d be able to recover. after that many things happened and in those things, i wasnt destined to meet two people, this is a story i’ll always remember because i wasnt destined to meet these people. … they tell me hey the actor for this little thing didn’t show up and i say no way seriously? tell them to let me be it, tell them please because i want to be with you guys (harus two friends who were apart of the project). and i didnt think they’d agree… and they said yes. and i met two very important people and honestly (starts crying) thank you so much. thank you so much nussa. thanks to you i was able to meet them. i never imagined this would happen i promise you. thank you nussa. it means a lot to me that you decided to put me (into the leo spot). the only major thing in my life, i started being so happy, i started enjoying all the moments in my life as if it were the last, thanks to all this i’m here. and could meet you all. such a beautiful community.” she goes on to keep thanking nussa while crying and saying it was written in the stars. she goes on to say that shes gonna tell this as a story some day to her family, who doesnt know what she does or that she streams, and she’ll tell them about all of this with so much care and love. shes very thankful to have learned so much english and more about so many different cultures. she again reiterates shes very happy.

she also teases that she wants to go to brazil!!!! which… might be soon… and that theres little things being planned so hopefully if all goes well…👀 (an egg admin meetup would go so hard)

NOW GO SUPPORT HER ON TWITCH @ HarumiVT

[coca-lastic]

5 Green flags 🟩 VS 5 Red Flags 🟥

I'M BACK 👹

Well well, My last post about Keigo have lots of support from you all, and like I said, I'm willing to do a part 2 about Bakugo Katsuki sooo, here I am.

Tell me if you want a part 3 and which character you would like.

Let's start with his red flags. Let's be clear that Katsuki does have a few, it's true that it's nice to imagine him as an attentive boyfriend who takes the initiative, and I firmly believe that he would be like that, but that shouldn't hide the little things he has that can get on your nerves at the time of a fight.

Now, let's start listing his bad things:

1. He acts like you're a burden: I don't think he would do this on purpose, but he would. Comments like "What the fuck do you want now?", "Stop bothering me", "You're too intense", "Will you shut up?" can come up at the beginning of the relationship. Even to the point that you feel bad about his independent actions, as if you were just another thing on his list. Of course, deep down he doesn't consider you a burden, but he expresses himself as if you were one.

2. He doesn't open up to you: Katsuki has this constant thought that he can't be inferior, that he has to be the best and his feelings can be a difficult thing, and I think that in a relationship he feels a lot more pressure about all this to be strong and show you how tough he is. So I think that for a long time he won't tell you if something is wrong with him even if it's clear that something is wrong with him. This could just be something normal, but I add it as a red flag since a large part of Katsuki's life is clouded by those insecurities, so he doesn't tell you how he feels every time he sees Deku, or how he was in training, or how he felt when he won something, because if he does, his facade will fall apart. This ends up being something that can affect the communication between you two.

3. He doesn't understand you: He tries, he really does, but he just has a hard time understanding when you feel bad. He's so used to minimizing what's happening to him that he doesn't understand why it affects you so much. So you might be crying in his arms, and he might be hugging you, but deep down he doesn't understand, and that's terrible in arguments, because he doesn't understand why you're angry or why you're sad or why you're disappointed, he tries to fix it but he doesn't understand the roots of the problem.

4. He's jealous: Like, not jealous to get insecure when he sees you with a friend, jealous to get furious when he sees you with another man. And that, OBVIOUSLY, brings problems. He trusts you, he doesn't trust them, he knows you're hot and he also knows that the other jerks know it. So don't doubt that he's going to complain to you repeatedly that a certain person shouldn't be so close to you, or that he doesn't get along very well with a certain friend.

5. His anger: In the anime we can already see that he is a little bit... impatient. He tries to control himself with you, he truly loves you and treats you with his best version, but there are times when you simply act in a bad way, I mean, you also have your red flags, and that makes him angry, and you too, then you fight. A lot. For a long time. A lot of yelling. And probably a lot of painful words that he doesn't really feel, but says them, because his fury is faster to speak than to think, analyze and meditate.

Now, like every person, he has his flaws and his virtues. He has things to improve and things that you should love, because they are incredible.

So let's see what those good sides are and let's see which side of his personality ends up winning, let's see the second side of his furious personality.

1. He doesn't talk, he acts: Maybe he doesn't open up to you as much as he should, but he decides to make you feel comfortable by letting you know that he loves you through more practical methods. Are you hungry? He cooks, are you sick? He takes care of you, do you want a snack? He buys it. Because actions are worth more than words, so he decides to act, he decides to give you what you want, and consider yourself lucky because you are the only one who sees his helpful side.

2. He puts you first: If his friends invited him out to eat something, he won't care if you sent him a text telling him to go with you to buy something. If his mother told him she was going to celebrate a birthday with the family, he'll run away because you asked him to bring you some chocolates. Because he knows that if you love someone, you're not going to replace them with the smallest things, so if he has to make a decision that involves you, you'll always be the right answer.

3. He is not ashamed to show you off, he loves to do it: You are also part of his achievements, and being the show-off that he is, he will show you off. God, he has a sexy, smart, strong, kind and hot girlfriend, he has to show you and show them that you two are together, that he is a lucky and happy man.

4. He knows you: I think this is important, but not all men do it, in fact those who do are very few. Because not all of them observe you, remember, learn and please you, but Katsuki does. He is observant and knows how to listen, maybe he doesn't understand perfectly why you feel so much, why you get excited and sad about small things, but he knows that you do it, he knows how you feel, he knows how you reacts, he knows what you like and how he knows you, he knows how to please you, he knows how to make you happy with a gift, he knows how to excite you, he knows how to make you laugh and he knows how to make you feel loved.

5. You're part of his future: If he sees himself as a great hero, he sees you by his side, making and fulfilling your dream. Holding your hand. Kissing you. Hugging you. Caressing you. That's what he sees. Maybe two house, or a single one, whatever you want, maybe 2 children, or maybe none, just a pet, maybe a red car, or maybe a black car, but within all those variables there is one constant: you.

Sorry, this doesn't match your way of seeing Katsuki. Remember that he is still a character that each one sees and imagines in their own way, but I try to do it in a way that everyone feels comfortable.

Now, did the 🟩 flags or the 🟥 flags win?

[mamayan]

Okay imagine this - (you don't have to do it, you can delete this if it makes you uncomfy, I love you and you have done nothing wrong ever) - but IMAGINE okay?

Bakugo Katsuki, The Dynamight, number two hero, and his child with you is quirkless (bonus if reader is also quirkless)

Imagine the disappointed ambition - he was so sure the kid would inherit his quirk or something similar, he was so sure - especially since the kid looks like Katsuki - and yet...

I guess I'm in mood for hurt-comfort 😔

Honestly, I see this affecting our dearest mama here, as it’s likely for Katsuki to really fall for someone after being a bully/jerk to them.

Imagine his quirkless sweetheart, desperate to please and impress at all times because they’re just useless without a quirk (thanks to his bullying in the past) and realizing their child inherited their quirkless gene?

Pro-Hero Katsuki Bakugo x Quirkless Fem! Reader!

Growing Pains

cw: SFW • Language (R) • Hurt/Comfort • Bully to Lovers • Child Care (tis the season) • Pro-Hero Katsuki • Fem! Reader • Marriage • Katsuki learns how to communicate a little better

A child is a gift so precious one must always be careful never to forsake it.

That’s what his hag-mother always said at least. The endless joy though which his daughter brought truly lived up to her words though. A gift. A precious, incredibly tiny and fragile, gift he swore to never forsake as he held the bundle in his arms at the hospital.

You looked beautiful even after so long in labor. Joy painting your features and making his heart ache from the sugar being injected into his veins. The love and adoration in your eyes only making his resolve harden further, to protect you both and love you two till his last breath.

So what changed from that moment till now? As a normally happy rambunctious toddler sits in complete stillness with eyes wide in horror. You didn’t look any better, skin perspiration more than his own on a usual day, lip being chewed until the skin breaks and he’s forced to grip you tightly.

“Hey—,” his gruff voice wakes you up.

“I’m so sorry…” his brows furrow in confusion, your apology unexpected and odd.

“The fuck are you sorry for?” He feels the atmosphere in the room start to divulge, his child and you both acting as if you’d heard a cancer diagnosis and not something he’d already considered the possibility of. Of course he’d wanted his daughter to have a quirk, but it didn’t call for such a grave reaction.

“It’s all my fault… I’m so sorry baby…” the tears freak him out more, your tears flowing endlessly as you stare at him with such hopeless eyes he’s startled to his core. Dark garnet eyes widening as a sick feeling enters his gut, something churning he can’t even name. “I failed both you and our daughter, making her weak and worthless like me—,” He’s going to be sick for sure, the sterile little clinic room starting close in on him.

He’s Dynamight, number 2 pro hero, and only because shit for brains Deku was better with the media but still, he’s not sure what to do. How to fix it, as you hold your child and cry, asking for forgiveness from him.

It makes him remember every instance of the past he cringes and does his best to avoid thinking on. Every tug of your hair, every shove to the floor, every time he made you feel small for something so superficial as not having a quirk.

Your tears were endless, and they seemed to spur on his daughter as well, her little sniffles making him nearly enraged as the door creeks open at the worst moment and the doctor returns.

The woman’s sympathetic gaze make him want to punch her, the way she seems understanding and not offended as himself.

“It can be a hard acceptance Mrs. Bakugo, I’m happy to recommend some quirkless support groups for the two of you, then we can look at some family care plans—,”

“What. The. Fuck. Are you talking about? Support group? They don’t need a fucking support group, your raggedy ass bitch—!”

“Katsuki!” “Mr. Bakugo?!” “Papa?”

It didn’t matter, he wasn’t hearing words anymore, top blown and his tempter unleashed as he nearly blows the door off after throwing you both over his shoulder and storming out. Cursing the entire way, uncaring of the phones being pulled out and people whispering and recording. He’d get an earful from the agency but it hardly computed in his mind.

Your fault? It seemed clear enough it was his fault. When all he ever did was make you feel belittled for your quirklessness, small and weak because of it, and now what did it do?

It passed on to his own fucking kid. His fault. This was his fucking fault.

His own eyes were admittedly wet as he shuts you both up in the car. Making sure you both are buckled in safely before he nearly screams once he’s seated behind the wheel. He wants to scream more, yell and break something to deal with the flood of guilt and shame washing him like an old friend.

He never apologized, only pushed it all away like the bullying and harassment never occurred when he started courting you. He’d been in love with you, and that bullying was his sick revenge for making him feel so much adoration for a single individual.

His frame engulfs the seat, muscles taunt and wide chest heaving as he calms down slowly to your silent tears and wobbly bottom lip.

“Katsuki… can we not have any discussions with her in the car…? Maybe we…,” you lick your lips as you fumble over yourself like a nervous wreck in the passenger seat, eyes wide and pacifying as you give him a look filled with a plea. “—Maybe we could have her stay with your mother tonight?”

Because you think he’s angry at you and at her.

For being quirkless.

The most defenseless and precious people to him, the two he’d sworn to never hurt or mistreat, now looking at him with complete devastation and heartbreak. His daughter is never usually so silent and still, sitting like a little doll in her car seat.

He’d always been a confident man. Unshakeable and firm in his resolve because he refused to settle and let himself be anything less than the best.

For all he is though, he’s never felt more helpless and human.

You flinch when the first tear falls.

The sight just as jarring as the realization your child is like you.

Katsuki’s eyes widen before narrowing as he grits his teeth and bares them like a hurt animal, tears spilling as he slams his head on the steering wheel in frustration. The windows tinted and thankfully adding a touch of privacy he’s grateful for now.

“I’m sorry—!” It’s wobbly and hissed like a curse, his apology burning his throat as he forces it out. He can’t look at you as he wipes at his face, shaking his head as he clears it to focus long enough to repeat himself.

“I’m so fucking sorry—never, never did I think less of you ‘cuz you didn’t have a damn quirk—! I was an asshole, a piece of shit that didn’t know how to deal with my crush on you, so I fucking ruined it by picking on you.” His eyes are blood shot, kept wide to prevent anymore liquid spillage but the way his entire face and body scrunch up, it’s difficult to believe he’s able to stop himself on sheer will alone.

“Papa…?” It’s like a slap to the face when he looks over at his daughter to see a spitting image of you both in her, features more like him but personality following you in a way that makes him melt.

“Y’listen good,” he gathers himself up better as he addresses your daughter now. “You will never be less than anyone else, quirk or no quirk, y’hear me?”

“But—,”

“No buts. It’s not up for debate. A quirk doesn’t classify a person’s value. It never has. We just associate them with power when in fact, a bunch of useless quirk havin’ shit stains run the country. A quirk ain’t power kid, power is in will, and that’s all you.” He’s glad you kindly dismiss his slip in language, watching as her little eyes widen and well with tears too.

“So I’m not bad?”

“You’re the best damn thing that’s happened since I met your mom. I love your mom, don’t I? She’s great even if she doesn’t have a quirk. Strong and resilient, patient and smarter than I’ll ever be.” He’s gripping the steering wheel so tight it may break soon if he doesn’t release his grip.

Then he’s being met with you. Your arms wrapping around him, your own muffled cries in his shirt. His hands are around you just as quickly, pulling you into him as much as the small space in the vehicle allows, breathing you in and calming himself as he reaches out and unbuckles your daughter to pull her little body into the bear hug too.

“You mean it…?” Your whisper barely audible as he holds you both close.

“I don’t say shit I don’t mean.”

And that’s enough for this moment. While he’s not a great man, Katsuki truly never lies, sometimes honest to a point it’s painful.

This is a bittersweet pain though.

Dividers/ @cafekitsune

[sweetdispatch]

The healing - C. Caufield

Songs masterlist

song: The healing - Zara Larsson

pairing: Cole Caufield x fem!reader

summary: Cole fell in love with girl that survived hell in the past and wants to prove her that she deserves love

warning: mentions of toxic relationship

words: 1.1k

note: last track from songs masterlist☹️i"ll miss this but i can't wait for december!

---

Nobody told me love was a contact sport

Before she met Cole, she was stuck in a toxic relationship. At first, everything looked perfect. Her ex was caring and loving but after she moved in with him, it became a nightmare for her. She couldn’t do anything, always had to ask for his permission. Couldn’t have friends, couldn’t visit her family. He locked her in their apartment. 

She tried to fight for her freedom. It turned out to be constant arguments between them. Screaming became their form of communication. When she got on his nerves, he threw something on her. She was scared of him but deep down, she still loved him. She had trouble leaving him behind but after two years, she found bravery.

But can I be with you after the healing

She met Cole just a month after breaking up with her ex. He was incredible in every aspect. She hadn’t looked at him as a love interest at first, but he had a huge crush on her and wanted to be her boyfriend. Every week, he tried to take her out on a date. They were spending free moments with each other but she was scared to open her heart again. She thought that he might be just like her ex when things became serious. 

Cole wanted to make her his and couldn’t understand why she didn't want it. Everyone from their friends could feel the chemistry they have. He couldn’t picture his life without her and asked her to be his girlfriend. She froze, she started shaking. All the memories came back to her. He saw it and wanted to hug her but she was too shocked to hug him back. She wanted to be with him but she needed more time. 

The time before you wasn’t easy

After she calmed down, she told him her story. She admitted that she was a victim of mental and physical abuse from her ex. She didn’t want to admit this to Cole but she knew that he deserves to know the truth, especially when she also had feelings for him. It made perfect sense for him now and felt bad for asking her this question, hearing her story and knowing her troubles with commitment. 

This hadn’t stopped Cole from being supportive of her. He wanted her to heal and start trusting him enough to be his girlfriend. He made it his personal mission to show her that she’s lovable and deserves all the good things in her life. He was aware of the fact that it’s going to be tough to prove this to her, knowing her past, but he tried his hardest in this field. She was too important to him to leave her in that state.

And now I got some trouble sleeping

Cole invited her to his place one night. She was happy to do it after her tough day. They had a great laugh while cooking and watching tv. When she was ready to go back to her apartment, the storm had started. He didn’t let her leave in this weather. She tried to argue with him but she was in a lost position and deep down, she also didn’t want to drive in the rain and lightning. 

Cole insisted that she could sleep with him in his bedroom. She didn’t want to bother him, she was aware of her issues with sleep. All her memories were back during the night and most of the time, she was waking up screaming and crying. That was the last thing she wanted him to see. He let it go and agreed that she can take his guest bedroom. In the middle of the night, he heard her cries. He ran to pick her up and cuddle her. He wanted to cry seeing how fragile she is but he knew he had to be strong for her.

So no, it’s not your fault

That I can’t love you yet

Couple months went by, she and Cole were acting like a couple even when he knew that she's not ready to make this step. He waited patiently for her to be ready. He was the best thing that happened to her. One day, he was leaving her apartment and accidentally said “i love you”. Before he could process his words, she was crying. He didn’t expect this reaction and that scared him. He went and tried to hug her but she pushed him. 

Cole was shocked. She didn't want his touch and preferred to cry by herself. He didn’t push, let her do it her way. When she calmed down, she started saying that this is not working. She admitted that she can’t say those words back and he deserves someone who’ll have the bravery. He argued back, he said that she doesn't have to tell him if she doesn't feel it but he wanted her to know it. She froze and didn't know what to do. She was broken but he made her believe that she's worthful. 

But I wanna be with you after the healing

After the healing is done

She knew Cole deserved to be happy. She wanted him to be happy even if it was without her. It’s been six months and she was feeling much better. She started to believe she’s worth his love. That he won’t be like her ex. It was a long and tough process but she started feeling this. She loved him but couldn’t say those words yet. He already did it but hadn’t pushed her to say it back. 

One of the rare, free days that Cole had, he decided to hang out with her. It was a lazy day for them. They haven’t done much. Just watched a tv show and ordered food. They haven’t said much but their presence was enough for them. It was adorable that they could just lay and understand each other without words. He was laying on her chest when she said those three words.

Cole jumped and looked at her. Her cheeks turned red when he was looking at her with a piercing sign. He couldn’t believe what he just heard. He wanted to ask her to repeat but hadn’t wanted to pressure her. Instead, he pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her head. He was all over the place because he knew he did a great job and proved her that she’s worth the love. 

Before Cole had the chance to speak, she asked him if the offer to be his girlfriend is still actual. He stuttered, and couldn't say anything. He just nodded his head with a big smile on his lips. She knows that he's a great guy and wants him as her. He was grateful that she trusted him after all her experience she survived.

[milkweedtussocktubers]

An Extensive "What Now?" List

So, I made a list. A very extensive "Trump Is President. What Now?" list. And it's fucking fifteen pages long and I know it's incomplete, because I am white, and multi-gender, own my own home, have full coverage health insurance and live in a blue state with enshrined abortion rights and so honestly can't know everything that needs to be on that list. BUT I'm posting what I've got so far. I'll also post the link, because it's a Google Doc that I'm continuously updating and sharing. PLEASE do not take my word as gospel - comment, add, share, spread, correct, message me. This is just a jumping off point, because so many of my friends wanted an action plan. Many links and resources are credited to @creature-wizard and @enfinizatics; they don't know it, but I read their posts and find their work very helpful, so I hope they don't mind that I included some of their links and info. Better than reinventing the wheel.

I would love some suggestions for supporting Indigenous Rights, the rights of children and the rights of the unhoused.

So THIS is the link:

(Yes, I called it Star Wars. Bite me.)

TRUMP IS PRESIDENT. NOW WHAT?

I put together a list of ideas that I hope folks find inspiration in. This can be a personal action plan, a path towards resistance, or just an opportunity to feel a bit better. I welcome all thoughts, suggestions and changes. Please note that I am writing this from the perspective of a white, multi-gender farmer, and that will color and inhibit my ability to see certain issues or solutions. This is not a complete list, but can be a jumping-off point. 

I've found this website incredibly helpful: https://whatiftrumpwins.org. Links and many resources found within this document are credited to @creature-wizard and @enfinizatics on Tumblr. 

Something I try to remember: we already know what they're going to do. History demonstrates to us that we shouldn't be surprised. Therefore, in some ways, it doesn't matter the specifics of their actions. It matters how we respond. Because the other thing to remember is that no matter what, most of the items on this list are going to make the world a better place. And that, unquestionably, should always be how we respond.

COMMUNITY AND PUBLIC SERVICE 

Community ties are the most important things we’ve got - that’s where our strength lies. All those small-scale mutual aid projects? That’s what’s going to make life possible on the day to day. So: 

Take a deep breath, and knock on someone’s door. 

Check in with your neighbors - this can be a scheduled date, or just swinging by with an extra loaf of zucchini bread, or chatting over the garden fence. 

Offer to help someone with a simple task - cleaning gutters, building a raised bed, taking their dog to the vet.

Create a carpool system. 

Set up little libraries, freezers and fridges. 

Develop a list of ten local people you trust, with their contact information, and who you know will try to help you. Put the list in your phone, on your fridge, in your wallet. Put yourself on someone else’s list, and commit to it. 

Make friends and meet up with them on a regular basis. Have tea, cook together, go for walks, play video games. Just be there consistently. 

Open your house once a month for community get-togethers. Maybe these are queers/women/BIPOC-only safe spaces, maybe they’re street-wide potlucks. Maybe you make art while crying together. Maybe you binge-watch Lord of the Rings, eat popcorn and share joy.

Think about starting Swaps with your community. Swaps of clothing you don’t need anymore. Swaps of home-made food, seeds, plants or artwork. Swaps of household goods. Get yourself trading and sharing with each other. 

Get a roommate or two. It’ll help each of you save money, reduce loneliness, and might save someone from becoming unhoused.Don't feel obligated to retain that roommate if it's negatively impacting you. This is about a healthy present in a chaotic world, not a desperate act that results in abuse and destruction.

Libraries are funded in large part based on the number of cards they hand out, not books. Get a library card, even if you never use it. Many libraries let you apply online. If your library isn’t physically accessible, or you can’t safely leave your home but you have a cellphone, download the Libby app for books and audiobooks. It’s free, you just need your library card number. If you live or have an address in New York State, you can also get cards to the Brooklyn Public Library and NYC Public Libraries.

Places to volunteer: libraries, hospitals, schools, mental health hotlines, small farms and community gardens, animal shelters, food pantries, mutual aid organizations, medical clinics, harm reduction centers, fire stations, emergency rescue services. 

Learn how to support someone in crisis. Be the voice on the other end of the hotline. 

Advocate for handicapped accessibility in all public spaces. Does your library have a

ramp? Your local co-op? Your house? Learn what your disabled community members needs are that are not being met, because it will get worse for them. 

Do you have skills that can contribute in new ways? For instance, if you're a great bike mechanic, I'll bet you can fix wheelchairs. If you're an electrician, you could help with your neighbor's solar system. If you're handy with a sewing machine, you can make flags and banners. 

Keep it local - donate to the after-school music program in your town instead of, say, Planned Parenthood. National organizations will be getting a flood of funding from concerned citizens right now, but local organizations are often more effective and know their community’s needs more intimately. Consolidate financial donations to organizations that provide transparency around their political affiliations and expenditure.

If you want to participate but in person is too much, or not accessible, go to Zoom meetings. Call or email folks. Perform online tasks, design stickers, connect like-minded folk.

If you're not sure what you can offer, just ask what people need. Sometimes someone needs their dogs walked, or an emergency baby-sitter. Sometimes a non-profit needs someone to table at an event. Perhaps someone wants a logo designed, or just someone to keep them company. It doesn't have to seem big to you; it could still mean the world to someone else.

Online communities are just as important, and often more accessible. Make the space and time for those meet-ups, whether you’re messaging folks, playing video games together, or finding forums and inspiration. 

Become a safe person for those who need to go back in the closet, or who need to trust someone with their sexuality or gender. 

Join or begin a union and encourage others to do the same. Be careful, union busting efforts are no joke. 

Learn the language of a targeted group. Volunteer with organizations fighting for immigrants. 

If you’re a lawyer or a doctor, offer pro-bono to those at the most risk. 

If you feel safe doing it: advertise. Put up every damn flag at your house except the American flag. Pride, Black Lives Matter, feminism, Earth first, land back - become a visible beacon of safety and hope. Make or buy bumper magnets - magnets, not stickers. If you are still safe, now is NOT the time to go underground. Now is the time to find your people, and be someone for others. So flags, volunteering, barter, lending, carpooling, offering tea, offering your guest room. Make the connections.

The more we connect with and care for our neighbors, the more our neighbors will connect with and care for us. Let’s strengthen and widen our circles. 

*I recognize that for many, much of what I offer can be a genuine safety concern. Sometimes housemates are abusive. Sometimes neighbors threaten you with guns. Use your own discretion and trust your instincts. 

POLITICS AND LEGISLATION

Run for local office, or sit on the school board. Be the opposing voice in a conservative group.

Expose the corrupt activities of those in power in your area and get them kicked out of office. 

What legislation is being passed in your area or state? How can you either push for or against said legislation or funding?

Check out GovTrack at govtrack.us for updates on what laws are actually changing and how. Don’t panic - research!

Jam the emails and call lines. Push back against any and all hotlines and tiplines the government sets up. Spam them with Spongebob and false reports. Set up an anonymous email with a timer that just automatically sends nonsense. Here’s the DEIA report email: DEIATruth@opm.gov. 

The Lemkin Institute for Genocide Prevention is an international site that sends alerts when countries are at risk of genocide. The US is on it now. Keep updated. 

SCIENCE AND THE ENVIRONMENT

Small plots of ecological sanctuary make a huge difference. You can plant flowers, collect rainwater, start a compost bin, let your lawn grow, build a hedgerow. Stop spraying pesticides, pick up litter, plant a garden, research native species, celebrate milkweed…

Volunteer or donate to a local conservation organization. 

Visit a park or go for a hike. Visit a local protected zone and learn about the ecosystem with whom you live. Discover your watershed. 

Contact scientists whose work is being suppressed and ask for printed copies of their studies. Share them. 

Learn about local pollutants and advocate for protections. Check out your city’s water health publications. Learn how to home-test water, air and soil for pollution.

Question the installation of new businesses, factories and industries. How will they impact the air, water, soil and human health? Protest them with your friends - on a local level, it actually only takes a few hundred people to make waves. I’ve seen huge projects stopped because my friends sat in on every town hall meeting. 

Become a citizen scientist - birdwatch, identify local plants and animals, track the weather and then report your findings to naturalist organizations. The Merlin App is a free app that matches birdcalls to the birds in your backyard, iNaturalist takes really accurate photos and identifies them. It can become a whole hobby that also helps maintain consistent scientific data. 

Get your generator in working order. Storms are gonna get worse and you'll need it when the lights go out. Batteries, light bulbs, candles. Get them now. Prepare as if for a blizzard or tornado.

