#i may or may not mess around and make one for ambiguity

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth

chapter 1: suffocation.

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read that, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: canon-typical blood, violence, gore, mutilation, death, & animal death. the animal death is pretty detailed, so please don't read this fic if you're triggered by that kind of topic.

author's notes: This first chapter is a little bit of a mess imo, but I wanted to post it to assure you all that I don’t want to abandon this fic. It may take me longer to post and update chapters, especially since I graduated from uni (mwahahah) and my schedule may get busy. Still, I really enjoy writing this story—and you all seem to enjoy reading it. Both of those things are enough to keep me going.

Something extremely ironic happened around the time I was writing the last few chapters of Act 1. So… if you remember, in Chapter 6, Hannibal and the reader go on an opera date (of sorts). During that date, the reader remarks that they “don’t know the first thing about opera.” Those words were pretty much taken directly from my mouth. Fast forward to about mid-fall, I get a call for an interview for an internship. I end up doing the first interview, then a second interview… Then I get the internship. The irony? This internship is at an opera house. (What’s even more ironic is that I’m now getting to the point where I do actually know things about opera—I know different productions and directors and technical terms… It’s absolutely crazy. The universe is making me eat my words, lol.

To make matters even stranger, I was in the office for the internship one day and caught a glimpse of a television, which broadcasts what’s happening on the stage. Imagine my absolute surprise and fear when I look up at the television screen with absolutely no expectations and see a single man in a beige jumpsuit with something over his face standing on stage, his shadow silhouetted against the wall behind him. Imagine my surprise when I see that, not only is he standing in an enclosure with iron bars (just like the ones at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane), but it also looks as if he is staring right at me—and he looks exactly like Hannibal Lecter in captivity. It was simultaneously scary as hell and weirdly reassuring. Anyway, I’ve taken these experiences as cosmic confirmation that I should continue writing this fic. Lol.

Anyway. Back to the important things… I’m planning to borrow elements from both Silence of the Lambs and Red Dragon, but, similarly to the first act, there will be canon divergence and canon non-compliance. Also, as you probably discerned in the past act, there is some plot armor. But, this is fiction.

Your life currently takes two forms: before the Chesapeake Ripper… and after. 

Before the Ripper, the leaf-stained pavement of the Bureau filled you with hope. Walking through the agency’s halls was a testament to the hard work that brought you there. Each assignment was an invaluable opportunity to further develop your interrogation and combat skills. You went to classes, completed assignments, trained, slept, and repeated the cycle the next day. Over and over and over again. But you were happy. 

Life doesn’t feel so simple anymore. You feel like you’ve been fading for a while now, slowly deteriorating as you invest more and more energy into catching criminals. Your work has morphed into an exhausting mutual exchange, one in which you take murderers’ freedom and they take your restful nights. You can’t remember the last time you rested unencumbered by the horrors you’ve seen in the field.

By some miracle, Jack manages to keep the press relatively uninformed about the happenings behind the Ripper case. Everyone is too absorbed with the fact that Hannibal’s in captivity to remember to ask just how he got there, and you’re very grateful for that lapse in memory. You can just imagine the interactions you’d have with paparazzi. Is it true that he stabbed you? Is it true that he purposefully left you alive, only to surrender in your front yard and torment you with the constant knowledge that he will remain in the same place, lying in wait until the moment you will inevitably need him? You shudder. 

Even with all the chaos that comes from the Ripper case—the media coverage of Hannibal and the attention the FBI gets—life goes on. Back at the Bureau, you occasionally lecture the new recruits and you take on assignments along with the rest of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Jack is still wont to call on you at the most ungodly of hours; Beverly still trades lighthearted taunts with you; Brian Zeller still seems to hate your guts, for reasons you’re not quite sure of; Alana and you are back to a steady friendship, albeit with occasional beats of unexplained tension and awkward silence. 

Criminality continues to occur in the Ripper’s wake. You’re not surprised: the imprisonment of one criminal doesn’t beget the imprisonment of another. Even so, it’s difficult for you to proceed as if things are normal. You see traces of Hannibal in each of the monsters you apprehend. Your emotions are starting to eat you alive from the inside. You don’t have a therapist to assist you with those emotions anymore. And, while you think therapy would be helpful, you also know that there’s no way in hell you’d be able to actually be honest with a therapist without being imprisoned yourself. The things you’ve done and the urges you’ve felt…  Neither is even close to a semblance of normality. 

You take a deep breath. You have no issue stopping other criminals, sending them to empty white walls and thin mattresses. Why was Hannibal Lecter any different? You suppose you shouldn’t fool yourself—you know the answer to that question already: you got to know him. Beyond the mask of the Ripper, beyond the bloodied skin and cruel smile… You started to see him as a man, perhaps even a friend. Perhaps, even-

You tear yourself away from that thought process before it gets too far along. The semantics don’t matter now. All that matters is that you’re back in the field, back popping pills for your headaches and blinking fresh horrors from your eyes. All that matters is that the memory of Hannibal Lecter begins to fade away in the face of work— so much so that keeping busy helps you forget the pain. 

Meanwhile, a hundred miles away, a veterinarian walks into a stable under a farmer’s guidance. The two stand over a dead horse and the veterinarian frowns. The farmer explains the horse’s death before stepping aside, letting the professional work. 

The farmer quickly becomes lost in their thoughts. They hadn’t expected the horse to die in the middle of her pregnancy. The farmer swallows past the tightness in their throat and tears their eyes away from the horse. They were looking forward to the birth of the foal, looking forward to helping the mother raise her offspring. The stable air suddenly feels suffocating and they take a look at the veterinarian’s turned back before stepping outside to get some fresh air. 

Moments later, the veterinarian rejoins them. The doctor’s lips are drawn in a tight line and there’s a troubled expression on their face. The farmer feels any remaining composure promptly seep out of them, as the veterinarian suggests they come back into the stable. 

“It feels like there’s something here,” the veterinarian says, their expression conflicted. They touch the horse’s womb with a gloved hand and frown. 

“She was pregnant,” the farmer chokes out, their throat feeling tight again. It hurts to utter the words aloud.

“With twins?” The veterinarian asks, turning around to look at them. 

“No, just one baby,” the farmer shakes their head. Why would they ask about twins? Surely, they don’t feel another baby in the womb. The thought of two deaths is morbid and distressing enough, but three? The farmer inhales shakily. 

“There’s… something else here.” The veterinarian remarks, their face contorting as they feel the horse’s womb once more. They turn back to look at the farmer for assistance. The farmer feels a horrible, inexplicable sense of foreboding crawling up their skin. Despite that feeling, they nod to the veterinarian. The doctor nods in response and turns to the horse’s womb, before making an incision.

The veterinarian unearths the dead foal and places it on the nearby hay with infinite gentleness. The farmer’s chest begins to hurt as they come to terms with the sight before them. Their pain doesn’t end there, however. The veterinarian continues slicing along the skin before stopping and glancing back at them inexplicably. It’s as if they’re waiting for permission to continue. The farmer appreciates the gesture and they nod in affirmation. This mystery needs to be put to rest. 

The veterinarian inhales sharply, sending the farmer’s heart racing. The farmer prompts them to step aside, revealing the horse’s womb. There’s… something there. The farmer squints at it, a gasp ripping its way from their lips as they realize just what they’re looking at. A human corpse lies on the stable floor, a stark shock of muted crimson against the golden strands of hay. The farmer brings a shaking hand to their pocket and calls the police. 

Unaware of these occurrences, you slowly exhale and pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache coming on. You busy yourself with grading your students’ papers, and you don’t learn of the corpse until a few hours later, when the medicine begins to kick in and you’re foolishly convinced that you’ll be fine. Before you can leave for the day, Jack is walking up to you and beckoning you to the lab. The two of you grab Beverly along the way, which leaves the three of you to enter the laboratory that Price and Zeller are currently situated in. When you walk in, you’re immediately assaulted with the scent of formaldehyde. Price explains the situation behind the corpse, how a veterinarian found the body within the womb of a horse. The notion is strikingly similar to the other deaths by suffocation that have been eluding the BAU for several weeks. Jack seems to think the same thing, as he rattles off what he knows so far about the killer. You add things here and there—small things you can notice from the state of the corpse itself—before Price gets the group back on track. 

“I called you here because…” Price trails off, frowning before readjusting his stethoscope and placing it on the victim’s chest once more. The room is deathly silent as he concentrates. “...There’s a heartbeat.”

“That doesn’t come with the onset of rigor mortis—we all know that,” Zeller continues, looking down at the corpse with a somewhat puzzled expression. He seems to sense you staring and looks up, his eyebrows furrowing as his gaze meets yours. “She’s dead.” He announces with complete certainty. 

“She was found in the womb of the horse?” Beverly asks. Everyone else nods and she pauses for a moment. “Make an incision and check the chest cavity.” There’s an unshakeable certainty in her voice and it throws you off for a moment, before you realize what she’s getting at. It’s not unfathomable that something was buried within the victim’s chest cavity. Suffocation seems to be a common theme with this killer. Did they put some sort of dead animal in the corpse? The thought makes your stomach turn. 

“Alright,” Price acquiesces, after glancing at Jack for approval. Crawford nods, evidently attributing value to Beverly’s suggestion. The four of you—Crawford, Beverly, Zeller, and you—watch as Price leans in and makes a careful incision in the chest. For several moments, there’s nothing but a tense silence in the air as Jimmy works. The quiet is broken a few seconds later when Price takes a sharp breath. “I saw something.” 

“Keep going,” Jack demands, bringing Jimmy’s attention back to the task at hand. Price nods and makes the incision a little bigger. All of you are watching in anticipation, waiting for something you’re not quite sure will appear. 

All of a sudden, there’s a flash of motion. A yellow blur flits about the cavity, before reaching upwards and extending its wings to fly out. You watch in disbelief as the bloodstained bird stretches its wings and flies about the lab, colliding with the sheen of the fluorescent lighting and sending shadows flickering along the floor.

Jack is the first one to respond. He quickly paces over to the small window located near the ceiling and opens it, allowing the bird an escape. For a few moments, the bird doesn’t seem to notice: it’s too overwhelmed with the sudden change in environment to comprehend that it has just been granted an escape. It has a chance at true freedom, but it’s too busy taking in the laboratory’s flimsy promises to notice. The bird eventually notices the open window and flies out of it, before Jack closes the laboratory off from the outside world once more. 

The group begins discussing what just occurred, but your mind is elsewhere. You feel a strange sort of kinship with the bird: suffocated beneath rows of ribs and walls of tissue and skin; banished to the space between; too taken with the small allowances to notice freedom within reach. You pinch the bridge of your nose. Your headache is returning, as pressure builds up in your temples and constricts your very skin. It’s significantly harder to breathe. Every time you blink, you’re greeted with the memory of that bright yellow bird bursting from its confines, greeting the stale laboratory air with beating wings. You step outside the lab to get some fresh air, trading your smaller prison for a bigger one—just as the bird did mere moments ago. 

It doesn’t take long for Jack to find you. After all, you’re not hidden—you’re simply leaning against the wall in the hallway that leads to the laboratory. Jack strides up to you, his hands in his pockets and that familiar tight line drawn across his face. You suspect he’ll get wrinkles a lot sooner than everyone else his age—sheerly because of all the responsibility he holds and the pressure he’s forced to perform under. It must be exhausting to be the one calling the shots in these horrible situations. You had always assumed Jack had the easy job, but looking at him now, you think that assumption must be incorrect. He is suffering, just as you are. Perhaps… Jack has just grown better at hiding it. 

The thought makes Jack’s remark slip in one ear and right out the other. You ask him to repeat himself and he sighs. “We need to go to the stable where the corpse was found. There are several police officers there already, but…” But we need to do a more thorough investigation , he doesn’t say. You hear him anyway and nod. Jack walks past you and paces purposefully down the hall, not even bothering to look and see if you’re following him. Perhaps he already knows you will follow him. 

What follows is an awkward car ride. Neither of the two of you attempt to break the tense silence, leaving a suffocating air of uncertainty and indecision. You don’t know what to say to Jack, so you instead busy yourself with looking out the window. You resolutely pretend not to notice your boss’s gaze repeatedly flitting over to you and, after a painful amount of time, Jack is driving up the gravel path that leads to a modest farmhouse and a beautiful wooden stable. 

The place is already crawling with police officers and FBI agents. Unfortunately, the police were the first ones to be informed of the case, which means the FBI is forced to share jurisdiction with them. You know Jack isn’t too happy about that, especially once you see the frown on his face as he watches the police officers clumsily investigate. They don’t have the right training for a situation like this and Jack is delighted to inform them of that fact—albeit with much more sugar coated wording than you would have utilized. A few minutes later, the cops are gone, leaving Jack, you, and the set of agents that Jack requested to follow after your car on the drive over. The other agents are quick to secure the crime scene, while Jack and you decide to explore the premises a little first. 

The property features a small, rather unremarkable house with slightly dirty bricks and a well-loved bench swing on the porch. The front door is agape, revealing hardwood flooring and items strewn about. Jack and you exchange a glance before walking into the home. You don’t see any sign of life until you reach the kitchen and come across an older woman sitting at the table, stirring a cup of tea. You’re quick to show your badge and explain the situation to her. She doesn’t seem to have a great idea of what’s going on, so you eventually decide to leave her be and keep looking about the property. 

Next to the house is a rather large stable, complete with several different stalls and a wide variety of tools. You have no idea what half of the tools could possibly be used for, but the majority of them look as if they’ve been used at least once. There are bales of hay in the corner of the room and various accessories hanging near the post of each horse’s stall. There are only a few horses in the stable—you think you could’ve seen a few in the pastures out back earlier. There’s a horrible stench pervading the air, and it’s not the typical odor that comes from a farm. It’s the smell of death. You look at Jack and he nods, inclining his head and gesturing for you to continue exploring the stable. It isn’t until you reach the last stall—one that is inexplicably larger than the rest—that you find the source of the stench. The rotted corpse of the horse rests at the back of the stall, the womb flayed open. The organs have been removed, but the smell of decay remains. Surprisingly enough, you’re not alone in this stall. A brown-haired man sits cross-legged on the floor next to the horse, a blank expression on his face. 

“...Hello?” You decide to try. There’s no response. “Excuse me?” Still no response. 

You glance at Jack and he raises his eyebrows, before turning to the stranger. “You must be Peter Bernardone,” Jack remarks. The mention of the man’s name seems to be enough to get his attention. On second thought, you remember Jack offhandedly mentioning that there may be a stablehand on site. It seems you’ve found him. 

“That’s me,” the man replies flatly, staring ahead with glassy eyes. He looks as if he’s on an entirely different plane of existence, as he looks at the wall ahead of him with enough intensity to melt it.

“Jack Crawford, FBI,” Jack answers with an introduction of his own. He flashes his badge for a moment before putting it away. You can’t tell if Peter is even paying attention, but you do the same to make him more comfortable. “We’re just here to ask you some questions.”

“I want to talk,” Peter murmurs quietly, just barely loud enough to be heard. He pulls his knees up to his chest; his eyes haven’t strayed from the corpse of the animal in front of him. You feel your chest constrict a little at the sight. 

“Good,” Jack responds with a nod. 

“...To you,” Peter finishes with a gesture. To your complete surprise, he doesn’t point at Jack—he’s pointing at you. Jack blinks in equal surprise, looking at you for answers. You send him a helpless look. At first, you’re not sure why you seem more trustworthy than Jack. Then you remember Jack’s position and the intimidating aura he tends to give off. You think you’d want to talk to someone like yourself too, were you in Peter’s situation. 

“Alright,” you agree. You don’t see the harm in having a conversation. You need information and, more importantly, answers. Jack stares at you for a long few seconds, before exhaling in evident exasperation. 

“I’ll be outside,” Jack promises, before walking away. You wait until Jack is out of sight before you take a step closer to Peter, placing your hands in your pockets. 

“What do you do here, Peter?” You hear yourself ask. Your voice sounds foreign to your ears. 

“I volunteer here,” Peter responds, still facing the corpse. His voice sounds hollow, empty. “Sometimes.” 

“Did you… know this horse?” You ask hesitantly, looking down at the corpse.

“Yes,” Peter answers without hesitation. There’s a hint of emotion in his voice now.  

“Ridden her before?”

“I don’t ride the horses,” Peter replies, “I just like to brush them.” 

“Okay,” you acknowledge. You begin pacing around the stall in an attempt to calm your restless nerves. “Peter, were you here on the day that the veterinarian visited?” Jack had briefed you on the circumstances of the horse’s death, how a veterinarian had been called to investigate before the corpse was found in the womb. 

“I don’t remember a veterinarian,” he stares ahead with a frown. 

“That’s fine,” you answer. He may not have been there that day. “The veterinarian was the one who cut open the womb and found the corpse… Did you know this horse was pregnant?”

At that question, Peter turns around and stares at you. His hollow gaze is enough to send a shiver down your spine. For a moment, he just stares at you, before huffing in amusement. “Obviously.” 

“Obviously,” you echo. You suppose that was a rather dumb question on your part. “Were you… sad about the foal?”

“Of course,” Peter huffs again. “Why do you think I’m sitting here?” This discussion isn’t getting you very far. 

“Fine,” you acquiesce. You take a deep breath. “This doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I’m going to give you my extension, and if you ever feel like talking about what happened, you can call me, okay?” Thankfully, you know for certain that Peter isn’t the killer—the psychological profile you built on this murderer tells you that much. Jack clearly doesn’t think Peter is the killer either, and those two facts are enough for you to rule him out as a suspect. However, you’re still contemplating the possibility of him tampering with the crime scene. 

Peter clears his throat pointedly and you remember what you were supposed to be doing. You grab a notepad from your jacket pocket and quickly scrawl down the Behavioral Analysis Unit’s phone number, followed by the extension to your office phone. You take a step closer and hold it out to Peter. For a fraction of a moment, you think he won’t take it. Just before you can pull your hand back, he takes the paper and slips it into his pocket. 

You turn on your heel and take a step towards the door of the stall, fully intent on leaving, when the door falls open of its own accord. Jack Crawford stands in the doorway, staring at you. 

“Good, Agent,” Jack remarks. This must be important. “We have a lead,” he says vaguely, his eyes falling to Peter. You can’t discuss confidential information here—the details will have to wait until you’re both in the car.

“Excellent,” you remark in relief. “I’ll meet you at the car?” You can sense that Peter’s attention is piqued. Maybe you can still get something out of him. Jack nods and walks away once more. You then turn to Peter, who has turned his body away from the horse to face you. Somehow, he’s intrigued now. Something has caught his eye. “Sorry, Peter,” you apologize, taking a step backwards and emphasizing that you’re a moment away from leaving, “I have to go.”

“What is it?” Peter asks, “Did you find him?”

“It’s classified, I’m sorry,” you respond, ignoring the inexplicable sound of alarm bells blaring in your head. Peter isn’t the killer. “But we’re tracking down this killer. I promise he’ll be put away.”

“You promise?” Peter asks, a dangerous conviction in his eyes. 

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation. You don’t have the authority to make that kind of promise, but you do anyway. The sincerity in your expression must convince Peter, because he takes a slow breath and the tension seems to fade from his form. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Peter. It was nice to meet you.” Peter says the same and you turn to leave the stable. 

“Price and Zeller found soil in the corpse’s throat,” Jack recounts to you as he drives along the highway, moving at a comfortable speed. His eyes are fixed on the road, but he recalls his conversation with Price with perfect consistency. “We traced it to a burial site about thirty minutes from here.”

“Great,” you remark, relief coursing through you. To your surprise, Jack doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply nods ever so slightly and continues staring ahead. Now, it seems as if he’s avoiding something. “What is it?” You ask. Something seems off about him. 

“You may want to brace yourself,” Jack warns vaguely. 

“Why?” You hear yourself question. Jack doesn’t answer, and he’s quiet for the rest of the car ride. When the two of you pull up to the supposed burial site, you’re filled with trepidation. This job always comes with the knowledge that blood and gore could be waiting at every corner. That’s the normal day for an agent. So… why does Jack feel the need to warn you? You grapple with the prospect as the two of you leave the car and join the group of agents circled around something. 

It isn’t until you get closer that you recognize the familiar stench of rotting death. Sure enough, the group of agents is clustered around a hole in the ground—one that houses a woman’s corpse. You stare at the marks around her neck, the dirt caked under her nails and staining her fingertips. She was on the brink of death when she was buried. She was trying to escape. You stare down at the body for another moment, searching for any more abnormalities, before taking a step back to let the other agents resume their investigation. You exchange glances with Jack. 

“She’s not the only one,” Jack says. You stare at the field around you—the grassy, open expanse. It seems to stretch on for miles now. You feel your heart steadily thudding in your chest, at a rate slightly faster than normal. Your head begins to ache. 

“How many of them are there?” You murmur. The question is quiet, as you practically whisper it against the wind. For a moment, you think Jack doesn’t hear it. You then realize that he has comprehended it, but is simply declining to answer. Indeed, your boss stares out at the field with a conflicted expression. “Jack?”

“Sixteen,” Jack responds, turning his attention back to you. You feel something in your stomach twist and pull. 

“That can’t be right,” you remark. It sounds as if the wind is picking up. It takes you several seconds to realize the sound is being conjured by your own mind, and that the air is damp and still around you. You swallow hard and take another look around at the field, suddenly understanding why the agents are now evenly dispersed across the space. They all have shovels and each sound of metal hitting dirt is enough to send a bolt of pain down your temple and through your cheekbones. Your teeth hurt as you watch the unearthing of sixteen different victims. They’re uniformly dispersed across the field. This is no happy accident—the killer meticulously planned for their graves to be close (but not too close). The thought brings a burning feeling to your throat and you feel your knees suddenly buckle. You place a hand on the ground, feeling the familiar horrible feeling of nausea climbing past your throat until you’re vomiting on the killer’s ground. It takes you a few minutes to stop, and even longer for you to fully recover. Your eyes sting and you can’t tell if you’re going to cry or pass out. There’s an overwhelming clarity in your vision and a rhythmic pounding at your temple.

This graveyard is a gruesome display, even to someone who has spent their entire career surrounded by carnage. You’ve seen your fair share of murder victims. You’ve never seen sixteen of them lined up in two neat rows of eight, buried in a nondescript field under layers of muddy soil. Moreover, you can sense the killer’s feelings—and it makes you sick. This was not a gesture born out of respect for the victims. The murderer did not dig up these graves to give these women a final resting place; he buried them to trap them, so that even in death, they would never truly be free. Their existences would be tied to him forever. They would never be allowed to breathe again. It’s nothing short of sickening. There’s nausea stewing in your stomach again, revulsion prickling across your skin, and sweat trickling down your neck.

You can’t seem to push yourself up to your feet. You’re grounded to the damp soil, to the wrong side of the earth. What deems you worthy of living? What deemed these women worthy of dying? Your hands are twitching at your sides. A deep breath causes your chest to hitch and you nearly vomit again. You look down on your body as you claw at the grass and tear it up, shakily pulling at the dirt and plants and grass and rot and death and injustice and horrible, terrible guilt and indescribable anger and vengeance -

There’s a hand on your shoulder. You instinctually tense, your movements beginning to slow. It feels as if you’re suddenly catapulted back into your body, forced to inhabit the itchy, dirt-stained skin and the endless remorse that wants to eat you alive from the inside. 

“They’re dead; there is nothing left for them here,” Jack says. It’s his strange way of comforting you. It sort of works. After a moment, he takes a step forward and extends a hand to you. You take it, allowing him to pull you up. Jack seems to be fighting against the urge to say or do something, because his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are pulled taut in a thin line. There’s dirt all over you, yet you are still privileged with life. 

You don’t remember how you get back to the Bureau. All you remember is staring blankly ahead as you’re half-led through the halls by Jack himself, his hand on your shoulder providing equal support and increased pressure. All you remember is the worry on Alana’s face as you walk past, the way she gets up from her desk and walks over to you, how she leads you towards the far restroom with a gentle hand. It ends up being the same restroom where Zeller accused you of killing Franklyn. The memory of that encounter is far fresher than you want it to be. 

Alana leads you to a sink and guides your hands towards the water. 

“Allow me,” she remarks, turning on the sink. She steps away for a moment and you stare at the water dripping from the faucet. Alana returns moments later with a washcloth. She pumps some soap on your hands and helps you wash them clean. Your head aches. You don’t know what to think, what to say. All you can think about is the graveyard. It haunts your vision every time you blink, forcing you to think of suffocating under piles of dirt and debris. You inhale sharply, gasping. Regaining your breath is a chore. “I’m worried about you,” Alana soon admits. You hate that her concern makes you feel appreciated. Your relationship with Alana ended years ago. You don’t want to be hers again, but this very moment reminds you of the intimacy you no longer get to see.

“You shouldn’t be,” you remark. Alana laughs under her breath. You both know that’s not how it works. Emotions don’t bend to logic. 

“What did you see?” Her hand on your forearm keeps you tethered to reality. You shake your head, unable to begin describing the scene that will most certainly haunt your nightmares. The two of you are silent for the remainder of your time together under the flickering fluorescent lights, as you try to come to terms with the terrible regret, revulsion, and rage threatening to spill over your frame and inhabit your every waking moment.

next chapter

endnotes: thanks for reading! i'm very excited to continue this story, mwahhahahha

here's a lil sneak peek for the next chapter: “Peter,” Clark practically coos. You hate him, more than you’ve ever hated anyone before. He is a bundle of contradictions: a fine-dressed man with a fine-dressed smile and fine-dressed lies and cruelty and violence and- “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

hannibal taglist <3: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

#Hannibal Lecter x reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #transmasc reader #male reader #gn reader #hannibal x gn reader #hannibal x male reader #gotta cover all the bases

[connan-l]

YOKAI: Since you hate men, please make me your shiki. Hey, Nanase.

