#but a couple of them are like ??? why would you feel compelled to tell an author that?

[espithewarlock]

I don't understand why some AO3 commenters feel the need to tell an author when they're leaving a fic.

Like, that's fine? Fanfic is free, there's nobody compelling you to finish reading a story you're not enjoying?

I mean, what am I supposed to do with that? I'm sorry my angst-tagged fic has angst in it? I'm sorry that my characters aren't perfect, that it's not all fluff and roses, that sometimes they say and do the wrong things?

Newsflash, the world is FULL of people who say and do the wrong things. Yeah, one of them might deserve better and another one should have made a better apology. Nobody's perfect, including me, and I'm going to continue writing imperfect stories about imperfect people.

For free.

Anyways, this fic has more kudos on it than some of my fics have hits, so, like, obviously some people are enjoying it?? Don't let the door hit you on the way out.

[grimmjowjaegerjaquez]

thinking about how great kurt and jimaines relationship would be if they were allowed to be Just adopted siblings

[appocalipse]

never mine ✧ eddie munson

bartender!eddie x fem!reader • old friends to lovers • chapter 01 • 3.5k words

ೃ ✦ ✧ ∗ ❥ ҉

Summary: After everything that had happened with Vecna and the Upside Down, Eddie Munson left Hawkins as soon as you and the rest of your friends managed to clear his name. And you understood why Eddie and his uncle had made that decision. Truly, you did; Eddie's innocence had been proven, yes, but Hawkins was a small town and some people would always turn up their noses at them. It didn't mean you didn't miss Eddie, or think about him over the course of the next decade. Somehow, in your heart, you always felt that one day you would meet him again. The last place you thought that would happen, though, was at a bar — that Eddie, now in his early thirties, owns in New York.

ೃ ✦ ✧ ∗ ❥ ҉

It isn't the type of bar you usually frequent.

For starters, it's tucked away on a relatively quiet street in Brooklyn instead of being one of those swanky, pop-up bars you've gotten used to seeing all over Manhattan since moving here from Boston last year. Also, it's more rustic than sleek, more dark than trendy, its exterior walls adorned with faded red bricks, its small windows lined with black frames. It seems almost like an anachronism among the new construction that has been sprouting up all over this part of the neighborhood.

But even before you get close enough to see what the sign reads, something about this little place feels oddly familiar. In some intangible way, it reminds you of a time you left behind when you moved here: your years spent growing up in a sleepy Indiana town named Hawkins.

And maybe it's just because it's clearly about to rain — the air wet and misty, as though a storm is coming — but right now, for reasons you can't explain, you feel compelled to enter.

So you take a deep breath, open the heavy wooden door and step inside.

The inside is as rustic as the outside, with one long bar stretching across most of the space, booths running along the adjacent walls, and several tables scattered in the center beneath the glow of dim, gold lights. A jukebox quietly plays 'In Bloom' by Nirvana at the back. And just like outside, everything feels achingly familiar, a wave of nostalgia you don't quite understand crashing into you so intensely that you have to grip one of the barstools tightly to steady yourself.

"One sec, doll. Be right with ya!"

He's not really looking at you when he says those words. He's got his back turned, hands busy preparing a drink at the far end of the bar, head just barely visible as he hunches over to scoop ice cubes from the metal container beside him. You can't see much from where you're standing — he's wearing a denim jacket rolled up to his elbows, hair pulled up into a messy bun at the top of his head — but there's something about his voice, sweet yet gravelly, something about what little you can see of his face that makes your breath catch in your throat.

And then he straightens up, turns around. And you both freeze, staring at each other.

Eddie Munson.

It's impossible. But it's him; the same Eddie who sold you weed a couple times your senior year of high school. The same Eddie you grew to call a friend before he left Hawkins without even saying goodbye. The same Eddie whose name still leaves a dull ache in your chest if you think about it too long.

Ten years later, and he's somehow more handsome than ever, all grown up. His hair is a little shorter, curlier than you remember. He's wearing dark-wash jeans and a navy Henley beneath his scuffed leather jacket. That playful expression you once found so adorable is now made even more endearing by a small scar across one eyebrow. And those eyes — a warm brown, expressive as always — are locked onto yours as his lips part, slightly agape.

"Y/N?"

Your heart pounds in your ears when you nod. It's hard to tell what emotion lies behind his gaze, but after a few seconds of staring at you like this, he slowly places the drink he was preparing down on the bar countertop and all but runs toward you, a giant grin lighting up his face.

He nearly knocks you off your feet with the force of his hug, pulling you tight against him.

But you're not complaining.

You cling to him just as tightly, your cheek pressed against his chest. The scent of cedar and tobacco mixed with something else — something unmistakably Eddie — overwhelms your senses as he picks you up a few inches off the ground and spins you around with an excited laugh, making you wrap both arms around his neck for stability.

"Jesus Christ," he exclaims, setting you down before gently taking hold of your shoulders. "I can't believe it's really you."

For the briefest moment, it almost feels as though you've gone back in time, returned to 1986 — the year everything changed forever — right after defeating Vecna for good and before Eddie moved away with his uncle, Wayne, just days before you followed suit to leave for college.

And it seems impossible — ridiculous, really — that you should both be standing here, in this bar in New York of all places, years and years later. So you just stand there blinking, speechless, trying to make sense of it all with the most stunned smile plastered across your face.

"I—"

"What's going on out here?" someone yells from the other side of the room. "For fuck's sake, Ed, if you're gonna flirt with another customer, do it a little more quietly."

At that, Eddie drops his hands from your shoulders and turns toward the woman speaking, more amused than you've ever seen him. He playfully sticks his tongue out at her before giving you a wink.

"Sorry about that," he chuckles.

The woman leans forward a little bit, squinting as though she can't quite believe what she sees. Then a smile stretches across her face, too. "Wait, aren't you–"

"Yes," Eddie interrupts. "It's her, Dottie."

The woman — Dottie — seems to be in her 50s, with shoulder-length blond hair streaked with gray and a sleeve of colorful tattoos on one arm. When she strides toward you, she's wearing an easy smile that crinkles the corners of her green eyes, extending her hand to you over the bar.

"Hey there. I'm Dorothea, but everyone calls me Dottie. You must be the girl that Eddie—"

Eddie quickly steps in between you. "We were just catching up, actually," he explains. "Do you mind giving us a few minutes to ourselves? Great, thank you."

He doesn't give her time to respond; Eddie kisses the back of Dottie's hand and grins, then wraps his fingers around your wrist as he drags you behind the bar, through a set of double doors leading to a stairwell.

"Mind the step, sweetheart, it's a little steep," he cautions, keeping a tight grip on you as you both ascend the stairs.

And maybe it's because you're just getting over a breakup, but your stomach flutters from the nickname, from the way his thumb draws gentle circles into your skin.

This isn't the first time he's called you sweetheart. You don't know why it affects you differently now.

"Where are we going?"

He doesn't answer until the two of you reach the top of the stairs, at which point he drops his hand from your wrist and faces you.

"Well, here we are!" he announces, stretching out his arms and turning in a full circle. "Home, sweet home."

You blink as you look around, realizing you're standing inside an apartment — presumably Eddie's — whose open floor plan means you can see straight into the kitchen and living room.

"I can't believe you live here," you mumble, more to yourself than anything else.

A large black sofa sits opposite the TV, a coffee table littered with beer bottles, candles and an ashtray between them. There's a little dining room table for four beside the couch, across from the galley kitchen where the counters are covered with dirty dishes. But despite the mess, everything still feels very... cozy, somehow. Welcoming.

Eddie chuckles, reaching behind himself to loosen the hair tie at the base of his skull. A few tendrils fall loose across his forehead as he tousles his hair, then combs his fingers through it. You feel something twist in your abdomen, your breath hitching in your throat.

Fuck, you think. That's distracting.

"Yeah, me either sometimes," he says with a shrug. "But it's got a roof, a bathroom and a bed. It used to be Dottie's, but now that she and Wayne are married, she decided to move in with him instead."

"Your uncle got married?"

Eddie nods, and the expression that settles in his features softens as he talks about his uncle.

"They met at the bar. Got hitched a few years ago, have a little place not far from here. It's cute, really. Like a little love story for old folks or something. But yeah, this place is all mine now. Not bad, huh?"

Your heart aches a little hearing this — not because you're sad that his uncle found love (you do feel happy for him), but because you hadn't realized how much you've missed in the last decade, how much of Eddie's life you weren't around for.

Still, you smile.

"Not bad at all," you agree.

Eddie's returning grin is more hesitant this time. As if he wants to say more, but he's unsure of how.

"I missed you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Because you had; so much more than you ever knew was possible. Even when you'd only grown close to him for a few weeks before he moved away, he had managed to make such an impression on you that his absence became a wound you couldn't quite heal, no matter how many years passed.

So for the longest time, you told yourself that he'd probably forgotten all about you anyway, since he never tried to contact you after he left. It was easier that way, somehow. Better than waiting for something that would never happen.

"Me too," Eddie breathes, voice so quiet you might have imagined it. "Me too, sweetheart."

For a second, you can't breathe.

When you do, you inhale his scent, a hint of weed and tobacco mixed with cedar. His cologne, then, you suppose. And there's something entirely new, too, something that belongs uniquely to him.

You stare at Eddie, trying to find the right words, but all you can manage to utter is:

"Really?"

His eyebrows knit together in confusion. Maybe concern, too.

"What? Why do you seem surprised?"

"No, I just–" you trail off, thinking. "I dunno. I guess I just...figured you wouldn't even remember me after so long. It's been...what? Ten years?"

"You thought I didn't remember you?" he asks incredulously, and those deep brown eyes widen a fraction.

You bite your lip, sheepish. "I don't know. Maybe. A little bit," you confess, looking away.

Eddie exhales a half-chuckle.

"Sweetheart, you're — Jesus — you're not exactly easy to forget," he utters softly, almost like he hopes you won't hear.

You can't help but laugh at this, although your cheeks immediately warm up, burning like fire. "Says you."

There's something almost bashful in the way Eddie smiles, his gaze cast downward as he reaches for a strand of hair and curls it around one finger.

"Don't you wanna sit down?" he asks. "I'll get you something to drink. Any preference?"

"Whatever you're having is fine," you reply, still a little overwhelmed by everything that's happening as he gestures for you to take a seat on his sofa.

"Alrighty. Just wait here. One sec."

As you make yourself comfortable on the black leather, you notice several framed photographs atop the mantle of the fireplace. Most of the pictures depict Eddie with people you've never met — a tall, handsome black man, a blond guy, a girl with short, spiky hair and a tattooed arm — but the one you can't look away from is a smaller frame with a picture of you, Dustin and the rest of your friends squeezed tightly together, the sun setting behind you.

It was taken after you beat Vecna in 1986. Before Eddie moved. Before you did, too. Everyone in the picture looks dirty and exhausted, but there's also an air of celebration hanging over all of you that you can clearly see just by the wide, gleeful smiles stretching across your faces.

"It's a real shame you ever doubted it, by the way."

Eddie's voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you turn around to find him already halfway to the couch. He's holding two beers in his hands.

"I wasn't—I didn't mean to pry or anything," you explain, your heart beating a little faster.

He shrugs as he hands you one of the beers and takes a seat beside you, close enough for you to feel his thigh press against yours.

"Nah, it's okay," he assures, his gaze traveling to the picture you were examining a few seconds ago. "That's a good memory."

You nod in agreement as you bring the bottle to your lips. It's cool and refreshing against your tongue, but not as calming as you need it to be.

"I'm sorry for just barging in here, by the way. I don't actually know why I came in the first place, I just... felt like something was pulling me in," you tell him.

And it's true; that strange sense of familiarity that tugged you forward earlier today has started to fade, now replaced by a comforting warmth that feels like coming home.

Eddie snorts a laugh before taking a swig of his beer.

"Sorry, I'm just making it weirder and weirder, aren't I?" you groan, leaning forward to place your beer on the coffee table.

Eddie sets his down, too.

"No, you're not, sweetheart," he soothes, taking one of your hands in his and rubbing a calloused thumb over your knuckles. "Why would you think that?"

You can't look at him when you answer.

"I don't know, I just... I spent years wondering about what happened to you after you left Hawkins, and then I randomly show up here, and now we're just sitting on your couch like we haven't spent ten years apart? It feels insane."

There's something unreadable in the way he's looking at you, then.

"You look really pretty, by the way," Eddie says.

Your heart is thumping so loudly you worry he can hear it.

"Oh yeah?" you tease with a grin, desperate to hide the fact that you can feel yourself blush all the way up to the tips of your ears. "Prettier than when we were twenty-one?"

The grin he flashes you is bright and lopsided, playful.

"Way, way prettier, actually," he drawls.

Your brain seems to malfunction after this, his words playing on a loop, over and over and over again inside your head. And all you can do is return his smile, feeling a pleasant heat pool in your belly that has nothing to do with alcohol. "Eddie Munson, are you flirting with me?"

He laughs at this — a genuine, low chuckle.

"Depends. Is it working?"

Yes, you think.

"Not at all."

"Liar," he smirks before raising the hand he's still holding and pressing a kiss to its back. "Then yes, I am."

Your breath catches in your throat, a thrill running down your spine as Eddie holds your gaze with a small smile. But then it fades, replaced by something more serious as he absentmindedly traces a pattern onto your palm with his fingertip.

"Can I ask you something?"

