#I might be a little traumatized from October | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ficbrish · 1 year ago

Text

To Belong

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

[AO3 Link]

[Kinktober 2023 prompt thanks to @absurdthirst! October 6th - Collar/Leash]

[[TW/CW: Dom drop, cptsd, blood, alcohol, smoking, choking, service, oral]]

Summary: Astarion and Vistri seek the help of old friends for a bit of kink coaching.

Takes place during post-canon (about 4 years after). There are SPOILERS FOR THE ENDGAME OF BG3 directly under the line!

Penance is my friend's OC and we co-wrote the group scenes. The AO3 link has more information and where you can find their companion smut to this. Which is ❤️‍🔥

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

Astarion had a roguish glint in his eyes and a smirk on his face. His hands were hidden behind his back, and it looked as though he were holding something as he strutted over to Vistri in their bedroom.

“Uh oh.”

He smiled, concealing a cheeky chuckle, “I haven’t even said anything.”

Vistri stepped closer to rest her hand on him. Her fingers found their home on his chest, and she appreciated the beating of his undead heart. It fluttered as if he were nervous.

“You don’t have to say anything. I can just tell.”

Like they shared some sort of secret, Astarion leaned forward and bent low to speak in her ear, “Now that I’m here, might as well give us a kiss.”

Vistri moved a curl away from his forehead, positively beaming. Astarion wore that soft, mischievous look of his; one of many ways he showed his adoration. So she brought her mouth up to his. That little moan he always let out whenever their lips met made, “I love you,” slip from Vistri’s tongue as she pulled away.

“I don’t think I caught that. Be a dear and repeat it for me.”

“You didn’t hear?” she teased, “Let me get closer then.” Vistri nestled her lips against his earlobe and whispered, “I love you, Astarion.”

He shivered pleasantly, just a little bit. Then she kissed his cheek affectionately before taking a step back.

The way he was looking at her was worth a whole other fight with another Netherbrain.

“And I love you, dearest Vistri,” he declared with his entire heart in his eyes.

Humming with satisfaction, she asked, “What is that behind your back?”

“A delightful little surprise,” he brought his hands around to present her with a box that was wrapped up in pretty paper.

Vistri couldn’t help the smile on her face, “You thought of me?!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I think of you all the time! A normal, healthy amount. Just every morning, noon, and night—And all the seconds inside them.”

Laughing, she tore at the giftwrap, “I only meant it’s not a holiday or anything.”

“I don’t need a special occasion. Just you, my love, to inspire me. Now stop staring at me and open that gods damn box before I get too excited and spoil the surprise!”

“I’m opening it! Gods!” Vistri protested, feigning offense.

She lifted the lid and moved aside the tissue paper. Vistri looked back at Astarion with the biggest eyes, “You didn’t!”

He seemed genuinely pleased with himself, “I just wanted to make another of your dreams come true.”

On top of a velvety bed sat a collar. And not just any collar, but the collar. It was made of dragon scale leather and inlaid with opals and pearls.

“It matches my face!”

“That’s not too macabre, is it? I thought it was cute, but then I thought—”

“Astarion! It’s perfect!”

Vistri enveloped him in the biggest bear hug her little arms could manage, smashing into him with such force that Astarion almost toppled over. He could feel her hot breath seep through his clothing. Speaking with her face still tight against his chest, she asked with muffled concern, “But… Are you sure?”

They’d talked about doing something like this a few times over the years. Vistri yearned for his collar ever since she fell in love with him, but Astarion had been traumatized in a kennel. Astarion, being the person he was, tried to convince her he’d be fine, but Vistri didn’t want it if it wasn’t for him too. Being owned and belonging to him in the way a collar represented came from a resilient need for restoration and reclamation. It wasn’t just about Astarion feeling ready, he had to want it in the same way. It couldn’t be something he put himself through just to make her happy. It had to be something they both re-enacted in order to heal.

“I want us to have fun and live our lives the way we want,” Astarion answered, “I’m tired of Cazador still having his way with parts of my mind. I want to take back everything he’s taken, and I want to do it with you.”

Vistri had tears in her eyes, she was so happy, “It means everything to me that you trust me with this, and I promise to do everything to keep you safe.”

Astarion held her tight, resting his head on top of hers. They stood there embracing for a good few minutes before breaking apart.

“And I will do the same,” he promised.

They started slow, with Vistri simply wearing the collar around for a few days. Astarion could see her in it, knowing what it meant, and sit with how that felt before getting into anything more intimate. She’d wear it for benign conversations or reading a book. She’d take it off for any serious moments or prolonged physical contact.

Years ago, Vistri consulted Shadowheart about eventually navigating something like this with Astarion.

“It’s not that I lack experience in this…”

“Area?” Shadow suggested, “Field of study?”

“Exactly!” Vistri continued, “It’s just, all my experiences were with people who took what they wanted and didn’t consider me.”

Karlach would have scooped her into a sweeping hug, but Shadow just passed the wine and explained everything she could. And that was exactly why Vistri was admitting this in Shadow’s tent versus anyone else’s.

She explained concepts to Vistri like aftercare, Dom drop, and the simple idea of taking things step-by-step in your own timing.

“It can be easy to fall into the trap of feeling like the villain,” Shadow admitted, “The healing part is… I don’t know. Maybe it’s just doing the things that were done to you, but with everyone feeling good and okay instead of… what it actually was.”

During their trial period, as Vistri and Astarion referred to it, they would check in with each other a lot to see how things were settling. One night as they sat together on one of their sofas, Astarion answered, gently toying with the collar around her neck.

“It’s absolutely stunning on you.”

The feeling of his fingers lightly brushing along her throat drove Vistri wild, but she needed to stay grounded if she was going to keep Astarion grounded too.

“I love it almost as much as I love you. Your taste is immaculate, my dear.”

Astarion giggled happily, warm and secure, “I could have picked any old bit of leather, and you would wear it like perfection.”

“But you didn’t just pick any old bit of leather.”

“I did not,” he chuckled, “I searched and searched until I found the very best one, because you deserve no less.” He playfully poked the bridge of her nose for emphasis on the word, you.

Vistri stroked his hair, “I’ll happily be your prized pet.”

“My beloved, cherished pet…" Astarion smiled dreamily, "I rather like that.”

“I like that too.”

“Is that what this is then?”

“Do you want it to be?” Vistri checked, “That—Does it feel good to you?”

“It feels sort of wonderful, actually. Does it feel good for you?”

“Oh, it feels lovely!” she answered affectionately.

After discovering what it would mean to them, they decided to take it a step further. Vistri would wear her collar, and they’d go about their evening as usual. This time, however, Astarion would ask her to take off bits of clothing until she wore nothing else.

Vistri sitting by the fire was the picture of contentment. Flickers of light caught on the opals in her collar, making them dance. And Astarion would stare at her.

Before saying something like, “And now your shirt, my dear.”

Her eyes grew more eager with every article shed. Astarion kept asking how she felt, knowing each time the answer would be the verbal manifestation of everything sitting in her expression.

Then he’d tell her how that made him feel, “I love watching you choose to do what I want you to do.”

Since that went so well, they got confident. A couple nights later, Vistri was again left wearing nothing but her collar. Swept up by her existence that night, Astarion gave her a new kind of command.

Every moment between them was a little more intense than usual. They saw each other a little brighter, felt the ache of their love in a different way, and that filled them with the rush of brand-new lovers. It was just one of those days where they looked at each other with fresh eyes and were stunned by the sheer perfection they found in front of them. The heat on Vistri’s face grew as abundant as the slick between her thighs.

That night, she moaned every time Astarion asked her to take off another piece of clothing.

It made him feel greedy.

“Come over here,” he beckoned with a nod.

Vistri stopped performatively searching the bookshelf and turned with a smirk. “I know that tone,” she teased.

Astarion patted the spot on the sofa next to him and pouted, “Come be a good girl for Daddy.”

Vistri blushed and walked over immediately.

Astarion laughed appreciatively when she sat down, “Oh, you liked that. I can tell.”

Speechless, she bit her lip and smiled.

“Now why don’t you lay back for me, darling? I want to admire your form, and I can do it so much better when you’re in that position.”

She did as he suggested.

“That’s it, love.”

Astarion performed that predatory expression he wore so well; the one she trusted so much. “Now spread your legs for me,” he demanded with a sweeping, vampiric wave of his hand.

She did as he asked. Smirking, he moved closer, and she whimpered as he stroked her thighs. The anticipation of his touch almost outshined his actual touch. Her body knew his as the source of years of passionate ecstasy, and on top of that, it was the safest one hers had ever known. It gave itself to him entirely at the barest brush, at the least bit of attention. And here Astarion was, paying her every drop of attention and holding Vistri in both hands.

She cried out his name and wriggled under his fingers. All he had to do was run his palms up and down her thighs, and her want for him turned into madness. It was delicious enough to earn her praise, “How you purr for me when I pet you…”

“Please,” Vistri writhed, helpless; begging, “Take everything. I’m all yours.”

Astarion played with her until he couldn’t help himself. He ordered Vistri to help him undress, then claimed the home he found between her legs. They left her collar on for a while, but Astarion took it off to sink his teeth into her neck. It was the one thing they owned that they couldn’t afford to ruin with bloodstains.

Completely carried away with each other and the moment, they went a step further. Vistri screamed his name so sweetly it inspired Astarion to say, “That’s it, show us who you belong to.”

She shouted his name at every thrust, and once she started crashing around him, Astarion groaned and muttered, over and over, that he owned her. He fucking owned her. It went on for a while before he whined, spilling into her. As he rode out his pleasure, Vistri joined him in it and screamed that she was his. She was completely his.

It was a wonderful moment, but it settled over Astarion afterwards in a weird way.

Not immediately after either.

They checked in with each other as usual, and both felt fantastic. They kissed each other’s fingers and held each other; talked about everything and nothing for hours. Then they went into their trances, blissfully wrapped around each other.

It wasn’t until the next day, when Vistri secured the collar around her throat, that either of them noticed he was bothered. Astarion was excited one moment and in the next, shuddered, almost imperceptibly.

“Are you all right, darling?” she asked immediately.

The corner of his mouth lifted with a little smile, but Astarion was obviously shaken. “I’m not sure,” he questioningly stated.

“Why don’t we sit for a bit?” she suggested, carefully taking off her collar, “Hold on, it’s stuck.”

“Let me get that for you,” he tapped her shoulder, and she turned around for him to finish undoing the clasps.

Astarion looked lighter once it was off. Like some weight had lifted.

“What changed?” she asked, concerned.

He sat down next to her, “You know, I’m really not sure.”

Resting his head in her lap, Vistri played with his curls. She made a concentrated effort to hold her tongue, wanting him to have the silence he needed, and wouldn’t speak until he was ready to speak.

“It’s not like we really did or said anything we haven’t done or said before…” he started before trailing off.

“But not with a collar.”

“No, not with a collar."

Vistri swallowed the guilt and blame bubbling up over her reason. His curls were her final tether to reality, petting them gently to steady herself, “We don’t have to—”

“But I want to! That’s the tricky bit of it all. I like what we did, and it made me feel… I don’t know… Powerful and powerless all at once. And the powerlessness snuck up on me. I didn’t even know it was there until I saw you put on your collar again.”

“I’m so sorry, love.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

“Neither do you,” Vistri assured him. Then she asked, “Do you know what made you feel powerless?”

He thought about it, “It’s not about hurting you—You enjoy it too much for those kinds of thoughts to take purchase. Visibly, audibly—”

“Astarion!” Vistri laughed, more from relief than anything else. If he was joking again, he was starting to feel better, more himself.

“What? You just really, really, obviously adore the things I do to you. And I think that deserves to be stated out loud as often as possible.”

She raised an amused brow, “You’re getting off-topic.”

“Right!” he agreed, “Where was—Oh! Right. The powerless thing. As I said, it’s not about hurting you or doing something to you that you don’t want. It’s more about… I feel wrong for wanting you to belong to me. It isn’t about doing something that I don’t want to do. It’s about me wanting to do it in the first place.”

“It’s perfectly okay to want those things. Even with everything that’s happened.”

“I know. It just feels that way anyway.”

They just sat in that together.

Eventually, Vistri had an idea, “You know who we could always ask about this?”

Astarion chuckled, knowing exactly what she was about to suggest, “Jenny and her pretty Penny?”

“Yes! It’s about time we have them over to stay again.”

v---v v---v v---v v---v v---v

The four of them were absolutely delighted to see each other. Shadowheart and Penance looked the same as they always did, but entirely different too.

Shadow’s shock-white hair was even longer but rather than the tight, chained style she’d worn when they traveled together, she sported a softer braid. Penance had hers pulled up too, but neither had a hair out of place despite the dirt on their cloaks indicating a recent scuffle with something nasty. Penance towered over Shadowheart even more than Astarion did Vistri. His shoulders were broad, but Pen’s were broader. They were a visual contrast that made Astarion and Vistri look matched in comparison. All this to say, the tiefling was quite big. It even looked like she’d put on more muscle in the past six months. She had a few new scars too.

But it hadn’t been that long. Not really. Half a year, actually, but when you all used to live and fight together, even a week apart felt like a few years. The last time they’d all seen each other had been at Shadow and Pen’s farm, so seeing them again at their manor made it feel like even more time passed than it did.

Exclamations, hugs, and kisses exploded from the open door. Shadowheart was unusually animated, handing out such physical affections freely. Peace seemed to suit her; living in its safety had brought her to life. Penance, her stalwart sweetheart, was far more subdued by comparison, but no less affectionate. She offered Astarion a warm handshake and Vistri a kiss on the cheek. Even through their various greetings, Shadowheart and Penance always had a funny way of devoting a corner of their attention to each other at all times, as if there was an invisible tether between them.

“May we come in?” Shadowheart asked with a wink to Astarion.

“Why aren’t you a sweetheart! Yes, please step inside.”

Vistri noticed Pen wasn’t wearing her collar yet, and put her hand up to hers in blushing embarrassment.

Shadowheart could see Vistri’s discomfort for what it was and reassured her she wasn’t doing anything wrong, “It’s fine that you’re already wearing it—Moonmaiden’s mercy! It’s absolutely stunning! Astarion, what did you do? Sell a whole city?”

He laughed as they all stepped further in, “How little you think of me! I’d rob half the Upper City before selling anything.”

Everyone could feel Penance, the staunch Paladin of Lathander, tense up a little at the idea.

“Now, now, Pen,” Shadow purred, “Remember our friends and their little jokes.”

Vistri and Astarion shared a look from the corners of their eyes.

Penance insisted on taking their bags into their room despite the abundance of well-paid servants that swarmed them in the foyer.

“It’s no trouble,” she insisted, blushing under her blue-grey skin as she dismissed them.

They had a before-dinner catch up in the lounge by the fire. The deep glow of the Underdark shone through the windows.

“Sorry about the lack of sunlight, Pen,” Vistri apologized, noting their slight unease, “And the moon, Shadow.”

Shadowheart waved off her concern, “Darkness still has its moments. As for Pen…”

Her shoulders were tense, and she cleared her throat, “The light of the Dawnfather comes from within just as much as without.”

Shadowheart chuckled a little and took her hand to kiss it as if to say, What am I going to do with you?

They got the usual conversations out of the way first. Shadowheart had brought a new litter of kittens to the farm. Penance had just finished a new addition to the estate. There’d been a bit of drama between Astarion’s brothers and sisters. Lae’zel was still at war, but it was going well. Gale confirmed again there were no signs of new Elder Brain activity. They’d all gotten the same box of cigars from Karlach and Wyll.