TAKUMA: You're popular as usual. NANASE: For God's sake... They're all fooling around, just because Matoba isn't here. They may be imitating women, but they are all bothersome monsters.

—Volume 21, Special 17.

It's funny that sometimes I think saying Nanase is canonically a lesbian is reading too much into it given the only evidence we have is One scene that's just subtext and coding (and okay her wearing that suit, that's a very soft butch gay suit. And then there's her fascination for Reiko but I don't think that really counts, and that's mostly developed in the anime sadly), but then I reread that moment from Special 17 and I'm like. umm. Midorikawa what was the purpose of that scene if not to tell us she is Very Gay lmao

I just love the implication that apparently Nanase being a lesbian is such a widely known fact within the exorcist community that yokai literally take the appeareance of women to flirt with her. Like okay. Even Takuma coments that she's "popular as usual," which granted he's just teasing her about the yokai flirting with her here but still. What's your history Miss Nanase 😭 Do you think when she was young she was a ladykiller who went around seducing all the female exorcists so that's why she has that reputation lol

Also I'm kind of mad about how the official English translation did that specific scene:

YOKAI: We don't like men. Won't you please make me your servant? C'mon, Nanase.

Like. At least they still come off as flirting with her, and yes, the original Japanese can be a little ambiguous — but honestly that's pretty clear the yokai are not talking about themselves but that they're talking about Nanase.

YOKAI: 男は嫌いなんだよう だからさあ 式にしておくれぇ ねぇ七瀬

"Otoko wa kirai nandayou" make little sense to translate it as "WE don't like men"... They're clearly talking about Nanase disliking men here, especially within the scene's context given what Nanase says next? She basically states that those yokai took the appearance of women to "fool around [with her]," so what would be the point of doing this if not because Nanase "hate men"?

It pisses me off a little, like c'mon. I don't really think it was deliberate but that's still annoying because it does somewhat change the gay subtext. At least recently they still kept Shinobu's flirting with women intact so I hope that was still some unintentional mistake on their part but well.

I hope the new anime season adapt this scene properly too and that the sub/dub don't mess it up (the anime do tend to give Nanase a lot of screentime so I'm curious about how they'll adapt this tbh.)

#Natsume Yuujinchou #Natsume's Book of Friends #NatsuYuu #Nanase #Nanase NatsuYuu #Natsuchou #Natsume #Nanase (Natsume's Book of Friends)

[y-rhywbeth2]

Lore: Elven Culture #1

(An incomplete compilation.) Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess and it's borderline impossible to cover everything. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Elves Physiology | Culture | Surface Elves | Religion | History | Homelands | Half-elves --- WIP

--- How to flip somebody off in elven culture. Random elven pan-cultural highlights ranging from marital traditions to poker.

Key elven philosophical concepts that inform their entire cultures. Farming, architecture, opinions on undeath, stages of life (Astarion's 200 years too old to be acting like an ardavanshee, but there we go)

Default elven society, including the family units (Clans and Houses), nobility, and the absolute monarchies with the divine right of kings that're tasked with herding cats.

Forewarning, this is a long post! And I still cut stuff... I was going to include the specifics of the seven individual surface elven cultures, but it was getting too damn long.

---

Random little things before we get into the wordy stuff:

The equivalent to giving somebody the finger amongst elves is to crook the middle finger inwards towards oneself and then bring it upwards in a diagonal movement across the body. For the greatest show of insolence, the elf in question may then hold eye contact and slowly lick the tip of that finger. I have no context for how this come to be, or why it's insulting, but I'm sure it's quite the story.

Elves rarely make their piercings out of metal, instead preferring to craft them from the bone of their ancestors and departed loved ones.

The elven term for their own people is Tel'Quessir ("of the people," or simply "the people). The name refers to the fact that all elves are inherently spiritually linked to each other, the Seldarine and the Weave. They are capable of a form of low-level telepathy where they can share emotions, surface level thoughts and reverie with each other. As a result, non-elves who are not part of this interconnected whole are N'Tel'Quessir or N'Quess - "not of the people."

The elven spirit, or soul, is referred to as ues. The ability for elves to link their minds and share feelings and thoughts is a state referred to as "communion."

The elven term for "stick-in-the-mud" is irrquarlan - which I'd imagine is often used by moon and copper elves to refer to sun elves.

When an issue is considered to be "black and white" - as in a choice lacking any moral ambiguity, where one is wrong and the other right - elves would say it is "sun and moon," as in anybody with working eyes can tell the difference between sunlight and moonlight.

The elven equivalent of "no shit sherlock" is “Trees grow, no?”

Elves have a gambling game called kholiast, involving a deck of over 1,000 cards. The hands are determined randomly by dice roll, and the point system would apparently "drive even the most dedicated Candlekeep scholar completely mad." Needless to say, moon elves love it and probably invented it.

Haven't found much on elven coinage, but the one familiar in human lands is the "blueshine" coins; silver coins with a blue-green lustre bearing the image of a crescent moon (the holy symbol of Corellon Larethian). Presumably equivalent to a silver coin in any currency.

While they can be made of the materials used in reality, elven bowstrings may be crafted from spider silk (especially if of dark elven make), elven hair, and sometimes magically-treated spun silver.

Elven fashion varies by specific culture, location and individual tastes. The trend is for loose and flowing garments with no footwear (except for the sun elves, who refuse to go out in public without some kind of shoes). An alternative to shoes is to use some kind of minor magical accessory that allows one to hover just above the ground, able to glide around without getting one's feet dirty or damaged. They tend to have few or no taboos about nudity, so garments may be quite revealing. Elves believe that their dress should be a reflection of their home nation, and the peace and prosperity that it cultivates.

-

The generic term of reference for ones committed romantic partners is one's "mate." Elves practice marriage, and the terms "husband" and "wife" have been seen, although it seems "consort" is just as - if not more - popular.

Elven marriages may be sealed through the use of one or two lower level High Magic rituals;

Quamaniith, "the vow made tangible," causes a vow made to be woven into physical form. In the case of a wedding, it's about the size of a fist. It usually takes the form of a stone, carved with inscriptions relating to the vow, though artistic mages may craft a figurine. When used for marriage vows, the created object is called an Aestar'Khol, a "marriage stone." Should the two divorce, or betray their vows, the stone will shatter. There is no other way to damage it, it will always remain perfectly unblemished.

U'Aestar'Kess, "One Heart, One Mind, One Breath" - this ritual creates a permanent passive mental bond between an elf and another living being (who may also be an elf), and it sees use most often as part of marriage rites. It allows the linked beings to know instinctively when their partner is in danger, detect and sometimes share their mood, and if they concentrate they can communicate telepathically.

-

Due to the fact that elves don't sleep, instead spending four hours in reverie, an elven home will not include a bedroom. Personal rooms resemble something closer to studies and sitting rooms; furnished with comfortable chairs, lounges and divans, furnished with personal affects and whatever projects the owner might be working on.

The other side effect of the reverie is that since elves have a full 20 hours of activity, can see just fine at night, and don't necessarily have fixed sleeping hours, elven communities don't fluctuate in activity levels. Villages, towns and cities will be as busy in the dead of the night as they are at every hour, and elves have more free time than others.

-

Elves have perfected birth control. While technically the magic rituals involved in this came about for practical reasons - including ensuring a child would not be conceived in harsh conditions like famines, plagues and wars, where its birth would cause suffering for both it and its family - elves now just use it as an everyday thing when they don't want to get pregnant. No elf will be having children if they don't want them, those who do want them will only be conceiving them when they intend to, and attempting to change their mind will be considered an infringement of their personal freedoms and bodily autonomy, and be met with hostility.

-

Linguistics: The elven language is called Lalur, "the Singing." All elven languages are written in the Espruar script, which has two forms. One features more loops and curls, and the other features a series of curved lines, dots and dashes, which has come into fashion more recently. Another elven language is Seldruin, which is almost extinct. It's the language used in the casting of elven High Magic, and is written in a unique script called Hamarfae.

Similarly, elven accents are usually described as "musical" - they tend to pronounce "s" softly, drawing it out and their voices shift up and down the vocal register more than is usual. Elven vocal chords are odd, allowing them to reach over an octave-and-a-half, which they can sustain for longer than a human could. Elven vocal chords are capable of producing two completely different notes at the same time. The overall effect of the elven voice and accent is likened to chiming, or little bells.

Elven songs are usually either wordless vocalisation, or feature multiple overlapping voices singing different lyrics. The typical "mood" of the music varies by culture: for example, sun elves prefer solemn songs with gravitas; wood elves enjoy a good rhythm; moon elves prefer something fun, whimsical, and sometimes bawdy. Some elves have a rare genetic quirk that allows them to use their vocal chords to speak two different things at the same time; the "secondary" voice is much fainter, and limited, but in music is allows the singer to produce a layered, echoing quality.

Elven musical performances feature galadrae - three dimensional illusions depicting scenes to go along with the song, not dissimilar to what one might see at a modern concert.

Musical instruments most often seen are woodwinds and strings, especially harps (which are strongly associated with elves). Elves are the only people thus far who have worked out how to build their instruments to be capable of sustain. Elven music has been compared (out of universe) to Enya, Loreena McKennit, Genesis and ELO.

Music and song is an important part of romance in elven culture... alongside erotic dances, apparently. But anyway, courting is accomplished by writing each other love songs and singing them to each other, or by composing poems for similar effect.

Non-elven languages are rather charmingly referred to as Glahkery, which translates into something like "strifeful sounds."

-

Key Philosophies: An important part of elven cultures is the concept of laraelever - technically referring to undamaged forest, "as it should be." This does not mean nature should be "pristine" or untouched by humanoid life. It means that the way the world is found in its untouched state, unmodified by another's desire, is how it is meant to be. The lives of others should not impose on the world more than they need to. The natural world is to be without blight, unburnt and unharmed by careless logging, overhunting or depletion of resources.

It also applies to the elven approach to life and the passage of time: things will generally occur when they're ready and grow/proceed at the speed they're intended to. One should never rush. Non-elves and younger elves tend to find this attitude incredibly frustrating, while "adult" elves find them dangerously impatient.

This may also be a part of why elven cultures tend to value independence and individual freedom - that one must "accept life as it is", implies you can't force things to be anything else.

The "way life is supposed to be" does not include dark magics that tamper with natural cycles, and the elven word for undeath is mormhaor - "corrupted death." Undeath is a blasphemous attempt to impose one's will on the world and force it into a shape in the most horrific way possible, and is heavily tied to the loss and violation of free will, and its believed that undeath destroys the soul (whether this is correct or not in D&D varies by source). The state is generally considered worse than death - the elf is cut off from their people, their gods and their path, and denied their chance for spiritual enlightenment and the afterlife. The sole acceptable form of undeath exists in the baelnorn; a form of elven lich that was created willingly and is sustained by positive energy instead of negative, in the name of continuing some duty or other for the sake of their people. They are sponsored by the Seldarine, and tolerated by the elven deity of death. Elves respect their sacrifice, but are usually still uneasy around them.

This philosophy appears in the rest of their societies in the way that they build their homes and furniture; a chair may be "constructed" of wood that was carefully grown into shape and harvested with careful consideration to the timing, rather than by unnecessarily cutting down an entire living tree and taking more wood than is technically needed and whittling it down to shape.

Elven architecture is built to complement its natural surroundings, blending in with it. The design concept is that a building should seen as much a part of the landscape as the trees or mountains and enhance their beauty. To help these buildings blend in, elven doors are designed to disappear into their surroundings, and they can be incredibly annoying for outsiders to spot (elven children grow up learning to see them, and so elves don't have this problem).

Buildings are preferably constructed by growing trees into shape rather than by constructing from timber or stone. If they are made of stone, they're still usually "grown" by shaping them with magic, creating a seamless mineral structures.

From non-elven perspectives, an elven city resembles a garden or park more than a settlement. They favour building in the trees themselves more than anything else (for example, the city of Suldanessellar in Baldur's Gate 2 is built on platforms built around the trees, high in the canopy). The higher constructions are linked by bridges and swinging ropes.

Ground dwellings are typically built for children, the elderly, and the disabled, and others who might be unsafe with heights and getting up and down them. It's also where elven realms that have contact with outsiders build their inns, taverns, warehouses and businesses. Elves don't clear the area a great deal when building their ground dwellings, their roads and streets are built around pre-existing natural structures and can meander a lot.

The ground level and higher parts of the city may be linked by teleport magics and enchanted platforms that function as lifts/elevators.

This preference to leave things untouched doesn't mean that elves never alter the world for their own desires - especially since obsessive, eccentric artists are a staple of the elven population. Wealthy Houses are known to make roofing materials out of precious stones. Some cities, such as Leuthilspar, get artistic with their roads. The main road there is magically constructed from some kind of glassy, clear crystal and is nicknamed the Diamond Road.

Each building typically belongs to a single Clan or House (often the building is an entire living, ancient tree), and if they belong to a culture that builds tombs, they will also have a family tomb. The rest of the city, outside of residential buildings, is not considered owned by the elves but simply under their care and stewardship. It belongs to the other lives as much as them. Elven communities often have neighbours from other fey races; dryads, faerie dragons, treants, fauns, nymphs, pixies, etc. Elves and fey tend to be relatively close, and the elven and seelie fey pantheons are often worshipped by all of them.

Elves do not farm in pastures and fields - it's more that they cultivate the world around them without disturbing it too much (I don't remember the technical agricultural jargon here.) They'll try not to disturb the rest of the ecosystem too much, but elven farmers will nurture the plants they desire while removing harmful plants and pests. They don't introduce plants or disturb the soil, merely encourage what's already there for healthier and higher yields of whatever grows. A lot of outsiders can easily stroll through a farm without realising it. Farmers are the only elves who count the passing of years, due to the need to keep track of crop yields and the ages of plants and animals. The equivalent of a year to elves is a grouping of four years known as an aeloulaev, or more commonly as a pyesigen - "four snows" (plural pyesigeni).

While Houses might have their lorekeepers, who preserve and record history, the typical elven opinion on time tends to be that "history is the weave of things outside of life, not for those still within its loom." They see history in their reverie, they don't need to worry about it in their waking hours.

-

Yet another elven philosophy is of the Road of Life: a multi-staged, twisting spiritual path every elf walks, and one with many potential branching paths to explore.

It is, in part, a shared path because all elves are part of the greater whole that is the Tel'Quessir - but at the same time, no elf can walk the path for another. All should care for the community and support fellow elves in being able to walk their path, so that the community can support them as they walk theirs; “We are on this shared path together, but at the same time all of us are finding our own way.”

Elves under 100 years old are walking the first section of the road. Their life experience and perspective is the equivalent of a human of the same age. They don't yet perceive time and think in terms of the passage of decades and centuries as a "mature" elf does, and from their elder's perspective are incredibly (annoyingly) impatient. Due to this gap in understanding, young elves often find themselves more comfortable in the company of humans, who share their feelings and perceptions.

It's the elves in their first stage of the road who are usually found adventuring and living in human cities, they're "whimsical dabblers, ‘flighty’ and inclined to plunge into something new or [grow] tired of something and move on without feeling the need to shoulder responsibilities, or [care] overmuch about consequences," "...almost like the humans in their passions of youth, and they adapt to their more transient surroundings. They eat over-spiced animal flesh and other abominable foods; they wield simpler, cruder, combat-oriented human magics; and they even mate with non-elves."

These younger elves, in the throes of rebellious youth and lack of patience, may be prone to selfishness, ruthless ambition and disrespecting their elders as they turn their nose up at elven values. This particular phase is referred to as Ardavanshee - "the restless young ones."

Older elves mostly leave the youth alone to make their own mistakes, assuming they'll grow out of their crueller and selfish behaviours with time and experience.

An elf under 90 years old is not considered experienced enough to be allowed to hold leadership positions.

All elves will begin their journey on the road with a basic magical education during childhood: Magic is an everyday part of elven cultures at every level of society, and every elf grows up surrounded by it. Even the copper elves, who have little interest in arcane magic, surround themselves with druidry.

Basic martial training in traditional elven martial arts is also part of the standard for all elven cultures, involving the bow, sword and rapier - elven blades tend towards being long, very thin and flexible. Elves have a long and bloody history of conflict, and every one of them is be expected to be able to defend themselves and their home, should the need arise.

Whatever other education their family sets for them, elves have childhoods much like any other race's children. They learn their history through creative retellings form their elders and are let loose to run around and engage in physical activities - climbing trees and swimming. They're taken to play in the outdoors and encouraged to take interest in the natural world, learning of the animals and plants they share the world with.

Reaching the elven age of majority, and the second stage of the path, occurs some time in their second century of life (120 years old, on average). As they mature and outlive the human lifespan they tend to settle into the elven ways, and focus on their spiritual ties to their communities and faith.

Mature elves typically take things very slowly. They spend a lot of time in contemplation, consider all facets and nuances in a problem, and try to predict all potential consequences that could be born of a choice (even those domino effects that may occur decades after the fact). They prefer to implement these choices very slowly, watching what ripples are caused through the course of years and responding accordingly - they may continue, stop, or make revisions as they go.

Occasionally an "adult" finds themselves drawn back to adventuring and a faster paced life outside of the elven homelands. This is accepted as simply a natural part of that elf's particular path.

The other branch on the road is one where an elf finds a passion and devotes themselves to it; fine art, playwriting, magic, architecture, the martial arts, literature, faith, music, whatever. They become hyperfixated on whatever has caught their eye; they keep the company of others who share their interest and talk about it to the exclusion of almost everything else (others are warned to beware engaging an elf in conversation about a topic dear to them, because they will tell you every single detail there is to know and will not stop).

Elves will dedicate months and years preparing for their projects; spending time in reverie and contemplation as they meditate on ideas, praying to the gods for guidance, and traveling leagues to gather materials and discuss with experts or observe others' works for inspiration.

The last stages of the road are stages of seeking spiritual enlightenment; they reflect on their long lives and many, many experiences with the world and contemplate the bigger picture and the nature of the universe and the People. They will begin to feel the Seldarine calling to them in their reverie, summoning them to the afterlife in Arvandor (Sehanine Moonbow's call, in particular).

The mythical final stage, occurring past 700 years of age, is one where an elf's contemplation successfully leads them to enlightenment. They become at peace, and their understanding puts them in perfect unity with the universe. These elves are faced with the choice of returning to Arvandor to join the gods, or to remain in the mortal world and use their wisdom to guide their people. Thus far the only elf said to have achieved this state was the elven queen Amlaruil, who chose to stay behind.

---

All this philosophy aside, elves still run businesses, have class and wealth divides and squabble amongst each other for power and prestige like anybody else does. The common elf is a priest, a guard, a farmer, a hunter, a cook, a maid, a tavernmaster... In daily life, most of the daily function of the realm involves cultivating the plants that grow in it (farming, construction, maintenance) and security (scouting, guarding, patrolling).

Although, elven society is steeped in magic all over the place, so in regards to things like maids and household chores, elves are more likely to simply use magic to clean the house and lessen the amount of physical labour involved.

---

Society (Houses and Clans, and the Government):

The concept of the Merchant Clans and Noble Houses aren't unique to drow; these family dynasties are part of larger elven culture, be they categorised as high, wood or dark. All elves are part of a larger extended family, known either as a House or a Clan, from which they take their surname.

Elves will generally be loyal to their Clan and House before their nation, and they have their own laws that members must follow, generally set by the matriarch or patriarch (the later only existing in non-drow cultures). Some have multiple leaders, ranging from a duo (House Nightstar is governed by twin sisters) to a council of elders. Each clan/house has different methods for choosing their leader/s, some are hereditary and others are elected. For larger Houses that span multiple regions, there will be a hierarchy with local leaders who answer to a family head that oversees the entire bloodline.

Elven nobility belong to Houses, which are generally known for each having certain political ideologies, and they often specialise in training their members in specific skills.

The elven concept of "aristocracy" is granted by a ruler, who makes that elf and their clan a Noble House as a reward for some exceptional service to elvenkind (this is very hard to achieve). The status cannot be revoked by a ruler, nobles can only be exiled and stripped of their House name by their own family.

Some families restrict their membership, and will not acknowledge the spouses or children of their relatives who are of certain elven cultures, non-elven races or half-elves. As a rule of thumb, moon elven culture would frown upon excluding anybody of elven blood from the family. Everybody tends to make an exception for drow - you are not bringing a dark elf into this family tree. Houses may adopt others into their family, and it's also possible for a House to adopt N'Quess into their ranks, usually as servants (so one could find a human cook who happens to be a member of an elven House).

Houses are generally associated with a specific elven culture, although the family usually contains a mixture of backgrounds. House Le'Quella, for example, has prominent mixed moon elven and green elven ancestry. The copper elves have mostly abandoned the concept of Houses, though some prestigious and historically important ones remain. Green elven cultures have long forsaken the concept, along with most of the trappings of the elven society that caused them thousands of years of suffering. Sun elves pay greater attention to their elders and important ancestors, and consider their Houses more "legitimate" than moon elven or wood elven Houses, and take House politics and affiliation far more seriously. Due to this, their Houses usually hold greater status than those of other elves'. Within the vast majority of dark elven societies, House affiliation and prestige is a matter of life and death, and being without a House to protect you leaves you open to enslavement and death.

Each House has two colours associated with it (sometimes they have more, less strongly associated colours), as well as an insignia (for example House Aelorothi's colours are pale blue and green, with a red swan for a crest. House Starym's colours are silver and maroon, with two falling silver dragons on the crest.) It seems like Clans may also have colours and insignias, but that may only be for the most prestigious of them. Even within the larger Houses, there will be members of the House who are nobility, and those who are common servants and footmen.

Clans and Houses are not tied to specific realms, and members and family units may be encountered anywhere in the world. "It's a mistake to think of elven Houses as equivalent to human [noble] Houses [...] in some respects you can almost think of an elven House as a small, extremely long-lived organisation with blood-ties."

Some Houses have existed for over 10,000 years, and these houses usually boast the highest status.

Status is a fluctuating thing; it depends on many factors such as wealth and prestige, the actions and reputation of its members, its relationship with other houses (feuds and alliances), how many powerful and talented mages - especially High Mages - it hold in its ranks...

Elven Houses may have smaller, related Houses attached to them called Septs, much like human dynasties have cadet branches. Septs are formed when a noble marries a commoner and takes their clan name, rather than having their lover marry into their House. A Greater House has many Septs, and a Lesser House fewer or none.

Arranged marriages do - or did - exist. They're primarily practiced as part of House politics, mainly by sun elves, and this historically caused some irritation in the time of Myth Drannor, when the Houses started using arranged marriages to call dibs on promising mages to bolster their own family's retinues and reputations. When elves marry, the elf of the less prestigious Clan/House will be considered as marrying into their spouse's more prominent Clan/House.

Surface elven Houses are as prone to intrigue and politicking as their Underdark equivalents, but they are significantly less likely to murder over it.

-

Most surface elven realms are city states, ruled by a Coronal, who is "speaker among the trees with Corellon's voice and bidding."

While this means that Coronal has absolute authority, the assumed role of the ruler is to keep the peace and maintain harmony between the various elven peoples and Houses within their realm. On an individual level, elves won't necessarily respond well to attempts to meddle in their personal lives, and sometimes trying to organise the masses is like herding cats.

The Coronal's word is law, but the entire realm may discuss and debate it before that word becomes law, and the Coronal cannot pass a law before at least a month has passed since its proposal.

While elves must accept the law of the land once made, mass migrations of entire clans and houses are known to occur in response to an unpopular proclamation as the elves leave for somewhere they don't have to listen (assuming the response isn't something more along the lines of an assassination...). While they might move to another elven settlement entirely, these elves won't necessarily leave the geographic area, they may simply settle on a patch just outside of the Coronal's jurisdiction and govern themselves. Sometimes elves just build an entire demiplane (small alternate universe) and move there instead.

In larger realms, such as the former empire of Cormanthyr, the Coronal oversees the realm and the individual cities within are been governed by a local council made up of the heads of the most influential Houses, who govern the minutia of daily life in their own city and have no influence outside of it.

Coronal is not usually an inherited position (especially in the modern day). How one achieves the position varies by place. In Cormanthyr, this was determined by blade-rite. The applicant draws an enchanted, sentient blade from its sheath, and the sword judges their intentions for the power they seek. If it decides they don't have the Tel'Quessir's wellbeing at heart and will abuse their power, then it kills them on the spot.

Rulers are advised by a council of elders, who as always are usually the family heads of the local Houses.

Larger surface elven society saw a slight shift towards matriarchy in the reign of Queen Amlaruil Moonflower on Evermeet, and women usually wield the most influence in elven politics.

The entirety of elvendom was technically ruled by a (popular) royal family at one point, situated in Evermeet. However the queen has vanished in the last century, and it seems the monarchy no longer applies. Even when she was alive, some of the elves were merely humouring the notion and didn't pay it much mind. Loyalty came mostly because she was likable and her people felt she cared for them and served them well.

Nobility is defined as the Houses in "good standing." Those who possess more "wealth" - although elves don't value things like gold the way others do, so they don't put the same weight on it - and those who have a fancier family history, which gives the family more weight when councils convene to make realm-wide decisions about enterprises and social policies being made for the good of all.

