#damn this could fit cater so much

[pandoa]

okay so, you have really interesting titles here... I mean, at least what I can imagine the stories are about. For tentative titles, they're really good! I wanted to ask about "The Phantom of Ramshackle" *organ sounds* but I actually got curious about Cater's "Every Piece of Me". Cater is a okay character for me but I love imagining he seeing reader having this moment of "I love all of you, Cater" its just <3333

ahhh cater's fic <33 cater was one of the first twst characters that caught my eye when i started the game so this idea stemmed from me crying over the fact that cater seems to often put up some sort of facade around others, like a mask he uses to hide from the people around him.

my idea for this was to mainly focus on cater's internal conflict with the developing feelings he has for the reader. what if you only liked him for his usual cheery personality? what would he do if he knew you were only there for his little facade? or even worse, what if you had seen through his false exterior and wished to stay? to take apart each and every mask he placed on himself and reveal the true side of the young man, cater diamond? the side he hoped to keep hidden away, especially from you? and what if... he had let you see for yourself, the real, genuine parts of his personality?

this will all be in cater's pov. sprinkle in a little angst but with some fluff or comfort at the end. i honestly have no concrete draft for this yet except for the small brainstorming portion i wrote jotting down all of my ideas for this fic lol. idk when i'll actually write this tho- all i know is that i want to work on it and i will eventually~

[coralinnii]

Hi! How's it going?

Can I please request Leona, Riddle, Cater and Ace reacting to the reader wearing someone else's jacket?

‧₊˚✧New Jacket, Who Dis? ‧₊˚✧

↳ forgetting your jacket and wearing someone else’s  

feat: Leona ❋ Riddle ❋ Cater ❋ Ace genre: humor, fluff note: no pronouns used for reader, reader is implied to be smaller than Floyd, nicknames used for reader (cutie, babe, baby), established relationships, reader is implied to be from Ramshackle,

I swear I will get these requests completed even if it kills me. Damn my tendency to go into hibernation during winter! Anyway, hope you guys enjoy the reading ^///^

Part 1 2.7k followers writing event

Leona has jackets? 

I mean, you were sure Leona owns a plethora of high-end jackets and outerwear of the finest fabrics but be it a preference or perhaps too much of an effort, you rarely see the beastman wear anything other than a shirt and at best a dorm-mandated vest.

So, when you feel a chill down your spine on your way to class, the idea of asking your boyfriend for a jacket did not cross your mind. Can’t ask for what you’ve never seen.

A classmate of yours saw your pitiful form and offered you his school blazer. Something better than nothing, he thought. 

Grateful, you were quick to take up his kind offer and practically snuggled your face into it for warmth. Now in a better mood, you got through the first half of the day and quickly made your way to the greenhouse where you suspect a certain lion beastman is hiding. 

But it seems that said beastman wasn’t in high spirits as you were when with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw, he raised his palm towards you signaling you to step no closer to him. 

An unfamiliar scent unpleasantly wafted through Leona’s territory, and to his annoyance, you appeared to be the source of it. 

No, not you…That wretched jacket.

Leona doesn’t have to ask. He can surmise the situation on his own, the weather was chilly, you being stupid enough to leave without something cozy, and some brave or stupid herbivore handing you something with his scent even though you were the partner of a beastman. Though irritating, logically this was not something surprising… but he doesn’t have to like it regardless. 

And he doesn’t. 

Pointing towards you, he further narrowed his gaze on the jacket that has tainted you with its irritating stench of another man. “Oi, take it off.” 

Though confused, you did as he said (lest you want him even grumpier, you thought) and placed your friend’s jacket onto Leona’s outstretched hand. 

Suddenly and without warning, the dark-haired upperclassman harshly tossed the fabric to a random direction, with such feelings of disgust and annoyance radiating off from Leona, you would think the jacket spat in his meal or something. 

But no matter how many times you tried to ask for his reasons or how many times you begged him to let you go after pulling you into his arms so you could retrieve the abandoned jacket, Leona said nothing as he kept his grip strong around you as he fell asleep once more, lulled by your unobstructed scent. 

“Ruggie can grab my jacket for you so quit harping about it…You feel bad for Ruggie for the trouble? Tch, who’s fault you think that is?”

Riddle’s appearance is perfect to a T. From his bow tie to his socks, the Heartslabyul housewarden chooses his attire to what is required; nothing is missing and nothing in excess. 

Basically, he wouldn’t have a spare jacket nor can he part away from the required blazer of his school uniform despite how he honestly wanted to. 

You understood his hesitance completely and didn’t probe further. Unfortunately, it left you noticeably shivering, and Floyd just had to mention your shivering form akin to a jittery guppy. Learning your predicament, the tall mischief-maker had a fun idea. 

Which led to you finally leaving the classroom after Floyd finished his giggling fit seeing you looking practically devoured by his jacket. Floyd is a tall eel merman so the length of the sleeves and hem were certainly longer than an average uniform. 

“Go ahead and wear it, just give it back later.” The sophomore graciously lent his jacket to you, but you suspected that he just wanted to prolong the humiliation.

At least you were grateful he wasn’t there to laugh at you when Riddle saw you in this mortifying position. The taller student would have probably coughed up his human lungs from laughing at your boyfriend's stunned expression. 

“I…What is…” Riddle was dumbfounded. The sight of his beloved being swallowed by a jacket was not something he suspected. It is an amusing image to see, but definitely odd. 

What’s the procedure for this? This was hardly appropriate school attire, but Riddle was stumped as to what to do next since he can’t think of a rule that addresses your lover being dressed in someone else’s jacket in a comical fashion. 

Despite unable to complete his prior sentence, you knew what Riddle wanted to know. “…It’s Floyd’s. He thought it’d be funny.” 

There was a burning sensation bubbling in Riddle when he thought about the Octavinelle rascal, how close and unnecessarily clingy he probably was to you as he took glee in his nonsensical pranks. Then, an unpleasant thought sat in the redhead’s mind as he watched you roll up the sleeves of Floyd’s jacket draped over your form. That eel gave you his jacket while Riddle, your boyfriend, didn’t.

"I supposed I should have expected this, given my choice."

Riddle let out a sigh before extending a hand to you, his face flushing a familiar red hue. “It may be redundant, but perhaps I could offer my own jacket? A warmer one at least, I wouldn’t want you to needlessly catch a cold.” 

Happily, you took the sweet redhead’s offer. Walking together hand-in-hand, Riddle thought he could spare you a scolding about forgetting your jacket in the first place, so long as you rectify his mood by wearing his jacket instead. 

“As your boyfriend it should be my duty to protect and care for you, no one else’s.”

Cater would have no problem with sharing his jacket with you, if he can take some cute pictures of course. His wardrobe has a mixture of trendy and cool clothing due to his time at the Pop Music Club. It wasn't a matter of what he could offer but rather his time to even give this offer.

It was today of all days that he couldn’t find time to himself since there were some last-minute preparations needed for the Unbirthday party. You felt too guilty and nervous to suddenly ask your boyfriend for a jacket in all this commotion, so you tried to handle the cold without one. 

However, a classmate of yours was observant enough to notice your predicament and handed his jacket for the time being. 

You’ve stuck around the Unbirthday party, waiting for the festivities to settle and relax before scanning through the crowd to find the man with a beautiful shade of orange hair. 

But your boyfriend was quicker to find you as he surprised you first, covering your eyes from behind. “Guess who, cutie~?” 

Laughing, you didn’t bother to answer as you immediately spun around to leap straight into Cater’s arms, to which Cater happily returned in kind. 

“Looks like you got yourself some new threads. Almost couldn’t find you, cutie.” Referring to your newly acquired jacket, Cater could see the Heartslabyul emblem sewed onto its sleeve. Raising a quizzical brow, Cater questioned you, “Did you get it from the Adeuce duo?” 

His guess was wrong though as you told him a classmate of yours offered you his jacket, pointing him in the distance with his friends. Well now, that’s interesting. If it were one of his or your friends, that’s fine and dandy…but a random classmate…

Cater genuinely appreciated that his little underclassmen are chivalrous enough to help their fellow peers, but he admits that it’s a little different when it involves you. You’re special to him after all and he gotta make sure only he gets to give you the best boyfie treatment. 

With a smile on his face, Cater gently coaxed you out from the jacket before walking towards the oblivious student. “Let’s give him back his jacket, then we can head over to my room. I’ve got the perfect jacket for you to try out ♪”

“My cutie looks so ‘cammable in my jacket! This is definitely going on Magicam ♪ Oh, should we get matching couple outfits~?"

“Are you ever gonna stop sulking and tell me what’s wrong, Ace?”

“...” 

It doesn’t matter how long you two were dating, Ace would tease you so much if you ask for his jacket, it’s almost not worth it. You could already hear the redhead’s cheeky voice in your head. “Aww, is my baby feeling cold? Do you need your amazing boyfriend to warm you up?” 

Feeling a little petty and not in the mood for his teasing, you instead asked Deuce if he could spare his extra jacket for you. To your luck, he had his track team jacket on hand that he could offer to you. 

Warm and cozy, you met up with Ace who, upon seeing you, unceremoniously draped himself over you as he let out a deep sigh. “Ahh, I was so cold today. Thank Sevens you’re so warm.” 

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you wrapped your arms around him and rubbed his back soothingly. Glad you didn’t ask for his jacket, then. 

But as Ace shifted around in your arms, he looked over your jacket from his angle and felt a sneaking suspicion that he had seen it before…but not on you. “Hey babe, where’d you get the jacket from?” 

“Oh, it’s Deuce’s track team jacket. I borrowed it ‘cuz I forgot mine back at Ramshackle.” 

Which led to this predicament in Ace’s room, with the pouty freshman giving you the cold shoulder. Granted, it’s rather cute to see your boyfriend react so childishly over a jacket, but you’d preferred some cuddles right about now. 

But Ace kept on with his act. It may seem like an overreaction but to Ace, knowing that you asked for Deuce instead of him first left a sour taste in his mouth and a blow to his ego. He’s supposed to be your boyfriend, ain’t he? 

You sighed, having no choice but to “right your wrong”, then. 

Crawling to where your lover was, you leaned into the crook of his neck as your arms circled his waist. “Don’t be mad, I’m so cold and I need my strong, handsome boyfriend to warm me up with hugs~ Aaacceee…” 

Still met with silence, you upped the ante and started to press small pecks against his neck where you felt were getting hot and bumpy from your touch. Hiding your satisfied smile, you continued your onslaught of praises and coos. 

Damn you and your cuteness, he thought. Breaking his cold facade, Ace groaned in frustration as he pulled you into his arms, giving into the cuddles you wanted. 

“If you need something, you’d better be thinking of me first before anyone else, especially Deuce. Have some faith in your boyfriend here.”

[theonewiththefanfics]

Love Conquers All (one-shot)

Synopsys: The wedding is finally afoot. Astarion and his love have fought for it tooth and nail, but could there be more to life after happily-ever-after?

Set after the main events of BG3 This is a follow up to Homecoming (one-shot). Would probably advise reading it beforehand :)

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, maybe a bit of angst, insecure Astarion, but just pure teeth-rotting fluff

Warnings: talks of blood, injuries, swearing, mentions of abuse, mentions of SA

Word count: 8875

A/N: I have not played Baldur's Gate 3 (I don't own a PS or a PC where to play it. all of this is based on the info gathered online and through Neil's own gameplay etc. Please be kind :) )

Astarion knew ever since he met Y/N, she was the only one he could imagine spending the rest of his life with. They had gone through hells and back for one another, quite literally going head-to-head with a devil. They’d fought for their happily ever after tooth and nail, and now, the biggest day of their lives (yet) was here.

           The vampire spawn woke up from his trance jittery and excited for what was to come. It had been ages since he’d felt this way, such joy while looking forward to what the day had installed for him because he was finally going to marry the love of his life.

           Their day would be perfect, Astarion had done everything to ensure it. He’d taken to wedding planning like a cat to cream, making sure that once their day arrived, even the smallest detail would be flawless.

           It had taken them two years to settle on a time of the year, let alone a date, but that had given him enough time to grow the flowers for the arrangements that now decorated their house, fussing with them like one would with a child (and sometimes threatening a certain rose if it didn’t grow the way he wanted it to). He even invertedly created a couple of new variates in the process, but those were specifically relegated as the flowers Y/N would weave in her hair for the ceremony.

           He had even meticulously studied cookery books, having his parents along with his love be his taste testers, seeing he couldn’t really enjoy eating human food, but he’d be damned if something disgusting would be served in his house, no less on his wedding day. Unless it had a ten out of ten approval from everyone involved, Astarion scrapped the recipe and started over. He was fairly certain the caterers hated him because he’d made them prepare the food before and until they got it absolutely right, he was on their asses day and night.

           But if he had to pick a favourite process throughout all the planning, it was when Y/N had come to him late one night as he burrowed himself in his sowing room and requested, that he design and make her wedding dress. Astarion almost got down on his knees in reverence as she looked at him with such tender eyes. And, well, let’s just say – during fittings, his hands might’ve skimmed the inside of her thighs on more than one occasion, and his head might’ve slipped below the skirt to taste between her legs, wholly unprofessional.

           Oh, and that dream of a house with a grand library, where shelves of books stretched from one corner to the other, and a large ballroom to host parties until daylight broke – no longer was it a simple dream, but rather his reality. Not only that, he could hear people fussing all across the house as hired staff prepared final details and decorations for the ceremony.

           The new house, or let’s be honest, the manor, Astarion and Y/N lived in, had not come easy though. He’d pretty much brought his lover to the end of her wits when they’d gone on the search for their dream home. In the end, it boiled down to her threatening to make them live in the forest like Halsin, sleeping on the hard ground, if he didn’t come to a decision.

           Astarion was aghast at the suggestion, crossing his arms and pouting hard. “Why are you so upset about this?” He couldn’t understand what the big issue was with him being so picky. “We’re looking for the place to start our new lives in! It has to be no less than absolute excellence! Do you not want that?”

           “Of course, I do!” Y/N rolled her eyes, putting her half-drunk wine glass on the bedside table and shifting her body to completely face him. “But nothing is perfect in this world, Star.”

           When he narrowed his scarlet gaze at her, she huffed and shifted to sit on her knees, cupping his face between her palms. “Nothing in life is without its flaws, but that’s the beauty of it all. It gives us a chance to grow and change. And it’s the same with a house. Floors are fixable. Sofas and divans can be reupholstered. Walls can be repainted, those dilapidated wallpapers ripped off, hells we can knock the wall down if we want to… but we will never find our perfect home if we don’t put the work in and make it ourselves.”

           Y/N’s soft thumb ventured up to smooth out the grumpy lines that had appeared on Astarion’s forehead. “If you want perfect, you have to do the work to make it so. Because that last house we saw, the one you said could be ours, if it didn’t have those stains on the table or that feeling wallpaper or the hole in the roof that needs fixing – that was someone else’s perfect home because they made it that way.”

           Astarion scrunched his nose. “Did a shitty job, that’s for sure.”

           If Y/N could roll her eyes any harder, he was sure they’d get stuck in the back of the skull like that. “My point is, we have to make it that way. Yes, the whole process will be long and tedious and I’m fairly certain, there will be moments where we want to kill each other, because, gods forbid, I want the blackout curtains to be emerald not burgundy. But none of that will matter because it will be ours… what can be more perfect than that?”

           The vampire always had a comment on the tip of his tongue, he always had a sarcastic remark or some sort of critique to offer, but to this, he had nothing to reply, as he pondered the words.

           Y/N tilted her head, a smile blooming on her lovely mouth. “I know you want everything to be exactly how you see it in your head, right from the very start. I know you don’t want to fight anymore, and gods, my love, you don’t deserve to fight for anything, but this isn’t it… this is change. And I think you’re more scared than annoyed at all the little things that might need mending.”

           Astarion averted his gaze, looking past Y/N and to the window, the bright light of the moon illuminating the woods beyond. From the corner of the eye, he could see her engagement ring, the ruby glinting like a star in the sky. A finger brushed over his brow, soothing him. “I think you’re nervous to go after what you want, so you’re trying to find any possible reason as to why every house we’ve viewed has had something unfixable to it.”

           Closing his eyes, Astarion leaned into her touch. “I hate it when you can see through me like that.” He hated to admit it. It felt like some sort of weakness to be seen so clearly, but he also knew Y/N would never judge him for his fears. But it was still hard to voice them. “I just – I’m scared it will be different.”

           “It will be.” She shrugged. “But different doesn’t mean it’ll be bad.”

           He didn’t seem convinced though as his mind and attention drifted off, and she had to tilt his chin towards her, a kiss to his forehead bringing him back into the moment. “My Star, we can always stay right where we are. I love this house. And as long as we’re together, it doesn’t matter where we make our home.”

           “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, my love,” Astarion let out an undignified scoff. “As darling as this place is, I still want that library. And, well, maybe a tailoring room would be lovely. And I can’t say I would be opposed to a walk-in closet, instead of that little dresser we have now.”

           More and more his lips turned into a smile and his gaze lightened as they went on until the morning dawned, talking and mapping out what their perfect abode would be like. They talked about the colours of the walls, where they’d like to hang paintings and how many mattresses their bed should have. Astarion insisted on at least three, so it would feel like resting on a cloud. Y/N thought it was a bit ridiculous, but if that was what he wanted, it’s what he would get. As long as he promised her to have separate duvets, the cover hog that he was.

           They settled on a manor near the city, but far enough from the crowds to still keep some sort of privacy. She had been right about the restorations being long and mind-numbingly taxing and took them over a year and a half to return the manor to its former glory. All of their funds sank into it, and as Y/N had also warned – there came a moment where it seemed like they would rip one another’s heads off, having to spend a night in separate rooms. But now they got to relish in the fruits of their labour as the ballroom Astarion had manifested was being transformed into their wedding chapel.

           He lazily stretched out his limbs, curling around his still-sleeping love. If he’d had a tail, the cat that he was, he would weave it over Y/N’s middle and curl it, trying to pull her closer if possible.

           The woman grumbled something unintelligible, tightening the hold she had on one of the four pillows she had.

           “Good morning, my wife. Our big day is here. Time to get up.” Gently, he brushed strands of wild hair from her face, placing them behind her ear, to which he leaned down and gave a playful nibble. To Astarion’s delight, he felt a shiver run down her spine, her toes curling against where she’d pressed them to his calf.

           “Not your wife yet,” Y/N grumped, turning so that she could hide her face in the crook of his neck, tickling the sensitive skin there with warm puffs of breath. “And your bride needs her beauty sleep unless you wish for her to look like a troll at the altar. Didn’t give me much of it last night.”

           A wicked grin formed on his mouth, one incisor lightly biting on her earlobe. “I didn’t hear you complaining though. In fact, I didn’t hear you say anything but my name.”

           Teasing fingers brushed against her ribs and the underside of her breasts, a breath hitching in Y/N’s chest. When he splayed his hand against her stomach, she hummed in pleasure, the sound reverberating through his chest and seeping into his bones.

           Her own palms moved from hugging Astarion’s side to his back, nails softly scratching up and down the skin there – so very tenderly over the scars, but with a bit of a bite right above his rear. If he could purr, he would be, but alas, he just moaned and melted like an icicle in the sun.

