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moonstrider9904 · 4 months

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Abundance

Part 2 of Bread and Tea

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Summary: Christmas Eve is in the air, as is the snow and the winter chill. You’re baking an apple pie before your cozy holiday festivities begin, and someone’s sneaking bites from the filling.

Tags/Warnings: No warnings, this is just pure fluff, soft!Crosshair, domestic Crosshair, baking, coziness, and my closest attempt at a Moonstrider Holiday Special lol

A/N: I made some apple pie in advance for Christmas Eve (I’m writing this on Dec. 23rd) and thought of this story idea. I was initially going to write a Moonlight series short story, but then I remembered I had this series among my WIPs and it felt so fitting and so right that I rushed up here to write it once all the baking was done. It’s self-indulgent as ever, so I hope you’ll enjoy some soft!Crosshair in a holiday setting. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and happy New Year!

Word count: 2k

The song that inspired this was Abundance by Chris Mazuera, because I love listening to this cozy song whenever I’m baking something. Enjoy!

A preheating oven was exactly what the cottage needed.

The fireplace was your most reliable friend in the winter when the cottage got chilly, but the oven was still unmatched, as if it were your very own secret weapon. Whether you needed comfort, warmth, or a food craving needed to be satisfied, it never failed you. The smell of the recently made apple filling, a combination of cinnamon and butter and sugar and maple syrup—your secret ingredient—alongside those ripe, honey crisp apples, blended with the scent of the oak wood crackling in the chimney.

It was like a symphony to you. It was like home.

You turned the stovetop off and let the apple filling rest on its pot, hopefully allowing it to cool down enough while you worked on the crust. You’d be kneading and folding and spreading dough for a while, all in your carefully figured out system that came after years and years of baking. Apple pie was more of a tradition than a recipe now, so much that you didn’t even need the cookbook handy anymore. You knew that recipe well-enough by heart now. So you let the filling rest and cool and you turned your back on it, now facing the kitchen island where your dough was sitting ready for you to work on it.

Dough work took up all of your concentration, or most of it at least. Usually, you still had some focus to spare on the rest of the world around you. You could hear the wind, the fireplace, you could even hear your man’s steps coming and going from the kitchen.

He said nothing, as he usually would. The words that his oldest brother had used to describe him when he first introduced you to him came to mind—not much of a conversationalist. That definitely held up until that very moment when you rolled out the main disk that would go on your pie pan. He would walk into the kitchen, and then the pacing would stop. He would remain still for a moment, completely silent, most likely watching you at work. Then, he would make his way back into the living room to sit by the fireplace.

And then, he would repeat that.

Your mind began to wander. Whenever Crosshair was curious about something you were doing, he would stand still and observe you the whole time, never really bothering to comment anything, just watching. But it felt odd to you that this time he seemed to come and go. Perhaps, given the observative nature of a former sniper, he’d also gotten the recipe for an apple pie down to every last detail. You’d baked it so many times in that cottage that he must have known it by now.

Your train of thought was broken by the sound of his steps returning to the kitchen. When you felt him stopping, you stopped rolling out the dough and looked over your shoulder, and you caught him in the act. When he felt you looking, Crosshair’s eyes landed on you, standing perfectly still, but it was already too late for him to retrieve his hand from the pot of apple pie filling, with a piece of spice and sugar coated apple clutched between his fingers.

“Gotcha,” you teased.

Still staring straight into your eyes, Crosshair took the piece of apple to his mouth and ate it.

You gasped dramatically. “Have you no shame?”

“You should take this as a compliment,” he said as he reached for another cube of apple. “It’s pretty good.”

“Don’t try to mask your antics with flattery,” you turned your body to fully face him “I have a pie to fill, and that’s gonna be hard if you keep eating that.”

Crosshair shot his signature smug grin at you, his eyes gleaming with the will to tease, as his hand slowly reached into the pie filling pot once more. His teeth bared slightly as he waited for your reaction.

Of course you were going to play along.

“Don’t you dare,” you raised a brow at him.

Crosshair inched his hand closer to the filling.

“I am warning you, Crosshair, do not touch one more piece of that filling,” you said as you took your wooden roller and pointed it at him like a makeshift sword.

“You dare point that thing at me?” Crosshair raised how brow at you.

“I’m the baker, and right now, this kitchen is my domain,” you said. “You have no power here.”

“Watch me,” he said as he snatched another piece of apple and ate it while looking you in the eyes.

You put the roller down and crossed your arms, faking annoyance. “You’re not getting any presents tomorrow.”

“You’re going to cave,” he mused as he began walking up to you. “You know why?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you began to turn around, reaching for the roller, but his hand was over yours before you could lift it from the counter top.

“Because you love it when I tease you,” Crosshair purred.

His soft grip on your hand made you let go of the roller again. His hands then made his way up to your shoulders, rubbing up and down as he felt the warm yarn of your gray sweater under his palms. “You’re soft.”

“You’re not sweetalking me,” you averted your gaze, still playing along in your role of unamused girlfriend.

“I believe I am,” Crosshair grinned as he noticed the reddish taint on your cheeks. “Hey?”

“Not listening,” you said, but a smile took over your lips as you suppressed a giggle.

“Hey,” Crosshair cooed again, his hands squeezing your arms as he leaned down and pressed his lips onto yours.

You could never resist Crosshair’s kisses. His lips on yours made all of your walls come down, and your arms went up around his neck while his arms traveled down around your waist, pressing your body closer to his. Crosshair pulled you up and made you stand on your toes, and he gave your body a tiny squeeze that made you giggle into the kiss. The sound was music to his ears, and he moaned into the kiss in that low, smooth voice that you loved so much.

“Mm,” you squirmed in his grip. “Cross, I have to finish the pie.”

As you talked, Crosshair kept smooching your cheeks and your jawline, hoping to draw more of those sweet giggles that he adored from you. Although he succeeded, he was then met by you gazing in his eyes with a blend of sweetness and firmness somehow only you could manage.

“That oven’s going to finish preheating any moment now,” you whispered.

Softly, Crosshair helped settle you down on your feet. “Mind if I watch?”

“Go ahead,” you grinned and turned around, taking your wooden tool to finish rolling out the dough.

Crosshair watched as you cut some strips of dough and set them apart for the lattice, some finer than others, and he watched as your fingers delicately took the time to put three of those strips together and form them into a braid long enough to go around the pie’s full circumference. Crosshair’s lips curved into a smile as he watched you, and though you couldn’t see his expression, you felt his arms wrapping tighter around you.

“You really do love this,” he whispered.

You smiled at his remark. “Yeah.”

When you finished up the braid of dough, you took a quick moment to count the strips of dough that you had and turned around in Crosshair’s arms, smiling softly at him. “I’m going to need that filling now.”

“Of course,” his eyes gleamed with mischief again.

“Cross,” you said.

Crosshair chuckled and went to get the filling from the stove for you. He handed it to you without having taken a single piece of apple, and you mouthed the words thank you when you took the pot from him. Crosshair went back to embracing you as you put the disk of rolled out dough onto the pie dish, delicately taking it and tucking it in so that it would rest perfectly along the dish’s shape, never pulling or tugging or doing anything that would suggest rushing the process.

You then took the filling and placed it within the dough, spoonful by spoonful. The scent of apple mixed with cinnamon and butter filled your nostrils, and unconsciously you hummed in delight at one of your favorite scents in the world. And while you basked in the joy that assembling the pie brought to you, Crosshair continued to watch as he enjoyed the warmth of having you close in his arms. He watched as you put the last couple of spoonfuls of filling into the pie and set the dishes aside, and he knew it was time for you to start building the lattice to finish it off.

The little gleam of mischief returned to Crosshair’s eyes once more, and even if you couldn’t see him as he hugged you from behind, you felt one of his hands lifting from your body only for you to see it reaching into the pie for another piece of apple. You then heard as Crosshair ate the softened, caramelized apple, and you couldn’t help but giggle. He reached in another two or three times—you were too amused to count—as you finished assembling the pie’s top, and even then, he reached into one of the gaps where he could reach for one last piece.

Crosshair got one more chance to admire the delicacy and care of your work when you put egg wash over the pie’s crust, and he only unwrapped his arms from around you when it was time to put the pie into the oven. You were careful when you placed it inside, feeling the heat around you, and when you closed the oven door and turned around, you were met with Crosshair smiling softly at you, a look that you loved with your soul and simply couldn’t see enough times.

“Come here,” Crosshair said so softly it was nearly a whisper.

Without hesitation, you walked into his arms and reached up to cup his cheeks while you kissed him. He kissed you back tenderly with one of his hands reaching to the back of your neck, entwining his fingers gently through your hair. But as much as Crosshair was enjoying the kiss, he parted from you to lead you over to the living room.

He took a seat on the couch in front of the fireplace, and you went over to sit leaning on him, but only after reaching for a blanket you could pull over you both. You leaned back and were engulfed by his warmth, feeling comforted by the fluffy blanket on top of you, and as you settled into the couch and heard the crackling of the fireplace, you felt Crosshair begin to play gently with your hair again.

“What are you thinking?” You asked him.

Crosshair hummed. “You’re happy.”

You smiled softly, and under the blanket, your hands found his to give them a squeeze.

“I’m happy here,” you said. “And I’m happy with you.”

“You never think of wanting more?” He asked.

You shifted in your place to look over your shoulder enough to look him in the eyes. “All that I love and value most in the world is right here, Crosshair. I’ve seen a world outside of this place, but ultimately this is where I want to be.”

Crosshair smiled and leaned in to give your temple a soft kiss. “Then here you’ll stay.”

You smiled and turned around again, settling your weight fully onto Crosshair and the couch beneath you, with his words echoing inside you as you took in the sounds around you—the wind, the fireplace, Crosshair’s breathing, the ticking of the timer set for your pie. That place you loved so much would be where you stayed.

And it would be where you always returned.

{Next chapter (coming soon!)} {Back to series masterlist}

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Thank you so much for reading!

#moonstrider writes #tbb crosshair fluff #tbb au #tbb cottagecore au #the bad batch #the bad batch fanfic #the bad batch fluff #tbb fluff #tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair x you #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #the bad batch crosshair x reader #crosshair #clone force 99 #bad batch crosshair

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just-another-blog-of-fluff · 2 years

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Just Like You

Hi friends! Normally my author's note goes below the fic info, but this is a very special fic to make a very special announcement 💚

You may have noticed I've been a bit less active lately. There's a specific reason for that... hubby and I are expecting a baby! I've been completely exhausted and often nauseated for weeks, which has made it challenging to get my writing in, because all I've wanted to do is sleep 😂 But everything is going very well, and we're so excited to be starting a family 💚🥰

You may be wondering what that means for future posts from me. I fully intend to continue writing, even after baby comes and our lives get a little crazier. It will just probably not be as frequently as you've gotten used to from me. I'm hoping to get through most of my current prompts before baby comes (since some of them are from six months ago now 😅 sorry for the lengthy wait!)

So, without further ado, please enjoy some purely self-indulgent, domestic Loki fluff. 😊

Word count: 3,300

Pairing: Loki x female reader (established relationship or married, up for interpretation)

Warnings: Pregnant reader/pregnancy TW, a bit of spice but all SFW

It had been one of those days. Those long, never-ending days where you never found a spare moment to sit down and take a deep breath. Where everyone needed something from you, and they all wanted to be your number one priority simultaneously.

Add in the fact that you were twenty weeks pregnant, and it made for one hell of a day at work.

The moment you pulled into your driveway and put the car in park, you breathed a huge sigh of relief. Home. You were finally home. Already, some of the stress began melting away as you trod up the walkway to your front door. Finally, you could stop fretting over taking care of everyone else, and focus on taking care of you and your baby for a change.

As you stepped inside, you were greeted almost immediately by the sight of the dark-haired, handsome demigod who held your heart. You allowed him to wrap you up in the comfort of his embrace, breathing in the scent of him as he pressed his lips to your forehead, your nose, and finally your lips.

"How was your day, love?"

"Exhausting," you sighed, kicking off your shoes and relishing in the cool feeling of the hardwood floor through your socks against your tired feet. "We were down a nurse today, so we were persistently behind schedule from the first hour."

"Well - there's a warm bath drawn for you upstairs. Why don't you go relax? I'll get started on dinner."

You smiled appreciatively. "You're too good to me. Thank you, Loki." With one more kiss, you headed upstairs to wash up before dinner.

It was hard to believe that the pair of you didn't get along when you first met. Your friend Jane Foster had begged you to go on a double date with her so Thor's brother would have a date for the evening. You'd assumed the reason she'd asked was because Loki was seeking a relationship with someone, but he was so aloof and distant with you throughout the entire night, you simply assumed he wasn't interested in you. It wasn't until the two demigods were walking you back to Jane's house that you and Loki actually had a conversation. As it turned out, Thor had coerced Loki into going out with him without providing the full details. He was so intrigued by the concept of a 'blind date' when Jane had recently explained it to him that he decided he wanted to see one. Who better to throw into his little experiment than his little brother?

Once the two of you actually started talking, you realized his stoic personality was just a shield. With his defenses lowered a bit, Loki was actually quite witty and fun to talk to. You agreed to another date in secret, not wanting to admit to Thor or Jane that they'd actually succeeded in setting the two of you up. One date led to two, then to four, and before long you were in an official steady relationship with the God of Mischief.

Being with Loki was an absolute joy. As your feelings for one another blossomed, he gradually began to show you more of his soft side. You felt privileged to get to see the normally surly Prince of Asgard show such tenderness. Not a soul besides you had the fortune of being the subject of such doting affection from this mighty being. His devotion had only grown tenfold since the moment you told him you were carrying his child. It was overwhelming at times, but you wouldn't trade him for the world.

The bath water was exactly the right temperature. You suspected there must be magic at play for it to have stayed so warm for so long. Slowly, you peeled off your scrubs and let them drop to the bathroom floor, glad to be free from the stiff fabric of your work uniform. You caught sight of yourself in the mirror, then. It was still startling to you to see your rounded belly when you looked at your reflection. Your scrubs still hid it fairly well, only because you'd purchased some larger tops to compensate for your expanding abdomen. But stripped down like this, it was plain to see - you were pregnant. You were growing a baby. A miniature human, who one day would look and act just like you and the wonderful (but mischievous) god standing in your kitchen. It was still difficult to wrap your head around.

As wonderful as the water felt on your tired muscles, you couldn’t help but feel a bit restless knowing Loki was downstairs cooking while you were just lying there in your bath water. Knowing very well he’d scold you for not taking your time, you finished cleansing yourself and carefully climbed out of the bath to dry off anyway. You pulled on an old set of pajamas from the top of your clean laundry pile before making your way back to the kitchen to rejoin Loki.

The smell was intoxicating before you’d even reached the doorway. Only weeks ago, this sort of fragrant meal would have made your stomach churn. Now that you were in your second trimester, you felt much less nauseous and, consequently, much hungrier than before. No longer did you have to live on a diet of crackers and ginger ale. You were elated to be able to eat what you liked again, and Loki was simply relieved to see you feeling better.

The lanky, dark-haired god was standing at the stove when you entered, his back toward you as he sautéed something in a skillet over the burner. You knew the vigilant Asgardian wasn’t easily startled, but you were cautious anyway as you approached him from behind and slipped your arms around his waist. A hum of appreciation rumbled in his chest.

“You’re supposed to be relaxing, love.”

“I know. I missed you too much.” You leaned your forehead against his shoulder, squeezing him a bit tighter. He chuckled warmly, turning off the burner and turning around in your arms to face you.

“Perhaps next time I should join you, then?” He wrapped his arms around you to return your embrace, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“Mm. Maybe you should.”

He growled playfully, hand slipping lower to squeeze playfully at your bottom through your old pajama pants for just a moment before returning to his task of making dinner. “Go on - let me finish cooking before you try to ensnare me with your charm, my little enchantress. Out with you.”

Reluctantly, you left the kitchen to set the dining room table for the two of you, taking a seat and awaiting your meal as you were told. It was only a few more minutes before Loki joined you in the dining room, placing the dinner platter down with a dramatic flourish that made you laugh.

Dinner was as wonderful as you’d expected. While you ate, Loki asked you more about your day at work, and you asked him about what he’d been up to while you were away. Despite your protesting, he refused to allow you to do the dishes after dinner, shooing you off to the bedroom to relax while he took care of them himself. With a half-hearted glare, you dragged your feet as you headed back to your shared bedroom.

The blankets were soft and inviting. You lay down atop the comforter and leaned your head and shoulders back against a couple pillows propped against the headboard, letting your eyes slip closed. You knew you weren’t quite ready to fall asleep yet, but just the feeling of shutting your eyes and letting yourself be still was enough.

It was impossible to say exactly how long you were lying there awaiting your lover's return. A prickling sensation - that inexplicable feeling of someone watching you - was what made you open your eyes. Sure enough, there stood Loki in the doorway. His normally aquamarine-colored eyes darkened as they roamed over your body - a hungry, frenetic adoration etched across his features as he took in the sight of you. You, in your old, frayed pajama bottoms and your fitted cotton T-shirt, with damp hair and not an ounce of makeup on your face. The intensity of his gaze brought a blaze of heat to your cheeks.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you questioned, fighting back a bashful grin. He merely smiled - that sly, seductive grin of his that still made you weak in the knees even after all this time together.

"My queen," he hummed, voice dripping with reverence. "You are absolutely breathtaking."

"I'm in my pajamas!"

A breathy laugh puffed through his nose as he shook his head, as though appalled by your indifference to your own appearance. "Have you any idea how captivating... how absolutely radiant you look carrying our child?"

Your eyes flitted down to your swollen belly. "But Loki... I'm... round."

With only a few powerful strides, he'd crossed from the doorway to the foot of the bed, leaning forward with his hands pressed against the mattress as he gazed at you. "You are ravishing." He slid his palms forward to rest beside your ankles, climbing up onto the bed on his hands and knees. "Exquisite." Slowly, fervently, he crawled up toward the head of the bed, hovering over your form. "Breathtaking. Positively unparalleled. Shall I go on?"

"Loki..." you whined, the entirety of your face set ablaze by his silver-tongued complements.

"Don't you dare try to disagree with me, darling. It's not up for debate."

"But- mmpf!"

He silenced your protests with his lips against yours, his hand sliding around the back of your neck to tangle his fingers in your still-wet hair while he held his weight up on his other palm. Your eyes fluttered closed as you allowed him to kiss you, falling into the familiar, passionate rhythm of your lips moving against his. Loki had a way of stealing your breath away, and yet simultaneously he breathed life into you with every kiss.

When he at last pulled away from your lips, he pressed his forehead to yours for a moment, eyes closed as he simply breathed in the scent of you. Then, he sat up and shifted to kneel beside you on the bed.

"How are you feeling now, my queen?"

"Much more relaxed, thank you." You smiled appreciatively, shifting to sit up a bit more against the pillows leaned on your headboard.

"Be honest with me, darling. You must be tired."

"Actually... I've felt pretty good the last few weeks. I've got much more energy now." Loki raised his eyebrows, tilting his chin down with a skeptical look that made you laugh. "Alright - my feet are a little sore from standing all day. Are you satisfied that I'm not withholding any of my pregnancy woes from you now?"

"Yes, I am." He shifted further down toward the foot of the bed, his hand clasping around one of your ankles to lift it into his lap.

"No, none of that, Loki - you've taken care of me far more than you need to today-"

"I'll not hear another word. Allow me to dote on the mother of my child."

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you once again as he grasped your foot with his free hand and applied pressure with his thumb along the arch of your foot. A breathy sigh escaped your lips as your muscles relaxed under his tender touch. A self-assured smirk crossed his lips as he watched you melt against the pillows.

"Is this so terrible? Permitting me to care for you so?" he asked teasingly, massaging firm circles along the bottom of your foot. You hummed in response.

"I'll... allow it. This time."

Loki chuckled under his breath as he continued to work the tension out of your sore feet. You let your eyes slip closed, simply enjoying the feeling of his thumbs rubbing your tired soles. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you for a while. Perhaps you even fell asleep for a moment or two, but you couldn't be sure.

"Feeling better now, darling?" His rumbling voice brought you out of your trance. You opened your eyes to meet his, a sleepy smile spreading across your lips.

"Mm. Thank you, Loki."

"My pleasure."

You laughed a little, grinning cheekily at him. "We'll have to have another child after this one - it's nice having you doting on me like this."

"Love - if you want a massage, you simply need to ask for it," he teased, skittering his fingers along your foot in his lap. You squeaked, making to pull your foot away from the mischievous god but failing as his hand tightened around your ankle.

"Oh-ho, no. Don't you even think about it," you chastised, knowing very well you didn't sound the least bit serious as you'd already started giggling. A devilish smirk crossed his features as he began scribbling along the sole of your foot.

"It's been quite some time since I've had such a splendid opportunity fall right into my lap. Literally."

He wasn't wrong. With the first trimester morning sickness and exhaustion, you were hardly in the mood to do much of anything. You adored this playfulness in your relationship - the teasing, the jesting, the occasional tickle fight here and there... it was all such fun. Truthfully, you'd missed it.

"Lohoki you mehenace! I will- n-no, don't you daHARE!" Giggles turned to laughter as he scratched with just two fingers just below the ball of your foot - a trigger spot he'd known of for ages that he loved to use against you.

"What was that, darling? I couldn't understand you, giggling like that."

"LOHOKI!" You sat up with some difficulty, reaching for his hands to still them and attempt to free your foot. His gaze darted up to meet yours, eyes flashing with mischief as he released your ankle and suddenly clambered to kneel over you.

"Laughter is a wonderful stress reliever, you know. I believe you could use more of it." His hands shot out to your sides, gently kneading and wriggling his fingertips up your ribs. A giggly screech burst from your lips, and you flopped back against the pillows while grasping weakly at Loki's wrists in a helpless, half-hearted attempt to push his hands away. "You see? You seem much more relaxed now, love."

"AM NOHOHOT!" You threw your head back and released unbridled laughter as his fingertips dug into the very middle of your ribcage on either side, another weak spot he adored exploiting. "L-AHAH-LOHOKI P-PLEHEASE!"

"I'd nearly forgotten how ticklish you are, darling," he chuckled affectionately, fluttering his fingers down your sides. "What about this? Are you still just as ticklish here?"

"N- OHOKAY, YEHES!" His fingertips danced gently along the curvature of your belly, scratching and skittering across the stretched skin. In truth, it was worse than before you were pregnant - his maddeningly gentle touch had you shaking with ticklish laughter. You grasped at his hands, trying to lace your fingers between his to cease his attack as he expertly evaded your defenses.

And then, you felt it.

A tiny kick, barely a muscle twitch but still undeniable, bubbled inside your belly. You gasped, eyes wide, which immediately prompted Loki's hands to still against your belly and a worried look to shadow his face.

"Did I hurt you? Are you alright?"

"It's the baby!" You smiled excitedly, laying your hands over his and guiding them to the spot you'd felt the movement just below your navel. "Hold still - maybe it'll happen again!"

The pair of you remained motionless, holding your breaths as you waited for another kick. Then, Loki's entire face lit up as another twitch pressed against your belly.

"Did you feel it??"

"I felt it!" A sparkling sheen of joyful tears clouded over his eyes. Your own vision blurred as you observed the pure elation play out on Loki's face. He grasped the hem of your T-shirt, gazing at you hopefully. "May I?"

"Go on," you urged, nodding. He gently slid the hem of your shirt up to your ribs, exposing the skin of your rounded belly. Ducking his head down closer, he began to whisper to the child growing inside you.

"You have made me the happiest being in all the Nine Realms, my love." His voice was heavy, laden with euphoric emotion as he spoke to his child for the first time. "I swear to you that I will care for you more than any father has cared for a child before."

A watery smile tugged at your lips. You squeezed his hand in yours, heart fluttering as he beamed up at you. He looked back to your belly, ducking his head to press the sweetest kiss to your skin.