Some particularly arrogant Houses feel they have "claim" to a particular patch of forest, in the same way a human noble might claim estates, but nobody else would agree with them, and collective elven society considers the world outside of their front doors to be public property that happens to be under the People's care.

While no house is beholden to the realm it resides in, and owes no duties, society expects the elven aristocracy to provide warriors, funds and resources to the wellbeing of the realm as a matter of honour. In peacetime this means providing the guard patrols and hunting parties, and providing for the sick and elderly of their communities who require aid.

---

While the dwarves and some human cultures can give them a run for their money, elves are quite possibly the proudest people on Toril. Theirs was the first and longest humanoid empire, theirs is the greatest grasp of magic, theirs is the longest lived of the common races of Toril, theirs is the blood that runs in the veins of a god... Suffice to say, the People tend towards being arrogant and stubborn. It never occurs to a number of elves that their ways might not be the way, and between that and their resistance to being governed when the rulers want to change things, the dwarves have invented a saying regarding attempting to change their minds on something: "If you want to tell an elf what to do, be sure to bring your axe."

Where the halflings and gnomes blend in, elves (and dwarves) are the most likely to stand out as distinct, separate cultures within human cities. On average they're proud of their history and their ways of life, and won't be trading them for others. How aloof they are exactly will depend on factors like personality, and how fairly treated they feel they are being by their neighbours.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #elf tav #This took so long #Shoot me. #Please. #two sourcebooks. tweets. forums. youtube. #all it cost me was my sanity

[crow-stars]

❝LET'S GO ICE SKATING❞

❦summary; ice skating can be such a fun time, though that may depend on whether you're new to the rink or have a bit of experience under your belt. ♪the characters in this story; octavinelle; azul ashengrotto, jade leech, floyd leech, gn!reader ✎word count; ~674 words ❀what do the ghosts say?; ambiguous, school trip to an ice skating rink, falling chatacters, first times on ice, mentions of climates in respective twst characters homeland, fun times ☛the author's notes; nothing to note... ☪look at the catalogue?

❛AZUL ASHENGROTTO❜

❀ He would be... less than graceful

❀ You know that one art with Azul falling because he slipped on a banana peel? Yeah... 

❀ And he was so confident about it too!

❀ Sure, it was cold, and sure, his human legs have never touched ice, but he thought it couldn’t be too bad! 

❀ He was wrong.

❀ So, so wrong.

❀ The first moment he got on the ice, immediately slipped and fell on his butt

❀ Got up, tried again, and he fell

❀ Got up and decided to just hug the rails because he was not ready to be embarrassed for a third time

❀ He’s definitely going to be hugging the walls for most of the time on the ice, no doubt

❀ Azul refuses to try and go further than an arm’s length away from the railing

❀ His legs are horrendously shaky and he doesn’t. Know. How. To. Stop 

❀ Why did it look so much easier in the shows he watched?

❀ “Because they’ve practiced on the ice way more than you have Azul.” shut it jade

❀ But yeah, Azul isn’t getting much movement on the ice. 

❀ He’s used to the cold, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting whenever he falls

❀ Azul is definitely not going back on the ice, no matter how much you or anyone else try to convince him. 

❀ Maybe he would try selling some hot chocolate though...

❛JADE LEECH❜

❀ Jade has never been on ice before 

❀ So how is he so well balanced on the ice???

❀ No seriously, he’s stable, he can properly skate around and he hasn’t fallen either

❀ How is he doing that?

❀ I like to think that Jade actually has really good balance, so being on ice is a bit of a challenge at first, but he gets it soon enough 

❀ He’s not going to be doing anything flashy, but he’ll definitely be doing small circles around the rink or just idly skating by

❀ If you’re struggling, Jade would lend a hand, though not without a bit of teasing 

❀ Small things like poking at your side to make you fall stumble or just deciding to stop suddenly stop if you’re holding onto him

❀ Jade would apologize, but he’s definitely going to do it again

❀ I do think that Jade would find some enjoyment in ice skating and dabble in it from time to time 

❀ Though he wouldn’t take every opportunity to go skating, he wouldn’t protest to going 

❀ In my honest opinion, I think he’s rather go foraging in the woods to go find new mushrooms or plants he hasn’t discovered yet.

❀ I actually think that he’d prefer that rather than ice skating if it was an option

❛FLOYD LEECH❜

❀ Do not let him on the ice

❀ Not because he would be an absolute mess on the ice, no

❀ It’s because Floyd is a menace and has no spatial awareness. 

❀ I mean, he having fun at least? 

❀ But also he should probably have the rink to himself if he really wants to enjoy his time there 

❀ I wouldn’t be surprised if he picked up ice skating because he was bored. It seems like something Floyd would do

❀ And going in shorts in the winter also seems like something he would do, but we’re not here to talk about Floyd’s fashion sense (another post another day) 

❀ Anyway, Floyd definitely has a blast when ice skating because he really fast

❀ How and when he learned how to ice skate?

❀ Oh simple. 

❀ Spite

❀ See, I like to think that when Floyd got to experience winter for the first time, he saw a frozen over lake and thought he could easily walk over it

❀ He was wrong and fell straight ass on the ice

❀ Floyd was completely confused while Jade was laughing by the side

❀ And Floyd was embarrassed, he wasn’t sad, no

❀ He was going to go and conquer the ice. He had bruises for weeks but hey! Floyd learned how to ice skate!

❀ Most definitely would love to go and ice skate in his freetime

❀ That just means more opportunities to conquer the ice

#✎haunted books✎ #briarvalleyarchives #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland writing #twst writing #my writing #twst headcanons #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #twst azul ashengrotto #twst jade leech #twst floyd leech #azul twisted wonderland #jade twisted wonderland #floyd twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst octavinelle #octavinelle x reader #octavinelle

[1-800fandomqueen]

And I Will Live Forever

Vladislaus Dragulia x fem!reader

Part One

WC : 16.2K

SW : No usage of "Y/N," physical appearance and details are left completely ambiguous and are up to interpretation. Mentions of violence, canon-typical, this fic follows the chronological events of Van Helsing (2004). Everybody lives AU! because I am first and foremost fruity, and want to slum it with Dracula and his wives.

If there are any more warnings to be added let me know!

Story Notes :

For reader's bride dress, I imagine the "Melora White Maxi Dress And Collar" but with a very light blue gradient.

All sentences in this formatting are flashbacks from part one.

This is a re-post, all of my old accounts were deleted.

‘He was truly my dearest friend, albeit a little strange, I owed everything to him.’

You wait on the steps of the Monastery, seeing the horse approach from across the courtyard, your dearest friend, Gabriel - The Great Van Helsing - was returning from France today. He had been sent on a mission to capture and bring back Dr. Jekyll, alive. But word sent the day before his return showed that he would be returning empty handed. You walk down the stairs to greet him as he slows the horse and dismounts, “Gabriel!” arms tossed around his stiff body squeezing until he moves to return the sentiment. After you deem the hug long enough you let go, quirking an eyebrow at him, a slight frown overtakes your features, “You know how much trouble you’re in right?” You’re immediately met with a sigh and an eyeroll, Gabriel beginning to walk away.

“I don’t understand how you managed to mess this up, the Cardinal is extremely angry.” furiously pacing yourself to keep up with his long strides, the brim of his hat pulled low to hide any sort of expression upon his face. “Van Helsing are you even listening to me? The Cardinal is going to throw a-”

''I don’t give a damn what Jinette thinks, I got the job done didn’t I?” his tone unwavering and final, holding the door to the monastery open for you, following after. You decide not to answer as you walk through the glittering hall, making your way down to the confessional, standing in front of it as he enters. 

You waited outside the door, the conversation between Gabriel and Cardinal Jinette fading in and out with the fluctuation of their volume, the Cardinal remaining the loudest. You hated the way that Jinette spoke to him sometimes, Gabriel never failed to provide results, and had done everything in his power to fulfil every deed given to him by the church.  He was good at what he did, that was undeniable, but he was truly a good man at heart. 

He was the only reason you were allowed to stay within Vatican City, having shown up on the Ministry doorsteps only a few years after he did, you however were significantly younger when you did arrive. You’d been abandoned, living in the streets, when a rowdy group of men chased you all the way to the doors of the church. He had immediately come to your aid and ever since then he had somewhat taken on the role of the older sibling you never had, convincing his superiors to allow you to stay within the ancient building. He always had this air of guilt surrounding him whenever interacting with you, claiming that you reminded him of someone he once knew, but never explaining further than that. 

He taught you how to fight, how to defend yourself if the situation ever arose, he made you carry a small vial of holy water and a collapsible stake on your person at all times, telling you that you never know when you may need it. He was your only companion besides a friar named Carl, who was somewhat closer to your age, a madman when it came to inventing. 

Hearing the scrape of the sconce as the Cardinal opens the secret door, you slide into the booth next to Gabriel right before the metal gate slams into place, quietly taking your spot behind your friend as you begin the descent down into the order. You listen as the Cardinal gives the same spiel about being the last defence against evil, zoning out as you watch the monks move about the place. You snap back into focus at the sound of the projector whirring alive, Jinette giving Gabriel his newest assignment. “We need you to go to the east, to the far side of Romania. An accursed land, terrorised by all sorts of nightmarish creatures.” You watch Van Helsing's face go slightly pale as the image changes, an even more grim look taking over the one that usually resides upon his features, “Lorded over by a certain Count Dracula.” 

You slightly zone out once more as you study the painting, you can hear Gabriel speaking but are unaware of what it is he’s saying. You can’t help but feel a strange mixture of happiness and sadness take over your body as you look upon the man - The Count - in the image, you could swear to all that was holy that he looked familiar. Like you’d met him before. 

You’ve decided by what little of him you could see, that he was still undoubtedly handsome. Slightly taller than you, possibly 6-foot, dark hair, and shockingly blue eyes. 

You don’t notice the looks Gabriel throws your way, the realisation hitting him that you're lost at the sight of the photo. 

When the Cardinal changes the image projected, you rejoin the conversation, looking up to lock eyes with your friend, giving him a wary smile as you fight off the sudden emotional pit forming in your stomach. Listening as Jinette lists off members of this royal family, watching as Gabriel becomes starstruck at the sight of Princess Anna, giving him a smirk and a hard elbow to the ribs, him responding with a slight stomp onto your foot. 

You stop listening again when the insignia of his ring is mentioned, the pit returning to your stomach as you walk away to find Carl. You find the aforementioned man yelling at someone in a pedalling machine, gasping slightly as the person on said machine is electrocuted. “Carl what are you doing?” you’re met with a few mumbles of “Almost had it,” and “Maybe next time,” as Carl shuffles towards you, giving you a small pat on the arm and a crooked smile. He turns his attention to Gabriel as he approaches, automatically beginning his line of chastising and questioning. You follow as Carl begins putting things into a bag for him, Garlic, Holy Water, amongst some weapons. After he causes a viscous fluid to erupt into sparks upon the ground, you giggle as he turns with his inventors' goggles down, magnifying his eyes to a ridiculous level. He gives you a sour look, “the air is thick with envy” he says, rolling his eyes and walking away as you continue to giggle. 

He shuffles around to grab more weapons, going on about some substances that can emit light equivalent to the sun, telling Gabriel to use his imagination with it. “No Carl, I’m gonna use yours that’s why you’re coming with me.” “Oh hell be damned I am!” letting out a dramatic gasp as you clutch your chest, “Carl! You Cursed! Monks aren’t supposed to curse.” You watch as a smug grin takes over his face, leaning in close to you as if to tell a secret, “Well actually I’m still a friar, I can curse all I want. Damn it!” giving you a wink as he shuffles back to his original spot. 

“The Cardinal has ordered you to keep me alive as long as possible.” he continues, about to walk away before you grab his sleeve, “Wait, what about me? I want to come along as well.” You’re met with a stern look, the both of you completely ignoring Carl's mumbles about not being a field man as you follow Gabriel out of the Laboratory, “No, that’s entirely out of the question.” “Why not? I want to come to Transylvania, I’m always left behind when you go on missions. You know I get bored easily!” “You’re always left behind because you don’t have the training to go on missions, it’s highly dangerous-” You stop him once more, “You trained me Gabriel, remember?” cutting him off as he goes to respond, “You’d rather let a friar, who has no fighting experience what-so-ever join you versus someone who can actually hold their own?” Giving him the best pout you can, “Please Van Helsing, let me come with you.” applying a slight shake to the arm still in your grip. 

He doesn’t know what comes over him, whether it be the determined look in your eye or the idea that maybe he could use you as help if all went south, but with a strong reluctance coating his words, he agrees to let you come along. 

‘It was the longest trip of my life, a battle through storms and cold only to be put right in the face of death.’ 

You were tired, aching, surrounded by an angry mob when the first one swooped in from the sky. 

The woman, Princess Anna, yelled for everyone to run inside, to find shelter, as Van Helsing shot at the circling Vampires, while Carl was leaning against the wells’ edge, whimpering. You follow the woman as she takes off running - right after landing rather promiscuously on top of Gabriel - eventually shoving her down a cart as two out of the three vampires reach for you. 

You pant for breath as the sun comes out, everyone in the town coming out with it. You walk towards your friends, reaching for the stake sheathed at your side as a noise emits from the well. You scream as the sun goes back behind the clouds and the orange haired vampire bursts up, grabbing Anna by the shoulders. The black haired one not far behind her, not even looking at you as she grabs you and tosses you through the roof of one of the houses. 

You lay there for a moment, paralysed with pain and fear that overtakes your whole body. You snap to attention as the door in front of you bolts shut, muscle memory leads your hand down to your stake sheath, only to find your weapon missing, cursing as you realise you must have dropped it somewhere along being thrown into a building. You let out a sigh of relief when you see Anna, the woman dropping to your side to check on you. You’re about to let her know you’re okay when all of a sudden the orange-haired vampire lowers herself from the rafters of the house. 

You point up weakly, eyes going wide and letting out a yelp as Anna immediately stands and turns to come face to face with her. “Hello Anna” she hisses out, completely dropping and transforming into her regular facade. You do have to admit, she is rather pretty. “Nice to see you too Aleera,” words doused with Venom. You make a move to help her, but when a sharp pain shoots throughout your whole body as you lean forward, you have no choice but to flop back down to the ground. “Did I do something to you in a past life?” Anna backs up slowly, the Vampire, Aleera, following her every move. “Don’t play coy with me, princess,” somehow teleporting to be in front of Anna, “I know what lurks in your lusting heart.” “I hope you have a heart Aleera, because someday I’m going to drive a stake through it.” You watch with bated breath as Aleera literally smacks Anna out of the window, then turns to gaze down upon you. 

She tilts her head at you, studying for a moment. A look that almost resembles recognition passes her features before she dives out the window after Anna. “Fuck.” you murmur, beginning to wiggle your limbs as you try to fight off the searing pain travelling through your body. When you’re able to move once more, you make your way out of the house, down the stairs and through the door, like a perfectly sane person, grabbing a large shard of glass from outside, watching as Anna bursts into another home. 

You weakly run, limping every step, attempting to follow her in case she needed what little assistance you could provide in your current state. Bursting into the house to see the two Vampires over her, mouths gaping open, fangs sharp and extended, their faces taking on slightly demonic forms. You watch as they suddenly scream, twisting and writhing as they turn back into their winged counterparts, flying out of the house.

You offer her a hand, no words passed between the two of you, only pained smiles and grateful expressions, lifting her up as the adrenaline leaves your body, limping out into the street with her. Walking towards the church where your friends sit on its steps, you pass by Gabriels’ hat, turning and grabbing it for him, gently brushing some of the dirt and snow off of it. Bringing it to him and sitting down, you’re met with concerning remarks from both him and Carl, hell, you’d be concerned too if you also saw your friend be thrown into a roof from 40 feet in the air, but you were just too tired to form any words. Letting your head thump back against one of the top steps as an angry crowd of Translyvanians forms around you. 

You’re thankful when Anna jumps to your defence, the revealing of Van Helsings’ identity forces the crowd to back off. You raise your head at the mention of a drink and somewhere to stay, muttering a ‘yes please’ before you slump back against the stairs. Feeling arms come around both your sides, both Carl and Gabriel help hoist you up, supporting your weight as you begin your trek to where Anna was staying, at the old Governors’ house. 

You can’t help the strange sense that washes over you at the sight of the building. 

“But soon, the final battle will begin, I must go and find out who our new visitor is.”

‘It was a restless night, full of aches. Visions of you and a man dancing through your head, along with visions of great pain and sorrow.’

‘Don’t do this Gabriel… Please let go of my wife.’

You could hear screaming, a woman falling through a window. Great agonising pain filling your senses ; grief, sadness, anger, all equally coursing through your veins. 

‘I’m sorry… But you broke the oath.’

Flashes of a happy couple pass through your mind, ending as you turn to be stabbed through the heart by Gabriel-

Shooting up with a gasp, feeling every bone in your body protest at such movement. You take heaving, gulping breaths, the fear seizing your muscles making it hard to intake oxygen. You can feel sweat running off you in rivulets as you try to equal out your heartbeat. What did you just see? This hadn’t been the first dream you’d had of this scenario, with Gabriel killing you, you’d had a dream eerily similar to this one when you first met him all those years ago, except in that one you were the woman falling through the window. 

Bringing up a hand to wipe absentmindedly at your forehead, trying to cease what you assume is a river of sweat. It’s only when your hand comes back covered in a fluid that’s smelling and stringing to your skin, it’s within that moment when you’re able to register the low growling do you look up, and come eye to eye with a werewolf. 

It pounces the second you look at it, giving you only a moment to roll out of the bed and scream as loud as you can. Dodging as best you can as the creature lays havoc to the room you’re in, ducking for cover as leaps for you, watching it crash through the window. You turn as your room door is opened, Gabriel looking in with features clouded by fear. He calls your name, coming around to rest his hands upon your shoulders, “What happened?” “Werewolf,” a shaky hand coming to point towards the shattered window, “Went that way.” Grabbing you by the shoulders he directs you to a ripped up armchair sitting in the corner of the room, sitting you down and handing you your stake, huh, where did he find that? “Stay here, I’ll be back soon.” 

You don’t stay, waiting a few moments after he’s left to get up. It’s only when yelling and crashing resonates from downstairs do you hurry your pace. You arrive at the sight of Gabriel running out of the estate and Anna standing in a catatonic state, staring off in his direction. Disregarding the broken window, you already have a feeling of what broke it to begin with, you turn to Anna, gently grasping her elbows and directing her attention to you. 

“Anna? What happened?” lifting one hand up to her neck, gently tilting her head from side to side, looking for any signs of pain or damage. “Are you alright? Did it hurt you?” That seems to do the trick as her glossy eyes fill with more tears, finally spilling over as she looks at you, “My brother. It’s my brother.” You say nothing, cooing slightly as her tears fall faster, pulling her into a hug. “He’s going to kill him.” Words murmured into your shoulder. “Who’s going to kill who, Anna?” “Van Helsings’ going to try and kill my brother.'' And with those words she takes off out the door. 

You grab a pile of fabric off the back of a nearby chair, knowing that the cold would be too severe for what Anna, and yourself, were currently wearing. You saddle up the horse you came into town on, going off in the direction of several sets of footprints. When you approach where Anna and Van Helsing stand in the graveyard you catch the remnants of what was undoubtedly a heated conversation. “He has taken everything from me. Leaving me alone in this world.”  You quietly dismount, grabbing the blanket you brought and throwing part of it over Annas’ shoulders, slightly startling her with your sudden presence. You say nothing as you resume your previous embrace with her, watching as Anna all but crumbles into the affection. 

“To have the memories of those you have loved and lost is perhaps harder than to have no memories at all.” his words spoken with a guilty glance towards you, an unexplainable rage filling you at the idea of whatever he could possibly be implying. “Alright, we’ll look for your brother.”

“It was obvious that Van Helsing was wary of this man, but when he turned to me I felt no fear. He looked at me in what could only be sheer reverence, and I felt my mind settle.’

The Castle was looming, with electricity zapping to and fro from the top tower. Hanging behind as to give Anna and Gabriel some time to talk. If the fate of Anna's family wasn’t at stake you would take the time to poke at his lovesick behaviour, but until everything was over you held your remarks at bay. 

Entering the dusty manor, pushing cobwebs out of your way, the three of you make your way into a room filled to the brim with sacks hanging from the ceiling, reminding you of very slimy chrysalides. “Have you ever seen these things before?” you aim your question towards either of your company. “No. What do you think they are?” Both of you turn to Gabriel, “Offspring.” “What?” spoken at the same time. “A man with three gorgeous women for 400 years-” “Yes, vampires are the walking dead, it only makes sense their children are born dead.”

Pushing your way through to reveal a grand hall filled with even more of the pods, electricity crackling down the hall and into the room you are in. Watching as the pods begin to pulse and wiggle. “Van Helsing don’t-” exclaiming in exaggerated disgust as he sticks his hand into the sack, throwing the slime substance out of his way. 

“So this is what you get when Vampires mate-” not given the time to finish his sentence as it comes to life, both you and Anna screaming out in disgust. Another blast of electricity barrels through the room, bringing with it a shiver up your spin and the jolt of a static shock. The three of you run as they begin to drop from the ceiling, faintly aware of voices coming from somewhere above you.

Despite Annas’ pleas, you watch as Gabriel exits out of your covered spot, entering the desolate hall once again to begin shooting at the vampiric offspring still flying around the room. He looks up somewhere in the room, a slightly smug look upon his face, “Now that I have your attention.” A giant winged creature falls from the sky and begins to pursue your friend. The gust of air it brings knocks over decorations, items falling all around you. You don’t even register Anna rushing up the stairs behind you, nor the beam and chandelier falling after her, blocking anyone from following. You do, however, register the doors at the end of the hall slamming closed, locking you in here with Van Helsing and the creature. 

Crouching down next to some crates, watching as the creature swoops down, turning into a man. Turning into the Count from the Cardinals’ slideshow. “I can tell the character of a man by the sound of his heartbeat.” A deep accented voice lilting, “Usually when I approach,” clapping his hands together in a slightly off-rhythm staccato, “I can almost dance to the beat. Strange that yours is so steady.”  Hands ending their sporadic clap as he continues to walk forward, all noise ceasing except for crackling of electricity.

When Gabriel drops down and stabs the man you can’t help the sadness that fills you. A strange sense taking over you, making you want to walk over and kill your best friend where he stands. “Requistat in pace” words uttered with an arrogance. You stand up, beginning to make your way towards them, “Hello Gabriel,” freezing in your steps. Did he know this man?

“Is this your silver stake?” pulling it out of his chest and tossing it over his shoulder. “How long has it been, 3- 400 years? You don’t remember, do you?” “What exactly is it I should be remembering?” The two of them begin to slowly circle around one another, “You are the Great Van Helsing! Trained by monks and mullahs from Tibet to Istanbul, protected by Rome herself! But like me, hunted by all others.” 

“The Knights of the Holy Order know all about you, It’s no surprise you would know about me.” “Yes but it’s much more than this” the man laughs as he takes a step towards Van Helsing, the two coming full circle. “We have such history, You and I, Gabriel. Have you ever wondered why you have such horrible nightmares, horrific scenes of ancient battles past. Horrific scenes of betrayal? Would you like for me to refresh your memory a little, a few details from your sordid past?” You shuffle slightly, the heel of your boot scraping across a loose tile in the floor, drawing the attention of both Gabriel and the Count. 

He gazes in disbelief. Freezing for a few moments before taking delicate, hesitant, steps towards you. You knew that you should probably flee, run for cover or to your friend, but instead you stayed put, Standing your ground as he approached you. He walks until the two of you almost stand toe-to-toe. An ungloved hand reaches out towards you and you can’t help the flinch that runs through your body, heart rate picking up in fear. He looks pained at your cower, hand still moving to brush lightly against your jaw, freezing cold fingers solidify his true nature to you.

 “Do not fear me.” 

‘I hope you’ve learned by now that I mean you no harm.’

Words spoken in such a hushed whisper that only you could hear with your proximity. And for some strange reason, you find yourself calming at his words, the fear leaving your still shellshocked system, heart rate slowing. You pay no attention to your friend who’s currently sneaking up behind the man, completely enraptured by the Count. 

He mutters something that you can't quite catch, his hand beginning to drift down your neck, brushing against the necklace round your neck. He picks up the chain and lets it run through his fingers, getting steadily closer to the ring that resides on the end of it. A small silver wedding band that never seemed to tarnish rested along the chain, you had no idea where you had gotten it, it had been in your possession for what seemed forever. It was obviously valuable and you could never seem to part with it, in fear of it one day sliding off your finger during your work you ran it onto a bare chain, deciding to wear it as a necklace. 

Before he can reach the ring at the end of the chain the sound of something clicking into place takes the attention of both of you, him whipping around to grab the silver crucifix Gabriel thrusts into his face, screaming in pain as he makes contact with the holy item. Jumping away as the crucifix bursts into flames within his hand, beginning to melt. He tosses the remains of it away, regaining his composure at a lightning rate. 

“Perhaps that is a conversation for another time.” He takes a few steps back, walking a few feet past you. “Allow me to reintroduce myself, I am Count Vladislaus Dragulia. Born 1422, Murdered 1462.” 

‘Vlad’ rings through your head, the memory of glass shattering and screaming echoing through your mind. You don’t realise that the screaming has become real, Van Helsing grabs your hand and pulls you away with him, still in a dissociative state you don’t realise what’s happened until you both make your escape through a dumbwaiter. 

