#Spectacles V2

[desiderareing]

Mishio tag drop.

[noirscript]

Where the Ivy Grows

Pairing: Yandere!Tutor x Childhood Friend!Reader Description: You built a quiet life in his absence—but Seraphim D’Aronn has returned, and he’s come to collect what was always his. Warning/s: Yandere | Emotional Manipulation | Power Imbalance | Implied Coercion | Gaslighting | Possessive Behavior | Contractual Relationship Note/s: Enjoy this Clerivan Pellet-inspired character. This man... god... um, hehe. Oh, Dark Roast v2 is up on my ko-fi and you can get it half the price by clicking the link below. ^^ Commissions are also open to those interested.

Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar | Dark Roast v2

You never heard the carriage wheels.

The town was too quiet for that, muffled under the thick blanket of summer heat and your own routine of pretending you weren’t waiting for something to go wrong.

You’re out back, hanging washed linens on the line, sleeves rolled past your elbows, neck damp with sweat, when the first shadow falls across the hem of a sheet fluttering in the breeze. You freeze, peg suspended in your fingers. You don’t need to look. You know who it is.

You feel it in the silence.

“…You’re early.”

Your voice is calm, but there’s a tremor. You hate it. You’ve had three years to learn how to hide that—ever since you signed what you thought was a generous marriage contract, eyes tired and stomach hollow from grief and debt. Three years to convince yourself it wasn’t entrapment, just kindness delivered with a bit too much pressure.

But Seraphim D’Aronn is never early.

He’s exactly on time. Always.

You turn slowly, shielding your eyes against the sun, and there he is—taller than memory allows, a quiet monument in cream linen, silver-trimmed coat hanging over one arm. His hair is longer than before, nearly brushing his waist, gathered at the nape with a deep blue ribbon. Not a strand out of place. His sapphire eyes are unreadable behind the glint of thin-rimmed spectacles.

He smiles.

“I missed you.”

It’s not a lie. But it’s not love either.

At least, not the kind you want.

You swallow. “You said you wouldn’t be back until winter.”

“I had a change of heart.”

Of course he did.

The children of the Eldermont Duchy must be fully grown now. Old enough not to need their calm, intelligent tutor with the kind smile and frighteningly precise memory. And Seraphim… Seraphim keeps his promises, but only the ones he chooses to keep.

You step aside instinctively as he moves closer, hands clasped behind his back like he’s afraid to touch you too soon. He’s always done that—delayed gratification in its most polite, invasive form. Never force, never cruelty. Just control.

The only thing he ever wanted more than your love was your obedience.

“I brought something.” He nods toward the house. “Where should I set the luggage?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you retreat into the house. You tell yourself it’s for the tea.

• • — ✦ — • •

The kitchen feels smaller with him in it. He moves like a ghost—quiet, careful, but always there. Always watching. His eyes linger on your back a bit too long as you fill the kettle. You pretend not to notice. Pretend you don’t feel like a bird locking itself back into a gilded cage.

“Did you get the letters I sent?” His voice is mild.

“I did.”

“You didn’t reply.”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

A beat of silence.

“I missed you.”

“You already said that.”

“I’ll keep saying it,” he murmurs. “Until you believe me.”

You set the cups down harder than intended.

Seraphim doesn’t flinch.

Instead, he steps closer, his gaze lowered, expression soft. “You’ve done well here. The garden looks lovely. And the ivy—you’ve been trimming it back yourself, haven’t you?”

You nod, unsure whether to feel proud or wary. He’s praising your efforts, the life you’ve built in his absence. But you don’t trust praise from a man who once convinced you that a signature was just a formality.

He leans against the counter beside you, close enough for his shoulder to almost brush yours. His scent is familiar—books, bergamot, and the faint metallic note of ink. It clings to him like memory.

“You look tired,” he murmurs. “Have you been sleeping poorly?”

“No more than usual.”

“I could help,” he offers. “The tincture I gave you last spring—”

“I stopped taking it.”

That finally earns a visible reaction.

His lips press together, thin with disappointment, but he doesn’t argue. He never argues. Not when it matters.

“I see,” he says quietly, adjusting his glasses.

You serve the tea in silence.

• • — ✦ — • •

That night, he didn’t ask to share your bed. He merely occupies it.

You find him already seated on the edge when you return from brushing your hair, unbuttoning his shirt with slow, practiced fingers. The golden strands fall like liquid light down his back as he sets his glasses on the nightstand.

He speaks without looking up.

“I’ve requested that the Eldermont Duchy forward the remainder of my holdings to this estate. I will no longer be returning to the Capital.”

Your heart stutters.

“Seraphim—”

“I’m not asking for permission.”

Of course he isn’t.

You feel the words rising in your throat, the old ones—I never wanted this, you tricked me, you said I could leave—but you’ve said them before. Quietly, uselessly. They always slip past him like smoke. He never denies them. He just… reminds you.

“You signed a lifetime clause,” he says softly, as if reading your thoughts. “Nullification only occurs in death.”

You sit down heavily at the foot of the bed.

“You always leave that part out.”

His voice warms, almost gentle. “Because I don’t plan to die.”

You shiver.

He moves closer, lifting the blanket with a reverent touch. The mattress dips as he settles beside you. For a long moment, neither of you speak. His hand hovers inches from yorus, close enough for the heat to leach into your skin. But he doesn’t touch you. Not yet.

“I remember the day you smiled at me for the first time,” he says softly. “We were children. I’d fallen in the river trying to catch that stupid dragonfly. You pulled me out. I cried.”

You stare at your knees.

“You were just a boy.”

“I’m still that boy,” he whispers. “But now I can protect you.”

You close your eyes.

“From what, Seraphim?”

He doesn’t answer.

Because the answer is everything. Including yourself.

• • — ✦ — • •

The days stretch slowly.

He doesn’t try to cage you physically. You still go to the market. Still tend the garden. Still breathe air that feels free. But his presence coils through the house like ivy—unassuming, patient, inescapable. He renovates the library, expands the study, commissions furniture with your initials carved into the wood.

A matching desk.

Matching chairs.

Matching tea cups.

“I thought we could use more symmetry,” he explains, setting the pair of porcelain cups onto the shelf. His expression is serene. “Married life should reflect harmony.”

You say nothing.

He never forces you to speak.

But you wonder if that’s worse.

Because silence lets your mind slip into dangerous things. It lets you notice the quiet click of the study’s lock when he’s inside. Lets you realize the ledger drawer is always locked. Lets you catch the glint of obsidian wax on sealed envelopes addressed to names you don’t recognize.

One morning, you reach for his coat by the doorway—and find a letter tucked into the break pocket.

The seal is broken.

The handwriting isn’t his.

You only have seconds. You skin. Seraphim, your return is noted. The children ask after you still. Have you truly no interest in the family’s daughter? You could’ve had her, you know. The Duchess was prepared to endorse you.

You feel ill.

A rustle behind you.

You turn too fast, nearly dropping the letter.

He’s there, quiet as snow, holding two steaming cups of tea.

“I thought we might read together today,” he says calmly.

You place the letter back without meeting his gaze.

• • — ✦ — • •

But summer’s end, he’s teaching again.

Not children. Just you.

He fills the shelves with books—history, finance, alchemy, etiquette. At first, you resist. Then relent. Then find yourself waking to find him already preparing ink and parchment before you’ve even yawned.

“Your mind is sharp,” he says one day, during a break. “Wasted on manual labor and petty errands. I’ll never forgive them for stifling you.”

“Who?”

“Everyone who didn’t see your worth.”

You look away.

He reaches over, brushing a curl behind your ear. “Including yourself.”

You don’t recoil.

That’s the worst part.

Because something—sometimes—when he smiles like that, when his voice dips into something painfully tender, you feel something like safety.

And you hate yourself for it.

• • — ✦ — • •

That winter, snow blankets the fields. Seraphim starts reading aloud by the fire. His voice is smooth, musical. You wonder how the heirs of the Eldermont Duchy ever let him go. You wonder what kind of man turns his back on nobility for a locked house in a backwater town.

You ask him once—only once—why he left.

He closes the book slowly, looks at you over his glasses.

“I had everything there. Position. Wealth. Power.” He sets the book down, fingers lingering on the leather spine. “But not you.”

You want to scream.

But you don’t.

Because there is something terrifying in the way he says your name afterward. Not loud. Not desperate. Just… final.

• • — ✦ — • •

He touches you more often now. Brief, polite gestures—hand on your lower back, fingers brushing yours while you shell peas, palm cupping your cheek when you nod off in the study. It feels natural. Like a husband should. Like love should.

But it isn’t.

It’s possession wrapped in silk.

And still, you endure.

You wonder what’s worse—his touch or the absence of it.

You wonder how many others he’s ensnared with words like sugar.

You wonder if he would ever let you go.

You know the answer.

• • — ✦ — • •

One night, unable to sleep, you find him in the study again.

He’s writing letters, glasses low on his nose, ink pooling in the curve of his wrist as he writes line after elegant line. His expression is soft. Focused. He doesn’t hear you at first.

Then he does.

And he smiles.

“My darling,” he says, standing. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head.

He opens his arms, and like the fool you’ve become, you walk into them.

He holds you, careful and still.

Then he whispers against your temple:

“You were always going to be mine. Even if it took a lifetime.”

You feel the contract in your bones then—not paper, not ink. But steel.

You wonder if, in another life, you would’ve loved him freely.

You wonder if he would’ve waited.

But you know this isn’t that life.

And Seraphim D’Aronn doesn’t wait.

He decides.

noirscript © 2025

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[badathumanemotions]

Beyond Expectations (V2)

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI Category: Smut CW: Virgin Spencer, Oral Sex, Fingering, Degradation, Praise, Loss of Virginity, Riding, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Cumplay, Dominate Reader. WC: 8,518 After driving Spencer home he invites Y/N in out of the rain (Not Proof Read) Master List

Spencer Reid was a man of routine, his life as meticulously organized as the stacks of paperwork lining his desk at the BAU. His spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of his nose as he peered into the abyss of criminal psychology. The dimly lit room of the Behavioral Analysis Unit hummed with the murmur of his colleagues' voices, each one a cog in the intricate machine of justice. His mind raced, piecing together the puzzle of the latest crime scene with the finesse of a master chess player.

Yet amidst the chaos of their work, Spencer's thoughts often drifted to his colleague, Y/N L/N. Her sharp wit and unyielding resolve had captured his attention from the moment he had met her. He'd noticed the way her eyes sparkled when she cracked a case, the gentle sway of her hips as she walked, and the softness of her lips when she spoke. But it was her confidence that truly fascinated him, a contrast to his own insecurities about his physical appearance.

The rain had started to fall in a gentle patter against the office window, casting a gloomy veil over the city. Spencer, lost in thought, barely registered the droplets of water tracing patterns down the glass. Y/N, noticing his preoccupation, approached him with a knowing smile. "Looks like you're going to need a ride home tonight, Reid," she said, her voice like a siren's call, pulling him from his introspection.

Spencer looked up at her, his heart skipping a beat. He had always felt a palpable tension between them, a silent dance of desire that he was too shy to acknowledge. But the way she offered, the smoulder in her eyes, suggested something more than just a friendly gesture. He nodded, trying to keep his voice steady. "Thank you, Y/N. I'd appreciate that."

They made their way to the elevator, the silence thick with unspoken intentions. The doors slid open, revealing the empty metal box that would take them down to the parking garage. She stepped in first, her heels clicking against the floor as she turned to face him. Spencer followed, his eyes drawn to the curve of her hips as she leaned against the railing. The doors closed with a soft thud, sealing them in their own little world.

Y/N reached over and pressed the button for the ground floor, her hand lingering on the panel a moment longer than necessary. She stepped closer, her body heat radiating towards him.Spencer's breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest like a wild animal trying to escape. The elevator descended, the lights flickering as it passed each floor. The cables groaned with the weight of their anticipation, each second stretching into an eternity.

When the elevator reached the parking garage, the doors slid open to reveal the dimly lit space. The scent of rain and asphalt filled the air as they stepped out into the cool embrace of the night. Y/N led the way to her car, the sharp click of her heels echoing through the cavernous garage.

They slid into the confined space of her car, the leather seats cool against their skin. She turned the ignition, the engine purring to life, and reversed out of the spot. As they drove through the garage, the headlights cast eerie shadows on the concrete walls, illuminating their faces in brief moments of stark clarity. Spencer's heart hammered in his chest as he stole glances at Y/N, her eyes focused on the road ahead, her lips curled into a knowing smile.

He tried to start a casual conversation, his voice wavering slightly. "So, how was your day?" But his usual eloquence had abandoned him, leaving only a stumbling mess of words. He felt his cheeks flush, the heat of his embarrassment creeping up his neck.

Y/N glanced at him, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "My day was fine, Reid," she replied, her tone a bit more playful than usual. "How about yours?"

Spencer's mind raced, trying to come up with something, anything, to say that wouldn't make him sound like a babbling fool. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of nerves. "It was… productive," he managed, his voice a whisper compared to the roar of his thoughts.

Y/N's smile grew wider, the corner of her mouth quirking up. "It's Friday night, Reid. We've got a rare free weekend ahead of us. You should let your hair down," she said, her eyes flicking to the side of his head where his short, slick hair grazed his ears.

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Spencer swallowed, his throat dry. "I-I don't know if I know how to do that," he confessed, his gaze drifting to her profile, illuminated by the dashboard lights.

The rain grew heavier as they approached his apartment, the wipers swiping back and forth in a rhythmic dance to keep the windshield clear. Y/N slowed down, her knuckles white on the steering wheel as she navigated the treacherous streets. Water gushed in rivers along the gutters, the night's darkness closing in around them. The city lights were a blurred mosaic through the downpour, reflecting off the wet pavement.

Spencer couldn't help but worry about her driving in such conditions. He knew she was capable, but the intensity of the storm was unnerving. "Are you sure you're okay to drive in this?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Y/N shot him a sideways glance, her eyes filled with a mischievous glint. "I've driven in worse, Reid," she said, her voice a sultry purr that seemed to resonate through the car. "But if you're worried, I could always wait the storm out at your place"

The suggestion was loaded, a silent invitation that made Spencer's stomach flip-flop with excitement. His cheeks burned with a blush that was impossible to hide in the dim car interior. He knew what she was offering, and the thought of it made his heart race. His mind raced with scenarios, each more tantalizing than the last. He wanted that so badly, the ache in his chest was almost painful.

As they pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building, the rain had turned into a torrential downpour. The droplets hit the windshield with such ferocity that it was hard to see anything beyond the smeared lights of the other vehicles. Spencer's eyes remained glued to Y/N, his breath shallow, his thoughts racing faster than the water droplets that danced across the glass.

Her proposition hung in the air, thick and charged like the electricity that crackled outside. He tried to respond with the same cool confidence she exuded, but his voice betrayed him, coming out as a strained whisper. "I-I guess that could work." The words barely left his mouth before he felt a rush of heat to his cheeks, hoping she couldn't hear the desperation in his voice.

They dashed through the rain, their laughter mingling with the sound of the downpour. Spencer fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking with anticipation. Finally, the lock clicked open, and they tumbled into the warm embrace of his apartment. Y/N shrugged off her wet coat, revealing the curve of her breasts under her tight blouse, and Spencer couldn't help but stare. He felt a sudden jolt of excitement, mixed with a hint of fear. He had always been so sure that she was out of his league.

The apartment was a testament to his solitary life, filled with towering bookshelves that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. The scent of old paper and leather bound volumes filled the air, creating a cozy cocoon that was as much a part of Spencer as his glasses. Y/N took it all in with a nod of approval, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she took a step closer to him.

"Nice place," she murmured, her voice low and sultry. She moved through the room, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she made her way to the sofa, her hips swaying in a way that was both mesmerizing and infuriating. Spencer felt his throat tighten as he watched her, his eyes drawn to the way the fabric of her blouse clung to her damp skin.

