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mewintheflesh-2 · 25 days

Text

Without You

Rating: Teen and Up audiences

Archive warnings: None

Characters: Francis Mosses, Original Characters

Tags: Unrequited Love, heartbreak, Song: Without You (Strawberry Guy), Crushes, Unrequited Crushes, Francis Mosses has sensory issues (briefly mentioned), minor blood and injury, Francis deals with the qualms of being a retail worker (kinda), men crying, emotional hurt, hurt/no comfort, not beta read, Reader is gender neutral.

Word count: 1,800 (rounded down)

Summary: Francis wasnt having a good time.

And you're not about to make it any better

Also posted on Ao3

Francis sighed solomly as he gripped the now empty milk carrier. Hard enough to leave imprints on his hand and whiten his knuckles.

His black leather shoes clicked and clacked against the cold, concrete sidewalk. The sunset painting everything around him in a golden light. It'd be nighttime soon.

He lifted his free hand to his head and clutched his sweaty hair from underneath his hat. He was so tired. He just wanted to get home and sleep.

But he mostly just wanted to talk to you.

Even if you only really talked through that thick, protective window, youd been making more and more conversation with eachother each time you spoke, getting to know eachother more and more each day.

It wasnt long before Francis' lovesick brain fell head over heels.

It was everything about you. The way you looked, with a smile rivaling the warmth of the sun, and just as dangerous to his heart and mind. You always seemed to know exactly what to say to him to pull at his heart like a puppet on a string.

If he didnt know any better, hed say you were doing it on purpose.

He wouldnt mind either way.

Francis slugged up to the reception window, a weight lifted off of him at the sight of you at your desk.

He pushed his ID and Entry Request inside the letterbox for you to receive, planting his hands on the metal shelf jutting out of the wall just below the window; watching you expectantly with a simultaneous aching and soothing feeling in his heart.

After a minute of shuffling papers and opening folders, you look up at him.

"Hello, Francie." You smiled warmly at him.

There it was.

That nickname.

God how it made his heart swell.

'Francie.'

Such a cute nickname

and it was just for him, gifted from you.

"How's your day been?" You tilted your head slightly at him, setting down and organizing his identification and sliding his profile back into the appropriate folder.

Francis looked at you for a second before frowning. "Not great." He sighed as he shook his head softly, looking down at his shoes.

Your eyebrows knit together in concern, a frown adorning your lips.

"I'm sorry, Francie. What happened, if you dont mind me asking?" Your voice was so warm and soft as you leaned in closer to the window.

It made Francis' heart flutter for a second before he had to think back to all that had happened earlier.

"It's just a lot of little things building up. I'm probably more upset about it than I should be." Francis looked down at his hands, and then up to you.

The expression on his face was just killing your heart.

"Im all ears." You speak softly as you push your chair in closer to your desk, and by extension, the window.

"If theres anything you need to say, then say it. Its always nice to get things off your chest, dont you think?" You smile softly at him, pushing your chair closer to your desk, and closer to the window by extension.

"Are you sure?" Francis looked around, almost worried. Surely he'd be taking up your time on your job if he did that, right?

"I have all the time in the world-- and I'd rather be talking to you than anything else right now." You assured, that deadly warm smile on your lips again.

The words made Francis feel warm and soft.

A small smile appeared on his face for a brief, fleeting moment.

Francis stared at you for a moment, as if asking for approval to speak.

You nod.

He sighed, looking down at the metal shelf infront of him as his ungloves hands tapped at it, wondering where to begin.

"Its just- work has been just awful today. Someone had left their dog outside, as soon as it saw me it wouldn't stop chasing me, i tried to run away, but it eventually caught up to me and bit my leg.

It wouldnt let go until I had to pry it off of me. And even then it didn't leave me alone for awhile. Not until it's owners came back to take it off of me."

You frowned, trying to open your mouth to speak, but Francis kept talking.

"And because of that dog, i dropped and broke multiple milk bottles on the sidewalk. So after the dog got taken off of me, i tried picking up the glass since I didn't want anybody accidentally stepping on it because of me, but the shards cut me. Badly. Even through my gloves."

He held his hand up to the window for you to see. There were bloodied bandages wrapped around his hand, and several smaller cuts on his bare fingers.

You cringe at the sight.

"I had to take them off to clean the wounds, and everything has just been sensory hell ever since." Francis' face draws to a grimace.

"And to make things worse, I had to deal with people yelling at me for being incompetent for losing their deliveries."

He clenched his jaw, his expression doesn't look anything but sad.

"Even though it wasn't even my fault. I'm not the one who left their dog outside. And just to top it off, I've had a horrible migrane all day, and It's just-" He inhales and groans, collapsing onto the metal shelf infront of him.

"I just want to take a break. I just want to rest."

He mumbles as he tucks his face into his folded arms.

Silence, for a moment.

"Francie........... That's awful-- I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?" You frown sympathetically as you push you chair forward even more, squishing yourself against your desk and placing a hand on the window infront of you.

Francis lifted his head to look up at your hand, and then at you.

"I think talking to you and going to sleep is enough for me to feel better." Francis smiled briefly before registering what he'd said, casting his gaze anywhere but you after he realized what he'd spoken.

You laugh softly. "If you say so."

Silence for a bit, as Francis regains his composure.

He lifts himself up, slowly propping himself on his elbows on the shelf, leaning his head on his knuckles, huffing out a breath of air.

"...How was your day?" He asks after a beat, head tilted curiously.

You smile, retracting your hand from the window. "My days been pretty slow, but im meeting someone later, so im pretty excited for that."

Meeting someone?

...

Francis blinked for a second. His expression faltering to a look of sadness for just a moment.

No. Surely you didnt mean it like that.

"Meeting someone...?" He echoed.

"Mhm." You smiled softly at the thought. "We met just a few days ago. He seems pretty nice, I'm excited to get to know him more." You lean your head on your hand, mirroring the man behind the glass.

"A-ah.......... Congratulations." Francis did his best to refrain from letting any indication of his emotions fall upon his face as he straightened himself out; but he couldn't help but frown.

"Francie? Are you alright?" You tilted your head the slightest bit, voice a catalyst of concern for the man standing on the other side of the thick, protective glass.

"Mhm. I just remembered something. Apologies." He held the brim of his cap between his pointer and thumb, pulling it down over his eyes the slightest bit to avoid looking at you. But he really couldn't help himself.

"Oh, alright. Is there, uh, anything I can help you with?" Your voice was calm and careful in a way that just broke poor Francies heart even more. "About what you remembered- I mean."

"No, no. It's fine. Thanks for the offer." He shook his head softly, forcing a small smile as he looked down at the shelf infront of him.

"Of course, Francie." Your eyebrows knit together in concern. "Just let me know if there's anything I can do for you. You can tell me anything."

"Mhm. Thank you." Francis took a quick glance at the door, before looking back in your direction-- though nowhere near directly at you. You put together he was probably signaling to you that he wanted to leave now.

"I'll see you tommorow?" Your voice was soft, sweet, a delicacy and a curse to Francis' ears.

There was a light buzzing noise as you pressed the button to unlock the main entrance.

"Mhm. Goodbye." He waved at you softly, only actually looking into your eyes for a brief, fleeting moment before walking away.

"Goodbye........." You spoke quietly, a soft pit in your stomach as you watched Francis dissappear through the doors.

You were so caught off guard by his sudden change in behavior you nearly forgot to lock the door again.

He usually liked to stay for as long as he could.

Was it something you said?

You frowned, leaning back in your chair and fidgeting with some papers.

You'd have to ask him about it tomorrow.

Again began the waiting for your neighbors to return to their apartments.

Francis opened his apartment door with shaking hands, keys jingling as they were set on his kitchen counter.

With a heavy sigh, he flicked on his lamp, enveloping the room in a warm yellow glow, trying to keep his composure.

Slowly but surely he kicked off his shoes, grabbing and throwing his hat onto his dresser.

Just as he was about to unbutton his uniform he was hit with a sudden disgusting, sickening feeling in his chest as tears welled up in his eyes.

He shook his head, eyes squinting involuntary as he let himself fall onto his bed.

He lied there, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore anything he was feeling.

But no matter how many times he tried, something still peeked through.

He inhaled sharply through his nose as he flipped himself over onto his stomach, nestling his face into his soft pillows.

The feeling in his chest was too intense to bear, he could feel his breath become sporadic, unsure if it was because his face was buried in his pillows or otherwise.

He inhaled sharply once more, this time followed followed by a small Hic as his throat began to close up.

No, no, he wasn't going to cry. It's not that big of a deal. He's fine. He should be happy for you if anything.

But. With everything that happened up until that point. He really couldn't help himself from letting his emotions get the best of him.

Hot tears soaked into his pillow as his hands clutched at his hair violently, hissing in pain as his wounds flexed open.

He grits his teeth, another hic escaping his lips as he opened his eyes into the pillow.

Nothing but a warm, yellowish void.

He pushed himself up and flipped onto his side, curling into himself, yanking a blanket over his shoulders before clutching his head, throbbing in a burning pain once again as he cried quietly.

He didn't even turn off the lamp before he'd passed out.

Silent, steady breathing, wet cheeks illuminated by the soft yellow light of his lamp.

Tired eyes, finally getting their well deserved rest.

An aching heart, beating slowly, deep inside his chest.

#Francis Mosses #Tnmn #Tnmn milkman #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #francis mosses tnmn #That's not my neighbor #Milkman #thats not my neighbour milkman #thats not my neighbor #Tnmn fanfic

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 1 month

Text

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 12: Catharsis

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: 6.3k

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.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience}

"Then say it, Astarion,” she urges him. Her lower lip trembles. She unconsciously bites it to quell the movement. A single fang peeks out and glints in the sunlight, white as the purest snow. “Open the bond and say it.”

“I…I-” he trails off with a rasp and cracking voice. The words are lodged in his esophagus and anchored on the tip of his tongue. That presence in his mind tugs at his psyche, grappling for control. It speaks its ethereal omens. “ She will be your end. She spins her web of destruction even now. When she snares you, she will crush you in her grasp, and when you finally break, I will be there to claim you once again." He grimaces at the ill-portent and cedes, “Perhaps you are right. This is a conversation better had at home.”

