#i just cannot imagine those things ever actually happening does that make sense

[sonknuxadow]

this is probably an unpopular opinion with the amount of "everyone is married with kids" type future aus people make for sonic characters but i cannot see sonic getting married or having a kid ever. if he did somehow end up with a kid hed be the worlds first transmasc absent father or however the joke goes

[cryptotheism]

I am fascinated by what makes something pornography. I think it can be defined by a core of fantasy. There is a gravity to it. As if everything in the story exists only so this particular scenario can happen.

Pornography breaks down when you extend it's borders. The eroticism of the Big Office Fuck N Suck starts to fade when you imagine everyone calmly going back to work. The pizza boy will get fired if he doesn't get back to work, and the nice young woman did in fact order that pizza because she is hungry.

Or maybe every stop on that pizza boys route is another Horny Milf or Hot Dad. Maybe nobody ever has money for pizza, and being a pizza guy requires significant athleticism. But if life in the Porn Universe is just an endless series of contrived happenstances, who grows all the food? Someone has to actually make the damn pizzas. Someone has to grow the flour for the dough, and drive the trains, and work the mills. Perhaps at its most extreme, the causality of the Porn Universe simply cannot proceed until someone busts a nut.

But in reality, people have wild encounters. There are office trysts and one-in-a-million flings with beautiful strangers. I am sure that every hour of every day, someone stumbles their way into a sexual mishap that would be panned as unrealistic if it were written for smut.

But then where's the line? When does a narrative become pornographic?

I think it has less to do with sex than it does with narrative contrivance. I think many video games are pornographic in this sense. When Raiden slices a missile in half with a glowing katana, the contrivance of the Rule-of-cool swallows itself, attains a narrative gravity that the tone cannot ever hope to escape.

I think the realm of pornography begins once questions of why become secondary. Why did he cut that missile in half? Because it's badass. Why did he get his dick out? Because it's hot. But more importantly, those things happen because the laws of the narrative demand it. It could not happen any other way. Raiden must cut the missile in half. She has to get her tits out. Otherwise, the story can't happen. But it does happen, and it fucks.

I think Pornography happens when the rules break down, when the ridiculous becomes not only necessary, but exalted.

[emmitaaa4]

Azriel, you beautiful, complex man.

Anyone else ever lay awake at night thinking that it’s not that Azriel wants a mate, any mate: it’s that he believes only a mate—only someone who was meant to love him—could love him ?

Do you ever think about the fact that Azriel’s visceral response to Elain looking up at him with trust & hope, was to believe that there was no possible way she could ever look at him that way if she knew the things he’d done and been forced to do? If she knew that his scarred hands mirrored his marred soul? Yet we know Elain has never balked from him and has only ever seen beauty in his scars; in who he is.

Do you ever think about the way Azriel feels this need to prove himself useful—which is why he so clings to his titles and his job—for if he is needed, he cannot be abandoned?

Do you ever want to shout from the rooftops that Azriel is so much more than this « darkness » he cloaks himself in, and that he doesnt need someone to heal him & « handle his darkness ». Healing, for Az, does not mean fighting & ‘killing’ his demons, it means being at peace with himself & learning to live with them without needing to mask who he is. He needs to begin to believe that there is darkness and light in him to love.

Does your heart ever squeeze when you understand that allowing yourself to be loved, first means bearing yourself to another & willingly risking being hurt ? It requires an unparalleled level of emotional vulnerability from him. You ever realize that Az uses his shadows as an emotional crutch, that he so carefully masks his expressions, yet it takes but a look for Elain to read him? He, who finds his strength & perseverance in hope, found his match in her gentle, hopeful heart—and he physically has to keep himself apart from her, only allowing himself to act upon his feelings when she made the first move. Entitlement where?

Truly, how has the fandom decided that Azriel, who follows the sound of Elain’s laugh, who listened to her when no one else would & didnt let her be misunderstood, who trusted her with TT so she could protect herself & those she loves, who stayed up past 3am as she spoke of her passions, who made everyone wait for her to eat, who chooses to sun his wings next to her in peaceful, quiet company… is an entitled, flaky male that sees her as nothing but a sexual distraction?

Do people really not realize what it means for him to question the Cauldron, question the very core of his beliefs?

1) It is not his feelings he questions:

His mind is tortured by thoughts of Elain, so much so he can’t sleep;

They do not need words to communicate, indicating familiarity & understanding;

He IS showing more than “just lust”, it’s clear from their interactions since the first trilogy. There was something there before Nessian happened.

2) Not only does he believe himself unworthy of her, but that sentiment is reinforced by the fact that the Cauldron “broke the pattern”. I do not see the entitled man the fandom speaks of. What he is is a deeply traumatized man, who was abused as a boy by the people who were meant to love him & protect him.

The popular thought that Az would fold for a mate, regardless of who she (or he) is, is truthfully not attractive, not to mention that it implies he’d only risk love for a “guaranteed” happy ending.

=> “Az wants a mate therefore give him a mate” is counterproductive to his growth (tho to clarify, i am not saying he should not have a mate, just that there is a way the story should be told.)

We have seen him plan for snowball fights & tactical missions, yet never for his future: not with Elain—again, he never even actually allowed himself to consider pursuing her—but not in any other sense either:

Children? he tells Cass he doesnt know if he wants any—has he ever let himself imagine having a child? A house ? he has no place to himself. Remember that even after 500 years of existence, Az says he still does not know where he belongs?

Could you not imagine two people who make themselves what others need them to be, being brave enough to bare those hidden, repressed parts of themselves to the other. Can you not see the growth it would require from both of them should they give themselves a chance? To, on one hand, choose the other despite what is expected & the problems it would cause, and on the other, be vulnerable enough to receive that love & believe yourself worthy of it.

Love doesnt care for convenience. It could all go to hell but at least they’d know they had tried, and i do not see how that could ever make for a boring, 2 dimensional story.

[writingjourney]

Friday Nights at the Cinema Club | Vampire!Primo x gn!Reader

Summary: The handsome old gentleman who attends the late night showings is certainly the best part about your small town weekend job. But as the gentle attraction between you slowly begins to bloom, you realise that there’s more to him than meets the eye – and promptly find yourself chased into the woods by an unexpected monster.

Content: 14k words, vampire!primo, gn!reader, horror, violence, being hunted, harassment, men being assholes, smut (18+ MDNI, biting, blood kink/blood drinking, oral sex r!receiving, penetration, coming inside, unprotected sex)

This was originally intended to fill the “hunted” prompt for the @petrifyingpapas challenge. I am a little late but I hope you enjoy it anyway and give Primo his chance to shine! ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 2 | Secondo's story

“This life of earth, whatever my attire, Would pain me in its wonted fashion. Too old am I to play with passion; Too young, to be without desire.”

― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: Part 1

Now

He’s been following you for weeks.

Primo just can’t stop himself, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s overstepping. As he watches the hurried pace you set, carrying you home in the early hours of a cool spring morning, he smells your distress like an overly strong perfume. Jacket tightly wrapped around your tense shoulders, your steps quicken whenever you leave the safe light of a streetlamp. You’re always nervous walking home alone, even more so since the incident at work. 

This is the very thought that calms his conscience – his concern is rightful, necessary even. He has to protect you because you have no one else who will. Not that you cannot protect yourself, he knows you can, you hold your own quite nicely, but why take any unnecessary risks? Four eyes see more than two, especially if two of those have preternatural vision.

Suddenly you stop, glancing around with searching eyes. “Hello?”

Primo stops as well. It’s impossible that you heard him, he didn’t make any sounds that a human ear could process. Your eyes dart in a different direction and he’s on alert immediately. A few rapid beats of your heart pass. You seem to decide that you’re alright because you continue on your journey even if your legs move that extra bit quicker, walking as fast as possible without actually running.

No, Primo knows you don’t need him. You never ask him to walk you home and when he offers, you politely decline every single time. You don’t need him. You don’t need him how he needs you, and yet it feels good to imagine that you do. That anyone does. The thought he will not entertain, however, is that his motive is a selfish one. He’s been lonely for so long that he pours all that he has into this… whatever this is. And why should he not? In all the centuries that passed since he was cast upon this earth you’re the most wonderful thing he ever had the pleasure to behold and his time with you is so tragically limited, no matter what happens. 

“Fuck,” he hears you mutter then, effectively distracting him. Again, you stop very suddenly, glancing vaguely into the direction he’s hiding in but without any real focus. “Who the fuck is there?”

Primo doesn’t sense anyone else. Possibly, you just heard a strange noise which wouldn’t be the first time since the incident. You’ve been on edge ever since and understandably so. Of course you don’t know that there is no danger of the same thing ever repeating. Which doesn’t mean you’re safe from other perils. Primo dares to stalk closer, foolishly so, because he’s too close now and you must have spotted his movements in the dark because you start to run like your life depended on it.

To his utter terror, you don’t follow your usual route home but take the shortcut through the woods. With breakneck speed, you run along the mud path that meanders through thick pine trees and mossy hills. Primo has no issue keeping up with you of course but he worries about protruding roots and sharp stones you may not see with your human eyes. 

His fear is misdirected. He’s so distracted, watching your every step, that he doesn’t notice the odd smell at first, the second strong, comparatively slow heartbeat amongst all the quiet and rapid ones of the forest animals. But this is no rabbit, no deer, no boar. When he finally notices the presence of the strange entity, the spike of panic is clouding every other rational thought.

He is after you – and he’s fast.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Four weeks ago

The man has been attending the late night showings for weeks now, every Friday and Saturday. Every week, he shows up exactly fifteen minutes before the screening starts, even though there are practically no waiting times in the small club cinema you’re working at. His attire was what drew your attention to him that first night, even before you’d seen his face, and his choice of clothing seems deliberate. Most evenings, he wears simple black slacks over expensive-looking Italian leather brogues. Tonight, he combined them with a loose white shirt with frills and an open collar that peeks out of a burgundy tailcoat with black lapels and gold embroideries. It looks old-fashioned but not out of place in the similarly dated establishment.

As he approaches you behind the counter, you’re struck yet again, despite being familiar with his almost ethereal looks by now. He must be close to eighty but his deep wrinkles only add to his effortless beauty. His most notable feature, however, is the skull paint adorning his stern face with two uncanny, mismatched eyes – one iris in green and one impossibly white. With his face framed by long blond hair spilling over his shoulders, silky and curled at the ends, he looks like a man who knows exactly how to present himself. An air of easy sophistication surrounds him as he takes deliberate steps in your direction. You’re not surprised that he shows up on weekends when your boss screens his beloved classics. At least that’s what he calls any movie that came out before the year 2000.

“So, Dracula today, yes?” It’s not a question as much as a statement, dripping with distaste. “And the 1992 one at that.”

“Do you not enjoy vampires, sir?” you ask, taking the money for his ticket. Every single bill looks pristine, like it’s been freshly printed, and again, he won’t accept the change you hold out to him, waving off with a gentle smile. Buy yourself a drink on my behalf, tesoro, he’d said once, and you aren’t questioning him anymore, you just pocket the money since there is no one you could split it with.

He regards you with interest. “I enjoy them, sì, though I never found their portrayal in cinema quite believable.”

You chuckle. “Well, perhaps that is because they’re not real.”

“Perhaps, yes,” he says unfazed. “Or perhaps it is the clichés, no?”

“I really like the movie,” you admit. “Though I wish she would just get with the vampire. I certainly wouldn’t hesitate.”

He cocks a curious eyebrow. “Davvero?”

His thick Italian accent makes you blush on any given day, even more so when he speaks plain Italian. There is something about the timbre of his voice that changes, like gold melting in the heat of a forge, the syllables fused together with a flick of his tongue.

“Mhm,” is all you can answer.

“Will you watch it as well, little flower?” he asks and you smile at the nickname he chose for you weeks ago when he caught you arranging a bouquet in the foyer.

“Oh, no, I’m not allowed to leave the register unattended. Or… well, watch movies while I’m supposed to work.”

“I see.” He smiles again, the black lines over his lips shifting so that he looks almost gentle, the severity of the paint watered down by the kindness in his eyes. “That is a pity.”

Is he flirting with you? You can’t tell. Surely, he is just being nice, a polite older gentleman. Would you want him to be flirting with you, though? No, of course not. You couldn’t even flirt back. Your boss might fire you if he found out that you even so much as looked at him the wrong way.

“Can I offer you a snack or a drink, sir?” you ask, remembering your actual job.

“You know, I will take a whisky today,” he says. “If you have it.”

“Of course we do, sir, you can choose your seat and I will serve it in a second.”

The stranger heads off towards the screening room with its soft, polished leather armchairs and moody lighting, jazz tunes wafting from the speakers. You look after him, his long hair gently swaying with every step, and the door to the backroom springs open. It’s your boss, Max, a man in his mid-forties, so unremarkable with his shaggy black hair and his blatant misogyny that he could be any man you ever met. Only that he practically owns you by way of paying for your every bill while you finish your degree. Jobs in small towns are hard to come by, decent men even harder.

“Go serve our customer, come on,” he urges. “I heard him ask for something”

“The register…”

“I take it. Move your pretty ass over, perhaps wiggle a bit when you do, the old pervert is going to love it.” 

You make to leave without wiggling, heading towards the small serving station in the hallway. “Oh, hey,” Max calls after you. “I need you to clean up tonight. Cleaning lady called in sick. Feeling faint or whatever, broke down in the supermarket if you can believe it. They say she’s anemic, that’s their excuse for everything women have these days.”

“Okay,” you reply, hoping he chokes on his tongue one of these days. “Of course, Max. I’ll clean up. No problem.”

“Be a good little thing, don’t forget to check under the seats, always tons of junk down there after the evening showings.”

You nod and try not to run into the screening room and away from him. By now, all anger towards him has been numbed by the sheer amount of obnoxious remarks but you’re never sure if he’s above trying to actually touch you one day. So far, he’s all bark and no bite, but with men like him you never know. Being the only employee who works the night shifts doesn’t help but there is just not enough demand to bring in the others.

You find the stranger in one of the top rows, comfortably seated in what is your favourite spot as well. A smile creeps onto your face. “Here is your whiskey, sir.”

The man peers up at you in what looks like ingenuine surprise, his white eye showing a glimmer of sympathy. He must have heard you and Max but is clearly trying not to show it. You wonder how – you can’t even hear Max outside right now over the jazz music. 

“Grazie mille,” he says as he takes the glass from you.

“Of course, sir. Enjoy your movie.”

“Thank you, fiore.” He smiles, always such a kind smile. “You are a wonderful host.”

You can’t help but smile back, looking at him for just a little longer than is appropriate. But Max must have started the film because the lights dim suddenly until it’s fully dark and you hurry back outside right as the title music starts playing.