You nod. He lets go of your hand.

"If you're here, does that mean you're also living in New York?" he asks, eyes filled with a cautious hope as he stares at you. "Or did you just happen to be passing through on vacation?"

"I moved here a year ago," you tell him, biting your bottom lip. "I can't believe you're really here. What are the chances, right?"

It feels like some kind of cosmic joke. And while you never quite stopped hoping that you and Eddie might meet again someday, you didn't expect it to happen like this. In a bar. In New York.

Ten years later.

"Fate works in mysterious ways, huh?"

"You sound like an old man."

He chuckles at your teasing tone before bending forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him.

"I just—this is gonna sound totally lame, but..."

Eddie trails off, chewing on his lower lip as he searches your eyes.

"Go ahead," you urge gently.

He runs a hand through his hair, pushing a few strands away from his face as he takes a deep breath.

"When I left Hawkins, I felt like a fucking idiot because I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to you. Not really, I mean. And I—shit, I really wanted to. More than anything. So... the reason why I left without saying anything was because I was scared that if I saw you one last time, I'd lose my nerve and not leave at all. And...I know, I know it's dumb, because we had only known each other for a couple of weeks, but—"

"It's not dumb," you assure him. "Not to me, at least."

It's one thing knowing someone for a long period of time and losing them. But when you grow attached to someone so quickly, so suddenly — like you did with Eddie — it leaves an emptiness behind. Something you can't quite fill, nor begin to explain to anyone else without feeling as though you're speaking nonsense.

"It's not?"

"No. Not at all."

And you wonder if he can see the vulnerability in your eyes when you reach forward and brush your fingertips over his. It's all you dare to do, all the courage you can muster, but he responds by uncurling his own and sliding them between your palms. His hand feels warm, smooth. Cold where the silver of his rings touches your skin.

"I never forgot you, you know? And I—" he stops, and you watch him swallow hard. "Shit. Sorry. You're gonna think I'm a creep."

"Try me."

The smile on his face is shy and endearing, his cheeks flushed pink when he admits: "Sometimes I have this...dream."

You cock your head to one side, curious. "What about?"

"About you."

Eddie glances down at his hand in yours, studying it for a moment like it's the most interesting thing in the room.

"Mostly about that night you saved me. You know, from the bats."

"I didn't save you," you protest. "I just...I got lucky."

He scoffs, shakes his head like that's the most preposterous thing he's ever heard.

"Sweetheart, I was half dead when you showed up. If it wasn't for you, I would be completely dead right now."

You glance at Eddie's side, where you remember him having an angry, festering wound when you found him. You wonder if the scar is still there, if it bothers him.

"Maybe," you concede, and his smile returns. "So you dream about that?"

"Among other things. Yeah."

Your heart hammers in your chest as you consider what those other things might be, his gaze intense upon you as you nervously wet your bottom lip with your tongue.

"Other things?" you repeat.

"Other things," he confirms. "I might tell you about 'em sometime if you play your cards right, though."

"Oh, right," you muse, pulling your hands away from his with a soft chuckle. "This is you flirting, isn't it?"

"So what if it is?" he asks, grinning as he leans back on the couch cushion.

You don't miss the way he looks at you, the same way he used to in high school whenever he was trying to get under your skin, to rile you up. And it seems that — even after all these years, with you all grown up, both of you in your early thirties — he hasn't lost his touch.

"So what if it is," you echo.

Eddie raises both eyebrows, smirking. "Guess you're gonna have to come back sometime if you wanna find out. You know, just to be sure."

"I—" you hesitate, realizing you hadn't considered the possibility of leaving before, too caught up in the whirlwind of seeing him again after so long. "Shit, yeah, I should...I should go, I've kept you long enough as it is. I should let you get back to work—"

You move to stand up, but a gentle hand on your arm stops you.

"Wait," he pleads, voice soft. "Do you...have anywhere you gotta be? Anywhere you need to rush off to?"

"Um—" you look down at the floorboards, shifting your weight from foot to foot. "Just my bed? It's getting late. Well, not really, but...it will be soon?"

The tension slowly eases from Eddie's body as he relaxes, his expression becoming playful.

"Are you asking or telling?" he teases.

You sigh.

"I don't wanna intrude."

"You're not. At all," Eddie says firmly, his words a promise. "Besides, you still have a lot to catch me up on. So you can tell me all about whatever boring day job you landed now that you're living the big apple life, and I'll tell you about my band, which has a gig tomorrow, by the way, so you're definitely coming to see it."

"Wow, you're bossy now," you point out.

His eyes gleam as they hold yours, and when he speaks, his voice is husky, full of mischief.

"You have no idea, sweetheart."

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Make Him Better Looking｡⋆.

Sam Winchester x plus size reader

Truth serum plus hidden feelings and a major amount of lust for your best friend is bound to end well

Warnings: truth serum, reader is hornee, implied smut, size kink, Sam is taller than the reader, explicit thoughts, mutual pining, mentions of a hunt

WC: 1.1k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Falling in love with Sam had been easy- not only was he stupidly handsome with those big hazel puppy dog eyes and a killer body, but he was kind and he was smart. He loved with his whole soul and would do anything for anyone, even after all the shit he had been through. 

What hadn’t been easy, however, was just how horny you got every time you even thought of the giant hunter let alone be around him. If he was tracing lines in a book to keep his place, you thought about what his fingers would feel like inside of you. If he was working out, you wondered if he would make those same noises in bed. And worst of all was when he was talking animatedly about something, his entire body came alive with passion and excitement. His eyes sparkled and his smile was always huge. And yet all you could think about was having his face between your thick thighs, talking into your cunt as he feasted. 

Needless to say, you had absolutely destroyed your scant collection of toys and taken more cold showers than warm. Eventually, you had to reach your breaking point.

It had been a witch hunt in Arkansas that went slightly wrong. People all around town were suddenly compelled to tell everyone around them their darkest secrets, ruining their lives in the process. It was a pretty simple cut and dry witch who had some vendetta against liars so she was forcing everyone to tell the truth. You and Jody picked up the hunt as some kind of demented girl’s trip and it mostly went off without a hitch. At least until the witch got you with a truth spell right before the sheriff dropped her.

You had arrived back home with your mouth practically sewn shut in an attempt to keep yourself from telling the boys your innermost thoughts until the spell wore off (which Jody assured you that it would be a couple days at most). Claire and Alex already had their fun asking you questions that you could no longer lie in response to, leading to them learning why there’s a bottle of deluded bleach and air freshener in the back of the Impala and the ‘no tequila after midnight’ rule. 

Dean quickly discovered your ailment after you bluntly told him that his new orange flannel and grown out hair made him look like an oversized carrot, and he was determined to break you. But unfortunately for him, you were a hell of a lot smarter than him and could find ways to easily distract him.

You and Dean sat across from each other at the library table, eyes locked to each other as you both desperately tried not to blink. A game born out of desperation not to reveal your darkest secrets and childish rivalry but with a month’s worth of laundry on the line, the game was a matter of life or death. Your eyes burned as you struggled to keep them open but you refused to back down now, especially when Dean’s face had begun to turn red with the strain, you knew he was close to breaking.

Then, disaster struck. Right as his eyelids began to twitch with the need to blink, Sam walked into the library wearing a tight white shirt and grey sweatpants and obviously not wearing briefs. Immediately your mouth went dry as your concentration was broken. You didn’t even hear Dean cheer that he won, you just kept looking at his  brother who was now browsing the many shelves for something to read.

Dean rubbed at his eyes while glancing at his younger brother before sarcastically remarking. “Looking good Sammy.” Sam responded with a scoff, returning to his search and letting you get a glimpse of his perky backside.

The words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them, spilling out of your dirty mind like an unstoppable river. “Goddamn, how about you bring that perfect ass over here and I’ll tell you how I can make you look even better.” Everyone froze, including you, and then you opened your mouth again. “You’d look hotter with me sitting on your face.”

Silence settled over the bunker, your veins filled with dread. “Oh god please ignore that I said that- well actually, I don’t want you to ignore it. I really do want to sit on your face but right now I really want to throw myself off a cliff. So I think I’m gonna go do that. Have a nice life boys.” You went to slip from your chair but suddenly your wide hips were pinned to the edge of the table but two huge hands.

Sam loomed over you, his eyes dark with lust as he smirked down at you. “Now why would you go and do that when we could test your little theory.” Your breath caught in your throat. He dipped down, bringing his face to yours until you were close enough to feel his breath on your lips. 

“I-“ You stammered. Wetness pooled between your thighs as he stepped even closer, pressing his hardening cock to your soft body. 

“Oh what is it baby? Can’t speak anymore? Don’t worry, you won’t be able to stop making sounds when my mouth is on your cunt.” He growled into your ear.

Neither you nor Sam noticed when Dean sprung to his feet and ran off into the depths of the bunker to escape the very obvious tension on the brink of exploding between you. Your fingers tentatively curled into his shirt, making his smile grow. “That’s a good girl, now how about you go to my room and get undressed. I wanna see if you get even more beautiful when you’re on top of me.” 

——————

Sam had always found you incredibly intoxicating but even more so now. You were dead asleep on his chest, your breaths even as you slumbered on. Sam took pride in your exhaustion considering he was the cause. He gently stroked the soft skin of your hip, tracing over the texture of your stretch marks delicately as to not wake you. 

You sighed in your sleep, nuzzling closer to his bare chest. He kissed the top of your head and with a great amount of care, slipped from your hold. You stirred only for a moment before settling once more. He dressed quietly and slipped out of his room.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted from the kitchen drawing him in like a siren. “Morning.” He muttered as he wandered in, shooting his brother a glance. Dean nodded at him from his place at the small table, drinking his coffee silently.

As Sam poured two mugs of the bitter drink, he spoke again. “She was right, you know.” Dean hummed and looked up at him curiously. “I do look better when she sits on my face.”

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The Hidden Love Story of What We Do in the Shadows: How The Internet Fell in Love with Harvey Guillen’s Guillermo de la Cruz

I think it’s fair to call this show what it is: a comedy.

The actors have said it’s themselves: the show is 50% improv, 50% script. A lot of what we see is a brilliant collaboration of talent, writing, and the actors saying the funniest thing they can say about something in that moment.

According to Harvey Guillen, some scenes would last 30 minutes each if they didn’t cut it down. That improv is what makes the show what is it: the funniest show on television.

What’s interesting about this little Shit and Fart show (affectionate), is the heart of it all: Guillermo.

Originally the show was looking for an older man to play Nandor’s familiar. The character had worked for his master for 20 years, not 10 as we see in the pilot episode.

Harvey got an audition randomly. At a wine and cheese night of a friend’s, he was invited to audition for the part. It was random, but also, it was fate.

Let me explain.

Harvey Guillen auditioning for the role of Guillermo

(I actually have the full audition tape of Harvey’s if anyone’s interested.) Link below!

Harvey didn’t “fit the part” (Harvey’s words) whatsoever of this character and decided to dress himself to look older, putting on what he calls his Harry Potter glasses and parted his hair down the middle.

The Guillermo we see in the pilot was all Harvey’s idea of what that character should be and the costuming department just ran with it. It’s also fun to point out that to those who don’t know, Harvey created Guillermo’s last name even before he knew he’d play the show’s Vampire Slayer.

I mention this because I don’t think they (showrunner, producers,etc) expected Guillermo to become such a fan favorite. Which kinda explains why his character is the punching bag of season one and why it somewhat changes as seasons go by.

I mean, we don’t even see Guillermo in this season one poster (we don’t see Colin Robinson, either. But I feel like I could write an entirely other post about that character and why I think he’s genuinely the best and most consistently written character on the show. But I won’t right now).

I think they expected Guillermo to be a one-note side kick, which is fine. Many of Harvey’s previous roles were nearly background characters (think Benedict Pickwick in The Magicians).

But, Harvey’s take on the character coupled with his talent at being both comedic and dramatic really shined through. And I think that’s where you start to see that maybe they could do more with him than just being the funny guy in the background.

I also think that’s why you start to see some threading of a more serious plot when it comes to Guillermo’s storyline because of Harvey’s range.

Who would’ve known a funny bit like being a Van Helsing descent in a house full of vampires would get you compelling scenes like the familiar fight The Night Market, Nouveau Théâtre des Vampires, and the Nandor and Guillermo fight in The Portrait?

Harvey mentioned having to train for these and wanted to do his own stunts! And he does them well!

Did they imagine Guillermo being such a badass in the pilot? Probably not. But he is and people took to it. The serious fight scenes (even with bits of comedy filtered in) really stand out in their own as excellent action scenes.

Along with badass scenes, Harvey delivered compelling emotional scenes like Guillermo’s coming out (which Harvey actually cried in as well as other cast and crew, and they had to edit it to not make it too serious), the scene he left Nandor for Celeste, and many scenes in S5’s Exit Interview.

I also think they didn’t anticipate his chemistry with Kayvan Novak. It’s brought up a lot in interviews with them and everyone can tell that they genuinely are really good friends in real life, which makes acting together on screen that much better.

(Funny enough, he was supposed to do a chemistry read with Kayvan before shooting and wasn’t able to meet him until they were on set for the pilot. )

I think in some ways, even though the show wanted it to be a funny Gaston and Lefou type relationship, Kayvan and Harvey had undeniable chemistry you couldn’t deny.

