#i'm enjoying the newest patch

[kalethion]

wake up babes new world of warcraft yuri ship just dropped

arcanist valtrois/stellagosa my beloveds

[trans-yllz]

I'm enjoying the fontaine storyline so far I feel like it's progressing the plot forward a good amount and we're getting some rlly cool and important lore info but I Am sort of like. can we solve an insane crisis now. can we have a boss fight please. I enjoy that we're learning a bunch of stuff but it feels like we're Only learning a bunch of stuff and not actually Doing anything of monumental plot importance we're just sort of watching all of the other characters do it

[phantomrose96]

Okay I have a story.

So my birthday is this Sunday (May 26th). My mom ordered some presents for me but one of them (an Etsy purchase) was seemingly stuck in transit and might not make it on time. I tell my mom all good, no worries. She gets in contact with the seller. After a long delay in response they get back with "Right we'll fix it!" It ships, tracking label and everything, good to go! ETA May 22nd (yesterday.)

During the work day I check the tracking and it says it's been delivered in/at mailbox! I double check with my mom "hey, is it mailbox size?" because if not, I don't want it sitting at the front door where anyone walking by could snag it.

She says "it's definitely NOT mailbox size." Okay. I text my neighbors in the building "Anyone seen a package delivered? It's a birthday gift from my mom and I wanna make sure it gets inside!" Success! Floor 2 David (not to be confused with Floor 1 David) had brought it inside. Inform my mom. All good!

I stop by home briefly around 4pm, because yesterday was hot-hot and I just installed my window A/C that morning in the living room, and according to my cat cam my stupid cat hasn't spent a single second in the climate controlled living room and is, instead, voluntarily baking herself elsewhere so I'm like "great" and hop on my bike to go home (10 minute ride) to check on her.

I get in the building door. Patches is crying from the top floor because she heard me. I maneuver my bike in the front hall. The ugliest fucking 6-foot-tall cat tree(?)/totem(?)/statue(?) I've seen in my entire life is just. Standing there.

My first thought is "What the fuck is that." My second thought is "Oh fuck that is for me." I look around at the floor in case there's perhaps anything else that might, in fact, be the gift.

No. Me and Cat Pole.

It's taller than me. I turn it around to face me and its face is painted and this is, in fact, uglier than it looked from the back.

Um.

Patches is crying. So I just haul it up to my level. MAYBE it was supposed to come with twine that I wrap around it (and hide its face from the world) for Patches to scratch. Maybe this is a prank. Maybe this is an inside joke, because when my mom moved into her current house the neighborhood gifted her some ugly-as-hell totem that apparently, by tradition, each newest-comer to the neighborhood is required to have and display in their window so maybe this is a very good riff on that.

Patches rubs against it. She's not afraid of this horrid facsimile of her kind.

Great.

Meanwhile SHE'S fine and the condo is a little toasty but totally liveable so I'm like "Good, cool, you're not baking. You're having a good time. Enjoy your new sister, I guess, I'll see you later."

I go back to work because this is a problem for later me.

After work, after my run, after whatever, I get home and it's like 8:00pm and Patches is so happy to see me and the totem pole is still just. There.

I text my friends like "so a bday gift is here from my mom and it's the Biggest Ugliest cat pole I've seen in my life. Is this a bit? Did my mom go 'that's so ugly haha! send!' Maybe she genuinely found it cute. How do I navigate this." My friend Sarah has the good advice to maybe text my mom neutrally like "Got the cat pole!" and feel the waters whether my mom is like "Isn't it ugly? 😂" or "Hope Patches likes it! 🥰"

My mom goes to bed early so I don't do any of that yet. Problem for tomorrow me.

This morning, Patches wakes me up for breakfast. I get her situated and I'm staring at the fucking Cat Pole again. I wonder if my Mom's been wondering all night what I thought of it.

I take a picture. I text her.

Okay.

I get on call with my mom. I ask for clarity that the ungodly horrid thing is NOT my birthday gift and is in fact a mix-up from the seller who sent me this instead of my actual gift. She's wheezing between words. She thinks I'm being too charitable for the amount of Absolute Fucking Ugly this is. I have to gently talk her out of using the word "monstrosity" while messaging the seller asking what the hell happened here.

I tell her I need to apologize for harming her dignity with Floor 2 David, who thinks this fucking thing is my mom's idea of a great birthday gift for her to-be-28-year-old daughter.

My heart goes out to the poor soul who did actually order this cat totem and is lacking it on this lovely day.

[talesofesther]

𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

↳ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

Aemond Targaryen x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: You made a promise to Aemond once, when you were young and naive, and the only friend he'd ever known; yet you abandoned him before you could fulfill it. Between broken bonds, a betrothal, and flames that still burn deep within you; this is the story of how you fell apart and found each other again.

A/N: My newest series is finally here, and it's one that I am incredibly excited about. I'm not going to say this is fully a reader-insert, because there will be a few minor characterizations for the main girl, I even considered writing this in third person but at the end of the day second person is the style I'm much more used to and comfortable with. However, I believe it is still "vague" enough that it can be considered a reader-insert too. All in all, I sincerely hope you can enjoy this story, I promise it'll be a good one. <3

Word count: 2k

Masterlist

"Tell me again."

From one of the highest points in the Red Keep, you could see the immensity of King's Landing and the waves of Blackwater Bay crashing to shore.

"Tell you what?"

The wind was cold yet gentle, dusk settled on the horizon; painting the skies and clouds in deep golden.

"The story of how you found your dragon."

You smiled, easy and knowing. Aemond has heard this story a dozen times already, yet you never refused to tell him just one more time, whenever he asked. From the glint in the young prince's eyes, you knew that it gave him hope that one day he would find a dragon of his own.

"My father, Laena, my sisters, and I were traveling again, we had stopped by a small town to let the dragons rest. And there, they told us they had spotted a rogue dragon. As wild as a lioness. She'd come out to hunt at night, during heavy rain and lightning storms." You motioned theatrically with your hands, an excited grin on your lips as you recounted the fateful night you'd met your dragon.

Aemond listened closely, as he always did, leaning his elbows on the balcony's balustrade and keeping his gaze attentively on you.

"One night, when we were staying at a house at the edge of town, I walked out while everyone was asleep. Do you know why?" You bit at the inside of your cheek, playing the usual game.

"You heard her," Aemond answered with the same spark of youthful joy.

"I did," you whispered as if it was a well-guarded secret, leaning closer to the boy. "I could hear her outside, the sound of her wings, her heavy steps on the ground. It was raining, and dark, but I felt as if... as if she was calling to me." You placed a hand over your heart.

"I think Caraxes heard when I got out, I think I ended up waking him," both you and Aemond chuckled. "But he kept quiet when he saw it was me. I walked for a while during that night, until..." You paused dramatically, and Aemond grinned. "Until I saw her, feasting on a stolen lamb."

Aemond's eyes were sparkling, he was drinking in every word.

"She was so pretty," you recalled with a soft smile, looking out to the horizon and the darkening sky. "I could see the dark blue of her scales, and then the brighter blue of her wings. Her horns were long and pointy, and she had this patch of fur in between them and on the back of her neck that I'd never seen before."

"She didn't attack you," Aemond mumbled, more a statement than a question; he knew the answer.

You shook your head; "No, she just looked at me with those beautiful eyes, they looked like they were glowing. And then she came closer, baring her teeth, but I asked her to stay calm. Told her I was a friend." You picked at your nails, a fondly nostalgic look in your eyes. "She followed me back home after that. I think she liked that I wasn't afraid of her. Father was furious for what I had done, but I think he was even more curious about my new dragon." You shrugged, with a cheeky grin, "The next morning, I chose to ride her for the first time, and she let me. We don't know if she ever had a rider before me, but we share a deep bond now."

"You are so lucky," Aemond told you, his voice low and eyes downcast; not because of your story, but because the boy wished to have the same luck you did.

Turning your head to try and catch his gaze, you spoke with conviction, "You're going to find your dragon soon, Aemond, I know you will. And when you do, we're going to fly together over all of King's Landing, I promise you."

Despite the solemn look in his eyes, the young Aemond smiled.

You extended a hand to him then, "Come on, your mother will be mad if we're late to supper… again." Wiggling your fingers for him, you held back a grin.

Aemond rolled his eyes halfheartedly, taking your hand anyway.

You walked together through the hallways of the castle, blissfully innocent and unaware of the amused whispers between the maids about how you two would still marry someday.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

Two nights later, Aemond did find his dragon. However, it came at a cost.

The day had been one filled with grief. Laena had passed away after trying to give birth to her third child. While she was not your birth mother, you had spent enough years by her side to consider her something similar to it; as she was, after all, the closest thing to a mother that you knew. She had always been kind to you, treating you no different than how she treated your two half-sisters.

You mourned her loss, the salty air of the sea mixing with the salt of your tears as you watched the ceremony unfold.

As soon as she had learned of her third pregnancy, Laena wanted to return home. Your father eventually agreed to halt the travelers life for her sake, and once King Viserys got word of your return he offered all of you a home in King's Landing again. Laena had been happy with the agreement since her brother lived there too.

And so that's how you came to meet Aemond. That was several months ago, yet it sometimes feels like it was just yesterday.

Tonight, you had gone to bed with red and puffy eyes, but it didn't take long for the distant sound of fast-paced steps and arguing to pull you from your sleep. You got up, rubbed your still tired eyes, and tiptoed towards the commotion, bare feet padding over the cold stone floor of Driftmark.

After turning corners and almost getting lost in the infinite hallways, you found your family. Everyone stood around the lit fire of the throne room fireplace while the Maester tended to someone you couldn't yet see as the back of the chair they were sitting on blocked your view.

Alicent was shouting, Rhaenyra and her sons were shouting, everyone was shouting; you heard the sharp words yet couldn't make much sense of them.

You spotted your father leaning against a pillar, a couple of feet away from everyone, and ran up to him, immediately clinging to the fabric of his vest and looking up at him with questioning eyes. He didn't speak, simply lay a hand on your back and then on your head, in the best comforting manner he could muster.

The shouting match continued until Viserys had to raise his own voice, everyone in the spacious room stayed quiet for a moment then. You could hear your shaky breath, feeling it in your bones that something was wrong. You gripped tighter onto your father, leaning your head against him.

Breaking the silence, Viserys demanded answers from Aemond, and your heartbeat sped up at the sound of your friend's name. And then his mother was speaking about the injustice of him being maimed. And when Rhaenyra mercilessly demanded that he be questioned, Aemond finally looked in her direction, and consequently, yours.

You saw it then. Deep red blood glinting in the low light of the fire, painful stitches stretching skin while also holding it together, his eye sewn shut. You couldn't hold back a gasp at the sight of him, the whole left side of his face now forever marked with an angry, deep cut that went from his forehead, over his eye, and down to the middle of his cheek. Seeing your friend like this twisted your stomach in all the wrong ways and made you feel like puking out your dinner, you were almost poking holes in your father's vest with how tight you were gripping it, already feeling your eyes burn with unshed tears.

Aemond met your gaze from afar, he looked almost as stunned and lost as you; but he was also quick to look away and hide behind the back of his chair again.

You didn't hear much of the rest of the fight then, all turning into muffled noise to your ears as your father took hold of your hand to pull you forward with him and into the commotion when Alicent picked up a dagger, dashing towards Rhaenyra. The sight of Aemond's bruised and slashed face forever burnt into the back of your mind.

The only voice you clearly heard again, was his; "Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

You were only able to meet Aemond again on the next day, minutes before both of you had to leave Driftmark.

You found him in a secluded hallway, he looked out at sea through the large windows, watching as they readied his ship for departure, the left side of his face carefully bandaged to keep the cut clean. Holding onto the sides of your dress so as not to step on it, you ran to him.

He heard you, of course he did, you were hardly the sneakiest of people. Part of him wanted to turn away and leave, deeply ashamed of the fresh scar marking his skin; perhaps even afraid that it might scare you off. But you were his friend. His only friend.

"Aemond..." you spoke softly when you reached him, biting at the inside of your cheek and nervously gripping onto the cotton fabric of your lilac dress. You were only kids; you didn't know what to say to someone who'd just lost a part of himself, and Aemond cowered under your gaze, making himself smaller as shame and timidness filled his gut.

"Does it... hurt?" You chose to ask, voice hesitant.

The young prince took his time, pursing his lips as he looked down at his feet and then out the window again. "Yes," he admitted, "but less than it did last night."

"I'm sorry," you said without a second thought.

Aemond glanced in your direction with the corner of his good eye, refusing to turn toward you completely. "Are you not upset that I claimed your step-mother's dragon?"

The corners of your lips turned up into a small smile, it held sorrow and affection in equal measures. "I'm not." You stepped closer to him and turned to look out the window as well, watching as gentle waves washed to shore. You bumped your shoulder onto his. "I'm glad it's you."

For several moments you stood in silence, simply enjoying the easeness that came with each other's company.

Alicent's voice was the one to eventually break the quiet. "Aemond," she called.

Both you and him turned in the direction of her voice, finding her looking at you with a fond smile on her lips. "It's time to go, my dear." She gestured outside, to where their ship awaited, now ready to set sail. Aemond nodded at her words and she turned around, making her way to the docks.

The prince, however, made no effort to leave, he kept his gaze focused outside, following a flock of birds that overflown the ocean.

You followed it too, the sight bringing an idea to your mind. You had a tentative smile on your lips before you even started speaking; "You should go," despite not looking at you directly, you noticed Aemond's attention shifting to you. "I'll meet you again once we reach King's Landing, and... now that you have a dragon, perhaps we'll soon be able to fly over it together, right?" Your voice held a hopeful tone as you spoke.

For the first time since he had lost his eye, Aemond smiled; a real smile that stretched the fresh stitches on his cheek and gave a prickling feeling to the sensitive skin around them, but he didn't mind. He finally turned to look at you fully, all hopeful excitement and pink cheeks.

"We will," he affirmed without losing his grin. He held your gaze for a moment longer, lips parting as if he wanted to say something more, but didn't.

From the same window, you watched, now alone, as Aemond's ship sailed away; the colossal figure of Vhagar flying close to it, as if to protect her new rider.

Later this same day, your father married Rhaenyra, taking both you and your sisters to live in Dragonstone without ceremony.

You never said goodbye to Aemond. You would have, if you knew you would not be seeing him again for many years to come.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter

Aemond's taglist is open, let me know if you'd like to be added. Or you can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I’ve posted a new story/chapter.

Thank you for reading this chapter. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

[smallestapplin]

hello can you do, Yandere Getaway, Drift and Rodimus x Cybertronian fem reader, can it be Smut

*breathes deeply* I'm so normal about this. How did you know Roddy is my weakness?-

Warning : toxic behavior, Rodimus has ADHD, smut so MDNI, kidnapping, possessiveness, thoughts of harm. I did my best, I hope you enjoy! ^^

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Rodimus

- as the newest member of the Lost Light, you didn't really know about all the mini groups inside the ship, nor know how Rodimus gets treated (even if he deserves some of the lectures Ultra Magnus gives him.)

- He was a welcoming captain, and quite fun too! But you notice how he works or lack there of, how easily distracted he gets, how he tries but it doesn't seem to get him anywhere. You just wanted to try and help, even if you were just a simple bridge tech.

- It was your kindness that got his attention, when you first entered his office ready to report on how the ship has been fairing, you handed him the papers and an extra gift.

- His optics widen at the sight of a single handed spinning toy.

- "What's this?"

- "Oh, that, well I noticed you have trouble focusing on your work as being still seems to be a problem. So I figured a you'd do well with an object to mess with while you do so."

- You picked up his mannerisms quickly, but instead of just yelling at him to stop and focus, you...actually wanted to help him work?

- "Sir? I'm sorry if i over stepped, i didn't-"

- "Wanna grab lunch with me later? I know juuuust the place to chill." his smile is infectious, how could you say no?

- Rodimus latches onto you, becoming your second shadow and attached at the hip to you, if he wasn't working then he was with you, if no one could find him then he was with you.

- ultra Magnus asks for your secert, since he's never seen Rodimus work so quickly and efficiently. but you don't really have one, you just find ways to help him focus and praise him for doing so, and he just latched onto you.

- tragically no one seems to be able to get a word with you without Rodimus butting in putting space between you and whoever you were speaking too. ratchet has yelled at him to frag off more times than he can count, when just trying to patch you up. but all Rodimus does his whine and make grabby servos at you, cause he's just sooo worried.

- it's cute, at least at first.

- but he's overwhelming, he gets huffy and pissy when dragged away from you, he pouts and sulks whenever you speak to anyone else, you're his favorite bot so he should be yours too, right?

- you don't have a chance to make any friends on the lost light, all you have is Rodimus.

- he always surprises you while you work, always coming up behind you and resting his helm on your shoulder and nuzzling into you, giggling and speaking of how much he missed you and how boring the meeting was.

- it's hard to see him for what he really was.

- you think he loves you, and while he does it goes deeper than that, so, so much deeper, he's infatuated, smitten, obsessed.

- you're all he can think about, you're all his wants, he can't stand anyone else having your attention, it should just be him, him, him!

- you know you should say no when he asks you out, he's your captain, your superior, he place on the ship holds too much power over you. but it's Roddy, he's done so much for you and you do care deeply about him, surely it wouldn't hurt to give it a try?

"R-Roddy, slow-mm!- slow down!!"

You place a servo over your intake trying to muffle your sounds, not wanting anyone to pass by your habsuite to hear you getting fragged by your captain. You don't know what caused him to barge in and pin you to your berth, though you aren't complaining.

Rodimus buries his face into your neck, trying to lose himself into your valve, into your scent! But all he keeps thinking of is how you are his, not that stupid med bot who loved chatting you up! and you just let him, you indulged him when you have a perfectly good bot right here!

The dangers of Rodimus is his fragile ego.

Your voice cracks into static, as liquid fills your optics. It's too much, his spike keeps thrusting inside you so deeply, as if he's trying to mold your valve into the shape of him.

Your free servo grips his shoulder, trying desperately to hold him close. Your body trembles as his glossa licks up your neck cables before biting into them. You go still, shrieking into your servo, while you overload, your transfluid soaking his spike.

"You're mine, right? My sweetspark, gotta remind you I'm the only one who can frag you like this." Rodimus ex-vents sharply.

You overloaded so hard, you seem so out of it, surely you won't notice him opening your spark chamber, right? He could sparkbond with you right now and then you'll never leave him.

He can't stop rutting his hips into yours, needing more, needing to be closer, needing to feel you overload again and again! He never wants to stop, never wants you off his spike!

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Drift

- Out of the three Drift is self aware and knows what he feels for you is anything but healthy, you deserve an adoring, loving, and respectful relationship that he knows he can't give you.

- But that doesn't stop him, he feels so guilty about it but he needs you by his side, needs you clinging to him like he wishes to cling to you, he needs to be the only bot in your life.

- He tries to fight the dark thoughts, he swore to never kill again but Prowl is making it hard when even speaking to you. Drift doesn't want to harm his crew members but the demons inside him want to tear everyone to shreds to make an example out of them, that this would be anyones fate for speaking to you.

- Your kindness doesn't help either, normally you stick to yourself but happily talk when others approach you first, you don't like being rude, so you tell him.

- He was the first one to approach you and form a bond. He's your go to for nearly everything, he has a lot of stories and a lot of wisdom from those stories, it's hard not to ask for his opinion on anything.

- You ask his opinions on other crew members, and he always tells you the truth, giving you their worst traits first just so you're more likely to stay away from them. The only ones he couldn't make you stay away from were First aid and Ratchet, he wanted you to trust your medics and not fear going to them when needed.

- He doesn't like it, though. But all is well, as you play right into his servos. He feels so bad abusing your trust like this, but he can't risk losing you to anyone!

- "Apologies my little light, I don't mean to alarm you of anyone."

- "No no, it's fine, really! I'm just happy you're honest with me. I trust your judgment."

- The smile on your faceplate is one he wants to protect and keep for himself, he can't let anyone realize how precious you are, lest they want you fr themselves.

- Despite your courtship being short he can't help but ask to be bonded to you, this way your tie to him is permanent. He needs you.

"Drift, are you sure about this?" Your faceplate flushed blue from the energon coursing through you.

You look so bashful, it has his spark pumping. Drift smiles from his spot between your legs, gently running his servos up and down your inner thighs. Out of everyone he's the most gentle and loving.

"We don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with."

You believe him, you truly do, but it's hard to take his words seriously when you can see his spike twitching and valve leaking from here. You take a few shaky breaths, before leaning back on your elbows.

The room fills with the sound of your modesty plate being tucked away, and Drift's heavy breathing. All that kissing and gabbing eariler seems to have done a number on you, your valve is leaking transfluid, and your node just begging to touched.

"You are such a beautiful sight..." drift sighs, trailing off to wipe the drool coming from his intake.

You whimper, squeezing your optics shut just from his words alone. It's so embarrassing, and to have his face so close to your valve is not something you think you can handle right now.

You tense up, body trembling just from the wet kiss Drift places on your node. His servos gripping your thighs to hold you down, stopping you from squirming in his grasp. He's so gentle with you, even as his optics roll back from just the taste of your juices, drowning him in your scent.

You toss your helm back, back arching with a whine feeling your lover's glossa pushing into your valve, fragging you with it. Drift can't stop moving his hips, rutting against the berth, mindless from you.

'D-drift! Mm!..haaa, oh, oohh frag!" You place your servos over his, desperate to just hold him and be close.

You make him overload so easily, now if he can just do the same to you.

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Getaway

- Getaway is a tricky one, not even his closest 'friends' know how he truly is, though he is passionate about his beliefs. He usually has everyone believing he's a cool dude and chill crew member, some find him annoying but nothing to worry about, right?

- Then there is you, you, you , you.

- You saw right through him, you have no evidence, nothing to call him out on, but the vibes he gives off have you on edge, and you make your distaste for him known. But cutely enough you never let it get in between work.

- Always so civil with him, always bare minium polite and nothing more, always shooing him away and out of your office the second what he's there for is over with. You're breaking his spark, you know?

- He always finds a way to bother you, chatting you up, nd trying to sweeten you up, but it never works.

- Why does he want you so badlt? He has most of the ship chill with him, what makes a difference if one bot doesn't like him? He asked himself that a lot, as most of the crew just chalked it up to conflicting personalities and left it to that, after all not ever bot is going to get along, and that's okay! But it wasn't okay, not for him.

- At first it was just to prove a point, just to show no one can resist his charm, but you never caved, in fact if anything it just made you loathe him more.

- "I don't know how muc clearer I can be, I have told you time and time again to stop bothering me outside of work reason. Is your life and friends so miserable and dull that this is your only entertainment?"

- The venom in your voice just made him want you ee=ven more.

- You never caved to him, never gave him the time of day, it made him crazy.

- He knew your schedule like the back of his servo, knew when you took breaks, got lunch, paused to stretch, your places to be, even the code to get into your habsuite!

- You became his obsession, his need, he wanted you, needed you, and your refusal just makes his need that much deeper. You take over his every waking thought, you are his everything and he needs you to like him, to want him just the same!

- Maybe things could've been different, maybe then you wouldn't have been taken by him in the middle of a cycle. He has to keep you to himself, after all it's only a matter of him before he completes his mission or gets found out, and he doesn't want to lose you.

"Why do you keep resisting me? How many times must I tell you I love you before you accept it?" Getaway places a servo on your cheek, only for you to thrash, getting his touch off of you.

Even tied up and gagged you still refuse him. You care at him, optics shining with a deep seeded fire. How you can still look so beautiful, even while wishing him dead his beyond him, but he can't help it.

"Even now you refuse me. I want to bond our sparks, to wed you, have you join me and my cause, and you still don't budge."

Silence fills in the air. His optics on yours, neither of you caving or looking away from the others.

"Even so filled with rage, I can't help but adore you. Keep looking at me, even if it's with hatred, I never want you to look at another. You are my sweetspark, and mine alone, got it?"

He can only hide you for so long you're sure of it, he can't keep you forever and you will make sure to be free and tell the crew to their face you were right all along. It's the only thing keep you motivated to stay strong.

To now cower or fall for his flowery words.

But how long can you truly last?

You know he's not above causing harm, or even killing someone, he might even try to flip the story on you if you don't play your cards right.

[spenceragnewfics]

Can you do a fic where you're a crew/cast member and have been in a relationship with Spencer for a few years and he finally proposes? I'm thinking something cute where he proposes on set where the two of you first met after everyone has gone home for the day. Love your work btw!

I love this one so much!

I THINK I WANNA MARRY YOU | Spencer Agnew x F!Reader

TW: None

Word Count: 1.1k

Description: When the four newest Smosh cast members are curious as to how Y/N and Spencer met. The story time turns into another heartwarming story.

People always say that you will know when you find the one. The person you’re supposed to be with for the rest of your life. It’d be like a cool wind or just a relaxed feeling when you meet them.

That’s what Y/N thought back in 2016 when she was dating Kevin. He was a nice guy. He had a good job and was pretty attractive, but he was a major cheater. You see, Y/N found him multiple times with multiple different women after promising time and time again not to do it again.

During this time, she started working at a new company called Smosh as a cast member. Her job was to be funny but it was really hard with everything going on in her life at the time. Thankfully, she made many friends with Courtney, Shayne, Keith, and Olivia when she first started but one person stood out in particular. She remembers the day like it was yesterday.

“Court, I’m telling you. I don’t need someone right now. I’m enjoying being single.” She says, she had been at the company only a couple of weeks but was already very close to the blonde. “Please, Y/N/N! You know I can help. I know that Kevin was a bad experience but you can’t let that hang you up.” She looks at Courtney with a bored expression before her eyes move behind her to the editing area, someone catching her attention.

He has curly hair that is styled back with dark stubble that matches his hair color. His skin is light with some olive undertones. He’s focused on the video in front of him but Y/N’s breath is caught in her throat. “Hey, hey, girly, are you okay?” Courtney asks, waving a hand in front of her face.

“Yeah, yeah, just…Court…who is that.” She nods her head towards the man as her friend turns to look, “Oh, that’s Spencer. He’s one of our editors. You haven’t met him yet?” They ask, shocked that she still hasn’t met him. “Well he’s going to be helping with the shoot today, you two can be introduced then,” Courtney says, smirking to themself with a thought.

Later when Y/N, Courtney, Damien, and Keith are getting miced up, Spencer walks in with his head focused on something. “Spencer! Hey, can you come over here?” Shayne asks, in on the plan Courtney thought up. He walks over, his laptop under his arm with raised brows “What’s up, Shayne?” 

“Have you met Y/N yet? Our newest cast member?” Spencer looks over to see her chatting with Courtney, Damien, and Keith. Laughing at something Keith said and is taken aback. “N-No, I haven’t.” He stutters out. Shayne wraps an arm around Spencer’s shoulder, walking him over to the group.

“Y/N.” Shayne says and she turns, a big smile on her face that makes Spencer melt just looking at her. “What’s up?” She asks, looking at Shayne before her eyes widen when she sees Spencer. “I wanted to introduce you to Spencer. He’s one of our best editors here.” He pushes the man closer to her.

The two both look nervous, making their friends smile. It’s adorable. “N-Nice to meet you.” Spencer stutters out again, putting his hand out. She shakes it with a shy smile, “Nice to meet you too, I’m Y/N.”

“And that was how we met all those years ago. When you babies were still just babies.” Y/N says, cuddled into Spencer’s side as she talks to Chanse, Trevor, Angela, and Arasha about how the two met. “So you two have been sickeningly cute since you met? That’s not fair!” Chanse whines, making the couple laugh.

“Eh, I guess. We did have our rough patches though. We made it through, that’s all that matters.” Spencer says, kissing the top of Y/N’s head and she smiles. “Okay, okay, you two are making me sick. I’m going to get lunch. Who wants to join me?” Arasha asks, getting off the floor that the four were sitting on around the couple like it was story time.

“Me.” Trevor and Chanse say, following Arasha. “Wait, I wanna ask more questions!” Angela says while Chanse drags her with him. Y/N waves goodbye to the four, a loving smile on her face.

As the years have passed she has become a welcoming figure in the cast along with Courtney. She’s moved to be mostly on Games with Spencer and the two had become known as the parents of the gaming channel.

“Can you believe it’s been almost ten years? Where has time gone?” She asks, playing with his fingers and enjoying the two of them being alone for once. “I know, it seems to be just passing by. Feels like we just started dating not too long ago.” He says, smiling at her.

She gets off the couch and looks around, “It’s still crazy that Courtney got Shayne in on a plan for us to get together and now they’re married.” She says, giggling at the memory. “And the fact that we met, officially, on a set like this.” He says, getting off the couch and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Yeah, time is weird.” She says, leaning her head onto his shoulder.

“You know, I never really thought about marriage. At least, not until I met you.” He said, making her look at him confused. “You know I’ve dated a few people but I never really saw anything long-term with them. You’re different though, I knew the moment I saw you that I wanted something and I wanted it long-term.” He cups her face before moving to one knee.