"I would lay down my life to protect you from harm, my son," he whispered, his lips moving against your belly. You couldn't help but giggle at the vibration of his voice, and it didn't go unnoticed. Flashing you a grin, he began to press gentle, ticklish kisses along the taut skin of your belly.

"Lohohoki, thahat tickles!"

"Mm, does it?" He didn't bother to lift his head, speaking ticklishly against your belly now that he knew. In response, the baby kicked once again, this time a bit more forcefully than before. Loki lifted his head, his eyes filled with joy. "I think the baby likes your laughter as well."

"Noho, he juhust- ahahah Lohoki!!" His fingers began scratching at your sides as he lowered his lips to your belly once again, scattering reverent kisses just below your navel. As unbearably ticklish as the sensation was, you couldn't bring yourself to really push him away. You absolutely adored seeing how infatuated he already had become with your unborn child. The way his eyes sparkled with every tiny kick.

"You know, darling - I agree with your prior suggestion. We should have another child someday. This is quite enjoyable."

"Sahays yohou!"

He tsk'd at you playfully, scratching lightly across the surface of your belly where your laughter pitched up in volume. "I think the baby would agree with me as well."

Loki tormented your belly for a few more moments, finally relenting in his tickle attack and shifting to lie down beside you. His hand found your belly once again, this time resting firmly against the curve of your skin as you released residual giggles. You turned slightly onto your side to face your lover, his hand remaining in place against your skin.

"What are you thinking, Loki?" you whispered gently.

"I suppose... I'm just thinking of how fortunate our child will be to have you for a mother."

Tears blurred your vision as you smiled at him. "He'll be just as lucky to have you as a father."

"I certainly hope so."

You wrapped your arm around his waist, pulling yourself closer to him and resting your forehead against his chest. "I know so. He'll be just as smart and cunning and mischievous as his father."

Loki let out a breathy laugh through his nose. "Are you sure you want a child as mischievous as I was?"

"What fun is life without a bit of mischief?"

He hummed thoughtfully, pressing his lips to your forehead. "Then I hope you're prepared for our little troublemaker. He'll certainly be a handful."

"I have faith in us," you assured, tilting your head back to gaze into his eyes. "We'll take on the challenge together."

"I do love a challenge."

Loki ducked his head to capture your lips with his once again. And this time, you didn't let him pull away until you were breathless and pleasantly dizzy.

Even when the baby started kicking once again.

#ticklish!reader #tickle fluff #loki tickle #tickle fic #marvel tickle #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x female reader #pregnant!reader #pregnancy #announcement #loki fluff #domestic loki fluff

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minevn · 7 months

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Spotify Playlists

So I'll probably end up releasing the spotify playlist's before the covers are done and before the playlists themselves are done, but I do want to get them out sometime before the year ends. Anyways I'll be taking song recommendations for the characters! The way the playlists will be set up will be "songs they listen to"-"Songs that represent them and their past/present"-"songs that represent their relationship with you" I imagine the Past/present to be the songs that are hardest to find mainly, partly because I've left their past in some kind of mystery, I haven't gone into each and every single detail because you'll figure that out in the story, but also I'm just having a hard time finding songs that represent some of their pasts(surprisingly its not common to hear songs about parents putting their children in a dog house/j) But if you have any idea's send them to me with your explanation, I'd love to hear it! Anyways I'll explain what kind of music they listen to and kind of a simple explanation of your relationship

Minato: So Minato listens to a lot of older music, like "The Beatles" and "Michael Jackson" Songs your grandparents would listen to, which makes sense for Minato considering he grew up with that music due to his grandparents raising him. He's pretty protective of you, he wants to protect you and keep you safe, I think romantic songs that could be interpreted with yandere undertones would fit. though there also doesn't need to be yandere undertones, for example I have "Big Jet Plane" by Angus and Julia Stone on his playlist rn.

Haruto: Haruto also listens to older music, but not exactly like Minato's older music, more like early 2000's music, I don't think he'd have a preference for upbeat or slower songs. Also I say early 2000's music cause that's the music I grew up with and is most nostalgic for but also it depends on what music you grew up with! So you can just send any song you grew up with. Other then that he probably listens to songs that would help him focus, so classical. I thinks songs about childhood friends(to lovers) would fit for songs his relationship with you section

Jun: Jun listens to probably pop music, just upbeat music in general, as well as like super cute music. So songs like "Cute" by Prod by Rose or "Macaron Moon" by YUC'e give a kind of Jun vibe. Songs about being clingy would probably go really well in Jun's relationship segment with you, as well as songs about liking someone for a really long time. Cute love songs as well.

Hoshi: Ah yes the only person who actually has a song that represents their past. Anyways I feel like Hoshi would listen to songs like "Singular" by Sanity Falls like metal, but also Mindless Self Indulgence songs(I do like some msi songs but I don't like the artist nor do I support them and Hoshi's the same) I'd rather NOT put someone like MSI on my playlists though so if anyone knows an artist who makes music kind of like msi without being an awful person please let me know! I feel like he'd also like more sad music though, songs you could dissociate to like "Blvd. Nights" by Team Sleep. Like not those slow kind of sad songs but like screaming in pain sad. Songs where the person singing isn't really sure how to show their romantic emotions, like "Despair" by leo. Those would fit well in your guys relationship segment, but also songs that would show his real feelings like without filter would be so cute, like just pure loves songs that like worship their partner.

Habiki: Habiki likes listening to classical songs. If he has to listen to songs with lyrics though, it would probably be the same kind of sad music that Hoshi likes listening to. But they mostly like listening to classical music. I kind of think that Habiki's relationship with you segment would be similar to Hoshi's, maybe more gentler though?? Like "Come Inside Of My Heart" by IV of Spades. Like Despair is really trying to push those feeling away and deny them and come inside of my heart is like Ok I have these feelings, let me embrace it but not be overbearing, I hope they realize my feelings.

Kage: Kage's just like me in the sense that he probably just listens to whatever he likes. If he likes it he likes it. Happy songs he likes, it makes him feel happy and calms him down. sad songs? He likes those too, sometimes it's nice to just cry. Video game music? Yes he loves gaming. I think songs about stalking would fit really well in their relationship with you. But also any songs about being too shy to talk to the person of their affections would fit.

Kei: Probably also listens to Classical music a lot. Something he can play in the background and especially while he's watching you, there's no words to cover up your voice or distract him. I really think like pure love songs would fit really well, songs where the singer is so very clearly in love with their significant other, like its so fluffy. Like "Baby I'm Yours" by Arctic Monkeys.

Yani: Probably listens to the type of music that would describe your relationship honestly. I think Hyperpop would be good, same with like weirdcore music(Preferably instrumental) But yeah mainly hyperpop though. Just pure yandere songs fit really well. I've also said it before as well but songs like "I'm so crazy for youuuu </3" by Rebzyyx is what Yani was inspired by(That song is fr the biggest inspo for early Yani) Maybe even songs about wanting to be someone different for someone else, like "I/me/myself" by Will Wood(WILL WOOD!! HES MY ILLNESS/j/pos)

Aki: I think Aki would probably listen to very similar music as Haruto, songs from your childhood. Honestly I imagine her to have a very similar music taste as my sister. I think she'd listen to Phoebe Bridgers, Mitski, Deftones, roar, Beach House, Alex G, etc(You'll see others when I add to her playlist) but my favorite idea for who she listens to would be enon!! I lose my mind listening to enon, I love them so much, totally normal about them and not frothing at the mouth. Songs that describe your relationship? I think childhood friends(To lovers) would fit as well, and I'll probably also put Girl in Red songs as well, Ik it's like wlw music but I think it could fit your and Aki's relationship no matter what pronouns you go by.

Other then Aki I would love yandere type songs for each of the characters! I don't really want a lot of duplicates though, so while "Yandere" by Jazmin Bean would be perfect for everyone I'd rather limit it down to like one or two people. Anyways feel free to request with any song as long as it's on Spotify :3 Just write the song, who it's by, which character you think it fits, whish section it should go in(Songs they listen to, etc, I don't feel like writing all that), and maybe a little explanation as to why you think it fits :3

#💝-minevn #visual novel #yandere vn #🐠-Minato #📙-Haruto #🎀-Jun #🍽️-Hoshi #🎻-Habiki #👤-Kage #💻-Kei #💕-Yani #🐍-Aki

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wackyart · 9 months

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FICS RECAP SO FAR:

I'll try to be a bit more active on there but here you go friends ! Here are the things coming soon and the ones already posted ! What's to come: - The third and last part of "the "The Gauntlet's Squad: Sickness Series" aka Din being sick and Bo and Grogu taking care of him. You can read the first and seconds parts here already ! - A Dinbo cute OS with some christmas-ish vibes/ snow and more. - A TWD (The Walking Dead) fanfic but my first chapter is like +65k and not done so I need to edit cause this can't be a chapter alone X'D This is a Negan & Maggie fic. - A TWD and D&D (Dungeons and Dragons) mash-up fic. Basically: Shane, Beth, Maggie, Negan and Daryl thrown into DND with some shenanigans and this is purely self-indulgent XDD I love this one SO MUCH- - More Armoves (The Armorer x Axe Woves) and some fluff ! - A Bridgerton fic with both Benedict and Sophie but with a twist ! _ Two linked DND fics (post-apo with mermaid zombies and all, I love this setting so much. One is basically my character's journal entry and the other is the scene/setting and plot.

What's already posted: Armoves: 1./ "Les Enchaînés", 1789 French Revolution Settings (to celebrate Armovesary this 14th of July) 2./ "Dead Men Tell No Tales", POTC Settings Armoves. 3./ "Blasters, Bedtimes, and Big Dreams", Angst but loads of fluff too !!! 4./ "A Beskar Lunchbox", FLUFF, like pure fluff 5./ "Melting Desires", Smut and spicyyyyyyy 6./ "Whispers of Change", Sweet, fluff, comfort fic with those two. One of my favs <3 7./ "From a Child's Heart", CUTE and basically Ellie making a gift for father's day and this is adorable ! 8./ "Drifting through Sundari's Heart", Pacific Rim settings and this one will be updated soon !! 9./ "Sweet Nothings", Ellie can't sleep and she comes to see him. Cute stuff ! 10./ "Heat of the Moment", Slightly spicy but nothing shameless whatsoever. 11./ "An Armor-ous Affair", Slightly spicy and first Armoves fic ever posted ! 12./ "Whispers of the Faithless", Started as a joke but hey, Armoves church sex, has been posted on a Sunday X'))) Dinbo (since this "StaraJel" insists on AO3, keeps telling nasty stuff to get some lmao + this person who told me and the Armoves squad that we needed to "put that energy towards Dinbo instead" annoy me so damn much, lemme remind you how much I wrote for them): 1./ "Of Snuggles and Squeals", Fluff and cute. Din and Bo get a cute pet and Grogu is in love with it. 2./ "Steel and Starlight", My precious baby and first Dinbo fic who just hit the +7k !! T-T 3./ "Sundari's Sunshine", Coffee Shop Dinbo AU ! Cute ! 4./ "Beskar's Tears", Uh-oh, angst but has a happy ending ! 5./ "The Warrior's Muse", Din writes poetry about Bo ! 6./ "Frostbitten Fury", Bo gets hurt and Din is here to save the day/her ! 7./ "A Mother's Love", Supernatural AU for Dinbo ! 8./ "A Gilded Cage", Bridgerton AU for them, cute and I really like this one ! 9./ "To the Edge of the World", POTC Dinbo ! 10./ "A Mandalorian Fury", Hunger Games Dinbo AU ! 11./ "Love and Broth", Grogu is sick so Din and Bo take care if that little one ! 12./ "Clinging to Comfort", Bo is sick, Din and Grogu take care of her ! 13./ "Aftermath", Shameless smut, shower sex 14./ "Patuu", Father's day for Din 15./ "Lady Kryze", Smut ahead 16./ "A Gauntlet's Night", Grogu has a nightmare and Dinbo is being adorable with him And so much more here !! Am I being salty ? Definitely. Because I hate people coming on my stuff and telling me what " I should be doing", especially when it comes to free, detailed and constant content. I have 40 fics available already and I think that's quite a lot and seeing the "you should be focus on x" instead is straight up annoying when clearly I have all of this available. So if you can't be a decent human being, feel free to fck right off. I do all of this because I want to, because I love it and I just hate seeing people (who don't even write) come on my stuff to criticize. If you want something: do it. " You are never better served than by yourself"_ Charles-Guillaume Étienne (1777-1845)

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misscammiedawn · 5 months

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Miss Cammie Dawn's 2023 Round-Up

Permit me the self-indulgence to do a lil' wrap-up. Perhaps a little bit longer than a "lil'", we shall see. I don't expect any eyes on this. I write purely for the purposes of rereading later. Remember, I treat Tumblr like Livejournal.

I wish to focus upon the concepts of "what did you do/watch/read etc" and wrap it up for the year.

Personal Life

With the pandemic still limiting my options for socializing and having ended my close friendships and finally gone No Contact with my family of origin in the past few years, there's not been a lot of momentum in my life of late and I'm kind of okay with it.

Still. Some major events are to be expected. Here are mine for 2023:

Bottom surgery - Of everything in my year this was always going to be the first thing we needed to talk about. The process for getting here was such a long road and it almost doesn't feel real now that it's all done.

April 10th 2023 I went under the knife and began a healing journey that took much of the next 6 months of my life.

Going off of hormones for the time surrounding it was a complete emotional roller-coaster and I was *unstable* by the end of it. Oikos were kind enough to be supportive to me the whole time, thankfully. Daja traveled out to be there with me during the procedure. I have a detailed personal journal that conveys the whole experience but wow... that was a journey.

Those who know me may be aware of Precious, Cammie's Squishmallow. She goes wherever we go and she serves as an important tool for us. When we were in the hospital Daja asked our partners permission and with consent applied a hypnotic compulsion that made it so squeezing Precious and thinking of a partner would summon them in our mind and forge a connection. We refer to her now as the "Magical Scrying Kitty" and the trigger was essential for those first few days of recovery. Particularly the lonely void between visiting hours.

It all just sort of blurs now. I almost cannot remember being in bed for months after getting home nor the amount of energy that even the smallest tasks took. I have a vague memory of trying to get photographs in our yoga outfit before Beguiled and the effort of maneuvering around the bed was monumental.

We ended up returning to events in June/July, though we were still fairly restricted by the body's healing schedule.

I'm happier this side of the surgery. It has done wonders for my mental health and day to day comfort in our skin. Worth every sacrifice we made a hundred times over.

I don't think I have words for it yet but I feel there is a difference. There had been a level of anxiety and fear about the procedure before it but that has all melted away. I cannot even recall what those nebulous fears even were.

Anyway! Sleepyhead was nice enough to make my dream come true:

I have wanted that photo for years. I spoke of the dream often. I also made the Dickless for Chiklis tweet as promised years ago, though I doubt the intended audience saw it.

Life changes a bunch between starting the waiting list and getting the surgery, doesn't it?

DID Diagnosis - This has been a huge adjustment for us because of all the work that goes into trauma & dissociation therapy. We have joined support groups, we are putting in work to structure our journaling, we have built an innerworld conference space with isolated safe spaces (I was surprised to learn that this media trope is not only a real thing but it's a therapy technique that is taught. People are not born with these things and they are not a symptom of the disorder) and finally we are learning where the emotions originate, who has attachment to individual memories and experiences and then we are learning process things correctly. It is a process.

I am only slightly bitter that I had no context for the whole compartmentalized emotions thing. We wrote a frustrated Tumblr post about it recently.

The initial diagnosis came after a few months of testing. Many of our preconceptions were found to be based on a mixture of denial and ignorance exasperated by too much misinformation from fiction. Our therapist and Daja have both been on our case this entire year to stop obfuscating and hiding behind these excuses and barriers. It helps.

When we began the year our little system of 4 (technically 5) were completely at odds with one another. We had a number of distorted and self-loathing beliefs. Cammie was too childish and made us unreliable and immature and too stereotypically girlygirl trans. Camden was too strict and controlling and lived in constant hyper-vigilant survival mode, battling demons that had died decades ago. Dawn (presently typing) was a filthy NSFW embarrassment that was going to invite unwelcome elements to our life and post unforgivable content which must be deleted. Craig is a failing to our femininity that invalidates our struggles as a transwoman and Tilly-Mo doesn't even exist.

Now we're more comfortable working for a unified vision of self. Accepting that each of us is not the others and that we share a life. It's a process.

In May our therapist sent us to an online event held by a non-profit group who were tackling a bunch of topics ranging from "how to live with these conditions" "Professionals with CDD and their experiences with ISSTD" and a panel with transgender individuals with dissociative disorders. I was involved in that last one and I have to admit it was a turning point for me. For the first time in my life my experiences felt relatable and were being framed in a perspective of normal people living normal lives rather than the loud and proud version online. One of the things we continue to struggle with is how to integrate our condition into our life without fetishizing it. It's an invisible illness so all attempts to have our parts recognized feel like an attention grab. Even typing about it now. Somehow we have to navigate the gap between being open about it without highlight it. That's also a process.

Simply spoken we feel uncomfortable insisting on the one typing unless it's essential to being understood in how we communicate. We had an internal discussion about this post, wondering if we should let individual parts type different sections and highlight who was typing each one with a color or nametag. But that's not our style or comfort. It raises too much attention and sets off alarm bells. Half the reason we do our tagging system as we do on Tumblr is as a note to ourselves. Like a little filing system for when we go back searching later. A little switch counter. Helps us spot when someone has been away for too long.

Incidentally we decided we would write the post as time allowed and give everyone an opportunity to edit/add/delete from it before posting.

Electrolysis and Laser - My Electrolysist fired me. A shame. I really liked her. I... did not handle it well. There are only two times we have had a full blown meltdown during a session with our trauma and dissociation therapist and the week we got fired was one of them.

I did a few months of laser after leaving electrolysis but they have not yet invented a new form of laser that works for redheads so I just gave up. I'm done with my hair removal. I know there's a level of pettiness in that decision but being tortured for an hour a week wasn't good for my mental health and I barely go outside anyway. I'll just shave.

Trans activism in former career - I keep in touch with some of the people from my former career. I'll not name names or circumstances, but helping one of my former coworkers in their transition and joining an effort to petition the leadership (leveraging my weight as an out and proud transgender woman while I worked there) to rally against a company decision that actively promoted transphobia was a real highlight of my year. We won. I can type the name into Google and see articles about our victory. I may have been a single drop in the ocean when it comes to it but I know the people who made that decision. My emails shamed them for daring to do something like that on the ecosystem I helped create. It made me feel like I'd done something with my life. Made a difference to vulnerable people and guided some other people through these confusing halls we all wander down. That gave me life.

Immigration - I am applying for citizenship as it's easier than trying to get TERF Island to recognize my identity and I would rather all my documents have the same name and gender marker on them.

Events

Charmed 2023 - I wrote detailed con reports of last January's event. Suffice to say it was my first time taking the stage and teaching a class. A prominent member of the community posted on Twitter that they had gained a crush on me from watching me teach which is about the kindest thing anyone can say. Certainly boosted my self-estimation a little.

The vampire ball on the final day changed our brain chemistry forever. It has become the gold standard for our submissive scenes.

Charmed is the best. I am excited for the 2024 event.

Cybertronic Spree & The Protomen - I love going on roadtrips with my boyfriend, Copper. He loves driving and I love just sharing space and being comfortable with him. We shared music during the long drive to Chicago and I got to enjoy my "Other City". Part of us shall always view Chicago as our American home. We're a city girl at heart and seeing the night skyline of our former home was such a balm for the soul, particularly as it was our first time back there since we were married. My last trip there was an anniversary date to see Hamilton.

COVID risk was heavy on our mind but we had a fairly nice hotel a little out of the city and got to go to a pleasant venue. A couple of people I recognize from the hypnocon circuit were in the audience but we didn't think to approach them. A shame.

Sleepyhead and Puppet were the ones who bought the tickets but unfortunately health problems prevented them traveling. They were VIP tickets. We got merch signed for them both as a thank you and I got to meet Cybertronic spree.

Not to invoke the ghost of our marriage too often but our ex-wife and I saw The Protomen in 2010 during their Chicago stop of that year and I spoke with some of the band about it. A lifetime ago.

It was nice to step into a world we had long since exited with our current partner. The venue was a live rock place that had Rush posters on the wall and that black brick aesthetic that brought me back to when we saw gigs like Thunder in London.

I truly miss live events like this and though there was a COVID risk and though our throat was raw from 4-6 hours of no fluids, it was worth it. A highlight of my year for certain.

Cybertronic Spree played the theme of One Punch Man and a bunch of music from Transformers The Movie (1986) and generally kicked ass. Gambler and Arcee did a duet in both halves of the concert.

Dare to Be Stupid was ridiculous and I loved every second of it.

Beguiled 2023 - I only posted my outfits for public. But I was very detailed in my private journal. It was a difficult con for us as we were still weak from surgery and had limited mobility. We tapped out of our usual hypnoyoga class (perfect attendance ruined forever). Got to eat some incredible Japanese curry from a place that held great significance from me in a past life and danced with Daja to the music of the night...

Beguiled could have been a perfect event if my health were better.

I suppose I shall await 2025's event for the promised encore.

Daja Vacation - A very important trip. In October we headed over to Daja's state for a quick little visit. Sleepyhead accompanied us. There was curry, pan pizza (better than Giordano's. Daja is a chemist by day and kitchen sorceress by night), British meat pies, so many British chocolates, fountain trances, magic shows and time for all of us.

How can it be after 18 months that I still worry I have NRE with Daja? I truly do not know. But she shared her city with me. Created some new vital memories that shall be eternally treasured and gave the tightly wound little stress ball in my head a pretty view to admire inside of her little imagined safe space.

I am so damned smitten.

Books

My goal was to read every single Tamora Pierce book within a year of starting my relationship with Daja (named for the Emelan character, yes) and I found reading to be quite the comfort while I was laid up.

The Provost's Dog (Beka Cooper) Trilogy - The final Tortall books and the longest. They gave us many memories of our city and the caste system at play there. Beka is a wonderful protagonist and I fell in love with Farmer. Farmer is my favorite. I love him.

The police procedural in a high fantasy world was not entirely my cup of tea and I prefer it in the Rivers of London urban fantasy mold but seeing Pounce/Faithful as a far more actiive (and prissy) part of the story was a joy. Not my favorite of Tammy's series' by a long shot (For Tortall it would be Daine and Kel's quartets and for Emelan it would be any book which features Briar or Tris as a protagonist) but my preferences do not speak to quality. Tammy has evolved as a writer over the decades of her work and it breaks my heart that she is not as ubiquitous as Sir Terry.

I broke down into a weeping mess at the end because Beka's actions and her compassion granted her a single wish no one in universe or reading could have ever thought would have been granted. The sheer surprise and joy in that act of kindness was enough to break the dams of my heart.

Possibly the best ending of all Tammy's books.

The Circle of Magic Quartet - I am going to come out and say it right away. I prefer Emelan to Tortall. I do look at it as a "two cakes!" scenario and the two series are not in contest with one another (albeit Numair Chronicles is preventing the epilogue to the Reforged quartet from being written). But I enjoy the 4 displaced children and their mentors. I feel there is something solid about exploring Found Family tropes in kids who have known hardships beyond their years.

Daja (my partner, not the character in the book) had wondered which of the 4 I would gravitate towards more. Obviously I would be fond of Daja Kisubo for the name alone but would it be Briar the street kid who was caught between the world of his poverty street origins and his unexpected elevation in the caste system or perhaps Tris, the unwanted child who heard her caregivers tell her outright that she was an unwanted burden.

"Two cakes!"

The vignettes that brought the 4 together was a tough read and I didn't really feel the conflict of the books until the finale of Tris' book which kicked the series into high gear and from then on I ate Emelan up hungrily.

