#this is sort of my specialty isn't it
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Unlawful Entry
My apartment building is meant to be reasonably secure. Staff, tenants, and the US postal service have keys to the building: no one else.
Someone circumvented my building's security.
They broke in without breaking anything but the law—probably slipped in after someone with a key.
They were fervent. Fixated. They had a goal; they were on a mission. Laws meant nothing to them in the pursuit of this goal. Criminal trespass was necessary. They had to deliver a message.
.
"DO YOU KNOW FROM READING OUR HOLY TEXTS THAT THERE IS A PLACE WAITING FOR YOU IN A BEAUTIFUL LAND THAT YOU CANNOT ENTER UNTIL YOU'RE DEAD?" one piece of bold text screamed.
"Our holy writings are the words of a supernatural being. They teach many incredibly important things, but the most important thing they teach is how a member of Homo sapiens can become immortal* (*live forever with the previously mentioned supernatural being)," the next bit of text said, in a smaller and less excited font.
A snippet from one of their holy books followed, in red.
"I wrote this stuff to you people (the people who already believe this stuff) so that you'll know it's true and… well… believe it. Which you already do. Anyway, you're immortal."
Unembarrassed by this, the smaller and less excited font continued, "According to our holy texts, there are some things that we humans have to do in order to know for sure that we'll be going to a beautiful land that only dead people can enter after we die (at which point we'll live forever)."
Don't be misled by the suggestion of things to be done to achieve knowledge.
Don't, as I did, begin thinking about how one could actually know that people go on living after they're dead (but in an unreachable location).
Remember that this is "according to our holy texts."
The next bit of writing screams loudly and excitedly again, an all caps instruction that the person who left it thought was worth committing a class C felony for: "ADMIT YOU ARE A CRIMINAL WHO HAS OFFENDED AGAINST A SUPERNATURAL ENTITY."
Yes, that's right: step one in getting the knowledge of your ticket to a beautiful place you can only live in after you die is… accepting as valid the idea that you have done something to upset, harm, or offend a being that, to all appearances, does not exist. Seems an odd way of getting knowledge!
After some consideration, I realized the problem.
They say that admitting you're a criminal is step one in knowing that you're going to live forever after you die, but what they mean is that obviously you already know that living forever after you die is a possibility, and so they're skipping that part—what they mean is that admitting you're a criminal is step one in making sure that you get your ticket to Wonderland.
"Everyone has failed to follow this one supernatural entity's rules," another red-text snippet said in calmer font, "and isn't good enough."
"According to our sacred writings," the unhinged rant continued, "we have to admit that we have offended against the supernatural entity whose words those writings are, and so we don't deserve to go to a beautiful place and live forever after we die."
"ACCEPT THAT YOU DESERVE TO BE TORTURED FOREVER," the next all caps bit bellowed.
"If you work, you get money. If you break this one supernatural being's law, you get death. Death is your wage: you deserve it. But the entity will freely give you the undeserved gift of immortality, via Joshua the Chosen One, our master."
"Death and eternal torture were thrown into the lake of fire. This is the second death, with even death dying 'cause it's so bad and deathy."
"Our sacred texts tell us that, because we broke this supernatural entity's law, not only do we not deserve to live in a beautiful place forever after we die, we deserve to die in a horrible place forever after we die! Eternal punishment! Unending, torturous death!"
…
I don't really have a lot to add here. We've gone right past unsubstantiated claims about immortality to insults and threats.
Of course the felon who left this piece of paper inside a locked dwelling thinks they're just stating a hard truth by telling me (and everyone else who reads the paper) that we're so horribly criminal we deserve to be tortured forever… but still.
"CONFESS THAT THE CHOSEN ONE DIED A HORRIBLE DEATH TO PAY FOR YOUR CRIMINAL BEHAVIOR AND THEN CAME BACK TO LIFE THREE DAYS LATER."
It seems to me that if one temporary death is enough to make up for whatever supernatural laws everyone everywhere has supposedly broken, billions of eternal punishments are a bit much. I mean, if I and a group of friends break someone's fancy windows and it turns out $20 is enough to cover everything, why should each of us have to pay $200,000,000,000?
And if it's some worse offense—say we each chopped off one of his fingers or something—how could someone else being punished possibly make up for what we did?
What are we supposed to learn from that? "Do whatever you want and don't worry about it because there won't be any unpleasant consequences for you" seems the only possible conclusion to me. You don't even have to worry about the whipping boy; he's fine!
"This is how the supernatural entity shows us how much he loves us: the Chosen One died in our place even though we were still filthy criminals who didn't deserve it."
This snippet of red text seems to imply that once somebody pays for the broken window, you're not a window-breaker anymore.
Handy, that.
It also suggests that love is shown by killing somebody else, instead of the person you ought to kill. "You broke my rules, so you deserve death. I love you, though, so I'll kill this guy over here instead, and that'll make up for your rule-breaking."
Interesting definition of love.
"Our sacred texts say that Joshua came to earth"—from outer space? from another dimension? from the darkness of nonexistence the way we all do?—"and consented to be tortured to death to pay for our supernatural offenses! Then he stopped being dead and became alive again, to prove that his horrible death really was a satisfactory alternative to our eternal torments."
This is rather like being told that, because I've broken a rich man's window, I owe him two hundred billion dollars—but some other guy handed the rich man $20 and then took the $20 back, so the price is paid.
And, in fact, the guy taking the twenty back is what proves that he had the right to pay my fine in the first place.
"COMMIT YOURSELF TO FOLLOWING THE MASTER JOSHUA AND YOU WILL BE SAVED FROM THE TERRIFYING FATE YOU DESERVE," shrieks the final all caps sentence.
"If you admit out loud that Joshua is your master, and genuinely believe that a supernatural entity brought him back to life after he died, you won't be tortured for ever and ever after you die."
"Our sacred texts say that in order to be saved from the unimaginably horrific fate worse than death we deserve, we have to sit down and deliberately choose to let the Chosen One pay for us," the threatening gibberish continues.
"If you would like to accept the Chosen One's offer now," a bold, but small text paragraph informs the reader, "then do your best to convey this following message (or something like it) to an entity that does not appear to be present anywhere in reality—and make sure you really mean it!"
The message is given in italics, which is pretty much the only way of making an individual piece of text stand out from the rest at this point on the heavily marked paper.
"Cherished Joshua, I admit that I have done something/s that broke your rules. I understand that I deserve to be tortured forever and ever, but I also know that you died a painful death to make up for my crime/s (and then undied). Please make it so that your temporary death is accepted in lieu of my eternal torture, so that I can live forever in a wonderful place after I die. I absolutely believe that you are going to do this for me. Truth!"
.
…I know, I've put too much thought into this.
A piece of paper delivered by a literal criminal to the inside of my locked residence without my knowledge or consent, covered in incoherent claims, threats, and promises—in a better world, I'd throw the thing out and call the cops to check the security cameras.
Unfortunately, I don't live in a better world. I live in a world where ranting cultists like this one are considered normal people.
Actually they get more of a pass than normal folks.
Criminal trespass is a crime for everyone else. Entering a locked building without permission would get most people jail time; but when you're the right kind of cultist, you're above the law.
Scary, isn't it?
#ex christian#criminal trespassing#in order to propagate cult nonsense#''there's a wonderful place waiting for you to live in it forever after you die#''and here's how you get there:#''admit that you're a disgusting criminal who deserves to be tortured for ever and ever#''admit that a special person got horribly hurt so you could be saved from the fate you deserve#''beg that special person to save you and believe that they'll do it#''profit! (for the folks at the top.)''#long post#very long post#this is sort of my specialty isn't it#Isaiah loves writing long posts#Christian beliefs described bluntly#stripping bare the ideas and concepts they like to try and hide behind specialized vocabulary
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Ooooh~ Drink mix up? >.>
Because! Wes DID, in fact, get that dream job. HAS learned... after many, many hours of "beat about the head and shoulders with an ethics pamphlet by his great aunt", to keep his mouth shut! Family curse of Sight? WHAT family curse?
He doesn't see shit! Mind your business.
What're you? A cop?
Look, he sent Fenton a gift basket. He was a shitty, shitty "I have to be RIGHT and nothing else matters!" Stubborn lil asshole of a kid. He got better. Grew up. No one is there best Self during puberty. He DOES, in fact, regret it.
Which is WHY, he is deliberately ignoring Kent's terrible, awful, paper-thin, "who meee~?" Aw shucks BULLSHIT excuse of a disguise, like it isn't blatantly obvious he's Superman. Yep. Nothing to see here! Nothing but us chickens! Mmmmm, morning coffee! Delicious.
But see, here's the THING.
The Itty, bitty, teeny lil PROBLEM...
Wes grew up in Amity "Totally Not Supernatural Hotspot For Centuries" Park. He is... to put it mildly, genetically? A freak. His biology is ALL fucked up. Everyone's is. And it WAS NOT made better by the Fenton's playing fast and loose with their hell basement. The Ectoplasmic NUKE that was that portal.
There is a REASON his morning coffee? Is COVERED. Contained. Fenton brand, LEAD LINED, specialty cups. The sort that can't be EATEN from the inside out. Eroded after a few uses. They're ugly as sin, but they work. He even ordered a few covers from Star's etsy shop. (Apparently he wasn't the only one who hated how ugly they looked. Good for her though, he heard it was doing well.)
He SAYS this? 'Cause his morning brew is less... straight COFFEE... and more... how to put this? A blend? Brew? Potion, really. Like an energy drink. From hell. Or, partially at least, the Zone. It's the combination of roots, seeds, and a few dried berries. Kinda like a tea, actually!
Tasty. Adds this nice fruity, warmth. A zing. Goes GREAT with the coffee. And it really perks you up... if you are Limnal. If you AREN'T? It'll desolve your esophagus like swallowing straight acid. And that's not TOUCHING the... witch-y, more Seer specific bit of the blend.
That stuff is medicinal. You know, "calm the mind" and "mental clarity". That sorta thing. With a good ol helping of "don't blurt out everyone's secrets, you spacey bitch! For the love of God, those are our INSIDE THOUGHTS!". Which? Really helpful! Infinitely less likely to get decked. It's a family staple.
Poisonous, though.
They're fine cause they've basically developed an immunity to that part, but like? Wouldn't recommend. It's why he NEVER shares his drinks. Food? On occasion. If he PLANS it and knows not to add and interesting spices. But DRINKS? Never. Weston family brews are basically NEVER safe.
Which? Begs the Very Important Question ™!
Who's Coffee Is This?
Cause it SURE AS FUCK AINT HIS!
You never realize quite how fast you can go from "completely calm and kinda sleepy" to "bomb strapped to my chest, primal panic AWAKE" until it happens to you. His coffee was ON HIS DESK. People have passed by. He talked to them. Cups put down and picked up. Lazy early morning. He doesn't even register, really, as his chair crashes to the ground.
He's shouting.
People confused. They don't realize yet. His head whips around, looking for that distinct cover. Before it's too late. Before someone takes that fatal sip. He spots it. Bolting from his desk. Crashing through coworkers, over desks. Chaos and outrage. "It's 'just' coffee!" They cry.
Kent turns, confused. Pretending. Raises his (HIS! Oh god!) cup to his lips, unknowing. Wes SCREAMS a warning. But he doesn't listen. "It's 'just' coffee" They never listen. Curse of Cassandra. God's damn it. This is why his family fucking CONVERTED!
He TACKLES the man of steel.
RIPS his cup away from him, knows his eyes are frantic. How much have you had?! Spit it out! Wes voice ECHOES in the sudden silence. I'm a META, Kent! It could KILL YOU!
And oh, Oh NOW they get it. Or perhaps it is the burn in his mouth that finally registers. He rolls, spits oil slick nebulae that eat away the floor. There is blood mixed within it. It took mere moments. Superman stares, transfixed and horrified, as Wes shakes. He... he should probably get off of him.
He'll move in a moment.
When his legs no longer feel weak from terror.
The news room is in chaos. Lane kneeling by her husband, Perry trying to do damage control. He... he's probably gonna lose his job, isn't he? Wes wants to cry. Protection laws only go so far, after all. And warning his boss about his dietary needs means jack shit, after an incident like this. Beloved as Kent is. Not that anyone likely believed him.
They never do.
And now he's nearly killed Superman.
@hypewinter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @nerdpoe @lolottes @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @dcxdpdabbles
#dpxdc#dp x dc#dc x dp#dcxdp#dc x dp prompt#minji's writing#killer coffee au#weston family brew#will make you see god or meet im
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Insufferably Admirable // Astarion x Reader
Summary: After a restful day turns into a bloody night, your unspoken yet painfully obvious dedication to Astarion has put you in what should be a harder choice. Once Astarion realizes just how far you'd go for him, he has to begin to confront the feelings and realizations he's been ignoring for a while.
OR that time You figured out the most effective way to heal a vampire and Astarion got emotional about it
Set at the end of Act 1, but not quite act two. Pre-confession but it's obvious they have some sort of feelings for each other
TW: canon typical violence, blood & blood drinking(obvi this is an Astarion fic), no use of Tav or (Y/N), one use of technical self harm (c*tting) but not in a self mutilation way??, mentions of manipulation obvi, reader might be a little too willing to help (totally not be projecting what???)
this is my first time writing anything for Astarion after hyper fixating on him for a month so please be gentle. I know it's a bit all over the place. (yes I could have completely left out the first half, but there isn't much actual dialogue in the second half and I like to put this guy in situations)
"Remind me again why you insisted on coming with me? I figured you’d be ripe for a day to lay around camp and let us do all the heavy lifting." You grumbled, scanning the crowded streets for a merchant. The goal was simple: get to the nearest village, sell off the extra weight, use the gold to stock the necessary supplies, and whatever the gold couldn’t buy… well, acquire it by any means necessary. No matter your path, through the shadows or the Underdark, you'd need to be prepared.
Gale had gone to pilfer for useful scrolls and maybe an enchanted item to snack on. Lae’zel and Shadowheart to a blacksmith for specialty arrows, useful armor, and any other weapons that caught their eyes. Karlach had carried the two trunks and barrel of items you had collected from your adventure thus far, finding you a wheelbarrow before heading back to camp to help Wyll with his preparations. Halsin… had taken his wild form and disappeared into the forest. Originally, you had intended to do your tasks alone, until-
"My dear, I’m always ripe for a lay." Astarion twisted your words with a smirk, easily dodging the hand that reached to swat his chest. With a short laugh, he answered your question, his theatrics only increasing to more you argued, "To begin with, Someone- my fabulous self- had to make sure you didn’t get the whole group wrapped up in another laundry list of side quests- who knows what trouble you could have found if you were left all by your lonesome? A gnoll den? A kraken in the pond? an old woman’s wagon with a broken wheel? a kitten up a tree? An orphanage with a leaky roof? Another cult for us to dismantle? Another temple to drop on me? Where would it end? You’re incapable of turning people away, it’s one of your insufferably admirable qualities."
"It’s called being kind, you dramatic elf." You grumbled, not prepared for the in depth analysis of your character. Trying not to focus so much on the fact he’d called something about you admirable.
