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itsclydebitches · 6 months

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Zevlor: An Angsty Character Analysis

Hey, Zevlor simps. Can I interest anyone in 4,000 words about our favorite disaster tiefling? 💀

“We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—we’re no fighters.”

Back during my first play-through this is the line that turned Zevlor from another dime-a-dozen, exposition spouting NPC to a character I was legitimately interested in. “We’re no fighters.” My DnD ignorance abounds, but even I could see that wasn’t an accurate statement. Here’s a mountain of a man sporting fancier armor than my level 2 Tav knows exists yet, having wrecked half the goblin hoard with his crossbow and, if you let him, he'll happily turn to punching as a solution to verbal disagreements. Plus, he’s clearly the one giving the orders, so what do you mean you’re not a fighter?

Having explored the Grove a bit I chalked it up to a generalized assessment of the refugees as a whole. They’re mostly kids, civilians, and would-be protectors who only look the part of fighters in cobbled-together armor. One woman is grappling with the guilt of killing someone for the first time, even an enemy. Lakrissa is sure they’re all going to get slaughtered and is willing to put money on that fact. Meanwhile, the couple you meet are more concerned with what pet they’ll get when they somehow, someway, make it to the city. Don't worry about how that'll happen. You learn later that even those like Ronan are small potatoes compared to most of the baddies you’ll face. On paper he looks and sounds like the real deal—dressed in robes, talking up an apprenticeship with the famous Lorroakan—but scenes like the celebration light show and his own fury at needing to be saved, again, highlight how far he still has to go. The point is that Zevlor is right: these aren’t fighters and he at 18 strength, paladin, former commander, is definitely the exception.

However, BG3 is the sort of detail-heavy game where I’d expect them to include that exception in the dialogue. “We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—these people aren’t fighters.” Zevlor’s inclusion of himself in this assessment continued to nag at me and it didn’t start to make sense until I delved into his tag here on tumblr, with more patient players than myself posting everything there is to know about the tiefling. (Thanks, all.) Zevlor is fascinating to me in part because he has this contradictory nature, one example of which is that he’s a very talented fighter who desperately doesn’t want to be a fighter anymore.

…but also he totally does.

We overhear in his dialogue to Tilses that Zevlor is adamant about shedding the titles he’s earned through combat: Hellrider, Commander, Sir. He insists that they’re just civilians now and it’s not like he’s being disingenuous here—note that he introduces himself as just “Zevlor” to Tav. Zevlor means what he says to Tilses and we can see that he’s trying to both reinforce his point and lesson the blow by referring to her as “Tilly.” The nickname is a sweet one, hinting at their close bond in just a single word, reminding her that he’s not saying this to hurt her, he cares for her… but the nickname is simultaneously something he never would have used as her commander. The intimacy meant to comfort is also a hard blow to weather. They're now people who use nicknames inappropriate for the hierarchy of battle.

So Zevlor means what he says here, means it enough that Tilses is convinced and drops her use of “Commander,” but there’s definitely a hint of bitterness in his voice. At least, I’ve always heard it. Zevlor is steadfast in his conviction here, even going so far as to say, “I’m done soldiering, Tilly” when discussing what will come next at Baldur’s Gate. Yet for all of that his tone conveys (understandable) anger and disappointment that it’s come to this. Zevlor doesn’t act like someone who truly wants this change, but rather someone who’s been forced to accept it.

Is it outside forces unwillingly influencing him then? Did Avernus truly change things irrevocably? No, not really. At least, not in the way Zevlor likes to claim. Tilses herself states that being a Hellrider is for life; nothing can take away that title. You lost your post? Your whole city? Most of the people under your protection? Doesn’t matter! You’re a Hellrider forever, no matter the circumstances. I can easily picture a time in Zevlor's life where he would have agreed with Tilses wholeheartedly. They are Hellriders, dammit, and so long as there’s one person looking for their help they will wield that title alongside their blades. And right now, Zevlor has a lot more than just one person in need of his assistance.

So it’s not that Avernus truly stripped them of that identity. Nothing can do that. Zevlor is not rejecting titles and planning retirement because the mechanisms of fate are forcing him to.

He’s doing all that because he’s lost confidence in himself.

Even as someone with a shaky understanding of DnD classes, I love the parallel between a broken oath and the rejection of a lifelong title. If Zevlor can fail in his oath—or in his faith entirely, according to the memories stemming from his pod—why-ever would he think that any other ‘permanent’ part of his identity was worth fighting for? If you can loose the very thing you’ve built your entire life around, every important aspect of yourself, tied to your very soul… what’s a bestowed title compared to that? Zevlor doesn’t believe himself worthy of being a Hellrider anymore, but I think that goes deeper than a string of horrific circumstances making him feel incompetent. As an Oathbreaker, Zevlor likely believes that if he couldn’t uphold that, he can’t uphold anything. Calling himself a Hellrider would be a lie. A fiction. A pathetic, dangerous, insulting fiction at that. It’s like calling yourself the “Hero” while continually failing those around you. Sure, others might insist it’s a title you’ve earned, one you will always carry with you, but you don’t believe them anymore and at a certain point calling yourself that feels worse than embracing the title of “Villain." You don’t want to be the villain… but you want to pretend you’re the hero even less. Pretending is exhausting.

We see this struggle in the many ways that Zevlor fails, or almost fails, to uphold the ideals that originally guided him. I use the term “villain” above deliberately because Zevlor is not merely a former hero-type who’s self confidence has been shattered, or who has been reduced to a civilian, or who thinks themselves useless; he’s actively fighting against temptations that, under less stressful situations, he’d never even consider. I don’t think he is a villain, I think he’s a flawed, struggling victim who sees his own, inevitable mistakes as villainous—and the longer that warped perspective continues the easier it is to fall into bad behaviors. This cycle is perfectly summarized in the autobiography Zevlor keeps by his bed:

“When every passer-by thinks you a thief and a heretic, it is deeply tempting to become one.”

We don’t know if this is Zevlor’s autobiography (as far as I’m aware, anyway) but even if it’s not the words have clearly resonated enough for him to keep them nearby. This particular line paints a pretty clear picture of Zevlor’s struggle. If everyone you meet says you’re devil-kin, vermin, or would-be criminal, isn’t it easier to just give them what they want? If you can’t persuade them otherwise, why put in the effort of trying? If he can’t be Faithful to his God, why have faith in anything at all? If he can’t save these people—setback after setback, mistake after mistake—why is he even making the effort?

Zevlor obviously is trying, very, very hard, which is why such thoughts are merely temptations rather than actual, questionable actions. Still, the Grove gives us numerous examples of the precipice he’s balanced on—and the ways Tav can tip him in one direction or another. You can talk Zevlor down from his anger and get him to acknowledge his disgust in nearly sinking to Aradin’s level. You can also let him boil over and punch the human at a time when the last thing anyone needs is more violence. You can convince Zevlor that there are peaceful ways of stopping Kagha's ritual, or you can help him in pursuing the darker temptation to kill her. It’s a “low” thought, but at his own admission he hasn’t been above entertaining it. Zevlor’s requests for help, though always polite and humble, carry a spark of manipulation in them too. He’s not above leveraging your previously selfless good deed to his advantage—"She owes you for saving this grove"—and if you approach him before speaking with Kagha he’ll claim that the ritual will “be trouble—for all of us.” Except, no? Not really? Tav can make it clear that they’re just here for a healer, they’re only passing through, and as a fighter they are not beholden to the Grove’s sanctuary as the teiflings are. It’s not trouble for everyone involved, yet Zevlor frames it as such in the hopes that (unnecessary) self-interest may motivate you if selflessness fails. Finally, if Zevlor dies in your play-through and you use Speak the Dead on him, he will admit to having “plenty” of secrets, none of which he’ll share. Admittedly, this may be the result of cut content, specifically a story-line in which Zevlor knowingly betrays the tieflings rather than being tricked by the Absolute. Still, the game as it stands is the story we have and within it we’re given a man who is both fighting against these dark urges (ha) and has a past riddled with secrets. If Zevlor is anything, it’s blunt when it comes to his own failings, accurate and otherwise. So how terrible must these secrets be that he outright refuses to divulge them when, generally speaking, most corpses speak freely in death?

However, out of all of this the struggle I’m most intrigued by is the one surrounding the gate. Zevlor represents the tieflings: persecuted refugees, vulnerable civilians, people seeking to survive through cooperation, specifically by joining a community. Kagha represents the druids (or at least a vocal subset of them in Halsin’s absence): bigoted individuals, powerful fighters, people seeking to survive by giving in to their fears, specifically by keeping themselves isolated. This is the moral dichotomy of the Grove and it is symbolized through the gate. Zevlor wants to open it to everyone whereas Kagha wants to close it, permanently.

So isn’t it odd that Zevlor is the one ordering it shut?

When the scene first starts Kanon shouts down that no, he won’t open the gate. Zevlor said that no one is allowed in. Notably, he’s saying this to Aradin and his crew, people that the Grove is at least passingly familiar with, given that Halsin left with them to search the temple. It’s also notable that Zevlor isn’t expecting goblins to attack the Grove. He’s shocked that this is suddenly a problem, brought about by Aradin’s decision—“You lead them here?”— and the entire point of staying at the Grove is that it’s at least comparatively safe. Yes, there have been more attacks lately, but Zevlor seems to be relying on the Grove’s relatively unknown location, as well as the fact that goblins are normally disorganized. The safety is only compromised because Aradin brought a hunting party back, so Zevlor has no reason to expect any visitors, let alone ones that would be a threat.

More importantly, he should welcome such visitors even if he did expect them. After all, that’s precisely what the tieflings are: strangers with no ulterior motives other than to survive. Broadly speaking it makes perfect sense why he'd shut the gates. Zevlor’s first priority is to his people, so anything that keeps them safe is, theoretically, a good thing. But through the lens of his specific characterization and this specific, moral dilemma, it’s an awfully hypocritical decision. Based on everything we’ve seen, our party would not have been welcomed by Zevlor if we’d arrived without danger on our heels and a rescue to endear him to us. So his people should be welcomed, trusted, kept safe, given the benefit of the doubt… but Zevlor isn’t necessarily willing to extend that same trust to others. At the end of the day, he and Kagha want a version of the same thing: safety for those they deem are worthy of it.

It’s precisely these flaws and temptations that make Zevlor such a great character to me, even before he’s tricked by the Absolute. The fandom has leaned hard into Zevlor’s self-loathing and let me tell you, I love it (kisses, hugs, and cookies for you all), but canonically I think he has more reason to fear himself than we tend to portray in the H/C fics. I’m not saying he’s a bad person. Rather, it’s precisely because Zevlor is such a good person that he has the capacity to fall so far. It’s his all-consuming desire to protect his family that leads Zevlor to do and consider so much that a paladin would normally balk at. Denying others the safety you’ve been granted. Subtly manipulating others to do your dirty work. Considering murder.

Zevlor is someone torn between doing the Right Thing and the thing he believes will help those under his care survive. Importantly, when we first meet him he considers these to be two separate courses of action. So can you imagine what goes through his head when he first sees Tav saving everyone and doing so righteously? I think it’s integral to Zevlor’s characterization that the game all but forces you to play the Good Guy in that initial encounter. A cut scene starts, you’re thrown into combat immediately afterwards, and unless you plan to start attacking the Grove members alongside the goblins (which the mechanics discourage through the coloring that distinguishes enemies from allies) you will always finish this fight as Zevlor’s hero. Sure, you can be an asshole afterwards and demand payment. You could already be plotting your betrayal and the slaughter of all the refugees. But in this moment you are nothing but a miracle made flesh in his eyes. Right from the start Tav is succeeding in all the ways Zevlor feels like he's failed. You're the hero.

More specifically, you’re an Every-Man Hero. We might have epic backstories for our Tavs, but within confines of the game you’re largely a nobody when not playing an Origin character. How powerful must that have been to witness then? A total stranger, someone who has no ties to the tieflings or even, depending on your class, any sworn reason to help others, putting their life on the line to save what is most precious to Zevlor? I think a lot about the fact that he never asks Wyll to step in and try to change Kagha’s mind. She owes him just as much as she does Tav—Wyll is an equal participant in that fight and, if your shoddy play style is anything like mine, he likely did more damage—and Wyll is clearly invested in the tiefling’s survival, training the kids as he is. Now, obviously Zevlor’s reticence is largely a question of assigned roles (we need to be the one engaging with Kagha because we’re the protagonist/player) but, like Zevlor’s choice to include himself in the Not a Fighter group, it would have been all too easy to explain this away within the narrative. One comment about how Wyll already tried and failed, or how Kagha doesn’t trust Warlocks, or hell, maybe you don’t meet Wyll in the Grove at all. It’s an easy thing to accomplish and though this is edging more into the realm of headcanon than anything else, I can’t help but think that Wyll isn’t the kind of person that Zevlor could turn to for help right now. Because he’s a folk hero. The Blade of Frontiers, known far and wide for his impressive, selfless deeds. Zevlor is struggling so hard to keep the tieflings safe, tempted by all the unsavory solutions that might achieve that, drowning in self-hatred as his past and current failings catch up with him, wanting nothing more than to be his peoples’ protector:

“I would be a paladin again—with a god’s purpose, a god’s power. Everything I needed to protect my people. And all the while, the cult tortured them. They fought, and ran, and died around me, while I imagined myself their savior.”

Three of the things Zevlor mutters while trapped in the pod are “Hellrider… for… life…,” “Trust… in me…,” and “Children… look away… look at me…” He wants to be the protector, the one children look to for reassurance, he wants his words to Tilly to be a lie and he wants a way to prove that he is a Hellrider for life… but he’s not. At least, Zevlor doesn’t believe it. He lost his titles while Wyll still proudly bears his. Wyll trains the children to fight while Zevlor can only get swept up in anger at them being threatened. The people trust Wyll, adore him, he’s the hero and Zevlor… is not. Not anymore.

It’s too painful to approach Wyll and admit all that. That would be a hell of a blow to Zevlor's pride. But Tav? A stranger? A nobody? The Every-man who had no reason to help or reputation pressuring them, saving them anyway? That’s inspiring. Someone like Tav could be the answer and even, perhaps, the proof that Zevlor could redeem himself. Neither of them are folk heroes, untouchable in their assumed perfection. Tav is a living, breathing example of how the flawed, everyday adventurer can be everything Zevlor strives for.

No wonder he won’t shut up about them in the Shadowlands.

All of this is why it’s so tragic that Zevlor wasn’t given a redemption arc. Sure, you can recruit him for the final battle against the Netherbrain, but there’s no quest to change the cast’s opinion of him—or change Zevlor’s opinion of himself. All his content at the end of Act 2 and Act 3 reinforces that self-hatred.

Let’s make a list, shall we?

Nearly every line of his reunion with Tav has Zevlor painting himself in the worst light possible, from “a lie kinder than the truth” to his refusal to join you because he believes he’ll stab you in the back. You cannot convince him of the Absolute’s manipulation and there’s no response to his belief that such horrors start within the person like, “Of course it does! Because we’re all flawed and equally capable of good and evil deeds! That potential doesn’t make you irredeemable, Zevlor, it makes you mortal!!”

He’s utterly failed as his peoples’ champion and he’s also deemed “unworthy” of being a True Soul. Obviously not being chosen by the Absolute is a good thing, but for a man drowning in self-loathing that’s one hell of a complicated rejection.