We were on track for 2.5 books read per month going into Emelan and actively had to slow ourselves down. I am pretty sure the only limitation we experienced was waiting lists on our library app.

Of the first quartet Briar's Book was an absolute favorite. Rosethorn's boy is wonderful and I love him. Also I wish to point out that the audio books were put out by Full Cast Audio who had actors for every role. Mo Harrington as Rosethorn was perfection. She also voiced Cloud in Daine's books but her Rosethorn is a career defining role. I wish only good things for Harrington. My favorite character of my favorite Tammy series will always be shaped in your vision of her.

The finale of the book, however, did stir some horrible memories and emotions in me. I suppose serendipity being a thing, though, in reacting to the book in real time to Daja as we read she noticed the shift and discovered a verbal quirk unique to a part of me who seldom gets to exist.

In a way much of our healing and accepting Craig came from Rosethorn's trip to the "garden" and our reaction to it as well as Daja's incredible ability to notice how unique it is for us to type "ain't" in a sentence.

I'm so glad I read these books.

The Circle Opens Quartet - At the time of reading these we had our surgery appointment and it became a mission to "catch up" before Daja came to visit to see us through surgery. We were listening to audiobooks from the library and books 3 and 4 (Cold Fire and Shatterglass) have never been adapted to audiobook due to Full Cast Audio's unfortunate financial troubles).

We had planned to borrow Daja's copies when she came over for the surgery.

But... we ended up catching up early enough that Daja in what may be one of the most romantic gestures of a year filled with romantic gestures, recorded herself reading the whole of Cold Fire and sending it to us so we may be caught up to borrow Shatterglass at the time of surgery.

Is it any wonder I'm so smitten?

Of the 4 stories I found Cold Fire and Shatterglass to be the most enjoyable. It was good seeing the siblings growing up in their own way and how their immaturity was evened out by their apprentices. Daja Kisubo's story was the one that got to me the most because the psychology of the serial killer and Kisubo's absolute betrayal towards the end. Watching how she dealt with Ben was heartbreaking.

Also the way insanity as a topic was handled was a little tactless and one quote made my blood boil a little but it was towards the character who spoke the words, not the author who penned them. The character Zhegorz returned in the next quartet and was an absolute highlight for me. I like the idea of scrying mages opening themselves up to mental disorders and for an allegory for schizophrenia I felt it was fairly tasteful in the next book. In this one the topic was not handled beautifully, but we are seeing the world through prejudice eyes and if there is one thing Daja Kisubo stories are good for it is showing prejudice viewpoints and their consequences.

Tris can't always be there to break social etiquette for you.

The Circle Reforged Quartet (albeit book 4 is not yet written) - Tammy matured as a writer a hundred times over before these books. I loved Emelan because it's a story of childhood trauma and how it impacts growth and development, even if the wounded soul is given encouraging and healthy environments to thrive in.

Each character carries scars deeper than they can admit to themselves or one another. Will of the Empress is a fantastic story because it takes everything that has been building and applies it to young adults who matured years before they should have and explores the sheer scale of the damage that does to them when they are left to their own devices.

Goodness... why would I find myself attracted to such a concept? I wonder?

The intro segment is so good we wrote a specific Tumblr post about it. Tris' bitterness that her raw talent cannot be monetized (without murder), Briar's PTSD, Sandry's muted bitterness at being abandoned by her siblings and Daja's hyper-vigilant need to push everyone away because of the betrayal she felt not just with Ben but in being banished from the only stable home she had ever known.

Watching the 4 open their connection to one another again caused many tears as we read it. Tris' accepting Sandry in particular just got me right in the heart.

The final sequence with Briar's safe space I had joked was the most accurate depiction of DID I'd seen. The whole shutting off the connection and having a shared inner world were both topics we were addressing in therapy about the time we listened to those chapters.

Battle Magic was a rough journey for seeing how much the Briar/Evie/Rosethorn trio suffered at the hands of the emperor. Rosethorn had become our quick favorite throughout the franchise and I just didn't want to see her hurt. Not after the end of Briar's Book.

Melting Stones was a cute little side story. Evie and Luvo are great. I don't have much to say about it as the book was written for the Full Cast Audio team and didn't develop anything we hadn't already seen from Will of the Empress which is chronologically the last of the quartet despite being the first in release order.

House of Leaves - Thanks to the MyHouse.WAD stuff happening early this year I was reminded of the book and with surgery recovery time I had time to dedicate to it. I kind of resent that there's no digital option but I appreciate that this book is a book.

Getting out of Mark Z. Danielewski's dumb dumb mind labyrinth of a mental virus is the hard part. If anything about our taste in fiction is true it's that we want to experience altered states and put ourselves in the head of another. So having an obsession simulator burrow deep into our head while we are bedridden and the days are blurred together was... not our best decision.

We have our de-realization symptoms locked down now and I think due to that stability we find ourselves compelled to seek out breaks in reality, especially now we no longer do character play hypnosis, tabletop RPG or allow once trusted individuals to gaslight us for fun.

Glitches and moments when things are wrong freak us out and have caused severe panic episodes for us (thank you Remedy for the credits to the bad ending of Control, that one damn near broke me and it was at a time in my life I didn't have anyone around to ground me or confirm what I was experiencing so we just went into free fall) and we shouldn't poke that bear.

But we do.

Willingly.

I've yet to bring that up with our therapist.

It's not just the ergodic literature that got under our skin though, with this one it was also that it depicts a parent in a mental care facility as a major plot point.

We have a history with that kind of thing and... yeah.

Plus the way Truant described his panic attack at seeing purple ink and remembering his mother's fingernails at his throat...

Reading this book may not have been our best decision... but we have a tag dedicated to it and are deeply in love with it. We knew what we were getting into (well... perhaps not the Pelafina stuff. We were not prepared for that) and there are no regrets!

Between the Whalestone Letters and Rosethorn's trip to the garden we need to check DoesTheDogDie.com more often =/

Regardless! We really dug the book.

Camden especially!

Much discussion online is on what parts of the book "really happened", what was in Navidson's record, what was in Zampano's analysis and what did Johnny edit in and how much did The Editors edit Johnny's narrative and how much is altered by our reading of it.

And like-- how much of the perspective based stuff is impacted by how your read it. For instance! When The Editors note that Johnny's ramblings have context in the appendix, I went and read all the Whalestone Letters then and there which made the panic attacks and Minotaur stuff make way more sense from the get go-- most may read the book first and the appendixes later.

It's a book that takes a unique shape based on how you navigate it. Sorta like a video game.

My experiences made me relate to and extrapolate emotional weight and context from Johnny's narrative after all. Regardless of Johnny's final message I cannot remove how I related to the things he shared... and that's the trick.

None of it happened. It's all a book. Whatever Danielewski intended is unimportant. You can listen to the companion album, you can look up interviews, you can see the citations and source material that inspired the story...

At the end of the day the more you put in, the more it will pull you deeper. There's no definitive way to read the book. It's a spiral staircase down into infinity and insanity.

The only winning move is not to play... or to quote the text:

"Maturity, one discovers, has everything to do with the acceptance of not knowing."

Tricksters Duology - Saved for last as Daja isn't a huge fan of the espionage from these books and she had recommended I skip them until I ran out of books to read. I'm glad it was saved as a little cherry on top to my adventures in Emelan and Tortall as meeting with Kyprioth the trickster god was a treat and the book goes out of its way to provide epilogues to all of the existing Tortall books. Seeing Daine and Numair's family grow, seeing Kel vs Alanna and seeing George Cooper be Best Boy was all such a lovely thing to behold.

I also read the Spy's Guide during this time and enjoyed it greatly. Daja handed me her hardcover the week of our surgery and we opened it to Daine's portrait, which just tickles me.

I am deeply fond of trickster gods...

Dissociation Made Simple - We had actually won a copy of this at the chronic dissociation event my therapist sent me to in May. I got to talk with the author and we follow one another on the other social media. They're a lovely person and they work hard to support the community of people who live with these conditions. The book is a navigation of living with a chronic dissociative disorder from a personal perspective and acts as both a guide to living with these experiences and supporting a loved one who happens to live with one.

It offers a wealth of perspectives and seeks to humanize matters in a way that does not rely too heavily upon pathology.

My sole complaint about it is that the author's personal philosophies bleed in. They are jaded with Western mental healthcare and favor an Eastern approach and they apologize profusely for including the perspectives of someone who sought Final Fusion (they say that they include the interview "as a means of painting a complete picture") and it truly felt more akin to an apology for discussing one of the gold standards of treatment goals than anything else. That was projecting on the audience a little in my opinion.

At present I do not seek final fusion as a goal. Healthy Multiplicity is just fine in my world... but I have seen posts and messages from those who did go that path and the support networks closing off to them and even harassing them over their personal decision is not the way to go.

Either way Dr. Jamie+ is a wonderful person I am proud is doing the work to make the world better for individuals struggling with chronic dissociative disorders.

The Third Person - Another suggested piece of reading from our time at the dissociation event. This is a 900 page book written by a transgender woman with DID and reflects her journey through the medical system as she attempts to get her HRT approved by an abusive therapist. There's a sunk cost fallacy that keeps her continuously coming week after week to someone who is an active threat to her mental health. After all. She'd need another 6+ months with a new therapist to get approved for HRT or she could just win Toby over and get him to sign for her.

Much of the book is conversations between Emma (and Katina and Ed) and their therapist, Toby. Katina is an impulsive party animal and the system's protector. She reminds us intensely of Dawn and that made finishing the book (in a single sitting, no less) an emotionally harrowing experience for us.

There's a refrain in some areas of the support communities that fiction based on our condition is sensationalized because to live with this condition is actually remarkably boring. We're just traumatized people trying to live our lives. This book is very much a shining example of that and I say it in a loving way. Nothing that happens to Emma's system is sensational or exceptional. She's just a normal transgender woman who got entangled with an abusive therapist (a transgender man who should have been an ally) and though it is mired by her hazy and bias recollection of events (she admits that the moment Toby said "your grandfather was right to hit you" she should have left and never come back) it still just reads as a normal person going through some shit.

And that's where the book is at its best. This is normal stuff. These are the things that can and do happen. I read the /r/therapists reddit enough to know that there's a population of people that think that their job includes dispelling "delusional thinking" and some definitions of that are a little uncomfortable. Not every professional believes in DID or transgender identities after all >.>;

This one was just a tough read and though my stated discomfort is that the alter that reminds me so much of Dawn had to hear Emma say the one sentence she could NEVER say to her.

Breaks our hearts =/

The Enchanted Forest Chronicles - Presently Daja is reading us these books on a weekly basis during our dates. We have gotten through the first two and are enamored with the primary cast. Telemain is my favorite.

They are just delightful stories full of tropes and fun. I would have loved them very much when I was young. Cammie presently loves them intensely.

Mr. Robot eps1.91_redwheelbarr0w.txt - Set during the time between Season 1 and Season 2 Episode 8, this is a journal. A literal journal made to look like it was written in pencil by series protagonist Elliot Alderson.

In the show the audience is his imaginary friend who he speaks to. When he is on the screen we see the world through his eyes and his delusions. Only during two flashbacks do we ever see him outside of his perspective, which saves Rami Malek having to play his alters and allows the show to be subjective with what is real and what isn't, plus we also get to see scenes Elliot isn't there for (typically perspective can be seen if someone refers to the villainous avatar of capitalism as "E Corp" their actual name rather than "Evil Corp" which Elliott always hears/reads it as) and when a twist happens at the end of season 1 he knows that we knew and we didn't tell him. We can't communicate with him after all.

To denote the time skip, hide a season 2 twist and to better blur the lines of what is real and what isn't, Elliot stops speaking to us after season 1 and reconciles with us during season 2. The journal covers the time when he was "not speaking with us" because we didn't tell him about Mr. Robot. At times he even writes to us as if we will someday read the book and then corrects himself to say that we will never read it. That kind of makes reading this feel a little invasive. Even the "editor" (a transgender woman in the show who was incarcerated in a male facility. I like Hot Carla) notes at times how fucked up it is that any of us are reading his private journal which he reminds often isn't for anyone elses' eyes.

Within the book are a number of little trinkets which serve to play an ARG that reveal the season 2 plot twist (Mr. Robot has been communicating with the Dark Army to continue his revolution while Elliot is in prison) and to the book's credit there is such an adherence to verisimilitude that the nearest we get to confirmation that there even IS an ARG is some comments penned in by the in-universe character who "published" the journal.

What I liked about it was not just the realism of the journal, which goes to lengths to utilize spaces in between entries as significant (we even get an entry written on the back of a pack of cigarettes when Elliot hands off the journal for another inmate to read it in her cell)

it didn't add a lot to the plot of the show but it was a fantastic dive into the character headspace of Elliot. Particularly during the period of time he was not talking to "us".

Music

Music is so disposable in scope that I'll be skipping much of the new stuff on our radar and focus on things we intentionally listened to.

The Protomen - Copper's favorite band. Puppet and Sleepyhead were nice enough to give him tickets to their show with the Cybertronic Spree (as noted above). We gave them a fair few spins to get ready for the concert. They are a lovely and self-indulgent band and their Queen tribute album is superb. I really dug the whole revolution subplot in the second act with Sniper Joe. Act 1's "after the apocalypse" campfire aesthetic wasn't my touch but the cyberpunk revolution stuff was cool as crap!

The Gambler is bloody amazing and any of her songs are just bangers by definition <3

The Caretaker (Everything At The End of Time) - We're late to the party on this one but god what an incredible experience. We went down a rabbit hole of tributes. For what it's worth Nowehere At The Millenium of Space is so far above the pack that if I ever wanted to listen to a 6 hour dementia simulator again then it'd be my pick. A3 is the track I'd listen to if you wanted to see if it would vibe with you or not.

(Though I wanna see more takes on the concept that try different perspectives-- there's a few that try for different conditions that have a lot of promise)

For the uninitiated, EATEOT is a 6 album concept piece that attempts to place you in the mind of a dementia patient at the end of their life. The composer read that music lingered beyond memories and information and wanted to run ideas of degrading of physical media and nostalgia for a time many of us were not alive for. The first track based on Heartaches from 1947 for instance. It gives us the idea of an era without true familiarity to it. Which makes my love of Nowhere a little odd as it takes the concept and then applies familiarity with many of the songs hitting "I KNOW THIS" buttons and...

Look, I came to learn about EATEOT from MyHouse and there the warped version of Running From Evil used that familiarity to great effect. Much of the subtle horror of the Doom map comes from recognizing the geography of the locations as The House and having your familiarity with Doom mechanics messed with in subtle ways. I like the feeling of "I know this... but it's wrong" especially as a means to invoke discomfort. That makes Nowhere a better album for me but to many the nostalgia for a time they weren't alive for helps put you in the head of a distant dying relative and that is more effective for the concept.

The fact I can talk about such high concepts is a proof of how amazing this album is at what it does.

If you don't have 6 hours and want a quick version of it, a YouTuber named zaza took the concept and applied it to Lo-Fi Beats to Study and Relax To. Add in intangible familiarity to Lo-Fi Beats as an amorphous genre with no real hook to hold onto and glitch effects to turn this video into one that tickles a terror center of my brain unscratched since I first played DDLC.

The Narcissist Cookbook - Apple Music throws some curveballs at me every now and again and I viscerally recall The Simplest Words coming on randomly and I *loved* it.

This Is How We Get Better is just a good album. It's on the topic of healing from crippling mental illness and given everything we have been going through in trauma therapy this year it was the right album at the right time. Pretty much every song is solid in its own special way. The line in The Pattern about walking through the halls of a demolished high school hit close to home and there is something beautiful about Leave My Phone At Home.

Some of the best works are less songs and more folk guitar during impassioned speeches. Courtney is a catchy song with a lecture on why people get into conspiracy rabbit holes, The Absolute State of our Nation is a plea that violent resistance to centrist complacency is a duty of those who wish to prevent history being sanitized and Cognitive Dissonance Blues is about the crushing despair of trying to do good in a world where evil is so deeply systemic that we only serve to hurt ourselves and make no measurable difference.

Highly recommended listening. Here, have The Simplest Words as a sample:

youtube

Mint Green (Growth) - Another group Apple threw at me while trying to understand why I love Left At London. I am not a fan of all their music but the album Growth really grew on me (ha!). They are an indie band out of California and sound like an indie band out of California. It is the kind of comforting sound you can lay down on a dark evening and stare at the ceiling listening to. A favorite pastime during our surgical recovery. Pinky Swear is now one of my favorite songs. I just love blasting it while I drive. I really enjoy them.

The Streets (The Darker The Shadow The Brighter The Light) - Skinner's band has never been able to reclaim its heights from Original Pirate Material (2002) but with Craig being more active in our system this year and Skinner releasing his first studio album under The Streets title since 2001's Computers and Blues we needed to dive on this as soon as it was released.

Like here's the thing. Peeps don't realize we like this sort of shit because we go all in on Rush. But there are certain sounds that just key in to what it was like growing up on a counsel flat in a broken home with an unemployed dad who has you pop down the corner store for some Rizla papers to roll his own.

It's just a tad to the left of pub music, y'know?

Point is Original Pirate Material got a bit of that larey London lad energy and was like a time capsule that yanks you back to 2002 to the point of which you can feel your old Nokia 220 vibrate in your pocket while you listen.

New album ain't terrible. Better than Computer and Blues by a wide margin.

Troubled Waters is an absolute classic and once again Skinner has caught a level of mild desperation with the British public. I always appreciated his "day in the life of a geeza" approach and I think one of the two reasons Skinner's career never took off beyond Original Pirate Material is that he was no longer just another bloke when that song hit. Later albums have songs about dealing with his fame and having affairs with high level pop stars and he lost the relatable flair that brought him to greatness.

Like no shade to Going Through Hell or that one song about the Earth will be fine it's us who are fucked. He's got some bangers in the mid but he came out the gates with an album of "bangers, not anthems"

I mean... Original Pirate Material is just a perfect album. Dunno what else to say.

This new one is growing on me. It's got a mature edge and it comes from a perspective of an older guy who has lived beyond the legacy his debut 20 years ago offered.

I need to force myself to listen to anything other than Troubled Waters but I find myself rewarded for doing so. Just wish Too Much Yayo wasn't the opening track. I'm not fond of it.

Movies

I've not been in a cinema since Spider-Man No Way Home and before then since movies were my career. Losing movie theatres in the pandemic has altered my brain chemistry a little, I think?

Creed III - Creed is one of my alltime favorite movies and so I was really excited for III. I was fucked up from being off of my hormones at the time and so I ended up watching it on the day of a meltdown when I had screamed my throat raw and was crying and non-verbal. That may have impacted my enjoyment of the film a little and I need to go back to it at some point. I really enjoyed the cerebral final battle between Donnie and Majors' character. Cried a bunch when Mary Anne died =/

It's sort of a tough thing to be all attached to this franchise and see it keep missing jumping off points. I wanna see it keep on going but I don't wanna see it decline after so many high finishes, y'know?

Super Mario Bros Movie - I literally do not remember watching this. Granted I was laid up at the time. It came to home media ridiculously fast. Still. I have no firm memory of this at all and I think that's an indictment on Illumination more than my mental state in surgical recovery.

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse - I am impressed but still waiting on the other shoe to drop. Another "Fuck Joe Quesada" production so I found myself deeply enjoying the fact Pete/MJ's wedding is a "canon event".

I honestly enjoyed the conversation around the movie more than the film itself.

Soundtrack is bloody amazing and Hobie is an absolute bro. Love that guy!

Barbie - Greta Gerwig does not miss. Lady Bird is one of our all time favorites and this was an enjoyable film in the same vein as Lego Movie. It lacks teeth or staying power but many of the movies which reach the top of the box office these days are that way. Teeth aren't profitable.

I adored the production and it is just pleasant to see good costumes in a movie in an increasingly stingy/anti-union world.

Like it's a fine and fun movie but like some people said "this movie doesn't have subtext, it's just text" and that is probably for the best given its wide audience. I just need something more.

Guardians of the Galaxy 3 - It was alright. I liked the sentiment with Groot at the end. Yeah. Don't have much to say. It was alright.

War Games (1983) - Sleepyhead and Copper don't bond much. We're all family at Oikos but we're different people at the end of the day. When my two partners discovered I'd never seen this movie they worked together to correct it instantly.

It was a lovely night feeding off of their excitement and I am pleased to say the movie was well worth it and gave some good context for Metal Gear Solid: Peace Walker's climax.

Lowkey may have been my favorite movie moment of the year. Plus it gave me context to references made in Mr. Robot so that was nice <3

Before Trilogy - I have had this on my DVD shelf since I was married and the idea of "the most realistic romance trilogy" has never seemed appealing. I'll be honest. I like the locations. I love the chemistry of the main pair and I enjoyed the first two parts way more than expected but didn't vibe with the final movie.

I doubt I will end up watching them again, which is a shame after so many years of having it hyped up on Film Twitter.

Television

TV is a quick and easy way to bond with loved ones and so I've been watching a bunch, especially while I was laid up. Sharing media remains one of my favorite ways to connect with people after all. In this time I've shared all of Twin Peaks with Sleepyhead, rewatched some old anime shows with Copper

Secret Invasion - I sincerely wish I could unwatch this. It was awful. No elaboration. Just... I did not like it. Best I can say is that the discussion threads doing "Boom! You looking for this?!" jokes was funny.

Star Wars Franchise - Okay. Copper, my boyfriend REALLY likes Star Wars and so has been sharing all the new content with me while introducing me to the past stuff. Rebels and Andor have been my favorite. Ahsoka was my least favorite. It's a true sign of love that I'm willing to put in with Star Wars given my history with the movie theatre-- that franchise has caused me so much misery.

Chopper is great though. Love that little war crimes robot.

I now understand the Mortis meme and I agree. I know peeps are all about the midichlorian thing and like, sure, yeah, no. That's bullshit because you're sciencing up the faith thing but like-- this ain't it. Don't rebalance that by going all in on the faith and applying it to deities. That is such a shitty thing to do when the basis was a balance between inner peace and conflict derived from a Buddhist mentality. Idk. The War in our Stars is not our favorite. But we loved sharing it with someone we love.

Loki Season 2 - This year I just about gave up on Marvel and decided to wait for the next story arc to conclude and see if it's worth returning to. I do not watch as many movies these days and they do not serve their social function for me as they had in a life when movies were my career and I was surrounded by those who shared my passion.

Watching this season with Sleepyhead was the closest I felt to those old days of excitement and reaction and social lubrication. It was deeply enjoyable for those reasons and more. I feel like it was the epilogue that the early phases of Marvel deserved and the only version of the modern Multiverse plot that felt worthy of my attention. I find that Multiverse as a concept robs a franchise of consequence. I can watch characters slaughtered by Scarlet Witch and feel nothing and it makes it impossible to feel the weight of consequence. Even the protagonist of this show is not the man murdered by Thanos.

Yet it is the acknowledgement and embracement of this fact which allowed me to enjoy Loki as a show. He was a version of the man who was there for Thor at the end of Ragnarok. We saw him robbed of development and we saw him deconstructed and reconstructed into that which we always knew he could be.

Loki gives me hope but I still intend to take a break. It was nice to be driven and excited again, though.

Andromeda - Not gotten far but sharing this with Daja and enjoying it thus far if only because Nietzschean is such a fun concept for a species and there's a ton of time shenanigans involved. I wanna see more!

The cast are a delight, the low budget is endearing and the theme song is written by a member of Rush. Also Daja informs me that some episodes were pitched as DS9 episodes.

Mr. Robot - This may actually be my favorite show now. Like of all time. It just mixes everything I love about Prestige Drama shows, specifically Better Call Saul and then applies it to topics that have my focus like mental illness and Capitalism Bad. Plus it's a pastiche of modern cinema and keeps teasing the "I KNOW THIS!" center of my brain with (intentional in-universe) references.

