#who condemn him for that. but i don’t think there’s a point in acting like the arc he wrote for her wasn’t good like why lie

[roobylavender]

theres been a discussion of reeves vs nolan take on selina recently. someone said the nolan one was better and theyre currently getting dogpiled.. what is your take on whos better?

nolan unequivocally. i feel like people get caught up in nolan selina’s occasional sexy lines (which are cringe and i do dislike, to be clear) as a means to discredit the character altogether despite the fact that there’s so much emphasis put on selina having agency and liberty to do as she chooses, which is a quintessential aspect of her dynamic with bruce. he disapproves of her actions and methods at times but he respects her personhood and he doesn’t make choices for her bc obv he doesn’t have a right to but she would also never allow him to. their dynamic in the dark knight rises is great bc it is holistically predicated on a respect for her decisions, her bitterness, and her compassion. i do think there are other criticisms you can make as to how nolan selina sort of subtly reinforces the propaganda of the trilogy; i do not have the link at the moment but when reeves’s batman came out there was a youtuber who made a video comparing reeves selina to nolan selina and talked about how the latter’s whiteness did play into her ability to escape confinement and consequences easily, which when you juxtapose against the racism driving nolan’s casting and the recent shift to acknowledge selina as a potentially biracial character, can spark valid concerns as to limiting the potential class commentary she was actually capable of as a character (and i will address this later with respect to reeves selina). but that valid criticism aside my preference for nolan selina has to do with maintaining her character and relationship integrity, which to me is the most impt thing you can do in an adaptation. if the plot and circumstances will change, what you should at least try to do is maintain the core of the character, and nolan does that marvelously with selina and bruce (likely bc dixon, whose work the nolan movies are largely adapted from, actually tended to write these two well)

now, obv with reeves selina a huge reason for supporting her in comparison is the racial visibility, esp when you, again, consider why nolan originally rejected zoe for the role in his movies. and i do think that’s highly valid and frankly i want non-white selina, bc it makes her contentions with and distrust of the state as established in catwoman (1989) that much more palpable and worthwhile to explore. but a racebended casting doesn’t automatically do the work for you and there’s still a character integrity you have to maintain. and i think this is something not only reeves but dc writers at large tend to understand poorly. there’s so much racebending happening in comics these days and i do think it’s a useful vehicle but not as it’s actually used in practice. the changes are superficial rather than going to the root of the character. so i personally find reeves selina to be a huge insult to the character, bc rather than use that racebending as an opportunity to expand on selina and her hardline opposition to bruce and the state, it’s not really used to do much at all (which honestly can likely be attributed to the fact that everyone involved in making this script and plot was white!) and selina is instead regressed from what she was in the comic that reeves’s take on her was based on. catwoman (1989) and catwoman (1993) for that matter are huge novelties in selina’s history bc they are near insularly focused on her. we play by her rules and everyone else in the picture is a reactionary. the reeves movie turns this on its head bc now selina is subservient to bruce’s arc and to his decisions. he dictates what she does until she’s finally fed up with it, which we’re supposed to applaud despite the fact that bruce does nothing short of condescend to her and victim-blame a sex worker, and bc he ultimately saves her from her anger in the end so it’s romantic. the romance is the priority throughout the entire movie. there are brief moments of selina’s rebellion but as a whole she has no control over her arc bc bruce’s arc comes first. i also think the final scene where she says “the bat and the cat. has a nice ring to it” (or whatever it was, close enough) to be a complete misunderstanding of their dynamic at its inception. this movie purportedly based its selina on mindy newell’s work but somehow fails to recognize that mindy newell’s selina expressly disdained the idea of being associated with batman bc her independence and defiance was the entire point. even if you want to argue their dynamic in the movie is a reflection of what it has become in the comics now, those are depicting bruce and selina’s relationship with each other more than twenty years after they first met. it makes no sense to make selina so amenable to bruce in the beginning bc it completely undercuts the fact that she’s right in her class stance from the start. and it also seems to reiterate the prevalent misconception that for a romance to work between bruce and selina she has to soften her edges and anger, despite those being the exact things that made bruce attracted to and sympathetic of her

[allophonicmess]

Too Sweet

Logan Howlett x fem!Reader

Act 3

Warnings: spoilers for Deadpool & Wolverine

This is a fluff chapter. Gotta give you guys some candy after all that angst

Word count 4.1 K

Life resumed as normal after that. Or as normal as it could be when you are suddenly placed in the new timeline. Logan kept getting confused by little details that were different to the life he had lived before. Professor X ? Sure he exists but he had hair. Cyclops? Oh yeah. He was just as annoying as he remembered. Who are the fucking Avengers and what sort of rich nerd was Tony Stark? And what about Jean?

“A hot red head with the telekinetic powers?” Wade hummed, pretending to be lost in thought. “Uh, no. UNLESS! Charles used to have a beautiful flowing mane that I don’t know about. He is turning grey, you know… but it suits him. Silver fox”              

So Jean was out of the picture. That was good, right?

Logan groaned at Wade's bad joke. He shifted his focus outside, watching the landscape change from looming tall skyscrapers to even fields and trees that started changing colour with the season. It reminded him of home.

“Just to get this straight.” Logan shifted in his seat. The car that Wade had bought from the dealership had been heavily discounted and Logan now understood why. You would think it can’t get worse than the Odyssey? Oh boy, were you wrong. It was too small for 4 people, let alone 2 mutant men. He already felt sorry for whoever might have to sit in the back for whatever reason.

“Y/N has powers?” Logan asked, trying to play it cool. The whole drive had been a big Q&A.

“Yup,” Wade said with a pop. One hand on the steering wheel and the rest of him laid back in his seat.

“They call her Osmium, too?” Logan didn’t like this dependency on the wanna-be hero. But he had to make a good first impression.

“Osmimimum? Uh no. She is called Atom” Wade laughed “Don’t if she actually does stuff with atoms… It's more like…” Wade groaned as he tried to think of an example.

“She manipulates density.” Logan pointed out. They had trained together many times. But Y/n was never allowed to use her full potential with the X-men. They condemned violence and so she was often left out on mission and focused on keeping the school running.

“Ugh- I guess? She once told me in great, boring detail why ‘Atom’ is a bad superhero name for her but they kept it for the marketability. “ He shrugged “Oh! I remember that one time we stopped a child-mutant trafficking and she got mad, like REAL MAD, and then she turned this one guy into goop.” Wade nodded fondly, thinking back at that moment. “And I mean like Nickelodeon kids choice award goop, like slurpable slushy goo, like-“

“Okay, alright! I get it.” Logan groaned in annoyance. Shaking his head at Wade. He was thankful for the man’s support and friendship but god was he annoying. Constantly.

“I wish she would do that to me sometime. It’s on my ways-to-die bingo. But she keeps refusing!” Deadpool hit the wheel dramatically.

“You are disgusting,” Logan stated dryly. “The most disgusting person I ever met.”

“Don’t forget the most annoying!”

...

The decision to go back to teaching was not made out of fun or for the joy of doing it. Maybe partially, even though Logan would not openly confess so. It was made out of necessity. Living with Wade and Al became tiresome after the first few weeks. It was always the same antiques, the lack of schedule as well as a constant state of chaos that made him crave the ordered life at the school once again. He hoped that it would give him a sense of belonging. The X-men might be different here, with a few quips and details that didn’t match with his reality. But living at the school would tie him to a strict schedule and by god, he needed some structure in his life.

 But all in all, it meant home.

“Okay, peanut. Today is a big day. But I know you’ll do great and meet a lot of new friends.” Wade joked in a motherly tone as they arrived at the Mansion. “And no hair pulling or biting unless they ask for it, okay?”

“I can’t wait to be rid of you” Logan groaned as the car came to a halt. He exited the car with a low groan, stretching to lose stiffed muscles. Not having to constantly ride in Wade's joke of a car was another reason that he preferred living at Xavier’s Institution. Speaking off:

“There you are. Welcome, welcome.” Xavier rolled into the mansions yard.

“A pleasure to have you, Logan. I must say, I was very pleasantly surprised when I received your response to my inquiry.” He moved towards Logan, offering his hand for a handshake.

Logan inspected the man. He was older, in his 40s maybe. But younger than the Charles Xavier he had worked with. He sported shaggy longer hair that was starting to thin out. Soon he would need to get it trimmed to keep his professional exterior. Along with a beard that was rather spotty and seemed too reminisce of his look in the 70s. Xavier looked like a mix of the two versions that Logan got to meet during his time at the school and it made him wonder how time worked here. Events seemed to play out in different order, they didn’t happen at all or much later than seemed correct.

He shook Xavier’s hand, thanking him for the offer. “Of course. I was surprised when you contacted me.” Logan confessed. His gaze shifted towards the grand building in front of him. It was the same old English style build that he knew, with a few modern elements added here and there.

“Is it familiar to you? The school? I assume you have experienced quite a few dejá-vus since arriving here.” Charles observed Logan.

“I do. Some things are the same. Others don’t match what I know or didn’t happen at all.” He confessed. Already feeling the brother connection build, similar to the one he had with the other Charles.

“You will find your answers. I am sure of it.” Charles turned around motioning Logan to follow him inside. “I think it is best if we continue this conversation in my office.” He looked over his shoulder at Wade, who had waited in the car, listening in on the conversation.

“Oh, yeah, I’ll be on my way. You call me if you need to get picked up, Pookie!” He waved at Logan in a motherly way.

“You aren’t coming?” He asked, somewhat confused. But then he saw Charle’s face, the intense stare he gave Wade.

“Uhhh, no I technically have a house ban for no apparent reason-“

“You burned down the west wing” Charles answered dryly.

Wade clicked his tongue, “Right, okay. Yeah… But! It’s very modern now.” He chuckled weakly. “You’ll still call me up for a mission, right?” He tried to persuade the professor.

“If the mission takes place outside of my building then yes.” Charles agreed, focusing back on Logan. And leading him inside. Neither of them commented on the cheer that Wade gave as he drove off.

Being back at the school felt surprisingly good to Logan. It was like coming back from a long holiday. Most everything was the same: Students running in the hallways, playing games in the gardens and-

“Fancy seeing you here!”

Logan turned around quickly, looking for whoever addressed him. Some children were buzzing along the halls, none of them too interested in him. Then he spotted her by the stairs. Leaning onto the dark wooden rails of the gallery. The light from the window behind her illuminating her figure.

“Y/n”, he breathed.

“Hi! Charles told me that you wanted to start teaching again.” She made her way downstairs, focus shifting between not falling and keeping her gaze on him. She seemed pleasantly surprised to see him.

He turned more toward her, watching her get closer to ground level. With each step he felt his excitement grow “He contacted me, actually. Asked whether I wanted to work here…”

“Oh really? What a coincidence ”She grinned mischievously, stopping at the end of the stairs and leaning on one of the bannisters. She kept a little space between them. There might be some familiarity between them but she didn’t want to push him too far yet and give him the chance to get closer to her if he felt like it.

But Logan stayed in place: “Do you have anything to do with that?”

She smirked,  and he felt some of his charm return to him . He might be rusty but some things were just engraved in him.

“Maybe” She shrugged, smiling softly with a playful sparkle in her eyes “But I’m assuming that you won’t be teaching history, right?” Y/n teased carefully. The multiverse situation was a thing she wanted to be careful about. Wade had told her a little bit about what had happened to Logan before he transferred but she didn’t know any details.  

“No, I teach PE and defence classes. You do science, right?” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, hoping to lose the tension in his body. He threw the tidbit of knowledge into the conversation, hoping that he was right and that the two versions of her had that much in common.

“Chemistry and Literature, yeah.” She smiled. She then looked at her watch before pointing towards another corridor with a sigh “I’d love to talk more, but I need to get to class. Maybe we could meet sometime.” She secured the book in her arms.

“Yes.” He answered with a stiff nod, his hands were getting sweaty.

They stood In awkward silence.

“Maybe over a coffee?” She asked, looking up at him, her lip curled upwards. Her look became more expecting as he watched her in silence.

 He would catch the bait she just threw, right? Scott had laughed when she asked him about what Logan had been like; What this version might be like.

 ‘He’s an asshole’ He said ‘a cocky asshole and who thinks he can charm any girl he likes’ she blushed at that comment ‘But he is into the dark, mysterious type if that is what you are after’

“Maybe”, Logan gave  cold and curtly.

He regretted his demeanor when he saw her smile slip for just a moment.

Fuck.

Her face slipped for a moment “Oh.. okay.” She huffed softly. “See you around then.” Y/n nodded quickly before running off.

...

A routine established itself after the first weeks back at the school. The work there itself was the same. Teach the children standard curricula, training them in controlling their powers and some extracurricular activities.

He would spend some evenings with the other members of Team X ,as they called themselves here. Sometimes he would meet Y/n in the hallway but he didn’t work up the courage to stop and talk to her beyond a quick ‘hello’.

What is wrong with you? You used to sweep women off their feet. She is offering herself to you at any chance and you still can’t manage to ask her out?

He sighed as he changed back into his regular clothes. The class had just ended. It was Friday, still fairly warm for October and the trees looked beautiful in all shades of red, orange and yellow.

 Would be perfect for a romantic walk… A charming, rugged man could ask a woman out for that.

“That guy died a long time ago…” He mumbled to himself. Picking up his bag and closing the locker.

He exited the gym, making his way to his room or rather apartment. Wade managed to burn down the teacher's quarters along with the kitchens and cafeteria in some wicked stunt. No one knew what happened and that was for the best, he guessed.

However, that incident resulted in a modernized reconstruction with more spacious rooms for the teachers and a communal cafeteria that students and members of Team X shared.  Great for extroverts but Logan had to pass it every time he went to his rooms, much to his dismay. To make it worse,  the communal space was separate from the hall via a glass wall, allowing for a perfect view of everyone who tried to sneak past. Which led to uncomfortable situations such as this.

“Logan!” Piotr called, waving his huge metallic arm to get the other man's attention. Logan's initial reaction was to ignore him as he had done many times with the members of his old team.

No, he wanted to do better. He needed to. It was that kind of behavior that made him spiral in the first place. So he took a deep breath and channeled all jolliness available to him after 6 hours of teaching and a generally low level of it to begin with.  He slowly made his way towards the teacher's table.

“Come, eat with us.” Piotr offered him the seat next to him on the thick wooden bench. A seat opposite of… fuck- of fucking course he was in on Wade’s plan to play matchmaker.

 “We can’t have you get scrawny, eh?” he joked.

“Not that that would be likely to occur” Y/n joked as Logan sat down. His look snapped towards her and her eyes widened in shock at what had just come out of her mouth.

A knowing, wicked grin spread across Colossus's face. That fucking asshole…

“What are we having?” Logan asked, ignoring the situation that had just occurred. He tried to keep his gaze on Piotr who was busy filling a plate with whatever was in the big metal pot on the side of the table. His eyes shifted to Y/n every so often.

“Pierogi. I am trying out new recipes for a cooking class with my students” He said proudly, placing the plate in front of Logan “Y/n said, they are very good. Right?” He asked her, putting the woman on the spot.

“Oh, uhm…yeah. I like the new… stuffing.” She said, the answer sounding more like a question, carefully looking at Logan when he tried it. She was thankful for Piotr’s brotherly demeanor and gentle nature. Yet sometimes he would tease her as any older brother liked to do. And they sure liked to do it in front of people that the younger sibling might fancy.

Logan nodded in agreement, complimenting the man for his cooking.

“You cook here regularly?” He asked with a mouthful.

“Of course! Cooking is a very important life skill. As well as baking. You should join one of Y/n’s baking classes, she is very talented.” Colossus complimented the woman, making her grin.

“I plan on holding a workshop on the weekend for older students and alumni. You should come.” She offered, a hopeful look in her eyes. Maybe she was too discrete the last time she tried to get Logan to ask her out. So this time she tried to be more direct with her offer.

“I don’t bake,” Logan answered in a backhanded comment as he continued to eat. He didn’t think too much about it. He had planned to ask her out after lunch. He was overly focused on what he would say to her once the others left to notice how he had sounded.

It only occurred to him when he saw how Y/n visibly deflated. “Oh, right” She hummed, swallowing another bite of her food, eyes looking anywhere but towards the man who had once again rejected her so swiftly.

Piotr, just sighed with disappointment, leaning back in his chair. His hard elbow bumped into Logan’s side.

You fucked it up. Again.

...

“Okay, stop. You mean to tell me that she tried to ask you out not once but TWICE and you rejected her?” Wade paced through the living room. Trying to make sense of what his friend had just told him. “You mean to tell me that you now spend 3 months at that school? Being in her proximity 24/7 and actively avoiding her?”

Logan sat on the familiar black couch that looked even more beaten up than the last time he was at the flat. With disgust, he realized that he didn’t even want to know what caused the new damage.

 “I don’t avoid her”

“Oh no? And yet the few times she does catch you creeping in the halls you manage to scare her off.” Deadpool said down one of the rotatable bar chairs. Swirling dramatically.

“No wonder the girl’s not interested in a sad drunk fuck like you,” Al commented from the table where she sat, carefully packaging her newest acquisition of sellable goods.