And I think that began to grow with their character’s evolving relationship. From master and servant to friends to sometimes the show and network alluding to them being in a romance (Guillermo’s drunk love confession, Marwa liking what Nandor likes, the Network making videos about shipping Nandermo).

And even Paul Simms (the one who is being grilled for That’s His Boss quote), also said “Guillermo and Nandor is the greatest love story in modern television.”

So yeah, I think originally they started the show with the intention that it was supposed to be similar to the movie that shares its name. The Nandor/Guillermo drama of Shadows the TV show would be so out of place in the movie. The whole Guillermo vampire arc, if it was movie inspired, would not be as dramatic as they have made it in the show.

Looking back to the pilot, I can see that they really tried to make it as close to the source material as possible. But I think it took off in a direction that even the creators didn’t imagine it would go. Just a silly little comedy show about silly little vampires. And don’t get me wrong, it still definitely is.

But the show has evolved. And for better or worse, Nandor and Guillermo’s relationship will be one of the most compelling things about the show and I’m curious where they are going to take it now.

I guess this turned into a bit of an Harvey Guillen appreciation post and honestly, why not? Look at that adorable face.

[incognitofox]

In Defense of Charlie x Vaggie:

Hazbin Hotel is far from a perfect show. I quite enjoyed it, of course, but that doesn’t mean that it lacks significant issues (not that I mind, nothing is perfect, and I believe people should be allowed to enjoy flawed media). One such complaint that I see often is that the show’s “main couple,” protagonist Charlie and her girlfriend Vaggie, are “boring,” or that they “lack chemistry.”

Personally, for me, the relationship between these two ended up being one of, if not my favourite part of the show. I’ll admit my bias that as a lesbian myself, I’m always a sucker for any kind of wholesome sapphic relationship that I can get in the media. Even so, though, these two stood out to me particularly well.

And while, yes, I can absolutely see why their dynamic isn’t the most favorable to some people, I don’t think it’s correct to say that the writers “can’t write meaningful relationships” or “don’t understand love” (which are both real comments that I’ve seen whilst I’ve been a part of this fandom).

The first and most blatant criticism that I come across is that the two are rarely affectionate with each other, and while this seems to be the case at first glance, I can’t help but disagree. Though we rarely see the pair actively kissing or engaging in other activities that one would perceive as romantic, it’s clear that they find comfort in each other’s presence, even if it’s subtle.

Throughout season 1, the viewer is shown numerous instances of Charlie especially being comforted by her lover’s touch. For example, while Charlie is on the phone with her father, Lucifer, at the beginning of episode 5, we can observe that she is clearly anxious about the interaction. When it’s clear that Charlie is getting stressed, Vaggie opts to take her hand, and it can be inferred from her expression in the moment that Charlie appreciates this gesture, even if she finds herself preoccupied.

Keen-eyed watchers of the series will notice that the two are frequently seen in contact with each other, or at least in close proximity, implying a love language related to physical touch. However, while frequent, some argue that these little exchanges aren’t enough to sell the idea that the couple are truly involved with each other.

People seem to be disappointed that we don’t get to see any more intimate or outwardly romantic interactions between the pair outside these small snippets or the More than Anything reprise (which in truth was unfortunately very short). But in my personal opinion, I think this dynamic makes them even more compelling. Sure, they may not be the most affectionate of partners while on screen, but I never needed them to be in order to be convinced of their love for each other.

Keep in mind, Charlie and Vaggie have been together for years, they’re out of the honeymoon phase. They’re also both incredibly busy people, especially with the updated, much sooner extermination date introduced in episode 1. As much as it sucks, doing cute stuff with their respective partner probably isn’t their priority.

The beauty of this, though, is that despite it all you can still feel their love. Vaggie would do anything for her girlfriend, and she does. Their relationship is built on such genuine, wholesome trust and support for each other.

You can tell from the way they look at each other, and from the way they talk to each other, that even despite the chaos and despite the time, they are in love. So much so that even a potentially devastating reveal like Vaggie’s true identity is nothing more than a speed bump for them. It’s really quite lovely to see.

That’s why I can excuse the atrociously short run time of their duet, it’s their first moment of peace in months, and possibly their last ever, they don’t have time to do much, and yet they choose to spend this time declaring their love for one another, because they are still the most important things in each other’s lives. It’s so blatantly clear that their love is genuine, in this moment and outside of it.

I personally feel as though, in the world of the show, the relationship between Charlie and Vaggie is very realistic given the situation they’re in, and if I’m being honest, they have the kind of relationship that I myself would love to have.

In short, I understand why some people don’t like this pairing. I can understand liking other things better, and I don’t dislike anyone who does. I can understand wanting more from it, and hey, I’d appreciate it if they sprinkled in a few extra kisses next season just to feed the fans, but that doesn’t mean that what’s there doesn’t already exist. In my opinion, I think Vaggie x Charlie is beautifully written.

There are honestly so many other little things I could bring up about why I love these two so much. You are, of course, welcome to disagree, but I encourage those who do to avoid harassing those who contributed to the writing of Hazbin Hotel, or those who actually do appreciate this aspect of the show.

However, I also insist that people try to look beyond the surface, to see the detail and the beauty of this pairing, as well as other aspects of the show, or other pieces of media.

Because art is beautiful.

[lurkingshan]

Hi! I love reading your opinions and I have just started The Sign. What are your opinions on the show and what route are you hoping it would take for the second half of the show? Take care and happy new year!

Hello anon! You picked such an interesting moment to send this ask. We’re halfway through the show and I think its strengths and weaknesses have become fairly clear. Let's talk about it!

Strength: The Chemistry

I think this is the thing that had all the girlies losing it right out of the gate: Phaya and Tharn are hot and their interactions are hotter. The pull and chemistry between them is palpable and the set up for their romance is compelling. Kudos to whoever found Babe and decided to pair him with Billy: you, sir or madam, are incredible at your job and deserve a fruit basket. We are all dying for these two to finally fuck.

Weakness: The Pacing

Which is why it's kind of frustrating that the show is dragging its feet on letting their relationship advance. The first four eps were delicious tension-building, but as the show starts to stall and use dream sequence fakeouts to provide smut without actual relationship development, the audience is clearly getting antsy. The show's pacing is all over the place in general, with wildly varied episode lengths and inconsistent action and plot advancement from week to week. And the desire to drag out the romance without a compelling alternative plot to fill the show in its absence is causing some damage to the characters, most notably Tharn, who is just starting to seem unreasonably antagonistic to a person we know he likes, not to mention unperceptive in his continued inability to notice what is going on around him.

Strength: Production Values

This show is absolutely gorgeous; you can tell most of the money went into making every frame of it beautiful. The strength of the production values and hard work of the crew to create the look and feel of the world was evident from the first episode with all those beautiful training sequences on the beach. And this is used to particularly strong effect whenever we visit Phaya and Tharn's past lives and see the magical world that exists around them come to life.

Strength: The Supporting Cast

The show also has a great ensemble, with Yai especially a standout character who brings a lot of fun to the show, along with his girlfriend Sand and the police squad bros. This is not surprising, as big, messy, chaotic, endearing queer friend groups are an IdolFactory staple. As of last week, we officially have a lesbian side pairing! Tharn and Phaya also have interesting family histories with sweet grandmas and loved ones who lend depth to their characterization.

Weakness: The Copaganda

It was perhaps too much to expect that this bl about cops would have a more sophisticated perspective on law enforcement, institutional corruption, and the so-called "justice" system, but that does not stop me from groaning out loud every time they pause the story to let these characters wax poetic about the nobility of their jobs.

Strength: Thai Folklore

This show is teaching all of us some things about real Thai folklore about the garuda and nara, including local customs associated with celebrating these tales, and the depiction of these stories in the show is just beautiful. Despite it basically being a tourism advert (complete with couple shirts for no reason??), I really enjoyed the episode that took us to Nong Khai and the Mekong River to see how modern Thai folks interpret and celebrate the myths at the center of this show’s story and ground us in something real.

Weakness: An Underdeveloped Take on Toxic Masculinity

This show uses violence quite a lot in its story, including violence in interpersonal dynamics, and it sometimes seems to want us to be alarmed by uncontrolled male anger, and sometimes impressed by it. At this point, Tharn and Phaya have both struck each other in anger during personal disagreements, and there hasn't been any real reckoning with the fallout of that. On top of that, the show has given us some crime cases that highlight the harm of toxic masculinity while also seeming to glorify and revel in it, most notably in the framing of a man who kidnapped and retraumatized sexual assault victims as a hunky folk hero. It's a confused take, to say the least, and I'm not sure the show has the depth and precision necessary in the writing to take on some of what it's throwing at the wall.

Strength: Villains

All I can say is Heng was born to play an evil snake god. The show has done a good job at making him feel like a real threat and building the antagonism between him and Phaya to the point where Phaya has been isolated from support and made to look crazy in front of Tharn. Dr. Slow Motion is very good at this.

So, what's the TL; DR? This show is a lot of fun, but has some obvious weaknesses in the writing, so do your best not to take it too seriously if you can. I am ready to see Phaya and Tharn get together and finally start working as a team, for the full backstory and epic battle they are waging to come out, and for the motivations of the rest of the cast of characters to become clear (I just know there are some additional past life reincarnations waiting to be revealed). It's a great time if you don't think about it too hard, and I really hope the back half will pick up the pace so that we can all just enjoy the ride.

[angelsworks]

Happy Birthday 2 Klaus Mikaelson x Pinkie Pie! Reader

Challenge Masterlist -> Here

Type: Oneshot

Summary: It’s your birthday. A day for celebrations and cake. Only it’s the people you least expect that make your day.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

You experienced a birthday most days. Being the main party planner in town it was the most common event you planned for.

You’d seen and planned for all types of birthdays. Elegant ones, unique ones, extravagant ones. All types that people thought they wanted. But not you.

Being a party planner had lead you to have a different perspective on birthdays. You felt like a butcher who had seen how the sausage was made. Birthdays were your sausage. You’d seen all that went into them. The cake, the presents, the adoring friends and family, the singing of ‘Happy Birthday’.

It all went into the list for making a successful to many people. Over the years however, you had to make your own exceptions to this so called successful list.

Despite knowing everyone in town, you were always very much taken for granted. No one ever remembered your birthday. Nevermind get your a present or card or cake.

Your own family were often too busy to celebrate your birthday with you. Your parents both having busy lives and your many relatives lived too far away to see you on the day.

So you’d grown accustomed to changing your birthday list.

The cake - you made yourself. Maybe it was down to your perfectionist ways but you knew no one could make a cake as well as you. So you made your own. Often small and simple.

Presents - If you were feeling really down you’d wrap somethings you knew would make you smile. Either new or old. Then open them and pretend they were from others.

Adoring friends and family - You’d take your celebration somewhere public but peaceful. So you felt less alone as you opened presents wrapped by you and ate a cake made by you.

Singing of happy birthday - sometimes you’d sing to yourself or just say the words or go through them silently. Without fail you’d blow a candle out each year. No matter who was around.

While feeling sorry for yourself in the park you didn’t expect anyone to bother you, especially not Klaus Mikaelson.

A man who over the course of the past couple of months you’d conversed with plenty and even spent time with him recreationally. He was a great guy aside from all the murder and sometimes misconstrued ambition.

You’d definitely pulled away on the days leading up to your birthday. You didn’t want to risk anyone making a fuss or causing your new friend to feel bad about your birthday. You just wanted to get through the day quietly. Feeling sad then moving on.

In a way it was the one day a year you ever purposely let yourself feel sad. The rest of the days you were the embodiment of sunshine. Bringing light to others.

While sitting near the lake on a worn out picnic table that was shaded and hidden away by trees, Klaus approached you. Your table was set out neatly. Cake placed in the centre, candles a top. Your presents lay unopened in a birthday bag.

“Hello, Love. Starting the birthday celebrations alone? When does everyone else get here?” He asked you, taking a seat at the other side of the picnic table.

His smile was infectious, melting your bad mood away. “How did you know about that Klaus? It’s not public knowledge.” You teased.

Klaus grinned, “Let’s just say a little birdy told me.”

You hummed, “More like multiple little birdies that have been compelled.”

He faked offence as he smiled. “Do you think so low of me?”

Your face conveyed that it wasn’t something he was above doing. Knowing he’d done much more in the past than just compel people.

“Well I’ll have you know it was Rebekah who told me. She seems to think it strange there isn’t a parade for your today, with all the birthdays you help celebrate.” He tells you, raising an eyebrow in question.

Your lips tighten slightly as you remember why the day makes you so sad. “Over many birthdays I’ve come to find this date slips people’s mind. I don’t think it’s all that important. So I celebrate quietly.”

His face contorts into one of disbelief, “So no one’s coming?” His ability to put pieces together so quickly shouldn’t shock you. He’s a highly intelligent original vampire.

You shake your head, “Now while I appreciate your company I turn my birthday into a pity party and I don’t think it’s a sight you’d like to see.”

His face remains unchanged, still displeased and in disbelief. He looks as if he’s thinking of his next words carefully.

“I’ve seen things worse than a pity party. Continue as if I wasn’t here.”

So you do. You carefully tear the paper on the first present. Not needing to look shocked when you know what it is. It’s your childhood teddy bear. One you’ve had for years and years. One that still lives on your best to this day. For the last week it had been missing of course. Instead it was incased in pretty pink paper with a sticky bow attached.

“What might this be love?” Klaus asks. Breaking the daze you’ve put yourself in looking at the present.