“Well, now that we’re basically all caught up,” Shadowheart segued, “Let’s talk about why we’re all here.”

“You mean other than just to adore you two in person?” Vistri remarked with genuine flattery.

“Shadowheart said you two were exploring and that we could help. Right?” Penance asked.

Shadow placed a hand lovingly on her knee, “Precisely, love. Not to mention dinner.”

“Speaking of dinner,” Astarion said, “We still haven’t dismissed the cook in case you need any help preparing it, Pen. I know you’ve insisted, but you can always change your mind.”

Penance shook her head resolutely, “I will not change my mind. I’ve been planning this all week.”

“She wants to, Asty. Besides, Penance loves to show me all the ways she can serve, don’t you?”

The large tiefling shot her a million-gold smile. She did.

Astarion crossed his legs and languidly sat back, “Well, far be it from me to get in the way. When should we officially begin?”

“First, I’d like to reiterate what I’ve said before. However the two of you decide to explore is perfectly fine. For us, the collar is a symbol of our devotion to one another. I ordain and Penance serves. While her collar is on, she defers to me in all things. Her focus is mine. She is mine,” Shadowheart said.

Penance hung on to every word and a grin slowly spread across her face. The air shifted around them ever so slightly, charged with anticipation.

“Exactly so,” she added, “My primary attention will be on Shadowheart, so forgive me if I’m not much for conversation.”

“Typically, we keep to our roles quite strictly, but since this is all new for you, we’re happy to make exceptions as you learn,” Shadowheart finished.

Astarion tipped his head genuinely, “Thank you.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Penance smiled.

It was so easy to see why those two served the sun and the moon. Brightness poured out of the Paladin, and the Cleric was more than happy to soak up her every ray and reflect it right back. They tempered each other, complimented one another.

“You are our friends, and you know us well,” Shadowheart warned, “but we are a bit different when we’re playing formally. If anything happens that doesn’t sit right with you for any reason…”

“Safe word is ‘Barcus’,” Vistri finished for her.

“Right. Ours is ‘Netheril’.”

“Rest assured,” Pen said, “It pleases me greatly to serve.”

Gods, Shadowheart practically giggled, “Isn’t she darling?”

Penance leaned in for a kiss that was met with equal fervor.

“They are so sweet,” Astarion said to Vistri.

Vistri had a smile on her face she couldn’t get rid of, “Do you think we’re that sweet from the outside?”

“We can hear you talking about us, you know,” Shadow said.

“We know,” Astarion quipped, “That’s why we’re saying it.”

Penance gave Shadowheart a final peck and then made for the kitchen. There was work to be done and she was eager to do it. Not to mention the fact that, though she loved Vistri and Astarion dearly, she could never quite settle in their presence. They were always unpredictable and bursting with energy; difficult to keep up with at length. Rather than trying, she preferred to show her affection in other ways.

A servant approached her on her way to the kitchen, but she waved him off.

“No need to fuss over me. You will have to plate everything though. You know that’s not my gift,” Penance winked.

While she cooked, Shadowheart went over everything a second, third, and fourth time. But it was nice because it gave Astarion a chance to talk to her about what happened the other night. Vistri tried her best to just watch and not chime in. Shadowheart could understand him in a way she couldn’t in this instance. Shadow and Astarion were the people who held the leash, and they were platonic friends instead of sexual partners. As Astarion’s expression shifted from anxiety to relief and then joy, it became easier and easier for Vistri to sit back and stay quiet.

When Penance finally came back into the room, she was holding her collar.

Hers was the complete opposite of Vistri’s but commanded just as much presence. Made of restored leather and backed with reinforced steel; it was plain except for a singular moonstone. It was well-worn and loved even before they’d found it in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, and since having it repaired, it was obviously well-worn and loved again.

“Oh, that’s lovely!”

Penance politely dipped her head, “Thank you, Vistri.” Then she approached Shadowheart and presented the collar to her.

“This means she’s ready,” Shadowheart explained, “Are you two ready?”

Vistri and Astarion looked to each other and nodded.

“Yes,” they both said.

Shadow looked from them to Penance. Once her eyes were on her lover, she needed only to nod. Penance lowered herself to her knees. Even so, she was still so tall.

“Can you be good for me?” Shadowheart asked.

“Yes.”

The air between them was thick with trust and care. Shadowheart smiled and buckled the collar around Pen’s neck. For a brief moment, it was as if the world around them had ceased to exist and was born anew between them. As the moment passed, Shadowheart turned to Vistri and Astarion.

“Pen gives me her collar to let me know she’s ready. And then I put the collar on her as my way of letting Pen know I’m ready.”

Vistri looked to Astarion. There was a thoughtful, delighted smirk on his face, “Hmmm, I think I like that.”

“Would you like me to take it off so you can put it on me, my dear?” Vistri asked.

Astarion smiled warmly, “I just might!”

Vistri turned around so he could unclasp it. Once it was off, he offered it back to her. She accepted with a bright smile before giving it back to him.

He smirked, “Come sit on my lap.”

Vistri felt her heart flutter as she took to her perch. His smell was all around her. She could feel his chest against hers, and the movement of his relaxed breath.

“There you are,” he said as he secured it back around her throat, “Now the whole world can see how darling we are to each other. And by the world I mean Shadowheart, Penny, and the servants.”

Penance glared at Astarion before she could stop herself. Astarion froze. He forgot that “Penny” didn’t actually like to be called that and that only Shadowheart could actually get away with it in her presence.

Shadow corrected her before Astarion could stumble over an apology.

“Penance.”

The effect was immediate. Penance looked back at her like a guilty puppy.

“I came here to show off my perfectly trained pet, and here you are glaring at our hosts.”

Shadow’s voice was stern and icy. Vistri and Astarion knew they’d be stepping into roles, but they were also facing the experience and familiarity that came with years of this kind of play between them.

Vistri squeezed Astarion’s hand, Are you okay?

He squeezed it back and nodded an, I’m all right, love. Thanks for checking.

They watched the other couple resolve their conflict. Penance bowed her head in shame and Shadowheart clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

“Misbehaving is rare for her. We do apologize.”

Astarion bowed his head, “No apologies needed, darling. It was my offense. May I offer your dear pet an apology?”

“If you must,” Shadowheart smirked.

He made eye contact and said, “I’m sorry I called you a name you don’t like. I’ll be more careful.”

“Thank you,” Shadowheart said for her as Pen bowed her head to express it, “Now, shall we admire her for a moment?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he smirked.

Anyone could spend hours singing Pen’s praises. She was tall and broad even for a Tiefling, the result of many years of hard discipline. Her silver-blue skin was scarred and her hands calloused, evidence of her love for hard work. Her pale pink hair was shaved down on the back and sides with the rest tied back in a neat ponytail. She was terrifying to behold, and half it was just from being so beautiful.

“I cannot fathom another person who compliments you better, Shadowheart.”

“I suppose she’ll do. My great beast,” she observed.

“A mountain that greets the sun!”

Shadowheart smirked and circled Penance like a displacer beast around a hunk of raw meat. She ran her fingers over the tiefling’s biceps.

“She is quite striking, isn’t she? Well endowed,” she purred.

All the while, Penance stood perfectly still, waiting for an order and silently enjoying the attention. She was rather terrible at appreciating herself, but Shadowheart was more than happy to make up for it.

“I always knew you were a size queen,” Astarion teased.

Vistri looked up at one of the servants as he stepped into the room. He wasn’t one of the spawn, just a big fan of vampires. He was just George.

“Hello, George!” she waved.

He waved back, “Hello! Dinner is ready, by the way. If you would all please take your seats.”

As George left, Astarion stopped them all from moving to the dining room right away.

“Let’s not forget about my little dragon,” he offered Vistri a hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Exciting!” she said, “I’ll go stand next to Penance so you can admire us both at the same time.”

Shadowheart smiled at her dearest friend and Vistri smiled back. She was much warmer with Vistri, knowing discipline wasn’t as suited to her tastes as her own pet.

“Well, now, Astarion. I think you’ve got some competition. Vistri’s even prettier than you are.”

“I’d take offense to that, but I completely agree.”

Penance looked over at Vistri and winked, offering just a little encouragement of her own.

As they all moved over to the dining room, Astarion watched Shadowheart pull Penance to the side to check in. He took his cue to do the same with Vistri before sitting down at the table.

They pulled off into the room’s entryway and spoke low.

“Are you doing all right, love?” Astarion asked as he moved hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.

“It’s a little weird, but kind of a good weird. You know?”

He chuckled, “That’s how I feel too. It’s a bit startling at times, but it’s more exciting than anything else. So, you’re doing okay?”

Vistri nodded happily, “Yes. I’m perfectly content. Are you okay?”

“I’m wonderful,” he admitted, a little shyly.

“Kiss me,” she suggested.

Astarion leaned into her, pressing her back into the wall as he pressed his lips against hers.

They found themselves at the table before Shadow and Pen.

“Everything okay?” Vistri asked when they finally joined them.

Shadowheart nodded her head, “We’re fine. Pen isn’t totally used to an audience, but it’s well in hand. Leave her to me.”

Vistri put her hand to her heart, “We’re adjusting too, darling. Don’t fret about it.”

Penance nodded.

“It’s kind of exciting though, right?” she went on, “I mean, it’s all so new, but I’m already having a wonderful time. Plus, I get to share it with you and Shadow.”

Penance nodded again.

“Though, it is a little strange too—I suppose that’s the case with anything new though… What do you think?”

Penance sighed patiently, “Vistri, I’m trying to focus.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Penance took her duty so seriously that it was hard for Vistri to feel like she wasn’t slacking in some way. Maybe she wasn’t doing this right, not paying Astarion enough attention or giving him enough deference. Vistri looked to him for reassurance and he beamed back at her. So she looked over at Shadow, but she had no criticisms to offer. Besides, she’d reminded her over and over again that pets are individuals and dynamics are unique. Pen can be as staunch as she wanted to be, and Vistri could just be Vistri.

“No need to apologize,” Shadowheart smiled. She turned to her beloved pet, “Shall we eat?”

Their first course was a salad made with crops from their garden on the Surface. As the servants brought it out, Shadowheart explained how important it was to Penance for them to have a taste of the sun.

Astarion was genuinely touched, “Thank you. I truly appreciate that.”

Food didn’t sate his hunger, but he could still taste and admire it. More importantly, Vistri would enjoy it. He looked over at her happy expression from tasting one of the tomatoes. Even though Vistri grew up in the Underdark, Astarion always felt guilty for depriving her of the Surface and its food. She loved Surface crops, and the ones traded to the Underdark were never as fresh, or grown in the wrong soil down here. Astarion couldn’t put into words how grateful he was they’d brought her some picked just earlier that day.

So instead, he gave Penance and Shadow a toothy grin and said, “I remember this dressing. You made it all the time back at camp.”

Vistri agreed, mumbling and chewing, “Mmmpphh.”

“Don’t try to talk with your mouth full,” he chided playfully, “It’s rude and we have guests.”

Vistri glared back at him but there was a glint in her eye.

“Careful, Asty,” Shadowheart warned, “If you don’t tame your pets, they get wild.”

He turned to Vistri with a devilish grin, “All the ways I can think to tame you, beloved. My mind is rushing with the possibilities.”

She answered with a hellish look that complimented his, “In honor of our wonderful chef, how about a little penance?”

Astarion raised his eyebrow, “Oh?”

Shadowheart crossed her arms in amusement, waiting to see where her friends were going to take this. She looked over at Penance and could see, by the slightest twitch of her eyebrow, that she was critiquing her food and making mental notes adjusting the recipe for her dressing as she chewed.

“You did perfectly,” she said to Pen from the corner of her mouth.

Penance wiped her mouth with her napkin and smiled at Shadowheart. Then her eyes grew wide as her moment of pleased contentment was interrupted by Vistri’s next words.

“How do we all feel about blood at the dinner table?”

At least this time they were asking.

“Not while we’re eating!” Shadowheart protested, “Excuse yourselves for a moment and go do that in another room like civilized people.”

“It’s not that taboo here,” Astarion said, “We live in a city full of vampire spawn for gods sakes.”

“We live with animals that have more restraint,” Shadowheart sighed.

He stood up dramatically and giggled as he held his hand out to Vistri, “Come, pet. This is lovely but I need some real sustenance and you need to be punished. If you’ll excuse us for a moment or two.”

Shadowheart rolled her eyes happily at the sight of them skipping out of the room. Penance finally let herself chuckle at her moonbeam’s little zinger.

“Laugh it up, devil. I’m saving your punishment for later,” Shadowheart mused.

On the other side of the wall, Astarion pushed Vistri’s back into it with an eager kiss.

“You’re supposed to punish me,” she laughed, still pressed into his lips.

“I know,” he purred, “But I do so like misbehaving with you.”

He tangled his tongue with hers and Vistri tasted their wine and Pen’s salad. She felt his hands roam over her breasts, his lips move to her neck.

“I can’t wait to fuck you,” he growled as he licked her throat.

She sighed, “Bite me.”

Grinding his hips against hers, he sunk his teeth into her neck. Just a shallow cut he’d gladly lick up until it closed. Vistri wriggled between him and the wall, trying not to cry out.

The next course was already on the table by the time they got back. Roast duck with carrots and a colorful arrangement of potatoes. It smelled divine.

Shadowheart spoke once they sat down, “Got a little bit of red on your collar there, Vistri.”

Astarion stood back up at once, “Shit!”

Vistri leaned into him as he tried to rub the stain off with his fingers, but that only spread it around.

“Fuck it!” he said, bending over to put his mouth on her collar and suck off the blood. It was just easier that way! And even if dragon scale didn’t stain, he didn’t want to tempt it.

It was quite a sight, Astarion sucking on the collar around Vistri’s neck. Shadowheart laughed, “Gods, you’re like this even when you’re not trying to be.”

“Like what?” Vistri asked, head tilted with Astarion’s mouth still hanging on her neck.

Thankfully, the collar didn’t stain.

As dinner resumed, Astarion took note of how Shadowheart interacted with her pet. It almost seemed like she was ignoring her at first, since Penance wasn’t really part of the conversation, but every once in a while she would look over at her or touch her idly.

“Penance. Astarion’s cup is empty.”

Without wasting a moment, Penance wiped her mouth with her napkin and rose from her seat. She took the bottle of wine from the servant nearby, as if he was the one behaving strangely, and refilled Astarion’s cup.

With her task complete, she paused, looking to Shadowheart for guidance.

“Vistri, would you like more wine?” Shadowheart asked.

“Please!”

Penance filled her glass and then waited, once more, for further instructions. Shadowheart looked at her, holding her attention in the palm of her hand, knowing she could hold it there forever. After a long moment of this aching, glorious tension, Shadow nodded.

“You may sit.”

Once seated, Penance was rewarded with a hand on her cheek and a soft, “Good.”

Astarion watched them with rapt attention. Seeing Shadow and Penance act the way they did took away that wrong feeling. Around them, he felt validated and free to play. These people understood power and how its exchange was more than just cruel or petty; it could be so much more. He could, for lack of a better description, be a kinder Cazador to Vistri than he ever got. He could do similar things that were done to him, but from a position of power, and with the person he trusted and adored the most wanting him to do it.

He was truly confident and playful after dinner. He and Shadowheart were also tipsy enough to start showing off.

“Penance, show them how easily you can pick me up,” Shadowheart demanded.

She swept her into her arms like Shadow was a leaf. Blushing, she stared at Pen like she was dessert.

Astarion looked over at Vistri.

“I could try?” she shrugged.

“You don’t have to try. You sweep me off my feet every day without having to lift a finger.”