She nods, crestfallen and stares at the lake with a longing look that he does not like to see upon her face. It’s the look of defeat. All hope is lost and withered away. She yearns for stillness and obscurity to quiet her mind. Yes, he knows the expression inlaid on her features well.

Is he putting her in further danger if he says it? Could the voice in his head be speaking truths?

He’s said it before. What stops him?

Is it a lie? He is no liar.

He said it before….

He said it….

Gods. It’s hard to think clearly with this tittering in his head, defiling his thoughts with its blighted ballad. The presence screams that she is a threat. She has cast some sort of spell on him. “A trick!” It chimes, “A clever, beautiful trick by a clever, beautiful sorceress. She means to unravel you! She means to break you apart, crumble you into pieces and dance on your ashes!”

She would not do such a thing. Would she? Could she? He has used his beauty to mislead many in the past centuries. Is it possible she is doing the same? She cannot scourge him physically, but mentally… well, that is a fate far worse than even death.

She would not trick him. She need not trick him. He already lov-

Hells below, he cannot even think it, let alone say it aloud.

He can force her. He can make her his with naught but a thought. She already belongs to him. He can pull her strings and make her dance, a puppet upon his world stage because he is the Vampire Ascendant, and he can take anything he pleases.

No. He grimaces at the sadistic notion and how good and powerful it makes him feel. His thoughts become contorted and serpentine too easily these days, a pit of snakes twisting themselves into tangled knots.

She wants something real. She deserves something real, but what in the Hells does real look like? Is it supposed to be like in the silly stories he’s read? Surely not. Those are just a conglomerate of lovely words, trussed into pretty lies that the eyes can view.

He hears them before he sees them. They stand idle in the shadows, trying to hide their heartbeats behind the thundering hoofs of the horses and the wind whipping through the trees. They do not smell like powdered iron-vine.

They are learning.

They should not know he is here, but he does not have time to ruminate on it. His heart detonates in his chest, leaping around like a frightened bird in a cage. The presence in his head serenades him, pulling at its chains, pleading to be unleashed. He needs to get her away from here, from them and himself, before he sinks.

“Run!” He commands.

She hesitates, her pouty lips set into a hard line while she scowls at him and protests his commands. She draws the Weave. It shimmers around her like a vapour in the air. She is beautiful.

She challenges him at every damn turn. He loves it. He loves her for it.

He loves her…

She will not leave of her own accord. Even if he begs, an army cannot make her leave his side, and he knows it. He knows what he must do, but he does not wish to do it. Taking her control from her, forcing her into servitude, the idea used to thrill him. When did that stop?

Yet, he will always do what he must, even if it pains him as he has always done.

He confiscates her control, “Run to the manor as fast as you can and stay there until I return. You will stop for no one and nothing.”

She’s going to berate him later for this, but at least she will be alive to admonish him.

She sprints, and he summons every werewolf, every bat, and every ghoul he can, “Follow her!” He sends several away as the hunters rush him. He parries and dodges, sinking his blades into ribs, necks, and chests. “Protect her at all costs. Signal me when she is out of the forest and return here.”

Gods, his head hurts as he’s torn, the rattling of chains in his head splitting his concentration, but he must make sure she makes it out before he can give in and be overtaken. What will he lose this time? Whenever he drowns, something is stolen from him - a memory becomes snapped and riven like looking into a broken mirror, another part of the real him lost.

Once he hears the baying signal, he lets go and allows himself to be consumed, and all is black, black, black.

Shadowheart tugs on your limbs and clothes, wrapping her arms around your waist and heaving with all her strength. Her voice resounds, but it sounds like a faint, distant whisper, like the sigh of a weary breeze over barren plains. You feel like you’re staring at yourself from a distance. Fatigued, faded and lusterless, you’re a relic of what was and what could have been, just another corpse littering the earth. The skyline is the indigo and blue hues of impending dawn, and the stars no longer stare down on this tragedy as they wink out like eyes shutting against an unexpected bright light. When the sun rises, you will float away and be forgotten in the sands of time.

You were so close. Gods, so fucking close. In the end, Astarion had been right. Love hailed itself a saviour and became your destroyer.

“The sun is rising,” Shadowheart pants, panicked as she tries to pry your fingers from their clutch on Astarion, but they might as well be fused to him. “We don’t have a second longer to lose.”

Each time you blink, a new memory appears and plays in your mind’s eye. Some good. Some bad. Some terrible. Is this what they mean when people say your life flashes before your eyes at death? The reliquary opens, and your hopes, dreams and broken pieces are laid before you to gaze upon.

“Astarion would not want this!” Shadowheart raves, agitation and dread, making her voice tremble. She shakes your shoulders and hauls on them. “He would not want you to die!”

I am already dead.

The first thin golden strings of the newborn sun weave their way through the trees, a grand lace of radiant light that falls upon your pearlescent, colourless skin. Shadowheart screams, her heartbeat pounds in your ears, her blood a tidal wave through her veins as she tries to cocoon you with her body and limbs so the light cannot consume you.

“I’ve got her, Shadowheart,” Astarion’s faint voice charges the air. “I’ve always got her.”

You barely catch it, another whispering flutter in the air, but his chest shudders underneath you, and you’re plunged into your body. Your eyes snap to his, which are open in a hairline split. Crismon barely peeks through behind thick lashes, but somehow, you know he’s looking straight at you.

You grab his hands, interlocking your fingers with his, “Astarion?”

He does not answer, but his fingers twitch, and his grip tightens, if only by a barely perceivable fragment.

Shadowheart clambers, her hands glowing the baby blue hue of her magic so brightly that she could rival the sun as she focuses every morsel of power she has left. She slams her splayed hands onto Astarion’s chest with a thump that makes him wheeze and cough, and he’s bathed in vivid blue.

“You’re not burning.” Shadowheart’s chest swells and recedes like waves over a storm-tossed ocean with exertion, “Is he?”

Astarion stills again, eyes closed. Yet, you do not burn as the rays of light prance over your skin. Your ears perk and quiver as they catch the faint, feeble beating in his chest.

You smile at Shadowheart and throw your arms around her, “His heart beats. He lives. Thank you, Shadowheart. Good Gods, thank you.”

You sit cross-legged on the bed beside Astarion and fixate on him. Shadowheart helped you get him home and into bed, but he’s still not stirred more than some muttering and twitching in his sleep in three days. You’ve not left his side to sleep or eat, and you’re getting hungry. Very hungry. Shadowheart refuses to leave despite your insistence that she is not safe with you. With each passing second, it gets harder and harder to ignore her presence. Astarion’s heartbeat is of no concern to you, but hers… good Gods. Hers sounds like a culinary delight being offered to a starving ogre. You forgot how hard it was to be around the living with their delicious-smelling blood and beating hearts, begging to be tasted.

I’m a monster.

Shadowheart knocks and lets herself into Astarion’s bedroom. She yawns and stretches. You can hear her bones cracking and grimacing at the sound assaulting your ears, “Still nothing?”

“No,” you mumble, clutching fistfuls of bedsheets to stop yourself from scratching your skin in front of her. “His heart sounds stronger and beats more rhythmically, but he hasn’t woken.”

Shadowheart nods toward him, “May I?”

She’s been continuing to heal him every day as much as she can until she needs to sleep and recuperate. You’re surprised she’s putting so much effort into helping him. You thought she hated him, but there is worry etched into the lines of her expression and sadness you did not think you would see, at least when it came to him. You push yourself against a wall, splaying your hands against the wood. You cannot let her get too close to you. You are dangerous. Being a vampire spawn has not been as easy as Astarion made it look. Although, it is substantially less difficult when you’re well-fed.

“Go ahead,” you nod at Shadowheart with a small smile, “but always be wary of me. I cannot be trusted.”

She scoffs, laying a hand on Astarion and reciting incantations in a repeating melody, “You lived with me for a year, and you only tried to kill me once. I trust you. You have better control than you believe, but I will be on guard.”

You wince at the memory. It had been only a few weeks into living with Gale and Shadowheart after they found you in the sewers, starving, writhing and feral with hunger. Astarion had made being a spawn look easy. He could be around blood and gore, and it barely seemed to affect him, but you learned quickly that it was not as simplistic as that. Shadowheart and Gale could not understand why you would not leave your room or why you barricaded yourself in there with every spare piece of furniture you could. One night, you had ventured down, and Shadowheart had been cooking after having had quite enough of Gale’s dry and tasteless food. She nicked herself with a knife chopping vegetables. A small wound, but the blood in the air sent you into a feeding frenzy, blacking out everything but that delicious sanguine tang and you had lunged at her. Gale cast sleep on you before you could bite. Shadowheart laughed it off, but it was a wake-up call to you.

You are dangerous. You cannot be trusted, and you cannot trust yourself. Bloodlust overrides everything else far too easily.

Shadowheart’s magic washes over him again but with little noticeable effect, and she frowns at her palms as if somehow it’s her fault.

“He’s improving,” you assure her, disheartened by her sullen look. “Every time, he improves. His heart beats stronger.”

She clenches her fist with a nod and a grin, walking over to the chair at the other end of the room. She gives you once over and states, “You’re hungry.”

You swallow hard, crawl onto the bed and place your hand on his chest. You can feel his heartbeat in your palm, and it comforts you, “Yes. I’m very hungry,” you don’t bother trying to conceal it. “You should leave Shadowheart. I know you mean well, and I am grateful for all your help, but I am not Astarion. I do not have the control he does.”

“He keeps you well fed,” she points at Astarion. It’s not a question, and you cock your head at her, “You were skin and bones when you left, but you’re looking healthy again. You’re looking like yourself. I imagine you’ve not gotten much better at hunting, so he must do it for you.”

Your fingers curl into him, “He’s trying to teach me,” you laugh lowly for the first time in days. “He says I’m atrocious. I believe he called it an affront to the gods themselves,” you try to mimic his voice while rolling your eyes. “He takes me out every night, usually.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Shadowheart’s brows pinch. “You said you didn’t have time to explain it, but we have nothing but time while we wait on him. Gods. Is he always this lazy?”

