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babydollmarauders · 1 year

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PARIS — NICO HISCHIER

part of the Midnights Fic List

summary: in which y/n is so in love with Nico, that she doesn’t care about any of the gossip her friends tell her about her exes.

specific lyrics: “your ex-friend's sister met someone at a club and he kissed her. turns out it was that guy you hooked up with ages ago; some wannabe z-lister. and all the outfits were terrible. 2003 unbearable. did you see the photos? no, i didn't, but thanks, though.” and “i’m so in love that i might stop breathing.” and “privacy sign on the door, and on my page, and on the whole world. romance is not dead if you keep it just yours.” and “i wanna brainwash you, into loving me forever. i wanna transport you, to somewhere the culture's clever. confess my truth, in swooping, sloping, cursive letters.”

notes: this was originally a lot longer, but tumblr hates me and deleted over half of it. so if the second half is worse than the first, then i apologize; i was trying to rewrite from memory and i know there are some parts that i couldn’t remember for certain.

“did you hear that John got engaged?”

i peek up from my spot on the floor, glancing over to Ella who sits in the armchair across the room. Tara and Naomi are sat together on the couch, wide eyes and excited smiles.

“no.” i shake my head, my lips flattening in a straight line as i continue flipping through the magazine in my hands.

“yeah, he got engaged last week. but the kicker?” Naomi speaks this time, pausing for dramatic effect. “Ella heard from Carrie, who heard from the fiancée’s sister, that the girl is two months pregnant. it’s a shotgun wedding.”

“and she’s forty-one compared to his twenty-eight!” Tara pipes up. i glance up again, offering a furrowed brow and an uninterested nod. why were they telling me these things?

“cool. i mean, we’re adults, age doesn’t really matter anymore.” i shrug, and now it’s their turn to look at me like i’m crazy. our exes are usually our favorite topic for gossip, but that was before i met Nico eight months ago. now it’s typically been gossip about their exes. “besides, maybe they are getting married because she’s pregnant, but they could end up being really in love.”

“but- this is juicy?” Naomi says, her face scrunched in confusion. Ella and Tara nod along with her, clearly confused by my disinterest. i shrug once more, my focus falling back down to the magazine that rests in my lap now.

“John just isn’t part of my life anymore. i don’t really care what happens with him. i wish him the best in his marriage and fatherhood, though.”

“the best?” Ella balks, jaw hung open in surprise. “the man who cheated on you with three other women? you wish him the best?”

“i’m over it. did it hurt at the time? yeah. but, i’m happy now. if he hadn’t cheated on me, i wouldn’t’ve found my way to Nico, so it worked out in my favor.” i confess my feelings, and the girls all share a look, raising their brows in suspicion.

“that’s actually really mature of you, y/n/n. i’m proud of you.” Tara tells me, the other two nodding in agreement.

“what can i say? Nico’s been good for me.” i laugh, and they all giggle before returning to their own magazines.

“does it ever bother you that we’re not public?” Nico’s voice breaks me out of my trance. my hands, which were previously rubbing cleanser on my cheeks in circles, freeze and i look at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. he stands in the doorway, frowning down at his phone, leaning against the frame.

“no, why?” i ask. “does it bother you?”

“well, no. it was my idea.” he sighs, slipping his phone on the counter and making his way over to me, entangling his arms around my waist as i continue washing my face. “but, i don’t know. i just saw Shara’s post with Darya and i wondered if maybe it upsets you. i know girls like to be posted and admired, and i feel bad that i don’t do that.”

i finish washing the cleanser off my face, patting dry with a towel, before i twist around in his arms. placing my hands on his bare chest, i give him a soft smile.

“Neeks, i don’t need to be posted in order to feel admired. you make me feel that way every day just from your simple actions. i mean, just yesterday, you went for a run and came back with a bouquet of flowers. last week, you surprised me with a movie night and homemade pizza, when you could’ve very well spent that night sleeping early considering you were leaving the next day for a quick roadie.”

“but-” i press a finger against his lips, signaling for him to be quiet.

“i don’t need to be posted because i like our privacy. besides, the important people know. our friends, our family, they’re the only people we care about knowing, the entire world doesn’t have to know in order for our relationship to be real. if anything, i think it’s kept the romance alive because we’re living in the moment. we’re not taking our phones out to get pictures of our special moments; it’s just us enjoying our time together. i love you, and i know you love me. i don’t need us to be public in order to feel loved by you, because you make sure i’m aware of it every day.”

“ich liebe dich von ganzem Herzen.” he slots his lips between mine, soft and sweet, tasting like his mint toothpaste. we part, and i smile up at him.

“i only caught that first part, but i love you too. so much.” i step out of his grasp to walk back into his bedroom, glancing behind me to see him following me. slipping into bed, he copies me, turning his bedside light off and slinging an arm around my waist, pulling me into him so that we press against each other. my eyes fall closed, and i’m on the verge of sleep when i hear him mumble.

“ich möchte dich eines Tages heiraten.”

i’m spread across the couch at Naomi’s house this time, Ella sitting with my feet in her lap, Tara in one armchair, and Naomi in another.

Ella paints my toenails as Naomi and Tara gossip back and forth and i lay with my eyes closed, just listening.

“y/n.” i pry open my eyes to look over at Tara, humming inquisitively. “did you hear?”

“hear what?” i ask.

“your ex-friend, Gianna? her sister, Izzy, met someone at a club and he kissed her.” she tells me. my brows form a ‘v’ as i nod in understanding.

“okay?”

“turns out it was that guy you hooked up with ages ago; some wannabe z-lister.” Naomi chimes in. “remember him?”

“umm, vaguely, i think. Jake something or other. right?” i peek down at Ella, who stopped doing my toes in order to listen more intently.

“mhm!” Naomi hums before huffing out a harsh laugh. “and all the outfits were terrible.”

“like, 2003 unbearable.” Tara laughs. “did you see the photos?”

“no, i didn't, but thanks, though.” i tell her, shaking my head.

“do you wanna see them?” Naomi asks, tapping on her phone a couple times before i offering it to me.

“no, thanks.” i scrunch up my nose, shrugging.

“oh. okay…”

“i do!” Ella exclaims, swapping the nail polish in her hand for Naomi’s phone. “oh god!”

“it’s horrible! right?” Tara laughs, but i just frown, sitting up on the couch. “he’s wearing a camo thermal shirt under a polo! like dude!”

“guys, that’s mean.” i scold.

“it’s not mean, it’s the truth. if you saw the pictures, you would understand.” Ella giggles, offering me the phone once more. i push it away, shaking my head.

“i don’t care about what happens between Jake or Izzy.” i tell them. Ella shrugs, handing the phone back to Naomi and going back to painting my nails.

“you seriously don’t care?” Tara asks and i shake my head.

“not really. i’m at a good point in my life, Nico makes me really happy. i don’t care what my exes or almost exes are up to.” i admit. “i don’t mind all the other gossiping we do, i love gossip, but i really don’t care for hearing about my exes. it doesn’t affect me in any way, so why do i need to know about it? if they’re happy, then good for them.”

“who are you and what have you done with y/n?” Ella jokes, making us all giggle.

“i really love Nico. he makes me happy, which in turn, makes me content with what happened in the past. i don’t need to hear about the bad karma that’s hitting my exes, because i just don’t care about them anymore.” a soft smile spreads across my face at the thought of my boyfriend.

“i love Nico for you. this relationship is so healthy and i can tell how good he is for you.” Naomi tells me, her voice gentle and happy, a grin on her lips.

i stare down at the piece of card stock in my hands, tracing my cursive with my eyes.

‘kick ass tonight, captain!

p.s. i wanna love you forever

lovingly yours, y/n’

smiling in content, i tuck the note into one of Nico’s skates in his duffle bag for him to find later. a tradition i’ve come to look forward to, it started about two months into our relationship, when i slipped a note into the tupperware holding his pregame snack. when he got home after their win that night, he told me he looked at it during both intermissions. that was the night we said ‘i love you’ for the first time. so now before every home game, i write him a note and stick it somewhere in his things, in order for him to find it before the game, to give him a boost of confidence.

“darling, have you seen my keys?” Nico’s voice carries in from the living room, and i swipe his keys off the counter before padding to the entryway of the living room to find him digging in between the couch cushions.

“right here, love.” i smile, watching his head snap up and his sight lock on the car keys dangling from my fingers. he lets out a sigh of relief, making his way over to me.

“what would i do without you?” the question is rhetorical, but i can’t help but jokingly answer.

“walk.” i shrug. chuckling, he nabs the keys out of my hand whilst simultaneously planting a gentle kiss to my forehead.

“will you be here when i get back?” he asks, raising a hand to gingerly cup my jaw. i nuzzle deeper into his touch, nodding.

“of course.” i tell him before joking again- “i don’t have ESPN+, so i have to use yours on your tv to watch the game.”

he chuckles again, leaning down to press a quick but sweet kiss to my lips before bidding me goodbye. i wish him a good luck, watching as he leaves for his game.

“where’d it go?” i wonder aloud, scouring the bathroom countertop for my chapstick. Nico always puts it back after he borrows it, knowing it’s part of my nightly routine, but he must’ve forgotten today.

leaving the bathroom, i go back to his bedroom, scanning the top of his dresser for the lip product but coming up empty handed. i let out a deep sigh, moving on to his nightstand. not spotting it on the top, i open the drawer. but my brows furrow when i get the drawer ajar, only to find it empty other than a stack of cardstock. pulling one out, i flip it over in my hands, my eyes softening when i read the words swooped across the paper.

i pull out the stack, shuffling through them. my eyes prick with tears at the realization. my notes. i never knew what he did with them after the games, but i guess i assumed he just threw them away. but i was wrong, because they’re all here. all accounted for, dating back to the very first one. kept safe in his bedside drawer. tears slide down my cheeks, my heart pounding in my chest at the sweet gesture.

i place them all back in the drawer, swiping at my face to dry it, and giving up on my chapstick.

laid in bed, a book is gripped in my hands as i await Nico’s return after his big win. i perk up at the sound of the front door opening and shutting, placing my bookmark in and closing my book as Nico opens the bedroom door.

“hi, superstar!” i cheer, dropping my book onto the nightstand. a bashful grin spreads across his face as he drops his bag on the floor by the end of the bed. i shuffle on the bed, sitting up on my knees, facing the edge of the mattress. “two goals and an assist, and first star of the night. i’m so proud of you!”

“thank you, love.” he steps in front of me, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him, chest to chest. “did you see what i did after them?”

heat rises to my face as i think back to what he did after both goals. the gesture that he told me long ago meant he was dedicating those goals to me; a quick tap to his lips.

“i did. thank you, baby.” wrapping my arms around his neck, i crane my own, settling a gentle kiss onto his lips. parting, he lays his forehead on mine.

“i want to love you forever.” he tells me, making me giggle.

“using my own words on me?” i question, switching to bury my head in his neck. his hand rubs up and down my back as we hug in silence for a moment.

“i think that may have been my favorite note so far.” he admits, whispering in my ear.

“yeah?” i pull back to look at his big brown eyes, my favorite color for the past eight months. he hums an agreement.

“i’m so in love with you. sometimes, it feels like i might stop breathing.”

“you are the best thing that’s ever happened in my life.” i confess. “i love you. so much.”

“is it too early to ask you to marry me?” he questions. a joke, i assume, and i let out an airy laugh.

“maybe a little bit.” i tell him. “but how about we compromise?”

“and just how do we compromise?” he asks.

“how would you feel about me moving in with you?” a wide grins spread across his face at my words, happily nodding.

“i would love that.”

#nico hischier imagine #nico hischier #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier fic #nj devils #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #faithlynn’s writings <3 #midnights fic list

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mochalate · 1 month

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[3] precipice ; porco galliard (1/2)

pairing: porco galliard/f!reader chapter word count: 24.6 k chapter content/warnings: secret meetings in the dark, crushing on your bf/gf, porco's scandalous sexual history, some angsting about marcel, girls' night out chapter summary: The most precious secrets are the ones that are the hardest to keep. a/n: this is overdue, isn't it? 🤭🤭posting as two parts because I learned tumblr has a post length limit!! As always, please let me know what you think, I love hearing from my fellow galliard girlies. <3 Read on AO3? || See Series Masterlist? [<-Chapter 2][Chapter 3 (2/2)->]

chapter 3: Wine and Moonshine

The walls in the basement are whitewashed and plain.

Above, in this part of Liberio that comes alive at night, the cobblestone shines dully in lamplight that spills through the windows of the establishments lining the streets. Men whose faces are flushed from the drinks they’ve spent the last of the week’s wages on stumble along; past the ones who pull their hats low over their face as they alight from horse-drawn carriages.

They’re all going to the same places— in character, if not in extravagance.

People who haven’t ever set foot in this dimly lit neighbourhood often think these men are looking for a fairytale with the women they visit. And perhaps they are; but they still know what happens when the clock strikes midnight. They’re counting on it, in fact. Not one of them is willing to take the grime back to the lives they live under the sun.

(Never mind the ones who can’t leave.)

But that’s above.

Below, in the basement, is a woman who prefers the moon (like most people who are doing things they shouldn’t be); and a man who doesn’t really care either way.

Someone has made an attempt to make it look like an office; but the single folding chair, uneven table, bare floor, and the shelf that’s empty save for a single newspaper give the impression of a stage set— an approximation, rather than a real space. The only item of any character is the heavy, locked iron cabinet that’s pushed against the back wall.

The room’s two occupants have nothing interesting to look at, except each other.

Evie makes a mental note to have some books put on the shelves.

Theo Bauer shuffles nervously in the light of the single, bare bulb. The concrete under his shoes is scuffed and unfinished. “Do you think Thomas will be here soon?”

“Like you have somewhere to be.” Evie scoffs. “Shut up.”

She agitatedly picks at the flaking paint on her folding chair, peeling back small strips of grey. They fall from her red-tipped fingers; and Evie watches them fluttering to the ground, somewhere between ashes and snow. With the chill metal beneath pressing against the sides of her palms, she's reminded of another life; of an ornate-handled fire iron, and of coaxing flames out of glowing embers.

In that life, Evie had been Evelyn.

In that life, she'd scrubbed floors and washed clothes until her nails cracked and her fingers bled. Dust banished from furniture, only to turn into a cough in her own lungs. Bannisters polished to a shine that rivalled the mirrors; and mirrors polished to the point she found herself indulging a little more each time, in her fantasy of walking through them. She wished for a world where everything was the opposite of what it was.

Evie remembers Evelyn crying herself to sleep every night. Covers pulled up over her head, forcing herself to stay silent, not able to breathe because her nose was blocked up; and clearing it meant breathing in or breathing out, meant noise, meant the other maids hearing. And then everything would be even more complicated. In those moments, Evelyn had wished for a friend. Someone who was stronger than her, who could tell her it would be alright in a way that she could believe it. Someone like Evie.

And that was the problem, all that wishing. Nothing ever came from just wishing, because fairytales aren’t real.

Theo looks hurt. “You’re in a bad mood.”

“Do you think we’re friends, Bauer? Is that where you find the courage to speak to me like that?”

He grins impishly. “No, I just have nothing to lose.”

Evie glares at him. Theo Bauer was dangerous. Perhaps not in the way Thomas was— prone to bouts of unpredictable violence— but dangerous all the same. He had a way of rolling with the punches, and a mischievous air that invited you to try it with him. You wanted to trust him, and you wouldn’t realise until it was far too late that you never could come up with a reason why.

Evie coolly flicks out a piece of rolled-up paint from under her crimson nail. “Perhaps. But you’re not getting out of working for me. I know you don’t have the courage to end your own life, and I won’t do it for you.”

Theo was dangerous, but he didn’t know it. And Evie wouldn’t be the one to tell him. Every action of his was a reaction, innocent— almost childlike— in his lack of thought. Who else would dare shoot at Thomas, Eldian or otherwise?

It’s a shame, she thinks, that Theo couldn’t have put that charm of his to better use. The castles he could have built.

Theo gapes. “Now why would I want to do that?” There’s no mockery in his voice. He’s genuinely shocked.

Evie doesn’t answer. She only thinks that Evelyn was wrong to wish for a friend like her. No, that wasn’t quite right. Evelyn wasn’t wrong for wanting Evie, but she could never have convinced her that it would be alright, not in the way Theo could have. It would have been a lie.

Evie prefers truths.

There were three truths that separated Evie from Evelyn, and this was one of them— there was a way things would be for you, and no amount of wishing would change that or make it ‘alright’.

(So she’d changed who she was.)

The second was that everyone and everything had a price.

(The price for becoming Evie had been a few nights with the master, a handful of coins for rat poison, and ten kilograms of gold for the coroner.)

And the third, that people are selfish, without exception. They’re selfish in different ways, and sometimes it would complement your own selfishness in a way that fools you into thinking neither of you are.

(But that was a wish and nothing more.)

Theo, for instance, was the most selfish man Evie had ever seen.

Thomas may have been a piece of shit, but at least he knew it. Theo Bauer, on the other hand, was selfish like a child. Pure, and untempered.

There’s a high pitched, echoing creak as the flimsy metal door at the top of the concrete stairs swings open. A man steps onto the small landing. Evie watches him as comes down, confident and sure-footed despite the narrow steps and lack of railing.

“Where’s the money?” he asks, as soon as he’s downstairs. His voice echoes in he sparse space.

Evie draws out a stack of notes from inside her coat. “Not even going to tell me hello, Thomas?” She tosses it at him.

Thomas catches it with a single hand. “I’m not really in the mood for pleasantries. On account of the agony from the hole in my shoulder.” He sends a murderous look at Theo, as he begins to count the money.

Theo laughs nervously.

Thomas is a large man, broad-shouldered and tall. He’s dressed in a suit that he fills out well, and has his dark hair neatly combed back. Theo looks lankier and scruffier than usual, standing next to him. His sleeves fall slightly back as he thumbs through the notes, and the glint of an expensive-looking watch peeks out. The sliver of metal is dazzlingy golden even under the drab light.

He looks satisfied, and nods to himself as he tucks the money away. “I’ve got three more names for you,” he says as he takes a brown envelope out of his breast pocket.

Evie nods at Theo. His muscles are tense— he’s ready to bolt at a moment's notice, as he cautiously accepts the envelope from Thomas and hands it to Evie.

