#let me know if there are any I should add!
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Trial By Combat - 6
Requested By: No one. Original Work
CW: manipulation?
Summary: Arlecchino’s got a secret…
Note: You all asked and I will provide! Here’s part six <3 this chapter is a bit slow but I promise it’s leading up to something great!
Part One —> Part Five
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Fontaine, for the most part, had finally begun to go back to normal. Although no trials have been held since the Creators trial, many shops have reopened their doors to the public once more. It’s as if Fontainians want to disregard the event entirely, treating it as a work of fiction like the Prophecy. However, this doesn’t stop The Steambird from posting every single update regarding the Creator, nor does it stop every copy from selling out.
Despite the lack of trials, it hasn’t prevented the Chief Justice from sending criminals to the Fortress of Meropide, and only hours from now, Paimon and Aether would be a part of the group sent there. The two were the only customers dining at Cafe Lutece this afternoon, the owner seemed almost eager to provide the gluttonous amount of food the duo had ordered.
“Oh Paimon is feeling a bunch of nerves right now and it’s just making her more hungry.” She whines while rubbing her stomach. “I’m just hoping that the food in the Fortress is actually tasty.”
Aether lets out a soft chuckle, “it’s a prison Paimon. I doubt that the food will be any good”
Paimon pouts crossing her arms. “Hopefully will be rightfully compensated for our due diligence. Oh! Maybe even something from the Creator themselves!”
The traveler gives her a look, “you shouldn’t think like that Paimon, not when they are currently missing right now.”
The travel guide immediately covers her lips, muttering out a small apology.
“Speaking of the Creator,” Paimon says, “do you really think Childe might know something? I mean, we’ve heard how he’s talked about them before.”
It was true, during their time in Liyue when they had met Childe, he had expressed how heavily he revered the Creator. Not just him, all of the harbingers they’ve met have mentioned the Creator in a positive light. Aether even recalls when the Wanderer told him that the only thing all of the harbingers could agree on was their ultimate respect for them.
“Based off our interactions with the Fatui before, they might have some respect for Their Grace. But we still have no idea why they want the Gnosis, maybe it’s connected to the Creator.”
Paimon nods in agreement. “You’re right. If the gnosis are what connect the Archons to Celestia, then maybe the Creator has something similar?”
“Hopefully if the Fatui got their hands on Their Grace, they haven’t left Fontaine yet. We should still be able to rescue them.” Aether adds.
“Paimon hopes so too! Oh I can only imagine the type of horrors they could be putting them through!”
“Are you talking about Their Grace?!”
A familiar girl with a pink bob holding a camera in her head pops out of a bush quickly approaching the table. It was Charlotte, and she had a large smile on her face.
“Do you two have any nuggets of information about Their Grace? Oh please share it with me, I’ll make it worth your while!”
Paimon and Aether share a look before looking back at the journalist.
“We don’t have any new information on The Creator.” Paimon explained, “we didn’t even know they had returned until Monsieur Neuvillette told us.”
Charlotte makes a look of surprise, “wait seriously? It was such big news! I’m sure everyone in Teyvat wrote the piece I had written.”
Charlotte places her camera on the table taking a seat across from them. “I’m just hoping for Their Grace to have a speedy recovery. I would love to interview them if they let me, it just seems like all of the big names in Fontaine never have the time for an interview. Monsieur Neuvillette and the Duke of Meropide have been on the top of my list for ages now!”
“Oh right, you’re a journalist Charlotte! ” Paimon exclaimed, “do you have an information about the Duke?”
Charlotte ponders for a moment, “not really, just the same regurgitated information I get from people who leave the Fortress. Why do you ask?”
“We actually are going to the Fortress later today.” Aether answers.
Charlotte’s eyes get as big as saucers as she’s jumping in her seat. “You two are going to the Fortress?! Will you two please get some information about the Duke for me?
Noticing the restrained looks on their face, Charlotte quickly adds, “I’ll pay for your meal! Yeah…! Let’s make it a deal, you get information on the Duke for me and this meal of yours is on me!”
Paimon grins, “it’s a deal!”
Charlotte shares Paimon’s enthusiasm as she pulls out a small bag of mora ready to pay for the meal. At that moment, the owner returns with multiple plates and bowls filled with various amounts of entrees and desserts wheeling it to the table.
“H—how much did you order…?”
———
Many journalist stood outside of the Palais Mermonia demanding answers from their Archon who had entered the building earlier that morning. Luckily, gardes stood outside preventing anyone from entering.
Inside of the chief justice’s office was him, the God of Justice, and the Champion Duelist whose hair was damp with sea water.
“I checked the surrounding area,” Clorinde says, “there is no traces of Their Grace anywhere. The only logical conclusion is that the Fatui must’ve done something with them.”
Neuvillette nods. “Thank you for looking Clorinde, your help is appreciated.”
Clorinde nods, “it’s no trouble. We all want Their Grace to be found safe and sound.”
Furina had a worried look on her face as she paces back and forth in the office. “W—what are we supposed to do now? We looked all over Fontaine and they aren’t anywhere.”
“Lady Furina.”
Furina stops pacing, turning her gaze over to Neuvillette who looked calm considering the situation. “I think it’s time to meet with the Kanve, wouldn’t you agree?”
“T—that Knave?” Furina stammers, “ha, why would we meet with her? Don’t we have more important things to worry about?”
Neuvillette clears his throat, “until we find Their Grace, we must operate like normal. If the others find out that we lost Their Grace—“
Furina lets out a breath putting on a confident stance, “yes! Right of course!” She interrupts, “I was thinking the same thing… I will prepare for the two of us to discuss relations with her as soon as possible.”
“Who said that I would be joining you?”
Focalors lets out a short gasp as she quickly approaches his desk, her gloved hands balling into fists. “Y—you expect me to attend the meeting alone! No! You must go with me!”
Neuvillette closes his eyes as he shake her head, “I must focus all my attention on the Creator, we must locate them before the rest of Fontaine and Teyvat begin asking questions. As the Archon, this is something you should be able to handle. Correct?”
Furina tenses slightly but lets out a sigh. “But… wouldn’t attending the meeting be the best thing for Their Grace?”
Neuvillette furrows his brows, “What do you mean?”
Furina’s confident flair was back just as quickly as it dissipated, “Attending the meeting will give us the chance to indirectly interrogate the harbingers before she even knows that we suspect her.”
Noticing the look on the chief justice’s face, Furina lets out a boastful laugh. “Naturally I, the God of Justice, would be the first one to think of this! Worry not Neuvillette, I believe that after this meeting, the truth shall be revealed!”
Clorinde mutters how she needed a towel and Neuvillette lets out a sigh.
“Very well... I will participate in the meeting.”
In between Fontaine’s Lumidouce Harbor and Chenyu Vale, a large ship was anchored the familiar insignia imprinted in the sail. There was a plethora of Fatui agents stationed on the ship that it was overwhelming, it would be impossible to infiltrate the ship without being spotted.
Many of the agents weren’t even aware why there was such an urgency to return to the homeland. Curious glances and whispers spread throughout the ship like wildfire, wondering what could the Knave possibly be doing in the lower deck that no one else was allowed to enter unless they brought news from Fontaine. All of them knew better than to question their harbinger, but she hadn’t been seen since the night before.
“Your Grace.”
Arlecchino’s soft voice cuts through your thoughts. Fontaine was in danger and you were the only one who could help, at least that’s what she believed. It was only a matter of time before the nation was completely wiped off the map, Lady Furina has done nothing but bury her head in the sand.
You glance at her face, despite her sharp features she still had a soft yet powerful air around her. Maybe that’s why the children from the House of the Hearth trust her so much.
“Are you hungry? I have chefs on board, they can prepare anything you desire.” Her hand rested on top of yours, her long nails rubbing against your knuckles in a comforting way.
You were famished. You knew she was capable of, but she was making you feel so welcomed. It felt as if you could trust her, tell her anything and she would understand.
You nod slowly and she smiles.
“I’ll be right back.”
She stands up from her spot next to you leaving the room. Her luscious black and white hair that was pulled into a low ponytail flowed behind her. Arlecchino returned quickly letting out a soft sigh.
“They are preparing a Snezhnayian specialty, the food is quite delicious. I hope it’s to your liking” She commented placing her hand right back on top of yours.
“We will be heading towards Snezhnaya at sunset.” She says. “Although leaving Fontaine wasn’t originally apart of my plan, but considering the circumstances, changes had to be made.”
You furrow your brows. “The circumstances?”
Arlecchino nods. “Your power…or rather, lack there of.”
“I have a colleague, I do not trust nor like him very much but I cannot deny his intelligence, I believe he may be able to figure out the answer… or even Her Majesty may know.”
So there was a colleague within the Fatui who had extreme intelligence that might be able to help you. Maybe he would even know why you were healing so quickly? Or does that tie into your “godly” abilities too?
“Is that why we are leaving so quickly? Because of my supposed amnesia?” You ask.
The Knave shakes her head, “not necessarily. It’s mainly for your safety, you don’t wish to stay in a nation that tried to kill you, right Your Grace?”
You were forced into a corner with that question. Wanting to stay in a nation that almost killed you was bad, but wanting to go to a nation that had the capability to kidnap you wasn’t any better. Yet you had to pick your poison, and in that moment you decided—
“Right.” You reply. “Leaving Fontaine is the smartest option.”
“I knew that you would see it my way,” she praises, “I only want what’s best for you and all of Teyvat.” She gives your hand a squeeze a small smile spreading on her red lips.
A small knock on the door interrupts the moment, Arlecchino looks at the door her gaze becoming icy. “You may enter.”
The door opens and a young lady whose face is obscured by a mask enters and she immediately kneels.
“Y—your Grace… Lady Harbinger.” Her voice was almost breathless, her gaze transfixed on you. “I have news from Fontaine.”
Arlecchino lets out a sigh crossing her legs. “News? What is it?”
“Focalors has agreed to have a political meeting with you. The chief justice Neuvillette will also be attending.”
The Knave doesn’t even try to hide the smirk that spreads on her face, “Very well then. Was there a time mentioned for this meeting?”
“In the next few hours Lady Harbinger. We’ve already got a boat ready to return back to Fontaine’s harbor.”
Arlecchino stands, her gaze becomes soft once more when she looks back at you. “Your Grace, I will return as soon as I can. If you have any needs anyone on the ship will be more than happy to serve you.”
She exchanges a few whispers with the agent before giving you one last smile leaving the bottom deck. The agent looks at you one last time before stuttering out.
“I—I’ll go get your meal immediately Your Grace!” She rushes out of the door leaving you alone once more.
The Fortress of Meropide was more grand than Aether had anticipated. Surrounded by Fontaine’s sea, there was no escape from this prison besides the path they embarked, which was at the rear of the Opera Epiclese.
After heaving their mugshots taken, Aether and Paimon are escorted onto a ship where they meet their tour guide, who is also just another prisoner within the Fortress. The entire tour he was standoffish and dry only giving the required amount of information. If the two asked for more information about credit coupons, secret rules, or about the Creator, he would say they’d have to pay for that.
The prisoner leads the two down the large hallway of the Fortress when multiple gardemeks came around the corner. The traveler immediately takes a stance ready for a fight when a voice eases his worries coming around the corner with the machinery.
“Welcome to the Fortress of Meropide,” the man greets. He had dark clothing and dark hair with a scar under his eye.
“Y—your Grace!” The tour guide quickly says, his standoffish nature immediately disappears. “Lovely weather we’re having!”
The man glances over at the tour guide, “Hm? Oh yes, I guess the weather is nice. If we could see it.”
The prisoner lets out an awkward laugh as the Duke looks back at Paimon and Aether. “I’m Wriothesley, but you can call me Your Grace.”
“You’re the Duke of Meropide?” Paimon asks in a shocked tone. Wriothesley nods.
“So, how was your tour?” He asks, “was everything up to standard?”
Aether glances as the tour guide for a moment before giving Wriothesley a firm nod. “Yep. No complaints here.”
“Wonderful.” Wriothesley smiles, “I think we should be able to reward you with more credit coupons then?”
“T—thank you Your Grace! Thank you!” The tour guide says. He then looks over at the traveler, “and thank you for such kind words! If you ever need anything! Anything at all! Please come find me!”
Once he rushes off, the Duke turns his attention back onto the newcomers.
“So, is it normal for you to greet all newbies in person like this?” Paimon asks.
Wriothesley lets out a soft laugh. “No it’s not. I just heard that you two were friends with Neuvillette so I figured I finish the tour myself.”
“Wait, how do you know that?” Aether questions.
“The Fortress might look like it’s cut off from the rest of the world but word still travels fast. Just like what happened to Their Eminence.”
Paimon glances at the traveler briefly. Wriothesley continues, “Many people in the Fortress were ready to leave just for a chance at seeing the Creator. But since they are still in the hospital recovering, I managed to keep them under control.”
“What else do you know about the Creator?” Aether asks.
“Nothing really.” He responds, “I haven’t had the time to leave the Fortress and go visit them myself. Unless you’re talking about the basic information, there’s books all around the Fortress that can tell you that.”
Wriothesley continues on with the tour, showing the where the so-called cafeteria was, the Pankration Ring, and where they would report to work everyday. He also mentions Sigewinne, the nurse who looks after anyone who gets hurt or sick.
Lastly, he shows them where they’ll be sleeping. As he explains the procedures for their room, Aether gazes falls onto someone walking nearby. An oddly familiar magician.
Lyney stops walking and looks back at him, but once Wriothesley notices, Lyney lets out a soft laugh doing a dramatic bow.
“Well hello there Your Grace! It’s lovely to see you out of your office!”
Wriothesley crosses his arms, “it’s good to see you too, but shouldn’t you be reporting to work?”
The magician gives him a cheeky smile as he stands back up, “of course! That’s where I was heading right now! But these two must be very important to get a personal tour from the Duke himself.”
Wriothesley says nothing in response but Lyney quickly excuses himself, his gaze falling onto Aether once more before walking out of sight.
“Come on,” Wriothesley says, “there’s one last stop I’d like to make.”
———
The three sit at one of the tables in the cafeteria, the chef bringing over three welfare meals. They remove the lids revealing the delectable meals inside causing Paimons mouth to water.
“Oh is this what the food is like in the Fortress?” She rubes her hands together, “Paimon could get used to this!”
“Actually, I managed to pull a few strings to get this meal, after today, you might not get another meal like this.”
The fairy didn’t seem to be paying attention as she keeps shoving more food into her mouth. The traveler rolls his eyes at his companion, looking back at the Duke.
“So you said there was books in the Fortress about the Creator?” Aether asks, his fork pushing around his meal mindlessly.
Wriothesley nods. “There are groups within the Fortress to make people feel more welcome or comfortable. There’s quite a few revolved around Their Eminence. Prayer groups, wanting a stronger relationship, or just normal worship in general, they’re actually pretty popular.”
Paimon swallows the food in her mouth, “How do you feel about them?”
Wriothesley ponders for a second, “I don’t know anyone who has a negative view on Their Eminence, including myself. I would be honored to go up to the surface soon and share a cup of tea with them.”
Aether didn’t say anything in response, but he had a feeling that Wriothesley knew more about the Creator than he let on. He did say word travels fast from the surface, is it possible he already knows the Creator is missing?
“Anyways,” Wriothesley says, “I have other things to attend to, enjoy your time in the Fortress and try not to cause any trouble.”
The Duke gives one last farewell, leaving the table without another word. Aether and Paimon continue eating their welfare meals preparing themselves to adjust to their new situation and figure what exactly Childe may know about the Creator.
———
“You were right.”
In a dark corner of the Fortress, the twins from the House of the Hearth spoke in quiet whispers.
“Paimon and the Traveler, I just saw them.” Lyney explained.
Lynette’s ear lay flat on her head, her tail swaying slightly. “Monsieur Neuvillette must’ve told them and they’re here to investigate.”
“We have to do what Father told us to do.“ Lyney adds, “although playing ignorant to figure what they know won’t hurt either.”
Lynette lets out a sigh. “…and what about Tartaglia?”
Lyney shrugs, “what about him? He’s not here. We have to focus on the Creator. Without Their Grace, the Fatui won’t be able to—“
“I know.” Lynette interrupts. “Let’s just focus on the traveler for now.
“I must say, the timing of this meeting seems almost convient…” Arlecchino narrows her gaze as she brings her teacup up to her lips.
“I’ll just cut straight to the chase. I’m here about my colleague, Childe and of course, Their Grace.”
The table inside of Neuvillette’s office was covered in sweets from Snezhnaya, something the Kanve brought to ease the tensions within the meeting. Yet, it doesn’t seem to be working.
“Childe was declared innocent by you, the Iudex, yet was still given a guilty verdict by the Oratrice…” Arlecchino explains, “and only days after that, you declare that Their Grace is an imposter and almost kill them.”
Furina shifts uncomfortably in her seat, “Y-yes… we are aware of our… transgressions. The Creator is being well looked after and is healing quite quickly.”
Arlecchino perks up, “Oh? They are? So is it possible for me to see them for myself?”
“That won’t be possible at the moment, I apologize.” Neuvillette quickly adds in.
Arlecchino brings a forkful of cake up to her mouth as she lets out a scoff. “An outright refusal? I must say, I am surprised…”
Neuvillette crosses his arms, “this meeting wasn’t called to talk about Their Grace, but rather Mr. Tartaglia, correct?”
“That is correct. Then am I able to enter the Fortress to check on the wellbeing of my colleague?”
“That also won’t be possible.”
Arlecchino sighs, “so I cannot see Their Grace and I cannot see Childe. What exactly will this meeting accomplish?”
“We already have a course of action for Their Grace.” Focalors adds, “but we cannot share it with you or any other nations for now. This meeting was just a… common courtesy”
“And as for Mr. Tartaglia I am investigating matter.” The chief justice adds.
“A common courtesy?” The Knave questions, “everyone in Teyvat is wondering just what exactly will Fontaine do after committing the biggest sin known to man… and all you can say is that it’s confidential? Not to mention the prophecy you refuse to address.”
Furina shoves another bite of cake into her mouth, scooting her chair closer to Neuvillette.
“As long as Their Grace is in our nation, they are under our jurisdiction.” Neuvillette explains.
Arlecchino clicks her tongue. “A disappointing outcome indeed… but I cannot say I am shocked.”
Arlecchino finished her tea, “the Fatui is willing to extend our help if you need it. You all seem to have a lot on your plate at the moment. Maybe it’s best to pass some of the responsibility onto someone else?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Neuvillette states.
The Knave stands from her seat, brushing her bangs out of the way, revealing her red X eyes. “I think it’s safe to say this meeting is concluded, I have to return back to Snezhnaya immediately.”
Furina raises a brow, “returing so soon? W—why such a rush to leave?”
It falls silent in the room for a few seconds.
“Her Majesty cares very dearly about the Creator, I am expected to report any and all news directly to her.” Arlecchino explains, her back facing the two.
“Snezhnaya as a whole cares deeply about Their Grace, and once they heal completely we will welcome them with open arms… not a trial.”
Focalors looks down at her lap as Arlecchino leaves the office returning to her ship anchored near the border of Fontaine and Liyue. A sinister smile spread on her lips while Neuvillette and Furina sit in the office in silence, a sour taste lingering in their mouth even with the baked goods in front of them.
-
© avocad1s 2024
Note: Good luck to all my Arlecchino wanters! I got her and her sig weapon so I give all my luck to you <3
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Song: Happy Death Day by Xdinary Heroes
#dc#batfam#jason todd#Some of this animatic is so old…#some of the quality got decreased too.#not much I can do about that though…#my animations#tw jason’s death#i guess#tw death#tw blood#tw explosion#…?#let me know if I should add any more tags
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Fangs and Fractured Hearts
Chapter 15: Reclamation
Summary: You helped Astarion complete the Rite of Profane Ascension and become the Vampire Ascendant. You agreed to become his spawn soon after. Once the Netherbrain was defeated, Astarion claimed the Szarr Palace, renaming it the Crimson Palace, for himself and set about his plans of domination.
Word Count: 6.6k
Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn
Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]
Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.
If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know
Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]
A maelstrom of emotions dithers over the union you share. He seems unsure of what exactly he should be feeling as it fluctuates between fear, doubt, and bewilderment in a tumultuous outburst. His thoughts are akin to walking on the dark side of the moon - frigid, wilful in their grip on him with an undecipherable sapidity.
“What do you mean?” He shakes his head, eyes bouncing around as his brows pinch, creasing his forehead. His voice is detached and reticent, a masterpiece of regret and dolour. “I wouldn’t do such a thing, surely. Would I? Hells below. Did I?”
“You must have,” you conclude, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “I don’t remember you doing it, but I can’t hear or remember it.”
Astarion jumps to his feet, nearly pitching you off his lap in haste, but he grabs you at the last minute, dragging you up with him. He pulls his trousers up but leaves them loose as he paces fitfully, muttering and mumbling to himself and wracking his fingers through his hair.
“I don’t understand,” he utters, half to himself and half to you. “I just do not understand. Why would I do such a thing? How long ago did I do this? What the fuck is wrong with me?”
It’s not your fault.
“I think it was before I…” you trail off, squeezing your eyes closed at the memory of Astarion stalking you through the Crimson Palace hallways like a predator, caustic venom spitting from his lips, every word eating away at your soul.
“Left me,” Astarion finishes with a note of despair, like a cold hand laid upon your bare soul. “You can say it.”
You nod sullenly, dropping your head, deject and wayward.