“This is my childhood teddy bear. I’ve had it for so long. I don’t care what you think of me but it still sits on my bed. I wrapped it earlier this week so I’d have something to open.” You explain, not making eye contact.

His face clearly shows he pity’s you. “I warned you this was a pity party Klaus. Feel free to leave anytime. I won’t be offended. You can see me tomorrow, I promise I’ll be happier then.”

He shakes his head, “I want to see what other presents you’ve got.”

You fall into a pattern of opening your pre-wrapped presents, spending time appreciating them, then explaining to Klaus why you’ve wrapped that item or in some cases bought it.

When you’ve finished you’ve unwrapped the following things; your teddy bear, a new candle with your favourite scent, your favourite movie, a bag of your favourite chocolate, your favourite movie and a gift voucher to your favourite shop.

“What do you do next?” He asked. Throughout he’s been polite enough to hide any further pity in his face. Yet you could still see it in his eyes.

“I’ve got a candles to blow out and a wish to make. Then I’ve got cake to eat and then I think thats all I’ll do.” You tell him. Packing your presents back into your bag.

He hums for the umpteenth time in your conversation. “How about we chance those plans? Just for today?” He asks.

You contemplate it. You like your routine. It’s safe, familiar. But this one day, this one chance to spend it differently. Potentially with someone who has both remembered your birthday and wants to spend it with you, voluntarily.

You smile and nod, taking the Mikaelsons hand and following him to whatever he has planned.

That’s how you find yourself on Klaus Mikaelsons bed. Your favourite candle burning, your favourite movie on his wall mounted flat screen, your favourite chocolates in the space between your bodies. You were cuddled close to Klaus. Your teddy lay on his chest, trapped by your forearm.

“Klaus”

“Yes love.”

“Thank you.”

He stays silent.

“This has got to have been the best birthday I’ve ever had. So thank you.”

He moves his arm to hold you closer. “While I’m happy to make you happy, I just don’t think this is good enough. I promise you I’ll make your next birthday spectacular.”

His promise causes you to stop for a few moments in shock. When that fades you feel your eyes wet with tears. They run down your face and on to Klaus’ t shirt.

“Oh Love. No more tears on your birthday. Not while I’m here.”

[making-monsters-happy]

New Years Vampire Romance

Good evening! I have a new romance I wrote for New Year's. Hopefully, you guys like it. Let me know if you'd like to see more from them or another couple...yeah. I love reading yall's messages, and if you liked it. It's pretty hot, but I'm biased. It's a little under 2k words.

18+ only.

Nsfw..

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You leaned back in your seat slightly, trying to get a better glimpse of the creature standing before your oven. He looked human enough; a brown mess of loose curls sat on his head, pushed back from him, continually running his hands through it to push it out of the way of his face. He was at least 6’5; you remember how he leaned down to get in the door once he was invited in, almost like how he was hunched now over the stove. He turned it on and paused, facing you. His skin had no pores and was sun-kissed, and you found yourself compelled to reach out and touch his face. His warm red eyes caught yours, and you looked away without meaning to you. No matter how used to seeing them you thought you were, it was always jarring when he looked at you with such intensity. You couldn’t help but wonder what he saw in you. A meal? Something weak? Something titillating? There was some attraction; he hadn’t killed you, even when you’d done what no one in their right mind in your village would: you’d invited a vampire into your home. Maybe the attraction was just on your end; they could do that to humans, right?

            While you were insane for offering him refuge, it wasn’t his sharp features that caused you to invite him in. If you lived to tell the tale and someone asked you, you’d say you’d been tricked into letting him in. When you first saw him, he was in the form of a small brown bat. Bats carried all sorts of diseases, but when you saw the tiny creature on your doorstep, you felt compelled to help it or put it out of its misery. All you said to the beast as you returned with a towel to pick it up was, “Let’s get you inside and fixed up.” The next thing you knew, you felt a puff of air hit you so hard you shut your eyes and took a few steps back. When you opened them, he walked inside your home, thanking you for your hospitality and introducing himself as Alessandro.

            “You’re staring at me.” His voice is deep; it makes him seem louder than he is. You, on the other hand, find yourself almost whispering.

            “Should I not?”

            “Most say it’s wise not to; they believe it’s easier for us to corrupt your mind if you do.”

            “Is that true?��

            Alessandro doesn’t answer your question; he smiles, flashing his sharp fangs, and sits up, looking down at you. You can feel a longing starting to ache from in between your legs. You straighten yourself in your seat, your nipples protruding from the thin silk night robe you wear during the winter to help keep you warm during the night. You wonder if he notices.

            “Why are you here?”

            “Because you invited me in, did you not?”

            “On false pretenses.”

            He walks past you and goes towards your curtains, looking out of them. You take a deep breath as he walks by; the husky scent of the outdoors and an unfamiliar cologne leaves you wanting to smell more.

            “I’ve been watching you. Your curtains are very thin; it’s not hard to look in, even for human eyesight. The men leaving the brothel may, at best, be able to see a silhouette when you’re changing into your nightgown, but you must remember my eyes are far better than that. I see everything.”

            You readjust in your seat; the silk of your nightgown is pressed up against your cunt, and you feel the fabric getting wet. The kettle starts to scream, and you cringe, jumping up and running over to take it from the heat. Alessandro steps behind you, his large hand engulfing yours, and leads it over a cup, helping you pour.

            “I can only watch someone I want sit alone in bed, touching themselves, moaning out to no one for so long, imagining it to be my name before I want to hear the real thing. Does that make sense?”

            You nod, your face starting to feel as warm as between your legs as he steps closer to you from behind. You can feel pressure against your lower back from the front of his pants as he drops petals from a flower you don’t recognize into the hot water. Without a second thought, you find yourself grinding back into whatever is nearest your ass to get some friction. It helps, but it is not enough, and you let out a noise of disappointment as he steps to the side and grabs the cup, blowing on it and taking a few sips.

            “I didn’t know vampires could…drink teas. Or wanted to frankly.”

            “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

            He holds the cup and tips it towards you, shaking it some. The green petals float around, and you look up at him.

            “What is it?”

            He doesn’t move, his hands still extended towards you. You blow at the steam and drink what’s left in the cup. You cough and frown at him, looking at the leftover greenery in the cup. It’s bitter, and as much as you want to gag, you keep it down. It tastes like something you’ve had, but you can’t put your finger on it.

            “I wouldn’t say we drink tea much, but we do like to dabble in recreational drug use.”

            “So, you drugged me?”

            Alessandro laughs and walks over towards your room with that knowing grin still on his face.

            “I wouldn’t say it like that, no. It’s just a plant we like to use to increase blood flow. I get a little nippy in the bedroom at times.”

            You walk behind him and put a hand to your cheeks. They are already starting to feel warmer than they had in the kitchen.

            “Well, that makes sense for your victim, but what does it do for you…”

            You trail off and feel your eyes start to shut. The graze of your silk robe touching any part of your body set off alarms; your nipples feel so sensitive that you reach up, pressing your palm to one and then the other. Whimpers kept escaping your lips without meaning to. When you open your eyes, Alessandro lay in the bed in his boxers, nuzzling into sheets, his fangs hanging over his bottom lip. You can’t help but follow the trail of hair from his chest down to his boxers with your eyes.

            Now, you could put your finger on it. Everyone you knew in your community had at least talked about this. Maybe couples needed the herbs to spice up their sex lives or to have more stamina for one another. That explains why any stimulation right now sends you over the edge and into flames.

            “It’s a very fast-acting aphrodisiac. Come here; I want to feel you.”

            Alessandro took your hand and led you to the bed, kissing up your shoulders and to your neck, starting to lick over your vein. You leaned your head to the side, moaning, your hand reaching into the front of his boxers. This time, he’s the one who jolts from your touch.

            Your hand grasps his member, and you rub your thumb over the cum that was already leaking from his tip. With every swipe of your thumb, he whines in your ear and starts to grip your breasts, kneading them roughly before leaning into one and suckling in, looking up at you with his warm eyes.

            You arch your back and started to pump his thick cock before his hand goes over yours again and gently grips you, making you stop.

            “If you keep going, I’m going to cum.”

            “So?”

            Alessandro’s grip loosens, but he continues to help you, watching as the two of you stroked his cock. Although it looked like it was hot to the touch, he was still a dead man walking and maintained a cool temperature even with the assisted stimulation.

            You lean down and lick the base, shaking your hips in the air to show off your body; before you can get it in your mouth, there is cum squirting over your closed eyes and down your nose. You laugh a bit but don’t feel him soften in your hand. He takes your robe off haphazardly and wipes your face with it, leaning down over you while you lay on your back.

            “I’m bewitched. You bewitch me.”

            Alessandro pushes your legs apart and starts to rub at your clit; you reach down and move his hand.

            “I need to feel you, all of you. I want you to drink from me.”

            Before you can say anything else, he’s sliding into you, his hands at your shoulders, holding you still as he plunges deep into you. He wasn’t the biggest you’d ever had, but he knew how to work with what he’d been given. It could’ve been a combination of his experience and the herbs, but you’d never had someone fill you up the way he was now.

            Alessandro holds up your hips for you, pulling you close so you meet his every thrust. All you have to do is sit there and take it; you grip at his hair, then stop self-consciously, your hands going to the sheets. You’d been told in the past that you pulled hair too hard, or when you gripped at your partner’s back, it would hurt them. Since then, you have always made sure to grasp the sheets instead.

            Alessandro lets your hips go and hoists one of your legs up, letting his weight rest on top of you, chest to chest, while his hips work. He takes your hands from the sheets and moves them back to his hair, looking back at you panting.

            “Pull it.”

            “Yeah? Is that okay?”

            You tangle your fingers into his curls and pull his hair, making his head snap back. He nods, moaning loudly in your ear and exposing his fangs before biting your neck. Your back arches and you begin to grind into him, your clit rubbing against his hairy pubic bone. You can’t quiet yourself if you want to. You grip his hair harder, and with a scream, you feel an orgasm come over you so hard your vision goes black.

            You wake up and roll over finding Alessandro on his back, his cock soft resting on his thigh, and eyes closed. You were in one of your nightshirts, both of your dirty clothes piled in the corner.

            “You’re finally awake. I cleaned you up while you were sleeping.” He opens one eye and turns toward you before rolling on his side to see you better.

            “I expected you to leave. Not that I wanted you to, I guess I just thought…”

            Alessandro smiles and you noticed his fangs stained red with blood, your blood. He licks his lips and presses a kiss to the top of your forehead.

            “I told you; you’ve bewitched me. Now you really can’t get rid of me.”

            “Well, as long as we can drink that tea every now and then…I think that’s okay with me.”

            You smile and bury your face in his chest.

[secretlywritingstories]

This thing won't have you, it won't win | BG3 Astarion one shot

Summary: You had tried to kill Astarion because he was the one you cared for the most. Now you'd vowed not to sleep to keep him safe. It doesn't take long for him to notice and confront you.

Tags: During canon Act 3, resisting the urge, late night conversation, show of trust

Warnings: Past suicidal idealisation and talk of dying/being killed

Word count: 4.8k

Read on AO3 or below

It should feel like victory to have made it this far. A mere walk away from getting into Baldur’s Gate. Part of you hadn’t sure if you were ever going to make it here, but now it was within your grasp. You might even have been there already, if you hadn’t insisted that you should approach the gate with fresh eyes and set up camp in Rivington for tonight.

Most of your companions had very good reasons to want to be in the city as soon as possible. Shadowheart wanted to search for her parents, Wyll wanted to rescue his father, Karlach wanted to confront Gortash, Lae’zel wanted to meet with Voss, Gale wanted to find answers in Sorcerous Sundries and Astarion wanted to confront Cazador. You’d promised to assist all of them with their missions, even if you weren’t sure why they trusted you.

Especially now that they’d seen the destructive dark urge brimming under your skin. Though, they did all seem to move past it too quickly. So very full of trust when you were just as dangerous as the monsters you all had been hunting. It had only been a couple of days since you tried to murder Astarion in his sleep, and they all sleep soundly or trance comfortably next to you again.

They were so trusting. It would be so easy to take advantage.  

Granted, a lot had happened since then. Taking down Ketheric Thorm was no easy feat, nor was the battle inside of the prism that revealed that your supposed dream guardian was none other than a mindflayer. It’s just monsters everywhere you turned these days. After today, you could add Orin to that list.

A shapeshifter with the ability to imitate any of you. She could be any of your companions right now, feigning sleep and plotting her move. That should be the reason you were staying awake restlessly, but wasn’t. You were fairly confident that you could sniff out an imposter if needs must.

It was something she said that added to your sleeplessness. When you found her impersonating that Flaming Fist. In the moment, you tried not to let the words burrow under your skin but now they did. She called you her sibling.

Even though she could shapeshift, you doubted she meant that she was a fellow tiefling. No, her words spoke of something much more sinister. A deeper bond. One likely made of servitude. And you knew which of the Dead Three that she served.

Bhaal. The lord of murder.

And a killing urge had been burning in your chest ever since you woke up on that nautiloid. It’s been the only thing that you’d felt yourself tethered to. The urges compelling you to take lives and delight in the gore. It’s the most real thing about you, and it felt like it was the only thing you would find whenever you tried to look into your past.

It was what that stupid self-acclaimed butler, Sceleritas Fel, kept telling you about yourself too. As if this used to be something you did with pleasure. You were good at it. What did that say about you?

