#I can’t be the only one who thought this when that post about the infernal tattoos first got posted here

[tadfools]

POV the last piece of your grand evil scheme walks into the room for the first time and they have ‘forehead’ tattooed on their forehead

[emepe]

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: The first 48 hours are crucial when a person goes missing. Eren can only pray it’s enough to reach you..

— Content warnings: emetophobia, mention of assault.

— Notes: Helloooo!!! Welcome to TV Friday number 12 <3 I thought about posting earlier but I thought best to keep up our little tradition ^^ Please read the notes at the end for extra notes about TV’s future. Don’t be shy to stop by my ask box <3 If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, lmk. Happy reading!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

Forty-eight hours

Hour One

A missed call shouldn't have been enough to raise an alarm, but his gut instantly told him something was wrong. And yet he tried his best to remain calm — stepped out onto the street and made his way to the bus stop where you should've been dropped off, glancing into convenience stores just in case, hopeful that the bus was just running a little late. But when the bus you would've taken showed up — allowing Eren some time to sigh in relief and shake his head at his own presumptions — and you were nowhere to be found among the few people to scatter onto the sidewalk, it only confirmed that previous gut feeling.

Hour Two

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

There's a stiffness to Eren's breathing that makes the process more painful than its intended effects — his lungs feel too big for his ribs, which seem to be pressing them against his heart, pushing his brain into hyperactivity to keep him from imploding.

Where does he even start? Where should he even go?

If there's a proper protocol to follow to find you, he's no idea of it and he's strangely aware that his anxiety might lead him in the wrong direction when there's so much he has to do — so many places he has to be — at once. It's infuriatingly difficult to not have a cool head when you really need it.  

He didn't think to bring his car — perhaps it's for the best, considering his vision continues to blur and it's not a sign of good condition to hear your own frantic heartbeat pounding in your ears. 

His eyes anxiously scan the faces of every person in his path. Paired with his dazed footing and the sick expression on his face revived every couple of minutes from the nausea stemming from some sort of sensed doom that he continuously swats away, there hasn't been a shortage of odd looks and aversions since he ventured into the dark streets in hopes to find you fine and well out of thin air.

It's been too long to dismiss as a casualty since his calls stopped going through, and yet he insists on redialing your number each time he's met with the automated message that only further fuels his dreadful symptoms, hopeful that your voice will reach his ears again, for that comforting sound to put an end to the infernal crescendo of his insides. 

Just as he's about to redial once more, his phone starts buzzing first, and for a split second his body is at peace and his heart soothed in the spare moment that it takes for him to accept the call and bring the phone to his ear. 

“Have you heard from her yet?” 

The voice on the other end causes his stomach to plummet to his feet for what feels like the tenth time tonight.

It takes a moment for his brain to assimilate that it's not you on the other end and another for him to hate himself for not checking who was calling and stupidly spit a response to an Armin who has no fault in anything, especially for not being you.

Armin, as understanding as ever and assuming the more collected role for Eren's sake, dismisses the frustrated tone in his friend's voice, fully aware it's nothing personal. 

“The security guard says she left a little over an hour ago and Mika called me a minute ago and said she hasn't been home. Are you sure she wasn't going to make any stops on the way?” 

“No, Armin, she would've told me. She would've come here first or she would've at least texted me.” Eren's voice cracks. “Something is wrong.” 

The weakness in Eren's voice is enough to fracture Armin's composure for a fraction of a second.

“Let's go to Levi.”

Hour Three

Being in the police station feels more reassuring than Eren would've imagined. At least this means he's doing something — and something right, at that — and the drive over spared him enough time to ease his nerves, even just a little, as he continued to repeat inwardly to himself that everything is going to be fine. 

Time is everything and frankly, he can't help but feel a bit dumb for not thinking about getting some help from Levi in the first place. He'll find out what's going on — if there was an accident, if you got mugged and that's why no calls go through, or even if your bus broke down and that's why he hasn't seen you when he should have by now. Even if it turns out to be a misunderstanding, better to cause a scene than to sit on his hands. Though three hours without any sign to say otherwise can't be a misunderstanding. 

Eren hunches over, resting his forehead on the edge of Levi's desk, not minding one bit as it digs a dent into his skin. His knee bounces every couple of minutes as he and Armin wait for Levi to get back to them. 

“Eren Jaeger?” 

He looks up to find a tall blond man instead of Levi. 

“Yes?” 

“I'm Captain Erwin Smith. Come this way please.” 

Eren stands to follow the man's lead, only sparing a nervous glance to Armin, who replies with a comforting one from his seat, only morphing into a more accurate depiction of his worry once Eren turns his back to him.

“Where's Levi?” 

Eren's eyes wander the barren space he's been led into. Nothing but a table and a pair of chairs set opposite of each other. 

“He'll be here in a moment. I just want to ask you some more questions about the missing person's report you're filing.” 

“Of course.”

Doing his best to hold in his exasperation at the ticking clock in his head, he dutifully replies to every question he's already answered for Levi when he first walked into the station — what made him come to the station, his relation to you, your description, what happened before he lost contact with you, amongst other basic things to paint a picture of the situation.

“Was there ever any trouble in your relationship?” Erwin asks.

Eren's brow furrows.

“What do you mean?” 

“I'm asking if there was any indication that your girlfriend,” he makes a vague motion with his hands as he reads your name from the folder in his hands, “might’ve been upset with the relationship. Did you ever argue or have any trouble? Perhaps something in the past few days? Or ever?” 

Eren hardens his jaw in an attempt to remain calm. He knew he'd have to spend a while at the station, answering questions more than once — as frustrating as the lengthy process could be, he expected that much. 

Erwin's tone has remained neutral for the entirety of the questioning, and it's only natural to want to rule out any immediate suspects, but it doesn't make the implication of the captain's words any less offensive and borderline cruel. 

“No,” Eren chokes out, horrified by the mere idea that either of you would walk away without warning. That isn't you. 

“So no reason for her to break off contact with you.”

“She didn't break off contact,” Eren spits, growing heavily frustrated at the sudden turn of events. “We were supposed to meet, she was on her way already. I saw her just this morning and she called me first to tell me she was coming home.”

“Maybe she only said that to throw you off?”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Just tell me what you might think,” Erwin replies, voice stern. “You say it's only been three hours since you last heard from her but she's a mentally stable, healthy adult. Unless she has any conditions that could put herself or others in danger, chances are she's safe and sound somewhere and this is all a misunderstanding. Was there anything suspicious or weird about her?”

Eren's shake of his head grows more and more frustrated as Erwin does little to conceal his skepticism, which only shapes as a misunderstanding from Eren's increasingly impatient point of view.

“What's suspicious and weird is that she never made it to our date at all and it's been three hours and I haven't gotten a single word from her.”

Eren's expression is one of pleading, yet Erwin's remains neutral and made of marble.

“And it's not like that,” Eren murmurs. “I was going to ask her to live with me tonight. She called me after she left work to tell me she was on her way.” Eren can feel his heartbeat start to pick up as his ribcage begins to close in on his lungs once more as more anxious words continue to spill from his mouth in increasing pace and volume. “She told me she had news and that she loves me. Why would she tell me that if anything was wrong? Why would she say that if she wasn't going to make it to our date?” The crack in his voice comes at the same time as the stinging sensation behind his eyes and the uncomfortable tickle in his nose. “I was making dinner for us. I had this whole thing planned. I wanted to surprise her with all her favorite food and the pictures from the new apartment. I wasn't going to tell her about the pink bathtub because I want it to be a surprise when we move in. She…” He curls against the table, hands gripping his hair in frustration, pulling at the strands to make sure he still feels something because there are just too many sensations overwhelming him as he tries to get through to the man in front of him. “She really wants a pink bathtub.” 

Eren doesn't lift his gaze, just remains quiet and unmoving until he catches a flicker of movement in front of him. It's only when he takes the tissue offered by Erwin that he becomes aware of the tears streaming down his face. 

Levi nearly had a heart attack when he first caught eye of Eren's and Armin's familiar faces walking into the police station. The frantic green eyes and anxious expressions made it clear something awful had happened and hot flashes of searing dread burned inside his stomach. That is until nobody pronounced his niece's name. After that, the flame of pain withered to ashes of guilt, consuming him from the inside in such a manner that it was hard to face his niece's friends knowing he'd felt relief it wasn't his family who'd been affected tonight. 

Levi's known Eren since he was a kid — a bit childish and whiny, but ultimately a decent man with a kind heart. It's been a pleasure watching him grow up and knowing he's remained a good friend to his niece. 

Levi's only met you once. It was at Jean and Mikasa's engagement party earlier this year. If Jean and Mikasa were the happiest couple there, you and Eren were a close second. It was easy to know just how much he adored you, and how attached you were to him. Eren was rarely in a dark place, but next to you his smile was blinding. 

After finding out Erwin conducted the interrogation to rule out a possible runaway case — and how he did it — he still hadn't ridden himself of enough guilt to apologize for making the situation more stressful, no matter what the rules say. 

It's no secret some sudden disappearances hold more danger than others. An abducted child, an older person with dementia, a mentally and emotionally unstable person who's looking to cause harm to others or themselves — they demand a higher sense of urgency than logging the missing person into the system and following up when there's nothing more pressing on the police's plate.

The desperation consuming Eren's features when Levi finally walks into the interrogation room is enough to kick off his own instincts. 

It's upon Levi's insistence that patrols are dispatched immediately. 

Hour Five

When a loved one's safety is on the line, any efforts from authorities never seem to be enough and yet one remains oddly hopeful that the people with a proper protocol should know how to better handle situations that leave one frantic and lost. 

Calls to the nearest hospitals, pings from cellphone towers, two patrols dispatched to the last known location and its surroundings, questions to potential witnesses who have nothing to report or are rather too invested to go back to whatever keeps their attention inside to provide some detailed tips, one patrol leaving because of a nearby break-in and the remaining one left with nothing more to go off of than one grainy clip of CCTV footage that shows your figure walking down the street, and a second clip from a convenience store's outside surveillance camera where you don't show up at all, but the lack of witnesses lead to nothing in between. 

Keeping up the search when there's been nothing gained starts proving to be more difficult when obstacles continue to pile on. Aside from the growing boredom of those in police cars from the lack of fresh information to keep them motivated, the heavy clouds that hover over everyone's head threatens for the case to soon be abandoned for the night. 

Hour Eight

Levi is hesitant to leave. But with no leads — no CCTV footage, no unknown numbers blinking on Eren's screen, no mother, an estranged father, no sign of a struggle at the last known location, and so much yet so little more — there isn't much he has to do than drive back with the pair of worried men to the station for more questioning in case of foul play, while constantly eyeing his notifications for any incoming messages on an assault victim found in an alley not too far away from where your phone was last still on.

Eren refuses to leave. Despite Levi's efforts to persuade him that going back to the station was necessary, knowing he was so close to where you'd last been was enough for Eren to stand his ground. Getting into Levi's car means going back miles worth of steps. It means straying from what feels so much like the right path already. And as ridiculous and futile as it is with no leads, it means losing his grip on something much more solid. 

How easy it would be if a last known location means he can find you just by looking behind a tree or having someone point and say “yes, she's right there”. 

So when Levi makes another plea for Eren to come back with him — he doesn't mention what for to not stir any more nerves — and Eren says no while steering himself down the block for what feels like his hundredth recon of the area — just in case you really were behind that tree in the small playground all along, playing a nasty prank on him — Levi chooses to go back to all the nearby twenty-four hour convenience stores one last time before the downpour begins. 

Armin gives Levi a grateful nod before lightly jogging to catch up with Eren, who's already turning onto the next street. 

“You can go,” Eren calls over his shoulder after catching a glimpse of his friend's blond hair beside him. “I'll keep looking by myself. Besides, it's gonna rain soon. You'll get wet.” 

“What about you?” Armin looks down at his friend's bare arms. “You don't even have a jacket.” 

Eren looks down at his sides, like he just noticed his lack of a coat. He could've sworn he had one on him when he walked out his apartment. You would've been upset with him otherwise, that small pout forming on your lips while your brows are weighed down with disappointment. 

The instant of amusement he feels is quickly consumed by the ache of why he's out on the street with no jacket to begin with. 

The food must be cold by now. He'll have to heat it all up once you're back home.

Light raindrops brush against his skin with a small gust of wind. 

You're still not behind the tree.

It's nearly half past two in the morning. Any civilians with useful information have been asleep for hours, and any passers-by would've reported anything had they seen it, Armin thinks. 

It's chilling to walk down streets so quiet and empty, with the only reminder that this isn't an alternate universe being the sparse cars that drive by. Surely the people inside might find it strange to see the pair walking up and down the streets, turning, looking, flashing their phones to make out shapes in the dark.

The tickle of rain on skin is no longer, but the temperature continues to drop. 

Armin takes on one side of the street while Eren tackles the other. He receives a polite nod from the security guard of a small daycare center, who fails to conceal his look of pity. Levi interviewed him around an hour ago, so he has to know what's going on. 

Armin averts his gaze, his cheeks burning at the thought of some stranger pitying him and his friend when everything is going to be just fine. 

The rain starts up again. Eren isn't around anymore. With one quick scan of the street, Armin spots him rounding the corner to the next street — pace firm but anxious. He's quick to follow. 

By the time Armin catches up, the raindrops have grown in size, a reliable sign that this time, it's for real. 

“Eren,” Armin calls him carefully.

Eren continues walking, flashing a light behind a dumpster in a narrow alley between a family restaurant and a bookstore. 

“Eren,” Armin calls him a bit more firmly to get his attention, but to no avail. 

With brows knit more in desperation than concern, Armin quickens his pace and pulls Eren by the shoulder just before he rounds the corner to the next street. 

“Eren!”

“What?” 

The anger and volume in Eren's voice shrinks Armin in his place for a brief moment. 

Embarrassed by his own reaction, Eren exhales an apology. But his face hardens once more when Armin suggests it's time to go home.

Armin steps back, surprised to have caught a swear word from his best friend among the words he spits back in a negative response. 

But when Eren turns, ready to resume his search, Armin pulls at him again.

“Eren, stop!” he half-yells, quickly readjusting his volume before speaking again to not cause any disturbances to sleeping strangers.

“You don't want to pick a fight with me Armin, I'm warning you,” Eren's voice grows low, but still reaches Armin with the same anger and menace.  

Eren harshly pulls away and continues to storm down the next street, leaving Armin to stumble behind. 

The rain is heavy enough now to spot the pavement faster than it takes for each drop to dry. 

“We need to go back, we aren't going to find her like this,” Armin calls after him. His hands do little to shield himself from the rain. Thankfully, Armin thought to bring a jacket along but it won't do much for either of them when it's bound to be sopping wet in just a few minutes. 

Eren's shirt is already clinging to his skin in large patches down his back, and yet he continues walking with purpose down the street. 

Armin's shivering now under his jacket as he looks around to gather his surroundings. This street isn't far from the office. It's poorly lit which, paired with the rain, is best explored in daylight. There's a single street lamp that's meant to illuminate the area at night, but it's been broken for months and either nobody has reported it, or laziness has kept it from being repaired. 

“Come on,” Armin insists, lightly jogging now and losing his breath under the cold shower as he tries to keep up with Eren, who still refuses to listen. “We'll come back in the morning! You need to get some rest if you're going to keep looking! I'll come with you, okay? But we need to go!”

Armin suddenly crashes into Eren's chest as the latter abruptly turns around in a sudden fit of pure rage. 

“I already told you I'm not fucking leaving!” 

Armin stumbles back, teeth chattering, muscles drooping from his wet clothes and vision blurred by the heavy rain. 

“You can leave if you want to! That's what the fucking police is doing! Just go already! But I'm staying because I care! I don't give a fuck about the rain, I'm going to find her!”

Eren's words pierce through Armin's chest, and the next moment he's tackling Eren to the ground. It's not so much to stop him from leaving this time, but out of indignation. 

Eren falls on his ass with a wet thud, his palms painfully pounding onto the pavement as Armin falls on top of him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt in his hands.

“You think I don't care? Why do you think I'm here, you idiot?” Armin yells in Eren's face. Had the pouring rain not been a factor, he would've been red in the face. But had the rain not been there, Eren also would've easily seen the tears streaming down Armin's face, and that would've taken away from his blue glare. 

“She's my best friend! I'm just as worried about her as you are! You can't decide you're the only one affected by this! That only makes you a jerk and you're not!” 

Eren is tense all over as he holds Armin's surprisingly threatening glare. His chest heaves as a twinge of guilt surges inside of him at his friend's pointed remarks. The stiff breathing makes its return.

“But we have to go,” Armin's voice softens — it cracks and begs. 

And Eren breaks down in sobs. His scraped palms come to his face, aggressively digging the heels against his eyes as if to force his tears back in while his shoulders tremble in cold, grief and guilt. 

“You don't understand!” he cries, his shirt still crumpled under Armin's grip. “I fucked up, Armin. This is all my fault!”

Unsure of how to react to this abrupt change in attitude, Armin remains frozen save for his teeth, which continue to chatter under the deafening rain.

“I was supposed to pick her up. I'm never late,” Eren hiccups. “But I didn't come today and now I don't know where she is! It was me, Armin! I did this! This is my fault!” 

“Eren,” Armin murmurs gently, eyebrows upturned in sympathy as he finally softens his hold on his friend. 

“I can't find her and I don't know if she's hurt or scared or if…,” Eren's words drown in another wave of sore sobs, his lips refusing to let the thought of the worst to escape as a spoken word — to think that someone might have caused you harm and that's what's kept you tonight. 

“I need her to be okay,” he whimpers finally, lips trembling as his body begins to react to the harsh cold surrounding him. “Where is she, Armin?”

It takes a while for Armin to gather his thoughts and catch up to the workings of Eren's mind from this hellish night. 

He often leaves the office with you, stays behind some evenings when he notices you're close to wrapping up your work and can ride the elevator together. Sometimes even accepts Eren's offer for a ride when he's too tired to deal with the overwhelming setting of public transportation — tired enough to not mind third-wheeling for a short while. If the last place your phone was turned on was before you even had a chance to take a bus, surely he could've done something to prevent this mess too. Why didn't he think to stay behind today, too?

“It's not your fault,” Armin finally says, his voice just barely audible amidst the rain and thunder. He blinks up from the ground to his friend. “And we don't know what happened. We'll try the hospitals again later, we'll keep calling her in the meantime. We have Levi helping us, right?”

Eren blinks back at him, slowly gathering that Armin is trying to encourage him through reassurances, and finally nods in response as he does his best to ignore the tight lump in his throat. 

“It's like three in the morning, Eren. I'm not asking you to stop. But we can't keep going like this.” He motions vaguely toward the incessant rain from above and the wet clothes sticking to their skin. 

Armin stands, relieving Eren from his weight as he pushes back his hair with one hand and offers the other to his friend whose reluctance casts a shadow over his usually bright features. 

Eren trains his gaze on the ground, leaving Armin's helping hand hanging for the while longer it takes for him to convince himself that Armin is right and this doesn't mean he's failing you. 

Finally, Eren accepts his friend's hand, who hoists him up just as they both spot Levi's car pulling into the street from the farthest corner. 

Armin motions for Eren to follow him toward the car, to which he responds with a weak nod. But just a couple of steps in, something crunches and gets caught under his shoe. Naturally, he looks down, forgetting the deluge falling over him at the moment to frown at the foreign object. 

Armin glances over his shoulder, sensing his absence, and turns around fully when he realizes Eren is kneeling on the ground, cautiously picking something from the ground that ultimately dangles from his fingers once it's fully suspended in the air. 

Armin retraces his steps, kneeling next to his friend to find his face pallid, and green eyes wide with fear as he stares at the broken chain between his fingers, from which hangs an angel cast in silver with a broken wing. 

His features contort in horrified realization. It's almost ridiculous to turn to Eren for confirmation of what he already knows and can already begin to imagine. But when he does, the latter is already hunched over in the opposite direction, emptying his stomach onto the wet pavement while the nearing lights from Levi's car come to blind him.

Hour Fifteen

Mikasa, Jean, and Sasha step into the elevator wordlessly, the only sounds on the way to Eren's floor being the inevitable rustles from the plastic bags with food in Mikasa's hands. 

Jean offered to take them, but Mikasa insisted she'd hold onto them. Maybe it's because of her cold hands, but it might also be because she needs something to help keep her grounded — literally; she feels as though she might float away otherwise. Because if anyone were to ask her, nothing has felt real since last night after Armin's call. 

The elevator’s hum ceases as it comes to a gentle stop and the doors slide open. 

The same somber silence continues to hover between the trio as they mechanically walk down the hall to Eren's door. Jean takes out his copy of the key from his jeans pocket and pushes the door wide open, gesturing for the girls to enter first before quietly closing the door behind them.

Spare keys aren't rare between them. It was chain reaction that stemmed from Eren's father's passing. Everyone wanted to make sure he was okay. The rest is history. 

“In case of emergency.”

“Can you please water my plants while I'm gone?” 

“Can you check something for me?”

“I'm really sick, just let yourself in.”

“Just keep it.”

Jean's copy has rarely been used. In fact, not many of them have made use of Eren's key once he started dating. Not that it's been a dramatic change, but now there's not much need to be wary of barging in on something they'll all laugh about later. And today, after Eren passed out on the street in the rain, it seems crucial to brush the dust off an old habit for their friend's sake.

The trio is careful not to make any excess noise — Eren might still be sleeping —, but the further they venture into the apartment, they realize their efforts are in vain. 

They expected Eren to be lying on the sofa where Jean and Armin had so carefully helped him settle down, still fast asleep considering it's only been a few hours since. Although Eren's sudden nausea was a mere reaction to finding the necklace, Armin still spent a couple more hours watching over him as a precaution while he cleaned up the kitchen and dining area, and quietly left for his apartment to make another round of calls before work. 