Your stranger is the only guest tonight.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now 

You run. You run so fast that your lungs are burning in the cold night air. There is no palpable explanation for why you feel so panicked. For most of your way home you’ve felt almost paranoid in your constant fear of being followed. You felt like someone was watching you right from the start but when you came close to the woods your instincts just told you to run. By now, your legs carry you almost automatically despite the fatigue in your limbs. There is a tiny voice in your head that tells you you’re in danger. Big danger.

Halfway through the forest, the track gets steeper. Less feet have trampled it flat as the usual walking path ends and you struggle to keep up your pace. Unsettling noises grow louder to your right – panting, hurried steps, moans and whimpers. Two seconds later you suddenly hear an echoing growl that puts any wolf to shame. Your head whips around but before you can make out anything in the pitch dark your foot gets caught on a root. The impact is suffocating. Your lungs empty out and you think you’re choking on nothing. Only after a long moment in which you struggle for breath do you feel the sharp pain in your arm where it hit a rock, warm blood seeping into your sleeve until its wet and sticky.

Meanwhile, the steps hurry closer and even in the full moon light it’s hard to tell where you are right now. But then you see the trees swaying at the edge of the path and all you know is that you need to keep going. Everything hurts but you manage to get to your feet. As the world sways around you, you leave the safety of the trail in favour of the cover of the trees, their canopy shielding you from the moonlight and hopefully any following eyes.

But of course the creature chasing you doesn’t rely on their vision to find you. Before you walk another mile you can hear rapid footsteps and panting breaths behind you. Too scared to look around and risk another fall, you just run and jump and run even faster. The woods grow thicker, harder to navigate. You try to fish for your phone but when you finally pull it out, it slips from your grasp. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you mutter but you keep running. You can’t stop. 

A familiar boulder appears somewhere in your peripheral vision and you wonder if you’re running in circles. You’re so lost. Even if the creature doesn’t get you, you’re doomed. But the thought is distant as a branch strikes you in the face like a whip. You run but more fallen branches block your path and as you try to jump, you get caught. 

A shriek tears from your throat, so loud and drawn-out that your voice gives out before it ends. The steps are so close now that you know you’re going to get caught any second now. Cowering, trying to get as small as possible, you slowly shift around, ready to beg for mercy. An enormous shadow sprints towards you and suddenly, a bright streak of moonlight falls through the trees. You cry out again as your eyes take in the sight: Spit-coated fangs, claws, thick rough fur on what you can only describe as a giant made of muscles and the horrors of the night. Its facial features look familiar, shaggy hair falling into its cruel eyes. Whatever it is has no merciful bone in its body, that much you can tell. This is your death, you realise. This is it. 

But before you feel the fangs sink into your skin or the claws tear you open, the monster loses balance. All you can see is a vague human-like figure pushing it aside into the shadows with a strength that is impossible to comprehend, two tall silhouettes wrestling for a moment before the huge hairy creature lets out a bone-chilling scream. The giant body slumps in on itself, lifeless, silent. You breathe in gasps, swallowing air that does nothing to calm you down. You fall over, sobbing silently in short-lived relief.

The monster is dead. But you’re not alone.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Three weeks ago

“So, are you a big movie fan?” the stranger had asked you today when you served him his whiskey. He always orders something now, almost like knowing you serve him permanently changed his ’no thank you’-attitude. Whenever you bring him his order he asks you questions and you end up chatting with him for longer than you should.

“Oh, I like them, yes, but the reason I work here, if that’s why you’re asking, is that it’s one of the few jobs I can do on weekends that pays extra for night shifts.”

“So do you have a day job as well?” he asks, taking his first sip. He’s wearing all black today, black leather gloves, a black shirt and black tailcoat. The only pop of colour is a red rose that he has tugged into a buttonhole of his open jacket.

“Finishing off my degree,” you explain. “I don’t think I’ll work here after that.”

His brow furrows in surprise. “No?”

You chuckle. “No, it doesn’t pay that well. It doesn’t pay well at all, actually.”

“I see.” He turns the tumbler in his hand, the amber liquid twirling inside. “I have to say I am glad. I do not think he treats you well.”

You glance towards the door but Max seems to be busy behind the counter still. “He’s… okay.”

The stranger huffs out a laugh. “No, è un stronzo.”

The smirk that tugs at your lips is hard to shake off, especially with the way he rolls the R in the word. “Yeah, he is. But I have to pay rent and get groceries, so...”

“I understand.” Another sip, slow, barely coating his lips. “Fiore, I do wonder… what is it that you truly burn for? What would you do if no restrictive invention like money mattered?”

You take a deep breath and then you start to tell him about your real interests, your passions. He listens with the avid attention of someone who genuinely cares, who doesn’t just ask out of mere politeness. It’s addicting, the way his intense eyes are glued to your lips, how his whole body is angled into your direction. You get so lost in his gaze, in your explanation, that you forget yourself for a moment.

“Eh!” Max suddenly calls out from the doorway and you jump at the sound of his voice. “Come over for a second, will you?”

You reluctantly leave the stranger in his armchair with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Enjoy your movie, sir.”

“I will,” he says. “Thank you, fiorellino.”

Max watches you with a scowl, roughly pulling you aside as soon as you’re within reach. “Do I pay you for chitchat?”

“No, Max, I’m sorry. I just…”

“You just what?” he snaps, clenching his jaw. “Flirting with the old men won’t get you higher tips, it only screams pathetic whore. You think he can still get it up?”

You stay silent, waiting for him to calm down enough to notice the impropriety of his words and actions. The urge to kick him is so hard to fight that you have to actively push your feet harder into the ground. Your fists ache with how hard you’re clenching them.

Eventually he simmers down, smoothing out his shirt as he clears his throat. “Anyway, you need to clean up again today. The cleaner still hasn’t shown up.”

“What happened?” you ask.

He shrugs but it’s an ingenuine, uncaring gesture. “Apparently she ran away or something. She’s been missing for a while.”

Missing? Wasn’t she anemic? Before you can ask any more questions he leaves you standing right there to start the movie. You head back to the register even though you know no other guests are going to be coming in tonight. For the whole duration of the movie, all you do is wait, scrolling on your phone from where you’re hiding it underneath the desk. No local news site is able to tell you anything about the missing cleaner other than the fact that she just left over night exactly a week ago and hasn’t been found ever since.

“Oh, did we miss the movie?”

You look up to see two men strolling into the lobby. They sway slightly, probably drunk, and smoke despite the big no-smoking sign at the entrance that’s impossible to miss. They look familiar in how unremarkable they appear, one is blond, the other one dark-haired, jeans and crumpled t-shirts betraying their status even though they move with the confident audacity only mediocre white men have.

“Yes, I’m sorry. The movie is almost over,” you say. “By the way, you’re not allowed to smoke in here, sir.”

“Are you off soon, then, sweetheart?” the blond one asks, taking another drag of his cigarette

“No, I have to clean up.”

“Ah, cleaning up… whatever, can’t be that dirty in there, huh?” He grins. “Unless… we make it dirty.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, a feisty one!” the dark-haired man says. “That’s how you treat your customers?”

“You haven’t bought anything.”

They whistle almost in unison, though their tunes are slightly off-key. This is not the first time this happens, it’s not even the first time these exact men show up here and try to harass you.

“Come on, maybe you can show us where you keep the liquor?” the blond man asks. “Have a drink with us?”

“I don’t think so, sir. If you don’t want to buy anything, I have to ask you to leave.” You try to stay polite, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Please.”

He chuckles, tries to round the counter to touch you but there is a sudden shift in atmosphere. It’s almost like all of the warmth is sucked from the room, like the charged air of a thunderstorm is crackling inside its walls. The men seem to feel it too because they suddenly stop in their movements, giving each other nervous glances.

“You were asked to leave, signori, no?”

You look up to find your stranger entering the lobby. The movie must have ended because the lights are on again and he looks so menacing that even you feel a chill running down your spine. His white eye glimmers dangerously, the other one shimmering almost red now but it could be a trick of lighting. They’re narrowed, the skull paint and severity of his features giving him the air of a predator. When the blond man takes another step into your direction, out of spite or stupidity you’re not quite sure, the stranger is on him in a second. You’re surprised by how agile he appears in his age, wondering briefly if he just looks older than he is or if you’re just prejudiced. But the man backs away immediately, joining his buddy by the door. A second later Max enters as well from the backroom, looking mildly irritated but unbothered by the weird atmosphere as he slams the door shut.

“Any issues here?” he asks, taking in the two loiterers. 

The men slowly backtrack, holding up their arms in pretend innocence. While the dark-haired one slips out the door, the blond man lingers. “No issue, no. Just had a question about your schedule.”

Max gives a dismissive wave of his hand and when the man is finally gone, he turns to you. “Were you rude to our customers?”

“They weren’t customers,” you say defensively, angry that he’d even assume something like that. “They were drunks.”

“Hmpf.” He gives the stranger another glance, still unimpressed, then grabs his bag from under the counter. “I’m off now. See you tomorrow. And hey, don’t forget to clean and lock up.”

“Yeah, see you,” you say, trying to swallow the lump of anger in your throat.

As soon as Max is gone, the stranger’s whole demeanour changes. His expression softens and he reaches out, his hand hovering right by your arm. 

“You are alright, little flower?” he asks.

You nod but it’s hard to fight off the tears. Situations like that make you feel helpless and you hate it. Being at the mercy of these men is frustrating, especially with a boss who just lets it slide instead of protecting his employees. You could have handled the situation, you tell yourself, you’ve had to handle so many similar ones before, but it just feels so incredibly good that someone cares.

“I think so,” you finally choke out. “I just… This is not uncommon and I’m so fed up.”

“I understand,” he says. “Did these men bother you before?”

“Yeah, but other people as well. Even Max treats me like a piece of meat just because I’m young.”

There is a hidden anger in his face, a barely noticeable clench of his jaw, his brow slightly pulled together. You’re not scared anymore, though. The menacing energy he exudes is directed at something else, not you, and you can’t bring yourself to wonder how he manages to command a room like that.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” he asks.

You nod and he reaches out, running a gloved hand up and down your arm in silent comfort. You take a step closer and he lifts his other hand as well, gently cradling your cheek. When a fat tear of anger falls from your eye he catches it, telling you it’s okay if you need to let it out. But you don’t cry, you don’t want to feel weak or fall into his arms like a sobbing child. Nevertheless, his comfort feels like a gentle hug, calming you so easily.

For a moment, he lets you breathe in the same air, a leather-clad thumb swiping over your cheekbone with a calming steadiness. You smile at him and he smiles back, so softly that not even the skull paint can hide the gentleness of his features.

“I have to clean up now,” you say. “Thank you for being here.”

He simply nods, slowly pulling away from you. Only when he’s gone and you smell a faint flowery scent do you notice that he’s tugged the rose from his jacket into your hair. You press it to your chest, right above your fluttering heart, and pray that he never stops coming back.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Their blood tastes like shit. 

Not literally but it’s by far the worst he’s had in a while, certainly worse than that of the cleaning lady he’s been feeding on last month. Admittedly, he did not consider that losing her would prompt your boss to just make you work longer. At the time she was just an easy victim on his way home, sweet young blood that was easy to obtain, the blue veins shining through her pale skin like they were begging to be used. But as he cleans his jaw with a handkerchief, Primo thinks that perhaps he can linger after the movies now. Any more time with you, however long, is of immeasurable value to him.

A groan. Primo looks down at the man, the blond stronzo who tried to touch you. He feels no sympathy, no reluctance. Full moon rolls around in three weeks and if they happen to die before then… well, bad luck for his partner. Though he can’t say he’s very tempted to drink from them again with all the junk in their blood – cheap alcohol, so much nicotine and other poisons. Perhaps he should just end it now, they’re at his mercy in any case. But no, they deserve to be punished for what they did and he knows bleeding out is not a very painful death.

Primo is not a cruel man, he likes to think. The nature of his being prompts him to act cruelly sometimes for self-preservation but unlike some of his fellows he finds no enjoyment in the kill. Not anymore, not after his initial lust for blood was quenched centuries ago. Nevertheless, he has to admit that his obsession with you is testing those limits in ways he’s never felt before. For you, he thinks, he could turn into a killer.

A gurgle. The second man is starting to wake up and Primo decides to leave. He placed the wounds in unobtrusive spots, never using both fangs to puncture their skin, too obvious. They’re going to think they’re hungover and move on but he’s going to find them again, slowly drain them until the next full moon is here and they’ll find their demise in a different way.

Primo is not a killer, no, but he chooses the killer’s victims.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

You’re frozen in your spot amongst the thicket, branches and rocks digging into your body, the throbbing pain in your arm slowly spreading out. The sight before you is absurd. A giant dead body, a monster, a… a werewolf? You can’t bring yourself to properly think the word and yet you know that’s what it is. Not that it matters anymore. The smell of death mixes in with the earthy scent of the woods and spreads out in the air around you. The second figure hovers above the body for as long as it takes you to gather your thoughts. Why, you cannot tell. Are they shocked by their actions? Making sure the creature is really dead? There seems to be a hesitation in their every movement as they slowly back away and move into your direction, their frame blurring with the surrounding darkness.

“Stand back,” you yell. “Don’t come closer!”

Your voice is high-pitched, unrecognisable in its trembling state, hoarse from screaming into the emptiness around you. Your fear has your senses heightened and every snap of a twig, every howl of the wind makes you flinch. The being before you now is smaller than the one before, human-shaped if your eyes don’t betray you. The canopy is so thick here, the trees surrounding you so close to one another that you struggle to see anything. And yet you can feel them moving.

“Stop,” you yell again. “Fucking stop!”

A sudden sliver of light catches their face and you can see two glowing eyes, the one that you know as a deep green shimmering red like it did in the lobby of the theatre the night the two men harassed you and the other one is still as white as bone. “It’s okay, fiore mio. You’re safe now,” he says and you immediately recognize the Italian accent, the nickname. “I’m here to help you.” 

You slump in on yourself, not quite relieved but still a little calmer.

It’s him. It’s your stranger.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Two weeks ago

“It’s nothing personal,” Max says. “But I’m losing money here.”

You nod like you understand. You do understand, just not why it has to be now of all times, so close to when you would have been done anyway. A few more months.

“Just not enough people coming in,” he continues. “And the old guy doesn’t pay that much no matter how often you flirt him up.”

Again, all you can do is nod. Your boss wants to cancel the night showings and lay you off. Supposedly, no other shifts are in need of any more people and he can’t keep you on. It’s a cheap excuse, you know it is.

“So, I’m off then,” he says. “You can manage on your own one last time, right?”

