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seventh-district · 1 month ago

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Dying Star

In the back of your mind, you recall something you once heard, something about light, and time, and distance. Space. Something about... how you can still see a star that's already burnt out, because its light hasn't reached earth yet. The ghost of a star that's already died. Only still perceptible thanks to time, and distance.

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

- - - - - - -

Sam’s words have been weighing heavy on your mind ever since you discussed your shared future and the various forms it could take. You didn’t realize just how heavy they were until it all came spilling out of your tired mind on a late night spent together beneath the stars.

Pairing: Sam x Darlin' / Reader

Word Count: 4,053

Contains: [angst] [a dash of humor] [a hint of chubby!Sam bc i like 'em strong and soft] [crying] [cuddling (dub-con cuddles with Quinn in the past & consensual ones with Sam in the present)] [emotional hurt/comfort] [implied/referenced dub-con sex (nothing graphic) (in the past between Darlin' and Quinn to be specific) (refer to my Ao3 notes for further explanation)] [mentioned Quinn] [not quite Dissociation i guess but Darlin' does zone-out/get lost in thought more than once] [pet names (Darlin' (obvs.) and honey)] [Reader is Darlin'] [Sam wears a cowboy hat bc i said so] [some passive suicidality from Sam if you squint (hell, maybe you don't even have to squint)]

A/Ns: Well, well, well, here I am, the person who said they wouldn't write any Redactedverse fanfic. I recently felt a mighty need to expand upon the blurb I wrote in this post, and I'm braving my fandom anxiety by sharing it here. pls be nice 2 me abt it

Timeline-wise, this fic takes place sometime after the ‘Talking About the Future With Your Vampire Mate’ audio but sometime before their presumed eventual departure from the house that William gave Sam, given that they've already had the 'turning' discussion but are still on the same roof in this fic.

This is a songfic, inspired by and quoting verses from 3 songs. Those being:

‘Dying Star’ by Ashnikko feat. Ethel Cain

‘Fix What You Didn’t Break’ by Nate Smith

‘No Plan’ by Hozier

The roof of Sam’s house is far from a ‘cushy’ place to relax. But as you lie here next to him under the stars, a knowledge settles within you that you wouldn’t trade the rough shingles beneath you for the softest mattress in the world. Not if it meant there’d be anyone other than him lying next to you.

Some people might counter that it’s an easy thing for you to say, given the number of nights you’ve thrown a balled-up shirt onto one end of a worn-out couch and called it a bed. But some people don’t know you as well as they think they do.

You’ve known luxury. Quinn might’ve been just as content taking his fill on a seedy motel bed as he was wrapped in silks at a Hilton, but he knew how to play up the luxe when it served him to do so. And in the early days as he worked to lure you in, it did. Plush sheets and expensive drinks helped to soften the preordained blows and dull the imminent pain that your nights with him held.

Once you’d latched onto the bait though, he let the act drop one piece at a time, like props collapsing on a stage. After all, what was the point in all of those frivolities when you both knew what you really came to him for? It wasn’t to be wined and dined, it wasn’t to be dressed up and shown off, and it wasn’t even to be slowly stripped of it all, laid out across the rolling clouds of a pillowy mattress.

It was to be used. Tranced. Restrained. Bitten. Drank from. Choked. Hit. Edged. Denied. Made to writhe and whine and bleed and plead. Plead for more, for less, for nothing, for anything. Anything to quiet your mind and fill the ever-expanding void inside you where you suspect love was supposed to live.

That’s what you both really wanted.

At least, that’s what you told him you wanted.

That’s what you told yourself.

You only got what you asked for.

To your right, Sam stirs, stretching gently with a yawn. The soft noise he releases as he does so reminds you of where you are, and you trace back through your thoughts to find how you got so lost.

…Right. Luxury.

While your relationship with Quinn certainly changed over time, you never forgot what it felt like in the beginning.

You remember nights laid next to him, body sore, mind quiet. Quinn’s idea of aftercare was lacking to say the least, but you had nothing better to compare it to at the time, and you’d take what you could get. At least your head felt empty, and the bed was soft. Exhaustion would pull you under soon enough.

The mattress, sheets, and pillows enveloping you were likely worth more than you even made that past month. ...Or several. You found that display of luxury hard to be impressed by though, when it wasn’t the type of comfort you’d been seeking.

As Quinn shifted in his presumed sleep, pulling you in tighter, you didn’t fight it. You found yourself unwilling to fight anything he did, like his mere presence was enough to drain the fight right out of you. You told yourself that you were okay with that. Because you wanted it.

Lying there with your head on his bare chest, you took a deep breath and told yourself that you liked the stench of cheap cologne, poorly masking the cigarettes and alcohol on his breath. You silently told yourself that you liked everything. You liked the pain that he chased with hints of pleasure. You liked the loss of power, the way you couldn’t fight back if you wanted to once he looked you in the eyes. You liked all the things he said, no matter how much the truth might hurt.

He was right, you supposed. Your desires, the things you craved, the depravity that you so enjoyed, wasn’t normal. It was uncommon, unusual, and in the eyes of some, unfathomable. To possess such dark desires, there must be something truly broken inside you.

How lucky you were, to have found someone willing to indulge you. Someone that could give you everything you wanted, and be so kind as to keep it a secret too. He promised that word of the things he did to you, the things you let him do, would never get out. You remember the way he held your hand as he told you, falling for the guise of sincerity in his eyes. You remember his warm smile, and his razor sharp teeth.

You remember seeing that exact same smile on his face through one-way glass as he sat across from Sam and told him everything.

You stood in that room and thought back to those nights of luxury. To the feeling of his nails ghosting over the freshly healed punctures in your neck. To the way he held you against him. You remember laying there, lifeless, feeling like prey playing dead. Afraid to move, afraid to disturb him. But why? He hadn’t threatened you. He never told you that you had to stay. He never said that you couldn’t move, or pull away. So why did you feel that way?

As you stood, helplessly witnessing hours of his slander in that interrogation room, you understood. Your rose-tinted glasses had long since shattered, and you saw that smile for what it was. It was the smile of a man playing a dangerous game, brimming with satisfaction, thinking he’d won.

The radio near you begins to crackle, static obscuring the hosts voice as they announce the upcoming song. Sam doesn’t even open his eyes, just raises a hand and reaches out, blindly adjusting the antenna of the old device.

You’ve teased him for holding onto it for so long, as he is wont to do with damn near all of his possessions. But as you watch him deftly extend and angle the antenna with practiced care, the response he once gave you proves itself true once again.

“I don’t wanna replace it, Darlin’. It’s not broken. It just needs someone who knows how to make it sing again.”

The static clears, and music flows through the radio’s old speakers once more.

You watch Sam return his hand to its prior position beneath his head, acting as a makeshift pillow of his own. The way he’s lying has his hat pushed forward, and it’d be doing a damn good job of shielding his face from the sun if it weren’t somewhere around midnight at the moment. Still, it suits him somehow, despite its lack of any practicality. All he’s missing is a stalk of wheat between his teeth and a tree to lean against and he’d be the spitting image of the cowboy he swears he isn’t.

