#But it's all so intriguing? The potential of the vagueness of barely knowing him?

[fragmentedblade]

I'm honestly obsessed with Mr. Xiao. He may be my favourite (very) tertiary character ever. I love everything he adds just by being how he is in the context of the worldbuilding and sidequests of the Xianzhou. Arguably something similar happens with master Huaiyan

[aevellewritessometimes]

Again and Again and Again and Again

Or, the reincarnation au fic that I hinted at in my other post, in which a semi-loveless aroace author attempts to write romace by projecting the way they perceive romantic love onto this BAMF demiromantic (hc) bitch who is Bad At Feelings. Additionally, while I was coming up with ideas for this, my brain just went "what if, in this au, MC is the scorned lover from the flower post?" and I kinda just ran with it. Also, I realized late into writing this that there is some great choose-your-own-ending potential here so if you liked this, keep an eye out!

Content Warnings: Gore (not too detailed), implied torture, mentions of captivity, Vere-typical implications of cannibalism, very brief and vague implications of cult activity, mentioned enslavement, death (repetitive in the reader/MC's case), brief allusion to suicidal thoughts (somewhat?) (brief description of being hung on a noose, but only in a metaphorical sense), mentioned starvation (both literal and metaphorical)

Other: Brief Undertale reference, brief Passerine (by ao3 author "blujamas") references (IFYKYK), author does not fully understand how semicolons work, probably improper use of italics, a little moment with "Oh. Oh." vibes Word Count: 3k

This work may be edited in the future if I discover any previously missed typos or content warnings. This work will not be cross-posted anywhere and I will make a direct announcement if that ever changes. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

Vere couldn't quite remember who you were the first time you met. But he didn't really care all that much, anyway. After all, whether you were a wanderer or a noble or even one of his worshipers, it didn't change the fact that the two of you crossed paths.

He didn't think much of you, at first. Just another mortal; just another meal. But for some reason---boredom, most likely---he chose to spare you a while longer, and was surprised to find your company to be even the slightest bit pleasant.

He was more surprised to find himself disappointed at your untimely death. And although he did plan on killing you at the start, it was not his hands that were stained with your blood. However, his footprints certainly were as he stepped through the puddle of your blood and over your mutilated corpse on his way to pay a visit to whoever---or whatever---did kill you.

Ultimately, your death had little impact on him. Decades passed and he barely even remembered the mildly entertaining mortal.

That is, until he encountered someone who strongly resembled you.

At first, he assumed they were just a distant relative. But as he got a closer look, he noticed something off about their soul. Something oddly familiar.

Imagine his surprise once he realized that it was yours.

For whatever reason, this person, who may or may not have been related to you, held your soul instead of having one of their own.

He was intrigued enough to linger near this familiar stranger. Without eating them, might he add.

There were several key differences between you and this... oddity, of course. Different backgrounds, different hobbies, different pet peeves... And yet, if he didn't know any better, he'd say that you two were exactly the same.

Almost as if someone had taken your corpse and hidden you away to bring you back to life. But that wouldn't make any sense at all, and he didn't bother to toy with the theory for longer than a moment.

Unfortunately, Vere didn't get to solve whatever mystery he seemed to have waltzed into. After all, one thing the two of you had shared was your mortality. This one at least spared him some time by succumbing to something more natural.

Vere left what was rest of that one behind, going on with his life. He was a bit disappointed and somewhat confused, but it still didn't affect his routine very much.

That is, until a few more decades later, when he happened upon yet another stranger with a familiar soul.

And then the cycle would repeat, over and over. Faces so different yet so strikingly similar. Personalities shaped differently by various upbringings that all shared the same color scheme. Each one being just curious and diverse enough to catch Vere's attention.

Eventually, Vere simply stopped trying to differentiate between your seemingly unending number of bodies. As far as he was concerned, as long as each one held your soul, it was still you.

Despite all else, it was still you.

And, as much as he loathed to admit it, he actually found you to be quite likeable. More than that, even.

Vere had long observed the relationships of countless mortals; the trust, the closeness, and even the way that their very souls almost seemed to weave themselves together whenever they formed a close friendship or fell in love.

He never thought he'd experience something like that. He never even thought he'd ever care if he did or didn't. He had faithful worshipers, and there was no end of pretty faces and bodies willing to spend a night with him. Why even bother with anything more?

But, once again, he was curious. Curious about why an emotion meant to be so peaceful could lead to just as many petty wars as rage did. Curious about why it was something so important to many of the most famous pieces of art. Curious about why being betrayed or heartbroken would always leave a soul marred with a particularly delectable form of suffering.

So, he tried to make you fall in love with him. It was much more difficult than he initially expected it to be. He's had countless people lust after him, sure, and he was well versed in fueling their desire. But that was something that could be lost overnight. Love, on the other hand, was not. Even when it results in you getting hurt, it takes time for the heart to lose love for someone.

He truly had no idea how to make you actually fall in love with him. On his first attempt, he only managed to become a frequent fling. But, fortunately for him, he had multiple chances.

Love. Such a small, simple word for something so incredibly confusing.

After your last death, he took some time to observe the couples he came across; watching their mannerisms and dates and conversations, scouring for an idea of how these people made things go past simple flings.

He was horrified to eventually find that one of the most important factors was vulnerability. As far as he was concerned, showing your stomach by bearing your weaknesses for someone to see was just begging to be betrayed.

By time he happened across the newest version of you, he was strongly second-guessing his sudden desire for you to fall in love with him. But something within him was practically aching for it. Something he didn't have the words to describe. The only thing he knew for certain was that he wanted it---wanted you.

And he always got what he wanted.

So, he tried again. This time, when he reintroduced himself to you, he decided to leave a faint hint at something he considered vulnerable hidden within all the flirting, innuendos, and thinly-veiled insults. Not enough to be considered consequential, but enough to entice curiosity.

It certainly wasn't something he was used to, and even just that was enough to make him feel a bit agitated. But by your second encounter, he could tell that something was different; all the usual lust-based attraction was there, but there was also a hint of something... new. Something more.

Whatever it was, it wasn't nearly enough to sate his increasingly inconvenient desires. Instead, it just seemed to add fuel to the fire.

And despite his hesitance, he repeated his actions. It was different each time: sometimes he noted a color he liked, other times a smell he disliked. Eventually, it led to him finding a few things you had in common. Other times, it led to petty, meaningless arguments.

He eventually managed to get some genuine smiles or laughs out of you. In return, you would sometimes manage to get a genuine chuckle out of him, along with a brief thrashing of his tail.

It wasn't always smooth sailing: maybe he'd take his teasing too far, or you'd just catch him on a shitty day. But soon enough, one of you would swallow your pride and apologize, and the two of you would go on as usual.

He could feel his seemingly unquenchable desire grow at a rate which scared even him, but he could tell that there was something similar growing within you, as well.

You were the first one to show true vulnerability. It caught him completely off guard: both the confession, and the way it made him feel.

Usually, Vere was the reason people needed comfort. He didn't have even half a clue of how to be comforting, or even if comfort was something you wanted or needed.

He settled on giving you some harshly-phrased but well-intended advice. And fortunately for him, it seemed to have worked.

But the way that you apparently trusted him enough to bear your stomach to him, even briefly... At first, he thought he was simply satisfied with the way his plan was coming along, but that explanation only covered a small part of it.

Your brief instance of trust made him feel like he was a starving man who had just been given a small morsel of food. It sated his hunger for a moment, but it wasn't enough to fill him. Soon enough, he was starving again.

He wondered if it was you who was starving him, or if he had simply been born hungry.

He wondered if you were starving, too; if he was the one starving you.

If the answer to that was yes, then there was a small part of him which wanted nothing more than to give you a feast, but that part of him was outweighed by the part that felt disgusted at the idea of someone having any kind of power over him.

But he knew that one of the other things he found made people fall in love was mutuality. If you were giving him food, he would have to feed you in return.

He resolved that it you tried anything, he'd just kill you.

He didn't reveal too much, but there wasn't enough vitriol in the world to accurately describe just how he felt about it. But you didn't do anything about it. You offered what he assumes was comfort or advice, but that was it.

You didn't mock him. You didn't try to use it as leverage or gain some kind of upper hand. You didn't do or say a single thing to make him feel any sort of betrayal.

It was just another hardly satisfying morsel for him.

This was the instance which made him finally question his desire for you; the bottomless pit of hunger; the endless longing; the exhilarating thought of you being able to trust him, and the terrifying thought that he could trust you.

The answer hit him like a knife to the gullet.

All this time, he was trying to get you to fall in love with him, and he didn't even consider for even a moment that he could've fallen in love with you, too---much less that he could've fallen first.

Love. Such a small, simple word for something that could inflict so much terror.

His first instinct was to run; leave the two of you starving for the sake of his own sanity. But Vere had seen and tasted the suffering that came from heartbreak and betrayal, and it pained him to imagine that burden and pain weighing on your soul.

That and, well. It would make him appear incredibly weak and cowardly to just run away like some teenager caught with a hookup. And he couldn't risk leaving such a humiliating impression on you, now, could he?

Time went on. Mutual vulnerability; slowly being less dreadful each time. No more morsels, just meals. No longer starving, just hungry.

All the questions he had about love were slowly starting to make more and more sense.

But all good things must come to an end; you were mortal, after all.

Death had never affected Vere much. At most, he was inconvenienced. But this, like everything else about you, made him feel something new.

Sure, he already knew---or was at least relatively certain---that your death wasn't permanent, that he could find you again.

Mourning, unfortunately for him, wasn't an emotion that gave a fuck about logic.

Love. Such a small, simple word for something with the potential to cause so much pain.

He didn't even question his lack of questions about going after you again. And again. And again and again and again.

The cycle was somewhat painful for him: having to wait for twenty or thirty years to pass; finding you again; trying to get you to trust him again whilst assessing if he can trust this new version of you; trying to get you to fall in love with him again while he was already smitten for you; staying with you as you died; repeat.

He couldn't tell which part of it was the worst. But as far as he was concerned, it was worth the pain every time.

Sometimes, he'd question why you: what about you made him fall so hard?

There wasn't a solid answer to that question. Or if there was, he couldn't find it. A part of him didn't care to.

It was almost funny; he was so terrified of you using him and his feelings to gain some sort of power over him. And yet, here you are, with the power to maneuver him like a puppet, yet no want or knowledge of it.

Sometimes it scares him, but he usually doesn't mind much these days.

It's a shame, then, that nothing ever lasts forever.

He tried not to recall the details of what happened that day; how he managed to lose to a group of pesky, mortal mages; their robes as white and bloodstained as the snow they stood in, towering over his limp form as they forced a collar around his neck and a harness on his chest like a broken stray.

He was dragged away and locked in a tower's dungeon. He tried to bite and snap at their prodding hands, growing more and more desperate with each attempt. And yet, he didn't even manage a nick or a flesh wound, thanks to the enchantment he soon realized coursed through the collar and harness.

It filled him with a brand new form of rage. Of fear.

Though he loathed to admit it, he felt completely and entirely helpless and paralyzed during those first few weeks.

He wondered if you worried about him. Of course you would care if he were in danger, but he was sure he had you convinced---or should he say fooled---that he was untouchable; that him being in any true danger simply wasn't possible. So, he wondered if you worried about him; about why he hadn't been home for weeks.

Did you think he was in danger? Or did you think he abandoned you?

He tried not to think of you too much. He had an escape to plan, after all. He'd just have to figure out the best way to clarify things once he made it back.

At some point, the mages began ordering him around. Nothing he wanted to do, but was forced to do so by the collar. It wasn't much: just pacing back and forth in his cell. Degrading, sure, but something he could bear if it meant gaining a chance at freedom.

Once they were satisfied,his cell door was opened. His first instinct was to lunge out, but their apparent leader---a woman wearing a mask---ordered him into docility.

Pity. He'd have to wait a while longer, then.

The masked woman hooked a leash through the loop on his collar---as if being beaten, collared, and caged like some mangy mutt wasn't humiliating enough---and ordered him to follow.

The only thing keeping his pride from falling into ruin was how the mages escorting him were still on edge, despite all their precautions.

Initially, he just tried to focus on the twists and turns and doors he was led through, attempting to make a mental map of his prison.

That is, until he was being led down a cramped, dank corridor.

The hall itself wasn't special. The thing that caught his attention was the faint scent that haunted it. The faint scent that sent a new wave a dread through him.

Your scent.

Just why, exactly, did this hallway smell of you? And why was it getting stronger as they approached a door at the end of it?

He already suspected---no. He knew the answer before one of the mages even removed the key from their pocket. He just didn't want to admit it. He so badly wanted to be wrong.

There you were, shackled to the far wall of the cramped, dimly lit cell.

Your clothing was torn in a few places. Their were bruises pretty much wherever your skin was exposed. Dried blood caked your hands and fingernails. You were trembling, both from the cold and from fear. It hadn't looked like you had anything to eat. There were heavy bags under your eyes.

If Vere didn't want every bastard in that tower to die painful deaths already, he certainly wanted that now.

The masked woman barely spared you a glance. Instead, she unhooked the leash, stepped away from the door, and uttered two words:

"Kill them."

It all happened so slowly.

The collar forced him to move before he could fully process the order. You glanced up at him, barely even having a moment to recognize him before he was on you. His claws tore through your flesh. Bones snapped. Your screams pierced the air. Your blood stained his hands. No matter how much he wanted to stop, he couldn't.

"Enough."

At last, he was able to stop. At last, he was able to see the carnage he wrought.

Somehow, you were still alive, though there would be no chance of saving you. You lied there in a puddle of your own blood, twitching and writhing in pain. You choked on whatever blood was left in your body. Tears brimmed your eyes as you looked up at him.

He could clearly see the emotions clouding your eyes---your soul. The betrayal. The heartbreak. The pain.

If you were anyone else, he would've taken great pleasure at the sight: some poor, naive fool who fell for his charms and was betrayed by his hand; soon to be a meal, body and soul.

If you were anyone else, he'd revel at the feeling of being covered in blood after a satisfying hunt and would later be annoyed by the inconvenient process of having to clean it off.

But you weren't anyone else. No matter how many lives you've gone through, you were you. You were always you.

It brought up a new feeling for him: heavy feeling of... emptiness.

He didn't bother to pay attention to the chattering of the mages as he was leashed and escorted back to his cell. He could only think of you. Of your limp soon-to-be corpse. Of your eyes. Of your soul as its shape began to change shape right in front of his eyes. Of your blood, staining his footsteps and marking his unwilling path. Of you.

The emptiness soon turned to something else. Something too cold to call rage.

The name of this new feeling didn't matter to him. All that did matter was that he was going to make sure anyone else who dared breathe in this godsforsaken tower would feel twice the anguish you had felt in the final moments of your life.

Soon.

The word repeated in his head like a prayer.

