#i spent an unreasonable amount of time on this <3

[bitedontsuck]

someone had to do it rawr xD

[ranmaru-kageyama]

colored minigram panel 🐝

(original artwork by yatsuki)

[emometalhead]

.

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 16 [final chapter] (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

warning(s): talk of past drug use and withdrawal symptoms.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 9 / chapter 10 / chapter 11 / chapter 12 / chapter 13 / chapter 14 / chapter 15

[love renée but fuck am i getting sick of this gif. been looking at it for sixteen goshdarned chapters. finally i am freed.]

You woke up first. Naturally. Every time, every single morning that you'd had sleepovers, you'd been the first to wake up. The sun was shining through the blinds in a pleasant, warm yellow tone. Still morning but not unreasonably early.

You shifted to a more upright position, looking down at the girl still snoozing, whose hand was holding onto your forearm. She was all sprawled out, starfished as much as one could be on a couch. Her body was taking up the shorter end of the L-shape, one knee curled up towards her body, just barely on the couch, while the other stretched well beyond the end of the divan. You were situated much the same, except the other way around. You laid on the longer end so that your heads had almost met in the corner.

Her arms reached out towards you, one around your pillow and the other holding onto you. You knew you'd fallen asleep with much more distance between you, but you couldn't say you minded her having drifted.

Did you, though? You sighed and grumbled as you got up. Might as well do something while you contemplated reality, or something. Mrs George had insisted on some classic American breakfast ingredients, such as bacon and pancake mix. You didn't feel like causing a fire hazard, so pancakes were a no-go, at least for now. Eggs and bacon you could do.

What did you even, like, want? Realistically, actually, no, unrealistically what did you want? There was no sense in trying to make your base wants and desires realistic because at that point was any of that yours anymore? Likely not.

You wanted nights spent with Regina, talking and eating take-out, laughing until your tummy hurt and looking at her glowing in the blue light of whatever Adult Swim show was on at the time. You wanted grocery trips with Mrs George and to go to Kylie's games. You wanted people at school to just, simply not be jerks. You wanted Janis to find peace. You wanted Cady to wake up.

You wanted yesterday to not have happened. You wanted Thanksgiving dinner at the Georges' to never have happened. You wanted for your dad to be different, for Mr George to be different. You wanted your mom to not have died.

Looking at the bacon sizzling in the pan, you chewed on your lips and thought about that. You wanted many things. So many things, mostly for things to not have happened or to have happened differently. It was all wildly unrealistic. You were not a wizard, a time-traveller, or some other mystic being. You were a teenager.

You cracked the eggs into the mix. God, it smelled divine. You pulled a salt and pepper shaker from the spice rack and sprinkled a reasonable amount on there. You groaned out loud and threw your head back when you remembered there was sriracha in the fridge. Mrs George had seen you eyeing the bottle and had not taken a no for an answer, despite your abundant protestations.

"Spare your kitchen utensils the horror and go masturbate in your room like a normal person!" Regina hollered from the living room.

"Oh! Spatula! Harder! Harder!" You cried, moaning like you were receiving the blowie of your life. "If you want breakfast you're gonna have to witness this sordid affair." You called back, giggling. You leaned back from the stove, bending back at the waist. Regina was leaning her chin on the armrest, still more or less sprawled on your couch. There was a pout on her lips and a light flush to her cheeks.

"I'll show you sordid, nerd." She grouched before getting up. You straightened your posture, turning back to the stove, and probed the eggs in the pan with the spatula with a satisfied grin on your face.

You wanted this and more, above all. Was that something you were allowed to want? More importantly, was that something you were allowed to ask for?

Regina came up behind you, hand coming to rest on the small of your back. You didn't jump, much, which you were proud of.

"Looks yummy." She pointed out.

You hummed in agreement. "Can you put toast in the toaster?"

"Sure."

Then, as if no time at all passed, you were sitting down. Then eating and chatting. There was toast, eggs and bacon, and you'd made yourself a bowl of oatmeal. Mrs George had splurged on some blueberries and local honey. Regina refused to make eye contact when you were chewing, citing that your O-face was hard to look at. You only moaned louder and made more faces at her.

Then, just as you were heading to the couch to digest the meal as god intended, lying down, Regina yanked you to the foyer. Still in your jammies and everything, she insisted you bundle up and go for that walk she was talking about yesterday.

You'd hoped she would've forgotten. Sure, the weather was nice for once but if you didn't have to go outside then why would you? It was below freezing!

Much like her mother, she would not budge. You were going on a walk.

"What am I? A dog?" You muttered as you wrapped your scarf around your neck.

"If you were a dog, you'd be a... A Doberman." She was already dressed. It was odd for your roles to have switched like this. Usually, you were the one waiting for her to get ready. She had on a thick, white parka and a cute beanie. She also had on black leggings sure to insulate absolutely nothing and bulky, also black, fur boots.

"What? 'Cause I'm big and scary?" You preened at that, smiling widely.

"Nope." She tilted her head, examining you. "Gloves."

"Geez, okay, mom." You grabbed some mittens from the hat rack. "Why Doberman?"

"They wouldn't look so scary if they didn't have their ears clipped, y'know?" She said. You just looked at her weirdly, not catching her meaning. Your ears were not clipped. "Anyway, let's go."

"Aye aye," With that, you were out of the door.

You walked the block and down to the street. The sidewalk stopped so you went by the side of the road. She was walking ahead of you. It was cold out but not too windy, so it didn't feel so bad.

The sidewalk started again eventually. There, you walked side by side. You were just looking at a bird perched on a wire when you felt her grab your hand. Thinking she had something to say, you turned to look at her. She was still facing forward, the other hand in her pocket, walking along. She was just holding your hand.

Oh. Oh. She was holding your hand. Out in public. Not a lot of people were out at this hour, not even cars since it was a weekend. There was a woman with a stroller. A psychopathic man out on a jog. A dog walker. Still, it was outside where anyone who walked by could see.

You arrived at the park, hands clasped together. You stopped by a bench.

"I don't think we should sit." You said, observing the coating of snow piled on top.

"Let's go over there." Regina pointed to a tree a little ways away.

You went obediently, following the tug of her hand in yours. She was holding your hand. You felt all warm in your chest, like you were full of warm water.

You stopped by the tree. She looked around, trying to spot if anybody was nearby. Then, like she had a secret to tell you, she motioned for you to bend down closer. You did. Her hand squeezed at your fingers as the other came up to your neck, pulling you down the rest of the way.

The warmth you'd felt became hot, like an oil fire erupting in the foil-covered saucepan that was your heart, kernels and half-popped popcorn sputtering out as she kissed you. Your eyes just barely got to shutter closed before she pulled away. Instinctively, your body so starved of affection and touch, you chased her and found her lips again.

She smiled against your mouth. It felt like a secret of the utmost importance being shared, like a pinkie finger wrapped around your own in the corner of the room during a sleepover, giggled promises and childish adoration. She tasted vaguely like breakfast, and maybe egg-breath should've been nasty, but it wasn't.

Cold seeping in, the anxious feeling like you were soon going to be caught taking hold, you pulled away. You didn't lean away entirely, crowding her against the tree. When you'd gotten so close, pinned her, you weren't sure.

"Do..." What were you supposed to say post-kiss? "Do you like it sloppy?"

"What?" Her brows furrowed and the smile on her face turned sharper. What to say post-kiss: Not That.

"Uh, I mean, I just- uh..." You swallowed. "I don't know how to, like, I don't have technique. I dunno. Was that good? I saw Aaron was doing it differently..."

Regina rolled her eyes, head thumping lightly against the tree as her neck lolled back. "You would bring up Aaron now." She sighed. "It's fine. It's- it's good."

"Okay." You swallowed again. A slow smile crept up to your face. "It was good?"

"Ugh, yes, shut up." She shoved you away, but you just allowed the momentum to swing you back to her. "I... I don't think I'm good at words."

You chuckled at that. "No, you're not." She glared. You shrugged. "But, hey, you know me. I'm Chatty Kathy."

"No," She huffed through her nose, seemingly in frustration. "I wish I could say to you what I mean. What I feel. But I just... It's... It's not supposed to be but it's embarrassing."

Looking at her, hunched in on herself like a girl her age was supposed to be at times, so different from how she was most of the time, made your chest feel tight. You figured a person having been raised like she was, having turned out the way she had, would find being vulnerable uncomfortable. Or, as she said it, embarrassing.

Then again, it wasn't your place nor your duty to psycho-analyze her.

"Reg, I..." You hesitated. "I'm tired of, like, sitting in the passenger seat while you bulldoze everyone. I'm tired of feeling like if I do something you don't like you'll push me under too." You pulled away from her, hands getting sore from leaning your weight against the rough bark. "And then there's this whole thing." You gestured around you at the empty park. "Even if we were the best couple ever in terms of, I dunno, vibes or something, we're still..."

"Lesbians." She finished for you. "I'm a lesbian, Jorts." A sentence you never thought you'd hear from Regina George. "I know. For me, it felt justified for a long time, keeping them in their place, but since we started talking again, doing all that stuff just started to seem... Unimportant. And stupid." She fiddled with her fingers, eyes glued to the space between you. "It hasn't gone away. I still want to, I guess, hurt people because it does make me feel better even if it's, like, fucked up. But I want something else more than I want that."

"What's that?" You couldn't help but ask, hope stuck in your throat. Choking hazard.

"You, obviously." She said it so flippantly as if those words didn't just send your heart into the Milky Way. "I want you. I'll stop doing that stuff for you. I know we can't be out yet, but I... I have good grades."

You looked at her, puzzled. She huffed and continued. "I'll go to college. Major in, uh, I dunno, some sorta politics and I'll change the law. Maybe a law degree would work better for that, actually." She seemed to think about it for a moment before returning to her point. "Whichever one would be best in getting gay marriage legalized."

"You..." You had to laugh at that, disbelieving as well as delighted. "You're gonna change the world for me?"

"If that's what it takes." She said, determination shining so bright it made your eyes water.

"Wow, okay." You licked your lips, trying to will the stupid grin off your face. You had some important questions still. "If I moved away, would you still stop?"

She paused at that. Took a moment to really look at you, like she hadn't considered that to be a real possibility.

"Yes." She sounded so sure you believed her. "I just don't have... What it takes anymore. I guess. I don't know if there's something wrong with me that I... I want to be mean, sometimes. It's funny. For me." She glanced down and then looked somewhere over your shoulder. "It took a lot of work to get to what Regina George is now. I don't want to put in all that next year."

"Y'know what they say. New year, new me." You quipped, looking down at her. You were quite sure your pupils had morphed into heart shapes, despite your valiant efforts to have this meaningful conversation without seeming like a love-drunk idiot.

(She kissed you. You kissed her. It was a beautiful morning, you were on a walk and you'd held hands and then you'd kissed under a barren willow tree. It was the first day of Christmas break and you were spending it with Regina George.)

"Does that mean I can be a raging bitch till January 1st?" She asked, eyebrow notching.

You laughed. "Only if you..." You bit your bottom lip, getting nervous. "Only if I get a kiss for every mean thing you say."

"Deal." She offered her hand to you, a cheesy smile on her face.

You pulled your glove off and spit on your hand, then made to take hers.

"Ew! That's disgusting!" She flinched away from you, violently shoving herself back against the tree. "Don't- no! Not near me! Don't touch me with that!"

She bolted and you ran after her, cackling maniacally. You waved your spat-on hand at her as you chased her around the park, her shrieking and you laughing.

"I'm serious, J!" She looked at you over her shoulder as she ran. "Stop chasing me!"

"Stop running away from me!"

"You're just gonna smear your spit on me, you- you fiend!"

"Pinky swear I won't!"

"I won't pinky-swear with your disgusting paws, you-"

With a yelp, Regina tripped over something, probably a root, and fell to the ground. You, having been closing in on her, put the brakes on, windmilled your arms, and tried to stop, but soon followed her into the snow.

"Ouf!" The breath wooshed out of her as you fell on her. She wheezed as you rolled off of her, half-heartedly punching in your direction. You giggled and dodged to the best of your ability, not even minding the snow seeping through your pyjama pants.

Giving some time for her to recover, you laid on your back and looked up at the sky. Clear blue with some thick, greyish clouds looming in the peripheral, morning was turning to day fast. Soon, the park would surely get some more traffic. Kids and their adults, mostly. There was a sizeable play area in the centre. You were pretty much on the outskirts of the park.

It was a familiar spot. You and the guys used to meet your other friends here all the time. Those times it'd been night, too dark to see the faces of the guys with big gym bags, filled to bursting with little plastic baggies and glass bottles.

You turned your head to look at her once her breathing had quieted down.

"You bitch," She hissed at you, the usual venom in her voice gone, replaced by exhaustion. You could only smile, somewhat sheepish but mostly just happy.

"It'd be a lot harder to resist if we were still in school, y'know." You said, turning back to watch the sky. "You can't change the law until we graduate. Until then, we're stuck here. And then, let's say you do change the law and it's passed, it's gonna take some time for people to accept that."

"Yeah," Regina agreed, folding her arms under her chin to lean on.

"And you can say that you'll change a hundred times easily, but actually doing it is different."

"When did you get so wise?"

"When I was all alone for years and did some stupid stuff."

"Like what?" You could tell she wouldn't be expecting what you said next. Even you weren't expecting it.

"You know how I sell drugs and alcohol, right? Where do you think I get the stuff from? I got to know some people while we weren't talking." You sighed. Remembering those times, the worst of them, still so fresh despite it having been years, wasn't nice. "Vandalism, underage drinking, shoplifting, driving without a licence... Did some harder drugs than weed... Stupid shit. I stopped most of it when I got caught the last time and almost went to juvie. Dad got me out, somehow. Probably threw money at people."

You turned your head to look at Regina. She was already paying keen attention to you. "I told my mandated therapist I was gonna change. I said I wasn't going to ever do anything like that ever again. I lied, of course."

"When did you actually stop, then?" She asked.

"Months after the mandated therapy was over." You put your hands in your pockets, getting cold. "I wanted to do it before then. I wanted to just, not be that. A druggie fifteen-year-old spraypainting some dilapidated trailer, hanging around guys that were way too old to be hanging around me. I didn't want to be that but at the same time being anything else was terrifying. I don't think highly of myself, but that was low even for me. Then, Mrs George found me one time."

"Mom?" The question was more out of shock than actual inquiry.

"Yeah." You blinked a couple of times. "I was in a bad state. Withdrawals. I made her promise she wouldn't tell my dad if I allowed her to take me home. She was talking the whole ride from downtown to mine, trying to keep me awake. I just lost it. I don't remember what I said or exactly what I did, but she had to pull over and restrain me." You gulped. "It was awful. Then she offered that I could mow your lawn for some money. I used it the first couple of times to get a new dose. She used to ask what I'd be spending it on and those times I had some bullshit excuse, but the first time I said I was probably gonna get some McDonalds', she cried. Cried real actual tears." You didn't feel like looking at Regina, but you could feel her eyes on the side of your head. "After that it just... It wasn't worth it."

"You never told me." Regina breathed out, still sounding shocked.

"I didn't want to." You turned onto your side, body facing her. "I was- am ashamed."

You didn't feel shame now, though. You undoubtedly would later, tomorrow perhaps, but not now. You were glad for it. You regretted it, wished you hadn't gone down that road, but lying there in the cold snow there was only indifference. That had happened. You had done that.

"Me too." She whispered. "Obviously, it's not the same, but-"

"I know what you mean. And it could be more similar than you think. Quitting an addiction is hard, but I wouldn't say quitting a behaviour is easy."

"It's stupid to compare drug addiction to being a bitch." Regina huffed, a frown on her face. "It's incomparable."

"Well, then let's not compare. Both can be hard in their own way without diminishing the other. What I'm trying to point out is that," You thought for a moment. "We're both trying to get over a bad, toxic habit that feels safe and good and like the only option, without seeing the merit or the other supposedly better option first. It's scary."

"Are you still trying to get over it?"

"I haven't been on drugs since, no. But it's not something that goes away. Not ever."

"And you're still kinda in it." She said, remembering your hustle around the school.

"Yeah. I can't expect you to be all buddy-buddy with everybody suddenly. That'd be hypocritical."

"So what do we do?"

What a question. One that you did not have the answer to. You didn't feel unsettled by the confusion. You hadn't told anyone of your dark past (gosh, could you be any more emo?) since those that knew had just kind of stumbled across it, so telling somebody felt... Good. You'd just sort of blurted it all out without thinking about it too much.

"Can we go back home? I wanna..." You stopped, realizing I wanna make out with you on the couch sounded awfully crude.

A lecherous grin spread Regina's cheeks. "Oh, I see. You just want me for my body."

"No!" You denied, indignant. "I would never."

"You would never want me for my body." She reiterated, purposefully misconstruing what you said. "Wow. Just wow."

"Regina, c'mon, I just mean..."

"Say what you were gonna say." She rolled away and up, towering above you with a twinkling smile pointed down at your prone body.

"Let's just go," You said and tried to get up. Like some bondage dominatrix, she pushed you back down with a shoe on your chest.

You hated how that sort of got to you. Your heart beat faster against her Ugg. Hopefully, she didn't feel it through the thick sole.

"Nuh-uh. Say it."

"I... I wanna make..." You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. "I wanna go home and make out with you on the couch."

"Oh, that wasn't so hard, now was it, baby? Let's go."

It was only once you'd made it back, chucked your wet clothes into the hamper, and spent a considerable amount of time in liplock, that either of you thought to circle back.