"Thanks," he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. He closed the door behind them, the sound of the storm outside now muffled by the thick barrier of his apartment. The room felt smaller with her in it, the air charged with a tension that made it difficult to breathe.

Y/N turned to face him, her eyes gleaming with something that made his stomach flip. "You know, Reid," she began, her voice a sweet caress that seemed to stroke his very soul. "You've always been so… proper." She took a step closer, her heels clicking with every movement. "But I have a feeling that underneath all that," she paused, her eyes raking over his lanky frame, "there's a wild side just dying to come out and play."

Spencer swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He had never seen this side of Y/N, this seductive, playful creature that seemed to have emerged from the shadows of the storm. Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and he found himself nodding in silent agreement.

"But you know," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I've noticed something about you, Reid." She took another step closer, the scent of her perfume, something floral and exotic, wrapping around him like a warm embrace. "You're always so… inhibited. So concerned with what others think."

Spencer's heart hammered in his chest as she reached out, her fingertips grazing the fabric of his shirt. He could feel the heat of her body, so close to his own, and he knew that this was his moment. He had to be brave, had to take the plunge into the unknown.

Y/N stepped closer, her breath warm against his skin as she leaned in. "I want you, Reid," she murmured, her voice a seductive whisper that sent a thrill of excitement through him. "But I need to know that you can handle me."

Her hand slid down his chest, her fingers trailing over the thin fabric of his shirt to rest on his hip bone. He sucked in a sharp breath, his mind racing with the possibilities of what she meant.

Spencer had never been with a woman like Y/N. In fact, he had never been with a woman in the way he knew she was suggesting. A solitary blowjob in college had been the extent of his sexual experience. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of doubt or ridicule.

But what he saw was something else entirely. It was a hunger, a need that seemed to consume her. And in that moment, Spencer realized that she didn't just want him; she wanted all of him, even the parts he had always been so ashamed of. The idea was intoxicating, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once.

He had always been self-conscious about his lack of sexual experience, his virginity a constant source of inadequacy in his mind. The few times he had been intimate with others, it was awkward and not very good. He had resigned himself to a life of quiet solitude, his only release the occasional visit to a porn site where he could find comfort in the anonymity of his own hand.

But here was Y/N, the woman he had secretly desired for so long, telling him that she wanted him, despite his imperfections. He felt a rush of emotions, a heady mix of excitement and fear that made his knees feel like they might give out. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come.

Y/N reached up and slipped her hand behind his neck, pulling him down into a kiss that was as fiery as the passion in her eyes. Spencer's hands found her waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he lost himself in the warmth of her mouth. Her tongue danced with his, a silent promise of the pleasure that awaited them both.

The fear from his high school days crept into his mind, memories of humiliation and rejection. But he pushed them aside, focusing on the here and now. This wasn't a prank, this was real. Y/N's body pressed against his, her curves moulding to his angular frame, was all the proof he needed. He wanted this, needed this, more than he had ever needed anything before.

Spencer's hands trembled as they found their way to the buttons of her blouse, his fingers fumbling in his haste. He felt her chuckle against his mouth, a sound that was both soothing and arousing. "Easy there, Einstein," she murmured, her hands covering his, guiding him. "Let me do the honours."

With a deftness that seemed to belie the urgency of the moment, Y/N began to undo the buttons on her wet shirt. One by one, they slipped through their holes, revealing the skin beneath. Her bra was damp, the fabric clinging to her breasts like a second skin. Spencer couldn't tear his eyes away, his mouth going dry at the sight of her.

When she had undone enough, she shrugged off the garment, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. He had seen them before, in his fantasies, but never so close, never so real. Her breasts were full and heavy, the nipples hard little points that begged for his touch. He reached out tentatively, his fingertips brushing the soft flesh. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes never leaving his.

Y/N reached behind her, unclasping her bra with an ease that spoke of experience. The fabric fell away, and Spencer's breath caught in his throat. Her breasts were perfect, round and firm, tips peaked with desire. He cupped one in his hand, feeling the weight of it, the warmth of her skin against his palm. His thumb brushed over the nipple, and she moaned, arching her back.

The sound was like music to his ears, a symphony of need that surged through his body. He leaned down, capturing her nipple with his mouth, sucking gently. Y/N's hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The taste of her was like nothing he had ever experienced, a heady mix of salt and sweet that made him want more.

Her nails scraped lightly against his scalp, sending sparks of pleasure down his spine. Spencer moaned against her skin, his hands exploring the contours of her body. He felt the warmth of her flesh beneath his fingertips, the softness of her curves, the strength of her muscles. It was like he was discovering a treasure trove of sensations, each one more intoxicating than the last.

Y/N's breath hitched as she felt his touch, her body responding to him in ways she hadn't expected. She had always known that Spencer was a man of hidden depths, but this side of him was something she had never imagined.

As she pushed the shirt off his shoulders, Spencer felt the cold air of the room hit his skin, sending goosebumps racing down his spine. Y/N's gaze travelled over his chest, lingering on the sharp points of his hip bones before dropping to the bulge in his pants. A smirk played at the corner of her mouth as she reached for the zipper.

"Let's see what you're working with, Reid," she murmured, her voice thick with desire

Her hand slipped inside, her warmth surrounding his cock. He gasped as she wrapped her fingers around him, feeling the softness of her skin against his own. He was hard, so hard it was almost painful, and she chuckled at his obvious arousal.

Her hand began to move, stroking him in a slow, deliberate rhythm that made his knees weak. Spencer's eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure almost too much to bear. He had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But with each stroke, he found himself getting harder, his body betraying his fears.

"Look at me," Y/N demanded, her voice firm. Spencer's eyes snapped open, meeting hers. The fire in her gaze burned away any last traces of doubt.

With a sense of determination that surprised even himself, Spencer stepped out of his pants, his cock standing proud despite his nerves. Y/N's eyes never left his, a smirk playing on her lips as she sank to her knees before him.

The coldness of the floor against her skin was a stark contrast to the heat that radiated from Spencer's body. She took him in her hand, her thumb tracing the length of his shaft. "You know," she said, her voice a purr, "a cock this pretty needs some special attention."

Y/N leaned in closer, her breath hot against his skin as she took his cock in her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the tip, teasing him before taking him deeper. Spencer's eyes rolled back in his head, a moan escaping his lips as she began to suck with an enthusiasm that belied the size of her mouthful. Her hand cupped his balls, gently massaging them as she took him in deeper, her eyes never leaving his.

He could feel the tension building, the pressure rising with every bob of her head. His hands found their way into her hair, his fingers tightening as he struggled to keep from thrusting into her mouth. He knew he was inexperienced, something he'd always been self-conscious about, but the way she was looking at him, the way she was worshipping him with her mouth, it was like nothing else mattered.

Y/N pulled away for a moment, her lips glistening in the soft light of the room. "Tell me, Spencer," she purred, her voice a seductive purr that sent shivers down his spine. "Has anyone ever put their mouth on you like this before?"

Spencer's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he thought back to his college days, the fumbling attempts with his first partner. "Once," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "But it wasn't… it wasn't like this."

Y/N's eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and triumph. "Well, then," she murmured, her voice a soft purr that sent shivers down his spine. "I'm going to have to show you how it's really done."

With that, she took him in her mouth again, her movements more deliberate, more forceful. Spencer's eyes widened as she began to degrade him, whispering sweet nothings that were anything but sweet. "You like that, don't you, you little virgin?" she teased, her tongue flicking against his sensitive skin. "You've never had a woman treat you like this before, have you?"

Her words stung, but the sensation was oddly arousing. He had always been the object of ridicule for his innocence, but here she was, turning his inexperience into something desirable. He felt a strange thrill at the thought of being her plaything, her little secret to corrupt.

Her eyes never left his, watching his every reaction as she continued to suck him off. Each time she pulled away, she'd whisper something degrading, something that should have made him feel small and insignificant, but instead it made him feel aroused. She was playing a game, and he was all too eager to play along.

"Mm, you like that, don't you, Reid?" she said, her voice thick with satisfaction as she licked her lips. "You're such a slut for it, aren't you?"

Spencer could only moan in response, his eyes glazed over with lust. He had never been talked to like this before, never been made to feel so…small. But instead of shrinking away, he felt himself growing harder, his body craving more of her degradation.

Y/N noticed his lack of verbal response and pulled away, her eyes narrowing. "I said, do you like that?" she demanded, her grip on his cock tightening.

Spencer's breath was ragged, his eyes snapping back to hers. "Y-yes," he stuttered, his voice barely audible.

Y/N's smirk grew as she released his cock with a wet pop. She rose to her feet, her eyes never leaving his. "Good," she said, her voice still that sweet, sultry purr. "Because I'm not done with you yet."

Spencer's eyes widened as he took in the sight of her, now only clad in a scrap of cotton that barely contained her. Y/N stepped out of the pool of fabric, standing before him in nothing but her drenched panties. The fabric clung to her, revealing the tantalizing outline of her sex.

Without a moment's hesitation, he dropped to his knees, his cock still standing proud despite the cold floor beneath him. "Please," he begged, his voice thick with need. "Let me taste you."

Y/N's smirk grew wider as she stepped closer, the damp fabric of her panties brushing against his face. She could feel his breath, hot and heavy, against her skin. "You want this, don't you?" she taunted, her voice a sweet symphony of seduction. "You want to taste me, to prove that you're not the inexperienced little boy everyone thinks you are."

Spencer nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. He knew he was falling into a dangerous game, but he couldn't help himself. The desire to please her, to show her that he could be what she needed, was all-consuming.

"Why should I let you?" she asked, her voice a silky challenge.

Spencer's eyes searched hers, finding the desire that lay just beneath the surface of her playful banter. He knew that she was testing him, pushing his boundaries to see just how far he would go. And he was more than willing to oblige.

"Because I want to," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because I'll do anything to make you feel good."

Y/N's eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and desire. "Anything?" she repeated, her hand sliding down to the waistband of her soaked panties.

Spencer's heart hammered in his chest as he nodded. "Anything," he confirmed, his voice thick with need.

With a dramatic flourish, Y/N slid her panties down her legs, stepping out of them and kicking them aside. She was bare before him, her sex glistening with arousal. Spencer's mouth watered at the sight, his cock pulsing with excitement.

Her pussy was a thing of beauty, a small strip of hair leading down to her swollen pussy lips. Spencer felt his heart race as he took in the view, his eyes drinking in every detail. The scent of her desire filled the air, a sweet musk that made his head spin.

"Prove it," she challenged, stepping closer so that his nose was almost touching her sex. Spencer didn't need any more encouragement. He leaned in, his tongue flicking out to taste her. She was sweet and salty, a flavour that was uniquely her. He moaned, his hands sliding up her thighs to grip her hips as he buried his face between her legs.

Y/N's hands found their way into his gelled hair, her nails digging into his scalp as he began to lick her in earnest. He knew he had to make this good. His tongue danced over her clit, tracing the sensitive flesh with a gentle pressure that had her hips bucking against his face.

The sound of her moans filled the room, drowning out the storm outside. Spencer felt a surge of power, his inhibitions slipping away as he tasted her, felt her tremble against his mouth. He had read about this, studied it in his endless quest for knowledge, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality of it.

Her legs began to quiver, and she reached down to steady herself, her hand finding the back of his head. "Don't stop," she breathed, her voice a desperate plea that only spurred him on. Spencer's tongue slid inside her, exploring her wetness, tasting her deeply. He felt her thighs tighten around his head, her hips moving in time with his mouth.

Y/N's moans grew louder, her breath coming in pants as she thrust against his tongue. The sight of her, so powerful and in control, yet so vulnerable in her pleasure, was more erotic than any of the images he had encountered in his vast research. He lapped at her, his tongue swirling around her clit, feeling her body tense with each pass.

Spencer's hands reached around to steady himself, his fingers digging into the flesh of her ass. He felt the muscles clench beneath his touch, her hips moving in a silent demand for more. He eagerly obeyed, his tongue delving deeper, his hands squeezing and releasing in a rhythm that matched the pulse of his own desire.

As Y/N's moans grew more insistent, Spencer felt a thrill of triumph. He had done this, brought her to this point of pleasure with nothing but his mouth and his willingness to submit to her every whim. He licked and sucked, savouring the taste of her, the feel of her against his tongue.

"Oh, fuck, Reid," she gasped, her voice shaky. "You're so good at this." Her praise was like a balm to his soul, soothing the wounds of his past rejections. He felt his cock throb, the blood rushing to his head as he worked harder, his tongue flicking and teasing her swollen clit.

"You're… you're so… oh god," she panted, her nails digging into his scalp. He felt a rush of pleasure at her words, his own insecurities momentarily forgotten. He had never been praised like this, never been told that he was good at something so intimate, so raw.

Her hips bucked harder, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she neared the edge. Spencer's tongue moved faster, flicking and teasing, pushing her closer to the precipice. And then, with a cry she came, her juices flooding his mouth and painting his face with her essence.

Spencer sat back on his heels, watching as Y/N's legs wobbled. Her breath came in short pants, her eyes glazed with pleasure. He felt a smug satisfaction, his cock pulsing with the need for more. He reached for his glasses, wiping them clean with the hem of his discarded shirt before sliding them back onto his nose.

"Your turn," she murmured, her voice a seductive promise. She reached for him, her hand guiding him to his feet. The room was a mess, their clothes scattered like confetti on the floor, but all Spencer could focus on was the desire in her eyes.

He took her hand, leading her to his bedroom with a confidence he hadn't felt in years. The room was sparse, his bed the only real piece of furniture. It was neat, almost monastic in its simplicity. But the storm outside painted the walls with shadows, giving the room an atmosphere of barely contained passion.

"Lay back," she ordered, her voice low and commanding. Spencer complied, his heart racing as he felt the mattress give beneath him. He watched as she climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips with a grace that belied the fierce hunger in her eyes.

Y/N begins to grind her pussy against his cock, the tip nudging her clit with every movement. Spencer can feel the warmth of her, the wetness of her arousal coating his shaft. It's a sensation that's both terrifying and exhilarating, and he can't help but let out a low moan.

"Mm, you like that, don't you?" she purrs, her hips rocking against him. "But let's see if you know how to use that thing," she says, her voice a seductive challenge. The words should sting, but instead, they only serve to excite him further. He feels a thrill of anticipation, his cock twitching in response to her challenge.

Y/N's wetness coats his tip as she lowers herself onto him, the slick heat of her pussy making him gasp. Slowly, oh so slowly, she takes him in, her eyes never leaving his. The feeling is indescribable, the pressure of her tightness surrounding him, the way she seems to grip him.

"Don't cum too quickly, Spencer," she whispers, her voice a teasing taunt. "I've heard that's what virgins do, isn't it? Just spurt their little seed like they're not even worth the effort."

Spencer moans, his eyes squeezed shut, the words a potent mix of degradation and arousal. He's never been talked to like this before, never been made to feel so…used. But with each syllable that drips from her lips, his cock only grows harder, his need for her more intense. He can feel her wetness, her heat, surrounding him, her walls tightening around him as she takes him deeper.

The plushness of Y/N's thighs and ass slapped down on his bony hips with a sound that echoed through the room, each impact sending a jolt of pleasure through his body. It was a symphony of desire, a rhythm that spoke of her dominance and his submission. He could feel the heat of her skin, the softness of her flesh against his own, the slickness of their mingled arousal.

"Look at me, Spencer," she ordered, her voice a velvet caress that sent shivers down his spine. "Look at me while I fuck you like the inexperienced little virgin you are." He knew he should be offended, but instead, he felt a strange thrill at her words. It was as if she was peeling away the layers of his inexperience, revealing the raw, needy man beneath.

"Is that all you've got, Reid?" she taunted, her voice a whip crack of challenge. "This is what you're going to give me?" Her words stung, but not in the way he expected. Instead, they fuelled a burning need inside him, a need to prove himself, to show her that he could make her scream with pleasure.