It didn't matter how much time had passed: years.

Decades.

He still held onto it when the better part of a few centuries had passed.

The cold feeling almost made him feel as if he were going insane, some days. Whenever that happened, he would indulge in someone else in order to distract himself. He usually killed his flings by the next morning, with there being a few, very rare exceptions.

There was one other thing he felt during his years of enslavement, nestled alongside the hollow, cold feeling: hope.

There were many interpretations of the concept of hope found in many different stories and poems. Some viewed it as an ethereal thing. Some viewed at as a skill.

To Vere, it was a noose hanging over a pit. It would strangle him for as long as it remained around his neck, but it would drop him to his death the moment it was cut off.

Even if living as a particularly useful pet was a special kind of pain, he could not let it kill him. While his original captors were long gone by now, the ones who took their places were hellbent on carrying the legacy. And so, his oath of vengeance applied to them in the place of the originals.

The only problem was: how to get the collar off of his neck so he could act on that oath?

Ais, the one person in the city he was willing to consider tolerable (and vice-versa), could certainly take on a few pesky little mages. And despite what others probably assumed of him, he would probably be smart enough to figure out how to work with the enchantments on the collar. Unfortunately, Vere would most likely be forced to kill him before the two of them could get very far.

Kuras might have been powerful enough to manage it, but he hated Vere as much as he hated the Senobium, and wouldn't mind seeing Vere rot away under their command; seeing as it would mean that he was dead and the Senobium was without one of their greatest assets.

Mhin was desperate to get into the damned place, sure, but there's no way they would ever agree to helping him. Not yet, at least. Maybe if he waited a while longer and they grew a bit more desperate, then he may have a chance. Although, the reluctance was very much reciprocated; perhaps he'd have to wait for himself to grow a bit more desperate as well.

And don't even get him started on that damned, flea-ridden mutt.

He was mulling over his regrettably limited options while waiting for whichever cleric had the displeasure of dealing with him that day when he spotted an outsider, looking lost as they cautiously stumbled through his alleyway.

A stranger. A very familiar stranger.

Part Two >

[beastologist]

It's interesting how different the perspectives within a fandom can be. I keep coming across (often not so friendly) posts that claim that Tommy is boring, how we barely know anything about him (aside from the Begins episodes), how bad he is for not making up to Chim and Hen on screen (I believe after 6 ½ seasons we should be used to the fact that a lot of stuff happens off-screen and is mentioned casually on-screen, even apologies), questioning why people already adore Buck and Tommy so much even though there's not (yet) much content, and honestly? That's precisely why I am intrigued by how the relationship between Buck and Tommy will progress. It's new, and it's exciting to have a vaguely known character who used to be part of the 118 return and become Buck's Bi Awakening. I don't mind how little we know by the beginning because I want to see this relationship and the characters involved grow with time, just like Bathena and Maddney have grown with time. However, Buck has done so much individual character growth during the seasons that this relationship and how it started have the unique potential to be less about traumatic events. It does have the potential to be sweet, lighthearted, and all about fluff. That's how I perceive BuckTommy and why I am looking forward to see them thrive :)

[starvingtongue]

Zephyr's Baldur's Gate 3 verse. Some things are intentionally left vague because I'm not 100% on the details.

half high-elf, half human, though the latter is tinged with elf as well, but they don't know what kind. dad's the human, mum's the high elf.

very magically inclined via both her parents, but her mother's the better mage.

both parents are Wizards and thus, so is Zephyr. while they both have a small amount of magic within them, it's not enough for either parent or Zephyr to be considered a sorcerer. both her parents got where they are, magic wise, by studying, something that they pass onto Zephyr.

born in somewhere that I've yet to decide, Zephyr showed signs of being a talented mage, to no-ones surprise.

went through some training to contain her magic, as she showed signs of being powerful. was eventually sent to Waterdeep in Faerun in a hopes of being taught more about how to control her magic and some other areas.

on the trip to Waterdeep, her party was attacked by vampires. despite their best efforts, all but two of her party were killed; Zephyr and one other. she doesn't know what happened to the other person, but Zephyr was left for dead and rose as a vampire.

her creator does not seem to care too much about reigning in her free will, partially because they don't realise they've created a spawn.

a coven happens to find her wandering by herself and takes her in. she spends the next 30ish years with them, before the den gets found by some vampire hunters, and all but Zephyr escapes.

similar to her main verse, after getting over the shock, she hunts down those that killed her coven and murders them.

after this, she wanders a bit before hearing talk about magically infused machines in a wizard's tower in the Underdark. intrigued by the concept, she makes her way into the Underdark. she finds the Arcane Tower, albeit abandoned, and barely makes her way inside unscathed.

she enjoys what she finds, becoming rather enamoured by the research Lenore left behind, in terms of Bernard (the construct that Lenore left behind), automatons in general, and the research she was doing into the magic of the underdark. she spents a 3 years in the tower, researching, and then practicing with trying to build upon the things that Lenore left behind.

over time, however, she becomes obsessed with the idea of more magically infused machines like Bernard, and upon learning about the grymforge, makes her way there. she hopes that the grymforge might be the key to help her create more of these machines and help her infuse them with more magical properties.

tempted by the idea of having her multi-class into an artificer at this point, purely because of how obsessed she gets about with wanting to be able to infuse magic into machines.

she spends the next 10 years in the Underdark, trying to figure out the best way to use the forge to create magically infused machines. through some means, the vampire that creates her, hears of what she's been doing and sends some of his other spawn to come get her. she puts up a fight, but ultimately can't compete with them all and gets dragged back to her master.

it's here that she spends the next 65 years with the vampire that created her. he makes her a deal, wherein she helps him gain the ability to walk in the sun without burning (he thinks it can be dealt with by using her magically infused machines and/or the power of the underdark) and gain mass amounts of power (potentially via the black mass) and he'll release her from being his spawn. he has to reign her in a little bit from time to time when she tries to rebel, but otherwise lets her have free reign of all base of operation.

eventually, she starts growing more and more rebellious and pushes the boundaries of what was agreed. this gets to a point where either her master banishes her from the coven and releases her from his service, but places a curse on her to stop her from speaking about her experience and what he's after or she gets so tired of his abuse that she (and several other spawn) murders him and drinks some of his blood before he truly dies, all becoming True Vampires. either way, she's no longer bound to him as a spawn.

after this, she spends a few years wandering across Faerun, absorbing in everything she's missed. it's during this period that she gets approached by a member of the Society of Brilliance, after finding evidence of being in the underdark. they want her to continue her research and she readily accepts.

she fills them in with what she's learned so far, as well as the bits and pieces she learned during her stay with her master. she was able to figure out that there's a connection between the grymforge and the Gauntlet of Sharr, but having no connection to Sharr, can't complete the Gauntlet herself, and still wants to investigate. there's also some magical research from Lenore left that she'd like to investigate further, mainly with the magical properties of the underdark. the Society of Brilliance tells her they have a couple of agents in the underdark already (Blurg and Ome) and should she need any help, to contact them. after learning of their invovlement with the myconids, she's even more intrigued by the magical properties they posses and wonders if they can help with her magical machinery idea. in any case, Zephyr notes this and goes into the Underdark once again.

she spends many a year researching the connection between the Gauntlet and the grymforge, but makes little progess. she flips flops between this and infusing machinery with magic again. she manages to create a few small pieces in the grymforge (the mechanical spiders, like in her canon), but nothing close to a magical automaton.

other ideas that are floating around in my brain that I'm not 100% set on making a reality, but would be happy to explore.

there could be potential for her to get captured by the nautiloid shortly after the Society of Brilliance talks to her. more so as in, they hear about a years worth of updates from her, and then she suddenly goes missing. she only reappears when the party is going through the underdark again. she'll keep quiet about knowing about the tower and the grymforge unless in Tav's party and prompted, mainly cause she doesn't know how to turn the canons off, and the Duegar moved into the area around the grymforge after she was taken by her master.

[iobartach]

*cracks knuckles* okay, huge props are to be given to ziggy for helping me to lay this out, but let's go over some hcs for mig's dóchas lofa / invincible au ! 👀 ;

so beginnings; unremarkable family, ma still around, brother gabriel doing his thing, george o'hara dies as usual. no tyler stone in this / at least not yet.

still a geneticist, interns at the Global Defense Agency , becomes full-time after graduating from university.

works on his usual research, developing a new technique in gene splicing. the conception of his gene imprinting technique was inspired (and motivated) by his own daughter's condition. yes, gabriella exists in this AU, but she's in a coma, afflicted by a condition that he has yet to find a cure for (*wink wink* it's not of extraterrestrial origin 👀).

so, in order to keep her on life support, until a cure is found, miguel relies heavily on his GDA gig to cover the costs of such care. plus, it also provides him with the means to run tests and experiment with potential cures.

and everything is swell until he goes to give a demonstration of his work, using the imprinting technique on a willing test subject to combine their DNA with something else. (deliberately keeping details vague, as it could give rise to an original villain here if anyone's interested 👀)

the test subject survives, horribly changed, endowed with enhanced powers, but escapes, leaving Miguel to face a severe amount of backlash for the disaster. to nobody's surprise, it costs him his job -- and with it, his funding. 😔

immensely crushed by this, desperate to keep gabriella alive, he tries at first to seek help elsewhere, burning through the entirety of his contacts with no luck; following the GDA incident, his reputation is now in tatters. no one is willing to give him a chance.

thus, left without any alternative, he turns to a last resort; he decides to use his gene imprinting technique on himself.

hence, one night, he breaks into the GDA, knowing exactly where to go. he finds his old machine, still intact and in the same place, suggesting that, in spite of his dismissal, the agency still intended to continue the work he had begun.

disgusted by this, full of resentment, miguel set the machine's settings to max, disabling all safeguards as he stepped inside, knowing full well that the gene imprinting would either kill him, or, somehow, it will work as intended.

and as it happened... it did work! mig emerged irrevocably changed, sporting venomous fangs, terrifying red eyes, and claws just to name a few. overcome by his transformation, he barely remembers what happened next, failing to register the way his sharpened digits tore at the chest of a security guard, who had tried to stop him, or how, using his newfound strength, he carved out his own exit, disappearing into the night

now empowered, the change had not only altered his physical condition, but his mind as well. it had amplified his aggression, blunted his capacity to empathise towards others, as he became focused exclusively on gabriella's health and wellbeing.

stopping at nothing to ensure her continued survival, miguel turns his mutated gifts to villainous means, launching a number of robberies to accrue the money required to help gabriella, brushing elbows with a few heroes in the process. their involvement had caused him to abandon some heists, when the chances of success were slim, but these were few and far between.

after several months of this, miguel would eventually stumble across The Order , a secretive, organised crime network that had become intrigued by his plight and his actions. intending to solve the problem regarding his finances, the organisation offered to fund his work, and even lay open new resources if he agreed to take on a few jobs in return

so, without needing to debate it in his mind, miguel jumped at the chance, willing to do whatever it was that The Order asked of it him, be it killing or leveraging his scientific expertise

for miguel, morality had... lost meaning a long time ago. nothing else mattered in this world than the chance to see his daughter awaken for the first time in years, flash him with her bright, gleeful smile that he missed immensely. to save her from her illness, from a slow, withering death that is encroaching faster than desired with each passing day.

and should he fail at that, or should she perish, regardless of his best efforts, then the entire world will suffer for it.

[s-c-g-s-c-g]

⭐for "Weddings and Other Methods of Deadly Swamp Access" bc I'm obsessed with that fic lost count how many times I've read it!

Weddings and Other Methods of Deadly Swamp Access! Thanks for asking about it! I'm so happy you enjoy it!

There are a few tropes/concepts that when I first started I loved reading but didn't feel capable of writing myself. As I've gotten better and more confident I've taken it as a bit of a challenge to make them happen. No, I'm Not Afraid to Disappear, which was plotted out around the same time, was a take on my love of time travel fix-its.

One of the tropes that I often gravitate to when I'm feeling overwhelmed or sick is arranged marriages. I really enjoy reading them for all the emotions and fears inherent in marrying someone you barely know/have never met/may never love. I started writing it as a distraction tactic in the aftermath of a family member's health emergency.

So, I vaguely wanted to write a romance with arranged marriage elements. I'd been giving a lot of thought to why the Jedi appealed to me so much as a child and I realized that a big part of my love for them was that they didn't place a huge emphasis on romance or sex. Aside from Anakin, who little me thought was dramatic and weird, they didn't seem to mind that they were missing something my community told me was essential.

This got me thinking about exploring something along the lines of a "Jedi gets accidentally married in some random ceremony and it's no big deal." I narrowed down my Jedi, settled on Feemor because I love him and he fit the vibe of competent but potentially a little flappable. Jaster was an easy choice from there cause I love shoving Mandalorians and Jedi at each other and the rarepair intrigued me.

Originally I was thinking a short multi-chapter but I was having a lot of fun wordbuilding and I wanted stakes. Getting married via some ceremony is fun and all but I needed proximity to get my secondary goal of feelings. I also needed them both to go through with it. Well, when in doubt about how to get a non-Death Watch Mandalorian and a Jedi to spend time together: Death Watch and little children. They really are a useful organization.

One thing I did not anticipate having much of a role was the darksaber. Personally, the idea that it's status was cemented only after the loss of most of the people who disagreed adds to the tragedy of death watch and the empire for me. I was having a lot of darksaber thoughts lol

Feemor and Jaster's relationship in this fic is genuinely my best attempt at writing an aspirational romantic relationship, albeit a very queer one with an unusual final dynamic. The biggest surprise for me once I started posting this fic was the aro vibes people mentioned getting from it. In hindsight, yeah, I can see it.

And to round this rambling director's cut out! I left it ambiguous as to whether there's anything to the waters and the skies choices or if it's just the mayor's troublemaking but Feemor and Jaster do work out! Even if it isn't what the mayor had in mind, I like to think it means something.

[wutheringmights]

The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins is an overall disappointing read. Do I think it’s clever and humorous? Yes. Is it also drowning in squandered potential? Double yes. (And will I be using this review as an opportunity to procrastinate on my writing? Triple yes.)

I first heard of this book through a booktuber, who pitched it as “Nona the Ninth, but better.” I haven’t read Nona the Ninth, but I was markedly disappointed by my reading of Gideon the Ninth a few months ago. I thought a book that had similar ideas but better execution would be a perfect fit for me. 

I never actually wrote a full ramble about Gideon the Ninth, and I really am regretting it now. I really wish I could just post a link to that review for context and then move on. But I didn’t, so here’s a brief summary of the relevant stuff. 

Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir has a really fascinating world and the hints of an intriguing plot that is bogged down by poor execution. The plot never gained real momentum or stakes, and every instance of humor broke my suspension of disbelief. The book is also extremely opaque, to the point where it’s actively hostile to new readers. There’s a difference between throwing readers into the middle of the world and telling them to figure it out, and making it so confusing on purpose that you have to reread the book. Some readers can like or excuse that; I can’t. 