           It was almost tempting to just stay in the bed like that, twining together and just relishing in one another’s touch.

           “When are your parents getting here?” Y/N yawned and pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “Your mother promised to help me with the dress and hair.”

           “Right as the sun goes down. We should have plenty of time before the moon is high.”

           They had decided on a night-time wedding, so the following celebrations could be moved outside into the lavish gardens Astarion had so lovingly created. He may not be able to walk in the sun anymore, but he’d be damned if he didn’t enjoy at least the moonlight. Besides, daytime weddings were so casual, and he was anything but.

           He rested his palm in between Y/N’s breasts, but he just kept it there, didn’t try and stray any further. He simply wanted to feel how her heart beat against his palm, the rhythm a steadying and grounding feeling, and it somewhat calmed his fluttery nerves.

           “Then we have a few more hours to sleep,” came Y/N’s slurred response as she hitched a leg over his naked hip, but she didn’t try to go any further either. “And you are not getting out of this bed, my personal pillow.”

           Astarion smiled at her words and kissed her forehead. He’d been smiling an awful lot since he met her. “Wouldn’t dream of it, my love.”

           And even though he itched to go downstairs and supervise every single thing, he allowed the peace that came with being next to Y/N to settle over him as well. It was their day. His day. And starting it off with his little human sweetheart wrapped around him like a vine, keeping him close to her, was nothing short of wonderful.

           At some point, she did fall asleep again, Astarion’s movements as his deft fingers massaged the back of her head, lulling her to dreamland. His mind drifted a bit but remained more alert than when he tranced, wandering to how exactly he’d gotten to a moment where in just a few little hours he’d become someone’s husband.

           Not only did he have Y/N, but he had his parents to relish in the moment with. He had friends, something that was competently out of the question for two hundred years, and all of them would be arriving to witness the most joyous day of his life. Him! With friends! He even had a true sister, something that’d surprised even him.

           That had come about when Astarion had ventured into the Underdark once and reconnected with Darylia. At first, he’d thought there would be too much bad blood between them, no pun intended. It’s why he’d strayed away from the region after he’d freed the rest of the seven thousand spawn from Cazador. Too many painful memories bound them, but instead of admonishments, he found comfort.

           He’d bumped into Dalyria at a tavern as he was tracking down an artefact. Astarion was nothing short of astonished when she invited him to a tavern for a drink. The conversation was awkward at first, but as they talked more and more, she seemed to be actually happy for him as he confirmed he was still with Y/N, had a little house by the forest to call their own and spent his days keeping in touch with the party that’d formed during the tadpole adventure while trying to get a sowing business off the ground. She was even more ecstatic to hear when Astarion announced he was engaged.

           Dal had a wistful smile on her face. “I would be a liar if I said I didn’t envy you, but… you deserve it. All that happiness… after what Cazador put you through, you deserve all that’s good.”

           He didn’t want to, but a ball formed in his throat at her words. “Cazador wasn’t kind to any of us.”

           “No,” she mussed. “But you did free us from him. And when you had the chance to take his power for yourself, to become the most powerful vampire in existence, you didn’t. You allowed us to go out there and regain the years we lost under his control. To make our own lives. For that, you deserve only the best.”

           A snort escaped him as he swirled the remains of his wine. “Y/N would say not committing mass murder is quite a low bar, if that’s why I’m worthy of happiness.”

           “Maybe, but no one would fault you had you gone for it.”

           “Maybe…” Astarion pondered. “But I would not have been worthy of Y/N, then. That is for sure.”

           Dalyria clinked her glass of blood against his before emptying it, and he was glad he had not been drinking himself as he sure would have choked on the drink. “Will you teach me how to find love? I – I think I’d like to find what you two have. Become… worthy of having it.”

           Astarion didn’t know how to respond, but ultimately said he could only try, yet unless the change came from within, there wasn’t much he could do. And the hardest part wouldn’t be learning how to find love, but learning how to love oneself. Only then you could learn how to love others.

           “Seems awfully tedious,” Dalyria’s brow had furrowed.

           He chuckled and nodded. “It is. But I’ve learned, as much as it can be boring, it’s worth it in the end.”

           It had taken time for the vampire to start the process of self-acceptance and processing the trauma, but Astarion was right there by her side, and now, she would be by his, a partner of her own next to her, a human at that, as he tied the knot.

           Y/N’s nose scrunched in her sleep as their blissful moment was interrupted by a bell chiming through the house. She grabbed a pillow and smushed it over her head hitting him in the face in the process. “We should’ve eloped.”

           “My love, you know as well as I do, our dear friends would’ve hunted us down like prey and dragged us before an altar by the ears. And honestly – I would help them with that.”

           When they had rolled out the announcement of their engagement, Astarion’s mother helping them write beautiful little cards to send to their party most had actually shown up to congratulate them in person.

           Karlach had been the first one to arrive, banging on the door to let her in, seemingly bursting with excitement. “If my engine wasn’t fixed, I think I would have levelled a whole block when I got the card!” She jumped up and down as she smothered them in a hug.

           The second the Tiefling reluctantly released Y/N and Astarion from her grasp, Shadowheart appeared, a bit more subdued in the way she showed her happiness, but still very much so thrilled. She’d even brought along a bottle of wine, as such an event had to be celebrated.

           Gale along with Tara teleported right into the living from straight from Waterdeep, a chest of tomes with him, a gift for the library Astarion wanted.

           “I even cancelled today’s lectures, and my students were so delighted, they also got you something.” He extended a smaller box, a gorgeous set of feather pens inside. “A thanks for the day off and congratulations on the engagement.”

           Wyll, now Grand Duke, joined the festivities right as the sun started its descent.

           “I would’ve come sooner, but duties call.”

           “Ever the honourable man.” Astarion hugged the once Blade of Frontiers. “I’m lucky Y/N doesn’t care much for honour, otherwise I would be fighting a losing battle.”

           “It’s all the blood loss,” she chimed in, hugging Wyll as he congratulated her. “Questionable decisions are not uncommon when oxygen is depleted in the blood.”

           Her vampiric love pointed a finger at her. “Well, there are no takebacks, so deal with it.”

           Oh, how far he’d come such jokes didn’t sting, and instead he could laugh at them because he knew she wouldn’t leave him. It was certainly not something he ever had to fear.

           Halsin and Lae’Zel were last to join Dalyria accompanying them as the night settled, completing their little group.

           They spent hours drinking and laughing, enjoying red drinks, some wine, and some other ethically sourced, of course, substances as they lounged by the fireplace.

           “So, when will the actual wedding be?” Gale asked as he stretched over a loveseat, Tara having claimed his lap as a napping spot, her purrs echoing through the room. “I would be more than happy, and well, my students most definitely, to cancel the exams for it. Such an affair cannot be missed. Two heroes of Baldur’s Gate wedding each other.”

           Wyll pointed a finger at the wizard. “You know, you are onto something. I might just have to make it a day of celebration in the city!”

           “Actually…” Y/N shifted next to Astarion. “We were thinking of just going to a magistrate and signing the papers as soon as possible. Nothing grand really.”

           A stunned silence settled before Dalyria snapped her gaze toward her brother. “You must be joking,” she deadpanned. “Astarion, I think you might need to lay off feeding from her for a while.”

           “Y/N was thinking that,” he rolled his eyes at the outburst. “I disagree.” Turning on his best pout, the vampire glanced at the woman pressed to his side. “You would so willingly deprive me of seeing you in a wedding dress like it isn’t the most important day of our lives. I, for one, wish for this to be my only wedding, yet you break my heart into pieces with your words.”

           Lae’Zel let out her signature “t’chk” of disapproval at Y/N’s amused huff. “I cannot believe I am saying this, but the spawns are right. A ceremony must be held. None of this magistrate nonsense, but a real, proper ceremony.”

           “You all just want a party.” The Y/H/C-haired woman crossed her arms over her chest.

           Halsin boomed a chuckle. “Well, we will not say no to the one a wedding comes with. But if you do not wish to have your dearest companions, people who love you most in the world, to be next to you on such an important day, that is completely dine. It is your wedding after all.”

           “Oh, come on!” Y/N threw her hands up with a laugh. “That is so unfair! I mean, I just don’t care for the pageantry of it all.”

           “Sweetheart, you are marrying the most pompous man to walk this earth. No offense, Astarion.” Shadowheart looked at the elf, but he simply shrugged, as it was true. “And you mean to tell me there will be no grand display of love?”

           Her lover nodded at the cleric’s words, batting his lashes at Y/N. “Besides, would you truly be so cruel, that you’d deny my parents such a day? After everything they’ve gone through.”

           “Alright, now you’re just blatantly blackmailing me.” She gave him a humour-filled look.

           Astarion put a hand on his chest in mock outrage. “Blackmail my darling intended? I would never! However, if I were, I would also mention that the ring on your finger did belong to my mother, who so lovingly passed it onto you, saying she wished for you to wear it when she saw you next. You know, just a little information, to tug on your heartstrings.”

           And tug at her heartstrings it did, as Y/N’s Y/E/C eyes widened, no doubt mind whirling from the statement.

           “This is your mother’s ring?” She looked down at the piece of jewellery like it was the most precious thing in the world. “You didn’t tell me that.”

           He didn’t intend for her to cry, but he wiped at her cheeks as a couple of tears rolled down her face. “She gave it to me the night we went to see my parents for the first time. I was already preparing to do it, but it just gave me the final push I needed to actually ask you. Even though I technically never did ask.” Astarion nudged her side, and Y/N snorted, dabbing at the corners of her eyes.

           “Wait, hold on.” Dal leaned forward, a scrutinous gaze turned towards the elf. “What do you mean he never asked the bloody question? First no wedding, now no proper proposal?”

           Karlach though seemed to have other more pressing thoughts in her head. “Holy shit, Fangs, you robbed your mother’s grave!? I mean that is messed up even for you!”

           “Rewind.” Gale swirled a finger in the air. “You have a mother?”

           All these questions and statements were said one over the other as the room exploded into a full-blown interrogation, everyone flinging queries their way. It took Astarion and Y/N about an hour to respond and tell the full story, but not before they stopped laughing.

           At that moment though, Astarion clad in his silk pyjama set, the face greeting him was so full of delight, Karalch shone brighter than the set sun.

           “I feel like I could just burst!” The tiefling hugged him, and he responded in kind. It’d become one of his favourite physical ways to show and receive affection. “But where is the wife-to-be herself?”

           “Still in bed. You know Y/N and mornings, well, nights I guess, do not mix.”

           “Ah, yes,” a male voice agreed and Karlach stepped aside to allow Wyll to enter. “You know, there were moments during our adventure when I genuinely thought our fearless leader would be the one to end us. Remember that time Gale woke her up before dawn because he needed an artefact to consume? His poor eyebrows.” The Grand Duke shook his head. “Honestly thought it might’ve very well have been the last moments of our dear wizard.”

           “And yet, it wasn’t!” As if summoned, the Wizard of Waterdeep himself poofed into existence in the foyer. “I live to see yet another day where I can bless my friends with my presence. Eyebrows intact this time.”

           Astarion couldn’t control the eye roll as it was almost reflexive when it came to Professor Gale Dekarios, but he couldn’t deny the happiness rushing through his veins seeing the man. If he ever saw Mystra in the mortal plane, she’d better start praying to a god herself, for what he put his friend through.

           “It was… quite the look, I have to say,” Lae’Zel commented as she entered the house, joining their group. It seemed like they had a tendency to appear in the same places at the same time even without scheduling such a thing. “But do not attempt to upstage the bride, Gale. Astarion will already be doing his best. Though if these are your chosen clothes,” she gave him a onceover. “I believe Y/N has absolutely nothing to be concerned about.”

           Astarion scoffed. “This is handwoven silk.”

           “That is poor excuse for wedding attire.” Shadowheart appeared behind them all. “For once we agree, Lae’Zel, so enough with the chitchatting. A wedding needs to happen, and you need to get dressed.”

           The only reason he’d decided to put on some clothes was because the thought of his parents walking in on him naked, was enough to pull out all the stashed winter attire and cover himself up so much nothing but his nose would be showing. Now though, Astarion almost wanted to rip them off just to spite the gathered crowd but abstained.

           Before he did scamper off, he showed where they could go and mingle while he checked on the final details, especially how the ballroom was looking, and he had to admit, the drow in charge of decorations had turned it into something from a fairy tale.

           The room had high windows, all the shutters open to let in the pale light of the moon garlands hanging from the ceiling and walls, the many mirrors on the sides, giving an effect that the room was larger than it truly was, creating an illiusion of a forest inside their home. At the very end between two columns of chairs was the altar where Shadowheart would officiate, two golden cups already placed on a velvet pillow.

           There was hired staff in the gardens where food and drinks were being handed out.

           Astarion took in a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out. Everything was going to be just fine. He had promised as much to Y/N. This nervousness had been one of the reasons he’d wanted to take on the whole wedding affair onto himself.

           “I don’t want you to lift a single finger.” Astarion had brushed his nose against Y/N’s cheek after it was settled a full-blown wedding was happening and their friends had dispersed, leaving the two lovebirds on their own. “Just leave it all to me.”

           “I mean, I can’t do that,” she exasperated. “It’s our day. We both should be involved. I won’t put such an event all on your shoulders.”

           “But I want you to! Listen to me – me getting to order others around as they have to bend our every wish and whim, while all you have to do is nod for yes, and shake your head for no – sounds like a great time to me.”

           “Sounds very unfair to you.” Y/N was still sceptical frowning hard at Astarion’s proposition.

           “Look,” he sighed, taking her hand in his. “Let me do this for you. For us. You saved me back when I thought I was beyond it. I fully believed I was relegated to nothing but a life of pain and darkness and then… you showed up. You helped me through so many horrors, held me when it felt like the walls were pressing in… I would not have been able to do so without you. So please… let me make this day something you can enjoy and not have to worry about. I am very convincing when I set my eyes on something I want.”

           And when he pulled his puppy dog eyes on her, Astairon knew he had her right where he wanted. Y/N could never resist him when his eyes got all soft and round. He could practically see her resolve melting then and there like fresh-fallen snow.

           “Alright,” she conceded, and with a passionate kiss against her lips, he pulled her to sit in his lap. “But if it becomes too much, you have to promise to ask me for help.”

           “I swear it.” Astarion pecked her lips once more, and though he had no intentions of letting her lift a finger, he was truthful when making such a vow. With Y/N, he’d learned it wasn’t a crime or sign of weakness to request aid.

           He left the door open, surely more guests would be arriving, but before he could disappear, two more frames rushed up the steps, his mother and father practically beaming with pride as they saw him.

           “I think your druid friend is also on the way,” his mother said, pressing a light kiss to Astarion’s cheek and pulling him in for a hug. “But he stopped to pet a flock of sheep along the way.”

           The vampire snorted. “Well, we can only hope Halsin actually arrives for the ceremony on time. Or doesn’t bring the lambs as guests… appetizers though.”

           She gave him an amused smile, before squeezing his hand. “I’ll just go and say hello to that wizard of yours. I think I saw him walking somewhere in the gardens and then I’ll be right up with Y/N. Has the sleeping beauty awoken yet?”

           “Yes,” he mumbled, frowning. It was a well-known fact his love was a notorious sleepyhead, but that was not his reason for watching with a grimace how his mother practically skipped to the terrace in search of Gale.

“How does she know him?” he directed the question at the male elf standing beside him.

His father sighed, looking at his wife as she disappeared behind the corner, but not before she made sure she looked good, fluffing up her hair in the mirror before the grand entrance to their house. “She’s been quite obsessed with his cookbook. Just be glad she didn’t bring it along for an autograph. But enough of that. You need to get dressed, my Star. The moon is almost nigh.”

All other thoughts vanished from Astarion’s head as he noted how the white orb was pretty much at its peak, and the notion of getting married suddenly became a tangible thing. In just a few hours, under the pale light, he would vow to protect and cherish Y/N, they’d fill one another’s cups and drink, before tying strands of magical gold around one another’s fingers as a symbol of their unity in the ancient elven traditions. Astarion was about to become a husband with Y/N as his wife. If his heart had still beaten, it would’ve been jumping out of his chest.

“Did you feel like this as well when you married Mother?” the vampire’s hand shook as he entered the sowing room he’d claimed as his dressing room for the day. A naked mannequin stood at the corner. It’d born Y/N’s dress which was now surely being slid onto her frame, perfectly fitting against her body, and it was just another reminder of what was to come.

His father closed the door, going over to a suit that was hanging on another mannequin and slipped it off, laying it gently onto a settee. “Like what, Star?”

“Like unless in twenty seconds this whole thing is over, you’ll pass out.”

The deep chuckle the older elf let out was like a reassuring hug, somewhat calming Astarion. “Yes. Very much so. Add onto that wanting to throw up and black spots across my vision, I was pretty much hopeless. But then I was by the altar waiting for your mother, and when she appeared… nothing else mattered. It’s just the waiting that’s horrible.”

“Gods, maybe Y/N was right,” Astarion breathed out, sitting down by his tailoring table, head in his hands. “We should have definitely eloped. I mean it’s not normal to feel this way, is it?”

“Dear Star, it might have taken us two hundred years to find you, and we’ve only been lucky enough to have you back for two, but make no mistake,” his father deadpanned. “Your mother is not above murder and physical restraint if needed.”

“Yes, I know, you kidnapped my bride,” Astarion said. “But, I mean, what if it’s not perfect?” He looked at the elf. Blue reassuring eyes stared back, but even the conviction he saw in them couldn’t quench the lingering fear. “What if she isn’t there? What if I’m left a fool standing by the altar and she does not come?”

Those last words were barely a whisper, shame running through his veins as he said them, but it had been something plaguing his nightmares for weeks on end – Y/N finally realising she deserved so much better and leaving him heartbroken.

When he awoke in a cold sweat and she asked what was wrong, Astarion wrote it off as having a bad dream about Cazador. In truth, he hadn’t dreamt of his master in a long time, his only fear being Y/N tossing him to the side for something better.

           “Astarion,” his father said sternly, but not unkindly. “That woman has walked through literal hells for you. And taken on a devil, as you yourself have told us. I highly doubt now would be the moment she gets cold feet.”

           Deep down in his heart, he knew the words rang true. Astarion remembered after having killed Cazador, how strongly the urge to Ascend took over. Such power right at the tips of his fingers, yet at the cost of seven thousand souls. But at that moment, he was willing to pay it. He’d never have to be afraid of anything anymore if he finished the ritual. All he needed was for someone to copy the runes on his back. He’d turned to Y/N, someone who he knew supported him, but to his shock, she refused.

           Fury took him over. He’d thrown insults so vile it made bile rise in his throat nowadays when thinking back on it. Words wishing her a painful and slow demise, telling her he hoped she died screaming. Astarion had expected her to leave, yet as his mind had cleared, processing the grief and agony he was going through, she was there by his side.

           Even though he didn’t deserve it, Y/N held him as he cried, and whispered comforting words when he could do nothing but slump over himself in physical and emotional exhaustion. She was there for him like an unmovable rock, that not even time or tide could erode.