The two of you make your way to the roof, running into a frantic Anna. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.” Words rushed to you and her, Gabriel grabbing one arm each and launching off a line, extending all the way over the rushing river below, to the nearby mountain. The three of you speed off, almost making it halfway across before the line suddenly shakes. The werewolf from the house, Anna’s brother, suddenly hitches a ride on the back, sliding a bit before one of its claws slices the line in half, taking you and the half closest to the Castle, down.

You can’t help the deja vu that washes over you as you fall, the freezing cold river below you. The sound of Van Helsing and Anna screaming for you is drowned out by your own. 

You can faintly see the outline of someone looking over the edge of the castle railing, a yell of ‘no’ reaching your ears. The person disappears from the edge, only for a winged beast to take their place and jump from the roof. ‘It’s the Count’ you realise somewhere in your mind, closing your eyes in what could only be described as… relief? Even though your heart was beating out of your chest, deep down you knew you’d be alright. The wind is bitterly cold, nipping at your back, whistling in your ears. 

Until suddenly it’s not. 

Your body smacks into the water, cold overtaking all your senses as your body freezes. You can faintly feel yourself moving, arms weakly flailing to break the surface of the water to no avail. The current of the roaring river continuously pulls you under, giving you no chance to save yourself.

Right before you pass out from either shock or adrenaline you’re faintly aware of being pulled from the water and into the air. You’re held against something much larger than you are. One minute you’re plummeting, falling down and then sinking to your untimely demise and then the next you’re going up, soaring through the air. 

And with that, you pass out. 

~~~

You drift in and out of consciousness. You can remember being placed in front of a hearth, someone’s lap laid under your head, rough fingers running through your hair. Then three sets of hands and whispering voices, belonging to whom you believe were women, placing and pulling different layers of clothes upon you. You heard conversations about a creature and tracking it down, followed by being picked up by something much larger than you, a hood being pulled over your head, and the flap of great wings. 

When you fully wake, it’s to the feeling of flying. Slowly blinking your eyes you try to adjust to the darkness. You realise you’re being carried by a large creature. Pointed ears, flat-bridged nose, and a maw that contained razor sharp teeth. Its wingspan had to spread to at least 15 feet or greater, and had to be at least 12 feet tall. And you realise that it oddly resembles a bat. 

You hadn’t realised it was looking at you. Too busy in your observative reverie to notice the slitted dark grey eyes that had snapped your way. The large bat lets out a strange rumble when you make eye contact with it, beginning its descent. You’re laid down on what you assume is grass, watching as the creature soars back into the sky, transforming midair. That’s when you remember the last few hours of your life; officially meeting The Count, and all the strange emotions that came with the introduction, all of the rage, anguish, and nostalgia. And the fact that he had saved you, throwing himself off the top of the castle to rescue you from the river. 

He drops back down to the ground with a certain grace and elegance to his actions, slightly bowing with a hand outstretched for theatrics. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he was doing it to lighten the air, immediately throwing you a smile and small chuckle as he does it. You can’t help the smile that overtakes your face as well, accepting the hand he offers you, pulling you off the ground. Finally taking in your surroundings, you realise you’re standing in front of a semi-dilapidated building. It looks to be a small fortress of sorts, surrounded by mountains on either side, along with the faint sound of a rushing river a great distance below you. 

“Where are we?” words muttered, turning to gaze at him. 

“Poenari.” 

‘He can lie and claim to be a hollow man all he wants. But when I finally realised who he was and what he meant to me, I could see the pure emotion overtake his face, and for once I swore I could hear a heartbeat that wasn’t my own.’

The two of you walked silently through the building. 

The dank remnants of the castle smelled foul; stagnant. The place reeked of death and sorrow, everything was covered in thick layers of dust. The Count walked quietly behind you, offering no explanation as to why you were here. Walking aimlessly through the corridors, footsteps echoing all around as you turn a corner, a loud gasp ripping its way out of the back of your throat. 

The hallway leading to a set of winding stairs was the embodiment of death. Dried blood and half decomposed skeletons line the path,  the stale smell of decomposition lingering in the air. You hadn’t realised you’d stopped until a hand placed itself upon the small of your back, gently pushing you forward. You observe the destruction around you, noticing baskets of mouldy, moth-eaten linens, and cleaning supplies next to some of the skeletons. “Servants.” rings out Dracula’s voice behind you, his hand still upon your back. Coming towards the end of the hall, right before the stairwell, you notice a bare spot. There was dried blood in an outline that shows it obviously pooled from someone’s body, but there was a lack of a skeleton, or any sign that one had been there, at least. “What happened to that one?” pointing down at the spot on the floor. “Agnes was buried.” is all he offers. 

You kept Agnes with you, after all she’d been one of your closest confidants since your mother had died.

He nudges you up the stairs, guiding you through the dark. At the very top of the stairs was a thick wooden door in the middle of a small hallway. At the end of a hallway was a painting. Unlike everything else in this place the painting was spotless. It looked brand new, not a speck of dust on it, like it had been visited often. 

That’s not what captured your attention though. What captured it was that the painting was a portrait of a man and woman. Happy, smiling, loving,

And they looked just like the two of you. 

You step forward, shoes lining up in the dust-free imprint of feet much larger than yours; a well-worn spot. Reaching a hand out, fingers gliding across the woman in the painting, your other hand coming up to brush against your own features. Same hair colour, texture, same eyes, same birthmarks and scars. Her hands crossed gently across her lap, upon her ring finger lay the ring you wear around your neck. 

Gasping, taking a stumbling step back, you whip around to face him. You can feel your heartbeat pick up, confusion and fear starting to take over. “Why-” breath uneven, “Why did you bring me here? What is this place?”

He brings a hand up to the door, pushing it open and stepping back, a slight sweeping gesture to show you go in first. 

“Our home.”

Entering the room, you’re met with what you assume was once a very luxurious room. A dilapidated four-poster bed sits in the middle of the wall that the door is on. The room is stagnant like the rest of the place, but like the painting, free of dust. There’s a dresser, a writing desk, and a gap, from floor to ceiling, jagged shards of glass still remaining around the frame of what was once a window. Torn, mouldy, moth-ridden curtains billow in the light breeze, the stone floor is covered in moss and mould, years of rain pouring in through the opening had made it so. 

In the middle of the room is a dark stain on the floor, a trail trickling from the window to it. You don’t want to believe it’s blood, the colour of it is black, too dark to resemble that which was under the skeletons in the hall, but you know. You know that it’s blood and whatever left the puddle wasn’t human. At the thought you cast a glance over your shoulder to the man who brought you here to begin with, he stands in the doorway, and goes no further than that. You take a step towards the gaping hole in the wall, mindful of any shards of glass on the floor.

You can hear the churning of fast moving water, you can hear the wind whipping in the wind, and as you bend slightly to look out, you can hear screaming. 

“Who are you?” 

“Who I am is of no importance at the moment,” 

“Well everything was lined up perfectly, but now, the Voivode has added a new term to the treaty. Your hand in marriage.” 

“I hope you’ve learned by now that I mean you no harm.” 

‘He always treated you with a gentle hand, was never harsh, never cruel, and he never-ever raised his voice. You were his wife, and you should never need to fear him’

You failed to notice the dark figure in the corner of your room.

 “Don’t do this Gabriel,” “Please let go of my wife.” 

And with that, he pushes you out the window.  

And then everything went dark. 

You stumble violently away from the window, knees collapsing under your own weight. A firm presence makes itself known behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist, holding you up. Your vision is spotty, head pounding with this newfound knowledge of a past life and your eyes well with tears. You tilt your head up, making immediate eye contact with the man holding you. Your voice comes out scratchy and choked, “Vlad?” as the tears begin to spill out of your eyes. Vlad gives a pained smile as he turns you around and pulls your body towards his. 

The embrace is emotional as you reduce down to nothing but shaky limbs and heart-wrenching sobs. He holds you strongly, there’s not an inch of his body that doesn’t touch yours, and you could swear that in that moment, you could feel another heartbeat alongside yours. 

The sound of sizzling breaks you away from the hug, looking up in time to see a singular tear make its trek down his cheek, burning the skin it slides down. You quickly bring up your hand, sleeve pulled around your fist to dry it before it causes anymore damage. As you make a move to bring your hand back down he moves quick as lightning to hold it to his face, head tilting to place a delicate kiss upon the skin of your palm. “I missed you,” the words are soft, your throat still scratchy. “Not as much as I missed you, my darling” and with that, he kisses you. 

The kiss is soft, yet powerful. With the force of almost 200 years worth of lost time fueling it. Vlad pulls you even closer, if it were possible. You can still hear the light sizzling where tears are undoubtedly still falling from his eyes. His lips are as soft as you remember, his movements still the same as well. The only difference was his temperature, a constant reminder that you were no longer the same. 

A reminder of the reason you were in Transylvania to begin with. 

Before you can say anything, Vlad pulls away from you. His left hand continues to hold you firm at the waist while his right moves from your cheek to smooth over the top of your hair, coming to a stop at the nape of your neck, cradling your head. There’s a furrow in his brows as his eyes flit across your face, “What is wrong my darling? Why does your heart panic so?” you close your eyes and gently shake your head.

“What about Gabriel, Vlad?” 

“What about him?”

“The only reason we’ve come to Transylvania is so he can kill you, Vlad. He’s vindictive and will not stop until he sees you turn to ash before his feet. Oh this is all my fault,-” 

“Do not say these things.” His right hand tilting your head to look at him, “How is any of it your fault, my darling? Fate is not your fault. You were meant to come back to me one day, and now you have.” A delicate kiss placed upon your forehead, “And as for Gabriel. I will handle him myself. Now come, we have somewhere to be.” Taking your hand and gently pulling you back the way you came. 

When you make it outside, there's three women dressed in lavish silks, gossamer, and fine jewellery. You find yourself subconsciously clutching his hand harder when the three women outstretch their arms and move towards you. There’s almost an ethereal echoing coming from somewhere as the women surround you, cooing their praises. Delicate hands with thin, claw-like fingers move across you. One hand pats your hair, another down your arm, with a ghosting touch on your back. The women skit around, their movements are graceful, like a dance of sorts, and you find yourself in a trance like state. 

“Oh Master,” says the red-headed one, who you recognize as the one Anna called Aleera, “She’s just as perfect as you said.” You find yourself blushing at the statement and the attention that’s being showered upon you. Two cold hands scoop up your face to bring you directly in front of the long black haired one, “You are absolutely stunning, my dear.” “Thank you” whispered quietly, your face practically engulfed in flames. 

Casting a glance towards Vlad only to find he’s already looking at you, a gentle smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. The women stop their parade of affection with a singular lift of Vlad’s hand. “Have you taken care of what you needed to?” His voice echoing out with a seriousness to it as he reaches his hand out towards you. “They tricked us with the carriages, master, and escaped with the monster.” You can see the second that the anger forms in his eyes so you pull yourself away from the women to walk towards him, taking his hand and rubbing your thumb upon the back of his knuckles in hopes to sooth him. Your efforts work as he tilts to look down at you, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

“No matter. Van Helsing is heading straight for Budapest anyways. Aleera I want you to go and follow them, Verona you go with her.” and with a gesture of his hand the two turn into their other forms and fly off into the night, leaving just Vlad, yourself, and the black-haired woman. “Marishka, take my darling and get her ready for tomorrow evening.” You hear a quiet ‘yes master’ as Vlad places a small kiss in the middle of your forehead, before releasing you to a now winged Marishka. “Don’t worry my darling, Marishka is a gentle flyer.” And with that you’re lifted into the air. 

~~~

You’re at a glorious castle in Budapest, a summer home, you remember Verona briefly telling you when her and Aleera finally catch back up. She works quietly and carefully to do your hair while you sit in front of the vanity, slightly nerved by the fact that you wouldn’t even be able to tell she was there if it wasn’t for her brushing and pinning your hair, the lack of a reflection startling. She makes small and polite conversation with you, including an apology for throwing you earlier in the town, as she admitted to not looking to see whom she had grabbed before she picked you up. 

“We are truly very excited to have you within our presence, for many years we have all heard stories of you, the heartbreak Dracula felt at the loss of you and your child never truly went away, no matter how we tried to quell it.” Her accented voice lulls quietly through the dim candle-lit room, and you're briefly hit with a burst of guilt and sadness at the idea of them trying to do everything they could to make Vlad feel better, only for him to rebuff their attempts. You can’t help but offer her an apology.

 “What for, my dear? You are here now and that’s all that matters, everything is as it should be.” and with that she finishes your hair, which has been gently pinned to your head, curls looking defined. Before you could say anything else she walks away as the two other brides enter the room. Aleera is the first to reach you, lithe fingers gliding down both sides of your neck as her cold hands come to lay delicately upon your shoulders. “You look magnificent,” words cooed to you, “truly stunning.” Finishes off Marishka, taking a seat next to you on the bench as she leans forward to reach for the jewellery. 

You hear the shuffling of feet, what you assume to be Verona returning from wherever she had gone. When Marishka is finished clipping in earrings for you, you turn your head to find Verona holding a light blue dress in a style much like that of her and the others dresses. It’s complete with gossamer sleeving that opens up around your wrist and trails all the way down to the floor, a form-fitting partially transparent torso and a loose skirt made of a layered sheer chiffon material. “And now for the final touch.”

~~~

You look and feel like a true goddess as the girls lead you down a hall, you’re conscientiously aware of the ethereal echoing that has returned as they giggle while taking you down to the ballroom. The music grows louder and louder as you approach a large set of double doors, half of a masquerade mask is quickly slipped onto your face as the doors are open and you’re thrust into the room. 

There’s hundreds of people in the room, ranging of all ages as you spot children up in the rafters. There’s people dancing, people performing on silks and with fire, and so many other things that it makes it hard to take in the grandeur of the room all at once. You’re aware of how you must look to all the others, jaw dropped and head constantly turning to take in your surroundings. When you turn your head to look back in front of you, you’re met with the sight of Vlad. He’s in his usual clothing, just with a gold cloak tied around his neck, a mask the same chromatic colour to match, with his hand outstretched towards you. 

You wordlessly take his hand and allow him to pull you closer, his hands gently begin roaming, one hand quickly lifting the mask to take in your features before dropping it back down to rest on your face. “You look absolutely stunning, my darling.” A cold kiss pressed upon your lips, “May I have the privilege of dancing with you?” Eyes boring into your own, he quirks up the corner of his lips into an ever arrogant smirk. “Why yes you may.” Words whispered towards him quietly, acutely aware of all the eyes that are upon the two of you. 

Vlad takes your hand and leads you to the spot directly in front of the platform in which a veiled woman stands upon. The rest of the guests clap as whatever piece of music is being played comes to an end, partners taking their places on the dancefloor. You quickly grab Vlad’s arm as a sudden realisation hits you, “Wait, Vlad, I can’t dance.” eyes wide with fear at the notion of making yourself look like a fool in front of all these refined people. He turns to you with a somewhat reassuring smile on his face, “Don’t worry my darling, you’ve danced this dance many times before. You know what to do.” A look of sheer disbelief covers your features, you open your mouth to throw a sly retort back to him but are promptly cut off as the woman on the stage begins a beautiful aria. He lifts your hand up delicately before softly spinning you outwards. All of a sudden you throw your arm out in a slow and graceful manner, the steps of the dance flooding back into your mind. When you spin back towards him there’s a certain look of, I told you so, overtaking his face, as he grabs your waist and pulls you towards him firmly.

He takes off his mask, then your own, before placing a kiss upon your lips. “I told you that you knew it.” as you both fall back into step with the others, “Of course,” smiling at him softly, “How could I ever forget the steps to the music of our first dance as husband and wife?” A puzzled look quickly takes place upon your face, “Is that the same singer?” question asked as you look back and forth between the veiled woman and Vlad. “You’ll find that many of the faces in this room, once unmasked, will appear very familiar to you.” He spins you until your back is to his front, subconsciously tilting your head to the side, exposing your neck for Vlad to place a cold kiss directly over your pulse point. 

The tempo of the music picks up and you, on instinct, fall into a faster spin with Vlad. He dips you in front of a mirror, eyes snapping over to look at your reflection, the way it appears that you’re floating, Vlad nowhere to be found, none of the other guests can be seen either. You come to the sudden realisation that you’re a mere mortal in a room with hundreds of vampires, your mind begins slipping, remembering the fact that you’ve been choosing to ignore to instead relish in your past; Vlad is dead.

An undead creature who never grows old, who feeds on other humans, you realise how temporary your situation with him is in comparison to the rest of his life. This one minute moment in a sea of others that are sure to come, and all of a sudden, your life pales in comparison. You can feel your stomach turning with the sudden acknowledgement, a wave of nausea hitting you. As if he can sense where your thoughts are going he quickly scoops you back up, continuing the dance. “It’s alright my darling,” the hand upon your back quickly sweeping up and down in a soothing gesture. “There’s no need to fear, nothing is going to happen to you, everything is going to be alright.” He stares into your eyes, his own translating the sincerity of his words. 

You feel yourself relax with the reassurance, head coming to rest just under his own, your eyes closing as you gently press your face into his chest. “What’s going to happen to me?” you don’t feel the need to elaborate, as you’re sure Vlad already knows what you’re asking. “Nothing that you don’t want. If you choose, it will be one brief moment of pain, and we can be together forever.” You pull your head away from him, your eyes still closed as he dips you once more, his hand skating up the front of your dress to rest upon your neck. “What if I choose yes?” “Then it would be my honour, my love.” A deep breath taken in, then he screams, dropping you in a blaze of fire as the cape he’s wearing begins to burn. 

You stand up quickly, worriedly making your way towards him before you’re swept off the ground. All the air is knocked out of your lungs as you tumble onto a balcony, slamming straight into a door. Disoriented, you can make out someone saying your name and shaking your shoulders. “Wake up!” You gaze confused into the eyes of Gabriel, as you hear a voice from down below. 

“Gabriel…” his voice is even, words spoken slowly. “Oh Gabriel…” you stagger towards the bannister in time to see Vlad step into the middle of the room, the cloak that he was previously wearing off to the side in a smouldering pile. All the guests have cleared a wide berth for Vlad as he stops and gazes upwards, a certain fear emanating from them. “Oh Gabriel, welcome to my summer palace.” A smirk thrown up towards him before he turns his eyes towards you, giving you a subtle nod as Igor bursts into the room with the Frankenstein monster in tow, screaming his revenge. 

“Now that everything… is as it should be… Ladies and Gentlemen, I give to you; Van Helsing!” The hundreds of vampires in the room unmask themselves, faces morphing into their sinister counterparts. The sound of screaming and screeching fills the room as you cover your ears, eyes cinching shut. Gabriel takes this as his moment to wrap an arm around you, pulling you away. You protest, squirming in an attempt to get out of his grip, which only causes him to hold you tighter and lift you off your feet. 

He burst through the door that you ran into, where you’re met with Anna right next to the door and Carl at the end of the hall next to a stained glass window. Passing Anna she grabs your arm, beginning to pick up speed with Van Helsing, causing you to squirm more, “Gabriel put me down!” But the protests fall on deaf ears. He strides with purpose towards Carl, a walk turning into a run. “O-Oh where are we going?” Carl stutters, dropping a device onto the floor, “Out the window!” and before either you nor Carl can protest, you shatter the probably thousand year old stained glass as you jump through. 

As you drop towards yet another river, a light equivalent to the sun fills up the entire palace, shattering all the other windows. The only thing you can think to do as you hurl through the air is to scream for Vlad, worried that he was caught in the blast of light, and then you once more drop into water. 

As you resurface you can hear the echoing of screams in the aether, your head continuously goes up and down as you struggle to get your bearings and to reorient yourself. Once you come up for good you take gasping breaths. Gabriel floats next to you, panting for breath with a certain ecstatic look upon his face, “Carl, you're a genius!” “Yes, a genius with access to unstable chemicals.” 

You watch as a boat with Igor, the Frankenstein Monster, and a few other strange looking creatures depart from the port, Van Helsing furiously swimming towards him, Carl and Anna following after. But you remain still. You can’t help but allow yourself to be consumed by the water for a moment, dropping back beneath the rippling current. The water is cold, all consuming, sending a shiver down your spine. You open your eyes, gazing up to see the moonlight cutting through the water and shining down to where you float. You watch the bones and remains of the vampires sink down to the bottom of the moat, the realisation that Vlad or any of the brides could be amongst them fill you with such an overpowering sense of loss. You clench your eyes shut and with the last little bits of breath in your lungs you scream. The air bubbles out of your mouth, floating upwards, you follow them, still screaming when you break the surface. 

The scream gains the attention of Gabriel, Anna, and Carl, who now hold onto a portcullis that had come down from the castle. Your voice gives out, eyes going blurry with tears, choked sobs making their way past your lips. You hear Anna call your name in a worried tone, beginning to make her way over to you. “Stay away,” voice so quiet that no one should have heard it, but Gabriel gives a sharp “Why?” You lift your head up to look at him, trying to blink the rain and tears out of your eyes. You’re about to say something but you see the half-circular red mark that had welted and scabbed over peeking out of his partially unbuttoned shirt. You’d recognize that mark anywhere. Years of pouring over all the books on the supernatural that you could find in the Abbey, hearing stories from Carl about the creation of monsters. 

Van Helsing had been bitten by a werewolf. 

Sensing your gaze upon the mark he places his hand over it. You continue to stare at him, not saying a word as Anna reaches you to place a comforting hand upon your shoulder. You hear her quietly ask what's wrong, turning to look at her, you see an abundance of understanding and hesitancy in her eyes. Could she know? Know that you felt your allegiances slipping to the other side? It was certain that Van Helsing knew, given by the anger in his eyes. 

You open your mouth to say something when the echoing sound of laughter comes through the air. You’d recognize that laugh anywhere. Three light shadows move through the sky, followed by one large dark shadow. You gasp as all 4 come swooping down towards the water, edges of wings slicing across the surface sending sprays arcing into the air. You watch as Carl and Van Helsing duck, Anna following their actions as well, her hand that was still on your arm tries to pull you down with her but before she can Vlad follows behind his brides, swooping down towards the water and plucking you from the surface. 

He makes a sharp turn upwards almost grazing the portcullis before flying higher and higher into the sky. He then straightens back out as you hang below him, Vlad holding onto you under your armpits as Aleera slows down to allow him to pass her before she places herself directly in front of you. You turn your head to look at her, noticing the ball of dark fabric within her arms. Watching as she unfurls it to reveal a cloak, placing the hood on top of your head before fastening it in place just below your collarbones. When it’s on you she gives a sharp grin before letting out another laugh and speeding up to resume her spot with Verona and Marishka. The wind whips at your back, causing the cloak to wrap around your front, you feel yourself being pulled up and jostled around until you’re almost in a position that resembles a bridal carry. Vlad uses one hand to pull the cloak all the way around your body, nestling you against him. You pull the hood further over your head before wrapping your arms into the cloak, balling it into your fists to hold onto the fabric, you turn your head until the wind is at the back of it, and at no risk of blowing the hood off. 

You shiver from the cold of your wet clothes, from the cold of the rain that is still falling, and from the wind that gets stronger from how fast you’re going through the air, the shivering leads to you being pulled impossibly closer to the creature that carries you, looking up to find sharp eyes already upon you, bat ears swivelling back and forth, listening for any signs of danger or discomfort. You can’t really read his expression, not in this form anyways. 

“How is it that I always end up falling from dangerous heights into water?” giving a half-hearted smile to convey that you’re telling a joke, and that you’ll be okay. You’re not given a verbal response, just a deep chuckle and the slight digging of sharp claws into your back, almost like his little way of jokingly warning you to ‘knock it off’. You let out a small giggle, laying your head against him once more, before closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep. 

~~~

‘The peace that I felt, the sense of homeliness within the presence of Vlad and his Brides. The comfort of having these people who loved and cared for one another begin to love and care for me was something that I cannot describe in its entirety to you.’ 

There was no telling how long you were into the flight or where exactly you were going when you woke up. Your clothes were dry and the rain had stopped, although the clouds wherever you were out hovered ominously in the air with the promise of more. You let out a yawn, trying your best to stretch out your limbs while not trying to move so much that you felt like you’d fall. You feel a large hand about three times the size of your own smooth itself over the top of your hooded head before a deep rumbling voice lets out a curt remark of “Almost there.” 

It’s then that you see a large castle, much bigger than Castle Frankenstein or the one in Budapest. It has a bridge that leads nowhere, broken off not even one-fourth of the way across, surrounded by a deep abysmal ravine and peaks of snowy mountains for as far as the eyes can see, offering no way in, and no way out. 

Unless you had wings of course. 

The wives drop down around the halfway mark of the crumbled bridge and Vlad follows suit, dropping down effortlessly, transforming mid-descent, all with you still in his arms. He sets you on your feet slowly as the other three come towards you, their steps almost floating, the ethereal echoing filling the air around you once more. Hands come out to pat your hair and your clothes, various questions being thrown about; Are you alright? Are you cold? Do you need anything? You can’t help but fluster under all the attention, feeling your face grow warm. You go to answer their question before you’re caught off guard by a sneeze, which makes you shiver and bundle back into the cloak. They’re immediately sent into a panicked frenzy, going on about you falling ill from all the rain and cold, mumbles about a warm bath are the last thing you hear as they all disappear towards the castle doors, leaving you and Vlad standing there by yourselves. 

You turn to look at him, only to find him already staring at you, not that you’re surprised. He has this soft look in his eyes, one that you saw many times throughout your marriage in your previous life, there’s a smile on his face and you could swear that there was colour in his cheeks. 