The plot surrounds the rise of a hacktivist group going up against the evil corporation that controls 70% of the US's money. They are Exxon, Wal-Mart and Wells-Fargo rolled into one.

Each character in the show is suffering from isolation generated by a modern society and the camerawork constantly shows this off by minimizing their space in the frame to show off all the empty space around them. It's rare for two characters to interact on screen at the same time and typically shows trust and connection. The show does this so consistently that it becomes an unspoken language long before the first season concludes. It's a fantastic way of feeling the emotional walls between people and seeing when they are torn down.

By the end of the show they are doing victory laps with themed episodes and all 3 of them are some of the best I've seen in my life.

S3E5 is a simulated one take during a riot that captures the frantic energy of the heist and chaos of protestors breaking into the E Corp building amazingly.

S4E5 is a no dialogue episode and pulls a similar trick to the above, utilizing silence for a better payoff.

S4E7 is the best episode of television I've seen in my life. An hour long bottle episode structured like a 5 act play.

This show changed my brain chemistry forever. I wish I had found it in my past life. I would have loved to have done watch parties as it aired.

Castlevania: Nocturne - I am reserving judgment until later. I enjoyed the first season. Olrox is wonderful. I just don't have enough to bite into to really feel invested. I didn't get into the first show until season 2 so we'll see how this one develops.

Scott Pilgrim Takes Off - Watched it in one sitting with Sleepyhead. It was a fun little show made with a ton of love. I don't have anything deep to say about it. It was nice to see and I enjoyed watching it.

Video Games

If I've gone off of movies then I'm entirely off of games. I haven't really anticipated a game enough to preorder it since God of War Ragnarok, though a part of this is that I see no reason to upgrade to PS5 and my machine isn't powerful enough to play Alan Wake II or Cyberpunk. I likely would have bought Spider-Man 2 if I had a PS5 and would have regretted it and would have bought Metal Gear Solid Master Collection if I were still playing games and also regretted it.

For disclosure we watched a few games on YouTube. Spider-Man 2, Anatomy, Signalis and Slay The Princess most notably. But we're not going to type about the ones we watched. Feels unfair to judge something we didn't experience directly. Though it means we can't (well, chose not to) type about MyHouse and that's a shame because we watched SO much about that! We learned so much about programming from it!

So bonus thoughts "MyHouse fills us with awe and envy over what can be accomplished with existing engines and should be mandatory inspiration for any game dev who is trying to think inside the box" "Spider-Man 2 seems like a better game to play than watch, the game failed on every possible level with the concept of Symbiote controlled Peter. They could have had us fight as him and have no dialogue. They could have had us fight us Miles while Peter is violent and silent. They could have had a sequence of Peter (or Miles) fleeing Kraven while feeling hunted and then use the same concepts for Peter chasing MJ... they failed to do anything to amplify the story and it fell flat. Watching it was a chore." "Signalis is a work of art and I will play it and post full thoughts one of these days" "Anatomy is the scariest fucking thing I've ever played and I wish I didn't check the authors other games. The concept of a user violating a work of art by interacting with it is clearly their obsession and they have done it 3 or 4 times with the exact same framework. Anatomy feels like a complete and whole product in a way the others don't. I am too cowardly to play this myself." "Slay the Princess feels like a game tailor made for someone I care about. It made me miss them while letting me feel close to their memory. The fractured/distorted reality path caused me to have a panic attack."

Disco Elysium - Such an interesting little point and click adventure this is. I found the first few hours deeply frustrating as it is a fully immersive sim with the concept of throwing you into the role of an amnesiac cop in a post revolution community that is trying its hardest to stand upright after being through decades of hardship. It really wants to explore the painful reality of being in decline and caught between the fantasy of a better yesterday and the fantasy of a better tomorrow.

It is also a failure simulator.

In that regard it succeeds perfectly. I was forced to feel the kind of useless that reality offers when I am asked to perform with authority a task that I have absolutely no basis of how to do whatsoever.

Failing continuously during the early game is important to establishing your understanding of the mechanics and grounding how you will adapt. My earliest actions were reprehensible in universe because I could not grasp or master mechanics enough to insert my will upon the character. That, however, is one of the failings of the game in my mind. You are ranked for everything you do (in one of a slim number of cookie-cutter endings - to the point of which this PARODY of how lacking they are comes up first when you type "Disco Elysium Ending" into YouTube) and it feels a little like the game wants you to grapple with the politics and morals of reality via how you interact in game and though it succeeds in many regards it does fail when gameplay mechanics get in the way.

For the most part I loved the breakdown of the city that stands proud and shapes the people within it. I loved the explorations into moral philosophy and I truly enjoyed the comedy, no matter how dark it got. Harry is an absolute human disaster (my Disco Elysium tag is "Human Disaster") and I was endeared.

My final complaint is that it suffers the same bullshit that Donnie Darko does. This is a lovely narrative about the resilience of cultures and community that is buried in the brickwork, it's a beautiful critique on how to live with existential despair and a takedown of overly indulging in pain/regret or rejecting reality and living in pure fantasy. As a moral piece and as a take on philosophy it is second only to NieR:Automata in my mind... BUT... There's the fucking Pale.

I do not think this game benefits from Deep Lore and a dive into What's Really Happening with reality unfolding and the dump of information surrounding it. Like Donnie Darko the fiction's themes are fine on their own and require no supernatural/sci-fi explination for 50 minute YouTube deep dive videos.

Everyone talks about the church sidequest being the best in the game but I resented having this human story warped by the existential dread of a supernatural oblivion, even if it's a stand-in for climate grief.

Night in the Woods - I loved this one far more than I expected. Someone I cared for deeply insisted I play it when it was new but it wasn't until I got it in a charity games bundle that I was willing to give it a shot.

The snapshots of growing up are not things I can relate to. I'm an English city girl from poverty who never went to college. The melancholy of America's forgotten cities and the abandonment of their communities was as alien to me as Revachol from Disco Elysium. I say that because much of the fan reaction I've observed talks of how relatable the game is.

What I did find though was a rich character driven story that was able to get vibes across well. I really like how the game wanted to make us get on the same page of frustration with Mae's parents without making Mae's parents bad. Having them not pick her up from the bus station and seeing the seeds of their resentment to her failure in college really helped me view them through an imperfect lens. I fear if the opening was not introducing us to Mae in such a sympathetic manner then some audience may have rejected her for being as immature and unreliable as she seems at first before we learn of her mental issues.

The mechanic of the towns people you forge connections with showing up at the church was dearly appreciated, though I found much of the optional mechanics of the game to become chores by the end. I did not want to go to the subway and the edge of the town every single day to see if I could advance the plot with the teens so I gave up on it. Poetry neighbor was cool though.

All in all I enjoyed it. I throw "Die Anywhere Else" on sometimes as a feel good track and my favorite sequence was the party in the college town.

Oh and I chose to ignore (or just disregard the legitimacy of) the supernatural elements for the same reason as Elysium. The story works just fine without ancient gods in the mine and cat gods in dreams.

Tears of the Kingdom - TotK was what kept me sane while I was bed ridden. I did not enjoy the absolute freedom. I seldom do in video games, but the sheer expanse of mapping the depths kept me going for a long while.

Dungeons were better this time but I still find myself longing for OoT and Wind Waker's style.

I found much of my enjoyment to come from watching Sleepyhead and Copper playing the game or hearing about Daja's campaign. It's simply not my type of game. A good distraction but I long for something which feels like I'm working towards something and most of modern Nintendo is designed to keep you in a gameplay loop forever with no satisfaction of completion.

Had the map not have been a tangible accomplishment I may have ended up disappointed. Game design is rapidly moving away from my interests. God of War Ragnarok may well be the final game I end up buying new and loving.

The Room Franchise - As a matter of love towards Daja I played one of her all-time favorite game series. Puzzle boxes and many of them. Room 3 is the best by a wide country mile. I enjoyed the aesthetic and found myself trying to get through each room as swiftly as possible. Each game was a single sitting for me but I enjoyed them. Plus the anniversary sale made the franchise barely cost anything.

Sonic Frontiers - I did not enjoy it. I hear that Sega kept working on it and it's actually a good game now but I played it when new and it was... well a modern Sonic game.

Penlight - I have an entire tag dedicated to how much I enjoyed it and Turq, Sleepyhead and I have a Discord chat titled The ENTIRE Penlight Fandom where we share theories, headcanons and story ideas.

Fact of the matter is it is a visual novel that takes a lifetime of existing in the hypnosis community and creates every single cautionary tale we could think of as a community. Angela DeMille knows her stuff and wants you to know how beautiful and incredible hypnosis can be with clear communication, trust and vulnerability and how horrific it can be without those things.

There is a policy of "no good endings for unethical choices" that I truly appreciate. Just check my tag. I wrote tens of thousands of words about how much I enjoyed the game.

I think I got everything?

May edit later? Idk. Anyway! I typed a thing!

#personal #TAG TIME!#DID #watch me post my trauma in public #human disaster #sayori is best girl #domo arigato mr alderson #scott pilgrim's precious little tag #its mahvul baybe #spider posting #odds bobs #the word house in these tags is written in blue

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violetlunette · 2 years

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Hi! I read through your blog and i find your analysis so interesting! Personally i like a lot of the characters you criticise and you definetly helped me figure out my mixed feelings or think of a new perspective. (this isnt a bad thing btw i like hearing your perspectives) (Like, i always liked Toga but her character was iffy to me and Shinsou i liked but you made me realise i like the potential of him more than his canon lol)

Anyways, sorry if this is a weird question but who are two characters who never (or very little) interacted in canon that you would like to see interact?

Personally i want Mr Compress and Monoma to interact.

Like i know theyre on opposite sides and have no reasons to but the two have some overlapping concepts. Mr Compress is descended from a phantom thief and Monoma calls himself Phantom Thief and theyre both crafty and sneaky character.

Does it make any sense? No. So i think they would get along? Absolutely not. Do i think it would be funny? Yes. Do I want them to eventually get along? Yes but they would be kicking and screaming.

Its purely self indulgent i admit. Sorry if its annoying but im interested if you have any characters you would also like to see together.

I’m glad to introduce new perspectives to others as that’s what I try to do here! I’m glad people like them! ^_^ And I don't self-indulgent stuff especially when it allows be to be as such. Anyway, Monoma and Compress would be interesting. Both do present themselves as thieves for the greater good and have out-there personalities. I have TONS of characters I wish interacted more. Below are a few off the top of my head but there’s not a lot of detail right now. (Maybe someday…)

Present Mic and Ochako; there’s a set-up for some good interaction as he obviously likes her a lot. No, really. I love Mic’s blatant favoritism with her and I think it would be nice for Ochako to have a personal cheerleader. They also have a lot in common by being the emotional support to underdogs they admire, being energetic, and having a focus on their careers.

Aizawa and Present Mic with Tsuyu; Tsuyu is my favorite candidate for the Maizawa Family child (along with Izuku). Tsuyu not only shares traits with Aizawa but Present Mic as well; All three share bluntness, and empathy, and take care of the ones they love. Tsuyu also shares Aizawa’s rational nature, Hizashi’s supportive nature, along with his ability to see the bigger picture. At first, Mic may be thrown off that he can’t read her expressions but over time he would be able to read her body language and realize her feelings easily. Tsuyu would take care of both the men, however, they never let her take too much upon herself (though it would be hypocritical all around). What Tsuyu has that neither don’t, however, is that she’s able to look at the bigger picture of things logically, whereas they focus more on the emotions of the people they love. Speaking of which;

Todoroki and Tsuyu; These may not show it, but they are very emotional people. They love and care for their friends and basically the mom and dad friends. However, where they differ is their morals. I think it would be interesting to see Todoroki’s ideology of, “screw it, I’m doing what’s best for my friends and family” vs Tsuyu’s “Even though it hurts me, I will put what's right and the well-being of the world above my emotional needs.”

Hizashi and All Might; Shipping thoughts aside, these two have a lot in common, and I believe Mic would be able to help All Might come out of his shell more and help him with understanding people more. (Remember, All Might had to keep to himself for years to keep his secret, so social interaction isn’t his strong suit.) Likewise, I think Mic could use emotional support that isn’t tsundere-ish all the time or snarky.

Midnight and Momo: Both share the fact that they are very secure in their bodies (perhaps a bit too much). It would be nice to show Midnight giving Ochako more confidence in herself as a leader (especially since the manga wants us to believe that’s the case). Also, these two are opposite enough to be interesting as a mentor and mentee, as Midnight is someone very comfortable with her sexuality, and Momo is an Inugene.

Six and Izuku; I’m going to do an entire post on this someday but I think these would be very interesting as enemies.

Knuckle Duster and All Might: Polar opposites, yet they share the fact that they started off as heroes but lost their powers which ended their careers. (I like comedic opportunities with All Might trying to hold Knuckle Duster back from punching someone.)

Makoto and Hizashi: Mic has a busy schedule and Makoto can organize it. That and I believe that she’s one of the few that could handle his energy as she has just as much. If nothing else, she would be a good manager to him.

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bubbleonice · 6 months

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General reading for youtubers Dream and George:

Dream:

Goddess of knowledge: Start everything by applying what you already know and always tryst your intuition. All learning is simply recollection. While study is important, remember also that all you truly need to know is inside you. Put all the wonderful knowlege that you already posess to good use.

What do you desire: Be true to yourself and your desires. Dare to love what you love and not be afraid.

Step away from the crowd: you need some time alone. Dare to step away from catering others. Take time to yourself.

8 of cups: Abandonment, abandoning plans, walking away, letting go, travelling, escapism, reaching limit, self-analysis, self-discovery, introspection, looking deeper, withdrawal, disappointment, looking for the truth, loneliness, leaving a bad situation, emotional strength, courage, fatigue, weariness. It can signify walking away from people or situations in your life or abandoning your plans. It can indicate disappointment, escapism and turning your back on or leaving bad situation.

Queen of pentacles: the Queen of Pentacles suggests that it is important to you to live independently, with a stable income and with enough time and space to also nurture your loved ones. This Queen asks you to maintain a compassionate, nurturing, practical and down-to-earth attitude when dealing with others and your present circumstances. Focus on creating a calm and balanced life for yourself. Be resourceful and practical, dealing with issues as they arise using straightforward solutions that fix the problem with minimal fuss.

Expression: you are ready to manifest your thoughts and transform them into acts of love.

George:

Goddess of the unknown: a new chapter of your life is around the corner, remove fear and embrace the unknown.

Fresh Air: your body needs refreshment from oxygenated air generated by grass, trees, plants and flowers. Spend more time outside. As close to Mother Nature’s craddle as possible.

Clear the fog: life looks a bit foggy now and you’re distorting the truth. It’s time to summond the pure heart of your Spirit. First step is to clear away the confusion and take nothing personal. Listen closely, observe the details and be on guard for tendencies to interpret things from an overly emotional point of view.

Get over yourself: means to get over your false self. It’s time to become honest and to present to the world the real you. Drop the mask. Ask yourself, where am I not being authentic? Where am I acting instead of being real.

2 of pentacles: The Two of Coins, or the Two of Pentacles, is a card which, when upright, means to juggle, to struggle in a positive influence, to balance, to maintain. To keep your head up but feel like you want to jump out of your skin. It symbolizes an internal mental struggle, being unsure, not knowing your path.

9 of swords reversed: The Nine of Swords reversed generally denotes discovering light at the end of the tunnel following a period of darkness. It represents improving, letting go of negativity, releasing the tension, and learning to cope with depression, mental illness, or other challenges.

9 of pentacles: In a general context, the Nine of Pentacles is a great omen to get as it represents success, independence, confidence, freedom, security and stability. It signifies that you have worked very hard to create the success and status you are experiencing and now is the time to enjoy it. So indulge yourself, pamper yourself and enjoy the luxury and contentment your accomplishments bring you. This card also tells you that you have gained maturity and wisdom through your perseverance.

Empathy: you can easily feel and understand other’s emotions.

I hope you enjoy this reading. And please keep in mind that this is done for entertainment purposes only. I use tarotcards and oracle cards actively in my readings, as well as my intuition. Energies come and go, what is relevant for today’s reading might change in a few weeks time. But some aspects will always remain constant and the same. Thank you.❤️

#celebrity tarot #intuitive readings #tarot reading #dream and george

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yostresswritinggirl · 3 years

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@butterfly-mochi Rewrote this freaking thing thrice because it keeps getting deleted wth tumblr agjvahkfajkvk- I enjoyed writing it a lot tho and since I’m too weak to the characters I ended up writing for all of them (except for Sucrose, im sorry bb huhu, I ran out of brain power). This is my first time writing for so many of them in one go so please excuse me for any mistakes or blandness ywy thank you for letting me write for my baby Ganyu too hhhhh

Universe Reversal 2

Genshin Impact Character Reader and Modern Players with Zhongli, Childe & Ganyu (how they simp for you) (event masterlist / Part 1 / Part 3)

Zhongli the F2P

The most relatable out of the bunch because this man is still broke and can only rely on the primogems he can farm. And he had a LOT. The one thing he doesn’t have a lot on, however, is his luck.

So how did he manage to pull you?: Well after exhausting all his primogem on your banner with nothing but weapons and other characters, he has lost his resolve. But by some weird luck, there was a character bug that was fixed and in his email was the almighty consolation primogem. Enough for ONE pull. And by the Gods he FINALLY got you.

He’d nonchalantly post his screenshot of pulling you using a single acquaint fate in his friend group without any words and everyone else just loses their shit. “You got them in one pull?!” “Yeah” A riot.

This was partnered with the fact that not only is Zhongli an F2P player, but also barely has any five star characters.

He looks calm and apathetic over the news, but behind the screen he’s exhausted and relieved, silently livid.

He has no primogems left to squeeze for a constellation so you’re instead pampered with the best weapon suitable for you (because that’s all he keeps getting).

Zhongles spends most of his time farming for materials to quickly level you up, unlocking all your stories and voiceline, but he fucked up on your build (his artifacts are messy).

He follows communities, forums and videos regarding your character to know all the things he needs to perfect your build. You can barely make a dent against normal mobs, so he knew he was doing something VERY wrong.

Is the type of person to keep refreshing the page for new content, very updated.

Ask him a question about your character and he’s gonna bring you the word vomit that is his research. He’s not gonna stop- probably accidentally developed a copypasta for you.

Also follows your VA in both Tiktok and Twitter to indulge in every bit of content. He also has that screenshot of his pull saved and locked.

On his birthday, a friend of his gifted him a chibi plushie of you and he has treasured it ever since, treating and handling it like its a figurine.

“It is merely pure luck and grace from the gacha gods that I got this character, and I will make sure that they know I am very grateful for this fortune.”

Favorite Voiceline: Birthday Message

Childe The Whaler

This lucky wealthy bastard with no remorse for his money whales for EVERY character. He’s making a collection, which is to get all the characters, especially the five stars. So when your banner finally popped up, he’s gonna square up and trigger a whole ass meteor shower.

How he pulled you: Money. His luck with this games are actually not the best so he always compensates with money, he got you halfway through the first failed pity, almost giving him a heart attack that he might actually break the bank just to get you.

And then he pulls more to raise your constellation lol.

The first thing he does is look over your character info and read through it all; constellation infos, your base stats, artifact compatibility.

At the end when he’s maximized everything, he would then focus on playing around with your character *coughs climbing noises coughs*

He thought you’d just be another part of his collection but playing with your character was very enjoyable and in-line with his playstyle- oops 100 screenshots with the Kamera-

Any and all merchandise that he fancies would be his, and he’s definitely flexing it to the other sweetie nerds who call themselves simps. He’s fighting for the simping title, and he’s currently neck and neck with this fanartist in Pixiv.

Speaking of that fanartist, he definitely commissioned an expensive and detailed portrait of you, full rights and everything. No one else was allowed to use it but him.

Was also the first one with the audacity to call out your VA to create an account on Tiktok to create more content with your voice. He was successful.

His obssession also comes in the form of self-indulgent contents, and had been keeping track of the ship wars happening. During conventions, he cosplays as the character shipped with you the most (or the character he thinks should end up with you).

Silently scrutinizing those who cosplay you, only ever taking pictures with/of the best looking one, sorry haha

Definitely flaunts that you are his waifu/husbando and will fight for best girl/best boy during debates or polls. Has mobilized the community to vote for you once. He’s very persuasive.

“Hm? Why I’m just the best collector in the game, and I am more than happy to let everyone know that I am their number one fan haha, everyone who claims otherwise is definitely wrong!”

Favorite Voiceline: More About (Y/N) I-IV, (Y/N)’s Hobbies...

Ganyu the Employed

Ganyu, our dearest overworker, is one of the players in the older stage who actually has a job but still plays Genshin for their past times. The gorgeous sceneries and the music is her main focus in playing the game, not much of a try-hard but still decent in the combat mechanics.

How she pulled you: You came home within 50 pulls! And you appeared again after another 10 pull! Ganyu was so SHOOKT and so distressed because oh goodness, what does she do? She doesn’t know anything much about you!

Will rewatch your three trailers to try and understand your skills better, ended up saving the soundtracks from them because that was such a nice trailer music! Tnbee gains a new follower!

Ganyu will take a while before she can properly play or build you up because she’s so busy with work, she only ever plays when she feels fully done with her work.

During her break she plays with your character while multi-tasking on eating, earphones plugged in and sight on the phone as she farms materials and artifacts for you.

The moment she gets more help from her player friends tho, holy shit, you just ended up being so OP. She had so many good artifacts and weapons for you because she didn’t know what they were for before.

She loves how you’re so easy to use and can easily solo the enemies and even the boss fights. A huge breather, because now Ganyu can cheese the battles that takes a while, to give her more time to focus on the storyline and lores.

Since Ganyu plays for the story and aesthetic, she’ll find you almost always in her team. Still very proud of her pull, she makes the best screenshots of your fights or in the best angle through exploration.

Treasures you so much she starts talking to her phone- “Ah, no, please don’t fall.” “There’s violetgrass up there, let’s try and get it”

Blushes everytime you produce a sound when climbing, doesn’t change you anyways tho

Hums to your trailer music while working, and if permitted, would have the song on repeat while she buries herself in work. She finds it really refreshing and the time she spends in work miraculously flies by fast when she gets lost in the sound.

At one point, when she was given a day-off or if the convention was on her free time, she attends to look for cosplayers of you and take a picture. No one rejects her because she’s so adorable and cute when asking shyly.

Had brought a decent amount of merchandise, preferably the functional/practical ones like a phone cover, mug or keychain. Also has an earphones clamp with your little chibi self as the holder.

When asked, she would shyly announce that she likes your character the most.

“Their character theme and music really soothes me during work, it feels nice to have them, and I have not once regretted ever pulling for them. They are the best.”

Favorite Voicelines: Good Night/Afternoon..., About Us, Something To Share..., Interesting Things...

so enjoyable...

@moaa @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @dandelion-dreams @snackgod @rxsalinee

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #ganyu x reader #genshin impact zhongli #genshin impact childe #genshin impact ganyu #exile.circlet #exile.flower #sojourner specials #reeeeeeeeee #gender neutral

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thefantasticaldianadiane · 2 years

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More on Cyrano

Indulge me, won’t you. We will start with the good.

The Costumes

Holy shit do I ever just want to fucking feel this movie. The FABRICS! everything is floaty and gauzy and it has that sense of Joe Wright “lived in-ness” where it feels viscerally like the characters exist in this world. I am not a historical costuming expert but I loved that this movie had a look that was different from other films set in a similar era. There was a sense of Style to them that I appreciated, and between this and King by FatM, I predict that floaty capes and dresses are going to have their fashion moment. Everything Haley Bennet wears is stunning, and I love especially that they don’t shy away from showing her size. She isn’t a stick thin model and they don’t try to fake you into believing she is, rather the costumes highlight her beauty. Namely, her eyes. Haley Bennet has the kind of eyes that seem strikingly green when she wears green, and blue when she wears blue (I noticed because I do as well). I think it was a good costuming choice to stick to this colour scheme.