“ No, Al that’s the thing! The girl wants him DESPITE being a sad drunk fuck!”  Wade jumped from the chair to pace around some more. He had to come up with a plan to get the two to spend time together, and get to know each other better. Create some closeness to let the sparks fly and catch on.

“That’s even worse.” Al laughed, snoring.

“Thank you for the compliments… Reassuring.” Logan groaned, regretting to even have answered Wade when he asked him about how things were going with Y/n. Maybe he wasn’t ready to be with someone again. He liked her and wanted to get to know her but something was stopping him. The urge to protect her from danger and he still thought of himself as the greatest danger to her and his team.

“On the other hand, she is still interested after being rejected TWICE. So you still have a chance, Pookie.” Wade said, sitting down next to Logan, yet again way too close.

“I’m gonna help you, buddy, Don’t you worry.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing Logan's ears “Act three needs some lovin’ and I make sure you get all the loving you need, baby” He whispered towards Logan. And with dread, and a bit of disgust,  Logan accepted that he had no chance of stopping the man.

...

By the time the midterms rolled around, Logan had gotten familiar with the schedule and his  profession once again. He slept better, tended to snap less at people and even his drinking tendencies seemed to get better. Being part of a community felt good and it made him angry at his younger self for rejecting the people who loved him out of some ill-placed ideology: that to keep them safe, he had to distance himself from them.

And yet you are doing it again.

He sighed as he trotted into the community kitchen. He broke his coffee maker in a fit of frustration last week and hadn’t found the time or energy to tell Charles to get a new one. He stayed out of the professor's way for the most part, not wanting to be roped into some conversation about ‘needing therapy’. So he sourced his caffeine intake from the machine that sat in the big, homely department kitchen. Another benefit was that there was always a fresh pot ready and waiting for him. Downside, there were almost always people in the kitchen, waiting for others to join in for conversation and breakfast.

This morning he should be safe from conversation. Most students and some staff went home for the fall semester break, leaving the school running on a minimal level to accommodate those who had no home to go to. There were no classes, meaning that the school apparatus calmed to a halt.

In practice that meant that almost everyone slept in with no pressure to get up early. And for Logan, that meant that he could enjoy his drink in peace before people tried to talk to him.

Lost in thought he strolled into the kitchen. It seemed empty, thank god. He sighed in relief, stretching languidly. The air exiting his lungs in a low groan.

Then a soft click sounded through the room.

A fridge being closed.

“Oh hey, you’re up early.” Y/n appeared behind the full-size fridge door that had previously shielded her from his view. She looked a little tired, not yet fully awake and a bit tousled from sleep.

Aww C’mon. Maybe Wade was right about the universe wanting them to come together. But primarily to annoy him and allow for Wade to give him the ‘I told you so’ speech.

“So are you.”  He answered, leaving on the door frame and watching her pour some creamer into her cup. Upon closer inspection, she did look younger than her other iteration. Her features were softer looking with fewer wrinkles and scars. He needed to ask her about that at some point.

She leaned onto the counter to reach for another cup, taking it out of the overhead cabinet. Proceeding to pour some coffee in it. “How do you take your coffee?” She asked, turning towards him.

“I’ll take two sugars” He answered, moving towards her with slow even steps. The threat of Wade’s ‘help’ kept looming in the back of his mind, pushing him to be more open towards her and to come out of his shell. Who knows what that maniac had in mind?

Y/n hummed in agreement, dropping in two cubes of sugar and stirring the dark liquid before handing it to Logan.

He thanked her softly, holding the porcelain with his much larger hands. He had moved quite close to her, both leaning against the kitchen counter. The closeness and difference in height between them meant that Y/n had to look up to him, to make eye contact.

With a grin he noticed how she shifted her stand, one hand bunching up the material of her cardigan.

You still got it if you let it happen, man.

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying their drinks and watching the sun paint pictures onto the kitchen surfaces, colored by the stained glass windows.

She was the one who broke the silence. “Are you ready for the training session today?” She asked, turning towards him, shifting her position so that her hip was pressed against the counter.

“Training?” He asked confused, setting down his cup to cross his arms over his chest, the muscles shifting visibly under his skin.

That’s right! Show her what you got!

“Yes, staff training? We got the call from Washington about a mutant security threat. Charles wants us to be ready just in case. Do you read your emails?” She teased, watching him over the rim of her mug.

“I don’t know how that stuff works if I’m honest with ya.” He shrugged “Do you go on missions regularly? On Government orders?” He remembered that Xavier had mentioned something along the lines of that. Some complicated struggles between heroes about government regulation and so on.

“Yes, after the blip it was decided that an X-team force should be established to take care of mutant-related threats or endangerments.” She explained.

He had heard of that, too. “Right. What was that blip again?”

The energy in the room shifted suddenly.

Y/n huffed, almost spilling a bit of her drink. “Ha, that’s a bit of a heavy topic for morning coffee talks.” She looked around uncomfortably. Logan seems to have hit upon a heavy subject.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He apologized quickly. Beating himself up for screwing it up once again.

“No, no it’s fine.” She shook her head, setting down her drink to cross her arms as he did. Only that she seemed to do it defensively. “Half of all life stopped existing for five years and… that left a few scars.” She explained somberly, softly nodding to herself.

Logan blinked, his mind moving at high speed to get the conversation on a good topic again. Anything to turn it around and to prevent her from having a bitter aftertaste to their first proper talk.

Yet it was her, once again, that stepped up. She noticed how he got nervous, eyes wandering, shoulders sagging.

“I’ll explain it to you later. When we are not so pressed on time.” She reached out slowly, placing her hand on his arm, squeezing it in reassurance. Y/n smiled at him softly, moving around him to exit the kitchen and prepare for the day ahead.

Without thinking Logan placed a hand over hers, just in time before she pulled hers away. It had her stop in her tracks. Her eyes moved to where his rough callused palm warmed the back of her hand, up to his eyes. He was watching her with intention.

She was nervous. This was either going to be an invitation to finally get to know him or he had enough of her and told her to stop fancying him.

“You can explain it to me on a walk to the lake? Tonight?” He asked, one eyebrow raising in question. His hand squeezed hers gently.

A second of silence followed.

She exhaled, the stress leaving her body but she had to keep her composure. A grin spread across her face “Sounds like a plan.” She held eye contact for a few beats, then let her hand slip out of his hold as she left.

That’s how you do it, Tiger!

Her lips pressed together to keep from smiling too hard as she exited the hallway.

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New requets for being added to the list via comments on the Masterlist post, please. That helps me to keep things organized :)

But please leave a comment on this post to provide me with serotonin 😍

[lunarduty]

𝙋𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙍𝙏 𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙊 𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝘽𝙀𝘿

☾ sfw & nsfw headcanons for dating soap JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH X F!READER TAGS | nsfw. smut. oral (female receiving). female reader. WC | 2,063 x

SFW

☾ in his mind, he was already your boyfriend before even becoming official. soap is fiercely LOYAL and dedicated - just as soon as he realized the depths of his feelings, he was yours before you even knew it. stopped so much as looking at other people, much less thinking or fantasizing about them. for soap, you were it. he just had to convince you to go out with a guy like him, which is very soap. not always looking before he jumps.

☾ he loves calling himself your boyfriend, or calling you his girl. soap isn’t one to try and make it lowkey or anything. he wouldn’t be unprofessional - disrespecting or making you look bad is the last thing he wants. but soap will insert the fact into mundane little conversations whenever he can. the team quickly gets tired of it long before he does.

“soap, you joining us for drinks after the debrief?” “don’t know,” he says, sounding awfully CHIPPER for someone who might miss out on a night at the pub. “gotta check in with my girl, see if she wants to do anything tonight. missed out on lunch with her, y’know.” he was still beating himself up over that. you kept insisting it was fine - you both have crazy schedules sometimes. but soap didn’t want to make it a habit of blowing you off. gaz nodded like he agreed - soap didn’t think he really got what it meant to be your boyfriend.

☾ his favorite thing in the world is making you laugh, and he does it so easily. and a lot of the time, he doesn’t even mean to. soap can be blunt and cheeky sometimes, and his smart mouth has gotten him in hot water more often than not - but he’s always very happy to make you laugh, even accidentally. always acts kinda proud when his jokes land perfectly. or if he’s not in a great mood, but ends up saying something that makes you laugh, it always brightens his mood.

☾ while he usually finds one petname and sticks with it, soap is known to call you different ones - each worse and more SAPPY than the last. they’re never spoken seriously, he just enjoys seeing your nose wrinkle and look at him as if he just tracked dog shit into the house. it’s one of his favorite ways to tease you without feeling like he’s going too far, like he does with some of his mates.

with his nose buried against your neck, and the slowly thump of your heart vibrating on his chest, soap was damn near close to following you into unconsciousness. it had been a chaotic last few days - the mere chance to cuddle up with you in bed had him relaxed beyond the point of needing a quick fuck to tire him out. at least until you shifted your legs, and your icy toes pressed against his legs. “fuck, lass. toes are fuckin’ freezing,” he hisses against your shoulder. you just hum, not bothering to reply, more interested in finally falling asleep. he hums in return, and condemns himself to the icy torture. “lucky i love ya, my l’il popsicle.” “jesus, johnny.”

☾ generally enjoys going out on dates than staying home. of course, if you’re more of a homebody or he just doesn’t feel up to going out, a home date is perfectly fine with him. but soap likes going out and experiencing things - most of all, he wants to show you off. absolutely loves walking down the street with you on his arm, or you pulled against his side. tries to get some leave every few months so you two can travel somewhere, but usually, soap’s idea of a good date is simply going somewhere and having fun.

☾ gets super soft when you start getting comfortable around him. before the relationship began, you two were good friends - there was already a layer of comfort and familiarity before, but it’s different when you start dating. so one night, when you both are just chilling on the couch, and you start cackling at a joke on the TV or ugly-crying during a sad scene, soap just REVELS in it. he’s heard how far some people go not to show certain sides of themselves to their partners, and he’s super pleased that you don’t feel like you need to do that with him. on the flip side, soap immediately gets super goofy with you right off the bat, so it’s not like you’re alone in your silliness.

☾ don’t think you can outkiss this man. don’t even try to challenge him. soap mactavish is a man made for kissing and he will do it all day if you let him. your eyes in the morning to wake you up, on your cheek before he leaves, your hand after meeting up for lunch, your lips when he gets home at the end of the day, your neck while doing the dishes, your forehead after a good fuck before falling asleep. soap loves being able to kiss you whenever he wants and he takes full advantage of that privilege.

☾ arguments aren’t super common, but they do happen. soap can be stubborn and sometimes doesn’t see the wider picture. he forgets to take your feelings into account. arguments are usually resolved pretty painlessly, since soap knows he can be dumb sometimes and he doesn’t let his pride get in the way of apologizing. even still, he likes to go out of his way when it comes to make ups. he doesn’t like feeling guilty and can go a little overboard in comparison to the argument.

“so, you forgive me yet, bonnie?” “hmm,” you draw out the hum, even if the smile on your face negates the tension, “i haven’t decided yet.” suppressing his own grin, johnny throws his hands up in defeat. reclines back in his chair with a sigh and a shake of his head - always with the theatrics. “yeah, i figured ya say that. but i’ve learned to never enter a battle without a secret weapon.” “making up for a fight is a battle for you, is it?” your question, though a joke, made him pause. “well, no, i didn’t- fuck’s sake, lass. take it easy on me.” johnny stands, his hands clapping together. “i was listenin’, though. i know you feel all alone when i’m gone so much, and i’m sorry. wish i could change it.” of course, you knew he couldn’t just uproot his whole life. some of the things you said during the argument weren’t even exactly how you felt - just something said in the moment. “johnny, hold on, i didn’t mean-” “hey, hey, i’m not done.” he backs away from you toward the bedroom. “last thing i want is you to be here feelin’ all LONELY again. so i got something to fix all that.” he finally turns and makes for the bedroom door. when you stand and follow to watch, you notice how carefully he opened and slid right past. like he didn’t want you coming in. but you realized right away it was because he didn’t want something getting out. “a puppy? john, this is-” “great, right? can cuddle up to him when i’m not here!”

☾ definitely thinks about marriage super early on, but doesn’t really bring it up because he doesn’t wanna come off as weird or creepy. but honestly, soap knew you were the one right away. he’s not out looking at rings or wedding venues - he just kinda ACCEPTS that he’s gonna marry you. might make little jokes or comments here and there. jokingly calls you his wife or “the missus.” so when he eventually does pop the question, he’s a little taken aback when you’re caught off guard. and then he remembers that, oh yeah, he’s always been mentally married to you since basically forever.

NSFW

☾ it’s not hard at all to tell when soap is in the mood. he’s going to get very touchy if you let him - from soft grazes of his fingers along your skin to straight up groping your ass when you walk by. he is an absolute menace when he’s horny. loves coming up behind you when you’re doing something and just squeezing your hips and kissing your neck. grinds his cock against your ass, as if it isn’t painfully obvious how wound up he is.

☾ foreplay with soap is more fun than anything. there are rare moments when he’s silent and serious and focused, but mostly, he likes to keep it light. makes you laugh before sucking on your tits to take your breath away. says some dumb comment when you’re grinding against his thigh to distract you, only to suddenly change pace and laugh when you whimper. he sees sex with you as something to 100% ENJOY and making sure the both of you have fun with it…

☾ …that is until soap gets completely pussy-drunk off you and just shuts the fuck up and enters this kind of tunnel vision when he’s eating you out. it happens a good 60% of the time - he starts out his usual light and teasing self, kissing your thighs, asking you if you want to fuck his mouth. but just as soon as he gets his tongue on your clit and his fingers buried knuckle-deep, it’s so easy for him to just get lost in it. will make you cum twice before he realizes it, and is almost confused when you’re begging him to stop, or at least give you a break. 

“fu- fuck, johnny! i can’t- shit, you need to stop.” those words seem to finally break him of his little trance. your little moans and whimpers of his name are always MELODIC in a way that makes him want to hear more and more. but hearing you ask him to stop makes soap blink and pull his face away - lips parted in his panting, chin glistening. “okay, bonnie?” he asks, a hand squeezing your hip. you’re breathing hard. skin flushed. chin tilted upward with your eyes closed and he wonders just how hard you came. or how many times. “i’m okay,” you answer quickly. “just…need a break. or just fuck me - that works too.” a wide grin spreads over his face, and when he pulls his fingers free, the soft squelching sound almost makes him shiver. “just said the fuckin’ magic words, beautiful.”

☾ not at all picky with positions, so he usually just tries a bunch of different ones or follows your lead. there’s something to enjoy with all of them, so how can he have a favorite? fucking you in missionary gets him on top, where he feels so big and strong and loves feeling you hold onto him like your life depends on it. when you ride him, he gets to watch your face the entire time, or play with your tits, or do anything he wants. getting you in doggy is great when soap is feeling especially FERAL and just wants to drive into you, grabbing your ass, tugging on your hair when he feels like he can’t hear you well enough. gun to his head, he can’t pick just one.

☾ soap does have a preference when he cums. as fucking fantastic as it feels to cum inside you, there’s something otherwordly about pulling out and painting your skin. he saves creampies for slow and sleepy sex (or when you beg for it), but every other time? soap is cumming on your back, your belly, your thighs, your face, your tits. anywhere and everywhere is fair game for him. he’s definitely taken a picture when the sight is too good to leave to memory. eventually deletes them because he doesn’t want them to somehow get out, but not before using it as wank material while he’s away.

☾ very gentle and attentive with aftercare. sex with soap isn’t especially rough or intense most of the time, but he still doesn’t slack on it. kissing you good and proper after you both cum, letting you know just how much he loves you. always gets something to clean you up and talking while he does so - soap is a chatterbox anyway, but more so after sex because he doesn’t want you to start feeling awkward. lots of cuddles and touches when he climbs into bed - but be warned, he does tend to nod off pretty soon.

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Learning To Get Along

A/N – So, a user on A03 suggested the snake servants’ new names. It was a stroke of genius on their behalf, and I can only thank them for it.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

MALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

Tag-List: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @sseleniaa @randomgurl2326  @22carolina08 @astrxwitch @yu-87 @clover-1767 @lil-bexie @thesimpybitch

Do you think you can manage that? Lucifer’s words hung in the air, creating an icy barrier between you.

So, Lucifer thought himself too good for low-life Sinners such as yourself. That wasn’t fair. Sinners might be in Hell for a reason, but sometimes such reasons were just fucking stupid. Heaven ought to base their entry requirements on a person’s character or strength of heart, not just their actions. You had met plenty of Sinners who were in Hell because of the most trivial shit.

There were those who liked to sleep around, but if sex positivity was a problem, then how did Heaven explain Angels like Adam, whom Charlie had told you about in excruciating detail. Lust shouldn’t have ever been considered a Sin, as long as all participants in any such carnal act were above age and consenting.

Then, there were a few murderers you knew. Granted, murder made the lines blurry, but some Sinners killed in self-defence, or only targeted others such as themselves, protecting the innocent in a very gruesome Dexter-like fashion. Were they really to be condemned? And who the fuck gave a damn about Sloth. So, some people were just bone idle, who gave a shit? Heaven apparently.