You gaze around at your surroundings and are met with the sight of skeletons impaled on posts lining the bridge, giving Vlad an incredulous look you’re met with a look of sheer innocence. “Well I’ve seen this decor before.” laughing as you speak, “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Vlad instantly responds without pause, wrapping his right arm around your shoulders, walking you towards the castle doors. “Oh really? So you’d have me believe that this is the doing of your brides?” feigning ignorance as you gently hit your forehead, “Oh silly me I had almost forgotten that you were married to Verona the Impaler.” sarcasm drips from your every word as he turns his head to look at you from under his brow. 

The walk remains silent for the next few minutes as you make your way inside the castle and begin traversing up the stairs. “Vlad,” met with a small hum, “How did you find this place?” You’re met with silence, watching as various emotions subtly twinge his features. “I didn’t find this place. I was banished here.” He doesn’t elaborate as you come to a set of doors, arm leaving your shoulders to hold it open for you. It opens to an expansive room, with another door in the room that is currently open with gentle wafts of steam billowing out of it. You’re met with the brides, who are finishing up drawing you a bath. You thank them repeatedly, stating that they didn’t need to do that for you, but are quickly silenced as they leave the room, except for Verona. 

“I’ll take your dress for you so it may be cleaned. The water has muddied it.” Giving a nod, you take off the cloak and move to drop it next to you before a hand swoops out and grabs it, throwing it over his forearm. Vlad then moves behind you to untie the laces of your dress, loosening it enough for you to drop it down your shoulders, where it is then promptly taken by Verona who leaves the room soon after. 

You make your way to the tub, trying to throw a leg over the edge in a very ungraceful manner before a hand is quickly placed on the small of your back, stabilising you as you lower yourself into the water that was at a perfect temperature. You move to take off all your jewellery, realising that you’re still wearing your wedding ring on a chain. Taking off the chain you remove the ring, acutely aware of Vlad’s eyes on you, sliding it onto your finger where it rightly belongs. 

“Are we still technically married?” question thrown thoughtlessly, “If I… you know, died.” growing quiet at the acknowledgement of your death, looking down and frowning to yourself. “Oh of course we are, my darling.” A cool hand tilting your chin back up to deliver you a kiss before pulling your head back some more to wet your hair. “Do not think otherwise.” 

You sit in a calm silence as he gently washes your hair before you decide to address what was really bothering you. “So, you were banished? By who?” He’s quiet for a few moments, the only sound in the room being the gently scraping of his claws as he swirls your hair around. “My father.” he says, voice nothing but a whisper, “after you and I died, I had a vision. The Devil had come to visit me to offer me eternal life, on the one condition that I would have to feast upon the living. I didn’t want it at first, I knew you were already gone, and the thought of living eternally without you was too much to bear, but the Devil told me that I’d be able to get you back if I agreed, so without thinking I made a pact with him.” 

Listening quietly as he rinses your hair and moves onto your body.

“When I awoke, I was in our home, in a pool of my own dried up blood. I saw the wreckage of the room and the rest of the estate and had no other option but to travel back to town. I walked on foot until I reached the Village where I was then met with the frightened looks of all the townspeople. When I arrived at the home of my father he was so disgusted by me and the demon that I had become that he had his men clap me in irons and walk me to a door of which there was no return, banishing me to this castle. I laid weak at the very edge of that bridge for many weeks, hoping that someone would come to let me back through, but when it was obvious that no one was coming, and that I was growing hungrier and weaker, I called upon the Devil once more, and he gave me wings.” 

You turn to look at him when the sound of light sizzling reaches your ears. “Oh, Vlad.” Reaching forward, the water of the tub gently sloshing with your movements, you place your hands on both sides of his face, fingers swiping carefully under his eyes to stop the tears before they can cause anymore damage. You pull his face towards you, placing your forehead against his own, closing your eyes and basking in the comfort of his presence. “I’m so sorry.” “You have nothing to be sorry for, my darling.” Leaning forward to kiss him, you move one hand upwards to push the wayward strand of hair out of his face. His own hands come up to cradle your head, smoothing down over the back of your neck. “You would not imagine how torturous of an existence it was without you.” Voice hoarse and deep, his eyes darting back and forth across your face. “I think I could.” Leaning back up to kiss him once more, this one lasting longer than the previous one. You press your lips impossibly closer against his own, letting a soft noise of content escape your throat, that draws a hum from Vlad in return.

“You don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to.” Pulling away and giving him the most sincere look you possibly could. The droplets of water on your back had dried and left you chilled, quickly dunking your body back underneath the surface of the warm water while Vlad reached for a very soft linen, gathering up all your hair and gently patting it dry. “No, no, it’s alright, my darling. After the Devil gave me wings I travelled to feast and rebuild my strength, then I went looking for you. Your body had washed up on a bit of shore quite far down the river, the shore was connected to a small alcove of trees and flowers. I buried you there, along with Agnes, where no one would ever be able to bother you.” He finishes with your hair, moving to grab another linen which he holds out across both arms. You take the initiative and lift yourself up and out of the tub, grabbing onto his shoulder for support as he wraps the soft and plush fabric around you, before helping you out. 

When you reenter the grand bedroom you find that a fire has been lit in the fireplace across from the bed, the flames roaring and flickering, filling the space with a comfortable warmth. You also find, to your shock, that your dress is sitting dry on the edge of the bed, cleaned and looking brand new. “Help me with it?” gesturing your hand to the dress, moving towards it as Vlad does the same, continuing with his story as he laces it up for you. 

“My existence trudged by slowly and painfully for many years after that. Even though I no longer feel emotion the way I once did, I can still feel hints of it, little tuggings of yearning or sorrow. I needed something to fill the loss, and that’s when I found Verona. She was a princess, if you couldn’t tell, she had regality and poise and she was stubborn in a way that reminded me of you. Then Marishka, who was a dancer in a travelling show, and then Aleera, who lived in the Village with Anna.” You raise your eyebrows, even though he can’t see it. “I didn’t realise that Aleera was that young.” a taunting lilt in your voice, remembering that you were only twenty years old when Vlad married you in 1460.

He pulls a little tighter on the strings, causing you to gasp and whip your head around to give him a look that simply says ‘Seriously?’  You open your mouth to say something when your stomach lets out a sound that rivals that of the fire blazing in the room, a heat filling your face as you slightly pucker your lips out of embarrassment. He laughs at this, tying off your dress. “Come, let’s get you something to eat.”

~~~

You spend the next two days relaxing in the company of the Brides, the more time you spend with them the more you come to love them. Marishka is witty, Aleera is a gossip, and Verona is a scholar, and their varying personalities make for a refreshing change throughout the day. You had, however, indulged all the girls in stories of what Vlad was like when he was still alive, the wistful look in all their eyes making it hard to deny them anything. You didn’t leave out a single detail, telling stories that made the girls cry, giggle, and blush, saying things that Vlad would surely deny if he was ever asked about them. 

Vlad had disappeared, to where exactly in the castle, you weren’t sure, but you were fairly certain it had something to do with the Frankenstein Monster and reviving the undead children. Even though the girls could keep you distracted you couldn’t help but have that nagging fear at the back of your mind; Van Helsing was still out there, and he wouldn’t stop until Vlad and the Brides were dead. Gabriel is vindictive and persistent, and you’ve seen what happens to those who test him. You’d expressed these feelings to the Brides, who had immediately began comforting you, the ethereal echoing and cooing bouncing off the stone walls as you were hugged and held while you spilled your every thought to them.

When you’d told them that Gabriel had been bitten by a werewolf, they all grew deadly quiet. The cooing had quickly turned into scared whispers that sent a chill down your spine before Verona quickly jumped up, changed, then flew off, presumably to pass this new information along to Vlad. 

“Vlad can control the wolves though, right?” A look passes between Marishka and Aleera, before the latter turns to you, “Only after their first full moon, before that they pose so much trouble.” “We can be killed by stakes, holy water, and other things, but Vlad is the first of us, our master, and he cannot be killed so easily.” chimes in Marishka before also leaving, quickly following after Verona. “There is only one thing in this world that can kill Dracula.” words spoken softly, timidly, Aleera sliding a hand down your arm before she moves to leave. “Can you guess what it is?”

Yes, you could guess. A werewolf. 

~~~

‘The final battle was beginning. I could feel myself being split in two, the half that was loyal to Anna, Carl, Van Helsing and the Vatican was fighting the half that was loyal to my husband, Verona, Marishka, and Aleera.

You had spent the rest of the night alone, sleep not finding you as you retired back to the bedroom, only to pace back and forth, nerves and nausea tearing at your stomach. It was later on during the witching hour when the door quietly opened, a dark figure making its way inside. “Vlad!” Crying out his name breathlessly, rushing to him to throw your head into his chest and your arms around his waist. His arms immediately find their way around you, pulling you so tight against him that there is no way to move, a gentle kiss pressed against the top of your head. 

He bends his knees, one arm lowering to rest right beneath your butt, hoisting you up effortlessly into his arms before walking over to the bed and laying down with you atop him. Your head lays on his chest, yet the room is absolutely silent. There is no noise beneath your ear, no gentle pulsing of a heartbeat, just hollow silence. The two of you say no words, and truth be told you don’t really think any need be spoken. You both understand what is to come, the battle that is no doubt making its way towards you. Vlad just holds you, a hand atop your head, lithe fingers running through your hair in a soothing manner. You feel yourself drifting to sleep, eyes growing heavy. You can hear him mummering to you in a language long forgotten in your dreary haze, making out a few words here and there. 

Another kiss is placed gently upon your forehead as the heavy covers of the bed are pulled up and over you, protecting you from the bitter cold of the castle. And with that, you sleep.

~~~

When you awake it is to the sound of thunder, and the view of lightning and pouring rain. There’s just the tiniest hint of light filtering through the rain, but the ever-prevalent darkness tells you that it’s almost nighttime, meaning that you’ve woken up just before everyone else. You step out of bed, stretching, before making your way over to the door. As you step out you’re met with the sight of the Dwergi roaming through the halls carrying various tools and papers. They don’t speak to you, they don’t even look at you, they just continue bustling down the hall as if you weren’t even there. You go the opposite direction of the Dwergi and make your way down the flight of stairs that leads to the connecting hall of the castle that will lead you to the wing where Vlad and the girls sleep. 

It’s then that you can hear the frantic blubbering of Igor from the main entrance. “How did you- how did you find… it’s impossible!” Quickly peeking out from around the corner of the door, you’re met with the sight of Igor hanging from the wall, blubbering some more as the person in front of him throws a hand around his neck. 

Van Helsing was here. 

You quickly try to think of a way to get around them so you can warn Vlad that they’re here when a loud shriek fills the entire castle, reverberating off the walls so loudly that you have to cover your ears for a split moment. You can faintly hear Igor, “my master has awakened,” and you take that as your moment to quickly sprint across the hall when the attention of everyone is taken by the Frankenstein Monster. 

You run up the stairs, following your instinct of where Vlad would be. You know that usually when he awakes he goes to the overseeing of the Dwergi working on bringing the children back to life, so you run as fast as you can to the Laboratory. Making your way up the spiral staircase that leads to the top of the tower you’re hit with the strangest sense of Deja Vu, ignoring the pit in your stomach that tells you the last time you went up a staircase like this you died. 

The doors open as you approach them, the Dwergi ever diligent in their appeasement of the masters of this home. You quickly stride across the room, dodging sparks and Dwergi before making your way to Vlad in the middle of the room. “Vlad! Vlad he’s here, Van Helsing is here.” words spoken in a panic, eyes wide open as you gasp for breath. You’re sure he can feel your fear, your heartbeat pounding wildly out of control, the whooshing of blood in your ears making it hard to hear anything else. 

His eyebrows furrow before his facial features morph into one of sheer rage, face partially transforming as he lets out an inhuman screech. Not even a split second later, Verona, Marishka, and Aleera appear before you, awaiting word from Vlad. “If Van Helsing has truly been bitten, they will go for the cure, I want you to go and stop them. Stop them and bring the cure to me.” They disappear as fast as they arrive, flying off in a mixture of shrieks and laughs. 

“And as for you, my darling.” Turning to look at you before you promptly cut him off. “No, I’m staying right here.” He protests, but you shut those down as well. “No, Vlad. You remember what happened the last time Van Helsing broke into our home and we were both apart from one another.” The question was rhetorical, and it seemed to garner the reaction that you wanted, Vlad seeming to be in deep thought. He slowly nods his head, but points back over to the door. “Fine, but you stay over there. Out of the way, you forget that you are still human, my darling.”

You wait anxiously by the door like Vlad told you, watching as lightning strikes and fills the room with an eerie green glow. Throwing your arms over your head for some form of protection as you hear a shout of “Give me life!” echo through the room. “One more bolt and my young will live!” You watch as Vlad suddenly becomes enraged, flying through one of the glass windows of the room. 

Moments later Van Helsing drops through the open tower that leads into the middle of the room, setting a few Dwergi on fire as he bursts through machinery. He stumbles as he stands back up, face twisted in confusion and pain, looking around the room. He spots you by the door, in your dress, covered in jewels with your hair done, looking every bit the part of one of Vlad’s brides. He looks betrayed, and for a moment you feel a sharp pain in your chest, wishing that you could say something to him, but before you could even think of what to say, Vlad drops back down, quietly behind Gabriel, sneaking up on him. 

“You are too late, my friend! My children live!” Vlad exclaims, stalking towards Gabriel, “Then the only way to kill them, is to kill you.” Nodding his head with a loose hand gesture, “Correct.” This causes Gabriel to laugh as he moves in front of the window, “Then so be it!” dropping his coat off as the clock strikes midnight. He transforms into a wolf with each toll of the clock as Vlad gives you a quick look before feigning surprise, maniacally laughing. 

“We are both part of the same great game, Gabriel! But we need not find ourselves on opposite sides of the board!” Quickly changing himself as he and Gabriel begin fighting one another. You duck down quickly next to a barrel as they traverse the whole room, explosions following their movements. 

You watch as Vlad throws a board off of himself, walking towards the middle of the room. “You are being used, Gabriel, as was I, but I escaped, so can you!” Before quickly flying off as Van Helsing jumps for him. You gasp as Vlad is thrown to the ground in a sound of extreme pain, revealing a broken wing. Watching as he jumps up to a platform, before falling, rolling over to his side to reveal that he is covered in blood and scratches. Van Helsing extends his claws before dragging them down a pillar in a threatening manner, jumping up to Vlad.

“Don’t you understand?” Backing away from Van Helsing, there’s a very obvious limp in his gait, causing you to step out from your spot, moving closer to where the two are. “We could be… We could be friends! Partners! Brothers in arms!” trying in vain to get away as Van Helsing catches him by the neck. You scream out his name, moving towards him before an arm is quickly gestured in your way, a sign for you to stay away. 

“Did I mention that it was you who murdered me? It must be such a burden, such a curse, to be the left hand of God.” Quickly appearing behind Van Helsing, “All I want is life, Gabriel. The continuation of my kind.” He throws a look towards you before holding up his hand, ring finger suddenly missing, “And perhaps the return of my ring! Don’t be afraid Gabriel, don’t be afraid. I shall give you back your life, your memory.” 

You miss the rest of what happens as a vial is placed in your hand. Snapping your head around your met with Verona, her vampiric face covered in scratches and bloody marks. “Give it to him, we must finish holding off the monster and the girl.” Flying back off to wherever she came from, you turn around right as Van Helsing jumps across the room, pinning Vlad to a piece of machinery, catching him off guard. 

He struggles to fight him off, Van Helsing's mouth getting closer and closer to Vlads neck. Vlad is using both hands to try and keep the werewolf as far away from him as possible, so giving him the cure is out of the option. 

There’s only one thing that you can do. 

Running across the room you’re able to make it to the pair right as Vlad’s arms give out from the effort of keeping Van Helsing away. He goes in for the finishing move but before he can your shoe scuffs against the floor, gaining his attention. He turns around, growling, pouncing on you without even a second look. You gasp as you’re hit, vaguely registering Vlad scream as you fly through the air with the wolf, quickly sticking the syringe into his side as you hit against a pillar, landing limply on the ground. 

Eyes wide open, but not seeing, slowly clouding over as you breathe your last breath, leaving nothing but a corpse on the floor. 

~~~

“No! What have you done!” words screamed throughout the room, Dracula making an ear-piercing shriek as he made his way across to you, pulling you into his arms, gently cradling your head. Cries of pain and shock are heard throughout the room as Gabriel turns back into himself, dropping to his knees before the dead body of his friend. 

Dracula is muttering words to you that Gabriel can’t understand as the three brides come bursting in through a window, one of them grabbing him by his shoulders and throwing him out the window onto the bridge that connects to the mirror they came through. On the bridge he is met with the sight of Anna, Carl, and the Frankenstein Monster slumped against the reflective surface. He approaches, shaking the shoulders of Anna and Carl to wake them up. Anna awakens first, groggily, “What is it? What happened?” placing her hand atop of Gabriels, the fog of her mind clearing away as she realises that Gabriel is crying. “What is it, Van Helsing, what has happened? Is Dracula dead?” He shakes his head, mummering your name quietly. “What about her? Is she alright?” He makes eye contact with Carl who is now also awake, watching as the realisation hits Carl, lip quivering “She’s dead.” Carl says with a finality, hanging his head and also crying. 

Van Helsing places his hand and quietly murmurs the word that will get the door to open before standing up and limping his way through. 

Damn the Vatican, as far as they’ll know, Dracula was defeated.

~~~

“No! What have you done!” words choked out through his injured throat. He lets out a shriek that will summon his Brides to him, running towards you before swooping to his knees, grabbing you, watching as your limbs remain limp, head flopping on a broken neck. He can feel the tears come, feel them burning tracks through his skin but he can’t find it in himself to care. He’s vaguely aware of Verona riding the room of Van Helsing, before all three of his brides drop sadly next to him, all of them holding onto you. Cries echo throughout the room, his pain is their pain, but their pain is also their own, given all the bonding they had done with you over the past few days. 

He places one hand upon your chest, right over your heart, and that’s when he feels one faint, barely-there swoosh of blood travelling through the organ. 

It’s not too late.

Ducking his head down immediately to latch his teeth onto your neck, draining you of your blood. He holds his arm out, feeling a nail slice down his wrist, not sure who’s but it really doesn’t matter. He holds his hand to your face as he continues to drink your blood, watching his own trickle into your mouth. He pulls away from you, leaning his head towards his shoulder to wipe his mouth off, waiting for the cut on his wrist to heal itself, deeming that enough of his blood had been shared. 

You remain eerily still. Not a twitch of the muscles, a blink of the eye, nothing. “Normally there would be a reaction by now.” words murmured to himself, but are met by the supportive whispers and touches of his Brides. “Oh, my Lord.” Verona speaks, running a gentle hand across his face, “It takes some time, you remember how long it was until it took with Marishka. We waited almost all night.” Marishka murmurs her agreement, remembering the words spoken to her when she had awoken to her new life, ‘We thought you weren’t going to make it.’ But she had made it, and surely you would too. 

“Let's move her to her room, master.” Aleera standing up and moving towards the door, “She will be more comfortable there.” Vlad can’t help but agree, moving his arm that wasn’t cradling your head under your knees and scooping you up, making his way towards the door. He walks quietly through the halls, dropping you gently on the bed before making his way to the bathroom to retrieve a damp linen to wipe the blood off with. When he arrives back in the main suite he notices that his Brides have already removed all your jewels and undressed you, finding a soft shirt that Vlad briefly recognizes as one of his own to take the place of the dress you were wearing. 

He quietly wipes down your shoulder where he bit you, small flakes of dry and crusted blood coming off with ease. He then tosses the linen off to the side and takes a gentle seat next to you on the bed so as to not jostle you around. 

Vlad is a patient man, and vows to sit and wait for as long as you may need. 

~~~

You wake up in the room that belongs to you and Vlad. Sunlight shining in through the large windows, filling the room with tiny fragments of rainbows. You turn your head to the side and gaze upon your husband sleeping peacefully beside you, not being able to help the soft smile that overtakes your face. Leaning back down to place a flurry of kisses along the warm skin of his face, giggling quietly to yourself. 

The quiet romanian muttering as he stretches all his limbs at once alert you to the fact that you have succeeded in waking him up, watching as he cracks one eye open for only a split second before it closes again. “It is far too early, my darling.” His arm comes to pull you back down towards the plush surface of the bed, wrapping you up snug against himself. “Too early? Vlad, it's daytime.” “Still far too early for my taste, and besides, you should be getting all the rest you can.” A finger poking gently at your stomach. “It will be good for you both.” 

You don’t argue, cuddling up to him and placing your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. 

Wait, Vlad doesn’t have a heartbeat. 

You snap open your eyes, the room is no longer sunny, it’s stormy and reeks of death. You’re covered head to toe in blood and Vlad’s dead body is laying in the centre of the room, hand clutching his chest, a pool of blood surrounding him. 

You spin around, breathing, panicking, turning towards the doorway when a hand of claws snatches you up by the neck; Gabriel. He walks you to the window before throwing you out, you fall, plummeting towards your doom, when all of a sudden you stop.

You stop mid-air, something catching you. Turning your gaze upwards assuming you’d find something holding yourself, something that was preventing you from falling, only to find nothing but clear sky. You hear the gentle whooshing of wings, grey clipping through your line of sight out of your peripheral vision. Frantically looking around, slightly panicked you realise that the wings are yours. Looking down at the rest of you only to be faced with the sight of ashy grey skin, hands lifting up revealing lithe fingers with monstrous claws. 

You don’t panic, no, instead you revel in it. Smiling to yourself as you launch yourself into the sky, wings working furiously to move you higher and higher, and you bask in the feeling of freedom that it brings you. You move up towards the clouds, white filling your vision. 