Spencer's grip tightened on the bedsheets, his eyes never leaving hers as she continued to ride him with a slow, deliberate rhythm. He knew he had to do more, had to push her over the edge. He reached up, his hands finding her breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples. Y/N gasped, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before snapping open again.

"Is that all you've got, Reid?" she sneered, her voice dripping with mock disappointment. "This is what you call fucking me?"

Spencer's face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and anger. He knew she was playing with him, pushing his buttons, but he couldn't help the way her words affected him. He bucked his hips upwards, trying to drive himself deeper into her, to silence her with his passion.

"I can do better," he murmured, his voice a mix of desperation and defiance. "I'll make you cum."

Her smirk grew wider as she leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest. "Prove it," she whispered, her breath hot in his ear.

Spencer's hands slid down to her hips, his grip firm as he guided her movements. He began to thrust upwards, meeting her every downward motion with a force that belied his scrawny frame. He watched as her eyes grew wide, her mouth parting in a silent gasp as he found a rhythm that hit just the right spot.

Her breath grew ragged, her tits bouncing with each thrust. He could see the beginnings of a flush spreading across her chest, her nipples hardening into tight buds. Her walls tightened around him, squeezing his cock in a way that was both maddening and exhilarating. He knew she was close, could feel the tension coiling in her body like a spring ready to snap.

With a feral growl, Spencer reached down to her clit, his fingers trembling with anticipation. He needed her to come before he did. His thumb circled the sensitive nub, applying just the right amount of pressure. Y/N's eyes shot open, meeting his with a look of surprise and desire.

Her hips began to move faster, her breath hitching in her throat as she felt the beginnings of her climax building. Spencer felt it, too, the way her walls fluttered around him, the way her muscles began to quiver. He knew he had her, knew he could give her what she wanted.

He'd trained himself for this moment, countless nights spent alone in his apartment, his hand around his cock, willing himself to hold back, to last longer. He'd read about it, studied the techniques, the psychological tricks that could make a man feel like a god in the bedroom. And now, as he felt Y/N's pussy clench around him, he knew it had paid off.

Spencer's thrusts grew more deliberate, his movements more precise. Each time she moaned, each time her walls clenched around him, he felt his resolve strengthen. Spencer knew intellectually it was about knowing the body, about reading the subtle cues, the hidden language of desire.

Suddenly, she leaned forward, her hands on his chest as she began to ride him in earnest. Spencer watched, his eyes glued to the sight of her pussy swallowing his cock, her clit grinding against his pelvis. The sight was enough to make him feel like he was going to explode. He reached up, his hands cupping her breasts as he squeezed and pinched her nipples in time with her movements.

Her eyes snapped to his, the challenge clear. "You like watching me take your cock, don't you?" she gasped, her hips moving faster, her pussy tightening around him. Spencer could feel the beginnings of his own climax building, the pressure in his balls growing with every stroke. He nodded, unable to form words, his eyes never leaving hers.

Y/N's movements grew erratic, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. Spencer felt her tighten around him, her pussy clamping down like a vice. And then, with a strangled cry, she came, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm. The sensation was like nothing he had ever felt before, his own cock pulsing with the power of her release.

Her eyes snapped shut, her head thrown back as she rode the waves of pleasure. Spencer watched her, his own arousal reaching a fever pitch. He knew he wouldn't last much longer, the sight of her coming on his cock pushing him to the edge.

Y/N's pussy was tight around him, pulsing with the aftershocks of her climax. He could feel the wetness of her release, the warmth of it against his skin. He was so close, his entire body coiled tight like a spring.

And then, with a final, desperate thrust, Spencer came. His eyes rolled back in his head, his back arching off the bed as ropes of cum shot from his cock, filling her completely. It was more than he had ever produced, a testament to the intensity of his arousal.

Y/N felt the warmth of his release, the sheer volume of it a surprise. Her pussy was flooded with his cum, the sensation of it dripping out of her making her gasp. She had never felt so filled, so used, and it was intoxicating. She stared down at him, her own climax still echoing through her body.

Spencer's eyes were glazed with pleasure, his chest heaving with the effort of his release. He watched her, his own arousal mixing with a hint of vulnerability that she found utterly endearing. "Did I… did I do okay?" he asked, his voice shaky.

Y/N's smirk softened into a smile as she leaned down to kiss him. "More than okay," she murmured, her voice a warm caress against his lips. "You're a quick study."

Spencer felt a wave of relief wash over him, his chest tightening with a feeling that was a mix of satisfaction and affection. He had done it, proven to her his worth as a lover. Her praise was a balm to his soul, soothing the insecurities that had plagued him for so long.

Y/N slid off of him, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm. She lay down beside him, her skin glistening with sweat and the remnants of their passion. The storm outside had reached a crescendo, the rain pounding against the windows.

Spencer looked down at his cock, now softening, and felt a moment of doubt. But before it could take root, she reached over and took his hand, interlocking their fingers. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice filled with genuine warmth.

Her praise was all he needed to banish his insecurities. He turned to her, pulling her into his arms. They lay there, their bodies tangled together, listening to the storm outside. The room was filled with the scent of sex and the quiet sounds of their mingled breaths.

Spencer felt a sudden need to take care of her, to clean her up after their passionate encounter. He pulled away gently and whispered, "I'll be right back." He slid out of bed, his legs unsteady from the intensity of their lovemaking.

The bathroom was a short walk away, but it felt like a mile as he stumbled through the darkened hallway, his mind racing with the reality of what had just happened. He flicked on the light and grabbed a soft washcloth, running it under the warm tap. The water was like a lifeline, grounding him in the moment.

Returning to the bedroom, he found Y/N exactly as he'd left her, sprawled across his bed, the sheets a rumpled mess around her. The sight of her made his heart skip a beat, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride.

"Let me," he murmured, his voice a soft request as he approached her with the washcloth. He was eager to show her that he cared, that he was attentive to her needs even in the aftermath of their passion.

Y/N watched him through hooded eyes, her breathing still ragged from her orgasm. She nodded, a hint of curiosity in her gaze as she spread her legs wider, giving him full access. Spencer's eyes fell to her sex, still wet and swollen from their encounter. He felt a thrill run through him, a mix of awe and desire as he knelt beside the bed.

He took the washcloth and gently began to clean her up, his eyes never leaving the mesmerizing sight of his cum slowly leaking out of her pussy. Each dribble was a testament to his power, his ability to satisfy her. It was a visual representation of his triumph, a silent declaration that he was more than enough.

But as he worked, Spencer couldn't help but feel a thrill of something darker, something that called to the depths of his kinks. The need to claim her, to mark her as his own, grew stronger with every stroke of the cloth. And so, with a decision made in a split second, he set the washcloth aside. His fingers, still slick from the warm water, slid over her folds, collecting his own cum before pushing it back inside her.

The sight of his fingers disappearing into her, the way her pussy took him in, was more erotic than he could have ever imagined. He watched as she bit her bottom lip, her eyes fluttering closed as he played with his own seed. The feeling of her tightness, the way she gripped his fingers, was intoxicating.

Spencer's mind raced with all the things he wanted to do to her, all the ways he could make her feel good. His fingers moved in a slow, deliberate rhythm, pushing in and out, the warmth of her body enveloping him. He could feel her growing wetter, her walls quivering around him. It was as if she was begging for more, and he was more than happy to oblige.

Y/N's moans grew louder, her hips rising to meet his hand. She wrapped her arms around her head, her legs spread wide in invitation. "Yes," she whispered, the word a soft hiss in the stillness of the room. "Just like that."

Her encouragement spurred Spencer on, his movements growing bolder. He watched as her body responded to his touch, the way her breasts bounced with each of her breaths, the way her pussy grew slicker and more swollen. He slid a second finger inside her, feeling the tightness of her channel clench around him.

"Yes," she moaned, her voice a siren's call that urged him to go deeper, to push her further. He curled his fingers, searching for that spot that would make her scream. When he found it, she arched off the bed, her nails digging into the sheets. "Oh god, yes, right there."

Her words were music to his ears, a symphony of desire that made his cock twitch with renewed interest. He added a third finger, stretching her tight pussy around him, feeling her clench and pulse.

With his other hand, Spencer reached up to her clit, his thumb brushing against the sensitive nub. She gasped, her hips bucking in response. He felt a thrill of power, knowing that he could reduce her to this state of need with just his touch.

He began to rub her clit in gentle circles, his touch feather-light, teasing her as he felt her body tense with anticipation. Y/N's breath hitched, her eyes snapping open to meet his.

"Fuck, Reid," she groaned, her voice a mix of pleasure and surprise. "You're so… good at this."

Her words were a sweet agony, a delicious torment that made Spencer's cock twitch back to life. He leaned over her, his eyes dark with desire as he whispered, "You like that?"

Y/N nodded, her eyes glazed with lust. "Keep going," she breathed, her voice a sultry command. Spencer didn't need any more encouragement. He began to grind his cock against the bed, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through his body. He watched her face, the way her cheeks flushed with desire.

Without a second thought, he leaned in and took her clit into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive nub. Her body jerked at the sudden contact, a gasp escaping her lips. He could feel the power of his own pleasure building, but he was determined to make her come again. He knew it was a bold move, but something about the way she looked at him, the way she'd praised him, made him feel invincible.

Spencer's fingers moved in a blur, pumping in and out of her pussy as he targeted her g-spot with the precision of a maestro. He watched as her face contorted with pleasure, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. He could feel her getting closer, her walls tightening around his digits, her hips moving in sync with his hand.

Y/N's eyes rolled back in her head, a keening sound escaping her throat. Her body was a canvas of passion, her muscles tensing and releasing in time with his movements. He knew he had found the perfect rhythm, the sweet spot that would send her over the edge.

Her orgasm hit her hard, like a bolt of lightning tearing through her body. Her pussy pulsed around his fingers, her thighs quivering as she bucked against him. Spencer felt the power of her release, the tremors that rippled through her core as she came apart in his hands.

Y/N took a moment to catch her breath, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. Spencer was still kneeling beside the bed, his cock standing at attention as he watched her. He was grinding it against the bed, the sheets bunching beneath him. She couldn't help but feel a thrill of dominance, watching him seek his own release.

With a wicked smile, she reached a hand out to his chin, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "You look like you could use some help with that," she purred, her voice thick with satisfaction. Spencer's eyes snapped to hers, his breath hitching.

Y/N slid off the bed, her body a study in grace as she moved. She grabbed his hand and tugged him to his feet, her strength surprising him. "Lie down," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. Spencer's cock bobbed with every step as he obeyed, his nerves a mix of excitement and anticipation.

He lay back, the coolness of the sheets soothing to the heat of his body. Y/N took a moment to appreciate the view, his glasses slightly askew on his face, his chest rising and falling with his ragged breaths. She felt a sense of power, a thrill that coursed through her veins.

With a grace that belied the intensity of her desire, she climbed up his body, her legs straddling his thighs. The warmth of her skin against his was electric, setting his nerves alight. His cock was already hard again, standing tall, begging for her attention.

As she reached his pelvis, she hovered there, her breath hot against his length. Spencer's chest heaved, his heart racing in anticipation. He watched as she leaned in, her eyes locked on his, and took the tip of his cock into her mouth. He felt the softness of her lips, the wetness of her tongue as she began to suck, the sensation sending shockwaves through his body.

Y/N's nails lightly scraped down his torso, leaving goosebumps in their wake as she approached his hip bones. Spencer's eyes widened as she wrapped her fingers around them, her grip firm but not painful. It was a strange sensation, the feeling of being both cherished and dominated at the same time. Her nails dug in, pinning him to the bed as if to remind him that she was in control, that she could do with him as she pleased.

Her tongue traced the length of his shaft, the wetness of her mouth leaving a trail of heat that made him shiver. She took him in deeper, her cheeks hollowing out as she sucked. Spencer felt the pressure build, the sensation of her tongue swirling around the head of his cock making his toes curl. He was so close, his body poised on the edge of release.

Y/N's eyes never left his as she licked and sucked with a hunger that was almost feral. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of satisfaction and amusement at his response. Spencer could feel the tension coiling in his balls, the pressure threatening to overwhelm him. He moaned, his hips bucking upwards, trying to get more of her mouth on him.

Her grip on his hips tightened, holding him in place as she began to play with his balls. She rolled them gently in her palm, her nails scraping lightly against the sensitive skin. The sensation was exquisite, a delicate balance of pleasure and pain that had him writhing beneath her. She could feel the heat building in him, the way his body responded to her touch. It was like holding a live wire in her hand, the power of his desire pulsing through her.

Y/N took her time, exploring every inch of his cock. Her tongue flicked out, licking and teasing his balls with a gentle touch that had Spencer's eyes rolling back in his head. She knew just how to manipulate him, how to coax every drop of pleasure from his body. His hips bucked, his cock straining towards her mouth as she worked her magic. The sounds of his moans filled the room, a symphony of desire that only spurred her on.

And then, she did it. She took all of him in her mouth, closing around his cock as she hummed a low, throaty sound. The vibrations hit him like a bolt of lightning, his body tensing as he felt the pressure build. Spencer had never felt anything so intense, so all-consuming. It was as if she had tapped into a part of him that he didn't even know existed.

With a final, desperate thrust, he came hard, filling her mouth with his cum. The feeling was indescribable, a mix of pleasure and relief that had him crying out her name. He watched as she swallowed, her eyes never leaving his, the hunger in them unmistakable. It was a moment of complete surrender, his body wrung out and vulnerable beneath her.

s the last tremors of his orgasm faded, Spencer's body went boneless, his muscles releasing their tension. He lay there, panting, his cock still pulsing as Y/N licked her lips, a smug smile playing on her face. The sight of her, so in control, so powerful, was almost too much.

Y/N crawled up his body, her movements sinuous and cat-like. She took him into her arms, holding him close as if he were something precious. Spencer felt a warmth spread through him, a feeling of belonging that was new and exhilarating. He wrapped his arms around her, his fingers tracing the curve of her spine as she settled against him.

For a moment, he allowed himself to just be, to revel in the aftermath of their encounter. But the question lingered in the back of his mind: what did this mean for them? Was it a one-time thing, a fleeting moment of passion? Or was there something more, a connection that could grow and evolve over time?

Y/N could see his mind racing, the cogs turning behind those intelligent eyes. She propped herself up on her elbow, her body still flushed with the afterglow of her climax. "What's on your mind, Spencer?" she asked, her voice soft and soothing.

Spencer took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "I just… I don't know what to think. This was… unexpected." He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "But I don't want it to be a mistake."

Y/N leaned in, her breath hot against his neck. "It's not a mistake, Spencer," she assured him, her voice a gentle whisper. "This is just the beginning."

Spencer felt a weight lift from his chest at her words. He tightened his hold on her, his heart racing with hope. "But what happens now?" he asked, his voice filled with uncertainty.

Y/N kissed him softly, her lips a gentle promise. "Now, we explore," she murmured, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "We find out just how good we can be together."

Spencer felt a thrill of excitement at her words. Being able to call her his, to claim her as his own, was a heady thought. It was something he had never dared to hope for, not with his insecurities. But now, as he held her in his arms, the possibility felt tantalizingly close.

[lunawings]

Mix & Master : Rena Uta Twitter : https://twitter.com/Renaa_uta

Presenting the final version of my cover of Mel's Space Spice Spectacle from PriChan! I went back to the drawing board, learned how to edit audio a little better, re-recorded a few parts that were bothering me, and found someone new to mix/master it on Fiverr. And they did AMAZING!

I was struggling to figure out how I wanted to add my own flavor to the song, so I asked them to "make me sound like a vocaloid(?)" so they put a little extra autotune on a few notes. I'm kinda obsessed with how it came out!

I'll be posting this officially (to my YouTube) eventually, but there's actually another song I want to "release" first as my "debut single" now that I'm more familiar with the process! So stay tuned!

[bestworstcase]

I can't remember whether you've answered this before, but. You postulate that everything Salem does in 8.9 after learning Yang's identity is a ruse to justify letting Yang and the others go free; that threatening Emerald is a deliberate attempt to provoke Hazel into attacking her so she has an excuse to turn her attention away from the prisoners.

