#just that he exists and is a person in the world

[staryuee]

HOW THEY REACT TO YOUR SILENT TREATMENT.

꒰warnings꒱ not proofread … sigh

⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . you and your partner are having a “cooling down period”, a time of détente, after a recent argument. how do they deal with the lack of love from you?

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . diluc, eula, wanderer, ayato, gorou, tartaglia, lyney, wriothesley, neuvillette, arlecchino

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . as a psychology student ☝️🤓 i can safely say that the silent treatment is usually frowned upon due to its connotations with emotional abuse, therefore i tried my best to make it apparent that this sort of silence is within the boundaries of the relationship ( ･᷄ὢ･᷅ ) please communicate with your loved ones if you feel a certain way :)

you and your beloved recently had a pretty bad argument. out of respect for both of your feelings you both decided to have a period of détente to allow a gradual recovery of your emotions and logical reasonings.

there was no need to argue, and there was also no need to be hostile or petty; therefore your silent treatment wasn’t a way to maliciously gain control or make your lover come running back to you, it was a way for both of you to regain composure and come back to the topic when prepared.

that did unfortunately, lead to much less affectionate gestures from both of you. of course there was still the casual “i love you” every morning and night accompanied by a simple kiss, but it never went anything beyond that.

while your lover fully knew why this sort of peaceful coexistence was necessary, sometimes it’s sincerely difficult to not just reach out and kiss you breathless.

you’re so close yet so far, it’s unbearable.

R. DILUC — 迪卢克

master diluc has been rather restless lately.

constant muttering to himself, plucking the dried up skin that stuck out from his badly bitten lips, his gloved hands constantly scratching a non existent scratch; honestly, if the fellow residents of dawn winery didn’t know any better they’d think he was possessed and required an immediate exorcist.

adelinde refuses to see her precious baby sink his eyes into ruin purely because he’s out secretly patrolling once he wakes up in the middle of the night to clear his head. you’re always there with him throughout the night: but why does it still feel so empty regardless?

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST ?

diluc is no pushover or people pleaser; if you were guilty, then you’re guilty and he’ll wait all the time in the world till you eventually own up and apologise (please let that come sooner or later though otherwise he’ll give into ruin and sip alcohol for a breather). otherwise, if its his fault, or no ones and it was a mere misunderstanding, the silent treatment lasts for a day. not any longer not any less; he doesn’t allow it to.

he’s more than happy to wait forever for you but gods if he ever made a mistake that accidentally led you to elongating this supposed transient silence till the end of time, diluc would much rather swallow his pride and give his all to you. you’re worth more than pettiness, and he’ll prove that to you once you wake up and get greeted with all your favourite luxuries and a bright, relieved smile on his face.

EULA — 优菈

you’re beyond delusion if you think this woman won’t turn this into a healthy-ish competition of sorts.

you wish to avoid her for days on end? she’s already used to the world avoiding her mere gaze, she can withstand the somber feeling of having the one person who’s fully understood her as the complex person she is self-isolating from her for a little while.

never mind, no, she literally can’t. come back to her right now. we have problem right? lets talk about it, isn’t that what you taught her in the first place? what do you mean you need a break and want to clear your head for a while to not hurt her feelings? you think eula of all people cares about something like that?

she’d rather you spit at her than withstand another hour of this mindless nonsense.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

she doesn’t apologise unless she sees whatever caused this perilous argument in the first place truly hurt you and you ended up in tears; otherwise whats the use in pointless words when you can easily hug it out and call it a day?

she lets you apologise under the guise of “if you don’t, my vengeance towards you will be greater than my foes”, but in reality? eula is hardly paying any attention to the words slipping past your lips. all she’s thinking about is how she’ll be able to shake off this uneasy tension that’s somehow been created between you two.

WANDERER — 流浪者

you can’t tell which one of you needed this little breather more, after all, you’d hope scara would allow himself to soften after distancing from you after a while, and scara hoped you’d see reason within your argument and eventually, as always, forgive him.

but forgiveness is a two way straight in the way most people subconsciously ignore; does he and could he ever forgive himself? that image of your teary eyed face, the harsh puffs of breath you heaved to prevent any more molten venom to burn his plastic skin, the slight clenching of your jaw, fuck it hurt.

he couldn’t admit it at the time, but right now after being forcefully peeled away from you for about week and forcing auntie nahida to listen to his venting rambles? he wished he just gave it all up and did something: anything at all. kissed you, hugged you, consoled you, swiped your tears away with his thumbs, fluttered his eyelashes on your cheek gently as he whispered an i love you.

yet all he could do right now was wait.

wait until you hopefully came back, he couldn’t face you. if you abandoned him he’d deal with it. the petals on the floor and the hushed whispers of “they love me, they love me not” are just hallucinations from his worried caregiver, he swears.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

never would he stoop so low as to apologise.

verbally. that is. if he’s aware that he’s in the wrong (believe me that look on your face does wonders for trying to figure out whats on your mind) he’ll begrudgingly come up with some covert way of making it up to you. he doesn’t want to be stuck in this immortalised silence forever; believe me, he likes your talking more than he realises and this little test trial of abandonment was more than enough proof that your existence within his life is essential.

if you’re not there standing by his side, what even is the point in that fraudulent pacemaker of his? your laughter is in the same shape of his heartbeat; if you’re not here, he’s just back to being that dumb little puppet cuddled ashore in the slim darkness of the night.

K. AYATO — 神里绫人

bile builds up in ayato’s throat, eyes threatening to spill hazardous tears on his paperwork. he HATES being away from you. yes, you’ll be back comfortably in his arms with a kiss on your forehead soon…but time isn’t making that “soon” come any quicker and it’s killing him.

‘silence’ is only the act of not speaking, right? so he’s technically allowed to sneak in pastries onto your desk when you’ve gone to take a break — he’s also most certainly allowed to write down his frustrations about not being able to be overly affectionate with you and then pitifully sliding them under your door in hopes you’ll read them and maybe write one back.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

he desperately tries to convince himself that if he works long enough, he’ll forget the hollowing feeling in his heart that’s left in the silhouette of you. he puts down his calligraphy pen with an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples with rough motions as if to completely rid himself of any lingering thought of you.

that’ll never work, and ayato thinks you two have calmed down enough so therefore he trudged his way into your room, knocking of course, and sat down with you for a lengthy but beneficial conversation.

without a doubt, ayato will be the one to apologise first. whether it’s a conscious decision or not completely depends on how long he’s been away from you; at some point you just fall back into regular routine completely by accident.

GOROU — 五郎

he’s glad you’ve decided to take this sort of approach to your relationship instead of having a painful battle of the wits with him but right now, he’d withstand a thousand hours of scolding than the way his fellow soldiers worryingly clutter around their little general and ask about his well-being purely because those furry ears atop his bundle of bed hair decided to stay drooped down all week.

but he can’t help it! he’s utterly miserable! you didn’t even give him your complimentary “good morning, have fun at work, be safe” kiss before he left the door in the static quiet of your abode. to top this torture off? you haven’t pet him once, and while he’d normally revel in not being treated like an actual lap dog…you’re a huge exception in that rule!

unfortunately, it’s not like he can just outright demand attention from you merely because he’s feeling a bit down on his luck. you asked for peace, he’ll give it to you. he’s a war veteran but treats you like a flower thats sprouted on a ruined patch of sand.

ehem, but please come back to him soon. please?

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

whatever it takes to get your pretty hand to ruffle through his brunette locks he’ll do, he doesn’t care if the apology consists of him kneeling down on pitifully shaking his head near your thigh with his lips puckered into a pout. shame doesn’t exist within your relationship right? he’s more than willing to apologise first regardless of who was to blame.

if the argument was a little more serious however, he’ll sit down you on your couch that holds so many sweet significant memories within your mind, his head resting atop your collarbone and tail sneakily swishing from side to side now that your heartbeat was so clear to him. he’ll hear you out, talk through it, but more importantly, love and appreciate you.

TARTAGLIA — 公子

nuh uh. you think you’re getting silence with someone like him around? unless one or both of you fucked up really bad, tartaglia can’t see the point in silent ignorance; if you want to ignore him to personally calm down? sure, do whatever you want honey, you’re still getting treated like the other piece of his heart that you are.

if you’re genuinely annoyed he can leave you alone…for maybe two hours thirty minutes max. he loves you so much, talk to him, he doesn’t care if you insult him out of anger, lash out at him if you must. so long as you return into his arms so he can sway you around within his tender embrace and pepper your face with kisses, he’ll be more than happy and satisfied.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

him all day — call it the big brother complex with having to always apologise first whenever he got into a slight squabble or disagreement with his siblings when he were younger, or call it pure unadulterated love for you and the refusal to continue with this pointless staring battles whenever you guys were sitting across from each other.

whatever it is, just know he takes your feelings seriously regardless of the teasing grin across his face when you try not to squirm from the way his hand traveled from across your waist to the slither of exposed stomach. he just wants to assure you that his love won’t ever fade even if it becomes so deliberately one sided. he’s yours, after all.

LYNEY — 林尼

he’s used to eerie silence that bellowed icy winds against his ears, used to the tension that forced out his fight or flight response, but currently all he could do was freeze and overthink. how come this silence seemed so much more deafening than usual?

lyney doesn’t want this worse than capital punishment torture to continue without at least the slightest bit of laughter mingled into both of your days; he tries his best to curve your lips to even the slightest twenty degree lift using whatever he could. silly little flower reappearing trick there, a sneaky kiss to the side of your neck here; just any fleeting desperate attempt for some reciprocation on your part.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

lyney’s used to apologising first given his experiences within the house of hearth and the father herself. so imagine his surprise when you both incidentally stammer over one another as you two splutter apologies helplessly. god he’s so happy your relationship is built open gushes of giggles instead of the splats of tears because if it weren’t for that cute little accident? lyney was sure the second you opened your lovely lips to speak he would’ve teared up.

he missed that voice telling him constant i love yous, the affectionate cradling of his face against your neck and the way you wouldn’t hesitate to hold his flushed face within your cooling hands to comfort him after a particularly stress inducing performance.

WRIOTHESLEY — 莱欧斯利

you left the conversation with an “i love you.” so he knows that you’ll come back to him.

however, the last time he blindly trusted the comforting words of a loved one, it ended with blood on his hands and a lengthy sentence at the fortress of meropide. luckily for his heart and your own, he knows your charms and honeyed words aren’t for show and truly mean something.

wriothesley respects your boundaries and wishes to the t, he won’t speak to you like nothing at all happened but that doesn’t mean he won’t be overly cautious when it comes to your behavioural patterns. if he notices this sentence of silence is clearly taking its toll on you, he will, with no hesitation, talk everything out with you.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

depending on the argument, he’ll apologise first. if it’s rather undeniable that you were the one in the wrong however, he’ll explain his feelings thoroughly until you apologise — the standard. he doesn’t want this silence to end till the fortress of meropide overflows with primordial water so once you see multiple guards on your case more than ever, just know he’d like to talk to you.

NEUVILLETTE — 那维莱特

fontaine has been drenched in rain for the past couple of days. every hour, every minute, every second neuvillette spends alone in his office makes him realise just how grand and solemn it is. everything is so mundane and banal…even the cheerful mutters and chatters of the sweet melusines couldn’t bring a smile to his face — much to the dismay of the little sigewinne who even so kindly brought him a cake to cheer him up…

what makes it even worse is that everything reminds him of you…and oh god the muddied clouds have once again been cursed with rain. this unquenchable thirst for your presence cannot be ignored by a mere sip from his intricate cup and being the ever so carefully mindful iudex, neuvillette sees it more than fit to call this hopeless game of silence to quits.

WHO APOLOGISES FIRST?

regardless of who’s in the wrong, neuvillette apologises first. he’s sorry for letting this go so far, he should’ve just trusted his gut and returned to your side even if it meant having to persuade you with his clever tongue or the coiling of his draconic tail around your leg to pull you sweetly closer.

honestly, if he could, he’d make this a punishment in the fortress of meropide for every couple. you committed a petty, technically non offensive crime? well instead of doing some charity work for the city, you’re not allowed by the side of your beloved for a few weeks.

ARLECCHINO — 阿蕾奇诺

a bunny within the jaws of a spring locked beast thinking it can persuade the tides in their favour with silence? arlecchino is amused you’d think such cheap tomfoolery would work to solve through your problems.

“darling, come here,” she taps her lap with her blood-stained nail, her eyes looking up at you greedily to soak up every single jitter of your movements as you alas fall onto your rightful throne, “my dumb bunny,” arlecchino coos at you with that devilishly low hum of her voice. “do you think the phrases ignorance is bliss, distance brings fondness, truly work within our relationship?”

arlecchino painfully grasps at your waist, that grip only loosening once you comfortably situate yourself on her thighs and lace your arms around her neck per routine. “i’d expect this behaviour from my children at the house of hearth, not you, angel.” she nibbles on your earlobe deliberately, forcing your lips to part just the way she likes. that perfect look of both surprise and desire; it’s a gorgeous display of your vulnerability.

“explain to me your problems, or else we can be at this forever.”

no such thing as the silent treatment when the very epitome of a wordless shadow has betrothed you.

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

[mixtape-timeout]

Hi Stays, this is a post to warn everyone to be wary of a SKZ author here on Stayblr with the username @/gimmeurtmi

I followed them not too long ago, but they suddenly blocked me. I was confused why because I have my age in my account and followed all of their rules. However, I have some reasons to suspect that this user is a Zionist. As you can see I am very Pro-Palestine, it’s in my blog title and bio, and I think this is why they blocked me.

They made a post showing anger about Stays educating Felix on his live about Coca-Cola (For people who don’t know, Coca-Cola is on the BDS boycott list, they support Israel and built an R&D center in occupied Palestinian territory of Atarot) In their post they said it’s “pathetic” for Stays to inform Felix about this and that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Felix made the effort to read about the issue on his live and chose to apologize to Stay for it, but this user thinks that boycotting a brand tied to a genocidal state is the same as bullying.

((Screenshots are not mine))

They also showed strong support for the new SKZ collab with Charlie Puth. Many Stays are boycotting this collab because Charlie Puth is a raging Zionist, and the track also has an Israeli producer, Johnny Goldstein who is also a proud Zionist. gimmeurtmi even made a whole tag for this collab on their blog to show how much they’re excited for it, even though two Zionists worked on it and will be receiving royalties for it. You can also see the tags in the third post showing them speaking of Tommy Hilfiger, yet another Zionist, in a friendly manner.

Furthermore, I talked to other Stays in the community about this because I don’t want to jump to conclusions and gimmeurtmi blocked other users who are showing support for Palestine, not just me. From reading their posts on their other blog (@/stuckonspidey) you can also see how far their beliefs about this go. That’s not to say them being Jewish means they must be a Zionist, because that’s a completely false idea. There are plenty of Jewish people who are not Zionist and support Palestinian liberation because we recognize that what Palestinians are suffering through is a history repeat of what our people went through. But this added with all the other questionable evidence makes me suspicious that this user is a Zionist, or at least an Israeli sympathizer who treats support for Palestine as an inconvenience.

From these posts on their main blog, you can see them refuse to condemn Israel or even say anything about their crimes when they got asked about it. Instead, they just talk about how this genocide has personally affected them. There are no posts (that I could find) of them showing any sympathy or support for Palestine, all their posts about the subject are just self-victimizing posts about how they feel. Yes, it’s a scary time to be a Jewish person as well, I know this as a person of Jewish ancestry, too. But fighting anti-semitism AND fighting for Palestine can and SHOULD co-exist. It’s a huge red flag that the only thing they have to say about the genocide is how Jewish people are the victims in this. They also made another post where they claim that “Zionist” is just a word people use to be anti-semitic. This is a tale as old as time that Zionists have used to excuse, deny, and even justify Israel’s war crimes. I was once told that a genocide of Palestinians doesn’t exist and is just an “anti-semitic blood libel”. This is the exact same rhetoric that Zionists in my community and Zionist news outlets use (which, I add, almost ALL news outlets are strongly biased to Israel because of America’s ties to it. Israel is heavily backed in support from some of the richest and most powerful countries in the world, it is not the victim and never was).

