#Track and Measure Results

[michaelespositostatenisland]

Michael Esposito Staten Island - 10 Essential Strategies for Effective Influencer Marketing

In the bustling world of digital marketing, influencer marketing has carved out a niche that combines the power of social proof with the reach of digital platforms. Whether you're a seasoned marketer or a business venturing into the influencer realm for the first time, mastering the art of influencer marketing can significantly amplify your brand's visibility and engagement. Here are ten essential strategies to harness the power of influencer marketing effectively, inspired by the expertise of Michael Esposito Staten Island, an influencer marketer extraordinaire known for his impactful presence in the digital age.

1. Define Your Goals Clearly

Having clear objectives is the cornerstone of any successful marketing campaign. Whether it's boosting brand awareness, increasing sales, or driving website traffic, setting specific goals helps in tailoring your strategy and measuring success effectively.

2. Understand Your Audience

Knowing your target audience inside out is crucial. Understanding their interests, behaviors, and preferences helps in selecting the right influencers who resonate with your audience.

3. Choose the Right Influencers

Choosing influencers who align with your brand's values and ethos is vital. It's not just about the numbers; engagement rates, audience trust, and content quality matter too. Michael Esposito from Staten Island exemplifies an influencer whose authenticity and digital savviness have made him a significant figure in the influencer marketing world.

4. Foster Authentic Relationships

Building genuine relationships with influencers can lead to more authentic and engaging content. Authenticity is key in influencer marketing, as it enhances trust and relatability.

5. Leverage Multiple Platforms

Don't limit your influencer marketing efforts to a single platform. Explore opportunities across various platforms where your target audience is most active, be it Instagram, YouTube, TikTok, or others.

6. Focus on Quality Content

Quality content is what sets great campaigns apart. Collaborate with influencers to create content that is engaging, informative, and aligns with your brand messaging.

7. Utilize SEO Strategies

Incorporating SEO strategies, such as keyword optimization in content and leveraging influencer-generated content, can significantly improve your campaign's visibility online. Remember, good writing and SEO go hand in hand to create content that is not only engaging but also ranks well on search engines.

8. Track and Measure Results

To gauge the effectiveness of your influencer marketing campaigns, it's essential to track key performance indicators (KPIs) such as engagement rates, conversion rates, and ROI. This data will help refine your strategy over time.

9. Stay Updated on Trends

The digital landscape is constantly evolving. Staying abreast of the latest trends and platform updates can help you adapt your strategy to maintain its effectiveness.

10. Emphasize Transparency

Transparency and disclosure are critical in maintaining trust with your audience. Ensure influencers clearly disclose sponsored content to comply with FTC guidelines and maintain audience trust.

Influencer marketing, when executed properly, can be a game-changer for brands looking to expand their reach and connect with audiences in a meaningful way. Michael Esposito Staten Island — Influence in the Digital Age serves as a prime example of how influencers can wield significant influence in driving engagement and brand loyalty through authenticity and strategic collaboration. By following these ten essential strategies, you can create effective influencer marketing campaigns that resonate with your audience and deliver tangible results.

[chronurgy]

People really like to assign all the problems with academic writing to malice when frankly many academics (esp in the sciences) are simply not good writers. Writing a good academic paper is hard because you need to convey a lot of highly specific information, often with minimal background (most papers are really written for the 12 other people in the specialized subfield that know what the hell is going on). Academic papers are also written in passive voice by convention which is a nightmare to both read and write and certainly doesn't help matters.

[notthatkindofgrass]

And if they get it published in a well regarded journal it can ruin some poor fuckers degree.

It’s me, I’m fuckers. And I’m not nearly the only one. A lot of failed research projects never know why, but for a grad student it is easily (academic) career ending. I got lucky in that sense, that I later found out it wasn’t me, it was the methods.

I hate that the pressure to pass and the pressure to publish is making this a much more common occurrence. I love that science is progressing to the “we all have very specific niches” stage but it (and a ton of other things) can make proper peer review very difficult. Not Every dissertation should have publishable work!! We have to let science find failure points too and a lot more often than Universities are doing in the last 30 years. I’m guessing I’m preaching to the choir here? Ah well, my mind grabbed on to this reblog and wouldn’t let go. It feels good to get it said.

And don’t get me started on what passes for “research” and trial “success” outside of academia.

PS- if you’ve gone through this recently or are going through this or similar, I hope it helps to know that not being able to get that degree works out fine (and I have a sample size of 5 now, you are not alone!!) I am very happy with my Masters and able to have a very fulfilling career. I think in some ways I’m doing more good because I can be that much more flexible and I’m fully capable of communicating well with laypeople and academics in my fields. Fields! More than one! You can be a bit of a generalist out of academia and that suits this ADHD addled brain very well. My other unfinished friends are all making better money than they did or would have made in academia as well and finding similar personal satisfaction. It took us all a bit of a wobble to get repositioned to use our knowledge differently than expected but we all managed it.

Scientific fraud is the most baffling thing ever to me like do they think they're just going to make a huge breakthrough and no one will notice that it's fake by trying to replicate their results

[bestseocompanymadurai06]

Track, Measure, Grow: Rajagiri Information Systems Delivers ROI-Driven Digital Marketing

In today’s competitive market, businesses need effective digital marketing strategies to stand out and grow. One key factor that can make a significant difference is focusing on Return on Investment (ROI). At Rajagiri Information Systems (RGIS), we pride ourselves on being the Best ROI Digital Marketing Company in Madurai. Our goal is to help your business track, measure, and grow through precise and results-driven digital marketing.

Why ROI Matters

Why should ROI be a priority in your digital marketing strategy? ROI measures the effectiveness of your marketing efforts by comparing the profit generated to the amount spent. A high ROI indicates that your marketing strategies are yielding substantial returns, making every penny spent worthwhile.

Imagine running an online campaign that brings in double or even triple the revenue compared to what you invested. This is the kind of success you can achieve with a focus on ROI. At RGIS, we ensure that your marketing budget is used efficiently, maximizing your returns and driving growth.

Strategies for Maximizing ROI

At Rajagiri Information Systems, we use a variety of strategies to ensure you get the best returns on your marketing investments. Here’s how we do it:

1. Thorough Market Research

Understanding your market is the first step in crafting effective marketing strategies. We conduct comprehensive market research to identify your target audience, their needs, and the best channels to reach them. This helps us create tailored campaigns that resonate with your potential customers.

2. SEO Optimization

SEO is crucial for increasing your online visibility. By optimizing your website for relevant keywords, we ensure that your business ranks high on search engine results pages. More visibility means more traffic, which translates to more potential customers.

3. Engaging Content

Content is the backbone of digital marketing. We create engaging, informative, and relevant content that attracts and retains your audience. Whether it’s blog posts, social media updates, or videos, our content strategies are designed to boost engagement and conversions.

4. Data-Driven Campaigns

We rely on data to guide our decisions. By analyzing performance metrics and customer behavior, we continuously refine our campaigns to achieve better results. This ensures that your marketing efforts are always aligned with your business goals.

Real Success Stories

Many businesses in Madurai have experienced significant growth through our ROI-driven digital marketing strategies. For example, a local retailer saw a 50% increase in online sales within three months of implementing our tailored marketing plan. Another client, a service-based business, reported a substantial rise in inquiries and conversions. These success stories highlight why we are recognized as the Best ROI Digital Marketing Company in Madurai.

Why Choose Rajagiri Information Systems?

When you choose Rajagiri Information Systems, you’re partnering with experts committed to your success. Here’s what makes us stand out:

1. Expertise and Experience

With years of experience in digital marketing, we have the skills and knowledge to deliver exceptional results. Our team stays updated with the latest trends and technologies to ensure your business stays ahead of the competition.

2. Customized Solutions

We understand that every business is unique. That’s why we offer customized solutions tailored to your specific needs and goals. Whether you’re a small business or a large corporation, we have the right strategies for you.

3. Transparent Reporting

We believe in transparency. Our clients receive detailed reports that track the performance of their campaigns. This ensures you are always informed about the impact of your marketing investments.

Conversational Sentence: “Ready to see real results? Let’s talk about your digital marketing goals.”

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[fozmeadows]

there is no ethical consumption under capitalism

Years ago now, I remember seeing the rape prevention advice so frequently given to young women - things like dressing sensibly, not going out late, never being alone, always watching your drink - reframed as meaning, essentially, "make sure he rapes the other girl." This struck a powerful chord with me, because it cuts right to the heart of the matter: that telling someone how to lower their own chances of victimhood doesn't stop perpetrators from existing. Instead, it treats the existence of perpetrators as a foregone conclusion, such that the only thing anyone can do is try, by their own actions, to be a less appealing or more difficult victim.

And the thing is, ever since the assassination of United Healthcare CEO Brian Thompson, I've kept on thinking about how, in this day and age, CEOs of big companies often have an equal or greater impact on the day to day lives of regular people than our elected officials, and yet we have almost no legal way to redress any grievances against them - even when their actions, as in the case of Thompson's stewardship of UHC, arguably see them perpetrating manslaughter at scale through tactics like claims denial. That this is a real, recurring thing that happens makes the American healthcare insurance industry a particularly pernicious example, but it's far from being the only one. Because the original premise of the free market - the idea that we effectively "vote" for or against businesses with our dollars, thereby causing them to sink or swim on their individual merits - is utterly broken, and has been for decades, assuming it was ever true at all. In this age of megacorporations and global supply chains, the vast majority of people are dependent on corporations for necessities such as gas, electricity, internet access, water, food, housing and medical care, which means the consumer base is, to all intents and purposes, a captive market. We might not have to buy a specific brand, but we have to buy a brand, and as businesses are constantly competing with one another to bring in profits, not just for the company and its workers, but for C-suites and shareholders - profits that increasingly come at the expense of workers and consumers alike - the greediest, most inhumane corporations set the financial yardstick against which all others are then, of necessity, measured. Which means that, while businesses are not obliged to be greedy and inhumane in order to exist, overwhelmingly, they become greedy and humane in order to compete, because capitalism encourages it, and because there are precious few legal restrictions to stop them from doing so. At the same time, a handful of megacorporations own so many market-dominating brands that, without both significant personal wealth and the time and resources to find viable alternatives, it's all but impossible to avoid them, while the ubiquity of the global supply chain means that, even if you can keep track of which company owns which brand, it's much, much harder to establish which suppliers provide the components that are used in the products bearing their labels. Consider, for instance, how many mainstream American brands are functionally run on sweatshop labour in other parts of the world: places where these big corporations have outsourced their workforce to skirt the already minimal labour and wage protections they'd be obliged to adhere to in the US, all to produce (say) electronics whose elevated sticker price passes a profit on to the company, but without resulting in higher wages for either the sweatshop workers overseas or the American employees selling the products in branded US stores.