Consider an air filter or a gas mask for after the Clean Air Act is repealed.

Find out whether or not you’re in a wildfire, flood or hurricane zone, or if you will be in one as climate change continues. Reinforce your house, create a prep-plan, a go-plan and a go bag. 

MENTAL AND EMOTIONAL HEALTH 

Remember that you are WORTHY of receiving gifts and help. Allow yourself to receive help with grace. ASK when you need help, even if you’re not quite sure what you need. 

Eat a lot of food and drink plenty of water; your stressed mindset will make you burn calories. Eat as healthily as you can, but don’t forget to have cake and ice cream, too. 

Drink calming teas, or stock up on comfort food.  

Treat yourself. Maybe that means binging television, or finding a cute pair of earrings, or taking a bike ride to your favorite place, or resting in the bath with some fancy soaps. 

Don't isolate. Meet friends for coffee, or Ultimate Frisbee, or to learn to make a cake together. 

Create joy. 

         Don’t Hesitate by Mary Oliver

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

Greet the sun. Listen to the stars. Breathe with the trees. Lay in the grass. Cuddle a cat. Talk with the moon. Find a new book. Take up knitting. Make music. Journal. Make art. 

Have set days each week for long-distance friends, and check in with each other at least once a week. Send them care packages. Ask for care packages. 

Accept that you will not do everything every day, that some days you will stay in bed until one, eat ice cream in your pajamas and just nap with the dog. That is real and beautiful. That chance to relax? That's something they're trying to take away from us. Rest and relaxation and hammocks and good books are all at risk, so enjoying them is also revolutionary. It's important to keep normalcy alive.

Think about your boundaries. Are you, for instance, comfortable housing someone in need? Comfortable helping someone through grief? It's okay if not. But find those boundaries so that you don't overtax yourself.

PHYSICAL HEALTH AND REPRODUCTION 

Get a medical alert bracelet or have a medical alert card in your wallet. This way, no matter where you are, if you’re unconscious and sent to the ER, EMTs and staff know of your allergies and needs.  For instance, I’m allergic to penicillin, have low vitamin D and take St John’s Wort, a powerful herbal SSRI that could interfere with drugs. 

Get comfortable with lying to your doctor if you don’t absolutely trust they’ll protect you. Don’t come out if you don’t need to. Use phrases like,"My birth sex is male/female" "I have low testosterone/low estrogen/hypogonadism/PCOS/high testosterone/gynecomastia/etc" "I have never changed my legal name or sex". Work with your current doctors to bury any information in your record that would out you - gender dysphoria can be hidden within an autism diagnosis, etc. If HRT and surgeries are restricted for trans people in your state, you must ALREADY have mechanisms in place to protect your access to care. DO THESE THINGS NOW. If you have been debating going on hormones, start now. Your best bet is to get the prescription and bury the info you so it's harder to prevent you from having it. Make it look like you're a cis person with a hormone imbalance; there are plenty of them out there. Stock up if you are able. Look into DIY HRT. Doctors who provide gender affirming care know and understand this problem. If you share your concerns with them they will work with you to protect your access to what you need. The more trans patients from whom they hear concerns, the more they’ll understand the urgency of the problem and the more they will fight for us. 

Same goes for anyone who can become or is possibly pregnant - your orthopedist asks when the date of your last menstrual cycle was? Just say that it’s regular and that you see no need to provide that information. 

There are still websites and resources with accurate health information. Find them. Keep hard copies of that information. 

Find your state’s free Narcan programs, and request Narcan and drug testing strips so that you have them on hand if an emergency arises. 

Get a stockpile of COVID tests, decent masks, and if you plan to get the vaccines, do it now. 

Do not use a period tracking app; do nothing to alert the government to your reproductive medical needs. Unless it’s medically relevant, do not tell your doctor the date of your last menstrual cycle. Pay for all medical needs possible with cash, whether it’s Plan B off the shelf or a co-pay on a prescription. 

If you have any prescriptions, get them refilled as soon as possible. Get extras if you can.  

Get all your birth control needs met now. Implants and IUDs last for years, but if the IUD shifts, you will need medical assistance, so keep that in mind. 

Stock up on condoms and dental dams, get your STD screenings and all similar or related procedures, like colposcopies, mammograms and biopsies done now. 

Consider whether or not you need PrEP for HIV prevention. If you’re at risk but don’t have insurance, there are over-the-counter HIV test kits. They ARE pricey, though.

Stock up on pads and tampons or switch to cloth pads, period underwear or cups. They last at least six years. Cups take less water to clean, though. 

If you're planning to get yourself, your kids or your pets vaccines, do it before January. 

Those who don't want to have kids for the next four years and for whom it’s medically viable should consider a vasectomy. They're reversible, and no one gets stuck with an expected pregnancy. Tube tying is generally irreversible and reversal only has about a 50 percent success rate, depending on how the original procedure was done.

Stock up on basic first aid supplies and educate yourself in basic med training, like CPR, the Heimlich and how to treat pepper spray in the eyes (lots of water). Maybe you’ll find yourself at a protest and your friends get hurt, and you want to be able to help. Perhaps it’s an emergency and there are no safe options to call for help. 

Carry antihistamines with you, even if you don’t have allergies - the woman outside your local coffee shop may not be able to afford an Epi-Pen and you could be the one that keeps her alive long enough for the ambulance to get there. 

Get an umbrella, face mask, bullet-proof vest, and goggles, especially if you are considering joining a protest. Pepper spray,  rubber bullets, shrapnel and real bullets are no joke and will be used against you. 

ART, MEDIA AND COMMUNICATIONS

Use secure, encrypted messaging like signal for conversations on potentially risky topics, such as queerness, abortion, organizing counter-actions, protests—anything that might be used against you.

Find a list of banned books and obtain them somehow so that there are physical copies for when the online sites are shut down. Print them out if you have to. 

Collect academic journals and articles on everything under the sun. Safeguard science, the humanities, the arts, the truths about our global history and experiences. 

Print zines and pamphlets and ask your library & coffee shops to stock them, and/or post them to people. 

Start a blog, a journal, a calendar that tracks what’s happening. History needs to be recorded, and your voice matters. 

Download all of your favorite online media that feature queerness, whether it’s videos, fanfiction or artwork. If content featuring LGBTQ+ becomes listed as porn, and porn is banned, then sites like AO3 may have to wipe all of it from their listings. Contact the creators and see what support you can offer each other. 

Don't be shy about your presence, and use art to make your presence known. Slap rainbow stickers on every telephone pole, spray paint a building wall with Black Lives Matter murals, knit a cozy sweater that doubles as a pronoun pin. Write a play that centers around the Land Back fights. Host an impromptu concert in the park, and invite the audience to donate to their local library fund. 

Make or buy bumper magnets - magnets, not stickers (yes, I said that already. I’m elaborating). Magnets on your car or bike or metal mailbox can be removed for your own safety. The guy who inspects my car is a major transphobe, so my car sports mostly magnets that I take off before I get her inspected. 

Get a USB or an external hard drive, so you can save and transport your downloads.

Bring back the CDs, the DVDs - save money by dropping your subscriptions, and listen to music without being bombarded by MAGA ads. 

Stop using physical & software products that you know are funded or owned by bodies, organisations and entities that are fascist sympathising (e.g. TikTok, Facebook, Insta, Twitter). 

Stay anonymous online. If you want to research or report something without surveillance, do not use regular internet. Get a vpn (mullvad is affordable and reliable), download the tor browser (for both onion and standard links), and if you plan to whistleblow, consider using a riseup email account.

ECONOMICS AND RESOURCES

Invest in wood heating - real wood, not a pellet stove. When fuel prices go up, you will need to have a reliable source of heat. Best to get a wood cook stove. Investigate masonry or rocket stoves because they are very efficient and often can be built by a local company and don't rely on steel, which will also go up as more tariffs are implemented

Put some cash aside outside the bank. Put money in a high interest savings account, but NOT a CD.

Take your car to the mechanic now. Buy snow tires and get your vehicle in working order, because parts will skyrocket in price. 

In your trunk, put together a box of: motor oil, windshield fluid, a small empty gas tank, two gallons of fresh water, brake fluid, tire changing kit, tire pump - anything your car needs. Get two of everything. Have another crate with a blanket, gloves, $200 cash, dishware, a dog leash, some jars or Tupperware. That's for you, if you're in an emergency, want to bring home food, or need to rescue a stray dog. Put a snow shovel in, both for digging yourself out and for moving turtles.

Having a working bike with a tow-behind trailer is an asset, especially as gas and car parts rise in price.

Connect with scientists. Get the facts. Print out scientific studies before they disappear. 

Apply for food stamps, heating assistance, energy discounts, phone discounts, and health insurance now, so you have it for as long as possible before they cut programs.

Anyone close to being able to retire and collect on retirement should consider how that might impact their finances. It might be best to retire early, if you can collect.

Get all your fuel tanks filled now. Propane, oil, kerosene. Even gas stoves, and make sure they're in working order. 

Snail mail will be safer than online communications. Stock up on stamps; sometimes you can get discounts on the USPS website. If you’re sending a lot of packages, try PirateShip.com for discounts. 

Get to know the anarchist black cross federation and other resources on safety culture: "Starting an anarchist black cross group: A guide"; Still We Rise - A resource pack for transgender and non-gender conforming people in prison; Safe OUTside the system by the Audre Lorde Project. Deep dive The Anarchist Library for literature on how we got here and how to move forward. 

FOOD AND WATER

Grow and preserve your own. Learn to cook and share with friends. Start or join a garden club or urban garden. Talk to farmers, read books, watch videos. 

Start looking around your area to see where you can wild harvest. Come Autumn, will you be able to harvest apples from the trees in the city park, or the old farmyard? Rose hips from the bushes along the sidewalk? In the spring, dandelion leaves from your backyard?

Save seeds. Preserving specific varieties is good, but all seeds are valuable. 

Get a water filter, even if it’s just a water bottle filter. Save it for AFTER the Clean Water Act is slashed, unless your water is already too contaminated to wait. 

Find out how to buy local foods, because tariffs will raise the price of all international goods.

Stock up on food that has to cross a border, like black pepper, chocolate and coffee. Those are my top three, anyway. 

Find a space in your house to use as a root cellar, where it’s cool and damp and dark. Root crops, winter crops and fruits will store longer. You don't have to doomstock, but it's important to have a stored base until your community is strong enough to create its own food. So if during the Winter, you can't grow food, you have a few months supply until it's warm enough to grow again.

           Learn how to grow sprouts or shoots on your windowsill. 

           Small farms will become havens and targets. Grow with them, preserve, volunteer there, learn. 

           Find a local source of meat, because the FDA will not be regulating food borne illnesses anymore. And eggs, if possible. Buy half a cow or something.

Farmers markets will often accept FoodStamps as payment, and prices may be lower than the stores. 

Start sharing meals with neighbors - maybe you host dinner on Mondays and they host dinner on Thursdays. Lets you practice cooking and gives you a social life. 

Establish community freezers and fridges. 

Donate to or volunteer at food pantries, free will dinners and Food Not Bombs programs.

Pay for the lunches of school children who can’t access a free lunch program. 

Learn how to safely dumpster-dive. Do this with a buddy.

PERSONAL AND PUBLIC SAFETY 

Make copies of all identification papers and records you have (remember you can use a library for that!). Keep the originals somewhere safe. It’s argued you shouldn’t carry even the copies on you, I prefer to have mine on hand….but I’m white and don’t have the experience with Border Patrol that others have. I defer to more knowledgeable folks. 

Check out the REFUGE Restrooms site and app; it gives a list of gender-neutral and/or accessible and safe public bathrooms, bathrooms in business, etc. Open-source and helpful as you’re traveling.

           Unless they’re actively attacking, don’t trust anything the government says. But the minute they say they’re coming for migrants/trans folx/BIPOC - you go find those people, get them to safety, and pretend you never, ever, ever saw them. 

           Do not tell figures of authority of your plans, your ideologies, your efforts to help those under attack. 

         Take a self-defense course; the chances you have a weapon if you’re attacked are slim, so you need to learn how to use your body. 

Carry a lighter. It’s small, lightweight and legal with no permit. If you’re grabbed, then putting a flame - even a small one - to someone’s skin can make them let go long enough for you to run. 

          Switch your Internet browser to DuckDuckGo. It blocks surveillance and ads. AdNauseam is  a browser extension that scrambles your data so it's less traceable, so the government can't see what you're doing. Get them both. They're free.

Install and use communication apps and social media that folks under oppressive regimes recommend. 

            Install blackout or dark curtains so that visual surveillance into your house is limited. 

Be aware that Venmo and related apps tell the IRS what you're spending money on. Be careful what you use it for and how you record transactions. 

If making a “suspicious purchase,” like of Plan B, use cash. Wear a baseball cap, sunglasses, mask, and contour makeup to hide your face from the security cameras.

Think about security proofing your windows, which makes them less breakable, or backglazing them with bulletproof glass.

The police, now more than ever, are an entity of the state. DO NOT CALL THEM, do not trust them. If you are raped or attacked, go straight to the hospital first. Do NOT shower. Go to the ER, tell them what happened and request a full rape kit. Go next to an independent organization that will help protect you and your rights, and help you decide next steps.

If there's something happening that you might otherwise have called the cops for, but there are people of color or trans individuals involved, DO NOT CALL THE COPS. They WILL kill trans and BIPOC folk. 

If you’re considering a divorce, and you’re serious about it, do it now. No-fault divorces are on the chopping block. 

If you're in the US, you can call 211 to help you find resources.

Crisis Text Line offers services to the US, Ireland, Canada, and the UK.

RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network) is a US service offers a lot of information for sexual abuse survivors.

The Trevor Lifeline is a service for queer youth in the US.

If you're a minor, you may wish to read How To Escape Abusive Parents: A Guide For Minors.

If you're an adult, you may wish to read How To Escape Abusive Parents: A Guide For Adults.

You might search on Qwant for like something like "resources for people in abuse" or "abuse resources help" or "domestic violence survivors resources".

ICE AND IMMIGRATION 

Before a raid:

Know your rights, your community, and your plan. Create a go-bag. 

Gather all important documents, records and identifications and make copies of them. Carry copies on you and keep the originals safe. Be sure at least two trusted people know where to find the copies.

Keep emergencies contacts in multiple places, like your wallet, fridge and phone.

      Offer to be someone else’s emergency contact; be sure they have all your information.

Consult with, or at least have the contact for an immigration attorney.

If ICE comes to your door:

ICE MUST have a warrant to search or enter any property. They will lie and manipulate you to allow them on the premises, but if they aren’t holding a valid document in their hands they cannot legally do anything. They may say something like "Our warrant is in the truck.” Have them bring it to you, DO NOT FOLLOW THEM ANYWHERE. Do not leave your property if confronted.  Don’t open the door if they can’t show you a valid warrant signed by a judge.

   Remain silent. You have the right to not speak. 

 Begin recording before you open the door; make sure it streams straight to the cloud. If you can’t record, call someone on speaker before you open the door and have them silently witness what is happening.

Don’t sign anything, especially not without first consulting an attorney.·      ·    

Call your attorney or seek legal help at (312) 660 1370.

Escape if the opportunity presents itself.

If ICE comes to your work:

Remain calm. 

Don’t provide false documents. 

Tell them you’d like to speak to an attorney.

Don’t sign anything without speaking to an attorney.

Keep all important contacts with you. 

If ICE detains you while you are at work and you have dependents at home, make sure you make that clear. 

Escape if the opportunity presents itself.

General:

If you are taken, say nothing until a lawyer is present. The exception is if there are bystanders present or filming, or if you are being recorded in some way. Then you should shout your name (legal and otherwise), the date, where you are and what is happening. Get your emergency contact info in there if you can, because bystanders might be able to get in touch with them.

If you are witnessing a raid in your community, wait to warn others via phone as the cops may be monitoring nearby communications and may use that to select their next targets. Warn by code or word of mouth

Escape if the opportunity presents itself.

If you’re unlikely to be targeted by ICE, learn how to protect others. Record, do your research, keep updated.  If you can’t record, call someone on speaker and have them silently witness what is happening.

If you know an immigrant or migrant - no, you don’t.

Are you comfortable providing sanctuary to someone? If so, start preparing your space for those in need of safety. 

Donate to and volunteer for organizations fighting for migrants, immigrants and those at risk of being deported. 

PROTESTING AND FIGHTING BACK

          Make clear decisions and plans about what protests you'll be a part of and how. Tell only your most trusted friends where you are going, but be sure to tell them

Write your information, emergency contacts and a pro-bono lawyer’s number on your body with a permanent marker, then spray with hairspray to keep it from running. 

         Become someone's protest buddy, especially if they, for any reason, might be more vulnerable. Stick to one another and get each other out of dangerous situations. Come up with a safe word, and a safe way to communicate across a protest. A song, a wolf howl, a walkie talkie.

Obtain safety/riot gear, like masks, goggles and padding. Always carry fresh water for washing out wounds and pepper-sprayed eyes.

Practice that self defense you learned. What are the easiest moves? 

Keep emergency contacts on standby if you're going to protest. Make sure there's someone who could help bail you out of jail or can help raise money for bail. 

 Know your rights, and don’t give them anything when they arrest you. Make a list of lawyers and advocacy groups you feel safe trusting. 

 Train in proper video and recording methods to track what happens and what the police do. 

 If you're participating in a long term protest, plan properly for your health and the health of your home, partners and pets. 

Get your affairs in order. You may not make it out of a protest alive. 

When planning discussions with folks who might disagree with you, know that you may NOT actually be the best person for said discussion. If you’re really far left and you want to chat with you MAGA uncle about immigration, maybe find someone who’s more center-leaning but unsure to be a go-between. It’s less alienating to your uncle and less traumatizing for you.  

I know I’ve said this already, but carry first-aid supplies, learn basic first-aid, and carry a lighter, so that you can help those in need and protect yourself. 

Fight back with everyday statements. When someone says, “Those illegals are taking all our jobs,” say something like, “Wow, that sounds like some shit a weird Nazi would say.” Add “weird Nazi” to your responses. Laugh at the absurdities of MAGA statements. Make them feel foolish, or give good one-liners that leave them scratching their heads. Can’t think of any? Start bingeing comedians to learn how to give quick comebacks. 

In order to keep yourself from falling into a bad group, it's important to develop your critical thinking skills:  

Learn to apply the Five W's (who, what, when, where, and why) when encountering any information.

Learn common logical fallacies.

Learn the difference between fact, opinion, belief, and prejudice.

Don't equate emotional reactions with some kind of innate or higher moral guidance.

Ask yourself if you're "thinking for yourself" or being led to believe you're thinking for yourself.

Know what emotional manipulation tactics look like.

Watch out for these behaviors in any new group you join.

Yes, there are ways to confirm the age of an old text without having the original text itself.

Learn how propaganda works.

Watch out for these red flags in spiritual groups.

And watch out for this red flag.

Understand that belief doesn't have to be binary.

LEAVING THE STATES AND SURVIVING STATESIDE

Learn a new language, the language of wherever you’re heading. 

Make copies of all identification paperwork and keep everything safe. Buy a flame-proof lockbox if you have to. 

Get a passport. Canada is becoming really conservative, but Mexico has some of the safest queer cities in the world. You can stay there for no reason for more than three months, leave for three days and come back and keep doing that indefinitely. It's cheap and warm and the food is spectacular. Plus the entire country enshrined abortion rights. 

You will need a go bag. It should include non perishable snacks, water, paperwork, copies of your id, cash, meds, and whatever you love for comfort. Know where it is at all times. Keep it near an exit. My go bag will at least contain my ancestral seeds, my teddy bear, and extra socks.

DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE WHAT THEY WILL DO. Remember the bomb threats, the arson and the insurrection. THEY WILL NOT HESITATE TO BURN YOUR HOUSE DOWN AND TARGET YOUR LOVED ONES AND PETS. Believe them. PLEASE believe them when they say they are Hitler. Trump is just a figurhead. He has the force of an entire party behind him. It will change everything.

Make two or three escape plans. During WWII, people escaped by walking, by hiding under garbage in trucks, by building hot air balloons that they flew, by living in attics for years. 

It can be done, but you have to think ahead. We don't have the time to say, "Oh, it won't get that bad.” People are already dying. It is that bad. 

If you know someone who is MAGA or even close to it, NEVER tell them your escape plan. Never tell anyone anything if you don't trust them enough to hold a loaded gun to your head.

If you’re leaving, consider how to bring your pets. Do they need vaccines to cross a border? Do you even have a cat carrier, and adequate food for travel? What about costs for boarding while you resettled in your new home?

Who will house you if you need a safe space? Make a list of places you have friends,

or couches you can sleep on.

LOOK, IT’S TOUGH. IT’S GONNA BE TOUGH. BUT IT CAN BE JOYFUL, AND MYSTERIOUS, AND FUN, TOO. MOST IMPORTANTLY? WE DON’T YET KNOW HOW THIS ENDS.

FRIENDS, WE DON’T KNOW. 

SO LET ME LEAVE YOU WITH THESE THOUGHTS:

Overall, the more you rely on community and less on capitalism, the more security you could have during difficult times. The more secure you are, the more you can and will feel comfortable helping others. 

The Holocaust happened because a lot of good people did nothing, in large part because they decided it couldn't possibly get that bad. But the right-wingers know how to play the long game. 

The way I see it, there are now three primary parts to this rebellion: 

Those physically stopping the issues by destroying dams and animal testing labs, harassing and attacking politicians or corporations, and chaining themselves to bulldozers.

Those ferrying others to safety and providing the necessary resources for those leaving or hiding.

Those feeding, comforting and healing others through food growing, meal prep, offering tea and therapy, and putting down roots to grow community. 

So where do you stand? Do you fight or flee? Do you share cookies or get out the protest signs? Can you do all three? (Probably not, so choose wisely.)

And in the end:

IN 150 CHARACTERS OR LESS

Everything is on fire, but everyone I love is doing beautiful things

and trying to make life worth living.

and I know I don’t have to believe in everything,

but I believe in that. 

~ Nikita Gill 

Take care of each other and take care of yourself. You are not alone. Godspeed.  

[fatum679]

The screenwriters are completely unprofessional and mediocrity.

hotd s2x02

The second episode was a complete disappointment for me.

My poor Helaena, no one comforts her, no one is around, Aegon walked past ignoring her. The mother talks about the debt while violating the debt.

We were not shown the Dreamfyre and how the body of Prince Jaehaerys is burned. More screen time was spent on Rhaenyra's suffering. Of course, why would showrunners show the suffering of other characters if they are not Rhaenyra.

And stop comparing Jaehaerys to Luke. Luke was 14, Rob Stark fought a war at 14, Luke was a dragon rider, he had a conflict with Aemond since childhood, he participated in his uncle's bullying, he and other children attacked him, he cut out Aemond's eye and did not bring apologies. This injury dooms him to lifelong suffering and health problems (do not forget that Aemond’s eye was pulled out without normal painkillers. Such wounds lead to infection, necrosis, fever, and the fact that Aemond did not die is very lucky) Jaehaerys did not bully anyone, he didn't cut out anyone's eyes, he was an innocent baby.

Helaena as a character is incredibly interesting and I'm disappointed that we weren't shown her normal relationship with the people, how she takes part in the small council or communicates with her dragon. I'm afraid that she will remain a background character. I'm disappointed that no one came to console her. And I didn't like the way Helaena spoke about ordinary people, because we know from the book they loved her. But I understand that she does not want to show her grief.

How the constant emphasis on Rhaenyra irritates me. We see Helaena and are then shown Rhaenyra and her children. We understood that she is a Mary Sue and the main character, but we can do without these cheap parallels and comparisons. This woman wanted to torture her little brother after her son cut out Aemond's eye. She didn't love her siblings, she ignored them, she is not a good big sister. Rhaenyra literally created the cause and created the effect. But they propagandize us that she is a “kind-hearted person”.

Daemon was shown as he really is and was in the books, finally. That he doesn't care about anyone except himself and his ego.

Aegon ignores Helaena. I am once again convinced that they have nothing in common, he was not even interested in how Jaehaera was feeling. Aegon acted like a fool by killing all the ratcatchers. But an even bigger mistake was putting them on display. Aegon remains a fool and makes mistakes.

Otto Hightower is the only one who really deserves to have a crown. He is ambitious and has no real love for his family, but he is a man of politics, he knows what is best for the kingdom. I support him as a ruler. Now I wonder what Viserys said about Aegon.

Criston Cole disappointed me. You talk about a white cloak even though you yourself are not faithful to your oaths. The writers keep making all the green party characters so repulsive. However, Criston just annoys me.

Alicent continues to care more about Rhaener than her children. She doesn't want to hold a public funeral for Jaehaerys, not because she cares about Helaena's feelings, but because she cares about Rhaenyra's reputation.

Alicent and Criston are a big disappointment. Alicent doesn't think about her children. Aemond is ready to pay the whore and talk about his mental traumas. Alicent does not reassure Helaena, Aemond, or Aegon. Alicent is a bad mother. She ignores everything. I don't like Aegon, but Alicent should have consoled him instead of walking past him. What is wrong with you? Where is your dead grandson's lit candle?

Fuck what the writers did to Aemond. I understand that childhood trauma and bullying leave consequences for the rest of your life. But Aemond, get your shit together. I consider this a retcon. Aemond from the first season would not go to a brothel, would not cry to a whore and would not pay for consolation. This doesn't look like him. Aemond from Season 1 would have gone to Vhagar and told her everything. I just watched this scene on 2x. The scene was disgusting to me. What is their age difference? 30 years? I hate alysmond and I hate Aemond x Madame. Madame seems to be manipulating Aemond. Thank fuck there was no milk sucking.

Jaehaerys was kill. Aemond, how much can you cry about Luke's death. Take responsibility for your actions, accept the fact that there were reasons for revenge and you did it because you wanted to take revenge for all the pain and suffering. It infuriates me. Why don't you talk about the death of Jaehaerys?

Corlys and Rhaenys talk about Daemon after sex. You guys don't have anything else to talk about. Maybe you could invite him into your bed? Cringe.

Laenor was dead - no one doubted it.

Mysaria was made not guilty of anything - obviously. Female characters on the black side can't be bad.

There is no drama in the twins' battle. I thought Ser Arric would be shocked by the prince's death and, like a twin, would be saddened by Jaehaera's condition and volunteer for the mission himself. But again we have evil greenies and he had no choice.

Daeron is exists.

BDSM games from Alicent and Criston.

The screenwriters are completely unprofessional and mediocrity.