Nearly all the tieflings hate him now, all those people he’s been sacrificing his soul to keep safe. I found it particularly devastating that this is one of the rare occasions where nailing a persuasion check doesn’t change the person’s mind. There’s at least one tiefling at Moonrise (I’m drawing a blank on her name) who will believe you when you explain how the Absolute influenced Zevlor, but that doesn’t lead to forgiveness.

Zevlor is deemed unimportant on a literal, narrative level. He is very easy to miss in the pods (I nearly did on my first play-through) and the game does incredibly little to dissuade you from that mistake. Putting aside for a moment that obviously an Origin companion is more significant than a minor NPC, compare this to Shadowheart screaming from her own pod, the game making it abundantly clear that this is someone in need of help—someone worth rescuing. She’ll even say later that you could have run past, more concerned with your own survival and the big picture heroics to bother with her. How must it feel then, if Zevlor ever learns that Tav was there and never stopped for him?

If you do miss Zevlor… oh boy. We’ve probably all seen at least a recording of Orin’s so-called gift. There are plenty of characters who can meet untimely and devastating ends, but very few go through this level of horror. Zevlor—after being held captive, remember—is tortured by God’s Favorite Torturer. He is stripped of his personhood and reduced to a mere “message,” a “pet.” Zevlor is further humiliated in death by being literally stripped of his armor—not just vulnerable in his nakedness, but denied the last symbol of his faith, his status, his power—and it’s always struck me that this is the closest we see to him 'enjoying' an intimate moment, this parody in Orin’s painting. Zevlor is one of the NPC’s most in need of physical comfort and instead he’s forced into this torturous mockery of a sex scene. It also hits hard that when Tav first spots his body the narration says that Zevlor “might almost be sleeping.” Undoubtedly this is a man who isn’t taking good care of himself. He needs a good night’s rest, yet this horrifying trick is all he gets.

As if all this weren’t enough, most of your companion are VERY critical of Zevlor while commenting on his demise. It’s one thing for the tieflings to believe the worst given their ignorance and the fact that they are the ones who suffered from Zevlor’s failure, but your company understands the Absolute and the ways that she gets her hooks in people. Still, Astarion calls him a “wet rag” even if he did deserve better than this. Shadowheart wouldn’t have wished this on him either, but she can’t help but slip in a “no matter his failings.” Lae’zel, often the most blunt, straight up says that he was “always destined to fail his people—and to fail us.” Wyll shakes his head and intones that “even good intentions can lead us down deadly paths.” Only Gale and Karlach stick to mourning the dead rather than airing his shortcomings.

When I spoke to my allies before the final battle Zevlor didn’t have a cut scene. It became clear to me later that this must have been a bug in my play-through, but at the time it only reinforced my feelings that his story was incomplete. Looking on Youtube I’ve found recordings of him saying that he is a Hellrider once more and he would “die a proud man if [he] were to die this day”… but that rings as terribly hollow given where we left him. Last we were together, Zevlor was saying in no uncertain terms that he could not be trusted, he would fail again, he was unworthy of forgiveness. Where did this change of heart come from? It makes perfect sense that he would help Tav in this moment—he begs to be of some use after getting free—but not that he would present himself with such confidence. Within the story as it’s been told this feels… fake. Like Zevlor is putting on a mask to fit the mood of this lively, optimistic party. Which, in turn, gives the “I would die a proud man” line a terrifying implication to me. Does Zevlor expect to die this day? Does he intend to? What would persuade him not to lay down his life here and now? His mission is complete. The tieflings are safe—though not by his hand. There's no hero's welcome waiting for him after this battle. They hate him. He hates himself, and by his own admission the one thing that could still make him proud would be to die at Tav’s side, trying to do one last bit of good. If someone said that to me after everything Zevlor has been through I would keep them far away from the front lines.

(I did, for the record lol.)

I’m not saying anything new then when I go, “Larian, PLEASE add more to his story.” Give us a Zevlor side-quest to renew his oath. Let us invite him to our camp. Something to link the broken man mid-game and the confident fighter at the end so that the latter doesn’t feel like an alarm bell with two legs and a tail. I mean yeah, I get hooked on minor characters so 75% of this is simply me wanting more content of a fave, but I also I do legitimately believe that BG3’s story would benefit from tying up loose ends like this.

Zevlor is a fantastic character, someone who contains an astounding amount of complexity for so little screen time. You have to follow up on that complexity though. If he’s meant to be a purely tragic figure, okay, fine, that’s the ending you get with Orin. But one where he joins you with a smile and reclaims a title he's previously rejected with such fervor requires more work in the middle; a through-line that explains how someone with so much self-loathing learns to think of himself as the hero again.

Because it does all come down to Zevlor’s perception of himself. He was always a hero, flaws and all. He always was and always will be a Hellrider.

The UI knows what's up :)

#BG3 #Zevlor #bg3 Zevlor #wow this took forever #someone cry over this wet cat of a tiefling with me #mymetas

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kingconia · 8 months

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Hello I js read ur MC who takes inspriration from the protag of their stories and if you're still taking requests, is it possible to do a part 2 for it?

A/N: You are welcome. I pondered a little about the continuation of this concept, and figured out that Leona & Vil had the most potential for the second part, since I left a cliffhanger in their stories. Others seemed quite cliche or obvious—Riddle has a crush, he can easily deal with, and same goes for Malleus, Azul & Idia. I hope, you don't mind.

The first part can be found here. Obviously, read it first for the context.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR & VIL SCHOENHEIT WITH THE READER, WHO IS INSPIRED BY THE PROTAGONIST OF THEIR STORIES.

Leona Kingscholar. 💛

— Leona is bad at admitting aloud that he made a mistake, but it doesn't necessarily mean he has no realisation of it. He knows, he hurt you. That is obvious;

— He starts paying more attention to you in the school, since he hasn't figured out how to fix your relationship yet. And that is when he notices that... You are actually not as cheerful as he remembered you to be? Most of the time, you sit away from other students of Savanaclaw?

— When he asks Ruggie about that, he shrugs. He tells Leona that you were always like this, and they even call you ”the sombre heir” among themselves, since you are not quite fun to have around. Leona is surprised. You were so different with him...

— In the end, Leona simply decides to speak with you honestly. He has this feeling that you will accept him either way. You always did before. But, oh, seems like he is not on your good side anymore, isn't he?

•

”Oi, kittie, watcha doin'?” Leona plops in front of you, putting his elbows on the table.

He is nervous, he will not lie about. It is the first time he feels such an overcoming anxiety before someone alive, and that is strange. It is just you, after all. Right?

”Dunno,” you answer slowly, putting a slice of meat in your mouth. ”Thinking about my family, who died so yours could take our throne away. You, Leona?”

Well, you definitely are not planning to forgive him so easily.

Leona shifts uncomfortably as he tries to catch your gaze. Without a luck.

”I accept my fault,” he murmurs quietly, hardly audible. ”And if anything, I understand your pain. I, too—”

A sudden laugh from your lips makes him stop in the tracks. As you wipe your mouth with the napkin, you smile suddenly. And when you raise your eyes on him, Leona almost flinches. Because there is nothing kind or gentle in these orbs now. Instead, they are cold. They are cold, and at the same time, they are awfully mad.

”What would you know about it, golden boy?” Your voice shift in a condescending tone as you shake your head slightly. ”Kings like your brother, Leona, they have honour. And princes like you or your little nephew have a bravery and heart. But people like me, Leona, the fallen ones, we only have rage. So, excuse me, but I don't think we are at the same page, kittie.”

You are hissing your last words, hand coming to grab Leona by his chin, tip of claws scratching his skin. He wants to back away, he intends too, but he is suddenly strangely fascinated by you. Intimidated, even.

”If you want to apologise, Leona, then do it properly. With falling on your knees, at least,” your fangs flash in a carnivorous smirk. ”And until then, have your dreams. Sweet or not—we will see in which mood I am going to be today.”

Leona gulps as he watches you leaving, eyes fixated on your back.

Perhaps you ignored his existence until now, willing to forget his rudeness. But now, it seemed, he lost the last pieces of your mercy.

...And he needs to figure out how to have your forgiveness really quick.

Vil Schoenheit. 💜

— Vil is not surprised when headmaster warns him, that someone from his dorm attempts to take away his housewarden title. He already knows who it is, and he is not surprised to see your face, when he enters the main hall;

— He had a bad week already: his hair products worked awfully, your number of followers outnumbered his own, and Neige practically took the role that was his in the very last moment. It is only logical that in the same week you attempt to take his title;

— And, of course, you succeed. The poison you created can be only worth of the Pomefiore housewarden, and no one can deny that. Even Vil. In fact, he always acknowledged your brains and wilt, so of anything, he feels it is fair win;

— What makes him stop frozen, though, is the person you want to see as your vice. Originally, Vil thought that you will take Rook—he is quite aware of his attraction towards you—but then... You chose him? Why? Why would you do that?

•

”Well,” Vil says, when the two of your are left in the room alone, and there is no need to act as you were friends anymore. ”What else are you planning to do with me? You are the housewarden—you won. Why making me your vice?”

You turn on your heels to face him, a big and shiny smile plastered on your face as you step closer to him.

”Don't be so mean, Vil-sama. Why do you act as if I hate you? I don't,” you put yours hands on chair handles he is sitting at, invading his personal space gracefully. ”I cannot hate a person, who helped me to understand what my signature spell is.”

Vil furrows, pressing his back to the chair more firmly, not trusting you coming close to him. Yet, it hardly changes anything—the tips of your noses are practically touching.

”I apologise, but I cannot recall such a thing.”

He had never helped you with anything in your life. Now, Vil is ashamed that he didn't.

He remembers your first day in the dorm. How you clinged to his side, with stars shining in your eyes, asking him about this and that. How you attempted to befriend him. How you only originally started to speak with Rook to understand him better.

Vil failed the little student of his.

And the person in front of him didn't want his acceptance now.

”How come?” Your hands are suddenly on his head, fingers wrapped around his favourite diadem, taking it off slowly. ”After all, you were the first beast I spoke with.”

He flinches, and you carefully kiss him on the cheek before putting the diadem on your own hair. It looks nice.

Vil hates that.

”I miss the kid you were,” he murmurs against his best judgement.

You hum.

”Bear the monster you created, instead.”

You left him on the vice position so it could be a remind for his mistake. For his cruelty. For his arrogance. He realises it now. You don't need to do anything special to hurt him, if he does it to himself, working under your command on the daily basis, seeing you shine, when he burns out.

You are beautiful, Vil accepts that. Your revenge is a charming one, too.

”I heard Neige got that role?” You ask suddenly, when he reaches doors, unwilling to turn back. ”Such a shame. Something must happened.”

He grits his teeth.

Vil hates himself for making you like this. Yet, he can't help but feel proud. Whatever he created you as—you would take what is yours, with blood and sweat. He can admire that about you. And deep inside, Vil thinks you do that, too. Deep inside you enjoy it as much as you hate it.

”Yes. Something.”

After all, there is truly nothing Vil can do, but accept his defeat.

The king is dead. Long life to you.

A/N: Based on protagonists or not—they had some darkness in theirselves as well; just as Simba was quite ruthless, when the situation required of it, in many interpretations of the tale, Snow-white learned how to be cruel, too. I think it is enamoring how these said protagonists can be just as their villains, especially if they were growing up around them in one way or another.

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader

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percervall · 3 months

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I'm not a woman (I'm a god)

Pairing: Toto Wolff x Horner!reader Words: 3194 Warnings: Greek Mythology AU, descriptions of misogyny and sexism, Christian Horner is painted the villain, implied age gap (both are legal adults), smut, masturbation, p in v, loss of virginity, no beta we die like my sanity during f1 silly season

In which you claim what's rightfully yours

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As the meeting progresses, you can’t fight the urge to speak up any longer. Had you still been at RedBull, you would’ve; you would have bitten your tongue until it bled because your father didn’t much care for your opinions, as he called it, despite the fact you had spent years on getting your Masters and then spent another three years on studying all the strategy calls the team had ever made to see where things could improve. No, your father allowed you to sit in those meetings just so he could keep an eye on you. But you are no longer under his watchful eye and scrutiny; Toto Wolff made sure of that. Oh, people like to say that you were stolen from the RedBull garage, your father playing the role of victim like he was born to do so, but nothing could be farther from the truth. You weren’t stolen like the 2021 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix; no, you chose to be claimed by Mercedes and their team principal. Thus, here you are, part of Lewis’ team as a strategy engineer, about to do the one thing your father always reprimanded you for: speaking out against a figure of authority.

“Are you going to say what’s on your mind or do I have to make do with your facial expressions?” Toto drawls, making your decision for you. You can feel your heart beating against your ribs as nerves flutter in the hollow of your chest.

“With all due respect, sir,” you start, the room breaking out in a mocking chuckle but you will not let that deter you, “With all due respect, but this strategy will cost you points. You are all so sure that this race will lead to a safety car while experience tells us that the chances of that happening this weekend are 2% at most, and all safety cars deployed in the last six years have been due to car malfunctions. If you want to end up in the points, I would propose a two stop strategy, allocating at least two sets of mediums for the race on Sunday and forgoing softs all together seeing as how much they suffer from tyre deg at this circuit.” The room is dead silent when you finish. Toto’s eyes remain on you, his face a stoic mask.

“Check my numbers if you want,” you add, growing in your confidence the longer this staring contest continues. Toto looks at one of the other engineers, eyebrow raised with a silent command. You hear someone frantically typing as they run the numbers. Leaning back in your chair you take a sip of your coffee, willing your hands not to tremble despite how nervous you feel. Whispers of she’s right flitter around the room as more people join in with re-running your calculations. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling smugly at being proven right four times over.

“Very well, Ms Halliwell,” Toto says, silencing the room once more. “We’ll try your set up with Lewis’ car and stick to what was already decided on by the senior members for George.” This is as much of a win as you are going to get right now, and you will gladly take it, but there’s a twinkle in Toto’s eyes that has your stomach in knots. You’re not sure whether it’s pride or awe; either way, it fills you with a feeling you can’t quite place yet you know you will crave it for weeks to come.

When Sunday rolls around, you pray to whoever will listen that your numbers check out. You have gone over the statistics of this grand prix so often that you could probably recite them in your sleep at this point. Had it been any other race, you would have accepted whatever outcome, but this one means more. You need Mercedes to do well here in Austria, but more than anything you need your father’s team to suffer the consequences of their misogyny and ignorance. As you walk into the garage ahead of the race, your heels clicking against the cement, your eyes lock with Toto who gives you a slow smile as his eyes rake over you, taking in the way the stark white fabric of your team issued blouse and your tapered black trousers show off all your assets; you know you look delectable, and you know he knows it too. From the moment you met him for your job interview (which you landed under false pretences, using your mother’s name), there’s been an undercurrent of tension. It should’ve made you cautious, fearful even, of powerful men in powerful places, but Toto has been nothing but gracious, always indulging your retorts and meeting you tit for tat, a flirtatious game of cat and mouse that you’re enjoying immensely.

“I want you next to Bono during the race. You decided on the strategy, it’s only fair you get the recognition –whether it works or not,” Toto tells you. Nodding your head, you put on your headphones and take your place at the centre console. No more hiding in plain view, your father will see exactly what you are capable of –what you could have given him. Fighting the urge to chew the skin around your thumb, you keep your back straight and shoulders back as the race starts. You keep an eye on the weather satellite, scanning for any changes that could mess with the chosen strategy while listening to Lewis’ feedback for Bono, making suggestions for minute corrections to the set up of the car. Bono graciously forwards your ideas to the driver who slowly but surely climbs his way through the field. The RedBulls are still leading the pack, but you’re certain that your father’s confidence will be his downfall. As you had predicted, there is no need for a safety car during the race and, judging by the call to pit by your father’s golden child, they had been betting on one by using the softs at the start of the race.