His emotions are flickering through your mind and body like a kaleidoscope of lightning strikes, each blinding flash incomprehensible in its intensity. You focus, but Astarion stops dead as you try to catch and hold them, and the connection is severed.
You are once again empty, a barren midnight sky that’s misplaced the stars and moon. Your eyes snap to Astarion, but the scarlet of his eyes looks hollow with madness as he regards you with the wariness of a wounded animal. He looks at you like he doesn’t know who you are, and it sends a wave of alarm coursing through you, causing your palms to heat.
He retrieves his shirt from the floor, always keeping a close eye on you as if you might pounce. He’s unreadable and cold, the iron countenance of the Vampire Ascendant shrouding him like an icebound veil. Without a word, Astarion darts out of your room, descending the stairs at a whirlwind pace that would be perilous for anyone who wasn’t so agile.
“Astarion?” In confusion, you chase after him without much thought, nearly tumbling down the stairs, and grab his arm. “Where are you going?”
He rips his arm out of your clutches with a bestial snarl. “Don’t touch me!”
“Just wait,” you plead with him, casting Misty Step and blocking his trajectory to the door. You can’t make heads or tails of this shift. “Please. Tell me what’s going on. Let me help.”
“You can’t help me.”
Astarion tries to get around you, but you won’t secede any ground and hold your position with foolish defiance. He grabs your arm, pivots, and thrusts you backward, throwing you to the floor. When you look up at him, those crimson eyes are starting to flick and fade like a star in the throes of death.
“Do not try and stop me again,” he growls, taking stalking steps toward you with a choler tinge in his voice. “Bad, pet.”
Astarion laughs, leans down, and grabs your ankle. He squeezes until the bones are wailing and threatening to break under duress. You whimper, beseeching cries for amnesty, trying to crawl away.
“Master, stop! Please.” You barely recognize the word as it jumps off your tongue in your agony. The haunting palette of bruising is immediately stained on the ghostly white canvas of your skin.
His grip is suddenly snapped away, and he springs back, grabbing his head with a pained groan, shaking it from side to side furiously as he roots himself in place. His breath falters as his eyes meet yours with a hysterical acidity as their claret shifts from deep and warm to shoal and dull as if covered by a thick layer of dust.
“Sorry,” he totters unsteadily on his feet, his lips parting with erratic breaths that make his chest jump aperiodically. His heart beats so hard in his chest that the sound is almost ear-splitting. “Hells. I’m so sorry. I— I— must go.”
Astarion does not even close the door in his urgency, and you’re left naked, clutching your ankle on the floor, staring into the street with your mouth agape. You cast Telekinesis to throw the door closed and limp around the manor, closing the heavy drapes to block the sun.
“Fuck!” You scream at the emptiness surrounding you as you pull yourself up the stairs on your lame ankle.
As you bathe, you allow your body to submerge into the spacious tub. You force yourself to forgo the useless impulse to breathe the air you no longer require and sink. The water’s surface contorts above you like an uneven mirror, twisting and warping reality. Everything is falling apart, and you feel like the sand of a beach being dragged away piece by piece with every crash of another wave upon the shore of your life.
Your heart would be beating recklessly in your chest if you hadn’t been alleviated of life. Colourful promises of love and breaths of forever in a realm of temporary fill your eyes with tears that seep into the water. Time stands still, and your doubt settles and masks your bravery. You’re one step closer to losing him entirely, but you must be fearless. Neither you nor Astarion can afford for you to fall.
Closing your eyes, you run headfirst into memories, searching your soul for all the places that feel like home.
The thudding of boots, the drip of rain that sneaks through the fissures in the bricks, the skittering and squeaking of vermin — everything echos off the stone in Moonrise. The fire throws foreboding, eerie shadows in slinking shapes across your tent that make you uneasy. No one wanted to camp here for the night, with the Absolute Cultists only floors below, but it had been a long journey through the Shadowlands, and the hungry shade had sapped everyone’s strength.
You flop restlessly on the furs in your tent, unable to trance. You had been counting the cultists inhabiting this wretched place as you made your rounds, trying to familiarize yourself with the layout. The omen of the arduous battle hangs over you, and you’re trying to devise some semblance of a plan to wipe them out in stages. You were never a very strategic planner. Typically, showing up and raining fire, violence, and death have worked for most of your life. Even with the help of the Harpers, one mistake could spell disaster.
Your ears twitch as you hear the rumbling murmurs bounce off the walls, and you’re out of your tent in a blink with fire ablaze in your palm, fearing the cultists have figured out that you don’t fit within their ranks. Taking a lap around, you take a quick headcount, checking your friends off one by one until you hear a soft, breathy whimpering.
Astarion…
Crouching by his tent, you whisper his name, but he does not answer. You recognize a nightmare when you hear one, and your hurt lurches in your chest, fingers hovering just over the door of his tent, but you don’t open it. Your proximity is usually enough to calm him without waking him, and this time seems no different. The trashing has stopped, and his muttering has ceased.
You sigh, relieved, and lay down at the door, curling up on the hard stone. You will rest here tonight if it means you can bring him even a scrap of peaceful rest.
“Darling,” Astarion purrs in a rugged timbre, heavy under the weight of drowsiness. “Whatever are you doing?”
You smile and flop over to peer into the hypnotic, heavily-lidded eyes. Astarion yawns, fangs peeking from his lips, and grins back at you.
“You were having a nightmare,” you whisper, making sure to keep your voice down so it doesn’t wake the others. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep. I’ll stay here tonight.”
“You were going to sleep out here on the stone?” He cocks his head, quirking a brow at you. “Why?”
“It seemed to comfort you,” you shrug.
"I meant, why would you sleep out here when there's a perfectly good bedroll in my tent with me?”
“Oh,” you say, sitting upright with a jolt. “That’s okay, Astarion. Really. I’m perfectly fine out here.”
“Get in here, weirdo," Astarion giggles, grabbing your arm and giving it a gentle tug.
You hesitate, but he tows you harder, and eventually, you relent and crawl into his tent. You sit in the corner, trying to make yourself small, wrapping your arms around your knees.
Astarion huffs exasperatedly, “You do realize that we’ve had sex, yes? You were hardly shy during our little late-night expeditions.”
“I’m not shy, not with you,” you giggle but avidly watch how Astarion’s jaw clenches, fingers tangling into the furs. “You’re hungry. I can see it. I can’t imagine it’s comfortable to be so close to a food source in a confined space.”
“I’ll admit, it’s not easy when you’re so very delicious with that lovely neck, begging to be tasted,” he grins, an artificial smile meant to put you at ease. Astarion notices that he cannot fool you, and his fingers rifle through his hair. “I’m fine. Truly. You’re not in any danger around me. I can control my hunger.”
“Danger? Oh, Gods! No, Astarion.” You shake your head at him, offering your hand, and he takes it. His thumb sways softly over the back, “I’m not afraid you’ll hurt me. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable. When’s the last time you fed?”
“Oh, I don’t know, darling. There was that cultist I made a snack of a couple of days ago. You needn’t concern yourself with it. I’ve gone much, much longer without a meal.”
There’s a bleakness shading the sculpted angles of his face that makes your heart palpate with empathy. You don’t have to ask for confirmation. Cazador obviously starved him as some form of punishment. It makes your palms heat in reflex as you seethe. You don’t care what it takes. You are going to kill the motherfucker who dared torture this man that’s stolen your heart.
“Astarion, whenever you’re hungry, I’m happy to offer my neck. All you have to do is ask.”
“That’s very… sweet, but the very shadows of this place are hungry.” Astarion sighs, wrapping his arms around his waist to smother his hunger pains. He smiles, “As much as I would absolutely love to take you here and now, you need your strength. We have many battles ahead.”
“Don’t be dumb," you tut, moving your hair away from your neck. “I need you strong. I am capable of deciding this for myself. I don’t need you to do it for me.”
“Dumb? Darling! You wound me.” He theatrically scoffs, hand to his forehead, falling back as if you slapped him, with a shallow chuckle, “I have received many slights in my life - Insufferable, insolent, insignificant, but this might be the first time I have been accused of being dumb.”
“Well, they say there’s a first time for everything,” you smirk, levity uplifting the lilt of your baritone. “Consider this your first.”
“You are racking up quite the catalogue of firsts,” he chuckles, shaking his head, propping himself up on his elbows. “Are you sure? I am truly of sound mind. No one is in any danger.”
You crawl toward him, heart rate accelerating with every forward movement of your hands and knees, “Will you please shut up and bite me already? Before I berate you for believing I think you’re a danger.”
Astarion’s hand wraps around your arm, persuading you closer with pressure, but he does not so much as glance at your exposed neck. He’s fixed on your eyes as if he’s found heaven hidden within them.
“Then allow us to dine together,” he nods slowly, eyes still moored to yours as he sits upright, prompts you to turn, and holds your back steady against his chest. He kisses under your earlobe and hints his lips down the column of your neck until he settles on that rhythmically pumping vein. He kisses it, long and lingering, and groans, “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” you sigh, barely able to contain your body’s excitement as it trembles in his arms.
His fangs puncture your skin like icicles, impaling the soft flesh, but it ebbs and dulls to a paradisical strumming before your mind has time to react and withdraw. For a vampire that has not fed on thinking creatures much, he’s remarkably gentle and has only become more tender since you started these little meals. He draws from you in unhurried pulls, tallied and modulated as he listens, and his palm splays across your chest over your heart to determine its pace in case he does not hear it accurately.
You feel your ethos skimming through his veins, warming his skin, flushing the tips of his ears, an antidote to his pain. You sigh mellowly, and your fingers untwist from his trousers, going lax. His arousal hardens against your back as he removes his fangs from your neck, tongue lavishing at the residual weeping wounds with broad, flat strokes and moaning a chilled breath over the shell of your ear.
Astarion turns your head toward him, catching your lips in a blistering kiss tinged with the coppery piquancy of your blood. His hips buck into you with a growl, and his hand veers toward your aching clit. You stop him short, grabbing his hand with a shudder.
“What are you doing?” You breathe against the needy, silken embrace of his mouth.
“You’ve been ever so generous,” he purrs. “Allow me to repay your charity in a language I speak proficiently.”
“No,” you break away from the kiss and his arms. Your head swims, bloodless and faint. Your heart hammers, trying to pump the blood no longer within your veins. You sway on your knees, and Astarion supports you with a hand on your shoulder lest you faceplant, “This isn’t a tit-for-tat offer, Astarion. There is no repayment. I am just one friend assisting another. That’s all.”
“I— You don’t want me?”
His genuine confusion encases your heart in a boiling bubble of sorrow, “You know I do, but not like this. I don’t want you if it’s compensation for my blood.”
“I’m sorry. It’s the only thing I know,” he looks bashful. If you didn’t know better, you would say he’s blushing, but that must be the rush of your blood through his veins. “Would you at least rest with me tonight while you're woozy? I will hear if anything untoward happens in camp, and I can protect both of us if need be.” He puts his hands up innocently, “I will keep my hands to myself. You have my word.”
“Do you think--" you trail off, bringing your hand to your forehead that seems to beat in time with your angry heart and groan. “That is to say— Could we —“
“Good Gods, sweetheart,” he chuckles. “Spit it out already before you lose consciousness. I did not take that much.”
Your arms drop by your sides, and you giggle with him, suddenly lethargic, “Never mind. I’ll sleep over here.”
“Now, who is being positively dumb,” he scoffs, clicking his tongue at you. “If you want to cuddle, you have but to ask. You know I do rather like cuddling with you.”
“If you know what I want,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “Why are you making a spectacle out of me?!”
“Entertainment,” he shrugs, laughing carefree and alight with humour.
“You’re terrible,” you mutter.
“I know,” he smirks, lying back and extending his arms, twitching his fingers in the come-hither motion. “Come on, love. Let’s have a cuddle, shall we?”
The bath water has turned cold by the time your eyes slide back open. You’re still lying at the bottom of the tub, in a watery grave like a sunken ship. How long have you been in here? Once your brain recognizes that you haven’t taken a breath in what could be hours, instinct takes over, and you propel yourself upright, coughing, sputtering, and gulping down the air furiously.
You scoff at yourself with antipathy. How long will it take for these responses to abate? When will your body just accept that you’re fucking dead?
Wrapping a plush towel around yourself, you listen for the comforting thud of Astarion’s heart but are only met with tomblike silence. It frightens you, making your stomach feel aflutter in your abdomen, reminding you of the Gur attack when you thought you lost him.
You slip into a long-sleeved, purple dress and tentatively peek outside. The velveteen embrace of twilight has cloaked the sky, but the cloud cover is thick, eclipsing the moonlight. You can smell the rain before the heavens have decided to cry. Reaching out to the bond, Astarion does not answer your call.
Fuck this.
You trot through the street, smelling the air. You wince with every step as the injury to your ankle smarts, but the bruising is already receding. It will not be long until it’s healed.
Unfortunately for you, the streets are still relatively busy, and your bloodlust is ever-present and a daunting task to control as you swerve and juke around people. Your mouth waters, and you shake your head like a wet dog to rid yourself of the smog that dampens and threatens to dwarf your self-restraint. The rain starts to drizzle, just as you predicted. The drops plane down your face, and you curse the skies because the scent of the rainfall on the dry stone of the street hampers your ability to detect much else.
You arrive at Wyrm's Crossing and follow the strong scent of blood outside a structure you are familiar with - the flophouse where Astarion's siblings were. The building is ominously dark and far too quiet. You sniff the air. It tastes almost bitter on your tongue, and it’s hard to focus on anything but the metallic richness, but you vaguely make out notes of rosemary and bergamot. You try to open the door, but it’s locked. Locks are hardly a challenge. You cast Knock and crack the door open. The fragrance of blood wafts so thickly in the air that you swear you almost see technicolour as you swoon.
It’s pitch-black inside, and your feet immediately come into contact with a stiff, cold mass on the floor, tripping you. Fire bursts to life in your palm, and mutilated bodies greet the illumination with milky eyes. Some have their intestines spilling out of their abdomens like gooey red ribbons. Others are missing the bottom of their jaw with their meaty tongues lolling out. These people were not just merely killed. They were brutalized, mutilated, and mauled.
A thick slick of congealing blood sloshes around your boots. It drips off the ceiling and down the walls like scarlet raindrops shed from dark skies, softly signifying sorrow's sharp sting. If your heart had not already hardened to macabre scenes like this, you imagine you would be sick. Instead, true to the monster you’ve become, it takes considerable effort not to drop to your knees and start lapping up the sanguine nectar like some thirsty mutt.
You are veritably shaking under the duress of temptation as you crawl over bodies to the one heartbeat that remains. Astarion sits at a table in an alcove in the back with a bottle of spirits clutched in his hand, several more littered around his feet on the floor. He stares abstractly at nothing, a million miles away, bleak and cold.
“Astarion…” you whisper, trying to get a decent look into his eyes.
“Darling?” His brows round when he looks at you, frowning and narrowing his glossy eyes. “You are afraid. Oh, no-no. Don’t be afraid. I didn’t mean to…” He’s confused, and it breaks your heart. “I killed them all, but I don’t remember. I am me now. I’m me - Astarion.”
“I know,” you purr, noticing that he seems to have to remind himself of who he is. “It’s okay.”
“Okay?” He scoffs, bringing the bottle to his lips and tilting his head back. He sways in his chair, causing it to creak, “This is about as far from okay as it gets. Did you not hear me? I killed them. I killed all of them.”
“I heard you,” you cradle his cheek and walk his gaze away from the body he seems fixed on. “We need to go home, Astarion. Before somebody finds us here.”
“Why?” He snaps, gesturing around with a satirical chuckle, “I will probably just kill them too. Or perhaps I will simply compel them to forget their names or their entire lives. Why stop there? How far do you think my power goes? Do you think I could compel them to forget how to breathe?”
“Astarion, please,” you slip the bottle from his fingers and crouch with your hand on his thigh. “Come with me.”
“I hurt you again today,” he sighs, staring at his empty hand with furrowed brows. “How do you sleep with me in the same residence? The same bed? How can you even stand to look at me? Gods. You must fucking hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” you cannot help the tears pricking your eyes. He looks lost as his eyes roam aimlessly, climbing toward the ceiling. “I love you.”
“You love me… Do you regret it?” He whispers, curling his empty hand into a fist repeatedly as if he’s unsure if the hand he’s looking at belongs to him, “Helping me complete the Rite, allowing me to turn you, falling in love with me.”
“No,” your answer is immediate, and the uncompromising intonation surprises even you. “The only thing I regret is that we did not know enough about the Rite.”
“You’re lying,” he concludes, hollow, distant, and abject.
“Open the bond and check my truthfulness if you wish,” you retort. Your whole body shakes as you try to make sense of this broken man before you, “I wanted to be with you for eternity. Everything has a cost. I paid it willingly.”
“Do you know why I turned you?” He asks, face contorting with an anguish you did not believe you would ever see adorn his features again. The corners of his mouth are downturned, eyebrows dropping at the ends, “Do you know why I was so adamant that this was the only way our relationship could continue?”
“I don’t know, Astarion,” you sigh soft and sullen. “I don’t care. What’s done is done.”
“Tell me!” He snarls, slamming his fist into the table and cracking it down the middle, “Tell me why you think I did it! Tell me why you think I fucking killed you!”
You finally relent and sob openly. “Why do you do anything now, Astarion? You wanted to possess me, control me, own me, and make me your obedient puppet.”
“No, my love,” he heaves a tremulous sigh, shaking his head. His eyes are vacant and unseeing, blinking slowly. “Nothing so sinister as that. I was afraid. I was still fucking afraid. I knew you would age and die while I remained the same forever. You would leave me alone again, and I feared a world, a life, without you. I took your life and bound you to me for eternity for no other reason than selfishness, but I always was remarkably selfish. Wasn’t I?” Astarion gazes around at the grisly affair of his making, “Why can’t I remember? I am sick. Aren’t I?”
“We will save you,” you slip your finger under his chin like he’s done to you so often and direct his gaze to yours. Your eyes blister with resolve, and your voice bleeds the same, trying to fill him with strength, “But I need you to keep fighting, Astarion. You must not give up.”
“For you,” he murmurs as his eyes finally appear cognizant. Astarion slides out of his chair, descending to his knees before you like you made you do a lifetime ago, and wraps his arms around you. He presses his cheek against your stomach and whimpers, fingers curling into your clothes. “I will fight to my last, my love.”
Sunlight filters into the window, golden rays bathing the room as your eyes flutter open. You nuzzle against the silk pillowcase before your mind bombards you with memories of your skin loosening, dripping, cracking, and the agony that arrested even screams from your throat. You nearly leap off the bed in terror, but solid arms wrap around your waist, pulling your back against the strong muscles of a warm chest.
“It’s okay,” Astarion purrs, grappling with your trashing. He places a soft kiss on your shoulder. “I am here. The sun cannot harm you. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
It takes your still hazy consciousness a moment to accept the promise of safety before you relax in his embrace with a sigh and roll over to face Astarion, looping your arms around him and burying your face in the crook of his neck. You can smell his blood pumping through his veins just below the surface of that pristine, silken skin, and your mouth waters. Your body urges you to bite, stomach knotting into cramps with the promise of that aromatic, richly decadent blood.
So close.
Before you know what you’re doing, your mouth is open, fangs hovering, and your body seizes. Astarion laughs genuinely, such a sparkling, airy rumble from his perfect lips as they pull into a smile against your cheek.
“Well, good morning to you, too.” He giggles, pushing you away, shaking his head with that playful glower, “Can’t get enough? I’m not surprised.” Astarion sinks his fangs into the fanning veins of his wrist and holds it out to you. “Remember, no biting and mind your teeth.”
You’re almost drooling at the oneiric vision of the weeping wounds. The scent of his blood is intoxicating - warm, full-bodied ferrous. The bright red drink of the Gods is a stark contrast to his pale skin, and it takes everything you have in you not to lunge for it. The offer of his blood is new and a little unsettling if you’re being honest.
“Go ahead,” his eyes dart to his dribbling wrist, brows furrowing at your hesitation. “This is no trick. Feed.”
He looks contrite, but there is a new tenderness in the way his eyes are fixed on you like you are shelter from the storm brewing behind his scarlet irises. You cannot handle it any longer. You take his wrist as gently as your fumbling fingers can possibly manage in your near frenzied bloodlust, bringing your lips to the wound. It tastes even better straight from his body, and your eyes roll back with a moan as you focus with a substantial amount of effort on drawing in slow, measured sips instead of trying to drain him dry in an instant.
“That’s enough,” Astarion instructs eventually, tugging his wrist just slightly. You could never get enough of this ambrosia on your tongue, descending into your stomach and making your nerves combust with delight. Your grip tightens on his wrist, and you growl at him, low and throaty.
“Hells,” Astarion groans pleasurably, eyes rolling back. His body trembles with excitement and pleasure. He enjoys this as much as you. He shakes his arm roughly and commands a little more harshly this time. “Love. I said that’s enough. Don’t be a greedy thing now.”
It’s enough to crack the haze that’s fallen over your mind, and you throw yourself from back, detaching from his wrist with panicked breaths. You’re sure when you look at him again, you will be staring at the embodiment of Mephistopheles psychosis, “I’m sorry, Astarion. I’m sorry.”
“Hey-hey,” Astarion coos deeply, like a warm auditory hug on a cold winter’s night. “It’s alright. I’m not angry.”
“You’re not?” You cannot help the stain of surprise that blooms in your voice.