🤮🤡

[lycandrophile]

i typically don’t post “off topic” since this is a blog with a very specific focus, but i can’t just post on here business-as-usual as if i didn’t just spend a significant amount of my afternoon learning about and crying for the family of a palestinian girl who just learned that most of her loved ones are dead.

a common refrain on this blog has been “we are hurting, we are dying, please pay attention.” so i feel the need to stress now that if you’ve ever heard and listened to that sentiment coming from me about my community and the violence we’ve faced, i need you to hear it now and listen to it now when it comes a thousand times more desperately from the mouths of palestinians in the face of the atrocities that are taking their homes, communities, and lives away. i need to make it abundantly clear that if you see what i talk about here and agree and support it but you won’t extend that same solidarity to the palestinians who need it now, you’ve entirely missed the point.

i also want to stress that you cannot let yourself fall for the propaganda that tries to pit queer and trans people against palestinians. there are queer and trans palestinians and their lives are also being destroyed. they exist and they are part of this family and we need to show up for them and their families. so please keep in mind that every time someone says “if you were queer or trans in palestine you would be killed,” what you’re hearing is an attempt at distracting you from who’s actually killing the queer and trans people in palestine.

i’m one of many people who feel incredibly out of their depth thinking about all of this, and i know that even once i’m better educated, i’ll never stop feeling deeply unqualified to talk about it in depth. i get feeling like you don’t understand it, i get feeling like you can’t do anything about it.

but you don’t need to understand every nuance of the politics or know every bit of the history or feel like an expert in it to give a shit. you can and should(!!!!!!!) learn more and find ways that you can contribute, but in the meantime, the absolute least any of us can do is not look away from this. you don’t need to be an expert to see the tragedies unfolding in front of us and know that they are wrong.

i’ll never forget that girl’s family. i’ll never forget the beautiful babies in those pictures who never got to grow up, or the aunts and uncles and grandparents who were taken before their time. i never knew them, but i felt their loss and cried for them and i will never forget them. they and the countless others like them deserved so much better, and those who are still surviving deserve freedom.

so if you’ve ever fought for my community or any other community facing violence, i better fucking see you fighting for palestinians now.

[tkwrites]

Before I Meet Your Parents... - Quinn Hughes x Sarah (ofc)

Photos from Pinterest

Title: Before I Meet Your Parents…

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Quinn Hughes x Sarah (OFC) 

Warnings: Crying, Grief, Smut (18+ only), oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving)

Summary: As Sarah prepares to meet Quinn’s parents, she’s bombarded with new feelings and situations, as well as trying to manage her own life. A very worried Quinn helps her get to the bottom of it and does everything he can to make it better. 

Word Count: 4,600

Comments: I began writing Sarah meeting Quinn’s parents and realized I was missing this crucial step. Stories like these help me process my own grief, and I hope they can be helpful for you, too, even if you’re not experiencing a big loss. Taking care of ourselves can be difficult sometimes. Please remember that self care isn’t selfish - nor is it selfish to ask for what you need. 

The holidays have been…an experience, and while I was writing, I wasn’t finding the solid chunks of time I’ve had in the past. With the busiest holidays done, I was able to finish this, and hope to write a lot more with the break from work between holidays.

Thank you for your patience and support and love for Quinn and Sarah and my writing. I hope you enjoy.

Before I Meet Your Parents…

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

The week Quinn’s parents were coming into town turned into a total clusterfuck. 

First, there were the Canucks standings. Quinn point blank refused to talk about their position, not wanting to jinx anything. “It’s bad enough that I have to talk to the media about it after every game. I'm not talking about it at home.”

Even without his commentary, Sarah knew enough from reading and following the league stats, to know the Canucks were headed to the finals, bringing playoff hockey to Vancouver for the first time in nine years. It was a huge deal, and if all went to plan, they were expected to clinch a spot in the bracket in the next two games. 

His parents wanted to be in the arena for the historic occasion when their son led his team to the Stanley Cup finals in his first year as captain.

In addition to the will-they-won't-they stress of the finals, Lexie Demko had called and left a message for her about getting WAG jackets. Sarah had to look up what they were, and the idea of showing up as an official “WAG” to any game, let alone a playoff game, was incredibly intimidating. 

She and Quinn weren’t even officially official yet. She’d been thinking of him as her boyfriend for a few weeks and had no interest in dating anyone else. Unless he was seeing someone while she was in school, she knew he wasn't seeing anyone else either, but they hadn’t formally defined anything about their relationship.

On top of all this, she was prepping for her own finals. Although they were more than three weeks away, the two tests and publication project were looming over her like an albatross. She had to get a B or better, or she would be out of her program, and back home with her education visa voided.

The prospect of the work it would take to finish her semester well, and the possibility of stepping into the world of a WAG and meeting Quinn’s parents had her discombobulated and spending long stretches of time at the aquarium with Walter, trying to wrap her mind around everything. 

As she left a couple of nights before his parents were set to arrive, Rick stopped her, “I think your man is at the front desk.” 

It felt like she had to suck her mind from a thick fog to even register his words. “Hu?”

“I’m pretty sure your man is up front,” he repeated, “they wouldn’t let him back. Are you okay?” 

She waved off his question and walked to the front of the building. Quinn was indeed there, looking distressed. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Can I give you a ride home?” 

“Sure, if you want.” Didn't he have plans with one of his teammates tonight? 

Anxious thoughts dripped into her mind. She knew she hadn't been very communicative lately. Was he breaking up with her? 

Quinn took her hand and led her to his car. 

Once tucked inside where people couldn’t overhear, he asked, “is something wrong? You haven’t come over to study the past three days, and you didn’t answer any of my texts today.” 

She looked at the bag at her feet, feeling far away. “I'm sorry. My phone’s been buried in my backpack all day,” she confessed.

“I just feel like you’re…” he stopped himself, not even wanting to voice that thought. “Is it because you’re nervous to meet my parents?” 

A heavy feeling took up residence in her stomach. “No,” she said slowly. 

It wasn’t quite the whole truth, but also wasn’t a total lie. Logically, she wasn’t that nervous to meet them, but her emotions ran themselves into dizzy, knotted up circles whenever she thought about it. Things weren’t making sense. God, she felt so… she felt so off. There was more to this mood she was in than nerves, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. 

His hand, warm and comforting, covered her knee. “Sarah, what’s going on?” 

All at once, she was choking back tears.

“Can we go to your place?” she asked, very much not wanting to lose it in his jeep in the middle of Stanley Park, or in her bedroom where Eunice would jump to conclusions and tell her she ought to break up with Quinn if he was making her cry. 

The way her voice shook made Quinn gulp. “Yeah, of course,” he said before starting the car and going home. 

When they got there, her steps to the elevator were heavy, as if she were dragging some heavy sledge he couldn’t see. 

“Sar, what’s going on?” he asked. 

Shaking her head, she pursed her lips and willed the tears not to fall until they were in his house. 

Just as she suspected, someone joined them once they reached the lobby level. They shared a tense, silent ride for 12 floors as Sarah mentally recited the anatomy of the stingray to keep her tears from falling in front of a stranger. 

“You’re kind of scaring me,” he said gently as the door swung shut behind them. 

On top of everything else, now she was letting Quinn down. Her hands fluttered up to cover her face as her tears finally broke free. 

“What’s wrong?” he repeated, taking her arms and gently trying to pull her hands away from her face. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You…don’t know?” he repeated, a little dumbfounded. 

Her hands dropped in defeat. “I don’t know,” she repeated, finding more tears falling. What was wrong with her? 

Heart beating faster with worry, he took her backpack off, leaving it in the entryway before guiding her to the couch. 

“Are you upset with me? Did I do something?” 

“No.” 

“I don’t…” he started, then stopped. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. He was really scared now. If he didn’t do anything, and she didn’t seem to be injured, he couldn’t understand what the problem would be. 

“Can you hold me?” 

He drew her into his arms. 

After a few comforting moments - focusing on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat  - she was able to voice something. “I’m so overwhelmed.” 

“With what?” he asked, running a hand up and down her back. At least they had a clear direction. He could work with that.

“With everything. With school and WAG jackets and…” oh, fuck. Of course this was what this was about. She should know by now. “And your parents,” she finished, breaking into more tears. 

“Are you that scared of my parents?” he asked, pulling back trying to see her face. 

He knew meeting the parents was a big, intimidating step, but she’d handled meeting Brady, and that first uncomfortable call with Luke and a very guarded Jack with so much grace, he hadn’t expected her to be nervous, let alone so upset. “I think they’ll love you. I can’t guarantee how they’ll react, but they’ve always been nice to girls they’ve met in the past.” 

Her head shook slowly. 

“I don’t - Sarah I don’t understand.” 

To add insult to injury, she had to say it out loud. 

“I’m meeting your parents,” she said, looking into his eyes before her face crumpled and she stared down at her hands, knotted in her lap, “but you won’t get to meet mine.” Her voice was a desperate kind of wailed whisper. 

Shit. He should have known. Of course that would come up with something like this. His dad once told him every major occasion was tinged with grief, knowing someone was always missing from the celebration. The fact that this would be hard for her hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

Letting herself be pulled into Quinn, Sarah wept into his shoulder. His hands were heavy, warm and grounding on her back. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said into her hair. 

He’d never seen her so distressed. Even when she’d cried the first time he’d seen her tattoo, it hadn’t been like this. Then, it was no more than a minute of soft tears hitting his shoulder. This was so much more intense. He would probably be weeping too if he was in her position.  

She pulled back suddenly, her hands braced on his shoulders, “don’t you have stuff with Brock tonight?” 

“I canceled it when I hadn’t heard from you,” he admitted. “I was worried something had happened.” 

“Oh,” she said, body relaxing. 

The impact of what he said finally hit her. “Oh, Quinn, I'm sorry.” 

He shook his head, “don't be. I can have dinner with Brock any time.” 

“But, weren't you helping him pick out a ring or something?”

“Sarah,” he said, grasping her shoulders, “it's fine. We're doing it tomorrow after practice.” 

“I'm sorry,” she said again, shaking her head.

“You don't need to apologize. When it comes to being moral support for Brock or making sure you're okay, I'd rather be with you.”

She gave him a watery smile, hoping it conveyed how sweet she thought that was.

“I’m sorry I didn’t even think about how hard this would be for you,” he said.

Shaking her head, Sarah reached up to wipe her cheeks. Her fingers came away smudged in black. “Oh, God. Now I’m a mess.” 

He laughed a little, “do you want to go wash your face? I know you don’t have your stuff, but you can use mine.” 

A shaky breath rattled through her lungs. “Could I actually take a shower?” 

“Of course.” 

“I’ve kind of been putting things off.” 

She hadn’t washed her hair in four days, and couldn’t remember if she’d showered at all that morning. 

Even though she’d talked several times with her therapist about coping strategies and patterns to look for, when she couldn’t identify what she was feeling, her first instinct was still to shut down. It was so totally different to talk about it than it was to actually do it. The time it took to realize what was wrong was getting shorter, at least. That was a good thing. 

“Do you want some of my stuff to change into?” he asked. 

“That would be really nice.” 

Her stomach gave a sudden, loud grumble.

A surprised laugh flew out of Quinns mouth.

“I’m not sure I’ve eaten today,” she confessed. 

Another part of what had her feeling so terrible. It was all interconnected, no matter how much she tried to pretend it wasn’t. 

Quinn’s eyes widened. How did someone forget to eat?

“What do you want?” he asked, jumping onto the problem he could physically solve. 

Sarah closed her eyes and tried to think. 

“Pancakes,” she said, finally, thinking about how pleasant the fluffy breakfast food would feel in her mouth. 

“I can make pancakes. I don’t have any syrup though, I don’t think.” 

“That’s okay. Do you have peanut butter?”

He nodded.

“Thank you, Quinn,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.

He patted her hip, “let's go then. I'll cook while you're in the shower.”

The fact that he was being so sweet and nice made tears well up in her eyes as she stood. 

Leading her into the bathroom, Quinn asked if she needed anything else. When she said she didn’t, he told her he would put some clothes for her on the counter. 

The prospect of washing the day off made her breathe a sigh of relief. 

The big, walk-in shower was so bright, and opulent. Creamy white and blue tiles made a Moroccan style mosaic on the floor, and white subway tile was in the rest of the…it wouldn't be that much of a stretch to call it a room, that wasn't occupied with the thick glass sliding doors. There was even a tall, thin window right in the shower with a view of the northern skyline and the soft evening light winking off the harbor. 

Pushing worries of wasting water or draining the heater out of her mind, Sarah allowed herself to enjoy the rare luxury of a hot shower with no roommates demanding the bathroom. 

The water here got so much warmer than it did in her house. Quinn probably had his own water heater, not just access to the building boiler. 

Standing under the water, she breathed the humid air and allowed the dam to break.

It was always strange, how giving something a name made it easier to feel and let run its course. Voicing what was wrong was always half the battle. 

It had been a long time since she’d felt grief like this. Since it had been so triggered. Things with Quinn were so, so good. Far better than anything she could have ever dreamed up for herself, but being in a relationship still brought up new experiences, and new ways she hadn't yet missed her parents. 

Thinking of Quinn made the big emotion in her chest ease. A soft swell of gratitude displacing some of the sadness. She’d never dated someone like him - someone so willing to try to understand. Someone who took her where she was and wasn’t put off by how much she missed her parents. 

When Kaleo, her boyfriend in Hawaii, had confessed he didn’t understand why she brought up her dad so much, it had been a slap in the face, and made her feel so alone with someone who was supposed to be her partner. He had basically run away when her mom died, not willing to make the trip to the funeral, despite their dating for more than a year. It had been the final crack in the foundation of their relationship, and a big part of why her return to the islands lasted less than a week before she moved back home. 

Quinn was so refreshingly different - kind and compassionate, and willing to listen. The universe had been keeping track of all the sad, frustrating things in her life and finally gave her the good things she was due all poured into one person. 

Though she never heard him come in, a pair of blue sweats and a yellow Michigan shirt were waiting on the bathroom counter for her.

When she walked into the kitchen, Quinn felt his eyes go wide. Now was not the time for him to get all lustful over Sarah in his clothes, but it was impossible not to. She was braiding her wet hair, and it made her breasts, so obviously out of a bra, jostle under the Michigan logo stretched over them.

Forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he asked, “did you have a good shower?” 

She’d been in there a long time - nearly 45 minutes. When he dropped the clothes off, She’d been crying, so he supposed not all of that time was actually spent bathing. 

She tied off the end of the braid as she walked up to him. “I did, thank you,” she said before pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

His arm wound around her waist, and pulled her against him. “Good. I hope these are up to standard. The recipe had good reviews.” 

“I thought you said you could make pancakes?” 

“I can,” he said, gesturing to the stove where the last of them was cooking in the pan, “I just didn’t have a recipe. At home, we always make them from a mix.” 

“And you didn’t have any here?” 

A sheepish smile spread over his face, “pancakes are one of my guilty pleasure foods, so I try not to have it in the house.”

She giggled, and a sigh raced through his veins. 

A whiff of his own soap hit him, and he remembered what he’d been thinking when he first heard her walking down the stairs. 

“Hey, will you message me the kind of shampoo you like and whatever else you need? I’ll order it so you can have the stuff you like here.” 

Sarah took half a step back from him, eyes wide. 

Maybe he’d overstepped. “Not that you can’t use mine. You’ve just showered here a few times and it seems kind of silly to not have the things you like.” 

Also, he was tired of her smelling like his soap. He liked her smell so much, he’d do anything to keep it around. 

“Oh,” she said, feeling watched over and considered. “That would be really nice.”

They sat down at the bar counter with pancakes, peanut butter, butter, jam, and a tiny bottle of maple syrup Quinn remembered he had from a gift basket when he'd moved in.  

“Thank you for this,” she said, knocking her shoulder into his. 

“You're welcome.”

“It’s just been such a shit week, and you’re so…” she paused, thinking and put a peanut butter and syrup coated piece of pancake in her mouth. “You’re so good.” 

He blushed and tried to deflect the praise, “so what else are you overwhelmed with? School, and something about jackets?”

A flush flew into her cheeks. “Lexie called me about WAG jackets.” 

“Oh,” he said, not really sure what the big deal was. 

“I’m just,” she paused, setting down her fork. “Do you want me to wear one?” 

“There’s no one else I’d want to wear it.” 

“But, are you ready for that?” 

“Ready for what?” 

“For me to be so obviously… I mean, we’re not even official yet.” 

“Right.” 

“But you want me to wear a wives and girlfriends jacket?”

“We’re headed that way, aren’t we? I mean, I’m not seeing anyone else.” 

Even though she felt the same, a huge wave of relief swept through her. “I’m not either but, if I wear a Jacket to a playoff game -” 

He winced, not liking her to talk about it like it was a foregone conclusion. 

“Or any game,” she amended, “people are going to wonder. Do you know what comes up when you google NHL WAG jackets?” 

He shook his head. 

She went to dig her phone out of her backpack, finally seeing the ten texts from Quinn, along with a missed call from her brother.

She really needed a pair of airpods or a watch or something she could wear while her phone had to stay in her bag in the lab. 

Pulling up the search, she handed her phone to him before going back to her pancakes, now deliciously infused with syrup. 

“Go to the reddit listing,” she suggested. 

He scrolled down and clicked on the link, already turned gray from her previous visit. The whole page was speculation about which woman belonged to which player. 

“If I go with a jacket, and someone posts pictures, that’s going to throw our relationship into this, and I just want to make sure we’re…ready for that.” 

“Are you ready for that? Because it’s okay if you’re not.” 

She bit her lip, “I’m not sure. It makes me kind of uncomfortable. It makes it feel like I belong to you or something,” she admitted.

Quinn grimaced.  

“I can see how you got there,” he said, setting the phone face down. “You don’t have to get one and as far as I’m concerned, you never do, but I think you might want to talk to Lexie about it first.” 

“Why?” 

“The wives and girlfriends have a kind of support group. They hang out, and they help each other a lot. Lexie had a baby in October, and I know the other partners were really helping. Organizing meals and stuff like that. From what I know, the jackets are more about being part of that club than about -” he didn’t even want to say it, “belonging to someone on the team.” 

She hummed. Sarah had sat with some of the wives and girlfriends at games a few times. They were always nice and very welcoming, but she didn’t feel this kind of camaraderie. 

“Lexie asked me if you wanted one, and I didn’t know, so I gave her your number. I’m sorry, I should have warned you about it.” 

“I just didn’t know what it meant,” she confessed. “Or if you were, like, trying to say something through Lexie somehow.” 

He laughed, “no. I just didn’t want to make the decision for you. I’m sorry if it heaped more stress onto your plate.”

“It’s okay, it’s just new, you know?” 

“Yeah. It took me a while to transition. If I didn’t have Tanev, I don’t know what I would have done.” 

“Who’s Tanev?” 

“He was my defensive partner my first year. He was traded to Clagary, but he and his then fiance, Kendra, really helped me find my feet.” 

“Maybe I’ll ask Emma about it.”

“Yeah? You guys talk?” 

“Sometimes, we’re not besties or anything, but she checks in.” 

Quinn smiled, relief filling his bones. 

“Do you want me to take you home? Or would you rather stay here?” Usually, he wouldn’t have even asked but she looked so tired and comfortable, he wasn’t sure she’d want to make the trek. 

Relief swept through her. She didn’t want to overstep - but the last thing she wanted was to go home. The idea of leaving to sleep in her cold, empty bed seemed like a terrible one. 

“I’ll let Eunice know I won’t be home,” she said as an answer. The last time she’d slept over, Eunice had called three times in a row to break through Sarah’s do not disturb, worried she had been abducted in the middle of the night. 

As they settled in bed, and she scooted herself close to him, he tried to pull in some calming breaths. It didn’t really work. He’d been half hard all night seeing her in his clothes, and now that she was scooting up against him, he slid way beyond half.  

“Sorry,” he coughed. 

Sarah turned over, “for what?” 

Cheeks flaming, he wondered why he’d said anything at all. “I just…sorry,” he gestured down. “You in this shirt is a real turn on.” 

“Really?” 

She and Quinn were relatively similar sizes overall, but he was far more rectangular than she was. She felt like this shirt pulled over all of her soft bits in the most unflattering way possible, not to mention the yellow color made her look pale and washed out. 

“Yeah,” he said with an earnest nod. 

Sarah had been wondering all night how she could properly thank him. Now that the opportunity was here, she had to seize it. Capturing his mouth, she rolled on top of him. 

His hands went to her hips as a groan fell out of his mouth. 

Every time she went to pull away, he followed her, nipping her bottom lip, or stroking his tongue over the roof of her mouth; he didn’t want to let her go. 

She broke away all together and sat up, so she was straddling his hips. 

Quinn, who was already out of breath from the kissing, felt his chest hitch as she reached for the hem of her (his) shirt, and began pulling it up. She was even doing that arms crossed skin-the-cat kind of move. God, this was - she was a dream come true. 

Watching her ease the blue M over her chest, knowing his name was on her back made him dizzy and he felt his erection press more urgently against her. 

He wanted to save this vision of her stripping off his shirt into permanent, long-term memory. 

“Shit, Sarah,” he moaned into her mouth when she let the fabric fall next to her and leaned down to kiss him again. 

She smiled, happy to be getting the response she’d been going for. She didn’t want to have sex, but there were other ways she could thank him. 

“Do you want my hands or my mouth?” she asked. Even though he hadn’t come close to going down on her, she was willing to let that rule slide for now.

“God, Mouth, please,” he practically begged.

She really was a dream. She’d never gone down on him before. He figured it wasn’t something she really enjoyed. Maybe she was just saving it for a special occasion. He wasn’t entirely certain what made this evening so special, but he’d take it.

Her lips ghosted over his chin and onto his chest as her hands pushed his pajama pants down. He lifted his hips, eager to please. She didn’t push them down all the way - just enough to let his hard cock spring free. 

Taking a straight journey to where he wanted her, there was no preamble or teasing before she was wrapping her lips around him, and taking him deep. 

Her mouth was hot and soft, her tongue skilled as she traced the vein on the underside, ending with a flick at the base of the sensitive head. 

She pulled back and sucked on the tip like some kind of lollipop. A soft snick sounded through the room when she released the suction to start again. 

His left thigh began to tremble. A few more seconds and he'd be done for. 

“Oh, fuck,” he said as she took him deep again, making his eyes roll back. 

This was a dream save for one thing: her hair was braided back. He wanted nothing more than to sink his fingers into the soft tresses. He wound them in the sheets instead.

Hollowing her cheeks, she pulled back to the tip. His guttural groan had a deep sense of satisfaction curling in her belly. 

Stroking her tongue over the slit, licking up his salty precome, she smiled when he swore again. 

“I’m gonna come,” he warned. 

A small whine left his mouth when she pulled off him, but her hand kept moving, pulling his orgasm out all the same. 

When he came, she shielded herself with her other hand, managing to catch most of his release before it splattered all over her. She was too tired for another shower. 

Leaving him a panting mess, she went to wash up and wipe off the splatter that snuck past her hand. 

Once she was back in bed with his shirt back on, Quinn gathered her against him, “that was amazing, thank you.”

She hummed and scooted a little closer. 

“What do you want?”

“A good night's sleep,” she murmured. 

“You don’t want me to return the favor?” he asked, humor in his voice. One of his hands was making a slow expedition down her stomach.  

"No, you can do that," she hummed.

She felt his laugh against her skin, and his fingers snuck under the waistband of his sweats.

 The pleasure that swam into her veins was comforting. She felt so contented and supported, spooned up against him as he stroked her sensitive pearl. She reached back to grab his hip as the sparks became more intense.

He was an attentive student, learning the patterns and pressure she liked as if he needed to ace this test to pass the class. Even going so far as to work his knee between hers to give himself a little more room without making her uncomfortable.

“Quinn,” she whispered. 

God, the way she said his name made him feel like he could do anything - hike Mt. Everest, take on the whole Eastern conference, fly to the moon. He’d do anything to hear it again.

He began to kiss her neck, switching his fingers to circle clockwise. The sudden change in pattern made her clench down and a whine escaped her throat. 

“Are you close?” 

“Yes. Put your fingers inside me,” her breathy whisper made his fingers tingle with power and purpose. 

He obeyed.

After a few strokes, she adjusted his wrist so the heel of his hand pressed gently against her clit. 

Her hips moved with him, and she let out a little moan, “just like that, Quinn.” 

She began to pulse around his fingers and she felt him smile against her skin as he worked her though the orgasm. 

She slept soundly that night, curled up with Quinn, awed by the once improbable and yet very real prospect she might not have to face anything totally alone again. 

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[ourhomealien]

Don't gatekeep feelings, please.

TLDR

I'm autistic and so I have a unique vocabulary, so bare with me please.

Hermitcraft to me is a community for all ages, that's what I expect of it. In the same way a child deserves and expects to be able to trust and learn from their parents without abuse or them being literal criminals. People are as bad as they want to be, and you can 100% grieve your expectations of them. Disappointment can hurt anyone. In the same way you invest your feelings into pets knowing they will die, and then grieving when they're gone, you can invest feelings and expectations into people you know about and that isn't childish or naive, it's human. Hermitcraft is in no way culpable for an individual's actions. The amount of distress caused by this VC's actions is widespread and not limited, in the same way an earthquake has aftershocks.

I'm genuinely grieving over iskall, The character and the community they built and the stims and autistic scripts I've built into myself because of them. I was shocked on Saturday, but at the same time, after reading that first line it didn't make sense to be any other hermit (I did not in any way predict this) at the time of reading nothing was confirmed so I felt that, innocent until proven guilty, was the way to go. My heart sank, I felt sick and I wanted to cry, I was on my way home from a long day at work and it was the first day of my hormone cycle at it's worst. The first thoughts I had were, 'no no please, it's not true, it's true, maybe it's the bullies again and he can't cope anymore'. Then the hermits started acting and I thought maybe he doesn't want to be affiliated anymore. But that didn't 100% add up. <33 to the good hermits for being amazing.

In my experience being autistic means 75% of my existence is made up of scripts I've adopted and will continue to adopt, from other people around me locally like my family, from movies, shows, and books growing up, to everything I've consumed information wise, this includes so many people, some that at one time were my hyperfixation, these scripts can be unlearnt, and I have another script that helps ('we don't do that here') but it's still a process and It's stressful and unpleasant.

VC was one of the only people I've subscribed to on twitch, I didn't even watch his live stream (they were way too stressful for me, the pay to win quality of his streams was really frustrating) I just subbed to support him. At least to me he had a 'victim' persona especially when it came to the other hermits and their success in comparison, and this translated to me the need to support him more. (He was a hermit for crying out loud, he was fine, I tell myself now), then I read the truth and the pay to win made sense because he Was showing favouritism, after reading K's statement before I was finished I knew M would be involved too and I just felt incredibly sad and heartbroken for them, no one deserves to be treated like that, and people except a certain level of human decency. I'm sorry that this happens and I'm so sad that it has.