"Hey," Regina said, adjusting her weight to not be leaning on you so heavily. Your lips smacked apart and, gosh, now you were the gross ones. "I just now realized,"

"What are you realizing while you're supposed to be kissing me?" You pouted, falling onto your side and away from her. Your hand went over your eyes like you were a swooning maiden. Regina just patted your leg in mock consolation.

"You have your drug thing-" Only she would refer to your past addiction as your drug thing. "but I was, like, the only one doing anything actually wrong. Actively. You know what I mean." You craned your neck to look at her. Your double chin was probably epic.

"I lied to you by omission. I was really mean to you on Thanksgiving."

"Okay, lying by omission was bad and never do that again," She paused, waiting for you to affirm. You nodded solemnly. "But you were only mean after I was mean first. So, both forgiven. Anyway, I'm talking, like... I don't know how to say it."

You blinked. You didn't know what she meant so you couldn't really help. Regina huffed, nails scratching absent-mindedly on your calves.

"You made it sound like we were both wrong for how things exploded." She eventually said. "That was all me."

"I shouldn't have been such a doormat. I let you walk all over me and I never said anything about how I really felt."

"I don't think you can be in the wrong for that."

"I think I can be. At least the way that I was. I could've said something."

"And what would that've achieved? Me cutting you off and nothing changing?"

You clambered up to your elbows. "And now we're here." You smiled, one side a little crooked with how gleeful you were. "Look, we can hash everything out during the break, now just... Let's focus on other things."

Regina, still looking conflicted, caressed a hand up your leg. You shivered. You were in just a hoodie and loose briefs. Regina was more covered up than you, but still in just your old basketball shorts and a big band tee.

"Reggie, I'm getting used to asking for things I shouldn't want. Amuse me." You turned onto your back and hooked your legs around Regina. She fell forward, hands braced on either side of your torso. "Kiss me."

"I just don't want to mess up and have all this go away." She swallowed, a worried crease between her eyebrows.

"I think we're gonna mess up plenty of times. It's a possibility you'll find some justification to make somebody's life hell for a time. I could relapse." You pulled her closer with your legs, arms coming up to cross your fingers behind her neck. "A lot of the time we're not gonna want to admit it, we might not even know it. So, we can lay out a few... Promises, or something."

"Okay," Regina said, gazing down at you like you never imagined. Like you meant things to her. Important things.

"Promise me that you'll listen. Even if you disagree, please hear me out." She nodded seriously. "And, in turn, I promise to speak my mind. When I don't like something, or just like something, I'll say so." Again, she nodded. You loosened your hold on her neck and rubbed your thumbs on her cheeks. Getting to touch her like this, having her literally between your legs, was more than you ever thought you'd get.

Even if this ended in a similar fashion to the Thanksgiving kiss, or even much, much worse, you'd have regretted not taking the chance for the rest of your life.

"And... This is the most important one... Come closer."

Regina shifted closer, bending down, her elbows coming to rest next to your chest as she turned her ear towards you.

You whispered conspiratorially, like this was top-secret: "Still let me do your yard work."

Notes: Fucking christ. I wrote this all in one sitting. 4.3k words. That's like two chapters. I've written long chapters before, longer than this, but I got so used to the 2k on average pace that this felt huge.

Also! Don't be spooked by the [final chapter] marking! This is the last chapter in the story, yes, but we'll be hearing more from Reggie and Jorts still! I have a couple of epilogue sequences I want to write. Would y'all be interested in a poll as to what order those should be published? As in, chronological. Do we start from 10 Years Later... or something more like, idk, next summer? Lmk in the comments :)

This might be counterintuitive to add, and if my lovely amazing readers have exercised their reading comprehension during this series they might get why on a more nuanced level, revenge on Gretchen was left out purposefully. This will not be the last we hear of her, I have some plans for her in some of the epilogues, but yes. That plot point was left open on purpose.

The name. A lot of people like it! I was feeling insecure about my lack of foresight and impulsive naming, but hey, as it turns out it's not that deep! To add, it went really nicely with the end there I think :) No changes will be happening.

This note is getting so long. I just wanna thank everybody that's been along for the ride so far. I read every single comment and check my notifications way too often for new ones. I'm pretty used to writing for quite dead/inactive fandoms on AO3, and I love that site it's my origin, but it's very different to Tumblr. I just feel like people on here are much more open to sharing their thoughts. Everybody who's bore witness to my grief with the taglist, thank you for your patience. And thank you so much for wanting to be on it. I cannot believe people wanted that. For little ole me? Oh, you shouldn't have...

If there are spelling errors or grammatical weirdness, shhh. I'm not reading all that again at 1am. Toodles!

Taglist will be posted separately! Comment on that post if you want to be added to be notified when the epilogies are published!

[softestqueeen]

a kiss at midnight

pairing: miguel o’hara x reader

summary: You and your boyfriend Miguel O’Hara had a fight about his working hours and how you felt he didn’t put enough effort into your relationship. You haven’t talked to him in days and were growing more frustrated by the minute. But when the annual New Years Party of the tower is coming up, you see the perfect opportunity to make him jealous.

warnings: 18+ MDNI!! p in v sex, hand job, possessive and jealous behaviour, unprotected sex, hickeys

wordcount: 2077 words

a/n: Happy New Year! I hope you're starting good into the new year! I spontaneously decided to write this, so I hope it isn't to bad. Enjoy <3

Five days. It had been five days since your fight with Miguel and five days since you last spoke to him or seen him. You thought he was being unreasonable. You told him what bothered you and what would happen if he didn’t put more effort into your relationship. There were phases where you only saw him once a week and that was definitely not enough for you. And that’s what you told him.

But he did not like that at all.

He tried to argue with you, but you were having none of it, so he put on his jacket and left, murmuring something about a work emergency.

You haven’t seen him since.

But now is the perfect opportunity to show him what he would be missing if he left you. Today was the annual New Years Party of the tower and you knew Miguel would be attending. What he didn’t know: you would be too.

You put on you most scandalous dress that you knew would drive him insane, spent an ungodly amount of time on your makeup, and put your hair in a slightly mess updo, to emphasize your neck. You were ready for battle.

You arrived at the tower with your best friend Gwen who encouraged your little game. You entered the tower and had to stop for a second to admire the decorations. It looked so different to how it normally does, you wouldn’t have recognised it.

A waiter handed you and Gwen each a glass of champagne, which you gratefully accepted.

You were looking around and found immediately what you were searching for. Miguel O’Hara was 6’9 mountain of meat and muscle, currently dressed in a tight smoking. You could see his fangs slightly glistening even from a distance. His red eyes seem to be glowing in the dark setting and his hair was slicked back, even though a few strands were hanging into his eyes and onto his forehead. He looked absolutely delicious.

But you did too, and you were on a mission. You knew it wouldn’t take long for him to notice you; his enhanced senses would smell your perfume probably in the next few moments.

You and Gwen went onto the dancefloor with cheshire cat like grins on your faces. It was still early, only 10 o’clock, so there was still enough time until midnight, but you were in the mood to tease him already. You and Gwen started dancing and soon, you could feel Miguels eyes on you.

Miguel didn’t even know you were here. He thought maybe you were out with friends, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

There you were on the dancefloor, moving your hips and body in sync with the music. Gwen was next to you, her movements similar but to Miguel no one could compare to you.

He excused himself from the conversation he was supposed to be listening to right now, but now he had something more import on his hands. He went to sit at the bar, which had a perfect view of the dancefloor, and ordered himself a whiskey, which he downed in one go.

The burn of the liquor was just what he needed to cool down a bit. He didn’t have a lot of time to relax though, as he saw that two young and admittedly handsome men had started talking to you and Gwen. He decided to give it a moment, as he was sure you would send them away.

But oh boy, was he wrong.

After you talked for a bit, the four of you started to dance. Which was nothing to worry about, but Miguel noticed that one of the bastards was slowly coming a bit too close for his liking. He put one of his hands on your waist and whispered something in your ear, which made you throw back your head with laughter.

Miguel almost broke the glass in his hand when he saw how you started to flirt back and dance with the stranger.

He knew exactly what you were trying to do, and he hated how it was working.

You knew that this was going to drive him insane. You also knew how possessive he was and how easily he got jealous. He knew how you loved it when he showed others who you belonged to, so this was downright torture for him. There was nothing he’d rather do than whisk you away right now, but he knew he fucked up.

He never wanted to fight with you, but he was tired and overworked. He said some things that he was really not proud of, and it broke his heart that he hurt you. He planned on apologizing but wasn’t sure how to. Even though he talked about his emotions more often with you, it was still hard for him sometimes.

But he also realised that these 5 days without you were the five worst days of his life. He missed you, not knowing if you were well or what you were up to, made him realise just how much he loves you. Of course, he sometimes didn’t see you for multiple days, but you always kept each other up to date, you texted or called. But now there was radio silence.

He knew what you were doing with that sinful dress, those eyes that were exenterated by make up, your plump red lips and that hair that showed him your beautiful neck. He was desperate, but he knew he couldn’t cave just yet.

He decided he would get some fresh air and try to cool down. He knew that if he didn’t take a break now, he would do something he would regret. Ok, maybe he wouldn’t regret it, but you’d be even madder at him, and he couldn’t afford that right now.

The moment you were sure that Miguel left the room, you and Gwen excused yourselves from the two men and went to the bathroom.

“Do you think he’s jealous enough or should we torture him a bit more?”, Gwen asked you with a smile while reapplying her lipstick. She and the stranger definitely had some fun.

“I don’t know, I think he’s learned his lesson. We can back down a bit now.”, you answered her. You looked down at you phone that there was only about half an hour until midnight.

The two of you went into the main room again and started to talk a bit with a few colleagues of Gwen and Miguel, that you’ve met at parties before. It felt like the time was racing and soon it was almost midnight. You hoped you could talk it out with Miguel before then and kiss at midnight, but you were slowly losing hope.

Midnight was coming closer and closer, and you excused yourself from the conversation to find Miguel. Even if you didn’t talk it out now, you’d like to see him before the year ended.

It was now harder to find him, more people seemed to have joined the party. You were moving through the crowd, nearing the bar, hoping you would catch a glimpse of him from the higher point of view.

Once you’ve reached the bar you were looking around frantically for Miguel but still couldn’t see him. You could already hear the countdown in the background when you suddenly spotted him. He was sitting at the bar, and could sense you being near him, so he looked up to you.

Your bright eyes made contact with his red ones, and you rushed forwards.

You fell into his arms, and he caught you with ease. You leaned you face upwards and pressed your lips to his. And just when the countdown finished, and the fireworks started the two of you kissed.

The light of the fireworks illuminated the sky, and the bright colours also illuminated the two of you.

You couldn’t believe it; you finally got your midnight kiss and even though you knew you still had a lot to talk about you knew it was going to be all right.

“I’m so sorry, hermosa. I should have listened to you and not have abandoned you. Those five days where I didn’t know if you were all right, where you were or what you were doing were hell. Even Gwen didn’t wanna tell me how you were. I promise you that in this new year I will be better. If you’ll have me of course.”, Miguel confessed.

“Oh Miguel, of course I’ll forgive. I just wanted to be sure that we were both in it for the same.  I love you.”, you told him.

“I love you too!”

The two of you shared another kiss that was quickly getting heated. You could feel Miguels hands roaming your body and his tongue seeking entrance to your mouth.

You pulled away to get some air into your lungs and suggested: “How about we go somewhere a little more private, Miggy.”

You knew that nickname never failed to rile him up. He didn’t bother answering you and pulled you by the hand in the direction if the elevator. Once inside, he picked you and pressed you against the wall, while you wrapped your legs around his toned waist. You kissed again until you heard the quiet beep of the elevator that signalled your arrival. Miguel carried you to his office and opened the door without putting you down.

He carried you to his desk and sat you on top of it, before entangling your tongue into another kiss. You dress was slowly riding up and barely covering you anymore. Miguels hands travelled underneath it and you could feel him groan into your mouth when he noticed that you were not wearing any underwear. He pressed his clothed bulge against your now exposed cunt, which was getting wetter and wetter by the moment.

Miguel pushed your dress up, so it only covered you to your waist, your hips and pussy now completely exposed. While you were still kissing, you adjusted yourself so you could open his belt and trousers.

You reached into his underwear and pulled out his leaking cock. You pulled away to look at it while you started to stroke his cock. He put his head against your shoulder and started to kiss your exposed grin while groaning.

You sped up your movements and he put your hand in his to stop you from stroking.

“If you continue like this hermosa, this will be over way too soon.”, he rasped into your ear.

You just nodded and let him guide his cock to your entrance. That little kissing made you wetter than you wanted to admit, but you were glad that he could sink inside of you so easily.

When he started to push inside of you, you both let out a simultaneous moan. You both knew that you didn’t have a lot of time, so Miguel wasted no time and started to thrust into you like it was the last time he would ever get the chance to. You both moaned and groaned, relieved to be reunited.

Miguel started to suck hickeys into your neck, and you could feel his cool fangs against your heated skin. You were both embarrassingly close to your highs, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was the fact that the two of you were here, together.

You could feel Miguels cock twitching inside of you and when he started to hit that sweet spot inside of you, you couldn’t hold back anymore and came with a shout.

When Miguel felt you clamping around his cock, he couldn’t control himself anymore either, and came with a groan into your neck, painting your walls white.

You missed the weight of him inside of you and the way you could feel his cum inside of you and ultimately feel it dripping out of you.

The two of you basked in the warmth of the moment a bit more, before Miguel pulled out of you. You whined at the loss, but he was quick to soothe you with a dizzying kiss.

He helped you put your dress on again before he tucked himself inside his trousers again.

You made eye contact with each other and knew you had to get back to the party. Honestly though, you didn’t mind it, because you knew that from now on the two of you would never be in such misery again.

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueen

taglist: @silvermagnolias @milywatermelon @BigBananaa

[tehb3stsk4t3revr]

Got inspired by a post I saw this morning so here's literally 2 entire pages of headcanons comparing Infected and Kasper. Fair warning: It dips into talk of symptoms I imagine he'd have and the whole Poptart situation.

[A lot of which assume he'd have like. Actual biological needs instead of being Video Game-y, which seems to be sort of a grey area in-game anyway...]

Kasper was already kind of stupid so honestly not much is different on that front. Average 2010s gamer dudebro sort of deal. Although Infected has a bit more 'what kind of animal is the pink panther?' in him than Kasper.

Infected has next to no impulse control, leading to him doing things he shouldn't and speaking without thinking pretty much constantly.

Infected has balance issues that Kasper didn’t due to inner ear inflammation from the infection. He can’t really do anything on a skateboard anymore besides just stand there or go in a straight line. He can and will find a way to trip on flat ground.

He's convinced he still rules at it, though.

The inflammation has also made his hearing kind of shit. (The only person he can hear with perfect clarity is Folly, as she probably speaks directly into people’s minds or something lol.)

Infected loves soda and drinks basically only that. Boy who was born with kidney stones <3

The neurotoxin in his favorite soda was a deeply unreasonable amount of aspartame (and other chemicals. For fun! <3). Not being able to drink it anymore has somewhat improved his balance issues and memory, but he still misses how it tasted (it probably tasted like what you'd get if you boiled down an entire 2 liter of diet coke until it's barely a liquid then filled an 8 ounce soda can with that. Dude’s tastebuds and liver are Fucked).

Kasper had a fairly similar way of talking to Infected, minus the 1337. ("Sweet parteh trickz dud!11")

Infected is in constant pain. Headaches, body aches, sore throat, can't breathe well, burning skin, heavy eyes, nausea that won't go away, sniffles, random nerve pain, probably other shit. He barely notices it anymore unless someone asks how he's feeling. He doesn't have much energy to spare. He would come across as significantly more hyper/manic than how Kasper used to be if not for this.

He doesn't put any of the energy he has left towards cleaning. Kasper could deal with a little mess, but still picked stuff up when it got ugly. Lampert was also willing to help when he visited. Now Infected is too tired and unfocused to pick anything up most of the time, and Lampert refuses to set foot in the apartment complex until Kasper is better. Infected has started throwing garbage off the balcony when it gets in the way too much. It's kinda fun!

Infected occasionally dissociates. Finds later that he's already talked to someone about something and just repeated himself, bought something already and now he has two, spent hours on his computer without remembering a single thing he looked at, or already met someone he thought he hadn't seen before.

It has actually been explained to Infected before that Kasper is his name. This just started an argument and the topic was dropped forever from that point forward.

Infected is deeply stressed out by seeing his own face for reasons he can't communicate, so he avoids looking at it as much as possible. He used to have a mirror in his apartment but he threw it off the balcony in a fit of rage one night, then covered the blank space where it used to be with a poster. Same thing with ripping Kasper’s face off of the picture on his desk. Any photos of him that are on his PC have either been sent to the recycle bin or cropped so that his face isn’t in them. He's completely fine looking at drawings of himself though. That's definitely him.

When left to his own devices, Infected's diet is… Inconsistent. He will forget to eat for long periods of time then binge when the hunger pangs finally get so annoying that he can't ignore them anymore. He's at least sort of hydrated because there's usually a six pack of soda on his desk or by the couch, but unless someone on the elevator is feeling generous he doesn't remember on his own very often.

Kasper was very comfortable being physically affectionate with people and would be happy to cuddle or lay on a friend's lap if they were cool with that. Infected is even more touchy and would be clingy if he had chances to be, but due to his extremely obvious contagious disease nobody lets him get close. He is incredibly touch-starved and would probably get emotional if someone hugged him or even just sympathetically rubbed his back now.