His other hand rests on the soft curve of his stomach, rising and falling again as he breathes. He’s the image of peace in moments like these, and you’re drawn to it like a moth to flame. Maybe one of these days you’ll find some of your own, but for now you’re more than content to bask in his.

As you admire him, he takes a slow, deep breath and you mirror it on instinct. The grounding practice helps you leave your mind and return to your body, if just for a moment. In doing so, you realize just how tense your ruminations have made you.

You relax your hands, releasing the blanket beneath you from your iron grip. You brush your palms over it, worried that you’ve torn the fabric once you realize that your nails had halfway shifted to claws. You don’t fret much over damage to your own possessions, but this blanket is Sam’s and you’d hate to ruin it. Though, you suppose he doesn’t prize it too much or he wouldn’t have laid it out here across the roof in the first place.

“If I buy somethin’ it’s because I wanna use it. Now quit frettin’ and get over here.” You recall what he told you earlier as he patted the blanket next to him in invitation, and you smile.

Doing a small stretch of your own, you release the tension in your shoulders, turning your attention back to the stars above you. For a while, you let the soft music wash over your tired mind.

“I asked him not to kill me politely. He drained my magic core, bottled up at the source. I washed up on the sea glass shores. I’m nobody's captive.”

In spite of your best efforts to relax, you’re still subconsciously futzing with the loose threads of the old blanket beneath you.

You’re made aware of it when Sam reaches a hand down, gently laying it over yours and effectively stilling your anxious motion.

“Burning like a dying star, invasive weeds rooted in my heart, set in a crooked trajectory. The journey here was hard, I was almost pulled apart. Trying to leave his orbit took what’s left of me.”

You flip your hand over beneath his so you can hold it properly, lacing your fingers together.

For reasons beyond your understanding, emotion tightens your throat, the threat of tears pooling in your eyes.

…You must be more tired than you thought.

As minutes pass and one song fades into another, your gaze dances across the blurry, scattered points of light in the dark sky.

“You were the star in the pitch black, shine the way on the way back. Out of nowhere, answered all my prayers.”

Sam’s always been so much better at identifying stars and finding constellations. But as the music plays, you begin to see one of your own.

“Picked up the towel that I threw in, took in a heart that was ruined. Showed me the past ain’t a tattoo, loved me even when you didn’t have to.”

“Sam.” You squeeze his hand to get his attention.

He squeezes back in acknowledgment. “Hm?”

“I want you to look at something.” You swallow back the emotion that tries to seep into your voice, but it catches his attention all the same.

He leans up and lifts his hat from his head, setting it aside near the radio. He then reaches to turn a dial back, lowering the music’s volume to give you his full attention.

You release his hand, raising yours up as he turns back to face you. You don’t say anything at first, nearly too lost in your own mind to realize you need to actually voice your developing thoughts.

"What—what're you pointin' at Darlin'?"

Your hazy focus is trained on the brightest star visible in your line of sight, arm stretched out to the sky above you. "That really bright one, to the... to the left."

Sam does his best to follow your less-than-specific directions of 'to the left', your pointed finger doing little to help given the difference in perspective. Luckily, after all these years, he knows this stretch of night sky like the back of his hand, so it isn't hard to locate the brightest one. Ghosting his fingers up along your exposed wrist where your sleeve had slipped back, he takes your hand in his again and brings it back down to earth. "Okay, yeah, I see it now. What about it though?"

"That's you." You say, matter-of-factly.

"That's me?" He questions, humor in his tone.

"Mhm." You nod with finality, blinking slow.

Sam considers the odd statement for a moment before gently correcting you. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure that's Sirius, actually."

You scoff. "I am being serious."

Sam stifles a laugh. "No—no I mean—like... what's another name for it... Oh, it's also called the Dog Star."

"C'mon Sam, at least call it the Wolf Star if you're trying to turn this around on me..."

He shakes his head and readies himself to explain further, but you cut him off before he can start. "But no. No, this isn't about me. That's you."

He decides to play along, finding something endearing in your overtired nonsense. "Okay... then would'ja be so kind as to explain to this confused old man just how, or why that star is me?"

Your frown is audible in your voice as you latch onto the wrong part of his sentence. "You're not old, Sam. ...Do I need to tell Asher to kick the jokes down a notch?"

He smiles at your over-protectivity. "There'll be no need for that, now. Was just a joke, honey, I promise."

You huff, but begrudgingly shift focus back to the prior topic. "It's... I dunno. It's just you, Sam. It's... bright. Light. Something warm, out there in the cold dark. Standing out amongst all the rest. Calling to me, stealing my attention.”

Sam’s brow furrows as you continue to explain, realization setting in that you really are being serious.

“I... I didn't come out here looking for it, but there it is. ...And there you were. In the dark. The only bright thing I'd seen in... fuck, in years. Years of chasing fleeting warmth, tripping over myself in the pitch black, falling into... places and people that I shouldn't have. You were the light in that darkness. Even there, at Wonderworld, surrounded by the ghost of him. Your warmth, your presence, your aura—even with all of your walls up, you outshone it. Your warmth didn't hurt. I didn't have to squint when I looked at you. You weren't the blinding sun. You were the brightest star I'd ever seen. You guided me home."

You remember Sam's words, once whispered to you on this very roof.

"Whatever your choice is... I'm not gonna live forever. I made that decision a long time ago."

You think about dead stars.

You think about time.

"...-lin'? Darlin'?" Sam's calloused hand squeezes yours tight, his urgent tone pulling you out of your thoughts. "There you are. Think I lost ya' for a minute there... you good?"

You look up at Sam, concern creasing his features, faint shadows cast across his face from the light of the dying stars above him.

You reach out, pulling him down into you. He falters for a moment at the sudden proximity, but quickly embraces you in turn. Burying your face into his collar, Sam's concern grows when he feels it saturate with tears. A human might struggle to hear your words, muffled against the thick flannel, but his hearing catches them just fine.

"Don't burn out too quickly. Please. I still need you here. I don't—I don't wanna be left in the dark again. Please, please Sam. Don't leave me here. I'm not selfish enough to ask you for forever, but please. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet."

The words feel like a weight being lifted from your shoulders, but with it comes a flood of emotion they’d been holding back. You cry harder into him, and as much as it pains Sam to witness, he lets you feel it, for as long as you need.

Your fear of losing him manifests itself physically, nails curling and sharpening again. When he feels them prick his skin through the fabric of his shirt, he calls your name but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans further down into you, letting his weight ground you. “Darlin’, I am right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As you eventually cry yourself out, enough wherewithal returns to you to realize that you should probably release the poor man from your grasp, and the awkward position you pulled him into. When he pulls away enough to see your face, you notice a string of snot running from your nose to his shirt collar. Quickly batting it away out of embarrassment, you cringe, voice thick as you apologize. “Eugh, gross. Uh… sorry. About that.”

He shakes his head, laughing good-naturedly as you wipe at your nose with your jacket sleeve. “It’s completely fine, honey. After all, I’ve been covered in plenty of your, uh… various fluids before. When you come from my line of work, this is child’s play.”