“No, love,” he chuckles, his fingers pressing into your waist, encouraging you to cuddle, and you curl up against his side. He sweeps his thumb across your lower lip, gathering the blood smeared on it and pops it into his mouth with a sly grin. “I was a young vampire too, once upon a century, and I was certainly over-enthusiastic with my consumption of you the first time. It takes time. I can help you with it. We can practice like this.”
Your brows furrow, creasing as you try to think through the residual film of mist. This man is entirely too perplexing. It feels like you’re always trying to run from him, convincing yourself that everything is a trick, that you must be on guard at all times so you don’t get close, but is this just a way for you to hide from what you fear most of all - that you will be unable to save him, and you will lose him all over again.
There’s just no fucking time for this anymore. There is no more time to lose.
Astarion directs your gaze to him, “What’s going on in that beautiful mind?”
“Do you remember what you said last night?”
Astarion’s brows round, and the corners of his eyes crinkle, “Yes.”
“Was any of it real?” You murmur, pushing yourself upright so you can look at him. You request the bond, and Astarion and you unite, transcending time and space, melding together. It takes you a moment to gather yourself, “Or were you just drunk?”
“I meant every word.” Astarion turns suddenly serious, sitting and sagging against the headboard, “I wish to speak to you about something.”
“Are you okay?”
“I am fine.” He combs his fingers through his hair, “You called me Master. I do not wish you to call me that - think of me in those terms. Is that how you see me? As your… ugh,” he casts his eyes to the ceiling, “Master ?”
“No,” you snap, but it’s a lie, and you know it, which means he knows it through the union. You backpedal, “Yes. It is what you are, Astarion. Whether you or I like it, I am your spawn, and you are my master. This is just reality. It will do us no good to pretend that the dynamic of our relationship is different.”
Disappointment slashes across the bond like a blade cutting into your heart. It’s so strong that it physically aches in your chest, and you splay your hand across it and whimper.
Astarion shakes his head, eyes downcast, “I do not want to be your master, little love. I never did. I did not make you a regular spawn.”
“I’m not sure I follow, Astarion. What do you mean you didn’t make me a regular spawn? What other kind of spawn is there?”
Astarion squeezes his eyes shut momentarily, taking a deep breath, the muscles in his jaw twitching. He leans, opens a drawer and produces a book that looks ancient. Its cover is dulled by timeless centuries, and its spine is broken with loose pages precariously tucked in. His fingers tap the book, staring at it as if he dreads what he’s about to do.
He gives you a skeptical sideways look and passes you the book, “Page 152.”
Opening the book, you flip through the musty, yellowed pages until you reach page 152, titled “The Dark Kiss.” You scan the page, reading it once, twice, three times while Astarion stares at you with an unreadable expression. You can feel him in your head, looking through your eyes, thrusting into the folds of your mind, penetrating the softness of your soul, caressing your most intimate thoughts.
There’s trepidation in him. Your soul practically quivers under the weight of his unease. He is afraid of your reaction, and the entity within him is stoking those glowing embers of worry with its babbling breaths of affirmations, trying to ignite an inferno of fear that will melt through the shackles of his control.
“You need to explain this to me, Astarion,” you gawk at him, swallowing thickly as the information slowly sinks in. You’re unsure if the nervousness making your stomach warp is truly yours or his.
“I made you my bride – consort,” he does not look at you when he speaks. His eyes stare blankly at his twitching fingers. “How many times did I bite you that night?”
“Uh,” you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to recall the memory fogged over from blood loss, “Three. Once when we had sex, once on my wrist, and then my neck.”
Astarion nods, “I don’t remember much from that night, high as I was on the power of 7000 souls, but I do recall my intent. I bit you three times, as described in the book you’re holding, and then gave you my own blood. I told you this bond was unique to you and me because it’s only shared with a bride.”
“I’m sorry.” You rack your fingers through your hair, tousling it into an incomprehensible mess to match your whirling, tangled thoughts, “Are you trying to tell me that we are - what? Vampire married?”
Astarion smirks at the bewilderment adorning your face but looks bashful, “I suppose that’s an accurate description, yes.”
“And you declined to tell me this until now because?”
“Honestly?” Astarion’s eyes drift once again to the ceiling, “I meant to. I had every intention of telling you the truth, and then... I enjoyed the power, the superiority I had over you. I saw fear in your eyes when you looked at me, and I liked it. I liked you believing you were nothing. I wanted to revel in it. It fed the sickness within, and then I was... lost for a while.”
“What does this mean for me exactly?” It takes incredible effort to keep the rising panic from your voice.
Astarion’s eyes widen as your whirlwind of terror is added to the mixture of emotions between you, “It means you’re not quite a spawn, not quite a True Vampire, but as close as one could get while still being bound to me and under my control should I choose to exert it over you. I believe it can be reversed, should you wish it so. I’d have to do a little research--”
“No!” you blurt out in a yelping retort that makes Astarion flinch. He assumes your anxiety is due to being bound to him in such a way, you realize. The truth of it is your panic is a shadow looming over the increasingly dire odds of everything you stand to lose.
A friend. A lover. A partner. A... husband?
You smirk at the notion, pushing away that worry - you have time to worry later. Right now, you want to enjoy this. It’s the closest you have gotten to Astarion telling you he loves you. Perhaps, the closest you will ever get, and some sad speck of your soul laps at that wound and dabs it with this new information as if it might cure the incurable.
“Well,” you shift into his lap, leaning into the asylum he’s promising you through the bond, “I’m definitely going to start calling you husband now. I hope you’re prepared for that.”
“HA!” Astarion giggles, shaking his head with an endearingly lop-sided grin. His unkempt silver curls fall and bounce carelessly, “But of course. I can deny you nothing, wife. I wish to try and undo what he,” he corrects himself. “…I did - your name. I might be able to reverse it, but I’m not entirely sure how. You need to trust me, and I can feel you do not.”
You’re a little bemused that there is something Astarion doesn’t know how to do, and you grin at him, your fangs peeking out of your lips.
“Good Gods,” he rolls his eyes at you with a heartwarming smirk. “I am all-powerful, not all-knowing. Compelling is instinctive. Releasing it is another story entirely.”
You want to trust him. Gods above, you long to trust him like you used to, but how can you, given what you know? You wrench on the tide of the bond, causing it to spill and break over you as ocean waves crash upon boulders that dare protrude from its surface. You scour the chords of the harmony, picking them apart note by note, feeling for any sign of manipulation, deceit, or ill intent. Astarion flinches, squeezing his eyes shut with a wheeze, but he does not attempt to stop your search. You find nothing, but then again, he is the Vampire Ascendant. If he wants to hide something from you, he will.
If you want to get your name back, you have little choice.
“Do it,” you confirm.
“Look into my eyes,” Astarion purrs in a deep baritone. “Remember, I don’t know exactly what I’m doing.”
Bringing your eyes to his, the crimson in his eyes sparks alive, like little matches aglow in the red sea, and you have never seen sparks quite so beautiful.
The sensation starts mellow, like the flow of a calm spring, as it trickles through your mind. It feels like liquid fingers whispering against your psyche. The sensation makes your skin prickle, and goosebumps erupt all over. You want to shudder, but your body cannot move. Tributaries branch off and stream until your whole brain feels like it is being grasped by a hand.
And that’s where the pain begins in a sudden influx, a steely, jarring stab, and it feels like his fingers are in your brain, parting every crimp, crease, bend and wrinkle like you are a tome to be read. You’re unsure how long you can take this as he picks your mind apart, looking for whatever compulsion does. You manage to let out a whine, and his eyes flick.
“I know it hurts,” he soothes. “Just a little more, I think. Can you hold on?”
You can only whimper your response. You’re not sure if it sounds like a no or a yes. He continues his dismantling forage, ferreting around in your mind. Suddenly, something changes. All those tributaries and calm, flowing springs snap into one spot, and white-hot pain blooms in your eyesight, blinding you. You’re positive he’s cutting a piece of brain matter right out of your skull. You want to writhe, to scream, to beg him to stop, but you cannot.
You wonder if you might pass out, and then you hope you pass out as the pain becomes more than you can bear. Sharp, like a red-hot blade, has punctured your skull, pierced your brain, and is now broiling against your grey matter. Your vision starts to tunnel, black borders encroaching, blurring everything but the glow from Astarion’s eyes.
Just as you think you're going to lose consciousness, a knot untangles, an invisible barrier crumples, and the bondage on your body eases.
“Hey,” Astarion jostles you, fingers brushing sweaty strands of hair behind your ear. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” you breathe shakily. “It’s fine. Did it work?”
“I think so?” Astarion rubs the back of his head. “There’s only one way to know for sure. Do you remember your name?”
You think hard, trying to pull it from the deepest recesses of your memories, but you can’t remember it. “No.” You sigh, “Can you say it to me?”
“Illyria?”
Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, please enjoy ☺️
AO3 [Crossposted]
Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts
If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past
Small Notes:
Yay! Tav can hear her name, but does she actually remember it?
I'm leaning into the "Dark Kiss" bride/consort theory because why not?
#ascended astarion#astarion fanfic#bg3#bg3 astarion#astarion x you#astarion#bg3 fanfiction#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#astarion smut#astarion x oc#astarion x named tav#fangs and fractured hearts
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Just Trust Me
A Vox x Reader Ramble
A. N. I’m so damn tired but oh well. I’ll fix spelling tomorrow. Might add things? I dunno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Btw made it gn somehow so yippee
Cw: Yandere Vox / hypnotize stuff / Grammar probably
Vox has taken a liking to his latest assistant.
As his assistant —hired by Velvette herself to get him to ‘Chill the fuck out, you mangy fuck’— you were tasked with making sure Vox wasn’t fighting with Val. And that he actually ate. You thought you died again when you saw him eat for the first time. Not too bad, right?
Right.
——
Only thing, you lived in the tower to ‘make things easier’. You wouldn’t turn down free housing. The only thing was how many electronics there were. And cameras. But, thankfully, there weren’t any in your room. He made sure to hide them well.
That, and the rather showy uniform he had you wear, were pretty normal. It was Hell, nobody was perfect. He was just making sure you wouldn’t snitch or lie or steal or whatever.
He also liked seeing his initial on you, but that’s besides the point.
——
You wouldn’t even realize anyone was wrong. If you had any suspicions in the beginning, he would easily sweet talk or even hypnotize you into listening. You were just a little birdy to admire.
Speaking of Birdy, that was his little nickname for you. A bit strange, but he probably did it to everyone. And because, you should just feel lucky to even work for him and stop questioning things-
——
After a while of being his little piece of decoration, he starts to feel… something. He doesn’t know what, be he knows that his newest intern clearly doesn’t know boundaries and don’t worry, sweetheart, he’s there to save you. From what? From him! He was trying to steal hit on you and you didn’t want that, did you?
That happened a lot. People trying to hit on you after you told them no. You did say no, right? Of course you did. And you always had him to save you from those annoying people. They were beneath you anyways.
——
He had you sit in on meetings to ‘take notes’. He really just wanted to show off the little bird he caught. Aren’t they just amazing? And nobody would steal you because you were his little Birdy. And if anybody tried, Val would have some fun during his little tantrums.
Speaking of Val, he was the whole reason for this. Vox had mostly ignored you up until Val got completely caught up with Angel Dust. With nobody for himself, he found you. His precious little Birdy. You would be all for him. You wouldn’t leave him for some stuck up prick, right? Right.
——
You can’t remember when it started, but the lines started to blur between being a bird on his shoulder to being his Birdy. But you loved it. It enjoyed the attention. It was all for you and it’ll all be worth it. All the waiting.
Waiting? Your head hurt, but Vox would be there to help. He was always there. He’d always be there for you. It certainly helped that he monitored your every move. All those cameras coming in use. He couldn’t let his Birdy get hurt.
What kind of boyfriend would he be if he did?
Boyfriend?
——
You never wanted to leave his side. Not when he was the only one to protect you. No, no, it was way too dangerous for you to leave. You might as well stay with him. All the time. Forever. Hell, you might as well move in with him at this point. And you do. It was your idea after all.
And he loves watching you do domestic chores. No more pretending to play nice. No more pretending to be okay with the bare minimum. There you were. All for him. And he would never let you go.
——
Just don’t wake up.
He doesn’t like that.
#hazbin hotel#vox x y/n#vox headcanons#yandere vox#hazbin hotel vox#hazbin vox#vox x reader#yandere vox x reader#yandere vox x y/n#yandere vox headcanons
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Accidental CI
Pairing: David "Deacon" Kay x fem!reader
Summary: When your employer's name comes up in a case, your best friend Deacon calls to ask for your help. He leads you into a dangerous situation, and you come out as more than friends.
Warnings: r works an unspecified corporate job, mentions weapon trafficking and guns, threats, mostly fluff!
Word Count: 3.1k+ words
Masterlist Directory | Deacon Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List
“Hi, Deac,” you greet as you open the door.
“How was work?” he asks.
“It was fine. My boss forgot to start a software update last night so we didn’t have computer access until after lunch.”
“So, you got paid to sit there and do nothing?”
“Which isn’t that much different than most days,” you tease. “What about you? Any crazy calls?”
You lead Deacon into your kitchen, and his smile widens when he sees dinner waiting on your counter. He pulls you into a quick hug before telling you about his day at work.
“No injuries?” you ask softly.
“No injuries,” he assures. “What about you; any paper cuts that need tending to?”
“Just mental injuries for me. Our financial statements aren’t aligning like they should and if it’s not fixed by the next audit, someone’s getting in trouble.”
“What do you think caused it?”
“Oversight or adding the same bill twice, I’d guess. But I think we should talk about something more exciting than my future IRS investigation.”
“Then let’s talk about that amazing dinner over there and I’ll remind you that Luca wants to have a cooking competition with you.”
Deacon has been your best friend since he moved in next door. You also harbor an ever-growing crush on him. When you saw him climb out of the moving truck the first day, you knew you wanted to be close. He’s got a stressful job, so if you can give him a break and a friend, that’s what you’ll do.
Deacon watches the screen in the situation room as Hondo explains the corporate espionage turned weapon trafficking case. It's a strange move, going from stealing trade secrets to transporting illegal weapons across borders and into areas with strict gun control laws. Metro found a lot of evidence, but when they located the weapons supply in their prime suspect’s corporate office, they called in 20 Squad.
“Wait, go back. Who’s the suspect?” Deacon asks.
His eyes search the monitor as Hondo returns to a page of surveillance photos.
“Elwin Dupree. You know him?” Hondo responds.
“Not personally, but I know someone who works for him.”
“CI?” Chris guesses.
“No. She might be willing to help, though.”
“Call her,” Hondo says.
Hicks adds, “Otherwise, we’re going in blind. Metro has intel but it’s not enough to avoid an ambush.”
Deacon nods and walks out of the room. He presses a contact from his favorites list before raising his phone to his ear.
“Remind me why we work here?” your desk neighbor, whom you lovingly call Nola, says as she sits across from you.
“Because the pay is good… and we’re desperate,” you offer, smiling as you accept your favorite drink.
“May I remind you that Dupree is an idiot who can’t even remember what he asks us to do?”
“Just smile and go with it, Nola, it’s the easiest way to handle it.”
“The man called me into his office yesterday, and then didn’t know why I was there,” she whispers.
“That’s probably a good thing for you. Considering your nickname is based off of your reply of no; lazy.”
“I am lazy! So, I don’t like to do things. He can fire me whenever he wants.”
You roll your eyes and prepare to reply but are interrupted by your cell phone ringing. You apologize to Nola before you answer it.
“Hey, it’s me,” Deacon says on the other end of the line.
“Indeed, it is. What’s going on?” you reply.
“How do you know something is going on?”
“It’s mid-morning on a weekday. And you never call me.”
“I call you all the time!” Deacon argues.
You laugh before you say, “Not when you’re at work.”
“Okay, fine, you’re right. Listen, we’re working on something, and your boss’s name came up.”
“Dupree?” you inquire. “Why?”
“I can’t tell you exactly what we’re looking into, but Hondo and Hicks wanted to know if you’d be willing to help us.”
“Of course. Tell me what to do,” you agree.
“Can you come down here?”
“Uh, yeah,” you answer. You open the calendar on your computer and add, “I can spare an hour and a half, is that enough time?”
“Absolutely. Thank you,” Deacon says.
“Anything for you.”
You hang up and gather your things before standing.
“Where are you off to? Please tell me you’re leaving to go on a date with the hot neighbor you always talk about,” Nola whispers.
“Not today. There was a slight mishap for some of our paperwork. I have to run to another office and get everything sorted out,” you lie. “I’ll have my cell if you need anything.”
“Dodging bullets left and right, aren’t you? Go ahead, I’ll watch your phone and fill in Dupree if he notices you’re gone.”
“Thanks, Nola.”
When you park outside the station, your thoughts begin spiraling. You sit in your seat and wonder if you made the right decision. Will you be in Deacon’s way or be too distracted by him to even help? What if something happens to him while you’re with him? What if he-
A tap on your window draws you from your questions. You turn your head and see Deacon looking at you through the glass. You send him a small smile as he opens your door and bends to look at you. His head tilts to this side, and when he lowers to a squat, his brown eyes distract you as he looks up at you.
“You okay? You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he says gently.
“No, I want to. Just- I was thinking too much, I guess,” you reply.
Deacon nods and stands before offering his hand to help you out of your seat. He closes the door and ensures it’s locked before moving his hand to your back to lead you inside.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Hondo,” Hondo says as you enter.
You shake Hondo’s hand and introduce yourself as you follow him further into the station. He doesn’t waste any time as he begins explaining as much as he can about how your boss is involved in the case they’re working.
“We’d like to send you in the get additional details on the office and any other information you can find,” Hondo says. “We’ve got basic floor plans, but we need insider info.”
“She can’t go in alone,” Deacon argues. “We don’t know what he has in that office. If she starts asking questions and he gets suspicious-“
You cut Deacon off by laying a hand on his shoulder and asking, “What if you go in with me? It wouldn’t be that hard for me to lie about who you are; Dupree doesn’t know most of the people who work in the building. Plus, you know what to look for better than I do.”
Hondo looks at Deacon and waits for his reply. You feel Deacon sigh against your hand before agreeing to go into the office with you.
“There’s an employee entrance without metal detectors, but you have to swipe a keycard,” you explain. “They’ll know if you piggyback with me.”
“Our techs can make him a keycard,” Hondo assures. “If you have yours, they can copy parts of it.”
You nod and pass your card to Hondo. He turns and gives it to a passing officer with a few short instructions. Deacon pats your arm as he leaves to change; his uniform isn’t business casual, but he said he'd find something more fitting.
“20 Squad is going to be close by,” Hondo begins. “Deacon can say a word and we’ll be inside, but if you need help and get separated from Deacon, try to get to a window. Signaling for help is easiest with this; just keep it in your pocket or your hand and press the button if you need us.”
You accept the small device and slide it into your pocket. It’s invisible, and you nod as Hondo reassures you everything will be okay.
“I know you can’t tell me what exactly Dupree is doing, but you’re going to catch him, right?” you ask softly.
“Absolutely. Nobody can run from S.W.A.T.”
You scan your keycard and wait for Deacon to do the same before opening the door. The employee entrance is on the side of the building, and you smooth your hands over your hips nervously. When you feel the device Hondo gave you, you relax slightly.
“We’ll walk to my desk, look at a few papers, and then go in?” you suggest as Deacon gestures for you to enter.
“Sounds good,” he agrees.
“The suit looks good,” you mumble as you walk toward the elevator.
Deacon chuckles as the elevator door opens, and you smile as he shakes his head at your flattery. The elevator is quiet, and as you wait to arrive on your floor, you take a few deep breaths. Deacon’s hand finds your lower back, and he rubs small, comforting circles before the door opens.
“Still working on the paperwork issue?” Nola asks when you reach your desk.
“Yeah, we are. This is Ryan from the Santa Monica branch,” you say.
Nola’s eyes narrow at you before she looks at Deacon’s hand. He’s close to you, like always, but you don’t understand her look. You raise your brows, but she only shrugs before looking back at her computer.
“Was it this one?” you ask Deacon.
He takes the blank form from your hand and nods. “Yes, this is the one.”
You return the paper to its rightful place on your desk before leading Deacon down another hallway. Nola’s reaction confused you at first, yet you’re not surprised when Deacon gently grabs your hip to stop you in the hallway.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
“It’s fine. Just stay calm and remember our covers. Like you said, Dupree won’t know any difference,” Deacon soothes. “And the team’s waiting for our signal if we need them.”
You nod, and Deacon’s hands raise to your shoulders as he drops his chin to look into your eyes.
“You got this,” he promises.
“I need to discuss an urgent matter with Mr. Dupree,” you inform his secretary. “This is Mr. Ryan Davidson from the Santa Monica branch. There have been some discrepancies with paperwork submitted to their office, which needs Mr. Dupree’s immediate attention.”
His secretary raises the receiver of her desk phone and whispers into it. You turn to look at Deacon, and he tilts his head to the left to signal you to stay calm and wait.
“You can go on in,” the secretary says as she lowers the phone.
Deacon opens the door for you, and you step inside first.
“Hello,” Mr. Dupree greets. He doesn’t pretend to remember your name, you notice. “I heard there’s an issue with some paperwork?”
“Yes, sir,” Deacon says. “I’m Ryan Davidson with the Santa Monica office and we’ve been having issues; receiving incomplete or incorrect paperwork from this branch.”