 Kasper was alright at resisting the urge, but Infected has picked at every scab he's ever gotten, and he ends up with a Lot. He will pick at them until the damage is worse than the initial injury unless someone stops him/tells him to put a bandage over it.

Kasper would bite his nails to keep them short and pick his nose sometimes but Infected's nails are completely trashed. Some of them have scabbed over or still-bleeding cuticles and hangnails because he chews and picks at those too.

All of the contact with his spit has caused his fingernail textures to semi-permanently unload. You'd think they were painted if you didn't know why they looked like that.

Nosebleeds from his nasal cavity getting torn up from all the fussing are not unheard of and yet he's gonna keep doing it.

Constantly drooling when he's not talking. Some of it is post-nasal drip. Sometimes he remembers to wipe it off on his arm, but most of the time it just ends up on the floor/running down his face and soaking into the neckline of his shirt. Or sprayed all over the walls/someone's face when he sneezes.

Kasper used to keep a bottle of hand sanitizer in his pocket to help Lampert feel more comfortable. He stopped doing that forever ago after he got sick. (You know how rabies does a bunch of shit to animals to make them better disease vectors, including to their brains? Yeah, something like that).

On some level he knows he's sick. Would be more stressed out about it but the infection has repressed his ability to care (and the part of him that’s still aware of it is probably also heavily in denial). This has affected other aspects of his emotional range, causing it to come across as unusually flat, especially to those who knew Kasper.

Infected is scared that if he’s taken to a doctor’s office they’ll hurt him, so on top of genuinely not being able to recognize that he's sick he will deny all accusations regardless out of this fear. He’s technically not wrong, since trying to purge the disease to save Kasper would be extremely painful for him, but this thought mostly comes from his illness trying to preserve itself.

The last time someone tried to lead Infected to DrRETRO’s office for an intensive care stay he panicked upon realizing what was going on and fought back until they let him leave (fucked them up pretty badly), so now everyone keeps their distance and kinda uselessly tries to convince him to go voluntarily with their words.

Infected is incapable of maintaining strong negative emotions if pushed into being that upset. He'll be mad or sad for maybe a minute and then something else will get his attention or he’ll get too tired to think and he'll forget whatever was bugging him.

Every so often he will lose hope about finding Poptart and then abruptly ‘reset’ a minute or two into sobbing his eyes out, completely confident that any day now the little guy will come back safe and sound.

Despite this it is still really easy to get him Gamer Raging. Way easier than it ever was with Kasper, who was a pretty good sport in most cases.

Infected's particular brand of Gamer Rage is ‘Heckling people until they shut up/go away’, or until it's out of his system. This is the most typical way he processes anger. The impulse control is Seriously out the window when he gets like this.

Kasper knew a lot of stuff about the games he liked offhandedly (mostly competitive co-op FPS games like counterstrike, tf2, l4d2, etc) and could tell you so much esoteric bullshit about them, but if you tried to ask Infected he would get too excited trying to think of something he could share that would be really cool and then not actually be able to remember anything.

The only context in which Infected's reaction time isn't ass is video games. Something about muscle memory. In any other situations he is usually pretty slow to react. This does not mean he's slow to do things, though. When he's acting on a dumbass impulse thought he's probably halfway done doing it before anyone can stop him.

It is possible to get Infected to acknowledge that his situation is Fucked for a moment or two if you press him on the most obvious evidence that he's sick (his headaches, the fact his allergies haven't cleared up in years, the snot on his face, etc), and if you pressed hard enough you'd start to see him get scared. He knows you're right, but there's nothing he can do about it. And then the recognition would be gone again as soon as you stopped talking.

This doesn't work when you bring up his name (Who's Kasper? Never met the guy.) or objects in his surroundings, only symptoms of illness directly observable on/in his body.

[ninadove]

watching character ai lukadrien create the most heart wrenching debilitatingly angsty love story to ever love story ever

Hey, I can tell there’s no malice behind your ask, but — don’t do that.

I write fanfiction myself, and a lot goes into it:

1. Unreasonable amounts of ✨ Time and Effort ✨

Just the other day, my WIP kept me up until 2 AM, because I wanted it to be neatly polished before even sending it to my beta readers (@paracosmicfawn and @dragongutsixofficial). The first thing I did the following morning was re-read it again, to correct any typos and inconsistencies my tired brain might have missed the night prior.

2. Research and analysis

For a cute little Lukadrien scene I wrote with my ✨ awesome girlfriend ✨ — something that was never even going to be published — I went through a dozen different sources trying to get a better understanding of what meditation actually is and to capture the philosophy behind it accurately. This does not make me special — all authors do it out of dedication and love for their craft, but it’s energy that could be spent doing literally anything else, especially when you consider how horrifyingly lonely the writing process can be (see point 1).

Also, there’s a reason I spend so much time making analysis posts on Silly Little Blorbos who do not exist! It gets my brain running and allows me to sharpen my understanding of the characters, so I can write them properly in my works.

3. A unique perspective on the characters, the source media, and life in general

Which gives all the flavour to my favourite AO3 works out there.

Like, yes, that extract you sent in your follow-up ask is cute, I guess, but it’s also incredibly generic:

When actual living breathing human (or Senti) beings share their work with you, they’re inviting you to a special part of their brain that they’ve decorated with their own experiences, references and visuals — things that they love and passed onto their favourite characters, so they can hopefully reach you. For instance, Character AI would never have had the genius idea to compare Felix’s eyes to an aurora borealis; this could have only sparked from @wackus-bonkus-maximus’ brain. Similarly, my version of Felix will often reference works of art and literature that left a strong impact on me as a child — an impact I’m sure can also be sensed in my approach to storytelling and even in the way I structure sentences and paragraphs.

Which leads me to my final and most important point:

4. EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE™

Because let’s be real — there’s a reason our brains latch onto certain characters, and said reasons aren’t always sunshine and rainbows. I’ve cried more writing about the Senticousins than over the loss of certain people or relationships in my own life. Long before that, I latched onto Clive and gave him everything I felt was missing from my life as a teenager, so I could live vicariously through him. And of course, I always make my characters some flavour of queer, because for a long time this was the only outlet I got for my own feelings and identity.

It takes a lot of vulnerability to put all of this on the Internet for others to read and judge, and it’s very disheartening to see that people would rather ask a machine to spit out some easily digestible but impersonal interactions than give your work a chance.

I can guarantee there are beautiful pieces of fanwork out there that will cater to your tastes and haunt you for years in a way Character AI or Chat GPT never could. And the good news is — if you don’t find anything, it means it’s time to write it yourself!

And of course, I cannot end this post without encouraging everyone to read about the writers’ and actors’ strike currently unfolding in the US.

[hwaightme]

Your fan, Hongjoong (part 2)

(part 1) (your fan ml)

👘 pairing: hongjoong x fashion designer!reader 👘 genre: romance, fluff, mutual pining 👘 summary: a bulletpoint-style wordstream of what it would be like if hongjoong was stanning you 👘 wordcount: 5.4k (hj okay i guess) 👘 warnings/tags: language, jealousy, bro code, hongjoong and san beef, seonghwa just wants to be part of woosan, yunho is a menace pt2, san using his 'imitation' practice, yeosang and jongho have a business, reader is confident, hj not so much, MCR is love <3, goth culture, goth rock & glam/punk/pop rock! 👘 taglist: @acciocriativity, @senpai-of-doom, @layzfeelit @jcngh0-hq @ficrecsiguess 👘 a/n: Hello <3 Here is part 2 of Your Fan Hongjoong!! Time to measure the chaos levels once more; senpai-of-doom for the custom outfit gift musings <3 love you all, biggest hugs!! All asks, reblogs and likes welcome

What is unfathomably more terrifying than ATEEZ playing mafia without supervision?

Dead silent dorms and intra-ATEEZ rivalry.

Ever since the shoot for the new retail collection for ARNURI, which marked the beginning of a prolonged collaboration between ATEEZ and your fashion brand, the tension between a certain two members was uncomfortably high.

Both Hongjoong and San had radically different ways of pushing each other into a rage mode headspace, which initially had been a source of light entertainment, but soon enough turned into a betting opportunity for some, and a major headache for the one remaining ATEEZ kindergarten employee.

Like how many times in one day can Hongjoong pull rank... how many times can San sneak in the dropping of honorifics and how many times can he start talking over Hongjoong JUST before he stops talking...

The list could go on. But it was a passive aggressive battlefield that made conversation between the members nearly impossible.

Take last night's dinner for example. After Wooyoung had spent an unreasonable amount of hours making quiche, with Seonghwa following his every move like a paper towel warrior, the members were hangry, tired, and in a mood to start drama.

The first minute, five, ten minutes... passed uneventfully, with the only outliers to the calm being Jongho tuning into a live football match on his phone and Mingi bobbing his head to something only he could hear in his head.

And then, the eleventh minute struck. And with it, Hongjoong's nerve.

"Right, guys, so we have another event with ARNURI tomorrow, and I don't know about you but-"

"-Do you guys think we should gift Y/N something? I mean, she has been so patient and so kind to us." San interjected, a sly grin on his face as he openly challenged the captain with his mischief.

"give me the won bills, my guy" Jongho mumbled, putting his elbow on the table and moving his arm so his palm was facing the ceiling, and as close to Yeosang as possible.

"not yet, needs to be three in a row for 'conversational edging' combo to be counted." he whispered back as-a-matter-of-factly, swatting the maknae's hand away by giving it a high five.

"Hold up are you bettin-" Mingi began, having left his musical trance once San and Hongjoong had started their episode, but was quickly interrupted by Yeosang's quick move to cover his mouth.

"Shh... you might get percentages." he warned and let Mingi come to his conclusions, and take up the business proposal.

"Ahem, as I was saying, okay I do have got to give it to San here, that is a really good idea and I am more than happy to pick out something for Y/N that I know she will like-"

"Oh and you know what, I think I already have the right gift for her so just leave it to me guys and we'll be sorted-"

"CHOI SAN!"

"Damn that was fast." Jongho cursed under his breath as he slid a crisp note to Yeosang under the table, who then motioned in cryptic body signals to Mingi that they will split it later. Maybe he understood, maybe he didn't, but the prospect of gaining something from the shitshow was encouraging enough.

"Yes?" San responded to the now vexed leader, totally unperturbed.

"Can you stop?"

"Stop what?"

"This shit."

"But you're unstoppable Hongjoong-ah." San quipped, grinning as gasps erupted around the table.

Seonghwa was beginning to get more and more concerned as he saw his roommate slowly lower his metal spoon and press it into the table, until it was nearly bending. He placed a nervous hand onto the captain's shoulder in an attempt to snap him out of whatever was about to happen.

But no chance. Hongjoong stood up, forcing Seonghwa away.

"Look. Choi San. I do not know what has gotten into you. Actually, I very much do. But why the fuck do you want to start beef all the time?"

"So what exactly-"

"What are you? KOREAN BARBECUE?"

That made San falter - an unusual response to the food, especially considering that upon hearing that, he glanced over at Wooyoung and Seonghwa. This made Hongjoong narrow his eyes, but as he was about to ask a question about whether there was some conspiracy he did not know about, San did end up mustering a response.

"I- I just think you are trying too hard and to no avail, bro."

"Trying to do what?"

"Oh we are talking about the same fine lady here, aren't we?"

"OH you mean how your thirsty ass is committing every form of social disrespect trying to get Y/N to notice you?"

"Excuse you, I am just making conversation unlike your mousy and terrified ass."

"Ass?" Mingi was back in the game, having zoned out for a couple of seconds.

"Yes, Mingi, they are fighting over ass, it's okay, it happens sometimes." Yunho rubbed his friend's back in a fatherly manner, patting it a couple of times for good measure as he nodded slowly.

"That is just rude, man what the-" Hongjoong diverted his attention to Mingi, who had already grasped the lever on his breakfast bar chair and started sliding downwards.

Not that it helped much, only making a previously stoic Yunho spin away to try compose himself, and Yeosang fold his hands in prayer and position them in the most magnificent 'boi' form.

"Oh, look at Hongjoong being a fucking white knight." a strong hit from San, using his opponent's momentary distraction to his advantage.

"That is an online term, you oaf." Yeosang corrected quietly, pointing his hands at the man, who had stood up to match Hongjoong.

"Get off my dick dude-"

Yeosang mimicked looking through a pair of binoculars in response to San's distressed whisper, making the man groan.

"All of this is so anti-bro code, shame shame." Yeosang continued, only this time a little louder, causing Hongjoong and San to roll their eyes. The former recovered a little quicker, and attempted to intercept, but San was fast on the comeback, not giving the older member any chances.

"Again-"

"SIMP~" San boomed, making a tube with his hands to amplify his shouting.

"DOUBLE KILL." Yunho joined in, covering his mouth to make his voice sound as close to the video games he had been playing as possible.

Wooyoung had fallen off his chair, and was currently becoming one with the carpet as he had reached the point of a laughing fit where one could no longer produce sound and had to resort to being a fish, flopping about in the drama.

"RIGHT! I cannot stand this childishness any longer. You have been the biggest pain for the last few days and I am DONE trying to handle it or to be the bigger person, OKAY? If you want no rules. You'll get no rules. Except now, don't expect me to go easy on you."

The room fell silent, aside from Wooyoung slapping the floor and wheezing, and a deep, exasperated sigh from Seonghwa, who was massaging his temples like a mother at a parent teacher conference.

Hongjoong stormed away from the group, nearly ripping his jacket off the coat hanger and shoving headphones into his ears, with an aggressive announcement that he was going to the studio.

Again. That same silence.

Wooyoung managed to fight off the rest of his giggles and stand up, leaning on San for support. As he wiped his tears away, he looked to the eldest member, who began to gather Hongjoong's cutlery and what was left over of the meal.

"Hwa, you good?" San tried, any trace of anger and rebellion having evaporated at an astonishing speed.

"Uh... don't you think that was a bit much?" Seonghwa looked up, concern etched on his face.

"But you know what I'm trying to do, don't you?"

"Yeah, and I still think it's a bit too much."

"Oh, just you wait. Hongjoong likes a challenge." Wooyoung added, wrapping an arm around San's neck while he snapped pictures of the nearly gone quiche as evidence that it had been, in fact, edible.

"So. Special ops unit 'flower umbrella', care to explain what the fuck are you guys plotting before I force the answers out of you?"

All eyes were on Jongho, who had put his phone face down, right in front of him on the table, and had intertwined his fingers in a 'plotting murder' manner. His unreadable expression made Wooyoung, San and Seonghwa uneasy, and they began to play the eye game of 'who is going to say it'.

--

As Hongjoong was stomping his way to the studio, he was blasting songs that he recalled you had mentioned to him in the little chats you had shared. Him being very music-driven, of course he had taken the chance to ask what you enjoyed listening to.

So that was how he had ended up embarking on the feels train listening to "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" by The Smiths. Not quite the best choice when he was ready to smash a fist through a wall, but alas, at least it reminded him of you, and how calm you could stay amidst chaos.

He wondered if San knew this information too. What had you been chatting about with him? He had seen you laughing a couple of times whilst with him. That sneaky bastard. Openly declaring war and then not... joking? Who did that guy think he was?

Hongjoong could not help but beat himself up inside. He really was a coward, wasn't he? Every time he talked to you he would just giggle like a stereotypical shy anime school girl, all while staring at you like a damn puppy. He could not help it.

Being around you had an inexplicably strong effect on him to the point where he struggled to even have the role of captain. Hell, he even missed instructions a couple of times if you were next to the photographer.

And of course "Be My Druidess" by Type O Negative had to start playing at that exact moment. He huffed, rushing into KQ and zooming past security. Studio, studio, studio. He needed to just be alone for a second.

Once he had arrived, and locked himself in, he turned off the music and left all his belongings by the mixing equipment. Then, he waddled over into the recording booth, cautiously shutting the door behind him.

He took a deep breath. Almost meditative. And then let out

the most FRUSTRATED SCREAM into the void that was the noise isolating foam and thick concrete walls.

Taking a couple more steadying breaths, he stepped out again, and crashed onto the spinning chair before him.

San was a little shit.

San did not know you like Hongjoong did.

Hongjoong missed you.

Hongjoong did NOT want you to be the one who got away even before you could get together.

He picked up his phone, fiddling with it a couple of times. Unlocking it and locking it again. He looked at the bracelet, the one you had complimented, still on his wrist. There was no other way. He had to do it. After a glance at the time on the screen, he deliberated once again - what if he came across as a creeper who was contacting a co-worker way outside of appropriate hours?

But he did have your number - you had given it to him on the first day, explaining that he was 'the lead figure of ATEEZ'. That had made his heart swell with pride. But also shit bricks because he had your number but did not text you a single time so you did not have his?

His mind was moving at lightning speed. Oh well, if he did not take this chance, there would never be another.

<Unknown Number> Hi! So sorry for the late hour, this is Hongjoong!

He bit his lip, doubting his use of exclamation points. Was he being desperate? Was this too much?

<you> Oh Hongjoong, hi!!! I was wondering when you'd text lol

<hongjoong> Yeah... so sorry about that, it's been really wild lately

<you> I get you :) hopefully the shoot and generally the collab isn't putting too much pressure on you? If it is just let me know and I'll tell the designers to back off for a bit!

<hongjoong> Nonono seriously it is the best part of my day!

<you> Wow well I am glad to hear it!

<hongjoong> You are amazing

He slapped himself across the face as he reread what he had accidentally sent. Now you were definitely going to beat any records of fastest time to block someone.