She doesn’t open it immediately. “Are these worth my time?”

“You’re running an extortion racket,” Thomas scoffs. “Anything is worth your time. Take what you get.”

“Watch your tone when you’re in my building,” Evie snaps.

“Or what?” Thomas asks, eyes darkening. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Evelyn.”

“It’s Evie,” she growls, the heat of anger blossoming in her chest.

Theo is watching the exchange like it’s a tennis match. “Come on, you two. We’re all friends here,” he ventures, with a nervous smile.

There’s silence as Thomas coolly regards him. “No, we’re not.” He turns on his heel, and makes his way back up the stairs, hand raised in a nonchalant wave. “I’ll be back next week.”

Evie’s eyes follow him as he leaves. Her pulse is still quick, her breaths fast and shallow. Evelyn. Would the girl ever die? Sometimes, Evie feels like it had all been a dream to begin with; a dream Evelyn is having with the covers pulled over her head, closed eyelids bathed in filtered moonlight.

The jam tastes sweeter than usual. It’s chill on your tongue, against the comforting warmth of fresh toast. You lean against the kitchenette and chew slowly; savouring the strawberry flavour.

You’ve got time.

A cool, early morning breeze blows through the open window next to you. It tickles the skin near your temples, where your hair is still damp from washing your face.

You don’t think anyone else on this floor has gotten up yet. The common room is deserted— no one’s jostling for the coffee pot, or frantically hopping themselves into their stockings. The misty morning sky is almost white, a blanket over the still-sleeping world. Traces of last night’s card games lie scattered across the table.

You weren’t there, of course. You were with him.

Galliard.

You cup your hands around your coffee mug, and inhale the aroma, feeling the steam wash over your face as you smile softly.

Galliard, with his kisses that were somehow blunt and careful at the same time; just like he was. With his golden-brown eyes; so gentle and sincere, the rest of the world had stopped mattering. You believed in that moment, that one day you would sit under the elm with him too— in a place where the shadows dancing across his face weren’t cast through the gaps in the blinds.

You press your fingers to your lips, and shiver as you remember every inch of his body pressed up against yours. How he covered your lips with his, again and again, increasingly desperate each time. It had been all you could do to breathe in the seconds between; but you would have let him do it for as long as he liked.

There wasn’t anything you would have denied him. Not then.

The thought makes your face warm to the tips of your ears.

You take a hasty sip of your drink, brows furrowed.

What is he doing right now? Is he thinking about you too?

The thought of having to wait for the sun to go down, when it’s hardly made its way up into the sky, makes your chest ache. But the idea of looking the other way if you saw him before, when your heart is this close to bursting, leaves you nauseous.

Fondness surges in your chest, and sours with nowhere to go. The hours to the evening stretch out endlessly before you. There’s a painful tightness in your throat as you drink, and you rub at your suddenly damp eyes.

(Is this what it meant to be lovesick?)

Despite what people seem to think about him, Porco doesn’t really break the rules.

He listens to his CO. He never stays out past curfew. His uniform is always spotless, his hair well within regulations. He doesn’t punch Marleyan soldiers in the face, no matter how much he wants to; not even when they start up with their ridiculously one-sided sparring matches.

And, despite what people think, it isn't something that’s ever been particularly hard for him. Yes, his life is mired in unfairness, a ridiculous amount of it, but he isn’t consumed by righteous anger. He— like every Eldian child— has been raised on the idea of consequences, and the bountiful amount of them that would be his reward for any momentary thrill or satisfaction. It only made sense to follow the rules.

Nothing about leaving you in that clinic had made any sense.

He’d stood at the threshold of the outside door, willing himself to step across the line, to follow the rules into a world where he wasn’t supposed to be by your side. Trying to tell himself that it would make sense in time; that he would be able to forget the way you looked at him with those pleading, hopeful eyes. That he could be happy with just the memory of your voice calling his name.

He’d stood there, and realised he couldn’t walk away a second time.

And then, he had brazenly broken the rules.

Tonight, he’s going to break them again.

But right now, it’s mid-afternoon. This far into the year, the days aren’t quite as warm; and the breeze that gently billows the curtains in Zeke’s room is pleasantly cool. There’s a map rolled out across the table, its corners weighed down with plates and teacups. Zeke leans back comfortably in his chair as he speaks. It could have been a chat among friends, if it weren’t for the confidential intelligence reports strewn in front of them.

Pieck points at the southern coast. “Tell the brass to increase naval patrols near Karifa. And not just around the port. The whole peninsula is vulnerable.”

“They’re more interested in watching Fort Helena,” Zeke replies. He takes a sip of his tea. “They still have their feathers ruffled from the last conflict.”

Pieck thoughtfully taps her chin. “Right. It could turn into a two-front situation.”

Porco’s not quite sure why Zeke invites anyone other than her to these briefings. It’s always her who has the smart things to say. As far as he’s concerned, he just wants someone to point him at the thing that needed destroying.

He’s finding it particularly difficult to sit in his seat today.

His thoughts keep turning to you, waiting for him; and it feels wrong to not be doing everything he can to go to you. It feels even worse to consider not thinking of you— to pretend he doesn’t care about you feels shameful.

So all he can do is sit there, resenting the way the sunlight reflects off the honeyed brown of his tea, and wishing he could share it with you.

“They still aren’t paying any attention to Paradis?” Reiner’s brows are knit. “It’s been over two years since—”

“It’s not a priority,” Zeke says curtly, not looking up from what he’s reading.

Porco holds back a snort. For all his bravado, Zeke was perpetually touchy about the island devils. Being cut to ribbons could do that to you, he supposed. He glances at Pieck, who doesn’t offer comment, and only gives Reiner a pointed look before examining another report. Reiner looks nervous. He always is, when Paradis comes up.

The tiny island on the map in front of Porco looks innocuous. It’s so small, it’s dwarfed by even a single one of Marley’s provinces.

He should loathe it, have the same dark look on his face as the other three, even if he’s the only shifter who’s never stepped foot on it. It’s why people hate Eldians. It’s where Marcel died.

But he has memories of it too. They’re not his, they belong to that woman— Ymir— but they’re so vivid, they feel like his own. Sometimes he even catches a faint thought at the back of his mind, a longing to go home.

It makes him worry about how many of his thoughts are really his.

Fucking Reiner, he thinks. Turning Marcel’s titan into a traitor.

He glares at Reiner, who blinks in surprise at the sudden aggression, and raises an eyebrow at him.

Porco ignores this, and waves one of the typewritten pages he's holding. “This says they’re expecting a hot conflict in the South within seven months. We’re supposed to be back in the Mid-East by then.”

“No need to worry about that,” Zeke says.

Everyone waits for him to elaborate.

Zeke smiles pleasantly. As if they really are just having a chat, and not discussing bloody warfare. “Ah, sorry. That really is a secret, but trust me, there won’t be too much going on at the same time.”

“You mean we’ll attack them first?” Porco says. “But then the Southern Alliance—”

“No,” Zeke says, still smiling. “Don’t worry about it.” The curtains behind him sway gently.

Porco feels uneasy. He’s not sure why. He’s long since had every survival instinct beaten out of him, with bombs and gunfire. He’s died and come back to life a dozen times over on the battlefield. War doesn’t scare him. Not anymore, not since he was twelve years old.

So why does he feel this dread in his stomach?

He doesn’t figure it out until much later, when he’s counting the minutes until he can see you again, and listening to Colt talking about Falco over dinner.

“He’s trying to hide it,” Colt says mournfully as he spoons potatoes into his mouth. They’re always on the menu. “But he was excited. Excited. About being sent to war.”

Outside, the sun is starting to set.

It’s a Saturday evening, and the energy in the hall is cheerful; excited for the coming day off, even if subdued from the exhaustion of the week. The long rows of wooden tables are almost completely occupied, but Colt gives off enough of a melancholy air that people to avoid the seats next to him and Porco.

“We were excited too, the first time,” Porco says, nonchalantly. “Don’t you remember? I didn’t even have a fucking titan, and I thought I was about to go blow enemy soldiers’ heads off left and right. Let him have this. He’ll understand soon.”

Colt chuckles half-heartedly. “Right, you thought you had such good aim. Pieck had to come save us after you gave away our position.”

Porco’s face warms in embarrassment. “No need to go down memory lane, Grice.”

Nevermind the dent to his adolescent ego from being saved by a girl (even if said girl was a hulking, four metre tall monster); the reminder that he was nothing on the battlefield without a titan had been far worse.

It had been less than a month after Marcel and the others left for Paradis, and Porco had desperately wanted to have something to show when they came back. He’d wanted to prove to them all that he wasn’t useless— that he was better than Reiner Braun. The best he did was surviving the shelling, and remembering to rub fresh dirt on his face to hide the tear tracks tattooed in the grime.

Even then, Porco recalls, Colt had had nothing but his baby brother on his mind.

There had been a photograph folded into his breast pocket, severely faded in the creases. It was of Colt, holding a fluffy haired little boy in his lap. He’d looked at it whenever he could; one hand pressing his helmet to his head, one clutching the picture, lips pursed so they wouldn’t quiver at every explosion. This is what he was here for, he told everyone who would listen. So this little boy didn’t ever have to be.

“I don't care what happens to me,” Colt says, aimlessly pushing his food around on his plate. “I mean, within reason. But if anything happened to Falco out there, I couldn't bear it.”

And that’s when he figures it out. Porco isn’t scared of war— he’s not capable of that anymore— he’s scared of losing you to it.

He thinks of the delicate shape of your body under his touch; of your soft voice, and how gently you speak, even when you’re trying to be firm. It seems absurd to picture you in the midst of violence. And yet you’d been there, impossibly kind and sweet, knee deep in his blood.

Porco knows you saved him that night. You told him it was Claire who stopped him from bleeding out; but Porco knows you were the one who held his hand through the night, the only one who shed tears for him.

You’d made him feel human, and it had made him want to live.

He knows now, that from the moment he'd opened his eyes in that tent and found you in a fitful sleep at his bedside, he was always going to spend the rest of his ten years paying you back.

“I understand,” Porco tells Colt, honestly.

Colt smiles gratefully at him. “I should get going. I have kitchen clean-up duty today.”

An idea strikes him. “Really? Could you do something for me then?”

When you tell Claire you can take care of the locking up by yourself from now on, she’s only a little conflicted.

“Are you really sure?” she asks again, pausing in the middle of touching up her makeup in the little mirror above the sink.

“It’s not a problem,” you assure her as you tidy up your desk. “You’ve got a longer commute now, after all.”

The clinic is lit up in the muted gold of dusk. The last rays of sun are shining in through the open windows. Claire’s face glows in a rectangle of light, cast through the half-closed blinds. Her lipstick is bright and red.

(It’s her usual colour, but everything has felt more today. Sugar is sweeter, and the reds are almost scarlet.)

“Too long,” she says, frowning. “We’re looking at new apartments. Something halfway between here and the Public Security office.” She sighs and looks at you in the mirror. “I miss walking back to the women’s quarters with you. The train is so boring.”

There’s something about the wistful way she says it, with that familiar scrunch in her eyebrows and pout on her lips, that makes you want to tell her; tell her about Galliard the way she tells you about Eric— because now you understand why she’s always looking for a reason to.

“I miss it too,” you say. “Did you find anything nice yet?”

Claire worries at some flyaway hairs on the crown of her head, illuminated in the direct light. “We’re actually going to see this one place near Gardenia Square today.”

“Gardenia Square!” you exclaim.

It’s one of the more expensive neighbourhoods in Liberio, built around a trendy shopping and business district near the port. You didn’t think it was somewhere that would be affordable on government salaries.

“It sounds too good to be true!” Claire closes her eyes, and holds up her hands, fingers crossed in an odd sort of prayer. “They did say near, not in. I just hope it’s not too close to the red light district.” Then she opens her eyes with a frown. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it would just hurt the resale value.”

“How do you go up from a nice apartment in Gardenia Square?” you ask, amused. “Sorry, near.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “A seafront villa in Odiha.”

Claire begins to powder her face. Even in the plain blue dress she has on, it’s so easy to imagine her walking along a sunny promenade; maybe stopping at a fashionable café to get a cupcake in a pastel wrapper. Perhaps some tea in a dainty cup.

You watch as she gathers her things into her purse. Galliard’s name stays on the tip of your tongue all the while.

“Good luck with the apartment, Claire,” you tell her, as she heads out the door. “I hope you’ll like it.”

“Thanks, honey. Get home safe.”

You hear the click of her heels going down the wooden floor outside, and the sound of the door opening and closing.

And then, you only have the ticking of the clock and the rustling elm outside for company.

You sit yourself on the edge of one of the beds for only a handful of seconds, watching the long, thin shadows cast by its legs, fidgeting all the while; before the silence becomes unbearable and the anticipation you’ve been pushing down all day swells up to fill it.

The sink needs cleaning, you decide, getting back on your feet.

You hum to yourself as you wipe down the steel basin, noticing the pleasant hints of lemon in the cleaning spray more than the sting of alcohol. It’s not nearly dirty enough to occupy you for long, so you’re soon rinsing it off.

You regard yourself in the mirror as you dry your hands. The day is evident in your slightly wrinkled blouse with its creases accentuated by shadows; and in your lipstick, slightly faded in the middle.

(Really, you looked far worse yesterday, after spending hours confused and worrying; and Galliard certainly hadn’t seemed to mind.)

There’s not much you can do about the blouse. You settle for touching up your makeup as best as you can. You’re fully aware of the rapidly setting sun behind you— already half-hidden behind the high compound walls— and how your efforts will soon be unnoticeable.

(But you still do it; because when you imagine him thinking you’re pretty, your heart flutters and you want to giggle like a schoolgirl.)

Claire closed the blinds for you before she left; and now you walk over and adjust them slightly, letting a little more light shine through. Bands patterned with the silhouettes of elm leaves print themselves across the plain walls; adorning them like wallpaper.

You hook a finger over one of the slats and pull it down to peek outside. There’s no one there, of course; but you still feel a prick of nervousness.

(You hope he comes soon. It’s lonely.)

The silence is getting to you, you think. You’re not quite sure what you could possibly clean next, so you try to distract yourself by counting the sounds.

The clock ticks steadily, echoing faintly. A drop of water falls from the faucet, and hits the steel below with a plink. Wind blows through the elm.

The hinges on the front door creak.

You hold your breath, listening closely as footsteps come up the hallway— they’re blunt and heavy, not the sharp, quick clicks of Claire’s heels.

(He came.)

The knob turns, and the door swings open slowly.

(Just like he promised.)

Galliard pokes his head in cautiously. He runs his eyes across the room to confirm that you’re alone. And then, he greets you with a grin, face softly shadowed in the fading light. He couldn’t have looked better in a painting.

You close the distance to the door with rapid steps, almost running. Just before you crash into him, you’re worried— for a split second— that you’re about to knock him off his feet; but he easily catches you, and lifts you off your feet to spin you around as you squeal.

(He came back to me.)

You kiss his lips, not breaking away even when he lets you down, staying risen on your toes.

“Woah,” he says, when you finally part. He pulls you in a little closer, rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb. “Did you miss me that much?”

You’re suddenly embarrassed, and very aware of his touch. You have to hide your face in his jacket. “I did,” you say, voice muffled. He smells like soap.

Galliard laughs again. The sound vibrates in his chest. “You really don’t believe in playing hard to get.”

“I don’t.”

Sometimes, it feels like you’ve spent half your life being timid and unsure; wishing there was a book you could check the back of for the right answers, to make those elusive good choices. Maybe that book would tell you that it’s unbecoming to be so forward. Maybe it’s true. You don’t know.

(You’re scared to admit it, but you don’t care either.)

What you do know is that kissing him makes your toes curl in your socks, and has your heart feeling far too big for your chest. How could anyone think it’s not right, when he kisses you back like that, so unhesitant?

He gives you a squeeze. “I brought you something,” he says.

You take a step back, so you can look at him. “You did?”

The adoration on his face makes your heart skip a beat. Oh, how could anyone be this handsome, this perfect?

“Close your eyes,” he says.

You don’t hesitate to do what he asks, and hold out your hands expectantly. There’s a pause, and then you feel him shift, taking something out of his pocket. There’s a small weight in your palms.

You crack open your eyes. In the dim light, it’s hard to read the wrapper on the thing in your hands, even though the letters are in a thick block-print. “Chocolate? You brought me chocolate!”

It’s just a plain old bar of it, the kind you could buy at any store; but it feels like the best gift anyone’s ever gotten you. He’d thought of you. He’d thought about seeing you again, and he’d wanted to make you happy when he did. It’s just a plain old bar of chocolate, but it feels enormous, carrying the weight of this thing, this precious secret between you.

You wordlessly begin to unwrap it, not trusting yourself to speak.

Now he’s the one who looks embarrassed. “I know it isn’t all that special.” He self consciously rubs the back of his head. “I swear I’ll get you better things, I just need a little time—”

You cut him off by pressing a piece of chocolate to his mouth. “I love it, thank you. Do you want to share with me?”

He stops mid-sentence, eyes wide. Your fingers brush his lips as you place it on his tongue. When you try to move your hand back, he grips your wrist for a moment— just long enough to kiss your fingertips. You giggle at the mischievous glint in his eyes, even though the action sends a shiver down your spine.

You hold his gaze— warm, soft— as you break off a piece for yourself. It’s only when you bite down that you notice what’s wrong.

“Bitter!”

Galliard looks distressed, and scrapes his own tongue across his teeth, trying to get the taste out.

You hold the wrapper up into the light. “Galliard, this is cooking chocolate. There's no sugar in it!”

You look at him.

He looks at you.

Then you burst out laughing.

“I— I'm sorry.” He sounds flustered. “I should have read the label closer—”

You reach up to cup his cheek. “I'll make something with it. We can eat it together.”

“I'd… like that.” His voice is a little raspy. Then he looks up at the ceiling, eyebrows furrowed and eyes closed, like he’s collecting himself. “Hey, could you… use my name?”

Before you can open your mouth, a gust of wind blows outside, making the branches on the tree rustle. You’re struck with the irrational thought that it sounds like they’re whispering. Gossiping amongst themselves about you and him.