He made me feel Grian was a bad sport and that Grian was wrong to be in videos with his friends because he was more popular, that Grian couldn't be sincere in his joy 'because he was always stealing the limelight' (I was 15 at the time and irl was tough and I had bigger problems going on, I loved C! Grian a lot) and didn't trust anyone, so I started to dislike CC! Grian a lot. (Again young n Major trust issues); I like Grian again now but felt uneasy for a long while.

VC always pops at the end of his videos when he says bye and I always watched to the end just because of it, and at a certain point I started associating popping with saying 'I love you' I did it to my family and it's been a part of my autistic script since late 2018. Others include (Hallo, Omega, of doom)

Iskall's Minecraft character is canonically non-binary/agender and in fanworks they use they/them pronouns and as someone who's a fan of mcyt, Minecraft and is gender q, that was a big deal for me to be canonically represented. They also inspired me to write incredibly niche and rare minecraft lore and head canon's for them (them being a villager/player hybrid); iskall's character is a separate entity but the association is horrifying now and that is extremely disappointing, it was the same with William Gold.

VC has made fun of people's differences and difficulties and has been generally rude at times under the guise of humour. He has laughed at people's trust in the creepest way, that even though I liked him I was scared and put off for days, I was so genuinely angry at him, because I felt humiliated. He knew who he was and laughed at our trust in him. That hurts and angers me even more now.

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

Hello all. For the anniversary today, I decided to do something completely out of my comfort zone. I'll probably spend the rest of the day quietly grieving, but I'm a man of words, I wanted to express my gratitude.

I made a verrry bad guitar/singing cover of [die] on youtube. I hope next time I'll present to you something better. But I'm still proud, for even doing it.

I also wrote a very personal letter where I express my gratitude. I talk about stuff I've talked about here before, but today, I decided I'll share it with people who know me in real life too. I don't want to be ashamed of my love for Acchan when he completely changed my life.

I'll link the letter here:

I'll probably share the same on the official website, but make it way shorter and less personal.

I'll continue to cry and mourn, but I didn't want to avoid today. It's okay if you do! But this is the way how I cope with the pain.

Nevertheless, I wanted to make today into a day of gratitude besides mourning. Not only to Atsushi, but to all of you.

I'm incredibly thankful that I've joined this community, even if fairly late.

You all helped me so much, and I truly feel grateful to all of you. Thank you for spending sleepless nights with me crying and laughing, thank you for showing you care. Both non-mutuals and mutuals, I'm glad you are still here. 🤍

I hope we all can continue to support the boys, the 5 of them. 🤍

I wish to cherish these moments as long as I can, even with this lingering sadness.

Love you all, please take care of yourselves, rest a lot, and cry if needed. 🤍

[caffeinatedmunchkin]

A bard and a vampire wander into the local hags backyard-STOP ME IF YOU'VE HEARD THIS ONE Wilted Rose Productions proudly presents its newest release: STOP ME IF YOU'VE HEARD THIS ONE. Ofelia Montez (With Stars to Fill My Dreams) and Astarion Ancunín (Christian Woman, Hungry Like the Wolf) reunite to star in this tongue-in-cheek exploit that pens a love-letter to vampirism, and all that it’s bitten; which Fangoria hails: "unpredictable, ambitious, and aware; a frightfully amusing re-telling for all to sink their teeth into - no fangs required.” and that Bloody Disgusting calls: "A wild ride. These horror high jinks are the sort that could only exist for a duo the likes of Ofelia and Astarion, and it is only because of them that this story is pulled off." Sex, blood, and Rock ‘n’ Roll. Bring home the absurd story you think you know, told like never before. STOP ME IF YOU'VE HEARD THIS ONE, now on video cassette - rent it tonight! Runtime of 37K words. The media advertised has been rated R for strong sexual content, graphic depictions of violence, and crude humor. Restrictions apply. Under 18 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian. Please be kind and rewind!

{reference I used for making the cover}

[Banner credit]

PART 1 OF 2 - Apparently tumblrs posts have block limits ?? Who knew.

Ali, you are such a force of creativity, positivity, talent, and kindness. I've been around the fandom block, which I'm generally pretty wary of, and I had sworn off of tumblr for years. It was only a matter of time, I think, before something BG3 pulled me back in. Boy howdy am I supremely grateful it was here and now, and that it lead me to you!

I want to thank you for not only welcoming me so warmly to this community, but for your friendship and your support. In return, I very humbly present you with this; my ode to Ofelia, what a wonderful, iconic, lovable character she is, and the incredible dynamic you've built around her and Astarion, our fave resident bastard man.

Thank you for sharing her with us, and thank you for trusting me with her.

There's no way I'll ever be able to thank you enough, or show you how much I appreciate you, but I hope this conveys it a lil. Enjoy xoxo

Once upon a time...

In a land far, far away...

- a realm born of both the fantastical, and the treacherous -

(As I'm writing this narration, I'm hearing it in Raphael's voice, and I'm gonna need you to do the same as you read it. Liam Neeson is an acceptable substitute.)

... the setting in which our story, like many hitherto, begins.

A sinuous tale of love, and lust, and wonderment.

The improbable turned possible.

One quiet afternoon, on the outskirts of the Sunlit Wetlands...

...In an innocuous patch of wood, do we find our favorite, lionhearted young bard, and her sardonic vampyre.

Who happened upon this lush thicket. One deep-set in the hag's bog, to whom it belongs.

Ever benignant, a purveyor fair and just; she had come by her notoriety honestly.

It was not as though she had been known to deal in ironics, or legerdemain.

Certainly not dear Auntie Ethel...

And in their hapless trespassing, embark on this, their aforenamed escapade, most unwitting.

To the amused delight of no one in particular...

...

Then again, what's more fun than two lovers clueless to the absurdity in which they are thrust?

The very same circumstance, wherein one of them is in on the joke - of course.

Crouched before a tangle of parted undergrowth, Ofelia toiled away at the lock of an old trinket box. Intricate carving and chipped paint, it's abandoned burial evident, as it sat half unearthed. Peeking through a sparse patch of naked vine, it called to her. Begging its contents rifled.

Rusted just enough to prove her proceeding efforts fruitless - it's cry for exploration now revealed to be a taunt - the firmer she appealed for cooperation, the more stubborn was its refusal. To her pins coaxing, it only clinked in protest.

Frustration bubbling like a pot boiled over, her attention was then demanded by Astarion's hemming and hawing. His melodrama loud and needy, his tolerance for not being the center of attention delicately finite. That toleration had fizzled and snuffed, extinguished like a candles flame near the end of its wick.

Really, she was impressed he lasted as long as he had.

Found a little ways ahead in the clearing, haughty and regal, with irritation twitching his sharp ear in the way she loved. Hands fallen to his hips, and shoulders drawn back, the elf stood before what looked to be a mirror.

"What's that?" She called, maintaining the rapid, driving pressure in and out.

Her attempted finesse surrendered, she relied on the assumption that each next pass might be the one to jostle the pins to the shear line. An assumption then punished by her strayed focus, and blunt-force, Ofelia was echoed by the chink of thin steel, cracked and crumpling.

In quiet panic, she rose to her full height. Holding her breath with the hopes he hadn't heard.

A hope that died a slow, painful death.

"The sound of the very last of my picks I ever lend to you, breaking, I believe." He drawled, the bored nonchalance of his tone betraying his forgone assumption she'd snap it in half. Judged by the sounds of her working the lock alone, though he was well acquainted with how lean her patience.

His back still to hear, he felt the blunt edge of her flat stare smack into his head. "I've warned you before about such a heavy hand. It's a snake rake, darling, not a battering ram."

If he didn't feel her glare from moments prior, he most definitely felt the breeze from her lashes, fluttering around the eyes sent back into her skull.

"So then maybe you should be doing this, instead of pawning the work off onto me and calling it 'practice.'" Brushing the dirt from her knees, she slipped the pieces of what used to be Astarion's rake into the pouch on her belt.

"Nonsense. If I always do it for you, then you'll never learn to do it for yourself." He twisted to face her, a lazy smirk as smug as his inflection. It earned her tongue stuck out at him through a crinkled face.

An expression that he used to categorize as a "gurn", - the comparison not made with affection - he now very deliberately teased it out of her.

Shallow taunts and ragging seemed the trick.

Returning a glare to the mirror, it had yet to give him the satisfaction of how handsome even his defiance presented. "What a distasteful stab at opulence. I daresay not even a goblin would be desperate enough to try and make off with such a gaudy thing." He waved in a vague gesture.

"Remember our talk about stereotypes?" Her goading lilt made him sniff, her simper spilling wider. "And really, you're one to talk. You're a worse hoarder of shiny things than anyone else I know. Goblin, or otherwise."

Astarion turned his head as far as his shoulder, but went no further. His preening given away by the curl of his lips.

"Just this side of the Gate, or from your world, as well?"

"Both your world, and mine. Hands down."

To that he chuckled. "Sweet-talker."

"I have learned from the best." Ofelia looked up as she passed behind him to catch a glimpse of herself. To reaffirm that the loosened tendrils from Shadowheart's fishtail braid, the one she pleated for her after breakfast, still framed her face whimsical, and romantic. Though something curious happened, making her take pause.

Her assumed reflection did not appear.

Her approach then cautious, Ofelia cocked her head once she joined his side, her closeness demanding of the mirror something it refused to humor.

A grand, ornate piece, it jarred against the gnarled overgrowth it occupied, looking as if it was put down during a move, and forgotten. Though nothing of time, nor the elements, tainted it with signs of wear or corrosion. It looked well kept. The surface shone, glassy and slick like tears unshed. The gold-leaf rubbed into the frame glinted as if from a fresh polish.

Resting against a trunk in a position central to the semi-circle of trees around them, it's placement then seemed conspicuous. Deliberate in drawing the eye. Calling to any and all that looked it's way to come close, and peer within. To indulge its mystique.

Ofelia couldn't believe she hadn't noticed it first thing. Impossible to miss against a backdrop so drab in comparison, it had been there all along.

Hadn't it?

An imposing height that would have towered over even Halsin, it was scarcely wider than the width of Astarion shoulder to shoulder. One would have had to crowd the other to both be visible at once.

That was, if either were visible in it at all.

"Huh." She waved her hand before the surface, expecting a returned visage, and greeting, that still didn't appear. "That's weird."

Astarion snorted. "Darling, is there something you've not told me?"

Ignoring his attempts to be playful, she leaned in closer, eyes narrowed beneath brows that furrowed further. With perception that would have made Carl Kolchak proud, she remarked with casual assurance. "The trees are wrong."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The trees." She said again, pointing to the structures within the frame. Tall, narrow, and sparse. Too tall and narrow to be the reflection of the firs in the clearing around them, and too familiar to belong to Faerûn.

Too familiar to Earth native Ofelia.

"This isn't... a reflection, it's..."

Trailing off and unable to help herself, she raised her hand to the surface. Expecting to meet solid glass, Astarion's heed for caution came too little too late. Once her fingers pushed against it, they dipped straight through, as if made of smoke and shadow.

The illusion rippled outward. Reminiscent of a still pond then disturbed, it gave way to her intrusion, though the scene remained. A cluster of trees in a nondescript forest, during a cloudy, overcast day.

Cool to the touch, Ofelia ripped her hand away as if flames lapped at her from the other side. A surmised hazard, corroborated by her squeak. "What the hell-,"

Having deduced she was startled as opposed to injured, Astarion leaned in for closer inspection. "Hmm... it appears to be the same sort of glamor our dear Ethel used to disguise the bog. Odd. I wonder what else she's trying to hide." Then in afterthought, as if a personal offense to him - or all vampire kind - he huffed. "Whatever it might be, why a mirror? Seems a bit wanting for originality, if you ask me."

After sizing it up sidelong, curiosity tamed her apprehension, and she reached for it once more. Astarion's disapproving tsk falling on deaf ears.

This time, when the mirror accepted her fingertips, she reached further, until it swallowed her up to the wrist. Wriggling her fingers and rolling the joint on the other side, unable to see, she could feel.

Frigid, raw air. The gentle sting of mist. Withdrawing her hand, she studied it, and the faint droplets that had gathered on her sun-kissed flesh.

"I think it's... like a portal, or something?"

"Are you asking, or telling?" Ofelia shot him a look, and he scoffed with a scrunch of his brows. "A portal to what?"

"Another forest, maybe? I don't know, I felt... moisture, and air. A little chilly, like late winter." Lifting the back of her hand to her nose for a hesitant sniff, perplexity was worn far too serious on her young face. "It almost... smells like home?"

Damp and woodsy, a bouquet of pine and petrichor. Pungent and distinctly Pacific Northwest. Though prior to her abduction she was a loud and proud Cali local, the nostalgia of crisp, clean Earth was good enough for her. The rhythm of her heart spiked in a pattern Astarion was all too familiar with.

"Don't be daft, darling."

Was his unwillingness to entertain a way back to her home born from a selfishness to keep her in Faerûn with him?

Indubitably.

Would he ever admit to such?

Not on her life.

"I know you're not so naive as to think anything of the hags warrants faith. She learns what you want most, and offers in it's stead but a cruel, mangled imitation."

"We don't even know for sure if this is Ethel's - but it could really, actually be home!" She rocked up to her toes, clasping her hands behind her back. Her head tucked towards her shoulder in a manner she meant to be ingratiating. "C'mon, what's the worst that'll happen? Aren't you even the least bit curious about where I come from?"

Astarion in her world... in her home. Her mind barrelled after her heart in its race.

There was so much she could introduce to him.

Castlevania on Netflix. The chorizo and egg breakfast tacos - heavy on the Chipotle mayo - at her favorite diner, the one a short walk to the park by her apartment. Better still, she could take him to her spot at that same park, an empty clearing bordering the soccer field. The little hideaway eked out and sheltered from the main path by the surrounding trees, it was just large enough for two.

She could take him there for a picnic lunch. The wire of her headphones split between them as she introduced him to more favorites, like Siouxsie and the Banshees or Volbeat. Admiring the way the haze of mid-morning sun dappled against his fair skin through the overhead canopy of leaves.

Stretched out along the grass, head cradled by her lap as she raked her fingers through his curls. His ethereal beauty, and bliss, celebrated in an opaline sheen in the suns rays.

And not just any sun, but her sun.

So giddy was she, to the image of him languid and content in shared domesticity, that it was as if she had already stepped through the alleged portal. Leaving him behind to peer at her, expectant, while she slipped deeper into her reverie. She was ripped back with a start by the snap of his fingers before her nose.

Blinking up at him, her attention fixed to the glimmer in his claret eye. Buried deep beneath weary skepticism, was curiosity. Faint, but instantly recognizable, she caught it before the gravity of her proposal had the chance to smother the ember.

Astarion wasn't often the voice of reason. He rationed the use of that one talent of his many for when the need was most dire. Hearing her impulsivity rev higher with every pounded beat within her chest, he sought to reel her back in. Conscious, and thoughtful in his intonation.

"And what happens, my precious little bard, when your home is not waiting on the other side?"

She shrugged.

“We step back through, right where we started. No harm, no foul." Batting her lashes, softening a back-bone that - for her alone - was about as rigid as a single strand of al dente angel-hair. "Besides, are you honestly telling me that the curiosity wouldn't drive you crazy if we didn't take even just one, itty-bitty peak?"

She was kind enough to measure out for him just how itty-bitty she meant, by pinching her finger-tips.

She had him there. The routine of their little troupe the previous few days had him restless.

They had done nothing but comb back through previously covered ground, all in effort to stock up for their eventual pilgrimage through the Underdark. Only to then make camp for another night, equaled in solemnity.

It was all so dull it bordered on tragic. The mere recollection made him sigh.

"You know what they say about curiosity and the cat, don't you darling?"

Her lips pursed to a small, mischievous smile. Continuing to brandish her lashes, that's all else she gave in reply.

As if he could deny any request attached to those big brown eyes.

He, in fact, could not.

With a put upon huff that forced every last bit of air from his lungs, Astarion caved. Pinching the bridge of his nose where it met his forehead wrinkled by his frown.

"We're to no more than poke our heads in- just to put this inquisitiveness to bed. If something's amiss, we come straight back.” He warned, his finger jut towards her in emphasis. “And you're never to aim those Godsdamn eyes at me ever again."

"YES!” She squealed. “Okay, okay, yes. Agreed!"

All but bouncing up and down, her victorious grin split wider across her face. Astarion couldn't deny the tightening around his dormant heart, nor the flush up the back of his neck to have granted her such excitement.

In the same lively rush of self-satisfaction, it also stoked the ire of pessimism beginning to swell within. His grimace deepened.

When had he become such a stick in the mud?

The very moment he traded his heart for hers, naturally. Caring for another was exhausting business, when the heart he took was more precious to him, than the very hands he used to hold it.

Ofelia knew that even if this was a way back home, it didn't mean she would going back for good, of course.

Probably.

They still had the ever-present triviality of impending Ceremorphosis to contend with. But even just the possibility of a sort of fast travel way-point between her world, and this one?

Ofelia had, after all, been abducted by Mind flayers, before she crashed and burned through Hell itself.

She pulled a powerful, near-famed wizard out of a rock. Stuck and flailing in the mineral like a cat with it's head caught in an empty tissue box.

Said wizard had since used his awesome power to amplify the sound of both her voice, and her lyre, just so she could preform Crazy On You for a bunch of Tieflings.

And an elf, who's also a bear.

She now had a two-hundred-odd year old Vampire for a boyfriend, whose high-school-cheer-captains sass brutality was worse than his literal bite.

She had taken her first steps in a land of literal fairy-tale, in chunky tricolor Nikes.

Stranger things had taken place, for sure.

All that aside, portals - like doorways - by their very nature, were two sided. If they went through to one side, they could simply step back over to the other.

Right?

Allowing room for only one to pass through at a time, Ofelia steeled herself to go first, buzzing like a hummingbird in her boots. With a deep breath, every inch of her prickled in adrenaline, pulling her toes curled and tightening her scalp.

She only made it one foot forward, before Astarion snatched her by the elbow, holding her in place.

"Wait." He sounded strained, as if trying to craft his speech to match a composure his actions already betrayed. "I'll... go first. This could spit us out over a steep incline, and knowing you you're just as liable to snap your neck as you are to roll an ankle."

"My perfect gentleman." She hummed, tucking her fists to her chest.

He waved her off with a grumble, and flattened ears. "Spare me."

Stepping in front of her to fill the frame with his stance, he sized up the trees within, as they scraped against the pale sky. With a roll of his shoulders, Astarion mumbled beneath his breath, something along the lines of; "let's get this over with." before he entered.

And then he was gone.

Swallowed by the shifting veil of glamor from the tips of his ears, to his heels. A faint linger of bergamot and brandy where he once stood.

Ofelia expelled a breath herself, and waited. Fingers twisting at her middle, she counted to ten, drawing out the intervals between each.

When he didn't return, and nothing in the picture altered in any indication something had gone awry upon his intrusion, she knew it was her turn.

She went in after him.

Astarion couldn't recall much of the experience through the portal.

A blur of senses jarred, and contrasting weightlessness.

He could remember the infernal whine that pierced through it all. It writhed and lashed him along, the echo of it's heinous distortion blending into the cacophony of background noise now that he was on the other side, though not soon enough.

Passing through must have severed his brain from its stem, as the sharp twinges in Astarion's head pulsed like the organ had been knocked around freely. Harsh illumination flooded from every direction, it needled the lids he held shut against it.

The ringing in his ears dulled and dissolved into idle chatter, laughter, and scuffling feet.

A touch settled to his forearm. Nimble finger-tips, with the weight and docility of a woman. Bare flesh to his bare arm.

Strange. His arms were covered in sleeves shoulder to wrist just moments before.

"-re you alright?" A woman's voice reached him through the raucous vacuity, full-bodied and clear. A closeness suggesting it must have been from the one who touched him. "What's wrong?" She chirped again. Direct with her concern.

Ofelia?

His eyes urged open by the voice, he winced with the sting, his vision erupting in white. The light descended upon him with a vengeance, and burned brighter than the sun ever did. Even after all their centuries of estrangement.

He struggled to adjust, only to then be bombarded by the sheer volume of people that surrounded him. All appearing to be quite young, and humanoid, their attire foreign. Not a single face, not even the woman who fussed over him, was Ofelia's.

The room they were in was cavernous, and sterile. It consumed the noise and spat it back out in warring reverberation. The longer he stood there, the louder it seemed to swell. The architect rigid as it was alien, glass windows stretched across much of the walls, with thin blue columns posted between them. The unfamiliarity of the furnishings went without saying, eyeing the bright garland of flags he didn't recognize, strung along the tops of the windows at his side.

His head jerked around as he searched for her among the thickness of the crowd. The specific words, and phrases he was able to isolate from the maelstrom of conversations all happening at once, did remind him of Ofelia. A commonality in her accent, and general dialect.

Was she right after all? Were they now in her home?

The bob of his throat numbed to ice.

What if she never wanted to go back with him?

Would he stay here for her? Would she ask?

What if she didn't want him to stay?

The woman stood before him with patience, though he could tell by the set of her shoulders, and tilt of her head that it was dwindling.

A pallid, statuesque woman with a cleft in her chin, whoever she was, she expected something from him. He could feel the weight of it boring into him by her expectant stare. Prodding him to speak. However the longer he went without Ofelia, her sonorous lilting, the playful wickedness glinting in the dark of her gaze, frustration began to rear.

He was in no mood for pleasantries, first impressions in her world be damned.

He snapped through the hum of drivel. "Where's Ofelia?"

The woman recoiled, though she didn't shrink. Her lips pressed thin, off-put by how brusque she was addressed.

A tall, brute of a man with dark hair and a similar sun-starved complexion posted behind her. Dressed in all white, he regarded Astarion with features screwed in complimentary scrutiny. More stunned than offended, he echoed his woman in her silence.

"Who?" Piped up from his right. It was another's woman's voice. Sprightly, much higher and airier than the firsts.

He turned to a waifish young woman, short brunette hair spiking in tufts across her forehead and out from around her ears. Curiosity and innocence personified, by her too-large of eyes, and fragile features.

"Ofelia." He reiterated, his chest tightening as her gaze widened in hopeless confusion. "Caramel skin, and raven-haired. Brown saucers for eyes, and far more suggestible than they've the right to be. A busty little number, with silver piercing her nose, here," he tapped his right nostril for emphasis, before doing to the same to the ends of each brow. "As well as here?"

Next to the small brunette was a blond man, who loomed just beyond her shoulder like a specter. One who looked as though he hadn't eaten, slept, or smiled for several months. Skin so pale it was almost translucent, with tired eyes ensnared by the void. His features passive, they twitched as if against some invisible tension wound too-tight to keep him neutral.

The tiny one gazed up at him, pleading for input with a girlish pout that matched her bowed brows. The ghoul blinked back down at her, his shoulders lifting in a motion so slight, he might as well have not even bothered. That was all the reply he gave, though she seemed to find it sufficient. Well versed in his body language, and anguished indifference.

She then wielded her doe-eyes back at Astarion, a sincere sympathy in their glisten. Her confession made with a head shake. "She sounds beautiful, but... I have no idea who she is."

Astarion waved her silent, his aggravation stewing as he made a break from the four. The heel of his shoe squeaked during his pivot, a grating sound that startled him still, though his head remained on a swivel.

More people filed in to feed the crowd, but his bard was not among them.

Sensing his impending departure, and wary over his amnesic behavior, the blonde woman stepped forward with hands raised. Afraid he'd take off like a scared animal if she closed in. Hand falling to his arm again, her voice lowered to a belabored hush.

"Where do you think you're going? What's gotten into you?"

He pulled his arm free and stumbled back. "If you're not going to be of use, then I shall have to find her myself."

The brunette woman's worry strengthened the longer she observed Astarion, her tone cracking and shrill. "Wait-! We'll help you, it's just... well, you're not making very much sense-,"

"I've no time for this." He growled, his eye drawn to an open corridor beyond where the five of them huddled. Surmising it to be the best place to start, by the consistent stream of people that had funneled through.

The four exchanged looks of varied disbelief once he succeeded in disentangling from their clique, and made for the halls entrance. In a final attempt at getting through to him, the blonde woman called after him, loud enough to attract the attention from the nearest bystanders.

"What are you -Edward!"

Astarion stopped, spinning on his heel to face them with a single brow stitching upward.

"My name is not-," he then huffed, abandoning the correction with a dismissive gesture. "Oh, never mind that."

He could hear the brunette woman squeak to the others, "we should go to Carlisle." as he left them there, gawking.

A bizarre encounter to be certain, but he'd squander no more of the precious time he'd already wasted, least of all on the likes of them.

He needed to find Ofelia.

He tried the tadpole first; but it laid unresponsive. Not dead, it gave sluggish twitches when he tried prodding it to action. Still there, burrowed within his gray matter, though dazed from the traversal. Just as dazed as himself.

Left to navigate the discombobulation on his own, and he couldn't even rely on the blasted Illithid parasite to determine if she was there. Another log fed to his roiling agitation, his ire blazed to full-swell.

She had to be there, somewhere. He just had to find her.

She was right behind him.

Wasn't she?

The moment she passed through in full, the towering pines devolved into harsh disorientation.

The pins-and-needles feeling of a limb deprived of circulation translated for the eye, all Ofelia could discern was the feeling of disembodiment. Sensory deprivation, as her aura of consciousness passed through an endless funnel of flickering black and white particles.

A low, monotonous hum of sound dialed tighter and tighter into a high-pitched whine, almost inaudible, before the psychedelics surrounding her twisted to a pinprick in the dark.

Pure white blinked to pitch black. The whine clicked off, winding down into silence.

Silence, and nothingness.

And then, gradual and humming, it all receded to make way for sound, and light. It flooded back around her, like sunrise at dawn, overwhelming and final.

When next she opened her eyes, she was no longer standing in a copse beside Astarion.

Nor did she tumble headfirst down the side of a mountain face. Or drop into the middle of some unidentified body of water; a fear that crept in just as she allowed the looking glass to swallow her whole, and it was too late to back out.

No, she was plopped somewhere far worse than even those two undesirable scenarios.

She was sitting in a high-school cafeteria.

Discordant chatter rushed her ear from clusters of teens at round tables, and loitering around the exits. In line to pile cold green beans, and congealed mashed potato onto plastic trays. Sneakers squealing against linoleum shearing through the indecipherable buzz.

She froze, looking down to find a similar tray gripped in hand. Her feet beginning to fidget under her, she discovered that she too was in a pair of squeaky sneakers.

I definitely wasn't wearing sneakers before-

After whipping her head from side to side, Astarion's face not among any that blurred into her line of sight, she shut her eyes and tried reaching out with the tadpole. It gave a little kick as it stirred, but remained otherwise stagnant.