“My sincerest apologies, Ryan. If you don’t mind, use that laptop there and sign into your account while I bring mine up. We’ll get this sorted.”
You stand back as Deacon walks to the table at the back of the office and opens the laptop. Mr. Dupree didn’t shake his hand, ask for identification, or take other proper steps before jumping to help. It’s suspicious, but probably not what Deacon and his team need.
“What kind of incorrect information have you seen?” Mr. Dupree asks. You open your mouth to answer, and he adds, “Ryan?”
“Financial statements that aren’t matching previous months, for one. Most likely an oversight or adding the same bill twice. Nothing too extreme, just something we need sorted before the end-of-year audits,” Deacon answers.
You raise your eyebrows in surprise at his response. He practically repeated a complaint you shared during your last dinner together.
“Very well. I don’t know why the system is moving so slowly,” Dupree responds. He moves his hand under his desk as Deacon types.
You watch Dupree because Deacon’s team is getting him the access he needs. When you see the handle of a gun gripped in Dupree’s hand, you call, “Gun!” and drop to the floor just before he shoots above your head.
Deacon pulls his own weapon and points it at Dupree as he demands, “Put the gun down. I’m Sergeant Kay, L.A.P.D. S.W.A.T.”
As Deacon speaks, you slowly press your back against the side of Dupree’s desk, where he can’t see you. Deacon’s eyes are on Dupree, but you watch Deacon because you trust him to keep you safe.
“I could put it down,” Dupree says. “But if I angle it like this and pull the trigger, wouldn’t it hit your little friend?”
Deacon glances at you quickly, and you lock eyes before you shift away from the oversized desk.
“One more time: drop the gun,” Deacon repeats.
You can’t see Dupree, but you clap your hands over your ears as you hear two shots. Everything goes quiet, and you lean forward slowly to look for Deacon. He kneels before you and gently pulls your hands away from your head. You let him move you before surging forward to hug him. He welcomes you into his arms as footsteps echo in the hallway outside.
“It’s okay. We got him,” Deacon promises.
You nod against Deacon and allow him to help you stand. Deacon keeps you angled away from Dupree’s desk, and you’re happy to avoid looking.
“Did you get everything you need?” you ask quietly as Street and Luca lead a paramedic inside.
“We did. Are you okay?”
Deacon lays a hand on your shoulder, and his thumb presses gently into your tense muscles as he looks into your eyes.
“Get her out of here. Hondo said you can take the rest of the day. Maybe she can practice for the competition,” Luca calls.
“I think you need the practice more than me,” you reply without turning.
Luca laughs as Deacon wraps an arm around your shoulders and leads you out of the office. He takes you back to your desk to get your things, and Nola rushes to hug you when you enter the open area.
“I heard the shots and was so worried!” she exclaims. “You’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” you promise.
“Then I need you to do something. Go home and ask your neighbor out. Don’t wait too long,” she says.
You nod and return to Deacon’s side. He heard everything from where he was standing, yet doesn’t comment as he helps you into the passenger seat of his car. Once you’re on the road, he fills the silence by asking you questions about what you will cook for your competition with Luca. You know he’s trying to distract you from what happened, and you appreciate it.
Back at the station, you sign some paperwork to receive CI benefits before walking to Deacon’s side. He offers to drive you home and keep you company, which you happily accept. You never like leaving Deacon and don’t want to be alone tonight.
“I waited too long,” Deacon murmurs while walking you out.
You stop and turn to face him as you ask, “For what?”
“What your friend said. I waited too long to ask you out.”
You smile and slide your hand into his. “Did you know that Nola looked at us like that because you were standing really close to me?" Deacon shrugs, and you explain, “I never shut up about you, Deac. I’m in love with you, so she was confused about why I was standing so close to another man.”
“Never?” Deacon repeats playfully.
“You didn’t wait too long, Deac,” you promise.
“I didn’t?”
“Not if you take your chance right now.”
Deacon looks around quickly before yelling, “Hicks! Did you file it yet?”
“No; I’m busy, Deacon,” Hicks answers.
“Can you make her Hondo’s CI?”
Hicks looks between the two of you and rolls his eyes. “Yes, I can.”
When Deacon turns back to you, he doesn’t give you time to speak before he asks, “Will you go out with me?”
“Nothing would make me happier,” you answer.
Your smile grows to match Deacon’s, but he makes it disappear when he pulls you in and kisses you. The sound of clapping makes you open your eyes as you pull back. Hondo leads 20 Squad in a round of applause, and you bury your face in Deacon’s chest to hide your grin and burning embarrassment.
“My CI’s never end up like this,” Hondo jokes.
“Pretty good timing, though, wasn’t it?” Deacon asks as he wraps his arms around you.
You stand wordlessly from the couch and walk past Deacon. He turns to watch you as you enter your bathroom and close the door. It only takes a moment for him to decide to follow you.
“Are you okay?” Deacon asks from outside the door. “And don’t just say you’re fine. We both know you’re not.”
You open the door and lean against the vanity as he walks in. “I feel bad that you had to shoot Dupree. I know he’s fine and he’ll recover, pay for him crimes, and everything. But you probably wouldn’t have done that if I wasn’t there.”
“Don’t think like that. If he had refused to drop the gun or fired again, I would have stopped him. Whether you were there or not. The only thing that was different was how fast I decided to do it; he was threatening you, but that didn’t affect my reaction itself.”
You nod, and Deacon places his hands on the vanity, caging you and keeping you close. “Don’t carry that guilt around,” he requests. “It gets heavy quickly.”
You slip your arms under Deacon’s to circle his waist. Because of your position, you look up at him and ask, “Could I have another kiss to help me overcome all of this guilt?”
Deacon laughs as his hand raises to rub your back. “Anything for my accidental CI.”
“I’m Hondo’s CI,” you remind him.
“But I’m the one that gets to kiss you, so who has the better timing?”
You let your kiss answer the question, and when Deacon pulls you against him to be even closer, you know that the wait was worth it. Though you probably won’t agree to go into the office of a weapon trafficker with him again, you will always be ready to help him when he asks and comfort him when he can’t. Despite how much you loved Deacon when you thought you could only be friends, you feel more love now that you know he feels the same.
#hanna writes✯#david deacon kay x reader#deacon kay x reader#david kay x reader#deacon kay fluff#david deacon kay#deacon kay#fem!reader
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A Goodbye to The Bad Batch
I don’t even know what to say first. Because this is goodbye, but it is also everything but. But I suppose I should start at the beginning.
Just a couple of years ago I found my love for Star Wars. My entire life, as far back as I can remember, my dad has tried to get me into the fandom. Now, he’s not a fan the exact same way some of us are, he’d only watched the saga and the Mandalorian, funnily enough I was the one to introduce him to The Clone Wars and beyond, but it’s been a joy in his life for a very long time. I was never interested in it when I was little, but then I got a little older and Star Wars started to capture my interest.
One random weekend, I believe in 2021 or 2022, I decided that I was going to watch all nine saga movies in those forty-eight hours, and then start on my goal to watch every show and the additional movies.
This is, without a shred of doubt, one of the greatest decisions I have ever made, and one that I will never regret. I would not be the person I am had I not given Star Wars a chance.
It would sound ridiculous to anyone anywhere else, but this has become such a safe place for me that I know I can be honest.
Everyone finds that one thing that makes them happy like nothing else. A person, a hobby, a place, a fandom. Mine is the galaxy far, far away that lets me escape from my life whenever I need to.
The Star Wars fandom has its faults, and there is so much hatred.
But more than anything, there is love like no love I have ever experienced before. The love between fans and our love for these movies and shows is something I never expected to have in my life. But somehow, for some reason, it has all found a permanent place in my heart, and I couldn’t be happier.
At this time, the first season of The Bad Batch had just been released. I was branching out, watching The Clone Wars and then jumping to The Book of Boba Fett, though I’m not sure why I chose to watch everything in such a completely random order.
But then I started The Bad Batch.
I had no idea what Crosshair, Tech, Wrecker, Hunter, Echo, and Omega would come to mean to me.
I have dealt with a lot in the last few years. Nothing compared to others, but depression finds a way to wedge into your life. I love to be alone, but I don’t like to be lonely, and I have managed to isolate myself to a point of misery.
I found more comfort in The Bad Batch than anything else in my life, and I will never forget the joy The Bad Batch brought me in these last few years.
I began to write when I found Star Wars, and I was inspired to do so by The Bad Batch. Before, I had never felt so compelled by any one piece of media to add my own part of it to the world, until this. Writing has become another escape, one that gives me an outlet to continue the stories of characters left behind.
What I already knew has been reaffirmed, the lessons I have learned remain with me, and will even after this is over.
That it’s okay to feel afraid, because everyone does, and to make mistakes, provided you learn from them.
That feeling out of place for one reason or another does not make you unworthy of love, and having limitations with affection isn’t something you need to apologize for.
That being goofy, having fun, finding joy in the dark places, is just as vital a part of life as anything else, if not what we need more than anything.
That taking time for yourself, to make sure you don’t fall apart, even while taking care of others, is important.
That our worst moments can be one of two things, what consumes us, or what we grow from.
That being a young woman is not a detriment to your worth, intelligence, talent, or any other aspect of life, but is in fact what makes you strongest.
That what makes us unique and our faults are a part of who we are, but they do not define us, and we are so much more than the ideas people have of us.
My only regret is not making friends when I had the chance. I’m bad at that, opening up and putting myself out there, and I shy away from talking to new people because it makes me uncomfortable. But I wish I had been able to put that aside before it was too late and found people who love The Bad Batch the way I do to continue talking to, even after the show ends.
But to all the people who have supported me and who I have supported, thank you for being part of my Bad Batch experience.
It's very difficult to believe that this is it.
Though The Bad Batch has not been around long, it feels like it has, because as long as I have been watching Star Wars, The Bad Batch has been in its active run, and I’m so grateful I got to be here when it was.
I know that even when the credits roll for the final time, when the greater fandom forgets the show that they never really understood the way we have, I’ll be here, and hopefully, so will all of you. I think that the family brought together by The Bad Batch will endure, even if we go quiet for a while.
We’ll stick around, for the day the Batch comes back. Because I know they will.
Thank you Clone Force 99, the Bad Batch fandom, Dee Bradley Baker, Michelle Ang, the Kiners, and everybody who played a part in telling this story.
The impact The Bad Batch has had on my life has been profound, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. It’s been a wild ride, and I have enjoyed every second of it. It has been a privilege to be a part of this piece in the ever growing history that makes up Star Wars.
Goodbye, Bad Batch. Until next time.
“Change takes getting used to. You’ll see. Just give it time.”
#star wars#the bad batch#tbb#star wars the bad batch#sw tbb#star wars tbb#sw the bad batch#the bad batch season 3#tbb crosshair#crosshair tbb#crosshair bad batch#tbb tech#tech tbb#tech bad batch#tbb wrecker#wrecker tbb#wrecker bad batch#tbb hunter#hunter tbb#hunter bad batch#tbb echo#echo tbb#echo bad batch#tbb omega#omega tbb#omega bad batch
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MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER ELEVEN
A RUNAWAY AND A DEADMAN
⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader
series masterlist
Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology.
Words count: ~14k
⊲ previous
Under the concentrated puffing on the left, you tried to chop the chocolate bar as small as possible. Over the past couple of hours, you and Megumi have identified a not perfect, but decent recipe for chocolate muffins through trial and error. The boy slowly and methodically stirred the resulting dough with a whisk, trying to get rid of any lumps. When you reached for the bowl to taste the mixture for sugar, you received a resounding slap on the hand. You rolled your eyes and continued chopping the chocolate, trying to turn it to dust.
"Maybe we shouldn't be doing this," muttered Megumi absentmindedly, watching the batter drip off the whisk.
You had to strain your ears to hear what he was mumbling to himself. "What if ya add more flour?" you asked uncertainly, looking at the too-liquid consistency.
"I'm not talking about muffins," Megumi snapped. A chill immediately spread down his back, making the boy shiver – it was all the fault of the sharp sound of a knife sticking into a cutting board. With a sideways glance, Megumi caught sight of you leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over your chest and staring at him. "Sorry."
"If it's not the muffins, then what is it?" you asked, peering into the profile of the frowning face.
"I...," he began, hesitating. "I'm not sure if we should put up with her anymore."
"Has your love gone away, too?"
Megumi looked up sharply, and you could see the anxiety spreading across his young face. "Has it gone away for her?"
"How would I know?" you shrugged dryly. "Ya both sitting silently in your corners and ya seem to be hoping that it'll work itself out there somehow," Megumi took a whisk out of the bowl and pointed a finger at it meaningfully. You chuckled quietly. "Dany always loved chocolate muffins. Kudos for volunteering," you jokingly gave a bow of your head. "Still, that doesn't explain your hesitation."
"Well...," the boy started stirring the dough slowly again as if it was a ritual that brought tranquility. "It's just... Does it make sense?" asked Megumi weakly, and you only hummed thoughtfully. "In the end, it doesn't matter how many friends and loved ones we have. We die alone anyway," the fridge started humming twice as loud, except it was a distortion of Megumi's hearing. He could even hear his own heartbeat, annoying and fast, all from you being silent. He coughed and glimpsed at you, making sure you were still standing next to him. "You don't think so?"
"To be honest, I, uh... I hadn't thought about that at all," you chuckled nervously. "I'm still a little confused... Ya mean that when ya die ya'll have no one around ya, or vice versa, that despite being surrounded by loving people, ya'll go into oblivion alone?"
"Is there a difference?" he asked warily, almost fearfully.
"Yeah, ya right, I guess. There's not much difference," you sighed, scratching your forehead. "Look, Megumi, if ya wanna live your whole life in some small house in the middle of nowhere alone that's fine. If ya wanna live your life surrounded by a bunch of friends that's fine. If ya wanna live your life with only one person that's fine too, but it's all okay only as long as it's your personal choice.
"Fear rarely leaves a choice," Megumi doubted quietly, dumping your previously chopped chocolate off the board into a bowl.
"That's what I'm telling ya," you said, grabbing the cutting board and putting it in the sink. "Ya'll probably have a brick fall on your head tomorrow, and ya'll be lying in a dark alley all dead and alone," even though the sound of water running and a washcloth rubbing against wood was beginning to echo through the kitchen, Megumi could hear you clearly. "Scared to go outside now?" slyly glancing at the boy and seeing him shake his head in the negative, you smirked contentedly. "Ya can be afraid, but don't let something so ephemeral stop ya from living your life the way ya want to. It'll be fun if at the very end all ya have time to think about is how stupid ya were, not that ya're alone. If ya make it at all, of course," you scrubbed the board clean, but Megumi remained silent. Your patience was wearing thin. You needed either confirmation or persuasion. "So," you chuckled snidely. "What are we deciding? No, no, wait, don't say anything!" you turned to him and waved your hands, stopping him. "Ya better do. I'm offering you a choice - either ya keep making muffins or ya can go cry in your room. I'll understand either way."
Megumi gave you a glare that glinted angrily in the light of the kitchen garland. "You remind me of someone," he hissed, and continued kneading the chocolate into the dough with double zeal.
You watched his eagerness with satisfaction. "That's what I thought. Okay, philosophical musings are all well and good, but let's have a little talk about training and a plan of action," Megumi glowed when you said that. As much as he could, but you hadn't even noticed the change. "I think it's time for ya to learn regeneration."
"Wouldn't it be better to start with rel-"
He didn't get a chance to speak, for you pressed your palm sharply against his mouth. "Nah-uh," you said slowly, shaking your head and looking into his rounded eyes. You didn't immediately realize that you were clutching his shoulder tightly with your other hand. "Ugh," you exhaled, pulling your hands away from him. "For now, forget that word, do ya understand?" you made a grabbing motion with your palm as if taking the word from his vocabulary. Megumi, pressing his lips tightly together for a second, nodded. "Ya'll be relocate with me anyway, so that's not really important at first times, but the thing that will save your life more than once is running and regeneration. But mostly running, of course," you pointed out.
"I'm used to standing to the last man," Megumi objected sullenly.
"Ya'll wean," you chirped carelessly. "We're not known for heroics."
"And what the hell do I need this training for then?" blurted Megumi in the way he usually did - though his appearance remained calm, steel rang in his voice. "To run away like a coward?"
"So ya won't die," you parried. "How many people will ya save by being in the grave?"
"Will I save many by running away?" he persisted.
"At least ya'll stay alive and learn your lesson," you reasoned, spreading your arms out to the sides. "And if ya learn it right, ya'll be stronger."
"At the cost of the lives of the people I left behind?" Megumi continued to snarl.
"Exactly," you snapped, and Megumi bit his lip without expecting it himself. He was used to you and your perpetually calm and cheerful tone, and the way it shifted at the snap made the hairs on the back of his neck stir. "Ya volunteered, and now ya're my apprentice. I don't care if ya want it or not, but you will obey me now," you spoke coldly and distinctly. Relaxing your clenched fists, you looked at Megumi. His body was still the same size, but it looked like he was shrinking. Taking a mug from the shelf, you started brewing coffee. "The rest of the voidrunners will start evacuating in a couple weeks, we will join them a little later," you announced, softening your tone. "Ya want coffee?"
"Tea."
"Okay," you said, pulling out a second mug.
Megumi didn't give up trying to protest. "I can start along with them-"
"Ya can't," you replied dryly. "Ya'll only go on raids with me."
"Do you distrust others that much?" the boy asked, raising his eyebrows skeptically.
You shrugged idly. "It just makes me feel better."
"Isn't it the same thing?"
Letting his words pass your ears, you continued your admonition. "When we're in the void, just drop the bags of supplies and run to the nearest rift. If anything goes wrong and we get separated, don't trust anyone, don't look at anyone, don't talk to anyone," you sighed restlessly, pouring coffee into one mug and putting a tea bag in the other. "Ya'll never guess who's standing in front of ya there," you added quietly.
"Don't you...," Megumi's voice came up, hesitating. "Don't you know how to tell the difference?"
You, with a fussy chuckle, began pouring boiling water into cups. "No, none of the hunters have built-in internal radar, only experience. And experience, as it goes, comes with the years."
"Too long," grumbled Megumi gloomily. "We don't have that much time."
You set the mug of freshly brewed tea next to him. "Ya wanted it all at once?" you teased him, smiling. "Ya gotta pay tribute to dioreacts. They've spent thousands of years learning how to act like humans. They learned not only how to stir tea or blink, but how to perceive our world in general," you circled the space with your hands for extra convincing. "The first dioreact didn't know that all the electromagnetic waves around them were just color to humans because that's exactly our interpretation of electromagnetic waves, and there is no color anywhere in the universe outside of the human brain. Perhaps the dioreacts even now don't know what color is, but just... Uh, I dunno, adjusted? Maybe they can see wavelengths and have memorized that that wave over there is green and that one over there is grayish brown. Hunters used to catch them at it a lot, but the more time the dioreacts spend among us, the more they learn about our perception."
"What else?" inquired Megumi impatiently. Your hand with the cup of coffee froze at your lips, and you stared at the boy warily. "Forewarned is forearmed, no?" he quipped.
You tapped your fingernail on the cup thoughtfully. "Frank used to tell me that hunters used to catch dioreacts at the 'where ya from?' question. The poor things would just freeze in place with their mouths open, unable to say anything. Probably because humans don't have a single word to describe their homelands because we can't have that knowledge," you sighed sadly without realizing it. "Now the dioreacts have learned, and if you ask, they'll tell ya about all the places on Earth they've been, and they'll tell you their family tree too. I'm exaggerating," you added, noticing Megumi squinting at you incredulously. "But ya," you pointed a finger at the boy. "Don't ya dare pry into anyone in the void with questions. If it's a demon, it'll know right away what ya're up to, so it'll either run away immediately or kill ya," you slid an assessing glance at the boy. "In your case, it's more likely the latter. No offense."
You nonchalantly continued sipping your coffee, hoping it didn't hurt him too much. It didn't occur to you that Megumi had gone through similar words and phrases many times before and he hardly paid attention to yours. Why did it seem to him right now that a previously unsuccessfully nurtured stimulus was faintly stirring inside him, though? "Y/N?" hesitantly Megumi turned to you.
"Hmm?" you hummed detachedly.
"Is Gojo okay with that? Well, that you're training me."
"Yeah," you sighed, setting the empty mug back in the sink. "He grumbled a little, though... But he couldn't just throw ya into the basement with chains with a shout 'I won't let anyone have you'."
"Well, actually he could," Megumi muttered, wrinkling his nose squeamishly.
"But he didn't," you quipped.
"Yeah, he didn't," the boy agreed with you. "Thank you for that."
"I had nothing to do with it."
"That's what you think," the unfamiliar slyness in his voice sent shivers down your spine. "I talked to others, so... You know, we've decided that if we ever move out, you can keep him."
"Thanks," you snickered, and Megumi was already grinning openly. "Go ahead and make the muffins. When ya're done, I'll go over to Dany's and then we'll practice tonight."
Megumi turned sharply toward you. "What?" he blurted out grumpily. "What do you mean 'I'll go over to Dany's'? What about me? Is this some kinda joke to you?" glaring angrily at you, he pointed at his clothes that were almost completely covered in chocolate mixture.
"Ya're not much of a diplomat," you teased, making a face at him. "I gotta feeling her out first, and then ya can talk without me. Now let's get to work," you nodded toward the bowl of dough.