You instinctively glance over your shoulder to check the window, even though you know no one can see in.

He sees how nervous you are. “Here, come with me.”

It’s scary, being led to the window. But he has your hand in his, and that reassuring warmth makes you a little braver. He sits right below the sill, on the bare wooden floor. He pats the space beside him.

When you join him, he puts an arm around your shoulder and pulls you against his chest. “Is this okay?”

It’s more than okay. Even though the window is right above you, you feel shielded. Safe. The elm leaves aren’t whispering about you anymore. They’re friends there to tell you if anyone dares intrude; warning you with the shadows they cast on the floor, where your legs are stretched out next to his.

“Yes. Thank you—” You take a breath. “— Porco.”

You hear him exhale, but you’re too shy to look at him, keeping your eyes trained on your hands in your lap. Your fingertips tingle. All you can focus on is his arm across your shoulder, so firm and strong.

Porco softly says your name. Then he takes your chin, tilting your face up to his. There’s a pause. Both of you hold your breath.

And then, he kisses you.

Your eyes flutter closed. It isn’t intense like last night— it’s gentle, and soft; as if he’s asking you for permission every time. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone. Your hands find the back of his head, fingers combing through his hair.

You lose track of the minutes going by. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is him, finally next to you. Tears prick at the back of your eyelids as you smile against his lips. You’ve been waiting for so long.

Porco pulls away first. His eyes are still closed, head leaned against the wall. Your breath comes in soft pants, and you can’t help but think that it suits him to have his hair like that, all dishevelled; instead of in its usual severe, neat style.

(The wind blows again, but this time, you’re not afraid. No one can see. There’s no one else in this world below the window, except you and him.)

“Sort of feels like we’re in the trenches, doesn’t it?” you say playfully, resting your shoulder on the wall.

Porco’s eyes snap open. “Don’t say that.”

Your heartbeat quickens, worried you said something wrong. “I— I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to trivialise—”

“No,” he cuts you off. “Don’t apologise. It’s not that. I just— I don’t want to think about you being anywhere near there.” He looks down, and puts his hand over yours. “I want you to be safe.”

I want you to be safe too, you want to tell him.

But you know he can’t do that for you, and you won’t cause him the pain of having to say no, so you don’t say anything at all; and only curl closer into his side. You feel him kiss the top of your head.

“We didn’t get to talk last night,” he says, after a brief silence. “About how we’re going to see each other. Are you here every evening?”

You nod a yes. “Except Thursday and Sunday. I have an evening shift at the hospital on Sundays.”

“You won’t be here tomorrow?” He sounds disappointed.

“I usually leave after lunch.”

You think he hears the sadness in your voice. “That’s okay,” he says soothingly, “I’ll figure out a way to see you tomorrow, I promise. How was your day?”

“Good. It wasn’t very busy.” You play with the hem of his jacket. “It was a little boring, actually. I wish I had something interesting to tell you.”

“I’d listen to you reading out the protocol handbook,” he says. He sounds like he means it. “Do you stay here all day?”

“Mostly. It’s not so bad when the kids are around, I can see them training from the window. And sometimes they sit under the tree during their breaks. They’re in the mountains with their sergeant, you know.”

You don’t have to look at his face to picture his sneer. “That ass who didn’t care when Grice’s brother fainted in the heat?”

“Him. But I’ve been making sure they know how to take care of themselves. They’ll be fine.”

“Thanks. For looking out for them.”

You want to tell him you see Julie’s eyes in each of theirs. But you hesitate— her memory feels far too important to be mentioned in passing. “How was your day?”

“Zeke had us come to him for a briefing. There’s trouble everywhere, apparently.”

You swallow. “Are we going back out there soon?”

The memory of him choking on his own blood still haunts you. It feels like a lifetime ago. He may be whole and healthy now; but it’s barely been a week. You don’t want to see him like that ever again. You couldn’t bear it. Even if you know he could survive it, and worse— you couldn’t bear it.

“You can’t worry about that, babe,” he sighs. “You won’t ever have any peace. You don’t ever have to be scared out there, okay? I won’t let anyone get through to hurt you.” He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Let’s not talk about this.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. You don’t tell him it’s not you you’re worried about.

There’s another comfortable silence, broken when the building settles. You’re used to it, and barely notice, but Porco shifts his weight onto his free hand to look up at the ceiling.

“What’s upstairs?” he asks, eyes wary. “I’ve never been up there.”

The small distance he’s inadvertently put between your bodies bothers you immensely; and you don’t feel at peace until you move closer. “Nothing except some old medical files no one cares about.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Someone from admin came by and needed me to unlock the door for him, a few months ago. I think I have the only key. It looks like it used to be another floor of the clinic,” you say, recalling the dismantled bed-frames pushed against the walls. “We could go there, but it’s just really dusty now.”

Porco hums thoughtfully. “Some other time. I don’t want to get up yet.” He takes your hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’ve been wanting to hold you like this all day.”

You giggle. “I told my roommate I had to organise some files, and that I’d be later than usual. How long can you stay?”

He scoffs. “Reiner wouldn’t notice even if I went missing. He’s an idiot. When we were with Zeke today—”

You stifle a laugh, and lay your head on his chest. You listen to his heartbeat while he tells you about the rest of his day, and exactly why Reiner Braun is an irredeemable idiot.

He feels so solid; so real. The rest of the day feels like a dream, vague and fading at the edges. Maybe that’s why you haven’t been worried about right answers and good choices with him, you think as you play with the zipper on his jacket.

Dreams don’t have to make sense like that. They just need to make you happy.

(All your life, you’ve been told that there are right answers, right choices. Especially when it came to the boundary between Eldians and Marleyans. What are the rules when you’re both on the same side of that line?)

By the next afternoon, Porco decides it would be better if he didn’t take a shotgun to his head.

There’s only two things stopping him.

One— that there were only so many times he could do that before someone either got suspicious, or deemed him unfit for duty; and then asked him to go ahead and put that other foot into his grave.

And, more importantly, two— the sight of it would probably make you cry.

He’s lying in his bed, arms crossed under his head and staring at the ceiling, where the paint is peeling at the corners; trying to think of another way to see you at the hospital— one that didn’t involve blowing his own skull off, but he’s a shifter and simple cuts and bruises just won’t do— when Colt knocks on his door and asks him if he has any plans.

(Sort of did, but they’re cancelled, he thinks. Cleaning up would have been a bitch.)

“You want to take me on a date or something?”

“Very funny,” Colt says, frowning at him. “Where’s Reiner?”

Porco sits up on his elbows. “Hell if I know. Why?”

“The kids are back from their final assessment. I thought he’d want to see Gabi. Are you coming?”

“You want me to?”

“Sure I do,” Colt says, as if it’s obvious. “You’re good with them. They’ll like it if you’re there.”

Porco remembers his final assessment. Two days of crawling through mud, and running uphill; rain soaking through his shoes and threatening to meld his socks into his skin. The food had been cold and tasteless, spooned out straight from the can— there was no lighting a fire in that deluge. He can still remember the slimy beans going down his throat. It had been years before he could eat them again.

He’d developed the worst fever of his life, and damn near fainted when he’d dragged himself over that last finish line.

(He’s fairly certain his sergeant would have just left him there if he had— for the bears to find.)

He also remembers everyone being taken to the nurse after coming back. The woman at the time had been close to retirement, and had really needed a refresher course on finding veins. Or maybe better glasses.

Porco thinks of the half-dozen bruises he’d had blooming across his upper arm; and then of you, towelling off Falco’s face on that summer day.

These kids didn’t know how good they had it.

Colt— good old, reliable Colt— looks expectantly at him. Porco can’t believe his luck.

“Yeah,” he says. “I'll come.”

Colt has a way of showing up exactly where he’s needed, even if it isn’t necessarily the best place for him to be. Porco figures out this pattern when they’re both fourteen years old, and hidden behind a mountain of sandbags destined for the trenches.

A few years later, when he's taller, Porco will see Gabi and Falco sitting in the same spot— yes, the same, it's always the same, nothing changes no matter how much he fights— and he'll be struck with the thought that the stacked up sandbags don't look quite as high as a mountain anymore.

(And then he'll remember he never grew quite as tall as Colt, and be annoyed about it.)

But that's later, in a time where he understands what Colt was clumsily trying to tell him.

Right now, he's kneeling on the sandy soil, dabbing at the fresh gash on Colt's forehead— Porco thinks he might just be the only soldier he knows who can get himself injured before even a single bullet has been fired.

The coppery scent of his blood cuts through the dry eastern air. Porco swears he can taste the salt of it on his tongue— or maybe that's from the sweat beading across his upper lip, evaporating as fast as it forms.

It’s hot. And getting hotter, as the sun inches upwards. He was irritated enough, with the way his uniform is sticking to his back and how each breath feels like he’s baking his lungs, before Colt decided to play at being a hero.

“Hell, Grice. Did you want to die before the enemy even finished lacing their boots? There’s easier ways to do that.”

Colt winces. “It was three on one. I couldn’t just leave.”

“It’s not like they would have killed him. They were all Marleyan. You, on the other hand—”

“It was three on one,” Colt repeats, a little more subdued. “It wasn’t fair.”

“Fair,” Porco snorts. “Listen to you.”

Colt snatches the handkerchief away, and presses it against the wound himself. Red blooms through the white. “Don't you have anywhere to be?” he asks, exasperated. “You’d think they’d find something for you to do.”

Marley is stretched thin. The Cart has been in the South, near Karifa, for months now; and the Beast has been sent overseas to the colonised territories. With the War Hammer set on being a drain on public finances, and the rest on the Paradis mission, there are no titans left to guard the border in the East.

Porco doesn’t know why anyone bothers fighting over this piece of land, barren and burnt from decades of warfare. In the distance, he can see the silhouettes of the tree stumps on the pitted and scarred terrain. They look like they’ve been speared into the landscape, charred so black it’s as if they didn’t once grow lush and green— as if they had always been born from an act of violence.

“Not until the trucks get here.” Porco settles down next to Colt, shoulders bumping. “You still dizzy?”

He shakes his head. “Sorry I bled on your handkerchief.”

Porco raises an eyebrow. “Why’re you sorry about that? It’s just a rag.”

Colt looks shocked. “But it’s all lacey. I thought it was…” He blushes and looks away. “... your girlfriend’s or something.”

Porco doesn’t know why he’s acting all embarrassed, but the suddenly awkward air has his face warming too. “I don’t have… one of those,” he mumbles.

“This is yours?”

“No!” Porco frustratedly runs a hand down his face. “A girl gave it to me, but she isn’t my girlfriend. Helos, she’s trying though.”

Colt unfolds the fine cotton and holds it up, arms outstretched. It’s good quality, and the (now bloodied) lace around the edges is delicately handwoven. “I think you’re the only guy I know who would sound irritated about a girl liking you.”

“Emma doesn’t like me,” Porco says, rolling his eyes. “She didn’t give a shit about me until Marcel got the Jaw last year. What she likes is the idea of marrying me in two years and getting benefits when I die.”

There was no way out of the internment zone. Everyone knew that. There weren’t even any pipe dreams to indulge in. No, becoming an honorary Marleyan, or a part of their families, and being able to look over the wire fences instead of through them— that was as good as it got. It made sense for Emma to plan ahead a little.

Porco knows he’s receiving Marcel’s share of attention too. Despite his best efforts, he’s the consolation prize, and it makes him bitter enough to see Emma’s true intentions. Her and the other half dozen girls vying for his attention.

(It’s the reason he wears his yellow candidate armband rather than the red one being Marcel’s brother grants him.)

He draws aimless patterns in the dirt with his index finger. “I told her I wasn’t interested, but she gave that to me anyway at the station.”

“And you kept it.”

“Fucking good thing I did too, isn’t it?” Porco grumbles. “Or you would have bled all over your uniform. Being reprimanded for that is the last thing you need. What is with you being in the wrong place all the time?”

“All the time?” Colt repeats, offended.

“All the fucking time. Like when that PSA officer thought you were one of those kids he was chasing down for stealing. They got away because he stopped to question you. You almost got arrested.”

“That was months ago!” Colt protests.

“How about last week when you took that lieutenant’s wife down to his office while he was in the middle of cheating on her?” Porco snaps his fingers. “Hang on, I heard some of the Marleyan soldiers talking about her getting this real big divorce settlement. So it’s the wrong place for you, but it’s the right place for everyone else. You’re a walking good luck charm, Grice!” He laughs hard at his own joke.

Colt does not look impressed. “Shut up, Galliard.”

Porco wipes away a tear. “You were good luck for that kid they were beating up too. Let him escape. Man, he looked like a snitch. They’re so fucked.”

With the army being spread out, even the Marleyan troops who usually sat back and let the Eldians eat bullets for them had started needing to pull their weight. Somewhere in between getting off the train at the end of the line, and being told they’d have to spend the night digging trenches, they’d started having uncomfortable thoughts about their mortality.

And then, like good little Marleyan boys, they’d decided to deal with that discomfort through casual violence— even if it was against one of their own.

Colt should have just ignored it, when he found those three older soldiers kicking one of the newer recruits around behind the warehouses. But Porco has known him for four years now, and they’ve been something approaching friends for the last one, so it doesn’t surprise him that he didn’t.

“Won’t you get in trouble too?” Colt asks worriedly. “I think you broke that tall one’s glasses when you punched him.”

Porco curls and uncurls his fist. His knuckles are cut up, from where they hit the thin wire frames. “Bastard had it coming after kicking you in the head.”

“My knight in shining armour,” Colt says sarcastically. He blushes again when Porco gives him an odd look. “Forget it. I just remembered it from one of Falco’s storybooks.”

“He still likes fairytales?” Porco is amused. “Good for him.”

Colt’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

Porco holds his hands up defensively. “It’s not an insult, Grice. Good for him, still being able to enjoy that idealistic crap.”

“You’re one to talk,” Colt scoffs. “You still want to be a Warrior.” His eyes widen immediately after he says it. “Fuck. Galliard—”

“The fuck does that mean?” Porco asks furiously. “You want to be a Warrior too.”

Colt licks his lips, choosing his words carefully. “It’s different.”

“How’s it different? Are you saying you don’t think I’m good enough—”

Colt looks at the sky and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like a ‘not this again’, but he holds up a hand before Porco can tell him to say it to his face. “No, I don’t think you’re not good enough. We passed the same tests. It’s different, because Marcel is already a Warrior. You’re not getting anything out of it.”

“I’m going to prove myself, and get the honour of—”

“There you go again, honour,” He looks frustrated. “What’s so honourable about trading your life in and getting thirteen years back like it’s spare change?”

“That’s—”

“There’s no honour in any of this.” Colt leans closer with every word. “Haven’t you ever thought about how they don’t let orphans join the program? Isn’t that weird? Why do they bother asking for applications and having parents sign waivers, when they could just pluck some kids nobody cares about out of a state orphanage?”

“Colt—”

He barrels on. “It’s because they need a family to threaten, to control whoever has the titan. Because they don’t trust you to not turn on them.”

Porco only watches as the other boy leans back against the sandbags, throwing his forearm over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

“I bet your brother was happy you didn’t get a titan.”

It's always been like that with him, now that Porco thinks about it.

Whenever Falco is involved, Colt Grice (trained soldier) dissolves— as immediately and as softly as powdered sugar in warm milk— into Colt Grice (big brother). Sometimes this manifests in a flash of anger across his face; like that day at the eastern border. Mostly it’s in dopey smiles, like when he’s telling Porco how Falco aced all his tests that term.

Today, it’s in the nervous energy in his hands. It’s almost imperceptible— the soldier is still fighting to maintain discipline— but Porco knows it when he sees it.

They're in the clinic. Colt is in the chair next to him; sitting ramrod-straight. He's always sitting like that. Porco has often joked that it's like he thinks Magath will turn up at his dinner table and reprimand him for slouching.

(Porco used to sit on chairs the wrong way around, just to make a point, but he's grown out of that.)

The smell of antiseptic stings his nose as you open the bottle again, and tip a few drops onto a cotton ball. He watches you help Falco roll his sleeve up his forearm.

It feels strange to see you in the day; where there's no shadows to shroud the both of you, no darkness to hide behind. The sunlight threatens to lay the secret bare, each time he shares a fleeting glance with you across the room.

(Somehow, those moments feel far more illicit than the kisses in the dark.)

You instruct Falco to make a fist, and wipe the skin near the crook of his elbow. He and the other three are sporting their new armbands. The yellow fabric is bright and distractingly clean compared to their dirt stained uniforms.

Porco can see the family resemblance— he’s seen Colt cautiously eyeing Marleyans with knives the same way Falco’s looking at the needles laid out on the table. It’s there in that nervous smile, and that faint— yet distinct— rise in pitch on the last syllable when he insists he’s alright.

He glances to his side, and sees Colt half raise his hand at the wrist— as if he wants to reach out to Falco— but he settles for drumming his fingers across his thighs. He doesn’t need to worry, Porco thinks. You’ll take care of Falco.

The younger Grice tears his eyes away from the needles when you pick one up, but Porco keeps looking at your hands as you assemble the syringe. There’s something elegant in the way your fingers move; and all he can think about is how they looked when you were fiddling with the hem of his jacket last night, and how nice it felt to hold your hand.

“Woah, Zofia!” Gabi suddenly exclaims, from near the glass slides on the counter. “Your blood’s weird!”

Zofia is panicked. “W-what?”

“Yeah, look. Three of your spots did the lumpy thing.”

She elbows Gabi aside to frantically inspect them herself. “Well, none of Udo’s did anything. That's weirder!”

Udo peeks over their heads. “You guys are so dumb. That's just how the test works. Zofia is AB-positive and I'm O-negative. And it’s called coagulation.”

Gabi simultaneously looks impressed with him, and like she wants to shove him. Colt abruptly stands up to cross the room and get between them, before she can decide which to go with.

(Porco has a vivid vision of her picking the latter, and accidentally getting Colt instead. It seemed like something that could happen to him. He’ll tell you all about Colt’s stupendously bad luck later, he decides.)

You glance over your shoulder at them with an amused smile as you straighten up. “That’s right, Udo.”

“It’s done?” Falco asks, shocked, looking at the now crimson tube in your hands. “I didn’t feel anything!”