"Second, knowing you, you’d sell all this off and still manage to come back to camp with them full. Honestly, pet, how have you managed to collect this much junk? You don’t even have a bag of holding." Astarion scoffed, using a single pale finger to peek under the lid of the barrel. It was just barely containing the countless daggers, goblin bows, pairs of leather armors, and dusty sandals. Your cheeks burned hot- maybe you had a habit of being overzealous in how eagerly you pilfered through all the crates you came across, checking bodies for anything valuable, and demanding the vampire to pick every locked chest the party uncovered. Hells only knew the thrill you got when you would find a buried chest.
"You never know when you might need something!" You reasoned, but swatted him away to hastily shut the barrel before the contents could spill out. It had taken you the better part of the night to pack it full of all the things your companions had convinced you to get rid of. The pale elf rolled his eyes, brushing past you so gracefully you didn’t feel his fingers in your pocket.
"Really, my sweet? When, pray tell, might we need the collection of rusty necklaces you’ve amassed." Astarion held the bronze and silver necklaces up to the light, the red and blue stones sparkling despite the rust. His voice always like velvet, ruby eyes alight with teasing, "Far be it from me to criminalize accessorizing, but that darling neck of yours is tempting enough already."
"Astarion!" You cringed, hearing your voice almost whine. Damn him for having that effect, so you cleared your throat as you snatched the jewelry back, "They are useful when we can sell them for gold."
Astarion, having gotten the reaction he wanted, let you shove the necklaces back in a pocket before glaring at him, though it didn’t hold much actual malice, "Well, come on then, let’s sell the sandals for all the riches the village has to offer us."
—
An afternoon later, you were smiling smugly as you watched Astarion grumble. Between all the goods and six different merchants, you were leaving with an additional 9,000 in gold, not to mention the additional 3,000 Astarion had managed to pickpocket while you bartered, and the items the two of you had managed to swipe. You felt particularly vindicated as he complained about the weight of the coins in his pack.
"I’ll buy you something pretty in Baldur’s Gate." You cooed teasingly, to ‘appease’ him. Astarion spared you a deadpan glance before standing to leave, only making you giggle all the more, "Let’s get back to camp."
Astarion caught your eyes once more, scowl softening out at the sight of your bright smile. He was just about to say something sickeningly sweet and perhaps more than a touch vulgar when his eyes flitted up to something, pointed ears twitching at something you couldn’t quite hear. Until you could.
The door of the jeweler you had swindled burst open, a strangled voice shrieking, "THIEVES! SOMEONE CATCH THEM!"
Astarion must have been rubbing off on you, because for a moment you tried to feign confusion, looking around for the ‘culprits’ as if the dwarf wasn’t pointing directly at you. Not that it did much good as several passerbys began to circle around the two of you.
"Everyone’s so touchy about their personal belongings these days." The rogue scoffed. Astarion grabbed your wrist and tugged you to him, so that your back was pressed to his and no one could sneak up on you. In his other hand, a dagger had already appeared.
You sighed in defeat, taking your bow off your back, "No killing."
"No promises."
Compared to the goblin camp or fighting through the githyanki creche, disarming and incapacitating untrained townspeople and barely trained guards was barely a warm up. Still, Astarion never left your side, an increasingly common occurrence when you found yourself in tight situations. Together, it didn’t take long to put distance between yourselves and your attackers, managing to get far enough to escape to the fight. Deflecting one last blow as the two of you passed by an open tavern, you incapacitated a rather pitiful guard with a blunt thunk from the pommel of your dagger. Taking one relieved breath, you tried not to focus too much of the trail of bleeding, unconscious bodies you and the rogue had left behind in your escape attempt.
"Best we stick to the shadows before we attract more attention." Astarion mused with a cruel smirk, grabbing your sleeve and using it to wipe the blood off the corner of his mouth, his fangs glinting in the afternoon sun. The rogue only chuckled at your curses, giving some inane quip about the crime of dirtying his ensemble and how blood someone always looked better on you, "Now, believe what I said about you finding trouble? Back to camp before you find more."
Before you could wrench your arm back or remind him that he was the only who got caught stealing, he pulled you off the main road into the alley adjacent- unaware of the attention that had already been attracted from inside the tavern.
____
Ambushed in the night.
A whole hunting party of Gur hunters. Willing to purge your party as they slept.
And they were calling Astarion the monster. Fortunately, Scratch was an excellent guard dog. Waking the entire camp when the hunters tried to creep where you slept. Just as fortunately, there wasn’t a soul in camp that didn’t sleep without at least a dagger under their pillow.
Your camp had become a bloodbath in the dim glow of the campfire. You had used the book you had fallen asleep reading as an improvised weapon, throwing it so hard it broke the first hunter’s nose. Lae’zel was single handedly mowing through three hunter with her long sword. Spells and incantations sent flashes of light from Gale and Shadowheart’s part of camp, and fire and brimstone lit up Karlach’s. There was yelling and cursing echoing in the cool night air, orders to take the vampire spawn alive and to kill the rest.
And Astarion? Their target?
He was where he always was during a fight these days. Right beside you, like a pale, snarky shadow. He had been the one to press your sword into your hand so you’d have more than just your dagger. With him, you slashed and sliced anything that came near. Until the bastard appeared out of no where, squeezing in between you and the rogue. You would have applauded (more likely cursed) the near perfect use of an invisibility charm- had it not been for the poison-dipped stake raised against Astarion.
This hunter was different, you could see it in his eyes. They were somehow devoid of life and yet also simmering with rage as they trained on your snow haired companion. This hunter didn’t plan to take Astarion back to Baldur’s Gate, not alive at least. He didn’t care about whatever orders they had, or what consequences would come for disobeying them. He only cared about driving the stake into Astarion’s heart.
Astarion’s eyes went wide as well at the sight of the stake, realizing as you did that this was no longer just a kidnapping, it would be an assassination. Your thundering heart stuttered, blood going supernova in your veins before freezing to ice as your mind whirled through a hundred different possibilities and also went blank. Your own opponent, along with years of learned strategy, were instantly forgotten as blind instinct took over. Every ounce of strength and speed you had was directed into a desperate lunge. In your desperation, you really weren’t sure if your goal was to tackle the hunter, grab his arm, tackle Astarion, or maybe even take the stake to your chest instead- you decided to choose along the way, as long as it ended with Astarion alive(ish) and well.
You managed to close the distance, one hand planted firmly to Astarion’s chest shoving him further and the other clamping onto the leather of the hunter’s gauntlet, the same arm poising the stake. With a feral sounding shriek, you pushed his arm so his aim was off. At the same time, your original opponent, frustrated at being forgotten, cast a wave of thunder that sent all three of you flying.
Astarion, the Gur, and you flew backwards a good fifteen feet, the thunder shaking you to your very bones and splitting your ears. The breath was knocked out of you so hard you thought your poor lungs might collapse and you weren’t able to tell if it was the spell or the impact that did it. You didn’t have time to contemplate, the moment you were able, you scrambled onto your knees. With the same feral tenacity from earlier, you grabbed the hunter by the front of his leather armor, nails leaving scarily deep tracks as you hauled him off your vampiric companion. With your new opponent, you rolled both your bodies until you were on top of him, knee to his chest. Seeing the look in your eyes, the rage left his own, pure survival instinct taking over. You didn’t even feel the sting of the slicing blow across your shoulder, too consumed with a singular mission. It was Astarion’s dagger you had snatched from the ground on the way that delivered the quick death blow. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You expected to hear something from Astarion- a snarky comment about your lack of technique, a snide remark about his assailant, or even just a stream of petty curses- but he was silent. You turned back to him, only to have dread flood every cell in your body.
Nothing else mattered anymore, not the fight, not your injuries, and especially not your forgotten original hunter. Halsin, in bear form, had appeared out of the tree line and took care of your other thunderous hunter, taking a defensive position around you and Astarion with a goading roar. You barely noticed.
The moment you’d disposed of Astarion’s assailant, you were scrambling back towards the rogue, who was laying all too still. At first, you hesitated to even touch him as if that might make it worse. You called his name once, and then again when you were able to gingerly lay hands on him- one hand to his chest and the other pushing some curls out of his eyes. The stake, what should have been an almost useless weapon against anyone else, was still buried in his chest, piercing his favorite frilled collar shirt.
"No… Astarion-" Your voice was breaking, thick and raw. Your eyes couldn’t rip away from the stake, protruding from his chest, the poison staining the white linen of his shirt a sickly green. The hand on his chest balled into a fist, bunching the unsoiled fabric in your grip, but something caught your attention. The tiniest candle light of hope in the rapidly encroaching darkness of grief.
Your hand was directly over his undead heart. Anytime you touched him, your hand always fell directly over his heart. When you teasingly swatted at his chest, when you needed to steady yourself against him, when you needed to catch you balance… you always sought out his heart- subconsciously, instinctually, always his heart. Your hand was over his heart, and that gods-damned stake was four inches to the right. A tiny light, but a light none the less. It was then you realized you were calling the wrong name.
"SHADOWHEART!"
None of your companions had ever heard your voice that desperate, that scared. All their heads snapped to where they had last seen you, finding Astarion pulled to your chest as you wrenched the stake out of the spawn. Astarion stirred only long enough the let our a gurgling shout that fizzled into a groan at the pain, and you could only hope he heard your soft apologies before you started barraging the vampire with healing cantrips. You didn’t stop until the words held no more magic, your supply of magic tapped for the night.
The night air had changed, no longer fueled by adrenaline and challenge, now it was thick with urgency and fear. Each of your companions starting fighting towards the two of you, and when you locked watery eyes with Shadowheart you found her clearing her path with her spear. She had stopped using magic to fight, saving it all for Astarion.
"I’m coming! Hold on!" She promised as Karlach fell in beside her, battle axe taking over and sending two hunters to the grave together. Scratch and the owlbear cub had taking a lesson from Halsin and formed up beside you, growling into the night with hackles raised and feathers ruffled.
"Just hold on, Astarion." You relayed to the vampire, who was completely limp against you his back to your chest, head tilted back against your shoulder which bared his neck to you, showing the fang marks on his pale skin. If you were capable of humor, you would have laughed about the reversal of roles, it was usually you baring your veins to him. But at the moment, his lack of movement wasn’t particularly amusing, so instead you laced his fingers through yours, hoping the warmth would bring him some comfort. You pressed your cheek against his white curls, using your other hand to brandish his dagger just incase anyone got too close, and whispered all the reasons he was going to be okay. And that’s how you stayed until camp quietened and Shadowheart slid to a stop in front of you.
___
Hours later, Shadowheart had used every healing and restoration spell she knew, not stopping even when she began to sway and sweat. Halsin had offered his magic and healing herbs, Karlach made sure there was always a bucket of hot water and a stack of clean rags available, and you hadn’t missed Gale trying to hide the scroll of reviving from you as he slipped it to Shadowheart. Everyone in camp had been quick to gather all the healing potions, depositing them at the entrance of Astarion’s tent. Wyll and Lae’zell had slipped into the tree line to make sure the ambush was well and truly taken care of.
And you? Their appointed ‘fearless’ leader? You had gone uncharacteristically silent. Your heart hadn’t left your throat, clenching painfully every time they jostled the rogue. Your hands were shaking too much, both from fear and white hot rage, to really help the two more experienced healers of the group. And the thought of being too far from Astarion made your stomach turn, so you kept rooted like a tree. But, you were grateful, truly, for all of them. Even if in the moment, all you could do was sit beside Astarion and pray to any God or Devil that would listen. You felt like a wild animal in a cage and a helpless child at the same time, your insides very well might vibrate out of the body if you didn’t melt into the soil first.
The vampire needed all the help he could get. Aside from the occasional heartbreaking groan of pain or agony driven writhing, Astarion was eerily still. Barely breathing, less so than usual. His already pale, chilled skin had taken on a stony complexion, almost gray. And despite the inability to run a fever, there was a sheen of sweat over his face, clammy and uncomfortable. You hadn’t allowed them to undress him all the way, but part his shirt had been cut away to reveal the stab wound. It was deep, weeping Astarion’s already dark blood, and stretching out from the injury were black, twisting varicose veins that afforded you the cruel visual of the poison spreading. You wanted to take Gale’s revival scroll, use it on the hunter, and revoke the kindness of your mercifully quick death.
"It’s like the effect of our magic is being dampened." Shadowheart huffed, hands glowing as she cast another restoration spell. The sweat on Astarion’s brow subsided briefly before returning. Halsin nodded beside her, taking a deep sniff of the stake.
"His lack of blood isn’t moving the potions or antidote through his body fast enough, and this poison isn’t doing any favors." The druid thought aloud, taking some of his herbs to make a paste, "It doesn’t matter how many we pour down his throat if his body can’t absorb them."
Shadowheart’s worried gaze flickered to you for a moment, before settling back on Halsin, "We’ll figure something out."
You knew she was saying that more for your benefit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the pity. Instead, your grip tightened on Astarion’s hand as you swiped a clean rag to dab at his face. There was one more round of healing incantations and one more bottle of healing potion nursed into Astarion’s mouth. Your jaw twitched, watching most of it fall from the corner of his mouth. The same trail your own blood usually made after he fed.
"I’m tapped." Shadowheart sighed almost ruefully, the glow around her flickering and then fading, falling back on her heels. Halsin stood, stooped slightly in the low ceiling of the tent, turning to you.
"We’ve done everything we can do. We’ll try again with fresh minds in the morning. For now the best he, and we, can do is rest." His voice was calming, as if he thought you might start screaming again, but you just nodded, muttering something along the lines of thanks for trying, and not meeting either of their eyes as they ducked out of the tent.
Since you had belligerently refused any of their magical attempts to heal your shoulder, Gale had done a rather pitiful job of wrapping it, taking some pointers from Karlach along the way. The wizard offered you a tight smile and a gentle hand on your uninjured shoulder before pressing a bottle of healing potion into your hand, "This one is for you. You’re no good to him if you bleed out all over the floor of his tent. We all know how Astarion feels about waste."
"Yeah- fancy boy will be starving when he wakes up." Karlach’s chipper voice was still laced with a sting of concern. The tiefling didn’t touch you for fear of burning you, but did leave you with some roasted meat and a carafe of water from earlier in the night, "And it wouldn’t hurt for you to eat something either, soldier."
Then you were left alone with your thoughts, hunched next to Astarion’s side, tired eyes examining the bottle after confirming the rise and fall of his chest. In your hand, the potion glowed slightly with the subtlest warmth, the scarlet liquid seeming to have a mind of its own as it swirled in glittering patterns behind the glass. Your injuries were meager, this little bottle of healing would have you as good as new. Bitterly, you flicked your eyes to the numerous empty potion bottles in the corner that had barely slowed Astarion’s bleeding. Your hand closed around it as you cast another look to the Vampire spawn beside you. His breaths were shaky and shallow even after Shadowheart and Halsin had exhausted every last bit of magic they'd had. Now in the quietest parts of the night, or maybe the darkest hours of the morning, your thoughts swirled, desperate for any sort of plan to latch onto. You had to do something.
For you, Gale had said, No good to him if you bled out… He’d be starving, Karlach had been joking, His lack of blood wasn’t moving the potions enough to be effective, that had been Halsin’s hypothesis.
Blood. He needed blood.