You stood under the boy's angry gaze for a few more seconds before he went back to making muffins in silence. It was a good thing Megumi was silent, because if he'd said a word, the laughter you were carefully suppressing would have burst out.
It was a cute yet funny picture of Danielle weeding in the afternoon sun. The girl kept straightening the straw hat that had fallen off her head with her hands smeared in the ground – almost the same color as her bright sparkling hair.
You stood outside the backyard entrance, hesitant to open the wooden gate. Your hand clutched the package of homemade muffins - small but tasty - tighter to your chest, and the thought slipped into your head that if this treat won't help you, nothing would.
You opened the wicket with a deep breath, and Danielle reacted instantly, raising her head. Her hat flew off her head, and the girl, trying to steady it once again, stiffened in surprise. The hoe Dany was holding in her other hand fell to the ground along with the hat.
"Hey there, bun," you said, waving awkwardly at Danielle. "Before ya chase me away, I brought something in my defense," you informed jokingly, covering yourself with the treat package.
Maybe it was the physical exertion, but you wanted to believe that she did feel better. You wanted to squeeze her ruddy cheeks because in addition to the flushed red color, they had gotten a little chubbier. "Hey," you missed that kind tone and the way she was striding toward you to meet you. "I hope it's something edible," she whimpered, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.
Relief spread through your body as Danielle held out her arms to you. You gladly hugged her in return. "Like I don't know ya," you whispered into her hair and heard a soft giggle. "Let's sit down," you suggested and pulled Dany by the arm toward the garden bench that stood neatly against the wall of the house. Barely dragging her feet, Danielle made her way over to the bench, leaning her limp body against the wall. You sat down next to her and put the package on her lap, but she didn't move, half lying there with her eyelids closed. "Frank forced ya into?" you asked sympathetically.
"Yeah," Dany exhaled exhaustedly. "But there's an upside to it!" she braved it cheekily, as much as her strength allowed. "While ya're doing all this shit, all ya can think about is that ya can't wait for it to be over," Danielle said before she could finish - a laugh forming on her lips, and you chuckled in unison with her tired but still gleeful laughter as you admired her.
"He forced me too until I was about twelve," you smirked.
"How did ya get to escape this plantation?" inquired Danielle enviously.
"I rioted," you said belligerently, and the two of you giggled again. "I ripped up everything that was growing in the beds and stomped on it. Frank was so mad," you said, sucking in air through your teeth.
"How did ya even stay alive?" worried Danielle.
"Shaya saved me," you said, getting nostalgic. "She hid me behind her while Frank threatened to whip me."
"And Shaya didn't do anything to ya?" asked Dany incredulously.
"Nope," you shook your head. "She took me to my room, and when I asked what she was gonna do to me, she said I'd already punished myself," you exhaled convulsively, wrapping your arms around yourself. "I spent the whole night agonizing and thinking about her words, trying to figure out what she meant. I didn't realize until this morning. I was the one sowing and weeding those damn beds," Dany opened her eyes slightly. She was watching you from under half-open eyelids - at the way your gaze roamed the garden across from you. The girl rarely heard the longing in your voice, and every such moment returned with an unaccustomedness in her heart that made it beat faster. "I want ya come back home with me," you asked quietly.
"I want it, too," Danielle muttered in embarrassment, closing her eyes again.
Her desire was reflected in your phone. Not a single call, not a single message. "Why don't I keep ya as a garden slave for a couple more weeks?" you blurted out indignantly. "It gives ya a zeal, I see."
With eyes already wide open, Dany jumped up. The box nearly flew off her lap. "No!" she begged, looking up at you and clutching the package back to her.
"If ya want something, you have to say it," you muttered indignantly. "Ya'd better open it," you said, nodding toward the box. "Ya were hungry, weren't ya?"
With a hesitant nod, Danielle slowly unwrapped the package. She didn't know whether it was the sight of the ridiculous chocolate muffins or the tart but sweet smell that clouded her mind faster. She grabbed one and swallowed it whole, oblivious to herself or her own name. You mentally thanked Megumi for his decision to take the smaller baking dish.
You coughed meaningfully, slyly examining your nails in the sunlight. "Ya know, I didn't actually make them."
"What?" she whimpered excitedly with her mouth full. "I said I'd come back, but I didn't say anything about a relationship with Megumi-"
"Yeah, yeah," you sarcastically interrupted her, carelessly waving her words away. "Sure."
[June 19, 2020; 01:23am; hunters' hq]
Feeling the warmth of the couch was all your back had been asking for lately, and you'd been obediently fulfilling your body's desire despite your own. Your head rested peacefully in Kyle's lap, your eyes roaming the news feed on your phone.
You didn't notice how restlessly you fidgeted with your legs from time to time, not even the annoying sound of the soft material rustling could quiet you. Every time you fidgeted, you felt a soft scratching at the back of your head as you turned from one side to the other.
"What's wrong?" asked Kyle puzzled as you rolled over once again, sighing irritably.
"Everything's fine," you waved it off indifferently.
"Ya have a disgruntled face," he remarked, grinning.
You pulled yourself up and sat down, leaning back against the couch. "Rach only brought out two people," you rambled worriedly. "Only two, Kyle," you shoved a hand in his face with your index and middle finger raised. "That's an incredibly bad start."
Kyle intercepted your palm and kissed the pad of your finger. "Oh, come on," he laughed, looking at your perplexed face and releasing your hand. "It's a good start. She brought your new acquaintance out with her, by the way," he reminded you reasonably. "And Issu might bring more people out with him."
You turned and stared at the infirmary door, remembering the way Doc had slammed it shut in front of you and Kyle. Doc was an irritable, taciturn man, but the thought of how much work he'd have to do in the next few weeks made you shiver.
"...to the previous news. The incident that occurred in April this year in the nightclub N..."
Even though you were in your own thoughts, your skin began to itch painfully in places. You wanted to catch a glimpse of Nora, or Rachel, or that old lady whose name you couldn't ask - the old woman who'd come out of the void unconscious and ended up in the infirmary.
"...contacting the police station. Now, the police have suspended the investigation for unspecified reasons. In the following footage you can see a protest organized near the police station by the parents of the missing as well as concerned people..."
"Hey," Kyle called softly, tugging gently on your earlobe. You stirred, tore your gaze away from the infirmary door and dropped your head back into his lap. "Don't distress yourself. It's gonna be okay."
"I know," you exhaled gloomily. "It's just that I'm freaking out about being banned from the void and there's no way I can check to see if everything's okay."
"Oh, what bad guys we are," Kyle drawled sarcastically, pinching you again. "Taking care of your health."
"That's not what I meant," you muttered, waving his hands away. "Ya remember what Rach said after she came out of the void?"
"Yeah," Kyle nodded briefly. "That people are afraid to come out. They don't even believe Jonah."
"Exactly," you said. "Do ya remember any of this ever happening?" you tried to speak calmly, but you were out of breath.
"I'll still go on the raid after Issu, and I promise ya, I'll figure it out," he assured you softly, stroking your forehead with his thumb. "Don't worry."
"...at least twenty people. To date, eighteen of the missing have been identified..."
From the TV screen, neither pictures nor photographs looked at you. Ghosts. They wandered, hovering around you, but they dared not touch you. Against your better judgment, you felt their presence, felt their stares, felt even their silence. It felt like a dark silent whisper on your skin as if the ghosts were breathing right next to you. "Twenty-three," you said in a mesmerized whisper, looking at another picture of familiar features on the screen.
Kyle glanced fearfully at your face. It seemed pale in the light from the TV. "What?" he asked perplexedly.
You lifted yourself up again and sat up, tucking your legs under you, but you didn't do it as quickly as you had the first time. "Kyle, I haven't told ya everything," you said, guiltily hiding your gaze from his. "I think there's a diomorphea in there."
A second long silence made you look up. "Why didn't ya... Why didn't ya tell me at once?" there wasn't an ounce of accusation in his voice. Rather, a genuine misunderstanding of your disbelief.
"I was afraid ya'd tell Rach," you justified, looking at him dejectedly and shaking your head. "Ya know her, she would have just stormed in there and god knows what would have happened. Either she'd be dead, or a bunch of demons and with them the ones we're trying to save. Or both of it. I'm sorry," you shook your head harder.
Gently wrapping his arms around your shoulders, Kyle pulled you against him. "What did I promise ya just now?" he asked, leading you to think.
You rested your head on his shoulder, but you didn't dare take your eyes off the pictures. "That ya'll figure it out," you exhaled. "Kyle, ya can't keep fixing our fuck-ups forever."
"I'm your big brother," he grinned, stroking your back. "That's my job."
Wrapped in a blanket of warmth from a loved one, you couldn't help yourself. These people were still here with you, even if they didn't realize it. They were staring at you, drilling you, making you grit your teeth. You couldn't even cover your eyes because you'd just thought the russet-haired girl looking at you from the screen had blinked.
[June 20, 2020, 20:01, Tokyo, Tokyo Prefecture]
As you made your way along the roads of the busy evening city, you kept looking at your phone, for only maps helped you not to get lost in the stone jungle. Even though there were signboards at every turn, all those bright colors combined with the abundance of symbols and running from side to side to avoid hitting anyone in the crowd of people made your head spin.
You couldn't count the number of crosswalks you'd crossed, you didn't want to think about how many of them you'd crossed for nothing. Your desperate attempt to find a nightclub had taken you to unfamiliar places, and you stopped and sighed disappointedly, staring at your phone again, completely oblivious to the people you might be interrupting.
Disappointment was immediately replaced by bewilderment when a name popped up on your phone instead of maps. "Yeah?" you said hesitantly, bringing the phone to your ear.
"I can't leave you alone even for a minute, huh?" resented Gojo. "Where did you go?"
"I...," you started in confusion, looking around. "Uh," you muttered, turning around the other way, looking for clues. "I think I'm somewhere in Tokyo's downtown, but I'm not quite sure."
An irritated tongue cluck was heard on the other end. "What do you see?"
"Hmm," you pondered, continuing on your way. "I see a dental clinic," you looked over the hospital sign and cast a glance back over your shoulder. "Behind me is the Minami Hotel, I guess?" puzzled, you stopped at a crossroad. "There's something else around the corner that looks like a park and playground-"
Someone's arms went around your waist. "Boo!" they shouted in your ear, but you didn't even flinch, just squeezed your eyes shut at the loud sound. "Hey, you could at least look scared," came a cranky voice from behind you.
You tilted your head up, and instead of an offended face, you were met with a bright smile. "What, in public?" you asked hesitantly.
Gojo rubbed his nose against your forehead. A brief gesture that sent warmth through your limbs. "I'm not shy about expressing my lo-"
"I mean about the teleport," you interrupted quickly.
With an irritated snort, he let you out of his arms and you moved forward. "So where are we going?"
"To a nightclub," you replied carelessly.
"At your age?" resented Gojo, wrinkling his nose. "It's a little too late for that."
You paid no attention to his words, just continued to look around at the signs, completely oblivious to the fact that you now had a tour guide beside you. "Ya wouldn't happen to know anything about what happened at Nightclub N, would ya? It's still on the news, even though it happened back in April."
"Oh," stunned Gojo. "I was there day after, but no curses or cursed energy was there."
"And ya didn't tell me?" you huffed, glaring at him judgmentally.
"I didn't even think about it," he admitted honestly, shrugging his shoulders. "And you weren't back then," Gojo glanced at you, and seeing no anger or disappointment on your face, he exhaled in relief. "So what are we doing?"
"It would be a good idea to start by talking," you reasoned, looking ahead. "I had Meg do some snooping, and she found out that it's not just visitors who've been hit, but employees too. One, at least."
"So-so information," he grudgingly opined.
"Maybe," you agreed. "Better than nothing, though."
Surprisingly, things did go faster with Gojo, and you didn't feel so lost in the dust of the big city. You'd been wandering around that nightclub all this time, but for some reason you'd ignored the turn into the courtyard. He took your hand in his and led you to the right place in a few minutes - the best guide ever.
You pulled a wireless earphone out of the case and put it in your ear. "Meg, turn it off," you had only one answer to Gojo's questioning look. "Cameras," you explained with a shrug.
Nothing stands out - your first thought when you found yourself at the front doors. There weren't even any neon signs in this place - a simple gawker would easily miss a place like this in the night. While you pondered, Gojo walked to the door. Opening it, he gestured for you to come inside.
The first thing you encountered as you walked down the hallway dotted with plastic vegetation was the hostess desk. A woman in a white dress seemed to be filling out something, paying no attention to you. "Ahem," you coughed quietly, stepping closer to the counter.
The girl raised her head. "I apologize," she said sincerely, bestowing a welcoming smile. Her gaze focused as if she had just been pulled out of her thoughts. You nodded understandingly in response.
The hostess stared at you for a second, then looked behind you. Her eyes widened in surprise for a moment, and a blush appeared on her snow-white cheeks. It was obvious without words who she was admiring. "I apologize," she repeated, barely moving her eyes to you. "We're only open from ten p.m. onwards. Would you like to make a reservation in the VIP area?" she handed you one of the sheets she'd just filled out. "You can look over the seating and choose the one that best suits you."
"That's not why we're here," you said quietly and the corners of the woman's lips slowly but surely crept down.
She glanced furtively toward the dance area, which was behind a decorative grid. The grid was covered with flowers, but you could see the bar, where someone was already standing and looking in your direction. "If you're journalists, just go away," she whispered anxiously.
You took the sheet from her hands, and began to pretend to consider the seating plan. "Ya misunderstand," you assured her. "I'm a private investigator, I was hired by one of the families of the missing," the hostess shifted a concerned yet questioning look to Gojo. "Don't worry, it's just my comp-"
"Her husband," he stated, putting his arm around your shoulders. "Just family business."
"Well, or so...," you muttered, sighing.
"Mochi, have you already chosen where we're gonna sit?" his voice was already too ringing at times, but this time it was as if Gojo was deliberately speaking louder than usual. "Smile," he addressed the girl, and in contrast, his words sounded very quiet. You glimpsed again at the bars - it seemed that those who stood there had ceased to be interested in you.
She put on a duty smile. "Reservations are optional if you want to visit the dance area," she said in a minted but sweet tone.
You pretended to stroke Gojo's forearm that wrapped around your collarbones. In one deft motion, you pulled the picture from inside pocket, placing it under the sheet you were holding. Placing the paper on the counter, you tapped a random spot. "I think we'll sit here," you pushed the sheet away. "Do ya know her?" your quite question caused the girl's ribcage to begin to heave heavily when she saw the russet-haired girl. You mentally scolded her for potentially attracting unnecessary attention. "She worked here."
"Did her parents hire you?" the hostess fought her inner emotions for an outward smile. "I don't know," she whispered fearfully, though she was still smiling full-mouth. "I really don't know anything," her eyes glittered dangerously, and you carefully covered the picture with the paper. "Please, go away."
"Thanks," you said loudly and cheerfully, backing away from the counter. "See ya later," you nodded her goodbye and took Gojo's hand, and you headed toward the exit.
Barely waiting until you were on the other side of the glass doors, he stopped right in front of you. "So that's it?" he lamented. "We're just gonna leave like this?"
"No need to draw unnecessary attention. She was scared enough. I thought she was about to cry," you sighed doomfully. "But I left her phone number on the back of the picture."
"Okay," he drawled, smiling slyly. "Now what?"
After sneaking through a narrow alleyway and soiling your clothes in wet dust, you wandered around the back of the police station. Stopping at the wall of an adjacent building, you decided to exhale and think. Why was the hostess so scared? If it wasn't the employees at the bar, then who was standing there during off hours? Moreover, why did the girl only shake harder when she saw the picture?
From Gojo's perspective and in his opinion, you looked suspicious - two subjects loitering in the back of a police station. What was he supposed to do when he heard the back door click? Nothing but that - that's how he reassured himself as he pressed you against the wall. "Just play along, 'kay?" he whispered, facing your panicked incomprehension - you'd been pulled from your thoughts too abruptly.
You nodded hesitantly, but you weren't reassured by his plan or his actions. For the moment Gojo cupped your cheek, you felt that his fingers trembled. "Have you ever kissed?" you couldn't hear the inherent curiosity in his voice, the only thing you could catch among the words he spoke was sincerity. "Take it off," he demanded, leaning his forehead against yours. "Take off your mask," his words and actions became more insistent - his hand pressed you against him with such force that it was physically hard to breathe.
"Hey!" a sharp exclamation gave you the strength to push him away from you. "Girl, are you okay?" the police officer asked, flicking ash off his cigarette.
"Yeah," you assured him. "W-we just... Uh, we just forgot ourselves a little. I'm sorry," you said, taking another step away from Gojo.
"Kids...," the officer muttered. "You should go home and do this sort of thing," he admonished. Taking one last puff, the policeman put out the cigarette butt, tossed it in the trash can, and went inside.
"Uh, well," you sighed, making up for the lack of oxygen. Looking around the wall of the one-story police station, you noticed that there were two windowless passages - probably one of those rooms was what you needed.
Carefully making sure no one was looking in your direction from the windows, you moved closer to the wall, Gojo's confusion replaced in an instant by a prick of anger. He was immensely resilient, but even he was beginning to tire of your behavior. It was as if nothing had ever happened.
"And how would we get there?" you muttered to yourself, squinting at the brickwork.
Of course, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to tease you. It was beyond him. "What, are you out of energy because of your shaky legs?" he asked in a teasing tone, coming up behind you.
"No, it's just that I can't teleport to a point I haven't seen before," your seriousness made him roll his eyes so hard he could have sworn he saw his own brain. "There could be anything in there, after all. A box, another wall, or an iron pole. And I don't really wanna become a part of that."
"What a weakling you are," Gojo grimaced, grabbing you under the armpits and lifting you into the air. When he released you, you were already standing on the floor. Indoors.
It was dark here - not a single light bulb shone, but even so you could make out a bunch of metal lockers against the walls, a few long benches, and some scattered things. Locker room. No hits. Next room across the hall, then.
You went to the door and stood still, listening. There were no voices, no footsteps, no rustling. You gripped the knob and pulled gently, turning it. When the door wouldn't budge, you applied force and pulled a few more times. Nothing.
A tired, condescending sigh came from behind you. Gojo grabbed your shoulder and pulled you aside, then grabbed the handle of the door and opened it with a quiet crack.
In the darkness, you met only his arrogant smile. "Congratulations," you said sarcastically. "When they see this, everyone will realize someone's been loitering around here."
"And this is your gratitude?" whispered Gojo indignantly.
Instead of answering and bickering, you grabbed his hand and dragged him as quietly as possible down the hallway in the right direction. When you came to the next door, he moved you into the room without thinking or warning.
That's what it took to get to the evidence room, but it didn't look the way you'd imagined. The shelves were more for show, for there were boxes and packages scattered carelessly on them, just as there were on the floor.
Gojo picked up one of the clear bags, and after looking it over, handed it to you. You grinned approvingly when you saw the date and place written in black marker.
You silently began to scour the shelves and floor in search of at least the year you needed. The place was a mess, but systematicity still seemed from around the corner, slyly peering at what you were doing. You had already made it to January, and not wanting to miss anything, you took your time. "What makes you think demons are involved here anyway?" asked Gojo, setting another box aside.
"I saw them," you replied, scrutinizing the dates. "I saw those people right before I came out of the void."
"That's how," he replied, catching a glimpse of you. His tense shoulders relaxed every time he saw you start to put on weight. He'd already gone through almost the entire March, and after tossing aside a few more unwanted plastic bags, he got to the right one. "Hey," he quietly called out to you. "Is this it?"
You took the box in your hands.
#413091
April 6, 2020
Tokyo, Tokyo Prefecture, Nightclub N
Sealed
"It is," you answered without much joy. As you weighed the box in your hands, you looked up at Gojo with a puzzled look. "What kinda mockery is this?" you asked warily, setting the overly light box on the floor. Breaking the seal and opening it, you pursed your lips in frustration.
There was almost nothing, just a few cigarette butts with lipstick marks, a couple of bottles, a folding knife, bloody napkins, but, remarkably, one bag of white pills. "Not only did the police shut down the investigation, but the club was still working while the investigation was ongoing, now there's no evidence. Who's protecting them?" you wondered, reaching for the bag of pills.
"Probably the one who dragged people into the void," Gojo suggested, trying to find anything else on the bottom.
"Well, or at least someone closely associated with them. It wouldn't be a bad idea to find the owner of the club," you considered the pills, but there was nothing remarkable on them. Just a pure white color. "If the owner is aware of what's going on and he isn't a fool, there's probably some subsidiary company attached to the club, followed by the parent company, and the real names in that holding company are no longer to be found," you opened the bag and held it up to your nose. Nothing. Frowning puzzled, you slipped the packet to Gojo. "Smell anything?"
As soon as he brought it to his face, he immediately pulled it away, pinching his nostrils. "God... The smell is nice, but it's so pungent that...," he stammered, wiping away the tears that came to his eyes. "Put that away," he said and threw the bag at you.
You caught him deftly, and you and the pills stared at each other. The gears of your mind whirred again. You knew of only one demon capable of such brazen machinations right in front of everyone's eyes. If the pills contained black orchid that didn't bode well because in small quantities it was like a drug that induced a state of euphoria, and judging by the number of pills, the demon was obviously not alone in that club.
You glanced at the broken seal - eventually they'd find out that someone had been digging around here. The question was whether they'd find out who it was. "Let's get out of here," you said to Gojo and was about to move towards the door, but with the edge of your thief eye you caught a shine. "O-oh, what do we have here," you drawled mesmerized, reaching for the sealed bag containing the necklace.
