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Transaction Portals: A Strategic Asset for Modern Businesses
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Read More: https://aixtor.com/blog/benefits-of-transaction-portals-for-businesses/
Contact us to know more!
#Transactional portals#digital payment solution#Digital Transformation#business technology#Streamlined Operations#Simplify Business#innovationdriven#digitalbusiness#modernbusiness#businessinnovation#payment processes
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प्रॉपर्टी रजिस्ट्री के नए नियमों से घर खरीदना हुआ आसान! जानिए 4 बड़े बदलाव Land Registry Rule
Land Registry Rule: अगर आप एक आम आदमी की तरह अपने सपनों का घर खरीदना चाहते हैं, तो ये जानकारी आपके लिए बहुत जरूरी है। पहले जब लोग घर या ज़मीन खरीदते थे, तो उन्हें बहुत परेशानियों का सामना करना पड़ता था। सरकारी दफ्तरों के चक्कर, बिचौलिए, फर्जी कागज़, और कई बार तो पैसा डूब जाने का डर भी बना रहता था। अब सरकार ने Land Registry Rule में 4 बड़े बदलाव किए हैं, जिससे प्रॉपर्टी खरीदना पहले से ज्यादा आसान…
#Aadhaar Linking for Land Registry#benami property transactions#Digital Property Registration#land records digitization#land records portal#Land Registry Rule#land title verification#online stamp duty payment system#property fraud prevention#property laws in India#property registration#real estate transparency
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Ruler of the 7th through the houses
The ruler of the 7th house through the houses is all about your relationships, your mirror, your soulmate energy, so when we look at where the ruler of your 7th house is placed, we’re seeing where love leads you, who you’re drawn to and why, and how you balance “me” and “we.”
7th House Ruler in the 1st House
You attract what you are.
You’re your own soulmate first. People project their ideal partner onto you, and you likely pull a lot of romantic attention. Relationships play a huge role in shaping your identity. Attracts: Partners who reflect YOU. Love lesson: Don’t lose self in other’s gaze. “When I know myself, I attract the right one.”
7th House Ruler in the 2nd House
You crave stable, sensual partnerships.
Relationships are deeply tied to your values and self-worth. You’re drawn to partners who offer security or help build your sense of value — emotionally, physically, or materially. Attracts: Loyal, resourceful, dependable partners. Love lesson: Avoid transactional dynamics. “My love is worth investing in.”
7th House Ruler in the 3rd House
Love begins with conversation.
You’re drawn to witty, curious, communicative partners. Mental stimulation is non-negotiable, and you may meet lovers through local events, online, or your immediate network. Attracts: Smart, talkative, adaptable partners. Love lesson: Say what you actually feel. “We flirt with our minds first.”
7th House Ruler in the 4th House
You want roots, not just romance.
You crave emotional depth and soul-level safety in relationships. Family, home life, or ancestry may play into who you choose. Love must feel safe before it feels exciting. Attracts: Nurturing, nostalgic, homebody types. Love lesson: Don’t hide from growth for comfort. “Build me a home, and I’ll give you my heart.”
7th House Ruler in the 5th House
Love = play, passion, and performance.
You’re attracted to romantic, expressive, fun-loving partners. You may meet lovers through creative or artistic spaces. You seek chemistry, spark, and someone to make life feel alive. Attracts: Bold, magnetic, attention-giving lovers. Love lesson: Don’t confuse drama with depth. “Love me loud or leave me alone.”
7th House Ruler in the 6th House
You fall for devotion.
You’re drawn to reliable, humble, helpful lovers — or you may end up in relationships through work or health settings. Acts of service are your love language, and routine = romance. Attracts: Hard-working, grounded, supportive partners. Love lesson: Don’t make love a duty. Vibe: “Love is in the little things.”
7th House Ruler in the 7th House
You’re born for partnership.
Relationships are central to your life path. You likely attract a lot of attention — and may idealize partnerships as the key to your happiness. Balance and harmony in love are your life’s art. Attracts: Magnetic, equal, romantic types. Love lesson: Don’t abandon self for the other. “You + me = magic, but I must remain me.”
7th House Ruler in the 8th House
You want soul-merging love.
You attract intense, transformative, karmic bonds. Relationships are portals for your deepest evolution. Love may involve shared resources, secrets, or deep emotional alchemy. Attracts: Deep, passionate, complex partners. Love lesson: Don’t cling to chaos. “If love doesn’t change me, I don’t want it.”
7th House Ruler in the 9th House
You fall for minds, missions + meaning.
You attract lovers from different cultures, philosophies, or belief systems. Your ideal partner expands your world. You may meet them while traveling, studying, or seeking truth. Attracts: Free-spirited, wise, idealistic partners. Love lesson: Don’t escape reality for the fantasy. “My love story is a journey.”
7th House Ruler in the 10th House
Love shapes your legacy.
You may meet partners through work, status circles, or shared goals. You’re drawn to ambitious or “high-value” lovers. Your relationships may be public, or part of your career path. Attracts: Successful, authoritative, respected people. Love lesson: Let love in without needing it to look perfect. “Let’s build an empire together.”
7th House Ruler in the 11th House
You love like a rebel.
You’re attracted to unique, unconventional, or freedom-loving partners — maybe even meeting them online or in friend groups. You want romance that respects individuality + vision. Attracts: Eccentric, visionary, community-driven types. Love lesson: Detach without dissociating. “Let’s love like it’s the future.”
7th House Ruler in the 12th House
Your love life is spiritual, secret, or karmic.
You may be drawn to unavailable people or soulmate-type connections. Love is healing, mystical, or even hidden. You might need solitude to sort through what love really means to you. Attracts: Dreamy, mysterious, spiritual partners. Love lesson: Know when love is real vs. illusion. “My heart speaks in silence.”
#astro notes#astrology#birth chart#astro observations#astro community#astrology observations#astrology community#astrology degrees#astro#astroblr#houses in astrology#astrology content#astrology insights#astrologyposts
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Everything about the USA will make you feel as if your whole ability to reason and think coherently has just flown away.
I'm thinking right now about a radio advertisement I overheard for Indeed - a theoretical jod search website. The advertisement, however, was directed at companies who were searching for employees. Presumably these companies pay Indeed to serve as a hub for their job postings and applicants. So Indeed wants people signed up, because more accounts shows more potential applicants and they can get more money from companies looking for employees. There's no money in actually connecting applicants to positions, so you sign up, make the account, discover you signed up for a portal that just sends you to other company's jobs pages with the same info and spams you with jobs you don't want, and you leave forever. Money in the bank.
Meanwhile on the hiring side, job postings make a business look good. If you always got job postings, you're growing. But keeping fresh postings in rotation is time consuming, especially when you're lean staffed on purpose with investors who demand you show an infinitely growing rate of improvement. So you pay Indeed a monthly fee to upload a bunch of jobs you aren't hiring for and use that to hook more investors to pay the first group.
And you end up with a company that gets paid to do nothing but generate fake data by other companies paying them to do nothing but post fake information, and the only part we (the ones looking for income to survive) play in this transaction is lending the process just enough legitimacy to make it legal. Money that doesn't exist cycles around between people doing nothing and as long as none of us can afford groceries or a home, the economy is considered "doing well," but the second one investor caves and demands to be paid, the economy collapses and suddenly 99% of the population in the USA can afford to eat again.
All you have to do is multiply that by a thousand companies doing it a thousand times a month and that's the USA baby, except also we supply billions of dollars of weapons killing people around the world.
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A Fitting Reunion
a tailor (spawn) astarion x fem!tav reader fic | nsfw | ~13.7k words
(dividers by @saradika-graphics)
Summary: After a rather embarrassing experience at the reunion party, you have been nervous to see Astarion again. You manage to gather the courage to visit his tailoring shop for dress alterations—and to be a better friend to him. And maybe there is just a little part of you that still hopes for something more. But he couldn’t possibly want that—or could he?
Tags/CW: anxiety, piv sex, oral sex (both ways), post-game, fluff/smut/mutual pining
Read On AO3
Or read below...
Breathe.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Again. Then again. And again.
You can do this.
He is your friend.
A friend you used to sleep with.
A friend you never stop thinking about.
Ever.
Hells.
You have not seen Astarion since Withers’s party. The one where you drunkenly suggested you would not mind taking a stroll together back into the woods where the two of you once used to go. You could still remember the way.
You might have phrased things a little less delicately at the time.
And of course he said no.
“Darling, flattered as I am, I think it’s best we get you to bed. Your own bed, to be clear.”
A more gentle rejection from him than you perhaps deserved. What must he have thought of you? Coming on to him like that when you knew a night of passion was probably the last thing on his mind? You are supposed to care about him, not treat him like a piece of meat.
Not that you ever thought of him that way—but still you worry how it seems.
Fuzzy though the details are, you remember enough to know Astarion was the one to ensure your safe journey home that night. The one to step through the portal with you, to help you up the stairs, to tuck you under the covers. And how did you repay him?
You made yourself a stranger.
You should have gone to see him sooner. Apologized. Been a real friend.
Granted the party happened only a month ago. A month is not too long a wait, is it? People live busy lives. Some of your friends you only see a few times a year.
Or maybe it has not been long enough. Maybe you are making too big a deal of this, and you will only be making an even greater fool of yourself by doing this now.
The garment bag draped over your arms feels heavier and heavier. Maybe a purely social call would have been a wiser choice than this transactional one. On the other hand, you do want to show your support for his new business venture. Any friend would do that, right?
Breathe, you remind yourself. Just breathe.
You repeat your exercises as you try to calm your rapid heartrate. A near impossible task knowing he will be able to hear it the second you walk through that door. Gods, your heart is hammering so hard that you worry he might already hear it through the walls. Curse his vampiric senses.
You can still turn back around. Come back another time. When you are ready.
Who are you kidding?
You will never be ready.
But, if the choice is between now or never—between the shame of showing your face or the pain of never seeing his again—you know what you have to do.
Swallowing your pride, you manage to free a hand enough to turn the handle, lean against the door, and push.
The bell rings.
Its shrill announcement of your arrival sends you spiralling. You think of running. Hiding. Just dropping to the ground and crying.
But there will be no escape because the second you hear that achingly familiar voice sing out the word, “Coming,” your feet are frozen to the floor.
Then comes the inevitable moment, when you see him and he sees you, and you look away, and you look back, and you try not to avert your gaze, and you try not to stare, and gods help you through this for his beauty stuns you still.
He briefly mirrors your silent stupor before you see the crinkle of his eyes and the crook of his charming smile. “Hello, darling.”
Frantically you ask yourself what this means. You sift through every detail you know about the man before you as you try to deduce the thoughts running through his mind. Whether he is truly happy to see you or if he only pretends to be. Whether this is his real face or once more the mask.
You have imagined this scene a million times, practiced every possible variation of it in your head, but when you try to think what to say your mind runs blank. You settle for a few words that are simple and true. “It is good to see you, Astarion.”
“And same to you, my friend,” he says, and you manage a small smile. Are you really worthy of being called his friend after all this time apart? Is an honest-to-goodness friendship even possible between the two of you?
You do not speak so he continues. “And might I add that you are looking more delicious than ever.”
Oh. He is flirting with you. Falling back on old habits, perhaps. Or maybe he seeks to lighten the mood, to ease you into a conversation that clearly makes you feel awkward. Nothing more. Still your heart flutters as it always used to back in those early days.
Back when you were foolish enough to believe he might be your forever.
“I was hoping you could help me,” you tell him, trying to get yourself back on track. “I have a gown that needs alterations. I take it you have heard about the upcoming Ravengard ball?”
“Oh, yes,” he says, reaching out to take the garment bag from you, and though you are glad to be free of its weight, you are not quite sure what to do with your hands. “I have been invited myself, but honestly, I expect the whole affair to be dreadfully boring. I suppose I could always introduce a little chaos into the mix myself, but…” He shrugs. “I’ll likely just skip it.”
“You’re not going? Not even for Wyll?”
Not even for me? That third question burns in your mind but you dare not ask it.
“We were not exactly the best of friends if you’ll recall.”
That is true. You remember many a tense exchange between them—Wyll needlessly cruel at times, Astarion spitting back with an understandable but equally vicious venom—no real surprise that the unlikely alliance between a monster hunter and a vampire spawn would also be an uneasy one.
The fact that you once shared a dance with the Blade did nothing to help matters. The tenderness in his touch and the awe in his eyes told you he wanted something beyond friendship. A true love, a happily ever after, a tale straight out of the pages of a storybook—tempted though you were, you could not envision that future with Wyll. Not while you were still spending your nights tangled up with Astarion.
Even knowing now how it all turned out you would not have chosen differently.
You consider encouraging him to attend, expressing how much you would appreciate having his company there, but you let the moment pass as you follow him deeper into the shop. “It seems you have done quite well for yourself,” you comment—your words still feel more stilted than you would like, and your gaze meanders about the shop rather than meeting his—but at least you are here.
And he really has done well for himself, you think. The front of house proudly displays a tasteful array of apparel—a combination of carefully curated selections from local clothesmakers and his own elegant and inventive fashions. Perhaps you should have commissioned him to design your dress in the first place.
“I have, haven’t I?” He lets out a little hmph as he considers it. “I thought this life might be a little, uh… pedestrian, for my tastes, but… to my surprise, I like it. It suits me rather well.”
“I agree,” you say with a genuine smile as he stops you in front of a series of curtains—the dressing rooms, you assume. Sure enough he pushes one open and gestures you inside, hanging the garment bag on a hook.
“Well, darling, let’s get you out of those clothes and into that dress, hm?” Your breath hitches. You almost let your imagination run away with you, but of course he gives you your privacy. “I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”
You peel off each layer one by one, trying not to think about the fact that your former lover is on the other side of this curtain, trying not to remember the slow and sensual ways he used to strip you bare.
But you do think about it. You do remember.
You are just friends now, you remind yourself. No more. And no less, you hope. To be without him all this time has left a hollow in your heart. You want to fill its empty spaces with his presence. You want him to be part of your life again.
So why does being here only make your heart ache harder?
And why are you still so godsdamned nervous?
You sigh and slip into your gown, admiring its A-line silhouette and its delightful shade of purple. Not quite the right fit, but that is why you are here after all. Astarion can surely fix that for you. He does work wonders with his hands.
Hands that you now realize will have to lace up the back of your dress because there is no way you’ll be able to accomplish that by yourself.
Hugging the loose garment tight against your chest, you call for help. “Astarion?”
“Yes, dear? Don’t tell me you’ve managed to fall into peril right here in my dressing room. You do seem to have a knack for finding trouble wherever you go.”
“Just… come in, please.”
He pushes through the curtain and you are instantly and acutely aware of just how snug this little space is.
“Ah, you need to be tied up, I see.”
Of course he would choose to phrase it like that. Now you are thoroughly convinced he is thoroughly enjoying your embarrassment. He always did like to make you squirm. In more ways than one, the Astarion in your head adds. Ugh. You feel a fleeting sense of relief as you spin around, but the mirror betrays you, putting your mortified expression on full display while the look on his face remains a mystery to you. The chuckle you then hear at least helps you picture his smirk.
He takes his time with you. Like he always did. Words he once said echo in your mind. A treat like you deserves to be savoured. Does it tempt him still to be so close to you? To sense your blood pumping through your veins? To see your neck so deliciously exposed? You ponder and you reminisce and you catch yourself tilting your head to one side.
It seems the tempted one is you.
You wonder if he noticed. He may be ‘tying you up’ as he so eloquently put it, but you feel more like he is undressing you. Like he is uncovering you bit by bit, inch by inch, piece by piece. Like he could reach into your mind and read your most intimate thoughts even though the tadpoles are long gone.
“There we are,” you finally hear him say, snapping you back to reality. You pause in front of the mirror together and you wonder what it isn’t telling you. What he thinks when he looks upon you.
“A fine choice, my dear,” he says as you both step out of the dressing room. “Much better than those hideous rags and that horrid armour you wore on the road.”
You roll your eyes at him. “That horrid armour kept me alive. Forgive me for picking function over fashion.”
“Oh, come now, fashion need not be sacrificed. Yours truly had both, thank you very much.” He gives you a playful bow.
You snicker—and then a full-fledged grin spreads across your face. To have this bit of banter with him again feels right. A bit of good-natured ribbing is something you can handle. What you do not know quite how to handle is—
“Luckily for you that smile more than made up for your questionable wardrobe.”
And just like that you no longer know what to say.
Astarion guides you over to a fitting platform, circling you as he sizes up what needs to be done. And though you know this is all about your dress and not you, you begin to fidget under his intense scrutiny.
“Much too long, obviously,” he remarks. “Typical. It should be taken in at the waist, too. We must do justice to that pretty figure of yours after all.”
Another flirtatious comment from him, another internal panic for you. You are not given much time to ruminate on this one though before he asks you a question that catches you off guard.
“Did you bring your shoes?”
“My shoes…?”
“Shoes, darling,” he says, elongating the rounded vowel as he repeats the word. “You have heard of the concept, surely. They come in pairs? You wear them on your feet?”
“I know what shoes are,” you insist, glancing towards the open dressing room where your trusty boots remain on the floor.
He follows your line of sight, and you nearly laugh when you look back to witness his eyebrows raise in horror then furrow again in exasperation. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. You will not be wearing those ghastly things to a ball.”
“They’re comfortable, and no one will be able to see them,” you say with a shrug and a smile, and this time you do laugh at the indignant noise he makes in response. Really, you did plan on wearing something more suitable—but you are enjoying this little opportunity to vex him.
“Absolutely not. As an upstanding citizen of this fine metropolis, I cannot stand idly by while you commit this outrageous crime against fashion.”
“Upstanding citizen, huh?”
“Of course,” he says with that mischievous smile of his. “I’m hardly the ��help every poor unfortunate soul in sight’ type—that, my dear, is unique to you and you alone—but perhaps a smidgen of your do-gooder nature has rubbed off on me. Now,” he continues, returning to the matter at hand, “let me find you some decent shoes. We’ll need them to measure the length.”
Ah, that makes sense. You pout and you nod, playing your little game, but you do look forward to a new pair of shoes. Your adventures did leave your boots well-worn, not to mention covered with so much gore and grime that not even repeated scrubbings could remove all the stains. Your boots really did see everything.
He disappears into another part of the shop then reappears with a few options in hand—a selection of flats and modest heels you can actually picture yourself walking in—all simple but elegant. He knows just what you like.
“Sit and try these on,” he says, extending a hand out to you—an offer to help you down from the platform you presume—and you take it.
His touch is pure electric shock. Or maybe it is only the chill of undeath that leaves you shivering. And then you think on it, that pleasing tingle, the texture of his skin, the way his long, slender fingers interlock perfectly with yours, and your heart is fluttering, and he lets go all too soon, and you are lost. Empty. Incomplete.
And right now you are not ready to consider what that means.
You push your confusion out of your mind as you take a seat on the edge of the platform, refocusing on the task at hand. You pick out a pair of off-white kitten heels and try them on, and you find yourself pleasantly surprised by how comfortable they feel. To be sure, you take a few steps, you test other pairs, you return to the first—yes, these will do.
“Satisfied?” Astarion asks, and you nod. “Good. Back up you go, darling.”
You step onto the fitting stand once more—without assistance this time, which is somehow both a relief and a disappointment. Astarion sets about his work, pulling pins out of the small cushion tied to his wrist and pushing them through the hem, all while you stare into space and contemplate whether or not you should say anything.
You should say something, you decide. You did manage to catch up with him a little at the party last month before your drink got the better of you, but you are doing a poor job of it now. You’ve barely even talked. Not really. How can you call yourself his friend if you cannot even gather the courage to speak to him?
“How are you?” you blurt out. Those few trite words do little to express how much you truly care for his well-being, how every day you wonder if he is fed, if he is safe, if he is happy. Quickly you add, “With the whole ‘vampire tailor’ thing, I mean. No monster hunters at your door, I hope?”
His nature clearly isn’t a secret. The many mirrors give him away if nothing else.
“Not a one,” Astarion says, glancing up at you from where he kneels. “I am, after all, one of the great heroes of Baldur’s Gate. The fact that I also happen to be a vampire spawn is not so much a threat, but an… eccentricity. And a bit of eccentricity is right at home in this city.”
“I’m glad no one is giving you any trouble,” you say. Another question needles your mind, one you are almost afraid to know the answer to, but you ask it anyway. “And… are you feeding well?”
“I have my sources.” Oh. Good. That is good. Yes. Definitely. Not like it matters who or how. Not like the mere thought of him sinking his teeth into someone else crushes you. Not like the scene plays out in your mind no matter how much you don’t want it to. Your eyes shut. Your stomach twists. Your heart sinks.
“None quite like you,” he adds, and beneath that sultriness he so likes to tease you with, you detect a softness there. Or maybe it is only a trick of the imagination. A pretty lie you tell yourself.
And yet, when your eyes flicker open, all you can see is his boring back into yours, staring, seeking, searching.
Breathe. You must breathe.
And then the moment is gone, and he shifts out of your sight, concentrating his efforts on the back of your dress.
The minutes pass in screaming silence.
You wish he would fill your ears with little jokes, or idle chatter, or something, anything to save your mind from spiralling. Anything to save you from you.
You regret all you have done wrong and all you have failed to do right. And yet, you want, and you yearn, and you hope.
“It really has only ever been you, you know.”
His words shock you back to your senses and suddenly he is standing on the platform with you, mere inches away.
“Oh,” you say. Gods, what else can you say?
All is quiet between you. He fusses with your straps, and the fabric of your bodice, pins everything into its proper place. A hand lingers at your waist.
“You once told me that the world can be a kind place. That has been truer than I expected. But no one has been more good to me—and good for me—than you.”
What?
No. Whatever you think this is, you are wrong.
“I’m not so sure about that,” you protest, your heart pounding. “That night at the party… I wasn’t thinking, I… I know it wasn’t what you… I’m so sor—”
He stops you, shushing you softly. “Oh, no, no, love, you will not apologize for that. A little drunken fancy is nothing to be ashamed of. You were nothing but sweet. And it was sweet of you to worry. Unnecessary, but sweet.”
Your head is spinning. You were far from a good friend that night. You did him wrong. You were so sure.
But he does not seem offended in the least.
Quite the opposite, really.
“Although,” he says, and you hear the mischief in his voice as he leans in to speak into your ear. “I am rather curious about those pretty words you said when…”
The bell rings.
The two of you startle and separate.
“Oh, Astarion, dear?” a voice calls out, singsong yet sharp.
The scowl that then sullies his features tells you all you need to know. He curses under his breath before singing out an answer. “Just a moment, Lady Furrington. I am finishing up with another client.”
Astarion is all business now as he checks over his handiwork, and as he ushers you to the dressing rooms, and you cannot help but to mourn what could have been had no one else stepped foot through that door. You wonder what he would have done. What he would have said. What might have sparked between you.
You will lie awake tonight wondering and wondering and wondering.
You pause together just outside the dressing room, and he says, “My apologies for the abrupt finish, darling. Her requests are endless, but her coin purse is bottomless. Enough so that an extra charge here and there goes unnoticed.”
“You have to do what you have to do,” you say with a shrug. You take a step into the change room, and to your surprise, he follows you inside. You shoot him a quizzical look.
“The laces?”
“Uh, yes. Right. Thank you.”
He reaches around you as he begins to pull them loose. He is close. Impossibly, maddeningly, enticingly close. His gaze falls to your lips and, gods, you can almost taste his.
“Astarion?” cries out that same shrill voice.
He steps back. Another moment lost forever.
“Come back tomorrow night?” he asks.
Sooner than you thought, but you do not question it. You simply say, “Yes.”
You leave. You start your trek home. And, as you walk, an inkling of something forgotten—something you wanted to forget—itches within your brain. What was it he mentioned about that night? Something about ‘those pretty words’ you said?
You think, and you think, and you think, delving deep into your fragmented memories, searching for the missing pieces you need to complete the puzzle.
You stop in your tracks.
You remember.
That night, as he put you to bed, at the height of your foolishness, you told him the most mortifying thing you could have told him.
But in wine there is truth.
You felt it. You said it. You meant it.
You love him.