I am not making this for drama. I made this post just to tell fellow Stays to be cautious of which writers you’re reading from and supporting. If you are against the genocide that has been happening to Palestinians for 75 years now, I suggest not supporting this person’s work, because at best they don’t care about what’s happening in Palestine, and at worst, they actually endorse it. There should be no place in our Stay community for this hateful ideology.

[csmtmra]

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 & 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑

Poe fell first and harder. he would be in love the second he saw you, staring at you from underneath his hair and quickly looking away everytime you made a sudden movement, only to glance back up and start the process all over again. he would watch from afar, taking in your essence as if it was the last time he would see you. he loved you with every being in his person.

Ranpo wouldn’t fall first or harder. he loves you, so much don’t get me wrong, but he is just too childish to love harder. he falls for you with puppy love, while you fall for him with deep, absolute love, that’s also why you fall first. you realize your feelings for him and realize how much you truly adore him as a person. he would fall for you because he loves how you love him, he’d fall for you a little while after realizing you fell for him, it would totally go to his head and make him feel so egotistical, boasting about how loved he is.

Dazai falls harder, you fall first. he would take note on how sweet you always were with him. the way you’d smile while watching him, and how you’d always leave little notes on his desk, pretty scribbled handwriting, leaving precious words on the paper he cherishes so much. he wouldn’t even realize how much you being in his life means to him until he notices you shying away from him. notes slowly starting to disappear, you leaving the room when he would walk in, gaze immediately leaving his handsome face when he’d try to meet your eyes. only realizing after having a long conversation with ranpo that you’ve fallen for him. he’d be ecstatic, finally understanding his own feelings for you and deciding to leave a note of his own on your pristine desk the next morning.

Chuuya fell first and harder. this man is such a romantic, he would be so enamored by you from the beginning. he would be leaving you flowers everyday on your doorstep, and taking time out of his day to swing past your place, all to make sure that you’re okay. he would call you early in the morning to tell you to have a good day and that he’s thinking of you, calling late at night to ask about your day and tell you how amazing he thinks you are. he would stop at nothing to make sure you felt the happiness you deserve, he would lose himself and the worlds peace in the process if he needed to.

Akutagawa wouldn’t fall first but he would definitely fall harder. he has such a soft soul, but he has so many walls around his heart it would take a long time for him to finally be content with loving you to the full extent. it would take so much patience and love for him to feel like he can exist as something other than rashōmon to you, but once he gets there, you would be the most important thing to him. he would love you as if you moved the sun and stars yourself, admiring everything you do with the love you worked so hard to receive from him.

Fyodor wouldn’t fall first or harder. fyodor is a toxic man. he wouldn’t fall at all. he would tolerate you, he may grow to love you, but in his own sense of the word. he loves how you obey him so blindly out of your own love, you are a pawn to him, as is everyone in his life, being with him doesn’t give you a pass. if it came down to it, he would sacrifice you for his ideal world. he would grow used to your presence and affection, rarely would he openly reciprocate the affection. he may every so often give you and ounce of his own twisted love but he would take a whole lot more of yours.

Sigma fell first and harder. he loves you. in every essence of the word. he loves how you love. he loves how you sleep, how you breathe, how you exist. falling for you is as easy as waking up in the morning to him. no matter how much you love him, it will never compare to the absolute devotion this man will give to you. he would stop breathing if you so much as asked him. he would only know his love for you, and that’s all he wants to know.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Yandere!Vampire that was once royalty, living in a dilapidated castle, alone and depressed. As a human, he was surrounded by people. Everyone adored him, his golden curls and warm brown eyes charming the hearts of every noble that set eyes on him.

That was until his family was slaughtered by a coven of vampires, leaving him the only survivor. Now with no family, he was turned away from the nobles that once gathered at his side, calling him beautiful and intelligent. Now he was a beast, and was only left alive because no one dared to touch him.

As the years passed by, all that knew of his existence died out, meaning no one remembered or cared for him. In the past, he had at least been grateful he had been in someone’s thoughts, even if it was in a negative light. Now, no one even hated him. He was just nonexistent to the world outside his castle.

Centuries passed by, every day slowly picking at the last bits of his sanity. Days of past grandeur and the current day mixed together, leaving him in a state where he couldn’t tell whether he was back in the living arms of his family, or wandering the dark, crumbling hallways of his childhood home.

It was only when a soft, warm light flooded one of the abandoned rooms he had been standing in that the fog in his brain began to fade, allowing him to see what was in front of him for the first time in decades.

It was you, a young woman in a hoodie and jeans, holding a flashlight. You lived only a mile away, and had been exploring when you came upon ruins of what seemed like an ancient castle.

You had heard rumors of a person that wandered the ruins from the townsfolk, and old tales of vampires that had been passed down by tongue for centuries. Not believing them, you decided to see for yourself…

Your light shone upon what you first thought was an ethereal ghost or some kind of beautiful spirit. A man with a mop of blonde curls, porcelain skin, and the most beautiful pair of ruby red eyes you’ve ever seen stared back at you.

The person attempted to speak, but clutched his throat, as if he hadn’t spoken in so long, his vocal cords had forgotten how.

“H-hello?”

The man perked up at the sound of your voice, his eyes clearing up. It seemed just hearing another human speak made his undead heart leap, and he couldn’t help but stumble towards you.

You yelped when he crossed the room within seconds and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck and inhaling deeply.

The smell of another person, of sweat and perfume mixing together to make your own unique scent made him want to sob.

Of course you were freaked out, but the man holding onto you wasn’t hurting you, and you could feel warm tears soaking through your shirt. How could you turn away someone that was obviously in distress?

Unsurprisingly, the man followed you home. It didn’t take a genius to realize he wasn’t human. He was as pale as a sheet of paper, with no pulse or any color to his cheeks. His eyes were scarlet, a shade you had never seen a human have before.

Despite knowing this, you couldn’t help but care for him. He was thin, malnourished, with clothing that was so old and dirty that it nearly crumbled when he took them off.

“Are you hungry?”

You had taken to asking only yes or no questions, since he couldn’t speak. The man frowned, his eyes getting foggy for a second. You decided to ask again.

“Hello? Are you-“

He suddenly snapped back into reality, leaning forward to gently place his lips on your neck. You squeaked out in surprise when you felt his teeth sink into your neck… but it didn’t hurt. Instead, you only felt an uncomfortable pressure and draining sensation, and before long he was pulling back.

“Mmph…” he panted softly, blood running down his chin. “Was… so… thirsty…” he managed to say, his voice hoarse and small.

He cupped your cheek, holding your face in his hands and looking down at you with what could only be described as utter adoration.

“My love…”

From that point on, he was attached to your hip, following you everywhere you went like a lovesick puppy. Any time you were separated, he had severe anxiety, going back and forth from his dreamworld and reality. It was his coping mechanism, but it caused him to never understand what was real and what wasn’t.

You grounded him, made him feel safe and loved. Oh how he adored you. You had saved him from his lonely existence and taken him into your home as if he were a stray dog, and he was loyal like one. His loyalty came at a price, however, and that price was your freedom to do as you pleased.

Late nights out with friends became next to nonexistent, especially if he knew there would be any males there.

“I just want to protect you, my beloved. It’s a dangerous, cruel world. People will act as if they love you when they do not…”

And as you slowly became more and more isolated, his affections only grew. Kisses to your hand began to trail up your arm and to your neck. Snuggles turned into grinding and heavy petting, and even the most innocent of caresses became lewd in nature.

It didn’t take long for him to fuck you for the first time. After all, he had been pent up and alone for centuries, resisting taking you on the spot was excruciating.

The second he sunk into your pussy, he came. You were just so warm and your scent made his head fuzzy. He couldn’t help but fuck into you like a wild animal, feeding from your pretty neck as he filled you up over and over.

After the first time, a day didn’t pass by when he didn’t crave your intimate touch. Some days he was satisfied with heavy petting and kisses, others he couldn’t be satiated until his face was between your legs, lapping at your cunt for hours.

You were his, his mate, his lover. He couldn’t imagine a life without you anymore, so could you really blame him when he clung to you so tightly?

He just loved you, and he did such a good job at keeping you satisfied, just enough to where you didn’t look into the missing cases of your old lovers and male friends.

Why would you need to pay attention to any of that when your loving, attentive boyfriend was right there, ready to worship you from head to toe?

[babyleostuff]

[ 💿 ] . . . TAPE 6

모두 함께 노래 부르자 / 힘찬 노랫소리 슬픔 가려지도록 / 괜찮을 거야 시계의 바늘처럼 / 다시 돌고 돌아 제자리로 오겠지

☁️ "circles" by seventeen

being loved by jeon wonwoo means having someone who will look at you as if you hung stars in the sky. he is rather shy and introverted, he doesn’t like grand and loud gestures when he wants to convey his love, he doesn’t see the appeal in buying expensive gifts for every date. that being said - they way he looks at you is something no words could ever describe. not only do his eyes hold the unconditional and utter love he has for you, but you can see how fucking proud he is of you, how you keep on fighting, even on your bad days. appreciation for how smart and beautiful you are. gratitude for appearing in his life. his eyes hold a palette of emotions, and you’d have to be blind not to notice how much you mean to wonwoo. the whole room could be filled with thousands of people, and he'd still be looking at you, as if his only thoughts were where are they where are they where are they.

being loved by jeon wonwoo means inner peace. maybe it's just his aura, maybe it's the fact that he is a (rather) calm person, but when you are around him you just feel peace. the paralysing pounding of your heart, the nagging thoughts that more often than not make you want to cry, the helplessness that you sometimes feel when coming home - all of that does not exist when wonwoo is next to you. maybe it's because you know that he will always be next to you when you fall to help you get up and keep going, maybe it's because you simply feel safe with him. but with him you just feel at peace. beautiful, blissful peace.

being loved by jeon wonwoo means that from now on you have a fan nr. 1. honestly, it’s kind of alarming how obsessed he is with you - others could try to argue that they know you better than he does, but no one can beat wonwoo, nah. oh, so you think you know them better than me? okay, cool, sure - and then he proceeds to take out a notebook with at least a hundred pages written down, explaining why you are the most talented, smart, brilliant and beautiful person in the world like it’s the most normal thing ever. moreover, no matter what your interests are, wonwoo always wants to be a part of them. he truly loves indulging in your hobbies, for him the greatest gift the universe could give him is watching you do something you love - how you radiate with happiness - that’s something wonwoo could watch for ages. he's the biggest loser when it comes to you, there's nothing he wouldn't do for you - he'd happily twirl if you asked him to.

being loved by jeon wonwoo feels like the smell of a new book, like the air after rain, like a hug when you’re too tired to say anything, like a single tear falling down your cheek, like a soft smile and gentle eyes, like a quiet promise of forever.

“we loved with a love that was more than love.” - edgar allan poe, annabel lee

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @chillseo @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @aaasia111 @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @haneulparadx @zozojella @hoichi02

[dixons-sunshine]

Beside The River—Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl found you annoying. You were way too talkative and you seemed to enjoy ruining his serene moments beside the river. So why did he find himself disappointed when you seemingly didn't show up by the river one day?

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Pre apocalypse.

Part of the Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1.2k.

A/n: This is specially dedicated to someone who recently discovered my blog and has been nothing but sweet about this au. I know I said requests are closed, but she gave this idea and I had to write it. I hope you like this!

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

Daryl didn't care. With his mom dead, his father being an abusive, raging alcoholic and Merle in and out of jail, he just didn't have it in himself to care anymore. His mere twelve years of existence was plagued with nothing but suffering, and he doubted that things would ever get better. The world was designed to work against people like him.

Then you moved with your mom to the trailer park. Daryl remembered that day vividly—he was petting some stray dog when a small moving van had pulled up to the trailer home that had stood vacant for years up until that point. You and your mom had worked alongside one another to unload the few boxes from the vehicle, and soon after, you had spotted him. You had sent him a huge grin and waved at him enthusiastically, but Daryl couldn't return the kind gesture. He just didn't have it in him to do so. He just turned around and stalked off, hoping that was the end of it.

That next day, Daryl was sitting by the river behind the trailer park. In some cruel turn of events, you had stumbled upon his hiding place. Without even asking for an invitation, you had plopped yourself down beside him and introduced yourself, happily rambling on about whatever was on your mind—that day, it was about how much you loved the scenery that surrounded the river. Daryl didn't say anything, hoping that you'd get the idea and leave him alone after that first day, but you didn't. You returned the next day as well, greeted him with that cheerful smile of yours and started talking about nothing in particular.

That went on every day for an entire month. Daryl never talked, never so much as managed a meaningless greeting or a slip of his name. He just sat there and listened to your rambling. Sometimes he contemplated not showing up; he could just find another place to relax, a place you wouldn't find, but then he reminded himself that the river was his spot. He found it first. One day, you'd realize that he didn't want your friendship and leave him be. He just had to stay strong until then.

He told himself he found you annoying. What kind of person keeps on going back to a person that never speaks, someone who's name you don't even know? He didn't care about you, and he certainly didn't care whether or not you showed up.

So why was he kind of feeling disappointed that you weren't showing up that day? Everyday, like clockwork, you'd show up at three pm, but it was already almost five pm, and you were a no-show.

Had you gotten the hint? Had you finally realized that Daryl was a lost cause and you would never get through to him? Would he ever see you again? And why the hell did he care whether or not he did?

Daryl sighed to himself and hugged his knees to his chest, staring at the blue water of the river. He was just about to get up and throw in the towel for the day when he heard rustling behind him.

“Hey! Sorry I'm late. I had some chores I needed to get done.”

Daryl couldn't explain the relief that flooded through his body. As he looked up and saw you approach with that happy smile of yours, he couldn't help the twinge of happiness that tugged at his being. You showed up, and as you placed a basket down beside him and removed your shoes to walk around in the shallow water, he couldn't help the way his lips twitched up into a small smile.

You walked around in the shallow water, sending him a smile. “You know, I saw that,” you told him, giggling at the confused look on his face. “The smile. That's the first time I've managed to get a smile out of you. Don't tell me you're starting to like me, Reaper. That would be the end of the world as we know it.”

Reaper. That was the stupid nickname you gave to him because of the Grim Reaper on his shirt he had worn the first time you joined him by the river. He guessed he couldn't blame you; you didn't know his name, so you had to improvise. Besides, from everything he had been called before, he couldn't be mad about Reaper. It wasn't the worst nickname in the world.

“You know, even though you don't talk, I'm actually enjoying your company. I know I can be annoying. Believe me, my grandparents never let me hear the end of it. But it's nice to know that I haven't scared you o—Woah!”

Before you could finish your sentence, you slipped on a rock and fell into the water. A huge splash formed around you, and you flailed around to get into a seated position. Once you managed to raise into a position where your head was no longer under water, you were pleasantly surprised to hear the sound of someone's soft laughter—Daryl's soft laughter.

“Careful. Heard the rocks 'round here ain't exactly dry.”

You were shocked, but a smile soon spread over your face. You let out a shocked laugh and shook your head, splashing some water in his direction.

“Yeah, you don't say, Sherlock?”

Daryl chuckled and got up, offering a hand to you. You accepted his offer and allowed him to pull you up, but not without splashing some more water at him first. He rolled his eyes and stepped back, turning around to sit back down in his previous spot.

“Well, now that I know you can speak,” you began, wringing the water from your shirt. “Could I maybe get your name now?”

Daryl shrugged, casting his eyes down to the ground. “Dun' know. Wha' do I get in return?”

“Well, I brought some snacks and sodas. You get first pick. How's that for a deal?”

Daryl looked up at you, feeling shy underneath your bright smile. He contemplated his choices; on one hand, he didn't want to start revealing things about himself. The less you knew, the better. However, on the other hand, he had already broken his promise to himself and talked to you, so he supposed he could offer you a name.

“Ya got a coke in there?” he questioned, crossing his arms over his legs.

You nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

“Daryl,” he responded after a few beats of silence. “My name's Daryl.”