Shadowheart cleared her throat and leaned into Penance’s chest. “Put me down before I get you in trouble,” she said huskily.

Penance placed her gently on the ground, but Shadow’s cheeks were a little darker. Her breath a little tighter.

Astarion twirled Vistri into the middle of everyone’s view, “She might not be able to pick me up, but her honeyed tongue could talk a devil back to the Hells. And she has! Quite a few times, actually.”

Shadow walked up and pat Vistri on the head, “I was there for that, and you were so impressive.”

Penance let out an impatient noise. Shadowheart snapped her eyes to her.

“I see,” Shadow said tightly, “You want to be punished. The way you’re carrying on while I dote on my best friend is most unbecoming.”

Penance let out a long, tense sigh.

Astarion pouted, “Darling, I’m hurt! I thought I was your best friend.”

“You’re a different best friend!” she laughed, her firm manner melting away immediately.

“My, my, Shadow,” Vistri grinned, “Everyone’s fighting over you tonight.”

Astarion came up from behind and picked Vistri up. They fell back on the couch, laughing.

“Come lay down in my lap, you sweet thing,” he whispered into her ear.

He slowly stroked her face and hair as Penance served them brandy. She didn’t imbibe herself, but she did take some water over to Shadow’s side and knelt by her knees. Shadowheart leaned down and whispered something to her that made her swallow thickly.

Astarion, eyeing the box from Karlach and Wyll, was struck with an idea.

“Vistri, darling?” he called.

“Yes, love?”

“Would you be a dear and light us some cigars?”

The glint in her eyes reflected his.

“Gladly.”

Vistri got up to grab a cigar from the box, and the back of her neck tingled in the most delightful way. It wasn’t Astarion’s orders per say, so much as it was seeing him confident and unafraid. Figuring she’d bring it to him in the manner that would most please him, Vistri sat on his lap and told him to open his mouth.

"I think I'm the one supposed to be giving the orders, my darling," he corrected.

Vistri pulled a face and Astarion clicked his tongue, “Now don’t pout love. It’s Ladies first, and we don’t want to be rude. Besides, you’ll want to save the best for last.”

He gave her bum a squeeze as she leapt off his lap to put his cigar aside and present one to Shadowheart, who then placed it in Pen’s mouth. Vistri snapped her fingers and a little flame shot up from the tip of her thumb. She held it steady at the end of Pen’s cigar until she puffed it into steady life.

“Good girl,” Astarion purred, “Now come over to me.”

She grabbed the cigar she’d put to the side and paused before bending over to meet his smirking grin. He opened his mouth, and she placed it between his teeth. She fell into Astarion’s eyes, and kept staring into them as she snapped her fingers and bent to light his cigar.

He used the opportunity to capture her, sweeping Vistri into his lap.

Penance was already turning the room into a cloudy day.

Astarion took a generous puff before taking the cigar out of his mouth to kiss Vistri. She giggled and he growled.

“Share it with me, darling?” he asked her.

She nodded, and Astarion brought his cigar to her lips. Lingering on each consonant, striking them with emphatic warning, he told her, “Take it,” and pushed his thick cigar into her mouth. Grabbing the end of it between her teeth, she did as commanded and sucked. He held it there until puffs of smoke began to billow out of her mouth, making her eyes water.

Taking it so harshly without coughing once earned her another, "Good girl," whispered low by her ear.

Shadowheart didn’t particularly care for cigars, but the wine coursing through her veins had made her peckish, and since she couldn’t feast on Penance just yet, she settled for the smoke. She looked down at her pet and cleared her throat, batting her eyelashes. She patted the spot on the sofa next to her, and Penance hopped up with a grin.

Slowly, Shadowheart parted her lips and snaked her tongue just past the edge of her mouth. An invitation that Penance answered reverently with the end of her cigar. It was maddening to watch her inhale, but that madness was its own pleasure, and it was made even sweeter knowing that it was shared.

Shadowheart stared deep into Penance’s eyes and exhaled. It took every bit of the tiefling’s self-control not to lean in and devour her, but that would have been overstepping. So, she took the cigar back and sucked down a huge lungful of smoke before letting it drift slowly from her nose.

“I don’t know how you bear it, but then I remember you’re an infernal beast,” Shadowheart said evenly.

Penance’s eyes offered plenty of searing reply, “Your infernal beast.”

“You know Astarion,” Shadowheart mused, “Do you remember how I mentioned that wild pets need taming?” Astarion reluctantly pulled his gaze from Vistri.

“I do.”

Shadowheart pushed Penance gently off the couch and back onto the floor. Their eyes stayed trained on one another, and it was clear the time for company was coming to a swift end.

“I was speaking from experience. My pet may seem well-behaved now, but she’s got a devilish streak in her that must always be carefully minded. Shall I show you how I handle such a brute?” she asked.

Astarion leaned in close to whisper in Vistri’s ear, “Why do I feel like I’m in trouble too?”

Vistri giggled and kissed his cheek. “So scary,” she murmured back, “Reminds me of all the times we misplaced her eyeliner.”

Shadowheart snapped her fingers and Penance went entirely still, like a coiled spring.

“Pushups, I think,” Shadowheart said, pointing to the middle of the room, “Go on.”

Penance got to her feet and took a long pull on the cigar between her lips, never dropping her gaze. The length of the puff looked almost painful, but she didn’t so much as flinch. She took another, letting the smoke shoot out of her nose in long plumes. A devil indeed. Then she passed it to Shadowheart and made her way to the middle of the room.

“A beast needs a firm hand lest she start to forget herself.” Shadowheart said firmly.

Without skipping a beat, Penance dropped onto her hands and began slow, measured pushups. Her short-sleeved shirt gave an excellent view of her corded arms as they pumped. For a few moments, no one spoke. Everyone simply watched this display of powerful submission until the sound of Pen’s breathing became too much to bear.

Vistri twirled around in Astarion’s lap with the full intention of making a joke, to relieve a little of the thick tension in the room, but misjudged the force of her shoulders and her throat pressed into his mouth. He froze. Under usual circumstances, he would simply indulge in Vistri’s blood, with her permission, of course, but not in front of their guests.

He had to restrain himself in present company and that proved quite difficult with her so close and so sweet in his nose. Despite himself, he let out a soft, low moan.

Penance stopped moving, her attention similarly pulled to Shadowheart who had…also let out a rather telling noise.

The evening was promptly dissolved.

“Ahem, I think we should all retire before we lose what’s left of our reason.” Shadowheart announced.

Astarion took a moment to stand up and bid them goodnight. He turned to Vistri and commanded her to do the same.

“Say goodnight to our guests, pet.”

She blushed and bid them sweet dreams.

When Penance and Shadowheart left, they were alone.

He tackled her onto the couch, kissing her deeply and whining from his throat. Vistri met him with a fury that was hard to contain. They tasted like brandy and smoke.

“Take me to bed,” she begged him.

“Naughty, Naughty,” Astarion chided, full of heat, “We haven’t even settled our little bet.”

Their own cigar was smoked about halfway, but the ashtray with Pen’s was completely ash.

“Well, it's all gone but that took about ten minutes, so I say we both lose.”

v---v v---v v---v v---v v---v

They had a leash for Vistri’s collar they hadn't used yet. It wasn't near as grand; just a fine, black leather whose simplicity complimented the collar's grandiosity. After tonight’s dinner, Astarion felt ready. He put on the airs of a vampire lord to command her, “Come bind yourself to me, you sweet, delicious treat.”

Vistri gladly walked over to be taken. He fit her leash into the loop on her collar, and she was tethered.

He reached out for her face, caressing her cheek, “You just want to please me, don’t you?”

She nodded, “More than anything.”

“And what do you get out of it?”

“Your happiness.”

Astarion kissed her, then said, “That’s about me again.”

“I know.”

She was so sweet he had to kiss her one more time, “Then if you really want it all to be about me, you’ll serve.”

Vistri ran her hands along his chest, “I want to sate every desire. Until you feel perfect.”

“Believe me, my dear. You will.”

He fingered the leash between them, then tugged it to bring her closer, “You like this?”

She nodded with enthusiasm, “Oh, I like this.”

Astarion smirked, “Then get on your knees.”

His tone was firm, but still warm. Vistri kneeled and he towered over her, looking down and running his hands all through her hair. He positioned her head between his legs at the level of his hips. Vistri could see the hard imprint of him through his trousers and needed to put it in her mouth.

He ran his thumb across her bottom lip, then grabbed her chin to make her meet his gaze. Tightening his grip on the leash shortened the give between them, and he wrapped the leather around his fist a few times, “Now you can’t get away. Any regrets?”

Vistri crawled on her knees until she was pressed into him. Her face rested on his thigh and nuzzled it, “No regrets but that you are not yet buried deeply into my ache.”

Astarion grabbed a fistful of hair at the top of her head and pulled. She gasped pleasantly.

“Now don’t be so vulgar, darling. At least not yet.”

He let go of her hair to play with her lips again. She kissed his fingertips as they danced across her. He only abandoned them to undo the lacings on his trousers, and Vistri’s breath caught on her throat anticipating the sight of him.

He was stunning. His head pushing boldly passed his foreskin was art. His thickness was both threat and promise. Vistri turned her gaze back to his face and saw his fangs bared in his grin. So many parts of himself that he sank into her. She wanted them all, wanted all of him; to be devoured and taken over, owned.

“I long for it, Astarion,” she moaned, nestling her cheek into his palm.

He grabbed hold of himself and pressed his tip against her mouth, just like he had with the cigar. He watched her open up to take it, and held it just there between her lips.

His eyes rolled back for a second as her tongue flickered along it. He sighed, “Now that’s not fair.”

Vistri stopped.

“I didn’t say stop.”

She did it again.

“That’s better, pet,” he ran his hands through her hair.

Astarion took himself in hand again to push further into her lips. Just passed her teeth, just like he did earlier in the evening.

“You have to open your mouth so wide to take me, my dear.”

The sides of his lip twitched as she played with his head, now completely nestled on her tongue.

“Oooh,” he moaned, “You treat me so well.”

Vistri felt him take a slightly wider stance and tug her leash even tighter, bringing him even deeper into her mouth.

He grabbed hold of her chin again. He loved to cradle Vistri’s face in his palms with his cock in her mouth. He loved seeing himself disappear into her lips and come out coated in her sweet taste.

“Would you like the whole thing?”

She moaned her desperate consent, and he thrust himself into her throat. Steadily, his hips rocked against her lips. Slow, rolling thrusts in and out; languid.

Astarion watched, looking down at her, holding her leash. He felt… good. Like he had all the power in the world. Like she was his servile spawn and him a true lord.

And that didn’t feel bad.

He didn’t feel bad.

Astarion stared, drinking in her show until the drool started to drip from the corners of her mouth. Then he pulled himself out very slowly, just free of her lips, keeping himself right in front of her.

“Swallow,” he commanded.

Vistri caught her breath and swallowed the combination of his and her salivations.

Astarion patted her on the head as a reward, “That’s a good pet.”

There was still wetness dripping down her face, at the corners of her mouth and a little on her neck. He wiped her off with his fingers, and licked them, tasting her on his hands.

“Sod it! I can’t take any more of this,” he said, scooping her up to throw her onto their bed, full of rakish charm.

Vistri landed on her back. The bed bounced lightly with impact as Astarion crawled over on his knees to straddle her. He tugged the leash tight between them and pulled until she sat up to meet his lips. Astarion let out the hungriest groan and pushed her back down after adding more give to her tether.

Vistri was putty. Begging, writhing putty.

He stroked the spot on her neck that he drank from earlier. With the dragon blood running through her veins, it had already healed.

“We’ll just have to mark you again right after this. You did promise to sate my every desire, did you not?”

“I want the same thing,” she said thickly.

Astarion smirked. He was going to have to satisfy her to set her mind right. She was literally lost in her want.

The sight of her so helpless to him made him feel like he really belonged somewhere.

He pried apart her knees and leaned closer, his hands crawling up her leash. As he put himself inside her, after they both shouted out with closed eyes and opened them again to behold each other, he made another offer.

“Would you like me to wrap this around your throat as I fuck you?”

“Please,” she begged.

Astarion unhooked her leash and wrapped it around her neck like a scarf. Keeping her safe would require just enough concentration that he wouldn’t have to worry about losing himself. It was a lingering threat that allowed Vistri to let go completely and Astarion to stay grounded.

The collar was firm, and the leash was tight without being restrictive. Both pressures on her neck only made Vistri more eager for his teeth.

With one hand on her leash, and the other caressing her waist, he pumped into her. It was overwhelming. Trust was made more explicit and exposed their raw cores. The leash and collar wrapped around her were his arms cradling her heart as she exploded like a star. Vistri made Astarion feel so safe, he could just toy with her and take; to be a tyrant without being horrible.

He could fracture her, and she could fracture him, and at the end of it, know themselves and each other better.

Astarion screamed, “Thank you,” over and over as he came. Vistri was so spent by the time that happened, her voice was too rough to do more than whimper with tears in her eyes.

They panted and smiled at each other so wide they ended up laughing. He unclasped her collar before she left to refresh herself. When she jumped back into bed and into his embrace, she offered him her neck.

“You greedy thing,” he spoke against her skin before sinking into it.

v---v v---v v---v v---v v---v

Shadowheart checked in with Astarion the next morning.

“So,” she took a careful sip of her hot tea, “How is everything now that you’ve…”

“Fully stepped into my role?”

She nodded her head.

His voice was light, “We got out the leash last night!”

“How very exciting!” she smirked.

Astarion took a sip and adopted a serious face as he put down his cup.

“Uh oh.”

“Why is everyone always so quick to say that to me?”

“Because you’re you,” she smiled, “Now what are you on about?”

“I really… I really appreciate you and Pen for—”

She shook her head and waved her hand like it was no big deal.

“But it is a big deal. To me. So, I thank you,” he bowed his head, “You really made me feel better about myself, more myself. Does that make any sense?”

Shadowheart reached forward to give his knee an affectionate tap, “It makes sense, Astarion. And I’m happy for you. Truly.”

Penance and Vistri came over in an unusual chorus of laughter. Pen’s deep, rolling cackles were broken up by Vistri’s loud, pitchy squeals.

“What’s so funny, love?” Shadowheart asked.

Vistri squeezed her shoulder in greeting and winked, “Pet stuff, darling.”

“Oh, how ominous!” Astarion teased, “Dear Shadowheart, I do believe they’ve been talking about us behind our backs."

"Unlike you, mosquito,” Penance said, “The things I say behind people's backs are exactly as I would say to their faces."

Before Astarion could protest, Vistri hopped over and kissed the top of his head.

“I quite cherish the things you do behind my back,” she smirked.

Penance gave a little snort and looked over to Shadowheart with a wink, who just stared back.

“Don’t fish for compliments so early in the day,” she sighed. The smirk on her lips was more than enough regardless.

That evening, Penance and Vistri wore their collars again. Astarion and Shadowheart were seated on one of the couches as if it were a shared throne. Penance and Vistri held out their collars to their respective partners, and Astarion and Shadowheart smiled at each other as they secured them around their necks.

Dinner was just the same as last night but with everyone a little more settled. Everything more okay because they’d done it once before.

“A toast,” Astarion offered, the wine in his glass a bit thicker than the others, “To friendship, and above all…” his eyes sort of welled up, and he had to pause before continuing, “To family.”

The women raised their glasses, smiling warmly at Astarion as they met his toast.

“To family,” Vistri and Shadowheart said, and Penance nodded.