She’s trying to cheer you up, and you giggle at her. You’ve missed her. Shadowheart was not overly pleased when you showed up as a spawn, but she accepted it when you told her it was what you wanted. Shadowheart has been the only one, other than Astarion, who you can be brutally honest with regarding your morbid urges.

“He always did enjoy his beauty sleep,” you shrug with a giggle, and she grins. “The Rite had more consequences than we assumed,” you sigh, “Not entirely surprising. As for what exactly, I cannot be sure yet, but I think it would be best if he tells you himself - if he wants to.”

“I understand. If he allows it, I will help any way I can,” she nods. She will not pry because she would want the same choice if it were her, and you would never give away her secrets, just as you refuse to give away his, “You need not be alone in this.”

Hells below. Shadowheart never fails you.

“I could hug you right now, Shadowheart.” You smile, fangs bared, because you do not need to hide from her, “But can we perhaps wait until I’ve eaten and you’re not looking so godsdamn delicious?”

“I’ll have you know that I am as delicious as you are pale. I will have to tell Astarion to get you out into the sun more often,” she giggles as you groan. You’ve had enough sun for a while after your last dalliance with it, “I will take the hug when you’re feeling less peckish. I like my blood in my veins.”

Peckish is an understatement. You could eat a bear, or two, or three, or perhaps an army of them right now. Those hunger cramps and spasms in your muscles are starting to make themselves known and hard to control. Your mouth is a salivating spring, and you have to swallow excessively lest you drool. If Astarion does not wake soon, you will have to push Shadowheart out with physical force if she does not heed your warnings.

“You really should think about going home, Shadowheart,” you urge with a plea that wobbles your intonation. Your hand hovers over bandaged wounds. The superficial ones healed long ago, but these. Gods. Any of these would have killed a mortal man instantly, and he has several, “Astarion just needs time to heal, I think.”

Shadowheart’s eyes flash with that pig-headed defiance you’ve come to know, and she sniffs, “I’m not leaving until he wakes,” she smirks as you grumble under your breath at her, “Is there anything you can tell me about what is going on with him?”

“I know this will be a challenge for you,” you smirk at her with a knowing glower, “But when he wakes, try not to make him angry. You two have always been like cats and dogs, but try not to push him too far. When he gets angry…. Well, let’s say he is not himself.”

“Don’t make him angry?” Shadowheart scoffs, crossing her arms and turning her nose up with a brashly twisted mouth, “Gods. That will be quite the task. He can be exceptionally insufferable.”

“I heard that.” Astarion grumbles, clicking his tongue while opening his eyes sluggishly, “I am a positively magnificent bastard, aren’t I?”

“Astarion!” You nosedive into him, wrapping your arms around him and basking in the warmth of his skin.

“Well, hello, little love,” he purrs comfortingly. His arm wraps around you and compresses you against his chest with his nose in your hair. He thrusts you back with one arm and scans you, “You are alright?”

“Me!?” You fight the overwhelming desire to shake him. He’s just woken up, and he’s asking about you? “You stupid, foolish idiot! When you are on your feet, you and I need to talk.”

He chuckles, running his fingers through your hair, “I expected as much.”

Shadowheart stands, “I hate to break this up, but may I?”

She gestures to Astarion, and you nod, pulling out of Astarion’s grip with a reluctance that makes your skin crawl. Astarion arches a brow at your retreat. Shadowheart’s magic infuses his skin, healing him slightly further, and he looks at her confused.

“Thank you for taking care of her, Astarion,” Shadowheart emphasizes with a genuine smile. “She’s looking well. I owe you gratitude for that. She would not tell me what’s happened to you, but I would like to help if I can - if you will accept it. I don’t need your answer now, but think about it.”

“Uh,” Astarion is taken aback by Shadowheart’s authentic appreciation, but he recovers his detached mask quickly. “You’re welcome,” he says cooly, “I will think on your request. Please tell me this does not make us,” he cringes, “friends.”

Shadowheart scoffs, “Gods, no!”

“Good,” Astarion giggles. “I do positively enjoy our squabbling, after all.”

Astarion’s eyes swing to you, pressed against the wall as if you’re trying to melt into it. Your jaw is clenched hard, teeth rasping. Try as you might, you cannot hide the discomfort you’re feeling, and you look away from him, uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze. He will recognize bloodlust.

Astarion pushes himself upright, “How long have I been out? Please tell me she’s at least tried to eat.”

Shadowheart answers before you do, “Three days and no. She has not left your side,” she points at you with a scowl, “Despite my insistence that she do so. You know how stubborn she can be.”

“Hells below.” Astarion is out of bed before you or Shadowheart can comprehend what’s happened, and he pulls you close to him with a tight grip on your waist, “I thank you for your assistance, Shadowheart, truly, but you should leave. It’s not safe for you to be around her. I will think about your offer and walk you out.”

Shadowheart puts her hand up with a shake of her head, “That is unnecessary. I can show myself out. Take care of her, Astarion. Do not make me regret saving your hide.”

Astarion chuckles, “I can only promise I will take care of her. You have my word."

Shadowheart smiles at you, “I will be expecting that hug once you’re feeling better.”

The shattered glass crunches under your feet as you walk through the shambles of what remains of the mirrors, vases and paintings you ravaged. Little pieces of mirror reflect the candlelight, spraying it in a flickering array across the walls and ceiling like a conglomerate of stars. Your fingers tremble over the curtains, but the anguish is fresh in your mind, and you can’t get yourself to open them. It feels grave to be away from Astarion, even though he’s upstairs, and you keep your hearing trained on his heartbeat, afraid that if you don’t, it might arrest.

With a sigh, you bend down and start to collect the broken fragments of the mirror that spurns your existence and remains empty despite your fingers gripping the surface. You breathe on the glassy surface. You know nothing will happen, but for a reason unknown to you, the refusal to acknowledge you sways you in a sudden grip on anger. You squeeze it, and the sharp edges slice into your fingers. Blood wells up, gliding and smearing on the surface, and you grin as if you’ve forced the damn thing to accept you are real.

“Decided to do a little redecorating, I see,” Astarion chuckles, arching a brow at the mess.

You whirl, compressing the pieces of mirror in your hand so hard they start to buckle and splinter further. You want to berate him for sending you away, screaming at him for compelling you and scolding him for dying and almost leaving you alone for eternity, but once your eyes meet his, the anger is washed away by relief. He’s alive, and for now, that’s all that matters.

I have an eternity to chastise him for being an idiot.

“Sorry.” It’s the best you can do.

Astarion walks toward you, and even though the floor is littered with rubble, his footsteps still make no sound. His fingers slip down your arm to the hand that’s clutching those broken pieces, blood still rolling down the surface.

“It’s okay, little love.” He coos, taking the fragments from you and letting them fall back to the floor. He kisses your blood-smeared fingers, “It was all horrific. Wasn’t it? We can redecorate.”

We?

Gods. He talks as if nothing has happened, and it vexes you, but you slip your arms around him, push your ear to his chest, and enjoy that steady and strong beat almost stolen from you.

Astarion kisses your temple, then forehead and then tilts your head up and moulds his lips to yours in a lingering kiss before pulling back and scowling at you. His voice is coarse and booming, “What you did in the forest was bloody stupid! What in the Hells were you thinking? You would have burned to death had Shadowheart’s damn wailing not roused me.”

“You don’t get to lecture me on stupidity.” You push him away and meet his ire with your own. “You should not have sent me away! I could have helped.”

“It’s not your problem,” he shakes his head.

“Oh, Gods,” you scoff at him, fingers curling into fists at your side, “Not this bullshit again! Your problems are my problems. When will you learn that?”

“No.” He hisses, “I failed you once, and the Gur nearly killed you. I will not fail you again.”

“You imbecile!” You scream, starting to weep, and you put your hand on a wall to keep yourself steady as the leaden weight of everything that’s happened descends, “You died! You were dead! You… you almost left me here all alone.”

The blaze of anger in his eyes winks out, sterilized by grief. Astarion’s brows rise, and the corners of his mouth turn down, “Oh, love, no.”

Astarion’s arms fold around you as your knees give out, and he braces you against him with a hand at the back of your head. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles with his lips against your forehead.

You almost want to push him away, to give yourself some distance, because you are falling too hard, too fast, but he guides your head up, and warm ruby eyes unite with yours. The connection with him croons the invitation to open, and you don’t hesitate to answer. Everything floods in a downpour. All your nerves, synapses, and neurons buzz with the efflux of information. You squeeze your eyes shut as your body attempts to orient itself. You inhale several shaky breaths as his heart beats inside your chest. It’s uncomfortable, but Hells, you will gladly take that pain.

The flood eases and becomes pleasant, languid streams that cross softly, slowly, and you are one. You are whole. You are complete.

Before you can open your eyes again, you feel Astarion’s lips ghost over yours, and you part them for him in a gasp as you feel his desire ignite. A raw, almost feral passion, unbridled and uninhibited. It’s so potent it’s intoxicating, and your yearning bursts and throbs between your thighs. Astarion kisses you with ferocity, and his tongue darts into your mouth. His taste is rich, deep and dark, and you moan as you drink him in. His fingers slip into your hair at the back of your neck, holding you firmly while he pushes your back against the wall. He grinds his hips into you with a resonating growl as he pins you.

Good Gods. With the connection to him open, you feel everything. His pleasure. Your pleasure. All brimming and teeming as one ocean of bliss you’re going to drown in. Without his smooth skin against yours, you feel painfully bare, and you rip open his shirt, flinging buttons askew. Astarion slips your dress from your shoulders with a smug smirk and lustfully hooded eyes, and it pools at your feet as Astarion lets his shirt fall.

Pushing yourself against him, you sigh with a pining whimper. He feels pure and warm as sunshine, and he is the light that parts the gloom of sorrow that has clutched your heart for the past few days.

Astarion parts your folds, spreading them and stroking the slickness. He is not slow this time. He is not teasing. He is feverish in his need for you. The pads of his fingers find your aching center, swollen with want, and quickly settle into a rhythm that makes your body twitch and spasm with white-hot pleasure, making you arch off the wall. You moan loud and animalistic, whimpering his name like a verse that’s stuck in your head, and his throat steals your moans with his lips on yours as if he can taste the euphoria in your cries.