And then you wake up. 

~~~

You open your eyes, overwhelmed by everything you see. 

It’s as if the whole world has changed, everything is so much more clear than it used to be. You can see everything; the intercrossing of the fabric of the sheets that lay overtop of you, the various colours of the flickering flames in the fireplace across the room, the detail of each individual snowflake that falls in front of the window. Turning your vision to the left, finding Vlad sitting on the edge of the bed facing the wall. 

Moving a hand from where it lays across your chest to place it gently on his arm. He jumps in surprise as you snap him out of whatever melancholic reverie that he was in, head snapping around to gaze at you in pure disbelief and relief. He scoops you up into a sitting position as he pulls your torso against his own in what should have been, quite literally, a bone crushing hug. “I thought it hadn’t worked.” words muffled from where his head lays pressed against the crook of your neck. “You were so still for so long, I… Never, never leave me again, I couldn’t bear it.” 

Pulling your head back slightly, Vlad doing the same, the two of you hold eye contact for a moment, opening your mouth to say something you instantly grimace, closing it back and reaching a hand up to grasp your throat, a searing pain now making itself known, a pain that you recognize as thirst. “Are you hungry?” Nodding your head to him at the same time the door to the room bursts open, Verona, Marishka, and Aleera pouring into the room in a symphony of ethereal echoings and giggles. Aleera is carrying a cup of a viscous red fluid which she then hands over to you. “Perfectly aged, to tide you over until we can get to the village.” 

Taking the contents of the cup with greedy gulps, you find that it doesn’t taste as metallic as you would’ve thought, in fact it’s not metallic at all, it’s actually rather sweet. It helps the pain in your throat enough that you can pretend it’s not there, at least until you get some more. The other four people in the room watching your reaction, and as you tilt the cup all the way to the ceiling to try and get the last dregs from it there’s a deep chuckle from Vlad. 

“Don’t worry, my darling, we’ll leave for the village and then you may sate your thirst.” 

The girls grab you, pulling you up from the bed, once the sheet drops you realise that you’re back in your dress, fully looking the part of your new life. There’s giggling and excitement filling the air, and you can help but practically vibrate in place from the joy that’s coursing through your veins. Once you’re up you all prance out the door and into the hallway. 

Vlad watches on in contentment at the billowing of green, yellow, pink, and blue fabrics through the hallway, the four of you radiating sheer joy and happiness. 

You’re not exactly sure where you’re going, but you follow the girls willingly. They lead you to a large room with dramatic arches on the ceiling, and large, sheer drapes hanging down from various spots. There’s a thick stone coffin with no top lying in the dead centre of the room surrounded by tall candelabras and you assume that it’s Vlad’s, which leads you to wonder where the girls sleep. Across the room there’s a carved out arch that leads to nothing but a solid wall, and you wonder what it’s even there for. When Vlad finally does catch up to you he throws his arms out wide, welcoming all four of you to him. When you’re all together you begin to slide across the floor towards the wall, the second you come into contact with it, you seem to almost melt through it, coming out the other side to a room that you remember being in Castle Frankenstein. 

It’s a portal. 

There’s an open skylight in the room that it leads out into, and when the girls begin to transform you know that’s your exit to the village. They fly up, leaving you and Vlad alone in the room, but hovering over the Castle, flying around in circles until you’re ready to join them. 

You stand awkwardly for a moment, turning to look at Vlad. “Um, how do I, you know,” arm coming up to gesture loosely towards the sky. “There’s really no way to explain it, you don’t think, my darling, you just do it.” Transforming himself, lapels melding into wings before he too, takes flight. 

“Oh yes because that advice is so helpful.” mumbling under your breath even though you know that he can hear you still, nevertheless you try to take his advice, willing yourself to fly, closing your eyes tight and balling up your fists to focus. When you hear cackles of laughter close by you open your eyes back up, realising that you’ve lifted through the skylight and are in-fact flying. Your skin grey to match the wives, equipped with claws and teeth of your own. 

You fly in a few test circles before giving a reassuring nod to them all. Then, you all take off towards the village. As you fly, you notice three horses racing through the mountains out of the corner of your eye, your newfound heightened senses allowing you to see miles ahead of where you used to be able to before. 

Upon one of the horses, is someone in a shaggy brown cloak; Carl. On the second, someone with a head full of curls, bouncing behind them with the movement of the horse; Anna. And on the last, someone who wears a leather coat and a hat, someone who with all his training surely recognises the feeling of the eyes that lay upon him as his head turns to look back, someone who notices that there is one more bat in the air than there used to be, someone who ignores this fact as he turns back around and continues on his way.

And so do you. 

~

Originally posted April 14th, 2023.

#dracula x reader #count vladislaus dragulia x reader #count vladislaus dracula x reader #Van Helsing (2004) #vampire x reader #1-800fandomqueen #mywriting

[look-a-yandere-fandom-blog]

Yandere! Slappy the Living Dummy Headcanons

Fandom: Goosebumps.

No Spoilers.

Character Version: Book!Slappy

_________________________________

Ambiguous yan - can be read as platonic or romantic.

_________________________________

Content Warning: Manipulation, isolation, possessive behaviour, kinda stalking?

(If there’s anything else I need to add please let me know).

Big apologies to anyone who is scrolling through the goosebumps tag and managed to come across this... I am cringe as hell, but I am free!

_________________________________

- Before we begin, let’s get a quick rundown on Slappy:

- He’s an evil, manipulative, and sadistic ventriloquist dummy, who’s near-impossible to defeat in the long term.

- So basically, an entity you’d never want to be obsessed with you.

- Let’s go with the typical Goosebumps narrative: you found him lying around, asleep, and (for some damn reason) you decided to bring him home!

- You pick the sheet of paper out of his pocket and read the words inscribed.

- “Karru Marri Odonna Loma Molonu Karrano”

- As the days pass by, strange things begin to happen around your home.

- It starts off small; things being out of place, items disappearing and reappearing, the sound of footsteps echoing through the house in the dead of night when you’re sure that nobody else is awake.

- And, even more strangely, that ventriloquist dummy you found keeps appearing on your bed: sitting beside your pillow and staring down at you. Creepy.

- At this stage, Slappy observes your daily life. He doesn’t make his sentience known just yet.

- He sees your routine, your hobbies, your family, and your friends…

- It’s those last two that really grind his gears.

- Slappy sees you and your loved ones. He sees you doing nice things for them: giving them gifts, doing favours, or offering to help them with tasks.

- His little wooden mind misinterprets this as you serving them. An odd leap to make, until you account his strange fixation on making people his ‘slaves’. In his head, that’s what you must be doing, that’s the only thing you could be doing, right?

- And so, Slappy starts getting antsy. Why are you serving those useless fleshbags when you should be serving him? He’s the only person (or dummy in this case) that you should be focusing on.

- Here is when his interruptions of your daily life start to become more extreme.

- He openly tries to get your attention. This is achieved by causing as many problems and messes as his 3-foot-something form allows. At this point he may reveal that he’s alive.

- Alongside this, he’ll start pushing away your friends and family.

- A few cruel pranks, a handful of exposed secrets, and a couple of damaged items is all it takes for him to leave you completely alone.

- Except for him of course.

- And, with no one else to turn to, you’ll finally give into his demands; willing to be his loyal servant for the rest of your life.

- At least, that’s what he hopes, what he imagines, as his glassy eyes stare unblinkingly.

- Staring down at your sleeping face, once again. Night after night.

- Until there's nothing left for you, but him.

#slappy the dummy #goosebumps #goosebumps slappy #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #male yandere #tw yandere #yandere blog #yandere #slappy

[silentcrowsilentravens]

If you're still willing to add new RE characters... May I ask for first kiss headcanons about S.T.A.R.S alpha team members?

-🐝

Sure!

First kiss headcanons about Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, Brad Vickers, Joseph Frost, Barry Burton, and Albert Wesker.

(Gender ambiguous).

Warnings: n/a

Masterlists here!

Jill Valentine

There’s a lull in the conversation after a bit of laughter. 

You both share a fond look.

Your gaze not so subtly travels down to Jill’s lips. 

The next thing you know, she’s closing the distance between you. There’s more than enough time to pull away if you want to, but you don’t. 

Her hands come to cup your cheeks.

Eventually, she ends up loosely linking her arms around your neck instead.

The kiss is slow and slightly rough. 

When she's finished, it doesn't take Jill long to go back in.

Chris Redfield

Chris pulls to a stop in front of your place. Even though it's late and you're tired, you almost don't want to get out of the car.

You turn to look at Chris and thank him for the ride. "I appreciate it," you tell him as you place a hand on the door handle. At the last moment, you lean to kiss him. 

As soon as he realizes what you’re doing, he closes the rest of the distance. 

One of his hands finds its way to the side of your face, his fingers in your hair.

Things turn fervent rather quickly. 

You leave that vehicle breathless and overwhelmed in the best way possible.

Brad Vickers

You make Brad a complete mess. 

His nervousness is palpable when he asks to kiss you. He’s got his head bowed down slightly and the tips of his ears are red. 

He’s a bit stiff when you initially lean in, but he manages to relax. 

The kiss is just... gentle. And sweet.

You loosely hold Brad’s hands in yours. He gives them a light squeeze. 

When you both break apart, he rests his forehead against yours, a soft look in his eyes.  

Joseph Frost

The first time you kiss Joseph, the moment is preceded by him jokingly asking if the two of you are about to do just that. 

Or him saying “make me” after you tell him to shut up. 

There's a moment of surprise for Joey—an "oh shit, I was kinda hoping but I didn't think you'd actually do it!"

Then, he completely melts into it.

He hooks his arms around your waist and pulls you flush against him. 

The kiss is so full of feeling and passion.

Briefly, you can feel him smile against your lips before you separate.

Hands still resting on your waist, now full-on grinning, he huffs out a happy laugh as he tries to catch his breath.

Barry Burton

You're out in the field with Barry.

Just before you separate to cover more ground, you both pause to exchange good lucks and stay safes.

The kiss is just a spur of the moment thing, really.

Barry draws your chin up with his forefinger and thumb.

It's meant to be quick. Only a peck, but you go back in a second time.

Truly, it doesn't last that much longer. Maybe only a few seconds. There still gets to be a lot more feeling in it, though. More passion.

Albert Wesker

You want to kiss this man so bad. You know Albert is someone who doesn't hand out a whole lot of physical affection, though.

Is your hinting not blatant enough? If he was picking up on it and wasn't interested, you're sure he'd bluntly tell you.

You decide to be blunt yourself and just see what happens.

There's a moment of pause where you prepare yourself to hear one of Albert's flat noes.

You don't.

The kiss starts like he's executing it based on written instructions. It's not bad, it's just... Bordering on mechanical?

Then, suddenly, your back is against a wall and the kiss is turning rough.

When he pulls away, he does it almost abruptly. You're just left breathless and weirdly taken aback as he continues on as if none of that just happened.

#x reader #jill valentine x reader #chris redfield x reader #brad vickers x reader #joseph frost x reader #barry burton x reader #albert wesker x reader #chris redfield #jill valentine #albert wesker #joseph frost #barry burton #brad vickers #resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil 1 #stars alpha team

[leebrontide]

I think, someday, people are going to understand the value of stories about disability. Not just stories about disabled people, which may or may not be about disability (both are 1000% useful and valid) but books that really interface with disability and ableism.

Because almost all of us are going to end up with some degree of disability sooner or later. And a LOT of us are walking around with disabilities without realizing it.

People think of disabilities as yet another all-or-nothing binary. That "real" disabled people are obvious and helpless and have nothing to give to others. That "nondisabled" people should be able to meet every expectation that the person next to them can meet, or they're "lazy" or "not trying".

It messes people up! This insistence that unless you have one of a small number of acceptable disabilities you're "fine" and should be highly consistent and functional all the time. It makes people push away help that would benefit them, because they're afraid of being one of those useless burdensome disabled people, and because they're afraid of the censure of others.

Ableism hurts everyone.

And, frankly, health and ability are always temporary conditions.

I hate that when I say my books are about disability too many people think about cheesy after school specials where highly unrealistic children learn to accept a classmate in a wheelchair as being really just like them after all. That's not what it's about.

Disability stories are about consent, and bodily autonomy, and interdependence, and ambiguity, and change, and trauma, and shame, and pride and helplessness and strength and systems and families and individuals.

There have always been disabled people. There will always be disabled people. Disabled people can be in any genre, with a wide array of abilities.

Because disabled people are normal.

But we ignore so many types of disabilities because of that damn binary, and the shame, fear, and derision of ableism.

My books have/will have characters with: limb loss, chronic pain, chemical dependence, ADHD, autism, depression, PTSD, undiagnosed chronic health problems, deafness, intermittent mobility issues, traumatic brain injuries, dyslexia, eating disorders, reduced vision from age, a stoma, as well as more shit that I made up because my world-building demanded it. Sometimes the story is about the disability, sometimes it's not. But all of these characters relate to each other in a way influenced by their own experience of not being able to get their brain or body to do what they wanted or needed it to do.

Everyone's abilities and disabilities influence how they view the abilities and disabilities of others.

And that's good stories. Stories that are satisfying to read and full of themes worth exploring.

It wasn't that long ago they people got sniffy about stories about queerness. Now we understand why those stories are valuable and also just enjoyable to read. We need the same thing for stories about disability.

Anyways if you want, or make, stories of disability, lmk.

#writeblr #disability #ableism

[eoieopda]

the one with jihoon and the gold medal

pairing: lee jihoon x gn!reader type: drabble | genre: fluff | rating: pg15 | wc: 800 au: best friends to ? summary: jihoon is the featherweight champion of pining. he’s also pretty adept at getting you home from the bar at the end of the night. cw: reader is drunk, jihoon is down bad, and the ending is up for debate. a/n: i wrote this in jihoon’s pov, and i left it very ambiguous about what reader’s feelings are. i’d love to hear your thots 👀 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

There are two things that Lee Jihoon knows for sure he can’t do.

He can’t drive, which has no meaningful impact on his day-to-day life. The world doesn’t start or stop turning because he doesn’t have his license, despite what his friends seem to think. The fact that he can’t drink would — theoretically — be a little less shitty if he could drive, though. 

Because that’s not the case, he’s always the only sober person on any given night out. Worse, he can’t even get his shitfaced friends home without attempting to wrangle them on public transit. That, for the record, is a nightmare far above his fucking pay grade.

So, more often than not, Jihoon doesn’t stick around for the drinks that always follow dinner. He shows up, eats his weight in white rice, and when there’s nothing left on the table but a mess of empty dishes, he bails. He’s got a routine down, executes it flawlessly every time.

Almost every time.

Tonight may have slipped away from him, but it’s not his fault — it’s yours. If you hadn’t squeezed his forearm while laughing at one of his jokes, Jihoon would be home free by now. But you did, and he’s not, and he’s somehow finding it difficult to categorize this as a failure.

No, the way you get the tiniest bit more affectionate when you’re tipsy feels a hell of a lot like success. Just for a little while, Jihoon can let you tuck yourself under his arm; and he can pretend he’s not trapped in the silent hell that is yearning — and oh, god, does he yearn. You, however, come with a price tag. 

For the astronomical cost of the most meaningful friendship he has, he could clue you in on the pining. Check the temperature, see if your heart sounds like a cartoonish, old-timey car horn whenever you see him. That’s a bigger risk than Jihoon’s willing to take, and even if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t know where the fuck to start.

“I ah-wooga you”? 

Absolutely fucking not.

Jihoon doesn’t realize he’s gazing at you until you toss a crinkled-up chopstick wrapper at him. It bounces off of his unsuspecting chin, drops down into his lap. He blinks while he buffers, then he stares at you with an incredulousness that’s entirely manufactured, mouth hanging open. More than anything, he’s impressed by your aim in this state.

“Since when can you astral project, Jihoonie?” You ask with a laugh that’s likely a lot louder than you realize.

He’s impassive on the outside, but on the inside, he’s a puddle of goo. When you’re buzzed, he’s not oppa anymore — just Jihoonie — and it makes his knees wobble. To distract himself, Jihoon picks up the ball of paper and fires it back at you with shocking precision. Your eyes cross, almost in slow motion, as you watch it hit the tip of your nose.

Bullseye.

Pretending to be chill about any of this, Jihoon shrugs and says, “None of your business,” just to see if you’ll pout — and you do, you do, you do. He’s doomed, he realizes with a smile he can’t fight off. Oh, well.

You pick up your drink and down what little’s left of it before gesturing his way. The ice cubes clink against the glass. Uninhibited, he thinks, just like you. Donning puppy-dog eyes, you announce, “I think I need to go home now.”

There’s no question included because there’s no reality in which you’d ever have to ask. Jihoon is on his feet before you can punctuate that statement, hand held out to haul you up to yours. You squeak — an acceptance of his offer, he dares to presume — and then you take his hand.

You don’t let go once you stand up, which he attributes to your unsteadiness. Still, it doesn’t make him any less grateful for the way your fingers take up residency in the space between his. 

Even if it’s all he can be, he’ll be your anchor. If it means physically steering you towards the train station and hovering nearby when you attempt to befriend every living being — human or otherwise — that you encounter along the way, so be it. If he winds up loving you harder with every staggered step you take in the wrong direction, well… What else is new?

“Ready?” He asks with a tilt of his head towards the bar’s front door.

“Set, go!” You shout, and you sure as shit do.

At a rate of speed he could’ve never predicted, no less.

It’s a mad dash to the exit — one he wasn’t ready for, and one that nearly makes him fall over — but he keeps pace with you, like always. His foot crosses the threshold first, as a matter of fact, so he turns his head to brag to you about it. You’re already looking at him, grin beaming like a fucking spotlight, and he doesn’t need to state the obvious. 

Jihoon knows he’s the winner.

#re: the one with jihoon and the gold medal #jade writes #jade’s drabbles #ljh #svt #lee jihoon #seventeen #jihoon #woozi #svt drabble #svt fluff #svt imagine #svt scenarios #jihoon drabble #jihoon fluff #jihoon imagine #jihoon scenarios #woozi drabble #woozi fluff #woozi imagine #woozi scenarios #jihoon x reader #jihoon x you #jihoon x y/n #woozi x reader #woozi x you #woozi x y/n

[love-toxin]

Joker from persona 5 for the smut alphabet with a gn reader if i may ask lovely 🌹

ohhhhh u got me in a p5 mood babey!!!! <33

joker [akira kurusu] - (a-z)

(cws: gn!reader, various kinks, roleplay, very few minor spoilers, couple mentions of body insecurity, ambiguously post-canon, dirty talk, mild possessiveness, gags, a bit of public indecency.)

A = Aftercare

Such a cuddler. He's clinging to you before you've even caught up with that last big gasp your orgasm punched out of you, snuggled right up to your side with his arms around you to ease you back down from that near-unreachable high. He holds you so tight and so warm in his chest, squeezing you just hard enough not to hurt but to comfort--and as soon as you're calm enough for him to get up, he slips down into the cafe to make you some tea and fix you a little snack. He'll even run out to the grocery store down the alley if it's still open, if you ask him for something he doesn't have on hand. No gesture is too much work for his baby, and he's never too tired to do something that will make you smile.

B = Bondage

Tying you up? Yeah, he likes it--more than he should, he feels. It's kind of strange to think of himself as a kinky person, he feels a bit like a pervert in that sense, but the thrill he gets out of binding your arms back and leaving you helpless before him is totally undeniable. He likes that you can't cover your face to hide those pretty expressions he draws out of you, and he loves hearing you beg to touch him back with a blindfold snug over your eyes. You don't even know what you want, you can't tell where the pleasure's gonna come from next and you couldn't prepare for it even if you did--you just turn into a sweet, needy mess that just has to lay back and be worshipped, and what's not to like about that?

C = Cum

He cums a lot, much more than average, and he's pretty aware of it even though he's relatively inexperienced. It's potent and probably an effect of his persona's power since he never really noticed it before, but either way it just gushes out of him like a firehouse and it's pretty hard to control. He makes such a mess whenever he tries to pull out and shoot one out on your legs or your tummy, but your face is always a huge casualty too. It gets in your eyelashes, your hair, down your chin, your brows, just everywhere. He's like a one-man bukkake, and while it's something he's a little insecure about it's honestly impressive. It's pretty cute when he apologizes for it too, and blabbers on about how you just sounded and looked so adorable that he couldn't help himself...

D = Dirty Secret

If you were really insecure in the beginning of your relationship and had a hard time relaxing while doing the deed, Akira has gone into Mementos alone and searched out your shadow to see if he could help you from the inside out. His reassurances never seemed to go anywhere and since you always ended up feeling worse for not being able to just enjoy yourself (probably because of some insensitive comment from an ex or just self-esteem in general), he knew it had to be something deeper that maybe he could help you with. He really wasn't expecting your shadow self to spill your guts to him at the first sight of him without any battling necessary, and he also wasn't expecting that questionably hot dark version of you to paw at him and push him down to climb on top--but since it seemed to help you tremendously in real life, Akira secretly heads down to Mementos whenever you get stuck in a depressioned rut, and fucks that other self of yours stupid to remind the real you of how gorgeous and absolutely desirable he finds you.

E = Experience

Akira hasn't got too much experience with intimacy itself. He's rarely ever had crushes, even, up until he met you--and after you, he never found the same feelings welling up inside when he thought about anyone else. Before you dated and when he was in that phase of just crushing hard, he tried time and time again to turn his affections elsewhere so as to not ruin your precious friendship by confessing one-sidedly. But that only made him realize that you really were the only one for him, and he would never want anyone else except for you. How could anyone even try to measure up, let alone compare? You're just perfect.

F = Favourite Position

Missionary man all the way. He likes other positions but none feel as intimate to him, he likes the hitch of your legs around his waist and the untouchable closeness of being chest to chest and mouth to mouth as he makes love to you. Plus your hands on his back accelerate the experience for him, being surrounded by you and cushioned by your body and inside you all at once....it's a dream that he would never trade for anything. But of course, he's not entirely close-minded; he's definitely willing to experiment if his angel wishes for it to be so, he would be absolutely tickled pink to sit and listen to you talk with a hot face as you explain to him what you want him to do to you, how you want him to move you, and how you want him to take you.

G = Gloat

He's not really a mean kind of person (not unless it's directed towards someone who seriously deserves it) so it doesn't come out too much in the bedroom, or in any aspect of your relationship. But he does get possessive, and he has a habit of letting his stream of consciousness spill out in a murmur right next to your ear, all while he pins you where he wants you and gives you something to moan about. "Nobody gets to have you like this but me. You think I would ever give you away? No, precious. Never. You'd have to kill me before another man puts his hands on you, and even then they'd never take care of you as good as I do. Only I can make you cum the way you need."

H = Hair

He's just really not a hairy guy, he's got some bush and a bit on the undercarriage but he shaves it to the point that it's pretty sparse, but what he does have is quite dark and wiry. So if he ever did leave it untamed you'd be in for quite the jungle to cut through, but even so he'd at least trim it for you because he's a gentleman. And on the flipside, his inexperience means he doesn't know really know what to expect, so whatever you choose to do with your own hair is just what he assumes is normal. He has no business telling you to grow it or shave it, and he wouldn't because would it really make any difference? Your hair or lack thereof isn't what attracted him to you so it really doesn't have any bearing in the grand scheme of things.

I = Intoxication

Not much of a drinker, but if you have a night out with his friends from high school he can get quite clingy with a drink or two in him. Twirling a piece of your hair around his finger and mumbling in your ear about when you can go home, or just when you can find a place to sneak off--no, he's not too drunk, he can be quiet while you play with him. He promises. (Lie) His friends are definitely gonna hear you giving him brain in the bathroom at the bar, and it's gonna be quite the awkward situation to come back to with Akira's fumbling and his red cheeks and Ryuji laughing his ass off in a half-shocked half-congratulatory reaction.

K = Kiss

J = Jack off

Not a big self-pleasurer. Porn isn't really his thing, in video form or in magazines, and with his open-concept room he's quite aware of the lack of privacy that might compromise an unsuspecting visitor's image of him. Plus he's got a hard time controlling his volume. So if he does do it, he keeps it short and sweet, but when you're dating he usually just saves it for when you're over or you have a bit of time to sneak away for a rendezvous. You make him feel better than touching himself alone does anyways.

He's not a kissy person in a public setting, really he can barely hold your hand in public without getting flustered. But that shyness goes out the window the moment you're alone, when nobody's around to see it Akira could spend the rest of his life just planting soft, fluttering kisses all up and down your body. He especially likes to kiss your hands and your knuckles, and especially when he's buried inside you and looking down on that sweet face that makes him so, so happy. He'll just take your hand and bring it to his lips, squeezing your interlaced fingers and planting kisses on each knuckle until you're squirming and warm under the constant attention. He loves to feel you clenching down on him when he does that, it makes it feel even more special and so much more passionate.

L = Lazy

If he's too tired or if you feel like doing all the work, he's happy albeit a little shyer than usual to let you get on top and ride him. He tries to beg you to sit on his face instead, he doesn't want you to see how red he's gonna get and how pathetic he'll look when he gets to watch you....but he'll probably lose like he usually does against you, and you'll get to watch that pretty face contort in all sorts of ways as you bring him to his end faster and even harder than usual.

M = Marking

He'll leave some scratches and a few bruises here and there, but never anything too severe or sore. He does enjoy it when you drag your nails down his back though, he wants to see those raised streaks of red in the mirror the next morning and know that he fucked you good, good enough for some of them to bleed. It's an almost masochistic kind of pleasure that he's not sure of where it stems from, but he likes it and it makes him happy so it really doesn't matter all that much.

N = CNC

It's not something he's ever really considered, but he might enjoy playing out a scenario while he's donning his Joker costume. The masked hero taking his reward from an adorable victim who owes him their life....yeah, that's not a bad idea at all. Especially if you whimper out those little cries of "This is wrong, sir!" while you moan at the same time, that really revs some kind of desire he didn't know he had. He always ends up turning a little soft in the end and dropping the act when he's ready to cum--that's when he's so vulnerable that he just wants the affection of his angel and nothing else.

O = Oral

Again, pretty inexperienced in this avenue, but he really wants to practice and try it out to get better. He wants you to love having his head between your thighs, he wants to be known for it--he wants you to quiver when he suggests giving you head, and fold when he looks in your direction and makes a gesture that lets you know exactly where he wants to put his mouth. Having you grip his hair and hump his face because you can't get enough is his dream, and he's determined to make it a reality. Especially since you seem to be effortlessly good at it, either because he's extra sensitive or because you just know all the things he likes and every button to push to have him spurting ropes down your throat in minutes. He wants to get that same reaction out of you, he's got to.