The Cinematography

Look at this point it is no surprise that Joe Wright makes a beautiful movie, but Lord, can’t we have more movies like this? I can’t think of any other movie makers who have such good texture to their films. Like there is so much detail, a sort of effortless clutter that makes it feel crowded. The look is pure aesthetic. No other filmmaker that I can think of seemingly arranges things to have this kind of beauty in them? There are other styles of film that are effective and good, surely, but I would love to see more of this kind.

The Choreography

I love to see a more lyrical style of dance like the one that is here. It has the elegance of ballet, and perfectly suits the flowy nature of the costumes and the film in general. More contemporary styles like you can see in the Greatest Showman are more popular today, I think, but if they ever produce that Bridgerton musical they need to take a page from this movie because the choreography was perfectly suited to the aesthetic in the rest of the film.

Spoilers below the cut

The Music

Good things about the music first. In a Taylor Swift interview, she described Aaron Dessner as having a kind of self-deprecating, rough and tumble, underdog type style. It shows in these lyrics. I can clearly see a vision of some kind of Cyrano, the one that Dessner identifies with. The orchestrations are hit or miss for me. Some songs, like “I need more” are absolute bangers, while others leave something to be desired. Where I think the music suffers is in a lack of understanding of musical structure.

I could write a whole essay about this idea alone but basically, tightly written musicals have your original song ideas in act 1, reprises in act 2. The music should help to carry the narrative, we should see change over time as characters grow and change their ideas. They kind of do this! they are almost there! Roxanne has a song that then Christian reprises when they are both first naively in love. Then at the end, Roxane reprises Cyrano’s love song which shows that she actually loved him all along.

But the ideas do not reach full cohesion because the other songs just feel so disjointed. de Guiche has a villain song, which establishes a conflict that then is really resolved in the next 5 minutes. If you are going to give your villain the honour of having a song, at least develop him as a persistent threat earlier in your movie, so that this moment feels like a climax and not just a blip. The songs are beautiful, but they are overall short, and too “pop” like to carry much weight. In musical theatre, weight is usually on the verses not the chorus, because while the chorus provides the central theme, the verses provide the meat of the song. Here the choruses get far too much focus when there is really no point to them. There is potential here it is just not QUITE there.

The Ending

How do you mess up a tragedy? By not showing the tragedy at all. This is my one sticking point in the movie because it was so good in the first bit, then in the last portion it felt rushed. Christian gives his speech that “She must have the choice” and then proceeds to make that choice for her by literally SPRINTING mad cap towards enemy lines! He should not be suicidal! He wants to be loved for himself, and if not Roxane then he can have hope of another! Then, THEN! Rather than show us WHY Cyrano continues the illusion- that is, that he is unwilling to shatter the perfect vision Roxanne had of her husband, it cuts HARD to 3 years later, and Cyrano dies. And le bret isn’t there and the moon thing is cut out but that is really a minor point compared to how stupid this was. What it really drives home is that this movie lacks a strong plot structure because with this ending handled the way that it was, what was the climax? Because everything feels like denouement after de Guiche sends them off to war.

How I would have fixed it.

1) Christian cannot die like he does. Because the ONE thing we know about Christian is that he was raised to be a soldier. Let him be a soldier then. Cyrano and he agree, that Roxanne should have the choice. They both have full intention to tell her, even if Cyrano is reluctant. Then, you have the battle scene, and you can have it play out artistically, like a song, but Christian dies like a soldier. If you want, you can have him take a bullet for Cyrano, because more than co conspirators they are friends.

2) SHOW US ROXANNE YOU COWARDS! Let Roxanne con her way to the front, and let her see her husband. Show us Le Bret urging Cyrano to tell her the truth and show him realizing that now he can never do so, because he cannot rob her of the only thing that makes this passing bearable.

3) THEN rather then a hard cut, you have a montage- Cyrano talks to Roxanne, the things that “Christian” thought about her. If you want, you let him explain some of what Christian truly was to her. A simple soul, perhaps, but kind. She can react to the idea that maybe she never knew him as well as she thought. Have a fucking song here to deal with grief a la “Its quiet uptown”

4) THEN it can be 3 years later. You can keep most of this part the same as it is in the movie, but now we can truly know Roxane’s horror at learning that Cyrano, her friend through all the years, her rock after Christian dies, her LOVE, has been in front of her this entire time, and she for all her cleverness, could not see it. She starts to sing her love song but then it morphs into Cyrano’s, showing that they have been singing two parts of the same song this entire time. Cyrano’s end line “I loved my pride” can stay. - side note on that, Cyrano’s pride being a barrier to love is an idea I wish they had elaborated more on.

In Conclusion

We need more movies like this that are so goddamn beautiful, but let me into the writer’s room before we make them so that I can make sure they end correctly.

#cyrano #cyrano de bergerac #cyrano movie #peter dinklage #haley bennet #christian neuvillete #Roxanne #cyrano 2022 #movie review #musicals #musical review

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kassandras-one-braincell · 3 years

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Eivor x Fem!Reader - Ink Me Up

Oh, what to do when the Norwegian woman tattooing your thigh is insanely attractive, clearly gay, with a criminally good bedside manner?

Warning: about tattooing and obviously needles.

Word count: 4363

Can be found on AO3 here.

Heavily inspired by this post here. The tattoo itself is purely self-indulgent. Eivor is stupidly attractive and it's not fair. (Y/N) replacer safe.

After months of saving and deliberation, the time had come. For the longest time you had dreamed of getting something big, bold and beautiful permanently inked into your skin. Something meaningful. And you wanted someone talented to tattoo it.

Thus, you found yourself scouring the web for reputable tattoo shops, hours upon hours poured into searching artists’ portfolios, hoping that someone was skilled enough at black-and-grey realism within a relatively close radius. If you were going to pay a hefty sum for a tattoo, you wanted it to be perfect. Your desktop was flooded with reference images of sword lilies – the subject of your desired ink – and about a dozen different parlours, tabs whittling down one by one during your search.

The final tab was the website for a slightly pricier shop, but one of the artist’s Instagrams utterly captivated you. Their artwork was extraordinary, the details in their pieces stunning and intricate; you decided investing a little extra cash would be worth it. Eivor Varinsdóttir, handle @wolfkissed_ink. Grinning, you emailed the artist, requesting a consultation.

You explained to the artist during that consultation that you wanted a composition of black-and-grey realistic gladioli on your left thigh. Sword lilies represented strength, after all, and you wanted to commemorate overcoming a difficult part of your life with something gorgeous and symbolic. That and, well, flowers were pretty. Within the week they had responded with a sketch that was beyond what you could have possibly thought up yourself: two stunning, bloomed sprigs of the flower with petals floating either side, lifelike as a monochrome photograph. Smiling ear-to-ear, you booked up your first appointment.

Unbridled excitement led to the time before your appointment soaring by, with you opening up the file of the sketch almost every day. Bringing us to the present: you stood anxiously outside the parlour door, 12:50pm, ten minutes before your scheduled appointment. Sucking in a shaky breath, nerves both good and bad, you stepped inside.

The tattoo shop was sleek, modern and decked wall-to-wall with flash sheets, the small designs varying in style, colour and detail. Everything was spotless, as one would expect, with shining awards dotted about. Just seeing the various trophies did well to quell some of your anxieties, knowing you were in good hands, that you’d end up with a lovely piece on your thigh. A stout man covered neck to foot in swirling Japanese designs manned the front desk, smiling warmly at you, obliterating any stigmas you had heard from older relatives about tattoo culture.

Biting your lip, you made your way to the desk, mustering a nervous smile. As thrilled as you were about getting the tattoo, the whole pain aspect was still rather daunting. “Hey, one o’clock appointment for (Y/N) (L/N)?” You fidgeted with the hem of your shorts while the gentleman checked his desktop.

“With Eivor, right?” he verified. You nodded.

“Sorry I’m a little early—”

“No, not at all! Rather you be early than late,” he chuckled, clearly sensing your worries. His eyes flickered across a clipboard. “She’s not with a client at the moment, so I’ll send you through now, if that’s alright.”

“Sounds good, thank you,” you bade, pulse quickening. Come on, you’ve wanted this for so long, you can’t pussy out now.

The guy asked you to wait by the desk as he ventured down a long corridor, the black paint giving off an ominous vibe that did nothing for your nerves. A few seconds later, he returned, cocking his head for you to follow. Your knuckles were white from gripping the strap of your purse so tightly.

He led you to the room at the end of the hall, holding the glossy black door open for you. “Go easy on her, Eivor, it’s clearly her first,” he called out, flashing you a wink, before letting the door close behind you.

Holy shit.

She was hot.

Eivor was nothing short of a modern day viking. Tall, rippling with muscle, late twenties to early thirties, blond hair strewn into an unruly braid with a strip on the right shaved clean to the flesh, revealing a fucking skull tattoo of a bird…a raven? Her face was stupidly handsome, eyes blue and icy but warm with greeting, a long and gnarly scar cutting into the flesh of her left cheek with a smaller nick protruding from her upper lip. Hell, the nape of her neck was marred with an even more vicious looking scar. She wore a tight black t-shirt that strained around her deliciously grizzled arms, which were adorned with Norse-looking runes and text curving into circles, ink that carried on to her hands and neck. The smile she offered you made you weak in the knees.

“(Y/N), right? I’m Eivor, a pleasure to meet you,” she greeted, voice deep and gravelly, decorated with a rasp that to you sounded like butter. Fuck me, she’s a tall, tall glass of water.

You shook her hand when she extended it to you, marvelling at the patterns and blacked-out bands on her long, thick fingers. Her nails were cut extremely short, confirming the strong lesbian vibe she gave off. “Likewise,” you squeaked, cursing yourself for acting like some bloody schoolgirl.

She sauntered over to her setup, weight carried in her shoulders, consolidating her already intimidatingly attractive butch energy, sanitised her hands and pulled on a clean pair of gloves. “Come on over,” she said, grabbing a disposable razor from a box. “I’ll just need to make sure the area is shaven, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” you replied, joining her by the leather chair, covered by a sheet of cellophane. It was a relief to see all the hygiene precautions taken in the shop. Eivor picked up a disinfectant wipe.

“Left thigh, if I remember correctly?”

“Mhm, yeah.”

She dropped to one knee – wasn’t that a fucking sight – and wiped down the expanse of your thigh before gliding the razor over the flesh.

Hesitantly, you asked her what the general procedure was, desperately trying to divert your thoughts from the sapphic spiral they were travelling down.

“Alright, after I’ve finished here I’ll apply the stencil. You’ll get to check if you like the placement, and if you don’t I’ll keep going until you’re happy with it. It’s a big piece, so we’ll have to split this up into two sessions, as we discussed alongside payment.” She brushed away the loose hairs and peach fuzz. “I’ll do the linework this session, and the shading next time.” With one final pass of the razor she pulled back, tossing it into a bin.

Eivor then picked up a sheet of thin paper with the sketch printed on it. She plucked a purple pen from her table. “Give me a few minutes to trace the stencil, then we’ll apply it and see how you like it.” You nodded, trying to focus on your breathing.

While she traced over each line of the sketch, she kindly attempted to soothe your fears with small talk. “I’ll admit, I’ve never heard of a ‘gladiolus’ before our consultation. Any reason why you chose it?”

You smiled. “They represent strength. I finally got through a rough spell and wanted something to celebrate with,” you explained, heart skipping a beat at the soft expression on the artist’s face.

“All the more reason to get this perfect then,” she said with a grin. The way the scar on her upper lip quirked was positively adorable. A couple minutes passed and she re-capped the pen. “Stand up straight for me, darling.” Oh.

Cheeks burning with bashfulness, you complied. Eivor took a second to angle the stencil before smoothing it over your thigh, leaving a purple outline once she removed the paper. “Just have a look in that mirror over there and tell me if you’re happy, okay?”

You walked over to the mirror and stared at your thigh. The tattoo was large – which you expected, with the amount of detail in it – and perfectly central, the loose petals appearing to float down the length of your thigh. “Perfect,” you breathed out, giving the woman a thumbs-up.

Eivor switched over her gloves and gestured for you to take a seat on the chair. “Get comfy, then. Do you have water?” Nodding, you took out your water bottle from your handbag. “Brilliant. Still want to do this?”

“Hell yeah.” Weirdly, the nerves about the pain (not about the sexy artist) had almost wholly subsided, leaving you brimming with anticipation.

She poured some jet black ink into small caps, no larger than the tip of your thumb. “Remember to breathe through it and hold still, yeah? You picked a smart place for your first tattoo, not too close to the bone.”

“I’ll try.” Eivor opened a sealed packet containing a new, sterilised needle, inserting it into her tattoo machine. She switched it on, the buzz of the machine’s piston filling the room with a gentle hum. Looking up at you, she cocked her brow – if only your gay thoughts could bugger off for two minutes – as if to ask, ready? Affirmatively, you beamed at her.

Dipping the needle into the ink, she pulled the skin of your thigh taut. Immediately, you noted the warmth of her hand on your leg, fighting off a shudder. Then came a mildly painful scratching sensation as she brought the machine to your thigh.

Honestly? It wasn’t bad. Irritating, like an itchy eye, but not drastically unpleasant. You followed Eivor’s advice, keeping your breathing steady, averting your attention to the artwork on the walls, some of which you had seen on her Instagram portfolio. Portraits, flowers, animals, realistic-looking jewellery…the woman had mastered black-and-grey. You knew you picked the right artist. The frown of concentration on her face spoke volumes about her dedication to the art, steeled and intently focused on the lines she was pulling.

When she wiped the area and reached for more ink, she glanced up at your face. “All good?” she asked.

“Yeah, no issues here.”

“Wonderful.” She set back to work, positioning her needle over the flower’s curved stem, dragging it downwards in a slow arc. “Your skin takes ink like butter, by the way.”

“Oh, that’s good,” you breathed out. Her hand suddenly felt a little warmer. Tell me this woman does audiobooks, you thought.

After a few more lines, you tried to pepper in some small talk without breaking her concentration. Fortunately, her bedside manner was immaculate, and she entertained your questions without any grudges.

“Your voice is really soothing. Where abouts are you from?”

“Oh, thank you. I’m from Norway, moved here a few years back.” She grinned at the compliment. “It’s funny, people usually say the opposite about my voice.” You wondered if they were deaf.

“It’s a nice rasp,” you chuckled. Buzzing stopped, more ink.

“I was bitten by a wolf when I was nine,” she explained. Buzzing recommenced, scratching returned. “My larynx never properly healed from it, so I’ve sounded like some chain-smoker since before I hit double-digits, despite never touching a cigarette in my life.”

“You don’t sound like a chain-smoker, though. I mean it.”

Her grin widened. “That actually means a lot.”

An hour passed by, most of it spent in comfortable silence, with Eivor checking in on you occasionally to see how you were coping. Certain patches of nerves stung a little more than others, but none of it was unbearable. That was until her machine passed over a particularly rough area. It fucking killed, the burn of the needle seemingly deeper than anywhere else, the sting infinitely more intense than before. You hissed, gritting your teeth together.

“Ow,” you winced, clutching onto your water bottle in an attempt to relieve the pain, to no avail.

Eivor continued pulling her line, her rasp coming out in a low mantra. “Just breathe through it, nice and slow…” You tried to follow, attempting in vain to relax your shoulders. “Keep holding still for me…” Your breaths came shallow but steadily so, the stinging slowly becoming more endurable. The machine reached the end of the line. “Good girl,” she muttered, blissfully of absent mind.

Good girl.

Oh fuck.

Just when your clearly gay tattoo artist couldn’t get any hotter, she comes out with some hot-girl bullshit like that. And fuck, you didn’t think you had a praise kink before, but now this certainly awakened something. Why, why did it have to sound so good in her husky voice? No, you were absolutely not going to fantasise about your artist, not when her hands were on your skin, on your thigh of all fucking places. God, this stupidly attractive Norwegian butch was making you uncomfortably hot.

When she finally pulled away, sweet bloody reprieve, you took a sip of your water. “That wasn’t fun,” you remarked.

“Took it like a champion, though,” she beamed proudly, clearly unaware of the affect her words had just had on you. “Need a break?”

“Just a minute or two, thank you,” you sighed with relief. Eivor wiped you down and analysed her work.

“We’re just over halfway there,” she commented. Only halfway? Fuck. You allowed your eyes to wander over the black lines, all perfectly smooth from practiced precision. Yeah, this woman was talented.

“I mean, that killed, and that was my thigh…” you trailed off, making her laugh. “What was the most painful tattoo you’ve gotten?”

Eivor answered without hesitation. “My head, without a doubt. Packing solid black into that thing was agony. My fingers killed, too, but all completely worth it.” You couldn’t help but agree with that last part. Her hands looked extremely good, both with and without those gloves.

“I’m guessing places with more nerve endings and by the bone are the worst, then?”

“Definitely. The palm of the hand is the most sensitive, and it’s tough to get right. Ink bleeds, skin bleeds…and if you don’t do it well it’ll just fade. All that pain for nought.”

You gulped down some more water. Ouch. “Duly noted.”

After ninety odd more minutes, Eivor switched off her machine for good, the linework finished and utterly flawless. “All done for this session,” she announced, changing gloves once more to clean and wrap the area. There was minimal irritation around each line, and the wipe felt wonderfully cool against the reddening flesh.

Once she finished placing various equipment in a tub labelled ‘autoclave’, she escorted you to the front desk. You paid half the decided fee of the tattoo and booked your second session for three weeks’ time. Eivor gave you an aftercare kit, explaining in detail how to keep the tattoo clean, how to prevent infection, and to avoid direct exposure to sunlight as much as you could. Eagerly, you listened, trying to drink in as much of her voice as possible before departing.

“I’ll see you in three weeks, then. Take care, (Y/N),” she grinned. From the moment you stepped out of the shop, you knew that grin would be engraved into your mind for the weeks to come.

The second appointment couldn’t have come quickly enough.

You spent an embarrassing quantity of time thinking about your dreamy tattoo artist, right up until the day you walked back into the shop, this time free of any concerns pertaining to the tattoo. The gentleman from before recognised you and asked how the tattoo was holding up, if you’d had any issues keeping it clean, to which you replied all was good. Only this time, Eivor came to greet you by the front desk.

“How’s it going?” she asked, welcoming as before.

“Really good. I just hope I’ve been doing everything right,” you chuckled, anxiously glancing down at your thigh. The redness had completely disappeared a few days after your first appointment, the black ink proudly meandering over your skin.

Eivor smiled reassuringly. “Trust me, you’d know if you haven’t. From here it looks like you’ve done a fantastic job of keeping it clean, anyway.” You followed her to her studio, mentally noting how she was wearing an even tighter black t-shirt than last time, the fabric clinging to the defined contours of her muscled back, biceps, abs… Needless to say, the gay thoughts had returned at full-force.

As before, she shaved and disinfected your thigh, but instead of a stencil she had the full greyscale reference images for the design printed and taped to a metal beam above her table. She took careful time in diluting various caps of black ink into a plethora of greys, experience shining through as she added precise amounts of diluter to each cap. There was something addictive about watching the woman work, with how methodical she was, how delicately she handled the bottles of ink.

When she unpacked a needle, you noted the shape was different to before. “Now, some parts are gonna be only a little rougher than before. Others will suck, I’ll warn you now,” she mentioned as you positioned yourself on the chair.

“Mama didn’t raise a bitch,” you joked. Eivor laughed.

“You handled it like a trooper before. I have zero doubts you’ll do the same today.”

And so she began, making multiple passes with the machine unlike before, packing in the different shades of grey in front of her, scratching into the already broken skin. It wasn’t massively painful, but Eivor was right – last time was a breeze in comparison. You rested your eyes and bore the pain, focusing on the faint music playing from the shop’s reception.

As previously, she was ever considerate, checking up on you as she worked – albeit not as frequently, now that you were accustomed to the needles – and encouraging you through the nastier patches. You tried your hardest to not look at your thigh, wanting the final result to be a surprise, but over time it grew increasingly difficult not to sneak a glance at her hands. Merely the thought of them flustered you (pathetic, you knew) and nothing would be more embarrassing than drifting off into a less than appropriate fantasy about the woman when she was simply being professional.

Time blurred together amongst your inner dilemma – to look or not to look – until Eivor’s signature rasp caught your attention. “Time for your least favourite part,” she said, giving you a knowing look, positioning her needle in one of the petals over the area that hurt like a bitch previously.

“Oh god, I forgot about that area.”

“Just own the pain and keep still, alright?”

“I’ll try.”

Eivor smirked: a wicked thing that could have killed every sapphic in a mile radius. “Squirm and I’ll pin you down. I’ve had to do it before, and I’ll do it again.”

That, under different circumstances, would be an appealing notion.

Closing your eyes once more, you tried to decipher the song lyrics resonating through the shop’s hall, grimacing when the needle penetrated the skin. Just focus on Rihanna, focus on Rihanna…

“That’s…not so bad, actually,” you mutter, not entirely self-assured of the words leaving your lips, hoping some placebo affect would take place.

Eivor chuckled, dipping into another shade. “You sound convincing,” she drawled.

“I’m – ow – serious… Okay fuck, that’s way worse.”

“Shh, it’ll be over soon. Find something to focus on.”

So you did, on what happened to be the first thing in your immediate line of sight when you re-opened your eyes: Eivor’s bicep. God, her shirt strained around the muscle, black fabric against tanned skin and the deep green runes littering her arm. Perhaps the ink had something to do with her ancestry, given that the woman said she was Norwegian – that or she was just a mythology nerd. Your eyes trailed over the spirals of script, the perfectly concentric circles. Mind wandering, the idea that she may have tattoos on her back and front piqued your interest. Then came the delightful image of Eivor without a shirt. Pinning you down. Fuck.

Before long the pain subsided, leaving a dull ache where the needle had worked at your skin. “All done, darling,” Eivor murmured, wiping the patch. Darling. You knew it was simply her bedside manner, trying to keep you as relaxed as possible, but damn was it having the polar opposite effect. Cheeks feeling impossibly hot, you unscrewed the cap of your bottle and took a sizeable gulp of water. She gave you a moment to breathe, now that the most difficult part was out of the way. Still flustered, you drained half your bottle.

Concern plastered on her face, Eivor leaned closer, inspecting your face intently. “Are you feeling faint?” she asked, evidently worried. “It’s important you tell me if you are—”

“No, no, I’m fine, really.” You were stuttering, annoyed with yourself that you made her worry. “Just being weird. I promise.”

“You do?” Her eyebrows were still upturned, not entirely believing you.

You nodded frantically. “Yeah, really. Please don’t worry.”

Taking a slow breath, she restarted the machine, relief flashing across her features. She gestured for permission to continue tattooing, which you granted, and set back to work.

Cursing internally, you let your eyes flutter shut, thoughts full of nothing but ‘good girls’ and ‘darlings’ in a husky Norwegian accent. Numbing yourself to the needles, you drifted off into slumber.

“Hey, (Y/N)?”

A gentle pressure squeezed at your hand, slowly stirring you, bringing you back to the world of the living. Yawning, you opened your eyes, gaze brought to a gloved hand atop your own.

“Good evening,” Eivor said, retracting her hand and watching as you gasped and scanned the studio for a clock in a panic. Evening?

“Kidding,” she laughed. “I finished up ten minutes ago.” You shot her a half-hearted glare through sleepy eyelids.

“That was mean,” you pouted. She grinned.

“I do stab people for a living.”

Snorting, you swung your legs over the side of the chair, stretching them to regain a semblance of sensation. Chest pounding with excitement, you looked to the mirror at the side of the room, then at Eivor, silently asking permission to peak at the finished tattoo. She held out her hand in gesticulation.