[Click here for my other Kinktober one-shots]

#vistarion #kinktober 2023 #absurdthirst kinktober list #prompt fill #collaboration #vistri #astarion #balders gate 3 #full fic #astarion x tav #to belong fic #BrishFics #fluff #smut #lemon #bg3 spoilers

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honeysmokedham · 6 months ago

Text

TIMING: October - May LOCATION: Various PARTIES: Cass & Nora SUMMARY: a look at small moments of friendship throughout the year WARNINGS: none!

OCTOBER, 2023.

Everything hurt. It was an all-over kind of pain, the sort of thing that ebbed with each beat of her heart. Cass could still feel Rhett’s hand gripping her throat, could still feel the blade entering her shoulder and spraying blood with its untimely exit. She was afraid to leave Alex’s bedroom, afraid to even look out the window for too long as if the monster who looked like a man might climb through it. She wished Alex had killed him; she hated herself for wishing it.

There was a knock on the door. Cass glanced up, expecting Alex or Andy or Kaden, but instead of a shock of red hair or a quiet grumble of French, she saw another familiar face. She smiled a little, something that had been tight in her chest loosening. “Nora,” she greeted with a breathless sigh. “Hey. I, um… I think I’m gonna have a really cool scar.” She tried not to let her voice break as she said it.

—

“Hey.” It was weird to visit Cass someplace that wasn’t the cave. The cave was Cass’s home, intertwined in a way that Nora was curious about. Her friend had a connection to the rocks, making it the perfect place. This is why the fact that she was hiding in a cabin in the middle of the woods, away from the rocky outcropping, interesting. Whatever had happened had to have been bad. “Real heroes have scars.” Nora slid the door shut behind her. “It’s going to look sick.” Cass always looked sick, That was something Nora could say with certainty, having only seen her friend in her unglamoured form. Well, her glamour was there, a shadow superimposed over her, but the real Cass shone so much brighter.

Nora took a seat, near enough to be conversational, far enough to maintain her ever aloof cool girl persona. ��I think superhero artists are lazy. They don’t want to remember where scars should be. But they are always fighting and doing brave shit, and it hurts and leaves scars. You’ll just be better than all of them, I guess.”

—

Nora made her feel warm, because Nora always made her feel warm. She said the scar would look sick, and Cass laughed even though her chest ached, even though there was a pressure sitting behind her lungs that she couldn’t shake. Could Nora taste her fear now? It was all over her, crawling across every inch of her rocky, unglamoured skin. She usually hated feeling afraid, but maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing here. After all, if Nora was well fed, if she was getting something from this encounter, wasn’t it more likely that she’d stay?

Cass smiled, thin and uncertain but genuine. “Do you really think so?” The idea that someone could think she was a hero — that someone could think she was better than a hero, even — made her feel a little less alone. “Do you want to watch something? Alex hooked me up with, like, a ton of movies.”

—

“I know so.” Nora leaned forward, placing a hand on Cass’s arm. The hand Thea had placed on her arm in the car ride. The hand she learned meant comfort. She wasn’t good at comforting. But she wanted to be, for her friends. Cass had gone through something traumatic. She was drenched in fear. While Nora couldn’t understand living in fear, she knew it wasn’t the Cass she was used to.

“Alex has a nice place,” Nora commented because the polite thing to do when visiting someone’s place was to compliment it. It was more a forgotten habit of a life long ago, than a real compliment. She didn’t notice she said it. “I’d love to watch something.” Nora leaned back in her chair. “What’s on the menu, your choice. I’m not picky.”

—

Nora’s words and her touch worked together to fill Cass with a warmth she’d been lacking ever since that cold iron struck her shoulder. Knowing that her friend had this kind of confidence in her, that Nora still thought she was a hero even if Cass no longer felt like one… It was good. It made her feel good.

“I like it,” she agreed, glancing around the cabin. She was more or less indifferent to the building itself — walls were just walls, after all — but the love that filled it made her feel as though she could walk on air. Alex and Andy and Kaden had built a family here, and they were willing to let Cass pretend she was a part of it, even if only for a little while. That meant a lot to her.

Smiling, she handed Nora the remote. “There’s Disney movies, there’s superhero movies, there’s musicals, there’s… Oh! Let’s watch Morbius. We can talk about how bad it is. The Matt Smith dance scene will really blow your mind, I think…”

The movie was selected, the opening flashback scene danced across the screen, and laughter and conversation carried on over the dialogue. Cass spouted fun facts from the comics and laughed at the way the studio had released the movie into theaters twice only to see it bomb just as many times. She didn’t feel whole, per say, but she felt less broken than she had before. It was a little like magic.

NOVEMBER, 2023

“My new art gallery is opening soon.” Nora had announced to the group chat. This was a one-day-only pop-up experience that could only be experienced at 5:00 am, sunrise. Nora had worked hard all night to make the experience happen. Only Cass was up to answer the text. The ride-or-die didn’t ask many questions, showing up at the designated viewing spot 20 minutes before show time.

“You need this,” Nora handed over a balaclava to Cass. She waited for her friend to put it on. Then she motioned to follow her. It was a ten-minute walk from the meeting place. Nora had already picked the lock and set up a seating area on the roof across the street from the target. WRPD. The rooftop gave a perfect view of their cars, all parked “safely” waiting for shift change. All now had a fresh coating of pig-related horror art on it. Nora took a seat, handing a pair of pilfered binoculars over to Cass. “They should notice in about seven minutes.”

—

Nora had an art gallery opening, and Cass wouldn’t miss it for the world. She was up early — or late, she guessed, since she had been vibrating with too much anxious energy to sleep. She was still recovering from her encounter with the warden outside her cave, though most of that recovery seemed to be the ‘inside your head’ kind of recovery now. Her wounds were healing as well as could be expected — cold iron made it more complicated, apparently — but her psyche was a more complex beast.

Nora’s art gallery would move things along, though.

Cass grinned at her friend as she arrived, taking the balaclava without question and pulling it over her head. She followed along behind Nora, bouncing and talking and feeling less heavy than she had in weeks. Nora was good at that, she thought. She asked no questions as she followed her friend up to the roof, laughing when she finally caught sight of what the ‘show’ would entail. “Oh, this is so my favorite art show,” she exclaimed. Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved a small bag of gummy worms and offered it out. “I wasn’t sure if there would be snacks provided, so I brought some. I hope that’s okay.”

—

The fun thing about Cass was she didn’t question the breaking and entering bit. Van and Thea got nervous about these kinds of things. They did them, because Nora liked to do them, but they were always coated in a layer of fear and anxiety while they were doing it. Nora tried to be polite and not smell when her friends were scared, but it was hard. Especially when it was a snack, just for her. Cass was, as they say, down to clown. No fear. Brave. The real-life hero, who just happened to be okay with vandalism when it came to cops. That was truly the best of both worlds. Side note, Hannah Montanna would have been a better show if she spray-painted some cop cars.

“Good planning. I didn’t think about snacks.” Nora’s bag was on the roof, but it was full of spray paint. All the cans had been stolen over the course of a few months. This was a big job, and she had no money. She’d done the planning, the watching, the collecting, and now her big moment was happening. A car turned down the road and parked on the other side of the police station, where the civilians parked. People were coming to work. She could see cars rolling in for shift change. It didn’t take long. Floodlights were turned on and angry voices could be heard all the way across the street.

“HOW THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU NOTICE SOMEONE SPRAY PAINTING OUR CARS NED?” That was the clearest thing Nora heard from her position across the way. She knew how Ned didn’t notice. Ned was busy watching an illusion.

Nora turned to Cass, almost smiling. “I think they like it.”

—

Cass passed the gummy worms over, pleased that her instinct to bring snacks along was the correct move to make. She pulled out another bag — pop rocks, this time, because when she’d imagined Nora’s art show part of her had imagined it in a gallery where they would be expected to be quiet and had found the idea of opening her mouth wide enough for the sound of the pop rocks popping to be heard the type of thing Nora would probably laugh at. She popped a few into her mouth, parting her lips to provide a quiet soundtrack to the arrival of people to the police station.

It didn’t take long for Nora’s real art show to begin. The painted cars were wonderful, of course, but Cass knew that the reactions were what they were really here for. She laughed as people began screaming, putting a hand over her mouth to keep the sound from carrying too far. Ned was being chewed out, someone was yelling wordlessly about the choice of words scrawled onto their vehicle, someone else was actually crying. It was a good show, Cass thought.

Turning to Nora, she flashed her friend a wicked grin. “I like it, too,” she said. “Next time, we should make the show together. I can melt their tires to the pavement!”

—

Cass got her art. That was nice. This was never about the spray paint across the cars. This was a reminder to the WRPD that they were bad at their jobs, chose the wrong career, and that cops didn’t matter. It was a fuck you in the face of the establishment. She’d gone onto their home turf and ruined their property, something that they were fond of doing, and now they were facing the fallout among themselves. Nora snacked happily as the yelling got louder, sirens turned on and other pigs raced back to the headquarters.

“Next time for sure.” Nora agreed. “The next art show will be better than ever” They’d probably up their security, making it more satisfying when they came in and saw that security melted along with their tires in the pavement. It was a good plan. Nora was excited to arrange the next art show.

In the following days, new articles were written about the art. Police statements were made. Posters were put up. Money was offered for the culprits. When they looked at the building across the street’s security footage they found nothing, because they only looked at the camera pointing towards the station. They never noticed the two balaclava-clad girls sneaking in the back and chilling on the roof. It was the kind of comedy that kept writing itself.

DECEMBER, 2023

It was winter, and Cass felt okay. She was in a good place, even if her nightmares still contained too many guest appearances from Rhett and his blade. She’d been clinging to distractions more often than not, and this was no different even if she would pretend it was. It was winter, and in winter, people celebrated. People exchanged gifts, people spelled out their love in wrapping paper and bows. Cass didn’t have a lot of money, but that didn’t matter. She didn’t need it for the kind of shopping she had planned.

She thought Nora might enjoy this kind of thing, so she’d invited her along. “I already got your present,” she announced when the other girl drew near, “so you’re not getting any spoilers for that. But I thought you might want to help me shop for other people! And by shop, I mean… look for rocks. Because that’s the best gift, you know? They all have different meanings, and you can really personalize them. So… are you in, or are you in?”

—

Winter left Nora feeling sluggish. She could spend all her time rotting in her cot if given the chance. That wasn’t the kind of person Nora was. She made the effort to go outside, get a walk in, and be alive during the winter. That also included saying yes to every activity her friends put before her. Nora blinked once, twice, a third time as Cass announced what they were going to do. Rock gathering for Christmas gifts. Alright, that was the most Cass activity she could think of. “Yeah, I’m in.”

The thing about rocks was they are everywhere. Nora only had a special interest in them when she was deep in the mines. Thank god that was done. However, now she was floundering trying to help Cass pick the perfect rock gifts. Nora picked up a rock, it looked like a good rock. It was rock-shaped and had rock coloring. She held it out to Cass. “Thoughts?”

—

Nora was in, and Cass’s grin was so bright that it must have looked a little like a volcanic eruption, lava glowing as it shot towards the sky. She clapped her hands together, excitement thrumming through her. There were few people she thought would understand this sort of activity the way Nora would. Ariadne or Alex or Wynne would try to, but Nora would get it in a way few others could. There were a lot of things like that, a lot of parts of herself that she felt Nora understood better than most. It all went back to that apartment in New York, to a week spent pretending they were something they weren’t and becoming friends in the process.

She looked over as Nora picked up a rock, shuffling closer for a better look. “Basalt!” She announced excitedly. “It’s an aphanitic igneous extrusive rock. That means it’s volcanic!” Like me, she didn’t say, but she knew Nora would know it, anyway. That was another thing about Nora — she’d known Cass’s true form for as long as she’d known Cass, and she’d never once been afraid. There was something undeniably thrilling about that. “They’re supposed to inspire courage.” Her expression softened a little. “It’s a good one for you to find.” Because Nora was one of the bravest people she had ever met.

—

“Like you,” Nora added as Cass said the rock was volcanic. “That’s sick.” Nora slid the rock into her pocket. It would be nice to have a Cass rock. The rock would go into the small collection of things that reminded her of her friends, it included little gifts, a few trinkets, and the selfie wall she had, where pictures of her friends were haphazardly tapped next to her cot. Cass knew a lot of things cool things. That was one of the many things that made her interesting and cool. Sure, she was part rock herself, but Nora was part fear and she couldn’t name every single fear and why people had them. In fact, why people were scared was something that slipped past her understanding a lot. Just don’t be scared, it was easy.

They walked around, Nora in a comfortable silence while Cass talked. Sometimes Nora would offer a word, but mostly Cass was happy for Nora to just be there. Nora liked that. She liked existing in the same space as her friend, without the expectation to be someone she wasn’t. “Oh.” Nora paused their walk, and the conversation, bending over to pick up a rock. “It looks like a van, not the person.” She held out the specimen to Cass. “Might be a good gift for her.”

—

A quiet thrill went through her as Nora spoke the very words that had hung in the back of Cass’s mind when she’d pointed out the volcanic nature of the stone. It felt like being understood, having Nora echo something she’d only thought. There was something just as exciting about seeing Nora slip the rock into her pocket — like if she could want that stone, she could want Cass, too. Cass’s face hurt from how brightly she grinned at the sight, her heart feeling light. Nora thought rocks were cool, and Cass thought Nora was cool. It was nice, having something like that between them.

She walked along with her friend, pointing out the best stones and minerals and picking up a few with announcements about what they meant and who they would go to. Onyx for Lil, moonstone for Wynne. When Nora bent over to pick something up, Cass craned her head to see it. It was a simple stone — a common chunk of graywacke. But Nora was right that it looked like a Van, and the sight made Cass grin all over again. “I think that’s perfect,” she agreed. “She’ll love it.”

JANUARY, 2024

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Nora had brought the projector so they could watch the ball drop, because her fathers always threw parties so people could watch the ball drop. Cass had offered to host, which was good because some people thought Nora’s crypt smelled and didn’t have good ventilation. Which was a weird take, but like, okay. It was a small affair, the remaining for who’d been there that night. It seemed like forever ago. The four of them were friends now. Close and confidants. It was nice they had this.

Van and Thea were talking, so Nora turned to Cass.”To many more years.” She said to her friend. Nora raised a glass of stolen champagne to toast Cass. “We could make this a tradition. It’d make a better tradition than killing a hunter in a supermarket every year.”

—

She’d never done anything like this. A New Year’s Eve party with friends, all gathered in her space to watch the ball drop… There was something so exciting about the entire thing. Cass was so full of energy despite the late hour, ecstatic to have her cave full of people she loved. The crowd had thinned now, down to just Cass, Nora, Van, and Thea. Months ago, it would have been hard to be in this company without thinking of that supermarket where they’d all come together for the first time, of Debbie’s blood staining their hands and their bodies aching with the weight of it. Now, though…

It was terrible, but in moments like this, Cass couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t all bad, what had happened that night. Debbie died, and that was terrible, but… Hadn’t good come of it? They’d made a promise to one another, and it warmed Cass’s chest like a physical thing. She smiled at Nora, clinking their glasses together. “This would be a pretty good tradition,” she agreed. “Definitely better than a murder a year. That would get so messy.” She laughed in a way she wouldn’t have been able to with less champagne coursing through her. Her eyes softened a little, and she bumped her shoulder against Nora’s. “I’m really glad I have you guys, you know.”

—

“New year, new me!” Thea’s voice echoed in the cavern with that statement, Nora turned to look at her two friends talking. A warmth spread inside of her. A warmth that she’d recently associated with friendship and fun. Her glass clinked against Cass’s, and she turned her full attention back to her favorite fae. It was good to see Cass happy. That was a part of friendship that Nora was still coming to understand. Friendship was equal parts enjoying company, doing things together, and doing acts because you knew they would make your friends happy. There was no fear in this cave tonight, and Nora was totally okay with it.