It was the right choice. The right choice. The right choice.
How many nights have you lain awake, desperate to believe in the truth of those words? You thought one day they would sink in and soothe you. Instead their endless echoing always felt more like a pulsing headache.
Funny that, last night, the very opposite thought is what kept you awake.
What if, all this time, you were wrong?
You were so sure back then that friendship was the right choice. A hard choice, but the right choice. Never had anyone given him anything without the expectation for more. You could be that person, right? You should be that person. You wanted to be that person. A friend was what he needed. What he deserved. That superceded any silly notions of romance you had in your head.
Your offer of friendship meant everything to him, or so it seemed. Not a friend in the world until you, he said. His sincerity and his soft words melted your heart, and when he took your hand in his, and gazed into your eyes, you knew you were hopelessly in love with him.
You fought it. You denied it. You cried and cried and cried over it.
Still your feelings stayed the same. And so you did the only thing you could do. You resolved to keep your secret hidden under lock and key.
As if anything in this world under lock and key is safe from the likes of Astarion.
You love him. You have always loved him. You still love him.
And it seems he knows it, too.
And maybe, just maybe, there exists the teeniest tiniest trace of a possibility that he might be interested in you?
No, no, no. Surely you are mistaken.
He thought about kissing you, though, didn’t he? You saw him glance at your lips, right? Or did you?
No, no, no. A figment of your wild and wishful imagination, nothing more.
He would never want you.
Still you primp and you preen before the mirror like you are prepping for a date, not a dress fitting. Still you want to impress him, enamour him, pretend you stood a chance with him. Still you wonder and you worry that, maybe, improbable as it seems, you did once stand a chance with him, denied him and deprived him, denied and deprived yourself.
“You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.”
Those words of his still echo in your memories. You thought, then, that friendship was the realest thing you could ever hope to share. But, if you let yourself try, you could have been something more, couldn’t’ve you?
Maybe he did want you, could want you, does want you.
And if he does…
No. Do not let yourself go there. Do not get your hopes up. Never get your hopes up.
You take a moment to breathe, pull yourself from the mirror and leave through the front door. You will go to this appointment and you will be normal and you will be sane and you will be the friend you promised him you would be, not some gawking idiot full of foolish desires.
Twenty minutes is what it takes to walk from your place to his. Twenty minutes of exercise? A good thing, of course. Twenty minutes of cycling through these same tired thoughts ad nauseum? A not-so-good thing. That will not help you through this.
Maybe it won’t make much of a difference. After all you are quite capable of sending yourself into a frenzy in a mere twenty seconds let alone twenty minutes.
When you finally arrive at his door your head is still swimming.
Breathe. Just breathe.
You did it yesterday. You can do it again today.
The bell rings.
The silence that follows is enough to deafen you.
Well, it would seem you underestimated yourself before. You thought it would take twenty seconds to achieve total panic? More like five.
Astarion appears in the blink of an eye, all elven grace and vampiric mystique, emerging from what feels like out of nowhere but in reality must have been somewhere back of shop.
He is somehow even more gorgeous today, if that is even possible. His hair, perfectly coiffed; his vest, exquisitely embroidered; his whole ensemble, impeccably tailored to emphasize his broad shoulders and slender waist. His sleeves are rolled up, and his shirt is a little more open than it perhaps needs to be at the chest, and gods, are you blushing?
You are here for a reason, and that reason is not to ogle him, tempting though it might be.
“Darling!” he says, greeting you with that brilliant smile you so adore. “I’m glad it is you, and not a certain patriar that so rudely interrupted us yesterday. There is only so much of that particular displeasure I can endure. My patience is thin enough as it is.”
“And yet you have managed to endure,” you remark, laughing a little at the thought of him attempting to navigate customer service. “The coin is that good, huh?”
“Oh, it is. Satisfying as it might be to deny my services to the worst offenders, a few of these annoying but harmless ones must be tolerated. Bad for business otherwise. Today, though, I made a point of keeping my schedule clear of all other distractions. My only priority now is you.”
You. The way he purrs out that one little word sends a thrill throughout your body.
But you must not read into that. You must temper yourself.
Be normal. Be sane. Be his friend.
“Alas, your gown is not quite done yet, though. I was just finishing up the hem when I heard you come in. It won’t take long. Follow me into the back, if you will?”
“Oh, uh, of course,” you say. You had expected more or less a repeat of the previous day—trying on the dress, making sure it fits correctly, changing back into your regular clothes, returning home. A nice, predictable order of events.
You like predictable. You like all its safeties and comforts. You like how it acts as a balm to all your anxieties. If you can predict, then you can prepare.
Unpredictable, though. Unpredictable is unnerving. Downright terrifying, even. And yet it is rife with possibilities.
The best things in your life have come from unpredictable. The greatest adventure you’ve ever had. The happiest memories.
The man you love more than anything.
Even if what passion you shared was fleeting. Even if this platonic connection is all that remains. Even if that glimmer of hope you cannot quite quash, no matter how unwise you think it, crushes you one day. You will still tend to and treasure your bond in any and every way you can.
So you take a deep breath and you follow him.
Astarion leads you into a room just big enough to double as a work area and a storage space. Rolls of fabric, diverse in colour, pattern and texture, fill the shelves lining the walls. What you notice most, though, are the in-progress projects draped over the mannequins. You would love to watch him at work. You suppose you will get one little taste of that now.
You also spot the base of a staircase in one corner, and that sparks an even greater curiosity within you. This lower floor is his business, but that upper floor is his home. A place entirely his own, and you hope he has filled it with anything and everything that makes him feel safe and happy and free. Maybe he will invite you up those stairs someday—you are friends after all—but for now you both seat yourselves across from each other at his work table.
“A good thing you came to me for this, darling,” he says, and you try not to stare as he licks the tip of his thread and pulls it through the eye of his needle with ease, “—else you would have been out of luck. Wait times are usually much longer than this.”
That is true, and you know you should have planned for this better. The ball is only a tenday away. “Oh, I’m sorry for the rush, you didn’t need to—”
“Hush, hush, my sweet,” he says, a gentle chiding that reminds you of yesterday. “It was not a bother. Not in the least. Although…” He pauses and smirks. “You haven’t paid me yet.”
Aghast, your mouth drops open, but he stops you before you can blurt out your hundred apologies.
“Now, I know that one so honest as you would never make such a mistake on purpose. Our time was cut short after all. Then again, not all of our gold was acquired by honest means, was it?”
“Thanks to your thievery,” you remind him. “Gods, you practically cleaned out the whole Counting House.”
“And yet I don’t recall you objecting. True that I picked many locks during our adventures, and why was that I wonder?” He makes a show of his hums and his haws and then one final aha. “Oh yes, that’s right. Because you asked me to.”
“Our mission was important,” you insist. “We needed gold, intel, resources… We did what was necessary to succeed. To survive.”
“Oh? Tell yourself that if you must, darling, but I think you just liked to watch my hands.”
That comment instantly warms your cheeks—and the realization that you actually have been watching his hands as he starts to sew absolutely scorches them. When you glance up to his face, you find him grinning at you.
And just like that you’re grinning too. You are embarrassed, yes, but you must admit there is something especially endearing about seeing Astarion like this—the skill, the passion, the care he puts into his work, the way his smile softens as he settles back into his state of calm and contented concentration—he looks happy.
It makes you happy. It makes you calm—or at least as calm as you can be under these circumstances. It makes you love him even more.
“You’re not exactly subtle, you know,” he says, shifting back in his chair, pulling the garment from the table and into his lap, pulling farther away from you. Have you been staring too much? Has he taken offense? Does he no longer want you here?
He pauses, and gives you a pensive look, and you look back, lost as to what to do or say or think. Maybe you should go. Give him some space. But, he invited you in, didn’t he? Said it wouldn’t take long? You can’t just leave.
And you don’t want to leave. You hope that he doesn’t want you to leave either.
He breaks the silence with a chuckle, resuming his stitching like nothing has changed. “You never were. Not that I mind, though. If you want to watch a master at work, then who am I to deny you?”
“I can hardly see what you are doing now, though.” You try to keep your words matter-of-fact. Try not to show just how unsure and insecure you are in this moment. In too many of your shared moments.
“A shame. I’m afraid you will have to settle for admiring the stitchwork when it’s done. And it will be well-worth the admiration, I assure you.”
You try to read him. He gives nothing away, offering up no more than a little smirk as you study him. He was always better at reading you than you were reading him.
You want to know. You need to know.
“I will,” you say, and that need to know brings out a boldness in you that was not there before, and though your inner voice scolds you and screams at you, you add, “though I would rather admire you.”
His eyes briefly flicker to yours, then back to the dress. You swallow hard.
“Then, by all means, bask in my presence and shower me with your praises.”
Good. No scrunching up his nose, no recoiling in disgust, no sign you went too far. But neither did he give you any indication that his feelings mirror yours.
Not that you truly expected that, of course.
Still you continue to examine him closely. He seems relaxed, focused, comfortable. There is a hint of fang to his smile and a gleam to his eye, and when he next glances at you, he raises an eyebrow.
Wait, does he actually want you to praise him? Should you? What can you even say? Oh, Astarion, you are clever, and funny, and talented, and gorgeous, and I am completely, absolutely, madly in love with you?
The greater your panic, the greater his amusement, until he can no longer resist clicking his tongue at you. “So shy now, darling. And yet you were not the least bit shy for me the last time I had you on your back.”
Oh. Whatever you expected, it wasn’t that.
Your wide-eyed, open-mouthed, heart-thumping shock earns a hearty laugh from him.
“Gods, you’re so adorable.”
Words fail you, and so you let out a giggle, its pitch too sharp, its volume too loud, its presence awkward, your presence awkward.
“It’s a good thing, my love,” he says softly, sincerely. “Trust me on that.”
My love. You zero in on those two words, and though your head tells you to dismiss them, your heart tells you to keep them and to cherish them.
And you are growing quite the little collection of words to thrill and fill you. Adorable, on your back, tied up, pretty figure, looking delicious, that smile, nothing but sweet, good to me, good for me. My love. You have not forgotten a single thing he said.
But you know it would be foolish to treat every flirtatious remark and sweet nothing as a romantic overture.
Even if you want to. And, oh, how you want to.
You seek distraction now, glancing at the table in front of you. It is a rather cluttered space, various tools of the trade scattered about—spools of thread, scraps of fabric, scissors and needles and pins—but what catches your eye most is a messy little pile of papers. Sketches.
“Are those your designs?” you ask, nodding towards the stack, leaning a little closer—just enough to imply a second question: “May I see them?”
“Yes,” he answers, and though he rolls his eyes, he smiles. “Go on, then. Take a look.”
Carefully you gather up the pages and begin your perusal. His sketches immediately impress. Astarion, the artist—you had never pictured it—but perhaps it should come as no surprise that a man with a skilled hand and a keen eye would take so well to pencil and paper. The time, the effort, and the creativity he poured into these—into every aspect of his work—is clear, and you are glad to see this side of him.
One by one, you look through the sketches, giving thoughtful attention to each and every one before moving on to the next. Some are still in their early stages, little more than rough outlines, while others are fully realized with intricate detail and vivid colour. The designs range from the everyday to the formal, from the simple to the elaborate, from the masculine to the feminine, and everything in between. A little something for everyone.
It eases you, this repetitive motion, this comforting quiet, this sweet glimpse into the life of the one you love.
Until you see it. Until your fingers tighten against the paper. Until you freeze.
Not because of the clothing, but because of the model. The shape of her figure. The shade of her skin. The style of her hair. The familiarity of her face.
It’s you.
He drew you. Like you are his muse. Like he could not help but to think of you. Like he is as in love with you as you are with him.
No, you try to tell yourself, this must be some coincidence. And even if it isn’t a coincidence—and really you should just admit to yourself that this cannot be a coincidence—it cannot mean what you want it to mean, right?
Maybe it is just because you are his friend. A real person he can easily visualize in his mind’s eye. Yes, that must be all this is. Yes, of course.
You quickly flip through the remaining pages. There is no Karlach, no Gale, no Shadowheart, no Wyll, no Lae’zel, no Halsin, no Jaheira, no Minsc—not that any of them got to know Astarion as well as you did, though. All you find are faceless figures, generic and unremarkable. Until, oh, there you are again. Oh, and once more. And again. And, by the gods, again.
“Did something catch your eye, darling?” Astarion asks, lips curled into a smirk, looking and sounding every bit like the cat that got the cream.
You pull that first sketch of you out of the pile and set the rest down, holding it in the air for him to see. “Is this me?”
“Ah, come to think of it, I did have you in mind when dreaming up that particular outfit, yes.” He shrugs, and the nonchalance of it all vexes you.
“And not only this one?”
“Not only that one, no. I do think of you often, you know.”
No. You don’t know. But maybe you are beginning to know. Beginning to let hope blossom in your heart, brave and beautiful and boundless.
He pauses his work, stares at you a moment, meets you eye to eye—and, gods, you feel like you are connecting heart to heart. Soul to soul. He speaks again, eventually, shifting back to a less serious, light-hearted tone. A retreat into his own comfort zone.
“What more can I say? I like to imagine you in my clothes, darling.”
And out of them, you can almost hear him say. Honestly you could go for a little body to body as well, but you know not to push him. Hells, you are not even a couple.
You never will be, says a different voice. An unwelcome voice. Your own voice, ever cruel and destructive. But maybe that voice of yours is wrong. Maybe it isn’t never. Maybe it is just not right now.
And you can live with not right now.
“Actually,” Astarion continues, “I’m not sure imagination is enough anymore.”
You blink at him.
“I’ve always thought working with a live model could spice things up a little. Someone to be my canvas, so to speak. Perhaps you might be willing to step into that role sometime? I rather like having you around.”
He wants you here more often. Does not mind being up close and personal with you. Wants to be up close and personal with you.
The very notion of it makes you giddy with an excitement you are no longer able to contain, and so when you open your mouth, what slips out is, “I like you, too.” Gods, what are you saying? “Like being around you, too.”
Embarrassing, yes, but you decide that grin upon his face and that laughter rippling out of him are worth it.
“If it is what you want, then I will be here.”
“It is what I want,” he says, and there is a conviction to it that sets your heart fluttering. You watch as he reaches for a pair of scissors. “Well, darling. It’s settled then. And I am pleased to tell you your dress”—a pause, a snip—“is complete.”
Oh. You were starting to wish this would take the whole night.
He sets down the scissors, the needle, and what remains of the thread upon the table, standing as he smooths out the gown—and that is when you realize it. That thread. It is thick and gold, not fine and colour-matched like you would have expected. Granted, you are not the expert here, but it is a curious choice—and a choice that makes you curious.
But, before your mind can wander too far down that path, Astarion’s voice startles you back to the present.
“Well, darling? You do realize you will have to try it on again?”
“Yes, of course,” you say, your chair screeching backwards as you push yourself out of it. “And thank you. For everything.”
“It is my job, after all,” he says, slathering his words with a thick coat of exasperation, but even he cannot hide the pride underlying them. “And for you? It is my pleasure.”
Always the flirt. But, for the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to believe there might be more to it than a little teasing or empty flattery.
And, small and insignificant as it seems, you are still wondering about that thread.
He leads you out of the back room and over to the dressing rooms, back to that same snug space you shared with him yesterday, pushing the curtain to one side and hanging up your gown. You step inside and pull the curtain closed.
You undress, and you think, and something he told you tickles your brain. Something about the stitchwork. “It will be well-worth the admiration, I assure you.”
Hmm. Maybe you should take the time to admire it.
You lift the hem and examine its inner edge, following that neat, flawless line in its circle, not a single speck of gold to be seen—
Until you find it. A hidden message, simple in design, yet elegant in execution. Four words. Four earth-shattering, heart-warming, life-changing words.
I love you too
You want to laugh and you want to cry and you want to sing. You want to wrap your arms around him and squish him and squeeze him until he can take no more. You want to tell him how much you love him, tell him a thousand times, then a thousand more, and gods, you want to hear him say it.
But to embroider those words so lovingly into the fabric is the sweetest confession he could have made to you.
You love him even more for it.
You can hardly wait to tell him—properly this time, not uttered out on some drunken late night like before—but, for now, you slip into your dress, and step into your shoes, trying hard to suppress the squeals begging to burst out of you.
He loves you. You spent so much time—too much time—convincing yourself that such a thing was impossible. But he loves you.
You exit that little room, and you see him, and you know it would only take seconds to close the gap between you and hug him and never let go. But, your dress is hanging open in the back, and you’re shaking, and you don’t want to ambush him with your touch if he is not yet ready for that.
The moment will come.
Or maybe it is time to take control of this. You will find that moment, and if you don’t, then you will create it, and then when you do, you will make it count.
Automatically he walks towards you, steps behind you, laces up your bodice, so close yet not close enough. You wish you could touch him, and the next thing you know, he is offering you his hand, and so you take it, and you squeeze it.
And he squeezes yours back.
He guides you onto the fitting stand. You catch a brief glimpse of yourself in the surrounding mirrors—the perfect fit of your gown, the way your smile shines—but the only thing you want to look at is Astarion.
He completes a single revolution around you, and when he stops in front of you, and you beam down at him, he stares back in admiration, in adoration, in awe. Like you are the sun itself. Like you are the centre of his whole world.
How could you not have known?
“You love me?”
His eyes grow wide as those words fall out of you. It’s all surprise, at first. But then it is openness. Vulnerability. “Ah. So you saw it already, then?”
“Yes,” you murmur, afraid to make a wrong move lest you wake up from this dream before you hear those words you want to hear more than anything. “You love me?”
Silence. You panic, and you retreat, pulling back, looking away. “Not that you need to say it out loud, of course. Not if you don’t want t—”
“I love you.”
Your eyes snap back to his. You watch him draw nearer and nearer, and you feel his hands find their place at your hips, and you breathe in that nostalgic scent of bergamot and brandy.
“I love you,” he says again, and you are so happy you could cry.
You throw your arms around him, pulling him into a hug that feels like home. You needed this. You needed him. And, when his arms wrap back around you, you know that he needed you, too. Here, both of you are snug, and you are safe, and you are loved.
And though you know he must know it by now—that he must see it in your eyes and feel it in your embrace—you say it anyway. “I love you, too.”
You both pull back, but only a little, just enough to smile at each other.
“This time on my own,” he begins, “it has given me the chance to think about what I truly want. All of this,” he says, gesturing around the shop, “I may not have expected to end up in a life this domestic, but… I’m happy. Mostly happy, anyway.”
He pauses, and you tilt your head, waiting, wondering, hoping.
“I want more. I want a partner. And who better than the woman who stood by my side through everything? Who always treated me with kindness and understanding? Who I just so happen to utterly adore? I want you.”
Tears well in your eyes, and you are smiling so hard it hurts, but you are sure this is the happiest moment of your life. “Then I am yours.”
And then he cups your face in his hands and kisses you.
You melt into him, into his softness and his sensuality, into the comfort of his embrace and the heat of his touch. This is perfect. This is right. This is where you belong. You pour all of your affection into every press of your lips, willing him to feel your devotion, your desire, your love down to his very core. But, when you part your lips to meet his tongue, he breaks away.
You fear something will break inside you—but his reassuring grin steadies you.
“Just a quick moment, darling,” he says. “There is but one little thing I need to do.”
Astarion steps off the platform and heads towards the front of the shop. At first you are confused. And then you understand.
The bell rings.
The ‘open’ sign is flipped to ‘closed.’
The lock clicks in place.
And, tonight, the bell will ring no more.
Astarion locks the door and locks eyes with you.
You remember the day you met him as if it were yesterday. Little more than a beautiful stranger to you, back then, all elegance and ice. Even as your lover he felt unreachable, with you by midnight and gone by morning, no more real than a dream.
But now, as you gaze upon him, he is warmth, and he is sweetness, and he is truly, honestly himself. Mask off for you and only you.
Unbelievable, really, how far the two of you have come. And yet, with your whole heart, you believe it.
The man before you is your best friend. Your love. Your partner.
And tonight, together, you will take your first steps towards a life intertwined. Whatever that looks like.
And, gods, what does that look like? What comes next? Will he invite you into his arms? Into his home?
Into his bed?
The mere thought of it, you all wrapped up in him, sets your mind racing and your heartrate rising. There is a familiar hunger to his pretty eyes as he draws near, and you wonder if that rapid rhythm in your chest is still, to him, the irresistible siren song it once used to be. If he longs to taste your blood, your lips, your—
Oh, but you should not get too far ahead of yourself. He might not yet want what you so evidently crave. You must not forget that.
You can be patient. You will be patient. You will give him as much time as he needs.
Not that Astarion is making this easy for you. Certainly not with the way he grins his roguish grin, nor the way he wiggles his fingers as he reaches a hand to you, coaxing you down from the platform.
Maybe patience is not so necessary after all.
But surely there are important conversations to be had, which you very much want to have, and surely a night of sweet kisses and cuddles would be a good place to start, the perfect place to start, even, no matter how much you want to—
Oh. A hard pull, an audible gasp, and you are flush against Astarion. His intense stare is holding you in place just as much as his hands on your hips are.
“What’s that look for, my dear?”
“What look?”
“That mind-going-a-hundred-miles-a-minute look. We’re not overthinking now, are we?”
“No.” It's a weak attempt at denial, and you know it. “All right, maybe a little.”
“A little, she says? Just a little? Well, even if that were true, I’m afraid even a little is simply unacceptable, sweet love. Not when I’ve got you like this. Whatever shall I do with the likes of you?”
His hands shift upwards, every bit eager as they sweep along the curve of your waist, every bit assured as they cup your face. In his eyes you see your whole world spinning, and your mind continues its endless spinning along with it.
“Well, darling. I suppose then I’ll just have to kiss”—a brush of his lips—“you”—so plush and perfect against yours—“senseless.”
There is an urgency to the way he kisses you now, to how his tongue tastes and his teeth tease, and it makes you drunk with desire you have too long denied. You match his every insistent press against your lips, the need blooming between you escalating into a feverish frenzy. Your mind is indeed rendered senseless—but your body is awash with sensation.
His mouth leaves yours, leaves you breathless and boneless, but still wanting more. And more is exactly what he gives you as he kisses a trail along your jaw. To your neck, perhaps? No, to your ear, and you giggle when he nibbles at your lobe.
He whispers, "Come upstairs with me?"
As if there were any chance you would say no to him now. "Yes."
And yet he makes no moves to whisk you away. Instead he pulls you back into the blistering heat of his kiss, his apparent haste to have you making you doubt whether you will even make it up to his quarters at all. His every impatient touch has you envisioning how he might take you—bent over his worktable, or pushed against the dressing room wall, or laid out on the floor, anywhere, everywhere—until, oh, he is tugging loose the ties at your back.
It is all suddenly a bit too much. A bit too fast. A bit too real.
Is he actually truly ready for this?
Astarion instantly senses the change in you, moving back, but keeping close. And even though he is calm and composed, and gives you a kind smile, you cannot help but feel that this precious moment is in ruins, and the reason is you. "I'm sorry, I—"
"Oh, my love. Always so full of apologies even when there is no need for them. How about we go upstairs, make ourselves comfortable—change back into your everyday clothes first if that would suit you better—and we'll sit and have a chat, hm?"
You take a deep breath to steady yourself. "That sounds wonderful. Truly."
"Good," he says, nodding towards the dressing rooms. "Off you go, then. I'll be waiting right here."
You make your way inside, glancing at your flustered face in the mirror before you slip out of your gown, your worries creeping their way back into your frazzled mind.
Where did it all go wrong?
To connect through touch is something you want desperately. And, by now, you are almost entirely sure Astarion wants to share in that with you, too. But therein lies the problem: almost isn't enough, is it?
What if he is only doing this because he thinks it will please you?
And how can you be sure when you hardly know how to be sure of anything?
Part of you still feels ashamed for lusting over him, knowing all that you know. The other part of you just feels ridiculous—here you are, pulling on layer after layer of clothing, when every indication suggests he wants to get you naked before the night is through.