My question is: Why does she need an excuse? Salem doesn't answer to anyone, and I can't see any particular risk in just saying "I've decided you're free to go, goodbye" and leaving the kids baffled. So what does she have to gain from... making herself seem more dangerous and unreasonable than she is? Not that I think she feels any hope she could convince the heroes she's reasonable -- as you've stated, Oz has done a very good job de-personing her for a very long time -- but I'm not sure why she would go to the effort of constructing an artificial scenario solely to make her enemies think she's more monstrous. What's her motivation here?

in the course of answering the question of her motivation i'm actually going to lay out my argumentation for reading the salem vs hazel fight this way, 'cause i don't think i've ever done so comprehensively before. (on tumblr, anyway.)

the foundational theory isn’t "salem did all this as a ruse to let her hostages go" but rather that this duel with hazel is a performative means to an end. and the reason i think that is the way the fight itself, along with the duel in the lost fable and the brief altercation with the kids preceding the fight, are choreographed.

to preface this discussion, rwby's fight choreography is subordinate to characterization. (this is less true in v1, wherein centerpiece fight scenes put a greater emphasis on style and spectacle, but from v2 onward there’s been an increasing focus on using combat to develop character.) team rwby vs ace-ops is a good example of this: ruby struggles in her matchup with harriet not only because she’s a grimm-fighting specialist whose main advantage (agility) is negated by her opponent being able to match her speed, but also because her heart isn’t in it; she pauses to plead with harriet to stop and think about what she’s doing and never really recovers her footing.

so my first presupposition is that salem isn’t an exception to this principle and her fight with hazel is not meant to just be a dramatic spectacle that Looks Cool but has nothing substantive to say about the characters involved. the writing and fight choreography are reliably cogent and i trust that the same amount of thought was put into this scene. i say this because i think "empty spectacle" is the only other way to parse what happens here.

now on to the most salient piece of context: we know that salem can fight well. because, as ruby puts it, we’ve seen what she’s capable of. the lamp showed us.

in the lost fable, we see:

salem and ozma fighting together, back-to-back, as they escaped her father’s fortress together.

salem stopping a nevermore the size of a commercial plane cold, and then crumpling it up like tissue paper.

salem matching ozma, a skilled, highly-experienced warrior who at the time had the combined might of the four maidens put together at his disposal, exactly blow-for-blow in their last duel.

nevermore crunch gives us a sense of not just the force but also the sheer precision of control that salem has over her magical power. the first fight tells us that even with no formal training, salem had the raw talent (and desperation) to keep up with ozma and hold her own against professional soldiers; the second fight tells us that by the time the ozlem kingdom fell, salem and ozma were equally matched in terms of skill.

the fanon idea that salem can't fight but won their duel by virtue of her invulnerability—whittling ozma down one lucky hit at a time—is a) contradicted by the swift and even back-and-forth volleys shown, and b) plainly at odds with the fanon nonsense that ozma spent most of the duel desperately and futilely on the defensive fighting to shield the girls from her onslaught.

from the tableaux in the second fight, it's hard to determine whether salem bothers with self-defense under normal circumstances (she doesn't, in the tableaux, but nor does ozma). but that in itself isn't a reason to presume a lack of skill in combat because salem has no incentive—other than pain avoidance, which given her extreme tolerance for pain isn't much—to fight defensively.

with all this in mind: we begin with her altercation with the kids.

salem enters the scene by exploding her way out of the whale. notice the kids knocked over like bowling pins on the left: oscar was standing approx. fifty-three feet away from the epicenter of the blast, measured based on salem being six feet tall. (<- with perspective taken into account. from wall to edge, the dock is 48ft wide)

emerald keeps her feet, perhaps because she knows better what to brace for; she's about the same distance away. in any case, salem's next move is to launch herself to the edge of the dock (again, a distance of 48ft—measured based on a different screenshot) and stretch to grab emerald in a fraction of a second.

ok. the women's world record 60m sprint is 6.92 seconds; this works out, rounded, to about 28.4ft/s. at that speed, you can cover forty-eight feet in about 1.7s; salem closes the distance in about half a second, which works out to 96ft/s. from a dead stop.

salem is could-probably-keep-up-with-ruby-rose fast.

next point. these two frames:

are a split second apart. the blast is aimed at ren and when jaune leaps in front of him, hits his shield right in the middle:

had jaune not gotten there in time, this would've hit ren squarely in the chest. in any case it hits with enough force to blast both boys off their feet and slams them into the flesh wall (roughly, eyeballing it based on several shots) 20-30 feet behind them hard enough to visibly strain jaune's aura. keep this timing in your mind for later. salem can fire these things off literally faster than you can blink.

the distance between her and ren at this point is approx. forty-five feet, again using the wide shot from earlier to measure. precise accuracy isn't impressive at this range necessarily but it's worth noting in relation to ren, who fires on her from the same distance, kneeling, with his fully automatics. every bullet goes wide:

& then salem whips around and noscopes him.

similarly, she sticky-hands yang in the face (catching her gauntlets only because yang throws up her arms to shield herself) while upside down with her eyes closed and paste for bones. she's a GOOD shot.

another detail to note here is the difference in salem's reaction to ren's attack versus yang's; ren fires on her, misses, she retaliates with her magical equivalent to his guns, but when yang punches bombs into her chest a second later, salem literally just stands there, even lowering her arm to let yang do it...

...and then after being blown up, rather than firing back with magic, snags yang and pulls her over to look intently at her:

we know that the reason salem grabbed emerald is with the intent to question her about what happened to the lamp, because salem concludes from the available facts that em must have stolen it. we also know that when ren shot at her, salem returned fire immediately, within a fraction of a second—this woman is inhumanly fast, and the time between these two frames:

is exactly equal to the time between these two:

what this tells is that salem did have time to blast yang in the gut with magic. through the whole sequence with yang punching her, salem is looking at yang's face, her gaze tracks down to follow her movement. she sees this coming and she's reacting to it, just making a deliberate choice not to retaliate.

and then she grabs yang.

this is the first weird thing salem does in this scene—every move she makes prior unambiguously follows from salem's belief that emerald stole the lamp and her desire to recapture oscar and take the relic back—and i don't think it's a coincidental that the weirdness begins with salem noticing yang...

...whom she saw like, two days ago rushing forward to comfort ruby after salem your mother-ed her to the ground. i've made this point before but prior to her arrival in atlas salem might at most have seen toddler pictures of these kids; ruby takes after her mother enough to be impossible to mistake for anyone but summer's daughter, but yang isn't even biologically related to summer. so salem wouldn't know her on sight. but this interaction a couple days ago would've given her enough circumstantial context to at least guess that this girl is summer's eldest.

so here, when salem sees yang and instantly flips from slinging bolts of magic around with enough force to break or at least visibly strain jaune's aura to sticky-handing yang to drag her over and grab her, the question is okay, why? why does that shift happen? what is it about this moment that alters salem's motivation? and because the situation hasn't changed whatsoever and there's no other reason for yang to have any significance to salem, the simplest and really only cogent explanation is her relation to summer rose.

onwards. salem isn't expecting oscar to zap her. you can tell because every time salem takes a hit on purpose in this scene, she either tracks her opponent's movements or visibly braces herself and neither of those things happens in the split second between oscar starting to fire and his blast hitting her; and also, she grunts in pain both when it hits her and when she doubles over afterward. given that oscar shouts at her first (so he has her attention) and what oscar and ozma say when they discuss the state of the merge in 7.13 and earlier in 8.9, i think it's pretty likely that salem didn't realize oscar could tap into ozma's magic and thus he caught her off guard.

also i'm not sure oscar realized he could do that until he did it. look at this boy. he's so busy going "wait what?" at himself that he doesn't even notice salem yeeting yang at him until a split second before yang hits him ->

that, or oscar's use of magic jostled oz to the front and neither of them were expecting that to happen.

at this point salem stops fucking around and pins everyone to the floor. and again this is something i want to emphasize because it is effortless for her. when she does this to hazel in 6.4 she makes a gesture with her hands, but here she just decides it's going to happen and it does. (which tells us that the gesturing in 6.4 is for show, just like flipping the table and raising her voice. she's exaggerating her irritation into this over-the-top anger for the sake of intimidating everyone else in the room. it's performative.)

anyway, she hangs emerald on the wall, conjures a ball of magic, and:

SALEM: What did you do with the lamp? EMERALD: ...N-nothing! [Salem leans in to hold the magic close to her face.] SALEM: It's missing. Where is it? EMERALD: I didn't do anything with it! SALEM: Where—[she lowers her hand, turning away]–is it?

ok. salem can tell when people lie. she's also grimm—she can probably sense or perceive emotion the way all other grimm do.

emerald isn't lying to her and salem knows she's telling the truth. the pseudo-repetition of the questions obfuscates this a little, because they're almost but not quite the same, but salem believes both of the truthful answers emerald gives her.

her initial assumption is that emerald stole the lamp and must have done something to hide it ("what did you do with it?"). emerald is startled, confused, and answers "nothing." salem explains why she's asking ("it's missing") and then asks if emerald knows where it is or who took it ("where is it?") because her next guess is that emerald conspired with somebody else who stole the lamp while emerald snuck oscar out.

when the lamp went missing, there were eight people on the whale: salem herself, hazel, emerald, neopolitan, oscar, yang, and these other two children whose names salem probably doesn't know. right before the seers sounded the alarm about intruders, salem encountered emerald and someone she thought was hazel in the corridor. at that point in time, salem expected hazel to still be interrogating oscar, as she's mildly surprised to see him: "ah, hazel. have you gotten what we need yet?"—and 'hazel' behaved oddly enough that salem was side-eyeing him before the alarm distracted her. her reaction to emerald a few minutes later ("you really have been honing that semblance of yours") confirms that she's figured out that 'hazel' was really oscar.

hazel assumes there is an alarm that will go off if they move the lamp, but he's wrong: neo swipes it seconds after they leave the chamber, and salem doesn't know anything is wrong until a) the seers alert her to the presence of intruders, several minutes layer, and b) she goes to personally secure the lamp and finds it already missing.

so salem does not know exactly when the lamp was taken, only that it happened before the seers sounded the alarm. that her suspicion falls first on emerald suggests that salem has—for whatever reason—already considered and ruled out the possibility that the intruders are the thieves (most likely, because the seer alarm calls convey more information than just "stranger danger!" and salem knows the intruders didn't get that far into the whale before being caught). plus by the time she's questioning emerald, salem has a) terrified emerald well past being able to maintain her semblance, which requires active focus, and b) visually confirmed that none of the intruders nor oscar are carrying the lamp with them.

ruling out emerald as the thief therefore leaves her with just two suspects: neopolitan, or hazel. now, salem does not have any reason to trust another of cinder's little pet illusionists, so on the face of it neo might seem to be the obvious suspect.

BUT.

salem expected hazel to be in oscar's cell at the time she unwittingly caught emerald in the act of helping oscar escape. and she knows that hazel is attached to emerald—that's why she punishes him for lying to her in 6.4 by forcing emerald to answer the question hazel tried to dodge, she knows hazel lied to protect emerald.

and emerald could not have freed oscar from his cell without hazel knowing about it.

based on the facts of the situation as salem understands them at the point when she turns away from emerald to ask, rhetorically, where the lamp is, there are only two possible explanations:

hazel stole the lamp while emerald helped oscar escape.

neo stole the lamp while emerald tried to sneak oscar out, either with hazel's assistance or while hazel was somewhere other than where salem expected him to be, doing something he shouldn't.

there is no way—no way—that salem does not realize, at this juncture, that hazel has most likely betrayed her. this woman is a clever strategist who has been running circles around ozpin and his inner circle since the show began and, while she lacks the charisma and social dexterity to be a truly masterful manipulator, she understands human nature and her manipulative tactics are always very shrewd. unless you're willing to assume that the writers just idiot balled her for the sake of the plot—which i'm not; rwby is too well-written—salem's assumption now is that hazel stole the lamp.

(which, she's wrong, but the underlying reasoning in how she handles the situation on the docks up to this point is an application of occam's razor; she begins with the simplest explanation and works upward in complexity from there, so she'd land on hazel stealing the lamp before she got to "neo stole the lamp, emerald freed oscar, hazel was doing something else.")

the shift in her tone as she turns away from emerald and the things she then says to oscar evince this also: her second "where is it?" is rhetorical. she knows that either hazel or neo has it, and hazel is the more likely suspect. since neither of them are here at the moment, but neither of them can leave the whale except through the dock, the question is no longer urgent. she has the situation fully under control. all she needs to do is wait.

so her attention shifts to oscar or ozma. (whether oz is fronting or salem thinks he’s fronting because oscar used ozma's magic is somewhat unclear, but given that she correctly identifies them in both 8.4 and 8.6 i'm inclined to think she’s right this time too, and oz got pulled forward by oscar’s use of his magic)

SALEM: Look how you've diminished. How you've lessened yourself—and for what? These children? This ruined world...? Why—do—you—keep—coming—back? YANG: Why do you?! [Salem glances at her, startled.] YANG: All of this endless death, just because something bad happened to you once upon a time? Nobody gets a fairytale ending! Everything I've lost—every person I've lost!—is because of you! SALEM: And who is it I've taken from you, girl? YANG: Summer Rose. My mom. SALEM: Hm. [amused] Her again?

as i said, salem already has reasonable confidence that this girl is summer rose's eldest daughter, but if she had any doubt or uncertainty prior she now knows for sure. "and who is it i've taken from you, girl?" is salem both engaging with what yang said to her and also fishing for a confirmation that she is who salem thinks she is, which yang obligingly gives to her.

so at this juncture salem now has three goals:

don't severely hurt or kill summer's daughter.

determine who stole the lamp and get it back.

recapture oz/oscar.

with the third being a means to the end of finding out how to access the lamp. this makes #3 the lowest priority, because there are at least six people who know the "password" (ozma, oscar, ruby, yang, and their two teammates) and if salem loses oz/oscar now she can still try to capture one of the other children later.

of the first two, which is more important doesn't really matter yet, because right now they aren't in opposition. she can accomplish the first by not doing anything to harm yang and the second by staying put until the thief—either neo or hazel—tries to get past her.

of course, then hazel IMMEDIATELY shows up. he is, remember, salem's primary suspect at this point and she knows that he, at a minimum, wasn't where she thought he was when emerald snuck oscar out of his cell. even if hazel doesn't have the lamp, salem has to consider him a possible traitor until proven otherwise because there is also this unspoken question of how emerald got oscar out. either hazel was incompetent or he was an accomplice.

salem wants to know which it is.

he walks onto the docks, greets her. salem glances over at him and sees that he does not have the lamp, so either he stashed it somewhere on the whale with the intent to sneak it out later or he isn't the thief. the question of how emerald got oscar past him remains. there is a possibility that hazel wasn't involved in the jailbreak or the theft—he's been in and out of that cell all day—and if salem makes this accusation and she's wrong, she risks losing his loyalty. right. like hazel is already terrified of her and she knows ozma has been feeding him bullshit all day about how she's bent on destroying the world, she walked in on that.

if she takes an aggressive posture here on the basis of an incorrect suspicion that's going to play right into ozma's hands by making her look unreasonable, untrustworthy, dangerous. even if he remains loyal in the moment, he'll have all of this in the back of his mind and he might turn against her at a more crucial juncture in the future.

salem is very risk-averse. she's not going to do that. so now she has a fourth goal: test hazel in a way that will strengthen his commitment to her if he remains loyal, or else force him to definitively prove himself a traitor.

when salem meets emerald and 'hazel' in the corridor earlier in this episode she says "ah, hazel. have you gotten what we need yet?" and then, after the seer alarm, "it seems we have guests [...] find them!"

when hazel arrives at the docks, salem says "ah, hazel. i found our guests." the intonation of "ah, hazel" is the same but exaggerated, and salem's taking "we have guests: find them" and flipping it around; "i found our guests." now, she's aware that the 'hazel' she spoke to in the corridor a few minutes ago was really oscar, so hazel doesn't have context for why this is funny. but she's making a sarcastic little joke at his expense about how she doesn't trust him now.