When basically every major electronics corporation is engaged in similar business practices, there is no "vote" our money can bring that causes the industry itself to be better regulated - and as wealthy, powerful lobbyists from these industries continue to pay exorbitant sums of money to politicians to keep government regulation at a minimum, even our actual votes can do little to effect any sort of change. But even in those rare instances where new regulations are passed, for multinational corporations, laws passed in one country overwhelmingly don't prevent them from acting abusively overseas, exploiting more desperate populations and cash-poor governments to the same greedy, inhumane ends. And where the ultimate legal penalty for proven transgressions is, more often than not, a fine - which is to say, a fee; which is to say, an amount which, while astronomical by the standards of regular people, still frequently costs the company less than the profits earned through their unethical practices, and which is paid from corporate coffers rather than the bank accounts of the CEOs who made the decisions - big corporations are, in essence, free to act as badly as they can afford to; which is to say, very. Contrary to the promise of the free market, therefore, we as consumers cannot meaningfully "vote" with our dollars in a way that causes "good" businesses to rise to the top, because everything is too interconnected. Our choices under global capitalism are meaningless, because there is no other system we can financially support that stands in opposition to it, and while there are still small businesses and companies who try to operate ethically, both their comparative smallness and their interdependent reliance on the global supply chain means that, even if we feel better about our choices, we're not exerting any meaningful pressure on the system we're trying to change. Which means that, under the free market, trying to be an ethical consumer is functionally equivalent to a young woman dressing modestly, not going out alone and minding her drink at parties in order to avoid being raped. We're not preventing corporate predation or sending a message to corporate predators: we're just making sure they screw other worker, the other consumer, the other guy.

All of which is to say: while I'd prefer not to live in a world where shooting someone dead in the street is considered a valid means of redressing grievances, what the murder of Brian Thompson has shown is that, if you provide no meaningful recourse for justice against abusive, exploitative members of the 1%, then violence done to those people will have the feel of justice, because it fills the void left by the lack of consequences for their actions. It's the same reason why people had little sympathy for the jackass OceanGate CEO who killed himself in his imploding sub, or anyone whose yacht has been attacked by orcas - it's just intensified here, because where the OceanGate CEO was felled by hubris and the yachts were random casualties, whoever killed Thomspon did so deliberately, because of what he did. It was direct action against a man whose policies very arguably constituted manslaughter at scale; a crime which ought to be a crime, but which has, to date, been permitted under the law. And if the law wouldn't stop him, can anyone be surprised that someone might act outside the law in retaliation - or that regular people would cheer for them when they did?

[keywordriser1]

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[astroxrion]

Unlock the Star Within ⭐️ Astro Thread :

Sun in 1st House:

You unlock your star power when you stop analyzing how you're perceived and start standing still in your presence. You don't need approval to lead. People follow certainty. Walk like you belong everywhere and your confidence will speak before you do.

Sun in 2nd House:

You unlock your star power when you ground yourself in what you've built and stop doubting your worth. You don't need constant results to be valuable. Wealth responds to self-trust. Speak less, produce more, and let your value make the noise.

Sun in 3rd House:

You unlock your star power when you communicate with focus and purpose instead of overexplaining. Your words have weight. Don't waste them proving yourself. Say it once with clarity and conviction and let people lean in because they feel your mind working.

Sun in 4th House:

You unlock your star power when you stop carrying what your family never healed and start protecting your peace like it is your currency. Your roots matter but your future is louder. Show people what real emotional strength looks like. Make home your launchpad.

Sun in 5th House:

You unlock your star power when you stop asking if it's too much and just make it louder. Your creativity is the light. You don't need an audience to be radiant. Create, share, repeat. Play turns into power when you let your gifts run free.

Sun in 6th House:

You unlock your star power when you treat your routines like rituals and stop abandoning yourself to serve everyone else. Systems make you shine. Track progress. Make it measurable. Show people how excellence looks when it's handled with quiet force.

Sun in 7th House:

You unlock your star power when you stop outsourcing your identity to your relationships. You're not half of anything. You are the standard. Bring balance, not compromise. Collaborate with people who expand you, not just those who validate you.

Sun in 8th House:

You unlock your star power when you face what scares you and stop keeping secrets about who you are. Your power is behind the curtain. Transformation becomes your fuel when you burn what no longer serves and speak from what you've survived.

Sun in 9th House:

You unlock your star power when you stop overthinking your next step and take the leap. You don't need the whole map. You grow by doing. Share your truth. Teach what you live. Expansion shows up when you walk like belief lives in your bones.

Sun in 10th House:

You unlock your star power when you stop waiting to be qualified and start acting like you already are. You're built to lead. Reputation comes from consistency. Show up sharp. Make every move count. Long-term impact is made one bold decision at a time.

Sun in 11th House:

You unlock your star power when you stop trying to fit in and start building the space that matches your vision. Your future isn't local. You're meant to influence the collective. Get strategic. Use platforms. Let innovation work for your voice.

Sun in 12th House:

You unlock your star power when you stop hiding behind privacy and start trusting your inner world to guide you. Your gift is subtle but powerful. Work in stillness. Heal in silence. Then show up with a clarity that makes everyone else slow down and listen.

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny used to be a vigilante, firmly on the side of good. Like, illegally, but morally good.

Danny’s 100% sure that whatever he is now, it’s not good.

Is Gotham’s influence just Like That?

He was homeless when he got to this thrice damned city (literally, because Lady Gotham was so cursed) and now he’s… here? In a mid-level penthouse with a rotation of homeless kids going in and out of his kitchen and eating out his pantry??

Danny adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt, making the conscious decision to ditch the tie. He’s a tall 6ft 4 now, taking after his Dad. His head smarted all of the time, hitting doorframes when he was being a bit clumsier than the normal ghost-like grace he had learned to channel as The Phantom.

The Phantom instead of just Phantom. Why? Because Phantom was the name of a teenage vigilante in another dimension. The Phantom, on the other hand, is an intimidatingly tall, deceptively kind, extremely dangerous kingpin.

Honestly? Danny didn’t even want this life. Like, he had no idea it would snowball like this??

He supposed that it all started when the Penguin was trying to snatch kids off of his block on Crime Alley. Not officially his block, of course, because Danny didn’t actually enter this city to be a crime-shadow thing. But he hadn’t lost enough of Phantom the Vigilante to ignore kids getting hurt. He still hasn’t, if he’s being honest. He flew into a frantic search, tracking down the missing kids to Penguin’s bar. The Iceberg Lounge. Apparently, he wanted the kids to do some menial tasks and what not. Danny, rage flickering through his core, intangibly went in and robbed Penguin of every coin and secret the man kept.

Then? Danny blackmailed the Penguin to guarantee his kids a measure of safety from the Rogue. That began the slippery slope into whatever it is he does now. Penguin was being kept in line by Danny’s threats, the grip he had on the Rogue’s weak points, and a wonderful bit of intimidation.

——

“What, you stinking phantom? I’m stickin’ to yer rules!” Penguin snarled, forced to his knees by invisible blob ghosts.

Danny, salty and pissy from the lack of sleep he’d experienced trying to keep Penguin’s men in line as a result of Penguin trying to test where Danny’s lines were, dropped the temperature to the point where Penguin started shivering. Considering the place was already cold- the Iceberg lounge lived up to its name- it meant that Danny was standing nonchalantly in a room that was negative twenty five degree Celsius in a sweatshirt, Danny was already making good on his natural intimidation factor.

“It’s The Phantom to you, Oswald.” Danny said, in the tone of someone saying “it’s the shit, to you.”

Danny narrowed his blue eyes, letting a tiny tint of ectoplasm make his eyes glow a bit in the suddenly icing over room.

“Your people have been getting on my nerves, Oswald. Roughing up kids is so… uncultured. Are you sure you’re a Cobblepot?”

Penguin snarled, the effect of which was rendered ineffective due to his increasingly violent shivers. Plus, Danny loomed over him without even trying.

Danny, annoyed and asking himself “What Would Dan Do To Intimidate This Guy?”, gripped Penguin’s shoulder and hauled him up one handed. He dragged the mob boss over to one of the booths, avoiding the bodies he’d dropped (non-lethally) when Danny first walked in to ruin Penguin’s night. He shoved Penguin in chair he iced over, because Danny’s petty and if he saw one more bruise on his kids at Penguin’s hands, Danny was gonna go full Dan the Murderer.

He at least allowed to room to warm up before laying into Penguin, though. He stayed standing. Hey, he had the height advantage to use. He could have kept Penguin kneeling, but it was probably god the best that the mob boss got some sense of pride back.

(Danny had no idea that sitting as someone loomed over you to lecture and threaten you was even worse than kneeling. At least with kneeling, you knew where you stood. But sitting? It leaves you horribly off kilter.)

“I told you to keep your people in line. Kids are off limits, Oswald.”

“I kept them in line!”

Never let it be said that Oswald Cobblepot had a normal functioning sense of self preservation.

“Really?” Danny jabbed his pointer finger lightly on top of Penguin’s trachea and allowed his fingernails to sharpen into Phantom’s sharper digits. Penguin tried to lean away. “Then why did they start a gun fight when there were kids visible on the street? Why did I see one of my kids get hit by one of your poor excuses of a bouncer?”

“I-”

“Don’t care much for your excuses, if I’m being honest. I let you mess around with the little projects you have, without even breathing a whisper of your secrets. Sionis would love to know how you double crossed him the last deal, yeah?”

“I- I’ll keep them in line!” Penguin stuttered.

“Well, I believe in second chances,” Danny bullshitted. Ancients, how was this even working? “So I suggest you make an example of the guy that smacked Hailey around before I make an example out of you, Oswald.”

“Fine! Fine!”

——

And with that, he got access to Penguin’s resources and men and more importantly, the corrupt police officers. He made Penguin “boot out” the pedophilic ones (in a very violent way) and kept the rest.

Then? Mr. Freeze froze over the god damn pipes and Danny had to intimidate and make a deal with the Rogue so he and his increasing roster of orphans had access to warm water.

In exchange for Danny’s restorative and, more importantly, unmelting ice, Mr. Freeze was now Danny’s… on-call enforcer?? When he’s not researching cures for his frozen in a pod wife, that is.

Danny was satisfied with that. He was! But then Black Mask happened, with the man trying to engage in a battle of wits with Danny over the control of Crime Alley which, at that point, was firmly Danny’s territory.

The thing is, Danny doesn’t play nice anymore. Why bother with pointless mind games when he could just…

——

“So, you’re The Phantom.”

“And you’re Sionis.”

Black Mask twitched at the name, gloved hands pulling out his guns. Danny sat on the counter, head touching mid cabinet, and sipped out of Sionis’ favorite mug.

Because Danny broke into Black Mask’s safe house and stole his quality coffee. The man’s eyes were wary.