The revelation was like being dropped into a freezing lake, determination razing the fearful lethargy out of your soul. With your teeth, you pried the cork out and downed the first circular bottle, the overly sweet taste a stark contrast to the somber mood of the night. For good measure, you did the same with a potion of superior healing and two bottles of general poison antidote, slamming them down so fast you had to ignore the churning in your stomach. You’d loot twenty more goblin caves to make up for the dent in supplies if you had to, in that moment you just didn’t care. You waited a moment, begging the powers that be for your ragtag plan to work, not so patiently watching the bruises on your wrist until they started to fade.
You felt it, the moment that you had been completely healed and there was no where else for that magic to go. And then, you wrapped your arms under Astarion’s, heaving him against your chest. You bared your neck, letting gravity gently swing Astarion's nose to meet your pulse point, his silvery lashes tickling your jaw. He stirred slightly, groaning at the movement, pressing himself into your warmth before stilling again. Was he too far gone to realize what was being offered?
Realizing you’d need to play into his vampiric insticts, you huffed, shattering one of the empty vials against a stone, struggling to do so and keep his deadweight in place. Taking a shard, it wasn’t hesitation but a moment of stilling your shaking hand before you pressed a shallow cut to your neck, right above where his lips rested.
You hissed at the haphazard sting, not as gentle as the pinprick of his fangs were in the night, feeling the blood instantly pool at the seam, a single red ribbon dripping before the potion healed the scratch, "C’mon, Astarion-"
The moment his name left your lips, or maybe it was the moment a drop of your blood hit his, regardless you could feel his instinct, that sanguine hunger, take over. The soft lips at your neck were replaced with dagger sharp fangs digging into where the small cut had been. The sound you let out was somewhere between a gasp of pain and sob of relief as you barred him against yourself, fists clutching into the back of his shirt like it would keep both of you rooted to each other. Somewhere, in the back on your mind, you thought about the irony of the position, being so afraid to let him slip away, like a rabbit latching onto a snake for fear of the serpent starving. Even if it meant being consumed.
In that moment, you were so relieved he’d started feeding that you didn’t care that his fangs dug in deeper than they ever had before, much more animalistic than his usual polite nibble. You didn’t dare flinch or wince, in case that might break the spell. Instead, you focussed keeping the both of you upright, one of your arms wrapped under his own, your fingers splayed across his ribs, and your other hand cupping the nape of his neck. The angle had his silvery curls dusting your fingertips and your thumb caressing the sharpest part of his jaw. Never had you been so happy to feel that throbbing numbness in your neck. Astarion’s chin prodded further into your neck, deepening the hold he had, and with his own shaky breath, he swallowed the first mouthful of your blood.
The hand at his ribs clenched, pulling him impossibly closer and twisting his shirt into your grip again as your pulse began to speed up. The increase of your heart rate only seemed to encourage the vampire, teeth sinking ever deeper to draw more blood flow. Clenching your jaw, you forced your muscles not to tense, it would only make it hurt more. This mouthful was quicker, Astarion seemed to be actively drawing it out of you instead of just waiting for it. He swallowed again, gaining the strength to snake his arms around you. It wasn’t a strong hold at first, but one arm snaked around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head, those long fingers finding their usual place in the locks of your hair. You couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped, relishing the cool touch. Your voice stoked another fire in him, provoking another instinct, your blood provided the strength for his grip to harden, becoming more cage like. As if he needed to worry about you trying to escape.
He swallowed again, and the numbness spread, not just in your neck but into your cheeks and across your chest. Blood was racing, coursing through you and into him, and with it all the magic of the healing potions. You could feel him getting his legs underneath him, untangling himself from you. At the same time, it was getting harder to hold your arm up, the numbness had reached your fingertips leaving them fumbling at his curls before falling to his shoulder. Another long drink and you found your eyes starting to flutter, everything was starting to feel cold as a shiver shook your body. Astarion, against two centuries of vampiric instinct, started to pull back, and you didn’t stop him, but didn’t let him go far either. He was mostly supporting himself now, which was a relief because a fair bit of focus was freshly delegated to preventing yourself from swaying.
"Take all you need, ’Stari-" You meant for your voice to be assuring and strong, but it came out breathy and slightly slurred. Astarion pulled away, the movement bringing you mostly out of your stupor. His ruby eyes were as sharp as ever once again, even if the shadows under his eyes were still too dark for your liking, and they stared into your own half lidded eyes. Other than the deep purple shadows, the ashen complex had started to even out, the sweat on his brow had faded away, and when you dropped your gaze, you noticed the twisting black veins were starting to recede and fade. Hells, you could get up and dance (very briefly before you passed out).
Even, with a foot in the grave, more dead than usual, and covered in both of your bloods he was unfairly beautiful. His eyes narrowed on your dopey smile, as if he your relief was a symptom of too much blood loss. If that was the effect of four swallows, just a little more would flush out the poison completely, "I can take it, love, just please let me help you."
Astarion never considered himself to be someone that had to be coaxed into receiving a gift, and you were offering him one so sweetly, practically begging him. After 200 years of rats and spiders, you had put literal magic in your veins for him. Magic that was bringing him back from death to his usual state of undead. He could feel it bringing his strength back, allowing all the magic the cleric and druid had poured into him to finally take some affect. Your blood, his first thinking blood, was always delicious- sweet and metallic, a delicate blend of all the good tastes, something so intrinsically you. With the potions infused, though, if Astarion was to hazard guess what sunlight tasted like- this would be it. How could he refuse?
Before he went back in, he placed a reverent kiss to the marks he had left in your neck, gingerly lapping at the wounds before sinking his fangs back into your tender flesh. This time, it wasn’t a gasp or sob, but a mewl, your frigid fingers once again digging into the flounced collar his shirt. If you both lived until morning, you were sure he’d gripe for hours about all the wrinkles you’d put in his favorite (only) shirt. Probably throw a proper fit about the stake hole.
Now, as the potions effects dwindled in your own body, you could properly feel the drain. The coldness crept up from your extremities but didn’t counteract the burn in your muscles, making it harder and harder to suppress the shivers. Your breathing was quick almost a pant, but you still felt like you weren't getting any oxygen. If you were thinking rationally, if you hadn’t gone through the brief grief of thinking you’d lost him, you would have realized you need to push him away, that you were approaching your limit. But you weren’t thinking rationally, no. You still were too busy grinning- as your hand had fallen from his collar, it grazed across the wound, now fully closed. Just a little more, you promised yourself. You felt him swallow more, he held himself up completely on his own allowing you to lean into him.
Astarion was okay, more than just on the mend, he was alive and strong, the potions and magic were working, were the thoughts that were reverberating through your head as things started to feel farther away. Your desperation had melted away, leaving a grateful smile in its wake. It wasn’t completely on purpose, but you let Astarion take on more and more of your weight, barely aware of his fangs in your neck anymore, not quite hearing Scratch and the cub whining outside, the shivering even began to subside as it seemed to take too much energy.
Earlier, you had drug him to you and held him against your chest almost crying. But, as more of your blood flowed through him, it had become juxtaposed. Astarion held you in place, leaning over you for the best angle at your neck. It was his arms that kept you from falling over, his firm hand that kept your head from lolling too far back. His bite became less fervent, his grip less cage like and more affectionate. His survival instincts started to give way to civility and charm. You barely noticed as he twisted himself so he could slowly, gently lay you down onto the bedroll that had moments ago been his sickbed. He laid you on your back, onto the generous stack of pillows he kept in his tent. He tangled his fingers into yours, just as you had done for him, his knees holding him in a predatory crawl over you, all without breaking from your neck.
Barely registering the softness, it was the thud of your other hand against the floor that roused you, just a bit. It was also what drew Astarion’s attention, it took everything in him to withdraw his fangs. He gave each puncture would a diligent cleaning with his tongue before pulling away completely, lest he lose control and dive right back in. (Really, how could one person be that tempting?)
But, you had arguably saved his life, it’d be terribly impolite of him to kill you. When Astarion’s eyes met yours, your gaze was more than half lidded as you watched him- what little of your eyes he could see were glossy and fighting to stay focused, he could hear your heartbeat markedly fainter than he was comfortable with.
You were watching him as intently as you could. In the dim lantern light of his tent, surrounded by potion bottles and bloody rags, Astarion was up and moving and breathing again. Revived and strong, his eyes practically glowing scarlet, and, if you really focussed, you could make out the tips of his ears becoming pink. Something that only happened when he was freshly well fed, nothing was left of his stab wound but the hole in his shirt, the frayed edges dyed from the poison and his blood. He could have looked like a angel, complete with the fire’s reflection creating a halo effect on his snowy curls, had it not been for the sheen of sticky blood drenching his chin and neck. Your blood- the blood that gave him enough strength to heal. How could you not smile?
Astarion tried to come up with a snarky comment, but for once, nothing came to mind. Instead, he kept glancing between your intertwined fingers, glassy eyes, and that idiotic little smile. Your giddiness was beginning to unnerve him, had you been charmed or perhaps taken a hit to the head? With the parasite, he reached out briefly into your mind. His brow twitched when he was only met with waves of relief and gratitude, you were too tired for structured thought, but too relieved to give into the exhaustion. How could someone on the verge on exsanguination look so happy? And why in the nine hells did it seem to be directed towards his well being?
The vampire was stricken, taking count of everything you’d truly done that night alone: fought beside him, tried to take the death blow in his place, comforted him, held his hand, cleaned him up, hadn’t let the others undress him anymore than necessary, stayed with him, circumvented his vampirism to find a way to heal him, and had genuinely tried to bleed yourself dry for him. Hell, you’d cut your own neck for him- not even metaphorically, but literally cut your throat for him. He could feel your warmth, your kindness and everything good about you settling into his very marrow. Something uncomfortably… gooey… stirred in his chest, something more and more worrying common as of late, when it came to you. Had his manipulation really worked so well? A feeling too close to sharp guilt gnawed at that warm gooey feeling. Was it really manipulation anymore? Gods, your morality was infecting him.
“This is that Insufferabe admirability I was talking about ." He muttered into the tent, shaking his head as he watched your chest rise and fall, using his free hand tame some of the hair at your crown. It was then Astarion realized your eyes had slipped shut, your fingers, now just as cold as his, going limp against his. Weeks ago, he would have polished off the last of your blood and left you behind. But at present, he felt the sickening need to return even half the care you’d shown him. He’d have to dissect his emotions later. The rogue was glad the other companions had left supplies within arms reach, as it meant he could gather them without dropping your hand.
"Ah, ah, ah," He called quietly, gently pulling you back to the real world, pleased to watch your scrunch your nose in the exertion of waking back up. Finally, that contented little smile on your face slipped into a frown, a protest against his interruption of your sleep. Astarion’s smile was almost apologetic as he helped you into a slightly more upright position, "Not quite yet, little love. It’s your turn. No sharing this time."
Another healing potion was pressed into your hand and opened for you, and you allowed Astarion to guide it to your lips, his pale hand guiding your own. This time, the warmth of the elixir was welcome, a comfort instead of a taunt, assurance instead of a plea. Astarion carefully watched you as you swallowed the potion down, noting how you shivered less and a bit of color returned to your face. When the potion bottle was empty, he traded it for a small cup of water, keeping a guiding hand on the silver chalice he’d nicked from a tradesmen weeks ago until you had enough strength to hold it.
Though still exhausted and dizzy, you had the energy to throw him an obstinate look. Astarion feigned a dramatic sigh but kept a firm enough grip on you that you couldn’t lay back down, "All this for me, yet you won’t even let me give you water?"
Ignoring how it made the dizziness worse, you rolled your eyes, taking a few sips of the water at a time even if it was mostly just so he’d let you lay back down. Astarion was in one piece and you were exhausted, you couldn’t bring yourself to think about anything else. But, Astarion seemed very pleased with himself, squeezing your hand once again, "Good girl."
If you weren’t on the verge of blood loss, you could have choked on the water. Still, there was a part of you that whispered in relief he must be better if he’s back to teasing you. Astarion watched you take a few more sips before you sagged back against the pillows. Your eyes closed again, but your breathing was deeper now and the hand he held didn’t feel as cold. Outside, Scratch and the cub seemed appeased at your improvement as they stopped their pacing and whining to settle at the tent flap.
This time, he didn’t pull you back up, instead muttering to himself as he gently tilted your head to the side, exposing his bite marks. No wonder you seemed so tired, they were much messier than usual. Vicious, was the better word. Not only had his two fangs pierced your delicate skin, but his bottom canine teeth had punctured through as well, and he could see the outline of his other teeth in the deep bruising grooves they had left behind. In unfortunate addition, it seemed in the height of his blood lust he’d made more than one bite, leaving your neck littered in marks. Astarion grimaced, it really was more of a mauling, “Apologies, darling, I’m not typically so brutish. Forgive me?"
Astarion pointedly ignored how his heart lifted at the slightest nod you gave him, instead focussing on cleaning you up as gently as possible. The potion had stopped the bleeding, and he watched as the wounds themselves were slowly closing. Each swipe of the rag was feather light, almost not even there. The elf noticed you give back into sleep, this time not bothering to wake you again. Instead he kept working and fussing until the only sign of his feeding was the stained neckline of your shirt. Then, he gently ran a clean, wet rag over your face and hands, taking away the evidence of your tears and worry. Finally, he threw a cloak over you like a blanket, to hopefully ward off the last of the shivers from the warmth he’d stolen from you.
Not stolen, he reminded himself, though the truth somehow felt more dangerous, it was freely given to him. The vampire settled in, laying across from you, the only part of you he could touch was the hand still holding his. Though, already in your sleep you had shifted towards him. Astarion frowned, eyebrows furrowed, the more he came to know you, the more he knew that you would give and give and give. Truly, he knew that he didn’t need to manipulate you anymore, maybe he never needed to, and for the first time in centuries, he didn’t want to just keep taking. He didn’t want to bleed you dry and loot you for all you were worth. Astarion was surprised to find he wanted give something back to you. He just needed to figure out what.
The nights events caught up to him once again as his eyes closed, listening to the evermore familiar sound of your heartbeat as it became steadier and the even sounds of your breathing as you slept, letting it guide him towards meditation.
Gods damn you and your insufferable admirability.
___
Part Two Here!
Again this was my first time writing for Astarion. I also tried to balance things into being equal parts in each persons perspective. I just love when two lovestruck idiots have to confront their own feelings about being in love.
#me when I can use both literal and metaphorical vampirism as an allegory of being consumed by love.#astarion x reader#astarion x you#Astarion x reader#astarion x mc#astarion fanfic#bg3 x reader#bg3 x tav#bg3 fanfic#Astarion self insert
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Platonic Alastor x Maladaptive Daydreamer Reader
Hehe not me self-projecting again! Anyways, these are kinda based on my own experiences, but I'm trying to make them more generalized.
TW: Maladaptive daydreaming, escapism, dissociation, mentions of depression and anxiety, brief mentions of compulsive behavior/OCD, invasion of privacy, manipulation, peer pressure, yandere-ish behavior (I believe he defaults to those behaviors, no matter the type of relationship), mention of cannibalism (this is Alastor we're talking about...), Alastor is a shitty toxic friend in this
• He's absolutely fascinated by the way your mind works. Even before he knows what is going on, or begins to get close to you, he can tell you are an interesting person. The way you look so distant, like your mind is checked out and flying to far off places without you, is something he hasn't seen before. He wants to pick and prod at your brain to see what's going on.