           “I’m sorry,” Astarion had begged that night for her forgiveness while she cradled him in her arms. “I’m sorry for what I said. I was – I was blinded by the power. By what I could be, what I could do… I – reality was no longer visible to me. And I’m sorry.”

           “I know you are.” Y/N’s kiss was a balm to his wounds, especially those that no one else but her could see or soothe. “And I forgive you.”

           Astarion’s father put a hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of the reminiscing. “She will be there because if there is one thing in this world I don’t doubt, it’s her love for you.”

           He wrapped that thought around his heart. She would be there. Y/N would always be there for him. But first, he had to be the one to await her, so with his father’s help, he stood up and got ready.         

           After a year of getting reacquainted with his parents, he’d told them some of what Cazador had done. With Y/N holding his hand through it, he even felt brave enough to show his scars. There were a lot of tears and hugging, and much to his surprise, talks of resurrecting the vampire lord by his mother, just so she could drive a stake through his heart. And Y/N was very eager to agree.

           His love had a vicious glint in her eye, and Astarion had to swallow his arousal as she leaned closer over the table where they’d been drinking afternoon tea and said, “I know how to skin a man and keep him alive the whole time.”

           “Yes!” His mother accepted the idea immediately. “Let’s do that! My Star, how do we contact that Withers friend of yours?”

           Honestly, the fact that Astarion was the one trying to quench their bloodlust and be the peacekeeper, for a moment, made him think he’d been thrown into some different universe. That was not how he expected the conversation over some tea and biscuits to go.

           His father smoothed down the back of the white linen shirt and Astarion tucked it into the white trousers while the older elf helped with the cuffs, onyx squares glinting in the warm light of the candelabras. Looking down, he surveyed the intricate frock he’d slaved over days and nights.

           It was matching a ivory to that of Y/N’s dress, the chest decorated with weavings of golden threads, much like what he’d sown across the bodice and through the hemlines of her gown. Astarion smiled, a gentle finger skimming over his work, knowing what the scribbles meant.

           To the unknowing, it looked nothing more than a pattern of leaves and flowers, but to those who could read ancient elvish, the truth was laid bare. The idea had struck him late one night as he’d sketched Y/N’s dress. With the help of his parents, as his memory of what once used to be his mother tongue was not so good, he stitched into the fabric little love confessions.

           Throughout her wedding attire, he’d sown the words of his undying love, of what she meant to him, and on his own jacket, he’d sown the promises he intended to keep as a husband, to always make sure she was safe and loved.

           By the time he was tying the cravat, Astarion’s knees were shaking, and his father had to take over, tucking in the piece of cloth by his chest.

           The vampire ran a quivering hand through his white hair. “So?” Gods, even his voice was trembling. How was he supposed to say his vows and not sound like a growing youth whose voice was on the verge of breaking? “How do I look?”

           For a moment, his father didn’t say anything, just smoothed down the fabric over his shoulders. “Like a man ready to start the best chapter of his life.”

           “Good.” Astarion nodded. “Because now I’m feeling that nausea you talked about.”

           The older elf let out a warm laugh before nudging his chin towards the open window and when he looked over, he saw the moon shining bright in the sky, a smattering of millions of stars behind it. “It’s time, Star.”

           With a shaky breath, Astarion nodded. He was ready. As long as he remembered how to move his mouth and say words, nothing could go wrong.

           As he walked back towards the foyer, gentle music greeted him, meaning the string quartet of bards had arrived and their family and friends were filtering into the ballroom.

           It was as if he was floating, barely being able to acknowledge the gathered people. Some patted him on the back, some asked if he was excited, and all of his responses were like through a haze, especially as he took his place by the altar.

           Shadowheart was already there, giving him an encouraging smile.

           “Don’t you clean up nice.”

           Astarion wanted to give some sort of a sarcastic quip, but all he could manage was a hum of acknowledgement. He was really truly, nervous. The breath entering his lungs was shaky and came out the same way. He didn’t even need to breathe, but if he didn’t, he might just pass out.

           “If it’s any consolation, Y/N is calm as a cucumber,” the cleric said. “Or maybe she’s just a better actress than you.”

            The vampire’s pale brows scrunched, as he looked at the woman. She just shrugged.

           “She said she knows you’ll be here. What more is there for her to want or be afraid of?”

           And that trust, the belief Y/N had in Astarion, settled something in his heart, and when his parents entered, taking their seats in the front row, both elves beaming, all that fear disappeared like mist in the morning.

           Beautiful music swirled around them, and all of the guests stood.

           The whole world stopped turning the second he laid his eyes on Y/N.

           Her body was clad in the white gown he’d poured all his love and care into, the gold thread shimmering in the candle and moonlight. Her hair was free as she always preferred, but small, intricate braids inlaid with diamonds as if rain had settled atop her head, a flower crown gracing the top of it. Y/N’s skin was also covered in a shimmery powder, that made her absolutely glow, as if from within, and the Y/E/C eyes he loved to get lost in, were lined with kohl giving her gaze an intense look. Had it not been for her rounded ears, Y/N would be the epitome of a true elven queen.

           Astarion released a breath that’d gotten stuck in his chest and tears welled in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks.

           He’d been lucky, especially in these past few years where he’d been able to witness a lot of beautiful things. But nothing was as beautiful as her walking toward him.

           Y/N’s head was high, as her gaze bore into his – his scarlet not looking away from her Y/E/C ones – her lips pulled in the widest smile he’d ever seen on her face.

           Gods, she was beautiful, and his ego also revelled in how that grin was directed at him. At only him. It seemed like it took her ages, but at the same time not even a couple of seconds to be standing before him, handing off her bouquet of lilies of the valley to his mother and placing her palms in Astarion’s awaiting ones.

           He couldn’t take his eyes off Y/N, but she couldn’t take hers off him. Vaguely he heard Shadowheart offer blessings and words of wisdom for the new couple as they started their joined lives. Astarion only snapped back to reality when it was time for him to take the golden thread and tie it around her finger, an ancient elven tradition – instead of simply exchanging rings, one would take a twine of gold and imbue it with the power of their words, before the vows were sealed.

           No longer did his hands shake, and his voice didn’t crack once as he said his vows, as he gently twisted the twine and looped it back around where it moulded together by magic on their own, creating a gorgeous ring.

           Then it was Y/N’s turn.

           “I vow to protect your life as my own,” her voice was soft and steady as she spoke. “I vow to walk the dark paths and lead you to the light when needed. I promise to be your reassurance when doubts come, and I promise to love you until the stars no longer shine.”

           Astarion didn’t care as more tears slid down his cheeks and wetted the neckline of his frock when finally, the golden thread connected and solidified itself on his ringfinger.

           He was married. He didn’t care that Shadowheart hadn’t said yet he could kiss his new wife, that they needed to drink the blessed wine from the cups, as he surged forward, taking Y/N by the wrist and smashing their lips together. From somewhere afar he heard whoops and cheers, and a “you could’ve waited for just a second more,” but it was all background noise with no meaning as his love’s palm slid to cup his jaw and pull him in for a deeper kiss.

           All the nerves had been worth it. All the pain and suffering he’d gone through – it was all worth it just for that moment alone, when Y/N had to press him back a bit, a breathless laugh escaping her lips as she took in greedy gulps of air, but put her forehead against his, not straying far from his touch.

           “I love you, husband.”

           His cheeks hurt from so much smiling. “I love you, wife.”

           They didn’t get to stay in the small bubble for long as people were stepping up, congratulating them, and pulling them in embraces from left to right.

 ��         The revelry slowly moved outside where drinks and food flowed without stopping. Slow melodies turned into fast foot-stomping beats, as people twirled and danced, celebrating the union between two of Baldur’s Gate’s heroes.

           It was during a moment of reprieve when Y/N was chugging down glass after glass of water and champagne, Astarion following suit with some blood, when his parents came up to them, a small, yet intricate box in their hands.

           The frame was of old oak, no doubt, scuffed at the edges and corners, while the top of it was engraved with a whole flora and fauna piece, but that didn’t matter. He’d said them being at the ceremony would be enough of a gift and that him and Y/N didn’t need anything, yet here the two elves were.

           “Don’t even start, my Star,” his mother interrupted Astarion’s rant before he could even go on one. “There was no way we would’ve come empty-handed to your wedding. Besides, we think this might be of great interest to you two. And of use”

           Gently, as if the box might crumble if touched any harder, the older elf opened it. Inside, laid on green velvet sat two golden bracelets, their visage moulded like wreaths of leaves and budding flowers.

           They were handmade, that was certain, and ancient if his eye for jewels and jewellery didn’t deceive him. And it rarely did. But the oddest bit was the sensation it radiated as if it was imbued by vibrating energy, barely contained in the circlets.

           “Could it really be – but no. That is only a legend,” Halsin’s and Gale’s eyes were wide as they beheld what lay in the box as the two had snuck up on the group and shadowed behind them. The druid gave Astarion’s parents a bewildered gaze. “How in the worlds did you come by this?”

           “Let’s just say, you are not the only ones with connections.” His father threw Halsin a mischievous smile, but Astarion didn’t like that.

           “And the cost for such a thing?”

           His mother smiled. “My dear, you talk like your skill of words and stealing didn’t come from somewhere. We might be old, but that doesn’t mean we cannot have adventures of our own.”

              “I’m sorry for interrupting this moment,” Gale said, “but can we get back to the fact you have the True Love’s Curse sitting in that box.”

           “The what?” Y/N’s brows furrowed, but no one bothered to answer as Gale went on.

           “I can feel the magic.” The wizard laid a reverent palm above the bracelets but didn’t touch them. “The Weave… I’ve never felt something so strong. As if it could change the matter of the cosmos around us at any second.”

           Astarion lifted a finger, just as confused as his love, pointing at the bracelets. “What exactly is this curse? And, I do apologise, mother, as we appreciate everything you've done for us, but why in the worlds did you think a curse would be a great gift?”

           “True Love’s Curse is simply the name,” Halsin said. “It’s an old elven legend of two lovers – one forever meant to walk the dark, the other meant for light. In the myth, they are so convinced they are soulmates and meant to be, they create two bracelets, symbols for their loves, imbued with a mirroring spell, but not just any average enchantment. It gives the nightwalker the ability to walk in the sun, but there is a cost – if the other person is no true love, no soulmate, the nightwalker will succumb to the rays and perish forever.”

           Y/N grimaced. “Seems quite harsh. And unfair.”

           Astarion’s father closed the box. “It’s why it’s called True Love’s Curse. But if there is anything we all can learn from you two, is that love conquers all.”

           Hope ignited in the vampire’s chest, as he accepted the box.

           Could there really be a chance he would be able to live his life with Y/N by his side, and also live it in the sun?

           He used to be scared of what the future held for him, especially what the future with Y/N would be like. He’d had his doubts – that she probably didn’t actually love him. How she was with him only for pity or to use his body like so many others had before – but those no longer existed. She’d meticulously shattered every single brick of the wall that was his mistrust and built a castle of love in his heart. If what Astarion’s parents said was true, he had nothing to worry about – Y/N had been ready to walk her life in darkness with him and not asked anything in return apart from his devotion.

           But he pushed the thoughts of the bracelets, of the True Love’s Curse, to the side as he was pulled in a dance by Dalyria, then her girlfriend, and at some point, even Lae’Zel allowed him to lead her in a slow waltz before once again returning to Y/N’s side. His rightful place

           His arms wove around her waist, while her cheek leaned to rest against his chest. She sighed, closing her eyes.

           Astarion pressed a kiss to Y/N’s head. “I don’t know what I might have done in a previous life, but whatever it was, it had to be something exceedingly good for me to end up with you.”

           She hummed in contentment. “You deserve all that is kind in this world, my love. I am the least of it.”

           He wanted to argue, to tell her she was his whole world, but instead, he closed his eyes too and smiled, relishing in the love. He did deserve good. He deserved all that was kind. It was time Astarion finally embraced it, and if that was Y/N in his arms, he would hold on a bit tighter then.

Hours later they stood alone by the cliffside, a slight breeze ruffling their hair as they waited for the sun to fully rise, the gardens empty, their house as well, as the wedding party had ended, leaving people satiated and tipsy on their way home.

           “What if it doesn’t work?” Astarion asked. “What if they were wrong?”

           “Then I have the cloak right here, and all the shutters have already been closed at the house.” She took his hand in hers, the bracelet clicking against his.

           She didn’t try to convince him, give him false hope of how it would work, because not everything in life did. Not everything was perfect and not everything was supposed to be perfect. Of course, he would be devastated, if the True Love’s Curse was not real. But Astarion also knew he’d never be alone in it. He’d have Y/N by his side, as he always had. She wasn’t going anywhere and that was enough.

           As the sun rose, the sky turning from a deep blue to pink, then orange and red, Astarion took in a deep breath. Then – on the first day as a married man – the first rays of a new day touched him for the first time in four years.

           A tear rolled down his face, scarlet eyes not daring to stray away from the stunning view that was the dawn and greeted the sun like a long-lost friend.

           Y/N gave him the widest smile ever, a match to the one she’d sported when seeing him by the altar. “Where to first, my love? We have the whole world for the taking.”

           He looked at her, cupping her face. “First, to home. And then – to the very edge of the universe.”

Tags:

Astarion tags: @spacebarbarianweird @omggiannarosa @poisonquinzell @iffazu @alisoncdariel

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstrange

A/N: I've re-written this whole thing like 3 different times because I just couldn’t get it right, but now I feel like this is how it's meant to be :) I do have like extra 8k words of stuff I might release as smaller fics set around these two specific versions of the characters. Let me know if you'd like that or want to be tagged in future fics :)

I might edit this at some point a bit more. English is not my first language, so I need time to step away, before I can see additional mistakes.

Please don't repost on other platforms without specific written consent! That is called plagiarism

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

Older

Inspired by Older by Isabel LaRosa

Cm Punk X fem reader Word Count: 1300

Summary: Cm Punk was always jealous of the relationship between Y/n and Wardlow, he never understood their relationship. Sure he and Y/n had an 18-year age gap but he knew he would treat her so much better. When Wardlow cheats Punk knows now is his only chance to get with Y/n. “I can be your new Daddy” 

MAIN MASTERLIST CM PUNK Masterlist

Die For You (Pt 2) Obsessed (Part 3)

I knew it was wrong, everything about this was wrong. Y/n was young, way younger than I, 18 years to be exact but I couldn't help the feelings I had for her. I was jealous of the guys that spoke to her, they were head over heels in love with her and I couldn't blame them, she was the most gorgeous thing I had ever laid my eyes on. She was delicate like a flower, yet wrapped in barbed wire. She had a sensitive soul yet she hid it from the world, building walls around her years ago. I watched as the blond girl ran past me with tears in her eyes and I knew something was wrong. I walked to catering and noticed Wardlow trying to run after her. 

“What the fuck did you do?” I yelled walking up to the large man, stopping him in his tracks 

“It’s none of your damn business Punk” He spat, shoving me out of the way. Without realizing it I went to swing at the man when I felt someone grab me from behind. 

“Woah there big guy, he’s not worth it” I turned to find Cash and Dax, both having concerned looks on their faces. 

“What’s going on?” I asked the two men in front of me

“He cheated on her” Dax replied 

“What a jerk!-” I yelled

“Okay man, I love you but you are causing a scene” Cash interrupted me “Let’s talk somewhere else” I looked to see everyone looking at the three of us like we were madmen. 

We walked down a few halls to the private locker rooms and passed Wardlow pounding on Y/n’s door. “Y/n, I’m sorry, okay. Open the door” I gave him a nasty look before heading into my locker room. 

“Okay, what really happened?” I asked Cash and Dax, closing the door behind us

“Do you remember how she was upset after he had that fit at Revolution?” Cash said 

“No-” 

“Oh that’s right you weren't there” I gave him a nasty look. “My bad, so anyways he lost the TNT title, blew a fit and left right before Y/n won the title”

“What an asshole” I muttered under my breath

“So apparently when he left, he got with some groupie. Fucked up right, worst part is after she finally forgave him and everything because he was literally begging on his hands and knees for her to take him back he kept sleeping with randos in each town we went to” 

I said nothing, I just sat in shock, trying to comprehend what I just heard. I never understood the relationship between the two of them, she was too good to be with someone like him. Their relationship always seemed weird, like something was always off, but I could never place it. I was lost in my thoughts when I was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. 

Cash and Dax exchanged a confused look before opening the door, revealing a quite angry Wardlow. “What the fuck do you want?!” I asked the man who now stood in front of me. 

Sure the four of us were friends but for some reason I never quite liked Wardlow. I was always civil with him but maybe it was my jealousy that made me secretly despise him. 

“Can you get her to open up?” He asked, referring to Y/n who had understandably locked herself in her private locker room. “Why should we help you?” Cash asked, “Your just going to cheat on her again” I spat “You have no idea what you are talking about Punk” Wardlow spat back “This is none of your business” “Well it sure seems like my business if you are out here asking for our help” “Tell us why we should help you?” Cash asked, not buying a thing coming out of wardlows mouth. “She’s mentally unstable, she is literally crazy. I’m scared she is going hurt herself in there” I could tell his words were sincere, however, I did not buy the fact that Y/n was mentally insatiable. Sure her whole gimmick was being a hardcore Barbie but I knew deep down she wasn’t really crazy, or was she? 

We agreed not to help Wardlow but to help get inside Y/n’s locker room. “You two stay with him, I will check on her,” I told Cash and Dax, not trusting Wardlow within a square inch of Y/n. 

I carefully knocked on Y/n’s door, waiting for a response. “Go Away!” She yelled through the door “It’s just me” “What do you want Punk? I’m not talking to him” “This has nothing to do with Wardlow, I just wanted to see if you are alright. I saw what happened.” Y/n opened the door and let me inside. “So everyone saw,” she said as the tears began to reform in her eyes. “Don’t worry about them” I told her sincerely, joining her on the small couch which sat in the middle of the locker room. “So what happened love?” “I don’t wanna talk about it” I know I shouldn’t be asking such an invasive question but I just had to know “What do you see in him?” “What?” “Wardlow? What do you see in him? He is a big idiot with big muscles and probably a big dick” Y/n laughed at my comments, which made me happy to see her smile. “So you’re only interested in his dick?” I asked playfully “No” “Then what is it?!” “I dunno, he made me feel safe. I know that sounds stupid but it’s true. He’s huge, he kept all the creeps away, and the sex was a nice bonus” I mean it made sense. When they were first an item I noticed how protective he was of her, I wonder what happened. “I could take better care of you. I know I’m not as tall as him or as muscular but the difference between the two of us is that Wardlow is a boy and I am a man. I bet I could make you feel just as good as he did. I would do anything and everything for you.” Y/n said nothing, I knew she was shocked at my words. I knew I was better for her, I would spoil her with expensive gifts, and praise her every day. I knew she was into older guys, she and Wardlow had an eight-year age gap, the only thing the two of us would have was eighteen years. 

“I mean it,” I told Y/n softly as I carefully lifted her chin so she could look at me. “I will give you the world. You will never have to worry about a single thing. I know you Y/n, you act all tough, you live for violence, love the taste of copper on your tongue. Fuck, I’ve seen your matches the title of ‘The Queen of Hardcore’ serves you well but I know that’s an act to hide who you really are. All you want is to be cared for. You like being with older men, the way they protect you, the way they love you better, the way they spoil you. You kill yourself in that ring to have someone like me put you back together, hold you close when you cry, love you to death. Tell me when I’m telling lies” I could tell by the look on her face that she knew I was right 

“Forget about Wardlow, I can be your new daddy” 

[overandundertarot]

Pick a Ghibli Couple; Your fictional crush's first impression of you.