“How did you get in here?”

Danny shrugged. “Walked.”

Danny held the coffee out of the way as Sionis unloaded a clip into his chest and lunged forward to slap a mask onto Danny’s face. After waiting a bit, as Black Mask’s smug triumph bled into shock, Danny laughed and, using a bit of his natural strength, tossed the guy off of him. He casually took the mask off of his face.

“Jeez, I’m trying to be nice, here.”

“So, you’re a Meta.”

Danny grinned. “Eh. And you’re a cult leader with a mask fetish.”

Danny tuned out the rant about the “true face of Gotham” or whatever, already bored, and sipped at Sionis’ coffee. The ass might be a psycho, but his coffee tastes were wonderful. Danny stood up, rinsed his mug, and turned back to Black Mask.

“You’re trafficking people. Kids.” He said, cutting through Sionis’ chatter. He was sly about it too, committing violence and torture in a way that would ensure obedience and fear. Danny probably would have never caught on, Black Mask’s schemes being so ingeniously created and executed, had he not kept a hawk’s eyes on the more vulnerable members of Crime Alley’s community. And the rest of Gotham’s vulnerable communities, of course.

“My, a wonderfully obvious conclusion. Now, Phantom, I have a proposition for you.”

Sionis seemed to have gotten his bearings back. Danny tilted his head at him, looking down.

“You can work for me,” Sionis said, before opening a laptop with video feed to one of his masked men or whatever holding a knife to one of Danny’s more fearless kids. Danny snarled.

“Or, refuse, and your kid will lose a finger for every instance of your defiance.”

“I told you not to touch the kids, Sionis. I don’t allow trafficking either.”

Black Mask chuckled. “Cut off a finger, Sadness.”

“Yes, bos- ARGHHHH!”

Danny watched as Mr. Freeze froze the goon’s arms before breaking them.

“I’ve got her, Phantom.”

Danny nodded at Freeze, keeping an eye on Sionis in case the fool bolts.

“So, what are your cards now, Sionis? You’ve sure pissed me off with nothing to show for it.”

And that was the last night anyone heard from the one that was supposed to be the King of Crime.

But Gotham knew the head mounted on a pike at one of Black Mask’s hastily abandoned bases was a warning, that The Phantom was watching.

——

Then he somehow got a gaggle of more orphans that were undead zombie “Talons?”

From there, he just obtained influence over the crime bosses of Gotham. Because his Talons kept bringing him heads and blackmail and his crime alley kids and Gotham orphans kept bringing him information for food and safety?

But like, Danny never wanted anything in exchange for the safety he provided. His core could give less of a shit whether he got anything in return. But he couldn’t convince his kids of that! They’re putting themselves in danger and ugh-!

Danny checked himself once more in the mirror. Ready, he stepped out into the night to wait for the Bats at his new favorite VIP spots.

On the way, he passed Ivy and Harley, who he waved to. Pamela worked under him because he controlled Gotham’s criminal underground (which also mean the official parts of the city considering the sheer amount of corruption) and influenced them into more plant friendly methods. His dominion over Undergrowth also helped immensely.

Harley? They’re friends. He beat up and crippled her abusive ex. She gave him therapy and stopped torturing people for fun.

Danny stepped into the back door of the Iceberg Lounge. No one stopped him. No one dared to.

He settled onto a velvet couch, nodding respectfully at the server that had immediately and nervously set down his mai tai. He glanced around for cameras and wire taps, before giving up and upping his ectoplasmic output to short any recording devices out.

He sipped his drink as he waited.

“Batman.”

“Phantom.”

“Oh, good. You didn’t bring Robin,” Danny said, watching Batman tense. “Kids shouldn’t be in places like these.”

Batman stayed silent.

“Come on, sit.” Danny gestured to the couch across from him.

“This isn’t a social call. I’ll stop whatever you’re scheming-” Batman growled.

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic. Is this where Nightwing gets it from?”

Batman snarled.

“Sit, sit.” Danny rolled his eyes.

Batman stayed stubbornly looming. Danny sighed, allowing his voice to slip into velvet danger.

“I told you to sit, Bruce Wayne.”

“You-”

“I won’t repeat myself again, Bruce. You’re testing my patience.”

Bruce sat, wary and hyper vigilant. Danny sighed, settling back in his chair.

“You’ve heard of Red Hood, yes? Don’t answer that, it was hypothetical. I know you’ve heard of him.” Danny waved a hand impatiently. “I don’t really care why he’s setting up shop in my Alley, but he’s upsetting the other crime lords. They’re asking me to interfere.”

“I don’t work for you.”

“No,” Danny acknowledged with a nod. “But I could make you, if you push it. Politeness would serve you much better right now, Bruce, seeing as I am doing you a… favor. And since I’m not shouting to the world who you are under the cowl.”

Danny gave Batman a pointed, patented, mom glare.

“… Apologies.”

“Now, you might be wondering what that favor is.” Danny watched Batman’s cowled face carefully. “I thought you should know that the Red Hood is your “Jason Todd.’”

Batman was still. And then Batman leapt at him, snarling, “How dare you-!”

Danny caught the vigilante by the throat and squeezed.

Batman’s flurry of punches- which, mildly ow, those gauntlets kind of hurt- quickly changed to clawing and maneuvers to get out of the choke hold. Danny held steady, cutting off the vigilante’s air supply until he began to go limp. He’s not Superman. Danny will bruise and kill, if he had to.

“Are you going to listen to me now?” Danny asked mildly, emulating both Black Mask’s drawl and Dan’s effortless psychosis.

Batman gave a weak nod. Danny plopped him unceremoniously back onto his couch. He sipped on his drink once more as he waited for Batman to cough some sweet air back into his lungs.

“I’m telling you to get your little birds in line before I have to go hunting, yeah? Keep your kids out of danger, Bruce, and I won’t have to step in.”

“He- how do you know..?” The growl isn’t there anymore, and Danny felt a smug sense of vindication of having smothered it out of the guy. Woah, no, that thought was too Dan and too little Danny. Danny handed him a cup of water, which Batman didn’t drink.

Danny rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Drink. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now. And as for how I know…”

Danny held up a beat up copy of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, filled with Jason’s writing. He tossed it to Batman, who caught it with blank eyes.

“Water,” Danny reminded him firmly, feeling like a mother hen. Batman gulped down his water, eyes flicking between the pages of Jason’s annotated book. Ancients, Danny couldn’t believe he annotated his book. A crime lord, like that? Well, it’s not like Danny could say anything.

Batman looked up at him, a silent demand- no, plea, because he’s not in a position to make demands- for an answer.

“Broke into his safe house. You should contact your fling, Talia. Seems like she dunked him into these “Lazarus pits” and told him you replaced him with the current Robin.”

Danny could see Batman’s emotional gears hard at work and honestly, he doesn’t have time for that.

“Now, we’re done here. You owe me one for the information. I’ll collect later.” Danny grabbed the Dark Knight, who stayed oddly unresisting (shock, maybe?) , and hauled him up.

“Tell Tim Drake to eat more. He looks too skinny.” With that, Danny dragged the Dark Knight to the window and punted him out. His kids were waiting on hot chocolate night and Danny had to go shopping for quality ingredients.

——

“YOU COULDN’T HAVE TOLD ME THE BIGGEST CRIME LORD OF YOUR CITY WAS THE FUCKING HIGH KING OF THE INFINITE REALMS?!”

“Hn.”

“BLOODY HELL, DON’T YOU GRUNT AT ME, YOU BROODY BASTARD!”

Constantine let out a scream. Shite, the king who held his soul contract was a crime lord. Great.

——

The reason intelligence and convoluted schemes and genius doesn’t work against Danny is because he’s got weird standards of what he’ll tolerate and the fact is that his normal dumbassery and mother hen tendencies cancels out and coherent thoughts or plans he might have had.

[rinskazuu]

→ half asleep, wishing i still had you ⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

synopsis. ꨄ︎ weeks had passed since your breakup with the bllk men. it seems they can no longer handle your absence and decide to drink away their sorrow. it turns out that liquor is capable of bringing out the emotions they've carefully concealed, so with the liquid courage they've gathered, they decide to break their silence.

featuring. ꨄ︎ fem!reader x sae, kaiser, otoya, karasu (separate)

includes. ꨄ︎ post relationship, angst, happy ending, alcohol consumption, pining, yearning, begging, aged up!characters to legal drinking age (kaiser is already of drinking age in germany), characters might be a teensy bit ooc (not sorry), not fully proofread

notes. ꨄ︎ i was going to add yukimiya, aiku, and ness but this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks and i really didn't have it in me to do any more.

♪ track. ꨄ︎ your shirt by chelsea cutler

ITOSHI SAE ⋆｡°✩

sae isn’t the type of man to drink casually. sure, a celebratory drink here and there wouldn’t hurt, but even then, he would never leave himself in a vulnerable position.

sae is a precise and meticulous man, measuring his every sip, cautious not to go over his limit. yet, him gulping more than his usual was a direct result of his current state. i mean, sure, he knew the breakup would sting, but not this much. not to the point where he felt his entire being would shatter if he breathed wrong.

and that’s how life currently felt for him. like every single breath was solely to counter his existence—like his very presence was to appease you. and sae was not the type of man to put somebody else first.

the breakup was primarily sae’s fault, and he knew it. he didn’t have to see the disappointment on your face or the frustration in your teary eyes to know it. despite dating someone famous, you absolutely despised the publicity surrounding you; the attention, the lights, the rumors. so when he brushed off your concerns, feeling angry was more than an understatement. aside from the paparazzi, sae was cold. it wasn't to the extent of how he treated everybody else, but it shouldn't have been how he acted toward you. he was cold to where you would be excited and he would still have that look of indifference and boredom etched all over his face—as if he was saying, “this isn’t worth my time.” while it’s true sae was a loving and attentive boyfriend, those traits had its limits, and you were simply over it.

sae called when he knew you would be relaxing after a long, hard day worth of work, usually indulging in a book or playing a game. you were suspicious but picked up anyway. if anybody asked, you were not picking up because you missed him. surely not.

“come home,” he croaks immediately after you pick up. you were taken aback to say the least. he didn’t even bother to greet you, let alone attempt to make small talk, like asking you how your job was or how your parents were doing. but then again, itoshi sae had no space for unnecessary words or actions.