"Are you crazy?" blustered Gojo, intercepting your hands. "We're not stealing evidence!" you snorted meekly but grudgingly, wrenching your hands free and quickly hiding them in your pockets, which made him squint his eyes suspiciously. "Empty your pockets," Gojo demanded in a commanding tone, to which you only flinched. "I said empty them!" he exclaimed, and despite your resistance, he did find what he was looking for, but not under the right conditions. A pair of gold rings. Gasping with indignation, he tossed them farther into a pile of boxes. "We're not stealing evidence! Geez, adults once told me not to get with the wrong crowd, but here I am," he whimpered, running a hand through his snow-white hair.
As he lamented, you couldn't stop the process - thoughts raced, each one trying to overtake the other. You couldn't hear the key turning in the locks or the quiet footsteps because of the silent noise. "Hands up," you raised your head, only to be met with an unfamiliar face and a gun pointed in your direction. "I said hands up!"
"Hey, hey," you justifiably rambled, raising your hands. "We can explain-"
"We?" barked the police officer. "Girl, are you out of your mind?" You barely had time to turn your head back before you heard the safety click, but even that couldn't alarm you as much as the realization that there was no one behind you. "Face the wall," the officer ordered, muzzle pointing at the wall.
You went obediently to the wall, and when you were almost there, you were pushed against it. Holding you by the neck with one hand, the policeman snapped your arms, and there was a clinking sound. Handcuffs.
If someone asked you at the beginning of the day how you'd spend your evening, you could list a bunch of options - watching a TV show, meeting with insiders, chasing the next artifact, sitting around a campfire with Kyle or Rachel, having a cup of tea or even a glass of wine - but you'd never guess how you'd actually spend it.
Part of your evening consisted of traveling to the holding cell at gunpoint.
When your handcuffs were removed, your phone, belt and earrings were taken away, the bars slammed shut behind you with a deafening clang. You pressed your face between the steel bars. "Hey," you called out to the departing cop. "I'm entitled to one phone call."
"Why don't you get a lawyer, too?" snickered the duty officer.
"Preferably. But ya'll need it if ya don't let me call," you said nonchalantly, keeping a friendly attitude.
Of course, you could have vanished from the cell as soon as he left, but you didn't want to be known as a fugitive on news programs across the country.
The man paused for a moment, thinking about something, and then turned back to you. With his piercing gaze boring into you and his hand on his holster, he handed you the phone, and as soon as you picked it up, it rang.
You shrugged your shoulders and backed away from the bars to avoid having it taken from you. "That'll count as your call," the man warned you.
You brought the phone to your ear, mentally preparing yourself for what awaited you. "Say please," Gojo scoffed from the other side. "Come on," he coaxed, taunting you. "Say please and maybe I'll get you out."
"I hope ya're pleased with yourself," were all the words that you could muster, stepping over your pride. "Please."
You heard neither confirmation nor another round of teasing; only short beeps. Despondently, you handed the phone to the officer, and as long as you had strength left, you clung to the iron bars and listened to every action that took place. The police officer seemed to be watching something, and every now and then, you heard the clatter of a mug against the table.
It seems like five minutes or fifteen have passed - you can't count in a cramped cell without a clock. The front door slammed, and loud footsteps sounded. "Please excuse my wife," a familiar chirp tickled your ears. "She's having a seasonal exacerbation."
***
You had already traveled a great distance, leaving the police station behind, but you hadn't said a word, which amused Gojo and worried him at the same time. Anyway, you still let him hold your hand, which meant you weren't that angry.
He was annoyed that he couldn't read your emotions because half of your face was hidden - it was like ripping half of a book out before he could read the rest of it. The question was no longer whether you were angry or hurt, but did you feel anything at all? "Well," he began slyly. "Are you gonna sulk like that?"
"I can't believe it," you said reproachfully, shaking your head. "Ya left me. Ya left me, abandoned me, humiliated me-"
"Is that how you talk to the man who bailed you out?" laughing, he stopped and stood right in front of you.
"It was a bribe!" you retorted indignantly.
"I'd do it again," he admitted solemnly, looking haughtily and cheerfully into your eyes.
"I know," you whispered. "But I thought we were best friends," he didn't notice the triumph replaced by panic the first time he saw your wounded gaze.
"No, no," he rambled anxiously, gently cupping your cheeks. "It's just a joke, really, I was just kidding-"
"I would never do that to ya," you managed to say, swallowing the lump in your throat. You wrapped your palm around his - the one that pressed harder against your face. You bit your lip in frustration. "I would never leave ya," seeing the glint in your averted gaze made everything inside him flip - from his soul to his organs. That wasn't the kind of glint he wanted to see. "I know I don't act the way ya'd like me to sometimes, but- Oh," your face changed immediately, from sadness to pure curiosity, and you let go of his hands and stepped around him, heading somewhere.
He was one-step away from bursting into tears himself, but your actions have left him stumped. After a moment of standing as if you were still here, he turned around. You were striding briskly toward the huge red glowing sign that read 'Spicy Dumplings'.
One might have thought that this was not enough to stomp on his heart, but then, as luck would have it, he thought that it had become too light in his pocket. His purse were missing. "Seriously?" he sighed, throwing his head back and staring up at the night sky covered in light noise. "There are so many people in the world, why her?" the stars were hidden - the stars were silent.
Megumi had seen his reflection in the mirror countless times and just as many times he'd experienced nothing - a man like a man, a person who didn't stand out, but now, as Kyle walked around him in circles with a measuring tape around his neck and pins stuck in his shirt, the boy felt genuinely excited.
Even though Megumi felt like a mannequin being abused, occasionally getting needles under his skin by accident, he still thought it was worth it. Megumi glanced at the mask made for him. Even without filters, it looked heavy, but the precise curves of its rigid material made it somewhat dangerous.
The boy jerked when Kyle once again grazed the skin on his shoulder with the pin. "Sorry," Kyle muttered. "I'm not very good at this."
"Then why don't others do it?" grunted Megumi, staring at himself in the mirror again.
The man only chuckled - no offense intended. "May I remind ya," he began softly in between. "Ya don't have to do this."
"I know," Megumi replied stubbornly. "I don't know how to do anything else, though."
"Do ya?" wondered Kyle sincerely. "What, no hobbies?"
Megumi looked at Kyle as if he was hearing those words for the first time. The man pressed his lips together understandingly and continued his tailor's work. Seeing another section of loosely dangling fabric, he pinched it down the boy's body and secured it with a pin. "Ya know, when ya get back, we can go fishing with together," he suggested light-heartedly, pulling out the now unnecessary needle and, finding no better option, jammed it between his teeth. "Or I could teach ya how to play the guitar," as Kyle cheerfully enumerated, Megumi only frowned his eyebrows harder. "In a pinch, we can weave beaded bracelets with ya," he laughed and his soft, deep voice floated around the room. "Okay, well, try this on," Kyle said, handing him the mask.
The mask was a little heavier than it looked, and Megumi held it for a moment before taking a deep jagged breath and leaning it against his face. The mask, making a clicking sound, sat perfectly. "How's that? Fine?" inquired Kyle, not giving up on trying to get Megumi to talk.
"Yeah," Megumi replied indifferently, and his voice came strangled and mechanical, but Kyle was used to that. "Just hot in this uniform."
"That's what ya saying now," Kyle pointed out. "Ya'll thank me a hundred times in the void."
"You?" the boy asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically.
The room went up in flames in an instant as if everything was lit up in red flames, but barely had the flash subsided when Megumi saw that it was Kyle's hands that were burning. "Me," Kyle said cheekily but still jokingly. "I'm the one in charge of thermoregulation here."
Megumi stared mesmerized at the man's hands - a second ago, they were still burning, burning as bright and hot as his disheveled gut. "I want that, too," the boy muttered quietly.
"Too, huh?" Kyle smirked meaningfully. "So ya okay with everything else?" turning away in embarrassment, Megumi tried to pull the mask off, but it wouldn't budge. He kept tugging at it while Kyle watched his desperate attempts. "Lemme help ya, you're gonna rip your face off," the man offered. "There are buttons on the sides," he informed, pulling the mask off the boy.
"You couldn't tell me before, could you?" an indignant Megumi panted, rubbing the line of his chin.
"My bad. Sorry," Kyle couldn't help it - the smile wouldn't leave his face. "By the way, uh… How's it going... with Dany?"
Megumi hated it when someone poked their nose into his life, much less his personal life. Shutting down, withdrawing into himself was the first reaction brought on by years of building up an internal psychology, but now that Megumi saw the unfamiliar warm gaze, he was glad that there was at least one person who was genuinely interested in his inner state. "I don't know, she doesn't talk to me," the boy said sullenly. "It would be better if she just told me she doesn't like me anymore," he added quietly.
"And how is that better?"
"Then I'd know for sure I don't stand a chance anymore," Megumi despaired. "I've been trying to catch up to her in training, but she's even running faster than me. I can't look for her in these damn woods," Megumi muttered, pulling off the top of his uniform and handing the fabric to Kyle.
Kyle knew that he shouldn't laugh at problems - neither big ones, nor small ones, nor their description. He was trying his best to remain silent now, only nodding significantly. "Well...," he drawled. "So there's definitely motivation to train even harder now."
"People have their limits," Megumi frowned, tugging on his home t-shirt with a jerk. "I think I've reached mine."
"Ya'd best remember well what ya just said," the man said sternly. "Remember it well and forget it. Otherwise, if I hear ya say that again, we'll stop training ya."
"And I'll continue without you," Megumi stubbornly persisted. "I may not be in control of it yet, but with or without you, I can still walk into the void."
"And die," Kyle finished for him, though the boy's sentence didn't require it. "Ya know what that's called? Cut off nose to spite face," seeing Megumi's haggard face, Kyle softened. "Come on," he paternally patted the boy on the top of his head. "How about this. When ya get back, I'll set up a rendezvous for ya and Dany."
Megumi hummed incredulously, shifting from foot to foot. "Can you really make it?"
Kyle didn't know what he was signing up for. Persuading a stubborn girl and trying to change her mind was a deep hole that couldn't be climbed out of with walls or even a ladder, but when he saw the faint smile flash across Megumi's face, he knew it was worth it. "I'll try."
You were already cooing with the waiter when you'd been apart for a minute – that was what Gojo saw in his mind, distorted by an unknown feeling. When the corners of your eyes crinkled once more, he felt an unfamiliar tingle under his ribs. It was directed, burning.
In two strides, he'd covered the distance from the front door to the table you were at and plopped down across from you. "Baby, could you not run away from me like that anymore?" shifting his gaze from you to the waiter, it went from soft to steely, all the blue was gone. The waiter was embarrassed by his direct gaze, and after glancing at you and seeing your nod, he hurriedly retreated to the kitchen. "So much for service," he muttered, looking after the waiter. "I didn't even order anything."
"I ordered ya mild shrimp dumplings and two cheesecakes," you said, looking at his profile - something in the air felt spicy from more than just the smell of the local sauce.
He didn't realize whether he liked it or not that you knew him well, the only thing that bothered and hurt him was that he didn't know you. Not even that. He knew something about you, but only from other people's words and among them was none of yours. "Well?" he inquired, finally turning in your direction. "What's next?"
"Cholesterol plaques," you chirped in pleasant anticipation. "I've been eating nothing but soup and porridge for weeks now, one more day like this and I'll hang myself."
"I'd look at that," Gojo drawled detachedly.
"Is something wrong?" you worried. "It's like ya angry."
He was silent for a few more good moments, staring out the window and tapping his finger on his chin. "Frank told me you've been missing for three years. What have you been doing?" you swallowed all the words out of surprise and stared at him stunned. "What?" asked Gojo indifferently. "You know everything about me, I know nothing about you. That's not very fair."
"It's not like I have a choice," you tried to gently remind him.
"Really?" his voice remained calm, but it still made you want to squirm in your seat. "My negligent students tied you up and made you listen to all the facts about me?"
"It's dif-"
"Different, yeah," he interrupted, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair - away from you. An inner voice yelled at him to shut his mouth, too bad Gojo was deaf at that moment. "Tell me, what does human meat taste like? I heard somewhere that it tastes like chicken, is that true?" your heart was definitely tied with fishing line and started to squeeze, and if not, why did you feel like blood was dripping off it? "Oh, come on," he laughed, seeing the subtle change on your face. "Well, you ate a couple people, who among us is not without sin?"
You looked around, almost unable to see anything through the haze, but there didn't seem to be anyone near you. "If we don't shut this down, I'm gonna eat ya too," you tried to guffaw, keeping your face straight. "Alive."
"I'm just trying to get to know you better," Gojo stared at you, trying to catch everything he could - gestures, facial expressions, anything. Every time he caught something he wanted, satisfaction involuntarily spread through his body. Paradoxically, the thought of enjoying it made him sick, but he couldn't help it - your hypocrisy was wearing him down. You were the one who'd first said you'd never revisit the subject, and yet every day with every unspoken word, you reminded Gojo that you didn't trust him. "I get that you're trying to seem mysterious, but have you ever wondered how it looks?" he chuckled sarcastically. "You look like a wretched runaway," you sat up, listening and memorizing every word. "Maybe I should tell you what happens to people who don't open up to anyone?" he leaned closer to you as if he wanted to tell you a secret that was known only to him. "Let me better demonstrate, though," Gojo got up from the table, and still looking at you, distanced himself a couple steps away. "Look at that," he snapped his fingers, pointing to his now empty seat and grinned contentedly. "You're all alone."
Gojo didn't try to get to know you better because then he could have asked you what your favorite color was, or movie, or music, but no. He got under your skin. Deliberately and painfully, choosing words that scratched and bit, and you didn't even have time to ask 'why' because his back, which had already disappeared behind the front door, would hardly have answered your question.
[June 30, 2020, 23:14, hunters' hq]
[10:59pm] You: We are going on a raid in an hour
[10:59pm] You: Megumi will text ya when he gets back
This message, like the previous ones, remained delivered but unread. Looking at it again, you went back to your routine. Books, lots of medical supplies, and more dry rations were what lay on the table. You and Kyle spread it all out into gym bags as compactly as possible, good thing you could carry twice as much into the void this time - thanks to your new apprentice.
Worries and doubts scrabbled at your mind as you put another packet of ibuprofen in your bag - did you tell Megumi everything you wanted to? Had you conveyed everything to him? Did he understand everything? The only thing you knew for sure was that you couldn't let him out of your sight. The first few times, at least.
You never missed an opportunity to remind the boy that if anything went wrong, he should run and not look back, and each time you said it aloud, you caught an increasingly annoyed look in his eyes. You believed that at the right moment, your words would play an annoying song in Megumi's head and he would do what you wanted him to do, even if it was against his own will. "Okay," Kyle pulled you out of your thoughts. "I got rid of most of the wardens, but others could come, be careful," he admonished you for the umpteenth time. "Remember they have been abused badly, more so than the others have ever told us, that's why they so afraid to come in contact. But I've prepared the ground," he poked you quietly with his shoulder. "Since Rachel took out three people, Issu will probably take out as many more, which means there will be at least two more in the hut," he wasn't discouraged, and you hummed in response. "Well," Kyle began in between, seeing your state of mind. "He still hasn't called?"
"Busy, I guess," at this point you ratted yourself out, for your brother didn't even give a name.
"I bet," Kyle muttered, pressing the contents of the bag to make some more room. "Why is your face long?"
"Not long, but focused," you brushed it off.
"Yeah, as ya say. Ya've been frowning for over a week. Even if I can't see it, I can feel it. And he hasn't been here in all that time," even though Kyle didn't like Gojo, there was a touch of sympathy in his voice. "What happened between ya two?"
"Nothing happened," you retorted. "And nothing's gonna happen," you added, softening. "He just... Dunno, he just got mad all of a sudden. Maybe it's because I don't tell him anything about me or what happened to me," you sighed sadly, your actions becoming slower and moodier.
Kyle was angry. You'd never told anyone anything, not even your loved ones, so where did Gojo get this idea of his uniqueness? "He'll get over it," he muttered. "If he doesn't, the hell with him. Let him cling to someone else."
"Ya'd be happy to," you said, grinning slyly. Maybe there was truth to Kyle's words, but you couldn't wash away that sticky acrid feeling with water or soap. Gojo must have felt the same way then. You were both disappointed in you. "We forgot the sugar," you said, going through the supplies on the table. "I'll get it."
At your brother's concerned look, you walked out of the workroom, went up the stairs and down the hallway. You were already a foot away from the fridge, only the sickening feeling of suddenly soaked socks made you cringe. "What the...," you squeaked, taking a step back.
There was water under the refrigerator. In spite of the puddle, you walked over to it and jerked open the door - not even a light bulb on. "Great," you mumbled to the empty room, and jerked the door back shut.
As if you didn't have enough troubles already, now you had to buy a new fridge. You liked it, though. It might be red, it might have daisies on it, but you were too used to it. "How much longer ya gonna look for sugar?" Kyle asked rhetorically, leaning against the doorjamb and watching you search the drawers for a rag. "Come on," he walked over to you, putting his arm around your shoulders to ward off all the fuss. Kyle glanced first at the refrigerator and then at the puddle that had spread beneath it. "That thing was barely hanging on. I'll walk ya out, and then I'll clean this place up."
Something was pressing against your shoulders. It clearly wasn't Kyle's hands. They might have looked massive, but everyone close to him knew how gentle the man could be.
The door creaked open on the second floor. "Please don't go," a pleading voice made your heart clench. "Ya're not ready yet, ya've had too little practice," came the sound of footsteps - some hurried, others hesitant.
Everything fell into place when the two persons finally came down - Megumi and Daniel. She grabbed his sleeve, asking him to stop, but he didn't even look in her direction. Yanking his arm out of her weak grip, he stood beside you. "Y/N," the girl pleaded. "Please tell him he's not ready."
"But I already told him he's coming with me today."
"W-what?" she asked in a stammering voice, looking at you as if you'd plunged a dagger under her ribs. "No-no-no," she shook her head desperately. "Why didn't ya ask me?"
You raised an eyebrow uncomprehendingly. "Should I have?" you asked indifferently. "If ya'd given him a chance to talk to ya once, maybe ya would have found out sooner."
"Don't ya fucking dare put the blame on me!" she shouted, and the outburst made the tears she'd been holding back roll down her cheeks. "Ya owed it to me to tell me!" her ringing voice began to break. "Ya took my mother away from me," she muttered. "Y-ya took my father from me," she continued to squeeze the words out of her through all the pain and hardship. "Now ya want him too?"
"Dany, not in public-"
"Not in public?!" she yelled. "He could die out there and all ya're worried about is me telling about your sins?" she laughed bitterly, wiping her wet face with her hands.
"Megumi, go to the workroom," you said softly, nudging him toward the exit. The boy hesitated a few steps and stopped, but you weren't looking at him.
"Now ya wanna take my boyfriend too," it wasn't a question anymore. It was a statement. A weak, quiet assertion.
"Dany, please calm down," Kyle gently tried to reassure her, cautiously stepping closer to her. "Megumi's gonna be fine-"
"Back off," she pulled away sharply from Kyle.
"Should I mention that he's no longer your boyfriend?" if there had been thread in the room, you would have sewn your mouth shut. There weren't, though. "You dumped him, remember?"
Danielle's rage didn't disappear - it just became as quiet as the girl's tears. "I hate ya," the words were almost impossible to hear, but you understood everything from her barely moving lips. "I hate ya so much that not even your death will make me love ya again."
Before she turned away from you, you saw the helpless anger in her eyes. You watched in a daze as she went up to the second floor on weak legs and then disappeared from sight. "Dany," Kyle called out to her, forcing you out of your stupor.
You quickly followed her upstairs and sighed as you realized you hadn't made it in time - the door to her room had already slammed shut. You banged on it with all your might. "Dany, open up!" instead of the usual words or silence, you were met with a ragged sob. You and Kyle looked over at each other anxiously. "Danielle!" you groaned again. "If you don't open it, I'm gonna kick the fucking door down!" you warned.
Your eyes blurred as her sobs subsided.
There was a rustle of sheets followed by quiet footsteps. The lock of the door clicked.
You were greeted by your loved one's face, but it was very different from the one you'd seen in the kitchen. No more anger, no more rage - just disheveled blond hair, red puffy eyelids, and grief. "Dany, I-"
You were interrupted by your own phone, and you almost whimpered in frustration. You glanced at the screen, and the evening's call from that person didn't bode well. It was Rachel.
"Answer it," she said weakly. "It must be very important," you didn't get a word out before she closed the door quietly in your face. Kyle turned the knob with a barely perceptible movement to leave a small gap.
You pressed the screen with force, and only a miracle saved it from cracking. "Speak," you snapped into the phone.
"Ah- H-hey," even if Rachel hadn't stuttered, you'd have realized she was drunk. "I can't re- relocate. I can't catch a cab either. Get me out of here," she whined.
"Okay, Kyle will pick you up-"
"No!" she yelled into the phone. "If ya don't get me out of there, I swear ya will be no longer my fucking sister," Rachel hissed.
"Rach, I've got a raid-"
"I'm supposed to care about that?" she hiccupped angrily. "Kyle always has to do everything for ya, doesn't he? Kyle this, Kyle that- Hey! Hey, asshole!," she was still yelling, but her voice was muffled. "Ya blind? No? Then maybe I'm nothing to ya?"