To some extent, The Library at Mount Char has better execution, if only because it is not determined to be indecipherable to the casual reader. Not every question it raises gets answered, but it knows how to meter out information effectively so that you’re never truly lost. It also has a better sense of humor (to an extent). All of its jokes are rooted in making fun of pop-culture, but because the story takes place in America, it never takes me out of the moment. It also never relies on referential humor. I will spare you my full-length rant. Just know that jokes that I have beef with humor that boils down to just making references to other jokes. 

Despite all that, Gideon the Ninth is still the better novel, if only because it takes full advantage of its conceit. On one hand, The Library at Mount Char has a fascinating idea at its core. The man our main character calls god has a library filled with all knowledge, which is broken up into twelve catalogs. Each catalog is mastered by one of his twelve apprentices. When god disappears, the apprentices now have to fight for who has control of the library, and therefore the universe. 

Cool stuff, right?

The story’s not really about that. None of the apprentices fight each other, and our main character, Carolyn, isn’t really our main character. Most of the apprentices are barely mentioned by name and they (spoiler) mostly die two-thirds of the way through. Our real main character is Steve, who is just Some Guy being dragged along by an extraordinary woman. It’s so standard, and none of the weird set-dressings can disguise it. We’ve read this story before (much in the same way Gideon the Ninth is a stock-standard vaguely-important-people-compete-in-deadly-game-for-more-power plotline, a la Lightlark). 

Gideon the Ninth isn’t really the best comparison to make. Muir and Hawkins may have crept onto similar ideas here and there, but their inspiration comes from elsewhere. Muir was obviously inspired by Homestuck and anime. Hawkins so obviously admires the works of Neil Gaimen. 

Fun fact: I am a long time Neil Gaimen hater. I have never mentioned this before, as up until very recently this was the Neil Gaimen loving website. But I am well-known in real life for not liking his novels. Gaimen is an author who has really cool ideas, and no ability to effectively execute on them. American Gods, Good Omens, Caroline, Stardust: all of them have deeply disappointed me in numerous ways. Despite giving him four tries, I always get harassed about how I’m just reading the wrong work. I won’t get Gaimen until I read the Sandman comics, Graveyard Boys, or that one with the London subway system. To that, I say no. I’m not doing it. I’ve given him enough chances. I’m not going to waste my time any longer. 

A lot of my least favorite Gaimen-isms creep their way into The Library at Mount Char, such as the clunky way he handles writing women. Women are cool and competent, but he never finds them to be as compelling as men. His concern for women’s issues always circle back to sexual assault. Carolyn should be a fantastic character, but the narrative is never concerned about her. She’s a machination for the plot, and nothing more. 

Hawkins also follows Gaimen’s path of having a weird hang-up on some sex thing, but instead of being overtly dedicated to informing the reader how much and what kind of sex every woman in the story wants, Hawkins is very concerned with anal sex. There are constant jokes about men putting things up their butt, and none of them are particularly original or in good taste. A prison rape joke stands out in my mind. Another is how the backstory of a character’s estranged relationship with her son being boiled down to her seeing him, verbatim, take something up his ass (this is part of a trend I find in male writers where their attempts to include topics not about straight men becomes weirdly othering; see aforementioned sexual assault). 

Then, after a hundred pages of this joke, Just Some Guy Steve has to shove some medicine up his butt, and bam. Joke over. We never hear about it again. What a weird set-up and pay off. 

I’ve spent so long talking about Gaimen and Muir’s works because, by itself, The Library at Mount Char doesn’t leave much to talk about. If I disengage from what I thought the plot was going to be about and only focus on what it is there, it’s fine. Underwhelming, but fine. I really like the dialogue. There are multi-page streaks of characters just dialogue that never feels stale or sparse because the dialogue is that vivid. 

Besides that? Eh. It’s truly just okay. It’s not as weird as what the reviews will tell you, nor as gruesome. It’s a middling fantasy story in the style of American Gods. The novel ends on a note that heavily implies a possible sequel. If it happens, I’ll have to pass. One was enough for me. 

--

The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins

Rating: 3/5 ⭐⭐⭐

[saltysskin]

Like a Ghost

König x f!reader// noncon creepy desperate colonel (NSFW // MDNI) mention of masturbation

Little did either of us know, one of König’s colleagues, Simon or Ghost, followed him last night. He kept close but out of sight, relying on König to be too distracted to detect him. They’d been friends for years, working on too many jobs to count. So when König started showing up hours late to training multiple nights in a row he became concerned. At first sight of me ghost was surprised, not expecting to find König alone with a pretty blonde girl. He’d never seen me on base before, and was interested in knowing how König managed to find me first. Knowing König was a introvert, being completely uninterested of going out to clubs or out at all; but what he didn’t know was that neither did I. Bonding over being touch starved from lack of intimacy platonic and romantic. Simon kept this up nearly the entire night, but decided to bail once he ended up finding himself in a scrapyard watching his good friend potentially get laid. “You're not gonna fuckin’ believe this,” Simon busted into the shared barracks, where his other colleagues lived. With Soap, Price and Gaz all in ear shot; Ghost couldn't help but spill his discovery. “König has a girlfriend,” He confessed, with only scoffs and laughs in response. “No fuckin’ way,” Soap grunted, looking over to read the room. “He tell you that?” Price asked, not entertained in the slightest. “I followed him,” Simon confessed, “Sounds romantic,” Gaz laughed out loud. “He was late to training twice,” He elaborated. “He went to her dorm, and when she wasn’t there, he waited for 2 hours.” Simon leaned against the wall facing the men, “When she got home, she had a little black dress on, so they went for a walk,” Ghost continued, “And?” Price was intrigued now, everyone was. “I followed em, to an old shit spot,” Simon continued, “Did you watch em?” Soap laughed, “I can’t imagine seein’ that man fuck anything,” Gaz elbowed Price. “I left after I heard her called König a good boy,” He cleared his throat, making the whole room erupt in laughter. “König’s gotta girlfriend,” Soap laughed to himself, “About time,” Price admitted.

I was in the gym earlier than usual, hating every second of it. Too many people, having to weave in between people to get to different weights. It'd been about an hour before I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Glancing over I noticed a familiar face, staring at me. When he approached me I noticed who he was, my roommates boyfriend. “Hey D,” He greeted me, “Hey,” I replied, turning to him now. “How's it going?” Something was off, he seemed nervous. “It's going, you know,” I answered vaguely. "I gotta question for ya," he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, my intrigue was short lived when he elaborated. “You dating the colonel now?” My cheeks burned from his words, making me brush my hair behind my ear. “Where’d you hear that?” I asked him, keeping my cool, and if I’m honest I didn’t really know the answer. “Y’all went to movie night together, right?” He asked me, “He asked me, yeah.” I answered, He began making comments about König, calling him a ‘Machine,’ and ‘cold blooded,’ as he continued to ramble I couldn’t wrack my brain on what his name was. “Have you seen his face yet? What’s he look like?” he asked, Not being able to read the room, this man I barely knew continued fangirling over König. I understood the obsession, laughing at him as he continues to converse with himself. I was able to eventually slip away from him, out of the gym. Ducking into the ladies room, I gathered my things out of my locker, hearing my phone buzzing against the metal. I grabbed it glancing at it to read the time, then glanced down noticing a few missed messages.

König: Have you eaten today?

König: Let’s grab lunch?

König: Let me know

Daisy: Heading to the mess hall now!

König: Saved you a seat x

I couldn’t shake the comments that were made about König. Cold blooded, I thought, I mean he doesn’t show his face often, mainly wearing a sniper hood. How normal can he be? Being cast out breeds a specific type of person, a silent rage that lurks. Id made it to the mess hall, it was practically empty. Weaving in between tables, I finally found him, how could I miss him? “König,” I cooed, touching his shoulder as he turned around to face me. “Hallo, blume,” His mask was tucked up exposing his face, since he was eating and all. “Blume?” I wondered out loud, while scooting closer to the table. He looked up at me, acknowledging my curiosity, allowing a smile to creep into the corners of his mouth. “Oh uh, it’s flower in German,” wiping his mouth as he chewed his food. “Flower?” I repeated, smiling into my fingers that covered my mouth in an attempt to keep my cool. Looking up at him, meeting his eyes with mine. So that’s what your smile looks like, I thought. Burning it into my brain for later. After eating, I sat back in my chair, filled to the brim with food, I pushed my nearly empty plate towards König’s pile of empty plates. “I had someone ask me if we were dating today,” I tried to be casual. He looked up at me, not able to read his face, I studied his body language, which was tense and fidgety. “And?” König sat back in his chair now, I shrugged, “seemed like quite the fan of you though,” I added while looking away. “What is this?” He asked while shrugging, I laughed in response, “Inconclusive,” I crossed my arms, making him shift where he sat. “I thought it was obvious when you were calling me a good boy,” His voice was gruff and flirty, I swallowed hard. “I suppose I should’ve made it clearer,” He continued, “Two fingers maybe wasn’t enough,” grinning now as he pulled his mask back down, retreating back underneath. My face was glowing red, as I sat across from him, while he was saying these things. “Don’t be embarrassed, you were a sight.” He hummed at me, “You think about that night a lot Colonel?” I asked him annoyed, “Only when I’m alone,” He answered confidently. “Do you? Ever think about that night?” König asked leaning in towards me. All the time, I thought. That morning I went home only to find small hickeys that he left on my thighs. His dried saliva was stained on my skin, making me hesitant to shower. I fluttered my eyes at him, nervous from the question. “All the time,” I answered vaguely, brushing my hair behind my ear while looking away. He watched me shrink where I sat, “Sucking on my mask trying to find my mouth,” He laughed, “Adorable,” He continued shaking his head. My gaze softened when he called me adorable, having to remind myself that I wasn’t the only desperate one here. “You were the one on your knees,” I tilted my head, “I couldn’t even touch you without you wincing, you were practically leaking,” I tried humiliating him, only for him to relish in it. Begging me to continue, “Go on blume,” He insisted resting his head on his hand. His big blue eyes kept me in a daze, longing for me from across the table.

The first time König noticed me I’d just gotten back to base after being deployed with my unit for two weeks, in the middle of nowhere with no electricity or running water. I was standing in one of the hangers, unloading my gear into my locker. I peeled off the layers of my clothes, making grunts and groans. Leaving only my tank top on and sand fatigue pants. The dirt rose above me like a cloud, I sat down on a bench, before pulling my tanned dirty balaclava off my of head. My thick blonde curls bursting at the seams as the snug cloth began to move. My hair was long falling by my sides and down my back, pushing my fingers through it to remove the dust. König’s never see me before, arriving at my base while I was gone. He stood not too far from me, I reckon I was too whipped to notice him. He was too worried to approach me, in fear that I wouldn’t know who he was, pathetically relying on his title as Colonel to have an excuse to talk to me. While lost in his thoughts, I’d disappeared in the women’s showers, so he waited. The water that washed off of me was muddy, the steam kept my muscles tender and relaxed. Washing my hair multiple times, while brushing my teeth as well. Scrubbing myself until my arms were tired. It was almost like clock work, I dried off, got dressed and headed out to meet up with Captain Price. It was only a meeting, afterwards my plans were to retreat back to my dorm and remain dormant. König followed me, half way across base trying to decipher his next move. I allowed my hair to air dry, leaving the curls coiled but a little frizzy. I wish I cared, I was running on fumes. “There you are!” I heard him call across the room, “About time,” He continued, “Yes sir,” I replied, before he invited me into his office. I sat down, as we went over the details of my last deployment, I filled him in. The details weren’t groundbreaking but needed to be treated with care anyway. I was thorough in my paperwork, dotting all of my i’s and crossing my t’s. The topic at hand was naturally annoying, questioning why I used which medicine and for what. After about 20 minutes of debating and arguing there was a loud knock coming from the door. “What?” Price called out, assuming it was a grunt, I turned to watch the door open only for a large figure to step into the room. “Colonel,” Price stood up and approached him, I followed his lead doing the same. Price greeted König as if they were boys, because they were. I stood up and approached the 6’7 ft man, who wore a sniper hood most of the time, that isn’t terrifying at all. “Colonel,” I greeted, reaching for his hand. He accepted my hand, keeping his grip soft, holding my hand for a moment, longer than usual, the only person that noticed was me. Making eye contact with him, I kept my cool. Allowing his ice blue eyes to study me, in a gross state. König humored Price, hitting his arm as they shook hands, “Colonel this is Daisy Kay, she’s the lead medic on her unit,” Price kept it short and sweet. During the intense discussion between Price and I, König waited, after watching me enter his office. Impatiently, deciding to intrude on our meeting, playing dumb as if he had no idea and apologized. “Excuse me, nice meeting you,” He hurried out of the room, once he got the information he needed he disappeared for multiple days.

He didn’t mean to start stalking me, it started with him peaking at my file; looking for me online. “So many friends..” He hummed while lurking through my instagram. Looking at pictures of me and my friends in Europe one summer, lucky for him there were plenty of them. His face burned seeing me in a bikini online, ruffling his feathers; over someone who wasn’t his. Shamelessly saving his favorite photos of me on his phone. Reading the comments under every photo, creeping on the men who dare to like or comment. He was trying to understand my type, hoping to chameleon his way into my life. “Blonde maybe? or brown?” He mumbled to himself, sitting on his phone like a teenager. None of the men König snuffed out were anything like him, which worried him. Losing track of time between days, skipping on his training, he eventually found himself outside of my window. Intrigued at how unaware I was, poor thing, he thought, as one of his hands started massaging his bulge. To his credit, I had very little clothing on and even began to masturbate at one point. He watched me closely, trying to see my face when I climax. It wasn’t until later when Price made himself known to König. It was late now, and only Price knows why he was even there, but when König saw him, he didn’t rush to hide or start to panic. He put himself away like normal before turning to Price, moving away from the window to talk. “Do I even wanna know?” Price was surprised and shocked, a little pissed too. König didn’t have an explanation, it was exactly what it looked like. They stood there in the dark, awkwardly. “What the fuck am I suppose to make of this?” Price bitched, “A colonel jerkin’ it outside of a medics window?” He continued, getting closer to König now. “You’d lose everything if I were someone else,” König kept eye contact as he always has. König said nothing. He took the heat from Price happily, having shared the same thoughts as the captain. “Thats what scares you König? Not any of the jobs we’ve pulled, but her?” Price was baring his teeth now. “Pathetic,” He added, König took that opportunity to look down, breaking the eye contact now. Price studied König after chewing him out, he’d never seen him this way before. “How long you been doin’ this, K?” Price wondered out loud, “One month? Two?” He looked away from König, standing in the dark, awkwardly Price made a decision. “You’re getting her number tomorrow, so that this stops,” Price demanded.