“Darling?”

The way you twisted around, weapon raised and poised to strike could just be a testament to all of the trauma and fighting you’ve had to undergo these past weeks. It would surely be enough to make anyone skittish and paranoid.

But you felt how your body moves with practiced ease, and it took all of your focus to adjust your swing to avoid contact when you spotted Astarion’s red eyes. Granted, he could probably survive a slash of your dagger, but you didn’t trust yourself not to keep going if you started spilling his blood.

“You got a death wish?” you snarled.

Your grip on the dagger was so tight that it almost hurt. Just like it would hurt to plunge it into Astarion’s heart. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would make such a beautiful mess. Blood everywhere. Oddly, he’d probably appreciate the view too.

“I did,” Astarion said and despite how you just tried to attack him, he found a spot next to you. He ducked into you tent to share your bed roll. “Before.”

The word was loaded and it made your jaw flex. You had a feeling that you still didn’t know the true extent of Astarion’s torment at Cazador’s hands but you’d got more than enough to paint a vivid picture. It made sense that he wanted to die before.

200 years was a very long time. It’s the kind of time that you couldn’t even grasp. You didn’t think you’ve been alive for that long, but even if you had, you wouldn’t know. Sometimes, it really did feel like your brain was only a few weeks old. Everything before it was black.

No, not black.

Red.

Bathed in it.

You were just as bad as the damn ox with his inner visions of carnage.

A touch on the back of your hand pulled your attention back to Astarion. His touch was so gentle that you barely felt it. You weren’t sure how he could touch you like that when you almost took his life just days ago.

When you would have made quick work of him just like you did poor Alfira. Alfira who just wanted to join the party, see the world and play her lute. The same lute that still sat in the camp chest, bloodied edge untouched.

You’d blacked out for that. No recollection at all but the blood on your hands and the sick delight twirling around in your chest was more than enough to confirm you were the culprit. It should have been the first warning. The others should have kicked you out of the camp.

Even if you now knew it would have turned you into a mindflayer without the prism’s protection. Though, it had flown to you before, and the Emperor seemed rather attached to you. So maybe you’d have killed all of the others if you’d wandered off and it had decided to follow you.

“Maybe you should kill me,” you found yourself saying to Astarion and withdrawing the hand under his touch.

You didn’t deserve gentleness. Not when you might have laid waste to whole cites, bathed in the blood of children and done it all with a sick grin on your face. It felt like something you would have done.

Well, not you now, but you then. And you were not sure if there is all that much of a difference. Fighting was becoming more difficult with each passing day.

“Way too late for that,” Astarion said, drawing his hand back to himself. “If you wanted to die at my hand, then you should have let me drain you that first night.”

Right. Back then, he could have killed you. You had presented yourself to him and let him sink his teeth into your neck. Part of it felt wrong, like you shouldn’t be handing him such an obvious chance to hurt you.

But he’d stopped when you’d asked. And every time since that, he’d just taken enough to recover his strength, not even disturbing you in your sleep.

“Can’t turn back time,” you muttered.

If you could, you’d go further back. Figure out what had happened to you. You had more pieces now, and you knew you’d landed in a pod in the mindflayer colony and been experimented on. A sneaking suspicion told you that maybe Orin had been involved in landing you in there with the way she acted around you.

But if you had truly been her sibling and delighted in killing like your urges told you, wouldn’t you have been on the same side? Why would she have turned on you?

Astarion let out a soft huff. “I would not want to,” he said and reached for you again. This time, it wasn’t just fingers gracing the back of your hand. No, he grabbed your hand and pulled it into his lap. Held on tight enough that you couldn’t just slip it away easily.

You could get it free. His fingers probably broke rather delicately. Snap, snap, snap.

No. You liked his hands. You didn’t want them destroyed. You pinched your eyes together and willed the thoughts away. It was something you were getting better at, at the very least. You were starting to have practice.

But it had been something different when it came to the full slaughter. You hadn’t been able to anticipate what happened with Alfira. You had just barely managed to warn Astarion that he was about to be next.

And when you’d come to all tired up and angry, it had felt like you were in some sort of primate, feral state. But it had still felt like you. Just unleashed. Like it was always going to be brimming underneath the surface. It had been caught just in time, but you might not be as lucky next time.

“I’m going to hurt you,” you said to Astarion and felt how it cracked something open in your heart.

You’d told Sceleritas Fel that you hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Astarion about how you cared for him yet. It was the truth, but it was probably better if he didn’t know the true extent of it.

You were so selfish for even getting involved with him when your past was blank but stained. When you had to worry about tadpoles in your brains and the elder brain being controlled by lunatics. Two now, instead of three but still. There should be no time for romance or attachment at all.

It didn’t seem to matter, because you couldn’t deny that you cared deeply for Astarion. In fact, you cared for every single one of your companions and all of them were in danger because you couldn’t control this part of you.

“I’ve got thick skin. You know, you’ve seen my scars,” Astarion said, voice almost dancing over the words, even as he pulled forth his own trauma for you. “Is this why you haven’t been sleeping?”

You snapped your head sideways to face him. “What?”

He was right of course, but you’d mostly been sneaky with you lack of sleep. You still let keeping watch rotate and you lied down in your tent, pretending to sleep. It was taking its toll, but it wasn’t anything that a few healing potions couldn’t fix. It was a good thing that you were far more precise with your arrows than your spells. Those hadn’t been recharged in a while.

“Halsin noticed,” Astarion said, just a touch too casual. “You’ve got to remember that I’m not the only elf in the camp anymore. Him and Jaheira aren’t as willing to look the other way.”

“Concerned?” you asked, propping a knee up in front of you, leaning on it and tilting your head to the side. You tried to pull your hand back over to yourself, but Astarion kept hold of it. Not hard, just enough that it couldn’t slip away from him without you putting more force behind it.

You didn’t.

“Always, that big hunk of an elf. He has quite the soft spot for you. Going on about how he had high expectations and you exceeded even those,” Astarion said, and he was too tense about it.

Jealous maybe?

He hadn’t seemed to care back in the groove when several of the other companions started to veer for your attention. He hadn’t brought it up until that dance with Wyll where he’d asked you to choose between them. You’d chosen Astarion without blinking.

It had been easy.

All of the other companions had their beauty, charms and even dark demons, but Astarion was the only one who seemed to get you. He accepted you, even when you weren’t always put together right. He’d proved that even more when he’d comforted you after you’d tried to kill him.

You wondered if this was a wound for him and Halsin was a tool that you could press into it. Drive a wedge between you and Astarion. If you broke up, then he might no longer be the one you cared for the most. He could be safe from your sharp claws wanting to dig in and draw blood.

Though, if you did that, maybe it would just be someone else next time. Your care for Astarion was extraordinary but you truly cared for everyone in camp. Even the kid you’d allowed to stay here on a whim. Yena. A damn bleeding heart you were, even if it was not the kind of blood that you desired to spill.

It was the second time you’d brought a child into camp. Arabella had made it away okay but it was not sure that Yena would. Perhaps that was why Astarion had wanted to turn her away.

He would never admit it, but you were discovering a soft side to him. Just like now, with how he was holding your hand, thumb gently stroking over the back of it. A little quiet moment for just the two of you. You’d been spiralling and he’d come to find you. Sit with you, so the night didn’t seem so daunting.

You should be driving Astarion away but your heart couldn’t take prying into his insecurities. It felt too cruel. You might be bloodthirsty and have urges but you didn’t want to be cruel.

At least not the you who didn’t remember what you’d been like before.  

“Do you think I’m a worshipper of Bhaal?” you asked him, gnawing on your lip.

“Because of what that maniac shapeshifter said?” Astarion asked.

“Orin,” you corrected, even though you knew he must know her name. He liked to play aloof and like he wasn’t paying attention but he always did.

“No,” Astarion said. 

“What? it’s the most sensible explanation,” you argued.

“Well, remember what you asked, love. You asked if you’re a worshipper. Present tense. You’re not.”

“Semantics.”

“No, I do not think so. You don’t know your past but you do know what you’ve been acting like in these weeks.”

He was trying to be sweet but maybe he had fallen for whatever charade you’d been putting on. Yes, you’d tried to be honest with your companions about what was going on with you, but you knew they couldn’t truly grasp the extent of it. Just how brutal it got inside of your head.

“Just because I don’t remember doesn’t mean that it’s not true. And I doubt you just leave Bhaal behind. Look how complicated it got with Shar for Shadowheart,” you pointed out.

“And look how she’s now. New hairdo and everything!” Astarion said with a high-pitch giggle.

He was clearly trying to lighten the mood, but you wouldn’t let him. This was too dangerous.

“She was a Selûnite first,” you reminded him. “Taken against her will when she was just a child. Brainwashed into worship.”

Astarion clicked his tongue and gave your hand a squeeze.

“And who’s to say that you weren’t?”

You didn’t mean to laugh but it jumped out of you. You almost admired his optimism and faith in you. You didn’t think that he’d be the kind to look on the brighter side of things, yet here he was. Maybe he really was changing.

“Because I like it,” you admitted in a tiny voice. “I revel in it. I crave it. The urge is all-consuming sometimes. And it’s…”

Your throat felt tight. Not like you were about to cry but like you were about to scream. Scream out all of the frustration and fear sitting so tightly in your chest.

“Tell me,” he requested so gently.

How could you deny him?

“It’s not this thing,” you said recalling his words from that night. They had burned into your brain so much and you’d clung to them like they were a lifeline, even if it felt like it was made of twine.

This thing won’t have you.

It won’t win.

But it would. Because as much as you wanted to trust it and believe him, it didn’t feel like a thing. Something external. It would have been so much easier if you could cheat yourself into believing that. This was something done to you. A thing making you do horrible thing. A forced worship. A butler guiding your murderous hand. Any of the options was better than what felt like the truth if you dared look close enough.

That it was just you. Not a thing in you, but part of you. Intricately woven into your very fabric in a way that it could never be separated. It would win because the only way to kill it would be to kill yourself.

“It’s me,” you whispered.

Astarion let go of you hand and you thought that maybe he was finally recoiling in fear and disgust when he understood that all the death and destruction lived in your bones. But then he came close again. Much closer than before. Kneeling. Right in front of you and reaching up to gently cradle your face.

A thumb swiped across your cheek.

It felt wet.

Tears.

You were crying. No, what? You weren’t even sure you could do that. You hadn’t so far since you’d woken up. You had been ready to chalk it up to the fact that you were mindless and traumatised, or maybe just incapable of it. Like you could either be a murderous lunatic or a cry-baby but not both.

Clearly, you had been wrong.

You hoped it wasn’t the only thing you were wrong about. But you shouldn’t cling to that hope. You should be protecting Astarion and create distance between the two of you. So, you wouldn’t have the urge to drive a stake through his heart again. You weren’t sure what you’d do if you went to sleep and woke up with his blood on your hands.

Maybe it would make you snap into your old self. Bloodthirst ruling above all when you’d taken the life of the person you cared for the most.

Astarion’s eyes were so expressive and he looked like he wanted to say words of comfort but he was holding back. You appreciate that. You didn’t want platitudes right now, because you felt just vicious enough to twist them and spit them back in his face.

But you let him hold your face and look at you, even if it hurt to be seen like this.

“You know what I thought when I first saw you?” you asked, closing your eyes so you wouldn’t have to look at him as you shared this confession.

“What a handsome elf,” he said, a wry twist to his words.

You huffed out the tiniest laugh.

“Not too far off,” you said and swallowed. Licked your lips, exhaled. “What a perfect pretty corpse he’d make.”

You were echoing a thought that had resurfaced that night you’d felt driven to kill him. A fantasy that you couldn’t shake from your brain. You didn’t feel like you wanted him dead. In fact, you wanted to protect him but your thoughts told you a different thing.

Astarion didn’t let go of your face, but he let out a soft hum. Considering. You didn’t dare open your eyes to see the expression on his face.

“Stay here,” he said, gently letting go of you, “and keep your eyes closed.”

You had been proclaimed the leader by every single companion, even if you had never fought for the position. You didn’t have to listen to anyone. They had to listen to you. But still, you sat with your eyes closed and waited just like Astarion had asked.

The night air was crisp and almost comforting. Tomorrow, you’d reach Baldur’s Gate and you could find an inn. You’d leave your camping days behind you. You had a feeling that you’d miss it. 

Astarion came back and it felt as if he was making more noise than he needed as to not startle you again. He could move deadly silent if he wanted, as he’d proved against your enemies many times. They never knew what hit them when he came out from the shadows.

“Hands,” Astarion asked and you weren’t sure what he was asking for but you lifted both your hands, palms up.

He took hold of them and he pressed a handle of a weapon into your waiting hands. Not one of your own, they all had handles smoothened from use. No, this texture was rough, like uncut wood.

Astarion hadn’t said that you could open your eyes but they snapped open all the same, and you opened them just in time to see him kneeling in front of you again. Only this time, there was a stake between you and your hands on the handle of it, while he guided the sharp tip to the centre of his chest.

When you realised, you tried to thrash away and toss it aside. It would kill him if you drove that through and you weren’t in control of your impulses. What in the hells was he thinking? He had said he didn’t want to die anymore but then he handed you the very thing that could kill him.

“Astarion,” you said, in warning, when he grabbed your elbow with one hand and curled your hands back around the stake firmly with his other.