And now, the ruler of Hell was condemning those around him as well. He was supposed to care for his people, good or bad. Not to mention those who were solely created for or born in Hell, such as Imps, Hell-Hounds, or the Deadly Sins themselves; they hadn’t committed any crimes to get sent here originally – it was their home.

Your eyebrows furrowed, creating an annoyed crease along your forehead.

“No,” You told Lucifer, who stared at you incredulously.

No? Didn’t you understand the situation? He was Lucifer. King of Hell. He could destroy you with no effort spared, leaving no trace that you ever existed, and you were telling him no? He wasn’t an unreasonable guy, but how could you possibly think that being around him was a good idea? Did you respect Charlie more than you feared him? Granted, he didn’t go out much so few knew how powerful he was, but no other Sinner would dare deny him his wishes.

You saw the look he was giving you and decided to explain yourself.

“Look, I’m only here ‘cos Charlie thought it was a good idea, and if you genuinely hate me, I’ll go and you’ll never have to see me again, but you’re not even trying right now. You haven’t spoken to me. You don’t know anything about me, and frankly, I think Charlie’s right, you do need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t-” Lucifer started.

“You don’t even know why I’m down here,” You interrupted angrily, though you refrained from raising your voice. “And you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same. Ooh, we squandered your gift of Free Will and now we deserve to suffer for eternity, do we? Grow up!”

Lucifer stared at you in astonishment, and you sighed, apparently not finished in your tirade, “I’m going to my room tonight, but tomorrow, I expect that you’ll at least try to tolerate me. Who knows? We might even find some common ground. We both love Charlie, don’t we?”

Lucifer didn’t know what to say to that. He certainly loved his daughter, more than anything else in the universe, but you? He still suspected that you had some kind of ulterior motive… everyone in Hell did. Yet, you had a point. He would do this for her, even if it meant he had to tolerate you.

Who were you, really?

He looked at you closely for the first time, trying to pick out some detail of who you might have been. It was even more disturbing than he previously thought. Before, he only saw a human. Now, he examined your clothes. There was little to say about the style, but your apparel was reminiscent of a Holy Animal. With the ruffled cuffs of your jacket, the way the back peaked to create the image of feathers, and the yellow ribbon that lined the white material, you looked like a dove.

Yet… Despite living in the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie had insisted that you didn’t seek redemption. Why go through the farce of dressing like an Angel then… unless? No, you couldn’t be. No Angel would dare stray from Heaven unless they were ordered to.

Lucifer held back a glower, trying to keep his emotions in check so you wouldn’t sense his thoughts. There was a possibility, though small that you had been sent by the likes of Adam to spy on Lucifer and his kin, ensuring that none of Charlie’s patrons ever found a way to the Pearly Gates.

Well, it wouldn’t take long to uncover your ruse. Lucifer had ways of telling an Angel from a Demon, and once you were asleep, he would know.

“Yeah,” Lucifer said evenly. “I love my Charlie.”

“So, you’ll try then.”

Lucifer nodded his head in consent.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

The sentiment went unreturned as your King returned to his chambers, biding his time until you slept.

When you returned to your room, you got ready for bed. The day had been long and unusual. Honestly, you didn’t feel that you had a place in the manor, and you longed for your room in the Hotel, even if it was smaller, had a large stain on the carpet (which Nifty had named Vivienne) and an unruly infestation of roaches.

In the short time you had spent there, it had become home.

You would miss the arguing inhabitants, the energetic wake-up call from Charlie, the feeling of safety that Vaggie instilled, and the sound of Alastor’s morning and evening radio broadcasts. Yet, you hoped you might find something equally valuable in return if only Lucifer would open himself up to the possibility that you didn’t want anything from him.

After glancing out of your window, which had a balcony you could step out to if you so wished, you took in the whole of the Magne District which was the heart of Pentagram City. If you strained your eyes, you could just see the flashing neon of the Hazbin Hotel, and if you turned your gaze up… There was Heaven, out of reach yet always in sight, taunting most Sinners, yet emboldening a brave few who dared to wonder What If? What if they could change and gain admittance to a better life?

You sighed and dared not ponder further when you needed to get some sleep.

Throwing yourself on the plush bed, you got comfortable, arranging yourself how you liked, then leaning over to your bedside table, you blew out the cherry candle you had previously lit.

You rested your head atop the satin pillows, then frowned, feeling a lump beneath it. You reached under and pulled out a rubber duck, painted to look like a Hellhound-Duck hybrid. Assuming it was one of Charlie’s childhood toys, you placed it carefully atop the table; it would keep you company on your first night in a strange new place.

Lucifer waited till the late twilight hours before leaving his workshop. He transformed himself into a snake, slithering silently through the Hallways, ensuring that you wouldn’t hear him coming.

Before being cast out of Heaven, detecting an Angel would have been a simple task. He would just know, the way he now knew how to read a Demon. Yet, with you giving off little sign of Demonic energy, he now had to test if you were of Angelic origin. There were two ways he could do so. The first was by spilling your blood. Those who were born in or sent to Heaven had golden ichor instead of the oozing red or black goop of Hell-spawn and Sinners.

However, not wishing to alert you to his presence, Lucifer decided to opt for the other method.

Once he was inside your room and certain that you were in a deep slumber, he reverted to his original form, standing over you, his pupils turning to slits at the thought of a traitor in his house. If you were what he thought you to be, he would kill you immediately.

He pulled a small yellow twenty-sided stone from his pocket and baring his fangs in anger, he pressed it lightly against your skin.

Nothing happened.

Lucifer’s expression changed from one of deep-seated loathing to confusion. You weren’t from Heaven. If you were, the stone would have glowed a brilliant shade of Gold. Instead, it remained its original dull yellow.

Very well.

He would keep his word and… Tolerate you.

He left your room as quietly as he had entered it. Tomorrow, things would be different.

Lucifer didn’t sleep that night; the idea of change was terrifying.

The next morning, when Lucifer finally resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to face you eventually, he headed downstairs, assuming that was where you were.

“JUST TRY IT!” He heard you yell. “TRY! OPEN YOUR MOUTH, DAMN IT!”

“Uh…” Was all he could think to say as he entered the kitchen and found you clinging to one of the snake cleaners he had created the previous night, in a rodeo-like fashion. The creature was trying to buck you off, with a somewhat derpy expression, probably stupidly assuming it was a game; Lucifer hadn’t bothered to instil them with much intelligence since he didn’t need them for anything more than cleaning.

“ARGH!” You grunted as you were dislodged from its back.

“What- What is this?” Lucifer asked, confused.

“Oh shit!” You cursed, embarrassed to have been caught in a less-than-dignified position. You attempted to regain a little composure by standing up, then held up a handful of wadded-up pancake.

“Do they eat?” You demanded, referring to the reptilian cleaners, “’Cos they’ve been in a picture frame their whole lives, and they must be hungry by now.”

Of all the stupid things you could have done, Lucifer couldn’t help but crack a smile, though he had the decency to hide his laugh behind a clenched fist and pass it off as a cough.

“They don’t need to.”

“Okay, but can they?”

“If they wanted to, I suppose so.”  

You glared at the mushed-up pancake, “I fucking knew it. Spick, Span, eat your fucking breakfast!”

“I’m sorry, who now?” Lucifer asked.

“Well, they clean, don’t they? Spick and Span seem to fit unless you have something better to name them.”

Lucifer chuckled, a half-short-lived chuckle, but one all the same. You were more chaotic than he expected.

“Fine, if you want them to eat, you’ve got to cook in style.”

He waved his hands energetically, his outfit transforming from his usual suit to one befitting a flashy Michelin Chef. He was comfortable in the role of an entertainer as he made a dazzling display of cooking up eggs. With the flash-bang of indoor fireworks, the island counter gained a conveyor belt to transport several dishes, all perfectly presentable and giving off a delectable aroma of herbs and spices.

Eggs-benedict, frittatas, and shakshuka shot by you, closely followed by a hungry Span, though his twin was busy writhing on the conveyer belt, trying to get to his feather duster, yet doomed to chase it since he didn’t think to travel in the opposite direction so it would meet him in the middle.

The sight was memorable to say the least, even when Spick knocked the food onto the floor and his brother was left stupidly sucking on the corner of the countertop where his seemingly new favourite dish had splattered.

You couldn’t help laughing.

“See?” You struggled to get the words out, “I knew they’d like food. I’m just a shite cook.”

Lucifer gazed at his dishes proudly, even though they were no longer fit for either of your consumption.

“Hah,” You said, feeling somewhat awkward now that the moment had passed and Lucifer’s gaze was upon you, trying to figure you out. “I’ll uh, clean this up.”

“No need, leave it to Flim and Flam,” Lucifer said nonchalantly.

“You know that’s not their names.”

“Whatever. So… we’ve met, there was breakfast with a show. We done for today?”

The smile fell from your face as you realised that all of this was just another of Lucifer’s acts. Granted, he might have actually had fun with it, but it was all just in the name of claiming he had tried to be around you, and just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“I don’t know. I was going to go into the City if you wanted to come.”

“I can’t. I have… plans.”

Lucifer’s mood soured as he thought about visiting Heaven’s embassy to set up the meeting for Charlie. He hated everything about that building. The décor was just a cruel reminder of everything Heaven had banished him from. Moreover, while the Angels had to respect his power, they didn’t respect him; their cruel words and thinly veiled insults always cut him the deepest. Not to mention how bitter he was that the balance of power was uneven. Sure, Heaven had an embassy in Hell, but there was no such building in Heaven where Demons could work to arrange meetings between Angels and him.

It would always be Lucifer going to their building, on their terms, usually at their behest.

“Plans? So, you’re setting up Charlie’s meeting today?” You guessed astutely. “You know, I’m walking that way too.”

Lucifer guessed at your game. You probably hadn’t been going in that direction at all, but this was all in the name of ‘trying’. One way or another, he would have to learn to get along with you.

“Fine. Let’s go,” He said, flicking his hand back blasély, even though he found the idea of walking the streets of Hell daunting.

It would be better if he could teleport there, but at least, by the end of the day, you would have something positive to report back to Charlie.

[tess-talks-inc]

On the Topic of Telemachus’s age:

First off preface lmao I’m a stranger on the internet if you want to see this and be like “I don’t care” more power to you this isn’t to condemn it’s more like my explanation? I guess? Of why Telemachus being represented as an adult is important to the context of the story and also to me.

Like obviously once again I acknowledge artistic interpretation, and Telemachus being young is important to the story as well and is part of the role he serves as a comparison to Odysseus, but like sometimes the way some artists draw him makes him look pre-pubescent and like… I understand what you’re doing, and honestly I respect it and I hope you are having fun, but I am holding your hands when I say that him being a young adult with that attitude is so so so important to his character and his relatability.

Adulthood isn’t something that magically appears one day, taking all of your dreams, immaturity, and weakness away. Telemachus embodies that- at twenty years old, he should be inheriting a portion of his father’s house and assisting in its running. He should, for all intents and purposes, have been a full and functional independent adult looking at purely his age. However, he is both literally and mentally stuck in limbo- his father is lost, so he cannot inherit in the case of his father’s death because Odysseus’ status is MIA, and internally he knows (literally mentioned book 1 of the odyssey and in Legendary) that if he reaches for that authority as an adult, the suitors will kill him. He doesn’t feel like he can, or that he is even on equal standing to the suitors as an adult man, he cannot see himself as one like they are, and it’s why he imagines his dad doing it instead. He wants to be saved, a childlike desire, even though he has advanced to a point where he himself can do something physically. That’s why, in the odyssey, Athena tells him explicitly that he can do something about the suitors, and lays out a plan for him. She says that he is no longer a child to his face, and the Telemacheia thus begins to be a coming of age story in which he matures, and later is registered as a threat of the suitors. He is a young adult yes, and he still has aspects of his young self (idealization of his father, daydreaming, him being quick to frustration), but him being an adult who realizes that he can do something and can understand the way he is childish is important and central to his character arc.

His arc is him growing into his skin, adulthood no longer being something that fits him like loose clothes and only a description of his physical state, but something that now is tailored to him, something that feels close to right.

Honestly, I think this aspect of him being an adult while still holding onto these aspects of childishness is where Legendary and We’ll be fine falls short in adapting his character. I understand why, because while he is introduced he is not the true central character of the Saga- it’s Athena and how he affects her, that’s what’s most important. Also, once again, he was just introduced. He’s not matured yet, but he’s realizing he needs to. I still love the songs and the saga, because it’s a good adaptation that poses interesting questions, but yeah. Telemachus is v clearly a young adult and that hasn’t translated over sound yet, which I think is why this whole age debacle is happening alongside the uwu-ifying of the man.

TLDR: Telemachus is a young adult and he acts like it due to his blend of childishness and slowly gained maturity. You can draw him and see him as a child if you want, have fun with it, but at least internally understand how his 20 years of age plays into his arc a of him maturing into manhood outside of your own interpretation of him :D

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : Pomefiore [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Pomefiore vs. Neige Leblanche Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Pomefiore Version (Part 2)

ie. The scarf is an issue, because of course it's an issue. And Vil's sudden addiction to his phone is not going well for any of you.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3]

“What did you do?” Epel hissed from behind an entire department store’s worth of facial products.

“What?! I didn’t do anything!” you argued. Trying to sound stern when you were also putting a concerted effort into not moving your mouth was apparently very hard. A lip mask, Vil had called it. ‘Pretentious goop’ was a far better description. But the Pomefiore House Warden had been particularly dour lately, so you’d been letting him slather you will all kinds of atrocities in the name of keeping the peace. You’d smelled like a walking Bath & Body Works for the past week at least. And worst of all, if you ever made that comparison out loud he’d probably hemorrhage. Or something. Because each of these products was ‘special ordered’ or ‘hand crafted’ and blablabla.

“Well pardon me for not takin’ your word for it,” the purple-haired boy snapped, spiteful. “He only gets like this when someone’s hurt his stupid ego. Or worse—his feelings.”

“And why does that ‘someone’ have to be me?” you complained.

Epel shot you a look and you sighed into the misty air. The aroma diffuser gave another lackluster puff, as if in agreement.

.

.

Ever since your shopping trip, Vil had been acting… not quite right.  

Oh, he was still icy and composed. He still tutted at your untucked uniform shirts and irritably plucked stray bits of fuzz from your jacket. But it was almost like he was too much of himself. You’d liked to think that your laid back ‘you’re lovely no matter what and I live in a literal condemned building so who am I to judge anyone’ approach had softened the House Warden at one point—even if only a smidgen. A singular hair out of place was artful, not lazy. The barely-there wrinkle in his vest was not the end of civilized times, but functional fashion. But now? It was back to the strictest of regiments, the most unforgiving of rules.

Jack had told you that Vil was even waking before him now—that by the time the wolf-beastman arrived for their early morning jogs, the blonde had clearly already been up and training for hours.

And you were worried.

Sometimes Vil would look at his phone and get this twisted up, venomous, expression on his face that sent little pangs of concern eating through your gut. Sometimes Rook was there to reach forward and gently ease the device out of Vil’s death grip. Sometimes he was not, and you were far too afraid of losing your fingers to even try.

It was a vicious cycle. The phone would make Vil angry and subsequently be abandoned in the opposite corner of the room. So then Vil would bury himself in new makeups, and outfits, and skin care. He would fret over new projects, or old projects—ranting about the incompetence of whoever he would ‘never work with again, believe me.’ Sometimes he dragged you along to his Film Club (you’d watched so many classic movies with him at this point that you were actually starting to become culturally literate). And then—slowly but inevitably—his brilliant, purple, gaze would drift to the expensive rectangle sitting all alone off to the side, wherever he’d carefully and strategically placed it to be just out of reach. Gradually his fingers would start to twitch, and then his jaw. He’d drum his nails against his knee, or irritably tap the pointed heel of his shoe against the floor. And then the phone would be back in his hands and he’d be looking at something that sent him spiraling all the way back to the beginning again.

“I don’t know what to do,” you confided in Rook one afternoon. You hadn’t seen him yet, but a bush off to your left had jiggled suspiciously at one point, so you assumed that he was probably somewhere in the vicinity.

After a moment, the hunter came and perched himself at your side.

“Do you know what’s bothering him?” you asked. Rook seemed to know everything about everyone, and Vil was his muse, his Roi de Poison. He had to have noticed something by now.

The blonde nodded, the feather in his hat bobbing as he did.

“...You’re not going to tell me what it is, are you?” you huffed, not even attempting to bite back your irritation.  

Rook patted your shoulder sympathetically. “It is not my tale to tell, Mon Coeur. There are some things that I am told in confidence, and I cannot break that trust. Though I am sure he would greatly appreciate your concern.”

“Or you could just tell me,” you tried. “And then I wouldn’t have to be concerned at all.”

He tilted his hat at you, and then danced back easily when you tried to snatch it off his head.

.

.

“So, what’s the dealio,” Ace drawled, and he’d better thank his lucky stars that you didn’t startle quite as easily as you used to, because there was entire, opened, jar of Werecat urine in your hands that was just dying to wind up upended all down his white lab coat.