[livingfictionsystem]

[BOOK REVIEW: Well, less of a review, more of a rant. SPOILERS.]

.

.

.

This book has gotten recommended to me by my algorithm so many times that I finally gave in. It's standing nice and proud in every fantasy section I've ever wandered through, but how was it really? Well, let me tell you.

The premise is that two sisters are trapped with their tyrant of a father, with Scarlett's main plan of escape to be marrying a mysterious count that she's only communicated with via letters. Donatella, the younger sister, believes that the Caraval, a magical game headed by a hidden eccentric, could be their ticket to freedom. Donatella essentially runs off and gets herself kidnapped, only to end up as this year's Caraval prize, and Scarlett and her new sailor rugged sailor friend have to team up to rescue her.

If it sounds tropey, it's because it is. You see, Donatella is the more reckless, impulsive sister and Scarlett is The Cautious One. That gets explained to you about every few pages, as being from Scarlett's reluctant and flustered point of view doesn't drill it in enough. She's a typical bland Charles Dickens-type protagonist where her only real purpose is to be shown and told stuff and saying, "What? Wow! I don't know about this, guys. But I would like things to turn out good." Being trapped in her POV is a boring, sadistic slog. I really did almost stop reading in the middle.

Her crush on Julian isn't a twist---from the very first moment that she begrudgingly admits he's handsome in about the first 20 or so pages, the audience is like, "Welp, I know where this is going." And there it goes. It's about 400 pages of, "I don't like him. But I think I do like him. But I can't trust him. Maybe I can. TWIST, I can't. Oh, wait, he explained, maybe I can---Oh, he's such a rugged, charming scoundrel, I don't know what to do!"

Okay, fine, Scarlett's been isolated probably to the point of sheer delirium. Julian's probably about the only guy she's had around her in a while that isn't her father. So, I can almost forgive her for falling for him just through the sheer fact of being stuck together by circumstance. Julian's reason for loving her is that he was so awe-struck and enamoured when she... wait for it---didn't just up and abandon her sister! Give Scarlett a medal, I guess?

Maybe Garber just didn't want us to watch Scarlett failing upwards alone and threw in the romance just to up the stakes. Which it didn't really do.

The rules of this fantasy game are essentially, 'The magic works however this happy ending needs it to work.' It actually showcases what other genres criticise about the Fantasy genre. Every time Scarlett looks close to losing something or having something devastating happen to her, she has what essentially amounts to an in-costume NPC going, "Oh, not all hope is lost. Saaaay, what's that behind your ear? Could it be the solution to all of your problems? :)" This is all while the plot still tries to maintain a mysterious and ominous air about it. Thus, the death scenes being played up for tragedy's sake were exasperating.

There were also so many twists in such rapid succession that the reader barely knew which way was up.

I gave it a 2/5 instead of a 1. When I finally passed the middle of the book, it did get easier to read as the pacing finally got better. I suppose I only really reserve 1s for books that personally offend me, and this just bored me. There were also intriguing details, like the Legend lore, the dress changing with Scarlett's mood, the rules of the 'game.' But, y'know, put an eccentric in a top hat and give him a potentially tragic backstory, and you get brownie points from me. I'm vaguely curious about Legend himself, but not enough to read the rest of the series. Probably enough to Wikipedia it after this.

If you want a sort of whimsical atmosphere like this, I'd more recommend 'Night Circus.'

-Xanthe 🪶

[jbreenr]

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale × Reader

Summary: You wanted to meet Ransom's family, he wanted to make sure you'd never want it again.

Word count: 3k.

Warning: Poorly written smut (+18 only, please), public sex (prompt 11), fingering, unprotected sex (don't do that, kids. be responsible), a bit of dirty talk, the Thrombeys being the Thrombeys. And I think that's it.

A/N: So, after finding out one of my stories was stolen an translated in Wattpad, I did not know if I should post this just yet but, what the hell? Let's do it. Anyway, this is for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817 's Shameless Hoes for Chris Challenge so, happy belated birthday! Yaaay. 🥳 Hope you like this at least a little and that it's not as bad as my paranoid brain thinks it is. Also, I just love how the prompts fit perfectly together, don't you? As always, lack of vocabulary and grammatical mistakes abound. *apologizes in español*

Wheel results (just attaching evidence):

ᴹʸ ᵍⁱᶠ

Draining, tedious, exasperating. Those were some of the adjectives Ransom associated with Thrombey family reunions. He'd arrive late, have some sort of conversation with his grandfather and leave early to do whatever that took him away from that big house.

Today though, he had a reason to stay for more than half an hour.

If it was up to him, you two would have stayed at home, happy, relaxed, and most importantly, naked in his bed, having a more pleasant time than the one you were most likely about to have. 

He tried to persuade you. Of course he did! But your insistence and puppy eyes made it impossible for him to say no to your request. 

So, here you were, getting out of his car, cake in sweaty hands and an excited smile on your lips, an expression so different from Ransom's, who seemed to be ready to get back behind the wheel and drive straight to Canada.

He didn't knock; he simply opened the door and held it for you to enter. If the three floor house was imposing from the outside, you felt impressed by the inside. Extravagant sculptures, apparently expensive paintings and other kinds of pieces of art were scattered everywhere, telling you just how wealthy and eccentric Ransom's family were. 

“That's Harlan Thrombey! ” You exclaimed as you stood in front of the portrait of your forever favorite author holding a knife and a book.

“So?” Ransom asked, unconcerned.

You turned to him open-mouthed, the cake almost slipping off your palms as you went to playfully slap him in the arm.

“How come you are related to Harlan Thrombey and you didn't tell me?” Your question was more of a shock than an accusation.

The carefree gesture he did with his shoulders only accentuated his next words. “I did not think you would be interested in knowing.”

“I wouldn’t be interested?” Incredulity, flowing out of your lips. “He’s the best thriller author of all time! He’s like today’s Edgar Allan Poe!”

To say that you didn't believe him was an understatement. He knew for a fact that you liked Harlan Thrombey's books, just taking a look at the bookshelf in your apartment was proof enough of that.

“We call him grandpa here.” Said a femenine voice. A brunette walked in your direction, her pretty features hardening as she looked at your boyfriend. “Don't we, Hugh?”

He seemed to be ready to say something but decided not to. Instead he inhaled and placed his hand on your back.

“This is Y/N, the only reason I’m not telling you what you need to hear right now.”

Her eyes rolled in irritation and then turned to you. “I’m Meg. Let's introduce you to the rest of the family, shall we?.” And she dragged you to the room where more people were gathered together, discussing something, not before sending a deadly glare at Ransom.

Given the distance between you and him, you didn't listen to the heavy sigh he let out before waking behind.

“Everyone!” Meg called, making everyone leave whatever they were doing to look at her –and you, in consequence. “Meet Y/N, Hugh's new friend.” She then proceeded to introduce every single member of the family, including the housekeeper and the nurse, except for the grandfather, who apparently had a moment of inspiration and left them momentarily to put his ideas on paper.

None of them left their seat to go and shake your hand except for Meg's energetic mom, who hugged you and expressed how much she loved your coat even though it was soooo last season.

Sitting on a couch next to Ransom, you half expected someone to ask you about how you two met or how long had you been dating or what was it that you did for a living. Nothing. As fast as their attention was on you, it fell from you to their previous discussion.

You now understood why Ransom jokingly suggested deep cleaning the house instead of attending that reunion.

What you weren't aware of, Ransom thought, was that all of them were behaving wonderfully compared to previous times.

You didn't know if you felt more disappointed or uncomfortable. Ransom had left your side to go to the studio for a second and you had barely had any interaction with his family. All of them, dipped in their own matters to even notice your presence. 

Fran, the housekeeper, was kind enough to take the cake to the kitchen and offer you a glass of water, but after giving it to you, she disappeared along with Meg and the nurse. 

“So,” All at once, the room went quiet as Ransom's uncle spoke. “Have you read any of dad's books, Y/N?” Only until you heard your name was that your head snapped up.

“Oh, uhm… yeah. I'm a big fan.” Taken by surprise, you simply answered.

“Really? Which one have you read?”

And to that question, you felt suddenly included in the conversation since you had knowledge of the topic.

“I'm like fifty pages from finishing 'The Needle Game' and intrigue is eating me alive.” As you heard the excitement in your voice, you tried to compose yourself and said “Though 'Nick Of Time' is my favorite.” You smiled at him, hoping that your answer was a good one.

The woman that was introduced to you as Ransom's mother nodded as she licked her lips. The light of the fireplace, reflecting on her glasses as she moved her head up and down.

“Have you read 'Ultimatum' or 'Drop In The Pocket', dear?” Her tone was curious, but the look on her face said differently.

You responded anyway. “They're not bad. I feel like the ending of 'Drop In The Pocket' was a little vague and out of line but it can always be interpreted as an open ending so…” The change in their expressions told you that you had to add something else to that answer. Maybe it was not time for literature humor yet. “But I enjoyed both.”

She hummed and took her drink, detaching from the talk that continued with courtesy questions until it morphed into a heated discussion between Ransom's father and uncle, who would repeatedly ask for your opinion to back up his own.

The discomfort you felt, dispelled to be replaced by the disturbance of being bombarded with dozens of questions at a time, each louder than the other until they changed to a completely different topic to which you were occasionally included as a neutral point of view.

“She knows what she's talking about!” Said Richard at some point when you confirmed one of his arguments. “Thank you, dear.”

Ransom came back from his obligatory argument with his grandfather to find you nowhere to be seen. 

“She's using the bathroom.” Informed Jacob, who did not take his eyes off of his cellphone. 

Thinking that you went there to hide, he started his way to your potential direction until an overheard observation from his mother stopped him halfway through. 

“… Did you hear how she talked about dad's work? Oh, I assure you she won't make it to next week with Ransom.”

Her and Richard's backs were to him, both of them unaware that their son was listening to their share of opinions.

“And did you see her hands?” Joni joined the criticism contest. “She could use some moisturizer, I tell you.”

As usual, they ignored her attempt to fit in and kept going.

“I know it's contradictory to say this,” Richard paused, as to make his point clear. “But he could do better.”

Despite their whispering, Ransom heard every single word and was glad that you were not there to see what was about to happen… 

Ransom's words stuck on his throat when he saw you making your way out of the bathroom, fixing the skirt of your dress, with such niceness and warmth directed to him as you smiled, oblivious to the fact that the people you were trying to get to like you weren't going to. 

His parents were right. He could do better. He could determine to not see them ever again and it would be the best thing to happen to him… Besides you, obviously.

“What's wrong?” Your concern was evident, just as his annoyance was undeniable.

Cold hands caressed his cheeks and Ransom thought of going back to Joni and tell her to fuck off. Your touch was soft, comforting, and gave him the greatest idea he'd ever had.

“I want to show you something.” Was his answer. It was better if you were the one who decided to never step on that house for the rest of your lives. It didn't matter if it was out of embarrassment.

Taking your hand in his, he guided you up the stairs to the first landing. The creaking sound of the old structure, probably alerting everyone in the other room that you were going to the next floor.

“Are you okay?” The sweet giggle that you let out when he abruptly stopped, almost making him feel bad about what he was seconds away from doing. 

“Better than ever.” And he stamped his lips to yours. 

Taken aback, it took you a second to respond. Hands on each side of his face as his own explored your body. When his fingers lifted your dress to caress your ass cheeks was when you ended the kiss. 

“What are you doing?” You asked in a breathless whisper. “Not that I'm complaining.”

You were cornered against the wall with Ransom towering in front of your smaller frame.

Trying to escape from whatever he had in mind was useless, you knew that much. Though, you were not sure if you really wanted to escape.

“What I've been wanting to do ever since you got a shower without me this morning.” His lips found your jaw and descended to your neck where he sucked to create a bruise. Your eyes closed to the sensation.

“Wait. No, wait.” His fingertip that had started rubbing your still clothed bud paused it's motions as his eyes focused back on your face. “We can't do it. Not here.”

Ransom's finger went back to work, bringing a soft moan that you tried to suppress. “Why not? No one's gonna come here.” His other hand moved up your thigh to lift it. “Even if they did, they wouldn't notice.”

With an expert swing of his wrist, he moved your panties aside, letting the cold air that wandered inside the house hit you before his skilled middle finger entered you while still managing to rub your clit in circles with his thumb.

Adrenaline ran through your veins, fuel activating every nerve in your body and shaking away fear from your brain, replacing it with lust and boldness.

“I'm blaming you if we get caught.” Your hips jolted forward wanting to feel more of his hand, the contradiction between your words and actions, making him smirk.

He added a second finger. Knuckles deep and his cold ring slowly warming against the inside of your thigh, he said, “I'll take responsibility, sweetheart.” Pumping his fingers in and out, he felt your slick running down the back of his hand to his wrist, wetting his overly expensive watch and the cuff of his cozy sweater .“But I can't assure you we won't get caught.”

His words, instead of working as a bucket of cold water as one would expect, increased your need to be touched by him, the yearning for him to take you right there and then. 

“Damn it, Ransom.” One of your hands flew to his shoulder to hold onto him for dear life. “I'm close.”

“You're not cumming unless I'm inside you, pretty thing.” At what point did he unfasten his belt and unzipped his trousers, you had no idea. The friction of his digits was gone in a second but the feeling of his already leaking tip rubbing against your most sensitive parts was enough to make you forget about those trifles.

Your lips opened, ready to tell him to keep his voice down when he suddenly thrusted home, stretching you out so deliciously that you had to cover your mouth to muffle the moan that threatened to inform everyone of your current activities.

Ransom's breathing hitched. Being inside you was a dream come true, feeling your walls enveloping his cock so fucking good… it was like you were made for each other, and he was going to prove it, even if his family didn't really get to know.

His hips started moving. Back and forth, back and forth. Delicately at first, letting you adjust to his size but the second he felt you throbbing around him, he increased the pace. Little by little his pounds gained power and energy.

Your whimpers –stuck in your throat, leaving only soft snuffles that crashed against Ransom's cheek, soon became more rapid, erratic and as his fingers dug in the flesh of your thigh to keep you still while he accommodated to go even deeper you heard a creaking noise.

Your boyfriend's blue eyes met yours, his movements never faltering despite the alert given by the dark wooden floor under your feet.

There was a conflict in your head, and Ransom could tell. The way you tightened and the pleading look on your face told different stories, yet Ransom knew they had the same ending.

Shaking your head, your eyes asked him not to do it, but you knew Ransom well enough to be sure that not even begging could stop him. 

“You love it, don't you?” His smile grew bigger as his change of position allowed him to hit your sweet spot on and on, ripping high pitched whines from you and obligating you to close your eyes. “The thought of getting caught. The image of someone seeing how good I make you feel.” The placement of his foot, making the landing creak repeatedly each time he pushed up accompanying every word. “Fuck, you're talking me so well. Such a dirty girl, uh.”