You nod at him once again, watching him whistling a merry tune and twirling his keys on a finger on his way out. The tears come only after you hear his car driving off. You have no idea how to find another weekend job for the next few months and the sheer surprise of his decision has your stomach in knots. If he’d at least given you some time to prepare…

“Buonasera, fiore. Can I… uhm…” You look up into the stranger’s eyes, trying to wipe at your tears but it’s too late, his expression has already changed into what you can only assume is pity. “Scusi, is this a bad time? Can I help you, perhaps?”

“I’m so sorry… I just… Ugh, Max wants to cancel the late night screenings,” you explain, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I guess this is our last night here.”

“Cancel?”

You sniffle, your voice scratchy when you speak next. “Well, as you may have noticed, you’re kind of our only guest.”

The stranger takes your hand, soft leather pulling you from the desk and towards one of the run-down couches in the waiting area. He’s so gentle when he beckons you to his side, never letting go of your hand.

“He wants to fire you, sì?” 

You nod, staring at your intertwined hands against the velvet upholstering of the couch. His thumb draws lazy circles into your skin, his hand so big it almost swallows yours. You want him to swallow you as well, his whole body wrapped around yours, engulfing you with his safety – but you’re not sure that you could ask him for a hug.

“I’m sorry, it’s really not your problem. I mean, you’ll lose your weekend activities but I’m sure you can just get Netflix or something.”

“Netflix?”

You look up with a smile. “Or… I don’t know, buy a DVD.”

The stranger smiles back, squeezing your hand just a little bit tighter. “Now, my little flower, do you really think I am just here for the movies?”

When your eyes meet it’s like you’re sucked into a vacuum. You don’t know whether to focus on his white iris or the burning need that’s visible in his green eye. The decision is taken from you when he leans in and captures your mouth in a kiss. You reciprocate without hesitation and yet he’s holding back, a suppressed moan bubbling in his throat, despite the tenderness of his lips. It’s not enough, not nearly enough. You press against him, opening your lips for him, and then the moan finally spills out as his tongue vibrates against yours. His free hand pushes into your hair and settles at the back of your head, angling your face in whichever way he wants to taste you. His lips feel surprisingly cold just like his cheek as you bring a hand up to touch him. The makeup smears under your fingers, at your jaw, mingling with your spit.

And yet it’s not enough, not until you’re half in his lap, until his hands roam your body with reverent desperation, searching, exploring. The kiss never loses momentum. He sucks in a breath and you push your tongue into his mouth, running it along his upper lip until you can feel his teeth. You frown into the kiss when you feel something pointy, pulling your tongue back, but there is no time to think before he sucks at your bottom lip. A sharp sting as he punctures your flesh with his teeth. He moans as the taste of your blood settles between your joined lips, sucking whatever he can into his mouth. You allow him to drink you in, offering yourself up in a way you haven’t done with anyone else before.

There is a moment in which you think, hope, that it never ends. But then he pulls away and you gasp for air. You stare at him, traces of red blood fuzing into the grey smears around his mouth. He’s a mess, equal to how you feel, but his eyes are focused, his gaze sharp.

“Do you want to see the movie?” you ask, hoping he’ll say no, hoping he’ll just take you away.

But he just chuckles, his hands slowly disappearing from your body until you slump into the soft cushions on the couch.

“Actually, I think I have to leave early tonight,” he says. “I will see you next week, fiore mio. Please, per favore, do not worry about your job, I will set things right.”

You want to ask what he means, if he’s going to talk to Max for you, but before you realise that he’s leaving, before you even finish blinking, he’s already gone. Furrowing your brow, you walk outside and enter a clear moonless night. Your flushed face soaks up the cool air and you look around, searching feverishly, but there is no sign of your stranger. You expect to see him along the sidewalk, perhaps he’s in one of the cars getting ready, but even after a few more minutes none of them roar to life. Nothing disrupts the soft silence of your sleeping small town and you shake your head in wonder as you make your way back inside, the metallic taste of your blood still lingering on your tongue.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Primo is livid, furious in a way that he hasn’t felt in close to a hundred years. You are not part of their deal and yet this feels like a violation of conduct. Making you cry should be a criminal offense and he wants him to pay for it, in what currency Primo is not sure yet. He knows he can’t let his anger win but when he smells the creature from two streets away, even in his human form, he’s ready to sink his teeth into his throat. And of course he finds him in a nearby bar, nursing a beer while he watches football videos on his phone without a care in the world.

“You won’t fire them,” Primo spits out.

Max looks up in pretend confusion. “Huh?”

“You heard me, stronzo.”

“Your little flower?” He pouts, mocking him, then huffs out a laugh. “It’s business, man.”

“The job is important,” Primo says calmly, trying not to get too riled up. “A few more months.”

“Cry me a river. Just do with them what you want, fuck them, suck them dry. Whatever gets your blood pumping, Count Dracula.” A sardonic smirk. “Oh oops, I forgot.”

Primo won’t be provoked, not from the likes of him. “You’ll give them time,” he says calmly. “Or I have to rethink this… agreement.”

Max sighs in annoyance. “Fine. A little longer. And don’t think I haven’t smelled you on those two assholes yet. I only get to feast once a month and I expect the vampire to have better taste, that’s why I agreed to this in the first place.”

“I do have taste,” Primo says. “And we both know that’s not the reason or why are you sitting here all alone, lupetto, eh?”

Max snarls but says nothing to this painful reminder. Primo doesn’t feel bad. Their agreement serves the sole purpose of attracting less attention and would not work if Max wasn’t an outcast. Their solitariness saves them and keeps their peace intact. For now.

Primo leaves with an aching heart, hoping the werewolf stays true to his word. He comes back to the cinema only to see that you got done in the meantime and left. It’s not like he actually planned to continue what you started earlier but he really wants to catch another glimpse of you, see how you’re feeling after what happened.

He finds you two streets away, hurrying home even faster than usual. You’re scared, he can tell immediately as he hears your rapid heartbeat, the blood rushing through your body like a raging river. Since the two men tried to corner you you’ve been especially on edge. He knows it’s because you expect them to try again and he wishes he could tell you that they won’t, that he’s watching over you, that he’s been slowly draining them ever since despite the awful taste of their blood. He can handle it, he can handle anything if it’s for you. 

Only for you. 

Primo relaxes after he sees you closing the door to your apartment and your heartbeat slows down. That’s when he leaves – always. He’s promised himself that he never lingers, that he doesn’t stalk or overstep, only makes sure you get home safely after your shifts. Tonight, it’s harder to leave. He can still taste you on his tongue and what a taste it is. Never before has he savoured blood quite so sweet, quite so rich in aroma, and the violent hunger inside of him tries to keep him by your house for more. 

But the kiss was a mistake to begin with and he’s not sure yet how to proceed because he never expected you to respond quite so enthusiastically to his advances. Of course he could immediately tell that you wanted him, the smell and taste of your excitement so overpowering that it cut off any reasonable thought while it happened. He hasn’t lost control of himself like that in over two hundred years and now he set things in motion that may cost him this precious connection that he has with you if he’s not careful.

For now, however, he allows himself this small pleasure and lets the happy, giddy feeling settle in his hollow chest. If he wasn’t aware that he was a few centuries old he would promptly assume that he’s a lovestruck teenager. And he could get used to it, he realises, because with you he’s quite ready to start this empty life all over again and fill it with everything that he’s been missing.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

“You’re a vampire,” you state, twigs and stones digging into your butt but you feel to weak to stand up.

The stranger approaches you slowly like you’re a wild animal he’s trying to tame, the roles reversed now in your agitation and his calmness. “I am, sì.”

The urge to back away, to run for your life, continues to simmer in your belly but you fight it because you know there is no escape now. You want to trust him but you feel like you’re in a fever dream. It has to be a hallucination, maybe you were drugged at work today, maybe you inhaled the fume of some rare mushroom when you fell.

Your eyes meet the dead creature again. “Is he-”

“Yes, Max is dead.”

“Max?” Your shrill voice betrays your shock. “My boss?”

“Yes.” He sounds oddly calm, not like he just killed a werewolf. “Please, allow me to take you home with me.”

“Home? Your home?”

“Yes, my little flower. I want to look at your scrapes and cuts. Allow me, please.”

You hesitate, even as you see the shape of his outstretched hand, the same black leather gloves now ripped and torn, revealing slivers of his pale skin.

“I understand you don’t… trust me,” he says. “But I promise, I will explain everything to you in as much detail as you want and then you can decide for yourself. I just want to make sure you are okay first.”

You swallow, your throat still painfully sore from screaming. “Are you going to… I don’t know, drink from me? Eat me?”

“I will not eat you. And I will not drink from you either,” he says. “All I want is to look after you.”

You suck in a deep breath, ready to collapse on the forest floor. He could lure you into a trap, he could have been plotting this for weeks now, and yet you still feel the butterflies in your belly stirring at the sound of his voice, your body aching to be with his, even now in its weak state. Reluctantly, you place your mud-smeared hand in his and when he lifts you up with ease, his arms wrap around you tightly. You have no strength to lift your arms but you let him hug you anyway, slumping against his frame.

And perhaps you’ve lost your mind. Perhaps you should use the opportunity to kick him, to fight, but instead you start to sob into his shoulder. The world you thought you knew comes crashing down around you and he holds you through it, whispering that it’s going to be alright.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

One week ago

You can’t stop thinking about him.

The week passes slowly but you do get a text message from Max telling you he’s extending your employment for as long as it takes you to find a new job. You have no idea how your stranger convinced him but you never wanted to get back to work so urgently before – to thank him, to ask if there is a chance that you could see him outside of this place. 

Any thought you can spare is spent thinking back to your kiss, extending it in your mind for hours and hours, exploring the fantasy alone in your bed at night with your hand between your legs. You ignore any of the worries that this intimate moment conjured up. So what if the stranger has a bit of a blood kink and conveniently sharp teeth? You certainly don’t mind doing it again. He can bite you wherever he wants, you realise, and you’d gladly let him suck on the wound.

He’s back Friday night and you can’t help but feel relieved that he’s not ghosting you after his sudden disappearance last week. Maybe it’s because of your intense crush on him but you swear he looks more beautiful tonight than ever before. His long blond hair is shiny and smooth as it falls into his face, the paint more pristine than usual. He’s wearing his usual black slacks but today he paired it with a deep red shirt under a black tailcoat with a red pattern of embroidered roses. His tall, slender frame leans against the counter as he regards you with a smile.

“So, what am I watching tonight?” he asks.

“Hitchcock,” you say. “The Birds. Max is a big fan.”

“Hm, I haven’t watched that one since it premiered,” he says and then he removes his gloves. You watch as he slides his now bare hand over the counter until it touches yours. 

“Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t born yet back then.”

“No, fiore.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand. His skin is cold and pale and wrinkly, the lines and bumps revealing a map of his life that you can’t wait to explore. His long fingers slide under yours, surprisingly sharp black nails raking over your palm until he holds you comfortably. They look almost manicured, his hand dwarfing yours as he closes it. “You’re such a young thing and yet our souls have found such a deep connection, no?”

You gaze into his mismatched eyes, a fondness in them that makes your heart beat faster. As if he can feel it, the corners of his painted mouth curl upwards into a smirk until you can see the crow’s feet under his eyes deepen despite the dark paint. 

“Yes,” you finally say. “Actually, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to–”

You’re interrupted by the door to the backroom opening. You jump, pulling your hand from his as you see Max casting you a curious glance. He’s been in a bad mood all evening so you’re not taking any risks tonight.

You cough. “Ugh, here’s your ticket, sir. Enjoy the movie.”

The stranger doesn’t seem offended by your reaction. Instead he smiles at you, accepting the ticket from your shaky hand. “Grazie, fiore. I will let you know if I enjoyed it.”

As he leaves for the screening room he doesn’t even look at Max. You remain frozen behind the counter, watching his elegant form with a rapidly beating heart. Mindlessly clenching the hand he just held in his, you desperately hope you get to ask your question later.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The werewolf won’t leave earlier tonight. As he lets the movie run in the background, only vaguely paying attention, Primo listens for any signs. It looks like he has to sit it out today, though, even as his patience slowly wears thin. One more week until full moon, so Max must be getting antsy, and Primo made sure to keep the prey alive despite his protests in the bar. Every time he feeds from them, he is tempted to bite into an artery instead of a vein, watch them bleed out, not even drinking their blood. But having Max go hungry will piss him off and since he is already aware of you, Primo can’t risk not providing him with any easier targets.

After the movie concludes, Primo lingers but he doesn’t spot you in the foyer. When Max finally heads out he sees no reason not to look for you and conveniently, the only place you could be at is especially private.

The backroom houses a tiny kitchenette and two desks for computers with displays that are already black. You’re standing in front of the open door of a supply closet to gather your cleaning materials when he approaches soundlessly.

“Don’t be scared,” he says from a safe distance. “It is just me, fiore.”

You spin around, your beautiful face lighting up at the sight of him. “Oh, hello.”

“I owe you the money for the ticket,” he says. “You never gave me a chance to pay.”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry… It’s not… I’m not embarrassed or anything, it’s just that Max…”

“Oh, it is quite alright, fiore mio, I know.”

A grateful smile. You don’t flinch when he steps in front of you, taking your hand in his to press a soft kiss to your palm. How lovely you are, Primo thinks, a pure, honest sort of beauty that he doesn’t deserve but wants with every fibre of his ancient being. He could show you a whole new world of pleasure and he knows it’s always the quiet ones who are so proficient in the art of sin. 

“I was hoping I would have some more time with you,” you say and he perks up.

“Were you?”

“The kiss…” A hint of red dusting your cheeks as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “I really enjoyed it.”

Primo can’t help but smile. “Me too, my little flower. Perhaps we should try it again?”

He can hear your heartbeat quickening at his words, can feel your skin heating up with the rush of your blood. Even now he is surprised by the evidence of your returned affections, struck by how perfect you are for him, your trust just another sign of hope that you can find it in you to love him back if he allows you to.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says and then he effortlessly pulls you into his arms. To his surprise, you kiss him first, standing on your tiptoes and melting into his body. Your mouth is insistent, soft and sweet and so eager for him. Primo’s hands explore the shape of your body, memorising your curves for eternity. Impatient now, he pulls you over to the kitchenette that consists of nothing but a mirror over a sink with a few cupboards housing a coffee machine and snacks. There is enough space for what he’s planning to do, though, and he grabs you tightly before he removes his tongue from your mouth.

He can’t see his own image in the old silvered mirror as he hoists you up but he can see the dips of his fingers in your ass as it hits the counter. You hold onto his shoulders as he kisses down your jaw and chin. He skips your neck, skips the temptation, and drags his mouth down your chest instead, ripping the button of your shirt open as he goes. No complaint leaves your lips, only soft gasps and tiny whimpers. Primo pauses to pull at his gloves and then at your pants and then at your underwear, impatient, urgent, until he can finally feel your hot skin burning against his fingertips. Goosebumps form where his cold hands touch you and you shiver against his palms.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please.”