<you> haha right back at you :)

His heart swelled and he wiggled his legs, but quickly stopped himself and pondered whether this was genuinely because you thought he was amazing or because you were scared and thought he was mildly unhinged.

Well bold of him to assume one or the other, because in reality, you just found him adorable.

Out of all the ATEEZ members, as you had expected, he had gotten the energy of ARNURI straight away. There had been no hiccups with him, no miniature coaching sessions about how to properly pose in the clothing so that not only did it look good but also told a story.

He knew what you were trying to do without you having to explain it a million times (which sometimes even your own employees needed), and although he couldn't quite get his words out when he was talking with you, there was no particular need. PHANTASMOS had been second nature to him.

All you could think about was how the future ATEEZ x ARNURI collection was going to look on him. It would be the world's biggest lie if you were to say you had not been working on his selection of items the longest. As a matter of fact, long before the potential to collaborate had even appeared on the horizon.

It was only natural - you had seen him wear your items, and you had a good eye for fitting and guessing what styling would work on whom. So, he had turned into a vision, a muse for you. In the times when you could sit in your personal studio and hone your craft, create to your heart's content, Hongjoong would be in the corner of your mind, his form - a canvas for your sketches.

Though for the actual ATEEZ x ARNURI collection you had ended up preparing entirely new drafts since they had to match and 'speak' to the others', you did have a couple of samples done for Hongjoong's solo looks, simply to be displayed on a mannequin for you to admire and reminisce on your journey. One which this man had influenced in many ways.

And now he was right in your phone screen. You had no reason to give him your number, since the majority of business interactions were being handled by your PA, marketing and relationship management. But on a whim you did it anyways. You were kind of proud of how coolly you went about it too. Casually taking out a blank card, noting down the digits and passing them to him between two fingers.

Okay maybe a little cringey in retrospect but he was not one to judge - not from how you had noticed him smiling like an idiot as, after finishing the conversation and with you 'totally paying attention to what one of the makeup artists was saying', he had shuffled into a corner of the photo studio, behind some equipment, unclipped his phone case and slid the card safe inside.

Curiosity was getting the best of you - you were happy, yes, but there must be some reason why Hongjoong had spontaneously decided to get in contact with you.

<you> So what's got you burning the midnight oil?

After what felt to be a minute, Hongjoong replied:

<hongjoong> At the studio right now, kind of in the mood of wanting to compose but not knowing what.

<you> That makes two of us, just I'm in a fashion studio and wanting to sketch haha

<hongjoong> Now that sounds amazing! What kinds of clothes?

<you> Well I have been very much on the ATEEZ ship as of late, so most of my ideation is dedicated to that

<you> Actually, can we have a quick call? I want to run some ideas by you if it's okay :)

<hongjoong> Sure!!

And there you were, two workaholics in your respective studios, showing each other around and talking for what had ended up being a little over four hours. You had indeed showed him some of the ideas you had, including a couple of iterations for chain harnesses that could be used to complete looks for some of the members.

Needless to say, you could make him blush and exhibit obvious jealous undertones at your command, and at the same time, make him look like the happiest man on the planet just by a couple of well-timed words. He seemed to have a particularly sharp reaction to when you mentioned San, and a choker that you had prepared.

You were not sure what the story there was, because San had been nothing but friendly to you, and as a matter of fact, had been showering their captain with praise and practically giving you a Hongjoong sales pitch. But you decided to not press the matter further. ATEEZ will be ATEEZ.

When he had played a couple of songs for you and explained how he had been working on them, you decided to go into a compliment monologue. You wished you could translate his shy laughter into a design. How could one recreate Kim Hongjoong in an article of clothing? In an outfit? It would be lifetimes before that could be achieved. So for the time being, you were content with cradling your phone screen as you listened to Hongjoong.

Somehow, the conversation turned into My Chemical Romance appreciation, as you divulged that yes, you may be goth, but that did not somehow limit you nor did it mean you were to look down upon anything else. Quite the opposite, the culture you followed had given you nothing but love, and all you wanted was to share it. And a part of this love was given to the band, who you enjoyed blasting while working, while commuting, and simply just because you wanted to sit there, head empty, and listen to them.

While you were rambling away about The Black Parade album, the songs you liked from it such as the classic - Teenagers, and about MCR's legendary comeback, Hongjoong was slammed full force by a EUREKA moment, and discreetly he noted it down on a stray post-it note. He knew exactly what he would gift to you that would beat anything and everything. At least he hoped it would.

Once the call had ended, he did not go home. In fact, he had gone to the photoshoot directly from the studio, much to the discontent of his manager and the concern of his members. But did he give a shit? No. He had spent the entire night talking, and creating for his love. He was not going to lie about it anymore. It was true. He was not a fan. He wanted so much more. And he was going to fight for it.

Fight me. Choi San. I dare you.

Such calls became a regular occurrence, since conveniently enough both of you were night owls (to the point where it was confusing what time zone you actually lived in). They had also served to lighten up his mood, to the point where after a couple of days he had stopped giving San the silent treatment (aside from captain's orders) and promoted the member back to acquaintanceship status.

The members noticed that you and him had become much closer in regular, in person interactions too, and as the days went on, you would spend a lot longer in one another's company. To the point where San could not keep up his game any more. Not that he had any opportunity to, since as soon as he was to make a beeline for you, Hongjoong would be right there, with a question, a joke, a random comment, or a small gift.

He had taken to discussing clothing modification with you, bringing some of his projects with him a couple of times, which you were more than happy to feedback on and even wreak havoc together with him. With the various trinkets that he was giving you, thanks to Wooyoung's creativity, some of the members had taken to calling Hongjoong 'the magpie man'.

But weeks passed, the shoots and collaborative design sessions were being wrapped up, and Hongjoong had settled into some kind of odd routine with you - one which you began to be dissatisfied with. It was as though he had started decelerating. As you watched the ATEEZ members being prepared for another, now video shoot for a series of promotions for the ATEEZ x ARNURI collection (the designs of which had been finalised ahead of schedule thanks to a certain captain helping you catch the essence of his group), you wondered if there was something that had influenced Hongjoong's firey pursuit in the first place...

Whilst observing their interactions, your eyes finally settled on him. None other than Choi San. The one member other than Hongjoong who had been extra friendly with you, but recently also stepped off the gas. Were they competing in some way? But San was literally talking about the other member most of the time-

Oh.

Oh. Now it made sense. You could not help but smile. Oh this was elaborate. In true ATEEZ fashion. All you needed was confirmation.

"Sannie? Could you come here for a moment?" purposefully using his nickname to highlight how you guys were 'so close', you called for his attention. Thus calling the attention of every other member too.

He seemed to catch the drift, or at least the not-so-gentle shove from Wooyoung helped, as he called back with a nickname and sauntered right to you, resembling a cat on the prowl. You caught Hongjoong's glare darting from you to him. Soon enough, he was glowering.

"Alright, San," you beckoned him closer to you, to which he obliged, "tell me about your plan regarding Hongjoong, will you?"

"Ah so it was kind of obvious..." he rubbed the back of his neck, looking off to the side.

"Evidently not, since I am only bringing this up now."

"But yeah. Okay. Long story short - he likes you. A lot. And that has only gotten more intense, so we decided to give him a couple of nudges."

"We?"

"Oh yeah this was Woo's plan." he pointed in his friend's direction, who appeared to have been ready, all this time, to make a cute pose and wave at you.

"Right."

"And then Hwa kind of improved it so it's more natural."

"Unexpected, but okay I see it."

"And then... um. Basically something happened and the rest of the guys are on the cheer squad."

"This is unbelievable." you stated, keeping your voice intentionally monotone.

"I'm really sorry. I know this is probably really silly and-"

"I want in."

"You- what now? Hold up can you back track."

"Well I think the main point to address is that, yes, I do indeed like Hongjoong too. A lot. And I am disappointed that he is a bit to comfortable right now."

"Now we're talking! See, San told you." Yunho, who was halfway through getting his makeup done but excused himself to hear the monumental tea, had appeared beside you, and soon enough you three had formed a huddle.

"Yunho, it wasn't too hard to guess I recall explicitly telling you I thought Hongjoong to be handsome."

"Yeah but who knows... maybe it was a fashion thing. I was judging more from the body language. And some other stuff but that's a company secret." Yunho explained, and winked.

"Dang, well. Nice. So, I think we sort of understand each other?"

"We all want Hongjoong to stop being a little bitch and confess?" San asked, making your eyes widen, as you were nonplussed at the choice of words.

"Precisely," Yunho agreed, entirely not phased, "which is why I propose operation 'Jealous Joong'. Even though he is like a tired dad most of the time, hate to break it to you, he has this sort of switch. If he really wants something, he will do anything to get it. And I think the same applies if it is someone we are talking about."

"You are more devious than I thought." you praised him, slowly clapping your hands together at the fun facts you had just been given.

"Never trust the innocent-looking ones." San warned you in a light-hearted tone.

"Noted, mister 'I will burn through the camera with my sultry gaze'."

"I'll take it. Now, my lady, let's go give Joongie some hell."

"Let's get this show on the road!"

And oh boy, was this quite the show. San's demeanour towards you had changed almost fully. He amped up the touchiness, requested that it was you who would be finalising his looks, making you float around him, and him alone.

This was riling up Hongjoong until his blood was boiling. He felt cheated. At the same time, Yunho, Wooyoung and Seonghwa kept on trying to grab his attention, while simultaneously making not so pleasant comments about what they were seeing between you and San. Feeding Hongjoong's turbulent emotions.

And San kept it up, right until the end of the shoot for the say, when Hongjoong, after saying a curt thanks, bolted out of the building, not caring for the staff that had ended up having to chase after him. Initially you thought that what you had agreed to do might have been to much, but Seonghwa, with two thumbs up, had reassured you that what was achieved was the optimum.

Sure enough, it did not take too long for Hongjoong to make an appearance. At one twenty-three. In the morning. Somehow managing to sneak into ARNURI, and right up to the door to your office, where you were still sat, enjoying the pleasures of filtering through massive email chains.

A couple of knocks on the door made you take a decorative bird skull in your hand, before attempting to not stutter as you said 'come in'. But there he was. As promised. A disheveled and determined Hongjoong, holding something tightly in his hand.

"Hi. Yeah. I am back. So. Sorry. For this afternoon. I don't know what had gotten into me. But. I just. I just want to share something with you. It's been something I have been working on the last couple of weeks, and well, uhm, I guess before you make any decisions or anything like that I just wanted to... gift it to you? Sorry, I know it is probably ridiculous but-"

"I'd love to listen to it, Joongie. Is it on a memory stick?" you pointed at his fist as he nodded vigorously and approached to pass it to you.

Promptly, you plugged it into your computer, and in a matter of a minute, the air was filled with Hongjoong's incredible cover of 'Teenagers', with him having added a well-matched, self-composed rap verse. His nerve. His energy. They were incomparable to anything you had heard.

And to think you had begun to doubt that he liked you and was getting cold... on the contrary, his feelings only got deeper. When the song finished, and you two were in quietude once more, Hongjoong began to fill the silence with his worries:

"So yeah. That was that. I just wanted to play this for you because you know, you like the original a lot. And I am sorry for causing you the trouble you probably did not want to be disturbed and here I am-"

"I loved it, Hongjoong. Seriously."

"Thanks..." he trailed off, not being able to meet you as you stood up from your desk.

"Let me show you something in return. Follow me."

You led him through a side door in your office and into your personal studio. Once you turned on one of the floor lamps, you asked Hongjoong to inspect one of the mannequins. The mannequin. Hongnequin.

Hongjoong was speechless as he gaped at the intricate needlework, the hints of shimmer in just the right places, like deep space collected in a suit. He turned to you about to sing praises, but became even more floored as you said to him:

"This is yours."

"Huh?"

"Hopefully I got the size right."

"Wait... when? How?"

"It's... been a while. Care to make a poor designer happy and give them a little try on?"

As you asked that, suddenly, Hongjoong got bold and came close to you, so your faces were mere inches away. He studied you, and tentatively placed his hands on your waist. As you made not move to reject him, he pulled you a little closer:

"You actually made this for me... it is so beautiful. You really are a star."

"And what's your wish upon a star?"

"Can the star be mine?"

"Finally."

And you closed the gap between you with a sweet kiss, resting your arms around his neck and shoulders, relishing in the sensation.

Once you broke away, gleaming and with you giggling at the fact that Hongjoong whispered to himself that 'you were actually his girlfriend now wow', you couldn't help but want to make the moment even more delightful, perhaps just for yourself.

"I should definitely thank San and the gang for this."

"Excuse you?"

"Yeah, apparently if they had not provoked you... who knows..."

The group was in for an interesting night, as once Hongjoong was back, he announced his presence by yelling out a loving

"SEONGHWA YOU TRAITOR!"

"DON'T TALK TO HIM LIKE THAT HE MADE FOOD TONIGHT!" Wooyoung shouted back across the apartment, making some of the already sleeping members cuss him out from within their rooms.

"Uh, hi? Hongjoong? Back from studio?" Seonghwa was peering out from their shared room, an oversized hood covering the majority of his face as he tried to wake up.

"No, back from visiting my girlfriend who kindly revealed to me that I live with a bunch of rats????"

"WEE WOO WEE WOO LADS HONGJOONG HAS ACQUIRED A GOTH GF ALL IS GOOD IN THE WORLD!" Wooyoung sounded like a megaphone, racing out of his room and almost smashing the door open to San's, but the later was ready, for he immediately joined in by chanting:

"goth gf goth gf gotH GF GOTH GF-"

"I will end all of you. Now HWA??? HOW DID THOSE TWO DEMON CHILDREN FIND ANYTHING OUT IN THE FIRST PLACE? WHERE, INFO, WHEN?"

"You know the restaurant I showed you a bit of time back?" the eldest recounted.

"Yeah the one with A5 grade beef."

"Well... they took me there. In exchange for a Hongjoong info drop."

"You know what? I can't even be mad. Plus, I am too happy to do anything right now. You got lucky. Now let's sleep, I have a date tomorrow!" Hongjoong squealed, hopping to the room much to the amusement of the members who had been bothered to sacrifice their beauty sleep.

But as he walked past a smiling San, his smile had instantly turned demonic, as he tilted his head and whispered:

"And you and I will have a long and intimate talk tomorrow. Prepare yourself, For I like to extend the fun."

Although San was not looking forward to it, he gave himself a pat on the back. This was what the real bro code was.

--

After the launch of the collaborative line and the promotions, ARNURI's sales went through the roof. Some items had sold out instantly, others already had long pre-order lists. You were being invited to shows rather than having to fight tooth and nail for it. You had scheduled participations in official weeks, mid-season events and more. Again, all thanks to your inspiration, your muse, your partner, Kim Hongjoong.

As the collaboration had been close enough, you two could easily hide your relationship from the public. But after what had come to be a little over a year of you flying solo on the media, you had chosen to reveal your relationship in as an extravagant way possible.

Camera flashes. Journalists. Designers. Models. VIPs. At Seoul Fashion Week, there was no place were there were no people. Crowds of enthusiastic fashionistas combatted with the press to get a closer glimpse at those on the red carpet, and went wild as you stepped out. Dressed in a gorgeous onyx ARNURI gown, hugging you in just the right places. Hongjoong immediately followed, and joined you, with his hand on the small of your back to protect his star. Dressed in the matching suit that you had designed just for him, for your muse.

[homolobotomized]

drawing like. 30 women from one piece and im not even close to done but here are a few so far :3

i used smth i drew of ace a while ago as a sorta reference for hers bc i wanted to keep their features (nose, jaw line, eyebrows, etc.) mostly the same. i also gave her brunette roots but was kinda fighting for my life w it so if it looks stupid, well..! i also added went w more texture than i have w the other ones and im p happy w it!

dont have a lot to say here but i used some official art as a reference for this one but changed it up a little for my convenience. i wanted a grittier (?) brush for hers to sorta match her vibes. struggled w the glasses but we persevered bc she is my beautiful wife

i went back and forth on whether or not i wanted to draw baby 5 for this but i had this expression in mind and she seemed like a good fit for it. love u girl

giving all three of them tooth gaps was unintentional but whaytever. i spent an unreasonable amount of time on this and it was a pain in my ass but this is by far my favorite so it was worth it i suppose ^_^

wanted to branch out with the characters im drawing / do very minor characters and i think her design is cute so 🙌 i wanted to make her resemble kalgara at least more than she does in canon (oda yew will pay) so she got his skin tone & sorta his nose 🫡

ikkakuuu. im really happy w this one its actually one of my favorites! i think its the combination of the brush texture & simple shading 🫶

[psalacanthea]

Fanfic Friday- 5/3

The poll decreed I must pull out something ridiculously self-indulgent I wrote for myself, so here you go!

Astarion x Tav if they'd met before he was a vampire spawn, and she had an oopsie baby after he disappeared.

Post-canon, trying to build a home in a ruined Drow city in the Underdark while dealing with two separate families- mortal and vampire.

This is NOT kidfic (all children involved are full adults, lol), but rather them reconnecting after she was bullied by their daughter to help kill Cazador so her father could finally be free.

10kish words, SFW. (lmk if u think i should put this on AO3)

Much like the rest of their unnamed city, deep in the bowels of the Underdark, Astarion’s study slash meeting hall was half-ruined, empty, and lacking in livable touches.

He hated it.

Still, they were ostensibly safe, and at least for the moment he had some company to complain at.

“And then– you’ll never believe this– Octavia said that it was Rydell who had insulted the Drow ambassador, and worse still, Dalyria defended her.  Everyone knows it was Octavia.  She’s not subtle!  It’ll be a wonder if they ever speak to us again.”