His big hand yanked the strap of your dress down, exposing your left boob. Your already hard nipple was soon attacked by Ransom's fingertips. He'd pinch and twist it slightly, just enough to make your back arch in search of his touch.

Pleasure was overflowing your senses, you could feel your heart thudding in your ears and your legs losing strength. Your hand left your mouth to grip at the back of Ransom's neck to keep you from falling.

The sight of your lower lip trapped between your teeth didn't please Ransom. In other circumstances, he would've let you stay that way, as quiet as possible so no one would walk on you. This time though, it was his intention to rip the most delicious sounds from your lips so you thought of the possibility of his family listening.

And so, he lent to kiss you, passion and desire transmitted through his breath. His tongue asked for a permission that was not really required, but as you let it in, Ransom took the opportunity to bite down your lip.

With your lips forcefully parted and Ransom's restless hand traveling back to your bundle, you had no other option than to moan with each quick circle his digits drew.

A series of laughs and undistinguished words were heard from a distance. Both Ransom and you turned to see what they were about, stopping in your tracks with him still buried deep inside your needy cunt.

“Guess dinner's ready.” Unbothered about the information he just gave, he hid his face in the crook of your neck and resumed his movements.

A shaky oh, fuck fell from your lips as you felt the familiar knot in your stomach forming. Your head flew back, hitting the wall with a soft thud. 

“Careful. We don't want to be obvious, do we?” You knew you were about to explode, and by the way your walls were clenching and your trembling body tried to separate from him, Ransom knew as well. “Let go, sweetheart.” A roar erupted from him as he felt you tightening around his length. “Cum for me.”

With a last, powerful thrust of his hips, you let out a silent scream. The coil snapped, making you see a kaleidoscope of colors behind your eyelids and listen to a loud ring in your ears. 

Ransom followed right after, cursing as he finished inside of you, coating you with every last drop and making sure everything would stay there.

He slid out, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness as he zipped his trousers and took a step back to let you fix your appearance.

You managed to accommodate your dress just in time for Ransom's family to walk out of the room they were in to see you. Your agitated breathing and blushed cheeks, getting everyone's attention. 

“Are you okay, dear?” Ransom's dad asked.

“She's fine.” Your boyfriend answered for you. “She's feeling a little sick. I better take her home.” He took you by the hand and helped you down the stairs to the door, which you thanked. Had he not done it, you would have tripped taking the first step.

“But she hasn't met grandpa yet.” Meg noted, furrowing her brows.

“It'll be next time.” And with that, Ransom took you out of the house and in the passenger seat of his car without giving anyone the chance to say goodbye.

When you were at a considerable distance, you sighed, letting out the air you didn't know you were holding.

“Just so you know, there won't be a next time.” You informed him, against your want to meet his grandfather.

“Why not?” He asked with a chuckle, already knowing the answer. 

“Cause embarrassment won't let me come back in the near future.”

Behind an eye roll and a tap on your thigh, Ransom hid the triumphant grimace his perfectly carried out plan gave him.

[monster-fricker]

Part 1: The Offer

Male Orc (He/Him pronouns) x Female Human Reader (She/Her pronouns) - SFW Chapter, but will eventually be NSFW

- A cliché sugar baby story that I will not apologize for. We meet the cutest of orcs in the next chapter. As always, thank you for reading and let me know what you think -

It was an idea you had been mulling over for awhile. Once your job announced the budget cuts and you were one of those cuts, that idea became much more alluring. Still, you did not know how lucrative this endeavor would actually be.

When you made your account on the sugar baby website, you kept your expectations realistic. You were vague about certain details- your name, for example, was changed to a simple, cliché "Kitten" and your location only listed a general area. However, you did think it was best to be honest about your body type. Round and soft, curves and rolls snd stretch marks in various places, it was not something you were ashamed of, and you wanted to weed out any prospective "employers" who would not appreciate them properly. You posted a few photos, none with your face in them, some on the suggestive side, then waited.

It took a couple days to receive interest, but after discussions on boundaries, none of them panned out. You figured the dream of being a sugar baby was probably a lost cause.

You woke up on Friday, later than would be deemed acceptable for a responsible adult, prepared for another long day of job hunting. You considered staying at home to do it, but the thought of spending one more day trapped in the house, wearing dubiously washed sweatpants and mindlessly filling out applications made you grimace. Maybe the local coffee shop would be a nice change of pace. You had not been there in some time, trying to be frugal with what little money you had left. Neverthrless, the isolation was weighing heavily on you. You scoured your apartment for loose change, found just enough for two cups of coffee, and put on the cleanest outfit you could manage, before heading out, laptop in tow.

The coffee shop was pleasant as it always was. Busy, of course, but only one table was occupied. Everyone in line was clearly hurried, getting their fix of caffeine before returning to work. You did not miss the rush of it all, the stress. What you did miss was the paycheck that came with it. You chose a table in the far right corner, away from the chattering crowd, and immediately began the search for anything, anywhere hiring. It all blurred together at this point.

Looking for a secretary with 3 years of experience.

Customer service position. Minimum wage. Bachelor's degree required.

Unpaid internship with the possibility of more.

You would have rolled your eyes if you weren't so desensitized to it by now. You looked out the window and sipped your coffee, watching businesswomen hail taxis, construction workers steal a bite of lunch, parents holding their toddlers hands as they crossed the street. The city was a constant flurry of life. And you were on the sidelines, standing still.

An e-mail notification interrupted your rumination. Yet another rejection letter? A "Hot Singles in YOUR Area" headline that somehow slid past spam filters? Another warning from your credit card company for that unpaid statement balance? This did make you roll your eyes. You could barely contain your excitement.

To your surprise, it was none of the above. A potential sugar daddy had sent you a message on the website. You contemplated whether it was even worth looking into, but determined there was no real harm in checking. You could use a good laugh, you thought. You logged in.

You checked the profile before the message- a quick way to find out what you were getting into. A man, he/him pronouns, late 30's, no photos of himself, nothing offensive or creepy in his bio. Vague enough to be worrisome and vague enough to be intriguing. You opened the message:

Hello Kitten, I have read your profile and I am very interested. I would like to get to know you a little more first. Eager for your response.

Sincerely, O.

After writing and re-writing your reply several times, you sent it. You asked him a few basic questions, such as occupation and what he was looking for out of this possible arrangement, followed by a few facts about yourself and your strict boundaries: first few meetings must be in a public place and no sex on any of those first meetings. You sighed. You didn't think those boundaries were unreasonable, but from the reactions you had gotten so far, they were always a deal-breaker. His message back was near immediate:

I am a novelist. Live just outside of the city. Not sure what I'm hoping to gain from this. Companionship and fun, though we can discuss those details further if you would like.

As for your rules, those are fine with me. If you are interested, there is an Italian restaurant I'm particularly fond of. Say 7pm?

Let me know and we will hammer out the specifics.

O.

You chewed on your lip as you read the message. You were not prepared for this and it was giving you anxiety. Of course, you could back out of it. You could delete your account. You could throw your laptop into the nearest river.

Okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic. Maybe. The part that gave you the most anxiety was that you wanted to go. This was a good opportunity and, at worst, you would get free food, hit him with some pepper spray, and go home with a full belly and fun story to tell. You typed your response and hit send, refusing to think on it any further:

That sounds like a plan. Let me know the restaurant and dress code and I'll be there.

- Kitten

Once again, your notification lit up immediately. This was happening. You did not know whether to rejoice or faint.

Next Chapter

[lichdragon-fortissax]

alright so Fenrix Lore Time because I finally decided what to do with this man

Tw for some violence, nsfw, potential pregnancy in trans/intersex men, affectionate manipulation, and canon-typical political fuckery

-Was a very soft-spoken swordsman, worked as a guard to any who would trust one of the Nightfolk. Generally chivalrous and eager to please, he hoped that his blade being used for good would ward off the stigmas the Golden Order placed upon his kindred, though he was regarded with suspicion all the same. Earned the name 'the White Raven' among the mercenaries who raised him when they found him as an orphan for his oddly pale skin and his fondness for clever tricks

-Found out he was Tarnished when a mob descended on him and slit his throat based off the accusations of him knowing blasphemous arcane arts. When he woke again, the wounds on his throat, face, and back had scarred over, and the damage to his neck was so bad that he could no longer speak. Some raspy vocalizations were possible, but clearly articulated words were impossible. Much like a raven, he was reduced to mere croaking, which he saw as a grim trick from the fates

-Luckily, sign is widespread enough due to the whole Finger nonsense, so he resigned himself to his fate and learned how to use it fluently on the boatride to the Lands Between. Was pretty lost on what to do upon arrival, but he had his scimitars and his skill so he decided to just pursue the Elden Ring for lack of anything better to do. He enjoyed a good challenge, so why not?

-His relationship with Varre started off as him barely paying him a glance, but quickly became...interesting. Varre's attitude intrigued him, and playing along with his little games became a source of amusement after long hours riding alone through the countryside. Varre's mistrust of the Two Fingers also quickly warmed him up to him after a lifetime being discriminated against for being one of the Nightfolk

-They eventually settled into a fwb relationship before long, during which Varre would test Fenrix's mettle + teach him arcane blood rites, while Fenrix enjoyed teasing him in turn and picking up new weapon tricks to help him survive. Doesn't help that Fenrix himself is a dom with a bit of a sadomachistic streak who hadn't had much of a chance to lay with others on account of him being one of the Nightfolk, while Varre is a sadist switch

-Begin corruption arc, where over the course of the game Fenrix begins to care less and less for his fellow Tarnished, and more with getting stronger via any means necessary. He still has some vague sense of chivalry about him, but he no longer cares about negating harm as much as he's interested in felling the next challenge set before him. Previously scorned tactics (like rot and poison on top of bleed) start to be integrated into his fighting style, and Varre starts to take notice of his growing boldness and ease with killing- much to his own dismay. The soft-spoken, sweet knight who demanded a fair match when he first met him got replaced with someone who would hunt fellow Tarnished so he could have a chance to slay the God-Devouring Serpent, and while he himself had set him on that path, the knowledge unsettled him

-Eventually, Varre sees him more as a threat than a potential partner, and sends him off. Unfortunately, they both have a bit of an unspoken crush on each other by now, so when Fenrix ends up in Ranni's service and helps her kill her Fingers, he becomes her consort only in political name. Ranni herself is fine with this, for she knew he loved her only as a friend from the very beginning, and is perfectly willing to turn a blind eye to whatever cruel hemorrhaging nonsense Fenrix utilizes to get more powerful.

-More demigods are felled, more great runes are gathered, and his hunger for challenge grows stronger. Maliketh is slain. So is Radagon, and the Elden Beast, bled out with blades with saw-like teeth and omen-cursed bloodflame. He sends Ranni off on her dark path, and becomes Elden Lord, though he still has no real desire to be a ruler other than a vague 'break the Golden Order and stop its judgement'. Omens and Misbegotten are freed, harming Nightfolk and blasphemers becomes a crime, and the Lord stagnates from the boredom of his station back on earth, while Ranni walks among the stars to become a god in her own right

-Eventually, the lack of a challenge gets to him, and he goes back to fighting his way around for fun, which results in him meeting up with Varre again. While Varre is still cautious about him, doubly so now that Fenrix is Elden Lord, there's not really much that he can do other than welcome him when Fenrix himself stumbles in from the sending-gate used to kidnap Miquella

-As it turns out, finding the Mohgwyn dynasty was quite possibly the best discovery for a bored Elden Lord who's grown adept in the blood arts. He now has his calling, and it is to usurp the Lord of Blood, to break the Formless Mother to his will, and to learn the truth of blood magic to slake his own curiosity.

-So how does he do this? Well, he has two options. Either he brings down the armies and takes over the dynasty as Elden Lord (which would upset Varre, so he'd rather avoid it), or he cleans up the mess Mohg made of his sad attempt at a dynasty by making Mohg his consort, replacing Miquella and turning him against the Formless Mother via a mix of a show of power and actual displays of affection. Which are all somewhat faked, for if it fails then he will simply kill Mohg, but the touch starvation and knowledge of the family problems he got after defeating Morgott means he can manipulate Mohg with relative ease

-Which...he DOES actually feel for both Omen siblings, and doesn't wish to cause them more pain than necessary. But Mohg is kind of a major problem in many different ways, and a mercy kill is out of the question because Varre is obsessed with him, so he goes for the more insidious manipulative route instead

-So the plans becomes this: A.) Woo Mohg with his strength and cunning. Wed the Lord of Blood, and give him children (either via his own body or by making Mohg pregnant), knowing full well that his past parental trauma would have him entirely focused on his children and facade of a family instead of the Formless Mother. Fix the Miquella problem by either killing him if he pupates, or cart him off to the Haligtree before that happens. Kill the Formless Mother, eat her heart, and become the Blood God of Truth instead, or:

-B.) Kill Mohg, then neutralize the Formless Mother. Wait for Miquella to hatch, and offer an alliance of houses to kill the Formless Mother with an Empyrean's vengeful wrath. Either wed him for power or use said vengence-aid as a blood pact so that the God of Sleep no longer becomes a problem, returning him to Malenia's bloom either way. Deal with Varre's grief somehow. Become the God of Truth

-B is more messy, and Miquella creeps him tf out, so plan A is what he goes for

-Hence the fuckery of the new Elden Lord starting a poly relationship with an insane cult leader and his devouted follower so he can have his boyfriend and woo Mohg specifically to remove him from power so he can devour his god. Mogh is unaware of Fenrix's aptitude for killing gods + the fact that he felled Morgott, and Fenrix intends to keep him in the dark. Varre is more than fine with this arrangement, mostly because Fenrix decides that the Mausoleum is too rancid for his godly consort, and gives both Mohg and Varre suitable rooms in the palace

-As for Fenrix's view of Mohg? Well, it goes from mildly disgusted pity to some form of genuine affection after he pries him away from both the Formless Mother and Miquella. Since Fenrix himself wishes to slay and take the position of the Formless mother, he's still very much encouraging Mohg to embrace his cursed blood and general weirdness, but his fascination with whatever tf is wrong with him is soon overridden by him being charmed by how desperate Mohg is for affection- and how malleable he is when given just a scrap of said affection

-This is very much not an 'I can fix him' arc, this is an 'I can give him a soft bed and a collar around his throat and make him pregnant' arc lmfaooo

General tidbits:

-Fenrix is 6'3"

-He is also trans, and transitioned before coming to the Lands Between. He's very comfortable with a vagina, as he has a magical strap to give him his dickly needs, but he's also fine with magically swapping if he wants

-He's a dom and likes to tease Varre for the fun of it. His sadist streak doesn't really rise up until he decides that its fun to turn it on Varre, who delights in it in turn

-He's got a lot of good intentions, the problem is that he decided to throw away chivalry and generally good manners os he can do whatever it takes to get to said point.