“You were spot on with the tyre deg stats,” Bono tells you and you can’t help but smile wickedly back at him. There’s five laps left, and both RedBulls are on the hard tyre, which will never warm up in time to benefit from their longevity. George seems to be suffering a similar fate while Lewis is fighting with one of the McLarens for P2. Your eyes remain glued to the feed of Lewis’ on board camera as he begins the final lap. He is quickly gaining on the McLaren and in what can only be described as a masterclass, overtakes it to secure a P2 finish. Lewis’ radio message doesn’t even register; all you can hear is white noise as it dawns on you that you have shown everyone just what you’re capable of. It has whetted your appetite for more –for destruction.

The team is celebrating a podium finish as if it’s a win, and you suppose to them it most definitely feels like one. You’re standing on the edge where the garage meets pit lane, watching them with a smile on your face when Toto comes to stand behind you.

“I want you front and centre when Lewis climbs that podium. You have earned this accolade and should be rewarded as such. Let your father see what he’s done,” he murmurs, voice low. It sends a shiver down your spine but you manage to nod in agreement.

“Good. Oh, and as part of your reward, I think we should celebrate accordingly in private, wouldn’t you agree? The choice is yours, take it or don’t. No hard feelings either way,” he adds, chest brushing against your back as he leans closer. Swallowing thickly, you nod once more, not trusting your voice as heat pools low in your belly at the insinuation. You can feel him slide something into your back pocket and you don’t have to check to know it’s the keycard to his hotel room.

During the podium celebrations you stood front row, eyes steadfast on the podium with a smile so wide, your cheeks ached. You can only imagine the tales Crofty and Martin are spinning about you; no doubt making inferences about how distraught your father was to have his only daughter working for the rival. Let them spin their fairy tales, you had better things to get on with –or, more accurately, a better man. Sliding the key card into the lock, you enter the hotel room of your boss. Once you take this step, there’s no turning back, but you are willing to eat the proverbial pomegranate seeds.

Toto turns around when he hears the lock click and you lean against the door. He looks incredible; sleeves of his shirt rolled up and a few of the top buttons are undone.

“Wine?” he asks, picking up the bottle from the desk.

“Yes, please,” you respond, accepting the glass he hands you. Toto smiles, and it’s so sly, bordering on debauched, that it has you squeezing your thighs together.

“Still some manners left in you. I wonder how long that will last,” he muses, raising his glass at you as he sits down on the edge of the bed.

“They claim you have stolen me from RedBull, much like they claim Hades stole Persephone,” you say, straddling him before taking a sip of your wine. He can’t help but laugh when he sees the twinkle in your eyes, one of his large hands coming to rest on your hip.

“Oh, Meine Liebe, we both know you were not some prize that could be stolen. You saw the hell they created for you and thus you fled so you could set the world ablaze.” His use of a term of endearment is not lost on you, and you crave to hear more of it.

“Stolen or not, I am here. What are you planning on doing to me?” you ask him, holding his gaze.

“Oh, I plan on doing everything, darling. Every depraved fantasy you could think of and more,” Toto says as he puts his glass on the nightstand. You grow hot all over at his words. Despite your sharp wit –and even sharper tongue, if your father’s word is anything to go on–, you are about to enter previously uncharted waters. Of course you heard stories from your female friends while at University, devoured smutty book after smutty book, but actually doing any of it? Your father would dig himself a grave so he could roll in it if he ever knew what his little girl was about to do. The nervousness you felt earlier today is back in full swing as you try to find the words to tell him your biggest secret.

“I-.. I’ve never done this before. I attended Oxford so I could live at home, remain under his watch,” you confess, not even able to say the words out loud. Toto studies your face, filling in the blanks with how your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“No man has ever touched you?” You shake your head as you bite your lip.

“Have you touched yourself, darling?” Toto asks and while he says nothing that could be construed as dirty, you gasp as if he has. Nodding your head, you can’t help but roll your hips against him, inadvertently grinding your pussy against the hardened bulge in his trousers. Toto swears under his breath, gaze darkening as he tightens his grip on you.

“Will you show me, Liebling? Will you show me how you make yourself feel good?”

Even if you wanted to, you’re not sure you could ever deny this man any request; not when he asks so caringly, as if your pleasure is the sole purpose of all of this. Breathlessly, you nod, letting Toto take your wine glass from you while you strip out of your work clothes. As you slide your blouse down your arms, you hear Toto groan as he takes in your figure clad in nothing more than your pale lilac bra and panties. It’s not the sexiest set you own, but it’s one of the few that doesn’t show through the white fabric. Before you lose your nerve, you climb back on the bed, eyes locked on Toto who leans against the footboard of the bed. He gives you a look, so openly full of desire that it makes your head spin and your pussy throb at being the object of his lust. Closing your eyes, you lean back into the pillows while your hand wanders. You can almost pretend you’re alone, your brain quickly supplying all the sordid fantasies you would never dare to say out loud. As your fingers inch under the elastic of your underwear, you can’t help but bite your lip as your hips writhe on the sheets. The tip of your pointer finger rubs against your clit and you gasp at the sensation, head thrown back. You’re already so sensitive, it won’t take much to send you over the edge. Applying the slightest bit more pressure, you begin to rub tight little circles, letting out the neediest whining noise.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” Toto groans.

“Please,” you whisper, lifting your head so you can look at him. His legs are spread and he palms his bulge while he watches you pleasure yourself, and that sight alone sends your head spinning.

“Let go for me, darling,” Toto orders gently, and who are you to disobey him? Your body arches, head thrown back as you come undone under his watchful eye.

When you open your eyes, you can see movement to your right. Sitting up on your elbows, you watch how Toto strips down to his underwear, and walks into the ensuite. You can feel your cheeks heat up when you spot the foil packets and the bottle of lube in his hands. Toto drops them on the bed before climbing on. Hovering over you, he brushes a strand of your hair back behind your ears.

“I want this to be enjoyable for you. Please tell me when you feel uncomfortable, tell me when something makes you feel good.” You nod, breath caught in your lungs. Toto smiles so tenderly at you that it makes you forget about everything else. He moves his hand from your cheek, down your neck to your bra strap.

“Can I take this off, Liebling?” he asks quietly. You can only nod, too enthralled by him to form words.

“Need to hear you say it, darling. I will always need to hear you,” Toto murmurs.

“Yes,” you whisper, swallowing down your nerves about him seeing you naked. He gently unclasps your bra, moving the straps down your arms before pulling it away completely.

“Beautiful,” he says softly, his eyes taking you in and you fight the urge to cover yourself up. Toto’s hands caress your skin, as if he is trying to commit every line and curve to memory. You arch up into his touch as he cups your breast, his thumb rubbing over your nipple and it sets something alight in your core. Toto’s hands move lower, fingers curling around the elastic of your panties.

“What about these?”

“Yes,” you reply quietly, lifting your hips to help him. He sits back on his knees, hands sliding down your thighs and his fingers are so close to where you’re aching for him, it makes you whine. Toto chuckles, moving his body over yours once more.

“You want it so bad, don’t you Liebling?” he murmurs in your ear, and the only reply you can form is a quiet uhu. He smiles against your skin, pressing a chaste kiss to your jaw before moving away to fully strip. Biting your lip, you watch him tear open one of the foil packets and roll it down his hard cock. Anticipation and nerves flitter low in your stomach; he’s definitely bigger than the vibrator you have hidden away in the back of your closet.

“We’ll take it slow, okay? You decide how far we go, you’re in control,” Toto reassures you, moving closer so he can lean down to kiss you.

“Okay,” you whisper before his lips are on yours. Your fingers tangle in his hair while he drags his cock through your folds and over your clit. Toto moves his lips down your neck, kissing and sucking gently, sure to leave marks. Your body seems to have a mind of its own as your hips grind against him and you feel a desperation taking hold of you.

“Please,” you sigh.

“Tell me Liebling, what do you want?” Toto murmurs.

“Please.. Need you- need you in me,” you all but whimper, “Fill me Toto, please..” He groans against the skin of your neck at your request. Toto fumbles blindly for the lube and applies a generous amount to his cock and your pussy. Biting your lip, you lean up and watch as he slowly, so very slowly, sinks himself inside of you. The stretch has you panting and you feel how you clench around him. He holds you close, letting you adjust to the sensation of being filled completely.

“Need you to move, Toto,” you moan, fingers clawing at his back.

“Doing so good for me, darling. Taking me so well, fuck..” he groans against your skin as he sets a languid pace, and while it’s slow, his thrusts are so deep.

“Ha-harder.. I can take it.. Please..” you whine, Toto eagerly complying with your demand. The only thing you’re able to do is cling to him as he keeps fucking you, whimpering every time he hits a spot inside of you that brings you just that teeny bit closer to the edge.

“Need you to cum, darling. Can you do that for me?” he asks as rubs his thumb over your clit.

“Uhu,” you whisper meekly, unable to form a single coherent thought as you feel your orgasm approaching.

“Close.. Toto… Please.. Need.. Need to-..”

“That’s it. God, you look so beautiful, just taking my cock like this. Come for me, darling.” And with that something snaps, your body arching as you feel your pussy clenching around him in waves. Toto keeps fucking you through it, chasing his own release, but you’re too far gone to pay attention. He keeps pressing kisses to your temple and hairline as he carefully pulls out, making sure the condom stays on. The loss has you whimpering.

“I know, I know,” Toto coos, “I’ll be right back. Did so good for me, so proud of you.” He gives you one last kiss before getting up to dispose of the condom and returns with a flannel to clean you up best he can. He throws it down by the side of the bed, and takes you in his arms. Your body feels completely boneless and you try to stifle a yawn.

“Take a nap, Liebling. We’ll get properly cleaned up in a bit.” Nodding you allow sleep to pull you under as Toto whispers sweet nothings against your hair.

written as part of @footballffbarbiex’s kink bingo challenge

It's not the 10k fic I joked about, but I finally managed to write the Greek Mythology AU I've been thinking about since early last year. Wanted to get this done and up before more information comes out during this delayed silly season, so if things feel rushed, it's because they are. This fic was heavily influenced by Bea Fitzgerald's Girl, Goddess, Queen; if you love retellings of Greek mythology, please check it out

Please let me know what you think; you comments, tags and likes mean the absolute world to me! 💜

#f1 fanfic #toto wolff smut #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x you #kink bingo challenge

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levmada · 7 months

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AOT MANGA SPOILERS!

i think what Ymir Fritz was after her whole life (and afterlife) was true love. or at least proof of it.

(read ch122 for her full backstory (which is a masterclass in visual storytelling and storytelling in general) but...)

we don't learn a single thing about Ymir as a person beyond that she seems to long for love from the time she was a child.

also, she more than anyone (in the aot universe) knows endless, merciless suffering. from a very young age she knew the world was cruel.

that’s the reason in my mind that - after getting the power of the Titans - she didn’t rebel against the king. she didn’t run away. she did whatever the king asked of her because for once in her life she was wanted. even in this completely backwards and transactional way, all Ymir knows of love is this, even though it’s just slavery at its core.

so the king got married to her and she had her three daughters, who Ymir doesn't find love in either. it seems her children are more proof of her enslavement. Ymir doesn't even find that true love she wants in her own daughters. she's still miserable.

13 years after she got the power, there’s an attempt on the king’s life, without hesitation she protects him. she, effectively, is willing to face certain death to that end.

so we establish this. to Ymir, love = self-sacrifice.

i feel that Ymir finally reaches the end of her ability to "love" the king. this is her breaking point. her final misery among a thousand other miseries she's accepted from him.

she isn't loved. she was willing to give her life, and yet he doesn't love her.

after this rejection, she doesn’t heal herself. we know that in order to use the Titan powers, you have to have a goal (the way Eren learned to transform in The Spoon Incident and later, Reiner doing something similar to Ymir). but she was finished.

Ymir had the power to manufacture a dimension without life or death. the paths. and would spend 2,000 years there doing what she always did and obeying her “king” - the Eldian with the Founding Titan. she wouldn't serve her king directly anymore, but enslavement is Ymir's only definition of love, so that's what she will continue to do.

until she observes a true display of true love.

now (and this is interesting) this is where the concept of the Ackermans come in. i explain in this, this, and this post the Ackermans and the Ackerbond, which is important for understanding this post.

so first, why Mikasa? why would she specifically be the one to free Ymir?

at the time the chapter came out, people criticized Isayama and Eren not knowing how Mikasa was the key the giving Ymir peace. but think about it. Eren doesn't know the depths of Ymir's heart, true. he also got the same exact omnipotence Ymir had thanks to (1) possessing the Founding Titan and (2) effectively having royal blood thanks to the way he enslaved Zeke. Eren has the same exact knowledge that Uri or Frieda had.

but of course, Eren wasn’t BUILT to be god. he has no right to it. Grisha gave him the Founding Titan and he forced Zeke to use his royal blood. Eren says that he started experiencing the past, present, and future all at the same time. of course he wouldn’t know why it’s Mikasa.

what we do know is that the timeline of aot is linear, and can’t be changed. i talk more about that in my Eren character analysis.

the person to ultimately give Ymir peace was going to be Mikasa no matter what. how?

1: being an Ackerman means possessing Titan powers while being a human. would that not also mean that an Ackerman has a special connection to Ymir?

it's different from being a Titan shifter. the potential to awaken their Titan-like powers are their birthright.

2: I linked above my thoughts on the “Ackerbond”. but in a nutshell, Ackermans have the best of both worlds. made to be obedient “Titan-like” tools to protect the king. to be the strongest slaves. while also possessing the best trait of a human being, and that’s the ability to love (as Isayama conveys in aot). so a major trait in Ackermans, i think, is this enhanced ability and propensity to love one special person.

what’s so striking about this from what would be Ymir’s point of view is that, like her, Ackermans have the traits of a Titan like she did, but Ackermans CHOOSE who they are “enslaved” to. it’s not slavery at all. what a shock that must be to someone like Ymir, I mean right?

Levi and Mikasa have their respective moment of “a display of true love” towards their lieges in the series. i want to compare.

Erwin and Levi.

to be succinct, Levi shouldered the weight of Erwin’s sins. [i talk about it more here and in the second half of this post here]. Erwin puts not his life in Levi’s hands, but what comes after. someone putting their trust in their other even in the face of certain death, certain grief, is a major display of true love. (as Isayama conveys in aot that is.)

then, both despite and because of Levi’s love for Erwin, he was strong enough to end his suffering. to let him rest, even though he had the choice to bring him back. that is a major display of true love.

Erwin and Levi both sacrifice aspects of themselves for the other.

what do Levi’s and Mikasa’s moment both have in common?

the willingness to share the weight of their liege’s sins, their darkness, their shortcomings, their most vulnerable sides. that's unconditional love.

But Mikasa’s moment is even more special to Ymir.

Eren’s sins are obviously much more grievous and unforgivable than Erwin’s. that speaks more to how much value Mikasa’s “display of true love” has objectively. and, Mikasa wasn't able to "bring Eren back". (besides obvious plot reasons).

even though it was certain that Eren wasn’t going to be forgiven, that he would have to die, Mikasa’s love never wavered.

both despite and because of Mikasa’s love for Eren, she would be the one strong enough to end his suffering.

Mikasa and Eren both sacrifice aspects of themselves for the other.

Ymir had no one willing or strong enough to end her suffering.