“The amount of drama a bunch of vampire spawn can get up to is rather impressive,”  Lilithera said, voice just a tiny bit distracted.  It usually was.  She spent far too much time working, something he’d have to talk to Zynatheri about.  “Did it cause problems with the negotiations?”

“No,” Astarion sighed, grateful that wasn’t a problem, at least.  “Luckily the myconids standing guard kept things civil.  It was a spot of brilliance suggesting a bit of– what did you call it?”

“Mmmmmmh, symbiosis?”

“Yes, that.  Darling, what in the Hells are you doing that has you so distracted?”

“Sorry, father,” she said, chagrined, voice echoing out of the scrying orb awkwardly as she moved away from her half of the enchanted relic she'd installed for him.  “I’ve been buried in that stack of books you had mother bring me– the cyphered necromancer’s journals you unearthed in the grand crypt?  I don’t know if there’s going to be anything helpful in them, but they’re still fascinating to translate.”

Anything but that.  Ugh.  It was his fault for feeding the wizard’s curiosity, he supposed.  “Your mother would kill me if you turned to necromancy, love.  Especially Drow necromancy.  You need to get out more. Get some sun.”

Lilithera laughed, an edge of sarcasm sharpening it.  “The irony of being told that by my undead father is not lost on me.  I’m trying to help you get out more.  I was invited to a Liar’s Night party, though.  I haven’t been to Waterdeep in an age, I was considering it.  Mother said she’d look after the twins.”

Waterdeep?

Oh no.  “Who invited you, exactly?”

“Archmage Dek–”

“Absolutely not!  Gale?!  Stay the Hells away from that man!”

Zynatheri was going to murder him.  Quite honestly he would let her, rather than being subjected to the idea of being Gale’s father in law.  Oh gods, just thinking those words made him want to vomit.  No, no, absolutely not.

Whatever was going on between Lily and Gale, as her parents they had a duty to utterly sabotage it.

“Father, he’s a colleague!  You and mum are utterly unreasonable.  I’m a hundred and ninety three years old, a widow, and a mother of four, need I remind you.”

“Mmh,” he muttered with an annoyed purse of his lips, trying to think up an actual, valid argument.  She was always so reasonable and logical, it could be frustrating at times.  She certainly hadn’t gotten that from him or Zynatheri. 

“What is your problem with Gale, anyways?”

“He’s my friend, darling, it feels…wrong.  Plus his romantic history is absolutely horrifying, let me tell you.  Who would want that for their daughter?”

Who would want the possibility of having Dekarios grandchildren?

Disgusting.

“I don’t think the man that got my mother pregnant and then disappeared has any right to judge me.  Speaking of, is mum there yet?  She should be arriving soon, shouldn’t she?”

“Who knows with that woman.  She’s worse than a stray cat,”  Astarion dismissed, despite wondering as much himself.  He was still feeling irritated over their argument last time she’d come by, and the fact that she’d gone and disappeared after it– he didn’t particularly mind disagreeing with her, but she always ran away afterward.  It was getting frustrating.  “How the Hells do you keep her from running off?”

“Oh, I stopped trying years ago.  Are you saying…you don’t want her running off?”  there was a sly, cunning little note to Lilithera’s voice.  That she had gotten from him.  Devious brat.

“I’m saying she showed up in my life, saved said life, dropped an entire family in my lap, and then went prancing off into the sunset.  Now she only reappears to do incredibly helpful things, and then briefly infuriate me before disappearing!  It’s very confusing.”

“Imagine having her for a mother.  Have you tried thinking up a reason for her to stay?  A task you might need her help with?  She might be fickle but she always keeps her word, you know.  Or are you too busy pouting and refusing to actually be the one to blink first?”

He rose from his seat, tossing aside the endless piles of reports.  The warming bottle Gale had enchanted for him was only half-full, but that was the state of things right now.  Food was in very short supply, especially with how the idiots kept losing their self-control and stealing from the rothe herd.  And actual thinking food?  

Nothing more than a daydream.

Still, at least he was eating in a more…civilized manner these days.

Pouring blood from bottle into glass, he raised his voice.  “No matter what I say, you’re going to twist it around in that pretty little head of yours until you’ve convinced yourself we’re pining after one another.  She’s a maddening, smug, evil little wretch and just because she confuses me doesn’t mean I’m desperate to learn all her secrets.”

“You’d never know if she were pining after you, anyways.”

Astarion glanced back over his shoulder at the scrying orb, raising his eyebrows.  “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Father, she knows what you’ve been through.  Mother would never make the first move, she’s far too respectful for that; she doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.  She told me as much last time I badgered her about you.”

“You really are a meddlesome little pest, aren’t you, darling?”

There was laughter in her voice.  “It’s a family trait.  When I was a child, before she discovered what had happened to you, I hated you.  I was happy you were gone.  Now that I know you and understand…well, you’re probably the only person I know of that could put up with her.  And vice versa.”

“Stop meddling, love.  You’re too pretty to fret over such things, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“You’re only saying that because everyone says I look like you.  I should go, I’m having dinner with Portia.”

“Tell the girl I say hello.”

“You’re going to have to get used to the word ‘grandfather’ sooner or later.”

Astarion grimaced, glancing out the window.  “No thank you.”

“Ilethra’s getting married.  You might be a great-grandfather before you know it.”

He scowled out at the fungus-lit cavern beyond, spite and annoyance simmering.  How dare she make him feel old like that?  “You’re no longer my favorite.  Why did you have to marry a human?  At least if your children were elven we’d have more time.”

“If you want another full elven child, I suggest you make one yourself.  Ta, father.  I love you.”

By the time the words sank in past his surprise, the spell had long since been banished, the scrying orb dark.  Still, he glanced over his shoulder, gazing at it as an unfamiliar, but welcome warmth rose within him.  She said it so easily, and so earnestly.  

He had someone who loved him.

Of course he put his best foot forward with her most of the time, but Lilithera wasn’t a child.  She was a fully grown woman, and an intelligent and discerning one at that.  He hadn’t tricked her into saying it.

She really, truly meant it.

He wondered if she still would if she knew everything he’d done.

Still, there was no point dwelling on it.  Not when he was neck-deep in shit without a shovel in sight.  Why he’d thought two centuries of in-fighting and petty conflict could be banished all at once, he didn’t know, but when they weren’t demanding he provide all the answers, his siblings spent all of their time arguing.

They’d lost a good thousand of their people already to death and decampment, which he couldn’t say he felt too badly about.  Less mouths to feed, at least.  But the others were panicking, worried about the ill-will those that left could be garnering.  As much as he hated to agree, they might be right.

Petras was trying to convince him to hire assassins to hunt them down.

As if they had the money for that.

Hells, they’d barely stopped traveling, and half of them were sleeping the days away in holes in the ground.  Hardly a safe situation.  That was why allying with the myconids had been a spot of brilliance.  Still a tenuous alliance, but they were working on it.  The Sovereign trusted Zynatheri at least; which would be more useful if the damnable woman would stay.  Now, if only they could forge an alliance with the nearby Drow, instead of having to fear they’d be turned on at a moment’s notice…

He really needed someone to talk to about all of this that wasn’t a vampire themselves.

Just to clear his mind, if nothing else.

Unfortunately, it took a full fortnight for the cat to come back.

“Poppy!  Lysander!”

Why were all her bloody family members so tall?!

Zyn’s fault, entirely.  If she wanted a child, she should have found another drow, but no– no, she’d gone and had a daughter with a high elf.  And then, even worse, her daughter had gone and had children with an even taller human!  It wasn’t fair, that’s what it was.  She was tempted to polymorph herself just to keep up, but after they’d gotten into a scrabble with cloakers earlier, Zyn was feeling a bit low on spellpower.

The twins, of course, were in fine spirits, galumphing along like colts.

“Come on, little mum!” Poppy called back, standing at the top of a narrow cliffside path.  It needed widening.  Some masonry, supports, and a retaining wall, at least.

She knew Astarion had other priorities, but having a good route to the city would be important.  Sadly, she knew as much about road-building as she knew about city planning.  Nil.

“I need you two to hold back!  We can’t enter the city without an escort, you know this!”

The pair paused at the cusp of the hill, but their backs were to Zyn.  She took the incline herself with ill grace, very, very ready to be off of her feet.  She despised the Underdark.  Zyn couldn’t believe in the past year she’d been down here almost a dozen times.  The things one did for family.

Lilithera kept thinking up reasons she needed Zyn to come down.

The girl couldn’t be more obviously trying to herd her parents into a relationship if they tried.

Zynatheri felt…pleasantly surprised by Astarion.  Over the years she’d had nothing at all to do with him after locating him.  And what Lilithera had told her from her scrying wasn’t enough to make any judgments about what he was going through, not enough to know his attitude about his unlife.  When he’d been kidnapped, Lilithera had immediately begged her to find him and protect him, and she’d done her best.

But her expectations of a man who had been tortured and a vampire for two hundred years were very, very low.

So to find him more like the young man she barely remembered than expected was a shock.  Oh, he was more confident now, much more traumatized, and far more worldly and mature, but there was still something of that ambitious, fussy, self-absorbed spoiled brat she’d liked so much in him.  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t gotten more bitter and nasty over the years, herself.

Life did that even if you weren’t being abused by a vampire.

Zyn finally reached the top of the hill, ignoring the worried look and gracefully extended hand Lysander offered down her.  He was a sweet boy, but spent far too much time worrying.  It made her feel old.

“Darling, I’m barely even three hundred,” she told him, not bothering to hide the exasperation.  “Before long, you’re going to be older than me!”

“That isn’t how it works, little mum,” Poppy said with a roll of her eyes.

The twins couldn’t be more different and yet oddly alike– they both were the most curiously sensitive and caring children she’d ever met, but with a morbid streak a mile wide.  But while Lysander turned it inward, with dreamy eyes and a worrying penchant for poetry, Poppy turned it outward, with a ferocity of purpose and a helping hand that preferred to hold an axe.  And yet, there had never been two siblings as close-knit as they were.

When Lysander had asked to meet their grandfather, it hadn’t even been a question that Poppy would come along.

Besides, she needed more combat experience.

Together they stood on that precipice, attention naturally drawn to the ruin below them.  An ancient drow city, where her mother’s own people had been driven out generations ago in a conflict with the Houses of Menzoberranzan.  It looked…better than she recalled from last time, some signs of repairs beginning.  Clumsy repairs, mind, but between the vampires’ awkward attempts at masonry and the myconids’ aid in the form of natural fungal structures, it was beginning to look livable.

The multicolored mushrooms glowing against the surface of the ancient, slick black, spiky architecture was a surprisingly pleasant contrast.

“This was once called Arzullnioth.  It’s where your great-grandmother’s family lived long before the Spellplague.  The Houses of Arzullnioth attacked Menzoberranzan.  It did not go well,”  Zynatheri commented, starting to lead the way down the slope.  “Llolth chose Menzoberranzan, but your great-grandmother’s House was spared her wrath because they sacrificed every first-born daughter to her in a desperate placation.  They killed and killed until Lolth bid them stop, with only a single heir left– your great-great grandmother Kiivashti.  Thus, they were allowed to flee the city with what remained of House Tzahane.  My mother told me of it when I was a girl.” “That’s vicious,”  Poppy said disapprovingly, short raven curls bouncing as she shook her head.

“It’s very beautifully sad,” Lysander agreed, amber-and-earth eyes gazing over the cityscape with misty wonder, as if viewing its past.  “Did grandfather find their bodies?”

“Well, I don’t know, pet,”  Zynatheri said, too well-used to fatalistic minds to be bothered by it.  “We can look.  Perhaps they’ve found some clues that would point us to where great-grandmother’s family put their dead.”

“Honestly, little mum, I can see why you don’t like your family,” Poppy said with distaste.  “Killing all your own children; how evil.”

They walked together down the uneven slope of stone, the remnants of an ancient roadway more visible now.  The gate and wall that had closed out the great cavern of Arzullnioth were crumbled, damaged, but it seemed there were sentry myconids patiently standing in the gap where the city’s entrance had been.  Proper guards.  It was good to see.

The Sovereign Vorm had been busy at work budding, it seemed.

“Flower, we are walking into a city full of vampires, so try not to be too enthusiastic about calling things evil?”

“There’s a difference.  I’m not a child any more, I understand,”  Poppy huffed, rolling her eyes.  “The person who is evil is the one who turned them all.  And he’s dead.”

“Righteousness has done just as much wrong, if not more, than those they claim are evil,” Lysander agreed, softly sad.

Zyn fought the urge to scoff at youthful philosophy.  It was fine.  It was a luxury they had which meant they’d been raised safely and well, she had to remind herself, which was exactly what she’d sacrificed so much for.  So that they didn’t end up like her.

The idea softened her momentary exasperation, warming it.

“Ah, I did such a good job raising you,” Zyn self-congratulated, ignoring the pair rolling their eyes at each other behind her.

“Mum had something to do with that, little mum.”

“Well, hells, I raised her, too!”

As they approached the gate, it became clear that the city was still very quiet, only the fungal folk wandering the broken streets.  Shit.  She’d meant to arrive well after nightfall, but it seemed they were still a bit early.  While they took a pause just outside at the shrine of Beshaba Zyn had built, they all did their perfunctory offerings, and then she bid them wait.

“We shouldn’t go in until your grandfather sends someone to fetch us,” Zyn said apologetically.  “Stay right here, I’ll go speak to the guards.”

While she dealt with communicating the fact that she needed Astarion to fetch them, Zyn watched the city streets.  She could see a few shadowy figures out now, which meant it was probably just past nightfall.  Yes, better not to parade the children through the streets in front of a bunch of barely-awake, hungry vampires– that was a recipe for disaster.  

After she got her point across and managed to extricate herself– communicating with myconids was simple for her as a bard, but also addictively enjoyable– Zyn returned to the twins to wait.  And wait.  And…wait.

She was starting to get genuinely annoyed by the time Astarion arrived, and had paced back to the gate to wait, crossing her arms over her chest.  Coming down the hill, disheveled and still in the process of fastening his belt, Astarion looked about as annoyed as she felt.  When he noticed her and frowned, she lifted her chin and stared him down.

“You know where I live!” he snapped at her as he approached.

“I do,” she agreed, lifting her hands as he bore down on her.  “Come here.  Your hair is a mess.”

“Yes, well, I was still in my dressing gown,” he fussed, but obediently leaned down so she could fix his hair for him.  “Why didn’t you just come u–”

“Hello, grandfather!”  Poppy called cheerfully, the twins crunching up to join them.

Astarion straightened abruptly, pulling out of her reach.  He tugged down the front of his embroidered jacket, staring at the approaching pair for a moment before turning an accusing gaze on her.  She gave a small shrug.  Astarion sighed, heavily.

“Don’t take it out on them,” she hissed.

“I know,” Astarion snapped back.  Much to her relief, his mask slipped into place.  “You must be Poppy and Lysander.  I apologize, I hadn’t been told you were coming!  Imagine that!”  The last two words snapped with pointed accusation.

“Can we not fight in front of them, either?”

He gave her a dour look, and then sighed and stepped past her to greet the children.  She kept her peace all the way to the half-ruined palace he had claimed, which amusingly she had realized from the designs of the stonework had once belonged to her mother’s family.  Not that she’d mentioned it.  In fact, Zyn didn’t think she’d ever brought up House Tzahane’s history here to him– it hadn’t seemed relevant.

Having grown up on the surface, she had about as much connection to this place as a pig did to a plate of ham.

Whatever they would make of this place would be their own.

At any rate, Poppy chattered the entire way, so that filled the silence quite nicely.  

As she’d been suspecting, their bright, noisy presence drew a lot of attention as they traveled the shattered streets, something Astarion also seemed extremely aware of.  The twins were relaxed, but they were both on high alert.  Naturally Lysander was drawn to mooning about every even slightly interesting feature, but Zyn kept her hand close and gave him a bit of a tug every time he started to wander or pause to peek in ruined courtyards or fallen buildings.  

He was a bit too much like his deceased mother at times– head forever in the clouds.

As they approached the House, she looked it over with a critical eye.  The towers were missing their old statuary and spires, but it looked like he’d managed to get one of the roofs repaired, finally.  The gardens that spread before the building were neat and tidy but mostly empty, nothing but dirt, rocks, and old paths, with just enough fungal and bulbfruit foliage to feed the pair of rothes stabled there, tied to the remnants of an old shattered obsidian statue of the Spider Queen.

“Well, this is grim,” Poppy remarked.

“Gardening is a bit low on my list of priorities right now,” Astarion replied, sounding fairly annoyed.  “But I agree.  Aesthetically displeasing.  A state of affairs I’ve had to grow accustomed to.  It’s irritating.”

“Why empty it out, then?”

“Half the plants here were aggressive.  They kept trying to kill people.  I much prefer plants I can use to kill other people.  I was unaware kelpies were such an issue here in the Underdark, we’ve had a full half-dozen run ins with the damned things.”

“I’ve never met a kelpie.  I’ve heard they’re very beautiful,” Lysander mused softly.

“You would die,” his sister retorted sharply.  “Please don’t go looking for them.”

“Drowning seems like a peaceful way to die.  Don’t you think?”

“No, love, it involves a lot of choking and thrashing and loosening of the bowels,”  Zynatheri said tolerantly, unphased.  “The right poison or a beheading will do you much better.”

“Beheading is classic,”  Astarion agreed.  “But what about you, dear?”

“I’m going to go out fighting.  I’ll spit blood in their eye as they run me through,”  Poppy said with delighted relish.  