You analyze every moment you've shared tonight, searching for even the slightest of signs that this is all just a performance.
Yet you find none.
Maybe the best thing to do is to just trust him. Trust him to make his own choices, to decide his own limits, to navigate all of this together with you.
After all, if you are sure of only one thing in this world, it is that Astarion loves you.
You gather the hem of your dress into your hands one last time before you leave it behind, tracing over every line and every loop of his embroidered message, committing those beautiful words to memory. It is exactly what you need to bring a smile back to your face.
And, when you finally step out of the dressing room, Astarion matches that smile the moment he sees you.
The two of you walk hand in hand into the back room and up, up, up the stairs, your anxious anticipation growing with every single step you take.
"I'd tell you I'd give you the grand tour, but I'm afraid my home is far too humble for that," he remarks, and for the first time tonight, you notice a bit of a shake to his laughter, an irregular height to its pitch.
And here you thought that the only nervous one was you.
What if that means—
No, you'd better not worry what that means.
No matter what happens, you will be here for him as he is here for you.
You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sure it's perfect. And I'd take a nice, cozy, humble home over a palace any day."
"I might not have always agreed with that sentiment, but now?" Reaching the door at the top of the stairs, he pauses long enough to smirk at you before twisting the knob. "I find that I do."
You step inside, taking in as much of the surrounding space as you can. The only light emanates from the fireplace, its flickering flames casting a sensual glow across the room. The open layout is typical of city merchants' quarters—no walls needlessly taking up the already limited space—a sitting area on one side, a small disused kitchen on the other. A pair of strategically placed dividers offers some sense of separation, and behind them—oh, yes, that is most definitely his bed.
Best not to linger too long on that thought.
Although you do make a mental note that it is big enough for two.
Taking both your hands in his this time, Astarion pulls you towards the loveseat in front of the fire, playfully pushing you into its comfy cushions and planting a single kiss upon your lips that you hope is a promise for many more.
He does not yet take his place at your side, however, instead lighting a candle on the coffee table—and it is then you study the scene before you.
A now-lit candle. A vase home to a single blush-pink rose. Two goblets and a bottle of your favourite red wine. A spread that is romantic. Meticulous. Premeditated.
You let out a chortle.
"What?" Astarion asks, eyes narrowed, but lips curved into an unmistakable smile.
"It's just so"—a bigger, brighter laugh bursts out of you—"so obvious."
"Obvious? Obvious?" He tosses his head to one side as he scoffs. "Are you really only realizing this now? Darling, I have been obvious this entire time. You, on the other hand, have been hopelessly oblivious."
And, in retrospect, you can admit that it's true what he says. The evidence was everywhere, even if you could not, would not, thought you should not believe any of it.
But you do now.
He settles next to you on the loveseat, warmth rushing to your cheeks at his sudden nearness. His fingers, cold to the touch though they are as they interlock with yours, do nothing to cool you. No, if anything, they have quite the opposite effect; the whole of you hot and molten beside him.
"Tell me, love," he begins, the purr in his voice and the mischief in his grin telling you he intends to use every ounce of his charisma to its fullest extent. "Should I have serenaded you with song? Recited to you a sonnet? Scattered a trail of rose petals from your door straight to my bed?"
"Maybe, though it's not too late," you suggest. "If you would like to regale me with music and poetry, I won't complain."
"Oh, my dear. I wouldn't be quite so sure of that. I am a man of many talents, yes, but I'm no bard. Although, if the result is hearing you laugh again, then it might still be worth a try."
You grin. "Then try."
Astarion clears his throat dramatically, and with his back tall and straight, and his nose held high in the air, he starts to speak.
You cannot even begin to take him seriously.
"Your skin so sweet and lips divine, / your blood the most delicious wine. / Each precious bite is my delight; / so let me make you mine tonight."
"You're ridiculous," you say—but you are indeed laughing.
"Why thank you, darling," he says, lowering his head in a mock bow. "Ridiculously eloquent, I hope? Or ridiculously charming? Ridiculously good-looking, at least?"
"Just ridiculous."
He gasps. "Oh, how you wound me. And here I was, professing my profound affection."
"It sounded more like you just want to eat me."
"Maybe I do want to eat you"—he leans in enticingly close—"in every sense of the word."
There is no mistaking his meaning now, is there?
You want this—you can feel it in pounding heart, and your weakened limbs, and your aching core—you want, you want, you want.
And yet you fear. Fear falling back into the dark depths of doubt, panic dragging you deeper, deeper, deeper down until you're drowning.
But you do not fall for it is Astarion's hands that keep you safe on solid ground.
"Oh, my sweet, lovely, darling girl."
And it is not only his hands, but his voice that soothes, and his eyes that blaze with such fierce certainty that you wonder how you could have ever failed to see just how much he cherishes you.
"Let me state the obvious because it seems obvious is what you need: I love you."
How new to your ears those words still are and yet you already think the sound of them sweeter than any song. You beam at him, because of course you do, and he beams right back, because of course he does, because this, this togetherness, is what you both want, what you both need, what you both deserve.
That look, so full of adoration, beckons you forward, and so you move in slowly, kiss him softly, hold him sweetly. He does the same, at first, an arm wrapping around your back, the opposite hand snaking its way down to cup your backside. Not that you resist. Nor do you resist when, unexpectedly, he pulls you hard against him, laughter bubbling out of you from the surprise and the clumsiness of it. And yet, here you are now in his lap, and here he is guiding your legs to straddle him, and it dawns upon you just how suggestive this new position is.
Even the slightest roll of your hips might have… well, quite the arousing effect.
Oh, he knows exactly what he's doing, the sneak.
And, if this is how he wants you, then that must mean—
"And," he says before you can finish the thought, "I want to explore anything and everything that loving you means."
Anything. Everything. Never have those two words sounded so sublime, his voice like velvet, his implication indisputable. Your imagination runs rampant, unlimited and unsuppressed, your mind opening itself fully to passion and possibility.
And you hope imagination will blossom into beautiful reality.
Astarion buries his face into your neck, peppering it with little kisses—maddeningly where you know he knows it tickles—revelling in every giggle he draws out of you. Vexing though it is, yes, the levity of it amuses you, calms your nerves.
You did, back in those early days, feel most ease with him whenever you would let yourselves be silly. You remember it well. Perhaps so does he.
And then—when tension fades, when you are limp and pliable in his arms—the mood shifts. Then, he kisses you where it doesn't tickle. Then, those sounds spilling out of you are decidedly not laughter.
His mouth moves to meet yours. A heady mixture of love and lust swirls about in your mind, and you succumb to it, to him, to every brush of his tongue and graze of his teeth. Almost embarrassing how little it takes to make you squirm about in his lap—but his body answers yours just as readily, the twitch of him against you leaving no doubt to his burgeoning desire.
This is really going to happen, isn't it?
"And"—you mourn the loss of his lips—"if all of this is somehow not obvious enough"—but his husky tone has you enraptured—"then let me be clear: I will not be satisfied tonight unless and until I've fucked you thoroughly."
Oh. You stare in stunned silence, mouth agape, as you process the filth you just heard: his lust stated so exquisitely explicitly that you long to press into the hardness you know you will find there, kiss him wildly, pleasure him endlessly.
And that, you decide, is exactly what you will do.
But your affection is too soft and too shy to plunge any deeper without testing the waters first. You kiss him once, then twice, then again and again and again, tentative touches turning tender then teasing as your courage grows. Astarion welcomes it all, wants more of it all, urging you to take this further in all the ways he can: pulling you closer, holding you tighter, kissing you harder. When at last your hips begin to undulate against his, he matches your rhythm, eager for you to feel the full length of him against your wet and wanting core.
With shaking hands you unfasten the singular clasp that had been holding his vest closed. That ever anxious part of you waits a moment for his objection, expects it, dreads it—but it doesn't come. Instead he only gives you his gentle encouragement.
"Go on, love. Undress me. Touch me."
You nod and you smile. Yes, there is anxiety in your anticipation, but so is there desire that drives you, and elation that thrills you, and such deep, overwhelming love for the man before you that how could you not want to devote yourself to pampering him?
Button by button you work your way down his shirt, exposing more and more of him until every fastening is undone. You examine the hard planes of his chest, first with eyes and then with hands, delighting in the way his smooth skin and firm muscle feel beneath your palms. He purrs his approval, rocking his hips against yours with such abandon that you curse your clothes for preventing him from pushing inside you.
Your fingers trail downwards, delicate but daring as they dance towards their destination. When at last you reach to undo his trousers, your eyes dart up to his, one last search for any sign he doesn't want this—but the look he gives you, part lust, part unwavering, undying trust, tells you what deep down you already know.
And it is all the permission you need.
Your attention returns to where he wants it to be. The sight of him, his arousal straining against fabric in his desperation for you, intensifies the throbbing between your own thighs. And so, with eager hands, you set him free.
You know his body well. Studied him with all of your senses. Learned how to glide and twist him into a whimpering mess with only a hand. And yet, practiced as you are in his pleasure, you cannot help the gasp that escapes your throat when you finally set eyes on his cock. To see him so riled and ready, to know it is all because of you—it fills you with awe, and with pride, and with overwhelming desire to put all you have learned to good use.
You start with a stroke of the hand, sliding up and sliding down his shaft, pulling the sweetest of sighs from his lips. Oh, how you love it when he is needy like this, hips moving in time with your every repeated motion. You keep touching him and teasing him, hand gliding up and down and up and down, thumb sweeping across the milky bead gathered at the tip.
But what you really want is a taste.
You lean forward for a kiss—only a fleeting peck, nothing more—and, if the way he huffs and pouts is any indication, it isn't enough. But you have quite a different use for your mouth in mind, don't you? You withdraw your hand, and he opens his mouth in protest, but no words come—for by now he is wide-eyed and mesmerized as you lick your thumb clean, savouring his salty taste. You lower yourself to your knees.
"May I?" you ask, smiling slyly up at him.
"Oh, my love. There are few sights so delightful as your lips wrapped around my cock."
His lewd words bring fresh heat to your cheeks, and he laughs.
"Hmm, I must say that flustered look of yours does have its appeal, too," he says, and you try to maintain your composure as you grab one of the little couch cushions, settling it comfortably beneath your knees. "Especially when it means you're imagining me inside you."
Oh, that unabashedly wicked, aggravatingly arrogant, adorably lovable man. The advantage might be his now, but he won't be the one holding it for long.
"And," he continues, growing more smug by the second, "come to think of it, there are many, many positions that suit you just as beautifully. Like when—"
The words die in his throat as you lick a languid stripe along his length, earning from him a low, pleasured groan. The sound pleases you immensely. But what a shame it would be if he were to leave his filthiest fantasies unspoken.
If he loves to tease you so, then why should you not do the same?
You run your tongue all over him: exploring every inch, tracing every vein, flicking against the tip, but never quite taking him into your mouth. When you have him whimpering the way you like, you pause just long enough to prompt him to say what he failed to before: "Like when…?"
"When— gods—"
Oh dear, it seems language is lost to him again the very moment your lips close around him. You bask in your triumph, sucking him and swishing him with your tongue, watching the way he watches you. And though at times his eyes flutter shut and his head falls back, his gaze always finds its way back to you.
You keep working him, using your hands to pump him and play with him as your mouth performs its magic, rediscovering all the little things that drive him wild. It feels good to make him feel good. It feels even better knowing how much he truly desires this.
"You want to know what I like best of all?" he manages, eventually, his tone dark and throaty; you hum your enthusiastic assent, and the vibration of it sends a shudder through him.
But the words he says send a shudder through you.
"The sight of you lying utterly helpless beneath me."
Oh. Well. You do love this—relishing his pleasure as you bob your head along his length—but you very much love that, too. You remember well how it felt. How letting him have his way with you could awaken either of his extremes. The vampire at his most feral, or the man underneath, a secret softness reserved only for you.
When all was done between you, you used to worry those tenderest moments were only part of his act. But maybe you were wrong.
Maybe they were always real.
"I've been thinking about you"—you ache more and more for your own satisfaction now though you never stop giving him his—"fantasizing about you ever since that night at the party. Wondering what it would be like to have you in my own bed."
And you know at once his bed is soon to be your destination when he leans forward to give you a gentle nudge. You still, letting him slide out of your mouth with a wet pop.
"And, my love," he whispers into your ear, "I intend to find out. Now."
Far be it from you to deny this beautiful man anything he wants.
Astarion rises to his feet, shrugging off his open shirt and pushing off his trousers. To see him like this, so gorgeously and gloriously nude, leaves you speechless.
"Well, darling?" he says, shamelessly eyeing you up and down. "I assure you you'll have much more fun without your clothes."
Needing no further encouragement, you start to disrobe—but your pace is found wanting and Astarion is all out of patience. He steps forward, tugging and tearing at your layers, eager for you to join him in his state of undress. Sure enough you hear a button clack against the floor, fallen victim to his reckless haste.
"Careful!" you insist, but really, you're more amused than annoyed.
Not to mention aroused.
"Oh, don't you worry, my dear. I'll fix that right up for you."
"You'd better."
"Of course. I'm your personal tailor for life now."
For life. This really is it for you, isn't it? You are his, and he is yours, and for however long you both walk this realm, you will spend your days and your nights together.
You wouldn't have it any other way. And neither would he.
When at last you are beaming and bare before him, Astarion takes a step back for a better look at you.
He stares.
And then he strikes.
You are swept into his arms, into his passion, barely conscious of anything but the feel of skin against skin and lips against lips—though it is abundantly clear he is a man on a mission. He pulls you along in his mad shuffle to reach the bed, sacrificing finesse to gain speed, unable to wait a second longer than necessary to have you.
And indeed he wastes no time in lifting you onto the mattress and pushing you flat on your back beneath him.
"Finally," he growls and he grins, and you're already there bucking on the bed before he has even touched you where you need him. "Finally I have you right where I want you. Right where you belong here in my bed. Right here with me."
The thought of this one day becoming your bed—your home—thrills you almost as much as his impatient touches do.
But, as eager as he is, he still recalls exactly how to excite you. Still gives ample attention to all those places most sensitive and secret. Still treats your body like his sanctuary—a sacred thing to be revered, to be relished, to be worshipped.
And, as he settles between your thighs, you know the pleasure he'll, oh, so willingly provide will be nothing short of divine.
He starts with a single lick—one long and languid glide along your slit—and already, all at once, it's too much, and it's not enough, and it's the most wonderfully perfect sensation you have ever known. It pulls from you a shake and a cry, and in turn, a soft laugh from him as he takes pride in his ability to please you. He licks you a second time, and then a third, and again, and again, until his tongue is lapping at you with a steady fervency.
The bliss he brings you is better than you remember. Countless times you tried to relive your memories—desperate to return to him, if only in daydreams—but your fingers always paled in comparison to the way his tongue dips inside your cunt and flicks against your clit.
Although maybe it is better than ever now that you know he loves you.
You grasp for his hand and he grabs it gladly.
And he certainly knows how to work you well. You writhe about, your moans mewling and wanton, your body wanting more, more, more. The pleasure you crave is close now. You glance at your lover—mussed up curls and pink-tipped ears, his attention focused wholly upon your undoing—and to know that Astarion is the one making you feel this way intensifies the heat coiling in your centre.
A little more is all it will take. You ready yourself for it, your grip tightening, your limbs trembling, your feet bracing against his shoulders. And, when he tongues you with the quick, precise flicks you like best, you yield, wave after wave of pleasure crashing into you. Astarion does not relent, continuing to devour you until you are thoroughly sated and spent.
You lie there, panting hard, basking in the pleasant tingle that still lingers in the aftermath of your orgasm. Gods, you haven't felt this good in ages. And, from the smug smile that begins to spread across his face, it seems he knows it, too.
"Well," Astarion says, licking his lips as he sits up. "You look positively wrecked, darling. And all because of me. You want more, don't you?"
Such self-satisfied bravado. Not that it stops your core from clenching at his suggestion. Nor do you deny him when he shifts over you, cock gliding along your swollen folds, ready to push inside.
Oh, you want more very, very badly.
And so you invite him in. "Yes."
Slowly Astarion sinks into your sex until he is buried to the hilt. A perfect fit. You did always take him exceptionally well. He pulls back, and pushes in, and pulls back, and pushes in, coaxing gasps and moans out of you, ensuring you feel each and every inch of him as he makes love to you.
And it is love, this time. Love that underlies the lust in his eyes. Love that fuels the languorous rhythm of his hips. Love that urges him to lavish you with little kisses.
You return his love in every way you can: touching, holding, caressing, kissing, enjoying all that is nostalgic and all that is new. You roll your hips. You cry his name. Surely the extent of your adoration is made abundantly clear—but, if by any chance all this isn't enough, you sing it out loud: "I love you!"
He lets out a laugh, a soft and elated little sound. "I love you, too."
But, for all his sweetness, so is there carnality, frantic and feral and finally free. He thrusts harder, moves faster, pours all of his passion into every motion he makes. Of course you are more than happy to allow him this indulgence. The addictive friction, the lewd noises of bodies colliding, the delight of being filled so completely—every intoxicating detail feeds that familiar heat building within you.
Sensing your impending release, Astarion lifts his head from where it had been nestled in your neck and draws back just far enough to reach a hand between your legs, rubbing circles into your clit with his thumb. You imagine you must be quite a sight—all shivering and squirming under him as you begin your surrender to bliss—but his stare is locked only upon your eyes.
And it is then that you lose yourself to the euphoria he gives you. Then, that your walls clench around him; then, that you let out a keening cry; then, that pleasure radiates from your core to every extremity of your body. And where you go, Astarion is quick to follow, groaning as he empties himself inside of you.
He collapses on top of you, and you pull him into a tight embrace, vowing you will never, ever let him go again.
You missed him so much. Love him so much. And, to be with him like this, so close and connected, makes you feel that all is finally right in this world.
A comfortable and contented silence falls between you.
Until it breaks.
"I wasn't entirely honest with you before."
His words hang heavy in the air as panic takes hold. What if this was too much, what if this was too fast, what if he did not want any of this at all?
But then, when you feel like you might never catch your breath again, he takes your face into his hands and grins devilishly. "What I really like best of all is that I can take a single glance at you and tell just hopelessly in love with me you are."
Oh, that infuriating and wonderful man.
"Don't scare me like that!" you say, scolding him. But, despite his foolishness—maybe because of his foolishness if you're really being honest with yourself—you lunge forward for a kiss. Then another. And another.
When your lips break apart, and his eyes are again heavy-lidded with lust, he makes his suggestion: "Perhaps I might… find some way to make it up to you?"
You think a moment. And then you grin. "Why, yes, I do happen to have one idea in mind. About the ball… be my plus one?"
He does not roll his eyes, nor does he complain of the tedium he'd have to endure, nor does he make any attempt at denying you. He answers only with a soft smile and a single word.
"Always."
Tag List: @preciouslittlebhaalbae, @roguishcat, @zozoparsnips, @goodgirlgonebard, @amoremagnificentbastard, @hellethil, @xxnashiraxx, @vividiana, @dramatiquechipmunk (join tag list for future fics here!)
Thank you so much for reading!
Special Note: This will be a series on AO3 as well, plus all entries will be crossposted here on Tumblr!
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#astarion smut#tailor astarion#astarion x reader#astarion fic#astarion fanfic#astarion fanfiction#astarion#bg3 astarion#fanfiction#astarion ancunin#astarion x tav#astarion x female reader#bg3#bg3 fic#bg3 smut#my writing#my fics#a fitting reunion
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Ellie(Dani) didn't realize how dangerous Danny's home was for him until he was more worried about her when she got her own home. - Prompt I think(?)
Ellie wasn't sure how to feel when Danny excitedly animated her to accept Arthur's invitation to live in Atlantis.
"Just if you want of course, but you'll get a stable home, and Frostbite said living underwater might be good for your water cores stability."
She had already been planning to accept the offer. Once she gave the guy an opportunity to have some sort of conversation, the guy was pretty chill, and the castle was pretty cool. So yeah, she was going to accept the offer.
But for some reason Danny's eagerness for her to go with Arthur hurt. It felt like he was trying to get rid of her.
She knew that was ridiculous, she didn't even live with Danny. He looked out for her, and was always a call away but, as much as Danny parents her, he was just a child like her. It made sense he was happy to give away the responsibility of taking care of her.
So when Ellie moved into Atlantis, she was expecting to hear less from Danny. After all, she had settle down, and he didn't need to worry about her adventures anymore. That was Arthur's and Mera's job now.
Weirdly enough, it was the complete opposite.
Now that Ellie was living with adults, Danny seemed MORE worried for her. They went from a call once a week or so, to almost daily calls in the afternoons. He would be more insistent about her telling him if anything was wrong.
He would ask specifics about the food she was eating, and her activities of the day, and her room, and the castles security...
Sam had told her that it was because he used to be able to monitor if she was eating well through the transactions of the debit card they had given her. Tuck had told her that he used to evaluate how safe she was through the phones location, and the hotels receipts.
And well, maybe she underestimated how much attention Danny put on her before, but the way the calls went made it seem like he thought she might be in more danger now that she had a stable home.
Which made no sense, because unlike him, she didn't even need to hide her ghostlines. Anything that was out of normal for Atlanteans was excused with meta-abilities, she didn't need to worry about being classified as a non-sentient species.
That was when it caught up to her. Danny was worried now that she was in a stable home because his stable home had always been dangerous for him. It isn't even a think of it being dangerous now that his a ghost, it has been dangerous ever since he was a child. She remembers all of Jazz's rants about how unreliable their parents have always been.
The food has always been contaminated. The security now attacked him directly, but there had always been a possibility of it malfunctioning and hurting the residents. Him and Jazz had always had the responsibilities of not only keeping the house clean, but the lab as well. If she tops it with the house security system attacking him, and his parents been ghost hunters...
Ellie hadn't found it too dangerous back then, Danny mocked Jazz rants with her, and Jack and Maddie were kind when they interacted with her in her human form. The Fentons neglect seemed liberating in comparison to Vlad overly controlling nature. But thinking about it now, after two months living in Atlantis, she doesn't like the picture.
She doesn't like the idea of Danny being somewhere so unsafe, but where would he go? He doesn't have a water core like her, and even if he had gotten sorta used to shapeshifting, he isn't good enough to live in a second form, which isn't recommendable either way. So he wouldn't be able to move underwater with her.
More so, she doubts that Danny would like to leave his Amity, he had taken the sole responsibilities of dealing with the whole humans - ghost conflicts. With the anti-ecto acts, there's no way he would leave the portal unsupervised.
What should she do now? Should she talk with Arthur about it? He said he was part of the heros friend group, what if they already know about the anti-ecto acts and are okay with it? What if they change hoe they act with her when she tells them she isn't actually an atlatean meta?
#Danny knows that a stable home should be better that Ellie jumping from side to side#But he can't help but be more worried about her now#He himself doesn't really understand why#Home has never been safe for him even if he likes to pretend it is#And his scared Ellies new home is the same#Ellie never revealed that she was a halfa#Arthur met her while under water and somehow got to the conclusion of meta with Atlantean ascendance#Anti-ecto acts are still up#Ellie doesn't trust Arthur enough to talk about that yet#She isn't sure how to approach the subject either#But maybe she can push forward to get her template in a safer environment.#dc x dp#dcxdp#dp x dc#all i know about both dc and dp is from the fandom#ellie phantom#danny phantom#aquaman#arthur curry
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Not to beat a dead horse or whatever, but you don’t see fiddlestan being healthy at any point? I feel like your version of them would have most of their issues figured out by the time they’re old and stuff. Can you talk about their dynamic a bit more pretty please? (I know you just had an ask about this so sorry to keep bringing it up aha 🤪. I’m obsessed with them, and I love your art/au and want to understand them.)