Giddy with anticipation, you walked over and… Holy shit.

It was beautiful.

Each shade of grey blended into one another in a perfect harmony, so seamlessly that the black outline from before was barely visible. The shadows underneath each leaf, each petal looked real. Every speckle and wrinkle on the petals shone through, love and attention going into every marking. The falling petals were akin to a photograph, with the light grey background wash tying them to the main flowers, each little shadow appearing to give them different depths. It was beyond anything you imagined. All that pain, mental and physical, turned into a lifetime of beauty.

You didn’t realise you were crying until the salt of tears rolled into your awe-parted mouth.

“I’m, well… Wow.” Beaming, you turned to face your artist, who looked at her artwork with pride. “Thank you, Eivor. Thank you so much.”

She shook her head and offered you a box of tissues, from which you took one gladly. “I’m just honoured to have helped you lay that chapter of your life to rest. May the sword-lilies battle any shreds of it that remain.”

Stunned by her poetic inclination, you dried your eyes in silence, lips curved into a joyous smile. Meanwhile, she removed her gloves.

“You have tissues at the ready. I’m guessing people cry a lot here?” you asked, finally prying your eyes away from the masterpiece on your thigh.

“Mostly from the pain,” she remarked.

“You know, you could just lie to me so I don’t feel like such a fucking sap.”

The sound that left Eivor’s mouth in response was nothing if not angelic. She practically howled in hearty laughter, echoing through her studio, her eyes crinkling at the corners. You didn’t think it possible for your grin to widen further still, but her outburst was contagious in the best way.

“I’m glad you’re happy with it. Truly,” she breathed out, chest stilling from her fit.

“It’s beautiful. Happy is an understatement.”

Eivor made her way over to the desk in the corner of the studio, where a graphics tablet lay alongside a stylus. “Now, before I dress it, I’m legally required to ask you if I have permission to photograph the tattoo for advertisement purposes. I appreciate it’s a personal subject matter and completely understand if—”

“Go for it,” you shrugged.

“Are you certain?” You nodded.

“Of course. It’s a work of art.” The smile she gave you was genuine.

“This’ll only take a minute. Thank you, really.”

She knelt down and snapped a picture with the tablet, checking the quality. “All done.” Eivor then proceeded to sanitise her hands and slip on one last pair of gloves, grabbing the wipes and plastic wrap from her station. “The photo will be uploaded to the shop’s website and my professional Instagram, if that’s alright with you. Completely anonymous, of course.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Although, it’ll be weird seeing my leg on my feed.” She chuckled.

“Feel free to email or DM if you have any concerns with the healing.” Patting your leg, she stood up to her full height, placing her gloves in a biohazard ziplock. “Well, I’m honoured to have given you your first tattoo.”

“Honoured to be your…canvas?”

And just like that, your time with the artist was up. You watched wistfully as she put together an aftercare pack at the front desk, your previously overjoyed expression drifting into a sad one. After paying, you thanked her one final time.

“Take care, søta,” she said with a wink.

The very moment you arrived back home, you whipped out a Norwegian-to-English translator and immediately tried to replicate her pronunciation of the word she called you, blushing profusely when discovering it meant ‘cutie’. And upon opening your cleaning pack, you found an addition that wasn’t present in your previous bundle:

A small slip of paper. On one side, a mobile number. On the other, in beautifully neat cursive,

I’d love to take you to dinner. Text me if you’re interested?

Yours, Eivor

#eivor #eivor varinsdóttir #eivor x reader #f!eivor x reader #female eivor #tattoo parlor au #modern au #ac valhalla

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fictionalmenmakemecry · 3 years

Text

Damon Salvatore - NSFW Alphabet

Warnings: Sex, Oral, Cursing, Fetishes, Masturbation

Ever want to know the intimate details of Damon Salvatore? Well this passage explores and explains Damon's, weaknesses, turns on and secrets.

Damon Salvatore is a very sexual person, if you're not comfortable with it, I would not continue.

Requested: @proseofpandemonium

I hope you like it !

A= Aftercare (What they're like after sex)

Damon would love to see you a mess after sex. He get up from the bed and look at you, knowing you were under his control after what he just did to you. You both would be sweaty and completely out of breath. Total smell of sex in the air.

B= Body Part (Their favourite body part of their partners)

He loves your folds, you could feel him instantly relax when he would ease into you. He also appreciated your ass a lot of the time. He would gently hold your ass as you straddled him and would get you in the mood by slapping and spreading them while making out.

C= Cum (Anything to do with cum basically .. I’m disgusting person)

He was able to dominate you with a flicker of his eyes. One of his favorite things was him watching you swallow his cum as you looked up to him. Your mouth open and a clear view of where it was going to go. You couldn't deny that it got you instantly wet. The look in his eyes would be overpowering.

D= Dirty Play (Pretty Self Explanatory)

Bondage. Damon knew what you liked, he knew the pain you found pleasure in. His little sub would be eager to try new position and new restraints. Seeing you in a vulnerable position, just made him harder.

E= Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Damon knew exactly how to read you. He knew how to read women in general but you even more. He didn't need you to tell him you were close. He already knew. He knew how to edge you so easily, even when you were try to hide how close you were to cumming. He read you like a book and that's what made him so powerful. Your and his body were so connected, no one else would fit so perfectly inside you. He had experience so much throughout his life but was always excited to show you what he thought you would like.

F = Favorite Position

The one thing that he couldn't resist was you bent over with your ass in the air. You would fully expose your pussy as you bend over and he would speed to you without hesitation. It could happen anywhere. Whether you were in the living room, he would have you bend over on the couch with your head down on the pillow with your ass high. You would feel his gaze which made you even wetter.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humourous, etc.)

Damon was pretty serious when it came to fucking. He was definitely passionate about it. Time to time, you would tease him and it would bring out his playful side when he would see you lead him on. When you had the power, he would let you mess with him but no matter what, he couldn't resist the urge to take control at the end and exhaust both of you. He always wanted to finish on his terms.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc)

He was always well groomed. He loved how freeing it felt to have no hair. Nothing got in the way when he would watch you suck him off. It made everything easier, especially the cleaning up afterwards.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

Damon was a wild card when it came to sex. Sex was passionate and heated. But there's moments when he knows you would want to feel loved and cared for. He would make you dinner, and throughout the night get closer to you. He would start kissing your neck so gently. Those pure blue eyes would show how much he needed you. Every caress would show how much his touch lingered on your skin, making shivers travel up your spine.

J = Jack off (Masturbation headcanon)

One of Damon's favourite things was when he would watch you get off. He would ask you to take off your underwear and play with yourself. He would tell you that there was nothing more attractive than watching give yourself pleasure. He wouldn't be able to resist for long and and start jacking himself off. You'd both get so riled up from watching each other.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Damon has a kink for wax play. He slowly introduced you to it by getting you use to the feel of the wax on your skin. He would lay you down and watch as he poured wax on your torso, the hot temperature gave a quick sting followed with pleasure as the wax dripped down and cooled. He would get these special massage candles, of course the smell of bourbon (He wouldn't be able to resist the scent), and they would melt turning into massage oil, he would massage your neck, back and legs. He would tease your upper thigh getting closer and closer to your pussy.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Damon was a sucker for shower sex. The hot water travelling down both your bodies and steam in the air would just make the perfect atmosphere for both of you to loosen up. Especially if him and Stefan were gone for a couple of weeks. The first thing he would want when he was home was you and him in the shower. He would strip you and you both get in, your bodies pressing up against each other. You would feel his lips on yours and his hands travel down to your ass.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

You being a brat. Any reason you would do to go against him. You loved pressing his buttons, knowing he was going to punish you. You would tease him blatantly. You would wear that dress that was slightly too short for you to go out in public, or jeans that would be that little bit too tight. You would press up against him briefly in public, let your hand linger on his arm a second longer than you should. You would look in his eyes and see a spark behind his them. You knew he was going to have his way with you when you both got home.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Damon didn't want any of your senses blocked. Whether that was sight or sound. He wanted you to be fully aware of what you were doing. He never wanted to blindfold you, he wanted to make sure you were comfortable with what you were seeing. He didn't want to make you so vulnerable that you would get hesitant or nervous.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

You giving Damon head was one of the simpler things that he could never get tired of. But when it came to him eating you out, he never went half way. He wanted to learn you inside out with his tongue and fingers. He was confident about what he was doing. One of his favourite positions was when you were sitting on his face. He loved the control you had, also loved being able to keep an eye on you.

Q = Quickies (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc)

He would have a quickie when his patience would run out, that was usually out in public or friends house and you would be teasing him all day. But he would always make proper sex a real experience, making sure you were both completely satisfied and drained before getting a good night sleep, otherwise he wouldn't be able to sleep.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks?)

Damon is always trying to be risky. That was his thing in general, so anything sexual wouldn't be any different. He was open for everything when it came to adding more pleasure and closeness between you two. He would always want to try new toys and roleplay. He was even open to pegging, but that's a story for another time.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Damon being a vampire has its benefits, one of them being his stamina. It was clearly unhuman but he would have to be realistic when it came to you. He just wanted to keep going for as long you were comfortable with. He knew that after awhile you would get kind of raw. Which meant no sex for awhile and that wouldn't be good. He mainly focus on you. He never would want to hurt you especially when it was avoidable.

T = Toys ( Do they own any toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Damon found one of your toys when trying to find something, he did his typical smirk when he showed you he found it. He asked you why you kept it to yourself. You said you didn't know how he was going to react. He was clearly over the moon to know that you were open to that type of thing. Since then, you both went toy shopping and experimented. Damon being an ass man, he loved trying anal toys with you. He gets hard knowing that you gets so much pleasure from it. You've never looked back from toyless sex since.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Damon would punish you when you were being a brat. One of the ways he would punish you would be through teasing. He wasn't into any light teasing either. He wanted you to be begging for relief. You would be a mess on the bed, tied to the bed posts. You would be spread and soaked in your own sweat and juices from his persistent oral edging and fingering. Once you learned your lesson, he would give you the relief and the most intense orgasm of your life. You never learned that lesson for long mind you. You secretly loved the punishment, seeing him with that kind of power over you was irresistibly sexy.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds do they make)

The room was usually filled with the sounds of Damon whispering in your ear asking if you've been a bad girl while fucking you roughly. You moaning your answers, while the bed banged against the wall. It was hard for you to be both quiet but both of you wouldn't care who would hear by the time you got to the end. Which became a problem at friends house, they would eventually hear you.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Damon was infatuated with your neck, he would nick your neck time to time and drink some of your blood while you were fucking. Learning early on, it made you orgasm harder from the rush of the minor blood loss. After he would indulge himself, he would kiss your neck and then cut his wrist, giving you his blood so you would heal from it. He was in control of it and knew you were in no danger. Plus, he enjoyed the taste of you immensely. When you saw his eyes turn dark and red, you knew what was coming, and getting excited for it instantly.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Damon was known for being good at sex, yes skill plays a big part but, the equipment is just as important. He knew how to use his length, he had a lot of it and knew he had to be careful with women that weren't as open to sex as he was. It took awhile for you to get use to his dick but now nothing else will do.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Unrealistically high, let's just leave it at that.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep)

Knowing that Damon has made you shake with pleasure and cry out his name. He will easily drift off to sleep no problem. You resting your head on his chest, he would stroke your hair as he listened to your heart beat slow down to a rest rate.

#damon #damonxreader #Damon x reader #smut #damon salvatore #the vampire diaries #tvd #fluff #fic #fanfic

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

Text

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐌 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ↟ 𝐓𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞

↠ summary: After receiving a few letters from your previous accomplice, your withstanding in Techno's home is questioned.

↠ fantasy au, slow-burn romance

↠ pairing: c!Techno x fm!reader

↠ tw: angst, mentions of blood, slight manipulation, fighting, language, knives, language, a lil fluff

↠ wc: ~2700

↠ previous chapter ↟ make a request ↟ create the next moodboard

this post contains an image of a letter. if you find it difficult to read, here is the transcript.

The wind howled against the cabin, snow beating against the shutters to make the structure trembled as if it was battling the cold like you were. The heavy blanket around your shoulders served as an anchor from your intruding thoughts as you attempted to self-soothe. The fire blazing in front of you was your only consoling friend as you debated whether or not Techno would make it back during the storm.

In your gross self-pity, you wondered if he even would want to come back. You had been living like a parasite in his domain for weeks, relying on him as your wounds slowly mended. How many times had he stayed up to cool your fevers, or told you to sit down when you had been on your ankle for too long? When would it be too much for him? When would he want you gone?

You had never had another person before. Sure, Dream was your friend and partner, but the two of you lived independently of each other. Techno had gained your respect and trust within a short amount of time and you hated to admit that you liked having him around.

But was it the same for him?

You pulled your knees to your chest, hugging the fabric tighter around you as you dug your nose into its velvety coloring. It smelled like Techno, a mix of pine and sage. It quelled your neediness for his presence. You debated whether or not your worry was because of your obsession with his impression of you, or the fact that he was the first person that had let you rely on them.

The blizzard grew stronger with each passing second, and you were a hairline fracture away from throwing on a jacket and searching the snowbanks for him. Your mind darted to if packing your belongings and getting out of his hair would be the option. Clearing out before he had to tell you to leave seemed almost like the better idea; the possibility of gaining back your independence secretly made you melancholy.

With that, the image of Dream came to you. In the summers when the two of you were hunkered down against a rotting log looking for one of the King’s enemies, you could practically smell the sunlight on his skin. His freckles would darken, and his blond hair would shine as if it were a ray in and of itself. If you let yourself, you could feel his green eyes on you, watching as you would dip your knife in a tranquilizing agent if your target were to be delivered alive. He would always wander into your root cellar, running his fingers along the hanging rosemary and strands of lavender.

He would always pitch the idea of poisoning the King and running away to grow mushrooms in the forest together. For most of your time as accomplices, it seemed like the perfect life but as his brain became infatuated with the poison of power and majesty, it seemed a distant fantasy only to be left for the wind.

The door opened abruptly, Techno stomping out his boots as he kicked the entranceway shut. He shook the snow from his clothing, and you pushed yourself to stand. He grabbed one of the candles, using it to light a few of the others beside the door and blowing into his cold hands for more warmth.

You approached him, leaning on the doorframe as he pulled off his cloak. “You made it back,” you chirped, hoping to mask the utter relief washing through your body. His ruby eyes flashed to you, a softness in them that warmed your heart.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, reaching one of his hands out to you to angle the cut on your face towards him. He inspected that cut at least three times a day and if you would let yourself indulge on the thought, it might have just been an excuse to touch you.

His fingers were cold against your jaw, but you had to restrain your urge to lean into his gentle touch as his eyes grazed over the cut. “Better,” you answered with a light sigh. He looked as if he were holding back something from you, something that was plaguing his conscience.

He pulled away from you reluctantly, digging into the bag he had tossed on the table. His knuckles were red from the cold, the stack of letters in his hands appearing almost pure white. There were specks of blood sprinkled on the edge of the stack. “We found another mercenary searching for you,” he let out a soft chuckle. “I know what to look for now,” he mumbled; a small ode to you. The pair of you stared at the envelopes in his hand. “These are for you,” he added, holding them out for you. There was a seal on the last one, the design mimicking the symbol on your shoulder as it wrapped around the letter ‘D.’

You swallowed, hesitantly taking them from him. He watched you carefully as you examined them, your hands shaking from the anticipation of what was in them and why there were so many. “Did you read them?” You asked; the pads over your finger tracing over the broken seal of the top one.

He shook his head. “Only enough to find out they were for you,” he assured. You trusted that fact. “I’ll leave you alone with them. I need to clean up anyway,” he illustrated, eyes scanning you as you stared down at them. He seemed to have a hesitancy to him as if he were reluctantly giving them to you, wanting to know what it meant for your future.

You nodded slowly, unable to find more words as you threaded the dark green ribbon binding them together through your fingers. Your stomach churned, knotting together as if you were awaiting punishment.

As you sank into one of the chairs, Techno left your side wearily, looking over his shoulder at you before closing the door behind him. You opened the letter he had already seen after counting at least eight letters in the stack. Your mind got fuzzy after eight. The seal was dusted with soft gold. You had always found random flowers to give the appearance of wealth and prestige to your letters when you were sending them back and forth to each other. You figured that it was real gold this time since the color didn’t stain your skin while you brushed over it.

Your heart hammered in your ears, thumb drawing against the blood that had seeped through as you read his words, his voice whispering in your ear with each curl of his handwriting.

The next letter sounded similar, detailing what had become of some of your old teams and idols. He had removed the mad King’s advisors, flushing them with his own. Each word you read weighed heavy on your heart until you figured you couldn’t take any more of the venom in his ink. The sickening nature of him begging for your return made your nerves flip. He was an old friend of yours, brought up through the orphanages as your twin practically, but that didn’t mean you trusted the man that he had grown into being. The boy you had once known was now in shreds, held together by the façade he was hiding behind.

You stood, throwing the letters into the fire and standing back, breathing rigid into your chest. Your ankle began to ache, but you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to look away. With Dream’s threats, you knew you had to leave.

“He calls you ‘hemlock,’” Techno mumbled, his voice coming out in a questioning tone, hesitant of overstepping the unspoken boundaries the two of you had set for each other. He played with his fingers, back pressed against the wall behind him as he avoided stepping into your space. He gave you an emotionless look as if refusing to show his true feelings on the situation. You weren’t sure what he thought of you after diving into that letter. “Almost like you’re some kind of…” he paused, chewing on his lip as his eyes fell to the hardwood floor and then back to your gaze. “Malice,” he finished.

Your mouth grew dry, feeling small and vulnerable in front of him. You inhale deeply, attempting to steady your nerves. “It’s always been some kind of joke for him,” you responded. You weren’t sure if you were defending Dream or fishing for Techno’s assurance.

He nodded. “It’s not very funny, is it?” You shook your head quickly, suddenly finding it difficult not to cry. It had been too long of a day for you. Techno watched you, surveying eyes waiting for you to ground yourself.

He took a few steps, sitting down and motioning you toward him. You silently took a seat at his feet, eyes trained on the fire in front of you as his scent surrounded you. You crossed your legs, taking a deep breath once again. His hands moved into your hair, softly running his fingers along the crown of your head as he separated your short locks. His touch was gentle and calming, brushing against your ear as he braided.

You closed your eyes, letting him relax you and bring you back from your frizzled edges. He was quiet while he worked, your mind silencing to only focus on his fingers. You could swear that you had never felt more at ease than you did then. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely audible, worry that if you spoke louder he would hear the extent of your distress.

His hands moved to your shoulders, finished with his words as his fingers rolled against the knots forming. You settled your cheek against his hand. “I’m not going to ask for an explanation,” he began, his thumb pressing between your shoulder blades in a sensitive spot. You focused back on the flames, eyelids feeling heavy. “But I need to know if you’re okay.”

You mulled over his words as he loosened the tension weighing on your mind. “I’m okay.”

⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫

The next morning, you were setting your plates on the counter, listening to Techno chop wood outside. The front door clicked open in a rush, a man stepping inside and throwing off his hood. His brown eyes bore into you with a wave of lingering anger you recognized in the eyes of someone when you had been on the other end of their blade. He was increasingly tall, like Techno, but his features were more child-like and innocent, apart from his eyes.

He went after you, lunging for your body as you swiveled out of his path, grabbing onto the knife beside you. Your fingers gripped onto the back of his collar, pinning him to the table with a loud thud. The blade was resting against his throat as the two of you panted, him from being caught off guard and you from being dormant for so long.

He gritted his teeth as you pressed the blade tighter to his neck. “Who are you?” You bit. His Adam’s apple bobbled against the metal as he swallowed, catching his breath.

“I see you two have met,” Techno called, a tired look in his eyes as he spotted the man beneath you.

The brunet chuckled, the sound coming out more like a frustrating example of fear than a true laugh. “I like your new guard dog, Tech,” he mumbled, spitting at you. You pursed your lips, striking the blade against his cheek to draw a bit of blood and making him wince.

Techno rested his shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms. The man’s hand reached to brush the collar of your shirt to the side, his eyes focusing on the branded symbol on your shoulder. His breath was warm against your chest as his expression changed. You continued to glare at him. “It really is her, isn’t it?” He muttered, betrayal evident in his tone. You searched his face as his eyes met yours.

“This is Wilbur,” Techno stated, moving towards the two of you. You pulled away from him, letting him up as Techno stood beside you. Wilbur’s hand reached up to brush away the line of blood trickling from his fresh wound.

Wilbur straightened up, digging into his pocket to pull out a wadded-up piece of paper. He unfolded it slapping it on the table where he had just been laid out by you. Bold letters spelled out the terms of your arrest and the price on your head. There was a crude drawing of what you used to look like staring back at you as you took half a step behind Techno’s arm.

Wilbur stiffened and it hit you. He wasn’t actually after you rather than worried for Techno’s safety. Concern was painted across his face at just how close the two of you were standing as he gestured to the Wanted poster. “I’m not sure what she’s told you, but I know I’m right,” he pleaded. It struck you that the two had previously discussed trading you into the authorities. You weren’t surprised, mainly because before you knew Techno, you would have done the same. “Think of the money. You could actually retire. Give up babysitting-“

Techno cut him off. “No,” he answered flatly, shocking you. “We’ve already talked about this.” You stepped back, leaning against the counter to relieve the weight on your ankle. Techno peered over his shoulder briefly, as if feeling you step away from him.

Wilbur shook his head in disbelief. “They’re going to continue to look for her. It’s not safe.”

Techno shrugged, indifferent towards the look Wilbur was giving him. It made you sick to think of the divide you were causing. “We’ll get her name changed then.”

You raised your eyebrows as Techno chuckled, moving to finish your job as Wilbur looked between the two of you. “Yeah, and how are you going to accomplish that?”

Without a beat, Techno replied, “I guess I’ll marry her.”

Your breath hitched, facing flushing a deep red, but before you could reply, someone else barged in; a blond panting slightly as he doubled over to catch his breath. The two men looked upon the boy, waiting for him to stop wheezing. “Tommy, go home. It’s not safe here,” Wilbur commented. His gaze shifted to you. “Techno’s harboring a murderer.”

So, this was Techno’s famous Tommy; a boy barely older than sixteen and tall enough that he could knock your head off your shoulders with a flex of his elbow.

“Wilbur, we can’t give her up. Who knows what will happen,” he groaned, standing up and putting his arms above his head. You wondered just how far he had run to get to Techno’s. “You weren’t there when we found her.” He looked to the side, giving you a half-wave as he attempted to steady his breathing. If they weren’t discussing such intricate matters, you would have giggled at him.

Instead, you cleared your throat. “I’m leaving soon anyway. There’s no need-“

Techno interrupted you. “No. No one’s going anywhere, okay?” He sighed. “Obviously, we can handle ourselves. If not, at least let her get back on her feet before you excommunicate her from my house, Wilbur,” he adjudicated, his tone quipping as if to suggest that Wilbur’s opinion on the matter wasn’t holding water. “Tommy’s right anyway. You don’t know what it was like.”

Wilbur chewed the inside of his cheek, glaring at you. You felt hot and uncomfortable under his gaze as if he were hexing you secretly. He sighed, grabbing onto Tommy’s arm as he brushed past you, knocking into your sore side. “One wrong move and I’ll kill you,” he stated. You could tell he wasn’t normally such an antagonist, and you respected his devotion to Techno.

You nodded. “I’ll let you.”

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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 3 years

Text

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

The timing of this whole thing with the campaign is pretty amazing, as it turns out. In the middle of absolute work hell and attempts to sort out my general apartment/living situation, a little while ago I entered a fic into the /r/CurseOfStrahd second annual fanfic contest. It was one of my attempts to kind of write out and process the way our own run through the module went, stretch out some poor, suffering, unused writing muscles, and it was also super duper self-indulgent. So I'm very, very proud to say it won first place amidst some really great competition, and super happy to rep my best girl Ez.