“How vicious,” Astarion laughed.

She knew he was irritated they’d come, but Zynatheri was grateful to discover that he respected her requests to keep things like that private.  Whether it was because they were virtual strangers to him or not, it was still appreciated.  After Ilethra and Portia had gotten to meet him, she hadn’t seen real reason to refuse the twins that wouldn’t have been infantilizing on her part.  Just because they were the babies of the family didn’t make them children.

And she couldn’t say yes to Poppy and no to Lysander just because he had a more, mmh…passive personality.

But Hells, she was going to have to keep an eye on him.  If they weren’t careful, he’d wander into the middle of town in an open-fronted shirt, reading poetry and looking wistfully melancholic.  Then they’d have to explain to Lilithera how they’d gotten her youngest killed.

Or worse, they’d end up with a vampire-in-law.

Silly, lovely boy.

“Let’s try to stay at the House, loves, shall we?”  Zynatheri suggested as they wandered into the vaulted front hall, the massive funguswood doors she’d painstakingly magicked back to life cracked open enough for them all to file in.

“No exploring?”  Poppy asked, obviously disappointed.

“There’s plenty of exploring to do here,”  Astarion said, in tacit agreement with Zyn, which relieved her.  “I haven’t been in half the rooms of this place.  And on that note, we’re a bit low on furniture, so you may have to break out those bedrolls again.  I haven’t the supplies to be a good host.”

“I brought some furniture, and we’re fully provisioned,” Zyn assured him, and smiled at his questioning look.  “Lily found me a portable hole.  I thought it was high time I brought you some things to make this place a bit more livable, now that it’s survivable.”  And because she knew he’d be annoyed and she wanted to sweeten his temper so he didn’t take it out on the children.

Astarion shot her a look of wide-eyed gratitude that made her laugh.

“You suffer more than anyone has ever suffered before,” she teased him.

“Even a single rug sounds like bliss right about now.  The floors are always cold despite how warm it is here.”

“Little mum said you like to read, so I brought you books,” Lysander said, attention fixed somewhere among the buttresses.  He tripped slightly, staggered, and then straightened up with Poppy’s hand on his elbow, looming over all three of them.  “When you have time later, grandfather, Poppy and I were hoping we could speak with you.”

“My docket’s rather full for most of the night– at dinner later, perhaps?”

“Dinner?  Dinner’s already passed,”  Poppy said with a laugh.

“When you’re a visitor, you have to follow local customs.  We’ll follow his schedule.  You heard grandfather, he has a lot to do.”  Zyn turned her attention to him, raising an eyebrow.  “Should I put them in the room you gave me last time?”

“Thank you,” he said simply, already stepping away.  “I’ll leave you to it?”

As she’d much rather he processed their arrival away from the twins, Zynatheri left it at that and they parted ways.

It was always such a struggle to keep your damage from infecting those around you.  And Astarion?  He had a great many scars both literal and figurative.  Well, if he got too snippy with them, she could always threaten his life again.

There was always time for murder.

...

Astarion cradled his head in his hand, slumped deep into his chair.

“There is no need to waste energy on a farce of a court when immediate suppression is necessary to our survival,” Aurelia said firmly, with a hint of hurt and frustration in her voice.  “We lost another of our brethren today, and–”

Violet sighed in deep ennui, eyes rolling up and to the side as she splayed forward.  Resting her pale cheek on her palm, she stared at their tiefling sibling.  Her voice dripped with sing-song disdain. “Stop pretending to care.  You just want power.  You’re afraid giving Astarion judicial power means you can’t be Queen Aurelia.  Give it up. Nobody wants you to be in charge, you overbearing, weepy cow.”

“Why are we worrying about a few dead rothes when there’s runaway spawn out there, muddying our name everywhere we go?  We need to strike them down!  This is about our long-term survival!” Petras snapped, slamming his hands on the table.

Astarion sighed again, well aware Yousen and Dalyria were staring at him expectantly.  Of course when Petras said something, he was expected to respond.  “And what do you expect us to do in the short term, I wonder?” he asked, head rolling to the side as his hand dropped with an exasperated flourish.  “Do tell, brother.  Where does the money come from to fund your little hunting escapades?  Will we starve while you play?  Or are you just trying to get permission to go lurk in the nearest city?  Hmm?  Do a little clandestine hunting yourself?”

Predictable as always, Petras’ expression immediately stiffened.  Idiot.  Gods, at least he was still stupid; imagine if he’d actually become intelligent in the wake of freedom.

This all would be even more complicated.

They didn’t have the time for complicated right now, there were some corners that needed cutting.

“There’s no need to overthink it.  It’s only a judicial court, and we’re immortal!  We either execute people, flog them, or fine them within an inch of their lives.  What good will imprisonment do?”  Astarion declared, leaning back in his seat to scan across his siblings once more.

Dalyria gave him a look of disapproval, but he ignored it.

“He has a point,” Yousen said sardonically.

“We may not have time for building a code of laws just yet, but we cannot start executing people in the street!”  Dalyria protested, tearing her gaze away from Astarion.  “If people are afraid they will flee, and the damage already done will worsen.  What we need to do is focus on a cu–”

“Cure?  What, while we starve to death?  The idiots are killing our source of food.  They may as well die,” Petras said, giving Dal a look of frustration.  When she turned away from him, lifting her chin, he raised his voice sharply.  “Don’t ignore me because you don’t like my point!”

“Waaah,” Violet said snidely, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

“What an intelligent rebuttal.”

“Rebuttal?  What a long word.  Have you learnt to read at last, Petras?”

“Leon?”  Aurelia interrupted from the head of the table before things grew any more fraught.

“Do as you like,” their silent sibling said, staring at a polished black stone mural behind Aurelia’s head.  Leon’s voice was affectedly bored.  “What do they call those spider-drow, Astarion?”

“Driders,” he replied, cautious about the change in topic.  

“I found a skeleton of one below my House,” Leon said, voice musing.  “Within tunnels surrounding a whole…temple of Lolth.  Have we any knowledge regarding Lolth’s opinion on vampires?”

“Necromancy is common in Drow society,” Astarion temporized, trying to search his memory.  Did he know that?  Had he asked Zynatheri?  No, he didn’t think he had, beyond using their dead.  “Ritual sacrifice is her favorite activity, I doubt she draws the line at vampires.  Just try not to desecrate the temple?”

Being the opportunist he was, Yousen slithered into the conversation then.  “Lucky for us you’ve acquired a pet Drow, then.  You can ask it.”

“Jealousy is ugly, brother,” Astarion retorted dismissively, waving a hand.  Considering how she had chosen to arrive this time, he knew the information would have reached his siblings.  He also knew Yousen was ensuring that everyone else was certain to know.  Stirring the pot.  

Conniving little gnome.

“You should share food with the whole family.”

Fine.  He wanted to push?  Astarion was more than happy to push right back.  “Speaking of pets, brother dear, have you told Violet yet that you were the one who killed the kruthik hatchling she was keeping?”

Yousen went silent immediately, but the silence didn’t last long.

Within moments the table had descended into threats, verbal attacks, and accusations as two centuries of bile spilled over once more.  Normally Astarion would have been among them, goading, but being in control for the moment, he only felt a detached sense of amusement.  They were so easy to manipulate.

Granted, this wasn’t progress, but at least they weren’t irritating him any longer.

And wasn’t that what really mattered?

As the others attacked one another, Astarion and Leaon observed one another across the table in silence.  Their alliance was, and remained tenuous, but Astarion understood his youngest ‘brother’ more now than he had before.  What he had done– what he was still doing for his daughter– was completely comprehensible now in a way none of the others could understand.

It also, unfortunately, settled some of his rage and vitriol towards Zynatheri for never rescuing him.

Although he didn’t feel it, that urge to protect a child, he did at least understand it now.  It wasn’t fair that his grudge was being ruined with this new comprehension, but oh well.  She didn’t need to know he wasn’t angry any more.  

If she did, she might feel less guilty, and then she wouldn’t be so quick to placate him.

Eventually, when he made no attempt, Aurelia bullied and tearfully manipulated everyone back into line.  They made a few pressing decisions, though the greater one of ‘justice’ remained undecided apart from temporarily being shoved onto Astarion’s plate.  Dalyria was the odd one out, determined to give grace and understanding for some reason.  He assumed she wanted to pick a fight with Aurelia.

And Astarion also knew she was already experimenting on some of the spawn assigned to her House.  Another tidbit to keep in his back pocket.  One never knew when it might come in handy to toss out at a necessary moment– no matter how lenient he was towards the three of them, he was also more cautious around his sisters.

Yousen was wholly untrustworthy, Petras was stupid and petulant, and Leon, well…he was only here at all due to bribery and threats.

Things wound down a bit more tense than before, as they always did, and everyone parted ways to go back to secretly trying to manipulate one another.  Part of him had hoped being free would mean things would get better, but that seemed impossible unless they went their separate ways.  Their scars were all twisted together, making them parts of a whole in an unwholesome and unpleasantly familial fashion.  They had been forced to be family, but that was over, and somehow they still were.

Even Leon, though he denied it.

And right now, they needed each other.

He waited until they were all gone before leaving the table himself, knowing none of them would be stupid enough to go skulking through his House right now.  Later, when he wasn’t expecting it would be more likely.  He did note that Yousen hadn’t mentioned the children, which made him think that he hadn’t known they were Astarion’s mortal relations.

None of the children looked enough like Lilithera to be easily identifiable as his blood, thankfully.

Finally he rose to leave, ignoring the papers and reports.  Not now.  Now he wanted to relax, as being around family could be exhausting.

“Astarion.”

Hands clutched abruptly at his sleeve as he left the ancient dining room they’d been using as a meeting chamber.  Astarion paused with a start, exhausted mind already ready to snap until he looked into Violet’s worried eyes, her lips pulled down into a deep frown.  Annoyed, he still tempered his frustration.  Not listening to her would just send her into a fit.

“Yes, Vi?”

“Before the meeting over the judicial court, I overheard Petras telling Dalyria that Aurelia wanted them to vote against you.”

Astarion fought the urge to roll his eyes, well aware of the simple attempt at manipulation.  “While I appreciate you telling me, dear, you do know that for this to work, sometimes we will vote against each other?  Otherwise, what’s the point in making a council at all?  I would just name myself tyrant if that weren’t the case.”  As much as he hated to admit it.

“Yes, but they’re plotting.”

He tapped the end of her nose affectionately, and she clutched him closer, fingers creeping into the crook of his arm, possessive and spidery.  “Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

She smiled at him with an innocence that almost hid the wicked edge, ducking her chin, scarlet eyes averting.  “I thought you would want to know.  I’ve been working very hard on my House.  Will you come see it tonight?”

For a moment he nearly, habitually said yes, and then remembered the hapless relatives gamboling around in his House with fearless abandon.  Also, Zynatheri was waiting for him.  With a smile, he peeled her fingers from his arm, giving her hand a small pat as he released her.

“Tomorrow.  I have things to do, still.”

“You mean you’re going to spend time with your mortal.”  All affectation and smiles left her face; she didn’t even bother to look hurt or pained.  Just cold, and nasty.  “I don’t like her.”

“She is the only reason we’re safe down here,” he rejected her simply, taking her arm with a pointed air and all but dragging her to the exit.  The last person he wanted to be here right now was Violet.  

Once he ensured all of his siblings were gone, he turned away and headed deeper into the House, away from any errant spawn.

Every step echoed.

That echo was constant, a reminder of how empty this place was.  When Astarion had sent them to the Underdark and promised to follow, he’d been anticipating a crude camp, a constant struggle, carving a life out of dangerous caverns.  He’d even been considering leading them to Grymforge in the hopes of making it livable, but…

To have found this half-shattered, ancient Drow city was beyond all of his expectations, and it was Lilithera and Zynatheri who had made it possible.

But gods was it empty.

Then again, empty was better than how it had been when they’d moved in; stuffed full of monsters, traps, and other dangerous things.

He didn’t blame Zynatheri for preferring to be in his room– it was the only one decorated.  Again, thanks to her and her daughter.  He should dig something out of the artifacts they’d found to send back to Lily in thanks.  Something that wasn’t necromantic.  This time.

“Grandfather!”

The word still roused a twinge of unease, and not just because it made him feel old.  Because it made him feel dead.  It was the same reason he’d rejected Lilithera’s offer to find what remained of his mortal family– that all was so ancient and forgotten he would rather leave it that way.  For now.  But his own discomfort, well, it hardly mattered to the children.

And Zynatheri had made it rather clear she would murder him if he in any way upset them.

They bore down on him, golden-eyed, energetic Poppy and wistful, distracted Lysander.  A continuation of his life, like lively mushrooms sprouting from a dead log.  All of them made him feel the strangest sense of rejection and yearning, wanting what they were to him but not wanting to admit what he’d lost.  He did try to keep it from them, at least.

His relations were twisted enough without inflicting it on these bright, curiously innocent creatures his mortal life had made.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I’ve never been in a Drow Great House before!  Sometimes I forget that we’re quarter drow, it’s not like people see that.  They just call you a half-elf and be done with it,” Poppy chattered, beaming at him until her eyes crinkled like Lilithera’s.

“It’s beautiful and lonely,” Lysander opined, untidy hair falling back from his eyes as he gazed upwards. "The walls are full of ghosts, and the floors hold memories of blood."

Poppy grinned with a hint of feral excitement. “We were just going to go find little mum, to see if she wanted to go exploring! Maybe we'll find an ooze.”

Astarion knew by now that there was nothing she wanted less.  Lazy woman.  “Your grandmother is resting.  Under orders.  I would appreciate it if you two would head downstairs and survey the second level for me.  Take an inventory of what remains.  But if there’s danger more than a trap or a few undead, you have to promise to come fetch us at once.”

“We promise,” Poppy agreed earnestly, cheeks dimpling in an irrepressible smile.  

“Go on, then.  My rooms are just there,” he pointed down the left-hand hallway.  “You’ll be able to see the firelight.  You have…food and things?  Water?  Potions?”

“We are provisioned for the journey,”  Poppy said, curls bouncing as she nodded vigorously.

He was about to let them go, until a thought struck him, uncomfortable and worried.  No.  They weren’t truly safe here, were they?  Not even in his demesne.  It chilled him to think about what Violet would do if she had them in her hands.  “If you…see anyone at all.  Any strangers.  Please come right back.”

“Little mum told us not to trust anyone but you,” Lysander reassured him, those dreamy copper eyes suddenly, and surprisingly intent.  “We won’t succumb to the lure of darkness.”

“He means we won’t talk to strangers,”  Poppy said, with a hint of exasperation.  Grabbing her twin by his upper arm, she started dragging him off.  “Honestly!  They act like we aren’t grown,” she complained as she pulled him towards the grand staircase in the main hall.

“They have seen centuries; us, mere decades.”

“That doesn’t mean they have to be so overbearing about it,” Poppy complained.

“I’m still standing right here!”

Poppy glanced over her shoulder, pulling down the skin under her eye with her free hand, making a horrible face.

Reflexively he made a face back at her, and her expression shifted into an impish smile.  

Bemused, he watched them disappear into the darkness.

Once their footsteps died away, a thin silvery thread of sound drew his attention.  A soft, ethereal voice, languidly singing a wordless song.  A siren in the shadows.  It was the barest beckon, only audible due to echoes and the slight crack of the bedroom door that spilled gilded light into the massive ebon corridor.  

A lone figure, dwarfed by the empty and lonesome architecture, he followed that lure.

The austere, icy darkness of the reflective walls and ominous vaulted space faded away as he pushed open the door, the gilded firelight spilling over him.  It was warmer within, a spiral of steam rising from the newly-hidden bathtub in the corner.  The wood and silk folding screen Lilithera had bought him was in front of it, partially blocking it from view.

What had once been a room empty of everything but an icy stone bed frame and an empty basin was now a living space, hangings on the walls, rugs on the floor.  Books and furnishings and a sturdy desk covered in papers, curios.  A painting of his family on the mantle.  Signs of life and living, tucked into a space that was his.

And before the fire, lounging on the daybed with her nearly-dry alabaster hair cascading over the arm and down to the floor, was the curious creature who had barged her way into his life and gleefully disordered it.  A glowing golden glass of brandy was sitting on the floor just under her dangling fingertips, her moonstone eyes vague and distant.  Zynatheri was singing to herself, drowsy and soft, blue cheek pillowed attractively on a bright golden pillow, her knees curled up under his burgundy dressing gown.  The curve of one soft calf peeked out, her foot pointed off the cushion in a graceful, sinuous line.

Astarion was struck, in the oddest fashion, by a desire to let her do nothing but lounge and sing like a contented songbird for the rest of her life.  Avarice wanted her caged, unable to leave so that he could always have this curiously warm sensation, but humanity– if that’s what you wanted to call it– wanted her here like this.  A sweetly nested bird with no desire to fly away.

It suited her.

“Are you drunk, little fox?” he asked, amusement spilling over the words.

She startled, knees curling up to her chest, hands clutching the front of his dressing gown closed– as if he hadn’t seen the unbound, ripe curves of her bared chest already.  Accusing moonstone eyes turned on him.  “You bid me relax, brought me brandy, and I have drunk.  I cannot un-drink, or un-drunk.”

“But you can draw me a bath, it seems.”

“I heard you talking to the twins and heated it up, so it’s still warm.”

“Thank you.”

Pushing off the doorframe, he pulled the door closed behind him, knowing there would be a sliver of light in the hallway.  Feeling a sudden buoyancy in his mood, he paused while passing by the daybed, leaning over the curving back.  She peered up at him, nose wrinkling irritably as he swiped a finger down her cheek, the skin velvety and warm under his fingertip.