“i’m sorry?” was all you managed to utter out, shock still lingering in your system. a sigh was let out on the other end of the line. as you were shuffling and ordering your emotions, sae was picking at his supposed “genius” brain to see how exactly he was supposed to win you back. it was a miracle he won you over in the first place, considering his knowledge outside of football—or more accurately, the lack of.

he had missed your presence; seeing your face in the crowd, coming home to your sweet fragrance, holding your hand during even the most mundane everyday tasks, having you in his arms as he drifted to sleep, and everything. what was he supposed to say to convince you that he loves you?

itoshi sae is not the type of man for big gestures or fancy words. he won’t be the one to serenade you or put thought into a romantic poem, and you were more than okay with it, but you refused to lay down and take his disregard for your concerns like a good dog.

after a long stretch of silence, sae finally gathers his thoughts. “i want you to come home,” he repeats, a slight slur evident in his voice. “i want you to understand how apologetic i am. i should’ve listened to your concerns, and i should’ve protected your feelings better.”

“i appreciate your apologies, itoshi, but i think it’s best to stay on different paths.”

sae winces at the usage of his last name. to the world, he is itoshi. he is the prodigious elder brother of the itoshi family; he’s the calculating, genius soccer player, but to you he was just sae. he didn’t have to control his every move as if one wrong step would result in all his hard work falling apart. to you, he could fall apart in your arms and you would still love him.

“sae,” he corrects. “i’m not itoshi to you. regardless of what you might think, i’ll always be sae to you.”

his gaze directs up to the roof of his car, his seat cranked all the way back as his free hand grabbed the canned beer; an accurate representation of exactly what he was feeling—disappointed and bitter. it’s as if sae was purposely torturing himself for letting you go.

“i don’t know what to say,” you reply honestly, twiddling your fingers as you stare at the cover of your book, the words blurring as you zone out.

“i love you, cariño.” your heart stops for a moment. the way his lips utter the pet name so softly—like you would fade away from his life if he said it any differently—causes a hitch in your heart. “from this day forward, i will listen to you more honestly. not because i have to, but because i want to.”

your lips part, partly at his heartfelt confession—where his voice wasn’t devoid of emotion for once—and the other part because you were surprised. sae is opening up to you, even with the idea of rejection lingering in his mind, unlike the itoshi sae you knew who doesn’t toy with intentions that aren’t going to guarantee him success.

“i’m sorry i let you down. i’m sorry i allowed you to feel like i didn’t care. i’m most sorry that you didn’t feel the love that i felt for you. please, amor. i feel like my heart is going to jump out of my chest and throw itself into a fire.”

at last, you found your voice and answered him honestly. “i miss you, sae. i love you. i want you to treat me the way i want, but i can't just take your words at face value.” sae understands fully. you made it clear that actions were louder than words, and he is going to fulfill that.

“i know, amor. i just need you to understand that it’s you or nobody. you’re going to be the woman i marry,” he states. it wasn’t a halfhearted swear; he pledged it. “now, please. let me in at least. let me see you again.”

you open the door to a sluggish sae, reeking of beer. despite your dislike for it, you pulled him in for a long awaited hug on both ends. of course, the two of you were a long way from how you were again, but for now, this is perfect. for now, you’re okay with just holding him until the two of you fell asleep.

KAISER MICHAEL ⋆｡°✩

kaiser loathed alcohol. it reminded him of the helplessness and weakness he felt whenever he came home to his drunk father, fists curled up into balls, and angry about whatever it was that upset him that day. and yet, here he was, downing the whiskey like he was held at gunpoint.

here he was, turning out to be the man he detested. never having laid hands on you, kaiser still managed to hurt you, and in turn fucked up the only relationship he ever cared for. you never saw him as dollar signs, only as the broken shell of a man that he wanted to be. you had the patience to love, help, and improve him for his sake, and somehow, he broke you instead.

kaiser knew better than anyone how hurtful words could be, but when push came to shove, he chose to close himself off in fear of what you might think of him. contrary to his image, he was embarrassed to show you just how shameful he is. he could never understand how you were capable of loving him—loving the little boy who never got over his mother leaving him alone with the father who beat him senseless. he never understood how it was possible to still love someone who was never loved.

at first, kaiser was angry. you leaving him? how dare you?! how dare you fall into the same crowd of everybody else in his life; promising him a happy ending and then leaving when it got too hard? but then he came to the realization that you left because he couldn’t step up to be the man he swore to be.

kaiser didn’t bother to call or even text. his entire body was on fire, and he was determined to see you in person rather than speaking to you through a phone. so as you were preparing to snuggle into your bed—and totally not with the unicorn plushie he bought you—you’re suddenly startled by the sound of frantic knocks.

your immediate reaction was to stay in your room—a straight response to those horror movies you forced yourself to watch with kaiser. but the knocks never stopped. they grew more erratic and panicked.

the moment you open the door, you’re greeted with a visibly exhausted kaiser; blond hair a tousled mess, lips swollen from biting, and blue eyes dull—which was massively different from your kaiser.

you stand frozen in front of him, unable to react or even speak, so he takes the initiative. “i’m sorry,” is the first thing kaiser mutters, quiet but loud enough for it to send a shock wave down your spine. kaiser, the emperor, is apologizing.

“what?” his eyes turn down, a clear sign that he was embarrassed. nonetheless, kaiser couldn’t care less right now. all he wanted in that moment was to cease his hopelessness and earn your love back.

“the man i am—was—isn’t somebody i’m proud of. that man hurt you; me, i hurt you,” he pauses, taking a deep breath to collect his thoughts, because frankly, he didn’t expect you to actually open the door (despite his relentless efforts). “i-i’m not good at this. forgive me, mein liebling.”

on the other hand, you’re still motionless; hand gripping the door, heart pounding, and dozens of different emotions invading your mind. “kaiser, i don’t think we should do this,” you finally whisk up the courage to say. despite still loving him with your entire being, you made it impossibly clear that you were no longer going to love him at the expense of yourself.

“wait. just hear me out, okay?” he whispers, his hand finding its way to your door, not pushing but hoping to be heard. “i didn’t know that loving something—someone—could feel so rewarding. all i know how to do is take and break, and in spite of all your attempts to see me, i pushed you away. for that, i don’t think i could ever forgive myself. you make me feel human, mein liebling, and i despise that, because i have built this monster out of malice towards the man i resent. but i also know that if i let you go here and not shove my past away for you, i wouldn’t know how to live with just myself.”

you’re stunned because despite kaiser admitting that he didn’t know how to get his feelings through to you, he was very much capable of doing just that. his message tugs at your heartstrings; after so long of rotting as you waited for him to open up, you finally get to hear the words that stemmed from his heart.

“i’m not asking you to forgive me right away, sweetheart. you know i’m a man of patience, and even though it’s killing me to wait, i’ll bide my time for as long as you want me to, because i love you. i love you so much i’d defy every rule that defines me just to have you again.” discounting the fact that this was a very big and vulnerable moment for him, the shine in kaiser’s warm blue eyes return.

you heave out a sigh. knowing that this may very well end poorly, you still wanted to give it a try. you understand kaiser’s feelings are rooted in his troublesome childhood and you want to help him, because you love him just as much as he does you. “come in, mikka,” you reply in a whisper, tugging lightly at his sleeves.

the sound of his nickname rolling off your tongue warms kaiser’s heart. he’s aware now that you don’t hate him like the little voice at the back of his head keeps telling him. you still care for him; you still love him.

kaiser huffs out a long awaited breath of relief, his heart rapidly beating against his chest. you wrap your arms around him, inhaling his intoxicating scent along with the whiskey, which is evenly stimulating. he plants a kiss atop your head, silently promising that he would do better.

OTOYA EITA ⋆｡°✩

otoya is inherently a free spirit who does anything and everything based on his own whims. that goes for everything in his life, including the amount of alcohol he was consuming.

otoya, opposite of what the media claims, is immensely loyal to you, which came to a shock to even himself. as much as he disrelished being tied down, he couldn’t even bear the thought of another woman, let alone acting on any impulses to leave. regardless of his problematic past, he willingly devoted himself to you wholeheartedly, but it still doesn't erase the very fact of what he had done; what he was capable of.

he understood the limitations of your understanding and patience when it came to his past. in fact, he was grateful you stayed as long as you did. just the thought of you brought him a sense of humility that he surprisingly liked. needless to say, otoya was still devastated when you expressed your desire to leave. he didn’t stop you—as selfish as he is, he couldn’t. not when he knew that it would permanently destroy your relationship if he pushed you any further. then life changed for the worst—just like that. he saw it coming but he didn’t expect it to be as anguishing as it was. unfortunately, it didn’t seem like otoya cared much for your discomfort any time somebody would bring up another girl he messed with; whether it be a reporter, his friends, or his teammates. regardless of your longstanding tolerance, you just couldn’t endure the thought of coming home one day to find him in bed with another woman. so you broke things off.

it felt like otoya was constantly drowning, as if the thought of you—or lack thereof—was physically pushing on his heart. every breath was a reminder that this was his karma. this was the so called 'consequences,' that everybody spoke of. everything in his apartment reminded him of you—of what he had, what he couldn’t be strong enough to handle.

otoya contemplated going to your home, but the better part of him knew you were just going to slam the door in his face—as he rightfully deserves. then he thought of calling. he desperately wanted to call, to hear your voice, but in the end he was too ashamed to do it. his finger hovered over the call button for many long, stretched out minutes before deciding against it.

so he opted to text you. it was safe, even if it went against his usual do-what-you-please attitude. you were staggered to find a text from your ex boyfriend looming on your phone after your shift. even more confusing, it was a jumbled mess full of typos and nonsense. you kept asking him what he meant and in the end, just made the choice to call him.

when otoya sees your name flashing on his screen, he pauses. with an uncharacteristically anxiousness building up in his body, he hesitates to answer. but he can’t withstand another day without hearing the soft and gentle tone of your voice.

the two of you exchange greetings before you ask, “what did you mean in your text? i’m not understanding any of it.”

his voice hitches before responding, “i miss you. i hate that i ruined this. even though i’ve ruined relationships many times, you weren’t meant to be one of them.” he’s straightforward, not giving you a chance to even process the first part before continuing. “i know my actions—or actually, the absence of it—warranted this, but i refuse to spend another day without you.”

to say you are baffled is an understatement. you knew about otoya’s playboy personality, and you knew it was unlikely for him to settle down, so hearing this not only affirmed your feelings, but also emphasized his love for you. there was no point in your relationship that he had given you a reason to doubt his loyalty, besides not respecting your boundaries about his past, and you were suddenly getting a sense of clarity out of it.

“you’re not the type of person to settle down, otoya,” you reply accompanied by a sigh. even so, you still weren’t completely sure if you should trust his words.

“i know. and i’m sorry. i should’ve started with i’m sorry. listen, i’m not used to having someone to put before myself. as much as it goes against who i am as a person, i don’t hate it because you’re part of who i am now. you’re what i look forward to during every part of my day, and if it means i get to see you and spend every day with you, then yeah, i would gladly tie myself down. i love you and that’s never going to change.” otoya, who had downed just about enough to pass him out, is suddenly sobered. this was the first time he’d ever said i love you, and it felt amazing.

hearing his confession sent your heart beating so fast you were nearly convinced you were going into cardiac arrest. his voice ringing out of your device snaps you back into reality. “i. love. you. i love you and nobody else. i can’t love anybody else. you’ve officially ruined women for me. if it’s not you, nobody else is going to ever make me feel this way again. it’s just not possible.”