"ah, hazel" is how she greeted the false 'hazel' whom she did trust and told to find their "guests." she suspects that the real hazel was an accomplice to this scheme so she parodies that greeting and then makes a sardonic jab at him as if the false 'hazel' in the corridor were real and just failed so abysmally at finding the intruders that salem had to do it herself. and then she specifically draws his attention to emerald and goes "this one was helping them."

and this is the test, right.

before she asks emerald "what did you do with the lamp?" salem conjures up a ball of magic and holds it up where emerald can see. very unsubtle threat. she does the exact same thing here.

"this one was helping them," she says, magic crackling in her hand where hazel can see it. there is, again, a very unsubtle threat that she'll hurt emerald. and then she pauses for a solid three seconds, which doesn't sound like a lot but it's the similar in length to her other dramatic pauses like "find the girl that did this to cinder... and bring her to me" (~3.5s) and "before you go, inform tyrian... that i wish to have a word with him" (~2s)

in 6.4, salem asks hazel to give her a specific piece of information about cinder, and he tries to evade by saying "i take full responsibility," so she flips the table, pins him to the ground, and intimidates emerald into telling her instead, because she knows hazel is lying to shield emerald from the imaginary threat of salem's wrathful retribution.

in this scene, salem has emerald pinned to the wall and makes an implicit but extremely clear threat to hurt emerald because, she tells hazel pointedly, this one was helping the intruders sneak oscar, the boy hazel was supposed to be interrogating at the time, off the whale: SIGNIFICANT LOOK. DRAMATIC PAUSE.

this is the test. this is the test. the last time salem put hazel into a situation where he anticipated a punishment falling on emerald's head, he lied to try to redirect that punishment onto himself. if he tries to do the same thing now, he's either going to implicate himself as an accomplice, attack her, or exonerate himself by lying (because salem will know that he's lying if he falsely claims to have been in on it a la "i take full responsibility").

she's not making any accusations but she is giving him the chance to come clean. the last time this happened and he lied to her, she bullied emerald to punish him. the implicit promise she's making this time is that if he was also "helping them" and he tells her the truth now, she won't hurt emerald. if he gives her what she wants, she'll reward him with what he wants.

as. usual. she does not communicate this clearly enough for it to be effective (⭐️ SHE TRIED) and hazel doesn't give her anything to work with, just stands there silently, so... she escalates. "take the boy back to his chamber; i have work to do with this one."

if hazel's silence is because he's upset but still remains loyal, he'll obey and she'll know that she has a much firmer hold on him than she thought. if... he was involved, then his silence is because he's trying to figure out a way to salvage this situation. she still does not have absolute certainty. so she provokes him by raising the stakes and turning her back on him.

um, another noteworthy detail that i think supports reading "i have work to do with this one" as a performative threat salem's making to force hazel to make his loyalties clear:

salem touches emerald's face with this very ominous-looking magic crackling around her hands and nothing happens. the specific threat she's been making in this scene of "answer me or i'll burn your face with this nasty dark magic" is quite literally bluffing. it doesn't hurt emerald upon contact with her skin. emerald just experiences the untold horrors of salem grabbing her face.

HOWEVER. escalating in this manner a) takes the risk of hazel choosing to betray her for emerald’s sake right now even if he wasn’t an accomplice before, and b) insures that if hazel is already a traitor, there will be a violent altercation.

the former is a much less dangerous risk than alienating hazel if he's truly loyal by making open accusations (an immediate betrayal that she provoked and is prepared to handle vs a possible betrayal an unknown amount of time in the future which might catch her with her guard down). the latter is a problem, because there are children glued to the floor who will be in the crossfires of any fight, and one of those children is her general's eldest.

and this is where that second goal of "don't severely harm or kill summer's daughter" comes into play and comes into conflict with salem's need to recapture oscar & oz and recover the stolen relic. it's at this point salem has to make a decision about what to prioritize, and her choice is to—if hazel does what she expects him to do and attacks her—let the children go while she "fights" hazel, then pry information out of hazel once they're gone. so she reveals that her priorities are:

summer's daughter.

the lamp.

hazel's loyalty.

the lamp's "password."

also notice that salem does keep her implicit promise not to harm emerald if hazel gives her what she wants—she releases emerald, too, after hazel punches her. she's thinking ahead to what she'll do once the children are gone and she has hazel alone on the docks. by letting emerald and the rest of the children escape, she removes his motivation for betraying her: he no longer has anyone around whom he could possibly sacrifice himself to protect from salem, because all of them have made it to safety. now salem can pin him to the wall and start asking questions.

either hazel took the lamp and stashed it somewhere on the whale once he realized she'd caught the children, or neopolitan stole it and—if she's still aboard—will need to pass the docks sooner or later. so salem stays put, with hazel, until she has the lamp in hand again or knows where hazel hid it. summer's daughter is safe, hazel has no one to sacrifice himself for (and she has some leverage to counter ozma's lies; letting the children go is her proof that she isn't unreasonable), and salem has everything she needs to get the lamp back. she might have to capture someone again in the future to extract the lamp's password, but there's a chance hazel learnt it from oscar before the jailbreak and theft.

worst case scenario, neo stole it and escaped before salem intercepted the jailbreak on the docks, but at least by questioning hazel she'll be able to determine whether that's the case.

a partial victory is preferable to a loss, and knowing what to sacrifice in pursuit of one's priorities is important. this is salem's basic strategic philosophy and it shows through in her actions throughout this scene; she's making choices about what matters to her most and what she can afford to let go, always with the intent to achieve as many of her goals as possible, in descending order of importance.

with salem it's important to keep in mind that she thinks like this. strategic acumen is her greatest strength and being able to evaluate all of one's objectives in terms of priority, feasibility, and tactical means at once is a critical strategic skill. strategy is about the long term, big picture thinking, where salem excels. so she almost never does anything for just one reason; every decision she makes is a balancing act taking into account all of her important short- and long-term goals.

speaking of which, i've so far limited this discussion to her immediate objectives in this scene, but it's worth remembering that salem has long-term plans that she is working toward and her actions and choices in any given scene are mediated by the big picture; her inner conflict regarding cinder aside, salem is never going to do anything that achieves a short-term goal by harming her strategic ends (and her erratic behavior toward cinder arises from a conflict between her strategic ends and her increasing reluctance to treat cinder like a pawn, i.e. her big-picture wants and needs can no longer be easily reconciled.)

it's much harder to discern salem's long-term objectives because we don't really know what her plan is, except in the broadest strokes. but we can hazard a few guesses:

salem is very circumspect about what happened to summer rose; it may be necessary for her plans to preserve the heroically-martyred idea of summer rose—the most obvious reason would be that "summer was the best, and even she failed" is a very exploitable weakness in her opponents' morale.

if salem intends to confront the brothers face-to-face, using the final judgment as bait, and she fails, the only thing she can do that might prevent the gods from annihilating remnant is ensuring that everyone is rallied against her. forcing the truth of her existence into the open while performing to "monstrous evil witch bent on destruction of all things" expectations is the surest way to do that.

likewise, winnowing her own inner circle such that she is truly and completely alone by the time she has all four relics in hand may be part of the plan.

also worth taking into consideration are the ways salem's trauma circumscribes her decision-making. she is:

terrified of rejection.

terrified to care or admit to caring because the divine mandate is a justification and a threat of genocide strictly to punish her, and she knows it.

convinced that no one will ever truly care about her, hear her, or want to help her without getting something in return.

resigned to being seen as a monster no matter what she does, solely on the basis of her inhuman appearance.

all of these things predispose her to retreat behind her emotional walls and just reflect the expectations of others back to them. she's been viciously, brutally punished every single time she's tried to be authentic and vulnerable with others and it hurts less to shut down and be what she's "supposed" to be than to try and be cut down over and over again. this is a defensive learned response and it informs both her strategic planning and her tactical decisions; even in situations where breaking expectations and being emotionally honest might benefit her if people were to give her a chance, she's not going to do it unless she is really, really certain that she won't be punished for trying again.

now, to wrap this up, let's go over the fight with hazel.

i actually debate with myself a lot as to whether salem did or didn't anticipate hazel punching her, because she a) doesn't brace and b) cries out when his fist makes contact with her face, but i am certain that by this juncture salem did expect and was counting on him to do SOMETHING to stop her. the sequence of events is this:

salem approaches emerald while telling hazel, "take the boy back to his chamber; i have work to do with this one." after a brief pause, hazel answers "yes. of course," and begins to walk over to oscar. at this point, salem puts both of her hands on emerald's face and leans in to emphasize the threat, but still doesn't hurt her.

keep in mind that there is a significant distance between salem and oscar. relative to her position when she entered the scene, salem has moved (roughly, eyeballing) about thirty feet to the left and knocked oscar about the same distance from where he fell when she burst through the side of the whale. so they're still about fifty feet apart.

an able-bodied human walks about 4.2ft/s at a normal pace on average; hazel is quite tall—i believe word of god is eight feet, but he is NOT two feet taller than salem, the top of her head is level with his shoulder line, which if salem is six feet tall exactly would make him about 7'2"—which gives him a much longer than average stride, so we'll presume his normal walking pace is about 4.5ft/s.

when salem walks from emerald over to oscar, it takes her about twelve seconds. if we assume that her pace is the average 4.2ft/s, that would make this distance just about exactly fifty feet. 50ft 5in, to be precise. the consistency here between the visible spatial distance and the temporal distance suggests close attention to detail on the part of the creative team.

(salem returns from oscar to emerald, off screen, in about two seconds, but this is not problematic given her super-fast gliding pace—we can assume that salem slingshot herself across most of the distance and then walked the last couple steps.)

so at a normal pace of 4.5ft/s, it should take hazel about eleven seconds to walk from salem's side to where oscar is... and in fact it takes him exactly that: he begins to walk at 14:35 and stops in front of oscar at 14:46. again, the consistency is telling—particularly because there is no dialogue at all in this span, so how long it took wasn't dictated by the length of a spoken line.

hazel picks oscar up, murmurs "no more gretchens, boy," into his ear, pushes the long memory into his hands, and then drops him again. this takes another ten seconds. hazel turns away from oscar and begins to walk back toward salem at 14:56, punching her at 15:04, so his return is faster but within the range of a brisk walking pace (eight seconds, fifty feet, approx. 6.3ft/s).

the reason i'm belaboring this point is that salem says "i have work to do with this one," and then... stands there without doing anything except holding emerald's face menacingly for a genuinely awkward amount of time. thirty-one seconds, counting the beat before hazel began to move. it's not even clear that salem said anything to emerald—when hazel turns away from oscar and the camera cuts back to emerald and salem, em blurts out "i really don't know!" but whether this is in response to another question salem asked off-screen or just responding to what she assumes salem wants from her is ambiguous.

compare the way salem questioned emerald earlier in this scene: she asked two questions, one after the other, confirming that emerald didn't take or hide the lamp and doesn't know where it is. as soon as it became clear to her that she wouldn't get useful information from emerald—because em truly did not know anything—salem dropped it and moved on to Plan B. she doesn't LIKE emerald and she's ANGRY that em tricked her and helped oscar escape, but what salem CARES about is finding out what happened to the lamp. she's not going to waste her time trying to get blood from a stone.

and compare the way salem conducts herself when she interrogates oscar in 8.4. again, her questioning is guided by practicality, but the more salient point of comparison for this discussion is what salem does when she shifts gears to punishment and torture. namely, she just tortures him. no hesitating, no warnings, no threats, no grandstanding, she just turns around and does it. practical, again.

if what salem intended to do at this point in the scene was torture emerald, either to punish her or for information, she would do so.

instead, salem just...clutches emerald's face. evilly.

for thirty-one seconds.

now, i will remind you that salem has excellent spatial awareness; she sticky-hands yang from at least ten or fifteen feet away while upside-down with her eyes closed. hazel's footsteps are clearly audible. when hazel enters, salem hears him speak and answers him across this fifty-foot span. oscar cries out when hazel picks him up and grunts in pain when hazel drops him, which also makes a quite loud thud. hazel's footsteps would also be audible to her when he returned, although they aren't to the audience.

so she'd be able to sense hazel approaching her again, and if she paid attention—which she must have, because salem's just spent half a minute doing the bare minimum to sell that she's toootally going to start torturing emerald, any second now, and the only reason for her to do that is if this is about intimidating or provoking hazel—then she would have at least heard him dropping oscar, so she knows he isn't "taking the boy back to his chamber" as ordered.

ok.

when the focus shifts back to them, salem's got emerald like this:

this shot is at 15:01.167. hazel will punch her at 15:04 exactly, which at his brisk pace of 6.3ft/s means he's about eighteen feet away. around 15:02.750, when hazel is less than eight feet away from her, salem begins to pull back, lifting her arm as if preparing to strike:

she holds this pose without moving for almost a whole second. remember just how fast salem can be. her release when she fires back at ren, from the moment she begins her 180° spin to the moment the opalescent bolt leaves her hand, is sixteen frames. from the appearance of the black/violet magic bubbles to the release of the opalescent bolt is one frame. ONE.

when she reaches this position, hazel is quite literally right next to her. he cannot be more than three or four feet away, and we can see in both the initial shot and the replay from the opposite angle that he comes at salem directly from the side, not from behind her.

the point is that salem can see him. unless you have vision problems impacting your peripheral sight, even if you're looking straight ahead, as salem is here, you can visually detect motion directly to the left or right within a close radius. and indeed:

salem's gaze flicks to the side before his fist makes contact, and the wider shot from behind shows just how close he is to her before throwing the punch.

and the last detail i want to note regarding the punch is that salem lets go of emerald when hazel hits her, which is something that she does NOT do when yang blows her up:

if salem can remain standing and keep her death grip on this girl's arm while her ENTIRE TORSO IS EXPLODED WITH BOMBS, it... does not matter how strong hazel is or to what degree salem may have been caught off-guard. she had at least a split second recognition before his fist hit her face; that alone is enough to reflexively clamp down on emerald's jaw if she didn't want to let go.

so whether or not salem anticipated that hazel would punch her in the face specifically—and it doesn't seem like she did, given that she yelps—she must have had at least a vague awareness of his presence/approach (because he marched right up to her), and she made the choice to just ragdoll with the hit. the simplest explanation is that once she heard him drop oscar and start power-walking back toward her, salem knew he was going to try something to save emerald and committed to the bit.

she also isn't actually ragdolling; she lets the force of hazel's punch throw her off her feet, but then instead of falling she soars away in this high arc, flips herself around in midair, drops down in a perfectly-controlled landing at the far end of the dock, and rises again:

ok? ok. this sequence, from the end of the slo-mo reaction shot to when salem reaches altitude, runs 15:08 to 15:11—three seconds.

and then she just, erm...hangs out there, not doing anything, until hazel finishes cramming dust into his body and turning his back on salem to give his heartfelt last goodbye to emerald and everything, and faces salem again at 15:41. at which point she says "so, you've decided against vengeance for your sister, after all this time?"

thirty. seconds.

during which the ONLY ACTION salem takes is this... this:

<- make a particular note of how jaune reacts. the tactics guy. while the other kids gasp in shock/relief, jaune is like "wait what?" as he pushes himself up to look at salem—he's confused, because he knows intuitively that Something Weird just happened.

why did she do that?

she didn't need to. it wasn't an accident. salem manifested these sigils with a mere thought, and later in this same scene we'll see her do that again right after hazel smashes her head like an egg. summoning these things also clearly doesn't inhibit any of her other powers, so this is effortless for her and costs her nothing to maintain.