You smiled brightly at him. “It's nice to officially meet you, Daryl. I have a feeling we're gonna be great friends.”

“Do I have a say in the matter?”

“Nope,” you giggled. “You're stuck with me now.”

For some unknown reason, as you grabbed a can of coke and handed it to him, Daryl realized that he didn't fully hate the sound of that.

[guwix]

Is Caine human or is it AI?

I've seen people bring up this topic more than once. Also, Gooseworx replied to people that Caine is AI. Therefore, I want to sort everything out on the shelf, what we currently have.

Pilot

Caine was demonstrated to us with human emotions, which is completely indistinguishable from the NPCs themselves (Candy Carrier Chaos!). And if we take the real existing facts about AI, it is because AI does not know how to: feel, experience emotions, understand the meaning of text and images, be aware of itself.

Let's take the same Moon, Sun and of course Bobble.

They have a completely different level compared to Caine.

Even if he created them, if he cannot understand the empathy of people, then why does it make it difficult to understand other characters "created by him". For example, Bobble, he doesn't understand his actions.

AI has many advantages, but Caine has absolutely NO control over the situation, despite the fact that he is the "creator". Why would he need a "Watch" if all the information should be in his mind?

At the same time, he tells us himself that he has many eyes, but at the same time, he was not aware of what happened to Kaufmo.

I understand that the animated series is far from real life. But, in fact, AI cannot be insane. Also, Caine cannot emotionally feel "lonely". And all this tells us the opposite, that it is completely different from AI.

If the director of "C&A" creates AI to help order in the Digital World, shouldn't the company come up with a name for the "administrator" itself? And according to Gooseworx, Caine came up with a name for himself.

It turns out that people "allowed" AI to run amok in the Digital World without fear of consequences? Strangely, Caine should have restrictions, but it looks exactly as if he is completely free.

It is not the first time that the creator answers us that Caine is not a person and he does not have the age given to him. But, isn't the fans' question a strong spoiler for the plot? If we were told "You'll have to wait and see", that would raise quite a few questions. That is, it would immediately be clear what Caine is like.

You can also recall a video where a human body is transferred to a computer. Whether this was done for the sake of the fan, or intentionally, we have only to guess.

And one person had the most interesting question. Whether he is the boss, which we were told, we will have to wait and see. If Caine is an AI, then he cannot be the boss, we would have been told that he is another AI.

2:Candy Carrier Chaos!

As an AI, he is "obliged" to know who is an NPC and who is a "human". Everything must be programmed for him. But, he doesn't know how to "distinguish" them.

Whether the situation is worth turning against him, he immediately avoids it. Although, he is not forced to run away, because for AI, he must be smart enough to come up with a sedative. But, Caine just comes up with an excuse that he needs to "drink some water." Genius.

Since NPCs do not realize that they are characters of the computer world, they think that they are alive. If Caine is also presented as a God (and God is so-so with him), then what is the probability that Caine will think that he is an AI, for the entertainment of people? After all, the main characters do not remember everything from their current life (they only partially have upbringing).

[hcdwigs]

✧.* nanami headcanons <3

He hums/sings while showering and feels embarrassed when confronted about it.

When someone he enjoys talking to speaks to him, he usually appears serious, but his expression is always unreadable. The expression conveys pure fondness for the person!! He enjoys hearing them ramble about their day, their lives, etc. He gives them a warm look.

Definitely a listener more than a rambler. He listens to people all the time, and remembers the small details about them. He tends to bring them up sometimes, which surprises the other person. But, he is extremely attentive to detail and loves getting to know people.

You know how in Korean dramas, the male lead is always a jack of all trades or something? Nanami is exactly that guy. Need assistance with your plumbing? He is there. Do you need to fix a lightbulb? He is there. Need help building a house? He is there.

He plays an instrument. He would play either the piano, violin, or flute.

He definitely enjoys watching movies in his spare time. When he is not doing anything, he enjoys watching movies. If he existed in the modern world, he would for sure have a Letterboxd account.

In a Modern AU, Nanami would undoubtedly be an English/History major. I do not care what anyone says. Maybe philosophy or business. But he would be one of those fine humanities majors you notice and immediately fall for.

Books are his specialty. He probably has several places where he goes to relax and read a book he recently purchased.

Speaking of books, if he gets a partner, he will read to them. He would cuddle them in bed, holding them in his arms while he read silently to them, pressing his lips against their ear, the soft, deep tone of his voice sounding like a musical masterpiece in their ear.

Pottery!! He enjoys pottery so much. He probably went to a pottery event/class when he was bored (he failed, the bowl looked like a deformed apple) but he really enjoyed the process. He definitely began to watch more videos on pottery and probably got himself a pottery wheel.

He is definitely an animal lover. he doesn't look like it, but he loves, LOVES, LOVES animals. If he sees a dog, his heart flutters but he doesn't touch it just in case. But, he's an animal attractor of course. The dogs are all over him at the dog park, and he smiles a little while petting them.

Speaking of animals, he probably has a cat. The cat is named after a food for sure. It is most definitely a type of bread or sandwich or a nut. For example, Pistachio or Baguette.

Super gentle with children. He genuinely enjoys being around them. Ask him about having children He will Be On Board.

HE WOULD NOT BE MEAN. The amount of people I have seen mischaracterize him by making him mean just because he's serious. No. He is just introverted and serious and needs to be comfortable around a person.

During relationships, he genuinely enjoys checking in on the person he is dating. He is always there for them, comforting, cherishing, and listening. He tries to get off work as soon as possible so that he can spend time with his significant other.

If he is shown too much affection, he does not snap or become angry with the person. He just blushes. He just lets out a soft "hm" and pretends to be serious, but his heart is racing, and his cheeks, ears, and neck indicate otherwise. He also gives them a slightly surprised look that quickly turns to his stoic look.

He definitely bought baby shoes at a store just because he thought they were so cute. Mans just wants a baby.

He would be both a girl and a boy dad. I do not care what anyone says; he loves both. If he has a son, he will do everything in his power to raise him as a gentleman while also showing him a lot of love and affection. If he has a daughter, he will be so gentle with her while also raising her to be a sophisticated, strong young woman.

Genuinely would be the grandpa of the friend group. Come on. Just look at him.

As a teenager, he probably would do the emo hair flip thing because his fringe kept getting onto his eye. Gojo probably laughed his ass off.

Secretly really touch-starved. People think he is not affectionate, but he is, just not in public. He would most likely grab his significant other while they were doing something and attack them with kisses. He probably likes being a little spoon sometimes even though he looks like an old man. He is clingy, okay? But not overly clingy. Sometimes he needs his own space.

Loves kissing their partner's beauty moles. The ones under their nose, the ones on their ear, the ones on scattered around their face, the ones in other areas... Wherever they are located, he will kiss them.

Sometimes he needs to be reassured. He needs to know if he is doing okay, if he is treating a person well. It looks like he does not need it, but he genuinely sometimes gets insecure about how others perceive him or how well he treats them. He worries about hurting someone's feelings.

Loves to try and hype up his partner with extreme amount of compliments. He is truly the number one simp and hype man.

I am a strong advocate for the fact that Nanami loves people of color. Like he will date a person of color. I don't CARE. I am Afro-Latina let me have my headcanon in peace : (

Once again. He is NOT mean. He will not yell. If he is angry, he is calm. He does not yell and if he does it is extremely rare. But he would never in his life yell at his partner or children if he has any. The only way he shows disappointment is by staying calm.

Speaking of being angry, he is not the type to show silent treatment. He would much rather talk rather than give a cold shoulder. He is a grown man. He knows how to communicate, people.

Old-fashioned nicknames. That is all. My love. Darling. Sweetheart.

He is probably fluent in several languages. I understand he is overly perfect, but he is perfect in my eyes. He probably takes the time to learn languages so that people feel included. Plus, he genuinely enjoys learning about different cultures.

Owned a bakery or worked as a chef at some point in his life. Maybe even a barista.

Helps old ladies cross the street, assists people with heavy bags, is courteous to his neighbors, and is the grandson of every old neighbor ever.

Probably is the type of guy to sit down on the couch and not try at Just Dance, and ends up winning.

Despite being serious, he would genuinely be bad at the game Among Us. This is so random but hear me out.

Favorite ice cream flavor is probably coffee or pistachio. Maybe even basic vanilla. He is not a big fan anyway.

Jazz music, classical music, old music is his speciality. In high school during his emo hair era he more so listened to 90s rock/punk rock.

His most used app(s) on his Samsung Galaxy S24 Ultra is WhatsApp and Candy Crush.

Definitely has a whole closet of clothing and browses through them every night to see what suit he wants to wear for the next day.

When he shops or gets food, he goes to local family owned shops. He does not go to Starbucks for his coffee. He goes to the local family owned coffee shop.

Dry texter but if he gets a partner who is not a dry texter, he genuinely begins to pick up their habits. If they type with emojis he begins using emojis. I apologize but he'd unironically use the laughing crying emoji. "Haha! 😂". Okay but genuinely, he would actually keyboard slam at some point. He sends them a photo, they go like "jshekehdkehdjdlsjdl" and one time they did the same thing and he was like:

"....Kshskshdjxbsnab." You know?

He is low key sassy. He was affected by sassy man apocalypse. He hides it in that serious exterior of his but he gives the biggest side eyes sometimes, crosses his legs too.

Snores like a dad. Bro was probably recorded by Haibara while he was in the dorms and bro was snoring like a regular ol dad. Drooling too. What a silly guy.

Anyway...

Overall, the best man ever. He is the man ever and that is why he is not real. Unfortunately.

forever angel <33

[he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle]

Unknown - Ep 11 - That Scene

The opening scene of episode 11 landed differently for me than it did for others. I was going to just keep it to myself since I have a minority opinion, but when I rewatched it last night I fell even more in love with it!

The structure!! It's so good! Let me explain.

At the bottom of the stairs, Qian hesitates. He still hasn't made up his mind.

Yuan says "Do you still not get it?" He knows what Qian is feeling, even if Qian hasn't figured it out yet. So he says what he wants very clearly.

Yuan asks for permission to do 4 things:

1. Be more than just Qian's brother.

2. Be who Qian relies on when he's down.

3. Be someone Qian can talk to about anything.

4. Be with Qian for the rest of his life.

Before Qian answers, he revisits 4 sets of memories, each set answering one of Yuan's questions with a resounding YES.

After each affirmative answer, it cuts back to the sex scene to communicate that THIS is the culmination of all those yesses.

In other words, there are 4 direct questions and 4 groups of memories that hold the answers to those questions, 4 times those memories scream the answer is YES, and 4 cuts to a bit of sex.

Let's look at the groups of memories.

1. He thinks back to Yuan's words in ep 9. Does he not want Yuan? Or does he not DARE to want Yuan? And he remembers all the times he felt desire for Yuan, but suppressed it. Can he be more than just Yuan's brother? Yes.

2. He thinks back to Yuan consistently being someone Qian can rely on, all through his childhood until now. "If the world falls down, we'll hold it up together." "You won't be alone." "I like being around you." Yuan genuinely likes being around Qian and has never wanted to leave him. He's shown his commitment to Qian time and time again. Can Qian rely on Yuan when he's down? Yes.

3. He remembers how long and hard Yuan suffered while enduring one-sided love, and that Yuan chose to suffer in quiet for years rather than confess to Qian about it. But Qian knew Yuan was suffering that whole time and hated it. It broke Qian's heart to see how hard it was for Yuan. If he did likewise and didn't talk about things, he'd also break the heart of the person who loves him because of his silence. Yuan laid himself bare and told Qian everything. Can Qian reciprocate and tell Yuan about everything in his life, even the hard things? Yes.

4. He thinks about how Yuan has ALREADY built his entire life around Qian. "I can sum up my life in two words: Wei Qian." Memories of Yuan come like a flood, rapidly gaining momentum. Yuan has already been with Qian for most of his life, and will NOT STOP. Qian can't imagine a life without Yuan. So can Yuan be with Qian for the rest of his life? Yes.

Qian nods and says his answer aloud: You can. And then they kiss.

The sex is not the point. It's the culmination. It's all the yesses stacked on top each other until they break the last of Qian's walls. By cutting the sex so it only exists between each resounding YES, they've made it less about the action of it and more about Qian realizing that YES, they're ALREADY in love and unalterably committed to each other. Why not give in to his physical desires when the rest is so clear?

Others watched this and saw a sex scene interrupted by cumbersome flashbacks. I watched this and saw a dramatic feelings realization interrupted by snippets of quite lovely sex that drove those feelings home.

A final note: It's probably because I'm demisexual, but I am frequently unmoved by sex scenes, especially when they do not advance the plot or the character development. This onscreen scene moved me. It hit the right emotional note. It was focused primarily on Qian's pov (his face is the one the camera is focusing on). And it was artfully done, instead of merely being titillating.

I'm tagging a few people who I recall talking about this in their posts, but it's been a couple of weeks so forgive me if I leave someone out or misremember. @absolutebl @lurkingshan @bengiyo @wen-kexing-apologist @wanderlust-in-my-soul @twig-tea

[beneathsilverstars]

saw a review of ISAT that was frustrated that most of siffrin's Having A Bad Time in the loops was their own fault, like, if they'd just been more emotionally put-together it wouldn't have been that traumatic. bc most of the actual content of the loops isn't that bad, so the main thing that's fucking them up is the increasing disconnect from their friends that they themself created.

i feel like this person must have major video game brain!!! bc like. yes i've played video games with worse violence etc. but if you just look at what siffrin is actually going through. surely dying one time in any way would be traumatic, let alone dozens (hundreds?) of times, many painful, many purposeful!!!

even just slamming yourself against an extremely important problem for months straight is stressful as fuck! redoing the same things over and over, having tiny glimmers of ideas that don't pan out, afraid that this will be the rest of your life and the end of the world??

plus the constant fighting (and/or dodging enemies), and the unnatural stagnation of the world around him (no 24-hour day/night cycle even), and the utter helplessness of having no idea why it's happening and what he needs to do to fix it, and compounded by his pre-existing trauma,

"after a couple loops they shoulda realized they needed to talk to their friends" those loops ended in their death!! idk about you but i don't think dying a couple times would make me better at making a rational decision to do smth that i'm very averse to in the best of times 🙄

[lesbianphan]

The Myth of Sisyphus and PHILosophy (lol) - a brief essay on two nerds playing a game that might not be that deep but hey who's gonna stop me from pushing this boulder up the hill of writing this?

Disclaimer: it's finally my turn to use my useless degree that included a lot of literary analysis for something extremely important to society: analyzing Dan and Phil content!!! yay!!! This is about to be incredibly nerdy and waffly, but like what else are you doing with your time anyway on phannie tumblr?? (pls read it, I just reread Camus for this for the first time in years okay I'm dedicated to my craft)

"The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy." Albert Camus

As a part of Camus' essays on absurdist philosophy, The Myth of Sisyphus deals with the pointlessness of existence, through retelling the story of the greek myth about the titular character who, as a punishment for defying Death, was condemned to spend eternity pushing a boulder up a hill just to watch it fall back down. That may sound bleak, such is the futile nature of getting up every day and doing tasks, after all.

However, that's not really what the essay conveys. As the quotation provided in the beginning shows, Camus' takeaway about the myth of Sisyphus isn't about how easy it would be to take the option of not engaging at all with the repetitive tasks that make life what it is, or even focusing on how disappointing this pointlessness is. It's about how the journey of getting up everyday and motivating yourself to hit the peak of the hill is all there is to life, really. The absurd conclusion is, ultimately, that pushing the boulder up the hill everyday is what true revolt against the senselessness of the universe is. If there is no reason, we make the reason by climbing up with our rock everyday.

We choose to be happy every day and appreciate our rock, our hill, our existence as a whole. We choose to believe Sisyphus is happy, and, as disappointing at it may sound at first, it's worth it to live your existence, as long as you decide to appreciate your present more than your future (the destination, that elusive peak of the hill).

In Dan's words, you decide to have "just one good night" together every night on tour, you appreciate the journey of climbing out of that mental health hole again. You climb up that hill again and again, because it's worth it, and there are things - bigger than yourself or your personal boulder or even your destination, - that are worth fighting for every day. You embrace the void, and have the courage to exist today, not tomorrow atop the hill.