Mockingly, he rubbed his fingers together, inspecting them.  “Hmmh.”

“I washed,” she said, tartly.

“So you did,” he agreed, smirking to himself.

“There’s a wooden box of bath essences on the table,” she murmured, eyes slitting closed like a contented cat when his hand briefly rested on her head in passing.

The reaction was so soft, so natural, that his mind couldn’t help but dwell on what a more affectionate caress might do.  He might as well admit it.  Astarion was fascinated by the little minx.  Attracted to her.  He might be a little more uneasy about that if her two centuries of devotion felt in any way attached to some adoration or sexual desire, but they didn’t.

She’d looked for him for their daughter, not out of love or infatuation.  He knew what those looked like.  In her eyes he saw neither, just a friendly affection that had been slowly growing with each meeting, much like his for her.  But even her disheveled state of sexually charming disarray right now was just relaxation and her feeling comfortable, not any active attempt at seduction.

She was simply a seductive person.

Why was she still here?

Was it really just for the children?

His thumb caught the catch on the richly-scented wooden box settled on a small side table carved with sinuously twisted designs– a decorative table.  Such a small, pointless luxury, but one he had now.  The box was filled with small glass bottles, and he smelled them each until one struck him.  Earthy, woody, relaxed and warm.  

Not a scent made to hide anything, just to be enjoyed.

He plucked the oil out of the box, and headed for the heated water.  “What do you expect me to wear?”

“I’ll go dress,” she muttered drowsily.

“If the dressing gown is damp I don’t want it.”

He heard a huff, but no verbal response.

The vial poured into the water filled the air with an inviting, rich scent, beckoning him to relax.  After today, it wasn’t a lure he could resist.  Shrugging his clothing to the floor, he stepped into the deep tub, pleased to find the water scalded his skin, warm to the point of discomfort.  Perfect.

Astarion closed his eyes and sighed as he sank into it.

Seconds flowed by, languid, as he let the heat sink into his bones.  It felt good.  Rejuvenating.  The room would normally be empty, but he could hear the small sounds of someone else moving around in his space, filling it with a strange warmth.  Her footsteps, breaths, the soft hum.

“Sing me a song, little nightingale,” he murmured, lungs filled with heady steam.

Instantly, but distantly, she lifted her voice in song, a softly lilting little folk tune that was as gentle as it was morbid. Like so many folk songs.  Her sweet voice sank into him, relaxing muscles he hadn’t even known were tense.  

After so many nights alone in the darkness, working, having her here was a balm to wounds he hadn’t even known were causing him pain.

Her voice wandered closer as she completed the song, some little tune about a woman dying on her wedding day.  She tossed his dressing gown over the top of the curtain, followed by a loose pair of pants.  Nothing else.  He gave a rather pointed ‘ahem’.

“What?”

“Generally undergarments are worn under trousers.”

“Get your own underwear,” she scoffed, making him laugh.  Her voice softened minutely.  “Don’t worry about your dirty things, Lysander needs to practice his cantrips, I’ll have him clean them.”

“I was under the impression that he was learning wizardry, not bardic arts.”  Astarion scooped up the sponge, finally feeling relaxed enough to bother with scrubbing.

“Lily tried, but he just doesn’t have the mind for it.  Not stupidity, just focus.  He doesn’t like it, so his mind wanders– music is easier for him.”

“Too much of a dreamer.”

“Hmmh,” she agreed softly.  “We should let him dream.”

“I suppose it is a luxury we can afford him,” Astarion said, trying to ignore the weight of that statement and the bitterness it brought up.  “So what do you think of the twins’ grand plan to reconnect people with their families?”

Zynatheri sighed, the sound trailing off into silence.  Nothing but the crackle of the fireplace and soft sloshing of the water filled the air, until she finally blew out a breath between her lips.  “I think it has a lot of potential to do good, but also a lot of potential to summon an army of Lathander’s followers intent on wiping you all out.  I still think isolation and discreet alliances are your wisest courses until you are stronger.  I think that they are…thinking the best of people.  I think that they are thinking ‘our grandfather is a vampire, and we don’t care.  Why would anyone else?’”

She was absolutely correct.  There was no way they could survive a crusade, and any followers of Lathander would slay them on principle.  They were vulnerable, and would be for some years as they started slowly creeping past survival into thriving and growing.  And they needed those years.  Their weakness was a lack that only time and hard work could cure.

No skills, no martial talents, no magic even beyond Leon’s.

Which was why Astarion didn’t feel the least bit badly about blackmailing him into staying.

“I’ll speak to them.  Perhaps you and I could think of another outlet for their…youthful enthusiasm.”

“Do you even have the mental fortitude for more problem-solving?” she teased.

He gave an exhausted sigh that made her laugh, slumping back in the bathtub until his head rested on its edge.  Astarion closed his eyes.  It was a valid question, and the answer was no– but they both knew that.

“I’d like to help, but my knowledge is more broad than deep– I don’t know a lot about logistics.  But if it would help, I’d be happy to make a donation.  The twins will want to stay for a while, so I’ll have time to recover.”

Was she–

Shock spurred his tongue, water sloshing dangerously as he sat up straight.  “Are you offering me blood?”

“It’s the easiest way to help you, isn’t it?  I do like things that are easy.”

“I’ve never had someone offer it to me before.”  At least not out of altruism.  Thinking of that alchemist from Moonrise just made him disgusted, however, so he moved on quickly from thinking about that.  And in his current situation… “I’d be a fool to say no.”

“Should we wait until I’m sober?”

As much as he wanted it now, in a desperately hungry way– that uplifting warmth that washed away the eternal fog, that invigorating breath of life… “We should wait until dusk.  It’s nearly morning.  I’d hate to waste even a drop.”

“It’s funny how you can tell,” she said, and cracked a soft yawn.  “In the morn– er, dusk, then.”

The water was starting to cool, and with it his desire to be in it any longer.  It was a shame, though.  When she wasn’t here, the best he could do would be a cauldron heated over the fire, which wasn’t enough to lounge in, just enough to get clean.  But what real impetus could he give her to stay?  How could he make her stay and take care of him the way he wanted, the way she owed him for the two hundred years she’d done nothing.

It wasn’t at all true, but it felt true– which was enough for him.

It didn’t matter what he thought, as long as he didn’t say it.

Regardless, Zynatheri wasn’t in love with him, he couldn’t provide for her or offer her comfort that she wasn’t the one giving to him.  Asking her to stay would be asking her to struggle.  And for what?  So he could enjoy her company and the comforts that came with it?

Well…why not?

It wasn’t as if there would be any harm in asking, right?

If she wasn’t willing to stay and indulge him, then she’d simply say no and that would be the end of it.  She wouldn’t hold a grudge.  Right?  Of course that was right, why was he even second-guessing it?

When he finished dressing, she'd pulled herself up to sit on the daybed, leaving space for him. She'd thrown on her loose linen traveling shirt and trousers, bare feet tucked under her, head resting on her arm. He didn't ever think he'd seen her with a fully upright posture.

Always lounging like a cat.

The temptation was near-impossible to resist, and by now he knew she'd allow it.

Astarion was proven correct when dropping onto the seat next to her and slumping to the side only had her shifting her posture, legs dropping to the floor, back settling into the embrace of the fainting couch's arm. Willingly, he let her shift him from her shoulder to her lap, head falling onto the soft pillow of her thighs.

Gods, the damnable woman was comfortable.

“You’re so tired,” she said fretfully, running her fingers slowly through his damp hair as he adjusted himself.  “You need to relax more.”

“Two centuries of…spite, rivalry, competition, and puppeteering by our M– by Cazador has made it difficult between the seven of us.  They listen to me, of course, but the constant bickering…ugh. Exhausting.”

“Do I make things more difficult for you, because I keep coming by?  Would you prefer that I stay a–”  She stalled as he cracked open an eye and placed a single finger on her lips.  Bemused, she pursed them.

“Yes, I would,” he said.

“Then I’ll go,” she said, posture stiffening, an amusingly annoyed expression on her face.

“What are you talking about?”  Despite knowing exactly why he’d irritated her, Astarion pulled a confused expression.   A little game. Except...much to his surprise, he was the only one playing it.

Usually she was quick, but he’d forgotten– Zynatheri was drunk.

While her face went through a long journey of utter bemusement, he watched from his very comfortable position, highly amused watching her alcohol-sodden brain trying to function.  When she turned a glare down on him, he smirked.  The silly creature pouted.

“You’re taking advantage of my muddled head,” she whined, flicking his forehead.  

He swatted her away, knuckles smacking into the back of her hand, stinging.

“Owwwwh,” she whined pathetically.  “What are you doing?  You told me to go away, so I’m going away.”

“You didn’t say go away,” he replied, discreetly shaking his own hand.

“Yes, I did, I asked if you wanted me to go away and you said yes.”

“No, you asked if I wanted you to stay…” he finished by placing a finger on her lips again.

Her pretty moonstone eyes went rounder than usual, lips pursing under his finger out of shock and not affection.  Still amusing.  Cheeks flushing an unfairly charming shade of purple, she stared down at him.  His smirk grew into a wide, amused smile of delight.

Was she actually–

“You’re blushing!”

“No!  I don’t blush!” she protested, reaching up and clutching her cheeks.  “I’m flushed from drinking!”

“I’ve been lying here wondering if somehow all my charms have gone stale,” he teased her, laughing when she gave a faint ‘hmph’ and turned her face away, nose in the air.  He let his expression turn cajoling, amused by her pouty little act.  He saw the little peeks she gave him, wanting to know his reaction.  Softening his voice, he tried to lure her out with a low croon.  “Come now, little fox. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

She shot him a scornful, aloof look, her big silver eyes turning distant.  “Are we?  Well, friends shouldn’t be indebted to each other, should they?  I’ve been raising your non-vampiric spawn for two hundred years, that adds up!”

Offended, but too comfortable to move, he folded his arms over his chest, steepling his index fingers together.  “Really?  You’re extorting me?  I wonder what Lilithera would say if I told her that you said that.”

Immediately she puffed her cheeks, looking mortally, but hilariously offended.  Any attempts at dignity flew right out the window.  “Don’t you dare!  You bully!”

“I’m the bully?!  You just threatened me!”

“You were teasing me,” she replied, a little whine to her voice.

What a frustratingly, infuriatingly adorable creature she was.

“You’re impossible to be angry at.  It’s annoying,” he informed her, amused by her smile of triumph.  And then she went back to stroking his hair, which soothed away any thoughts of continuing the play-fighting.  His eyes closed, the rhythmic, affectionate touch soothing and gentle.  

His words gained no response, but he had no desire to break the peaceful, calm silence.  The fire crackled, her touch wound through his hair, strands curling around her fingers, tugging lightly when she freed herself.  It was hypnotic.

She smelled like brandy and night-blooming flowers, a rich, sultry perfume, and her lap was warm and soft as he lounged bonelessly against her.  Her embrace was possibly just a little better than the bath.  And all of this with the oddest lack of seduction or sexual intent– just intoxicatingly guileless affection.  It made him think of Lilithera’s words, about how she would ‘never make the first move’.  If she hadn’t by now…

Zynatheri’s velvety voice was soft.  “Did you mean that?”

He knew instantly what she was referring to; a shared thought.  “I don’t have anything to give you.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s no reason for you to stay even if I had meant it.”

Zynatheri gave another of those soft ‘hmm’s, voice a low murmur of sound.  “Do you think the pleasure of your company isn’t a reason?”

“Well, naturally, dear, but usually the company is a means to an end, not the end goal,” he said flippantly, not liking the direction of the conversation.

“Not for me,” Zynatheri replied, voice slow and casual.  “I’m a very simple creature at heart, Astarion.  I do what I enjoy.  I enjoy your company.”

 He couldn’t keep the frustration from his voice any longer, the odd uncomfortable anger he’d been feeling all evening when all he wanted was to relax.  His voice sharpened, body restless.  “There’s nothing down here, don’t you understand that?  No fine food, wine, society, no safe audience for your pretty songs but me.  It’s dark, cold, and empty.  Dangerous.  Every luxury I could possibly give you is something you’ve given to me.”

The comfort was unwanted now, meaningless in the face of his internal strife.  Astarion rose to his feet abruptly, pacing across the floor with frustration in every stride. He glanced at her, but it only made him feel badly, the rejected hand still in the air, her patient stare.  Why was she doing this?  Why did she keep wandering into his life only to leave?

It drove him absolutely mad.

Her voice was frustratingly calm.  “I feel like even if I said those don’t matter, you’d still feel otherwise.  Why is that?”

All of the frustration and annoyance he hadn't felt towards his siblings seemed to have turned on her, rising with the tone of his voice as Astarion whipped around to stare down at her.  “Because my mind keeps telling me all I would have to do is seduce you to keep you by my side, and I don’t want to do that any longer!  But without that…what?  What? What do I have to give you?!”

She watched him from the daybed still, cheek lowering to pillow on her arm, silver eyes turned up towards him.  There was the faintest hint of a smile on her face.  Infuriating wretch.

“What are you smirking at?!”

“Have you forgotten how to court someone without sex?” she asked, voice teasing him.

It was so unexpected that his anger lost its momentum immediately.  She– “Court– who said anything about courtship?”

“Isn’t that what you’re asking?  You want me to stay.  You want me to sing for you and coddle and spoil and flatter you– take care of you.  So…figure out how to make me want to stay, then.  And no, I don’t want to sleep with you either.  To make me be a part of degrading you in a way you’re finally free of just as an attempt to placate me…I’d never forgive myself.”

“Just– ugh.  Just because it isn’t about sex doesn’t mean it’s romantic.”

“No, it doesn’t have to be romantic…but it is,” she replied, fingers splaying against her cheek.  “I’m not going to pretend it’s not.  You’ve shown me what you have to offer me, told me why it’s not good enough, but I disagree.  I like what we have for what it is.”

“Yes, but that won’t get you to stay,” he insisted awkwardly.

“It might.”

Finally he had to avert his gaze, unease overtaking anger.  His emotions were confusing, shame and discomfort and disbelief that she was saying it at all.  But she was.  “You mean that, don’t you.”

“Just think about it.”  

He shouldn’t resent something as simple as her standing up, but he did.  Astarion knew she was leaving.  The last thing he’d wanted was to stew in his own mind like this, but it seemed his mind didn’t care.

“I’m going to go find the twins,” she said, confirming it.  “I think if you contacted our daughter, she’d be more than happy to help you.  But if you need somewhere to start…”  She grimaced, heaving her hair forward over her shoulder.  “You could learn to braid.  Rest well.  I’ll see you first thing in the evening, hmm?”

“I can’t help but feel as if I’m being punished for being honest,” he admitted, despite knowing it wasn’t true.

“I can see why it might feel that way.  But we’ve been dancing around in this gray area for a while, so it’s probably time to figure things out.  You were right to say something.”

“You’ve done a wonderful job of putting this all on my shoulders,” he pointed out, wishing she’d give him some damned indication of how she felt about it all.

She glanced over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out at him, and then smiled impishly.  “How much have I been doing for you lately?  Tsk.  The nerve of you.” 

“Well, how do I know you’re not this sweet to everyone?”  He gave her an aggrieved pout, crossing his arms.  “Maybe I’m not special.”

“You are.”

“And how many beautiful former lovers have you said that to over the years, I wonder.”

She smiled faintly.  “Ask Lilithera.  Sweet dreams.”

Well, it seemed she was determined to go.  As much as he wanted to shout at her, leaving things on a bad note would make their next meeting unpleasant instead of restful.  Right now, those crumbs of rest were all that was keeping him sane. 

And he wasn't going to lie and claim he didn't desperately want the blood she was offering.

“Sweet dreams, little nightingale.”

Zynatheri’s good mood was unabated, glancing over her shoulder with a wink at him on her way to the door.  “You sound so sulky,” she teased.

“Begone,” he ordered her irritably, throwing himself down on the daybed she’d abandoned.

Despite the fact that this room was no longer empty, her laughter still echoed long after she’d left.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Jealousy & Confession - Maedhros x Fingon

Dear anon, it's my joy and pleasure to give you this sweet(ish) slice of Russingon!

They truly are the best! I love them so much! <3

Words: 1 070

Characters: Maedhros x Fingon

Warnings: A hint of sadness, a bit of obsession, a confession, and yes, they're still half-cousins :D

Gritting his teeth, Maedhros swallowed a few times to dislodge the lump of bad conscience in his throat.

He had no right to be doing this, and if anyone was to catch him—lurking around behind corners and nearly folding himself in half to keep his prodigious height from drawing too much attention—he would have been hard-pressed to find a reasonable explanation or excuse for his current shameful behaviour.

It had all started, a few weeks ago, with an innocent crush which had soon devolved into outright obsession; Fingon—the object of Maedhros’s single-minded preoccupation—had only had to bat those dense, dark lashes at him while laughing at an honestly rather mediocre joke for the pale, freckled ginger to completely lose his mind.

In his head, he could hear Maglor drawling that this was all just a consequence of his genetical make-up and unusual upbringing, and that thought alone made Maedhros clam up and grit his teeth petulantly.

Of course, his father was known for being inclined towards mad fixations, and Maedhros had spent a shocking amount of time denying his own needs and desires to keep an eye on his younger siblings instead, but he was not about to readily admit that he might have sustained any kind of emotional or psychological damage from these circumstances.