“I’m very good at this,” you tell him with a wink.

(Porco can't argue with that.)

The comment makes Falco blush and drop his eyes down to his lap, and the others are distracted by Udo explaining how blood typing worked; so no one notices when your eyes meet Porco's across the room once again. His breath hitches. You give him that shy smile of yours— the one that's just for him— and all he wants is to take your hand and run away where no one else can see.

The spell is broken when Gabi calls out to you, and asks when you think their dog tags will be issued.

“Oh— I don't know, actually.” You look startled, just for a second, before composing yourself. “They don't take very long to make, though. I suppose it depends on your sergeant handing these records in.”

Porco scowls at the mention of Laurent, who had left not thirty minutes ago, after repeatedly warning you to be ‘careful, with all these devils in one place’.

“I'd stay,” he’d said, lip curled in disgust, “but I've been exposed to nothing but Eldian stench for two days, I don't need any more.”

That’s the best you can come up with? Porco remembers thinking. That I smell? At least insult my mother, you bastard.

“Mine took about a week,” Colt offers helpfully. “What about you, Galliard?”

“A week sounds right,” he replies nonchalantly.

Porco doesn't wear his dog tags anymore— if he died, people would know. But when Marley had extended him the honour of becoming a Warrior, they'd done the equivalent of hanging a dog collar around his neck anyway. There had been a lot of pretty, poetic words about the Jaw being returned and his dedication to the country; but what they’d done was drape a eulogy around his neck, and call it a privilege.

And if someone were to flip over that death sentence resting on his throat, they would probably see the words no commitments scratched into the back.

(At least, that’s what people thought.)

Porco’s not a bad looking guy; and there’s enough people looking to have a fun time with one of the admired, coveted Warriors that he’s never had trouble finding someone to warm his bed.

Well, it’s never his bed.

It’s usually theirs. Occasionally, it’s one in the rooms above the bar he frequents. One time, it had been in the men’s bathroom.

(That one was unexpectedly fun.)

It’s just sex.

No one expects anything more from him. There aren't any more Emmas chasing after him, not after almost a decade of turning them all down.

Porco doesn’t have complaints about these arrangements— it feels damn good, and it’s great for his ego when someone tells him that they like what he’s doing to them. When it’s over, maybe they lie next to him for a bit, and then they get up and leave, or ask him to leave. It never bothers him. Why would it?

No commitments, as advertised.

(What was there to commit to, with a man who already had a date of death stamped across his file?)

It’s not what he wants with you.

Porco isn’t scared of you leaving. He knows you won’t. But he needs to do this right— take it slow, and make sure you want it too. You deserve better than he can ever give you, but he can at least make sure your first time with him is something special; and isn’t just him fucking you on the floor where you work.

It’s difficult, because you seem to trust him so much; and close your eyes if he asks you to, without hesitation.

It’s difficult, because when you say his name or smile at him all shy, it goes straight to his heart; and when you look at him from under your lashes, breathless after a kiss, it goes straight to his dick.

It’s difficult, because he isn’t sure what special looks like.

It’s difficult, because every moment with you feels special anyway.

He’s greedy, he thinks. He wants to have as many of those moments as he can.

So when Gabi starts bragging about coming first in all the foot races save for one (Porco idly wonders which one of them managed to beat her), and the clinic visit is drawing to a close, the words are coming out of his mouth before he's even finished thinking them through.

“Hey,” he says, slinging an arm over Colt’s shoulder. “It sounds like you guys all did great. That deserves a treat.”

“A treat?” all of them— including Colt— chorus.

Behind them, he sees you pause filling out paperwork at your desk, and look up curiously.

“How does ice cream sound?”

Their eyes light up, but Porco's not done yet.

“Ice cream at the park downtown. Let's take those new armbands out for a spin.”

There's a few seconds where the children make an admirable effort to stay calm, be the newly minted soldiers they are; but then Gabi lets out a squeal like a tea kettle— in both tone and character— and then the rest of them, already practically vibrating in place, can't hold back either.

“Don't make a ruckus!” Colt casts a disapproving look at them. “You're bothering the nurse.”

“Oh, I like it when it's lively,” you say good-naturedly. “I hope you all have fun.”

(Now or never.)

“Do you want to come with us?”

In the corner of his vision, he can see Colt raise an eyebrow at him. But he can’t think about that right now. Not when you’re looking straight at him like that, with your eyes wide in shock.

He can feel his heart hammering in his chest, his brain finally catching up with his tongue. Porco thinks the world should have fallen silent for this. It should have left space for the question to echo, because what he'd just asked you is, will you take a risk for me?

(As it was, the world did not fall silent; and in fact offered him Udo blowing a raspberry at Gabi in the background.)

It feels like minutes before you answer; even though he can see the seconds ticking away on the clock behind you.

“The park… near the hospital?” you ask slowly, carefully; mouth oddly flat.

It's a stretch. The hospital is three blocks away. “Yes,” he says, anyway. “I never thanked you for— for everything.” He forces his voice to stay steady.

You look back down at your papers, and start adding your signature to the bottom of the sheets. “I do have a shift there this afternoon. Alright. Give me ten minutes.”

(Yes, I will, you answer him.)

Porco’s glad he’s still got his arm slung over Colt’s shoulder, because it’s the only thing reminding him he’s not alone with you in here; even if you’re all he can look at.

please like/reblog/reply on this part too if you enjoyed!! you can find the second half of the chapter here 💖

#porco galliard x reader #porco x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #angst #fluff #my fic #snk precipice

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charbies · 6 months

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been having a tough time.. stuff about it under the cut

writing a stream of consciousness about the past few months. I've been really depressed. I kept getting burned out from my job almost monthly, but could bounce back when I took a little time off. Then midway through the summer, it's like I just got stuck and couldn't get.. unstuck. by fall I had a full blown depressive episode; in september I could admit I was depressed, in october I went on medication for it, and by the time november came around it felt like there was no end in sight. Fall is my favorite time of year, and I felt like I was in a fugue state and missed it because I barely existed.

the ways this showed up in my body are unlike anything I ever experienced in my life before and that was terrifying. my head and body ached like I was coming home from war every day. I was falling asleep at the wheel, and it was a recurring pattern; my body was shutting itself off when the thought of what I'd have to deal with at work was becoming too much. I burst into tears whenever I saw my friends post pics hanging out and wished I could live closer and see them more. I felt so overwhelmed and empty, I needed everything to stop and I wanted to disappear.

my job is fucking hard. I try not to talk about it on here, but I work with people who are hurting and traumatized. I regularly have to tell them when I believe the choices they're making are going to wind up killing them. I have to tell them the last things they want to hear and still hope they trust me. The average burnout rate at my job is 2 years, I've been there for 16 months. I'm 24 and the youngest one there by a long shot. I know I'm good at what I do, but still feel way in over my head, I feel like I don't get to be my age. I've thought about quitting but I don't think I have it in me to leave and start over somewhere new just yet, not now. I feel trapped because as hard as the work is, I get way better amenities there than at most other places; this place is basically as good as it gets where I live and it's still killing me.

even tho I know how severe things were getting, I feel so guilty for ways I fell off the face of the earth. I stopped talking to friends, family, coworkers, pretty much everyone. I bailed on linktober and a bunch of other art projects I lined up and thought I had the energy to pull off. In general I just feel like a failure even though I know that isn't true.

I broke down hard and took a leave of absence, I get a few weeks off from my job. I've been off for 10 days and as badly as I've wanted to draw the idea also makes me want to jump out of my skin. So I'm taking time and hoping it comes back while I pull myself together.

I could use some advice or wisdom from anyone who has been through this in any capacity. Even silly stuff in my inbox would make my day. Tumblr was my comfort place when I was a kid and I think it will do me good to be able to look back on this post after I've worked through this and I'm doing better. Thanks for reading all of this if you did, it means a lot <3

#brb crying into my cat #tw depression #tw suicide #tw vent

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subbe93 · 5 months

Note

Hi subbe I just wanted to ask you what's your opinion about coai shipping

Hey there, and thanks for asking ❤️

So, what do I think about CoAi? Nothing, really. Ai is nice and cute, and I think she should smile more because she has a cute smile! I think I understand why people ship her with Shinichi/Conan: They are in the same boat and they have experienced the same things. But somehow I can only see them as good friends. And I wish to see Ran and Shiho/Ai also getting know to each other better and being friends ❤️

And the same goes for many other Detective Conan ships which includes Shinichi or Ran. I can see why people ship them, but for me, Shinichi and Ran are meant to be. I can’t see Shinichi with Ai/Shiho, not with Kid, not with Amuro or anyone else than with Ran. The same goes with Ran: People can ship her with Sera, Araide, Eisuke, whoever, but I just can’t see her with anyone else than with Shinichi.

And just saying, I don’t hate any ships. I think that everyone can ship whoever they want together and I respect that, but I also hope that people remember to respect other’s ships too.

But for me, Shinichi and Ran are meant to be. When I started to watch Detective Conan, I hated Shinichi. I hate characters (and people) who are so self-centered, so full of themselves, and womanizers, and even though the main story interested me and even though during those first 5 minutes Shinichi was so cool while solving that first case, I saw those traits in him in the next minutes and my first thought was: Really? Do I need to watch over 800 episodes where THIS guy is the main character?! I hate him already!

But then we got the scene where Ran tells Shinichi that it’s okay to flirt with girls, but he should at least pick up his favorite. And do you remember his soft gaze when he looked at Ran? Ah, I was so melted, like… That boy is so in love with that girl, and part of me hated it because my picture of Shinichi was still a selfish womanizer, and that sweet Ran would deserve so much more, so much better, but goddammit, that look…

Luckily my opinion of Shinichi has changed 😂 I love him too ❤️

And after that, there were so many moments where we saw how much those two care for each other, how much they miss each other, how they can feel when the other one is in trouble, or how far they would go for each other… They are soulmates. And even though Shinichi is jealous and does pretty much to stop other boys from flirting with Ran, I remember one of my favorite ShinRan moments (Chapter 337/Episode 270) where Shinichi says to Ai that if he would tell Ran how he feels, she would just miss him more. He is the guy who breaks her heart by making her wait and he doesn’t want to see her cry anymore, even if it means he has no longer a place in her heart. I cried and it hurt. Oh, it still does. Because Ran's happiness is so important to him, so important that he is ready to "let her go" if it means that she could be happy, that she wouldn't worry, that she wouldn't cry. Not because of him. And if that doesn’t show how much he loves her, then I don’t know what. He had said somewhere in the beginning of the manga/anime (actually chapter 71/episode 10) that it hurts him to see Ran cry, and I can’t even imagine how it must feel to be the reason why the person who you love most in the world, cries because of you. And he can't do anything about it.

Oh boy, there are so many scenes that I would love to bring up (like in the school trip, that Bloody Ceiling -moment when Ran clung his arm scared and Shinichi just looked at her softly and told her it's okay, that she should pay her respect (or something)), and there are so many good posts on Tumblr about ShinRan that I would love to dig up and link them here because I agreed with them so badly, but maybe I got carried away and in the end, you just asked my opinion about CoAi, so I got a little bit distract 😂 But I wanted to explain why. And of course, I also know ShinRan is the main pair of the story, so the creator can make them be anything. But I have to say, even though there are long times that nothing happens between them (and I don't like it either), Aoyama knows how to do ShinRan - at least for my liking ❤️ They are a sweet and pure pairing, they complete each other, and they believe in each other... They are just... perfect ❤️

Haha, well, this became much longer than I thought, but that happens when I talk about ShinRan 😂 But hey, thanks for asking ❤️

#thanks for asking! <3

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bitletsanddrabbles · 5 months

Text

Thomas-As-Heir Novel in Search of Beta Readers

I wanted to get this post up before my Tumblr hiatus next month, which will last somewhere between one and four weeks, depending on how sane I'm feeling.

Right, so, here's the deal. As anyone who follows me is undoubtedly quite aware, I have been working on my Thomas as Heir piece off and on since 2017. Last month I finished a second complete draft and while it's looking good, it still needs some work. Still, if all goes well, I should reasonably have it ready to start posting by the end of 2024, if not before, and believe you me - I want to post this thing. We are hitting the 'never want to think about it again' point that you do when you've gone over something until your eyes want to fall out. Which leads me to the point of this post.

I'd like a couple more beta readers. I currently have two: Hinney_B, who regular readers will know as my standard beta, and my long time online friend, Marbletoast, who is one of the best editors I've ever met. Both have been helping me with this thing pretty much since the beginning and, while neither of them are fast (one is the head of the herpetology department at the local zoo, the other is a full time mom, plus they have their normal hobbies) they both work well with me and are good at pointing out flaws, making suggestions, etc.

The problem is that neither of them have seen Downton Abbey in it's entirety. Hinney_B has at least seen the first three seasons and both movies. Marbletoast knows it exists. This leaves some…knowledge gaps in rather inconvenient places. I am the resident expert on English culture of the period, the history, and all things upstairs-downstairs which is less than optimal since I'm not an expert in any of that. Since this is set between season six and the first movie (I originally wanted it to be able to be read as canon compliant, if one wished, although the movies shot that), I don't really have anyone to fact check my memory of the series or comment on the characterization.

I really, really want this story to be the best it can be. I don't need someone who has betaed before - I've had some very good results with new readers in the past. What I do need is as follows:

Someone who has seen the show.

Someone who can help me improve the story I am telling rather than telling me what to write. One of my past betas basically tried to get me to write the stories she wanted to read all of the time, never mind what I wanted to write, and got very tetchy if I ignored her demands 'advice'. Even if your advice is wonderful, I won't necessarily take it. That doesn't mean I don't want to hear it.

Someone who's not afraid to have a discussion about the text. The extreme opposite problem of the previous beta was the friend who tried to beta for me exactly once who suggested a rather drastic change to my work. I noted it, then informed her of what I'd been originally aiming for. I told her this so that she could weight my intent against her suggestion, decide which she liked more, and, if she preferred mine, help me get it across better. Instead she apologized profusely for angering me and no amount of explaining that I wasn't angry would coax her back. Good beta work is a conversation. We need to be able to converse.

And that's really all I absolutely need. Speed is obviously not an issue. Seriously, I hear from Marbletoast once or twice a year. Things that would be helpful are:

Good grasp on history. I don't have that.

Good grasp on English culture, especially at the time period. I don't have that either.

Even handed attitude toward all of the characters. I hate character bastardization and am trying to avoid it like the plague. On the other hand, Downton is not a house full of saints and I like it that way.

And that's basically all I can think of. For the curious, we are currently sitting at 52,696 words, so I'm aware that this is not a light commitment, especially for no pay. My method of betaing so far is to toss a piece up on Google Drive and give people commenting access, which requires a GMail account and willingness to give me your email. If you can think of a better way to do it, I'm open to suggestions. Interested parties may comment here, shoot me an Ask, or message me. Uninterested parties may have a nice day, stay safe and healthy, and I will let you all know when I start posting this monstrosity.

#downton abbey #downton abbey fanfiction #writing #thomas barrow #beta reader #beta reader wanted #fanfiction

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recklesswriter · 11 months

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I'm sorry for being so MIA on here, guys! I think I've said it before, but I have a bad habit of forgetting I have a tumblr until I go to update one of my stories 😅

Anyway, I'm happy to say that after 2 years of it going untouched, I'm finally feeling inspired to write the last chapter of With Friends Like These. I've written half the chapter in the past week, and I'm hoping to get it finished and posted within the next two 😁

Here's the first scene of the chapter given to you early, since it's been so terribly long:

Sasuke runs faster than he’s run in his entire life.

The soles of his shoes slap loudly against the stone floor, the sound bouncing and ricocheting off the walls of the narrow corridor. There’s a sharp, stabbing pain in his side, in the space between his ribs, but he ignores it and pushes forward despite the lack of oxygen he’s managing to pull through his lungs. Despite his pounding heart, a part of it still screaming at him to turn around and go back.

Back to where Kakashi is fighting—his extreme skill and experience rendered practically useless against the likes of Obito Uchiha. There’s no way Kakashi can hope to best him, not without Sasuke to back him up.

He's going to die.

Sasuke bites the inside of his mouth, hard enough to taste blood. He wishes, just for this moment, that he could go back to when he was seventeen—back to when he didn’t care about anyone except his brother. It would be easier, that way. It would hurt so much less.

Sasuke owes Kakashi so much—for everything he’s done for him. But Sasuke has always been selfish, and so once again, he chooses Itachi. He’s always chosen Itachi over everyone else, even when Itachi hasn’t chosen him.

I’m sorry, Sasuke thinks. And prays, by some miracle, that his sensei survives.

He forces the guilt away—shoves it somewhere deep down in his chest where it can no longer influence thoughts and decisions. Instead he focuses on the desperate pull in his chest that is somehow guiding him. The one that’s blaring his brother’s name at him like a siren—

Itachi, Itachi, Itachi, Itachi—

Something has happened. Itachi is hurt somewhere, is dying, and Sasuke can’t explain how he knows this but right now he doesn’t care. All that matters is reaching him.

Sasuke refuses to lose him again. He can’t.

He skids sharply around the corner as he reaches the end of the hallway. He catches a flash of blonde hair and blue eyes widening, but he’s running too fast to stop himself in time—he collides with the person in front of him, a brutal smack followed by a surprised yelp, and both of them are knocked to the floor.

Sasuke catches himself on his elbows, wincing as the impact reverberates through his entire body. He blinks his vision clear.

Deidara is on the ground across from him, also blinking and grimacing in pain. “Ow! What the hell, man? Watch where you’re going!” He glances down at his arm, which got scraped up by the fall and is now bleeding sluggishly. He looks back up at Sasuke with a glare. “Look what you did!”

He shoves his bleeding elbow into Sasuke’s face. Sasuke shoves it away. “Where’s Itachi?” he demands.

The other Akatsuki member scowls at him. “'I’m so sorry, Deidara, for knocking you over. Are you alri—‘”

“Just tell me where he is! The two of you went off together to find Konan!”

“Yeah, and we split off from each other! Like I want to spend anymore time than necessary with that asshole! Seriously, what the hell—”

With a scowl, Sasuke pushes himself to his feet. He ignores the new soreness throughout his body. “Which direction did he go in?”