“Yeah, and it’d be better if hunters just… stopped hunting.” Kind of a lame statement, but it always sat in the back of her mind. Debbie could have been one of them. She could have filled out the ranks of this weird collection of young adults who stood in that cave. She could have brought breakfast food with her as they watched the ball drop. “I’m glad too.” Nora agreed with Cass. “Life before this was,” Nora paused trying to find the right sentimental words. They eluded her. She shrugged instead, leaving it up for interpretation, but she knew Cass would know what she meant. “We’ll make this a tradition,” Nora affirmed. “We’ll always bring in the New Year together.”

—

Thea’s voice echoed through the cave, which felt fuller than it had in a long time. Cass felt alive with the feeling, the magma in her chest dancing to the tune sung out by her heart. She wanted to pull all of her friends into something tight, wanted to hold them all as close as she could manage, wanted to keep them here beside her forever. She wanted for nothing to ever change, mostly. It was an impossible thing to want, a silly one. She knew that. But she wanted it all the same.

“That would be great,” she agreed, smile faltering a little. How many times had hunters nearly ruined everything for their group? There had been Debbie, right in the very beginning of it all, then the one who hurt Alex, then Rhett (more than once)... Wouldn’t it be nice if they’d just give it up? Cass and her friends weren’t hurting anyone. She wished the hunters could see that. (She wished other things, too, but those weren’t ones she would ever say aloud.) She swallowed as Nora tried to find a word to describe life before this, nodding when she found herself unable to do so. “I know what you mean.” Because she did. Life before that supermarket had felt so dull and heavy and boring most of the time. It was better now. Maybe they hadn’t gotten there in the best way, but she liked where they’d ended up. “New Year tradition,” she agreed with a grin. “I really like the sound of that. Maybe next year, we can roast marshmallows or something!”

—

“Marshmallows next year.” Thea and Van came back over, drinks in their hands. The group of them toasted the New Years again. They went around with resolutions. They made jokes about the year. They were a group of four friends in a cave, and there was nothing weird about it. They sang, they cheered, they danced, they drank. Nora gave a silent toast to Debbie, the ghost that haunted them in memory and not action. It was the best New Years party of her life. She couldn’t wait for the next one.

FEBRUARY, 2024

Alex had left. Alex had left, and she’d been sure to tell Cass that it wasn’t because of her, but Cass wasn’t sure how much it mattered. The why always weighed so much less than the leaving, after all. People could give a thousand reasons for their departure, could cite things like job opportunities like Alex or fear like Metzli, but none of that mattered half as much as the fact that Cass wasn’t enough of a reason to stay. All she wanted — all she’d ever wanted — was for her to outweigh the rest of it. She wanted to matter more than some opportunity or some fear, wanted to be heavy enough to make the people she loved stay in place, and she wasn’t. She never had been.

So, yeah. She was wallowing a little. Sue her, right? She got… dumped wasn’t the right word for it, but she didn’t really have another one, either. She loved someone and lost them, and that hurt. She hadn’t been ready for it to be over, and that hurt, too. She was allowed to wallow, after all that.

There were footsteps at the mouth of the cave, and she sighed. “I’m trying to be dramatic,” she announced, pretending that her voice was light and joking instead of heavy and sad. “Please just let me be dramatic.”

—

“I’m being dramatic too,” Nora answered. Alex was gone, and Cass wasn’t going to take it well. Cass had a revolving door life. A series of people coming and going. Nora included. She was trying to be better. The cave echoed with the sound of her heavy boots as she walked in. “Wow! Is this the fortress of solitude, Superman?” Nora was trying to do her best to put some emotion in her voice. She was trying to be a comedic character in a comic for her friend, because her friend was sad, and Nora wasn’t sure how to help sad friends. But she would try. That was the important bit. “Not very solitude now that I’m here, jinkies” Okay, so maybe she still didn’t get the comic thing after all this time, but all her friends loved them so she tried. Half the time they sat reading together, they’d pass comics among each other while Nora worked on one of her novels. Classical literature was the only joy private school ever brought into her life.

Nora lowered herself next to Cass, sitting on the floor, wallowing while pretending not to be. She knew Cass now. She knew the story of a girl abandoned. She knew the girl who just wanted to be included and thought of. Nora was thinking of her now. She hoped that would help. Just a bit. She placed a hand on Cass’s arm. “I think you’re allowed to be dramatic, or more than dramatic, if you want to be.” Nora’s voice was back to her regular monotone, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t soft. “I think it’s okay to be hurt about this.” Cass didn’t need her permission. No one needed Nora’s permission. But words were hard, and maybe, just maybe, they would help.

—

Despite her foul mood and the heaviness of the air in the cave, Cass couldn’t help but snort at Nora’s statement as she entered. “It’s really more of a Batcave situation,” she said forlornly. She’d had breakups before, but none as serious as this one. When you lived your teenage years the way Cass had, sleeping in warehouses and clinging to whoever stayed long enough to leave an impression, breakups weren’t entirely surprising. They were the expected end result of any romantic entanglement, and all parties involved were aware of that. But Alex? Alex was supposed to be a permanent fixture of Cass’s life. They were supposed to know each other forever, or as close to forever as the universe would grant them. Cass had never anticipated Alex leaving after only a few short months together.

Of course, she’d also never anticipated Nora coming to check up on her after it happened, so… maybe things weren’t all bad.

Cass sniffled a little, shifting over to make room for Nora to lay beside her on the floor. “I really thought she’d stay,” she admitted quietly. “I really thought I was…” Worth staying for. Whose fault was it that she wasn’t? She didn’t know if Alex could really be blamed for this, if she could resent her for walking away for a better opportunity or if she was just being selfish. Was it childish, this want that lived in her chest? Was it naive and stupid to wish that someone would see you for who you were and love you anyway? She leaned against Nora a little, burying her face in her friend’s shoulder, and that was selfish, too. Nora didn’t like being touched, and Cass didn’t like being alone. She wondered if that made them unlikely friends.

—

“My bad.” Nora once more put on her exaggerated superhero voice, “holy sulking, Batman.” Being a fan of Tim Burton’s 1999 masterpiece, Batman, was the only reason she was aware that Robin came with a holy joke built in. Nora leaned to the side, brushing her shoulder against Cass’s, that comforting movement of a shoulder bump that she now associated with being there for someone. “Gotham is lost without you.” She was exhausting her superhero references, but for Cass she was willing to dig deep to find whatever words might be considered comforting.

Nora kicked her legs out in front of her. Her laces were untied, there was a hole in the top where she could see her sock, also with a hole in it, the leather was worn and she’d have to steal some new ones soon. It was hard letting go of loved things though, wasn’t it? “I thought she’d stay too.” Nora had let the silence sit between Cass’s words and the time she finally answered. She had to consider what she would say. She wanted it to matter because Cass did. Nora hadn’t been close to Alex. Her knowledge of the red head was made up of the facts that she was a werewolf, and she was dating Cass. “I think life is hard to navigate. I think, sometimes, no matter how much you want to stay for something, you still have to go.” Hadn’t Nora wanted to stay with Cass before? But the crowd of people recognizing her had ran her out, and she had been too unwilling to risk going back. “She chose wrong.” Nora added, aware that despite the desperate pains she took to choose her words, they still weren’t good enough.

—

Nora was trying. Nora was trying, and that meant a lot even if Cass still ached with the absence of someone she’d really thought would stick around. People leaving was no new thing, of course. People had been leaving Cass since the day she was born, since her mother left her on someone else’s doorstep and disappeared without a trace. But this… someone sticking around after the fact, trying to help her pick up the pieces? This was new. It didn’t erase the pain of Alex’s departure, but Cass thought she liked it, anyway.

Was Nora right, she wondered? Had Alex wanted to stay, even if she’d wanted to leave just a little bit more? Cass wasn’t sure she’d ever know for certain. And even if she did, she wasn’t sure how much it would matter. How much did it mean that someone wanted to stay if wanting was all it was? How much weight could it carry if they still walked away in spite of it? Cass swallowed, feeling small and fragile in a way she hadn’t in a long time. She chose wrong, Nora said, but what did it mean when everyone chose the same? Could everyone be wrong? Wasn’t it more likely that the problem lay with the lowest common denominator? She saw other people stay for one another, saw it in Metzli and Leila or Ariadne and Wynne, but no one ever stuck around for Cass. She shrugged her shoulders, not looking at Nora even if she wasn’t deliberately looking away. “It was nice of you to come,” she said instead of arguing. “I’m glad you did.”

MARCH, 2024

People had died. Rocks had eaten them. A ghost had killed them. She’d burned a house down, but that hadn’t been enough. Nora was never enough to save people. Regan was going to leave. Everyone was telling her to give up on Regan, but Nora didn’t want to. Regan had to see that she was important. That she could pick herself. Nora paced in Cass’s cave, thoughts racing around her head. What was she going to do? She had to do something. Superhero comics were everywhere. One called Hawkeye caught her eye. “Do you mind if I read this?”

Nora threw herself down next to Cass as she devoured the issues. There was this girl, Kate, and this guy, Clint, and Clint was Kate’s mentor who was very depressed while being talented, and while Kate was super cool and probably more talented than Clint. This sounded familiar. Kate got mad at Clint, stole his dog, and went to L.A. to start a P.I. agency. In this metaphor, Nora was Kate. She could go to L.A., if L.A. was Ireland, and start a P.I. agency if the agency was to save Regan’s life. “Hey Cass, what did you think of this comic? It was cool, right? Would you do what Kate did?” A plan was starting to form.

—

Nora was upset about something, and Cass was afraid to ask for details. She watched as her friend paced through her cave, saw the agitation bustling through her like ants under her skin, and she shifted where she sat with a quiet uncertainty. She watched Nora’s eyes land on a comic — Hawkeye Annual, to be exact, the issue where Kate ditched Clint’s sad ass to move to L.A. and become a detective. It was a good issue, and Cass nodded eagerly at Nora’s request.

She stayed quiet as Nora read, busying herself with her own comic. This week, she was rereading a Black Bat title she’d really enjoyed. It felt nice to sit with Nora and read, even if it brought with it a silence Cass might have normally found herself more inclined to break than she was now. When Nora finally spoke up, though, there was some relief in the quiet being interrupted. “It’s one of my favorites,” she replied with a grin. “I don’t know. I guess… if I had to, right? She had good reason for doing what she did. It makes sense.”

—

Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the same. Because Nora wouldn’t stay in L.A. She wouldn’t open a detective agency, and she couldn’t bring her dog. But she would go to Ireland, she would convince Regan to return to Wicked’s Rest, she would be the hero of her own issue because she was brave enough to do something about it. But how could she get to Ireland without a passport? Because a passport required identification. Nora didn’t have identification. That was in L.A. with her fathers, and probably it would read that she was presumed dead soon.

“Yeah. It does make sense.” Nora was grateful for the emotionless mask that fit over her like a glove. It hid the excitement building inside her as the plan fell into place. It kept the flutter in her heart as she realized she was going to Ireland, to a minimum. “Hey, do any of these comic books ever have characters sneaking to other countries? Like what if Kate wanted to go to Europe and didn’t have a driver's license. What do you think they would do?” Nora was so casual about asking this, because she was the cool girl. Cool girl’s didn’t get excited about anything. She was calm, cool, monotone, collected. “It’d be interesting to see if someone could sneak their way onto a plane, somehow, don’t you think?”

—

It was exciting to talk about comics with someone who would listen. A lot of the time, Cass knew that people tuned her out. She rambled on for too long, she said too much. She was too much, most of the time. She was a bundle of excitement that could be a little hard to handle, and most people didn’t really try. They saw what she had to offer and they walked away from it without thought, without sparing her even the smallest of glances. Nora was different. Nora was here, was in her cave, was asking her what she thought for no reason beyond the fact that she wanted to hear the answer. Cass hummed, looking down at her comics.

“They kind of gloss over that kind of thing,” she admitted. “Like, they’ve all got quinjets and teleporters, so they’re not super interested in dealing with airports and stuff. It’s probably not really that hard, though. I mean, I don’t know about planes, but when I came over to the mainland from Hawai’i, I just rode in the bottom of a boat with the luggage.” She didn’t add that she hadn’t wanted to, didn’t say that it was someone else who put her on that boat or that she’d been sick the entire time. That wasn’t a fun story, and didn’t Nora want something fun? Didn’t everyone?

—

It was disappointing to hear that comics didn’t deal with real logistics. Nora needed real help, but Cass had never failed her before, and wasn’t about to start now. “Traveled with the luggage?” Nora repeated, an idea shaping in her mind, as clearly as paintings did before she placed them on canvas. “You’re brilliant, Cass.” The excitement was bubbling, it was breaching containment, it was creating waves. “Luggage.” Nora repeated the word as if it was a myth she’d never heard of before. She’d have to work fast. She’d have to figure out where Regan kept her luggage, if she could fit, when she was packing, when she was going. Nora was about to spend a lot of nights outside Regan’s cabin.

“I’ve got to run, Cass, but you’ve inspired me. Thank you.” She knew she wasn’t supposed to thank fae, she’d be warned, but it was Cass, and Cass would never abuse a thank you. Cass was her friend, kind, and always nice. “I’ll see you soon, bye!” Nora practically flew out of the cave, a bat out of hell. There was so much prep work she’d need to do, and she couldn’t tell anyone. They’d try to stop her, but she was a force of nature.

APRIL, 2024

She saw Nora’s post with a quiet jolt, bile settling on her tongue. Nora was in Ireland. Nora left. Cass tried not to compare it to the feeling of waking up alone in that apartment they’d made their temporary home back in New York, but it seemed impossible not to think of it. Nora left; Nora was always leaving. Everyone else would follow suit eventually, wouldn’t they? Her hand tightened on the phone.

“Cassidy,” Makaio’s voice rumbled through the cave, quiet concern clinging to his words. “What’s wrong?”

He was still such a new fixture in the cave that, for a moment, she’d forgotten he was there at all. She was hyperaware of his presence now, let it warm her with a quiet certainty. Bringing a finger up, she pressed the button to lock the phone and offered him a small smile. “Nothing,” she said. “Everything’s okay now.”

It felt true. MAY, 2024

Nora stood outside of Cass’s cave. “Cass?” She called into the cave. It smelled like Cass, here at the cave. Nora didn’t like to be underground anymore. It reminded her of brainwashed days. But Cass’s cave was just as beautiful as her friend. In the old days, old Nora who had always been so sure of herself, would walk right in. Cass would be happy to see her. This was before she left for Ireland. She didn’t consider Cass before she left, she just left. That was their history, right? She should have told Cass where she was going. So Nora stood at the mouth of the cave, unsure if she could -should- go in. “I’m back from Ireland.”

The word Ireland hurt as much as the place itself. “Cass I wasn’t trying to leave you when I went, I was trying to be a hero.” Cass had taught Nora about superheroes. She’d never been interested in that slice of pop culture before sitting on the cave floor looking at pieces of art that inspired her more than she thought they would. They were just like Cass, in that regard. Always inspiring. “Cass, I can smell you.” But there was someone else in there, mixing with her smell. “I mean I can smell someone there too, you’re busy. I’ll just come back later. I’ll see you around.” And so Nora left. Again. As always.

—

She was stiff and she was aching and she could still smell the hunter’s skin burning against hers. He was still alive somewhere. She wondered if that would come back to bite her, or if he would go after Ariadne again. He was still alive somewhere. She’d failed to kill him, and she’d failed to be the person Ariadne and her other friends wanted her to be, and she was always going to be alone because of it. She had Makaio, but what else did she have? She closed her eyes, hating the way it sounded. She restructured the sentence in her mind, a forced thing. She had Makaio, but what else did she need?