“What deal?” you snipped, carefully recapping the stinky ingredient and setting it off to the side. Tempting as the idea of dousing the redhead in supernatural piss was, Crewel would skin you for wasting components.  

“You spend a lot of time at Pomefiore,” Deuce added, much politer in his approach than Ace had been. “And lately their House Warden has been a bit…”

“Why has Captain Pissy-And-Perfect been so pissy?” Ace interrupted, leaning far too close over your cauldron to be any kind of safe. “Normally the only thing that twists him up that bad is Neige.”

Your mind whirled back to the incident at the mall. And as controlled as you liked to think you were about these sorts of things, your face must have done something because Ace pounced on you like Ruggie after a donut.

“What do you know?” he demanded, nearly spilling a whole bottle of Newt Eyes across the floor as he crowded into your personal space. “Tell me, tell me, tell me—"

“All I did was give Neige a scarf!” you snapped. “It’s not like it’s a big deal!”

“What scarf?” Deuce blinked back, confused.

“It was just some scarf that Vil put on me!”

The two of them made long, pointed, eye contact, and you immediately felt horribly out of the loop.

“Whelp. That tracks,” Ace sighed, just as Crewel popped up behind him to whip him across the back of his head with his pointer.

.

.

Your group of mangy idiots had gathered in the cafeteria for lunch—as was the ancient tradition of all starving students. The four of you had clustered around your usual table. Ace was busy squirting ketchup packets all over what would inevitably become Deuce’s seat when he finally got of the line. Jack was busy swishing said ketchup away with an irritated scowl. Epel sat across from you, as miserable and lemon scented as ever.

A lunch tray smacked the tabletop with an echoing bang and Deuce appeared behind it, frantically waved his cellphone in your faces.

“You guys have to watch this,” he said, deathly serious, before propping his phone up against your glass of water. It flopped forward with a resounding crack three times before he managed to get it to stay upright.

The five of you crouched around the teeny screen as the poppy chords of some Talk Show intro or other filtered through the tinny speakers.

“You know,” the interviewer beamed, all manicured sugar and over-bleached smiles. “With some of the things you’ve been posting lately, some people are saying that you’ve just got to be in love!”

The audience ooohed and aaaahed.

Neige Leblanche was sitting on the little leather sofa beside her, and he smiled in a way lit his entire face in a brilliant shade of pink. He was still wearing that goddamn purple scarf and immediately you could feel your temples pulsing with a migraine. This was going to be bad.

“Well,” he mumbled, bashful. “I can’t say you’re entirely wrong about that.”

Cue hordes of nearly rabid screaming. Ace winced and reached forward to tick down the volume.

“Why are we watching this?” Jack scowled, but he didn’t move his sharp glare from the illuminated screen.

“The Prefect gave Neige a scarf, and—”

“Shh,” Deuce hushed. “This is the bad part.”

“It’s a little bit silly,” Neige continued, glancing up at the host from beneath his dark lashes. “I don’t actually know their name. But we met a few weeks ago now and they were just—well they were amazing. They actually helped pull me out of a pretty sticky situation, and they were so composed through all of it! And then they didn’t even care about me being famous at all!” he rambled, getting brighter and brighter the longer he monologued. “They just helped me because I was a person, and, well, I think that’s very sweet.”

There was another wave of darling ‘awwws’ that could only have been scripted. Or, at least you hoped so. This level of saccharine infatuation should have been enough to turn anyone’s stomach. It had certainly twisted yours into all sorts of unpleasant knots. The secondhand embarrassment alone was on the verge of taking you out entirely.

“A little birdy’s been telling us that the scarf you’ve been modelling in all your latest Magicam posts was actually a gift from this secret lover of yours,” the interviewer whispered conspiratorially, and you wanted nothing more than to snatch that stupid purple cashmere back through the screen solely so that you could strangle her with it.

“Well, yes, actually,” Neige chirped, fingers reaching up to toy with the soft fabric.

“No it wasn’t!” you howled, indignant. “I just put it on him to distract him because I accidentally rambled to his face about how much more fuckable Vil was than him, and—”

“WHAT?!” Epel screeched. Screeched. At the top of his lungs. It felt like you could feel the glares of every single set of eyes in the cafeteria drilling into your spine. Out of the corner of your eye, you swore you saw a feather bob as it disappeared through the door, and you didn’t even want to think of the implications of that.

“No fucking way,” Ace gaped, looking for all the world like you’d just handed him a million Thaumarks, or an entire notebook’s worth of nuclear codes. Deuce and Jack both just looked like they were trying not to choke to death.

“Oh my God,” you wailed. “I did it again.”

.

.

When you next ran into the King of Poisons, you were so distracted by the impossible task of wrangling Ace into silence that you couldn’t have noticed the subtle changes in him even if you’d wanted to. The increased length in his stride, the gentler tuck of his hair, the less severe line of his shoulders—if you weren’t so caught up in trying to commit homicide, you would have been ecstatic.

Rook was chattering along at his side, his lips quirked into a merry grin. The tack-tack-tack of Vil’s crimson heels against the stone floors was familiar, confident, and loud enough to swim through your head despite Ace’s manic cackling.

“Potato.” Vil’s red lips quirked upwards into the smallest smile before twitching back down into a sneer. “And other potato. What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

Thankfully, at the end of the day, Ace was still nothing if not a no-good coward. He turned on the Pomefiore House Warden, ready to spill your deepest, darkest, secrets, and immediately withered under the third year’s spiteful glower.

“H-House Warden!” he squeaked. “I was just—Ahem. The Prefect was just—just saying that—”

“Go on,” Vil prompted, tongue dripping with all kinds of venom. “It must be riveting if it’s managed to stun you so thoroughly. Or maybe that’s just the extent of your comprehensive abilities as it is.”

Ace gulped. Audibly.

“Perhaps I should report your dallying to Riddle,” Vil continued, and that was when Ace really started to look panicked. “Remind me—your House Warden is known for his lenient stance on punishing rule breakers, is he not?”

The redhead darted off with one final squeak, practically wheeling around a corner in his haste to escape.

“Well?” Vil barked, and it took you a second to realize that he was addressing you now, and not that he was just going to continually roast Ace into an early grave. “Are you coming?”

“Where?” you asked, confused.

Vil rolled his eyes and reached out to grab your hand. “To Film Club. You promised to help pick out the new backdrop color schemes. Or is the forgetfulness of that horrible, spudling, friend of yours wearing off on you now too?”

You had promised Vil so many things in the last few weeks that you honestly probably wouldn’t even have remembered if you’d offered to sell him your soul, so looking through page after page of tone combinations that all looked absolutely identical to you but whatever was probably the best you could hope for.

More importantly, he seemed… better. Less stiff, certainly. You wondered idly what could have happened in the span of a few hours to mend his mood so thoroughly. If it had been Neige related all along, then probably some slight against the dude, right? Maybe something had popped up online? Industry drama, or whatever. Or maybe—

‘Because I accidentally rambled to his face about how much more fuckable Vil was than him, and—'

You froze, like a deer about to mowed down by a semi. Vil’s grip on your hand was the only thing that kept you from immediately faceplanting into the ground.

But, no. No one aside from your immediate entourage could have heard you say that! It wasn’t possible! It—It wasn’t—

Amidst your sudden wave of mortification, you caught Rook’s mischievous green, gaze, with your own. The feather on his hat bobbed playfully, mockingly, and he winked.

.

TAG LIST (CLOSED AS OF 12/10)

21.3.76

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[24-jay-42]

Since the Bells Hells Are most likely going to be spending some time in Vasselheim talking to some gods, Here’s who I think It would be cool if each member of the bells hells talked too. I’ll only be listing gods that would be easily accessible in Vasselheim, so no Betrayers or lesser idols:

Orym:

The Wildmother - We’ve already seen them interact and Her even bestowing him the first known Relic of the red solstice. But i wouldn’t exactly say no to more

Imogen:

Stormlord - Obviously the red storm, and that she’s already interested in talking to him. But I also think “Where does your strength Come from?” is very interesting and compelling for her. We’ve heard a few times how she feels tempted by the power Predathos offers. And she has already displayed her strength and force of will in resisting it. I’m hoping she comes up with an answer for herself that strengthens that resolve even further

Laudna:

Dawnfather - While I still the matron would be cool and make a lot of sense, I also wanted to propose the Dawnfather. The matron is very anti-undead and doesn’t like those who defy fate and death, Which Laudna is actively doing. The Dawnfather Has some interesting Things in his tenets about not forgetting the lessons of the past, and Laudna (and Chetney) Has always been the one to point such things out. The Dawnfather Represents the sun, renewal and rebirth. Laudna’s Connection to the suntree. Also, Vex was a champion of the Dawnfather, could make for some interesting story telling.

Chetney:

The All Hammer - Yes, The craft god for the craftsman. But when it fits it fits. And it goes beyond just their shard love of craft. The All Hammer’s tenants promote Leaving a Legacy. “To create something that lasts is to change the world for the better”. As as we know from Nanna Mori, That’s something Chetney wants and values. Moradin is also god of clan, Family and the home. He promotes Loyalty. Chetney is nothing If not loyal. Even if he sometimes speaks and acts in a way that seems a bit sketchy, (eg. just recently with the bright queen and not telling ashton) But in the end he is always loyal, such as when he choose to administer a potion in the otohan fight instead of drinking it himself. Moradin also tells his followers to remain Stoic and tenacious in the face of Catastrophe, And he proved that by asking about Molaesmyr straight to Ludinus’ Face and many many more times

Dorian:

This one’s a bit difficult. Because of recent experiences and his current mindset (which i don’t blame him for), i think he will find it difficult to approach a god. The arch Heart is a good pick, art god for the bard. Anti-lolth. But I can also easily see the Law-bearer. He is now the eldest Prince and heir of the Silken-squall. Some guidance might help him. But i’m not sure.

Braius:

The Platinum Dragon - Sam and Braius have both said that since receiving truthbearer, this might be a sign. A chance for redemption. And honestly i don’t see the platinum dragon, The pillar of justice, protection, nobility, and honour discarding and condemning Braius for something that was barely his fault: Failing to stop an ultimately harmless Prank. One of Bahmut’s tenets is “Smite evil wherever it is found, yet show compassion to those who have strayed from the path of righteousness”. There is something so Raw and compelling about him keeping his Broken Holy Symbol. No matter what happens, his relationship isn't over yet. Braius is currently the Character with the largest connection to the gods so whatever he chooses will be interesting.

Fearne:

The Moonweaver - Not only do they match each other's energy perfectly: Fey trickery. Seizing your own destiny through your passions. “Walk unbridled and untethered, forging new memories and experiences” is just what fearne does on the daily. But also, Stealing Catha from the moonweaver is Literally Zathuda’s whole prerogative. It would be so Ironic if they instead worked together to steal Gloamglut away from him. absolute icon behaviour.

Ashton:

Ashton’s interesting. I obviously want him to talk to the Luxon and the Titan. But if i where to pick a deity.

The Changebringer - For F.C.G obviously. Ashton still has his change bringer coin that he took from the stone. But it goes beyond that. In my opinion The changebringer kinda suits Ashton better then FCG. Rising against Tyranny, change for the better. In terms of Luck Favouring the bold he can literally manipulate luck. Not to mention how tremendously lucky surviving that shard was. I in no way think he would ever become a follower, but I could see this as a sort of alliance. However reluctant.

[longing-for-rain]

regarding aang becoming offended bc of his portrayal as a woman in ember island players, i think his anger was justified on that specific occassion? I mean, the fire nation was mocking his gentle nature and pacifism by portraying him as a blithering naive idiot who never took things seriously and the belittling of his culture and beliefs. This is one of the worst episodes for him, dont get me wrong, but in this case, femininity was utilized as a source of derision and weakness imo. I dont say this with bad intentions, just thought i would write this bc i also condemned aang for the same thing before

If that was what Aang was upset about I might be inclined to agree, but everything he says and does throughout that episode points to the contrary. Aang doesn’t say anything about the incorrect portrayal of his culture and personal values. Here is what he does say:

[Note: the above expression is before the actress hardly says anything so he’s clearly just mad about the fact that she’s female]

Aang: [angrily] Is that a woman playing me?

Aang: I don't do that! That's not what I'm like! And I'm not a woman!

[Note: the official script includes the emphasis; again, it’s very obvious that he’s most bothered by being played by a woman]

Then this exchange:

Toph: I don't know, you are more in touch with your feminine side than most guys.

Aang: [Standing up, angrily] Argh!

Katara: Relax, Aang. They're not accurate portrayals. It's not like I'm a preachy crybaby who can't resist giving overemotional speeches about hope all the time. [Everyone looks at her] What?

Aang: [Turns around and sits down. Sarcastically.] Yeah, that's not you at all.

You know what I love about this conversation is that is proves two things at once. Firstly, yet again, it’s clear that being portrayed by a woman is what is most upsetting to Aang. Secondly, his reaction (and, honestly, insult) to Katara’s values here shows that he’s not thinking that deeply about this. It has nothing to do with values. Aang is offended at the idea that he is being portrayed by a woman and with more “feminine” qualities, which honestly plays well with his creepy, possessive behavior with Katara later this same episode.

And I actually do like the fact that you brought up femininity being used as “a source of derision and weakness” because guess what! That’s the definition of femininity itself. Femininity doesn’t mean simply being a woman; femininity is the social behaviors and roles that women are expected to fulfill. Which is why I don’t have any sympathy for a man who is offended by being called feminine or compared to a woman because it’s reflective of a deeply misogynistic attitude on his part. If Aang thinks femininity is so degrading and weak, what does that say about the fact he expects his crush to behave that way? I mean, this is what he thinks of Katara, through his own perspective:

So yeah, that’s my question. If being compared to a woman is so insulting and humiliating to Aang, what does that say about how he intuitively views actual women? Why does he think he’s above that treatment but women aren’t? People act like I’m crazy for saying that he exhibits toxic masculinity this episode but this only furthers that point.

Oh and before someone jumps in here and acts like this goes both ways, let me point you to this:

Toph’s reaction to finding out she’s being played by a big, buff, stereotypically-masculine man. She’s thrilled! Why? Because we are products of a misogynistic society and therefore intuitively view being compared to a man as a compliment and a woman as an insult. The respective roles assigned to each are not equal. Masculinity and femininity were never equal and the system was deliberately created that way. You can see this idea ingrained in the writing of this episode because it’s a bias we all hold to some degree, including the writing and creative team here.

So I’m sorry, but considering the bias clearly present within the writing team and the way the characters behave this episode, it’s clear to me that Aang’s reaction has nothing to do with his culture and everything to do with his misogyny.

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Mad Love Chapter 23

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there

Royal Hospital doctor: With our numerous experiments, we doctors will advance medicine in Britain. It will certainly make our country prosper. You’re a doctor too, aren’t you? Surely you understand our feelings.

They try to butter him up, only for their own sakes.

With their lives in his hands, Roger—

Roger: Yeah, I get it.

With eyes full of pity…

Roger: —I get that you’re all a bunch of damn hypocrites.

The anger permeating the air was stung.

Roger: For the sake of your country, people, the world. Those are all great causes with good intentions. But they’re not excuses to justify your cause. …That goes for the Privy Council too. You lot have a strong cause, for the sake of “Her Majesty”. Still, that’s not an excuse either for you to do whatever you want.

When I thought back to the sorrow I felt from the kidnapped youths back at the warehouse, I felt resentment well up inside me.

These people didn’t even view humans as humans.

(...Before we were almost killed, we were all called “silent offerings”)

Roger: I…No, we Crown and Kate have condemned you for all the evil you lot have done.

Since meeting Roger, I’ve confronted many evils.

Many were unforgivable and caused lives to be lost. There were even times when I cried and almost despaired. 

Roger: Every time we nip evil in the bud, I hear your filthy voices. “Sacrifices need to be made for the sake of our cause.” “No, they should be grateful for providing for us with their lives.” You think you’re gods…?

Everyone in the world is equal. Strip off our flesh and we’re all the same.

Despite that, people easily assign value to others and use that as a reason to take lives. 

Roger, who’s a “Cursed One”, had been fighting against this despair.

He understood better than anyone that the voices of “the Cursed”—the voices of the weak and the few, were laughably easy to drown out.

(I’ll always remember that look of despair in Roger’s eyes.)

~~ Flashback ~~

Roger: …It’s laughable, isn’t it…? I swore to myself that I’d tame my curse. I wouldn’t let fate drive me mad like God’s whim. I resolved to never betray anyone unknowingly. ..And yet. You can’t fight it…just by your will alone?

Kate: …

Roger: Roger: Is this how I meet my tragic end? …Surrendering myself to my curse…

~~ End flashback ~~

Yet he stood back up—and fought against despair again.

(...The only thing I can do as Roger’s Fairytale Keeper and partner is to see this through to the very end. And)

Royal Hospital doctor: …Don’t act so arrogant! Just shut your mouth and give it to us already.

One of the people who was crawling stood up unsteadily.

Royal Hospital doctor: Hand it over…

Kate: …

He reached for the medicine box held in my hands.

But I immediately pulled out the gun from under my skirt and pointed it at him.

Kate: Stop right there. If you try to steal this from me…I’ll shoot.