-Romance? ...Maybe. He feels it, but he's really bad at showing it. Acts of service or teasing is the most you'll get from him. He's not a very emotionally close lover, though he's poly as hell and very touch-affectionate

-Loves jokes, jests, puzzles, and any sort of tomfoolery. The mercenaries who named him after a corvid knew him well.

-The 'make Mohg pregnant' idea didn't happen until after he laid with him and realized he has a working womb (mixed genitals isn't actually a crucible trait, it's a Marika trait. Thanks, mom). He'd survive birthing an omen babe, and is fine with the idea of parenthood, but he'd rather not deal with labour issues via massive children if he didn't have to. Mohg bearing them also means he's more likely to turn on the Formless Mother if he sees her as a threat, which works perfectly in his favor

-Has a fascination with grafting, but politely declined Godrick's services for a dick transplant simply bc he did not trust the cleanliness of his work conditions. This worked in his favor once he realized Rennala was able to give him an actual dick and balls via rebirth

-Good friends with Ranni, as both are clever and scheming and (generally) have good intentions. They write to each other sometimes

-Might have accidentally put Morgott in a coma and hid him in the palace basement instead of dealing with it (since I dont like the idea of him being dead-dead). Stole his sword and loves playing with it

-absolutely ADORES Torrent and pampers him to no end. Always has rowa raisins in his back pocket

-Never wanted kids, but isn't opposed to it. Probably won't actually be super affectionate until after they're born, though, because he's weak for small animals

[merakiui]

Apricity

yandere!albedo x (gender neutral) reader art credit - miHoYo cw: nsfw elements, yandere, captivity/restraints, unhealthy behaviors note - please come home to me and take care on the journey, albedo! :D also kindly heed the warnings. thank you!

His eyes are unnaturally pretty. Like twin crystals glittering in an expansive, dismal cave, searching for secrets unheard of within Mondstadt. Somehow you’re always in his peripheral, not too close and yet impossibly far at the same time. The distance is harrowing, terribly so, and Albedo knows it should be nothing short of a coincidence. When he shows up at your quaint stall with Sucrose, claiming to be in need of the exact wares you happen to sell, you pay it no mind. After all, you’ve met your fair share of regulars, and their support is what keeps you afloat. 

But there is more to those beautiful irises than he lets on. Whether it’s intentional or not, you can’t exactly say. You suppose you would rather run into someone as well-respected as Albedo as opposed to an unlikable stranger with ill intent. And it’s always great to see a familiar face, especially when he chooses to peruse your stall rather the others around you. It isn’t all that strange; you’ve even become friends with Sucrose during your short interactions. Albedo has indulged in stiff conversations with you before, but most of them were meaningless. Simple throwaway chatter between two acquaintances. 

Oddly enough, Albedo finds himself wanting more. He doesn’t want to talk about the weather or the transitioning seasons; he wants to listen to you explain how your day was and if you made more profit than the day before that. He wants to stand there and immerse himself in your pleasant voice, ignorant to the hustle and bustle of the people around him. And yet he just can’t. For a variety of reasons that pull him out of the haze of intrigue, you’ll always remain in the background. And he simply can’t bear the thought of that.

It’s rude to deteriorate a relationship that’s only just begun to blossom. If your meager acquaintanceship with him were to wither away into dust, he would feel obligated to keep it going—as if he were simply beating a dead cow with a stick. Although your hobbies differ from his, it’s nothing he can’t handle. A genius must familiarize himself with other areas of study if he intends to craft solutions that are outside of the box.

“Albedo?” 

Your tone is meek and small, tinged with the slightest shiver. Part of him feels bad for lying to you, but you were just so trusting. It’s almost comical how easily you fell into his trap. If he gets to see you in such a delicious way all the time, he’s more than willing to forsake the truth to meet his own desires. A selfish wish, yes, but it’s absolutely wonderful.

“What is it?” 

He eyes you from his spot behind the easel, and even though you can’t see him you can feel his piercing gaze. Like the sun shining brightly in a wintry afternoon, his eyes smolder with unbearable heat and yet his expression is cold with brilliant focus. 

“A-Are you almost done? It’s really cold.” Your bare back touches the wall and you flinch, an instinctual response that makes Albedo’s brow quirk. “And this is sort of...weird.”

“How so?” 

He says that in such a dismissive manner, acting as if your current position isn’t compromising. As if this was a normal exchange between friendly strangers. You have trouble finding your voice in this situation, especially since talking seems like such a chore. You’re worried you’ll say the wrong thing and then it’ll leave a false imprint of who you are on Albedo. But you’ve always been nice, unable to refuse those who are kind in return, and so you’re forced to endure the discomfort that comes with modeling nude for this peculiar alchemist. 

“Think about it.” You distract yourself with a ramble of an explanation—certainly more than what’s necessary, but Albedo doesn’t mind. He finds solace in your voice. “You’re looking at me and I’m...n-naked. And we don’t really know each other. I’m not trying to vilify you when I say this, but I don’t want you to do anything bad to me. N-Not that you would! It’s just—this is really weird. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Hm.”

“And do I have to be tied up like this?” You shuffle in your bindings, fingers scrabbling over the cuffs and chains that jingle like horrible sleigh bells. 

“You were moving too much earlier. I won’t be able to get your anatomy right if you’re constantly fidgeting.”

But it’s uncomfortable, you think, chewing on your lip out of habit.

“I guess I understand. It must be an artist thing, right?”

“You could say that.”

His work on the canvas offers a display that’s just as lewd as the real model, down to the way your nipples perk and harden in the cold. He’s not even close to finishing and that’s a blessing in itself. He could stare at your figure for hours on end, committing every inch of your flesh to memory, and he wouldn’t grow weary. 

“Do artists normally blindfold their models? I don’t really know anything about this stuff, but it’s okay if it helps with the process.”

“I find it to be interesting,” he answers, simple and vague as ever. “It adds a mysterious touch to the finished piece.”

“So you draw the model with the blindfold?” You’re used to gazing upon paintings of flowers and portraits of influential historical figures rather than blatant nudity. “Artists are definitely unique.”

Albedo hums in response, secretly reveling in your naïveté. At the end of the day, you’re just a normal citizen of Mondstadt, who stands behind a wooden stall every single day and happily chats with potential customers. You excel in business, but when it comes to the inner workings of art you’re at a loss. And that makes it all the more easier for Albedo to spin all sorts of wild tales. He fears that gullible nature will harm you in the future, yet there isn’t a threat in sight. Not when you’re here in front of him, no longer confined to his peripheral. And you’ll stay there for however long it takes him to finish this painting. 

It’s a twisted infatuation. Albedo knows he shouldn’t take too much of your time or else he’ll become addicted and it will be impossible to focus on his studies. But he can’t stop himself or his wandering gaze, which trails up your midriff. Higher and higher until he’s staring at your face, eyes obscured behind the soft fabric of a blindfold. Your body is a temple he wishes to worship, and perhaps that’s a sacrilegious thought that ought to have him consider the weight of his emotions. 

And yet you’re far too irresistible. His thoughts are dangerously potent, swirling within his brain like a maddening hurricane. Surely your missing presence in the market won’t be questioned if he were to keep you just a little longer. Longer than the boundaries of sanity will allow, that is. There are other vendors who sell the same things you boast; the economy won’t shatter if you’re not there to provide.

The paintbrush moves along the canvas in even strokes and suddenly Albedo’s mind is wandering between subjects. From art to alchemy, love to lust, and the wondrous crevices in your anatomy that call out to him. The brush stills in his hand. If he’s not mistaken, Sucrose will be stopping by to assist him and the last thing he needs is staining his appearance in a suspicious color. 

“Albedo?” His name rolls off of your tongue in such a delectable way; it’s almost sinful how his thoughts race and race in an endless track. “Are you almost done? My back is sore and the floor’s really uncomfortable.”

“Sorry. This will take longer than I thought.” He sets his brush and palette down, and you listen to his footsteps as they draw near. “Something has come up, but I promise I won’t be long.” 

“Wait. You’re not going to leave me, are you? I need to get back to the marketplace!”

Before you know what’s happening, the blindfold is coming off and you’re locking eyes with Albedo, who peers at you with intense scrutiny. Certainly the look of a genius studying a textbook. You grow flustered all at once, just now coming to terms with the fact that he looked at your body for longer than you’d like to admit. Shyly, you shut your legs to obscure your private parts, but it’s not like that will help the embarrassment that claws its way onto your expression like a persistent beast. 

“You’re better off waiting here.” He shrugs off his coat, draping it over your shoulders as if that’ll keep the dreadful chill away. “As much as I would like to finish this now, I have other work that must be taken care of.”

“I get that, but you can’t just leave me here! That’s practically kidnapping!” you protest, hoping he’ll heed the desperation in your trembling vocals. “At least, that’s what this feels like.”

“I wouldn’t kidnap you,” he says, amusement flashing in his eyes. “You’re too funny.”

Yet he isn’t laughing and neither are you as you helplessly watch him depart. The floor is too cold for your liking and the idea of entrapment settles under your skin like a million maggots feasting on a decaying, chilled copse. Devoid of warmth and carrying an air of measured grace, Albedo doesn’t spare you another glance.

He doesn’t need to. He’ll have all the time in the world to study your body like it’s the finest artwork, and you’ll be powerless to object.

[impalementation]

spike, angel, buffy & romanticism: part 3

part 1: “When you kiss me I want to die”: Angel and the high school seasons

part 2: “Love isn’t brains, children”: Enter Spike as the id

* 

“Something effulgent”: Season five and the construction of Spike the romantic

Prior to becoming a romantic interest, Spike is everything I discussed in the last section. He is an id and a mirror for Buffy, he’s prone to both romantic exaggeration and cutting realism, and his liminality suggests ambiguity. But outside of “Lovers Walk”, the writing doesn’t actually delve too deeply into Spike’s nature as a romantic. If you stopped the canon at “Restless”, you’d probably think that Spike’s love for Drusilla was intriguing, but that the show hadn’t really gone anywhere with the implications of it, and for all you knew, that might not be an important part of his character anymore. So one of the most interesting things about season five to me, is that in this season in which the writers first consciously, deliberately decide to explore the sexual and romantic tension between Spike and Buffy, they also emphasize Spike’s romanticism more than ever. The choice to define Spike by his romanticism is a choice that follows naturally from everything established about his character, but it was also not an inevitable choice. Therefore, it’s a choice worth looking at in some detail.

Consider everything that “Fool For Love” establishes about Spike, especially the things that contradict what was supposedly canon at the time. It makes Drusilla his sire instead of Angel, meaning that he is sired by a romantic connection, and as a direct result of heartbreak. It makes him a poet living in the middle of the Victorian era, an age at odds with his previous ages of “barely 200” and “126”. Meaning that the writing specifically decides to ignore its canon in order to associate him with an era in which passions would have been repressed (rather than the Romantic era of the early 1800’s or the modern energy of the early 1900’s). Moreover, the episode reveals his entire aesthetic and personality to essentially be a construct. But most tellingly of all, it reveals him to be an idealist. Spike is not just a performance artist; he yearns for the “effulgent”, for something “glowing and glistening” that the “vulgarians” of the world don’t understand. In other words, he yearns for something bigger and more beautiful than life: something romantic. Later, he chases after “death, glory, and sod all else.” Spike may be a “fool for love”, who has a romantic view of romantic love specifically, but the episode is very clear about the fact that he is also a romantic more generally. When Drusilla turns him, she doesn’t tempt him by telling him she’ll love him forever. She tempts him by offering him “something…effulgent”. (Which, in typical Spike form, the episode immediately undercuts by having him say “ow” instead of swooning romantically). The fact that “Fool For Love”, Spike’s major backstory episode, is so determined to paint him as a romantic--and in particular, a disappointed, frustrated romantic--that it is willing to contradict canon to do so, tells you that this choice was important for framing Spike and his new, ongoing thematic role.

I’ve talked in the past about how season five is all about the tension between the mythical and the mortal--between big, grand, sweeping narratives, and the reality of being human. Buffy is the Slayer, but she’s also just a girl who loses her mother. Dawn is the key, but she’s also just a confused and hormonal fourteen-year-old. Willow is a powerful witch, but she also just wants her girlfriend to be okay. Glory is a god, but she’s also a human man named Ben, and finds herself increasingly weakened by his emotions. And Spike embodies this tension perfectly. He’s a soulless vampire with a lifetime of bloodshed behind him, but he’s also this silly, human man who wants to love and be loved. He wants big, grand things, but every time they are frustrated by a Victorian society, a rejection, a chip, a pratfall, or dying with an “ow”. Furthermore, his season five storyline is all about the tension between loving in an exalted, yet often selfish way, versus loving in a “real” or selfless way. 

There was a fascinating piece a ways back that discussed how Spike’s attempts to woo Buffy in season five almost perfectly match the romantic narratives of Courtly Love. In the words of the author:

The term "Courtly Love" is used to describe a certain kind of relationship common in romantic medieval literature. The Knight/Lover finds himself desperately and piteously enamored of a divinely beautiful but unobtainable woman. After a period of distressed introspection, he offers himself as her faithful servant and goes forth to perform brave deeds in her honor. His desire to impress her and to be found worthy of her gradually transforms and ennobles him; his sufferings -- inner turmoil, doubts as to the lady's care of him, as well as physical travails -- ultimately lends him wisdom, patience, and virtue and his acts themselves worldly renown.

You can see for yourself how well that description fits Spike’s arc. He fixates on the torturous, abject nature of his love, and has it in his head that he can perform deeds and demonstrate virtue, and this will prove to Buffy that he is worthy of her. But despite Spike’s gradual ennobling over the course of the season, I think it would be a mistake to see the season as using the Courtly Love narrative uncritically, or even just ironically. The same way it would be a mistake to see season two as using the Gothic uncritically. Spike is as much Don Quixote as he is Lancelot. He is a character that deliberately tries to act out romantic tropes, giving the writing an opportunity to satirize those tropes, including the tropes of chivalric romance. In particular, the writing criticizes Spike’s (very chivalric) fixation on love as a personal agony, something that is more about pain--and specifically, his pain--than building a real relationship. Over and over in season five, he is forced to abandon these sorts of flattering romantic mindsets in favor of a more complicated reality. 