the basis of why i like the fiddlestan ship is strictly because it doesn't work and is doomed to fail. it's a relationship between two extremely damaged people that are only together for transactional reasons.
the way i see it starting: fiddleford comes back to gravity falls after being kicked out by emma may in hopes that he can patch things up with ford. he finds stan there instead and decides to help him fix the portal despite his crushing anxiety about it because he has nowhere else to go. they're both stuck alone in this situation and urges become apparent. things are awkward for a while before they start banging fuck nasty brokeback mountain style.
fiddleford wants stan because he's delusional and still in love with ford. sure he grows to appreciate differences between them and has a separate chemistry with stan, but he is also completely out of touch with reality and rebounding off of his failed marriage with a man who looks just like the one he cheated on his wife with. working on the portal triggers intense panic attacks, which makes him use the memory gun more, which makes him less and less stable.
stan is working himself to death trying to get ford back and just needs affection. the sexual aspect of their relationship helps him blow off steam, but fiddleford also treats him like a person with a brain and allows him to be emotionally vulnerable for the first time in a long while. having someone finally break down his walls is equal parts frightening and addictive for him; he wants to be loved so badly but knows deep down that fiddleford doesn't actually love him, just the person he represents. he's just second best again.
things start to fall apart when it becomes clear that fixing the portal will be impossible without the other journals. fiddleford basically gives up trying to do the work in earnest and just lives in a domestic fantasy world. stan starts to get more and more impatient about the lack of work getting done and the stress makes him a lot more irritated and volatile. the two enter a vicious cycle of violent fights and honeymoon phases until things boil over: stan confronts fiddleford about the memory gun and kicks him out after he tries to use it on him.
post break up fiddleford, now with his cult and savior complex, murder suicides the portal and their affair from both of their memories. however, stan gets his portal memories back being at the shack and goes on to do what he does in canon.
the whole relationship takes place over the course of a few weeks and is as canon compliant as i could manage. i think it's a really fun concept and i think about it all the time.
to be real, i really dislike the idea that all relationships in media have to be healthy and resolved in order to be compelling. the idea that characters NEED to end the story happy and together is just plain unrealistic. i prefer when stories go outside of the limits of "and then they got together and everything was great after that", especially if being in a relationship isn't necessary to a characters arc.
i do think that them getting together when they're older could work and be very nice. however, i also don't think it's entirely necessary, especially since i did make their relationship rotted gutted awful bad. it is cute though, they can kiss and watch tv and marry for taxt purposes i guess.
#i love you fiddlestan#i love how fucked up you can be#but yeah they're not in love#they're out of love and i'm going to shout it from the rooftops#i couldn't write my tumblr essay#also this took me all day to write#i was at a museum#gravity falls#fiddlestan
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Stanley picks up strays, but never for long.
It's not intentional, of course. He doesn't want nor need an extra mouth to feed or another living thing to have to care about. His mistakes back in Glass Shard proved he's bad at caring about/for other people.
But, a week or two after getting kicked out, sleeping in his car in a beach-side parking lot, he leaves his windows cracked to get some airflow. And when he wakes up the next morning, there's a little gray cat curled up in his passenger seat. It's collarless and scruffy in the way homeless things are (he would know, he's starting to take on the look), and he just doesn't have the heart to throw it out.
Somewhere in the Midwest the cat, significantly plumper and shinier than when it first joined him, leaves. He tries not to let it break his heart: these kinds of relationships are transactional. The cat got food and he got... a taste of companionship. Before the day is over, while on the side of the road for a piss break, he finds a puppy. A little thing, scruffy and probably flea covered and whiny and--- of course he takes it with him.
He's on the US-Canada border when the pup, now clean and fed, starts to play with a girl at the park. He sees the joy in her eyes and the nice car her parents drive and knows the dog will have a better life than with him; he leaves it behind.
And so the cycle continues: somewhere in the dark corners or wet ditches or back alleys of the country he finds a poor cat or dog or bird or once, notably, a rabbit; he nurses them back to health and gives them half of his food and eventually, out of necessity, out of care, lets them go.
When he pushes his brother into the portal and now has to bring him back, Stan promises himself no more strays. Every bit of his altruism is going towards rebuilding this portal. The goat in his front yard? He stole it from a neglectful farmer for fun, no other reason. The cats and raccoons that always find food and water on the porch? They're just lucky he dropped a bowl and was too lazy to pick it up. The injured griffin who woke back up in its cave with a wrapped leg? Stan doesn't believe in that nonsense, obviously it wasn't him.
He most definitely does not take in strays--- and then his niece calls him, says she and her husband are having an... issue, and can't he (he as in Stanford, of course) please take their kids, just for the summer, to get them away from the mess of the family. He doesn't take in strays, but they aren't strays, they're family. And Mabel does just the same thing he does, and that's why he can't, in the end, say no to Waddles.
Ford obviously doesn't believe in the same, seeing as he effectively tells Stan to get the hell out. Ford never took in strays--- too smart, too much self-control.
Indeed, Ford never took in strays. As his brother regains his memories, however, he starts to tell Ford about the strays he took in while on the streets. And as Ford is listening to Stan, all he can see is the resemblance between all those scruffy animals Stan helped and his poor brother.
They set sail on the Stan o' War II, and a week in, they find a pelican with a hobbled wing. No strays, Ford says. No strays, Stan agrees.
They keep the pelican.
#gravity falls#stanford pines#stanley pines#something about... giving the care you wish to receive#or just being seen as worthy of being taken care of#I've called Stan a mechanic a lot but I think he'd also be a great animal husbandrist/caretaker#he just likes to fix things
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SUGAR DADDY! LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR X READER
Part 2
Summary: Lucifer and you reach a somewhat transactional relationship. However, you find yourself develop feelings for him.
A/N: i just wanted to write something short:)