He knows what you’re begging for and under different circumstances he might make you beg  until your voice gives out but with the smell of your arousal in his nose there is really no way he can hold back now. His hands on your hips pull you to the edge of the counter and he kneels between your thighs, placing two open-mouthed kisses that leave blotchy grey marks. Your eyes are half-lidded, hazy with lust as he gazes up at you and that’s enough to break his resolve. As he wraps his lips around your most sensitive spot, sucking gently, your head lolls back in pleasure. You’re so hot, so sensitive, reacting to even the softest of stimulations, and it’s addicting in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

You cling to the edge of the counter as his mouth works on you with violent passion, urging you higher and higher with his lips and his tongue, carefully avoiding his teeth. The taste of your arousal is so intoxicating that he can’t stop himself from moaning and he can feel a shudder tearing through your body. Primo increases his pace and you move your hips as well, following his rhythm and chasing your pleasure without shame.

You cum with a scream. Your hand digs into his hair, tugging, holding on with surprising force and it’s the most delicious pain he’s ever felt. He runs his fingers through your cum, licking them clean with a soft hum as he tastes you once again. But he needs more, he needs so much more–

“Do you want to come home with me?” you ask breathlessly as he gets up from his knees, the pain in his joints distracting him momentarily. “Spend the rest of the night?”

He looks at you in surprise but then a soft smile forms on his face. You’re so eager, so fearless. “You should be careful who you invite into your home,” he says. “You may find yourself hosting guests other’s would not deem welcome.”

You huff out a laugh. “What, like the devil?”

A chuckle and he presses a kiss to your forehead, longing to feel your warm skin on his cool lips again. “I wish I could, fiorellino, but I’m afraid my schedule is a little different from yours.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we have to do this another time,” he explains, despite the painful tightness in his pants. “Preferably, I want to invite you to dinner. I don’t like that we did this in here, it is not very… classy. Maybe next Saturday?”

“Oh, okay sure,” you say, a hint of confusion crossing your face. “Of course.”

He stands to his full height, his frame towering above yours and it takes him every ounce of self-control not to just take you right here. You’re pliant, needy for him in ways he’s only ever dreamed of, and while it tempts him to no end he suddenly becomes painfully aware of his responsibility. He needs to get your full consent before he gives in to a possible relationship with you. But right now is not the moment to tell you what he is.

“This… this is not you turning me down, right?” you ask with wide, hopeful eyes.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Oh no, tesorino, this is just the start of what I want to do with you and now that I got a taste, I don’t think I will ever get enough.”

You smile, the bliss of your high still evident on your face, and he rubs your thighs in small circles for a moment, the softness of your skin a gentle reminder of how fragile you are. Primo leans in to kiss you and fights a grin when you lick into his mouth to taste yourself. Maybe not so fragile, he thinks, maybe your hunger matches his after all.

“I will see you next Saturday, fiore mio,” he says. “I’ll be here to pick you up and we can dine at my home.”

You nod tiredly and he feels bad for leaving you like this after what just transpired. He can smell your cum on his fingers even as he waits for you to finish work and probably will for the next few days. But Primo needs to collect his thoughts. This is the start of something big, something messy, and now that he tampered with the forces there is no going back. The regret that comes with it is excruciating. He can invite you to dinner, treat you like you’re the stars in the night sky, make love to you until you both pass out in exhausted bliss – but it won’t change what he is. And what he is might scare you off. The thought pains him but he tries to cling to the small shimmering light of hope inside his heart that perhaps you can accept him.

Until he figures out the logistics of having you over for dinner without giving you the scare of a lifetime, he decides to keep away from you. The temptation is too strong now, his need, his hunger, a quickly expanding black-hole inside of him that might eat you alive if he’s not careful. 

His resolve is strong, he tells himself, and it remains strong all week. Well, that is until he sees you running into the woods a mere day before your date, chased by a starving werewolf.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

He lives in the old castle at the edge of town.

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise but as he carries you through candle-lit hallways and multiple small chambers, old is the last thing that comes to your mind. Everything looks well-kept, orderly, the old-fashioned style of his attire translating to the interior as well. You never stay in any room for too long, the castle so big that you have to climb several staircases until you reach another long hallway. Several men in black hooded robes that look like monk’s habits pass you on your way. They don’t turn into your direction as you pass, some of them carry books, some carry laundry.

“Who are these men?” you ask.

“They’re my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?”

“Mhm.”

You don’t ask any further questions but cling to your stranger’s neck even though there is no need to. You’re safe in his arms, his strength limitless, and he does not seem tired even as you finally enter a chamber that appears to be his bedroom. Big arched windows make up one whole wall of the room and a double glass door that seems to lead to a balcony. The only light source is the full moon outside, casting milky white rays through the old windows. A huge wooden bed with silky white sheets dominates the room from the centre, most of the old hardwood flooring covered by a burgundy rug with a floral pattern, two chests of drawers lining the opposite wall as well as a desk covered in what seems to be his correspondence.

“You’re safe here, my flower,” he says as he sets you down on the bed. “I promise.”

You sit, watch him as he kneels down beside you. His face is nothing but kind, so full of concern and affection, but you can’t help but feel out of place. Knowing what he is now, while it doesn’t change the core of your feelings, still circles in your mind and you have to fight your disbelief.

“You still hesitate?” he asks.

“Are you reading my mind?”

“No, fiore, I do no such thing.” He takes your hand, covering it with his broad ones. “I would not abuse your trust, even if I could. And we have trust, no?”

“I feel like I can trust you,” you admit, tears of overwhelm pricking your eyes. “But I don’t really know anything about you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Primo.”

You exhale and let the word roll off your tongue. “Primo.”

He smiles at the sound of it, a soft, recognising smile, as if he hasn’t been called by that name in a long time. “All I ask is that you let me look after you right now, sì? I will explain and we can talk in depth later, amore.”

“Amore?”

His brow softens, giving his smile a sad quality. “My affections for you have not changed. Though I do fear that yours might have.”

You shake your head at him but before you can say anything profound, two of the black hooded ghouls enter the room. Another one joins right after, rolling a big copper bathtub inside, and you don’t even question their magic when they lift their arms and the tub fills with water. One of the other ghouls lifts his hands as well and suddenly the water starts to steam. The third ghoul places a piece of soap and a washcloth on a nearby stool, then hangs a soft-looking cotton bathrobe over the edge before they all leave without uttering a single word.

Primo helps you out of your shirt and you gasp when you see the blood covering your forearm. The bleeding has stopped but the scrape is still burning, the pain a distant throb. When he sees it, his gaze hardens but he just leads you to stand without any commentary, helping you undress, radiating tension and concern.

“It is okay that I am here?” he asks when he sees you unbutton your pants.

You nod in reply. After everything that happened you can’t say that you feel very embarrassed being naked in front of him and you feel safer in his presence, safer when he helps you. 

The water is scalding and you have to take a moment to get used to it before you can fully let the heat ease the tension you hadn’t even noticed before. Primo pulls up a chair, sitting right by your head, and picks up the cloth. You watch his brow furrow in concentration when he cleans your cuts and scrapes and his eyes meet yours a few times throughout, gazing at you with barely hidden hope. You want to tell him that your feelings are the same, if not stronger, but you can’t find it in you to disturb the silence with anything other than the occasional hiss when he touches a painful spot. It feels too fresh still, too many uncertainties plaguing your mind.

Once you’re clean and the water has cooled significantly, Primo helps you out and immediately wraps the soft cotton robe around you. As you sit back down on the bed, he walks over to his desk and fetches a small brown leather bag. Inside, you find multiple small vials in different colours and an antiseptic that looks just like any modern ones. He uses a cotton pad to clean out your wound before he grabs one of the small bottles, holding it out for you to see.

“Let me apply this to your cut,” he says. “It’s a tonic, it will help you heal.”

You roll up your sleeve to grant him access. “So, are you a healer of some sort?”

“Well, I am more of a pharmacist.” He chuckles and lets a small amount of the white liquid drop onto your arm. “Not a doctor.”

“It feels good,” you admit, the cool tincture sticks to your wound, easing the pain.

Primo smiles and wraps a bandage around your arm, tight but not too tight, like he’s done it a hundred times before. You can’t help but stare at him, his eyes and his whole face so beautiful and mesmerising, barely hiding his emotions in the depths of his features. When he catches your gaze, he tugs his hair behind his ear like he’s flustered and you spot a small cut above his left brow.

“He got you as well,” you say, grabbing a new cotton pad and reaching out for his face.

“It’s nothing, it will be gone within the hour,” he replies but he still lets you clean the scratch with careful dabs. “I suppose that I am not as powerful as I need to be to truly protect you.”

“What do you mean? You seemed very powerful to me earlier.”

“I am not ugh… how do you say? In my best years.”

You furrow your brow. “I always thought vampires stayed young forever.”

“Well, you see, I was turned well into my old age. I am not as strong and agile as someone who is born with it or turned earlier in their life,” he explains. “Usually, vampires do not like old blood, they prefer the young and healthy. But mine was… very hungry and very cruel.”

You lean over and press a kiss to his shoulder. “Is it painful to talk about this?”

“No, fiore mio, this was many centuries ago.” He regards you with caution, letting his eyes roam your body for a moment. “Do you feel better?”

“I do.” You reach out for his hand again, fiddling with his long, spindly fingers. “So are we… I mean, do you want me to stay here?”

“Yes, I do.” 

“But we won’t…”

“No, I will not touch you intimately again before we speak,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “But perhaps you need some rest before we do. You can sleep in my bed, amore. The sheets are fresh.”

The exhaustion is too strong to fight for much longer, he’s right in that, and you crawl under the sheets, careful not to strain your arm. The silky material feels cool and soft against your skin but you keep the robe on for some warmth. Primo sits by your side, watching you with the fascination of a scientist observing the bacteria in his petri dish. You wonder when he last spent time with a human like this, if he was ever intimate with a human before, but that is a question for another time.

Instead you smile at him. “Do you want to join me? Or do vampires not rest?”

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“I would really like you to hold me,” you admit.

He visibly fights off a happy smile as he rounds the bed, shedding his clothes until he’s only in his pants and his white frilly shirt. Hesitating at the edge of the bed he pulls off the shirt as well and you can’t help but stare as he reveals his pale chest to you, speckled with light grey hair that runs all the way down to his waistband. He’s slender, bony around his ribs but with muscular shoulders and a soft belly, his slightly saggy skin the only real sign of his body’s physical age. You wonder how long he has now looked exactly like that. Centuries he’d said but that is a surreal thought you don’t quite grasp.

When he finally joins you in bed, you sink into his embrace, feeling his cool skin against your cheek as you rest your head on his chest. It’s odd, the quiet, the lack of a heartbeat, but with his fingers running along your spine, his nails scratching softly against your skin, you’re lulled to sleep in no time.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

You wake up in cold sweat – and alone. The bed is empty but you immediately spot Primo with a glance through the wide arched windows. He’s right outside the now open double doors you saw earlier, wearing a heavy, dark red robe, his blond hair softly swaying in the wind. You rise from the silken sheets and grab his wide shirt that lies as a puddle on the floor. The frills cover your hands when you slip it on and it’s long enough to cover you, his smell still clinging to the fabric and tickling your nose as you breathe in the fresh night air. 

The doors don’t lead to a balcony like you initially assumed but to a small garden, surrounded by the castle walls and illuminated by the full moon. You have no idea how long you slept but it seems to be the middle of the night. You don’t take the time to fully admire the garden, instead wrapping your arms around Primo and burying your face in his back.

“Oh fiore, did I wake you?” he asks, covering your hands with his.

“No,” you whisper. “I’m not tired anymore.”

“Come here.”

He wraps you up in his robe, pressing you tightly to his chest. You feel his lips ghosting over your forehead, then he presses them more firmly to your temple. His skin feels smooth and you turn your head enough to take in the surrounding area.

“What were you admiring?” you ask, your eyes caught on a plant that’s blooming despite the lack of daylight, long white blossoms opening themselves towards the night sky.

“Datura,” Primo explains. “They call it the devil’s trumpet. Highly poisonous. Many night-blooming plants are but of course they offer more to see to me than others.”

You smile. “The rose you gave me, was it from your garden as well?”

“Yes.”

He hugs you tighter and the pressure on your arm brings back enough pain to make you hiss in surprise. Primo tenses and you look up, only to find him staring at you with his brows drawn together. His anger isn’t directed at you and yet you feel a hint of anxiety. You know you won’t like the conversation you’re stearing towards.

“It’s my fault,” he says. “You’re hurt because of me.”

You raise a hand to his cheek. “No, no, it’s not. He attacked me.”

“But he attacked you because of my carelessness,” Primo says, leaning into your touch but avoiding your gaze. “I marked you. When we first kissed, I bit your lip and marked you.”

“Marked me for what?”

He swallows as his eyes finally meet yours. “We had an agreement.”

“An agreement? To… to kill people?”

“No, I don’t do the killing,” Primo says. “It is not my style. I am too old for carnage, amore. Or at least I thought I was.”

You furrow your brow, his explanation not helping you understand what he means. “So what is the whole deal with Max?”

“He was a werewolf,” Primo explains. “We ugh… we had this pact, I want to say. My victims, I don’t kill them, I just drink what I need and he… he gets the rest. He can smell me on them, so he knows who to target once he turns and loses most of his rational thinking. When I bit your lip, I must have marked you without my intent.”

You feel your blood rushing through your body now. “So what, he kills your victims?”

“He eats them, sì.”

“So the guys who…” You swallow hard, balling your hands to fists against his chest. “The guys who harassed me who never came back, the cleaner who disappeared… did you…”

“I never said I am innocent. But I did not kill them.” He takes your hand, softly uncurls your fingers before he looks at you with so much sadness that your heart shatters in your chest. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore now. I know it is a lifestyle you have to condemn but it is the only way I survive.”

You feel tears welling in your eyes, uncertain whether you can accept the man you love harming other people like this. Of course it keeps him alive but handing them over to be killed is not very different from actually killing them. There has to be a different way, a way without murder.

“If we… if we were together… could you just drink from me instead?” you ask. “No more innocent people?”

“Have you ever donated blood, fiore? They will not let you give it too often, half a litre every three months.” He pauses, smiling sadly as he squeezes your hand. “That is to say… you do not produce blood fast enough. I would either starve or kill you.”

“But you could drink from me? And perhaps a bit from someone else and no one has to die?”

He nods. “I can but you might not like it, you might regret agreeing to this.”