They're met with the view of their friend bustling around his work area in a corner of the living room, his brow furrowed and eyes laser focused as he refills the ink tanks on his printer. Stacks of missing person's posters cover his desk with a handful of faded ones having been scattered and crumpled on the floor as evidence of the ink shortage he's tending to. Your face occupies nearly the entirety of his immediate view, which is why a single glance is enough to distract him from his task that he doesn't notice his friends present in his apartment, nor when the ink begins to leak.

At the instinctive curse word that leaves him in a frustrated huff, Jean rushes over to help him. 

“I'll handle this,” he assures Eren, who only blinks in surprise as he realizes he's not alone. 

Mikasa and Sasha walk over to him unsure of whether a hug is appropriate as a greeting. In the end, they choose to speak the words instead. 

Sasha leaves the conversation in exchange for helping Jean clean up the spilled ink. An irregular blob-shaped stain is left behind on the ash gray wood. 

“Are you– How's your stomach?” Mikasa asks. 

An uneasy grimace makes its way onto Eren's face.

“It's fine. It was just… Yeah.” He shrugs it off, unsure of how to properly explain the incident without triggering more discomfort. 

Mikasa nods in understanding. 

“Armin said you're going back to the police station later.”

Eren huffs at a humorless puff of air from his nose. 

“Yeah. More questioning,” Eren replies, his head continuously shaking in disbelief, to which Mikasa frowns.

“What's wrong?” 

It takes Eren a couple of tries to let the words out, his mouth opening and closing with hesitancy. 

“They all left, Mika,” he softly murmurs, a hint of helplessness infecting his fragile voice, that births an ache in Mikasa's chest. “Nobody could say anything and they got bored. What kind of excuse is that?” 

Mikasa drops her gaze to her shoes, submitting before the hurt and impotence Eren's words awake in her. 

Then she shakes her head briefly, recalling a good thing. 

“Levi's on the case… and there's evidence for foul play now, there's a lead,” she says, trying her hardest to appear more hopeful at each thing on her list. “He'll find her, Eren. This'll just be nothing but a bad memory soon.” 

She smiles, but it comes out sad from the red that tints her waterline. 

Eren doesn't have the energy to try to appear cheerful from her encouragement, and limits himself to a nod. 

“Eren, how long have you been up?” Sasha asks with concern from his desk, where her eyes scan over his computer screen and the stacks of paper with your face printed front and center. 

“A few hours?” Eren replies with a shrug, to which everyone else exchanges concerned glances.

Jean breaks the silence with a loud clap, refusing to make way for any awkwardness in the air. 

“We brought you some food, buddy. Come on, let's eat.” 

Sasha eagerly nods, her enthusiasm a bit too stiff it almost seems rehearsed, as she encourages him to follow them to the dining table.

Eren allows himself to be tugged along for a couple of steps before he tethers himself to his spot for a moment and then decidedly takes a step back under everyone's puzzled expressions. 

“I'm not really hungry,” he murmurs, shaking his head.

“Are you sure?” Mikasa gently asks.

“We got your favorite soup,” Jean smiles, though Eren is too busy staring at a blank point to notice. “Minestrone.”

“Extra parmesan,” Sasha adds.

“It's fine.” Eren assures them with a forced smile. “You guys eat. I have a lot of things to do.” 

“Well, you can't do them on an empty stomach. Let's eat and then we'll go through your to-do list together,” Jean insists.

“Yeah,” Mikasa agrees, shooting a grateful smile to her fiancé. “Jean can drive you to the station after breakfast and Sasha and I can handle the rest.”

Every offer is sensible and comforting, but Eren still refuses. He can't eat, not when you still haven't come home. 

“No…” his voice trembles ever so slightly as his eyes wander around the room, as if looking for an excuse. He ultimately makes his way back to his desk, where the stacks of posters await him. “I'll just head out now. I'm gonna hand some of these out before going to the station.”

The rejected trio exchange another round of anxious, meaningful looks. Mikasa's the first to break away from the group to join Eren in gathering a stack of flyers and a roll of tape from the black metal organizer on his desk.

As her hands roam around the surface of the ash gray wood, the jewel on her finger catches the sunlight peeking through the curtains. 

Eren's movements grow slow as his focus is stolen by the silver engagement ring. 

Mikasa notices the pause in his movements from the corner of her eye, and looks up at him to assess his status. Eren tears his gaze from her ring — embarrassed —, but not fast enough for it to go unnoticed, nor does he remember to ease his hardened jaw afterwards. He moves in silence and sets a fast pace toward the door, leaving an anguished Mikasa to trail at his heel. 

Hour Twenty

It takes a handful of hours for Eren to get back home from the station, with a significant reduction to the baggage he left with. The stream of questions would've been fairly simple had he not been charged with so many uneasy feelings as to why he was doing all of it in the first place. It certainly didn't help that he had to face the same people who had simply left this morning. But he has to do things right — even if it means swallowing his anger to contribute with any useful information.

Social media presence, daily routines, bus routes, habits, friends, family situation.

Saying you know someone like the back of your hand is an odd saying, he thinks. He's not that vain to spend lengthy periods of time observing himself. In his case, it suffices to say he simply knows you — all he's done is look at you. 

He knows your hands quite well. The shape of your fingers, the curves of your knuckles and the warmth of your palms when they latch onto his heartbeat and manipulate it to your will. And now what's been left since last night is a painful cavity. It's all wrong. Your hand should be here, filling his void. 

The apartment is empty, Jean and Sasha long gone. The plastic bags have been folded into neat triangles and the counter has been cleared. Upon opening the fridge, Eren finds stacks of containers that have been added to those Armin helped put away the previous night from the uncelebrated dinner. 

He stares at his packed fridge for a long time, any energy to step away vanishing into thin air and leaving him stuck in place, looking straight ahead until he no longer recognizes the shape of anything inside, and he grows numb at the cold air that slowly envelops him. 

A ring from his pocket is what finally pulls him out of his daze and he's quick to whip the device out and accept the incoming call with pure urgency and no thought. 

“I'm only assuming you've been too excited to call me to tell me how it went last night,” Carla's playfully accusing tone comes through the speaker. 

“Mom,” Eren pronounces in a voice so soft, yet empty as he only acknowledges it's her, but any word that bounces off his tongue is devoid of meaning until he can speak the name he wants to.

“So,” Carla's enthusiastic grin is evident through the phone. “Was she thrilled? What did she say?”

Eren's voice fails him. 

In all the anxiety and chaos, with all the things he's had to do within the last twenty hours, he completely forgot to tell his mother what had happened and that moment is catching up to him now. 

His lips roll inwards, a habit reserved for when he's feeling shy because of things you say or do, and now has come back because of his lack of words — or rather the will to expel them.

His hand comes up to his hair, his fingers brushing his hair back as he struggles to find his voice. 

It's only when Eren takes a second too long to reply that a shift in mood can be sensed from Carla's end of the line.

“Eren,” she calls him carefully, which only makes the lump in his throat grow. “Honey, what's wrong?”

“Mom,” is all Eren can muster, voice cracking as he pushes the word out.

“Did you have a fight? Is everything okay?” Carla's concern amplifies through the speaker, as something rustles in the background, a sign that she's taken on a more alert position.

“You didn't break up, did you?” 

Out of all the things that could've gone wrong last night, Eren wishes that had been it. At least he wouldn't be as helpless. At least he'd know where you are. At least it's something he could reverse.

“No.” 

The word comes out choked, his throat instantly sore for the second time. 

His monosyllabic replies must be getting to her, because Carla takes a deep breath before trying again. 

“Eren, honey. You have to speak clearly, okay?” Carla's voice grows gentle, as it always has whenever Eren would have trouble speaking his mind. Granted, that's been lost as he got older, but Carla's sweet attention hasn't. “What happened?”

Her patient voice finally manages to coax the lodged words from Eren's throat. 

“I don't know where she is. She's missing.” 

Hour Twenty-four 

Rain is bad for detective work. Eren heard about it in a documentary or a podcast, or maybe he read it somewhere — he can't remember. But it supposedly washes away any evidence, making easy cases tricky and difficult cases nearly impossible. Considering the silver angel necklace was found in the midst of the sky falling, it comes as no surprise when he comes home from a casual meet up with Levi at a nearby coffee shop with the news that no DNA or signs of a struggle were found on site after a thorough search in the light of day. The other half of the broken angel wing was found stuck on the edge of a sewer grate, though. Eren would feel any comfort at all if it meant it would lead to something. But at least the necklace can be fixed for when he finds you and this is all over.

The necklace is pretty much a dead end, but it'll remain under the police's hold just in case. 

Eren has never gone so long without seeing your face. Now that the clock has found its way back to the hour you were supposed to walk through his door, it's unbearable to know that you won't. And still he looks over in its direction every few minutes, expecting you to burst in and throw yourself into his embrace, marking the end to a day-long fever dream. 

That's probably it. A dream. No, a nightmare. It's nothing but a wicked play of his subconscious — to teach him a lesson on appreciating you more. Maybe to scare him into doing a better job of protecting you. Maybe he's gotten too lax, too careless. After all, the city hasn't been terrorized by any violent crimes in the last few months. But that's no excuse to dismiss the possibility of danger. Right… There was a killer last year. Two murders. No suspects. No arrests. And there was a burglary just last night. So what if…

No.

Eren pulls at his hair, agitated by where his mind is leading him. He pulls hard on the strands, like they're the reins of his thoughts that he needs to redirect onto a less horrifying path. 

His phone dings as if on cue with a text message.

I'll be there soon, honey. Get some rest, I'll call you tomorrow. I love you.

A tap on the attached file opens up a copy of a plane ticket for the day after tomorrow under the name Carla Jaeger.

His heart feels a tad lighter. 

It'll help to have his mother around for a few days. He types his gratitude into his phone and presses send. 

He lets his face fall into his hands as he hunches over his desk.

Everything will be okay, he repeats to himself in his head like a mantra. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Everything will be okay.

Outside, rain starts to fall. 

Hour Thirty

The rain has been on and off for hours. 

By the time Eren reconnected with his surroundings, ready to go out and look for clues on his own around the area, the rain was nearly as heavy as it was at three in the morning. 

He sits by the living room window, watching the downpour. His phone is charging on a wooden stool next to him, taking a break from another round of calls to nearby hospitals to ask for any patients bearing your name. Still no. 

His stomach has been growling for a while, but any energy he possesses isn't the kind that'll get him off his chair and into the kitchen — it's the kind that's meant to be used to stare out the window and grow numb over any trivial needs.

It's fine, he thinks. It'll pass. 

Hour Thirty-seven

All five of his friends come through the door a little past seven in the morning, with bags of fresh meals to share. 

Eren sits down this time, allowing Mikasa to fix him a plate and Connie to pour him a glass of juice. 

Nobody mentions the dark circles under his eyes, and Eren's gaze is too lost on a blank point to sense the meaningful glances exchanged all around him. 

There's not much room for conversation. Any sense of normalcy is lost in the thick air. It seems equally wrong to create a lighthearted break for the length of a meal as it is to talk about the empty seat across from Eren when everyone is trying so hard to make sure he's at the very least feeding himself. 

Eren merely pokes and stirs at his food with his fork the entire time. There's a fresh stack of flyers on his desk that demand more urgency in his eyes than sitting down to eat. 

His demeanor is easy to read by everyone at the table, yet another round of concerned glances and subtle nods in his direction being tossed around with silent messages. 

In the end, nobody says a thing and the groups is broken off in pairs to tackle the surrounding neighborhoods.

Hour Forty-five 

Nobody has called. Not him or the station. As the only person outside of the police to be contacted for any updates, his phone should've rung at least once. But aside from yesterday's encounter with Levi and his visits to the station to see if his presence alone will bring something up, there's been a drought in leads. And despite his determination in making sure every person he passes knows anything, there's still nothing. 

It's been hours since his stomach has demanded his attention. It's finally reached the point where it's so empty, it's gone numb. His body is running on nothing more than sheer will and water. 

He should at least try to eat, test if he can hold any food down. 

The fridge remains packed with food, even more now thanks to what's been gathered from his morning visits. 

Ever so slowly, with overly cautious movements, he takes out a container, transports it to the counter and peels off the lid. It's from the dinner you were supposed to share two nights ago. 

His lips tremble, eyebrows upturning for the split second it takes him to grasp back at his composure. An outsider would think he's glaring at his leftovers, disgusted at whatever is inside, completely misunderstanding the mental ordeal he's traversing as he takes several deep breaths.

He pulls out a stool from the breakfast bar, sits down and stares.

Hour Forty-eight 

It's been two whole days since Eren has stepped foot in his own bedroom. 

His feet drag him toward the bed without stopping to flip the light switch. Though the night is cloudy, signaling another shower for tonight, the moonlight still finds its way into the room just enough for his eyes to take in the most basic shapes of his furniture.

He comes to a stop at the foot of the bed, and his gaze zeroes in on the neatly folded white cotton fabric set on the corner. It's the shirt you slept in two nights ago, the one that's the wrong size because it's his and he likes his clothes to be just a bit baggy. 

It's the shirt he gently tugged off your body to feel your skin pressed against his. The one that you take care in folding even if you're in a rush and even though he'll throw it in the wash anyway.

His fingers slowly reach out to collect the fabric.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

It still smells like you. Just barely — a mere scrap of notes that have faded over the last two days. A mix of vanilla, citrus and a faint trace of eucalyptus fabric softener. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Breathe, Eren.

It doesn't work. The air is too thick. It gets caught in his throat and forces a choked sob on its way back out. 

His face contorts in anguish as he falls onto the bed, curled up in an attempt to make himself as small as humanly possible, with your shirt clutched in his hands as the world outside darkens and he simply weeps.

Previous chapter | Next chapter (tba) 

Minors and ageless blogs who interact will be blocked

Notes: Tunnel Vision will continue, just not with the same schedule it had before my hiatus. I’ll be adding word count and progress updates in the chapter guide in case you want to keep up with the story in that way (It’ll also give you an estimate of when the next chapter will be posted. I have ideas for some ficlets, which I’ll do my best to post in between TV updates just so I don’t leave you all hanging with Eren content. It’ll depend a lot on whether I see any enthusiasm for it or not though (aka comments and reblogs that aren’t… well… empty). In the meantime, thank you for the support and feel free to slip into my ask box to chat :)

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[thrashkink-coven]

An honest post about demons

I constantly see so many posts on this site from people who work with infernals trying to attest to their “true nature” or debunk myths, while on the other hand I see another crowd trying desperately to warn others about how dangerous infernal work can really be. So what’s the truth?

First and foremost, stop assuming that the word “demon” means anything to any species besides humans. I can almost guarantee that the demons that we refer to as demons do not self identify themselves as “demons”. These are human terms. Stop assuming that “demon” is a species of “thing”, that all demons are the same, come from the same places, or look, act, or function the same. Even among set groups of defined spirits like the goetia, the diversity among the types of spirits listed is immense.

Context is your best friend. Let me be the first to tell you that the demonolatry world is extremely problematic. Remember that when we speak about goetic demons, we are speaking on archetypes defined by religious leaders and men with power. Do I honestly believe there is a hierarchy in Hell that mirrors the systems of supremacy we have here in our human society? I highly doubt it. The metaphor is useful to make sense of something that is otherwise inexplicable, but it’s essential to constantly be aware that these diagrams and ideas are inherently biased and skewed. When we define what makes something “evil” or demonic, we need to be even more hyper aware of our silent biases, lest we accidentally lend ourselves to fascism.

Will the demons hurt you?

No one can answer that question for you. Anyone who attempts to will only be speaking in half truths. So often I see people trying to project their personal experiences and assume that things will go similarly for others as it did for them.

“If you don’t offend them they won’t hurt you”

Perhaps not, although, if you are constantly dealing with a demon of pestilence and disease you might find yourself feeling a bit sickly. If you’re in close proximity to a demon who is all about rage and violence, you might accidentally redirect that rage onto an innocent friend. If you are very sex averted, dealing with a demon of lust might make you uncomfortable.

“They won’t hurt you, they love you!”

Some of them don’t love you, in fact most of them don’t have much of an opinion about you in general. As much as it’s a nice thought, the vast majority of demons do not have any inherent feelings towards anyone unless they have a relationship with them based on memories and shared respect. I have a deeply affectionate relationship with Lord Lucifer, but I speak with him nearly every day. I would be surprised to hear that Lilith or Azazel “loves” me any more than a spider or a patch of grass does. Not every demon you encounter on your journey will be your best friend. You will not work with most of them more than once, and it is completely fine if your relationship is only transactional.

The truth of the matter is that no one can predict how your spirit is going to interact with another. I have never had any positive interactions with Balial, I don’t feel anything comforting about them. But I have spoken to many devotees that say they’re incredibly kind. Likewise, I have never had a negative interaction with Lucifer, and I’ve spoken to many people who got a very mean vibe from him right away. If you do things to dishonour your demons, they may retaliate, they may not. They may not think anything of it, or they might, we can’t really speak on these things without proper context. To ask if a demon can hurt you is already a slight red flag to me. Obviously being cautious is important, but it’s almost like entering a kitchen and immediately asking if fire can hurt you. “Will the knives cut me?” Well… perhaps…? If you misuse them and aren’t being aware of yourself and your surroundings when you have them close to you… then sure, I suppose they could cut you, although I have never had much trouble with it before it’s definitely not out of the question. However, is that your first thought whenever you use a knife? If it is, why is that?

Will the demons be nice to you?

A hot stove isn’t being mean to you when you feel it’s heat on your skin, nor is a fridge being nice to you when it cools your drink. Different demons have different types of people that they really like, and they probably have people they don’t favour as well. As much as they are capable of having their own emotions, you also need to be considerate of their nature. Intention truly is not everything.

Can you truly be surprised when a demon who is extremely involved in chaos and fury is a little forceful with his words? Does the idea of a death demon being dark and cryptic, or a warrior being stern and strict scare you?

When I call upon the demon of savagery and war, I want the demon of savagery and war. I cannot be surprised that he brings savagery and war, if that’s not what I’m prepared for, I should not have invoked his name.

Lucifer is both a gorgeous, ethereal beautiful angel who plays excellent music and brings enlightenment, and a terrible, egotistical, stubborn harbinger of knowledge that can be dangerous and destructive. Lilith is both a powerful protector and champion of self actualization, and a rageful poisonous monster who uses her power to manipulate others. This is the truth for all of these demons. If you cannot understand the dual nature of these spirits, then you may think they are mean and evil. And if you’ve only ever seen the nice side of your demon, you’ll be confused when others explain their negative interactions with them.

Will they try to possess you? Can they possess you?

Whether or not possession as it is portrayed in Hollywood is real or not, I cannot say for sure. What I can say is that in every situation where I have been in proximity to someone who thinks they may be possessed, the more likely explanation seemed to be religious or spiritual psychosis.

Mania is still a thing, guys. Hallucinations are still a real thing that can happen to you. Obsession can happen to anyone, paranoia can happen to anyone. You are not immune to mental illness. In fact it is far easier to succumb to it than possession. Constantly obsessing over a demon still gives them the energy they might want had they been messing with you. It is important for us to protect our spiritual health. But it is infinitely more important to protect your mental health. If you’re genuinely afraid that you’ve gotten yourself into some bad business with a demon, I highly encourage you to heal your mind first and foremost.

Lastly, and I want to make this as clear as possible, there truly are no rules or limits with demons. That is your responsibility.

I’ve seen people say that demons won’t take blood as an offering if you’re a minor or that they would never do something harmful to someone just because you asked them to.

Morality is a human concern. Yes, many demons do have somewhat of a moral code, but that code is not based on human ideals. A demon does not care what the legal age of consent is in your country. They don’t care if what you want them to do is mean or destructive. If you’re open to murder and manipulation and cruelty, it isn’t your demon’s job to step in and stop you. If you’re strictly against blood rituals and baneful magic, it isn’t your demon’s job or concern to pressure you towards doing those things. You are the one that establishes these limits, not them.

“The demons protect all children! The demons love all women! The demons would never work with someone who’s racist or homophobic!”

Trust me, as much as I’d like to believe it, these things simply are not true. I am very aware that Lucifer has worked with homophobes and racists in the past. Lilith has probably helped out a few TERFS. It doesn’t change my opinions on them because they’re not human beings. My personal Lucifer that I have a relationship with doesn’t tolerate these things because I don’t tolerate these things. Anyone who does could not work with my Lucifer (remember, there are many different Lucifer) But I’m not going to pretend that there isn’t a Lucifer that does, or simply doesn’t care. You can use a knife to hurt others, but you can also use it to make a piece of art or a healthy meal that helps others. Stop assuming that the knife is only going to do good things and reject anyone who doesn’t align with your ideals. And likewise, there’s no need to project your ideals onto the knife in the first place. The knife is a good tool when it’s in good hands.

Tldr, just be smart, guys.

[turnerside]

Hopeless Romantic vs Hook Up Culture

⋘ And she tortures me, tortures me with her love. The past was nothing! In the past it was only that infernal body of hers that tortured me, but now I've taken all her soul into my soul and through her I've become a man. Will they marry us? If they don't I will die of jealousy. I imagine something every day... ⋙ F. Dostoïevski

𓆣 I had already wrote this once but it got deleted so my deranged brain have to find the words again 𓆣

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ In this post I wanted to express my current thoughts and despairs on relationships. I turned 20 recently and have never been in love, in a couple or intimate with someone. I am not ashamed of it but the more time passes, the more I am terribly afraid of never experiencing what true love feels like. Feeling so fucking lonely, waiting for someone/something that never comes. I’ve known deep loneliness all my life and now it’s starting to rot my insides : the hopeless feeling of an internal gap that no one could fill; the visceral intuition of a missing half constantly haunting me. Feeling so heartbreakingly lonely that I could do anything to be loved. I am fucking bored of this emptiness. Being a hopeless romantic, I am in love with the idea of love, never with a real person. I get attached to the romanticised idea of them, a shadow that never even existed, living in an illusion made up in my brain. Looking for an ideal of pure devotion. And that makes me deceitful, not seeing people for what they are.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ Growing up, I romanticised a vision of relationships, imagining my soon-to-be womanhood, having fiercely conquered femininity, and hopefully, a utopian love. But I quickly discovered the absence of essence in real relationships (plot twist : superficial, empty, a transactionactional ‘bond’ where no one really cares). Being asked out by someone who barely cares, being a toy to men, a pretty porcelain doll to show off, a stack of unused flesh; in short : something disposable. When I tell my friends about my virginity they often state things such as “you should lose your virginity to a mate you trust and feel confident with, at least you'll get rid of it”. Doesn’t it seem so resigned ??? Of course, as someone who is so scared of abandonment; intimacy completely terrifies me: I fear finally opening myself, giving myself emotionally to end up allowing people to hurt me more. So scared to drop my walls to end up facing a person that never really loved me but loved the fact that I loved them… a superficial intimacy.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ Even if I despise these types of relationships I always find myself jealous of my friends, even though I know these are still superficial. How did they find someone? Will I be able to find someone? What does love even feel like? Am I even capable of love?