“This is what you should have done when you found out that I was a vampire spawn,” he said, and you’d never quite heard his voice sound so quiet. His usual melodic tones stripped away, it seemed to bare and vulnerable. “It is what most people would have done if they’d woken up to a vampire trying to feed on them.”

You couldn’t exactly disagree with that, but honestly the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. A part of you had been almost thankful, because it meant someone else in camp was hiding a dark secret. That you weren’t the only one driven by your urges.

You’d uncovered more of your companions’ secrets now, but Astarion had been the first. A glimmer of hope that you weren’t quite so alone. Of course, you hadn’t killed him. You understood what it was like having bloodthirst driving you.

“I didn’t want to kill you,” you said, and the words sounded strange in your mouth. You meant them but it still felt unnatural.

Astarion’s expression softened into a smile and he looked like he knew something that you didn’t. But instead of flaunting that, he was trying to make a point. You weren’t sure that you liked where this was going but you were still bound and breathless to watch. Poised with a weapon to end him with just one good thrust.

“And a stake to the heart is what would have happened the morning after too, if you hadn’t stuck your neck out for me figuratively as well as literally. Our companions would have killed me.”

“They wouldn’t have,” you argued because you knew the good hearts of your companions.

Even back then, when everything had been new and confusing and you were just figuring each other out. They wouldn’t have killed him, would they? You didn’t want to think them capable of killing Astarion, but all of you had blood on your hands by now.

Sure, it was mostly blood of cultists hellbent on causing war and destruction or monsters trying to take your lives, but it was still lives lost. And with each fight, you fed into that urge to kill just a bit more. It wasn’t enough to fully satisfy it clearly, but it was a slight release all the same.

But you didn’t want to drive this stake through Astarion. You wanted to let go of it and pull him into your arms. Hold him instead. Close enough that some of your hellish warmth could seep into his cold skin.

“You are dangerous,” Astarion said, looking into your eyes with purpose. “But so am I. So is everyone in this camp. Trained killers the lot of us. Complicated pasts. You’re not special.”

His voice tilted up, gaining a humorous lilt and it made you laugh. It sounded kind of choked up and wet. His red eyes had never looked as soft as they did while gazing into yours.

“You are,” you whispered, almost inaudible but he’d hear it. “Special.”

“You can try to kill me anytime,” Astarion said. “I don’t think you’ll go through with it.”

What a novel and lovely idea. As if your love for him could keep him safe when it was exactly the thing condemning him to your murderous attentions.

Your love for him.

It was love, wasn’t it? You didn’t have anything to compare to, but it felt like that, even out here in the wilderness, tadpoled brains and an ever-present ticking clock. However unlikely, it felt real.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” you told him and hoped that he could see the sincerity in your eyes. Make him understand the threat he was standing opposite.

“You don’t either,” he said, lip twisting up to a smirk and you guessed that he had a point with that.

He moved the hand from your elbow and instead laid both of his hands on top of yours. He let himself press just a bit more into the stake, enough that it was catching on his sleepshirt. A flimsy fabric. It would do nothing to stop the stake from driving through it. Smooth like butter. It would sail right home, poison his heart and stop it a second time.

Stop it for good.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“And yet, I’ve never felt so alive,” he said and leaned just a tiny bit closer. “You are not your past, even if you don’t remember it. So, the urges are a part of you. Big deal. You still get a choice who you want to be right now. Just like I do. Let’s keep making choices together. This is what freedom is about, isn’t it?”

It felt like a stake was driven through your heart, knocking all of the air from your lungs with one fell swoop. He was paraphrasing something you’d said to him. That he’d be responsible for his own choices now that he was out from under Cazador’s thumb.

For good and for bad.

He was right. It wasn’t so different from you. You were still the one making the choices. You were allowed to cast the die on your present and your future, just not your past.

The nagging grating voice in the back of your head still told you that you could drive the stake in and kill Astarion but you shut it right up, like you had done dozens of times already. You just had to keep resisting that part of yourself. You could do that.

“Let go,” you told Astarion and he pulled his hands from yours.

He looked at you, chest open and inviting for malice, but you tossed the stake aside and instead grabbed hold of his face. You cradled it like he’d cradled yours, holding it like he was the most precious thing in all of Faerûn. He might just be.

“It’s not going to be easy,” you said, leaning your face closer to his.

You wanted to spill every warning you could think of but you knew that he already knew a lot of it. He’d seen you in action, tied up and snarling like a feral beast. You at your most dangerous and at your most vulnerable. And he’d taken care of you.

He’d chosen to take care of you when he had ever right to kill you.

You had to choose to take care of him, even if your urges screamed to kill him.

 “Kiss me.”

Astarion’s smile turned soft and he reached behind your back until he could pull you right up against him into his lap. His hands stayed behind your back, holding onto you gently, as your tail whipped back and forth in anticipation.

“You’ve got this, and I’ve got you,” he whispered as he leaned in to press your lips together.

Those were other words echoed from that night when you almost made the worst mistake of your life. You hadn’t really heard him then. Too hung up on how he didn’t understand that the urges controlled you so deeply, so intricately, but now you were finally ready to hear him.

“And I’ve got you,” you whispered back, as you broke the kiss just for a moment.

When you kissed him again, you felt how his lips tilted up into a smile.

[mouschiwrites]

Can I get some headcanons for kyle and/or butters with a reader that is accidentally intimidating. Like they're very tall and seem stoic and threatening but in reality they're just bad at talking to people lol

Yep! I did both, I hope this turned out to your liking!! <3

South Park - Kyle and Butters With a Tall and Intimidating Reader

Kyle

He’s very much allured by your intimidating aura

He’s usually perceived as pretty intimidating himself, so of course he’s interested

At first it’s just curiosity, so he just inserts himself beside you every now and again

Your quiet demeanor further intrigues him

In reality, you’re just not sure what to say to this boy that’s suddenly around you half the time

One day he asks for your name

You give it to him, and he tries to advance the conversation, but your meager responses aren’t exactly encouraging

But the interest that shines in your eyes clues him in

With a realization like a slap in the face, he determines at last that you just suck at socializing

A grin curves his lips, and it only grows wider when you smile back

You reach a silent understanding in that moment, one that you’re both grateful to finally have established

You exchange numbers, and the rest is history

Kyle isn’t exactly a socialite, but when you do go in public, you’re the scary couple

If people aren’t deterred by your towering heights, or your solemn faces, Kyle’s blunt attitude usually does the trick

But when you apologize for his rude remarks, sometimes people are charmed just enough to stick around a little longer

Then they’re pleasantly surprised (by you at least; in comparison to Kyle, you’re much nicer, if not a little awkward)

Kyle might get a little jealous if they end up getting a little too fond of you

Then he’ll crank up the crankiness to scare them off for good

You guys are essentially like that one alignment chart: “looks like they could kill you/looks really nice” and “is actually really nice/would kill you”

You’re “looks like they could kill you” and “is actually really nice”

Kyle is “looks like they could kill you” and “would kill you”

Butters

Butters was first compelled to introduce himself when he noticed you sitting alone

Being an unwilling loner himself, he sympathized

He didn’t even notice your scary demeanor

He just approached you one day as if you were as harmless as a bunny

Which you are, but most people don’t seem to think so

He’s so confused when you tell him that

“Why would they be afraid of you..? You’re so nice!”

He also doesn’t notice your social awkwardness

If there’s silence, he’s going to fill it; it’s just natural for him

He doesn’t mind at all, as long as you don’t mind either

He actually really likes having a listening ear

That’s why he loves being around you—he thinks you’re the best “conversation” partner

And eventually romantic partner :D

When you’re in social situations he’s usually the one to insert you both into a conversation, or otherwise find someone to talk to

He does get a little suspicious when people avoid you; he still doesn’t grasp that people are intimidated

Luckily this effect fades the longer you’re with him

He helps people realize that you’re actually really nice, and soon more people feel comfortable approaching you

Referring back to the alignment chart, Butters is “looks really nice” and “is actually really nice”

Despite people being less afraid of you, you’re still “looks like they could kill you”

That’s okay though; you’ve learned to use your scary demeanor to fend off bullies from your boyfriend 💪

Thank you for this request!! And thanks for reading, take care guys :]

(divider by saradika)

[fatalism-and-villainy]

Do you think he was ever in love with Bedelia like he was in love with Will? I ask this because Bedelia says they were both the "brides of Hannibal". But Hannibal never courted her like he did with Will, Bedelia came into Hannibal's life much before Will but he never pursued her like he did with Will. Mads said he wanted a future with Will unlike with other people he hooked up with Alana, Bedelia or Anthony. He took her to Italy as a consolation prize when Will betrayed him. Even in Italy H was pining about Will all the time and telling Bedelia how much he loves Will. I know he slept with Bedelia but he probably slept with Anthony too and he slept with Alana, Hannibal is a hedonistic guy who sleeps around. For him sleeping with someone doesn't mean he is in love with them. But when Will confronts Bedelia, she pretends as if Hannibal held them in the same regard which is obviously not true. Hannibal would choose Will over her in a heart beat and even she knows it but yet she acts as if Hannibal sees them both equally. I don't understand why? 😭 Why do you think?why make herself seem like a competition when she is not?

So, a few things.

To answer the first question - basically, no. I think the show is fairly clear on the fact that Bedelia wasn’t an adequate substitute for Will. (Though I will say that the question of whether or not X character was “really” “in love” with Y character, or - as I sometimes see people writing on, when they fell in love - is not particularly compelling or generative to me as a meta topic. Personally, I’d rather focus on the specifics of relationships, the patterns of interaction characters have with one another, what they represent to one another, etc, than trying to definitively categorize their feelings.) Also, if this is in response to this post, then I don’t really consider the question of whether or not characters were “really” in love, or preferred other people, particularly relevant when shipping something. Shipping to me is applying an erotic lens to a dynamic I find compelling, not about whether the character were “in love” with each other or would make a dedicated or long-lasting couple.

I don’t consider myself to be beholden to the opinion of Mads, or anyone else in the cast and crew, in my analysis. Their sentiments can be interesting, and can inform readings (and tbh I’ll pay more attention to Fuller than the rest of them, given that I respect his vision as a creator), but they are not canon, and I think treating them as such is stifling to fandom analysis. Furthermore, in this case, I don’t need to consider Mads’ opinion, because… I have the show itself, which devotes considerable attention to Hannibal’s feelings towards Will and puts forth a lot of effort in positioning Will as somehow exceptional to him.

It’s not really clear that Hannibal did sleep with Bedelia. The exact nature of their relationship is pretty deliberately left ambiguous. (My personal interpretation is that they didn’t sleep together, though they were both aware that it was a possibility.)

Hannibal had practical reasons to sleep with Alana outside of his own enjoyment - namely, grooming her as a character witness, and keeping her close such that the threat of him hurting her would keep Will in line (hence his “I’ll give Alana Bloom your best” line after Will’s attempt on his life). I do agree that he doesn’t seem to see sex as sacrosanct, and has no qualms about using it as a manipulation tool, but that’s about as much as the show gives us as to his feelings about it. (It is plausible, given everything else about him, that he’d enjoy it for hedonistic reasons, and that is pretty in line with my own headcanon, but the show itself doesn’t specify exactly, because “how the characters feel about sex” is a question it’s relatively uninterested in devoting a lot of attention to.)

With that out of the way, I’ll get into Bedelia, namely this:

But when Will confronts Bedelia, she pretends as if Hannibal held them in the same regard which is obviously not true. Hannibal would choose Will over her in a heart beat and even she knows it but yet she acts as if Hannibal sees them both equally.

She doesn’t actually, though. In fact, in her interactions with Will in 3B, she's often emphasizing the romantic and obsessive nature of Hannibal's feelings towards Will specifically.

Consider:

Will: You hitched your star to a man commonly known as a monster. You’re the Bride of Frankenstein. Bedelia: We’ve both been his bride.

Will is the one who raises the “bride” comparison, and Bedelia’s answer is to impress on Will the fact that he also should be taken to hold this position. And then later in the episode, we get her saying “my relationship with Hannibal is not as passionate as yours.”

And then in 3.12, we get this exchange:

Will: Bluebeard’s wife. Secrets you’re not to know, yet sworn to keep. Bedelia: If I am to be Bluebeard’s wife, I would have preferred to be the last.

So when Will again raises a romantic analogy for Bedelia and Hannibal’s relationship, Bedelia responds with a conditional, rather than confirming it, and then implicitly gestures towards the romantic nature of Will and Hannibal’s relationship (and the fact that Hannibal seems to value Will more).

So Bedelia fairly consistently maintains that Hannibal holds Will in special regard. And while she seems to have been jarred out of her usual patterns of behaviour with Hannibal in a comparable way to Will (hence the “why is one patient worthy of compassion and not another”/“why is one murderer worthy of compassion and not another” exchange), she doesn’t appear to be carrying a torch for him - when Will asks her if she’s been to see Hannibal, she responds, “I’ve seen enough of him.”

So, as to her motivations - I’d say she’s invested in impressing on Will the force of Hannibal’s influence on them, hence why she pushes the angle of the romantic intensity of their bond. For example, this quote:

Your experience of Hannibal’s attention is so profoundly harmful, yet so irresistible, it undermines your ability to think rationally.

And then her pushing to get Will to accept his culpability in what happened to Chilton, and chalking it up to Hannibal’s influence:

Bedelia: Is this what you expected? Will: I can’t say I’m surprised. Bedelia: Then you may as well have struck the match yourself. That’s participation. Hannibal Lecter does have agency in the world. He has you.