“Try me.”

Primo furrows his brow. “Try you?”

“Show me what it’s like. How does it work? You bite my neck and suck?”

He shakes his head. “I will puncture your vein and drink until the bleeding stops.”

“You won’t suck?”

“Not when it’s you. I will just drink what spills out,” he explains. “Sucking would make the wound very bad, it would hurt you more, even though it is faster and gives me more of you.”

“It’s… it’s okay if you want to suck,” you say. “I want you to do it to satisfy you.”

“No, not this time, but thank you, amore.” A deep sigh as he relents to your request. “Va bene, but if we try this we have to go inside.”

Primo calls one of the ghouls as you settle back in bed and tells him to get you some fruit and a sweet drink for later. You’re buzzing, partly with anxiety but partly with sheer excitement. You remember the intense pleasure you felt when he bit your lip and wonder if this is going to be a similar experience.

As soon as the ghoul is gone again, Primo settles in bed behind you, ridding you of your robe and pulling you between his legs as soon as you are naked. You hold onto his thighs, the fabric of his black slacks rough against your palms.

“I will stop if you tell me to,” he whispers against your ear. “We go easy, I will not drink too much, yes?”

“Yes.” 

You sink against his solid chest, unclenching your muscles. His fingers run along your neck, brushing any stray hairs aside and gently positioning your head how he wants it. A moment passes before you feel his lips trailing over the exposed skin, pressing soft kisses to the tendon at your neck that make you shiver.

“Relax,” he mumbles. “No sudden movements, amore.”

You try your best to follow. Primo positions his mouth so very carefully that you almost anticipate the bite. His fangs poke at your skin and he gently increases the pressure until you can feel them puncturing it. The pain is not unexpected but you’re still surprised by the impact, moaning softly. His hands grab at your thighs, a deep groan leaving his throat that vibrates against your skin. You can hardly feel the blood leaving you with how tightly his mouth is attached to the violated skin. At some point, you can feel his tongue swiping along the curve and his grip tightens, long fingers digging into your flesh.

The more he drinks, the more he’s stirring behind you and then he’s suddenly rutting against you in his chase for more friction. You can feel his hard cock against your lower back and you can’t help but grind back against him. Primo stops to moan, his hands roaming your form all the way over your hips and up to your chest. His cold fingers feel heavenly against your heated skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly. “Drinking from your… from your love can be a very intense, intimate feeling.”

You hum in agreement and his tongue laps at your neck again, leaving a wet trail all the way from your shoulder to your ear before he attaches his mouth to the wound. He doesn’t drink for long before his hips buck again. Subconsciously, you follow the movements, gripping his thighs so tightly that your fingertips dig into the firm muscles.

“Can you feel it, fiore? Can you feel how our bodies long to become one?”

You only whimper in reply, your head lolling back onto his shoulder as a sick sort of pleasure tears through you, a throbbing need settling in your core.

“I want you,” he says, his voice resonating deep inside of you. “I want you, my love. Will you let me have you?”

“Please,” you whine.

His mouth leaves you altogether. The bleedings has mostly stopped, his spit and your blood cooling against your skin in the still brisk air. Primo slips out from beneath you, urgently pushing the red robe off his shoulders and his pants from his legs before his weight pushes you into the mattress. He settles between your legs, his now bare cock digging into your thigh, and you moan when his bare skin touches yours. He feels warmer now, not hot but definitely more… alive. 

“You are the most wonderful thing I have ever seen,” he says and it’s beautifully grotesque, those pretty words leaving such a feral creature after he just drank from you, his face still showing the evidence of his attack. 

Your heart clenches with unspoken love for him.

You lift your hand to his jaw, dark red blood dripping from his open mouth and onto your chest. He’s breathing heavily with his fangs bared to you, staring at you in wonder as you cradle his cheek and run your thumb over his skin. His eyes close and there is something so heartbreakingly intimate about the way he’s melting into your touch. A predator, a being who spent centuries on this earth, who hurt and fought and killed for you softens at the mere touch of your fingertips. You’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him in this moment and you already know that you won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to be his.

Primo shifts sideways, moving one of his hands between your legs. He probes at your entrance, slowly stretching you open until he can slide two of his fingers into you, careful not to hurt you with his sharp nails. You can see how hard he’s trying to hold back, every muscle in his face clenching. But he holds your gaze, watching your lips part as he curls his fingers, fucking into you until you’re whimpering with every thrust.

“Primo,” you whine.

He nods like understands your need for more but he doesn’t stop yet. Running your hand over his jaw you collect all the blood and spit around his mouth that you can get and reach down to find his hard cock. He gasps at the contact, more blood spilling from his lips and pooling between your bodies. You pump a few times, spreading the wetness, and he unravels, hips bucking into your hand as he moans.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please don’t hold back.”

His pupils dilate and he removes his fingers from you, gathering more blood from your chest to spread on his cock. He aligns himself and slowly pushes in, watching as he his length disappears inside of you. The stretch is incredible. You keen when he bottoms out, one of your hands fisting his hair and then he finally kisses you. The metallic taste of your blood startles you at first but then you can’t help but want more of it, pushing your tongue into his mouth. Primo won’t indulge you for long before you can feel him losing his restraint, battling for dominance over your mouth. He sucks at your tongue as his hips start to move, slow thrusts at first but he quickly loses patience. 

His mouth slips from yours as he speeds up, leaving a mess of drool, face paint and cooling blood behind. He drives himself into you without holding back, just like you wanted, his gasps and moans filling your ears over the sound of his wet skin meeting yours. You tug at his hair, wrapping your legs tightly around him to get even closer, spreading the blood all over your bodies. Primo nibbles at your jaw, not breaking the skin but running his teeth along the edge before they settle at your neck again.

“I want more,” he growls against your skin. “I need more, amore mio, please. J-just a little bit.”

In reply, you angle your head to expose your neck to him. He immediately latches on, sucking the wound back open. He was right, it hurts more this time and perhaps it’s a figment of your imagination but you can feel your blood rushing out of you in a way that is dizzying, intoxicating. Everything feels more intense now, the deep thrusts, his sharp nails digging into your flesh, the throaty moans in your ear as he drinks.

You clench around him and the orgasm hits you without warning. You cry out in pleasure, raking your nails down his back as you ride out your high with a few rolls of your hips. Primo falters, his hips stuttering into yours as he approaches his own release. His mouth leaves your neck with a pop and he pants desperately. You’re overcome with emotion when you hear his needy sounds, when you feel him twitching inside of you, so close to letting go. The last few drops of your warm blood run down your clavicle as the wound slowly closes, stopping right at your heart.

“I love you,” you breathe. “I love you, Primo.”

He shudders, his cock jumping wildly inside of you before he freezes, spilling his seed with a deep, drawn-out groan. You hold him through his high, stroking his hair and back. He gives two more slow pumps, drawing out your pleasure until he collapses on top of you.

“I love you, fiore,” he mumbles, then he props himself up on his elbow, staring into your eyes. “I love you.”

A surprisingly gentle kiss. A hand caressing your wet cheeks. Primo rolls you onto your sides and you can feel your mingled cum, blood and sweat glueing your bodies together. It’s messy and sticky but you’re not ready to let him go either. His gaze falls to your bruised neck and he frowns, grazing the skin with his thumb until you groan in pain.

Primo shakes his head in displeasure. “I am sorry, amore. I made it worse.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I wanted it, my love, and I have no regrets.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You want all this, fiore? You want this old man?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, your lungs burning and your head still dizzy, but there is not a hint of doubt in your mind. “I want you and all that comes with it. I’m not scared, Primo.”

“No, you’re quite fearless,” he agrees with a smile. “We will have to take care of your wound, clean up this mess, sì? But maybe we can wait a few more minutes, I am quite exhausted.”

You hum in agreement and pull him closer. He doesn’t object as his head comes to rest on your chest this time. The blood loss seems to register now because your vision starts to swim, and so you close your eyes for a moment to let the wave of dizziness pass. Your thoughts are jumbled, so many questions, so many things to consider.

“Primo?” you ask after a moment.

He hums. “Yes, fiore mio?”

“Will you ever turn me?” 

A scoff, bitter and sharp, like it’s the absurdest thing he’s ever heard. “No, amore, I will do no such thing.”

“But if I wanted you to?”

“No.”

You open your eyes to find him looking up at you and lift a hand to smooth out the stern crease on his brow. “We’ll have to talk about this.”

“No,” he says again, then buries his face in your neck with a deep hum, wrapping his arms around you tightly. A moment passes. Then another one and he seems to mull the thought over in his head. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“We will talk about it but not soon. We have many years to come before this ever matters.”

You’re satisfied with that for now, giggle when he presses a plethora of bloody kisses all over your neck and chest, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. You know he’s trying to distract you and it works. Your feelings for him flutter to live inside of you like a colony of bats and you breathe a kiss to his soft blond hair. As he falls asleep, he slowly exhales with his lips against your windpipe. You close your eyes and savour the feeling of his body wrapped around yours, thinking that if you’re lucky, this is a moment you’re going to remember for all of eternity.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire primo – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Read now Part 2: Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!reader

Masterlist – My Ao3

[ddarker-dreams]

Hello! This is my first time asking but um what how you think the genshin yans would react if they kidnapped someone only to find out their darling actually liked them back up until they were kidnapped?

that's definitely a moment where darling might start to reflect on their taste ...

Childe 

“Oh... is that so? Well, if I could do it once, then I can do it again.” 

Half glass full approach. Childe somewhat tunes out that whole killjoy part about ‘not liking them anymore’ and really laser focuses in on the fact you used to. That’s the main takeaway here. It’s natural for relationships to have their ups and downs, this is no different. Some seasons are spent in valleys and others up on the mountain tops. If you were hoping for this admission to deter him, you’ll be sorely disappointed. He’s more fired up than ever to rekindle the affection you used to feel. 

Diluc 

“I see. You really...? Ah... I won’t ask for your forgiveness. I only ask that you’ll allow me to take care of you.” 

Don’t be fooled by his aloof response, he’s definitely disheartened over it. This would genuinely catch him off guard because out of all the forms of resistance he was expecting from you, this hits closest to home. Doubts are a poison he absolutely cannot allow to take root. Still, he is still human, and in vulnerable moments he can’t help but wonder if he could’ve gone about this better. The worst questions always start with what if. He does his best to purge this knowledge from his memory, for the worst ghosts that haunt his subconscious are those he can recognize. 

Kaeya

“I promise I won’t bite if you still want to get close to me.” 

Kaeya most definitely noticed, he just weighed out the pros and cons. He decided this was the path he wanted to take regardless. He can be confident in knowing where you are at all times and always has access to you. Your belligerence doesn’t come as a surprise, he didn’t imagine you’d be too thrilled about losing your autonomy. He tries to ‘ease you into it’ using the same charms that made you fall for him in the first place. And well... he did warn you what might happen if you kept pursuing him, not that you ever could’ve imagined what he meant by that. 

Zhongli

“Dearest, there’s no need to jump to conclusions. You’re free to go wherever you please. I’m merely suggesting that I accompany you during these turbulent times. That is all.” 

Zhongli’s ability to deescalate cannot be overstated. Semantics can be a fickle thing, he likes to consider your current situation as a change in housing rather than outright imprisonment. There are no chains on your ankles or locks fastened tight to the door. He feels an intimate relationship can still be maintained in this environment. Arguing with Zhongli is impossible, he’s engaged in so much verbal discourse throughout his thousands of years of life. You won’t make any progress toward convincing him he’s done something wrong. 

Albedo

“Formed attachments can’t be dismissed so easily.” 

Albedo figures that this is a temporary roadblock that he’ll work through with you soon enough. It makes perfect sense that you’re not used to this new, frightening situation; all the more reason for you to cling to what’s familiar (aka him). He thinks that the bond you’ll form due to the extremity of the situation will be stronger than if he courted you the ‘normal’ way. There’s also the added benefit that he needn’t concern himself over outside variables any longer, such as losing you to a romantic rival or the like. He’s unshaken in his decision and will make that obvious to you. 

Xiao

“... I know what you’re trying to do.” 

He doesn’t really, but it seems like the thing to say given the circumstances. He won’t speak any more on the subject yet it frequently occupies his thoughts. Introspection isn’t his forte, so though learning this bothers him, he doesn’t know why it does. Shouldn’t he just be content with how things are? While you do successfully rile him up for a bit, he’s learned not to dwell whenever possible. To do so would welcome unnecessary stress, hindering him in his work of dispatching restless spirits throughout Liyue. Xiao ends up distracting himself to take his mind off things. 

Scaramouche

“Did you think your measly attempts at manipulation would get you anywhere?” 

(It’s getting you somewhere). Internally, he’s panicking, not wanting his face to betray just how upset this revelation makes him. He’s a walking bag of contradictions. On one hand, he thinks he’s entitled to both your love and admiration. On the other, if his own creator saw fit to cast him aside, how much value can he actually possess? The fact you saw value in him despite his many glaring flaws (mostly owing to his cruel personality), and overlooked them... he’s not sure what to make of it. He doesn’t feel guilty so much as he feels disappointment, knowing that he’s missing out on something that could’ve been better. 

Kazuha

“Kidnapping... is a bit of a strong word, wouldn’t you say?” 

Kazuha doesn’t like the “k” word because he’s convinced himself that isn’t what he’s doing. You’re outside! Enjoying the great outdoors! There’s nature, there’s freedom, and he’s sharing the joy of traveling with you. He knows it’s a bit of an adjustment compared to your previous stationary life, but if it’s true you held romantic feelings for him, he thinks that should aid in your adjustment. He’s still the same Kazuha that stirred up passion inside your heart, he’ll reassure. You just get to spend even more time together. He’s actively choosing to look at it this way so that he doesn’t get too dejected about it. 

[nofomogirl]

What we know and don't know after Good Omens S2

Honestly, it's mostly what we don't know.

This was originally meant to be an intro to Before the Beginning (part 1.5.) - a post in my series of posts discussing what we learn from the opening scene of S2 - but I've decided to make it its own thing after all.

I just enjoy reminding myself and others what we know for sure and what is just a theory or a headcanon. So here I go.

#1 The Fall

I've already written about the Fall shortly after S2 aired: Implications of Metatron's offer

My points still stand, except now that I think about it I might have put too much stock in Metatron's words. I think they prove less than I was willing to believe back then, as it's not difficult to imagine they might have all been a bluff.

In short: we don't know what the Fall is and how it actually works.

All that we know is that it happened once, and in the process, part of the angels were transformed and became demons.

The rest is just a long list of questions.

#2 Crowley's Fall

We're not much wiser when it comes to the circumstances of one specific Anthony J. Crowley's Fall.