Sighing, you put one of your rings back into your jewelry box. You have been sitting in front of your makeup mirror for 2 hours, suffering from having too many jewelry options. Well…maybe that's not exactly suffering.
It is a cycle repeating almost every week. The King of Hell takes you out for some fancy dinner date and almost always ends up with you and him making a mess in bed. You don't know how long this relationship will last and you are sure he will soon find another "entertainer" (probably skinnier). That thought makes you recoil when looking at your reflection in the mirror. You have never been comfortable in your own skin. Heck, why would a King of all places dote on someone who looks like they can eat 10 pounds of grilled cheese?
*Circus ringtone*
Shit! You think to yourself. Nervously gripping at your designer hand bag, you inhale and exhale to calm down before finally pressing the accept button. Despite being quite close to the King (maybe too close), he never fails to make you stumble over his every little actions. He commented politely on this once; however, that hasn't improved one bit.
Hey, just wanna check up on you, darling. Are you ready to head out?
His sugar-coated voice makes you shiver a bit. You take a silent glance at your jewelry box before answering:
Yeah, you can pick me up now.
You finally admit defeat and settle down on the (f/c) set of earrings despite his preference being crimson. Sometimes, you just want to add a bit of yourself to the clothes you are wearing as a reminder to not lose yourself when indulging in his gifts. It's scary watching you slowly turn into nothing but a dress-up darling for the King. You feel less alive and more like a doll every time you go out with him. Your messy lines of thoughts are abruptly cut as a portal pops up. Standing straight and dusting the invisible dust off your fancy dress, you watched as Lucifer strides out gracefully. He pridely plants a soft kiss on your knuckles before taking in the most beautiful scenery before him-you. His eyes lingers a bit on your set of earrings before chuckling:
Darling, you look like the finest angel in hell.
Oh, Lucifer… You look away embarrassingly.
Fixing his coat, he opens another portal leading to a fancy-looking restaurant. The meal is going to cost more than all your organs combined. You think quietly to yourself.
…
You know what happens after the date. You and him. On the bed. Your clothes lying on where you don't fucking care because he will just buy you new one anyway. But you’ll be a liar if you don't find yourself enjoying the moment right now. It's your favorite activity. After intense moments, you always find yourself lying on his warm chest. It's addicting and capable of burning you alive. Maybe you do have a thing for him. Does Lucifer have a thing for you? Heaven knows. He tries to present his best version of himself for you. You don't know when the masterful actor will break his role and go off to find another toy. You just hope this lasts longer than you think. But that's enough thinking for today, you decide to focus on his gentle combing of your hair and the rise and fall of his chest instead, slowly drifting away to sleep.
Sleep fails you. It's one of those nights again where your thoughts are too loud.
Feeling a pressure on his chest, Lucifer let out a light grunt before opening his eyes. Your (e/c) ones stare back at him. You have always been… intriguing. That's why he keeps you so close, desperate for this relationship to work. He finds you addicting.
Do you love me?
Taken back by your question given the time and place, he scrambles his brain searching for a reasonable answer. The dinner went out as usual. He also makes sure to be as gentle as possible during the…uh…nevermind. Everything had been normal until now. Until you ask. Smiling sweetly at you, he tries to deliver his sentence as thoughtful as possible:
Of course, honey. You meant the world to me. What makes you question that?
Yeah, what makes you question that? You don't know. What do you even want from him? You don't know. Pushing further could lead to him getting annoyed and dumping you in the process. That reminds you of your old life. It's best to play it safe, maybe you are just confused. Afterall, you didn't have any time to process the relationship when all of this started. Nuzzling your head into his chest, you answered with your usual sweet bimbo voice that you hate so much:
Nothing! Just making sure.
You hear him let out a sign of relief and feel his shoulder relaxed. That night, you slept with a confused mess on your mind, just like any other night with him.
⌯⌲ buy me a coffee?
#lucifer morningstar#hazbin lucifer#lucifer magne#lucifer x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer imagine#lucifer morningstar fanfiction#lucifer morningstar imagine#hazbin hotel lucifer#x female reader#x female y/n#lucifer
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Stan just wakes up one day and is able to see a weird little frosting axolotl follow him around
(it's The Axolotl (I have literally nothing else))
Hoho! You've activated my trap card, 'au that has tickled the back of my brain but doesn't have a plot and exists as nothing more than a vague concept!'
So Fords new bff is Bill, the demon pretending to be a nice guy, who scams Ford into building a doomsday device. I was thinking, what if, when Ford summoned Bill, it gave the Axolotl permission to also interfere. Just like Bill picked out one human to bring his dreams to life, so does the Axolotl.
Except, in true mirror fashion, Stan does not believe this new pink lizard is his friend. If, and thats a big if, this thing is even real, its obviously evil. Its talking about 'feelings' and 'making personal changes' and how he's 'very important' and a bunch of other nonsense. Its trying to get him to second guess himself and keeps laying out 'what if' scenarios that are traps! Traps to keep him from his family!
Aka, the Axolotl is trying to steer Stan towards a better life (and to reach out to Ford), gives Stan advice like how Bill gave Ford 'advice'. Stan stops for gas? The axolotl tells him if he goes inside and asks, they're desperate enough for staff he can get a job, save up, and get an apartment. If Stan calls the cops on the mob right now he can cut a deal and restart his life. If Stan gives the last of his pocket money to the woman struggling at the store, he'll catch the attention of the business owner who will offer him a job, etc. Then a lot of stuff about 'Stan has his own worth outside of being a twin,' and 'it wasn't fair of his dad to give him an unreasonable expectation like getting a million dollars' and 'love is not transactional, he shouldn't have to prove himself to earn it, it should be freely given' and 'Ford was angry, and you were both young. Try reaching out as an adult and while he might be angry still, if you keep at it and be earnest he'll forgive you'
Basically 'give up your quest for a million, settle down in one place to get your feet back under you, and do some deep thinking about your feelings and relationships.'
Evil.
He is not listening to this thing, its trying to get him to doubt himself, trying to mess with his head! Everyone knows Stan's worthless without Ford, that a million might be harder than he thought to get, that if you don't have a use your not worth anyone's time or care, and that Ford won't be happy to see him until Stan can make it up to him! These are cold hard facts of the universe that he is definitely not curled up in the backseat of his car thinking about while the axolotl sits on his head and tells him about how his artistic talents are his own and how creative he is and how it thinks he's charming.
This thing is evil, and he is NOT! Its friend! He wants this thing gone yesterday because if it keeps telling him how much it likes him there's no telling what he'll do (cry).
Hmm. Sudden thought. Just like Ford makes a deal with Bill, Stan makes a deal with the axolotl, except where Bill proposes his, Stan begs the axolotl for help. They've been with each other for a few years now, and Stan gets in way over his head, almost dies. Maybe its the trunk incident, maybe its him losing his kidney, whatever it is, Stan's loosing it, and if he drops he's gonna die. Desperately asks this little lizard for help, even if he knows its evil and out to get him specifically and also a demon trying to take his soul. Where Bill's deal is that he can take over when Fords asleep, the Axolotl can only do it if Stan's in danger.
Like if he gets branded in an secret basement while an inter dimensional portal is active.
Ford brands Stan, Stan goes down screaming, then gets up, calm expression on his face and eyes pitch black. pushes himself to his feet, goes over and shuts the portal off, then looks at Ford (frozen, freaking out), and tells him he knows he's under a lot of pressure and stress, and didn't mean to say all those hurtful words, and that Stan didn't either. How about we try that again :3
Well, Stan's eyes aren't yellow but that doesn't really make Ford feel better, as his brother is obviously possessed by something.
Funniest thing would be it the Axolotl dodges Ford's swings, knocks him out, then just sits on his body while Bill rages and screams about how unfair this is! Its cheating! Its not supposed to be here, it can't interfere!
Just fun times with Axolotl-Stan and Bill-Ford, the Axolotl's not leaving Stan's body while he's in danger, and oh no! This giant portal and the demon in Fords body is very dangerous :3 Ford better figure it out if he wants the Axolotl out of his brother :3 The Axolotl won't help him (as Bill is right in that it can't directly interfere with his schemes like that) but it'll sit there and let Ford treat the brand and talk about 'Stan's expectations to sail into the sunset were unrealistic and somewhat childish, but Ford not communicating his own feelings and expecting Stan to just understand his change of priorities without talking to him were also' and 'you were both children, it wasn't your job to stop your dad, and not doing so while emotionally charged isn't your fault' and 'Stan might have lived a hard life, but he chose not to tell you, while expecting his life to be great was unrealistic, there was nothing you could have done because Stan never reached out and was always on the move, his life isn't your responsibility'
When Ford eventually gets to talk to Stan again they both agree that the Axolotl is very evil.
#gravity falls#gravity falls au#stan pines#ford pines#bill cipher#the axolotl#stan gets a therapist he can't get rid of
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Blitzø's struggle with the Asmodean Crystal