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ I’m then stuck living through other’s eyes, in my own disillusion, Idealizing some mediocre situations, reading endless love stories and fantasizing in my mind. “A fictional boyfriend can’t disappoint you,” right? I am rarely present on this planet, always in my head. And that’s how I seem to metamorphosize into one of those Sofia Coppola characters: A quiet melancholic being that’s haunted by the idea of an impossible love with someone she hasn't even met yet. Waiting to be ACTUALLY seen between the million complex layers that make me who I am. 

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ Having several friends in my group who are romantically active, I realize during conversations that relationships and sex are often considered as social trophies to make yourself stand out in a group. Everyone is sharing about their failed date, or how their last relationships were, et cetera… those became storytimes that gave you importance in a social context. Of course I do it too, telling crazy fucked up anecdotes about me, to give myself composure in a social context. I am just sad to see how many boys (lol, “how many” gurl) I dated were doing it for ego and performance : grow their stupid list of girls they seduced. I am maybe pessimistic but most look for the hedonism of a relationship without the struggles that brings engagement. Because honestly, what’s scary in a relationship is that it forces you to face your flaws, unhealed traumas and anxiety. A relationship is constantly asking you for concessions and working on yourself to make it work. It’s kinda terrifying tho. Commitment is a lot, so I believe people that constantly avoid being attached (and only seek for pleasure) are just scared to dive into introspection and face themselves.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ The idea that sex is a social transaction is actually so depressing. I want sex to be an act of bonding with someone: melting and merging each other's soul through the body. Being so connected to someone flesh that I could almost enter his mind and hear his thoughts. Just feeling the other breath, the imperfect skin on my fingers, the pulse of his veins making him a living creature. A metaphysical experience, bigger than time and space…

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ There is also something I want to evoke which is the loss of meaning. I recently saw this post about how autistic people are more likely to get abused because they struggle seeing through people’s words. I am not diagnosed as Autistic myself (cause it costs good money lol ) but my therapist mentioned how “I had a lot of symptoms that could refer to the spectrum). However, I identified a lot with this post. I always fool myself into viscerally believing what people say while those words are just …only words. People say what you wanna hear, and they’ll say anything to have you in their bed. And every time, there is something so infantilizing about succumbing to those words, being seen like a naive, brainless, idiot, little girl, who has (once again) been fooled by this devouring loneliness.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ I may have seem judgmental during this whole stack of thoughts: I obviously sometimes just want to fuck, but this fear of being an object again constantly holds me back … too risky to open my shell and give myself soul and body to just receive meaningless lust and disinterest. I am not going to lie, I am an horny teen lmao, but I just want to know what “making love” feels like. … and I am incapable of “not getting attached” anyway (I am probably Tom in 500 days of summer…sorry)... I desire to carve someone else’s soul. To OWN and being OWNED. Not be a one anymore, but a pair: two that are one. I want someone to worship the ground I walk on and know this beautiful symbiosis that brings people to a lifetime together. I am begging for a strong intimate spiritual kind of love. Even if it has to be a destructive and tormented passion, I still want to feel the deepness of it. I want his pain to be mine and my pain to be his. Make me the receptacle of your soul. I want someone that would be deeply grateful for me offering him my body, someone that would understand the meaning of this gift. I may sacralize my virginity too much, but I feel like it would be the biggest gift and love proof I could offer to someone. The person who’ll have it will forever be linked to me and possess a part of me, even if we take different paths.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ My love language is maybe OBSESSION… okay, yeah,it is…I want someone to be utterly obsessed with me just as I am for him. With obsession that drives us both insane for each other, forgetting everything else around and consuming ourselves, body and soul. I want him to blow up my phone with messages. I want him to write letters and poems for me. I want him to protect me, stalk me… Please give me everything you are, even the part you hate. Let our blood be poisoned by the need of each other. Maybe I am wrong for seeking this type of love. Maybe I should not seek extremes and absolution, but I still want to believe in it a little more, even if I feel like each year takes me away more and more from the possibility of knowing love. I want at least to experience this wild feeling for once. I couldn’t accept the curse of loneliness indefinitely. Better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. There is though something strangely nice and comforting about this sadness, making me an idealistic and longing young girl. I will do anything for love. ANYTHING. It’s the only thing I know I really want. I need to feel it and this need is tormenting me, like my own existential quest.

𝜗𝜚 Let’s just wait for him, he’ll come soon… or maybe he’s already here …? I don’t know who he is but I want him by my side.

✿⃨ ♫ ໂ✿﮾ ‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̥°̩̥‧̥·̊❀꫶���᳝ᰭ✿⃨ ⠀ ♫ ໂ✿﮾᳜⡴⠀✟ ❤︎ ‎ ୁׄ ⠀ 🧷̳̥͗̆ ⠀🎀ຼ ⚹ຯ ♥︎ ১🗡°̩̥‧̥

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ Rereading this, I find it stupidly arrogant but I needed to scream my frustration in the void that is tumblr. I’ll write future posts about my own relationships to femininity because, of course, this subject is heavily linked to this quest of ideal. Also, I’ll explore the notion of time as a woman cause I don’t seem to realize my life won’t be romantically over at 30 lmao. 

Well girlies, if you have any thoughts related to this post or if you have any stories to share, don’t be afraid to flood my Washing Machine Heart (inbox) જ⁀➴. - pixel art is from @bitmapdreams -

Love <3 

Xoxo, 𝓐 -

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚

⋘ 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳— 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘺, 𝘴𝘰 𝘶𝘨𝘭𝘺, 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨. ⋙ 𝒮𝓎𝓁𝓋𝒾𝒶 𝒫𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒽.

.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。

[happy-emmdings]

“I don’t want this infernal hand anymore, it’s taken possesion of me.”

About Killian Jones, mind games and wanting to be a better man

I want to talk about this…

Specifically, about the effects of Killian’s reattached hand and the lengths he went to be rid of it once again.

And just a disclaimer! Let’s set aside all those metaphors about inner darkness that OUAT loves so much. This show got way too deep into the metaphors and euphemisms about darkness as some kind of sentient entity, almost like a parasite taking possesion of the person that it lives inside. I would be very careful with using this narrative. (There are instances in the story where it is appropriate because sometimes that is how magical shenanigans work, but unless you are actually seeing and hearing demons that are bound to you and are directly influencing you, the only darkness you can blame your actions on is your bad decisions.) 

[LONG POST AHEAD]

So, what’s up with this “cursed” hand?

Killian comes to Gold’s shop to demand his hand, that the other man had amputed almost two centuries ago. There’s a whole another discussion to be had about insecurity and disability but I won’t dive into that here. The point is, you can clearly see he really wants that hand back, as he risks blackmailing the Dark One, his nemesis. He’s being cocky, and maybe he’s too in love to think about concequences. I find it interesting that he’s managed to live without the hand for so long, he’s used to the hook and though it certainly does hinder him at times, he manages quite well with one hand. But now he wants it enough to think about asking for it. And you can see the joy on his face when he moves his fingers and they actually obey his mind, it’s surreal to him.

But here comes Rumplestiltskin’s ominous warning, and that’s what I actually want to talk about. Gold tells him, that the hand will have unpredictable effects on him because it belonged to the cunning, selfish pirate he used to be. Of course, Killian laughs it off and thinks he’s just messing with him. But not long after, the second he gets nervous, he acts out. 

“Apologize to the lady, mate.” 

Certainly an overreaction, grabbing the poor guy was aggressive and overthetop. But no actual harm was done (yet) and Emma lets it slide. But from this moment on Killian becomes wary and he can’t get Gold’s warning out of his head, he keeps looking at the hand and even interrupts the goodnight kiss to stare at it broodily.

The whole situation comes to a climax when he meets Will again, drunk and attempting to break into the library. At first he’s just annoyed but when Will tries to push him away, he gets violent to the point he’s terrified and startled when the other guy calls him out on it.  And now we get to the point when he goes back to Gold, horrified and desperate, so much so that he begs his nemesis to take the hand away. I want to stress how significant that is. He comes to the very guy that cut his freaking hand clean off, after wishing to have it back, he goes as far as to strike a blind deal with him to lose his hand again, after only having it for a day. Why? Because now he believes Gold’s warning. He believes that the hand is acting out on its own, or causing him to act out. And that scares him so much. Because he doesn’t want to be the guy he used to be, he wants to be a better man and he was starting to believe that was who he was. This instance shows just how much he actually despises his past self and his past actions. He regrets them and feels ashamed of them, as is shown on numerous occasions throughout the show. He has turned his life around, mainly because of Emma, but he doesn’t just want to be a better man for her, he is choosing to be a good person for the sake of being good. You know, the whole “what kind of man you want to be” thing. And the thought that he could regress, slide back into past bad habits, bad behaviors and bad, selfish decisions… that terrifies him. He’s not willing to let that happen. He’s not willing to risk it, to allow for the slightest chance some external influence might ruin the progress he’s making. And he shows how much he’s willing to give up to make sure it doesn’t happen. Mind you, this is a man that suffered the loss of a part of a limb in a very traumatic way and wanted to have it reattached even after living for almost two hundred years without it. After all that time, he still wished to have two hands again (and who would blame him), but if losing a limb is what it takes for him to ensure he doesn’t get possesed by his past “darkness” (as he’s seeing it at the moment) then that is a sacrifice he is willing to make.

Except I would argue, that he wasn’t possesed at all and as Rumple said at the end of the episode, the hand was nothing more than a lump of flesh. I choose to believe this explanation over the first one, even though he could have lied at both occasions. I know it was kind of the point of the episode, but I feel like sometimes OUAT gets so tangled up in metaphorical narratives, that it’s a little unclear what is actually happening and how much of it the character is actually responsible for. I believe that the hand was not cursed at all and it didn’t “give him permission to be ruthless” or whatever. The only thing that was actually controlling him was his subconscious fear.

Even though he laughed it off, when Gold warned him about the hand being dangerous, from the moment he heared that, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He didn’t believe it at first, but the shadow of that fear of backsliding stayed with him and festered in his subconsciousness. Add to that, that he must have been somewhat nervous about his first date with Emma bloody Swan who finally officially asked him out eeeeeeeee! (That’s the sound his brain made when the dart hit the wall) Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, in response to the stress that the subconsious apprehension caused him, he started overreacting to the slightest disturbances. And you can see the dread on his face when he stares at the hand each time. He’s shaken. He doesn’t want to act like this. And it is the very fear of being selfish and unnecessarily violent, that causes him to lash out, the way immense stress sometimes does. It doesn’t speak so much to his personality or behavior as it does to the fear itself and the desire to be better. It’s so deliciously ironic.

The thing Gold said about the hand belonging to a selfish pirate didn’t even make sense in the first place. Sure, young pirate Killian was a douchebag and a bit of an asshole but it was only after witnessing Milah’s murder that he was at his worst, consumed by one thought: revenge, and willing to compromise his principles for it. He didn’t have his hand anymore at that point. The hand didn’t affect his behavior any more than the hook did. They were just a body part and a prosthetic, simple as that. The hand may have belonged to a selfish, cunning pirate, but that wasn’t all that pirate was, was it? He was also a gentleman and a man revolting against a corrupt monarchy. And before that, it was the hand of a naval officer and a hand of a troubled young slave. You could just as easily say “Watch out, that hand belonged to a young starry-eyed lieutenant, it will make you abstain from alcohol and you’ll wish to be a hero.”

Equating the hand only to his worst qualities, which he still succumbed to one-handed, and which he managed to overcome, with effort and active, conscious decision simply doesn’t make a lot of sense if you really think about it. But Killian didn’t think about it this way, because he had a very different point of view. He was reminded of the past sins that still haunted him in the back of his mind and his brain freaked out.

It is trully ironic how in his desperate effort to ensure he would not revert to his old self but instead stay on his path of redemption and improvement, he actually results to blackmail and blindly helping the Dark One with whatever dark schemes he’s doing and sacrificing some old man (although he had no idea that was going to happen and was surprised and appalled, when it did… but he knew it wasn’t going to be anything harmeless, so he wasn’t totally innocent).

On one hand, he is desperate enough to not be, and I quote: “selfish” and “ruthless”, that he’s willing to do literally whatever it takes and he almost begs his enemy to rid him of his hand. On the other hand, he ends up using kinda shady means to achieve that, which is just ironic. I personally don’t think blackmailing Rumple made him much of a bad guy, since a lot of the characters on the show would do that, given the chance (e. g. Emma using the exact same leverage and blackmailing him in the exact same way in season 5), but he did get careless and foolish with it, abusing the same argument too many times. Not telling anyone about the magic hat sucking people in and Rumple obviously having some secret evil plan was the actual issue. But again, he tries to come clean the moment he realizes it might have actually put Emma in danger and the voicemail he leaves her is so touching and just so telling about what kind of man he really is.

“I hope you never forgive me, because that means you get this in time to save yourself.”

But alas, by then it’s too late. He was playing with fire and he got burned. He knows that, he knows that the instant he sees the mess he’s gotten himself into. First for his hand, then for his redemption. 

Rumple was clearly toying with him and playing mind games, which somehow seems to contradict his own point of view (I’ll get to that in a moment). Rumple tells Killian that he did him a favor, that he made him remember “the darkness that lies beneath”. And I would like to also just as a sidenote mention Killian’s reaction where he threatens Belle in response. I don’t think he actually meant that. He doesn’t even have a way to crush someone’s heart (it’s probably more of a reference to Milah’s death). I think that in that moment he was emotional, desperate and backed into a corner, grasping for straws, anything to use against the man that was taunting him. And as it goes on this show, poor Belle is the only leverage they have against Rumple. I have serious reservations about the way everyone (not just Killian!) often uses Gold’s dishonesty to Belle to manipulate him, instead of being a good friend first and telling her about it out of solidarity and seeing her more as a person, than Rumple’s oblivious wife. Although I think Killian stops doing that after this. So yeah, I don’t think he was serious about the “that darkness crushing Belle’s heart” line. You could compare it with him saying they should have “driven that dagger through [Gold’s] heart when [they] had the chance” when he learns Rumple’s back at the beginning of season 4B, especially when he retorts that he wouldn’t mind if that would mean his name would be written across it. We all know very well that he would mind that a lot, so he was clearly just upset and saying things he didn’t mean and I think the same goes for the threat to Belle in the “inner darkness” discussion with Rumple. But I digress.

It seems to me that Rumple wanted not so much to teach Killian a lesson as to make him pay for being bold and arrogant enough to start messing with the Dark One. He saw an opportunity to psychogically torture him a little bit and get blackmail material on him instead (because really, Killian’s participation in that deal was just seating the apprentice down, that was it, he did almost nothing, Rumple just needed to get him involved to gain leverage on him).

He made up a lie about Killian’s “past darkness” possesing him and anxiety did the rest. But this doesn’t show that Killian is “still the same ruthless pirate”, it shows something else and that is that he is a good person at his core, more importantly, that he wants to fight for that goodness now. And yes, he slips up, he doesn’t always go about things the most heroic and honorable way, but he tries so hard and it really matters to him. So yeah, I’m still astounded by the beautiful, flawed complexity of this character and his redemption arc. Mind you, I am not trying to make excuses for any shady or straight up bad thing he did, but rather, I am looking at his motivation and the inner desires that drive him at the point of his life when he is trying to make amends, grow and stick to good form.

Just let me end this with saying this guy would lose his freaking hand a second time, to the same dude for fear of losing his progress on his path to be a better person.

And that’s how you do redemption.

[littlemourningstarr]

Dreamstate

Vette can't be sure why he agreed to leave his home in Secomber and follow Gale to Waterdeep- but he told himself the possibility of learning under such an accomplished wizard was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he needed to take it. But Waterdeep is a completely different world, and Vette is forced to realize just how alone he has always been- and that, perhaps, he felt it was justly deserved.

Chapter 4: We Tend to Fall Apart

Read below or on AO3!

Pairing: Gale x Original Male Character

Part of the Eternally Yours series!

Tags: Tags to be added as this journey continues, teacher-student relationship, fantasy racism, pining, emotional hurt/comfort, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, if you squint there is some past sexual trauma

The day had a lovely chill to it, as Vette stepped away from the academy, towards the city streets. This was the first time he had left the academy alone- but Gale had claimed he had some errands he needed to finish up around campus, and why didn’t go head home before it was late.

Home. Not even two weeks in Waterdeep, but Vette hadn’t felt like correcting the wizard. He had begun to feel better, since he had written his mother. Gale had been right, the Waterdeep post was phenomenal, and he had received his first letter just that morning, before leaving for the academy.

It had put Vette in a pleasant mood.

He turned down a street, taking what he thought might be a short cut through some of the narrow alleys. He was eager to get home and pen a response to his mother- to tell her all about how Gale was intent that he could master other elements beyond fire. That he’d started him with ice, which had always given him the most trouble.

And that he believed Gale. It was hard not to, when the man sounded like he had so much faith in Vette himself.

“Hey!”

It was yelled from a few paces back. Vette paused, glancing over his shoulder- recognized one of Gale’s students. That elf, from last week, who had tried to call Gale’s spells useless.

He was glaring at Vette, eyes blue daggers feeling like they could peel away his skin. Vette turned on his heel, folding his arms, ensuring his shoulders were squared. “What?”

He didn’t even know the guy’s name.

“What the fuck is so special about you that you got an apprenticeship with Professor Dekarios?” Before Vette could speak the guy stormed up to him, well over a head shorter than Vette but not seeming to care. “He has refused apprentices for years.”

Vette didn’t have an answer for him- he really wasn’t fully sure what Gale had seen in him, just that he was glad he had seen it.

The elf seemed to take his silence as condescendence. “Do you know how much gold my family has offered in the past, for him to teach my younger siblings? To teach me? Or how much other families here have offered?” The guy reached out, jabbed his finger into the center of Vette’s chest. “We’re from good families, old Waterdeep blood, and it would have been a good look for us and for Professor Dekarios. And yet he turned us down.”

Vette reached up, pushed the guy’s hand off his chest. “Don’t touch me,” he said, voice a rumble from his chest. “And considering how you don’t give two shits about his magic, I can’t see why you’d want an apprenticeship with him.”

The guy bared his teeth. Vette thought he looked like a rabid little dog. “He’s a fucking chosen- the goddess of magic herself looks at him fondly. Who wouldn’t want that connection, the prestige? Besides, we all know he could level this city if he wanted to, his control is renowned. But all he wants to talk about are petty illusions.”

The guy dared to reach up, jab Vette again.

“So tell me what some scaled freak did to get under him? Did you literally get under him? Or is he only taking pity on you like some science experiment? Just because you’ve got some gods damned infernal lizard blood in you doesn’t mean you’re shit.”

Vette made a fist, tightened it- but told himself to keep calm. Not for himself- he didn’t give a damn about a good fight- but for Gale’s sake.

It was strange, to think of his actions having much impact on someone else.

“So did mommy fuck a dragon, or daddy?” The guy was sneering. It made his face quite ugly.

Vette would never know why he felt the need to answer in any way- maybe he was hoping to intimidate the guy. “My father is a drow with dragon blood- you would have shit yourself in fear if you so much as looked at him.”

Not that Vette actually knew what his father had looked like. But he knew the fear folks had for drow, especially when they hadn’t met any of their own. Add in the dragon blood, and he was sure it cut quite an imposing image.

The elf however just laughed. “Oh my gods you’re half drow? You’re even more pathetic than I thought- fucking under elf scum. Shouldn’t you be in a cave begging a spider for her pussy?” Vette thought to simply leave him babbling like a fool- it wasn’t his job to teach him some decorum, but then the elf continued. “So your mother was whore enough to spread her legs for some drow monstrosity?”

Vette stiffened, felt something snap inside him. Without hesitation he clenched his fist tighter, pulling back and delivering a punch directly to the elf’s jaw. The smaller man stumbled back, blue eyes wide, as he reached up, grasping at his jaw, blood gushing from a broken lip.

Oh that had felt good.

“Say what you will about me,” Vette said, “but if you want to keep your tongue, keep any mention of my mother out of your mouth.”

The elf wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, before turning it to Vette and speaking quickly. Vette moved before the man was done speaking, a bolt of ice slamming through the space he had taken up a moment again, shattered against a building.

He pivoted, was ready to let the sky rain fire on him- but held back, again. It wouldn’t do to cause that much damage- and, again, he was Gale’s apprentice, if he got caught in a tussle it would reflect on the wizard.

In the time it took for him to even have these thoughts, the elf had closed the space between them. Vette felt a sharp sting in the side of his belly, the elf’s fist pressing in hard.

And when he pulled back, there was blood coating his fingers. In his hand he held a thin knife- he must have pulled it from his robes as he moved.

Vette reached for his side, pressed his hand to it- felt blood gushing over his fingers. It couldn’t be that large of a wound- how was he bleeding so much?

“Let’s see how good of an apprentice you are dead,” the man sneered, stowing his bloody knife. He turned then, brazenly walking away as Vette tipped to one side, shoulder crashing painfully into the wall of the building next to him. He pressed his hand to the wound tighter, thinking he needed to stop the bleeding-

He couldn’t do anything here. In a fit of desperation, he closed his eyes, murmuring to himself words he had heard Gale speak daily.