(The only thing I can do is see this through to the end)

(And help Roger)

(Just like how Roger’s helped me so many times)

I placed a finger on the trigger—

I’ll send you to the afterlife immediately.

How does it feel to have your life in my hands?

Do you understand how your victims felt now? +4 +4

Kate: Do you understand how your victims felt now?

Royal Hospital doctor: Eek…Help, don’t kill me.

Roger: The youths you killed didn’t even get to beg for their lives. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.

I don’t know if I can actually shoot someone yet.

(I’m just threatening him, but…)

But it was enough to stop the doctor from trying to steal the antidote.

Roger: …

Roger smiled at me for a moment as if to say “great work” before grabbing the doctor by the head.

Roger: Listen, there’s no such thing as superiority or inferiority among humans. And that’s why I’ll never forgive anyone who uses their cause to justify devaluing human life. 

Privy Council Lord: …Then why did you make the antidote? Haha, you’re actually afraid of killing us, aren’t you? In the end, you Crown are all still Her Majesty’s lapdogs!

Still crawling on the ground, the Privy Council lord spat his words out like a curse.

Roger: A lapdog? Haha…I wish.

Roger took an antidote out of the medicine chest and popped the cap.

He then grabbed the Privy Council Lord by the jaw— 

Roger: Unfortunately for you, we’re savage dogs. I made this antidote so you wouldn’t escape through death.

Privy Council Lord: …Escape through death?

Roger: From now on, you’ll be spending a hellish time in eternity paying for your sins. You’d wish you were dead…

Demons aren’t just the ones that don’t view humans as humans.

They are also in charge of executing other devils.

(And it’s my duty as Fairytale Keeper to witness Roger’s sins)

Roger: If you don’t take this antidote, you’ll only have about 42 hours left to live. Now, make your choice. Have an unsightly death or live crawling through the depths of hell.

Royal Hospital doctor: …I’m in hell…either way…

Privy Council Lord: You…villain…

Roger: The best of them. I gave up living as a good person with an idealistic cause a long time ago.

For some reason, when I looked at Roger’s back, I saw “a way of life I didn’t have a choice in”.

A future as a “doctor who saved lives” that could never be achieved again.

…How much time had passed since that moment?

Looking as if they were given a ticket to hell, the doctors and Privy Council took the antidote.

They were scared of the “fear of death” that they had been continuously inflicting on others.

Roger: …

Roger watched on in silence.

There weren’t any words that could explain how he felt at the moment.

(However…)

I reached out for Roger’s arm which just hung there and took his hand in mine.

—Suddenly, unknown footsteps could be heard.

(Who…?)

Nica: Kind of selfish and unsightly for you all to be so scared of death after killing so many people.

Nica looked at them with indifference, as if he were looking at bugs.

Kate: …Nica.

Roger: …You again. How’d you get in here?

Nica: No need to look so scary. I’m just bringing some good news. Here, look.

Nica handed us a tabloid.

Kate: “Illustrated Police News”...?

“A shocking revelation! The intimate relationship between the Privy Council and the doctors of Gracefield Royal Hospital, and all scandalous evil deeds! 

The page was filled with a sensational article and portraits.

And the portraits looked just like the bad people before me.

Nica: It’s a pretty good article. Had a local caricaturist do some portraits. Then I put all the information together and submitted them anonymously.

Roger: You?

Nica: Did it under my king’s orders. It was surprisingly easy. Cheap papers like this don’t care much for authenticity. 

After seeing the news article, the faces of the Privy Council and doctors turned pale.

Privy Council Lord: Huh…Aaahh!

Nica: What, you’re surprised? From here on, the worst future awaits for you. Since you’re going to die socially anyway, wouldn’t it be faster to announce it to the public?

In a way, Vogel helped Crown’s condemnation.

Kate: W-why…

Nica: Don’t ask such a simple question, robin. We Vogel came to Britain to deepen our friendship. To quote our king—

--

Ring: Dari, this “Illustrated Police News”...

Darius: A present from us Vogel to help Crown’s condemnation. At any rate, this is a good article. Nica’s did his job perfectly.

Ring: If this gets out, those people…they’ll never be able to live a normal life, will they?

Darius: Yes, they won’t. That’s why the article was written.

Ring: …Sorry, I don’t understand…

Darius smiled lovingly at Ring’s honesty.

Darius: I suppose I’ll just have to explain it to my cute Ring. Regarding this matter, some members of the Privy Council and doctors came into contact with a method that would remove curses from the Cursed. Even if incomplete, information is information. To erase the memory, you either have them die—or be driven off to somewhere where they cannot be heard. For instance, being locked away in a jail cell for the rest of your life.

Ring: …That method’s just like you.

Darius: Hehe, is that a compliment?

The angelic man scrutinized the human as if looking down on him from the heavens.

Darius: I don’t have the ambition to get rid of curses—that just gets in my way.

Ring: What about Roger Barel?

Darius: Hm?

Ring: There would be no point if we don’t also eliminate Roger Barel, who knows how to get rid of curses.

Darius smiled at the honest killing intent he was fond of.

Darius: Yes, you’re right, Ring. However, we can’t eliminate him yet.

Ring: Why?

Darius: I’ve always wanted a doctor. We can invite him to join our family to stop his pointless ambitions.

It was like the whim of a god.

Darius: Ah, right. There’s one thing I’d like to ask you. It appears that Nica has given information to the Fairytale Keeper. That has saved her as well. Why do you think that is?

The aim of his whims were like lightning, you never knew who it would strike.

Ring: Perhaps Nica…wants to get rid of curses. …I can’t understand difficult topics. Besides…I don’t know what Nica’s thinking.

Darius: Hmmm, even though you’re twins?

Ring: …

Darius gently placed his hand on his crestfallen watchdog’s head while he was at a loss for words.

Ring: But Nica and I are on your side. Family would never betray family.

Darius: I see. Hehe, I’m glad. My family has good kids.

--

Roger and I ran after Nica after he threw the tabloid and left the jail cell.

Roger: Hey, older twin.

Nica looked back from the end of the corridor.

Nica: What? I’m not into having long chats with men.

Roger: I’ve been thinking about something ever since I saw you twins. …Have we met before?

(Huh…)

Nica: …

As I stared at the two in shock, Nica suddenly smiled.

Nica: Nope. Don’t have an irritating face like yours in my data. 

Roger: That so. Nevermind then, that was a strange question.

Nica shifted his gaze from Roger to me.

Nica: Oh, Robin. Congrats on clearing the game. Your expressions when you were fighting alone weren’t bad. Let’s play again if you’re ever in the mood. Bis bald (see you).

Kate: …Yeah. “See you.”

—The sound of footsteps leaving resounded.

Nica: …

As I watched Nica’s retreating form…, for a moment, his gaze turned to the window as if remembering something.

For some reason, that image left a lasting impression—

—It was like there was an inorganic memory etched into my heart.

~~

…Come, —come.

Now, come quietly! Subjects 404 and 405.

~~

Nica: …

--

“As Fairytale Keeper, I will write down the aftermath.

The Privy Council members involved were all dismissed and in addition to being under close surveillance, the Privy Council was drastically reformed. 

The doctors were all stripped of their medical licenses and dismissed, and the police became involved in an investigation at Gracefield Royal Hospital.

As for the criminals that Roger turned over to the police, they never saw the light of day again.

—That was the living hell that awaited them.

This is the entirety of Roger Barel’s condemnation.”

I stopped typing on my typewriter.

(Today’s exactly 1 month since that night)

Having kept Crown’s secret, I was released from my duty as Fairytale Keeper as promised.

To quote Alfons, I was officially free.

Being free meant that I could make my own choices.

Kate: …

I glanced at the clock and left my room.

—To choose what to do “from this point on”.

[ddarker-dreams]

hehe scara let me feed u Apple rabbits

"... There is absolutely no way."

If looks could kill, it’s likely you’d be on the brink of death, convulsing and cursing him with your final breath. Instead of that macabre scene taken straight from a light novel, you’re left with something unremarkably ordinary. You, holding a plate of meticulously prepared apple rabbits, and Scaramouche, sitting on the edge of the inn’s engawa looking as unpleasant as ever. Scratch that, he seems extra unpleasant. A truly commendable feat considering you never thought it possible for him to exceed his usual level of emanating dark energy.

It’s a wonder the verdure surrounding him hasn’t started to wilt. 

Disregarding the oppressive atmosphere, you situate yourself beside him, careful to maintain the plate’s balance. He makes a point of not looking at you (which is odd, considering his affinity for staring incessantly), lips pulled tighter than a bowstring and his eyebrows knitting together. 

What’s his issue? Scaramouche is acting like he’s the one being held captive here, not you. 

“Ohh, I get it,” you prolong the initial syllable for dramatic effect, “You must be worried they’re poisoned since you didn’t see me prepare it.” 

You help yourself to a piece and make a show of how you’re very much not dying from the not poisoned apple rabbit.  

After swallowing, you smile, then wipe the juice from the corner of your mouth with your long sleeve. “See? Still alive and kicking.” 

“Lucky me,” he grumbles. He then actually turns his nose up to you. Who does that? “Why don’t you go feed them to Childe instead, since it’s him you call out to in your sleep? You’re more than welcome to use poison then. I’ll even be the one who supplies it.” 

Ah, it would appear your unconscious self saw fit to condemn you. It’s no wonder Scaramouche was brooding every time you had the misfortune of glancing in his general direction. You thought preparing these apple rabbits, a gesture associated with affection, would cheer him right on up. So much for that. 

However, if you don’t do something to fix this debacle, you’ll be forced to endure his sulking for who knows how long. That future sounds far from appealing. Especially when you’ll be in extra close quarters due to how humble this inn’s size is. You could make the argument he misheard you, which in all likelihood is probably true, but he isn’t receptive to logic in this state. 

You’ll need to take extreme measures. Even if those measures hurt your pride. 

Rather than playing by his game and losing, you reinvent the rules, giving his sleeve a rough tug in your direction. Before he can roll out a string of curses at your impudence, you place half an apple rabbit slice in your mouth. The other half hovers by his lips in a silent invitation. 

Beneath the paper lanterns swaying overhead, you watch his face turn beet red.

His eyes widen, then narrow dangerously, realization flickering within them. The dark chuckle he lets out causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand. He cups both sides of your face and leans forward, past grievances forgotten, his eyes lidded with carnal hunger. 

You don’t think said hunger has anything to do with the fruit, though. 

[odditycircus-2002]

Mortal Kombat 1 Intros Part IV

A/N: I'm a fan of The Boys and have been watching the newest episodes of season 4. Of course, I love to hate Homelander, and it's satisfying to watch fatalities performed on him in Mortal Kombat 1 after watching him perform heinous crap. This led me to watch his intros and then other Mortal Kombat character intros, and inspiration hit! So I hope y'all like this.😁

Oh! And for those of you that are new, the reader here is a Gorgon, meaning snake hair and wears a mask since they can turn people into stone. They also happen to be an Imperial Healer with a bit of a dark side. Hope that helps!😁

Batch I

Batch II

Batch III

Homelander

Y/N: You are not a god. You’re simply, bad product.

Homelander: You’ll be praying to me for mercy soon enough.

/

Y/N: Why should I give you respect when it’ll only go to the bottomless gaping pit of insecurity you call a soul?

Homelander shivers sarcastically: Should I be intimidated by you?

/

Y/N thoughtfully: Perhaps a virus is in order...

Homelander scoffs: A God is above something so insignificant to him.

/

Homelander: What's with the ridiculous mask? Are you trying to cosplay as some D-List Supe?

Y/N: Why don't you take it off and find out?

/

Homelander: Pray to all the “gods” you want, you won’t survive against me.

Y/N: Why assume that I pray to any of them?

/

Homelander incredulously: You actually want to fuck that disgusting freak?!

Y/N with snakes out ready to bite: Unlike you, Baraka doessssn't fill me with revulsion at the sight of him!

Omni-Man

Y/N: One look and this should be over, fast.

Omni-Man: I'll break your neck before you can even get a peek at me.

/

Y/N: Having been betrayed by a cccccharlatan lover before, I know your wife would want you dead.

Omni-Man angrily: You're not her, so your point means nothing.

/

Y/N cautiously: Your medicine could treat Tarkat?

Omni-Man: If you comply and pledge your allegiance to the Empire, all your patients may receive Viltrum care.

/

Omni-Man: You have stupidly condemned your patients to death!

Y/N: I would rather have my heart ripped out than be fooled twiccccce by a charlatan!

/

Omni-Man: Think it over; what will you have serving a diseased ruler and others with her plague for 500 years?

Y/N: I will have no regrets pursuing my lifelong dream.

/

Omni-Man: I'll rip your damn head off in under a minute.

Y/N ominously: Rest assured, this fight will be a real Scourge.

Raiden

Y/N: Are you aware that Madam Bo's special tea is local around my canton?

Raiden: How in the world did she acquire it then?

/

Y/N: I would’ve paid all the koins in Outworld to have seen you absolutely humiliate Shao.

Raiden: I sense you and him never got along.

/

Y/N: I can confidently say that you’re healing up nicely since we fought the Dragon Army.

Raiden: I’m not sure I would’ve survived without your medical care.

/

Raiden: It must be hard being The Colony's lead Healer.

Y/N: Everyone who dies under my care is a blow to my soul.

/

Raiden: Why is there a statue of Kung Lao in the Wu Shi’s Courtyard?

Y/N shrugs: Kung Lao mentioned how he always wanted a statue of himself.

/

Raiden: You’re very different from how your Titan self acts.

Y/N shivers in disgust: I should thank Liu Kang for not having me predestined for Shang Tsung.

/

Raiden: You only have yourself to blame for missing your chance with Y/N.

Shang Tsung chuckles: You say that as if I don’t still have a chance to win them back.

Kung Lao

Y/N: So far, I don’t see any signs of Tarkat but there’s still a chance you could spread it without apparent symptoms.

Kung Lao: You are not putting my mind at ease, at all.

/

Y/N: You’re inviting me? I don’t even know if I’m able to stomach regular food anymore.

Kung Lao: It would be a crime if you didn’t get to try Madam Bo’s cooking at least once!

/

Y/N: How did you not loose any fingers when you first made that hat???

Kung Lao smugly: Through much practice and much skill

/

Kung Lao: I beaten you in our last fight, so what will change here?

Y/N mischievously: This time, I’m not holding back.

/

Kung Lao: Can you believe that the Wu Shi have a trap dungeon?

Y/N hisses in amusement: Who knew the Shaolin were so diabolical?

/

Kung Lao: You and Baraka aren’t a couple???

Y/N sighs wistfully: How I wish that to be true…

/

Baraka: I don’t always understand what Y/N sees in me.

Kung Lao: You definitely have something more than Shang Tsung.

Kenshi

Y/N: I am sorry I couldn't have saved your sight.

Kenshi: You did the best anyone could in that situation.

/

Y/N: What is it like using Sento to see?

Kenshi: It’s like when you stare at a flame and look away, you see the light of the flame even though it’s gone.

/

Y/N: According to Earthrealm myths, the closest to describing my current form is a “Gorgon”.

Kenshi: Perhaps that’s because there have been other gorgons before.

/

Kenshi: I don’t know Y/N, that seems a bit excessive even by the Yakuza’s standards.

Y/N: You and Kitana think a bit of food tampering is too much.

/

Kenshi in surprise: You and Shang Tsung weren’t just lab partners?

Y/N angrily: I was a fool to fall for his charmssss in the first place!

/

Kenshi: Given how you both act around one another, I'm surprised you and Baraka aren't together.

Y/N: I'm grateful to have him in my life.

/

Kenshi: The Colony is fortunate to have you and Y/N.

Baraka: I thank Deliah every day for sending them my way.

[writeyouin]

Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Male-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - Learning To Get Along

A/N – So, a user on A03 suggested the snake servants’ new names. It was a stroke of genius on their behalf, and I can only thank them for it.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

FEMALE VERSION HERE

GN VERSION HERE

Do you think you can manage that? Lucifer’s words hung in the air, creating an icy barrier between you.

So, Lucifer thought himself too good for low-life Sinners such as yourself. That wasn’t fair. Sinners might be in Hell for a reason, but sometimes such reasons were just fucking stupid. Heaven ought to base their entry requirements on a person’s character or strength of heart, not just their actions. You had met plenty of Sinners who were in Hell because of the most trivial shit.

There were those who liked to sleep around, but if sex positivity was a problem, then how did Heaven explain Angels like Adam, whom Charlie had told you about in excruciating detail. Lust shouldn’t have ever been considered a Sin, as long as all participants in any such carnal act were above age and consenting.

Then, there were a few murderers you knew. Granted, murder made the lines blurry, but some Sinners killed in self-defence, or only targeted others such as themselves, protecting the innocent in a very gruesome Dexter-like fashion. Were they really to be condemned? And who the fuck gave a damn about Sloth. So, some people were just bone idle, who gave a shit? Heaven apparently.

And now, the ruler of Hell was condemning those around him as well. He was supposed to care for his people, good or bad. Not to mention those who were solely created for or born in Hell, such as Imps, Hell-Hounds, or the Deadly Sins themselves; they hadn’t committed any crimes to get sent here originally – it was their home.

