「 image isn't mine. sourced from pinterest. 」
「 this was supposed to be a re-vamp of "love bite" but, well, i guess i got a bit too carried away. this one's pretty long, so have fun! 」
「 tw: possessive behaviour, swearing, non-consensual biting, mentions of blood, mentions/implications of violence — read with caution. 」
"don't touch that!"
crash!
"oops. :("
"oops? that's all you have to say- don't give me that look."
":("
"fuck you."
"ohhh, i like the sound of that-"
you groan in frustration, rubbing your throbbing temple. pieces of a broken flower pot lie carelessly on the tiled floor—a flower pot that was meant to house your newly grown Daffodils if someone could keep his hands to himself.
he frowns at your distress, snaking an arm over your shoulders to pull you in. his free hand rests snugly on the small of your back. right where it belongs.
"i'm sorry, sweetheart. i'll get you a new one, okay?"
you shake your head, making your way through the array of potted plants within your shop. once your hand grasps the familiar wooden handle of your broom, you reply.
"no. it's alright. i can just order another one; it wasn't that expensive, anyway."
he hums, looking through his phone. at this point, you know he hadn't listened to a single word you said. he's been your closest friend for years. by now, he's probably-
"i got you a new set. they'll arrive in a few days. is that alright, honey?"
-already ordered another one. actually, he ordered more. you don't even need that many pots right now! you can feel another headache settling in.
"okay, whatever. what are you doing here, anyway?"
you sweep up the sad pieces of the flower pot, sending your Daffodils an apologetic look. 'i'm so sorry, my babies. i'll get you a new home soon, i promise.'
he watches the exchange, eyes squinting. you're no stranger to the look. you've seen it more times than you could count on two hands.
or, well, you assume that was the case. you're not really counting-
while you're cleaning his mess, the man in question leans idly on the counter.
'how strange,' he muses. he's seen the way you coddled your.. shrubs. for the last time, they're not shrubs!
maybe you were unknowingly born with the ability to talk to plants? or you simply have some form of connection with your babies, as you liked to call them.
or perhaps you've simply lost your mind ages ago, so you've convinced yourself that the shrubs- they aren't shrubs!!
-sorry, the not-shrubs could communicate.
wait, did you talk in his head?
you ignore his sudden confusion, opting to mourn over the loss of a perfectly good pot. fly high. you will be missed. after dumping the broken pot, you turn back to the insufferable man.
"you didn't really answer my question."
"what? am i not allowed to visit my favorite florist?"
"mind you, i am the only florist you know. besides, you're too busy to pay any unnecessary visits."
he laughs, muscles flexing as he pushes off the counter.
"alright, you got me. so you remember when i told you that i've found her?."
her? oh! he means his, uh, what did he call it? ah, right. his destined pair. pfft, that sounds cheesy as hell. why can't he be normal and say he fell in love?
"yeah? are you going to man up and tell her? you've been dancing around it for years; you haven't even introduced me yet!"
with a snort, he crosses his arms.
"well, sorry. i don't really find the need to introduce you."
eh? you take personal offense to that!
with a dramatic gasp, you clench the fabric of your top, right where your heart is.
"i've been your best friend for this long, dealing with your stupid ass for years, but you won't tell me who the love of your life is? i see how it is."
he smiles, "i.. don't think we'll still be friends after i tell you.."
what?
"don't tell me, is it my sworn enemy!? i can't believe you would settle for that-"
he denies it immediately, face scrunching in disgust.