Let's look at the very few facts we have:

In S1 Crowley claims that "he didn't really fall, he just sauntered vaguely downwards", "he only ever asked questions [and] it was all it took to be a demon", and "he didn't mean to fall, he just hung around the wrong people".

Neil Gaiman suggested more than once that Crowley isn't the most reliable narrator when it comes to his own Fall, and while he's not as bad as Heaven believes, he's also not as good as he thinks.

In Job's minisode, when Aziraphale is on the brink of questioning God's sense of justice ("Yes. But..."), Crowley tells him that was how it started for him too.

We learned from Furfur that Crowley actively took part in the dubious battle on the plains of Heaven just before the Fall.

In the finale, Metatron isn't the slightest bit surprised Crowley didn't take his offer and comments he "always did want to go his own way. Always asking damn fool questions too."

What does it all tell us? Nothing specific, except that perhaps we were a bit too quick to take Crowley's word that he hasn't done anything that would warrant any kind of punishment.

Questioning God's way of doing things was just how it STARTED for him. Asking damn fool questions was something he did TOO.

In short - we have no idea what really happened.

#3 Memory erasure

It's one of those popular headcanons that have been around at least since S1 and got canonically confirmed in S2.

We now know it's something that exists.

And that's where our knowledge ends.

Everything we really saw in the show was Gabriel getting sentenced to having his memories of being Gabriel removed. Then he very quickly moved his whole self to the fly to save it and we don't actually get to see what the result would be if Heaven did it. Would he be the same returned-to-factory-settings goofball or would he be given some memories to fill the blank spaces?

Is it actually possible to plant false memories in someone's head or can you only delete them?

Are memories really erased or just made inaccessible? Gabriel could still force himself to access some of his old memories. Was it because that's how it works and everybody could do it theoretically or was it because the memory-erasing procedure wasn't performed properly in his case?

We know it can be done remotely, but what is the range?

How precise and selective can it be? Gabriel was meant to forget everything. Perhaps that's the only way and you cannot pick and choose what one remembers or not.

We do not know.

#4 Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship

In S2 we have learned that they knew each other before the Fall. But all we saw was one meeting that appeared to be the first one to boot, judging by the fact that Aziraphale introduced himself.

We don't really know if they met again after that, how well they got to know each other, and how close they became.

It's not impossible, that when Aziraphale insists he knew the angel Crowley was, he's not even right about that...

#5 Aziraphale's and Crowley's memories

Last but not least, whatever Aziraphale and Crowley knew initially and whatever events they were part of or witnessed, we have no way of knowing what memories they've kept AND if they're even aware one or both of them might be missing something.

There may be important things that only one of them remembers but since I doubt they've ever compared notes, he operates under the wrong assumption that the other is aware of it too.

Anything is possible, really.

I've seen many convincing theories regarding all of the above and plenty of delightful headcanons. I'm just listing it to keep in mind all the questions remain open.

[mariana-oconnor]

His Last Bow

Hey Tumblr,

I have 0 idea what happens in this story. Kind of hoping it's a bit like Curtain, the last Poirot story, because that's a bop. Well, it's very depressing, but I love the solution. Although I also really hope it isn't, because then Agatha Christie would have copied that and I really don't want that to be the case.

I also really want ACD to have done something insanely over the top and decisive to make it really clear that this time there would be no retconning. Like... idk, the world being invaded by aliens. Sherlock Holmes stealing the crown jewels and being executed for treason. Mycroft turning out to have been a double agent all along and destroying the entire British Empire.

I'm no longer feverish, although my lungs are still trying to propel themselves out of my body in a way that keeps leaving me a little asphyxiated, so that's fun. But no jellyfishifters this time I expect. Or sea turtles... Yeah, Idk either.

It was nine o'clock at night upon the second of August—the most terrible August in the history of the world.

Oh Watson, you sweet summer child. I bet I've seen worse Augusts. Even if Holmes does die in this one.

The sun had long set, but one blood-red gash like an open wound lay low in the distant west.

London... is now... a hellmouth?

Are we not in London? Is that the city from a distance. Where are we? Why is the sky split open? What is going on?

The two famous Germans stood beside the stone parapet of the garden walk...

The only two famous Germans. Ever. You know... those two.

Oh, so we're actually in the 'Sherlock is a spy' period. Weirdly I assumed that that was only going to be referenced. But no, we're actually going there.

So the red line is... the war front?

One of these was his present companion, Baron Von Herling, the chief secretary of the legation, whose huge 100-horse-power Benz car was blocking the country lane as it waited to waft its owner back to London.

Is the Baron compensating for something? Maybe.

But we're not in London and we're not near the war front, so... what is that red slash in the sky. Is it London?

This is probably not the mystery I am meant to be trying to solve. I should pay more attention to the espionage and less to the environs.

“They are not very hard to deceive,” he remarked. “A more docile, simple folk could not be imagined.”

Someone has not been down the pub when the home team is playing. Hoo boy. Docile is not a word I would use...

"One's first impression is that they are entirely soft. Then one comes suddenly upon something very hard, and you know that you have reached the limit and must adapt yourself to the fact."

That is, indeed, what she said.

“Meaning British prejudice in all its queer manifestations."

Oh boy. I don't think you mean what I'd mean by those words, but yet you have still brought upon me a great sense of national shame and wincing.

"I was invited to a week-end gathering at the country house of a cabinet minister. The conversation was amazingly indiscreet.”

Given the general level of OpSec shown by government workers, bankers, and just... everyone within these stories, I cannot say that this surprises me. I'm disappointed, but not surprised. The majority of government people we have met have been entire and total imbeciles in the matter of privacy, data protection and general best practices regarding secrecy.

“No, no, don't call it a pose. A pose is an artificial thing. This is quite natural. I am a born sportsman. I enjoy it.”

Ugh, I hate this guy.

“And all the time this quiet country house of yours is the centre of half the mischief in England, and the sporting squire the most astute secret-service man in Europe. Genius, my dear Von Bork—genius!”

I will say, they're commenting on other people not being discreet, and here they are just laying out everything without even a hint of subtlety. Using people's names. confirming their identities, confirming their true purposes. Unless this, in itself, is a subterfuge... They're not at a party, at least, I suppose.

“You flatter me, Baron. But certainly I may claim my four years in this country have not been unproductive. I've never shown you my little store. Would you mind stepping in for a moment?”

This all feels very Cask of Amontillado, don't you think?

Is Van Bork Sherlock?

He then closed the door behind the bulky form which followed him and carefully adjusted the heavy curtain over the latticed window. Only when all these precautions had been taken and tested did he turn his sunburned aquiline face to his guest.

Oh. My. God. Did someone just use basic security protocols to prevent someone from listening or looking in on them? Be still my beating heart. I might faint.

I am so confused about who is speaking right now. I need more dialogue tags. I have lost track. These two have merged into one very confused spy with multiple personalities. Or maybe just two heads. I don't know.

“Out of date and waste paper. The Admiralty in some way got the alarm and every code has been changed."

If that wasn't Sherlock or Mycroft, then I don't know who it was because every time the Admiralty has been in these stories they have been incompetent to the point of deliberate treason.

Will come without fail to-night and bring new sparking plugs. — —Altamont.

Is Altamont Holmes?

“You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep a full garage. In our code everything likely to come up is named after some spare part. If he talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump a cruiser, and so on. Sparking plugs are naval signals.”

I take back that gif from earlier. Don't tell people the code words. Good grief, man! You've just compromised all of those phrases. I get that you're providing exposition for the audience, but still. STILL.

"I assure you that our most pan-Germanic Junker is a sucking dove in his feelings towards England as compared with a real bitter Irish-American.”

Fair.

...at a touch from the Baron's chauffeur the great car shivered and chuckled.

Is the car alive? I don't like this description.

“Those are the lights of Harwich, I suppose,” said the secretary, pulling on his dust coat.

THANK YOU!

It's Harwich... No hellmouth, just Harwich. Mystery solved.

"The heavens, too, may not be quite so peaceful if all that the good Zeppelin promises us comes true."

Oh, you mean the bustle in the hedgerow? No... don't be alarmed about that. It's just a spring clean for the May Queen. Or if you're talking about the piper, he's just leading us to reason. It's really nothing to be worried about.

...beside it, seated at a table, was a dear old ruddy-faced woman in a country cap. She was bending over her knitting and stopping occasionally to stroke a large black cat upon a stool beside her. “That is Martha, the only servant I have left.” The secretary chuckled. “She might almost personify Britannia,” said he, “with her complete self-absorption and general air of comfortable somnolence."

Is Martha Holmes?

Honestly, that makes a lot of sense.

Or Holmes could be the kitty cat.

It was a new experience to him, the silence and darkness of his widespread house, for his family and household had been a large one. It was a relief to him, however, to think that they were all in safety and that, but for that one old woman who had lingered in the kitchen, he had the whole place to himself.

DANCE PARTY TIME

“You can give me the glad hand to-night, mister,” he cried. “I'm bringing home the bacon at last.”“The signals?”“Same as I said in my cable. Every last one of them, semaphore, lamp code, Marconi—a copy, mind you, not the original."

No. No. No.

This is not how you do a treasonous handover of government secrets. I don't care how empty you think the goddamned house is. You don't say the actual thing. YOU USE THE CODEWORDS. THIS IS WHY YOU HAVE CODES. YOU UTTER NUMPTIES!

Fuck you both. You're morons. What even is this? This isn't espionage. This is slapstick.

Good lord.

I... I despair.

I guess if you're this good at it, then it's no wonder that even the bloody Admiralty managed to get a clue.

Mycroft's probably been feeding you information for years, you muppets.

It's the incompetence that gets to me, it really is. If you're going to be moustache twirling evil German spies then at least have the self-respect and decency to be good at it.

This is pathetic.

The Irish-American had entered the study and stretched his long limbs from the armchair. He was a tall, gaunt man of sixty, with clear-cut features and a small goatee beard which gave him a general resemblance to the caricatures of Uncle Sam. A half-smoked, sodden cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, and as he sat down he struck a match and relit it.

Oh yeah, this is Holmes, isn't it?

You couldn't even pretend to be good at being a traitor?

“So it's not quite as simple as you thought. It was four years ago that I had it made, and what do you think I chose for the word and figures?”

O

h

m

y

g

o

d

Tell me you're not about to do what I think you're about to do.

Please.

Tell me you have one braincell in your tiny head. PLEASE. You cannot be this dumb. YOU CANNOT BE!

“Well, I chose August for the word, and 1914 for the figures, and here we are.”

And you're being dumb by trying to show off how smart you are. That's the worst kind.

“How could they have got on to Steiner?” he muttered. “That's the worst blow yet.”

You literally just told a man your safe combination. I don't know what to tell you, my dude. Maybe you're just bad at this.

Then he sat dazing for a moment in silent amazement at a small blue book which lay before him. Across the cover was printed in golden letters Practical Handbook of Bee Culture. Only for one instant did the master spy glare at this strangely irrelevant inscription. The next he was gripped at the back of his neck by a grasp of iron, and a chloroformed sponge was held in front of his writhing face.

“Another glass, Watson!” said Mr. Sherlock Holmes as he extended the bottle of Imperial Tokay. The thickset chauffeur, who had seated himself by the table, pushed forward his glass with some eagerness.

Didn't call the chauffeur being Watson. Discounted him as Holmes for being too thickset. I guess since it's indicated Watson might have written this one I should have thought about Watson as well. Genuinely didn't think he'd be in this one, though.

"There is no one in the house except old Martha, who has played her part to admiration."

So Martha was working for Holmes this whole time. I think she wins the prize for being the best spy in the story.

"I shall no doubt reappear at Claridge's to-morrow as I was before this American stunt—I beg your pardon, Watson, my well of English seems to be permanently defiled—before this American job came my way.”

Oh no! Holmes used the word 'stunt' how scandalously unEnglish of him!

"The fact is, Watson, that this gentleman upon the sofa was a bit too good for our people."

Guess the Admiralty is worse than even I gave them credit for.

The last remark was addressed to Von Bork himself, who after much gasping and blinking had lain quietly listening to Holmes's statement. He broke out now into a furious stream of German invective, his face convulsed with passion.

No... no... Holmes. You're not monologuing in front of the enemy prisoner. Don't do that. I believed in you.

"And yet I live and keep bees upon the South Downs.”

...don't tell him where you live...

I give up.

“And most of that information came through you,” he cried. “What is it worth? What have I done? It is my ruin forever!” “It is certainly a little untrustworthy,” said Holmes. “It will require some checking and you have little time to check it. Your admiral may find the new guns rather larger than he expects, and the cruisers perhaps a trifle faster.”

god fucking dammit

Why are you telling him about the misinformation? The misinformation is meant to misinform. That's why it's called misinformation. You're undoing half of the work you did.

I... guys... guys, I just can't.

“My dear sir, if you did anything so foolish you would probably enlarge the two limited titles of our village inns by giving us ‘The Dangling Prussian’ as a signpost. The Englishman is a patient creature, but at present his temper is a little inflamed, and it would be as well not to try him too far."

Did he just threaten Van Bork with hanging. By referencing a possible pub name? A+ threat, but yikes.

The two friends chatted in intimate converse for a few minutes, recalling once again the days of the past, while their prisoner vainly wriggled to undo the bonds that held him.

They just... they just left him alone.

And went and had a chat.

I don't even know why I thought they'd drive him away immediately. Why would they?

"I have a check for five hundred pounds which should be cashed early, for the drawer is quite capable of stopping it if he can.”

Such a weird line to end this on. OK then Holmes. Go cash your cheque.

And that was the last of the short stories... It didn't quite have the same poignancy as Curtain. But it certainly gave me a lot to talk about.

This has been a really fun year and I've loved writing these up - and spending far too long finding gifs and sometimes making my own memes when I couldn't find the precise thing I needed to say.

If you've read all of these, I have no idea why, but Hi! 2023 was certainly a year, wasn't it? Thanks to all of you. It's been really fun reading comments and learning things when people added to the notes to answer questions I'd asked.

I hear we're doing the novels next year. I have definitely actually read all of those. But I do get them all mixed up, and I will have forgotten a lot of them. I think I also signed up for another substack, but right now I can't even remember which one. That'll be a fun surprise.

Hope you all had a good, or at least not terrible, 2023. And I hope we all have a better 2024.

Happy (almost) New Year!

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

“Everything must be about zutara for them” you have no idea, HOW right you are!

Like, there were some posts I saw translated to my mother tongue with titles like “what would Katara/Zuko/Mai/Aang gain from zutara” (really, these last two will be sooooooo happy losing their loved ones, suuuuuure). You can imagine what kind of nonsense they are even without reading them. Just one example: according to them, Mai will gain “a boyfriend who really likes her” – Kei Lo from the comics. Setting aside that the comics are trash, even in them Mai explicitly said that she does not love Kei Lo, so I suppose it doesn’t really matter for her if he loves her or not. She doesn’t even need this “price” that zutarians are pushing down her throat.