Tension coils in your belly, and Astarion moans deep and velvety smooth as you crest and dissolve for him. He doesn’t waste a moment. You can feel his urgency from the connection, and it makes you just as rabid. You need to feel him stretching you, massaging your walls, making you his.

With a quick snap of his wrist, his trousers are below his hips. His cock is hard and yearning, twitching in the candlelight. Astarion grips your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist, and he buries himself into you with one quick thrust.

The pleasure is so intense, either his or yours or maybe it’s both combined, you do not know, but you clench around him so hard he hisses when he inhales and groans, bracing himself with his forearm on the wall as if he might fall over.

“F-fuck,” he pants. He pulls out slowly and slams back into you with a snap of his hips. “Tell me you love me,” he commands with another pump, plunging himself deeper.

Your ears barely perceive the words he’s saying while you sink into your mind-numbing ecstasy, but you know what he wants intuitively, “I love you,” you whimper, lacing your fingers into his soft curls.

Astarion’s pace increases, uncontrolled and more frantic, as he rears his hips back and drives into you. He pushes himself as close as he can possibly get while he pumps his into you.

“Again,” he instructs huskily as he finds a pace that snares all your senses. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” you breathe, panting, bucking your hips to push against his thrusts, rolling them in the way you know drives him crazy. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” you repeat a whispering hymn.

Every nerve quivers in bliss, and your eyes roll back. You clench, gripping his cock tighter and tighter with every thrust.

“Come,” he growls the command darkly.

Your lips crash into his as you comply, your body submitting to his influence. It feels like a dream to obey, and you crash into your orgasm like a wave crashing upon a rocky shore. You cry out, fingers raking his skin, thighs squeezing him as you’re cast upon that shore time and time again.

“Good girl,” he purrs. His hips stutter as the tremors massage his girth. “Again,” he barks with a groan, his breath hitching as he plunges into you erratic and needy.

Every pump of his hips is an ode to possession. Every twitch of his cock is a chorus of control. Every time he drives you to your peak is a sonnet to claim.

He owns you. You belong to him. You are his.

Yes, take me and make me yours.

You don’t know if they are your thoughts or his, but you hear his answer in your mind as it drifts on the slipstream of your bond.

“I will.”

Good Gods. Astarion means to make you shatter around him over and over until your body cannot possibly splinter any further. He means to take, take and take until you have nothing left to give, and even then, he means to take more.

And he does.

The smell of Honeysuckle, Vanilla and brandy is heavy and prevalent, arousing you gently back to your senses. Your eyes remain closed with lingering fatigue. The muscles in your body ache with an obnoxiously constant pang, and you groan and grumble under your breath at the sensation. There’s a serene tranquillity rife that you cannot quite explain, like a peaceful and undisturbed pond. You’re warm as if swaddled in a blanket made of sunlight.

Sunlight. Sun…

No. You should not be in the sun!

Your eyes snap open, and you flounder, graceless and clumsy. Steam rises all around you, and water swooshes and splashes over the sides of a ceramic-tiled tub, splashing against the floor.

“Easy, love,” Astarion chuckles, pulling you against his chest to stop your inelegant lumbering. “You’re alright.”

Your head quirks up, and your eyes meet his gaze. Candlelight treads and sways in the sanguine sea, and kindness coruscates, making them radiate softly.

You blink, and your hand slices through the water, “What in the Hells?”

“A bath,” he grins handsomely, sweeping wet strands of hair from your cheek and behind your ear tenderly. His fingers trace your jaw, “Apologies. I may have gotten a little… carried away.”

Carried away is one word for it, I suppose.

“Oh,” he giggles, beautiful and lighthearted, as careless as a child at play. It makes you smile. You came so close to never hearing that sound again. “And what’s the other word for it?”

Shit. He’s still in my head.

“Yes,” he kisses your temple, hugging you tighter. His fingers skim across your skin comfortingly, “I am still in your head as you are in mine.”

“You put me in a bath?” You arch your brow at him.

“It was necessary,” he smirks arrogantly. “I made quite a mess of you.”

Astarion reaches down, his fingers parting your folds, and you jump, confused at what exactly his goal is. “Relax,” he purrs. “This is not about sex.” His fingers rub over you gently, washing you and easing that soreness his enthusiasm caused. His feelings of affection and genuine, thoughtful compassion roll through the connection. “Unless you wish to go for round four? Or was it five? Or six? I could be persuaded.”

You groan and slump down further into the bath. Despite your exhaustion, your body responds to his touch as it always does, fire igniting within your stomach and desire making your skin prickle.

“Good Gods, Astarion,” you mumble with a sigh. “No more.”

“I thought not.” Astarion lathers his hands with soap and starts washing your arms, chest and back. He massages your stiff muscles with perfect pressure.

Should I be angry with him?

“Oh, don’t be sour,” he tsks, clicking his tongue and nuzzling your cheek. “You enjoyed yourself. I felt it. I felt it every godsdamn time. I almost couldn’t contain myself. You’re lucky I have such excellent control. That would undo a lesser man immediately.”

“You are full of yourself, aren’t you?” You laugh. Astarion’s cheerful mood is infectious, and you can’t help but feel a little bubbly with happiness yourself.

He shrugs, “Can you truly blame me? I am rather impressive.”

“I think it’s me that’s impressive,” you smirk with a wolfish grin, “If the exultant Vampire Ascendant could barely contain himself.”

“Sassy girl,” he tuts with a chuckle. “You are inconceivably enchanting. Even with an eternity, I could never get enough of all this.” He gestures over your body with seductive eyes but becomes more serious, “And whatever this is, between us, I could never tire of it, my love.”

My love…

The words descend in your mind, slow and tortuous like a feather falling from a great height. He does not love you. He said as much himself, and his silence and reluctance when you pressed him only cemented that. Yet, his actions speak different words, and his thoughts and feelings that you can feel utter different syllables. You don’t know which language to believe.

“I do,” his answer floats in your head, not out of his mouth.

You push away from him, whirling around in the enormous tub, splashing additional water over the edges. You need to see him, be able to watch and look in his eyes. His brows furrow in confusion, and he looks at the swaying water, “At least, I think I do.”

“What happened downstairs was not love. You want to possess me, control me and claim me. You want me to belong to you. I felt it,” you frown. It’s all so godsdamned confusing. “You craved ownership, not a partner. Is that love to you?”

Astarion’s eyes widen, and his hand reaches for you, but you bat it away, and he stops his advance. You need distance if you have any hope of keeping your wits about you.

“You want to be taken and claimed. You want to be mine,” he snarls, but there’s a sorrow weaved in between that choler. “I felt it. I heard it. I do not understand why you deny yourself these truths. Why do you continue to fight me?”

He’s clever, always able to take your questions, skirt them artfully and turn them around on you, but you know his tricks. He’s partly correct. You do want to be his, to belong, but you do not want to be owned and controlled.

“You didn’t answer the question, Astarion.” You retort bluntly, narrowing your eyes at him.

You have to tread carefully over these hot coals. If you challenge him too much, you’re likely to be reacquainted with his anger made flesh.

Astarion takes a deep breath, calming himself and smoothing his severe expression, “I already admitted I got carried away and caught up in the intensity of the moment. Sometimes, my thoughts become twisted. What more do you want me to say?”

You can accept that sometimes his thoughts are out of his control. You’ve heard the chittering yourself, and it’s like a flesh-eating infection that grazes upon contemplations. If you want him to continue being open, you must be able to withstand his darkness.

You can and you will because you must.

Always the lovesick hero.

“You know what I want you to say,” you whisper with a tear glistening in the corner of your eye. You know he won’t say it. You can feel his aversion as if it were your own.

“I can’t,” Astarion says flatly. He does not offer a reason. His fingers comb through his hair, and he shudders as if ice was suddenly thrust upon his warm skin. “You want something real? I’m not entirely sure what real looks like, but I will try. For you, I will try. But I cannot say what you’re asking right now.”

“Then I think this conversation is over,” you growl bitterly while climbing out of the bath.

Water drips down your body as you wrap yourself in one of the plush towels. You can feel his pain through the bond, and it’s tearing you apart on the inside, but you cannot fathom being his pet. You are not an object to be owned and flaunted, and no matter how badly you want him, you cannot allow him to treat you as such.

He does not speak as you walk away, your feet leaving wet marks across the floor. You don’t turn when you speak. You cannot see the sorrow reflected in his eyes, “And Astarion, if you ever compel me like that again, I will walk out and never return.”

His answer is calculated and numb, “I will do what is necessary to protect you.”

“Then you better be ready to lose me,” you snarl. “I am not an object you can wield when it suits your needs and put away when you’ve finished with me.”

“So be it,” he concludes quickly.

This time, you close the door in your head, although you’re reluctant to do so as you tread the hall back to your room. You are hollow once again, but you fill the void with hatred. You will find out how the Gur knew of your whereabouts and descend on the wings of death.

You know exactly where to start.

Elowyn.

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

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:

I felt terrible for the cliffhanger, so I spent much of my free time writing this week so I could keep mostly on schedule :)

#astarion fanfic #ascended astarion #bg3 #astarion x you #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion smut

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telomeke-bbs · 10 months

Text

BAD BUDDY – WHO ARE YOU REALLY, NONG NAO?

I had never thought much about Nong Nao in Bad Buddy, dismissing Pat's favorite comfort object – a puppet of undefined genealogy and gender – as just another prop/device to highlight Pat's kid-at-heart nature.

But now I think there's just a tiny bit more to Nong Nao than meets the eye, if you look a little closer. What we learn also tells us more about Nong Nao's owner Pat (and it's not all light-hearted fun when it comes to the fore).

The Thai words for Nong Nao (I got this from the GMMTV online shop, linked here) are น้องเน่า, and running this through the online dictionaries turns up some interesting information.