Summary: In the aftermath of Strahd's destruction and the not-quite-loss of her mentor, Ezmerelda d'Avenir sets out to tie up loose ends and lay some ghosts to rest, and continues carving out a path for herself in the Domains of Dread.

Word count: 9999, as there was a 10k limit. I had fun.

Rating/Warnings: T, with canon-typical violence, and dealing with death and loss in a general gothic horror setting. Spoilers for the Curse of Strahd module.

---

The d’Avenir Treatise on the Essentials of Monster Hunting (Vol I) - Preface and Introduction

Being a compendium of successes, failures, tricks, and warnings relating to detecting, tracking, fighting, and ultimately destroying undead, fiends, lycanthropes, and assorted monstrosities.

1.1. Introductory remarks

Their ride back to town is a quiet one. The silence is broken only once they are sitting, their hunting and travelling gear half-unpacked and strewn about, in the library just above van Richten's herbalist shop.

"Were we in any other profession, this would be a cause for celebration," van Richten's lips twist into a bittersweet wisp of a smile, and he pushes a warm cup of tea into her hands. "A demonstration of pride in an apprentice's first job well done, for all to see and revel in."

Ezmerelda tries to look up at him and meet his gaze properly, but her shoulders, her head, her eyes all feel too heavy. A leaden weight seems to have settled on every bit of her. She is tired, bone-deep, but the very thought of lying down and closing her eyes to attempt to sleep fills her with disgust and no small amount of dread. She knows exactly what she will see. The man, just on the cusp of middle age, entirely unremarkable at first... features quickly twisting into a mask of monstrous hunger, then to wide-eyed horror, and, finally, resorting to desperate pleas for mercy as the stake hits home and his screeching form dissolves to ash.

It feels like the ash still coats the back of her mouth. The tea smells of strong herbs, with just a whiff of something even stronger that van Richten must have snuck in from the liquor cabinet. Her hands clench around the cup, and a burning need to justify and defend herself drives her to finally speak up.

"I was ready," she insists. "I am ready."

"I know," van Richten replies, softly, sadly.

The tea scalds her tongue, but she drinks it anyway.

---

Getting up from the damp, cold floor of the tomb again feels like an impossibility. She can barely keep her head above the ground, eyes stinging with a mixture of blood and sweat and the glare of pure, magical sunlight. The clawed gashes on her ribcage burn with every weak, hard-won breath, and a metallic taste coats the back of her tongue.

But she is not done yet. She has one last lightning bolt left in her, and Strahd and his dusk elf lackey are so beautifully, perfectly aligned. Ezmerelda can't keep her lips from curling up into a smirk as she raises an arm and mutters her incantation, feeling that familiar tickle of static rising all around her.

She holds on, builds it up as much as she can, teeth grinding together, ears buzzing - until she can hold on no longer, and the energy flies from her, the flash near-blinding, the roar of accompanying thunder ringing in her ears.

She sees it hit home, the first traces of foggy vapour swirling around Strahd's convulsing form, and a beautiful satisfaction fills her.

Then, she lets herself go.

An instant or an eternity later someone is shaking her into jarring and painful wakefulness, jostling her head against the rough floor. Her mouth is filled with the bitter aftertaste of a potion, and she grimaces as she feels the familiar residue on her lips and chin.

"Fine, fine, old man, relax, I'm up," she manages, slurring the words, struggling to blink her eyes open and into focus. "I'm awake. Stop it."

But it's not him.

It is Ireena, wide-eyed gaze somehow growing wider still at her words. The reason for this becomes abundantly and agonisingly clear as she points to somewhere behind Ezmerelda... to where Rudolph van Richten lies, very pale and very still, a greater and more profound calm upon him than she has ever witnessed.

"No."

She didn't even see him fall.

"Why didn't you help him?" Ezmerelda knocks the empty potion bottle away, and it clatters loudly against the stone, finally finding rest near a streak of dark ashes. "What are you waiting for, what--"

"I tried. It was... it's too late," Ireena whispers, "I'm sorry."

Ezmerelda feels shame flood her immediately at the misaimed anger. "No. No, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm sorry. I just-- wait." Awareness of just where they are and what they were in the middle of doing suddenly overwhelms her, and she feels panic crawl up her spine. "Is it over? Did you stake that bastard once and for all?"

Ireena nods, mouth curling in visible distaste. "I did, just like you said to. Your last hit - it was enough to force him to turn into mist, and then, when... when he reformed in the coffin, I did it."

The relief Ezmerelda feels at that is so bitter it burns. "I missed it, then," she murmurs, and feels ridiculous immediately afterwards. Ireena shakes her head, and helps her sit up.

She allows herself a few precious moments of rest against the cold, damp wall of the crypt, eyes painfully locked on van Richten's still, still form. As soon as she feels half-capable of moving, she all but drags herself to his side. Feeling for a pulse, a breath, anything at all to help her disbelieve what is plainly before her eyes.

She finds no such thing. He's dead, and it feels like a stake through her own heart. After all her efforts, after getting into Barovia just to get the damned foolish old man off his self-destructive warpath and out, only to lose him now, to fail right at the end...

A pale shimmer falls over the scene before her, like a curtain right before her eyes. Ezmerelda blinks and shakes her head, but can't make it go away. She reaches up, and--

Erasmus all but swoops down to be face to face with her.

It takes her a moment to properly grasp what she is seeing. Erasmus. Somehow still there, his ghostly form hovering over his father's body. Gesturing at her wildly, pointing down at something, and, finally, using his ectoplasmic paint to draw... a circle within a circle, hanging in mid-air.

She follows his wordless instructions to the best of her current ability and, with some painfully suppressed reluctance, looks down at van Richten. And there on his finger is a ring that was certainly not there before.

Erasmus seems insistent and quite unusually agitated, so Ezmerelda takes the ring, trying not to register the coldness of the hand it was on, and puts it on numbly, feeling utterly beyond thought.

Suddenly, cutting through the fog that seems to have descended upon her mind, bubbling up like an idea from her own consciousness, a thought - a voice. A familiar voice.

'Ezmerelda? Ah. I see. Well, that could have gone decidedly better.'

She feels tears welling up in her eyes, an unstoppable burning in her chest. She wants to laugh until she can't breathe, or sob her lungs raw.

Instead, she sits back against the cool stone wall. As the adrenaline wears off, she becomes more aware of the extent of her injuries: the sting where foul claws raked across her midsection and upwards; the burns of magical fire on her palms. She fishes out the last potion from her pocket, and downs it in one greedy gulp. The relief is near-instant.

Her faculties at least somewhat returned to her, she opts for a laugh as she recognises the ring for what it is. Ireena looks at her with some concern, but Ezmerelda waves it away.

"A ring of mind shielding. Protect the mind, and store the soul, should the worst happen. Of course you of all people would come so prepared."

Ezmerelda twists the ring on her finger, marvels at the detailed engraving.

"Should I... we could... there's ways. To get you back. I mean..."

She trails off, and there is a brief pause before the voice in her mind pipes up again. 'No. No, I think, at long last, it is time for me to stop. And rest.'

Even though her entire being wishes to rail against this, to insist on the need for Rudolph van Richten to exist, and protest the injustice (just when she'd gotten him back!), Ezmerelda manages, barely, a soft, "I understand."

'There is still some work to do before that, though, no? Loose ends for us to take care of before, well...'

That, she feels far more comfortable with. It almost comes as a relief. "Yes, of course. First order of business, we will sit down, and we will work out a plan. And we will stick to that plan."

There is a soft chuckle in her mind.

"What's so funny? You love plans."

She imagines, in better, happier days, the old man - only slightly less old - shaking his head at her with a long-suffering smile.

'Thank you for humoring me, is all I'll say. Now, go handle things here properly and finish up, while I think of a list of priorities for us. Miss Kolyana is waiting for you.'

1.2. A brief reflection on personal experience

Ezmerelda is pulled into a room, hand clamped over her mouth. The door slams shut, and she almost stumbles as she is suddenly released.

"What in all the realms are you doing here?" The colourful half-elf carnival master hisses at her in a voice decidedly unlike the one he was just using in the downstairs taproom. Now that they are close, she can see the magical disguise of the Great Rictavio is utterly impeccable, but the eyes... the eyes are unmistakable.

They are also flooded with the closest thing to panic Ezmerelda has ever seen in them.

"I'm here to help you. You don't stand a chance on your own."

"How did you find me?"

Ezmerelda shrugs noncommittally, and doesn't look behind him. "I have my ways."

He shakes his head. "That isn't good enough. If his agents - and there are many, I assure you! - catch even a whiff--"

She finally glances at the ghostly form of Erasmus, just barely visible over Rictavio's shoulder, unable to be perceived by the one man he wishes he could reach out to and reassure. He meets her eyes and holds his finger up to his lips.

"I recognised your horse," she says, at long last.

"Dear Drusilla? Oh..." Rictavio seems to almost deflate at that, though his nervous pacing doesn't slow.

Erasmus' visage shows what has to be gratitude, or relief, or both. Then he closes his eyes, seemingly tired, and the shimmering remnants of him disappear from view.

"Damned stubborn, foolish girl..." Rictavio moves deftly around the small room, securing the shutters on its single window, locking the door from the inside, gaze darting around wildly. Then he reaches up and removes his hat, and Rudolph van Richten, looking more old and more worn than Ezmerelda was perhaps ever prepared to see, stands in his place.

"I had a plan, you know," he sighs, tossing the hat onto the bed. "One that I can now no doubt forget about entirely."

"There's no time for your endless preparation and planning. Any waiting game we try to play is a losing one. There's a young woman who desperately needs our help, a legendary weapon to be found, and there's a monster to hunt, feeding on an entire land. I've been to the castle, scouted out--"

"You've done what?"

Ezmerelda doesn't look at him and chooses to pace a small circle around the room herself. "The castle. Ravenloft. Getting in was a breeze - getting out was the hard part." She suppresses a brief shudder at the memory of her invisibility spell running out and Strahd's eyes boring directly into hers, as if he'd known she was there all along. "But, well, I managed. And more importantly, I found a way into his crypt."

Van Richten sits down on the bed, rubbing circles into his forehead.

"Ezmerelda, you can't be here." His voice sounds pained, almost. "You know you are not safe near me. My curse--"

"Sincerely, fuck your curse," Ezmerelda spits. "After all these years, it can wait a few days before striking. Can't be worse than what will happen to both of us and anyone involved if we can't manage to work together on this. We have to. I tried, by myself, but..."

She tries not to dwell on the terribly brief confrontation, the bite of the cold, cold grasp that seemed to steal the very life out of her, and her rather desperate escape.

"Ezmerelda," van Richten starts again, then pauses, and just looks at her - a long, heavy look. "Why?"

"There are still people who care about your well-being," she replies simply and softly, "no matter what you may believe."

Then she straightens her shoulders and allows the steel back into her voice. "So listen to me. We are going to stake that devil in his lair, and we are going to get out of this cursed land. Together."

For once, he doesn't argue.

---

Their lord and master may be gone, but there are plenty of foul things still crawling around Castle Ravenloft - and occasionally crawling out of it as well.

How lucky for the Village of Barovia, then, to have a monster hunter visiting.

"...so I think that should do it for that particular area of the barracks," Ezmerelda flicks a stray bit of zombie gunk off of her bracer, then casts an apologetic look at Ireena. "But who knows what else he has buried under there."

Ireena Kolyana, the girl haunted, hunted, and tormented by the vampire, deciding she's had enough of running, turning on him and wielding a sword of pure sunlight against him. Poetic justice, if Ezmerelda fancied herself a poet.

Ireena Kolyana, looking exhausted in a very different way, now caught up in burgomaster duties, barely finding time in her overstuffed schedule to hear about the results of Ezmerelda's latest expedition to the castle.

"You know," Ezmerelda begins, eyeing the stacks of papers and growing chaos on the desk between them, "if you ever get really tired of this, and miss life on the road..." she nods towards the window, and the wagon just outside it. "I have room for one more. And could always use a deft hand with a sword."

Ireena smiles, but the sadness underpinning it is palpable. "I can't, not now at least. There is too much to take care of here. And without Ismark..." a shadow falls briefly over her face, then she visibly forces it back. "Some day, maybe. I would honestly love to."

Ezmerelda nods, then moves to stand up, and holds out a hand expectantly. "Come on, you have time for a walk. A minute to escort me out and say goodbye, at least."

Ireena chuckles quietly and shakes her head, but pushes away from the desk and takes the proffered arm.

The sunlight is bright, tempered only by a wisp of white cloud here and there. Ezmerelda feels a light pull on her arm as Ireena stops on the threshold of the house for just a fraction of a moment. The hesitation is brief, barely noticeable, but the pause as if needing to catch her breath and the subsequent dawning joy - pure, almost radiant by itself - as the sunlight hits her skin--

Ezmerelda realises she's staring, blinks, and makes herself look away.

Their stroll is indeed brief, and as soon as they turn the corner and reach the parked wagon, Ireena sighs and stands half-ready to hurry back to her office and her duties.

"Hey," Ezmerelda puts what she hopes is a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I know you can handle all of this. Never doubt that."

This wins her a sincere smile. "Thank you."

Knowing there's no more point in delaying, Ezmerelda pulls away, moves to arrange her things around the wagon and prepare to leave.

"The offer stands," she says as she climbs into the driver's seat. "Keep it in mind."

"Maybe next time," Ireena replies with another sad smile. But then she pauses for a moment, almost as if thinking something over. Then she darts in quickly, and kisses Ezmerelda's cheek.

"Don't stay away too long," she says, quietly, then draws away again. Ezmerelda nods her agreement, and takes up the reins of her conjured horses.

Ireena waves her goodbye, and stands, looking on, bathed in sunlight.

And then the road turns, and she disappears from Ezmerelda's view.

'Well.'

"Shut up." Ezmerelda can feel her face burning. "Absolutely no need to read into things."

'You know I mean no offense. I only want the best for you.'

"I am perfectly fine," Ezmerelda grumbles. "Besides, this is the last thing she needs right now."

'You don't know that. Ask her sometime, perhaps, to tell you herself. Too many people have assumed too much about that young lady, I think. Myself included.'

"Oh, what do you know..."

There is a distinct sensation of stinging grief, never quite healed, as the voice comes again. 'You seem to forget I was young once. In love once. More... than once. And though it never ended well, like few things in my life did, the only thing I have ever regretted was not acting sooner. And regret is...'

"... the enemy of progress. I know." Ezmerelda sighs, the old man's oft-repeated saying rattling around in her mind as she snaps the reins and takes them down the road westward. "Maybe next time."

1.3. Materials and methods, an overview

Her balance is off still, but the past few weeks have brought incredible improvement. She flicks her rapier upwards, then lunges - back, forth, back, forth, fully and properly bearing weight on her right side in the training yard for the first time in months. The new prosthetic is truly a work of art and a masterful display of craftsmanship. Ezmerelda feels almost giddy at the sensation of ducking and weaving under the wooden limbs of the training dummy, feinting deftly, ignoring the burn in her arm and shoulder. The maneuvers are not yet close to her peak speed and fluidity and elegance, not after the long, arduous recovery she is only now reaching the end of. But it is all so very, very promising.

It also brings to mind - because how could it not, when for the better part of the past half-year she has had more time to think, and remember, and reflect than in her entire life? - van Richten's drills. He was always far more of a theoretician than practitioner of swordfighting, but he was certainly no slouch with a blade. The precision and perfection of form he insisted on instilling in her initially seemed to clash with her more free, improvisational, off-the-cuff approach, but ended up blending with it to great effect in ways that occasionally surprised them both.

She goes through attack patterns he's drilled into her and realises she misses him, the cantankerous old man and all his frustrating ways, and suddenly finds herself fervently wishing she wasn't doing this alone. She spares a moment to imagine the amount of fussing over her he would likely have insisted on, with his overprotective bedside manner that she used to chafe and scoff at whenever one of their hunts went badly for her. She thinks of all the lovely, fleeting drawings Erasmus would have made for her.

Her next step is careless, thoughtless, distracted, and as a result only a little off. The lunge is misaimed, unbalanced, and her knee twists unpleasantly. For the briefest flash of a moment she could swear she can feel the teeth sinking in again, and the horrible tearing.

Ezmerelda winces, fingers clenched around the rapier's handle, knuckles white. Her teeth grit as the wave of pain subsides so very, very slowly, but doesn't quite go away. She remembers, belatedly, that she has an audience.

"Ah, almost there," she calls back to the artisan eagerly awaiting her feedback, voice forcefully kept steady, without turning to face them, and taps her rapier on the metal plating running up from the heel. "We'll need to make another slight adjustment to the ankle joint, I think. But this is definitely and by far the best one yet. Let me get some more practice first, and we can go over the details in the afternoon."

Ezmerelda doesn't wait to see if her words are acknowledged. She hefts the rapier back up.

---

Before she reaches the first crossroads west of Vallaki, she turns the wagon south and into the woods.

"I have some unfinished business of my own to settle first," Ezmerelda states very matter-of-factly, preempting any interrogation from the ring's general direction.

The wagon trail to the top of the hill is easier to navigate than ever, and the camp is abuzz with activity, as it usually is. But this time the feel of it all is a bit different.

Ezmerelda knows it well; the air of a caravan packing up to leave.

Arabelle sees her weaving through the horses, strolling towards the large central tent, and darts towards her immediately, then freezes not three feet away. Ezmerelda can tell plain as the new Barovian day that she is torn between looking dignified and throwing herself at her in a hug.

So she crouches down and opens her arms first, and is almost knocked over when Arabelle rushes in.

"I want to show you something I've been practicing," Arabelle whispers conspiratorially, "but you'll need to lend me a dagger."

Ezmerelda's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she obliges the girl after only a moment's contemplation, still crouched down and one arm around her narrow shoulders.

The dagger is one of the smaller ones she usually keeps concealed, but even so it seems far too large in Arabelle's hands. Nevertheless, in a few surprisingly dextrous motions with only a couple of moments of hesitation, she seems to make it disappear - then produces it again as if out of thin air.

"Huh. Impressive. Did your uncle teach you that little trick?"

Arabelle nods, but her pride is palpable. "Papa was so mad! He says that both him and you are a bad influence and I am far too young to be handling blades."

"There's no such thing," Ezmerelda scoffs, but motions for her dagger back and tucks it away safely. "Where is your father? I wanted to speak with him."

"Luvash is busy," another voice cuts in cooly, and Arrigal steps out of the fading, scarce shadows, somehow slipping under her notice even with the bright streams of sunlight all around. "But you can speak with me."

Ezmerelda stands up slowly, and can see him sizing her up.

"Run along now, Arabelle," Arrigal says in a much warmer tone of voice, but without taking his eyes off Ezmerelda for even a moment.

Arabelle gives her one last look as she turns to leave, and Ezmerelda tries to give her a reassuring smile - but then she realises Arabelle doesn't seem concerned or reluctant or... anything at all. She seems supremely calm, and not seven years old at all.

Arrigal steps forward and, even as uncannily quiet as he always is, it startles her back into the moment. Then, he reaches out a hand.

Ezmerelda meets his gaze, steps forward, and takes it. The handshake is firm, and she smirks. "Looks like you backed the losing side, cousin."

The term of address rolls off her tongue with some bite of irony in it. Arrigal inclines his head in acknowledgement. "You can't say it wasn't a fairly sure bet. A matter of survival, of course. We do what we must to keep our people safe. But," and he draws a bit closer, as if letting her in on a secret. "I'm glad he didn't send me after you."

Ezmerelda nods, and decides she isn't in the mood for a debate. "You know, so am I. I would have hated having to kill you. Instead, here you are, in an excellent position for a little introspection, changing your ways... much better this way, isn't it?"

He shakes his head with a grin, and finally lets go of her hand. "You are a menace. But we follow the traditions, and you have a place here. Where are you going?"

"Borca," she says, and pointedly doesn't elaborate further.

Arrigal laughs. "Off to more of your grim business right away! Well, one has to admire your tenacity. You can stay, of course, and leave with us tomorrow. We will share the road at least part of the way."

So Ezmerelda stays, and exchanges news of recent caravan routes and planned Mist-traversal with Luvash. The fire roars to life as the sun sets. Tales are told, and she contributes some of her own.

"Regale us, cousin," Arrigal says, grinning wolf-sharp, arms open wide as if to encompass the entire camp, "with the story of the fall of the devil Strahd."

Arabelle is a delight, as always. The truce with Arrigal, if it can be called that, is uneasy, but holds. The ring is quiet.

Arabelle insists on riding with her in the morning ("You did fish her out of that lake... brought her back to us," Luvash grumbles. "I suppose there's no harm... I'll have none of that monster-hunting nonsense, though!"). Her delight at the summoned magical horses is palpable, even as she tries to hide it. Ezmerelda gives her the reins until they need to enter the Mists, and is only slightly surprised to see her managing well, with just a few pointers here and there.

The whole way, Arabelle demands stories of her and van Richten's exploits very matter-of-factly - interrogates, almost, at times. Her eyes are large, intent, focused, as Ezmerelda obliges, for hours.

"I knew you would win," Arabelle says at one point, breaking a rare longer stretch of silence between them. "Uncle didn't want to listen to me, but I knew."

Ezmerelda looks at her, matches her seriousness. "I hope he will learn to listen, one day soon."

1.4. Common pitfalls

Ezmerelda inches back to consciousness more than wakes, and hisses as she almost reflexively tries and fails to sit up. She recognises her own bed in the former guest room above the herbalist shop, but the details of how she got there are fuzzy at best, completely absent at worst. She is, however, very aware of a merciless pounding in her head and that she has most certainly just pulled some fresh stitches.

A swirl of colourful ectoplasm greets her when she next opens her eyes, Erasmus' fleeting but always lovely and cheerful greetings hovering above her.

Well. Ezmerelda forces a pained smile at him, knowing that if he is here, his father cannot be far, and--

Ah. Familiar footsteps on the stairs, and the distinct creak of the second one from the top, as Rudolph van Richten enters the room with uncanny timing.

He doesn't seem to be surprised to see her awake as he gives her a quick look-over, even as concern and frustration clearly war on his face.

"I thought we had reached an agreement," he begins at last, very deliberately calmly.

Ezmerelda doesn't reply.

"I thought," he continues with that same calm tone, "that we had made a plan. That was my distinct impression of our last conversation."

Ezmerelda clenches her teeth, then grinds out, "I couldn't just stand by and let that beast--"

"You could have voiced your disagreements with the plan and brought your concerns to me, instead of running off on your own in the middle of the night," van Richten is clearly struggling to keep his voice level. "You almost died."

"Fine, I am voicing my disagreements. We know it's a wereboar. Just go at it with our silvered weapons, set up an ambush where we found its lair... why wait? Why give it more chances to hurt people?"

"To be absolutely certain we have all the information. That we have looked at it from every angle, that we have not overlooked a crucial detail. Minimise its chances to hurt us."

"But by then it might have mauled half the village to death, or worse!"

Van Richten's gaze on her is sharp. "And if we get ourselves pointlessly killed, are the villagers any safer for our hasty, brash, ill-thought sacrifice?"

"Hasty, brash, and ill-thought. Fine, if that’s how it is, how you think of me," Ezmerelda throws her hands up, and wishes she could march off, slamming a door shut behind her for good measure, as childish as the thought makes her feel.

Van Richten sighs deeply, and pulls up a chair to sit next to her bed. Ezmerelda recognises it as one from downstairs, and feels a small stab of guilt at the thought of him setting up a vigil at her bedside.

"We can't go rushing in on half-checked information," van Richten begins, after a brief silence, looking down at his hands. "We can't, because... because I have done that, in the past. And people - good, brave, dedicated people who chose to stand against evil, people who trusted me - died as a result."