He leans to his right, reaching back and pulling—of all things—a handkerchief from his jeans’ left back pocket. You laugh at his words, and at the sight, but with how congested you are it turns into more of a hacking cough than anything. Accepting his offering, you blow your nose into the black patterned fabric.

As soon as you can speak somewhat clearly, you can’t stop the teasing remark that slips out of you, gesturing with the wad of fabric in your hand. “You know, you really aren’t beating the cowboy allegations with stuff like this.”

He rolls his eyes but his soft smile remains. “It’s a practical thing to have on me, ‘allegations’ be damned.”

You shake your head with a smile of your own, but don’t disagree. As you’re visibly unsure what to do with the dirtied fabric, he takes it from you, setting it aside. “I’ll toss it in the wash when we go back inside. Along with my shirt, and…” He eyes you for a moment. “…that jacket of yours too, given how long you’ve probably been wearin’ it.”

Normally you’d argue that it hasn’t been that long, but come to think of it, you actually can’t recall when you last washed the thing.

Reaching up and rubbing your temples, you already regret your crying fit as a headache begins to set in. “Fuck, Sam... I’m sorry for… whatever that just was. I don’t know what came over me.”

His expression falls into something serious again. “You never need to apologize for feeling. And it certainly seems like… you needed to feel that.”

You nod quietly, but don’t elaborate, prompting him to question you gently. “Darlin’. What was that about? The—the askin’ me not to leave. Are you… afraid that I’m gonna leave you?”

You close your eyes, weighing out your response. “…Not in the sense that you’ll break up with me or something, no.”

His gaze narrows and his head tilts as he rolls your answer over in his mind. “If it ain’t that, then—” He remembers how you mentioned ‘forever’ and cuts himself off as the puzzle pieces start coming together. “Oh. …Oh, Darlin’, no.”

You open your eyes to watch as he shifts from leaning next to you, moving to sit up beside you. “Is this about what I told you, when we sat up here and had our uh… turning discussion?”

You hate to admit it, but you nod in confirmation. “…It’s your choice, Sam, and I never want to take that away from you. I shouldn’t have said what I just did, I—I don’t want to make you feel guilty, or like you have to stick around for my sake. But I’d be lying to you if I said it hasn’t been playing on my mind. The thought of you… leaving. Like that.”

He reaches up, running a hand through his hair. “I… think I maybe should’ve been a bit more clear, when I said that. Because I wasn’t talking about any time soon. I didn’t want to give you the false impression that I plan on sticking around for centuries, but… I also wasn’t trying to imply that I’ve got plans to do it next week either.”

You bolt upright, voice cracking. “Next week?! I sure as shit hope not!” You grab your head, pain flaring and suddenly dizzy from the quick shift in position.

He places a hand on your shoulder to steady you. “I’m not, honey, I’m not. Did you catch the rest of my sentence? I’ve got no plans to leave this world any time soon. I promise.”

You groan, head pounding. “I heard you, I did, I just—fuck, I don’t even wanna think about you leaving so soon. Here I am, stressing, thinking I’ve only got—I don’t know—some odd years left with you, and…” You sigh, trailing off.

Sam stays quiet for a minute, letting the crickets sing.

Eventually, he interrupts their chorus. “…Can I get closer to you?”

You nod. “…Please.”

He closes the gap between you, carefully wrapping a strong arm around your curled shoulders. “You’ve got way more than a couple years. I promise you that.” Your tension begins to ease a bit as he clarifies. “You… you’ve helped me find a life that I actually feel like livin’ again, for the first time in a long time. And I want to experience it with you for as long as I can.”

“…Really?” Your voice sounds so small, so unsure, so… unlike you when you question him that he wants to kick himself in his own ass for the role he unintentionally played in making you feel this way.

“Yes. Really. I mean—” His voice takes on an edge of humor. “If you decide to set your sights on the year 3,000…” He shakes his head. “I don’t know about that. But as far as the 21st century is concerned? …I think I’d like to see it through. For as long as you’re there to see it with me.”

His words cause fresh tears to well up in your eyes, and you sniff in an attempt to hold them back. The sound catches his attention, and he leans forward, thumbing across your warm cheek. “…I’m makin’ you cry again…”

You shake your head, clearing your throat. “No—No, it’s okay. It’s good. They’re… they’re good. It’s… relief.”

He breathes out a relieved sigh of his own. “Yeah?”

You nod, leaning into him. “Yeah.”

As you rest against each other, breathing in the cool night air, you nudge him with your shoulder. “Can we… lay back? For a bit?”

He squeezes your arm in gentle confirmation. “Of course.”

He twists and reaches back to straighten the wrinkled blanket beneath you, before laying out across it himself. The radio crackles as he turns the volume back up a bit. Watching him with tired eyes, you smile at the sight of him patting his chest in habitual invitation.

“Sit in and watch the sunlight fade. Honey, enjoy, it’s gettin’ late. There’s no plan. There’s no hand on the reign. As Mack explained, there will be darkness again.”

Curling up against his side and laying your head on his chest, you release a heavy sigh when his hand comes up to rest on your shoulder. As his fingers press rhythmically into the tense muscle beneath them, you breathe in his scent. Black coffee and wildflower honey… he smells like home.

“Your secret is safe with me, and if secrets were like seeds, when I’m lyin’ under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made.”

You reach your hand out across his broad chest, slipping beneath his open flannel and sliding down to rest on his waist. He sighs, relaxing further beneath your touch.

“My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. That’s how I know now that you understand.”

Yeah, you’ll take this over ‘luxury’ any damn day.

“There’s no plan. There’s no race to be run.”

Laying there with him, listening to the low hum of the radio, the moment grows so comfortable that you almost hesitate to break it.

“The harder the pain, honey, the sweeter the song.”

“…Sam?” You whisper into the night.

His hand sweeps across your back before returning to your shoulder. “I’m here, Darlin’.”

“There’s no plan. There’s no kingdom to come.”

You smile. “I… I’d like to be there, to be here, to see it through with you, too.”

It takes him a moment to recall exactly what you’re referring to, but when it hits him he hums a low understanding tone, clearly pleased. “Then let’s see where it takes us, yeah?”

“But I’ll be your man if you got love to get done.”

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ve got plenty a’ time.”