The word nong (น้อง), as everybody knows now, is a term of address for someone younger than you (that also carries connotations of familiarity and informality). Most often employed for younger siblings, it can also be used in relationships where there is an older + younger sibling dynamic (e.g., between friends, seniors and juniors in school and university, sometimes at work too). And of course it can also be used as a term of endearment between two romantic partners, especially when the nong is younger and gives off babygirl energy.

The word nao (เน่า) actually means rotten or decayed. So one way to read Nong Nao is Rotten Little One, which helps to explain the doll's jumbled, Frankensteinishly patchworked appearance. But remembering that nong is also used for friends – another way to read Nong Nao is Rotten Little Pal. And tell me now, doesn't that sound more than just a little coincidentally like… Bad Buddy?

What this seems to be telling us is that Nong Nao must be the doll-pillow counterpart for the real bad buddy in Pat's life – Pran Parakul Siridechawat. Although you wouldn't really have needed to know this to have worked out that Nong Nao can easily be seen as a Pran-substitute in BBS.

Pat refers to Pran as the Nong to his Phi or Hia a couple of times in Bad Buddy (e.g., at Ep.10 [3I4] 18.50 and 19.56) and they themselves joke about Pran being Nong Nao/Nong Noo at Ep.8 [3I4] 6.30. Also, when Pran manages to fend off Pat's romantic thrusts during their Ep.7 courtship competition with gigil/geram-inducing parries, Pat's instinctive reaction is to vent his frustrations out on none other than poor little Nong Nao, his stand-in for Pran (see Ep.7 [1I4] 17.11).

But I think Nong Nao's significance goes deeper than just reminding Pat of Pran. We're also allowed a look into Pat's psychological interior, especially when we contrast his relationship to Nong Nao against what we know about Pran.

If I'm reading this right, I think Pat's comfort object Nong Nao is also the parallel to Pran's comfort object – his PP hobo bag.

The double P on Pran's faithful tote can be seen as a single P hiding a smaller one at its center, just the way Pran was nursing an unseen, unspoken crush on Pat in his heart for years (written up here).

And we saw how Pran, when out and about, would rarely be seen without this emotional crutch that he would clasp to his person as some sort of psychological armor against the external world.

This makes sense, especially when we see how introverted Pran put in so much effort to build up walls against the outside, much preferring the solitude and psychological stillness of his own inner world, desolate as it might have been (see this write-up here for more analysis).

But Pat in many ways is the opposite of Pran, and nowhere is this more immediately visible than in his extroversion. Pat's energy is directed outward and (after Ep.1 and Pran's return) he is often, if not always, full of sunshine and jovial smiles in the company of others (not when the situation is sad or threatening of course, but definitely when it is at least neutral, if not happy).

A clear example of this would be the scene at the Jae Si Curry House starting at Ep.2 [2/4] 0.18 – Pran's demeanor at the Archi boys' table is so serious and buttoned-up, compared to Pat's hearty laughs and unguarded body language at the Engine boys' table (and BBS also takes a highlighter pen to this with Pran inside under shelter while Pat is outside in the open). 🤩

So for extrovert Pat, being out in the world is his comfort zone, and is also why in Ep.8 he couldn't stop himself from posting little photos on Instagram hinting at their love affair with the hashtag #JustFriends (see Ep.8 [4/4] 0.56), much to secretive Pran's chagrin.

However, what BBS only quietly suggests (without showing it to us directly) is that Pat doesn't seem to do so well when it's just him alone. He says at Ep.7 [2/4] 5.46 "I can’t sleep if I don’t have Nong Nao in my arms", which at first I took to be solely a ruse to get Pran over to his apartment. But now I think it hints of more, that extrovert Pat's inner world is not really a place he likes to inhabit, unlike introvert Pran who takes refuge in his internal sanctuary.

With regard to Nong Nao's age, Pran refers to the doll-pillow as neither new nor old, but "oldish" (see Ep.7 [2/4] 5.43). So it's not a relic from Pat's early childhood, which would be about a decade and a half prior (and Nong Nao's appearance also aligns with this).

I'm only guessing, but it would seem that Pat took to needing Nong Nao to help him fall asleep maybe in his early teens or just before? This would be around the time when an individual starts questioning their identity and how it relates to their sense of self.

I think what BBS shows us is that Pran has a pretty strong grip on his own mindset and identity. His inner world can't have been the most comfortable, but it was comfortable enough for him because it was the single source of truth about himself and reassuring in its unchanging nature (see this write-up here).

On the other hand Pat's innermost self, at least before he coupled up with Pran, must have been quite a different environment. From childhood Ming had pushed his son to be a proxy in his battle with the Siridechawats, and the naturally-open and loving Pat was taught, maybe even forced against his better instincts, to "hate" Pran next door (using own word from Ep.10 [4/4] 10.32).

So when in the world outside, Pat was fully sure of himself and his role there. But when it was just him alone, his outside self wouldn't have gelled with his internal reality and must have caused him all sorts of unease and uncertainty.

For how can you be comfortable and secure in your own company, when you are in some ways a stranger to yourself, and you don't truly recognize who you are? Within his inner confines, Pat would have been seeing diverse versions of himself juxtaposed and jostling for centerstage, and to have had these different, seemingly-familiar faces haunting your (sub- or semi-) consciousness would likely have been a scarily disorientating scenario in one so young.

And when Pran was sent away, teen Pat no longer had Pran's company and counsel, and no more tin-can phone calls right before bedtime to comfort him and keep him safe from whatever demons lurked in the darkness whenever it was just him alone in his world.

It's not surprising that Nong Nao would have been a tremendous comfort to Pat, because this reminder of his unadulterated friendship with Pran, borne from his true self and unpolluted by Ming's influence, was also a reminder of his true nature and identity in his head, where other renderings of Pat planted by Ming also had to co-exist like various ghostly beings, animated but not true to life.

What terrors must plague your night-time dreams, that you have to clutch a little stand-in babyghoul, appropriately monsterish as a shield against the monsters haunting your loneliest moments – and the horror only multiplies when you realize that the monsters are various versions of you?

How tragic is that, not to know your own heart, or to feel safe alone with it?

Maybe this is why for most of BBS, Pat is shown to us as being out of touch with his inner self (e.g., he could not tell that his incipient romantic feelings were for Pran and not Ink). I can see him escaping into the day as much as he could, fleeing from the darkness within – and when he had no choice at night, he had to have Nong Nao/Bad Buddy/Pran clutched to his front as armor. (But it appears that he could not escape things entirely, and the darkly-frowning Pat of Ep.1 [1I4] 1.08, devoid of Pran and beset by demons, is our first view of him before Pran comes back into his life.)

Pran was the original savior in BBS, when he saved Pa from drowning in Ep.1. He may not have known it, but I think he saved Pat too – from himself and the monster he had become. For it was Pran who helped Pat to see who he really was inside – someone open-hearted and capable of loving truly, not just some ghostly shell programmed only to hate the boy next door.

But just as Pran remained loyal to his PP bag throughout BBS, Pat never abandoned Nong Nao either, even when the little stitched-up imp no longer had to understudy for Pran in Pat's life after they became a couple, and even after Pat settled into knowing himself for who he truly was.

And I think this is because – even with Pran in his life as partner, soulmate and protector of his heart – our big-hearted boy with so much love to give isn't ever going to forsake any reminder of Pran Parakul Siridechawat, and will hold him tightly to his heart physically and figuratively, for all the rest of his life. 💖‌

#bad buddy #nong nao #patpran #pat napat jindapat #pran parakul siridechawat

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

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Need more of THIS please. I. Am b e g g i n g.

[Orion (Demon lord) and Priest Reader for context]

"Priest...."

A crimson pendant hangs before your eyes; chain puppeteer by pale flesh which coos to you so sweetly from the shadows. Mutted wails flicker along its cracks; a cry etched so deeply into memory you could hear them as clear as day. Forgiveness your most sacred virtue; you held no anger nor joy at the fruits of your comrades blasphemy. A fool who sought for might greater than your all power lord's, only to be crushed beneath its heels.

To add more fuel to the fire they've started, the devil would not leave after taking their soul. Just like mankind, he had succumbed to greed and longed to corrupt at least one more of god's soldiers before he returned. A delectable feast despite its ease. One could only imagine his delight when you all up ignored him on your first meeting. His promises of riches and fame did little for you, but your passiveness of his presence did wonders for him.

Stalking you to learn your life desires lead to poor success, but something about your devotion was...charming. He soon wondered what it would be like the subject of your prayers. The one who's glory was your own. To have his name rolled off your tongue as easily and life bearing as a second breath. In an urge to satisfy these thoughts, he offered not to take your soul, but instead a prayer for a single wish of your choice. How deliciously cruel was the smile you gave him that day.

"Know they're still alive. You can saved this damned soul and lead them back to God's house if you give me us one thing."

"Hmm.." You light another candle with the wax held in hand, preparing for service as always. "I know that it is in your nature, but please do not lie to me, demon. Even if they were still living, they've choose their path and I aim unable to provide them anything but a mention in prayer."

Orion scoffs at your words. "It may be a common tactic, but I have never lied to you, Priest. My precious diamond. Their body lies in the hospital, correct? Wasting away after that awful fire, but still breathing. Just say the word and they're free to go."

"May we continue this at a later date? I have to open the doors soon."

The embers of the candles die with a gush of wind. Peeling from the cover of shadows, Orion stalks over to you and advances until your back hits the alter. It is part of what drew him in, but how he tires of this little game you play. Stop worshiping a dead idol and give your love him already. In the face of a force overpowering you in both stature and strength, you merely smile as if greeting an old friend. He pins you in place by slamming his fists into the table, sweeping its contents onto the floor as you fall back against it. More hands appeared from the crater in his spine, locking around your legs and waist.

"Don't think you can ignore me, Priest." He hisses. "I will have what I want. Your mind, your flesh, your affection - all will belong to me. Your Creator is dead. Gone. I am all that will ever remain of their former glory so you. are. mine."

A laugh breaks through the quiet halls of the church. A haunting melody, which rings to the heavens and through the devil's skull. He is unsure whether to kiss you, or shut you up and drag you back to hell. In a complete change of direction, you reach for his hand. Yours doesn't even fit round his wrist, yet he follows your command as you bring it to your lips.