The rush of teleportation left Vette breathless. When the ground materialized beneath his feet again he stumbled, suddenly back in the tower. He nearly lost his footing, grunting as blood stained his robes.

“Tara!” he yelled, hoping she was there. He didn’t want to bleed out and have Gale come back to clean that up- “Tara!”

He heard footsteps, but his mind was going sluggish. Before he could put together they were far too heavy to be Tara, a woman rounded the corner into the room. She paused at the sight of him, bleeding out onto the floor, and Vette simply gawked, mouth going agape.

The stranger had deep brown hair, waves mostly captured in a tie at the nape of her neck- but some framed her face. Delicate lines around her brown eyes, her mouth- and gray woven into her hair like spun silver.

She looked so much like Gale.

And Vette realized he was quite possibly about to slip in his own blood in front of Gale’s mother.

She moved quickly, closing the space between them and bracing his arm, keeping him upright. She didn’t ask who he was, what had happened, just said in a stern but soothing voice, “let’s get you sitting down.”

Vette hated that he sat in one of the dining room chairs, paranoid he’d bleed on the carpet. Gale’s mother seemed to not care in the slightest.

“Robe off dear,” she instructed, and Vette released the pressure on his wound, nearly ripped his robe in an attempt to pull it off. When he let it fall to the floor, he took care that the clean bit landed first. Gale’s mother pulled his shirt up, left it bunched at his ribs, uncaring as blood got on her fingers as she examined the wound. “It’s not large, but you are bleeding quite a bit. We need to get that stopped.”

“Mrs. Dekarios, I heard shouting.” Tara stepped in, pausing at the sight of Vette slumped in the dining room chair, shirt pushed up, blood all over his hand and abdomen. “Oh dear.” She ran over, and Vette tried to focus on the sound of the charm tinkling on her collar.

“Honey, I need you to stay awake.” Gale’s mother spoke with such an even tone, sweet yet Vette couldn’t imagine disobeying her. He focused his eyes on her. “Who did this to you?”

He went to speak, but his throat felt tight. This wasn’t right, he’d taken more damage fighting Leon. “Elf,” he managed, “I don’t know his name. Student.”

Gale’s mother pursed her lips, glanced down at Tara. “It could have been a poisoned knife,” the tressym reasoned, “or enchanted.” She leapt up, unfolding her wings and taking flight through the tower. Gale’s mother told Vette he had best be awake when she returned, and hurried off. He bit at his cheek, trying to keep himself focused.

When Tara returned, she was holding the strap of a small bottle in her mouth. She set it gently on the table, sitting next to it, reaching out to gently paw at Vette’s shoulder.

“Open this and drink it.”

He listened, picking the bottle up and trying to get the top unscrewed. His fingers were slippery with his own blood, but he managed. Without question he threw it back, downing the entire potion in two swallows. It left his mouth feeling warm, his throat tingling, and he swore he could feel it sliding down his esophagus, into his belly.

It was almost instant, how quickly his mind began to clear.

Gale’s mother returned a moment later, dropping into a chair next to Vette and pushing a small towel against his wound. She pressed firmly, but Vette was fairly sure the bleeding would have begun slowing anyway.

“You should need stitches,” Gale’s mother said with a frown, when she finally pulled the towel away to check on the wound. “Tara, how strong was the potion?”

“Strong enough,” the tressym responded, craning her neck to get a look at the wound as well. “He might scar, but if we wrap it up it should close on its own.”

“What’s a scar,” Vette said with a shrug, dropping his head back. He was exhausted suddenly. But a moment later he straightened up, turning wide eyes to Gale’s mother. “Uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t even introduce-”

“Yourself? No need, Tara let me know this morning over tea that my son had taken an apprentice. Where is that man anyway?”

“Still at the academy. He was finishing… something. I don’t know, he didn’t tell me.” Gale’s mother pulled the towel away from the wound, inspecting it, her prodding fingers proof alone she was unphased by the blood that clung to Vette’s skin. He inhaled sharply at the pain, added, “I didn’t ask.”

She nodded, stood up with the towel, wiping her hands on it. “We’ll bandage that up and get you into bed to rest.” She turned to leave the room, and Vette let his body slump against the table, all the energy from his adrenaline rushing out of him.

“Thanks,” he offered to Tara, “I owe you.” She hummed, swishing her tail.

“Thanks are not necessary, Mr. Merigold.” Vette snorted a laugh.

“You can just call me Vette. Mr. Merigold was… well, you know, I don’t think there ever was one.” The name had never belonged to his father, and his grandmother had picked it when his mother was still a young girl, after the untimely death of her husband. Supposedly he had been wretched and she couldn’t fathom keeping his name- yet, her family had insisted on the marriage and shipped her off to Secomber, so she wanted no ties to them either.

Vette had always read between the lines for that story, when his mother briefly talked about it. It was hard to get her to discuss it, but he remembered bits of his grandmother, when he was young. He was quite certain the untimely death had been quite timely at her hands.

“Well then, it seems the name is indeed yours to own, Mr. Merigold. Now,” Tara spread her wings, hopped down off the table and landed gracefully, near silently. “Let’s get you to bed so Mrs. Dekarios can get you bandaged up.”

*

Vette dozed in and out of consciousness for a bit. Vaguely, in the sleep addled state, he heard footsteps, Gale’s voice as if it was floating far away, the hushed tone of his mother-

And then the very loud bang of his bedroom door being shoved open. It jolted him back to full consciousness, as he took in Gale rushing into the room, eyes roving over him, as if he was trying to catalog every inch of skin, every possible place where injury could have occurred.

Worry was an understatement, for the look on his face. Vette was propped up on his pillows, the blanket pooled around his waist, the tips of the bandage taped to his side visible. Tara was curled up directly against the wound, a comforting warmth that was easing the ache radiating from it.

“What in the nine hells happened?” Gale asked, as Tara lifted her head, his mother pausing in the doorway. He reached out, cupped Vette’s face so tenderly, his thumbs moving absentmindedly along his skin, the gold lacing of his flesh, bits of his scales.

So few had ever touched them and not been alarmed.

“You left your apprentice of not even two weeks to wander Waterdeep alone,” his mother chided, “an apprentice, mind you, that I had to learn about from Tara.”

Gale winced, his mother’s disapproval an obvious blow. Vette could understand- would have understood, if Gale wasn’t still holding his face so tenderly, making his heart hammer so painfully against his ribs, making the rest of the world seem to fade away in a warm haze.

“It was nothing,” Vette offered, wanting to reach up, to grip Gale’s wrists, to ask him to never take his hands away.

“It was quite obviously not nothing,” Gale chided, pulling his hands away as he sat on the edge of the bed, glancing down at them as if he hadn’t realized he’d been touching the sorcerer. Tara scoffed slightly- but if it was at Gale or Vette, the half-drow wasn’t sure.

Vette bit at his cheek. He didn’t want to cause trouble for Gale, the man had been nothing but kind to him, and the last thing Vette wanted was to see him suffer in anyway-

And a part of him worried that Gale would decide he wasn’t worth the trouble, and send him home to Secomber. Sitting there in that moment, Vette realized that was the last thing he wanted.

Yet, if he lied, he had a feeling Gale would be even more upset. “One of your students,” he mumbled, glancing down, folding his hands in his lap. “I might have punched him.” Vette expected a rise from Gale, but the wizard was giving him a very clear go on look, quite sure there was more to the story. “He was upset that you took me as an apprentice. He called my mother a whore.”

From the doorway, Gale’s mother made a little displeased noise. “Good boy, always land a punch on your mother’s behalf.”

“Mother please,” Gale said, even as if kept his eyes on Vette. “Who Vette?”

The half-drow shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know any of their names. That elf from the other day, he called your illusionary magic useless.”

Something flashed in Gale’s eyes- a flicker of recognition, and then a flare of sheer rage. He stood from the bed without a word, and with a single murmured word he was gone.

Vette stared at the space Gale had taken up only a moment ago, as his mother sighed, sounding tired. “That boy did always have a dramatic flair,” she lamented, walking over and sitting in the space Gale had been, moments before. She reached out to pet Tara, who had settled back against Vette’s side. “I do believe he’s going to handle the situation.”

Vette leaned back into the pillows, dropping his head and mumbling, “I didn’t want to cause him trouble.”

He couldn’t see it, but Gale’s mother was smiling. “He deserves some trouble, he’s caused quite enough of it in his life.” She reached out, gently pat his thigh, and Vette glanced through blond eyelashes. 

She had nice eyes, a deep, warm brown. Kind. Gale had the same eyes.

“I’m Vette,” he offered, holding out his hand. “Vetter Merigold.”

She smiled at him, giving a bemused, single shake of her head and taking his hand. “Morena Dekarios. Charmed, sweetie. I’m sorry my son did not decide to introduce us sooner.”

“At least you’ll never forget me now,” Vette teased, and watched the way her eyes sparkled. He liked her- he liked her quite a lot, he knew in that instant.

*

Once Morena left the room, Vette fell asleep again. She’d given him some sort of pain killer that had made his eyelids impossibly heavy, and he couldn’t find the reason or will to fight off sleep.

When he next awoke, Vette wasn’t sure if he’d been asleep twenty minutes or several hours. Tara was still settled next to him, burrowed against his side, napping contently. He glanced around the dark room, before he carefully pushed his blanket off his legs, climbing from the bed. A quick parting of the curtains showed him the city cast in starlight- it was well after dark.

Tara lifted her head, eyes half lidded with sleep, and Vette gave her a little wave. When he headed for the door and not the bed, she shifted so she was laying more in the space he had once taken up, soaking in his body heat.

Vette stepped out of his room, found the tower felt oddly silent, as if even its bones slept. There was no sign of Gale mulling about, which led Vette to believe he was in his study- or possibly even in bed, considering it could be quite late. He walked slowly towards the man’s door, the cut under his bandage giving off a hot ache. He grimaced slightly, but tried to ultimately ignore it, as he splayed a hand on the door, meaning to knock.

The door hadn’t been properly shut, and it slowly opened at his weight leaning against it. Vette stepped in to avoid falling, noted that Gale’s desk was empty. The hearth looked cold, the papers scattered about the desktop untouched.

He moved through the room, pausing at Gale’s door, leaning his ear against it. He couldn’t hear anything- and he should have knocked, but he found his hand moving for the handle, pushing the door open without a thought.

The doors to the balcony were open, and while there was no light in the room itself, Vette could see Gale sitting on the bench, staring out over the waters. The starlight cast him in silver, and for a single moment Vette simply stared.

Was this what gods looked like?

The thought almost alarmed him- almost.

“Gale?” he said, softly. The man stiffened, turned towards his voice, just making him out in the dark. Vette walked through his bedroom, paused in the balcony doorway as the wizard stood up slowly. He seemed stiff, and Vette had to wonder how long he had been sitting there, pondering into the night. “Sorry, I should have knocked.”

“No, you’re fine.” Gale moved as if he was going to reach out for him, but hesitated. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was stabbed,” Vette offered with a smile. Gale gave a single chuckle.

“Clever boy.” The sorcerer fought down a shiver, swore his pupils had to dilate at the words, his heart cramping up in sheer excitement. Oh. “Come, let’s take a look at that.” Gale gestured and Vette turned, walking back into Gale’s bedroom. They moved to the study, and Gale snapped his fingers, the sconces along the wall lighting. Vette barely noticed his lips move with the spell.

Gale pulled his chair from his desk, and Vette sat down carefully, feeling his muscles pulling beneath torn skin. Gale settled down on a knee, reaching for the bandage and beginning to pull it gently from Vette’s skin. The half drow expected the skin to be inflamed, an angry, swollen red, the wound like a glossed, hungry mouth-

It wasn’t. It was already just a split in his skin, the ends seeming to have already begun fusing together, leaving a heavy pink line- the beginning of a scar.

Gale smiled. “Remind me to kiss Sekh the next time I see him.” Vette arched a brow, as Gale let his fingers push at the skin near the wound. “Does this hurt?” Vette shook his head. The touch and pressure didn’t, there was just a constant burning ache as his body healed. “He brewed that healing potion. Remarkable alchemist, truly.”

Vette remembered all of the little bottles of potions he’d had, how he’d wrapped Astarion’s injuries after the first lich-vampire had attacked.

“I think it will be closed by morning. We should bandage it again to be safe- but after that some air will do it good.” Gale stood up, giving a little groan., a muttered bloody knees beneath his breath.

Vette cracked a smile. “Old man,” he teased, and Gale reached out, moving as if he would tussle his bed wild hair-

Instead he stroked it back, cupping the back of his head gently. “Reckless child,” he chided back, and Vette wanted to lean into his touch so badly. But he refused to let himself lull into the comfort- he still had questions. Namely, one.

“What did you do to that guy?”

Gale’s tender look dropped away, and he pulled his hand back, moving to fold his arms. “I have ensured that he has no place at Blackstaff Academy now or in the future. I don’t care how old and rich the damn Ashbreakers are, that sort of behavior will not be tolerated at the academy.”

“You knew who he was and I didn’t even know his name.”

Gale’s frown deepened, pulling at lines along his face. “Unfortunately yes. I was schooled with one of his elder brothers, back in my younger years.” Vette raised a brow, and Gale had to smile. “Elves and their long lifespans. Also his father won’t stop remarrying and having more children. Gods, there should be a limit or something.”

The sorcerer snorted a very undignified laugh, reaching up to cover his mouth. Once he had composed himself, he managed to add, “He said you didn’t take apprentices. That the family has tried to get you to.”

Gale hesitated, but ultimately nodded. “They have. Throw gold and social favor around trying to buy my time away from the academy. But I’d rather my lessons reach as many students as possible, and not just a well to-do ruffian.”

“But you took me.”

Vette swore his voice almost cracked, at the end. It was a near whisper, as his body went tight, under his skin. Gale’s face softened, as he whispered, “That I did.”

No further explanation was offered. Vette didn’t know how to ask for it- wasn’t sure if he could, if he should. Whatever Gale saw in him, he just hoped it never dimmed.

Never?

As he stood up Gale turned to his desk, a little ah! Escaping him as he gathered a few books off it. “I got these for you,” he said, turning and holding out two books- both looking incredibly old and ornate. When Vette didn’t reach for them, he added, “You seemed quite taken with the glyphs, so I stayed this evening to get these from one of the professors who specializes in warding. It seemed a logical step for you.”

Was that why he had stayed? He’d noticed Vette’s silly little interest, and not only remembered, but taken it upon himself to find a way for Vette to pursue it?

Vette felt his cheeks flushing as he took the books carefully. They were quite heavy in his hands. “You’re flushed,” Gale mused, reaching for Vette again, brushing his cheek. Vette fought every instinct in his body to lean into the touch. “Are you alright?”

He was awful and wonderful.

“Just taken aback,” he mumbled, looking away. He felt Gale’s fingers flexing, moving from skin to the smooth reddened scales along his cheek bones. He flinched slightly, and Gale pulled his hand back quickly.

“Apologies, I shouldn’t have done that. Are they sensitive?”

“No, no, they’re just like skin. But usually people don’t… want to touch them.” Vette shrugged a shoulder, offering a resigned smile. “I grew up being asked if I shed like a snake.” He laughed, bitterly, over it.

Gale looked almost pained, over the admission. “May I?” he asked, his fingertips flexing over the scales. Vette gave the smallest nod, and his fingers slid down his cheek, along the scales on his neck, as they branched out to his shoulders. His touch was feather soft, sweet enough to make Vette dizzy. With a little smile, Gale mused, “they’re so soft.”

He paused at the crook of Vette’s neck, thumb rubbing down towards his clavicle, moving easily from silken scales to tanned skin. Gale shifted a bit closer, as close as he could while Vette still clutched the books to his chest, and his hand moved down over his collar bone, to the center of his chest, fingers teasing along the patch of scales at the center, nearly brushing the old tomes.

Vette was light headed, swore the room was spinning. He made a little noise without meaning to- an almost keening whimper, from the back of his throat. He would have dropped the books, if Gale wasn’t close enough to keep his arm pinned between them.

The wizard’s other hand found the dip of his waist- the opposite side of his wound- and gripped it, pulling him in half a step closer. Vette lost his breath, flicked his eyes from Gale’s to his mouth, thinking that he would have given the world for the courage to kiss this man, in that moment.

But he was terrified, in a way he never had been. Gale was something good, and Vette feared how he might tarnish, how the sorcerer might weather his polish away.

Before Vette could linger on his fear longer there was a very clear voice from the study doorway, “Mr. Dekarios, I do believe your apprentice needs his rest.”

Gale jerked back quickly, as if he hadn’t even realized how close he had been. He glanced past Vette, as the half-drow glanced over his shoulder, found Tara standing in the doorway.

“Right. Of course.” Gale cleared his throat. “Head on back to bed Vette, I’ll get you a fresh bandage. How about some tea? Are you hungry?”

Vette clutched the books tightly to his bare chest, managed a tea would be nice, to which Gale nodded. Vette turned, sure he was visibly shaking- and noticed Tara had subtly inclined her head, was studying-

Not him, but Gale, just past him, intrigue in her round eyes. Whatever she saw though, she didn’t voice, and instead followed Vette promptly from the room, to take up her spot curled into his side again.

[mysdrymmumbles]

Excerpt from Seven Days - Karlach's Escape

This is a scene from my long fic, Seven Days. I think Imma start posting a few just for shits 'n giggles.

---

Ten fucking years.

Usually, it feels like longer for Karlach Cliffgate, but Zariel likes to make sure that she knows how long she’s been in Avernus, and that she knows how much longer she’ll be here.

Until she’s ground to dust.

Some days it’s harder to go on than others, considering that there is no end in sight.

Karlach tells herself that just because she can’t see it now, doesn’t mean it isn’t there, but damn if some days are harder than others.

Ten fucking years…

Thousands of days of nothing but torture and backstabbing, and that’s without the other side coming for her.

Constantly.

The battle today is no different from the ones before or the ones that will come. The battlefield is awash with blood and gore, her limbs are tired. The infernal engine that has replaced her heart—Zariel’s gift to her—roars, its flames erupting across Karlach’s skin as she charges an orthon.

The beast goes down.

Another takes its place, with a thousand more to take theirs.

Karlach cuts down a few more—she doesn’t bother to count—and then finds herself in a rare moment’s reprieve. It gives her a chance to catch her breath, to survey the battlefield.

And to see something new arrive in the sky overhead.

She almost misses it, but there is a pulse of magic that sweeps over the field, and she whirls toward it, ready for whatever spell or enemy is about to rain down.

Instead, it is…a flying squid?

No.

No, it’s not… it’s nothing she’s ever seen, but the way it moves, the sheer size of it…

As she watches, a fucking portal opens up just behind where it appeared, and dragons come through. The portal closes behind them, and the beasts race toward the…thing.

As Karlach stares up at it, someone rushes her. She cuts them down quickly and turns her gaze back toward the intruders. The dragons are fighting, tearing the squid thing apart, and she catches a glimpse inside. It doesn’t look like a living thing at all, at least not from here.

It is only when something falls out of one of the holes in the strange thing—something distinctly humanoid in shape—that Karlach realizes what it must be.

A ship.

A ship that somehow punched its way into the Hells, followed by dragons who did the same.

She cuts down two more enemies as they try to catch her off guard and then, without thought, starts running.

If that ship got here, maybe it can leave here, too.

If she can just reach it…

Someone shouts her name, barks an order. She ignores it, slicing down another body that gets in her way. She doesn’t pay attention to whose side they’re on anymore.

None of them are on hers.

She picks up speed, racing through the battlefield after the mysterious ship. It is so close, but it is so fucking far.

And even if she can catch up, she is on the ground, and it is high above and growing higher.

She turns her attention toward her surroundings. Enemies in every direction, caught in combat, most unaware that she’s even there. She sees a vrock going after a few imps and gets an idea.

The imps are easy enough to cut down, but the vrock turns on her almost instantly. She shoulders her great axe, evades a few strikes, manages to get behind it.

And she throws herself onto its back.

The beast writhes beneath her for a moment, almost throwing her off twice, and then realizes it will need more leverage.

And it does exactly what she hoped it would.

It takes to the air.

Guiding it toward the ship is a pain at first. The vrock simply wants its freedom—don’t they all—and it bucks and twists in the air, struggling to toss Karlach back to the ground, to crack her body open on the unforgiving rock below.

But she holds tight, twists just so that the creature flings itself in a new direction, heading toward the ship.

The ride cannot take more than a few minutes, but it seems to stretch on for an eternity, for longer than the entirety of her miserable existence in Avernus.

The vrock twists and writhes, flips them both, dives and dips, but Karlach holds firm. She will not get another chance like this.

She knows it.

This one is the only one she’s getting, and she’s got to make it count.

The vrock abruptly swings upward, flying higher. It dodges a dragon, and Karlach presses herself into its spiny back as the dragon rider—a dragon rider!—shoots at her. The vrock tries to veer out into the open air, but Karlach throws herself, almost too far, so that the beast heads back toward the ship.

It is so close.

Something hits the vrock suddenly, and it lets out a wail. It starts to drop.

Karlach does her best to untangle herself from the beast, to use its body as a springboard, and to jump.

She arcs through the air, limbs wheeling, and slams against the side of the ship.

And starts to slide down it.

Her fingers claw for purchase, and she finally manages to punch into an already damaged area. Blood spurts around her fist as it punctures the fleshy wall—perhaps whatever this ship is, it is alive after all.

Karlach clings to its side, body slamming against the wall as the ship hurdles along. It hurts. Her arm hurts, her body hurts each time it thuds against the metal encasing the fleshy walls within.

But through it all, she hangs on.

She will not fuck this up.

A dragon’s roar rattles in her ears and then fire blooms just beneath her, scalding away at the ship she clings to.

Opening a way inside.

It is perilous, but she uses her infernal fire to melt some of the metal wall and allow herself to make a new grip to lower herself from, and down she goes.