“otoya…” you start, unable to find the right words to reciprocate.

you hear the strong inhale of breath he takes on the other end. “eita,” he corrects. “your eita, remember?”

you let out a breath, a chuckle following after. “yes. you’re right. but this doesn’t mean we’re okay again.”

otoya’s heart pounds against his chest. he knows. “i’m aware. i know we’ve got a long way ahead, and i’m going to prove to you that i’m the right choice.” a smile graces your lips at this until you realize the slur in his voice.

“have you been drinking?” you ask cautiously, much familiar with his habits of doing things based on the context of his surroundings.

he admits sheepishly, “yes. it doesn’t help, but it gave me the courage to text you at the very least.” you roll your eyes at his statement, simply amused.

“you texted me a string of random letters. how am i supposed to decipher that?” you question.

given his disheveled state, otoya was pretty satisfied with the outcome of this. he makes a silent promise that he wouldn’t drink again unless given permission as to appease you. but still, he doesn’t regret it. currently, he’s content. everything in the world feels just about right.

“i’m going to bed if you care to join me,” you say, piquing his undivided attention. does he? of course he does!

otoya’s green eyes light up. “are you kidding? i’d be crazy if i said no.”

“okay. we’ve got things to work on and talk through, but for now, i think we did an okay job,” you say in response, laughing at his. “and eita.”

“yes, pretty?”

“i love you.”

KARASU TABITO ⋆｡°✩

karasu is very particular and self-disciplined, rarely consuming any alcohol as it leaves him in an unguarded position, which is a massive disdain. when he does allow himself to drink, he's cautious with the amount he's ingesting; still wary of his surroundings.

as opposed to karasu's attitude toward particular individuals, he was incredibly inferior toward you, always nitpicking his own actions, and holding you on a high pedestal. while he praised and cherished even the ground you walked on, it didn't take long for you to grow exhausted of his constant criticism against others he deemed lower than him. he generally focused too much on other people's ethics.

each insult went hand in hand with the very real belief that he was clearly better. karasu didn't need to see the dismay in your usually sparkly eyes to know he was losing you. and yet, when it mattered the most, he couldn't better himself for you.

life was unbearable and nothing could take him out of this state. karasu—as he does with everything—overanalyzes every detail of your relationship, examining your exact words methodically over and over until he swore his body would simply explode without your existence in his life. a small fire lit inside of him; an ugly, burning rage that was tearing him inside out. a blazing rage that he built against himself. he was hyperaware of his bad habit of scrutinizing others, and he's trying to work it out, now more than ever.

as you exited your work place, you could spot karasu's figure in the distance. perhaps it was your exhaustion after a long day, or the hazy november air clouding your view, but you couldn't help but submit to the pull of curiousity. cautious, you took a step. and another. and then another until you could see his face excruciatingly clear.

eyebags decorated his face, his pursed lips were tucked beneath the warmth of his scarf, and his physique was slumped. you stand halted just a couple feet away, his deep blue eyes boring into yours. karasu leans off his car and takes slow and steady steps in your direction.

you clear your throat seeing him stride your way. "what brings you here, karasu?" his eyes widen just the smallest amount, his step faltering the slightest at the mention of his family name. it's not very noticeable to the public's eye, but to you—who knows him like the back of your hand—it was clear. it was a sign of karasu's image falling apart at your feet.

"i came to see ya," he says casually. except none of this is casual. him showing up at your work place the exact minute he knew you were leaving wasn't casual. him appearing to pick you up like it was routine was not casual.

you blink at him, confusion written all over your face. "why?" slips past your trembling lips.

"because i miss you. i miss ya in my bed, snugglin' in my arms, in my life. i miss everything about life when i had ya." karasu is straightforward, enunciating every word with a breath of confidence. his eyes hold a cool fire that feels like it'll burn you if you kept staring.

you bite in your lip in contemplation. "i'm not so sure about us anymore," you admit in a mutter. "i don't know if it's possible for an us." his face twists in agony.

hearing this shatters karasu's heart and the confidence he had going into this. for a moment, he considers leaving; he knows more than anyone that he wasn't even close to your league, so why should he keep pestering you? but then he's reminded of his brightening love for you—the flame that can't be doused no matter the amount of water.

"i admit that the insults i hurl at people are nothing more than a cover. i know better than anyone that i'm nothing but just a man. i'm nothin' special, but you make me feel like i am. you remind me that i have the potential to be the man i claim to be. i want to turn that into a reality, darlin'. i can promise ya i'll work harder than anyone to become a version of me that you can be proud of."

karasu can only hope that you felt the plea and begs within his message. the plea to end his torment; to take him back. he'd willingly give up football if it meant he could spend every moment—waking and unconscious—with you.

"i'm an insecure, flawed man, and you... yer everything. i'm sorry you had to witness the things i said, the things i made others feel. i'm incredibly sorry for planting doubt in yer mind; that i would ever treat you the same. because i wouldn't—i couldn't."

you peer up at karasu through your lashes, your breaths quiet, and your heart heavy. your heart longs for him, but your brain is uncertain.

at your deafening silence, karasu adds, "there's nothin' i can do right at this moment to prove what i'm sayin', but i want—need you to believe the very fact that i'm so far gone fer ya. i'm so damn in love with you, you can ask me to jump and i'll ask how high. nothin' in this world can rip me apart from ya, sweetheart."

the heat in his eyes burn brighter, and with that last statement, it burns down your walls. "okay. i'm willing to try again, but if you go back on your word, it's over for good."

"i know, darlin'. i'm grateful yer even considering this." karasu sighs a breath of relief, wasting no time nor movement to close the space between the two of you. his arms wrap around you so tight, one would think you'd disappear if he'd let go.

"i'm driving though," you declare, your voice muffled through his sweater.

"why's that, darlin'?"

"you reek of alcohol, tabito." he huffs a chuckle, handing you the keys after parting.

end notes. ꨄ︎ i'm happy with the way this fic ended, but i'm also so relieved it's finished. dare i say good riddance. if u breathe hard enough, u might catch some dust particles flying off from how long this has been rotting in my drafts

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[carionto]

The terrifying sound of silence

"Where is the Human?"

A question that incites dread across the Galaxy. And no greater when the Human in question is an engineer.

For weeks after her arrival aboard the Coalition joint exploration vessel Ulmanar's Resilience, the Human Jenna had been pestering everyone about the technical specifications, tolerances, build schematics, design philosophy, power outputs, and countless other microscopic details.

At first everything seemed normal, Humans are known to be curios, especially the technically minded ones, and her job would entail managing parts of the vessel's systems, so everyone was as helpful as they could.

Then Jenna started tinkering.

'Optimizing' is how she described it.

Admittedly, most of her modifications resulted in marginal improvements to energy distribution and mechanical motion efficiency. Although the fact the power reactors started to make audible noise was... unusual, but the readings said everything was fine, and the fact a day passed without explosions put everyone at ease - this was partly why a Human engineer was brought along in the first place.

During a short stop at a supply station before our first descent onto an uncharted planet, Jenna was the first to rush off with several cargo drones in the direction of the shipyard district. She was the last to return mere minutes before the scheduled departure, all covered in dust and oil, and the drones straining under the weight of everything she had procured.

"Don't worry, it's gonna be awesome." she declared.

It had been a while since our training and none of us had encountered other Humans in the meantime, so all of us had forgotten to immediately be alarmed by those words and question everything she was doing.

The following weeks of transit to our destination were marked by a severe lack of Jenna interactions or even sightings. The shuttle bay was a mess of disassembled craft, loose parts flung about, and sparks and rattling noises coming from the bowels of whatever was going on.

Unbeknownst to us, for the idea itself was ludicrous, Jenna was only within the vessel half of the time during this period. The other half she was in her spacesuit tinkering with the exterior of the vessel. Laser cutters and cold welding, not to mention the vacuum of space, make for a very silent work environment.

Perhaps it was instinct for most of us to avoid the confusing actions of a predator species descendant, as once we arrived to the designated planet, we learned we only had two surface shuttles left. Out of sixteen.

"This baby can land now!" Jenna happily said.

Confused beyond measure, we asked: "What do you mean 'this baby?"

"The ship, you know, Ulmanar's Resilience. We can land the whole thing now instead of doing this boring shuttling down thing. Plus the terraforming bot wouldn't fit in a shuttle anyway."

"The what?" our confusion continued.

"Yeah, we're gonna terraform this planet, right? That's what I got from the briefing back before joining you guys." she explained with innocence in her eyes.

There must have been some miscommunication, but the work had been done, and as far as our own technicians (who were scolded harshly for not keeping track of such grand changes to the entire vessel) did confirm that, as far as their understanding of mechanics and physics went, Ulmanar's Resilience can now indeed endure descent and commence takeoff from up to a 6G world.

So I guess that's what we're doing now. Preliminary surveys from past unmanned missions had suggested this world was once in the past and potentially now habitable again, and we suppose the Humans had decided to just set that in motion before more detailed analysis had occurred.

"Oh yeah," Jenna interjected, "if it turns out this place is, like, super dangerous and a threat to the Galaxy if we accidentally wake something up, I modified one of the scanning dishes to be a deep drill laser. Two hours of firing it at the core of the planet and it'll go boom."

...

"The planet, not the laser dish. That will explode if left on for more than three hours."

...

[theprettynosferatu]

Cover: @snootieenoot as Mia West

Breast Size and Cognitive Ability: A Rebuttal

Prof. Mia West

Overview and Project Objectives

This work originates from the publication of Prof. Lawson’s paper Breast Size and Cognitive Ability last month (Lawson, Breast Size and Cognitive Ability, Northwestern Journal of Science, 2025) and the ensuing discourse it has elicited both in the scientific community and society at large. Not only do we find it socially and politically harmful, but either intellectually dishonest or frankly substandard in both reasoning and the basic principles of experimental science.

Prof. Lawson posits that breast size in females is negatively correlated with academic ability and general I.Q. As this work will show, not only is Lawson’s methodology ruefully unsound, but his conclusions are so implausible one can only assume that, by his own logic, Professor Lawson must himself possess an impressive set of mammaries to believe such scholarship deserves serious consideration.

It is the objective of this paper to, entertaining such ludicrous premises, empirically disprove Prof. Lawson’s thesis on its own terms and hopefully set the matter to rest permanently.