"If that is the case, why are you the one who comes to me? Obsessing over the attention of someone with not even a fraction of your lifespan or power. It's as clear as day that you need me. Not the other way around. You worship me, even if you are unaware. Before anything can truly be accomplished you must accept one thing."

His hand siffens as your lips connect with it, smile played against his skin.

"I am your God."

#Kinda popped off here imo #yandere oc #yandere #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #male yandere #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere drabble #yandere demon x reader #yandere teratophilia #yandere monster #Orion my oc

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 26 days

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Do you think Marinette really loves Adrien or does she loves the idea of him in her head?

Idk but I'm agree with Alya in Elation that you can't really love someone you don't know and Marinette arguably know Adrien only on surface level, either from the magazines or stalking him. We never got a scene where they talk together to get to know each other and then BAM! They just get together.

I also feels like Adrien's love for Marinette also more a rebound than anything. The writers can say anything they want, that Adrien fell in love with Marinette in Pupeteer2. But you don't develop feelings for someone you barely know, especially when in that said episode Adrien still think Marinette hate him. It's just weird. But again, idk, maybe it just me because I don't catch feelings to someone I barely talk to. That's just creepy AF no offense.

It's really hard to say because canon is all over the place when it comes to how close Adrien and Marinette are. Season three and four make them feel like little more than acquaintances, but if you think back to seasons one and two, they legitimately were friends.

Adrien turned to Marinette for dating advice (Frozer). Marinette and Adrien gamed for hours to prepare for a tournament (Gamer). Marinette and Adrien went to a party with their friends and danced together (Despair Bear). Marinette, Adrien, and their friends worked together to make a movie (Horrificator). I could go on, but the general gist is that it feels disingenuous to say that they barely interact. They interact a lot! It's just limited to the first two seasons.

I scanned through the episode list while writing this and seasons one and two have them interact in a meaningful way in about half of the episodes while seasons three and four got distracted by the new love interests, Lila, and the awful broken Ladynoir dynamic, dramatically cutting back on the Adrinette content to the show's detriment.

The other issue is that Marinette's crush is written more and more like a celebrity crush as the seasons go on, making it feel less and less genuine. So it's understandable to feel like she doesn't really love Adrien given how the show presents her, but if you tone down the crush to a non-comedic level, it does feel earned to me and I am also the kind of person that needs to know someone before developing feelings. Celebrity crushes and instant love are things I rarely enjoy in media probably at least in part because I'm ace.

I actually didn't get truly invested in the love square until Origins showed us why they first developed feelings. There's a reason I treat that episode as the golden standard for characterization. It's some of the best writing Miraculous has ever done. The writers crammed an impressive amount of content into 40 minutes and elevated the silly teen crushes into something with real substance. I will forever be sad that the rest of the show falls so short of that episode.

Moving on!

The Puppeteer 2 thing feels like a bad joke and it might be? It's hard to tell given how weird this show can get with its humor. Either way, it would have made a lot more sense and been much cuter if Adrien fell for Marinette when she unknowingly confessed her crush to him Glaciator 2 instead of falling for her after she accidentally forces a kiss on him during a prank gone wrong.

As for the rebound element... yeah, I don't disagree. Everything about the reverse crush was just weird because Ladybug falling for Chat Noir felt way more honest and earned than Adrien falling for Marinette given the way seasons five plays. I mean, the episode right before the reverse saw Ladynoir get married and have children, but Adrien is the one whose feelings are true and Marinette is the one having a rebound? Sure, writers. Sure.

If the reverse had happened right off of the season four finale, though? Then that actually could have worked. In those episodes, Marinette supported Adrien while their friends were oblivious to his true feelings, Adrien finally saw just how much pressure Ladybug was under, and Chat Noir supported Ladybug unconditionally in her darkest hour. I'm personally not a fan of the crushes switching mid-show, but I'd be lying if I said that wasn't a solid setup to lead into it. Adrienette and Ladynoir had never felt closer.

I think it's fair to say that this is why Miraculous is such a complex show for a lot of fans. It has truly spectacular setups, but the payoff always seems to fall flat on its face.

#ml writing salt #ml writing critical #adrien deserves better #marinette deserves better

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joy-crimes · 1 year

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i think my biggest problem w/ rwby @ this point is how much they love shock value and making their characters suffer for entertainment. Ever since the end of volume 8 there’s been an air of “you’ll never guess what happens next!!” before the result being death, destruction, sadness, etc.

They played the Everything is Horrible card to wrap up volume 3 and it almost feels like theyve been trying to recapture that “woah what the hell???” factor ever since.

the volume 8 ending marked a really dark turn for rwby as a show, with scenes so graphic and upsetting that you can feel the grins on the writer’s faces when they told themselves “This is a game changer, no one will EVER expect this.” even though many of the darker themes were already explored much more tactfully in v3.

but the result is much more damning, because now, nothing is shocking. It’s the factor that made most people stop reading attack on titan. if ANYTHING is fair game, no matter how dark, then why get invested in any of it??? Hell, they made bumbleby canon after years of baiting, doubling back, yearning, etc, and it didnt even end up being the climax of the episode!!! (no really! that episode kept going after the happiest scene all season).

Now like, volume 9 has been arguably going better than its predecessors in terms of character writing, but it’s also really awkward to watch them stumble and trip over the decisions they made for the volume 8 ending. There’s a deep deep feeling that if the team just talked to each other for more than 5 minutes, none of these events would be taking place. It’s narrative tension in such a bland form. the biggest relief in the entire season was an extended scene where blake and yang FINALLY talk about their feelings. after AN ENDLESS SUPPLY of skirting around their issues, and unfortunately, that episode ended, and we had plenty more show afterwards.

This latest episode was a tough sell for me. i already don’t exactly trust RT to handle “sensitive/distressing themes”, and to that end i think that Ruby’s “decision” in this episode could’ve used much more sensitive & informed lead-in. Also, straight up there are some really dark things in this episode ASIDE from that, that I swear to god, someone was smiling over in the writer’s room.

SPOILERS: you can try to make Neo a sympathetic villain, or you can have her crush a defenseless mouse to death under her heel, but you can’t do both, dude. Ya just can’t.

END SPOILERS: overall, i think im fine w/ this season. it’s overall decent and is trying it’s best to handwave away all the bad decisions made in previous seasons. That method CAN work if it’s in the interest of making a more thematically interesting show & learning from your past mistakes, but instead it feels like they’re simply running from tragedy to tragedy, with glimpses of happiness that are starting to feel more like a trick they can pull out whenever they want to lure you into a false sense of security. Characters being happy is now a surefire sign that there’s going to be a character death soon.

SPOILERS AGAIN SORRY THIS IS DISORGANIZED: my friend hannah pointed out that one of the most egregious parts of this episode is that neo didnt know most of the people she was puppeting around to psychologically torture Ruby. Neo’s actions were supposed to convince Ruby that all these deaths were her fault, but because there’s VERY few characters that fit that bill, you end up with the issue of many characters being folks Neo shouldn’t even know the status of (unless she can suddenly read minds)

Leo, the headmaster of mistral died while ruby & friends were off screen, and was DIRECTLY killed by Salem without Ruby’s involvement.

Ozpin and Pyrrha were killed by Cinder, while Neo was busy careening into the abyss on her umbrella, implying in that in their brief time together, Cinder explained everyone who died who had a connection to Ruby. Neo clearly guesses that penny is dead in the first place, meaning that her even KNOWING about Leo is completely unexplainable. Neo also shouldnt have known that Ironwood was dead, and on top of all else, why does she think that Ruby would blame herself for clover???? methinks the writers just wanted to fill seats in neo’s scary fucked up dining room. wacky decision.

Or maybe it isnt, because the first thing i thought was: “Wow thats so scary what the fuck”

which again points a big neon arrow to the writing issues of current rwby: It was done to be shocking even though it doesn’t make sense.

I have a hard time believing any of the events of this episode are ones they’ll stick with. All of the characters who “died” in this episode can plausibly come back in some way shape or form, so I guess now its time to just wait n see what happens.

#rwby #rwbyv9spoilers #spoilers #long post #ramble #dont watch this show #or if u do #dont do it in a way that supports RT

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cinnaminsvga · 5 months

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hi bestieeee

ive been following & have had notifs on for years. i actually dont even pay attention to kpop anymore AIDBBFHFDISO but ive always wanted to know sooo badly: how does LOOH end?

I know it's on indefinite hiatus but it doesn't seem like itll ever be completed, and the curiosity has always killed me 😭

"it doesn't seem like itll ever be completed" PLEASEEEEE i screamed but yeah youre 100% right LOL

its kinda hard to say how looh was supposed to end because i kinda write smaus on the go without indepth storylines lol (i.e. basically i bullshit on the go and fake it til i make it)

fair warning also that ive forgotten almost all of looh by this point... i used to have a notebook with my ideas for the smau but i lost it during my last move so this is what i can remember. apologies if there are inconsistencies but i genuinely dont remember LMAOOO its been (8)4 years...

i can give you an idea of how i was thinking of ending looh... under the cut for the sake of people who dont give af lol

i do know for a fact that i planned jimin and y/n to be endgame. it was going to be a long process of "will they or wont they" because of jimins underlying insecurities and y/n's inability to introspect would always be a hindrance in their relationship

i know i framed y/n as like a "really good person" but she really isnt perfect. i was gonna lay more groundwork to "expose" her for some of the fucked up shit she did in the past (i forgor 💀) and i was planning on exploring her internalized "holier than thou" complex

that was gonna be the second main conflict after the whole jimin vs tae conflict... kinda like a season 2 lol

BUT BACK TO SEASON 1... tae vs jimin lol so yeah tae releases that slander video on jimin and he runs away... y/n is supposed to have a big altercation with jin and make him release a statement proving jimin's innocence... jin ofc says no and y/n + jimin (+kook on the side) have to figure out a way to improve jimin's public image

my initial idea was that he tries to pivot towards becoming a professional dancer and joining hoseok's crew... i was planning on introducing a new character (likely seungkwan haha gotta keep with the seventeen member cameos) who was gonna be like a PR manager... they'd make a youtube channel and post content about their dancers. not just their dances, but interviews, challenges, etc. just to "prove" jimin is the good guy or something.