And then, in the wounded bird exchange, there’s her claim that Will isn’t truly a killer, and that his compassion is what drives his violence:

You’re not a killer. You’re capable of righteous violence because you are compassionate. …The next time your instinct is to help someone, you should really consider crushing them instead. It might save you a lot of trouble.

Well, taken in tandem with her emphasis on the intensity of the bond between Will and Hannibal, and on Hannibal’s influence on Will, the conclusion I’d draw is that she wants Will to recognize and recoil from Hannibal’s pull on him and what it brings out in him, and she wants him to direct his compassion towards Hannibal in the form of killing him. (I think her trying to get Will to “crush” the next person he feels the urge to help is also referring to Dolarhyde, ftr, or at least has narrative resonances in that direction, though that ofc backfires onto her).

So, I don’t think Bedelia feels threatened by the bond between Will and Hannibal out of romantic jealousy. It’s more a sense of self-preservation. I have a longer post in me about this, but suffice it to say, that’s why she tries to get Hannibal to eat Will in 3A - because it’s Will or her - and the interpretation that she’s trying to get Will to kill Hannibal in 3B works well as a parallel to that and makes sense as to her motivations. Because she knows that if Will and Hannibal join ranks, she’s toast - and going by the stinger in WOTL, she was right about that.

I hope this was helpful!

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Broken Things (Resident Lover)

Pairing: Very much platonic Mia and Miranda (I am rotating them and their dynamic in my head) Rating: G for General Audiences Warning: HEAVY SPOILERS for Miranda's route, mostly implied but this won't make much sense if you haven't finished it. I recommend also getting the cult ending for maximum clarity. Summary: For two people that hate each other, Mia and Miranda have more in common than either of them want to admit. The night before an important (but heartbreaking) ritual, they share a few moments together. Alternatively: do you think they ever talk about being the only two to really know the MC? I think it hangs over them, equal parts comforting blanket and burial shroud. Exploring their dynamic a lil bit. Also, this is probably the longest thing I've written in one sitting in ages, so... cool. Noice. Just over 1.2k words.

------ ------

If she had bothered to knock, there would have been no answer at best, and a flurry of feathered rage at worst. No point in entertaining that formality; not tonight, the eve of another undoing. Few things had any point tonight. But Mia had never been one to overthink things, never one to bother drawing up reasons for her behavior. That was what made her so charmingly irritating. Or just plain irritating, if you asked the headmistress whose office is now being invaded.

“I’m not in the mood for company,” Miranda warns from where she sits at her desk, the barest hints of exhaustion bleeding into her normally veiled expression. Even Goddesses get tired, it seems. Cruelties stir in the back of her throat, vile words and heavy hexes, but she doesn’t waste any energy on letting them spill out. Simply swallows, hard, and crosses one leg over the other. A stiffness occupies her bones this evening.

“I know,” Mia answers, without any snark, carefully setting down a couple glasses where there’s room. The bottle in her other hand has already been opened, the contents mixed with other things, and hastily sealed again. For once, Mia bothers to wipe the condensation off the bottom before setting it down. “Neither am I.”

This time, her lips curl up at the edges, but the downturn of her eyebrows betrays the bitterness she feels. Another thought dances on her mind, and her mouth makes it halfway open before she discards it, playing the movement off as an exaggerated sigh. Pushing Miranda’s buttons is easy… achieving anything else is Herculean. Part of Mia wonders how far she’s already pushing things, not because she cares about the consequences, simply because she can’t tell.

Leaning her weight against the desk (avoiding the side table like a single touch would kill her), Mia grabs the bottle again, popping the cap off with a flick of her thumb. Almost immediately the smell of strong whiskey drifts around the room. Miranda’s nostrils flare, briefly, the purse of her lips growing tighter. But she says nothing as Mia pours drinks for the both of them, eying them closely to make sure they’re filled evenly. A moment passes, then two, before Mia nudges one of the glasses closer to Miranda.

“I don’t know why I keep you around,” the headmistress says, bringing a little bite to her words to show dominance, her posturing a sad show of deflecting vulnerability. They both know exactly why Mia is still alive, why she’s here, in this town, in this day, in this life. Why she doesn’t slip out the door without a word and disappear forever. All the same reasons keep Miranda here, urging her hands to continue pulling strings, weaving and undoing and weaving and weaving and unmaking with the same heart that compelled Penelope to do the same.

Mia chooses not to point it out. Bites her tongue, nurses the mixed whiskey like it was her last. Lets the burn linger on her tastebuds. Breathes in deep, turning her gaze to the dark sky beyond the office window. A few tiny figures move across the campus grounds, returning from parties or maybe more clandestine affairs, utterly unaware that everything was going to be reset tonight. None of them have even an ounce of worth in her eyes, nor in Miranda’s.

“Nobody else has a clue, do they?” Mia muses, somewhere between a sneer and a giggle. Both halves sound forced. For a moment, she basks in the silence, only to remember she wasn’t one to find comfort in such things after all. A glance towards her companion reveals a raised eyebrow, Miranda not yet parsing her words. The details of the reset were a closely guarded secret, to prevent dissent, but most of her flock understood that something important lay past the dusk. What they didn’t understand is all the more fundamental, built into the very cause they pursued. “They all think they know what we’re missing.” More bitterness in her voice this time, acidity on a slow-drip to her veins, a scoff kicking out some of the weight from her chest.

Something clicks, then, an idea alongside Miranda’s tongue. Dimitrescu imagines her daughters. Beneviento’s grief haunts everything she makes, but the feelings fold into different shapes. Followers flood their senses with Mother’s goals, with her purpose, but they are driven by their devotion to her. Not to her. All the lives in the world, vast and uniquely faceted, and only the two in this room have a clue.

“You don’t love her the way I do,” Miranda whispers, nail guards finding places to pinch her own flesh. Slowly, she uncrosses her legs, and finally reaches for her glass. If there’s any fragility to the way she holds herself now, Mia is kind enough to ignore it, and uncaring enough to leave the pain without relief.

“Mmm, and you don’t love her the way I do,” she breathes. Neither of them are lying. Oddly enough, nor are they challenging each other. Just declaring their surviving differences in this moment of alikeness. “Salut,” Mia adds, ignoring the huff (of irritation or amusement, she cares not to differentiate) from Miranda, but cracks a smile when their glasses raise in sync. A toast to the heart of their shared world, to the central victim of the reset.

There’s no hiding the way Miranda recoils at the concoction, almost a snarl with glinting teeth, the strength of the cheap whiskey hardly diluted by whatever was added to it. Hardly her drink of choice. Yet she runs her finger around the rim of the glass, mirroring the way her tongue flickers across her teeth, savoring the misery of it all. Hauntingly familiar, the closest Mia had ever come to recreating a cursed relic from their past. At least it will get us drunk fast, she had once said, with this same grimace, the icon of their love cheering on the words. Teasing gently about her obsessions with efficiency.

By the time the memory moves beyond her eyelids, the glass in her hands is almost empty. Mia hums a halfhearted tune, pouring another round for Miranda, before pushing herself up from her perch. A few wrinkled papers get left behind, without anyone batting an eye. Everything was pointless tonight, remember? Beautiful nothingness, even stale blood gushing like ichor, almost all things rendered equal.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some poor decisions to make,” Mia suddenly chimes, face twisting up into a visage of mischief, brushing the last of the dust off of her mask. One hand snatches up the bottle, the other smoothes over her leather jacket, subtly ensuring she could still feel the presence of her switchblade in one of the pockets. WIth unabashed glee, she waltzes through the doorway, off to draw blood and make merry with the worst of what the university has to offer.

She only hesitates for a microsecond, as she goes to close the door behind her. Glances back to meet Miranda’s gaze, all-knowing and piercing as ever, the two of them exchanging silent assurances. Their beloved would be remade, eventually, no matter how long it takes. No matter how many times they have to start over. A determination only matched in each other, as universally true as it is unspoken.

[lloydfrontera]

i will always find the relationship between javier and the fronteras endlessly fascinating and compelling especially because of the way it's shaped by the required narrative of the original novel versus what we see of them as people through the plot of tged. let me explain.

the thing about javier is that. he's not. a person when we first meet him. he's supposed to be a character. he's just about to go through his tragic backstory so he can then go on to be the hero of 'the knight of blood and iron'. this is what javier is. all his life before that is really nothing more than a footnote. the fronteras themselves are nothing more than extras that die in the very beginning of his story.

and this shapes the way their relationship is meant to be like. because they need to strike the right balance of them being close enough where it's justified for javier to be so loyal to arcos that he refuses to take any master after his death but not so close that javier feels the responsibility or has the authority to take over the estate after their deaths or even remain there at all to help in any way he can. for the sake of the narrative javier isn't allowed to really be a part of the frontera family despite being basically raised by them, because that would interfere with the plot destiny has set up for him.

and if that were it, that would be fine, no one would really pay that much attention to it because why would they. the only things that matters is that they kept javier alive, they were close to him in some regard and now they're dead. that's all that was needed from them for tkobai.

but then. lloyd happens. and he immediately derails the plot and saves the fronteras from death and javier from having to become an errant knight and now everyone is alive and free to continue their own lives and then we get to know arcos and marbella, not as just tragic extras of javier's story but as actual people with their own thoughts and feelings and. what we get to know about them doesn't quite track with their previous actions.

the arcos and marbella we get to know in tged?? they basically adopt lloyd as their son. lloyd. an adult stranger who replaced their son, kept the truth from them for years and who then came back looking nothing like their own kid. and they still love him and accept him as their child. by all accounts they straight up give him their family name, centuries later he's still known as lloyd frontera and nothing else.

this is the kind of people they are. the kind of people who would welcome a stranger into their family because he's kind and good and he's trying his best.

but you mean to tell me that these are the same people who took in a five year old orphan into their home and then just. kept him around. not really being a part of their family. they just raised him for 15 years and then took his oath as a knight and that was it. they don't even call him by his name. he's always 'sir asrahan'.

it doesn't make sense!! that doesn't track with the kind of people they are in tged! except it totally does if you remember they were never meant to be more than just extras. they were never meant to be more than some kind people javier is very distraught to lose but not enough to fall apart for.

that being said. there are a couple explanations that could be given in universe to explain why javier was never made a frontera, despite being taken in by them.

one is that they simply weren't allowed to adopt him. like someone in the replies of this post mentioned, some countries could be pretty strict about who nobles were allowed to adopt. maybe in the magentano kingdom it's the same and the fronteras couldn't legally make javier their child and so could only take him in as a ward or something similar.

or maybe they didn't want to take away one of the very few things javier has left of his family. he was a really small child when his parents were killed, he once mentions he doesn't even really remember his father, just a memory of waiting up for him late at night and that's it. he never really speaks of them nor does he seem to have a deeper connection or longing for them. by the time we meet him, all he has left of them is his name really. maybe when they took him in neither arcos nor marbella wanted to take away one of javier's last remains of his family by making him take their name.

or perhaps they thought adopting javier would cause them more harm than good. after all. they did have a little bastard of a son who took offense at the very existence of javier, despite javier just being *checks notes* a five year old orphan they picked up from the streets so he wouldn't starve or freeze to death. can you imagine the nightmare it would've been if javier had actually been adopted and not just taken in. if og lloyd had not only been forced to share a home but also his own name with him. it wouldn't have been pretty! and the one to pay for it would've certainly been javier! so maybe they thought the risk was simply too high. maybe they thought not giving him their name was a price worth paying to keep the peace at their home.

or maybe they simply didn't think it was their place. maybe they didn't want to make javier uncomfortable or force him into a relationship with them that he didn't want. maybe they wanted to wait until the loss was a little less recent, until the pain had had time to settle into something more manageable and then they just. missed the timing. maybe by the time they realized it was already too late and walls had formed between them that they didn't know how to take down.

in any case i simply don't believe that arcos and marbella are the kind of people to take in a child, raise him his whole life and then just. not feel anything deeper than fondness for him. it doesn't make sense from what we actually get to see of them.

i don't think their relationship with javier is that of parents with a child, but i also don't think it's as distant as what it looks like at first glance. personally i think it must be a mix of,,, habit, formalities and the awkwardness of a missed opportunity hanging between them that doesn't let them be as close as they would otherwise be. like. they all wish they could be something more, they wish the distance was a little shorter, they wish the walls between them could come down but they simply aren't sure how to do that anymore. they don't know if they missed their one chance and this is all that's left.

i don't know!! i just!! it's fascinating to me and i think about it far too much for it to be healthy!! halp!!

[disasterbijamietartt]

After getting a sound night of sleep I started to feel like being all “oooh, queer Roy makes so much sense! And Jamie x Roy suddenly looks like something that could happen!” was being unfair to Colin and his arc.

Like it was mean and greedy that I wanted a queer story arc with main characters.

Like I should be happy with the nice cookie they handed me and not demand the whole fucking jar.

And that now that Colin finally got his arc, I shouldn’t wish for something to happen that could potentially overshadow him.

What a daring expectation it is to get not one but actually two (or more, I see you Ted x Trent shippers) well developed and fleshed out queer story arcs in mainstream media! (ah, the trauma of growing up in the 80’s & 90’s and being lucky if you got a queer side character that wasn’t the butt of all jokes and / or didn’t die )

Until I realized, that it wouldn’t. That on the other hand, it would be so rewarding for Colin's arc, if he is the one to helps fucking legend Roy Kent and star player Jamie Tartt, two people he admires and respects (like, I'd have to check, but wasn't it Colin who asked Roy if he'd come to the bar with them in 1x3? Was Isaac, but still - like Roy calls him son in the second episode, so there is a connection) to come out of the closet.