Deidara looks ready to snap at him again, but he looks at him and something on Sasuke’s face must give away the seriousness of the situation. The indignation flickers, replaced by uncertainty and concern.

“Why? What's happened?”

“I don’t know, but he’s hurt—badly, I think.”

Deidara pushes himself off the floor, wincing slightly and brushing off his black and red cloak. “How do you know?”

“I just do. Which direction?”

Deidara looks unhappy with that answer. Most likely he assumes Sasuke is lying and not wanting to explain, rather than the truth that he genuinely has no idea how he knows. He just does. But Deidara presses his lips into a thin line and nods.

“Alright. Come on, this way. We’ll find him.”

They turn around and begin going in the direction that Deidara just came from. They don’t run, like Sasuke was earlier, and Sasuke has to bite down on the desperation that makes him want to snap at the other man to hurry the fuck up. But they’re walking at a quick, urgent pace, Deidara’s longer legs causing his paces to be bigger than Sasuke’s. Sasuke is forced into something near to a jog.

“What happened to you?” Deidara asks.

Sasuke frowns. “What?”

“Your clothes—they’re ripped. They weren’t before, so it’s not from fighting with Sasori. Did you fight someone else?”

Observant of him. Sasuke clenches his jaw. “Obito knows.”

Deidara’s mouth drops open, panic in his eyes as he jerks to a halt. “What? Oh fuck—”

“Which is why we need to find my brother now! Okay? Because Obito knows he’s a traitor—he knows you are, too—”

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. This is all your fault, Uchiha. You’ve dragged me into your shit—"

“Me? You’re the one that attacked Hidan!”

“You killed him!”

“Because of you—!”

Sasuke cuts himself off as they round the corner. His breath leaves him, a sharp, choked gasp sucked through his teeth. His feet come to an abrupt halt as the blood in his veins turns to ice.

Beside him, Deidara freezes as well. Eyes wide. “Shit. Is that…?”

Deidara’s eyes are locked in the center of the room, where a broken, misshapen shape is barely visible in the dark. It’s Kakuzu, his body so shredded and disfigured that he’s barely recognizable. A bloody heap of flesh, surrounded by scorch marks and discarded weapons that tell tale of a battle.

But Sasuke—

Sasuke looks right past the sight. His eyes are on another body, a bit further into the room and more to the left. His Sharingan swirls to life, allowing him to see clearer in the darkness. Dark hair—purple, bloody fingernails against the gray stone floor—

Itachi.

It takes a second for him to fly across the room, for him to fall to his knees by his brother’s side. Something thick and wet immediately soaks through the fabric of his pants—blood, from the deep wound that’s sliced through his brother’s chest. The metallic, coppery scent is heavy in the air.

“Nii-san,” Sasuke says. “Nii-san!”

Itachi’s face is deathly pale. He doesn’t respond to Sasuke’s voice. Sasuke’s hands shake, his heart hammering painfully against his ribs, as he pulls the ripped fabric of the Akatsuki cloak back to get a better look at where the blood is all coming from.

He remembers two fingers against his forehead. Dragging a line of wet blood down his face.

(Forgive me, Sasuke. But this is it.)

No. No, no, no, no.

He’s on his side. One of his arms stretched out, fingers smearing blood against the floor, like he was trying to drag himself forward. Sasuke shifts his brother’s body slightly, his head lolling against Sasuke’s folded knees. There’s blood on his lips, and it makes another spark of panic go off in Sasuke’s chest.

Deidara drops down next to him. “God. Is he dead? Who did this to him? Kakuzu?”

There’s actually a thread of something close to fear in the blonde’s voice. Curious, considering how many times he’s expressed a desire to kill Itachi himself. Deidara cares, despite how vehemently he denies it, and any other time Sasuke would never let it go without comment—but right now it barely registers.

His trembling fingers shove Itachi’s hair aside to press against his neck. He finds a pulse there—slightly too slow, but undeniable proof of life.

Sasuke releases a breath. “He’s alive. For now. Help me stop the bleeding.”

“With what?” Deidara demands. “I don’t carry a medical kit with me! Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

“Shut up,” Sasuke snaps. Deidara’s panic is only making his worse. The momentary relief that Itachi is alive is quick to fade, the previous fear returning as he takes stock of the situation—of Itachi’s injuries, probably too serious for them to treat even with the proper supplies.

Sasuke strips off his Akatsuki cloak. He balls it up and presses it to Itachi’s chest in a pathetic attempt to stem the blood flow. “Who here knows medical ninjutsu? Anyone?”

Deidara grimaces. “Sasori.”

“That’s all?”

“It’s not usually an issue! Konan knows a bit of battlefield surgery, I think—Leader-sama, too—but this might be too much even for that. And we still don’t know if Ane-san’s managed to get him on our side, so he might be trying to kill us too…”

Great, Sasuke thinks. The only person with the capability to possibly save Itachi’s life in time is the same person that Itachi kicked through one of Sasuke’s portals less than half an hour ago.

He takes a breath. Looking down at his brother and resisting the urge to flinch at the blood on his lips. Unless Itachi bit his tongue or sliced the inside of his mouth on his teeth, that blood meant internal bleeding. Likely a punctured lung.

He brushes the bangs from Itachi’s face. “It’s okay,” he says shakily. “You’re going to be okay. I won’t let you die again, I promise.”

He turns his head to look at Deidara.

“I’m going to retrieve Sasori. I need you to stay here with him while I do.”

Deidara’s mouth drops open. “Wh—Me? No way!”

“It’ll only take a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”

“But what if he dies?!”

“Then make sure he doesn’t!” Sasuke yells back. Leaving his brother is the last thing he wants to do—but unless Sasuke can get him help, there’ll be no saving him. All Sasuke will be able to do is sit here and hold his hand while his life slowly fades away.

No. Itachi will live this time. He has to.

Deidara grimaces. He looks down at Itachi’s bleeding body, then back to Sasuke. “Okay, okay, fine! Just—hurry the hell back, you brat!”

Sasuke slides out from under his brother. His bloodstained hands, holding the wadded-up cloak tightly against Itachi’s chest, are replaced by Deidara’s. He stands up, pushing his hair out of his face and the rings in his left eye whirling as the power activates.

A portal opens up in mid-air. Beyond, Sasuke can see miles upon miles of desert—the same plane of existence where he trapped Sasori. Taking one last glance at Itachi, sending up a prayer, he steps through the portal and leaves the two of them an entire dimension away.

His feet land in the sand. The portal closes behind him.

#naruto #my fics #sasuke uchiha #itachi uchiha

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clementine-thedestroyer · 2 months

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Every time I see the word “petite” used in anything x reader or just anything in general, it sparks a rage (or pain, depending on my mood) inside of me.

It feels like, especially in the cod fandoms, petite is the beauty standard. If I’m not 4’11 then I don’t exist, apparently.

Sure, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but I hate when the word petite is used because an author assumes that because whatever character is over 6 foot that everyone will seem “petite” in comparison.

Tw for my dumb ass ranting beyond the cut ig

Maybe I should specify that I see petite more as a term to describe hight than weight. You could be any size and imo, the word petite can still apply if you’re short.

It’s especially bad with König. Like, I get it- we all love imagining him as some 6’10 giant, but just because he’s tall doesn’t mean you should put describe a reader insert as short in comparison unless you’ve warned that your reader is short coded.

It’s like going into a fic and seeing “his hand wraps easily around your forearm” because the writer forgot that not everyone is skinny.

And I completely understand, writers write for themselves, I write for myself- but if you’re posting it somewhere public and other people are reading it, you need to warn them if it’s anything but height/size/gender neutral.

These are wonderful things! Fem!reader is an amazing tag! It helps people find what they want to read and avoid what they don’t, I wish it was more normal to put things like “short-coded!reader”

Because like, Bestie, that’s all we need. If you tell me that whatever reader insert you have is probably coded to be short, then I can just write off all mentions of the word “petite” and ignore them.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame any writer for not. I’m not saying every needs to start tagging their fics like that or anything, it’s just wishful thinking and a rant/vent born from my own insecurities regarding my height.

But when it’s treated like normal to be small, it can hurt, because it feels like the standard. Like I should be smaller than these men.

And fuck, I’m not even that tall. I’m 5’8 and a half, that’s really not that tall- and one of my best friends is like 6ft. I hate how, as someone who is, again, not even that tall, I feel like this. Because how do the rest of y’all feel? I know there are girls shorter than me that probably feel too tall too, and I sincerely hope that girls taller than me don’t feel worse than I do, because no, they’re fucking beautiful.

My 6ft friend? She’s fucking gorgeous (she’s not on tumblr so I can say that safely). Tall women in general are fucking gorgeous, and of course I don’t blame short girls for writing fan fiction that appeals to them. They’re writing it, of course it’s going to appeal to them. If you’re not writing for yourself, who’re you writing for?? If anything, I blame the world for making it the standard that the girl is smaller than the boy.

Short men exist, tall women exist. And I know that short men will be insecure about their hight, so clearly this isn’t just me being (completely) psycho. Somewhere, it was instilled in us that a man should be taller.

And while on some level, I fully admit that I am yes, very jealous of short girls. I fully acknowledge this. I also find short girls hot (tall girls too, let me be clear. As I mentioned, 6ft friend is fucking gorgeous).

Ah fuck women are hot. Shit, this turned me to a “women being hot” rant again. This always happens, what the hell.

#I wrote the first half of this post crying #the second half of it I wrote thinking about how hot women are #This turned hinged but I genuinely do not care.

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clemswinecorner · 1 year

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Prompt list

Renewed promptlist! This consists mainly of comfort prompts. I mainly write/F1/F2/Drivers without a seat, just send a request!

You can do that here :) please include for who and which prompt list! I would also appreciate it if you could include wether Y/N or the requested driver/character/person says the prompt, but you don't have to! It's up to you wether you give me a full backstory :) Will most likely default to she/her pronouns, if you want any other pronouns used that’s fine too! Just make sure to let me know :)

Also, feel free to ask me for more than 1!! I also have an old prompt list, so please include from which one :) I have copied these from random Tumblr prompt posts, you can also send in your own prompt(s) if you want! Like I said, you can include context/storyline but you can also just leave it up to me, whatever you prefer!!

I also have a Taglist! Check it out to be added.

Sidenote: I don’t write smut (since i'm still a minor) :)

"All this shit is new to me"

"You wanting me tonight, feels impossible"

"It's okay, we’re the best of friends anyways"

"I hear it in your voice"

"I guess sometimes we all get just what we wanted"

"Do you wish you could still touch her"

"You did some bad things, but i'm the worst of them"

"Sometimes i wonder which one will be your last lie"

"I don't start shit but i could tell you how it ends"

"Putting someone first only works when they do the same"

"I'll be getting over you my whole life"

"Uh oh, im falling in love"

"Oh no, i'm falling in love"

"Oh, im falling in love"

"Karmas a relaxing thought?"

"Karma is Karma is the guy on the screen, coming straight home to me"

"All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing"

"What if i told you none of it was accidental?"

"That was the night i nearly lost you"

"I really thought i lost you"

"No i didn't see the news 'cause we were somewhere else"

"Do you really want to know where i was april 29th?"

"You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love. The slowest way is never loving them enough"

"We were supposed to be just friends"

"I thought we had no chance and that's romance"

"And the gods honest truth was that the pain was heaven"

"I wish you'd left me wondering"

"I regret you all the time"

"Never take advice from someone who's falling apart"

“you don’t feel safe here, do you?”

“i’m just tired.” “of what?” “everything.”

“were you crying?”

“it’s like i can’t breathe. i just want to breathe.”

“are you okay? that looked like it really spooked you.”

“it’s fine, i’m used to it.”

“i’m not trying to pry, but i want you to know i'd like to listen, if you want someone to talk to.”

“just… let me lay here for a while.”

"what can i do to help?”

“i’m usually stronger than this.”

“just pretend like i’m not here. what would you say to yourself if nobody was around?"

“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you earlier.”

“when was the last time you ate?”

“you stayed?” “of course i stayed. why wouldn’t i?”

“[name]? can you hear me?”

“i’m sorry, i’m not trying to be distant.”

“it’s okay. i promise you, i will be here when you wake up.”

“i have a lot going on right now.”

“whenever you get stressed, you do this thing with your hands. what is it?”

“you said i could stay with you if i needed a bed.”

“i won’t judge you.”

“i pick my skin/bite my nails when i feel panicky.”

“you don’t have to tell me. but if you do decide you want to, i’ll be here.”

“you’re being way too nice to me.”

“relax, i won’t hurt you.”

“are you okay?” “i’m just so tired… i just want to stop.”

“have you been crying?” “no.” “please don’t lie to me, i care about you.”

“i feel so stupid.” “don’t ever feel stupid for having a normal reaction to a situation that you couldn’t control.”

“am i upsetting you too?” “no, i just hate seeing you so upset. i wish i could make you feel better.”

“i didn’t mean to listen in but… i heard you crying.”

“honey what’s wrong? why are you so upset?”

“shh take a deep breath, you’re working yourself up too much.”

“please calm down, you’re going to make yourself sick.”

“i’ve got you, you’re okay. i promise.”

“here, drink some water. have a minute.”

“[name] said you were crying earlier. need to talk?”

“you look like you haven’t slept, are you alright?”

“i love you, okay? i know it’s hard right now but i’ll always be here for you.”

“take some deep breaths for me, you’re okay.”

“i could really do with a hug.”

“i really need you right now.”

“my head hurts so much but i can’t stop crying.”

“i just hurt so much.”

“i’m really not doing okay. i haven’t been for a while.”

“i just need a minute, i-i’m okay.”

“i need some air.”

“i’m sorry i ruined our evening.”

“hey, are you okay?”

“do you want to talk?”

“is there something you need to tell me?”

“it’s okay. don’t cry.”

“it’s okay to cry.”

“let it all out. take your time.”

“it’s alright. i’m here.”

“i’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.”

“what’s wrong?”

“everything will be fine. i promise.”

“i got you.”

“i care.”

“is there anything i can do for you? a snack? a hug?”

“i could never hate you.”

“you’re not a monster.”

“nothing is wrong with you.”

“i wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

“you’re safe.”

“we’ll get through this together.”

“just relax.”

“you deserve better than x.”

“get your anger/sadness out.”

“i love you.”

“do you wanna cuddle?”

“want to watch a movie or play a game to take your mind off of it?”

“Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“I just wanted to remind you that I love you.”

“God, I missed this.”

“I remember the last time we were here.”

“When was the last time you just… let go?”

“I will always be there for you.”

“I’m not going to leave unless you want me to.”

“Do you remember when we were kids?”

"It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

"It's okay, I'm here, you're going to be okay."

"Hey, it's what I'm here for."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here, by your side."

"Here, feel my heartbeat. Just focus on that."

"Breathe for me. Please, just breathe for me."

"Look at me. I'm here. I'm real."

"I'll stay right here, okay?"

"You don't have to be alone anymore. I'm here to stay."

"Are you okay? Do you need a hug?"

"No, no, no, don't cry, it's gonna be okay!"

"Please go back to bed, you can barely stand!"

"Hey, don't do that, you'll hurt yourself!"

"When's the last time you got some sleep?"

"Hold my hand. You are going to be fine."

"Have you eaten something today?"

"You, me, blanket fort."

"You're alright, I've got you."

"It's okay to cry, you know?"

"We don't have to do anything right now."

"We can stay here as long as you want."

"You don't have to be sorry for anything."

"It's okay, it's over now."

"Do you want to hold me or be held?"

#prompt list #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #lando norris x reader #mick schumacher x reader #f2 x reader #marcus armstrong x reader #formula 2 x reader

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geralt-of-vengerberg · 2 years

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List of fanfics

yennefer-of-rivia on AO3

Modern AUs

Somewhere along the way (Completed): Yennefer is a prosecutor, Geralt is a private detective. They meet on opposite sides, but their next cases might be even more life-changing than their first meeting. (AO3)

Plastic Cups (Completed): Senior college student Geralt finds himself at the Vengerberg Fertility Center for a donation after losing a bet against his brothers. Things do not go as he had expected. (AO3)

Knee Socks (Completed): College students Yennefer and Geralt agree to be friends with benefits, but sometimes you have a change of heart. And sometimes you don't realise what your heart wanted all along, until you can't have it anymore. (AO3)

Terms of Agreement (Completed): Contribution to the Witcher Winter Gift Exhange. Yennefer has always put her career first, but all of that might change when her friends introduce her to a new online dating app and she matches with White Wolf. Too bad he stands her up on their first date, but luckily for her, there's a familiar face working at the bar who saves the day/date. (AO3)

Dancing between darkness and dawn (Completed): Professor Geralt has a one night stand before the start of the semester and while he wishes he could see her again, he should've learnt by now that you always have to be careful what you wish for. (AO3)

the longing never bared, aches to be revealed (WIP): “Geralt, right?” she asks as they cross each other. He’s on his way back in while she seems to be heading out to the festival grounds. His stage name is different from his real one, so he assumes she must’ve either been briefed about the other artists by her agent or googled him herself to figure out his actual name. Either way, she still remembers it and it flatters him, but he tries to play it cool.