P = Panties

Honestly he really likes the idea of fucking you while you're wearing his clothes. Or jerking him off with your hands donning his infamous gloves. But as far as underwear goes, he likes licking you over it and leaving a big wet patch from his spit in the fabric as you tremble and start messing it all up, especially when he pulls away and you just whine that he's a tease as you start touching yourself under it. It's such an easy way to have you looking all cute and clingy and staining your clothes like he's marking his territory.

Q = Quickie

You'd think he wouldn't be too fond of potentually exposing himself in public, but quickies are one of those things that he feels so dirty doing it actually leads him to doing it more. He's definitely humped your throat in an alleyway a couple times, and even let you ride him atop the ceiling of a palace or somewhere deep and hidden in Mementos while the others look for him. Mostly cause it's fun, but also because it really turns him on to think that you're needy enough that you'd urge him to do something so indecent that could get you both in so much trouble--and because he loves you, he simply has no choice but to satiate you when you need to be serviced. Ah, what a regrettable, yet unavoidable curse!

R = Risk

There's not much of a risk factor with him, he plays things pretty safe even when you're doing things in a bit of an impromptu manner. Teasing him about doing things a little more raw after you get married is a one-way ticket to flustering him though, and giving him the idea of not using a condom or not pulling out because you're completely devoted to each other....it's a dangerous thought. It's so intimate and you've only done that a couple times, so thinking about doing it all the time and leaving you leaking and full of his seed just shifts something around in his brain and makes him totally sensitive and shy until he gets it out of his system. Besides, a lot of that comes from you suggesting the two of you having a wedding and him being your husband--how is he supposed to react when that's his deepest desire and something he's already saving up for?

S = Spit

He likes having you clean his cock with your spit, and he gets unfathomably dirty with it if you let him run with it. Mutters on about how "You left my lap all sticky, go ahead and clean it up for me." with a hand perched in your hair. He sticks his fingers in your mouth and shifts them around like he's doing an inspection before he lets you lower your mouth to his dick, and it's all to have you salivating so your tongue's nice and wet when you move to lick your own cum off his glistening shaft. Make it as wet and sloppy as possible, and he'll reward those dripping, swollen lips with as many kisses you can handle--on both ends, no less.

T = Toys

Absolutely no idea what he's doing with them. If you explain to him that they help you get where you need to go, so to speak, then he'll be happy to explore them a little more with you. You'll have to introduce him slowly cause it intimidates him a little, especially if you're more familiar with them than he is--but once he gets a handle on them, he actually turns into kind of a pervert about it. He'll buy you something new that he wants to try together or just something he knows will make you cum really fast, and he always, always wants you to demo them for him. Show him how good you feel with them, won't you? He's gotta know if they work so he can take them back if they don't. Has to be a diligent customer, right? So don't be shy about telling him everything you're feeling when you touch yourself with it for him to watch.

V = Volume

U = Unfair

That quiet nature masks the biggest tease on earth, you could swear he's like another person when you're alone or when you're with his friends. From making dirty jokes to placing a well-timed hand on your thigh during a group conversation over dinner, Akira teases you like it's his day job and he always reaps the benefits as much as he pays the consequences. As possessive as he can get when he really gets into that mood, a plea from Yusuke to make a nude painting of you will get a burst of laughter out of your boyfriend, before he playfully jokes that he could stand in and describe you to him instead because he knows you inside and out. A playful shove and a chorus of giggles and lighthearted scolding from Ann for being a pervert later, and Akira will be on top of you in his bed with lust-filled eyes and a whispered promise that he'll never let someone else peek at you under your clothes. "That's all for me, isn't it sweetheart?"

He likes to think he's quiet but he's really not. You can hear him moaning from the bottom floor of Leblanc if he's touching himself while waiting for you to arrive, and you just have to thank the powers that be that he never does it while the café is open, lest he get the most embarrassing lecture from Sakura that would just burn him alive. Gagging him with your underwear or a hanky is really the only option if you want to take things elsewhere or if there's people around, or else bystanders are gonna get some pretty visceral descriptions about how hard Akira's gonna cum for you and exactly how soft and tight you are as you're squeezing his cock.

W = Wildcard

His favourite way to receive head is to be on top. It's weird, at least he thinks so, but he just really like the idea of straddling your shoulders, hunching over you to clutch a pillow in his arms above your head, and slowly rock his hips to plunge his cock down your throat in a steady rhythm. You can't move, can't get up, can't even speak in this position, all you can do is spit and choke and gag when he gives you a spare moment to breathe, but it's all at his command, all at his leisure. He likes the thought of possibly falling asleep while he's nestled so deep inside you, and pinning his hips to your poor face as you're forced to lay there and just suckle on it until he cums hard enough to wake up. It's quite the vulnerable position, but if you ever agreed to try it with him, he might just die out of pure adoration and worship you to the heavens.

X = X-Ray

Smooth and unblemished. It's mostly on the straight side with a bit of a curve down, and not too slim but he's got some heft packed on to the underside that makes it feel a lot heavier. The tip has a deeper ridge that you really feel when he first pushes in, deep enough that it catches when he pulls out too and makes it feel like he's suctioned tight inside you and can't pull out without some force. But that also makes it easier for him to plug you up with cum, and when he does unhitch himself, he always leaves it spilling out quickly and making a right mess all over your poor legs. His balls aren't huge or especially heavy, but they're shockingly soft and pretty smooth and almost artistic in the way they rest against your backside when he's nestled in deep inside you. Also very, very sensitive, and you can feel them twitch whenever he cums as they tighten up and then relax once his cum starts pumping out and easing the pressure. He mumbles about how dirty you are when you lick them because of how your head's positioned, but you both know he loves it and it makes him even cuddlier and needier with you after he cums.

Y = Yearning

Nothing turns him on like you calling him your hero. Teasingly or seriously, it stirs something inside him that can't be ignored--he promises to be your hero always, to do the right thing and to rescue you whenever you need saving, wherever either of you may be. But it's a little more flustering when he makes those promises with a husky voice by your ear and his cock straining his pants, cause you'll know exactly what he means when he asks if, as your hero, he might have a reward from his helpless, darling little civilian that owes him their life.

Z = Zzz

He prefers to sleep through the night but he doesn't fall asleep too quickly after sex, although it's a different story if you wake up next to him and notice him humping his pillow or the sheets--or your leg, if he's situated just right. Sometimes he's awake and just didn't want to wake you, and sometimes he's asleep and just having a really good dream. Either way, you have full and expressed consent to hump him right back if you want to, or just push your pajama bottoms down and let your boyfriend sleepily push his cock inside to keep it warm. He'll try his best not to cum, but no promises, okay?

#joker persona 5 #joker p5 x reader #akira kurusu #akira kurusu x reader #ren amamiya #ren amamiya x reader #spicy writing #persona 5 #persona #smut alphabet #ellie writes #anons

[jazzy---j]

CC3... and just my problems with sjm as a whole.

Soooooo, yeah. that was a bit disappointing. I wanna start off that due to the problematic nature of SJM I wanna make it clear I no longer financially support her. When I first began reading her books I was in high school and didn't know much about whose books I was reading. Most of it was just pick up a book, read the summary, if I liked it I bought it. But now as an adult who is on booktok and all the other bullshit (it's a whole mess) I can see all of a book and author's pros and cons and be like, "nah, I'm not doing that." And you know as a black woman, I cannot just be and do what I want and damn whoever it may impact or the consequence. I don't get to live in that world. I feel like I have somewhat of a responsibility to not contribute to the harm that the world already does to marginalized people around the world. That's just me personally, black people are not a monolith and this way of thinking doesn't apply to all of us.

Anyway all that being said, I am a book reader who is invested in whatever story they are reading and want to know what happens. So I read CC3.., but was sailing the high seas while I did it if you know what I mean. And let me just say... yikes. The problematic things that SJM does in real life and all that those issues mean really do shine in this book. I mean I always knew white authors have different experiences than me so I don't expect something that caters to me when I read their books but, idk sjm makes all the problematic things just so apparent. And it's just generally hard to read. There can't be any separation between the art and the artist in this one guys. I'm a political science and history major in real life so I spend my time studying political theory and structures of power in historical contexts. Hopefully, I can work to better understand those structures in our current present and with my intersection of activism (I am very passionate about that in my day-to-day) work to make a better world for marginalized people. So when I read SJM, I see some very troubling themes in her work. Themes that can perpetuate misogyny, racism, and imperialism. And it just makes me queasy reading it. It's not fun for me to read that. The way she used the oppression and discrimination of people as a major plot device, that the heroes have to defeat but in real life be ok with taking a birthright trip is just... a type of cognitive dissonance that I can't even put into words. and don't think I forgot the Breonna Taylor incident that she still has on her Instagram. if you don't know what I'm talking about look it up on TikTok, many black book readers have created multiple videos explaining that whole situation.

Now some people may be like, "What the fuck are you talking about. I don't see any of this." And like that's cool maybe because of what I'm studying I just see it everywhere. But I just have not been able to shake this ickiness in my gut about her work. The most thought-out example of the problematic nature of her work that I have is the description and characterization of the Illyrian people.

Now the way she physically described the illryians is as brown-skinned, with dark hair, and brown or dark eyes. This does put them in a very racially ambiguous position but to describe them as brown-skinned makes me picture brown people who in real life are racially recognized as black and brown people. People apart of brown communities are usually Southeast Asian or Arab people. They are marginalized in real life through various forms of oppression displayed in orientalism perpetuated mostly recently by the United States in the last 30 years (the war on terror, but this behavior goes back so much further). The Illyrian people's cultural characterization coupled with their physical description aligns with the negative aspects of Orientalism. Literally, the illryians are described as "backward", "barbaric", "slow to change", and stuck in timeless, old antiquated traditions that encourage the abuse of women and children. Sjm describes an indigenous people (she makes it clear that the illryians are native to the night court and nowhere else) as "savage" culturally, in their interpersonal relationships, and communally. That is just described as inherent to the people (except for a couple of characters who are "the good ones", or "not like that" and lucky enough to get away). Culturally they are described as being constantly in a state of conflict, preparing for and/or enjoying that conflict. I'm so sorry but that is Orientalism, literally the definition of how Orientalism was used to justify the colonization of the Middle East and parts of Asian during the colonization period and again when the western powers and the United States had a vested interest in interfering politically and economically in the region in the last couple of decades. That same language was used to describe the people of the Middle East and justify their oppression in the West. The exact same words. I did not understand the connection until I took a Middle East: politics and society class about two semesters ago and again that same language was used when we were learning about Orientalism. I went back to read some of acotar again and I saw all of that in relation to the illryians and I was like, "oh, oh no." I really don't know what else to say. To me, the relation is very very clear and makes my stomach just drop when reading it.

And the thing about it is it did not have to be this way, SJM did not have to characterize them like that. There is no real narrative function of this characterization, they are not the bad guys of the story or the main antagonist. In fact, the main characters need them to actually defeat the evil. SJM at the base made an interesting indigenous group of people that could have been a unique culture in her narrative landscape and added to her world-building. Instead, she wrote harmful stereotypes about vaguely racialized, marginalized people that directly mirror a marginalized group of people in the real world. Now was that her intention or just the subconscious influence of Orientalism in our society coming out without her awareness? I mean i cannot confirm from the horse's mouth that this is the case right? She has never actually said this. But her stance on current world events that are happening right (Palestine and Gaza strip) does not give me a lot of hope that she is completely unaware. But either way, this can hurt people in the real world. In the book, because the Illyrians are characterized the way that they are, the main characters are put in a moral position of opposition, that is the the dynamic. And to me, that dynamic is hard to read knowing what I know and what actually happens in real life to people that the Illyrians mirror. it begins to be super easy to just live in that moral opposition that can stripe away people's humanity and value. Azriel's contempt for his people and desire to destroy Illyria and the culture is a good example of what happens to these groups in real life. This is just one example of things in her work that can be problematic.

And listen I'm not writing this to tell you to stop reading her, to tell you what to do with your money, or who to like/support. That is not my job. I just wanted to share some of my thoughts and give whoever is reading this food for thought. And hey I might be reading too much into this, and just going way too deep. It is just hard for me to enjoy her work anymore knowing and seeing what I see. I can't really ignore that icky gut feeling.

And hey do I think sjm is a good writer? Eh... that is a whole other blog post. I could go really deep into her world-building, story choices, and what I think might just be lazy writing. But there are some aspects that I do like and are unique. But guess what? The fandom's fanfic writers are the light in the tunnel in this situation. As they often are in other fandoms. they take the actual cool and fun things that SJM created and build on them in a way that does not negatively depict the representation of real people. In a way that is not narratively disappointing. In a way that is just fun for everyone to enjoy. Free of charge they express their talent because they love to do it for however long they want to. Fanfiction is an amazing system that I hope and pray won't get messed up. Like one of my favorite creators @separatist-apologist posted about last week, "I think no matter what happens, we've all spent so much time reading fic and developing headcanons that whatever SJM does isn't going to live up to the fantasy we've created...". And I for real felt that and I just wanna shout out to all the fic writers who make this space fun despite all the fandom fuckery and SJM fuckery.

@separatist-apologist, @thehaemanthus, @the-lonelybarricade, @moodymelanist, @ablogofsapphicpanic, @vidalinav, @vikingmagic33, @c-e-d-dreamer

There are more that I probably missed. So you know thank you guys for making things fun and giving me something to read that doesn't give me an icky feeling when I read.

So yeah, thank you for coming to my ted talk. this turned out to be hella long but you know once I started I couldn't stop. If you have any questions, my ask box is open. Again these are just my thoughts. you don't have to agree and I'm not trying to change your mind. I just needed to share this somewhere.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #sjm critical #fanfiction #very scared to how this will be recieved #i might delete idk #acotar fandom #just a thought #black tumblr #black reader #sjm books #sjmaas #cc3 #crescent city

[hanasnx]

heyyy do you have any advice on how to write smut cause its sooo difficult for me *cries in virgin*

ur like one of my fav smutty writers and idk if you have any tips 😭

first off thank u very much i appreciate that :)

this isnt the first time ive been asked for writing tips so im gonna give a lot of info. youre bound to find something useful in this mess

im so sorry but one of my solutions to giving myself confidence in smut-writing was to literally fuck and fuck a lot

after losing my virginity it still wasnt enough experience tbh. so i gave myself room to explore my sexuality and was privileged enough to do it with a partner that encouraged that growth. that experience of fucking sure didnt hinder my smut-writing ability if you know what i mean ;0 but everything else about writing i learned from years of practice. ive been writing since i was in elementary school like id come home from fourth grade and read and write on quotev klsdjfsfj smut writing skills came later post puberty

when i tried writing smut as a virgin i genuinely couldn’t get past the build up. i was fantastic at writing the build up, it was the actual sex part that was hard bcos even tho i had done enough research (i read a lot of porn) it didn’t instill me with enough confidence that i could write it correctly, and so i never did. however! i sure wish i’d committed to it more, so let me see if i can write out some tips that would’ve helped me in the past

(this is just how i write smut, im by no means an expert)

my timeline

the way i write smut is pretty formulaic so i’ll break it down:

hook line ⟹ settings ⟹ build-up ⟹ foreplay ⟹ sex ⟹ ending

☥ hook line. maybe: a dialogue piece to kickstart; an ambiguous line that reels you in; an exciting action. i dont like starting my story with the name/pronouns of a character doing something boring. i.e. “you were getting ready for the day…” idk it’s not the worst thing in the world and we've all done it but just writing out what i try to avoid.

☥ build up is key to me. i have such a hard time reading and writing porn with no plot. i’ll do it sometimes if i like the writer enough, but i rarely write smut without the build up bcos i feel like that’s where the juice is. its whats fun and what you get to play around with bcos the actual sex part of the fic is pretty predictable.

focus on what’s said and unsaid in dialogue between characters. focus on the emotion each of them are feeling and how that emotion manifests into body language.

⟹ dirty talk is not for everyone, but god i love it. literally get nasty with it, this is your writing and we’re all just readin it. build anticipation using dirty talk, make filthy promises, make threats. make your characters talk about the nasty shit they wanna do to each other.

imagine someone you really wanna fuck, imagine the things youd do to them if you had the chance,,, write it into your characters.

☥ foreplay. goes hand in hand with dirty talk, its where the touching starts. decide how you want to play it. who gets oral, who gets fingered. both? one of them? neither and they just go straight to fucking?? i like foreplay, but if youre writing a “quickie” scenario then it may not be in the cards.

lets say it is in the cards tho. so some things to remember:

⟹ foreplay gets the dicks hard. when dicks get hard they leak pre-cum. balls have like no cushion and theyre soft and have little sacks in em that move around. the skin of this genital is often described as velvety bcos its soft. ive honestly never had sex with an uncircumcised penis so i have no idea if there’s a difference between how they feel.

foreplay makes the pussies loose and wet. the inside can be lumpy. it can be ridged or smooth. it can be all kinds of flesh colors like brown and pink.

without the foreplay (which can be verbal communication, or touching of the body or genitals) its a little painful for afabs bcos theyre too tight or too dry. and a flaccid dick is a little unpredictable to try to fit in.

⟹ afabs can have multiple orgasms, amabs are less lucky. afabs can cum and squirt multiple times, amabs can cum multiple times.

⟹ genitals get really sensitive after cumming though. so if you write someone finishing, write out how they might need some time before they finish again or start fucking, or that they get overstimulated getting touched still after they came and that sensitivity is a little uncomfortable.

⟹ the head of the penis is the most sensitive and that’s what makes it cum/orgasm. clits on pussies are the most sensitive and its what makes cum/orgasms happen. its very difficult if not impossible to achieve orgasm (if youve got a pussy) through penetration alone without clit stimulation

⟹ you can cum/squirt and not have an orgasm

☥ sex

⟹ changing positions can change angles and hit new pleasurable spots inside pussies.

⟹ probably write a couple different positions during the sex part, just to keep things fresh.

⟹ sprinkle in dirty talk to prolong the sex scene and to avoid sounding repetitive because if youre writing p in v it’s pretty standard to thrust over and over again until youre done. its a lot less glamorous when you spell it out like that, so you gotta add shit to make the sex scene more enjoyable to the reader whos not actively experience the sex.

☥ ending. i usually end the one shot after the fucking is done.

the smut tips

☥ think back to a time you were really turned on. from a show, from a book, something someone said to you, your own sex life, porn you really liked,,, take inspiration from it. use it and channel that own arousal within you.

if youve got a dirty fantasy and it gets you so hot and bothered thinking about it, write that.

if youve got a partner that fucks you crazy good and supplies you with inspo for dialogue or for settings or for scenarios, write that too. theres been a whole bunch on my blog that was inspired by my boyfriend. not everything, but enough to mention it.

also! another thing that people underestimate is the inspiration you take from other blogs. like mine for example, if you like my stuff take inspo from it. study my writing style and you’ll see all kinds of little tips in subtext id never be able to list for you. i do that with other blogs, i dont copy them but i definitely learn little things i like from them and incorporate it into my writing for a more cohesive story. if i take an idea though i ask for their permission & credit them.

☥ the most important tip i can give you is be as self indulgent as possible. youre wasting time worrying about other people. “will they like this? will people think im weird? what if they think im weird for writing this?” fuck that noise. warn accordingly, and go ham. your self indulgence is your best friend. it’ll guide you through all those dirty things you want to say or do to someone, let it take root and write what excites you. chances are you will find your people, and your fic will be set apart bcos it’s so specific to you that people will be drawn to that. and if theyre not? it ends up not being popular? it doesnt matter! because you had fun writing it right? fuck yea u did

☥ the types of words you use are so important. words that invoke a certain emotion or sexy feeling. its difficult to explain but i try my hardest to use “beautiful language” paired with dirty, disgusting, cacophonous language. marry them together so you can convey whether youre “love-making” or “fucking”. i dont like words that dont look or sound good in my head. like when you paint, you probably use colors you like looking at to create the entire picture on the canvas that’s beautiful. so pick out paints that are pleasing to the eyes. the bold ones and the soft ones.

examples of words i dont use cos i hate the way they sound and the way they look: “vagina” and “penis” LMAO

even “butt” isnt a word i like to use. i’ll almost always use “ass” or “backside”

⟹ the smut writer’s dictionary

☥ i keep comedy out of it for the most part, ive never really seem humor added positively into a smut that added to the experience. its usually physical humor stuff like the characters bumping heads or stubbing their toe or something its just cringy to me idk. if i add comedy (i am not good at writing comedy)i put it before the smut. and if you must have some sort of lightheartedness id keep it casual, light, and personal. like an inside joke or something tongue in cheek. you dont have to hide your deepest desires behind humor , you can be serious

☥ your pain tolerance is heightened so run with that. get spanked its fun

more important tips i love and stand by:

☥ call backs are important to me. it’s like if you have something in the future of your fic to be used, try to incorporate it in some small way in your establishing settings or build up. but it’s not as important to others as it is to me. an example would be in my one shot “talk huttese to me”, at the end anakin fucks reader on the tool table. at the very beginning of the fic, when i had reader taking in the surroundings of the “garage bay”, she scanned the drawer stack where she set his broth she brought him, and the tool table he’d later fuck her on. its kinda like,,, foreshadowing (i think?). you’re setting up your reader to be like “?? i wonder why the author thought it would be important to mention the tool table.. wonder if anakin fucks her on it later.” but even if your readers dont react that way, i still think it ties things together nicely

☥ try to write 15-20 mins uninterrupted. create a ritual. i use the bathroom, refill my water, grab a fun drink like sweet tea, put on a silent youtube video (like my ahsoka star wars lofi live i love so much), listen to a playlist of music (preferably music you havent heard before so it can fade into the background. maybe even cultivate a playlist for the vibe youre going for in your story, aids greatly in creating an atmosphere in your writing if youre translating the music in your ears), and turn your phones notifications off (ofc i leave on notifs for calls in case of emergencies, but i can answer my friends’ texts after my writing session). set a timer so you dont have to keep checking the time.

☥ don’t stop in the middle of your storytelling to check the thesaurus or dictionary. write out whatever word/phrase first came to mind and highlight it to come back to later to alter or replace it completely. you’re interrupted your creative flow and its difficult to come back to it when youre checking the thesaurus every five seconds. this hack was crucial to my ability to stay on task i promise you

☥ avoid sounding repetitive by using the same words close together. you’ll create a fuller story by adding to your vocabulary using the thesaurus.

☥ avoid listing actions, break them up with adverbs at the start of your sentences if you must, or description of things or the place your character is in, or explain the emotion your character is feeling or what that emotion is causing within your character. starting sentences over and over again with the character’s name or pronoun breaks up the flow for the reader.

☥ really try to finish your works in progress even if you think its bad, the challenge of it will help you practice and learn to overcome your own mind trying to hold you back

☥ if you dont like the direction your fic is going,,, and youre experiencing writer’s block:: cross out the most recent bit and take it in a new direction. “oh but indy!! i really have a certain goal in mind!!” great, find another way to get to it because youre blocking yourself from finishing this forcing yourself into a non entertaining corner. switch it up! challenge yourself. “but indy!! i really liked what i had for this scene!!” yea but youre blocked right? youre not writing anything else for this scene and you cant, right? if you like what you have for this scene (an action, a dialogue piece youre proud of, a plot twist) save it! use it for a different piece !

hope this helps you and others!

#indy shoots the shit #anon #indy overshares #thanks for the msg!! #writing tips #smut writing tips

[thescrumptiousstuffs]

Only Friends, Episode 6 - Happy F@#king birthday

In which we see Ray’s self-combust while leaving a trail of destruction, Sand showing his darker side, Ton continues to be an arsehole and Mew finally knows the truth

Sand

This episode more than anything depicts how complex human nature can be. Sand (who so far has been shown as someone with integrity) reached a breaking point. We know he is street smart, cares for his mom, and has basically fallen for Ray. We also know to some extent he cares for Nick. But the recent revelations of Ton/Top shenanigans, followed by Ton’s outing Ray on the latter’s feelings about Mew on his birthday plus Ray’s ambiguous comments about their relationship (not that I blame Ray or Sand specifically - the latter never made it clear he wanted more and the former is still hung up on Mew) have made Sand at edge. And then we have Sand deliciously tense confrontation with Top in hospital, where we sees while Top may have changed for Mew but remains arrogant to everyone else, and as per Sand “a prick.” With Top reminding Sand where he sits at the ladder (the bottom), it’s truly a sight to see Sand being calculative (but also in my personal opinion, it’s his way to make sure Ray/Nick being cut off from Ton (plus Top) because they are arseholes) - deliberately destroying his phone (when he doesn’t have lots of cash to begin with), manipulating Nick AND Ray to set off a catastrophic cascade of effects with the latter’s alcohol/substance abuse(s) playing a huge role on what truly was an explosive scene during Mew’s party.

Nevertheless, we sees his caring nature comes into play again. Sand was the only one out of everyone in the party to come after Ray, and despite Ray continuos lashing on Sand (the former trying to physically and emotionally pushing the latter away), he still chased after Ray, worried that the latter will hurt himself with his drunk driving.

Ray

My disaster muffin 😩😫….despite his many flaws, Ray at baseline is an honest person. We know he loves/cherish his friendship with Mew. And I truly believes he is starting to like Sand (also slowly growing to trust and loves him too. At the very least, Sand is the first person outside Mew who treats him more than an inconvenient and seems to truly care for him).