“Spence, are you really?” She asks, covering her mouth. “I have loved you for years. I never want to stop loving you. You have been here for me through thick and thin. I cannot think of anyone more I want to spend my life with than you. Y/N L/N, will you marry me.” He asks, pulling out a small velvet box with a beautiful ring inside it.

“Spencer, oh my god.” She says, getting on her knees to be eye level with him. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.” She says grabbing his face and kissing him.

When the two pull away, he slides the ring on her finger as she looks at him lovingly. “Should we go tell everyone?” He asks, “In a minute. I just want to be here with you for now.” She says before kissing him again.

[arcaneloverxx]

May I request vi x reader where reader notices how perfect vi's teeth are despite her brawler lifestyle and vi teases her about it pls? Like she gets punched in the face so fuckign much like how are her teeth so straight after all that???

a/n: Ngl, I wonder the same thing. Like how are they so perfect??? Anyways, thanks for the request and I hope you like it! Enjoy <3!!

How in the hell???

That’s all you could think as you watch your girlfriend, Violet, throw her head back and let out a boisterous laugh. Perfect straight teeth in full view. 

You both were currently visiting Vi’s family, the group deciding to hang out at the Last Drop after Vander closed for the night.

Everyone was kinda doing their own thing. Mylo, Claggor, and Ekko were by the jukebox, fighting over what song to play. You were hanging beside Powder while she worked on her newest gadget and gossiped to you about some girl in her class. And at the bar, there was Vander, Silco, and Vi.

Vi was sitting on the top of the bar, talking about anything and everything with Vander and Silco. You don’t know what Vander said, but it had Vi doubling over and laughing her heart out. But you just couldn’t help but stare at her mouth. You just could not understand how perfect her teeth were.

Of course you're glad your girlfriend has great hygiene, but let’s be real, after how many times she’s got punched in the face while in the ring, it’s just starting to confuse you now.

This isn’t the first time you’ve pondered over this question. Just last week you had to question how she kept her teeth so straight and flawless.

She was sitting down on the toilet seat, you standing between her legs as you patched her up. She was rambling on and on about a particular punch that she threw to one of her opponents that night, laughing at the thought of how easy it was for her to win.

She didn’t exactly leave out spotless though, having a bloody nose and busted lip. And while she was laughing, you couldn’t help but stare at the shiny white row of teeth. 

“Hey poindexter, you in there?” Powder said while snapping her fingers in front of your eyes, drawing you from your previous thoughts.

“Yeah, uh- just thinking about something.” You respond while swatting her hand out of your face.

“Must be something serious, you look like you’re about to fucking kill someone. You’re doing that straight scary face thing.”

“Was I? Sorry, it’s just- ugh never mind.” You sit back and pick up your drink, but your eyes couldn’t leave off of your girlfriend while she talks to her dad.

“Is it my sister? You look like you can’t draw your eyes away from her.” She says with a slight chuckle, looking down as she screws a screw into her gadget.

After a beat of silence, you shift your gaze from Vi to Powder. “I just don’t understand how someone’s teeth could be so perfect, you know?” Powder let out a short laugh, looking back at her sister. I mean, she gets where you’re coming from, Vi’s got the best teeth she’s ever seen.

After a few more hours, you and Vi were walking back to your apartment after hugging everyone goodbye. The walk was quiet but comforting, peaceful. Well, until it wasn’t.

“So, what had you staring at me all evening cupcake?” Vi said while swinging your interlocked fingers back and forth, her lips twitching into a faint smile.

You quickly look at her, letting out a quiet curse after stumbling over the uneven sidewalk after hearing Vi’s abrupt question.

“What?”

“You think I didn’t notice? I mean, I know I'm not the most observant person, but you didn’t really try to hide it. It was really obvious, actually.” Vi said while chuckling at the shocked expression on your face.

“You’re okay though, right? You had that look on your face like you’re about to kill someone.”

Okay, my face can not seriously give that impression…right?

Shaking your thoughts away, you turn to stare at your girlfriend. You turn back and stare in front of you. “I was just…admiring I guess.” You reply while still walking.

“Aww babe, I know you’re crazy about me but c���mon.” Vi replies with a smirk. You slightly shove her away, shaking your head.

“Sooo? What were you thinking about? How beautiful I am? How strong I look? Or did you want to make out, couldn’t help but notice that you couldn’t stop looking at my mouth.”

“Your teeth.”

Vi stops walking, which causes you to pause beside her. You look at her and instantly regret telling her the real reason that you stared at her the whole time.

“…My teeth?” Vi questioned. You could see the amusement dance across her face, and you can tell that she’s a few seconds away from laughing.

“Ugh, shut up.” You tell her as you pull her to continue walking. 

Vi bursts out laughing, body vibrating as the laughter escapes her lungs.

“Babe, are you serious? You were admiring my teeth?”

“It’s just- your teeth are perfect. Too damn perfect. After all the fights that you have been through, you’re telling me you haven’t lost at least one tooth?”

“Nope.” Vi responds, smirking down at you. “So how long have you been thinking about my teeth?”

After a few seconds of contemplating, you answer her question. “About a month.” You mumble while turning away from her. Anddd cue laughter.

After you both make it home, you thought that would be the end of the whole ‘you admiring her teeth’ convo. Boy were you wrong.

You were coming out of the shower, ready for bed when you heard Vi on the phone. As you get into bed and slide under the sheets, you notice her speaking to Powder.

“Alright, I love you too Pow Pow. Oh, yeah she’s here, probably finna dream about how perfect my teeth are.” Vi says, and you can hear Powder bark out a laugh on the other end of the phone.

“Violet!” You exclaim, staring at her with wide eyes. She quickly finishes her call and laughs as you swing a pillow her way.

“C’mon it’s nothing wrong with you thinking my teeth are so pretty. Besides, it's just Powder.”

“Whatever. Goodnight, love you.” You mumble while laying down. You hear Vi respond and cuddle up to you, both of you falling into a deep slumber.

Let’s just say, you definitely regret telling Vi about how perfect you found her teeth. You’re both brushing your teeth? She’s making sure you can see every molar. You’re both eating? She’ll ask you over and over again to check her teeth because she swears there’s some meat or lettuce stuck between them.

And forget only Powder knowing. For the next 2 weeks Mylo, Claggor, and Ekko could not shut up about it after Vi brung it up in front of them, joining Vi with the teasing. Hell, even Vander brought it up once or twice.

Yeah, you definitely regret telling her.

note: Okay, I don't know how I feel about writing this one, feel like I rushed it. Classes have been kicking my ass, I'm so ready for this semester to end. Let me know what you guys think and if you have any requests for the people that I write for, feel free to inbox me. Love you guys <3!!

[triptuckers]

wild flowers - percy jackson

Request: yes! "Can I request a platonic Percy Jackson x Child of Demeter!Reader based off the new Disney series? Where Child of Demeter!Reader is significantly older than Percy (17/18 maybe?) and is the one to welcome him to camp instead of Luke. Reader is more gentle and understanding to Percy's questions and is in general sort of a parent figure in the camp?" Pairing:  percy jackson x demeter!reader (platonic) Summary:  you welcome the newest kid at camp half-blood Warnings:  none (omg??) Word count:  1.1K A/N: was excited when I saw the new episode will be out on Tuesday but then I looked at the time zone and it's 3 am for me so I'll still watch it on wednesday :') thanks for your request, enjoy!

you try not to look away as percy, the newest addition to camp half-blood, nearly shoots another camper. he falls to the ground due to the force of the bow.

'alright.' you say, walking over to see if percy's okay. 'so not archery.'

'I didn't mean to!' says percy, looking at the kids who had flattened themselves to the ground to avoid being shot.

'of course you didn't, they know that. can I have the bow?' you say.

percy quickly shoves the bow in your hands as well as the quiver of arrows. you hand them back to the apollo kid who was teaching him with a thanks and an apologetic smile.

'see, I suck at this.' says percy. 'I'm not good at anything.'

'hey, that's not true.' you say. 'everyone is good at something. c'mon, I'll take you to my favorite spot at camp.'

that gets his attention. 'your favorite spot?'

'yep. right this way.'

you lead him away from the archery field. you can tell he's curious. you take him to the strawberry field, where some of the satyrs and your siblings are tending to the plants.

you walk past the strawberries to a field of grass where wild flowers grow.

'it's pointless.' says percy as the two of you sit down.

you frown. 'what is?'

he gestures around. 'all of this. I'm not one of you. it's clear there's something wrong with me. none of this matters because my dad won't reveal himself, he doesn't care. my mom is gone. I suck at archery. and I can't work in the forge. I can't do anything.'

you look at him. most kids are tough on themselves when they arrive. percy isn't any different.

'at least you didn't suck as much at archery than I did.' you say. 'contrary to you, I actually did hit someone when trying out archery '

percy's eyes widen. 'you did?'

you nod. 'apollo kids had to patch them up. luckily it wasn't that bad. but still I haven't touched a bow since. and I'm also not good at sword fighting. I only carry one because it's the weapon I suck the least with.'

'what if you suck at everything?' asks percy softly.

you smile at him. 'this is all normal. we all felt like this when we came here, regardless if we could already fight or not. and look at me, I still can't fight that well. I'm a joke compared to luke and clarisse if it comes to fighting. gods, even annabeth is better than me and she's your age.'

you point ahead to the strawberry fields. 'my cabin doesn't bring forth the best fighters. and that's okay. we're good at other things.' you say.

percy looks at your siblings, sure enough, not a lot of them carry weapons. maybe you do because you're head counsellor of your cabin.

'when did you find out who your mom was?' asks percy.

you sense he's not just curious about your godly heritage. he wants to know how long it would take before his father claims him. and he already knows there are unclaimed kids.

'for me it was pretty clear. I've always loved plants. I've got an impressive garden back at home.' you say. 'demeter claimed me my second day at camp.'

'so pretty fast...'

'for some kids it's fast. for some it's slow. some kids are very certain about who their godly parent is and sometimes they're right and sometimes they're not. you can't predict it with 100% accuracy.'

'did someone guess it correctly?'

'most of the times it's the athena kids who are right about their hunches. but they're athena kids of course, very smart. also a lot of ares kids are right. and for others it's a 50/50 chance. for instance, milo. everyone was convinced he was a hephaestus kid because he really liked to blow stuff up. turns out he's an athena kid. he's just really smart about blowing stuff up.'

'I bet I'm a kid of the god or failure or something. I'm just a regular kid, I'm not special. I don't have any impressive powers. not like you.'

'you think my powers are impressive?' you chuckle. 'I'm good with plants percy. over the years I've learned how to master those. but at first all I did was accidentally make flower patches.'

percy looks at you, frowning. 'you what?'

you laugh, then point to your shoes. they look like you've worn them every day for the past five years. which you have, somehow they won't wear down.

'these were a gift from my mom. if I don't wear them, flowers grow where I walk.'

'really?'

you nod and take them off. you get up and walk a circle around percy. and indeed, flowers grow where you put your feet down on the grass. you pick one and give it to percy, then put your shoes back on.

'it's the only thing I still can't master. maybe it's not something to be mastered. I'd ask my mom but the only time I saw her was when I was out fighting for my life. wasn't really the time to ask about flowers. she didn't even give me my shoes in person, just sent them here.'

you and percy are silent as you look out over the valley. you remember your first days at camp, how scared you were. you didn't know anyone, you were told your mom was a goddess, and you could never have a moment alone because there would always be someone who could find you based on the flowers you left behind.

'everyone here has been through what you're going through now.' you say. 'maybe they didn't experience it in the same way. I mean, you did kill the minotaur. but all of them have been confused, wondered about wether they belong, if there's something wrong with them. we all found our way in the end.'

'did you feel like you didn't belong?'

'sure. but then chiron explained to me it's all because of the gods. we've got dyslexia because our brain is wired in greek. the adhd is from our need to fight. it's all in our dna. just give it time, you'll belong. any other questions?'

'what do you do when you're not at camp?'

you smile. 'try not to run into any monsters and wait for the time to go to camp again. you'll find your family here, percy, trust me. now let's see if the aphrodite can teach you anything.'

you get up and offer your hand to percy. after pulling him to his feet, you start to walk toward the aphrodite cabin.

'you know, regardless of what cabin you belong to, you can always come to me if you have any questions.' you say.

percy smiles at you. 'thanks.'

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rulesHere’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit/Max

[kobunnie]

fall activities

ft. kageyama + oikawa + akaashi + astumu

⤻ summary ; it's fall time, so what activities are you doing with the hq boys?

⤻ word count ; 1.6k

⤻ genre ; fluff

⤻ cw ; none

⤻ pronouns ; none mentioned

⤻ a/n ; my favorite season is fall (and halloween is my favorite holiday) - so since it's september already, it's practically that time so here's a self-indulgent hc ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

𝜗𝜚 KAGEYAMA TOBIO

his favorite fall activity to do with you is pumpkin carving

it's an intimate activity without being too high maintenance or energy

he enjoys going to the pumpkin patch and watching as you grab various different sized pumpkins, trying to find the perfect one for your newest carved pumpkin

kageyama also likes just being around you, listening to your stories from the day as you scoop pumpkin guts out of a giant pumpkin

he likes this activity more than others because he just likes to watch you and your concentrated face as you carefully carve your design into your chosen pumpkin

he thinks you're cutest when you're concentrated on something

besides, he also likes to put your pumpkins outside next to each other where they stay for the entirety of their lives, imagining that it's you and him together

you slammed your too-large pumpkin onto the table, preparing your tools as kageyama already began on his own. he watched as you carefully traced your design onto your pumpkin, admiring the way your face scrunched up as you scratched out a mistake you had made.

"ew, i hate this part." you scooped the pumpkin guts out of the top of your pumpkin, cringing from the texture coating your hands.

kageyama watched you intently as you carefully carved around your stencil, careful to avoid accidentally cutting your own hands. he was barely even focusing on his pumpkin, to caught up in watching you perform what you would call a mundane task. but he didn't care, he liked watching you.

"what are you thinking of carving?" he asked, scooping out the insides of his own pumpkin.

you looked up and winked at him, causing a flutter he felt in his chest and stomach. "it's a surprise."

he smiled to himself as you got back to work, humming your favorite song. the silence was comforting, and kageyama felt content watching you work.

when you slammed your tools down he looked up, almost done with his own. "what do you think of this?" you asked excitedly, spinning your pumpkin around with a flourish.

kageyama stared at the loopy grin and mismatched eyes of your pumpkin, a smile growing on his face. it suited you perfectly. "i love it, y/n."

"eeee!! look, it's winking at you, tobio!"

𝜗𝜚 OIKAWA TOORU

loves to take you to the local fall festival whenever it opens each season

his favorite part of the festivals are the games - he likes to win as many prizes as possible and give them all to you

even when you say you've had enough prizes, he'll want to keep going because he thinks the games are fun and he likes to shower you in gifts

it gets to the point where a few parents give him dirty looks because not only is he hogging the games, he's winning all the prizes

but he also enjoys the atmosphere of being at the festival with you

the smell of food is in the air and there are so many opportunities for things he can get you, whether it be in food or physical gifts

he also enjoys going on the hayride with you at sunset, turning it into a too-romantic event between the two of you despite the kids sitting across from you on the ride

"and that's another win for me!" oikawa gloated, claiming his small teddy bear prize and a free voucher for one caramel apple.

"you're stealing these from the kids, you know," you said, grabbing the teddy bear from him and putting it into your bag where three others already sat.

he shrugged. "i'm just too good at the games. let's go to the pumpkin toss next."

you sidled next to him, grasping his hand in yours. "what about we go into the corn maze instead?"

"uhm, that's how we go missing, y/n."

you laughed. "ok then, tooru, what do you suggest we do?"

he pretended to think for a moment, adopting a thoughtful expression. he grinned down at you. "let's go on the hayride."

"that's perfect!" you looked up at the sky, watching as the sun began to recede behind the curvature of the earth. "it'll be perfect to watch the sunset on!"

when the two of you boarded the ride, you sat close to oikawa and he held your hand tightly in yours. as the cart jumbled along uneven roads, you admired the landscape of the area. nature was always prettiest in the fall. you felt oikawa staring down at you and you looked up at him.

he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "you are so beautiful, y/n."

"ewwwww!" the kids across from you exclaimed, faces morphed in disgust.

oikawa grumbled, "beat it, kids!"

𝜗𝜚 AKAASHI KEIJI

can't get enough of bingeing horror movies with you

loves the way you cuddle into him when you're frightened, and how cute your face is when you try to act brave

uses it as an excuse to be close to you

he also likes to talk about the movie contents with you

he likes to hear you gush about what you liked and didn't like, and your theories for the plot and which characters were your favorite

he always admires the way your face lights up when talking about something you enjoyed

he also just likes having nights in with you - ordering food and cuddling under blankets and pillows together

half of the time he spends watching you and your reactions instead of the movie

"i don't like this, keiji," you murmured from behind a pillow. akaashi glanced at you as you held the pillow tighter, attempting to use it as a shield between you and the screen.

he moved closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "it's just a movie, y/n."

"yeah, but it looks so real." you cuddled into his flank, peeking above the pillow as the characters on screen discussed what to do about the mysterious figure chasing them in the dark.

akaashi smiled slightly at the look on your face. sure, you were terrified but you just looked too cute to him. your eyes were wide and watching, and your lips were parted in an "o" shape, ready to let out a squeal of surprise when something would inevitably jump out at the scream. he honestly rarely actually watched the movie playing, much preferring to watch it through your reactions.

you laid your head into the crook of his neck, taking a deep breath of his scent - it calmed you. you felt his hands rub your arms, a silent notion that he was there and protecting you. something jumped out of the screen suddenly, causing you to screech and hide your face in akaashi's shirt.

you felt his low chuckle stemming from his chest. "i've got you, y/n," he said, his breath blowing over the top of your head. "nothing is going to get you."

you nodded into his shirt, not yet daring to look away. he was like your knight in shining armor, you're very own protector. "can we change the movie to something less scary?"

"of course, baby."

𝜗𝜚 MIYA ATSUMU

will always be up for baking fall-themed desserts with you during the season

isn't that into baking himself, but likes to do things that you like to do, so he cooperates with excitement

plus, he enjoys eating what you make

also finds it fun when you experiment with new flavors and different sweet treats so he often sends you recipes he finds on the internet that you guys can try together

doesn't do that much baking himself, but is basically there just to be your assistant

he gives you ingredients, tools, reads the recipes, and taste tests everything you make (also everything at each step - raw batter fears him)

and more often than not, something tends to go wrong

"i'm thinking we make pumpkin spice cookies," you said, pulling out a large mixing bowl.

atsumu nodded, watching you grab all the ingredients you needed from the cabinets. "can we shape them into little pumpkins?"

you whirled around, an excited look on your face. "tsumu! that's an amazing idea, it'll be so cute!"

atsumu flushed at the tone of your voice, watching as you pulled out the recipe. he leaned over your shoulder, pressing his chin into the crook of your neck, leaving a light kiss on your skin. you giggled and pushed him back. "ok, so first, we need to get the flour and sugar."

"on it!" he said, saluting. you laughed at his antics as he went to grab the flour. however, his enthusiasm might've been a little too much because as he moved, flour poured over it's container and splattered all over the front of his clothes.

you stared at your boyfriend covered in flour, trying your hardest to hold back a giggle.

"are you laughing at me?" you shook your head, covering your mouth. "because if you are . . ."

atsumu reached into the container, grabbed a handful of flour and flung it at you. you screeched and covered your face. "atsumu!"

"take this!" he flung a little bit more at you, making sure you were covered in the substance from head-to-toe. "can't laugh at me if we look the same."

"stop it! you are ridiculous!" you exclaimed, trying to sound annoyed but it didn't work so well when you had a giant smile on your face.

atsumu grinned and pulled you into a hug, rubbing even more flour onto you. you squealed and punched his shoulder. "tsumu! stop messing around, we need to make our cookies."

"we have enough flour on ourselves to be the cookies," he piped.

you rolled your eyes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "whatever, now get me the sugar."

[lanitalay]

Back to the basics

Cassian x reader

Premise: Cassian has been working too much, reader is upset

a/n: hello loves, this is my first cassian fic and I'm kind of unsure about it since I've never written for him specifically but hopefully you enjoy it!

warnings: tiny bit of angst (minuscule)

Masterlist

“Cass!” You yell from the bottom of the stairs and wait for your mate to answer.

“Cassian!” Now climbing up, and a little agitated you walk into your bedroom and expect to see him sprawled out on the mattress. But the room is empty and the bed is cold. You roll your eyes and send Rhysand a mental insult. There’s only one place he could be. 

You had grown tired of asking him to take a break and rest. Maybe it was selfish, but you missed your mate. Wanted his attention only on you, like the old days. When he would whisk you away for picnics and spontaneous camping. You couldn’t say you were the outdoorsy type. Having been born and raised in the heart of the Rainbow, you were a proper city girl. But Cassian loved all of that, and you loved him more than what was rational. 

The door to the study was closed and you could hear him shuffling around in there. Probably frustrated with something happening in the Illyrian Mountains, or maybe Eris sent word of Beron’s newest antics. It must not be grave though, since no one called an emergency meeting. Whatever he was dealing with could wait. 

Once the tent and food supplies were packed you barged into the office. “I’m busy right now, sweetheart.” 

“Cassian, I’m going to say this with love. You are a workaholic.” He scoffed “just give me a few minutes-” 

“No! You’ve been in here for who knows how long. I supposedly have a mate but I never see him. We never talk and if we do it's “Devlan this” or "Kier that” or “Eris said” and I’m sick of it! I’m pulling you out. Come on.” You grab his arm and drag him out of the stuffy office. All the way down the stairs he’s complaining “sweetheart, I’m sorry but I have to work, it's time sensitive-” he finally stopped talking when he saw all of his camping gear packed up in the middle of the sitting room. 

“What-”

“We are going camping. Like we used to, you remember? When you still paid attention to me?” Cassian groaned, “I’m sorry I’ve been caught up with work-” 

“Nope. That word is forbidden. If you mention anything to do with work you will have to face… undesired consequences. I’ve told Rhysand to leave you alone for a few days. Let's go.” 

“Are we walking or..?” You smile, he didn’t put up much of a fight.

“You are flying us, silly.” Hand him the bulky gear and then open the door for him to walk out. 

“We can’t go too far if I’m going to be carrying all of this.” You jump in his arms and kiss him on the cheek “let’s go to that little island where we used to see the dolphins.” 

He considered it. The flight was longer than what he would have wanted but you had some precious memories there and he knew that you were trying to do something nice for him. “Alright.” 

After a comfortable flight, Cassian immediately set you, and all of the gear down. “What should we do first?” He asked as he looked around, trying to find a spot to set up camp.

“Let’s set up the tent, then go fishing.” 

Cassian nodded and pointed out a level patch of grass nearby. You begin by taking out the tent from the bag and organizing all of the little sticks and stakes in bunches so you knew how many you had of each. 

“Do you remember how to do this?”

“Well… I think this went together-” he snaps a few sticks together “and then it goes through the loops on the tent.”

“No, I don’t think that’s right.” You distinctly remember that the loops were for securing the rain tarp. Cassina sighed. “Sweetheart, I’ve set this tent up enough times to know how.”

“Well, sweetheart, you haven’t touched this tent in over fifty years so you’re probably misremembering.”

“Do you really want to fight right now?”

After a deep breath you reply “no, but you’re wrong. Those things go through these sleeves.”

Cassian did as you said and the tent was up in a matter of minutes. You grabbed the fishing rods and walked towards the shore. There was a dock that ended near a reef where fish were abundant. It was also the place where you and Cassian had your first kiss. 

Back then you were smitten with the giant Ilyrian but Cassian was sweating cold, unsure if you felt the same. He brought you here for a picnic and when the sun began to set you grew frustrated and asked “Cassian, be honest, do you want to kiss me?” He choked on a piece of cheese and struggled to articulate that “yes, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to kiss you and-” you pounced. Latching your lips to his and kissing him until you were both panting. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” You smile at him. Months later Cassian told you that he knew he was done for when you smiled at him like that, wild and wicked. 

“Cass?” He hums, eyes focused on the line he just threw, waiting for it to bob. 

“Do you still like me?” 

“What?” You throw your own line. 

“Well, we’ve been together for so long I sometimes wonder if you like me. Like if you saw me walking down the street would you still feel attracted to me?” 

“Of course I’d be attracted to you. You’re the most beautiful creature I have ever seen and I mean that as a fact not a compliment.” 

You give him a soft slap on his shoulder “you old sap.”

“What about you?”

“I think you only get more attractive as the years go by.” The fishing rod bends down, signaling that a fish took the bait. This is where Cassian always takes over and pulls out the catch with minimal effort. 

The sun was setting and you sat flush to Cassian, head resting on his shoulder as he hoped to catch at least one more fish for dinner. You were drawing idle lines on his hand and forearm, just how you knew he liked it.  “Cass?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it that I’m annoying to be around or something?” 

He shifted “what do you mean?” 

“Well you’re always doing something else and I… it sometimes feels like you’re taking on so much because you don’t want to come home and spend time with me. I mean today I had to drag you out of that study.”

 He sets the rod down and turns to face you. His hands come up to cup your face, he almost flinches when he sees your eyes, hard and unfeeling. He knows you’re bracing yourself for whatever he’s about to say and something inside him cracks. “Y/n, I… I’m so sorry if you feel that way but that is the farthest thing from the truth. I treasure our time together and… if I’ve been absent it has nothing to do with you.” 

He feels the roll of your eyes like a stab to the heart “you say that but you don’t even make it home for dinner most days.”

“It's just- y/n, we came so close to losing everything. The war, Hybern, the Cauldron- we are still here by pure luck. I was out there doing my best to keep you safe and it was not enough. Nothing I did was enough. But now we’re here and we know something is happening. Koshchei, Beron and who knows if Hybern had other allies looking for retribution. The only thing I can think about is that now the world knows Velaris exists and you are here if something were to happen… if another attack happens and you get hurt- that would kill me. So I try to stay on top of everything because it's the only way I can sleep at night. Sweetheart, I love you, I love you with everything that I am and everything that I’ll ever be. I’m sorry, just-” 

Cassian stops talking when you wrap your arms around him in a desperate hug, face buried in his chest. He hugs you back and his heart sinks as he hears you sniffle and moisture pricks at his skin. “Sweetheart you don’t need to cry- I’ll be home more, I’ll-”

“No Cas, you don’t need to do anything. I- I’m just so selfish and self centered. Here I was mad at you while you’ve been carrying all this burden and I could only think of myself. You deserve better than a spoiled brat and-”

“What are you saying?”

“I should be apologizing to you!” Tears are cascading down your cheeks now as you burst with emotion “please forgive me, we can go home right now if you want.” You begin to stand up but Cassian pulls you down again. 

“Don’t you see? You’re right. I’ve been obsessing over potential problems but I haven’t been home and you are entitled to react to that because I vowed to you to always be by your side and I’m sorry I failed you-”

“Don’t say that! You haven’t failed anyone. I just- I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“So how are we gonna fix this?” 

“I’ll be home everyday for dinner and we can have lunch together in a cafe and-”

“Don’t suggest I train with you.”

“But babe it would be quality time spent together.” You giggle and wipe away the drying tears from your eyes. “I’ve seen you train and trust me, I’d die.” 

“Are we good?” You nod and crawl into his lap to straddle him. With both hands on his neck, you pull him towards you in a kiss that reminds you of your first. 

He deepens the kiss with a nip to your lower lip and his hands come to squeeze your hips. You pull away “do you want to-” before you can finish, he mumbled a “yes” and began carrying you back to your campsite where you would not be getting any sleep.

[batbetbitbotbut]

Hi, hope you're doing well!

I was wondering if you have a specific resource you use for weaving project inspiration? I struggle with finding ideas for projects that aren't another scarf (I have 6 now...) or teatowels. My next project for my 4 shaft loom is going to be a lining for my pinic basket with matching napkins+cutlery roll, but after that I'm out. I would specifically like try overshot sometime soon, but I don't know what yet.

Thank you and have a nice day!

Hello and I hope you're also doing well! A picnic basket set sounds amazing!

I don't have a specific suggestion for you, alas. I've been weaving for less than a year and so far I have always had more ideas than I have time for (they form an orderly queue but usually the newest shiniest idea jumps to the front, how rude). I try to write them down as they come, to hoard against barren patches in the future.

I get ideas in a few places: a lot from my books because I want to try all the different structures I can, #weaving and related tags (shitty as tumblr tag tracking functions are) because I want to join in with the cool things other people make, nature stuff. I make a project and then make something completely different because I want a fresh experience (and different frustrations!) - a few cotton projects and then another wool one, several shuttles then one shuttle then two - but I also return to old projects and weave a new variation to see what happens. I've abruptly reached the age where several of my friends want to have babies, so I'm plotting more wide warps and double-width projects as baby blankets, which have their own restrictions.

But I make more tea towels than anything else because they have infinite give-away potential: even if I have too many towels in my life and I don't want the faff of selling them, someone will always be glad to have them. I can fuck up as much as I want and make them in any design at all and they will be useful, except for, like, lace. Some of my things have a recipient in mind when I make them, but most don't.