Or Geralt and Yennefer are musicians, cross paths and eventually match in an unlikely way. (AO3)

I'll take you to the moon and bring you back (Completed): He tries to apologise more than once, but she brushes him off. Going on about something like muscle memory and natural responses to erotic situations etc. and he doesn’t dare to tell her this wouldn’t have happened with just any co-star or actress. All of it happened because of her and the effect she has on him.(AO3)

Penne for your thoughts? (One-shot): When chef Yennefer of Vengerberg agrees to do an interview with a magazine because her restaurant was recently rewarded with its first Michelin Star, she didn't really know what to expect, but if she'd known the interviewer would've been such a sexist prick, she would've never gone through with this. Luckily for her the photographer makes it a bearable afternoon. (AO3)

(to) the manufacturer of my dreams (One-shot): Yennefer has had an awful day at work and she's in desperate need of some me-time. Having an intruder in her apartment isn't making it any better for her, or is it? (AO3)

Unfinished business: Series of snippets from my WIPs. (AO3)

'Canon' | Fix-it

My Dearest Friend and Enemy (WIP): On her way to Ellander, Yennefer decides to spend the night in Rinde. She meets more than one familiar face in the town that holds so much history for her and Geralt. Fix-it for episode 2x06, more or less. (AO3)

Flowers (One-shot): Post-Season 2. Yennefer, Ciri and Geralt have left Kaer Morhen. Geralt picks some wild flowers for Yennefer while they're taking a small break. (AO3)

Writing events

Yenralt Tropetember 2022

Day 1 - Domesticity: Laundry (Tumblr/AO3)

Day 2 - Bed sharing: Restless nights (Tumblr/AO3)

Day 3 + 4 - Everyone knows but them + Friends with benefits: Do I wanna know? (Tumblr/AO3)

Day 5 - Soulmates: Soup snakes (Tumblr/AO3)

Day 7 - Fake dating: Ultraviolet (Tumblr/AO3)

#list of fanfics #the witcher fanfiction #geralt x yennefer

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aqqleshiqqing-archive · 1 year

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Genshin Anon here! It's been a while but I finally finished the Sumeru part of the main story and you know, I really haven't been this attached to a group of characters since the knights back in Mondstadt. They all felt much more connected to the main plot than the other two nations to me. However, the final mission is easily one of the best in the game so far. It really felt like a large scale plan happening all at once, which was cool. It was especially nice that it wasn't simply the traveler winning a fight or doing all the errands. I hope they do something similar with later nations.

Speaking of the traveler, I've stopped using mine for now. Maybe if a later element catches my interest, I'll grab her from the bench. For now, my team is Keqing, Tighnari, Chongyun, and Heizou, though Heizou may end up replaced. I like having swirl but he just doesn't keep up with the team. Kaeye made it all the way to friendship 10 before he was benched because I use too many swords.

I haven't been on tumblr much recently, so I haven't seen too many of your posts but it looks like you made it to Red? He's a strong trainer, it took me ages to win against him! -Genshin Anon

:00000!!!! HI AGAIN!!!! I was wondering how's everything with you since you last talked but it's good to know you're doing alright anyways! :D

maaan, already finished sumeru huh? i haven't made much progress since I stopped for a bit. the last thing I remember is talking to cyno in aaru village and that's it :') but that's awesome dude!! I'm so excited for fontaine!! also about the attachment part - I definitely felt the same. I remember reading somewhere that mondstadt was the only nation that felt welcoming because everyone wasn't against each other and you can see everyone knows each other like a neighbour. liyue was alright, but their connections were always very business oriented and its not too personal. inazuma is probably the most obvious as not even they like ei because of her decree. it's super oppressive and everyone is on edge. I think the only person who made us feel welcome was thoma and yoimiya (though that's more on when we hung out with her before sayu did her thing irrc) because I was definitely excited until I realized the severity of what was happening. (we literally had to wage war against kujo sara and her clan....) hard to say for sumeru YET, but I think I can get the general idea that everyone's too busy to have a friend as they're all scholars.

you have an interesting team comp! i really love elemental reactions with dendro so i can't help but smile knowing you have tighnari hehe, and chongyun!! i have a soft spot for chongyun so it makes me happy he's being used as well haha. im surprised heizou's going to be replaced because he's scarily cracked for a 4*, and anemo is an op element. but that's okay because it seems like kaeya had better usage than heizou did, hehe so go off! I believe any character is effective when built right C:

AND YES!!! oh man, I could be playing platinum right now but I really enjoyed the extra patch of gameplay after the actual goal (becoming a champion and getting rid of team rocket) and I can't stress how giddy I was to go back to Kanto, a small detail I really liked was how there are reoccurring npc characters that you can tell has grown up as their pokemon also evolved or improved. I remember in FRLG there was a girl with her slowpoke(?) she kept throwing commands at it but it didn't understand. later in HGSS I would see this girl with a slowbro now but it can follow her commands now! there's many more who does this, but she was the most memorable to me~

but anyways, yes, red.... I was so excited to battle red but I eventually remembered that he's SCARILY strong LIKE HIS PIKACHU IS 88 and my team only ranges at 50+ but because I am hardheaded and excited - I went on to see red anyways on mt silver and I was not disappointed 🥺 I admittedly wished I played as red when I played FRLG blindly but it was simply tradition for me to pick the girls lmaoao (but that changed now, the boy protags are much cooler for me) it just felt right that I experience the adventure as red, and then see him become a toughened trainer that i have to battle. your first and last enemy is yourself, perhaps.

I didn't beat him yet, I don't know if I can but I really want to, grinding is my least favorite thing to do in games so it would take me a lot of willpower and patience to do so, but I can simply shelve that game and come back to it later! I also don't feel like deleting it... it's my favorite gen so far haha

anyways, I also checked b&w! i had to play it in my computer since my phone is not too good with games in general and b&w really amped up in quality, it started off as "i wanna see what unova is like" (is obsessed with the music) HABSHDHHSHEHS I don't want to get too deep into it, but I'm very in love with the quality. I'm going to take a crack at platinum soon so you might expect me to post about it!

and lastly.... i started reading pokemon adventures/special. aka that manga that mr. satoshi would recommend to every fan. for the first time in forever have I been so facinated in manga - I thought it was just gonna be a clever story but it's HONESTLY more than that, it's so creative and innovative, not just the fleshed out pokemon battles but even the trainers are so colorful in their techniques! still in the early chapters but im just so happy I got to check it out ehe...

alrighty, that's all for now haha. thank you for coming back, it's so fun to talk to you! take it easy back there! 💚

#❇️ genshin anon #~ mail

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uhohnotanotherwp · 2 years

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Oh no, not another WP!

My name is Ana and I happen to love WP’s! (WP = Writing Prompt). Of course, I would like them, because I have always loved to write. Even when I was vey little, I could be found tucked away in a quiet place with my pens and notebooks, completely content.

For years and years I have had Tumblr on my many, many phones and devices and I think, if nothing else, that really does mean something. No matter what I have gone through, and it would be underestimating just how much that entails to simply say it has been very much, I have always kept Tumblr within reach. I surely didn’t have to, and neither am I one of those that lets my phone collect apps I don’t open or pay much attention to. In terms of social media alone, in the time I have known and used Tumblr, many social media platforms were installed on my phones, lived short, barely remembered lives, and then deleted. And more surprising than all of this, is that in all that time I remained mostly silent.

Sure, I have reposted other Tumblr’s posts when I felt the message they sent was one that needed to be heard, or read a WP that I knew some other writers would have a good time with, but I didn’t say much. Oh, I used Tumblr to read and view content about my primary interests—reading, writing, art, and programming—but I very rarely embraced the community. I feel like now is the time to change all of that just as soon as possible.

Just one more little diversion from the creativity one usually embraces in a WP post, before I post my very first ever WP on Tumblr, and then I’ll get right down to business. Some time ago, I’d say somewhere between five and ten years ago, I lost that feeling of importance I once had in using my voice to talk about what I felt mattered. I’m not exactly sure why it happened—and don’t honestly know if I’ll ever really knew what caused this—, why I just lost the spark I had to reach out to others and build friendships, but for a long time it really didn’t mean much to me anymore. Let me now go on to say that when something like that happens, it should be a gods-damned wake up call. Instead, I withdrew inward and cut myself off from the world, perhaps as some sort of uninspired defense mechanism. I wasn’t protecting myself, I know that now. Just disappearing from view like that, something which I have developed quite the affinity for over the years, isn’t productive and caused me to overanalyze everything around me…because I could. Because I wasn’t part of the world. I had checked out.

Recently all that changed. I wish I could tell you what it took, but I really can’t. I just began to put one step in front of the other until I was walking again. And becoming restless. This restlessness has been too much for me to bear, so here we are.

WP 1

You are a scientist, and not one of very much importance. Friends of yours, especially ones from your school days, don’t return your phone calls and you cannot seem to get in touch with them.

A policeman visits you one day, one with a high security clearance. He insists that you come with him.

“I don’t have to ask you to come,” the arrogant, well-dressed man with the badge had told you, and only inches from your face. “I do it only out of professional courtesy. This could go much worse for you.”

You agree to go.

“We have been tracking a group of undesirables—I can’t tell you more than that until they finish running your background—who gave us your name. The one we managed to catch, that is. Young little thing, strange accent I can’t place. Hell, nobody can place it, if I’m telling the truth.” He explained in preface before escorting you into a room where a slight, attractive woman not many years past puberty, you notice, sits peacefully. She lunges for you with two outstretched hands, feral.

“I ought to kill you where you stand!” She screams when she realizes she can’t, that she is shackled and cuffed to the stainless steel bench welded and bolted to the steel floor. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know her,” you insist, incredulously waving your hands at the officer.

“You were one of them. Will be one of them, actually.”

“I have to ask, just what did I do that was so wrong?” You ask her.

“You’re one of the fools that kills the President. The first female President. Madelyn Blaine.” She says, tears forming at the edges of her glaring, grieving eyes.

You had never heard of Madelyn Blaine.

#lgbt #sci-fi #books

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thecagedbard · 1 month

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Oh Look, another Tav story! This is currently posted over on AO3 in its entirety but I thought I’d post it to tumblr as well. If you’d like to sneak a peak at some of the chapter names, if you don’t want to read the whole thing yet, have a listen to the title playlist: here. There is also just the ‘Here’s what I was listening to while writing' playlist, and my Faetrala Uncaged playlist which serves as inspiration for Vesper’s siblings. A lot of the songs tend to overlap but who knows, you might find one you enjoy.

Rating: Mature

Pairing(s): Astarion/Tav (Vesper), Astarion/Halsin, Astarion/Halsin/Tav(Vesper); Mentions of Karlach/Shadowheart/Wyll; Mentions of Gale/AFAB OC

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Canon Divergence, Child Death

Word count: 10,026/300,000+

Summary: Vesper needed someone to protect her from an abusive husband should he appear after she was abducted by mind flayers. Astarion needed someone to fall for him so he had protection from Cazador. He's got two hundred years of manipulation and she has the soft heart of a lamb being led to slaughter. While subconsciously healing each other they both realize they also need to heal the druid of all damned people.

Chapter Seven

The grove was quiet without the tieflings, Vesper thought as she passed through the gate. Gale had volunteered to go with her as well as Karlach since the tiefling had more muscle than Vesper and Gale combined. Aaron had looked at their items with a hint of amusement before agreeing to trade with them for camp supplies and other miscellaneous items, even forking over some gold for a few things. “You will need your herbs if Master–if Halsin is to be believed,” he said when Vesper tried to offer what she had in the way of raw alchemical ingredients, “the underdark is a dangerous place. Keep those.”

Karlach helped bundle everything back up in their backpacks and the halfling nodded, “Also, if you have time, I know that Nettie wished to speak to you,” the three looked up, but the trader was pointing at Vesper. “Me? Why me?” he shook his head, “I’m not certain but she asked me to keep an eye out if you or one of your friends came by. Halsin is also somewhere around the Hollow, our new First Druid arrived just before sunrise so he’s introducing her to everyone; he’ll likely be ready when you are to leave.” Vesper nodded and closed her bag pulling it onto her shoulder with a wince, “By the way…what happened? With Kagha’s trial?”

The halfling druid gave her a tight smile and shook his head, “I’m afraid it’s not for me to tell an outsider. You may have been a great help to us, but you aren’t of our circle.” The bard nodded, “Of course, sorry for prying.”

Inside the inner sanctum, Vesper was greeted by Rath who led her to the back where Nettie was still working, “Ah! I’m glad you’re here!” the halfling woman said, “Halsin was telling us about where you were going. I–” she paused and looked ashamed for a moment, “I wanted to give you something, I started working on it after our first meeting. Wait just a moment,” she stepped away from her animal patient, this time one of the bears that were normally outside and returned with something wrapped in her arms, “I hope it fits. Jeorna is a bit thicker in the arms but I think it should be fine, bend down.”

Vesper’s face twisted in confusion but she smiled all the same before getting to one knee in front of the druid. Nettie fluffed out the knitted piece in her hands before throwing the opening over the bard’s head. “I was going to make just a poncho to apologize and gift it to you if you actually brought Halsin back. But,” she stepped back, “Halsin said that your camp was chilly and that you weren’t wearing clothes fit for the underdark. If we had some to spare I wouldn't part with this as quickly, but I did add buttons to this so if you wanted you could wear it as a poncho or a sweater.” The shorter woman stepped up and showed Vesper where the button was on the inside and its matching piece on the other.

“I know it’s not gold or some weapon but I thought you could get some use out of it, when are you headed for the underdark?” Vesper shook her head and looked behind her where the wizard and tiefling were standing. Gale had a soft smile on his face and lifted his eyebrows when the bard turned before answering, “Oh, soon, I think. We’re considering dealing with this area’s local hag problem, but if not I imagine we could go as early as tomorrow.” Nettie tutted and shook her head, “Then I imagine that Halsin will be leaving with you today.”

The druid walked away from the bard as the drow stood up and came back with a small basket, “Do you know how to sew?” Vesper nodded, “Good. Then you can attach the fur inside, it was the last bit I had but if you won’t be here and Halsin leaves with you then I won’t have time. It needs another day to fully dry but it is clean and ready to be attached when you’re ready to sew it in.” She passed on the animal skin and a basket of sewing needles and some sinewy thread.

“I wish you all the luck I can, be careful out there. I know your parasites are still dormant but please, if you feel yourself turning…do what you must to not hurt anyone,” the diminutive healer was very serious as she regarded them before she began to shoo them out, “I’ve got animals to tend to. Safe travels.”

Rath walked with them back out of the sanctum to help them find the large wood elf, he was walking around the grove with the new First Druid helping her get a lay of the area. “There you are,” they heard his deep voice before they saw him walking from the jail area. He smiled and nodded to the dwarven druid by his side. He spoke to her softly before bowing his head and making his way to his new companions, “It’s time then?” Karlach smirked, “We went and cleared the last of the goblins from their camp yesterday. We’ll be safe to travel back tomorrow, figured we’d give it one more night on the surface. I don’t know about these two,” she gestured to Gale and Vesper, “but I’m going to miss the sun and all the grass.”

Gale chuckled, “We’ll be back as soon as we finish.”

Halsin’s hands clapped together before he reached for Rath’s shoulder, “Then give me a moment and I’ll meet you all at the gate.” Rath left them and Halsin stepped forward, “No one gave any of you any difficulty did they?” He looked each of them over, the open concern catching the bard off guard but she shook her head, “I don’t think so?” The druid nodded to the bard before looking at the other two who answered similarly, “Good. It won’t take me long, it’s been quite some time since I’ve been out of this circle,” his voice was wistful as he looked at the stone walls and ceiling, “I just need to gather my things.”

When the group of four entered the camp the others looked in their direction and called their greetings. Vesper’s eyes met Astarion’s for just a moment before he turned away and looked back into one of the books he kept in his tent, her guilt twisted in her chest again and she went to the camp’s chest to sort through the things they had traded for, Karlach just behind her.

“Ves,” the tiefling had lowered her voice as she kneeled next to the druid, “did something happen, with you and Fangs? I thought you two were okay this morning?” The bard lifted her chin and sighed, “Sometimes we realize we’ve done things for the wrong reason, Karlach. It hurts but hopefully,” she threw a look behind her toward the campfire, “hopefully it’ll get better.” Karlach’s nose twitched as she lifted one side of her mouth, “Hope so. I’d hate for awkward feelings to take over the camp…might ruin any other chances for romance in this place.”

“Oh?” The bard’s eyebrows lifted, “Don’t tell me someone’s caught your eye?” Karlach squared her shoulders and tucked her chin to the side, “A lady doesn’t tell.” Vesper nodded quickly, “Of course…of course,” she placed the basket of sewing supplies in the chest with the last of the dried rations, “but there are no ladies between us so tell me.” Karlach cackled with her head thrown back, “You’re wicked! Maybe later without so many people around.” Vesper returned the smile that the other woman was giving her before closing the chest, “I suppose I should clean up my little potion area and get that packed up as well…hard to believe we’re leaving this place already.” The tiefling nodded, “Yeah, it’s strange first place outside of Avernus I’ve been and I think I’m going to miss it the most. Do you think the cub will find us?”

The bard turned and sat on the top of the chest, “I don’t know. I told it to hide and it did a fantastic job apparently…I’m sorry we couldn’t find it to tell it to come find us.” Karlach shrugged, “At least it’s alive. We’ve given it a chance.”

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Vesper listened to her companions for the rest of the night as they talked about the pros and cons of facing off with Ethel before going down the ladder again. Gale had cooked using some of the food they had bought from the grove and the conversation was happening around the campfire. Halsin offered very little advice, telling them only that he would leave the hag alone but it was ultimately up to them and he wasn’t their leader.

“We understand your need to protect that woman, Wyll, it’s just our own lives are also at risk if we go in there. Priestess Gut wanted to wait out the tadpole for me to transform, there is nothing that says that Ethel wouldn’t try the exact same,” Gale said as he gesticulated with his fork. Wyll sighed heavily and shook his head, “If we find a way to Moonrise without saving that woman both she and her child are at risk of that hag’s whims. Vesper, help me.”

The bard shook her head, “No, I stuck my foot in it last time. I’m going with the popular opinion…” Shadowheart’s head tilted as she counted around the fire, “Well, someone would probably have to be the tiebreaker if we vote again. Astarion usually goes with ‘I abstain,’” Karlach snorted at the cleric’s impression of the rogue who sat next to her, “and Halsin has already said he won’t help us decide. That leaves you, Vesper.” The bard put down her plate, “You haven’t even put it to vote to begin with. Also why me? I agreed with Astarion in the first place.” The rogue spared a glance in her direction for muttering, “Are you certain that you came to your conclusion on your own?” Vesper’s head snapped in the rogue’s direction and her mouth dropped open before she stuttered and nodded, “I agreed because it made the most sense. I don’t want to put Mayrina’s child in danger but I also…I’m scared of the hag.”

She felt a hand pat her head and turned to stare at Shadowheart who was nodding as she pet the bard like she would Scratch. Gale sighed heavily, “I don’t think this needs a vote. The moment we step back into that swamp the hag will try to have us killed. She’ll try to tire us out until we reach her and then we don’t know what’s below her little tree hut. She could have all manners of traps and villainy beneath there.”

Shadowheart snorted, “Ha, villainy.”