On the lighter side, it could have just been a joke. This could also have taken place before Apology Tour, since Blitzø has no issue using the Crystal to transport both himself and the IMP van through portals.

After one full season, and part way through the second, we have been led to believe that Blitzø is actually good in bed. A party-house packed with Succubi managed to get emotionally attached, so I'm having a hard time believing that Blitzø's game is in any way lacking, contrary to Verosika's song at Ozzie's.

My Theory?
I've had it floating in my head since Full Moon that Blitzø could have performance issues after Stolas cut things off. (Do I have a half-baked fanfic on what's basically erectile disfunction hurt/comfort, post-Apology Tour? Yeah, but like that's not relevant.)

Blitzø is afraid of being in love. He has a lot of emotional baggage and trauma when it comes to love. And the Crystal is picking up on the fact that Blitzø is struggling internally with balancing sexual desire and emotional needs.
It's obvious to us early on that Blitzø has feelings for Stolas. But feelings make things complicated for Blitzø. Anytime anyone gets close enough to have feelings for him, Blitzø pushes them away and bails.
He's been able to live in denial for some time now, but Stolas' confession in Full Moon made it impossible to continue pretending it was just about sex.
Blitzø had been using sex as work in his transactional relationship with Stolas. He's aware that showing Stolas a very good time is the exact thing he needs to do in order to keep using the Grimoire to keep his business running. And Blitzø knows how to do that.


Blitzø really had the fight knocked out of him in Apology Tour, after barely recovering from the emotional gut-punch that he got in Full Moon.

He's had to confront a lot of the parts of himself that he's been covering up and masking; he's growing emotionally, but that growth is leaving his heart raw and hurting.

But I think what's most important is that Blitzø has never had sex with someone he's in love with, and have it just be about love. He couldn't be honest enough with himself to admit he loves Stolas before; all their prior sex nights were work for Blitzø.
So when sex is no longer work or fun, but it's now love... how does someone like emotionally-stunted Blitzø even go about it?