Someone was outside the cave. She listened as Nora’s voice rang out, felt a sharp pain in her chest. Nora was back from Ireland, because Nora came and went as it suited her. Nora was back from Ireland, but how long would it be before Nora left again? She’d left Cass in New York, abandoned her in a stranger’s apartment. She’d left Cass in Wicked’s Rest, run off to Ireland without even telling her. How could she pretend her presence here was anything but temporary?

Makaio’s hand landed on her shoulder, and Cass let herself lean into it. She had Makaio. What else did she need?

#chatzy #chatzy: cass #days of our lives

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glindaupland · 11 months ago

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The Phantom of the Opera | Seoul, South Korea | 잶팬텀 x 송크리 Review 6/6

October 14, 2023 - Evening

The Phantom of the Opera | 최재림 Choi Jae-rim

Christine Daaé | 송은혜 Song Eun-hye

Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny | 송원근 Song Won-geun

Carlotta Giudicelli | 한보라 Han Bo-ra

Ah, the perfect Phantom to finish my journey and relieve me from my tears after the painful two show Kim Ju-taek/Jo Seung-woo slam the day before! Yes, please erase the poor meow meow thoughts from my mind!

My 6th and final round of POTO and 1st round of 'Choi Jae-rim is a Traumatized French Man Double Marathon'. His only scheduled POTO show during my stay was the day before Les Mis opening night in Busan. So I did not have a spare day like I thought would and I had to hop cities the next morning to see him as Valjean. I originally had a seat up high, but I just had to move myself close on the floor again for my grand finale. Seeing a seat open up during cancellations near my favorite side of the stage, the side with the most action, pretty much sealed the deal. I've always wanted to see a ~scary~ Phantom so let's go out with a bang!

If you're looking for some Erik x Christine, wrong Phantom for you! There wasn't much sugar-coating here. CJR Phantom is the opposite of JSW and JDS Phantoms to me; he's the most like a dark fallen angel. He's dangerous, unnerving, and has a lot more confidence with his actions than the others.

Hannibal Rehearsal / Think of Me

The audience seemed especially hyped today lol. Park Hoe-rim always holds Piangi’s note in Hannibal for a very long time and people applaud him for it. The cheers were loud today though even though audiences usually didn’t make much noise to avoid being disruptive! At the end of Song Eun-hye’s ‘Think of Me’ there was also a very excited reaction from the audience. Love this cast showing off where they can heh

First Lair | MOTN/STYDI

He's the only Phantom to sing "넌 이곳에 오직 나만을 위하여 / You are here for me alone" as "넌 이곳에 오직 한가지 이유로 / You are here for only one reason" at the organ because he's just different and not like other girls okay During MOTN, he was was confidently luring and hypnotizing her with no hesitation or uncertainty. The way he moved his entire body, especially his arms and hands (huge hands goddamn dude), was very flashy and dramatic. He's "overdoing it", but in a way that's very fitting for his Phantom's eccentric personality. I think you can already tell something is off about his Phantom as a person here. You can hear it in his voice a bit too. It had a sort of unearthly mesmerizing quality to it. This is the closest to a mysterious dark angel out of the Phantoms. He's especially possessive, but it's more in the way you might expect and different from KJT Phantom. The way he draws her to him with his hands, the way he touches his lips when he comes around the organ towards her 👀 He even tugged her along a bit when he led her to the bride in the mirror and urged her to look at the gift. With SEH Christine it was interesting to see her slowly unwind throughout the song since she's the more hesitant of the two. A Christine like SJS is definitely easier "prey" for him

Here's a little taste of his Music of the Night. Some of his more dramatic movements are actually a little bit similar to how he moved as the Phantom in this song, but he has a specific strange aura when actually in character.

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I Remember / Stranger Than You Dream It

...SEH Christine is a little too curious and innocent maybe. Because wow if I saw a big weird masked man looking like that while working I simply? Would not want to mess with him at all, not getting anywhere near him. While the music box played, he was breathing (almost grunting) very audibly and heavily in frustration. He was very tense and focused. She was very playful and even mischievous-looking as she tried to swipe at his mask. It was like a game to her. Right at the moment he seemed to find his flow, playing the music in the air with his eyes closed, she succeeded. He's the scariest one during the outburst! His voice sounded venomous at the start and his eyes were wild as he covered the side of his face with both hands. The way he tilted his head watching her was very off-putting. Actually rather than becoming sadder, he almost seemed even creepier as he got closer. My seat was very close on that end of the stage and as I saw him approaching I wanted to back away myself! But at the end, I did start to feel sorry for him. It was really pitiful seeing this magnificent and seemingly magical genius be reduced to...this. The other Phantoms appear more human here, but he truly did look like some dark being trying desperately to be like a regular human, trying to be a part of this world. The angel of music is not, in fact, an angel, but....well who knows what he is. When she returned the mask, he looked like he couldn't make sense of what was happening. I could see his eyes glistening a little like tears were threatening to fall. I think he felt especially uncomfortable looking so weak in front of her. His Phantom felt like he had everything completely under control, but he managed to be disarmed so suddenly. His face was now revealed as well as the hidden dark part of himself

AIAOY Reprise

Kinda upset that my angle made it difficult to see him because the angel wing was obstructing him the times he wasn't leaning forward enough. But also how does he even fit on there. And also how did he manage to be the one who moved the least? He must be folded like an origami piece up there. Anyway oh boy. When saying Christine's name the first time, he sounded broken and small while looking down. But the second time he slowly lifted his head giving a cold dark stare ahead and spoke in a low and threatening voice that faded off. He had this rage building up and spreading through him and began his final lines in a harsh growling voice. He's extra intimidating because he kind of just fully gets up making himself as big as possible. I was laughing during intermission when I was heading to the lobby and two girls ran by me in the aisle going "EEEEE 무서워요!! / I'm scared!" So true, girlies, so true

Why So Silent?

JDS/KJT Phantoms lift up Christine's chin when they finally address her, but he pulled her a little roughly towards him. Not a big thing but definitely got a yikes from me when I saw it!

Wandering Child

Oh he is so weird and freaky somebody's gotta push him off that mausoleum I don't like it (no I love it as an acting choice though I just mean it's uncomfortable) 😭 The way he moves his entire body so much is so creepy? How do I even describe those movements. He would crouch or lean forward in a lunging position, but also made these big gestures with his arms again and looked like he was trying to use some power to pull Christine towards him He used an odd sarcastic tone mocking Raoul like he barely even viewed him as a threat.

The Point of No Return

The trap is set and waits for its prey! ...But also, Christine, Piangi just grew like 10 feet taller turning into a brick wall of a man and you don't find this.... suspicious maybe? No? Okay... He opens that curtain and it's like:

ANYWAY He had such an eerie way of singing to me. There was this hypnotic energy again like in MOTN. Once again the hands...when he tips her head side to side with his fingers under her chin in his last lines of his verse it's like he's putting her in a trance. She actually looked a bit disoriented for a moment, but her expression was slowly changing like she was suspecting something was wrong even before she turned to him. He was scarily calm looking throughout the song. You mostly just saw his shoulders moving from his slow steady breathing. Occasionally he would slowly take a look at her to see what she was doing, but it was more like he was preparing himself than getting stressed. She touched him and he only flinched very slightly before reaching up to her completely ready to join their hands. He was practically pulling her down actually to touch her more. I think he was sure that he was succeeding. When she had discovered him, he closed in like a beast about to pounce with his hands in position to grab her in case she tried to flee. But when she threw the hood off he was taken off guard During the AIAOY Reprise "언제나, 어디든, 영원히 / Always, anywhere, forever" -> "Anywhere you go let me go too" was a painful cry as well as the word "어둠에 / (into) darkness" in "또 다시 지옥 같은 어둠에 / Once again into darkness like hell" later for Down Once More and he delivered his next lines in a terrifying voice. It was similar to the AIAOY Reprise on the angel. I have to admit it partially concerned me (just because here and Les Mis he had a few slight rough moments, he cracked a tiny bit at the very end of 'Who Am I' after an otherwise very solid note). Overall though I think he has amazing ability and it's just wear from the rough schedule he has unfortunately. The choices did work either way!

Final Lair

He is so unhinged and unstable. Now he had this rough vicious villainous tone and sometimes he used that mocking voice again like he did in 'Bravo Monsieur'. He practically hissed out the line about the world never accepting him. His gestures with his arms were so theatrical and huge and the way he moved about was so heavy, jerky, and unsettling. When he threw the noose on Raoul he had the most terrifying laugh and jumped a little spitting out his taunts loudly He stood up fast and leaned in close to her face to whisper “날 시험하지말고 / Don't test me” so very quietly before he screamed for her to choose. He said it with spite in his voice, but he was actually holding back tears when he turned around. He had been so dangerous before, but Christine managed to disarm him once again with her words. Christine dropped lower from her position on her knees with a sob. It wasn't out of fear, seeing him like this just seemed to hurt her. This kiss was an interesting one to analyze. Some people thought this part tends to make him seem unmoved? But I disagree with the conclusion some people had made around that time that his Phantom didn't change or develop. He wasn't very openly reactive to the first one, he was completely frozen. The second time he clenched and unclenched his fists until he pulled her hand away quickly and rushed off staggering and holding his head. I saw reviews saying he would simply repeat his actions over again based on his reactions. I personally just think his change is different. I think CJR Phantom thinks he knows everything and that he can control everything that will happen so it scares him when he faces something unexpected. I think this is why he started to finally unravel at the very end. He cannot predict anything Christine will do, she always does the opposite of what he would think. Love and compassion were the last things he would ever expect. I don't even think he knew what kindness looks like. But he finally understood in that moment and he also understood that he couldn't force her to be there with him now. Something I noted during this performance in particular: HGH Raoul tried to urge Christine that they need to leave, but SWG would seem a bit confused in the moment and look at the Phantom like he was trying to understand what just happened. It just especially stood out to me across from CJR Phantom because of how much of a threat he had been. He was trying to process this because of the way the Phantom was just moments before and almost looked like he maybe even pitied him in a weird way. Christine came back pretty early this time to return the ring and watched the Phantom while covering her mouth in disbelief. It was as if this was the one moment he finally showed his real human side to her. She could really see him as a regular man now. When he realized she was there, he was really startled and practically jumped away like he was bracing himself for something (perhaps thinking the mob had arrived for him?). He went over to her wondering why she had returned, but once he realized he softly sang that he loved her. She nodded knowingly trying to hold back her tears. He looked so small suddenly when she left him alone there

Please when I tell you Jae-rim got the loudest screams out of every curtain call I experienced lol. He was goofing off, but at one point the shrieking was so loud he looked a little embarrassed about it heh. Even louder than that though was his Les Mis curtain call where everyone just about lost their goddamn minds seeing him pick up and spin little Cosette (I was one of those people, I'm weak)

Anyway it's promo time! Here's some bonus videos for you to enjoy

POTO Medley in English from 2013 (Wandering Child -> MOTN -> Think of Me -> All I Ask of You -> - he could easily be in English POTO honestly since he speaks English very well. He sings the actual show pretty differently and his vocals have improved, but it's still very nice and interesting to listen to after all this time.

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Ah next one is cursed I know I know...but he almost convinced me this show can be good like a very talented scammer. Please stick to only covers of this though... He's sung the English version before a few times, but here's the Korean one:

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And some non-POTO promo to show off his range because he's kind of crazy

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And that's it for all my Phantom reviews! 6 out of 6 shows yay! If you made it to this point thank you for reading and enduring. I hope my insanity brought you some kind of joy and entertainment. I just wanted to share everything I could so other people could have a taste in some way and so I could relive and document my memories. It was truly a dream experience for a longtime POTO fan to be able to see the show done in so many ways over just a few days.

#he makes me feel like the laziest person in the world #but guys his valjean...my heart...#as much as i enjoyed his phantom his valjean won the competition for me #anyway we love crazy bitches #오페라의 유령 #the phantom of the opera #poto korea #choi jae rim #song eun hye #song won geun #최재림 #송은혜 #송원근 #poto review

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rj-drive-in · 1 month ago

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Strange Brew Department:

Happy Halloween! Happy Tricks! Happy Treats!

For October Wine, one must gather the ingredients one year in advance, because that’s how long it must ferment.

Wet orange maple leaves collected from the forest floor no later than the ides; pine cones that have yet to drop, along with a bed of needles for their repose; a cupped handful of wild blueberries picked at dawn; a handful of chestnuts no bigger than your thumbnail; the longest continuous strip of birch bark possible; a baker’s dozen of Honeysuckle flowers collected while trespassing; a pumpkin; a patch of moss; and, most importantly, seven Hedgehog Mushrooms, collected in the nude under the full moon.

Halloween night, as the Witching Hour approached, I gathered the ingredients on my kitchen counter and pulled out my grandmother’s yellow, crumbling recipe, sealed in its clear plastic sleeve (no fear– I also scanned it and backed it up to the cloud).

Normally I would use that nice vintner kit that I got from Amazon a couple of years ago, but this was to be something special. I used Gramma’s old fermenting bottle. It was the size of a large baby and made of thick green glass, with a finger handle and an ancient cork clamp lid.

Following the recipe to the last handwritten letter, I poured the mix into the mason jar, sealed it tight, and stored it away in a cabinet in the back of my garage.

An eventful year passed, and most of the events were not welcome. Few of them, but all of them, affected me personally.

As October rolled around again, many felt that the gallows humor and graveyard mischief of Halloween were inappropriate after all that had happened, but my appreciation of the holiday ran deeper than that.

Keisha caught up with me at the mall on Friday. “Hey, Hester,” she said, hugging me. “I’m having a little get together at my place on Halloween. Just a quiet thing, no costumes or anything. I hope you can be there.”

“I think I’ll just stay home,” I lied.

“Just a half dozen people or so. Some single boys.”

I laughed. “That’s okay.”

“Chips and hard cider.”

“Nah.”

“Still missing your gramma, huh?”

“Yeah. Always.”

“She was a real sweethearted lady.”

“Best ever.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” I smiled for her.

She hugged me again. “Okay, but the invitation is open if you change your mind. We’d love to have you.”

“Thank you. I’ll think it over.”

She continued on her way and I continued on mine.

I met Violet coming out of the supermarket with an armload of Halloween candy, just as I was going in.

“Hi, hon,” she said with a one-armed hug and a cheek kiss. “I guess you’re all ready for All Hallow’s Eve.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sexy Hippie costume.”

“Just my regular clothes,” I laughed.

“Same thing,” she said. “What are your plans?”

“Just home,” I lied.

“No date?”

I shook my head and she shook hers back at me teasingly. “You’ve got to move on eventually,” she said.

“And I will. But it was nice. I’ll let it linger a little.”

“Mmm,” she said. “I know what you mean. That’s why I never brush my teeth right after eating ice cream.”

I laughed. She was always coming up with crazy, but accurate, metaphors like that. “What about you two?” I asked.

“We’re staying the weekend at his sister’s place in Nashua. We still don’t want to take too many chances with the pandemic.”

“Good idea.”

“Well, I gotta run. Stay safe.”

She continued on her way and I continued on mine.

Piyali got me on Skype me that night from her parents’ house in New Jersey. She was still recovering from the injury to her face that she got at the beach over the Summer, and I’m pretty sure she had some kind of post-traumatic stress thing going on.

“Sorry I haven’t kept in touch,” she said.

“That’s okay. How have you been doing?”