Ymir believes true love is love enduring even in the face of certain grief through mutual sacrifice.

and that’s why she is seen smiling when Mikasa kills Eren. with that, Ymir is finally at peace.

#please reblog this it took so much work🥲#aot spoilers #snk spoilers #eremika #eruri #aot meta #snk manga #ymir fritz #ymir fritz aot #attack on titan meta #attack on titan manga #erwin x levi #eren x mikasa

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cissyenthusiast010155 · 2 months

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Sinking My Claws Into You ~Dark!Claire Debella xFem Younger!Wealthy!Reader

Summary— A darker fic, set after Claire gets back from Miles’ private island, and she now has to deal with the reality of basically going bankrupt. Luckily, Claire has got her hooks in you, a young, wealthy enthusiast from New York…

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: dark fic, lightly implied smut, age gap (all legal), teasing, taunting, manipulation, alcohol consumption, unrequited feelings, little bit of gold digging behavior, praise, flustering, wealth, yucky men, flirting, little bit of sugar mommy behavior, etc.

Enjoy (;

Ever since Claire had backed away from her friendship with Miles, she had hit nothing but impossible obstacles one after another. Without Miles’ endorsement and backing for her campaign for the U.S. Senate, the middle aged woman was facing a fate worse than death. She would have happily rode on the back of Miles’ wealth all the way, but she couldn’t ignore the events that had come to pass. However, her decision now left the woman desperate.

Miles was an eccentric prick whom Claire had met more than 20 years ago. Back then, he had charmed her. And being the young, naive woman that she was, Claire had fallen for his persuasive nature. Not to mention how easy it was considering he was loaded. But Miles never wanted anything more than a friendship from Claire, and Claire eventually was forced to accept this by the amount of pretty models and talented girls that he always had in rotation and the overtly harsh rejection he gave her, which the snob was always happy to remind her of. Over the years, the only reason Claire put up with Miles was for the money. Miles had endorsed her when she ran for mayor, and then now for governor as well.

Miles was always there to dole out a check for whatever the woman needed. And Claire took full advantage of that. The price she paid over the years was well worth the bank she raked in. Miles would compare her to others and batter Claire all the time, she was his favorite plaything. But she always took it with a stoic face, telling herself that it would be worth it, that the amount of money she was getting leveled out the fact that he was a knee-faced jerk.

But then she and Claire had had a falling out. Claire had gone behind her back and stabbed a mutual friend in the back. And if there was one thing that Claire could not stand, it was betrayal. In the heat of the moment, Claire let emotions get the best of her and she broke it off. God she kicked herself for being friends with Miles for as long as she had been… It had been over 2 decades of unhealthy friendship, but in her eyes, the money had made it all worth it. But now, without Miles’ money… She was through. Finished. Done.

That was until she met you.

Claire had met you at an art benefit, one of those fancy events where the rich and wealthy got together, socialized, and gave away millions of dollars like it was nothing. Claire had been there campaigning for more funding and endorsements. She had already talked with three or twelve basic, filthy rich white guys, the kind that flashed toothy smiles while heavily and shamelessly flirting with her. She would indulge these men as little as possible, before moving past them. Those guys weren’t the type she was looking for. They weren't a Miles or a Y/N Astor… Claire rolled her eyes and shrugged off her disgust at the idea of what those rich guys wanted from her.

After a particularly gagging interaction with a young bachelor (at least half her age and nonetheless just as gross as the rest of them who only wanted her body and willing to give nothing in return), Claire had looked around the room, champagne glass in hand, when her gaze had landed on you at the bar. She immediately noticed how the woman carried herself with youthful elegance, and that she was the type of lady who could make anything look good. She could also tell that the woman had money, she was not the type of lady that flattered and flirted with filthy rich men to get into their pockets. She wasn’t a part of the common folk. No, this woman was in the one percent. Her clothing and accessories were not loud, but Claire could read the nicheness of the fashion and knew that she was wearing thousands of dollars: her Manolo pumps, the Cartier watch, the small Dolce purse, etc. This was the type of girl she needed, and she knew this woman could replace Miles and his money. Claire finished her glass, gave it to a server, took a deep breath, put on a smile, and then sauntered over to the stunning lady.

“I would buy you a drink, ‘hun, but it is an open bar…” Claire hummed, glancing over to the wealthy woman with a sly smirk.

You blushed just a smidge, and Claire immediately took that as her first win of the night. This girl was young. Not young enough to not be able to handle commitment, but definitely young enough to fall for Claire’s charm and to agree to hand over her money without a second thought. Again, the perfect mark. While Claire waited for you to make your move, she ordered herself a red wine from the open bar.

“You’re too kind…” you lightly retorted, swirling the expensive amber liquid in your glass.

“And who do I have the pleasure of giving my kindness to today…?” Claire cooed widening her smirk as she now turned her body from the bar to face you.

You slowly swiveled towards the older woman. Claire allowed her eyes to wander and take in the younger woman in front of her. You took a swig of her whiskey, before humming lightly.

“I’m Y/N.”

Claire nodded in satisfaction, taking the glass of red from the bartender when it was ready for her. Her eyes shimmered with predatory intent. She could tell this woman was book smart. But she was confident that she could outplay you in this game.

“I’m Claire Debella. My colleagues call me Debella, you can call me Claire…” the older woman hummed, with a teasing tone.

You sucked in a breath, your face flushing some more, before you nodded lightly.

“Where are you from, Y/N?” Claire cooed, playing with the younger woman’s name in her mouth.

“New York. I went to Harvard, have family in Connecticut” You breathed out, lightly fidgeting with your fingers and your glass while struggling to maintain eye contact.

“Smart girl…” the older brunette cooed, sending a sly wink your way.

Another blush rippled through the wealthy woman’s face. Claire could tell this girl was shy. That was also good, it spoke to her privacy and naivety.

“What about you…?” You softly asked.

“Connecticut.” Peggy promptly responded, before taking control of the conversation once more,

“Are you here alone, Y/N?”

Claire could tell that her words were having an effect on the young, wealthy woman. You nearly choked on her drink at her last words, as well as flushed, fidgeting, struggling to hold eye contact… But not in an uncomfortable way, in a flustered way. In a way where you looked adorable while you were trying to cover her ruby red cheeks in embarrassment. And that was exactly what Claire was going for.

“I am…” you breathed out.

“Really?” Claire cooed, quirking her brow dramatically accompanied by a sip of red, “A stunning girl like you…? I’m surprised that a cute guy or girl hasn’t snatched you up yet…”

Now your face was beet red, and she was desperately trying to swallow all of her liquid courage, overwhelmed from all the praise that the older woman was showering her with. Now the your glass was empty.

“Why don’t we ditch this open bar and go somewhere that has some nice, expensive whiskey for you? Hmmmmm, ‘hun?” Claire purred, leaning in close to the woman’s personal space.

You gulped and nodded mindlessly.

“I’d like that…” you breathed out nervously.

“Good girl…” Claire hummed out in delight.