The ship shakes and trembles—it is taking quite the beating from the dragons. For a moment, Karlach fears that it will crash before it can use whatever magic brought it here to begin with. The fear coils inside of her, threatening to seize her every breath, to render her immobile.

The ship quakes.

She loses her grip.

And as she falls, she sees…home.

For the first time in a long time, she is able to see Baldur’s Gate in her mind’s eye, and it is so vivid, so fucking beautiful. It lasts only for a flicker of an instant, but it is enough to banish her fears and ground her to the present.

She hits into a piece of fleshy wall that hangs limp below where the dragon tore the ship open and sinks her claws into it. The whiplash snaps her body like a banner, but it is not enough to break her.

Every inch of her hurts, but she ignores it.

She claws her way up the pulsing wound and drags herself into the ship proper.

For a moment, she stays there, half crouched, half sprawled out, the toe of one boot still over the edge of the ship as wind whips in her ears.

She can barely hear the sounds of battle below.

She sits up slowly and looks around at the strange, dark corridor. She has never seen architecture like this.

She pushes herself to her feet—it takes a great deal of effort, more than she’s used to. The vrock and the fall have done more damage than she realized.

But she is here, and she is not going back.

So long as she can avoid any further conflict, maybe find somewhere to stowaway for the time being and rest—

“Karlach!”

A venomous voice interrupts her thoughts as she tries to figure out her next steps.

Turning to look down one side of the corridor she’s in, she sees the dimming runes of a summons spell fading at the feet of what can only be one thing.

A fucking warlock.

His face is covered with scars and one of his eyes is missing, but his posture is impeccable as he holds a rapier pointed toward her, face twisted with disgust and rage.

“I am the Blade of the Frontiers,” he declares, filled with righteous determination that is ill-fitting to one who has so clearly made a pact with a devil, “and I will not let you start your reign of terror anew!”

“Fuck,” Karlach mutters, and turns and runs the other way.

[ryqoshay]

Putting on Hairs: Post Production - Ticket, Please

Primary Pairing: N/A Staring: A thief and some puppets Also Starring: Tsubasa, Anju, Erena Words: 654 Rating: T? AU: Theater, Monsters, Puppets, Tickets Time Frame: Sometime after the main story (?) Prompt: Puppet Content Warning: Puppets

---------

Author's Note: Bonus 2nd entry for the 19th

Summary: Someone enters without a ticket

---------

Ktchack!

The man flinched as bright lights suddenly snapped on. The Hell? His partner was supposed to have cut the power. And they hadn’t seen a generator when they cased the place earlier.

“Welcome! Welcome! One and all!” A cheery voice cried. “Step right up and get your tickets!”

Oh, some silly animatronic in a colorful ticket booth. He’d read about the theater putting on a children’s event, which apparently was ongoing.

“Uhm, excuse me, I don’t mean to be rude, but you need a ticket to enter.”

The man paused and turned. He shivered as his gaze found a pair of googly eyes staring directly into his sou… No. This was absurd. It was just a puppet. There was no place for a person to hide and work the stupid thing, so it was definitely automated. And there was probably some sensor somewhere that caught him moving past without a ticket.

“I ain’t got one.” He found himself grumbling.

“Oh dear…” The puppet’s voice gained a concerned tone. “They’re not going to like that…”

The man scoffed and pushed past a curtain. He just needed to meet up with his partner, find the ancient artifact or whatever they’d be hired to steal, and get the hell out of this creepy place.

What was that?

Movement just outside the beam of his flashlight. And… did he just hear laughter?

“I hear you entered without a ticket” A voice giggled next to his ear.

He spun. And caught a glimpse of button eyes and a stitched smile before it slipped out of the light.

“Won’t you please buy a ticket?” A different, deeper voice pleaded by his other ear.

This time a tuft of blue fur evaded his light.

From behind, he heard what he could only describe as tiny, padded feet running. He turned again and shown his light on a fast-approaching rag doll. It had the same face he thought he had seen a second ago, and… it was running… on the wall?

“I have a ticket for you!” The giggly voice declared as the doll held out a roll with a long streamer of tickets flailing behind.

“But there is a penalty for purchasing late.” The deeper voice intoned.

A mountain of shaggy blue fur shambled into view. Tickets sloughed out of the hairs as a giant paw reached for the man.

The man nearly dropped his flashlight as he spun and ran down the hall. He rounded a corner and came to a halt. The rag doll was somehow ahead of him, now approaching along the ceiling. And a twin beside it. He dodged into a nearby door, trying to ignore a growing chorus of cries about tickets. He slammed the door, locked it, turned, and…

There was his partner, wrapped head to toe in… tickets? The other man’s eyes widened, seeming to see something to his side.

The man turned.

Oh… hell…

“Ticket, please.” An infernal felt beast demanded as flaming tickets belched out of its mouth.

The man screamed.

---------

“About the break-in last night.” Tsubasa spoke to her friends in the car. “The police said the thieves kept babbling about living puppets and tickets.”

Anju smiled knowingly.

“Why can’t we just have a normal security system?” Erena groused.

“We work in a theater, my dear.” Anju replied. “Everyone who enters deserves a good show. Besides, we can’t let Phoby-chan and the opera phantoms have all the fun.”

“You make them sound like a band.”

Tsubasa chuckled at the reminder that a fallen angel’s familiar and a handful of century-old ghosts watched over the theater up the street.

“Anyway, thank you Anju.” She said. “But my contact at the precinct also mentioned that the thieves were hired for the job. Whoever employed them may make another attempt.”

Anju’s smile grew. “I shall anxiously await their arrival.”

“Just… don’t overdo it. Remember, no physical injuries, just SAN damage.”

“Of course.”

---------

Author's Note Continued: I had fun with this one. And I kinda wanna expand it a bit when I include it in the main story, even if it ends up stretching out the joke longer than some might find necessary.

Also, yes, the content warning is somewhat of a joke, but I do actually know people who are afraid of puppets, so...

[kellshaw]

New Post has been published on https://kellshaw.com/786-2/

Magic: Transmission and Effect

Here’s what you should think about when developing your magic system.

Why do people use it? Viewing magic as a process, why do people want to use it? How do they use it to do something in your story that they couldn’t otherwise?

How does it work? This is the transmission layer. By what mechanism does the magic do the thing it does? It’s perfectly okay to say ‘by the blood of dead gods spilled into the ethereal seams of the world’ but I like it when there’s some thought behind it. Even if the characters don’t know, stick this thought in your 90% of worldbuilding that the reader will never see. It’ll help for background consistency.

What does it feel like to use magic? I love stories where people are exploring their powers (I enjoy superhero origin stories, except those we’ve seen repeatedly; looking at you Batman, Superman and Spiderman). How does it feel to channel and cast power? Anxiety of trying to memorise a difficult formula? Getting high from channelling raw energy from the gods? Is there a taste or sensation? Or even boredom, if magic is perfunctory?

Who can use it? Trained wizards? Anyone who gets the spell right?

Where does the magic fit into your world and society? Is it a secret? Only used by the elite?

Does your magic have an overall paradigm? Like a special esoteric programming code (spell) that can hack reality can if done right? Calling upon ancient gods for boons? The flavour is important to me. I read the first few pages of a book where the hero ‘magicked a barrier in front of the demon’ and while the scene was action-paced, the flavor of the magic didn’t grab me.

Let’s run my magic system through these questions:

Why do people use it? To do things they can’t do via ordinary mortal means. Because it requires making a pact, it’s all for personal gain or desperation. Maybe to help with revenge, or to return after death to deal with your unfinished business.

How does it work? Magic is a flow of energy from another dimension. A flow of extra-dimensional energy overwrites the localised reality, enabling supernatural effects when present. For example, to summon a zombie, you’ll need a source of spectral energy from the Underworld, the land of the dead.

What does it feel like to use? Each realm has a distinct flavour of energy. Infernal magic is painful, like barbwire running through your guts. Death magic is sad and regretful, like holding a party that no one shows up to.

Who can use it? After the Rending—the terrible event when the Age of Magic ended—all portals to other dimensions were abruptly sealed off. Demons, fae, nature spirits, angels are trapped in their home realms and have limited agency to influence the mortal world. However, if you make a pact with one, you gain their vestige—a shard of their soul—and this enables you to channel supernatural energy into the mortal world. This changes you—you’re not a normal mortal anymore. You’re now half an extradimensional entity. Someone who accepts a demon’s vestige becomes a cambion; another who makes a pact with a fae becomes a changeling.

Where does the magic fit into the world? It’s secret and hidden. You have to figure out that magic exists, who you want to make a pact with, and hopefully find a patron whose goals align with yours.

The overall vibe is if you want magic, you hustle for it, and cut deals with powerful extra-dimensional entities. It’s a grungy, noir occult world. You take on supernatural debt and have to weigh the bargain you’ve made against the power you gain. Sometimes you may not have a choice but to agree.

“So everyone’s a D&D warlock?” someone asked when I described this.

Yeah.

Or John Constantine, as you sit on a teetering mound of debts and favors that are gradually spiralling out of control…

How about you? How does your world’s magic work?

[substituted-shinigami]

Learning to Breathe

(aka Please Remember To Put On Your Oxygen Mask Before Assisting Others)

Characters: Rukia, Renji, Byakuya, and some Fourth Division OCs, (RenRuki)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, some Angst, some Humor, Family

Rated: T (for mentions of medical tools such as needles and depictions of anxiety, but nothing is graphic or even really overly described. This story is more about the emotions than the medical drama)

Story Summary: Turns out purple eyes and short stature aren’t the only things that run in Hisana’s family, illness does as well. As Rukia and Renji try to help each other navigate through this new storm in their lives, will they remember to take time to breathe? (Rukia gets the same disease that killed Hisana (Bloodlines AU), Post TYBW, Post renruki engagement)

Click the link to read below or click here to read the story from the beginning on AO3!

(2/7)

Chapter 1: Lift Off

(AO3 chapter link)

Chapter Summary: Welcome passengers aboard the Stress Soul Society Airlines. Please fasten your seat belts, and prepare for liftoff. Thank you, and worry not about the bad weather forecast. You can rest assured that you will have a safe trip with us! (The chapter in which Rukia and Renji get ready for a major doctor’s appointment.)

I faced an execution. I faced an espada's blade. I even faced a man who could literally murder me with fear. And yet, tiny medical needles are too much for me? You are utterly ridiculous, Kuchiki Rukia… Rukia thought glumly to herself, as she laid in bed one chilly morning before yet another doctor’s appointment. She began chuckling wryly, I've heard the pen is mightier than the sword, but I think the medical needle might be mightier still.

Rukia stared up at her bedroom ceiling, the sound of the room's clock ticking loudly in her ears. She'd been laying there for hours as sleep frustratingly eluded her. Sighing, she tried rolling over and closing her eyes again, but she couldn't shut out the anxious thoughts that plagued her mind.

I really hope today’s tests don’t have them. If I can’t get through these appointments without stressing out everytime I see one, then I’ll never convince him that he can rest, because I’ll be okay. That it will all be okay in the end. Hopefully…

Suddenly, Rukia’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the alarm on her soul pager going off. Again. Rukia’s hand shot out, flipped the infernal device open, and managed to press the snooze button for the third time that morning without even looking at it. She went back to staring up at the ceiling.

Guess I better get up now, huh? Can't keep putting it off, after all… My friends, my brother, and…Renji… they’re all so worried about me, so I can’t… I can’t be weak… I must be strong for them.

Rukia sighed, her stomach already all up in knots. Taking a deep breath to center herself, she forced herself to sit up. As she looked out her bedroom window towards the sky, she saw that it was pitch-black, that even the stars were blocked out by clouds.

Hmmm… Looks like a storm is rolling in too… Figures…

Rukia slowly pushed off her blankets and got up to search for her clothes. She thought about just wearing her black shinigami uniform, but she already knew neither her third seat nor her escort were going to let her go back to work this afternoon. Speaking of her escort…

Rukia left her room, a neatly folded dark blue kimono tucked underneath her arm, and approached the door of the guest room next to hers. She lifted her hand to knock, but paused.

I could just leave without waking him… she thought briefly, Let him sleep in. Gods know he needs it. That way, when I make it through the appointment on my own, he’ll see he has nothing to worry about! But she quickly shook herself. No! No, I don’t do that anymore! I don’t just run away... I talk about it. We talk about it. And even if we can’t figure it out, we still do even that together. Rukia took a deep breath, glared resolutely at the door, and knocked.

“Oi, Renji, you awake in there?” She heard what sounded like a groan to the affirmative. “Okay, just so you know, we’ve got to leave in an hour.”

“Mhmm… Yup. I got you,” he responded groggily. This was soon followed by the sound of very fast shuffling, a very loud bang, an almost as loud curse, and then more shuffling. Rukia raised an amused eyebrow at that.

“You good in there? All your limbs still present and accounted for?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. And yes, I’m fine. Thanks so much for your concern.”

“Of course!” Rukia smirked. However, the heavy feeling inside her soon dragged the corners of her lips back down. She took another deep breath. Here we go… "Oi, Renji…" she began quietly, "If you are too tired, it's okay, y'know? It's like I said before, it’s basically just a long doctor's appointment. I'll…I’ll be okay going by myself."

At that, Rukia heard the stomping sound of footsteps coming rapidly towards her, followed by the shoji door immediately sliding open with a sharp bang. Renji looked rather frazzled, with his sleeping robe half hanging off of his shoulder and his hair loosely pulled into a messy braid. He also looked rather cute…at least until he started shouting.

“WHAT? NO! OF COURSE I'M COMING WITH YOU, IDIOT!”

“QUIET, RENJI! ARE YOU TRYING TO WAKE UP THE ENTIRE HOUSEHOLD WITH YOUR RACKET?!?”

"You are way louder than me!" Renji replied in his terrible attempt at a whisper, "In any case, don't try to change the subject like that. You are downplaying it again, I know it. They are running medical tests today too, and I know those tend to make you nervous.” He managed to actually say that last part quietly. Then he smiled at her, “We're in this together, ya?" His lips might have been smiling, but Rukia saw his eyes. He was exhausted. She felt her heart lurch into her throat.

"Ya, well…don't go overdoing it, okay?" Rukia told him firmly as she fixed his robe for him, but her fingers lingered on his shoulder. Renji placed his hand over hers.

"Hmph… As if I could ever do too much for you… I'm fine, Rukia, really. Go get changed."

"Okay…" she murmured quietly, looking down. However, her face must have betrayed her troubled thoughts, because when she tried to remove her hand from his shoulder, Renji held it firm. She looked back up at him and he tilted his head down closer to hers.

"I love you~" he whispered to her in a cheeky sing-song voice with that toothy grin of his. He was clearly trying to lighten the mood, to make her smile or push him off and call him a dork, but instead Rukia felt her heart, already firmly lodged in her throat, leap even higher into her mouth.

“I know…” she barely got out, “I know Renji, but…”

“Uh uh. No ‘buts’, Ru. Go ahead and take your bath. I’ll see you in an hour, alright?” He winked and let go of her hand as he cheerfully went back into the guest room, closing the door behind him.

Rukia, on the other hand, just stood there, staring at the floor.

__________________________________

Renji…

Rukia sat in the outdoor bath, watching the sun slowly try to rise behind a blanket of clouds. She sighed as her thoughts inevitably turned to her fiance.

They had been spending even more time together as of late. In fact, almost all of their spare time was spent in each other’s company. At first it was because they had finally gotten officially engaged, and needed to plan for the wedding. And while that had all been quite hectic, it had also been exhilarating thinking about what their future together might bring.

But then, less than a month later, the diagnosis came in after what was supposed to be a routine check up at the Fourth Division. Rukia had CRVS, also known as Chronic Reiatsu Vent Stenosis. It was a disease in which the invisible reiatsu vents at the end of a soul’s wrists began to slowly shrink over time. Since these vents were responsible for cycling spiritual pressure in and out of the body, when they were damaged, the body would take longer to heal after strenuous activities, such as traveling long distances across the Rukongai in the search of a missing sibling.

The vents also acted as a filtration system for foreign reishi or spirit particles. When spiritual pressure is released in bursts, such as when battling tough hollows and arrancar, it can absorb the spirit particles it collides with, and then bring these foreign particles back with it into the body. When working properly, the vents are supposed to filter this out, but when they are damaged by disease, they just can’t.

And overtime, this unreleased, unfiltered, reluctant to replenish spiritual pressure would slowly damage the body, eventually leading to the person’s death, to Hisana’s death. But it had been fifty years since then, there were more options now., new medications and treatments available. There was even a new experimental surgery that had the potential to actually extend the patient’s life! But you couldn’t get it right away, you had to wait, be put on a list, and survive until your name was called.

But if there was one thing that we know how to do well, Rukia thought to herself, it's to survive.

They changed everything.

Instead of visits with the wedding planner, it was visits with the doctor. Instead of planning out wedding dishes with their bar's chef, they planned out new healthier meals with her nutritionist. Instead of visits to the florist it was visits to the pharmacist.

Instead of going on dates, it was going to treatments.

Before they spent all their time doing wedding planning, but now, it was the furthest thing from their minds. If getting engaged had completely changed Rukia’s life with an upward swing, getting this disease made it come crashing back down again and right through the floor. But Renji was right there with her through it all.

He really is my rock, Rukia thought with warmth, But…he’s starting to break. It had been months since this all began, and Renji had run himself ragged.

So when Rukia had found out that she had to go to yet another early morning, three hour long doctor’s appointment at the Fourth Division to get some testing done, she was resolute on the fact that Renji did not have to come. For the entire week leading up to the appointment, she did her absolute best to downplay the whole thing.

She joked with him, “The appointment is three hours long, Renji. If you're going to be sitting doing paperwork all day, you might as well be at the office where you can at least yell at Rikichi at the same time!”

She bragged at him, “Nervous? Of course not! I am Kuchiki Rukia! I will ace those medical exams for sure!”

And she even tried teasing him, “Hmn? What is with that worried look? Are you trying to beat Ichigo in a scowling contest? It’ll be fine, Renji!”

Still, despite her best attempts at reassurance, Renji could not help but ask her one more time.

“Hey, Rukia?” He began worriedly, when she came by the Sixth Division office after work, “Are you absolutely sure you don’t need me for your appointment tomorrow? They are running an awful lot of medical tests, and I know...how you feel about those.” But Rukia waved him off.

“Medical tests? Please! I laugh in the face of all those who would test me!” Rukia bragged with a smirk, but Renji continued to look at her seriously, resolutely unmoved by her teasing. Rukia tried a different approach. “Seriously, Renji, it will be fine,” she continued a little more gently, “You don’t have to come to every single one, y’know? Besides, it's really early in the morning, and you have work tomorrow. It will be fine.” But then, just when she thought she might have been getting through to him, her brother entered from the other room.

“Captain!” Renji said, as he stood up. Rukia’s head swung around towards the office entrance.

“Niisama!”

Captain Kuchiki Byakuya looked between the two of them, and then spoke, “Vice Captain Abarai Renji, I’ve come to inform you that I have approved of your request to have tomorrow off. Spend it however you wish.” Rukia shot Renji a look. Renji just looked confused.

“Ummm, thank you, sir? But I don’t remember-”

“Also,” Byakuya continued, cutting him off, “I have a problem that I need you to take care of.”

“Sure, Captain, whatever you need-”

“Taiyaki," Byakuya said abruptly, "The Kuchiki chef has accidently ordered some, and you know how much I despise it. Please come over and dispose of it in a non-wasteful manner. It is imperative that you do this tonight.”

“O-Okay…”

“Once you finish that odious task, I imagine you will be quite tired. You should sleep it off in the guest room, so that you will be in top shape for your day off. The one you usually use, the one down the hall from the kitchen, is unavailable, so you will have to use the guest room next door to Rukia’s room. That is all.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving the pair with their mouths hanging open, the matter already decided. Rukia fumed.

“Well…at least I’m free now…” Renji said a little tentatively.

“Yeah," Rukia growled through gritted teeth, "Sorry, I’ll be right back.” And with that, she stormed out of the room and marched right after her brother.

“Niisama!” Rukia said firmly. Byakuya stopped, but didn't turn around.

“Niisama…” Rukia repeated more slowly, barely keeping the anger and frustration out of her voice, “I appreciate what you are trying to do…but please do not push Renji so. He is tired, Niisama.”

“Perhaps…but I do not push him any further than he already wishes to go. I simply give him the permission to do so. Something that was not given to me when…” But he trailed off, shoulders drooping a little. Finally, he straightened up again and continued, "In any case, it is imperative that you have support at appointments, both for your physical and emotional wellbeing.”

“Niisama...I appreciate that, but…couldn’t you take me just this one time? Just to give him a break?”

“I… Rukia, he needs this, just as you do. Take this time to be together so that way there are no regrets.” And with that, he was gone, only dust in the wake of his shunpo. Rukia returned to the room, a mixture of anger, sadness, and dejection fighting for control within her.

“Listen Rukia, if you really don’t want me to go…”

“It’s not about wanting or not wanting, Renji!” she snapped, but slowed upon seeing him flinch, “Sorry, I…I just don't think you should have to go to them all, that’s all.” Renji put his hands on her shoulders.

“It’s alright, Rukia, I like going with you! Now I gotta go home and grab a change of clothes for tomorrow, but I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“Okay…” she sighed. He kissed her on the cheek and headed out the door, completely ready to keep on running himself ragged, all for her.

Well of course he is! He’s worried about you, you jerk! Rukia’s brain shouted at her, It’s your own fault for always looking so miserable at your appointments!

“That’s right!” Rukia said aloud to herself, grabbing her towel, and vigorously drying herself off as she stepped out of the bath, “Renji’s only exhausted because he’s worried about me! If I can just show him that I’ll be okay, even during the longer, scarier appointments, then he’ll finally know that he can take a long, well deserved break, and might even start taking care of himself!” She quickly put on her clothes, and marched back to her room with renewed resolve.

After she finished packing her bag, including something to read during the long waits between testing, Rukia headed towards the front hall to wait for Renji. But when she got there she found him already standing there, a bag swung around his shoulder as well.