I struggle a bit coming up with palettes - it's part of why I'm not very interested in doing plaid - so I often go for pride flag palettes because they make a thing into A Thing (even if the palette isn't, like, relevant to me personally). Might do similar with bird-themed palettes in the future, like I did for the pigeon towels. Or when using wool, I only have cones in a few colours so I just use those.

Whatever you're doing, assuming you aren't using up a one-of-a-kind material in a way you don't want to use it, it's not wasted. If you enjoy the process, not all of it has to be for a result you are interested in, and it will still refine your skills for results you do like in the future. Not everything has to be the pinnacle of inspiration and craft but it may help you towards finding the next thing that really gets you excited - exercising your inspiration muscles whether they want it or not. This is a parable not an experiment that ever happened, and it's only vaguely related here, but this is my favourite retelling of it:

There was an experiment a professor did. I think it was pottery students. He did an experiment of “quality” vs “quantity”. One half of the class he told; you have to make as many pots as possible. Good pots, bad pots, shitty pots, whatever. The more pots you make, the higher your grade. The other half of the class were told, “you can make only one pot”. But that pot had to be perfect. The quality had to be high; the highest quality pot would get the best mark. But when it came to the grading, they noticed something weird. All the best quality pots were in the ‘quantity’ group. The guys who were literally churning out pots, trying to make as many as possible, not concentrating on the quality. But every pot they made, made them better at making pots. By the end of the month (I think it was a month) - they had some pretty awesome pots coming out, because they enjoying finding all the ways and all the things they could do to make all their pots. Where as the ‘quality’ guys had spent their time reading up on pots, and technique, and researching and planning; which was all great but they’d had no further practice at actually making pots. The best way to get really good at something, the only way to be really good at something, is to make lots of shitty attempts at that thing several of which will fail. If all you create are perfect things then you won’t improve, because how can you improve on perfect? tl:dr MAKE YOUR SHITTY POTS.

https://www.tumblr.com/darkandstormyslash/154648694948/fireandlifeincarnate-look-write-as-much

[caffeinatedmunchkin]

A bard and a vampire wander into the local hags backyard-STOP ME IF YOU'VE HEARD THIS ONE Wilted Rose Productions proudly presents its newest release: STOP ME IF YOU'VE HEARD THIS ONE. Ofelia Montez (With Stars to Fill My Dreams) and Astarion Ancunín (Christian Woman, Hungry Like the Wolf) reunite to star in this tongue-in-cheek exploit that pens a love-letter to vampirism, and all that it’s bitten; which Fangoria hails: "unpredictable, ambitious, and aware; a frightfully amusing re-telling for all to sink their teeth into - no fangs required.” and that Bloody Disgusting calls: "A wild ride. These horror high jinks are the sort that could only exist for a duo the likes of Ofelia and Astarion, and it is only because of them that this story is pulled off." Sex, blood, and Rock ‘n’ Roll. Bring home the absurd story you think you know, told like never before. STOP ME IF YOU'VE HEARD THIS ONE, now on video cassette - rent it tonight! Runtime of 37K words. The media advertised has been rated R for strong sexual content, graphic depictions of violence, and crude humor. Restrictions apply. Under 18 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian. Please be kind and rewind!

{reference I used for making the cover}

[Banner credit]

PART 1 OF 2 - Apparently tumblrs posts have block limits ?? Who knew.

Ali, you are such a force of creativity, positivity, talent, and kindness. I've been around the fandom block, which I'm generally pretty wary of, and I had sworn off of tumblr for years. It was only a matter of time, I think, before something BG3 pulled me back in. Boy howdy am I supremely grateful it was here and now, and that it lead me to you!

I want to thank you for not only welcoming me so warmly to this community, but for your friendship and your support. In return, I very humbly present you with this; my ode to Ofelia, what a wonderful, iconic, lovable character she is, and the incredible dynamic you've built around her and Astarion, our fave resident bastard man.

Thank you for sharing her with us, and thank you for trusting me with her.

There's no way I'll ever be able to thank you enough, or show you how much I appreciate you, but I hope this conveys it a lil. Enjoy xoxo

Once upon a time...

In a land far, far away...

- a realm born of both the fantastical, and the treacherous -

(As I'm writing this narration, I'm hearing it in Raphael's voice, and I'm gonna need you to do the same as you read it. Liam Neeson is an acceptable substitute.)

... the setting in which our story, like many hitherto, begins.

A sinuous tale of love, and lust, and wonderment.

The improbable turned possible.

One quiet afternoon, on the outskirts of the Sunlit Wetlands...

...In an innocuous patch of wood, do we find our favorite, lionhearted young bard, and her sardonic vampyre.

Who happened upon this lush thicket. One deep-set in the hag's bog, to whom it belongs.

Ever benignant, a purveyor fair and just; she had come by her notoriety honestly.

It was not as though she had been known to deal in ironics, or legerdemain.

Certainly not dear Auntie Ethel...

And in their hapless trespassing, embark on this, their aforenamed escapade, most unwitting.

To the amused delight of no one in particular...

...

Then again, what's more fun than two lovers clueless to the absurdity in which they are thrust?

The very same circumstance, wherein one of them is in on the joke - of course.

Crouched before a tangle of parted undergrowth, Ofelia toiled away at the lock of an old trinket box. Intricate carving and chipped paint, it's abandoned burial evident, as it sat half unearthed. Peeking through a sparse patch of naked vine, it called to her. Begging its contents rifled.

Rusted just enough to prove her proceeding efforts fruitless - it's cry for exploration now revealed to be a taunt - the firmer she appealed for cooperation, the more stubborn was its refusal. To her pins coaxing, it only clinked in protest.

Frustration bubbling like a pot boiled over, her attention was then demanded by Astarion's hemming and hawing. His melodrama loud and needy, his tolerance for not being the center of attention delicately finite. That toleration had fizzled and snuffed, extinguished like a candles flame near the end of its wick.

Really, she was impressed he lasted as long as he had.

Found a little ways ahead in the clearing, haughty and regal, with irritation twitching his sharp ear in the way she loved. Hands fallen to his hips, and shoulders drawn back, the elf stood before what looked to be a mirror.

"What's that?" She called, maintaining the rapid, driving pressure in and out.

Her attempted finesse surrendered, she relied on the assumption that each next pass might be the one to jostle the pins to the shear line. An assumption then punished by her strayed focus, and blunt-force, Ofelia was echoed by the chink of thin steel, cracked and crumpling.

In quiet panic, she rose to her full height. Holding her breath with the hopes he hadn't heard.

A hope that died a slow, painful death.

"The sound of the very last of my picks I ever lend to you, breaking, I believe." He drawled, the bored nonchalance of his tone betraying his forgone assumption she'd snap it in half. Judged by the sounds of her working the lock alone, though he was well acquainted with how lean her patience.

His back still to hear, he felt the blunt edge of her flat stare smack into his head. "I've warned you before about such a heavy hand. It's a snake rake, darling, not a battering ram."

If he didn't feel her glare from moments prior, he most definitely felt the breeze from her lashes, fluttering around the eyes sent back into her skull.

"So then maybe you should be doing this, instead of pawning the work off onto me and calling it 'practice.'" Brushing the dirt from her knees, she slipped the pieces of what used to be Astarion's rake into the pouch on her belt.

"Nonsense. If I always do it for you, then you'll never learn to do it for yourself." He twisted to face her, a lazy smirk as smug as his inflection. It earned her tongue stuck out at him through a crinkled face.

An expression that he used to categorize as a "gurn", - the comparison not made with affection - he now very deliberately teased it out of her.

Shallow taunts and ragging seemed the trick.

Returning a glare to the mirror, it had yet to give him the satisfaction of how handsome even his defiance presented. "What a distasteful stab at opulence. I daresay not even a goblin would be desperate enough to try and make off with such a gaudy thing." He waved in a vague gesture.

"Remember our talk about stereotypes?" Her goading lilt made him sniff, her simper spilling wider. "And really, you're one to talk. You're a worse hoarder of shiny things than anyone else I know. Goblin, or otherwise."

Astarion turned his head as far as his shoulder, but went no further. His preening given away by the curl of his lips.

"Just this side of the Gate, or from your world, as well?"

"Both your world, and mine. Hands down."

To that he chuckled. "Sweet-talker."

"I have learned from the best." Ofelia looked up as she passed behind him to catch a glimpse of herself. To reaffirm that the loosened tendrils from Shadowheart's fishtail braid, the one she pleated for her after breakfast, still framed her face whimsical, and romantic. Though something curious happened, making her take pause.

Her assumed reflection did not appear.

Her approach then cautious, Ofelia cocked her head once she joined his side, her closeness demanding of the mirror something it refused to humor.

A grand, ornate piece, it jarred against the gnarled overgrowth it occupied, looking as if it was put down during a move, and forgotten. Though nothing of time, nor the elements, tainted it with signs of wear or corrosion. It looked well kept. The surface shone, glassy and slick like tears unshed. The gold-leaf rubbed into the frame glinted as if from a fresh polish.

Resting against a trunk in a position central to the semi-circle of trees around them, it's placement then seemed conspicuous. Deliberate in drawing the eye. Calling to any and all that looked it's way to come close, and peer within. To indulge its mystique.

Ofelia couldn't believe she hadn't noticed it first thing. Impossible to miss against a backdrop so drab in comparison, it had been there all along.

Hadn't it?

An imposing height that would have towered over even Halsin, it was scarcely wider than the width of Astarion shoulder to shoulder. One would have had to crowd the other to both be visible at once.

That was, if either were visible in it at all.

"Huh." She waved her hand before the surface, expecting a returned visage, and greeting, that still didn't appear. "That's weird."

Astarion snorted. "Darling, is there something you've not told me?"

Ignoring his attempts to be playful, she leaned in closer, eyes narrowed beneath brows that furrowed further. With perception that would have made Carl Kolchak proud, she remarked with casual assurance. "The trees are wrong."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The trees." She said again, pointing to the structures within the frame. Tall, narrow, and sparse. Too tall and narrow to be the reflection of the firs in the clearing around them, and too familiar to belong to Faerûn.

Too familiar to Earth native Ofelia.

"This isn't... a reflection, it's..."

Trailing off and unable to help herself, she raised her hand to the surface. Expecting to meet solid glass, Astarion's heed for caution came too little too late. Once her fingers pushed against it, they dipped straight through, as if made of smoke and shadow.

The illusion rippled outward. Reminiscent of a still pond then disturbed, it gave way to her intrusion, though the scene remained. A cluster of trees in a nondescript forest, during a cloudy, overcast day.

Cool to the touch, Ofelia ripped her hand away as if flames lapped at her from the other side. A surmised hazard, corroborated by her squeak. "What the hell-,"

Having deduced she was startled as opposed to injured, Astarion leaned in for closer inspection. "Hmm... it appears to be the same sort of glamor our dear Ethel used to disguise the bog. Odd. I wonder what else she's trying to hide." Then in afterthought, as if a personal offense to him - or all vampire kind - he huffed. "Whatever it might be, why a mirror? Seems a bit wanting for originality, if you ask me."

After sizing it up sidelong, curiosity tamed her apprehension, and she reached for it once more. Astarion's disapproving tsk falling on deaf ears.

This time, when the mirror accepted her fingertips, she reached further, until it swallowed her up to the wrist. Wriggling her fingers and rolling the joint on the other side, unable to see, she could feel.

Frigid, raw air. The gentle sting of mist. Withdrawing her hand, she studied it, and the faint droplets that had gathered on her sun-kissed flesh.

"I think it's... like a portal, or something?"

"Are you asking, or telling?" Ofelia shot him a look, and he scoffed with a scrunch of his brows. "A portal to what?"

"Another forest, maybe? I don't know, I felt... moisture, and air. A little chilly, like late winter." Lifting the back of her hand to her nose for a hesitant sniff, perplexity was worn far too serious on her young face. "It almost... smells like home?"

Damp and woodsy, a bouquet of pine and petrichor. Pungent and distinctly Pacific Northwest. Though prior to her abduction she was a loud and proud Cali local, the nostalgia of crisp, clean Earth was good enough for her. The rhythm of her heart spiked in a pattern Astarion was all too familiar with.

"Don't be daft, darling."

Was his unwillingness to entertain a way back to her home born from a selfishness to keep her in Faerûn with him?

Indubitably.

Would he ever admit to such?

Not on her life.

"I know you're not so naive as to think anything of the hags warrants faith. She learns what you want most, and offers in it's stead but a cruel, mangled imitation."

"We don't even know for sure if this is Ethel's - but it could really, actually be home!" She rocked up to her toes, clasping her hands behind her back. Her head tucked towards her shoulder in a manner she meant to be ingratiating. "C'mon, what's the worst that'll happen? Aren't you even the least bit curious about where I come from?"

Astarion in her world... in her home. Her mind barrelled after her heart in its race.

There was so much she could introduce to him.

Castlevania on Netflix. The chorizo and egg breakfast tacos - heavy on the Chipotle mayo - at her favorite diner, the one a short walk to the park by her apartment. Better still, she could take him to her spot at that same park, an empty clearing bordering the soccer field. The little hideaway eked out and sheltered from the main path by the surrounding trees, it was just large enough for two.

She could take him there for a picnic lunch. The wire of her headphones split between them as she introduced him to more favorites, like Siouxsie and the Banshees or Volbeat. Admiring the way the haze of mid-morning sun dappled against his fair skin through the overhead canopy of leaves.

Stretched out along the grass, head cradled by her lap as she raked her fingers through his curls. His ethereal beauty, and bliss, celebrated in an opaline sheen in the suns rays.

And not just any sun, but her sun.

So giddy was she, to the image of him languid and content in shared domesticity, that it was as if she had already stepped through the alleged portal. Leaving him behind to peer at her, expectant, while she slipped deeper into her reverie. She was ripped back with a start by the snap of his fingers before her nose.

Blinking up at him, her attention fixed to the glimmer in his claret eye. Buried deep beneath weary skepticism, was curiosity. Faint, but instantly recognizable, she caught it before the gravity of her proposal had the chance to smother the ember.

Astarion wasn't often the voice of reason. He rationed the use of that one talent of his many for when the need was most dire. Hearing her impulsivity rev higher with every pounded beat within her chest, he sought to reel her back in. Conscious, and thoughtful in his intonation.

"And what happens, my precious little bard, when your home is not waiting on the other side?"

She shrugged.

“We step back through, right where we started. No harm, no foul." Batting her lashes, softening a back-bone that - for her alone - was about as rigid as a single strand of al dente angel-hair. "Besides, are you honestly telling me that the curiosity wouldn't drive you crazy if we didn't take even just one, itty-bitty peak?"

She was kind enough to measure out for him just how itty-bitty she meant, by pinching her finger-tips.

She had him there. The routine of their little troupe the previous few days had him restless.

They had done nothing but comb back through previously covered ground, all in effort to stock up for their eventual pilgrimage through the Underdark. Only to then make camp for another night, equaled in solemnity.

It was all so dull it bordered on tragic. The mere recollection made him sigh.

"You know what they say about curiosity and the cat, don't you darling?"

Her lips pursed to a small, mischievous smile. Continuing to brandish her lashes, that's all else she gave in reply.

As if he could deny any request attached to those big brown eyes.

He, in fact, could not.

With a put upon huff that forced every last bit of air from his lungs, Astarion caved. Pinching the bridge of his nose where it met his forehead wrinkled by his frown.

"We're to no more than poke our heads in- just to put this inquisitiveness to bed. If something's amiss, we come straight back.” He warned, his finger jut towards her in emphasis. “And you're never to aim those Godsdamn eyes at me ever again."

"YES!” She squealed. “Okay, okay, yes. Agreed!"

All but bouncing up and down, her victorious grin split wider across her face. Astarion couldn't deny the tightening around his dormant heart, nor the flush up the back of his neck to have granted her such excitement.

In the same lively rush of self-satisfaction, it also stoked the ire of pessimism beginning to swell within. His grimace deepened.

When had he become such a stick in the mud?

The very moment he traded his heart for hers, naturally. Caring for another was exhausting business, when the heart he took was more precious to him, than the very hands he used to hold it.

Ofelia knew that even if this was a way back home, it didn't mean she would going back for good, of course.

Probably.

They still had the ever-present triviality of impending Ceremorphosis to contend with. But even just the possibility of a sort of fast travel way-point between her world, and this one?

Ofelia had, after all, been abducted by Mind flayers, before she crashed and burned through Hell itself.

She pulled a powerful, near-famed wizard out of a rock. Stuck and flailing in the mineral like a cat with it's head caught in an empty tissue box.

Said wizard had since used his awesome power to amplify the sound of both her voice, and her lyre, just so she could preform Crazy On You for a bunch of Tieflings.

And an elf, who's also a bear.

She now had a two-hundred-odd year old Vampire for a boyfriend, whose high-school-cheer-captains sass brutality was worse than his literal bite.

She had taken her first steps in a land of literal fairy-tale, in chunky tricolor Nikes.

Stranger things had taken place, for sure.

All that aside, portals - like doorways - by their very nature, were two sided. If they went through to one side, they could simply step back over to the other.

Right?

Allowing room for only one to pass through at a time, Ofelia steeled herself to go first, buzzing like a hummingbird in her boots. With a deep breath, every inch of her prickled in adrenaline, pulling her toes curled and tightening her scalp.

She only made it one foot forward, before Astarion snatched her by the elbow, holding her in place.

"Wait." He sounded strained, as if trying to craft his speech to match a composure his actions already betrayed. "I'll... go first. This could spit us out over a steep incline, and knowing you you're just as liable to snap your neck as you are to roll an ankle."

"My perfect gentleman." She hummed, tucking her fists to her chest.

He waved her off with a grumble, and flattened ears. "Spare me."

Stepping in front of her to fill the frame with his stance, he sized up the trees within, as they scraped against the pale sky. With a roll of his shoulders, Astarion mumbled beneath his breath, something along the lines of; "let's get this over with." before he entered.

And then he was gone.

Swallowed by the shifting veil of glamor from the tips of his ears, to his heels. A faint linger of bergamot and brandy where he once stood.

Ofelia expelled a breath herself, and waited. Fingers twisting at her middle, she counted to ten, drawing out the intervals between each.

When he didn't return, and nothing in the picture altered in any indication something had gone awry upon his intrusion, she knew it was her turn.

She went in after him.

Astarion couldn't recall much of the experience through the portal.

A blur of senses jarred, and contrasting weightlessness.

He could remember the infernal whine that pierced through it all. It writhed and lashed him along, the echo of it's heinous distortion blending into the cacophony of background noise now that he was on the other side, though not soon enough.

Passing through must have severed his brain from its stem, as the sharp twinges in Astarion's head pulsed like the organ had been knocked around freely. Harsh illumination flooded from every direction, it needled the lids he held shut against it.

The ringing in his ears dulled and dissolved into idle chatter, laughter, and scuffling feet.

A touch settled to his forearm. Nimble finger-tips, with the weight and docility of a woman. Bare flesh to his bare arm.

Strange. His arms were covered in sleeves shoulder to wrist just moments before.

"-re you alright?" A woman's voice reached him through the raucous vacuity, full-bodied and clear. A closeness suggesting it must have been from the one who touched him. "What's wrong?" She chirped again. Direct with her concern.

Ofelia?

His eyes urged open by the voice, he winced with the sting, his vision erupting in white. The light descended upon him with a vengeance, and burned brighter than the sun ever did. Even after all their centuries of estrangement.

He struggled to adjust, only to then be bombarded by the sheer volume of people that surrounded him. All appearing to be quite young, and humanoid, their attire foreign. Not a single face, not even the woman who fussed over him, was Ofelia's.

The room they were in was cavernous, and sterile. It consumed the noise and spat it back out in warring reverberation. The longer he stood there, the louder it seemed to swell. The architect rigid as it was alien, glass windows stretched across much of the walls, with thin blue columns posted between them. The unfamiliarity of the furnishings went without saying, eyeing the bright garland of flags he didn't recognize, strung along the tops of the windows at his side.

His head jerked around as he searched for her among the thickness of the crowd. The specific words, and phrases he was able to isolate from the maelstrom of conversations all happening at once, did remind him of Ofelia. A commonality in her accent, and general dialect.

Was she right after all? Were they now in her home?

The bob of his throat numbed to ice.

What if she never wanted to go back with him?

Would he stay here for her? Would she ask?

What if she didn't want him to stay?

The woman stood before him with patience, though he could tell by the set of her shoulders, and tilt of her head that it was dwindling.

A pallid, statuesque woman with a cleft in her chin, whoever she was, she expected something from him. He could feel the weight of it boring into him by her expectant stare. Prodding him to speak. However the longer he went without Ofelia, her sonorous lilting, the playful wickedness glinting in the dark of her gaze, frustration began to rear.

He was in no mood for pleasantries, first impressions in her world be damned.

He snapped through the hum of drivel. "Where's Ofelia?"

The woman recoiled, though she didn't shrink. Her lips pressed thin, off-put by how brusque she was addressed.

A tall, brute of a man with dark hair and a similar sun-starved complexion posted behind her. Dressed in all white, he regarded Astarion with features screwed in complimentary scrutiny. More stunned than offended, he echoed his woman in her silence.

"Who?" Piped up from his right. It was another's woman's voice. Sprightly, much higher and airier than the firsts.

He turned to a waifish young woman, short brunette hair spiking in tufts across her forehead and out from around her ears. Curiosity and innocence personified, by her too-large of eyes, and fragile features.

"Ofelia." He reiterated, his chest tightening as her gaze widened in hopeless confusion. "Caramel skin, and raven-haired. Brown saucers for eyes, and far more suggestible than they've the right to be. A busty little number, with silver piercing her nose, here," he tapped his right nostril for emphasis, before doing to the same to the ends of each brow. "As well as here?"

Next to the small brunette was a blond man, who loomed just beyond her shoulder like a specter. One who looked as though he hadn't eaten, slept, or smiled for several months. Skin so pale it was almost translucent, with tired eyes ensnared by the void. His features passive, they twitched as if against some invisible tension wound too-tight to keep him neutral.

The tiny one gazed up at him, pleading for input with a girlish pout that matched her bowed brows. The ghoul blinked back down at her, his shoulders lifting in a motion so slight, he might as well have not even bothered. That was all the reply he gave, though she seemed to find it sufficient. Well versed in his body language, and anguished indifference.

She then wielded her doe-eyes back at Astarion, a sincere sympathy in their glisten. Her confession made with a head shake. "She sounds beautiful, but... I have no idea who she is."

Astarion waved her silent, his aggravation stewing as he made a break from the four. The heel of his shoe squeaked during his pivot, a grating sound that startled him still, though his head remained on a swivel.

More people filed in to feed the crowd, but his bard was not among them.

Sensing his impending departure, and wary over his amnesic behavior, the blonde woman stepped forward with hands raised. Afraid he'd take off like a scared animal if she closed in. Hand falling to his arm again, her voice lowered to a belabored hush.

"Where do you think you're going? What's gotten into you?"

He pulled his arm free and stumbled back. "If you're not going to be of use, then I shall have to find her myself."

The brunette woman's worry strengthened the longer she observed Astarion, her tone cracking and shrill. "Wait-! We'll help you, it's just... well, you're not making very much sense-,"

"I've no time for this." He growled, his eye drawn to an open corridor beyond where the five of them huddled. Surmising it to be the best place to start, by the consistent stream of people that had funneled through.

The four exchanged looks of varied disbelief once he succeeded in disentangling from their clique, and made for the halls entrance. In a final attempt at getting through to him, the blonde woman called after him, loud enough to attract the attention from the nearest bystanders.

"What are you -Edward!"

Astarion stopped, spinning on his heel to face them with a single brow stitching upward.

"My name is not-," he then huffed, abandoning the correction with a dismissive gesture. "Oh, never mind that."

He could hear the brunette woman squeak to the others, "we should go to Carlisle." as he left them there, gawking.

A bizarre encounter to be certain, but he'd squander no more of the precious time he'd already wasted, least of all on the likes of them.

He needed to find Ofelia.

He tried the tadpole first; but it laid unresponsive. Not dead, it gave sluggish twitches when he tried prodding it to action. Still there, burrowed within his gray matter, though dazed from the traversal. Just as dazed as himself.

Left to navigate the discombobulation on his own, and he couldn't even rely on the blasted Illithid parasite to determine if she was there. Another log fed to his roiling agitation, his ire blazed to full-swell.

She had to be there, somewhere. He just had to find her.

She was right behind him.

Wasn't she?

The moment she passed through in full, the towering pines devolved into harsh disorientation.

The pins-and-needles feeling of a limb deprived of circulation translated for the eye, all Ofelia could discern was the feeling of disembodiment. Sensory deprivation, as her aura of consciousness passed through an endless funnel of flickering black and white particles.

A low, monotonous hum of sound dialed tighter and tighter into a high-pitched whine, almost inaudible, before the psychedelics surrounding her twisted to a pinprick in the dark.

Pure white blinked to pitch black. The whine clicked off, winding down into silence.

Silence, and nothingness.

And then, gradual and humming, it all receded to make way for sound, and light. It flooded back around her, like sunrise at dawn, overwhelming and final.

When next she opened her eyes, she was no longer standing in a copse beside Astarion.

Nor did she tumble headfirst down the side of a mountain face. Or drop into the middle of some unidentified body of water; a fear that crept in just as she allowed the looking glass to swallow her whole, and it was too late to back out.

No, she was plopped somewhere far worse than even those two undesirable scenarios.

She was sitting in a high-school cafeteria.

Discordant chatter rushed her ear from clusters of teens at round tables, and loitering around the exits. In line to pile cold green beans, and congealed mashed potato onto plastic trays. Sneakers squealing against linoleum shearing through the indecipherable buzz.

She froze, looking down to find a similar tray gripped in hand. Her feet beginning to fidget under her, she discovered that she too was in a pair of squeaky sneakers.

I definitely wasn't wearing sneakers before-

After whipping her head from side to side, Astarion's face not among any that blurred into her line of sight, she shut her eyes and tried reaching out with the tadpole. It gave a little kick as it stirred, but remained otherwise stagnant.

She could, at the very least, still sense him somewhere near by, but the signal was frayed, preventing the integral method of communication they relied on when separated.

Still, she tried calling his name, but it only rebounded back. Reverberating throughout her tender skull like the whack of a ping-pong ball to the paddle, and only making it half as far, as it stayed contained within her own head. Such as when dreams rend one mute, she cried out for him, but the futile attempts bounced around the walls of her cranium, trapped. Useless. Unable to connect with him in order to guide him to her position, or likewise, make her way to his.

Oh this is so not good.

Without a single clue to where she was, or Astarion's whereabouts, her anxiety began to mount as every face she searched was one more she didn't recognize.

Until she turned her attention to her company at the table around her.

No way... Not a chance. This is absolutely not happening-

Ofelia wasn't in the middle of just any high-school cafeteria. Ofelia was in the Forks High cafeteria. Of Forks, Washington. In 2008.

The more she looked, the less real the situation felt, though nothing could have been further from the truth. This wasn't a dream, or an illusion. Hard plastic sat beneath her, as more hard plastic in a band wove through her hair at the crown of her head. When she looked down at herself, her eye met a mossy-green buttoned shirt, one boxy, and not particularly flattering, hugged against her full chest.

One not of her wardrobe, and certainly not what she had put on that morning before she and Astarion set out.

What the fuck-

"Hey, Mikey, you met my home-girl Bella!"

Ofelia shifted in her seat with a cringe.

Was the writing always this abysmal?

"My girl." An assertion puffed against the side of her face by an unidentified third male, the lips of whom then mashed against her cheek in a hasty kiss.

She whipped around on instinct to see - the name Tyler maybe sounded right? - duck away in an infantile, tugging-the-pigtail-of-a-cute-girl hit and run. Though not before pulling Mike's chair out from under him, sending him to the ground in a thud. The table jostled as he tried to catch himself against it before he did.

She watched with wide eyes and a tingling cheek, as Mike scrambled from the scuffed linoleum to bound after Tyler as he booked it away.

"Oh my God," Anna Kendrick - Ofelia couldn't for the life of her remember her character's name, and the fact that she was reeling didn't help in her frantic recall - tittered, as she took Mikey's place right next to her. "It's like, first grade all over again and you're the... shiny new toy." Her tone pinched nasal and worked into a purposeful, monotonous apathy to mimic the stereotype that plagued all teens in the early aughts.

Oh... the writing was really that abysmal.

Ofelia was fortunate, she supposed, to be plopped into a scene of the story where Bella was stunned into silence, floundering just as much. At least her own was masked that way.

"Smile!" Came from across the table in a soft, sing-song lilting. With a click, an abrupt flash cinched Ofelia's pupils in tight constriction, and pulled them crossed.

The blinding strobe of the camera covered up her wince, as the dormant tadpole then spasmed to attention.