Awkwardly, that's how.
#helluva boss#helluva boss spoilers#helluva boss blitzø#im still convinced it was just a joke and wasnt a serious indication that Blitzø has no oral game#i have a contradiction post to this too btw. playing both sides so i always come out on top.
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Thinking about how the Stan twins were both taught from a young age that life is a matter of transactions. How they were valued only for the money they could bring their family, and how this shaped their lives in such different ways.
Ford was the intelligent one, and this made him valuable. He knew what he had to offer. He knew he was important. (He had to be. Experience had shown him that love was conditional. He had to earn it. He had to be enough.) When Bill Cipher approached him, he confirmed everything Ford wanted so desperately to believe about himself. Imagine that sense of excitement, of accomplishment, of pride and power and relief. Imagine having that final, unshakeable source of external validation - that this being that knew everything and could have chosen anyone, chose you. Imagine knowing exactly what you could do to please this being and, with the understanding that love is conditional, knowing that you could fulfill the requirements for that love. Imagine knowing exactly how to ensure you would be loved, not just by that being but by the family you uplifted and the future you created. All you had to do was satisfy your own curiosity… all you had to do was build a portal. Is it any wonder that Ford fell for Bill’s tricks?
Then we have Stan, the failure. If love was transactional, he could never pay the fee. He knew people only helped you if you had something to offer. And he had nothing to offer, so why would anyone ever help him? Why would anyone care? Of course he didn’t fall for Bill. He couldn’t. When Bill promised gifts and power and happiness, how could Stan believe a word he said? In a world without altruism, such promises could never be trusted. There was always a price to be paid - and Stan had never been able to pay it.
And so the end of the world was triggered and then averted, all because one brother thought he could earn the world’s love, while the other knew he would never earn anything good.
A+ parenting, Filbrick. Truly.
#very sarcastic at the end there#I hate filbrick pines#anyway the stans have my brain in a chokehold#the story! the character arcs!! the themes!!!#I adore them#once again the pacing of this analysis got screwed up#blame that on stream of consciousness and sleep deprivation#I really did want to add more to Stan’s section but I guess that’ll have to wait#gravity falls#grunkle ford#grunkle stan#gravity falls stanford#stanford pines#stanley pines#gravity falls stanley#stan twins#ok when I talk about love here it’s not really in the context of billford or romantic love at all#it’s just the feeling of being loved and important and actually mattering to somebody#but you could view it through a romantic lens I suppose so I’ll tag the ship#billford#gravity falls analysis#madbard rambles
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"Billford is one-sided"
No bill was like
"Ford I'll give you the answers to the univers so you build me a portal in a chill and transactional way"
And Ford went
"Marry me"
The actual quote is "till the end of time" but that's like the same thing.
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Someone called Bill Cipher and Ford Pines a doomed soulmates pairing and I haven't been able to stop thinking about that.

Being doomed soulmates, to me, always felt intrinsically tragic. One of the few examples I could think off hand are Achilles and Patroclus, two people loved each other so much but they weren't destined for happiness. Greek heroes 99% of the time never are. Soulmates as a trope is defined in someone being destined to end up with their perfect match.

That's why Bill and Ford being doomed soulmates is so utterly fascinating. BillFord is probably the most anti-romantic pairing Gravity Falls (show) could honestly conjure. So much of that pairing is built on manipulation, lies and transaction. Bill is using Ford to get into the a physical realm so he can rule it, while Ford is idly using Bill to learn more things about the unnatural side of the world. So those two being soulmates on any level is going to be anything but healthy. I mean, even in the show, Bill tortures Ford for information.
Furthermore, it can be used in such fascinating theories and AUs. When we read the story as them as explicit doomed soulmates, while pairing information we have from the show and fandom theories you can bring to life fun concepts.
When the show was airing, there was a theory post-ATOTS that Blendin Possesed By Bill had messed with Ford's project to further ruin it than Stan had. Which is why it looked more damaged coupled with the "Blendin was here" with a triangle right there in the episode. So what if it was Bill that ruined the project? That would make the Stan Twins fight and go their separate ways, while this intentionally led Ford right down the path to meet Bill eventually in Gravity Falls. The path that eventually lead to their partnership, Ford being pushed into the portal, 30 years trapped in the Dream Dimension, and later, Bill's defeat.

And that's just one idea I came up for some random fanfiction floating in my brain. The reason I even like that particular concept is that it does more than absolve Stan of wrongdoing, but rather shows you how twisted Bill Cipher could be. There's more you can do with it. Doomed soulmates destined to find each other, and destined to ruin each other. Bill being half the reason Ford was pushed through portal or how he let Ford go insane through fear while Ford being a part of the Cipher Zodiac that could vanquish Bill or using the memory gun on Bill to erase him from existence.


It's so interesting because even if BillFord isn't my ship, you can unpack so much through their dynamic through this lens. Like what makes them click together and what drives them apart.
You guys might have already realized all this, but I just needed to get this off my chest. Finding out more about Bill and Ford's relationship has altered me on a fundamental level. Doomed Soulmates is actually the most appropriate way to define it. How else would you define it?
Thank you for listening to me, a semi-casual fan of Gravity Falls.
#billford#the book of bill#bill cipher#ford pines#stanford pines#gravity falls#doomed soulmates#lumi rambles#gravity falls meta
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Today I wanna rant talk about this
Versus
This
A lot, and I mean A LOT of people use these two moments as a way to compare Stolas and Blitzø with Fizz and Asmodeus. Specifically, Asmodeus with Stolas. And I get it, both Tiny Clown Imp with Giant Bird Aristocracy. Both dealing in different ways with the social hierarchy of hell. People keep using it as a “well Stolas HID while Asmodeus declared” and yes, that’s true but I don’t actually think we’re meant to be comparing Stolas and Asmodeus, at least not about this specific thing.
Blitzo doesn’t need someone to declare their love for him, he needs to declare his love for someone else.
People put the “Stolas is ashamed of Blitzo because of his station” on Stolas a lot and it is shown multiple times that it is not a factor for Stolas. He even like…sings about how it’s not an issue? Explicitly. The different stations was an issue for Asmodeus for awhile based on thier convos and the hiding. And it was for Fizz, though for different reasons I’ll get into in another post cause this is already going to be long as fuck. But this social hierarchy, famous person conflict is 100% Blitzo.
Blitzø is the only person who should be interpreting Stolas hiding his face as being because of the social disparity because that is a hangup of his. We, the audience, should know better because we’ve been shown the truth, or the reality of the situation in the scope of the show, MULTIPLE times. Blitzø is the one who harps on the class disparity, he’s the one who has the perception that Stolas is only looking for a fetishcentric fuck with the common rabble. The audience is supposed to see Blitzø’s reaction and know he is wrong, that this interpretation is because of one of his character flaws of feeling not good enough, and being compared to people, not because of the reality, because we have proof otherwise. Including the canon song where Stolas fucking says it outright.
There is a lot of talk about the “solution to Stolitz” being Stolas loudly and publicly declaring their relationship ala Asmodeus. But…Stolas already did his big public declaration at the BEGINNING way BEFORE Asmodeus. Stolas did it in The Circus flashback. He reinforced it at the Harvest Moon festival. He reinforced it at Ozzie’s.
His initial public declaration was following up a Imp leaving his bedroom in front of the Ars Goetia yelling “Sorry I fucked your husband” after a big aristocratic party by coming out well fucked and loudly screaming he was getting a FUCKing DIVORCE and ripping a banner in front of some of the most socially influential people in Hell. He then publicly thirsts over Blitzø at the Harvest Moon festival, multiple times and by name AND species. He takes Blitzo’s hand, and goes on a public romantic date with him, even reminding the doorman of who he was and who he was with and THEN when all eyes are still on them after the song at Ozzie’s, despite everything said, reaches out to him across the table and then gets up and leaves with him even taking his car home when he has the ability to just portal. No one who converses with him about Blitzø is left with any ambiguity that they are involved, not Stella, not Striker, not Octavia, he loudly declares he is into the imp to anyone who will listen, often in front of Blitzø, which he cringes away from and insists is just a transactional fucking.
The contrast to be drawn between Asmodeus making a public declaration shouldn’t be on Stolas but BLITZØ. He’s the one who needs to declare it, Stolas already has, repeatedly and out loud, and in public already.
Blitzø is the one who can’t say it out loud. He’s the one who shies away from conversations about it and dismisses it when anyone brings it up. He uses the excuses of social class and it being only for sex to justify his own inability to own it. There’s a reason all his exes are massively famous people who got famous after he destroyed the relationship. With Verosika it’s pretty clear she was super into him and he dipped. It’s not clear if it was because she was getting famous, that might be revealed, but the hints we have (her tattoo, his stealing her credit cards and disappearing) is that the end of that relationship was all Blitzø. When people find out he was in a relationship with her he is uncomfortable with the fact that she is famous, he goes out of his way to separate himself from her fame. Because people react exactly as he expected them to, incredulous someone famous could be into nobody Blitzø.
Somewhat ditto with Fizz, at least at first. Fizz was shown to be already pretty well known by the end of their friendship. Because of Blitzø’s self worth issues he doesn’t believe someone like Fizz could reciprocate his feelings, he sees him surrounded by people and doesn’t feel worthy to be one of them so he turns away and accidentally burns down a circus doing so. While a confession from Fizz first, if he felt the same way, might have prevented the catastrophe we have no way of knowing if Blitzø would have done the same thing to Fizz he did to Verosika and let his self worth issues eventually destroy their relationship too, especially after he signs on with Mammon. A big theme of their comments to each other before their reconciliation are about the disparity in fame, Fizz is also an imp so it’s not social class, but that Fizz is a beloved, famous figure and Blitzø failed at becoming one.
The Circus illustrates this so well, Blitzø is the failure who keeps trying his hardest and Fizz is the one who steps in and just kind of naturally does it. Blitzø’s dad makes no secret of the fact that Fizz is the more desired one. We also see Stolas appreciating Blitzø for who he is. Laughing against the crowd, just like during the sitcom taping, he doesn’t care about the public’s reaction to Blitzø, it doesn’t lessen Blitzø in his eyes at all.
We have also seen Blitzø be told very publicly a person loved him already as well and it STILL wasn’t what he needed. Verosika has it literally tattooed in a prominent place on her body, out there for everyone to see.
He doesn’t want a public declaration, he fears making one of his own and being compared to the one he declared for. “That guy is with THEM?!” It happens when Verosika steals his parking space and everyone realizes they dated, and it happens when the crazy fan goes after Fizz. People dismiss Blitzø in favor of the famous person he is with.
Hearing that, again, would invite the scrutiny that would just further validate that he’s not good enough, that he’s lesser and lower. That’s been his experience so far. Stolas declaring it would just put the spotlight on him once more, and I think it would actually make things worse for him mentally and emotionally. His reaction to Ozzie outing Stolas as his date to the crowd shows us this. I believe it’s why he split up with Verosika, the more famous she got the more eyes on him that could find him lacking. He’d be in the spotlight and his act wouldn’t be able to measure up to hers.
Just like at the circus with Fizz when they were kids, or during the sitcom, when eyes are on Blitzø he fails. Stolas gave him a bit more confidence each time. Not by loudly yelling “Hey, I like him!”to sway the audience, but just by quietly and genuinely laughing at his jokes and appreciating Blitzø for who he is. Stolas I think realizes this consciously, he sings it in Look My Way that the realm doesn’t appreciate what Blitzø is and because of this Blitzø built up walls around himself to protect from that lack of appreciation. Stolas tries to hype Blitzø up, he does so in the Harvest Moon Festival early on in their relationship but it makes Blitzø uncomfortable because the public declarations bring eyes to him. He has like….relationship stage fright in a sense. Imo the last thing Blitzø needs is another loud declaration.
Stolas though, he does NEED it. He has had one romantic partner publicly declare they don’t love him to all who will listen for like well over a decade, and now he needs a partner who will make it really really clear they do and I think preferably out loud where others can hear.
Stolas’s conflict and flaw is his family and his desire for reciprocal love. The shame of being an adulterer, of destroying the idealized family he strived for and the image he projected for so many years. And especially, the loneliness of his “romances” being one sided. With the exception of Octavia all of Stolas’s surrounding family and “friends” don’t give a fuck about him and he knows it. Why would Blitzø be any different? He also needs someone to choose him outside of a business or familial relationship. Stella was an arranged marriage to produce a heir. Blitzø was a sexual transaction for the grimoire. Octavia is his daughter. His relationship with his father shows that he isn’t special to him either. Paimon doesn’t even know his name. Stolas has no one declaring for him.
There’s a reason most of Stolas’s issues are told though “images”. The family portraits, the Sinstagram posts of Blitzø appearing annoyed or disinterested while Stolas does not see the picture Blitzø took, because that is his primary issue, he destroyed the image of himself he was trying to project for a chance at a reciprocal relationship. That image maintenance has nothing to do with Blitzø’s imp status, but more the public lack of perceived reciprocity in his romantic dealings.
He knows he looks like a fool, putting himself out there and not getting a confirmation back. This is why every problem Stolas had with his marriage seemed to come down not to attraction or status but mutual feeling. He doesn’t feel bad for cheating because Stella made it clear she didn’t care about him for him. Stella tells everyone loudly and publicly, even before Stolas cheated, how she feels about him. So as soon as Stolas can he jumps at the chance to say “HEY EVERYONE SOMEONE DOES LIKE ME! HE HAD SEX WITH ME AND EVERYTHING”and yelling out “THE ONLY MAN WHO CAN FUCK ME”. Flirting with Blitzø in front a crowd of people. He desperately wants to be publicly desired, to know he’s loved and for others to know he’s loved too.
I don’t think it matters to Stolas at all that who he cheated with was below him in terms of social hierarchy, or that people know about it, and he hasn’t ever indicated visually or with words that Blitzø being an imp was the root of those issues for him. Stella brings it up because she’s obsessed with status and EVERYONE KNOWS that her husband fucked an imp and is now divorcing her. Asmodeus brings it up because the entire Lust song at Ozzie’s is to distract the audience from his very real love affair with Fizz and maintain the public fiction that what he and Fizz have is just physical.
The whole social hierarchy issue is a deflection, and a misdirection.
This is further emphasized by the fact that Fizz and Asmodeus fucking isn’t even really an issue? People seemed to know they were fucking, like them being walked in on at breakfast and loudly declaring “ we are just banging, we are not in love”. The social hierarchy conflict as an external factor kind of falls apart on that alone but let’s move on. It’s not 100% clear if people outside of the household knew about Fizz and Asmodeus so we can maybe assume the public at large did not. But higher level demons being in a relationship with lower level ones doesn’t appear to be an issue? Like most of the powerful demons we see are actually in relationships with someone from a lower class. Even Mammon surrounds himself with imps and relies on one for his business.
Blitzø sure as fuck brings it up as a justification for why he’s not good enough. But Stolas doesn’t.
He’s even been shown visually and deliberately as forgetting that it’s even a factor, starting with his bowing to Blitzø as a baby owl and then again as an adult. So the comparison of these two moments as being about shame regarding social status for Stolas doesn’t make any sense to me. I don’t think it’s about social status at all really. I think that’s the excuse Blitzø uses to push people away and that’s just as much about social status as it is their fame. I’m not saying it’s not a larger theme of the show, but I think in this instance and for Stolitz it’s a distraction from the larger issues Blitzø has.
Stolas doesn’t need to publicly declare their relationship for an audience to solve their relationship issues because he already did, and I think we’ll see that the reason it’s such a huge plot point for Asmodeus and Fizz (beyond it being tied to their specific roles in Hell as the King of Lust and a public figure) is that it needled to be removed as an obstacle in BLITZØ’S mind.
Blitzø was the one present to witness the public declaration between Asmodeus and Fizz at the competition, not Stolas. If the comparison was between Stolas’s behavior and Asmodeus’s he would BE there, we, the audience, would have him there to connect that conflict in our mind as being rooted in Stolas. But he isn’t, because that conflict is 100% Blitzø. He won’t be able to use the imp versus demon thing as an excuse anymore as there is a very public example of someone even higher than Stolas loving an imp that he personally knows. Not only that but we see no indication in the episodes after Ozzie’s that there was ANY fallout for Stolas or Blitzø having their relationship outted so publicly. We see a big press todo about Stolas going to the hospital but not a single scene of like press asking Blitzø or Stolas about their relationship or the scene at Ozzie’s. Because no one but Blitzø actually cares? Scenes in media show us what’s important and if it was actually important to the larger world of Helluva Boss we’d have scenes to show that. There is no press coverage after the Not Divorced party, none after the Harvest Festival and none after Stolas officially makes moves to divorce Stella. He has assassins follow him around but not press. We DO get those press scenes when Fizzarolli and Asmodeus come out as being in love, because they are big public figures, but the only people who even mention Stolas and Blitzø are contained to Ozzie’s alone, and really it’s just Wally, Fizz and Asmodeus. The rest of the club is just interested in the spectacle.
The point of the hiding Stolas’s face behind the menu was not to tell audience he was ashamed of Blitzø, or that his being with Blitzø is a problem for him socially, but to reinforce Blitzø’s excuses to himself that it is, and highlight Blitzø’s self worth issues. This is further confirmed when Stolas reaches out to him across the table even though they are still in public and then later when he verbally expresses to Blitzø that he’d like to spend time with him without sex, tells him he enjoyed spending time with him outside of the arrangement, makes himself physically uncomfortable in the van just to spend more time with him. All of which Blitzø refuses to believe and dismisses. All of their interactions are shown as Stolas being the one to put himself out there, sometimes to a desperate cringe inducing degree, and Blitzø shutting it down and only expressing that his external protestations are not his true feelings by his avoidant looks, stumbling over his words and excuses, and his “protesting too much”. We as the audience see he’s full of shit through the reactions of others, Millie and Moxxie and Fizz specifically calling Stolas his boyfriend or being skeptical of the bullshit Blitzø spews to diminish the relationship.
For Stolas the song at Ozzie’s was a reminder that he had done something that fucked up his family and frankly his life as he knew it, tarnishing his image as a husband and father, and that fuck up has nothing to do with Blitzø being an imp, everyone knew that already for the most part from the very first time they had sex, but because Blitzø was the catalyst for the risk he took. He used to have the image of his family and his Princely appearance to hide behind and now we’ve shone a spotlight on who he really is, a lonely, soon to be divorcee, on a date with a demon who has acted completely dismissive of him, even outright ignoring him and ghosting at times.
A good way to highlight this issue with image is when Stolas nervously giggles and tries to over the top declare “we are having a perfectly normal date!” to the waitress by playing it off as being okay and trying desperately to get Blitzø to participate. He’s being publicly humiliated again and he tries to play it off and cover it up.
We see it again in his text messages from after Ozzie’s, he is so desperately trying to show Blitzø that it didn’t bother him, but that if it bothered Blitzø he’d like to talk about it. He tries to front it as “I don’t mind jokes about myself, it was pretty funny hahaha” but we as the audience see it for the pathetic attempt at faking it is. Laughing it off and pretending it doesn’t bother him is what Stolas does but he still made an attempt, he still tried. Stolas is from what we see extremely comfortable expressing his feelings, loudly and at length. It when he gets rejected for them that he pretends it’s not how he feels. And once again, he reaches out to Blitzø, gets shut down after putting himself out there and then acts as if everything is fine.
During the song at Ozzie’s , when the spotlight comes to Stolas, Asmodeus starts reminding him he “destroyed” his life, his family, and his image for a dude who does not outwardly appear to return his feelings, who is in fact just fucking him, and not even because he is interested in Stolas, but because he is using Stolas for the book. Every time Stolas tries for more he gets slapped back. He threw everything away for more of what he already had, a loveless business arrangement. He’s not shamed by the fact that Blitzø is an imp but that he ripped apart his picture perfect life for a guy who was acting distracted and ignoring him, who at times is completely turned away from him, and who is sitting across from him visibly uncomfortable at being called out as being on a date with him, and who he cannot get to agree to anything more despite his desperately trying.
Stolas’s part of the Ozzie’s episode opens with Gabriela yelling “Why won’t you LOVE ME ALEJANDRO” and then the man puts a streak in his hair to call back to it and people are still thinking it’s about status for him?
He just watched Blitzø stand up for Moxxie and Millie but when the focus turns to Stolas Blitzø cringes and makes himself small.
Lets break down what actually happens on screen because it is ALL in the visual choices made by the artists and what the song is actually about, lust being more acceptable than love because love is embarrassing and Blitzø hates to be embarrassed:
Moxxie starts singing, and after he sings “I loooove you” the shot jumps to Blitzø who CRINGES and shrinks a bit behind his menu. Publicly declaring your love for someone in public like that? Fucking Yikes. Bro.