After seeing these for the first time, I giggled internally about “where are posts about what Momo/Mechanist/June/the cook/Sparky-Sparky-Boom Man/avatar Kyoshi/Lu Ten/the herbalist/Bosco/Smellerbee gain from zutara” and forgot about it. And recently I came across the post on tumblr where one person seriously asked what will Hakoda gain from zutara, and the other person seriously replied with about ten points of garbage. There are also posts about Kya (two, actually – about Katara’s mother and Katara’s daughter), Suki, Sokka, Toph, Iroh, Azula, Koh, Ozai, the cabbage merchant, Appa and Momo and maybe someone else too. And no, they aren’t joking (well, aside from Koh and the cabbage merchant – I’ll be generous here), people suggest the characters for the posts, like and repost this plenty. And yes, this all is complete bullshit – to say the least, most of the things spoken of the characters can gain just fine without any zutara, and the rest they either have already or don’t care about or don’t want at all. And so, so many characters Katara is supposed to look after and care about… but her caring about Aang is horrible for her, don’t you ever forget it.

They are really doing this, spirits, they are. I only checked it for fun, I did not really want any of it!

Okay, I’m running to get some popcorn and throw up a little. Can’t be late for a “Sparky-Sparky-Boom Man gain” post.

God, I HATE those kinds of posts, not just from Zutarians, but even for some ships I like. Very few ships do genuinely, single-handedly, improve a narrative as a whole AND THAT'S OKAY!

A ship can just be "I think they look good together" or "Their interactions are fun, if they date they're gonna interact more, so I want them together." A ship can make sense narratively AND not be 100% necessary for said narrative to be good and coherent by itself.

And, obviously, as I have said many times, I do genuinely believe Zutara would have made the show worse if it had happened because:

1 - Zuko and Katara are clearly incompatible, so their romance would feel like a waste of time to me, even if it wasn't endgame.

2 - Legend Of Korra more than proved Bryke CANNOT write love triangles well. We really dodged a bullet when they decided "You know what, lets make Toph a badass blind girl instead of a buff dude and cut the love triangle with her, Katara and Aang completely", let's not put ourselves in front of the gun willingly, please.

[desertfangs]

Ohhh I love your “obscure” headcanons so much! Armand is definitely the pettiest, bitchiest drama queen who ever lived (and I love him for it) and while I don’t think he’s outright lying in the sense that… while there’s obviously some discrepancies re: what he says and what actually happened, he also believes his own version of reality and he uses it as a coping mechanism (unlike some other vamps in the series who are just good old fashioned liars lol). To him, those aren’t really lies, but what he’s told himself to believe in order to move forward and survive. Also! Daniel 100% tells him he loves him while he’s a mortal, IIRC it’s mentioned how they fight and make up a lot and always reconcile with kisses and blood exchanges, and Daniel says “I love you, give me more”, or something along those lines. TVA!Armand really tried it but we remember 😌

Oh thank you, LOL. Yes, he is petty AF. But I totally agree, I think you're spot on about Armand and how in that moment, that is his version of reality. He isn't lying in an intentional sense about the Daniel stuff. He's in such a terrible headspace, he feels abandoned and lost, he just tried to commit suicide, and his mental state is not good (understatement of the year). So when he says things like "no one alive ever said they loved me" or "we never got our springtime" or whatever, these are things that absolutely feel true to him. He's so absorbed in his own pain and sadness, he can't really recall the good.

I do think there's part of him that is lashing out and wants to hurt Daniel on some level, but yes, largely it's just... he's so hurt himself that he cannot think of their relationship as anything but a total failure. He's seeing it through the lens of 'He left me, he doesn't love me, it's all bad.' 😭 He may remember Daniel saying he loves him but in that moment, those words no longer feel true so he might as well not have said it at all, you know? (Okay, now I'm depressed.)

Of course, we know he did. Like you said, he does actually say it in QotD: "It would end with the embrace, the kiss, the blood stinging him, the shroud of dreams closing over him like a great net, hunger! I love you! Give me more!"

But also even if it wasn't directly stated, Devil's Minion is like 40 pages that covers 12 years of their life together! Twelve years! That's a hell of a long time. We get bits and pieces of their conversations, mere snippets and little anecdotes. There's a lot that isn't included.

I have no doubt Daniel told him he loved him, verbally and otherwise, literally hundreds of times. Probably thousands. I would bet cash money Daniel has several of those times recorded on home video, even. I can only imagine Daniel reading that line and going "You've got to be kidding me." (The most mild reaction he will have to anything in TVA, tbh.)

Anyhow, thank you for the message, anon!

[panigamermauser]

Cut stuff thought part 4

Halsin and Minthara. Ending stuff(getting on the soapbox there to scream). Plus various smaller quests, gods options for clerics and paladins etc.

I very appreciate them adding Halsin as companion at all, so I am very forgiving of him having less content than others. But knowing he was supposed to have Druid Circle quest in Act3 makes me sad it was cut. 

First, it would tie into his ingame wishes to bring more of nature/civilization balance to Baldur's Gate. Also, that was probably where you could develop his romance. 

I am _personally_ fine with him not being committed to long-term relationship despite his big romantic words. I have a deep fear of commitment myself, no matter how in love I am. You talk marriage - I run off. So I feel seen, and I get how he feels in his current version. But for very same reason I am keenly aware how frustrating it can be to be with someone like me. 

So if his quest is restored, I really hope his romance gets more fulfilling and just as developed as others.

Speaking of others... What happened to Minthara is a crime. I do not even have her, and will never have her (because I - as a player - like tieflings too much to ever side against them). And still I feel she was done dirty. Cannot imagine how people who have her and love her feel.

This is just like Karlach situation. It should have been restored in Patch 1 already. Especially since she was there from Early Access, not a late addition like Halsin and Karlach. She should have been as polished as other primary companions. No words just indignation.

Not to mention that from meta perspective it would be so interesting to see a romanciable character who is already pregnant with someone else's child. That is a unique story. And makes her actual literal MILF too 😏 And the salt from gamer bros... Can you even imagine?! 🤣🤣🤣

Justice for Minthara NOW!!!

Withers revealed as Jergal is a small thing. Like, EVERYONE who knows dnd gods knows who he is anyways. But it would be a nice thing for new people to learn/look into.

And naturally all of the cut post-game stuff should not only be restored, but also expanded. 

Post-campaign discussion is a very important part of dnd. DM should tell you how you affected the state of the world in great detail. You should discuss what happens to your characters with other players. In case of BG3 the game is our DM and companions are our co-players. 

That last talking post-game session is so very important for the campaign. Headcanons are good and all, but they are nothing compared to a good post-game discussion. 

It should have been it's own epilogue setpiece. At least prologue-sized in scope. One last walk around. You can just limit it to Wyrm Rock castle if necessary. Not just companions, but all of your allies gathered there too. Or some cool space shit for Illithid ending😁

Right now it feels like the group fell apart at the very end. And this is an unironic tragedy. Realistic? Sure(most groups fall apart long before campaign ends). But it does not have to be! 

They showed with Act 1 and Act 2 endings and some other stories (Astarion, Shadowheart, House of Hope, Bhaal stuff for Dark Urge) that they both KNOW how to give closure and CAN do it. So why not apply the same for actual game ending? 

Probably they just ran out of time.

One tiny bit of me hopes that they removed it because they plan to restore cut content, and it will be easier to make one proper ending that accounts for all those variables instead of making ending with current available choices and then tweak it for added stuff.

But realist in me says it's just a time issue, and not much more.

Onto smaller stuff that does not call for its own post, so I'll stick it there.

Hag Coven sounds very interesting. I get why it was cut - it has nothing to do with the main plot, so if they had to cut something, it makes sense to cut this subplot. Still, hags are awesome enemies, and if Larian decides to make DLC with extra adventures (I'll make a separate post about my DLC wishlist) - it will be a welcome addition.

Raven Queen plot line. Same as hags. Shame it was cut tho. I am very thirsty for He Who Was. But it explains why his quest felt so random and weird. Just your basic fetch quest. Which is generally not a thing in BG3. Now it makes sense. It was a beginning of its own subplot. Again, not a necessity, but would be nice to see it restored.

Idk what that Halfling Werewolf thing even refers too. But the concept is awesome, and I'd love to see it!

Shar, Myrkil, Bhaal and Bane as cleric/paladin gods.

On one hand it would add cool 'No, _I_ am the Chosen One moments in Shadowheart, Gortash, Ketheric and Orin (in case of Durge, literally!) convos.

In case of Shadowheart it could have been heartbreaking besties-to-deadly rivals over who gets to kill Nightsong too.

But... it would be applicable to only two classes. So if they had to cut something, it made sense to cut this. Most classes would never see those options anyways, so it's not that big of a loss. But it would be a very neat addition for Definitive Edition for sure.

They already have voice lines for Durge to claim the brain in dad's name. So they could easily reuse it. Just change name/pronoun.

[luffyrose]

A Field of Spider Lilies - TCF

So uh- Does anyone remember for like Nov last year where I mentioned a Twin AU for Trash of the Count's Family? Yeah, I was thinking about it again because it got buried in my notes and I recently uncovered it.

It took me FOREVER to think of a name for this AU but I wanted to give it one because I actually really do want to write this and would love to talk about it while I do so :D

Under the cut is gonna be just some info about the au as it stands and MAAAYYYBBBEEEEE a mini clip of what I had written/a plan I have for it.

First and foremost, bada dum! The title "Field of Spider Lilies" has been decided! It literally took me so many things to get to this lol- I was tempted to do "It Takes Two to Terrorize" as a play on "It Takes Two to Tango" but felt this was a bit better in general. I know many people will instantly think of red spider lilies, which is what I want!!! They are a dangerous and ill-thought flower, however, their meaning isn't always so dark.

Using this, since it is closest to my own interpretations of spider liles and their colors, I think each of them fits the twins. There is no specific color I will EVER assign to the lilies of the title, so you can imagine as you will with each part what coloring best fits the story at the time. If they're scamming they could be yellow. Injured? Red. Surrounded by those they love? White. Within a battle or something? Orange. It's all about the perception of the reader for the color, so you may all have fun with this :D

Also, Death would absolutely love if his children were represented by a flower that represented him so you know I'm going to fully use this to my advantage. No one will stop me and my bundle of flower meanings I've been holding onto since I learned they were a thing as a young child-

Kim Rok Soo has been named as well! He has now been dubbed our good boy Arlen! I always find the fact that Cale's name means dog as well as wholehearted fits both Og!Cale and KRS!Cale very well, so I wanted to find a name that also fit Twin!KRS as well. Then I found Arlen. Which means "hare land" (in a direct sense) but also if spelled with an "i" instead of an "e" it means "pledge/oath" which is also very fitting for our boy.

Also. Hare and the Hound. I couldn't not take the opportunity to have the twins be a reference to something. Let alone the fact that it's a story whose moral is essentially; "life is the most precious thing". I COULDN'T NOT DO IT ALRIGHT-

So their names are both a reference to a child's story that fits them as well as a name that fits our good boy KRS in general.

NOW ONTO SOME OF THE ACTUAL INFO ABOUT THE FIC TO BE!(I will be referring to KRS as Arlen, however, fear not, his middle name is Roksu, in reference to the more official translation, and he will be referred to by that as well since he's embarrassed that his name basically means bunny lol.)

ヾ( ○´ ･▿･ )ﾉﾞ

Arlen and Cale are telepathic. Not because of the typical 'time to have creepy telepathic twin time' because let's be real these two can and will learn how to communicate with nothing but staring at one another even if they weren't. They are telepathic though because the GoD felt a little bit bad about making them children again and wanted to give them a way to communicate early on. At least he only turned them into toddlers!

Jour, since her ancient power lets her see time, knows very well that something happened. She doesn't know what it is because even her power has its limits, but she knows she was only meant to have one child, but loves both her boys equally. The day they 'awaken' into their new bodies, she is also very aware that their time has yet again changed. She's worried, but still never tells anyone her plan.

Cale is an emotional mess but hides it. Arlen is an emotional mess but ignores it. Ron is about at his wit's end at this point between the two of them. And he's an assassin. He should have more patience than this-

They also cannot completely suppress their child-like instincts, which is both funny as if one cries the other probably will as well, but also horrible for when they're a bit older because oh y'know...trauma response from Arlen when he was Kim Rok Soo.

Cale is ever so slightly older and has decided despite their plan to stick close to the early plot up until Choi Han since nothing big happens before then(that they are aware of because Cale barely remembers half of what happened after his family died, he was kind of too numb to), that he is going to not let anyone hurt Arlen. Cause y'know. Telepathy. And Record. In a child's body.

I am very much not letting anyone forget Rok Soo grew up with that curse and if he ever had to be a younger child closer to the time he was around his uncle he probably wouldn't be able to help his instincts. Since even in canon he notes how trauma for a child is so scary for that very reason- Okay y'all get it I'll stop u-u

Anyway, Cale has seen some of the 'nightmares' his brother has and is wondering if after they ensure they can live peacefully even with the war that happens (Cale doesn't know they would have lost the war- he was too distracted and numb to truly care for much else than fighting those who wronged him!) if there is a way to get some petty revenge against those from another world.

In regards to Ancient Powers, I do have a plan, but if I share this, it t will be some major spoilers soooo maybe you'll have to wait for now >:3c

Finally, in this long tirade I've been on- I have a little snippet from when the first day they awoke!

I do have plans to do a bit of stuff pre-TCF plot with the twins since it will help build the dynamic I want as well as just give some fun interactions I believe we all deserve. Of course, there will be some serious, some fun, and some embarrassing childhood memories to be shown that Cale would will definitely get chased over if he told them.

Please feel free to ask/suggest/or just comment about this au!!!! I would love to talk about it more in general since I'm still fleshing out quite a bit of it :D

[gachagon]

Another thing 86 did that I really wish more of these anime that have racism allegories did is that it portrayed bigotry as a very realistic thing that has the potential to exist in everyone and not just "bad guys". Like when Shin and the other 86 make it to Giad, everything seems fine and dandy, until they actually start working in the military.

The Giad government aside from the actual president was trying desperately to label Shin and the others in a way they could understand, and when those labels just wouldn't stick, they turned to ostracizing them.