on the side, the seungcheol/jeonghan/yoongi drama... yeah seungcheol gets dumped by y/n like an additional two times LOL and for funsies, jeonghan confesses his feelings for seungcheol to y/n (shocker) and its all very messy mwahahah (yeah they both end up sad in the end my bad). as for yoongi... OH BOY

so yeah he got rejected by y/n which RUINS his ego and he doesnt give up for a while. then he starts crushing on seungcheol (who previously had a crush on him lol) and it gets very messy but overall he gets called out on his power tripping ways and ends up alone at the end teehee (he was gonna get an epilogue scene where he goes to the club all drunk and shit and a younger guy hits on him but calls him "sir" after seeing his face properly lol)

as for jin/hoseok/namjoon... uhhh yeah 2seok dont end up strictly together... theyre both chaebols with fucked up senses of humor (they both enjoy playing with people like chess pieces) and jin gets super pissed when he finds out hoseok has been playing with HIM on the side. they have a heated argument that causes the collapse of bang ent (hoseok has more money/influence than him and essentially grabs the company off jin's hands) and BOOM friends to lovers to enemies to ???

oh and namjoon is there. uhhhh yeah he becomes jin's little puppet for a while. essentially namjoon spies on y/n for jin and breaks her trust. this further strains kook's mental state because he feels super guilty about everything. i was planning on kook being pro-joon and breaking y/n's heart, but i wasnt sure. it all depends on how i was feeling tbh LMAOOO sometimes i like making jungkook cry (all the time)

as for tae... yeah he wins LOL he's essentially the main antagonist (its not jin... surprise) but he actually succeeds in becoming a very popular pornstar. even when hoseok grabs the company, he keeps tae on their roster and tae becomes very rich. he continues trying to slander jimin but he eventually stops when hoseok forces him to stop (out of guilt? bribery? revenge? who knows lol)

umm back to jimin and y/n... yeah they get together blah blah y/n confesses first, jimin gets hurt a lot, y/n is bad at relationships (shes got bad interpersonal skills), they have a large argument where y/n accidentally dehumanizes jimin (ouch)... so many things. all that matters is that they do end up together... maybe not so happily, but they'll get there. i think.

SO YEAH THAT WAS SO MESSY idk how coherent this was... again like i said, i kinda write smaus on the go so a lot of these things arent necessarily canon. i only consider things canon when stuff gets posted, but again like u said thats probs never happening LOL but in the meantime, if u have more questions about any of the points listed above, lemme know!! i'll try my best to explain further (sobs i am so rusty at writing u dont even know) anyway blessings be upon ye!!

#PHEWWWW THIS WAS SO MESSY LOL IDK #looh was written in 2019 isnt that crazy #people have graduated from hs/college at this point!! FAWK #I GRADUATED FROM UNI!!! CRAZY TIMES!!!#textau3 #Anonymous #answered #sorry this took long btw lol i had to remember how to write (its hard)

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automatayaoi · 1 year

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*throws a dozen dress up clowns at your head* Character design!!! murder puppet apologism!!! chemicals turning frogs gay!!! its kero kero time!!!! i dont know how to type up a real bio so im just throwing tidbits fullspeed at your window and also partially me spitballing speghetti against the wall

✨ their name is kero pierrot ofc, and they are a funny little frog clown married to arlequino hehe. keeping with the theme of commedia dell'arte their name is based off the character of the pierrot (and it's also a pun on keroppi since theyre my favorite sanrio character waha)

✨ the Pierrot was a tragic and lovesick figure, portrayed as naïve but endearing, often hiding their true feelings behind their jokes, and was a popular choice for romantic artists

✨ kero is a widdle bit fucked up in the brain zone but its FIIINE just slap a coat of face paint on there and ur good 8) Do not perceive the crushing mental illness behind the curtain

✨ grew up in america ofc, came to japan for reasons that turned out to be highly fallible (they maybe trust people a little too easily), refuses 2 talk abt this, they are however lacking in places to stay and money to spend so start of everything theyre Struggling A Little

✨ at this point they arent even kero really just Person...pathetic sopping wet frog you find under a rock. they had a special interest in clownery but always sort of put those kinds of thoughts to the side as more of a silly daydream than a goal they could achieve

✨ a clown without its nose have you ever seen anything so sad

✨ they first see masaru and the rest of the nakamichi circus when they saw them perform their street show (starting here), they just happened to be in the park at the time, and it's honestly the first time kero has felt happy since they Arrived in japan

✨ magic of the circus

✨ they spend the next few weeks going to the park and sorta following the nakamichi circus around to see more of their street shows, they don't really have much else to do anyway, they might as well spend some time having fun watching a circus act

✨ they attend so many that they actually start getting recognized by some of the circus members, especially masaru and shirogane since theyre very Perceptive. not a lot of details on those thoughts currently but masaru probably does his Main Protag/Therapist thing and gets to know kero

✨ BUT the way they actually join the nakamichi circus is during the performers meetup (starting here), kero goes to see their show again, but then things start Going Very Wrong and masaru's left by himself with no one to perform with. Little guy problems

✨ they've seen how much masaru and the others have been working and struggling in the past weeks, improving their street show, their cooperation with each other, and even if masaru hadn't talked to them they couldn't stand seeing something that made them so happy go down in flames like this

✨ SO! they hop in with vilma naota and mitsuushi to save the act! they don't have circus training like them so they can't do any fancy acts, but kero knows how to improv and roll with the punches, so they play off of the others as second zanni to liven up the show

✨ after that, i think they'd try to slip away quietly (kind of cant believe they did that) but masaru goes after them and asks them to join the circus!

✨ he knows that they wanted to be a clown, and even without formal training, he thinks having a western style clown will help the nakamichi circus stand out from the crowd! (also a call back to this moment in the manga when they went to see the straw circus)

✨ this is when they actually introduce themselves as Kero Pierrot to the others. there is no other name only Clown

✨ this has been a lot of masaru talk so far sorry he's my little buddy inflicted with main character disease. also i dont get a chance to meet my husband until like chapter 380 so i gotta be doin smth in the mean time

✨ from here on, kero sticks with the nakamichi circus as their new home :) they already knew a lot about clowning, but they really throw themselves into studying it as best they can (usually by spending hours at a library computer since most don't really have a textbook on clowns) and also training with the other members to sorta expand their repertoire. they get a lot better at the classic clown skills, your juggling, your balloon animals, what have you, BUT they also start to learn the cyr wheel!

✨ kero and masaru bond over doing circus training together. i give him a little noogie.

✨ they become pretty close with ryouko and lise too !! i jus love all my circus family i get them to play board games with me

✨ Peaceful Life (Until Its Not)

✨ this post as already gotten so long (and also i wanna reread some parts of the manga to refresh my mindself) so at some point i will expand on kero's feelings irt masaru running away and narumi joining nakamichi circus, but theres a couple other important points i want to make :V

✨ kero sorta takes a back seat with the rest of the nakamichi gang until they show up at kuroga village

✨ Specifically they join lise heima and ryouko in going to mont-saint-michel to follow masaru (they are NOT!!! letting these children go off on their own to fight!!!!)

💕 this is when they meet arlequino hehe 💕

✨ they stay by ryouko's side while they fucking Book It form the shirogane-o, and that's when they run into arle

💕 sorry ryouko but I'M the one who smiles at him 💕

✨ i should make a separate post of the manga panels i'm def in. and/or rewrite the scene as a fic which i might do at some point but just wait

💕 anyway this post is long enough so all you have to know is we get married and now hes my malewife Arlequino Pierrot 💕

💕 tagging my karakuri buddies @dissonantyote @lameassboyfriend (i hope dats oke)

#this is UNGODLY long im so sowwy #this is just a long list of hand wavy ideas and vague shit but hey at least its kind of lore right #maybe someday it will be coherent #si; karakuri circus #selfship #selfshipping #self ship #self insert #frog croak #flash tw #for the blinkie

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sepublic · 1 year

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Congratulations on the Boscha validation. This episode was a treat in so many ways.

Pal lemme tell you. Back in Season 1B I was a BIG Boscha fan, in part because she had just enough to work with, but also enough empty space for me to speculate freely as I wanted. So I write what was originally my longest TOH fic at the time (and would be for two and a half years, until I finished Understanding Luz last week), and I’m really happy with it. Sure it was released like the day before Agony of a Witch, which I KNEW would probably distract. But honestly I just couldn’t think of a better time so I did it anyway.

That said, I wasn’t getting my hopes up. I had a feeling and wouldn’t have been surprised if the show would move on from Boscha, who’d serve her purpose. If it had more grandiose storylines to pursue than a Grudgby bully’s, so when Season 2 aired in its entirety and she faded into background obscurity, I accepted it! It is how it is, Hexside wasn’t even meant to be as prominent until executive meddling, and even then Boscha wasn’t THAT prominent there anyhow. When she didn’t even appear in Labyrinth Runners, I shrugged because that was that.

But literally the day For the Future aired, I was waiting in anticipation for the release that night and I skimmed through my old Boscha fic for the first time in forever. Reminisced thoughtfully, nostalgically, and ultimately was like Yeah I don’t expect her to show up at this point beyond a cameo, but it was fun imagining and hoping for this type of arc for her back in the days of Season 1B. I’d noticed Amelia and Cat’s presence as puppets in a previous official trailer, thought it was cool because of my Boscha fic and all, but didn’t think it’d GO anywhere, right?

And then I began watching For the Future. I see Boscha, Amelia, and Cat in Skara’s story. I’m already hyped for the cameo of seeing them trying to defend Hexside and failing of course, because we’d already seen Cat and Amelia as puppets earlier the episode. But then Boscha manages to avoid being turned into a puppet, is even saved with the sacrifice of her friends! And then she gets away when the adults charge in as backup! And I’m like okay, so she’s still at Hexside!