Your eyebrows furrowed, creating an annoyed crease along your forehead.

“No,” You told Lucifer, who stared at you incredulously.

No? Didn’t you understand the situation? He was Lucifer. King of Hell. He could destroy you with no effort spared, leaving no trace that you ever existed, and you were telling him no? He wasn’t an unreasonable guy, but how could you possibly think that being around him was a good idea? Did you respect Charlie more than you feared him? Granted, he didn’t go out much so few knew how powerful he was, but no other Sinner would dare deny him his wishes.

You saw the look he was giving you and decided to explain yourself.

“Look, I’m only here ‘cos Charlie thought it was a good idea, and if you genuinely hate me, I’ll go and you’ll never have to see me again, but you’re not even trying right now. You haven’t spoken to me. You don’t know anything about me, and frankly, I think Charlie’s right, you do need someone to talk to.”

“I don’t-” Lucifer started.

“You don’t even know why I’m down here,” You interrupted angrily, though you refrained from raising your voice. “And you don’t want to know, right? ‘Cos all of us filthy Sinners must be the same. Ooh, we squandered your gift of Free Will and now we deserve to suffer for eternity, do we? Grow up!”

Lucifer stared at you in astonishment, and you sighed, apparently not finished in your tirade, “I’m going to my room tonight, but tomorrow, I expect that you’ll at least try to tolerate me. Who knows? We might even find some common ground. We both love Charlie, don’t we?”

Lucifer didn’t know what to say to that. He certainly loved his daughter, more than anything else in the universe, but you? He still suspected that you had some kind of ulterior motive… everyone in Hell did. Yet, you had a point. He would do this for her, even if it meant he had to tolerate you.

Who were you, really?

He looked at you closely for the first time, trying to pick out some detail of who you might have been. It was even more disturbing than he previously thought. Before, he only saw a human. Now, he examined your clothes. There was little to say about the style, but your apparel was reminiscent of a Holy Animal. With the ruffled cuffs of your jacket, the way the back peaked to create the image of feathers, and the yellow ribbon that lined the white material, you looked like a dove.

Yet… Despite living in the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie had insisted that you didn’t seek redemption. Why go through the farce of dressing like an Angel then… unless? No, you couldn’t be. No Angel would dare stray from Heaven unless they were ordered to.

Lucifer held back a glower, trying to keep his emotions in check so you wouldn’t sense his thoughts. There was a possibility, though small that you had been sent by the likes of Adam to spy on Lucifer and his kin, ensuring that none of Charlie’s patrons ever found a way to the Pearly Gates.

Well, it wouldn’t take long to uncover your ruse. Lucifer had ways of telling an Angel from a Demon, and once you were asleep, he would know.

“Yeah,” Lucifer said evenly. “I love my Charlie.”

“So, you’ll try then.”

Lucifer nodded his head in consent.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

The sentiment went unreturned as your King returned to his chambers, biding his time until you slept.

When you returned to your room, you got ready for bed. The day had been long and unusual. Honestly, you didn’t feel that you had a place in the manor, and you longed for your room in the Hotel, even if it was smaller, had a large stain on the carpet (which Nifty had named Vivienne) and an unruly infestation of roaches.

In the short time you had spent there, it had become home.

You would miss the arguing inhabitants, the energetic wake-up call from Charlie, the feeling of safety that Vaggie instilled, and the sound of Alastor’s morning and evening radio broadcasts. Yet, you hoped you might find something equally valuable in return if only Lucifer would open himself up to the possibility that you didn’t want anything from him.

After glancing out of your window, which had a balcony you could step out to if you so wished, you took in the whole of the Magne District which was the heart of Pentagram City. If you strained your eyes, you could just see the flashing neon of the Hazbin Hotel, and if you turned your gaze up… There was Heaven, out of reach yet always in sight, taunting most Sinners, yet emboldening a brave few who dared to wonder What If? What if they could change and gain admittance to a better life?

You sighed and dared not ponder further when you needed to get some sleep.

Throwing yourself on the plush bed, you got comfortable, arranging yourself how you liked, then leaning over to your bedside table, you blew out the cherry candle you had previously lit.

You rested your head atop the satin pillows, then frowned, feeling a lump beneath it. You reached under and pulled out a rubber duck, painted to look like a Hellhound-Duck hybrid. Assuming it was one of Charlie’s childhood toys, you placed it carefully atop the table; it would keep you company on your first night in a strange new place.

Lucifer waited till the late twilight hours before leaving his workshop. He transformed himself into a snake, slithering silently through the Hallways, ensuring that you wouldn’t hear him coming.

Before being cast out of Heaven, detecting an Angel would have been a simple task. He would just know, the way he now knew how to read a Demon. Yet, with you giving off little sign of Demonic energy, he now had to test if you were of Angelic origin. There were two ways he could do so. The first was by spilling your blood. Those who were born in or sent to Heaven had golden ichor instead of the oozing red or black goop of Hell-spawn and Sinners.

However, not wishing to alert you to his presence, Lucifer decided to opt for the other method.

Once he was inside your room and certain that you were in a deep slumber, he reverted to his original form, standing over you, his pupils turning to slits at the thought of a traitor in his house. If you were what he thought you to be, he would kill you immediately.

He pulled a small yellow twenty-sided stone from his pocket and baring his fangs in anger, he pressed it lightly against your skin.

Nothing happened.

Lucifer’s expression changed from one of deep-seated loathing to confusion. You weren’t from Heaven. If you were, the stone would have glowed a brilliant shade of Gold. Instead, it remained its original dull yellow.

Very well.

He would keep his word and… Tolerate you.

He left your room as quietly as he had entered it. Tomorrow, things would be different.

Lucifer didn’t sleep that night; the idea of change was terrifying.

The next morning, when Lucifer finally resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to face you eventually, he headed downstairs, assuming that was where you were.

“JUST TRY IT!” He heard you yell. “TRY! OPEN YOUR MOUTH, DAMN IT!”

“Uh…” Was all he could think to say as he entered the kitchen and found you clinging to one of the snake cleaners he had created the previous night, in a rodeo-like fashion. The creature was trying to buck you off, with a somewhat derpy expression, probably stupidly assuming it was a game; Lucifer hadn’t bothered to instil them with much intelligence since he didn’t need them for anything more than cleaning.

“ARGH!” You grunted as you were dislodged from its back.

“What- What is this?” Lucifer asked, confused.

“Oh shit!” You cursed, embarrassed to have been caught in a less-than-dignified position. You attempted to regain a little composure by standing up, then held up a handful of wadded-up pancake.

“Do they eat?” You demanded, referring to the reptilian cleaners, “’Cos they’ve been in a picture frame their whole lives, and they must be hungry by now.”

Of all the stupid things you could have done, Lucifer couldn’t help but crack a smile, though he had the decency to hide his laugh behind a clenched fist and pass it off as a cough.

“They don’t need to.”

“Okay, but can they?”

“If they wanted to, I suppose so.”  

You glared at the mushed-up pancake, “I fucking knew it. Spick, Span, eat your fucking breakfast!”

“I’m sorry, who now?” Lucifer asked.

“Well, they clean, don’t they? Spick and Span seem to fit unless you have something better to name them.”

Lucifer chuckled, a half-short-lived chuckle, but one all the same. You were more chaotic than he expected.

“Fine, if you want them to eat, you’ve got to cook in style.”

He waved his hands energetically, his outfit transforming from his usual suit to one befitting a flashy Michelin Chef. He was comfortable in the role of an entertainer as he made a dazzling display of cooking up eggs. With the flash-bang of indoor fireworks, the island counter gained a conveyor belt to transport several dishes, all perfectly presentable and giving off a delectable aroma of herbs and spices.

Eggs-benedict, frittatas, and shakshuka shot by you, closely followed by a hungry Span, though his twin was busy writhing on the conveyer belt, trying to get to his feather duster, yet doomed to chase it since he didn’t think to travel in the opposite direction so it would meet him in the middle.

The sight was memorable to say the least, even when Spick knocked the food onto the floor and his brother was left stupidly sucking on the corner of the countertop where his seemingly new favourite dish had splattered.

You couldn’t help laughing.

“See?” You struggled to get the words out, “I knew they’d like food. I’m just a shite cook.”

Lucifer gazed at his dishes proudly, even though they were no longer fit for either of your consumption.

“Hah,” You said, feeling somewhat awkward now that the moment had passed and Lucifer’s gaze was upon you, trying to figure you out. “I’ll uh, clean this up.”

“No need, leave it to Flim and Flam,” Lucifer said nonchalantly.

“You know that’s not their names.”

“Whatever. So… we’ve met, there was breakfast with a show. We done for today?”

The smile fell from your face as you realised that all of this was just another of Lucifer’s acts. Granted, he might have actually had fun with it, but it was all just in the name of claiming he had tried to be around you, and just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“I don’t know. I was going to go into the City if you wanted to come.”

“I can’t. I have… plans.”

Lucifer’s mood soured as he thought about visiting Heaven’s embassy to set up the meeting for Charlie. He hated everything about that building. The décor was just a cruel reminder of everything Heaven had banished him from. Moreover, while the Angels had to respect his power, they didn’t respect him; their cruel words and thinly veiled insults always cut him the deepest. Not to mention how bitter he was that the balance of power was uneven. Sure, Heaven had an embassy in Hell, but there was no such building in Heaven where Demons could work to arrange meetings between Angels and him.

It would always be Lucifer going to their building, on their terms, usually at their behest.

“Plans? So, you’re setting up Charlie’s meeting today?” You guessed astutely. “You know, I’m walking that way too.”

Lucifer guessed at your game. You probably hadn’t been going in that direction at all, but this was all in the name of ‘trying’. One way or another, he would have to learn to get along with you.

“Fine. Let’s go,” He said, flicking his hand back blasély, even though he found the idea of walking the streets of Hell daunting.

It would be better if he could teleport there, but at least, by the end of the day, you would have something positive to report back to Charlie.

[ourfag]

i think part of the resistance i’ve seen in response to the view of ed as an abuse victim—not just the view of izzy as someone who abused ed, but of ed as someone who was abused by him, as opposed to interpretations that pursue an image of Nuance and Complexity (unnecessarily, because their dynamic has heaps of both, but there seems to be a popular impulse to conflate complexity with shared culpability) by characterizing their relationship as being toxic/unhealthy in equal reciprocity, or as “mutually abusive” (oxymoron)—i definitely see the influence of racism there, but i think the racism is also working to amplify an adjacent issue where we tend to receive very specific cultural messaging about What An Abuse Victim Looks Like, and ed is excluded from a lot of that criteria.

he’s outspoken. he’s boisterous. he’s Very Cool and he Wears Leather. he’s physically bigger and browner than the person mistreating him. he spends the first season with a big grey beard, he’s covered in tattoos, he projects the image of A Man’s Man, to say nothing of his being a man in the first place. we see him get aggressive and we see him get angry (and sometimes we even see both at the same time). we see moments where he’s surly, prickly, insensitive, arrogant. his survival techniques and trauma responses incur collateral damage to other people, and in the second season this extends into affecting people we actually sympathize with. he’s extremely private about expressing fear. without examination, his professional relationship to izzy seems to position him as the one with the power slanted in his favor.

most damningly, we see him react multiple times to izzy’s abuse with physical violence. this is behavior that gets referenced all the time in the construction of narratives condemning subjects of physical abuse, let alone emotional abuse. which is why writing that intends for its audience to interpret a character as being unambiguously A Victim Of Abuse will often, for simplicity’s sake, avoid showing the character regularly engaging in anything of the kind.

and again, all of these departures from the image of The Model Victim are compounded by his being a man of color.

without any of the shorthand designed to point a big flashing arrow at his mistreatment, all we have left to work with are the words and actions we see from ed and izzy onscreen. who instigates conflict, and how does the other respond? how are they able or allowed to respond? how do we see them speak about each other to outside parties? does one go out of their way to control or isolate the other? what consequences does either party stand to face in saying “no” to the other? in acting against the other’s wishes? in trying to leave the relationship? when either of them attempts these things, how do we see the other respond?

i realize and appreciate what people are driving at when they garnish their analysis with disclaimers that they’re not saying ed’s just a poor innocent abuse victim, they’re not saying he’s a perfect angel who’s never done anything wrong, and that’s true, but these are points already contained implicitly in statements like “this show’s protagonists act like human people” and “ed’s emotional struggles are portrayed in a realistic and believable way.” my assumption is that these disclaimers are anticipatory responses to worst-faith interpretations of any discussion that attributes any victim status to ed whatsoever, so i definitely sympathize with their inclusion, but a (very small) part of me still worries about them potentially reflecting or reinforcing a belief that there is any way for someone to behave towards their abuser that imparts a responsibility for them to make right whatever damage the abuser receives, or for that matter any degree of ambiguity over their status as an abuse victim in the first place.

part of what i find so gratifying about ed as a character is that i don’t feel like the show’s writing is pressuring me to consider that ambiguity at all. which was a really nice thing for me to discover!

and tbh—did using ed to deconstruct The Model Victim even factor into the writers’ agenda?? ive got no clue. im guessing no? ??maybe?? probably not?? but if you create a main character whose central premise is that he feels trapped in a performance of exaggerated masculinity that he’s desperate to escape, and then you set him up with a character premised on embodying a tangible obstacle against that escape, then i guess that’s the natural shape your story’s gonna be inclined to take

[ladyduellist]

Epistles of Saints & Sinners

Chapter Summary:

Tav finds a way to fed Astarion blood.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Story Summary:

When Astarion meets the humble bard, Tav, he soon finds out he's the only one between them that knows they are bound as soulmates through their marks. Deciding it's more trouble than its worth, he refuses to tell her along the course of their journey across Faerûn.

But, unbeknownst to him and their companions, Tav is harboring a gruesome secret that she only thought was nothing more than a traumatized period in her life.

As they both come to face to face with their pasts and presents, will they choose to move forward or let it consume them?

Healing isn’t linear—after all.

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Chapter 17: Poison

Ao3

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Main Page & Chapter List

Word count: 5.7k

Pairing: Astarion x female bard Tav

CW: Language, Violence, Act 1 Spoilers

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

♫ Traveling under the sunless sea, We were both trying to breathe, Tied with an invisible thread.

When colors seem less monochrome, And the soul doesn’t want to roam, Emotions felt with everything unsaid.

Little by little it starts, Devotion of a once vacant heart, The dawn’s shard’s bringing light.

Moments of sweetness and inner strife, Holding on to each other like a knife, So that our tale will be worth the fight. ♫

— Tavelle Swiftchoir, a song entitled ‘Genesis

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

“Do you trust it?”

“Hmm?”

“The dream guardian. Do you trust it?” Gale persisted, biting softly into an impeccably made cheese sandwich.

Shaking herself from focusing on the shoddy stitch work in her lap, Tav amusedly spied a couple breadcrumbs becoming lost in his unkempt beard “No? Hells, I don’t know. It certainly told us a convincing tale. What about you?”

“I typically like to err on the side of caution, but I’m in agreement with you: it did tell us a convincing tale. The fact that it conveyed nearly the same story to us through our dream state, makes me think we are its only hope,” he pointed out, brushing away flakes of bread from his robes. “But this could be yet another trick. Let us carry on and see what comes of this protector of ours for the present.”

The bard took a deep breath, carefully mulling over their current state of affairs. “At any rate, we do have the creature to thank for us all still being alive.”

Around them, a chilled breeze in the late afternoon warned of the beginning transition into sunset. The day had been wrought with conversations surrounding the group’s mutual restlessness about where the lines of reality and dreams blurred pertaining to the abnormal guardian angel inside the prism. Dreamy’s narrative certainly seemed believable enough, but Tav was concerned that it appeared to each of them in a different form—craftily tailored in the guise of familiarity, blindsiding them to gain their trust. Yet, not a single one of her companions opted to reveal who’s shape it took on, as if they, too, had been unsettled by the imitator’s projected image.

And honestly? She probably understood the need to conceal such unbosomings better than anyone, given the shapeshifting protector’s introduction in Algos’s body. There was very little doubt that her companions would be understanding about why she murdered her husband, but what they didn’t know—what she hid—was that she would one day face extreme public scorn in the pillory before having her neck kiss the bladed edge of a guillotine, for misdeeds far graver than Algos’s demise.

They can’t know. They can’t find out. It would put them all in danger.

It terrified Tav, the knowing that time was running low before everyone discovered her real identity. That a condemned woman as she was on the path to possibly become a hero—unexpectedly following in her mother’s footsteps—except her accused transgressions would see her dead before the first opus honoring her deeds was composed. But she had, in some sense, accepted that she would offer herself up to Faêrun’s judgment when the bell tolled for her fate. Taking as much as she gave to the world by balladeering her final mortal liturgy, while still protecting those in need to the very end.

The wizard took another large chomp into his snack while he plopped down onto the crate, moaning in culinary bliss. “‘av, ‘o yoo wa’t ‘um? I’s ree’y goo’!” he excitedly said, pointing at the sandwich with his mouth full.