"absolutely not. i would sooner choose to marry a horse."
you crack up at that, clutching your stomach as you laugh.
his eyes soften with a small grin. sometimes, he wonders what he'd done to deserve you.
you, with eyes that light up every time you see him. with that smile stretching your lips into a carefree curve; delighted and so full of life. you fill his heart with an immeasurable amount of love. if only you know what you do to him.
everything about you is so perfect. you're mesmerizing. you're his everything.
but he's not the only one.
just thinking of all the eyes who've dared to look at you..
his smile falls.
if only he could gauge their eyes out; or better yet, he could keep you all to himself. he'd mark you as his own, give you everything you could ever want or need. it isn't hard for him to do as he pleased.
but at what cost? you wouldn't be happy. you would hate him. but worst of all, he would hurt you.
and he couldn't hurt you. never.
and yet, as he watched a customer—another man—flirt with you, he couldn't help but rethink his choices. would it be better for him to take you, after all?
his eyes darken.
you're stuck.
after you had closed the shop, you were forced down.
he held your trembling wrists, firmly pressing them against the counter. 'his hands are cold,' you noted, breath hitching as he stared you down.
"look, i know i said 'fuck you' earlier, but i didn't mean for you to actually do so-"
"shut up."
you did.
he was mad, you could tell. frustrated, even.
why? did you do something wrong? were you being too mean earlier? did he find the secret stash of snacks you've been hiding from him-
you squeak when he hauls you up by the waist, fully lying you against the wide counter instead of the previous awkward position.
"w-wait, seriously, we can talk about this-"
you're cut off when he grips your chin, roughly forcing your eyes to meet his own.
"you know i don't like it when you avoid my eyes."
he's only an inch away from your face; his stare holds an intense wave of emotions. they swirl within his eyes, almost unreadable to you—but one stands out.
you lean your forehead against his, facing him head on. you don't avoid his eyes. you're not scared of looking directly at him, even in this situation. that might be another one of the reasons why he's fallen so hard.
"why're you hurting?"
his eyes crinkle as he grins. such a sweet human. no matter the circumstance, you never lose your heart. do you not find him threatening? he stares at the guilty little twinkle in your eyes. how can one be so cute.
you're not making this any easier for him, are you? he can barely control himself as is.
your eyes catch a glint, honing onto his sharp fangs.
what-
"ah, the cat's out of the bag."
his voice sends shivers down your spine, and unconsciously, you move back.
he doesn't allow it, however, as he guides you closer. his fingers draw up your leg, leaving a trail of heat despite the contrasting temperature of his hand.
he stops at your thigh, pulling it up to his hip.
he's so fucking close.
"i can feel you shaking, sweetheart. are you scared?"
you shake your head, but he's already caught the traces of fear that linger on your features.
"lying is a sin, love. weren't you the one who taught me that?"
the next moment is a blur.
he leans down, fangs poking the skin of your neck. dread settles into the pit of your stomach. the fear comes after; and then the panic sets in.
but it's already too late.
you whimper, biting your lip to distract you from the pure, unadulterated pain. your trembling hands find their way to the back of his shirt, tightly clutching the fabric.
you don't even realize that you're crying until he rubs your cheek, and you feel the tears sliding against your skin.
his fangs sink deeper, and the agonizing pain melts away, replaced with a growing heat in your abdomen. you stifle a moan, the metallic taste of your blood lingering on your bitten lip.
he keeps you against the counter, a hand tracing circles on your waist. suddenly, you're not scared anymore. your heart beats erratically, but you find nothing out of place. in fact, everything feels right.
a headache surfaces, and you groan into his shoulder as he pulls away. a drop of blood trails down your neck, but he licks it off. you shiver, feeling hyperaware of every movement.
he smiles at your dazed state. he rubs your head, pulling you closer when you bury yourself in his chest, nuzzling into his embrace.
his eyes trail down to the mark on your neck, and he grins with pride; kissing your temple.
you'll probably be mad when you're not dazed anymore..
no matter, he'll make it up to you later. right now, he can't wait to take you home.