Methodology

A research team comprised of four highly accomplished female experts (see Appendix A: Team Background and Initial Cognitive Tests), including the author, will take it upon ourselves to test Dr. Lawson’s hypothesis in a controlled, verifiable and reproducible basis. Having established a baseline for cognitive ability, we must consider the second element of Dr. Lawson’s proposed correlation; as we’re sure he’ll lament (given his manifest interests) all members of the team possess what can commonly be referred to as a modest chest size (see Fig.1: Team’s Initial Measurements).

In order to modify this factor gradually, we will be using Dr. Joanna’s Marsh experimental Focused Hormone Enhancement System, or FHES, which has shown remarkable results, even in its early stages of development (see Marsh, FHES Preliminary Observations, Oberlin, 2024).

Weekly breast measurements, as well as tests on cognitive ability, will be performed to track any changes in the research team, or most likely, lack thereof (at least in the intellectual side of Lawson’s correlation). Additionally, this author will provide any observations and comments that might be relevant to the purview of this paper. 

Observations: One Week Under the Effects of FHES

Initial results show that the effectiveness of Dr. Marsh’s compound not only meets the expectations established in her paper but, in the present use case, surpasses them (see Fig.2: Team’s Measurements, Week 1). All four team members have been forced to acquire new brassieres to work comfortably. 

A common reported side effect among the team is a degree of difficulty maintaining focus on complex tasks for even moderate periods of time- what is referred to as “brain fog” in common parlance. While not debilitating, this phenomenon has increased the difficulty inherent in writing a clear, concise overview. It does not, however, seem to be accompanied by physical exhaustion- activities which require movement have not been reported by the team as feeling more taxing.

We attribute this “brain fog” to the adaptation to the new hormonal load, and we expect it to subside soon. This also explains the slight decrease in the result of the team’s cognitive tests (see Appendix B: Cognitive Tests, Week 1).

Of additional note is that the team has experienced a slight but constant emission of clear, vaginal fluid. Testing shows it to be harmless and indeed to be the kind of fluid generated for lubrication normally during intercourse or arousal in general. We believe this to also be merely a temporary hormonal adjustment, but will keep monitoring it in the following weeks.

   Observations: Two Weeks Under the Effects of FHES

The effectiveness of FHES continues to astho asst surprise the team. Our tits breasts have expanded massively (See Fig 2: Team Measurements, Week 2), to the point that our standard lab uniforms no longer fit our curvy bodies and feel too tight and not in a cute way. To remedy this, the team was forced to go out and purchase new, more fitting and fashionable clothes (See Fig 3: Team Dressing Room Selfies). Obviously, new make-up was also necessary to match the vibe of the new fits, especially the goth-style gram garnm clothes chosen by April which just called out for some striking black eyeliner and a lighter shade of base. We collectively observed that the combination of her new clothes and make-up work really, really well on her: it’s giving bratty sub, as can be confirmed (See Fig. 4: April’s Selfies and Cute Pics Taken By Mia).

The Brain Fog is still there, probably because of the hormones and all other stuff, but the team reports it to be a pleasant sensation. While it makes writing these reports hard, it’s not really bad- more like floating in a pink, fluffy cloud. Prof. Lawson’s idea that tit size makes women dumber is still unproven, as the Pink (that’s what we have taken to calling the Brain Fog) is for sure the result of the treatment, not an effect of increased chest size. There are plenty of smart women with big boobs, after all, and I know for a fact Dr. Lawson has watched their videos on several adult sites. These women’s success in such a competitive industry is surely proof of their intelligence.

The constant most moiz wetness appears to have caused a few incidents among the team, since it now also involves an increased sensitivity and level of arousal. The distraction of feeling one’s pussy so needy all the time explains the lower test results this week (See Appendix C: Cognitive Tests, Week 2), as well as some notable events that took place this week.

It would be unprofessional to omit those events in this observation, so I’ll recount them as accurately as I possibly can. On Tuesday, before we went shopping, I walked into the Substance Storage Unit and encountered April and Sophia looking at a tablet. While I couldn’t see the screen, the video playing was at full volume, and I could make out the sound of a slut woman gurgling and choking on what, I can only assume, was a truly large cock penis. My teammates had both removed their (ugly) uniform pants, and unbuttoned their shirts (as mentioned, they had by this point become very uncomfortable, so that’s understandable). They were engaging in mutual masd mutul mmmmm fingering each other, drooling and moaning like stupid cunts in a way that showed their excitement. They shouted encouragement at the performer on the screen, which I feel demonstrates a high capacity to focus on engaging tasks; their choice of phrases (“take it deep you stupid bitch”, “fucking choke in it you dumb cow”, “use her fucking throat as a fleshlight!”) also proves their creativity. Witnessing this event produced a very strong effect on myself, but I managed to sneak into the bathroom before shoving my fingers inside my soaked pussy thus obtaining temporary relief.

Fuck. Okay, rubbing break over. Time to go back to writing.

A second incident took place on Friday. By then we had acquired new wardrobes, and the act of dancing, strutting and showing each other our new looks might have affected some team members in an unexpected manner. While we all identify as heterosexual, seeing our colleagues’ tight fucking bodies and huge, firm funbags aesthetic choices proved to be a stimulating experience. My recollection of events remains fuzzy, but I’m pretty sure I made out with April and at some point Hannah poured beer over April’s tits and I lapped it up and then sucked on her nipples while I rubbed myself silly and Sophia was filming on her phone so we both put on a show and I’m pretty sure she sent the video so someone but i don’t care encounters of an erotic nature may have taken place.

As each team member has clearly settled on a particular preference regarding their appearance, we have ordered more clothes and toys for the experiment.

We are confident that once our amazing bodies have adapted to the hormone treatment, such incidents will not reoccur. 

NOTE TO SELF: MIA, REMEMBER TO ERASE THE STRICKEN PARTS BEFORE UPLOADING UPDATE!!!

 Observations: Two Weeks Three Weeeks Under the Effects of FHES

So I have to write this to keep you updated because it’s my job and I’m a professional and stuff so ehre it goes. We had like massive tits before but now they are so huge and sensitibe and spectacular and they feel kind of like giant clits so I guess the copm compoud the thing we take to make them grow is also making them feel super good! We tried to take measurements but the tape rubbing against out funbags feels too good and we get distracted and we have to take care of that so we figured we’d just send you some nudes so you can see how much our stupid bimbo tits have expanded (see sexy pics attached) because we are not dumb and pics are better than illustrated numbers anyway. We got a bit carried away with the pics but I hope you’ll enjoy them! In like, a scientific way. Duh.

Reading back I guess I was keeping track of the Pink? I think? It’s hard to understand what I wrote before. So like, the Pink. It’s kinda hard to explain but it feels so fucking good, like we’re all so happy and floating and horny all the time and nothing feels super important anymore except doing whatever feels good at the moment, with whoever or whatever is around. We stopped storing the toys because having them all over the lab is super useful to play with one another or to just bounce on a big dildo looking at the tasty porn on the screens.

Oh shit I forgot to explain the porn thing! So like, we noticed that we can focus on porn a lot better than on boring lab stuff and we’re trying to demn demos prove big boobs don’t make sluts dumb so having porn blasting in every screen means we have something to keep us concentrated and so we’re not dumb because we can keep our attention on stuff. And we can like, really really watch porn. It’s like… we’re not just watching it with our eyes, we’re taking it in with our entire bodies and the Pink makes it so much better because it’s like the porn gets inside us and makes us better and we feel so, so good!

And another thing that proves we may be stupid cunts but we’re not dumb is that we learn really, really fast. We just left the pron running and the site kept showing us video after video after video and we all learned different things and we could put it in practice instantly! Like, April has gotten really into her new goth mommy thing and we saw a video and a girl in it was spanking another girl with a leather paddle and it was super hot but we didn’t have paddles (we ordered them, they should arrive today! Yay!) so April took a clipboard and made Sophia put her hands on the wall and April went to town on her cute bubble butt and it got so red and the rest of us watched and rubbed and drooled and Sophia came from being spanked! She’s becoming such a good slut. She really likes putting her hair in pigtails and wearing like, a sort of schoolgirl uniform with a microskirt and chewing gum and acting like a dumb whore around the lab and it kinda makes all of us want to do bad things to her. We saw a few videos where the cunt was sort of taken by force and Sophia loved them so now she keeps calling herself “good rapebait” and teasing us so we’ll be mean to her and fuck her with a toy or a strap. She cums so fast and screams what a rapedoll she is and begs to be used and abused forever! It’s super hot, so we are almost constantly shoving toys and fingers in her like, really hard.

Also, we have amazing stamina now! I can’t remember when I last slept. My desperate pussy needs me to take care of it all the time.

We’re using the computer labs to show off online, because the porn showed us that all good girls expose their slutty bodies. We’re sad that the webcams don’t look as good as the porn but we’ve ordered new cameras and like, some lights to make every inch of us look amazing. And the people we talk to on random sites are so helpful! They have ideas we never could imagine, and it’s so much easier to just do what they tell us to do and we learn so much doing it! Last night me and Emily spent like an hour just drooling and making out and rubbing each other’s tits in front of the camera because a nice Man told us to and it felt amazing to know he was jerking off his fat cock to us! We didn’t know just obeying Men made cunts feel useful but some Men told us and we did it and they were right! I think it was when April and I were going ass to ass with a double dildo because a Man told us to that I realized how amazing it is not having to choose and just drift in the Pink and be good sluts.

Sometimes they tell us to do hard things, like writing on each other’s bodies. Because our tits are so huge we have a lot of room to put tasty words in, but figuring out the spelling while we rub and lick each other is very, very hard! I can still spell kinda good, but Sophia couldn’t even spell “cumslave” right, so I had to write on Emily even though Sophia was supposed to and I got too excited and fuzzy and maybe some of the videos put thoughts in my head because I ended writing stuff like “mindless fuckdoll” and “brains are for boys” and “bitch in heat” on her instead of just “cumslave”, but the Men online liked that and told me to make myself cum as a reward and I didn’t know Men could just tell girls to cum but when they told me to cum I barely had to rub my cunt before I had like, the best orgasm. Maybe getting permission to cum always feels better? We should do a study on that after this one is done.

It’s funny how much Emily loves to have filthy words written on her body. She always was super shy and she’s so slutty now but she sstill gets all red and flustered and some men like that because it’s clear she likes to be a silly cunt but also she tries not to show it and so having someone writing on her lets her pretend she’s not thinking all those words even though like, we all totally know she’s thinking them and also when she wears a cute little mask she is shameless and so fucking desperate it’s like the mask lets her be her true self. That’s another thign we could study!

Speaking of studies, we kinda didn’t have time to take the test this week but I’m sure we would have aced it for sure. I have to send something in that section of this stupid form so I’m attaching a video of all of us training our throats with dildos, because it shows we can still do tasks so we aren’t dumb. 

Ugh, writing is so boring and I can hear Sophia being fucked behind me and I really want to make her eat me out while another girl makes her ass gape. 