She could, at the very least, still sense him somewhere near by, but the signal was frayed, preventing the integral method of communication they relied on when separated.

Still, she tried calling his name, but it only rebounded back. Reverberating throughout her tender skull like the whack of a ping-pong ball to the paddle, and only making it half as far, as it stayed contained within her own head. Such as when dreams rend one mute, she cried out for him, but the futile attempts bounced around the walls of her cranium, trapped. Useless. Unable to connect with him in order to guide him to her position, or likewise, make her way to his.

Oh this is so not good.

Without a single clue to where she was, or Astarion's whereabouts, her anxiety began to mount as every face she searched was one more she didn't recognize.

Until she turned her attention to her company at the table around her.

No way... Not a chance. This is absolutely not happening-

Ofelia wasn't in the middle of just any high-school cafeteria. Ofelia was in the Forks High cafeteria. Of Forks, Washington. In 2008.

The more she looked, the less real the situation felt, though nothing could have been further from the truth. This wasn't a dream, or an illusion. Hard plastic sat beneath her, as more hard plastic in a band wove through her hair at the crown of her head. When she looked down at herself, her eye met a mossy-green buttoned shirt, one boxy, and not particularly flattering, hugged against her full chest.

One not of her wardrobe, and certainly not what she had put on that morning before she and Astarion set out.

What the fuck-

"Hey, Mikey, you met my home-girl Bella!"

Ofelia shifted in her seat with a cringe.

Was the writing always this abysmal?

"My girl." An assertion puffed against the side of her face by an unidentified third male, the lips of whom then mashed against her cheek in a hasty kiss.

She whipped around on instinct to see - the name Tyler maybe sounded right? - duck away in an infantile, tugging-the-pigtail-of-a-cute-girl hit and run. Though not before pulling Mike's chair out from under him, sending him to the ground in a thud. The table jostled as he tried to catch himself against it before he did.

She watched with wide eyes and a tingling cheek, as Mike scrambled from the scuffed linoleum to bound after Tyler as he booked it away.

"Oh my God," Anna Kendrick - Ofelia couldn't for the life of her remember her character's name, and the fact that she was reeling didn't help in her frantic recall - tittered, as she took Mikey's place right next to her. "It's like, first grade all over again and you're the... shiny new toy." Her tone pinched nasal and worked into a purposeful, monotonous apathy to mimic the stereotype that plagued all teens in the early aughts.

Oh... the writing was really that abysmal.

Ofelia was fortunate, she supposed, to be plopped into a scene of the story where Bella was stunned into silence, floundering just as much. At least her own was masked that way.

"Smile!" Came from across the table in a soft, sing-song lilting. With a click, an abrupt flash cinched Ofelia's pupils in tight constriction, and pulled them crossed.

The blinding strobe of the camera covered up her wince, as the dormant tadpole then spasmed to attention.

A familiar wriggle tugging behind the eye drew both of hers in the direction of an even more familiar face. Pale and stern, red eyes broiling with bewilderment. Her mouth popped open to-

-What, tell him to stick to the script that he doesn't know? We're gonna cause a lot of fucking confusion if you don't call me Bella, by the way-

Not even given the chance to begin, Astarion barked out her name with the coarse vexation of a parent looking to wrangle a wayward toddler in a shopping mall.

"Ofelia!"

It cleaved through a gaggle of teens holed up near the cafeteria's entrance, parting them for him to stalk through as he tore down the connecting hallway. Necks craned and smirking, they whispered amongst themselves, awaiting the scene they expected to follow.

She heard a soft, collective gasp behind her as he marched towards her. Clambering out of her seat to meet him, he was on her before she even so much as stood up. Looming before her as if he owned her, a wild gleam ignited outward from his exploded pupil.

Distracting her from the outrageous sight of Astarion in jeans that she would have otherwise delighted in.

"What in the fresh hells is going on? Where are we? Why is everyone calling me Edward? What are you-," his tirade ground to a halt as his eyes settled to her legs. The full hips and shapely thighs he so adored wrapped by clinging denim, it bared her curves in full. No imagination or fond reminiscing required. A single of his arrogant brows lifted, appreciation reigned his snarling breathless. "...wearing?"

Ofelia collapsed into him with the strength of her grateful exhale, twisting his shirt into her hands. Clinging to his chest like lovers reunited.

His nostrils twitched with an inaudible snort, taking great effort to mold his features into something more hospitable. Something that better matched his joy at having found her. Like shadow as it bends to light, the aggravation bled into relief. Dappled through, vibrant and glittering.

The smile she angled his way could best be described as sappy. "I never thought I'd be so happy to be on the receiving end of your murderous gaze."

Reaching between them to cup her hips, his next snort was audible, though his expression was pained. "Is this... are we in your home?"

"No! God, no...," she winced, a placative face he understood as one used to smooth over an unpleasant, half-truth. "-well, I mean uh-,"

"Ofelia." He warned, though not before his ear - an ear rounded, like hers - picked up on the hushed remark from the single man seated at the table.

He leaned in to the woman with glasses across from him as he tried, and failed, at discretion. "She lied about her name being Bella?"

"Why are you calling yourself Bella?" Astarion accused, his tone raised an octave. "Are you the reason why everyone here seems to be under the impression that I'm Edward?"

The seated trio watched on, shameless and open with their eavesdropping.

That is, if you could call Astarion yelling right in front of them as such.

"Uh, I'm sorry d'you... do you guys know each other?" What's-her-face Anna Kendrick scoffed from her seat. Astarion scowled from over Ofelia's shoulder, her hands pressing to his chest as if that would make him behave himself.

"And what concern is that of yours, my dear?" Her mouth hung open with the full weight of her dropped jaw. "Hoping to catch many flies, are you? Please do close that mouth."

A scoff lodged at the back of her throat, Astarion's snip of undue lethality had her swallow it. The man who had been next to Ofelia choked on his laughter, while the other woman sucked her lips inward. Quivering with the threat of a giggle all her own.

A shrill ringing then blared from overhead. Ofelia didn't blink, though Astarion's head snapped back to gauge the source of the unholy shrieking, bracing himself for what was no doubt an aerial strike from this worlds version of a Harpy.

"Oh, oh honey-it's okay, it's alright." Fussing like a doting mother, she dropped a hand from his chest to squeeze his arm. She softened her tone in attempts to make her explanation less patronizing. "It's only a bell, it's used to let everyone know lunch is over, and it's time to get back to class."

Blinking, his gaze floated back to find hers, digesting her words with labored understanding. "How very... unpleasant."

She concurred with a solemn nod. "Mm. No shortage of that in a high school."

With lunch coming to a close, they watched as the students shuffled out the cafeteria - all the while the relevant, supporting cast scrutinized them with just suspicion - before the two were left alone at last.

Ofelia's palms resettled to the hard planes of his chest, afraid the moment she let go, she'd lose him again. Caught in a surge of questions still unanswered that gnawed at her with anxiety, it still wasn't enough to distract her from his hair.

Soft white curls held hostage by pomade, the up-swept tips looked as if they'd crunch between her fingers if she tried running them through.

"So, our tadpoles sort of work and sort of don't, we know that much." She began. "Where were you, by the way? I expected to see you first thing, I mean I was literally right behind you."

"As did I." He twisted to point to the Cullen-Hale table, a few feet away beneath the windows. "The next thing I knew, I was standing over there, swarmed by a group of... oh, I don't know, nymphs? Unnervingly attractive but utterly inutile, the lot of them. I overheard one suggest they fetch some Carlisle fellow. Do you know who that is?"

"Yeah, I know who Carlisle is." Ofelia snorted despite herself. "Uh, they're not - they're vampires, Star."

His mouth opened and closed several times, with only the sound of stalled breath. His gaze then narrowed.

"You told me the only vampires in your world were the fictitious sort."

"Okay, so... I don't really know how to say this in a way that'll make sense, so... I'm just gonna give it to you straight." She sighed, before then reciting her deduction as best she felt she understood it. "I think that portal stuck us in the middle of a movie from my world. That's why people think we're Bella and Edward, they're sort of the main characters of this one."

Licking her lips with a straight face, she took to brushing his shirt for lint that wasn't there. Astarion stared at her, his expression unreadable.

When finally he next spoke, it was a question; in the form of a single word.

"Movie?"

Ofelia froze.

Oh... right. Oh my God.

"Uh... so... my world has these things, they're like, plays? But on a much larger scale. They're captured with cameras, kind of like the one on my phone that I've shown you before, but a lot more elaborate, a lot heavier duty. A bunch of actors are directed, their scenes are recorded by those cameras, and then those recordings get...-"

She noticed her hands raised in vague gestures, as if somehow accomplishing what he words failed to convey. He looked at her like she was crazed, but otherwise stayed quiet.

"-stitched together, to create sort of a play that you watch later. On a screen."

She never had to explain what a movie was before. The confusion on his face didn't express whether or not she had been successful.

"Are you suggesting that none of this is real?"

"I don't know! I mean, I don't think so? But...," her fingers slipped back up his chest to hook around his collar-bone, feeling the weight of him. His body rigid, and as cold as she knew it to be. The cashmere of his shirt buttery against her palms. "I don't know, it feels real."

"C'mon Astarion, what's the worst that'll happen?" He snipped, in a feminine warble to mimic her. "Honestly. I should have expected as much."

"Yeah, yeah," she pulled away from him with a wrinkle of her nose. "I was wrong, and I'll never drag you through another mysterious woodland portal ever again. There, happy?" Hands balling to fists at her hip, she then harped. "And I don't sound like that, by the way!"

"What now, darling? We just pop on back through to the other side? I don't even see the bloody thing!"

"I know, I know-," she waved, looking around the cafeteria to see if one hadn't materialized while they bickered. "-there's gotta be one somewhere. We just have to find it."

Another horrendous noise jolted the vampire out of his skin, and his head whipped to try and source it. Brows drawn, he pointed to what was surely a foul beast by the way he sneered.

"What the hells is that?"

Ofelia followed the direction of his finger through the closest window, to see an old conversion van, whose body was more rust than paint. It's muffler evidently sick, it lurched with a grinding wheeze, a black plume spluttering from the tailpipe.

Her lips quirked, about to toss out something cute like oh, that's like a horse, but metal! Before she could, it rumbled away, revealing the mirror hidden behind where it parked.

"Oh! Look!" Identical to the first, it rested against the trunk of a tree. Unassuming as it was out of place, the ornate frame glimmered from the streaked sunlight breaching the cloud cover, as if winking at them. "Wow, that's lucky."

Astarion's gaze narrowed with a click of his tongue. "Hm. A suspicious luck, as it were."

Astarion and Ofelia both turn to look at you.

Nestled within his armchair sat before a crackling hearth, Raphael guides his spectacles down the bridge of his nose. A similar, unimpressed look reveals itself beneath the flames flicker, as the tip of his finger finds the last sentence, keeping his place in the story.

Really, my dear. That's just lazy story telling.

Ofelia's impulsivity kicked into overdrive. "Okay, let's go-,"

"Darling!" He chuckled, more rueful than merry. "Have you already forgotten the days lesson?"

She threw her hands up in surrender. "You got a better idea? I'm all ears!" She waited, allowing him just a few moments to stew. "Unless you want to stay here and deal with getting cock-blocked by Jacob for the unforeseeable future."

"Jacob?"

"Yeah." She crossed her arms over her chest. "The werewolf."

He stiffened. "There are werewolves here?"

"Yes sir."

He rubbed circles into both temples, his eyes squeezed shut as he groaned. "The mirror it is, then."

"Listen, if it was the way in, then it's gotta be the way out, right?" Ofelia grabbed his hand before beginning to walk backwards, leading him towards the exterior exit.

He allowed her to pull him along, though his frown didn't budge. "Right..."

"We should just, scope it out, at least."

Once at the glass door, Ofelia turned and pushed it open, met with a gust of chilled air, damp from a fresh rain. Propping it up with her free hand, she stepped over the threshold, only for her shoulder to rebound with a pop, when the hand she tried to guide out refused to follow.

"Are you quite mad?" He scoffed, recoiling at her continued attempt to pull him out with her. "Need I remind you of what happens to my kind upon sun exposure?"

She blinked at him. "Uh... but the tadpole-,"

"-offers protection in our world, yes. From which we are far removed."

"Well-," she stammered. "I mean our connection still works, sorta, so why not the protection?"

"I'd rather not blister beyond recognition in effort to test that theory, if it's all the same to you."

It then struck her. A memory unlocked from the depths of her youth, back from when she had watched any of the Twilights last.

A giggle fought it's way up her throat, one she strangled just in time. Though it tweaked her lips to a smarmy grin, gradual and giddy, such as a child with a secret. She pressed her lips together in attempt to combat it's domination, but it deepened nonetheless.

His expression contorted in a mixture of weariness and skepticism, his eyes narrowed to slits.

"What."

"Uh-well," she choked on a rogue snigger that escaped from the prison of her tightened throat. "Listen, you'll be fine. I promise." She forced her face straight. "The uh, rules for vampires are pretty different here. The sun won't hurt you."

Eyes bulging, he gasped in either disbelief, or excitement. Both made her feel sorry for him, and the misguided envy welling at the center. "Impossible."

"Come on, trust me." She tugged his hand in a way that crushed even his weakest bid for retaliation, and drew him out onto the wet blacktop. "You know I wouldn't push you if I thought you'd actually get hurt."

With a death-grip on her hand, he stepped out into the daytime, and seized. His face screwed around a glower, eyes sealed tight. Ofelia sighed as he remained locked.

Steeling himself to the consigned fate of frying from the inside out, in what was sure to be a fantastic display of charred skin dissolved, and an acrid stench. He waited.

And waited.

The two of them stood there, waiting hand in hand, for his impending demise. Before he peeked through one eye, and then peeled open the other.

There was no smoke. No flames. No split flesh.

This all transpired beneath the shelter of thick cloud cover, however.

He cleared his throat, dropping her hand with a terse nod. His jaw tilted with returned cockiness, signaling her that their route to the mirror was permitted to resume.

They made it not halfway through the lot before it happened.

Behind a row of generic sedans and pick-up trucks of muted colors, the clouds drifted apart, and sunlight flooded through. A single ray touched down like a spot light, catching him square in the middle.

"OFELIA-,"

With the strangled yowling of a cat whose tail caught underfoot, she turned to see him stricken with bewildered regard to his arms and hands. His ivory flesh then a prism, it caught and fractured the sunlight, scattering it outward like the surface of a diamond. Or a disco ball. "W-what-?"

A seriously incensed, handsome disco ball.

"It's-," her throat caught on laughter, just barely clipped in time. "It's just what your kind does here."

"Wh-shimmer? We SHIMMER?" His lips curled in a sneer around the bleated verb. The acknowledgment of his state alone a grave faux pas he dare not utter aloud. One worthy of the fiercest humiliation.

"Mm, I prefer sparkle." She rushed to smooth over the open-mouthed scoff her light jab ruffled. "Astarion you've never looked more beautiful."

Eyes wide, his tone quivered with the full breadth of offense that threatened to spring through the splinters of his composure. Though, when she looked closer, she could determine he was more stunned, than angry in earnest.

"This is a bastardization of the highest degree." He stressed, his hands joining in with emphatic gesticulation. "We are creatures of the night because the sunlight rejects us, punishes our very existence. We, do not, sparkle."

"Uh-huh."

"Terrifying, Ofelia." His spine erect, his offense then born from her amusement to his predicament. "We are to be feared."

"Yes."

"Gods." He hissed, spitting the expletive like a foul taste. "To think I ever scorned spontaneous combustion."

She shook her head with a grin. "So dramatic."

Though the discovery posed a very real dilemma. Whatever worlds of her fiction they hopped to, it was evident the tadpoles magic was stretched thin, and by extension, so was it's protection.

They could suffer, potentially, very real injuries as per the given realms rules if they weren't careful.

Lacing her fingers with his, she continued towards the mirror. Shining even in the overcast haze, the picture housed within was muted, and grey. Sharp corners and angular structures, Ofelia recognized enough of it to know it wouldn't lead to anywhere within Faerûn.

However the idea of scouring all of Forks for a potential second mirror, in hopes it would be the one back, was none too appealing.

She squeezed her hand around his to keep them tethered. Her thought being; when they entered separately and materialized separately, then maybe, if they passed through together - they would stay together.

Ofelia plunged her free hand through. Followed by her left foot, and then her right, tugging Astarion in toe.

He eyed their dreary, suburban surroundings one last time as he followed her inside, soured with a grimace, and a furrowed brow.

"Why does everything look so blue?"

Enveloped by the glamor, it pushed them through a tunnel without end.

Anemic black and white pixelation, and the drone of nondescript white noise absorbed their consciousness, as well any and all sensation. Touch, sight, smell. They simply melted into the current as it swept them up, and carried them along.

It took a lifetime. It happened within fractions of a second.

One moment they were standing in a damp parking lot in a mid afternoon Forks, Washington, and the next, it was late evening.

Alas, not late evening in the comfort of Faerûn. A possibility accepted before they tumbled down the rabbit hole, it was one greeted with the same amount of vexation from Astarion.

Until he laid his eyes on Ofelia, that is.

A storm raged in silence as it poured from the black of a midnight sky. Wind howling, rain drops streaked the foggy glass panes, as cracks of lightning tore through the cover of night.

Ofelia's nose twitched against the odor of must, stale and undisturbed. Masking the chemical, and medicinal that laid in wait beneath, until it slipped through and rushed her with her next breath. A stagnate, innocuous odor to a room she had yet to recognize. Metal structures and cold, tactical equipment, inimical with desaturation.

Her third breached her immediate proximity, as she was then pulling the notes of wet grass and soil through the cracks around the doors, and windows. The pungency of Earth as the rain stripped it clean.

Every inhale was dizzying. Her lungs stretched around aviolei that tingled, as if strengthening with every gulp of air fed. Forceful expansion. Necessity. Perfecting. Able to scent something different, and with startling accuracy, from each pass that sifted through the tangle.

Her eye focused to a spot on the wall before her without the conscious effort on her part to do so. An amorphous, faded stain no larger than her pinky nail, it had drawn her attention like it was a gaping hole punched through the drywall.

Her skin prickled, feeling colder than she'd ever been. A heart pumped a natural rhythm behind her breast, though she felt chilled, as if not a lick of warmth wove through the attached arterial structures.

She felt... new. Her senses heightened, more precise, though she wasn't yet adjusted to the fine-tuning. Flooded by everything at once, with no real sense of navigation, or control over the input. An erratic burst of panic threatening the steadiness of her heart, her next inhale saw it eased just as sudden.

The aroma of rosemary musk, a gentle hand outstretched to a spooked filly. She breathed him in deep, until the brandy burned a trail down her throat, and warmed her stomach. She could hear the measure of a slower palpitation thudding from Astarion behind her; harmonizing the wind and the rain beyond the walls, and the far off thunder closing in with every rumble.

Her nostril flared beneath its piercing as she continued to inhale his signature from the air, like a sedative to quell her agitation. She never thought scent could be so powerful. Ushering it in by the lungful until they ached against the depth of him, heady and unrefined.

A yet unidentified tang bubbled through it. A cloying, tinny undercurrent.

Ofelia continued to sniff the air for any and every last trace of him, until she then faced him, as following his trail spun her around to where he was seated. Knowing he was near from the start, it didn't prevent her exhaled relief upon finding him. Not to mention the satisfaction on a theory proven correct.

Entering together saw them reemerge together.

He had been watching her. Curiosity still lingered in the fine lines of his face, suggesting a weak hunch denied. He stood up to meet her as she closed the short distance between them, each taking that moment to size up the other.

A plain, black t-shirt clung to his figure. His curls limp and lengthened, the strands held to a grit in the style of late 90's, early 2000's grunge. A far cry from his typical presentation, she couldn't deny it was one that suited him. Long, elegant elf ears were noticeable in that they were nonexistent. Gone again were the ethereal points of cartilage that should have jut through his lax mane.

In the absence of proper dark, Ofelia noticed his eyes were stripped of their hazy smolder. The lighting muted and dingy, it was only in a flash of illumination from lightning did she notice they weren't red at all - but golden.

Astarion got a good eyeful of her in that same streak of light, and once his eyes adjusted to their new, dim environment, satisfaction split his grin wide.

"Oh." He breathed with palpable approval, his words purred a heady velvet. "I quite like this one."

Her bronze complexion and glossy locks untouched, they fell to a blunt edge just above her shoulders, and tousled to purposeful disarray. Glancing down, Ofelia was greeted by glistening black that swathed her curves.

In clinging latex from the neck down, a body-suit shone like wet ink in the light, and dissolved into the dark once touched by shadow. In tandem with the onyx of her hair, she'd blend into the cover of night, should she want to move through it.

Just as any Death Dealer should.

Like the shock of a rogue wave breaking over head, Ofelia then understood where they were. Why she felt misplaced in her own skin.

And oh, for all it's ruthless discomfort, Selene's suit hugged Ofelia's figure like it was actually made for her instead.

Her fingers explored her full figure, newly packaged in the sleek exterior. Astarion's eye traced along with her trail, a hot leer searing shameless his wake.

"Oh my God, we're in Underworld!" She bounced on her toes in a way that jostled her breasts to distraction. His grin turned lopsided as it grew.

"I've no idea what that means." The strain of the corsets top around her chest notwithstanding, Astarion's ogling bulged with agony and appreciation in equal measure. The cut of her neckline plunged in deliberate invitation, one he fast obliged. "Though, I am beginning to rethink my stance on theism."

He had long since buried the memory of arousal's pull when he was but a mortal. He had forgotten just how potent, and insistent it staked its claim of weakened flesh, and blood. He regarded the warmth returned to his groin like an old friend.

Surely at least one God existed to find himself placed in such a scenario.

The doe-eyed incredulity she flashed him regrettably went without the pink sheen of her cheeks, the reaction he loved best, before he noticed them stretch in the dawning of another revelation.

"Oh-ohhhhh, wait a sec." Tonguing her canine, she laved the tip of it against the sharpened tine she suspected would be there. "I have something I think you're gonna like even more."

To his expectant pause, her pouty lips peeled back to bare her teeth in full, flashing him her fangs with a playful grin.

His eyes enlarged, so gradual it could almost be missed; his pupils blown wider and wider, as if two splotches of ink spilled onto the irises.

If a dial-up tone piped from his ears, Ofelia wouldn't have been the least bit surprised.

Reaching forward to cup her face with a single hand, his thumb swept over her upper lip to rub against the tooth as it glinted in the luminescence. As if the physical contact would be what ensured him of their legitimacy. It pushed back against his press solid and slick, seeking to prove itself genuine with as much eagerness as he employed in testing it.

Dragging down it's length, daintier and smaller than his own, it was no less lethal. The tip snagged against his pad in it's exploratory graze, not enough to break skin, but enough to express that she'd be able to sink them into the meat of his throat with ease.

To mark him as hers, just as he had done with her so many times before.

Feeling the weight, the sting of her little fang - Ofelia's fang - roused a deep ache to tingle from the complimentary scars puncturing the side of his neck. One that yanked in tandem with the low, dull pulse threading through his groin.

Earth boys are easy.

"Oh..." rushed from him, low and breathless.

A surge of pride with how taken he was by her fangs, her gaze wandered to his parted lips, and that's when she noticed it. The top row of his teeth, blunt. His canines without their signature ferocity.

"Ohh... Oh! You're Michael!" Her pointy smile drawn into abrupt worry, she pulled away from his hands, whipping around in search of the gold framed glass. "Oh we gotta go."

"What? No, wait-" He whined, clutching at her wrist and forearm while stepping backwards, receding to a dark corner. "Must we rush off this very instant?"

"You don't understand, we need to find that mirror and get out of here, they're hunting you specifically."

That made him take pause, though he continued to tuck them against the wall. "What's so threatening about some mortal?"

"Because he's not- you see, he's..." she stumbled through the holes in her memory, though the way he dragged her into his body, with a smirk of one who wasn't really listening, worsened her stutter. "I-It's complicated, it's a whole thing. But it's been a minute since I've watched this one- I don't know where in the movie we are, which means we really, really should be going."

"Don't tell me you've lost your sense of adventure now." Through an exaggerated pout he protested, tugging at her arms childlike and incessant. "Need I remind you that is how we've ended up here, after all."

She groaned. "Astarion-,"

He could feel her resolve weakening, her struggle against his hold begrudging, yet calmed.

"Come and play, little vampire." He dropped his voice into his chest, a smoky octave that pulled her stomach down around her knees. In a purr that was both coaxing and needy, his eyes shone like golden embers. "Bite me?"

"What-,"

"Just one bite." He urged, doing his level best to be suave and silken, when really the thought of Ofelia latched at his neck and gulping had him woozy.

"I-," her body must have been every bit as committed to the role of Selene, for even just the thought had her gums itching around the base of her protruding teeth. Her stomach writhed in the beginnings of an aching, voided hunger. A curl from which broke free to reach deeper, a flicker of arousal then stirred to full pelvic flutters. "Star..."

"I want you to know what it's like." He pleaded, now all but whimpering in his desperation. "Please? You cannot tell me you're not the least bit curious."

"I don't... I-I-,"

His palms closed around the small of her back, leveraging her to press flush against him. "No need to be shy, Felia... I'll guide you through it."

Everything in her warned against stealing such an indulgence, but she couldn't find it within herself to resist the temptation. A vampire's blood-lust, she was fast discovering, was a difficult lure to raise above.

Cupping her face, he swept his thumb along her cheekbone nurturing, the weight and tenderness in his gaze reassuring the anxiousness in her own. Dispelling every last, remaining trace of retaliation, as he melted her into him by his touch.

Where he was warmth, and yearning, Ofelia was a raw nerve. Sparking and crackling electric within his hold.

Her very irises jolted him, fierce and imploring; an unending, soulful hue of umber.

Those orbs of hers that many a time prior pinned him rigid, and zipped through his being crown to sole. That roused a brief, but salient squeeze to twitch around the organ in his chest, one long since dormant. A trick of his haunted mind, that the twinkle in her eye alone was enough to make him tick.

Those very eyes that were then washed away with a blink.

Ofelia as he knew her stood trembling before him, and when next she peered up at him, he was bore into by a brilliant shock of tourmaline blue. A shade unlike he had ever seen, they seemed to pulsate with energy. The tips of her fangs peeking from beneath her lip as it quivered.

A fledgling huntress succumbing to her needs, the sort Astarion was all too gleeful to lure out in full. Still, she shook in his grasp, reaching for him to paw at his shirt with coltish fumbling. Skittish in touching him, in taking from him something he offered without constraint.

"Oh, my sweet girl. I know how much you need it." He cooed, admiring the magicked quality in which her eyes glowed beneath her heavy lids, and lowered lashes. "I know how it must ache inside."