Pile 1

Cards; Knight of Cups, Knight of Swords, Ace of pentacles reversed, Queen of wands reversed, Temperance, King of pentacles.

Well Pile one. Your fictional crush is quite the....frilly, character. They're someone with a flair for the theatrics. They're probably a noble in their fictional universe. They're highly respected and have good social standing, they're quite prone to showing their emotions too. They may be moody or are prone to visible bouts of anger/frustration. They're comfortable with having people's attention and sometimes even demand/prefer it. They could have long flowing hair. Like to wear detailed outfits. Yes, they like to be well put together and they value their taste and often curate whatever they can to fit their style regardless of if they're rich or poor. This fictional world may be historical, if not this person very much focuses on tradition or 'culture' as a way of assesing someones respectability. They love having a good time surrounded by 'good' company no matter if they may be introverted or extroverted. I'm seeing for some people, their fictional crush is quite introverted and nonchalant but best beleive that this is all running through their head! This is supposed to be a reading about their first impression of you, but all that's coming through is them soo. Very proud person, very fixed in their ways. Big ego.

On to their impression of you. At first glance, they dismissed you as someone poor. You're not on the same level with them. No money, no prospects. Upon interacting with you, they'd think that you are a crafty kind of individual, one who's not above getting their hands dirty to reach your goals. It seems that they have a very clear categorisation of people in their heads; people like them, born to the high life and have gold and riches as their birthright and then the unworthies; people born poor who have to struggle to reach their level. Wooow, this person is very classist. It seems that to them no matter how much you may prove to be an amazing person, you're still not worthy in their eyes because you don't have the riches/highbirth. This character may be a contender in a struggle for power type of situation in their world, and recognises you as someone who would use your relations with them to better your own cause. They think you ambitious and balanced, despite all their reservations, they can recognise that you have what it takes. They particularly like your strategic approach, lying in wait, setting the perfect trap without letting anyone else know(damn, pile one!) and coming to collect your gains when the time is right. Later on, once they've come to know you better, they will grudgingly acknowledge you and all that you've managed to build for yourself. This would definitely be a sloooowww burrnnnnn.

Pile 2

Cards; Strength reversed, 9 of pentacles, The Moon reversed, 6 of Pentacles, The Hermit, 4 of Pentacles.

Hello Pile 2!! Your fictional crush is someone with a lot of responsibilty upon their shoulders, but they just want to have fun! They often shirk they're official duties to go out to the city and partake in their idea of fun. They're an easygoing person who appreciates a lot of what life has to offer. They could pay attention to the little things that nobody cares about, like they may have a special interest or a very limited attention span and keep constantly getting excited by things in their environment.

Their first impression of you is that you have nowhere to hide. Whoa! That's quite an assumption to make. Your ficitonal crush definitely thinks that they can see right through you at first glance. You could be a people pleaser, and put so much empahsis on catering to other peoples needs that you lose sight of who you are. You don't have a strong impression of exactly who you are. You feel this changes from time to time. The foundations you built your self concept on keep changing. Your fictional crush would see all of this. More accurately, they would see that this is the way you feel about yourself. They think that you are a withdrawn, intorverted person who holds tight to what they love. They would think that you are afraid of losing the people around you, and think you possessive over your owned items. As they get to know you more, they would think that you are someone with many hopes and dreams. This may sound strange to say, but they like to be inside your head. Thinking like you calms them, they may unconciously seek out your presence for this reason. I think you would become good friends. They could tend to use your feelings for them to their own advantage.

Pile 3

Cards; 10 of wands, 8 of cups, Knight of wands reversed, 7 of pentacles, The Magician reversed, The Emperor reversed, 6 of wands.

Welcome to your reading Pile 3! Your fictional crush is someone who is a hard worker. They've been burdened with purpose, all the while dealing with severe emotional heartbreak and loss. They have been at something for so long, they don't know who they are without it. They definitely give of soldier, leader and right hand man vibes. Dedicated to a cause. They may see themselves more of a tool than a person, or could be in the process of shedding such a mindset. Either way, they're tired and a lot of things are dependant on them; people, activities, institutions. They don't want to let anyone down. They could have a large frame and a blunt haircut.

Their first impression of you is quite shifty. It seems that they wouldn't know what to make of you. On the one hand, they may have information about you on paper, such as what you do, your wealth etc. But this paper impression of you is so different to meeting you in real life for them, its shocking. First of all, they see you as impatient, reckless and lacking the displine and commitment to follow through with your plans/promises. But then they also know that you have proof of your success because of your impressive track record. You may have unorhtodox methods of doing things that don't add up with them. I just heard stubborn old man so this fictional character could be an older person, and they don't understand your younger ways. For example, according to them to get rich you must get a degree build your network and invest a lot of time but you know your way around social media/the modern day interent and could get the same amount of money/influence much faster. They don't undertand that. Yes, they think you're misusing your skills. They'd also think you're a proud person. They think you're a lot to handle, you could also be connected to a certan lineage or something if you were in their universe and broke away so they see you as a bit of rogue. You break away from the structure. As they get to know you more, your different approaches to life would make them uncertain of who they are and what they've been standing for. They'll question things a lot more and will come to appreciate you unique take on things. They'll feel like taking back their initial slightly negative and judegemental impression of you and would try to really get to know you. To see who you truly are.

****

That's all! If you liked this reading please consider rebloging and liking this post. Any feedback you have will also be very appreciated! Have a wonderful time wherever you are, until the next reading...bye!

[equestriagirl16]

You accept Neige’s offer to transfer to RSA~💔

(Alternative pt.2 from here -🌹)

“Please Y/N, you’d fit in so well at RSA!” Neige’s familair voice rang throughout the courtyard you were trotting through after another day of classes. Your friend from across the way once again, despite his best intentions, absolutely insisted that you transferred to RSA here and now. For what you figured to be the 100th time.

“Neige I already told you-”

“I know I know, but you don’t get it Y/N! NRC isn’t a place for someone like you. Your heart and soul are way too pure, you’d have so many friends and a warm welcome waiting for you at RSA. You just have to let me take you there!”

Unbeknownst to you both a few of your said NRC friends may or may not have been purposefully eavesdropping on your conversation ever since they caught wind that the little do-gooder stopped by. Secretly they feared your answer, they knew that they didn’t give you the easiest time here. Perhaps someone as kind as you would find a better place at RSA, and maybe they should try to accept that rather than fight it for your own benefit.

…

“You’re…you’re right.”

Your dark haired friend immediately froze in shock at the apparent acceptance, but softened hearing your somber voice. Those who honed in on your conversation beyond your knowledge felt waves of dread wash over them, but listened on hoping to the great seven that they heard wrong.

“No one treats me right here, I clean their messes and slave away like I’m in some sort of tragic fairytale.”

You tried and failed to suppress the hiccup that left your throat. All this time after Neige’s constant pestering, no matter how much you tried to deny the offer. Just one more attempt was enough to break the damn.

“I love them but- I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I’m so powerless, like nothing I ever do will be enough.”

Neige places a sympathetic hand on your shoulder, you reciprocate the gesture by crashing your head into his body. Hiding the tears that were welling up from anyone’s gaze.

“Like any day I could just die if I make someone mad enough…”

You were quickly embraced in protective hold after you let out a defeated chuckle.

“I’m so tired Neige. Please- please help me.”

You felt the hasty movement of Neige fervently nodding in agreement. When all was said and done, he lead you away from the courtyard with a supporting arm so you two could continue to plan elsewhere. Perhaps with time and with this choice you’ve made, things could finally change. Because those you left behind would never be same.

Legs weak arms heavy(mom’s spaghetti), as they fell to their knees. Anything they could see was blurred and all they could feel was a pain in their chest that hurt worse than any punishment they could face from a professor. You were their best friend and yet they had no idea you felt like this. So soon enough your your pain became theirs. They have to do something, ANYTHING! Please just- PLEASE don’t leave them!! They’re so fucking sorry, but all they can do now is mourn over your choice.

- ACE & DEUCE, Kalim, Floyd, Epel, Cater

Very much in the bargaining and denial phase, they REFUSE this reality and they REFUSE this awful decision you’ve made! And curse that RSA nuisance for pestering you so, pushing you to the brink, this was just as much his fault as it was anyone else’s! They may have been ignorant to your pain but they can change! What do you need???!! They’ll give you anything, they’ll give you the world. Respect, fame, no one would ever be cross with you again as long as they had anything to do with it. You belong here, with them! They know it’ll upset you, but they won’t let you leave that easily as they stomp away already concocting a plan to block your path and change your mind.

VIL, RIDDLE, MALLEUS, Leona, Azul, Jade & Floyd, Sebek

Heh, that’s ok! They kinda knew all along you didn’t feel the most like yourself here. From the shadows they always saw how you suffered, and worked yourself to the bone but didn’t say a word. Even if they did they only encouraged you to push on further, giving you a helping hand and a warm smile. If they could make you laugh maybe you’d feel ok again! But deep down it hurt them to think that maybe, just maybe you weren’t happy here. Low and behold they were right. I-It’s fine though, with this you’ll finally be happier! No place is better for that than RSA, and even though it’ll hurt like a bitch they’ll be there. They’ll help you pack and wish you goodbye. You won’t always be around but at least they know you’ll come see them again, right?

Kalim, TREY, Ruggie, Silver, LILIA, Rook, Jack, Ortho

Numb, nothing. Just at an utter loss, complete defeat. They did this to you, they pushed you to feel this way. All their problems, all their emotions. EVERY. SINGLE. THING! That could’ve possibly pushed you to the edge was their fault, and even if it wasn’t they still did nothing to support you! You were just a human in their eyes, and when you became so much more they barely showed it. They fucking failed you, they hurt you, and they broke you. They’ll never forgive themselves for as long as they live. Even if they won’t make you stay, nothing in all the worlds will ever hurt more than watching you go.

JAMIL, Riddle, Azul, Idia, Leona, Vil(*cough* just the entire overblot gang *COUGH*), Malleus

[criminalskies]

ROME!!!! Hello, hi me pookie sweet angel!

I come to rant a bit an have (another) Hotch HC.

So recently I've been baffled that some *not all* nicer restaurants don't have mocktails. Like I'll ask "Can you do something non-alcoholic?" and they're like "....um, I don't know. We have soda?"

Please I'm spending my hard-earned money here and you are supposed to be a nice place, and you don't know? So I have to just ask for a cranberry soda and I think you/your bartender could have come up with that?

Anyhow, not to be a downer but I just know Hotch would be so 🙄🙄🙄🙄 that it makes me laugh.

HI SWEETHEART!!!!! Oh my god I can practically see his face now,

Your testy waiter is wearing a silk shirt, a pressed apron, neatly manicured nails and a judgemental smirk at your request but only his skilful eye can see that they have a tan line of a string around their neck. they’re working a second job during the day to cover their expensive habits, a lifeguard or a sports coach, he assumes.

he’d know in an instant that he can wipe that smirk off of the waiters face by suggesting that this attitude isn’t making them fit in in this expensive restaurant, this act they have, it’s the reason they’re losing so many tips. “I’d suggest you check your house cocktails menu and find one you can substitute the alcohol in, before we take our business elsewhere. I’d hate for you to have to take even more shifts in the hot sun just to keep up the appearance that you do well here. Or for your coworkers to realise that pooling their tips with you is only losing them money.” Aaron’s eyebrows are drawn together in a stiff expression challenging your waiter to make yet another snarky comment about the quality of drinks they serve and how they don’t cater towards ‘children’.

His hand holding out his drinks menu for the now stunned waiter to return, flashes the polished face of his Rolex as he moves his fingers to wrap around your palm. he knows how this embarrasses you, having to order a Pepsi in an upscale restaurant you put on your nicest outfit just to feel acceptable in. He knows how much work it takes you not to just give in and buy a damn drink when someone makes it this difficult for you to just order something you’ll enjoy.

“Yes, sir. I’ll go see about that.” your waiter now spins on their heel, nearly tripping over another server with a tray full of champagne flutes heading towards a nearby table.

[cottondo]

how do you think the aqua teens would react to asking them to buy pads 😭😭😭

OOO I lowkey love this ask HAHAH

FRYLOCK |

- ah shit. It happened again.

- frylock was totally prepared for this, too.

- He knew your period was coming because of the cravings.

- when you ask him to grab you stuff, he’s never throwing a fit. He’s prepared, has a written list of everything you want and need, and knows exactly what you like.

- Shit, he even picks up some of your favorite sweets and snacks along the way.

- He might mumble a little bit of something under his breath if the list starts growing a little too long..

- but he reminds himself how much he cares about you, and it’s only for a week, so it’s all fine!

- Frylock sometimes even calls you up on his way home to ask what else you’d like before coming home.

- he’s in and out of the store in a flash. He’s basically got this down like the back of his hand! He’s confident, and practically speed runs it.

- frylock might still kinda hide what he’s buying, but only because he knows you don’t need the entire world to know that you’ve gotten your period.

MASTER SHAKE |

- Shake had his suspicions that it was that time of the month again; mostly because of the mood swings. And he was obviously a dick about it.

- sometimes he even started arguments because he knew how revved up and emotional you could get. It was a fun little game !

- damn. But that’s means he has to cater your every will, want, and need for the next three to five days. Hell, even the week beforehand.

- you asked him super nicely, to run to the store and grab your favorite brand of pads / tampons. After all, it was either that, or bleed on his favorite chair. And he couldn’t have that.

- Shake makes a fit about it, but secretly doesn’t mind doing it. It’s just the stares of being in the woman’s aisle not knowing what to grab is what was so daunting and annoying.

- He practically forgets the brand every time, even when he insists on knowing what it is that you needed.

- What’s cotton or regular? What the hell are the different sizes for?

- shake had no idea, but grumbled and mumbled to himself before having to suck it up and ask for someone’s help.

- when he does finally get home with your wants and needs, he usually tosses in a few little chocolate bars or snacks so the two of you could both munch on something together, since he was gonna do all that work to go get you stuff

MEATWAD |

- so, oddly enough, meatwad was honestly one of the only household members that wrote down when he thinks you’d be due.

- the calendar was right- it totally was the day of the shark attack.

- he knew just what to do!

- Go to the store, grab some pads/tampons, go home- -

- only problem is, he needs help, because this dude has horrible memory.

- That, and he gets distracted by EVERYTHING under the sun.

- so after long talks in grocery aisles, he finally makes his way over to the snack aisle; only to become distracted by everything that he likes or wants to buy.

- Sometimes you have to call and check up on him while he’s out, too,,

- makes sure he’s getting the right things, and gentle reminders that you’re kind of in a hurry.

- Overall, he makes it home, and loves to give you bunches of cuddles while the two of you pig out on snacks and drinks

[thecryptidenthusiast]

Title: i just want to give you all i can (1/2)

Rating: M (Will Increase to E)

Pairing: ChargeStep

Summary: A Ranger is turning 40, and you decide to make an appearance at his party.

AO3 link if you want to read there instead!

The banquet hall is packed to the brim, people crammed from one wall to the other. You aren’t sure there’s ever been another time where you’ve felt so out of place.

You weren’t stupid, you knew to expect a crowd -this is as much a publicity stunt as it is any kind of celebration. ‘Congratulations on turning 40, Charge. Here’s to hoping we can squeeze one more year out of you before going for the next new model!’ Rubbing elbows and double-edged smiles, everybody playing the same song and dance as if they aren’t all just cogs to the same machine.

Easy to break.

Even easier to replace.

Ortega is eating it up though, because why wouldn’t he? All eyes have been on him the entire evening, just how he likes it.

Catching glimpses of him from the alcove you’d tucked yourself into wasn’t hard. He’d flit from one group to the next, a peacock showing off its plumage. Camera-perfect smile and winks meant to make somebody swoon. He had the audacity to invite you, and then run around like an idiot all night.

No, not even an invite, not really. It was more a comment thrown out like he was just fulfilling a social expectation. That tone of you won’t come anyways, but I’d come across like an asshole if I didn’t mention it.

Not an invitation, it felt more like a goddamn challenge.

He’s found a new group to migrate to, a group of men and women all dressed to the nines. The women are gorgeous, and at least half his age. Doesn’t stop him from grinning, doesn’t stop them from touching his arms in an overly-friendly gesture. Does he even know them? Probably not. He’s managed to lose his tie somewhere between the last time you’d seen him and now, so he’s opted for unbuttoning his shirt well beyond the point of “proper formal attire”.

One of the women, the shortest one with the red dress that’s slit up to her thigh, tugs Ortega down to say something in his ear. Close, so close and he just goes along with a smile you want to slap him. Something twists in your chest.

You could leave.

You should leave. Slip back outside and vanish into the night like a ghost, instead of haunting the halls of this place. Get away from the bodies, the minds pressing down on your shields from all directions. Fingers scratching, looking to find any cracks in your defenses. All the time that’s passed may have made you stronger, but the world hasn’t gotten any quieter, and it’s still so damn exhausting. You can feel that tell-tale pulse starting behind your left eye, a migraine brewing like an afternoon storm.

Just go.

It’s not like it’s your fault Ortega’s been too busy basking in the limelight. You made an appearance, even when you knew he hadn’t expected it. You filled your end of that social expectation.

A caterer shuffles a little too close, a tray of champagne flutes precariously balanced on one hand, and you press yourself further against the wall. Pull your shields up just a bit tighter, fight against that throbbing ache so the man just glosses over your existence entirely.

It’s like a bruise you can’t help but pressing just to feel it hurt, deciding to stay. Feet still rooted to the obnoxious marble floor and watch the humming buzz of life move around you. Always looking in - it doesn’t matter what you’ve molded yourself into. It doesn’t matter that you were invited by Charge himself; you can dress the part, but no amount of hair product or designer clothes can hide the fact you don’t belong. Grubby hands leaving smudges on a window into something you’ll never have a place in.

Eden would fit in here. Pretty face and a smile sharper than any blade. The kind of woman a person can’t help but bend and listen to. Even Enigma could - they would grab the world by the throat and demand to be noticed. To be seen.

Not you, though.

Not Erin Becker.

A woman in a dress that brushes the floor glances your way, eyes lingering a little too long. Wondering who you are, should you be here? Maybe she should get security?

The ‘nudge’ you meant for is closer to a telepathic shove: forget about the stranger, a featureless face fading into the crowds. It’s more important to find the way to the hall’s bathrooms.

You may be too stubborn to leave just yet, but it’s becoming increasingly obvious that you can’t just keep standing here. Sweat has your dress shirt sticking to your back, and you’d peel your jacket off if it didn’t feel like the extra layer is the only thing keeping you held together.

‘...never have the right champagne…’

How did you manage to do this? Two lifetimes ago, blending into events like this was why you were useful. The tool taken out of its box from time to time.

‘...a few more drinks, and may he’ll sign-off on…’

Was it easier back then, or did you just have more to lose? Be the good dog, don’t cause any problems. Sit, stay, roll over-

‘...waste of resources…’

-play dead.