We ordered more clothes and toys because Men deserve choices and we want to be able to be any kind of slut a Man could want. I guess I’ll write more next week.

   

obdertations weak for

i have to write i dont want to write this is so boring my head is to fuzzy and fuuuuck april is licking my pussy under the desk but i dont want to cum because good girls dont cum without permission and no Man told me i could cum but i want to cum so badly but also i dont want to cum because being edged makes me better makes me wetter makes me obey i want to obey i want to be a stupid cumrag forever and ever and get tasty cummies and my tits need to be covered so i can be super pretty

My stupid cow udders are so huge now one load cant cover them i need to be surrounded by cocks and make all of them cum just so i can feel that warm jizz all over them and i know because we tried it we gave the nice Men online the address to the lab and they came hihihi came and came came all over us and inside us and even three cocks cumming on my boobs isnt enough and also sometimes they aim to high and it lands on my face and that feels so amazing and tastes so fucking good but i like it on my sensitive bimbo tits better because theyre like my pussy and they always need more and more and more and there are never enough cocks around to share and we try to be good girls and serve together but we get greedy and end up fighting for the honor of wrosph worp woshi whoreshiping cocks but the Men help us and tell us what to do and whos turn it is and they even gave us a fun way to fight for cock and we have rubbing competitions where we dance and rub and tease and say so many filthy things anf the one that proves shes the more depraved slut gets the cum and i wish i was better because i want to win every time but sometimes another fucking cunt wins and i have to wait

pffff last night sophia did her hole pretending to be innocent thing and called the men daddy and said she would be the bestest girl for them and smiled and flirted and made it seem like she didnt know her skirt was riding up and she had no panties and they used her so much i only got like three loads on my tits and i had to get more Men to come into the lab because its sooo not fair that she got used in all her holes by like, ten guys and i only got three cocks in my tight asshole but in the end more Men came and i really slutted it up and called myself a piece of worthless fuckmeat and a mindless obedient set of holes with huge tits and explained to the Men why girls need to obey and be happy and how fenminism is boring and maybe us girls would be better off without rights and they liked that and they really liked it when they found out i have a PHD an stuff so in the end i got used lots so I was useful and it was a good night

Clothes are all over the floor and the desks but we need more because there are so many ways to be a cute slut and we want to please everyone and become anything they want us to be and do anything they want us to do and i tried ordering more clothes but i got confused but a Man ordered for us so they should be arriving soon and fuck we cant stop rubbing and licking each other imagining all the sexy stuff we’ll get to wear and also the new camera is so good and we look just like the girls in porn and i guess we are pron now because we keep filming or letting Men film us and they upload everything and people like it lots and i think about everyone jerking off to us and its the best feeling in the world knowing i dont have to be there to make a cock cum, i can be useful forever because the videos will always be around fuuuuuck i almost came April got sooo good at eating pussy but i don’t want to cum i really want to cum i 

I dont remeber how to ttach stuff but ill get a Man to put the best videos on the file so yall can see what good girls we are now and maybe you can cum to us please cum to us please rub your pussies and play with your cocks looking at us we want to make you happy and horny like we are i wish everyone could feel the Pink its so good and fuzzy and warm and makes people giggle and fuck nd be so happy maybe everyone should take what we take and grow big boobs and sink into the Pink I wonder if men get huge cocks from it that woud be amazing like giant cocks that cum buckets fuccccccc i dont wanna{p´.k

Fuck i came so hard but im still so fucking horny it’s never enough i need more i need to please i exist to please obeying makes me feel so good an cum makes me so pretty and i dont remember how i lived before because this feels like its who ive always been like its just right and natural and good but i started writin for a reason and i can’t figure out what it was i have to tell April to stop eating me out and find out what im supposed to rite 

Oh, duh! A Man said big boobs make girls dumb. And that’s a dumb thing to believe. But I have massive tits and I’m dumb so I guess I believe him because dumb feels good so I’ll believe any dumb thing a Man tells me!

EDITOR’S NOTE: This document is being published without edits or corrections at the request of Prof. Lawson. Given that the express intent of this “paper” is to disprove his theories, we felt it fair to show the resulting work unaltered.

Prof. Mia West has retired from Academia. She and her team seem determined to continue in the adult industry. The Northwestern Journal of Science has reached out to Prof. West, who requested readers to “log into the sites and cum yourselves silly to our stupid bimbo bodies”.

As far as we can ascertain, every one of the mentioned videos is available for free. It is unknown who obtains the ad revenue or funds the team; however, given the noticeable increase in production value in newer installments, as well as the establishment of what has been christened the “Slut House” to film, we must assume someone is managing the team’s career.

On an unrelated note, we’re delighted to announce Prof. Lawson’s new seminar, “Video Production, Marketing and Monetization in the Digital Age”, to take place this Fall.  

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

[ddejavvu]

i’m having a lot of steve rogers thoughts i’m sorry 😔 thinking about him trying to discourage you from grabbing and groping him? he’s holding his arms above his head (which is just making his chest and tummy and biceps look so yummy) and telling you “ask nicely sweetheart” or he’s trying to tease but he’s blushing all the way through cause he knows he likes the attention anyways and he’s too polite to say no directly

Steve's usually able to handle any distraction the world can throw at him, but he's let his guard down here beneath your shared blankets, and when your cold fingers wrap greedily around his bicep for the sixth time this episode, pinching and squeezing and compressing, he finds his patience worn thin.

"Alright." He pushes himself up off of the bed, wrenching his arm from your grasp as your head shoots up to track him, brows furrowed, "That's enough out of you."

"What'd I do?" You ask, looking vaguely worried but mostly just confused. Steve muscles down some stray fondness at that, and presses forwards, mostly undeterred.

"You keep touching me!" He tries not to yelp, but the sound does come out panicked and whiny, "I'm trying to watch tv and you can't keep your hands off of my arms."

You laugh now, long and loud with no trace of your former apprehension.

"I just like holding you! Come back," You plead, all gooey-eyed stares and lovey-dovey hands reaching for him. He backs out of your reach, and stretches his arms over his head for good measure, ensuring that there's no way you'll be able to continue feeling him up unless you're willing to get out of bed, which he's betting you aren't.

"No." Steve doubles down, "Promise me you'll leave my arms alone."

The desired result would be that Steve could watch tv undisturbed, but he's only asked for you to stay away from his arms, and the way that they're curved over his head not only highlights their muscles, but the ones on his abdomen as well. The hem of his shirt rises barely over his waistband, showcasing a sliver of skin that teases you with a glimpse of muscle definition above. His chest strains against the otherwise loose-fitting pajama shirt he's lounging in, and you suddenly decide that his arms can wait if you can have his torso instead.

"Fine." You secede, and he seems taken aback by that, like he'd expected more of a fight. He's half right- you wouldn't have given up so easily had you not changed targets.

"Good." Steve tries recovering, arms down as he makes his way back into the bed, "You're grabbier than Tony is with his interns."

You let him settle first, lulling him into a sense of security as his eyes lock back onto the television, you give it five, four, three, two, one.

Your hand slips deftly beneath the hem of his shirt, molding greedily to the hills and valleys of his toned abdomen.

"Hey-! You're- quit groping me!"

[reasonsforhope]

"An AI-equipped foot scanner placed at one’s bedside could be a lifesaving companion to those living with a risk of heart failure.

Developed by Heartfelt Technologies in concert with the UK’s National Institute of Health, the scanner takes 1,800 photos of a person’s two feet and analyzes them for signs of a fluid buildup called oedema, one of three best indicators of oncoming heart failure.

Heart failure occurs when the heart’s inability to pump blood properly results in a buildup of fluid in the lungs and a lack of blood-derived oxygen reaching vital organs.

Dr. Philip Keeling, the lead author on a study debuting the invention who is also a consultant cardiologist at the South Devon National Health Service Foundation Trust, explained why such a device would be a key tool in combating heart failure, something which affects 1 million Brits every year.

“This device detects one of the big three warning signs for people with heart failure before they end up in hospital,” he wrote, according to the BBC.

“Only about half of people admitted to hospital with heart failure currently get assigned an early review by a heart failure nurse who can check to see if they are suffering a harmful build-up of fluid because their heart is not working properly.”

“Amid a shortage of heart failure nurses, a device like this can be like a virtual nurse, tracking people’s health.”

AI IN MEDICINE: 

Teens Developed App That Identifies Mouth Cancer–Making Early Diagnosis Easy and Winning $50k for Their School

In 10 Seconds, an AI Model Detects Cancerous Brain Tumors Often Missed During Surgery

After Studying Mammograms, AI Can Detect More Breast Cancers Than Humans–With Fewer False Positives

New AI Smartphone App Accurately Diagnoses Ear Infections and Prevents Unnecessary Antibiotic Use

The study which Dr. Keeling helped run involved 26 patients across five NHS trusts. Alerts given by the device of potential heart failure came between eight and 19 days in advance of a hospitalization, giving a mean prediction time of 13 days, which is enough for measures to be taken that could prevent hospitalizations.

Six hospitalizations occurred during the trial period, and the device accurately predicted 5 of them. 82% of patients decided to keep the device after it ended.

“This small study suggests a simple device could significantly improve outcomes for at-risk patients with heart failure by keeping them out of hospital,” said Dr. Bryan Williams. Chief Scientific and Medical Officer at the British Heart Foundation which was not involved with the study."

-via Good News Network, June 16, 2025

[see-arcane]

My Criticism: the erotic bond of Thomas and Orlok and the romantic/sexual bond of Ellen and Anna deserved more focus. (But that's also my thoughts on the various Draculas). Happily surprised they gave some sexuality to the newlyweds it literally never happens with Dracula media

I think that for the amount of time and the focus of the story, Eggers fit in as much as he could without it overshadowing the main core of 1) Orlok targeting Ellen and 2) Thomas and Ellen being in love and headed for tragedy. And yes! Eggers lets these newlyweds be truly in love and hot for each other! It's like what we deserved with Jonathan and Mina for 127 years, very nearly! :')

SPOILERS BELOW

That said, I do think that short of a real kiss with Ellen and Anna, Eggers gave us a decent 'what-if' of what Mina and Lucy might have been like if they both made it to marriage (bar Harding not quite measuring up to Arthur Holmwood standards, loving husband and father though he is). They are both married young women now and Ellen is rooming under Anna's husband's roof. It'd be tricky to have anything properly raunchy go on, but we do at least get that scene of Ellen laying in bed with Anna!

Before the Orlok business happens. Augh.

As for Orlok and Thomas...oh, but there is a lot to unpack there.

To be clear, this is very much not Dracula and Jonathan's weird predatory thing. It is another, weirder, semi-callback to The Lighthouse kind of thing. At least in the vein that the brief homoerotic flints of interaction we get there--

The slow dance scene where the two men who hate each other almost share a kiss, only for the younger man to recoil in panic.