As Camus' Myth of Sisyphus was, admitedly, one of the inspirations behind We're All Doomed (and it shows!), it makes it even more intriguing to inquire about how much of their reactions to that particular game about Sisyphus informs their perspectives on the world and their personal philosophies.

As a disclaimer, I must add: I don't claim to know Dan and Phil personally, and I only have acess to the parts of them they decide to share, the performing side of them. So, quite obviously, I can be fully off the mark on this one. Still I think it's interesting to dive into, if not for accuracy, at least for better understanding of the personas they portray online, and how their worldviews bleed into it.

The first big point a lot of people brought to the table is the shift in Dan's philosophy ever since writing and performing We're All Doomed and (most likely) a lot of therapy and work on himself over the years. Gone are the days of existential crises being treated as a joke, or mental health in general being discussed without care for what the audience may take from it. During the video, it's quite apparent that he tries very hard to mantain that voice of reason (sometimes breaking it out of frustration, which is fair!), to somehow guide us into an understanding of what this philosophy means to him personally and to his self-proclaimed magum opus WAD.

This is relevant, of course, insofar as this becomes the thesis of the video, silly gameplay and jokes aside. So I couldn't not mention it here, as it's extremely noticeable and commendable of him to now have a different kind of perspective towards the topic of mental health, in this more mature era of their content. You can tell it's relevant to him to try to get the point of the myth across, in a way that tells his audience, as much as it tells himself, that giving up isn't a choice. You must keep pushing that boulder and you must believe that Sisyphus is happy, and so will you be during that journey up the hill. Even when it falls down again and you meet frustration, you pick yourself back up and keep trying to enjoy the present once again.

Secondly, regarding Dan's behavior during the gameplay, it's notable that he gets extremely frustrated when the boulder falls down (who wouldn't?). However, he always tries to catch it and put it back in the path upwards, instead of throwing his hands and giving up like Phil seems to do. This shows, very loosely, how he handles frustration in his own life: trying to fix things and get them right on path again. It's sometimes the most difficult choice to make, but it's extremely corageous to just keep trying in face of extreme frustration. We've seen it all over gaming videos, but also on his own personal projects getting shut down, and Dan still insisting on carrying on creating things that are personal to him, even in face of rejection.

Phil, however, seemed to give up out of frustration extremely easily, so much so that Dan kept pointing it out how he'd let go of the controls and let it happen. It might not mean much, but since he himself claims he gives up on things that are too difficult, it might just be an aspect of his personality to literally let go in face of things he perceives as impossible to achieve.

It is also notable that when he made a mistake, no matter how competitive they usually are on the surface, Phil decided to ask Dan for help, or try to tag out entirely and hand it over. This may not only be related to frustration, but also to knowing how to ask for help, and also a belief that Dan is "the strongest one out of both of us" and he will be there always to help (quite adorable). Dan's tenacity in front of difficult situations is a great complement to Phil's anxious eagerness to hand over the controls when things get overwhelming.

It's interesting to point out how their personal worldview influenced their gameplay as well. Dan was focused, sharp, driven to get to the top of the mountain by keeping in complete control of the boulder at all times. He held on tight to the challenges and kept going, and he wasn't afraid to run back and catch himself enough to try again. Phil's style showed something very interesting about him that is notable in gaming videos in particular: Phil's propensity for making little goals and celebrating the little things in the path to a goal.

Getting through one obstacle that was once difficult is enough to make Phil seem content with his progress. He celebrates every little step of the journey and, in that way, it's easier for him to appreciate it naturally. He's focused on the little tasks more than the big picture, and that makes the experience more enjoyable. His goals shift, of course, as they progress through the level, and the difficulty ramps up. Even so, he's still more likely to point out that's the farthest they've gotten and, hey look at this ramp, let's get through this ramp and then we've won, because that's my goal right now, and that's enough to make me happy in the present.

This counterbalances Dan's more bleak outlook wonderfully as well. While Dan is focused on making it to the top of the hill, and gets extremely discouraged seeing there's a lot more ahead they'll never get to experience, Phil's view is that they got through that one challenge and, surely, next time they'll get through one more, and so on and so forth. Focusing on smaller things is, ultimately, a good way of finding happiness in the process of pushing up that boulder.

Moreover, Phil's brief comment about how you could "make up little stories in your head" is also extremely telling of the kind of person he is. As Camus' philosophy claims: the only way to live with an absurd world is by living through it and learning what it means to be happy in a world that doesn't make sense. In Phil's mind, a bearable way to get through the harrowing experience of every day existence is making up stories, which matches up with his creative mind. Art and creation are indeed things that can make life worth living, and it seems that even subconsciously, that's the path he'd choose against the pointlessness of repetition. The joy of creation is, certainly, and extremely human and beautiful way to find meaning in life.

The most interesting point I'd like to raise, though, is how they got through that game together: as much as Dan accused Phil of distracting him, it was interesting to see that he didn't notice that's entirely the point. The boulder falling down is nothing compared to the stories we share, the conversations we make. What is important is the journey you take, and hearing about your best friend's weird school inter-sports anecdotes, even if you have to start over because you got distracted.

And that's entirely the point I'd like to leave this of with: pushing up that boulder is only worth it if you learn to live, if you learn to love, if you learn to enjoy the present moment, instead of focusing on that ever elusive destination. Therefore, what makes not only the video interesting, but also the game bearable at all, is their interaction with each other. Much like in life as partners, Dan and Phil would, obviously, climb that hill together. They would find the joy in the little moments together, laugh, yell, get frustrated, pick each other back up again in moments of frustration, and keep going up that hill together.

The only way to live is if one imagines Sisyphus happy. The only way to exist is if you decide that, no matter what, you'll create your own meaning. The only way is to find joy in the now instead of later. The only way to make those grueling day to day tasks happy and fun, is by choosing hapiness. Dan and Phil have, in every sense, decided to keep climbing up that hill of existence together. It may be slow and clumsy and loud at times, but it's their own experience. Ultimately, the only way to experience that gaming content is by imagining Dan and Phil are happy to make it for us, and that we can all share a little bit of our hill in moments of laughter and community. That's what makes life worth it in the end.

A/N: this may be the weirdest thing I've ever done, pls accept me for who I am, thank!

[frozenartscapes]

What I like about Spy x Family that I hope was an intentional choice by the creator but would also be hilarious if it just worked out this way is the character design of the Forger family. In that this family of three highly secretive people who can only exist in society so long as no one recognizes them from their dark secrets are all literally Main Characters.

Loid is every lead male character in a piece of media ever. He’s handsome, blond, blue eyes, well-built but not too muscular… He is literally Ken in a world full of Allens.

Yor is every teenager’s first Edgy OC. Black hair, red eyes, black or red clothes, a badass alter ego, tragic backstory and extreme proficiency in weapons/melee. She is the only person aside from her brother to have such an unnatural eye colour and no one questions it.

Anya is literally the meme about anime main characters. In a class of brown, black, and blond hair she sticks out like a pink thumb. Even without the suspicious hair cones she’d be easily spotted in any crowd.

Hell, even Bond stands out just due to his size and being a unique blend of different dog breeds, making him unique amongst the other dogs we’ve seen so far.

I get it: it’d be pretty boring if all of our leads were plain and generic-looking. It’s just funny to think about in-universe. But it also weirdly works as to why no one has figured them out. Loid gets a pass because he’s often in disguise. Anya’s just a kid so the hair colour could be written off as dye or a wig. Yor leaves no witnesses. And Bond’s just a mixed-breed dog - nothing suspicious about that, right?

[lovemyromance]

Oh my god enough about Elain wanting sunshine 😩

Let's run through some facts (and if you don't believe these are facts, please open the books for the first time and read it for yourself):

Elain says she wants sunshine

Nesta takes her to the sunny garden

Lucien does not sit with Elain in the garden

Lucien has one uncomfortable conversation with Elain

He says she needs fresh air (not sunlight)

Lucien has ALWAYS been associated with fox and flame symbolism/motifs (NOT the sun, not "light" in general)

We do not know if the IC (including Nesta) tried to take Elain outside before Feyre arrived.

Feyre & Rhys believe Lucien is the love child of LoA & Helion

There are 3 SOLAR courts: Dawn, Day, and Night. They ALL have sunlight

Helion is the HL of the Day Court. He is the only one in this series that has sun imagery. Not his court, not Lucien.

The NC crest is 3 mountains, 3 stars. The NC crest is NOT a moon.

We do not know the Day Court crest, or if they have one. Who is to say it would even include the sun?

Azriel was not present in the scene where Elain said she needed sunshine

Azriel, unprompted, takes her to sit in the sunny garden. How did he know what she needed without hearing her voice it?

Azriel even after the war, still sits with her till the late hours of the night, going over Elain's gardening plans

Now, out of these facts, can someone tell me how this foreshadows Elucien? If we are using that logic of Elain wanting sunshine, then are y'all trynna say she wants Helion or something?

Because how is saying she wants sunshine in any way related to Lucien personally?

She said she wants the sun, not the son 🤪 (side note I'm really proud of this one I'm sorry I'm so unserious lmao)

ANYWAYS

An endgame pairing can be foreshadowed, but the clues have to be directly associated with the couple in question.

Ex: Feyre looking up at the night sky, painting the drawers

But foreshadowing of an endgame is not going to be some distant tie between Elain asking for sunlight once and her mate's father being associated with the sun.

Sometimes descriptive writing... is just descriptive writing.

When it comes to giant fantasy books like these with intense world building, a lot of things can get lost in translation. You need a lot more description because what the author is describing likely isn't something that exists in our world today so it's hard for people to picture and understand.

So then how do readers know what to focus on? How do they understand and process books like these?

I saw this a while back but when it comes to fantasy, the rule of thumb is if you are really looking for clues and foreshadowing vs just descriptive writing, look at what the author is repeating.

Repetition is key.

Repeated words, repeated phrases, repeated messages, repeated imagery - these are all ways you can tell something is important, especially in fantasy books.

So - in conclusion -

Elain saying she needs sunlight ONCE is not foreshadowing or code for "she yearns for Helion The day Court Lucien"

SJM constantly repeating how Elain will wed for love and beauty, Elain had hoped that love would trump even a mating bond, the constant questioning of the cauldron -

These are the things SJM is telling us to focus on. If it wasn't important, it wouldn't have been repeated so many times already.

Facts don't lie, people 🤩

[girlsworldillusion]

Summary: Amid the severe consequences of war, Aemond finds himself alone, without the presence and support of his young and sweet wife, who insists on staying away from him, afraid of who he has become. He has been a respectful and patient husband. But tonight he feels like he has finally reached his limit.

Author's note: Please, pay attention to the tags. This story contains sensitive topics, such as: +18, SEX, SEVERE INTERNAL CONFLICT, DUB-CON/NON-CON, POSSESSIVE/OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, EMOTIONAL DEPENDENCY, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP AND MORE.

word count: 6k

There is no specific description of which house the reader belongs to, so feel free to fill this in as you wish.

English is not my native language, forgive me for any spelling mistakes.

Good reading!

He can taste vomit in his esophagus.

Aemond knows it wouldn't be too difficult to get out what little he ate. He coughs as discreetly as he can into the back of his hand before taking off his eye patch, wanting to splash some cold water on his face and throat. He pretends not to notice how his hands are a little shaky as he pulls the gloves off of them, cupping his fingers inside the basin left by the servants on the table. The cool water feels refreshing on his hot skin, and with a satisfied hiss, he looks up, staring directly at the reflection of his own face in the mirror.

The flickering flames of the fire near the wall provide no comprehensive illumination, and he is honestly relieved by that. What little he can see is disturbing enough. His single lilac eye is bloodshot, his silver hair is disheveled, so different from normal. Paleness in the face, sunken cheeks. The subtle glow of the blue stone in his other eye and the deep scars around it only add a dying touch to his ghostly visage.

Another deep tug wracks his stomach and he leans forward, gripping the sides of the table with abandon, preparing to actually throw up this time. But nothing comes, nothing but the painful, nauseating feeling in his body.

He can't forget.

It's all his doing, after all. It's all his fault.

The death of all those people, the desolation of the entire Riverlands. It's all his fault.

Any feeling of greatness and power that previously inhabited his body no longer existed. His superiority and confidence swept away by the tide until he was spat out on the shore with nothing but pain and trauma.

He is a hypocrite and he knows it.

Aemond is not a good person. He doesn't want to fool anyone with his anxiety attack, he definitely doesn't need to take on the role of the poor regretful guy. He doesn't regret what he did, he doesn't regret doing what was absolutely necessary for the good of his family. He could never regret this. And he knows that tomorrow, a week from now, or a month from now, he will do exactly the same thing again if necessary. There are no limits to what he is willing to do to and for those to whom he is loyal.

He can't even dare deny liking it all.

When he's on Vhagar's saddle, with the world in flames just beneath them and the addictive power to decide for good or ill for those poor, hopeless souls, he can swear he's never felt anything better. There's something disturbingly liberating about embracing the monster that resides in his chest. It's surprising to him how good it feels to be ruthless, to take on the role of the uncontrollable beast everyone says he is (rightfully so).

It wasn't always like this. But a series of violent and tragic actions that may or may not have been intentional earned Aemond more than just an ominous codename. They gave him respect; fear. Aemond One-Eye, the son without expectations, the child without any prominence. No more.

He feels ruthless when he is in the skies, dictating the fate of humanity. It gives him power. He is powerful now, he is no longer the boy forgotten by everyone. The feeling of being superior pumps hard through his veins until he goes wild, makes him feel like he's crushing people under the soles of his boots. He is more powerful. Their lives depend solely on the way his hand moves and it turns out that, to their misfortune and terror, his hands are wrapped around the saddle of the largest dragon in the world. It is difficult to be sensible and godly when there is so much power at his command. He is more powerful. There is nothing that can stop him. He feels invincible, unstoppable. He doesn't just enjoy it - he worships this feeling.

At least until it's all over.

When the dust settles and all that is left is the consequence of his actions, it is then that he quietly withers away.

He killed them. All of them. His hands are stained with blood and ash and it's all his fault. He has separated families forever, traumatized so many souls with insurmountable depression and pain and it is all his fault. Adults, elderly, children, babies. All dead. Because of him. Hoarse screams of terror and fear, all begging for a mercy that would never come - could never come. Not by his hands. Not when he had a family and a purpose he was so loyal to.

Aemond worships the sense of power that comes with a reputation for being ruthless and regrets nothing he has done and will do for his duty. Unfortunately, this does not mean that he does not suffer the consequences in equal proportion.

Another sigh. He drops his head and presses his fingers against the edge of the table. He closes his eye so tightly that patches of white light explode into his vision, each labored breath makes him lean forward and clench his teeth. The pain is impossible to ignore – it shakes his insides, leaves his limbs trembling.

"Is this hurting you?" a soft voice asks, a small, fragile thing, almost impossible to hear - if it weren't for the fact that he lives to hear the sound of that voice. He knows this, and so does the owner of the voice, both fully aware of this dangerous dependence. “Pretending to be a God, I mean.”

Aemond feels his heart beat faster, the angelic sound of your voice rescuing him from the merciless depths of his own mind, making him slowly raise his head as he stares at the place where the voice came from. He almost can't believe what he heard. But there you are, sitting on your bed, surrounded by comfortable sheets and pillows, your wide doe eyes catching the moonlight and fire flames in the dark of night, shining like stars.

His sweet wife.

He simply looks at you, not offering any kind of response right away. Not because he doesn't want to. But because he's too surprised to hear your voice and see your face to form words at the moment. Aemond doesn't know how he ended up here, in your private chambers - the place he hasn't been welcome in for some time. He was supposed to go to his chambers. Was he that distraught and distracted? Could the confusion clouding his senses have unconsciously led him directly to the person he needs most at the moment?