“I’m sure it does taste good—judging by how loudly you’re chewing—but I’ll pass this time, Gale. Thank you,” she hastily replied, growing more frustrated with the lapse of her sewing needle determined to create a crooked line.

“Ah,” he jetted out, swallowing more chunks of Waterdhavian down his hatch. “Honestly, all that’s missing is a bottle of Athkatlan clarry wine.”

The needle pierced the tip of her finger, making her wince. “Bollocks! I can’t deal with this right now,” she huffed out, tossing the tailoring kit and torn shirt aside.

Gale turned to her, a fair amount of worry dimming his bark colored eyes. “Want to talk about it?”

How could she ever possibly explain her constant hindrances to him? Whenever she began to dwell, she could feel herself packed to the brim, ready to burst through those seams at any moment. The tadpoles. Algos. Their journey. The dream guardian. Whatever the fuck her involvement continued to be with Astarion. Tav had taken on so much in such a short period, that she was wound like a rubber band ball about to unsnap.

The bard lifted her knees to rest the side of her face against them. Her hair unplaited, captured the last chirps from the evening songbirds upon each strand blown in the wind. “I’m not even sure where to start.”

“The beginning may be as good a place as any. After what you did for me—standing for my honor against the others concerning the Netherese orb—listening is the least I can do for our worrisome leader.”

Tav seriously pondered over his words, quickly electing to keep her sentiments to herself. “You don’t owe me anything. None of you do. Being here is sufficient.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Is it? Sufficient, I mean.”

“What are you implying?” she asked with a hint of unease in her soft pitch.

Gale raised his head to peer out towards Wyll and Karlach preparing the evening campfire. “You know, when I locked myself up in my tower for that fretful year, I had nobody except for Tara,” he proceeded with his thoughts. “One full year, waffling in my depression and consuming whatever magical items I could to stabilize this infestation in my chest. One full year of never reaching out to another to relinquish some of my misery, convincing myself it was my own burden to bear.

"Maybe I could have blamed some of my pride on my lack of seeking another’s sympathy, but I will say, after I was captured by the mind flayers and settled with you all, I realized just how starved I was to share my struggles with those that would have my best interest in heart.”

As she listened to the wizard’s voice attempting to lull her into a vulnerable place, Tav began to trace all their companion’s names in elvish Espruar letterings into the dirt. With each elegant curve she made, her index finger either thickened or thinned its script. She wondered if amongst her digit’s fluidity imprinting these names into the ground, which of them—if any—could lay their hands over her metaphorically slumped body in an act to invoke a holy dove for her healing. Yet, her impulse to safeguard what was still left within her reverberating heart took precedence, leaving her with bouts of emptiness where trusted connections should form.

Astarion had been right all along: nothing was holding her hostage except herself.

“What I’m trying to say is that perhaps it’s not me you wish to unload any of this haul of yours onto, but I have zero doubt that a single one of us would turn you away if you wished to do so,” Gale ended, fixing his gaze on her.

Tav froze her mindless scribbles in the middle of drawing Astarion’s name. She lifted her head to gently grin at him. “You are singing to the bard here, Gale,” she replied, laughing at her own corny joke. “But know that it is never something to take personally. Maybe after I’ve found time to think more clearly? Would that suffice?”

He patted her on the back, grunting a noise resembling a throaty “yes.”

Familiar post-mortem gouge, A skewer through her vitals. Rearing bestial head, With another cycle.

Scraping and howling, Blow down the bricks to her castle walls. From high above the turrets, Tearfully shoot the animal until it falls.

And then mourn its lifeless shape, For the offense of trying to see inside.

“Ahem,” an unreserved voice cleared itself, announcing himself specifically to the bard.

Leisurely strolling by with his impossibly straight nose pointing down into a book, Astarion sank in his cheeks to follow up his known presence with a “tsk.” His loose curls relaxed along the nape of his neck as his chin tucked a little further into his chest.

Gale sat up straight in his seat, running a hand through his brown hair to find relief from the assaulting tresses tickling his face. “How many times has he passed by us now?”

“Three. He’s pouting and hoping I’ll change the terms of my arrangement with him,” Tav responded, sighing. If Astarion meant to hold up his boisterous charade, she was resigning herself to her bedroll for the rest of the evening.

“Arrangement? As in feeding or…um…something…well,” the wizard inquired, shooting her an embarrassed glance.

Her lower lip hung open, the sound of a forced dry chuckle leaving her diaphragm. “Are you asking about my sex life, Gale?”

“WAIT, I ONLY MEANT—” Gale held up his hands, face turning every shade of pinkish red one could imagine. 

She casually covered her mouth, hiding her raspy titters. Gale reminded her of jam spread upon a biscuit: reliable, easily abashed, and sweet at the same time. 

“Do I simply not exist?” the vampire sneered, keeping his garnet view studying the pages in his book. “You do realize I’m able to hear the two of you gossiping hens from here, don’t you?” 

“Hello again, Astarion,” Gale called out. “You’re sounding rather optimistic tonight. Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Oh, Gale, you really need to stop flirting with me—I’m not interested,” Astarion scowled, turning a page in his book.

He’s more agitated than usual, Tav reflected. And his skin…is it possible for him to be any paler? Unless he hasn’t—damnit!

Tav jumped to her feet, giving the ties on her stays a quick glance over to check for their support. “When’s the last time you fed?” she asked aloud.

Astarion lifted his head to peer over at her. “Does it matter? I think you’ve made it perfectly clear where you stand on that particular concern.”

Gale nervously lurched his nutty eyes between the two ex lovers, seemingly deciding it was better to stay clammed up on the subject by the way he pursed his lips together.

Slowly approaching, she nibbled at the inside of her cheek, ruminating on her last interaction with Astarion during their spar. Did he believe she was trying to punish him with the boundaries she set? Of course she was undeniably irate over how he treated their riptided companionship, but she refused to be held responsible in any way for his fickle stubbornness.

“You need blood,” she composedly pressed, stuffing her hands into her pant pockets. “This isn’t healthy, especially with us facing the gith tomorrow.”

Astarion waved her off disdainfully. “Sorry darling, but I think my palette is evolving to a taste that’s less…stale.”

“So, you would rather hold out for a different ‘thinking creature’ than the woman standing in front of you still offering her neck?” Tav frowned, knitting her brow. “I’m not going to chase after you about this.”

Yes, you will.

“Don’t mislead yourself.” He gently closed the book, skimming a hand over the front cover before fully regarding her. “We both already know that you have quite the tendency in refusing to give up on anything.”

Astarion knew exactly how to rile her up, sucking upon her good character like he was the village witch. With pitchforks and orders of decree, town riots were held because of men like him. There had already been plenty of occasions when he knew she couldn't turn away from his dilemmas, premediating he wouldn't even have to ask. Killing Gandrel. Drinking her blood. The promise to fell Cazador. Examples upon examples of the way this captivating rogue had kept her within his apocryphal sepulcher.

“And you’ve taken advantage of that knowledge, haven’t you?” she retorted.

Astarion took a few steps closer to her, tilting his head to the side. “Haven’t I? Don’t you mean, haven’t we? I’m not the only one that’s pursued a special interest amongst the two of us.”

The bard narrowed her eyes. “Y-you think I used you only for intimacy?” she choked out, fighting back the watery spouts in the nooks of her eyes. “...Astarion, that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“Again, don’t mislead yourself. Everybody wants something from someone else,” the pale elf goaded, slanting his body inwardly to gawk at her underneath his black lashes. 

A dull ache unspun in her chest as it began to propagate from the words of Astarion’s morose piano sonata he unexpectedly disclosed to her. Her previous fears had come true: he honestly thought she was using him for little more than sensual rendezvouses. 

“I want to talk more in depth about this,” Tav murmured, staring at the tome in his hands. Was it just her imagination or was it lightly trembling?

“And I want to leave,” Astarion shot back, abruptly turning away from her, unwilling to share any further exchanges. “I bid goodnight to everyone not named Gale.”

“Yes, well, please do let us know how we can inconvenience you yet again on your fourth stroll around here!” the wizard shouted as Astarion roamed away towards a set of ruins overlooking the mountainous valley.

Tav started to sluggishly pace, thoughts scattered as she ran the risks of martyring her self appointed walls over and over again. Usually, she would pay no heed to his sarcasm and mockery—which was half of his personality—but the steady quakes jumbling his grip around the book, nettled its way beneath the five million nerve endings of her skin. What was he hiding? 

“Tavelle,” Gale said unevenly. “Are you okay?”

An idea struck her. Impulsive and dangerous. She laughed at herself for the mere consideration of it, and furthermore, at Astarion’s prediction of her defiance to throw in the towel. He surely must’ve laced his fangs with poison with the way he continued to seep into her veins.

Wiggling a dagger out from its sheath tied to her belt, she placed the sharp blade against her right forearm. “Gale, do you think you could find me an empty bottle?”

Confused, he observed her impromptu actions. “Let me jot down that bloodletting is an active interest of yours. Whatever are you doing?”

“If Astarion continues to be stubborn in his feedings, I’ll just have to concede to a different way in helping him. He’s not the only one that can tempt another,” she half-jested, discerning on the proper area to slice. 

Mouth agape, pupils larger than copper coins, Gale ran off to retrieve her request with his robes swishing fastidiously behind him. Almost instantaneously, he returned stumbling over his feet with an empty bottle, clean bandages, and a quartered-filled healing potion.

“Here, this should do. The healing potion should stop most of your bleeding, but not right away—hence the dressings.”

“Greatly appreciated,” Tav beamed. “Actually, this may go better if you could hold the bottle for me. If I die, lie to Shadowheart and tell her I forced you to help with a charm spell before she resurrects me.”

Gale silently assented, standing close enough to hold the container under her arm. “I realize this may be none of my business, but why even bother? Is he really worth continuing to sacrifice your own health for? You and I have had this disagreement before and I can’t help but think it’s best to still leave him be. Nobody wants to see you hurt; we need you just as much as you need us.”

The bard grit her teeth together, slowly cutting through several blood vessels in her arm. As her crimson dripped in hurried rivulets, she positioned the wound over the glass.

“I-I care about him, Gale,” Tav weighed in, starting to feel lightheaded. “There is something inside my gut that tells me not to abandon him, no matter how much of a pretentious asshole he can be. I don’t think he understands what living a good life means and, gods help me, I’m determined to at least help give him a real chance to do so.”

He took a deep breath, careful in the way he spoke his next words. "Do you think this could just be your affectionate emotions speaking and not your logic? It's evident you have a strong bond with Astarion, regardless if you feel something deeper with him or not. I'm not trying to deter or judge you, but I went through a similar situation with Mystra. I loved her and it cost me everything."

Tav elevated her head, taking in the warmth of his stare. "Isn't that what life is all about? Putting your heart on the line and hoping everything works itself out," she proclaimed, sheepishly smiling.

A sympathetic expression washed over his face as he held tighter onto the small container while it filled with her blood. “I didn’t before, but I think I slightly understand now why you protect him—us—as you do. You’re too good for this world and I pray Astarion sees what your compassion is capable of doing.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,“ she timidly blushed, resheathing the blade as she scrambled to unravel the bandages to tie around the gash. “Mayhaps I am being preposterous, but I want to believe Astarion has something good inside him that’s been suppressed in growth for 200 years just so he could survive. Would it be so terrible of me to help him search for that?”

“Terrible? No. A damned lunatic? Yes.”

⸺⋘✤⋙⸺

Rosymorn Monastery Trail was a location that appeared suspended in time. Vast jagged mountainous rocks reaching high into the heavens above. Overgrown trees refused mercy to the ridges they shoved their roots into, leaving behind a surreal sight to behold. Built alongside the trail were shrines and statues dedicated to the dawn god Lathander—some in literal ruins, others standing proud. All forgotten, left to nature’s decay.

The dusk showed the first presentations of celestial bodies over the breathtaking scenery, dimly twinkling as they labored to shine brightest through refracted streams of light. They reminded Tav of the vampire she was on foot to visit, peacocking his demeanor as if he wanted to be noticed while a preferred distance remained a tumultuous comfort.

In her hand, she clenched the bottle of her prepared blood, wondering how Astarion would receive the expiatory truce. Gale’s woes weren’t without merit about the spawn’s needs extending beyond her remediable efforts, but her memories of the past decade were a potent drug denying her withdrawal from him. She had been alone. Frightened. Traversing the lands with no support. Her name: a stain on her people and her family’s triumphs. Because of this, Tav vowed to herself and the incorporeal buzzards circling overhead waiting for her collapse, that nobody else she knew would have to face their suffering alone as she had.

The tiniest granule of real unfettered hope could change everything for Astarion. 

Hope. A word Algos used to berate her for even suggesting the power it could wield, contrarily believing fear held more dominance. A decade later, she could still hear his voice echoing in leftover thoughts germane to him. Though, she was confused as to why her recent trances were constantly enthralled by him, hounding her into turbulent—sometimes insomniac—nights. Could it be her mind trying to warn her of the similarities between Algos and Astarion? Both had exhibited behaviors of egotism, manipulation, cruelty, and concerns that were border lined obsessive with outward appearances. Comparative personality quirks, yes, but didn’t they hold their differences?  

Astarion was the only one between the two men that had treated her as an actual human being despite his historical flaws. He respected her autonomy, although he loved to disagree with her. When she announced her boundaries, he didn’t barge through them to try and control her. Most of all, he never took anything from her unless she first offered. To Astarion, perhaps these actions meant naught to him other than some part of his personal compass he routinely enacted. Whereas for Tav, these were exhibitions of consideration for her well-being that he may never understand what they truly meant to her.

Still, the songstress couldn’t shake the parallels betwixt them. 

Maybe she really was a lunatic caught within her own patterns, blinded by her feelings. Maybe she was some idiot who couldn't help but to throw herself into another man’s haunted house. Or maybe her muddled head was overthinking so many disorderly thoughts, that she failed to notice her arrival at the wrecked archway attached to what was left of an abandoned sanctuary.

Shivers prickled down her spine while she briskly searched the area for any evidence that the spawn was closeby. “Astarion, are you here?”

Over crumbling and desolate blanched stones, she berthed herself with the foundation of her lower body. The bard’s eartips perked up, attuning to the awakening eve’s sonances. Save for the mating cricket chirps, it was pleasantly silent. She walked through the open arch, peering out towards the empty cliff behind the building.

“‘Starion?” Tav whispered.

“Ah, and thus does the bouquet arrive to offer unto me chastisements for biting words,” a nasally voice odically narrated on the other side of a neglected wall holding the arches afloat.

“Oh my gods!” she yelped out in surprise, nearly dropping the vessel of her sanguine fluid.

He was leaning back casually against the ruinous wall with his eyes peacefully shut, letting her ogle bluish thin capillaries webbing his lids. The black and plum coat he often wore was unbuckled, opened wide, revealing a plunging neckline above his usual ruffly shirt underneath. And, oh, did the moonlight ever decide to accentuate the forbidden dips of his collarbone and pointed jawline right when her gaze fluidly crossed his path.

Tav’s view dropped away, cheeks reddened as if she had caught him in a private moment. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over vampires' corpselike stillness,” she noted with a jittery chuckle, coming down from her adrenaline spike.

The vampire’s right eye opened, appraising her gestures as he inhaled heavily through his nostrils. “Are you wounded? You smell like you’ve been doused in your own blood.”

“Something like that,” she confirmed, lifting up the bottle and confidently pushing it in his direction.

“A potion? Darling, you shouldn’t have! How did you know this is what I’ve always wanted?” Astarion mocked in annoyance, pushing off the wall to grip the bottom of the glass.

Tav shook her head. “Not a potion. Open it.”

He skeptically gaped at her as he popped the cork out. A single sniff into the dense bottled air, bathed his expression in euphoric and ravenous delight. The tips of his fangs glistened with a string of saliva connecting one of them to his tongue when his mouth fell open. Low groans, short and reverberating, slipped out, leaving the woman’s heart fluttering.

Seconds passed before he spoke, his accent thickly laced with hunger. “What did you do?” he mumbled, bringing his sight to level with hers.

Tav removed her hand from the object, allowing its heft to nest in his grasp. “The day after you told me you were a vampire, we made an agreement for you to drink my blood as needed. I mean to uphold what I promised to you regardless of what’s going on between us.”

“Where?” he breathed out.

“Where what?”

“Where did you cut yourself open?”

She held up her forearm, swathed in fresh bandage strips. “It doesn’t hurt much; I drank half of a healing potion to stop the bleeding. I wanted to catch up with you before it chilled.”

Astarion narrowly squinted at her arm, then back to her shy simper.

“Don’t do this again. Not for me; not for anyone. If I need your blood, I’ll feed from you when the others are around—per your suggestion,” he firmly stated, frowning.

Like a hallucinogenic taking effect, there was a waxing vagrancy in his eyes. Tav assumed some recollections of his chronological life, where the electric wirings in his brain became polluted, had swam through his cerebral nerves.

That was not the reaction she had anticipated. Tinges of guilt cratered themselves in her stomach, like bombs being dropped onto the ground. Amid their last tiff, Astarion had been absolutely resilient—dubious even—when Tav proposed a new feeding arrangement due to his disassociating incidents. Why did he suddenly change his mind?