AND THEN THE REVELATION THAT BOSCHA IS IN CHARGE. And her whole subplot with Kikimora, her obvious apprehension over losing Cat and Amelia, especially after Amity and then Skara. AND THEN HER TALK WITH WILLOW, the parallels, the callout, because the writers are still interested in that history! And not just Boscha’s history with Willow but with AMITY, as Boscha becomes a bit of an antagonist...

And then she kneels. And suddenly my speculation/fanon of Boscha having this deeply unrequited crush on Amity, this unhealthy admiration and hero worship upon a pedestal. It was canon. The unhealthy co-dependency of it all, Boscha didn’t even want to be the one in charge in their friendship, as long as Amity was by her side! She was fine with being the lackey to Amity, just like Jasper and Lapis from Steven Universe, who I def pulled inspiration from in writing I thought we were Friends.

The way Amity still has this obvious power and growth over Boscha, who isn’t exactly a threat to her, but definitely an obstacle. The gentle yet firm way she reminds Boscha that yeah, they do have a messed up history and she can see the issues that Boscha struggles with, she was a bully herself! But ultimately Boscha is her own person and Amity implores her to take responsibility and mature as she did... AND SHE DOES!!! She helps our kids hold back Kikimora, just enough for them to barely teleport to the skull in time!

Then the end credits, THAT image of Boscha, lonely, scared, isolated. Being ‘consoled’ by Kikimora, unable to participate in the antics of these losers around her because she’s still so insistent on being strong and without vulnerability. The implication that she gave into Kiki’s advice, because despite her general disdain for authority, deep down I read this as being due to authority’s failure to take care of her.

But Boscha still wanted and needed a benevolent authority in the absence of actual parental love, which was why she latched onto Amity so hard. And then accepts Kikimora, because her hyper-aggression and independence is all just a coping mechanism over the sense of loneliness and parentification that Boscha’s suffered through. How her past forced Boscha to grow up fast to take care of herself, but she craves someone who can take care of her, guide her, because she’s so tired of doing that for others when she’s never been on the receiving end!

She’s just a deeply troubled kid. There was more to her than just mean high school bully, not that she wasn’t that either, but. Everything in For the Future, her storyline and resolution with Amity, the scenes with Willow. It felt like the PERFECT redemption and recovery ending that I thought we were Friends didn’t have, but could’ve, left open-ended due to the possibilities of canon. And canon delivered...!

Considering the writers put Boscha to the side for a whole season, with a very limited Season 3 to work with, I never imagined her getting a redemption arc of her own, an acknowledgement of her pain, a canonization of her codependency and twisted worship of Amity, and deep-down need for someone to rely on herself. Boscha’s not important enough, there’s not enough time, they wouldn’t prioritize her anyway. But they did and I’m ELATED for it, I wonder if part of the Doylist reasoning was gratitude towards Eden Riegel (Boscha’s VA) and her work in directing the entire voice cast of TOH. And/or if this was always planned...

Either way, with Eden being our only source of Boscha breadcrumbs throughout Season 2 during her appearances in Cissy’s Post-Hoots, and... This really is a dream come true for me, as was Edric’s storyline in Reaching Out. The minor characters I projected a lot of fanon and characterization and backstory onto, ultimately my fanfics for them DID pay off! The reading and speculation was confirmed! And it is SUCH a treat as someone who’s been engaging with and analyzing this show since it was first announced in 2018, you cannot believe how rewarding it feels.

Season 3′s titles spell out Thanks For Watching, and it honestly does feel as if this Boscha arc was a bone thrown out to her fans and those long-time viewers who engaged with the show that deeply, as thanks for sticking it through the whole way and treating TOH with so much love. And I have to say, THANK YOU to the crew members who made the show to begin with...!

#the owl house #the owl house boscha #ask #reply

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deathfavor · 26 days

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@deiscension said: This should have been an easy mission. An overachieving cultivator had gotten his hands on a stray spiritual device in the shape of a locket. As soon as he had clasped it around his neck, it had nearly choked all his qi and very life from him. Show up, scold him a little under the guise of being an official from a neighboring sect, confiscate. Down and back with enough time to spare for a nice dinner and a few rounds of wine (their treat of course, which was obviously why they'd dragged their best friend into it)! Except-- it hadn't been a spiritual device. It had been a possessed charm. As soon as the hapless cultivator touched it, he ceased to exist. They'd never seen anything quite like this before; a puppeteered corpse gnashing its teeth at anything close enough to bite, practically ripping itself apart just to get to something with a stronger, healthier source of spiritual energy. Too many mortals had tried their luck already. The moment anyone made physical contact with the body, their meridians bled like opened veins.

Shi Qingxuan had been so sure the blast from Ming Yi had knocked the thing senseless. While cooing about how dependable their best friend was, they'd reached down to undo the locket. He'd warned them to wait a moment. Of course they hadn't listened. They should have just broken the chain. They should have kept their eyes on the body. They should have taken caution for once. Instead, they'd cried, "Ming-xiong, you really are too rough!" as soon as his hand had closed around their arm and yanked. But they hadn't. And now he was sprawled against the shack wall, pulsing rends in his neck where that horrible thing's fingernails had raked into his flesh.

Only now do they take proper precaution and summon a whirling gale to keep the possessed corpse suctioned to the floor. Locket in hand, they rush to his side. Their stomach twists. Ashen discoloration spreads from his wounds. They've only ever seen this color on ghosts.

The memory of a voice dripping in perverse hunger leers in their ear. Your closest friends will die because of you.

Their form switches back in an instant, fan clattering to the ground at the Earth Master's as Shi Qingxuan drops to their knees in front of him. They're the Wind Master now! There's not a single person or force in the world that would dare touch them or theirs. That wretched thing went silent centuries ago. Besides, Reverends couldn't bring harm to gods. Unless every event in their life leading to this moment had been carefully woven into their fate as soon as they'd taken heed of that damned curse. What a silly idea. So silly they can't help but laugh- a strangled noise that's more of a whine than anything else.

Heartbeat pounding against their skull, Shi Qingxuan gingerly presses the back of their hand to his forehead. Residual qi deviation rips through their veins like a knife through delicate silk. They swallow down the urge to vomit and focus on buffeting his deviated energy against theirs. The wounds are already closing. But he's still so pale. So still. So... dead.

"Ming Yi?" Their voice hasn't been this small in a long, long time. They try not to think about how similar this abode is to that forgotten little house at the foot of a mountain somewhere far away. "Look at me. Please. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it's my fault- scold me all you want, a-alright?"

my muse take a hit to protect your muse from a fatal strike ; send your muse's reaction

Black Water Submerging Ships could crush this pest with no problem. He could devour it, obliterate it, there were a million and one things he could do. But Ming Yi is not a fighter and Ming Yi is ALIVE rather than DEAD. So He Xuan needs to play the part, he shields Shi Qingxuan the moment he sees that they are not listening to his advice. Too playful and careless. It is a good thing that He Xuan did so too, because pain flares in his throat as fingernails dig into flesh and rip.

He slumps against the shack, and he can feel the disguise he dons start to fracture in the way of the unexpected pain. Anger gnashes in his chest, like the ocean trying to be captured by a dam. It slams against his ribcage and adds to the spasms in his throat alongside the pulsing wounds. He's forgotten to breath. But in the grand scheme, such a small thing is likely to go unnoticed. He a least recalls to keep some of the body heat going, so he does not appear as cold as he really is.

He feels their touch against him as he sits, black veil of hair heavy around them. Checking he's alive. Which is hilarious, He Xuan can't help but to bitterly think while is eyes stay closed. ( For the best, or he fears the ocean's rage would reflect in his gaze. ) He hasn't been alive for a very long time now, and he hasn't been without pain for even longer. All his power as a Ghost King and he suffers still, and he had suffered long before he choked out his final breath on a rainy, muddy street, bleeding out from his wounds.

But then they try to help and it burns. Even as flesh knits back together and starts to turn back to a normal flesh color rather than the corpse-like color, the aid only makes him sick to his stomach. It's not the same as simply transferring spiritual energy. It's so much more than that and it takes everything to keep himself under control when everything makes feel like he's straining against chains.

Shi Qingxuan calls his name and his eyelashes finally flutter, opening so a slit of golden eyes could be observed. He doesn't want to look at them. He wants to destroy that insolent, mindless spirit, and then slink away into the ocean. He wants to go back to his mansion or into the welcoming depths of his ocean. Maybe he'd play with his dragons but he'd prefer to sleep a few days in the heavy waters that offer silence and peace. He won't get that though. Shi Qingxuan is going to fret, which means Ming Yi can't go off like he usually does.

He Xuan forces his eyes to lift to look towards Shi Qingxuan.

" I told you to be careful. " He scolds, but it's weak and quiet, lacking his stern strength. A hand lifts, gently pushing away their hand from his head. ( Gently? Or weakly? Only he knew. ) " Go deal with the corpse and locket first. I'll be fine. Those two things should be your priority. " It's a quick reminder, his gaze shifting to the trapped corpse and then towards the locket with a pointed expression. His hand nudges them again, urging them back to get to work. " Once you're done with that, then you can come help. I won't accept any more till you do. " He adds. Maybe the idea that the sooner they did that meant the sooner they could help Ming Yi would be motive enough. "

The rage still snarls like a provoked animal and it clouds his thoughts. He is tired. He waits until Shi Qingxuan is focused on the other tasks before he lets himself sink into it. He's maintained the disguise long enough that it can be maintained in his sleep. At least a quick nap should held settle the rage beating in his chest like a war drum.

When Shi Qingxuan looks over, they'll find he's slid to his side, slumped on the ground with closed eyes. But he's breathing, and the wounds are little other than fading marks. He is, however, unusually cool to the touch and his complexion remains pale overall. Healthier than before, but certainly not great.

#deiscension #poor sqx !!#the FEAR that must spark in their chest at this #hx trying to get them to focus on task missions #bc tbh thats always how he is #'task/goal first and then anything else'#nevermind how bad he's hurt #no more helping till you do what they came for #nap time to help for him #᛭ — [IC] cruel and cold like the black waters [HE XUAN]#᛭ — [VERSE: MING YI ERA] playing with a flawless disguise [HE XUAN]

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