A familiar wriggle tugging behind the eye drew both of hers in the direction of an even more familiar face. Pale and stern, red eyes broiling with bewilderment. Her mouth popped open to-

-What, tell him to stick to the script that he doesn't know? We're gonna cause a lot of fucking confusion if you don't call me Bella, by the way-

Not even given the chance to begin, Astarion barked out her name with the coarse vexation of a parent looking to wrangle a wayward toddler in a shopping mall.

"Ofelia!"

It cleaved through a gaggle of teens holed up near the cafeteria's entrance, parting them for him to stalk through as he tore down the connecting hallway. Necks craned and smirking, they whispered amongst themselves, awaiting the scene they expected to follow.

She heard a soft, collective gasp behind her as he marched towards her. Clambering out of her seat to meet him, he was on her before she even so much as stood up. Looming before her as if he owned her, a wild gleam ignited outward from his exploded pupil.

Distracting her from the outrageous sight of Astarion in jeans that she would have otherwise delighted in.

"What in the fresh hells is going on? Where are we? Why is everyone calling me Edward? What are you-," his tirade ground to a halt as his eyes settled to her legs. The full hips and shapely thighs he so adored wrapped by clinging denim, it bared her curves in full. No imagination or fond reminiscing required. A single of his arrogant brows lifted, appreciation reigned his snarling breathless. "...wearing?"

Ofelia collapsed into him with the strength of her grateful exhale, twisting his shirt into her hands. Clinging to his chest like lovers reunited.

His nostrils twitched with an inaudible snort, taking great effort to mold his features into something more hospitable. Something that better matched his joy at having found her. Like shadow as it bends to light, the aggravation bled into relief. Dappled through, vibrant and glittering.

The smile she angled his way could best be described as sappy. "I never thought I'd be so happy to be on the receiving end of your murderous gaze."

Reaching between them to cup her hips, his next snort was audible, though his expression was pained. "Is this... are we in your home?"

"No! God, no...," she winced, a placative face he understood as one used to smooth over an unpleasant, half-truth. "-well, I mean uh-,"

"Ofelia." He warned, though not before his ear - an ear rounded, like hers - picked up on the hushed remark from the single man seated at the table.

He leaned in to the woman with glasses across from him as he tried, and failed, at discretion. "She lied about her name being Bella?"

"Why are you calling yourself Bella?" Astarion accused, his tone raised an octave. "Are you the reason why everyone here seems to be under the impression that I'm Edward?"

The seated trio watched on, shameless and open with their eavesdropping.

That is, if you could call Astarion yelling right in front of them as such.

"Uh, I'm sorry d'you... do you guys know each other?" What's-her-face Anna Kendrick scoffed from her seat. Astarion scowled from over Ofelia's shoulder, her hands pressing to his chest as if that would make him behave himself.

"And what concern is that of yours, my dear?" Her mouth hung open with the full weight of her dropped jaw. "Hoping to catch many flies, are you? Please do close that mouth."

A scoff lodged at the back of her throat, Astarion's snip of undue lethality had her swallow it. The man who had been next to Ofelia choked on his laughter, while the other woman sucked her lips inward. Quivering with the threat of a giggle all her own.

A shrill ringing then blared from overhead. Ofelia didn't blink, though Astarion's head snapped back to gauge the source of the unholy shrieking, bracing himself for what was no doubt an aerial strike from this worlds version of a Harpy.

"Oh, oh honey-it's okay, it's alright." Fussing like a doting mother, she dropped a hand from his chest to squeeze his arm. She softened her tone in attempts to make her explanation less patronizing. "It's only a bell, it's used to let everyone know lunch is over, and it's time to get back to class."

Blinking, his gaze floated back to find hers, digesting her words with labored understanding. "How very... unpleasant."

She concurred with a solemn nod. "Mm. No shortage of that in a high school."

With lunch coming to a close, they watched as the students shuffled out the cafeteria - all the while the relevant, supporting cast scrutinized them with just suspicion - before the two were left alone at last.

Ofelia's palms resettled to the hard planes of his chest, afraid the moment she let go, she'd lose him again. Caught in a surge of questions still unanswered that gnawed at her with anxiety, it still wasn't enough to distract her from his hair.

Soft white curls held hostage by pomade, the up-swept tips looked as if they'd crunch between her fingers if she tried running them through.

"So, our tadpoles sort of work and sort of don't, we know that much." She began. "Where were you, by the way? I expected to see you first thing, I mean I was literally right behind you."

"As did I." He twisted to point to the Cullen-Hale table, a few feet away beneath the windows. "The next thing I knew, I was standing over there, swarmed by a group of... oh, I don't know, nymphs? Unnervingly attractive but utterly inutile, the lot of them. I overheard one suggest they fetch some Carlisle fellow. Do you know who that is?"

"Yeah, I know who Carlisle is." Ofelia snorted despite herself. "Uh, they're not - they're vampires, Star."

His mouth opened and closed several times, with only the sound of stalled breath. His gaze then narrowed.

"You told me the only vampires in your world were the fictitious sort."

"Okay, so... I don't really know how to say this in a way that'll make sense, so... I'm just gonna give it to you straight." She sighed, before then reciting her deduction as best she felt she understood it. "I think that portal stuck us in the middle of a movie from my world. That's why people think we're Bella and Edward, they're sort of the main characters of this one."

Licking her lips with a straight face, she took to brushing his shirt for lint that wasn't there. Astarion stared at her, his expression unreadable.

When finally he next spoke, it was a question; in the form of a single word.

"Movie?"

Ofelia froze.

Oh... right. Oh my God.

"Uh... so... my world has these things, they're like, plays? But on a much larger scale. They're captured with cameras, kind of like the one on my phone that I've shown you before, but a lot more elaborate, a lot heavier duty. A bunch of actors are directed, their scenes are recorded by those cameras, and then those recordings get...-"

She noticed her hands raised in vague gestures, as if somehow accomplishing what he words failed to convey. He looked at her like she was crazed, but otherwise stayed quiet.

"-stitched together, to create sort of a play that you watch later. On a screen."

She never had to explain what a movie was before. The confusion on his face didn't express whether or not she had been successful.

"Are you suggesting that none of this is real?"

"I don't know! I mean, I don't think so? But...," her fingers slipped back up his chest to hook around his collar-bone, feeling the weight of him. His body rigid, and as cold as she knew it to be. The cashmere of his shirt buttery against her palms. "I don't know, it feels real."

"C'mon Astarion, what's the worst that'll happen?" He snipped, in a feminine warble to mimic her. "Honestly. I should have expected as much."

"Yeah, yeah," she pulled away from him with a wrinkle of her nose. "I was wrong, and I'll never drag you through another mysterious woodland portal ever again. There, happy?" Hands balling to fists at her hip, she then harped. "And I don't sound like that, by the way!"

"What now, darling? We just pop on back through to the other side? I don't even see the bloody thing!"

"I know, I know-," she waved, looking around the cafeteria to see if one hadn't materialized while they bickered. "-there's gotta be one somewhere. We just have to find it."

Another horrendous noise jolted the vampire out of his skin, and his head whipped to try and source it. Brows drawn, he pointed to what was surely a foul beast by the way he sneered.

"What the hells is that?"

Ofelia followed the direction of his finger through the closest window, to see an old conversion van, whose body was more rust than paint. It's muffler evidently sick, it lurched with a grinding wheeze, a black plume spluttering from the tailpipe.

Her lips quirked, about to toss out something cute like oh, that's like a horse, but metal! Before she could, it rumbled away, revealing the mirror hidden behind where it parked.

"Oh! Look!" Identical to the first, it rested against the trunk of a tree. Unassuming as it was out of place, the ornate frame glimmered from the streaked sunlight breaching the cloud cover, as if winking at them. "Wow, that's lucky."

Astarion's gaze narrowed with a click of his tongue. "Hm. A suspicious luck, as it were."

Astarion and Ofelia both turn to look at you.

Nestled within his armchair sat before a crackling hearth, Raphael guides his spectacles down the bridge of his nose. A similar, unimpressed look reveals itself beneath the flames flicker, as the tip of his finger finds the last sentence, keeping his place in the story.

Really, my dear. That's just lazy story telling.

Ofelia's impulsivity kicked into overdrive. "Okay, let's go-,"

"Darling!" He chuckled, more rueful than merry. "Have you already forgotten the days lesson?"

She threw her hands up in surrender. "You got a better idea? I'm all ears!" She waited, allowing him just a few moments to stew. "Unless you want to stay here and deal with getting cock-blocked by Jacob for the unforeseeable future."

"Jacob?"

"Yeah." She crossed her arms over her chest. "The werewolf."

He stiffened. "There are werewolves here?"

"Yes sir."

He rubbed circles into both temples, his eyes squeezed shut as he groaned. "The mirror it is, then."

"Listen, if it was the way in, then it's gotta be the way out, right?" Ofelia grabbed his hand before beginning to walk backwards, leading him towards the exterior exit.

He allowed her to pull him along, though his frown didn't budge. "Right..."

"We should just, scope it out, at least."

Once at the glass door, Ofelia turned and pushed it open, met with a gust of chilled air, damp from a fresh rain. Propping it up with her free hand, she stepped over the threshold, only for her shoulder to rebound with a pop, when the hand she tried to guide out refused to follow.

"Are you quite mad?" He scoffed, recoiling at her continued attempt to pull him out with her. "Need I remind you of what happens to my kind upon sun exposure?"

She blinked at him. "Uh... but the tadpole-,"

"-offers protection in our world, yes. From which we are far removed."

"Well-," she stammered. "I mean our connection still works, sorta, so why not the protection?"

"I'd rather not blister beyond recognition in effort to test that theory, if it's all the same to you."

It then struck her. A memory unlocked from the depths of her youth, back from when she had watched any of the Twilights last.

A giggle fought it's way up her throat, one she strangled just in time. Though it tweaked her lips to a smarmy grin, gradual and giddy, such as a child with a secret. She pressed her lips together in attempt to combat it's domination, but it deepened nonetheless.

His expression contorted in a mixture of weariness and skepticism, his eyes narrowed to slits.

"What."

"Uh-well," she choked on a rogue snigger that escaped from the prison of her tightened throat. "Listen, you'll be fine. I promise." She forced her face straight. "The uh, rules for vampires are pretty different here. The sun won't hurt you."

Eyes bulging, he gasped in either disbelief, or excitement. Both made her feel sorry for him, and the misguided envy welling at the center. "Impossible."

"Come on, trust me." She tugged his hand in a way that crushed even his weakest bid for retaliation, and drew him out onto the wet blacktop. "You know I wouldn't push you if I thought you'd actually get hurt."

With a death-grip on her hand, he stepped out into the daytime, and seized. His face screwed around a glower, eyes sealed tight. Ofelia sighed as he remained locked.

Steeling himself to the consigned fate of frying from the inside out, in what was sure to be a fantastic display of charred skin dissolved, and an acrid stench. He waited.

And waited.

The two of them stood there, waiting hand in hand, for his impending demise. Before he peeked through one eye, and then peeled open the other.

There was no smoke. No flames. No split flesh.

This all transpired beneath the shelter of thick cloud cover, however.

He cleared his throat, dropping her hand with a terse nod. His jaw tilted with returned cockiness, signaling her that their route to the mirror was permitted to resume.

They made it not halfway through the lot before it happened.

Behind a row of generic sedans and pick-up trucks of muted colors, the clouds drifted apart, and sunlight flooded through. A single ray touched down like a spot light, catching him square in the middle.

"OFELIA-,"

With the strangled yowling of a cat whose tail caught underfoot, she turned to see him stricken with bewildered regard to his arms and hands. His ivory flesh then a prism, it caught and fractured the sunlight, scattering it outward like the surface of a diamond. Or a disco ball. "W-what-?"

A seriously incensed, handsome disco ball.

"It's-," her throat caught on laughter, just barely clipped in time. "It's just what your kind does here."

"Wh-shimmer? We SHIMMER?" His lips curled in a sneer around the bleated verb. The acknowledgment of his state alone a grave faux pas he dare not utter aloud. One worthy of the fiercest humiliation.

"Mm, I prefer sparkle." She rushed to smooth over the open-mouthed scoff her light jab ruffled. "Astarion you've never looked more beautiful."

Eyes wide, his tone quivered with the full breadth of offense that threatened to spring through the splinters of his composure. Though, when she looked closer, she could determine he was more stunned, than angry in earnest.

"This is a bastardization of the highest degree." He stressed, his hands joining in with emphatic gesticulation. "We are creatures of the night because the sunlight rejects us, punishes our very existence. We, do not, sparkle."

"Uh-huh."

"Terrifying, Ofelia." His spine erect, his offense then born from her amusement to his predicament. "We are to be feared."

"Yes."

"Gods." He hissed, spitting the expletive like a foul taste. "To think I ever scorned spontaneous combustion."

She shook her head with a grin. "So dramatic."

Though the discovery posed a very real dilemma. Whatever worlds of her fiction they hopped to, it was evident the tadpoles magic was stretched thin, and by extension, so was it's protection.

They could suffer, potentially, very real injuries as per the given realms rules if they weren't careful.

Lacing her fingers with his, she continued towards the mirror. Shining even in the overcast haze, the picture housed within was muted, and grey. Sharp corners and angular structures, Ofelia recognized enough of it to know it wouldn't lead to anywhere within Faerûn.

However the idea of scouring all of Forks for a potential second mirror, in hopes it would be the one back, was none too appealing.

She squeezed her hand around his to keep them tethered. Her thought being; when they entered separately and materialized separately, then maybe, if they passed through together - they would stay together.

Ofelia plunged her free hand through. Followed by her left foot, and then her right, tugging Astarion in toe.

He eyed their dreary, suburban surroundings one last time as he followed her inside, soured with a grimace, and a furrowed brow.

"Why does everything look so blue?"

Enveloped by the glamor, it pushed them through a tunnel without end.

Anemic black and white pixelation, and the drone of nondescript white noise absorbed their consciousness, as well any and all sensation. Touch, sight, smell. They simply melted into the current as it swept them up, and carried them along.

It took a lifetime. It happened within fractions of a second.

One moment they were standing in a damp parking lot in a mid afternoon Forks, Washington, and the next, it was late evening.

Alas, not late evening in the comfort of Faerûn. A possibility accepted before they tumbled down the rabbit hole, it was one greeted with the same amount of vexation from Astarion.

Until he laid his eyes on Ofelia, that is.

A storm raged in silence as it poured from the black of a midnight sky. Wind howling, rain drops streaked the foggy glass panes, as cracks of lightning tore through the cover of night.

Ofelia's nose twitched against the odor of must, stale and undisturbed. Masking the chemical, and medicinal that laid in wait beneath, until it slipped through and rushed her with her next breath. A stagnate, innocuous odor to a room she had yet to recognize. Metal structures and cold, tactical equipment, inimical with desaturation.

Her third breached her immediate proximity, as she was then pulling the notes of wet grass and soil through the cracks around the doors, and windows. The pungency of Earth as the rain stripped it clean.

Every inhale was dizzying. Her lungs stretched around aviolei that tingled, as if strengthening with every gulp of air fed. Forceful expansion. Necessity. Perfecting. Able to scent something different, and with startling accuracy, from each pass that sifted through the tangle.

Her eye focused to a spot on the wall before her without the conscious effort on her part to do so. An amorphous, faded stain no larger than her pinky nail, it had drawn her attention like it was a gaping hole punched through the drywall.

Her skin prickled, feeling colder than she'd ever been. A heart pumped a natural rhythm behind her breast, though she felt chilled, as if not a lick of warmth wove through the attached arterial structures.

She felt... new. Her senses heightened, more precise, though she wasn't yet adjusted to the fine-tuning. Flooded by everything at once, with no real sense of navigation, or control over the input. An erratic burst of panic threatening the steadiness of her heart, her next inhale saw it eased just as sudden.

The aroma of rosemary musk, a gentle hand outstretched to a spooked filly. She breathed him in deep, until the brandy burned a trail down her throat, and warmed her stomach. She could hear the measure of a slower palpitation thudding from Astarion behind her; harmonizing the wind and the rain beyond the walls, and the far off thunder closing in with every rumble.

Her nostril flared beneath its piercing as she continued to inhale his signature from the air, like a sedative to quell her agitation. She never thought scent could be so powerful. Ushering it in by the lungful until they ached against the depth of him, heady and unrefined.

A yet unidentified tang bubbled through it. A cloying, tinny undercurrent.

Ofelia continued to sniff the air for any and every last trace of him, until she then faced him, as following his trail spun her around to where he was seated. Knowing he was near from the start, it didn't prevent her exhaled relief upon finding him. Not to mention the satisfaction on a theory proven correct.

Entering together saw them reemerge together.

He had been watching her. Curiosity still lingered in the fine lines of his face, suggesting a weak hunch denied. He stood up to meet her as she closed the short distance between them, each taking that moment to size up the other.

A plain, black t-shirt clung to his figure. His curls limp and lengthened, the strands held to a grit in the style of late 90's, early 2000's grunge. A far cry from his typical presentation, she couldn't deny it was one that suited him. Long, elegant elf ears were noticeable in that they were nonexistent. Gone again were the ethereal points of cartilage that should have jut through his lax mane.

In the absence of proper dark, Ofelia noticed his eyes were stripped of their hazy smolder. The lighting muted and dingy, it was only in a flash of illumination from lightning did she notice they weren't red at all - but golden.

Astarion got a good eyeful of her in that same streak of light, and once his eyes adjusted to their new, dim environment, satisfaction split his grin wide.

"Oh." He breathed with palpable approval, his words purred a heady velvet. "I quite like this one."

Her bronze complexion and glossy locks untouched, they fell to a blunt edge just above her shoulders, and tousled to purposeful disarray. Glancing down, Ofelia was greeted by glistening black that swathed her curves.

In clinging latex from the neck down, a body-suit shone like wet ink in the light, and dissolved into the dark once touched by shadow. In tandem with the onyx of her hair, she'd blend into the cover of night, should she want to move through it.

Just as any Death Dealer should.

Like the shock of a rogue wave breaking over head, Ofelia then understood where they were. Why she felt misplaced in her own skin.

And oh, for all it's ruthless discomfort, Selene's suit hugged Ofelia's figure like it was actually made for her instead.

Her fingers explored her full figure, newly packaged in the sleek exterior. Astarion's eye traced along with her trail, a hot leer searing shameless his wake.

"Oh my God, we're in Underworld!" She bounced on her toes in a way that jostled her breasts to distraction. His grin turned lopsided as it grew.

"I've no idea what that means." The strain of the corsets top around her chest notwithstanding, Astarion's ogling bulged with agony and appreciation in equal measure. The cut of her neckline plunged in deliberate invitation, one he fast obliged. "Though, I am beginning to rethink my stance on theism."

He had long since buried the memory of arousal's pull when he was but a mortal. He had forgotten just how potent, and insistent it staked its claim of weakened flesh, and blood. He regarded the warmth returned to his groin like an old friend.

Surely at least one God existed to find himself placed in such a scenario.

The doe-eyed incredulity she flashed him regrettably went without the pink sheen of her cheeks, the reaction he loved best, before he noticed them stretch in the dawning of another revelation.

"Oh-ohhhhh, wait a sec." Tonguing her canine, she laved the tip of it against the sharpened tine she suspected would be there. "I have something I think you're gonna like even more."

To his expectant pause, her pouty lips peeled back to bare her teeth in full, flashing him her fangs with a playful grin.

His eyes enlarged, so gradual it could almost be missed; his pupils blown wider and wider, as if two splotches of ink spilled onto the irises.

If a dial-up tone piped from his ears, Ofelia wouldn't have been the least bit surprised.

Reaching forward to cup her face with a single hand, his thumb swept over her upper lip to rub against the tooth as it glinted in the luminescence. As if the physical contact would be what ensured him of their legitimacy. It pushed back against his press solid and slick, seeking to prove itself genuine with as much eagerness as he employed in testing it.

Dragging down it's length, daintier and smaller than his own, it was no less lethal. The tip snagged against his pad in it's exploratory graze, not enough to break skin, but enough to express that she'd be able to sink them into the meat of his throat with ease.

To mark him as hers, just as he had done with her so many times before.

Feeling the weight, the sting of her little fang - Ofelia's fang - roused a deep ache to tingle from the complimentary scars puncturing the side of his neck. One that yanked in tandem with the low, dull pulse threading through his groin.

Earth boys are easy.

"Oh..." rushed from him, low and breathless.

A surge of pride with how taken he was by her fangs, her gaze wandered to his parted lips, and that's when she noticed it. The top row of his teeth, blunt. His canines without their signature ferocity.

"Ohh... Oh! You're Michael!" Her pointy smile drawn into abrupt worry, she pulled away from his hands, whipping around in search of the gold framed glass. "Oh we gotta go."

"What? No, wait-" He whined, clutching at her wrist and forearm while stepping backwards, receding to a dark corner. "Must we rush off this very instant?"

"You don't understand, we need to find that mirror and get out of here, they're hunting you specifically."

That made him take pause, though he continued to tuck them against the wall. "What's so threatening about some mortal?"

"Because he's not- you see, he's..." she stumbled through the holes in her memory, though the way he dragged her into his body, with a smirk of one who wasn't really listening, worsened her stutter. "I-It's complicated, it's a whole thing. But it's been a minute since I've watched this one- I don't know where in the movie we are, which means we really, really should be going."

"Don't tell me you've lost your sense of adventure now." Through an exaggerated pout he protested, tugging at her arms childlike and incessant. "Need I remind you that is how we've ended up here, after all."

She groaned. "Astarion-,"

He could feel her resolve weakening, her struggle against his hold begrudging, yet calmed.

"Come and play, little vampire." He dropped his voice into his chest, a smoky octave that pulled her stomach down around her knees. In a purr that was both coaxing and needy, his eyes shone like golden embers. "Bite me?"

"What-,"

"Just one bite." He urged, doing his level best to be suave and silken, when really the thought of Ofelia latched at his neck and gulping had him woozy.

"I-," her body must have been every bit as committed to the role of Selene, for even just the thought had her gums itching around the base of her protruding teeth. Her stomach writhed in the beginnings of an aching, voided hunger. A curl from which broke free to reach deeper, a flicker of arousal then stirred to full pelvic flutters. "Star..."

"I want you to know what it's like." He pleaded, now all but whimpering in his desperation. "Please? You cannot tell me you're not the least bit curious."

"I don't... I-I-,"

His palms closed around the small of her back, leveraging her to press flush against him. "No need to be shy, Felia... I'll guide you through it."

Everything in her warned against stealing such an indulgence, but she couldn't find it within herself to resist the temptation. A vampire's blood-lust, she was fast discovering, was a difficult lure to raise above.

Cupping her face, he swept his thumb along her cheekbone nurturing, the weight and tenderness in his gaze reassuring the anxiousness in her own. Dispelling every last, remaining trace of retaliation, as he melted her into him by his touch.

Where he was warmth, and yearning, Ofelia was a raw nerve. Sparking and crackling electric within his hold.

Her very irises jolted him, fierce and imploring; an unending, soulful hue of umber.

Those orbs of hers that many a time prior pinned him rigid, and zipped through his being crown to sole. That roused a brief, but salient squeeze to twitch around the organ in his chest, one long since dormant. A trick of his haunted mind, that the twinkle in her eye alone was enough to make him tick.

Those very eyes that were then washed away with a blink.

Ofelia as he knew her stood trembling before him, and when next she peered up at him, he was bore into by a brilliant shock of tourmaline blue. A shade unlike he had ever seen, they seemed to pulsate with energy. The tips of her fangs peeking from beneath her lip as it quivered.

A fledgling huntress succumbing to her needs, the sort Astarion was all too gleeful to lure out in full. Still, she shook in his grasp, reaching for him to paw at his shirt with coltish fumbling. Skittish in touching him, in taking from him something he offered without constraint.

"Oh, my sweet girl. I know how much you need it." He cooed, admiring the magicked quality in which her eyes glowed beneath her heavy lids, and lowered lashes. "I know how it must ache inside."

His silver tongue gilded his insults and seduction alike; be it sharpened or sultry, his words were chosen with care, and wielded to devastation. Where Ofelia was concerned, that tongue of his was well-versed in her weak spots. Having sourced her exploits long ago, all he had to do was press into them.

"You've always taken such good care of me, let me return the favor." His finger-tips swept across her chin, before nudging her upper lip to get a good look at her right fang again. "Let me teach you... let me show you how good it feels."

"You really... have a way of... making it sound s-so," swallowing a whine, she leaned into his touch as he rubbed the ripple of gum around the root of her canine, stimulating it to throb for him. "Hedonistic."

He chuckled, a smoked baritone that curved down her spine and coiled between her hips.

"Oh but my darling, it is." He guided her hand down below his waist. Molding her smaller palm around the stiffening bulge, he gasped at the contact. "An aspect you are far more familiar with than most."

Ofelia, at times, liked to tease him for his yapping. Though now she could have thanked all the Gods of both his world and hers, that he was so taken with the sound of his own voice, for it was all that kept her anchored to the moment.

With a whimper, she groped him with a gentle pressure and quivering hand. Saliva pooling around her tongue, her gum line pulled against her flexing bite, tight and tender.

"I saw you scenting the air, you precious thing. You could smell that I was near." He delighted in how unfocused her gaze fluttered, needful as the arch in the small of her back that fit her front to his. "Something else as well, no? Something new?"

The underlying fragrance to his familiar musk, the thick spice of ambrosia, was the blood pulsing hot in his veins.

"I always wandered what it might be like, to guide a spawn through their first time." He mused aloud. "It really is such a delicate moment... almost virginal, wouldn't you agree?"

Somewhere, deep in the clouded recesses of her rationale, there was a spark of insolence that wanted to roll her eyes, or goad him for how overt his rambling. But she was already too far gone. Locked in some sort of trance by how demanding the hunger washed through her.

And he could see it.

Her eyes dialed to the pulsation of his carotid beneath fair skin, the quickened beat of his heart. The tempo of blood flowing through it, as it lulled her subdued. She licked her lips, all but nicking her tongue against her own fangs.

Swaying on her feet, the nagging anticipation puppeted her forward, as her mind blanked. As unacquainted with her strength as she was her improved senses, Ofelia's movement mimicked a foal wobbling through her first steps. The sight clenched around his borrowed heart.

Sliding down the wall to catch his weight on bent knees, he steadied her against him as she pushed to her tip-toes, craning her neck to get at his. The first puff of her breath to his skin warped his vision, swimming and speckled. Throat raw, it stripped the velvet from his voice, oozing from him much more ragged, and feverish.

"Close your eyes, and steady your breaths. Let yourself feel it."

Her tongue darted out to swipe over the sinew, pulled taut from how he stretched it for her, granting her easier access. A quiet moan escaped him before his lips pulled apart in a grin, jaw slackening. Another moan lingering at the back of his throat, the quick lap of her tip over his scars strangled it coarse and stuttered.

Licking a dainty, wet trail over his warm flesh, he felt her breaths quicken with her chests constricting. Nuzzling and nipping, she sought his vein like a newborn rooting at her mothers chest, precious with inexperience. Impatient. Fumbling, and eager.

"There you are." He swallowed thick, crooning, "That's my girl... if you still yourself, and listen, you'll find it... give yourself to instinct, darling."

Ofelia's ears roared with the vacant blood circulated by her galloping heart. She sniffed and whimpered at his throat, struggling to still herself against how loud her inhuman perception fed her new information. Every scent, every sound, every sensation, all vying for her attention. Astarion must have sensed it in her frustration.

Long, dexterous fingers knotting at the back of her head in a tender squeeze, he maneuvered her into place, the tip of her nose crushed to the exact patch of skin she sought. Warm and soft and thin, the strength of his aroma buckled her knees and closed her throat over. Her fangs buzzed with how they ached.

Once she sunk in, and his blood bubbled up against her gums, her vision exploded white.

A low, breathy groan of his hitched against her lips before it hummed out into the air, encouraging her to continue. As she began to pull, disjointed and hesitant at first, she eased into him once both hands joined to cradle the back of her head. All ten fingers thread her raven locks, mussing them further in his euphoria.

"There she is..." he sighed, dropping his head back against the wall. He pet her hair, resting his eyes while she suckled. "Take it all, little love. As much as you desire."

His taste was indescribable, and Ofelia couldn't seem to get enough. She siphoned from him like she had lived an existence starved. Every swallow was divine, but it only teased satiation, instead of granting it.

Through her daze she became aware of his hands, abandoning her hair to explore down her body. One only went so far as scuffing her by the nape, more so to keep her still, instead of pry her off, while the other dipped low. The pads of his fingers gliding over her black glossed curves, to settle at the apex of her thighs.

If ever there was an entrance to be found, it didn’t stand a chance against her cunning rogue. A slight pull, followed by a tug, Ofelia was then unzipped between her legs with a seam in the suit that not even she herself knew existed.

A deftness that carried over, no matter who he impersonated, or what world they were dropped off in. His spidery digits helped themselves to her heat, widening the opening of the suit with his knuckles to give himself more room.