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. You can find my extensive notes and commentary on this fic right here on Ao3. My Sam & Darlin' Playlist My Sam Playlist My Darlin' Playlist My Sam & Darlin' Moodboard My Sam Moodboard My Darlin' Moodboard Header Image Credit: Gage Smith on Unsplash

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted sam #redacted darlin #redacted fanfic #redacted fandom #sam collins #samuel collins #redacted tank #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #one of my last Redacted posts didn't make it into the tags. which wasn't a big deal since it wasn't something important #but i spent some real time and effort on this fic so if tumblr yeets This post into the void i Will cry. and then painstakingly repost it #i've got big feelings about Sam and y'all r gonna see it whether u like it or not /lh #anyways hey this fic was unexpected. and much like Midnight Hour the production time was relatively fast thanks to the power of Fixation #i was gonna post the next chapter of Heaven in Hiding and then work on a Boothill oneshot and then maybe the [N]MbD New Year's fic #but i've been feeling Some Kinda Way lately and i guess i needed to project it onto Sam. so this fic took precedence #i humbly offer my first contribution to the Redacted fandom. pls don't attack me if they're OOC /hj #i'm out here doing my best to walk the line between canon compliance and self-indulgence #also i know that bright thing in the header image i used can't be Sirius. it's gotta be like. a planet i think? not sure which one tho #i've never even seen a planet that bright but my sky isn't all that dark so maybe they Can look that bright in some places #idk. the image description on Unsplash doesn't say. but 'planet' is in the tags so that's my guess #the only thing i've seen be that bright in the night sky 'round here is military flares. but maybe it's to do with how the photo was taken #a n y w a y s point is. the star Darlin' sees isn't That bright but the photo was too fitting not to use

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vesteneris · 1 year ago

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not gonna lie, the cast of @kald-dal-art fanfiction about the first Quartel Quell is just really good

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americanwh0resstuff · 4 months ago

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Would it be weird to write a fic specifically about the way Blaine sits?

I can’t he’s too long (no pun intended I need to get my mind out of the gutter)

#like babygirl please you look like overcooked spaghetti #lanky bastard #skinny queen #thigh gap??? yes #shoutout to my ex for giving me some mental images to write with #gonna get sexy up in here #blaine debeers #izombie #blaine mcdonough #blaine debeers fanfiction #izombie fanfiction #david anders

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coffeegnomee · 22 days ago

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when will i stop thinking kab is doing 5 million things at once. her character has depth. not a million plans. she has proven over and over she just does what is in front of her. the simplest answer is always the right answer with kab.

#i used to do this with pb&j too #like i was full on convinced and vividly imagining them making a whole prison for zam at one point (before they mentioned it was an idea)#and imaging how the joker would have absolutely set his bed and it would have been such a cool prison break saturday session #but they never went that silly with the rp no matter how much i hoped they would #but then when they finally did think of a prison #they were like. we have to find his bed and then build the prison around it over night and then kill him once #my stupid chungus predictive mind can't shut up #this is where i love a real mystery on lifesteal because i can detective it out and there is real evidence #not just evidence i plant and then explore #if i knew how to write narratively i would just do fanfiction but alas im an analysis girly

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velvetwyrme · 13 days ago

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me while in the middle of writing like 4 other things: what if. soundwave/reader/jazz fic. what then.

#im pandering to myself specifically #velwy.txt #im having Silly Ideas #but first! everything else i guess.#BUT ALSO.............#rpf (robot person fanfiction) writer reader who gets menaced by their muse/s irl after theyr a little too accurate with how they write abt-#-autobot/decepticon plans and one of the two decides to Question them while the reader is having the best/worst day ever because-#-wow!! big robot!!! but also *YOU WERE WRITING ABT THIS GUY LIKE 10 MIN AGO WYDM HES OUTSIDE UR DOOR*#rpf writers worst nightmare/biggest dream... the person in question reading ur fanfic #this should really go in the main post but im shyyyy #anyway i stand by my statement that there should be more poly reader content #not reverse harem (still good!!) but like. the love interests also have Stuff going on as well.#IF ITS A LARGER POLY IT DOESN'T EVEN HAVE TO BE THEYR ALL DATING EACH OTHER. THERE CAN BE DIFFERENT CONFIGURATIONS #im just rambling at this point anyway i jist think itd be funny #esp. if they encouraged the fanfic writing like no its great for public image actually.#anyway this is really funny to conceptualise to me but also nightmsrish to imagine in real life. i would die #actually even funnier would be if there ends up with no romance imo #but i think if i were writing explicitly platonic fic id have a different plot

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d6b-onion · 11 months ago

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a little write-up about Hisami Yomotsu

Hisami's theme is so good and interesting it has me wanting to write something about her.

I am absolutely certain the broader fandom has already oversimplified her to hell and back — pun intended — as "the horny masochist". And to be clear, she absolutely is a horny masochist, but not just that. Do bear in mind I haven't actually researched the character in depth, I'm just organizing my thoughts.

For one, her theme. Go ahead, listen to it, the piano is beautiful. I think it is very elegant, emotional, and honestly? almost romantic. This clashes with what one may assume based the combination of her role and her looks.

Her role is to drag damned souls to Hell, and her ability is to not let anyone escape her grasp, so if you're her target you're kinda fucked. Additionally, she is said to lure people in using her beauty and sweet words. It's worth noting that the creature she is based on is, paradoxically, described as ugly and repulsive.

Fittingly, she is rather conventionally attractive, and I would personally say she is very pretty. The most interesting part of her design to me is her veil. It's very reminiscent of a widow's veil, but purple and made of flower petals, which is a lot more flamboyant. It immediately adds an aura of mystery for most of her face to be concealed in this way. It also ties in to the general floral theme of her design, which I really enjoy.

From this you would expect her to act like a femme fatale or a black widow (lines up with her black hand- and footwear), enticing people with charm and sweet talk, only to turn brutal and cold once their guard is down.

But she is said to be rather amicable (as long as Zanmu isn't in the picture), and actually keeps the promises she makes to those she drags to Hell (such as sharing her reward), and in any case, she isn't really two-faced. But she is kinda creepy and eerie nonetheless.

I think this is another instance of classic ZUN moe, which is being weird and creepy in a very heartfelt and almost innocent way (cf my popular post about Reisen).

This is of course complemented by her, uh, notorious relationship with Zanmu, literally panting when thinking about Zanmu getting mad at her. She is very clearly infatuated with her, to the point of stalkery obsessiveness.

With that in mind, the gracefulness, elegance and borderline romanticism of her theme paints a very interesting character, lending her eeriness an aura of tragic beauty, that perhaps interfaces with her obsessive love... Or maybe she is really just a horny masochist, teehee.

In any case, I was planning on just saying her theme was cool or whatever but I've grown really fond of her as I wrote this. Hopefully you appreciate her a bit more after reading this.

#touhou #touhou project #writing #fanfiction #hisami yomotsu #onion's ramblings #unfinished dream of all living ghost #touhou 19 #zanmu nippaku #image id in alt text #i'd also be remiss not to mention she is probably the most sexualized touhou character so far #despite how weird the fandom is touhou barely sexualizes its characters (if at all)#which is something i really respect #“japanese game with an an all-female cast who often look like little girls” justifiably raises a lot of red flags #and i find myself (maybe unnecessarily) taking precautions when introducing people to touhou #but mad props to zun for being zun #(the fandom takes care of the 'being weird' part for him though)#in a cast of a 100+ characters it's very nice to have characters like her in moderation

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bhaal-battle-beer-bard · 4 months ago

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Kissing every one of your ridges – With horns and tail and everything

➹pairing: Astarion x F!Tiefling DarkUrge Tav (Bard Saulus by myself @judasiskariot)

"Let me kiss every single one of your ridges"

➹summary: Tav only reacts totally supportive and respectfully after Astarion’s "But this...this is nice" confession at Act II. But it also hurts her inside to hear that he just tricked her out of bad habit and not meant it true, when she already did. That lurks in her head and she start to delusional thinking, that he also does not want to touch her, because he secretly dislikes her Tiefling body and she begins to hate it…

➹content/tags/warning: angst, self harm, self hatred, body image problems, fluff, romance, lime/spice, body positivity

➹word count: 3,737 ➹ao3

➹pictures: all of course by the talented @aristenfromwarsaw ; highly recommend her blog

➹a/n: I am not going to say it is the fault of @aristenfromwarsaw again, but it is her fault 😆🤣😜🤗

Her wonderful romantic screenshot of Astarion&Saulus inspired the ideas in my head to this story

Title credit also goes to her, because it was her reaction when telling her my story idea and yeah 😭❤️😭❤️😭 *ugly sobbing*

“I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to.” " You are worth a great deal to me, no matter what you're going through. I care about you. Deeply" "This…this is nice!”