She placed her glass along with the younger woman’s on the bar, signaling to the bartender that the two of you were done. She then linked her arm with yours with ease and guided you, the clueless, naive, wealthy, young woman out of the expensive, testosterone filled event, getting in the back of your Maserati and heading into a future filled with good fortune for the one and only Claire Debella.

~~~

Claire Debella Masterlist ~Coming Soon (;

#claire debella #claire debella x reader #Claire Debella fluff #Claire Debella smut #kathryn hahn #knives out #knives out fanfiction #knives out fic #glass onion #glass onion x reader #glass onion fanfiction #a knives out mystery #glass onion fic #glass onion smut #glass onion fluff

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felixsramen · 11 months

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Yours Truly

This is part 7 to my Skz poly fic. This part hits close to home because I identify as poly and some of these were similar to my thoughts when I had came out and when I first had feelings for multiple people.

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Warnings: mentions of self doubt, mentions of homophobia

You sat in your room looking in the your mirror legs crossed. Were you a terrible person? Was ringing in your head. You felt like you were. You hadn't known the boys long yet you felt as if you were forcing your way into their lives. You had slept with 2 of the guys and gave head to another.

Yet they had asked you on a date. Maybe they felt like you did. Or maybe they just wanted to fuck you. You weren't against that but it also didn't sit right with you considering your feelings.

But they also didn't seem like the type to fuck and dump you. It was a constant battle in your head and you had sat here in your room contemplating it after you had been dropped off. 5 hours had passed at this point which felt like 5 minutes.

Your phone sitting near you an excuse already typed up yet you didn't have the courage to press send. It was killing you sitting here in the dark the only light being your little lamp on your nightstand.

You had never thought of being in a poly relationship. Yet you couldn't help your feelings. There was always the doubt in your head what if they didn't like you as much as Felix said. What if they did like you as much as they said what would you did then?

What would your parents think? They had already knew you weren't straight. They accepted you for that but would they accept you having more than one partner? Your dad had always made it clear he didn't care as long as your partner didn't hit you or hurt you in any way physically or emotionally.

He accepted you for that but would he accept your feelings for the 8 boys. Your mom had known you weren't straight before you even knew your sexuality.

Then you remember when you had came out to your family. They had shunned you and stopped inviting you to family events yet your parents stood beside you.

Your own cousin had told you to your face you were an disappointment. You had cut off all your family for that reason.

You do however remember your one cousin who was gay. He was adopted in the family and you remember them hating him. You remember coming out to him and he was so proud of you. So proud of the person you became.

Yet the moment he was old enough he moved and lost contact with your family and you couldn't blame him for it.

You missed him a lot and you felt you needed him more than anything right now. You needed his reassurance right now more than anything. You needed to be reassured that it was okay to love who you want. That no one can judge you for who you love.

The tears were falling at this point. The tears were hot falling down your face. You needed a hug. Someone to comfort you. All of the boys you had a feeling would be more than willing to hold you until the tears stop and reassure you.

Your tears are interrupted with a ring. You look at the caller id. Felixs name lighting the phone up.

You answered the phone trying to dry your tears fast.

"Y/N?" Comes from the other side but it's not Felix who had called.

"It's Changbin. I'm calling to make sure you're okay after I dropped you off. I would've called you from my number but you probably wouldn't have answered." Comes from the phone.

"Hi Changbin." You say your voice breaking.

"Are you okay?" A concerned Changbin says.

"I'm fine." You say weakly.

"You don't sound fine. Were you crying? What's wrong?" Changbin says asking you even more concerned.

You can't answer him and that's when Changbin sighs. "You don't have to answer me but I'm going to come over there. You don't have to talk to me about it but I can at least try to comfort you." Changbin says and before you can protest Changbin hangs up.

You look up at the mirror your eyes puffy. You looked a mess. That's exactly how you felt too.

Maybe you should clean yourself up somewhat before Changbin gets here. Then again he already heard you crying over the phone.

You don't realize how long you've been in your head because there's a knock on the door. You rub your eyes once again and get up off the ground.

You walk to the front door and open it to see Changbin and Jisung at the door. You weren't expecting Jisung to see Jisung and Changbin looking at you in concern.

"What happened Y/N?" Jisung says getting closer to you. Jisungs heart broke at your puffy eyes and the tears glistening on your face.

"I-i don't know." You say breaking down again and this time Jisung embraces you before you fall to the ground tears flowing again.

Jisung takes you to the couch Changbin shutting the door behind him.

"Baby what happened?" Jisung asks eyes still filled with concern and heartbreak.

You broke even more at his words. When did this happen? When did everyone start getting intimate with you?

Jisung hadn't ever called you that. "Why?" You ask him and Jisung looks at you in confusion now and concern still on his face.

"Why what?" He asks you softly.

"Why call me that? Why would you do that?" You ask him tears flowing down more.

"Why call you what? Baby?" He asks and you nod through your tears.

"Because I care about you. I care about you as much as I care about Changbin. I care about you as much as I care about the other boys." Jisung says softly and Changbin rubs your back trying calm you.

Jisung lets you cling into him crying more. It hurt him seeing you cry. Seeing you so vulnerable with him and Changbin.

No one's p.o.v.

Changbin hurt just as much. It hurt him hearing your voice break over the phone. Jisung looked at his boyfriend as he had gotten up from the couch. Jisung had grabbed his boyfriends arm making him look at him. Changbins eyes were filled with concern and that made Jisung worry.

"What's wrong?" Jisung asked him.

"Y/N." Changbin says.

"What happened with her? Is she okay?" Jisung says getting up now and letting his boyfriend grab his keys.

"I don't know. It sounded like she was crying." Changbin says.

"Hey I'm coming with you." Jisung says putting on his shoes as Changbin does the same.

Changbin had gone over the speed limit. He couldn't help but worry. What if something happened? What if you had hurt yourself? What if someone had hurt you?

All those questions went through his head and they were even worse as he had knocked on the your door. His heart broke as you had opened the door. He thought he might just cry too watching you and Jisungs voice asking if you were okay. Your reply making him hurt even more.

Changbin watched as you fall and Jisung catches you bringing you to the couch.

Changbins thoughts were still running wild but his boyfriend brings him out of his own head. "I think she's asleep." Jisung says as you breathe slowly against his chest.

Changbin sighed as he watched you against Jisungs chest.

"I'm worried for her." Changbin says as he looks at his boyfriend.

"Do you think it's because of us? Maybe it's too much for her." Jisung says to his boyfriend.

"Maybe." Changbin says as Jisung lays his head on his shoulder.

"Maybe we aren't good for her. We shouldn't be around her if that's the case." Jisung says to his boyfriend his heart breaking at his own confession.

"Maybe we aren't but that's her choice. We can't take away her choice. If she doesn't want us she's going to have make that choice herself." Changbin says as his hand comes up to you moving your hair out of your face.

"I hate this. I hate not knowing whats on her mind. I hate not knowing what's bothering her." Jisung says to Changbin.

"I know Ji." Changbin says hand going to your back now.

"Are you going to let Felix and them know the dates off tonight." Jisung says and Changbin nods.

"I don't think she could deal with every one tonight." Changbin says and Jisung nods to him this time.

Changbin gets up from the couch and goes outside onto your porch and calls Chan.

"Hey." Changbin says.

"Hey love. Where'd you and Jisung go? We got home and you both weren't there. Felix woke up and you weren't there." Chan says concerned.

"Y/N. I called her and she was crying." Changbin says.

"What happened?" Chan says concerned.

"I don't know. We got here and she broke down in Jisungs arms. He's currently holding her and she fell asleep. I didn't ask her what was going on. Shes not okay right now and not in the right mind for a date." Changbin says.

"Yeah I get it. Watch over her and stay with her. Make sure shes okay." Chan says concerned.

"I will." Changbin says to his boyfriend.

"Good. I love you. Tell Jisung I love him too. Let me know if you guys are staying the night so I don't wait up for you." Chan says.

"I will. I love you too. I'll let him know." Changbin says and Chan hangs up at his boyfriends words.

Changbin sighs running a hand through his hair. He was really into you. He really hoped you know that all of the boys are into you.

Changbin steps into the house closing the door. He walks to the couch and sees Jisung asleep just like you were on his chest. He sits beside you both.

He might as well get some sleep now with you both here. Maybe you had a blanket around here somewhere. He walked to a closet at the end of the hallway and opens it. A blanket sitting there. He grabs it and brings it to the couch. He wraps it around you, Jisung, and himself.

He wrapped his hands around you and Jisung cuddling into you both. He closed his eyes hoping when he'd wake up you'd be more willing to talk about everything.

Taglist: @queenmea604 @lolareadsimagines @liv302 @jinniespuppy @hyuneyeon @stephy-nicole13 @haikyuuisposts @freyaniobe @chansbabygirlsstuff @jkookiejiminlvr @tinyworld18

#skz smut #stray kids smut #poly skz #skz fluff #stray kids fluff

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sp0o0kylights · 1 year

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Like the Wolf Steve/Eddie Werewolf AU

I have so much of this stupid thing written and it’s stuck on ch. 2 so imma just throw all the pieces up here now.

This is a werewolf AU, not an A/B/O fic. My version of Alphas and Omegas runs like a mixmash of Patricia Brigg’s, Ilonia Andrew’s, and Carrie Vaughn’s. There is no second gender, werewolves establish a hierarchy within a pack by who is most dominant/submissive, with two Alpha’s to a pack and Omegas being an extremely rare gift. Direct eye contact is considered a challenge and society has evolved to accept multiple types of Packs, including ones that include others beyond werewolves. All is explained in fic.

Warnings: Period typical homophobia, Eddie having trauma responses/being bullied/being hunted, mentions of Chrissy’s bones going snappy snappy, and a general mention of the delightfully dumb social/moral/ethical issues that paranormal creatures raise.

Eddie Munson was not anyone's idea of a proper pack Alpha.

Nor was he the kind of guy people wanted in a Pack, (capitol P intended, because “Titles are important, Edward.” and fuck did he hate when adults called him that. He went by Eddie for a reason.) or anywhere near them, period.

Experience taught him that even in a traditional Shifter town like Hawkins, filled to the brim with werewolves and not much else, people would pick literally anyone over him when it came time to pair up.

Witches, the Fae, hell, even humans were better than him in the eyes of his peers. They wouldn’t pick him to be their PE tennis partner if he was the last guy left, let alone allow such deep and familiar actions like “treating him nicely” or “waving hello.”

Letting him in their Pack? Any Pack, from a “true” one with the whole bond thing and fancy magic, down to the stupid social ones that did nothing more than let you know who your friends or coworkers were?

Perish the thought!

“My mom says you’re a total freak.” One of the old-blooded, rich brats had said in third grade, and the nickname had stuck like glue ever since.

It followed him throughout the years like it was branded on his forehead, accompanied by a steadily growing list of insults.

Weird. Faggot. Failure. Lone Wolf.

Other.

Different.

He'd tried long ago to stop letting it hurt him. The way they made him aware that he fell so outside the realm of what others considered normal that they actively shunned him.

It took until his sophomore year to get good at pretending it wasn’t painful, and at least by his third attempt at graduating, he had it down to where others believed it.

Had even carved out a place for himself, starting with the Hellfire club.

Gone about, rounding up all the other undesirables, the outcasted freaks who just didn’t fit into the stupid little social circles or dumb hierarchies of small towns the world over.

Took in Grant the human, and Jeff the half vampire and Gareth, who was sick all the time even though he was a werewolf.

Then the small group of incoming Freshman who’d been too loud, too proud, and far too nerdy to walk the halls without some kind of protection.

It wasn’t much, but for someone like Eddie?

It had been everything.

Too bad he was in Hawkins, Indiana, where people like him didn’t get to enjoy things.

Not without bad things happening.

Really bad things.

Chrissy Cunningham pulling an exorcist level of demonic possession, dying on his ceiling, and crashing down like a broken porcelain doll to the floor of his trailer level of bad things.

Suddenly Eddie wasn’t just the guy who couldn’t follow the same societal norms as every other bland teenage werewolf.

He was dangerous.

Satanic.

His freak status elevated from “guy with long hair and weird clothes who wouldn’t stop acting like he was an Alpha” to “wolf willing to exchange his very soul in order to bring about the end of the world”-or something.

Eddie hadn’t really listened much to Jason Carver’s rabid ranting, but he got the gist well enough.

It didn’t even matter that for all the magic in the world, demons and satan were more of a human concept than anything that had proven, hard hitting magic sitting behind it. Satanic panic was just in, and Chrissy-

He couldn't think about Chrissy.

Not that the truth mattered anyway.

No, the only thing that did was that one of their golden children had died in their town. A town they built, full of old werewolf families and a handful of powerful allies, that catered to them.

They needed reparation for the insult that had been brought upon their power.

Eddie was just the convenient lamb they had chosen to slaughter.

So here he was, outcasted by the whole town. Watching as the people who hated him collectively lost their minds, regressing back to the days of one singular Pack hierarchy controlling everything. Two Alpha’s to rule them all, with Jason fucking Carver was taking on the role as one of them.

Screw all the centuries of the world that had built past that. The way society was no longer “letting the inner beast win” but was instead getting along, moving forward.

Eddie hadn’t needed whatever had actually happened with Chrissy to know how much of a lie it was, but then he hadn’t planed on pulling back the facade either.

To bad for you, you idiot.

Not that there was anything he could do. Not with his van, stupid idiotic, easy to spot van out of commission, blown up transmission leaving him stranded not even two miles from his house. He’d exhausted himself just to get to the boathouse, knowing damn well that it wouldn’t make one ounce of difference if he’d bolted or called the cops.

They were gonna lay Chrissy’s death on his head, and now his chance to escape their wrath had all but dropped to zero.

Best he could do was hide. Wait it out.

Hope whatever the fuck had gotten Chrissy wasn’t going to come after him too.

The reminder didn’t help, that he had no idea what the hell had even happened. His mind ran in circles with his terror, trying to make sense of it, but all he could think about was how he could leave this damn boathouse.

How he could get out.

Out of Hawkins, out of Indiana, just fucking out.

It was that terror, the surge of adrenaline and the pure knowledge that if anyone caught him, his chances of survival dropped to damn near zero that he blamed for not recognizing Henderson’s voice.

Hadn’t even picked up on the younger wolf’s scent, he’d been so freaked out.

Wired with the intensity of a cornered animal, Eddie’s wolf staring out of his eyes and firmly in control the second he realized he wasn’t alone and whoever was here was calling his name, and all rational thoughts went right out the door.

Add in Steve fucking Harrington, former King of Hawkins High and total asshole violently poking around, and well.

There wasn’t a thought to be had at all.

Not in Eddie’s head, anyway.

He’d attacked when hiding no longer remained an option, proud of himself for pinning the larger wolf to the wall, snarling like the devil they thought he was.

And Harrington-Harrington let him.

Put his hands up as he crashed back against the wall. Kept his eyes off of Eddie’s, kept his throat exposed until Dustin could talk Eddie down.

Explain some things.

Explain all the fucking things, which didn’t help his situation, at all, but did at least help his overall mental state.

“We’ll work this out.” Henderson had said, voice confident, and Eddie, exhausted, starving, haunted by Chrissy’s bones snapping every time he closed his eyes-believed him.

Even if it was the stupidest thing to do.

Because for all his bravado, all his jumping on tables and loud speeches, the Throne he DM’d from and the Hellfire Club he ran-Eddie Munson had a secret.

He desperately, desperately, needed someone on his side.

Anybody.

Especially now, when he could feel himself seconds away from falling apart, life ripped out from under him a second time.

Pity this time round he didn’t have yet another Uncle to run to.

(It took Eddie a long time, in that same boathouse, to realize that Harrington had never retaliated against him for Eddie’s attack. For pinning him to the wall in front of his Packmate’s and making him look weak with a broken glass bottle, of all things.

Had in fact, backed down.

Which was a hell of a thing, when Eddie had discovered that the damn freshman hadn’t been fibbing for fun.

They really did have a little established Pack, bonds and all, and Steve Harrington really was the Alpha in control of it.

A born werewolf from one of Hawkins oldest families, with all their rules, fancy parties and refusal to be anything other than the best and he’d let Eddie, trailer park trash and son of two bitten, made, werewolves, pin him down like a puppy.

If Eddie hadn’t been wrestling with the existence of a hell dimension, hand made superpowers, and the reality of a world where humans were experimenting on species of various kinds, the long held treaty laws be damned while they raced the Russians to do fuck knew what, he might have caught on that Steve was just as different as he was, a whole lot sooner.

As it was, he just remained exhausted, hungry, and very, very grateful for the stupid freshmen.)

xXx

Shit hadn’t really gone sideways in the boathouse until the third time Henderson's little crew had dropped off food.

Dustin took in the look on Eddie’s face when Steve had unloaded the honeycomb cereal box, like the man had just seen water in a desert, and outright cackled.

Eddie reached out automatically, hooking his arm around the freshman’s neck and pulling him taught to his side. Dustin shrieked as he was put into a nuggie, Eddie spinning them as the younger wolf pushed ineffectively at his arms.

“Say uncle!” Eddie taunted with a grin.

“Ow, ow, Eddie!” Dustin whined, before finally going limp and shouting; “Fine! Uncle!”

Eddie dropped him with one last hair ruffle, grinning widely at him.

Dustin grinned back, even as he pretended to fuss at his hair and clothes. “God, it’s not my fault you just realize Steve adopted you.” He said, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Why you gotta take it out on me?”

Eddie went to automatically deny that he was taking anything out on Dustin. He was just the youngest wolf in the Hellfire Club which meant by all the rules in the universe, he was the automatic target for all teasing.

The the kids words sunk in.

Sunk in the same way fucking teeth went into a steak, all sharp and deep and pointed.

Eddie froze so fast he almost nailed his face on one of the overhanging oars.

“What?” He said, positive he misheard.

“Those are your favorites right?” Dustin said, pointing at the offending cereal box on the ground. “He’s always been like, weirdly good at knowing what his packmates eat. I’d say it’s an Alpha thing but it’s totally not.”

“What.” Eddie said again, his voice coming out as more of a surprised croak.