So at first, Spike’s “deeds” tend to be shallow and vaguely transactional. He tries to help Buffy in “Checkpoint” even though she doesn’t want it (and insults her when she doesn’t appreciate it), he asks “what the hell does it take?” when Buffy is unimpressed by him not feeding on “bleeding disaster victims” in “Triangle”, he rants bitterly at a mannequin when Buffy fails to be grateful to him for taking her to Riley in “Into the Woods”, and he is angry and confused when Buffy is unmoved by his offer to stake Drusilla in “Crush”. While these attempts to symbolically reject his evilness are startling for a soulless vampire, and although Spike certainly feels like he is fundamentally altering himself for Buffy’s sake, none of it is based on understanding or supporting Buffy in a way that she would actually find substantial. Moreover, he lashes out when his gestures fail to win her attention or affection. He has an idea in his head of how their romantic scenes should play out, and reacts petulantly when reality fails to live up to it. 

But these incidents of self-interested narrativizing are also continuously contrasted with scenes in which Spike reacts with real generosity, or is surprised when he realizes he’s touched something emotionally genuine. When Buffy seeks him out in “Checkpoint”, his mannerisms instantly change when he realizes she actually needs real help (“You’re the only one strong enough to protect them”), rather than the performed help he offered at the beginning of the episode. At the end of “Fool For Love” he’s struck dumb by Buffy’s grief, and his antagonistic posturing all evening melts away. He abandons his romantic vision of their erotic, life-and-death rivalry in favor of real, awkward emotional intimacy. In “Forever” he tries to anonymously leave flowers for Joyce, and reacts angrily when he’s denied—but this time not because he wanted something from Buffy. Simply because he wanted to do something meaningful. 

This contradictory behavior comes to a head in “Intervention”, the episode in which Spike finally begins to understand the difference between real and transactional generosity. Up until that point, Spike has been reacting both selfishly and unselfishly, but he hasn’t been able to truly distinguish between them, which is why he keeps repeating the same mistakes. Although he touches something real at the end of “Fool For Love”, for instance, he goes on to rifle through Buffy’s intimates in the very next episode. And so “Intervention” has Spike go to extremes of fakeness and reality. He gives up on having the real Buffy, and seeks out an artificial substitute that lets him live out his cheesiest romance novel scripts. It’s important that the Buffybot isn’t just a sexbot, even if he does have sex with her. She’s a bot he plays out romantic scenarios with the way he played them with Harmony in “Crush”, allowing him to almost literally live within a fiction. But then he “gives up” on having Buffy in a way that’s actually real, by offering up his life. He lets himself be tortured, and potentially killed, for no other reason than that to do otherwise would cause Buffy pain. The focus is on her pain, not his. For the first time, he acts like the Knight he’s been trying to be all along. He performs a grand, heroic deed that causes the object of his affection to see him in a different light, and even grant him a kiss. Yet ironically, as part of learning the difference between real and fake, he ceases to press for Buffy’s reciprocation. Through the end of season five, Spike continues to act the selfless Knight, assisting Buffy in her heroism without asking for anything in return. Which culminates in his declaration that he knows Buffy “will never love him”, even after he’s promised her the deed of protecting Dawn, and even though she allows a kind of intimacy by letting him back in her house. He proves that he sees those gestures for what they are, rather than in a transactional light. The irony of the way Spike fulfills the narrative of chivalric romance, is that his ennobling involves letting aspects of that narrative go. 

In a Courtly Love narrative, the object of the Knight’s affection is fundamentally pedestalized. The Knight himself might be flawed, but the woman he pines after is not. She is “divinely beautiful” and “unobtainable”, something above him and almost more than human. This is why it’s so comic that in Don Quixote, which was a direct satire of chivalric romance, Alonso Quixano’s “lady love” is a vulgar peasant farmgirl who has no idea who he is. (Think of the way Spike asks if Buffy is tough in “School Hard” or threatens to “take her apart” despite “how brilliant she is” in “The Initiative”, followed by scenes where Buffy is acting like the teenage girl she is. Or how Giles in “Checkpoint” says that Buffy has “acquired a remarkable focus” before cutting to Buffy yawning.). Although it’s true that Buffy is beautiful, and supernatural, and profoundly moral, she is also very human, and the writing is very concerned with that humanity. Season five in particular, as I’ve mentioned, is preoccupied with the duality of Buffy’s mythic and mortal nature. Thus it becomes significant that Buffy is assigned such a heightened role in Spike’s chivalric narrative. Just Spike is at once Lancelot and Don Quixote, Buffy is at once Achilles, Dulcinea, and a coming-of-age protagonist. 

And part of the “lesson” of Spike’s arc is for him to see both sides of the roles they embody. One of my favorite things about the scene in Buffy’s house in “The Gift” is how adroitly it conveys the dualities of both Buffy and Spike with simple, but poetic imagery and language. Buffy stands above Spike on her steps, conveying her elevated role, and Spike honors the way her heroic status has inspired him by physically looking up to her as he explains that he expects nothing from her. But by expecting nothing from her, and promising to protect her sister, he also honors the fact that she is a real person with no obligation to him, and a younger sister she cares about more than anything. He also honors his own duality by at once making Knightly promises, and acknowledging that he sees through his former delusions: “I know that I’m a monster, but you treat me like a man.” In “Fool For Love” he tried to acknowledge the same duality of realism and romance, by declaring to Cecily that “I know I’m a bad poet, but I’m a good man.” But at the time, he was an innocent, whose desire to be seen, and whose romantic avoidance of “dark, ugly things”, left him unprepared to understand how Cecily really saw him (similar to Spike’s insistence in “Crush” that what he and Buffy have “isn’t pretty, but it’s real” just before Buffy locks him out). Spike is a character defined simultaneously by continuous disillusionment and dogged aspiration, which is why he makes perfect sense as a character to embody a season torn between the pain of being human, and the wonder of the gift of love.

Fittingly, the season ends with Spike’s most devastating loss of innocence of all. He fails to be the hero for Buffy or Dawn (note that Knightly language he uses on the tower: “I made a promise to a lady”), and he loses the woman he loves. He may have become more virtuous, but unlike in a chivalric romance, that virtue wins him neither Buffy, nor something flattering like “world reknown.” The climax of the “The Gift” is full of romance—a god, a troll hammer, a damsel on a tower, a heroic self-sacrifice, a vampire transformed into a Knight—but the end result is that Buffy is dead, in part because he wasn’t good enough, and all that he and the Scoobies can do is grieve. Stories got Spike nothing, even when reality finally lived up to them. It is a swan song to the myths of childhood, and on the other side of Glory’s portal, Spike and the other characters will have to confront a world where those myths have been left behind.

part 4: “But I can’t fool myself. Or Spike, for some reason.”: Buffy and Spike as a blended self

[little-mad]

Downsides of Thievery Pt. 13 (Final)

~ Previous Part ~

Gavin couldn’t stop himself from turning over his shoulder to look at Rael, who apparently had information about his theft from the alteon diplomat. Immediately, Gavin was suspicious. What information could Rael possibly have about something he hadn’t witnessed? Anything he knew that the Emperor wouldn’t already, would have to have come from Gavin himself… “Oh shit, he’s not really talking about that is he?”

What did Rael hope to gain in telling the Emperor that Gavin had been commissioned to steal from the diplomat? Was he just doing his duty as a soldier by divulging everything he knew? Or was there something more to it? When Gavin had first told Rael that he had been hired to steal the ring, he’d seemed surprised, but hadn’t expressed any desire to confess the truth. Then again, Gavin had already proven unable to read Rael.

“Very well, go ahead,” the Emperor prompted, hands folded on the table as he looked at Rael with interest.

Gavin stared back at his former captor, unable to take his eyes off the giant man. “While Gavin Stone chose not to disclose this to the public, in our time together he did reveal to me that he was in fact hired by a third party to burgle Lady Elyth,” Rael explained smoothly. “So while Gavin Stone did perform the actual deed, the idea was not his own.” His voice had the same formal, all business tone it’d had when Gavin first met him, and yet this time there was a vague hint of...was it desperation? No, it couldn’t be. Gavin had to be just imagining things at this point.

The Emperor gave an interested hum. “Intriguing,” he remarked before turning to look at Gavin. “Is this true?” he inquired.

While Gavin hadn’t been planning on explaining the full circumstances of the robbery to the Emperor, he wasn’t about to deny it now that Rael had done so. Lying at this point would only make him look more suspicious than he already did. “Yes, sir,” Gavin replied, hoping the honorific wasn’t an improper term to use with the Emperor.

The giant sovereign gave a nod of understanding. He took a long, thoughtful pause as he considered the new information before focusing back on Gavin. “Is there a reason you didn’t report this?” he asked, a serious look in those yellow eyes of his.

God, it was intimidating enough being stared at by a giant, but being stared at by a giant who ruled over an entire dimension of giants was just something else entirely. And Gavin had thought meeting Orlando Bloom at a music festival when he was seventeen had been daunting. Gavin swallowed. “Keep it together,” he ordered himself. If he wanted the Emperor to treat him like a person, it was possible he would need to earn his respect first.

“Sir, whether I was hired or not doesn’t change the fact that I committed the crime,” Gavin started. “And since I don’t know the real name of the man who hired me, I didn’t see a point in reporting it to authorities.” There was also the fact that Gavin had never really been one to snitch, especially on his fellow criminals, but he wasn’t about to say that part in a room with a soldier and a political leader.

“I see,” the Emperor responded pensively. “Well, I consider taking responsibility for your own actions to be quite noble,” he told Gavin with complete sincerity in his voice. “Truthfully, I never took Ashryn’s suggestion very seriously,” he admitted. “I’ve worked quite hard to develop a peaceful and friendly relationship with humankind, and I am not about to undo that by mistreating my first human convict.”

Gavin’s eyes widened. Did he hear that right? Did the Emperor really just, one after the other, call him noble and say that he wouldn’t lock him up in a display cage? It was hard for Gavin not to let a wave of relief crash over him. The news was great, but he still didn’t know what fate did await him. Not being treated like an animal really was the bare minimum after all.

“Um...so what are you planning to do with me?” Gavin found himself asking. He was sick and tired of the uncertainty, of not knowing what was in store for him. Whatever his sentence might be, he just wanted to know what it was already so he could start figuring out how to cope with it.

The Emperor’s eyebrows lifted slightly. He seemed somewhat taken aback by Gavin’s abrupt question. It was possible the man wasn’t accustomed to being spoken to that way. Gavin hoped he hadn’t done something taboo. He wasn’t intending to be disrespectful, he just really didn’t know how to interact with literal royalty.

Apparently, the Emperor wasn’t too upset, because a small smile had taken form on his face. “Well,” he began, glancing back at Rael. “I find myself quite fascinated by your willingness to speak up in front of me in order to defend this human.”

“Is that what he did?” Gavin asked himself. Had Rael really been standing up for him? Was it really more than him just doing his job?

“You were aware that many important figures have negative opinions of Gavin Stone, and yet you risked your reputation by speaking up for him,” the Emperor went on.

Suddenly everything was beginning to make a lot more sense. The whole scene out in the hallway...it had been all about Rael protecting his reputation. He couldn’t choose a human over an alteon, lest he risk being looked down upon by his peers. Of course, none of that made what he’d done okay, but at least Gavin understood why now. “Does this mean he had some kind of change of heart...is that why he told the Emperor about me being hired…?” he pondered to himself.

The Emperor’s gaze suddenly returned to Gavin. “I believe I have decided what your sentence will be,” he announced firmly, a satisfied smile on his face that Gavin wasn’t sure how to take. “Since the two of you have clearly established the foundations of a relationship, I have decided that, in order to atone for your crime, you will serve under Rael as an assistant for a minimum of one year.”

Gavin’s mouth fell open, but before he could even form a coherent thought, he heard Rael’s stunned voice exclaim from behind him, “What?!”

-

The word had slipped from Rael’s mouth before he could stop it. He had just been so shocked by the Emperor’s announcement that all thoughts of propriety and manners suddenly flew out the window. “Sorry, your majesty,” he quickly recovered. “I just--I wasn’t expecting that.”

Take a human on as an assistant?! It was completely unheard of--of course it was unheard of, humans were tiny people who lived in another realm, why would one ever serve as an assistant to a common alteon soldier? Rael didn’t even know what to think. The Emperor clearly trusted him enough to put Gavin in his ward, but what the hell was Rael supposed to do with a diminutive person tagging along with him while he worked? Plus there was the matter of he and Gavin’s last encounter. Something told Rael the human didn’t much want to hang around with the person who had threatened him not once, but twice within a few hours.

“I’m aware that it’s unorthodox, but to be frank, this entire situation is unorthodox,” the Emperor stated. “This way, Gavin Stone will be able to serve his punishment while learning about and experiencing our realm.” It seemed the relationship between alteons and humans was even more important to the Emperor than Rael had realized--he was completely breaking away from the norm for the sake of diplomacy.

“Are you sure it won’t be too dangerous?” Rael had to ask. On a regular basis, his job wasn’t typically overly treacherous, but even the mildest thing to him could be potentially life threatening to someone as small as Gavin.

The Emperor offered a gentle smile. “I’m certain Gavin Stone will be quite safe in your hands, Rael.” It was easy for him to say that, he didn’t know what Rael had done just ten minutes prior--if he did, he would probably never let Gavin within a hundred feet of the temper-prone excuse for an Imperial Guard soldier.

“Uh--excuse me, sir,” Gavin piped up nervously. He was facing towards the Emperor, so Rael couldn’t see his facial expression. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see it. “What exactly can someone like me do as an assistant?” the human inquired, voicing the question that Rael had been pondering.

“You will do whatever Rael requests of you,” the Emperor told him simply, then turning to Rael said, “You may utilize him as your assistant how you see fit, so long as he isn’t put in significant danger of course.” Rael couldn’t believe how much faith the Emperor seemingly had in him. Where did it come from? This was by far the longest interaction he’d ever had with the ruler of Iaela, so why did he seem to trust a random soldier so much? “I’ll have some furniture and attire made up to suit a human. You are also free to request any accommodations you think you may need,” the Emperor added, already scrawling down notes on a sheet of parchment.

Rael opened his mouth, but he had nothing to say. He just couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He’d gone from disliking humans to being made the guardian of one in a matter of hours. He still wasn’t sure about his opinion on humanity as a whole, but he couldn’t deny the fact that one particular human had penetrated the tough exterior he had built around himself.

Like it or not, Rael cared about Gavin. He never would have spoken up to the Emperor if he hadn’t. As strange and inexplicable as it may be, he needed to accept the reality of the situation. Gavin would be his ward for at least a year. They would be spending a lot of time with each other. Rael couldn’t keep pretending to be indifferent to the tiny man.

~

After being dismissed from the meeting with the Emperor, Gavin had been carried off by Rael, taken to what he could only assume was Rael’s quarters. The entire trip there had been silent, because what the hell was Gavin supposed to say? He was so mentally and emotionally confused at this point that he couldn’t even begin to make sense of anything.