• He doesn't want to do so the easy way, though. No. Instead, he wants to drag out this process for as long as possible, and make sure you twist and squirm all the while. He loves to make people uncomfortable, after all! That's his specialty, in his opinion, besides his radio show.
• He'll start off with introductions, of course, which is probably when he first got interested in you. That dreamy look isn't so easy to see from a distance, after all. The second he looked into your eyes while shaking your hand, though, it became obvious. How hadn't he seen it before? If he saw this look when he first entered, he would've talked to you first out of the crew at the Hazbin Hotel. Well, besides Charlie... But, that's just because she owns the place.
•The uncomfortable prodding starts in an instant. One of his first questions after getting your name is not "What made you want to come to the hotel?" or "What can you provide to help the hotel?" It's more like "How did you die?", "What are your major vices?", and "What sin have you committed to be brought to Hell?" He wants to test the waters. See what he can get away with without completely scaring you off. If you run away and avoid him, it'd be harder to learn what he wants, and make you uncomfortable while doing so.
• Regardless of whether or not you answer, you are probably a little put off from him. Not enough to completely avoid him, since you can see how some of those questions might help him help the hotel, but enough to be uncomfortable... Which, in his opinion, is perfect!
• He's great at hiding, so if you start noticing him mentioning things you thought were private, you really shouldn't be surprised. He can, quite literally, hide in the shadows at times. He quickly takes notes of your little habits, including ones you might be embarrassed about.
• He may watch you pacing around your room, mumbling to yourself as if you are playing pretend all alone. Or, maybe, he's hiding over your shoulder while you're writing down some elaborate storyline. Perhaps he's watching you in plain sight, seeing you make a bunch of odd facial expressions at seemingly nothing. He may not know why you do this, but he wants to. He would've suspected some sort of substance use, considering it's Hell. Lots of people do so. However, he's never seen you near anything that would cause such behavior. So, that's off his list, for now.
• So, step 2 of his plan begins! As his good ol' pals Husk and Niffty to try befriending you! Or, at the very least, get information from you that you aren't comfortable telling him. Then, have them report back to him with their findings. Of course, Husk seems agitated by the request, but obliges. Niffty seems more than happy to do as he asks, though. A happy worker is a good worker, so he has more hope in Niffty getting the big story than Husk.
• Surprisingly, though, he's proven wrong. The most Niffty got was your fashion sense, favorite types of stories, and that you are very "quiet". Yes, the fashion and types of stories were new to him... But what he seems important, the reason you act so oddly, isn't there. Husk, however, was able to get a lot more out of you, somehow.
• Husk mentions you talking to him, one night, after he saw you skipping oddly down the hall and pass the bar where he was cleaning the glasses before closing it for the night. You seemed extremely embarrassed to have been seen, mentioning that you thought he was asleep already. He then just, politely asked a few questions...? And got answers? How?
• Alastor immediately demands answers, only for Husk to reply "I don't know how to describe it like they did! Most I understood is that they daydream too much. Seems like it's a constant thing going on. They like to pace and prance while doing so, sometimes, but don't like getting caught."
• Now it begins to make more sense... the writing, the talks about stories with Niffty, the prancing and pacing... and most importantly, that dreamy, distant look you have. He can even see why you'd make odd expressions. You're reacting to your own thoughts... He doesn't understand it. He's never heard of anything like this before, especially during his time as a human, but he can tell one thing for certain: You must be his friend, now. Whether you like it or not.
• You are so different from everyone else he's met, you see, and he loves things that go against the norm. Now, while you may or may not be considered normal or not too different by others, you're different and abnormal to him. You somehow succeed in both being polite, smart, and funny to mess around with, while also barely being able to pay attention to the world around you. He's always thought that those two things were mutually exclusive. How can you learn when you can't stop being in your own head? How can someone be polite and not listen? The funny part, though... He can kind of see that. He finds surprising you be sneaking up behind you and tapping your shoulder funny every now and again. Nevertheless, you are going to be his friend.
• Soon enough, you notice his behavior changing, a bit. Less following you around, less vaguely threatening words, and more... quiet. It's eerie, coming from him. However, you also notice him trying to talk to you about stories and books he's heard and read. Even things he's heard during his human life, such as Creole folktales and other stories he's heard in New Orleans, Louisiana back in the 1920s-1930s. It's a bit like a completely different side to him you never expected to see, and never really wanted to, but you aren't really complaining. It's better than him deciding to terrorize you for fun and him asking invasive questions...
• A little more time passes and he decides to ask about small habits, disguising them as him just now noticing those habits, when he's probably noticed them while spying on you months prior. Nothing too extreme. Mostly just your expressions, how it seems like your attention is somewhere else... Nothing like your pacing, prancing, or acting. He wants to establish that he knows about these tiny little things, and now that you're more comfortable with him, you're much more likely to answer. That way, once he moves onto the bigger, more personal questions, you'll already have been eased into feeling comfortable with it.
• Eventually, you get to the point where you feel comfortable calling him a friend. He's already considered you one since that conversation with Husk, but it's a start. Now, he's gotten the lovely privilege of being able to know more about what's going on in that lovely little brain of yours... well, "little" brain is definitely an understatement. From how you describe your imagination, he'd be led to believe your mind must be as vast as the Library of Alexandria.
• Vast worlds, complicated plotlines, complex characters... you talk of odd tales you've created, all in your brain. Ones you've had in your mind for years, some you came up with on a whim, and others, still, that are still being developed. Stories that have been being created over the span of real life years, ones you started then dropped... All of which are being held in your head, with only a miniscule fraction of it being written onto paper. He's truly impressed, genuinely respecting your odd talent, as he sees it. You've perfected the craft of creativity, while he's perfected the art of talking to an audience. Even better, is that he got to learn whether or not his theory of you taking inspiration from stories you've heard was right. Which explains his sudden mentions of stories he's heard in life.
• Now... if only you'd let him tell some of your stories on his radio show! If you wouldn't like that, then he'd probably ask you to write something for his show. That way, it isn't as personal to you, and you wouldn't even need to be credited if you're embarrassed by it! He could just say a random listener sent it in, and he thought it'd be great to read, to show his appreciation for his adoring fans. The world simply must hear the greatness of your mind, dear, and he is not going to stop annoying politely asking you to write something until you do.
• Another thing he might try is to see if he can figure out why you partake in this little habit of yours. He's never heard of it, though he has asked some sinners and demons if they have. Be it Charlie, Angel Dust, some of the other overlords, or a friend of his we haven't seen or heard of, before. More modern sinners keep mentioning a thing called Maladaptive Daydreaming, describing it as a symptom of other mental health diagnoses... but that's the problem. That fits you, you've mentioned that you know of that and it fits you... but that's also just a symptom. Well, a few argue that it may be its own thing, but it is not an official diagnosis yet. So, for now, he wants to figure out why you do it.
• Is it depression? Anxiety? Do you really want to escape from something, and you're doing so by hopping into that little dream land of yours? Is it some sort of compulsion? You seem to not really be able to control it that well, after all, and others have mentioned links to OCD, as well as other disorders that can cause compulsions. Is it sheer, absolute, chronic boredom? Speak to him, dear! What is it? Do you even know? If not, he'll assume it's the boredom option... for now.
• He's obsessed with you, really. You're his friend, and he's very obsessive over them, in his own way. He is as far away from normal when it comes to showing real affection for others, which wouldn't be bad, if it weren't for the fact that a main part of it is him being absolutely suffocating when he's around. That, and he can be terrifying... He's the Radio Demon, after all! It's just worse for you than his other friends, though, because you are different. Being different is a really important thing for him, really, alongside being polite, smart, and funny. Not required, unlike the last three traits, but it makes you more likely to be his friend. You hit the lottery by achieving being all four, but it must be the worst lottery prize in the world.
• He holds the thought that you should just be friends with him. Now, you don't have to be... but, he'd prefer it. If you really want outside friends, sure! You just can't be friends with his other friends. He claims they'd "taint" you with how violent they can be. Plus, since he's friends with other cannibals, some of which do serve sinner and demon meat to others without telling them, he genuinely does worry about your safety and wellbeing if you met those specific friends of his. For your friends, he wants to meet them. He needs to in order to deem them worthy of being your friend, and to make sure it's not someone he knows and is friends with. You deserve perfection, and who knows perfection better than Alastor, yes? After all, he can see that you're perfect. That is more than enough evidence, dear.
• You're one of the few people who he doesn't mind having your attention not on him. Part of your charm, in his opinion, is your lack of attention. All he asks is that you tell him about a story of yours. What is going on in your head that's so important? Oh, a great war between this and that? A psychological horror? Cities beneath the sea? Tell him about it. He finds it fun! Especially if he can see any possible inspiration from events or other stories. He likes to hear your voice almost as much as he likes to hear his own, which you'll realize is more of a compliment than it might sound like, once you truly get to know him.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor#alastor the radio demon#maladaptive daydreaming#alastor x reader#platonic headcanons
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I'm awake now lol, i'm gonna say my piece and i think im done talking about the animation for season 5 till anything new comes up.
This is the new studio that's working with the LMK team to make LMK. They are a good studio. They've made genuinely good shows with entertaining and fun animation. It isn't shown here, but they've also worked on Ninjago. Sonic prime's animation was amazing and so much fun to watch.
But that's the thing, each of their shows are either 3D or puppet 2D.
Puppet. 2D
that's why the season 5 trailer looks so off-putting. Because their specialty IS NOT 2D HAND DRAWN ANIMATION.
They are a genuinely good studio with well-made series, but LMK is not something within their specialty. LMK has been a show with dynamic and stylized animation, the animators curated over each new season.
This feels disrespectful af. and no I don't mean wildbrain.
Lego is the problem. Whoever the fuck is in charge of choosing studios, handling the budget. All of that stuff.
This is highly unprofessional and disrespectful to the show and to animation in general. This studio is not equipped to handle the style of LMK. This is the reason why it looks so...off. In my opinion, it's not even up to par to the average animated kids show because how of unequipped they are to handle LMK's style.
I've been hearing about budget cuts, strikes, and I genuinely hope that whatever is happening on the side we don't see gets sorted out for the better of the animators. honestly, they could have chosen a NUMBER of other animation studios that while they might not have been exactly the same...wouldn't be what we have.
it's okay to be disappointed in the animation. But please don't harass or blame the animators. This is the result of bad choices by leadership.
So if you're going to say anything. Please continue to show support for the show. Don't drop it because of the bad animation. That won't do shit. It'll just make things worse.
Continue to show support but go after Lego. Question Lego and their choices. Not the animators. They did their best with what they had after being handed a show with a style that they were not equipped to animate. Go after Lego.
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-Archaic Blood Masterlist-
Thinking about TF141 and vampire reader, it's probably been done before but i can't get it out of my head. All the potential it has both fluff, angst and plot. Because listen listen listen
What if
You are a vampire contracted by the military, except the vampire part is a very well-kept secret. You're old, your life spans all the way back to when they burned witches at the stake. You were an ordinary person back then, careful and with your own beliefs and superstitions like anyone. The rumors and sightings of witches, vampires, and werewolves was things you didn't concern yourself with. At least until you sighted it yourself, and you got pulled in.
Taking slight dnd logic, at least in the sense that the vampire that turned you ended up in control over you. You were trapped there along with quite a few other vampire spawn, all subjected to the same type of abuse and torture over decades. You got used to it, the drive to get away was beaten out of you as you blindly obeyed your master.
You had lost hope of rescue or even just the sweet relief of actual death, until the castle got raided by military. You fought against them by command of the vampire lord, but in a moment of clarity you ripped yourself free from the clawing grip it had on your mind. You pushed against your master, and killed them in their already injured state, granting you the freedom you had wanted for so long.
You still had your immortal strife, but now a free vampire spawn, you finally had a sense of will again, you had hope again. You didn't know why the military decided to spare you, they had butchered your brothers and sisters along with your creator, but someone took interest in you.
And free from one prison you went right into another.
It quickly became clear to you that their goal was to make you something short of a super soldier. Your vampirism gave you a heightened set of abilities, and with a few drawbacks they could utilize you well during missions. Despite your attempts of escape, your newly granted freedom was put on a new leash. You were given a handler, someone to train you into obedience as if you hadn't spent decades being under the control of a single person.
It didn't matter how much you protested; they were insistent that you owed them for "saving" you. So reluctantly you leaned into it, you found that you actually had a lot of fun on these types of missions they would send you on. You did various things; a lot of your time was spent on hunting other monsters like yourself. Both werewolves, vampires, witches, and other mythical creatures since you were much better at sniffing them out.
You proved yourself time and time again, and eventually you became rather trusted. Eventually you would outgrow your handler, unlike them you weren't burdened with aging mortality. So, every few decades, an accident or event would stage your death, and you'd come back under a new name and skillset.
Every single persona you carried got known around the military for different things, though they all had the monster hunting specialty in common. The only people knowing the truth being yourself and a select amount of your higher ups that handled you.
Now you've found yourself settled in your life in the military, it isn't what you expected but you deal with it easily enough. Until the call comes that you're going to be working with a certain Taskforce 141, and the group you meet change everything.
You're paired up with them for an indefinite amount of time, the goal being hunting a cult of monsters that's been stirring up things and risking the public eye figuring out about the existence of monsters. Laswell contacted your handlers for your assistance and thereby sort of became your new temporary handler. In the start she was the only one that knew of your vampirism, and you tried to keep it that way, but it was hard when the others were quite observant of their new addition to the team.
You get along just fine with them, there's a distance between you all at first. A professional distance that doesn't allow you to get to know them all too well. It's a distance you try to keep up, try to maintain but quickly crumbles when you find you enjoy their company a lot more than normal.
Soap always finds a reason to talk to you, either inquiring you about what you're doing or info dumping about his latest find. You allow him to stay, listening to his ramblings with a gentle smile on your face, as you continue typing up your report.
Gaz likes to engage you in different activities, be it card games, video games, training together. It's often paired with Soap and creates quite the chaotic environment, but one that never fails to make you laugh like you've never done before. You even start to suspect that the two of them are teaming up on getting you to open up to them.
Price has his way with complimenting you, he observes your work and your determination with great interest. He notices how much hard work you put into the missions and even outside of missions. He appreciates having someone who's so dedicated, but he also knows you can't possibly be resting enough and finds himself pulling you away from your work to have rest together, however that might be.
Ghost isn't as quick to accept you as the others, he respects you from a work standpoint but other than that there's something about you that doesn't sit right with him. He chalks it up to you just being an unpredictability, an uneven equation to the stability he's used to with the other 141 members. He genuinely tries to get closer with you when he sees how much the rest enjoy your company, but that uneasy feeling is still something he can't shake.
Ghost is probably the first to start suspecting things, maybe even fully figure it out. Everyone probably starts to notice things every now and then, they're smart men, they're hunting a cult of monsters that includes vampires, they know of some of the behaviors.
It also gets harder and harder for you to mask your instincts, the more comfortable you get with them the more you forget to be careful. You start feeling too safe with them, forgetting the fact of who you are. They start noticing how you don't really eat, at least never with them. Every time they invite you to join them, you find some convenient excuse.