Figures he’s already here, she thought, Oh well, no time to practice, might as well jump right in.

“Ready to go?” Rukia asked with as much cheerfulness and confidence as she could muster as she strutted up to him. Renji’s face lit up the moment he spotted her.

“Yup! My bag's all packed, and I'm raring to go."

“Great! Now…did you get anything to eat for breakfast?” She asked as she reached him. Renji bent down to give her a quick kiss, and she rose up on her tiptoes to receive it.

“Do you count?” He murmured huskily to her. Rukia cocked an eyebrow at him.

“No.”

“Then, nope!” he shrugged with a smile as he stood back up. Rukia felt a blood vessel pop in her forehead.

“Renji…” she said slowly, trying to sound encouraging and not frustrated, “I told you last night, it’s okay for you to grab breakfast. The appointment is going to be three hours, and you need your strength.”

“Yeah, I know, but…it just doesn’t feel right eating when you can’t,” He said, scratching the back of his neck, “If you can wait till after your appointment, then so can I. ‘Sides, I think I am at least as strong as you, you know,” He finished with a smirk.

“Debatable,” Rukia sniffed, teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah, alright Ms. Acting Captain,” Renji said, throwing his arm around her and pushing open the door. “Come on, let’s go. We don’t wanna be late.”

Rukia leaned against him as they walked out the door, a well of warmth bubbling up inside of her, but it was quickly muddied with guilt, “Renji, thank you, for coming with me, really, but please get something to eat and take a nap after this.”

“Sure, sure,” he agreed easily, “But for now, let’s just get you well.” However, he didn’t look at her as he said this. Rukia looked up at him out of the corner of her eye. The worry and the exhaustion, still shone quite clearly on his face. She quickly turned her gaze forward, her stomach knotting up all over again.

I’ll have to try harder, she thought.

[spyrothesquish-0006]

Can I ask about the brothers visiting an MC in a coma, assumedly sometime after they left their 1 year school year at Devildom? Also would it be bad to ask for a platonic/familial relationship instead of romantic?

How the brothers react to visiting GN!MC in a coma (platonic)

Warnings: None besides hospital and coma mentions, also if you're uncomfy with platonic kisses I'm sorry 😢 I see Asmo as very touchy-feely so even if it's a strictly platonic/familial relationship, it would not be rare for him to kiss your cheeks. And platonic requests are always fine! I hope you enjoy!😊

Lucifer:

• surprisingly was not the first to find out, but once he did, he was quick to be at your side

• depending on how you got to be in a coma changes his reaction

• if it's because someone hurt you, Lucifer will be on a war path to make whoever did it pay dearly for hurting someone in his family

• if it's because of an accident, his worry over you will increase, never wanting to see you in such a state again

• will take whatever measures necessary to make sure you stay safe once you wake up

• if the coma is due to an illness, Lucifer will do everything in his power to get you the best treatment possible

• only the best doctors and nurses are fit to care for his family

• if allowed, he will move you to a devildom hospital to be treated

• will not be leaving your side any time soon

• if you thought this demon didn't sleep before, it's even worse now

• he will stay by your side and hold your hand until he sees your eyes open again

• the paperwork in his office might pile up, but honestly he couldn't care less

• you become his #1 priority

• would often pet his hand over your hair and talk to you at night

• even if you can't hear him, he still tells you how important you are to him and his brothers

• "We're all worried about you, MC. You need to wake up. Please.."

Mammon:

• the minute he knows you're in the hospital he takes off, not even stopping long enough to learn why or that you're in a coma

• completely loses it when he sees you in the hospital bed

• it's a mix between fear of losing you, and anger at whatever it is that put you in that coma

• even if it was in no way his fault, he still blames himself for not being there to protect you

• still feels a bit guilty even if it's something completely out of his control, like an illness

• will be by your side any chance he gets

• definitely tries to curl up in the hospital bed with you

• if he isn't allowed to/there isn't enough space, he will curse until the entire hospital knows infernal curse words

• nothing gets between him and MC, that's his family!

• if for some reason he has to leave your side, his crows are stationed outside your window until he gets back to watch over you

• would call in any favors he has to if it means paying for the best medical care, or finding healing potions

• he remembers Satan once saying how if someone is in a coma, that they can still hear

• he often talks to you as if you're awake and responding, late night conversations lessening his worry about you, but sometimes these end in tears if he gets too carried away, knowing you're not responding and might not any time soon

• "Be a good human and wake up, won't ya? You got us all so worried, and it ain't fair."

Levi:

• once he hears the words "MC" and "Hospital" in the same sentence, he has the worst panic attack imaginable

• accidentally summons Lotan and destroys part of the HoL in his panic

• races to the hospital, not caring who he has to talk to or push past to get to you

• all he cares about is his Henry being okay!

• hospitals aren't really his favorite place, being filled with people and germs, but he will stay by your side until you wake up, no exceptions

• he basically moves into your hospital room

• brings his and yours favorite handheld games and plays them all hours of the day and night

• doesn't want to fall asleep in case you wake up

• even though it makes him a blushy mess, he sits on the edge of your hospital bed and keeps his tail firmly wrapped around your hand to "hold" it while he plays video games

• even if you aren't awake, he still watches your favorite animes with you, hoping that maybe the sound of it will make you want to open your eyes

• "Hey, MC, this is your favorite episode right? Do you think maybe you could open your eyes and watch it with me?"

Satan:

• once he knows you're in a coma he rushes to the hospital and immediately sets to work questioning every doctor and nurse that's treating you

• wants to know everything, why you're in a coma, for how long, what can he or any of his brothers do to help you?

• if the doctors treating you are not to his standards, he will throw a temper tantrum until better ones are brought in for you

• refuses to even entertain the idea that you might not wake up

• he gets very irratible with everyone and everything, but it's only because of how worried he is about you

• he may be pissy and quick to let his temper flare, but he's nothing but gentle with you

• he always holds your hand, sitting by your bedside and reading to you to calm his wrath and worry

• he picks only your favorite books, eyes flicking expectantly between the pages and you when he gets to your favorite parts, hoping that just maybe they'd excite you enough to wake up

• "MC, I brought your favorite again. We left off on chapter 6 right? I know your favorite part is coming up, so give my hand a little squeeze once we get to it, okay?"

Asmo:

• nearly faints when he hears you're in a coma

• once he's at the hospital, he demands to know everything

• Who, what, where, when, he accepts nothing but the most thorough answers possible

• is so wracked with worry that he actually forgets his own routines while he takes care of you, not bothering with his lengthy skincare routine or his beauty sleep, instead focusing on yours

• even if you're out cold, you still should be looking your best and be taken care of!

• after all, he would never leave his family helpless to take care of themselves

• he often talks to you while he brushes your hair or does your skincare for you, never wanting to let you fall behind on the gossip

• talking to you also keeps his nerves in check, often falling asleep while he fills you in on what everyone has been up to

• if he doesn't fall asleep while talking to you, he most likely ends up sleeping while scrolling through devilgram posts, curled up in your bed with you so he can still cuddle you until you wake up

• while he holds you he often peppers your face in gentle kisses, murmuring his affections for you and saying how much all of his brothers care about you

• he'd often call you sleeping beauty at night, but now that nickname leaves a bitter taste in his mouth

• "Do me a favor darling and wake up, hmm? It's so boring without you to talk to. If you wake up soon, I'll take you on a shopping spree, alright?"

Beel:

• worried sick once he knows you're in a coma, rushing to the hospital and refusing to leave your side

• he doesn't even feel hungry as he watches over you, far too worried about you being okay to think about eating for once

• seeing you so fragile looking in the hospital bed reminds him too much of losing Lilith

• plants himself by your bed and is incredible gentle while he holds your hand

• he knows how strong he is, and seeing you in a hospital bed makes him even more wary about accidentally hurting you

• he does have to eat eventually, almost snacking on things in the hospital room before a worried nurse got him some food from the cafeteria

• it may not be the best quality, but he honestly doesn't care that much

• if it means he can stay by your side, he'd eat dirt

• despite how worried he is about you, he keeps a brave face and is always smiling and laughing as he talks to you, telling you about all the things him and his brothers have done after your year at RAD ended

• he always brings your favorite snacks when he sits with you, hoping that maybe you'll be hungry enough to wake up and eat with him again

• "MC, I brought your favorite snacks again, I'm sorry I ate them last time...if you wake up before I get hungry they're all yours though! I can get you more if you're still hungry after."

Belphie:

• to everyone's surprise, he was the first to know you were in a coma

• he often visited you in your dreams after you left RAD, making sure you didn't have any nightmares and to just chat with you

• so when he went to visit you in your latest dream, you told him how you were in the hospital and couldn't wake up just yet while your body healed

• he promised to relay the information to his brothers and was quick to be at your side

• he's less worried about your condition than his brothers, only because he can still visit you while you "sleep"

• just because it's not as bad doesn't mean he has no worries though

• part of him is scared that one day he'll try to visit you and you just won't be there dreaming anymore

• because of this fear, he sleeps as often as he can

• self care isn't exactly his strong hold, so he figures his brothers will take better care of you than he can

• instead of helping you physically, Belphie helps you mentally

• he makes sure you never feel lonely in your coma

• he keeps any bad dreams or negative thoughts away, and he never lets you lose hope about waking up, no matter how long your coma lasts

• to make things more fun, he often alters your dreams so you two can go on adventures

• if you feel like flying? He's got you. Wanna be pirates for the day? There's a sword an eyepatch waiting for you

• even though he can still spend time with you in your coma, he still insists on being at your side physically too

• would bring your favorite blankets and pillows and plushies to put in bed with you so you stay comfortable

• is another brother who would curl up in the hospital bed with you, even letting you use his pillow until you wake up

• snuggles you like a koala 25/8 and sleepy mumbles into your ear are common

• "mm, MC? I know it's fun and all, but you gotta wake up at some point dummy. Don't make me go in there and drag you out."

[fandomlovingfreak]

Glacial Passion (7/?)

Regulus Black/Reader

Rating: NSFW (at end of chapter)

Trigger Warning: Arranged Marriage, sexual content (consensual)

Word Count: 3715

MasterList Link I AO3 Link I Wattpad Link

Summary: Glacial, cold, icy… all words that described Regulus Black’s grey eyes. Was there truly no emotion behind those eyes, or did a caring man exist beneath? Could she defrost those glacial eyes?

Disclaimer: Regulus Black (Walburga Black, Orion Black, and Sirius Black) is a character from Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. Reader or y/n is not owned by Rowling. This work has not been created for profit or financial compensation, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.

Notes: No notes really. Sorry for the wait.

Enjoy

***

Mother & Father,

(y/n) and I will be continuing our honeymoon for at least an extra week. We will be traveling outside of Paris. I will send an owl once we are settled in the hotel.

Walburga stares down at the letter. 

Cold shock fills her at her new daughter-in-law willingly is staying past the allotted time Regulus had planned for the couple's honeymoon. 

Walburga thought them to be so indifferent about one another that they would have arrived home days earlier than planned, not extend their time alone together.

Hopefully, though, this meant the next heir of the House of Black would be on the way.

Part of her knows her son will continue to be stubborn, casting those infernal charms. Walburga didn't understand why her son insisted on-- engaging with his wife if he was just going to waste the attempt with a literal flick of his wand. The way he ignored his duties to his birthright was infuriating. She had thought she had raised this son to honor his pure blood and pedigree. To never ignore the responsibilities he had to his family.

Walburga glares at her husband. Blasted Orion had been the one to teach Regulus the contraceptive charm. Although she is glad no bastard children are running around, something she knew Regulus was aware could not happen, she wasn't happy that her golden boy is presently defying her wishes. If Orion hadn't insisted on taking her son to his-- whores, they wouldn't be in this position. Regulus shouldn't have been exposed to those dirty blood, good for nothing tarts. 

Tainting one's flesh was as good as tainting one's blood, in Walburga's mind. Not that she'd express her thoughts to anyone of their status. Men of Pureblood never seemed to view things of this matter as she did.

She knew this from experience.

Walburga sets the letter down on the breakfast table, "Regulus and (y/n) will be extending their-- holiday for another week yet."

"Is that right?" Orion says absentmindedly, continuing to scan the Prophet. She can tell he isn't listening to a word she says. Even after all these years, Orion's inattentiveness still boils her blood to an extent. You would think one would get used to being ignored, especially after all the years she has had to get used to it.

"I wonder where he will be taking our daughter-in-law."

"Yes, very weird."

Walburga's expression sours-- further. She snatches up the letter from Regulus and storms out of the breakfast room without another word.

***

I bustle around the room when Regulus is away, posting another letter. The afternoon and night before had been nice, to say the least. Regulus had been sweet, almost affectionate, the entire time we spent together. It was a big change in a short amount of time, which worried me a bit. Hopefully, he wouldn't revert back to his old ways in the next few days. Merlin-- I hope he won't at all.

I rearranged the bed pillows for the sixth time, trying to distract myself from my thoughts.

The door's key noise disturbs my thoughts as Regulus steps into the room.

"Hi," I rub my hands down the front of my dress.

We stare awkwardly at one another for a moment before he speaks.

"I've been thinking about traveling outside of Paris. Would you be interested in extending our-- honeymoon?" 

I'm taken aback by his sudden choice in conversation, "Where outside of Paris?"

"We can go wherever you please," he holds my hand, pulling me closer to his chest. This is the closest we've been since before he committed to trying our relationship out.

I clear my throat, "I-- guess that I'm just not really picky about where we go."

He smiles, "Well, then I guess you'll just have to trust that the places I want to go are places you want to go."

***

Together we pack up our belongings, casually swapping small talk.

"Do you want to write to your parents?" Regulus looks up from packing his trunk. "I mean, you haven't seen them since the wedding."

"What?" I give him a weird look, "No. I don't have anything to say to them."

Regulus looks slightly alarmed, "What do you mean?" 

"No offense to you, but my parents practically forced me to marry you. I'm not too keen on speaking with them right now."

"You shouldn't just-- I mean, they're your parents."

"Doesn't mean what they did wasn't insensitive. I wasn't theirs to just... give away."

He reflects on my words before taking my hand in his, squeezing comfortingly, "Sorry."

"For what? I know you were coerced into marrying me. It's not your fault."

"I know that. And at some level, I was pushed towards-- doing the right thing-- but I also had the right to refuse, and you were not granted such a right."

I nod, looking away as tears threatened at the corners of my eyes, "It doesn't matter--"

"No, it does matter. You do matter." I meet his eyes. They're steely, the furrowed brow and sour expression I know are not for me. "Don't you see why I use the bloody contraception charms now? They've taken too much from us already (y/n). They're not going to take that away from us as well."

I blink again, "That's why?"

"Of course it's why. We're not-- we're people for Merlin's sake. You're not property (y/n). I won't let anyone treat my wife like that." I'm not sure what to say to him. Thank you? Maybe that would be appropriate. "Besides, we're too young to think of such things. Maybe in ten years--"

"Ten years?" I laugh, "you really think I can keep them at bay for ten whole years? Your mother would be calling in every fertility specialist in the wizarding world, insistent that something must be wrong with me. Certainly, she wouldn't believe the problem was you."

Regulus sighs, "Okay, fine. Not ten years, maybe-- five?"

"Regulus," I laugh, "I know you don't like it. I am completely aware that you don't like being pushed around and knowing that I feel bad for trying to trick you into doing what I wish. But, like you said earlier. You can refuse, do as you please, but I only have one option laid out before me as your wife. And, I can't wait forever for you. I don't have that option. In a much wider social stance, people will talk and make my life miserable. Along with that, your mother and my own will also make my life miserable. There's nothing I'd like to do more than to-- take time for us, or even just me, but that just isn't the life we can lead."

Regulus looks down at his packing. I have to change the subject, feeling that we've exhausted this conversation enough for now.

"Who are you sending letters to?" 

Regulus looks up, "Well, the first one was for my brother, and the one this morning was for my parents."

"Oh, I didn't know you were talking to your brother." I'm suddenly reminded that Regulus hadn't answered my questions.

"So..."

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you now to tell me about your childhood now?"

Regulus looks uncomfortable immediately. He rubs the back of his neck, "Um-- Sure."

I reach for his arm, hoping that my touch is just a little bit comforting, "You don't have to, Regulus. If you don't want to."

"No," his eyes look so... serious as he collects his thoughts, "I want to be honest with you, and this is a part of who I am." I smile at him, my fingers moving to intertwine with his. "My parents are-- well, they clearly are in a situation like ours. Except it has been a very long time now, and nothing good came from the union."

"Well, not exactly nothing," I squeeze his hand.

Regulus rolls his eyes, "I'm not sure Sirius and I are something good, but okay, yes. Not everything was bad if you insist." His reserved smile has butterflies exploding in my stomach. "Anyways, my father has always chosen to be... well, he's always strayed from my mother. Even when I was a child, I'm sure he chose to be unfaithful even before Sirius and I. And-- uh..."

"What?" I'm not sure I want to know. He's developed a pink flush on his cheeks, not meeting my eye suddenly.

"Well, I was just going to-- confess, I suppose, about his favorite whorehouse."

Frowning, I ask what he means by confessing? What in the world is the connection between Orion's favorite whorehouse and Regulus.

It dawns on me exactly what he's confessing to, right as he speaks.

Regulus reddens further, "I'm sure you understand where I am going..."

I guess I have no reason to be upset over Regulus's past trysts. He was older than me, and most importantly, he was a pureblood man who was expected to... well, act as a pureblood man acts. And that included sleeping around as a bachelor, or in the Black family's case, sleeping with a select group of people their patriarch has chosen.

"Orion thought that we should uh-- learn in preparation for our marriages. Get out any wildness in our systems with the protection of women who were paid and wouldn't try to blackmail with a bastard child." 

I feel the cold glacial feeling of guilt rise up from the pit of my stomach all the way to my skin. Had I been-- Had I been causing him to relive a painful moment when I demanded--?

"And well, there are plenty of other things that were-- questionable about my parent's parenting style. My mother, you probably recognize she is a cruel, cold woman. A part of our recently exchanged letters, my brother and I were talking about a memory of our mother. Before she was the woman, you know, she was, well, a much more loving mother to the both of us. You actually were the one who brought forth the memory."

"I did?"

Regulus nods, reaching to cup my cheek in his hand, "It was the night we went to that-- the restaurant my father suggested. You said something about-- uh, a potential child giving you the love you seek from me."

I look away, feeling embarrassed by my words. To some extent, I do-- or did believe that having Regulus's heir, that a child's love could replace the feelings that should be between us as a couple.

"I--" I'm not even sure what to say. "That was wrong of me. I mean, eventually, it has to happen but pushing you-- or well attempting to trick you actually, because I thought..." What did I think? That he was hopeless? That I'd be stuck in a marriage that would parallel his parents and every other miserable Pureblood couple that has come before us.

"You have to remember that I am far from-- where you want me to be." Regulus's thumb traces under my eye, "But I certain I want what you've been asking me for."

***

Our packing takes longer than we'd expected as we spend more moments in conversation about our pasts, present, and hopeful future.

Regulus tells me about his first owl, a little brown owl originally named Maverick but nicknamed Rick because Regulus hadn't been able to pronounce it at age six. He tells me about family vacations that ended in disaster and his first date with a half-blood girl in year four that went terribly wrong. He reluctantly tells me about losing his virginity after I argue he already knew my story. With each moment, I feel more connected to him. How you feel at the beginning of the relationship when you're getting to know someone, the silly stuff that matters because you want to know them.

Checking out of the hotel is a bit-- strange, to say the least. As my husband talks to the witch at the front desk, who introduced herself to me as Seren, has been grinning an extra amount at Regulus, who appears to be oblivious to the flirtatious nature of the girl.

I'm surprised by the annoyance I feel as she flirts with my husband right in front of me. Without a second thought, I reach for his hand. I make sure that the ring Regulus gave me is obviously placed as I look Seren straight in the eye. Her eyes fall on the large purple jewel before her eyes shoot back up to mine. She at least has the decency to look embarrassed, her cheeks pinkening. Regulus frowns slightly at the interaction before going back to paying the witch.

I can't say that I'm not glad when we officially check out and walk out of the door. The jealousy is alarming, but what am I supposed to do when someone is ogling my husband? 

"I'm not completely oblivious, you know." Regulus glances at me, a small amused smile on his face.

"To what? The girl flirting with you?"

He chuckles, "That and your possessive behavior."

I look at him outraged, "I was not possessive."

He holds up my hand, "What was this about then? You casually wanted to hold my hand?"

"So what if I did?" 

Regulus rolls his eyes, "If that's what you really believe you were doing and not claiming me--"

"Claiming you?" I snatch my hand away.

"What else are you doing when you're showing off that ring?"

"I'm hardly claiming you. She was just-- too comfortable for my liking."

Regulus makes a sound in the back of his throat, "If you say so."

I bite the inside of my cheek, "Why didn't you do anything?"

He tries to hide a smile, "I hardly was indulging her."

"You didn't tell her to--" fuck off.

"I guarantee you, my dear wife, I have been deflecting her attempts all week." Oh, so maybe this wasn't exactly Regulus's fault... completely.

"You have?"

He stops me on the sidewalk, "Yes, of course. Do you really think I would flirt with another woman? Especially now?"

I shrug, "I guess-- no. I don't think you'd do that."

He shakes his head, "Of course I wouldn't."

***

I hold (y/n) tight against my chest as I apparate us to our new destination, remembering how she reacted the last time we apparated. 

The moment we're safely on the ground, I continue to hold her, asking quietly if she's okay in a hushed tone. (y/n) nods, her fingers gripping the sleeve of my coat.

For a second, I contemplate pressing a kiss to her temple as I rub my hand up and down her back, but I stop myself before I go through with the reaction. Even with the small progress we've made, it feels too intimate, even as a gesture of comfort. 

"Tell me when you're ready," I whisper.

Slowly, (y/n) pulls away from my embrace, (y/e/c) eyes opening hesitantly.

"I really don't like it." She says hesitantly.