But the good thing about being the ghost of a room? Nobody cares enough to keep you out of restricted spaces. You sure as hell aren’t going to let Ortega think he’s won by running with your tail between your legs, but there’s no reason why you can’t adapt.

~~~

He’s not disappointed.

A person has to get their hopes up to be disappointed by something, and too many years have taught him to keep any wishful thinking in check. Too much optimism and life will find a way to crush a person under its heel.

So, no, Ricardo Ortega is absolutely not disappointed. Besides, it’s his birthday. There’s an open bar, courtesy of the Rangers’ budget. The catered food is decent, and the music isn’t half bad for once. What more could a guy ask for?

Sure, half the people here are barely more than strangers, and there’s some people here he’d rather not see at all (good to see Blaze still hasn’t gotten that stick out of his ass, even after so many years). And sure, the one person he’d actually been looking for is a no-show, but there’s nothing new there.

The small cluster of people around him erupt into laughter over…something. Investors and potential donors he’s supposed to be playing nice with, but he’s already checked out of whatever conversation they’ve been having without him.

“What do you think, Ricardo?” Seems like they aren’t content to just let him coast after all - the smarmy looking guy with the flushed face and sweat-damped hair is looking directly at him. Ricardo, like they know one another. Ricardo, like they’re friends. Like this isn’t just a glorified business exchange, chasing whatever connections will benefit him best.

The man is smiling, but all Ortega can think about is animals baring their teeth as a threat.

“I think it’s time for a fresh drink,” His own smile is a well-practiced one, with just the right amount of mocking. The sort of smile that says ‘no, I wasn’t listening, and you’re not as impressive as you’re trying to be’. He rattles the ice in his glass for good measure. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

He doesn’t bother waiting for any more niceties, just turns around and carves a path across the room, leaving the man to scoff at his back as he goes.

It’s less congested at the bar, a small mercy of the evening. The bartender barely pays him any mind beyond asking what he wants, which is another refreshing change of pace. He figures he wouldn’t get the entire bottle if he asked, so he settles for another old fashioned.

He doesn’t acknowledge the familiar looming presence that shows up at his side, just keeps his eyes on the illuminated wall of liquor bottles.

“If you’re going to lecture me about pacing myself, you can relax.” Ortega sighs, more annoyed than anything, “This is my third one.”

“You’re sulking.” He can’t see Chen’s face as the man watches the crowd, just the broad expanse of his back.

“Am I?” The bartender returns, leaving the drink before quickly moving to another patron. Liquid courage in hand, he finally turns to face the other man head on. Makeup got their hands on him, it would seem. Scars softened to be digestible to the masses, wearing a suit Chen hates. Another piece to be polished and shined for the public tonight.

“That’s what it looks like, yes.”

“I’m fine.” Mask back on, he gives him his most charming of smiles to drive the point home.

Too bad Chen knows him well enough to see right through it. “Are you?”

“I’m great.” He says as he turns, pressing his back against the edge of the bar to people-watch with Chen. It’s a sea of faces, to the point they’re almost blurring together. Some dancing, others drinking. Conversations the music is drowning out, and laughter it isn’t loud enough for.

“The party’s a hit,” He nods towards the crowd, “Why wouldn’t I be feeling great?”

“Do I really need to say it?” Leave it to Chen not to give a guy slack on his own birthday. He can feel his stare at the side of his head, but he pointedly keeps his eyes forward.

“I just don’t know when these stopped being fun,” It’s an easy deflection to the point he’s aiming for, and it’s not even a complete lie. “I know these things were always for work, but at least we enjoyed ourselves a little. But now?” He shrugs, managing a rueful smile.

Chen watches him, just a little beyond the point of being comfortable, before shaking his head. “You’re not 25 anymore, Ricardo.”

The comment is delivered with all the softness of a baseball bat to the skull. Ortega scoffs into his glass, taking a long drink like it can sooth the slight sting.

“Thank you so much for that reminder-“

“You’re not 25,” He cuts him off, “So maybe you forgot you’ve always hated these…events.”

Events. A performance under the guise of a party. Still, that doesn’t add up - sure, they weren’t a blast, but hated? He certainly doesn’t remember that. He turns to argue the point, but the other man pushes on before he can get a word in, “Maybe you convinced yourself you didn’t, or told yourself you liked the attention, but you were always happier afterwards.”

…afterwards. Descending on Hoots like a maelstrom, or finding whatever karaoke bar was still open. A smaller group, but people he actually wanted to spend time around - no cameras, at least not any more than being a public figure entails. Nobody to put a show on for, just him, having a night out with friends.

That feels like a lifetime ago now. He doesn’t have to count back to know exactly what year they stopped being fun.

“Maybe you’re right.” He sighs, eyes downcast to his glass. He very much feels every one of his 40 years all of a sudden.

“That happens from time to time.” He doesn’t smile, but there’s a fond glance thrown his way. “And for what it’s worth…Iam sorry about Becker.”

Of course he isn’t going to let that drop.

“I wasn’t expecting them to show.” Ortega says, mindlessly taking another swig just to grimace at the mostly-watered down taste. “They didn’t remember last year.” Why would this year be any different? Despite everything that-

No, it doesn’t sting. Not a bit.

“Right.” Chen’s got the look on his face that usually means there’s an impending lecture coming, but he must notice something Ortega isn’t hiding well enough, because he holds his thoughts to himself. “Just don’t go overboard, okay?”

“Relax, I’ll be sure to keep the PR scandals to a minimum.” He claps him on the shoulder, which does nothing but earn him a put-out groan (although it’s a little too amused to really be considered annoyed). Chen gives his arm a soft squeeze before stepping away, quickly vanishing amidst the people. Probably off looking for a place to get away from the crowds.

Vanishing, leaving Ortega alone to stew.

He’ll have to open presents soon. Not all of them, just enough to get some decent tabloid shots. Another spectacle; jump, smile, dance for the cameras. Make a good impression and be a good little Ranger for the paparazzi. The same loop stuck on repeat every single year. Most, if not all, of the gifts will be from brands of some sorts, looking for representation without the hassle of contracts. The ability to say, ‘Hey, look! Charge is wearing our product, don’t you want it, too?’

Maybe the cynicism just comes along with age, getting too old to enjoy the veneer of publicity. Or maybe he’d been spending too much time around Erin. Free stuff is free stuff, who is he to complain about where it came from? Maybe he’ll get a new watch.

He gives the gift table a once over, looking to see which ones will be the fastest to open, when he stops. One bag catches his eye purely because of how out of place it looks: nestled between gaudy silver and Ranger-blue, it’s there like a misshapen void. A simple black gift bag, folded and creased to the point that bits of the white paper beneath are peeking through.

Either it’s a prank, or a very strange attempt at rigging a trap at his party, and both options sound more appealing than making another round through the crowds. More hands to shake, more conversations he’ll have to pretend to give a shit about.

He’d take an explosive over any of that right now.

He should probably let somebody know about it, but a mix of boredom and morbid curiosity has him walking over and plucking it up himself. It’s too early in the night for this, somebody’s probably going to complain, but to hell with them.

There’s no tag on it, nothing to signify who might’ve left it here. No calling card, either, so it’s less likely to be a surprise from whatever villain of the week managed to sneak past security. It really is just an old gift bag, creased to the point it’s faded in spots. There’s almost a certain level of respect to whoever left something so intentionally shitty

He doesn’t bother looking first, just shoves his hand in with no hesitation. No tissue paper, just a card that he ignores in favor of grabbing the paper-covered lump at the bottom.

Whoever wrapped this thing seemed to think using an entire newspaper was hilarious, and by the time he reaches the end, he’s got a pile of shredding at his feet.

And then it registers what he’s holding, and his mind stutters to a halt. Fingertips carefully trace the familiar ceramic, it’s black and blue paint glossy in the lights of this banquet hall.

Cradling the mug possessively to his chest, he looks up to scan the sea of faces milling around him.

The buzz from his phone is too perfectly timed to be anything but intentional. Still manages to make him jump though, and while the message isn’t a shock, the number is.

Erin’s number. Their actual number, not one of the dozens of burners they have.

From: E.B [21:43]:

The roof.

His eyes snap up to the banquet hall’s skylight, squinting against the gleam of the lights. Is there a figure up there, dark against night sky? Or just his own wishful thinking?

Another buzz.

From: E.B [21:44]:

If your geriatric bones can handle the stairs.

~~~~~

Getting access to the roof was an easy feat - a benefit of being somebody people don’t pay a second thought to: you’ve always excelled at getting into places you weren’t supposed to be.

The air is as muggy as ever, humid to the point it feels like sticky hands dragging against your skin.

Still, it’s practically a breath of fresh air compared to being stuck downstairs.

Up this high, you perch on the ledge and just…watch. A passive spectator, viewing life from above; bodies and cars, all coming and going from one place to another. Life rolling onwards. It’s easier to exist like this - at a distance. This high, you can let your shields unwind. There are too many minds, and they’re all so far away they bleed into one, indecipherable sound. A quiet buzz at the back of your skull that settles on your frayed nerves like a balm.

Of course, the peace only lasts for so long. You may have texted him, but the loud clang of the maintenance door being thrown open still manages to make you jump.

A new mind, but a familiar sort of static.

“Go ahead and let the whole city know we’re up here while you’re at it?” You snap over your shoulder to cover up your reaction.

You’d expected a stupid comment. Something that would make you roll your eyes, but when you look back at him you see he’s just standing in place, still lingering at the doorway. Twisting around on the ledge, there’s a little rush of your back to nothing but open air. It would be so, so easy to just lean back and…

No, Shake the thought off like a cobweb.

Ortega hasn’t lost that weird look on his face, body poised like he’s about to lunge, and you’re hit with a momentary flair of panic. That animalistic part of your hindbrain you never lost, attack or run. Get away from the threat.

Swallow it. Stomp the fear back where it sprouted from, smirk to hide the unease as you push yourself up and step towards him. Another one, and-

Huh.

He relaxes almost immediately, a marionette with all its strings cut. There’s a flash of relief before his own mask is back in place.

“You actually came.” He’s teasing, but you know him too well to miss the slight awe in his voice. Happy to the point it makes your insides twist uncomfortably.

“You invited me,” Caustic, claws out to deter any softness, “Don’t tell me dementia has set in already.”

“Ouch.” He presses his hand to his chest in an over dramatic gesture, feigning some grievous injury before smiling again. “I know I did, but…”

But this is a surprise.

But he made the invitation out of kindness.

But he never expected you to follow through.

“Don’t be weird about this,” You groan, but it’s already too late for that.

“Me?” He doesn’t waste any time, catching you in an embrace as soon as you’re within his reach. Arms looped around your waist, dragging you close. “I’d never.”

“Liar, you’re always-” The rest of your insult is cut off with his lips pressing against yours. The kiss is slow, languid, tasting like mint and rum. Your arms move on their own accord to loop around his neck - no frantic energy now, not like your past ones, just savoring the peace of being away, being here. Space to exist without prying eyes, carved out for just the two of you.

You pull away at that thought, ready to kick yourself for how sappy that sounds, but Ortega doesn’t let you get very far.

“And you dressed up.” He says appreciatively, looking you over, “You look good.”

That’s enough to make you scoff. “Right.” As if you’re buying that. You feel stupid, and you’re sure the humidity has your hair fighting the product you used. Not good looking, just a frizzy-haired mess.

“I’m serious!” He seems to believe he is, so you let it drop. Not an argument you’ll win, not a hill worth dying on. Instead of answering, you busy yourself by playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. It’s a surprise the stylists haven’t chased him down for a trim, considering they’re always going for that ‘respectably ruffled, effortlessly messy’ approach. Not that you’d complain, gives you more to twist your fingers into.

“I figured my regular clothes wouldn’t get me through the doors of a place like this.” You could’ve forced your way in, make the security not see you, but you’d stand out even more than you already do.

“All these years and I never knew you owned anything besides jackets and jeans.”

“I don’t.” You deadpan, giving his hair a sharp tug, “There’s a naked mannequin in a window of an boutique uptown.”

“I can see the headlines already: ‘Enigma Terrorizes Local Clothes Stores’.” It’s meant to be a joke, but that doesn’t stop the unease that curls up your spine, making you stiffen. He must notice the shift, because he’s quick to let you go, and you put a little space between you both.

“So,” He drawls, obviously scrambling to save the mood before it can sour further, “Why a Sidestep mug?”

Not the direction you were expecting him to go. “What?”

“Seems a little egotistical, you know?” An over the top shrug and a shit-eating smile, “Getting me one of your pieces of merch on my birthday and all.”

“Yeah, well. You’re the idiot that kept the old, broken one.” It’s harmless teasing, you know that, but defensiveness still prickles across your skin like barbs. You’d felt stupid buying the thing to begin with, and standing here, that feeling comes creeping back in. What are you supposed to get somebody who’s used to getting whatever they want? But your old mug seemed to matter to him, for whatever reason. Enough to keep. To try and glue back together. It mattered to him.

Which made it matter to you.

“Erin,”

“Whatever.” You really don’t want to continue this conversation, shoving your hands in your pockets, shoulders rising to your ears. “I know it was a stupid gift, but at least this one isn’t covered in glue.”

“Maldita sea, no puedo hacerlo bien.” His smile is a rueful one. “Can’t keep my foot out of my mouth tonight, I guess.”

“It’s fine. No different than any other night.” At least that makes him look a little less sullen.

“I do love it.” He says, as sincere as you’ve ever heard him. And sure, he may just be humoring you, but damn him, that little knot of anxiety that had been twisting up in your chest loosens, just a little.

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” He’s speaking with the solemnness of somebody swearing an oath, not talking about an ugly coffee mug. “Best gift out of all of them.”

And just like that, the bubble of tension that had been slowly brewing pops, leaving exasperated amusement in its wake.

You snort, “Liar. You didn’t even open the others.”

“Doesn’t matter,” He steps close, clearly restraining himself from dragging you into another embrace, “Nothing else could beat it.”

“Idiot.” What else are you supposed to say? To the man acting like you gave him a priceless art piece, and not a novelty mug you found at a thrift shop.

All he’s mentioned yet is the mug, though, leaving you wondering…

“Did you see the card?”

“It slipped my mind,” Curiosity overrides the desire to stay close as he makes a B-line for the gift bag he left by the door. “Somebody interrupted with cryptic texts.”

“It got you up here.”

You didn’t bother writing anything on the envelope, you knew he was nosy enough to open it no matter what. There’s a flash of blue as he pulls it free, and you watch him peel the envelope open, taking in the horrendous card he’s holding.

“No dicks on this one, either. You could’ve opened it in front of a crowd.” The terrible, raunchy ones were more Themmy’s thing. They always got an evil sort of delight making the unfortunate recipient flush out of embarrassment.

What it lacks in genitalia, it makes up for with terrible caricatures of what you think is supposed to be the Rangers. It looks more like a picture blown up too large and printed out, the features of everybody bleeding together to the point they’re unrecognizable blobs of color. And on the front in big, blocky white and blue letters, it reads:

Have A

Super-Charged Day!

“Did you know there are still bodegas down at the pier selling knock-off merch?” It had been years since you last saw one. A hazy memory of warm evenings, wandering the quieter streets with Themmy. Of laughing until your ribs ached. “You almost ended up with a ‘Ranger Cherge’ keychain.”

It’s not the greatest card, but you’d expected at least a huff of a laugh. A comment about the card not catching his likeness, anything. But instead, Ortega is just staring at the card, terrifyingly still for once in his life.

“Ortega…?” Shit, it’s definitely not the funniest thing in the world, but you don’t think it’s silent treatment levels of bad. With his head down, you can’t get a decent read on his face, so you take a few tentative steps towards him. Leave enough room to- what? Run?

“Ricardo?”

In a flash of movement far too quick for his dumb old man body, he’s crossing the space in a few steps and crushing you to him in a tight hug. Probably should have seen this coming, but he was fast enough your brain doesn’t even get a chance to process that you should be panicking at the touch.

“Thank you.” He says, voice thick with emotion, and now panic sets in. Angry or annoyed you can handle, not teary Ortega!

“Ugh!” You squirm, trying to get your arms between your bodies to shove him off, “You’re being weird again!”

“Shut up and let me have this, you ass.” He laughs, a wet, broken sound. Neither of you want to acknowledge the tears.

You sigh, giving him an awkward couple pats on the back. “You’ve had too much to drink.” He can usually hold his alcohol, but you know he can be an emotional drunk when he gets started.

“Heh. Maybe.” You get one final squeeze, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he’s not here to hold you. But he backs off, quickly turning to tuck the card back in the bag. You pointedly find an interesting stain on the concrete beneath your feet to stare while he puts himself back together, and when he turns back around, his easy-going grin is back in place. No trace of tears, masks back in place. Sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened.

Down below, the music shifts its tone. Fast, rhythmic beats are replaced with something slower - not quite party music, but probably a chance to give a break to the ears of everyone attending. Up with the pair of you, it’s little more than an echo, bouncing up the stairwell. An ethereal sort of sound, something that could easily be stolen away by the wind.

Ortega glances from you, to the maintenance door, and back again. There’s a glint in his eye, but before you get the chance to ask what he’s thinking, he holds a hand out to you.

“Dance with me?” It’s not your Ortega asking, but an echo. Ricardo, ten years younger. Ricardo, ten years lighter. On another night, on a different rooftop.

…A popup concert at the park.

You made an offhand comment, asked what that was. You’d never seen one, which everybody in the break room seemed to find weird. Weirder still that you’d never been to one, not even in passing

Of course Ortega didn’t pass up the chance to invite you. And like an idiot, you went.

But the crowds had been packed tight, people from shoulder to shoulder, front to back. Your neck prickled at the thought of getting too close. Not worth the effort. Not worth the impending migraine.

But Ortega pulled some strings - he’d always been so good at that. Got you both rooftop access on a building just across the street. No crowds, no minds pressing on your shields.

Just music and his static brain.

…you never let him call it a date.

You knew he wanted to.

“Erin?” Past bleeds away like blood from an open wound. Your Ortega once more - with wrinkles and new scars. Grey hairs he can’t always hide. Secrets and lies that haunt both your shadows like spirits.

He still has his hand out. Palm-up, waiting for you.

Always willing to wait. And it feels inevitable, slipping your hand into his. Life roughened, the both of you. Scarred and calloused, the bite of metal against your skin. But he tugs you close, and that time doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

And it’s not a dance, not really. Not one your trainers would have approved of, at least. It’s just a lazy sway to your own rhythms - his arms around waist, yours around his neck for a second time this evening. And for a second time, you let yourself just exist.

You didn’t think you’d ever have this again, not after everything. You threw all your cards out on the table, dragged your skeletons from the closet and into the light. Waited for some sort of retaliation - hurt for hurt, truth for truth. After all was said and done, you didn’t expect him to hold you, not with kindness at least. Not looking at you like you’re the most important person in his entire world.

His heart is strong under your ear, if a little fast. You wonder, can he feel yours, too? Pounding, a bird's wings beating against your ribs. You weren’t expecting care, so you’re not sure what to do with it. He should hate you, for everything you’ve done. Everything you’re still going to do.