The conversation was not many days ago. Astarion revealed his true feelings towards the Bard, or maybe some lies about his behavior, but to reveal true feelings at the end. Feelings he seemed to get caught by surprised. He catched them like a cold, at least he sounded while his confession.

But Saulus understood his message. His words did not really matter to convince her, alone the true sound of his voice was enough for her to understand. He never had spoken to her like that before.

Astarion wanted them to be something real and Saulus wanted to give him time, space and respect for his body. Taking the steps back, they made to fast in the first place. She liked Astarion, not his figure or their nightly trysts.

„Is it really okay with you that we kiss?”, asked the Tiefling concerned after parting her lips from Astarion’s.

“I said that I want to take things slow and abstain from Sex, not that we are strangers to each other from now on”, clarified the elf.

He pulled her down on the sleeping roll in his tent.

“I am not made of porcelain, even when I am looking so beautiful like that”, he purred and kissed her again.

Their bodies lay cautiously together and the bard let herself in for a kiss again.

Her arms held Astarion tight while her lips explored his ever more firmly.

The vampire became a little heavier on her, she felt his body weighing on hers.

In a pleasant way.

She heard his breathing and her own sighs between kisses.

His hand lay at the skin of her side, dancing up to her rib cage like a wisp of the wind. Her skin tingled when feeling his own.

The hint of a touch of his fingers at the base of her breasts under the light sleeping fabric.

She wanted to feel Astarion, so much to feel his touch. His hands on her breasts. His firm grip.

Her skin burned under his fingers, burned like the fires of Avernus that could only be extinguished if their bodies were united. How much she longed to feel him inside her. But...no, they didn't want that. That was exactly what they didn't want anymore. And it was good that way. But his lips and his hands on her breasts made her body think further. Her body that knew his and longed for it.

Saulus groaned and her hands automatically pulled Astarion closer to her. He paused briefly and then it hit her that they might be going too far.

She had no control over her lust, was going to overstep…no it seemed she already did. They agreed that Sex did not matter, and yet she enjoyed his closeness too much. In the wrong way.

Frightened, she pushed him away.

"Stop!"

"What is it?", asked Astarion irritated.

"We should cease that.”

"What exactly? We're just kissing."

"Yes. Let's call it a night.”

Astarion and the bard separated. They sat down on their knees facing each other. The Tiefling gently took his hands in hers and smiled slightly at him before Astarion leaned back a little and looked at her expectantly. She slowly pushed his hands back and placed them on his knees.

“It's getting too stifling and hot for me in this tent...I....should go.” Saulus downright jumped on her feet “I need to go."

Who even initiated the kiss? Him or her? It was Saulus herself, right? He didn’t really want to kiss her actually, screamed her inner panicking voice in her head.

She messed up.

She told him she would wait patiently whenever he was ready to have a physical relationship with her again, and she messed up.

Like the little obedient Sceleritas Fel said she would. Not in a funny bloody way the butler seemed to enjoy so much, but the in the way to destroy everything that has a meaning to her, when touched by her hands.

Saulus went to the waterside.

Dark, cold water.

Dark and cold like the frowning glance upon her unknown soul.

She slipped out of her clothes and went into the water.

She shivered only a little bit.

The ice cold sparks of the drops felt good on her heated skin.

The blank surface mirrored her reflection perfectly back with the shimmer of the moon casted by the silvery maiden of the night.

Saulus looked at her silhouette.

Her body.

Her face.

Sharp teeth, devilish tail, ridges under skin, pikes upon her shoulders, demonic horns and long claws of a monster, that torn apart the sweet Tiefling bard Alfira. Dripping from her blood.

Nobody mourned her. Nobody blamed her for her death.

Only Gale was a bit scared afterwards.

Yes, she was a monstrous demon. Straight from the hells.

Tears walled up the blue eyes with the burning sparks of Avernus in it and Saulus punched frustrated and full of hate into the water. Punching her reflection, so that she did not have to watch her devilish countenance of a monster no longer.

No wonder Astarion did not like her from the start, only slept with her that she was on his side, saw him of use that her killer rages were to his favor, not against him. No wonder he was scared of her.

No wonder he did not want to touch her no longer.

Saulus would not want to touch her either, if she were in his place.

Why would he?

He might be a ravenous vampire, but still a high elf with full of grace. Head high, perfect posture, fine lips and nose and chaw line.

And she - slowly her silhouette manifested on the water surface again and Saulus looked upon her deep dusk purple appearance…she was just a demon from the hells.

A monster with a little doomed butler that was whispering urges into her ear and soul, that made her hand twitch in desire to kill the sweet moon cleric.

She would also not touch this foul, wretched body full of pikes of a devil.

Not when there were sweet elven maiden with light skin, pink shiny nibbles and long silver hair to touch and kiss.

The other night, Saulus already wished Astarion a good night and made her camp round to bid her “Sleep wells” to everyone.

“And ducks…I like ducks”, said Halsin.

Saulus chuckled.

Astarion’s ruby eyes had left the words from his book a long time ago. At least once the bard started talking to the druid in such a familiar way.

Only his face directed towards the book, to make the appearance of reading. His elven ears were literally all ears for the conversation of the Tiefling and the beary archdruid. Big dumb mountain of muscles, flinched through Astarion’s head.

He glanced side-eyes like a grumpy cat…ready to jump and claw.

“That is incredible cute“, she said her thoughts out loud. “And I pull myself together not to say: Unbearable cute as honey.“

„Oh, I bear you to say that”, Halsin winked and the bard nudged his shoulder while both laughed.

“It is nice to hear some laughter in this shadow curse troubled lands. But I would be happier when the curse is lifted for good. Once and for all”, sighed the druid.

“We are working on it. I hope too that it takes not much longer, Halsin.”

“Thank you. Thank you for everything. Rest now and restore your strength for the tasks of tomorrow.”

“You too, Halsin.”

“Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan - seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you'd never turn on me. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you...which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart” "So the nights we spent together didn't mean anything?"

The words of Astarion echoed through her head.

Now when her body wanted to lay down to rest, her head could not stop to speak to her.