Another thing they start to notice is your adverse nature to light. Your room always have the blinds closed and lights off. You gravitate towards the shadows, you feel more welcome in them, and Ghost swears that one time he saw your eyes glow red in the darkness.
Every time you're out in the sunlight, you wear extensive gear or covering clothes. Full balaclava, sunglasses, gloves, almost none of your skin is ever shown to the rays of the sun. The one time Soap asked you about it, you gave the excuse that your skin is just very sensitive to the sun, that you get sunburns easily because of sensitive skin and just prefer the shade.
Your heightened sensitivity is something Price and Ghost notices quick. Your sharp movements, your overly quick thinking, your stamina, and strength don't line up with the humanely possible. Not to mention the way you stare at blood a little too intensely when you come across it.
Whenever Price asks Laswell about you, every bit of information he gets out of her is vague and doesn't always add up. Even when he gets his hands on your file, and goes over it with the team, despite how impressive your record is, there are things on it that doesn't make sense with how long you've supposedly been alive.
The breakpoint happens when Gaz finds your stash of blood packs. He didn't even mean to be nosy in your room, but he was looking for something of his that you had borrowed, and stumbled upon them. His eyes wide as he looks back at you, the things he's been thinking, and the small whispers he's shared with the rest about you, now all confirmed to be true.
You try to talk him down, but you know by the way he looks at you that you're starting to form as a threat in his mind. He tries to get away, maybe to get backup or find something specific to defend himself with, but you manage to tackle him down. Not exactly helping his griping fear. Only then do you manage to talk him down, assure him that you aren't a threat and that you won't hurt anyone.
He leaves it reluctantly, mumbling agreeance, but you're aware that he's not going to keep it secret. It's just about who moves faster now. You like the relationship you've built with the 141, you're even starting to get through to Ghost, and it wasn't something you were keen on losing. So, Laswell calls a meeting, it was time to let them know.
Everyone gathers, confused at the sudden emergency meeting, except for Gaz who is staring you down, his leg bouncing furiously against the ground. You do your best to not look threatening, to prepare yourself for possible worse reactions.
"They're a vampire spawn," Laswell tells them, ”And they've been helping the military control the remaining monsters in the world for a very long time now." she states as if it's most normal thing in the world to have a free vampire spawn on your team you're supposed to trust. Though their response surprise you.
"We know"
At first you think you weren't quick enough, that Gaz got to them before you did. But you quickly find out most of them have been suspicious for months, and eventually came to terms with it. Gaz's outburst just stemmed from shock and impulse thinking. They all have quite a few questions, ranging from trivial to stupid and some just plain curiosity.
You're most surprised to find that they don't want to view you any different than they already have, that they enjoy your company just as much as you've enjoyed theirs. They still want to work with you, they still want to be around you. It makes your unbeating heart flutter, and your nonexistent blood rush in excitement of the future possibilities.
They've accepted you into their own little pack, you don't know it yet, but they've already claimed you as theirs. If they could have it their way, and they will, you won't be working for any other taskforce again in a very long time, and you think that this might just be the most interesting decade yet, in your long, long life.
I really wanna write more about this, vampire tropes always have me frothing at the mouth-
Sorry for the word vomit but i had to get this out my head,
i can't be the only thinking about this, the potential-
#NoctMoon Fics#NoctMoon Talks#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#john price#kyle gaz garrick#tf 141#tf 141 x reader#poly tf141#simon ghost riley x reader#john soap mctavish x reader#john price x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#tf141 x vampire!reader
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How do you think the companions would be with a tiefling gn Reader who's insecure about their horns and tail / just in general being a tiefling? Idm which companions!
•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•
How would they react to a tiefling Tav who's insecure about being a tiefling?
(Little note, I personally love tieflings, I think they're so pretty)
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: ̗̀➛ ASTARION
“Oh, poor thing, you’re gorgeous! Whoever told you weren’t? My, you’re simply the prettiest little tiefling I’ve ever had the pleasure to see, and trust me, darling, I have seen many.”
Baffled that this would be something you’d be ashamed about. I mean, he’d tell you to your face if you were hideous but he hasn't now has he?
He doesn't quite understand what's there to be insecure about, you look just fine in his eyes but if you need his honest opinion then he’ll give it to you.
He thinks tieflings are fascinating in their own right.
With long curled horns, rigid skin, and a gaze as intense as the fiery pits of hell, you’re not exactly the worst thing he's seen.
He’s not a poet but he’d show you how much he adores every inch of your body to prove just how stunning you are in his eyes.
Damn anyone who says otherwise, he’d reject the heavens in favor of a more hellish embrace that comes in your shape.
He really likes touching your horns/grabbing onto them, he’d never explain why but the texture of them under his cold fingertips is something he pleasantly enjoys.
: ̗̀➛WYLL
“Love, you are above the heavens itself. No angel could compare to the warmth I have found in your every touch. You’re someone I am proud to call my lover, horns and all.”
He gets it, I mean he was turned into some sort of devilish fiend by his wretched patron.
He understands how it could make anyone feel insecure. The horns feel heavy, your skin isn't as smooth as most, and there are cases in which people easily judge you for what you are.
Though, are those reasons to make him love you any less? Absolutely not.
You looked at his transformed self and still chose to love him, so of course he’d do the same for you. In fact, he loves you even more now.
He’d call you beautiful in every way he knows how, concealing each thought of you in words that all come to praise everything that you are and more.
Besides, there's something rather poetic about two devils dancing in the moonlight.
Would compliment every part of your body you feel the most insecure about on a daily basis so that perhaps someday you’d love yourself the same way he loves you.
He’d fall in love with you and those fiery eyes again and again if he could. You hold his heart.
: ̗̀➛GALE
“No magic can compare to the spell you’ve cast upon me. Akin to a moth drawn to a flame, I will gladly fall into your fiery embrace.”
Upset that you view yourself in such a way.
He understands that a bad light is often shed amongst tieflings but he didn't think it would affect you to this degree.
He’s completely in love with every bit of you, he can't bear seeing you hate yourself like this.
If anything, this gives him more of a reason to praise you more, going above and beyond to make you feel like the god/goddess he sees in his eyes.
He’d speak in loving whispers about each and every part of your body so that not an inch of you goes unloved.
He loves staring into your eyes, they dilate and pulse in a way that bewitches him to a point where he’d rather meet your gaze than look up at the stars.
You could describe yourself in the most downright horrendous way possible and he’d still look at you with the most smitten expression you've seen a man hold.
He’ll help you get over your insecurities little by little, doing everything he can to make you see yourself as the specialty you are.
: ̗̀➛KARLACH
“What?! Why would you be? You’re only the greatest thing that's ever happened to me! The hottest thing to come into my life! You’re amazing.”
I mean she gets it, there's a dark stigma around tieflings that she faced herself. For a long while, she was seen as this brutish devil who’d kill children!
But tieflings can be cool, she thinks tieflings can and are badass! There's nothing else like them.
Would constantly reassure you that there's nothing you should be ashamed about, you’re amazing as hell and she loves you for it.
Fuck anyone who tries to slander you for who you are, she’d gladly set them ablaze.
The constant heat she feels on a daily basis is nothing compared to the burning feeling you give her. It makes her go weak at the knees.
Very direct about how much she loves the way you look, it's impossible for anything she says to be a lie.
She’d scream it out loud for the hell of it, making sure all of Faerûn knew how gorgeous you were with all your devilish little features.
She thinks the tail and horns are hot, nothing you say can make her ever think otherwise.
She’ll love you until every part of her body burns into ash in the hopes that by then, you will have learned to love yourself.
: ̗̀➛SHADOWHEART
“Hm. Well, I suppose we all have our own insecurities… if it makes you feel any better, I think… no. I know you’re beautiful. You’re beyond every loving word I could ever use to describe you.”
Surprised by this but she doesn't take it against you. Instead, she’ll find her own little ways of helping you out of your insecurities.
The stigma around tieflings is bad but it is something she herself can relate to with once being a follower of the goddess Shar and the misconceptions that come with it.
Gentle reassurances of your appearance and her love for you would constantly come unprompted.
She’d notice you sadly staring at your horns in a reflection and she wouldn't hesitate to walk up to you and remind you about how pretty they are.
If she sees you scratching and your rigid skin, she’d come up to you and gently take your hand into hers, proudly confessing how much she adores your skin.
She wouldn't bombard you with compliment after compliment but she'd certainly be there if the self-hate gets too much.
She would carefully drag you out of that darkness just as you did for her.
She’d gently drag her fingertips across your horns and every rigid part of your skin, entangling her hand into your tail if not for a simple display of affection.
There's not a single part of you she hasn't come to adore and she’ll make sure that in time, you’ll come to adore those parts of you too.
: ̗̀➛LAE’ZEL
“Insecure? How could someone like you be ‘insecure’? Your mind has no place for such degrading thoughts. You’re better than that.”
She doesn't quite grasp the concept of being ‘insecure’ about something other than it being a sign of weakness hence her confusion at first.
She sees you as a brilliant warrior, someone she deeply admires, how do you find yourself hating anything about yourself?
She sees no reason for your self-loathing and may across as rudely direct such as telling you to simply move past it.
But soon enough she’ll realize how much these ‘insecurities’ of yours may be affecting you and go out of her way to try a different approach.
She’ll start off by saying how being a tiefling doesn't make you any weaker or lower than anybody else, in fact, you are more than worthy of praise and respect.
She believes every part of you is attractive, you’d never have to worry about her ever falling out of love for you.
Besides, aren't tiefling’s fire resistant? That's another thing you should be proud of, some do not have the privilege of being able to withstand strong flames.
It's mostly listing every advantage your body holds against others before ever so subtly squiggling in an actual sweet compliment that she sort of hopes you don't pick up on.
She couldn't have asked for a better partner, you are far better than anything she could have wished for and she wouldn't have you in any other way.
: ̗̀➛HALSIN
“Nature has built you in the shape of beauty, my heart, every part of you was intended to be loved. Even the prettiest of roses are put to shame in you’re presence.”
He looks more hurt than you by the newly found information.
He believed nature had made all its creatures perfect to every single degree, that includes you.
He could hardly bear hearing you degrade yourself in such a way, not when you’re the most precious thing he's ever laid his eyes upon.
He’d have to sit you down, and allow both of you to discuss your insecurities and where they could have possibly stemmed from.
After which he goes on an entire monologue about how deeply infatuated he is with you and everything that you are, horns and tail included.
If anything, he thinks your horns and tail are adorable. You’re the very peak of beauty in a world filled of glorious things.
He’ll compliment and praise every part of yourself you've come to hate until you’re a speechless, blushing mess.
Try convincing him otherwise and you might as well faint from the amount of sweet little whispers he’d be sending your way.
There is no way he's letting you get away from this without feeling like the most loved thing on this planet.
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#bg3#baldurs gate 3#bg3 headcanons#bg3 headcanon#bg3 astarion#bg3 karlach#bg3 halsin#bg3 lae’zel#bg3 wyll#bg3 gale#bg3 shadowheart#bg3 x reader#astarion#karlach#halsin#lae’zel#wyll#gale#shadowheart
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You seem like a good sort of person to ask; how does one go about building up a good spice rack? Not only just having the spices, but knowing what they are and how to use them, when and in what quantities, and developing a wider spice palette in general? I grew up in white suburbia and my mother has no idea how to use anything other than salt and ground black pepper, and I want to start making my foods more flavorful. I am tired of utterly flavorless dry roast pork! But I have no idea where to begin lol.
I'd say to start by trying a lot of foods that use a lot of different spice profiles and seeing what you like. If you like Thai food, look into Thai spices and try cooking a few recipes. If you like Indian food, try Indian recipes. If you don't know if you like a particular kind of food, go out and try it and see if you do.
I think the best way to build up your spice rack is to do so slowly over time as you familiarize yourself with different flavors. Don't go out and buy a ton of stuff, go out and buy cumin and make a rice recipe that calls for cumin and see if you like it, then next time maybe add another spice like cayenne pepper to the recipe and see if you like it.
Spices can be really expensive, but they can also be really cheap if you're looking in the right places. Try to avoid the shiny organic spice jars, and see if there are packets of spices in the various "ethnic" food sections of your grocery store (in California it's pretty common to have a Mexican food section and an Asian food section in the store and you'll often find stuff like a packet of cumin for 70 cents that's got the same amount of spice as the organic jar that costs five bucks in the spice aisle).
Once you've got some basics down, start branching out and seeing if you've got any good markets nearby that have more unusual spices. Large Bastard and I get most of our bulk spices from a Middle Eastern market around the corner from our house or at an Indian market a few miles away because it's WAY cheaper to get allspice or turmeric or garam masala from those stores than it would be from the grocery store.
And if you're starting at the basic-basics, like how to season a simple pork roast, check recipe blogs. Find different bloggers and test their recipes until you find someone you trust, then follow their recipes. One good place to start is with Chef John and Food Wishes - he has a wide variety of cuisines that use a lot of different spices and has recipes that range from very simple to very complex.
youtube
Large Bastard really likes Food Wishes and trying recipes from Chef John - he cooks less than I do and has less of a sense of what to add to a pot to get something to taste the way he wants it to, but he's gotten very good at taking Food Wishes recipes and tweaking them or adjusting them and figuring out how to mix and match flavors.
Just cooking - finding a recipe that looks interesting and following it - is a really good way to get better at this kind of thing.
That's actually one of the reasons that I think meal kit boxes like blue apron can be worth it for people who want to learn how to cook - they give you recipes you wouldn't have thought to look for and provide small amounts of the required ingredients so you can sample them and figure out if you like them. My dad and sister got blue apron for like two years and it has significantly improved their cooking skills and ability to mix and match flavors.
It just takes time and money and trial and error. Easy, right? (It isn't, but there's also no way to make it faster other than doing more experiments. Thankfully there are ways to make it cheaper, and yeah looking at local specialty markets is a good way to save on spices)
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Valentine's Day...Gifts They Give You?? I Think. IDK.
HAH SCHOOL CAN KICK MY BUTT BUT BY GOD AND THE DEVIL WILL I SHARE A LITTLE BIT OF LOVE!! (I'm suffering Jesus fucking CHRIST this course is gonna eat my fried up brain for breakfast lunch and dinner)
This is done assuming they're pining for Yuu, save for Ortho he's Idia's little wingman. GN reader as always bbssssssssss if anything seems canon divergent, check out my HCs lmao
Heartslaybul
Ace: He thought about making it super romantic, like he spent the week leading up to Valentine's day brainstorming ideas on napkins and doodling on scrap paper, trying to come up with a way to ask to hang out that would make it feel different than normal, but not so obvious that he...you know, likes you. He ends up showing up at Ramshackle before class with a box of chocolates he bought the day before and a bit of a blushing mess.
"I just got these because who knows how much Sam will have by the end of today, you owe me half, ok?"