The instant he brushed her slit, feeling how hot it was to his press, how slick, he felt her stutter at his neck in a keening whine. Wet and wanting while she sucked straight from his vein. He groaned back at her.

"You're wet." A declaration knotted thick from the back of his throat, his heft gave a stiff kick against the binding denim of his jeans. "Oh, aren't you a treat."

Her fangs popped from his neck as he began to swirl betwixt her swollen petals with his middle finger, up her seam before sinking within her groove. The hand at the back of her neck twitched in re-adjustment, lining her back to his new set of punctures.

"No, darling, don't stop." He sounded as strained as he felt, his wounds stinging in neglect to the exposure of the air.

Not needing further dictation than that, she reattached herself an inch lower so she could steady her boots flat beneath her, planted to the ground. Though not before she soothed the ache of his first wound, closing the holes with the pink of her tongue, and the onset of coagulation.

A vampire for all of fifteen minutes, she was a quick study. Astarion would be remiss to not pay due credit to how well-suited she was to the role of nocturnal mistress.

Never in his wildest, unbidden fantasies had he ever considered this turn of events.

Ofelia, his plucky bard who traveled both time and space, a vampire.

Latching herself at the throats of the unsuspecting and seduced, turning her innocent charms and syrupy-sweet approachability as a means for satiation, and survival.

Of course none of it was real, not really. Both to his disappointment, and gratitude. He couldn't imagine condemning her to such an existence. The selfishness in him could have kept her for an eternity, but the intrusion of guilt was not one of which he was strong enough to stave for long.

Her next bite choked his groan, throaty and huffed. His index finger joined in his toying, spreading the drizzle of her honey around her swollen sex, and dipping the full width of two fingers to prod her entrance. It twitched against them in frantic coercion to edge inside, to ease the sore emptiness with his stretch.

Her grip was like a vice, though with how sticky and needful she was reduced made his intrusion as near to seamless as possible. Her cinched velvet convulsed in her haste to accommodate him, penetrating her molten core to the joint of his first knuckle, and then to the next, as he worked them in.

Once hilted, he gave her but a moment to settle the slender protrusion within her, before he hooked forward. Grazing the spongy patch inside that made her flinch and howl like a woman possessed. She bucked into his cupped palm, a little tilt of her pelvis as she rolled herself into his hold, the crook of his neck muffling her pinched whine.

Her fangs burrowed in a searing sting that pulled a hiss through his grin. It was in that moment that he began to thank each and every God whose name he could recall.

Coaxing her apart, feeling the deep, steady pulls in tandem with the strength of her wrapped around his digits. He withdrew to just his first knuckle, before pumping them back in, an attentive rhythm in and out. Spreading his fingers as he passed them through, pushing her tightness to a less suffocating fit.

By the fifth time, his thumb had sought her sensitive pearl, firm and raised through the drapes of her womanhood. He swiped along the sticky shine with an initial pass that was feather light. Her nails scratched raised welts to his skin through his t-shirt, lifting to her toes once more to better rock into his hold.

Fingers curled within her heat, he worked to knead her ache, to rub her neediness from the inside, while he traced her bud in similar persuasion.

Her mind near to blank, her tight ridges popped his knuckles from the joints as she stuttered and stalled. Breathy, wet whines broke her suction a little more with every roll of her clit beneath his thumb. His noises were no less obscene, sighs lower than she'd ever before experienced.

Ofelia was penetrating him, unrestrained in her submission to the sanguine hunger he appeased, and so he moaned, and crooned accordingly.

"You're so good for me." His sigh misted into the stillness, rumbling and heavy. Soft and coarse all at once. "I've got you, sweetheart."

A low spasm wormed between the points of her pelvis, radiating outward to burrow down to her sex, igniting fire that ravage her in its path.

A new release, for a new version of her. It licked it's way through her increased sensitivity, demanding her offerings of his blood that she drank, his essence she stole. And in return she was gifted a newfound understanding of what he bore, salty and saccharine. An existence exiled to a perpetual ache, that chasing gratification only worsened. The hole widened, but never filled.

A rebirth in the raw, her mouth painted red and her eyes rolled back to show veined whites, and nothing more. When she blinked them back to place, they ignited brilliance like blue solar flares. A tender ache that pooled low in her stomach, it unfurled in a heavy wave throughout her lower half.

Her cream drizzled from her petals to his fist, soaking the grooves the peaks of his sharp knuckles made, as he stretched her two fingers wide, and continued to slither in deep. Riding her through it while she pulsed against him, her swollen nub humming and content.

He had never made her come quite like that before.

She collapsed into his chest, gulping air into her heaving lungs. Her nose twitched to the bombardment of her pheromones now on the air, and the spike of his pre-come, musky and unmistakable. Her head swam against an orgasm that, even once it rolled through, the shock waves still held her hostage. Volts of static that sparked and ricocheted throughout limbs so weighted they felt dead.

Was this what it was like for him every time? The wash of sensations left her raw, and overstimulated in their own right. It was a wonder he could function around the smells of their sex permeating the air, let alone shake off the rigors of an earnest coupling.

Her new hunger for the time appeased, as she mewled at his bloodied neck. Licking every last smear from her swollen pout, tonguing the small punctures she'd gnawed into him, and the droplets just beginning to dry.

Pulling from the plush of her heat he worked taught once more, he stuck his fingers past his lips to suck them of their sheen. The conduction of his thoughtful susurration buzzed against her cheek, still using him for stabilization.

Even here, even afflicted by vampirism, she still melted against his tongue warmed sugar and vanilla.

"W-we should probably," she swallowed, her upper lip catching on her lengthened fangs. Her pupils burst wide against the blue that ringed them in electrification of her lust, "p-probably find our way out."

Astarion's smile curled around his knuckles before he dragged them from his mouth. Tilting his head at her, he then wet the pad of his thumb before using it to wipe at the corner of her mouth.

Eyes still glassy beneath heavy lids, she parted in a wordless request to suck it clean for him. A throb twinging in his swelled groin akin to the sensation of a dropped stomach, he pushed the bloodied digit between her lips.

"After you, my little vampiress."

They traversed mirrors at a rate that made his head spin.

Passing through the tunnel of static and a near ear-drum splitting, distant whine. Astarion was sure he'd hear the noise even in the very deepest of his trances from thereon.

Most hinted the possibility of being the correct one, only for them to be plunged even deeper into Ofelia's fairy-tales.

He experienced no less than three instances and iterations of a character that, according to Ofelia's insistence, was the most famed in her world.

A soul shackled by shadow, one forced to endure the torment of loneliness eternal, his tale subscribed to the formula of his long lost love returned to him through the reincarnations of unattainable, mortal women. On the cusp of seduction, only to dart out of his clutches, like a fawn startled by a snapped twig in the wood.

Though the narratives were faithful to their source, he found that each re-telling seemed to luxuriate in their respective styles.

The first held great appeal for Astarion. Rich, sumptuous attire, sexual tension and tragic yearning, as thick as the fog that blanketed the grounds.

Delightful in it's stewed drama and style. A distinguished man of taste, this Dracula character was.

Astarion came to her in a bed at the crest of night. In a shifting gown so diaphanous, he could trace the full silhouette of Ofelia's curves with his eye. An exercise that almost distracted him from her words of warning.

It didn't help his cause, of course, that he blipped into the world on top of her.

A silken mane of elegantly coiffed waves draped his proud shoulders, he pinned her beneath his weight. She pled for him to listen through breathy pants of his name, fingers knotted in his hair as she writhed. The bedding held her captive to his descent of hunger, and the salvation he promised in the acceptance of his bite.

That was, until she broke free from the haze of his spell, and hollered at him to pay attention. Informing him that there was not just one man standing in his way, but five. One of which being a fiance, and all of them would soon burst into that very bedroom to, in her own charming turn of phrase; "clean his clock."

"Gods, more vampire hunters?" Muffled against her throat, blushed raspberry from the whiskers grown around his mouth, and pricked with love nips. Red and tender, dotting along her humming pulse. He pulled back with a shake of his head. "Does this Dracula never get to rest?"

She gasped underneath him like a wild thing; the pinning of her hair askew, her lips kiss swollen, and gaped. "Not really."

He picked himself up from the bed, yanking her out by the wrist.

He took the time to shed the black silk of his robe and thrust it around her shoulders, unwilling to allow even the roaming eye of one deranged to feast upon the sight of her. Ofelia's tan voluptuousness naked and veiled thin was reserved for Astarion, and Astarion alone.

Stalking through an asylum for the insane was one they hesitated to linger. One ruthless in its sobriety. It spurred them with haste until their mirror was found, tucked away in a supply closet.

The second was a curious one.

A world drained of it's color, he entered this realm and was welcomed by stark black and white. He found himself the dapper figure darkening a doorway, and she the virginal beauty left by her lonesome to the shadows, and what lurked within them.

Ofelia laid in another bed, dolled up and tucked beneath the covers, as if linens would shield her from the lust that would soon ravage her about the neck. One bared in beckoning. Coaxing him hither, with it's intoxicating thrum. Her tresses, still rich and raven black against the pale satin pillows, stopped just beneath her chin, and framed her face in soft ringlets.

Left vulnerable to him in the clutches of her slumber, he then approached, with a flourish of the high-collared cape that fluttered with his every step closer. Astarion climbed onto the bed, the mattress giving beneath the heels of his palms, and knees, as he caged her within them.

The oppressive sultriness, and lavish intricacy of the former was stripped away. Almost purposeful, the bareness of the surroundings bore a sort of quiet romance. It felt familiar, and classic, and in some ways, far more intimate.

He pressed kisses, soft feathering of his lips, up along the ridge of her jaw, and then to each cheek. Kisses that stressed longing, a longing of which Astarion believed both he and Dracula suffered in mutuality.

Whether sleep had truly claimed her, or she was just committed to her role, he felt Ofelia come to life under him, as her mouth curved to a smile beneath his. Her fingers, lovely and nimble and still lacquered pitch, swept up the underside of his torso, exploring the crisp lapels of his tapered waistcoat, to the bow-tie around his neck.

Winding her arms around his shoulders, she melted into the bedding to his urging. Meek and malleable, her surrender absolute.

She looked so pretty to him then. A boyish phrase lackluster when compared to an exquisite creature such as she, but his mind drew blanks to anything more complex, or poetic. Her beauty weaponized to disarmament, he failed her with words befitting her perfection, so he relied on his touch instead.

A touch fine-tuned to her plush body, features full and unapologetic, and decidedly all woman, unhindered even by the contrast of her youth. And how untried she maintained.

She was just so... pretty. Dangerously so. Even without the bounds of her hair, or the pinch of arousal rouging her warm, honeyed skin.

And those wide, eager eyes.

How they glinted up at him, in complimentary yearning. Their depth bursting expressive and clear, even with their lack of pigment.

With the first tease of his fangs scraping up the sinews of her neck, she wove a beautiful melody of his name against the shell of his ear, hushed low to keep it between them. An invitation to sink, to sup, to bound her to him for an eternity, and beyond.

Or for as long as they suspended in the enchantment of grayscale, and string quartet instrumentals.

The next was met with far less grace by Astarion.

A twist on the infamous Count, this one saw him bald and bug-eyed.

Long, spindly fingers with claws cut to an inefficient length. Horrific fangs stuck protruded like buck-teeth through his pale gums. Ill-fitting and comical, they caught on his lips, and muffled his speech.

Ofelia rested in a narrow bed of pretty white lace, and looked a gothic vision. Locks of ink long and whisping, they fanned glimmering around her head like an endless halo. Leaves and flower petals scattered the bedding, a ritualistic ward of protection. Quaint in its ineffectiveness, it no more protected her pretty neck from his bite than rose petals dressing the table of a romantic spread.

Upon their eyes falling to each other for the first time, he couldn't help but leer at the swell of ample bosom, almost spilling from the flimsy gown as it heaved. Her modesty guarded by no more than a thin, sheer dress that rivaled the first, it would have almost, perhaps, distracted him from the grotesque depiction he embodied. Pieced together with what of himself he could discern through touch.

Until he realized the heaving of her chest were shakes of laughter, not lust. He thrust his finger in her face as he haunted her bedside.

Ofelia was laughing.

Astarion looked like the parodied caricature of an otherwise sophisticated breed, and Ofelia was laughing.

"T-This-," he spluttered, "-this is an aberration! Your kind is fortunate we do not deign their miserly existence with our presence, and an undue fortune at that! The mockery that's made of us - appalling, Ofelia! - We are ridding ourselves of this, this lampooning at once!"

Oh, it was a good thing he couldn't see himself.

He ripped away from her with the anticipated degree of theatrics, stalking along the wall to continue his bluster. Whirring passed the window a skulking silhouette, something just beyond the glass stopped him in his tracks. His shouting mounted in its crescendo. "And why are there so many bloody rodents!"

"Uh, I think," now sat up in bed with the blanket pooled in her lap, Ofelia wiped at the corner of her eyes with as much discretion as he could muster. "I think you brought them. I think it's supposed to symbolize the spread of your pestilence-,"

"With RATS?" He whipped back around, hunched and snarling. His features darkened as his glower sunk them deeper into his face. "Is that what your kind believes of us? That we languish in sewers? Ghastly! Not to mention factually inaccurate! Rats. As if- and how pitifully unimaginative!"

"It's... it's just-," her voice quavered around the pesky howl of laughter that kept trying to leap from her throat, stilting every other syllable. The more winded she became, the uglier his scowl grew. "A little artistic liberty-,"

"Artistic liberty indeed!" He all but shrieked. "I do not look like this! Not even the most monstrous of us look as such!" His pacing resumed. "This is vile! This is slander! I will not tolerate a moment more!"

It took everything in Ofelia not to begin wheezing.

Her cheeks numb from an ear to ear grin, she couldn't help it - and she did try. "I mean I always sorta loved this one-"

"You wretch!" Hollered with the same shrill warble of nails to a chalkboard, the echo thundered against the walls of the tiny bedroom. "I've half a mind to leave you to the rats!"

Vanity was truly his Achilles heel.

And Ofelia thought he took the sparkle news bad.

Needless to say, the mirror to leave Werner Herzog's rendition of Nosferatu was found in record time.

Astarion grunted as his back made contact with a hard, sticky ground, and none too gently. Scrambling to get his bearings, he blinked away the disorientation. The imperceptible haze of static that enveloped him each and every tumble through the mirror ebbed into darkness. Darkness that then morphed into surroundings still as foreign as the last, though infinitely more chaotic.

The stench of blood, sweat and sex. Though his senses seemed muddled. So much gore it nearly choked him. Thick on his tongue with every ragged breath, as it was clotted on the back of his throat, the scent was still more subdued than it should have been for him.

His ivory waves as he knew them gone, his new white shag was cut to blunt tufts that framed his face with no style to speak of. Sprawled out on filthy wooden floorboards, he laid there in head to toe black; belted trousers, a vest, and blazer. The white cotton of an undershirt peeking through the only contrast. Eyes an autumnal shimmer yet again, he looked largely the same, save for the thin tendrils of black ink spiking up the left side of his neck.

Something was slotted into his right hand, something sleek, that held a decent weight.

Conflicting screams of agony, and inhuman yowls the symphony of the surrounding hysteria, whatever establishment he had, quite literally fallen into, was smack in the middle of a slaughter. Bodies collided, careened into walls, and impaled on broken furnishings.

Grizzled, thuggish men, bloodied and battered, fought half-naked women. Serpent eyed, fanged women, who tore off limbs and sliced open throats with the expended energy of plucking wings from flies. Frenzied, animalistic streaks of sequin, and vibrant-hued satin on rampage.

Lubricious gore striped up the walls and pooled across the floor, spraying around him with the force and incessance of ocean spray in a typhoon. Blood, and a mysterious green substance that glistened with gem like luster. It crinkled his nose all the same.

One man crawled along the ground to his left, with one of his legs ending half way to the knee in an abrupt pulp of stringy flesh, and the viscera he trailed behind. Just beyond him on top of the bar rail, a blonde vampiress with feathers in her hair crouched over the upper half of another male corpse. His jugular - what was left of it - pinched between her jowls, she shook and sawed her maxillae through the remaining threads of connective tissue that held head to body.

Occupied with what Astarion assumed to be the lower half of him, a half-rotted creature with her human features melted to exaggerated monstrosity, gnashed through the meat of his thigh. Red spurted where she clamped down in a sickening gush of the femoral artery, punctured like a bloated water skin. The longer he looked the more his distaste grew.

Manic music jarred his senses above the commotion, the acoustics suggesting the source was close. He then spotted a band of men; their eyes wicked and faces gnarled - certainly nothing human.

And the leader, his instrument - a lyre?

Oh no, on second thought, it bore suspicious resemblance to a torso. One with the head still attached.

Astarion's features held taut in a grimace. "Well now that's just tacky."

The odor of excessive gore wet and hot against the surfaces it painted, and the stench of muscle exposed to the air through shredded flesh, it all should have been unbearable to his twitching nose, but it wasn't. Just as the raucous cacophony around him should have needled his ear, with how sharp and exact and demanding each, isolated groan and howl should have pierced. Instead, it all melded together into the background. One, great incongruous dissonance to the bombardment of his comparative dulled senses.

That was to say, every sense, except for his sight.

It followed the length of the tan leg attached to the foot pinning him by his chest, bare and arched, a dark lacquer painting the nails. Dragging all the way up to a luscious hip - her hip - dipping in at the waist, and scaling up over the peaks of ample bosom in confirmation that it was indeed Ofelia standing over him. As scantily clad as he had ever seen, even in fantasy.

The constellation of freckles smattering her soft abdomen, plum velvet and gold creased high on her hips in a pair of underthings that pulled one of his brows high. Only for it's pair, a salacious brassiere that pushed and propped her full chest, drew up the other to join it. A gold bangle in the likeness of a serpent coiled around her right bicep, while a thick band collared on her clavicle.

Chaos raged around them. Glass shattered, furniture crashed. Claws shredding flesh from muscle, and muscle from bone. Bodies gurgled and cartilage snapped. The heavy, sopped thudding of limbs torn loose shadowed the screams of those preyed upon, and the screeches of those who preyed.

Through it all, Astarion could do nothing but stare up at her.

A broken, labored sound seethed through his slackened jaw. One drowned from her ear, it rumbled against the ball of her foot, still planted square to his chest.

"Gods above and below." A rush of breath that left him deflated in submission, whistling through his teeth. "Aren't you just a hot meal for the starved."

"Don't even think about it." She warned, eyes wild and tone suffering. "I die in this one, like, almost immediately."

"Oh?" Indignation shot through him in a scoff. "Who'd be stupid enough to destroy a body like yours?"

Her gaze flattened. "You."

With only a dozen questions poised at the tip of his tongue, a tousle beside him encroached on his periphery. A bloodied blur rolled towards them along the ground; a trucker sacrificing his forearms to shield his face from the howling, topless vampiress stuck to him like a tick. A slobbering, jagged maw ripped apart the space of her face where her mouth used to be.

Ofelia leapt back off his chest just in time for him to duck out of the way, twisting himself prone to push up off the ground.

"I'm a bastard." He asserted, once back to his feet. Grabbing her by the arms on instinct, as if to anchor her still. The revolver still comically gripped in his unacquainted hand.

Motion from their left whirling through the air, Astarion pulled her into arms he wound tight around her back. Jerking them both aside, clearing them from the path of a broken pool cue launched like a javelin.

"Yep-," chirped through a cheeky grin, the rest of Ofelia's words ground to a squeak into his chest, as he once more tucked her back into him. Shielding her from a geyser of booze and shards of glass, as a bottle of tequila exploded against the table at her back. Shrinking into his collar, more breathless than before. "Just not a fucking bastard!"

The reference woeful as it was wasted on his ear - a fact that continued to delight her, as it remained unchanged - he flinched as a loud crash sounded from behind them. The sickening, gooey thump of the bartender heaving the split-in-half remains of what used to be another trucker, to the upended chairs below like two fleshy bowling balls to makeshift pins.

Astarion, twisted in their shared embrace to observe the grotesque display, muttered in Elvish before then turning back to face her. "I don't suppose you know your way through this debauchery?"

Bouncing her gaze, bright and frenzied, through all the ruthless dismemberment proved her search for the mirror futile. Until a vampiress pounced on the back of an unsuspecting biker, and drove them headfirst into the side of the bar, to reveal the store-room door behind where he once stood.

"I think through there, maybe." Astarion followed the direction of her pointed finger with an arched brow. "I mean, it was sort of important in the movie, and it's nowhere out here."

A severed head spun sideways at their feet. The emphasis of the mirrors absence out in the fray with them was received as both a blessing, and a curse.

"Well, no time like the present, as they say." Detaching from Ofelia just far enough to collect her hand, Astarion shifted in front of her, as he began to lead them through the brawling thicket.

Their destination halfway across the room from where they stood, they didn't make it more than a few feet, before a hungry, unoccupied vampiress caught wind of his presence.

Leaping before them, she hunkered low, wound and ready to spring forth. To see him spurt and splutter at the vein, one ripped open beneath the tines of her bite. Fangs bared, and slick with anticipatory drool to do that just.

Spine stiffening beneath his jacket as she and Astarion sized each other up, Ofelia peeked out from behind the cover of his body. The vampiress spit at him in a hiss; something warped and ferocious, the disconcerting warble of two different voices competing for ascendancy.

On instinct, Astarion hissed back.

With all the clipped, deadened ferocity of a domesticated house cat standing down a mountain lion.

If Ofelia was even just a hair less panicked, she would have giggled into his jacket.

Tonguing his canines as a bite failed to extend from his human maxillary, Ofelia stepped out from behind him. With a hand sliding up his arm, her tone gentle and meek as she informed him. "Oh, honey, you're... not a vampire in this one."

Having deduced as much on his own, he couldn't help the disappointed sigh. Not from being stripped of abilities he was more comfortable in, but because he had made himself a fool in doing so.

"No?"

"No." She guided him to step behind her with an arm swept around his abdomen, another role reversal of their dynamic in which he was tickled to oblige. "I am."

The taller vampiress, whose face clung to the shreds of her human mask by her wild eyes and manicured brows. Everything from the nose down was grotesqueness, split wider and salivating. Dropping to a stance as if ready to pounce.

Ofelia straightened her shoulders, and yowled. Fierce in domination, one final warning to back off.

The two were not locked in a power struggle for long. Ofelia's eyes roiled, live fires from her smokey-eye smudged sockets. Two fangs elongated from beneath her burgundy glossed lips, inviting a challenge in which she was already the victor by status.

A mysterious splatter of glistening green splattered against Astarion from another vampiress, driven straight through the heart by a splintered chair leg beside him. He didn't bat an eye. Too enraptured by Ofelia, fearsome and feral in front of him. Claws drawn to defend the territory whose belonging was then made clear.

The vampiress yielded, expressing to Astarion there was something of a hierarchical structure they heeded, one that saw Ofelia's newest embodiment high up, if not at the very top. She slunk away, unblinking and still poised on the offensive.

Ofelia spun to face him on a bare heel. Her long, smooth tresses fanning in a dark satin wave about her golden shoulders. A victorious, self-satisfied pout quirked her lips, the serpentine glow of her irises ebbing back to the warm mahogany he knew best.

Astarion stood there with his expression frozen still, on the verge of lopsided gratification, blinking once to let her know he was still in there.

She planted fists to the high-cut straps of her bikini, and cocked to the side. Destruction and bloodshed ever rampant, the two were then on pause. A bashful grin worked its way across her face beneath eyes gleaming with incredulity.

"What?" She laughed. "Don't tell me your impressed."

He closed the short distance between them, standing toe-to-toe to stare down the bridge of his nose at her. "I forgot how... freely blood-flow circulates for mortal men." He cleared his throat through a smile Ofelia almost would have categorized as sheepish, but she knew better. "Had you attacked your sister just now, I believe you would've brought me to full-mast."

Her grin widened, though her hand flew to swat her his chest. "You're disgusting!"

"I am, quite literally, only a man, darling." His brows knit together in unabashed appreciation, wandering across the curves and softness of her figure without urgency. Lingering at the plushness of her breasts, and abdomen bared on display for his indulgence.

Had she been capable of blushing, one surely would have stained her from the flush of heat that burned beneath her surface. More powerful still, that he eyed her up with the same shameless lechery that was Seth Gecko's signature, unbeknownst to the man who now took him over. The honeyed haze smattering his leer was almost endearing.

Interrupting the moment and demanding their attention, was guttural aggression then barrelling their way. A hulking brute, jowls slippery with fresh crimson, his beady eyes clouded with murderous singularity. A few men rushed him from each angle, bouncing off of mass just barely contained by his clothes, stock and muscle as weighty and rigid as laid brick.

He repelled their attacks with the indifference of a horse tail batting away pests, needing little more than one hand at a time to cave in a chest, or crunch perpendicular angles out of spines. Subhuman growls and labored huffs snorted through a wide nose at them, a bull in preemptive charge.

"Oh dear." Astarion's smile thin, his nonchalance put-upon. "He doesn't appear very happy to see me."

"No." Ofelia shook her head. "I'm pretty sure you shot him a bunch, I don’t really remember.”

"I see."

With a long suffering sigh, and a ripple of his jacket above rolled shoulders, Astarion braced himself, still turned in towards Ofelia. He thought once more to protect her, however in the rules of this world, and their exchanged strengths, he was the likelier of the two to be accordianed.

Her eyes pinging around them in rapid search, the glinting silver dangling limp at Astarion's thigh sparked her to action. Flattening her front against him to steady herself, her hand molded over his firm hold on the handle of the revolver.

Thrusting his arm up and forward, her finger curled around his - still wrapping the trigger - she squeezed her left eye shut while the tip of her tongue breached the corner of her pout. Bewildered at her abrupt and purposeful manipulation, the beginnings of his objections were swallowed when she choked the trigger.

BLAM-BLAM-BLAM

Unloading three square into the beasts chest, the recoil bucked into her each time. Dropping to his knees, the lumbering vampire fell forward with a wheeze, and a crack upon impact. Downed, but only for the moment.

She knew this story, after all.

"Come on-," Ofelia huffed, turning on her heel. When he didn't budge from his wide-eyed scrutiny of the smoking barrel, she yanked at his arm, her tone admonishing. "Come on!"

He gasped, shaken loose from the shock enough to stumble after her.

"What was that?"

Ofelia continued to pull him through the sanguinary explosion, reaching the store room door to burst through, and hurry him in after her.

Leaned against the dusty cobbles of the far wall, and crowded by crates, there the mirror stood erect. A beacon that beckoned them nearer with its glint. The chaos forced out by the door she slammed shut and bolted, it shook and creaked to the pounding it received from the other side. The horror choked and muffled.

"Let's go.” Grabbing his hand, she marched them towards the looking glass.

Even passing through the mirror, his gawking introduction to the modern marvel of fire power persisted. As did his haunting curiosity she refused to humor further.

"What was that!?"

They fled from the blood soaked, vampire nest that was The Titty Twister, before then transported to the middle of a packed dance floor. Strobing lights of candy-colors, and bodies, very much alive.

Hormonal and young and far too many per square foot, one tanned and nubile was cradled in his arms, a woman's back leaned to his front. When Astarion came too, with relief he realized the backside he was stuck to was Ofelia's.

Suffocated by body heat, and so many colognes and perfumes they mashed together in an indecipherable musk. Rainbow hues glanced off the haze of smoke and turned it sentient; an oppressive smog, one that wafted around her with confident nefariousness, an extension of him, as they both settled on her, around her, inside her.

Hugging her tighter, he tipped his chin to drag his nose along the side of her face from cheek to hairline, inhaling her deep. The whipped vanilla cream of her adrenaline, her untouched purity, and her repressed desire for him to spoil it, searing through it all.

A turquoise collared blouse tucked into a purple skirt, it almost reminded him of what she'd been wearing when they first met, save for a significant absence of blood spatter and tatters. He smirked against her temple as he gave it a firmer nuzzle, rocking their joined hips in wide, slow circles. Around and around and around.

"This particular combination of colors are, in a word, unsightly." His rumble at her ear pulled the skin of her neck pebble. The sensation tightening ruthless beneath the fan of his breath to the sensitive exposure of where it sloped to her shoulder. "But I'd be remiss to focus on such a triviality, when I have you this... pliable."

Eyes fluttering shut, Ofelia dissolved further into his influence, though she had little choice. A stifling heat that filmed over her being, like a sheen of perspiration on a hot summers day. The titillation was undeniable, however uncertain the source. He rocked them around again, his gyration slowing, as his palm slipped from her hand to sink below the hemline of her skirt.

"Star..." a breathy stutter, it stretched to a moan as his palm hiked up her parting thigh with authority. Her skirt draped the thick of his wrist as his invasion of her emboldened. "W-we really should be looking for-,"

"I don't see our mirror anywhere." His other hand held both of hers tucked into her chest. Not yet brutally erect, he was well on his way. Twitching with excitement against the generous swell of her rear, flattered even by her purple disaster of a skirt.

At least it boasted ease of access.