When talking to Astarion after her approached at her, all she could think about was to make clear to him, that he mattered to her. Mattered to her in every way. As a person, as a friend…and yes, more as friend. But it would never inflict how she would think about him, help him, protect him.

She wanted him to know that he is valued for just being, not for his body or something he could be use of. She made clear that he is free whatever he wanted to do so. Of course, when this included being with her, would make her most happy, but she would have understood if he wanted more distance, time to think and think for himself and his true needs and desires.

At least Saulus did not the hell know who she really was. The urgings in her head were sometimes…strange.

Bloody…

Having the talk with Astarion seemed to connect them, brought them closer. But lying awake at night, it just made her…sad by now.

All his sweet words and intimacy were just an act for him. He was an actor, playing the only role he knew. Slept with her ‘cause he thought he needed to. The only way to thank her for her blood because he didn’t think he has something else to give. Tricking her into liking him, while only than she would have protected him, as she would only protect lovers and not also friends.

As if they could not be friends without him giving his body and take care of hers.

All this while she wanted to get closer to him, because she started to like him. Fell like a dumb baby bird out of its nest.

She liked him not for his looks, but his snappy words. Giggling like a dumb fool at his mean sarcastic comments. Liking the theatric pronouncing of his words, worth of a bard.

Yes, she wanted to be near to him, only him and the true one, not the façade he put up. But…she only knew the façade, so it seemed. How could she claim to like the “real” Astarion, when he showed him to her only once.

He lied to her, tricked her, fooled her.

Or could she believe that all of this was just a glance and he catched the feelings right away and did his actings still out of behavior?

She remembered her reflection in the water. Horns and tail like a devil.

Why would he pick someone like this over others?

“It was easy - instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in.” "So the nights we spent together didn't mean anything?" "Be true to yourself, my Lady.”

The blood-stained words of the mysterious butler and her own mixed themselves up in her head. Swirling, screaming. Red…dripping red with a murderous frequency of volume.

Saulus grabbed the sharpest dagger at the camp. Determined.

Her feet led her the way besides the Last Light Inn down to the waterside.

Quick, unseen, quiet.

She went again to the waters.

Pulled her blouse over her head and exposed her dusk violet skin to the moonlight, reflecting on the water.

But Saulus no longer looked at her reflection. She only was near the water, so the blood may drip in there and being washed away with no evidence.

No evidence…like killing the bard, my foul lady, again the voice of Sceleritas Fel echoed through her mind full of holes.

Saulus fell for Astarion. She fell so hard, that it almost hurt, she realized by now. Maybe not the tadpoles or the dark urge or the shadows of this lands were her curse, no – maybe it was rather Astarion.

She knew she liked him, really, deeply. But only by now she realized what that really meant. It was maybe a bit scary. Or at least this dark shadow in her swirly head, told her so. Told her not to be worth of loving, or making her kill a whole city for him, if she must. Dangerous thoughts, Saulus knew that they did not belong to her. That were not her thoughts…where did they come from?

She felt light, joyful, sincere, happy, loving the love. That was her. But this things in her mind – in her heart – what kind of curse of those four possessed her, to whisper such things in the Tieflings unconscious?

She bit her sharp teeth together to shake off the voice inside her.

The Tiefling needed to focus on her task.

The bard reached with the knife to her back.

The blood should drop into the water and been washed away, away into the hells she must came from.

Saulus no longer wanted to see the horrific ridges upon her skin. She hated the damn pikes of demonic wings over her shoulder blades. Taken away the wonderful white, smooth elegant skin of a elven maiden, that Astarion could really like, desire…love at the end even.

With sadness, rage and desperate determination Saulus tried to manage to reach her back properly. Began to reach the ridges of the wings upon her shoulders with the sharp shiny blade. Breathing in frustration.

“What in the sweet hells do you think you are doing there?!”, snapped Astarions angry voice suddenly from behind and sounded reproachful and chiding.

He caught her by surprise and Saulus flinched.

At that very moment she felt him snatch the knife from her hands.

„I…I…“, she stuttered, covering her naked breasts in shame, did not know how to explain to him what she was doing.

Astarion looked concerned with his ruby eyes upon the skin of her back, made a step forward and his cold hands breath a hint of touch upon her skin.

Caring and careful.

“You got deep cuts”, he whispered softly, tenderly, concerned. More to himself than to her.

“Let’s go to Shadowheart!”, he said with loud, firm and convinced voice. “Our religious troubled cleric shall heal these cuts.”

“No!”, snapped Saulus quickly and almost panicked back “Not Shadowheart. It is not her duty to heal this.”

“I think a healing potion will not help immediately against the bleedings of the wounds”, explained Astarion to make her clear the cleric was the obvious logic choice. “Or do you prefer your druid to help you”, he muttered darkly with a nitpicky undertone.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing!”, Astarion shocked his head and expelled his own thoughts, seeing they were toxic dumb and made up in his head, “I said nothing.”

“How did you get injured?”, asked the pale elf with an empathetic undertone, that she had rarely heard from him before. Astarion was surprised by himself.

But he cared. Cared for her. He glanced at the knife in his hands, he took from her. “Considering that, you hurt yourself. Why? What did you want to accomplish with that?”

His ruby eyes sparkled at the Tiefling woman with a raised eyebrow. The look of his sharp eyes made Saulus nervous.

“I…”, began Saulus again stuttering.

“I wanted to cut off this ugly ridges and attachment of wings away from my damn shoulders”, she shouted angrily in desperation. Her face a manifest of loathing, hatred, disgust against her own body.

Astarion's face darkened visibly at her words.

„What? Are you dumb? Why would you do that?” All the softness was erased from his tone and words. His face full of anger and misunderstanding.

“Look at me! I am ugly! I am a monster!”, she pointed at her body. “With this stupid tail and horns. Kagha called me a devil, everyone does…and they are right to do that. That is all I am: A demon doomed by the gods. Straight out of the hells where I should rot with my wretched body. This body nobody wants to touch and love.”

Astarion grabbed her hand pulled her roughly towards him “Don’t you ever say that again!”, he hissed, flashing angrily with his eyes.

“But…”

“Nothing but, my silly dumb devil girl”, he purred. Astarion closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Come…”, he took her by the hand to the water, „…let’s wash this blood off your body.“

Her feet could already feel the sparks of the water.

The elf kneeled down in front of her, he pulled her leather trousers down her legs. The same way followed gently her undergarment.

With almost bated breath, Saulus looked at Astarion's white curls and watched him undress her.

Astarion gave her a quick wave and she stepped out of her pants without saying a word.

After that, his skillful hands undressed him himself.

Saulus watched as the white fabric of his shirt revealed the skin of his muscular chest, which shimmered palely in the moonlight. With slightly flushed cheeks, she looked away to stop staring at him.

It was ridiculous considering that they had slept together several times. But the situation had changed and the Tiefling wanted to be respectful. To give him space and maintain boundaries.

After they were both completely naked, Astarion took her hand again and waded into the water with her.

A shiver ran through her body briefly, which was noticeable on her skin and chest. But only briefly. Because even though the water and Astarion's hand were cold, his presence was still warm.