He looks around quickly just to confirm that, yes, there is no doubt that he is in your chambers. He didn't intend to do that. He shouldn't be here, invading your privacy and ignoring your request that he keep distance. Of course, his longing and need for you made him consider such a thing countless times. Regardless of your wishes, he was your husband; he had a right to be here. But he never did that. You don't want him in your bed anymore and you've made that clear. And Aemond was not ignorant or even insensitive enough to pretend not to understand your reasons. You had a lot of them and he knows.

You were not made for cruelty. Your innocence and purity made you unable to be aware of the horrible things he did and still treat him the same way as before. You were afraid of him now, just like everyone else. The blood of many was on his hands and you knew it, just as you knew he regretted nothing, and that he would not stop this - not until victory was achieved.

You didn't agree with that, you never did, not even before the marriage. But what could a young woman do in the world they lived in? You were just a piece on a board game, an ace up his sleeve used by your father specifically to provide armies and loyalty to the crown in exchange for a marriage and a more than convenient name for your family.

Aemond knew from the beginning that you didn't want to marry him; how could you after all? You barely knew him beyond the questionable reputation that surrounded him, and a dangerous family clash was about to break out in the kingdom - this was definitely not the right environment for romance to blossom. But you did your duty. You had been an exemplary wife in the short two months of peace that followed your marriage. You treated him with respect and patience, slowly opening your heart to him with each passing day. He wasn't the most talkative or the most sensitive husband and yet you showed empathy for his limitations, accepting what he gave you with gentle smiles and rosy cheeks, without demanding anything more. So sweet. So inocent.

It was no surprise the feeling that welled up in his chest.

Aemond was obsessed before he even realized it. Needing your gentle attentions like a flower needs the sun. He clung to you as his only comfort in an almost bleak existence, he became more and more obsessed with you and you didn't notice. You read with him, walked through the gardens with him and talked to him as you always did, kind and polite. And every day he felt hungrier, pushing the limits of restraint. You welcomed him into your bed every night, welcoming him between your legs as if he belonged there - and he did, indeed. Aemond's appetite for you and you alone knew no bounds.

But he wasn't the man you married anymore, was he?

You fear him now, any and all advances he's made with you over the past few months have vanished into thin air like the ashes he's so used to seeing now. The feelings he was carefully cultivating in your chest now seem to have sunk so deep into your being that he thinks they no longer even exist. You no longer craved his attention; the touch of softness and affection, whenever “husband” dripped from your mouth, was absent. And now all he could do was want.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, not wanting to miss this moment for anything, not after being deprived of it for so long. And you look back at him from where you sit on the bed, chin lifted in false courage. You looks at him with your bright eyes and high cheekbones, which seem even more highlighted in the warm lighting around your bodies.

He may have entered your chambers out of pure unconscious instinct, out of nothing but silent desperation. His body guiding him when his mind no longer could. But now that he's here, he doesn't know how he didn't realize it from the beginning. It's impossible to think about anything other than you. You, you, you.

At this point, deaths at his hands no longer existed. Not his pains or the weights he carries, not revenge, not duty. Anything. Absolutely nothing. There is only this moment, between him, a boy who so wanted to be enough for those he loves and the young girl who is illuminated by the light of the flames.

He feels it. It's not new. That strange impulse that draws all the attention of the environment around him to you and you alone; an almost painful need between his teeth to take a bite and not let go, to have it with all your heart and nothing less.

"Nothing to say?" You press and he's not even embarrassed by the fact that he doesn't remember what you said before. He should leave. It's all he thinks, even as he takes an uncertain step closer to your bed. And that's enough for you to immediately tense up, wrapping your small hands in the sheets to subtly pull them towards you. You are hiding yourself. Hiding yourself from him.

Aemond should leave, continue respecting your limits.

If this had been another night, maybe he would have done it. If the smell of smoke and dragon scales hadn't been trapped in the leather of his war clothes, as well as the dust of ash, then perhaps he could have left. If he couldn't smell the insistent scent of charred bodies and decimated land in his nostrils, taking permanent root in his lungs, perhaps he could respect your innocence.

Not even Aemond knew how on edge he already was. Your refusal of his proximity was just the final push to his downfall.

He adores you. He worships the ground you walk on. He respected your decisions and stayed away much longer than any other husband would have done. And this is how you repay him?

Aemond narrows the only functional eye he has left. You don't react, nothing more than another protective grip on the sheets and a slow swallow of saliva. He wants you so much and the thought enrages him. Why? Why does he feel this way? He desperately wants to punish you for making him feel this way. He wants to punish himself for even thinking about doing this to you.

You left him like this; nothing but a mess. When would you finally accept him for who he is? When would you understand that some cruelties were necessary for the final goal to be achieved? When would you see that everything he did and would do was solely for his family? For you. To keep you safe. When would he be enough?

He grits his teeth and feels his entire body tense with thoughts. He hates it; he hates the way you confuse him and make him feel all these terrible emotions. It makes he feels weak. The temptation of the slightest chance of your affection suffocates his common sense. He feels his hands shaking. He'd been so blinded by the hopeful, innocent vision he constantly saw you through that he fooled himself into thinking he was on your mind as much as you were on his all this time.

"Aemond?" You whisper, sounding more uncertain than before, disturbed by his extended silence as he slowly approaches the bed. He keeps looking at you the whole time, letting you glimpse the flames of fire reflected in the icy sapphire in his eye. He adores you, with every fiber of his being. But the flash of fear that shines in your eyes in response makes him stretch the corner of his lip in a malicious smile. He couldn't help it, there's something sweet and pure about you that makes him constantly waver between wanting to protect you and wanting to destroy you.

You try not to weaken before him, but Aemond immediately notices the way your body is a little trembling when his hand, that same hand that drags the musk of leather and death, passes through the fabric of the sheets, spreading lightning over your legs. You don't stop him, but your eyes flash with a frightened warning, a warning he ignores tonight. His palm flattens against your ribs, daring to caress, to feel the linen of the sheets beneath his fingers, the softness of your flesh beneath it, and you squeak an off-key sound, pulling the cocoon of blankets and furs up to hide you.

A small annoyed growl leaves his lips and his other hand quickly covers yours, stopping you from continuing.

"No. Enough of that." He says in a low but firm tone, looking sternly into your eyes. You part your lips, surprised by his behavior, and try to pull the hand still trapped by his, but he doesn't let you go. "That's enough, wife."

He thinks you might try to deny it, but you fall silent, slowly relaxing against his grip on your hand. Aemond wants to purr at this, wants to praise you and spoil you, because you are so good, so good. His good girl. Even when you're crushing his heart between your delicate hands.

It's not your fault, he tells himself. It's not your fault that he's obsessed with you, driven crazy by the idea of you. Aemond can't even focus properly, even when you're in front of him, defenseless and at the mercy of his whims. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest from pure ecstasy and excitement at the same time. And he can feel, on top of it all, the blood flowing to his hard cock, making it swell beneath his black riding pants. He feels embarrassed by his actions, but at the same time excited, just by the little things you do, by everything you are to him.

“Something is wrong with me...” He says, more to himself than to you, gently pushing a strand of your soft hair behind your ear, sliding his thumb in a gentle caress across your delicate earlobe. “You're in my house. You're in my house and I don't want you to leave. Never." He approaches your face, sliding his fingers from your ear to the side of your face, until he holds your small chin between his thumb and forefinger. "I need you." He continues, ignoring how honest and frank he looks - weak. “I keep thinking of ways to make this happen,” the more he talks, the faster you breathe, sweet little sighs near his lips, calling to him like a siren’s song… “I want to ruin you. Because I think that's the only way you won't leave me."

The intensity of his words scares you, he realizes, he sees how your eyes fill with tears and your eyebrows twitch. But even in the dim lighting of the flames, he can see how the tops of your cheeks turn red, how your chest trembles with the breath that catches there...you want him.

It's a shame you're so willing to keep him away.

But he can't stop.

Aemond closes the distance in an instant, pushing you down until he traps your body beneath his, feeling the contours of your soft, supple curves against him; he shudders. He caresses your face one last time before moving down, ignoring your hesitation and your useless efforts to push him away. Quick as a viper, he grabs the hand that moves to push against his chest, wrapping it with the other still attached to his, holding your wrists tightly above your head.

You cry out at the pressure on his wrists, the long lashes over your eyes fluttering, pleading. "A-Aemond, what are you doing?" you stutter. "Please, please... I said I needed it - please give me some more-"

"Time? Oh yes, you said it." He hums thoughtfully, placing a thigh between your legs, dipping his face into the crook of your neck to breathe in the fresh fragrance of your shower, snoring contentedly with your naturally sweet scent. Intoxicated by your scent, he trails his lips along the slender column of your neck before stopping at the shell of your ear. “I’m so sorry, dear, I’ve waited too long. We’ve both waited too long.” He intones, intoxicated by your presence. You sob once but don't say anything else, choosing to turn your face away from him. Aemond snorts a laugh at that, but doesn't stop you, preferring to leave a tender, wet kiss on your cheek.

Squeezing your wrists with one hand, he allows the other to slide slowly down your body, almost reverentially. He paused at the delicate laces holding the front of your nightdress before untying them with deft fingers. The front opens, exposing your silky, flushed skin to his hungry gaze. He doesn't have the patience to remove the fabric completely from your body, so he just lowers it enough so that your breasts are exposed. He bites his lip, holding a curse between his clenched teeth. When he presses his bare palm to your perky breasts, he tastes your trembling innocence, your soft flesh.

So beautiful.

So pure.

From the beginning you were his opposite, your delicate hands, as irritatingly clean as his are stained with blood and ash.

As much as he truly suffers from the consequences of his actions, he never regrets them, because he knows they are right - necessary. There was only the future to shape, the past should stay where it belongs; behind him. Something he had learned through much pain, but unfortunately, his sweet wife had not yet. But as he runs his greedy fingers down your body, feeling the goosebumps on your soft skin with each touch, Aemond knows he scares you as much as he excites you. You can't hide it from him. Your obviously involuntary response to him only makes him fiercer, hungrier. He wants to ruin you from the inside, until you can't bear to live a single day without his touch.

He allows you to continue your theatrics, still stubbornly staring at the wall while pretending his actions don't affect you. There's something almost too tempting about it, in fact; It's a matter of honor for him. He will break your masks and he will take pleasure in doing so.

Letting his fingers slide down your sides, Aemond's lips wander. He kisses the hole in your throat, moving down with wet, licked breaths to your breasts, tasting you. You gasp softly and grip tight fists on the bed sheets when he captures a soft nipple with a slow suck of lips and a teasing scrape of teeth, your body curling beneath him tightly. He smiles with your nipple still between his lips, leaving wide, warm trails of his tongue on the little perky bud. His hips slide against the inside of your parted thighs, pushing the hardened bulge in his pants against your pussy once.

You bite your lip and close your eyes, but he doesn't stop. With another thrust he uses his strength to push you back onto the bed, the bed you shared many nights with him, to fuck you into the warm sheets. It's almost too much for him to finally feel your little pussy once again, even through the leather of his pants and your delicate nightwear. But he continues with slow, strong thrusts, rubbing his cock against you in a way that teases your clit, the smell and heat of his effort wafting throughout his body; sweat, dragon, fire, ash, blood, death - all mixed together, merging with your own sweet, intoxicating scent and, of course, the unmistakable scent of sex.

Before the chaos broke out, Aemond was quite skilled at this, at driving you crazy. A part of him is extraordinarily pleased to find that he still remembers correctly, especially when a press of his fingers and a twirl of his thumb on your slobbery nipple makes you gasp. He wants to see you, to see you blush and sweat, looking ruined for him. Gods, oh yes, Aemond wants this so much. He can't stop, he can never stop, especially with you singing so sweetly to him. When you arch into his touch and whisper his name softly, like a secret no one can discover, his breath hitching. Aemond can't stop.

A specific thrust makes you let out a high-pitched meow, your hands pulling at the linen on the sheets and he moans along, releasing your breast with a wet pop to look at your face. You have your lips parted, your long eyelashes touching the top of your cheeks, your eyebrows furrowed in sweet agony. He thrusts a little faster, rubbing your clit with more pressure, taking in your presence and the feeling of your tiny, supple body, preening at every sound that leaves your lips.

Sounds so sweet, so beautiful; he considers himself a sinner with the way something so innocent and angelic makes his blood boil and his cock throb with need inside his pants, surely soaking the fabric with the way he feels himself leaking.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me, baby...”

And yet, he doesn't think he cares about dying by your hands when things turn out like this. He is admitting defeat without any embarrassment now; he can bear the dull weight of war, he can bear his own mind trying to destroy him at every turn, he can bear the betrayal of his own family and the demands of his duties. He can bear with anything.

Anything except being without you.

With an impatient grunt, his fingers tug at the soft skirt of your nightdress, bunching the thing at your waist as he rips your underwear down your legs. You don't try to stop him, but you don't try to help him either, remaining almost motionless against the bed, and he feels like he can growling at you like an animal for that - stubborn girl. He hates and loves this about you in equal intensity. He's almost rough and punishing as he hooks the back of your knee into the inside of his elbow, pushing your leg up to your breasts. And then you're giving up your fight, sighing - all anxious expression, furrowing your eyebrows and biting your lip as he hurriedly unzips his pants and pulls them down just enough to pull his cock out, slamming the wet, throbbing head over your clit before sliding his entire length along your folds.

You moan, he moans. The slide is wet and he can't tell if it's all you, if it's all him, if it's all both. He doesn't care, honestly. All that matters is how his cock is thrusting into your heat, hitting your clit with luscious pokes, coaxing more of those sweet sounds from your pretty lips.

He hooks your other leg in the crook of his elbow and does exactly what he did with the other, trapping you between him and the bed in a position where your entire pussy is presented to him. With his hands flat beside your head, he brings his face closer to yours, the leather covering his chest pushing your knees further into your breasts. You moan through your teeth, unable to do anything but tighten your hands around his shoulders. He smiles slowly, drunk on the sensations, still gently sliding the length of his cock into your folds.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, enchanted by the way you dance between looking at the sapphire stone and the deep lilac of his functional eye. You've always done this, he thinks - saying one was as beautiful as the other, impossible to choose.

“I’m giving myself to you, love…I’m yours.” He whispers softly, husky, needy to you. "Will you do the same from now on?"

He’s so close he feel how your heart races violently at his words, slamming against your ribcage as you take a deep breath. Every expression on your flushed face makes him sure you're going to have an intense crying fit, but even when the liquid in your eyes pours down the side of your eyes, you keep yourself almost in one piece. You look deeply into his eye as your shoulders shake. "Y-yes." You exhale, fragile. “Yes, yes, yes,” your voice sings repeatedly, with quick, confused nods, tears streaming from your eyes.

He can't hold back the husky sound that leaves his lips, his cock pulsing in reaction to your obvious fragility exposed to him.

"Yeah?" He asks breathlessly and it's very slow - as he thrusts inside you, thrusting his hips back and forth once, twice, three times until your pussy swallows as much of his cock as it can, until the tip of his hip bones rub it against your thighs. And it's so intense, so obscene – the position he puts you in, the full weight of his body pinning you to the bed, broad shoulders hiding you from view, silver hair like a curtain around the two of you, your mouth falling open in a silent scream and his releasing small curses between clenched teeth... debauchery.

You give his shoulders a few desperate slaps as he fills you, your tight ring of muscle stretched to accommodate his girth, and no matter how long it takes him to prepare you, no matter how wet you are, he knows there's always that initial pain that rips through your groin as he pushes into you. It makes you sway beneath him, little tearful sobs that are like the sweetest song to him.

Another curse muttered in deep Valyrian was his only warning as his palms sink into the softness of the bed. Your own hands looking desperate too, one tangled in the silver base of his hair at the back of his neck and the other gripping the material of his leather shirt, a strangled moan catching in your throat as he begins to fuck you slowly. You can only hold on as he pulls and pushes his body above you with each deep thrust, his impatience shown only in the forceful and violent way in which his hands grip the bed sheets.

He leans into you a little more, moving his hips in different ways, testing the angles until he makes more of those tears well up in your eyes as your pleasure increases almost painfully. Your moans quickly turn into babbling when a particularly strong movement of his hips makes you shake all over. The way your tight pussy tries to contain him and suck him in at the same time drives him crazy, feral.