His silver tongue gilded his insults and seduction alike; be it sharpened or sultry, his words were chosen with care, and wielded to devastation. Where Ofelia was concerned, that tongue of his was well-versed in her weak spots. Having sourced her exploits long ago, all he had to do was press into them.

"You've always taken such good care of me, let me return the favor." His finger-tips swept across her chin, before nudging her upper lip to get a good look at her right fang again. "Let me teach you... let me show you how good it feels."

"You really... have a way of... making it sound s-so," swallowing a whine, she leaned into his touch as he rubbed the ripple of gum around the root of her canine, stimulating it to throb for him. "Hedonistic."

He chuckled, a smoked baritone that curved down her spine and coiled between her hips.

"Oh but my darling, it is." He guided her hand down below his waist. Molding her smaller palm around the stiffening bulge, he gasped at the contact. "An aspect you are far more familiar with than most."

Ofelia, at times, liked to tease him for his yapping. Though now she could have thanked all the Gods of both his world and hers, that he was so taken with the sound of his own voice, for it was all that kept her anchored to the moment.

With a whimper, she groped him with a gentle pressure and quivering hand. Saliva pooling around her tongue, her gum line pulled against her flexing bite, tight and tender.

"I saw you scenting the air, you precious thing. You could smell that I was near." He delighted in how unfocused her gaze fluttered, needful as the arch in the small of her back that fit her front to his. "Something else as well, no? Something new?"

The underlying fragrance to his familiar musk, the thick spice of ambrosia, was the blood pulsing hot in his veins.

"I always wandered what it might be like, to guide a spawn through their first time." He mused aloud. "It really is such a delicate moment... almost virginal, wouldn't you agree?"

Somewhere, deep in the clouded recesses of her rationale, there was a spark of insolence that wanted to roll her eyes, or goad him for how overt his rambling. But she was already too far gone. Locked in some sort of trance by how demanding the hunger washed through her.

And he could see it.

Her eyes dialed to the pulsation of his carotid beneath fair skin, the quickened beat of his heart. The tempo of blood flowing through it, as it lulled her subdued. She licked her lips, all but nicking her tongue against her own fangs.

Swaying on her feet, the nagging anticipation puppeted her forward, as her mind blanked. As unacquainted with her strength as she was her improved senses, Ofelia's movement mimicked a foal wobbling through her first steps. The sight clenched around his borrowed heart.

Sliding down the wall to catch his weight on bent knees, he steadied her against him as she pushed to her tip-toes, craning her neck to get at his. The first puff of her breath to his skin warped his vision, swimming and speckled. Throat raw, it stripped the velvet from his voice, oozing from him much more ragged, and feverish.

"Close your eyes, and steady your breaths. Let yourself feel it."

Her tongue darted out to swipe over the sinew, pulled taut from how he stretched it for her, granting her easier access. A quiet moan escaped him before his lips pulled apart in a grin, jaw slackening. Another moan lingering at the back of his throat, the quick lap of her tip over his scars strangled it coarse and stuttered.

Licking a dainty, wet trail over his warm flesh, he felt her breaths quicken with her chests constricting. Nuzzling and nipping, she sought his vein like a newborn rooting at her mothers chest, precious with inexperience. Impatient. Fumbling, and eager.

"There you are." He swallowed thick, crooning, "That's my girl... if you still yourself, and listen, you'll find it... give yourself to instinct, darling."

Ofelia's ears roared with the vacant blood circulated by her galloping heart. She sniffed and whimpered at his throat, struggling to still herself against how loud her inhuman perception fed her new information. Every scent, every sound, every sensation, all vying for her attention. Astarion must have sensed it in her frustration.

Long, dexterous fingers knotting at the back of her head in a tender squeeze, he maneuvered her into place, the tip of her nose crushed to the exact patch of skin she sought. Warm and soft and thin, the strength of his aroma buckled her knees and closed her throat over. Her fangs buzzed with how they ached.

Once she sunk in, and his blood bubbled up against her gums, her vision exploded white.

A low, breathy groan of his hitched against her lips before it hummed out into the air, encouraging her to continue. As she began to pull, disjointed and hesitant at first, she eased into him once both hands joined to cradle the back of her head. All ten fingers thread her raven locks, mussing them further in his euphoria.

"There she is..." he sighed, dropping his head back against the wall. He pet her hair, resting his eyes while she suckled. "Take it all, little love. As much as you desire."

His taste was indescribable, and Ofelia couldn't seem to get enough. She siphoned from him like she had lived an existence starved. Every swallow was divine, but it only teased satiation, instead of granting it.

Through her daze she became aware of his hands, abandoning her hair to explore down her body. One only went so far as scuffing her by the nape, more so to keep her still, instead of pry her off, while the other dipped low. The pads of his fingers gliding over her black glossed curves, to settle at the apex of her thighs.

If ever there was an entrance to be found, it didn’t stand a chance against her cunning rogue. A slight pull, followed by a tug, Ofelia was then unzipped between her legs with a seam in the suit that not even she herself knew existed.

A deftness that carried over, no matter who he impersonated, or what world they were dropped off in. His spidery digits helped themselves to her heat, widening the opening of the suit with his knuckles to give himself more room.

The instant he brushed her slit, feeling how hot it was to his press, how slick, he felt her stutter at his neck in a keening whine. Wet and wanting while she sucked straight from his vein. He groaned back at her.

"You're wet." A declaration knotted thick from the back of his throat, his heft gave a stiff kick against the binding denim of his jeans. "Oh, aren't you a treat."

Her fangs popped from his neck as he began to swirl betwixt her swollen petals with his middle finger, up her seam before sinking within her groove. The hand at the back of her neck twitched in re-adjustment, lining her back to his new set of punctures.

"No, darling, don't stop." He sounded as strained as he felt, his wounds stinging in neglect to the exposure of the air.

Not needing further dictation than that, she reattached herself an inch lower so she could steady her boots flat beneath her, planted to the ground. Though not before she soothed the ache of his first wound, closing the holes with the pink of her tongue, and the onset of coagulation.

A vampire for all of fifteen minutes, she was a quick study. Astarion would be remiss to not pay due credit to how well-suited she was to the role of nocturnal mistress.

Never in his wildest, unbidden fantasies had he ever considered this turn of events.

Ofelia, his plucky bard who traveled both time and space, a vampire.

Latching herself at the throats of the unsuspecting and seduced, turning her innocent charms and syrupy-sweet approachability as a means for satiation, and survival.

Of course none of it was real, not really. Both to his disappointment, and gratitude. He couldn't imagine condemning her to such an existence. The selfishness in him could have kept her for an eternity, but the intrusion of guilt was not one of which he was strong enough to stave for long.

Her next bite choked his groan, throaty and huffed. His index finger joined in his toying, spreading the drizzle of her honey around her swollen sex, and dipping the full width of two fingers to prod her entrance. It twitched against them in frantic coercion to edge inside, to ease the sore emptiness with his stretch.

Her grip was like a vice, though with how sticky and needful she was reduced made his intrusion as near to seamless as possible. Her cinched velvet convulsed in her haste to accommodate him, penetrating her molten core to the joint of his first knuckle, and then to the next, as he worked them in.

Once hilted, he gave her but a moment to settle the slender protrusion within her, before he hooked forward. Grazing the spongy patch inside that made her flinch and howl like a woman possessed. She bucked into his cupped palm, a little tilt of her pelvis as she rolled herself into his hold, the crook of his neck muffling her pinched whine.

Her fangs burrowed in a searing sting that pulled a hiss through his grin. It was in that moment that he began to thank each and every God whose name he could recall.

Coaxing her apart, feeling the deep, steady pulls in tandem with the strength of her wrapped around his digits. He withdrew to just his first knuckle, before pumping them back in, an attentive rhythm in and out. Spreading his fingers as he passed them through, pushing her tightness to a less suffocating fit.

By the fifth time, his thumb had sought her sensitive pearl, firm and raised through the drapes of her womanhood. He swiped along the sticky shine with an initial pass that was feather light. Her nails scratched raised welts to his skin through his t-shirt, lifting to her toes once more to better rock into his hold.

Fingers curled within her heat, he worked to knead her ache, to rub her neediness from the inside, while he traced her bud in similar persuasion.

Her mind near to blank, her tight ridges popped his knuckles from the joints as she stuttered and stalled. Breathy, wet whines broke her suction a little more with every roll of her clit beneath his thumb. His noises were no less obscene, sighs lower than she'd ever before experienced.

Ofelia was penetrating him, unrestrained in her submission to the sanguine hunger he appeased, and so he moaned, and crooned accordingly.

"You're so good for me." His sigh misted into the stillness, rumbling and heavy. Soft and coarse all at once. "I've got you, sweetheart."

A low spasm wormed between the points of her pelvis, radiating outward to burrow down to her sex, igniting fire that ravage her in its path.

A new release, for a new version of her. It licked it's way through her increased sensitivity, demanding her offerings of his blood that she drank, his essence she stole. And in return she was gifted a newfound understanding of what he bore, salty and saccharine. An existence exiled to a perpetual ache, that chasing gratification only worsened. The hole widened, but never filled.

A rebirth in the raw, her mouth painted red and her eyes rolled back to show veined whites, and nothing more. When she blinked them back to place, they ignited brilliance like blue solar flares. A tender ache that pooled low in her stomach, it unfurled in a heavy wave throughout her lower half.

Her cream drizzled from her petals to his fist, soaking the grooves the peaks of his sharp knuckles made, as he stretched her two fingers wide, and continued to slither in deep. Riding her through it while she pulsed against him, her swollen nub humming and content.

He had never made her come quite like that before.

She collapsed into his chest, gulping air into her heaving lungs. Her nose twitched to the bombardment of her pheromones now on the air, and the spike of his pre-come, musky and unmistakable. Her head swam against an orgasm that, even once it rolled through, the shock waves still held her hostage. Volts of static that sparked and ricocheted throughout limbs so weighted they felt dead.

Was this what it was like for him every time? The wash of sensations left her raw, and overstimulated in their own right. It was a wonder he could function around the smells of their sex permeating the air, let alone shake off the rigors of an earnest coupling.

Her new hunger for the time appeased, as she mewled at his bloodied neck. Licking every last smear from her swollen pout, tonguing the small punctures she'd gnawed into him, and the droplets just beginning to dry.

Pulling from the plush of her heat he worked taught once more, he stuck his fingers past his lips to suck them of their sheen. The conduction of his thoughtful susurration buzzed against her cheek, still using him for stabilization.

Even here, even afflicted by vampirism, she still melted against his tongue warmed sugar and vanilla.

"W-we should probably," she swallowed, her upper lip catching on her lengthened fangs. Her pupils burst wide against the blue that ringed them in electrification of her lust, "p-probably find our way out."

Astarion's smile curled around his knuckles before he dragged them from his mouth. Tilting his head at her, he then wet the pad of his thumb before using it to wipe at the corner of her mouth.

Eyes still glassy beneath heavy lids, she parted in a wordless request to suck it clean for him. A throb twinging in his swelled groin akin to the sensation of a dropped stomach, he pushed the bloodied digit between her lips.

"After you, my little vampiress."

They traversed mirrors at a rate that made his head spin.

Passing through the tunnel of static and a near ear-drum splitting, distant whine. Astarion was sure he'd hear the noise even in the very deepest of his trances from thereon.

Most hinted the possibility of being the correct one, only for them to be plunged even deeper into Ofelia's fairy-tales.

He experienced no less than three instances and iterations of a character that, according to Ofelia's insistence, was the most famed in her world.

A soul shackled by shadow, one forced to endure the torment of loneliness eternal, his tale subscribed to the formula of his long lost love returned to him through the reincarnations of unattainable, mortal women. On the cusp of seduction, only to dart out of his clutches, like a fawn startled by a snapped twig in the wood.

Though the narratives were faithful to their source, he found that each re-telling seemed to luxuriate in their respective styles.

The first held great appeal for Astarion. Rich, sumptuous attire, sexual tension and tragic yearning, as thick as the fog that blanketed the grounds.

Delightful in it's stewed drama and style. A distinguished man of taste, this Dracula character was.

Astarion came to her in a bed at the crest of night. In a shifting gown so diaphanous, he could trace the full silhouette of Ofelia's curves with his eye. An exercise that almost distracted him from her words of warning.

It didn't help his cause, of course, that he blipped into the world on top of her.

A silken mane of elegantly coiffed waves draped his proud shoulders, he pinned her beneath his weight. She pled for him to listen through breathy pants of his name, fingers knotted in his hair as she writhed. The bedding held her captive to his descent of hunger, and the salvation he promised in the acceptance of his bite.

That was, until she broke free from the haze of his spell, and hollered at him to pay attention. Informing him that there was not just one man standing in his way, but five. One of which being a fiance, and all of them would soon burst into that very bedroom to, in her own charming turn of phrase; "clean his clock."

"Gods, more vampire hunters?" Muffled against her throat, blushed raspberry from the whiskers grown around his mouth, and pricked with love nips. Red and tender, dotting along her humming pulse. He pulled back with a shake of his head. "Does this Dracula never get to rest?"

She gasped underneath him like a wild thing; the pinning of her hair askew, her lips kiss swollen, and gaped. "Not really."

He picked himself up from the bed, yanking her out by the wrist.

He took the time to shed the black silk of his robe and thrust it around her shoulders, unwilling to allow even the roaming eye of one deranged to feast upon the sight of her. Ofelia's tan voluptuousness naked and veiled thin was reserved for Astarion, and Astarion alone.

Stalking through an asylum for the insane was one they hesitated to linger. One ruthless in its sobriety. It spurred them with haste until their mirror was found, tucked away in a supply closet.

The second was a curious one.

A world drained of it's color, he entered this realm and was welcomed by stark black and white. He found himself the dapper figure darkening a doorway, and she the virginal beauty left by her lonesome to the shadows, and what lurked within them.

Ofelia laid in another bed, dolled up and tucked beneath the covers, as if linens would shield her from the lust that would soon ravage her about the neck. One bared in beckoning. Coaxing him hither, with it's intoxicating thrum. Her tresses, still rich and raven black against the pale satin pillows, stopped just beneath her chin, and framed her face in soft ringlets.

Left vulnerable to him in the clutches of her slumber, he then approached, with a flourish of the high-collared cape that fluttered with his every step closer. Astarion climbed onto the bed, the mattress giving beneath the heels of his palms, and knees, as he caged her within them.

The oppressive sultriness, and lavish intricacy of the former was stripped away. Almost purposeful, the bareness of the surroundings bore a sort of quiet romance. It felt familiar, and classic, and in some ways, far more intimate.

He pressed kisses, soft feathering of his lips, up along the ridge of her jaw, and then to each cheek. Kisses that stressed longing, a longing of which Astarion believed both he and Dracula suffered in mutuality.

Whether sleep had truly claimed her, or she was just committed to her role, he felt Ofelia come to life under him, as her mouth curved to a smile beneath his. Her fingers, lovely and nimble and still lacquered pitch, swept up the underside of his torso, exploring the crisp lapels of his tapered waistcoat, to the bow-tie around his neck.

Winding her arms around his shoulders, she melted into the bedding to his urging. Meek and malleable, her surrender absolute.

She looked so pretty to him then. A boyish phrase lackluster when compared to an exquisite creature such as she, but his mind drew blanks to anything more complex, or poetic. Her beauty weaponized to disarmament, he failed her with words befitting her perfection, so he relied on his touch instead.

A touch fine-tuned to her plush body, features full and unapologetic, and decidedly all woman, unhindered even by the contrast of her youth. And how untried she maintained.

She was just so... pretty. Dangerously so. Even without the bounds of her hair, or the pinch of arousal rouging her warm, honeyed skin.

And those wide, eager eyes.

How they glinted up at him, in complimentary yearning. Their depth bursting expressive and clear, even with their lack of pigment.

With the first tease of his fangs scraping up the sinews of her neck, she wove a beautiful melody of his name against the shell of his ear, hushed low to keep it between them. An invitation to sink, to sup, to bound her to him for an eternity, and beyond.

Or for as long as they suspended in the enchantment of grayscale, and string quartet instrumentals.

The next was met with far less grace by Astarion.

A twist on the infamous Count, this one saw him bald and bug-eyed.

Long, spindly fingers with claws cut to an inefficient length. Horrific fangs stuck protruded like buck-teeth through his pale gums. Ill-fitting and comical, they caught on his lips, and muffled his speech.

Ofelia rested in a narrow bed of pretty white lace, and looked a gothic vision. Locks of ink long and whisping, they fanned glimmering around her head like an endless halo. Leaves and flower petals scattered the bedding, a ritualistic ward of protection. Quaint in its ineffectiveness, it no more protected her pretty neck from his bite than rose petals dressing the table of a romantic spread.

Upon their eyes falling to each other for the first time, he couldn't help but leer at the swell of ample bosom, almost spilling from the flimsy gown as it heaved. Her modesty guarded by no more than a thin, sheer dress that rivaled the first, it would have almost, perhaps, distracted him from the grotesque depiction he embodied. Pieced together with what of himself he could discern through touch.

Until he realized the heaving of her chest were shakes of laughter, not lust. He thrust his finger in her face as he haunted her bedside.

Ofelia was laughing.

Astarion looked like the parodied caricature of an otherwise sophisticated breed, and Ofelia was laughing.

"T-This-," he spluttered, "-this is an aberration! Your kind is fortunate we do not deign their miserly existence with our presence, and an undue fortune at that! The mockery that's made of us - appalling, Ofelia! - We are ridding ourselves of this, this lampooning at once!"

Oh, it was a good thing he couldn't see himself.

He ripped away from her with the anticipated degree of theatrics, stalking along the wall to continue his bluster. Whirring passed the window a skulking silhouette, something just beyond the glass stopped him in his tracks. His shouting mounted in its crescendo. "And why are there so many bloody rodents!"

"Uh, I think," now sat up in bed with the blanket pooled in her lap, Ofelia wiped at the corner of her eyes with as much discretion as he could muster. "I think you brought them. I think it's supposed to symbolize the spread of your pestilence-,"

"With RATS?" He whipped back around, hunched and snarling. His features darkened as his glower sunk them deeper into his face. "Is that what your kind believes of us? That we languish in sewers? Ghastly! Not to mention factually inaccurate! Rats. As if- and how pitifully unimaginative!"

"It's... it's just-," her voice quavered around the pesky howl of laughter that kept trying to leap from her throat, stilting every other syllable. The more winded she became, the uglier his scowl grew. "A little artistic liberty-,"

"Artistic liberty indeed!" He all but shrieked. "I do not look like this! Not even the most monstrous of us look as such!" His pacing resumed. "This is vile! This is slander! I will not tolerate a moment more!"

It took everything in Ofelia not to begin wheezing.

Her cheeks numb from an ear to ear grin, she couldn't help it - and she did try. "I mean I always sorta loved this one-"

"You wretch!" Hollered with the same shrill warble of nails to a chalkboard, the echo thundered against the walls of the tiny bedroom. "I've half a mind to leave you to the rats!"

Vanity was truly his Achilles heel.

And Ofelia thought he took the sparkle news bad.

Needless to say, the mirror to leave Werner Herzog's rendition of Nosferatu was found in record time.

Astarion grunted as his back made contact with a hard, sticky ground, and none too gently. Scrambling to get his bearings, he blinked away the disorientation. The imperceptible haze of static that enveloped him each and every tumble through the mirror ebbed into darkness. Darkness that then morphed into surroundings still as foreign as the last, though infinitely more chaotic.

The stench of blood, sweat and sex. Though his senses seemed muddled. So much gore it nearly choked him. Thick on his tongue with every ragged breath, as it was clotted on the back of his throat, the scent was still more subdued than it should have been for him.

His ivory waves as he knew them gone, his new white shag was cut to blunt tufts that framed his face with no style to speak of. Sprawled out on filthy wooden floorboards, he laid there in head to toe black; belted trousers, a vest, and blazer. The white cotton of an undershirt peeking through the only contrast. Eyes an autumnal shimmer yet again, he looked largely the same, save for the thin tendrils of black ink spiking up the left side of his neck.

Something was slotted into his right hand, something sleek, that held a decent weight.

Conflicting screams of agony, and inhuman yowls the symphony of the surrounding hysteria, whatever establishment he had, quite literally fallen into, was smack in the middle of a slaughter. Bodies collided, careened into walls, and impaled on broken furnishings.

Grizzled, thuggish men, bloodied and battered, fought half-naked women. Serpent eyed, fanged women, who tore off limbs and sliced open throats with the expended energy of plucking wings from flies. Frenzied, animalistic streaks of sequin, and vibrant-hued satin on rampage.

Lubricious gore striped up the walls and pooled across the floor, spraying around him with the force and incessance of ocean spray in a typhoon. Blood, and a mysterious green substance that glistened with gem like luster. It crinkled his nose all the same.

One man crawled along the ground to his left, with one of his legs ending half way to the knee in an abrupt pulp of stringy flesh, and the viscera he trailed behind. Just beyond him on top of the bar rail, a blonde vampiress with feathers in her hair crouched over the upper half of another male corpse. His jugular - what was left of it - pinched between her jowls, she shook and sawed her maxillae through the remaining threads of connective tissue that held head to body.

Occupied with what Astarion assumed to be the lower half of him, a half-rotted creature with her human features melted to exaggerated monstrosity, gnashed through the meat of his thigh. Red spurted where she clamped down in a sickening gush of the femoral artery, punctured like a bloated water skin. The longer he looked the more his distaste grew.

Manic music jarred his senses above the commotion, the acoustics suggesting the source was close. He then spotted a band of men; their eyes wicked and faces gnarled - certainly nothing human.

And the leader, his instrument - a lyre?

Oh no, on second thought, it bore suspicious resemblance to a torso. One with the head still attached.

Astarion's features held taut in a grimace. "Well now that's just tacky."

The odor of excessive gore wet and hot against the surfaces it painted, and the stench of muscle exposed to the air through shredded flesh, it all should have been unbearable to his twitching nose, but it wasn't. Just as the raucous cacophony around him should have needled his ear, with how sharp and exact and demanding each, isolated groan and howl should have pierced. Instead, it all melded together into the background. One, great incongruous dissonance to the bombardment of his comparative dulled senses.

That was to say, every sense, except for his sight.

It followed the length of the tan leg attached to the foot pinning him by his chest, bare and arched, a dark lacquer painting the nails. Dragging all the way up to a luscious hip - her hip - dipping in at the waist, and scaling up over the peaks of ample bosom in confirmation that it was indeed Ofelia standing over him. As scantily clad as he had ever seen, even in fantasy.

The constellation of freckles smattering her soft abdomen, plum velvet and gold creased high on her hips in a pair of underthings that pulled one of his brows high. Only for it's pair, a salacious brassiere that pushed and propped her full chest, drew up the other to join it. A gold bangle in the likeness of a serpent coiled around her right bicep, while a thick band collared on her clavicle.

Chaos raged around them. Glass shattered, furniture crashed. Claws shredding flesh from muscle, and muscle from bone. Bodies gurgled and cartilage snapped. The heavy, sopped thudding of limbs torn loose shadowed the screams of those preyed upon, and the screeches of those who preyed.

Through it all, Astarion could do nothing but stare up at her.

A broken, labored sound seethed through his slackened jaw. One drowned from her ear, it rumbled against the ball of her foot, still planted square to his chest.

"Gods above and below." A rush of breath that left him deflated in submission, whistling through his teeth. "Aren't you just a hot meal for the starved."

"Don't even think about it." She warned, eyes wild and tone suffering. "I die in this one, like, almost immediately."

"Oh?" Indignation shot through him in a scoff. "Who'd be stupid enough to destroy a body like yours?"

Her gaze flattened. "You."

With only a dozen questions poised at the tip of his tongue, a tousle beside him encroached on his periphery. A bloodied blur rolled towards them along the ground; a trucker sacrificing his forearms to shield his face from the howling, topless vampiress stuck to him like a tick. A slobbering, jagged maw ripped apart the space of her face where her mouth used to be.

Ofelia leapt back off his chest just in time for him to duck out of the way, twisting himself prone to push up off the ground.

"I'm a bastard." He asserted, once back to his feet. Grabbing her by the arms on instinct, as if to anchor her still. The revolver still comically gripped in his unacquainted hand.

Motion from their left whirling through the air, Astarion pulled her into arms he wound tight around her back. Jerking them both aside, clearing them from the path of a broken pool cue launched like a javelin.

"Yep-," chirped through a cheeky grin, the rest of Ofelia's words ground to a squeak into his chest, as he once more tucked her back into him. Shielding her from a geyser of booze and shards of glass, as a bottle of tequila exploded against the table at her back. Shrinking into his collar, more breathless than before. "Just not a fucking bastard!"

The reference woeful as it was wasted on his ear - a fact that continued to delight her, as it remained unchanged - he flinched as a loud crash sounded from behind them. The sickening, gooey thump of the bartender heaving the split-in-half remains of what used to be another trucker, to the upended chairs below like two fleshy bowling balls to makeshift pins.

Astarion, twisted in their shared embrace to observe the grotesque display, muttered in Elvish before then turning back to face her. "I don't suppose you know your way through this debauchery?"

Bouncing her gaze, bright and frenzied, through all the ruthless dismemberment proved her search for the mirror futile. Until a vampiress pounced on the back of an unsuspecting biker, and drove them headfirst into the side of the bar, to reveal the store-room door behind where he once stood.

"I think through there, maybe." Astarion followed the direction of her pointed finger with an arched brow. "I mean, it was sort of important in the movie, and it's nowhere out here."

A severed head spun sideways at their feet. The emphasis of the mirrors absence out in the fray with them was received as both a blessing, and a curse.

"Well, no time like the present, as they say." Detaching from Ofelia just far enough to collect her hand, Astarion shifted in front of her, as he began to lead them through the brawling thicket.

Their destination halfway across the room from where they stood, they didn't make it more than a few feet, before a hungry, unoccupied vampiress caught wind of his presence.

Leaping before them, she hunkered low, wound and ready to spring forth. To see him spurt and splutter at the vein, one ripped open beneath the tines of her bite. Fangs bared, and slick with anticipatory drool to do that just.

Spine stiffening beneath his jacket as she and Astarion sized each other up, Ofelia peeked out from behind the cover of his body. The vampiress spit at him in a hiss; something warped and ferocious, the disconcerting warble of two different voices competing for ascendancy.

On instinct, Astarion hissed back.

With all the clipped, deadened ferocity of a domesticated house cat standing down a mountain lion.

If Ofelia was even just a hair less panicked, she would have giggled into his jacket.

Tonguing his canines as a bite failed to extend from his human maxillary, Ofelia stepped out from behind him. With a hand sliding up his arm, her tone gentle and meek as she informed him. "Oh, honey, you're... not a vampire in this one."