Colin deserves so so much to fucking inspire someone, to realise that he IS a strong and capable man, that he matters (especially after he was taken off the starting eleven for Zava) and is influential.

Like, all this talk about him being a chameleon, how he never was the focus of the narrative, how Nate in the whole Holiday Inn Painting thing told him, that he is not someone who inspires, unlike Jamie and Dani, sets this up perfectly

It could also be, that he inspires one or two of the other himbos (like Dani), but it would be way more impactful if he, who always was no more than a background character, is the inspiration for main characters to address their own queerness and come out.

And while it is a great message that straight alpha males can have a soft side, the message, that you can be a dominant alpha male professional footballer AND queer is stronger. Like, Roy’s a legend and while Jamie currently isn’t the best player on the team, he is one of their star players and the narrative made it clear that he is hella talented and a big star to come. So that is another argument for it being them, since we have a whole lot of himbos to hammer the straight guys can be soft too message home.

And it would be a compelling narrative to have Colin, who is at least out to himself and in a relationship, Jamie, who is at best getting comfortable with the thought but not really at a place to actually date someone, and Roy, who — if my assessment is correct — is so deep in the closet it is surprising he hasn’t found Narnia yet.

Also because of the generational gap — though they are technically all Millenials, being a queer Millenial born in the early eighties is a whole different experience than being a mid or late nineties queer Millenial.

So, now we have the WHY, onto my ideas HOW it could play out (that will probably be contradicted by the narrative by tomorrow, but I want it out in the unrealistic case I’m right 🤪)

I picture something like Michael breaking things off in a couple episodes because he is sick of pretending to be the best friend & wingman, and Trent stepping in as a gay mentor (maybe they meet at a gay bar in Amsterdam by chance, Colin slightly panics and that is the moment Trent tells him he already knew but kept it to himself since it is Colin’s decision to talk about it — it is very important to me, that the person who has the agency in regards of his coming out is Colin!) and finally Colin finding the courage to come out to the team.

Now it is nice and good, if the team reacts supportive, but the additional layer of his coming out being the thing that sparks Roy and Jamie to come clean about their feelings?

Chef’s kiss!

There are several ways this could play out (like I have a trizillion ideas how Jamie x Roy could actually work and which role Keeley would play into this and how this could culminate in Roy x Jamie x Keeley endgame), but here is one:

Colin has a speech prepared that he gives in the locker room, everyone listens attentively and then we have a sweet moment with Isaac and the other himbos being supportive.

But!

Roy is making his little upset face, grunts something and storms off the locker room.

Something that visibly upsets Colin, which is why Jamie says he's going to give Roy a piece of his mind and follows him. Of course he’ll find him in the kit room.

Jamie is set to give Roy a sermon about homophobia and how his reaction right now wasn't cool even for an old person.

But Roy is close to tears and Jamie is confused and tries to comfort him, asking what is going on, and that is when Roy kisses him, Jamie’s being a bit surprised at first, but then kisses him back and …

Cue for a shot of Will standing in the corner, looking into the camera like he is in the Office with this “Why am I always in this room at the wrong time?”-face.

And when they get back, Roy asks Colin to come to his office to talk to him privately and then Roy apologizes and explains how Colin’s speech affected him, since he could have never been so brave, but now he is inspired to try to be true to himself.

And Colin is like “OMG I did this.”

And now, that he knows that he is fully accepted by the team as the person he truly is and and someone who does inspire people, he has the confidence to actually show his potential as a player and plays a significant role in Richmond winning the whole thing in the end.

And he uses his moment in the spotlight to come out publicly, since even though this is scary and homophobic fans will give him shit, he has a team and club that has his back and that is the way he can be truly inspiring.

And that is how we get Colin Hughes, most inspiring football player in the whole fucking world. 😌

EDIT:

After 3x6 and Colin stating he doesn't want to be a spokes person, I changed my vision a bit.

So, Colin still inspires Jamie and Roy to come to terms with there feelings/queerness, yadda yadda, and essentially inspires Jamie to come out publicly and take on the mantle as the spokesperson, since this is something that fits him better than Colin, since he is more comfortable being in the limelight and actually likes being the center of attention. Colin would be able to just kiss his fella after a game, but wouldn't have to carry the burden of being the first out player in the Premier League.

Also: It would be such a great ending for Jamie's arc, if Jamie’s legacy, the thing he’ll be remembered for, wouldn’t be being best striker in the Premier League or the world or anything like that, but that he’d been known for unapologetically being his true, best self—something he’d denied himself being for so long because of his dad’s abuse. And wouldn’t that be poetic?

[snippydippy]

A little blurb I wrote where my Tav has a breakdown after Elminster's bad news visit.

Not sure why I wrote it from Astarion's perspective, it just flowed out that way. They are just barely friends, but he can be kind sometimes. It helps that he doesn't like Mystra either.

Astarion found Elise standing on her own on the outer rim of the campsite. She faced away from the party's tents, over the cliff side and out into the sprawling view of trees, rivers, ruins and waterfalls. The setting sun cast rays of light across the land, and onto her. The whole thing would make a rather romantic picture, except the Vampire knew she was in quite the state.

Elminster, the most famous Wizard in Faerun had just paid the group a visit, and bore some...troubling news, to say the absolute least. The very embodiment of magic and the goddess of the weave, Mystra had commanded that Gale use the Netherese Orb lodged in his chest to end The Absolute, and his own life in the process. And the wizard seemed immediately of the mind to obey in a frankly disheartening desire for her forgiveness.

After Elminster had made his leave, Astarion caught the tail end of conversation between Gale and Elise. She was distraught, but firm in telling the man that his group of capable friends (a strong word, Astarion had thought), would find another way to end the Absolute, and that she would not allow him to kill himself. He'd heard Gale's voice grow indignant, saying that she should, "keep such assuredness in check until we've seen the severity of the threat we face." And that she "may reconsider her stance" once they had.

He'd heard Elise, angry for the first time since he'd met her, say back with wet eyes, "I won't. We already know The Absolute is a threat to the entire Sword Coast, and yet I'm still not willing to sacrifice you. I will not lose you, Gale!" 

Astarion observed the look they exchanged with each other from a distance, but could read a number of emotions between the two of them. Anger, sadness. Desperation.

He knew neither of them had said in any certain terms how they felt for the other, and doubted they were either even aware of mutual feelings for certain. However, they'd both have to be complete idiots not to know it now. Gods knew everyone else did.

Elise has turned away then. Astarion assumed she was too overwhelmed by the moment. As was Gale, going by the positively bewildered look on his face as she hurried away. Awash with feelings anyone would likely have a hard time pinning down.

Probably elation, to know someone cared enough for him to argue against the wishes of a goddess. A devoted cleric no less, who knew better than most the weight of a direct command. Maybe guilt for putting said person in the middle of such heavy affairs. Maybe anger at Elise for denying him his chance at forgiveness, or maybe anger at Mystra for dangling it in front of him in this way. Likely all of these.

Astarion could speculate all evening, but ultimately what the wizard was feeling was of little interest to him. He personally thought Mystra's "charge" was ridiculous, but was not about to have a discussion with Gale himself about it.

Astarion had given it a couple hours for minds to gather and emotions to cool before he sought Elise out. He stood behind her at the cliff now, contemplating how he wanted to approach her. Uncertain why he felt compelled to in the first place. This whole thing really wasn't his concern (aside from the threat to his immediate person, should Gale detonate nearby). He and Elise were not exactly "close" by any normal standards, and it's not as though he thought he'd have anything particularly helpful to contribute, but that look in her eyes as she stormed off before...

"I can not believe Mystra expects Gale to blow himself up with the Absolute!" He said aloud, striding over to her side. He caught her flinch, but she did not look up at him. Her eyes were locked on nothing in the distance. He continued, his tone dismissive, "What a waste of a perfectly good cult we could be controlling! And..a perfectly good Gale, I suppose."

He heard her exhale with a tight, barely there smile that vanished as quickly as it came. Her hands were together, moving restlessly as she absentmindedly (with an absolutely packed mind) churned her fingers, picking at various injuries and calluses across her skin. A long silence settled between them.

"It's...quite the situation he's in." Elise finally said, a strange quality to her voice, "Quite the choice to make. I'm...I'm afraid of what he wants to do."

"He wants to go through with it. Stubborn idiot." Astarion humorlessly chuckled.

"I think I'm in love with him." Elise said suddenly, with the quickest glance to Astarion before she thought better of it, eyes flicking back to the open landscape.

Astarion blinked in surprise. Of course he knew how she felt about Gale. As mentioned before, the only two people in the whole camp who seemed none the wiser were the two fools involved. But, hearing her admit it so plainly, it definitely wasn't expected. Especially not to him given their...history.*

Astarion said nothing, letting his silence be her encouragement to go on, which she seemed to take as such.

"And that's just my luck, isn't it?" She started with her own humorless and breathless laugh. Her composure like a fragile porcelain vase, "I finally find someone who I think would honestly, and truly care for me. Who is everything I'd look for in a partner."

Her feet shift, her hands become more animated as she talks, and her voice grows unsteady, "And the very God he worships comes-No, she sends a dear friend to speak for her! Demands he kill himself in the name of forgiveness. And not just the very deity he worships, who grants him the powers he's dedicated his entire life to, no! She's also his former lover. Who's forgiveness he's been pinning for since angering her in the first place. Who, I..Ha!" A single, somewhat wild laugh, before becoming quiet again, "Someone who I c-…could never compare to."

A quick hand comes up to wipe at her eyes, the other gesturing about, "And I know I am being the most selfish woman alive right now. Nothing, in all the realms, could be any less about me. But, Gods!" The vase cracked along with her voice. She looked to Astarion finally with eyes welled with tears, "I really don't want him to fucking die." And then the vase shattered. Her head turned away again, both hands came to cover her face as her whole body shook with sobs she just couldn't keep back any longer.

Astarion's hand faltered and hung in the air as he reached for her. He didn't quite know what to do. Besides the surprise of seeing a person he knew as well composed and emotionally private come apart in front of him, comforting anyone wasn't exactly something he'd ever say was a strong suit. Not genuine comforting outside of luring, anyway. But, perhaps his previous skills would come in handy here regardless. He cautiously reached out again, his fingers just barely grazing her back when she was suddenly against his chest, crying into his shoulder.

Contact like this wasn't Astarion's favorite thing, and his instinct might have been to back away or push anyone off any other time, but the Vampire would be lying if he said he didn't feel anything for her sorrow. So, he gingerly wrapped an arm around her to place a hand on her back.

Mystra's demand was absurd. For many reasons. The threat to everyone else's lives should the man blow up not being the least of them. Gale was a fool to consider it at all.

And, for all their empty flirting, jabs at one another and bickering, Elise was someone Astarion would consider…considering, a friend. At least, she was someone he could trust. The first in a very long time. Seeing her this upset certainly wasn't amusing by any stretch. He also realized he may have underestimated her feelings for Gale. Clearly not a simple puppy's crush.

"I'm sure we'll find another way." Astarion said with the usual playful lilt absent. Until, "At least, you and the other 'heroes' in our merry band will."

Minutes went by in silence except for Elise's crying that eventually turned to sniffling as she got her emotions under control. Astarion's hand still placidly rested between her shoulder blades until she straightened up from him. She didn't step back just yet, and neither did he, but his hands did go to connect behind his back.

"P-...please don't mention any of this to Gale. To anyone." She said, her hands disguised as wiping tears from both eyes almost definitely there to hide what she could of her face. Astarion imagined she felt a little embarrassed by this outburst, given how reserved she normally was.

He let out his usual guffaw, "Darling, what kind of gossip do you take me for?"

She didn't laugh, but the chastising look she gave him through reddened eyes did at least settle any doubt in his mind that she'd (eventually) be alright.

"I'll keep this between us." He took a step back then, as did she. A mutual understanding of tolerances Astarion appreciated, "Although...Knowing how you feel about him might be in Gale's best interest. It might be enough to sway his mind."

She met his eyes, and for a moment he worried she might start back up again, but Elise only huffed a sigh and crossed her arms as if a chill blew in, "I don't think so. Not when put up against Mystra."

Atsarion fought hard not to roll his eyes. Trifling, manipulative gods and a mortal's insecurity in the face of them. What else was new. "It might be worth a try anyway."

She looked out at the scenery again, avoiding an argument, "I'll tell him in time. Just...not now. I can't. It would feel like I'm only trying to sway him. I don't want there to be any doubts about my sincerity."

Astarion's turn to huff a sigh, "Alright, whatever you say. I'm going back to camp, don't wallow out here all night."

He turned to head back, only getting a couple steps before he felt her hand on his arm, "Wait! Astarion?"

He looked back at her, she let her hand drop away. That tolerance understanding again. "Thank you. For this. For allowing me to just...have a moment. I won't forget it."

Astarion smiled at her. A real one. Almost none of the usual snark behind it. Almost, "You've allowed me to drink from you. Seems the absolute least I could do to allow you to lean on my cold shoulder." He lifted a finger, a sternness covering his features, "Just this once."

Elise nodded, smiling as her friend turned and walked back to his tent.