He won't last long. He already knew this before it even started, but now, feeling your walls squeezing the life out of him after so long deprived of it, with your cute little noises getting louder and louder, with your expression drunk with lust and sadness, the buzz of battle still vibrating through his veins... Aemond feels release approaching shamefully fast for him.

He'll make it up to you later, Aemond promises himself. When the hot need subsides at least a little in his system, he'll take off his dirty war clothes, maybe ask you to take a shower with him. He'll soap your body and tease you until you're riding his cock in the tub at your own pace, his fingers rolling your little clit with each bounce of your hips. He will lay you on the bed and love every inch of your soft body, worship your skin with kisses and hickeys. He will part your thighs and bury his fingers and tongue in your wet softness. He will rip orgasm after orgasm out of you until you are hoarse from screaming, until your body is physically unable to continue.

He will do it all.

He has done it in the past, many times.

Now, however, all he needs is to find his release, to unload those months of forced distance inside his trembling body. But Aemond will be damned if he doesn't bring you along with him.

He leans down to press his forehead against yours, pushing your legs against your body further, lips parting with hoarse, breathless moans that escaped him with each thrust and the sweet pleas you murmured incoherently. The movement of his hips quickens, one hand leaving its blunt grip on the sheets to squeeze between your thighs, poking your clit in tight circles, his cock hitting a spot inside your walls that makes you shiver and tremble in anticipation.

“Aemond…” you cry, digging your nails into the back of his neck, pulling his body towards yours, as if you weren’t already physically as close as possible.

He growls at your plea.

“My little, innocent wife,” Aemond giggles wildly as your pussy clamps down on his length again, your climax approaching, his thumb rotating a steady rhythm on your clit. If only your mind was clear enough to form a coherent thought, maybe you'd complain that the rhythm of his cock in your pussy would be painful, that the continuous and harsh scratching of his clothes hurts the soft and delicate flesh of your body, but you don't say anything, not now. You just accept what he gives you. And he knows you missed him as much as he missed you. “Always so good to me baby.”

Aemond watches you intently, unable to look away from the pleasure that shows on your face. You're shaking, lost in your wet breaths and high-pitched, broken cries, your legs trapped between his body, welcoming him. You're tight and small, his sweet wife, and Aemond can feel your cracks stretching, a spider's web of fractured thought and temptation too much for anyone to bear, and as much as he knows it's impossible, he wants this moment to last forever. Aemond is undone. A fool in love. And it's sad. And it's beautiful. It's being at home.

"Mine." His murmur echoes next to your lips, both of you breathing each other's breath, his rhythm starting to falter, the searing heat rushing through his body beneath those layers of heavy clothing makes him dizzy, but he doesn't stop, he doesn't stop. “So pure, so beautiful, so delicate…” he caresses your clit without faltering with a rumbling purr as his cock swells inside you. “Ngh...oh fuck, so tight. You're going to get everything, aren't you, darling? All of me.” His own teeth graze your neck as you arch and scream in pleasure. “Be a good girl and don't let anything leak, hmmm…”

He fucks you roughly, your name dancing on his lips like a prayer in the dark. Aemond savors this moment with the veneration it deserves, the final chase. The two of you so broken, so vulnerable, shaking with pleasure for each other. He rubs your pussy, hips slamming into you at lightning speed.

And finally, gods yes, it finally happens.

"Aemond! A-Aemond, please! Please-" You throw your head back, your lewd pleas turning into a broken scream as you explode around him. Your face is flushed and glistening with a subtle sheen of sweat, tears streaming down. It's all he can take. You convulse and break and the sensation of his cock swelling with the resulting explosions of hot cum filling you follows shortly after. As your body and pussy tremble and clench, he finally releases his own pleasure, biting down hard on your shoulder to muffle his husky moans, spilling himself deep inside you, the continuous spasms of your orgasm milking every drop from him. You and he cum together, and even in the hazy haze of climax, he thinks he's never experienced something so sublime, so perfect.

You're both shaking as you come down from the waves of mutual pleasure, and Aemond is especially careful now, gently unfolding your legs from that tight position to allow you to stretch them, which earns him a long, grateful, relieved moan. He slowly pulls away until he's kneeling between your thighs, watching raptly as you bite your lip as his cock leaves your heat. A tight grip circles around your parted thighs, lifting them up a little to expose your dripping pussy. He looks almost in awe as he watches his seed flow steadily from your abused pussy.

But Aemond is selfish and his cum doesn't belong on the crumpled, sweaty sheets. No, he told you to keep it safe inside you and that's what would happen. His fingers slip into the wet mess of cum in your folds, pushing as gently as he can all the thick liquid inside you again.

You're too tired to react, but you still sob softly at the sensation, subtly squirming on the bed, legs shaking from being held in the same position for so long. He looks at you, icy lilac gaze half-lidded with lust, blue stone glowing in the flames of the fire. He looks at the soft, creamy flesh of your sweaty body. He longs to see dark spots and bite marks, a way of proving that you belong to him. He lifts his head, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh, just above your left breast. His teeth leave crescent moons on your skin and you scream loudly at the stinging sensation, but you don't stop him. He walks away, admiring the constellations he had traced on your skin. Painting you for him, marking you as something unique to him.

You sniffle and blink wet eyelashes at him. He kisses his bite, murmuring gentle words to you, his lips trailing up with soft sucks and wet kisses in your throat until he brushes against your lips. And it's then, and only then, that he realizes he hasn't kissed you yet. He doesn't know why he didn't do it, given that it's probably the thing he misses most about you. Feeling the softness of your lips on his, the gradual way a small, innocent kiss quickly evolves into something more urgent, the way you immediately struggle to keep up with his pace, his hunger as he swallows your cute sighs and your ragged breaths as he suck your tongue.

Yes. This is what Aemond longs for. How easily he could make you fall apart in his hands.

Taking into account the way that you blush and look down at his lips, you're thinking the same thing. He smiles mischievously, slowly leaning in for a deep kiss, fingers damp with your juices and his cum resting on your jawline. Your little hands sink into his hair until you lightly scrapes your nails across his scalp, making Aemond shudder. The fingers of his other hand cup your hip, tracing the line of the bone in gentle patterns. His nose bumps yours as his tongue dances in your hot mouth, spreading in you the taste of smoke and revenge that seems to follow him at absolutely every moment now. And like his perfect antithesis, you gasp, let him savor your sweet, fruity flavor - so fuckin sweet.

Your legs circle his waist, making him press against your heat, quickly reigniting the flame of need within him. You lick it off his tongue, moan when he sucks your bottom lip and bites it, you beg between quick breaths and Aemond continues to rub himself against you, the kiss becoming sloppier, driving him crazy with how irresistible you are in this state. You give yourself completely to Aemond, without asking questions or making new complaints, and it drives him crazy.

"You are mine. Only mine. And you will never leave me again, do you understand?" He murmurs as he pulls away, both of you panting, looking seriously into your water-bright eyes, noting how they're a little wide and your mouth is swollen and wet from his kisses.

A few tears slide down your face, but you smile shakily at him, the hand in his hair stroking the silver strands lovingly.

"I am yours, Aem. Now and forever." Honesty bleeds into your shallow voice, your little fingers on your other hand tentatively tangling with the buckles of his shirt to open it.

Aemond rests his forehead against yours and truly smiles for the first time in a long, long time. Not a malicious, mocking or condescending smile... No, this time his lips are stretched into a small, but genuine, honest smile.

And it's because of you.

Because he knows he got what he wanted so much. He has you again. He was resilient, he was patient and he was fair. He fought and, with his efforts, created a space just for himself within your heart. He knows you're still unhappy with everything that's going on, and no matter how much he wants to, he can't change that. He can only strengthen you to bear it. It can only burrow deeper into your body and your heart until you are able to forget the atrocities that are happening around you - the horrible things that he is doing. It's a gaping hole in your chest that leaves you continually bleeding, he knows, but the exposed cut is so sweet, and here he is, licking the wound like an animal, with all the violent, relentless gentleness he has to offer as the vengeful prince that he is.

He wraps his arms around you, pushing his cock back into your abused pussy in a deep movement that draws a broken sound from both of you, pulling you against his chest. He rubs his sweaty face against your throat, your face, your hair. His voice syrupy and thick as he whispers, "I love you."

Fuck. Aemond would never let you go.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 16: Riddles

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.8k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

The manor is mute except for the scratch of paper as you flip the page of Astarion’s sketchbook and contemplate the detailed drawing of yourself. You frown as you try to brush the name over the woman, painting her with the letters and hues of every syllable. It doesn’t matter what portrait you look at; the name still feels foreign and unrecognizable.

Whoever the woman in these drawings is, she is lost to you. She took her name to the grave, and some things cannot be exhumed. You close the book, your eyes sailing up the wall toward the ceiling.

Should you miss her? Grieve her? Forget her?

Climbing onto the bed, you hold your palm out, summoning the flames from the candles. You close your fist to extinguish them and let the black wings of darkness envelop the room. You have a strange feeling that you’re not entirely that woman any longer, which you can’t put into words. You were disassembled somewhere between life, death, and this everlasting afterlife, and your pieces weren’t arranged in quite the same pattern.

You have lost and gained so much in so little time. Would you recognize yourself even if you had a reflection?

There’s an ache in the vacant chamber where your dead heart hangs, frozen in the static state of death. The pang of discomfort doesn’t belong to you, though. Astarion has been leaving the link open more and more, and you’re learning what he meant when he said the world around him seems to move in slow motion.  

You once made the mistake of thinking Astarion could no longer feel, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. The reality is that he feels everything with an intensity you cannot begin to fathom. His emotions are like shooting stars. They streak through him, blazing bright and winking out in the blink of an eye.

His beating heart gives away Astarion's return. He doesn’t bother lighting a candle when he enters the room, hanging his formal suit coat.

You light a candle with a twitch of your finger. “You must forgive yourself, Astarion.”

Astarion sighs, rubbing his face. “What gave me away this time?”

“The same thing.” You splay your hand across your chest. This is not the first time you’ve mentioned the ache, as if your heart is in a perpetual state of being torn. “When you hurt, I hurt.”

You feel his intention to cut the coupling, to give you a break from the pain, and you fight against it.

“Don’t,” you rebuke, narrowing your eyes at the increasing pressure in your head. “Please. Stop trying to shut me out.”  

Astarion’s eyes fall to the sketchbook you left on the bedside table. “Do you not recognize your name still?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head and fidgeting with your fingers. This is the whole reason for the pain he’s been wallowing in—a bog of guilt and shame. He’s more upset over it than you are. You smile, making your voice a gentle hug. “Give me some time, and I will get used to it.”

“You should not have to get used to your own fucking name,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes closed, and the pain in your chest increases. It feels like your heart is warping itself into knots. “Not even Cazador went as far as to remove my name from my memory.”

“You are not Cazador,” you snap back sternly. “Stop comparing yourself to him. The situation is entirely different.”

“No,” Astarion growls, raising his voice, overtaken by repulsion. “I’m something much worse. At least there were limits to his power. No restrictions hinder me.”

“Good Gods! Just stop!” You yell, jumping off the bed. You’re unsure if your anger is partly due to what Astarion is feeling or your irritation at his self-loathing. At least he cannot remember taking you to the kennels. You don’t think he will ever recover. “You’re not him, and you’re not the darkness inside. You must separate the two.”

Astarion scoffs, turning away and waving dismissively, “I think it best if you rest in your room tonight.”

You deflate, anger being replaced by his disregard and the sharp sting of rejection. Astarion has been making you sleep in your room for days. At first, you thought he needed space, but he’s only become increasingly distant and withdrawn.

“Why are you doing this?” You step toward him, but he tenses and shies away, making you halt. You try to decipher his retreat through the bond, but Astarion is carefully guarding his emotions.

“Doing what?” He asks casually, keeping his blank stare on the wall.

“You show me an open door, then slam it on me and pull the rug out from under my feet!” You look up, hating that tears have begun crawling down your cheeks. “You think keeping your distance from me is keeping me safe, but you’re tearing me apart. Do you even want me here anymore, Astarion? Should I go?”

“Don’t go,” he whispers, brittle and weak. If your hearing were not so sharp, thanks to your vampirism, you wouldn’t have heard him. There’s another stab in your chest that feels like it rips the muscles right off your bones, and you whimper, clutching at your skin. “Please.”

“I can’t take this anymore,” you plead, taking another step, only to watch him tense. Your arms drop to your sides. Your heartbreak is affecting him. You can see it in the way his jaw clenches, and he winces almost imperceptibly at every sob you stifle. “Why are you pushing me away?”

Astarion finally turns, wracking his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know if I can be what you need me to be—what you deserve.”

“I know you don’t love me,” you sigh, shrugging. It always comes back to this. “You need to listen to me; let my words sink into your skin and fade into your soul. I missed you with such intensity that it felt like I died every day we were apart. You are my forever, even if I am not yours, and that’s okay.” You shake your head dismially, unsure how to get through to him. “I love you. Goodnight.”

You’re near your room when Astarion appears in front of you out of thin air, and you bump into him. He vaults you off your feet and into his arms before you can register his movement, making you yelp at the surprise of having your feet swept out.

“Shit,” He holds you firmly against him, his lips pressed to your forehead in a lingering kiss. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to leave. Stay with me, little love. I need you.”

“Stop pushing me away.” You tangle your fingers into his hair, with your face nestled into the crook of his neck.

“I will.” His hand comes to the back of your head as he walks back to his room and places you gently on the bed with adoration in his eyes. “You are my forever, Illyria. Aeterna Amantes.”

“Lovers forever,” you finish, sidling up close to him and laying your head on his chest.

The teeth of guilt gnawing inside your chest cavity have finally relinquished your heart as their chew toy, and all that remains is the steady thrum of Astarion’s borrowed heartbeat.

“Until the world falls down, my love,” he purrs, placing a finger under your chin and his lips embracing yours.

The slow rocking rise and fall of his chest is like the sway of gentle waves; the beat of his heart is a lullaby whispering serenity into your soul, and you slip peacefully into your trance.

Upon waking, your hand meanders across the silken surf of the sheets, only to find Astarion’s side of the bed cold and void. Rolling onto your back, your eyes drag open, and you listen for the telltale susurrus of a heartbeat. A frown creases your forehead when you’re met with nothing but the anonymous creaks and groans of the manor.

Astarion doesn’t usually leave without mentioning his absence as a warning to stay indoors and away from the windows. A florid scent catches your attention, prompting you to turn your head.

On Astarion’s pillow, a red rose rests and a folded note with your name penned in his delicate, flowing hand.

“Good morning, beautiful.

I apologize for my absence, but I am not far. I’ve left blood for you in the kitchen.

Eternally yours,

Astarion.”

The promise of awaiting blood stirs you to your feet hastily. Your belly coils with anticipation, and you barely have enough restraint to dress and run a comb through your hair before you’re bounding down the stairs.

A golden goblet, elaborately etched with prismatic dragon scales that mirror yours, sits on the counter. You snatch it greedily and bring it to your lips. The blood is cool, so you allow your palms to heat slowly, warming it as it inspires your taste buds to recite their devotion to the ambrosial elixir. It’s unmistakably Astarion’s blood. It knocks you over in a wave of delirium that makes your knees weak, and you lean into the counter to keep yourself from melting into the floor.

You’re not sure if it’s your imagination or reality, but you veritably hear Astarion chuckling in your head.

The meal is finished too soon, and you groan as you clean the last traces from your lips. When you open your dreamily heavy eyes, another folded note, previously hidden by the flared base of the goblet, catches your attention. You blink rapidly to clear the insensibility glazed across your sight before you can make any sense of the words before you.

“Find me using the clues I have scattered for you, my clever Illyria.

We have much to discuss.

“Reminisce beneath the faded tapestries, where laughter once echoed; seek the embers of our stolen kiss."

Clues? What in the Hells is Astarion up to, and what the fuck do you have to discuss? An icy shock runs from your dead heart into your feet. Is it possible he found out about Mizora and knows you’ve been keeping something from him? Would he play a game of cat and mouse with you?