Having deduced as much on his own, he couldn't help the disappointed sigh. Not from being stripped of abilities he was more comfortable in, but because he had made himself a fool in doing so.

"No?"

"No." She guided him to step behind her with an arm swept around his abdomen, another role reversal of their dynamic in which he was tickled to oblige. "I am."

The taller vampiress, whose face clung to the shreds of her human mask by her wild eyes and manicured brows. Everything from the nose down was grotesqueness, split wider and salivating. Dropping to a stance as if ready to pounce.

Ofelia straightened her shoulders, and yowled. Fierce in domination, one final warning to back off.

The two were not locked in a power struggle for long. Ofelia's eyes roiled, live fires from her smokey-eye smudged sockets. Two fangs elongated from beneath her burgundy glossed lips, inviting a challenge in which she was already the victor by status.

A mysterious splatter of glistening green splattered against Astarion from another vampiress, driven straight through the heart by a splintered chair leg beside him. He didn't bat an eye. Too enraptured by Ofelia, fearsome and feral in front of him. Claws drawn to defend the territory whose belonging was then made clear.

The vampiress yielded, expressing to Astarion there was something of a hierarchical structure they heeded, one that saw Ofelia's newest embodiment high up, if not at the very top. She slunk away, unblinking and still poised on the offensive.

Ofelia spun to face him on a bare heel. Her long, smooth tresses fanning in a dark satin wave about her golden shoulders. A victorious, self-satisfied pout quirked her lips, the serpentine glow of her irises ebbing back to the warm mahogany he knew best.

Astarion stood there with his expression frozen still, on the verge of lopsided gratification, blinking once to let her know he was still in there.

She planted fists to the high-cut straps of her bikini, and cocked to the side. Destruction and bloodshed ever rampant, the two were then on pause. A bashful grin worked its way across her face beneath eyes gleaming with incredulity.

"What?" She laughed. "Don't tell me your impressed."

He closed the short distance between them, standing toe-to-toe to stare down the bridge of his nose at her. "I forgot how... freely blood-flow circulates for mortal men." He cleared his throat through a smile Ofelia almost would have categorized as sheepish, but she knew better. "Had you attacked your sister just now, I believe you would've brought me to full-mast."

Her grin widened, though her hand flew to swat her his chest. "You're disgusting!"

"I am, quite literally, only a man, darling." His brows knit together in unabashed appreciation, wandering across the curves and softness of her figure without urgency. Lingering at the plushness of her breasts, and abdomen bared on display for his indulgence.

Had she been capable of blushing, one surely would have stained her from the flush of heat that burned beneath her surface. More powerful still, that he eyed her up with the same shameless lechery that was Seth Gecko's signature, unbeknownst to the man who now took him over. The honeyed haze smattering his leer was almost endearing.

Interrupting the moment and demanding their attention, was guttural aggression then barrelling their way. A hulking brute, jowls slippery with fresh crimson, his beady eyes clouded with murderous singularity. A few men rushed him from each angle, bouncing off of mass just barely contained by his clothes, stock and muscle as weighty and rigid as laid brick.

He repelled their attacks with the indifference of a horse tail batting away pests, needing little more than one hand at a time to cave in a chest, or crunch perpendicular angles out of spines. Subhuman growls and labored huffs snorted through a wide nose at them, a bull in preemptive charge.

"Oh dear." Astarion's smile thin, his nonchalance put-upon. "He doesn't appear very happy to see me."

"No." Ofelia shook her head. "I'm pretty sure you shot him a bunch, I don’t really remember.”

"I see."

With a long suffering sigh, and a ripple of his jacket above rolled shoulders, Astarion braced himself, still turned in towards Ofelia. He thought once more to protect her, however in the rules of this world, and their exchanged strengths, he was the likelier of the two to be accordianed.

Her eyes pinging around them in rapid search, the glinting silver dangling limp at Astarion's thigh sparked her to action. Flattening her front against him to steady herself, her hand molded over his firm hold on the handle of the revolver.

Thrusting his arm up and forward, her finger curled around his - still wrapping the trigger - she squeezed her left eye shut while the tip of her tongue breached the corner of her pout. Bewildered at her abrupt and purposeful manipulation, the beginnings of his objections were swallowed when she choked the trigger.

BLAM-BLAM-BLAM

Unloading three square into the beasts chest, the recoil bucked into her each time. Dropping to his knees, the lumbering vampire fell forward with a wheeze, and a crack upon impact. Downed, but only for the moment.

She knew this story, after all.

"Come on-," Ofelia huffed, turning on her heel. When he didn't budge from his wide-eyed scrutiny of the smoking barrel, she yanked at his arm, her tone admonishing. "Come on!"

He gasped, shaken loose from the shock enough to stumble after her.

"What was that?"

Ofelia continued to pull him through the sanguinary explosion, reaching the store room door to burst through, and hurry him in after her.

Leaned against the dusty cobbles of the far wall, and crowded by crates, there the mirror stood erect. A beacon that beckoned them nearer with its glint. The chaos forced out by the door she slammed shut and bolted, it shook and creaked to the pounding it received from the other side. The horror choked and muffled.

"Let's go.” Grabbing his hand, she marched them towards the looking glass.

Even passing through the mirror, his gawking introduction to the modern marvel of fire power persisted. As did his haunting curiosity she refused to humor further.

"What was that!?"

They fled from the blood soaked, vampire nest that was The Titty Twister, before then transported to the middle of a packed dance floor. Strobing lights of candy-colors, and bodies, very much alive.

Hormonal and young and far too many per square foot, one tanned and nubile was cradled in his arms, a woman's back leaned to his front. When Astarion came too, with relief he realized the backside he was stuck to was Ofelia's.

Suffocated by body heat, and so many colognes and perfumes they mashed together in an indecipherable musk. Rainbow hues glanced off the haze of smoke and turned it sentient; an oppressive smog, one that wafted around her with confident nefariousness, an extension of him, as they both settled on her, around her, inside her.

Hugging her tighter, he tipped his chin to drag his nose along the side of her face from cheek to hairline, inhaling her deep. The whipped vanilla cream of her adrenaline, her untouched purity, and her repressed desire for him to spoil it, searing through it all.

A turquoise collared blouse tucked into a purple skirt, it almost reminded him of what she'd been wearing when they first met, save for a significant absence of blood spatter and tatters. He smirked against her temple as he gave it a firmer nuzzle, rocking their joined hips in wide, slow circles. Around and around and around.

"This particular combination of colors are, in a word, unsightly." His rumble at her ear pulled the skin of her neck pebble. The sensation tightening ruthless beneath the fan of his breath to the sensitive exposure of where it sloped to her shoulder. "But I'd be remiss to focus on such a triviality, when I have you this... pliable."

Eyes fluttering shut, Ofelia dissolved further into his influence, though she had little choice. A stifling heat that filmed over her being, like a sheen of perspiration on a hot summers day. The titillation was undeniable, however uncertain the source. He rocked them around again, his gyration slowing, as his palm slipped from her hand to sink below the hemline of her skirt.

"Star..." a breathy stutter, it stretched to a moan as his palm hiked up her parting thigh with authority. Her skirt draped the thick of his wrist as his invasion of her emboldened. "W-we really should be looking for-,"

"I don't see our mirror anywhere." His other hand held both of hers tucked into her chest. Not yet brutally erect, he was well on his way. Twitching with excitement against the generous swell of her rear, flattered even by her purple disaster of a skirt.

At least it boasted ease of access.

"Y-you're not even loOKING-" her chiding clipped to a yelp, as he cupped his palm around her clothed heat, and lifted her off her toes against his chest in a slow twirl. The hem of her skirt hiked around his forearm.

One of her arms wound back around his neck, though not of her own accord. Whether or not he was puppeting her by choice, this newfound ability was not one he shied away from. Nor was it unwelcome by her.

He tested his influence over her with a flex of the invisible grasp, like the locking or rolling of a muscle. He admired it as such, as he slackened the reins at a languid pace, watching her shadow his release in a gradual descent down his body.

The tie then severed in full, she collapsed to the ground at his feet, a puppet with snipped string. Crumpled. The direction hollowed out from her shell, and his warmth stolen with it.

With a flick of her head to shake the residual fog, she scrambled to her hands and knees to push up and away. Reflexive as she bolted, though she didn't stray far; Ofelia hadn't wanted to leave him, nor his embrace, but his domination relinquished overwhelmed with relief, breaching a stagnant surface after being held under. Unable to breathe, she popped back above and gasped oxygen with a voracity that stung, having been suspended in the moment where anything and everything was denied her unless he willed it so. Even the air.

Astarion's lips curled curious and chesire, the pale of his flesh leaching the indigo and violet pigment from the lights, sinking into his skin to paint him a mosaic of confidence, and allure. Sharp features even lacking their elven favoritism, a haughty force of elegant virility he remained. Stained-glass beauty, severe and reverential.

His gaze followed her retreating back, mere steps from being enveloped into the fold of bodies grinding and slithering in pairs, before reattaching the leash. A hand outstretched to her tense shoulders, his fingers unfurled to their full length, his control once more blossoming her into a willing captive.

One turned back to face him, gliding on the top of her toe in fluid obedience, he caught her eye; glazed, and unending, a rich mahogany deepened obsidian in the absence of proper light. Reflecting back at him the desire for more. Her ache to yet be tugged along by the ends of threads, so long as they were woven by his hand.

And to his hand she retreated, unhurried and assured, despite the the thump of her heart rattling her ribs. The pretty figurine frozen in a porcelain pirouette of a child's music box, she twirled on feet whose path was preordained, she had to do nothing but succumb. To heed the lure that guided her.

Once embraced, the music changed. A high-energy, driving beat, those around them snapped to the according rhythm. Motions whipped and jerking, Astarion moved to his own.

Ensnaring her wide-eyes in the hood of his, he moved her to a melody unheard by all. Two swaying in unison in a contrasting slow-burn eroticism, to the unmilled energy crackling around them. The color caught by the gloss of perspiration beading like crystal on her exposed tan.

"Must I?" He cooed, his breath hitting against a pout he still abstained from claiming in a kiss. "Surely there's no imminent threat here."

He guided her hand down to grope his rear in a firm squeeze of the toned musculature. Twitching her lips in a shy simper, the plum bleeding across her face deepened in the dusting of her blush proper.

His hands traversed a similar path, down either side of her spine to get to the handfuls of rump that molded to his palm and spilled between his fingers. Slender and dexterous in their structure, they accommodated her curves as if her bloom had budded to his exact specification.

"Just you..." Her words wilted in his heat, attention stretched thin and hazy as he continued to tease his lips not a hairs breadth from hers. His breath a spearmint crisp that had her mouth watering, as it poised in eager obedience.

"Ah..." His smirk reappeared, and she felt his imperceptible power slither away once more.

An ache leftover, throbbing and molten in the pit of her pelvis. A press of her thighs against it granted no relief in the wake of his devastation. Ofelia crumbled into the crook of his arm, boneless, but the motion all her own.

With a quick, precise flick, he sent her whipped backward, draped over his arm, before pulling her back flush to his front. Her head lolled to bare the side of her neck, bathed in a violet hue. His finger tips ghosted over her collar to brush it aside, his lips descending for the spot he cleared.

Her autonomy yet relinquished, she jerked out from under him.

He allowed her the tease of insolence, though caged tight within his arms he kept her. A coy glint of pink and purple stared back at him, one mirrored in his drawl. "Another villainous portrayal of my kind?"

"Fraid so." Her confirmation dragging low and breathless, she lowered to her knees before him, and he let her; slinking down the length of his body in a bid to toy with him in her returned freedom, as he had done her.

A growl hummed at the back of his throat to her warm breath and gaped pout hovering before his crotch, her gaze challenging and glossy through the swirl of technicolor.

He lifted her back to her feet by their clasped hands, symbolic of their link. Though he could have lost himself in the darkened suggestion beneath her lashes if he permitted himself the luxury.

"I've never shied away from leaning into the sort." He resumed their banter, husking with a heady croon. "But then again... that does excite you, does it not?"

Ofelia, well-acquainted with this story, was all too aware of their impending interruption. Astarion swept her back into their sensual sway, not in inch of space between them. Intoxicated by the moment, and heedless to the riled brunette youth, bobbing and weaving through the thick of the crowd towards them.

"What can I say? We Earth humans are not immune to the romanticism of the brooding, and misunderstood." She recalled her new character's fate with a shudder, equal parts anxious, and envious. "Amy was certainly not an exception."

Said with the emphasis of introduction, Astarion nodded in understanding. His forehead rested against hers with smirk that worsened her to genuine shivers.

"What's the story between these two, then? Why does our brooding, misunderstood vampire want to turn sweet little Amy?"

"She's the spitting image of his long lost love."

A tale as old as time.

"I see." Astarion's amusement was nauseating, but her shivers persisted as he began to lure her deeper into the dance floor. His pace even, his intimacy unbridled. "So he must have her, then? He'll stop at nothing until he turns her?"

He twirled her around, his manipulation slight and effortless as the surrounding bodies parted. Her eyes glanced off the mirrored panels lining the far wall, catching her figure glide throughout the sea of wriggling bodies, all oblivious to the fact that her partner's mirrored image was missing. Her fingers clinging to empty air where broad shoulders ought to be. The truth of his nature hidden in plain sight.

Ofelia darted between their unbalanced reflection, and the languorous temper weighing his playfulness heavy, and intense. She exhaled shakily. "Something like that."

The kiss he had teased all that time no more than breath and a blink away, the creep of his fingers trailed up her body, and splayed across the front of her throat. His touch more resting than clutching in gentle persuasion, her pulse fluttered under his possession.

Astarion paused to admire how docile and suggestible his presence had her reduced, a moment of appreciation that sacrificed the stolen passion.

His hesitation punished, a wild-eyed and dark haired youth barrelled into them in purposeful interruption.

He pawed at the neckline of Astarion's sweater, prying him off of her, brazen with misplaced protectiveness. He growled through grit teeth, nostrils flared and glare hardened in his muster. "Let her go."

Astarion regarded him with the confusion of a wolf getting his ear nipped at by a mewling pup, unable to process that a child meant to stop him, with nothing more than a puffed chest, and yapping.

The way he eyed him through the corner of his stare with a rippled frown of disbelief conveyed as much, and more.

Charley stood his ground. Eyes blazing as his posture stiffened in defiance, ready to spring forward to defend her honor.

Ofelia sort of felt sorry for him.

With a scoff, the vampire turned his attention back to her, cradling her jaw against the crease of his palm to angle her face upwards in a kiss. Pettiness a commonality that both Astarion and Jerry shared.

Ofelia conceded, though not of her own volition. Astarions hold slunk back in, thick and impenetrable like a blanket of fog seeping across an ocean, coaxing her into his lips with the same helpless to resist.

She knew the longer their kiss went on, the nearer they drew to Charley's punch.

She tried willing the kiss broken to no avail. She tried appealing to Astarion, but her voice evaded her consciousness.

She tried telekinetic communication, of the mind that with all the mirrors they had passed through, perhaps the tadpole had warmed up to the displacement. Her hope was rewarded with the same unpleasant thwick back against the parasitic hitchhiker, like the snap of a rubber band.

They could still sense each other, to confirm the others presence, but all else was stripped away. Their Illithid connection about as effective as two fumbling for each other in the dark, grasping at the air in hopes of landing a touch.

Figures.

Proving her attempted warning wholly necessary, without so much as a blink or hitch against her lips, Astarion's hand raised to cushion the blow of clenched knuckles. Charley's punch was thwarted before it even so much as wound up.

Ofelia's gaze widened. It was as if Astarion had seen the movie before with how exact his timing, and choreography. Astarion, of course, mistook her astonishment as approval.

His fingers resting against the back of her neck - she didn't even remember when they got there - gave a twitch as he glared down at Charley.

"She's quite a bit of woman for you, boy." Astarion snarled, far more open and unrestricted with his irritation to Charley's interference than Jerry had been.

Though with just as much ease as the gentleman vampire he embodied, he slammed him down to his knees. His grip on Charley's fist so tight Ofelia could hear the cracking of bone and splintered joints even over the music. "This is your final warning to leave here while you still have a tail left to tuck."

"You can't kill me here!" He shrieked, expression twisted in the agony of a hand now crippled. Astarion sneered at the display, ignoring Ofelia picking at the neckline of his sweater to get his attention. Or get him to heel.

"Oh please, your spilled blood is not worth the mayhem." With a dramatic roll of his eye, Astarion gathered Ofelia up in his arms once he released the crushed flesh that once resembled a fist. Thrusting him away like an old toy he grew bored with.

Ofelia was tugging at his sweater once more.

"Let's go." She insisted, her withdrawal from his vampiric hold dizzying, reminiscent of a wine hangover. She shut her eyes to the pounding behind her eye where the tadpole stilled, lethargic and impotent. "Seriously, we need to go now."

She managed to guide him away, still tucked within his side, though they didn't make it much further. Charley, hot on their heels, all but jumped on Astarion's back. Prying at his shoulder to yank them apart.

"Let her go!" His cry broke through the music, before two large figures in yellow closed in both in front of, and behind them.

"I got him." The man behind Charley announced to his partner. A stockier man with bulging arms, he wrapped them around Charley and wrangled him away. Scooping up Ofelia as if she weighed nothing at all, he snatched her by the arm and forced his way through the crowd.

She tried wriggling away to no avail, fighting the encroaching patrons, and the force of the bouncer. The other blocked her view of Astarion as he stepped in front of him, though not before catching sight of the anger shadowing his pale face.

Ofelia couldn't hear the ensuing confrontation, but she didn't have to. Bracing herself, for she knew what was to follow.

Twisting around to holler for backup, the bouncer's once unimpressed stoicism erupted in blind panic. As raw and genuine as it came.

"Leon!"

Ofelia's head whipped forward and back from their abrupt screeching halt, still scruffed by Leon as he marched her and Charley up the steps, herding them towards the exit. He jerked around upon hearing his partners scream, though by then it was too late.

A single, blood-curdling howl to pierce the night, followed by a crescendo of the entire club erupting in terror.

Astarion didn't send the mans body to sail through the air in a dramatic exercise of his strength, crashing into a table for the hysteria to be triggered, though he was never wanting for theatrics.

Claws had been drawn, which he used to carve through the mans carotid, felling him to the ground a lifeless heap. A spurt of blood shot lengthwise to streak through the middle of the table instead of his corpse, in a vibrant flourish that could only ever happen in the movies.

It all happened so fast. A stampede surged her way, the entire occupancy screeching and wailing, as every last one tried to flee at once. Glass was broken, furniture was upended; people fell and ripped and climbed their way over the stair railing, themselves, and each other.

Abandoned by Leon, he charged down the steps towards Astarion, elbowing his way through the oncoming flow of terrorized clubbers. Ofelia was right behind him, scurrying in his wake as he cleared the way, before the current closed back over the trail he eked. A hand - Charley's hand - grasped at her arm to keep her with him before they were separated by the crowd, shrugging him off only by the grace of the mobs intervention.

"Amy-!" He reached for her as the frightened wall of people pushed them further apart. The doe-eyed youth called with frantic urgency, his boyish features screwed in panic. "Amy!"

By the time she reached Astarion, Leon had been dispatched; a collapsed windpipe before strewn over another table to his left. The look on her face just shy of accusatory, he raised his hands in surrender.

"What's that look for?" He scoffed as her silent patronizing held firm. "None of this is even real!"

"AMY!"

They both snapped their heads towards the second level, as the wave of chaos continued to wash Charley away. He was still groping at the air, still calling out to her as if it might yet save her. Ofelia groaned before grabbing Astarions hands.

"Yeah yeah I know, come on!"

The dance floor vacant save for the flashing of lights and some spilled drinks, they were safe from any further interruption of obstacles from finding the mirror.

Advancing upon the door to the kitchen, mid-swing from ones hasty getaway, Ofelia's cursory once-over deduced it was as empty as the dance floor, and thus a promising lead. Shoving him through by his back, she goaded Astarion inside, tumbling in after him.

Through all the steam and clatter, propped up in a forgotten corner amidst coats and spare brooms, the glint of another mirror caught his eye.

The muffled screams of laughter and a black velvet sky, twinkling with stars was held within. The nearer they drew, so did the strength of the sounds, and the scent of salt water.

"Over there." He tossed the cut of his chin in it's direction, and curled his fingers around her wrist in the same motion. "It appears as though it's another one of your adaptations, I'm afraid. Alas, our only way out is through."

Ofelia nodded, her flats scuffling along the tile at his side.

He was no longer using whatever writers-room-ingeniousness-given vampiric talents Jerry could use to manipulate her actions, but the accompanying warmth remained. A full body tingle that resisted the ebb of surrender, the sensation of his deft prodding and stringing lingered like phantom touch. In it's wake, adrenaline spiked; cold and throbbing in contrast, overwhelming her autonomy with urgent pressure.

Astarion didn't need such power over her. Not to make her dance with him, and certainly not to seduce her. But the sensation was pleasant. As if warming her to pliability to better receive his charms.

His arms snaking around her in coiled possession, his breath fanning against her bared neck. A kiss to her pulse, a stake claimed before his fangs sealed the deal.

She didn't remember the cheesy cult smash to have been so heavy in the tension between Jerry and Amy, but that was not to say she disapproved.

Jerry!Astarion, in trendy 80's sweaters, residing in a gorgeous antique manor, on a sleepy suburban street in any town, USA?

There were certainly worse scenarios they had been swapped into.

Ofelia could have stayed in 1985 Rancho Corvallis, California.

She really could have.

They were still together, and this time still hand in hand. Though alone, they were not.

Even more crowded than Forks High, and the nightclub from where they just escaped, throngs upon throngs of youths flooded the width of the boardwalk they then found themselves.

Ofelia blinked around in trying to collect her bearings, calmed by the tight squeeze of Astarion's hand in response to hers.

Jostled by children streaking past, and straggled by their parents, as weary as their calls to "stay close" were swallowed by the piped carnival tunes and hawkers. Couples, linked arm and arm or about the waist, funneled into the shops and stalls, that lined the far side where they stood. Bathed in the phosphorescence of neon that drew prospective patrons nearer.

The air was mellow and comfortable, and the smells even more familiar to her now that she was smack in the middle. Fried Oreos and funnel-cake in stale oil. Artificial cherry and coconut syrup from the snow cone stall to her left. The faint musk of pot lingering beneath it all.

Ofelia dropped her investigation to the broad wooden boards beneath her feet, before she then swept off in the distance, to see the ocean rolling in towards the shore. Just beyond the glow of neon in the far off dark, obscured to an undulation of foaming ink that stained the sand.

The squeal of her gears sparked through the fog of disorientation. Ofelia knew this boardwalk. She knew the merry-go-round, it's colorful horses forever in their prance, and the whimsical lilt their speakers crackled, shrill and uncanny. Ofelia knew the imposing wooden coaster, as it creaked and groaned to the cart-full of screams hurtled along it's track.

And then she looked to Astarion. Her widening survey cracked open with amusement. Her laughter breached containment, not that she fought all that hard to keep it caged.

"Oh. My. God."

His tongue sought out his canine, as was habitual now, a quick and dirty determination if he was man or monster. Greeted by a familiar, razor tine jutting from his gum.

Oh, he was still a vampire alright.

His snow white curls were now teased to even taller, distinctly 1980's height. The ends much longer as they reached down to his shoulders, glinting silver jangled from his left ear-lobe. A long black jacket hung from his shoulders, loose and boxy, while a swathe of mesh stuck to his physique in a contrasting fit. The ivory of his torso speckled through like the stars in the night sky above them.

His brows furrowed - as if they had yet to relax from the perpetual scrutiny that held them hostage - he looked down at himself. Confronted by garish beige trousers, and the poor excuse of dusty gaiters all cobbles together with knee-pads. Pleather knee pads, no less.

His face rose back up to hers with such severity twitching his snarl that it sucked her lips inward. Her body shook to the cerise that nearly glowed in the dark with how they roiled. Only her body shook with anything but fear, which simmered his glare all the more murderous.

"Not a word." He warned, mortification rumbling low and hoarse. "What ghastly plane of existence have we been condemned to now?"

Ofelia tamed the threat of her cackle to an inoffensive, shaky puff as she calmed herself. Clearing her throat of any lingering blips of a giggle for good measure.

"The Santa Carla pier, 1987." Her head a swivel to once more drink in the nighttime bustle, she huffed a laugh in utter disbelief. "Holy shit."

Through the cacophony of amusement rides, and dozens of conversations all happening at once, a shout pierced. A bullet ripped through all the tones blending beyond discernment, it hit with staggering clarity, and an accuracy suggesting it was close by.

A mans voice, quavering with a patience tested. The even steel barked from a master, demanding their strayed property returned.

"Star!"

Both Astarion and Ofelia perked towards it in unison.

And once she found the scruffed face of a young Keifer Sutherland staring back at them, stony with expectancy, it then cemented what she already knew to be true. Shiny, spiked mullet and all.

"Uhm, actually I think-," Ofelia glanced down at herself.

A bohemian skirt, and white camisole stitched up the middle, all sequins and gold stitching, and baby-doll frill. Her raven locks drew a curtain over her face when she bent her neck. Wild and frizzed, teased to a height that rivaled Astarion's.

"-that's me."

"What?"

Lured back across the sea of strangers between them in time to catch David's eyes in earnest, locking within Ofelia's triggered his approach, beginning to stalk his way towards her. The piers shadow, even in the dead of night. Flanked by Laddie on Dwayne's shoulder's, and Marco, the crowd parted for him and the entourage fanned out behind him.

Though his expression was steely, his gait was unhurried with the assurance that she'd stay put, just from the way she froze, caught by his gaze. She was able to shake free long enough to look behind her, whipping her head in a flourish of soft black curls from one side to the next.

Lifting to her toes to better see, she was frantic in her scan of the never ending swarm of faces that passed them by, yet not a single one was familiar. None the one she sought. Astarion yanked at her hand for the attention she still wasn't giving, the questions she had yet to answer.

"What are you doing?" Stealing furtive peaks to the advancing young blonde. "What are you looking for?"

"Michael." She said as if he knew exactly who she meant by the name alone.

He blinked. "Aren't I Michael?"

"No, you're Paul here."

"And this Paul, he's a vampire?"

She huffed, still unable to spy the shaggy-mane and chiseled jaw she sought. "Yes, you're a vampire - we both are."

"Oh?" His approval near instant, it then soured as she broke the bad news.

"But I'm not with you." Rocked back on her heels, she looked ahead just in time to see David no more than a foot away, and closing in with his same, lazy pace. Shiftless, but suffocating. "I'm with him."

Astarion stiffened with a scoff. Very much believing himself to still look regal; with the aqua-net endorsement on his head, and the little jingle-jangle from the small collection of costume jewelry rattling from his arms that would have put a magpie to shame.