"Y-you're not even loOKING-" her chiding clipped to a yelp, as he cupped his palm around her clothed heat, and lifted her off her toes against his chest in a slow twirl. The hem of her skirt hiked around his forearm.

One of her arms wound back around his neck, though not of her own accord. Whether or not he was puppeting her by choice, this newfound ability was not one he shied away from. Nor was it unwelcome by her.

He tested his influence over her with a flex of the invisible grasp, like the locking or rolling of a muscle. He admired it as such, as he slackened the reins at a languid pace, watching her shadow his release in a gradual descent down his body.

The tie then severed in full, she collapsed to the ground at his feet, a puppet with snipped string. Crumpled. The direction hollowed out from her shell, and his warmth stolen with it.

With a flick of her head to shake the residual fog, she scrambled to her hands and knees to push up and away. Reflexive as she bolted, though she didn't stray far; Ofelia hadn't wanted to leave him, nor his embrace, but his domination relinquished overwhelmed with relief, breaching a stagnant surface after being held under. Unable to breathe, she popped back above and gasped oxygen with a voracity that stung, having been suspended in the moment where anything and everything was denied her unless he willed it so. Even the air.

Astarion's lips curled curious and chesire, the pale of his flesh leaching the indigo and violet pigment from the lights, sinking into his skin to paint him a mosaic of confidence, and allure. Sharp features even lacking their elven favoritism, a haughty force of elegant virility he remained. Stained-glass beauty, severe and reverential.

His gaze followed her retreating back, mere steps from being enveloped into the fold of bodies grinding and slithering in pairs, before reattaching the leash. A hand outstretched to her tense shoulders, his fingers unfurled to their full length, his control once more blossoming her into a willing captive.

One turned back to face him, gliding on the top of her toe in fluid obedience, he caught her eye; glazed, and unending, a rich mahogany deepened obsidian in the absence of proper light. Reflecting back at him the desire for more. Her ache to yet be tugged along by the ends of threads, so long as they were woven by his hand.

And to his hand she retreated, unhurried and assured, despite the the thump of her heart rattling her ribs. The pretty figurine frozen in a porcelain pirouette of a child's music box, she twirled on feet whose path was preordained, she had to do nothing but succumb. To heed the lure that guided her.

Once embraced, the music changed. A high-energy, driving beat, those around them snapped to the according rhythm. Motions whipped and jerking, Astarion moved to his own.

Ensnaring her wide-eyes in the hood of his, he moved her to a melody unheard by all. Two swaying in unison in a contrasting slow-burn eroticism, to the unmilled energy crackling around them. The color caught by the gloss of perspiration beading like crystal on her exposed tan.

"Must I?" He cooed, his breath hitting against a pout he still abstained from claiming in a kiss. "Surely there's no imminent threat here."

He guided her hand down to grope his rear in a firm squeeze of the toned musculature. Twitching her lips in a shy simper, the plum bleeding across her face deepened in the dusting of her blush proper.

His hands traversed a similar path, down either side of her spine to get to the handfuls of rump that molded to his palm and spilled between his fingers. Slender and dexterous in their structure, they accommodated her curves as if her bloom had budded to his exact specification.

"Just you..." Her words wilted in his heat, attention stretched thin and hazy as he continued to tease his lips not a hairs breadth from hers. His breath a spearmint crisp that had her mouth watering, as it poised in eager obedience.

"Ah..." His smirk reappeared, and she felt his imperceptible power slither away once more.

An ache leftover, throbbing and molten in the pit of her pelvis. A press of her thighs against it granted no relief in the wake of his devastation. Ofelia crumbled into the crook of his arm, boneless, but the motion all her own.

With a quick, precise flick, he sent her whipped backward, draped over his arm, before pulling her back flush to his front. Her head lolled to bare the side of her neck, bathed in a violet hue. His finger tips ghosted over her collar to brush it aside, his lips descending for the spot he cleared.

Her autonomy yet relinquished, she jerked out from under him.

He allowed her the tease of insolence, though caged tight within his arms he kept her. A coy glint of pink and purple stared back at him, one mirrored in his drawl. "Another villainous portrayal of my kind?"

"Fraid so." Her confirmation dragging low and breathless, she lowered to her knees before him, and he let her; slinking down the length of his body in a bid to toy with him in her returned freedom, as he had done her.

A growl hummed at the back of his throat to her warm breath and gaped pout hovering before his crotch, her gaze challenging and glossy through the swirl of technicolor.

He lifted her back to her feet by their clasped hands, symbolic of their link. Though he could have lost himself in the darkened suggestion beneath her lashes if he permitted himself the luxury.

"I've never shied away from leaning into the sort." He resumed their banter, husking with a heady croon. "But then again... that does excite you, does it not?"

Ofelia, well-acquainted with this story, was all too aware of their impending interruption. Astarion swept her back into their sensual sway, not in inch of space between them. Intoxicated by the moment, and heedless to the riled brunette youth, bobbing and weaving through the thick of the crowd towards them.

"What can I say? We Earth humans are not immune to the romanticism of the brooding, and misunderstood." She recalled her new character's fate with a shudder, equal parts anxious, and envious. "Amy was certainly not an exception."

Said with the emphasis of introduction, Astarion nodded in understanding. His forehead rested against hers with smirk that worsened her to genuine shivers.

"What's the story between these two, then? Why does our brooding, misunderstood vampire want to turn sweet little Amy?"

"She's the spitting image of his long lost love."

A tale as old as time.

"I see." Astarion's amusement was nauseating, but her shivers persisted as he began to lure her deeper into the dance floor. His pace even, his intimacy unbridled. "So he must have her, then? He'll stop at nothing until he turns her?"

He twirled her around, his manipulation slight and effortless as the surrounding bodies parted. Her eyes glanced off the mirrored panels lining the far wall, catching her figure glide throughout the sea of wriggling bodies, all oblivious to the fact that her partner's mirrored image was missing. Her fingers clinging to empty air where broad shoulders ought to be. The truth of his nature hidden in plain sight.

Ofelia darted between their unbalanced reflection, and the languorous temper weighing his playfulness heavy, and intense. She exhaled shakily. "Something like that."

The kiss he had teased all that time no more than breath and a blink away, the creep of his fingers trailed up her body, and splayed across the front of her throat. His touch more resting than clutching in gentle persuasion, her pulse fluttered under his possession.

Astarion paused to admire how docile and suggestible his presence had her reduced, a moment of appreciation that sacrificed the stolen passion.

His hesitation punished, a wild-eyed and dark haired youth barrelled into them in purposeful interruption.

He pawed at the neckline of Astarion's sweater, prying him off of her, brazen with misplaced protectiveness. He growled through grit teeth, nostrils flared and glare hardened in his muster. "Let her go."

Astarion regarded him with the confusion of a wolf getting his ear nipped at by a mewling pup, unable to process that a child meant to stop him, with nothing more than a puffed chest, and yapping.

The way he eyed him through the corner of his stare with a rippled frown of disbelief conveyed as much, and more.

Charley stood his ground. Eyes blazing as his posture stiffened in defiance, ready to spring forward to defend her honor.

Ofelia sort of felt sorry for him.

With a scoff, the vampire turned his attention back to her, cradling her jaw against the crease of his palm to angle her face upwards in a kiss. Pettiness a commonality that both Astarion and Jerry shared.

Ofelia conceded, though not of her own volition. Astarions hold slunk back in, thick and impenetrable like a blanket of fog seeping across an ocean, coaxing her into his lips with the same helpless to resist.

She knew the longer their kiss went on, the nearer they drew to Charley's punch.

She tried willing the kiss broken to no avail. She tried appealing to Astarion, but her voice evaded her consciousness.

She tried telekinetic communication, of the mind that with all the mirrors they had passed through, perhaps the tadpole had warmed up to the displacement. Her hope was rewarded with the same unpleasant thwick back against the parasitic hitchhiker, like the snap of a rubber band.

They could still sense each other, to confirm the others presence, but all else was stripped away. Their Illithid connection about as effective as two fumbling for each other in the dark, grasping at the air in hopes of landing a touch.

Figures.

Proving her attempted warning wholly necessary, without so much as a blink or hitch against her lips, Astarion's hand raised to cushion the blow of clenched knuckles. Charley's punch was thwarted before it even so much as wound up.

Ofelia's gaze widened. It was as if Astarion had seen the movie before with how exact his timing, and choreography. Astarion, of course, mistook her astonishment as approval.

His fingers resting against the back of her neck - she didn't even remember when they got there - gave a twitch as he glared down at Charley.

"She's quite a bit of woman for you, boy." Astarion snarled, far more open and unrestricted with his irritation to Charley's interference than Jerry had been.

Though with just as much ease as the gentleman vampire he embodied, he slammed him down to his knees. His grip on Charley's fist so tight Ofelia could hear the cracking of bone and splintered joints even over the music. "This is your final warning to leave here while you still have a tail left to tuck."

"You can't kill me here!" He shrieked, expression twisted in the agony of a hand now crippled. Astarion sneered at the display, ignoring Ofelia picking at the neckline of his sweater to get his attention. Or get him to heel.

"Oh please, your spilled blood is not worth the mayhem." With a dramatic roll of his eye, Astarion gathered Ofelia up in his arms once he released the crushed flesh that once resembled a fist. Thrusting him away like an old toy he grew bored with.

Ofelia was tugging at his sweater once more.

"Let's go." She insisted, her withdrawal from his vampiric hold dizzying, reminiscent of a wine hangover. She shut her eyes to the pounding behind her eye where the tadpole stilled, lethargic and impotent. "Seriously, we need to go now."

She managed to guide him away, still tucked within his side, though they didn't make it much further. Charley, hot on their heels, all but jumped on Astarion's back. Prying at his shoulder to yank them apart.

"Let her go!" His cry broke through the music, before two large figures in yellow closed in both in front of, and behind them.

"I got him." The man behind Charley announced to his partner. A stockier man with bulging arms, he wrapped them around Charley and wrangled him away. Scooping up Ofelia as if she weighed nothing at all, he snatched her by the arm and forced his way through the crowd.

She tried wriggling away to no avail, fighting the encroaching patrons, and the force of the bouncer. The other blocked her view of Astarion as he stepped in front of him, though not before catching sight of the anger shadowing his pale face.

Ofelia couldn't hear the ensuing confrontation, but she didn't have to. Bracing herself, for she knew what was to follow.

Twisting around to holler for backup, the bouncer's once unimpressed stoicism erupted in blind panic. As raw and genuine as it came.

"Leon!"

Ofelia's head whipped forward and back from their abrupt screeching halt, still scruffed by Leon as he marched her and Charley up the steps, herding them towards the exit. He jerked around upon hearing his partners scream, though by then it was too late.

A single, blood-curdling howl to pierce the night, followed by a crescendo of the entire club erupting in terror.

Astarion didn't send the mans body to sail through the air in a dramatic exercise of his strength, crashing into a table for the hysteria to be triggered, though he was never wanting for theatrics.

Claws had been drawn, which he used to carve through the mans carotid, felling him to the ground a lifeless heap. A spurt of blood shot lengthwise to streak through the middle of the table instead of his corpse, in a vibrant flourish that could only ever happen in the movies.

It all happened so fast. A stampede surged her way, the entire occupancy screeching and wailing, as every last one tried to flee at once. Glass was broken, furniture was upended; people fell and ripped and climbed their way over the stair railing, themselves, and each other.

Abandoned by Leon, he charged down the steps towards Astarion, elbowing his way through the oncoming flow of terrorized clubbers. Ofelia was right behind him, scurrying in his wake as he cleared the way, before the current closed back over the trail he eked. A hand - Charley's hand - grasped at her arm to keep her with him before they were separated by the crowd, shrugging him off only by the grace of the mobs intervention.

"Amy-!" He reached for her as the frightened wall of people pushed them further apart. The doe-eyed youth called with frantic urgency, his boyish features screwed in panic. "Amy!"

By the time she reached Astarion, Leon had been dispatched; a collapsed windpipe before strewn over another table to his left. The look on her face just shy of accusatory, he raised his hands in surrender.

"What's that look for?" He scoffed as her silent patronizing held firm. "None of this is even real!"

"AMY!"

They both snapped their heads towards the second level, as the wave of chaos continued to wash Charley away. He was still groping at the air, still calling out to her as if it might yet save her. Ofelia groaned before grabbing Astarions hands.

"Yeah yeah I know, come on!"

The dance floor vacant save for the flashing of lights and some spilled drinks, they were safe from any further interruption of obstacles from finding the mirror.

Advancing upon the door to the kitchen, mid-swing from ones hasty getaway, Ofelia's cursory once-over deduced it was as empty as the dance floor, and thus a promising lead. Shoving him through by his back, she goaded Astarion inside, tumbling in after him.

Through all the steam and clatter, propped up in a forgotten corner amidst coats and spare brooms, the glint of another mirror caught his eye.

The muffled screams of laughter and a black velvet sky, twinkling with stars was held within. The nearer they drew, so did the strength of the sounds, and the scent of salt water.

"Over there." He tossed the cut of his chin in it's direction, and curled his fingers around her wrist in the same motion. "It appears as though it's another one of your adaptations, I'm afraid. Alas, our only way out is through."

Ofelia nodded, her flats scuffling along the tile at his side.

He was no longer using whatever writers-room-ingeniousness-given vampiric talents Jerry could use to manipulate her actions, but the accompanying warmth remained. A full body tingle that resisted the ebb of surrender, the sensation of his deft prodding and stringing lingered like phantom touch. In it's wake, adrenaline spiked; cold and throbbing in contrast, overwhelming her autonomy with urgent pressure.

Astarion didn't need such power over her. Not to make her dance with him, and certainly not to seduce her. But the sensation was pleasant. As if warming her to pliability to better receive his charms.

His arms snaking around her in coiled possession, his breath fanning against her bared neck. A kiss to her pulse, a stake claimed before his fangs sealed the deal.

She didn't remember the cheesy cult smash to have been so heavy in the tension between Jerry and Amy, but that was not to say she disapproved.

Jerry!Astarion, in trendy 80's sweaters, residing in a gorgeous antique manor, on a sleepy suburban street in any town, USA?

There were certainly worse scenarios they had been swapped into.

Ofelia could have stayed in 1985 Rancho Corvallis, California.

She really could have.

They were still together, and this time still hand in hand. Though alone, they were not.

Even more crowded than Forks High, and the nightclub from where they just escaped, throngs upon throngs of youths flooded the width of the boardwalk they then found themselves.

Ofelia blinked around in trying to collect her bearings, calmed by the tight squeeze of Astarion's hand in response to hers.

Jostled by children streaking past, and straggled by their parents, as weary as their calls to "stay close" were swallowed by the piped carnival tunes and hawkers. Couples, linked arm and arm or about the waist, funneled into the shops and stalls, that lined the far side where they stood. Bathed in the phosphorescence of neon that drew prospective patrons nearer.

The air was mellow and comfortable, and the smells even more familiar to her now that she was smack in the middle. Fried Oreos and funnel-cake in stale oil. Artificial cherry and coconut syrup from the snow cone stall to her left. The faint musk of pot lingering beneath it all.

Ofelia dropped her investigation to the broad wooden boards beneath her feet, before she then swept off in the distance, to see the ocean rolling in towards the shore. Just beyond the glow of neon in the far off dark, obscured to an undulation of foaming ink that stained the sand.

The squeal of her gears sparked through the fog of disorientation. Ofelia knew this boardwalk. She knew the merry-go-round, it's colorful horses forever in their prance, and the whimsical lilt their speakers crackled, shrill and uncanny. Ofelia knew the imposing wooden coaster, as it creaked and groaned to the cart-full of screams hurtled along it's track.

And then she looked to Astarion. Her widening survey cracked open with amusement. Her laughter breached containment, not that she fought all that hard to keep it caged.

"Oh. My. God."

His tongue sought out his canine, as was habitual now, a quick and dirty determination if he was man or monster. Greeted by a familiar, razor tine jutting from his gum.

Oh, he was still a vampire alright.

His snow white curls were now teased to even taller, distinctly 1980's height. The ends much longer as they reached down to his shoulders, glinting silver jangled from his left ear-lobe. A long black jacket hung from his shoulders, loose and boxy, while a swathe of mesh stuck to his physique in a contrasting fit. The ivory of his torso speckled through like the stars in the night sky above them.

His brows furrowed - as if they had yet to relax from the perpetual scrutiny that held them hostage - he looked down at himself. Confronted by garish beige trousers, and the poor excuse of dusty gaiters all cobbles together with knee-pads. Pleather knee pads, no less.

His face rose back up to hers with such severity twitching his snarl that it sucked her lips inward. Her body shook to the cerise that nearly glowed in the dark with how they roiled. Only her body shook with anything but fear, which simmered his glare all the more murderous.

"Not a word." He warned, mortification rumbling low and hoarse. "What ghastly plane of existence have we been condemned to now?"

Ofelia tamed the threat of her cackle to an inoffensive, shaky puff as she calmed herself. Clearing her throat of any lingering blips of a giggle for good measure.

"The Santa Carla pier, 1987." Her head a swivel to once more drink in the nighttime bustle, she huffed a laugh in utter disbelief. "Holy shit."

Through the cacophony of amusement rides, and dozens of conversations all happening at once, a shout pierced. A bullet ripped through all the tones blending beyond discernment, it hit with staggering clarity, and an accuracy suggesting it was close by.

A mans voice, quavering with a patience tested. The even steel barked from a master, demanding their strayed property returned.

"Star!"

Both Astarion and Ofelia perked towards it in unison.

And once she found the scruffed face of a young Keifer Sutherland staring back at them, stony with expectancy, it then cemented what she already knew to be true. Shiny, spiked mullet and all.

"Uhm, actually I think-," Ofelia glanced down at herself.

A bohemian skirt, and white camisole stitched up the middle, all sequins and gold stitching, and baby-doll frill. Her raven locks drew a curtain over her face when she bent her neck. Wild and frizzed, teased to a height that rivaled Astarion's.

"-that's me."

"What?"

Lured back across the sea of strangers between them in time to catch David's eyes in earnest, locking within Ofelia's triggered his approach, beginning to stalk his way towards her. The piers shadow, even in the dead of night. Flanked by Laddie on Dwayne's shoulder's, and Marco, the crowd parted for him and the entourage fanned out behind him.

Though his expression was steely, his gait was unhurried with the assurance that she'd stay put, just from the way she froze, caught by his gaze. She was able to shake free long enough to look behind her, whipping her head in a flourish of soft black curls from one side to the next.

Lifting to her toes to better see, she was frantic in her scan of the never ending swarm of faces that passed them by, yet not a single one was familiar. None the one she sought. Astarion yanked at her hand for the attention she still wasn't giving, the questions she had yet to answer.

"What are you doing?" Stealing furtive peaks to the advancing young blonde. "What are you looking for?"

"Michael." She said as if he knew exactly who she meant by the name alone.

He blinked. "Aren't I Michael?"

"No, you're Paul here."

"And this Paul, he's a vampire?"

She huffed, still unable to spy the shaggy-mane and chiseled jaw she sought. "Yes, you're a vampire - we both are."

"Oh?" His approval near instant, it then soured as she broke the bad news.

"But I'm not with you." Rocked back on her heels, she looked ahead just in time to see David no more than a foot away, and closing in with his same, lazy pace. Shiftless, but suffocating. "I'm with him."

Astarion stiffened with a scoff. Very much believing himself to still look regal; with the aqua-net endorsement on his head, and the little jingle-jangle from the small collection of costume jewelry rattling from his arms that would have put a magpie to shame.

"Why aren't I him, then?"

Ofelia murmured a soft noise of resignation from the back of her throat with a shrug. Not that she could divulge anything further, as David then sidled up to them, toe to toe with Astarion.

"What do we have here?" A single of David's brows raised. His eye slid from Ofelia's face to where her hand was still captured in Astarion's, pointed in the implication drawn. She yanked out of his grasp as if it burned.

"N-nothing, David, nothing!" She took a step forward to insert herself between them, flashing a smile she hoped was flirtatious enough to assuage. "Uhm... some guy's been following me all night. Paul was just, getting him to back off."

Both men then narrowed suspicion at her until she squirmed.

David blinked, just shy of being entirely unconvinced. Eyes flicking first from Ofelia, and then to Astarion. Observing the two in contemplative silence, a stoicism masked whatever theorizing began to spark upon catching them together.

The tension at a simmer, it then leapt to a boil when he held out his hand to her in a wordless demand she accept.

David waited for her with unnerving patience, and she glanced down at it for only as long as it took to wonder what might happen if she were to refuse.

Ofelia pried away from Astarion's side to slip her fingers into David's out-stretched palm. Her breath hitched once the length of his digits closed around her knuckles, a finality that announced his reclaimed possession.

Once satisfied with his grasp, he drew her in to him - not rough, or rushed - but with an insistent pressure, one that licked up the whole of her in a little shiver. Her obedience non-negotiable. Tripping over her feet, she fell into his chest with a little gasp, echoed by the clinking of her bangles.

The smell of his last cigarette as sharp on his breath as the tinge of iron soaking his tongue, his arm crushed around her shoulders in another display of ownership, pinning her to him and forcing the air from her lungs in the same motion. She could almost feel Astarion's eyes, red-hot and scathing, bore into the back of her skull. Forced into the passenger seat, a helpless bystander. David passed his suspicion between the two once more, the full blaze of which calming to a weak, single ember.

Bending down to hover his lips above hers, the invasion so sudden Ofelia wasn't given the chance to muffle her squeak. The wood walk behind her creaked in the sharp cant of Astarion's weight, shifting to cut in, when David stopped the kiss just as abrupt in its initiation. His attention lured to beyond both her, and Astarion.

A face still unreadable, his chin tilted in specification. "That the guy who was sniffing around?"

She craned her neck beyond her shoulder, struggling against his hold on her that didn't loosen, to then find Michael.

A few feet down the walk, his presence obvious, as he pretended not to watch them with about as much believability as he pretended to peruse the boutique he hovered before.

"Y-yeah, but he won't be a problem!" Ofelia tried to squeeze assurance into the hand she now wrapped both of hers around. "Paul made sure of that."

"Mm... good old Paul." He drawled. Angling a smirk Astarion's way, it wilted as he looked back to Michael. By the time Ofelia was the center of his focus again, any hint of mirth, even one sardonic, had faded to a memory. "Why don't you let me be the judge of what I should, or shouldn't worry about."

Ofelia felt herself nod, forced to the role of spectator in her own body from David's intimidation. Breathing down the neck of her insolence, not that it would do either her, or Astarion, any good to act on it. David's leer, frosty blue and somber, suggested nothing but that she cow to his whims like a submissive kitten. Like she was supposed to.

To her head bobbing, a gradual smile split his scruff. An expression that both warmed her with some sort of contrived elation to have pleased him, and relief at having done so convincingly.

"That's my girl." Condescension wrapped the words and tied them in a bow, like the gift receiving such praise from him was. He stroked a single, firm swipe along her knuckles with his gloved thumb, before dropping her hand to do the same across her face.

Fighting the flinch at the touch, her body reacted once more heedless to her will. His pressure was as light and sincere as a lovers, but a hollow ownership prickled cold under the trail of his finger-tips. Her tremble at his touch only seemed to please him further.

Lifting his attentions from her, back to Michael, still loitering a few feet away under the guise of shopper instead of stalker, David cleared his throat. Unphased for the moment, Ofelia could read in the ripple of muscle beneath his jaw, and his hooded stare, that he was non too pleased with having her pursued. Least of all by one he sensed as a genuine potential threat.

His tone lowered exactly one octave as he raised it, giving the order over his shoulder while his sights remained to the youth shadowing them. "Let's go, boys."

She peeked over her shoulder to Astarion, her eyes widening in a strained, non-verbal plea to follow. To play along.

A concession made with a grudging scoff. A scoff that caught David's attention.

His fingers curling around the base of Ofelia's spine in a way that pulled her hair, he halted, turning to raise a brow at Astarion with a bored gleam in his eye. Bored, while inviting the challenge to his authority at the same time. "Something wrong, Paul?"

Astarion, in an impressively in-character display, snickered while raising his hands in an exaggerated display of surrender. He held it for as long as David stared at him, waiting for friction that didn't spark.

They then resumed their trek further along the boardwalk. That was, until Ofelia caught sight of a mirror.

Tucked down the far end of an alley, pinched between the comic book store and the rest-rooms, it's frame glinted even from within the murk of shadow. Beckoning her to their next destination like another ripple of neon against an already saturated strip.

Thinking fast, she tugged at the strap of her bag until it slid down her arm into her palm, before letting it clatter to the walk as they strode past. Spilling the contents to scatter across the rickety boards, a tube of lipstick was kicked even further away from the oncoming traffic of unaware feet.

"Oh!" She feigned, stopping with immediate relief at feeling David pause along with her. Her shoulders plucked free of his arm. "I'm sorry, I'll just- I'll only be a second."

Dropping to her hands and knees to begin scooping everything back into the fabric satchel, she tossed her head to look up at him as he loomed above her. He cocked a brow at her, wise to her ruse, though having nothing substantial yet to press her about. A chill zipped through her like static-shock.

Get a grip, he's not even real.

"You go on ahead, I'm - I'm right behind you!" She nodded with a smile, before then twisting around in a show tracking down where her lipstick had escaped to.

He didn't answer her aloud, but she heard the screech of the walk give to his heavy boots. He pulled away, languorous, and maintained that pace as it carried him further ahead. The lurk of her bright-eyed, blond shadow retracing with his every step that distanced them.

She huffed a heavy breath she didn't realize she had been holding.

Shoving the cosmetics, and the little container of tic-tacs back into her bag, she stole glances over her shoulder to make sure David and the rest were still none-the-wiser, while she then looked around for Astarion.

She found him across the way, tucked within the alley against the building to his right. Waiting for her to join him, as the mirror stood propped and waiting at the end of it behind him. Either having spied it when she did, or pieced things together when she spilled her purse. With one more stolen glance to the lost boys, Ofelia abandoned her spill before scuttling across to reach him.

The mirror glimmered in the rainbow vapor of the boardwalk, though it's reflection couldn't have been more opposite.

A flaxen, muted hue, it revealed pale stucco and stone. A spiral staircase of well worn wood, and wrought iron sconces aglow with candlelight.

"That almost looks... familiar." Astarion eyed it up and down, growling as he fought the wavy mane that insisted on flopping over into his face.

Ofelia brought her hands to her hips as she popped them to her left, the motion jingling with the beads and charms that dripped from her wrists.

"Only one way to know for sure." Unwilling to give in to her hearts flutter of premature optimism, she tucked her chin to her shoulder, and stuck out her hand for Astarion to take. "Ready when you are."

Grabbing her with a tight hold, he tossed his head back, shaking the hair from his gaze with no shortage of flamboyance as he did. With a sniff, he collected whatever of his sophistication survived Paul's cheap polyester and accessories.

"I'm quite ready to be rid of whatever barbarity has befallen one of my foremost features."

No sooner did the words leave his mouth, was he then marching them through the mirror. Yanking Ofelia in after him by the hand.

Unwilling to subject himself to 1987 Santa Carla, or Ofelia's cackling, for a moment longer.

"Being human in a world full'a vampires is about as safe as barebackin' a five dollar whore."

Astarion gave a start, as he peeled his eyes open.

The rasping croon from behind him lilted in the rhythm of an accent he couldn't place, unlike any he had ever heard previous. When he turned to face the man of whom it belonged, his shoulders fell.

More unusual clothing, too unusual to be of his world. Though the familiarity of the crossbow hanging from his right hand was a welcome sight.

A shorter, wiry man, his years were evident in the way they streaked through his papery skin; at the corners of striking blue eyes, and around his thin mouth, through his copper beard. A strength maintained despite his age, in the prominent angles of his bone structure.

"This is home, Doc. But none of us are safe."

Astarion grimaced. Lovely.

Rubbing his tongue across his top row of teeth, the sting of needle points raked the flat of the muscle in his sweep. His relief sighed.

Still a vampire.

He looked down at himself in assessment, greeted by a black, three piece suit, his shirt collar splayed with it’s missing tie. An ensemble that both looked, and felt, as expensive as the polished loafers on his feet.

Next running his fingers through his hair, he exhaled in more quiet relief. The strands still longer than what he was used to, and lacking the wavy coif that was his signature, they were no where near the ratty straggles the last jaunt had butchered them to. Not to mention their silken quality of being free of whatever heinous product had coated them stiff and gritty.

If he never experienced 1987 again, it still would have been too soon.

He shuddered against that nightmare, still entirely too fresh.

Now here he stood; a sharp dressed vampire, in a world where the alleged hierarchy saw him at the top.

A promising start, indeed.

Ofelia appeared alongside him. Onyx hair simple and straight, it touched her shoulders. Without her even having to affirm for him, he knew. He could hear the gentle thrum of her heart. Eyes, big, brown and mortal, aimed his way.

A disadvantage that spelled potential disaster, if the mans grave caution was to be believed.

"Where are we now?" He hushed, tossing his eye over her shoulder as the crossbow wielder shifted behind them.