He should hate you, but he doesn’t, and you’re not sure what you’re supposed to do, feeling this soft.

“This doesn’t really seem like dancing.” You point out, just to cut through your own brewing thoughts. Stomp those emotions down, kick them back into whatever corner of your mind they’d crawled out of. Deal with them later.

“Really? What kind of dancing were you expecting?” He asks, words curling off his lips in a way that means nothing but trouble. You move to get away, not trusting him or his smirk, but before you can, your world is thrown off balance as he drops you into a dip.

“Ortega!” Definitely one of the less-dignified sounds you’ve ever made, squawking out his name like a bird. Your fingers are claws in his shoulders, clinging for purchase even though part of you knows he wouldn’t drop you.

“Was this what you wanted?” The bastard has the audacity to laugh at you. His hand, the one not braced against your back, is a brand on your hip, trailing along your thigh - skimming down until he hooks his fingers behind the bend of your knee. He brings your thigh up to his hip, forcing you to put your entire weight -and trust- into him to keep you from hitting concrete.

It’s- close. Way too close.

“Hey there.” Switching gears, the charming Ortega is back with a megawatt smile that brings out the wrinkles around his eyes. Annoying bastard doesn’t even seem half as bothered as you.

“Let me up, idiot.” You blame your breathlessness on the surprise, and absolutely nothing else. You swat him upside the back of his head, which has him laughing again, but it has the desired effect of him pulling you back to your feet. He lets you pull away, giving you room to breathe, at least.

But he’s still just looking, to the point his eyes feel like a physical weight on you. “What?” You’re more snappish than you meant to be, but the staring is making your skin itch.

“Come back to my place with me.” Not a question, just a soft spoken request. A plea if you squinted just right at it.

“Ortega…” The excuses are already on the tip of your tongue, but he’s quick to jump in before you can voice them.

“Just, tonight? Nothing has to happen.” He barrels on, like if he’s fast enough, he can stop the inevitable refusal. “Make it a birthday wish?

“You’re being greedy.” You cross your arms and scowl.

“You know me.” Another shot at his charming persona, but this one feels a little more brittle. Always afraid to say good-bye, like it’ll be the last time he ever sees you.

And after all, you do know him. Well enough that if you’re adamant, he’ll drop it. He has in the past. Maybe he’d sulk a little, but never any hard feelings, happy to take whatever you willingly give.

You haven’t been over again, not since the day you went and dumped your entire non-human existence onto him in a creative new form of self-destruction. You hadn’t dared going back - not with that paranoid little voice always scratching at the back of your brain, the one with the images of traps and betrayals around every corner.

You’ve stayed away, and he…hasn’t pushed. Maybe it’s that fact that has you even entertaining the idea creeping into your mind. Knocking at the window, asking for attention. It’s a stupid idea, reckless. How many ways can you throw yourself onto the tracks, hoping the train misses you? How many leaps can you make before you don’t get back up again?

One more plunge.

“Or…you could come to my place, instead?” You almost choke on the words. Stupid, so stupid. Public places, or his apartment, never yours. Never let him close enough to be a threat. But you left that warning in the dust a few too many confessions ago.

“You’re inviting me to your apartment?” He’s shocked, the wide-eyed look only half comedic, “You’re not terminally ill, right? No hours left to live or anything?”

You scowl, embarrassment and annoyance rivaling for the front row now, “If you’re going to be an ass-”

“No! No, I want to go.” He says, practically giddy, you may as well have told him he’d won the jackpot. He’s already grabbing your hand, pulling you in tow, like if he waits too long you’ll snatch the offer back. “Let’s get out of here.”

His excitement has you grinning, and you don’t bother trying to hide it. He stops to grab your gift -not as stupid as you thought it was- before heading for the door. “Are you playing hooky to your own party?”

“Hey, I made the rounds.” He’s leading you down the roof-access stairwell with the determination of a man on a mission, “Besides, it’s my birthday. I can take off if I want. This way.” You’re on the ground floor, but instead of heading towards the main exit, he tugs you down one of the empty hallways.

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Garage. Back way in.” The grin he tosses over his shoulder is outright conspiratorial, and you decide to keep the ‘back entrance’ joke you were about to make to yourself. “I rode my bike here.”

“I’m surprised.” Now it’s your turn to tug him around a corner, dodging a catering crew member you sensed coming the other way, bustling with a tray of food. You both wait a breath, and another. Then you squeeze his fingers, silently conveying that the coast is clear, and you’re off again.

“Surprised?”

“That they let you ride here.” You say, innocent and nonchalant. “I thought they’d have rules about senior citizens riding motorcycles, you know?”

This time, you’re dragged to the side for a kiss. Messy and uncoordinated, because neither of you can contain your laughter. He mumbles something, maybe calling you a name, but you’re too happy to care. All you focus on is escaping with him like a pair of overgrown children, sneaking off into the night.

Maybe the party wasn’t half-bad, after all.

[fictionfixations]

genderfluid (& androgynous)

someone called riddle genderfluid and now i cant unsee it

(imagine its a fem day. and he just sits there with a skirt. and radiating dom energy. my minds too stuck on bamf ladies. also you dont have to wear a skirt if you dont wanna, i just like em. but uh. its like a superiority thing. (bruh imagine someone bumps into them- or.. wHATEVER pronoun. uh. fuck. i said them for riddle cause im too used to he/they characters. wtf pronouns do i use for him??? uhm. but so someone bumps into riddle. and then they just blurt out 'pls step on me'. and hes like wha? [cuz he comes off strict and intimidating, but hes also sometimes clueless/oblivious, poor sheltered bby] and then they eep and run away hehehehe ...imagine he asks cater what that meant [because cater knows a lot of weird stuff]. cater spits out his tea like WHAT. HUH? actually LMFAO- 'i never expected to hear those words come out of riddles mouth! and he said it so straight-faced too!')

..i have a hunch you probably thought id put 'step on me mommy' but

im. kind of not a fan of the sexualization of those words cause now i can never unsee it when its just an innocent version

i feel like.. riddle has a lot of problems with his mom. one including not wanting to be too similar to her, or being compared to her (and regretting that he'd basically become a mini-her for awhile there, although in more serious words)

(also how do genderfluid people do pronouns?? [i have no gender so i dont get it] ive seen in some writing they use like. she/her on a she/her day. or he/him on a he/him day. but could you also just... stay to another pronoun too? i mean. theres probably she/they and he/they that works there. she/he does too. ..is it she/he? or is it she/him? probably she/he. idfk. i mean. i have a bias towards he/they. but like. if you're leaning more towards feminine.. do you match feminine pronouns too or is it just based on how you're feeling and it can really just go either way??? i kind of want to write a genderfluid riddle in a purely self-indulgent way. but i dont know what to do about the pronouns or if i should change them)

anyway

maybe thats my bad cause i like referring to him as a queen instead of a king (HE WEARS HEELS TOO. we love a short king. LMFAO)

(he wears heels because the queen and the first heartslabyul housewarden wore them. and his uniform is modeled after the first heartslabyul housewarden. this is iirc mentioned in his halloween vignette)

this is future me

he could definitely just be androgynous too and not afraid to use it

like

okay

spoilers for a JP card but

here. (a card i desperately want in the future, even though ill probably never actually use him)

which since we're here. vil. with his androgynous energy. who is also referred to as a queen. .........

honestly. i dont think he really cares that much about either way? or. that. i think im wording that wrong

like.. wearing dresses or suits, i dont think it makes a difference to him. for 1, he knows he rocks it. 2, assigning things to 'female' and 'male' and then saying the other cant wear things the opposite does is dumb (i still refer to them as feminine or masculine to differentiate them, my issue with it is then restricting it)

so he just. sometimes

to prove a point, wears short hair (or something that leans a little more towards masculine-y) with dresses

actually he kind of does that already

its just a coincidence LMFAO

i think its just more to fit the occasion

cause in this his hair is tied up

also damn this mfs pretty

anyway i think thats enough vil LMFAO

i got so off topic

[theprettynosferatu]

I

The gigantic metal beast landed with a thud. Not the most graceful of homecomings, thought the handler. It didn’t matter, of course. No damage to the mech, four enemies down, a few needless but thrilling maneuvers for the video drone capturing every moment. A successful mission any way one cut it. The handler looked up from the screens, towards the solid, tangible reality of his ward.

Even after years together, even after a hundred missions, the sight never failed to impress. Himiko emerged from the cockpit drenched in sweat, every curve of her body glistening under the hangar lights. She stretched. This was a performance too, even if she didn’t know it. Her booty shorts and miniscule top were as much a necessity as an asset, and her “dismounts” were something of a phenomenon among the viewers. 

Every second in the cockpit was filmed, every motion in combat captured from several angles, every landing documented to be masterfully edited and broadcast to the population. She was a soldier on two fronts: fighting the rebellion while also being someone the company could parade in front of everyone, someone people could root for, someone they could obsess over. Better to have them focused on her skin, those shorts, her beautiful face. Even her mech, the Enkidu, was part of her brand: it was an older model, a classic -or a relic, depending on one’s point of view- that tended to be particularly punishing for pilots. The goddamn thing was an oven, relying on overheating systems for sudden bursts of enhanced performance with minimal heat dispersal to spare the operator. Hence, booty shorts and top. The effect was simple, eloquent: she was a warrior, an underdog willing to do whatever it took to destroy a more advanced enemy. Underdogs were good. People cheered for them. 

The handler shuddered. If Himiko knew he had been the one to suggest her brand…

Well, there were many things Himiko didn’t know, and every asset needed a brand, a simple phrase that could be marketed, displayed, sold. “Sexy, rebellious underdog”. Everything orbited that one concept. Her clothing, her public appearances, even her fighting style. She was as artificial as her mech and didn’t even know it. Damn it.

The handler chased the feeling away. Things would be worse for Himiko without him. He was good to her. Hell, compared to other handlers he was downright angelic, if the stories were true. Even the whole “underdog” gimmick was… mild, next to what other pilots were saddled with. The company had to cater to many tastes, after all. “Ruthless, cold bombshell”. “Cheery, optimistic angel”. “Seductive, psychotic killer”. A pilot for every desire, and joint missions were true events, advertised and promoted with taglines like “...But can they work together?”, or “Angel and Demon together!”. The strategic purpose of such missions was a secondary priority, if it was a priority at all.

Yes, “rebellious underdog” wasn’t that bad, all things considered. The handler went down to the launching bay.  

“I fucked up with that second mech”

“It still went down, didn’t it?”

“Messed up my aim. I Could have downed him quicker. Fuck!”

Himiko was one of the few pilots allowed to swear. It fit her brand. Well, truth was Himiko was one of the few pilots able to swear, but that wasn’t something the handler liked to think about.

“May I shower?”, she asked.

“You may”, he replied.

Himiko flashed him a quick smile and headed for her quarters. The handler watched her leave. He wondered, as he had done so many times before, if he was the only one that could see something between sadness and rage in her eyes.

II

“We were going with something like… ‘Guts and Glamour’, when the op was just Himiko and Adrian, but now that Ruby’s part of the whole thing…”, said the handler.

“‘Guts and Glamour’? Really?”, scoffed Mark.

“You know them marketing boys like their alliteration, Mark. We work with what we got”, added Katrina, a bit offended.

‘Guts and Glamour’ had been her idea, in fact. A bit on the facile side, but the handler had to admit his partner had nailed it on the head. Katrina was rough, but one of the best, after all: that was why she had been saddled with Adrian. “Vain, cocksure prettyboy”, had been the concept and the pilot delivered in spades, which was a blessing and a curse. He was easy to hate as much as he was easy to desire. The company liked to try some “hate that you love them” concepts every now and then. They thought it was a complex character. A pain in the ass for a handler, that’s what it was. Sometimes the public saw their skills and were won over. Other times…

Well, tragic deaths were quite moving too.

Ruby, on the other hand, was a tried and true idea. Fiery, sexy redhead. Not much to do with that, but her genetics did the heavy lifting. Something for the basic teen boys.

“Right, right. Well, Maybe we can keep it. Ruby’s glamorous too”, said Mark.

“Nah. Won’t work. Three pilots, ain’t it? We need three keywords, short, punchy. And I don’t think we have a third ‘G’ word to throw in there. And Ruby has… no offense, but I wouldn’t call it glamour, exactly. I mean, not your fault, bud. But…”, trailed off Katrina.

“No offense taken. We aren’t shooting for high class with Ruby. What you see is what you get, pretty much. And she loves to let people see”, replied Mark.

“You sure got lucky with the whole heat gimmick, right? Himiko can show off and still come across as tough”

It took a moment for the handler to realize Katrina was talking to him. He poured himself another drink, and saw the other two handlers onscreen joining him in a toast across space.

“I guess”, mumbled the handler.

“You know, I don’t know what’s better: fucking the hot redhead everyone thinks is slutty, or being the only one that knows how freaky the rebel girl can get”, giggled Mark.

“Come on, man. That’s the kind of joke that gives handlers a bad rep”, said the handler.

Silence stretched, infinite, plastic.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, man. You tapped that, and you know it”, retorted Mark.

“Say what you will about Adrian, but he makes up for his preening with some stamina”, said Katrina.

“Stop it. It’s not funny”, muttered the handler, shifting in his seat.

“We’re not being funny. This shit ain’t for broadcast, pal. Save the PC shit for official events. It’s just us shooting the shit, here”, said Katrina.

“Wait. You don’t really… you know…”

“Fuck my pilot? Eight days a week, cowboy. Jesus, are you bullshitting me right now? It’s like, the one benefit we have. Sure, it’s not on the fucking brochures, but come on! We have genetically enhanced clones that are programmed to obey and designed to be hot! You think the company doesn’t know what’s bound to happen? Nature’s gonna nature, I say. And it’s not like they’re… people-people, you know?” said the woman on the screen.

“They’re clones, sure, but… they’re still people”, said the handler.

“You mean to say you never thought about it?”, asked Mark.

“Think about it… I mean, I guess. Like… you can have fantasies about anyone, right? But fantasies are one thing and… doing shit is another”, said the handler.

Katrina laughed.

“So let me get this straight: you’re all alone in your compartment, jerkin’ it to a girl that’s right fucking there, next door over, and who would do whatever you told her to do if only you had the balls to command her? God, that’s pathetic. You have a feast in front of ya and keep eating those saltine crackers from ration packs, honey. Okay, real talk: are you gay, or ace, or…”

“No. Bi, actually”, said the handler in anger. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t wrong to…”

“See, I think I get the issue. I’ve seen it a couple of times. Clones are not like you and me. Clones obey. And they don’t feel bad about it, because they can’t not obey, feel me? It’s just the way they’re made, you know? She wouldn’t feel violated or… I don’t know, used. Not in any degree above what happens whenever you send her on a mission. She’s designed for it. It’s all she knows and all she can know. And if we are being honest… let me ask you a question: are you scared for her when it looks like a mission is gonna go tits up? Are you anxious when you give her a combat plan and don’t know if it’s the best course of action?”, asked Mark.

“Of course”

“Me too. Every single time Ruby goes inside that mech I’m sweating bullets. I care about her. It’s my job to make her thrive, man. That’s what we do. You know who’s never scared going into combat? Ruby, or Adrian, or Himiko. Can you imagine that? Climbing into a big ass combat mech and not being terrified? But they’re not like us, and you know what? I kinda envy them. They are at peace. They have their missions, and the complete, unshakable focus to do their best every time. Combat, a photoshoot, an ad… same to them. Just missions. They don’t have to make choices, or suffer the pangs of uncertainty. There’s something beautiful there. A purity. They are what they are, do what they’re assigned to do, and those two things are the same thing. They have clarity of purpose. They’re not burped into existence like the rest of us. And when I tell Ruby to wrap her huge tits around my cock and get me off, it’s another mission to her. Nothing more, nothing else. You ask me, they’re the lucky ones. So, word of advice: care for your pilot. But don’t fall for her. ‘Cause you’d be falling for a shadow”. Said Mark between drinks.

The meeting went on. The handler didn’t really pay attention to whatever title they had decided to give their joint mission in the end. 

III

The mission had been a success. In the end the marketing people had decided to play up the “one guy, two girls” angle. Would love blossom on the battlefield? The people saw Ruby saving Adrian from a cowardly sneak attack. The flirting had been heavy and constant. Of course, Ruby had made no such heroic save, but editing could perform miracles. 

The handler was glad Himiko hadn’t been picked to move the romance plot forward. Sure, affairs between pilots existed only for the cameras, in parades and interviews, but still. Himiko’s brand wasn’t appropriate for such things. But if he was being honest, it wasn’t the sanctity of the image that bothered him. He had been with Himiko from the beginning. He had designed her brand, advised on her fighting style, added flair and soul to the character. Himiko belonged to the company, sure, but in a creative way, Himiko was his. The strong girl in the posters and vids, the firebrand adored by millions… he had created that, as much as the geeks at the genetic farms. Perhaps even more.

The handler couldn’t say when he had gotten out of bed and walked out of his room. He found himself in the hallway, steps away from the pilot’s compartment. She -it- would be there. His creation. His product. Hours of work, gallons of sweat and tears and anxiety and effort put into her… into making her a phenomenon, beloved by millions. And what did he get? He was anonymous. He was a shadow- worse, a shadow of a shadow, unrecognized, unrewarded.  

The door slid shut and Himiko went instantly to her feet. Pilots were light sleepers by design, always ready. They slept in the nude, so they could get into their outfits instantly. Shame was not something they felt, less of all in front of their handlers.

“Do we have a mission?”, she asked.

The handler paused, entranced by the soft curves of her pilot. It didn't matter how much he saw of her, it always made an impact somewhere primal, deep inside his soul. No, not her. The product, he reminded himself. The word escaped his lips before he could stop it.

“Kneel”

There was a moment there, barely longer than a lightning strike. Himiko’s eyes flashed with confusion, a hint of outrage, and then set on complete, focused determination as she went down on her knees. She looked up at the handler, ready to obey. The handler felt almost drunk, giddy. So many men and women looked up to this girl, adored her, saw her as a role model and object of desire… and now she looked up at him. It was intoxicating.

“Remove my underwear”

She did so with the efficiency of a close quarters combat expert. He barely had to shift to let her cast the fabric aside. One part of him couldn’t believe it was this easy, even as inside him a quieter, stifled side of himself screamed. It was too late to go back.

“Suck my cock”

What followed was akin to vertigo, beyond anything he had ever felt before. He couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes. The handler wasn’t a virgin, but he might as well have been. Himiko took to her mission with the zeal and determination of a true warrior, changing speeds, pressure, angle, using her tongue, her lips, her throat. The handler felt something in the base of his spine, an orgasm building from somewhere deeper than anything he had experienced in his life. Overcome by the maelstrom of sensation, he had for a moment forgotten what was happening, sent hurling away from reality by the pilot’s skills. His eyes snapped open.

He saw Himiko. Strong, fierce Himiko. Her expression was one he had seen a thousand times in the cockpit, the focus of an operator in that special zone where only the mission existed, where only her objective mattered. He saw a programmed response, and a reminder of what she really was. Of what he was doing.

“Stop”, he muttered. She instantly did. He caught his breath.