"Why aren't I him, then?"

Ofelia murmured a soft noise of resignation from the back of her throat with a shrug. Not that she could divulge anything further, as David then sidled up to them, toe to toe with Astarion.

"What do we have here?" A single of David's brows raised. His eye slid from Ofelia's face to where her hand was still captured in Astarion's, pointed in the implication drawn. She yanked out of his grasp as if it burned.

"N-nothing, David, nothing!" She took a step forward to insert herself between them, flashing a smile she hoped was flirtatious enough to assuage. "Uhm... some guy's been following me all night. Paul was just, getting him to back off."

Both men then narrowed suspicion at her until she squirmed.

David blinked, just shy of being entirely unconvinced. Eyes flicking first from Ofelia, and then to Astarion. Observing the two in contemplative silence, a stoicism masked whatever theorizing began to spark upon catching them together.

The tension at a simmer, it then leapt to a boil when he held out his hand to her in a wordless demand she accept.

David waited for her with unnerving patience, and she glanced down at it for only as long as it took to wonder what might happen if she were to refuse.

Ofelia pried away from Astarion's side to slip her fingers into David's out-stretched palm. Her breath hitched once the length of his digits closed around her knuckles, a finality that announced his reclaimed possession.

Once satisfied with his grasp, he drew her in to him - not rough, or rushed - but with an insistent pressure, one that licked up the whole of her in a little shiver. Her obedience non-negotiable. Tripping over her feet, she fell into his chest with a little gasp, echoed by the clinking of her bangles.

The smell of his last cigarette as sharp on his breath as the tinge of iron soaking his tongue, his arm crushed around her shoulders in another display of ownership, pinning her to him and forcing the air from her lungs in the same motion. She could almost feel Astarion's eyes, red-hot and scathing, bore into the back of her skull. Forced into the passenger seat, a helpless bystander. David passed his suspicion between the two once more, the full blaze of which calming to a weak, single ember.

Bending down to hover his lips above hers, the invasion so sudden Ofelia wasn't given the chance to muffle her squeak. The wood walk behind her creaked in the sharp cant of Astarion's weight, shifting to cut in, when David stopped the kiss just as abrupt in its initiation. His attention lured to beyond both her, and Astarion.

A face still unreadable, his chin tilted in specification. "That the guy who was sniffing around?"

She craned her neck beyond her shoulder, struggling against his hold on her that didn't loosen, to then find Michael.

A few feet down the walk, his presence obvious, as he pretended not to watch them with about as much believability as he pretended to peruse the boutique he hovered before.

"Y-yeah, but he won't be a problem!" Ofelia tried to squeeze assurance into the hand she now wrapped both of hers around. "Paul made sure of that."

"Mm... good old Paul." He drawled. Angling a smirk Astarion's way, it wilted as he looked back to Michael. By the time Ofelia was the center of his focus again, any hint of mirth, even one sardonic, had faded to a memory. "Why don't you let me be the judge of what I should, or shouldn't worry about."

Ofelia felt herself nod, forced to the role of spectator in her own body from David's intimidation. Breathing down the neck of her insolence, not that it would do either her, or Astarion, any good to act on it. David's leer, frosty blue and somber, suggested nothing but that she cow to his whims like a submissive kitten. Like she was supposed to.

To her head bobbing, a gradual smile split his scruff. An expression that both warmed her with some sort of contrived elation to have pleased him, and relief at having done so convincingly.

"That's my girl." Condescension wrapped the words and tied them in a bow, like the gift receiving such praise from him was. He stroked a single, firm swipe along her knuckles with his gloved thumb, before dropping her hand to do the same across her face.

Fighting the flinch at the touch, her body reacted once more heedless to her will. His pressure was as light and sincere as a lovers, but a hollow ownership prickled cold under the trail of his finger-tips. Her tremble at his touch only seemed to please him further.

Lifting his attentions from her, back to Michael, still loitering a few feet away under the guise of shopper instead of stalker, David cleared his throat. Unphased for the moment, Ofelia could read in the ripple of muscle beneath his jaw, and his hooded stare, that he was non too pleased with having her pursued. Least of all by one he sensed as a genuine potential threat.

His tone lowered exactly one octave as he raised it, giving the order over his shoulder while his sights remained to the youth shadowing them. "Let's go, boys."

She peeked over her shoulder to Astarion, her eyes widening in a strained, non-verbal plea to follow. To play along.

A concession made with a grudging scoff. A scoff that caught David's attention.

His fingers curling around the base of Ofelia's spine in a way that pulled her hair, he halted, turning to raise a brow at Astarion with a bored gleam in his eye. Bored, while inviting the challenge to his authority at the same time. "Something wrong, Paul?"

Astarion, in an impressively in-character display, snickered while raising his hands in an exaggerated display of surrender. He held it for as long as David stared at him, waiting for friction that didn't spark.

They then resumed their trek further along the boardwalk. That was, until Ofelia caught sight of a mirror.

Tucked down the far end of an alley, pinched between the comic book store and the rest-rooms, it's frame glinted even from within the murk of shadow. Beckoning her to their next destination like another ripple of neon against an already saturated strip.

Thinking fast, she tugged at the strap of her bag until it slid down her arm into her palm, before letting it clatter to the walk as they strode past. Spilling the contents to scatter across the rickety boards, a tube of lipstick was kicked even further away from the oncoming traffic of unaware feet.

"Oh!" She feigned, stopping with immediate relief at feeling David pause along with her. Her shoulders plucked free of his arm. "I'm sorry, I'll just- I'll only be a second."

Dropping to her hands and knees to begin scooping everything back into the fabric satchel, she tossed her head to look up at him as he loomed above her. He cocked a brow at her, wise to her ruse, though having nothing substantial yet to press her about. A chill zipped through her like static-shock.

Get a grip, he's not even real.

"You go on ahead, I'm - I'm right behind you!" She nodded with a smile, before then twisting around in a show tracking down where her lipstick had escaped to.

He didn't answer her aloud, but she heard the screech of the walk give to his heavy boots. He pulled away, languorous, and maintained that pace as it carried him further ahead. The lurk of her bright-eyed, blond shadow retracing with his every step that distanced them.

She huffed a heavy breath she didn't realize she had been holding.

Shoving the cosmetics, and the little container of tic-tacs back into her bag, she stole glances over her shoulder to make sure David and the rest were still none-the-wiser, while she then looked around for Astarion.

She found him across the way, tucked within the alley against the building to his right. Waiting for her to join him, as the mirror stood propped and waiting at the end of it behind him. Either having spied it when she did, or pieced things together when she spilled her purse. With one more stolen glance to the lost boys, Ofelia abandoned her spill before scuttling across to reach him.

The mirror glimmered in the rainbow vapor of the boardwalk, though it's reflection couldn't have been more opposite.

A flaxen, muted hue, it revealed pale stucco and stone. A spiral staircase of well worn wood, and wrought iron sconces aglow with candlelight.

"That almost looks... familiar." Astarion eyed it up and down, growling as he fought the wavy mane that insisted on flopping over into his face.

Ofelia brought her hands to her hips as she popped them to her left, the motion jingling with the beads and charms that dripped from her wrists.

"Only one way to know for sure." Unwilling to give in to her hearts flutter of premature optimism, she tucked her chin to her shoulder, and stuck out her hand for Astarion to take. "Ready when you are."

Grabbing her with a tight hold, he tossed his head back, shaking the hair from his gaze with no shortage of flamboyance as he did. With a sniff, he collected whatever of his sophistication survived Paul's cheap polyester and accessories.

"I'm quite ready to be rid of whatever barbarity has befallen one of my foremost features."

No sooner did the words leave his mouth, was he then marching them through the mirror. Yanking Ofelia in after him by the hand.

Unwilling to subject himself to 1987 Santa Carla, or Ofelia's cackling, for a moment longer.

"Being human in a world full'a vampires is about as safe as barebackin' a five dollar whore."

Astarion gave a start, as he peeled his eyes open.

The rasping croon from behind him lilted in the rhythm of an accent he couldn't place, unlike any he had ever heard previous. When he turned to face the man of whom it belonged, his shoulders fell.

More unusual clothing, too unusual to be of his world. Though the familiarity of the crossbow hanging from his right hand was a welcome sight.

A shorter, wiry man, his years were evident in the way they streaked through his papery skin; at the corners of striking blue eyes, and around his thin mouth, through his copper beard. A strength maintained despite his age, in the prominent angles of his bone structure.

"This is home, Doc. But none of us are safe."

Astarion grimaced. Lovely.

Rubbing his tongue across his top row of teeth, the sting of needle points raked the flat of the muscle in his sweep. His relief sighed.

Still a vampire.

He looked down at himself in assessment, greeted by a black, three piece suit, his shirt collar splayed with it’s missing tie. An ensemble that both looked, and felt, as expensive as the polished loafers on his feet.

Next running his fingers through his hair, he exhaled in more quiet relief. The strands still longer than what he was used to, and lacking the wavy coif that was his signature, they were no where near the ratty straggles the last jaunt had butchered them to. Not to mention their silken quality of being free of whatever heinous product had coated them stiff and gritty.

If he never experienced 1987 again, it still would have been too soon.

He shuddered against that nightmare, still entirely too fresh.

Now here he stood; a sharp dressed vampire, in a world where the alleged hierarchy saw him at the top.

A promising start, indeed.

Ofelia appeared alongside him. Onyx hair simple and straight, it touched her shoulders. Without her even having to affirm for him, he knew. He could hear the gentle thrum of her heart. Eyes, big, brown and mortal, aimed his way.

A disadvantage that spelled potential disaster, if the mans grave caution was to be believed.

"Where are we now?" He hushed, tossing his eye over her shoulder as the crossbow wielder shifted behind them.

Ofelia hesitated, reaching into the haze of estranged, distant memory to aid them. "Uhm, my vineyard-well, I mean my parents vineyard, technically."

Astarion stepped forward to peer over the rail of the balcony where they stood, drawn by the buzz of activity below. A hive of human refugees, haggard with exhaustion and fear, he could taste its taint from the air with the same strength it flared his nostrils.

A hushed urgency fell over them while they busied themselves, stealing furtive glances his way. They must have been able sense his presence among them, like the rolling in of a dark cloud on a sunny day. His blood-red embers burning holes through the dimness, their fears confirmed.

"Aud, Ed." The man with the crossbow called to them from the stairs. He jerked his head in a motion for them to follow, before descending himself.

Astarion looked from him, back to Ofelia. She met him with a nod, and small smile of reassurance, signalling it was safe to follow.

"Yeah, that's us." She whispered, pushing away from the railing. "I'm Audrey, and you're Edward-,"

His face twisted as if about to be ill. "-Oh Gods, not again."

"No no, this one's totally different." She giggled. "It's not a love story. It's more action-drama, and it's actually one of my favorites."

The sick look lessened, but failed to disappear. "Oh?"

Her face alight, though she kept her town low, she all but whirred with enthusiasm. "Yeah! So they kinda flip the script in this one. Vampire's are the dominant species, and humans are the ones that have to be in hiding."

Astarion nodded, stepping aside and motioning for her to go ahead of him down the steps. "So that man made no exaggeration, this place is dangerous for you?"

She tossed her head over her shoulder, angling a grin at him that wormed beneath his skin. "Aw, you're worried about me." He rolled his eyes with a groan, and ripped from her a short burst of a cackle. "Well, don't be. You're technically in just as much trouble here as I am, so."

His trudging scuffed the tread with creaks in the wood. He sent his eyes upward. "You'll excuse my feigned surprise, then."

Ofelia ignored his sarcasm as she often did, before continuing as if he hadn't spoken in the first place. "Yeah, see, because humans are almost extinct, the vampires begin to starve." A cutesy, empathetic shrug picked at her shoulders to match the nonchalance of her tone.

He uttered a thoughtful noise from the back of his throat. "I see... realistic, I suppose." A concept he had never given thought to, being as though he couldn't propagate the spread of affliction himself. "That man, he called me doc."

"Yeah, you're a blood doctor." She informed through a smirk once they reached the bottom of the stairs. The significance suggested in her enunciation perked his full attention, just as she expected.

"Is that a fact? Interesting." He murmured. "And this doctor, is he quite wooed by Audrey's perseverance and," he arched a haughty brow in emphasis towards her curvature, on display, "generous attire?"

Ofelia looked down to the sight of her nipples stiffened through the guazy salmon of her top. She grabbed the zippered lining of her jacket, and pulled it tight to conceal them. "Perv." Grumbled, through a wry smile she was unable to wipe away. "And no, to answer your question. As a matter of fact, they're not romantically involved at all."

"No?" Though just a hint, his disappointment made her smile widen.

"I mean there was some chemistry, they definitely seemed to care for each other, but nothing hot and heavy. There's a scene where she fills a plastic cup of her blood for him to drink out of. It was so sweet!" She gasped, eyes then wide with dawning realization. "Oh hey, we did that too!"

He snorted. "Was this not the inspiration for that?"

"Uh, no not really." She crossed her arms, pushing up her chest in a way that jiggled every last vestige of irritation right out of him. "Edward wasn't suffering bouts of hormonal anguish from feeding off of her. She was just considerate."

Loitering out of the way at the base of the steps, Astarion tossed his chin in the mans direction. Across the room from them, he was locked in hushed conversation, pausing just long enough to gesture towards where they stood. An observation that pricked the back of his neck, his tone as wary as his stare. "Who is he?"

"His name's Elvis." She began. "He used to be a vampire too, but he found a cure. That's why he and Audrey bring you here, they need help replicating it."

Astarion hummed, both brows reaching his hairline. "Is that right?"

"Mhm."

"How does he manage that?"

"Direct, unmitigated sun exposure." Ofelia felt him gawking at her before she so much as looked his way "Something to do with kick starting the heart, I don't remember the particulars."

Astarion remained unconvinced. Brows once raised in intrigue then furrowed incredulous. "You're joking." He scoffed. "The sun is what turns them back?"

"Yup. Edward helps them set up the experiment right here." His suspicion only cemented itself in the deepened lines of his face. "No, seriously, it worked! Edward became human again."

"Yes, well, forgive me for not wanting to partake in that myself." His lips rippled tight around his low delivery, glancing back to Elvis. Skittish, though in the same manner a wolf hunkers down before an oblivious hunter, too busy surveying the trees to notice what's laying in wait in the brush. "The moment we're able to steal away, I should like us to put as much distance between ourselves, and here as possible."

"Yeah, it seemed intense, if not... painful." Ofelia scrunched her nose in agreement. "Anyway, the guy who plays him actually plays another vampire in Shadow of the Vampire. That's a really good one."

"Oh?" He regarded her with a justifiable degree of skepticism. "What's that one about?"

"Well, so with Nosferatu-,"

He silenced her with a raised hand.

Furrowing his eyes shut, as if to spare his senses the offense of so much as having to see the name mouthed, let alone heard. "Utter that name in my presence once more, and I'll make certain to use your phone when next Scratch pesters me for a game of fetch."

Another bar, limping along with a molasses pulse as black shrouded the Earth, the rest of the world put to bed. Its cheap neon winked, and the failing florescence above strobed the walls in shadows through the blades of ceiling fans, whining in sluggish rotation.

Blood choked her senses with a first sharp intake of breath, the stench of wet iron flaring her pierced nostril, before stinging her throat. Tensed and poised as if already on the offensive, Ofelia found Astarion across the table from where she stood.

Their eyes locked; as vibrant ruby and glistening from beneath the hood of his stare, as the puddle of sanguine at her boots, crawling along the dirty floor with the same indolence as the fans.

He sat slumped in the cracked leather of a booth, thighs kicked apart with the body of a woman crumbled at his feet, still warm. A gun holster slung between his legs in crude innuendo, his wild mane was teased to a comparable height as hers.

It took her a moment of frantic recollection before the pieces clicked together. Her eyes sought Astarion's once more, bright with understanding, she was then interjected by the deafening blare of a nearby shotgun.

It shattered the fraught silence of the dive, stealing her impending identification of the movie with a shaky exhale. Astarion jerked against the blast, the red of his eye no more than rings lining his pupils.

She supposed during the next quiet moment, whenever such an instance might present, that against her better judgement, Ofelia would finally explain to Astarion what a gun was.

Heavy booted feet scuffled along with the jingle of spurs. A young, black haired man in sunglasses and dirty leathers wheezed with laughter, as he clapped the back of the other young man. The one who had just absorbed buckshot to the abdomen.

"It's a kick, ain't it!" Severen chuckled, steadying the wounded young man, Caleb, as he looked him over. Patting down his chest, and pushing his jacket out of the way to assess the damage.

A bloodied gash chewed through where his large intestines used to be, visible through perforated flesh, and his torn shirt. Though he was still standing, still breathing, regardless of how labored.

Caleb shook, glassy eyed and screwed in pain. He wrenched breath into his gasping lungs, in between the unintelligible splutters that shivered through his lips. Anguished, frightened, and crying for his mama. A vulnerability which only made Severen that much more amused, pinching Caleb's chin.

"Hey, y'look like fourty miles'a rough road." Severen teased, greasy-haired and riled, as he slid his arm around his shoulders. "Why don't you sit this one out?" He drawled, herding a distraught, limp Caleb by his collar towards an open bar stool.

Rapping Caleb on his slumped shoulder, Severen pushed away with a debauched grin that bared blood stained teeth. "I'll take it from here."

A cocky stride sidled him around the bar, his sight's set to the bar-tender, who had just blown the hole through Caleb.

Shoulders lax and shades tipped, Severen taunted him, posted beside the shredded corpse strewn over the jukebox, harmonizing his bellow with the twang of a country ballad. "Oh, yoo-hoo!"

Stumbling backwards behind the bar, the man fumbled to re-load his shotgun, widening the grin that split Severen's bloodied maw. The nearer her stalked, the more dropped shells clinked to the ground at his feet.

A timid blonde with a baby-face tucked herself into Astarion's shoulder, hiding in the tatters of his heavy duster. Ofelia eyed her right, to see a small boy with a dirty face and tired eyes propped up on the table. Unbothered by the promise of ensuing carnage.

Astarion peeled his eyes away from the lascivious theatrics of Severen with the same hesitation to do so of one witnessing a car wreck. Realigning his attentions to the more pressing issue of just where exactly they were, he appeared to be most perturbed of all by Ofelia's sort, bushy hair.

Fearing the worst, he reached up to his own head, as his fingers were met with tall tufts sticking outward in every direction.

He growled. "1987 again?"

She merely shrugged with insouciance, keeping a close eye to the loud, young man as he leapt onto the bar rail to continue his torment.

The heat cut from Astarion's simmered loathing. "Really? Two in the same year?"

"I got a new name for you," Severen dropped his tone chest deep, thickening his accent. Fresh crimson, slick and drooling, soaked his mug from the nose down.

The bar-tender hollered, still backing away and knocking over bottles in his attempts to flee. Severen watched gleeful from behind his shades, giggling something deranged before divulging his comedic brilliance. "Mr. Pig knuckle!"

Ofelia nodded.

"Oh." Astarion chirped, placated from his fit with a pleased smirk to match.

Glass exploded as Severen strut along the rail, stomping and kicking shot glasses and half-emptied stouts without prejudice, any and all unfortunate enough to be in his path. Sticky with alcohol, the shards crunched beneath his slow heel-strikes, making certain to pulverize every last one.

"We're uh... both vampires here." She hushed, stepping over the corpse of the waitress on the ground, with the small of her back gliding along the ledge of the table. Her gaze unwavering, unblinking, as she kept it glued to Severen.

"I must admit, I'm rather partial to these scenarios." Astarion still paid no mind to Mae nestled into his side, though the pull of Severen's antics both lured, and repulsed him.

"Yes, but-," Ofelia winced as Severen erupted in a feral howl, before he sliced the spur of his boot heel through the bartenders neck, sawing back and forth with an unhurried pace. Blood spatter flicked and spurted with every pivot of his hip.

"... We're uhm, we're kinda the foster parents to this whole group." She tilted her head at him, gesturing to the lot around them. "Which would make us responsible for... all of this."

Fingers flexed, she waved her hand in Severen's direction, as he dropped down behind the bar with a thud of his cowboy boots, and crouched. An impressive blood spray then shot up the wall in a vertical splatter from where he had disappeared. She reaffirmed with undue emphasis. "Forever."

Astarion furrowed his brow down at Mae, cowering at his side. Then to Homer, still sat on the table with his little legs crossed. Boredom in his pudgy face, unimpressed by either the chaos, or his lack of invited participation in it. Caleb still huddled at the rail, tearing his eyes away from the scene spilling out beyond it with.

And then to Severen himself, as he popped back up. Readjusting his tinted glasses, picking the viscera out of his teeth with a nail. His undershirt, once white even beneath all the stains, was now a sopping vermilion.

Astarion cleared his throat.

"Right then." With surprising gentleness, he plucked the tiny blonde from his side, before scooching himself out from the booth. All just in time for Severen to begin moseying back to their motley troupe, the shot-gun slung over his shoulder. "The mirror?"

Latched to Astarion's chest, she felt the tang of his blood once more soak against the grooves of her tongue. She lapped with fervent strokes, nipping at the weeping slice to open it to her further.

He hissed in approval, his palms cupping the back of her head to keep her still, while his fingers flexed in her tousled mane in a guiding pressure.

Awakened in full, she peeled herself from his wound, her head hazy and chin slick. She looked up at him with a ferality of a high beginning to fade.

A dark button-up hung open to reveal the pale chisels of his chest, and the slippery bloom of red that painted down the length of it. He cradled her face, long slender fingers hooked around where jaw met mandible, before angling her back to receive his kiss. Hot and heavy and spiced with his blood, their lips parted with an audible pop as a thread of glistening red connected them.

"Greedy little pup." He chuckled, the strands or his hair mussed apart from him tugging and raking, they fell into eyes with pupils blown so wide they glinted near obsidian.

Shifting upward on her toes, her body prickled in a chill; cold and dank, it rushed her bare thighs, as she felt the short hem of her dress crawl even higher as she coiled around him. Damp, loose earth squished between her bare toes as they curled beneath her weight, and she looked down to see the plunging halter top of a baby-doll dress, the once pure white soiled by grime.

And his blood.

Thick and salty against her gums, gums that ached from the fangs that jut through the swollen ridge.

"Oh, w-we're," interrupted by a soft giggle that bubbled through her, she fought to speak against a tongue numbed passed cooperation, like when she was intoxicated, "we're back."

That pulled a single of his brows high. "Back? We've not been here before."

Astarion's gaze swept around the crawlspace where they stood, hidden in the shadows amongst dirt and wooden rafters. His eye then drawn to the two men playing unwilling audience, in a shaft of sunlight touching down into the loosely churned earth. And the writhing shadow that closed in around them.

Shadow that, upon closer inspection, sprouted arms and legs, and gnashing teeth. That slithered and swayed with the movement of cold, undead bodies twisting through it.

"Surely, I'd remember."

"No... not here." She sighed, nuzzling beneath the cut of his jaw before mouthing the hard ridge of his bone. "Different year, different people but... same story."

"Be a dear, and jog my memory?" His posture lax, Astarion was as lazy with arousal as she, though it was clear the influence of his pheromones were far more potent in her system, an observation that saw his gaze laden with pride.

Only through remarkable effort and determination, could Ofelia will herself to speak.

"Y-youre... you... y-you're him again." She huffed at her own labored speech as it slurred against the back of her bloodied teeth. "Like before when we danced."

"What the hell did he do to her?" A whisper croaked from the dark.

Astarion's head snapped to his left, to the two men watching them, wrapping their limbs tight to their bodies to keep to the rouge patch of sun poured in from a jagged hole above their heads.

The other man, an older one with a sunken face and thin, faint wisps of smoke curling from his skin, shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." In an accent more like his own, teeth clenched around an unlit cigarette.

Little hands and a soft, blood stained pout peppered Astarion's being with neediness, dragging and mewling across his bare chest and neck. It wasn't until the older, accented man produced a lighter, and clicked it sparking, did that seem to rouse Ofelia from her daze.

Tearing her lips away from Astarion's hungry mouth, she turned in time to see the younger man working the ski cap over his head, sliding goggles to cover what of his eyes were left exposed.

Grabbing Astarion's hands, she tripped over her feet in panic, pulling them towards the open doorway to their right.

"C-Come on, we have to move." Her words breathy and clipped by mounting adrenaline, it scrambled her movements, unbalanced and clumsy. "Now!"

Enveloped in an eruption of molten flame, the younger man bound to his feet, lunging towards Astarion's heel - spun to flee in the nick of time.

Ofelia stumbled, kicking through the cool dirt, scraping her bare shins against the nosing of the steps in her clamber to climb them. With only her gut to lead them, they fled through the narrow hall, the roar of adrenaline almost enough to drown the bellow of Charley behind him. Screaming his throat hoarse, his plea of her name smoked from the fire.

"Aaammmmy!"

Astarion spurred into the appropriate haste by a pursuant lit on fire; he kept pace alongside of her with his arm swept around her back in a protective maneuver, forcing her ahead of him, regardless of the disadvantage that was her stride halved by his. The entryway corralled them to a hallway stark white, lined with a multitude of doors that look no different between them.

"Amy? As in little Amy from earlier?"

"Yes-," Ofelia hurled the affirmation from burning lungs. Each door they passed marked at the top with a little window, her furrowed gaze blurred across each for the one that might reveal the mirror, and it's mismatched reflection. "This is a more modern re-telling of the same story."

She wanted to laugh, explaining the nature of a remake as if the most natural conversation they've exchanged all day.

Astarion hummed with the nonchalance to match, as if in perfecting understanding of the niche concept, and one presented under duress.

Charley and his cries faded into the pounding of their feet against slab, the distance between them ever increasing. "And I'm who again, exactly?"

Reaching the end of the hall and rounding the corner at their left, the miraculous sight leaning against the far wall to greet them was none other than the mirror. Their next destination laid beneath it's slick, polished, facade of a surface.

You can hear, faintly in the background, Raphael's stifled scoff of resignation.

Ofelia grinned through her sluggish forward propel. The salacious hem of her tattered and grimy baby-doll whipping against her sun-soaked thighs. "Your name is Jerry Dandridge."

Less then a foot away from the mirror, Astarion halted. "Jerry?"

Granted a moment of reprieve from the still distant threat of a flaming embrace, he squandered it to parrot the name through a wrinkle of distaste. The name spat, as though it's very taste was as derisory to his tongue, as it was to his ear. "I'm called Jerry?"

Slipping her hold around his wrist with both her hands, she tugged him to the end of the corridor. Unwilling to stall their escape for a moment more, she urged him with a placative coo. 

"Yuuup-c'mon, let's go, let's go."

PART 2