Blitzø stands up and defends Moxxie and Millie but not necessarily to support their love, but their sexual relationship. This says a lot about which one Blitzø thinks of as being publicly acceptable.
Fizz turns his attention to Blitzø and the entire call out is about his bad love life, not his social status, and not even necessarily his level of fame but his failures as a romantic partner and the state of his relationships. It’s interesting that the song turns to this lack of love since just a few verses previously they act as though a romantic relationship is anthema to what they are all about. As soon as Fizz starts talking about his LOVE life Blitzø looks nervously at Stolas out of the corner of his eye.
Stolas is shocked as the song starts in on Blitzø but he doesn’t leave or shrink away immediately, he makes this absolutely hysterical face when Verosika is singing.

Blitzø does NOT like that Verosika is singing about their relationship. He crosses his arms and gets very sour pussed.
Then when Verosika starts getting more predatory, and going in on Blitzø physically, Stolas STANDS UP and looks as though he’s going to intervene.
The Wally Whackford yells “Are you sleeping with an Imp?” And Stolas remains standing, in the spotlight for several seconds. He doesn’t even start to move away to get out of it until Asmodeus comes up into his space and the scrutiny is all on him. He still doesn’t hide his face nor does it look necessarily shamed, it looks surprised and scared with where this is going and to have the attention on him but he does not look shamed. In fact, he doesn’t react to the imp comment at all, he is just as shocked and surprised as before Wally yelled as he is after. He keeps making this same shocked and scared face the whole time. We continue to see the crowd throughout all this and the scene is from a wide shot. It’s from the main POV, which is largely Blitzø’s.
The POV then switches to ONLY Stolas’s, we are seeing THROUGH his eyes and what HE sees is his family turning away from him and then they shove Blitzø in a chair, make him the center of Stolas’s vision and he’s left with Blitzø’s embarrassed, cringing face. The crowd, the club, everything else is painted out. From Stolas’s POV he doesn’t see or register the public, he sees and registers his family and Blitzø. They are center of his vision and the club and its patrons aren’t even present in the shot. If the issue was the social status we would have no need to remind the audience of Stella and Octavia by projecting their images and then having a sequence where they turn, walk away and burst into flames. Wally’s comment would be enough to establish it. The crowd would be visible because they would be what matters to Stolas. But it isn’t, we have to dive into Stolas’s POV, get a visual reminder of his family and see how Blitzo looks from Stolas’s POV.
We pull back to the outside POV and Stolas sits and stares for an entire beat after the POV shift (a technique used to tell the audience THIS was how Stolas saw the situation, now we’re back to the main POV), Blitzø is still shrinking away from him and THEN after Asmodeus says “you sold your life for a thrust” is when he hides his face. Yes, I did slow down the animation to actually see the sequence shot for shot and yes, it is a sign I have lost my mind.
But it’s important! This technique is really common in literature and media, you introduce one character’s conflict or flaw and then, to show that it contrasts with another character’s situation you jump into their POV, this is to remind the audience that there is a difference between them, that they are seeing this situation from two different places. The shots are wide for the social status implication that speaks to Blitzø’s issues with public declarations and his own self worth and we jump into Stolas’s just to remind the audience HEY, THIS IS ISNT WHAT STOLAS IS THINKING IN CASE YOU FORGOT ABOUT THE MAIN REASON THEY ARE NOT ON THE SAME PAGE, and then we just jump back to wide shots and bringing Blitzø back as the character whose flaw is being depicted.
The rest of the shots are from main POV and show Blitzo reacting to that. A deliberate contrast is set between what Stolas perceived and what Blitzø did. They present this direct visual contrast using a POV switch to show it. From Stolas’s POV he is being shamed not by the public, who didn’t factor into his POV at all, but by the loss or strain of his familial relationships and by Blitzø presenting himself completely differently when the focus is on HIS relationship with Stolas versus how he reacted to Moxxie/Millie and even Verosika.

From Stolas’s perspective and the audiences Blitzø was relatively okay up until Verosika pushed him, then we see Stolas’s reaction to that. That’s when Blitzø’s entire demeanor changes. He wilts, he shrinks, he makes himself small. Before that he winced a little but mostly he seemed annoyed. Until it gets turned on his date with Stolas. And we see this confirmed through Stolas’s POV, that we are seeing Blitzø how Stolas is seeing him looking sheepish and unhappy right in the center of the shot.
You sold your life for a thrust” is so important in this sequence, Blitzo just basically confirmed from his contrasting reactions and body language throughout the song that what they have is just sex, and we know from Stolas asking Asmodeus about the crystal and following up on it that he is really focusing on the transactional aspect of it and the situation he put an unwilling (at least in his mind) Blitzø in. This is just another bad arrangement like his marriage.
We don’t have onscreen confirmation, so this is more speculation but I imagine Stolas is probably comparing himself to Paimon a bit. His father purchased an unwilling imp to play with him as a child, the imp pretended to be into him to use him for the family treasure and now he’s essentially purchasing the same imp and that same imp appears to once again just be tolerating him for material gain.
Anyway, enough thoughts that depress the fuck out of me.
When we switch back to Blitzø after M&M finish their song we see the public again through their clapping and see his reaction. Now the issue at large is firmly back to the inferiority complex. Blitzø started shrinking and cringing away as soon as the famousness of his date was revealed, as soon as the crowd does exactly what he fears, comparing him to his partner and finding him lacking. Then we have Stolas reaching out, with no regard for the crowd who is back around them in the shots until the hand close up, and Blitzø shuts him down. Again. Once more we have Stolas visibly reaching out and trying to give Blitzø what Blitzø is outwardly projecting he wants (just like Stolas does with the dirty talk), and Blitzø being the one to say something annoyed or dismiss it. There is literally nothing Stolas can do to resolve this, because it’s an internal issue for Blitzø. Stolas externally declaring to every realm in hell won’t fix Blitzø needing to believe it and declare it for himself.
The conversation at Stolas’s house after reinforces everything, that Stolas is trying to do what Blitzø is projecting he wants. Blitzø appears to have an issue with their relationship being just about sex, the same person who goes out of his way to force all his non-familial relationships to be just about sex (even Moxxie and Millie, and when he turns a heartfelt reconciliation sexual with Fizz by asking to make out) and Stolas offers him multiple options for more of a romantic or comforting evening, because it’s what he wants as well, and Blitzø ignores that entirely, just outright refuses to acknowledge it. In the hospital we see Stolas tried AGAIN after Ozzie’s via text to work it out, and talk it out, but when Blitzø shuts it down again and when his initial approach didn’t work, Stolas tries just brushing it off and putting up that happy EVERYTHING IS OKAY image again.
So all this billion words and unhinged analysis to say that Stolas is not Asmodeus, he isn’t the one who needs to make the declaration, that won’t actually solve Blitzø’s problem and he already has put himself out there multiple times. Stolas is Fizz, obsessed with putting on a show.
Blitzø’s issues are internal and multiple people have tried to show him in external ways they love him and he either relates it back to sex, dismisses it entirely or physically removes himself from their lives. This is understandable considering when he does put himself out there he gets rejected, (circus audience, Barbie, his various gigs before I.M.P, Loona sometimes) or people act incredulous that someone could be with him. So the only way for him to complete this character journey is to internally reconcile and externally express.
Stolas is much more external about his issues, he tries putting on a happy face, laughing things off, trying to have a perfect day at LooLoo Land with a disinterested daughter, flirting outrageously with a disinterested partner, he wants the external situation to reflect what he feels inside but those around him don’t give that to him. He tries to have a perfect marriage, he gets a partner who throws obnoxious parties for what appears to be the chance to ridicule him publicly. He tries to have a perfect day at LooLoo Land to recapture happier times and accidentally alienates his daughter. He talks about how much he wants to bone Blitzø because that’s how Blitzø approached him and what he seems to be into in his relationships and is the only way he allows Stolas into his life at all, and in return he gets annoyed looks and insults.
“Or Is it Me?” In Look My Way makes me tear up every goddamn time because Stolas believes there is some internal problem within himself, that he cannot give Blitzø what he needs because he’s BEEN TRYING to be what Blitzø seems to want and gets nothing back no matter what approach he takes. No one will externally acknowledge him. Stolas doesn’t have an internal problem accepting his feelings and who they are for, regardless of status or consequences, he clearly says this in Look My Way and shows it before that with his over the top behavior, he needs someone from outside himself to acknowledge and reciprocate it.
So yeah, I disagree with the idea that Blitzø is the one who needs a public declaration. He might need a private one to take away his excuses but I don’t think he needs Stolas to do what Asmodeus did. What Blitzø seems to need is to be brave enough to declare his feelings for once and not shy away from the attention that comes with that. To accept himself as he is, like Stolas accepts him, and that realize he is just as worthy of love as the other people in his life. Stolas needs a declaration to validate his internal feelings, ease some of his loneliness with confirmed reciprocity and to have outwardly what he wants inwardly.
Thanks for reading if you did. I am sorry for being the way I am.
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So, I've been scared of writing for a long time now. The last time I tried I was so blocked and anxious that just thinking about it made me feel an oppression in my chest.
But I've been feeling so comfortable in this fandom with all your amazing work that I was motivated not only to write again, but doing so in a different language that I'm used to so I can share it with you.
I'm not finished yet, but here is a small extract. Feel free to tell me any mistakes I made, but please be gentle 😅
The truth was... that he was terrified. It was kinda ironic, had all of this happened during his time on the streets (heck, had it happened during those 30 years of despair over that damn portal) it would have felt... liberating. Stan never tried to end his own life, not really. But not because he wanted to live or had hope for the future or some bullshit. It was simply that the mere thought of ending everything felt like losing, like giving up. It was proving his father right: that Stan was just a screw up that would never amount to nothing. Even after being kicked out of the family, Stanley was still a Pines, and Pines are nothing but stubborn. It was that stubbornness that kept him alive when the full force of his loneliness hit him in the middle of the night. When he couldn't remember the last time he felt a touch that wasn't violent or transactional, or both.
#gravity falls#stanley pines#fanfic#tw: sucidal thoughts#sea grunkles#baby's first fic#god it's been years#just sharing this makes me want to hide under the blankets
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