“Max insists he pays super close attention but come on, it’s Steve. I once watched him trip trying to do the dance from the Breakfast Club. It’s absolutely just like, his weird little superpower.” Dustin hummed for a moment, face scrunched up in thought. “Like, snack-sense. Stevie Snack Sense!”

Eddie stared, the words “Steve adopted you” and “weirdly good at knowing what his packmates eat” ping-ponging around his head.

Henderson’s grin grew impossibly wider. “Get it? Like Scooby snacks?”

Then he laughed his weird little cackle again, ignoring the way Eddie had crashed like one of the shitty computers their school was so proud of owning.

‘Danger alert, the Freak is overheating. Danger alert, the Freak is-’

“Henderson are you coming or what!?” Steve yelled, causing Eddie to jump and Dustin to spin around, shouting something rude back.

“Keep your walkie on, okay?” Dustin said, turning back with a worried look that would have been touching if Eddie had been paying any attention at all, before scampering off to have an argument with his Pack Alpha.

The same one who apparently, allowed such things from whiny, teenage puppies, and also, was trying to adopt Eddie.

Into his Pack.

Eddie just stared after them, feeling vaguely like the world no longer made sense.

Probably because it didn’t.

#Hungry verse #werewolf AU #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #werewolf steve harrington #werewolf eddie munson #pack #packmates #0o0 fanfics

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fizzlewizard404 · 1 year

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Ok, the more I've thought about it, the more I think I understand why the conclusion they gave the Collector was so off to me. And I think it was mainly two things; the execution of it, and the vagueness of it. Let me explain.

Disclaimer! I am not claiming to know everything about writing or how to do it, so take this with a grain of salt ^^

(Major spoilers below!!! You've been warned!)

First of all, I feel the need to clarify that, a lot of the vagueness here does probably have a little bit to do with how much time they had left for this. (The shows cancelation and all that.) The crew had about, like, 10 minutes to properly wrap everything up? So they needed to make it fast enough to fit as much in. With a good majority of the characters and the conclusion of their arcs, there just isn't that much to go that in depth into.

Luz? She can properly travel between both realms now, her insecurities and guilt complex have been dealt with, and she can properly be herself around the people she loves.

Eda? While, she does still have to deal with the curse, shes properly accepted it as a part of her, and feels free to be around the people she loves.

King? While he's definitely still got a lot to learn about himself, he's more free to do so than ever and has the support and help to do so from the people around him, and those he loves. I can go on with basically everyone else, but I think you get the idea by now.

The more I think about it, in theory/concept, I think having the Collector go back to space can work. But you have to establish three main things in order for it to do so.

1) Give us enough of an idea for what exactly he will be doing in space to grow as a person. Presumably, to me anyway, I feel like they're most likely on some kind of quest to undo as much of their siblings's doings. Until, potentially facing them directly again.

2) Make sure to note that the Collector is fully aware of the fact that he has a genuine and loving support group/found family that he can return whenever he feels the need to see them again. And especially make it clear that they do just that when they can. Not too often, but still somewhat regularly.

3) Inforce the fact that the aforementioned support system/found family (Luz, King and Eda, though this can include others later on) really do care about the Collector's well being and that they are willing to be there for him when they can be.

Alrighty!! Now that I have those things out of the way, let me explain how the show messed up properly showcasing them, despite how expertly everything before this was handled.

When the epilouge's beginning starts after Luz has finally put an end to Belos's evil-doing, we get to see everyone slowly start getting use to the new circumstances of their home. None of it can ever be the same way it was before, but that's definetely for the better in most cases. After all, everyone's gone through a lot as of recently. Especially this episode.

Including, (and in my opinion, most of all) the Collector. For the last ??? amount of years, everything in their life has been... stagnent, inauthentic and overall not great. Even during what we saw during For The Future. Despite it's happy, cheery and colorful surface, it was only really a facade to mask the lack of actual care and support that Collector has in his life.

The stories and adventures he plays out with King are like his own interpretation from a game of broken telephone. They can only really immitate the genuine experience and connection formed when the real thing happened. All the denizens of the Boiling Isles are reduced to a sparkly, cute puppeted version of themselves. Lacking any real emotion in order to go along with the tone of the story.

Realistically speaking, King is the only somewhat genuine thing in the Collector's world. He's the only person that they can trust and talk to. Sure, he techically has his distant, idealized connection with Eda, but she's (at least to the Collector's knowledge) always stuck as the owl beast. So that's kind of impractical for him.

In all of these stories and games of pretend, the Collector takes what would otherwise be Luz's role in King's life. They're jealous of the relation she's had with King for so long. Collector knows that while he's close to King, they can't be as close to him as Luz.

Going by this information, we can come to the conclusion that the Collector desperately wants to have real friends, and people who won't use him or lie to him. Much like how his (presumably) distant, but still likely very ill-intentioned siblings, the Archivists did. First so they wouldn't have to deal with him, and later to take all his friends away. This pattern continued with Belos, which also lead to betrayal and abandonment for the Collector.

For his entire life, Collector has struggled grasping empathy and the overall concept of death. He said it himself, clear as day. "Toys break all the time! You just fix em'!". There is a fundamental misunderstanding for him in this regard that they are unaware of.

As for the struggle with empathy, his status as an all-powerful immortal tends to make him kinda unapproachable for most non-immortals. So in order to actually play with people who he wants to play with, but are afraid of him, he forces them to do so against their wills.

Near the beginning of Watching and Dreaming, Luz and Co. are finally able to try explaining what it means to understand other people to the Collector. And after a bit, it seems like they're finally starting to get it. Kindness and forgiveness! Who guessed it was that easy all this time?? Soon after this, the Collector tries applying his newly found morals towards the first person they can. Unfortunately for everyone, that person is the furthest thing from somebody who can be reasoned with.

The Collector starts to feel as if they can finally fix things, only to nearly get blasted by Belos, mere seconds later. Thankfully, Luz swept in to safe him and tries explaining to him that he did do the right thing, just... not with the right person. Soon enough, we find out that Luz did get grazed by Belos's power. She immediately starts disintegrating and disappearing before everyone, but more specifically, before the Collector's eyes. Moments after this, Collector is... scared, but mainly confused. King and Eda are completely speechless, only being able to stare ahead of them. The Collector tries to bring Luz back, only for nothing to happen. Things go from bad to worse when King and Eda lose themselves entirely and start fighting off Belos.

In this moment, right before Luz comes back with her titan powers, the Collector is about the lowest they've been in forever. Having just realized that they can't just fix everything with the snap of their finger, and completely powerless to do ANYTHING. King and Eda are there, but they're not there. Luz is gone. There's nowhere they could go from here. It's hopeless.

A bit after Luz comes back, the Collector decides to do something with their currently fading power and help everyone in the Archives (yknow, from falling hundreds of feet in the air towards their certain deaths).

After Belos is defeated and all the goop goes away, the Collector gently falls onto the floor of the Archives, exhausted. The moment they see Amity (someone he doesn't know well, but knows is close to Luz) walk towards him, he covers his head, expecting for her to start scolding or even attacking him. But she doesn't. She reaches her hand out to him as a friendly sign of peace, and understanding. His face literally lights up when this happens.

After all of this, while I think that Collector really can't be in the Isles all the time, considering how many people probably won't be that ok with having him around all the time after what he did, it's still obvious to me that they do finally have people who they can lean on and properly be better around. Luz, King and Eda.

...Too bad that their send-off scene doesn't make any that clear!! Like, whatsoever!!

While, yeah you can say that the main trio are DEFINITELY also exhausted after everything, I don't think that would make them all of a sudden be totally fine with the Collector leaving into space on his own.

Firstly, unless we can assume that what I said earlier about him undoing the Archivists's damage where he can, it seems like he's just, isolating himself so he can't hurt anyone until he feels worthy enough to ~maybe~ go back to the Boiling Isles eventually? You know. Like the same thing Luz wanted to do in Thanks To Them because she felt like a burden onto everyone around her? But there atleast, the show made it clear that everyone seeing Luz confess to this, had a problem with it.

During this scene. We don't see anyone other than King go after the Collector. Sure Luz is looking, but that still doesn't count for much. The phrasing of King's last onscreen words to the Collector are "I hope I see you again" before he gives them François. The way this was worded makes the idea of King giving François to the Collector seem more like an almost permanent goodbye gift. Like, the two of them won't be seeing each other again, or at least for a LOONG WHILE.

I think that adding on a "soon" at the end of "I hope I see you again" could've made it a lot better, and make it more obvious that François being given to the Collector is to remind them of their newly found family and that they will be there for him, wherever he is in the universe. Which I feel is way more fitting coming from King. Like his own version of "I don't know what the future holds, but it would be so cool if you were in it" to the Collector.

One thing that I feel like made everything make way less sense is the "No one argued" line from Luz. It makes literally no sense to me considering everything they've been through together? Like?? You'd think Luz and Eda would atleast ask him if he'll be okay going away on his own?? Considering that Luz was able to recognize where the Collector was at the beginning of the episode, it feels extremely out of character for her not to recognize what they're going through here, especially when taking into account that she went through something VERY similar as of very recently herself??

As for Eda, she just kind of, lays back away from the whole situation to begin with? For some reason? Which also feels weird to me since she was also open to being there for him earlier in the episode? She's grown enough at this point to know what to say to kids when she can tell they're not doing well at the moment. Not to mention how she would also probably be able to recognize the Collector trying to isolate themselves as something she's also gone through to protect the people she cares about!! She's fully aware it doesn't work out well when you have absolutely no one by your side! So I feel like having her atleast also reminding the Collector that they're all here for him would've meant a lot more.

As for why all of this came off as really jarring to a lot of people (i'm mainly using myself as an example here btw), The Owl House has always been a show that's overall narrative message has been about found family for different people. The main example I'll be using here is for neurodivergent people. Whether or not it's something like ADHD, autism, or any kind of personality disorder.

The Collector, to me anyway, is extremely ND coded in a few ways. So, in a way, to me personally, having it seem like nobody out of the main trio was actually concerned with the Collector's well being in this scene, felt... jarring? It gave off the message of "neurodivergent people deserve love and belonging, unless they have unstable emotional regulation and struggle grasping empathy, in which case it's okay if they isolate themselves from the people they love because those loved ones don't care about them enough to where they would have a problem with the person isolating themselves", which would be ridiculously insensetive and insulting from what's otherwise such an open-minded and emotionally mature show. I read it this way when I first watched the episode when it aired, and I feel safe to say that it was not what I needed to hear at the moment. I feel like I'm doing better now, and I understand why it hit me the way it did considering everything I mentioned earlier.

I'm not calling anybody who worked on TOH ableist for any of this, and I want to make that clear. This was obviously unintentional on their end and I'm glad that I can understand that now. This show has been here for me and so many other people through so much and other than this on gripe I have with the Collector's send-off scene, the finale was everything I could've asked for and more. That's all.

#toh #the owl house #rambling #toh spoilers #analysis #the collector #also. i could eventually change my mind about this too.. soo. idk #essay

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mediocreanomaly · 9 months

Note

i'm so normal. can i request a part 2 to the knives/reader soulmate au? im just so curious how it'd go, hdjdjnd

Authors Note: Non-Normal Knives kisser spotted.

Kidding! yes of course I shall make you a pt.2 (guys am I the Trigun Soulmate guy now? I'm not complaining it's just a bit funny to me, let me infect you with Trigun soulmate au now...)

*Not NSFW but a slightly "spicy" scene at the end (jesus I'm old do people still say spicy unironically? guys I mean it ironically I swear-)*

Read Part 1 Here!

Knives X Reader Soulmate AU Pt.2

•It's a painstaking process, both literally and metaphorically, as Knives recovers

•You feel awful. Your body vaguely burns everywhere, Knives is incapacitated, and the fact it's Legato who sits like a hawk watching over the two of you not yet trusting of your intentions doesn't exactly ease any of your stress

•It's a bit tedious dodging the blue haired mans constant questioning not quite ready to say "hey you know the most feared man in all of Gunsmoke who hates the idea of soulmates is actually my soulmate?" yeah sounds awful.

•So you sit dutifully day and night rewrapping wounds and running your fingers through Knives's hair appreciating that he at least seems to heal much quicker than humans do so hopefully this aching burn will subside quickly

•When he finally wakes up it's, of course, the one time you leave the room to go get something to eat. You almost imagine the dammed plant planned this even though you know it's not the case

•You stand in the door way...saying nothing. The two of you had become close before, was close the right word? but now you felt awkward and out of place watching Knives' cold blue eyes stare a hole into you

"Legato says you haven't left my side" he says, it's more of a statement than a question but you'll bite

"Yes." You say simply, not making a move as if dealing with a wild animal that's ready to pounce

"Why?" He's searching you as if looking for something or...no he's watching you like he's waiting to catch you in a lie

"I think you already know" Is all you can manage. You stay still, waiting for sharpness of metal, you just hope it'll be quick. You weren't stupid, you knew Knives didn't want a soulmate, so there wasn't much to do than to accept the fate the universe had laid out for you. You close you eyes and wait....and wait....and- wasn't he going to kill you?

You peek your eyes open to see Knives watching you with a furrowed brow. You have to admit he looks oddly cute like this despite the fact your life is most certainly in danger.

He stares, as if perplexed by you then scoffs

"This is ridiculous. I'd never be bound to a human like you" he states, you just nod not sure what to do until he sits up straight in bed

"Come, inform me of what's happened while I was asleep"

You aren't stupid enough to try and push the matter or point out the fact he was a little worse off than "asleep" so you just sit on the side of the bed with him, giving him what little information you know.

•After that he begins to talk about his new plans. You listen intently, letting him ramble on about this new era he's planning to usher in

•and if he begins to stray from the topic, if he begins to go on about the Ja'lai incident, or about how he really thought Vash would understand...don't bring any attention to it, your slowly beginning to understand there's a reason he trust you with these things even if he won't say it out loud

•Speaking of which...he won't say anything about the "soulmate" matter out loud. Not now anyways, not yet. He's not sure why but...he can't bring himself to kill you and it scares him. He isn't used to sparing lives besides his brothers and even then his forms of punishment are a lot more severe than what he's willing to do to you

•Not that he didn't contemplate taking a limb or letting you see how sharp his knives can really be but there'd be no point really he'd only be hurting himself (at least that's what he tells himself)

•He's also...a bit protective of you now. Even though he still refuses to say to anyone, including you, that you're his soulmate he does make vague mentions of it when you try to leave and he says something along the lines of

"No you can't leave. If you were to get hurt it'd be inefficient for me"

•(aw he likes you!)

•He begrudgingly lets you begin working again because there was a reason he allowed you to stay with his team in the first place, although if his hovering around your work place was bad before it's 10x worse now

•You are met with the sight of his chest every time you turn around and you have to shyly look up to the piercing gaze that's trained on you like a predator

•eventually you get him to back up a little bit by telling him if you spill any chemicals on him it'll just burn the both of you although he still stands in the corner watching your every move

•In all...don't expect him to be all lovely dovey...yet. Although...

You stand absent mindedly as you look over your work. This formula was driving you nuts and the constant feeling of being watched wasn't exactly helping. You lean down placing your hands on the table scanning over the papers messily sprawled over your desk when you feel a strong pair of hands at your hips.

It takes everything in you not to yelp, only for that feeling to turn into you trying not to moan when teeth nip at the shell of your ear. Knives body is pressed against your back, strong and solid, god you were either touch starved or the soulmate connection was doing wonders because he'd barley even touched you and you felt like you were unraveling. He pushes you forwards slightly forcing you to hold your most your weigh with your arms as you shudder. He's trapping you against the table, mouth trailing down to harshly nip along your throat, right hand running up your side and his left hand is moving to-

he pulls away.

You're breathless. You glance up at him, and if the amused smirk on his face is anything to go by, you look like just as much of a mess as you feel.

"I fixed your formula for you"

you glance down and sure enough...the numbers you had been mulling over all day had been fixed in the matter of...minutes? Seconds?

You watch dumbfounded as Knives strolls away as if nothing happened, even thought the blush painting your face and the bruises beginning to blossom against your neck are more than enough proof

•That's the thing, the universe never prepares you for your soulmate being an asshole. That's okay though, two can play at that game.

#knives x reader #knives x you #trigun x reader #soulmate au

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hottiehiei · 8 days

Text

- Slow burn romance with Hiei PART 3 (Final)

Hiei gets a taste of his own medicine…

sfw, gender neutral, angst, fluff

read PART 1 and PART 2 for the full experience!

✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻

𓆩⟡𓆪 Hiei continues to put up a wall, only this time, it’s stronger than ever. Somehow, the accidental confession only caused more tension. He doesn’t give you the cold shoulder like before, but things aren’t quite the same either. Conversations trail off into silence. Body language becomes stiff and closed off. Longing gazes turn empty.