He carefully turned her around by her shoulder so that her back was to him.

After that, Astarion began to carefully clean the cuts. With a fine white handkerchief soaked in water that he had previously taken out of his trouser pocket, he gently stroked her skin to wash the blood off it.

He didn't say a word.

He was simply gentle and caring.

His hands skillful and loving.

He was just there.

The touch of a tingling sensation felt on both of their skin as they stood in the dark water of the night. Like the touch of angels' kisses: It began to drizzle gently.

The smell of rain slowly rose to their noses.

After nothing was visible on her body except for the cuts, she had made with the dagger in a stupid attempt to cut off her wing attachment ridges, Astarion carefully turned her over. The gentle spray slowly turned into drops of rain.

He probably didn't have to try so hard. The rain would have washed everything away.

It always did, right?

Could the rain wash you clean?

Astarion looked deep into her eyes. Could still see the struggles. The uncertainty.

He put a hand on her cheek, gently stroking it before he leaned over and kissed Saulus tenderly.

His other hand gradually came to rest on her hip and pulled her closer to him.

Despite the rain and her wet hair and the raindrops dripping from her horns, her body was warm.

Warm in the dark, foggy night that was slowly turning into the day. Yes, the night was always darkest before the fog gave way to the red of the morning. They would break the shadow curse as the druid had so urgently requested and longed for and then the sun would rise here again. But first Astarion had to break the shadow over his beloved.

His cold vampire hand stroked behind her head, roughly tangled in her wet hair and pulled it tighter against his kiss. At first they had only gently put their lips together, but now their lips had begun to suck each other deeply, to caress each other. Astarion's tongue skillfully stroked her lower lip while his other hand pulled her closer to him. Her lower body pressed against his, gently and lovingly, not arousingly. The vampire felt Saulus' breasts gently pressing against his own chest, which was getting wetter and wetter because of the night rain.

Astarion felt the rain. But above all he felt her.

His beloved.

His trouble-ridden lover.

She was so comforting warm and Astarion hoped inwardly that his own cold, undead vampire body did not feel too cold for his loved one.

Yes, he wanted to have her, he really wanted to try to have a relationship. Before he lost the chance with her. Lost her to someone else, or to herself. To her darkness.

She gave him something to worry about and care for. He was not indifferent to her like he was to everything else that did not concern him. And her love for others showed him that he was not indifferent to them either. Shadowheart, Gale, Wyll, Lae'zel, Minthara, Karlach and all the others. (Halsin maybe a little)

Slowly their lips separated and Astarion's hand came back to her cheek. His forehead rested on hers.

He felt their wet hair touching. Felt the tickling raindrops dancing on their skin.

"I never want to hear you talk badly about yourself again. Never think that again. You are wonderful."

"Really?" the Tiefling asked carefully and her eyes opened and tried to look into his eyes as best she could.

"Of course. You are beautiful. And I'm not just saying that," Astarion assured her in all seriousness. "I know," he sighed, "you find it hard to believe me after I deceived you at the beginning, right? But believe me, I'm serious. And that has nothing to do with the fact that I really think you're beautiful. And despite the inexplicable, mysterious darkness in you, I think you're a kind, wonderful person."

He smiled at her briefly before his face slipped into the mischievous elf face that everyone knew him to be.

"So despite the bloody start, the evening was actually quite nice and interesting."

"Astarion..." said Saulus and gave him a tormented smile, "...can you at least be serious for once and stop making jokes? If that doesn't work, it's better not to say anything at all."

"Sush..." the elf hissed playfully and led the bard out of the water.

"Come...", he said soft and true again, so true he wanted to be from now on forever to her, "I want you to sleep in my arms. Resting with me. With horns and tail and everything."

Astarion smiled at her “And then let me kiss every single one of your ridges.”

Original Picture Posts by @aristenfromwarsaw

➹a/n: This turned out way angstier than I wanted it to be 😰

I never had enormous tragic backgroundstory with huge lore in it like so many others. Only funny quirks maybe. At home we came up with the fun idea, that Astarion started to test whether tiefling tails are erogenous, when he got bored during negotiations with Gortash. Since then it has been a running gag that he secretly does things with her tail in public. I asked if he then tries to find out what he can do with her horns when she is sleeping until she wakes up, until it becomes a game and someone dips her tail in jam.

And then she holds her in jam covered tail tight to her with tears in her eyes.

"NO! Astarion would never ever do such things. If anything, stupid children or Akabi would do it and he would comfort her afterwards."

This is how the idea came up, that when Saulus is nervous she generally holds her tail tight like children hold a security blanket.

"What could she be nervous about?"

"Maybe her wedding day..."

And from this came the fact that she is insecure about her whole tiefling body. Maybe to help others with similar thoughts.

Especially when being with someone so natural beautiful as Astarion with his elven looks.

She wondered why Bhaal would create someone looking like that, when he had the choice of all this beautiful creatures out there in Faerûn. Given the option, he still choose this appearance for his Chosen, his daughter, his own blood. His own spawn.

It could only be to scare people, to show them horror and fear, before sweet death.

So she always tried to hide herself.

But Astarion helped her accept, to love her body and to understand that there is so much beauty out there. In every form and so many different forms out there in Faerûn. Finally she was able to see herself through the eyes of others, how they saw her, how she really looked.

Bhaal may had shaped her, but it is her, that defines herself. Worth of love.

She is big, brave and beautiful!

And I hope this helps everyone with body image problems out there ❤️❤️

I was so inspired and emotionally touched by seeing my beloved blorbos as surprise screenshot, that, for a change, I just started writing my idea straight away.

I have so many BG3 fanfic ideas, why don't I write them? Because I suck at writing fanfiction in english and I really should finish my Resident Evil longfic. And I end up procrastinating not to do either 😅🙈

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wroteclassicaly · 2 years ago

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Eddie tucking a baby kitten underneath his leather jacket and bringing it home to surprise you. His big, wide chocolate eyes glowing with mischief and mirth as he nuzzles the kitten’s furry little head, pursing his lips in a pout.

“Look at this little girl here, babe. She was communicating with me, I swear. I couldn’t leave her.”

You roll over in your cocoon of blankets, unable to stop the warmth that pools in your belly, admiration flowing in your veins, turning your blood to honey-hot love for your partner and his generous heart.

“Eds, was she from that pregnant cat that follows you into the parking lot after Hellfire?”

He’s kissing her soft cheek and smirking. “Might be… Momma Janis was weening them off, so I found this cutie’s siblings a home. Can’t help it that this one loves me so much.”

“You sure can’t.” You sit up, his sheets draped around your waist.

“Sweetheart, it’s not her fault that she knows where she belongs.”

“Of course not, because you’re so charming, aren’t you?” Eddie settles onto the mattress and leans as the kitten bats at the mess of curls surrounding his neck. He shrugs, grinning that Eddie grin.

“May I ask where the rest of her siblings went?”

Eddie is a tad sheepish, practically eager to spill the beans. “Might’ve gave one to Henderson for his mom. Another to Buckley, and two to Harrington.”