“All right. Mom and Dad want me to stay for the Winter, so I might not be back in town until Spring.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “I’m getting some therapy. Dad offered to pay for plastic surgery. It’s cosmetic, so the insurance won’t cover it.”

“They’re hardly noticeable.”

She shrugged. “I just want them gone.”

“I understand,” I told her. “What are you doing for Halloween.”

“Staying in. Dad likes those old black-and-white monster movies.”

“Same here,” I lied. “Movies and popcorn.”

“Sounds good,” she said. “I should go now. Let’s talk again before Thanksgiving.”

She continued on her way and I continued on mine.

Halloween night came. I turned off the porch light and most of the indoor lights. I didn’t expect any Trick or Treaters this year, but I didn’t want to deal with any that might show up.

When I brought out the mason jar of October wine and popped it open, it smelled sweet and wet and a bit smoky, just like October should. I took a deep breath of the aroma, but resisted the temptation to try some and closed it back up, leaving it on the kitchen table. Instead, I put on the Turner Classic scary movie marathon in the background, with the sound turned low, and meditated in the darkness as the hours went by.

About 11oclock, I stretched and got up and got ready to leave. In my bedroom, I undressed and put on the short cotton nightgown, blue as a daisy, that Gramma gave me last year when she found out she was going to die. She bought it especially for this occasion and this was the first time I took it out.

I wore my car starter fob on a chain around my neck. I would have to carry my phone and the jug of October wine.

My carport is through a door off the kitchen, so I didn’t have to go outside yet. I used the remote garage door opener and drove out into the quiet streets. There would be few cars and fewer people about at this hour, but I really hoped I wouldn’t get pulled over. The air was chilly enough to raise goosebumps, and the stars in the clear sky were bright and crystalline, despite the suburban streetlamps. I liked the feel of my bare feet on the gas and brake. It was a fifteen-minute drive to Houghton’s Pond.

Blue Hill River Road posed the biggest risk for getting pulled over, but the only other parking lots were on the other side of the pond, which would have meant an hour’s walk through the dark woods before I even got to the right trail. Fortunately, I had no trouble. The parking lot between the picnic grounds and the ballfield was deserted and I sat there in my parked car for a minute, listening to the quiet, before getting out.

The yellow swing gate that blocked the trail to car traffic was right beside the parking lot and easy to find. I didn’t bother using the flashlight app on my phone to light my way, because the Google home page threw enough of a glow to see by in that deep darkness. I went around the gate and, after carefully picking my way barefooted through the weeds and rocks of the disused trail, I came to the edge of a crumbling asphalt road. This was the abandoned ruin of the original Route 128, which has sat here ghostly and mostly forgotten since it was replaced by the new highway system back in the 50s. Here the going got a little easier and I continued down that road for several minutes.

Gramma had left me very specific instructions on what to do next, written on the back of the recipe for her October wine. I’ve scanned that too, but I’m not going to include any details of it here. Let it suffice to say that the passage to the hidden pathway that I needed to find would have been invisible in broad daylight, let alone the dead of night, but her step-by-step guide allowed me to slip unscratched through a wall of thorns, like an interpretive dancer maneuvering through a maze.

The trail on the the other side of the bushes was very narrow and I had to pick my way through carefully so as not to lose it. But it was only a matter of minutes before I broke through to the clearing that Gramma had described.

The clearing was circular, about to fit a Burger King and covered with an even bed of grass. Just as Gramma had said, it looked as well kept as a front lawn, even though nobody ever came this way. The trees that surrounded the clearing were Autumn bare, and I could see the cold white light of the rising Moon starting to peek through them to the East.

I pulled my nightgown off over my head, folded it up and lay it in the grass at the clearing’s edge. Switching my phone to airplane mode, I placed it on top of the nightgown. Then, holding the jug of October wine in my arms like a baby, I walked deeper into the clearing.

About a third of the way across, facing the hint of the rising Moon, I sat down cross legged with the jug in front of me. The grass was cool and moist with dew. It was just before midnight.

After several relaxing breaths, I unclamped the old cork and popped it out, raised the jug to my lips and took my first drink.

It was somewhat thicker than store wine and tasted like wet leaves and berries. It was also warm, and I could feel that warmth go down my throat and spread into my shoulders. I closed my eyes and sipped at it slowly.

When I opened my eyes again, the half disk of the last-quarter Moon had risen above the treetops and was casting shadows across the clearing almost to my knees. A soft breeze moved through the bare branches. It was cool on my skin but I still felt warm. I saw what looked like swarms of fireflies floating lazily in the dark woods, and they seemed to be flying in pairs. Perhaps they were the eyes of Halloween spirits.

Gramma had not told me what to expect, except for anything and everything. I smiled, feeling calm and warm, closed my eyes and took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was higher, lighting more of the clearing. Spread throughout the carpet of grass before me were a thousand mushrooms, some as tall as lilies, some as tall as corn, with slender stalks waving slowly back and forth. They were pale gray, almost white in the moonlight, except for red spots on their small umbrellas. The mushroom closest to me was being ridden by a small snail.

I sat watching the calm waves moving back and forth through the field of unusual growths until I fell in rhythm with them.

Then I closed my eyes and took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was higher and the shadows shorter. The mushrooms were gone, but their place was taken by scores of frogs. There were frogs of all types, from warted bullfrogs as big as footballs to small pebbled tree frogs that would fit in the palm of my hand. They were spread in front of me across the clearing in a great half circle, arranged in rows, like an amphibious parliament.

They sat still and staring at me, slowly blinking, their throats expanding and contracting. Occasionally a distinctive croak would arise from somewhere in the crowd to be answered elsewhere.

Nodding, I closed my eyes and took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was straight overhead and it was now full. This did not seem odd to me. I tilted my head back and looked up and realized that the Moon was also larger than it should be. Every time I blinked, it grew larger still and soon it nearly filled the sky, its edges obscured by the treetops around the clearing. It was so close that I could see the crisp details of mountains and valleys and craters as if I were looking straight down at them. There was the Sea of Tranquility. There was the Apollo lander and the American flag. There were Neil Armstrong’s footprints.

The surface of the Moon was now just inches above my head, almost as close as the cool grass under my bum. I had a brief moment of vertigo and suddenly I was kneeling in the lunar dust and the grassy field was above my head like a low ceiling. The astronauts’ footprints, in their stark clarity, were right in front of me and gray moondust clung to my knees and bare feet. I was afraid to exhale, not knowing if I’d be able to breathe in again.

I reached out to touch the footprint before me and stopped, not wanting to disturb its perfection. There was a moment of vertigo again and I was back in the clearing and the Moon was back in the sky, in its normal phase.

Closing my eyes, I took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was behind me, the shadows of the trees stretching out in front of me. A wide dirt path, almost a road, had opened up in the forest straight ahead on the other side of the clearing. Far off in the distance, at the end of that road, a thousand miles away, was a light, and silhouetted in that light was somebody walking away. He seemed familiar, but he never turned around and soon disappeared down that relentless road.

I blinked and the path was gone.

Closing my eyes, I took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon had almost set, leaving only traces of moonbeams peeking through the woods in back of me. The clearing was very dark now, but I soon became aware that there were other people present, moving quietly at the treeline. They were all separate, spread apart, just shadows in the darkness.

There were three of them, all unaware of me and each other. Each time I blinked, they were in different positions in the field, but seemed to be gradually, randomly, coming nearer to the place where I was sitting.

After a while, I began to make out details. They were all girls, all as naked as I was. One was brown with black curls; one was pale, with red hair and freckles; one was olive with glossy hair to her waist. It was Keisha, Violet, and Piyali.

They continued to drift slowly closer, each in her own world, until they stood in a row in front of me, staring silently at their own feet.

It was hard to find my voice. I felt like I hadn’t spoken in a hundred years. Finally, I managed to say, “What’s the matter?”

I blinked again and the clearing was empty.

With a heavy heart, I took another sip.

When I opened my eyes again, the Moon was gone and the clearing was black, the only light coming from the starry sky above. It took a very long time for my vision to adjust. Eventually, I knew that there was another human figure standing under the trees on the other side of the field. Again, it was a woman, and, again, she was as naked as I was. But this was an old woman. An ancient woman.

This was my Gramma.

She started walking slowly toward me and with each step the years melted away and the stars grew brighter. By the time she reached me, she was young, as young as I was, and I could see her clearly. She sat down cross legged in front of me so that our knees were touching and the jug of October wine sat in the tangle of our ankles.

She tilted her head at me with an odd smile and then lifted up the jug and took a long drink. She seemed to savor it for a moment, and then handed it over to me. I took a sip, but she shook her head with a wry twist to her mouth, so I took a longer drink. I placed it back down between us, feeling a little dizzy.

“It’s very good,” she said.

“I followed your recipe to the letter.”

“Next time you won’t have to.”

She took my hands and placed them on top of the jug, then placed her hands on top of mine, and squeezed firmly. For a long time, she just smiled at me and stared into my eyes with a look of adoration that broke and healed my heart.

“Gramma,” I said.

“Yes, Hester.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You do know what to do.”

“Tell me. What?”

“You don’t need me to tell you what to do,” she said. “You know what to do.”

My eyes suddenly filled with tears and when I wiped them clear, she was gone. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes and took a long last drink.

When I opened my eyes again, the Eastern sky was just barely turning blue. I got to my feet a bit stiffly and stretched out all the kinks with a groan. I replaced the cork in the mason jar of October wine, noting that there was still more than half left. Plenty left over for next year. Plenty for me to continue this old and new tradition.

Picking up my nightgown and phone, I slipped back into the narrow pathway in the forest, retracing my steps to the road and the parking lot and my car and my life. I was ready to continue on my way, knowing that all the other ways, of both the living and the dead, were mine as well.

#microfiction #micro fiction #short fiction #short story #fantasy #halloween #all hallows eve #happy halloween #trick or treat #rick hutchins #rjdiogenes

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gazs-blue-hat · 1 year ago

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Sunflowers and Shotguns pt.4 (Small Town UA) Soap X Reader (Lamb)

An: Here we are with Lamb and Soap! This time with some angst and whumpy times.

Word Count: 2,236

Summary: Soap usually sleeps pretty well but when he struggled to fall asleep and hears cobbing in the middle of the night, he can't help but go investigate.

Tw: Mentions of nightmares, phantom limb pain,, vivid descriptions of injuries to a leg, unintentional self harm (Lip biting), (LMK if I missed anything)

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO ANYBODY HERE OR ON ANOTHER SITE TO REPOST, COPY, TRANSLATE OR FEED MY WORK TO AN A.I OF ANY KIND.

The air was getting colder as autumn faded and went. The ground was covered by frost in the morning and the trees were dropping their leaves left and right.

Due to the coming winter, you had been busy preparing her farm for the cold months ahead. The crops had been harvested and were being preserved, the animals had been fed a little bit more to get them a little insulation from the cold, and Ghost had added actual insulation to the various pens for the animals.

Since you had been working extra hard, Johnny couldn't help but notice you limped a bit more when you walked. You never removed her prosthesis around them, but he could tell it bothered you.

Price had said he saw the stump briefly for a moment when Tens had been over to do something with Lamb. He didn't mention much about it other than it looked painful. Your amputation had been done right below your knee so it 'wasn't as bad as Alex Keller's' he had said.

Johnny was incredibly curious but he knew better than to ask what happened. He wanted you to be comfortable with them in your house, and talking about a deeply traumatizing event was probably not a good way to do that.

You had warmed up to them in the weeks they had been there. September had come and gone, leaving the frigidity of October to swipe away the summer heat. You weren't silent around them anymore, only speaking when needed. You talked with them and shared little bits about your life. You explained where you had grown up and what your family life had been like.

Johnny would even dare say you two were 'friends' now. You spoke to him more often, sat next to him at meals, and asked him to do things with you instead of for you.

He still slept in the recliner in the main room, finding it incredibly comfortable. You had brought out blankets for himself and Gaz (Who was sleeping on the couch), and he didn't fail to notice that he got the fluffier ones. (Kyle didn't mind)

His nights were usually uneventful, being too tired from the day to really dream of anything. The work you had them doing kept them physically fit and was enough to tire them out.

This night wasn't so uneventful.

He found himself tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable in the large leather recliner. He had done less work today than normal and found his mind racing because of it. Instead of running down dark paths like usual, his mind was filled with thoughts of you.

He thought about how your smile was so genuine and excited about things. When one of your hens had laid an egg that was cracked, you had taken it into the house and put it in an incubator 'just to see what happened'. He watched as you looked down at the small egg, examining the small beating heart and blood vessels. You two had sat at the counter for hours, watching the little chick move and stretch. When the chick had passed away, he rubbed your back as you softly held the creature in your hands, whispering how proud of it you were. Proud that it had tried and had lived as long as it had.

He loved how kind you were to everything you saw and interacted with. You never pushed boundaries and respected each of them. You had gone through the effort of getting them the things they needed (Sometimes getting the items before they even asked).

Frustrated with himself, Johnny groaned and sat up, lowering the legs of the recliner. He decided that washing his face might help relax him so he silently walked towards the bathroom down the hall. Once he arrived at the bathroom and went to open the door, he heard muffled sobs.

He wouldn't say the person was crying, it was deeper than that. These were heaving sobs he had only heard coming from dying men on the battlefield. He looked towards your bedroom door, the source of the sound.

He knew his team's cries by heart. They all had nightmares, it came with the job. He had never heard cries like these coming from you. he knew he shouldn't but he couldn't help himself from trying to open your door. It was locked, as usual, but a locked door never stopped Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish from entering a room. He quickly made his way to his back, removing a set of lock picks. Making his way back to your door, it was a simple enough job to pick the four tumbler lock.

The door opened without a sound and he looked into your bedroom for the first time. The walls were a dark color and little twinkling lights hung on the ceiling. A welcoming and warm atmosphere filled this room, not unlike the lavender diffuser that sat on the nightstand next to your bed.

Your bed was large, a king-sized one probably. Nikon was laying on one side of the bed, his head in your lap. You were sitting up amongst a plethora of blankets and pillows, sobbing.

Johnny was able to see your prosthesis that had been propped up by your nightstand. It made sense that you wouldn't wear it to bed. Nikon sat his head up and whined loudly, getting up and walking over to Johnny. Your head was pressed down into your chest, your shoulders shaking with heaving sobs.

Nikon gently went behind Johnny and pushed him into the room. The dog then closed the door by pushing his nose against it. Your door swung inwards, easier to barricade and defend.

Johnny looked down at the dog with a raised eyebrow. Nikon made a soft boof' sound and jumped back on the bed, sitting his head against your good leg. Johnny slowly approached the bed, noticing how your head shifted to hear to him better.

"Um, hey there lass," he whispered. Your sobs halted and you looked up at him. Your usually bright (e/c) eyes were red and puffy. You swallowed and looked up at him. He could see your lips were bleeding from where you had bitten them to keep quiet.

"MacTavish..." you mumbled, looking at the closed door. He held up the lockpicks and shrugged. You said nothing, only letting out a cry of pain as you leaned your head back and took a deep shuttering breath.

"Nightmares?" Johnny asked as he sat on the side of the bed. You shook your head, hands clenched into fists on the sheets.

"Not this time." You mutter, exhaling the breath you had been holding. Johnny nodded and looked down at his hands. He didn't know what to do. Nikon nudged Johnny's hand with a wet nose. Johnny looked down and then understood.

Your leg

It was your leg that was hurting. The change in the weather and temperature was causing you pain. Price had said Alex suffered similar pains when things changed. Lucky for him, he lived in a place where the weather was pretty consistent. You had no such luck.