either happened by narrative fiat, because the kids had to escape and the writers just couldn't be bothered to figure out how. the... problem with this explanation, aside from the obvious that rwby is a well-written story that doesn't pull this sort of bullshit, is that the prelude to the big fight makes a HUGE POINT of,

this! oscar is already free and has long memory. if the intention is for the kids to escape while hazel keeps salem distracted, you don't need a narrative contrivance like this; you just slip in a shot or two of oscar snapping these grimm hands or disarming the sigils with his own magic to release his friends instead.

orrr... salem let them go on purpose.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

wheeze. ok. we're almost done.

remember how salem can go from empty fist to black magic bubble to releasing an opalescent blast in just three frames?

this first shot is at 15:49. the second is at 15:51. in between, salem just kind of sways side-to-side and then waves her arms around for forty-five frames. even if we count only from her conjuring of the Big Bubble at 15:50, it's twenty-two frames—longer than it took her to snap around and fire off a blast that hit her target dead-on and slammed two teenage boys into a wall some 20-30 feet back.

woman's telegraphing harder than a dark souls boss here.

and speaking of aiming...

these are the three bolts salem fires in the wide shot. top row on the left is her first shot in the instant before hazel begins to run up the slope—i've marked the trajectory and the eventual point of impact in green to make it easier to see that this would not have hit him even if he hadn't moved. top row on the right is the real impact, with hazel now running. on the bottom row are her next two shots. one strikes the edge of the dock nowhere even close to him, the other hits the ground about 8-9 feet in front of him (measuring based on hazel being 7'2" tall). and in the next shot:

it's not that she never hits him. hazel is quite a bit farther away from her than ren was and he's also running at a dead sprint while dodging blasts. tricky target. it wouldn't be strange at all if she missed.

but look at where she is aiming.

top row: both bolts strike the ground 1-2ft directly ahead of him—in the shot on the left, he's veering closer to the wall to avoid stepping on the point of impact. bottom left: this is a second bolt aimed just a little bit forward and 1-2ft out from the wall relative to the top right; these two bolts strike eight frames apart and hazel lunges sideways toward the dock's edge as the second one comes into frame, so when salem fired the second one, hazel was still where he is in the top right. and (the clincher) bottom right: this bolt strikes six frames after the one preceding, 1-2ft directly in front of him, and hazel swerves toward the wall to avoid stepping on the point of impact; notice the correction from #3 to #4 when hazel swerved more toward the ledge than salem anticipated.

not a single one of these bolts is actually aimed at hazel. salem is aiming to hit the ground directly in front of hazel, close enough to convince him that she means to hit him but also low enough that if she misjudges his speed she's going to strike his ankles... and when one blast nearly hits him in the head or chest because he jumped further sideways than salem guessed he would, she instantly corrects her aim to ankle-height again.

she is herding him.

up the docks, closer to her, away from the children, all while taking care NOT to hit him without being obvious about it.

this is the same kind of behavior we see from her in 6.4, where she's at worst a little vexed but flips a table and shouts and throws him to the ground as if she's in a terrible fury—and then a minute later hazel tells her something that genuinely infuriates her and we see her freeze while the windows start to crack, before she sends them all out of the room and struggles to press this rage back down.

because there is a huge difference between the loud, explosive "anger" salem performs to intimidate her associates and her real anger, which she tries very hard to contain.

in a similar vein, we get this fleeting glimpse of salem's actual skill in combat when she spins around and blasts the boys into a wall in the time it takes to blink... and then she sees yang, and the key changes. instantly. for the rest of the scene.

onward. hazel vaults over salem's final bolt and launches three fireballs at her. as these spiral up toward her, salem threads herself between them like they're not even there—it's really fast, the whole sequence from when the fireballs form in front of his fist to when she slings past the third one is forty frames and if you count from when the first fireball enters the frame, her evasive maneuver is over within twelve frames. as she continues past the last fireball, salem swings her arms to finish her movement, as if she's going to lash forward and fire off a riposte:

but then instead, she re-centers, pauses, and does... this:

which i'm sure looks very impressive and terrifying for everyone on the ground, but she is... literally just tossing magic around in random directions. this is not an attack. this is a light show. a firework. her big swarm of magic bubbles spits out of of the opalescent bolts and only one hits anywhere close to hazel. she is just fucking around.

from here, hazel sprints to the edge of the dock and launches himself into the air above her, where he dust-conjures a biiiiig spiky boulder to smash her with... and, uh. three things. first:

this shot occurs in slo-mo to really underscore what happens here. note that salem is looking up at him and has a firing bubble ready to go. hazel is approx. twenty-eight feet directly in front of her (measured in salems); a few minutes ago we've seen her be dead accurate at just a bit more than half again that distance, and we know a blast from her has plenty enough force to knock hazel out of the sky. from the beginning to end of this shot her head moves as she tracks his motion.

she has a clear shot lined up here. she chooses not to take it. then:

hazel conjures The Boulder, and we get this shot of salem's reaction—from waiting indifferently to see what he'll do to wry amusement. and then she physically braces herself to take the hit:

after which point salem just Lies There letting him pummel her for a few seconds before evidently deciding that she's done enough fucking around for those children she let out of gay baby jail about sixty seconds ago to have gotten away so she'll just flick her fingers (while her skull is caved in and her brains are splashed all over the floor, mind you) to pull some more grabby hands out of the air and wrap this one up except—

—NO WHOOPS THEY'RE ALL STILL HERE. lol.

like the fight is over, when the camera cuts back to the kids. salem has hazel completely immobilized. jaune is at the other end of the docks, shouting for everyone to hurry. "she'll just come after us," oscar says, but if salem cared to recapture any of them she would've left hazel restrained and dropped down off the dock to scoop them up as they hit the ground.

she's visibly irritated after regrowing her face, yes. but we have seen over and over—there are multiple examples in this scene alone—that salem can and will set irritation aside to focus on what doing what is necessary to advance her practical goals. she's poisonous with emerald but asks her two questions and then turns away as soon as she's confirmed that emerald doesn't know anything. she takes a deep breath and shelves her fury at ozma to listen calmly while yang yells at her. salem just isn't a character ruled by her anger.

so the fact that she a) continues to focus all of her attention on hazel after restraining him, and b) actually hurls him out of the restraints, in the opposite direction from her escaping prisoners, and turns away from them to just bash hazel's face repeatedly into the floor, suggests to me that her annoyance is perhaps more because these children are STILL FUCKING HERE and she needs them to be gone before she can start to properly wring the truth out of hazel.

she pays zero attention to the children until she hears long memory activate, which seems to startle her; after that she straightens up and stares him down for about four seconds.

they're about ninety feet apart here. salem covers a just over half that distance in two seconds... meaning she is gliding at what is for her a downright leisurely 24.5ft/s. that's a little bit more than a QUARTER of her top speed which is, in case you've forgotten whilst reading this very long post, 96ft/s. or 65mph.

(and here i will remind you that the walking speed distance math earlier checks out perfectly with the measurable spatial distance between emerald and oscar. this scene was choreographed and animated with very close attention to time and distance and i think that's because the speed at which salem does certain things at different points is doing a lot of narrative work. it's seldom necessary to be this precise but in this scene it matters.)

the point is that while salem does slingshot herself at oscar pretty fast here, relative to how much faster she CAN go, salem isn't trying especially hard to Get Him. this is like a brisk jog for her.

now granted, if hazel hadn't scraped up the wherewithal to, i assume, yeet himself after salem with all the dust cooking his body from the inside out, oscar would have been toast whether salem zipped along at a normal human sprinting pace or clotheslined him at car-on-a-highway speeds. but it does speak to the intensity of salem's interest in getting oscar in this moment versus when she went for emerald at the top of the scene.

salem had, by this point, already given up recapturing oz/oscar as a loss, accepted sacrificing the opportunity to do that as a price she was willing to pay for the sake of 1. getting summer's daughter safely off the whale and 2. after clarifying hazel's loyalties, removing the children from the equation so she can squeeze him for information about what happened to the lamp. i think the possibility that oz/oscar might have shared the "password" with hazel when hazel decided to help them escape would've at least crossed her mind as soon as she narrowed her list of suspects down to hazel and neo, too.

there's also the factor that with hazel now compromised, the only person around to interrogate oz/oscar is salem herself, and because that would involve being in the same room with and talking to ozma for an indeterminate amount of time, i don't think salem's all that keen anymore.

thennnn hazel sets her on fire and she screams and thrashes because she's having traumatic flashbacks to the moonfall and then oz blows her and her whale the fuck up.

thank you for coming to my tedtalk.

[antlerpunk]

V1 AS THE NECROMANCER. born to feed on death.

drawing hot red life out of the husks of a dead world. turning a corpse into part of a beautiful chain reaction and a complex sprawling spectacle of death and gore.

V2 AS THE CAVALIER. born for the prevention of death.

power and durability to make up for what v1 lacks. losing itself in its link with the primary and becoming consumed completely. integrated into its other's being after meeting its end at the hands of its one metallic flesh.

[malavoie1]

From My Backyard: Aurora Borealis May 10 2024

Last night was one of those rare evenings when the universe decides to put on a grand show, and I was lucky enough to have a front-row seat right in my backyard. Facing north, the night sky began to illuminate with the northern lights, an event magnified by a series of intense solar storms that brought these beautiful lights much farther south than usual.

Anticipation had built up as I had been reading about the expected solar activity and its potential to display the aurora borealis vividly this far south. The weather forecast had predicted partly cloudy skies, which had me worried that I might miss the spectacle. But as darkness settled, the clouds were not as thick as feared, and in fact, they added a dramatic touch to the overall visual experience.

In person, the aurora displayed faint greens and a hint of pink. However, it was through the lens of my camera that the colors truly came to life—a vibrant display of greens and purples that painted the night sky in a way that seemed almost surreal. The camera's sensor managed to capture the intensity of the aurora's colors far better than the naked eye could see, resulting in photographs that felt as magical as the experience itself.

To the south of our village, the sky was heavily overcast, and I felt incredibly fortunate that the cloud cover there didn’t extend to obscure my view. It seemed like a small miracle that the weather cooperated just enough to allow a clear glimpse of the aurora through patches of drifting clouds. This bit of serendipity made the experience even more special, knowing how close I came to missing out.

This event serves as a powerful reminder of the dynamic and beautiful interactions between Earth and the sun. NOAA had issued a G4 geomagnetic storm watch due to the coronal mass ejections hitting our planet, indicating that we could expect significant solar displays. While these geomagnetic storms can disrupt technology and power grids, they also create one of the most stunning natural phenomena one can witness.

Capturing this event from my backyard, where the universe felt both immense and intimately close, was a profound reminder of the wonders above us. The night was a perfect alignment of celestial activity, weather cooperation, and personal readiness, culminating in a deeply fulfilling experience of nature’s artistry. For those who appreciate the night sky, these moments remind us to keep looking up—the stars and the skies have endless stories to tell, and last night was a chapter I’ll never forget.

Processed with Affinity Photo v2 and Topaz Photo AI.

Camera: Pentax K-3

Lens: Tamron SP 10-24mm f/3.5 DI II

10mm / ƒ/3.5 / 30s / ISO 400 Taken: May 10, 2024

[littlejuicebox]

Midwinter Carol 1 (v2) / The Prologue

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Elf Sorceress OC

Word Count: 3.4 K

Story navigation: [1][2][3][4] [5] [6] [7]

Summary:

Astarion completed the Ascension Ritual, and shortly after, his lover left him. Eirianwen fled from Baldur's Gate for fifteen years, only to return unexpectedly at Wyll Ravengard's Midwinter Gala with some news of her adventures. Astarion, who has not been doing as well as he'd hoped gaining control over The Gate, is forced to confront his unresolved feelings for the woman and all the horrors of his past as well as the horrors he's inflicted upon others. One thing is made certain: the elven sorceress is the key to any ounce of salvation he may have left, if only she stops slipping through his fingers like sand from an hourglass.

But old habits die hard, and old feelings are pulled to the surface for both the elves. This unanticipated meeting catalyzes a series of events which force Astarion to confront the wounds of his past and deal with the damage he's done while trying to run from himself. The Ascendant is forced to decide whether he will continue on his current path or forge a new one... perhaps one that leads him back to the love of his life.

Warnings: This will be 18+ / in game spoilers / Eventual Smut / Angst, trauma, fluff / Gore / Violence / PTSD / Astarion’s past trauma

A/N: Apologies everyone, not a new update, just a re-write of my original one shot to align more with Eirianwen/Astarion and have a 3rd person version of this for continuity purposes. :)

-----

Fifteen years. The Vampire Ascendent hadn’t seen her in fifteen years, since she’d rejected his offer to become his loyal consort for the final time.

They couldn’t reconcile their differences. She’d wanted him to trust her, to believe that her love was stronger than any desire for power – that she could remain a mortal or become a true vampire like him and still remain loyal. She didn’t want to be a spawn; she’d considered his offer a great disrespect, and ultimately, his changed behavior had driven her away.

“You’re nothing like the man I fell in love with anymore. I don’t know who you are.”

Those words had stung, though he’d never admit it.

It had been an awful, messy, seething breakup, to be sure… and the Vampire Lord almost turned her against her will anyway. But at the time, Astarion’s soft spot for the sorceress had reigned supreme, and he still thought himself better than Cazador and above such things. So, against his own wishes, he’d let her go.

Last the Vampire Ascendent heard of the woman’s movements, she was somewhere along the Sword Coast, playing valiant hero once again. So, when he walked into Duke Ravengard’s Midwinter Gala with some pretty little villain on his arm that he’d picked up for the occasion and would likely drain of blood and dispose of later, he was flabbergasted to see his ex-lover sitting at the high table.

Right. Next. To. Wyll.

Fifteen years and it still felt like the greatest betrayal, as if she’d staked him through the heart in that moment. It took every ounce of Astarion’s control to not turn into a cloud of smoke and break The Duke’s neck then and there. Oh, but how desperately he wanted to.

But he couldn’t risk such a spectacle… many of his dealings were hanging tenuously as it was, and creating a power vacuum in the city was just as bad for him as it would be for those against him. No, Wyll helped to maintain the balance… and generally tolerated Astarion with some level of old-ties respect. They had an agreement: the pale elf would keep his business private and primarily drink from criminals, and Wyll would turn a relatively blind eye. So no, as much as he wanted to, Astarion couldn’t afford such a loss of control.

The Ascendent watched as she walked about the room with Duke Ravengard, hanging on his arm like a prize and chatting with nobles and old contacts. Astarion’s date — what was their name again? — tried more than once to steal his attention away, but resigned themselves to drinking heavily and dancing with several other guests. The elf watched the sorceress join the dance floor with The Duke and his blood boiled at the sight; he even bent the stem of his golden goblet from merely witnessing the vile scene.

No. Absolutely not. This wouldn’t do. Astarion had to do something, had to interrupt whatever game this was. How dare she and Wyll disrespect him like this! So, he stood and abruptly crossed the dance floor, the other guests parting like the Red Sea before him in their shock. 

Lord Ancunin never made his way to the dance floor for anyone.

“May I interrupt and have this next dance?” 

The Ascendent’s voice is honeyed and saccharine as the music pauses and the band readies for their next ballad. Everyone around the room is clapping politely. A gentleman’s smile is plastered across the elf’s lips, but it doesn’t meet his eyes, as he extends his pale hand to the woman.

Wyll bristles and turns to look at his companion. There’s a moment of silent communication between two sets of eyes that must know one another quite well, because Astarion cannot read their nearly-imperceptible movements as he waits, his hand outstretched mid-air. Finally, the Duke relents and passes the sorceress’s hand to the Vampire Lord.

“No funny business, Astarion. My men and I will be watching your every move,” the Duke warns through a benevolent-appearing smile, a warning hand clasped on the vampire’s tensed back, before locking eyes with the woman once more and then stiffly turning and walking toward the high table.

She smiles at Astarion, as if it’s just the two of them back in the center of that clearing, draped in moonlight and barren to one another, all those years ago. 

“It’s good to see you, my old friend.”