"I have been wrong," he continues, still not looking up. "I have followed faulty sources without the due diligence of thorough enough vetting. I have overlooked things, and I have lost many. I will not and cannot allow that to happen again. We have to be careful, patient, and vigilant, always."

"I'm not advocating for blindly rushing in," Ezmerelda protests, "I'm merely--"

"I won't have you on my soul as well. I have far too many already."

"And I won't have any more innocents on mine! We had all the relevant information two days ago. Four people could have been alive today if we had acted on time. We were right."

"And what about when you aren't, Ezmerelda? What about when you aren't?"

Ezmerelda looks him right in the eyes, steely. "Then I will make sure I am the one who pays the price for my own mistakes."

"Oh," van Richten smiles sadly, "If only that were possible."

---

The letter arrives just as she is preparing, to her great relief, to leave Port-à-Lucine for good. It is hand-delivered by an ostentatiously dressed man in a stylised fox mask, entirely - and Ezmerelda feels her lips curl in annoyance - unassuming and usual for the land of outrageous pretense that is Dementlieu. The way he seems to disappear in the moment it takes for her to glance down at what he has thrust into her hands is also something Ezmerelda finds hard to marvel at anymore.

Overjoyed to be able to return to the relative privacy and safety of her wagon, she tosses away her old harlequin mask in the sincere hopes of never having to put the damn thing on again. Then she throws herself on the bed and focuses on tearing into the sealed envelope, absorbing its mysterious contents.

After she reaches the end of the letter's brief text, she stays very still for a long while.

'Not a name I thought I would see again, if I am to be honest,' van Richten's voice comes slowly, sounding very wary.

Ezmerelda breathes out a frustrated sigh, an unidentifiable jumble of feelings warring in her chest and burning up her throat. She tries to reply several times, then stops, and closes her eyes. Collects herself, at least somewhat, and decides to focus on the practical. "How do we even know this isn't a forgery, or some sort of trap?"

'We don't. But it is a loose end I, for one, am not prepared to simply overlook.'

"She's tried before, but I never... I don't have time for this right now, I--," she throws the letter and the shredded envelope onto the chest at her bedside, and runs an annoyed hand through her hair, again, and again, and again. Thinking, or at least trying to.

'We have time. You and I both know it's not time that is the problem.'

They are nearing the end of their planned journey, finishing up their business with Alanik Ray and Arthur Sedgwick's latest investigations and bidding farewell to Dementlieu. And then it was supposed to be on to Mordent, to call in at the Mordentshire shop briefly, and afterwards to Darkon - to Rivalis, and the villages surrounding the old Richten estate. Some ghouls to fight off, wraiths to purge, ghosts to lay to rest, to help the villagers out, before... well. They'll come to that when they do.

Ezmerelda can't deny the detour would only be a brief one.

"A 'loose end'," she huffs. "Really."

'I am just trying to help you. Don't waste years of your life like I have, either bitter or wondering or fleeing. Confront your - our - past, at least this part. Lay it to rest, if you can.'

"The past does not lie behind us. It is part of what we are, and part of what we always will be," Ezmerelda recites, then sighs again. "Old Vistani saying."

A moment of silence. 'Make sure it is a good part, then.'

Ezmerelda's memory of her mother feels... not fuzzy, but perhaps a bit tweaked and twisted over the years, more by feelings overtaking it than by any fault of recall. The images of what she remembers and what now stands before her don't match, but have a strange, dissonant overlap, leaving visible in the centre a woman Ezmerelda could almost, almost imagine seeing in the mirror. One she hoped to never see again after that night of wordless parting, many years ago.

Years of imprisonment seem to have been surprisingly kind to Madame Irena Radanavich. She has wormed her way into some kind of favour with someone powerful here, no doubt, as has always been her utterly unscrupulous way. The cell is clearly a formality, more of an office than anything, a parlour for receiving agents and lackeys, as well as bosses. There is even a chair - a worn, old wooden frame with faded red upholstery - placed a little ways away from the bars, facing them. Ezmerelda also gets a distinct impression that the guard standing in the corner is not there for any visitor's safety or protection.

The woman in the cell seems to light up the moment she sets eyes on Ezmerelda strolling into the cell space with a pretense of casualness.

"My, how you've grown! My, and yet-- oh, darling," concern seems to flood her face and voice, and - there, a subtle, wry twist - Ezmerelda thinks she catches a false, even mocking undertone to it. A flash, and it’s gone, and perhaps she merely imagined it, or even wanted it to be there, an ache for some semblance of simplicity to box this woman in. "There's both more and less of you than last time I saw you."

"Really?" Ezmerelda scoffs, and almost wants to laugh. "All those tales I've heard of your vicious, clever, insidious scheming, and that's the best you can come up with?" She crosses her arms, and clicks her metal heel against the floor loudly. "Not an angle you can use against me, I'm afraid. Try again."

"You wound me!" A dramatic hand placed over her chest. "Treating your own mother like that, who has never had anything but your best interests at heart. Who you've never even come to visit."

Ezmerelda slips the opened letter through the bars, letting it land on the hewn stone on the other side. Then she moves to sit down on the solitary chair.

"I'm only here because I got your letter."

"Oh! Good. My dearest Ezmerelda, I was--"

"I am here to tell you I want you to leave me alone," Ezmerelda continues, acting as if she hasn't heard a word. "For good. Forget I exist, preferably. I want nothing to do with you, and I never will. And the only thing I might want to do with your plotting and scheming is foiling it, so it is in your best interest to leave me out of it all. And van Richten..."

The saccharine smile dips down, almost into a scowl. "And here I'd heard you'd finally seen sense and parted ways with that old fool."

"You hear much, I see," Ezmerelda replies, cooly.

"I have my ways. My sources. People loyal to me, who have yet to abandon me."

Ezmerelda feels the swipe like an airy almost-cut of a dagger that just barely misses. "Well, here's something new for you, then. Something your little web-weaving spiders seem to have missed. You'll be happy to hear he's dead."

"And right away you come back to me! Time to end your silly games, eh, Ezme? Good, good. A start--"

"You have no right to call me that," Ezmerelda cuts her off, rapidly losing her will to restrain herself.

"Come now, dear. That's no way to talk to your mother, your own flesh and blood. It's about time we set all this nonsense aside, don't you think? Your family--"

"You're no family of mine."

"Please," she scoffs loudly. "You sound like an angry child. And... oh, really, what kind of name is 'd'Avenir' even?"

"My name," Ezmerelda replies, perfectly matter-of-fact, and refuses to even entertain further discussion of the matter.

"I wonder how you'll do," Madame Radanavich smiles, but this time the threatening edge is obvious, pretense briefly abandoned, "all alone. Playing your little games of pretend with your make-believe name. You'll come crawling back to me yet."

Ezmerelda finds herself thinking of Erasmus, and almost believes she can see him, out of the corner of her eye. Tries not to think of what this confrontation might be bringing back for him. Thinks of the Martikovs welcoming her with open arms and offering shelter even in the darkest and dourest and most dangerous of days; thinks of Ireena with the sunsword and an entire wealth of feeling tangled in a tired, relieved smile somehow brighter than the blazing sunlight itself. Of nights around the fire in the camp outside Vallaki, and little Arabelle pulling on her coat, extorting promises of lessons in both swordfighting and divining. Of Arthur Sedgwick and his honest, caring eyes, and his patient instruction in properly using a flintlock, as his husband gleefully offers detailed scientific explanations of the weapon's workings from the side. She twists the ring on her finger.

"I'm not alone," Ezmerelda says simply, and feels resolute steel pouring back. She stops to consider her next words more carefully.

"I watched your actions and your curse destroy a good man's life. But I want you to know that you wanted to take from him, and in the end you took from me, the daughter you profess to care about so much. And now you crow at me about flesh and blood and expect me to, what? Beg you to let me come back? Back to what? A mouldy cell and as short a leash as the current master feels like giving you?"

"Bold words for one given to following an old wretch around like a sad pup, even as he keeps trying to kick you away," Radanavich sneers, then shifts back to sad pity in the blink of an eye. "Oh, yes, my dear, it's so very tragic... I've heard it all. Look at you - you're wasted on him."

"Oh?" Ezmerelda raises an eyebrow cooly, clamps down on the sting to her pride and the deliberate scrape against old wounds, and almost wanting to scream you are the reason he feared that daring to care about someone would be a death sentence for them. "And what would you prefer to be using me for?"

"How dare you! After all I've done for our family, while you throw your lot in with the man who killed your brother and imprisoned your mother!"

Ezmerelda feels suddenly tired, more than anything. "You know he did no such thing. And I've done very well for myself, despite you."

"Have you, now? What price have you paid for your... profession? What has it cost you already?"

"Nothing I wouldn't be ready to pay ten times over if it meant ensuring the safety of an innocent, or beating back those such as you. You still don't understand," Ezmerelda just smiles sadly, allowing only the slightest undercurrent of danger. "I'm neither lost, nor settling for anything, nor desperately grasping at a chance, nor tragically misguided. This is what I want. This-- this cause, this fight, this is exactly what I was meant to do. And I am very, very good at it."

"Oh, Ezmerelda, if excitement and adventure and glory is what you are after, I know of much that you could do! So many causes that your... talents... would be an excellent match for. You do have a certain reputation, and I know several highly influential actors who'd know exactly where to put your skills to use, no matter how they were acquired. You could do so well for yourself! Rise right to the top of the ranks in the blink of an eye, become truly great."

Ezmerelda shakes her head, and sighs, and moves to get up from the sad, solitary seat.

"Ezmerelda--"

She quickly turns towards the bars and leans in, baring her teeth and grinning widely. "I killed the devil Strahd," Ezmerelda smirks at the look of shock she gets in response. "I think your petty schemes are a little below me, don't you?"

She turns to leave, not waiting for a response. The guard leans back in his corner as she moves away from the bars, waving him off.

"Oh, do feel free to let your masters know," she tosses over her shoulder nonchalantly as she makes her way out. "Though I have to say I haven't really looked into whose lapdog you are nowadays."

Ezmerelda hears a frustrated growl behind her as the sickeningly sweet, pleasant mask falls for good. As the door slams shut behind her, she doesn't look back.

She lets the noise of the city drown out her thoughts as she slowly makes her way back to her wagon, more than ready to be on her way elsewhere. Until, after a while, a familiar voice comes swimming up through her mind.

'How do you feel?'

"I don't know," Ezmerelda murmurs, after a long silence. "Ask me tomorrow."

1.5. Notes on useful classification and categorisation

As she finishes rattling off the information she's gathered on a series of apparent annis hag encounters that van Richten asked her for, he looks-- well, 'impressed' is the only word Ezmerelda can think of to describe it.

In the ensuing moment of quiet, he takes off his spectacles, fidgets with them briefly, polishes off a smudge with his handkerchief. Then, he looks her right in the eye. "You, girl, are a veritable sponge."

Ezmerelda flashes him a smug smile, then remembers the other matter she wanted to bring to his attention. She clears her throat, and begins, with uncharacteristic hesitance. "I've also been looking into some... other things. Another way I can contribute, I think."

The only reply is a raised eyebrow, so Ezmerelda steels herself and decides to go forward with her planned demonstration. She quells the nervous fluttering in her stomach, and instead focuses on the points of her own fingers as they trace well-practiced patterns in the air. With a final flick and a quick mutter of the incantation she's quietly recited so, so many nights in her room when she was supposed to be asleep, the very air around her right hand shimmers with heat. A few tense moments later, a small mote of flame appears in her palm.

Ezmerelda bites back an exclamation of joy at the success, tries to keep her expression fairly neutral, and looks to van Richten expectantly.

His eyebrows are, very amusingly, trying to climb into his hairline. "Where in the world did you learn to do that?"

She lets the little flame dance between her hands, casually skip from one to the other, flickering giddily, and feels an odd sense of relief wash over her.

"I saw it in one of your books. Almost by accident, and it... it just made a lot of sense to me, even just skimming over it. So I thought, why not? If I could get a handle on a few of the spells, I could complement your arsenal quite well. Bring more to the fight."

Van Richten nods, but there is a wary undertone to his words. "As long as you aren't making any ill-advised deals and pacts - which, I'll remind you--"

"-- are all of them. I know. Don't worry. I'm only interested in things I can glean by myself."

"Well, I'm not much of an arcane practitioner, though I am quite familiar with a lot of theory. I'm afraid I won't be able to provide any elaborate training or instruction--"

"That's fine," Ezmerelda rushes to say. "I can continue like this. The research, the books - it's..."

She trails off, not quite knowing how and what to explain. Arcane magic is fascinating, surprisingly enjoyable, and strikes a deeply satisfying balance between being hard-won and feeling like it comes naturally to her.

It also feels... hers.

"It's very engaging material," she finishes after a little while. She moves to close her fist and extinguish the tiny fire, but something stops her at the very last moment.

"Indeed," van Richten replies simply, and gets up from his seat. "Well, I do need to go tend to the shop, but rest assured we will discuss the tactical applications of this later today."

Just as he is out the study door and about to start down the stairs, he pauses, and turns back to look at her, a bright and sincere smile on his face. "Very well done, Ezmerelda."

The flame flickers, ready to fly from her fingers, bursting with potential.

"Thank you," she murmurs long after he is gone.

---

It is deep nighttime when Ezmerelda shakes off the last tendrils of the Mists and sets eyes on the cliffs of Mordentshire. The wagon's wheels clatter over rain-slick cobblestones as she navigates the still-familiar streets of the seemingly unchanging harbour town. The cold sea wind makes her tighten her coat around herself, to very little avail.

She can't say she's missed the weather.

By the time she spies the sign neatly painted with the words Herbalist - Dr. Rudolph van Richten, she feels soaked through and entirely miserable, and spends only a moment giving the place a quick look-over.

The shop is in fine shape - if she didn't know better, Ezmerelda could easily believe its owner closed it up for the night and left just yesterday. The wolfsbane and garlic in the planters underneath each window are flourishing. She makes a mental note to make her first order of business in the morning calling in on the neighbors and discussing further arrangements with Mrs. Polk, in whose capable hands van Richten has been leaving things for years.

In the meantime, she fervently hopes for dry clothes and a workable fireplace.

A quick rummage between two bushy wolfsbane plants - the second and third one on the right - produces a spare key, and Ezmerelda remembers with mild amusement her shock at this mundane weakness in van Richten's usually impeccable and overthought defenses, years ago.

"Keys," he'd looked at her over the rim of his spectacles, "are hardly a problem for things that truly want to harm me."

The little bell chimes as she opens the door. Catching a glimpse of herself in the very precisely placed full-length mirror just opposite the entrance, she wastes no time before going upstairs. The second stair from the top creaks its old, familiar reassurance.

Ezmerelda enters the room that used to be hers, in between harrowing hunting trips and trying adventures, during her years training with van Richten. It doesn't seem to have changed much - nor does it seem to be in use as anything but spare storage space.

She does her best not to think about how empty and quiet the house is, or how she's never truly been alone in it. Instead, she hangs up her coat, rolls up her shirt sleeves, unpacks some of her things, and, by the time she gets a proper fire going, realises sleep is the very last thing she feels like doing. Her eyes alight on the small desk in the corner, and she instead decides to do something she hasn't in a while.

She sits down to write.

First, Ezmerelda takes off the ring and sets it aside, muttering a quick good night, Doctor under her breath. Then she takes out some of her collection, observations accumulated over the years - jotted down on everything from thick parchment to old wrapping paper. Combining it with the wealth of van Richten's remaining material and into something eventually coherent will no doubt be a challenge, but a challenge is not something Ezmerelda d'Avenir has ever shied away from.

It is just haphazard, quick notes on anything of consequence that comes to mind at first, carried by an odd nervous energy. A more systematic approach will have to come at some later point.

While knowledge is a key weapon in any hunter's arsenal, honing one's body as well as mind is absolutely necessary, she writes, tapping her foot on the wooden floor in a way that often drove van Richten to distraction. Many of the creatures of the night become, in their cursed states, inhumanly strong, and in such instances one must be particularly careful of engaging them in close quarters, for even the greatest strongman would be at a disadvantage.

However, not all of these encounters need be solved by violence. Many ghosts

She pauses, pen slowly dripping ink onto the half-filled page before her, and sees Erasmus out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head to face him, and for once in their long and unusual life-and-afterlife-spanning acquaintance, she finds she can't quite read him.

Many ghosts are held in their in-between existence due to unfinished business. Tethered to some regret or incomplete task from their mortal lives, they seek resolution and closure. Many hauntings can thus be resolved by investigation, and what I must term a primarily sympathetic approach. Of course, one must also always be wary and on the lookout for deliberately misguiding spectres who seek to play upon one's pity.

The first signs of dawn creep into the room by the time she has moved on from ghosts to wraiths to trying to sort out her notes about creatures that lurk underwater - old notes that have been, to her chagrin, very appropriately and unsalvageably waterlogged.

Ezmerelda manages to light another candle just before her current one sputters out, and rubs at her tired eyes. Then she pauses, gazing idly at the ink stains on her fingers.

She reaches over for a new page, setting her current work aside. There is something else she wants and needs to write, something other than dry facts or hopefully helpful guidelines. The first few sentences come in fits and starts, but soon enough she finds them flowing out of her pen almost of their own accord.

What I would like to make clear is that this is not an inherently bad place. The lands themselves can be beautiful - wondrous, even. Worth living in, and worth fighting for. And the people who live in them do not deserve to live in fear. I, and many others, could simply leave for some better, tamer prospects, yes - but then what? Nothing is gained if we merely surrender an entire world, a collection of lands so fantastically varied and so full of promise, to a cruel, merciless, hungry night. It can't all be abandoned as collateral damage in a great punishment intended for a horrible few. I can't, and won't, allow this to happen.

Maybe the foes are overwhelming, and the fight endless. But a life saved is a life saved. A victory is a victory. One innocent snatched away from a grim fate, one tendril of darkness beaten back - that is enough. But only if we persist at it, day after day after day. And evil may be impossible to ever completely destroy, but it is far weaker and less widespread than it could and doubtlessly wants to be, in at least some small part thanks to our continued efforts.

A dour prospect? Perhaps, for some. Ezmerelda smirks to herself, and gazes down at her veritable manifesto, and thinks back to that cell in Il Aluk.

What better life is there to lead? None, for her.

I, for one, don't intend to give up anytime soon. I hope that in you, dear reader, I can find one of like mind. And perhaps one day we shall find ourselves standing together.

She lights another candle, and continues.

1.6. Conclusions and remarks on future work

She clenches her hands as she steps into the sitting room that morning, decisions made after a long, sleepless night of contemplation. As if fate is conspiring against her, the first thing she sees is Erasmus, hovering over his father's shoulder. He turns to face her as soon as he notices her, a bright smile he saves just for her on his pale, ghostly face. She knows what a struggle it is for him to manifest this way, how much it takes out of him. The thought of his precious few minutes today being this...

It takes immense effort to speak up, interrupting van Richten's apparent focus on the post strewn about the table in front of him.

"I think... I think it's time for me to go."

"Go? Where?" He blinks, looking up from his papers.

Ezmerelda swallows, but hesitates only for a moment. "I don't know," she answers, chin tilted up, almost proud. "But I know we can't go on like this. I don't want to go on like this."

They butt heads and scrape against each other constantly. Chafe and grate and, and, and. She can't remember the last time they agreed on even the most cursory thing. It has reached a level where she fears his presence will become intolerable, and anything binding the two of them together become irreparably soured and tainted.

She refuses to allow this to happen.

Erasmus has drawn a coin. Two sides. He indulges in a small, semi-teasing pantomime, pointing at the two of them as his shimmering, ectoplasmic drawings hover briefly before vanishing like so much smoke, and Ezmerelda shakes her head sadly.

"I don't want to come to resent you, that is all. I don't think I could bear it if I did."

"If you think it for the best, by all means," van Richten says simply, and leaves it at that. He never turns to fully look at her. There is an undercurrent to his voice Ezmerelda can't quite place - something deeply tired, and far more complicated than plain sadness.

It rains heavily that morning as she sets off, as if the world itself wants her to rethink this. The muddy road squelches almost threateningly under her horse's hooves as she leads him forward.

Van Richten doesn't come out to see her off.

"I'll miss you," she breathes to herself, and half-hopes it somehow reaches both of the companions she is leaving behind. But she has only the rain and her horse's steady trot on the trail for company.

It is quiet.

---

Finally, the familiar mists of Darkon, and the countryside of Rivalis, lie before them. The inevitable, at a familiar estate fallen into quite a state of disrepair.

'No, leave it be,' van Richten said, at her hesitantly presented idea of including returning Richten House to at least some of its former glory on their list of unfinished business and loose ends.

Still, this is where he wanted to come. At the end.

Ezmerelda never saw it in its prime. She was a mere child then, kept well away from her family's machinations. Until she was (inevitably, irrevocably) drawn in, her fate forever entangled with that of the van Richten family. But even now, in all its disrepair, rich traces of what the gardens, the orchard, and the house itself used to be permeate the atmosphere, like ghosts themselves.

She walks across the hills of the grounds, all the way around the mansion to the family cemetery. She slows as she moves up to the two most recent graves, so easy to find, and thinks, briefly, of the body van Richten insisted on being burned before they left Barovia, just in case.

Just in case, she agreed, knowing all he knew about what foul magic and foul intentions could do to physical remains in the wrong hands, and built him a pyre.

The headstones before her are simple but elegant, as is the tidily engraved lettering on them.

Ingrid van Richten

Erasmus van Richten

'Well, here we are.' For a disembodied voice softly projecting into her mind, almost as through a mild haze or over some great distance, it is one of the heaviest things Ezmerelda has ever heard.

'A few words, if I may,' van Richten's request comes, gentle, and she nods, finding herself oddly wordless.

'I am so proud of you,' he begins, and the ferocity of it almost startles her. 'I hope you know this, always. If I have ever made you doubt this, as I pushed you away - I am sorry. I regret many things in my life, as one does, no matter what I like to say - but most of all I regret that I didn't tell you this sooner.

You are the best of my life. But more than that, you have grown far beyond me, into a finer person than most could dream of being. And I am sorry I wasn't there for you, that you had to do so much of it on your own. But know that when I see you... I couldn't be happier, or more in awe.'

There is a very brief pause, and then the voice softens again.

'I love you as my own, and am deeply honoured you would consider me, and that I get to consider you, family.'

Ezmerelda swallows once, twice, struggles, then finally lets her tears fall freely.

'Look at you. You don't need me anymore. And I can only hope your legend will far surpass anything I have ever done - there is so much ahead of you! Your light stands so very bright against the darkness. But I am glad, so very glad - selfishly, perhaps - that we were there together, at the end.'

"So am I," she manages a whisper. "Love you too, old man."

'Now I suppose it is time for me to go.'

Erasmus looks at her, bittersweet pouring from him in waves, and he gives a small nod. His form flickers, and then disappears, and Ezmerelda knows she will never see him again.

She knows how the ring works, too. The soul within it can choose to depart whenever it wants to. She knows she doesn't need to do anything - that she couldn't, even if she wanted to. It brings with it a strange sort of peace.

Ezmerelda inclines her head. "I hope you see them soon." Tell Erasmus I'll miss him, she wishes she could say.

She spins the now-inert ring around on her finger, a habit she will need to break. She wants to tear it off, and throw it as far away from herself as she can. She wants to never take it off as long as she lives.

A soft rain starts up, and Ezmerelda feels oddly grateful for the feel of it on her face, even as she knows there is no one here but her.

It is quiet.

---

With gratitude to the notes and tutelage of the esteemed Dr. Rudolph van Richten, whose guidance and wealth of knowledge have proved invaluable on countless occasions, and whose friendship changed the course of my life more than once.

#ezmerelda d'avenir #rudolph van richten #curse of strahd #dnd #dungeons and dragons #fanfiction #my fic #oathkeeper writes things #erasmus van richten #ravenloft #gonna take my horse to the old svalich road #tabletop

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