"I can tell." We stand still for another beat before she confirms she is in better shape.

"Where are we?"

"Cork, Ireland." 

Her eyes widen with curiosity, "Really? I've never been. Dad's been a few times, but obviously, with school and other things, I hadn't had the chance to successfully convince him to take me with."

"So there were places you wished to visit." I can't help but tease her as she prattles on about the things her father has told her about the city we're visiting.

"Of course, but you spring things on me too quickly. I can never recall things when I've been surprised."

I chuckle, "Fair enough. We should check in soon; it's nearly ten. Whoever's running the front desk won't be happy we've arrived so late."

***

By the time we've checked in and opened the door to the suite, it's nearing ten-thirty. 

(y/n) takes a quick peek around the room before turning back towards me, "I suppose we should unpack--"

I don't let her finish the statement as I take two large steps towards her, cupping her face in my hands and kissing her soundly on the mouth. She makes a sound of surprise but doesn't pull away or smack me or something she ought to do, really. I'm not even sure where this need to kiss her came from. Maybe the way the soft light of the dimmed bedroom lights landed across her person, making her picturesque, ethereal even.

All I do know is that I must have her this instant. Must feel her soft skin under my fingers, feel her silken warmth as we move together atop the sheets of the hotel bed.

I have to have her, and I can only hope she feels the same way.

Tentatively, I run my hand down her spine, fiddling with the ridiculous amount of buttons that I could easily open with the flick of my wand. Something about the thought of painstakingly unbuttoning each individual button was incredibly erotic.

"I can never seem to control myself when you're around," I whisper as I kiss below her jaw. The way she seems to melt under the words has me smiling against her neck as I continue to kiss down to her exposed collarbone. These damn dresses she wears always showed off just enough cleavage to draw my eyes towards the neckline. "Do you wear these dresses on purpose? Torturing me all day, having to see only the tops of your breasts." Her breath hitches, egging me on. "Do you like it when I talk about your body like that? Like the way, just the sight of some of your naked flesh has me turned on? Hm?"

"Regulus--" My name comes from her lips like a prayer. 

"Tell me what you want." My hands worship her body, squeezing her covered tits. I would do anything to get this blasted dress off of her.

"I-- I want you."

"Want me to do what? Use your words, kitten."

Her lips, red and abused, open and close attractively once or twice before she finds her words, "I want you to fuck me."

"Fuck you? You want my cock, huh? Is that it? In any way that I'll give it to you?"

She blinks, a bit confused, but nods. I can't believe I've rendered my wife so speechless, so cock-hungry she can barely articulate what she wants.

"Let's get this off then," I tug at the neckline of her dress, "turn around, kitten." She quickly obeys, and I get to work on the buttons, finding I can release her from her dress easier than I had previously imagined. 

The fabric hits the floor as I gaze at her naked back, "turn back around. Think you've teased me enough. I want to see those tits."

Slowly, she faces me once again.

"I think I wanna fuck these," I say as I reacquaint myself with the feeling of her breasts in my hands.

"You want to-- what?" I often forget that my wife's sexual experience starts and ends with what we've done. She's looking at me like I've said something odd.

"You want me to show you? I think you'd look lovely with my cock between your breasts." I discard my pants, shirt, and jacket, pulling her towards the bed, lightly guiding her down to the floor as I sit.

"What about fucking me?" She frowns up at me.

I chuckle at her indignant frown, "Don't worry, darling. I plan on cumming inside of you. Now, push your tits together nice and tight around me. There we go."

Hesitantly, she does as I say. The sight alone has me twitching. 

Gently, I thrust up. If I thought the view before was good, seeing her innocent face watch as I seek pleasure from a new place on her body. She's radiant, on her knees, watching my cock disappear and reappear. 

"Do you like that, darling? Like watching?"

Her eyes flit up to meet mine, "Yes." It takes nearly everything within me not to cum on the spot. Merlin, what was this girl doing to me?

"Do you want me to fuck you, kitten?" I hold her chin, so she has to look at me.

"Obviously." There's that attitude I expect. Chuckling, I pull her from her knees, maneuvering her on her back.

"So impatient. Just itching to feel me deep inside ya, huh?" She nods, "words, darling."

"Yes, please."

The first inches feel like coming home. She makes those breathy noises I love, pleading with me for more, to give her everything and anything I can. 

It's a symphony in the room, the headboard of the old creaky bed knocking against the wallpapered wall, the noises (y/n) makes every time she moves her hips against mine... There's no doubt that we're alerting the rest of the occupants exactly what we're doing in room twelve. 

This thought stirs something inside of me. Clumsily, my fingers find her clit hoping to get her exactly where I'm at.

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop--" her voice is utterly fucked as she practically chants these words.

"Cum for me, kitten. Don't hold back." Merlin-- please don't hold back.

If our neighbors weren't aware of the little-- musical act happening in our room, they were now. (y/n) writhes beneath me, fingernails digging into the small of my back.

"Fuck--" I don't hold back as she clenches down hard. 

Was it ever this good with someone else? I can't think of a single woman who makes me cum as hard as I do with (y/n).

As the weaker aftershocks continue to rack my body, I lay down next to her, pulling her into my embrace. I reach for my wand in my discarded jacket, silently casting the charm.

(y/n) looks like she wants to say something, but I stop her, kissing her forehead.

"I promise, someday. But not today." (y/n) doesn't say anything but nods as she gets more comfortable in my arms. "You know, this is the first time we've done this."

"What do you mean?" (y/n) laughs, "we've done this a few times now."

"Not that. I mean, usually, one of us runs off after we've done that. This is the first time you're voluntarily in my arms."

(y/n) makes a soft noise of agreement, "That's true."

I smile. This was progress.

[bamf-jaskier]

What the fuck are the Trials

Since the show is based on the books and not the games, and more people are more familiar with the games that the books, I thought it might be helpful to sort of officialize the posts I’ve done about specific topics in the books. 

Here are the previous posts on Triss&Geralt as well as Coën

TLDR: So looking at this process, according to the books the way a Witcher becomes, well a Witcher looks like this:

There is the Choice which is the decision to become a Witcher made when you are a child

Eat a lot of magic mushrooms that give you the strength and ability Witchers are known for

Then the Trial of the Grasses which is a concoction of mutagenic elixirs injected into the bloodstream which mutates you into a Witcher

Then finally there are the Changes. This is a big step and one that requires a mage. This is when the hormones are changed and a Witcher becomes permanently sterile

then there is training until you earn your medallion and BOOM, out onto the path with you

Now, have a post about what the trials are as far as the books are concerned

It’s important to note that in the books, The Witcher are a dying breed so the Trials are really only mentioned in Blood of Elves when Ciri trains with the Witchers and the two prequels, Sword of Destiny and The Last Wish. 

Let’s start out with the basics of the Trials, here is a passage from Blood of Elves where Triss is wondering why the Witchers at Kaer Morhen are being so secretive in regards to Ciri:

“It’s obvious. They want to mutate the child, subject her to the Trial of Grasses and Changes, but they don’t know how to do it. Vesemir was the only witcher left from the previous generation, and he was only a fencing instructor. The Laboratorium, hidden in the vaults of Kaer Morhen, with its dusty demi-johns of elixirs, the alembics, ovens and retorts… 

None of the witchers knew how to use them. The mutagenic elixirs had been concocted by some renegade wizard in the distant past and then perfected over the years by the wizard’s successors, who had, over the years, magically controlled the process of Changes to which children were subjected. And at a vital moment the chain had snapped. 

There was no more magical knowledge or power. The witchers had the herbs and Grasses, they had the Laboratorium. They knew the recipe. But they had no wizard.”

Later:

“And now they want to mutate the girl but can’t. And that might mean… They may ask me to help. And then I’ll see something no living wizard has seen, I’ll learn something no living wizard has learned. Their famous Grasses and herbs, the secret virus cultures, the renowned, mysterious recipes…”

Now, what Triss doesn’t realize is that Geralt and the others are not planning on subjecting Ciri to the trials at all but are instead trying to hide Ciri’s magical ability from Triss. They are worried she will report them to the Chapter. 

Of course, until they tell Triss this, she is deeply suspicious and goes on to talk about the mushrooms Witchers have access to which are extremely unique. 

“Of course, thought Triss. They’re feeding her those legendary cave saprophytes – a mountain plant unknown to science – giving her the famous infusions of their mysterious herbs to drink. The girl is developing quickly, is acquiring a witcher’s infernal fitness. Naturally, without the mutation, without the risk, without the hormonal upheaval. But the magician must not know this. It is to be kept a secret from the magician. They aren’t going to tell me anything; they aren’t going to show me anything.”

Later:

“I don’t give a fig for your trust, witchers. There’s cancer out there in the world, smallpox, tetanus and leukaemia, there are allergies, there’s cot death. And you’re keeping your “mushrooms”, which could perhaps be distilled and turned into life-saving medicines, hidden away from the world. You’re keeping them a secret even from me, and others to whom you declare your friendship, respect and trust. Even I’m forbidden to see not just the Laboratorium, but even the bloody mushrooms!”

Triss as a mage has extreme bias against the Trials and for good reason! Most of the populace doesn’t have access to any information on the Trials outside of vague ideas but Mages have access to first hand accounts such as this from Blood of Elves: 

“On the third day all the children died save one, a male barely ten. Hitherto agitated by a sudden madness, he fell all at once into deep stupor. His eyes took on a glassy gaze; incessantly with his hands did he clutch at clothing, or brandish them in the air as if desirous of catching a quill. His breathing grew loud and hoarse; sweat cold, clammy and malodorous appeared on his skin. Then was he once more given elixir through the vein and the seizure it did return. This time a nose-bleed did ensue, coughing turned to vomiting, after which the male weakened entirely and became inert.

For two days more did symptoms not subside. The child’s skin, hitherto drenched in sweat, grew dry and hot, the pulse ceased to be full and firm – albeit remaining of average strength, slow rather than fast. No more did he wake, nor did he scream.

Finally, came the seventh day. The male awoke and opened his eyes, and his eyes were as those of a viper…”

~Carla Demetia Crest, The Trial of Grasses and other secret Witcher practices, seen with my own eyes, manuscript exclusively accessible to the Chapter of Wizards

When most people think of the Trials, they are thinking similarly to Queen Calanthe in Sword of Destiny. 

Here is what Calanthe says to Geralt when talking about what he might do with his child surprise: 

“You are astonished,’ she stated. ‘Well, I’ve studied a little. Since Pavetta’s child has the chance of becoming a witcher, I went to great pains. My sources, Geralt, reveal nothing, however, regarding how many children in ten withstand the Trial of the Grasses. Would you like to satisfy my curiosity in this regard?’

‘O Queen,’ Geralt said, clearing his throat. ‘You certainly went to sufficient pains in your studies to know that the code and my oath forbid me from even uttering that name, much less discussing it.’

Calanthe stopped the swing abruptly by jabbing a heel into the ground. ‘Three, at most four in ten,’ she said, nodding her head in feigned pensiveness. 

‘A stringent selection, very stringent, I’d say, and at every stage. First the Choice and then the Trials. And then the Changes. How many youngsters ultimately receive medallions and silver swords? One in ten? One in twenty?”

Later Calanthe asks Geralt:

“Do you believe a Child of Destiny would pass through the Trials without danger?’

‘We believe such a child would not require the Trials.’

‘One question, Geralt. Quite a personal one. May I?’

He nodded.

‘There is no better way to pass on hereditary traits than the natural way, as we know. You went through the Trials and survived. So if you need a child with special qualities and endurance… Why don’t you find a woman who… I’m tactless, aren’t I? But I think I’ve guessed, haven’t I?’

‘As usual,’ he said, smiling sadly, ‘you are correct in your deductions, Calanthe. You guessed right, of course. What you’re suggesting is impossible for me.’

‘Forgive me,’ she said, and the smile vanished from her face. ‘Oh, well, it’s a human thing.’

‘It isn’t human.’

‘Ah… So, no witcher can—’

‘No, none. The Trial of the Grasses, Calanthe, is dreadful. And what is done to boys during the time of the Changes is even worse. And irreversible.”

Later:

“The risks are too great,’ Geralt said quickly. ‘As you said. At most, four out of ten survive.’

‘Dammit, is only the Trial of the Grasses hazardous? Do only potential witchers take risks? Life is full of hazards, selection also occurs in life, Geralt. Misfortune, sicknesses and wars also select. Defying destiny may be just as hazardous as succumbing to it. Geralt… I would give you the child. But… I’m afraid, too.’

Then in The Last Wish, Geralt describes his own experiences with The Trials:

“Kaer Morhen…That's where the likes of me were produced. It's not done anymore; no one lives in Kaer Morhen now. No one but Vesemir. Who's Vesemir? My father. Why are you so surprised? What's so strange about it? Everyone's got a father, and mine is Vesemir. And so what if he's not my real father? I didn't know him, or my mother. I don't even know if they're still alive, and I don't much care.

“Yes, Kaer Morhen. I underwent the usual mutation there, through the Trial of Grasses, and then hormones, herbs, viral infections. And then through them all again. And again, to the bitter end. Apparently, I took the changes unusually well; I was only ill briefly. I was considered to be an exceptionally resilient brat…and was chosen for more complicated experiments as a result. They were worse. Much worse. But, as you see, I survived. The only one to live out of all those chosen for further trials. My hair's been white ever since. Total loss of pigmentation. A side effect, as they say. A trifle.

“Then they taught me various things until the day when I left Kaer Morhen and took to the road. I’d earned my medallion, the Sign of the Wolf's School. I had two swords: silver and iron, and my conviction, enthusiasm, incentive and…faith. Faith that I was needed in a world full of monsters and beasts, to protect the innocent. As I left Kaer Morhen, I dreamed of meeting my first monster. I couldn't wait to stand eye to eye with him. And the moment arrived.”

So looking at this process, according to the books the way a Witcher becomes, well a Witcher looks like this:

There is the Choice which is the decision to become a Witcher made when you are a child

Eat a lot of magic mushrooms that give you the strength and ability Witchers are known for 

Then the Trial of the Grasses which is a concoction of mutagenic elixirs injected into the bloodstream which mutates you into a Witcher 

Then finally there are the Changes. This is a big step and one that requires a mage. This is when the hormones are changed and a Witcher becomes permanently sterile

then there is training until you earn your medallion and BOOM, out onto the path with you

This is why it’s such a big deal that Triss was brought to Kaer Morhen. Without a mage, someone cannot become a full Witcher and Triss believed that was why she was there. Of course, this wasn’t true but it’s a valid concern to have. 

One thing I want to note, there is absolutely NOTHING in the text that says that being a Witcher is limited to any sort of gender boundary. The fact that Triss so readily jumped to Ciri becoming a Witcher and the fact that Geralt didn’t specify  boys until he was talking about the sterilization process...well, there is a likelihood female Witchers actually existed. 

Again, in the books Witchers are a dying breed and you can literally count on one hand the number of Witchers we meet. Of course, considering mages are the ones who made Witchers, it makes sense that female Witchers are either strongly discouraged, banned or simply not talked about. 

One big point Triss has against Ciri’s training is that she won’t “develop” correctly like a woman “should” due to the mushrooms and harsh training and considering how so many northern mages place importance on beauty I could definitely see mages not wanting to have female Witchers, considering it a “perversion”. 

Just a fun thought I often have about the books that I haven’t seen anyone point out. 

So overall, here is what the books have to say about the Trials, it’s a touch different from the games but I find this very fascinating and interesting. Let me know if you want me to do a specific topic or relationship next, but for now, thanks for reading!

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: Here We Go Again

Guess who’s back, baby!!!

←Previous - Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: hella noncon touching (unsexy), dehumanization/objectification, “it” as a forced pronoun

I am a person. A human being. I have very normal arms and legs that are the same bronze color as the rest of me. My nails are all...nail colored. Clear? They’re not black. Because I’m a person. Erebus. I’m not...not a prince anymore, but I’m still me. Even if my eyes are white and my teeth are sharp and my tongue is black, I’m still a human inside. Not a monster.

Hesitantly, Erebus opened his eyes and looked down at his right arm. For the first time in over a month, it actually looked normal, and although something was still definitely off about it, he was more than happy with this for now. As long as he believed the person he was inside was still human, his arm wouldn’t look like it had been dipped in blood, which was something. When Neteri came in, he held it up excitedly.

“Neteri, look, I got it to change!”

She smiled broadly and clapped her hands together. “That’s wonderful, Erebus! Let me see.” She came over and gently took his arm, examining it all over, splaying out his fingers and looking at his nails, rubbing his skin, and rolling up his sleeve to expose the gnarled scar below his shoulder from the amputation. It was less jarring to look at now that his flesh wasn’t changing color around it. “Good, good,” she muttered to herself before looking back at him. “How did you do it?”

“I just, uh...thought about how...how I’m not a monster.”

Neteri smiled at him warmly. “That’s right, you’re not!” She petted the top of his head, and he resisted the urge to lean into it. “And the fact that you’re a person will be especially important for you to remember today.”

“Uh...why?”

Neteri nervously rubbed her hands together. “So...remember how I said I’d have to let Hjáll look at you again at some point in the future?”

“Is it some point in the future now?”

“Yeah. Like right now.” She pulled the leash out of her bag, and he leaned away from her. “Come on, Erebus. I’ll be right there with you the whole time, and I won’t let her do anything awful. It’ll just be...a lot of touching. But not everywhere. Just where I’ve done things to you. So you’ve already been touched there before, at least by me, though I guess-” 

“Shut up, Neteri, I’ll go.” He sighed in defeat and got up, letting her attach the infernal thing to his neck once again. 

Erebus tried as best he could to calm his nerves as they walked along. He wasn’t exactly excited about seeing Hjáll again, even though he knew it wouldn’t be nearly as bad as last time. He wouldn’t be alone with that woman since Neteri would be there to supervise, and he figured she wouldn’t let Hjáll hurt him, either. But he still really didn’t want her to touch him all over or talk about him like he was some sort of...beast, and that was going to happen no matter what. Hopefully...hopefully he wouldn’t be forced to wear that awful muzzle again, at the very least.

They arrived at a door, and once Neteri ushered him in, he froze at the sight of the room beyond. It was bare save for two posts with manacles dangling from them and a chain with a hook attached to it hanging from the ceiling. He’d figured he was going to be restrained for this, but he’d thought it would be a chair or the table or something where he’d be less...exposed. Still, he let Neteri lead him to stand between the posts, watching a moment as she swatted at the small hook hanging from the ceiling, still unable to reach it even on her tiptoes. Sighing, he reached up and grabbed it with ease. “What do you want with this?” She smiled and hesitantly held up the leash.

“Um, well, if you could just...attach this to that...no, not the end, do it so it’s, uh, tight-not too tight, I don’t want you to choke yourself, just so it’s hard for you to move...yeah. Wait, shoot.”

“What?”

“Could you, uh, take your shirt off?”

“Do I have t-”

“Yes.” Erebus sighed, reaching up to unhook the leash, but he stopped midway and just unclipped it from the front of his collar. After pulling his shirt off, he simply crossed his arms and looked down at Neteri, careful not to look at his chest. He was not putting the leash back on himself. She rolled her eyes and reattached it before gently taking his wrists and pulling them out to either side, chaining them to the pillars he was standing in between. He resisted the urge to squirm, clenching his fists as she secured his ankles as well. He felt so exposed like this, but he was completely helpless to cover any part of himself.

While waiting for Hjáll to show up, Neteri ducked under his arm and stood behind him, no doubt looking at his scarred back. Erebus shuddered as she traced a finger down his spine, but if she noticed his discomfort, she paid it no mind. He looked back at her as best he could with his collar and the chain attached to it in the way. “What...what are you doing?”

“Just...looking,” Neteri hummed, her fingers still tracing along lightly. “Your next procedure will be on your back.” He gulped, wondering if she was going to mess with his spine given how much attention she was paying it. 

“What are you going to-”

“It’s a secret.” 

“Of course it is,” he sighed, and Neteri laughed lightly in response. Her touch moved from his spine to the whip scars crisscrossing his back. He’d always tried not to dwell on them, and he’d honestly only really looked at them once, towards the beginning of his time here. There were a lot of things he wanted to forget about that day, and being whipped was one of them.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stop them sooner,” Neteri blurted. “Not that you should’ve been whipped at all, but the Emperor wanted you to be…” He felt her hand clench into a fist against his back. “To be honest, I mostly stopped them because...because I wanted you, and I didn’t want them to hurt you more than I could fix easily. Because they were damaging something that might be mine. But I shouldn't've-”

Neteri was cut off by the door opening and Hjáll walking in, who immediately regarded Erebus with suspicion. “I thought I told you to put a muzzle on it, Neteri.” Neteri, who had come back in front of Erebus, simply crossed her arms.

“And I told you that two of the procedures were inside of his mouth, so I don’t know how you’d be able to conduct a proper examination if you couldn’t see half of what I’ve done. Besides, he can’t bite you unless you put your hands near his mouth. Not that he’ll bite you at all,” she looked up at Erebus, eyes narrowed, “right, Erebus?”

He rolled his eyes, not that either of them could tell since he didn’t have pupils anymore. “Yeah, I won’t bite.” He honestly had been considering biting Hjáll if she put her hand in his mouth, but he’d play nice since Neteri asked and would therefore probably punish him if he disobeyed. She might also just laugh about it after, but he didn’t want to risk making his situation any worse.

“See? He’s a good boy. So, let’s get started.” Neteri pulled on her gloves. “I’m sure you’ve noticed his fangs by now.” She reached up into his mouth, her finger pressing against the back of one of them. “I went with relatively short ones so they wouldn’t affect his speech and salivation too greatly, but they’re still quite sharp.”

“They’re the pride component, are they not?” Hjáll asked as she tentatively reached her own gloved finger into his mouth. Erebus opened wider and looked firmly at the corner, already very much not enjoying this. And he was certain the objectification was only just beginning.