Old friend? Old friend? The words make the Vampire Ascendent’s mouth practically fill with bile as he spins his ex-lover about the room. He can feel the steady, stable beating of her heart and smell that intoxicating, tempting bouquet of blood brimming beneath her skin that he’d never quite forgotten.

They catch up, to some small extent, as she tells the elf about her journeys along the Sword Coast and he tries to impress her with his ever-growing influence and wealth. But before long, the song is over and the Duke is, annoyingly, coming back to retrieve his prize. The sorceress smiles so sweetly at Astarion before she departs that it almost hurts; no one else looks at him with that level of love and kindness… all he ever sees anymore are eyes filled with fear, mistrust, or hate.

“I hope you’re happy, Astarion. Truly. I’m glad to see you looking so well. Now go find the date you came with… they’re owed a dance, I believe,” she says before pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek and sending an electric shock through his numb heart. He almost gives into his urges and bites her right there, in front of everyone, claiming his love and his prize. 

“Goodbye, Astarion,” she says before once again turning her back on him and walking away.

“Goodbye, Eirianwen,” he calls after the woman as her hand ghosts away from his own.

He wants to reach for her hand and pull her back to him. He wants to ask for a second dance. But again, he lets Eirianwen go, slipping through his fingers like sand through an hourglass.

Astarion cannot take any more of this. He goes to retrieve his date, rips them away from whatever conversation they were having with whatever noble, and swiftly exits the party. Back at the Palace, the poor little thing is used for mindless sex and then for sustenance and then left to be disposed of by one of the staff with nary a thought. 

The Ascendant couldn’t even remember their name.

*

A week rolls by, and gods what a terrible week it was. Astarion’s grip had severely  weakened on the city after a few poor calls. In his pride, he’d never admit they were his fault; instead, he quickly blamed his advisors and sent them to the dungeons. 

Furthermore, the meeting he’d hosted today with several of the Guilds had practically blown up in his face as the Guild Leaders came to blows in the middle of the Great Hall. Mortal creatures could be so… excitable. The entire ordeal was giving him a massive headache. If the leaders didn’t come to an agreement soon, he would lose his monopoly on the shipping industry, as well as his tenuous control over the blackmarket smuggling ring. 

The Ascendant settles into his bed, alone, after downing several goblets of wine, but sleep does not come to him. He’s awake, staring at the ceiling, and all he can think about is Eirianwen. Gods, he thought he’d moved past all this. But as he remembers her face, their nights together, the way her beautiful body felt pressed flush against his… he feels his erection growing. The elf is about to stick his hand inside his trousers to provide himself with some relief when a familiar, annoying voice travels through the room.

“I’ve been watching you, Astarion.”

Fucking Gale. The fucking God of Ambition. The Vampire Lord shoots up in bed and immediately sees the silvery form of his former campmate standing at the foot of it.

“What the hells, Gale! A God and still an absolute pervert, I see.”

The God ignores Astarion, moving to sit his ethereal form on the edge of the bed and indenting the silken, cerulean sheets with the ghosting of his form. The elf wrinkles his nose in displeasure as he rips his legs as far away from Gale as he can.

The God sighs, “Astarion, you’ve rejected my help before, and the strides you’ve made within the city are falling… it’s beginning to seem that you are headed down a path you are not going to be able to return from. A few more bad calls and you won’t come back from it. You are wasting your potential because you refuse to become the master of your own ambition rather than a slave to it. I’m beginning to wonder… is this what you truly want? I can see many lifetimes of yours, with many choices you’ve made along the way, and I’m sorry to tell you this lifetime seems to be the most miserable.”

Astarion scoffs. The fact that Gale is the only prior friend that keeps in touch with him, albeit for his own peculiar reasons, is a sad fact that the Vampire Lord refuses to acknowledge. He’d pushed everyone else away years ago. The only other person he ever saw was Wyll at obligatory balls, galas, and political events… and obviously the last time had been less than fulfilling. 

But loneliness resided deep in the Ascendant’s heart, hidden away from even his own acknowledgement, so although Gale had always been his least favorite, the pale elf still engaged in conversation.

“What do you mean by that? That you can see several of my lifetimes? I find it difficult to believe that this is the worst. Surely there is a lifetime in which I’m still under Cazador’s control.”

The God of Ambition considers this, and then turns and looks off into the distance, as if he’s examining something Astarion cannot see. 

“Hmm. Actually, there is only one lifetime in which that is still ongoing. So yes, that one may be the worst. I stand corrected, this is the second worst. You’re dead in more of them, a spawn in most of them… and your Tav, or some other version of Tav, is in several as a friend or a lover, to both the spawn and ascendant versions of you. You might be surprised to know that in more than one lifetime, you and I are coupled… it’s quite interesting.”

Astarion cringes at the thought of being in a relationship with Gale, but chooses to move past the thought and acknowledge the only bit of information he actually cares about, “My Tav– Ani–  is in several of them?”

“Of course. Would you like to see it? Let me take you on a little journey.”

Gale holds his hand out the Vampire Lord, and Astarion cannot help but feel the pull of intrigue. Gods… at least this would guarantee a more interesting night than one with his hand spent down his own pants.

The pale elf sighs and extends his hand to the God of Ambition; just as their fingers brush, he feels himself enveloped in the warmth of the Weave. Blue light swirls and spirals around the two beings before, suddenly, Astarion and Gale are standing outside a tomb. The Ascendant hears himself screaming, voice raw with anguish, from inside the tomb, as his nails scratch against the unyielding stone. 

This is from his own past, when Cazador locked him up for a year. The panic, shame, and fear pulse in Astarion’s body, unleashed from the small corner of his mind he’d locked those emotions into. 

“Why the hells have you brought me here, Gale? This isn’t what I asked to see!”

“No… but I thought it might serve as a reminder of where you came from. You seem to have forgotten… and subject others to similar fates and tortures, nowadays.”

Astarion hears the begging and pleading to the gods, the crying and scratching inside of the tomb, and his gut churns again. How something that happened years ago, that he’d shoved deep in his mind never to acknowledge again, could still rip such a reaction from an all-powerful Vampire Ascendent, he did not know. The elf begins to shake, flooded with the emotion of the memory. 

Had he really turned into an exact replica of his former master? Hadn’t he wanted to be better than Cazador?

“Had enough? Okay, onto the next one,” Gale says dryly, and then he snaps his fingers; both beings are, once again, pulled through the Weave.

Now they’re standing in The Duke’s parlor room… Astarion had been in this room just a time or two before, during some business negotiation or another. Then he sees Eirianwen, bursting through the door with one hand on her swollen belly. Gods above and below, was she carrying Wyll’s seed in this one? The thought alone made his skin crawl and his stomach churn in disgust. The Ascendant thought he might actually vomit up his dinner.

“Hurry, my love! We need to place the presents here for the others.”

Astarion’s silver eyebrows crinkle together as he listens to the voice responding to the sorceress from down the hallway, joined in by the giggles of a child. 

“We’re coming, darling. This little imp is just slowing me down a bit!”

Then, he sees himself walk through the door with a silver-haired, giggling toddler wrapped around his leg… but it’s not himself. This Astarion has pink skin, a beating heart, a wedding band on his hand, and a few more years on his face. 

Mortal… but how?

Mortal Astarion is carrying a bundle of presents that he places on the coffee table in the center of the parlor. The small child grins and puts a hand drawn card on top of the gifts. The card reads: ‘For Uncle Wyll, Auntie Euphemia, and the Ravengard Twins. Love, the Ancunins.”

Astarion feels his pulse thrumming in his ears as the scene plays out. Mortal Astarion envelopes Eirianwen in his arms and plants a soft kiss on her cheek. The child walks, on two unsteady legs, up to the sorceress and fists their hands into her dress. The version of Astarion runs his fingers along the swell of the woman’s abdomen before bending down and placing a kiss on her stomach. Then he crouches in front of the silver-haired, drooling child with a smile.

“Let’s go and join the others, shall we? Auntie Shadowheart and Auntie Lae’zel have a gift for you, my little love!” The father cheers, his arms opening to receive the child, who immediately steps into Astarion’s arms.

“Yay, daddy! Go!” The little babe cheers, as Astarion returns to standing. The child is clapping uncoordinated hands together, which causes both this version of Eirianwen and his mortal self to giggle in adoration. He watches as the sorceress takes this version of him by the hand and exits the parlor, headed towards a clamor of conversation filled with several familiar voices. 

The Vampire Lord tries to follow the little family, desperate to see how the scene continues, but he’s unexpectedly ripped from the scene and thrown back into the Weave with Gale.

“I wasn’t finished!” The Ascendent shouts in frustration, running his hands through curled hair.

Gale simply sighs and shakes his head at Astarion, before snapping his fingers and settling them into another scene entirely.

In this one, Eirianwen is a vampire. Not a vampire spawn, a true vampire. Astarion watches as she pulls her dress on, unabashedly taking in the familiar curves of the woman’s body before they’re covered up. The bedchamber door swings open, and the Ascendant turns to see another version of himself entering the room.

“My treasure, we’ve done it! We’ve secured educational and apprenticeship programs for the orphans from the Guilds as a show of good faith for our support and protection.”

Eirianwen’s vampire self runs to this better version of Ascendant Astarion, immediately enveloping him in a shockingly passionate kiss. Tongues twirl together in a familiar dance. It was enough to make even the Vampire Lord’s skin run hot as he imagined what it would feel like to have the woman on him like that again.

“I’ve just put on my clothes, my love.” she murmurs, her voice coy, as she lowers her gaze to her dress and slowly drops her shoulder out of the gown before returning her focus to her version of Astarion, “but perhaps you won’t mind helping me back out of them… I think that announcement is cause for a bit of… celebration.”

The scene quickly evolves into something overwhelmingly hot and heavy. Better Astarion pounces on the woman instantaneously, strong hands tearing at the laces of her dress in a frenzied pace. Eirianwen is giggling in delight as her version of the elf pushes her onto the bed with a sly grin. 

The Ascendant feels himself tingle with desire as he watches everything unfold. Just his other self rips off the woman’s underwear and is just about to plunge himself into the vampire version of Eirianwen, the Weave swirls around Gale and Astarion once more.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” The elf hisses as he glares at The God of Ambition.

“I know… steamy, right?” Gale responds, with a small chuckle, his eyes analyzing the strands of the Weave, “now, onto our final scene… this one is your… unfortunate future, should you continue down your same path, I’m afraid.”

The Ascendent soon sets his eyes on possibly the most gut-wrenching scene imaginable. There she is, standing before him, holding a stake that’s driven straight through his heart. Blood pools around the wound, drenching both himself and Eirianwen in splotches of scarlet. He’s trying to reach for her, to touch her face, to choke out something he cannot say. 

And then he’s gone, slumped on the floor, as Eirianwen holds him in her arms and lets out a bloodcurdling wail.  

The crying goes on forever. Her body's racking with sobs as she turns the corpse onto its back and throws herself over it, almost desperate to have his body close to hers. After what feels like an eternity, the sobs slow and her trembling hands come to his face before she plants a surprisingly tender kiss on his lips. Astarion notices, with some level of shock, bleeding wounds along the sorceress’s arms and neck. 

Bites. Had he really been the one to do that to her? 

“I really loved you, Astarion… I wish it hadn’t come to this. There was nothing between Wyll and me. Just two old friends, catching up… I’d wanted to be back home, I’d fled from my city for fifteen years after what happened between us. Wyll offered me a soft place to land and a kind transition back into society.

I was sure everything would be okay after all this time. That we could at least talk. But you didn’t come to speak to me, you ignored my scrolls, and then— why?”

Eirianwen’s voice cracks as the sobbing returns. She starts slamming her shaking fists into the corpse version of himself over and over and over and over. There is a dull thud pounding in his ears as he watches his ex-lover repeatedly drop her fists against his corpse’s chest.

The Ascendant sucks in a breath and turns back to the God, “I’ve seen enough, Gale! Take me home right now.”

“As you wish,” The God of Ambition murmurs, unbothered. With a final snap of Gale’s fingers, Astarion is back in his bed at the Palace and wrapped in silken, cerulean sheets.

“So?” Gale asks, lifting himself from where he is sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I need to talk to Ani… I need to speak with her. Tomorrow…” the Ascendant murmurs, his head still reeling as he tries to process everything he just saw. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs a slow, belabored breath.

What would he even say to her, after all this time?

“I would agree. It's far past time for you to pursue a new beginning, Astarion," the God responds as the Weave starts to swirl around him in bright, crackling flares of azure. Gale begins to turn away and then pauses at the last minute, his focus settling back on the elf still sitting in bed.

“Oh... and Astarion? I know we were once friends, if you could really call us that… but don’t think this little show and tell was for free. I’ll be asking something of you, when the time comes.”

The Vampire Lord nods. Of course. It could never be that simple, could it? And just like that, Gale disappears in a spray of light, and Astarion is left alone once more.

No. It could never be that simple. The only simple truth in Astarion’s life was this: Eirianwen was and would always be his saving grace.

[the-magic-mirror]

I don’t want anything/I hope this hurts (v2)

I don’t need anything, I just want to save the tulpar

…

something about how they both want to reclaim power with different interpretations of what that is. How they both become spectacles in a way (Jeanne’s witchcraft, the missing tulpar crew mystery). How their only care at first is saving other people. How they both learn to accept themselves leading to such different outcomes, but also the same outcome. How they both decide they deserve freedom and happiness and pursue it so oppositely.

[kittyball23]

The Proposal v2 (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary:  A rewrite of the first half of my oneshot “The Prosposal”

A/N: Requested by @mariesme. Some stuff is the same as the original version, but there are some tweaks :)

__________________________________________

"Guys, I think this calls for a celebration!"

Branch cringed as John Dory yelled out right next to his ear, still interlocked in the five-brother hug that had resulted from Branch's Hug Time's bracelet chiming. He cringed slightly more at the loud chorus of agreement that rung out from his other brothers, enthusiastic to join in the celebratory moment and fully agreeing with their oldest brother's suggestion. Branch, too, voiced his agreement – the time felt right, and the joyous mood amongst them was just right – but only after he was released from the tight hug and could regain his breath. As he allowed his lungs to expand again, he heard John Dory begin to harmonize the beginnings of a song.

“Everybody…”

Branch recognized it right away. It was one of the songs that they used to sing all the time, in every concert that they’d ever performed at, every rehearsal, and sometimes even in their downtime when they simply chilled together in their pod.

It was Spruce who followed up in the harmony next. “Yeahahh…”

“Rock your body…” John Dory continued.

“Yeahahh…” Clay sang, picking up the melody.

“Everybody…” JD sang again.

“Yeahahh…” Floyd crooned smoothly, joining in.

Four sets of eyes fell upon Branch next, expectantly and kindly. They had all contributed thus far, and only he remained left. The blue Troll smiled, gladly adding to the perfect quintet chorus. “Rock your body, right…”

Reenergized, the five Trolls – brothers, friends, and family – struck a pose, side by side and grinning broadly as they let the song’s beat drop.

“BroZone’s back, ALL RIGHT!”

__________________________________________

What a celebration it had turned out to be!

The brothers sang their song all through the trip back home on the caterbus, and back upon the mushroom stage that was in Pop Village. Trolls from all tribes had gathered to see the spectacle that was BroZone 2.0 – AKA BroZone Reunion, BroZone: Here We Bro Again, BroZone: Where Did They Bro? Well, It Turned Out To Be A LOT of Different Places, But We FOUND THEM!! (Hey, the title was still a work in progress for them, but it could be dealt with later). Like it had many years ago, the feeling of being back on the stage filled them with life, made them each feel like they were truly home again. Clearly, it mattered not where they were, so long as they had had each other once more. But Branch could dwell on the sap later – right now, they had a show to put on!

Bounding up on the stage in a near perfect replica of how they’d done so almost two decades prior, John Dory, Spruce, Clay, Floyd, and Branch – all donning brand-new colorful hair-matching vests – made the crowd go wild with applause. The five wasted no time bursting into their song, recreating the perfect Family Harmony flawlessly.