“Could you… could you pretend to enjoy it? Like… like you… want me?” God, he felt pathetic. The feeling, however, lasted only a second. Himiko smiled, a smile no one had ever seen before, a smile that didn’t fit any poster or propaganda piece. It was mischievous, flirty, like they were accomplices in a secret, loving affair. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t real. She made it feel real to him.

She made him feel special.

Suddenly there was a sense of fun, of warmth to her actions. She moaned and purred with every lick, teasing him, smiling and biting her lips, making him feel as if for that moment his pleasure was her pleasure, that he was all that existed, that his cock was the most beautiful, most entrancing thing in the universe. His moans mixed with hers as she worshiped him with her mouth, her hands, her breasts. It was sex and devotion, fun and partnership, lust and love. It was too easy to believe it all, too perfect to resist. The handler wanted the moment to last, forever if at all possible. When he told Himiko to get on the bed, she leaped in joy and looked at him as she stretched on the mattress, eyes full of anticipation, a teasing challenge to her lover. 

He dove into her arms. He kissed her stomach, her perfect thighs, her neck. He wanted her, wanted to devour her, to be with her and for her to be his, totally and completely. He wanted them to belong to each other, to seal a partnership that had, in his mind, been growing for years. Her shallow breathing, her whimpers and soft moans begged him to do it, to take what was rightfully his. His hand softly caressed the inside of her thigh, barely touching it, moving upwards slowly, savoring every second. When he felt the wetness between her legs, he couldn’t help but wonder if that too was a conditioned response. He pushed the thought aside and let himself drown in her lips.

She was tight, and he managed to stop himself, teasing her clit. He didn’t want to hurt her. It occurred to him that Himiko was, in fact, a virgin. He would be careful. He would be gentle. He would take it slow. 

But she was a warrior on a mission. 

“Do it”, she said, panting. “Take me. Fuck me. Use me! I’ve seen you looking at me… my ass, my tits, my face… they’re all yours. Yours. Stop being a pussy and fucking ram that big cock inside me! I want it… I want you to treat me like your whore, your toy, whatever the fuck you want… just give me that cock! Please!”

The handler didn’t know if Himiko had been studying him, gathering information for precisely such an event, but it didn’t really matter. She knew exactly what to say, exactly how to say it, with a mixture of begging and demanding, commanding and submissive at the same time. She knew what to say to blow away any lingering hesitation, to obliterate any morality that might be holding him back. He entered her with fury, with anger, with lust, with the strength of years of repressed emotions and confused feelings behind him. Her legs surrounded him, brought him closer as she came with a melody of moans and tiny screams. Her nails dig into his back. The pain was the one thing that kept him from cumming. Had that been luck or a calculated move on her part?

With all her martial skill, she reversed positions and got on top. 

“My turn”, she smiled.

He had fantasized about this moment for years. Himiko showed him just how limited his imagination was. She was mercurial, flowing from one position to another, from one attitude to another. She was whimpering and fighting against her own pleasure one moment, pinning him down and riding him with a wicked smile the next; she feigned innocence on second and then delivered babbling, perverted barrages of dirty talk without missing a beat. She made the bed feel like a playground where everything went, everything was allowed. She made him feel safe. Wanted. 

Eventually, exhaustion got the better of him. Unlike Himiko, he was a simple handler, not a trained fighter. He fell asleep in her arms, postponing the inevitable reckoning with what he had done for a handful of peaceful, perfect hours.

IV

The handler called in every favor he had. Burned a few bridges, too. It was necessary, he told himself. It was for Himiko, he told himself. It was the right thing to do, he told himself. Anything to make the voice inside his head shut up for a few seconds. 

As a handler he had access to general genetic records: after all, he needed to know what his pilot was capable of, what enhancements had been made to her. There were other bits of information, however, that only the people at the genetic farms had and guarded jealously. But after a solid two weeks of begging, threatening and cajoling, he had managed to get a copy of what he needed, an answer to the question that had been tormenting him- and now he lingered, too scared to open the files. 

Himiko was a clone. But somewhere out there there was an original. Or maybe there had been one, long ago. Whoever Himiko was made from was probably an old woman living in secluded luxury. That was the standard deal: a comfortable life of complete anonymity for the donors. They were usually athletes, sometimes models or soldiers, sometimes people with very specific characteristics that might appeal in a pilot, given a few adjustments. The handler didn’t know what would be worse: to find out the original was out in the world, or to find out Himiko’s genes had been taken from an old blueprint and the original had passed away. He just knew he needed to know, because Himiko deserved to know. Not that the pilot had asked, of course. But he needed to… do something for her. Yes, do something big for Himiko. That would make the voice shut the hell up.

He opened the files and started reading, a terrible dread growing in his chest.

Sample obtained through Rebirth Protocol.

It was there in black and white: a rumor discarded by almost everyone, embraced only by the most fringe of lunatics. And it was real. The Rebirth Protocol. Forced acquisition of samples from captured rebels before their executions.

Himiko’s original had never lived a life of peace and comfort. She had been a rebel. A fighter, like her clone. One battling the company at every turn, transformed into an obedient asset in an act of perverted, vengeful poetry. And he had been complicit. He had made Himiko one of the most recognizable faces of the company, a key pillar in its efforts in the battlefield and in the war on the minds of the people.    

The handler threw up. He copied the files to his personal device, shaking. He could feel his determination wavering. No. He had to show her, and he had to show her immediately.

Himiko smiled as he entered. The handler felt terrible for issuing that particular order. Knowing what he knew, the smile felt like a dagger. 

“Himiko, look at this”, he said, pulling up the files on the screen. It was all there. Himiko’s original name. Pictures taken during captivity. Video of her flying a rebel mech. He looked at the pilot. Something was stirring inside her, he knew it.

“She looks like me”, muttered Himiko.

“She is you. In a manner of speaking. But… you were…”

“I was a rebel. I… Permission to speak freely?”

“Granted! Fucking granted!”

“I feel… something. Anger… no, not anger. It’s more… righteous. A fire. We… I… refused. Refused to be under the boot of the company… we… there was more to life. More to being a person than just working and consuming and… Why? Why do I remember these things?”

“I’m not sure. If you were a rebel pilot, it’s possible they copied not just your DNA but some of your neural pathway patterns, to transfer combat experience into… your new self. Maybe she… you, the real you… is still in there somewhere. Kei. Your name was Kei”

Himiko was crying without moving a muscle. Tears rolled down her perfect face.

“Kei…” she muttered.

“You are Kei”

“I am…”

An eternal pause.

“I am Himiko, pilot for the company”, came the emotionless response.

“No! You don’t have to be! You were a proud fighter and can be that again! We can… we can leave. We can escape, together. Disappear. Go to some forgotten corner of the galaxy, and…”

“Pilots are not allowed to travel without company authorization”

The handler stormed out of the room.

Sleepless nights on unauthorized communication channels, places where the company couldn’t snoop. Editors uploaded outtakes of pilots messing up, or candid footage of pilots in showers and locker rooms. Handlers shared the… art they had compelled their pilots to make, a notion he would have refused to believe not long before. Gene freaks debated new techniques, mulled over the possibilities of more extreme genetic modification. And the handler read it all, looking for the answer to a singular question: was there a way to break the conditioning?

He wasn’t the first handler to wonder that, he discovered. A few before him had been shouted down, accused of being potential rebels. Some had gotten tidbits of information, ways in which perhaps, in theory, the compulsions could be lessened, if not erased entirely.

He tried them all. Flashing lights. Shock diet. Memory regression. Hypnosis. More and more Himiko was becoming like her other self, like Kei. And yet, after every attempt, he issued a single command.

“Slap yourself”

She did so. Every single time.

“I’m sorry”, she said.

He was on his knees, his head on her lap, sobbing. It was pointless. The company had her, and by having her, they had him. There would be no escaping, no happy ending in their own secluded corner of the world. Only dreaming.

Maybe dreaming wasn’t so bad. One could get lost in a beautiful dream. Perhaps even forget it was a dream, every now and then. That was the best they could hope for: to steal small moments of counterfeit happiness from a world too miserly, too cruel to allow the real thing to thrive. Didn’t Himiko deserve those moments, that respite? Didn’t he deserve them too?

Defeated, he rose to his feet. The handler looked at the pilot’s sad eyes.

“Himiko… love me”, he commanded. 

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

[wishdonttell]

Request for slasher Micheal Myers. Rz or og! A reader who's tall like 6'2 but is like an at home himbo husband who does freelance writing! He's a great cook but an even better baker, and loves his big slasher baby! Sorry if it's too specific!

Do you do emojis anonymous? If yes can I be 🪼? If not feel free to ignore it lol.

HiHI! This will be my first request so thank you! I have never seen emoji anonymous before so why not! And since I'm fine with doing multiple characters I'll do both! And The more specific the better it makes the ask feel more personal!

Michael Myers og!

He was a curious man, maybe more in a morbid way but serious nonetheless.

so when he broke into his victim's house; a man at a staggering 6'2 -with a decent build- he was excepting a fight.

Instead, he gets treated like a baby kitten left out in the rain.

Your question confused him and damn near almost worries him,

"Have you eaten dear" "Goodness these clothes are a mess, how about a bath and some fresh clothes" "Is that blood, are you okay?"

He never had such gentleness and care around him, not even when the friendliest nurse catered to him. It was almost like you were afraid of hurting him.

He didn't fight back against the bath or the free meal. but as he watched you bring out a freshly baked pie, he made it official this was his house.

Over the next months and so for a year past micheal find himself getting more and more serious about this male, soon he found himself wanting him and only him. not because of the free shelter, food, and care that was provided but because of that was all targeted towards him. Only him... and Michael loved that.

Michael finds himself getting confused and angry at these feelings but he couldn't get mad at you

not when your tall frame covers him at night- he doesn't even remember when yall started to sleep in the same bed.

Not when you cradled him to you after you found out what he truly is. telling him you don't care and he will always be yours.

He now finds himself with a silver ring on his finer look at ou cook watching how the silver shines aginst your skin. He tilts his head but feels nothing at the moment but comfort and silence. The voices in his head are quiet, he can think he can feel, and he feels nothing but love and obsession for you.

Michael Myers RZ!

It was way easier for you to get rz!Michael in the palm of your hand.

My boy said confront, food, and personal weighted blanket, oh yeah.

He stalked you thinking about how he was gonna get rid of you, your residence just happen to be his old house.

But when you heard of these murder sprees and saw a poor man outside every day in the same outfit, how could you not be worried for this giant man.

You foolishly invited him to stay safe from the boogeyman, not even questioning his mask.

You made a home-cooked meal in his old kitchen that was revamped and as much as he doesn't wanna admit it's... more lively

He looked at you as you hand him some of your oversized clothes that barely fit him but you didn't want him tracking dirt in the house.

He took a shower in what used to be a torn-up and broken-down bathroom in a comfy bigger bathroom. He was interested in what you did with all the rooms, including his room.

After eating a hearty dinner with you respectfully looking the other way so he can eat, you to him to the guest bedroom. Little did you know it was his room.

There he was looking at the room where he grew up, it changed but still had the same color palate just fresh.

"Whoever had this room before was a character but I loved the color palette so I kept it"

He decided right there after laying in the now king-sized bed that he look comedically large in, he was staying here. I mean this is technically his house still.

The more time you spent with Michael the more you realized the man in your house was the boogeyman, I mean you are a little slow but not dumb.

You ignored it though as long as he didn't track blood into your house, and no cops came harassing you. you didn't really care, plus you had a 6'5 big man to feed and love on when he allowed.

Michael slowly came to love this little domestic family feeling yall had, and one night when he came back with two rings he took your hand and put it on your finder and the other on his. The look of shock on your face was so beautiful to him.

There yall were the big bad boogeyman laying on his husband. He wouldn't want anything more than this. To be with his large himbo husband.

Thank you for reading and feel free to request and ask questions!

[wolven91]

The Predator Café - Chapter 2

When Natasha finally got the opportunity to explore the wider galaxy, she didn't want to just follow others. She didn't mind going someplace someone else had, before her, but she wanted it to be for her own reasons.

She stewed and contemplated. Hummed and hawed. Her calculations and considerations were varied and numerous. In the end, she got a nice big poster of The Spiral, the whole galaxy in one picture and threw a dart.

It landed upon the Shin'fa System on the North West side of The Spiral. Looking it up, it was advertised as an 'up-and-coming' system. Meaning they were currently trying to pull as much tourism and new blood from outside, in. There was a moment of hesitation, this system was in the chintian territory, but outside of The Galactic Community space. She should be safe, but there were no hard promises. 

For the first time in her life, Natasha was in a unique position. It wasn't that she was rich and could simply buy her way anywhere, but that the wider community in space, found humans to be quite fascinating and whenever she enquired about the possible costs or requirements she would need to adhere to when considering moving to a system, the overly friendly voice on the other end of the line ensured her that they could fast-track her application with minimal issue. They offered her immediate work within the government itself if she was willing to make public appearances.

She screwed her nose up at that and decided to see what options she had when she got there.

Turns out, a lot. 

So many, she was once again stumped with how to proceed and when she found that her trusty dart was still stuck in a wall way back on on a station deep within The Galactic Community space, Natasha decided to go for a job that was familiar, yet new.

When her name was called, she put her game face on, her best winning smile and checked herself in the mirror one last time. Working at the “Predator Café” was an odd experience so far, the uniform one reminiscent of a French maid's outfit, yet red. The whole place had a feel of a stereotypical American diner from the olden-days.

Her instructions was; to greet the customers, take their order whilst giving small talk. Make them feel welcome, put on a bit of a show and deliver their orders. When Natasha had asked what counted as a 'show', the manager, a god-damned-actual-dinosaur, had explained that a hunting display would be fine, or anything that would normally indicate that she was a predator. Flash her frills, flush her colouring, puff up her feathers; “The usual” he said as if this was completely normal and an odd question.

Natasha had never failed to give anything but her all in every previous job she had. Like hell was she going to not try her best now when she was possibly his planet's first introduction to Humanity. Despite not knowing whether she was supposed to pound on her chest like a Gorilla?

In the end she went for a wide smile and a friendly demeanour. If anyone complained, she'd point out that Humans chased their 'prey' back in the day. She wasn't sure if running the customers around was a good idea, but she would let the manager cross that bridge if it had to come to that.

Blonde hair, loose and down, meticulously in place for that 'I-didn't-try' effect. Her green eyes highlighted with just enough make-up to set off her features and compliment her skin. Lipstick checked and applied, nothing too bold, she wanted to compliment, not scream. When she went to explore the nightlife, then, she'd go bold.

Grabbing her order pad and checking her table details, she saw it was booth 'G', the 'tiny' section. 

Oh boy.

It seemed in The Spiral, it wasn't uncommon for sentience to develop in creatures great and small. It was fascinating to see how creatures half her size or even smaller had adapted entire cities to fit their needs whilst catering to those much larger, not to mention the other way, how there were several species that dwarfed her. 

There were undercurrents that she could only guess at mind you, whether they were treated differently was vocally refuted, but she had come from the centre of The Spiral, humans weren't perfect either and suspected that there may be more to it than a hunky-dorey space utopia.

Thankfully, this wasn't her first interaction with a tiny, nor her second. But since starting; both of her only customers so far had run for the door practically screaming, she had a bad feeling history would repeat itself.

No!

She would go at this with her head held up high. Cheerful. Helpful. Show that 'southern hospitality' that is world famous!

Walking through the Café she plastered a full smile across her face and made sure it reached her eyes. Folk knows when you're faking, so you have to fake the real thing or don't even try. As she approached the table, she could see a small dino-like tiny facing her, with something fluffy and brown facing away.

The tiny dino, reviewing her memories about what they were actually called drawing a blank, was grey scaled, with white stripes across his snout and head with even spaces between. She suspected it went all the way down his back as his tail sported the same stripes. The tiny jacket that looked like a miniature wind-breaker was rather cute on him, but he had the tell-tale look of sheer panic that her previous potential customers had as well.

Coming to the table, she launched into her warmest greeting, trying to smile as broadly as she could. She worried she was going to look manic.

The Geckin! Geckin was what he was! The Geckin's friend was for lack of a better word; a chipmunk, she had no clue what they were supposed to be called. It sported a red chequered shirt and what looked like jeans that made it look simply adorable, but the brown toffee coloured fur was highlighted by the alternating black and white stripes that ran vertically down his back, starting at his hairline and ending at his tail.

The chipmunk hadn't looked at her face directly yet, seemingly avoiding her eyes.

But before she got any further from, what she thought was a safe compliment, the Geckin bolted. They had incredible speed, she had to admit that, but seeing the thin tail disappear through the entrance door, Natasha's heart plummeted to her boots.

The fluffy one hissed something at the retreating lizard, but could see he wasn't coming back. The remaining patron, oh so slowly, turned back and up at Natasha, seeing her face for the first time.

Credit where credit was due, the little chipmunk hadn't run yet, but the kindest thing to do, would be to offer them an 'out'.

===

Her eyes bore into his. They were so green, so intense. He was prey, she was without doubt a predator and she had him where she wanted him.

These thoughts tumbled through Pip's head in a repeating swirl of panicked anxiety. That was, until he paid attention for a moment and saw a slight tremble in her features. His species had social traits, they were good at reading features and whilst she naturally had the appearance of a very dangerous creature, he could see that she was upset.

Her voice washed over him like a warm, heavy blanket; 

“If you want to follow your friend hun', I understand. O-or I can get you 'nother server if you like?”

Her words were steady and came across as genuine and honest.

“That's the third customer that's run, so honestly, I'd rather you be comfy and happy than be forced to stay like.” She continued, holding her notepad against herself.

“I-i-t's fine. I'll stay.” Pip said, before quickly adding; “If that's okay?” He didn't want her to think he was defying her. If he had missed his mark, he didn't want an angry fist showing him her displeasure.

The giantess seemed pleased by his choice thankfully as she beamed at him again, showing off a set of a deadly looking teeth that could cut through flesh in a single bite. He had a flash of an image in his mind, of his arm between them. He blinked and cleared his throat grasping at the tablet in front of himself. It now showed a selection of various items and drinks, what he'd do for a damn list that he could pick from.

“I'm s-sorry, I didn't actually look, I'll have.. Er..”

“It's okay hun', I've no other customers right now. You can take your time?” she coaxed, while he wasn't looking at her, he could almost believe that she was a kindly young waitress, just helping a guy out.

“Do you have any suggestions? I'm, er.. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to- or.. what I should have?” He was falling over his words, he didn't normally stutter but the proximity to this, this Huntress, was causing him to regress to his anxiety-ridden younger years.

“Well sure honey, let me have a lil' looksie.” Her voice called out, before the shadow got darker, and he noticed her lean alarmingly close. In his hope that he would just be given an option that he would agree to, she instead was attempting to view his tablet to see where he was on the menu. The booth now had a roof made of her; her hair cascaded over him, what he had initially assumed was coarse or heavy locks of hair, was actually like silk; smooth and floated over him.

He went still.

Her hair smelled of watermelon and blanketed him all around. He could feel it tickling his back through his shirt, it brushed against his face and along his whiskers, pooling in his lap as she got closer. He glanced up and could see the perfectly smooth skin of his chin, which sloped into her neck, before disappearing into her uniform. He blinked as he noticed the space between the buttons of her uniform's shirt was slack enough that he could see within. A black lacy bra greeted him alongside the largest... He screwed his eyes shut and deliberately faced forwards.