Before he could say anything else, you cried out again, hand clutching above the amputation site.

"It hurts. It hurts so fucking much." You sob. Your hands were shaking as you squeezed the aggravated skin. It was covered by a blanket so he couldn't see the damage.

"It hurts and it's not even there." You continue. Hot tears stream down your face and make little marks on the soft sheets. Johnny nods and shifts so he's sitting next to you on the bed. Both of his legs stretch out in front of him and he reaches an arm over your shoulders. He pulls you in close, allowing you to rest your head over his heart.

You stopped trying to hide your cries now. You hid your face in his chest and wailed. His chest absorbed most of the sound as you clawed at his shirt. He said nothing, only holding you close. His hand went around your back and up into your hair, scratching at your scalp and massaging it a bit. He was hoping that some other sensory input would make your mind remember that the leg wasn't there.

"There ya go, lass. Be as loud as you need. I'm not goin' anywhere." he said softly, his accent thicker with worry. You continued to cry into him, wetting his navy blue shirt with your tears.

"What can I do to help? Anything at all." He asks. You nod and point at your nightstand where a container of oil sat. Johnny recognized this as numbing cream. Tens must have given it to you.

"Alright, I can do that." He whispered. He didn't have to move to reach it, his arm long enough to grasp the opaque jar and bring it over. You looked up at him now, an expression of fear in your eyes.

"I understand lass. I want to help. I don't care what it looks like alright?" He reassured. You nodded, shifting the blankets and sheets over to reveal your legs.

In contrast to the jeans you usually wore, you were wearing shorts to sleep. They were simple and loose-fitting, enough to be comfortable but warm at the same time. Your left leg extended down to your toes which were painted a delicate blue. It reminded him of a forget-me-not flower. Your thighs and calf were coated in various cuts and scrapes from farm work. A large bruise was blooming from where a goat had gotten a little too rough with you.

Your right leg was a different story. Your right leg which had been amputated looked like a disaster. The skin was pockmarked and pulled tight. Scars from skin grafts and various injuries littered the skin. So much so that there was hardly any skin that was left unblemished. The site of amputation itself was the worst of all. The skin was red and irritated, burn scars and divots littered the space and small blisters from friction dotted the surface. You had been working too hard.

"Seamin' Jesus lass. I'm so sorry," he mumbled. He took in the extent of the damage, trying to imagine what could have caused such an injury. He didn't know what you had specialized in on your task force. Tens was clearly the medic and chosen sniper. Keys was the analyst and infiltration expert. Skip was your Captain. What you had done was a mystery to him still.

He opened the jar and reached his fingers into the cream. it was freezing against his fingertips and his fingers quickly went numb wherever the cream touched. This stuff was potent. He rubbed his hands together, ignoring the tingling he felt and he looked up at you, who had removed your face from his chest and was leaning against his shoulder.

"I'm gonna start now okay? You let me know if I'm doin' something ya don't like." He said calmly. You nodded, fisting the sheets in your grip. He exhaled slowly and placed his hands on your skin. You instantly relaxed and almost melted into his touch. Johnny felt how your skin was pulled taught and the muscles were tense.

Instead of massaging a leg, he felt like he was touching a corded rope. Your muscles had been rearranged and molded to fit this new way of living you had to do. The surgery must have taken a long time. He started out gently, making sure to cover everything with the cream before actually massaging it.

Once he was satisfied with the numbing job he had done, he started to apply gentle pressure to the skin. You winced a bit at first but then a low groan rumbled in your chest as you leaned your head back. Johnny could see your eyes fluttering as they rolled back in pure bliss.

"There ya are...relax," he mumbled as he continued. You did as he asked, going completely limp in his hands. Your wounded skin wasn't soft like he had expected it to be. The skin was rough and irritated, even chapped in some places. He continued to massage the skin, going deeper and deeper into the muscles as he worked. He couldn't feel his hands anymore but he didn't really care. The expression on your face was more than worth it.

After about fifteen minutes of treatment, you had fallen asleep. Nikon had gone to his bed in the corner, satisfied that you were alright. Johnny smiled as he felt you slump against him, soft snores escaping your mouth. He wiped his hands on his pants and moved so you were laying down. He pulled the covers back up and watched as you slept peacefully. He bent down and pressed a kiss on your forehead. As he turned to leave, your hand gripped his wrist.

'Don't leave. Please." You begged. Johnny nodded and pulled back the covers, sliding into the bed next to you. You shifted so your head rested over his heart, listening to the beating within. Johnny felt completely relaxed and just before his eyes fluttered shut he heard you speak.

"Thank you, Johnny." You whispered. You called him Johnny. Not Soap, or MacTavish. You called him Johnny.

"Any time bonnie, any time at all," he whispered back, wrapping his arm over your shoulders to press you close.

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Taglist: @plumteaa-remus @ghostlythots

(Lmk if you want to be added)

#johnny soap mactavish x reader #small town ua #call of duty #cod mwii #john mactavish x reader #call of duty mw2 #to be linked

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rutilation · 2 years ago

Photo

Chapter 72 of Chainsaw Man takes place in a metaphorical (literal?) time warp. Click below for further details.

This all started when I asked myself: “Wait, why is it snowing in September?”

During my initial read-through of Chainsaw Man, I paid no attention to dates, or calendars, or anything of the sort. There were, after all, so many other elements of the story demanding my attention, such as chainsaws, and men. But, as I mulled over what I had just read, I developed a vague impression that the story must have started sometime in the summer, and ended during the winter. After chapter 119 was published, I observed some discussion about the calendar in Denji’s apartment, and how it matched March of ’98. This made me curious enough to look into the story’s timeline. Imagine my surprise when I learned that one of the very few concrete dates provided was the Gun Devil being summoned on September 12th.

“That can’t be right,” I thought. “It was snowing.”

While the sub-tropical heat of Tokyo is foreign to me, I live in a climate region very similar to that of Hokkaido, and know from lived experience that September is just diet-August. There’s no way it would be snowing there so early in the year, right? Sometime later, I was bored enough to look up when snowfall in Hokkaido starts—mid-to-late-November in the low-lying regions, and mid-October in the mountains. Careful to take into account the succession of 20 years’ worth of global warming, I even looked for Hokkaido weather forecasts from 1997, and indeed, there was no snow there in September. I concluded that Fujimoto simply doesn’t grasp the subtleties of winter past a certain latitude, and gave the matter no further thought.

But, Aki enjoyer that I am, I found myself rereading chapter 72 several times. When I wasn’t wallowing in the tragedy of it all, I was marveling at this farce of unseasonable snowfall. Does this guy think Hokkaido is in the Arctic Circle? Does he think snowy regions are too cold to have spring and fall? Because that little niggling annoyance kept scratching at the back of my mind, I at last noticed the calendar prominently featured in this chapter. Idly, I decided to pull up a list of calendars from 1997 to see which month it matched. (For those who already know where this line of inquiry will end, hold that thought for now, this rabbit hole goes deeper than you might realize.)

June. The only month from 1997 which matches this calendar is June. Fujimoto is reticent to be pinned down by a specific timeline, but it’s June. Aki’s going to die in a few short days on September 12th, but it’s June. There’s a snowstorm outside, and you can hardly see out the window, but it’s June. It’s June, and it shouldn’t be snowing in September either. Oh boy, when I tell you my mind started racing…

Obviously, there had to be a normal, diegetic explanation for this. Perhaps this place was a little shabby, and the inn’s proprietor simply hadn’t bothered with updating the calendars in the rooms. The fact that I hadn’t heard any mention of this before, even when I specifically looked into the series’ timeline, meant that there were probably no bizarre time warps going on. Regardless, I cared much more about the reason for including this odd calendar in the first place, than I did the justification for why it was there.

The choice to accent Aki’s epiphany with impossible weather for an impossible date evoked, in my view, a sense that this moment had become unmoored from time, emotionally, if not necessarily literally. The bond between these three reaches its peak right before they’re torn away from each other in the most traumatic way possible. It was as if the torque from these two opposing forces had dilated the time surrounding this moment-in-between. Tomorrow, they’ll return to Tokyo, where the weather makes sense, and time follows its proper, entropic course. But for now, they’re nestled together in a place where tomorrow doesn’t exist at all, where there is nothing beyond this singular moment of togetherness, preserved outside of time forever. I got goosebumps just thinking about it.

I glanced back at the calendar in chapter 119 just because I still couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing, and it did indeed match March of ‘98. Fujimoto wasn’t just… randomly drawing calendars without reading them, or something. But, I quickly noticed another strange element: both of these calendars looked the same. They both featured months whose beginnings perfectly lined up with the start of the week—that is to say, the 1st lands on a Sunday—and isn’t that an interesting coincidence. So interesting, in fact, that I suspected it was on purpose. As I clicked around looking for more instances of this, I discovered that, after March of ’98, the next occurrence of a neat, symmetrical month was August of ’99—one month after the purported apocalypse. So, not only did chapter 72 take place during some sort of liminal snowy Junetember, it also, subtextually, took place one month after the end of the world.

I was so ready to go ballistic over this. How would I approach writing my meta? I was debating how best to deploy references to Picnic at Hanging Rock and the Lothlórien section of Lord of the Rings, when it occurred to me that, perhaps, I ought to look for additional information regarding these mysterious calendars. What other ways did people interpret them? This is all so in-your-face that there must have been many vibrant discussions—

The calendars in Chainsaw Man all begin with Monday. Way back in chapter 13, there’s a calendar shown in Aki’s flashback, one which clearly labels the days of the week, and it starts on Monday. Apparently, some boomer calendars in Japan were once designed like this in order to center the workweek, or some such thing, and their use here was probably for the purpose of dating Chainsaw Man as a period piece. Anyway, the calendar from chapter 72 thus matches up with September of ‘97. As for the calendar from chapter 119, March of ’99 begins on a Monday, so both Marches would look the same depending on the formatting. Considering Chainsaw Man’s usual clipped pace, it’d be reasonable to assume the story is currently in 1999, giving more urgency to the apocalypse’s ticking clock.

When I tell you I was despondent… With one google search, with mere glances at a few Reddit threads, all these cool, organic connections I’d made in my brain, connections that had greatly enhanced my enjoyment of my favorite arc of the story, imploded into a sad pile of detritus. I still thought it was odd that it was snowing in September. I still thought it was odd that the calendar from chapter 119 could be from either ’98 or ’99. I still thought it was odd that two of the three calendars depicted lined up perfectly with the start of the week. But, I felt there was no longer substantial indication of intent behind any of it. I resigned myself to my initial understanding that Fujimoto simply doesn’t know how snow works, shot my pet theory out behind the woodshed, and tried to put the whole thing out of my mind.

But then, about two weeks ago, I saw some people talking about the Aquarium Arc, and how the first chapter set in that location was published on December 6th, which was the same as the date on the fanciful, alternate-universe photo which served as the cover page for chapter 79. I’d heard that piece of trivia before, but it had passed through one ear and out the other—nothing but a neat little party trick that Fujimoto had concocted to add a little flourish to that stretch of the story, as far as I was concerned. This time, though, it gave me pause.

“That’s weird.” I thought. “Weren’t they wearing shorts in that photo? Wasn’t Power wearing a tank top? In December? Even for Japan, that doesn’t seem quite right.” At this point, a sense of Déjà vu was creeping up on me. I pulled up the cover page…

Just as I recalled, their outfits did not suit December at all. But, more importantly, my impossible June had clambered out from behind the woodshed, and slapped me across the face. A quick google search confirmed that Japan orders its dates the same as we primitive Americans—month first, day second. It was right there in front of me all along: my meditations on a calendar that made no sense, what that might represent, the unseasonable June that was somehow also midwinter, and our found family in a timeless world that couldn’t be. Power’s even wearing the damn hairclip. With shaky hands, I looked back at my list of calendars from 1997: December also started on a Monday that year. September, June, and December are all directly invoked by the narrative in this web of symbolism, and they all potentially matched the calendar in the inn room.

I’m kicking myself for not noticing this earlier, but take a close look at the flowers on Chapter 72’s calendar. While I’m not enough of a botanist to say with total certainty, it seems to me that these are hydrangeas—they’re all bunched together, and have serrated leaves. I’ll get into the hanakotoba meanings in just a moment, but I think what’s really crucial here is when they bloom: the cultivars native to Japan typically bloom during the rainy season from early June to mid-July, and viewing the blossoms is considered a traditional early-summer activity. If you’ve engaged with enough Japanese media, you’ll notice it’s more often than not quite keyed in on flower symbolism, especially as it pertains to the changing of seasons. Putting Hydrangeas on a September calendar would be just as ostentatiously atemporal as the chapter 79 illustration being dated to June. Once again, I was gobsmacked. I was morbing. I was seeing shrimp colors. Anyway, as for what they symbolize in Japan: on the one hand, fickleness and impermanence, due to their blooming period depending on the vicissitudes of annual rainfall, and how they change color with slight variations in the soil. On the other hand, the fact that the flowers grow clustered together is taken as a symbol of family bonds and harmony. It doesn’t take much reflection to see how those different meanings apply to the Hayakawa family at this point in the story.

This whole time, the calendar from chapter 72 was a setup, and this photo, juxtaposed against Aki’s tragedy, was its cruel punchline. It’s 9/12, and Aki is dying his worst death, dragging a chunk of Denji’s soul down into the grave with him. It’s 6/12, and our leads, now childhood friends, are having the time of their life on a trip to the aquarium; within this far-off paradise, they pause to snap a photo. It’s 12/6 in our world; Asa and Denji have entered an aquarium that never ends. And, in a single moment untethered from time, as Denji, Aki, and Power huddle together against the encroaching snow, right before the other shoe drops, it’s all three at once. Did you know that once the company arrived at Hanging Rock, their watches all stopped? Did you know that after he’d gone and passed again into the outer world, still Frodo the wanderer from the Shire would walk there, upon the grass among elanor and niphredil in fair Lothlórien? I then realized, just as 6/12 and 12/6 are mirrors of each other, so are 6/12 and 9/12. Y’know. 69. Here, at the end of this rollercoaster, at the center of this matryoshka doll, Fujimoto was memeing on me with a 69 joke. Holy shit.

It occurred to me that I’d missed some nuances by only looking at these dates in retrospect. There was also the serialized presentation to consider. Prior to chapter 75—which is prominently named after the date on which it takes place—the only orientation the reader would have been given is that November 18th, 1983 was thirteen years ago circa chapter 13. So, from the perspective of a weekly reader, one would look at the calendar from chapter 72, and—while keeping in mind that the only other calendar thus far started on a Monday—assume that this takes place in December. After all, the snow piling up outside is a lot more noticeable than a tiny photo of hydrangeas tucked in the corner of a panel. The weather here doesn’t just heighten the surreality of the scene, it’s also there to deceive the reader. Fujimoto is exonerated in my heart at last: he does know how snow works! This element of trickery makes me wonder if there will be some sort of twist down the road involving the similarly-ambiguous March calendar. I’m going to be watching that like a hawk.

I also started thinking about what separates these liminal time warp dates from the clearly-labeled ones. Both of the Gun Devil’s appearances, as well as the impending apocalypse, were given concrete slots in the timeline during the moment of their presentation. There’s no room to wonder about what month or year we’re actually in. Calamities are etched in stone, their body counts carefully recorded down to the second. In the space between those tragedies, however, the veil thins; time has a double meaning, and tries to trick you. Without realizing, you might even briefly slip outside of it. While half of you will return to meet your doom, the rest of you might grab your friends, run away to the aquarium at the end of the world, and never look back.

(You might even call that aquarium endless.)

#chainsaw man #my mind is reeling please obsess over this with me

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