Rael’s room was small and simple; it contained only a bed, side table, and little chest of drawers. On the way in, Gavin had noticed the hallway had been filled with doors, which led him to believe this area was entirely made up of the rooms of soldiers. At least Rael had his own space, the last thing Gavin needed at the moment was to be faced with more alteons.

“Gavin,” Rael spoke up, finally breaking the silence that had stretched out between the two of them. “I know you’re probably not pleased with this arrangement.” Gavin stared up at Rael from where he stood on the bedside table. The giant was sitting on his bed, but of course, he was still looming high over the human. “I...I understand why you would feel that way,” Rael’s voice was uncharacteristically hesitant, Gavin could hardly believe this was the same person who had yelled at him earlier.

A long sigh blew out from between Gavin’s lips. “I sure hope you’re leading up to an apology here,” he snipped, folding his arms firmly over his chest. He wasn’t going to put up with some indirect expression of regret, nah--that wasn’t going to fly. If Rael wanted his forgiveness, he would have to make an apology as clear and plain as day.

There was no derision or amusement on Rael’s face, just a solemn frown. “Ashryn wanted me to prove myself by...reigning you in,” the alteon explained in a stormy tone. “I was too afraid of harming my reputation to not take the bait.” Clearly Gavin’s assumptions had been right. “But I was wrong...and weak for not standing up to Ashryn. For that, I am sorry.” It was hard to believe Gavin was hearing those words being directed at him from Rael. A few hours ago it would have seemed impossible.

As good as it was to hear the apology, Gavin still felt like there was something Rael wasn’t entirely grasping. “Listen, I know I look pretty tough, but you’ve gotta realize how--how freaky it is when you use your size against me.” Admitting he was afraid wasn’t really something Gavin loved to do, especially considering he was trying to convince alteons that humans weren’t weak little babies, but Rael needed to know the effect his actions had.

The size disparity between the room’s occupants suddenly became even more strikingly apparent. Gavin was standing and Rael was sitting, and yet Rael still absolutely towered over the human. No matter how equal the two may be intellectually, Rael would always have a huge automatic advantage over Gavin--and that was something they would both have to come to adapt to if they were going to be living and working with each other for the foreseeable future.

“Are you afraid of me?” The sudden question stunned Gavin. He wasn’t sure why, because it had always been something in the back of his mind. Maybe it was just shocking hearing Rael ask it so bluntly.

Gavin paused. How was he supposed to answer this? He had definitely had fear inflicted on him by Rael on multiple occasions, but was he really and truly afraid of the guy? Gavin gave a weak shrug. “I don’t really know...I guess sometimes…” Rael gave a tight nod, as if he had been expecting that response. “But other times you’re just a big, awkward dork,” Gavin quickly added.

A very slight smile pulled at the corner of Rael’s lips. “Alright, I’ll promise not to use my size against you anymore, if you can promise not to call me a ‘dork’ again,” he said the words so seriously, and yet the growing grin on the alteon’s face gave him away.

Gavin chuckled. “Fine, but you gotta promise not to give me any weird assistant jobs, like polishing your scabbard or some shit.” He really didn’t know how much someone of his size could really be of use to a giant, but he supposed this arrangement was better than being thrown into a cage.

Rael raised a single dark eyebrow. “Oh, but you’re probably the only one that could actually reach the inside.”

A grumpy frown took shape on Gavin’s face. “Okay, next rule: no size jokes at my expense!”

A warm, genuine laugh escaped from Rael. In a flash the giant man was reaching forward, and before Gavin could dodge backwards, a massive index finger was ruffling his hair, making the already messy locks even more of a disaster. “No promises.”

Gavin let out a long sigh. Somehow he had gone from being a professional thief to the assistant to a gigantic, elf-eared man from another dimension. “At least it’s more exciting than being a damn doctor.”

I was originally gonna make this two parts but I decided to just make it one big chunky final chapter! This story was kind of like the introductory prologue to Gavin and Rael so there's definitely room for more about them in the future if people are interested. I had a ton of fun writing this and totally appreciate all the nice comments and such that I got!

I've got a busy few weeks ahead of me but feel free to send in prompts/commissions for my ocs. I just may take a little while to actually get to them.

[jayoctodot]

The Silent Patient vs The Maidens

I will start by saying that I understand the appeal of these novels as page-turners. They are easy to read and if you want a twisty reveal at the end, you will probably be entertained and satisfied. That being said, I am SO CONFUSED by the near-universal adoration of The Silent Patient and the reasonably positive reception of The Maidens. The weaknesses of the two are strikingly similar, as well, which doesn’t give me much hope of seeing improvement from this guy, though I am intrigued to see whether he keeps repeating the same (apparently successful!!) patterns. These books were at least super fun to hate.

(For context, I read The Maidens for a bookclub I'm in, because several of the members had read and loved The Silent Patient, and one of them gave me a copy of the latter to read on my own time. I loathed The Maidens and then read The SP for comparative purposes. And because I'm a masochist, apparently.)

SPOILER WARNING! Do not read on unless you've finished both books (or unless you care not for spoilers). Sorry if it gets a bit shouty.

Here are the similar weaknesses I noticed in both:

PSEUDO-PSYCHOLOGY

-> Weirdly similar “group therapy” scenes early on where a cartoonishly unstable patient arrives late, disrupts the meeting by throwing something into the middle of the circle, and is asked to join the group after the therapist(s) speechify on the importance of boundaries (HA! None of these therapists would know an appropriate boundary if it kicked them in the ass) and debate whether to “allow” the patient to join. Both scenes are so transparent in their design to establish the credibility/legitimacy of the narrators as therapists, but instead both Theo and Mariana come off as super patronizing. The protagonists are less and less believable as therapists at the stories progress (though at least Theo’s incompetence is explained away by the “twist” at the end; Mariana, on the other hand, is confronted in the opening pages of the novel by a patient who has self-harmed PRETTY extensively, and rather than ensure he get proper medical attention, she essentially throws him a first aid kit and tosses him out the door so she can pour herself a glass of wine and call her niece... and it devolves from there).

-> Ongoing insistence throughout the narrative that one’s childhood trauma entirely explains the warped/dysfunctional way a character behaves or views the world, which is why the books go out of their way to give EVERY potentially violent character a traumatic childhood; when Theo insists that no one ever became an abuser who hadn’t been abused themselves, I wanted to throw the book across the room. (That is a MYTH, SIR. GET OUT OF HERE WITH YOUR ARMCHAIR PSYCHOLOGY.)

-> Female murderers whose pathology boils down to “history of depression” and “traumatized by a male loved one/family member.” Because, as we all know, depression + abuse = murderer!

-> The “therapy” depicted in both books is laughable and so so unrealistic, mostly because neither narrators function as therapists so much as incompetent detectives, obsessively pursuing a case they have no place pursuing (or skill to pursue - both just happen across every clue mostly by way of clunky conversation with all the people who can provide precisely the snippet of info to send them along to the next person, and the next… until all is revealed in a tired, cliched “twist”). Their constant Psych 101 asides were so tiresome and weirdly dated (also, the constant harping on countertransference got so ridiculous that at one point during "therapy" Theo literally attributes his headache and a particular emotion he feels to Alicia, as though the contents of her head are being broadcast directly into his mind... and I'm PRETTY SURE that's not how it works???)

CHARACTERS

-> Psychotherapist narrators with abusive fathers and pretensions of being Sherlock Holmes, which results in both characters crossing ALL KINDS of ethical lines as they invade the personal lives of everyone even tangentially connected to their cases (and, in Theo's case, violate all kinds of patient confidentiality. Yeah, yeah, by the end, that's the least of his offenses, but before you get there, it's baffling that NO ONE is calling him out on this).

-> All female characters are either elderly with hilariously bad advice, monstrous hulking brutes, or beautiful bitches (except for ~MARIANA~, who is Bella Swan-esque in her unawareness of her own attractiveness, despite multiple men trying to get with her almost immediately after meeting her. I'm so tired of beautiful female characters being oblivious to their own hotness. Are we meant to believe all mirrors and male attention have escaped their notice? If it’s to make them “relatable,” this tactic really fails with me).

-> All characters of color are shallow, cartoonish side characters, and most of them are depicted as unsympathetic minor antagonists (the Sikh Chief Inspector in The Maidens continuously drinks tea from an ever-present thermos, and his only other notable characteristic is his instant dislike of Mariana, whom he VERY RIGHTLY warns to stay out of the investigation that she is VERY MUCH compromising… the Caribbean manager of the Grove is universally disliked by her staff for enforcing stricter safety regulations at the bafflingly poorly run mental institution, because HOW DARE SHE. There's a very clear vibe that we're supposed to dislike these characters and share the protagonists' indignation, but honestly Sangha/Stephanie were completely in the right for trying to shut down their wildly inappropriate investigations).

-> "Working class" characters (or basically anyone excluded from the comfortably upper-crust, educated main cadre of characters) are few and far between in both stories, but when they show up, he depicts them as such caricatures. We got Elsie the pathologically lying housekeeper in the Maidens, who is enticed to share her bullshit with cake, and then a TOOTHLESS LEPRECHAUN DEALING DRUGS UNDER A BRIDGE in the SP. I kid you not, a man described as having the body of a child, the face of Father Time, and no front teeth, emerges from beneath a bridge and offers to sell Theo some "grass." I was dyinggg.

-> There are no characters to root for. Anywhere. Partly because they’re all so thinly drawn — and because we’re clearly supposed to view almost ALL of them as potential suspects, so they’re ALL weird, creepy, or incompetent in some way.

-> The flimsiest of flimsy motives, both for the narrators and the murderers. Theo fully would have gotten away with his involvement in the murder if he hadn't gone out of his way to work at the Grove and "treat" Alicia and his justification for doing so is pretty weak; his rapid descent into stalking and murder fantasy and his random ass decision to "expose" Alicia's husband as a cheater with a spur-of-the-moment home invasion and staged attempted homicide is ONLY justified if the reader hand waves it away as WELP, HE'S CRAZY, I GUESS (after all, he DID have an abusive father and a history of mental illness, and in Michaelides novels, that's ALL YOU NEED to become a violent psycho). I guess we're lucky Mariana didn't also start dropping bodies (because the logic of his fictional universe says she should definitely be a murderer by now... maybe that'll be his Maidens sequel?). But she especially had NO reason to randomly turn detective - and she kept trying to justify it by saying she needed to re-enter the world or that Sebastian would want her to (??), even though she had no background in criminal psychology... or even a particular fondness for mysteries (really, I would've accepted ANYTHING to explain her dogged obsession with the case. WHY were Sebastian and Zoe so certain she would insert herself into the investigation just because one of Zoe's friends was the first victim? WHY?). As for Zoe and Alicia, their motives are mere suggestions: they were both abused and manipulated, and voila! Slippery slope to murder.

WRITING STYLE

-> Incessant allusions to Greek tragedy and myth, apparently to provide a sophisticated gloss over the bare-bones writing style, which opts more for telling than showing and frequently indulges in hilariously bizarre analogies. Credit where credit is due — the references to Greek myth are less clunky in the SP, and I liked learning about the Alcestis play/myth, which I hadn’t heard of before - but OMG the entire characterization of Fosca, who we are meant to believe is a professor of Greek tragedy at one of the most respected universities on the planet, is just absurd. His "lecture" on the liminal in Greek tragedy is essentially the Wikipedia page on the Eleusinian Mysteries capped off with some Hallmark-card carpe diem crap. The lecture hall responds with raucous applause, clearly never having heard such vague genius bullshit before.

-> Super clunky and amateurish narrative device of interludes written by another character; Sebastian’s letter reads like a mashup of Dexter monologues and Clarice’s memory of the screaming sheep, but by FAR the worse offender is Alicia’s diary, where we’re supposed to believe she painstakingly recorded ENTIRE CONVERSATIONS, BEAT-BY-BEAT DIALOGUE, even when she’s just been DRUGGED TO THE GILLS with morphine and has mere moments of consciousness left… and even before that, she literally takes the time to write “He's trying the windows and doors! ...Someone’s inside! Someone’s inside the house! ETC ETC” when she thinks her stalker has broken in downstairs. WHO DOES THAT?)

-> Speaking of dialogue, the dialogue is so bad. Based on his bio, Michaelides got a degree in screenwriting, which makes his terrible dialogue even more baffling.

-> HILARIOUSLY rendered voyeur scenes where the narrators spy on couples having sex. Such unintentionally awkward descriptions. First we had Kathy’s climax sounds through the trees and then the bowler hat carefully placed on a tombstone before the gatekeeper plows a student. Again, I died.

PLOT/"TWIST"

-> The CONSTANT red herrings make for such an exhausting read. Michaelides drops anvils with almost every character that are so obviously meant to designate them as suspects in our minds. There is absolutely no subtlety in his misdirections.

-> The “crossover” scene between the SP and The Maidens makes no sense - when in the timeline does Mariana’s story overlap with Theo’s? They confer just before Theo starts working at the Grove, obviously (though Mariana appears to be the one who alerts Theo to the job opening there? Whereas in the SP, Theo has been obsessively tracking Alicia since the murder and had already planned to apply to work there?), but then are we supposed to believe that while Theo has been psychotically pursuing his warped quest to “help” Alicia, he’s also been diligently treating Zoe, so invested in her case that he repeatedly reaches out to Mariana to get her to visit Zoe and even writes Mariana a lengthy letter to convince her to do so??? And then a couple days after The Maidens ends, Theo is arrested???

-> But the thing I really did hate the most is how Michaelides treats his female murderers (who are both also victims themselves) as mere means to deploy a “twist”; there’s no moment spared to encourage our sympathy for Zoe, who was groomed and manipulated by the only trusted father figure in her life, and even after spending a decent amount of time getting to know Alicia via her ridiculous diary, where it’s so apparent that she’s been demeaned, objectified, manipulated, gaslit, and/or used by EVERY man in her life, she’s sent packing to spend the rest of her days in a coma… HOW much more satisfying would it have been for her to succeed in exposing Theo and reclaiming her voice? But no, she basically rolls over when he comes to finish her off (SPEAKING OF — ARE WE SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE THERE ARE NO SECURITY CAMERAS IN THIS INSTITUTE FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE????), writes one last diary entry, and drifts off forever. And then a couple pages of nothing later, the story is over. GOODNIGHT, ALICIA!

Both books kept me rolling throughout (by which I mean eye-rolling but also rotfl). Maybe I will check out his next effort — I’m morbidly curious what he’ll turn out. It does leave me wondering whether I should give up on thriller novels entirely, though. Are many of the weaknesses of these novels just characteristic of the genre? Maybe I'm just holding these books to unfair standards? I'm mostly only familiar with thriller films — many of which I think are amazing — but maybe you can get away with more in a film than you can in a novel.

...I really only intended to write a handful of bullet points, but more and more kept coming to mind as I wrote, to the point where subheadings became necessary. Whoopsie.