Yes, Ray is immature, but he only really acted whenever he perceived (or being manipulated) to think Mew is in danger. He kissed Mew impulsively when Ton suggested Top is only interested in playing around with Mew. And when he tries moving on, Ton again brought up his feelings for Mew. Even then, he didn’t act out (just giving death stares to Ton in class and during their hangouts), until Sand calculatively informed him of Top/Ton transgression. Again rather than telling Mew straight up, he confronted Ton first (unfortunately hot-headedly), which makes it easy for Ton to control the narratives by playing on Ray’s insecurities and emotions - accusing Ray of wanting Mew/Top to break up so that he can play a hero (which again I don’t think it’s true - I feel Mew has made it abundantly clear Ray will only be a cherished bestie and Ray accepted it - with sadness but he does!), but for Ton to keep putting salt on the wounds, it’s upsetting to see on Ray’s part.

I am not surprised with how Ray self-destruct during Mew’s party. He has suppressed his views and feelings for so long - Ton keeps making snide remarks, Cheum despite being kind and cheerful (as a default mode) has also always thought of him as a drunken fool, Top with his smug “I win” face, and even Mew whose automatic mode whenever he sees Ray is to mother him (thinking that he is either drunk or doing hard drugs, which although comes from a good place doesn’t really help Ray’s fragile self-esteem). And so, when you include Ray’s medicating himself with alcohol (and maybe drugs) into the equation - his inhibitions have gone out of the window. What he actually said during his drunken mess is NOT wrong (except his accusation on Sand being a gold digger - but even then, remember - their relationship started of as transactional and so, it’s easy for Ray to turn on default mode and lash out on Sand) - but the way he said it and timing of all it, well…we saw the trail of destructions he left in his wake.

His relationship with Sand took a setback this episode. Sand never made it clear what he wanted from Ray (from an outsider POV, it’s clear he wants more; even Sand’s wise mom could see it. But Sand is wary, probably a combo of his last broken relationship, destroyed by Top and Ray himself declaring multiple times they are “just friends”). Ray at least has told up front he thinks Sand as friends with benefits. The only point he has never told Sand (before the end of last episode) was his unrequited feelings for Mew. And it’s not something Ray needed to tell Sand. It’s personal and they are still at the stage of just getting to know each other. Anyway, I am in dire need for my sweet SandRay vibes back 😩😫 (and from next week preview, I’m hopefully going to get my wish)

(On the side note, Khaotung beautifully portrayed a broken, alcoholic mess. People with drug/alcohol addictions often hurt and lashed out on their family and friends. They also turn into the worst versions of themselves. So, while I’m still hurting from this episode, I am in awe with Khaotung’s acting 👌)

Boston

Ton continues to be unredeemable for me. He is unrepentant, selfish and unscrupulous. The way he manipulates Ray and Nick is masterful (definitely a politician son, and also the way his dad is proud of Ton’s many one night stands???, let just say I can see why Ton is the way he is!) - the way he spitefully jabbed on Ray when the latter confronts him regarding the whole Top/Ton situation to the way he playfully (and seductively) placates Nick when the latter attempts to firstly confronts his terrible behaviour in outing Ray/Mew in front of Sand (even then he blames the weed cookie rather than himself) and secondly when Nick found out Ton is likely going to move to New York after university.

He is also hypocritical. He doesn’t like being filmed without consent (fair enough, nobody should be filmed/photographed without consent). But for him to say it when he has been doing the exact same thing all this time…urgh, what an arsehole.

And to the end he remains consistent with his personality - not a hint of remorse when Ray drunkenly tried to expose him. Nor a shred of guilt when Nick tried to show solidarity with Ton by embracing him. Just Ton pushing Nick away (which tells you so much about who is in Ton’s mind - HIMSELF)

This is the one character I am hoping karma will come and hunt him!

(I despise him as a character but Neo as Ton is delicious to see. You can tell Neo has fun playing a despicable villain as a change from his usual roles. So, kudos to him and I hope we can see more of him in 2024, sinking into more meaty roles!)

Nick

Everytime I see him on screen, I winced. Ton has him in hook and reads him like a book. It doesn’t help Nick loves Ton and despite knowing Ton’s callous nature, Nick accepts this, making leeway to Ton’s behaviours. I want him to learn he is worth more than Ton because for now, he is moulding himself to make sure Ton never lose interest in him (and if that means ignoring all the red flags 🚩 that are waving madly in front of him, then so be it 😣). From what we see in the trailer, he breaks down in front of Sand with Sand reiterating what an arsehole Ton is (I assumed it may be related to Nick confirming Sand stole the video recording as we Nick clueing on it when he got back his phone). We see time after time, other people (Top, Ray and even Ton himself) also warning Nick about Ton. But love is truly blind, and I wonder what will be the breaking point for Nick - the one that will finally make him break free off Ton (maybe it’s Papang’s character?)

Top

In my opinion, he truly likes Mew (not sure about love yet, but they are getting there). He is trying hard to change - in his own word “a better version of himself.” The problem is, he is only a better version FOR Mew. I can see why Mew falls for him - he is sweet, attentive and basically the perfect gentleman/boyfriend that any person can ask for. However, as we can see, other than Mew - Top is just his usual self, arrogant and used to getting his own ways. He is dismissive towards Ray (and forever lording on the fact he won Mew, like Mew is a prize rather than an individual). Similarly, he belittles Sand (Top is never going to be a person who apologises except to Mew), again emphasising how he always gets what he wants, reminding Sand where he stands in the pecking order. He loathes Boston (fair enough) and in my opinion, he only tolerates Namchuen/April because the girls are not a threat to him (and his relationship with Mew).

He is also a coward. He kept silent about the Top/Ton situation, thinking it’s never gonna come to light (again he didn’t apologise about thinking Ray/Mew had a sexual relationship, which as far I am concerned even if they did it was 2 yrs ago). So, when Mew played him at the end, all I can say is - FINALLY (and even then he initially tried to say him sleeping with Ton was only before TopMew is a thing?? until Mew pressed him, exposing that he knew Top slept again more recently).

Mew

Which brings me to sweet Mew. I have always thought there is more to Mew than meets the eyes. Yes, he is inexperienced in some ways, but he is observant, well- adjusted and intelligent. Him being brought up by loving lesbian couple 🥳😘. And him knowing he doesn’t need to have a bf to feel fulfill cause he knows he can get love from his friends and moms. And so, for him, Top is someone he chose consciously as a partner.

I also love the analogy the screenwriters/directors took with the whole TopMew sensory deprivation dates we had so far (laser tag - touch, silent DJ - hearing, blind date - sight). I perceived it as Mew seeing Top in rose-tinted glasses (during their getting to know each other phase) until he finally got laser treatment this episode (such an irony it was Top who suggested it), and P’ Yo commenting it’s like Mew being reborn. So, Mew finally achieving clear vision and for him to learn about Top’s cheating - 👌. Also, kudos for Mew, playing the long game when he found out Top’s cheating by staying calm and collected at his own party, decking Ray (unfortunately, Ray needed it cause he was truly causing havoc with Ray not listening to any reasonings even when Mew attempts to do that first by trying to calm Ray down), to him seducing Top before dropping the bombshell (Book played this part masterfully and to see him tearing Force’s Top character into pieces - 👍)

I will say it again, I really like Mew and Ray’s genuine friendship. Yes, Mew cannot return Ray’s feelings (and I suspect Mew is trying to gently “wean” Ray off his dependency of Mew cause despite being a good/close friend he cannot be there for Ray 24 hours) but other than that, Mew has made more efforts (than the rest of the group) to be there for Ray. And so, I’m glad that Ray did tell Mew (as any bestie should!) about Top/Ton. I just wished Mew have communicated to Ray better about letting him handle Top (I suspect it’s one of the reason why Ray may have drunkenly try to expose Top cause Mew may have kept his silence, probably trying to process what he has heard from Ray but Ray may have perceived it as Mew not believing him).

April and Namchuen

I’m glad we are seeing more of them (finally!). Like any relationship they have their own problems and with Ray again exposing their private issues during his drunken tirade (urgh that was disastrous, but also yay! - it’s a catalyst for this couple to communicate effectively and sort out their issues).

However, it does seem Namchuen is truly clueless about what’s going on with her male besties. She knows superficially about Ray being perpetually drunk and Ton being a slut. But other than that, it seems the boys are shielding her from the rest of their issues. So, it will be interesting to see how their dynamic changes now that some of the secrets and lies are being exposed (I’m also genuinely worried they are ALL not gonna pass their hostel project 🫣)

Anyway, as usual, it was a roller coaster 🎢 ride of emotions by the end of the episode. The cast and their actings continue to impress me - but the stand out for this episode belongs to Ray, Mew and Sand 👌….so, is it Saturday yet? I need to see Top grovel on Mew’s feet, Mew duking it out with Ton and some SandRay sweet moments to compensate for what I just experienced with episode 6

17/09/2023

#only friends the series #episode 6 #khaotung thanawat #first kanaphan #firstkhaotung #sandray #force jiratchapong #book kasidet #Neo trai #mark pakin #lookjun bhasidi #nonnie pitchaporn #this is me as usual to sort out the mess of emotions and relationship in each episode so that I can get it straight for next one

[maybestoryideas]

Hi, there! I would like to request a scenario in which Leona suddenly falls asleep after the Fairy Gala after getting caught under a sleeping spell and his fem! s/o wakes him with a gentle kiss, breaking the spell. A super fluffy fairytale romance, please! Thanks!

Sweet Dreams, Sweet Prince - Leona x Reader

Author's Note: I hope this turned out well - I don't have a lot of experience writing requests. There's only one paragraph that depicts the Reader in a dress, but otherwise this turned out pretty ambiguous. I hope that's alright Word Count: 2.6k

It’s been a long, grueling day. But at the end of it all, the magestone’s been returned to Crowley. Everyone’s already racing back to their dorms, but who knows how long it’ll take for the temperature to go back to normal. At least, that’s what Leona tells himself as he matches your casual pace.

“I never did thank you for saving us back there,”

Getting caught in the garden’s sprinkler system did a number on you. Your hair is sticking to your skin, there are spots where your makeup is running, and he can see some leaves and dirt clinging to your clothes. By all accounts, you’re the textbook definition of a hot mess. Yet here you are, smiling up at him without a care in the world.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. The whole plan would’ve been ruined if you idiots got caught at the last second.”

“Ah of course, how foolish of me.”

A gust of wind flies by, and your smile immediately becomes a shudder. That frilly dress Vil and Crewel picked out might be good for a snobby party, but it’s about as effective as a bedsheet against the real weather. There’s already goosebumps along your arms. This is why fashion’s a waste of time.

Leona quickly takes you by the hand and pulls you closer. You stumble back into his side as he covers you with his cape. From the corner of his eye, he can see you staring up at him.

“Oh, um… Thanks.”

“No problem.”

It clearly wasn’t made to fit two people, so you have to huddle together to make room; he has his arm around you while you squeeze against him. He’s hyper aware of the way you’re pressed against his side, but tracing shapes into your skin makes for a good distraction. You walk even slower.

But all too soon, you come to a fork in the road. The Hall of Mirrors is on the right, while the winding road to Ramshackle is on the left.

“Guess this is where we split,”

Leona quickly slips out of the cape, letting it fall onto your shoulders. The whole thing covers you like a blanket, and you look down at yourself with an adorable smile.

“You know Vil and Professor Crewel are gonna kill us for getting this thing dirty.”

“You know I don’t care.”

You laugh and he grins.

“Have Ruggie clean that before you give it back. You can come by tomorrow.”

“…Heh, sure thing. Goodnight, Leona.”

And with that, you’re gone.

By the time Leona gets back to his room, he’s more than ready to ditch the fancy get up and dive into bed - heck, he may even sleep in for all of tomorrow. Ruggie can handle a day of managing Savanahclaw by himself. In a matter of seconds, he’s changed into his dorm uniform - the gala clothes lying in a crumpled heap on the chair - and dozing off.

Ting-ting…

His eyes snap open and he sits up.

There, floating by his desk, is a fairy. And they’re staring right at him.

Leona lunges forward and catches the little creature, barely grabbing them before they fly out of reach. Instantly the room is filled with ringing and squeaking as the fairy tries to wiggle out of his grip.

“Oi, shut up! I can’t even understand what you’re saying.”

This, of course, has the opposite effect as intended, and the fairy starts making even more of a racket. Where the heck did he put that stipid bell?!

There! Leona spots a gleam of metal and snatches the bell from the floor. He brings the fairy up so they’re eye-to-eye.

“Alright, talk. What’re you doing here?”

“-a human! You really are a human! I thought I was just imagining things!”

“Answer the question. Who are you?”

“I-I’m a guard for the Gala! There were rumors that some humans snuck into the event and escaped capture… then, when I saw you leaving the garden… but I had no idea…”

Crap. This is bad. Really, really bad.

“You can’t tell anyone any of what you’ve found out.”

“What?! No, I have to tell the Queen.”

“Really. So you’re prepared to tell her how you guards let a bunch of filthy humans sneak into your exclusive party undetected, perform for everyone to see, and then slip out from right under your nose?”

“I-I…”

The poor thing sounds like it’s about to pass out; Leona loosens his grip just enough to give them some breathing room.

“Just keep this to yourself, ‘kay?”

There’s a beat of silence as the two stare at each other.

“I-I can’t!”

The fairy squeezed out of his grasp, and this time they’re prepared when Leona tries to grab them.

A cloud of blue dust hits him right in the eyes.

He’s already out when he hits the floor.

“So, a fairy made this thing?” Deuce holds up the silver bell, inspecting every detail with equal parts curious and doubtful.

“Yeah, it lets you communicate with fairies. Pretty cool, huh?”

“I don’t know if ‘cool’s the word I’d use to describe a giant bell,” Ace shrugs, leaning back in his chair, “I’m just glad you guys managed to fix the heating in the dorms; taking care hedgehogs is hard enough without them burrowing under your clothes for warmth.”

“Excuse me, are (Name) and Grim here? Professor Crewel wants to speak with them.”

You, along with a couple of other students, look up from and to the student standing at the doorway.

“Oooh~” Ace leans into you with a grin, “You’re in trouble~”

“Pft, grow up!” you jokingly shove him off and snatch the bell. You follow the student out of the room but, to your surprise, there’s no one else in the hallway.

“This way,” the student says, “He’s in the infirmary.”

The infirmary? Grim turns to you with an equally confused expression.

“Are we actually in trouble?”

He doesn’t elaborate any further as he leads the way to the infirmary. When you step inside, you see Crewel and Ruggie standing by a bed. There’s someone under the sheets, but you can’t see who.

“You two.”

You two snap to attention at the sound of Crewel’s voice.

“Did either of you notice anything strange about Kingscholar after the events of the Gala yesterday?”

“No,” Grim shook his head, “He was the same grouchy guy as usual. I mean, he came to bail us out when a guard showed up, but that’s it.”

Ruggie sighed.

“Pretty much the same thing I said.”

You peek over his shoulder and manage to get a look at who’s lying in the bed.

“Leona? What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know. Found him face down on the floor this morning. I thought he was just sleepin’ but nothing I did would wake him. Not even a grumble.”

“Based on what you’ve told me so far, it appears as though he’s been afflicted by some type of magic.”

“So can’t ya just ‘magic’ him awake?”

“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. Without knowing what or how this came to be, any attempt with magic could range from ineffective to detrimental. The best I can do is try to create a potion that will nullify the effects, but to do that I’ll need some materials from the garden.”

“What do you need?”

Grim and Ruggie stare with wide eyes as you step forward.

“Here, I have a list,”

You snatch the paper from Crewel’s hand and scan over the writing.

“Go fetch these plants and then meet me at the lab.”

Without another word, you nod and turn on your heel, leaving Grim dumbfounded as you step out of the room.

“H-Hey, wait for me!” he yells, scampering off on all fours.

The first thing you notice upon entering the botanical garden is the lack of furniture and decorations that adorned the place just yesterday. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say there was never a party in the first place.

“What’s the rush?” Grim says between wheezing pants, “It’s not like the plants… are going anywhere…”

He leans against your leg for support as he struggles to catch his breath. The sight makes you smile and kneel down to pet his head.

“You didn’t have to come with me if you didn’t want to.”

“It’s fine,” he waves off your hand, “Anything beats sittin’ through another boring lecture.”

With a quick stop to gather the proper tools, you and Grim go about the garden, gathering the items on Crewel’s list. The chime of the silver bell fills the silence as you slowly fill up the bag with all sorts of plants. You’re so focused on the list that you don’t even notice where you’re walking until your foot comes into contact with something. It’s tough, but gives under your weight when you step. Grim has to jump out of the way when you flinch and take a massive step backwards.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t meant to step on your tai-”

An abandoned garden hose lies strewn across the ground. Maybe it’s just you, but the garden feels especially empty today. Grim watches you side-step the hose with a tired laugh.

“What was that all about?”

“Nothing, just… had a case of deja vu.”

The rest of the work goes by uneventfully, but just as you put the last of the plants into the bag, there’s a sound.

“Hello?”

It’s faint, but the silence of the garden allows you to follow the voice until you spot a fairy fluttering in the air.

“Can anyone hear me?” they yelled, “Don’t tell me they already left without me…”

“Um, excuse me?”

“Hm?” they turn and stare at you, “Oh great, a monster and a human. Just what I need!”

“You’re one of the fairies from the Gala, right? What’re ya still doin’ ‘round here?”

“Well I was supposed to report back to the Queen, but it seems like everyone’s already headed back. Maybe I should’ve listened to what that lion said in the first place.”

Lion?

“Do you mean Leona; brown hair, green eyes, scar on his face? Do you know what happened to him? How we can fix it?”

The fairy nearly tumbles backwards with every step you take.

“Yes, well, there was a bit of an… accident last night. But don’t worry! The way to break the curse is quite simple. All you need to do is kiss him!”

You look left. You look right. You even look over your shoulder just to make sure; aside from Grim, you’re the only one standing here.

“When you say ‘you’, do you mean ‘you’ as in me, or ‘you’ in a general sense?”

“I mean you. True love’s kiss will break any spell. You are his true love, right?”

It isn’t even midday yet, but suddenly the garden’s become unseasonably warm.

“PFT-Hahahaha!” Grim cackles as he falls to the grass, clutching his stomach. “You’re kidding me, right?! (Name)?! Where the heck did’ya get that idea?”

You test the weight of the bag with one hand. It’s fairly heavy; you could probably knock Grim out with it. One quick swing is all it would take. At the very least it’d leave a nice bump.

“Are you not… Oh! My apologies, I just assumed- Well, perhaps I could undo the spell another way.”

“That’d be greatly appreciated,” you sigh, “And as for you, Grim. Since you seem to be enjoying yourself so much…”

You lift the bag up above Grim’s head and promptly drop it onto him. He has just enough time to let out a yelp before he’s buried.

“You can take the ingredients to Crewel while I take our guest to Leona.”

“Ffnga! Are you serious?!”

“And don’t even think about telling him what you just heard. Got it?”

The little monster crawls out from under the cloth and glares up at you, but the look you shoot at him is enough to make him shrivel up and gather the bag.

“F-Fine!” he says, waddling away, “But you owe me some premium tuna for this!”

With a sigh, you offer the fairy a spot on your shoulder and briskly walk out of the garden.

“If you need a way back home, there’s a mirror that should be able to help you with that as well.”

“Thank you. And, I apologize for what I said. I saw the two of you walking together last night and I just assumed-”

“It’s a little complicated.”

“Do you hate him?”

“Occasionally,” you chuckle, already passing the statues of the Great Seven.

“Does he hate you?”

“Um… I don’t think so?”

“Then you two like each other?”

“I thought it was called true love’s kiss. Not true like.”

“Joke all you want, but I can tell there’s something between you two.”

“Yeah, about one murder attempt, three counts of assualt, and a lifetime of self-loathing and unfounded inescurities.”

“Oh, ‘unfounded’? What makes you say that?”

“It wouldn’t work out between us.”

“But how does the future affect how you feel right now?”

“Are all fairies this pesky, or are you just the exception?”

They laugh, toying with a lock of your hair as you all but run to the infirmary.

Saying Leona doesn’t treat you differently would be naive, and saying you didn’t feel something for him would be denial. But true love? Can anyone love truly? What does that even mean? To love someone despite all of their faults? To love them because of their faults? Isn’t the fact that you’re doubting your feelings enough proof that it’s not true love? Or maybe it’s a sign that you worry your feelings aren’t good enough. And that’s to say nothing of how Leona feels. Sure he gives you preferential treatment, but who’s to say it’s love and not just passing infatuation? That his feelings for you don’t run as deep as yours do for him - not that you have any idea how deep yours go anyway. What if he just doesn’t feel the same way you do? You can’t fault him for that. You won’t.

Before you know it, you’re back in the infirmary. Leona’s still fast asleep in the bed; it’s almost enough to make you laugh. As you walk over to him, you look back at the fairy who’s made a cute little braid in your hair.

“This true love’s kiss. It has to go both ways, right?”

“Of course! That’s how true love works.”

You sigh and move the fairy off of your shoulder. They giggle behind you, no doubt watching with bated breath as you kneel beside Leona and lean closer. At least this way, you’ll get an answer.

The kiss only lasts for a few seconds before you’re standing back up.

Nothing. Not even a flutter from his eyes. You turn back to the fairy with a sarcastic grin.

“Well there’s the answer. Now it’s-”

A hand grabs you by the arm and yanks you onto the bed. When your vision clears, the first thing you notice is Leona’s tired gaze and sarcastic smirk.

“You’re wakin’ me up every morning from now on.”

“It’s nearly noon.”

“Still counts as morning.”

You should probably get up and tell Crewel that the spell’s been broken. But running around all day has left you more than a little winded; the feeling of Leona running his hands through your hair isn’t helping. Perhaps a quick nap would be fine. Just this once. 

Later that evening, Grim and Crewel would find the two of you fast asleep, right before the former’s voice echoed through the school.

“Are you serious?! HIM?!?”

#Twisted Wonderland #Leona Kingscholar #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #Leona x Reader #TWST Scenario #TWST Oneshot #TWST x Reader

[crow-stars]

❝LET'S GO ICE SKATING❞

❦summary; ice skating can be such a fun time, though that may depend on whether you're new to the rink or have a bit of experience under your belt. ♪the characters in this story; savannaclaw; leona kingscholar, ruggie bucchi, jack howl, gn!reader ✎word count; ~626 words ❀what do the ghosts say?; ambiguous, school trip to an ice skating rink, falling chatacters, first times on ice, mentions of climates in respective twst characters homeland, fun times ☛the author's notes; nothing to note... ☪look at the catalogue?

❛LEONA KINGSCHOLAR❜

❀ Leona would not come on the ice willingly

❀ Convince him please

❀ It would be really hard to get him onto the ice because he does not want to go ice skating 

❀ If you do manage to get him on the ice, congratulations! Now you have to convince him to move.

❀ No, I’m serious, even if he gets onto the ice, he won’t be moving. 

❀ Like, he’s just standing there, hands in his pockets and that usual stare on his face

❀ Now, I don’t think Leona has ever really encountered ice since he lives in the Sunset Savanna

❀ Though it does get really cold at night in savannas I think, so he would be used to the cold

❀ Leona would be the type of person to wear short sleeves during the cold seasons and say it’s not cold enough

❀ Anyways, I think he’d hate ice skating 

❀ Leona would definitely prefer to be inside than out here on the ice 

❀ You will have to drag him along with you to get him to actually move around on the ice

❀ And after like thirty minutes he says he’s tired and will get off the ice with you in tow

❀ You wanted to keep skating?

❀ Too bad, you’re going back to the dorm home with Leona and will be drinking a hot cup of hot choccy

❀ But I think that would be nice too

❛RUGGIE BUCCHI❜

❀ Okay, I think he’d enjoy ice skating actually

❀ I think Ruggie would actually kinda like ice skating 

❀ Like, he’s going so fast, look at him go! 

❀ Half the time he’s like “look at me!” and tries to do something, and fails 

❀ He doesn’t take it against him and he’s quick to get back up to try again

❀ I think he’d be one to try to encourage you to join him as well

❀ It’s cute, to see him being all giddy and stuff. 

❀ Please watch him, he’ll get so happy and a happy Ruggie is adorable. 

❀ I think he’d actually really like ice skating due to the fact that he didn’t have many opportunities for leisure back home and it doesn’t snow in the Sunset Savanna

❀ Imagine him rambling about wanting to take the kids from his hometown ice skating oh my gosh 

❀ Ruggie would definitely want to come back again, but this time somehow manage to bring the other kids to mess around on the ice

❀ He wouldn’t mind going one on one, but Ruggie would probably wanna bring others along

❀ And, afterwords, you can treat him to hot chocolate, hehehe

❛JACK HOWL❜

❀ Like Trey, he knows how to ice skate 

❀ Except, this time, he does it not only out of necessity but for himself as well

❀ He has two younger siblings, so he has to make sure that they aren’t breaking their noses on the ice  

❀ But I think he also wanted to learn from like an exercise standpoint 

❀ Like, I don’t know what bones or muscles you exercise during ice skating, but Jack definitely wants to exercise those 

❀ I looked it up, you’re exercising your legs

❀ Anyway

❀ I definitely think that ice skating would be a nice freetime activity for Jack when time and weather permits

❀ So Jack is pretty stable when it comes to being on the ice

❀ Even Ace won’t be able to drag him down

❀ I like think that Jack would like pick one of his friends up and skate around with them in his arms

❀ Picked up from under the arms and held up like a cat

❀ Jack would probably be off doing his own thing on the ice 

❀ Though if you or any of his friends are having trouble on the ice, Jack would probably skate over to help

❀ He would definitely give tips on ice skating if you want

#✎haunted books✎ #briarvalleyarchives #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland writing #twst writing #my writing #twst headcanons #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #jack howl #twst leona kingscholar #twst ruggie bucchi #twst jack howl #leona twisted wonderland #ruggie twisted wonderland #jack twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst savanaclaw #savannaclaw x reader #savannaclaw

[chalkeater]

Do you know why frisk is that color in game? Because i dont. Putting them next to chara really emphasises the...yellow-ness in a way i never fully realized before.

I will never truly know why Toby made Frisk (and Kris because they share the same color code) this way. Everything I say will only be hypotheses and possibilities.

Firstly, it's not something he ever addressed as far as I am aware. So I feel like it's something he ignores, sweeps under the rug, or is genuinely not aware about (somehow), assuming that people have tried to bring this up with him..?

If I were to speculate, though, I am guessing that (especially because Toby Fox is western/American) it is a few things: the most likely reason is because of the normalization of western cartoons being yellow, especially because of the Simpsons (The Simpsons were made yellow to be eye-catching). So he probably wanted Frisk to be eye-catching. He may have messed around with orange too, but settled for yellow.

I don't find this completely excusable, because of the fact that Frisk is paired with what a lot of people has interpreted as "squinted eyes" or "closed eyes", so it encourages people/fans to draw content of Frisk as yellow-skinned with squinted/closed eyes. That's why there was a strong movement for fan-artists before, to draw the humans as without yellow skin, because it seems like Toby Fox won't be acknowledging this any time soon.

A lot of why this is so frustrating is because while one can argue about Frisk being pixels all day, their pixels will not stop people from making fan art of Frisk with realistic styles and proportions, even if they are cartoon-y, with all these features combined. It's hard to watch.

The second possible reason is to be racially ambiguous, but because Toby Fox never claimed any of this, it's only speculation. I personally think that he might not have even thought that far ahead since UnderTale was meant to be a simple game for him.

Either way, here's a Tumblr post on why racial ambiguity doesn't help anyone even if it's well-intentioned.

The first paragraph of the linked post hurts because the argument being presented to us in the past few days have been "A lot of people HC Frisk as White" which is exactly the point of this frustrating thing, but that is no longer relevant to your question.

Thank you for asking!

Previous post where I put Frisk and Chara's sprite next to each other for reference/context. In this linked post, I put a couple of references for yellow face, yellow peril, and general anti-asian racism. Also that one Dr. Seuss book where he drew a racist caricature of Chinese people.

#ask #Anon #Still not Susie speaking‚ sorry about that. #Yellow Humans Discussion