Ofelia hesitated, reaching into the haze of estranged, distant memory to aid them. "Uhm, my vineyard-well, I mean my parents vineyard, technically."

Astarion stepped forward to peer over the rail of the balcony where they stood, drawn by the buzz of activity below. A hive of human refugees, haggard with exhaustion and fear, he could taste its taint from the air with the same strength it flared his nostrils.

A hushed urgency fell over them while they busied themselves, stealing furtive glances his way. They must have been able sense his presence among them, like the rolling in of a dark cloud on a sunny day. His blood-red embers burning holes through the dimness, their fears confirmed.

"Aud, Ed." The man with the crossbow called to them from the stairs. He jerked his head in a motion for them to follow, before descending himself.

Astarion looked from him, back to Ofelia. She met him with a nod, and small smile of reassurance, signalling it was safe to follow.

"Yeah, that's us." She whispered, pushing away from the railing. "I'm Audrey, and you're Edward-,"

His face twisted as if about to be ill. "-Oh Gods, not again."

"No no, this one's totally different." She giggled. "It's not a love story. It's more action-drama, and it's actually one of my favorites."

The sick look lessened, but failed to disappear. "Oh?"

Her face alight, though she kept her town low, she all but whirred with enthusiasm. "Yeah! So they kinda flip the script in this one. Vampire's are the dominant species, and humans are the ones that have to be in hiding."

Astarion nodded, stepping aside and motioning for her to go ahead of him down the steps. "So that man made no exaggeration, this place is dangerous for you?"

She tossed her head over her shoulder, angling a grin at him that wormed beneath his skin. "Aw, you're worried about me." He rolled his eyes with a groan, and ripped from her a short burst of a cackle. "Well, don't be. You're technically in just as much trouble here as I am, so."

His trudging scuffed the tread with creaks in the wood. He sent his eyes upward. "You'll excuse my feigned surprise, then."

Ofelia ignored his sarcasm as she often did, before continuing as if he hadn't spoken in the first place. "Yeah, see, because humans are almost extinct, the vampires begin to starve." A cutesy, empathetic shrug picked at her shoulders to match the nonchalance of her tone.

He uttered a thoughtful noise from the back of his throat. "I see... realistic, I suppose." A concept he had never given thought to, being as though he couldn't propagate the spread of affliction himself. "That man, he called me doc."

"Yeah, you're a blood doctor." She informed through a smirk once they reached the bottom of the stairs. The significance suggested in her enunciation perked his full attention, just as she expected.

"Is that a fact? Interesting." He murmured. "And this doctor, is he quite wooed by Audrey's perseverance and," he arched a haughty brow in emphasis towards her curvature, on display, "generous attire?"

Ofelia looked down to the sight of her nipples stiffened through the guazy salmon of her top. She grabbed the zippered lining of her jacket, and pulled it tight to conceal them. "Perv." Grumbled, through a wry smile she was unable to wipe away. "And no, to answer your question. As a matter of fact, they're not romantically involved at all."

"No?" Though just a hint, his disappointment made her smile widen.

"I mean there was some chemistry, they definitely seemed to care for each other, but nothing hot and heavy. There's a scene where she fills a plastic cup of her blood for him to drink out of. It was so sweet!" She gasped, eyes then wide with dawning realization. "Oh hey, we did that too!"

He snorted. "Was this not the inspiration for that?"

"Uh, no not really." She crossed her arms, pushing up her chest in a way that jiggled every last vestige of irritation right out of him. "Edward wasn't suffering bouts of hormonal anguish from feeding off of her. She was just considerate."

Loitering out of the way at the base of the steps, Astarion tossed his chin in the mans direction. Across the room from them, he was locked in hushed conversation, pausing just long enough to gesture towards where they stood. An observation that pricked the back of his neck, his tone as wary as his stare. "Who is he?"

"His name's Elvis." She began. "He used to be a vampire too, but he found a cure. That's why he and Audrey bring you here, they need help replicating it."

Astarion hummed, both brows reaching his hairline. "Is that right?"

"Mhm."

"How does he manage that?"

"Direct, unmitigated sun exposure." Ofelia felt him gawking at her before she so much as looked his way "Something to do with kick starting the heart, I don't remember the particulars."

Astarion remained unconvinced. Brows once raised in intrigue then furrowed incredulous. "You're joking." He scoffed. "The sun is what turns them back?"

"Yup. Edward helps them set up the experiment right here." His suspicion only cemented itself in the deepened lines of his face. "No, seriously, it worked! Edward became human again."

"Yes, well, forgive me for not wanting to partake in that myself." His lips rippled tight around his low delivery, glancing back to Elvis. Skittish, though in the same manner a wolf hunkers down before an oblivious hunter, too busy surveying the trees to notice what's laying in wait in the brush. "The moment we're able to steal away, I should like us to put as much distance between ourselves, and here as possible."

"Yeah, it seemed intense, if not... painful." Ofelia scrunched her nose in agreement. "Anyway, the guy who plays him actually plays another vampire in Shadow of the Vampire. That's a really good one."

"Oh?" He regarded her with a justifiable degree of skepticism. "What's that one about?"

"Well, so with Nosferatu-,"

He silenced her with a raised hand.

Furrowing his eyes shut, as if to spare his senses the offense of so much as having to see the name mouthed, let alone heard. "Utter that name in my presence once more, and I'll make certain to use your phone when next Scratch pesters me for a game of fetch."

Another bar, limping along with a molasses pulse as black shrouded the Earth, the rest of the world put to bed. Its cheap neon winked, and the failing florescence above strobed the walls in shadows through the blades of ceiling fans, whining in sluggish rotation.

Blood choked her senses with a first sharp intake of breath, the stench of wet iron flaring her pierced nostril, before stinging her throat. Tensed and poised as if already on the offensive, Ofelia found Astarion across the table from where she stood.

Their eyes locked; as vibrant ruby and glistening from beneath the hood of his stare, as the puddle of sanguine at her boots, crawling along the dirty floor with the same indolence as the fans.

He sat slumped in the cracked leather of a booth, thighs kicked apart with the body of a woman crumbled at his feet, still warm. A gun holster slung between his legs in crude innuendo, his wild mane was teased to a comparable height as hers.

It took her a moment of frantic recollection before the pieces clicked together. Her eyes sought Astarion's once more, bright with understanding, she was then interjected by the deafening blare of a nearby shotgun.

It shattered the fraught silence of the dive, stealing her impending identification of the movie with a shaky exhale. Astarion jerked against the blast, the red of his eye no more than rings lining his pupils.

She supposed during the next quiet moment, whenever such an instance might present, that against her better judgement, Ofelia would finally explain to Astarion what a gun was.

Heavy booted feet scuffled along with the jingle of spurs. A young, black haired man in sunglasses and dirty leathers wheezed with laughter, as he clapped the back of the other young man. The one who had just absorbed buckshot to the abdomen.

"It's a kick, ain't it!" Severen chuckled, steadying the wounded young man, Caleb, as he looked him over. Patting down his chest, and pushing his jacket out of the way to assess the damage.

A bloodied gash chewed through where his large intestines used to be, visible through perforated flesh, and his torn shirt. Though he was still standing, still breathing, regardless of how labored.

Caleb shook, glassy eyed and screwed in pain. He wrenched breath into his gasping lungs, in between the unintelligible splutters that shivered through his lips. Anguished, frightened, and crying for his mama. A vulnerability which only made Severen that much more amused, pinching Caleb's chin.

"Hey, y'look like fourty miles'a rough road." Severen teased, greasy-haired and riled, as he slid his arm around his shoulders. "Why don't you sit this one out?" He drawled, herding a distraught, limp Caleb by his collar towards an open bar stool.

Rapping Caleb on his slumped shoulder, Severen pushed away with a debauched grin that bared blood stained teeth. "I'll take it from here."

A cocky stride sidled him around the bar, his sight's set to the bar-tender, who had just blown the hole through Caleb.

Shoulders lax and shades tipped, Severen taunted him, posted beside the shredded corpse strewn over the jukebox, harmonizing his bellow with the twang of a country ballad. "Oh, yoo-hoo!"

Stumbling backwards behind the bar, the man fumbled to re-load his shotgun, widening the grin that split Severen's bloodied maw. The nearer her stalked, the more dropped shells clinked to the ground at his feet.

A timid blonde with a baby-face tucked herself into Astarion's shoulder, hiding in the tatters of his heavy duster. Ofelia eyed her right, to see a small boy with a dirty face and tired eyes propped up on the table. Unbothered by the promise of ensuing carnage.

Astarion peeled his eyes away from the lascivious theatrics of Severen with the same hesitation to do so of one witnessing a car wreck. Realigning his attentions to the more pressing issue of just where exactly they were, he appeared to be most perturbed of all by Ofelia's sort, bushy hair.

Fearing the worst, he reached up to his own head, as his fingers were met with tall tufts sticking outward in every direction.

He growled. "1987 again?"

She merely shrugged with insouciance, keeping a close eye to the loud, young man as he leapt onto the bar rail to continue his torment.

The heat cut from Astarion's simmered loathing. "Really? Two in the same year?"

"I got a new name for you," Severen dropped his tone chest deep, thickening his accent. Fresh crimson, slick and drooling, soaked his mug from the nose down.

The bar-tender hollered, still backing away and knocking over bottles in his attempts to flee. Severen watched gleeful from behind his shades, giggling something deranged before divulging his comedic brilliance. "Mr. Pig knuckle!"

Ofelia nodded.

"Oh." Astarion chirped, placated from his fit with a pleased smirk to match.

Glass exploded as Severen strut along the rail, stomping and kicking shot glasses and half-emptied stouts without prejudice, any and all unfortunate enough to be in his path. Sticky with alcohol, the shards crunched beneath his slow heel-strikes, making certain to pulverize every last one.

"We're uh... both vampires here." She hushed, stepping over the corpse of the waitress on the ground, with the small of her back gliding along the ledge of the table. Her gaze unwavering, unblinking, as she kept it glued to Severen.

"I must admit, I'm rather partial to these scenarios." Astarion still paid no mind to Mae nestled into his side, though the pull of Severen's antics both lured, and repulsed him.

"Yes, but-," Ofelia winced as Severen erupted in a feral howl, before he sliced the spur of his boot heel through the bartenders neck, sawing back and forth with an unhurried pace. Blood spatter flicked and spurted with every pivot of his hip.

"... We're uhm, we're kinda the foster parents to this whole group." She tilted her head at him, gesturing to the lot around them. "Which would make us responsible for... all of this."

Fingers flexed, she waved her hand in Severen's direction, as he dropped down behind the bar with a thud of his cowboy boots, and crouched. An impressive blood spray then shot up the wall in a vertical splatter from where he had disappeared. She reaffirmed with undue emphasis. "Forever."

Astarion furrowed his brow down at Mae, cowering at his side. Then to Homer, still sat on the table with his little legs crossed. Boredom in his pudgy face, unimpressed by either the chaos, or his lack of invited participation in it. Caleb still huddled at the rail, tearing his eyes away from the scene spilling out beyond it with.

And then to Severen himself, as he popped back up. Readjusting his tinted glasses, picking the viscera out of his teeth with a nail. His undershirt, once white even beneath all the stains, was now a sopping vermilion.

Astarion cleared his throat.

"Right then." With surprising gentleness, he plucked the tiny blonde from his side, before scooching himself out from the booth. All just in time for Severen to begin moseying back to their motley troupe, the shot-gun slung over his shoulder. "The mirror?"

Latched to Astarion's chest, she felt the tang of his blood once more soak against the grooves of her tongue. She lapped with fervent strokes, nipping at the weeping slice to open it to her further.

He hissed in approval, his palms cupping the back of her head to keep her still, while his fingers flexed in her tousled mane in a guiding pressure.

Awakened in full, she peeled herself from his wound, her head hazy and chin slick. She looked up at him with a ferality of a high beginning to fade.

A dark button-up hung open to reveal the pale chisels of his chest, and the slippery bloom of red that painted down the length of it. He cradled her face, long slender fingers hooked around where jaw met mandible, before angling her back to receive his kiss. Hot and heavy and spiced with his blood, their lips parted with an audible pop as a thread of glistening red connected them.

"Greedy little pup." He chuckled, the strands or his hair mussed apart from him tugging and raking, they fell into eyes with pupils blown so wide they glinted near obsidian.

Shifting upward on her toes, her body prickled in a chill; cold and dank, it rushed her bare thighs, as she felt the short hem of her dress crawl even higher as she coiled around him. Damp, loose earth squished between her bare toes as they curled beneath her weight, and she looked down to see the plunging halter top of a baby-doll dress, the once pure white soiled by grime.

And his blood.

Thick and salty against her gums, gums that ached from the fangs that jut through the swollen ridge.

"Oh, w-we're," interrupted by a soft giggle that bubbled through her, she fought to speak against a tongue numbed passed cooperation, like when she was intoxicated, "we're back."

That pulled a single of his brows high. "Back? We've not been here before."

Astarion's gaze swept around the crawlspace where they stood, hidden in the shadows amongst dirt and wooden rafters. His eye then drawn to the two men playing unwilling audience, in a shaft of sunlight touching down into the loosely churned earth. And the writhing shadow that closed in around them.

Shadow that, upon closer inspection, sprouted arms and legs, and gnashing teeth. That slithered and swayed with the movement of cold, undead bodies twisting through it.

"Surely, I'd remember."

"No... not here." She sighed, nuzzling beneath the cut of his jaw before mouthing the hard ridge of his bone. "Different year, different people but... same story."

"Be a dear, and jog my memory?" His posture lax, Astarion was as lazy with arousal as she, though it was clear the influence of his pheromones were far more potent in her system, an observation that saw his gaze laden with pride.

Only through remarkable effort and determination, could Ofelia will herself to speak.

"Y-youre... you... y-you're him again." She huffed at her own labored speech as it slurred against the back of her bloodied teeth. "Like before when we danced."

"What the hell did he do to her?" A whisper croaked from the dark.

Astarion's head snapped to his left, to the two men watching them, wrapping their limbs tight to their bodies to keep to the rouge patch of sun poured in from a jagged hole above their heads.

The other man, an older one with a sunken face and thin, faint wisps of smoke curling from his skin, shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." In an accent more like his own, teeth clenched around an unlit cigarette.

Little hands and a soft, blood stained pout peppered Astarion's being with neediness, dragging and mewling across his bare chest and neck. It wasn't until the older, accented man produced a lighter, and clicked it sparking, did that seem to rouse Ofelia from her daze.

Tearing her lips away from Astarion's hungry mouth, she turned in time to see the younger man working the ski cap over his head, sliding goggles to cover what of his eyes were left exposed.

Grabbing Astarion's hands, she tripped over her feet in panic, pulling them towards the open doorway to their right.

"C-Come on, we have to move." Her words breathy and clipped by mounting adrenaline, it scrambled her movements, unbalanced and clumsy. "Now!"

Enveloped in an eruption of molten flame, the younger man bound to his feet, lunging towards Astarion's heel - spun to flee in the nick of time.

Ofelia stumbled, kicking through the cool dirt, scraping her bare shins against the nosing of the steps in her clamber to climb them. With only her gut to lead them, they fled through the narrow hall, the roar of adrenaline almost enough to drown the bellow of Charley behind him. Screaming his throat hoarse, his plea of her name smoked from the fire.

"Aaammmmy!"

Astarion spurred into the appropriate haste by a pursuant lit on fire; he kept pace alongside of her with his arm swept around her back in a protective maneuver, forcing her ahead of him, regardless of the disadvantage that was her stride halved by his. The entryway corralled them to a hallway stark white, lined with a multitude of doors that look no different between them.

"Amy? As in little Amy from earlier?"

"Yes-," Ofelia hurled the affirmation from burning lungs. Each door they passed marked at the top with a little window, her furrowed gaze blurred across each for the one that might reveal the mirror, and it's mismatched reflection. "This is a more modern re-telling of the same story."

She wanted to laugh, explaining the nature of a remake as if the most natural conversation they've exchanged all day.

Astarion hummed with the nonchalance to match, as if in perfecting understanding of the niche concept, and one presented under duress.

Charley and his cries faded into the pounding of their feet against slab, the distance between them ever increasing. "And I'm who again, exactly?"

Reaching the end of the hall and rounding the corner at their left, the miraculous sight leaning against the far wall to greet them was none other than the mirror. Their next destination laid beneath it's slick, polished, facade of a surface.

You can hear, faintly in the background, Raphael's stifled scoff of resignation.

Ofelia grinned through her sluggish forward propel. The salacious hem of her tattered and grimy baby-doll whipping against her sun-soaked thighs. "Your name is Jerry Dandridge."

Less then a foot away from the mirror, Astarion halted. "Jerry?"

Granted a moment of reprieve from the still distant threat of a flaming embrace, he squandered it to parrot the name through a wrinkle of distaste. The name spat, as though it's very taste was as derisory to his tongue, as it was to his ear. "I'm called Jerry?"

Slipping her hold around his wrist with both her hands, she tugged him to the end of the corridor. Unwilling to stall their escape for a moment more, she urged him with a placative coo. 

"Yuuup-c'mon, let's go, let's go."

PART 2

[freetobee1216]

Hi I'm writing a Zutara fic and this is the first chapter

Warning, literally zero mention of Zuko yet, I plan for this to be the slowest of slow burns. Also I change cannon slightly, basically the events of the show take place over the course of 3 years instead of 6 month, just cuz I think it makes more sense.

Anyways, enjoy chapter one!

Chapter 1:

The wind ripped at her howling skin as she tried to manage the swelling gathering under her eyes. Far below, she could feel the crashing ocean waves of her element calling to her, screaming a familiar song that sounded like home. Pull yourself together she scolded herself, Aang was expecting her for dinner. Katara took one deep breath. Two. Three, and the emotions that moments ago were ruling her every action, telling her to run to where she belonged, ceased to exist.

Walking away from the cliff that overlooked the clouds swirling around the southern air temple, she stuffed the crumpled letter deep into her pocket. She could hear the sounds of meditation instruments coming from the gardens. Here, the newest air acolytes were coming to terms with their decision to turn their back on the life they once knew in order to follow the teachings of the Air Nation. A worth cause, a good decision, but that fact still couldn’t take away the sting of homesickness.

Raja, a girl from the southern tip of the Earth Kingdom, sat cross legged struggling to focus on her breathing. Her knee kept bouncing at an alarming rate and her eyebrows were so scrunched together that they looked like a unibrow. Katara waved to the girl and she sheepishly smiled back. Raja was sweet, only a year younger than Katara at 18, and the two had become fast friends in the month she had been here. Katara raised her eyebrows at her friend as if to say, need a break? Raja quietly looked at the rest of her group, specifically at Angi, the group leader, to see them all peacefully meditating. She silently stood up off the orange pillow and tip-toed to the path where Katara was waiting for her. The pair linked arms as they walked trying not to laugh and get Raja caught for playing hooky. When they cleared the corner and the music faded into the wind, they both broke into barks of laughter.

“You looked like your head was about to explode back there,” Katara said through her snorts.

“I honestly thought it would, I just can’t seem to get this sitting still concept.” Raja laughed back. “They’re doing that for the next hour, hopefully no one will notice I left.”

“I doubt it, wanna help me cook some dinner in the meantime?” Katara asked her friend.

“Yeah, anything other than that sounds good to me, what’s on the menu tonight?” She responded gratefully.

The pair went off to the vegetable patch to grab some ingredients then spent the next half an hour cooking together. Raja told her all about the drama with the new acolytes; who was just trying to rebel against their parents, who had already been caught hooking up, and who was out to steal her boyfriend. Katara laughed at all her friend’s stories, she had a way of imitating the others and embellishing just the right amount to make the story compelling. She was also aware of the many girls who joined the acolytes just to try and get closer to Aang, though she didn’t feel that pang of jealousy like she used to. She assumed she was just so desensitised to it at this point. Two and a half years of fending off pursuers and watching your boyfriend be absolutely oblivious to it, will do that to a girl.

“So, are you gonna pull out some master waterbending on the new ones to clear them off?” Raja joked as she chopped up carrots.

“Honestly? I don’t really care anymore, is that bad? O-or mad?” Katara contemplated while stirring the stew boiling beneath her making her face flush.

“Or wise?” Raja interjected adding in the carrots to the large cauldron.

“But, shouldn’t I feel something? You know just something more than nothingness?” Katara blurted out before she could help herself, these were thoughts that shouldn’t be voiced. Katara hid her face from her friend as she went to grab some herbs from the shelf on the other side of the kitchen.

Raja was quiet for a little bit before smoothing over with, “I think its fine, I mean it’s not like any of those girls are a threat to what you and Aang have, he loves you and would never cheat on you with some floozy.” She laughed out the last bit.

Katara swallowed and turned back to her friend with a smile and joked back, “Oh he’d never even dream of that, he knows he couldn’t take me in a fight if he did.”

The girls dragged the bulky cauldron filled with the vegetable stew out to the communal mess hall on the other side of the door. The room was already filling with hungry acolytes and Katara heard Raja curse under her breath. A stern looking Angi was stomping her way through the crowd that was gathering and making a beeline straight for Raja.

Raja sighed, “Well, I gotta go deal with her wrath, this is the third mediation I’ve skipped out of this week.”

“Wait, it was my fault, please let me talk to her,” Katara said, guilt spreading through her bones.

“Nah, it was my choice, I was looking for any excuse, don’t worry about it,” she said before skipping up to Angi. Katara could hear he start to apologize when she felt someone sneak up behind her.

The master bender was about to steal the water from her pouch and get ready to fight when she felt a pair of familiar hands cover her eyes. “Guess who?” the voice said. Aang.

Katara’s shoulders relaxed and she turned around to give her boyfriend a hug, “Hey Aang.”

“The stew smells great, thanks for cooking tonight! I know it wasn’t your night, but Sheejik wasn’t feeling great and I didn’t know who else to ask” Aang apologised.

“It’s fine, I like having something to do, should we grab a bowl and go to our normal spot?” Katara asked.

“Yeah, sounds great!” Aang said. Normally, they would eat in the mess hall with the rest of the air acolytes, but occasionally the two would sneak off to the private balcony downstairs that was build directly into the cliffside. It was beautiful, overlooking the other mountain islands in the sunset. It was a place where they could feel both of their native elements, the ocean below and the whipping winds around them. It had felt balanced, or well, it mostly did.

“The sunset is beautiful tonight,” Aang remarked. It was burning a bright orange that let into a salmon-like pink on the edges of their vision. The waves below perfectly reflected the light of the sun, and far to the east, dots are starlight where starting to breakthrough the periwinkle.

“Yeah, it is,” Katara said, being drawn to the last lights of the sun.

“Not as beautiful as you though,” Aang said softly.

Katara once might have blushed at a comment like that, but she was far too mature now. At least, that’s what she thought was keeping the heat from creeping up her neck. She did however paint a smile on her face and lean over to kiss his cheek, when she puled away Aang was bright red. “Thank you.”

“Have you, uh heard from Sokka?” Aang asked changing the topic.

Katara felt the letter in her pocked multiply in weight tenfold, “Uh yeah, you?”

“I got an awesome letter from him this afternoon, he’s been named Chief in Training! And he told me all about his plans to expand the Southern Water Tribe with the aid they’re getting from both the North and the Fire Nation. It’s really great what he’s doing down there,” Aang rambled on about things Katara already knew about.

She tried to hide her face by looking south towards her home, “Ye-yeah, I got a letter today too.”

“You don’t sound that excited,” Aang noticed.

“Well, I just, I don’t know Aang, it’s a lot of change.” Katara said, frustration beginning to build in her chest.

“But change is good Katara, it’s a natural part of life,” Aang tried to reason with her.

“I know that,” she snapped, then tried to regain control over her words when she saw his hurt face, “It’s just, it’s hard that all of this is happening without me.”

“All of it is happening because of you Katara, without what me, you and Sokka did, going to the Northern Water Tribe and getting them to care about the South again, stopping the war. Without that, this wouldn’t be happening.” Aang said.

“But it’s not fair! That’s my home, and it’s changing without me there! Am I even going to be able to recognize it when I return? What if the North takes over too much? What if I wake up one day and my culture is so different it doesn’t make sense anymore and I did nothing to stop it because I wasn’t there?” Katara yelled, her anger and confusion bubbling up to the surface.

“Katara, it’s going to be okay; you just have to trust in your tribe, they’ll find the right way,” Aang tried to reassure her, grabbing hold of her hand.

“It’s not about trust it’s-” Katara started pulling her hand away, but then she sighed. He doesn’t understand her anger, how could he? He has to put all of his hope into trust at the moment for his nation, or else there would be nothing left. He is trusting these new members from all over the world to find it’s way back to some semblance of the Air Nation and what he lost all those years ago. Looking at Aang, she sees the scared homeless kid from the iceberg, the pain that is still there hiding under the surface. She takes a deep breath and dissipates her anger, grabbing back hold of his hand; this isn’t something that is helpful for him to hear. “You’re right, it’s all going to work out, I was just being anxious. Of course, Sokka will figure it out.”

Aang smiled at her and leans in for a kiss, she closes her eyes and reaches within herself to try and feel how she used it, something small in her chest tried to wiggle its way out, but it feels as if it has been locked away. Their lips touch and she’s just going through the motions. It’s fine, she tells herself, this is just what happens when you’ve been a couple for a while.

The door behind them bursts open and a young boy no more than age 13 named Ren blushes profusely, “I am so sorry Master Aang to bother you and your girlfriend, but there is a reporter from Ba Sing Sei here and he wanted to get an interview about the progress of the Air Nation,” he blurts out in one single breath.

“Uh yeah, Katara do you mind?” He asks, still concerned about their earlier discussion.

“Of course, send them in.” Katara says giving Ren a maternal smile, not wanting to make the boy any more akward than he already looked.

“Of course!” he squeaks out and turns down the hall. They can hear him say something to the other side of the door then pronouncing, “Right this way sir.”

A well-dressed man in his mid-20s appears at the threshold. He is wearing a traditional Earth Nation robe and sports the most fashionable facial hair in Ba Sing Sie, a well-groomed moustache and goatee. He gives a low bow in the way of greeting towards Aang, “Avatar Aang, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Manu Sho and I have been writing for some time about the tireless efforts you have been making towards restoring the Air Nation with the Air Acolytes. It would be an honour if I could receive an interview with you.”

“Of course, come join us, Katara and I were just finishing our dinner, would you like a bowl as well?” Aang offered.

“That would be lovely,” he said and looked expectantly at Katara. “Oh, you must be Katara, Avatar Aang’s faithful girlfriend.”

Katara squirmed in her seat a bit but said, “Yeah, that’s me.”

“And you are from the Watertribe?” he asked gesturing to her outfit.

“Yeah, from the South, that’s where I first found Aang.” Katara said, feeling as though she was being looked at through a microscope.

“It must have been so nice for you to get to travel with the Avatar and learn waterbending from him!” He said joyfully.

“Oh, actually, I was Aang’s teacher.” Katara said, and edge entering into her voice. This wasn’t the first time she had to clarify this.

“I thought the Avatar was taught by Master Pakku in the North?” Manu said in confusion.

“Well yeah for about a month or two, but I was the one teaching him for almost 3 years,” Katara said haughtily.

“Yeah, Katara is a master waterbender!” Aang added in helpfully.

“Oh, I’m sorry I was misinformed,” the reporter said looking more like the uncomfortable one now. Good, Katara thought to herself. “Um, may I have some of the stew please?”

“Oh right, of course, uh Katara, would you mind grabbing Manu a serving?” Aang asked trying to smooth over the rough interaction.

“Sure,” Katara said through her teeth and crossed arms. She stomped back upstairs to the mess hall and grabbed Manu a serving, muttering to herself the whole time about blatant sexism and forgotten female narratives. When she returned, Aang and Manu were laughing together, talking about cabbages.

“Here you go,” Katara said shoving the bowl into Manu’s hands, then sat down next to Aang. Manu looked a bit unsure at Katara, but she was refusing to move. She had been helping with the efforts to rebuild the Air Nation just as much as Aang was. Katara stared the journalist down in a dare, he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he continued to ask about the progress from the last two years after the war ended. Both Aang and Katara answered his questions about the acolytes, the program they were following, the diet and efforts to restore traditional Air Nation vegetables in the gardens, the newest recruits, everything. It was going pretty well and Katara had calmed herself down now that Manu was actively listening to her. But then it happened; he brought up the idea of kids. This was something she and Aang had been avoiding speaking about ever since they got into a huge argument last month about it.

“The air acolytes are great, but when are you planning on hopefully producing the new generation of airbenders?” Manu asked bluntly looking between the two of them.

“I’m sorry what?” Katara asked her mood going south immediately.

“The new generation of airbenders, when will you be producing them?” he asked as if she were slow.

“Yeah, I heard your question, what I don’t understand is why you are asking it,” Katara snapped at him.

“Well, Ms. Katara, it’s an important question, the world is out of balance, we will be needing more airbenders,” he said.

“Well, Katara and I aren’t sure on the timeline,” Aang answered trying to be diplomatic.