So what if Fingon’s open smile and the way he consistently seemed to “accidentally” touch Maedhros when they spoke drove bashful heat into his hollow cheeks and made his heart beat faster with helpless agitation?

It didn’t mean that there was necessarily something wrong with him.

Hiding behind a beautifully carved column to watch Fingon talk to a young girl, on the other hand, was so irrefutably an indication of onsetting madness that even Maedhros could not explain it away.

Indeed, he was painfully aware of just how insane and worrisome his behaviour was for—even if he was special to Maedhros in every way—Fingon was kind and charming to every person he met, be they a random stranger or a family friend.

Thus, it was entirely unreasonable to feel as if every smile that was graciously bestowed upon another had been stolen from Maedhros who was far from destitute to begin with; he had six brothers, doting parents, and many friends.

So how could it be that he so yearned to bathe in Fingon’s benevolent attention as if he was gilded and hallowed by every sweet word and amused chuckle?

When the girl lifted her hand to push back one of Fingon’s braids, Maedhros growled.

As that feral, rumbling sound echoed through the hollow, aching cavity of his chest, the tall redhead was at last torn from his frenzy. Shame washed through him, hot and healing.

At last, he averted his eyes to slink away and seek refuge and solace beside a remote, forgotten fountain he had loved since his earliest childhood. Nobody would find him there, and he’d be free to bask in his own misery and self-reproach in relative peace.

Cursing himself bitterly for so unreasonably growing possessive and jealous, he hastened away.

“Huh?!”

Upon hearing the startled sound escaping the soft, rosy mouth of his friend, Fingon turned around instinctively to scan their surroundings.

“What is it?” he asked tensely—even though he had tried to arrange everything so that nobody would notice his absence, he could never be entirely sure that none of his younger siblings or cousins had followed him in pursuit of a tasteless, puerile practical joke.

“Nothing,” she chuckled, embarrassed by her nervous reaction. “I thought I had seen a flash of copper and gold in the distance, but it’s gone. Surely, it was but the light dancing on the columns. Do not try to change the subject, friend! You know you have to talk to him sooner or later! Just confess your feelings, you’ll feel better afterwards, no matter what his answer will be!”

Nodding unconvincedly, Fingon rose to his full height and squared his shoulders—he was no coward, and he agreed that he could not go on like this.

His every waking moment was consumed by intrusive thoughts about the gleaming eyes and alluring smile of one he facetiously called “friend”, and his nights were all the more upsetting as his mind painted pictures of puzzling promiscuity that haunted him well beyond the borders of Irmo’s realm.

“Go!” the girl cheered and gave him a gentle push.

Usually, finding Maedhros—tall as a tree and thrice as charming, may Yavanna forgive him—was not a difficult feat, but Fingon had to visit many a spot he knew to be amongst his friend’s favourites before he finally stumbled upon the long-limbed beauty, curled up on himself by a defunct fountain.

“Hi! I’ve been looking everywhere for you! How are you?” he chirped, hearing himself how shrill and breathless his voice sounded.

“Oh!” Maedhros looked up in surprise, but his eyes narrowed suspiciously almost at once. “I would not have expected you to seek me out…”

“I need to talk to you,” Fingon burst out, and his heart sank when he saw Maedhros’s face melt into an impassive, almost hostile mask that was so unlike the beautifully vulnerable flush he had come to love.

“Me? I’m sure there are plenty of other people, much lovelier than I am, you could be conversing with,” Maedhros grumbled, burying his face against his updrawn knees as the bitter, accusatory tone of his voice hit him.

“There is none lovelier than you,” Fingon whispered. “And I’d rather sit in silence by your side than listen to the most skilled orator to have ever been sung into existence…”

Slivers of silver emerged like crescent moons above bony knees, and Fingon dropped to the ground to clasp those slender, long-fingered hands in his own.

“I cherish our friendship, please believe me, but I must confess how much deeper my feelings run than mere amicable affection, lest I run mad with longing…”

“I—you—but…the girl?” Maedhros stammered, unheedful of the dreadful confession he was making.

“What girl? There are no girls,” Fingon laughed, kissing Maedhros’s tense, white knuckles in an expression of exuberant joy. “There is only you.”

And, because he was indeed not the most gifted or eloquent creation to have ever existed, Maedhros surged forward to capture Fingon’s smiling mouth in a searing kiss in lieu of a formal acceptance of his much-yearned-for, miraculous suit.

@fellowshipofthefics here's another one for this month!

No monthly challenge would be complete without these two!

Lots of love and well-wishes!

-> Masterlist

[jojolightningfingers]

7 for both take hold of the sun and the moon in your mouth (u know i love a B-side); 3, 25, 26 for moth, meet flame!

7. How did you decide what character(s) would narrate the fic?

This wasn't really something that got planned so much as one random day in October I got hit with a whole bunch of feelings about Touch Starvation and, as I had for whatever reason been rotating Bleach and specifically Hollows at the time, started wordvomiting those feelings in a friend's DMs mostly as a thought exercise. Defaulting to Grimmjow for take hold of the sun was more the result of him being a Hollow--quasihuman, cannibalistic, half-monstrous. Someone whose relationship to touch is negative by default as a survival mechanism. Not that I made any decisions about that consciously really, I just wanted to write the cat man that was in my head. As far as the moon in your mouth goes, Ichigo is the pov character entirely because Grimmjow was last time, and for ostensibly being a grimmichi fic, there sure was not a whole lot of Ichigo in it, so I wanted to redress the balance a little. Because I am a parody of myself, there ended up not being a whole lot of Grimmjow in THAT fic, so. Mission successful, I guess.

3. Did the idea change at all by the time the fic was complete?

Crazy enough, it really didn't. moth, meet flame began life as the good ol One Piece fandom gag/tradition/meme of Ace being Sanji's Bisexual Awakening of sorts (a boy acting that obnoxiously straight deserves to be clowned on, obviously), and I feel like it thoroughly still is that.

25. Share your favorite line

Perhaps an odd pick but I'm fond of this one:

Truly, there is no more effective remedy for attempting reason on the unreasonable than prolonged exposure to Luffy.

26. Share your favorite detail

Hmmmmm...... the food. I spent a stupid amount of time thinking about what kind of food to put into this thing.

ty for the ask <3

[rikebe]

hii if you're still accepting asks about the akihiro x bobby ship meme, could you explain in detail the trust/jealousy/etc scales? also is bobby canonically 5'4" bc 😳❤

I WISH BOBBY WAS THAT SHORT IN CANON </3 unfortunately that's just my hc bc i'm so much smarter and chaddier than all of marvel :/

BUT here's the scales!

bobby:

trust: i def see bobby as having a bit of a cynical streak, so i think he takes a while to warm up to trusting. he has a way of internalizing shit and overthinking and is very neurotic, and i think he can absolutely overthink himself into mistrusting his partner on a wrong day even if he knows he's being irrational :(

jealousy: pretty much the same thing, plus i think growing up as the baby-faced dweeby kid of the x-men doesn't really give you a huge amount of self-confidence. i think he can really struggle w seeing himself as like, hot enough or good enough and project that on other people through jealousy, especially if he has such an objectively sexy partner as akihiro. again i think this is something where he'd KNOW he's being unreasonable but he can't help feeling that way

horny: LISTEN. YES he dresses like the assistant manager of a gamestop. YES he's a boring account. but i know. when i look into that unassuming, boring little face of him i know he's a horndog. if he wasn't he wouldn't have fucking bothered with the little song and dance akihiro and him have, because let's be real, akihiro's a pretty big shithead to him consistently and still bobby's like teehee! let's waltz! teehee! oh no let me kiss that death seed away teehee! that's classic horny for villain behavior. you can't hide behind those cargo shorts, bobby drake. i know what you are.

clingy: to me he's a pretty big relationship guy and is really attached to his partner, which is great if you're on mutual terms but i think can come off as pretty clingy if the other guy's looking for something a little more casual lol. def the type to keep texting a few times after getting ghosted before he gets the hint. oops

akihiro:

trust: BIG HUGE MAJOR trust issues. this guy spent his entire adult life seeing interpersonal relationships as entirely transactional and only started getting into this "unconditional love and trust" shit like five years ago. it's a learning curve. he's the guy in a sitcom who thinks their partner is cheating and starts stalking them

jealousy: see trust. same thing. if some guy is talking to bobby at a bar akihiro WILL stand menacingly close by and then be really annoying about mentioning that thats his BOYFRIEND and they're DATING. the guy asked bobby for the time

horny: controversial BUT: i don't think akihiro is very horny. he's been shown since his first appearance to be very liberal about sex, but in almost all instances these interactions are about control and power. akihiro uses his inherent appeal and other people's attraction to him to get what he wants in his never-ending ploy for power and evil-doing. to him, sex is transactional, it's just something he does just like he lies and pretends to be something he's not. ive seen some interpretations of him as asexual, which i think is really interesting and cool and a great take! i don't know where exactly on that spectrum i see him, i think he does enjoy sex but it would be a really different thing for him to sleep with someone he actually cares about, to the point where i could see it causing whiplash when he's being shy about it all of a sudden :')

clingy: i put him pretty high on the "needs attention" scale which i explained in another post, but i don't really see him being all that clingy. i think i might have coloured it in a little high here even since i think it's a hard thing to define, but basically i think that IN a relationship he would be a little clingy and want to be around his partner a lot, once he gets to a point where he can comfortably express those feelings, but he would never run after someone or try to cling to a partner that's dumped him. he thinks too highly of himself to debase himself by showing that he cares about another human being. this is about SAVING FACE, damn it

[superconductivebean]

#1023: about the update

It's alright to feel disappointed.

Building hype for this long-expected unification wasn't warranted, HL PR team. People are reasonably upset over not receiving anything for a year. We can explain it by that MMO game, older console gen ports, but looking at other releases and how this one gets handled, well.

If you'd like to indulge, feel free to jump under the cut. But before you do, know that if you're upset, I'm with you.

Why hope for the sequel when something already as costly can't put it mind to garnishing itself. It isn't an impossible ask, especially when you know the HL situation is rather unique with its update absence.

I am aware not many people came to HL after a lengthy log of games to have something to compare with, so, a few examples.

No Mаn Sky. Everyone hated on it on release for not delivering on its ambitious promises; money were spent on a nothing burger. But the devs eventually turned the bland experience into something more fun but maybe repetitive, but fun nonetheless. People don't mind a game to be repetitive at times. They are finally able to meet their friends somewhere in the game's vast expanses of the traversable universe.

Cybеrpunk. Dumpster fire. Upset people, refund river. Completely bland, according to some, and definitely not an RPG of the millennia. Like, the main character, V, is basically the HL's MC: they were made to be filled with your own colours but the devs didn't have time to implement it besides the backstory choice (which doesn't matter 95% of time). Years after the release, a few systems were revamped and remade, and a long-overdue DLC has finally seen the light of day. It's arguably the best thing in the entire game now.

Stаrdew Valley. A phenomenon. It was already awesome on release but it was only the beginning; has been becoming increasingly more complex and wholesome since. This game has been developed by just an one guy plus a very few people helped him on the way. Today, he continues to drop DLC-sized bangers, with the community's help, but it's never company-structure-size thing. This all for free.

Eurо Truck Simulatоr 2. Metric ton of content for if you love a rather monotonous gameplay loop. The devs add more to the pile: free map revamps and content updates + paid DLCs with entire countries worth of territory to explore.

Deep Rоck Galaсtic. Steep and flat learning curves, four different characters with unique play styles, free content updates + you can pay for the cosmetics for nothing more but rizz (the game is meant to be played in co-op so you'll have someone to shot it off to).

Dwаrf Fоrtrеss has been out for 20+ years and it is free and has always been updated a lot since.*

An absence of plans or content for HL is thus disheartening to me.

This game being a half-baked cookie for a steep price is, well. You'd expect the level of developmental commitment of other scandalous releases, or you'd expect the passion the less known developers nourish their projects with. In this day and age we have to live with a sad realisation that the industry would rather push the half-baked thing on the market to patch it later, or it wouldn't meet the deadline.

But it also asks to pay a hefty price. It's alright to demand your money to meet the promise given, and we certainly were promised a lot. It isn't unreasonable. It isn't dull or stupid. You bought a liter of milk and got 750ml and no promise of the missing 250ml being added later, what's here not to be upset about?

It isn't any different with anything you buy, I suppose? Would it be fair if you were told the house you're about to buy has AC but when you are moving in, the wall has only a spot where it's been mounted? Or if you bought a book with *inserttopic*, half the pages were torn away?

Games aren't any different. You pay, a lot, and sometimes get 1/3 of the amount. This -- isn't alright. And in no world it should be.

Saying 'uncommon' doesn't mean there aren't games that look oddly familiar to HL, though. Stаrbound is only alive thanks to its modding community. Ovеrwatch is just sad. Bоrdеrlands 3 flopped, stripped from everything its predecessors had besides the gunplay. It will depend on who you ask, but Minеcraft, too, has these issues. Also, Anthеm. Some will shout, ThеSims4.

So. It is alright to feel disappointed if you paid for something based on, well, what's the seller said about it and literally got little from it. And just, let's not cynically defend predatory business practices here.

It is also okay to be upset when you've been lured into hoping something is about to come only to realise it's been used in a tactic to gain cheap engagement from you.

You're most correct in being sad.

tldr; Breaking the radio silence with a hype for the long-awaited but known small pack of content wasn't the PR team's brightest idea.

[idkimjustboredandidkwhattodosooo]

another one of these because I get bored and it's 3 am right now(it was not 2 am when I started this-)

This time with a cool background that I spent an unreasonable amount of time on

[basicallyaturtle]

Looking at pre-gender reckoning me, I often find myself wanting to distance myself from that person. It's not like that isn't me, just I kinda don't like that it is.

And that is pretty common. People talk about killing pretransistion selves or finally getting to be the you you want to be, and I mean, I still haven't socially transitioned, or medically transitioned. Really the only thing different is my hair length and I guess... like how I hold myself. Maybe it's not that different but I like to think that I have a different air about me than I did in that time. Anyway, all that to say I watched a video of pre realization me and I felt like man it's a shame that guy doesn't exist anymore. Well not like he doesn't, I am a continuation of that person's state of mind, so I am the same person in that anyone can say they are the same person as they used to be. But often times the sense of who a person is is wrapped up in their appearance, which is of course part of where the notion of 'grieving' trans people's former self comes from. Cause it's not like they stopped existing, they just appear to have stopped existing from an outside perspective. People have different ways of conceptualizing their own transitions, some see that they were always their gender and only realized it and corrected it later in life, some see their pretransistion self as a different person, someone they had to kill to get to live themselves, and others see their transition ad one step in the evolution of their life that is constantly happening, constantly changing us from our past self into out future self. I tend to go for a strange combination of 1 and 3 here, 1 because the realization hit like a bolt of lightning when I first saw it, and all these different parts of my past started slotting together into something that made sense, but also 3, because even if deep down I was a girl as a child, I certainly didn't identify that way, even after I learned what being trans was, so this feels more like another change, like going from a quiet nerd kid to a slightly rambunctious energetic college student, a big change sure, but just a change. So I've kind of held both of these in tandem, but I never really felt connection with the first one. I get how people would feel this way, and it's not unreasonable, especially if one spent a significant amount of time trapped in the closet before being able to transition in any way, then your previous gender can feel like a prison, and your old identity is the prison guard. It also makes sense just as a rebuttal to the trans grief as mentioned before when parents or friends or whoever will lament the loss of someone who is still in the room, just going you know what yeah fuck you that person's dead and I killed him.

ANYWAY I never felt connection to 2, but watching videos of that me, I kind of did, but not in the empowered way, just, damn that guy was neat, it is kind of a shame that he isn't around anymore. I literally still boy mode, and barely look different at all, so he does still exist to most people, and I don't particularly act any different, in the way that I'm just me and I'm not gonna shape my personality to try to conform to traditional gender roles, I'm still just me, so he basically is still here, just dresses in women's clothes at home and is a girl online. I don't know what it is that I look at that guy and think it's sad that he's gone. Maybe that people are their experiences, and that guy didn't know he was a girl. Like, it was another few months before he realized it, and hence I am here, but 'I' am not any different from 'him' in that big a way. Like I think back to when I first got to grad school, and I think of that person as basically the same as I am now. A little worse at make up, a little bit less knowledge about the world, but not too different. But when I think of my life before grad school it feels kind of like a dream. Not really because of the gender stuff, I don't think, I had a year after that before grad school that still feels fuzzy, though I was also home, so deep in the closet. Anyway whatever the point is grad school has taken up like 95 percent of my brain processes the last two years, whether because I had to or wanted to, and so it's difficult to think of a time before it. So why don't I look back at myself from when I first moved in and feel the same 'grief' as I di when I look at the person one year younger who still thinks he's a boy? I certainly have a lot more expetiences than her. I don't have videos of from that time, cause post reckoning I got big self conscious about any photo or video with me in it, so there are very little of those after realization. Not that weren't very few before, but I got more vigilant about not letting it happen. A shame really, but oh well. But I don't have any cohesive understanding of what I feel. I guess this also ties into this feeling of wanting to be a good guy. Like you see so many fucked up men in the world and trying my best to be a counterexample of that felt good, so when I relauzed I was not a man, it wa slike damn guess not. I don't think that's the full extent of it though,

So I guess the point of this is I feel a sort of regret that past boy me doesn't exist anymore, even though I've never interfaced with my gender identity in that fashion before, AND even though he basically still does exist, just calls herself something different and has longer hair. And if I'm going to see that me as a different person, I better see me at other points in my life post gender as different people too even though I don't.