She resisted sinking her teeth into her lip. “Have I upset you? I’m sorry if—”

He combed his thieving fingers through his fluffed coif, ending with a sigh. “You haven’t upset me, songbird.”

Tav clasped her hands together, avoiding his unreadable guise. “Okay, good. That's good."

Loud barking at the camp’s site saved her from the awkward silence they were wallowing inside. Someone shrieked—possibly Wyll—at Scratch for stealing their underclothes off the temporary clothesline they erected. The distracted bard merrily puffed away a chuckle, imagining the feisty dog darting through their tents with a pair of shorts in his muzzle.

As she directed her attention back towards Astarion, swift torrents from her bottled crimson cascaded into his gullet as he swallowed. Her lips were consumed with a summery smile as she watched visible glowing pinks tint his pallored skin from her blood filling his body. Engrossed by the sight of him, Tav allowed a single memory of teeth marks and tongue frisks branding her. She introspectively touched the side of her neck, finding that she missed the two punctures that had mended.

But then her yearning was replaced with antipathy aimed at herself, remembering how mortified she felt when he inferred she was only using him for sex. 

Astarion wiped his mouth, gingerly swiping up blood droplets. “Something wrong?”

Tav swallowed the constricting ball in her throat. “What you said prior, it isn’t true.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“That’s not why—you know I didn’t sleep with you because I only wanted sex, right?” she replied.

“Are you actually sullen over that? I only said it to make a point, not to have another one of our famous parleys,” he threw out, obviously deflecting. “In fact, I’ve already forgotten most of what I told you.”

Her vision roamed to his fingers tightly wrapped around the bottle, thinking back to those faint tremors from earlier. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend that you’re unbothered by things when they do bother you. I would never be upset with you for expressing your wants and needs."

Seconds flew by without any movement from Astarion. She observed as his pupils dilated and undilated, battling through miles of his ageless carnage until he finally blinked at her.

He raised the blood-filled container to his mouth, muffling behind the glass. “I highly doubt you’re done prattling on, so do soldier on.”

“Right.” She studied him under gossamer lashes as he ingested another red mouthful, unsurprised by his interpolation. “Us being intimate came as a bit of a surprise to me. You see, you were also my first—“

“What?!” he coughed up after gulping a huge liquidly glob.

“In a decade!” Tav giggled, obliviously fixing her bangs. “I’m sorry! I meant that you were the first man I’ve slept with since my ex.”

“Bloody hells! Had I a functional heart, I think it would have seized just now.”

It wasn’t that she hadn’t been propositioned during her ten year drought. On the contrary, plenty of men—sometimes women—pledged marriages, endless wealth, distinguished titles, even rare treasures, to have her in their company since her last relationship flatlined. Compelling words they undulated into the flue of her ear about tasting her skin until she would give her heart to them. Oaths were recited about helping her to become the most famous bard in Toril, like enticing wildfires from treacherous tongues.

But, none of it mattered. Tav already knew she couldn’t trust them. They never offered her what she wanted—what she needed. Never bothering to unfasten even a fraction of her armor to see what was moored underneath. All her fragility and sorrow waiting to be exposed like a creature sliced open upon a taxidermist’s table.

Until she met Astarion and he saw right through the remnants she tried to mask.

Astarion swigged the rest of the bottle’s contents, releasing a pleased keen. “Call me a scamp all you want, but if you had asked me to deflower you, I would have at least treated you to a romantic dinner of half-eaten apples and stale bread beforehand,” he teased, spryly reaching out to brush the back of his knuckles along her jaw.

She playfully pushed his furled fingers away. “Knave!”

“Oh, forgive me. Would you have preferred tenderized lamb shank and white wine?” he taunted, examining his spread fingers out in front of him. “Our options are clearly limited to a more—bleh—provincial lifestyle.”

Laughing, she lightly thudded her back against the wall, pulling fountains of hair over her shoulder. Astarion mirrored the elf, resting his body next to hers, shoulders inches apart. Their breaths tapered into steady and mellow flows, each trying to match the other.

“So, was your ex love your first?” he curiously asked after a time, wiggling his brows.

“No, thank the gods,” Tav informed. “Aah, my first was a young elven man. A sailor visiting his family in Highmoon. It happened so fast, I barely remember anything from it aside from the—ahem—initial pain. He was sweet and a gentleman, so I suppose it could have been worse.”

“Tsk. Had it been me, I would have taken my time with you," he boasted.

She blushed, crossing her foot one over the other nervously. “What about you? Who was your first?”

Astarion’s face tensed. “I can’t remember,” he said softly.

The songstress looked at the ground somberly, simultaneously saddened he may never regain his memories and confounded that the person that had hurt her the most amongst their group was also the one she felt the most comfortable with.

The spawn shifted, placing a loose fist under his chin in thought. “Ten years without so much as a single caress, huh? No wonder you were so…” he trailed off.

“So, what?”

“...sensitive.”

“Oghma’s right nut! I should’ve taken that one to my grave,” she lamented, florid embarrassment heating tender skin down the length of her ear from pointed tip to lobe.

Astarion laughed at her, showing his upper row of teeth. He rotated his head, focusing on her with roguish eyes aglow. “If you would like to do the honors of fluffing my ego, why choose me to be your first after all that time?”

Under the cosmos, they connected by flesh. Lonely wanderers: drifting, searching, waiting to be free. Under the cosmos, they did part. Runaways still enslaved by scars of old stones.

Though she discovered through their brief reverie that they may not have been meant for each other, the bard confessed she had wished for more with Astarion. Yes, she had every justifiable reason to abhor the man—especially with how he had caused her immense grief—but Tav could not forget how he made her feel that her heart could stir once more, even if he didn't feel the same.

There lay something bittersweet in that insight as she clung so tightly to her whirl-winded emotions. The former lovers were both guilty of different failings and with everything they had already been through, Tav knew death's hand could claim their lives at any moment with no pardons for final contrition's, unless they meant to absolve their mistakes. Which begged the question: would they be able to give themselves over to forgiveness and acceptance in order to move forward?

She gazed up at the stars, focusing on a smaller troupe overhanging them as she gathered the courage to bare a part of herself to him. “Do you remember when I said we needed to get to know each other better before we had sex?” 

Astarion gradually nodded, quelling his expanding lungs. “Yes.”

“I said that because I wanted to learn more about you as a person. You are attractive. You are a fantastic lover. But, that’s not all you are. And if I ever made you somehow believe that wasn’t true, then I wholeheartedly apologize."

Twisting her neck, Tav swept her overcast dewy-filled eyes up the scope of his neck, directly meeting his widened ruby stare. “You’ve hurt me, Astarion. Badly. Some of the trust I extended to you has been broken and I’m admittedly struggling with that. Yet, I can’t help but feel like maybe you’ve harmed yourself too.”

“How so?” he inquired, leaning away from her.

Before she could dab them away, a few tears sprung free, seeking shelter in the crevices of her nose. She placed a flimsy hand in the middle of her chest, above her troubled heart. “Pushing yourself to have sex with someone when your heart doesn’t truly desire it, is wrong. It’s a complete violation to your body and soul.”

The weary creases between his brows deepened as he evaded her eye contact by squeezing his eyes shut as if he was in pain. He was deathly quiet, drooping his shoulders so he appeared vaguely hunched over. Perfect white hair waves subtly moving along with the clouds above, were the only indication that he hadn’t left for the land of the damned.

“Please say something,” she weakly begged.

He opened his eyes to glare at her. “I certainly wasn’t expecting us to be acknowledging our sins in the god’s acres, but what do you want me to do?” he hissed.

“This isn’t only about what I want, it’s about what we want. About what you want,” Tav intently replied.

Astarion flaccidly touched his forehead as if to nurse an oncoming migraine. Mouth opened, he audibly exhaled mid chafing laugh. Whatever vagrant demons were crusading inside his head, he seemed to be frantically fighting against them gaging by the rapid shifting in his sight.

The bard waited patiently for the darkness blotting out his thoughts to disperse. Periodically, his chest inhaled, presumably using the scents around them to hook him away from the undertow.

After a couple of minutes had passed, Tav reached out to graze his arm with a feathery touch. “If you’re unsure, maybe we can start by actually trying to be friends this time? No sex. No forcing yourself. Just looking out for each other and maybe a fist pound or pat on the back here and there,” she suggested, unearthing a compassionate smile. “And if you discover I’m not your cup of blood, then that’s perfectly fine. We can get on without being anything other than occasional allies.”

The vampire peeked at her through his fingers. “Gods, am I ever glad you didn’t decide to try taking up being a comedian as a profession,” he retorted, lips curling impishly. “But a fist pound? Really, Tav, how pitifully atrocious! Sometimes I forget you’re a country bumpkin from the Dales.”

Tav beamed stupidly at him, laying her index finger against his lips to quiet him. “Could we sit here in silence for a little while and watch the stars?”

Astarion nodded, depositing a faint smile she couldn’t see, into the heavens above.

[creativenicocorner]

Hello! I'm really curious what Starry Starry Night is about?

♡(o˘◡˘o) Thank you so much @disorganised-thoughtss for asking! ♡

This is another fic I'm excited to sink my teeth into when I get the chance!

"Starry Starry Night" is heavily inspired by the manga Insomniacs After School by Makoto Ojiro.

I plan on having it be very Tome centric, taking place nearly directly after the events of the Reigen Manga. As a result of Rusty-chan, the forest, and Roshūto, Tome develops a really bad case of insomnia and really struggles to sleep. Making her snap a little more than usual, and causing a bit of growing pains in terms of inserting herself into Spirits and Such.

The following is a super rough bit of back and forth during some brainstorming. I'm always fascinated by the thought of either Tome or Teruki feeling ... complicated feelings as (what they feel to be but aren't) 'replacements'.

Idk I'm not married to this bad and forth, but I think some version of this will perhaps exist in the finished product:

"I know why you really don’t want me here.” “Yeah?” Challenged Reigen, matching jeering tone with jeering tone. And then Tome straightened, right and serious and deftly to the point in the only way teenagers can: Terrifyingly. “You’re just mad I’m here instead of Shigeo." A fiery whine tinged her voice with emotion. Tome hated it, hated how her eyes felt prickly with potential tears. "You wish he were here, instead of me.” Reigen’s eyes widened, then he looked away, unable to meet Tome’s challenging eyes. Mostly because, in that moment, he was too ashamed. Dreadfully so. She was right…in a small sense. He did miss Mob, but he had grown, and that's okay. Reigen just didn't realize how much he'd miss him until the moment Tome pointed it out. And it made him feel wretched. He had no idea Tome felt this way... did Teruki as well? Or any of the other gaggle of teens? Reigen took a measured breath while Tome pointed at the act as if exposing condemning evidence. "See!" Tome continued her jabbing motion. "I knew it!" Serizawa looked between the pair of them, unsure how to help. A growing silence was filling the restaurant as fellow patrons turned to watch the scene in curiosity. Reigen and Tome ignored them. "Alright," said Reigen, resigned, and painfully honest, "…yes." "HAH!" Tome jumped, and nearly caused the table in their booth to jolt. "I do miss him," continued Reigen, ignoring her interruption. "But that doesn't mean I expect you to replace him. You're your own person Tome, and he is his own person. No one can replace another. People aren't things, it doesn't work like that. Which means you are irreplaceable in your own right, Tome-chan." The dagger straight point of Tome's index finger transformed slowly into something less sharp. Serizawa smiled, and politely passed Tome a tissue. With fumbling hands she accepted Serizawa's tissue gratefully. Then looked away from Reigen's knowing look, "shut up." Reigen nodded. "Allergies, huh?" "Whatever." Reigen and Serizawa shared a smile. Over the sounds of Tome blowing her nose, Serizawa said cheerfully, "I wonder what they have to offer for dessert."

Anywho... Instead of sitting around at home, staring at the ceiling waiting for a sleep that won't come, Tome starts spending her nights wandering Seasoning City alone which is interesting, until not safe/risk of getting caught by a bicycle cop.

During one of her nightly escapades she runs into Takenaka (who struggles with insomnia for different reasons. Wanting to take advantage of the night as one of the few times the world is a little quieter for the telepath. Making it one of the few times he doesn't need to use his headphones). Shenanigans ensue, but also a far deeper friendship than before.

One night they stumbles across Reigen as well, (likewise still experiencing after effects of dealing with Rusty), but his insomnia is something he had been dealing with since before dealing with Rusty. Words of wisdom etc and encouragement for Tome to learn astronomy. Among other Tome and Reigen shenanigans as I love them as a bombastic chaotic duo.

Somewhere down the line Tome manages to convince Reigen to chaperone for school sanctioned nightly escapades for night time photography.

Serirei things happen in the background, sometimes mirroring Tome's own navigations of the heart (she WILL be a disaster bisexual because I DO make the rules of this fic haha). And perhaps exploring what it is like to be in a fresh new relationship with each other (serirei)?

And uh, yeah! I have a very vague idea, but a barely there outline, and am filled with vibes. I'm very excited for this concept though! I think Tome developing a love for astronomy and star gazing feels completely natural considering her love of aliens. And yeah, I want to see more Tome and Reigen scenarios/shenanigans, as well as explore her relationship with Takenaka more

We'll see how these vibes grow haha

(♡˙︶˙♡)Thank you so much again for the ask!!

[cdmodule]

In defense of Clock TPOT (and why he’s not ooc)

I’ve seen a lot of people insist that Clock’s character “got ruined” since TPOT but to me, the way he acts perfectly lines up with traits of his character seen since his introduction. Let me explain. (For future context, this was written right after TPOT 3)

Clock’s always been kind of… aggravating. • One of the earliest cases being how quick he is to condemn Liy, Icy, Teardrop and Bracelety and switch up on them, as early as BFB 1. You could look at the whole scene really, but mainly...

Already in his first introduction he’s butting his head into conflict and goes by whatever seems right to him (rather than for example, finding a middle ground or being otherwise helpful). Also going from arguing with Liy to forming a truce with her after. I’ll get back to these later.

• On another point, In BFB 2 and a few times in BFB30-TPOT we see more of Clock carelessly talking to hosts and demanding answers. While he’s not unique to this, It adds a lot of boldness to his character. (Using just transcripts here to save space)

• Looking back at BFB 10 Clock is the first one to not only ask for characters being recovered but also informs Four on who’s eliminated.

To him, enforcing rules is important even If his fellow contestants are mad at him for it. Remember how I said he sticks his head into situations and does what he thinks is right? • Now… we're at the part where Clock disappears for almost the rest of BFB, until coming back in BFB 15.

Not particularly sad, however frustrated at his team and doesn’t wanna hear it and leaves. He’s still hurt, which I feel like a lot of people forget when bringing up his change in TPOT. • Besides being forgotten by his whole team, throughout BFB Clock doesn’t exactly have friends to begin with. Think of another BFB character, and It’s likely they’ll at least have/had one other person. Clock is just kind of there.

Despite that, he’s VERY helpful for his team, often using his powerful clock-hands to win challenges, which is very important to him. The one time he made his team lose in BFB 6 he quickly gets embarrassed and defends himself. Speaking of defending himself….

BFB 1 - BFB 6 - TPOT 3 (Last one doesn't have CC) It seems to be his default answer to confrontation. And It’s a shock to him every single time. Which shows that Clock doesn’t do this maliciously, but rather that it comes from a lack of understanding social situations. He’s restricted to his own ideas of what’s right or wrong (shown by. playing by his own rules, doing what he wants & sticking his head into situations he isn’t part of) and on top of that has difficulty reading others, being surprised by negative reactions because of it. Basically he lacks social skills. Of course that isn’t a free card to act unpleasant around others, but It’s a skill you gotta work on nonetheless. Clock has rarely shown interest in building friendships, like him hesitating to join a truce with Liy. The only time he’s been curious was in joining Loser’s or Winner’s team.

With this in mind, It starts to make more sense why Clock is pushy and doesn’t get boundaries in TPOT. It’s nothing new! Just more blatant. (And also he wasn’t even around for a third of BFB) • His personality has been and is still developing in TPOT. The aforementioned traits have been pushed since he’s around Winner, adding a bit of obsessiveness too. But consider a few things: 1. His team forgot about him and he got frustrated and left. A change to his character after that wouldn’t be surprising 2. He never made friends and now actually found someone he’s interested in, even if that interest is One Sided (and honestly? It checks out w/ his lack of proper relationships) 3. Sometimes… people just act differently around other people. I mean he is a huge fan after all, See Point 2 again 4. We are in the middle of an “arc” and we don’t know how It’s gonna end yet And about that character development… • Something I noticed is that Clock never came off Genuinely sad and regretful (maybe in BFB 6 depending how you see his reaction to losing) until being rejected by Winner and not even getting to defend himself. This time he REALLY noticed he messed up.

I assume this will be a turning point in how Clock acts and will try to be a bit more self aware of how he acts around others. That’s for future TPOT episodes though! But all in all, I think Clock becoming devoted to Winner to the point where It seems parasocial to some (though I’d argue that “parasocial” isn’t the right way to describe this, but that’s a different convo) is par for the course, considering his boldness and lack of social skills and relationships in BFB.  Thank you for reading <3