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I just want to say, that I agree with almost all of your Critical Role takes and you have 1000% better and more nuanced takes than all of Twitter and I greatly appreciate it! The takes over there regarding Liliana and the gods are just wild and you bring some much needed sanity to the content I see
Thanks! I hope you don't mind because I've been thinking about this re: the Twitter takes but the thing about Twitter and Liliana specifically that I've seen is that there's this really bizarre fetishization of like, the fact that she is a (white) southerner (this also weirdly happened for Birdie though to a much lesser extent, and the person who spearheaded that wasn't even American so I have to assume this is a specific corner of Twitter Culture At Large). And like, here's the thing. It's true that fantasy tends to be very British in its accents, and it's also true that accents in a fantasy world are used to convey the same things we'd assume in our world - RP British for educated, southern American for rural, Cockney for rougher types, etc.
It's also true that laying the exact socioeconomic parallels from our world onto, say, Liliana and Orym (who reads to me as non-regional but I, like Liam, am from the Northeast originally) is a recipe for disaster. Or rather, it's not, but it is going to reaffirm your own biases, some of which are dangerous to reaffirm.
There was a popular post on Tumblr a while back, probably not long after Trump was elected, of someone talking about how they were convincing a relative with the confederate flag towards socialism by appealing to the idea of "isn't in unfair how uneven wealth distribution is and how a small group has so much control" and a number of people were rightfully like "uh, maybe you should focus on the racism" or "hey OP ask your relative who they think that small group in control is because I'm getting a really bad feeling they're going to say it's The Jews." And I feel that a lot of the empathy for Liliana from those spaces feels like that OP. Or in other words: I get that you see your relatives in Liliana. Unfortunately, I cannot help but see me and mine in Orym.
You see someone trapped by circumstance and desperation in a dangerous ideology. I see the fact that I haven't gone to a synagogue in easily 6-7 years without there being a security guard present and usually, the doors locked with someone looking through the window to let you in, and then in the sanctuary there's been an installation so that you can quickly bar all the doors in case an alarm goes off or you hear shots in the lobby.
I think there's a great case for seeing yourself in Imogen, who is in a painful struggle with the fact that her mother does love her very much but is in dangerously deep and has done a number of incredibly terrible and harmful things. That latter point is important, incidentally; I get that cult members sometimes rise through the ranks but all but the leader are being manipulated. But the fact remains that a brainwashed person can still commit atrocities, and in this story, they have, many times over. It's especially true because like...sure, plenty of people are like "I lost my relative to a cult and I just want them back and I couldn't harm them," but also, as we've seen, this cult can and will harm Imogen! Plenty of people are also like "yeah I gotta cut them off, it hurts but unfortunately my horribly bigoted and violent relative, while a victim of brainwashing, is a threat to me too." It's not even the full picture of the Temult side of things, let alone the picture that includes the Vanguard's victims.
I also think the Southern gatekeeping is unhinged because it's like. guys there's QAnon members and other cults across the country; the Confederate flag example above was actually notable in that OP wasn't even Southern so you couldn't even write the flag off as deeply misguided heritage but rather was explicitly being used as a hate symbol. It's awfully presumptive to assume all southerners have the same experience (especially since the Temults are portrayed, physically and in accents, as white southerners, not that the experiences of white southerners aren't also incredibly varied). It's awfully presumptive to assume that people find Liliana threatening because they have no personal experience with people like her; often, it's because they have all too real experience with people like her, and it says something even worse about you if you can say "but you guys, I see me and my family in Liliana" when people are telling you that they see them and their families in Orym. I would not, personally, publicly admit that one's empathy extends to the people who remind you of your family but runs out before it reaches their victims. Nor would I publicly admit that I assume everyone who disagrees with me clearly has never had personal experience with this topic.
I should also note that, as I've noted a number of times before, that these are fictional characters and not real people. Twitter seems to be really fucking bad at grasping that. Like, yes, this is the other thing; I do not think that OP should kill their Confederate flag-toting relative, whereas if Imogen did so to Liliana I'd be like "hell yeah." The former is a real person who I do hope gets deprogrammed, just, you know, maybe adjust those priorities; the latter is a fictional character in a story.
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