“Aang, I do not want to discuss this publicly,” Katara hissed at him.

“You are a few months away from being 20 are you not? And the Avatar has just turned 18, that is a perfectly respectable age to start having children, especially because you will probably need to have a lot in order to get the new generatio-” Manu began.

“Okay that it, we are done here!” Katara interrupted grabbing his quill and scroll out of his hands that he was taking notes with and packing them into his bag, “You can go now.”

“But, I, uh, miss I am not finished,” Manu sputtered.

“Master.” Katara said.

“I’m sorry what?” He asked.

“It’s Master Katara, and you are dismissed,” She ground out, pulling the water from her pouch and getting into a defensive stance.

“Uh yes of course, Master Katara, Avatar Aang,” he said quickly bowing to them both and running off.  

Katara slammed the door to the balcony shut and let out a grunt of frustration. She then walked over to the balcony to put her head down onto the railing. Aang watched her quietly from the bench. “Katara, we need to talk about this.”

“What’s there to talk about?” she huffed moodily, still staring out at the horizon. The sun was almost completely set by now, just a small sliver of it that was reaching out towards her.

“I had a feeling people were going to start asking us this, that’s why I’ve been really wanting to talk about it with you, but you keep avoiding this,” he said gently, standing up to walk towards her and putting hand on the small of her back. “I could make you a necklace first if that’s what you’ve been waiting for, well I have been car-”

“No!” Katara said, protectively placing a hand onto her mother’s necklace and backing away, “No, I don’t want a new necklace.”

“Well, what do you want? We need to talk,” Aang repeated.

“But I’ve already told you how I feel about this. Yes, I want kids someday, sure, but on my terms. I’ve been acting like a mother since mine died, and I want my freedom Aang. I never got the chance to be young and, I’m just not ready,” Katara spoke feeling as if they had been here before. The moon began to shine above them as the sky went dark.

“But, when will you be ready?” Aang pleaded.

“I don’t know, I’m just confused right now and I can’t give you an answer. I… I don’t know if I’ll ever have an answer for you…” Katara trailed off.

“Katara, being a dad, it’s not only something that I really want, but it’s also a duty I have to fulfil. It’s my destiny to bring balance to the world, our destiny,” he said reaching to hold her hands in his.

“Well, I didn’t know that falling in love with the Avatar meant I would have to sacrifice so much!” Katara yelled in frustration dropping her hands out of his grasp.

“Sacrifice?” Aang asked, his voice cracking in hurt.

“Yes! This is a sacrifice! I don’t want to be a breeding farm for airbenders! Or give up my culture to serve another! Or lose myself in your projects!” Katara shouted, her anger getting the better of her. She was saying things that she had hid deep inside her soul, things she never wanted to tell him because she couldn’t bear the pain it would cause.

“I’m not asking you to do any of those things!” Aang yelled back at her.

“Yes, you are, that’s exactly what you ask of me every day, how do you not see that? Where am I in any of this? People don’t even remember what I have done, what I have given up already to bring peace to the world. Where is my peace?!” She couldn’t stop the hot, angry tears from spilling down her face at this point. Everything she had been holding in was spilling out of her in thunderous waves of hurt. Every breath was strained with emotion.

“I thought I was your peace, like how you’re mine.” Aang whispered, tears filling his eyes as well.

“I thought you were too, but…” Katara said and turned away from those eyes, so filled with hurt and betray. Her guilt was eating her alive. She sobbed inwards, crossing her arms over her chest as if she could hold herself together.

“I’m not anymore. Am I?” he asked, emotion welling in his throat.

Katara’s sobs turned silent now, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t see out her eyes. Why was this so hard? What had happened? This place, once lovely, now was her prison. She cried, “I don’t know why you stopped, why I stopped.”

“Do you think I could be it again?” he croaked out.

“I don’t know,” she whispered back, staring at the dark waves below.

They stood there, her back still turned to him, silently crying for an interterminal amount of time. At one point, Aang reached out towards her, taking one step, but then stopped. His reach hung in the air for a full breath, but then he turned and walked away. Out of the balcony, out of the building, and took off towards the skies on his glider. She was left to drown in a bed of her own making.

That night, Katara packed a bag.

[yaekiss]

꩜ Room Content: GN! Dom! Reader x Male! Sub! Sydney the Faithful, no gendered terms for reader, jerking Sydney off in a cinema, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: This has been on my mind for so long, ugh the grip Sydney has on my mind is maddening. Might also do a corrupted Sydney version after this who knows teehee :3c

It was meant to be something relaxing. At least that's what Sydney had in mind when he agreed to a movie date with you at the cinema.

It's been a while since he's seen one so he thought that it'd be fun to watch one together. (He was even the one who suggested watching the newest romance movie after hearing about it from Robin.)

So how did it ever end up like this?

Maybe he should've paid more attention to Robin talking about the movie because when the beginning of a sex scene starts to play on the screen, he flushes instantly, hands shooting up and shielding his face to prevent him from seeing the lewdness on display.

His sudden actions catch your eye and you turn to take in the delicious view of your lover trying to tune out the raunchy moans from the actors, eyes squeezed shut and brows furrowed so cutely that you just want to eat him up ♡

Your hand finds its way over to the edge of his pants, pulling the band before letting it go, snapping against his skin. A squeak escapes him as his eyes fly open, surprised by your actions.

"W-what are you doing?" Sydney's voice is shaky, volume slightly above a whisper.

"I'm just helping distract you from the movie, angel. Now quieten down, you wouldn't want the people to realise, would you?"

Worried, he surveys the other cinemagoers around the both of you and breaths a sigh of relief when no one else heard the squeak he let out. Turning back to face you, he notices the hunger in your eyes and the blush on his cheeks deepen.

His hands are still held up in front of him so you take the opportunity to slip your fingers past his waistband, teasing at the rim of his boxers. The sensation of your fingers on the skin of his hips has him quivering but he makes no move to stop you from taking this even further. You press on, dipping into his boxers and when you come into contact with his already half-hard cock, he jolts in his seat, biting down on his lip to muffle any noises from him.

Leaning closer, you take his cock into your hand, gradually stroking him until he's hard and dripping. His self-restraint wavers when your nails glide across his slit, hips bucking up with a sharp gasp. Alarmed, his eyes dart around the surroundings, heart jackrabbiting in his chest at the prospect at getting caught. Working him up to his orgasm, he's squirming in his seat, moving one of his hands down to bite down on to stifle his moans as he loses himself in the pleasure you're showing him.

A harsh tug and a scratch along the underside of his dick is what tips him over the edge, he doubles over and his hands immediately shoot to grasp at your wrist so that he can rut into your hand as pure euphoria overtakes him. There's a wet patch growing on the fabric of his pants but he's too caught up in the bliss to notice.

After he rides out his high, he slumps back against the backrest, boneless and panting as he tries to process everything that just happened. Retracting your hand covered in his spend, you hold it before him, expectant. Hesitant, he slowly licks away his cum. He's slightly put off by the taste of his own cum at the start but determined, he carries on until your hand is completely cleaned. Giving your fingers one last suck, he pulls away, face still hot from arousal. As thanks, you grab his face and pull him in for a heated kiss that leaves him melting in his seat, his brain mushy. The only thing he can think of is you, you, you. + + Love

Well, he can't lie, he supposes the movie was relaxing in a way! - - Sydney's Purity

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[wildlife4life]

Fuck-It Friday

Tagged by the super amazing @daffi-990, @diazsdimples, @theotherbuckley, @disasterbuckdiaz @devirnis @fortheloveofbuddie and @wikiangela. Thank you and I'm excited for all your upcoming works!

I know what the people want, so here is another snippet from NFL Buck featuring more of Buck's perspective. (All things NFL Buck can be found here.)

Ali gave him one last tight hug, "You did good Buckley. Shook all the right hands, stayed away from the corporate sharks, and the press absolutely loved you." She praised. Buck felt warm all over and gave her a soft, grateful smile, "We both know I only survived this evening because of you. I can't thank you enough Ali really." His agent's eyes misted over and she smiled in return, "Maybe so Evan," He scrunched his nose and Ali rolled her eyes, "Sorry...Buck. You still haven't told me how you got that chicken sounding nickname and why only like four other people besides me call you it." They both chuckled, but quickly sober. She gives his right bicep a gentle squeeze, "I'm only here because of you. Because you took a chance on a no name, client-less, newbie sports agent who was brought to you by your secret boyfriend after he patched her up following an astronomically awful rage quit that put her asshat of a boss in the hospital." "He tried forcing himself on you. It was self defense and a faulty balcony railing." Buck reminded with a smirk. The petite brunette winks, "And thats the story I'm still sticking to." She waved her hand around brushing away the past, "The point is, were here because of your hard work, sacrifice and enormous heart. I'm just making sure no one takes advantage of it all. Accept your share of the credit and celebrate being the 9th pick in the first round of the 2013 NFL draft. Celebrate being the Houston Texan's newest quarterback! Whoo!" She shouts in elation. Buck laughs boisterously and cheers right along with her, at a lower volume level and with less energy. He was happy really. The dream he's had since he was six was becoming a reality. All the practicing, studying, workouts, and personal sacrifice had finally paid off. Ali was one of numerous people who got him to this point and he was glad he at least had her at his side tonight, but Buck really wished the three most important people in his life were with him too. Maddie sent an email from her work account congratulating him, but Buck hadn't seen or physically heard from the woman who basically raised him since he left for college. Eddie couldn't get the time off and neither of them felt comfortable bringing a soon to be five year old Christopher to New York. Kid was still getting the hang of his new crutches and finding adequate childcare for him that didn't involve Eddie's parents was impossible. Buck really missed his Diaz boys (and his sister, but that was an ache he was accustomed to). He wanted to see Christopher's blinding joy when Evan's name was called, even though he wouldn't quite understand what it entailed. He wanted Eddie to wrap him up in the tightest hug while shouting his excitement too close to Buck's ear before kissing him stupid and shoving him towards the stage. Buck wanted to be out and open and proud with his partner and son, but the world his football dreams are apart of, wouldn't accept it and that tight ache in Buck's chest will have to stay.

A bit angsty today, but I want ya'll to see these milestones of a professional players road to the NFL. It takes so much hard work and sacrifice to make it to the NFL, and for Buck that includes the personal sacrifice to stay closeted and keep his same sex relationship a secret. A lifelong dream like that is worth it to him, to many professional athletes. I hope you all enjoyed!

Tagging (no pressure): @exhuastedpigeon @spotsandsocks @lover-of-mine @jesuisici33 @bekkachaos @thewolvesof1998 @giddyupbuck @eddiebabygirldiaz @hippolotamus @rainbow-nerdss @spaceprincessem @athenagranted @eddiescowboy @evanbegins @elvensorceress @malewifediaz @911onabc @911-on-abc @loserdiaz @hoodie-buck @try-set-me-on-fire @ladydorian05 @bigfootsmom @watchyourbuck @thekristen999 @spagheddiediaz @monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @bitchfacediaz @buck-coded @housewifebuck @glorious-spoon @buddierights @prosperdemeter2 @lemonzestywrites @cal-daisies-and-briars @transboybuckley

[mothmans-left-buttcheek]

The Bitch, the Witch, and the Star

Jay Mocking x Allie Perea x Nova James

Inspired by @eddiemunson-reader-shame and @floredaqueen FOLLOW THEM OH MY GOD!!

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary- Fresh out of school in the summer of 85. Allie Perea and Jay Mocking are enjoying the cold delights served at Scoops A’hoy until Nova James shakes up their evening.

Warnings: profanity, references to sex, a bisexual disaster, this is basically just fluff with cursing and friendly bullying

Playlist: Rio by Duran Duran, Walk This Way by Aerosmith, Cheri Cheri Lady by Modern Talking

A/N: So I’ve been engaging in fanfics for years but rarely writing my own since I’m mostly inspired by original characters, so this is a scene with two of my favorite Stranger Things oc’s including my own because I am simply self indulgent lol. Basically I thought “what if I threw three girls in love with Eddie Munson in a room” and this was the result. I’ve done my best to interpret the characters with the information I could find while also manipulating some information for the sake of timeframe, I apologize if anything is out of character!

The artwork above is just a sketch I made while letting the fic cook, it's not great, I'm more a writer than an artist, but I hope y'all like it. There’s also songs I’ve associated with certain moments in the fic, feel free to give them a listen.

(Listen to “Rio”, Duran Duran)

There wasn’t anything to do in Hawkins Indiana. Sure there were record stores and vintage diners along the main strip downtown, but those industries were carried on by traditional residents alone. There wasn’t anything charming about Hawkins, it was just your run of the mill middle of nowhere Midwestern town. Until the Starcourt mall.

The newest edition to the smallest town in the Midwest was a hit amongst locals. Normally your selections for an evening out were slim to none, you’d have to drive hours away for the best date nights. But the Starcourt Mall was a shining beacon to the people of Hawkins, a tower of neon lights that sang a song of genuine entertainment. Shaky escalators, iconic chain clothing stores, a food court fumigating with grease, and a cozy movie theater to boot Hawk theater out of business.

It had everything to appeal to anyone from a rambunctious teen to a generous grandparent, the glow of the sun coming in from the glass ceiling more than just a natural light source. It was the light of hope for social lives all across town. Not to mention the impact it had on the economy. Hundreds of new jobs opened up to the ambitious folks in Hawkins with the promise of decent salary. Many people left their jobs at their local mom-and-pop-shops, so the town lost some of its historic charm with the modern mall, but with all the beloved structure had to offer it was difficult to find real fault in Starcourt. There was a Jazzercise studio, a gaming arcade, Sears. With no competition for miles, Starcourt Mall ruled Hawkins Indiana the summer of ’85.

(Listen to “Walk This Way”, Aerosmith)

“Where’d you get that record?” Allie asked.

She lounged casually in the plush seats in Scoops A’hoy, the slightly sticky leather clinging to the dense fabric of her brown carhartt jacket. Select patches adorned the piece, their rough texture matching with the slightly worn out graphic of her Van Halen shirt. Allie’s stare was buffered by square glasses, her round brown eyes flickering across the table with growing judgment. Full cheeks which would look lovely in a smile only adding to her youthful appearance while her full lips pulled into an unamused frown. A hint of pink in her tawny skin accented by the dark birthmarks under her eye. Her brown hair tickled her shoulders with a volume brought on by messy waves.

Allie Perea was rarely seen without a displeased stare, could’ve been caused by her tumultuous family or could’ve been caused by her fresh seeded hatred for Hawkins. She’d moved in less than a year ago, yet within her first day she had marked herself as a basket case amongst her fellow classmates. The bucket of insults she had collected filtered out to one title she did her best to wear proudly, “The Bitch of Hawkins High.” She possessed an off-putting attitude ready for someone to have a problem with her and an unwillingness to be social, which made her seat in a social setting like Starcourt Mall unusual. In truth Allie stared at the girl across the sugar stained table, a shadow looming in the bright colored shop.

Brown hooded eyes stared back at her framed by thick black eye makeup, black hair teased to high heaven like a rain cloud around her head. Her upturned nose sported a septum ring and her tall cheekbones were painted with unnaturally sharp black contour, it washed out her pale skin to a sickly ivory. A Siouxsie and the Banshees shirt cut off her shoulders while fishnet gloves crawled up her arms to meet the short sleeves. She had thin lips painted in a deep red with an oval birthmark dotted just under the left of her lip.

Janice, Jay, Mocking had practically grown up in Hawkins. She memorized every store to street corner, remembered all the awkward stages of the preps and jocks that mocked her, and knew every hypocrite that attended Sunday service in the church her parents pastored. In middle school her odd tendencies were mostly glossed over thanks to the authority her parents had in the community, but she lost her safety when her childhood sketches of graveyards and growing taxidermy collections got out. Her outcast shift was welcomed by her peers with a series of rude and ironic insults, and despite all the bird puns made from her name “The Hawkins Witch” was the name that stuck the most.

So it was appropriate for the bitch and the witch to grow a relationship that benefited the both of them. Allie had someone to help her navigate and Jay could be weird without being alone. Getting to know Starcourt mall had become their pastime, so despite their antisocial tendencies the two enjoyed getting complimented by strangers or berated by their school nemesis in a building with more escape routes.

Jay had let Allie’s question hang in the air, the two giving matching deadpanned stares while Scoops A’hoy bustled around them. After a slow deliberate blink Jay eventually answered, “Sam Goody’s.”

A lick of shame twisted her tongue, and Allie caught it.

“Sam Goody’s? Isn’t that a chain store? Weren’t you bashing chain stores last week?.” Allie accused.

Jay rolled her eyes back and pulled the vinyl into her lap, “look, Tears for Fears came out with a new album and I’ve been dying to-“

“Tears for Fears?” Allie interrupted.

Jay stifled just for a moment, unsure if she misspoke, “yes? Tears for Fears, Songs from the Big Chair?”

The girl across from her adjusted her glasses and brushed her hair back.

“What happened to all the punk ideologies you were preaching last week? Not going to chain stores or feeding the industry and shit?”

“The album came out months ago and Music Mania downtown still doesn’t have any copies, one little Sam Goody’s run isn’t gonna hurt anyone,” Jay defended herself with a near perfect cadence. Like this was an argument she had rehearsed in her head.

“I’m just surprised you’re breaking your ‘goth principles’ over Tears For Fears.”

“Bitch, you listen to Phil Collins.”

“I do, oh I do, proudly in fact. But I’m not busting my balls adhering to rules of my subculture, and then breaking said rules for a pop group.”

“They’re pop-rock! You know what- forget it, I’m not taking shit from a ‘metalhead’ that listens to Prince.”

Allie slowly shook her head while maintaining eye contact, “... says the hypocrite.”

“Yeah?” Jay answered while raising her brows and cocking her head to the side.

“Well you’re a try hard.”

Allie crossed her arms, “you’re a poser-”

“You’re a virgin,” Jay interjected while slightly lunging over the table. The two were locked in a stare down for a long passage of silence.

“… do you wanna split a sundae?” Allie asked suddenly.

Jay’s eyes flickered to the table as she contemplated with a hum before she looked back up at Allie with a shrug, “butterscotch?”

She grimaced and groaned to disagree, “grody.”

Jay sighed in disappointment, turning her head to look back at the menu and consider their options. Just as she did so she was hit with a whiff of sweet perfume and a flash of baby blue in her vision. She felt her stomach drop just for a moment as she recognized the form walking up to the register.

(Listen to “Cheri Cheri Lady”, Modern Talking)

If mermaids were real she would be a siren. Warm skin shining rose gold in the light, plump round lips painted with delicate gloss, and deep doe eyes with lushes lashes fluttering with mischief. Her maple brown hair was long and rich in volume, curled to perfection while her bangs floated gently over her forehead. One birthmark kissed her left side just under her lip and another sat comfortably under her right eyebrow. She was dressed simply but with perfect measure, her blue dress hugging her slim waist and chest tightly while swaying around her wide hips and along her thick thighs.

Aknova James was borderline Hawkins royalty. Her parents were loaded so she was afforded every luxury the average resident of Hawkins would have to go out of their way for. While growing up under the influence of the Hippie movement from the prior decade, Nova grew into an incredibly classy young woman. At least she appeared classy. Just underneath her elegantly trimmed smile was a carefree attitude and an iron resolve, few people’s opinions could deter her predetermined perspective. And should someone cross her, she had a few choice words which would knock the wind out of anyone’s sails. Thankfully the shining star used her power wisely… more or less.

“Ohhh fuck,” Jay muttered as she watched the new customer pass by their table.

Allie’s brows furrowed and she twisted to try to match Jay’s gaze, “What?”

The second she spotted the cheerleader her own jaw became slack, “Ohhh mierda.”

Both the odd balls were familiar with Nova, mostly from the captivating atmosphere she carried through the halls, and long winded rumors of her privileged position. Being on the cheer team also granted her revered social status, and the outcasts clocked her high school social class from miles away. She was in a different league from the two entirely; when she entered a room, things shook. They could only hope things would shake away from them.

“That’s Nova James,” Allie commented with surprise.

“Yeah I know that’s Nova fucking James, her giant ass is ten feet away from my face,” Jay hissed. Curling her fingers together and resting her elbows on the table, her chin sat atop her intertwined gloved hands. Narrowing her eyes at the girl who had approached the desk, she grumbled under her breath just loud enough for her friend to hear.

“Shit, she looks hot. Really hot.”

“Good, she’ll take some of the attention off of you and your rats nest,” Allie teased while pulling at the wispy strands of Jay’s teased hair.

“It’s a bat's nest, god, and you know what, maybe I want a little attention! I’m hot! And when Madonna wannabe’s aren’t walking around like they’re god's greatest gift to the mall, I actually get compliments!”

Allie opened her mouth to reply to her friend’s banter but was left without any silence to fill.

“God she really pisses me off. Every time she comes in here she asks for a sample, dislikes the sample, and orders two scoops of strawberry in a waffle cone. But like three bites into the ice cream she sticks the whole thing into a bowl. You’d think she’d start cutting to the chase and getting strawberry in a bowl, but no, she goes through the whole process every time.”

The brunette stared at the rambling goth across from her with concern. “… are you stalking her?”

Jay looked back at her with a face still perplexed in frustration at the girl currently ordering, “I’m here a lot, and I like to people-watch, okay? Look- just look-“

As she insisted and subtly pointed to Nova, the girl already had a small spoon between her lips. Chewing slightly and nodding in response she tossed the spoon into a small trash bin. She pursed her lips while thinking for a moment, the dirty blonde currently working the desk sighing with an empty stare as Nova contemplated. She finally spoke up and pointed to a flavor sitting deep in the display. Allie and Jay watched intently while the employee leaned to grab a waffle cone, and after digging her scooper into the tub she lifted a perfect scoop of pink and red, followed by a second scoop to raise the height of the treat.

“Yeah, she got strawberry,” Allie nodded absentmindedly at the scene in front of her only to be immediately shushed by Jay who was still watching like a hawk.

Nova received the ice cream with a smile, licking a stripe while rummaging through her purse. She took a second bite while pulling out cash and dropped it casually by the register. Her motions stilled as she waited for her change to be rung up, and only once the receipt was handed to her did she take a third bite of the ice cream. After a brief conversation with the current employee the girl was handed a small bowl, and Nova dumped her ice cream down into the cup quickly while the waffle cone peaked out like a tall tower.

“Boom!” Jay slammed her hands against the table. “Just like I said. She literally has a pattern!”

Allie flinched, startled from the noise but nodded back.

“Yep, yeah, wow,” she began in a sarcastic voice. “She literally did exactly what you said she would do. That was crazy. I’m so- so enraged by her behavior. Good catch Jay.”

“… can you at least pretend to care?”

“I was pretending.”

“Well then do it better-“

“Hey Jay,” a new voice chimed into their conversation.

The two girls turned their gazes to the opposite side of their table to find a pretty brunette in a blue dress staring at them patiently while chewing on a spoonful of ice cream. A smirk tugged at her lips and she batted her lashes with feigned innocence. The once previously hunched over goth straightened in her seat and smiled politely.

“Hey- hi, Nova. Good to see you.” She slurred in slight panic.

“You know I thought Elvira was sitting here for a second, I was about to ask for an autograph! How are you?” Nova asked as she shifted her weight to one hip, eyes flickering between the two girls sitting side by side in the booth.

Jay let out a breathless laugh while her flattered face grew pink.

“I’m good, uhm, have you met Allie?” Jay asked as she motioned to her friend next to her, Nova’s eyes quickly followed like she had been waiting for the stranger to be brought up.

“No, not formally, I’m Nova James,” she said with an award winning grin. Her hair falling delicately to one shoulder as if it was commanded to.

Allie was struggling to respond, staring wide-eyed while her mouth hung open and a hum rang out, like she was a robot in the middle of saying hi before someone hijacked her programming. Jay gently kicked Allie under the table to silence her droning, their thick boots creating a dull ‘thwack’ against each other.

“Hi! Nice to meet you finally, formally, properly, uhm- I’m Allie Perea, I moved here a few months ago- New Mexico.” Allie came to life and spoke quickly.

“No way,” Nova’s voice peaked with intrigue, “that’s so cool! I went there for a music festival with my parents when I was younger.”

Allie was wide eyed behind her square glasses, “Oh wow, you’ve really traveled- uh, yeah we get really good groups out there. My dad took me to see Van Halen last year.” She said and after a beat tugged on her tour t-shirt.

“Those are the guys that did that one song-” Nova hummed the opening melody to Jump while squinting her eyes to place the group in her mind.

“Yeah! Yeah that’s them!” Allie answered with a grin

“Gnarly, they seem fun to hear live.” She complimented while watching the bundled up girl continue to gawk. Allie’s soft features slowly started to curl into an impressed smile, eyes shining with excitement at the mention of the band. Although the transfer student was a fresh face, the cheerleader couldn’t help but find Allie endearing and sweet.

Allie’s mind on the other hand was a whirlwind, this casual interaction defied everything she knew about the social hierarchy in Hawkins. Cheerleaders didn’t talk to basket cases and when they did they certainly weren’t nice about it. Yet the wealthy girl was currently on equal footing as the outcasts, enjoying the same atmosphere and the same sweet treat. The concept helped to soothe Allie’s rampant anxiety.

Jay looked between the two for a moment as the conversation halted, so she interrupted the awkward silence with as charming a smile as she could muster, “Well what brings you to the mall? Running some errands? Meeting up with a hot date?”

Nova laughed and waved her hand in the air, “not today, I’m just meeting up with a friend.”

Nova glanced between the two girls, her foxy eyes glimmering with cunning as her freehand pressed on the table. Leaning over the table to get closer to them she tilted her head.

“Actually, you guys are friends with Eddie Munson right?”

The question punctuated a pause in the banter, Jay and Allie flickering their eyes to meet as their faces twinned in confusion.

“Yeah? We are.” Jay answered uncertain.

“Does he have a job right now?”

It was then Allie barked a harsh laugh, a mocking smile stretching her lips.

“I think Eddie’s allergic to work! Guys been slacking off all summer, super bummed about being held back… I shouldn’t have said that last part.”

“It’s fine, I suspected as much.” Nova pulled out a small paper from her purse and slid it onto the table.

“My dad’s looking for someone to keep our pool clean for the summer, pay’s pretty good. If you guys could let him know I’d really appreciate it, have him give me a call if he wants the job.”

As the paper rested between the pair they both moved to inspect it, and sure enough it was Nova’s phone number. Written plainly but perfectly nonetheless. Jay ran the paper between her hands for a moment while she glanced back and forth between the paper, her friend, and the cheerleader.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, we will let him know of the opportunity.”

“Great, you guys are the best! I’ve gotta go but I’ll catch you later,” Nova gave them a playful wink and walked off, her hips swaying side to side as she waved to someone beyond Scoops A’hoy. “Isa! Over here!”

Jay scrambled to lean on the table and watch the swaying of her skirt, “hate to see her leave, love to watch her walk away-“

“Holy shit what was that?” Allie exclaimed as she grabbed Jay’s arm and shook her harshly. “How did she know your name?”

“I don’t know!”

“I thought I was gonna die! Pinche madre, she knows my name now!” Allie deflated in her seat and slapped her hand against her chest.

Jay was too busy examining the slip of paper in her hands, bouncing slightly in her seat while relishing over the dark ink, “and we have her phone number! She gave us her number!”

“… yeah, for Eddie…” Allie corrected with a studious cadence.

Jay turned to look at her, both staring deadpanned as they had earlier.

“… and? She handed it to me.”

“I don’t think she wants you as her poolboy.”

“Hey, I could make a great pool boy. I’m fit, I’m handy-“

“Jay, she wants to fuck Eddie.”

“Ew!” Jay’s face scrunched up like she had tasted a fresh lemon and she dropped the number on the table.

“Gag me with a spoon, don’t put that image in my head!”

“It’s obvious! If her family was really just looking for someone to clean their pool they’d get some average Joe off the street, but Nova’s looking for someone specific to take it. I mean she went out of her way to talk to us just to get to Eddie!”

Allie waved her hands in the air for emphasis and finally slapped them back down in her lap, her friend watching with her lips pressed thinly together and a stare that suggested denial. With a groan Jay dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her face harshly.

“Oh god, she’s gonna fuck Eddie…”

Allie nodded back, the thought that they were accidental accomplice’s in an aspiring hookup was awkward enough. But when factoring in that one of the most popular girls in Hawkins High was making a pass at their loser Dungeon Master, a guy so different from her, a whole new cloud of shame hung over their heads in response’.

Considering Eddie’s romantic track record, Nova’s chances with him were shaky; his last relationship ended in a felony and his crush turned out to be a lesbian. Whatever the result, Allie and Jay had to endure bearing witness. The two girls sat in quiet contemplation, imagining what kind of dumpster fire Eddie would make out of Nova’s advances while also reeling that they encountered a wild cheerleader and survived unscathed.

“… do you wanna split a sundae?” Allie asked with disdain still present in her attitude.

Jay raised her head, humming in contemplation, “butterscotch?”

“… fuck it, sure.”