A scene of insults and accusation where the older man describes the younger as having eyes like a lady's.

--lean on braided elements of homoeroticism, homophobia, and violent/elder masculinity baring its teeth at gentler/younger masculinity via comparisons to women.

Or, to be frank, even as Orlok is bitter at Thomas being the man Ellen chose despite their 'covenant,' it isn't just the bitterness of, "She chose another man over me!" but, "She chose a weaker, younger, effeminate man over me!" Which paired perfectly (horribly) with his running theme of being a psychic rapist. Orlok is the more masculine man. Thomas is, in his eyes, the lesser, effete competition. Why, the boy may as well be a woman himself.

Cue Orlok taking a route with Thomas that we never see him take with any other man in the movie. He preys on Thomas in the exact same way he would eventually do to Ellen at the climax. The only dignity he leaves the young man with is that he does not strip him as he feeds--only Orlok is naked, crouched and feeding at Thomas' breast twice. The first time being the result of getting almost obscenely aroused--literally or hungrily--at the sight of Thomas' thumb bleeding. All we get to see there is Thomas' terror under sudden paralysis as Orlok closes in. And the next time we see Thomas is him, not on the chair where we last saw him, but sprawled on the floor.

On his stomach.

Dressed, true. But with his face and front down. Already bitten at the heart.

Then, in his last scenes with Orlok, we see him actively try to kill Orlok in his box. Orlok stops the attack, tracks him down to the locked room Thomas has hid in--a room in his own castle! which he could unlock!--and purposefully uses a trance to make Thomas open the door. Just as he trances Thomas into laying himself out on the bed, locked and afraid in his own body. Orlok falls on him, feeding again at Thomas' chest, loudly and deeply draining what sounds like a horrific amount of blood.

(There's a comment to be made about the reversal of taking in bodily fluids, but we'll skip that for now.)

In the midst of this, Thomas is treated to a vision of Ellen in Orlok's place. Seeing it, he looks almost docile. Welcoming.

Orlok, naked, drinks and drinks. And leaves him on the bed.

Instead of slaughtering him. He doesn't even call the wolves to him once he's finished to eat the leftovers.

Which I find strange, considering that in a future scene, Orlok muses aloud to Knock that Thomas yet lives. As if he's surprised. Did he have the wolves on a mental timer to come after Thomas by daylight? Or did he think that, despite Thomas' heart still miraculously beating, he had drained enough blood to assume the young man would die on his own?

Or.

Was the surprise not that Thomas was alive, but alive and human? Not the undead, like himself, like he planned to make Ellen?

It doesn't add up to have the wolves only appear by daylight to spook Thomas out of the window--if Orlok was so concerned about technically keeping his hands clean of murdering him and so keeping the covenant with Ellen technically not a thing of theft, he could have absolutely let the wolves in that night to finish the job and be sure Thomas was torn to pieces. Instead, Thomas is intact come sunup, the door left open to the wolves...

...who only come running and raging up to him once Thomas proves to still be alive and awake despite how he passed the night. Can't be undead if you aren't dead first. This, combined with how Thomas states later on that he still feels Orlok's shadow/hold on him, seems to imply that Orlok didn't want to just kill Thomas off. He seethes about Thomas so deeply that he would rather see the young man under his heel forever just as he means to keep Ellen under his thumb and mentally assaulted at every opportunity.

If Ellen is Orlok's prize for desire's sake, Thomas is Orlok's conquest made out of pride. 'Making a woman' of Ellen's chosen man. Hell, he puts the words in Ellen's mouth when he tugs a mental string in her to get them fighting. Despite Orlok only ever mentioning the technical truth of Thomas 'selling her for gold' (with a contract he could not read and assumed was for a commission and a completion of a house sale), Ellen somehow has the knowledge to accuse Thomas of 'falling into Orlok's arms'--when, in fact, Orlok mounted Thomas and did what he did.

...

......

.........

Which brings me to the grimmest point of this whole fucked up mess which I really truly hope is Not the Case.

Orlok had his puppeteer hands in both of the Hutters. He was obviously leaning heaviest on Ellen, but he had his grip on Thomas too. So I have to wonder.

How much of the sex scene between the Hutters was entirely their will?

What if Orlok, in full voyeur fashion, pulled even more strings to make that sudden feverish intimacy happen? Ellen says aloud that they will show him their love. Is it a show only Ellen wants them to put on? Or is it Orlok, once more violating his victims by proxy? Either way the shock-vision of Ellen weeping and vomiting blood cuts the mood immediately--however real or imagined it was--and both Hutters snap out of their haze to embrace.

No no no I am unclean

Nonsense I love you I love you

Something else for Orlok to watch. A little knife-twist from his face-to-face with Ellen--You cannot love--and fuel on the martyr fire for Ellen, who heard from Orlok that he would kill all she loves, including Thomas, if she refuses him--in another life, another threat: (If you make a sound I shall take him and dash his brains out before your very eyes.)--though the villain could have killed him a dozen times already. But she cannot take the gamble.

All of which is a very very long way of saying that while Orlok's main focus is definitely on Ellen, there are signs of another stranger hate-attraction with Thomas. The opponent he wants in full submission versus Ellen, the runaway bride to coerce into being his equal.

tl;dr: They're just not that into you, Orlok, let it go

[beneathashadytree]

EATEN ALIVE - SYLUS QIN X READER

Warnings : biting, Sylus likes feeling his lover’s weight, neck kisses, BDSM mention, implied scent kink, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : spicy fluff <3

Word count : 0.9K words

Additional notes : This brainrot is a result of that one homescreen interaction where you give him his palm and he bites you, and that one bond story where he’s sitting on the couch reading at some point. The image drove me a lil crazy😵‍💫 Also this was inspired by the song Eaten Alive by Diana Ross 🙏🏽

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Masterlist

“Another book on firearms?” they asked, leaning over him to get a glance at what he was reading.

Sylus didn’t look up from the page, glasses perched on his nose and legs crossed underneath his silk robe in the picture perfect image of regal serenity. The only acknowledgment he gave them was a hum, before simply saying, “Not this time,” and returning to his quiet laser-focus.

Annoyance flashed behind their eyes at his complete ignoring of their presence in front of him. And to make matters worse (or in this case, simply more irritating), from their position they couldn’t even read a single sentence upside down. “Aren’t you gonna tell me, then?”

At that, a smirk touched his lips, knowing that he got the desired reaction from them. “You do know that curiosity killed the cat, right?” The look in his eyes was every bit as fierce as it was taunting. “You seem hell-bent on using up all your nine lives.”

Bastard. He loved to tease them relentlessly, didn’t he?

Snapping the book shut with one hand, he pushed it aside face-down. He was taking all the possible measures to make sure they wouldn’t be able to read the title, it seemed. Would a kick to his shins procure the answer they wanted?

Before they could think of another tactic, he clasped their hand in his, unceremoniously tugging them down onto his lap. Yelping as he caught them off-guard, they barely managed to balance themself over him, hovering a little as they tried not to crush him—something he must’ve noticed, given the way he arched his eyebrow at them.

“Put your whole weight on me. I like that.” Sylus’ grin was wicked as he said that, but it was all parts tempting, luring them in like it always did. Maybe it was a figment of their imagination, but they could’ve sworn that they saw his eyes gleam brighter as they settled down properly in his lap. “That’s it, sweetie,” he purred, his hands quick to seek purchase in the fat of their hips.

His touch leaving a burning ache in its wake, he gently caressed every inch of skin he could reach. The hem of their top raised, nimble fingers dancing over their back and trailing over paths he’d long-memorized, he looked like he was truly enjoying the way their breath hitched in their throat, and how they squirmed against him.

“You’re too much,” they managed to huff out, trying their best to school their expression to one of indignation. “Weren’t you… just acting like I was distracting you?”

“A welcome distraction, if anything.” His free hand came up to remove his glasses, a mischievous look in his eyes. “If you hadn’t come for me, I would’ve gone looking for you in a bit anyways.” As though swearing his honesty, he pulled them closer and began pressing open-mouthed kisses against their neck, softly sucking at the warm skin. With every nip of his teeth, he earned a hiss of pain-pleasure, and a jolt of their hips bringing them closer to his. “You taste divine,” he groaned into their neck. “Smell so good too.”

“Hey.” It was supposed to sound admonishing, but it came out as a half-moan, half-whisper. “Stop trying to keep me off-track.” But were their words convincing, when they were writhing in his lap just at his kisses like that? “You’re… hah… avoiding me.”

“‘M not.”

Another kiss, this time at the junction of their jaw and neck, earning a small cry of his name, and that snapped them out of whatever daze they’d been trapped in. With a push to his chest, they managed to pry him off and cover his sinful mouth with their hand, though it seemed that it only spurred on the desire brewing in his scarlet eyes.

“Answer my question.” Panting and their head swimming, it was a wonder they were able to say anything coherent at all. “What were you reading and so hell-bent on hiding?”

As Sylus chuckled into their palm, he merely reached out a finger to drag the book in, quickly flipping it back up.

‘Screw the Roses, Send Me Thorns.’

Oh.

Pure delight danced in his eyes as he relished in their expression as realization dawned on them. Taking advantage of that split-second of their shock, he caught their hand in his, and bit into it—lightly, but just enough to sting in that way he knew deep down they liked so much.

Jumping, they were quick to snatch their hand away from his mouth, cheeks burning with warmth. Before they could even think of snapping at him, he’d licked his lips, as though savoring the taste of them that lingered.

It was all too hot, all at once and in all the most dangerous places of their body.

“I didn’t want to scare you off,” he coolly said, leaning back against the back of the leather couch and eying them with a practiced sultry-sweet gaze.

A promise lingered there; a promise of a forbidden fruit dangling right before their eyes and practically begging to be stolen and feasted on. Their hands itched to take him for themself, but would they do that without being devoured first? A chilling thought, and yet… the warmth in their core seemed to anticipate the moment either of them would snap and give in wholly.

Sylus quietly laughed at their heavy silence and glazed over eyes. At that moment they knew, that they’d fully played right into his hands where he’d wanted them. “But… judging from your reaction, I guess my worries were all in vain, hmm?”

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[thedreamlessnights]

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it. 

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing. 

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long. 

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path. 

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel. 

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face. 

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch. 

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war. 

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now. 

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

 “Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.” 

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same. 

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel. 

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best. 

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too. 

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees. 

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?” 

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.” 

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud. 

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything. 

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound. 

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood. 

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?” 

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision. 

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue. 

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind. 

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething. 

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief. 

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps. 

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him. 

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck. 

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it. 

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand. 

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again. 

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot. 

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment. 

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements. 

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble. 

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire. 

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals. 

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

 You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.