You would not put it past him.

He’s left the link between you open, and you cannot feel any malice vibrating in the orchestra of emotions. If he’s figured out your secret, he’s hidden it well.

You stare at the hint with a furrowed brow. Embers of your stolen kiss? Faded tapestries? The pad of your finger rubs over the fringe of scales scored into the goblet’s surface while you think, and then you realize the damn chalice itself is another tip.

This does not belong to Astarion, or it didn’t before you and he stole it after breaking into a shop one night during your adventure. Astarion caught you eyeing it while you were buying supplies. You deemed it an impractical purchase. There was a far more dire need for healing potions and other necessities than to waste coin on frivolous trinkets.

He woke you up that night, dressed entirely in black, and dragged you back to the shop for a thrilling night of thievery and resulting debauchery. Where did you two go after to celebrate?

The Blushing Mermaid.

You dress quickly in a red dress with lace sleeves and a glimmering, golden dragon that snakes up your side. The skirt hugs your hips, flares slightly, and flutters around your knees. The golden bands of the matching hairpiece and circlet wreathe your forehead and long hair.

Throwing on your sandals, you stop dead at the door. The sun still shines outside, as evidenced by the tawny luminance glowing between the cracks in the drapery.

Astarion’s voice frisks across the bond: “You needn’t fear, love. You are safe.”

“What are you up to, Ascendant?” You query back, opening the door slowly and sticking your hand in the small ray to validate his claims.

He giggles, “Solve the riddles, and all will be revealed in time.”

The sky sings of sunset in hues of fire hearths gilded with golden inlays. Despite Astarion’s assurance, your skin still flinches over your muscles as if trying to pull itself away from your figure. Your eyes keep steadily on the majesty of the horizon as you trot through the streets to the Blushing Mermaid.

With the recent meal sloshing around in your stomach, your bloodlust is easier to manage. Still, when citizens brush by with their dainty necks on display, you’re tempted to give them a nibble.

The tavern is as busy as it typically is for late afternoon, but most patrons take no notice of you, engrossed in their revelry.

“Ah, the leaking blood bag.” Captain Grisly’s voice drifts from her quarters. “Nice to see you again. I hardly recognized you without your quarterstaff and haggard, blood-soaked robe.”

When you turn and her eyes catch the cracked crimson of yours, she gasps but holds her tongue with a clenched jaw.

You smile reassuringly and taunt, “Don’t worry. I won’t bite unless you ask very nicely.” There is something about people being afraid of you that’s thrilling. You cannot explain why. Perhaps you’re learning to accept this new you instead of feeling ashamed. It’s freeing. “Was my pale companion here earlier?”

The woman eyes you skeptically and nods, “Yes, Lord Ancunin was in earlier, but he warned me not to assist you.”

“Of course he did.” You roll your eyes as Astarion chuckles in your head. “It was nice to see you.”

“Please try not to make a meal out of my patrons,” Captain Grisly smirks. “The cleaning bills are already enough of a menace.”

You chuckle while your eyes dart around, trying to remember what you and Astarion got up to that night. The memory is garbled under the lagoon of ale you must have drunk.

You drank a lot. You danced. Oh Gods. You danced on the stage.

Your eyes swing to the faded tapestries hanging above a small alcove. Astarion had dragged you off the stage when your provocative swaying earned the attention of too many ogling eyes for his comfort.

“You are a godsdamned delinquent, Illyria,” he’d purred in your ear while he ironed his body to you possessively, shielding you from the onlookers with a forearm pressed above your head. “I have half a mind to take you right here, enchantress, to show these fools you belong to me.”

A small table sits in the alcove with a single candle lit. A white rose rests on it, with a dainty silver chain wrapped around the verdant stem. Unwrapping it, you hold a locket in your hand. The edges are adorned with two exquisitely detailed dragons, one light silver and one dark, forming a heart. In the middle, a black diamond is held by the silver dragon, and a normal diamond is held by the dark one, creating a magnificent contrast.

Opening the clasp, your eyes anchor to a sketch you haven’t seen before. It’s not of the mortal woman you don’t remember. It’s of you, as you must appear now. Your eyes are the only thing in vivid colour, and your fangs peek out of your smiling lips. Even though the picture is small, it holds an impossible amount of detail.

The smooth metal of the back is engraved with Astarion’s nickname for you, Amarillis. It’s Elven, your mother tongue, for Flame-Flower.

Putting the locket on, you find another note nestled between the petals of the rose.

“Where the forgotten lay to rest under the celestial canopy, find the crimson-kissed stone where a single star shines alone.”  

If you know Astarion, he’s left another hint somewhere in plain sight, like the goblet. You scan your surroundings for anything that looks out of place, and you find an image hanging on the wall behind the stage that you don’t recall being there.

You recognize the statue, Balduran Looks Out to Sea, located in the Tumbledown district of the outer city. It’s not an area you’ve spent much time in. Astarion and you went to sit on the cliff and watch the sunrise the day before you went to kill or be killed by Cazador.

Now, you just need to get there without eating anyone.

Twilight is a tangible whisper, bruising the stretch of sky in purple and navy when you return to the streets. Alleys and paths are easiest for you to traverse, and sometimes you Misty Step and skate over the roofs when you feel bloodlust evaporating from your control.

At least Tumbledown is far less busy than the Lower City, thanks to the misty veil that never seems to disentangle from the town. The soft percussion of waves from the River Chionthar pulsing upon the cliffside is rhythmic as you walk up the quiet path leading to the statue.

You reread the note, “Where the forgotten lay.”

Cliffside Cemetery.

The large graveyard spreads before you, composed of a bafflingly complex network of headstones, tombs, and old mausoleums. You keep your eye out for anything red, which will appear brazenly against the drab background of the assorted greys and greens of the mossy tombstones.

The moonlight casts eerie shadows that stretch and disfigure the terrain. The stars ignite the velvet wreath of night as you finally come upon a headstone with a red rose draped over it.

The weather over the centuries has worn, stained, and cracked the stone. Crouching, you carefully wipe off the grime that dulls the worn epitaph.

“Astarion Ancunin,” it reads.

Rest Peacefully Beneath a Canopy of Stars.

Your fingers trace the jagged lines unconsciously as tears brim in your eyes, sinking to your knees.

“I have not returned since I punched a hole in my coffin and dug through six feet of dirt nearly 200 years ago.” Astarion’s voice floats from behind you.

Leaping to your feet, you whirl with more agility than you’ve ever possessed and thrust yourself into his arms. Astarion is dressed in clothing reminiscent of his camp clothes, leaving the typical opulence of the Vampire Ascendant behind.

“You are not forgotten, Astarion,” you whisper against his chest.

Astarion’s arms wrap around you. His timbre is angelic and deep, vibrating through your skin and massaging your spirit. “I was. For 200 years, I was a ghost stalking the streets while whoever I was, whoever I could have been, lay dead and buried."

Taking your hand, he walks toward his grave, letting his fingers coast over the roughened stone. “Cazador was waiting for me when I surfaced, hacking up dirt and congealed blood. I was his from that day forward. Even this grave is located on lands once owned by the Szarr family. Yet another nod to his ownership of me, I suppose.”

His finger taps the headstone, but he’s smiling when he turns to look at you—a real, genuine smile that fills your heart with warmth. “Then you fell like an angel from the heavens, quite literally, and waged war on everything I thought I knew about the world. You gave me something I had been without for centuries—hope.”

“I’m no angel,” you whisper.

“You’re my angel, Illyria,” he asserts. With Astarion’s attire and the way he’s speaking, which is so entirely familiar, there’s a shot of recognition that stirs your psyche. For the first time since you relearned it, your name is not an abstract word in your head. Astarion must feel it because he smiles broadly and continues, “No one cared, no one gave me a second look, and no Gods answered my prayers. No one is like you; you’re you. You stood with me through bloodlust, pain, and misery. You trusted me. You were patient. You cared. You were the only one who never gave up on me. You still haven’t given up on me, even though it’s an objectively stupid thing to do.”

“You were being very sweet until you called me stupid.” You giggle as he wipes the tears from your cheeks.

“Sweet and savoury, my dear,” he chuckles. “I’ve been free for over a year. Yet, I am just beginning to figure out who I am and what I truly want out of this newfound life.”

“What do you want, Astarion?” You lean into him. “The world is yours for the taking.”

“Not what,” he says, shaking his head, sliding an arm around your waist, and his fingers grazing over the locket on your neck. He smiles, “But you will have to finish this little quest to find the answers you seek.” He hands you another note and winks, “I’ll see you soon.”

Astarion gives you a small, playful shove and strides away with a smirk. He bows and shifts into an unnaturally large, white bat with crimson eyes you would recognize in a sea of them, soaring around you while you laugh.

“You’re adorable, but are you soft?” You ask.

He answers in your head with a lilting laugh, “Shall we find out?”

He lands, folding his wings and resting on his headstone, and cocks his head. Your fingers tremble, unfoundedly afraid you might hurt him, as they stroke down the alabaster fur.

“Soft and cute.”

“I aim to please,” he snickers, taking off to kiss the stars. “You are wasting time, my treasure.”

You giggle at his jeering and watch him streak through the sky, so beautifully free, before reading the note.

"Seek the shore’s embrace, where stars align, and ascend the steps, bathed in candlelight’s shine. There, seek the terrace above the riverside; a question to decide.” 

Shore’s embrace. Now, this you know well. When Astarion turned you he insisted on renting a villa with this name near the river in the Lower City.

The trek back to the Lower City somehow feels lengthier as nervousness hits you, ticking away in your chest, every beat of Astarion’s heart amplifying your anxiety as if the seconds were grains of sand slipping away, impossible to grasp.

You can’t entirely tell if it’s yours or his. With the bond open and uninhibited, you are entangled, a tapestry of threads entwined so seamlessly that it’s difficult to distinguish where one of you begins and the other ends.

If Astarion has figured out you’re hiding something, he’s given you no indication, but some part of you still wonders if you’re walking into a trap. It’s hard to control your thoughts so they do not transfer to him, which he’s been trying to teach you so that you can keep the bond open, but your private thoughts can remain your own.

It makes you wonder what thoughts he keeps from you.

You smell the aromatic perfume of roses before you round the corner. The villa hangs onto the wall and overlooks the River Chionthar. The silver waves sway and reflect the impending dawn’s early light, cradling the morning’s first blush. Candles light the steps covered in white and red rose petals. It almost feels wrong to step on something so wonderful.

The beat in your chest thrums with anticipation, like your extinct heartbeat has woken and risen from the grave as you ascend the staircase to the grand entrance. Your breath catches in your throat as you enter the foyer. The sparkling crystal chandelier is lit, casting scintillating rainbows across the room. Rosemary incense burns, filling the air with an aroma that reminds you of home—of Astarion.

You follow the scattered rose petals leading to the terrace as the golden crown of the sun crests the horizon. Fear typically follows such a sight, but you’re revelling in grandeur.

The heartbeat behind you is the only thing that alerts you to Astarion’s presence. The man seemingly appears out of thin air, but if you had that ability, you would take advantage of it too, you suppose.

“This is beautiful,” you say, and your words are abruptly cut off.

As your eyes fall on Astarion in his resplendent tailored suit, he descends to one knee. His crimson eyes meet yours, sparkling with a celestial constellation mirroring the infinity of his love. The newborn sun lights up the adoration in his features.

“Illyria, my love,” he begins in a soft whisper before your brain can catch up to what is happening. “You are the fire that lights up my darkness, a melody that soothes my troubled soul. After being with you, there is no doubt that I have touched the heavens.” He hesitates momentarily, and the bond surges with warmth, longing, devotion, and good Gods, love, “I love you, and I fall more in love with you every day. I do not know what tomorrow brings, but right now, with you, the world feels right.”

His hand reaches into his pocket and produces a small, velvet box. Lifting the lid, the quick breaths you didn’t realize you'd been taking catch in your throat as your eyes fall on an exquisite ring, nestled on a bed of crimson silk, intricately crafted with a dragon claw, clutching a heart-shaped diamond to match the locket.

Astarion’s warm caramel baritone holds the sweet promise of eternity: “Will you marry me?”

Your hand shoots to your mouth to stifle the sound that erupts from your throat, somewhere between a whimper and a squeak. Your knees fold, unable to hold your weight any longer, and you drop, folding your arms around his neck and draping yourself over him.

His hand comes to your back, and he kisses your cheek. “Is this happy crying, or have I made a grave miscalculation?”

“Happy crying,” you stutter through shaky breaths.

He chuckles, nuzzling you. “Is this a yes?”

“Yes!” You pull back, nodding in case he cannot understand you through your weeping. “But I need one thing from you."

"Ask, and I shall make it yours,” he purrs.

You cradle his cheek, sweeping your thumb across it. “Say it again.”

He smirks, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I love you.”

“One more time,” you choke out.

“Gods above,” he giggles. “Is this all you will have me say now?”

You smile, the tips of your fangs peeking from your lips. “It sounds very good in your mouth.”

“You know I do not repeat myself for anyone,” he taunts. “Anyone but you, my love.” Astarion takes your hand, slipping the ring onto your finger, looking deeply into your eyes. “I love you, Illyria, my wife, my everything.”

“I love you, too, Astarion, my husband, my shining star.”

He beams, “I do rather like that, you know,” he muses. “When you call me husband.”

His arm wraps around your waist, easing you to your feet. You clutch onto him to keep yourself upright as your knees wobble like a newborn fawn and try to watch the sunrise with your head on his chest, but your eyes keep drifting to the ring adorning your finger, reminding yourself that this did, in fact, just happen.

“Do you like it?” He murmurs, catching your eyes moored to it.

“I love it,” you whisper. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I should hope not,” he chuckles. “I designed it. No one will ever have anything similar.”

“How do you know?”

“Oh, you know me,” he shrugs. “I killed the jeweller to make sure he could never replicate it.”

Your head snaps up, wide-eyed, to look at him. He glances at you and bursts into laughter. “A jest, sweetheart.”

“I hope you at least compelled him to forget it,” you snicker. “Or I may have to drain anyone I see with anything similar.”

“Oh,” he giggles. “I do so adore it when you’re murderous. Speaking of draining someone, I’ve had you running around the city all night. You must be positively famished.”

“You fed me,” you say, arching a brow at him. “Lucky for the citizens of the Lower City. Some of them smell very tasty.”

Astarion’s hands find the back of your thighs, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he lifts you. “Not as tasty as me, I hope.”

“No one could ever be as tasty as you,” you purr. “Your blood is nearly as charming as you are.”

He chuckles, taking you into the villa and setting you on the lofty mattress. “Well, who am I to deny your hunger? I would not be a very good husband if I did not keep my lovely wife satisfied. Would I?”

“What are you saying exactly?” You sweep your fingers through his hair as he undoes the elaborate clasps of his suit jacket. He discards it and loosens the collar of his shirt. You quirk your head at him. “Speak plainly.”

“I want you to bite me,” he purrs, pushing your legs to part for him with his knee and leaning over you. His lips mould to yours in a reverential kiss as his hands wander your body and ignite your desire.

“Bite you?” You breathe. “You said I couldn’t.”

“No.” Astarion removes his shirt, and your palms skim over his chest. “I said you can’t unless I permit you. You are as close to a True Vampire as you can get, my consort. It will not change you.”

“I don’t want to change,” you murmur, your fingers pressing firmly into his sculpted muscles. The offer of blood is tempting your hunger. “You’re giving me permission?”

He smirks, “Go on then. I’ll allow it.”

“Where?” Astarion cranes his neck to the side in an invitation. It takes everything you have not to leap for that magnificently pulsing vein. “Your neck?”

“Is there something wrong with my neck, my dear?”

“No. Of course not,” you giggle. “You have a very lovely neck. This is just new, that’s all. I didn’t think you would want to be, uh, well, bitten.”

“Your bite, my sweet,” he purrs, pressing his chest against yours and pinning you between him and the mattress. “Is divine. Only you will ever get the great honour of biting the Vampire Ascendant.”