𓆩⟡𓆪 Truthfully, Hiei feels embarrassed— ashamed even. He lost his composure at the sight of your tears. Now, he can’t bring himself to face you without the entire scene playing over in his head. He convinces himself that you’ll be better off with some other human. Someone that won’t make you cry.

𓆩⟡𓆪 The way he sees it, there are more negatives than positives. He’s a demon, a thief, unfit to be with you. He doesn’t know the first thing about love. The very thought of it makes him uneasy. What could he offer you besides trouble?

𓆩⟡𓆪 With all of these doubts floating around in his head, Hiei makes no attempts to rekindle the relationship, and you give up trying. One could only be turned down so many times before finally taking the hint.

𓆩⟡𓆪 Each passing day, you drift further apart. Your memories with Hiei fade into nothing but a distant dream, as if they never happened in the first place. Once friends, almost lovers, now strangers. There was nothing left for you two….

𓆩⟡𓆪 Yet— the minute you stopped giving Hiei attention, he suddenly felt ill.

𓆩⟡𓆪 Despite his avoidance, he looked forward to hearing you speak to him, or at least look in his direction. It was the only thing he could hold on to, a sign that you still cared.

𓆩⟡𓆪 Hiei watched from afar, irritated beyond belief. You would hang around everyone but him, smiling and joking like normal. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw you so happy. Surely Kuwabara wasn’t that funny.

𓆩⟡𓆪 To make matters worse, there was no need for Hiei to swoop in and save you anymore. After spending time with Shizuru, you picked up a few self-defense tricks. You were managing just fine without him.

𓆩⟡𓆪 At this point, Hiei is spiraling. How could you move on so effortlessly? When he tried to break away from you, he nearly lost it. Yet here you are, livelier than ever.

𓆩⟡𓆪 It wasn’t long before you felt a pair of eyes burning into the back of your head. You turned to meet his stare, fully expecting him to look elsewhere before you could catch him. But he didn’t. He wanted you to look at him. Who cares if it was just for a few seconds. He needed to look you in the eye.

𓆩⟡𓆪 Hiei wouldn’t draw attention to himself without good reason. His face remained stoic, but you suspected he was trying to communicate something. Holding his gaze, you waited with bated breath.

𓆩⟡𓆪 He walked away, but not before signaling you to follow with a subtle tilt of his head. Undeterred by his silence, you trailed behind him until no one else was around. Hiei only says one thing.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

𓆩⟡𓆪 After days of not speaking, you would have liked some kind of explanation, but making any demands would shatter this moment. The only thing you can do is read between the lines. It’s unlike Hiei to be indirect. A hint of uncertainty lingers within his gaze. Seeking you out was a huge step, and he needs reassurance.

𓆩⟡𓆪 As long as you are willing to accept him, Hiei will do his best to keep you happy.

You nod to his question.

Hiei is silent for a moment, unsatisfied.

Just as your heart began to sink, he was standing directly in front of you, one hand cradling the side of your face and the other tracing your bottom lip.

"Use your words.”

He spoke so quietly you thought you misheard him, but the word yes came rushing from your mouth before you realized it.

Then he kissed you

✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻✧༺✧༻

extra:

𓆩⟡𓆪 Hiei takes on the role as your “boyfriend” without formally asking you. He dislikes the word boyfriend, though. It doesn’t fit his taste. It’s too cutesy and teeny. In his eyes, you are his lover. This relationship is far more serious than your average romance. Hiei is attentive to your needs and knows more about you than he lets on. He would put his life on the line for you without hesitation.

𓆩⟡𓆪 A date with Hiei typically involves relaxing outside. It’s his ideal way of spending quality time with you. Chatting about trivial topics or napping while lying on the grass is perfect for bonding. If you aren’t afraid of heights, he carries you up a tall tree so you can admire the view.

𓆩⟡𓆪 In private, Hiei’s love for you is evident, but he’s still a smart ass. He occasionally pokes fun at you in a lighthearted manner.

𓆩⟡𓆪 His possessiveness jumps to a new level. He can freely interject when someone gets too friendly. No more glaring from a distance. He outrightly threatens anyone who gets too close. “I suggest you get lost or die.”

𓆩⟡𓆪 Everyone will start to assume you two are together— or at least have feelings for each other. Hiei doesn’t bother denying the rumors. If Yusuke or Kuwabara try teasing him, he simply tells them to mind their business. Handling those two is nothing, he’s used to the witty banter. However, they might catch him off guard with a suggestive joke.

#okay this is the last one lmao #i am out of ideas ☠️#BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT BBY ❤️#hiei #yu yu hakusho #yyh #anime x reader #fanfiction #hiei jaganshi #hiei x reader #hiei yu yu hakusho #yu yu hakusho headcanons #yu yu hakusho x reader #yyh x reader #yyh hiei #hiei yyh

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ghastlytofu · 7 months

Text

Part 2 baybeeeee. Continuation of this fic - aka what if Wyll's a masochist and desperate for Astarion's teeth in him actually?? What if I wrote it from Astarion's POV this time. What if this is careening out of control and chapter three is imminent. Ahahaha wouldn't that be nuts how's the weather

He spends some time considering Wyll.

Wyll, who is looking especially fine tonight. Sitting by the fire, rich umber skin painted sunset colors by the flames - there are shadows in his mismatched eyes, soft and used to smiling despite their twice-over otherworldly nature. His horns cast strange and eerie shadows on the ground; his body is well-built and adorned with scars that demonstrate a life of remarkably reckless service to others.

How he yet lives is a mystery for the ages, honestly.

Wyll, it turns out - in addition to spending his idle hours plotting ways to rescue ever more kittens from trees - spends rather a lot of time thinking about Astarion's mouth. More than the vampire might've guessed, and he does like to think his mouth has been the inspiration for its share of lurid fantasies, some more colorful than others -

An interesting development.

Not for the first time Astarion thanks their funny little parasites for continually opening new doors for him as they do, rife with unexpected gifts. What strange fortune! He might be tempted to kiss the ground and thank the gods for this little development had they not already betrayed his faith a thousand times over. No, that ship has long sailed.

He should be thanking the mindflayers instead, at least until such a time as they all start sprouting tentacles. He would have remained ignorant (and ignorant of his ignorance) without them. How long has Wyll been sitting on this fantasy, stewing in it? The Blade of Frontiers would've never openly admitted to wanting Astarion's fangs in him, would he. Could he?

Perhaps he couldn't, he thinks. Perhaps it's a step too far into the realm of the unthinkable for even the renowned Blade.

But perhaps not so unthinkable for Wyll.

First thing's first. Damage control. If any good is to come of this - and there is, he knows, much good that can come of this - he can't risk scaring the other man off.

He'll perhaps have to ease Wyll into the idea that - sometimes - he can have the things he wants.

Really, it's too perfect. A willing donor - and more than that, an eager donor. Not an animal, nor an enemy he has to subdue. He rolls the idea around in his head, admiring it like a pretty bauble: no need to be particularly stealthy or strong, in fact he needs only exercise restraint. No more stinking wildlife getting stuck in his teeth or fevered grappling with someone who just won't die (unless, perhaps, the illusion of the latter is something that stirs Wyll's blood).

Fresh food delivered right to his doorstep.

He's salivating just thinking about it. Moving up in the world, he thinks, giddy with excitement and making a half-baked and entirely doomed effort at not getting ahead of himself. Really, it was futile from the beginning - he cannot look this gift horse in the mouth. And it is a gift, this -

Willingness. Willingess which could be a beast entirely unlike itself, something Astarion knew all too well. It disguised itself, at times, as begrudging tolerance. Reluctant acceptance. The acknowledging of an unfortunate necessity, like doing taxes or digging latrines.

Wanting, though - wanting was different. Wyll craved it, he knew now - felt it in his bones, in the borrowed blood sitting sluggishly in his veins. Their tadpoles ensured that there were few secrets between them when they got to wriggling: he remembers the adrenaline high of battle, putting his blades to work again and again, and his reward when all but one of their enemies was felled: the last one standing, his prey, wrenched from its ill-considered task and succumbing in short order to the bite. A particularly satisfying kill. That lowly piss-pot had nearly taken Wyll's life - intolerable for reasons he does not care to examine just now, but certainly in part because Wyll is their de facto leader and the only one keeping this merry band of miscreants in line. The man's weapon had managed to make contact with Wyll's flesh, breaking the skin despite Astarion's urgent intervention - a superficial wound, spilling precious few drops of his blood. The Blade had certainly sustained worse injuries, shed far more blood in the name of the Frontiers.

Still. He took great delight in liberating all of the slaver's blood from his body in retaliation.

In the moment, he'd been entirely too focused on feeding and keeping his prey from moving overmuch - not that it would've done him any good at that range. Struggling as he was, if he managed to pull free his artery would be wrenched and split on Astarion's fangs, quite defeating the purpose of escape and robbing him of his meal besides. But it was a good meal despite having to restrain it, and his eyes had slipped shut in hapless pleasure, drinking heartily and unselfconsciously -

It was only when he heard a soft sound, not from the throat in his jaws as expected - the quiet, final noises so common to those desperately clinging to life and finding the cord severed - but from before him that Astarion opens his eyes and finds - Wyll, in the shadow of his kill, looking at him like the second coming of Strahd. Only -

His head had throbbed then, eyes widening in surprise and - quickly - comprehension. He had felt Wyll's deep-seated want curl around him with every enthusiastic gulp: the wet sounds of Astarion's industry a ballast in Wyll's brain, every nerve in his body attuned to that sound and the motions of his throat as he swallowed hungrily, devouring his victim. Astarion had moaned involuntarily at that, hot blood in his mouth made impossibly hotter by the way Wyll's good eye remained entirely focused on him. Equal parts horror and fascination - and no small amount of arousal, if his blown out pupil was any indication - were evident in his expression.

Astarion had an absurd thought, then: feeling rather like a wayward cat that's brought the mangled remains of a dead mouse to his patriar's door, ever indulgent: Here. I saw this and thought of you.

He would not have guessed Wyll's interest, not in this - and not for lack of interest in the man or his proclivities (which Astarion found himself mulling over considerably more often than he ought to). It's simply that, in his experience, monster hunters who desire their quarry carnally are also often hopelessly repressed and prone to cultivating deeply fucked up ideas about who qualifies as person and who doesn't, and whether or not that justifies whatever they intend to do to them in the moment.

Wyll isn't like that.

Repressed... maybe. It's hard to say. But never cruel. He travels alongside a vampire spawn, a Sharran cultist and a githyanki space pirate like it's a perfectly ordinary thing to do, and that was before he sprouted horns and an infernal eye. Wyll apparently saw in Astarion's most bestial features and abilities something… desirable, something to make him ache sweetly, something that no one else in camp could provide, and Astarion thrilled at the knowledge. To be wanted for the whole of what you are? It was novel. It was magnificent.

And Wyll does like him, insofar as he can tell. As a person. And isn't that an oddity! He trusts Astarion. With his life even. At the very least he certainly wasn't about to let some other vampire bite him. His survival instincts were only broken some of the time.

He treats Astarion like a man first and a monster second, not a condemnation but a practical reality: his vampirism merely a facet of his life, one that differentiates himself from others, not unlike Karlach's persnickety engine or Gale's yawning arcane hunger.

And it is this, above all else, that solidifies his decision.

Wyll is still by the fire, looking appallingly resigned to his fate when Astarion approaches him (vicious mockery is perhaps what the man anticipates, not sudden death at the hands of a ravenous vampire - what Astarion wouldn't give for such priorities!), and… increasingly nervous, and no, that won't do at all. He intercepts his path, casual, sensing a man foolishly about to talk himself out of a perfectly reasonable course of action.

"You know, dear," he says, keeping his tone as light as he can manage. Wyll isn't glass-fragile but it won't do to come on too strong, not after their unexpected meeting of the minds (as delicious as it had been). No matter how much his fangs ache in his gums, he's got to focus. He thinks about Wyll's strong pulse - in all honesty, can think of little else -

Vitality. The depth and breadth of life.

Wyll smells awfully nice.

"This could be quite fortuitous for you and I," he motions, stopping just short of being in Wyll's personal space. Wyll ponies up, sensing there's no tabling this conversation now.

"It isn't-" he starts, stops. Starts again. "I don't want you to think that's why." Piffle. The hell it's not, Astarion thinks meanly but doesn't say. His eyes narrow. Wyll's too busy contemplating his navel to notice, eyes downcast in what could have been bashfulness but which Astarion recognizes as closer kin to contriteness. For the wrong thing, of course: he feels himself an imposition when he is an oasis.

Exhausting.

"And whyever not?" he ventures, feeling rather more impatient than he lets on. He checks himself internally. He will never get far by rushing Wyll. Knows this. It is a tremulous peace they have, and too easily disrupted by frivolous desire if he's not careful and mild in his coaxing.

It's just that he's been daydreaming about his blood for weeks, to say nothing of the man who harbors it. He's salivating, and Wyll is right there, and he wants it -

More hesitation.

"I want to help you." Not an untruth, he concedes. There is no situation in which Wyll isn't volunteering to help, but it's hardly the whole of it and if he can't bring himself to say it, well. Astarion will just have to help him along.

"You want it," he says, because this is no time for ambiguity. There are things he must be certain of, that they must be certain of. Astarion again considers the difference between willing and wanting, the various shapes and shades of them. Nods absently to himself, surer now of his course. Wyll -

Wyll…

"Yes," he manages. He's getting in his head again, Astarion can tell - raw memories flit through his mind, foreign remembrances that feel like his own as they pour through the sieve of their psychic connection: Wyll standing before his father, one incident unto the next, doubt and shame and the ghost of resentment a maelstrom of miserable distraction.

Astarion shoots him a look. Soon Wyll will need to learn something he internalized long ago: getting in one's own head means getting in one's own way. Wyll's father is a thousand leagues distant. Astarion is right here.

"What do you want from me, Astarion? Yes, it's tempting. I don't- it isn't a consideration I want you to place above your own needs. It doesn't matter. We can drop it."

How pointlessly noble, he wants to sneer. As if Astarion would ever. What he needs is to sink his teeth into Wyll, feel him squirm with want of it.

Fully intends to, if only Wyll can meet him halfway.

"Or we could not drop it," Astarion volunteers, making every effort to keep his voice neutral. He feels like a teakettle simmering too-hot on the stove. Ready to boil over at the slightest encouragement, seconds from screaming -

The night is long, and he listens to Wyll's heartbeat in the absence of his own. It's strong and sure and when Wyll finally steps forward, it's all he can do to disguise his mind numbing relief as mere playful indulgence as he purrs in his ear: "My dear, consider how we might take care of one another."

Knowing that a bite is all but guaranteed at this point means he can relax a little, and he softens his approach by inches, determined to enjoy himself. For Wyll to enjoy himself. It's not every day one gets to savor a homemade meal, after all. And with such handsome presentation!

Wyll may still need some... careful attention, in order to feel more comfortable and less out of his element than admitting his desire had evidently left him. Astarion tells himself that's why he slots himself easily and comfortably in Wyll's arms, as sturdy and warm as he imagined they'd be (not that he'd thought about it). When the younger man raises tentative arms to his waist - almost boyish in his hesitation, so unlike the easy confidence with which Wyll normally navigates the world - Astarion rewards him with a smile. He's doing so well. It's precious.

Wyll asks if it will hurt. Astarion assures him it will, how very nice that will be. Promises, promises. A shiver runs through his body, and Astarion catalogues that particular reaction away for later. For now, he seeks to drive out any foolish notions of guilt on Wyll's part - knows he must, if he intends for this to happen a second time.

And he does intend a repeat performance, if his companion's at all amenable. The idea of hot blood on tap - Wyll's blood on tap - Astarion bites his tongue to prevent himself from latching onto the exposed skin of Wyll's neck, soft where he's nosing against his jawline.

"Worry not, O Blade. I rather like that you like it. Do you think I'd prefer to be where I'm not wanted?" He allows his very real displeasure at the thought to color his tone. No harm in the truth, not in this. It's important for Wyll to know his desire is reciprocated, that his desire is itself desired, one into the other and on and on.

Astarion leads him to his tent.

How many times has he heard the battlecry? 'The Blade does not yield!'

Except when he does, it seems.

Wyll is laying in Astarion's tent - pretty as a painting, a light sheen of sweat on his brow and collarbone catching in the low lantern light fetchingly. He's eyeing the space, taking it in - Astarion's things, physical proof of his presence if the body beside him were not enough.

He looks young here, but not uncertain: he is reminded that Wyll has only lived a fraction of his years, will only ever live a fraction of his years. He's struck by the thought that the man before him is chillingly, hauntingly... mortal. Brief even in longevity, humans hardly have time to live before they're gone. Supposing his devil blood has not altered him in as yet unforeseen ways, Wyll's fate will be the same, and if he doesn't stop with the chronic heroics his life will be shorter still.

He won't, though.

That thought invites disquiet so Astarion dismisses it out of hand. Back to business.

He looks to Wyll, who meets his eyes with a kind of defiance, a resolve born of want. Determined to go through with it, for his own ends or Astarion's (but hopefully both). He tilts his neck back gracefully, and it's Astarion's turn to stare -

"How very considerate of you, darling," he says instead. Straddling Wyll's waist, he is determined to savor the moment despite the sharp spike of hunger that takes him then. He caresses Wyll's handsome face - brushes his full lips with passing fingers in his haste, decides that's an acceptable diversion before meandering purposefully downwards, stopping fully at his throat. Admiring that most pronounced vein in his neck - thrumming with life, impossibly fast and strong beneath his fingers, sweet-smelling even through the barrier of Wyll's flesh, another temptation.

Astarion's teeth ache. He has always had a sweet tooth.

Obscene, the way he waits for it. Wyll - is holding himself back from trembling, fingers alternately clenched and wiggling, as if he keeps noticing the tension and overcorrecting. The anticipation's ruining him, though he's doing a very good job of hiding it under an otherwise self-secure veneer. Apart from his hands he is very determinedly still, rigid in the way of someone wading into unfamiliar waters. Like a virgin on his wedding night, Astarion thinks with good-natured humor. He can see the restlessness in his body, even if unpracticed eyes might not - anticipation and arousal and a sort of fear that isn't - because Astarion is trusted, but Wyll knows better than most what devastation those fangs are capable of.