After they finished talking about his teeth, they moved to his tongue. Neteri gently pulled it out of his mouth, something that never failed to give him flashbacks to when she’d cut off his human one. She seemed to be able to tell, giving him a reassuring pat before beginning to speak. “This was the first procedure I did, and it’s the gluttony component.”

“Huh. The shape’s so different that I can really only tell that from the color. Oh, I suppose it has the ridges as well.”

“Yeah, I had to modify the shape a bit before putting it in. I wanted him to be able to speak without much issue.”

“I still don’t understand why you want it to talk.”

“Erebus is very helpful!” Neteri let go of his tongue, and he quickly pulled it back in and shut his mouth, deciding to just not get involved in this particular conversation. “He tells me a lot of things I wouldn’t have been able to pick up on through observation alone. Thanks to him, I have a really good understanding on how all the procedures have affected him and how the demon components operate. Besides,” she smiled up at him, “I like talkin’ to him.”

Hjáll raised an eyebrow. “I hope this...attachment to your subject isn’t interfering with your work, Neteri.”

“It isn’t! Everything has proceeded as planned so far, and you know I’m good at putting aside my personal feelings”

“Still...this is why I recommend you just break it. It will make this all that much easier for you. If you’d just put it in my care for a few weeks,” she grabbed Erebus’s chin, looking him right in the eye, “I’d shatter it into perfect, empty compliance. No personality left to get attached to.”

“If I wanted him broken and compliant I already would have done it,” Neteri said coldly as she swatted Hjáll’s hand away from Erebus. “And I have plans in place in case he gives me reason to change my mind.” Erebus shuddered at that, gripping the chains tightly in his fists. What...what would Neteri do to him if she wanted to...to break him? He’d seen that same look in her eyes when she’d threatened to vivisect him if he tried to run, so he could only imagine what other awful things like that she might do to him...it made him more determined than ever to just suck up what little pride he had left and behave.

They moved to his eyes next, both of them now touching his face far too much for his comfort. He resumed staring at the corner, trying very hard not to focus on how close Hjáll’s face was to his since she wasn’t that much shorter than him. 

“He’s immune to visually activated petrification now, and he can see pretty well in the dark and underwater, despite the modifications I made to adjust them for surface conditions. It’s likely he can’t see in the dark as well as he’d be able to if I hadn’t done that, but that’s not really a big deal. You can’t really tell where he’s looking, though, watch. Look at me, Erebus.” He did so, and she nodded. “If he did it, I can’t tell. Look at Hjáll now.” Begrudgingly, he complied. Her thin eyes were a piercing green, and he would’ve found them rather pretty if they belonged to anyone but her. She smiled.

“I can tell it’s looking at me from how red its face is getting. So shy,” she crooned, trailing a finger down his bare chest. The chains held him in place, rendering him powerless to swat her away or even step back, so he just glared at her, trying his best to hide his discomfort. She chuckled, her touch moving to his right arm. “I see progress has been made with this arm. It was still red last time I examined your subject.”

“Yes, that was actually a pretty recent breakthrough! We discovered it’s related to how he perceives himself, but we’ll need to work with it further to fully understand how it operates.” Hjáll narrowed her eyes as she examined his now human-looking arm.

“So you’re saying it perceives itself as human?”

Neteri’s gazes hardened. “Yes, Hjáll, Erebus is a human being. Unlike you, I don’t experiment with my subject’s souls.” She sighed. “Are you satisfied with your examination?”

“I suppose. I did enjoy the chance to get a good look at it without all the...problems it posed last time.” She leaned towards him, placing a hand on his chest again. “Though I must say, it’d be so much more fun to have your little monster all to myself.”

“Erebus is not a monster, and he is mine,” Neteri growled, worming her way between him and Hjáll. “He always will be.” He felt his stomach drop at that; Neteri’s extreme possessiveness of him was one thing he could never get used to.

“Maybe someday you’ll change your mind. Until next time, then.” Both of them visibly relaxed once she was gone. Neteri started freeing Erebus from the restraints, giving him a concerned look.

“You okay? You were kinda quiet.”

“I’m...I’m fine. I just...didn’t have anything I really wanted to say. Anything that wouldn’t have made her slap me again, anyway.” He rubbed his sore wrists as she crouched to free his ankles.

“Did she slap you the first time?”

“Yeah. For ‘talking back’.”

“Oh, sun forbid test subjects be people.” Erebus opened his mouth to object, but then closed it. He, Neteri, and Hjáll all had very different opinions on that statement, and all of them were set in their beliefs enough that there wasn’t much use arguing. It was sort of funny that he and Hjáll both disagreed with that particular sentence, but for wildly different reasons. And while they were still in the subject of her...

“Neteri...is there any, um...is there any way Hjáll could…could actually...get me?” She finished unchaining his ankles and stood, looking up at him as she slowly shook her head.

“I don’t think so. You’re legally my property, despite…” she ran her finger down the center of his brand. “I can’t think of why she’d have any claim to you. I suppose possession of you would revert to the state if something were to happen to me, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you’d become hers. But don’t worry,” she cupped his cheek in her hand, “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. And while I’m still here, I promise I’ll never hand you over to her. Unless you wanted me to for some bizarre reason.”

He shook his head. “I’d sooner ask for you to parade me around the streets of Nathar on the leash. But...thanks.” She nodded, and after he’d gotten his shirt back on, they returned to his cell.

“Now, I’ve got one more thing on the agenda for you today,” Neteri muttered as she dug around in her bag. Erebus watched her warily, hoping it wasn’t anything painful. “Are you going to sit still for this?” she asked as she pulled out a pair of shears. The same shears that she’d used to... Erebus flinched, his hands instinctively moving to cover his mouth.

“Um, you’re not-”

“No, no, not your tongue, silly. Your hair’s just gotten long.” Erebus lowered his arms, momentary panic starting to subside. His hair. Right. She had mentioned something about it the other day. He ran a hand through it.

“Oh. I mean, it really...hasn’t. Do I have to keep it short?” 

Neteri nodded. “Long hair gets in the way, especially with some of the stuff I have planned.”

“Stuff like what?”

“Stuff...involving the back of your neck. And the sides of your head.”

“The sides of my…” he clamped his hands on either side of his head, right above his ears. “Are you going to give me horns?!” Neteri smiled suspiciously and shrugged.

“Perhaps.” His hands twisted in his hair as a low whine emitted from his throat. “You’ll be fine, Erebus, I can get rid of them once the experiment is over. They won’t be that big. And you can grow your hair out again when this is over if you want to, I don’t really care. So come on, are you gonna let me cut it?”

He sighed. “Fine.” She had him sit in one of the chairs, and he clenched his fists in his lap as she threw a towel over his shoulders. At least he wasn’t tied up this time.

Neteri’s hand slid under his chin, gently tilting it up until he was staring straight ahead instead of at the floor. “Keep your chin up for me, okay?” She ran her hand through his hair, humming slightly. “Mmm, it’s always so silky.”

Erebus wished something as simple as having his hair cut didn’t bring him close to tears. But the last time this happened, the last time she did this to him...it had been one of the worst days of his life. And it was just another reminder that he wasn’t in control of his body at all. He bit his lip as he watched the little black clippings flutter to the ground, careful not to tilt his head. Actually...maybe this was for the best. Prince Erebus had been beautiful, with blue eyes and long hair and a smile that wouldn’t make people scream and run. But that wasn’t who he was anymore. The body he had now, the monster, had empty white eyes and horrific scars and fangs and eventually horns and that was him now, that was who he was, so maybe having short hair would help him remember that, to keep them separate.

“Okay, perfect.” Neteri ruffled his hair before coming around in front of him, tilting his chin to admire her work. “Yeah, you look super cute! Or cool or whatever you want to be. It suits you.” 

“Thanks,” Erebus muttered as he got up to go look for himself while Neteri cleaned up. She’d cut it short, shorter than she had the first time, especially in the sides and back, but he understood why. And he supposed it did look good, even if he didn’t look like his old self one bit, but, honestly...that was okay. It made it easier for him to believe that that was someone else, just a nameless monster staring back at him with those blank white eyes. Prin-no, he was never going to be that again, ever Erebus was just going away for a while, but he’d see his own face again someday. But for now, he’d inhabit the body of the monster.

And until he was actually himself again, until he looked as human as he was inside because he was human, he was, he was okay with keeping his hair short.

Next→

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump @unicornscotty @thebewilderer​ @kixngiggles​ @itallstartedwithharry​​ @inky-whump​ @redstainedsocks​ @lonesome--hunter​ @his-unspoken-words​​ @lave-whump​ @susiequaz12

[movieexpert1978]

Oooh if you’re still doing fanfic prompts, would you write anything for Doc Ock? Cause I would like to request the hurt/comfort part 2 either 4 or 8 with him

Hello anon !!! I finally got a story written for you!!! I hope you enjoy it. I went with #4 "You don't have to be so brave when you're with me." The list is posted by @creativepromptsforwriting

There is some angst here, mention of character death, violence, blood and swearing. The perfect Doc Ock fic, lol. I hope you enjoy it.

Different Stages

She had met him more by accident when she had just finished a job. She was tucking her rifle away when she heard a constant thudding. It reminded her of the T-rex arrival in Jurassic Park. She kept her gun out as he arrived. She had seen the papers and he was the infamous Doctor Octopus as they had labeled him. Two mechanical arms were on the ground while the other two hung around his shoulders protectively.

“Are you going to shoot me?” He asked curiously.

“No, I don’t kill people for free.” She shrugged, lowering the rifle. He took off his sunglasses to look at her.

“You don’t look like an assassin.” He said.

“I know Doctor. That’s why I do it.” She smiled. An eyebrow arched curiously at her comment. “So just passing through?” She asked.

“Actually yes.”

“Well Doctor I won’t keep you. Have a nice day.” She said before leaving.

“Yes that was weird.” Otto said to the arms. There a few more encounters like that until he finally got her one quiet night.

“Are you stalking me Doctor?” She teased.

“Call me Otto.” He answered. “And…yes I supposed I am because I would like to know your name.”

“Call me Evee.” She answered.

“Like the Pokémon?” He asked surprised.

“Oh nice…you’re a bigger nerd than I thought.” She smirked.

“I’ve got a lot more time on my hands.” He shrugged.

“My full name is Evelyn, but I prefer Evee since I always have to change my look at times for a job.” She said, showing a wig. Her hair was short but had some dark orange highlights in it.

“Why the orange?”

“Fall is my favorite season.”

“It’s September.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re a Christmas person?” She huffed.

“No I prefer summer.” He stated.

“Hey if they can do fucking Christmas in July and have Christmas trees out at the end of September then I sure as hell can do my Halloween at the start of August.” She said defensively. Otto let out a genuine good belly laugh.

“Fair enough. That’s true.” He chuckled as he walked closer to her on his own legs.

“Why the sunglasses?”

“My eyes were damaged in an accident.”

“Oh that failed energy fusion thing?” She asked.

“Yes.” He nodded quietly. He noticed her eyes were an interesting shade of green. The arms stared at her curiously as well. One inched up to her and she held out her hand. It nudged it and she traced her fingertips along the metal.

“Are they alive?” She asked.

“In a sense yes, artificial intelligence.” He explained. “They’re surprised you’re not scared of them.” He added.

“I’ve seen people do a lot worse.” She shrugged.

“Is this your style, hanging on roof tops and shooting people?”

“It’s the most effective method.” She answered. “And I’m quite good at it.” She winked. “Can they come off?” She asked pointing to the arms.

“No.” He turned around and showed her the outer spinal column that had been fused into his spine. “That happened during the accident too.” He said before he turned around.

“Ouch, I’m sorry.” She said with sympathy, but he only shrugged.

“I can do a lot more now.” He said. “So Evee, do you live in the city?” He asked.

“Why ? You want a date?” She teased. He actually blushed.

“No, I just wanted to ask since we keep running into each other.” He said quickly.

“Well yes I do.” She smirked. She took out a notepad and wrote something on it. She walked over and put it in his coat pocket. “If you ever want to drop by.” She winked before she left.

Xxxxxxx

The October chill was starting to come and things were getting wet with the rain as well. Evee had finished another job and she started to walk home. Her rifle concealed in it’s long back pack. She stopped and sniffed the air. “Mmmm…rain is coming.” She said. She also noticed the smell of bad after shave as she started walking again. She knew she was being followed as the rain started to fall. She walked down a few back alleys she knew and tucked her rifle in a corner she knew wouldn’t be disturbed. She walked calmly as her other two guns hung on her hips under her long jacket. It wasn’t long before she heard footsteps. She wouldn’t be surprised if more people pooped out so she had to keep her eyes open.

“Fuck it.” She whispered to herself. She spun around with her guns and started shooting. She took out two before more men charged at her from the sides. She ducked and spun around one guy, using him as a shield as his companions still fired and killed him. Evee got off a few more shots before she was punched at from behind. She growled as she grabbed his arms and elbowed him right in the face and broke his nose. He shouted in pain as she shot him in the head. Evee shouted when one man plunged a knife deep in her hip and dragged it to make her bleed.

“Fucker!” She shouted and punched him right in the throat. He started gasping for breath as she shot him. A few more shots and the group was finally down, leaving her breathing hard. “Fuck!” She gritted as she stared at the infernal knife. She couldn’t take it out until she got to her apartment because that’s where her medical kit was. She was limping badly as she made her way back home and finally closed the door behind her. She stumbled into her bedroom and yanked the comforter off. It wasn’t the first time she had nights like this and it made her invest in black bed sheets to help deal with the blood. She got into a tang top and cut her pants off before grabbing the medical kit.

“What happened?” Someone spoke. Evee grabbed the knife at her nightstand and threw it. It was easily knocked out of the way by one of the arms.

“Otto…fuck…sorry…act first…think later.” She sighed.

“No hard feelings.” He said as he came over to her. “What happened?” He asked again.

“Got jumped by a few pros. They didn’t make it.” She smiled.

“Is this normal for you?” He asked.

“Happens at least once a year. People do it to cover their tracks or just want to get rid of the completion.” She shrugged. He couldn’t believe she was so casual about the whole thing, not to mention the knife still in her. “You wouldn’t happen to be a medical doctor too?” She asked with a smirk.

“I have picked up a few more medical skills. Could I tell you if you hit a vein? No. Could I stitch that up if you asked me…yes.” He stated.

“Thank you.” She sighed. He took his coat and gloves off, along with his sunglasses and rolled up his sleeves. “I’m not going to talk you through it.” She said.

“I don’t need you too.” He replied.

“Good, because I’m taking a shot of morphine.” She said as she dug through the bag.

“You’ve got morphine in there?” He gasped.

“Yeah, never leave home without it.” She grinned.

“Easy.” He said taking her hand. She looked at him and for the first time since they fight was she able to finally catch her breath. “You don’t have to be so brave when you’re with me.” He said gently.

“Thank you Otto.” She rasped quietly. After a few moments he helped her take her shot and laid her down on the bed. “Next time we have to have dinner first.” She mumbled before she fell asleep.

Xxxxxxx

She woke up with a hiss of throbbing pain in her leg. She looked down and saw a blanket on her. She pulled it off a bit and saw her wound all bandaged up. She looked at it puzzled for a moment as she started to remember last night.

“Thank you Otto.” She sighed.

“You’re welcome.” He answered as he came into the room. She looked up to see him holding a plate of breakfast for her. While one the arms held a gall of orange juice for her.

“Awww.” She smiled weakly as he came over to her. “Hey can you hand me that aspirin bottle please?” She said pointing. Another arm handed it to her and she couldn’t help but giggle. “They’re so cute once you get used to them.” She said.

“They say thank you.” He said. She took her pills and started eating.

“Thank you for your help last night Otto.” She said quietly.

“You’re welcome Evee.” He smiled.

“Can you…can you stay with me for a little bit…please?” She asked almost like a frightened child.

“Of course.” He nods and sits next to her. After she finished her food she snuggles up to him and he doesn’t question it.

“Did you eat already?” She mumbled.

“Yes. Your apartment is very nice. I’m guessing you own it?”

“Yup.” He started rubbing her back and she hummed softly. The aspirin helped with her throbbing leg. She felt warm and safe in his arms. She couldn’t help but cling to him a bit more tightly.

“Are you ok? You’re tense.” Otto said.

“I can’t remember the last time I felt safe with someone.” She answered honestly. She looks up at him again as he gazes at her. “I know that probably sounds weird coming from me right?” She laughed weakly.

“No.” He said shaking his head. “I’m glad you feel safe with me.” He smiles. She leans in a little closer and so does he. She’s hesitant to go further, but he does it for her. He gently kisses her and she eagerly responds to his touch. She moans softly against his mouth as he lays her back down while his hands cup her face. When he finally pulls away her vision is blurry as she tries to catch her breath. “Evee what’s wrong? You’re crying. Did I hurt you?” He asks concerned.

“N-no.” She says, surprised that’s she’s crying. “It’s just…it’s been a while since I’ve felt a connection with someone.” She admits.

“I understand.” He nods. “I lost my wife, Rosie, in the accident. I thought it was all over…but they…talked to me.” He said pointing to the arms. “And then I kept running into this assassin who named herself after a Pokémon.” He laughed. She couldn’t help but join in.

“I hope I get to meet her sometime.” Evee teased. Otto leaned into her again and gave her another tender kiss.

“Can I stay here for a little bit…please?” Otto whispered. She could hear the pleading in his voice.

“Of course you can.” She smiled. Otto pulled her back into his embrace gently. The arms wrapped around Evee carefully and protectively. She felt him kiss the top of her head before she fell back to sleep to the hum of the metal and the beating of his strong heart.

AN: Just in case, Pokémon isn't mine along with Doc Ock.

[thechangeling]

My thoughts concerning the downworld

I wrote this two years ago but I can't find the original post since tumblr's tagging system is a literal joke. So I'm re-posting it!

Alright. So I was rereading The Mortal Instruments and I sort of realized something that really pissed me off. Of course we all know that in every book there is discrimination against the downworld in forms of outright bigotry and hate comments or just ignorance and confusion. However I personally have been noticing lately how in all the books there is very little catharsis after those moments. There are no instances of any downworlder actively turning around and just Going. Off. I mean like really going off. Like have you seen protests with emotionally charged and wronged people? They are fucking livid because they have every right to be. I personally have been in situations like this regarding combating LGBTQ hate and there is nothing more satisfying then just letting lose because you have had enough of this treatment. I often compare Downworlders in this fictional society to marginalized people in our real one.  Some people disagree with that idea and that's fine but it's always how I perceived it.  For instance, take moments like Tessa Gray in The Infernal devices walking into that room filled with Downworlder body parts being displayed as trophies is very similar to white settlers hunting down Indigenous people to display their heads as trophies. No one talks about that horrifying practice enough in our society just like the fandom doesn't talk about what happened to Tessa. She deserved catharsis in that moment and so did we.

The Clave has not apologized to the Downworlder community for the events of the circle to the best of my knowledge. Most Shadowhunters don't even believe it's their responsibility to take ownership for what happened because it wasn't them and it is "in the past". Just like most white people (and full disclaimer, I say this as a white person) believe that it is not their responsibility to apologize for the events of the past (colonialism).  In the Dark Artifices there is talk of registering downworlds just like the Jewish people in the 40s and non-white immigrants today. (Because let's be honest the only immigrants Trump wants to get rid of are the non-white ones) Speaking of that asshole, Horace Dearborn is obviously based on him. QOAAD came out right in the middle of the racist shitstorm ravaging the US and the similarities are obviously striking. So my point is, if all of this is very noticable, why is there very little catharsis for those of us who can relate to these characters and these situations? I myself am angry along with them and I desperately want to see justice done. Real justice. Now that the cohort is locked in Idris and Alec has become consul it may seem like the problem is supposedly solved. Not really. Shadowhunters still have some stepping stones to cross in order to make things right in my opinion. I really dont want to see everyone, (especially Downworlders) just brush all those issues to the side and pretend like they're over.

  I also have a problem with certain Shadowhunters being praised as "Downworlder saviors" kind of like white savior complex. Although I might not be the best person to talk about this. If you are a POC and you disagree with me on this then please let me know because I never want to speak over any POC. This is just something that has been rubbing me the wrong way. For example, Livia's watch and the use of it as a downworlder rights group. As much as I understand Julian wanting to honor his lost sister. Using her as some sort of beacon for Downworlder rights really is not fair because she just wasn't. Also I find it really uncomfortable that a Shadowhunter, Julian, is trying to take control of a Downworlder rights group and say what it should be and how it should be organized. It just strikes me as a little white saviory. Continuing on with the whole white savior conversation, I was talking with a friend and we couldn't help but notice that the narrative of CC's books is very problematic seeing as there are the "good Shadowhunters" trying to save the downworld from the "bad Shadowhunters" because for some reason Downworlders need saving and should be grateful for the help of the good Shadowhunters. Also Shadowhunters are a lot like cops, and when I say that I do mean killing marginalized people for no reason and enforcing racist laws, type cops. But Cassie writes this narrative of the good cops who aren't like that who want to change the system.

This contributes to the whole "There are some bad apples sure, but there are also some good cops" mentality. This is pretty frickin problematic, especially given current events.

  CC also paints the narrative to be against Downworlders who are rightly furious with the Clave and shadowhunters as a whole and have some hatred for nephilim kind as a result of, oh you know.... hundred years of oppression, violence and discrimination. They become the villains of the story like Barnabas and Shinyun, and to make sure you know they're the villains, CC needs to sprinkle in typical shady cult like villain behavior into the narrative. All of the good downworlders are either friends with or dating shadowhunters, or are at least somewhat sympathetic to Shadowhunters like Ragnor. Does anyone see the problem with this? So now being angry and bitter towards your oppressors is villian behavior? Great message CC. Absolutely wonderful.

I also have a problem with Shadowhunters not wanting to kill members of the cohort when they are literal nazis. You don't redeem people like that! If the cohort were Downworlders and not Shadowhunters then they would have killed them and that's just the tea.

I'm sorry I know this is a lot of words to read but I just needed to vent. If you disagree with of course feel free to share your opinion in the comments.

@amchara @sandersgrey this was what I was referencing