“Oh, my gah, we're back again!” Branch sang, spreading his arms out wide.

“Brothers, sisters, everybody sing,” Floyd sang, coming alongside his younger brother for a quick side hug.

“Gonna bring the flavor, show you how,” Clay sang, busting a slick breakdancing move that seemed to be a combination of a one-armed cartwheel and a split.

“Gotta question for you, better answer now, yeah,” Spruce sang, grooving along to the beat.

“Am I original?” John Dory sang, gesturing to himself, snapping with both his hands and making a finger gun.

“Am I the only one?” Floyd sang, placing a hand over his heart.

“Am I sensual?” Spruce sang, blowing kisses to his wife in the audience, who blew kisses right back at him.

“Am I everything you need?” Clay sang, right as Branch finished with, “You better rock your body now!” The five sang the chorus all together, stepping in rhythm with each other, voices strong and proud.

“Everybody!

Yeahahh

Rock your body!

Yeahahh

Everybody!

Rock your body right…”

Automatically, the brothers all grouped together, stacking themselves with John Dory at the bottom, Floyd and Spruce atop his shoulders, Clay hoisted atop them, and then Branch at the very top, while they all sang the last line. “BroZone’s back, ALL RIGHT!”

Cheering erupted from the audience watching. Right at the front, and being held back by her sister Viva, was an overly excited Poppy. She screamed joyously, tears streaming down her pink cheeks as she jumped up and down.

“I LOVE YOU BROZONE!” she cried, and then even more loudly yelled, “I LOVE YOU BRANCH!!”

Around her, other cheers for the brothers were being screamed out.

The teal and magenta bros smiled when they heard Trolls crying out “You’re awesome, JD!” and “Rock on, Floyd!”

Spruce’s family were really pumped, too, and his children in particular were very excited for the performance that their father had done.

“Great job, Daddy!”

“That was so cool!”

“Do it again! Do it again!”

The kids were so excited, in fact, that they didn’t even mind it when their mother and father shared the look that always indicated that, more than likely, as soon as Spruce climbed down from that stage, they would both share a great, big kiss (yuck!).

All of a sudden, through the cheering, a very distinct and exceptionally loud call of “MARRY ME, CLAY!” was heard.

Poppy gasped when she realized that the one who’d called it out was none other than her sister! Viva clamped her hand over her mouth, blushing heavily when she’d made eye contact with Clay. His blue eyes were as wide as dinner platters, and he’d grown significantly pale with shock. And if that weren't enough, his jaw dropped, too. Suddenly, his legs felt wobbly with a weakness that only being lovestruck could bring, and the brother stack began to falter! But, unlike the time they'd all tumbled onto the stage, the brothers acted quickly and managed to land on their feet, breaking Clay’s fall by combining their hair and making a sort of net to catch him in.

“Ah well, I guess that brings a whole new meaning to ‘falling in love,’ now, doesn’t it?” Spruce joked, nudging Clay once he’d helped him to his feet.

“I… um… well, I g-guess you could, err… say that…” the lime-green-haired Troll stammered, trying to keep his cool but not doing so well at it with the blush that was still bright on his cheeks. He couldn’t hear all too well from where he was upon the stage, but from what he could see, it appeared that Viva was faring no better than he with the bashfulness. Poppy had a gleam in her eye and seemed to be asking Viva questions about the outburst, while the Putt Putt Queen giggled nervously and twirled her golden hair in her fingers.

“Hey man, there’s nothin’ wrong with boarding the love train, bro,” Spruce said, breaking into Clay’s thoughts. “Which brings me to my other point…”

He huddled the brothers together, and whispered at Branch. “Now, you know as well as all of us here do that it’s time, brother.”

Branch felt himself grow nervous when Spruce made the motion of putting an imaginary ring on a finger, while JD, Clay, and Floyd nodded approvingly.

He bit his lip, feeling his hands go clammy. “Y-you really think so?”

“Dude, she’s totally in sync with you!” John Dory said, nudging Branch.

“I didn’t get to see much of you two together,” Floyd admitted, “but I can definitely tell that you’ve got something special going on.”

But, even with their support, Branch still looked quite uncertain.

“Look, bro, you got nothing to worry about,” Spruce assured. “I’ve already done this before, and lookie where that’s got me!” He peeked over at where his kids and his wife were in the audience, the latter of whom he flashed a charming smile to and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

John Dory rolled his eyes and tugged at his younger brother’s vest. “YO BRO, mind staying focused here? This is Bitty B’s Big Breakthrough!”

“Try saying that three times fast,” Clay mumbled, and then watched as Spruce spoke to Branch again.

“Sorry for getting distracted there, Branch. JD has a point, though. Right now, this is all about you!” He slung an arm around Branch’s shoulders and spoke in hushed tones. “So here’s what we’re gonna do…”

__________________________________________ A/N: The rest of it will pretty much go the same way I had written it in the original version :3

[tf2emporium]

New Halloween Medic Misc, Salesmanns Spectacles [V2]! Vote now on Steam Workshop This item was created by: ♛OperaBay♛ (https://steamcommunity.com/id/Operabay) James (https://steamcommunity.com/id/BuupSFM) HasteReapr (https://steamcommunity.com/id/HasteReapr)

[pyrowyvern]

i don't use procreate, csp, or macos but decided to test this out myself (arch linux and krita 5.2.3-1).

despite the color rendering being set to 'perceptual', when checking the colors between a kra file and an exported png of the same image, i found no difference in saturation or other values. nonetheless it may be worth checking if youve noticed anything like this happening to your own art (for krita, the path is settings - configure krita - color management - display - rendering intent)

i used:

the in-program color-picker from both the kra and png in krita

the png and a spectacle screenshot of the kra copied into kolourpaint (as it cannot open kra files)

the built-in kde screen color picker across krita, kolourpaint, and gwenview (which i think ideally wouldn't change any visual details like a screenshot might in the process of converting to an image?)

all were identical across several different sections of color. if you can check these things and find no difference, it may be better not to change your settings if they're functioning properly as-is.

i will also note that i have not specifically checked to be sure that my screen is correctly color calibrated, but the profile in krita is sRGB-elle-v2-srgbtrc.icc, if that means anything. all was checked on the same laptop screen over two separate base images. i just draw creatures and have no experience in graphic design or color management. other limitations of my testing may be that i only used kde-specific programs, and an unmatched set may find differences. i don't know enough about rendering or how programs interpret image data to say whether this would affect my results or not.

all to say - test before you blindly change settings, especially if you don't fully understand the underlying mechanisms. default settings can seem odd, but they're usually there for a reason (even if it isn't correct for your specific setup)

Just to make a point, every time I finished a panel of this I would export it as a PNG on the perceptual setting and use it as a color reference for the next panel

IT'S BAD

PLEASE CHECK YOUR COLOR SETTINGS

EDIT: If you're still having problems, it might help to switch from "Save/Save as" to "Export (as a) Single Layer". Just. Make SURE the box labeled "Expression Color" is set to RGB. I've been messing with this all day, and it looks like this combination of settings will allow exported PNGs to maintain their colors perfectly. To you. So far both Discord and Toyhouse still only display desaturated images and I cannot for the life of me figure out why

[iwantaboot]

y’know I pretty much never post anything but I’m just gonna vent here because I’m annoyed enough to say the quiet part out loud with cait & vi headcanons.

Fandom headcanon Cait: she’s so Taylor swift coded, she plays piano & can sing, she’s a womanizer, she’s got so much rizz, she’s so graceful & deliberate & cunning, she can ballroom dance & keep up in a club, on and on

Fandom headcanon vi: she’s dyslexic, she’s illiterate, she’s got poor hygiene but Caitlyn’s into it, she can’t cook, she’s clumsy, she’s oblivious, she’s kind of a slob, she can’t win a fight in any fic ever, she’s non-musical or a drummer, here’s an in depth backstory for how vi got her prison tats, she needs Cait to show her how to ballroom dance, on and on

canon Cait: no sign of musicality whatsoever, stands there gets hit on, flirts once (1) with girl she has already kissed, has one (1) friend, unsuccessful at talking her way out of anything until someone else elects her as dictator, have never seen her dance/attend any party ever, attempt at parkour was the funniest scene in all of s1, loses all of the fights she’s in s1 & almost every one against named enemies in s2 (ass kicked by sevika & rictor & ambessa, sort of wins against vi but surprised & obviously not a real fight)

canon Vi (or confirmed by Amanda Overton): goes for the books to start reading through them immediately after breaking into workshop filled with shiny objects & enjoys action stories, one of two (2) items she owns as a kid is a saxophone (the other is a set of boxing gloves) & is voiced by very famous singer, can cook & has been taking care of herself her whole life, boldly flirtatious with Cait & Jayce immediately (only 2 people she speaks with that are not family or antagonist all s1), talks multiple people into doing things her way in s1, figures out nefarious schemes even before Cait (‘it’s Silco how does anybody not know that’, we need a small task force armed with hex tech to strike against silco’s shimmer chem barons because they have too much power & influence - that’s the s1 council talk vi gets shut down on + Jayce if anyone forgot but once it was Caitlyn’s idea it was good I’m sure that’s not a comment on privilege at all, it’s a spectacle to make you angry, obviously ambessa’s a war pig who’s been trying to manipulate you the whole time) dances with powder as kids & in clubs as an adult, her tattoos are all self-done, great runner & athlete who flies through the air, wins most of the fights against name characters she’s in in s1 & s2 (deckard, sevika - arguably twice because girl had her by the balls in round 1 until sev played dirty by distracting & stabbing & that was without the gauntlets, lost to scar but again D kicking his ass until distracted, did fine with Warwick - she blew up his head man only reason he ain’t dead is insane healing factor, I’d call it a draw with jinx but i still think it’s funny that Warwick’s head exploded in one hit but jinx’s skeleton was fine actually what a coincidence, sort of lost to Cait, definitely lost to Warwick v2) so I’d rate her win loss ratio at 50:50 at worst which is about the same as jinx actually (won most of s1 but lost all s2)

If no one else is seeing the pattern there I’ll be explicit; we’re not out here to say headcanons are bad, but there’s a lot of internalized bias, specifically classism in these headcanons. It’s cool to build texture but if all that texture amounts to is everything Cait CAN do and Vi CAN’T then you might want to stop and ask yourself why that is. They both have a lot of wonderful characteristics and flaws too, but the trend is that Cait gets built up as powerful and charming and talented while vi gets broken down and frankly infantilized and that’s not a coincidence.

[mothcpu]

mirage appreciation hour

bonus

[yuusishi]

Hello, I hope you're having a great week. Could I request Vil, Malleus, and Leona being carried bridal-style by their tiny yet powerful s/o?

. . . TINY MENACE

pairings : Vil Schoenheit , Malleus Draconia , Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader (sep.)

genre : fluff , established relationship

cws/tws : student insults Reader in Vil's part but no actual insults are written

a/n : the third years are my sillies

Vil Schoenheit !!

Complains the entire time v1.

You two were in an argument with a student that was constantly throwing insults at you.

Usually Vil would make you ignore that student and continue walking, but that student just kept throwing hurtful words at you. Ones that basically demanded Vil's attention.

It was a back and forth between him and the student, they hurled multiple insults at you while Vil smartly countered them.

It was getting tiring for you.

You had the strength, so why don't you just lift your boyfriend and go somewhere else to cool off? And that you did.

Vil's face morphed from his usual neutral face to surprised as he felt his feet lift off the ground, the student stepping back in surprise as well.

"I'm getting too tired to deal with this! Bye!" you yelled.

Be ready to hear a lot of "Dear, set me down" "What a bold potato you are, now, set me down before anyone sees"

Nothing threatening, but you can definitely hear the panic in his voice.

And don't worry about the student, they won't bother you now after seeing your strength and no one will believe them when they say that you lifted Vil Schoenheit.

Malleus Draconia !!

To be honest, if you're able to lift Malleus Draconia while being way shorter than him, I'd be terrified of you.

You were both sitting in bed when you started a joke argument, this was one of the few times Malleus joined you in this.

"Stop making fun of my height before I throw you across the room" "My, wouldn't that be quite the spectacle"

Sitting up on the bed, Malleus stared at you curiously before you put your hands under his back and knees and easily lifted the nearly seven foot fae prince.

You didn't throw him across the room, of course.

Malleus would be lying if he said he didn't feel surprised at first, instinctively putting his hand on your shoulder for support. He didn't feel scared, though, he knew you would never harm him.

He just looked extremely babygirl at the entire thing.

He'd be surprised when you finally set him back down. He knew you were stronger than an average human even with your height, but this is the only time he experienced it.

Mal would be laying completely still in the bed for a few seconds to take in what just happened, not being used to just randomly getting picked off where he was laying.

(But really, who is).

It was a thrilling experience for him, surprise and thrill are emotions that he rarely gets to feel due to him either just being at NRC or in Briar Valley. Only getting to really go out into the world when impromptu trips like when they visited the Scalding Sands happen and on field trips.

Strangely enough, he liked that you made him experience a rather foreign emotion, even if he did get caught off guard like that. Just make sure not to pull this when Silver and Sebek are nearby.

Leona Kingscholar !!

Complains the entire time v2.

The teachers (mainly Professor Trein and Crewel) were starting to get annoyed that Leona wasn't attending classes yet again, they knew that you were close with him and that's how forcing fetching Leona to classes went from Ruggie's job to yours.

You knew he'd either be at the dorms or the botanical garden, so you tried your luck in the botanical garden first. Luck was on your side today for you found him on your first try, now getting Leona to come with you was the true test of luck.

Leona was definitely more biased towards you, that's undeniably obvious, but forcing him to wake up was something that even you had difficulty in doing.

You poked at the beastman and even pushed him a couple times, but he wouldn't budge, he remained deep asleep on the cold floor.

That's when you got an idea.

Leona's eyes shot open when he felt himself get lifted off the cool floor. He almost pushed whoever had the audacity to not only wake him up, but to also pick him up like a baby if he didn't recognize your scent.

"Oi Herbivore, what do you think you're doing" "I'm getting tired of the professors nagging me to pick you up, so why don't I just do just that".

He found it funny at first, that you were able to pick him up like he had featherlight weight despite your size.

Then the complaining came when you refused to let him down until you got to the classroom (even if he didn't even attempt to get down himself).

"Just put me down already" "I'm not a baby, I can walk by myself" "Then why don't you just jump down?"

Silence...

[relleytrots]

I think it's tied to specific Disciplines. Celerity breaks the action economy of the game, Protean gives you aggravated damage on cue, Thaumaturgy has a path or ritual for more or less anything and is really easy to minmax (just stack Willpower).

Also, V20 dumps everything into one book, which leads a certain kind of player to think everything's on the table, and start blocking out their Caitiff with Mytherceria, Melpominee and Abombwe or some similar abomination.

Finally, and this is getting away from Disciplines a bit, there's the vibe. V5, and V1 before it, lean on "street level" play. Your characters aren't more than two hundred years old. Hunters are organised, and scary. The Sabbat are something alien and other, and the Camarilla is keeping you down, man, and the Anarchs have no coherent plan for either.

V2 drew more heavily on horror comics and speculative fiction - they were always influences, but they're stronger here - and Revised went deep on global conspiracies and grand spectacle at the expense of the Masquerade part of the game. (Week of Nightmares, my beloathed...)

None of this is unique to V20 - the munchkin powers have been identified as long ago as second edition, back in the days of trenchcoats, katanas and Dragonsbreath rounds for everyone, and the game has always presented its niche options for Storytellers using the exact same format it does for playable characters. It's a legacy issue which is magnified by the One Big Book All Things Ever Are Canon design philosophy.

what's the deal with V20 having this reputation (with some people) as being a power fantasy system compared to stripped down V5? i've been making my first V20 sheet but you don't really get more discipline powers at CC and they're not cheap with freebies either. what am i missing or are those people just full of shit? (focusing on the disciplines here because that's the common argument i've seen)