But then... that is surely part of the appeal, he concedes.

His hand moves reluctantly from Wyll's neck to land on his shoulder - the better to steady himself, and give Wyll proper leverage besides, should it become necessary. He squeezes once - a reassurance, and a question.

Through the fun little psychic link he shares with his comrades, he has seen a great many things, many of which aren't fun at all. He has seen flashes of Wyll's life, heated moments that brand themselves in his memory as surely as his own assortment of traumas. He has seen Ulder Ravengard banked by fire - disappointment and shame -

Wyll's father had called him a needy creature; but as far as Astarion can tell, Wyll has only ever needed to be needed. To be... essential. He has seen it through Wyll's two eyes, and then one; has tasted the bitterness of his tears in the wake of his exile from Baldur's Gate, when for lack of other choices he made himself, at last, essential to the Frontiers.

He catches Wyll's eye. Perhaps Wyll sees something there that Astarion is not yet ready to acknowledge - slips his warm hand over Astarion's cool one and meets his gaze without rancor or fear. Strong in his surrender and generous with his bounty.

Astarion feels pulled-apart, rent thin by gratitude and desire both, his hunger a thing that lives in his heart. He says "thank you," as if it were enough.

He leans in, and Wyll closes his eyes.

#if you see any editing mistakes..... no you don't #join me in my wyllstarion brainrot. we live HERE now #prognosis: gay. no cure #wyll ravengard #astarion ancunin #wyllstarion #bloodpact #baldur’s gate 3 #fanfiction #fic

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a-humble-bagel · 9 months

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so i finished good omens season 2 a couple days ago and i have a lot of thoughts about the ending, and how i’m not a big fan of the coffee theory. i think that aziraphale’s decision at the end of the season was actually very in-character, and i honestly love how that ending showed a key difference between aziraphale and crowley, so now im going to explain why i think that.

(this post ended up being about 1,800 words long, so if you don’t feel like reading that much, than just skip to the conclusion/tldr at the end :] )

the last ten minutes of season 2 absolutely ripped my heart out, but i think one of the worst parts is that it honestly feels completely in character for aziraphale because unlike crowley, aziraphale never lost faith in the system. in season 1, for example, he consistently tried to go through the system to try to stop armageddon, even getting to the point where he decided that the archangels were the problem and decided to try to talk to god personally.

crowley, on the other hand, didn’t even think about trying to convince the demons that armageddon was a bad idea, because, unlike aziraphale, he doesn’t believe in the system. to aziraphale, the flaws in the system were individuals like micheal, uriel, and, in season one, gabriel, and never the actual system. it always seemed to him like the archangels were the ones making mistakes, and he always strove to do what he felt was the ‘right’ decision according to his own moral compass.

@inhonoredglory wrote a really good analysis here that i very very highly recommend reading, but to summarize, @inhonoredglory talks about how crowley was the one who helped aziraphale learn that he doesn’t have to follow heaven’s command and to do what his heart deems is right, even if it feels like he’s breaking the rule, and how aziraphale isn’t blind to heaven’s problems but wants to fix them. he’s never stopped wanting to do good.

in addition to this, while aziraphale is still trying to be a good angel, crowley has kinda given up on the whole being a demon and making life worse thing. so while neither aziraphale or crowley follow what their respective sides want, they’re doing it in very different ways. aziraphale is doing what he believes an angel should do, not what heaven believes an angel should do, while crowley doesn’t try to do “demonic” things at all anymore, he’s just kinda living life.

aziraphale wants to do good. crowley wants to live life. those are the two paths and the two different opinions that played a large role in season 2 ending the way it did. it’s a difference the two have always had, but up until this point in the series, those motivations led to them wanting the same thing (stopping armageddon). however, when the metatron offers aziraphale gabriel’s job, suddenly aziraphale’s and crowley’s desires are leading them to two different paths.

but obviously there’s a lot more to their relationship than that. i mean the whole series revolves around how much aziraphale and crowley love each other. like @inhonoredglory said, it was crowley who showed aziraphale that he could defy heaven and that it was better to do what his heart said than what the archangels told him. they clearly both love each other so much, even if neither of them are actually willing to say it. that’s why i think that, as tempted as he was, aziraphale wasn’t originally going to accept the metatron’s offer because he couldn’t just leave crowley, but after the metatron said that he could make crowley an angel again, well,

it was basically all aziraphale wanted wrapped up in one thing. he would be able to do real good and make a change and fix all those problems in heaven, and he’d be able to do it with crowley there with him! it was like a dream come true! it’s tricky to remember since we all (or most of us at least, including me) think of this as them breaking up, but it’s important to remember that neither crowley nor aziraphale actually wanted to leave each other. they were both asking the other to stay with them. i mean aziraphale literally says that he needs crowley.

but with all that, why would aziraphale still end up choosing heaven over crowley if he was really acting of his own volition?

im gonna get to that in a minute, but first let’s take a minute to talk about crowley..

now i’ve been talking a lot about how crowley doesn’t believe in the system anymore, but let’s go into the details now. the opening to the entire season shows crowley basically creating the stars and space and more or less the universe, and then his disappointment at the fact that most of his work won’t even get to be appreciated. he’s clearly upset and plans to ask god about it, assuming he can’t get into trouble for asking a few questions which we know from season one is how he got kicked out of heaven, so it’s very probable that he questioned god, disagreed with god, got kicked out and didn’t seem to care about being “good”.

aziraphale questions whether what heaven is doing is right, where as crowley just questioned god. so, crowley got kicked out because he questioned the system (god) and was met with an “i’m right, you’re wrong” attitude. after all that, why would he trust the system? why would he believe that heaven could be reformed if he’s seen some of the worst stuff it could do? why would he ever want to be an angel again when the first time around, he put all his love and effort into something only for it to be underappreciated, and when he dared to ask otherwise he got kicked out?

also, when he snuck up to heaven, crowley discovered why gabriel went down to earth (or part of it at last). gabriel said no to armageddon 2, he defied the will of the archangels and the metatron (and we assume god as well), and for that he was going to lose all of his power. he only had power as long as he agreed with everyone else, and when he disagreed all of that power was taken away, just like it had been taken away from crowley.

so, as far as crowley sees it. heaven is broken and corrupt and unfixable, and the only way he’s able to do what he likes is without both heaven and hell. after all, that’s all he’s wanted, to be able to do what he wants. he wanted his creation of space to be allowed to develop, he wanted to be left alone by heaven and hell, he wants aziraphale to be there with him. so, to crowley, aziraphale saying he wanted to take over heaven and make crowley and angel again would have seemed like the worst possible thing in the world. being an angel in heaven would take away almost everything he wants, except aziraphale.

so, we have crowley, who needs aziraphale, and needs freedom from heaven and hell, and we have aziraphale who needs crowley, and who needs to be able to do good. now, let’s quickly talk about the metatron’s offer before we get back to aziraphale’s decision. now, when the metatron is talking with aziraphale, it’s clear that at first aziraphale is just being polite. he clearly wants to get away and go back to crowley, until the metatron mentions crowley. even after that, aziraphale still seems very conflicted.

i’d also like to point out that while i don’t believe the coffee theory, the metatron is definetly manipulating aziraphale, he just doesn’t need any magic to do it. the metatron goes out of his way to seem approachable and just like aziraphale (by getting him human coffee), the smile drops from his face and ominous music plays as he and aziraphale leave the bookshop, and, even though he tells aziraphale to ‘take all the time [he] needs’, he’s right back to ask him if he’s made up his mind after only a few short minutes, after he sees crowley storm out. not to mention, the metatron definetly knows more than he lets on, he mentions that crowley was always “asking damn fool questions” which we can assume are the questions about space that got him thrown out of heaven.

@halemerry wrote a really good analysis of the metatron’s manipulation here that goes into a lot more detail than what i just said and i’d really reccomend reading it.

so now aziraphale has to choose between doing what his heart says is the “right” thing to do, and what his heart desires (crowley), and he’s being pressured and mainpulated by the metatron into choosing the first option. now, throughout the series, he’s often conflicted on whether or not he should do what feels right, and crowley has helped him learn that it’s better for him to do what seems good to him. it’s just that in the past that always aligned with him and crowley working together.

and so, no matter how much it’s hurting him, aziraphale chooses to go up to heaven because now he can finally do good. he feels that it’s what he has to do, no matter how painful it is. and when he hears about “the second coming” his determination grows. he has to be up there, someone has to keep things in line, someone has to fix the system. but, what about the smile? why would he smile? well for the same reason he smiled in the bookshop just before he left:

and the same reason he smiled before getting in the elevator:

he’s putting on a brave face. i mean moments before he smiled in the elevator he looked like he was on the verge of tears, but now he’s smiling and trying to pretend as though nothing is wrong.

and that is why aziraphale choosing to go to heaven is in character. because he’s always believed that the problem was the people in the system, not the system itself, because crowley helped him learn to do what he feels is right regardless of his own personal comfort with that, because he doesn’t have the context crowley does of knowing what it’s like to be a high level angel and knowing what exactly got gabriel punished, and because, yes, he is being manipulated by the metatron, but all the metatron needs are words, not coffee.

tldr: aziraphale would choose to go to heaven because he thinks he can fix it, he doesn’t have the context crowley does, the metatron is manipulating him (but not with magic), and he’s learned (through crowley) to do what he feels is right regardless of how uncomfortable it makes him feel. it’s just that in this case, the thing that will let him do the most good is leaving crowley

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens theory #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #metatron #good omens spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers

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skyloftian-nutcase · 6 months

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Hello hello!!!

Soooo.... im playing Skyward Sword and there's so much to talk about, but two things are taking over my brain and would love your thoughts on them.

1) In a lot of LU fics we see the majority of the Chain disliking Hylia due to the fact the she uses and traumatized the heroes to do her work and Sky normaly protests that she didn't out of hate or not caring for them. Sun clearly tells him that she used him, but was sorry. Do you think Sky just accepted it because the world (and Sun) needed saving, or it was blind love for her and he was willing to go through anything for her?

2) This one... this one had me pausing the game multiple times (like right now...) Why is no one talking about how Sky has the full Triforce?? Gods/Goddesses/Deities+ can't hold the Triforce, meaning Sun couldn't due to her being Hylia and that left Sky to carry it alone, yet Hyrule is the only one talked about having the full Triforce.

Thoughts??

There's always a ton to talk about with Skyward Sword! :D

I won't get into the whole "the Chain hates Hylia" thing as I've touched on it before, but specifically for Sky, I think for sure there are mixed and complicated feelings. I think at the end of the day Sky is the kind of person who forgave his bully despite years of being harrassed - he would absolutely forgive Sun/Hylia, especially since Sun herself didn't even remember. I think seeing everything that Demise was capable of, and potentially seeing the damage and destruction he'd caused in the past, Sky would understand why he had to do this and why Hylia did what she did. Wouldn't make it any less uncomfortable of a feeling, though - does Sun actually love him, or was that ingrained in her as Hylia? Does he even mean anything to her? Could there have been another way? I think at the end of the day he'd reconcile himself with it, he'd learn to trust Sun again (he was clearly still trying to save his best friend in the game despite what he'd learned - I'm sure the actual meaning of it was just displaced to the back of his head and didn't quite sink in until after), but it sure is complicated. He'd have way more right than any of others to be upset about it, though.

I think Hylia became a mortal for the sole purpose of wielding the Triforce herself so Sky wouldn't even need to. I think Sky was the backup plan, honestly, but I have to replay the game to be sure. But yeah, he was destined to wield the Triforce if Sun couldn't do it in time, if she had to instead maintain the seal while he got the item himself. I'm assuming the reason people don't make a bigger deal about it is because Sky utilized the Triforce and then it kind of just chills in his realm, out in the open; he doesn't necessarily have it anymore. I don't know about Hyrule's games, except that he had to collect the Triforce as well to awaken the princess, but I'm assuming people make a huge fuss over it because he still has it, whereas Sky's Triforce is just chilling at the temple? Because I think Legend used the Triforce as well in A Link to the Past, and Warriors definitely used the Triforce (though he needed all three separate wielders to do it, he couldn't do it alone). And Wind had to rebuild the Triforce, right? Or at least the Courage piece? Not all of the boys have wielded the entire Triforce (it might just be Sky, Legend, and Hyrule), but I think Hyrule is the one who might still have it? What is interesting is how Sky had to forge his soul in the silent realms just as much as he had to forge the Master Sword in the goddess flames, and in doing so he was basically molded into the perfect person to wield the Triforce. That's really freaking cool. Sky and Fi have more in common than people note.

#you ask skye answers #lovely shade pup cub #skyward sword #lu sky #skyward sword link #ss link

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go1denoracle · 7 months

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Twistober Day 3: Twisted tsumerland!

I lasted about 2 days of non-Ruggie posting into this challenge. I'm proud of myself!

Warning: One Yuusona is very important to the plot! If you don’t like oc x Canon, this probably won't be your cup of tea.

"Where the hell is that stupid plushie?!"

Ruggie ran through every nearby hallway for his tiny lookalike, but he couldn't find the plush anywhere. Even with his more sensitive hearing and smell, he couldn't locate the small plushie anywhere. The sneaky little thing was no where to be found.

When Ruggie had heard his tsum had been stealing people's lunches and disappearing, he hadn't thought much of it. He had assumed that the Ruggie-tsum had been stealing food for the Leona-tsum or just using its cute looks to its advantage to get itself a meal. Either way, it wasn’t his fault if people weren't paying attention to their food and the toy ended up swiping it. He was just annoyed people were coming to him about their grievances with the tsum. It wasn't like he could control the thing.

At least, that's what he thought before it stole his food.

The little plush couldn't have gone far, it was barely the size of a kitten. How fast could that thing possibly go? It was like it disappeared into thin air. Ruggie let out a chuckle of annoyance when he noticed the faint scent of dandelions and clean fabric. There it was!

He followed the dull scent down a hallway to an empty classroom. The tsum had to have gone this way at some point. He slammed open the door to find... Fang Yu sketching on a piece of paper. With no tsum in sight.

Ruggie was confused, "What?"

Fang looked up from her book and asked sweetly, "Do you need something?"

Ruggie sniffed the air again. The scent was still strong. It had to have been here sometime. Fang raised her eyebrow at him.

Ruggie finally asked, "Have you seen my tsum anywhere?"

There was a pause of silence. Ruggie knew Fang well enough to know the silence was out of character. If Fang did or didn't know, she usually responded immediately.

"Why are you looking for it?" Fang asked, breaking the silence.

"Well, the stupid plushie stole my lunch," Ruggie huffed while crossing his arms.

Fang gave him a look of surprise, "it stole your lunch?"

"Why else would I be looking for it? Normally, I don't care what it does."

Fang looked away sheepishly for a moment before reaching down. Ruggie looked at her confused until he heard the panicking squeaking noises as she placed the now alarmed tsum on the desk in front of her. The tsum still had his lunch, so Ruggie swiped it back. But the plush wasn't focused on him.

"I'm so sorry! But I have to make sure that the bigger Ruggie didn't starve too!" Fang tried to console the tiny tsum.

The tsum looked up at Fang, absolutely betrayed. Well, as betrayed as its tiny face could be. Ruggie ate his lunch as he watched Fang try and comfort the tiny creature. As he watched the distraught plush, a thought passed his mind.

"Have you been hiding that thing whenever it's been stealing food?" Ruggie blurted out.

Fang blushed out of embarrassment before answering, "Yeah... I have."

Fang continued in vain to comfort the little tsum to no success. Ruggie laughed at her unsuccessful attempts to make the tsum happy again. In Ruggie's opinion, the tsum looked more concerned with the fact that Fang sold it out rather than the fact that it lost a meal, but Fang didn't notice it.

"How about I make a batch of donuts for you? Would that make you happy again?" Fang compromised to the tsum tsum.

The tsum seemed unhappy but willing to accept the trade when Fang cheered and kissed it on the forehead. Ruggie felt a flash of annoyance as the tsum happily bounced in Fang's hands again. Fang handed Ruggie the happily tsum and started running towards the door.

"I'll come back with donuts, I promise!" Fang yelled as she ran out the door, presumably to make the donuts.

Ruggie looked at the door Fang left through, processing what had just happened. He begrudgingly brought the tsum back to Savanaclaw. The tsum seemingly felt his ire as the two made it back to Savanaclaw because it tried squirming out of his arms. Ruggie held on tight, though, keeping it in his grip until they made it back to his dorm room so he could let the tsum run wild there. He glared at the offending ball of felt the entire time.

About 2 hours later, Fang came into his room with a box of freshly baked donuts. Ruggie scowled at the plush as Fang handed it the box. However, Fang turned her head towards him and made a shushing motion before handing him a paper bag with some donuts while the tsum was distracted. Ruggie felt much better as he watched Fang giggle over the small plush.

"I'm so glad you're not mad at me anymore," Fang happily exclaimed as she watched the tsum eat the donuts.

"Thanks, Fang," Ruggie said as he hid his donuts from the plushie's view.

"You don't have to thank me!" Fang blushed as she waved him off.

Ruggie smirked internally. Take that you stupid piece of fluff, he thought. Fang giggled, clearly happy that the little creature appreciated her baking. Then she gave it another forehead kiss as she left to study. The tsum looked smugly at him while her back was turned.

Ruggie was going to chuck the thing out the f***ing window.

#twisted wonderland #twistober2023 #twst #disney twst #twst oc #twst ruggie #ruggie bucchi #twst mc #ruggie x yuu #oc x canon #twst tsum tsum

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