You and Kyle looked at each other grimly - even from here, your brother could hear the mayhem going on at the other end of the phone. The crack of wood, broken glass, shouts, muffled thuds - you squinted your eyes at every sound. "Hey," Rachel's voice was back to ringing, distinct and drunken. "Anyway, pick me up already. I rarely see ya, I feel like I don't even have a sister."
You didn't get a chance to ask where she was. Rachel just dropped the call. "What kinda day is this," you whispered in a broken, shaky whisper, rubbing your hot forehead with the palm of your hand, still staring at the phone screen.
Kyle wrapped his fingers around your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "Go," he ordered, trying to ignore your glistening eyes. "It's okay, just go get Rachel."
"But what about-"
"Today was supposed to be my shift anyway," he reminded you, hugging you. "Ya'll just go after me."
"Alright, then tell Megumi we'll be leaving in three days," you nodded briefly, snuggling up to him.
"Nah, he's waited long enough," he laughed. "I can't stand the even more sullen face he has now," feeling you clinging to his t-shirt, he tried to reassure you as best he could and knew how. He pulled you even tighter against him and burrowed into your hair. "It's been so long," he whispered. "It's high time ya learned to believe in us."
"Okay," you exhaled raggedly, unable to tear yourself away from your brother. "Take care of him. Take care of yourself, too. Please," the glimpse of black streaks creeping up your fingers made you pull away from him. Kyle kissed your forehead briefly, but you felt his lips linger on your skin a little longer than usual.
You took a couple steps away from him, and after taking another look at him, you turned around and headed for the stairs. "Y/N?" he called out to you.
You were so expecting it that you turned to him again without thinking. "Yes?" you asked with hope in your voice.
He winked slyly. "See ya," he waved goodbye, and you caught the glint of his silver bracelet.
"See ya," you giggled, waving back at him.
As you walked away, you tried to keep a confident gait, but some thing pressed on your shoulders again.
Half the bar was trashed, no customers, only one redheaded girl sitting on a stool with her head on the table, either asleep or unconscious. After leaving Kyle, you called her a dozen times, and on the millionth call, you were swearing at everyone and everything. After you'd gotten her on the phone through your despair, you'd gotten her address, and there you were, standing there, among the shards of mugs and chips from tables and chairs.
Under the wary gaze of the man in the black shirt, you walked over to Rachel and shook her by the shoulder. She mumbled inarticulately. "Do you know her?" he asked sternly.
"Yeah," you replied indifferently, still trying to rouse your sister.
"All right," said the manager. "Then I'm calling the police," he informed.
"Please don't get the police," you begged resignedly. "I'll pay for everything, just... Really, let's not do that. I'll leave you a phone number," you said, picking up one of the surviving napkins from the table and turning around to face the man. "Do you have a pen?"
He looked at you incredulously from head to toe, but your earrings seemed to convince him. He handed you a pen, and you quickly wrote your number on a napkin. "Here," you held out the phone number to him. "You can check it out."
Done. He dialed the number you had written, and your phone rang. "I'll send you the bill," the manager said formally. "Now get her out of here before she trashes the surviving half of the bar."
"Yeah, just...," you swallowed uncertainly. "I'll just bring her to her senses," the manager nodded, but didn't move. When you looked at your sister again, rage came over you, but remembering that you were in a public place, you immediately nipped it in the bud.
Grabbing Rachel by the scruff of her neck, you dragged her into the restroom. She struggled sluggishly and mumbled something, but you paid no attention. Kicking open the door, you tossed her right into the sink. "Did ya have fun, bitch?" with helplessness, your voice started to break again. You opened the faucet, and to your delight, ice-cold water came out of it.
You held Rachel's hair with your hand and tried to keep her head close to the stream, otherwise she'd just slide to the floor; with your other hand you scooped up the water and smeared it right over her drunken red face. "Do ya even remember ya have a son? Why aren't ya at his place?" you began to gasp along with her - she from the water, you from despair.
"I can't see him-" she stammered and choked, and you wondered if it was really the alcohol, the water, or her own words. "I-I'm gonna throw up," she practically forced the words out of her, choking on the water.
Whimpering, you pulled her hair and dragged her straight to the toilet stall. As soon as her head was bent over the toilet, everything started coming out of her. She coughed and spit, and you held her unruly hair back, even though the only thing you wanted to do right now was drown her in her own vomit. "Are ya having fun now? Do ya like living like this?"
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, and the sounds of vomiting were heard again. "I... I won't do it again."
You bit your lip, almost tearing it off - how many times had you heard those words, and there was no truth to them, like wandering through a dark forest without a light, looking for a path. It was the same thing over and over again. "Wait here," you said, not sure why - she couldn't have disappeared in her condition.
Leaping out of the restroom and grabbing the first whole glass you could find, you went back in and filled it with water. "Drink," you commanded, shoving the glass under your sister's nose.
"I don't wanna," she tried to push your hand away weakly.
"I said drink," you grabbed her hair again, forcing her face up. As the water poured into her open mouth, Rachel leaned over the toilet again, choking.
They didn't want to leave you alone, the ringing of the phone hit your ears again, making you grit your teeth. "Speak."
"Young lady, what kinda tone is that?" resented Frank. Your insides dropped as you felt Rachel was about to throw up again.
"Sorry, Frank, I didn't see who was calling," you said absently, turning away and putting the receiver away from the source of the noise. "Look, lemme call ya back in an hour, 'kay? We're just at the bar with Rachel, it's not really convenient to talk right now."
"One hour," the man snorted angrily and hung up.
"Thanks," Rach mumbled and as you watched this, you slid down the wall, falling to the cold tile. Looking at her sweaty face and the wet red strands sticking to it, you were furious that you couldn't do anything about it. But if you couldn't do anything about it, then why were you even bothering with it? "I kinda feel better," she mumbled more clearly already, wiping her lips. "Let's go home."
Sighing, you grabbed her under the armpits, forcing her to stand. Rachel leaned on you like a personal prop, and you waddled away from the bar to the judgmental stares. When you reached the alley, you pulled your sister tighter against you.
"Relocate."
You fell onto the soft bed in your sister's room just as you'd been in the alley a second ago - tired, in dirty clothes and shoes. When you sensed something wrong, you moved Rach to the edge of the bed and rolled her onto her side, and went to the bathroom to get a basin, pour some water into a glass, and grab some micellar water.
Before Rachel threw up again, you managed to put the basin on the floor. Putting everything else on the nightstand, you began to undress her. Clumsily pulling off her sneakers, you couldn't lift her torso to pull down her pants. "Help me already," you groaned, tugging at her legs.
Grumbling to herself, Rachel lifted her hips, and you yanked off her jeans with. You realized you didn't have the energy for outerwear - let her sleep like that. Rach was still stirring restlessly, apparently never having fallen into slumber.
You sat down next to her, and after soaking a cotton ball in micellar water, you began to wash off her makeup. "Ya mad?" she asked weakly.
"Not really," you lied, trying not to take the anger out on her face.
You were smearing mascara and eyeliner all over her cheeks, and no one really knew how much absorbent cotton and micellar water it took you to wash it all off. Rachel was already breathing normally, though she was lying in an uncomfortable position - her right arm oddly bent over her face. But she seemed to be asleep.
You rolled her onto her side again, and praying that she would stay that way until morning and not choke on her own vomit, tried to crawl quietly off the bed. "Don't go," she begged quietly, grabbing at your sweater. "Lie with me for a while."
"Okay," you gave in to her helpless pleas and gently lay down on the other side of the bed.
Who knows how much strength it took for her to turn around to face you? "I miss ya," she sobbed.
You realized she wasn't talking to you at all. "I know. Go back to sleep."
There was nothing left in the room but your breathing. As she fell asleep, you knew that tomorrow Rachel would have a headache, and she would snap at everyone she met. You watched her face sink deeper and deeper into the pillow, her occasional smacking of her lips, her frown, and reassured yourself that maybe she was dreaming something good this time.
The warning signs were scattered around the kitchen. To be more precise, they were sitting there. Director Yaga stared in amazement at you coming down from the second floor, for he had been informed of your absence. "Mr. Director," you greeted him in a surprised but tired manner, glancing around at the others. There was Shoko, standing at the open window, blowing cigarette smoke, Yuji, who didn't look up from his desk, and Megumi, who had finally returned, alive and well. "Back?" you asked the boy, grinning approvingly. "Good. Go rest."
You probably said it to yourself - you were barely thinking. Automatically shuffling your feet, you headed for the workshop. "Y/N," a distressed voice stopped you.
Your face contorted instantly. Your eyes squeezed shut on their own and your lips pressed into a thin line against your will. 'Don't ya do this to me,' you begged silently someone who wasn't in this room.
Wiping the pain from your face with your hand, you took the only acceptable emotion you could muster. Benevolence. You turned around, and walking over to the table and standing in front of Megumi, you continued to pretend that everything was fine. "What is it?"
You refused to see the fear in Itadori's eyes, but you couldn't help but notice the fear in the black-haired boy's young features. Maybe if you hadn't looked so straight ahead, maybe if you'd known to look away, you wouldn't have seen the guilt.
Megumi refused to look you in the eyes - he was drilling a point near your neck, hiding his hands under the table. "I...," he began, but a gasp knotted his throat, and he clenched his teeth with such force that his tense jaw showed through his skin. "I'm... I'm- I'm so sorry," let it be his words - he was holding it together just fine, unlike Itadori. As soon as Megumi finished speaking, tears began to stream down Yuji's cheeks. It felt like molten metal had been poured into your lungs instead of air. It filled you from the inside out, rising higher and higher, coming up to your throat. "It's my fault," he admitted, reaching his hand out from under the table and handing you a silver bracelet.
You wanted to ask the boy a stupid but sincere question - whose bracelet was it? But as soon as you took it in your hand, you already knew the answer, for the size of the jewelry left no doubt as to who had once owned it.
"What...," you stammered, feeling the jewelry in your hands. It was warm, almost hot - apparently, Megumi had warmed it in his hands for a long time. "What happened?"
"Jonah brought more people to evacuate," the boy began in a trembling voice. "Kyle said we couldn't get everyone out at once. I insisted, though. I promised them I'd get them out," his eyes finally glistened, but not a single tear still fell. "I said I could take them out, but Kyle warned me that I couldn't take out six at a time. Then the people started... Th-they... They begged, begged me to take them out right now...," he sobbed, pressing himself harder against the back of the chair and lowering his gaze, hiding his face in his hand. "I convinced Kyle that I could do it. I really felt it," the boy pleaded, raising wet eyes to you. "He went to walk us to the rift, except...," he breathed intermittently and shallowly, swallowing thick saliva. "When we were close to the rift, it turned out they weren't people at all," he looked up at you, making sure you understood what he meant. "I wanted to stay, but he pushed me away, and I think I ripped it off him at that point," he glanced at the bracelet in your hands, licking his chapped lips. "First he pushed me away, then relocated me closer to the rift, and then I think he relocate himself, but...," stingy tears spilled from his eyes like begging atonement. "Before I went in, I turned around. They- They torn him ap-"
"I got it," you interrupted without listening to the rest of the story.
It was as if all the water had evaporated from your body - it was so dry it was hard to move your limbs, your eyes refused to blink, saliva pooled in your mouth as if you'd lost all your basic reflexes. "There's nothing ya can do now. Go to bed," you said blankly. Your gaze fell on the pack of cigarettes that was peering through the white robe of Shoko, who had approached you. Ieiri silently reached into the pocket, pulled out a cigarette and held it out to you, paired with a lighter. "Thanks."
It was a long walk to the window, for the floor underfoot was not parquet, but viscous glue. The phone rang for the umpteenth time, but you weren't angry or annoyed. You didn't care. That's what you thought, until you saw the name of the caller.
It was Frank.
You took a cigarette in your teeth and lit it, but you hesitated before answering the phone, your numb hands deliberately delaying the moment. The phone screen went out, but immediately lit up again. "Hey, Frank."
"It's been well over an hour," he sighed. "If ya can't call me back, at least send me a text so I don't worry-"
"Frank."
"Don't interrupt me, that's not what I taught ya," he frowned, reminding you of childhood admonitions. "How's Rachel doing? Have ya been watching her?"
"Frank," you tried again.
"Did she drink a lot?" the agitated man persisted. "She did something wrong, didn't she?"
"Frank!" you shouted into the phone. The silence was so empty and impersonal, only the waves crashing against the rocks reminded you what kind of world you were in. You took a puff for the first time in a long time. Your head was spinning, but you remained standing at the open panoramic window. "Kyle, he's... He's dead."
When you said it aloud, you brought it to life, bringing chaos not only to your soul, but to the souls of others as well. There was a long silence, and the sound of the waves began to subside along with the beating of the heart. It would have been better if Frank had never spoken, for instead of his words you heard only something mechanical, and the ringing in your ears made it impossible to make out what was said - past, future, anguish, joys, sorrows and moments of happiness - all merged together and seemed to sink into the bay before your eyes.
You threw away the burnt cigarette and pulled the silver bracelet out of your pocket; it was cool as it lost its warmth. There was no blood on it, no pieces of skin. You put it to your lips, hoping to feel Kyle again. It was no use. The jewelry gave off only your warmth.
You didn't immediately realize that Frank had gone silent. 'Yeah, okay,' you said on automatic. You seemed to hear the words 'Hopetown', 'funeral', 'two days'. Were 'two days' accurate? Did Frank say three? Did he say anything at all?
Before you could come to your senses and have time to ask again, Frank hung up. "Y/N," Principal Yaga's worried voice came from behind you. "Is there anything we can do for you?"
You lost your brother, and you are unlikely to ever see again those people who were first gifted with hope and then left in the void. "Yeah," you replied coldly, turning to look at those present. You were still desperately pressing the jewelry to your lips. "Your job."
Seeing the principal nod briefly, you walked past heading for the workroom, throwing all Kyle's hopes, plans, dreams, and silver bracelet into the trashcan.
next ⊳
#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen#gojo x reader#gojou satoru x reader#jjk angst#gojo angst#gojo fluff#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo x you#gojou x reader#gojo satoru#gojo jujutsu kaisen#gojou#gojou fluff#gojou satoru x y/n#gojou satoru x you#gojou x y/n#gojou x you#jjk gojo#jjk gojou#jujutsu gojo#satoru gojo
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Can you make more head canons for Baldwin? Like what would he do if you two got into an argument etc etc.
Headcanons - Arguing with you
A/N: Sure thing sweetie!! I must apologize though, I only did the argument part because I didn't really have much time left and I didn't know what else to add. Hope you'll still like it though!
As always, painting is King Lear, Act I, Scene I by Edwin Austin Abbey :))
Warning: none, literally. Should f!reader a warning? If yes then there's that
Firs of all, Baldwin does not argue with you. He's a pacifist at heart, he always prefers talking things through and negotiate to get out of hard situations. To him, that is a form of respect, the desire to talk as equals and not trying to impose his own will on the other
And since he does that with his enemies, how could he not give you the same treatment? You, who lighten his days darkened by his duties and his sickness, you who save him from the burden of his own thoughts
And even if you tended to be more on the aggressive/prone to arguments side, he still wouldn't budge, and just keep on talking but most of all LISTENING, Baldwin respects you more than anyone else, your thoughts are sacred to him and should be treated as such!
If the argument is about something that he did to upset you, be it an unpleasant comment or a forgotten appointment (only happened once and it was because he had been kept busy by his counselors), he will do anything to make you feel any better
If the argument is about his tendencies to neglect his own health, then good luck with that because his own moral code physically prevents him from letting go of his duties to favor resting and trying to better his condition. Still, he will reassure you with gentle touches and soft words that he understands your worries, and you are the sweetest angel to care so much about him
But he cannot let his kingdom to fend for itself just because of a bad day for his leper body, he will have to wait until the evening to be reunited with you and finally let himself rest, your own anger at his stubborness long gone as you cradle his head on your lap. You still appreciate his soft apologies as you caress his mangled face, though
Now, speaking about what he'll do to make it up to you for any argument- or mostly, things that he did that upset you since he doesn't really argue with you
First of all, he will excuse himself for having upset you in the first place, listening to your every word to understand precisely what exactly it is that he did that he will avoid making again
Then, he will try to get any form of physical contact with you. He needs it, desperately, having been so isolated from any human touch for years other than his physicians'
Hell, he might even kneel for you if it meant having your forgiveness, if it meant being able to hug your legs like the supplicants of the ancient books he read about
If you'll let him get close to you, he'll kiss you all over while he'll keep apologizing and openly reflect on the things that he will change to make it up properly. Kinda reminds me of Gomez and Morticia on that scene (hence the painting I chose)
And after you will have forgiven him, that night he'll hold you a little closer, whispering sweet apologies while you sleep soundly, unaware of how dedicated your husband is to learn from his mistakes
All in all, I really don't see Baldwin as someone you'd ever argue with, but that doesn't stop him from making up for his every mistake like he'd caused you the worst of wrongs
You're his Heaven, and he'll treat you as such
#king baldwin x reader#king baldwin x you#kingdom of heaven#writers on tumblr#headcanons#fluff#my fic#f!reader#reader insert#historical fiction#writing requests#requests open
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I don't know about you, but I find shared baths deeply intimate. Mostly cause first you have to be very comfortable with the person you're bathing with and there's an intense feeling of safety that you boundaries will be respected.
Apply this to Jamil who is arguably the most paranoid man in all of TWST. Imagine he and his s/o are getting serious and Jamil is finally starting to really open up. It's also the stage where things are getting steamier, so to speak.
As both a sign of trust and a way to get used to each others naked bodies, the couple starts bathing together. The physical vulnerability of it since their both nude is further amplified since they have to wash/touch each other. That in itself requires a lot of trust.
Just imagine this: gently applying shampoo into Jamil's silky hair while he rants about his day, slowly revealing more about his past and insecurities. Then they switch and now the reader is the one opening up about their struggles while Jamil massages the soap onto their back. Kissing any scars they might have, talking about the most random things, playing with the water, and just enjoying this moment between Jamil and his beloved. Jamil is just so busy that he relishes being able to just enjoy their presence close to him.
There's also a strong desexualizing element. Jamil and the reader likely grew up with a notion that nudity is embarrassing and should only happen with a sexual partner. While this statement is technically true, they aren't in a sexual situation. They're trusting each other to respect their boundaries in such a way that the way they view each other goes from "potential sex object" to "a body that so happens to belong to my dearest".
Which further adds to my hot take of the "If evil why hot" route with OB!Jamil being pre-relationship.
Also, fun concept: washing away blot.
Imagine they're at the very end of the overblot Jamil boss fight. The phantom is defeated but there's still some blot left. So the reader pushes him into the river created by Kalim and holds him there as the water washes away the blot. When he starts calming down, they gently start rubing the blot off. Slowly trekking their fingers through his hair as the snakes dissappear. By the end they're left with an exhausted sulky wet Jamil. The reader then kisses his forehead as they wrap a towel around him.
Aww there definitely is a lot of potential for sweetness with stuff like this. I mean, having someone wash your hair, cleaning up together… It really can feel so intimate and vulnerable.
Now, I feel like I should add the caveat that I'm Finnish, so I'm fairly used to seeing other people's bodies in the sauna, for example, and the whole concept of nudity = sex is not quite so strong for me, personally. (Though personally I'm not likely to go to a mixed sauna, especially with strangers, but still.) So my perspective for the nudity aspect may be a little bit different, though I do definitely agree with these scenarios being intimate and potentially vulnerable. Like, you really do need to let your guard down to let someone see you bared like that, no hiding behind your clothes (or status) or anything else. Just, people, together.
Which definitely ties into that whole opening up for each other. We always tend to say that people are equal in the sauna, and it (perhaps surprisingly) is a good place for those deep, intimate conversations. So I can definitely see that same vibe for this bathing together, too.
Also just, the thought of squeezing into the tub together, trying to figure out how to adjust everyone's limbs and bodies so that you're both comfortable in there (and covered by water enough to actually get to enjoy it). One of you wrapping your arms around the other, holding them close, it's just… So sweet, and intimate, and also you kind of have to be “normal” about it to make it work (I don't really have the words for these vibes, just, yes it's intimate and vulnerable but at the same time you kinda just have to treat it as a normal thing if it's gonna work).
Just eugh I love this concept so much.
(Also now I'm definitely wondering how the twst guys would feel about sauna, perhaps even with the whole “run off naked to the lake to cool off a bit and then go enjoy some more heat” extra shebang.)
Oof that washing off blot, though… Oh it's going straight for my heart 😭 Just the whole I'm still here for you, I'm here taking care of you, let's wash away what happened (both literally and figuratively). Oh boy what a concept ripe for being picked apart.
(Also for some reason it's making me think of like washing off bodies for funerals, but in this particular case more in the sense of washing off the old self / what happened, something to allow rebirth or something. Or like, this could've destroyed him, but didn't. Idk, there's just so much one could do with this. Maybe it's just the talk of being washed in a river specifically that's making me think of like Lemminkäinen’s mother and all sorts of stuff.)