Your brows raise in surprise. “Steve wanted cats at his place?”

“Babe,” Eddie pauses and holds out the white kitten with a brown, striped tail, watching in amusement as it bats its tiny paw forward to latch onto his hair again. “It’s not Steve’s fault that Cruise and Cates talked to him too.”

Your giggle aloud, unable to help yourself. The thought of Steve Harrington playing in a mini pile of kittens is alarmingly endearing. “And Steve named his new children after Tom Cruise and Phoebe Cates?”

Eddie rolls a shoulder. “I don’t pretend to understand what goes on beneath all of his hair, love.”

You reach out to tickle the kitten’s back, already smitten with her. “So what are we naming our baby, Eds?”

“Dunno, but I figured we could toss around some names together. She’s gotta have one before Steve brings his babies over tomorrow to play with her.”

Of course he’s planning play dates for your new fur kid and Steve’s. You really love this cheeky shithead.

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sleepdepravity · 2 years ago

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Summary:

Excerpt:

Mob was still sitting in the same position, staring at his shoes, continuing to sweat. Serizawa leaned an elbow on the armrest, sitting as far as he could from Reigen. Everybody else eyed each other uncomfortably.

“So we learned some new things,” Dimple said, drawing out the sentence like a very tired kindergarten teacher. Reigen laughed, three sharp ‘ha’s, and sank his face into his hands. Takenaka slowly put in his earbuds.

“I’m really sorry,” Serizawa tried.

“No. Really. It’s fine. I’m not angry. Just a bit overwhelmed, is all. You two did good. Everything,” Reigen said and, without looking up, waved a hand at everything, “is just super.”

#fanfiction #my writings #mob psycho 100 #serirei #stella helped me with the image summary #i told her that i was thinking of doing one for this but it was too hard to draw and she was like #'WE CAN MAKE THIS HAPPEN'#sistertag #thank you sister

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shsl-box-worshipper · 7 months ago

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A Grave Mistake

Hi, @vexfulfolly! I'm your gifter for @code-swap 2024! I honestly had a lot of fun with making this gift and coming up with ideas. The story I went with was 'What if XANA came back and Jeremie was the last LW after a horrible XANA attack and this is the start of his comeback?' and I ran with it lol.

I decided to go for an art-fic mini combo, starting with the art and building a story based on that and finishing them both simultaneously. Named after a song by Ice Nine Kills (Which is based on the film The Crow (1994)). Hope you enjoy!

Three months.

That's how long it took. Just three terrible months of hell.

It started two years after they were sure XANA was dead. They had all thoroughly moved on from those two years fighting XANA in that time. They all stayed together of course, in one way or another. Odd was still Ulrich's roommate and Kiwi's owner, Yumi and Ulrich were actively dating, William had slowly been accepted back into their friend group to the point where he often shared the big sibling role with Yumi, and Aelita and Jeremie were both the best of their class and smitten lovebirds.

Everything was perfect. Everything was great. They weren't paranoid. They weren't scared for every second they were awake.

Then it happened. It was quite innocuous and almost unnoticeable at first.

Power fluctuations, news about blackouts in areas around former Replikas, phone lines going dead for hours and hours at a time. Two weeks in, multiple regional governments around the globe suddenly shut off all communication with the outside world, shut off access to their areas, and became communication-less zones.

Jeremie jumped at the idea that XANA could be causing all this. But the others calmed him down, reminding him that the multi-agent was dead. Jeremie himself sowed its destruction.

He wished, for once in his pathetic life, he didn't listen to his friends and that he booted up his old laptop. But he didn't, so he did nothing.

Then it began.

Disasters of all sorts struck. Floods, hurricanes, tornados, power plant failures. Infrastructure was failing all across the board and no one could figure out why.

Then they came.

Robots, cyborgs-whatever you want to call them, they stormed into every capital conceivable. Monsters of flesh and metal, attacking what Jeremie could only assume was their former friends and family.

It was at that moment that they all scrambled back to action. But they were unprepared for such a threat.

Odd was first, shot down while they were still at Kadic by the robots while saving Ulrich. He went out as he always did: Smiling and making jokes.

Yumi, Aelita, Ulrich, and himself made it to the factory, but they were hot on their tail. Ulrich stayed behind and tried to hold them off, like he used to. Jeremie knew he didn't make it.

William, meanwhile, stayed behind to keep Kadic safe. Jeremie hoped he was still alive. But even he knew that hope was fleeting.

Jeremie immediately virtualized Yumi and Aelita, but before he could give them instruction, they were onset by a new monster they hadn't seen before.

When Yumi lost all her lifepoints, Jeremie was expecting her to come out of the scanners.

But she didn't. She was nowhere on Lyoko and nowhere in the real world.

Yumi was dead.

Jeremie desperately tried to guide Aelita out of danger and toward the tower, but he lost contact with her.

And whatever Ulrich did to distract the robots failed. One was above him.

Pain filled his entire being as that one robot landed a blow to his gut, causing him to bleed profusely. And he could hear the elevator going down, carrying more of those things. Knowing his time was limited, he did the only thing he could.

He set up a delayed virtualization and crawled his way to the scanners.

That's where he found himself now.

Jeremie knew all for certain that he was the last Lyoko Warrior. The others were either dead or last seen in situations that could only logically conclude with their deaths.

He groaned as he tried to stanch the gaping wound in his abdomen. He nearly swore as his nerves once again screamed at the pain.

So, this was it, huh? Jeremie chuckled at how fate had led to where he was now.

Four years ago, he came to this factory for such an innocuous reason. He was an ignorant 11-year old who simply wanted to win a robotics contest.

He was alone. He was friendless. And he treated technology like his lifeline.

Then he found and turned on the supercomputer, met Aelita, and his whole world was flipped upside down. Friends, love, and a reason to live beyond the technology that was defining his life.

Now, he was back where he was four years ago. Friendless, alone, and with technology acting as his literal lifeline.

01:00:00

It's ironic. The last time he was like that, he was innocent, scared 11-year-old boy. He had done nothing interesting in particular, and was just continuing the status quo he had built for himself.

Writing programs, making robots, hiding from his bullies.

Now he was 15. Nearly 16.

Now he had experienced what he had missed out on. What he never got to taste because of his introvertedness.

And it was amazing. Never before had he had friends who actually cared about him. Never before had he have a reason to keep on living, to keep on fighting.

Never before had he ever fallen in love. Have a girlfriend. KISSED.

He had faced trials and tribulations no child ever should...and he grew from them. He had turned from a cowardly, innocent, lost boy into a wise man, intelligent beyond his years and surrounded by everything he could have ever wanted or needed.

00:30:00

But he had to throw that away. He should've trust his instincts. He should've jumped at the opportunity and stopped it before it got worse.

But he didn't. He trusted his friends too much. He fell victim to his own logic and reasoning.

And now, they were dead.

Everyone Jeremie had ever known or loved...was dead.

*CLANK!*

Its the robots, Jeremie realized. They had found the hatch, whether by following his blood trail or using deductive reasoning, and they were coming down now.