“I godsdamned better be!” You huff, “I don’t share, Astarion. Not your body, not your blood, and definitely not your heart. You are mine and only mine. ”

He giggles, “Possessive little thing. Aren’t you? Not to worry, my love. I do not intend to share. I am yours. Wholly, and completely yours.”

You trace your lips down the shell of his ear. Your heart frolics at the ardent shudder that courses through his body and how the breath hitches in his throat. Kissing his neck until you feel the vein pulsing against your lips, you wait until he whispers his shaky, anticipatory approval.

The razor-sharp points of your fangs kiss his skin, and you wait for your body to seize up, but it doesn’t. You bite quick and sure, trying your best to be gentle. You feel the pop of your fangs puncturing his skin. His blood erupts into your mouth, caressing your tongue with heavenly heat that cascades through the channels of your veins and nestles between your thighs. You drink from him slowly but deeply, and your body trembles.

Astarion groans, deep and rich, his hot breath fanning the cool skin of your neck, and you feel the icy pinch of his fangs sink into you. You wash through him, and he passes through you in a paradisiacal torrent. The pleasure that harmonizes over the bond is transcendent. You swear you could come undone for this alone, and you ease your fangs from his neck and moan.

He kisses you with a bruising intensity. His tongue parts your lips so you can taste the essence of each other, and he bucks his hips into your aching sex, sending you spiralling into that frisson of pure delirium.

The clothes on your body feel much too restricting, and you whimper. The barrier of fabric between you feels unbearable. Astarion’s fingers go to his trousers, but his usual adroitness is nowhere to be seen as his fingers fumble with the laces.

He stares at his fingers dumbfounded for a moment and then looks at you with an arched brow and giggles gleefully, “Do you by any chance feel absurdly intoxicated?”

You writhe on the bed, unable to contain your ardent lust, as your brain awkwardly processes his question.

“Entirely,” you laugh. Gods. You thought you were high on him last time, but you are almost senseless in your need. You’re not even sure if you’re walking on the planes of reality or in some delightful hallucination, and you cannot find it within you to care. “Is this not normal?”

Astarion throws his trousers to the side, rucks up your dress clumsily, and tosses it away. “I’m not entirely sure. I may have read something about it, but I cannot quite remember where or when.” He shrugs. “We will have to experiment.”

Precum glistens, dripping from the head of his swollen cock. You are overcome with the absolute need for his salty, heady taste on your tongue. You lunge at him, bowling him over. Your movements are somehow swift and equally ungainly.

You lick up his shaft with a long, broad tongue stroke, feeling the ridges of his distended veins, before you engulf him in the wet heat of your mouth. Swirling your tongue around the blunt head of his cock. He sucks in sharp, shuddering breaths, fingers in your hair as you worship him, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, taking him deeper and deeper until his cock tickles the back of your throat.

“Illyria,” he moans breathlessly. “Hells. You’ve got to stop before I lose my composure.”

But you’re not entirely sure you could stop, even if you wanted to. No. You want to feel his cock twitching on your tongue and his seed shooting into your throat. You want to drink his essence like a fine wine.

“Illyria,” he warns, trembling fingers curling into your hair. You feel the telltale pulse, hear the way his breath becomes ragged and uneven, and you take him over the edge in a few bobs of your head. He cries out, your name a sweet litany in his voice.

His seed bursts into your mouth, and you moan at the salt of him, swallowing every drop he gives you like a thirsty traveller. He is candied like heaven, wicked like hell, and, oh, so fucking delicious.

He pulls your head back by your hair and stares at you like he has found an oasis in an arid desert. You lick your swollen, red lips, determined to get every last drop of him that you can.

“Bad girl,” he purrs, shoving you flat on your back and pressing his lips to yours. He explores your mouth. “I taste exultant on your tongue.”

His fingers run through the seam of your dripping folds, coating them in the sleek of your arousal and easing into your fluttering channel. Astarion presses the pads firmly into that sweet spot inside that blinds you with pleasure, the heel of his palm caressing your clit with mind-numbing friction.

It does not take him long to settle into a rhythm that throws you somersaulting over the cusp of your own release with a lewd, wild cry, and he does not stop until he’s lured every possible shockwave from your body.

Astarion grabs your waist, tugging you down the bed as he settles between your thighs, sliding his length through your folds, his head teasing your overstimulated pearl. He guides himself into you, working your sex open inch by inch as you stretch to accommodate his girth.

Where everything before this was wild, almost savage, and borderline uncivilized, this is slow, passionate, and unhurried. He rocks his hips in languid pumps, coming to his forearm with his forehead pressed against yours. He is not fucking you. He is making love to you.

“You are mine,” he rasps through shaky gasps. It is not a proclamation of his ownership of you. It is not a command. It’s more of a plea for reassurance. “Yes?”

“Yours,” you confirm breathlessly, your eyes squeezed closed in pure rapture as he massages every one of your ridges poetically. Your fingers slide into the hair at the nape of his neck, and you cling to him as if you might float away on this cloud. “I’ve always been yours.”

“Gods. I love you,” he shudders between uneven breaths.

You will never tire of hearing those words, tasting them as they hinge off his tongue, and feeling them as they dally over the bond.

You clench around him, expelling a sighing groan from his mouth that you catch on your lips, determined to taste his ecstasy. His arm folds around your waist, forcing you to arch into him with his other hand at the back of your head. Astarion changes the angle of his thrusts but keeps the easy tempo. The blunt head of his cock waves over the sensitive pad of nerves inside you with every roll of his hips, and his groin grinds against your needy clit.

Astarion purposefully brings you close to your climax and then eases you away from it until you’re a whimpering mess beneath him.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to take this withholding any longer. From his taut muscles and the way Astarion shakes, you know he cannot either. “Gods.”

“Open your eyes and come with me, my love.” Astarion increases the sensual pace rhythmically. The building pleasure pools in your abdomen, coiling tighter and tighter with every snap of his hips.

You open your eyes, blinking away the daze of passion, and cradle his cheek as he gazes at you affectionately. You’ve never seen his eyes so vividly crimson, as if his love for you itself was shining through the scarlet depths.

He knows the moment you begin to tread the fine edge of euphoria, gripping his girth and begging him to flood you with his pleasure. You shatter, spasms and white-hot pleasure ripping through you so intensely that the candles in the room go out and reignite with every contraction of your walls.

“F-fuck,” he moans loudly, a roll of purring thunder echoing in his chest. With one last pump, Astarion tremors, cock pulsing, and spilling into you. His hips stutter, pulsing deeply within you with every twitch of his cock.

He pushes the sweaty strands of hair from your face as you both struggle to catch your breath. You may never get used to his new speedy movements because, before you even realize you’re moving, he’s rolled you so that your limp body blankets his.

His fingers caress up and down the valley of your spine as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, heaving a sigh of pure happiness while you are once again captivated by the ring wreathing your finger.

Astarion kisses your palm, placing it on his chest, and plays with the ring on your finger. “Will you tell your friends?”

“Our friends,” you correct, even though many don’t fancy him. “Of course. I am not ashamed.”

Astarion nods with a lopsided grin. “Even Gale?”

“Especially Gale,” you giggle.

“I simply must be there when you do,” he snickers. “The look on his face is sure to be exquisite.”

“I am positive he will have choice words for me,” you laugh.

Astarion bristles, “He best watch his words when I am near. I will not tolerate him speaking down to you.”

“Easy, Ascendant,” you tut, clicking your tongue at him. “I am capable of dealing with Gale and his words. I am not a maiden in need of saving.”

Astarion relaxes, chuckling, “A maiden you most certainly are not. I am going to have to field noise complaints.”

You pat his chest, smirking, “All in a day’s work, husband. Our neighbours are going to hate us.”

“We will simply purchase all the houses in the neighbourhood if they become too bothersome,” Astarion chimes, jostling you. “Think of all the places I could make you scream for me.”

You both break into laughter together, still immersed in the intoxication of each other’s blood.

But your bliss doesn’t last long as reality grips its claws into your rapture and bleeds it dry.

You cannot possibly continue to keep what you know for him. How can you expect your love to thrive where secrets sleep? He has to know he can trust you to be honest with him, even when that honesty frightens you. You would want him to tell you if the roles were reversed.

Guilt and fear tangle together and ball in your throat. Astarion jolts at the sudden change in your mood as it resonates over the union, sinking into him as if it were his own. His brows furrow and his eyes dart around aimlessly as he tries to understand the trouble he feels.

“What is wrong, little love?” He coos, taking your hand in his. You can feel his anxiety and the quickened pace of his heart in his palm. “You are frightened. You needn’t be afraid. I am getting better at controlling it. You can tell me anything.”

You steel yourself against the panic. His. Yours. Your combined dread.

You swallow and force the words out of your mouth. “I know what ails you.”

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. Your support gives me the motivation to keep this fic going, and I appreciate each of you!

As always, please enjoy.

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

-We finally got Astarion to say he loves her, multiple times, and a lot more than that. ❤️💍

How is he going to react when she finally comes clean? 🫣

[yuebinnie]

Atlas

☾ Pairing : Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x F!Reader

☆ Warnings : hurt/comfort, emotional breakdown, disassociation, depression, ooc Alastor, established relationship

☾ WC : 1.5k

☆ A/N : Using writing as a coping mechanism. I hope you guys enjoy this, writing it helped me get through a breakdown haha. Love, always xxx

You never understood why it happened. Everything would be great—amazing, even—and with no reasonable cause, within an instant, tears would fill your eyes and the weight of the world would fall upon your shoulders. It was like peacefully walking on the beach only to suddenly be sucked into the water, where no amount of fighting against the current would let you reach the surface; you could only accept your fate and let yourself sink, breathe in through the burning feeling and let water fill your lungs.

This time, though, you knew exactly what had triggered it.

You had been chatting with Angel Dust at the hotel bar, gossiping about meaningless things, when you reached to grab cashews from a bowl sitting close to him. He had slightly nudged your hand away, tsking, saying those were his. You had known it was friendly banter from the tone he had used, but you felt the familiar burning feeling behind your eyes appear and your composure fall. Nonetheless, you had forced a small laugh out as you looked at your almost empty glass, clenching your jaw slightly as you tried your best to fight back the tears that were beginning to fill your eyes.

You had excused yourself quickly, mumbling that you were tired and going to bed under your breath, leaving Angel Dust confused as to what just had happened. The walk to your room had been quick; the inside of your cheeks was bleeding from how hard you had bitten down, attempting to keep a somewhat neutral look on your face.

Now here you were, your back against your bedroom door, alone in the darkness. You felt the tears flow down your cheeks as you closed your eyes; your arms folded up to rest against the back of your head, hugging it, as you muttered to yourself, “He was joking, why the fuck are you crying.” But your body had a mind of its own, and tears started to flow in greater numbers as a heavy weight settled in your chest. You sighed loudly, slowly making your way to your bed.

You sat down and stared into the obscurity, your bottom lip trembling from the sheer effort of trying not to break down over something so stupid. You failed to control the rhythm of your breathing and knew you were done for; this was gonna happen whether you wanted it or not. You lifted your legs on the bed, shuffling to lay on your side, grabbing a pillow to hold against your chest and bury your face into. You welcomed the tears, the ragged breaths, the sobs, the shakiness, the heaviness of your very existence; you let them take over you, not a single fighting bone left in you. You were dragged to the seafloor, your body numb but your consciousness still there, despite being muddled.

You lost track of time; fully aware you were having an exaggerated reaction to something so silly. You knew your body was not done; it always lasted an embarrassingly long time. You could hear your pillow-muffled sobs as if they were coming from someone else, and you already felt exhaustion dawning upon you.

From far, far away, you heard a voice, “Oh, mon amour.” Even though you felt disconnected from your body, you knew you were being moved. The person did not try to remove the pillow from your grip, and instead dragged you upwards, so your side was resting against their chest instead of the mattress. Two arms wrapped around you and a hand was placed on the back of your head, petting your hair slowly.

It felt warm and secure, and just by the gentleness at which you had been handled you knew who it was, and so you permitted yourself to dig into the seafloor, your body shaking harder from the strength of your sobs. The weight of it truly befell upon you, every single repressed emotion resurfacing like a tsunami wreaking havoc. It hurt, everywhere and nowhere all at once, and you were, oh so tired. Of what exactly, you did not know, but your very soul felt exhausted, like a candle running out of wax.

Wave after wave you let the feelings wash over you, Alastor holding you close and making sure to ground you to this realm of existence with his touch. All you could focus on was the ache, spreading all over from its epicentre in your chest. You could hear a faint hum and felt a soft vibration coming from under you enter your being, slightly soothing your nerves.

Your eyes opened under the water, and you saw the surface above become lighter; you swam up, reaching the surface as your mind slowly reconnected to your body. You tossed the pillow you were holding away and turned in his grasp, burying your face in the crook of his neck as small sobs still left your mouth. Your breathing was irregular, a mixture of pants and gasps as your body desperately tried to get oxygen. Alastor snaked an arm around your waist, his other hand still in your hair as he said softly, “Breathe with me, my dear.”

You struggled, at first, as you tried to copy the rhythm of his breaths, your lungs not letting you inhale properly. He kept breathing, his chest rising and falling slowly, and after a few minutes, your body felt calmer, and despite being shaky, your breaths were matching his. You felt your body melt against him, bodily exhaustion weighing on you like a weighted blanket. Your tears had also stopped at some point; only the trembling remained. He ran a hand up and down your back in a comforting manner, humming a tune as he let you take all the time you needed, not in a rush to get you to talk. The beating of his heart thrumming against your cheek that was pressed against his neck was trying to lull you to sleep, but you slowly detached yourself from his body to look up at him.

He observed your face, smiling softly as he kept running his fingers through your hair; you looked like a mess. Your eyes and lips were puffy, your face blotchy, and your flushed cheeks were covered in smudged mascara. You gave him an attempt of a smile and he leaned over to press his lips against your forehead; despite looking like a mess, you were still the prettiest little thing in his eyes. You sniffled as he pulled away, meeting your gaze once again, “Do you know what triggered it this time?” You bit down your bottom lip, as you nodded once, feeling extremely silly. He moved his hand to your cheek, stroking the soft skin, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your mind started running wild; shame, anger, and annoyance all tried to take over but with a deep sigh you pushed them away and hesitantly spoke up, “I was at the bar with Angel.” Alastor’s eyes narrowed at the name, but he let you continue, “We were talking and joking around; nothing bad happened, really. He teased me and it just… Hit me. I left and came in here.” You bit the inside of your cheek, cringing at how sensitive it was from being wounded earlier. Your head slightly cocked to the left, “How’d you get in? I locked the door.”

His smile dropped for a second before reappearing, “I knocked, ma chérie, and called out for you but you would not answer so…” He dragged out the last word, quickly leaning in to smack a small kiss against your lips before saying just as quickly, “I used my shadows.”

You groaned and let yourself fall back against him, pressing your cheek against his chest as you mumbled, “Of course you did.” He chuckled, his fingers finding their way back to your hair as his other ones traced invisible shapes on your back. You sighed again, and brought a hand to his chest, enjoying the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat underneath your palm, “Thank you for coming in, Al.”

“My, what kind of partner would I be if I let my girl cry herself to exhaustion all alone?” A bright smile spread on your lips as you hummed, agreeing with him. You closed your eyes, enjoying his warmth and the feeling of his presence as you felt your breathing slow down, calmness dawning upon you.

You turned your head to press a small kiss against his clothed chest, returning to your original position a second later, murmuring, “I love you.” His hands halted their motions, and you felt his heartbeat accelerate a little; you only ever rarely told him those three words.

He hummed, his fingers returning to what they had previously busied themselves with, “I… Am quite fond of you, too, my dear.”

A giggle made its way past your lips, the heavy feeling and ache that had weighed you down now a forgotten thing. As always, Alastor had been the one to help you come down from it, grounding you so you would not get lost in your mind. Although he was feared by most and came across as judgemental, he was nothing of the sort with you; instead an understanding and doting partner who made sure you stayed as content as you could be. In all honesty, that was all you could ask for, and you were, oh, so grateful to have met him.