Deuce: He absolutely called his mom to ask for some advice, and asked his dorm mom (Trey), to proofread the hand written note he had meticulously written and supervise while he tries to make a heartshaped quiche. Why quiche? Well he knows you guys have...Memories about eggs, and he remembers it fondly, and he knows that quiche freezes well, so if he makes a big batch, you can eat what you want and have a readily available breakfast to just pop back in the oven whenever you want it - hopefully you'll remember him each time you do, and you'll ask for more when you finish it! He ends up at Ramshackle a little disheveled and out of breath, trying to make the quiche early enough in the day that he could make it there before breakfast so maybe you could share a meal before class.
"It's still warm??"
"Yeah, I ran here as fast as I could once it was cool enough to handle."
"You didn't have to..."
"I wanted to! You're more than worth the effort it took to be here on time."
Trey: Mans has a major advantage in that he is great in the kitchen, but he can't just make your favourite dessert. He can do that any day. No, for weeks ahead of time, he plans, makes, tests, and revises a new recipe, something that is unique and meant to be for you. It's more effort than he normally puts into his work, but it's so worth it when he shows up at Ramshackle in the evening to deliver his gift and a small note, though he gets shy. He leaves it on the front door step, knocks once, and moves to hide by the side of the house, relying on Grim's nose to bring you to the door if you didn't hear him knock. Seeing the way your face go from confusion to joy and excitement as you read the note is worth every moment he spent crouching. He knows tomorrow you'll want to talk to him in person, but for now, that's more than enough for him.
Cater: Consumerism Capital lmao. He has a really sweet, genuine gift to give to you, but the time he's spent with his sisters makes him second guess whether or not something is "good enough". So, yes, he will have spent 72 hours painting a fucking masterpiece on a phone case for you, or a pair of shoes you said you wanted, or a skateboard so you guys can skateboard together, or something you mentioned you wanted offhandedly months ago, but he's not sure if it's enough, so to "make up" for his "shitty handmade gift", he buys a shit ton of Valentine's day merchandise! He shows up with the giant teddy bear, the bouquet of flowers, the chocolates, the sappy movies, a trending perfume and some sort of specialty drink he picked up at a cafe. Depending on your reaction to all that stuff, he might actually give you the gift he worked on, otherwise you'll see it by accident or something and he gets embarrassed and a little flustered because What If You Don't Like It, Isn't Everything Else Better Than That Thing I Worked On Specifically For You. Treat him gently please. That's a personal request slkdjfhlskdjf
Riddle: He's new to this. So of course he researched long and hard on how to best express his interest in you without trying to push anything on you. Cater tried to show him cute stuff on social media, but it all seemed so scripted, disingenuous, or so over the top he couldn't see himself doing it that way. Or on the other end - they were couples, well into their relationships and living together- that wasn't where he was with you, at least....not yet. He ends up watching, reading and listening to tutorials on how to put together the perfect bouquet - his beloved rose garden would have more than an aesthetic use now, and with a little magic, a beautiful gradient came easily to the bunch of roses he arranged beautifully. Before you, this holiday just seemed ridiculous. Maybe it still was, but he would indulge if it meant it brought a smile to your face.
Savannaclaw
Jack: He can't be direct for the life of him, not in terms like this. The night before Valentine's day, he's still stumped on what to do for you that won't be...inherently romantic and obvious, but show that he cares about you!! His eyes end up settling on his little cactus and he ends up finally getting an idea.
Somehow after class, but before you got home, he managed to gift you your own tiny cactus. He left it sitting in a box, a small knitted coaster of sorts sitting underneath the flower pot - he put it in the box just so that the yarn wouldn't snag on the uneven wood outside of Ramshackle- and a tiny cowboy hat sitting on top of your cactus. It had been from one of his little siblings dolls that ended up in his bag from the last time he'd gone home, but either they didn't even notice it was gone, or he could get them a replacement later.
Ruggie: "Do you have plans for Valentine's day?" "Yep. Wait for it to be over." He doesn't really care for Valentine's day, but the sale that starts on the 15th? Goddamn, yeah, he's gonna capitalize on that....and he might even like you enough to share a little bit of it...maybe while watching a movie....and snuggling up under the same blanket at Ramshackle...that he may or may not have snagged from Leona's pile of Really Nice blankets....all it takes is for you to say you want some chocolate or treats too.
Leona: He really doesn't care for Valentine's day and all the shit that comes with it, but his sister in law asked him to at least try to make the best of the day. Initially, he was going to...at least try to contest it, but ultimately decided there was a simple way to do it. He ends up firing you a quick text to meet him in the greenhouse. While the way he pulls you into his little nest for napping is rather unceremonious, once you've settled he tucks a pink camellia behind your ear before abruptly telling you he's going to sleep and you're welcome to join him or you can get out of there if you want. He hopes, that just maybe, you'll be able to identify the flower he gave you and find out what it means.
Octavinelle
Floyd: Azul is making him work overtime for Valentine's day, he doesn't get up early enough to do anything Before classes, and by the end of his shift he's EXHAUSTED and MAD. He likely has the wherewithall to bring you a serving from the special menu in a takeout container before flopping down on the couch next to you, then onto you, just looking for a little bit of physical affection. The next day he does feel a little bad for not making you feel as special as he could have, so he'll wake you up with breakfast in bed.
Jade: Again, he's been working overtime but he was more ready for Valentine's day than Floyd. While he can't take you anywhere on the day of, he has an easy hike and picnic planned for the weekend if you'll join him. Despite being in the wild outdoors, he's determined to make you a dish that would be worthy of serving at the lounge. He will not handle being asked to stay home very well, but ultimately will if you want that more....but it's going to be in your backyard.
Azul: He had so much on his plate leading up to Valentine's day with marketing, organizing shifts and maximizing profit. But, some of that profit was already planned to be set aside specifically for you. It was about time that you got a bit of a leg up, right? I mean working for Crowley can only pay so much, and he's the head of the dorm that represents generosity anyways. So on the day after Valentine's day, he shows up in the evening with a laptop, and envelope with cash, and a grin, ready to show you the wonders of ✨investing✨. He may have forgotten you still...want to go home. He'll backtrack a bit and offer to help you find contractors that will renovate a part of Ramshackle for you.
Scarabia
Jamil: He didn't even bother trying to plan something for himself with you. How could he? It was a holiday, as ridiculous as it was, it meant that Kalim would inevitably want to celebrate it on the dorm level, and Jamil, of course, would have to plan and organize and arrange everything in order to make it work out. However, that didn't mean he wouldn't make sure to invite you. It didn't mean that he wouldn't make the time to ensure your favourite dish was served. Or that your favourite song would come on during the dance party portion of the celebration. Or that he wouldn't check on you just as, if not more frequently than he did on Kalim to make sure you're enjoying yourself. And if you're not, if it's all too much, he accounted for that already and will show you where you can stay until you feel okay again. Of course, if you show up an hour or two early and demand (you can't ask, he'll say no) to be given a task to lighten his burden, he might just admire you a little bit more (even if he still says no).
Kalim: Valentine's Day means partayyyyy time!! There's gonna be food, and dancing, and games, and lots of people, and live music because he, Cater, and Lilia are gonna perform, won't you come see him?? He needs you there so he can perform the best he ever has!! Come on Yuu, please??? They did actually practice, because they had to change a few lyrics so that it could be a better cover for Valentine's day and he was thinking of you when they modified it, so can you pleeeeeeeease come?
Pomefiore
Epel: He isn't sure whether he wants to continue a tradition he had from home or not, where he would show up at school with handmade lollipops and give them out to people....but his class at primary school was soooo much smaller, it wouldn't make sense to do it here for everyone. Not to mention, he usually had his grandma help him make them, he's never done it on his own. He likely does it for all the first years in his little friend group because he doesn't want to be obvious to anyone person that maybe...he likes them a little more...however your lollipop is the only one that seems to have no imperfections. Funny how that worked out.
Rook: Screw your alarm clock, he knows when you wake up anyways and will be outside your window, serenading you until you wake up. Even if you end up rolling out of bed lookin like a sewer rat and peaking out the window, once he knows you're awake he'll start reading poetry to you. He kinda just lingers until you're done getting ready enough to come great him outside, where he gives you a single rose and a few sheets of paper that he's written his poems about you on. He'll kiss the back of your hand and offer to escort you to class.
** I just want to say, for as much as I gripe about Rook in other posts, I genuinely believe that if he knew or found out you had no Valentine, no plans, and nobody treated you, he would, by the end of the day, at least have left a rose and handwritten note on in front of your door apologizing for not having asked to be your Valentine earlier and going through and complimenting you, though the note is completely anonymous. Rook is a bleeding heart (hehe Snow White ref) and regardless of his feelings for you/your feelings for him, he wants to make sure Valentine's day is positive for you.
Vil: Ugh, Valentine's day. It's a tacky, meaningless holiday that corporations push for the sake of profit. He agrees to model stuff still, sure, he has to in order to try and keep up with Neige, but he hates it. He gets his nails done so that they are jet black. Part of him wants to go goth for the day, but really that would be an overreaction to something so minor. He rejects any Valentine's day gifts, and likely won't want to do anything special, so if anything, you get to see a slightly out of character Vil as he either facetimes you to make sure you've been drinking water today and rant about the industry and how it's ruined Valentine's day, or. You send him a really cheesy gif wishing him a happy Valentines day and he very reluctantly replies, but tells you to never do that again (and it segues into Above).
Ignihyde
Idia (+ wingman/little shit Ortho): Ortho didn't really intend to snoop, but his big brother just left his phone out in the open...well he threw it onto his bed and mumbled something about being a loser. According to Ortho's analysis of Idia's phone, he hadn't been on a mobile game, so what got him so worked up? He sifted through until he found the culprit- the draft of a really sweet...and yeah, kinda cringey message he had written out addressed to the prefect of Ramshackle. Eugh he didn't need to read that...but...but Yuu should. He sends the message for Idia right before his brother comes back into the room, mumbling about how he needs to delete something. His eyes go wide as saucers as he sees not only has the message been sent, but the prefect has read it and is replying in that very moment. Idia reprimands Ortho immediately, but gently until the Prefects response comes through and Ortho confirms the tone is positive.
Diasomnia lord help me it's one in the morning
Sebek: Wasn't going to do anything until Lilia mentioned...."exaggerated"...just how important Valentine's Day can be to humans. His decision to try and come up with a last minute gift only amplifies if he sees someone else give Yuu a gift, and ultimately decides with a certain degree of defeat just to buy something from Sam's shop. He decides something practical is best, but gets a little distracted around the candles. Surely in Ramshackle you would appreciate something small, aromatic and it even offers a small bit of heat! He decides to go through with it, but it's only noon, surely he can customize it a bit more before the end of the day.
Lilia ends up walking into Sebek's room at around 10:30, only to see him struggling to stay awake as he wipes off paint from the lid. Based on the discarded tissues around, he hasn't been satisfied with any customizations he's tried to make. Lilia gently encourages him just to write a quick note, and he'll deliver it to the prefects doorstep for him so he can get to sleep. Sebek insists it's not perfect, but is forced to accept defeat as Lilia ushers him to bed, reassuring him that the prefect will still appreciate it.
Silver: He knows that he struggles to stay awake, so he starts on his project long before Valentine's day so that he can work on it whenever he has the wherewithall to do so. Come Valentine's day, he has the gift with him during class, and ends up sitting outside of Ramshackle, passed out next to the door waiting for you to show up so he can hand you his gift, which turns out to be a dagger. No, he didn't make it, but he wanted to research the best option for someone of your size and stature, the quality, where to purchase it reliably, to make a small write up on how to care for it properly, what it can and should be used for, and activities it's not suggested to use it for, but you technically "can". It also gives him an excuse to come see you more often to teach you how to use it- often teaching someone is a great way to learn and will add another layer to his training.
Lilia: He's been around for so many Valentine's Days, he probably knew the fucking saint it was named after. That being said, he loves to make the most of life, and that doesn't stop here! Get ready for a home cooked meal, you don't have to worry about dinner tonight sweetheart, Lilia's got it covered. Or he'll pay for take out. Or both, to make up for the mess in your kitchen.
Malleus: He's been aware of the holiday for years, but has never really had a reason to celebrate it. But now there's someone who isn't scared of him. Someone who, perhaps if he asked, you would allow him to spend time with you. He ends up daydreaming about the activities the two of you could do together, from making gargoyles to learning to make ice cream together, he ends up spending the entire day like that. Though he's a bit frustrated at his loss of time, he writes out a heartfelt letter to invite you to join him in those activities at a later date. He'll either wait for you outside, or if its too late in the night, simply slide the letter under your door.
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I was gonna do Che'nya and Neige and even Rollo but its. its way too late, I'm hungry and I have a STATS class tomorrow RIP me.
#v talks#twst#twisted wonderland#twst hcs#twst headcanons#twst scenarios#valentines day#happy valentine's day#twst x reader#twst x yuu#twst heartslaybul#twst savanaclaw#twst octavinelle#twst scarabia#twst pomefiore#twst ignihyde#twst diasomnia#twst fluff#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland imagines
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The concept of Lilia raising fem Silver is so cute and endearing. Imagine Lilia and fem Silver having a tea party together surrounded by silver's animal friends while Lilia is dressed up in a pink tutu dress and ROCKING it.
Raising a human child is a lot more different than raising a fae child, but get this; Lilia would have to learn that at a certain age, fem humans get their periods (Assuming fem fae don't have periods?!). Either way, he would panic or be chill about it. He would also have to explain what menstruation is, lol.
Period cramps can be so bad. Luckily for Silver, Lilia knows how to wash blood stains with COLD water (considering he saw a lot of blood in war). He would bring her snacks and comfort her best to his abilities, and he would make sure to keep menstrual products in the house or carry some with him for emergencies. I know, I'm just rambling at this point, but idk it's really cute to think how Lilia would raise fem Silver.
So, while i agree with you that Lilia would raise normally just like how he raised Silver in Canon, i do think there are quite a few differences, especially when it comes to such things such as Periods, buying bras and so on.
[Other Lilia raising fem!Silver posts here and here!]
In my original post, I was speaking only from a socialization angle since a lot of what we see as "gender norms" are the result of how we were raised and taught. On that front, I don't really see Lilia changing one way or another. Of course there would also be biological differences that Lilia would have to become accustomed to, and those he would have to tackle differently.
I imagine he would mainly ask the Zigvolts for assistance in this regard, since they already help with watching Silver while he's busy with other matters in canon. Even if we assume that female fae do not menstruate, Mr. Zigvolt is a medical professional who would have some understanding of menstruation (due to taking A&P classes), even if his specialty is teeth. He could at least refer Lilia to the proper resources or a medical professional with more relevant knowledge. If we assume that female fae do menstruate, then Mrs. Zigvolt could be comforting and understanding of Silver's situation. Maybe even Sebek's older sister could pitch in as well!
Either the Zigvolts could explain menstruation to fem!Silver or Lilia could? Knowing how… tactless… Lilia was when dealing with Silver learning he was adopted though, it might be a mixed bag. Lilia might go for a silly explanation, an actually wise one, or he might pull out all the stops and try to reenact the story of an egg cell being expelled from the body via hand puppets. When fem!Silver isn't feeling well, Lilia can sit by her bedside and sing (screamo) lullabies or recount tales of his travels until she's soothed off to sleep.