#twisted wonderland#jamil viper#twisted wonderland x reader#jamil viper x reader#ner talks#chatting with folks#lex752#I hope I'm making sense my thoughts are kinda all over the place right now#these are such delicious thoughts to chew over tho#(also yes that squeezing into a bath together musing is definitely from experience)#funnily enough I'm so used to having a sauna (and just a shower) that baths always seem like the exotic option#(I mean I also fall asleep in a bath in about 3 seconds so it's not exactly something that'd work for me anyway)#(at least if I'm alone I'd be too concerned of just falling asleep and sinking under the surface)
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UPDATED: 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖇𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖒𝖊 🗝️ m.list✨
IN WHICH theo is the lead singer of the band cursed legacy and also the one who you hate most in the world. easy enough right? things only get complicated when theo puts out a rude song about you, the band starts to rise to fame and one single accident might ruin everything they worked for so hard. eventually theo is forced to ask for your help, but you wouldn’t be you if you would say yes without a very important rule: theo can’t play his most famous song: the one he wrote about you.
pairing: theo nott x fem!reader
content: rockstar!au, no magic!au, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst, a bit social media, so it’s modern as well
warnings: angsty, sad at times, language, fighting, cursing, mentions of sex, rude teenage boys, mentions of a loved one dying (there will be chapter specified warnings)
note: i know i said i would only add one more part, but i'm insane (we already talked about that) so here's the new masterlist!!
-> let me know if i should add you to the taglist!!
𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞
➻ you and theo stopped being friends a long time ago. now there’s only hate between the two of you, tempting theo to write a song
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞
➻ amused isn’t the word you would use to describe your reaction to theo‘s song. while everyone else is sure it is the best one he has written yet
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞
➻ as a result of absolute stupidity, theo has to ask you for a favour
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞
➻ theo and you continue to clash during rehearsals, but would it be fun any other way?
【ＮＥＷ！】 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐢'𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐞 (𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢'𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲)
➻ theo and your fighting ends in one eventful night, bringing up old feelings, but also the need to lie to your friends
【ＮＥＷ！】 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞: 𝐢 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐯𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢'𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲
➻ you fall back into old routines and maybe friendship isn't quite what you want from the boy you knew since childhood
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐱: 𝐢'𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲
➻ theo knows he got everything wrong. he would do anything to make you stay. but is a song really enough?
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧: 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲
➻ the competition is on. but is theo ready to risk everything to win?
𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞
➻ happy ever after???
authors note: i actually hope this is the last time i have to add a chapter haha! i have to say that writing these characters has been so much fun and this story is literally addicting! i haven't felt so inspired by a story in a long time!
taglist:
@7s3ven @madi-potter @shereadsandcries @getosbeloved @mischieftom @wolfstar-jpg @t00thfairy20 @chcrrysblog @aestramjackson @elina3011 @kr1nqu @hopeless-y @mitskiswift99 @fallingblackveils @ahead-fullofdreams @helendeath @schaebickel @chubbychasermattheotruther @punkprincess03 @subparslytherin @girlbooklover555 @sakanelli-afc
#theo nott headcanons#theo x reader#theo nott fanfiction#theo nott x reader#theodore nott x reader#theo nott x you#theodore nott#hogwarts au#hogwarts#harry potter au#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle x reader#lorenzo berkshire#lorenzo berkshire x reader#blaise zabini#blaise zabini x reader#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy#lorenzo berkshire x april hart#cursedlegacy#lizzysdontblamemeseries#lizzyscursedlegacyseries#theo x pixie#theo nott x pixie!reader#pixie
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Guilty As Sin? [ZCL] (M) Fic Teaser
Description: Chenle is everything you want--everything you need. Somehow, the thought of him manages to pull you back in even after you were free. Messy kisses, late night trysts, and him tracing the word 'mine' on your thigh--barely anything, so how could you possibly be guilty as sin?
(based on Guilty As Sin? by Taylor Swift)
Genre: Smut/Fluff/Angst
Content Warnings: Smutty smutness, use of the word 'slut' in a couple different instances, uhhh self...help lol, explicit, rough, unprotected sex, and I think that's it for now *MDNI*
Expected Word Count: 5-8k (this is so subject to change lol)
Release Date: 8pm EST 2024.5.10
Taglist: Open!! Please let me know if you want to be tagged when this comes out <3
Pairing: Zhong Chenle x fem!Reader (features roommate!Renjun, Mark, Jaemin, aespa Karina!)
Juliet's Masterlist | Tell me what you think? :)
Lips brush against your neck and trail up to your ear, and you feel his smile before you hear his chuckle. His hand grips your thigh, but as he pulls back, his eyes travel along your face. His irises have gone dark, and he gulps. The room is far hotter than it should be, and as you sit next to Chenle on your couch, his fingertip traces a single word on your skin, over and over again.
MINE
MINE
MINE
MINE
“(Y/N), are you listening?” Chenle’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and hopefully nobody notices how your stare was stuck on the way he taps his fingers on his jeans. Your face heats up, but you try your best to hide it.
“What? Sorry, tired today.” You sit back in your chair, glancing around the room to see your roommate, Renjun, and several of your other friends sitting on the various seats around your living area.
“You don’t look tired.” Karina raises her eyebrow at you.
You glare back at her. “How do you want me to fix that?”
“Chenle was asking us if we wanted to go to a party next week,” Jisung adds. “A friend of his we don’t know is turning twenty-three.”
“Uh, sure. I’ll be right back.” You launch up, heading for the kitchen. Before you turn fully, you make eye contact with Chenle. He leans back on the couch cushion, legs crossed, and head tilted. He’s dressed so simply, sweatpants and a dark, loose-fit T-shirt, but you could ignore those things for your own sanity.
What you can’t ignore?
The quirk of his eyebrow. Did you just imagine the way he looked you up and down? Every inch of your skin feels hot, and you think of those fucking fingers on your thigh all over again.
Before you embarrass yourself any further, you quickly move towards the kitchen, throwing the door of the refrigerator open to grab a water bottle. You set it on the counter after inhaling half of it, and then brace your palms on the edge, too. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath. You’re not sure why you can’t stop fucking thinking about it.
His hips slam into yours while his hand covers your mouth to keep you quiet. Your eyes roll back in pleasure. No matter what, you’re lost in the feeling of him inside you, the sweet stretch and how his jaw is clenched hard to keep his own noises at bay. You want to feel him everywhere, to truly lose yourself in the moment.
You wrap your legs around his waist to get him closer, and he curses a little louder than he should—
#nct dream#chenle#nct#nct dream smut#nct imagines#nct smut#chenle smut#nct scenarios#nct fluff#nct angst#chenle fluff#chenle scenarios#chenle x reader#nct x reader#nct dream x reader
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Romcoms i think should be turned into Buddie fanfics let me know what movie you think should be fanfics and I will add them to the list sorry if any are already fanfics this is just a list of what i want
Chasing Liberty
Sweet Home Alabama
The Holiday
The Wedding Planner
Diamond Girl tv movie from the 90s
10 Things i Hate About You
A Walk To Remember
How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days
Leap Year
Wedding Singer
Made In Manhattan
The Last Song
#911 on abc#oliver stark#ryan guzman#eddie diaz#evan buck buckley#oliver & ryan#ryliver#buddie is life#otp#i ship these two so hard#i will go down with this ship like the titanic
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Forearms
Pairing: Gale x Tav (Dani)
Summary: Set immediately after this fic about Dani settling into a new life with her companions on the road, Dani offers to mend Gale's robe. Which involves him having to take it off, naturally. (no smut, just Dani being ridiculous about Gale's forearms)
A/N: This is 100% the moment where Dani is like "oh no he's hot." She thinks everyone is hot, but this is the moment where Gale starts to rise above everyone for her. It's silly, it's stupid, and I wrote it like months ago, but y'all asked for it lmao also yes this does adhere to the Gale Wrap Shirt Theory (I just borrowed Astarion's shirt because I don't have mods)
Dani stretched out her back and got to her feet, leaving behind her now-sorted camp supplies to make her way over to Gale and his cooking fire. She peered down into the pot before looking at Gale. “What’s for dinner tonight?”
“Stew,” Gale said, smiling apologetically. “I hesitate to give it any more of a descriptor than that. Oh, and a few leftover loaves of bread, too. Might as well use them up before they go bad. I think one of them was starting to mold…”
He said this last line to himself, turning to rifle through the box that contained most of their food. He pulled out a small, torn half-loaf of bread and examined it, turning it this way and that before tearing it and peering inside. Dani reached over and plucked the smaller half from his fingers, claiming it for herself. She tore off a bit and popped it into her mouth.
“Seems decent to me,” she said.
Gale looked briefly alarmed before shaking his head, amused. “You’d probably eat it even if it had mold on it.”
“Not true. I’d scrape the mold off first and eat around it. Wouldn’t be the first time.” She raised her eyebrows at him as she pulled off another bite of bread to eat, silently challenging him to judge her.
Gale made a face but didn’t respond, turning back to his stew and flicking his wrist. The spectral mage hand that was stirring the pot lifted the ladle for him to inspect. He picked up a small spoon from his utensil set (of course he had a utensil set wrapped in leather, a hodgepodge set he’d collected over the last couple of days, but that he kept packed away like it was some sort of adventurer’s kit) and used the spoon to taste the broth in the ladle.
“Hmm…nearly there, I think,” he said. He let the mage hand go back to stirring while he wiped his spoon on a bit of cloth he had tucked into his belt. “Gods, what I wouldn’t give for my spice shelf. Or just some extra salt.”
“Just add it to the list of things we’ll buy as soon as we see any,” Dani said, still eating her bit of bread piece by little torn piece. “I know I have a running list of my own.”
“Far be it from me to add to your growing shopping list of potentially expensive and ever practical items,” Gale said dryly, “but if you do happen to find a small case of salt, or any spice really, I think we’d all be a little better for it. It shouldn’t detract too much from your funds. I know you’re careful with your money.”
She arched an eyebrow. As the team’s craftiest barterer, she was in possession of most of the money, and her companions had already watched her haggle and cajole until a price was a bit closer to where she’d prefer it to be. Sometimes it took a minute.
She thought about pointing out that she was “careful” with her gold for a variety of reasons, including stocking up an emergency fund for magical items should his arcane hunger trigger and she find herself without something to give him. But she stayed silent, watching him pull a few herbs from their food box and set them on a flat rock he’d taken to using as a cutting board. He sat with the rock in his lap, cutting the herbs up with a dagger that he kept on hand for food preparation. As he turned to hold the rock over the cookpot and brush the chopped herbs into the stew, she noticed a bit of white peeking through his purple robe sleeve, right at the shoulder seam. A tear in the fabric.
“Take off your robe,” she said.
He jolted, nearly dropping the rock and dagger directly into the stew. “I beg your pardon?” Maybe it was the firelight and the darkening shadows of dusk, but Dani could have sworn his face was suddenly pinker than before.
“Your robe,” Dani said, tossing the last bit of bread into her mouth and holding out her hand. “Take it off. You’ve got a tear.”
“Wha—a tear?” Gale looked all down his arms and the front of his robe before twisting his neck to spot the rip in his shoulder. “Argh, damn. This was one of my better robes, too…”
Dani snickered and gestured for him to get on with it. “Come on, hand it over. I’ll fix it for you.”
“What—now?”
“Why not? You’re busy. Everyone else is busy—well, except Astarion. And I can mend it for you.”
Gale looked a little surprised. “I didn’t know you could mend.”
She shrugged. “My mother is a seamstress and I used to help her out every now and again. Plus, when you’re on the road, you have to keep up with a few skills. You’re just lucky we have a bit of needle and thread on hand. So.” She gestured again with her hand.
Gale squirmed as if uncomfortable. “I’m sure it can wait. The stew is nearly ready and we’re all about to dress down for the night. I can give it to you then.”
Dani rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, Gale. If it was armor Lae’zel would be hounding you until you gave it up for her to fix. If it was your spellbook you’d want to mend it as soon as possible. Just take it off and let me do it.”
“Fine, fine.” He held up his hands, his face still a little flushed, but he acquiesced. He undid the belt around his middle and tugged off his leather bracers before finally untying the robe and shrugging it off. He still looked a little sheepish, but he willingly handed the robe over to her.
The moment the robe was off, something shifted in Dani’s mind. She realized only then that she’d only ever seen him either fully dressed in his robes or in his velvety lounge clothes, but never in just his white wrap shirt and high-waisted pants. She paused a moment, her eyes roving over his form. In just his shirt, pants, and boots, he cut a trim figure, looking a bit like one of the handsome men drawn on the covers of tawdry romance novels she used to read back in Baldur’s Gate. Especially when he set one hand on his hip and frowned faintly at her, his earring glinting in the firelight.
“I hope it won’t take too long,” he said.
She blinked. Oh right, the robe. “It’s a simple tear, super easy to fix,” she said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
She turned and hurried away, her own face feeling a little warm. Was she honestly thinking…no. Well—maybe. Gale was handsome. No point in ignoring otherwise. But Gale in just a shirt and trousers? Or, perhaps, Gale in just his trousers…or, going further, Gale in nothing but—
Gods, Dani! She mentally shook herself and sat back down at her bedroll, digging her sewing kit from her bag. Now was not the time. She said she’d mend his robe and she would, so she had better get started.
But mending was mindless work for her, leaving her alone to her thoughts, so of course her mind drifted back to the subject of Gale as she dragged needle and thread through the purple fabric of his robe. Why was she only now struck by how handsome he looked? Sure, she’d flirted with him before, but she flirted harmlessly with everyone in camp. It wasn’t her fault she was surrounded by attractive companions. But Gale…
She glanced surreptitiously at him as he worked by the cooking fire, his focus on the food. He’d rolled up his sleeves to his elbows to keep his cuffs away from the food, which was honestly worse for Dani. Rolled up sleeves and forearms? She could just swoon. She watched as he packed away unused food items and utensils, muscles in his forearms flexing, the dark hair on his arms made darker by the dusk and firelight. He stood back and rested both hands on his hips as he watched the stew, his white shirt stretching a little more tightly across his chest.
She bit her lip and focused back on the robe. Just get it done, girl, and then give it back so you can go back to thinking he’s just a fun, quirky wizard nerd and not the hottest guy in camp.
Oh gods, if only.
...was he the hottest guy in camp?
She glanced around quickly at Astarion, still lounging with his book. His lips made a pretty pout as he read and his hair was damn near perfect, but he didn’t make Dani’s heart flutter in quite the same way the sight of Gale in his wrap shirt and rolled up sleeves did. She searched for Wyll, walking around in his ragged black tank and black trousers, his biceps glistening with a fine sheen of sweat as he carried the last of the firewood over to Gale. Even with his devil horns, he was an attractive man. Dani was tempted to think he was even hotter than Gale—until Wyll set the fire down near Gale and Dani was forced to compare the two of them again.
…damn. What was it about Gale?
Gale glanced her way, raising his eyebrows at her questioningly when he caught her staring. She felt her heart go ba-dump like some cliche heroine in a romance novel and she quickly lowered her gaze back to her work.
Damn it. It was his eyes wasn’t it? His big, stupid, wet brown eyes, made darker and richer in the evening light. That and those stupid forearms she’d never seen before.
She almost wished she could go back to fifteen minutes ago, when she thought Gale was “handsome enough” but not exactly tempting. Not with Astarion smirking at her from across the campfire and Wyll flirting with all of them, not to mention all the flirting she’d done with Karlach and Shadowheart and Lae’zel too. She forced her attention back on the final stitches, determined to get this robe fixed as soon as possible.
She finished the last stitch and knotted the thread, giving the fabric a little tug on either side of the mended seam to test the strength of her work. Not bad, she had to admit. It almost looked as good as new.
She looked back at Gale and then down at the robe. She should give it back. Right now. Immediately. But…then again…if she kept it longer, he’d have to walk around without it longer. Which meant more eye candy for her, in theory. She pursed her lips, glancing back at Gale again.
No! She had to give it back. Now or never, Dani!
She got to her feet and walked back over to the fire, his purple robe tossed over her arm. He looked up from the cookpot again as she stopped near him.
“All finished?” he asked. “You do quick work.”
“Thanks,” she said, holding out the robe to him. Be casual, Dani girl, don’t be odd. “I’m famished. How much longer until dinnertime?” Success!
“Any moment now, I suspect.”
He took the robe and examined the seams, running his thumb over the stitches. She was caught up watching his hands, admiring the perfect shape of his nails and how long and slender his fingers were. A pianist’s hands, she thought idly. An artist's hands. The kind of hands she'd want drawing patterns on her skin, fingers curling into her softer parts, sliding up her thighs to—snap out of it!
She sucked a short breath through her nose, trying to distract herself. Her gaze traveled up to his wrists, and then his bared forearms. There was a faint hint of ash lingering in his arm hairs from standing so close to the fire. Without thinking, she reached out and brushed it away. He looked up, surprised and she snatched her hand back, hiding it behind her back like she’d done something wrong.
“Sorry,” she said. “Just some—some ash. You should probably put that robe back on. As soon as possible, probably.”
Oh gods, she could just die.
Gale stared at her a moment before glancing at his arms again and then the robe. She saw something shift in his expression as his eyes came back up to meet hers, but she dared not interpret it. That, she thought, would be a dangerous mind game and her imagination was already working overtime.
“Well,” she said, and hated how weirdly breathless the word came out of her mouth. She cleared her throat. “I’ll go fetch the others, then, shall I?”
Without waiting for him to respond, she turned on her heel and hurried away, intending to go after whoever was the furthest away from the cook fire. Surely she’d cool off in the time it took to gather everyone. Fantasies were for bedtime, not right before dinner when the object of her fancy was right there.
But when she finally returned after all that, he was still standing in his wrap shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He hadn’t even put the robe back on. He laid it off to the side. She glanced at the robe and then up to Gale, who was ladling stew into bowls and passing them around. He caught her eyes and gave her a faint, intentional smirk meant just for her before turning his attention back to the stew.
That’s when Dani knew, with a rush of realization that struck her a bit like lightning and left her sitting, silent and dazed and a little offended and a little impressed.
She’d been as obvious as day, and now he was teasing her about it. And that smirk? He was being a bit of an arrogant bastard…but gods, he was suddenly all the sexier for it.
She was doomed.
#bg3#bg3 fic#bg3 fanfic#my fic#my tav#dani#meridan zavrai#gale#gale dekarios#please enjoy this nonsense lol
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Pick a name
Testing here how the polls work now that I'm going to use them, plus I need to make some decisions so buckle up everybody.
So first things first, since I know I can add a poll at any placement, here's my first question: since I intend to add information on what each competitor is capable of in their respective duels (what spells they use, what mindset they have, what tools are allowed) should I put such information first and then poll would be underneath them or should poll be traditionally on top and following information hid under the cut so to speak.
Now, I want people to take into consideration background info FIRST before voting, especially since I have a feeling some people coming here may just jump to conclusions. While I don't doubt people's intuition or knowledge on where characters stand, there's also the fact that some folk may not always know the rules and would pick their faves based on bias, not their strength (I do intend to add disclaimers for this at the top which I feel would be a good solution though background info could cool people down too), plus some background info can also help even the odds at times or make people reconsider things. However, I know that usually polls in Tumblr appear first pretty much always and there would be a lot of info regarding what characters are and aren't capable of so I wonder if you would prefer for such info to indeed be under the cut or screw that and be it front or center.
The second thing is I can't also add multiple polls, outside from picking a battle name, you can also pick the background for my bracket template in the comments, just refer to the pictures with numbers (like number 1 is the first photo):
Heck, I can make it its own post or perhaps I would change backgrounds depending on the qualification rounds. Let me know in the notes
Explanations for each and how potentially the data stats/propaganda would look like in battles (the above detour could also serve as such):
Witches Battles! - Technically speaking, lore-wise it was all the Collector's idea to watch the most powerful teen witches clash and they did refer wrongly to witches duels as witches battles.
Battle Witches! - just a reference to the original idea meta-wise, which is Battle Bladers (if you know, you're a legend). plus rolling the tongue kinda nice if you ask me.
Witches Duels! - classical, but it's not my top pick as witches duels are a custom, so naming this tournament just witches duels feels weird as there is structure to those battles as organized events instead of just random battles. But I will understand if you prefer this name and this reference to the show.
Granted when usually highlighting characters I will use big headers, but there's no need for short explanations of the names here
So anyway, here's the update, a bracket will appear soon (once I make it) and battles shall be announced along with it. Now that I will have a spring break I will try to get into that. It will be a new pinned post (but I will post a link to the first post which explains ALL the rules along with a disclaimer explaining the basic ones) and I will be also adding character profiles. Now, those will always appear underneath each duel, but as I explained in the first post, there will be Battle Royals featuring at times 8/9 people and I don't want for posts to get too big so occasionally I will be just sending links to read, but as they're battle royals, by that point I think people will have memorized the general info and I will add only more unique one separately. It's also worth noting that profile posts will have all the information, while specific duels will have a specific set of information at times (like how they do with palismen for example) so I will also add links to them despite already giving long explanations. Plus I'm also open to adding new information regarding the capabilities of characters featured in battles, so let me know in notes or asks if I miss anything that can determine how could battles potentially turn out.
OK, I think that's all for now y'all.
#the owl house#witches battles#battle witches#witches duels#teen witch tournament#toh tournament#my polls
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Legends never die, and as such, Jellie will continue to live on in Minecraft and within our hearts until the end of time. It was a pleasure to draw you, Jellie. Have fun playing in the stars.
#hermitcraft#my art#jellie#pet death tw#tw pet death#tw pet loss#pet loss tw#tw grief#grief tw#Let me know if I should add any other TWs
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building the future and keeping the past alive are one and the same thing
#flash warning#cw flashing#please let me know if i should add any other tags for the flashing#art#fanart#raiden metal gear#solid snake#not ship art btw#metal gear solid 2#mgs2#metal gear solid 2: sons of liberty#raiden mgs
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