Astarion spoke up again, “We have to come back up…possibly, right? Karlach wanted to try to forge that knife we found the blueprints to in the blacksmith’s house back in that village.” The bard’s eyebrow raised as she looked at the spawn. He spared her another glance before sighing, “When we were on our way back Wyll told us what was on a scroll I had given him days ago. Apparently, there are blueprints that call for bark from a sussur tree.” “Which,” Gale lifted his fork from his plate, “we know is within the underdark. Thank you for that reminder Astarion. A weapon forged with sussur bark could be just the thing we need against a hag. The flower blooms can cause a magic user to lose all ability if they’re close enough. I’m not sure what the weapon would do but it does sound intriguing if nothing else.”

Vesper listened and looked at Wyll, “Could we do that? Go get this bark and then when the weapon’s forged go after her? Mayrina looked like she was in her last months but I don’t think it’ll happen immediately. I’m certain we still have time if she felt safe enough to travel as far as she did.” The warlock’s shoulders slumped and he nodded, “Very well. But I’m holding all of you to this, we’re going to save Mayrina.” Gale’s fork lifted again, “You have the word of Gale of Waterdeep. A bond that has very rarely ever been broken.”

It was agreed they’d begin breaking down camp after first light. Everyone would have their last moments in the sun before they descended the ladder and entered the underdark. Vesper was just finishing her final wash of her alchemy set when she heard sloshing feet behind her, “Put that away and follow me.” She turned to look at Astarion, his arms crossed over his chest, he gave her one look before turning away. As she quickly finished her task she found herself saying a prayer to Elistaree for guidance and forgiveness before she set her stuff back on the stone table to dry overnight. She caught Karlach’s eye as she and Astarion passed her and Wyll at his tent as the two exited and the tiefling gave her two thumbs up.

He didn’t go as far into the forest as they had been that night but he did find another clearing nearby, “You used me…” he said to her but kept his back turned. Vesper stopped, and her hands clasped together in front of her, “Yes.”

“I have to admit, this is another first for me, you see normally it was me–” he paused as he turned and looked at her, “well you already know my history with Cazador and his victims. Hardly seems like something I need to repeat. And I suppose I don’t have to tell you that it hurts.” She shook her head and looked down. Vesper could see his feet as he stepped just in front of her but refused to look up, “Is this another form of manipulation? This ‘Oh-I feel so guilty, I can’t even look at you’ bit you're doing?” She lifted her head slowly and shook her head while meeting his eyes, “No.” His hand lifted and closed around her chin, holding her head up as he leaned close and searched her face.

His eyes roved her face a second time before he released her chin and moved a piece of curling red hair from her forehead, “I really thought your ‘I want you to like me’ speech was in the romantic sense. I thought you were going to make this so much easier for me.” It was Vesper’s turn to look confused as Astarion stepped back, “Before all of this,” he gestured between them and then around them, “the only weapon I have ever had was my body. My charm. I honed it to the point that I could get sweet little things just like you to follow me back to the Crimson Palace as food for Cazador.”

He cleared his throat after he growled his master’s name, “When the gur appeared I realized I wasn’t quite as free as I thought I was. I needed protection.” He let the word hang in the air for a moment, “What I’m saying, Vesper, is…you weren’t alone in your manipulation.”

Astarion leaned onto his back foot as he crossed his arms again and Vesper thought over his words before a giggle left her, “That doesn’t make sense, Astarion. Why me? Karlach is much stronger than I am…or Shadowheart, she’s a cleric, a holy woman. Wouldn’t they be much better choices against a vampire?” He nodded, “I cannot argue that they would both make excellent shields from his claws but,” he held up a finger before pointing it at her, “they’re both close to you. They both listen and speak to you, even in the short amount of time we’ve known Karlach she was already ready to dive after you into that hole.”

“I thought that if it was you I seduced, made you love me, then they would do whatever they could to protect your heart. Hopefully, that would include the bastard that was in it,” he held out both arms as he spoke of himself with a smile, but it fell. “The difference is now, I’m not sure how to feel about you having done the same to me,” he scoffed and ran his fingers through his hair, “all I guess I can say is at least you enjoyed yourself.”

His eyes narrowed as Vesper’s nose wrinkled and she shook her head. “What do you mean, no?” he asked and he again stepped into her space and leaned close, “I am a consummate lover. How could you not enjoy a night with me?” The bard bit down on her lip as her nose wrinkled even more, “I kind of went somewhere else…in my head. I don’t even know what you did to me or how long we were out there.” The rogue’s face fell, he took a step back, “But the noises you made…”

The bard shrugged as best she could under her collar, “I’ve not been on a stage in ten years, but I’ve had only a few complaints about my performances.” Astarion’s serious face broke as he began to laugh, his head falling back just the slightest as he shook his head, “I think you just issued a challenge, darling.” Her head tilted and he grinned, “I did enjoy what we had that night…could have done without the screaming and the mewling but to know that that was a performance…I can’t help but wonder what you really sound like.” One of his fingers made to run down her cheek but stopped when she flinched, “I’m not going to hurt you. I swear, the only pain you will feel from me is when I bite you. If I’m still allowed?” His head tilted.

Vesper was quiet for a moment thinking on everything he was saying, “I…yes? I’ll still give you my blood if that’s what you need but…you want to, continue?” Astarion shrugged, “I don’t see why not…I like pretty things. Underneath all of that grime of the road you do clean up rather nicely. Plus you are so entertaining, the way your cheeks stain when you blush, even your ears heat up to their very tips when you do.” He reached for her hand this time, pulling it up between them as he clasped both of his hands around it, “I’d like to try if you’ll let me,” he pressed a genteel kiss to her fingertips, “let me show you what pleasure truly is. The best part is, no need for mugwort tea with me…the undead can hardly impregnate the living.” He smiled against her fingers and Vesper studied his face this time.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice low and worried.

He nodded, “We can take this as slowly as you like…I’ll admit I don’t remember what courting is, but I can make this enjoyable for you. Your body is yours to give to who you wish from now on, just as mine is my own…”

By his words he’d take it slowly; would she be able to end things if she didn’t enjoy it?

“Is this just because of your pride?” she asked carefully, her body preparing for a slap or even a scratch from those delicately cared-for nails of his. “I’ll admit it is bruised, but no, you did no different from what I’ve done in the past, it’s not like you imagined someone else or something.” His laugh was a bit hollow and died when she pursed her lips, “You imagined someone else?”

“Not on purpose…and it wasn’t someone I enjoyed,” she said softly. “I’ve never enjoyed it, like I said…it’s just that…” she sighed and dropped her head. “Only one person bothered kissing me during sex and when you did it brought him to mind, that’s why…that’s why I imagined you were him for a moment, it made the whole thing worse actually,” she said with her head cast down. “Well, now my ego is crushed,” he sighed and dropped her hand back down, “you must let me make it up to you. Not now, obviously, it’s still raw or however people term it. But soon, yes?”

She started to nod immediately when his fingers stopped her chin, “You can say no. You’re allowed to say the word.” Vesper’s brows furrowed and she realized what he was saying, “Did I tell you–” He nodded, “When you were drunk and saying you wanted me to like you. You said you didn’t know how to say no. So I want you to practice it from now on.” He stepped forward and tilted her head higher with his mouth barely a breath away from her, “Tell me no.”

Vesper’s body stiffened when he was this close and she could hear the ghost of Issac’s previous reprimands. “You don’t tell any of them no. You give them what they want!” “Ah-ah,” Astarion tutted and ran his nail along the skin of her neck he could reach, “you stay right here. Tell me no.” His thumb gripped her chin and he took another step until he was pressed against her, “Tell me no, or I’ll kiss you.”

“You’re my wife and you will do what I say, godsdamnit, Vesper! You no longer know the word!”

“No,” she whispered, and her eyes shut tightly anticipating a painful reaction.

Astarion stepped away and released her chin, “Good. You go ahead back to camp, I’m going to find something to feed on. While your blood is the sweetest of treats, I think I need something more fulfilling if we’re headed back to those minotaurs.” Her eyes opened and she looked at him, he’d taken several steps back once she had said no and had his hands locked behind his back.

“That’s it?” she asked.

He nodded, “You told me no…unless you’ve changed your mind?” a gray brow raised in her direction.

She shook her head and his smile softened, “Alright then. Go, finish whatever it is I pulled you from. I’ll wake you for your watch.”

He didn’t wait for her to leave, rather he gave her a short bow and left without another word.

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

The bard would later have to admit that the underdark, while deadly, was beautiful. In the pitch she could make out orange and blue glows here and there that lit the way–though the orange ones were definitely on the deadlier side as they would blow up. Torchstalks Halsin had identified them as. Something much easier to shoot at a distance than to risk being blown off the side of the steep cliffs the party was traversing.

Already they had faced a spectator and two drow, neither of the male dark elves had addressed the bard as though she were a drow woman but instead even after the party had relinquished the charm the spectator had on them, they attacked the party after only a few short words. Astarion showed off a new spell his little book with a face had given him by casting ‘Speak with the Dead’ and learning just why there were so many humanoid statues standing around. Somewhere within the underdark was a great forge and there were two others with information, “The likelihood of finding these others is as slim as finding this Nightsong those mercenaries were searching for.”

Vesper had agreed with the Rogue’s sentiment, but after the last time she voiced her agreement, which resulted in her guilt over what happened to Wyll, she kept it to herself.

After the spectator, they had to survive a surprise attack from a bulette, identified by Gale afterward, and they narrowly did that. Vesper was the first to climb down the tall wall, jumping the last couple of feet before a torchstalk began to glow and crackle, the bard hadn’t had the time to react when it exploded and the force rocked her backwards. It happened again. And after the third time she couldn’t hear her companion’s voices for the ringing in her ears, but she felt hands clasping onto her shoulders and groaned against the semi-violent shaking that was happening. “-smarter than this, you saw we had to shoot them from a distance!” she heard Astarion’s worry-tinged voice before she felt a hand on her back and looked above him where Shadowheart hovered and she was healed by her divine magic. Astarion continued ranting before he dropped his hold on the bard and stood, following behind Lae’zel to shoot each and every torchstalk he could see.

Halsin was the one to help her to her feet, taking her groan of pain to be from her torchstalk burns rather than from the pull to her shoulder. Gale and Wyll called out to the others, they had found a path of mushrooms. The bard and Karlach were the two to make the leaps with their superior dark vision. She could hear the others leaping behind them and held up a hand, calling back, “Wait, there’s another—” She didn’t have time to finish her sentence as someone collided with her back and she was shoved forward, falling face first into the glowing and crackling fungi.

Vesper wouldn’t hear her name screamed. She wouldn’t know how her body fell through the cracks or that her soul left behind a blue mote of light that only two of her companions could see. She would barely register anything when Halsin leaped to that mote of light and cast a reviving spell had hadn’t known he would have use for so early in his adventure with the group. The only thing she could recall as she collapsed in the druid’s clutches was a skeletal man telling her it wasn’t time for her to go yet, that she was still tasked to defeat the Absolute. She’d remember how he said he would meet her again soon.

She awoke on a bedroll by the fire. Halsin was dobbing a paste onto her cheek and she winced, her face felt so tender after today. At the sound of her hiss, the druid put the pot down, “Can you sit up?” His deep timbre was hushed and slowly the sounds of the new campsite were filtering in, one of her hands was in the druid’s, and his arm was around her back as he slowly lifted her into a seated position. The others were yelling, she squinted her eyes at the sound and turned to look behind her.

“He said he was sorry, Astarion! Accidents happen!” Karlach was standing between Astarion and Gale, the rogue had one of his daggers in hand, the hilt in his palm, and the blade turned against his forearm, while the wizard’s eyes were cast down with a look of guilt over his face. “Accidents? Perhaps I will accidentally mistake him for transforming and end him right here and now!” the spawn growled before he raised up on his toes to try and look around the tiefling. Shadowheart had her arms around Astarion, she was looking at the others, Wyll and Lae’zel were both watching off to the side, one with a look that seemed concerned but the other watched with rapt attention.

“What’s happening?” Vesper asked, frowning when her voice sounded so rough and her throat felt so tight and dry. Halsin sighed and handed her a canteen, “When you and Karlach were scouting ahead on those petrified mushrooms, Gale didn’t hear you say to wait. He shoved you, by accident,” he seemed to stress the sentiment, “into another torchstalk. Your friends watched you die.” Vesper turned back and looked at the druid, the quickly forgotten canteen finding her lap, “I died?”

Halsin nodded, “Shadowheart does not have the means to resurrect people and I,” he sighed softly, “I do not have the diamonds to spend. I ask that you’re all that much more careful from now on.” His hand reached down and she flinched when his fingers caressed against her lap, but he was only lifting the canteen again, “Drink. They’ve realized you’re awake again.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when the pale blond dropped to one knee beside her, blocking the firelight, and he began to look her over. “I thought you were going to heal her?” he asked his question to the druid who nodded. “I am,” Halsin answered, careful of the worried spawn’s ire, “I wanted to apply this first. To be certain the burns did not scar. Then I will tend to the bruising and lacerations.”

Astarion’s cold, undead, hands felt comforting against her tender cheek and she allowed him to turn her head however he wanted, “I’m okay.” “Shut up,” he hissed at her before pausing and huffing an irritated breath, “Stop saying you’re okay when clearly you aren’t.” She felt a pulse of power from her tadpole and a fear that wasn’t her own entered her mind, multiplied a couple of times and coupled with guilt from Gale. “I am okay, really, I’m alive,” Vesper said as Astarion narrowed his eyes at her and stood. “You’re impossible,” he stalked away walking past her, when she turned she saw the others nearing.

Karlach dropped to the ground in front of the fire, “I’m glad you’re alright, but that can’t happen again, Soldier. That’s the second time I’ve had to watch your body fall somewhere I couldn’t follow…” Beside the tiefling, Wyll sat down and nodded, “You scared all of us…”

There was pressure just in front of her and instinctively the bard pulled her knees to her chest, a cool magic washing over her back as Halsin began spending his druidic power to heal her. Gale was on his knees before her, “I am so sorry, Vesper. I cannot say if I willfully ignored your warning or if I just didn’t hear it. I thought there was room next to you and leaped forward without thinking and I–” She could see the apple of his throat bob as he swallowed hard and lifted her eyes to meet his as she asked, “It was an accident wasn’t it?”

Gale nodded, “Most assuredly, I would never put any of you in danger I–” he dropped his head before lifting it, “I would never do such a thing to a friend.”

She had died.

She could feel the panic rising in her chest but she needed to remain controlled. Gale’s apology was not something she was used to. Even before her years with Issac and his cruelty, her siblings didn’t apologize. It was always yells about how she had been in the way or she had earned the bump or bruise she had believed.

She had died.

“Can you promise you’ll listen next time? You and Wyll both asked for us to go forward, so listen for us to make call-outs, yeah?” she asked the wizard who began to emphatically nod, “Yes, yes of course. I cannot truly express just how apol–” Vesper reached out and put a hand on his shoulder to stop his continued apologies before looking at Halsin, “Could you help me stand? I just want to take a small walk.”

The druid agreed to help and shifted his arm under both of hers carefully lifting the bard to her feet, she heard Karlach sputter before asking, “Is it safe? You just died, Vesper, shouldn’t you get some more rest?” The bard turned and gave the barbarian a smile, “I’ll be fine, Karlach. I’m just going to step outside of camp, that’s all.” With Halsin’s help, she tested a couple of steps before quietly thanking him and leaving the fireside, once a decent distance from the others she quickly began working on the belt of her armor and felt her breath quickening. Her heart was pounding in her chest and everything felt too close, too constricting.

Stepping out of the camp she looked around and couldn’t stop the whimper from leaving her throat, “Keep walking. You’re not far enough,” she said to herself as she fought back from making any more noises. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks until she couldn’t move any further and her back hit the wall on one side of the path. Sliding down it, she tucked her fingertips into her collar and coughed, it was too tight.

I died. I actually died.

I died and I didn’t get to see them.

A sob rattled from her chest as she let herself fall apart. Her feet kicked against the darkened dirt floor, little grooves digging into the ground. She pulled at the leather at her throat, whining as it pulled against the stitches until she felt hands push against her own, panic had her opening her eyes and trying to get away, “Stop, stop!” Astarion grabbed hold of her and pulled her back into her spot, “You’re going to hurt yourself, stop.”

He sat on her knees, not allowing her to move away and as he pulled she felt herself get tucked against him, “Stop,” it wasn’t a command as much as she thought it might be. When she quit fighting to get away she expected him to release her, but he only turned so he sat beside her and pulled her closer to him with one arm. “I came back to check on you again and the druid said you walked out of camp,” he explained, he had a hand in her hair and she felt as the ribbon was tugged allowing her hair to fall. Her tears were free falling but she was fighting now to keep from making noise. Vesper could feel his chin rest atop her head as his fingers began to comb through the ends of her hair, “You know it’s dangerous down here. We still haven’t seen those minotaurs again, I’m certain there are more bulettes,” he said in a tone that mocked Gale’s earlier explanation, “about, and that's only what we know is there.”

The rogue got quiet and she wasn’t sure if he was expecting an answer or not, he turned his head and she felt the weight of his chin leave before it was replaced with his chilled hand against her scalp. “Get it all out,” he said his tone was much softer than it had been inside of camp. He got quiet again before she felt a hand tilt her chin upward, “I used to comfort the new spawn that Cazador would turn, in the beginning at least. Many of them reacting just as you are…” The hand under her chin lifted and she felt his chilled fingers swipe across her cheeks, wiping her tears. “It wouldn’t work of course, no sooner did they stop crying that they would be made to scream, Cazador took pleasure in breaking every one of us,” he looked away from her again and she allowed her gaze to drop to the surrounding darkness.

“I’ve forgotten how to be comforting,” Astarion admitted, “but you can cry as long as you need to.”

A strained silence filled the air, only broken by the bard’s sniffling. A minute dragged into two, morphing into five before the bard spoke. “I was dead…” she said, her voice raw from trying to keep quiet, trying to keep herself from screaming. “You were,” he replied as he shifted and she could feel his gaze on her, “before any of us could react you were gone.” Vesper lifted her eyes as she leaned back, “Why save me? Why bring me back?” Astarion frowned, and his head tilted back, “What do you mean?”