Imagine Lilia having to take Malleus aside to explain how menstruation works to him too (when Malleus shows confusion at fem!Silver kneeling over mid-training). Maybe Sebek would already know about it because he has a decent sized family and he expresses his concern in the typical Sebek way. "Hmph! If you find yourself faint, it shall be an easy victory for me—but there is no glory in that. Sit this one out, and once you’ve collected yourself then you shall be a worthy opponent!”
... But it would be sort of funny if Lilia asks the QUEEN of Briar Valley for help on this 🤡 "Your majesty!! My little human child is gushing out blood from down there, does she have a wound? Will she bleed out? Should I be concerned") I also find it really ironic that Lilia, an infamous retired general, probably already has knowledge of how to wash blood out of fabrics due to his experience in war. Now he can repurpose that skill to help out his daughter 😂 Just don’t trust Lilia to make snacks for fem!Silver cramping up, he’ll only make the cramps worse with his cooking…
Anyway, I enjoy the idea of Lilia being a father that supports both Silver's (traditionally) feminine and (traditionally) masculine interests and is secure enough in his own identity to engage with them. He'd have so much fun dressing up with Silver and having those tea parties with the animals out in their yard.
#twisted wonderland#twst#Silver#Lilia Vanrougw#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#twst AU#twisted wonderland AU#twsr genderswap#twisted wonderland genderswap#notes from the writing raven#Sebek Zigvolt#Diasomnia#Malleus Draconia#Maleficia Draconia#tw // blood#tw // periods#idk some people do find discussion of periods gross#so tagging just in case!!
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mea culpa
I'm stressed and overstimulated and can't focus on matchups tonight. need roro to decompress
summary: "it's not my fault"
type of post: short fic
characters: rollo
additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, angsty as hell (pun intended), some suggestive visuals
Rollo is an eloquent man. He understands the art of words, how to weave them together in all the right ways to create a shimmering tapestry of illusions- it's lying without dishonesty, and it's his specialty.
He knows many words, in many languages, in many forms, on paper and on tongue. He knows their definitions, their synonyms and antonyms, and their origins. He knows how to hide behind them as if they were a suit of armor, shielding him from the depravity of the common folk's unwashed tongues.
There are hundreds, perhaps thousands of words in which to express this feeling now, both saccharine and bloody, addictive and revolting, and yet, despite all of his knowledge, Rollo can only think of one.
Bad.
Very, very bad.
Those three simple letters, one syllable which so easily rolls off the tongue, have festered in his mind and spread throughout his body like an infection, making him feverish and mad with obsession over this disease of the soul.
This... is not him. This is not who he is.
This virus is not a natural part of his body. It does not belong there. And yet, it is dragging him by the back of his neck, forcing him to kick and scream and claw against the dirt in a vain attempt to escape its gnarled grasp.
It's a sickening reminder that his heart is still beating warm blood throughout his body. How he detests being reminded of his corporeal existence. As if he is more of a body than a person.
Rollo already had enough trouble sleeping.
What one might liken to butterflies or fireworks, he would to needles and flames. It's an uncomfortable, itchy feeling, one that makes him wish he could simply pull his aching heart out of his chest and run it under cold water until the burning washes away.
This isn't him.
He's not one to be distracted by restless thoughts, or the uncomfortable feeling of having hands. He hardly thinks of himself at all.
This is not his fault.
It's as if he is being interrogated and tortured for a crime he did not commit. Certainly, this is some sort of cruel and unusual punishment? A test of wills?
Or is it truly just a sickening, aching obsession which consumes his mind until all that is left is an empty room, in the center, your image draped in red?
A fire which swallows all it can reach, crawling up every inch of his body, touching him in places he had long forgotten about. A furnace burning within the center of his chest.
He cannot help but stick his hands directly into the flames.
Every time it's windy, he thinks of you.
#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#rollo flamme x reader#points to anyone who catches the inferno reference
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exchange of roses, ep 1: the battle between the two brutes
host club! jjk x fem!reader
ep. overview the former kendo champs, sukuna and mori, face off in a kendo duel. let's see how this goes!
gojo satoru is the head of jujutsu technology academy's elite high school host club with his friends: geto suguru, nanami kento, itadori sukuna, shoko ieiri, haibara yu, and of course, their princess manager. what happens when they go up against another elite host club in an exchange event with different schools? let's find out!
a/n: erm, the next two events will def be more interactive with the ohshc, the club specialty ep will def have a lot of ohshc/jjk interactions. im just being indecisive rn
the clashing of the shinai (sword made of bamboo) sounded through the room reserved for jujutsu tech. the early morning awoken by the continuous practicing of techniques against the dummies. it wasn't as if there was some sort of waver in sukuna's confidence for the upcoming event later in the day. perhaps, it was the weight of his club's reputation because of his greediness and pride from the prior day's small conference despite it was his doing.
he shook off the thought by striking the side of the body with the outer third of the shinai. his concentration was broken only to hear snoring, causing him to sigh. he brought satoru and (y/n) to accompany him. for the former, they were supposed to train together, and for the latter, she was only there for moral support. endearing, really.
trailing over to the sprawled out figure, he dropped the tip of the shinai onto his stomach, causing satoru to jolt and immediately sit up straight, arms at ready to fight. his eyes followed up to the shinai and its holder, "oh, it's just you. what time is it?"
sukuna glanced over to the clock, "8:06."
"ugh, it's so early," satoru plopped down onto the ground, stretching his limbs star-like. he looked over to their manager, "and, she's still sleeping."
(y/n) was slumped over, neck surely hurting. she was at first delighted to watch the two spar and prepare for their martial arts games. she watched intently, handing genuine praises out, knowing both thrived off of them. sukuna would never display his appreciation for them, but she noticed he holds his head a little higher, more tilt in his smirk. as time passed, satoru tapping out by 6:00, both succumbed to slumber.
without much thought, sukuna lightly poked her head with the shinai, causing satoru to swat away the stick. she stirred, only to snap her eyes open, remembering where was, "what time is it?"
"7:08."
hearing the time, she laid down, resting her eyes, "it's too early."
"tch," sukuna turned around, swinging around the shinai.
"my neck hurts," she groaned, trying to massage the crick.
"i'm surprised that you didn't move around," satoru flailed his arms around on top of her, which he earned a heavy hand to the stomach.
"if you two are both going to lounge around, then leave," sukuna chastised.
"awww, kuna, but we've been here since earlier. we're both more than ready."
"we all need to leave, the announcements start at 8:30. i can't have you both missing breakfast either," (y/n) rose to her feet, trying to pull satoru up with her. she eventually quit, when he went deadweight. "sukuna, you don't start until 8:45 later, and your first opponent isn't really anyone that i've heard of. you'll be fine. be at breakfast soon."
the pink-haired teen grumbled, but his stomach seemed to reflect his sound. breakfast doesn't sound too bad.
8:40.
"look, there's itadori-kun"
honey pointed through the glass windows of the gymnasium. there was sukuna, preparing for his first round of the day with (y/n) holding his men (helmet). he was fastening his kote (gloves), which he soon put his helmet on, bonking the top of (y/n)'s head in the process.
"he looks scary with all of that on," kaoru commented.
the ouran host club gathered around honey senpai at the window, watching the match get started. sukuna and his opponent bowed to each other before bowing to the officials with the referees. now, the match was on.
sukuna's personality reflected how his techniques and how executed kendo. teasing, he had a sway in the way he holds his shinai, falsifying whether he would initiate an attack. this would allow catching his enemies off balance, which is when he first strikes.
"kote!" ippon, the perfect strike.
the red flag raised to signal a point to sukuna. cheers echoed in the gym, and the host club couldn't help but cheer with them. the players reset once more in the middle before resuming the match at the referee's call.
"he moved so fast," hikaru exclaimed.
"itadori-chan hasn't changed one bit with his techniques. he's still so fun to watch!" honey said. he eyed takashi, who used to look up to sukuna's techniques when they were all younger. the two never formally met the pink-haired student, however, it's hard to miss those colored tufts with loud cheers when passing through the championships.
the ouran host club watched intently, if they took their eyes off, they might miss an important attack.
however the other player wasn't making any offensive moves, probably unsure how to attack him. sukuna lessened his tough stance, hoping the other would just charge at him, but there was no budge. he started to quickly swing at the shinai, hopefully waking up the sorry guy. however, there was an opportunity that sukuna doesn't ever miss. he trapped the player, giving him the opening to thrust the tip of the shinai to his neck.
the red flag goes up once more, and the bell signalling that the match was over. they go to their respective starting positions, wrapping up the match. cheers roared through the gym, as sukuna removed his men off.
"woah, he's so cool," kaoru marveled, the twins pretending to be kendo players with imaginary. tamaki was already taking pictures with his phone during the entirety of match, which his members caught him ("it's just for reference.")
"his last kendo tournament, he only lost as the referees were paid off to let the other person win. since then, he hasn't been seen competing," kyoya stated.
"he was supposed to compete in takashi's last tournament but he pulled out of it last minute," honey added, earning a nod from the taller male.
truth be told, sukuna only missed that tournament as the host club had a beach vacation at the special request of kento. no one wanted to pass over the opportunity to a holiday or how kento asked for something.
"well, mori-senpai, we'll be rooting for you in your kendo match," haruhi smiled before the twins dragged her into the gym, trying to find seats.
"you'll do amazing, senpai!" tamaki shared a grin before quickly following the trio, shouting after them.
a small smile on takashi's face at the encouragement from his members. honey noticed the contentment on his face, knowing how grateful he was despite the little words the taller expressed. he pulled his cousin down, enough to pat the top of his head, "good luck out there."
even with nothing said, he just feels everything completely.
"the next two sections, martial arts and table tennis, will be happening concurrently at around 10:30. so try to support both groups as best as possible," (y/n) read off from her clipboard, earning a salute from her members. ieiri and yu were participating in the table tennis duo matches, while satoru would be participating in the martial arts (which he found out that the specific art was karate aka not his favorite).
"and what sport will you be participating in, miss manager?" suguru questioned, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
"none, everything is all on you guys today," she answered, in honesty, she wasn't feeling any of the individual events and would rather wait until tomorrow to expend any of her energy.
"that's no fun, but it'll be great having you support all of us. i expect the same amount of attention from you when i prepare for the relay," suguru pointed to the fact that she was helping sukuna prepare for his round earlier.
"he's just been on edge since this morning, figured the least i can do is help him with his equipment," she said, causing suguru to hum in response.
currently, the tall member from the ouran host club, morinozuka-san if she remembers correctly, was completing his kendo round. based on the portfolio kyoya built for them, he was a national kendo champion. the clicks of the bamboo swords heard through the gym. morinozuka currently playing the defensive side, as his opponent continued to play with a set of aggressive attacks.
it was already 1-0, due to morinozuka taking an advantage in the first minute of the match. however the round of kendo were only set for 10 minutes, and it looked like morinozuka-san was now playing for time before he strikes.
that was what sukuna was talking about during his morning session. he was already thinking about what was three steps ahead of him, as he usually does. sukuna brought up as him and morinozuka's strategies and techniques are about the same, and their match might have an extending round.
"look at him go, he has great balance," satoru commented as he watched.
"yeah, he's kinda the same to sukuna with the way he fights, but somehow very different," yu mentioned the fighting style. (y/n) thinks how morinozuka isn't as badgering as sukuna, probably has more patience and firmness.
morinozuka slipped through a weakness of his opponent, catching him completely off guard.
ippon! strike to the neck, and it was game.
"he ended the match, just like sukuna-senpai did," yu exclaimed.
cheers erupted again once the bell signalled the ending of the match.
"10 minutes until the final round with sukuna and that guy," ieiri said as their pink-haired host trailed in behind her, carrying his bag of items with him.
"that was fast, final round already?" suguru questioned. there were matches happening concurrently, but there should have been a couple of dozens.
"a lot of them forfeited kendo and martial arts, seeing who their competition was," kento answered. he was on patrol for (y/n), updating her on any information in terms of matches and the entire exchange event.
"losers!" satoru cried out, laughing, seemingly the only one who found it funny. "oh, come on, guys."
"alright, sukuna, you're up next!"
this is annoying. sukuna's pride and need to be irritating (according to (y/n)) always got in the way. sometimes, it worked in their favor, sometimes not. and in this situation, it's biting sukuna's ass. he never exerted extra efforts unless the outcome severely aided him in his favor. and now, he's stuck going toe-to-toe with a national kendo champion because he decided to say some shit (even if himself is champion, also)
typically, (y/n) or kento saves him (or satoru and suguru) when he's mouthing off, but they didn't.
he sighs while hopping back to resume his stance.
two options: give up by letting up or let run time
both options would result in failure in some way. the latter, in kendo rules, would result in an extension, and he still has to continue playing. the first would honestly just ruin his reputation, and morinozuka would see right through it. however if he forgoes both options and tries, it would seep into the second option regardless.
he's not the type to do it for anyone but himself, but why does he have the sudden urge to just do it for the club. no, he'll do it for himself despite if there's nothing to gain from it. what's the point if he can't win?
sukuna scanned the player in front of him, figuring out what would be the best way to earn a perfect hit. the height difference between both of them wasn't off too much, him just being a little taller than morinozuka. there wasn't many weak points to strike, but he would be able to test the waters.
he pulls the first offensive move since the beginning of the match. the bamboo sticks ring through the gym, both trying to earn a point. at this point, there shouldn't be much time left on the clock.
"this match is a little boring," hikaru yawned, to viewers, the match seemed to be rather long.
"we're going to find something more entertaining," kaoru completed his brother's thoughts, almost walking away until tamaki stopped them.
"hey, wait a minute, it's the last match and the least we can do for mori-senpai is to watch him," their boss made them sit back down, but they couldn't go without a huff. "what do you think will happen, honey-senpai?"
"it's hard to say. i bet both of their motives are for the clubs. since their techniques mirror each others quite well, i think the officials will send them to a draw without a round extension and give both a point in team points," honey said, as he downed a piece of his cake.
takashi tried to lunge and strike sukuna's left side of his torso, until it was blocked. there hasn't been a match where he was so unsure of what he planned to do for an attack, but here, this pink-haired teen has him stumped. they seem to mirror each other's movements and the plan of defense was, and even when he tries to do a technique he has never done, it's blocked. and it's back to square one.
sukuna almost plans to make a fool of himself and just charge without a technique, but it would give kiddish and actually tarnish his name. he could play dirty and force him out of bounds or make him drop his shinai.
however the bell rings, signalling the end of the match. the red and white flags raised. the two concede, finishing with the formalities to end a kendo match, waiting for the call from the officials.
"morinozuka takashi and itadori sukuna, the match ends in a draw. both performances leading up to this round have been tallied, which assumes into a draw. the games of table tennis and martial arts will start in an hour, please proceed."
"hmph," sukuna bows to takashi once more before mirroring his footsteps to exit the middle of the gym. he was rather unsure how to feel about the ending. he finds his members gathered together, waiting for him, grins all on their faces minus kento who only smiles softly.
"you did great, kuna!" their president first hugs him, which ends up piling everyone into embracing their cocky member. despite the uncertain ending to his kendo match, there was no doubt of the one skip in his heart as his club congratulated him.
that's enough skips for one day.
extra
8:40
"do you ever get nervous fighting or like before? do you feel anything during match days?" (y/n) questioned, watching sukuna adjust his equipment.