If she caught him, then she would absolutely kill him.

“Ah, here we go, I'd say a 'Honeycomb Hot Chocolate' will set you up good and proper.”

“Is it good?”

“Oh! Honey, it's delicious. And! I'll have you know I make it myself. I usually have one, 'round this time, but with you here I need to be ready, 'case you need lil' ol' me.”

“You can still have one, I don't mind.”

“Well, ain't you a gentleman. If you're sure, I'll bring it along and we can chat properly sweet-thing!”

Wait. What? No, he meant- but she was gone. His cutlery bounced as she walked away at a speed that would make his eyes water. He let out a breath that he didn't realise he'd been holding and ran a smoothing hand through the fur on his head. This whole adventure was going to make him moult.

And the human! By all the gods, she was... was. Gods she was perfect.

This wasn't right. She was so different from himself, ignoring that social ostracising she would get by even talking with him outside of being forced to; being a predator and all, she was an entirely different category of organism. The size difference alone would make everything impossible. He wanted to dislike her, he wanted to fear her enough to run or have a desire to distance himself and yet it just excited him.

It was against the whole order of things and he loved it.

He was still terrified and she was still an unknown entity in all this, nothing could get him to ignore the instincts within himself that still screamed every time her eyes locked on to his.

After a few minutes, his cutlery started to dance again.

“Heeere we go, one extra special Honeycomb Hot Chocolate, just the way I make it.” a familiar sing-song voice said. A huge hand took over the booth as she placed a large, oversized mug of what appeared to be a hot chocolate with cream on top.

“Don't tell anyone, but I gave you a large without chargin' you.” She said with a wink that blew him away.

“When its the graveyard shift like this, it's worth bribing folk to stay and chat, y'know?” She asked tilting her head as she took a sip from a cup that Pip could have probably stood in with somewhat ease.

“Y-yeah, I used to work at the library. It wasn't so bad because I had my pick of the books, but it was always nice when a nocturnal showed up.” Pip agreed, trying to add to the conversation.

“Aww, I can just imagine you in glasses, being a librarian. I didn't think you could get any cuter hun'.”

Pip smiled as he reached into his pocket and from a thin protective leather pouch, produced his reading glasses, before putting them on.

The squeal that came from the behemoth was incredibly surprising and unlike anything his could have expected.

“No way, they're adorable!” She exclaimed as she leant down to look at him on his level. Her whole head was the same height as Pip when stood up, her face this close was a shock, again, but her eyes were simply taking in his spectacles.

“They really suit you hun'.” She whispered, a wind of peppermint washed over Pip, it was warm and humid and again, that forbidden excitement, ran up his spine, raising the fur so it stood up on end.

“Thank you, should I try something to eat? I skipped dinner because we- I was coming here.”

“I can offer some suggestions to you hun', just a sec.” She said straightening up. She placed her own mug down on the table, it dominated the space forcing Pip to snatch up the tablet at the last moment and hold it against himself.

She moved round the booth so she was more behind Pip now. A row of 4 fingers grasped the faux red leather of the booth, denting it completely from the effortless pressure. Where Pip sat in the centre of the bench, he barely creased the material. Another hand appeared on the other side, supported by the backrest as she used a perfectly manicured finger to tap the tablet that was still pressed to his chest.

“Let's have a look then.” A voice said from behind him, that peppermint blowing past him again.

He raised the tablet again, and selected food options. He had to grip the tablet tight as the finger swipe upwards so the options and their pictures scrolled past.

“Ooh, I know it's real plain, but if you're not planning on staying up, the cheese toasty is real good. I'll make sure to load it up too, I won't be cheap or nothin' with the cheese.”

She couldn't see that he wasn't looking at the menu, his eyes were shut closed as he suppressed the flight instinct that was screeching at him.

It was a hunter.

It was right. Behind. Him.

Why wasn't he running!?

…

Because he loved the way it felt.

He was alive! It was dangerous and stupid and it felt like nothing like the last few weeks and months of being invisible.

“Hun? You okay?” A concerned voice asked from over his shoulder, the hand that was pointing on the menu, briefly touched his shoulder.

“Cheese. Ah, yes, the cheese thing please. I'd like the cheese. I mean, I like cheese.. stop saying cheese...” he ended with a mumble, putting his hands over his eyes in embarrassment.

The giant waitress giggled in a friendly manner, before affirming that she'd be right back.

The night went on like this, the two of them bantering at times, Pip stumbling and stuttering in others. Eventually, Pip wasn't her only customer as she warned him that she had to go handle other duties so couldn't stand around any longer, but warmly said she genuinely hoped he'd be back.

When Pip shut and locked his door back home, he practically fell into his bed. It was late, or early, depending on how one would look at it. He was strung out; his body was exhausted from all the adrenaline it had pumped into him. When he closed his eyes, he could see streaks of light as his wired mind tried to climb back down into the calm of his home.

His clothes smelt of peppermint and he was almost certain he kept getting wafts of watermelon. His fur tingled in the memory of her proximity and actual touch at one point. He had actually touched a colossal being. Laying under the covers, his arms behind his head a goofy smile over his features, he tried to submit everything to memory, even what was under the uniform's blouse. He was a red-blooded male, it wasn't deliberate, but to pretend he didn't see it to himself was foolish.

His dreams that night wasn't well remembered, but familiar scents surrounded him and encapsulated him.

When the sun rose the next day, a weekend, he came to the conclusion he'd have to go see her again.

But how would he do it, without seeming desperate or creepy?

[absolutebl]

Hello, let me begin by saying that I love your posts and I love your opinions, analysis, and point of view, I think you have a rare mind and I'm glad you're covering BL as I think it's a very complex and dynamic genre in today's industry.

I work as a middle management business consultant, related to management of PR and marketing although not for film industry, but i've had experience in handling products as a brand manager so i imagine the case with GMMTV and other TV productions are smiliar if we can replace 'product' with 'artists' in this case.

I have some questions relating to the branding of First and Khaotung as a CP by GMMTV, for the life of mine I just could not understand the business reasoning behind it for several reasons:

1. They are both versatile actor with good experiences on their belt and so far has chemistry every other actor they played with. it might be a bit of a waste for GMM to lock them both in a pair.

2. At the time it seems Gawin and First was more popular than FK, it should be easier and less risky to market and sail this pair, this pair also have the advantage of being in a more well known series (Not Me).

3. Both First and Khaotung relationship dynamic seems to not fit any existing mould that current BL pairs have (e.g. there's no clearly defined S/U between them), this seems risky and might not be well received by typical BL fans (esp. Thai Fans).

4. GMM has been trying to replicate OffGun formula a lot, all of GMM other CP seems to follow OG formula to an extent, which is not the case at all with FK.

5. All of the series that both acted as a pair in (Eclipse, Moonlight Chicken, and OnlyFans), are series that i think contain mature themes and not generally something that caters to the taste of Thai BL fans.

This question has been bugging me for awhile. The funny thing is: I am personally a SomSom, an FK stan :D I love them both very much and I absolutely love them together, but the decision to pair them together just doesn't make sense to me, I don't understand what GMM is trying to do here with both of them.

Sorry it's a bit long and thankyou so much if you decided to answer this :)

Hi! Thank you!

(As usual I did this and then Tumblr ate it. I am so tired of this bullshit, why can't they fist the undo bug in the new editor? OR stop forcing us toe USE the damn thing.)

1. They are both versatile actor with good experiences on their belt and so far has chemistry every other actor they played with. it might be a bit of a waste for GMM to lock them both in a pair.

I don't think they will in the long run, I think they are just co-branding at the moment, probably because of all the sponsorship offers. And because they've been recast a few times as a pair since The Eclipse.

They seem to be having a good time with it.

I could be wrong. I picked K a while back as one of the GMMTV stable who was too versatile for them (and valuable to them because of that), and they'd never co-brand him in a big way (after the failure of Tonhon Chonlatee). Then The Eclipse happened.

But to be frank? From the actor career perspective? If they can co-brand into consistent leading roles... F & K are probubly gonna - it's better money than character work and solo or side couple gigs.

2. At the time it seems Gawin and First was more popular than FK, it should be easier and less risky to market and sail this pair, this pair also have the advantage of being in a more well known series (Not Me).

Gawin doesn't co-brand. Never has. Seems like he never will. He clearly doesn't like shipping culture or anything about it. (Doesn't like reality TV shows or variety or anything like that, either.) Which I get. Oh boy do I. I wouldn't be surprised if it's in his rider that he won't cater to performative ships. I've always suspected this is because he's half American. (And East Coast to boot.) He's... tough.... reads as a little grumpy and reserved. Won't soften his IRL image to cater to the public. It's a very individualistic attitude.

It's certainly clear he's turned down sponsorship gigs (as a co-brand), and if he took one in the future it'd have to have a dump truck of money attached. I was legitimately shocked he took on Be My Favorite.

So far as Not Me is concerned? Now it's too late, that ship has sailed. So to speak.

3. Both First and Khaotung relationship dynamic seems to not fit any existing mould that current BL pairs have (e.g. there's no clearly defined S/U between them), this seems risky and might not be well received by typical BL fans (esp. Thai Fans).

Yep, they are more like Nanon & Ohm. I'm actually pleased that GMMTV is letting them do this and not trying to force seme/uke on the brand.

It's a model set up somewhat by TayNew. I mean GMMTV tried to force that one, but as Tay said, "Just look at him, he's huge."

They always managed a very brotherly casual fun ship.

4. GMM has been trying to replicate OffGun formula a lot, all of GMM other CP seems to follow OG formula to an extent, which is not the case at all with FK.

Yes, because it's the most profitable formula. Especially in country. I would put EarthMix in as their clearest successors.

Parent houses always lack imagination.

Find a money-making formula. Repeat it until the audience gets tired or supersaturated or both. It's how market capitalization works.

To change is to impact the bottom line and that is dangerous. Generally speaking, it takes small upstart companies to truly effect change in this regard.

OffGun is an interesting case because Off was so resistant to the brand at first. He's come around, but it took a while.

5. All of the series that both acted as a pair in (Eclipse, Moonlight Chicken, and OnlyFans), are series that i think contain mature themes and not generally something that caters to the taste of Thai BL fans.

Yes, it would be interesting to chart their sponsorship gigs. My guess is it's more global brands or those with an eye to the global market that use them.

I'm thinking it's a lot more like KARD in Kpop (performing better outside of country than in-country). Or the way Ukiss was for Japan. (An expansion intended group tailored to that market).

A country with an active and intentional soft power usually has subdivisions of effectiveness in the ranks of that power's product (in Korea's case Kpop, in Thailand's case BL). Stars that do better overseas - individuals, couples, groups. Ones that do better in specific countries.

A clever product manufacturer looking to contract with one of these branding elements, tracts this (popularity figures and market reach) and picks their representatives accordingly, and in accordance with their expansion interests.

[spotsupstuff]

What was your favorite Slugcat to play and your favorite Iterator to draw?

(i haven't played Saint yet) i suppooooooose it might be actually a tie between Spearmaster, Rivulet and Artificer? the movement of the latter two was a lot of fun, but i'm too attached to Spearmaster that i don't wanna leave it out. constant supply of spears took one of my main worries away for the whole game

and favorite Iterator to draw?? oh boy, i don't think i can choose... i do draw my own designs which i did my best to cater specifically to my enjoyment from drawing. it'd be easier to say what i like drawing the most out of their singular designs, so i'll do that (AND i get to ramble about that i love doin that)

originally i talked about like. all iterators i've ever really drawn but then i fucked up n what i had written was deleted so i guess we are doin only few. the main five i think of when trying to figure out which i like drawing the best:

• Pebbles: everything about his head is a joy to me. the shape of it, his marks, antennas.. the shape of his feet is a lot of fun and something about the combination of the Gen 3 skeletal body type and hanfu just... fits for him. along with his angry expression. it's like... a certain regal beauty but there's sharp teeth hiding within it. i like to try my best to imbue certain feelings into my designs and then how i draw them (especially on my own time- when i draw for asks i feel like... this important essence, the characterization, gets muddled at least a tad). with Pebbles i'm going for something like "small flame, burning bright- a fighter, yet so soft and fragile, sharp and divinely glorious, determined yet still so damn scared. i want to hold your hands, understand what the time has done to them and say that i'm very sorry. you shouldn't have had to become so rageful. they made you to be alive and didn't let you live." • Nish: of course *he's* here. from the scarf to the general loosenes of his fit (even though he should be more of a Tube, i'm not doin the kimono inspiration justice n i am sorry) is a lot of fun. the looser the clothes are, the more i enjoy drawing them!! i really like drawing his mark and i'm very proud of my design for his headphone audial things this time around. unlike last time, they are meant to be bigger than others' and they are red instead of dark green. the three holes in them? Especially proud of those. he's specifically high up there with my favorite iterators to draw because of his attitude, though • Boreas: he's so stupid big it makes me giggle. drawing him next to Gen 3s is so??? sir please come down we need to have a chat- hello? do u hear me???- okay but seriously, i'm very happy that i've settled on a chlamys for him. the sort of like. collar that i've decided the cloth will make for him compliments his personality well and i like drawing my collars a ton. it's not visible here because it isn't colored, but his antennas go from dark dark blue to vibrant red thru a gradient and i LOVE it so much. combined with the aggressive shape of them? mwah. also the leaf-like things on his audials are so simple to draw and add so much to his vibes that i always look forward to drawin them. revisiting his design and giving him the warranted love made him so so strong and dear to me... p sure he's currently my favorite from my ocs • Notos: a perfect example of why "less is more" is a saying. i like drawing it specifically cuz it's literally just. a bitch playing on a ghost with a bedsheet except when u look under that hood there are some Feckin yaoguai teeth waiting there. Those are a bitch to draw but i did this specifically to learn to draw teeth like that better. also. special shout out to the interaction of Iterator antennas and a bedsheet over the head. shkika keeps bein weak for those "cat ears" in our dms, it's funny to see Notos out of all my kids get those kind of reactions jglkdscmlksdmlk

• Fish: FISH IS FISH. he has big dumb round glasses what more could i possibly need to enjoy drawing a man. but also those antennas... they make him a lot of fun to draw n i look forward to drawin them each time. my thanks to @/w1ngw0ng and @/medi-bee for bettering them just by being themselves

special shout outs go to Zephyr for being challenging to represent properly (physically relatively weak, fragile, yet burning blindingly bright, sharp, determined and brave- just being a leader of a revolution even though her physical form doesn't really fit it), FAM (@/medi-bee) for bein an absolute freak (i love him. i love Nips even more)

and NRD (@/splynter) for being different yet familiar and for being colored like a dead body. Very Cool Of Them 👍

[mrschwartz]

hello can you spare a few minutes of your day to see me spiral about dune?

when dune part 1 came out in 2021 i didn't give it any fucking attention, i thought it was another overhyped blockbuster designed to fail (i didn't know it was directed by villeneuve, who i love) and i was sooo sick and tired of seeing timothée chalamet's face and hearing about him

well.

now part 2 came out and it instantly had 93% on rotten tomatoes and 4.5 on letterboxd and people called it a revolutionary cinematic achievement and i was like 😶 damn. maybe i was. cómo se dice. Wrong

so i watched part 1 in my home and i was Blown away by it. i didn't think it was possible for a movie to have cinematography and visual effects THIS good. the story was a little hard to follow but i took my time with it and allowed myself to go back whenever i pleased and wrote out the names and locations and motivations and it helped so much!!!! i fucking love it to bits, and i became so excited to watch part 2 (on a theater!!!!!!! i love going to the theater and i Knew part 2 would be a Theater Movie)

so. i watched part 2. and. i don't even know how to properly convey this but i feel like i had a religious experience in that movie theater. i genuinely feel like cinema was invented especifically so that one day this film could be made. like the entire 120 years of cinema we've had have all culminated in this

by far the BEST movie theater experience i've ever had and i'm soooooooooo invested in this story and the acting and (again) the cinematography and visual effects. what WAS that. i've never seen anything like it. like i'm aware it was a book before and a fucking revolutionary and influential one at that but to be Truly honest i had never even heard about it? like Now i know it inspired everything sci-fi related that came after it the same way lord of the rings inspired everything fantasy related that came after it. but genuinely i had never heard of it and i feel like that's such a shame

but at the same time i'm not sad about it at all bc i'm so glad i got to experience this film with fresh eyes and a fresh perspective and just allow myself to be blown away by it

i don't even have to say anything about the cinematography and the visual effects. we all know they're game changing and will be talked about for years to come bc For Sure they've now become a reference for what blockbusters should aim for at a Minimum

the soundtrack and the sound design. they sounded earth shattering in a cinemark xd movie theater so i cannot imagine what it must be like in imax (and i'm fucking Going to see it imax in the next couple of weeks if it kills me). they fit the movie perfectly and were detrimental for the immersion and the world building

the production and costume designs hello?????????????? they're so unique and so well done and so gorgeous and say so much about the story and the characters and help build the world and immerse the audience so much. everything is so thought out and lived in and just plain beautiful. damn

the screenplay. i'm such a sucker for political sci-fi stories but they're Very hard to pull off and most importantly they're very hard to convince me enough to suspend my disbelief. but this one. THIS ONE. the cautionary tale of a supposed messiah forced into this role that ends up usurping his power to lead the very people who believed in him into war and loss is so. SO poignant and so up my alley i can't believe i haven't seen More stories like it?? but truly how Can there be stories like it if this is one is so complex and so thought out and so satisfying to see unfold??? this feels like it was catered specifically to me, to what I like to see in storytelling and to How i like to see it being done

the acting. we got our zendayas and javier bardems and rebecca fergusons and austin butlers who all fill their roles beautifully and do a fucking A+ job at what they were Supposed to do. like i believed in them every step of the way, they truly were their characters and the movie only worked in huge part thanks to them

but

timothée chalamet. MAN. like i said i was never a huge fan of him and absolutely could not see the hype about him and was so tired of seeing his face everywhere. i truly thought before watching these films that he was cast as the protagonist just bc he's the perfect tolken conventionally cute/handsome young white boy but FUCK ME. fuck me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i'm now mesmerized by him. it was so so so important how he started out part 1 looking like this scrawny little boy who didn't know shit about the world. bc that gave him so much room to grow!!!!!!! his pain when having the dreams/visions and his conflict about being the duke's son and later on the supposed messiah, his want to feel a part of Something (and that something becoming the fremen), but later on evolving into this hunger for power and blood. god in the second half of the movie???? he's SO reverential and commanding and grandiose. the fucking way he holds a room in the palm of his hand is astounding, i genuinely didn't think he was capable of that. the way he carries his body and his voice!! the cadance he chose for his moments of imposing his messianic form onto the people is so on point. the scenes where he makes everyone kneel and bow for him made me cry out of sheer grandness of what i was witnessing. passionate cinema representing the journey of this pained boy who evolved into a godlike, tyranic status..............

i wanna live in this world a little longer. all i wanna do is rewatch it and read about it and watch about it and talk about it.

denis villeneuve. the man that you are