“Why waste a resource to resurrect me? I’ve not been a whole lot of help during all of this, I’ve–I’ve created more problems. I fell during the fight with those spiders. I got us into an unnecessary fight with githyanki. Because of me, Wyll is turning into a tiefling or a devil or–” She was going to continue with her faults but couldn’t due to the mouth that covered hers. Whether it was the panic that still thrummed in her veins or the mere shock of the kiss, Vesper was present.

Her eyes were wide open, becoming rounder as she realized what was happening and could feel Astarion’s tongue glide across her own. He had taken advantage of her shock. Pulling back slowly he lifted a brow, “Are you finished or do I need to kiss you again?” Vesper lifted a hand to her lips and covered her mouth, “Why?” she asked, her voice muffled.

“I told you, I don’t know how to comfort properly anymore…” he shrugged a shoulder and sat back, his head resting on the natural wall. “Any one of us could have fallen due to those spiders. Wyll is turning into a devil because he didn’t follow his pact. The githyanki,” he made a noncommittal noise and waved one hand through the air as though sweeping the situation away, “the only thing I blame you for is feeding Gale all of the good items we’ve looted. I feel as though I have to hide the trinkets I want to keep now.” His nose twitched and she watched as his gaze flickered to her neck, “You made yourself bleed.”

“It’s too tight,” she admitted, her hand snaking up to touch it again but it was caught by Astarion who pulled it towards him. “Then we should remove it,” his tone was casual, she felt his nails against the pads of her fingertips. They didn’t hurt, he was applying pressure but not to hurt her. “I can–”

“You won’t,” he corrected, “You are perfectly capable of having it removed. You just won’t.”

Her head dropped, her hair spilling over her shoulders as she nodded. Silence stretched again before he shifted, “How are you feeling?” his fingers had worked down from the tips of hers to her palm and further down to her wrist, he could feel her pulse from there. “I think I’m okay now,” she said softly.

“Alright,” he said and turned his head away from her again, “would you like to stay with me? In my tent? No sex tonight, though I could make it something to wash away the fears of today and make you feel more alive than you’ve ever felt,” he said it with all the flare for dramatics that he could muster without getting louder before his voice softened again, “I’m of the mind you need rest. My tent can provide privacy if you start crying again and I will be there to…well I’ll be a beautiful distraction.”

A laugh actually broke through her and she dropped her head trying to cover it with her other hand. When she lifted her gaze back up he was grinning like he’d just won a bet, “Alright. I–” she cleared her throat, “I think I’d like that…”

Astarion’s hand burrowed into her hair again and she stiffened, thinking he was going to kiss her again, but he pulled her forward and pressed his lips to the space between her brows, “Let’s go then. I think they had to cast a hold-person spell on Karlach to keep her from coming after you, she’s probably worried sick.”

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Vesper hoped whoever built that wizard’s tower had the weave turn on them in their time of need. Karlach, Gale, Astarion, and herself had returned to where she’d been blown up several times to attempt getting into a looming tower, and for a while, it was simply trial and error. At first, Vesper had thought that perhaps if they were open about being there, didn’t steal anything, just made it to the door as quickly as possible and introduced themselves. Gale grimaced as he listened to her plan but only after she walked out and got hit a few times did he call out that perhaps this wasn’t the plan to go with.

Karlach was beaten to hell and back by the turrets when she attempted to damage them. Gale’s witchbolt worked on one but did absolutely nothing to another one.

Astarion attempted to steal around it but despite being absolutely consumed by darkness, the turrets found him easily. They had returned to camp for a short while to brainstorm more when Shadowheart mentioned invisibility.

“It is possible they don’t trigger from footsteps,” Gale thought aloud before pulling out a large tome he had been transcribing spells into. “Aha! I do indeed have an invisibility spell,” he looked up at the group, proud of himself, “but it only lasts for a minute, so there won’t be much time to do searching and we still don’t know how to turn them off.”

Astarion squinted his eyes before reaching for Vesper’s backpack, “After your potions, darling,” he explained when she whipped her head in his direction. Between the grove, Ethel, and the goblin camp they had been able to purchase or…procure three potions of invisibility. Each was on its own chain and he put all three around his neck, “I’ll do it then. No offense, but I am the fastest of us.” Everyone nodded and Gale looked like he had something to add but held himself back, “What about mobility? Do wizards usually use grand staircases?”

Their wizard tilted his head, “Sometimes…but others implement other forms of travel. With these turrets, I wouldn’t be surprised if we did not come across a staircase.” He began to go through his book again looking for something for mobility. Vesper chewed on her lip for a second before her eyes widened, “Wait!” She jumped up from her spot by the fire and ran over to the chest she and Shadowheart had found when they first awoke on the beach. They put their extra supplies, books they came across, and their camping gear in here to make it easier to move from place to place. She rummaged through things for a moment before pulling a large knapsack from its depths and began looking through it. When she finally returned to her place by the fire she held a potion that was in an odd bottle. Passing it to Astarion he turned it over in his hands, “What's this?”

The bottle was narrow at the stopper but wide at its bottom, it had two wing shaped handles on either side of it. Vesper cleared her throat and tilted her head, “I explained to all of you how there was a woman who taught me alchemy right? Well, she told me that generally people used those bottles to easily identify potions of flying.” The spawn made a noise and raised his brows as he unstopped the bottle and took a sniff before closing it again.

Gale chuckled, “While it is true that many use different bottles to make it easier to identify their creations, you said you found that chest and its contents on the beach. Perhaps I should identify this before any of us go drinking it” He held out his hand to the rogue who reluctantly handed it over, “Just don’t go eating it, wizard.”

Ten minutes later, Gale announced that the bottle was correctly assumed. Now the plan was to go back, make Astarion invisible, be prepared to get hit by the turrets, and pray to whoever was listening that the blonde rogue could figure out how to turn it all off.

Gale cast his spell first and Astarion disappeared from view, “Right, be quick and efficient. What we can see of the tower is likely not all that there is, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more below the surface…” he continued talking. Vesper, who stood just at the edge of the safe area, felt a tug on her hair and heard the scuffing of boots. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth and she turned, “He’s gone.”

“Ah,” the wizard tutted and gave a nod, “then I suppose we wait.” He tested how far he could get away from the wall before sitting down where he could still see the tower. After a minute he inhaled and heaved a sigh, “I think it’s been long enough,” he swirled his hands before placing them over his eyes. Karlach and Vesper shared a look before realization dawned on the tiefling’s face, “Fucks sake, Gale! I forgot you couldn’t see!” The human wizard laughed and adjusted where he sat, the tower now easier to make out in the darkness, “It’s quite alright. I think I might be the only one in our camp without it to be honest. Seems even Wyll received that gift from his fiendish patron,” he clapped his hands together and sat down next to the two women, and stared up at the tower. “For the most part, I am doing alright, the longer I am in the dark the more my eyes adjust to the glow of the local flora. However, your particular traits do make it simpler to see any foliage that might catch a foot, or just see into the distance.”

Vesper was going through her pack again, wondering if there was anything else that could help with the tower when suddenly Gale doubled over. “Vesper,” he said with a wince, “I’m terribly sorry but it seems…” she sighed and went through her bag grabbing a ring they had located in a harpy’s nest, that day seemed like forever ago. “Do you feel it coming on? The hunger?” she asked as Gale accepted the ring and held it to his chest.

In just moments it was gone, “No. It happens all at once I’m afraid. One second I’m fine, the next it feels as though I haven’t had food or water in nearly a week. Tara and I attempted experiments at one point, how long could I wait? Did the use of the weave exhaust the hunger? Did the use of the weave invite the hunger? We never really got an answer.”

They fell into relative silence again keeping an ear out for any signs of explosions or any more rumbling in the ground for another bulette judging by the giant holes in the ground they all assumed it might not be the only one in the area. Karlach was getting antsy, rocking side to side before she stood up, “This ain’t right, why did we send him off alone?” She was worried and it was written on her face as she gritted her teeth, “I’m going after him.”

Vesper jumped up, “Karlach no!” She grabbed the tiefling without thinking and hissed as the barbarian of the Blood War’s skin singed her own, “Vesper!” shouted Karlach as she backed away with her hands up, “I told you that you can’t touch me!”

“I know! I forgot!” she hissed before putting her hand to her mouth, not burned terribly but it still ached, “I'll be fine but please, just wait. We don’t need both of you down, if he doesn’t make an appearance soon we’ll go back to camp and—”

In the distance, there was a mechanical whirring sound and the chandeliers that circled the tower began lighting up, “Look!” Karlach turned and began running for the tower. Gale stood up and took Vesper’s burnt hand, “I keep these handy,” he said softly and poured a healing potion over her palm. “Seems you’ve forgotten your foray with her flames before; we’ll have to come up with other ways of stopping her should she get the itch to run off on her own,” he gave the bard a tight-lipped smile and squeezed her hand before jogging after their tiefling friend.

Astarion stood at the double doors his arms open wide as the three approached, “Ah, welcome friends to my humble abode.” One arm crossed his front, the other going behind as he bowed deeply and chuckled, “Figuring out the mechanics of this place was difficult enough then to add this device,” he waved a hand behind him to the arcane elevator.

Karlach was looking him over without touching him, “So you’re alright? No cuts or attacks or…” Astarion tilted his head and smiled, “I’m perfectly well, darling. Just vexed at how little there is of value here.” Gale and Vesper caught up to them and were winded, “So, what are we looking for here? Besides one drow’s trash?”

Vesper shook her head, “I was hoping for maybe a person but,” she walked up to the rubble on the ground before leaning over it to look upward, “I think it's been abandoned for a while.”

As a team they began searching the place, Astarion pointed a chest out to the others, and at first, they left the cutlery and cups behind, but Vesper mentioned having Halsin join their camp, “We don’t exactly have the supplies to feed everyone at once. It could come in handy in case we run into anyone else,” and she went back to retrieve the items only to shout for the others.

She had reached in to grab the knife and the fork but instead, as she pulled her hands past the threshold of the chest they transformed and became heavier. A bundle of leather armor and a dagger were in her hands now, “What the fuck?” She turned and looked at them. Gale chuckled and walked forward taking a cup from the chest only for it to transform into a healing potion, “I’ll be, a chest of the mundane.”

He turned to the others with a grin on his face before clearing his throat and explaining to their confused looks, “An enchanted chest to befuddle would-be thieves. Simply place your special items,” he reached over and took Vesper’s hand crossbow, “and put it inside, it will no longer be itself.” He slowly lowered the crossbow into the chest and as it passed the lip into the depths it became a hairbrush, he lifted it back out and handed the crossbow back to its owner, “Voilà!.”

They decided to take the chest back to camp, it would come in handy for any items they wanted to hide, the first thing to go in was the necromancy book they had found in Moonhaven. Astarion was loath to part with it but he didn’t want someone taking it from them–from him.

For their journey to the tower, they were joined by the others as they explored finding books on different floors, and alchemical ingredients on another, and as they ascended to the top floor everyone was surprised by the automaton who began speaking with them.

Between Gale and Wyll they were able to keep out of a fight, the two remember the plays and poems they had found on the lower floors. They were also given a ring that illuminated a hidden button and rune for ‘Basement,’ cautiously they gathered on the plate and traveled down to the bottom.

More ingredients, an arcane staff, and other items are what greeted them. They filled their bags before going back to the main floor.

As they came across a village scattered with bodies of duergar and deep gnomes they each crouched down attempting to not be found. While they weren’t caught by anyone, two druegar did lose their concentration on their invisibility spells, or perhaps they had timed out, and Astarion did his best to lead the group around the two males to get them out of the village. “What in the hells are these?” asked Wyll as they came across more dead not only gnomes or dark dwarves but what looked like mushroom people. No one had an answer for him.

They kept walking, careful of the giant holes they found, especially careful in one dirt clearing. Finding the headstone in the dark was interesting for a moment before Shadowheart turned around, “Where’s Vesper?” Astarion’s head jerked upward and he scanned, “There,” he pointed and made his way over to where the bard was reaching to pick at a particular fungus that was shaped like a trumpet, “What are you–”

“Shh!” she hissed, she wasn’t looking where her hand was reaching but across the expanse, and when Astarion lifted his eyes up to follow hers he saw what had her frozen in place.

“It stood on two legs but its arms were so long and had these like hook blades on them.”

The bard had seen these before, she had told them about them just days ago. This was the creature she and Vale had run into years ago.

“Hook horror,” she heard Astarion’s whisper but didn’t dare to turn away from the creature. She felt an arm snake around her midsection before his front was just pressed to her side, “When I say go,” his voice was low and his tone kept even, “I’m going to throw you in front of me, you will yell or scream, whatever you have to do to get their attention. As long as you’re ahead of me it will think I’m the weaker target.” Her lips were trembling, “Nod,” the command wasn’t one she was used to but she obeyed, her chin was barely down to her chest when she felt the hand at her side tug and her feet began to move.

She didn’t look back, she just started running, “Help! Karlach!” her voice echoed through the underdark and she could see the flames rising off her friend. That thing, that hook horror, jumped and Vesper stumbled as the ground shook beneath her feet. The sound of her cry for help was answered by the barbarian’s battle cry as the fight began.

Fighting one hook horror was easy for their larger group, hell even the second one it summoned was no problem. Though it seemed like the fight was never-ending when the second cried out to a third and garnered the attention of a male drow who called one of these beasts ‘My love,’ as it died. Vesper looked up at the branch her companions stood on and gripped her crossbow tightly as Lae’zel’s blade slashed through him and Astarion sunk his teeth into the elf’s neck.

She followed Shadowheart and Gale to a boulder and waited at the bottom of the tree’s root while Gale identified it as the Sussur tree they had been searching for. She approached one of the blooms and felt the distantly familiar of nothing. The magic that now thrummed through her being was silenced as she stood so close. She was running her hands over it when Lae’zel called out that she saw another of the hook horror beasts. She and Karlach rushed forward as once again, the bard froze at the sight of it and shuddered when it cried for help.

“We’ll be done soon,” her feet slipped as she jumped and she felt a pair of lean arms wrap around her, “easy, little bard.” As quickly as she could Vesper found her footing and pulled away from the high elf with an apology rushed from her lips, “We have the bark now, yes?” She pushed away from the spawn and turned to look at him, there was a frustration on his face she could read, and looked back to the others as the tiefling and gith worked together to kill the monster that used to haunt her childhood nightmares.

“Yes, I imagine we’ll be going back to the surface, to at least forge this weapon then to fight the hag,” he said to her and she felt his hand creep across the small of her back as he stepped closer. “Are you going to be alright?” when she turned to look at him again his brow was raised and she nodded, “Eventually,” her answer didn’t even convince her, and she coughed to clear her throat. “I’m just ready to be out of here…” she admitted and motion from behind him had her peeking over his shoulder.

Shadowheart was being led down the weaving root by Wyll, a large piece of the tree’s bark in her hands. Gale clapped his hands together just behind her, “So, who is ready to try their hands at magical forging?”

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

The sun was still in the sky when Gale’s teleportation ritual landed them in Moonhaven. Vesper used the town’s water spout to wash her face, allowing the cold water to fall under her collar, before sitting down outside the blacksmith’s house. Shadowheart had paused and asked her if she was following them in but she had declined, preferring to sit in the sun. Wyll and Astarion remained outside as well as the others went down–Karlach grabbed a dagger from Astarion before heading in just in case.

“What did you do before you were picked up, Vesper?” the quiet interrupted by Wyll’s question made the bard jump. When the others had descended past the double doors she had dropped her head with her eyes closed. “Homemaker….a mother,” she answered Wyll as simply as she could. The warlock smiled, “And being a mother taught you how to use a rapier? Sorry, it’s something I’ve wanted to ask about since we tested your memory a few days ago,” he blushed as he asked and Vesper laughed softly. “No, my brother Valere had a friend who was taking lessons, he taught us to make his lessons stick,” there was a fondness in her voice as she remembered playing with her siblings during their moments of freedom.

“Did he also teach you how to use a crossbow?” he asked, indicating the singular weapon she carried on her nondominant hip. Vesper looked down and shook her head, “Oh no, that’s from hunting. Hand crossbows were easier for Perris and I to carry and we would hunt rabbits for dinner…” She heard a muffled chuckle and looked up to the hole in the house where one of Astarion’s legs hung over, “What?”

“I was just thinking about the number of poor bunnies you two must have hunted,” said the high elf, and Vesper rolled her eyes, it was a safe rebellion since he couldn’t see it. “What does he mean?” Wyll lifted the brow of his good eye as the bard met his gaze she sighed and shook her head. “He’s teasing because I’m one of fifteen children,” when Wyll’s eye bulged she laughed again, “there are quite a few multiples, by the way. Two sets of twins and a set of triplets…though if you were to see Marcel and Rosie you’d think they were twins as well.”

Wyll cocked his head as he nodded, “Astarion had mentioned that earlier, I had just not believed him. Will they be waiting for you in Baldur’s Gate?”

“No.”

The warlock looked up, expecting an expansion of her answer that wasn’t going to come. After a moment cleared his throat again, “Well, if you would like to practice your rapier fighting I’m more than happy to assist. I know I’m not up as early as you are but I can adjust myself if it will bring you more confidence in its use.” Vesper smiled at the monster hunter before her brows knit together, “Is this because of how I reacted earlier?” Wyll nodded, “I noticed you froze several times. I cannot blame someone who is unused to this style of life, but seeing as we’ll be on the road together for a while I could hardly call myself a friend if I didn’t try to help.”

From inside, they heard a whooping noise that made the drow and human jump to their feet, Astarion held up a hand to slow them and turned around. “What happened down there?” he called out before standing and walking to the web-covered hole in the floor. Through the darkness, he could make out the fire and Karlach’s glow as she turned upwards and held up a dagger, a large smile on her face.

“It has the same properties of the tree,” called Gale as he too looked upwards and with the help of his dark vision spell was able to make out the elf who was peering over, “we’ll be more than prepared to rescue Mayrina from Ethel’s clutches.” Astarion nodded, “Good…in the morning then. We need to find shelter for the night.”

#the caged bard #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 #tcb: vesper #astarion/tav #astarion/halsin/tav coming later #halsin/tav later #astarion/halsin later #tav's story

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