"no, i don't feel anything," he answered. though, he knew that she wouldn't have a random question without a reason, "what makes you ask?"
"just wondering." she fiddled with the flaps of the bottom of the helmet. "i don't know, i was also thinking about how angry i would be if i was playing a sport and so close to being a champion, only for me to lose because people got paid to alter the outcome."
he remembers that day vaguely, as he just wanted to push out the emotions that filled in him in those moments. so, it was a lie that he doesn't feel anything, that day, he felt everything. not even in a good way.
"that day, once i figured out the referees were paid off for the last round, why try if the result was already set in stone," he blankly stated, pulling his gloves on. the thing was he did try, he tried the best he was able to, everyone was counting on him that day. his host club, his family, but it just had to be paid off. so close to reaching his one goal, only to be snatched away by greed.
"is that why you stopped participating in kendo? because it might happen again?," she always knew, and he wasn't sure if he hated that she always knew.
"no," he was going to answer, but he wasn't sure how to respond anymore without giving her any leverage. he did lose the passion of participating in his club outside of the academy, as well as the one at jujutsu tech.
"hmm.. just a thought. but i wouldn't let anyone take what i enjoy away from me." she handed him his helmet with a soft smile on her face, "just so you know, we all knew you won that last point. we knew you won that day."
with that stupid smile on her face, he snatched the helmet.
and with that stupid skip in his heart, "get out of here."
ep 1, complete.
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jjk fanfic#sukuna#sukuna x reader#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#geto suguru#suguru x reader#shoko ieiri#yu haibara#nanami kento#ohshc#rilakeila hc!jjk
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Hello Rosie! P3
(3rd POV)
*With Charlie*
"Alright, what has you so out of sorts, darlin'?" Rosie asked, letting Charlie into her private room. "You clearly got more on your mind than angels."
"What do you do when someone you love lies to you about who they are?" Charlie sighed, hugging herself. "Romance? My specialty. C'mon, dearie, details, details!" smiled the cannibal.
"My girlfriend is an exorcist angel...and she never told me."
"Oh, shit. Quite a secret. How does that make you feel?"
"Just...angry...because we share everything. Because she always supported me, and my ideas, and now I just don't know whether or not that was more of the lies.." Charlie gasped, eyes wide. "Oh no, that's a horrible thing to think! Do I think that? Yes! N--No? Kinda?" the princess sobbed slightly, feeling overwhelmed in her feelings.
"You said you love this girl?" Rosie asked softly.
"Yes...or, well, I..yes." Charlie nodded more firmly, knowing she still loves Vaggie. "Aw. Have you ever once doubted that she loves you in return?" Rosie sat next to Charlie, patiently waiting for her repsonse.
The blonde shook her head no.
"Well, then what's the problem?"
"She took part in the very thing we've been working so hard to end. She might've even been the one who killed my brother's ex-fiance!" Charlie's eyes widen at the thought.
"Well, isn't that silly hotel of yours all about redemption?"
"Yes?"
"Perhaps this girl was trying to redeem herself too?" Rosie hummed. "She knows better than anyone that I believe in second chances. Why not tell me?" wondered Charlie.
"It can be difficult to admit to things you're not proud of, especially if those things hurt the ones you love. She fucked up, sure, " Rosie smiled brightly, "She's flawed. But hey, who down here isn't? If there's anything I've learned, it's that words are cheap, but actions, they speak the truth."
The demoness' shared a smile. "So, what have her actions said?" Rosie asked, with a knowing smile.
"That she believes in me and what we're doing. Right now, she's off learning how to protect everything we've worked for..and I can't even pitch my hotel right." Charlie smiled, thinking of the ex angel before groaning at her own actions.
"Well, how do you normally explain your hotel?"
"By singing," Charlie smiled giving jazz hands before deflating, "but that never works."
"It will work here, trust me."
With that promise, they walked back out to the crowd, Alastor offering Charlie his microphone staff, he and Rosie sending the princess soft, encouraging smiles.
*Back at the hotel*
Charlie and Vaggie lead their groups back to the hotel approaching each other. "Looks..like you've had a busy day." Vaggie said, looking over Charlie's shoulder, making Charlie do the same. "You too."
"Charlie, I--"
"Hold that thought." Charlie dug in her pocket before holding out a key chain to Vaggie. "Ah! I got you a souvenir from Cannibal Town." The Princess smiled hopefully at Vaggie.
The ex angel smiled, teary eyed before rushing forward into her girlfriend's waiting arms. "Oh, Charlie."
Charlie smiled, before eyeing the wings on Vaggie's back. "The wings are new. They look nice," purred the princess, sending Vaggie bedroom eyes, before wrapping an arm around her waist, "C'mon, let's go home."
Together they walked into the hotel, gasping at all the noise and chatter. "Come along, let's put some efforts into these fortifications." Sir Pentious called, leading his Egg Bois. "Yeah, fortify that." Angel called, before turning to see the demonesses.
"Well, look who decided to show up." Angel smirked, pulling Husk and Pentious into his arms, "We thought we were fightin' ourselves."
"You're..you're still here?" Vaggie asked in awe, Charlie teary eyed next to her.
"What? Do you think we were a bunch of pusssssies?" scoffed the snake.
"I just got used to you guys, I ain't findin' no new drinking buddies." Husk smirked.
"I've named all the stains on the carpet, that one's Fred." giggled Niffty. "Well, looks like we have a lot of work to do." Charlie smiled, holding Vaggie's hand.
"Wait, why are you all covered in bruises? And where's (Y/N)?" Vaggie asked, looking for her future brother in law.
"Uh, well.." Angel started before smiling seeing (Y/N) land behind the demonesses.
"Boo! Bitch asses!" yelled (Y/N), making the two women yell in surprise. The Prince cackled in delight, as the two got a good look at him: He was also covered in bruises, mud and what appeared to be a bloody nose? But he was grinning wildly.
"Oh, did you put them through your training?" Charlie asked, making her brother grin excitedly. "Fuck yes! And now, they are better warriors then they were a few hours ago. But how'd your day go? I see Carmie and Ro-Ro gave you supplies." (Y/N) started talking fast, before Charlie cut him off.
"Wait, Carmie and Ro-Ro? You mean Carmilla and Rosie?"
"No, Char, I said what I said." (Y/N) rolled his eyes before giggling to himself, and talking fast again to Vaggie, who looked so confused. "Yeah, he's been like this since we finished training a few hours ago." Angel chuckled, as he made his way over to his excitable lover, as (Y/N)'s wings and tail moved around excitedly.
"Yeah, it's the adrenaline. Dad says (Y/N)'s always been like that after fighting in general. He'll crash soon, but it'll help if he is given affection. He's like a cat sometimes." Charlie giggled, thinking of all the times she'd messed with her brother when he was like this.
"All right, Prince-y. Let's get you to bed." Angel scooped up the blond demon, who cuddled close to Angel, still talking.
"IoveCharlieandVaggieandandHuskandMomandVelvetteandCarmieandNifftyandAlastorandDadandArcherbutArcherdoesn'tlovemeanymorebuthat'sokaybecauseIhavethemostsexypowerbottomloverAngelDustwhoserealnameisAnthonyandfuckthat'shotasfuck.Angelcanwefuck?IwannamakeyoucumsohardValentinoisjustamemory...."
Everyone looked at each other before laughing what the prince was saying. "Please tell me you're recording this?" Angel asked Charlie as he cackled, holding his (Y/N) closer, as he now played with his own tail, eyes wide in amazement.
"Yep." Charlie grinned, sending it in the group chat.
"Good night, guys." Angel called, chuckling occasionally, walking upstairs. "Oh, my love, what will I do with you?" the spider asked, as (Y/N) looked up at him with wide eyes. "Marry me?" he asked softly.
Angel cooed, "Aw, of course I will, bambino."
*End!*
#storydays#hazbin hotel x reader#x male reader#hazbin hotel charlie#hazbin hotel husk#hazbin hotel x male reader#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel#vivziepop#princemorningstar#hazbin hotel fandom
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A 7th Time Loop Short Story (Episode 7, 2/18)
This is a canon short story written by Touko Amekawa herself! This was posted on 2/18/2024, a day before Episode 7 of 7th Time Loop aired, as a sort of commemorative side story of sorts.
PLEASE DON'T REPOST OR RE-UPLOAD THIS FAN TRANSLATION ANYWHERE.
Translation:
"You know, Prince Arnold, your black hair would look more beautiful if it's adorned by flowers!"
As she was seated on a bench in the corner of the Imperial Palace's garden, Rishe's eyes seemed to sparkle.
Arnold sat next to her and looked down at her in silence.
"What did you do just now?"
"I'm doing some official business: taking you, Prince Arnold, to the garden, as a health check. Your Highness has been quite busy with official duties."
"I'm not talking about that."
Arnold's hair was now adorned with tiny flowers here and there, as if they were hair ornaments.
"Why on earth are you decorating my hair with flowers?"
"Hehe."
Basking in the spring weather, Rishe replied to Arnold.
"I heard a lot of flowers bloom in this country. Since I am the future Crown Princess, I feel I should fully enjoy my future home country's specialties, no?"
"How does this relate to your enjoyment, then?"
Rishe pondered about Arnold's question.
(I'm sure he knows I'm pranking him. However, I wasn't able to have revenge for the chapel kiss...)
She stopped from saying this was payback for back then, but had a new idea instead.
"Isn't this a special game?"
She placed the largest coral-hued flower on Arnold's ear and smiled.
"I can't play the 'decorate-my-husband's-hair-with-flowers' game without my husband, of course!"
At that moment, Arnold cast down his eyes and sighed.
"If that's the case..."
His large hand gently caressed Rishe's hair. As she seemed startled by the touch, Arnold just said it was natural.
"Instead of a game, isn't it a husband's duty to remove petals from his wife's hair?"
"!!!"
As she touched her hair back in surprise, Arnold’s eyes narrowed, as if laughing at the sight. He then placed the petal he just removed on the tip of Rishe's nose.
"Ugh..."
Feeling somewhat defeated, Rishe picked up that petal and carefully stroked it with her fingers.
#7th time loop: the villainess enjoys a carefree life married to her worst enemy!#7th time loop#rishe irmgard weitzner#arnold hein#arnold x rishe#rishe x arnold#ルプなな#ループ7回目の悪役令嬢は、元敵国で自由気ままな花嫁生活を満喫する#touko amekawa#violet's potato translations
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i always sing the praises of having a beta reader if you want that sort of thing, but actually there are two separate fic-editor types:
alpha reader: just fucking uncritically loves your work. #1 fan. fully obsessed with the pairing you're writing to the exclusion of all good sense. might correct a comma or two but they are there to tell you that you are amazing and that you have never done anything wrong in your life and you should post that shit immediately. you ask them "does this part work?" and they say yes before the question is fully out of your mouth. the golden retriever of writing friends. every writer 100% needs one of these in their back pocket.
pros: THE best preemptive defense against the gaping chasm of self-doubt between "post work" and the first kudos.
cons: this is the reason why sometimes you see a fic that has eight beta readers thanked in the author's notes and the main character's name spelled wrong.
beta reader™️: these friends also fucking love your work, but the way they want to love it is to stick their fingers in your fic like a fruit bin at the grocery store and gently squeeze your characters (and commas) to see if they're ripe.
a good beta reader will copy edit your fic, notice if you've used the same sentence three times, and let you know if your sex scenes seem to contain the intended number of dicks per person.
a great one will highlight for you what's unique and wonderful about your writing, will help you problem-solve and plot through long fic, and will lovingly bug the shit out of you with how did she get here? and would he really say that? and is this what you meant? and when you say "oh shit no it isn't" their eyes light up and they go OKAY! let's figure this out!!!
more of a border collie kind of situation.
pros: the best way to polish your fic and grow as a fic writer. in my experience, it's also an incredible way to work through impostor syndrome. knowing someone you respect has been all up in your fic's junk and still says "it's great and you're great, now post it!" is a game-changer.
cons: if they show you what's not working, you're probably going to have to take time to fix it :/
caveats: not everyone who wants to give constructive feedback can deliver it in a way that works for everyone, so if the experience ends up making you feel bad, this is not a good match! it's also VERY helpful to tell your beta reader what level of editing you're looking for. if someone asks "can you give this a quick once-over before i post?" i know they want me to look for obvious mistakes and reassure them that it's post-worthy. if you ask me to "rip it apart" i'm going in there with a fine tooth comb.
(the primary motivation of both of these editor breeds is, of course, that they want you to write more and they want to read it before everyone else.)
bonus mode:
specialty reader: sensitivity readers and subject matter experts! if you are lucky enough to find and motivated enough to use one of these, their job is not to look at commas or to tell you that you're great, but to give advice on something specific in your fic.
edit: check the reblogs for a correction! turns out “alpha reader” is a pre-existing term in some circles for someone who helps you during the process, a lot like the great beta-reader i described above. taking suggestions for renaming my version of the alpha reader above. i’m thinking “hype man.”
#obviously this is your fic and your free time so none of this is required!#if you want to jack kerouak* it up in an ao3 draft and post without a second thought that is your god given right#fortunately or unfortunately for you i think i have a few posts in me on this subject so i’m going to tag it#beta readers#on fanfic#*jack kerouak actually spent years painstakingly editing on the road so it would look like he didn’t edit it at all#but never let facts get in the way of a good turn of phrase you know
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ok so this is a very long shot but it's been literally 12 years so i'm starting to get desperate, i hope it isn't a bother but i'm hoping you (or one of your followers) might be able to help me figure out a mystery!!!
when i was younger my family became expats, and i had to take french classes to adapt to my new country, and there my mum and i became friends with this lovely chinese lady who later went on a work trip back home and upon returning brought us some snacks from her hometown as a gift (it was a coastal town if it makes any difference).
they were these little palm-sized metal packets with a single piece of (if i recall correctly) fish, in this sort of dark sweet sauce. the snack itself was very chewy and it was the most unusual, wonderful thing we'd ever tried, because you don't really eat fish in any way except fresh where i'm from, but we've never been able to find it again – at the time it didn't seem important to keep the wrappers, but we didn't know we'd lose contact with our friend shortly after, so we couldn't just ask what it had been.
every so often my mum wishes we could buy it again because the memory of it is tied very strongly to that friend we lost, and i've bought several chinese snacks in specialty shops hoping to find it for her, but i've yet to have any luck. do you have any idea what it might have been she brought us?
You would have to google 鱼肉干 (fish jerky) and sort of look through the packaging for what seems familiar!
This might be difficult if the particular brand was small/local, since a lot of brands may not be found through image searching.
This is what comes up when I googled "鱼肉干小吃" (fish jerky snack). The other thing to consider might be that the branding has changed, but 劲仔小鱼 seems like one of the bigger brands in this area, so you might try to get your hands on that one first.
They have different flavors such as 酱汁 (marinated), 卤香 (stewed)，麻辣 (mala/hot numbing)，香辣 (fragrant spicy)，and 糖醋 (sweet and sour). I'm guessing if it was a dark sauce it was probably 酱汁 or 卤香. They are both soy sauce flavors. Tough to really explain the difference (I am not a food person either so idk).
Hope this helps a little though!
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