Like there were so many times in that second half of the show where they were constantly treated with kiddie gloves, pity, and like they weren't traumatized soldiers who just came back from a war. They have to deal with people they've never met assuming both the worst of their situation, and those who flippantly blow off the severity of it. The story that they're "Traumatized little boys and girls" is so pervasive in that society that they just keep getting sent actual toys for children, and I thought that part was kind of interesting because it shows that even though people will have this need to connect on a deeper level with those who are hurt, they will ignore key details about those people 100% of the time.

It reminded me of when Theo snapped at Lena because she "didn't even bother to ask [our] names!" when they lost more of their comrades. Back then, Lena wanted to empathize with them and cared about being perceived as a good person and not like the others, but she neglected to treat them as actual people in the process. In a sense, those people sending the gifts of toys and kids clothes to the army for the "poor, down trodden 86 kids" are doing the same thing. They don't know anything about Shin and the others, and they never really bothered to try to learn.

And the part that got ME the most fucked up was the rampant jealousy that was leveled at them because they were good at their job. I cannot IMAGINE coming from a war from a nation that treated me like shit, having to fight for a different country made up of people like me in the hopes that maybe i'll get treated better, only to have most of the people I work with resent me because I'm "too good" and "think i'm better than everyone" because I had "more experience."

And it does sicken me to think that those other soldiers were even remotely thinking these kids were looking down on them because of their experience on the battlefield. It's such a ridiculous idea, but it's also just so realistic because that kind of thing DOES happen to people in real life! It's infuriating to go through some tough shit and then have complete idiots think you're "cool" because of what happened to you, that people would treat your trauma as a shiny medal they wish they could pin on their own shirt to show off.

And I think 86 is the only anime I've watched that had this kind of racism allegory really show that side of bigotry. Shin and the others were treated like worse than scrap metal by everyone in the republic except for Lena, yet when they make it to Giad what do ppl think of them? They call them "The Republic's Monsters" as if they had any real say in being trained for war. Nobody but Lena will ever really "get it" and understand how much it sucked being alone out there with no support for years. I wish I could shake that dumb soldier (marcel) who blamed Eugene's death on Shin and tell him "Look dumbass, you don't want to be him! It sucks being him actually!! Nobody should have to go through that shit ever!!!" lol

[richonnesbitch]

Oh let me jump into these Negan conversations cause I’ve been screaming about it into the void ever since it happened lol. As much as I hate it and hate that it had to be with Negan, I understand the idea of let’s not kill him and keep him alive etc etc but

1- once you keep him alive you actually have to keep every other villain that come after also alive. You can’t then kill the next ones. Because then it’s not about being better, and rebuilding society and norms, and showing both yourself and the villain in question that there is another way etc etc

2- i love rick and michonne but the way they went about it is just wrong. As much as i obviously hate what it lead to with rick and the bridge and all of that i look at daryl and maggie like, yes, the way they went about it, also not ideal but the thing itself… were they wrong tho??? Imagine you go to war with the clear goal of killing this guy, everybody has the same goal and at literally the last second, dude just decides, yeah actually we’re not doing that anymore??! They had no reason to accept that. And given that Negan killed in all of those communities and not just Alexandria, I’m sorry but Rick had no right to decide that for all the communities like that. Like, i dont mean to be insensitive but Carl didnt write everybody else a letter. Just because he/they wanted to honor their son like that does not mean the rest also had to??

Imma stop here cause I have a lot to say about that one topic and the message is already way too long lol.

Rick is my man lol but that’s the one thing I can’t defend. Not the way he went about it. He was wrong and you cannot convince me otherwise lol (and the fact that all of this is for Negan of all characters does not help!)

I mean it does make sense in theory but after Negan I'm pretty sure they DO kill the villains? 🤣 So like what was even the point?

Honestly, I hate that Rick kept Negan alive. It was probably the most out of character thing they've ever had him do. Just Negan's existence literally sabotages the rest of the characters. It's horrible.

I don't know what else to say except Negan should have just bled out under that tree...

[showmethesneer]

I just need to analyze the Daisy and Billy kisses for a minute here cuz the brainrot is so real.

In the book, Daisy and Billy kiss one time. Singular. Daisy initiates, and he pulls away. In the show, they kiss three times and Billy basically initiates all three of them and I cannot stop thinking about them.

1. When Daisy storms out of the "More Fun To Miss" recording. In the book, this moment is the "Impossible Woman" song everyone assumed Billy had written about her. And, while Billy admits it was inspired by her drug abuse, he maintains he wrote it about his own drug addiction. But he did write it for her to sing and encouraged her to dig deep and not care how pretty she sounded to make sure the song came out like he intended. I am biased because this was my favourite part in the book.

On the show, this is the moment Daisy confronts him about their tension, demanding some confirmation that she isn't imagining it. and he uses this moment to kiss her so she will get back in the studio. He manipulates her confusion and her feelings to get her to record the song but never does her the courtesy of actually addressing the question she asked. Especially when he later admits that what he did was just a tactic. Whether or not it was, he saw it as a tactic at the time and told her so when she asked.

2. Camila has left him after confronting him about his feelings for Daisy-- which never happens in the book. Because it was not so much an issue of Billy cheating with Daisy in the book as it was him breaking his sobriety, and Daisy was an extension of that temptation. So on the show, Camila has left him and he has broken his sobriety. Daisy asks him backstage before the final show if he likes her makeup and his response is to gaze at her with a new sense of purpose and grab her and kiss her, because he can have her now. Because Camila left him and he has already had a drink. He is imagining slipping back into the rock star lifestyle with Daisy by his side. And this is my favourite kiss on the show. He's saying we don't have to dance around it now, you don't have to play coy in stolen moments, we can have each other now for real because this is what i want.

3. After the performance, before the Look At Us Now encore, the truth comes out. He and Daisy are kissing backstage and she stops to ask what this is because she realizes this can't be real life, that something is wrong. He explains that Camila left and then he takes a bump of coke and Daisy sees that she is just another aspect of Billy's downfall. they are not actually supposed to be together and she isn't what he wants so much as total self-destruction is. So she puts an end to this before it really begins and forces Billy to do the right thing and not allow himself to slip any further, even though being with him is exactly what she wants. Because being with him like this is not what she ever meant when she wanted them to be together.

And i really hate a lot of how this show changed core elements from the book. I really don't like how Camila was portrayed. I don't think the essence of this "love triangle" was captured properly. But holy fuck, those three kisses did all the heavy lifting in the context of the story this show was telling. And they were so emotional and hot.

[princesseevee06]

hi eevee!! the recent news on ytr Shins execution has me Devastated. (esp bc Kannas death is my favorite and im very normal about greenblings LMAOO) but that got me thinking about the other executions in ytr! if you'd like to, what are some of the other executions/deaths?? don't gotta reveal all of em yet, just wanted to ask haha :) take care!

HI BREAD i am so sorry about the shin execution thing. i saw the opportunity to do the funniest (most agonizing) thing ever and i had to.

the thing that really gets me about it is like. in ytr shin never gets his collar off at that last moment, he has no chance of really escaping, but he’s still trying to run WHILE HIS BODY IS BEING ROOTED TO THE GROUND and he still manages to even set up the sara ai. he still doesnt accept his fate right up until the very end. And That Makes Me So Sad

buuuuut you probably wanna hear about some of the other devastating deaths! which i am also happy to provide deets on ^^

(WARNING: LONG LONG POST BELOW i am so sorry)

ok im gonna be honest i havent focused super hard on the deaths themselves because it’s always more interesting to me to focus on the aftermath i think…but there are some ive thought about more than others so i’ll go over those!

• nao

this one is Hectic. I wanted it to be kind of a mix of mishima’s death and nao’s canon death, so her collar device is sort of like…magnetic? basically, it pulls her to the wall and starts crushing her neck. i feel like this adds a greater sense of panic to the scene, because unlike mishima’s collar which they can’t touch when it burns, in ytr both kugie and mishima are trying to help nao :,) (spoiler alert they cannot)

• sara

oh this one makes me So sad….it’s fundamentally the same premise as joe’s execution with the wrigglers, but the difference is that ryoko is actually fast enough with the clicker to get them off (it’s always so funny to me that one of the canon things we know about ryoko is she’s good at arcade games. so i imagine she has fast fingers 💀). but at that point it’s already too late because sara has lost too much blood, so she just ends up bleeding out in ryoko’s arms instead. fun fact: because of that, ryoko’s hallucination of sara always comes out of the ground in a pool of blood :,)

• sei

ok i haven’t SUPER worked out the specifics of this one but i do know the general vibes for it so i’m putting it anyways. basically, when sei gets voted for, much like what happened in the assassin game in canon they ask kai to kill them. because they don’t want to be alone as they die and also it’d be a big middle finger to asunaro. kai has the kitchen knife. he could do it. but he literally just can’t bring himself to. if it was himself he could do it, but he can’t bring himself to hurt sei. so instead he just has to watch them die without doing a thing and it ends up haunting him. (i have this vivid image of kai literally having to be dragged away from sei’s corpse :((((((((( )

• sou

ok here’s the big one. sou is my fave bleeby blorbo so you KNOW i’ve put a shit-ton of thought into this one. the funniest thing about this to me is that. sou put his collar on himself at the beginning of the death game. and so when hayasaka is like “sorry :( we’ll have to execute you” sou is like “nuh uh” and literally just takes it back off. THERE IS JUST THIS MOMENT OF. AWKWARD SILENCE ACROSS THE ENTIRE ROOM. hayasaka is like “holy shit what do i do now” but he doesn’t have to do any work because sou ends up dooming himself 👍

he figures. okay well i have to do something quick or people from the upper floors are actually gonna come start trying to kill me. unlike shin, he doesn’t really have any intention of ‘escaping,’ at least not in a direct manner, but what he does try to do is get to the fifth floor where his lab is to see if he can deactivate the collars. because essentially, that’ll take the target off his back at least temporarily— what’s one guy running around without a collar to SEVEN people running around without a collar? asunaro cant execute everyone if they want the death game to continue, right? he knows the facility, so he’s actually able to dodge/avoid the ‘weapons’ really well. atp the other participants are running after him watching him bolt across the third floor and straight up rooting for him. he gets really close to the winner’s stairs (and if he can get there, he’s home free because they connect to all the other floors) and because of that he gets a little tooooooo cocky.

if he can actually accomplish what he’s trying to do, asunaro could literally fall apart from the inside out. if they don’t have control over the participants w/ the collars, the main cast could quite literally stage a mini uprising. sou could finally have the chance to be free from asunaro, to be free from his mother, to live his life how *he* wants to— he’s so close.

so anyways, sou looks back at shin. because of course he does.

and what is he rewarded with? impalement! ^_^ no seriously, at the last moment he steps on a trap that impales him. YES i wanted to harken back to the fake death alice caused in actual yttd. so yeah he uh. does not make it out of that one alive. sorry sou!

(i could talk about how this firmly cements in shin that his mindset of the strong persevering over the weak is correct, because he was the one to pass the role of ‘shin tsukimi’ over to sou, to pass the role of being ‘weak’ to him, and in sou’s last moments that weakness (in this case, caring too deeply for shin) ends up being his undoing. but we’ll save that for another day!)

• mishima

so mishima’s is actually relatively the same as q-taro’s canon death, because tbh i couldn’t figure out a way to make it any different without completely screwing up the banquet. sorry mimimishima :((

the thing that really gets me about this one is the REVEAL though. atp kugie and mishima have built up a strong relationship throughout the death game, and so the fact that mishima’s sacrifice essentially ends up saving kugie’s life is weirdly poetic to me. it is NOT poetic to kugie though. she is so upset that people keep sacrificing themselves for her sake (since yknow. she experienced this first with kanna) when she’s been trying to protect others this whole time. it’s just. agh. really sad.

i haven’t really thought as much about maple’s hinako’s and ranmaru’s sorry,,,, again i thought more of the surrounding circumstances for those ones (other people’s reactions to their deaths so. yknow yknow) but i’ll try to think more on em in the meantime!

I am SO sorry for this post it was SUPER long and SUPER sad. like *I* am sad now and I’m the one who decided what happens. Sorry bread 😭

[shihalyfie]

At the end of Adventure 02, Oikawa, despite being an adult, was able to meet his Digimon partner, Pipimon. So why during the events of Kizuna, they simply believe in Menoa's theory, even though they've already seen that it doesn't make sense from what happened to Oikawa and Pipimon? Even now in The Begining, they still belive in her theory. Did the 02 kids (and all other choosen children) forget what they saw in the end of Adventure 02?

I don't remember anything at all about this being mentioned in regards to The Beginning, so I can't answer anything regarding that. We don't have evidence Rui's issue has anything to do with the problem, in any case.

Well, it's true that my analysis treats Oikawa like a contradiction because I start with the premise you shouldn't be taking Menoa's theory at face value anyway, but one thing I should point out is that even in real life, people who did take Menoa's theory at face value when watching the movie did not consider Oikawa to be a contradiction. (And believe me, I actually read a page dedicated to dunking on the movie and finding contradictions as much as possible, and it was a terrible experience and I do not recommend it at all, but my point is that even someone who was out to rip apart the movie as much as possible was willing to concede this one.) Even Menoa's theory does not have anything to do with physical or legal age. I cannot stress this enough: even if you believe in Menoa's theory as much as possible, physical age has never, ever been a factor.

By her testimony, she became an adult at 14 years old, which is not an adult by any normal standard; she believes she became an "adult" because she went to university to become Mature and Accomplished. Meanwhile, Oikawa is often described in analysis as "a Chosen Child who never grew up" because he clung to an image from his past and refused to move on. He never wanted to be an adult in the first place, he even thought becoming an adult made him "tainted" and unable to go to the Digital World. So even if Menoa's view of life were correct, someone who's stubbornly clinging onto this kind of thing and refusing to accept the idea of entering general adult society would not truly have become an adult. Not even by her standards.

Even that aside, though, Kizuna only takes place over a few days. I think if you've just been informed that your partner is about to disappear and you only have a few days to process it, I don't think you're going to have the mental space to go back through and think about every single thing in your life that may or may not contradict it, much less an event that took place a whole eight years prior. I imagine the 02 kids are probably more likely to have Oikawa's death burned into their memories, but while I'm sure the older Adventure kids certainly did care, their level of attachment and involvement in the cases in 02's finale was still in the realm of "helping their juniors" and getting third-party information, and I'm sure they've seen and been involved with many other things in those last eight years. They were certainly there to see Oikawa meet Pipimon, and it was certainly an important event that probably left an impression, but they were kind of all the way in the back there, and would they easily be able to remember it instantly when they're dealing with a bunch of Chosen Children being kidnapped and their own partners potentially disappearing at any moment? I'm sure after the events of Kizuna, they'll probably have a lot of time to think back on what caused this and what they can do about it, and I don't really expect them to come up with the right answer in only a few days, or even a few weeks or months. It's a tough question.